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projectdark-if · 2 years ago

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Project DARK is an 18+ character-driven SPY IF inspired by a rather eventful weekend binging on Mission Impossible movies. It can be described as Suicide Squad meets Mission Impossible. MC, a retired villain, will be a new operative in a team to bring down their old best friend.

You were a jewel thief and hired mercenary, outsourcing your skills at thievery and espionage for all types of...shady characters. Yeah, you were aiding in the possible destruction of the world in exchange for money, but details, right?

You were the best in the business alongside your partner, Spider. You're not supposed to get close to people in this business, but Spider somehow weaseled into your life and became your best friend.

But then they died, killed by operatives of Mission Shadow, the one organization that has been hunting you down since day one. You decided to retire, changing your name and identity in an attempt to make an honest and private life of what you have left.

Until Project DARK finds you.

Project DARK: an experiment to put the most together the most skilled shadow villains to train and defeat the biggest threat they've faced.

Your best friend, whom you thought was dead.

They need you and your skills. You know Spider best. No longer are you the villain, but a Project DARK operative joining as the newest recruit to the ranks.

Good luck.

Customize your operative from appearance, personality, gender identity.

Tailor your past: were you a merciful villain, or a merciless one? Did you make enemies or try to make friends? Liked for being kind and easy to work with or hated for being the literal worst?

Romance members of your team or your target, with some having special relationships.

Choose what kind of operative you'll be and shape the dynamic of the team.

Try not to fall into old habits and get sucked into the dark world of crime. You left that life for a reason.

THE TARGET | Spider [m or f]: your old best friend and the new target. They've been busy since their 'death' and have grown a network of connections that can dismantle the world as you know it. They're apparently planning something big. Big enough that the organizations of the world created Project DARK to take them down.

Special romance: can have had previous thing with them that was never confronted or simply have been best friends.

THE LEADER | Elias/Elena Steel: one of the best operatives, personally recommended by MI6. The only non-villain on the team, E is also appointed leader and doesn't like you much, considering the fact that a mission of yours ended with their closest partner dead. While you may have not pulled the trigger, E blames you all the same.

Strict and as cold as steel, it makes sense why E is the one with the team on their shoulders.

Special romance: enemies to lovers. E hates your guts.

THE SECOND IN COMMAND | Nick/Nina Sharma: second-in-command and a retired illegal weapons dealer, N is, surprisingly, E's closest friend. N has long given up that life, but before their new work as a operative, you knew them as a distant associate. You two have crossed paths on multiple occasions, most of them happening with them almost killing you or vice versa. N can't help but be nice, but you can tell they're not really a fan of you.

Special romance: may have had a lapse in judgement and have had a one night stand...or multiple.

THE BRAINS | Zane/Zena Omari: One of the most skilled hackers and a familiar face on the FBIs most wanted list, Z is on the team in order to be able to go back home without getting arrested. Oddly enough, they're not what the media says they are. Friendly, warm, comedic. Z seems to be having too much of a good time, even with the circumstances surrounding their presence.

THE WEAPONS EXPERT | Luca/Lucia Cruz: L doesn't know you much, and doesn't care to. Hyper-focused on the mission, L's disinterest in you is a breath of fresh air. You don't know what they did and how they got here, but you do know they were facing a life sentence. Still, things aren't always what they seem.

Maybe it won't stay that way.

#cog #cog wip #choice of games #interactive fiction #interactive fiction wip #interactive novel #interact-if #interactive game #if wip #dashingdon #dashing don #hosted games #intro post #wip

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movingmusically · 4 months ago

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What Are Friends For? - Chapter 1

Series Synopsis: Callum Turner thinks he’s a genius matchmaker. Angie, his best friend, thinks he’s meddling. Austin? He’s just curious. But as sparks fly, one question lingers—is this just a fleeting moment, or something worth holding on to?

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist

I’ve known Callum Turner since before I could walk—literally. Our mums were inseparable from the antenatal classes all the way through to playgroups. We were born three days apart, grew up living opposite each other on a quiet street in West London, and spent so much time together that people used to joke we were like twins.

In a way, they weren’t wrong. He’s the brother I never had, my partner-in-crime for as long as I can remember. The kind of friend you can scream at one minute and laugh with the next, no grudges, no pretence. We’ve been through everything together—bruised knees, first crushes, exam stress, and all the rest of it.

Now he’s off being an actor, doing incredible things, while I’ve stayed behind in the “real world.” Teaching primary school isn’t glamorous, but it’s solid. It’s meaningful. And while I’d never say it out loud, part of me envies the freedom Callum’s life offers—the chance to take big risks and chase something extraordinary.

So when he called me a few months back, buzzing with the news about Masters of the Air, I couldn’t help but feel proud of him. He was practically bouncing through the phone, telling me about the part, the cast, the bootcamp they’d be doing. “It’s a proper World War Two epic,” he’d said. “You’d love it, Ange. You’re the expert, after all.”

The “expert” part was pushing it, but he wasn’t wrong about my love for the era. It started with my Nan’s stories—tales of bomb shelters, rationing, and dancing with American soldiers. She made that time sound equal parts terrifying and magical. When she passed a few years ago, I started writing about it, trying to weave her stories into something meaningful. Not that anyone’s read it.

“You’ll have to let me visit the set,” I’d teased Callum.

“Absolutely,” he’d promised. “Though you might have to cook me a roast first.”

Now, standing in my tiny kitchen on a grey Sunday afternoon, I was realising he hadn’t been joking. Callum had insisted on coming home for the day, and of course, I couldn’t say no. It had been ages since we’d caught up properly. But the mention of a “plus one” came only yesterday.

“Don’t stress,” Callum had said over the phone. “He’s just a mate. You’ll get on great.”

The buzzer rang, and I wiped my hands on my apron before pressing the intercom. “Come on up,” I said, unlocking the door. A moment later, footsteps echoed in the stairwell, followed by a familiar knock.

I pulled the door open to find Callum grinning like the cat that got the cream. Beside him stood a man I didn’t recognise. A beautiful man. Striking, really, with sandy blonde hair and sharp features that belonged on the cover of a glossy magazine. His piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, I forgot how to speak.

Callum beamed. “Angie, meet Austin. Austin, Angie.”

Austin shifted slightly, offering a small smile. “Hey. Thanks for having me.”

His voice was warm, low but unassuming, and for some reason, that grounded me more than anything else. I blinked, recovering from my momentary lapse into silence, and stepped aside. “Oh—yeah, of course. Come in.”

Callum breezed past me first, kicking off his shoes without a care in the world, while Austin followed more carefully, glancing around my flat with quiet interest. I suddenly became hyper-aware of everything—the books stacked on my coffee table, the slightly wonky gallery wall I’d been meaning to fix, the faint smell of roast chicken lingering in the air.

“It smells amazing in here,” Austin said, his smile soft but genuine.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s a bloody domestic goddess,” Callum called over his shoulder as he collapsed onto my sofa, sprawling out like he owned the place. “You’ll never eat a better roast in your life, mate.”

I rolled my eyes, untying my apron as I followed them in. “Don’t oversell it, Cal. It’s just a roast.”

“No, it’s the roast,” Callum corrected, before turning to Austin. “I’ve had Michelin-star meals that don’t come close to this.”

Austin let out a quiet laugh, looking at me. “That true?”

I shook my head, smirking. “He’s full of it. But I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

Austin nodded like he was taking mental notes, then hesitated for half a second. “Do you need any help with anything?”

The offer surprised me. I was used to Callum doing absolutely nothing when it came to meals, except for showing up and eating. I waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, it’s all under control. You can make yourself comfortable.”

Austin seemed to consider that for a moment before choosing a seat at the table, resting his forearms on the wood. He was relaxed, but not in an arrogant way—more like someone who was perfectly fine just observing for now. Callum, meanwhile, was already flicking through the books on my coffee table.

“Oh, come on,” I sighed. “At least pretend you’re a guest.”

“I am a guest,” he shot back. “A regular guest. I’m like—like an honorary flatmate.”

“You're not even in the city most of the time,” I pointed out.

“Details,” Callum said, dismissing me with a wave. “The point is, Austin, my dear friend, you’re in for a treat.”

Austin chuckled, glancing between us. “You guys really are like siblings.”

I huffed, heading back toward the kitchen to check on the gravy. “Unfortunately.”

Callum grinned. “You love it.”

I didn’t dignify that with an answer.

By the time we sat down to eat, the atmosphere had settled into something easier, more familiar. Callum had always had a way of making a room feel alive, and Austin—while quieter—seemed to absorb it rather than deflect it. He wasn’t trying to keep up or match Callum’s energy, but he wasn’t shrinking back either.

“So, how do you two know each other?” I asked as I passed Austin the potatoes.

“Work,” Callum said through a mouthful of food. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” I echoed dryly. “I mean, how? Did they stick you in a room together and tell you to bond?”

“Pretty much,” Austin said, amusement flickering in his expression. “Bootcamp started a few weeks before we began filming, so we were thrown together pretty quickly.”

“You mean torture camp,” Callum corrected. “It was brutal, Ange. You’d have cried.”

I shot him a look. “Wow, thanks.”

“You know what I mean.” He waved his fork at me. “You don’t do military nonsense.”

“No, I don’t do your nonsense,” I muttered. Then I glanced at Austin, curious. “Was that the training thing Cal mentioned? Was it really that bad?”

Austin hesitated, as if weighing his answer. “It was intense. But I get why they did it. They wanted us to feel like a unit.”

“And did you?” I asked.

His gaze flicked toward Callum, then back to me. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I think we did.”

Callum grinned. “See? That’s soldier talk right there.”

Austin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

The conversation meandered between filming, travel, and Callum’s usual over-the-top stories. Austin listened more than he spoke, but when he did chime in, his words carried weight. He wasn’t just nodding along—he was engaged, asking me questions about my job, my life, like he actually cared to know the answers.

“So, Callum tells me you’re a teacher?” he asked at one point.

“Yeah, Year Four,” I said. “Mostly wrangling kids, trying to get them to listen.”

Austin smiled. “That’s impressive. I bet it takes a lot of patience.”

“Some days more than others,” I admitted. “But they’re great. Keeps life interesting.”

“I believe it,” he said. “My mom ran daycare out of our house when I was a kid. Always a full house. I don’t know how she did it.”

That caught my attention. “So you grew up surrounded by kids?”

“Pretty much,” he said. “I got good at sharing.”

That made me laugh. “Wish I could say the same about my lot. They’d fight over air if I let them.”

Austin chuckled. “I feel like that’s just kids in general.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, shaking my head. “Still. They’re brilliant. Exhausting, but brilliant.”

Austin didn’t look away, and I found myself holding his gaze for just a beat longer than necessary before I cleared my throat and reached for my drink.

After dinner, Callum predictably migrated back to the sofa, stretching out like he had no plans to move for the next several hours. Austin, however, surprised me.

“Let me help,” he said, standing and gathering his plate.

“You don’t have to,” I said automatically.

“I want to,” he replied simply.

I hesitated, then nodded toward the kitchen. “Alright. If you insist.”

He followed me in, rolling up his sleeves before reaching for the drying rack. “That was seriously good,” he said as I ran the tap. “Callum wasn’t lying.”

“He usually is,” I joked, elbowing him lightly. “But I appreciate that.”

Austin chuckled, taking a plate from me to dry. “Does he always invite himself over like this?”

“Like clockwork,” I said. “It started when we were kids. He realised my mum made better Sunday dinners than his and never left.”

Austin smirked. “Smart man.”

“Debatable.”

We worked in comfortable silence for a minute before he spoke again. “So, Callum mentioned you’re into World War Two history?”

I paused. “Did he?”

Austin nodded. “Said your Nan had stories.”

I swallowed, focusing on rinsing a glass. “Yeah. She grew up during the war. She used to tell me about it all the time.”

“That’s amazing,” Austin said, genuine interest in his voice. “You must’ve learned a lot from her.”

“I did,” I said softly. “She made it feel real.”

Austin studied me for a moment, as if he wanted to ask something else, but instead, he just nodded. “That’s really cool.”

I exhaled, forcing myself to relax. I hadn’t expected that conversation to affect me, but something about the way he listened—really listened—made me feel oddly seen.

And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

With the dishes done, we moved into the living room, where Callum had sprawled himself out on the sofa like he owned the place. I settled into the armchair across from him, while Austin took the spot beside Callum, resting his forearm on the back of the sofa, looking perfectly at ease but not overconfident.

The conversation drifted between light topics—London weather (predictably unpredictable), the state of Callum’s flat (“a disaster zone,” according to him), and the absurdity of filming in wool uniforms during a heatwave. Then, during a lull, I turned to Austin.

“So,” I said, tucking my legs under myself, “what else have you worked on? I’ll be honest—I haven’t seen much of Callum’s castmates’ work. He tends to just tell me they’re ‘brilliant’ and leave it at that.”

Austin let out a quiet laugh but hesitated before answering. He rubbed his hands together absently, as if weighing his words. “Uh, a few things here and there,” he said finally, his voice even. “Mostly smaller roles until recently.”

“He’s being modest,” Callum cut in, nudging him with his elbow. “You should’ve seen him in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. Absolutely terrifying.”

I blinked. “Wait—you were in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood? I’ve seen that!”

Austin gave a small, almost sheepish smile, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “I played Tex.”

The name clicked instantly, and my eyes widened. “The guy in the ranch scene? That was you?”

He nodded, ducking his head slightly like he wasn’t used to this kind of attention. “Yeah, that was me.”

“That’s insane,” I said, leaning back. “I remember watching that scene and thinking, ‘This guy is way too good at being creepy.’ No offence.”

“None taken,” he replied with a quiet laugh, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “That was the goal, after all.”

“Tarantino helped, I bet,” Callum added, taking a sip of his drink. “But seriously, tell her about Elvis.”

Austin shot him a quick look, somewhere between exasperated and amused, but Callum wasn’t about to let it go.

“He just wrapped filming on Elvis,” Callum announced, grinning like he was proud of himself for being the first to say it. “Spent two years working on it. Two years!”

“Almost,” Austin corrected, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was… a lot. A lot of prep, a lot of music, a lot of late nights.”

“Two years?” I echoed, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s… intense. I can’t imagine staying in someone else’s head for that long.”

Austin nodded, his gaze dropping briefly to his hands. “It was one of those roles where you don’t really have a choice. You either give it everything, or you don’t do it at all.”

I studied him for a moment, trying to imagine what that kind of commitment must have felt like. Callum had told me before about getting lost in characters, but there was something different about the way Austin spoke—like the experience still lingered with him, its weight undeniable but not unwelcome.

“That must’ve been overwhelming,” I said carefully, unsure how much to press.

“It was,” he admitted, his voice steady as his eyes met mine again. “But it was worth it. I learned a lot—about the music, about him, about myself.”

Callum, mercifully, took the reins, raising his glass in a mock toast. “He killed it. I’ve seen clips. Absolutely smashed it.”

Austin shook his head, smiling faintly. “It’s not out yet, so we’ll see what people think. You never know how something like that will land.”

“If you’re even half as good as you were in bootcamp, it’ll be amazing,” Callum said confidently.

“High praise,” I quipped, grateful for the chance to lighten the mood. “Callum doesn’t usually compliment anyone who might outshine him.”

“Oi!” Callum protested, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

Austin laughed, the sound rich and low, his earlier heaviness lifting just enough to make the moment feel lighter again.

And just like that, the evening settled into something easy—Callum cracking jokes, Austin chiming in with dry humour, and me, caught between the two of them, realising that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t such a bad way to spend a Sunday.

Monday morning came too quickly.

One minute, I was sitting in my flat, laughing with Callum and Austin, half a glass of wine in my hand and no real obligations beyond tidying up. The next, I was back in the real world, standing in my classroom at 8 a.m., trying to summon the energy to wrangle a group of nine-year-olds into being remotely functional human beings for the day.

The contrast was almost comical.

I stacked the last of the exercise books on my desk, exhaling as I glanced around the room. The weekend already felt like a strange, detached memory—like something I’d watched happen to someone else rather than lived myself. That, or I’d dreamt the whole thing.

Except I hadn’t.

I’d met Austin Butler. He’d been in my flat, eating my food, washing my dishes. He’d laughed at my jokes. And, perhaps most disorientingly, he’d listened to me—really listened.

Not that it mattered now. I had a full day of lessons ahead, and the only people listening to me today would be my students, who, judging by the volume level in the corridor, were already far too awake for a Monday morning.

Midday—The Staff Room

“…And then he says, ‘Angie, meet Austin,’ like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Meanwhile, I’m standing there like an idiot, trying to remember how to speak.”

Zara, a Year Three teacher and my closest work friend, let out an exaggerated gasp, nearly spilling her tea. “Wait, wait, Austin Butler? Are you kidding?”

“Not kidding,” I said, stabbing at my pasta salad with my fork. “I had no clue who he was. Just thought, ‘Wow, this guy is stupidly attractive.’”

“That’s because he is stupidly attractive.” She leaned forward. “Angie. Angie. This man played Elvis.”

“Technically, not yet,” I corrected. “The film isn’t out.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do that thing where you act like this is normal. You had Austin Butler in your flat, eating your roast dinner, probably having a borderline religious experience because Yorkshire puddings aren’t a thing in America—”

“I don’t think it was religious—”

“—and you didn’t realise who he was?”

“I don’t live under a rock,” I said, exasperated. “I knew Callum’s new co-star was called Austin. I just hadn’t seen his films, and Callum’s descriptions of people are always useless.”

Zara groaned, flopping back in her chair. “I cannot believe you just casually had dinner with him.”

“It wasn’t a date,” I pointed out.

“Yet,” she shot back.

I rolled my eyes, but before I could argue, the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch.

Zara sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky I love my class, otherwise I’d stay here and interrogate you for another half hour.”

“Your class is adorable,” I agreed, standing up.

“So are you and Austin, apparently.” She winked before slipping out the door, leaving me shaking my head as I headed back to my classroom.

By the time I got home, I was exhausted. Monday always took it out of me, but today felt worse than usual. Maybe it was the mental whiplash—going from sipping wine with an A-lister (who I hadn’t even known was an A-lister at the time) to breaking up an argument between two nine-year-olds over whose turn it was to be goalie at lunchtime.

I dropped onto my sofa with a sigh, already thinking about ordering takeaway, when my phone buzzed.

Callum: Did you survive Monday?

I huffed a laugh and typed back: Barely. Back to reality and all that.

A second later, another message popped up.

Callum: Austin says thanks for dinner. Also, he thinks you’re cool.

I frowned at my phone. What does that mean?

Me: I’m cool? That’s a vague review.

Callum: Mate, just take the compliment.

I rolled my eyes but smiled despite myself.

I hovered for a second, debating whether to ask something before my curiosity got the better of me.

Me: So… what’s his deal?

Callum: What do you mean?

Me: Like… he seems quieter than the guys you usually hang out with. More serious. Is he always like that?

A pause. Then—

Callum: Yeah, he’s a good one. He thinks a lot before he speaks. And he’s proper dedicated to his work. Probably the most disciplined person I’ve met, if I’m honest.

That didn’t surprise me. I’d sensed something like that when Austin talked about Elvis—the way his voice had changed, the weight in his words.

I chewed on my lip before typing:

Me: What’s he like outside of work?

Callum: Why, you interested?

I groaned. I walked straight into that one.

Me: Forget I asked.

Callum: Nah, nah, I love this. Let’s unpack it.

Me: I hate you.

Callum: You love me.

I was about to throw my phone across the room when another message came through.

Callum: Just come to brunch on Sunday. You’ll see for yourself.

#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #fan fiction #fanfic #imagine #fiction #austin butler fanfic #austinbutler #austin butler x #callum turner #Callum turner fic #waff #What Are Friends For fic

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kitkat13001 · 8 months ago

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｡･:*✧｡𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜, 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜, 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚙𝚜𝚎

>> matt (mail jeevas) x reader

>> reader is a wammy kid, reader and matt are best friends, set during the wammy days, title is from cigarettes after sex’s song “apocalypse”

marceline, matty, is it just you and me in the wreckage of the world?

“hey, matty?”

he gives barely a mumble of acknowledgment, nose-deep in his video game.

it’s cold out tonight. it’s quiet hours, the lights are out, and everyone’s either asleep or holed up in their rooms working on some obscure project. technically, neither of you are supposed to be up here, on the roof of the wammy house. but when you stick a bunch of hyper-intelligent orphans together in a house for ‘gifted’ kids and proceed to try and control them, you can’t really blame them for breaking the rules.

“do you really wish the human race was extinct?” you ask, gazing out at the english countryside illuminated in the moonlight.

“yeah,” he says back, unbothered. he doesn’t even look up from his gameboy.

“really? everyone?”

matt shrugs. “i guess. probably be for the best, y’know? no more war, no more famine, no ill will. you know, world peace.”

he says the last part jokingly, mockingly.

“even you? me?”

matt shrugs again. “i dunno.” he cracks a smile. “you’re probably the reason we don’t have world peace.”

you shove him hard, but you can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes you. “shut up, dumbass.”

you both lapse into a comfortable silence. you can hear the quiet beeps and music of his game float in the cold air as you watch your breath come out in white puffs and vanish into the night sky.

“you know what i wish, matty?”

“you’re awfully pensive tonight,” matt notes, shaking his head. he yelps when you pinch him.

“that our job, dummy, or so we’re told. you wanna know what i wish or what?”

“fine,” matt huffs, heaving a sigh. “what do you wish?”

“that the whole human race was extinct. except for us.”

he hums lowly, distracted by the commotion on his tiny little screen. you watch with intrigue as his brows furrow, fingers working rapidly at the game. you think it’s funny that you and matt are so different, and yet are able to understand each other with perfect ease.

you don’t remember when exactly you became friends, if you would even consider yourselves that. it seems like a childish term considering your environment. but out of everyone in this house, you had always found matt the most interesting. and after all, two heads are better than one, especially since you and him both had a knack for getting into (and out of) trouble. it’s been like this ever since

“matty?”

“whaaat?” he groans, finally giving up on peace as he sets the game down.

“would you kiss me if we were the last two people on earth?”

he takes a minute to think it over, the silence dragging out until you’re sure he won’t answer. then he shrugs. “yeah, i guess so.”

you smile, his seemingly mediocre answer more than enough for you.

#this is obscure but i promise thats the point...#matt x reader #matt death note #matt x reader death note #mail jeevas #mail jeevas x reader #death note x reader #matt dn #dn matt #death note #kitty.writes!

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mpalimpsest · 8 days ago

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Translucent

As the days pass Sunrise, Sunset, Midnight

To dawn…

Oh, to dawn The sky slowly fading from smoky indigo to Eyelids t ou ched by Warm light Heavy weighty Dew Saturated Forest – multiple layers of resin Poured In hyper-lapse Until peeking sun rays wipe away the last Tear drops clinging to the very t i p s Of tall blades of

G R A S S

Making meaning Being O P E N Receptive To it a l l … breathless beauty

Sometimes I wish for subdued Muted Quiet Feelings…

Happiness is… Bright, brighter still than the sun although f l e e t i n g like soapy Iridescent Bubbles… Sadness is… home A deep flesh wound… Searing White hot from pressed salt. – Cleansed Constant Buzz Anger is… a black box… threatening to

detonate

Wonder Oh, wonder is air

Is breath

Is pain…

Skin – membrane is thin Like translucent washi paper Beautiful in its Insistence on form even If barely

there.

Handle with care.

View On WordPress

#beauty #blog #creative #creativeprojects #creativewriting #naturesbeauty #poem #poetry #sensitivity #thoughts #writing #spilled poetry #spilled ink #translucent #poetry corner #poetsandwriters #dead poets society #the tortured poets department

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livalue · 2 months ago

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🪻Blaze Birthday 🪻 It's my age day todayyy, have a wild Blaze for the special occasion (^ v ^) 🎂

I also wanted to toss in the hyper-lapse I have for it, never done this before here so hopefully the format looks correct..?

Also yes that's the Frieren op, it seemed suitable, sue me

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic art #sth #sth fanart #fanart #art #kawaii art #liva's art #blaze the cat #sousou no frieren #frieren: beyond journey's end #sonic rush #sonic 06 #traditional art #artwork #my art #sonic fanart #sonic fandom #sonic blaze

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myarmcanfly · 8 months ago

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youtube

I don’t often share behind the scenes photos, but since this piece was made entirely on stream I had the unique opportunity to put together this full start to finish time-lapse of how it was made! As a bonus, you can enjoy the hyper speed bouncing of the pigeons in their corner of the screen.

This piece will go up for sale tomorrow, Friday October 11th, at 7pm eastern on my website!

Music is “Rabbit’s Song” by S.J. Tucker - check her out on Patreon or at sjtucker dot com

#crafting #needlefelting #artdoll #arttoys #fiberart #oneofakind #creaturedesign #handmade #handdyed #dyedwool #rabbit #hare #trickster #artdollsforsale #timelapse #processvideo #behindthescenes #sj tucker #Youtube

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ticklelully · 2 months ago

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I've been so busy making sure everyone's sensitivities are thoroughly explored and documented that I've lapsed on my own appointments ~ possiblyyyyy on purpose, but I believe I am exempt from such formalities, right?

Ohh Miss Amy! I can't believe you'd go all this time without a tickle health check! That won't do at all! We gotta conduct a FULL body phisical exam! Huh? yes sweetie "we", I have a little team of nurses to help me! did you know there are twenty steps to a complete physical exam? yeahhh most doctors have to make them specific to their areas, but as a tickle doctor (specially YOUR tickle doctor) we need to inspect every single thing! because you can be ticklish anywhere and ~everywhere~...

General state: Good!I can see you're visibly a little anxious and squirmy as my lovely nurses strip you of your clothes, but we need to have your whooole body visible!

Nutritional state: Usually related to food, but I consider tickle nutrition as the parameter! So please, be a good girl and let them give you a little dose of side pokes, as I can see you're STARVING for it...

Development: You're fully grown, and fully ticklish! Maybe a bit too much even? We can be looking at a Hyper Ticklishness case... see how important it is to visit your doctor regularly?

Facies: hmm c'mon everyone, just take a good long look at her face... blushing? oh no, don't cover it with your hands! nurses please hold her arms down so we can look at her pretty little face... Uhum, a very serious case of the Blushies... let's see how it evolves during the consult

Biotype: There are several ways too see your biotype, but here we just take a look at the angle that's formed right above your stomach, by the encounter of your last ribs with the sternum... we just gotta poke around a bit there... here! longilinar! usually tall, slim, long limbs... yeah, checks out!

Posture: I just know right away that it needs work! but now, how about we make a little plan... for every hour writing tickles and teases, you need a tickle session intense enough to make you throw your head back from laughter! yes, every time! We can start now, actually! My lovely nurses are already gloved up, you won't escape it~ yes that's right... on her sides, hips, ribs... aaaand the little feet did it! see? just intense enough to lose control of your body~

Atitude: So defensive and squirmy! almost trembling!I'm afraid we can't have that anymore Amy... how about some soft 5 point restraints? wrists up by your head, ankles down, aaand a cute purply fluffy strap for your chest, an inch under your nipples

Marching: yeah... you're not walking out of this Missy

Conscience Level: Hmm I'd say... we check a few reflexes and reactions... Squealing with armpit tickles... giggles with belly tickles... screaming with feet tickles... You are fully conscious!

Language: Ohh this is a problem, so much blabbering and squealing! it seems like you lost the ability to speak properly as soos as me and the nurses started to undress you! Let's take a breath and please repeat after me: "I love being tickled" can't say it? c'mon... we're waiting! we're gotta make it, miss amy, c'mon! "I love being tickled!" it's so simple! Oh? almost there... perfect! If that blabbering comes back again, we're gonna need to hear you say it again too~

Hydration: A very easy way to evaluate it, is just lightly pinching the skin. if it's firm, and not floppy it's all good! Oh yes we usually pinch the back of the hand, but just to make sure, we can give your body some all over pinches!

Skin: This is an observative step, but we can also give a very light stimulation right? hoooww aboooout... Comically large feathers! just wiggling and wiggling all over your body! of course we need to test every spot separately, and then, all at once!

Subcutaneous: instead of feathers... how about little taps? just with the pads of your gloved fingers, we tap taptappity taptaptap aaaalll up and down! oh! your little rod seems to be a little more sensitive to tappies! ohhh! Amy likes the tippy taps on the tippy top! tappy tap tap tappy tap!

Muscles: And now... full on squeezes on every major muscle group! Starting at your neck, down your arms and torso... legs, yes, those loooong muscly legs get squeezes too! There aren't any big muscles on the feet, but I'm sure you'd enjoy a little squeeze on those soles! How about each little toe?

Mucous: Now open wiiiiiide! yes this is just a little... um... yeah it's a spider gag. but we gotta make sure your mouth is open! We can't risk you biting down on the silicon brushestaking a look at your toungue, cheeks, gums... You're ticklish there too? oh my you really need to visit more often amy!

veins: This is the good thing about being all pale: we can grab thin little sharpies and just mark them for future students! yes yes, every single vein you can see is gonna be draaawn...

Lymph nodes: don't mind me, I'm just palpating the little chains of nodes under your chin... now under each armpit... sometimes they are tricky so you gotta dig deeeep in those pits... and Inguinal region.. yes just aboce your inner thighs, by the sides of your little cepter... oh you're reeeeeeally sensitive here!

Breathing: hmmm you're breathing pretty fast... ah! how about a nice foot massage to help you relax? the nurses are even changing the latex gloves to grooming pet gloves! and just a little lavander lotion for ya. just enjoy the massage while I take down some notes...

Biometrics: height, weight, foot size, tummy circumference... Royal rod size...

Vitals: Oh my miss amy! your heart rate is up! so is your blood pressure, and breathing!You're sweating bullets, that means you temperature must be through the roof. oh no no no I'm sorry Amy, we gotta admit you!

Oh? Oh this is the basic general exam. We have A TON of tools and methods to make sure your tickle health is perfect...

#tickle content #tickle tickle

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flayedintheusa · 4 months ago

Text

[Time]Warped • (Buzzcut Season)

We're all the things that we do for fun

(And I'll breathe, and it goes)

Play along

(Make-believe it's hyper real)

But I live in a hologram with you

It only makes sense that, out of all the days, this would be the day Billy’s forced to relive over and over again.

The first time it happened, Billy took the absolute shitstain of a day onto his shoulders and off-roaded all the way up that shitty hill in the shitty fields of the shitty town. He leaned into his regular spiral: curse and swear down any deity listening for the outcome of his life, dream about a day that probably won’t ever come that it’ll be different, lapse into unfeeling silence and pretend nothing ever happened. That nothing is ever going to happen again.

And, for a second, while sitting atop his hood, leaned back against the windshield, he thought maybe his wish was coming true. Right before his very eyes. Because Billy had watched through his half-good eye as a spark seemed to shine in the distance near the mall. An almighty rumble coursed through the ground, the earth and trees waving like water, carrying a deafening groan to his ears. The ground split open into an expanding rapturous hole and he watched, shocked and terrified and almost relieved as the town began sinking into the widening and ember-glowing chasm.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to pretend anymore. Maybe there is a god, and he’s finally giving Billy the sweet release he deserves.

Fuck that noise, apparently.

As his car dipped to nose-dive into the blackness, Billy woke up in his bed.

It had to be this day. It just had to be. The cosmic joke of his existence has turned into a cosmic highlight reel, and this is the only snip that made the cut.

The day Neil finally loses his shit.

It must be his eighteenth time experiencing this particular hell. Two and a half weeks of just trying his best to prolong the inevitable; evade the attack.

The first couple times he thought he’d just, maybe, not beat his face in this time. When it became apparent that that didn’t seem like it was going to happen, he shoved his way out the front door before he could be grabbed. A couple of times. Each time, being beaten to a pulp on the front lawn was even worse. Fighting back was fruitless. He thought, maybe he was doomed to somehow fail every time.

He’d tried leaving out the window, and Neil showed up at the pool. Mortifying and degrading, that was. And still just as painful as the first time. The next time, he thought maybe it would suffice to just not go to work. Apparently, with no Billy to turn his fury and now rage at his failure of finding the teen on, he’d turned to Susan. To Max. And that was worse than any beating he’d sustained thus far.

It’s never the same. Split lips, bleeding and/or broken noses. Popped vessels in one eye from the coffee table or a lash from brow to cheek split from the cement steps out front. Other swollen purple and blue and half-shut, roll the die on it’s origin being from foot, fist, or forehead. His shoulder’s often dislocated and his ribs almost always cracked. His teeth are always sore from smashing together, his jaw always throbbing from catching blows, but the worst is always the hair.

It’s something about his hair.

Every time, he’s endured too much to catch exactly what it is. Maybe something about looking too much like his mom’s. Maybe that it’s making him into the exact faggot he always knew his disappointment of a son would turn into. Maybe that it’s the last straw— respect and responsibility being paramount, his hair conveys neither and he’s embarrassing. Senseless. Eighteen years was all a waste of time.

Whatever it is, it always ends up pulled. Yanked as he’s thrown from one side of the room to the other, or over and over again into the hood of his car, or dragged from the entrance of the pool into the locker room. His pitiful excuse of a father figure doesn’t stop until he’s yanked at least some free, the place of it always changing.

Around day fourteen, Billy cracked and shaved his head.

He dragged the guard over and over against his skin until the fuzz of his half-inch hair shined the glare of the yellow bathroom light right back at him. It felt like freedom, that first time. Like a paramount ‘fuck you’, driving head on toward an hours-long future sans throbbing skull.

The past four days, evading and prolonging the inevitable has become strikingly easier. The look of surprise on Neil’s face when he enters the living room is comical every time. He uses his best manners and breathes his first easy breath when he shuts the front door behind himself, already dreading when he’ll have to repeat the process in about thirteen hours.

He decides to blow off work. Not that it’ll matter when today happens again tomorrow. No one else seems to realize they’re stuck in an awful simulation of reality. The world is malfunctioning and so far the only solution he’s found is to shave his goddamn head.

He decides to go to the mall. Watch everyone on their own personal hamster wheels; hopping on endlessly to relive their Thursday over, and over, and over again. He sits by the fountain at the main atrium, smoking his cigarette and watching a mom attempting to reign in her overexcited toddler while the baby in the stroller beside her screams it’s head off.

“Billy?”

He instinctively turns to the voice, then immediately swears under his breath. He adjusts the glasses on the bridge of his nose, forgetting for a moment he’s bruise-less and doesn’t have any reason to hide his eyes. “Harrington.”

Harrington looks completely out of place. His eyes are wide, face completely baffled like Billy’s all but Madonna bathing in the Starcourt fountain. He’s also not wearing that god forsaken torture device of a uniform. Which is really a tragedy considering Billy’s a masochist that can’t get the image of his thighs and ass in those blue shorts out of his brain since the first moment Max dragged him into the new ice cream establishment. He’s convinced whoever is at fault for that uniform decision did it purely to spite him; to make him suffer personally and privately forever with the image blazed into his brain.

“What—“ he says, fish-mouthing a bit and looking around like there’s hidden cameras or something. “What happened to your hair?” He presses his eyes shut tightly and looks spectacularly like he wants to slap himself. “I mean, what are you doing here?”

Billy inhales deeply until the cherry singes the filter, breathing thick smoke in Harrington’s direction and flicking the butt back into the fountain. It’ll disappear in the morning. “Apologies, I was under the impression this was public property. Must’ve missed the ‘No Babes Allowed’ sign.” It dawns on him suddenly that this might be silver lining he hadn’t really been looking for. The ability to flirt with Steve Harrington without repercussion almost makes the terrible ritual he must now endure daily to escape a beating worth it.

He smirks, his signature go-to whenever he wants something; he’s well aware of the effect he has on the ladies, and even if he doesn’t particularly stray that way it still comes in handy. Comes in handy with other things, too.

He sees Harrington glance at his glinting canines, pulls his glasses down a bit to look at the other boy over the top of the frames. “I see you neglected to read the signage, as well.”

Harrington blinks a couple times. “I…” A light blush dusts the tops of his cheeks. “I meant… don’t you work today?”

“Studying my schedule, Harrington?” Billy stands on the edge of the fountain, landing heavily onto the carpeted floor and pushing his hands into his pockets as he steps toward the brunette. Harrington takes a small step back. “I’m flattered. I know how avoidant you are on the matter of studying.”

His big brown eyes keep flitting up, Billy can only assume to his (lack of) hair. When he re-sets his posture to respond, he seems to have forgotten what he was going to say. Or what they were talking about altogether. “Um…”

Billy takes pity on him, takes another step. Harrington readies to take another step back, and Billy leans forward. “Wanna touch it?”

His blush grows a bit. It looks pretty. High on his cheekbones beneath those Bambi eyes, freckles and moles decorating that pretty face that’s focused solely on him. Billy tries not to bask in the attention. “To touch—?”

Billy tilts his head down, giving Steve the excuse to stare unabashed. He’s looking down at Harrington’s jeans, his sneakers and his hands. After a moment, the right twitches. Then it’s gone out of his periphery. Billy feels his fingertips slowly slide against the short tips of his hair, leaving warm traces and sparks over the parts of his roots they graze. His eyes flutter closed at the feeling, his chest tightening a bit when the full weight of his palm slides against the sensitive strands of his freshly-cut locks. Back, and forth. Almost reverently.

“Wow,” Steve almost breathes. Billy almost doesn’t catch it. He must double down, because he says firmer, hand still solidly sliding toward the base of his skull, “S’soft.”

Billy’s a bit caught on the fourteen other days. How all he’s felt was enraged knuckles yanking strands out of their roots into sadistic fists. That, compared to this? Forget it. Billy lets the sound fall from his lips. Heavy and solid. Steve’s hand stills. “Didn’t expect that?”

“No, it’s— well, y—“ he’s quiet for a moment, and with his eyes stuck to the floor Billy wonders what Steve’s face gives away. Wonders where his stare lingers, what he’s thinking. “The curls always looked soft, too,” he eventually decides on, and Billy can only smirk when he raises his head.

He swipes his tongue across his teeth, a habit he developed with nothing else to chew on, and connects with Steve Harrington’s deep and still slightly confused brown eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s the only thing that is.”

Steve blinks at him. Wide-eyed. That tantalizing blush still rests on his cheeks, backlighting the dots of his moles and marks like a sunset behind clouds. He really is pretty boy, through and through.

“Wanna get outta here?”

When Billy pulls up to the edge of the quarry, they sit on the hood of car and stare over the drop. He listens to Steve, all the trivial shit he talks about as the sun slides slowly over the sky. It feels good, talking to someone. He hasn’t talked to anyone in what feels like a year— a year and a day of the same thirteen fucking hours; hasn’t listened to anyone talk about nothing in what feels like a decade. Hasn’t enjoyed it. Hasn’t had the ability to relax and treat time like it’s insignificant. This time-loop curse suddenly feels like freedom, taking advantage of the infinite tomorrows to give him the ease to lean into Steve.

They talk, and inch by inch Billy finds them leaned back on the windshield, arms and thighs pressed together until Steve brushes his hand on a wide gesture. He touches him back. Light and unthinking. Something he hasn’t been granted since a time that feels like it wasn’t his, across the country and littered with sea salt.

As the sun begins to think about setting, Steve’s got sticky fingers. They don’t ever leave his skin. They burn magical trails along his body, marking him up, mythical by morning.

He’s talking about new releases. Things that should be coming to the video store soon. He says it like it’s a joke. Like it’s funny. Like it doesn’t matter how rad or groundbreaking Full Metal Jacket or The Lost Boys is supposed to be.

Billy says something about Out of Bounds. He’d meant to see it in theaters. Never had the time. Steve says, light and tired, “We have it at the video store.”

And when the night is about to flash into morning, Billy thinks he hears, far away, “We should watch it tomorrow.”

Billy goes to the mall the next day.

He runs into Steve, makes him blush. Let’s him touch his hair. Run his palm over star-shooting strands that tingle down his spine, kissing his brain with the feeling of being handled carefully.

They go to the quarry, sit on top of the Camaro. Steve talks about what it was like growing up. His childhood. His parents. It’s not a long conversation.

Billy talks in kind, filling in the empty spaces. He touches Steve where memories make his muscles tense, tracing lines between moles and charting a course over his skin. His head tilts this way and that, clearing paths for Billy’s voyage. He wonders if it’s been just as long since Steve was handled with gentle hands. If it’s been just as long since he hasn’t had to care.

Steve lays his head on the pillow of Billy’s arm, and it feels like a dream. Feels like a movie.

He doesn’t know why the other boy comes with him, touches him and lets Billy touch, talks like they’re cloud-shot straight from some almighty force to be the only one around for the other.

He doesn’t think too much about it. Doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He knows to be grateful of mercy. Knows what it looks like, how it feels, after being so elusive for so long.

“Wonder what the showtimes are gonna be for Back to the Future tomorrow,” he says softly toward the first star.

“Probably the same as today,” Billy mumbles. His finger traces along the cuff of the brunette’s short sleeve.

“We should go see it.”

Billy wants to smile. That would be amazing. A real groundbreaking blessing for a guy who’s used to hiding away all his good things for fear of them being stolen.

He’d like to not have to hide Steve away. Like to maintain something good, for once. But Steve won’t remember that tomorrow. Won’t remember the things they’ve shared. Won’t remember the ground they’ve broken.

Billy will meet him for the first time again, meet him for real, and hide away with him until the stars take him back you tomorrow’s today.

“Sounds like a plan, pretty boy.”

Billy meets Steve every day for a week.

Every time starts the same: soft touch and blush.

Every time ends the same: a plan.

The next time, it’s Scoops. Steve says he has to try the flavor of the week, because it changes every week so he’s running out of time.

Billy says, “It’s a date.”

The time after, it’s Enzo’s. Steve says he hasn’t been since his parents took him for his thirteenth birthday. First teen year. Landmark. Let him order wine and play pretend adult. He had the best night. But with being a pretend adult came more responsibility, more trust. Man of the house, alone in the house. They started spending more time away. Enzo’s meant the end of childhood. He wanted it to be something better. The best place to eat in town; wanted it to be a starting point for something bigger than being alone.

Billy wanted to give him that. Wanted to be that start of something bigger. He’s a gestures kind of guy; knows how to treat the person he’s with. In his dreams he doesn’t have anymore, he’ll think of taking Steve to Enzo’s for their first date. Picking him up and holding his hand across the table and being able to wake up and have him remember.

He says, “You deserve that.” Because he does. A solid-gold-hearted midwestern boy that hopes, that’s brave enough to say what he wants. To ask for it. Stuck with Billy on a day where he can’t give him any of it.

Always making plans.

Always tomorrow.

Every night, Steve sounds further and further away, and he’s become the only stagnant thing other than firm fists and a buzzcut. He can’t stand to lose that in this timewarp.

So when he can’t find Steve on the eighth day at the mall, he’s confused. A bit panicked. Disoriented. He walks around like he’s in some kind of subliminal space, nothing feeling as real as it did when Steve was beside him. Like a solid floating along through a hologram world.

He sits on his hood and watches darkness begin it’s descent over the quarry. He misses nighttime. Briefly wonders, as he slides off the metal and watches his legs swing over the edge, if he were to fall, would he still wake up?

The next day, he doesn’t buzz his head. He sat up in bed feeling his blood like fuel in his veins. His fists are tight when he makes for the door, ready for the hands that grab him. He’s used to looking for fights. It doesn’t feel as fair to know exactly when and how one is going to happen, only roars that unjust fire inside him.

Still, he fights back as best he can. Bares his teeth and let’s himself be cruel. They’ll both wake up with their blood back in their bodies, their skin unremembering of its damage. The carpet will clean itself and the windows will unshatter.

It’s still not enough.

He’s never cruel enough to win this game. It sparks rage in him, even as part of him whispers that’s a good thing. It doesn’t feel like a good thing as his dad throws him out onto the lawn, blood bright in the morning sunrise. It stains the grass, drips on the cement. Vivid and brutal, reminding him of all his useless endeavors.

He’s always going somewhere, always running from this place, so he digs in his heels. Sits in the front yard, beaten and bloody and untreated as Neil goes to nurse his own wounds. He’ll be the front-lawn sign today. Let all the neighbors know what the man of the house believes.

He sits and smokes through three cigarettes until the Beemer pulls up.

Billy watches him as he gets out of his car, stands in the open driver door and rests his elbows over the roof. He taps something in his palms before lifting it up for him to see. A tape.

Out of Bounds.

He smirks as he jams his cigarette into the front lawn, swipes the blood off his face to wipe on the mailbox on his way past the curb.

Maybe it doesn’t actually suck so bad, infinite todays instead of tomorrows. Maybe they can still make plans. Who knows how long he’s gonna be stuck in this fucking hologram-timewarp-day. He can only be glad he’s stuck in it with Steve Harrington.

#I wanted this to be longer but I don’t think it’s gonna happen #maybe one day #fingers crossed #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #my fic #billy x steve #ficlet #harringrove fic

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aheathen-conceivably · 1 year ago

Text

When Zelda arrived at Hines ranch later that afternoon, Antoine was still riding Silver through the desert, now with Abraham and Banjo by his side. But when she looked around the farmyard, the only sign of them was the absence of two horses in the enclosure and Mabel on the front porch with her youngest children.

Mabel wrestled the restless toddler on her lap and waved Zelda over familiarly, giving Will a small shake of her head that meant he had permission to run off with Violette. Only Violette required no such approval from her mother, and she set off after William without a backward glance the moment she saw him.

Zelda settled onto the swing, listening to children’s laughter echoing through the desert as she and Mabel lapsed into easy conversation. It was easy to remember why she liked it here, because everything about it reminded Zelda of the time she had spent on her cousin’s farm as a child. It had always been full of liveliness; and even if she hadn’t been the one playing games or making noise, it had pleased her to experience it through others.

In comparison, her quiet house with her only daughter sometimes felt so different than the life she had imagined when they moved out here. Part of her loved the quiet; but sitting with Mabel she could hear her childhood again, and imagine what a house filled with more sounds and more children might be like…

Her growing reveries were interrupted by the approaching sound of horse’s hooves and then the patter of her own child’s feet, seemingly more attuned to the comings and goings of her father than even Zelda.

He rode through the entrance of the ranch moments later, face splayed with happiness and the confidence of a man who had been doing this his whole life.

He hopped off his horse the moment he saw Zelda and wrapped his arm around her to lead her to the towering animal standing behind him. Zelda had of course seen the horses when she visited Hines ranch, but had always avoided coming this close to them. It was like they could sense just as much as she could, and their hyper-observant eyes peered into her soul.

She took two small steps forward, comforted by Antoine’s arm around her but admittedly unnerved by the horse’s gaze. Antoine looked at Silver’s large suspicious eyes as though to say, be on your best behavior, and then spoke as he placed his hand on her face, “Miss Silver, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Duplanchier.”

He took Zelda’s hand with its ring glittering in the afternoon sun and moved it toward where his had been. Silver sniffed at the woman in front of her and then looked back at Antoine, who’s small nod of encouragement Zelda would have assumed no animal could have understood. But upon seeing it she closed her eyes and let Zelda rest her hand near her face. Near silently Antoine spoke to Zelda, “You see? I told you she’d like you.”

A small shuffling sound in the sand alerted Zelda to her daughter’s growing impatience near their feet. Antoine stayed looking at Silver, mitigating her uneasiness about the new arrival by keeping his hand on the side of her neck. Zelda nudged at him softly, turning his attention down to the green eyes who were just waiting for him to look at her. The moment he did she lit up, “Happy Birthday, Poppa! Did you get to ride her? Did you finally do it? Will she let me try now?”

He swooped down to pick her up, bringing her close to Silver, who had now realized her second favorite person was there too. “I did, Princess. And we can try if Momma says it’s alright.”

Now that Antoine was there Violette was sure to give Zelda her sweetest gaze, asking for permission before running off on her own again. Zelda simply wanted to be with them, to sit with Antoine as the sun set and listen to Violette laugh with Will. But how could she say no to their excited eyes, even if it meant she was going to be left out of their games again?

The sound of hooves trotted away and Zelda felt a twinge of anxiety in her stomach. It happened sometimes when Violette ran from her toward Antoine, or when they spoke for hours on end while she only gave her the quickest responses. It was hard to identify the feeling, mostly because it was so enmeshed with happiness for Antoine and the relationship he had with their daughter. But she couldn’t stop it, even as voice spoke from behind her, “They’ll be just fine, honey.”

Zelda turned at the sound, only to see Mabel with a soft look in her eyes. Zelda was confused by her words until she realized that she must have seen the worry in her posture. “He learned to ride from Abe, I promise you have nothing to worry about.”

Do you ever worry your child doesn’t like you? Like they would rather spend time with anyone other than you? But before she could speak, Lillie Mae ran at them full speed. Mabel bent to pick her up, nodding at the never-ending stream of words coming out her mouth. Zelda looked at them and felt the small anxious twinge again.

She brought her hands to her stomach and then looked out to the horizon where the figures of Antoine and Violette were becoming smaller by the minute. Then she looked back at Lillie Mae and allowed herself a thought that she had been trying to nudge to the back of her mind month after month. Maybe today had been just as lucky for her as it had been for Antoine. Maybe it had finally been the day.

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#1932 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Antoine Duplanchier #Violette darlington #William Hines #Abraham hines

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celtrist · 7 months ago

Note

Is there anything that will cause lapses in the obsession curse? Not necessarily breaking it outright, just hitting 'pause' on it for an hour or so. How would those affected by it take the realization that their feelings aren't genuine?

I don't think there would be any pauses exactly, or at least it would occur very rarely and be pretty brief. I initially saw it as a proximity thing, but that idea went out the window when I remember characters like Vox and Vaggie who are obsessed even when Alastor isn't around them. With that said, I also don't imagine it as a constant 24/7 hyper-obsession with most of the characters really. They certainly still have lives outside of Alastor and are able to function without solely focusing on him constantly. Charlie is able to still focus on redeeming other sinners with activities even with Alastor in the room with her. She might try to keep close to him or hold hands, but it's not like her attention solely goes to him when he just walks in necessarily, at least not outwardly. Having everyone just constantly be as obsessed as possible with him would make Hell pretty geared towards Alastor specifically, which isn't the case at all (at least right now).

This isn't Alastor's personal Hell AU (which personal hell AU which distorts each character's perspectives to act like everything is torture specifically catered to them is an interesting idea that I might play around with in the future), this au is still the same canon that happens to give Alastor a curse as a punishment to him and happens to affect others. But Hell's economy isn't suddenly centered around him. And there are some characters who are aware something's up, but they just don't connect that they're feelings are necessarily false or their actions wrong. Vaggie is a good example simply on the basis that she's only interested in girls, so to suddenly be interested in a man makes her feel something is up. Especially since Vaggie seems like she'd be observant enough to notice everyone else feeling the same. However, her love (and hate) for Alastor seems to genuine to herself and not something fake. She knows something is off, but she can't pinpoint it or connect it to her obsession with Alastor. Especially since it's not like she still doesn't love Charlie all of a sudden and vice-versa. And I've noticed most being on some level of agreement of a character like Husk just being aware and fitting the puzzle pieces together that his feelings might not be true. However, the feelings feel genuine enough so they're not gonna fight it. It's kinda like candy where you know it's not good for you, but you're eating it anyways because it's gonna make you happy.

But the characters don't have any sort of downtime to acknowledge that their feelings and actions are out of character for them. Like, Rosie at no point is really feeling like she did anything wrong with getting Alastor sick. Angel at no point is feeling guilty over drugging Alastor up. The "downtime" doesn't ease the obsession away as much as allows them to do other things with their lives if that makes sense?

However, I do sort of like the idea that, and depending on the character, they do have that confused pause where it feels like their in water and not quite sure what they're doing or how they really feel about Alastor. It just would be a rare and/or short occurrence. Hopefully that makes sense? Short and simple of it: there's never really a pause button as much as an intensity meter for it I guess. They're always obsessed with him, but they are able to have a life outside of him to some degree depending on the character, even if he's just frequently on the mind.

As for how the characters would react? I mean horrified by their actions come to mind. Rosie certainly would feel immense guilt. Charlie would feel very disheartened about it. Angel Dust would be in denial. Vox would... w-well I don't think his feelings would change to be honest but he would still be that bike fall meme and blame Alastor despite him having no say with the curse. Same with Valentino to a degree because lust is lust for him, but I think he'd be angry that Alastor essentially clouds his mind since Valentino is the type to like to be in control for the most part. As odd as it sounds, I think Lucifer would be the one to "break out of it" the most (he's devil from bible after all) and while the first time would send him reeling, the next few times it happens I imagine he's getting to work trying to remove the curse. Not necessarily for Alastor's sake, but just because it's affecting everyone around him with thoughts and feelings not their own. Vaggie would be the same as Vox, but where Vox blindly blames, Vaggie would acknowledge that Alastor doesn't want it any more than anyone else does. Mimzy is a bit harder to pin down how she'd react considering we don't know much about her character aside from surface-level stuff, but I'd assume she'd also feel conflicted and maybe even denial over it. Not sure on that one.

Maybe there's some sort of event that occurs in the timeline of the AU where the curse ceases for EVERYONE for a limited time and gives everyone time to reflect and Alastor to experience what it would be like to NOT be the object of everyone's affections. I dunno though, I'm still a tad iffy on the idea of the curse "pausing" as it were, but I also don't think it'd be necessarily impossible to happen.

Hope that all made sense, I suck at explaining things sometimes

#Anonymous #Celtrist #cel answers #cel rambles #Hazbin Obsession AU

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