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loaksbitch · 2 years

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blame tumblr for deleting my draft and make me rework this with rush— now girlies, imagine jealous neteyam pull you to his side, claiming you as his yes? this is the long awaited update (pt 3) of the i trusted you series.

warnings - hard angst, vulgar language, jealous neteyam i repeat, JEALOUSY NETEYAM! ugh, cussing, neteyam is tired of hurting and trying, kiri is best girl for boosting up neteyam to make a step kinda? that’s it for now!

likes and reblogs are appreciated for the final part! i love each and every one of you babies mwah!! — 3.2k wc and poor-ish grammar

“i want to trust you.” — neteyam sully (★,꩜)

here’s part (one) – (two) — (four) of this series

neteyam’s state wasn’t good when he went back home.

you’re leaving the clan because of him, you’re leaving your home, your childhood, your everything because of him.

you’re leaving him because of him.

still not accepting the words you’ve said to him, he hadn’t noticed his younger sister waiting for him right when he got back to the village, hunting long forgotten.

kiri on other hand had enough, she’s tired of seeing her brother suffer for what he was trying to make right, especially after that night. the night she saw her perfect brother kneel in front of a female na’vi begging you not to go.

“neteyam,” his name being called, pulls him out from his thoughts and his tired eyes land on his sister who has her arms crossed against her chest. “what part of leave me alone don’t they understand?” neteyam silently says under his breath

“you know i can hear you right?” kiri scoffs

“what part of i want to be alone don’t you all understand?” this time he says it clearly and louder. neteyam doesn’t give her time before walking past her and if only if it wasn't for her next words? he wouldn’t have frozen at his spot.

“if you love her, go for her.”

there she goes again, now he needs to tell her he doesn’t want to hear anything about that future mate of his, that female na’vi he doesn’t even want.

“kiri.” he starts to turn and face her, his amber eyes swollen and puffy it makes her sad. “i’ll say this for the last time, i don’t want anyone to bring äy—“

“i’m not talking about äyea and you know it.”

his heart dropped, amber eyes slightly widening like he was caught. neteyam searches for more explanation from his sister, kiri softly smiles and he definitely knows who she’s talking about

“y/n, neteyam, i’m talking about y/n.” his skin itches at your name being called and he walks fast to his sister before grabbing her by her arms. nobody has to know, not like this and he won't risk to lose you like this

“look, you can’t tell no one, okay?” he’s shaking his sister so hard that her shoulders are hurting. “i can't lose her, if the clan knows they’ll take her away from me.” his body is trembling, neteyam’s mind was too occupied with the worst scenarios that would happen if they find out about you just like this.

kiri closes her eyes and calms herself before trying to do the same for her brother. “nete, calm down” she places her small hands on his cheek. “you’ve to calm down, for her?” she knew you’re his weakness and he would do anything with your name

“i won’t tell anyone.” kiri watches neteyam’s eyes blink, confused and processing her words, “but you must tell them, everyone, tell everyone neteyam.”

he’s slowly sliding his hands down her arms and letting her go, what is she saying?

“i saw everything, the night she knew about it and how you were.” kiri didn’t want to look like she sneaked into someone's business. “i’ve never seen you so weak like this brother, you’re giving up something that makes you happy.”

where is this going? why is she not yelling at him that he failed to be perfect?

“i know you’re soon to be mated but why when you’re not happy? not wanting it, not in love.” neteyam takes every word of hers carefully. “if this is the future you want with her then make a progress.”

“i’m tired of hearing you cry yourself to sleep, starve yourself and worry mom and dad.” he felt like a child. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs and kiri sighs, “you don’t have to apologize for everything.”

neteyam was feeling his heartbeats quickening at his younger sister's words but it’s also painful when he remembers he can’t do that cause you’re gonna be gone, soon… very soon.

“she’s le-leaving,” his words are cut when his voice quivers, kiri gasps at the news. “she said she feels like she doesn’t belong here.” he’s now looking down to avoid kiri’s eyes or he’ll cry

“she’s leaving me, kiri” his sister only pulls him close to hug him and he drops his body on her, head on her shoulder. “i love her and she’s leaving, i’m losing her.” he wants the pain to end, he’s tired of hurting

“oh brother.” kiri pats his head, even though neteyam was the smartest and perfect to hide his emotions, this was too much. he’s literally crumbling down. “it’ll be okay, everything will be okay.”

“it will be okay, everything will be okay.” your mother pats your hair when you lean on her shoulders and cry. all you do is cry, you feel bad.

you’re debating on leaving everything behind and running to your neteyam but then again there’s his future mate being a wall to your love. “it’ll be over soon when we leave.”

if not soulmates why bound to fall in love and hurt?

eywa was not fair, she’s not fair with her doings and you don’t want it. you want him, you want your man, you want neteyam, you miss him so bad.

the ritual is in two days and you’re not ready to watch them or give them your blessing as a part of a clan. once the ceremony is done you know they’ll go home, you don’t even want to think what they’ll do after that.

they’ll have a fruit of love, a baby in the future… what about you? supposed to move on? no, you can’t do that.

“we’ve got to get ready, my sweet child,” your mother says as she eyes the hammock that sheltered you for years. everything is packed, ready and done.

while you’re struggling to make the pain hurt less, neteyam is struggling to make his heart beat less.

it’s now an eclipse and everyone is ready for dinner, “mom! what’s for dinner?” tuk whines when netyiri brings the bowls and trays at the wooden table. “you’ll see baby” she kneels down to finally join her family.

it doesn’t fail to catch her by surprise when her first born is sat across the right side of the table. “neteyam?” her eyes start to whelm when her son smiles at her, oh how she missed having him around the table to eat with them.

“he’s here just like you want him.” jake says and neteyam nods.

neytiri only lets soft laugh out and places a bowl for him. “eat this, it’ll help you get strength for your training.” she motions him to take his food.

kiri silently watches everyone, a smile painting her lips as she sips on her soup.

“tastes good?” neteyam nervously nods, the only thing he’s thinking is a way to bring up his love topic to them. it wasn’t much late before he’s opening his mouth to speak and lo’ak suddenly interrupted

“dad, mom i ne–…”

“tuk stop doing that, you’ll choke.” lo’ak scolds at his sister and neteyam shuts his lips quick. maybe it’s the right thing not to say anything right now.

“tuk, listen to your brother honey” jake says and turns to neteyam, “what were you saying son?”

neteyam shakes his head, “never mind i’ll talk to you guys later.” he doesn’t ignore how kiri lightly groans when he backs out. “i’ll head inside now.” he rubs his sweaty hands on his thighs and gets back to his feet

“you didn’t even touch your food.” now that’s a lie, he actually scooped two times and ate.

“i ate mom, it’s delicious t-thanks.” he hates when the last word breaks. on eywa he’s so nervous.

kiri was quick to follow his steps when he left and luckily her parents didn't question. she was fast to catch up with her brother and yanks his arms to make him face her, “what was that?” she raises her eyebrows

“what was what?”

“don’t play dumb with me right now.” kiri warns and neteyam clears his throat

“i’m scared okay!” he hissed, “i’m so fucking nervous my skin is crawling to leave my bones.” his sister only rolls her eye, “seriously— we’ve talked about this! not being a little scared ass to be telling them.”

“what happened to that?” she crosses her arms.

“kiri,” he sighs and drops his head down, shoulders easing. “you don’t understand how dangerous this is, what if–“

“what if they hurt her?”

neteyam was awfully silent and that answers her question. “you know mom and dad, they don’t do anything about what you care and love…” kiri slowly stops when neteyam shakes his head

“not them,” it’s not them he’s scared of, it’s äyea’s parents he’s scared of, he knows they would do anything to make their little perfect daughter that matches with him, or whatever they say.

kiri presses her lips to a straight line before clicking her tongue.

this is gonna be a bad idea or the best idea she has ever made and decided to tell him aways. neteyam’s eyes widen when his sister pulls him away from their family, what she’s gonna tell him is the only chance to get you back and win your trust and she’s sure neteyam will do it,

do anything for you.

೫ time skip — mating ritual ceremony

your new outfit makes your curves more defined, way more defined than your usual loin clothes that you wear.

your skin shining smoothly, the leaves barely covering your breast, you looked ethereal with your hair not braided and freely displayed all over your shoulders

“honey, are you ready?”

your mother’s words make you gulp and suck a deep breath. “we must be there early to leave early!” she tells while being in the other room.

you finally check yourself and talk back, “yeah, i’m ready.” you whisper morley to yourself? swallowing the lump on your throat.

“yeah, i’m ready.” neteyam closes his eyes and breaths trying to focus on not messing up everything, he’s not even sure if you’ll show up and some part of him wishes you do show up

extra loincloths and decorations on his body makes him uncomfortable with its weight crushing him down.

netyiri proudly looks at her son’s figure while the kids are outside, “mother.” the sudden call of her name, netyiri answers quickly. “what is it? nervous?”

neteyam gulps down his fear and walks to her, “i love you” netyiri feels her eyes tear up and smile at him, “your mom loves you too, baby.” neteyam envelopes her with a hug and netyiri cries to his shoulder telling him how he’s grown up

“now don’t mess my face up with tears! let’s get you ready there.” it’s time to face reality and wait for his soon to be mate come

when he’s out of his hammock, he’s greeted with his family smiling at him and jake’s proud smile. even half of the clan was standing at his hammock.

“neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan” everyone chants and neteyam feels his inside clench in discomfort. he doesn’t want this if it’s not with you, everything makes him sick. “c’mon son, let’s get you to the trees of voice, your mate is waiting.”

what the fuck, that was what neteyam said inside his head. what does his father mean when he’s gonna meet his mate under the trees of voice? it was all about you and him, neteyam would never mate with some random girl he is set up with in a place with memories filled with yours

neteyam turns to his sister and kiri has the same expression because what is this bullshit?

“nete’ she’s waiting for you.” his mother placed her hand on his back. no, no, no— his own feet are betraying him when he realize he’s walking and the clan opens way for him straight long line created till where he’s supposed to see äyea

you on other hand stand in line with the people and pray under your breath for eywa to give you a strength not to cry or make a scene, especially when they will be bound where you thought you and neteyam would have been

it doesn’t take long when starts to cheer as the future Olo'eyktan starts to get closer and closer.

lo’ak was the first one you saw from the sully families while he’s holding tuk close to him so she won’t get lost in the crowed. “Aeyaeyaeyaeyaye!” the clan yells

neteyam’s eyes keep searching for specific someone which is you, eyes desperately looking for you and feeling more scared and anxious when he can’t figure out your face from the crowd he takes a deep breath

you finally take his figure to your sight and god he was so beautiful.

your breath hitches at his appearance, the dangling material on his forehead making him look more attractive than he already is, you realize it’s so hard to let go of him.

you suck a deep breath when his eyes lands at yours and neteyam halts his pace, confusing everyone for a second. your tears are fast to blur your vision and you blink before looking away from him

his heart cracks when you do look away, you don’t want to see him and he understands

once neteyam passed you, the crowd surrounds him and cheers when he stepped close to where äyea is found.

you hate how your mother looks at you sympathetically while her hands grip yours tighter, “it’ll be over soon” she whispers to you but you shrug her off, only watching things unfold in front of you as your heart breaks

“it will be over soon.” neteyam says to himself

it’s sickening how everyone can’t notice this is not supposedly to happen, kiri’s plan better work or he’ll seriously fuck this ritual up and run away with you.

“son.” äyea’s father greets him and neteyam, bringing his hand to his forehead. “ty’mar, i see you.” he then turns to his soon to be mate’s mother and repeat his actions.

the way äyea was smiling makes your throat hurt from desperately wanting to cry.

‘no, don’t tell her you see her neteyam. please. please.’

äyea softly giggles when neteyam stands in front of her and blush, “neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan” the way she tries to voice out his name makes neteyam feel sick.

“i see you.” she says but neteyam doesn’t bother to say it back making her smile slightly fall.

netyiri also notices how neteyam is acting, what would possibly be bothering him? definitely not everything.

after everyone was introduced to each other, the ceremony began. drinks were served, everyone clapping and dancing to the songs the na’vi’s are singing.

you’re a little far away from the crowd to breath clear air and dry your tears that constantly burn your eyes. your eyes are on neteyam who isn’t enjoy one bit of the ceremony while his soon to be mate squirms and waves her hands up

both of them are sitting on a throne-like wooden chair, both of their parents beside them just say like them.

this is so depressing how awkward and uncomfortable it looks and actually is. you think, brining the drink to your mouth

you didn’t notice the na’vi male sneaking behind you that actually has been staring at you since you joined the crowd in line. “enjoying the party from far doesn’t seem too boring after all.”

you’re now jumping in fear when a breath hits the back of your ear.

“mother eyaw! who the fu–” you scream and stumble in panic, but before you’re falling you feel strong arms hold you on your ground. “shit, I should've announced i came, i’m sorry.”

you’re about to tell him it’s okay and leave when he’s offering his hand for a shake.

“i’m no’xus, by the way.” great, now you’re stuck talking with someone.

“y/n.” you say and turn over to place your drink on the talk flat table looking object, it’s obvious you’re ignoring him and uninterested but he keeps talking

“why’re you not dancing?” the tall na’vi asks and you face him before speaking, “because i don’t want to?” you just want this over and privacy, how hard can it get to understand!?

“mhm,” the male hums, “wanna dance with me?” at his offer, you scoff mentally and realize you’re not getting him away from you soon– before you reject him, a strong glare radiating from far makes your body tingle

it was neteyam, sending glares to the male who was next to you while sitting far away.

you didn’t bother it at first but the way neteyam’s face twists makes your brow raise. why is he bothered? jealous? if no’xus had not cleared his throat, you would’ve forgotten about what he just said.

“look notoxo, i really don’t feel like…” you watch him awkwardly chuckle and correct you.

“it’s no’xus not notoxo.”

“you know what? fuck it, let’s dance.” you’re pulling him to the crowd, maybe it’s the drink or maybe it’s him, it’s neteyam making you do this.

your mother was long gone to where you don’t know, no’xus was just a bonus to get your frustration out and you’re now dancing with him. too occupied to bother, you haven’t noticed how neteyam’s nose are flaring in anger

neteyam watches how you’re dancing and it’s very obvious it’s targeted to get him out of his mind

he is not even listening to äeya and brought himself up from his throne-like seat. rage and anger is in him, this needs to fucking stop or he’ll rip the male’s hand that’s holding you by your waist and moving you sides to side

all of his fear gone when the na’vi’s eyes are on him when he’s stepping down from his seat and walking straight to you

neteyam ignores his father’s call, sight on you and you only. you didn’t notice how he’s dangerously close until no’xus stopped his moving. “what is it?” you’re annoyed when your distracted self is brought back to reality

“put your hands off of her.” it was an order and no’xus looked at him manically. “i’m not fucking repeating myself.” all the na’vi’s are confused, even his parents and äeya’s family.

your body is jerked away from the stranger you just met and you hiss when neteyam tugs you close to him. what is he thinking? in front of everyone? his last words makes the whole omatikaya village gasp and whisper.

“fucking let go of what’s mine and find your own mate.” neteyam scowl’s dangerously.

how’re we feeling, sweets? are we feeling anxious? excited? invested? spill in the comments cause i love reading your thoughts sjsjsj

also do you guys want a toe curling smut at the end or no? since neteyam is aged up!20 years old in this series, lmk in the comments if you want smut — tag list in the comments <3

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undreaming-fanfiction · 8 months

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I am massively busy with work and finalizing my Big Bang, but this idea just won't leave...

Steve and Eddie are both actors. They're in their mid thirties, well established, but they never starred together in anything. Steve tends to be cast in the same type, the dumb but pretty love interest, Eddie has lots of indie and disturbing movies under his belt. But this time, they both landed something big.

They get cast in the new Batman movie.

Steve is, of course, Batman. He insists on doing his own stunts. He refuses to get dehydrated for his shirtless scenes because he knows how damaging it is to both young men and women alike, he's not going to contribute to shitty expectations. The director (Dustin, duh!) sees something in him other directors never have - a potential for depth, for internal turmoil. He gives Steve the chance to prove himself as an actor and Steve pounces on it.

He's still very hot.

Eddie is cast as the Joker. He is a fan of the comics and scoffs at how absurd and deranged the character is becoming. He gets hired because he immediately says he doesn't think the character needs to rely on cheap tricks and shock value to be terrifying. Cutting off his face? Not cool. He suggests to play the Joker according to one of the older comics he has - one where the Joker is actually absolutely sane, but hides it to never be held accountable for his actions. The only person who ever saw through his ruse was Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Joker took care of that issue very quickly.

The chemistry between Steve and Eddie on screen is insane. They go toe to toe, it's impossible to look away when they interact. Eddie utilizes his bright smile to the maximum, tweaking it just right within moments so it becomes unsettling. The first time he laughs, Steve gets goosebumps.

Steve encompasses Bruce's loneliness so well Eddie's heart breaks for him. Dustin finds him in the trailer, giving himself gentle slaps over the face and muttering "you're evil, damn it, you don't want to comfort the Bat!!".

Batgirl (Robin) and Harley Quinn (Chrissy) find their slow descent into love hilarious. They all become good friends on the set.

Hopper, an acting veteran who plays Commissioner Gordon, grasps Steve's shoulder after an intense fight scene and mutters: "Good job, Steve, but maybe don't stare at his lips so much?"

Robin doesn't give him the same courtesy and once Dustin yells "Cut!", she screeches: "NOW KISS!"

The movie is a hit. People love the cast and the story, some of the OG fans complain as they always do, but the ratings are great, there are many interviews, panels, all of that.

And of course, there's gossip about Steve and Eddie being a thing, which enrages the macho Batman fanbase. Their Batman isn't gay!

But the rumors quickly disappear after an award ceremony where Eddie is nominated for the best supporting actor. He wins, of course. And as he gets up to accept the small statue and deliver a speech with enough "fuck"s to give the censor a headache, he drags Steve up and kisses him in front of the whole world.

A week later, Steve and Eddie are together in front of a camera again, answering questions in an interview.

The host asks: "What do you say to those fans that are disappointed, who say that their Batman isn't gay?"

Steve just snorts, pulls Eddie closer and answers: "They're right. Their Batman isn't gay. But he's definitely bi."

Also the comic story I'm mentioning exits and is short but fantastic. 10/10 recommend.

Oh also. The first spark happens when Steve sees Eddie's hair and blurts out: "Please tell me they're not making you cut it shorter. It's too gorgeous for that."

Also because people were asking about the comics - it's Batman Black and White - Case Study and it can be found on Tumblr HERE

#steddie #steddie drabble #steddie au #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #actor au

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sqtorux · 6 months

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gojo satoru does not love

my first work on tumblr and im still learning so it isn't perfect but hey i hope you enjoy if you do see this <3

a short drabble to start !

it's not new or surprising to know that the gojo satoru does not love.

he's the strongest with responsibilities and tasks to carry out. that and the risks of being his partner go endless.

you knew it. you did.

but that does not make it any easier.

“satoru please.” you begged, tears streaming down your face as you held onto his shirt desperately, not daring to touch any other part of him.

“please don't leave me” your voice trembled and you winced at how weak you sounded.

“im sorry y/n.” was all he said as you realised an invisible barrier separating the both of you.

he had turned on his infinity on you. never once during your one year relationship had he used it against you but now he did.

your heart shattered as you turn away, biting your cheeks hard so that your sobs of pain won't be heard. that was the last time you saw him.

a week later however, you were at a mutual friend's wedding meaning he would also be there. dread washed over you but you couldn't afford not to attend so you swallowed your pride and went.

sure enough he was there, looking as good as ever, if not more.

that wasn't fair, you were rotting in your bed, crying over him all week and here he is, looking completely unbothered. happy even.

luckily for you, no interaction happened. maybe fate was on your side just this once, in some way.

but it seems like you spoke too soon because time came for the bridesmaids and friends of the bride to catch the bride's bouquet of flowers.

the bride insisted you joined as she didn't know you and satoru had broken up and not wanting to be a spoilsport you agreed.

you walked over to the small crowd of girls who got ready to catch the small bouquet. you intentionally stood a little further away, hoping to avert attention away from you.

the pretty bouquet flew as a girl darted to catch it but slipped and much to your dismay, it ended up on your hands.

you froze as the others squealed and cheered for you. some of the groom's friends even patted satoru on the back and congratulated him.

as if the fresh heartbreak a week ago wasn't enough, fate decided to remind you that you'd never get the kind of future you want. at least not with the person you wanted to share it with.

you swallowed a lump in your throat and forced a smile. you waved the bouquet and the others cheered. you couldn't even spare a glance towards satoru. how could you.

if only you had.

they say eyes are a window to the soul. good for satoru though because his blindfold always covered his strikingly beautiful blue eyes.

had he not, you could've seen how much his soul yearned for you. how much he's willing to do to see you happy. even if it isn't with him.

had you known, you would have in fact realised that gojo satoru does love. much much more than you could imagine.

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years

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Yandere König Headcanons

Warnings: Some 18+ Moments (Nothing Explicit), Social Anxiety, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Acts of Revenge, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, Underwear Stealing, Possessive Behaviour, Yandere Behavious, Toxic Behaviour, Intimidation, Social Sabotage, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You', etc.

Wordcount: 14,544 words

A/N: Hey Guys, Happy Valentine's Day <3 ! Thanks for stopping by to read my fic ! Much love and wellness to you all :-). I've had to split the bulk of the text and the ending into two posts because Tumblr will not let me keep them in the same post - it just won't save or post. A link will be provided below the main body of text to take you to the ending post <3

You and König became friends the very same day you met.

You were a new student to the school that König called Hell; not yet alive – conscious – to the incessant bullying and ignorance that occurred there.

Upon seeing you for the first time, feet pointed in, shoulders rigid, lunch pail squeezed – compressed – tightly between your tiny fingers, König felt… strange.

He’d never met you before, but he already felt that there was something to be done in the way of you.

As to what that ‘something’ was was completely lost on König.

But alas, he tore his resting head from his palm, his senses sharpening as he was drawn from the fantasy world he’d crafted for himself, becoming aware of his surroundings,

He watched you, for the first time, a child no older than himself, nigh-quivering under the curious gazes of students.

As if by instinct, König’s gaze drifted to the table that housed his tormentors.

And, sure as ever, their eyes held nothing less than malice. Intent.

Something in him told him to sit up straighter, to get his hands off the desk – anything to appear bigger than how he did now.

He recognised this feeling. Though, he’d never felt it towards a person.

In König, it only ever manifested whenever he happened upon some small, injured creature.

Despite being just children, König was already a little taller than everyone else in the class; foreshadowing of the monster he’d become, whose horns just peeked through his skull, made him an inch or three taller than the rest.

And yet, he was still the butt of every joke, the object of needless ridicule.

Little did he know that would all change the very same day he met you.

Something in him prompted him, told him, to talk to you, to find out as much about you as he possibly could.

An impulse he had never known until today.

Though, as to how he’d initiate conversation was tricky.

He could barely talk to his own parents, let alone a complete stranger.

As you peeked up from the floor every now and then, scanning the room and all its pieces, its players, your gaze fell upon König.

His heart fitted, adopting an irregular rhythm – a genre of music he’d never heard before.

Usually, he’d tear his gaze away, look down or out the window.

But he couldn’t.

With you, it was impossible.

The seat beside him was empty, a sliver of mercy his favourite teacher had imparted on him.

The possibility that you would be seated next to him – that you might choose to sit beside him of your own volition – filled König with a dangerous sense of hope.

He found himself clenching his fists when you made a move to go to him, taking but a small step in his direction. The right direction.

Before the teacher pointed to another seat halfway across the classroom.

König deflated, his shoulders sagging, his mood dampening as if sodden with tears.

He looked upon your reluctantly retreating form, your friendship withering away with each step you were forced to take.

König looked upon his teacher that day with something he hadn’t felt for them before.

Contempt.

The lesson dragged, yet playtime loomed.

It was less of a break for König than it was an opportunity for his bullies to find him. Capture him.

Yet today, he was the one seeking them.

He’d seen the way they’d looked at you, leered at you, repeated your name in mock mimicry when the teacher called on you for attendance.

König’s heart thrummed in his chest, an off-key harp.

He swallowed thickly, trying to hear over his internal symphony’s failing orchestra.

He almost considered calling off the search and searching for a teacher to help when he heard it.

You.

A sniffle. Then, insults.

Hissed and seethed and quiet, just below the radar of the adults ‘watching over’ the students.

König turned, only to find a long corner before him.

He pressed himself close to it, and listened.

Another sniffle, verging on a cry. Then, more insults.

The Cycle.

König’s fists clenched, his heart flared with the anger he’d felt many a time when he’d been on the receiving end of such torment.

Yet somehow, now that it was you receiving it, it was as if the cap König had set atop his anger, to prevent himself from doing something drastic, or displaying too much emotion, had blown off.

The anxiety that occupied König’s every waking moment boiled with his growing fury, a chemical gas that threatened all life that came into contact with it.

Without thinking, blinded by something greater than his limitations, he embarked the corner.

There you were, surrounded by four boys, each as diabolical as the last.

Devils in cherubs’ clothing.

König’s shadow descended upon the scene, covering your cowering frame.

The leader turned around.

He gave a sly grin, and turned partially from you.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to face König completely.

“Oi, oi,” he said, voice shrill and piercing. König stood his ground.

“And what’d’you want, König,”

König said nothing still, though the expression on his face was twisted, a far cry from the doe-eyed boy he was just two minutes ago.

The leader, when König didn’t answer, abandoned you, leaving you to his lackeys.

He approached König with a walk too old for his body, a cheap imitation of intimidation.

He only came up to König’s chin.

“I said–” he poked König’s chest, punctuating each word with a demeaning splinter.

And yet, König wasn’t paying attention to him.

He was looking at you.

You, having your hair pulled and your shirt practically torn.

König’s eyes narrowed.

“What. Do. You. W–”

Everything happened so fast that König scarcely thought it happened at all.

One minute, the bully was barely chest-to-chest with him. The next, he was on the floor, wailing, clutching his nose in his hands.

König almost couldn’t look away as a thin trickle of blood seeped between the boy’s fingers, staining his hands, and the concrete, a dark red.

König’s body shook, much like that displayed in starvation. He caught a glimpse of red along his knuckles.

And then, looking up from the bully, to his dumbfounded lackeys, he found you.

The lackeys were slowly backing away from you and making their way around König, as if he were a tiger, to their leader.

“Leave (Y/N) alone.” he said to the group, his shoulders heaving with his fresh victory.

The odd few nodded, mouths agape as they watched the leader struggle to get up onto his feet.

König walked past them and, taking cautious, slow steps towards you, stopped just shy of three feet away from you.

You were still shaking, your eyes wide as you craned your neck to look up at König’s face.

König felt giddy. A bubbling feeling welling up inside his chest.

Though, something caught in his throat. Something uncharacteristic of this situation.

“Hey–” König said, coughing, clearing his throat, when his voice cracked.

His face began to heat up, and he tried again.

“Hey,” he said, quietly.

You, awe-struck, with your mouth hung open, said nothing.

“I’m (Y/N)–...wait, no…I’m– König–”

König’s stilted introduction, and the fumble he made of it, was cut short with a soft, almost invisible feeling.

You’d thrown your arms around his middle and buried your face in his chest.

He looked down at the top of your head, only your hair visible.

The warmth on his face multiplied, growing hotter by the second as the gratitude in your muffled words – your ‘thank you’s – spilled from between the fabric of his jacket.

And, that feeling from before, the one that told him to act, returned; prompted him to do that which he thought best.

He put his arms around your shoulders and held you.

Only a moment later did you look up at him, eyes reddened with tears.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said.

König smiled, his teeth crooked.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

Immediately after the incident, a swarm of students gathered where the bully lay, ultimately unable to peel himself from the floor, his lackeys too frightened to turn their back on König for even a second.

The incident was passed around the playground like folklore, and König, and yourself, never had any trouble from those bullies again.

They’d all but discredited their leader, claiming that he’d “Tripped and fallen on a rock,” and hadn’t finally gotten what was coming to him.

They could hardly say otherwise when König was staring them down with the look of hatred they’d all so mastered.

The group was disgraced, some of the boys eventually refusing to come to school altogether, transferring.

And all the while, you and König became inseparable.

That was the day you learnt what true friendship was.

Your parents came to know König very quickly, as his family came to know you.

You both walked home together every day, memorising the paths to each other’s houses “In case aliens invade and I need to find you!” as König justified his vested interest.

The first time he visited your house was like visiting another country.

You were much different at home than you were at school.

For one, you were more vibrant, more prone to voicing your opinions rather than keeping quiet.

And König found this quality to spark something in him.

The fact that he had gotten to know this side of you while no-one else had felt like an accomplishment.

Whenever you had anything to say, he was listening.

Regardless of how menial it was, how borderline unexplainable or just plain complex, König tried to make sense of it every time.

The two of you would spend every waking moment together, never apart for a second save for sleeping and the singular day of the week when your family would take you away somewhere; and even then, König was often invited to go along.

You had sleepovers as often as you could manage, exchanging stories like currency in a continent where only you and König lived.

König’s favourite to recite was Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart, which, the first time he relayed it to you, had you peeking out from beneath your bed sheets, shivering.

That night, as König tried to sleep, he heard you whisper his name in the dark.

He spared no hesitation as he answered.

“König,” you said. “Will you…” your tiny voice barely permeated the suffocating dark.

“Will you sleep next to me ?”

König froze, then, as understanding gripped him, he thawed.

He clambered out from his sleeping bag and onto your bed, unsure of where to look or what to do once he got there.

He rested his arms above the sheets and stared up into the abyssal ceiling, hearing your breathing next to him.

You shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his front.

König became a corpse.

He stiffened, his breathing stopped, and he dared not move a muscle for fear of doing something wrong.

“Thank you,” you said. König could feel your smile against the fabric of his shirt.

"Goodnight, König,” you whispered, your face buried into him as it had been the day he confronted your bullies.

Swallowing thickly, and, sliding an arm around you, König shot a reply into the darkness.

“Goognight, (Y/N).”

After that night, König began to feel…different where you were concerned.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it would hit him whenever his mind drifted back to you, which he found himself doing much more often than he already did.

Considering you were his only friend, you already occupied a good portion.

König always shelved the feeling, promising to try and make sense of it later.

Later, later.

He tested his tolerance for physical contact again one day when you were both walking home.

He’d calculated what he was going to say, to do, and, taking a deep breath, he grasped your hand in his.

His palm was sweaty, the anticipation of this action weighing on him all day.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you – to see your reaction.

His heart spasmed.

With nothing to say, to rebuke, you just smiled and squeezed König’s hand.

He felt a weight fall from his shoulders, the sky clearing, his face heating with that feeling of butterflies rather than crushing doom.

You would walk hand-in-hand everywhere you went after that.

Eventually, when all the stories you each had to offer were spent, you found another way of amusing yourselves – of remaining connected regardless of how far away the other was.

The Bestie Bible.

A scrapbook, patchwork, Frankenstein’s novel of shared memories, diary entries; testaments of the people you were.

The book would be passed between you each week; a ‘safer’ alternative to sending letters where your parents were concerned.

An encyclopaedia of your lives right at your fingertips.

You got to know things about König that not even his own family knew, details that he was too shy to tell you, causing him to write them to you instead.

Like his hopes to become a ‘protector’ when he got older.

Little did you know, he wanted to do it for you – to protect you.

That part, he kept to himself.

And vice versa, König got to learn of your life, too; everything from your second favourite colour, bands you were into at the time, your favourite foods, shows - anything.

And he’d feverishly consume your every entry, committing them to memory.

Bible verses.

Whenever he was with you, he felt as if his whole world got brighter, that he could see a clear future with you and him in it.

And that feeling would always come with you. That damned feeling.

It only strengthened the older he became, heating his cheeks and knotting his words in his mouth.

And he’d shelve it, every time.

Because his time with you was precious.

That much was innate; he just knew.

He didn’t have time to understand, only to enjoy.

You celebrated birthdays together.

Every year, without fail, König would buy you a present that remained as timeless as your friendship.

And you’d always thank him the same way; a bone-crushing hug, a squealing “Thank you!”, and a lifetime of gratitude.

That, and one birthday, you kissed his cheek, sending him bright red, making both your families point and coo and stare.

A social nightmare for König, one which you rescued him from by finding a table to hide beneath and sit with him.

You apologised. He told you that you’d done nothing wrong.

You didn’t kiss him again after that.

Which, little did you know, evoked something from within König that was stronger, more potent, poignant, than the feeling he’d felt before. Its predecessors.

At what point König stopped seeing you as just friends was clear to him, yet the shift in his behaviour was subtle enough to be a snake hidden in the grass, a knife slipped between the mattresses – the ribs.

Or, perhaps he had always been that way. Completely and unequivocally in love with you and simply unaware of it.

Or, as close to love as one as young as him could interpret his feelings to be.

But that didn’t mean he understood what he was feeling.

It was light yet strong, a great army pounding on the walls of an even greater empire. A takeover.

He’d lay in bed most nights, hands clasped over his racing heart, as he thought of you, your smile, your everything, and he’d hope beyond hope, pray beyond heaven, that this feeling would last forever.

At first, he’d condemned it, and while he continued to shelve it, he couldn’t deny the butterflies you made him feel.

The warm jitters you’d give him whenever you’d hold him.

One day, sat in the tunnel of your favourite slide, in the local park you and König had claimed as “ours”, you sat together, waiting for your mothers to pick you up. König sat close beside you, almost fused to your side.

His hands shook in his lap, his gaze drifting to yours in a similar position, just lacking the jitters.

He wished he could be calm like you, to not be plagued with the mental anguish that he was born with.

He’d rehearsed this many times the night before, speaking with himself in the mirror – the only person aside from you he felt comfortable talking with – and prepared himself.

He took a deep breath, and before he could think about what he was doing, took your hand in his.

König waited a second, then two, before looking to you and gauging your reaction.

You didn’t even flinch, instead looking back at him with a small smile.

You squeezed his hand as you had done many times before.

So why did this time feel so different?

“What’s wrong, König ?” you said, tilting your head.

Wrong wasn’t even a word when König was with you.

König stifled the urge to withdraw, to retreat to his bedroom and hide beneath the covers of his bed until the day melted away and began anew, wiping your memory of this ever having happened.

But, again, König ignored the impulse.

He breathed deeply, hoping you wouldn’t notice as he tried in vain to placate his racing heart.

“Do you–” he swallowed, looking away, into the skyline of the fading sun, a sun set, then returning to you.

“D’youwannakiss?”

It came out so fast that even König had a hard time understanding what he was saying.

Your eyebrows crumpled, and you looked down in thought.

König’s heart stopped.

Had he said something wrong ? Had he offended you?

He thought his body would just seize up and release his soul to the heavens right then and there.

You turned to face him, your previous expression dissolving.

“König, we’re twelve. We don’t know how.”

It took König a second to understand what was happening until, yes, of course, the answer came to him.

Come to think of it, he’d only just realised.

His, and your, only knowledge of what ‘kissing’ was was something that people did when they loved each other.

He knew he loved you, though he knew the love he felt for you was different from the love he felt for his parents, or other family members.

He was rather sparse on the friend front, so he had little to compare you with there.

He bit the inside of his cheek, and, thinking, found a solution.

He said nothing as he placed his forehead to yours.

You seemed confused for a minute, before you understood and applied equal force, your forehead resting against König’s.

And you stayed that way. Just you and König sat in a kaleidoscope of childhood with your heads pressed together; two halves of an arch way, one side meaningless without the other.

Act 2

Your childhoods came and went, a flambaic fanfare of hopes, dreams, and cartoons. And your teen years gave way to feelings you’d never felt before.

And throughout it all, König was at your side.

Even now as he shot up in height, you lagging behind in that same department compared to him, he would gladly bend the knee to take your hand in his.

As was the case on your first day of high school, where you and König hurried down winding, identical corridors that you could only ever have hoped to be liminal; too many people existed here for them to be so.

Eventually, you found your classroom, miraculously having an identical timetable – at least for now.

And as you sat beside each other, your knee bouncing, watching the students filter in, König squeezed your hand in his, casting you a small, quivering, nervous smile.

Your shared anxieties would continue on from this day forth, solidifying as, just as you had been in elementary, you and König seldom spoke to anyone outside your duo, having created an impenetrable wall through which nobody could enter and neither of you could leave.

Your habits from elementary continued on, too; you both completed homework together, you had sleepovers, you continued the Bestie Bible.

But something was…amiss.

This feeling, this loss of something, grew as you did, and by your early teen years, you realised what it was.

It was around every corner, at every block of lockers, leaned against them, gazing into the eyes of the most wanted.

Love.

Sure, you knew what love was, hypothetically. You could identify it on paper, sense it between two people you’d never even met. But you never felt it.

Not the kind that you observed, anyway.

Perhaps it was your young curiosity.

Perhaps it was simply a longing for something new.

But you wanted to feel what everyone else seemed to feel.

What on-screen heroes and heroines so easily attained.

And thus began your pursuit of that which would be your downfall.

Your gaze would begin to linger more on boys in your classes who you could see yourself liking.

Prospectors, you called them to König.

Your first mistake had been ever trying to like someone in the first place.

At your sleepovers, your homework and study sessions, your park wanders, you’d spill your heart to König.

Just not in the way he wanted you to.

You’d tell him of guys you thought you may, perhaps, just a little bit, be interested in.

The first time you told König, he almost laughed.

He cast you a doubtful look, only to unfurrow his brows, unhook the smiling corners of his lips when he found you to be dead serious.

That night, König went to bed with what you could characterise as indigestion of the heart.

What you’d said didn’t sit right with him. Stirred a storm in his chest.

And he hadn’t even interpreted your words correctly.

He thought you just wanted to be friends with other people.

More people.

The idea made him anxious, made his nerves light with doubt.

And he calmed himself, looking upon your Bestie Bible, reminding himself that your friendship was God, stronger than all the forces that kept the earth together.

Or so he believed.

One evening, weeks later, during one of your routine visits, König sensed a shift in you.

You were quieter, almost as if you had clouds drifting around your crown.

Over time, as your desire to experience more, do more, grew stronger, your gaze began to wander to your classmates.

One in particular.

Just some boy, really nothing objectively noteworthy about him at all, save for perhaps his kindness, his wit, and another benign personality trait you could romanticise.

Initially, you thought little of him.

But as the weeks crawled by, and you had extra time in your classes to simply retreat elsewhere, into another world, he would be there, smiling, waving.

And you would speak with him, imagine what his opinions would be, what his voice would sound like up-close.

Fleeting instances of a desire for friendship.

That’s what you thought they were.

What else could they be ?

Meanwhile, you and König still shared as much time together as you could, even when school was becoming troublesome. Difficult.

You’d study together, have sleepovers, write in your Bestie Bible and exchange it like a letter, a story almost as old as you were.

Whenever you’d fall asleep, König would watch you, unabashed and unfettered.

An identical habit to that he’d created during childhood, with a similar goal in mind; to protect you.

Though, that was not his only motivation now.

König would watch you, watch over you, and look for as long as he liked upon your sleeping features.

And, as he advanced into his later teen years, he couldn’t deny that he found you to be very attractive.

Anyone with eyes and common sense would !

He always found his heart stuttering, his breath catching, his body heating at every docile gesture you made.

Not that you knew this, of course.

He’d studied, learnt enough from watching failed couples and friendships in school to see where mistakes were made – where friendships ended due to another’s impatience. Lack of restraint.

He made sure to avoid them at all costs.

And so he fed from you as you slept, unawares, your vulnerable state further motivation for him to protect you.

From what ?

He didn’t quite know yet.

But he held an answer, and it hung in his mind, a constant.

Everything.

During your study sessions, König began to notice that your attention seemed to be elsewhere.

Let me rephrase that; he’d noticed weeks ago that you seemed taken with something, but König couldn’t tell what.

He’d studied your Bible many times over, trying to find something indicative of your newfound interest.

And yet, nothing struck him.

Nothing new, at least.

And now, sitting here with you, König grilled you. Politely, with enough characteristic fragility in his tone that made him sound endearing enough to be spared any wrath you’d think to impart on him.

“Nothing’s wrong, Köni,” you assured him, smiling.

Your words were clear, but your eyes held a dream in them, a haze which settled over them like clouds before the moon.

König’s eyebrow raised, and, with a playful lilt, pressed further.

“That’s not true,” he said. He put his pen down and rested his hands upon the table.

“Something’s occupying your mind – I can see it.” He took a shallow breath, trying to keep his mouth stretching into a smile for as long as he could.

The fact that he didn’t know what was causing you to be this way killed him.

He recognised it in you, much as he recognised it in himself.

Love.

Or the infantile beginnings of it.

And yet he knew not from what it was borne.

You shrugged him off again, smiling, returning to your work.

“Really, König, it’s nothing !” You made mindless markings on your paper. “Now come on, drop it. We have a history test tomorrow.”

That night, König couldn’t convince you to stay over.

You both knew the evening would drag on ‘til the early hours of the morn, and neither of you wanted to fail this test.

As König embraced you, his giant form eclipsing yours, he saw the back of your bag unzipped.

He knew exactly how many seconds he had until you’d pull away.

Without a sound, he slipped his hand inside and withdrew the paper you’d been scribbling on earlier.

For once, he withdrew first, though it pained him to do so.

That night, he looked upon the paper.

There was little he could decipher from the obsolete doodles and scribbles, but something did stand out to him.

A name.

Nothing more.

The name of a boy.

It was given neither ceremony, nor decoration, simply slapped onto the paper as if it belonged there.

Looking at it made bile churn in his stomach, so he folded it, tucked it away somewhere he didn’t have to think about it.

The next day, it was his turn to receive the Bible, his makeshift friend, to give a near-identical account of experiences as you.

Given how you were both attached at the hip, there was little fluctuation in your day-to-day encounters.

In all honesty, he’d hoped that whatever had been plaguing you last night would emerge in the pages of that book, somewhere between the Frankenstein’s monster pages of glitter and brightly-coloured card paper and receipts from shops that exposed a most ambitious fashion sense.

And, like an answer from God, it did.

Laying in bed, leafing through the shared history book you and König shared, he sought your latest entries.

His heart burned as he discovered them, and, enthusiasm unmatched, he consumed every word.

He’d initially suspected that perhaps you’d taken up a new hobby, was maybe, in even a miniscule capacity, planning a gift for him, what with all your secrecy and all.

But König could read you like the book in his hands, and though he wanted to believe anything that crossed his mind, he knew any answer he came up with wouldn’t be the right one.

He truly had no way of knowing what was making you tick.

And then, he saw it.

A needle in a haystack; a whimpering puppy in a darkened alleyway.

A name.

A confession.

König’s body seized, his heart palpitating, his mind beginning to burn.

His throat tightened, and his stomach clamped shut, causing an immediate sickness to shoot through every nerve in his body.

The corners of his vision darkened, as if a cloud – or the cape of a villain – had settled over him.

And for a second, König thought that this was death.

There, in your handwriting, your letters, your words, was the cause of your distractment.

‘I like someone,’ you said, and König heard your voice in his ears, his head, as if you were speaking these words to him now, tearing his heart out now. ‘A boy from our class – the one who sits at the front, with the vintage biker jacket.’

König’s mind acted of its own accord, searching every frame of memory from the beginning of your school career to now to find the perpetrator.

All the while, König’s throat stung, the antiseptic truth bleaching, purging, the hope that had grown there over the years, a feeling which had persevered above all others.

The tightness in his chest gave way to a smouldering, burning, second death, the peeling of his heart in two, acid poured into the separate halves to be drunk by you, disintegrating the cumulative joy he’d felt there. Once.

The pages of the book tore in König’s hands, his grip on the edges enough to give the impression of a seizure, or some primal, uncontrolled bodily spasm.

The searing behind his eyes gave way to tears, an onslaught that choked him, choked him as the fiery clump in his throat burst into a sob.

König threw the book aside, feeling minimal relief from having done so, instead simply discarding the cross from his Hell-skin.

It hit something, unknown damage being done.

It would not compare to the damage done to König.

His hands clawed at his chest, pounding against the skin as if to search for the stolen heart beneath.

No words could, or would, leave König, no language of anguish or despair elaborate, violent, or loud enough to express what he felt.

On his knees now, König keeled over himself, compacting his large frame to a ball, as if to disappear entirely.

His mouth hung open, moulded to The Scream’s tune of horror, saliva stringing from within and onto the sheets.

He sobbed, convulsed, the same, nerve-frying stress that turned one’s hair white crushing him.

He knew now.

He knew what that feeling was, all those years ago, as another, younger version of himself lay in the same bed he wept on now, the agony his older self was benign subject to unseen by him, merely a pin-prick in the fabric of the universe, a bout of sadness, brief and fleeting, the desire to mourn, if only for a second, yet not knowing what for.

That feeling he’d felt…

It was love.

In all her most glorious, radiant terms, what he’d felt since the beginnings of your friendship, to the tumour it had developed into now, malignant and all-consuming, was love.

König wanted to part from it. To tear its parasitic tendrils from his mind and erase it so thoroughly from the universe that none should ever know it again, not its name, nor its face. Neither its feeling.

König’s face, pressed into the sheets to stifle his cries, to block out external stimulus, was scrunched in a portrait of terror, mid-scream, mid-death.

Eternities passed. The infernal suffering encapsulating König in its current made him break out into sweats, soaked his shirt and his body.

Through the dense thicket of heartbreak, König saw a thinning of trees, a glimmer peeking between distant gaps.

He searched for it, sought it, followed it blindly – anywhere but to be here.

An idea was brewing. A dangerous one.

König fled to the treeline, tangling in the vegetation and clawing his way free, sacrificing whatever material sentimentality he had to propel himself to freedom.

Body shaking, trembling, König threw himself into the light.

He shot up from the sheets, still clutching his spectral heart in his hands, breathing heavily, panting.

The idea settled, nestled in the forefront of his mind, incubated and basking in his attention.

König’s eyes darted from one dark corner of his room to the other, only the lamp by his bedside enough to fend off the monsters.

That, and the demon which sat upon his shoulders, bringing with it a weight which did not crush König, but grounded him, anchored and committed him to the plan festering in his mind.

If I can’t have you, he said to his two selves, the spirit of his innocence watching helpless and fraying from the sidelines.

Then nobody can.

Every time you returned with your findings, of guys you thought were nice, of those whose personalities you analysed and decided would be optimum for your first relationship, König felt his blood start to simmer.

Anything to get you away from those Prospectors.

You were slipping away from him.

He knew it.

Especially when you started liking that guy.

König never bothered to learn his name – not properly. Even after he’d seen it square on your research paper like it was printed there intentionally.

And besides, it seemed to please you greatly whenever he’d get his name wrong, making you laugh.

Every night whenever you and König lay parallel, one on the floor and one on the bed depending on whose house you were staying at – since when did you stop sharing a bed…? – all you could seem to talk about was this feeling your whatever-he-was gave you.

And König listened, albeit unwillingly.

Though, even as he lay, fists clenched beneath the bed covers, his ears would prick as you relinquished something new, something palpable, taintable, to him.

Like how he drove a car, how he was an athlete, how he was tall – “Not nearly as tall as you, though, Köni~” – and how he’d be taking you to the school dance.

König felt his heart seize.

Oh no.

That wasn’t right.

Everything faded into white noise after that, König’s head burning with a thousand ways to separate you and your “crush”; how to remove him from your portrait and replace him with König.

But, having been willfully confined to the incredibly small circle that was only you and König, your social skills left… a lot to be desired. Made it easier for König to keep a closer eye on you without you flitting off to your other ‘friends’.

And whereas König never even thought about trying to alleviate his affliction, the “curing” of yours was all you ever thought about.

Each night, as you lay in bed, you dreamt of another you who was unafraid of public speaking, of private speaking. Of interacting in even the most broad or minimal of capacities.

Of talking to him.

And whenever you’d wake from those dreams, your chest puffed with the remnant confidence your alternate self gave you a sample of, it would deflate, crumble into ash the second you set foot over the threshold of the classroom.

People casting you a passing glance, the close proximity to others in a packed classroom…

It shot you straight back to square one.

And each time, you’d sit beside König, shoulders slumped, hands clasped in your lap, eyes devoid of any semblance of hope.

König wasn’t an idiot; he knew what that look was.

He’d encountered it many times in his youth before he’d grown comfortable with the uncomfortable; laid to rest his desire to remove the enemy and instead just live with it – anything for an easy life.

But with you…it was different.

He could tell.

And as he watched your mind become filled with calculus and angles and the dates of histories that barely sounded factual, something, a wicked little thought, crossed his mind.

You were going to be difficult to break.

The idea cracked in his mind’s eye, a flash of lightning against the clouds.

It shocked him, made his heart stammer.

He wondered where it had come from, and he glanced over his shoulder, as if to find the person who had put it there.

When the blazing cold panic fizzled out, calmed and quelled, he gave a glance to the thought, which hovered just out of reach; a legendary sword – antagonist – with not enough room in the inventory to keep.

And so König cast it into the Memory Pit, to die and to fade, while he returned to the lesson.

But it never left him.

It clung to the sharpened cliff edge, giving way to a bottomless pit.

The wright remained the day after. And the day after that, and the day after that.

Weeks passed, and König continued as normal.

Normal to you, at least.

He had another set of eyes now, up above him, behind him, wherever he needed them.

His intuition sharpened, a cat in all but disposition, as he discerned the most miniscule of gestures in the most benign of people.

All excluding you, of course.

Knowing what he did now, König could see what you were thinking and when, especially whenever your attention turned to the boy at the front of the class with the decrepit cyclist’s jacket.

One time, you’d actually gone up and spoken to him, coincidentally on the one day König was off school ill.

Beginning a dark descent into something you couldn’t even fathom as of yet.

A ‘secret’ friendship that, when you’d tell König of it, excited and overjoyed at your progress, his face soured, his mood darkening.

And yet his demeanour remained unchanged.

König had pretended not to have seen your entry, pretended not to have actually had the book at all, but to suggest that someone may have stolen it, or that it had been thrown out when his parents were cleaning his room.

You found it difficult to believe, but what other alternative was there?

Trust your best friend or the possibility of pure, freak chance?

You chose the latter.

König neve let you out of his sight for a second.

Whereas he could trust you before, to handle yourself, to be loyal to his friendship, he could no longer.

Even when you were separated by timetable differences, he still had eyes on you.

A well-timed bathroom break, the revelation that he’d left his textbook in his locker – anything to slip out of his classroom and glide past yours, his eyes on you all the while.

Even if you’d caught him, you’d have assumed he was simply being humorous, as all friends were, or, again, pure chance.

He’d work harder than all other students, earn the teachers’ praise and trust, all to worm his way out the classroom a few minutes early to ensure he could pick you up from your class whenever you were separated.

In the corridors together, König would watch your line of sight carefully.

He’d see who you were looking at, who was looking at you.

Luckily, he never had to do much to deter others from interacting with you.

His rapidly growing height did that for him.

By his mid-teens, König towered above everyone else, giving an unsuspecting you scary dog privileges, and giving everyone else a heart attack when they caught sight of the well-dressed Austrian constantly at your side.

Given his stature, König could cast rotten looks to those who seemed even marginally interested in you, completely unbeknownst to you.

And besides, you wouldn’t believe anyone who told you as much.

König, the shy, quiet, socially anxious boy shooting daggers at another student ? Preposterous !

With this crush of yours, König already had enough to deal with. He wasn’t about to relinquish you to the throws of another person’s friendship as you seemed to already have done with your heart.

The one person König could never seem to do away with was your crush.

He truly was fearless. Or arrogant. Or braindead.

Not that you knew, but König would catch his eye in the hallways, see him stare at you for a moment before the reaper beside you caught his eye.

He looked away, and König hoped that was the end of it.

It was not.

The boy would look at you again.

A feat not yet coined by any.

Except for him.

König knew he was losing you.

Or, losing what part of you was meant to be his.

And so he brought you to where you’d frequent as children, where you scarcely came to now ever since life had become so much more complicated.

The playground was desolate and empty, void of distractions save for the equipment – rides – which seemed too small for you now.

That didn’t stop you from trying to squeeze down the straw-thin slide, though, or into the seats of the roundabout.

König only watched, knowing he wouldn’t even have a chance of fitting like you would.

His palms were sweating, the script he’d rehearsed laying in some crevice in his room, ink smudged with anxiety and sweat.

König clambered up onto a climbing frame, the one which you had occupied when you ‘kissed’ for the first time.

The memory warmed König’s cheeks. But he couldn’t lose focus now.

He called you over, his voice deeper than it had been then, all those years ago.

And you came, bounding over to him, a labrador or a kitten.

You clambered the frame and came to sit with him.

He offered you his hand. Wordless. Intentionless.

(Or so he would seem).

And, wordless, equally intentionless, you faltered, just for a moment, then took it.

He pulled you into the tunnel, the tube wide enough to support König’s staggering height.

Comfort wasn’t the goal here; not for him, at least.

You fit perfectly, a perfect, perfect, perfect specimen as ever in König’s eyes.

That word reverberated in König’s soul, the only sublime measure capable of describing you in your purest form.

Now, hand-in, hand, you and König sat in silence.

Geese called somewhere in the distance, flying through the sunset gates in the sky to a land unknown, collecting passengers on their non-stop express to salvation.

The wind blew the trees as night began its slow descent, ink hands reaching down from the top of the canvas to transform this half of the world into its playground.

Much like the one you and König inhabited.

König looked down at your conjoined hands.

He ran his thumb across the back of yours, your knuckles.

He saw – felt – you wince, flinch. The beginnings of doubt, of retreat.

He knew he had to be quick.

The crippling anxiety that had shadowed from childhood sat with you in that tube now, your Venus, your evil twin.

It was you, who spat at him, at his attempts, and fed him tales of rejection and deceit, of your loyalty to that boy instead of him.

And yet here you sat, eyes wide as ever, curious and ambient, an ocean of possibilities.

The demon on König’s shoulders growled, its claws taking König’s heart in its clutches, knives to your feather-touch, and squeezed it.

König gave a cavernous, inward sigh and returned to you.

It’s now or never.

“(Y/N),” he said, timid, lamb.

He tried looking into your eyes. Peering into them as if they were the future.

You leaned in, swearing you could hear his voice twice.

One which spoke the truth, one which spoke a darker truth.

You listened for your friend’s tone.

“Yes, Köni ?”

God, that nickname.

As old as König himself.

Stay focused.

König swallowed. His throat prickled.

An oncoming sickness. A nestled affliction.

Lovesick.

“Do you remember…when we were kids – and we…”

He faltered. His gaze dropped.

Keep going !

He cleared his throat again.

Your hand lay limp in his.

”And we…we did that…thing?”

Your head tilted and your gaze flew to the sky in remembrance.

Your nose scrunched.

“König…that doesn’t particularly narrow it down,” you laughed, returning from the Heavens to him once again

König swallowed, thickly. He gave a wavering chuckle that barely reached his chest.

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right.”

With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, only to mortify himself when he found sweat collating there. Colony.

He slapped it back down on his thigh, desperately, discreetly, trying to wipe the sweat off.

He returned. Head above water, bobbing.

“I– what I’m trying to say…is…”

He shuffled closer. You mirrored him, ear-first, trying to catch his words, butterflies in a net.

“What I want to say is…”

He looked at you, dead in the eyes.

He was partially hunched, giving his tilted face a menacing, sharp look.

It almost took you aback.

His free hand, puppeteered by his demon, snaked past your body, fingers crocheting through your strands. Fusing you to him.

Your breath hitched, your guard defiled, as he placed his hand firmly there, the cold tips harsh against the warmth of your scalp.

“König–” you said, as if trying to identify the person in front of you.

König – or what he was now – didn’t listen.

He pulled your head closer, braced your hand in his.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your nerves beginning to spark with…something.

You didn’t know what it was, but you knew you’d never felt it with König before.

You couldn’t place it, tried as you may.

It was only when König’s forehead kissed yours, his skin scorching, his eyes puppy-like and pure, that you found the answer.

It was the same feeling you felt for the boy with the vintage biker jacket.

You felt frozen, breath stilted, thinned with revelation.

And, with your forehead to König’s, a mirror image of the past, you were flooded with an ocean and all its creatures.

Confusion, apprehension, affection, and…disgust.

You’d never viewed König like that, not once.

And even now, it made you uncomfortable to feel this way.

And so, with the vigour of one escaping a trap, your eyes squeezed shut and tore yourself away, past König’s grip, his hold, and landing a foot or two away.

The umbilical cord, his hand in yours, was cut.

Your body felt cold, a phantom gust of wind prickling the skin, your heart.

König looked at you with wide eyes, pleading eyes, and a hole in his chest.

You looked upon each other, trying to find an answer, trying to see what the other would do.

Swallowing, breathing uneven, you crawled out from the tunnel, not looking back at König as he all but whimpered in your absence, eyes stinging, throat singing. A familiar condition settled upon him.

A paroxysm of his loving sickness, seeping deeper into his veins when you’d done your part in trying to uproot them.

Neither of you spoke about the incident after that.

It took a week of wavering smiles and faltering waves, of a wince or a jump when one of you spoke to the other, for you to eventually put it behind you.

Even with your minimal experience in Romantics, you knew something about the way König held you was different from every time before.

Or, maybe, you had only just awoken to the fact that such intent lay in all his actions towards you.

You tried not to think about it.

And besides, it made no sense to.

Since your crush had asked you to the school dance !

You’d made an effort to conceal that information from König, but he was fluent in the language that was you, and all its most obscure dialects.

You knew he’d figure it out sooner or later, whether you told him or some Rogue of Fate did.

But you wanted to live in this bubble of possibility for a bit longer.

Sure, you didn’t know your crush to a degree that you could call him as close a friends as König, but you’d done something to make him want you.

Your heart soared, chest swelled, the pit of pride held within.

And you waited.

And waited.

Your face grew sourer over time, the dripping of wax work, as realisation crossed your mind.

You didn’t want it.

This ivy – creeping – dread lacing around your heart, chains.

You felt your eyes kindle the embers of tears, your shoulders lowering yet remaining rigid, deflating.

And you jumped as a hand found your shoulder.

You knew who it was.

You could feel his fingerprints against your skin. Distinct as he was.

You turned, a sliver of relief finding you, nesting between the cracks in your chest as you set your eyes upon him.

He wore a dark suit, altered in the sleeves and legs to accommodate his height.

He’d gelled his hair to appear as one would in a romance film. At least, that was what you thought.

The very incarnation of a classic heartthrob.

Just for a second did your mind dare to tell you that this situation would not have happened if König had taken you to the dance.

The thought left you as you faced him fully, your hand coming atop his.

You squeezed it.

“Here all by your lonesome?” König said, voice low, a hint of humour within it, just short of malice.

You nodded. Dropped your head.

You went to talk, to say whatever came to your mind, when your voice gave way to tears.

König didn’t even flinch, even as your grip on his hand tightened.

Instead, he offered himself to you, bringing you close to him by your waist and holding you to his shoulder.

Bystanders would give a glance and König would give them death in a stare, and they quickly turned away.

The material of König’s jacket felt lavish, a far cry from the polyester of the other boys’ outfits.

You couldn’t place it. Not as your head panged with an oncoming headache and your heart burst with a reddening ocean, fire beginning to spark at the edges, boiling it.

You couldn’t help but go over every interaction you’d ever had with your crush, analysing it, scanning it, identifying any and every discrepancy that could have caused him to leave you this night.

And each time, your heart was heir to the shocks and bolts of despair, a palpable, gaseous substance that burned each time you inhaled, each time you thought

And as he held you, felt you shudder, quiver, into his shoulder the weight of your rejection bearing down on you, a far greater weight rested on his.

His demon sat there, smiling, grinning, the ghost of god.

He already had you flush against him, two cards packed tightly into the same pack.

“What’s wrong, Engel?” he said, softly, quietly. He rubbed your back, squeezed you.

“I am certain that whatever has you so upset is not worth your tears.”

And that just made you want to cry more.

The fact that König always knew what to say and when made the doubt from before – the regret – materialise.

König wouldn’t have done this to you. He wouldn’t have even thought about it.

“Come now, (Y/N),” he moved, his hand on your shoulder trailing the length of your arm and taking your hand.

You made no attempt to move.

He sighed, though you knew it was not of frustration. It was…something else.

König went still, then, his arm from your waist disappeared.

You nuzzled closer, an unconscious practice, as cold air hit your back.

“Listen !” he said, enthusiasm uncharacteristic of this situation laced in his tone.

You risked a glance, sniffing as you looked up at König.

He had a hand cupped over his ear, a makeshift megaphone. His gaze was occupied elsewhere, over your head.

“Do you hear that ?” he said.

Your chest stuttered with the remnants of your upset, and you strained to cease, to hear.

Music drifted over the sound of both idle and excited chatter, of the hazy, dusty, dusky layer of first love that had encompassed all.

All except you, it seemed.

You nodded into König’s chest, giving a cracked hum.

He finally looked down at you, both hands coming to yours.

He held them. Squeezed them once.

“It would be a waste for this song to go unremembered,” he said.

You gave a smile, strong as you could, yet it still turned out watery. Incomplete.

Something about König was…different.

You couldn’t quite tell what it was, but you knew you’d never seen it before.

His vehement denial of attending events such as these in the past had led you to the assumption he’d have stayed well away.

Now, you were glad he hadn’t.

Still, the prospect of König even existing in a roomful of people, nevermind being watched by them, stunned you to the extent that you were sure it usually would have König.

You gave a short nod, and offering you his arm, you rested your hand upon it.

That night, König kept you close to him, sheltering you from everything.

When you were at your lowest, he brought you cake and a drink, watched over you as you tried to make sense of it all.

Then, he encouraged you, slowly, softly, to dance a few steps with him.

It started with him taking your hand and pulling you, like rope, up from your chair.

You resisted, initially, terribly invested in the comfort and protection of the corner you’d both taken up.

You felt as if everyone else knew of your predicament – like they were aware of your suffering.

Were somehow party and privy to it.

It took König’s reassurances, his placating tone as he promised he’d “Let nothing happen to you,” and “you’re safe with me, Little One,”

And, on your knees, with nothing else filling your head save for the crushing defeat of a love you hadn’t even had chance to know, König was your only salvation.

At first, dancing was the last thing you wanted to do – especially when it was what you were planning on doing with the person who had ripped your confidence out.

Other couples melted into the atmosphere, the ambience, becoming the backdrop to this milestone in your life, making the experience feel somewhat…less lonesome.

That, and the gentle grasp König had on you.

He was particularly agile as he kept you both in time with the music, setting a gliding rhythm and spinning you in his arms.

Initially, he was slow, despite the upbeat music not permitting such.

It shocked you how little König cared about the million ways he himself would have identified his actions as making him ‘stick out like a sore thumb’.

And yet, his confidence reassured you.

Created a buffer between you and the rest of the world.

Though the sting of rejection followed you from each scene of this tragedy, its bite dulled, grained and blunted by the sheets of film placed over it, filled instead with the growing phantom of König, and you.

Little did you know that, inside, König was dying.

This place, this event, was a composite of all his worst nightmares, you being stolen from him included.

But, he knew that if he were not to face his demons – at least the ones that held him back – tonight, he’d lose you forever.

A sacrifice he’d make any day.

He only hoped you wouldn’t hear the clattering of his heart, feel it amid the plush layers of his suit.

Amidst the streamers and music and sticky scent of perfume and the slice of cologne filling the air made your mind hazy.

The music slowed the deeper into the night it became.

You swayed with König, your head against his shoulder, eyes shut. A glint of the dimming, pink lights reflecting against the disco ball pierced your eyelid, making you squeeze your eyes tightly, rub your face into the confines of König’s jacket.

He resisted the urge to let out a yell of victory.

The evening was drawing to a close, and König knew that, now, he had you.

Both mentally and physically.

He knew how untrusting you’d be towards your crush if you ever saw him again – if he ever dared to exist near you again.

And he knew how likely you were to take things like this – no matter how minimal the inconvenience – to heart.

König rested his chin atop your head. And, when you didn’t move, not one muscle, he relaxed onto you.

His mind and body had been a firework of nerves all day, waiting for even a second of doubt to cross your eyes, or your crush to come staggering out of the bin König had hidden him in.

But, here he was, the person he loved most in all the world with him and him alone.

Yet, despite his victory, he knew he couldn’t have you fully.

Not yet.

While no longer children, you both still had a considerable amount of time to change your minds, your mindsets, and so acting now while your life would be at its most volatile would be a wasted opportunity. A dangerous opportunity.

No, König knew when he had to act.

For now, he would abstain, take to your hand holding and secret sharing and forehead kissing until, one day, your eyes would open as his were, see the world with him as he did with you.

Pink. Rose-tinted as the very hall you occupied.

Act 3

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

If anything, it grew more palpable, yet not stronger.

It was already at its most imposing height, its final form, as König thought it.

The demon on his shoulders had retired to the corners of his mind since Prom night, surveilling everyone and everything that it thought a threat to your relationship with König.

And all the while, König kept it concealed from you.

You both ended up moving within close proximity to each other, though, given his occupation (which you’d vehemently warned and even denied him of doing) kept him away for many months of the year.

Resultingly, König could think of no-one better to guard his house and all its worldly possessions than you.

“What’s mine is yours,” he told you, handing you your very own set of keys.

“So you’ll see no point in stealing my shirts again.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! I was cold and it was just there !”

“Just say you missed me and save us both the effort.”

But seriously though, König almost died the first time he saw you in one of his shirts.

He leaves them strewn about in easy-to-reach places in the hopes that, one evening, he’ll come home and see you bundled up on the sofa, wrapped in one.

He gets a little frisky when he sees you in them.

First time, he thought you were adorable, pint-sized in his clothing.

And then, once the initial shock had worn off, his mind began to wander to…places.

He himself was rather taken aback by the ferocity of these fantasies, now breaking through the surface of his dignity to plague him.

He knows you have a preference for one of his hoodies, and he’s seen you wear it enough times to know that your birthday present this year was going to be very easy to choose.

He could have wept for the joy that spread across your face when he gifted you the hoodie, watching you wriggle into it before the wrapping paper had chance to fall to the ground.

He had to excuse himself to the bathroom soon after, though.

You honestly spent as much time at König’s as you did at your own home.

Watering his plants, dusting the shelves, cleaning before he returned home; König found it all to be quite domestic.

Especially whenever he was ill and you were always there to make him feel better.

Like one time, when he was hit with a particularly bad cold, and was bed-ridden for three days.

You came and cared for him, cooked for him, catered to his every need with neither hesitation, nor complaint.

During his delirium, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you around like this all the time – to have you as his housespouse.

The thought, to König’s heavy, weary head, was particularly appealing, nigh euphoric, and when he slept he dreamt of you, serving him as you did now.

And he’d return the favour, of course.

It was in times like these that König’s mind began to…degrade, one might say.

More so than it already was.

Whether it was delusion or a sheer desire to have you, König began to try and make these scenarios a reality.

Make no mistake, he’d had similar ideas when he was younger, but now he had both the means and the time to actually do it.

And König’s mind had no qualms with exploring the darker avenues of this possibility, of the methods of how to enact it.

In the meantime, he was perfectly content with keeping you close to him while you watched films together, your head on his chest, arms wrapped around him.

“My big bear,” you called him.

And a bear to most, he was.

Ferocious and positively massive, his mere presence was enough to frighten off potential suitors.

And friends.

That, coupled with his often silent exterior made for a terrifying experience to all that were not you or the handful of allies König had.

Often, you’d call him whenever you were frightened, or anxious.

Especially if you were out in the evening.

Not that König ever left you during those hours; regardless of the time of night or day, he’d accompany you anywhere and everywhere, your shadow.

But, on the rare occasion he was kept away, you’d call him, ask him to talk to you, keep you grounded.

One evening, you’d made the mistake of not telling König you were leaving to go out, and when he woke up at some odd hour of the night to find you gone, his first, soldier instinct was to panic.

He swept the house, found you nowhere, and began calling your phone so many times it very well could have exploded.

And when you answered, voice laced with sleep and heavy without judgement, König had to resist the urge to cry out in relief.

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“Corner shop. Had to get some snacks.”

Had he not still been coming down from the panic high, König would have considered being angry.

“All right, just stay there. Don’t leave the store until I find you.”

“How do you even know which store—”

Needless to say, König was not best pleased to find you practically putting your life on the line for a bagful of crisps, a chocolate bar and…a toy fish?

“Impulse buy,” you told him.

König sighed.

“Next time, try not to act on your impulses so quickly.”

Like me, the voice told himself.

Your hand was shackled in his for the duration of the walk home.

And the whole night as you slept together.

Though, despite your blatant lac of self-awareness or judgement, König couldn’t help hut find you endearing.

The chocolate in your bag was his favourite brand, one which you couldn’t stand.

You’d gone out to do it for him.

He pulled you into his chest, practically purring as you nuzzled into his chest, enveloped completely by him.

“I’ll always protect you, Y/N,” he said, running a hand through your hair. “I promise.”

Even during those moments where you were at your most intimate, regardless of how innocent your intent.

The first instance of this, a most shocking development, occurred when you and König had visited the beach.

It was a few months before his deployment to a far-away military base to train.

The two of you, as was to be expected, wore swimsuits.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was only when you’d shed your thin jacket that König was affected.

His gaze fixed on you, unable to be torn away as he took in the silhouette of your body.

He’d never had an innate desire to see you partially, or fully undressed, even when he was at his most hormonal.

His love and appreciation for you had been based purely on you, your demeanour, your personality.

So to now see you having shed your fledgling body in return for one that was more mature, more defined, König couldn’t take it.

Sure, he’d seen people scantily clad before, though that was in magazines and shopping catalogues and movies that never quite took his fancy.

Not real life.

And they had never been you.

König felt a familiar tightness forming in his swim shorts.

He swallowed thickly, the sun suddenly too hot, the sand suddenly too sharp.

And then, you had to bring him closer to ruin.

“Köni,” you called, melodic, a tune König would fall for every time.

“Would you help put this sunscreen on my back?”

This was all moving so fast.

Sure, he’d had thoughts of being intimate with you before, but they’d only been thoughts, hallucinations, even.

And he knew they weren’t real, weren’t palpable.

Unlike this.

Hesitantly, fearing his secret would become apparent to you, he sat beside you, legs clasped together as he tried desperately to keep you oblivious to the growing issue.

He’d lathered the cream between his waiting hands, and his breath shuttering, placed them upon your skin.

You were soft. Tiny in König’s giant hands.

He’d have cursed his genetics for making him so adept at this practice – for making it pass too quickly – was he not fighting every moral and ethic he had yet to break.

You purred as his hands slid from the to the bottom of your back, your unintentional mewls destroying König’s resolve.

His hands dipped, slowly, fractionally, down your sides, close to your front, your chest.

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But he knew not to risk it.

Abstain. Abstain, the voice told him.

He resisted, took in your body feverishly one last time before he got up, finished, his hulking figure blocking out the sunlight.

“Be right back,” he’d told you.

And off he sped to the nearest bathroom, where, whimpering into the jacket he’d balled over his fist and put to his mouth, he apologised over and over to you, his toes curling as he brought himself to a reluctant conclusion.

He returned soon, just as he’d said.

You smiled back at him from your shallow edge of the ocean, waving him over.

He declined, instead hiding beneath the shade of the umbrella.

He was still sensitive between his legs, as was his mind.

He wouldn’t risk compromising himself again. Not when he was so close to having you.

Or so he thought.

After that first encounter with his own beasteous appetite for you to a more…carnal degree, König had begun to indulge in some personal delights.

AKA, stealing your underwear and using it to get off during his long trips away.

And, whenever he stayed over, he’d take his opportunity to rifle through your drawers, gather intel (as he was so trained), see what new clothes you’d bought (why – and who for?).

You and König took to sharing a bed again.

Perhaps it was the false assurance of maturity that stopped you from realising – from seeing – how König felt about you.

Whenever he would come and pay you a visit, the afternoons would transform from a dusk-ridden sky to a languid black wine speckled with the universe’s offspring.

And there you and König would be, in bed together, talking for what would always be hours about anything and everything.

Much like that time in the tunnel, neither of you spoke of your time at the dance, though rather for you it was a source of hurt, whereas König, proof of conquest.

Regardless, you’d both matured, left school, and had pursued your own paths.

All while remaining as close as you had since childhood.

König’s decision to join the military had been one you’d discussed at length.

Or rather, you’d tried to convince him of staying.

He won that particular argument.

Not that he’d have let you stay mad at him, anyway.

“I can handle myself extraordinarily well, mein Maus.”

Your eyebrow quirks up.

“König, I’ve never seen you hurt a fly, nevermind a person.”

His stomach dropped when he remembered that you didn’t know about his…altercation with the boy who almost stole you from him all those years ago.

And the odd few he’d instigated whenever a potential suitor walked onto the scene.

He gets called away on business a lot, so you find other ways of communicating.

He’s not permitted to use a mobile phone since it serves as both a distraction and a vehicle for tracking, and the last thing König would do is put you in harm’s way.

Instead, you send each other letters, from addresses different to your true ones, of course.

You often send him books you know he’ll like, going through and annotating all the parts you found funny, sad, or profound.

And there was always a heartfelt note trapped within the pages, pinned to the paper in ink.

He has a limited edition copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart and a body of his other works that he keeps hidden beneath his bed.

‘Limited edition’ because you’d gone out of your way to print out each page of the book when you were just children, unable to purchase the book for both a lack of personal finances and not wanting to get König into trouble for reading such dark material.

Perhaps that had been some precursor to what your lives would become – a foreshadow over you.

The copy König had was worn, despite his best efforts to preserve it.

Dog-eared corners, blunted edges and yellowed, softened paper.

Some of the ink had scratches through the letters, faded.

And between those pages, a picture of you was held.

Each night, König would hold that photograph between his fingers, sometimes quivering with adrenaline, other times numb with the same affliction.

And, without fail, your visage brought him to sleep, to slumber, to a recreation of your domestic future that played behind his eyelids.

Your letters kept him more than excited, too.

When he’d be gone for months at a time, you’d update him on your life occurrences; birthdays, anecdotes, work complications; König lived for it all.

All, except, for one sliver of news which you’d so foolishly told König.

And, as he held your letter between his clenching, grasping, white-knuckled hands, his teeth gritted, his eyes going wide, breath billowing from his nose like steam.

You’d started to fancy someone at work.

König did something he’d never done with your letters before.

He crumpled it between his fingers, his every nerve ablaze with the need to do something, to intervene.

König knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he didn’t care.

This was different from Prom; he couldn’t reach you here.

That day, König’s kill count far exceeded that of his peers, many bodies ravaged with enough stab wounds to think them sacrifices for some angry god.

His teammates seemed a little reluctant to cooperate with him this time round, and steered clear of him for the duration of the mission.

Days later, König was home.

His fury remained with him, that demon he’d harboured for so many years now emerging from the corners of his personality.

But he knew to conceal it from you – knew how to.

He arrived at your doorstep before he’d even gone home yet.

To him, you were his home.

And as you invited him inside, his mask no longer an instigator of fright to you but of your best friend, your soulmate in another life.

König took little time to settle in your living room, putting his overnight bag somewhere, all the while his mind still rubbed raw with the mission.

And you.

Seeing as he’d been gone for some months, he knew he’d need to be attentive to the way you spoke of this new ‘crush’ of yours.

I’ll crush him, all right, he said to himself.

He couldn’t be sure how serious you were about him.

How deep a threat he was.

You’d cooked König’s favourite in anticipation of his arrival, having developed something of a sixth sense when it came to his making an appearance.

And as you brought him his fresh, spare clothes from your wardrobe, König couldn’t help but let a comment slip.

“We’re like an old married couple,” he said, stitching a laugh between his words to give the illusion of jest. Of humour.

An easy deflection tactic.

You gave no indication of rejection.

No idea of disgust.

You only laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, placing König’s meal down in front of him.

“I suppose we do.”

And, as you went to pull away, König took your wrist, gently, in his hand.

He dwarfed you in every aspect, and this was no different.

But something that was different that you’d picked up was his stare.

It was deep, almost half-lidded in its demeanour.

König’s hand slipped from your wrist into yor hand, holding it, gently, like porcelain.

You squeezed his fingers.

“Something wrong, König ?” you asked, turning to give him your full attention.

He paused for a moment, then two, then three.

“No.” he said, final and certain. He let you go.

“Nothing at all.”

König began showing up to your work.

Since you stayed at each other’s houses as much as you did as children, König found it almost frighteningly easy to make you blunder.

He’d take your lunch out the fridge and hide it, only to deny ever having seen it when you searched for it in the morning.

Later that same day, König would come and pay you a visit, dropping off your lunch, claiming it to have “been in the back of the fridge. Must’ve missed it, Silly,” and he’d give you a smile.

The first few times, he’d treated your artificial oblivion to your surroundings as ‘cute’, ‘endearing’.

Then, when you began ‘misplacing’ your keys, your phone, everyday essentials, König would shoot you a concerned look.

“(Y/N), Sweetie–” he’d look in the cupboards with you, a look of concern laced into his features.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right ? You’ve been losing track of your things for quite a while now.”

At first, you could only give him quick reassurances before rushing off to work.

Rushing off to see him.

And König would remain.

Searching the house not for your lost items, but for those he could hide next.

You’d never find them again.

You’d have to get copies of your keys, a new phone – replace all the contacts you lost,

And even then, König made sure you’d have to work for the ones he didn’t want you to have.

Like His.

Eventually, three months into this plan, this scheme, König made a proposition.

He sat you down at his dining table, his hand atop yours, holding it.

He appeared genuine.

True.

“(Y/N),” he said, almost exasperatedly.

“I’m…concerned about you.”

He gave you a second to consider what he was saying, wanting to give you the illusion of verbal freedom.

When you only nodded eyebrows knitted together in mirrored concern, he inhaled deeply.

“And, considering how…” he pretended to rummage around in his mind for the right word. “Forgetful you’ve been recently…” he watched you. Tried to gauge your reaction. Something flickered behind your eyes.

Annoyance.

König began to tread carefully.

“I thought that, perhaps, just for a week or so, you could try…living here.”

He waited in silence, for your confirmation.

Or denial.

You sniffed, rubbed your eye, and settled your weary head into your hand.

König pushed further.

“Unless…” he cast his gaze down, to the oak table.

“You don’t think I’d be able to care for you.”

At that, your eyes widened, and you clasped König’s hand between yours.

Desperate.

“Oh, no, Köni !” You exclaimed. “I-I can think of no-one better to look after me than you !”

König cast you a doubtful look.

“But…?”

You swallowed.

“But…” you retracted. König had to resist the need to pull you back into his arms.

“But you’re just so busy. I don’t know if… I’d just be a burden to you.”

König almost let out a snort.

“A burden ?” he said, leaning back in his chair, as if taking an arrow of offence straight to the heart.

“My dear, you would never be a burden to me.”

He leaned in, took your hands in his again.

His voice lowered. Soft. The flight of a bird across the ocean’s face.

“Ever.”

You looked up from your lap.

Your eyes were glassed. Doll-ish.

You sniffed. Sniffed again.

A tear fell onto the hoodie you wore. The one König gifted you.

“Okay.” You relented.

The shark tore the bird from its glide, dragging its corpse into the abyss.

König squoze your hands.

“You won’t regret it,” he assured you.

You were his prisoner from then on.

You just didn’t know it yet.

König left on official business not long after you moved in.

You still had you other apartment, but the way König spoke of it, using ‘was’, ‘were’ and ‘used to be’, gave the impression that it was off-limits to you now.

Lost.

You were allowed time off work after explaining your predicament to your boss.

She was supportive, told you to take as much time off as you needed.

As you bade König a farewell at the door, something about him felt…different.

You could feel it in the way he gripped you, pulled you up to him, his arms around your waist, hanging lower than usual.

His breath hot against your neck, the phantom brush of his lips against your most sensitive part.

And when you withdrew, König imparted only a sliver of advice to you.

“Don’t go into the basement.”

The look on your face implored ‘why?’, yet your lips did not.

König set your mind at ease regardless.

“There’s a bit of damp down there. Don’t want you getting sick–” He looked at you, smiling. “–er.”

And he bore himself into the night, shedding König and becoming a killer.

That night, when the TV had little to offer in the way of entertainment, and your phone offered little incentive to play games or socialise, your mind began to wander.

Through meniality, then obscurity.

You thought about your old home, and everything in it you loved.

Your heart ached for it, for everything you’d left behind there.

I’m sure König wouldn’t mind if I…just had a little time at home.

You consorted with your mental audience.

After all, he’s going to be gone for at least a few weeks.

Standing from the sofa, legs wobbling with inactivity, you hunted for your keys.

König kept his on a hook by the door.

But when you checked it, yours were nowhere to be found.

You searched your shared bedroom, the drawer.

You found something…peculiar.

You lifted a pair of underwear from within that you swore you’d lost months ago – before you’d ever moved in with König.

Perhaps I’m mistaken, you thought.

Rationalised.

I probably just packed these without thinking. Found them in the wash bin and threw them into a suitcase.

And you continued your search.

Soon, however, you were beginning to run out of rooms, and you were growing restless.

The longer you were forced to abstain from the outside world, the more ants felt like they were crawling under your skin

Eventually, despite König’s warning, you had no choice but to descend into the basement.

And you did so.

Quietly.

The feeling of having König over your shoulder didn’t leave with him.

Not this time.

And, as you clambered the newly-cleaned stairs down, you saw a dim light peeking out from beneath the door frame.

You reached for the handle, breath bated with the hope of discovery.

Your keys had to be here, right ?

Reaching for the handle, you opened the door.

And everything stopped.

For a second, you didn’t believe what you were seeing.

The source of the light had been candles.

Many, many candles, varying shades of your favourite colours, blended into a macabre rainbow over a horrifyingly familiar artifact you’d assumed had been lost to time.

The Bestie Bible.

Mounted on a makeshift pillar and aged with childlike handling, though it was noticeably pristine.

Stepping back, you hit something.

A wall that hadn’t been there before.

You gasped, turning on your heel.

A man stood before you, but it wasn’t König.

It couldn’t be.

Though identical in build, in height, and in the way he stood, this veiled man was not your König.

At least, not the König you’d grown up with.

He took a step forwards. You scrambled back.

Ending...

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist

Masterpost

#mw2 #mw2 x reader #mw2 x you #yandere mw2 #yandere mw2 x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig modern warfare #konig x you #konig x y/n #konig x yn #yandere konig #yandere konig x reader #yandere könig #konig headcanons #mw2 headcanons #yandere

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ungrateful-cyborg-moved · 7 months

Text

FFXIV Forum

Fuck it, let's try again.

Some time ago I created a forum that didn't stay lively for very long, unfortunately, but I don't want to give up on it as I think forums offer something that no other tool for online community can offer: an actual community that doesn't rely on everyone acting like their own PR/marketing team.

So here it is, in case anyone's interested:

What does it have to offer?

A place to meet artists and roleplayers from the FFXIV fandom, where you won't be assailed by notifications like a Discord server, that's LGBTQ-friendly and won't ask you to post all the time to remain visible (contrary to social media).

What you'll find:

RP sections for your RP threads, easier to manage than on Tumblr, and without the pressure of being seen online on Discord because you wanted to talk to your friends but aren't in the mood for RP

A place to get help to create your character or write an NPC, if you're feeling insecure and want to try your hand at writing/roleplaying

Galleries for your writing, fanarts, screenshots, irl craft, etc. where you don't have to worry about peak hours to be seen

Forums where you can gush about your own characters and get asked questions: no need to have a big following anymore!

A place where you can discuss the lore and share your meta analysis to your heart content

A place to organize your own in-game event and promote it, once again without needing to build a big enough following for it to be noticed!

Yes, there's a NSFW section (that you have to ask to get access to). Forumactif—the host—is not in favor of this, however, so if Etheirys has enough success I might consider hosting it myself (but I'm not rich so we'll start with the free alternative for now and just keep it on the low XD)

And more!

I am taking suggestions to improve it and I'll gladly help you and answer your questions if you're not familiar with forums (or this sort of forums, anyways).

For those who don't know me or find me intimidating to talk to (I know it has happened) I've been leading communities big and small for about 18 years now, and I've always put a big emphasis on fairness, communication and patience.

(Please reblog so more people can see this!)

#FFXIV #FFXIV Forum #Etheirys #FFXIV rp #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv oc #ffxiv wol #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv gpose

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bowtiepastabitch · 13 days

Text

Here's the deal on the Good Omens limbo situation. My optimistic and analytic two cents, if you will.

If we look at this through a capitalistic lens, the chances of the show being cancelled are pretty slim at the moment. Think for a moment about the top three amazon prime originals that you pay/keep the platform for. Can you think of three? I honestly can't, not off the top of my head. I know I'm not really the target audience for streaming services, since I don't watch a lot of new shows, but still. I can name plenty of netflix shows I like/might watch. That's why Netflix can cancel anything and everything so easy. They don't have just one or two fandom cash cows.

Amazon, though, doesn't have a lot. Here's a list of all their original shows. I only even recognize 8 titles. I've only actually watched 2. Plus, Good Omens is currently one of the biggest fandoms in fandom right now, with Aziracrow being the top ship on ao3 for the Jan-Dec 2023 wrap up and again on the Summer 2024 leaderboard, as well as the top ship on tumblr and Good Omens as the top tv show (plus second overall after Artists on Tumblr) for 2023. We're a big deal, and I'd bet money that they're betting money on us. I also lowkey think we're the reason Amazon is spending money on a british miniseries starring Michael Sheen tbh but that's just speculation. The show has also won a slew of awards, the same of which cannot, to my knowledge, be said of many of their other properties.

So let's talk production changes; I think there's a good chance they're doing this for the same reason. Our fandom had unique access to the creator via tumblr, and a majority of the conversation around the allegations of SA against Gaiman were and are taking place in fandom spaces. There have been petitions to fire him from the show and conversations (both productive and otherwise) about the duties of fandom when engaging with content connected to problematic individuals. Meanwhile, Gaiman has effectively dissappeared from the internet. Additionally, the video and threads sharing that Terry Pratchett wrote most of the original book have been making the rounds here and I think on the bird app(?). All that to say, if they're betting on us they want to make us happy and keep their good PR. I don't ever expect a major corporation to make a "good" decision, but they will always make the profitable one.

There is, of course, also the matter of the Pratchett estate and the other major players in the matter: the actors, directors, and creative team. These are forces at play with the power to block or stall productivity and profit for Amazon through copyright and labor power. I can imagine there's conversations happening backstage that we don't know about as well as what we see in headlines.

Ultimately, I think the biggest risk to season 3 is unfortunately going to be Neil Gaiman himself and how he responds to the situation at hand. If he steps back quietly, we're living in our best case scenario and everything moves forward as much according to plan as can be expected with at least this small justice being served. I see a hissy fit on his end as the greatest potential wrench in proceedings, but that would exacerbate the (currently quiet in the mainstream) bad PR for him so I give it low odds.

All that to say. From a pragmatic viewpoint, Amazon's best interest seems to be entirely tied to ours as a fandom, and I anticipate Season 3 being made and most likely being only minorly delayed. Either way. What happens behind the scenes in corporate office buildings between rich white men is entirely out of my and your control. I know how huge anxiety can get when it relates to a special interest or a community that has a huge role in your life, and whatever happens we're in this together as a fandom. It's going to be alright. Take a deep breath and maybe get some water. Whatever happens, we're in this together as a fandom, and at least it won't be the end of the world;)

#we will be alright #also this post is CURSED it’s crashed the editor five times now #had to move to mobile to do the tags #good omens #neil gaiman #good omens 3 #Neil gaiman allegations #good omens season 3 #cw sa mention #good omens fandom

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forgeofthenine · 9 months

Note

hhgggg the bachelors in rut was so.. well, hot lol. I remember there being a previous ask about the bachelor's reacting to the reader being turned into a tiefling.

I was wondering, how would they handle said reader going into heat/rut for the first time?

I've taken an unexpected absence from Tumblr the last couple days, between prepping for Christmas and being extremely busy at work I basically had no time or energy. I did, however, write this while half asleep and on the flight to see my family, given the amount of turbulence we had when I finished it maybe even nature wanted me to write more lol. There's luckily still more stuff to come over the Christmas break :)

@swordcreature come get your food-

TW: NSFW under the cut, ABO dynamics, overstimulation, orgasm denial, impact play mention

The bachelors when their partner goes into heat/rut for the first time

Dammon

Dammon is so good at handling any new tiefling issues you might have, even if he laughs a bit at first

"Baby, if you angle your head to the left it'll make getting that top on easier.“

What completely slipped his mind was that you'd eventually develop a heat cycle just like all other Tieflings

As soon as walks into the house after a day of working in the forge the smell hits him

The entire house smells like pure lust, even a single step into the doorway is enough for his pupils to dilate and his throat to go dry

If you weren't already preoccupied, you'd hear the way he thumps up the stairs in his desperation to get to your bedroom

The door swings open with a slam as Dammon stands in the doorway looking half crazed

The sight of you spread out on the bed with two fingers knuckle deep, back arched, is almost enough to send him straight into an early rut

It's only your small whimper of how much it hurts that brings him back out of his haze, suddenly realising how confusing this must be at first

The bed dips as he sits on the side, leaning over you and placing a warm hand on your equally hot face to get your attention

As hard as Dammon is in his pants, he does check you're okay first and makes sure you drink water before he starts anything

It doesn't matter how much you complain or accuse him of teasing you, he wants to make sure you won't pass out on him

Once he's sure you're okay, all bets are off

As soon as he can, he's folding you over yourself and taking things into his own hands, quite literally

He makes sure you get off at least once to the feeling of his rough, calloused hands as he fingers you without abandon

It's only after you've cum once (or twice, or thrice) on his fingers that he'll finally indulge you with his throbbing cock

The feeling of you squeezing around him, whimpering out his name, is enough for Dammon to finally hit his own rut

He can't keep his hands off you, low rumbled praises leaving his lips as he bites at your collarbones

His cock reaches places in you your fingers never could, the flared head and ridged underside making your mind numb with pleasure

The tiefling keeps you there in bed for hours, switching you between positions as he fucks you until you're both exhausted, panting messes

You'll be well taken care of afterwards too, Dammon easily picking up your now sated body and putting you in a nice warm bath

He eases you through your first heat as well as one can, even if he's dealing with an unexpected rut at the same time

Zevlor

This man was your living tiefling encyclopaedia long before you accidentally became a tiefling yourself

Your questions increased after the accident, though, and suddenly Zevlor is answering questions he never thought he'd have to

Such as "does this mean I'll have a heat cycle now? What'll that feel like?" Among others

The question stops him in his tracks because logically yes you would have a heat cycle now, but he can't remember ever meeting someone that wasn't born a tiefling

Zevlor does his best to prepare you for what may happen, and when you finally come up to him one day to tug at his sleeve he can already smell your heat

He's another one that makes sure you're prepared beforehand, but it's much easier with how early he catches on

Once you've had something to eat and drink he's happy to lead you over to your shared bedroom

Zevlors so sweet as he leads you through the beginning of it all, sweet kisses down your chest and gentle touches over your hips

You'll find his face between your legs soon enough, happily devouring you like a man starved

As composed and proper as the paladin is, he can't deny that he'd spend the rest of his life here giving you head if you'd let him

Your reactions and the sweet smell of your heat spur him on, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you with ease

At some point his fingers join in too, the digits and his tongue bringing you to ecstasy repeatedly

It's only after he's made you a boneless, whining mess that he'll finally resurface, asking if you'd still like more

Zevlors pupils are blown wide, cock hard and twitching in his pants, his own rut creeping up on him

Once you give him the go ahead he's already tearing off his own clothes, or what's left of them anyway

He eases his cock into you slowly despite the ample preparation, enjoying the anticipation of finally bottoming out inside of you

Every squeeze and flutter you make around him pulls a low groan from the older tiefling, his hand anchoring itself on your hip

He's gentle with you the whole time, happily restraining the part of him that wants to go rougher, to take you like a madman

Instead, he leads you both to climax over and over again, pulling orgasms out of your needy body

When you've both finally had your fill, his own cock oversensitive and going soft within you, that he finally reaches over for the pitcher of water he set out earlier

Zevlor will, once again, help you to eat and drink a little before he holds you close and runs his hands over your bare skin

It's soothing, easing you off to sleep, Zevlor knows you'll need all your energy to do this all over again tomorrow

Rolan

Despite being an extremely smart man, Rolan often forgets about his own ruts and the fact you'll now be experiencing similar absolutely eludes him

He's quite happy to go about his normal business running Ramaziths Tower and ignoring most of his basic bodily needs

That is, until you collapse while helping him with cataloguing

He'd already known you were feeling unwell, the tiefling insisting you stay close to him for the day so he can keep an eye on you, and he just barely catches you before you hit the ground

The wizard takes in your flushed face and the needy way you paw at his clothed chest, already trying to pull away his layers

A realisation runs through him, you're in heat

Going with the first thought that runs through his head, Rolan sweeps you up into his arms and misty steps you over to your bedroom door

It's a fiddly thing trying to open it with you in his arms, that is until he remembers he can simply summon a mage hand to help

Unloading you onto the bed, he finally lets you pull away his top layers, flustered as the full gravity of the situation dawn's on him

Sure, you two have fucked plenty of times before now, but it's different when your desperately tugging at him like he's the very air you breathe

It's only when you snap at him, asking what's taking him so long, that he kicks back into gear

Unlike the other Tieflings, all thoughts of water or food completely evade his mind

It's not long before he has you ass up and face down, a mage hand holding your wrist together above your head as he thrusts three fingers inside of you

Rolan is just as mean in bed as he is out of it, bringing you right to the precipice before pulling his touch away all together

It hardly matters to him that you're in heat really, he's determined to tease you before bringing you mind shattering pleasure

He doesn't take all comfort from you though, pitying you as tears start to roll down your cheeks, his tail intertwining with yours as he finally lets you cum

Anyone in the tower could've heard your scream as you finally get the pleasure your body craves, and that's just how he likes it

Rolan happily takes you properly afterwards, a hand on your ass when he sinks his hard cock deep into you with a single stroke

His own rut kicked in hours ago, the sheer realisation that you were in heat sparking it

And he keeps you there, for hours, cataloguing long forgotten as he thrusts so deep into you that you swear he's reaching your stomach

He's as rough with you as he usually is, the odd smack laid on your ass, hands near bruising your hips as he pulls you impossibly closer to him

The two of you stay there like that, a tangle of limbs, well into the night

Until neither of you even have the energy to move

Rolan does eventually use his mage hand to get you both water before he pulls your head into his chest and encourages you to try and get some sleep

#bri answers #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 smut #bg3 smut #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 dammon #bg3 dammon #dammon x reader #dammon smut #baldurs gate 3 zevlor #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x reader #zevlor smut #baldurs gate 3 rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan x reader #rolan smut

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if-whats-new · 1 month

Text

What's New In IF? Issue 17 (2024)

By Erika, Marjorie, Axelle, and Noi

Now Available!

Itch.io. - Keep Reading below

Note: Due to the links limit per post (100), some links included in the zine won't appear in this version. It is, however, on both the PDF and .txt versions on itch.

~ EDITORIAL ~

Another Milestone!

This week, we were surprised to see we passed a few milestones! Our reader base grew quite drastically, ever since we started this zine four months ago. It is being shared in places we didn't even know discussed IF!

We are very grateful for your unwavering support! It means so much to see people cheering for us, and most remarkably helping us!

Without you all, this zine wouldn't exist!

On to the zine!!

We had a wonderful discussion with Barbara Truelove this week, who let us bombard her inbox with many many questions!

In our exchanges we learned some really neat stuff about her work and her trajectory as a creator. And if you want to know what we learned... check out our interview with Barbara Truelove on Small Talk...

We hope you enjoy this extra long issue!

ERIKA, MARJORIE, AXELLE, AND NOI

~ BE PART OF THE ZINE ~

WHAT'S NEW IN IF? HAS EXPANDED!

Since the release of issue #14, we've enacted some changes with the zine. It is now expanded with interviews of creators from all around the IF world, as well as direct contributions from you, our readers!

THIS ZINE ONLY HAPPENS WITH YOU!

Want to write 1-2 pages about a neat topic, or deep-dive into a game and review it in details? Share personal experiences or get all academic?

WRITE FOR THE COLUMN!

Prefer to be more low-key but still have something to share? Send us a Zine Letter or share a game title for Highlight on…!

WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

Excited as we are about next week's interview and have questions for our guest? Or want to see a certain author answer questions next? Message us!

SMALL TALK... IS WAITING!

Came across something interesting? Know a release or an update announced? Saw an event happening? Whether it's a game, an article, a podcast… Add any IF-related content to our mini-database!

EVERY LITTLE BIT COUNTS!

~ EVENT SPOTLIGHT : Bitsy Jam ~

Tiny bites of games, with a retro feel…

The Bitsy Jam is a series of short unranked game jams, focusing on the use of the bitsy program and its forks (e.g. mosi, bipsi, ...). The jam is organized by Adam Le Doux, the creator of bitsy.

Happening monthly, based on a previously voted theme (follow Ledoux!), the Bitsy Jam brings together creators from all corners of the game development world for two weeks, to create itsy bitsy games.

Bitsy is a program to create interactive and visual short games, with a retro-pixel feel on a 2D format. Allowing for short and linear stories, as well as lengthy puzzly branching games, bitsy is a great starting point for tiny interactive fiction and pixel art.

Bisty was used in many prominent creators like cecile richard, dreamingamaris, christine mi and @cerberus-writes. A fork was used in the 2023 ECTOCOMP winning game InGirum.

The current edition (#82) is ending in two days, with the theme INTENTIONALLY BAD!

~ ENDED ~

If you like “murderboys”, the 72h Murderboys Mayhem Jam ended last weekend, with 15 entries. Check them out!

Currently in closed voting, the Ukrainian Visual Novel Jam saw 49 entries submitted last weekend. Come show your support before the results!

~ ONGOING (VOTING) ~

You can now check out the entries submitted to the IntroComp and vote for your favorite demo!

~ ONGOING (SUBMITTING) ~

If you are looking for a challenge, the yearly Velox Fabula just started! For the next ten days, this ranked jam is looking for visual novel submissions around a theme: “You Shouldn't Be Here”.

If you still want thrills but in a chiller way, the Tales to Thrill Jam also just started. Take your pick from the three themes and try your best at emulating the creepy campfire vibes!

For those who created an intent to participate at the IFComp, you have until the end of the month to submit a full game… or wait for next year! (Or you can look our for beta-openings, create an account to vote when the games are released, or offer prizes!) @ifcomp

Less than a week left to create a short game with only One Choice, for the Single Choice Jam!

For the francophones, the French IF community is organizing a summer-long camp to create parsers. Join the Confiture de Parser if you're interested!

Ending at the end of August, is the summer-long unranked SuNoFes Jam (Summer Novel Festival), where you can only submit one IF/VN game!

On the CoG Forum, Halloween is already there! Until Oct 31st, submit to the Halloween Jam - it has funky themes!

Looking for motivation to try your hands at Visual Novels? The Phantasia Jam just started, and will run until Halloween! Three months to create a fantasy VN, with the theme of “Hidden Magic”.

Do you understand or write Ukrainian? Until the end of the year, the Ukrainian IF Festival is happening on itch.io!

~ OTHER ~

Over on the IntFiction Forum, the Review-a-thon is continuing its initiative to get more reviews for games. Check out this post by Tabitha if you want to participate! It ends on the 30th. This is also a sponsored event, aiming to raise funds for one of the Forum members.

The Interactive Fiction Showcase is still running! If you have completed an IF piece this year, consider submitting it! It is happening only on itch!

SMALL TALK…

WITH BARBARA TRUELOE (@barbwritesstuff - Web)

Joining us today is werewolf enthusiast, IF creator and author: Barbara Truelove - Author of the “Blood Moon”, “Thicker Than” and more!

Links included in this interview were not included due to the Tumblr links limits. Please download the itch.io version!

⟶ Welcome Barbara on Small Talk…!

Happy to be here!

⟶ Let’s jump right in! Who are you and how did you find IF?

The line I usually use is: I'm an Australian writer, game developer, and a werewolf enthusiast. I think that sums me up pretty well. I've been writing since I was little (my mum has the scrappy, incomprehensible notebooks to prove it) and have always had a particular soft spot for stories about monsters.

My journey to IF was a bit meandering. Compressing things as much as I can: In 2018 I wrote a book [Crying Wolf]. It was about werewolves in prison and I ended up selling it in 2019 to a small, independent publisher. I was editing it throughout the later half of 2019. Unfortunately, in hindsight, I don't think the editor and I were very well suited for each other. The process left me feeling really insecure about my writing. So insecure that I actually stopped writing for a while.

In 2020, I moved to South Korea. Covid arrived in the country only a couple of weeks before I did. The pandemic made it much harder for me to make friends, so I ended up playing more games and stumbled across IF. I've always liked interactive stories (I had an unhealthy love for Dragon Age: Origins back in the day) and in October 2020 I decided to try and write my own. I used ChoiceScript, because it seemed like the easiest coding language to learn, and almost gave up half a dozen times that first night. But, I was having fun writing again which was amazing.

A month later, I posted the first couple of chapters of Blood Moon which is my first Interactive Fiction project. About half a dozen people messaged me telling me they loved it and encouraging me to continue, and so I did. It might seem corny and cliche, but I'll be forever grateful for this community. IF made me enjoy writing again. Writing interactive stories is so stupidly fun, and it was wonderful having a creative outlet and a little online community during the pandemic.

⟶ Anything about IF you’d like to nerd about to start?

IF is in such a weird, odd space in the market. Is it a book? Is it a game? Is it both? Is it neither? When I'm talking about it in person I always find myself saying stuff along the lines of: “It's like those old choose-your-own-adventure books from the 90s but on your phone”. This hazy definition makes it hard in some ways. For example, the Hugo awards are happening very soon [tomorrow]. There is an interactive fiction/game category, which is awesome, but the nominations are things like Baldur's Gate 3. Obviously, that's a game. A very gamey game. IFs like the kind made in ChoiceScript or Twine aren't going to compete.

I hope IF grows in popularity and we start to see a distinct niche for it in mainstream pop culture and media. I think that would be nice. Not saying we have to get our own Hugo Award... but I'm not not saying that either. Shoot for the moon and all that.

⟶ Could you tell us a bit more about your interactive work?

My IF projects are:

Blood Moon - A ChoiceScript game about dating werewolves and fighting vampires.

Thicker Than - Another ChoiceScript game and sequel to Blood Moon. It's about surviving vampire politics as a young fledgling. Currently in development.

Something A Little Super - A game I made in Ren'py, free on itch.io. It's about raising a super powered child. A love letter to my favourite superhero: Martha Kent.

A Fairy Tale - A Visual Novel made in Ren'py, also free on itch.io. You play as a young fairy noble seeking an advantageous marriage. It's very silly. Murder is optional.

Drown With Me - A dark mermaid tale made with Ren'py. Development on his game is currently on hold.

⟶ Your ChoiceScript games are pretty chunky and inter-connected. How do you manage creating such intricate stories and keep track of everything?

I'm a VERY bad planner. I write in Choicescript and use CSIDE. I have a thousand little notebooks filled with badly scribbled ideas. I usually have a rough idea about where a story is going but I won't know 100% how it'll happen until I'm writing it. Editing is my best friend. I also just use a lot of variables and (when in doubt) go back and look at my variable list to remember what I was doing and what different choices players may have made.

Variables are still a tricky thing to keep track of! I don't have a good system for it, honestly. I just use my brain which sometimes makes mistakes or forgets about certain choices, and the variable list. But that's what editing is for. I try not to be too hard on myself if my first draft isn't perfect. I'm really grateful for readers who send me discrepancies or things they've encountered that don't make sense in my demos and WIPs.

⟶ When you started Blood Moon, did you ever think it would end up being published under Hosted Games?

When I started Blood Moon, I didn't know what I was doing. I had no idea if I'd be able to finish it, let alone get it published. The whole thing was a learning process. Hosted Games is very upfront about the requirements of publication. I followed those and submitted the game when it was finished. They reviewed my submission, asked for a few minor edits, and then gave me a publication date. Overall, I think the whole process went very smoothly.

⟶ What about Thicker Than? When did you know you wanted to write a sequel?

I didn't think there would be a sequel, just because I didn't think I would be able to do that much writing again. But then the idea of flipping the script and telling a story from a vampire's perspective happened and I just couldn't hold myself back. 😅 This happened after I'd finished writing Blood Moon, but before Blood Moon came out. I wrote a short demo for Thicker Than, but didn't start work in earnest until after Blood Moon's release.

⟶ Blood Moon is told from the perspective of werewolves, while Thicker Than is from the vampire's. How was changing that perspective between the different titles?

It was so fun!

The werewolves are very modern and have a strong rough 'n tumble found family vibe. They'd go to hell and back for each other, that they're not afraid to have distinct and loud personalities, and that they're low-key epic. They don't realise how scary they are because they're used to being the biggest, meanest thing around.

The vampires are shady, sneaky, and old fashioned, both in the way they talk and the way they do business. The most powerful vampires are really powerful, but the average vampire is much more humble and blending in is how they survive. They've also hilariously bad at team work.

The fact that these two monsters are so different makes them so fun to write. They really are the opposite sides of the same coin. Two types of paranormal monster living in the same city, but with very different struggles, cultures, and experiences. I really wanted to show that difference and give the vampires (who were very unsympathetic in Blood Moon) their due... without taking away their darkness.

⟶ You are really passionate about werewolves. What's so cool about them?

Werewolves are fun! They're my go-to monster. But I like all kinds of monsters. Vampires, fairies, evil robots. I'm a fan of stories that explore humanity through the inhuman.

I think inhuman characters are fun because they can reflect us (our thoughts, our feelings, our experiences) in unique and sometimes fantastical ways. So, for example, in Blood Moon, a major theme was family. But, rather than write about humans with families, I'm writing about werewolves with packs. It makes those themes pop. But also, monsters are fun! It's fun to imagine the world as seen through the eyes of a werewolf, or a vampire, or a robot, or an alien, or a god.

⟶ Are there other themes you'd like to explore in future projects?

I never know what I'm writing about until I'm writing it, and sometimes not even then. I process my life through my writing, so the themes often reflect what I'm thinking about and feeling at the time. I can't really predict exactly what it is I'm going to zero in on and explore until I'm already doing it.

⟶ Then, what inspires and influences your creative process?

Inspiration can come from anywhere. From books I've read, to places I've been, to people I've met. I can never predict what will spark the next idea.

Blood Moon has some obvious inspirations. The city setting is inspired by Seoul. When I wrote Blood Moon I was trying to make the city setting feel generic enough that it could be any city. I wanted players to be able to imagine it was taking place in their hometown, which is why I never named the city the characters were in. But, in my mind, the inspiration for the city is Seoul. Seoul is both a remarkably beautiful and remarkably ugly place. It's polluted, built up, and bathed in neon lights with tiny traditional alleyways twisting through the modern buildings. Magical and sinister and wonderful all at once. The perfect city for vampires and werewolves.

The various characters are all pieces of myself and/or people I've met. The vampires and werewolves have been informed by all the vampires and werewolves I read and watched growing up. I drew inspiration from: Underworld, Interview with the Vampire, Twilight, Vampire the Masquerade, and (of course) Dracula. These things are what helped shape my idea of what werewolves and vampires could be throughout my teen years.

⟶ Is there anything you wished you’d known before starting creating IF or using ChoiceScript?

I chronically underestimate how much work writing IF is. When I first started Blood Moon I naively thought I would be able to finish it in 8ish months (ha! It took about 2 years.). IFs are big. Much bigger than novels. They take a lot of work and a lot of time to write. It's also hard sometimes just holding all the different narrative threads in my brain and weaving them together in fun and satisfying ways. I want the different routes to feel unique and dynamic while also not overwhelming myself with too many variations and options. That balancing act is a skill I'm still learning and developing to this day. I think I often bite off more than I can chew and have to slow things down for a while as I try to untangle and work through it all.

⟶ Are there things you wish you’d done differently with Blood Moon?

Blood Moon is not a perfect game, but I did the best I could at the time, so I'm not going to be too harsh on myself when it comes to things I could've done better.

⟶ Then, let’s focus on the positive. Do you have a favorite scene from all your games?

I don't think I could choose a favourite scene. 😅 There's a few oddballs I'm very fond of. Marco's 'octopuses' rant in Blood Moon is so weird and wonderful, I can't help but think of it. The flashback scene in Something A Little Super is exactly my brand of corny. I'm also thinking of some more epic things I've written that I really enjoyed bringing to life. There's some moments like that in my book Of Monsters and Mainframes that'll be coming out next year.

⟶ What about a scene that was particularly challenging to put together, but satisfying to complete?

The scene I worked the hardest on was probably the final showdown in Blood Moon. I really wanted it to feel satisfying, challenging, and impactful. There's this moment (spoilers!) where the player's character gets to go toe-to-toe with the BBEG [Big Bad Evil Guy/Gal], who just so happens to be a vampire. Werewolves vs Vampires! It's an iconic match up. I wanted to write something worthy of it. I couldn't really figure out a way to make it special. Originally, it was going to be outside, in the snow. That way I'd get the dramatic visual of red blood splattering on white snow. But it also felt a little cliche. Then I saw a Say Yes To The Dress clip somewhere online and suddenly I'm writing this scene not in a snowy street but in a bridal boutique. Blood splattering on white lace felt brutal and messy and visceral in all the right ways. It really made that final showdown work. I think that flash of inspiration really rescued that scene. The early drafts of it aren't half as good.

⟶ Having branches can be hard to balance. Have you ever struggled with choices for which you can’t write a path? How do you handle it?

Some stories want to branch a lot. Some stories don't. I write the stories that don't want to branch as novels. However, sometimes I'll stumble across a section of an IF that I'm struggling to give interesting branches/stories to. In those moments, I do a faux pas and don't give the player a choice. I think it's better to have a few good/exciting choices than a lot of boring choices. And, if my brain doesn't want to write a certain choice outcome, that means that outcome probably won't be fun or rewarding for the reader either. I really hope that makes sense.

⟶ Last year, you branched out, and created 3 Visual Novels in Ren’Py. What was the driver behind this switch up?

I just wanted to challenge myself and see if I could figure out a different coding style. I'm really proud of my Ren’Py games. They're short, silly, and strange, but I learnt so much doing them. Also it allowed me to experiment with shorter interactive stories.

And I might do it again! It was a lot of fun. I'm just so overloaded with writing projects right now that I can't promise anything. 😅

⟶ Since two of these are text-only, why the choice of Ren'Py over other more traditional choice-based programs like Twine?

I don’t know why, but my brain doesn't like Twine. Totally subjective opinion! I've seen other writers do amazing things with it. I just have never been able to make it go.

Ren’Py is a really powerful tool and works in a way that is easy for me to understand. I love the built in features like the menu and save functions.

⟶ Unlike your other works, Something A Little Super is more of a slice-of-life first and foremost. What inspired you to write this story?

My mum! I wanted to tell a superhero story with a twist. Something A Little Super is inspired by Superman and Martha Kent, but the main focus of the story isn't flying around, saving the world. It's about the choices that parents make while raising their kids.

I've never been a parent, so I used my mum as my main inspiration. My mum was (and still is) a superhero.

I also really wanted to explore how different parenting choices can have a big impact on who a child grows up to be. I tried to write the game in such a way that there weren't any ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ choices. All the choices are reasonable and make sense. But they do shape who the super powered kid grows up to become. I'm so proud of Something A Little Super. It's such a personal wee story in so many ways. It makes me so happy knowing people enjoyed it.

⟶ Your other releases are more anchored in fantasy: one focusing on fairies, the other having a more nautical approach. Was there something specific that inspired you?

A Fairy Tale was my first Ren'Py game. I wanted to write something small while I figured it out... and fairies are very small.

Which is a joke, but also very true. The whole premise of the game is these tiny little creatures with very short life spans that meet and find love in one night. I used Tinkerbell and Peter Pan as inspirations but the motive behind the fairies was the ability to compress everything down into a very short, but also very high stakes story.

Drown With Me is a project I wish I had time to work on. Dark mermaids are always a ton of fun. As for inspirations... that'd be pirate music.

⟶ Did you notice differences when working on those VNs compared to more traditional text-only IF?

Writing a visual novel is much more like writing and directing a stage play than writing a book. It was fun experimenting with the script style.

⟶ You don’t just create IF games, but also write novels. How do you manage to balance all these different projects?

I don't. I'm very bad at balancing my time between projects. I often overcommit and underestimate how much work a project is going to need. I need to get better at balancing my writing in general. I just always want to do so much.

⟶ Still, you are pretty consistent with your updates (1/month). How do you manage this?

I update every full moon! It's a silly thing that I started when I was writing Blood Moon. It's a fun gimmick that I've kept up with. Some months I don't write very much, and that's okay. Some months I write heaps and that's awesome! I try to be kind to myself, no matter how much or little I get done. That's the only advice I can give. Have fun and be nice to yourself.

⟶ How do you assess whether your work is enjoyed by people?

I don't know how many people enjoy my work. That's a really hard thing to know! I know there's some very lovely people who message me sometimes. I think I'm very lucky to have found people who mesh with my style of writing. The internet is a big, tangly place and it's always wonderful when you find people who are on your wavelength. It's really humbling to know there are other humans out there who think about my characters and stories.

⟶ As an outsider, it is undeniable you are pretty popular on Tumblr, where parasociality is pretty common. Have you experienced this phenomenon yourself?

There are boundaries I set when I talk to people online. I think that's important. I'm kinda private, actually, and a wee bit shy in my day-to-day life. I don't always seem that way, but when I'm online I'm usually just talking about my writing. That's what I really enjoy doing.

⟶ Have you gotten messages, like feedback or reviews, that weren’t as nice? How do you handle criticism and negative comments?

Oh, all the time. I get some very harsh feedback in my inbox. I try to take it in my stride, but some days that's easier said than done.

I divide all feedback I receive into two groups: Actionable feedback and Unactionable feedback, i.e., something I can fix, or something that I can't. Examples of unactionable feedback would be stuff like ‘I don't like werewolves’. Obviously, my story isn't the right fit for that person, and there's nothing I can do about that. I ignore unactionable feedback. If someone sends me actionable feedback, I try to do my best to fix it.

The good thing is, I get a lot more positive messages than negative.

An author I met last year said something very wise that's stuck with me. She said, no matter what, there are some people who won't like what you write. And that's fine. In fact, that's good. You want people to love or hate your work. That means they're reading it!

There is no such thing as a game/book that everyone likes. Keeping that in mind, it's much easier to read the negative feedback, find the actionable feedback in it, then get back to work.

⟶ On days that are difficult to take the feedback in, do you take breaks or get right back to work?

I let myself feel my feelings and (if I need to) I complain to my friends. 😅 But it honestly doesn't happen often. I'm pretty good at taking negative feedback, bad news, rejections, etc... in my stride. It sucks, but it's also just part of being a writer.

⟶ Do you think your traditional writing background helped you process this negative feedback this productively?

I don't think so. I think being able to take negative feedback is just a skill writers learn over time, no matter the medium. When I was in university, I did a couple of units in scriptwriting, and some of the feedback I got then was very critical. Before that, when I was in school, I did a creative writing class which was also pretty brutal. I used to write fanfiction, and people didn't pull their punches there either. It sucks, but I think it's normal to get a lot of various responses to your writing. Like I said, I ignore any feedback which is unactionable.

That said, there are times when it gets to me. Like I said before, I was very insecure about my writing after editing my first novel. It's hard some days. But writing is my art. It's how I process the world. When I stop, I feel like I'm missing something in my life. I focus on the good because I want to feel good about what I do. It's not always easy, but it's important to me.

⟶ You started your writing journey publishing a book, with another one on the way. How does writing a novel compare to creating interactive fiction?

I'm really not sure how to compare writing a novel and writing IF. In some ways, they're not that different. The main focus of both is to tell a good story. There are some nitty gritty differences, but overall I think stories are stories. I will say, some stories need to be IFs and some need to be novels. Blood Moon wouldn't work as a novel. That story wanted to branch from the moment I started writing it. Similarly, my most recent novel, Of Monsters and Mainframes wouldn't have ever worked as an IF. That story felt more direct, contained, and character focused from the first word typed.

I guess it's just whichever medium suits the story.

⟶ What advice would you give to an aspiring IF creator, based on your experiences?

Write something you're passionate about! For me, it was werewolves. It doesn't matter what the subject is, just make it something you could stay up until 4am talking about. I worry a lot of new writers feel they have to chase trends, but the only thing that does is ensure you'll be behind the curve. Write what makes you happy, and that love will shine through.

⟶ Many people rave about your work, but are there any games you rave about? Anything you would recommend to our readers?

Recommendations are so hard! I feel like I'm just going to gush about the games everyone already loves. VTM: Night Roads, Fields of Asphodel (@chrysanthemumgames), The Northern Passage (@northern-passage), Choice of the Vampire, etc.

There are so many fantastic games out there and so many WIPs!

⟶ After Thicker Than, what is on the horizon for Barbara Truelove? And where will we be able to follow your progress?

Thicker Than still needs a lot of work. It's a very big, complex game and I think I'll probably be working on it in some capacity for at least another year. IFs aren't quick and easy but they're a ton of fun! I've also got a (non-interactive) novel coming out next year with Jaysen Headley at Bindery Books titled Of Monsters and Mainframes and I've got a couple more projects I'm working away on behind the scenes. You can find me on my website, Tumblr (@barbwritesstuff), and KoFi.

HUGE THANKS TO BARBARA TRUELOVE FOR ANSWERING OUR MANY BRUNING QUESTIONS!

~ NEW RELEASE ~

The Ghost and the Golem (CScript) is the latest release from Choice of Games @choiceofgames

Oh, Vagabond (Ink) is an atmospheric short text horror adventure about what remains. @an-excess-of-eyes

Nusantara: Bermuda Triangle (Ren’Py) is an eight-year-long in the making adventure otome visual novel.

Can't Buy Me Love (Ren’Py) is a visual novel based and all about the Beatles. @brummelliana

passenger9027 (Twine) is a short sci-fi game, where you wake up in a spaceship.

The Robot (Twine) is a short sci-fi game, where you have a conversation with a robot.

TECH // LOOP (Twine) is a cyberpunk game where you play a looper.

As always, don't forget to check out the submitted entries to the events mentioned in the previous pages. They deserve some love too!

~ NEW RELEASE (WIP) ~

Small Charms (Ren’Py) is Visual Novel project about daily use magic, a coffee date and a terrible decision. @viscereye

We Troubled Souls (CScript) is a high fantasy project involving godly and mystical beings, and survival.

to the place where death rests (Twine) is a sapphic project where a woman falls in love with the lady of/in her dreams. @bntarwarn

Intensions (CScript) is a high fantasy project where you play as a fae, with the weight of your people on your shoulders.

Vessel of Harkahn (CScript) is a fantasy project where the survival of the world resides in your locked memories. @vatiiagames

That Distant Shore (Twine) is a supernatural fantasy project where your curse will be your undoing, unless… . @exkowrites

Aphni's Quartet (Twine) is a cyber-punk fantasy project where you play a loath prophet. @marblesstorystudio

Press Play (CScript) is a slice-of-life project where you are part of a mysterious band. @pressplay-if

Tale of the Dragoons (CScript) is a fantasy project where you are a dragoon.

Carrion (Twine) is a mermen adventure game where you must defeat an ocean cult. @kinglyoverlord

~ GAMES UPDATES ~

Social Democracy (DendryNexus) has received multiple updates.

Dice & Dungeon Masters (CScript) added extra content to the demo.

Echoes of Kingdom: The Last Stand (CScript) updated with dozens of new words.

Honor Among Thieves (CScript) added extra content to the demo. @leoneliterary

The Judgement of Tarkar (CScript) came back with 2 new chapters.

Summer of Love (Twine) added a new chapter to the demo. @summeroflove-if

Dance of the Night (CScript)'s demo now includes Chapter 2.

Remnants of the Past (Twine) started its second act in this update. @remnantsofthepast-if

The Abyssal Song (Twine) added Chapter 4 to the demo. @ri-writes-if

The Bureau (CScript) added extra content to the demo. @morbethgames

The Game of War (CScript) updated with extra content.

The Night Market (Twine) added Chapter 6 to the Patreon demo. @night-market-if

Path of Martial Arts (CScript) added new paths to the demo. @nicky-if

Love in a Time of Earthquakes (CScript) completed Chapter 6.

Vendetta (CScript) updated the Patreon demo. @vendetta-if

The Bastard Crown (CScript) updated with major re-writes. @eddyiewriting

The Ultimate Magic Student (CScript) updated the Patreon demo.

Abnormal (CScript) updated the demo with major re-writes. @abnormal-aninteractivezombiegame

The Six That Thrives (Twine) added Chapter 3 to the Patreon demo. @the-six-that-thrive-if

Dragon of Steelhorn (CScript) has put out the demo for bonus chapters for beta.

~ OTHER ~

The last HG release, Halls of Sorcery has been withdrawn from sale due to AI-generated content. If you have bought the game, and have not received a refund yet, you should contact HG support.

Magehunter: Phoenix Flame's demo (CScript) will be soon removed from viewing, as it is expected to go into beta testing. This might be your last chance to play it.

Heavens’ Revolution (CScript) is looking for official beta-testers.

Drew Cook started a new series of articles: Let's Write IF. @golmac

If you are fan of podcasts about IF, Adam Cadre uploaded the latest episode of Radio K, discussing Lost Pig, Child's Play, and An Act of Murder. @adamcadre

The 55th issue of the Indipocalypse was released recently, including multiple IF games.

On IntFiction, mathbursh completed the Brief History of the SpringThing, ahead of the release of his IF History Textbook.

As always, we apologize in advance for missing any update or release from the past week. We are only volunteers using their limited free time to find as much as we can - but sometimes things pass through the cracks.

If you think something should have been included in this week's zine but did not appear, please shoot us a message! We'll do our best to add it next week! And if you know oncoming news, add it here!

~ A CYOA Poem ~

1 Catered with abundance, the player peruses the IF wares, meticulously thinking about what to take next. Go to 2.

6 There isn't a single choice. You are bombarded with options. Your commands push the story seamlessly. It only returns failed actions. Your fingers go numb from clicking, pressing, typing... Go to 7.

4 The world is simple but immersive. The world is large and neverending. You only stand in your room. You travel wide distances. It is a peaceful journey. You get hurt at every turn. Go to 5.

3 The adventure doesn't start before a character is selected. Or maybe it has already. There is so much to choose from. There is nothing to choose from. Go to 4.

7 And it's already the ending. You won't get there for another dozens of hours. You wait patiently for the next update. The experience is complete. You lurk. You ask for details. You rate. You comment. Go to 8.

END You played an IF game. Return to 1 to restart.

8 You spam everyone with links so they play it too. You never speak of that experience ever again. You make fanart and daydream about everything. Go to END.

5 You meet a bunch of characters. You are utterly alone. You romance one, or maybe six. You only find peace with yourself. You love them. You hurt them. Go to 6.

2 Yesterday was slice-of-life, tomorrow surely sci-fi. But for today, a simple fantasy will do. Go to 3.

IFLover2495

~ HIGHLIGHT ON ~

A couple of games that we thought were cool.

(Don't) Save Me by Coral Nulla @nullamirrors (Decker - itch.io - IFDB)

What happens to the ‘manic pixie girl’ at the end of the story? This is what the game tries to find out, giving a voice to the trope we love but never wonder what is under the surface. A wacky adventure filled with choices, with a funky UI.

//recommended by anonymous//

Swooning over Stans by sovonight @gfdatingsim (Ren'Py - itch.io - VNDB)

“Recent memes reminded me of the insanity that is this game. You barely need to know any lore of Gravity Fall to reach the endings and feel fulfilled by this weird fan-game. And it's not just SO GOOD story-wise, it's so freaking well made too! Fans are the best, they make the coolest shit.”

//submitted by (peace sign emoji)//

The Dying of the Light by Amanda Walker (Inform7 - itch.io - IFDB)

A heartbreaking text-adventure told from the perspective of an older woman with dementia, as she struggles to communicate her needs, wants, and fears.

Though fighting the engine may be frustrating, it displays an effective manner to convey the difficulties of dementia.

Linear progression. Input HINT for help.

//recommended by C.//

Your favourite game here?

Do you have a favourite game that deserve some highlighting?

A old or recent game that wowed you so much you spam it to everyone?

Tell us about it! And it might appear here!

WE LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU ALL! WETHER IT'S GOOD OR BAD, OR EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN...

Hi What's New in IF team! This is a tiny zine letter for you, to thank you a whole lot for including my game in your zine. It was really nice of you! and I got a whole lot of new people checking it out thanks to you. Keep up the good work! - anonymous

I hope @catskets sees this, because I really enjoyed their interview. It was so fun and insightful, and honestly, pretty inspiring. And now I have 30+ new games to play, and links to link between all the stories! - a new fan

Hi ThereIsMoreButICantFindIt, Thank you for the links, it was pretty enlightening. Please keep me in mind if you do find other sources about Modern IF! -Rich

is this section limited to authors only? because i wanted to give a shout-out to @elfroot-and-laurels, my favourite artist, who's done imo the best (fan)art of IF projects i've ever seen. -aureuslaureus

Have something to say? Send us a message entitled: Zine Letter!

As we end this issue, we would like to thank:

a new fan, aureuslaureus, C., ghostlykittenshark, Rich, (peace sign emoji), and a bunch of you anonymous users!

For sending news, interview questions, helpful tips, cool links, filled form, written Sheet line, even emails... all these help us so much to make this Zine possible!

And as always, huge thanks to all you readers to liked, shared, and commented on last week's issue! What might be tiny actions are huge support and motivators to us! Thank you for cheering us on this journey!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We also hope you join us again next week, for we have a very special guest on the zine:

Award-winning creator, retro-IF enthusiast, parser craft writer, Drew Cook @golmac sits down with us next week!

Want to know more about his work? How he found IF? Or learn more about his non-dev projects? Send us all your burning questions!

And see you again next week!

ERIKA, MARJORIE, AXELLE, AND NOI

WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2024-ISSUE 17

154 notes · View notes

tinystepsforward · 7 months

Note

could you elaborate on the midjourney thing?

not a lot, i'm afraid! here's all i can say:

there has been a small amount of discussion, at least available to people working at automattic, that's mostly about user-facing/interface stuff rather than how or why the decision was made. it's fairly clear that that discussion wasn't happening with any kind of transparency.

all i know is more or less what i've said: tumblr has a huge amount of art and photography on it that might be of some value to midjourney as a dataset.

wordpress.com data is also being sold, from what i understand, and that worries me since automattic/wordpress.com has historically been a host people go to when they want a website, aren't super tech literate, and want to be assured that their data will stay theirs.

[edit: to be clear, i do not think this is happening right now. i think it is about to happen.]

there is not any public information about this yet. you won't find anything else out there, i'm pretty sure, unless someone's independently gone full whistleblower who has more access to info than i do.

i would expect that there will be a staff post about this in the next few days.

#tony muses #tony answers #tumblr meta

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gettinontopic · 2 months

Text

This is so transphobic like what the hell is this

↓Screenshot↓

↑Screenshot↑

[Image Id: A large addition to a tumblr poat reading "Also if I'm going to be honest, passing as a man is also just easier than passing as a woman. The rules to being a man and passing as a man are much more lenient than being a woman or passing as a woman. Trans women have to worry about shit like "I need to wear an outfit that distracts people from the fact I have an adams apple, and not allow people to see that I have shoulders, and learn makeup and basically become a voice actor and etc. and maybe I won't be called a man today" (and if you pass too well and the wrong cis guy feels guilty about being attracted to you, you get murdered meanwhile if you're a trans guy and you wanna pass as a man, you gotta like have short hair and hide or remove your boobs and at this point you can already just go to the grocery store and most people will see you as a man. Once you get facial hair and a deeper voice, most people will just see you as some guy. Like I don't understand why transmascs insist on this idea that they could never really pass. Like the idea that trans man who passes is almost far-fetched. Weird as hell." End Id]

Lets upack this shall we?

1."Passing as a man is easier than passing as a woman"

No it's not. The rules to being a man and passing as a men as strict as lots of rules for women. Have you ever seen a cis guys who fails to pass? They're called names, theyre physically beat, and theyre often ostracized from their cis peers just as fast as any trans person. Cis boys cant even pass half the time by the rules they made. Quit fucking lying about men just magically having it so easy.

Your experiences as passing as a man aren't universal and if you've never passed as one what makes you think it's fucking easy?

Also god forbid you're a black man, or a black man who is into something deemed feminine. Shit I've seen guys call black men women for wearing a damn hair bonnet.

Oh not to mention I'm only a man to transphobes when they can call me a "dangerous black man" only to switch back to tryibg to detransition me by saying "you can just be a masc girl!"

2.Adams apple

While you have to hide yours, I have to wear shit that distracts people that I *don't* have one. Cause, and I know this is wild, if they expect you not to have one for being a women, what do they expect me to have for being a man? Hmm? And if you're a man who's adams apple never came in? I've seen them called girls to. Shit I've heard a guy called not manly for missing his, and he was still in puberty!!

3.Shoulders

While you have to hide you shoulders, I have to do whatever I can to have the.. small shoulders on men? maybe if youre in a "non manly" field like music or art, but I do gym work. I better look likeit regardless of the disability that effacts my muscles growth and development or I am called maam by every guy there. Which sucks btw.

4. Makeup and voice acting:

Trans men also are regularly advised to wear makeup that masculinizes them and do voice training. thats some of our oldest passing tips. thats litterally never been unique to trans women. what the FUCK kinda of implications are you trying to put out here?

5. Murder:

Hey did you know cis guys will murder trans men bc they were attracted to them and then found out they werent "real men" and then kill them. shit cis women also kill us if they find out they were attracted to us and we aren't their ideal man anymore. do u know how men who hear im butch and into women behave?

Fuck right the fuck off trying to tokenize the murder lf trans women while throwing trans men murders in the "that doesn't happen" bin.

6. How many times have we said short hair and no boobs dont fucking automatically gets us gendered correcly!! We have voices that have to be trained, we have muscles were expected to build,and some men even watch the way you walk to guess if you have a dick or not.

Listen to any trans men. any of us for five minutes. those things do not making an easily passing trans man fuck you for lying about our experiences as not a trans man.

7. "You gotta like have short hair or remove your boobs"

Untrue! just Untrue. we also have to preform the rules of manhood really well. ive seen beareded transmen clocked for like so many different other reasons and you wouldn't listen to those men if it would save all trans people lives forever. cis men constantly dig at other men presentation to keep each other in line. Its a regular for them.

Also: not all of want to pass with those features. I deserve to have long hair and not bind and still pass as a man and you suck for defining everything around passing.

8. I don't know why you insist on this idea that trans women never really pass without obscene work (when ive met trans women that admit they have it easy by throwing on a dress and wearing her hair down) and that all trans men who have ascess to transition magically do pass (When multiple of us transitioning have said we dont)

If we can't talk about the ones who don't pass then you kinda can just sweep away the idea we don't face discrimination or danger and that's getting us killed actually.

None of us have said we can all never really pass any who say they can't are usually speaking on their own experiences. Because you want us all to pass so bad you don't care that we don't, and that it gets us backlash and hurt.

Also, if you ever read this, kiss my black ass and go reevaluate what makes you think you should speak on experiences that aint yours as if you're the one with the Hard Cold Facts.

#transandrophobia #transphobia #this is just fucking piassing me off #why lie #just talk about your own experiences and stop pretending they cant apply anywhere else #this took me way to long to get back to #thank u to the person who did the image id for me it helped a ton #has id #anti transmasculinity #transmisandry

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marvelfanfics1 · 3 months

Note

could you write a fic where Peter or Loki are caregivers and they have littles that no one knows about and they have some relation to the team and are at the tower one day not knowing their caregiver was going to be there the team doesn’t know they’re a little or that Peter or Loki are caregivers? Plz and Thx

Not So Secret Anymore

Pairing: daddy!peter x little!romanoff!reader

Warnings: age regression, reader has social anxiety (just projecting here), sorry for any spelling mistakes!

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You and Peter had been texting each other for a while now, getting close quickly by the fact that you both were in the agere community.

The way you found each other was just because you had messaged him over tumblr, telling him how comforting his blog was for you whenever you were in littlespace and now he was your caregiver over screen.

You haven't met each other yet but face timed a lot, still getting comfortable with each other. Peter never presses you into meeting him, knowing how hard it is for you given your social anxiety, so he'll wait until you feel up to it.

It's funny how you both share something so deep yet never have you told him you're Natasha Romanoff's adopted daughter and Peter never told you he is spider-man for obvious reasons.

It seems the universe had other plans for you both though.

You have just gotten back from Starbucks, getting something for your mom and yourself. Today was a rather anxious day for you because you will be becoming kind of a part of the avengers. You won't be participating on the missions, more stay at the compound to plan said missions and monitor them safely far away, helping over comms.

After the security let you in you instantly bee-lined for your mom's office, knocking on the door before entering, seeing her seated at her desk. She smiles when you enter the room, pushing the stack of papers to the side and waves you over.

You walk over to hand her the cup of hot coffee, chuckling at her groan of relief.

"You're my savior." She hums, taking a sip and notices you tapping your finger repeatedly against your own cup of cocoa. "You nervous?"

"Is it so obvious?" You ask and she mocks your tapping a bit more aggressively and you shake your head laughing. "Yeah, ok, you got me. I'm just scared to mess up..."

"I get it, really. But making mistakes is normal, it makes you do better for the next time. Just go with your gut feeling and you'll see what happens. Besides the others have a lot of experience and know when to listen to instructions." She assures you, getting up from her seat to stand right in front of you, placing her free hand on your shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze. "You'll do amazing, I just know it."

"Thank you, mom." You smile at her.

"Alright, then let's go. It's time to make official to the others." She says making her way towards the door, waiting for you to follow.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you follow after her, walking out of her office and towards the meeting room where everyone else was already waiting for you both.

As you stand before the door you hesitate, taking a few deep breaths. You just couldn't help being nervous, standing in front of people even if most of them basically watched you grow up by Natasha's care was still scarring you.

"You ready, sweetheart?" Natasha asks, making sure you really want to do this.

Taking a deep breath you nod with a small smile, your grip tightening a little on your cup as the door slides open.

Everyone in the room stops talking and turns to face you both. Your attention instantly fell on the slightly curled brown haired boy who's back was still facing you. When he did turn around your eyes widen, instantly recognizing the boy as your caregiver.

His eyes widen as well, neither of them saying anything. To your relief Natasha starts talking.

"So, most of you already know my daughter..." As she did the introduction for you your eyes never left Peter's, subtly shaking your head for him not to say anything about you both already knowing each other.

He presses his lips to a thin line, his gaze already telling you 'we'll talk about this later'.

After you and your position got discussed everyone left to do their own thing. You speed walk to your room, feeling someone following after you with a few feet distance.

You walk into your room without closing the door, standing in the middle of it. Peter quietly snuck into your room as well, looking out the hallway if anyone saw him before quickly shutting and locking your door.

You spun around as he approaches you. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" He stresses but before you could answer him he pulls you into a hug. This is the first time you ever meet each other in person and a feeling of comfort and happiness rushes through you.

He pulls away, cradling your face in his hands.

"I-I live here. You already know by now who my mom is a-and today is supposed to be my first day working with or for the avengers." You explain, trying to stay big as the urge to slip came the second you saw his face since you normally regress when you're face timing.

"Hell, you could tell me anything and everything about your littlespace but that you're Black Widow's daughter never seemed interesting enough?" He laughs, squeezing your arms a little form excitement.

You shrug, giggling. "And you never found it interesting to tell me you are a part of the team?" Suddenly you realize something.

You know everyone on the team, except for the mysterious newcomer with the red mask you have only seen on tv or the news paper.

"You- You're spiderman?!" You squeal and Peter put a hand over your mouth.

"Shh, don't want anyone knowing I'm in here right, little one?" You practically melt in his hold when he uses the pet name you love so much. He retracts his hand, smiling at you. "You're even cuter in person."

You quickly wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in it. Peter immediately wraps his around you to pull you closer, enjoying to finally have you in his arms after months of texts, calls and promises of cuddles. He only let go when you pull away, grinning at him.

"I would have made our first meet more special just so you know." He declares and you shake your head.

"Is alweady special enough..." You whisper, tears building up in your eyes.

He frowns at your tears, wiping away the ones that slip. "You don't have to cry. Daddy's here now..."

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Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

#little!reader #little reader #daddy!peter x little!reader #daddy!peter parker x little!reader #daddy!peter parker #daddy peter parker x little reader #daddy peter x little reader #daddy peter parker

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phantomrose96 · 7 months

Note

Hey not to go all "tumblr is a professional networking site" on you, but how did you get to work for Microsoft??? I'm a recent grad and I'm being eviscerated out here trying to apply for industry jobs & your liveblogging about your job sounds so much less evil than Data Entry IT Job #43461

This place is basically LinkedIn to me.

I'm gonna start by saying I am so so very sorry you're a recent grad in the year 2024... Tech job market is complete ass right now and it is not just you. I started fulltime in 2018, and for 2018-2022 it was completely normal to see a yearly outflow of people hopping to new jobs and a yearly inflow of new hires. Then sometime around late-spring/early-summer of 2022 Wallstreet sneezed the word "recession" and every tech company simultaneously shit themselves.

Tons of layoffs happened, meaning you're competing not just with new grads but with thousands of experienced workers who got shafted by their company. My org squeaked by with a small amount of layoffs (3 people among ~100), but it also means we have not hired anyone new since mid-2022. And where I used to see maybe 4-8 people yearly leave in order to hop to a new job, I think I've seen 1 person do that in the whole last year and a half.

All this to say it's rough and I can't just say "send applications and believe in yourself :)".

I have done interviews though. (I'm not involved in resume screening though, just the interviews of candidates who made it past the screening phase.) So I have at least some relevant advice, as well as second-hand knowledge from other people I know who've had to hop jobs or get hired recently.

If you have friends already in industry who you feel comfortable asking, reach out to them. Most companies have a recommendation process where a current employee fills out a little form that says "yeah I'd recommend such-and-such for this job." These do seem to carry weight, since it's coming from a trusted internal person and isn't just one of the hundreds of cold-call applications they've received.

A lot of tech companies--whether for truly well-intentioned reasons or to just check a checkbox--are on the lookout for increasing employee diversity. If you happen to have anything like, for example, "member of my college Latino society", it's worth including on your resume among your technical skills and technical projects.

I would add "you're probably gonna have to send a lot of applications" as a bullet point but I'm sure you're already doing that. But here it is as a bullet point anyway.

(This is kind of a guess, since it's part of the resume screening) but if you can dedicate some time to getting at least passingly familiar with popular tech/stacks for the positions you're looking into, try doing that in your free time so you can list it on your resume. Even better if you make a project you can point to. Like if you're aiming for webdev, get familiar with React and probably NodeJS. On top of being comfortable in one of the all-purpose languages like C(++) or Java or Python.

If you get to the interview phase - a company that is good to work for WILL care that you're someone who's good to work with. A tech-genius who's a coworker-hating egotistical snob is a nuisance at best and a liability at worst for companies with even a half-decent culture. When I do interviews, "Is this someone who's a good culture fit?" is as important as the technical skills. You'll want to show you'll be a perfectly pleasant, helpful, collaborative coworker. If the company DOESN'T care about that... bullet dodged.

For the technical questions, I care more about the thought process than I do the right answer, especially for entry-level. If you show a capacity for asking good, insightful clarifying questions, an ability to break down the problem, explain your thought process, and backtrack&alter your approach upon realizing something won't work, that's all more important than just being able to spit out a memorized leetcode answer. (I kinda hate leetcode for this reason, and therefore I only ask homebrewed questions, because I don't want the technical portion to hinge at all on whether someone managed to memorize the first 47 pages of leetcode problems). For a new hire, the most important impression you can give me is that you have a technical grasp and that you're capable of learning. Because a new hire isn't going to be an expert in anything, but they're someone who's capable of learning the ropes.

That's everything I have off the top of my head. Good luck anon. I'm very sorry you were born during a specific range of years that made you a new grad in 2024 and I hope it gets better.

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muffinpink02 · 4 months

Note

Lucy and Ona 🥰 the Lucy padel vid got me feeling things and the big O made me desperate for more jealous Ona

So maybe Lucy takes up padel, has a hot instructor who clearly fancies her, Ona happens to be watching her once and overt jealousy ensues. And smut obv, always smut

Feel free to not do that if it’s a terrible idea 😂 I don’t have the most creative of minds, I won’t be offended 😶‍🌫️

Many Shades Of Green

Anon request - Thank you beautiful anon! Loved this idea! I haven't really read it through so you may see changes if you ever come back for seconds. Dom Ona

Warnings - smut 18 public sex,

And @lucyandalexiafan thank you ALWAYS for reading my several pages off notes and always being there for the fics chats and the deep chats. My tumblr bestie, I appreciate you a whole lot ��️

“You sure you don't want to try it out? It's really fun” Lucy asked her girlfriend.

“No, it's okay. I’ll be happy reading and watching.” Ona smiled playfully.

Lucy chuckled shyly as she looked at her paddle.

The girls were waiting for Lucy’s paddle board trainer. She had been interested in the Paddle sport for some time now, but hadn't had a chance to get into the activity with her schedule being so tight. But finally with a rare day of freedom she finally got round to booking a trainer of the sport.

“I wonder where she is? Oh that might be her.”

Ona looked up to see a tall blonde woman approaching them at the side of the court. It was like she was walking in slow motion, the girl had legs for days. She had bright blue eyes and a Hollywood smile, she looked more like a model than a trainer.

“Hey you must be Lucy? I’m Katie.” The blonde put her hand out for Lucy, her bright smile almost blinding.

Ona didn’t miss the way the blonde eyed up Lucy’s body.

Lucy smiled politely and took Katie’s hand. “Hey Katie, nice to meet you. This is my partner, Ona.”

The vogue looking model then eyed up Ona, a small smirk crept on her face.

“Gosh, you’re so little, I almost didn’t see you down there.” She laughed.

Ona had to laugh it off, it wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned her height and it wouldn’t be the last. But it still annoyed her.

“Ha, yeah, luckily I won't be in your way. I’m just watching.” Ona rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly.

Lucy gave Ona a small smile, the younger brunette knew Lucy loved her height, she constantly told her how cute she was, or how she fit into the crock of her neck perfectly when they cuddled. But it didn't make her any less self conscious when someone mentioned it in such a way, especially if that someone looked like a catwalk model.

Katie gave Ona a fake smile, but didn’t reply, she turned to Lucy with her bright smile back on her pretty face.

“Anyways, shall we get started, Luce?”

Ona raised her eyebrows at the blatant rudeness of the blonde and the new nickname for her girlfriend.

“Ahh yeah sure.” Lucy smiled back at Ona as she walked with the blonde to the centre of the court. Ona rolled her eyes as she took a seat in the stands. She pulled out her book and began to read.

The Spaniard was close enough to hear their conversation, so she didn’t miss the obnoxious laugh Katie gave everytime Lucy said something. Ona loved Lucy, but she wasn’t that funny. She shook her head and tried her best to get into her book, but she couldn't keep her eyes from wandering up to the pair in front.

Katie was showing Lucy how to swing her paddle, she stood next to the brunette and grabbed her arm.

“Wow, you’ve got some power in those arms, I bet you could lift me without blinking.” Katie chuckled, her hand still on Lucy’s biceps, squeezing her muscles.

Lucy laughed politely. Ona knew Lucy wouldn't know what to do in a situation like this, she got it all the time. So much so that she didn't even notice the difference when someone was flirting or just being polite with her.

“Let me just get behind you and show you the right form.” Katie said.

“Ahh, okay yeah.”

Ona watched as the blonde put her hands on Lucy's waist, moving her into position, she tried to not let it get to her, it was sports after all, her trainers had done similar things and she knew there was nothing behind it. But Katie had been flirting with Lucy since her foot touched the court.

“Okay, that's great. Put your back out a bit more. Yeah,that's it, now stick out your bum. Perfect, that's nice.”

Ona watched as Katie shamelessly checked out Lucy's arse. The Spaniard could feel her jealousy starting to creep up, but she tried her best to ignore it.

Katie stepped a little closer, pushing herself against Lucy's arse.

That's when Ona lost all interest in her book,

“Okay now back up with me, I won't let you fall.”

Lucy was completely oblivious to Katie's gross tactics. When it came to any kind of sport Lucy had her head game on, she had been looking forward to the training for some time, so she was locked into concentrating on her instructions, not realising what Katie was doing.

“Beautiful. Just like that.” Katie bit her lip as she felt Lucy press into her. Ona watched as she placed her hand on Lucy's back and pushed her slightly forward. “Perfect, good.”

Ona couldn't ignore the angry heat that crept up her spine, she was pissed. Ona’s teeth gritted so hard she was close to breaking a tooth. She wasn't a violent person, or even an angry person but she was close to dashing her book in Katie's pretty face.

“Okay, good. Let me just show you how I position myself. So you can try that way.”

“Okay.” Lucy nodded.

Katie stood in front of Lucy. “Now just watch how I bend.”

Ona watched as the blonde bent over in front of Lucy, her mini skirt was sitting just below her arse cheeks, but she bent so far forward you could practically see the outline of her lips in her underwear. Ona couldn't believe the way this girl was throwing herself at Lucy, It was completely over the top.

The girl was clearly into Lucy, and my god, she was trying her hardest to get some kind of attention. Ona couldn't help but laugh at how tacky she was.

“See how my knees bend?”

Lucy was trying her best to not look at the girls in front of her. She looked over at Ona to see if she was doing okay, but that's when she saw the anger flash across Ona’s normally gentle face. Lucy looked at her, trying to mouth ‘what's wrong’ but before Ona could respond Katie was there, again.

“See what I mean, Luce?”

Lucy looked back at Katie. “Oh yeah, yeah I see.”

Katie stood up and faced the brunette again. “Great, I know not everyone can bend as much as that. You have to be flexible.” She took a step closer to Lucy and whispered “I do a downward dog every morning and every night.” She purred as she winked at the brunette.

“O-Oh yeah, good to keep the muscles going.” Lucy awkwardly rubbed her nose.

“You would know, I bet you’re always at the gym.”

“Yeah, part of the job.” Lucy awkwardly played with her paddle.

“Yoga is really good for the body. I do private classes, if you were ever interested. Just one on one. It really helps in the bedroom, I can be put in so many positions.” She smirked at Lucy.

“Ah y-yeah. I’ll let you know.” Lucy stuttered, she was slowly starting to catch on to why Ona had a face of thunder.

“Great, I’ll keep you to that promise. Let's play a round, I wanna see your form.”

The girls played 3 rounds. Katie had actually kept the flirting down a minimum, aside from taking off her t-shirt as she was ‘So hot’ and was now in a tight sports bra that held little to the imagination. But Ona was still pissed. She had heard the majority of their conversation and wanted nothing more than to drag Katie by the hair and stick her paddle where the sun didn't shine.

As I said before, Ona wasn't an angry person, or a violent person, she was normally calm, cool and collected. But now and again Ona could maybe, sometimes be a little jealous.

Yes, it might have bugged her when the barista girl gave Lucy doe eyes every time they got coffee. And yes of course it annoyed her when girls would throw themselves at Lucy when they were out at a bar or restaurant. But, Ona was only human, of course she would get annoyed when someone flirted with the taller brunette, Lucy was hers, for as long as Lucy wanted to be of course.

And someone as shameless as Katie always brought out the little green jealous Ona.

Finally, the game was done.

“Okay, let's leave it there. Good job, Luce.” Katie patted the brunette on the back.

“Yeah, it was good, it's a lot of fun.” Lucy smiled.

Katies blue eyes roamed over Lucy's body. “Let me help you stretch, your thighs will be tight.”

“That's okay, I can help her with that.” Ona was suddenly standing by the fence.

Lucy and Katie both jumped at Ona’s sudden appearance.

Katie gave Ona a particularly bitchy look, clearly annoyed to have been caught out. She gave Ona another fake smile. “I think I might know how to work her muscles a bit better than you, it's my job.”

“I think I might know a little bit, I am a professional athlete. Also I think I know Lucy's body a lot better than you.” Ona gave her own fake smile.

“Of course.” Katie snarled. She turned back to Lucy who hadn't missed the blatant passiveness going on between the girls. The blonde put her winning smile back on.

“You have my email. Let me know when you can do another session next week, and that yoga class.” Katie smirked.

“Yeah, I’ll let you know. Thanks again.” Lucy waved.

Katie watched Lucy walk away, her blue eyes locked with Ona’s brown ones. She gave the younger brunette a wicked smile and walked off the court.

“Hey, you ready? How was your book?” Lucy asked.

Ona hadn't read one single sentence of her book, but Lucy didn't need to know that.

“Good, but I was a bit distracted.” Ona gave Lucy a tight smile.

Lucy knew that tone, she knew that smile, she had seen it plenty of times before, it was no secret Ona was a jealous person. It was never a problem, it didn't cause Lucy any stress. It was never serious enough for her to find it uncomfortable or controlling, it was just a trait that Ona had. Lucy saw it every now and then, she couldn't help but find it cute, and even made her feel special.

Being seen as the more dominant one in the relationship Lucy sometimes felt like she couldn't be in that position where her partner was the more jealous one but with Ona she always made her feel wanted and?

“Can we go to the showers? I wanna wash and get out of these clothes.”

Lucy grabbed her shirt, dabbing the sweat that dripped down her face, flashing her hardened abs that flexed from her breathing.

The Spaniard had seen Lucy’s abs more times then she’d had hot meals, but no matter how many times she had her eyes, hands, mouth or other regions of her body on those muscles, they always managed to leave her speechless.

“Y-yeah.” Ona cleared her throat.

They headed towards the showers, Lucy spoke about their plans later but it fell on deaf ears, Ona wasnt really listening. She was thinking about all the ways she would fuck Lucy when they got home. The younger brunette couldn't stop the hot desire she had bubbling up in her stomach, her jealousy had sparked a mix between anger and pure want for her girlfriend.

They made it to the showers.

“I won't be long.” Lucy kissed Ona’s cheek.

“Okay. I’ll wait here.” Ona smiled as she sat round the corner.

The older brunette made her way into the shower room, she entered the cubicle and began to wash her sweaty body. Little did she know Ona was sat outside, thinking about what strap to use on the girl, but her thoughts were interrupted by that irritating laugh she heard earlier.

“Yeah, I just finished my session with her. She’s so sexy! She definitely wanted me, if it wasn't for her pixie girlfriend being there she would have definitely given her number to me.” Katie spoke obnoxiously on her phone. “Yeah, I’m going to shower now. I'll talk to you later.”

Katie couldn't see Ona sitting behind the corner but Ona had heard enough to know exactly who she was talking about, she heard the door to the showers open as Katie walked inside.

That's when something snapped inside Ona. The calm, cool and collected side of her had all but disappeared and was replaced by a red hot anger that erupted inside of her body. She had done her best at holding it in, but Katie had pushed her a step too far, she couldn't hold it in any longer and that green little monster had finally come out to play. She gripped the arm chair as she waited a couple of seconds before following Katie.

Ona entered the hot shower room, she just caught the back of Katies head entering a cubicle. Then she noticed Lucy's unmistakable Barcelona towel, hanging over a door.

She knocked on her girlfriend's cubicle door. “Lucy.”

Lucy heard Ona’s voice, she unlocked the door to see if the younger brunette was okay.

“Hey, wha-” To Lucy's surprise the door was pushed open by the short Spainiard.

Ona roamed her hungry eyes over Lucys naked wet body, she looked so fucking good. The Spaniard smirked dangerously at her girlfriend, loving the confusion on Lucy’s face. She stripped her clothes off with speed she didn't know she had. Throwing the clothing on the dry bench next to Lucy's own clothes.

The shorter girl wasted no time as she pushed Lucy's naked body hard against the cubicle. The taller brunette let out a grunt as her back hit the wall.

“Ona, whats wro-” Lucy’s words were cut off by Ona’s mouth suddenly on hers.

She didnt have time to explain to Lucy that she wanted to fuck her exactly where she stood, or that Katie had created a angry, jealous, horny side of her.

Ona’s kisses were deep and rough, Lucy easily melted into her touch. She was slightly confused about the sudden intrusion but when Ona kissed her like this she didn't really see a need to stop and ask questions.

Ona forcefully pushed her tongue into Lucy's mouth, causing the taller girl to let out a surprised squeak as Ona sucked hard on her tongue. The Spaniard's hands glided up the girl's neck, allowing her short nails to scratch her skin, Lucy hissed at the slight pain but it was silenced with Ona’s hungry lips, Lucy couldn't ignore the arousal that came with the sting on her skin.

Her fingers entangled in the older brunette's wet hair, just before she gripped onto the back of Lucy's neck, pulling her closer to her face, making the taller girl bend. She was controlling every move of their kiss, every break for air, every angle was controlled by Ona.

She moved her hot mouth along Lucy's jaw, taking small bites after each kiss. Lucy's hands gripped Ona’s hips as she brought her closer to her wet body, she could already feel her core wanting to be touched.

Ona lips reached Lucy's neck, she could taste the salty sweat that Lucy hadn’t washed yet. She couldn't get enough of the flavour, she wanted more. She greedily traced the whole length of her tongue over her wet salty skin, wanting to taste every part of her. She felt an almost animistic side of her kick in, she wanted to make sure everyone knew Lucy was hers, especially Katie.

Ona moved her thigh in between Lucy's legs, she pushed herself hard against the taller girl's body, pinning her to do the wall. She was never normally so rough, she could be dominant now and again but that jealous flame in her only grew the more she heard Lucy’s sweet moans.

Lucy's hips moved desperately along Ona’s thigh, but the shorter girl didn't allow her the friction she needed, she moved her leg ever so slightly away, not giving Lucy and her throbbing clit what she wanted.

Ona couldn't stop herself as she sunk her teeth into Lucys wet skin. Lucy winced as she let out a shaky breath from the sharp pain. Ona wanted to mark her girlfriend’s body, she wanted to make Lucy and anyone who was in touching distance know she was hers.

The shorter girl hungrily moved her mouth down to Lucy's chest, kissing Lucy’s tight nipple. She gently bit at the bud, capturing it between her teeth as her tongue flicked hard against her flesh. Lucy’s hands tightneed around Ona’s hips, causing the girl's mouth to clamp down around her skin. She couldn't help the smile when she heard Lucy whimper above her, she could tell she was trying to be quiet, but that wasn't part of her plan.

“Onaaa.” She husked.

Ona gave a particularly hard suck before she moved her mouth away. She began to kiss down Lucy's abdomen, biting and sucking at the beautiful abs. She lowered herself to her knees in front of Lucy.

Lucy couldn't hold the groan in when Ona kneeled in front of her. Her beautiful girlfriend looked up at the Northerner, her brown doe eyes were full of desire but also a hint of anger, that Lucy didn’t miss. Ona kissed Lucy's stomach with a hunger that made Lucy's knees weak, she could feel her clit throbbing as she watched Ona move lower to her already wet cunt.

She laced her fingers in Ona’s hair, urging her to move to the spot she needed her most, but Ona grabbed her hands and pinned them to the wall.

“No touching.”

“Ona, baby please.”

Ona loved feeling Lucy’s hands in her hair in any state, but right now she wanted to be the one in charge, she wanted to have full control of this situation, even if Lucy's begging made her want to give her everything she wanted.

“Are you desperate Luce?”

Lucy looked down at the girl on her knees, she could feel Ona’s breath on her, her insides melted at the site. Ona’s hooded eyes were looking at her with so much lust, it made her throat dry.

She nodded. “Yeah.” She whispered.

“Louder, I can't hear you.” Ona gently bit Lucy's thigh.

The older brunette bit her lip, she wanted to scream.

“I’m desperate Ona, please.” She picked her voice up a little but not enough.

“More.” Ona giggled, she knew Lucy was holding back, it made sense, they were in a public space but she didn't care, she wanted someone in particular to hear exactly what she was about to do to her girlfriend.

She clearly needed a little push, Ona dragged her tongue along Lucy's thigh, stopping at the crease, between her thigh and lips, kissing her lightly. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, as she felt Ona tease her.

“Ona. Please.”

“You’re mine aren't you Lucy? Hmm?”

“Yes. All you-, aah fuck!”

Ona swiped her tongue through Lucy's throbbing folds.

“Say it again. Louder.” She kissed Lucy's wet lips, tasting her girlfriend's familiar taste.

“I’m all yours On-aaa! Yes, please don't stop.” Lucy half shouted.

Lucy’s head hit the cubicle wall as the girl on her knees began to eat her out. She knew Ona was pissed off with Katies constant flirting, but she didn't realise just how pissed she was. Ona wasn't slow, she wanted to make Lucy scream. She picked up her tongue with a fast pace, hitting Lucy's swollen clit. She hadn't seen this kind of side to her before, this possessive side, but fuck, she couldn't get enough of it.

“Fuck, Ona.” Lucy whispered.

Ona wasn't having that.

The Spaniard moved her mouth from Lucy's core. “Sorry, I didn't hear you?” She looked up, her lips already wet with Lucy.

“I….fuck, Ona please, please. I need your mouth. Please!” The girl moaned, loudly.

Bingo.

That's exactly what Ona wanted to hear. She couldn't stop the devilish smirk that pulled at her lips, she knew Katie would have heard Lucy, and whoever else was in the room.

“You need my mouth?” She kissed her sensitive lips. “Why Lucy?”

Lucy's hands flexed under Ona own, still pinned to the wall. Her head was dizzy.

“Becu- ahh. Because you make me feel good” Lucy pleaded.

“How good?”

“So fucking good. Your mouth was made for me, Ona.” Lucy's hips rolled, trying to get across how much she wanted her. “I love you, and your perfect mouth.” Her words were softer this time.

“I love you too.” Ona husked.

The younger girl ducked her head back between Lucy's legs picking her pace back up, tracing her talented tongue all over Lucy's sensitive flesh. Lucy let out a loud groan, finally feeling Ona’s mouth work on her properly. She wanted so badly to entangle her fingers into Ona’s hair, so scared that she would move away again.

Lucy’s not so soft whimpers were loud enough to hear two doors down, Katie could hear every moan, groan, whimper and even the wet sucking from Ona’s wet lips. She huffed as she washed her desperate sweat away.

The younger girl worked her mouth on her girlfriend, her own cunt throbbing at the noises Lucy was making. The older brunette had clearly forgotten her worries of being loud, she was completely lost in the feeling of Ona, pleasuring her with so much desire.

She began to move her hips, gently into Onas face, her clit felt so good finally being sucked the way she loved, between Ona’s perfect lips.

“Please Ona, I want to touch you.”

Ona pulled back, licking her lips as she eyed up Lucy, almost annoyed that she had been interrupted. “No.”

She moved back gripping Lucy's wrist tighter, making a point that she wasn't allowed to touch.

The older brunette looked down at Ona as she gently rolled her hips into her girlfriend's mouth, her warm brown eyes burning into her own. She loved looking at Ona while the girl ate her out, she always looked amazing as her head bobbed between her legs, especially when she watched Lucy.

Lucy gapped as her head rolled back, her body melting as the Spaniard's tongue danced on her clit. The younger brunette could see and hear Lucy getting close, her breathing picked up, her groaning became louder, bouncing off the tiles in the room.

“Ona,” Lucy gasped.

This was another thing Ona loved. Lucy could speak multiple languages, she could give a speech to thousands and not stutter, her brain was full to the brim with facts and information. But when Ona was between her legs, the only words that fell from her lips was her girlfriend's name.

Her strong thighs began to shake, Ona moved her hand up Lucy's thigh, teasing her entrance with her finger. Lucy panted as she automatically opened her legs for Ona. The younger girl couldn't stop the groan as she dipped a single finger easily inside her girlfriend's wet cunt.

“Fuckkk. Yes, Ona… fuck.” Lucy gasped.

Ona began to fuck Lucy with a rough steady pace, she easily slipped in her second digit. Her own eyes closed in pleasure hearing the way Lucy took her fingers. She couldn’t take her eyes off Lucy, her face was pure bliss. Ona loved having Lucy like this, at her complete mercy.

“You’re mine aren't you Lucy?”

“Yes, yours. I’ll always be yours.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

“Good.”

Her cunt started to tighten around Ona’s fingers, Ona could feel she was about to come. Lucy couldn't hold in the loud gasps that fell from her mouth. Ona fucked and sucked her girlfriend as Lucys hips rolled with more purpose. That’s when her orgasm began to bolt through her body with a few more thrusts and the steady movements of Ona’s tongue Lucy was sent flying with Ona’s name bouncing off the walls in the room.

Her groan was loud, she shook against the thin walls making it rattle. Even Ona was shocked at how loud she was, but hearing her name fall from her girlfriend's lips was always a turn on, with or without trying to prove a point to Katie.

Lucy panted hard, her eyes were closed as her body tried to keep up with the pressure of her release. Ona licked the taller brunette gently, allowing her to feel her soft tongue as much as she needed to. Lucy's hips finally came to a slow stop, her eyes looked completely hazed as she smiled down at Ona. She finally released Lucy's wrist, she would have definitely left nail indents in her skin.

“You okay?” Ona whispered as she stood up.

“Are you really asking that?” Lucy chuckled breathlessly.

The Spaniard smiled as she eyed up the dark marks that littered Lucy's neck and chest.

“Just checking.”

Lucy brought her mouth to Ona’s, she groaned as she tasted herself on the shorter brunettes tongue. The kiss had started out slow but quickly turned heated and messy again, and Ona still held all the control.

The Spaniard was still feeling that hot green jealousy sitting in her stomach, and Lucy could feel it, she wanted Ona to know that she was the only girl she wanted, she wanted her to feel as wanted as she made her.

“Show me how much you want me.” Ona whispered against Lucy's lips.

Lucy felt her head flood with arousal, she wasn't sure if it was her the mind blowing orgasm or Ona’s words that made her legs feel like jelly

The taller girl got to her knees, and in between Ona’s legs, never once taking her eyes off of the younger brunnete. Lucy wouldn't admit this to many people, but she loved being dominated by the shorter brunette. There was something about Ona being in complete control that made Lucy completely lose herself to the younger girl.

The warm shower water ran down her face, as she felt Ona’s fingers lace through her dark hair.

“Show me, Luce.”

Lucy barely heard the words, but just by Ona’s desperate eyes she knew what she wanted.

She allowed Ona to guide her head to her dripping sex. She slipped her tongue into Ona’s wet folds, a deep groan rumbled in the back of Lucy's throat as she gathered the taste of her girlfriend's essence on her tongue.

Ona let out a sharp hiss, as Lucy's strong tongue glided across her bundle of nerves. She had felt her clit throbbing since watching Lucy play, she could feel the pent up frustration and anger run through her veins, thinking about Lucy being with someone else. She knew Lucy didn’t want Katie or cared for her antics, but it didn’t mean she didn’t get a little hurt and self conscious.

Lucy craned her neck, lapping her tongue through her lover's lips. She closed her eyes as Ona’s nails gently scratched through her scalp. She flicked her tongue over the peaking clit, then softly wrapped her lips around the sensitive flesh, earning her a delicious moan from above. She looked up at the younger brunette, her abs flexed as her body reacted to the sensation between her legs. Ona was already starting to pant above her.

Ona was already losing her nerve, she dipped one hand into Lucy's hair, placing the other against the wall above her leaning herself forward, pining Lucy’s head against the cubicle wall.

Ona felt Lucy groan at the movement, she was in Ona’s complete control, she just had to kneel and watch as Ona used her mouth.

“I love it when you do that with your tongue.” Ona gasped.

Lucy had moved her tongue as deep as she could into Ona’s cunt, pushing at her sensitive muscles, then slowly stroking it back up to her awaiting clit. It was a move that always had Ona drenching her mouth, and today was no different. Lucy swallowed Ona’s juices as they dripped onto her tongue, drowning her taste buds.

“Lucyyy.”

Ona’s hips began to pick up pace, Lucy’s tongue was already nearing her to her peak. Ona gritted her teeth as she felt her climax rise, her hand in Lucy’s hair got tighter as she began to feel her orgasm.

Lucy groaned as Ona pulled her hair, fucking her face, the hot shower ran over their bodies but the cold chill that ran over Ona’s skin gave her goosebumps all over her body. Ona held Lucy's head, snaking her hips into her face, gently fucking her head against the cubicle wall. They were definitely making a lot of noise, they sounded like a porn set, there was no way they were going to be able to show their faces at this gym again.

“Lu…Lucy, keep sucking. Please.” Ona begged.

But a loud banging on their door interrupted them.

“This is a public space. It's really gross what you’re doing.” It was Katie's annoying voice.

Lucy’s eyes widened in panic, her hands gripped the younger brunette's thighs. But Ona didn't care, smiled dangerously down at Lucy, she didn't even stop her movements in Lucy's mouth, even if they were being called out for the public indecency.

“Sorry, Lucy can’t answer you right now, her mouth's a little busy.” Ona groaned.

Lucy felt a rush of excitement crash through her body, she finaly put two and two together, her jealous girlfriend had done this on purpose, she wasn't even mad, she would have probably done the same thing. She winked up at Ona, knowing it would only push the girl further.

“That's it, keep going baby.” Ona smiled wickedly down at Lucy.

Lucy did exactly what her petite lover asked, she sucked on her throbbing clit just the way she liked. They stayed like this for a couple more minutes, Ona’s movements rocked gently against her mouth, until she started to feel Ona’s body shake against her face, she could tell she was close.

“Lucyyyy!”

Lucy’s head was forced against the wall as the Spaniard’s orgasm took over her body. Ona’s hips fucked her mouth, causing a pornagraphic thudding noise with the back of Lucy's head. Lucy couldn't stop the groan as she felt Ona’s clit pulsate in her mouth. She stayed on Ona’s clit, gently sucking as her abs rolled above her.

“Oh Déu meu.” Ona groaned.

She stroked Lucy's hair as she slowly backed away, a dopey smile plastered her face as she looked down at the brunette.

“Fuck.” Lucy chuckled.

“Lu-,”

“Excuse me, can you please gather your belongings and leave the premises, before we call the police.” The security guard shouted.

Both girls' eyes widened this time.

“Y-yeah, leaving now.”

The girls had never put clothes on quicker in their life. They grabbed their bags and walked out the shower room. They were greeted by a pissed off looking security guard and Katie, who looked even more pissed off.

“I’m sure you’re aware you're banned from here.” He grunted.

“Yeah.” The girls said in unison.

“Okay, please leave the premises.”

The girls nodded, and began to walk away.

“What? That's it?” Katie gasped.

The security guard nodded, already bored of the situation. Ona looked back at Katie, she looked like a toddler that was about to have a breakdown, she stomped her foot and pouted.

“Bye, Katie. Try not to think of me fucking my girlfriend when you’re next in the showers.” Ona blew the blonde a kiss as she grabbed Lucy's hand.

Maybe Lucy could pick up a new sport.

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