#it looks cheap! but worse than that it looks boring and not fun

[princessnijireiki]

did not know I would have a strong emotional reaction to this, but rich people leaning into edge lighting & led strip lighting in upscale home decor disgusts me lmao

update: it's a render but I still despise it

[nonuggetshere]

12 & 13 with Pale King.

12. what i like about the way the fandom portrays them

I think it's pretty obvious but I love a man riddled with guilt. A man who's crumbling under the weight of his own sins. I personally love the interpretations of him where he loves the Pure Vessel despite everything, because I think that adds to the tragedy of their situation. But I also vibe with interpretations that make him colder, emotionally distant - perhaps even downright cruel. I can vibe with anything, but a man haunted by his past is my favourite.

13. what i dont like about the way the fandom portrays them

So, I am very much relaxed about how people write characters, even my faves. While not everything is my cup of tea, it's incredibly rare that I have any strong feelings for other interpretations of characters. I honestly don't even mind a character having a wildly different personality in an AU (that's literally what AUs are for, I don't get people who get pressed over characters being written OOC in AUs, sometimes that's the point)

So the only, singular time I've genuinely hated how he was written was when he was intentionally made to be unnecessarily cruel just to make Radiance look better in comparison.

And I like cruel and cold Pale King, I have a few verses myself where he's a scumbag or at the very least on the darker side of the morally grey spectrum, but what I despise is when people make characters intentionally worse just to make other characters look better by comparison. Not because it makes sense for them to act that way, not because they want to explore the conflict and character dynamics, not even because they like these types of characters or for the simple desire of angst or drama in a story, but only because they like another character and they want to put them on a pedestal at the cost of another character.

[nariism]

come out and haunt me

pair. itoshi sae x ghost!reader

content: fluff, angst/comfort with a happy ending, reader is a ghost, platonic + romantic interactions, strangers to friends (to more?), slight pining

synopsis. sae is 13 years old when he moves to madrid. his temporary apartment is old and cheap, and worst of all it's haunted. but he finds your company better than nothing, even if you do tend to knock all of his belongings over.

wc. 5.7k

You are dead.

As it comes to all mortal humans, you have died. You can't remember when, or how, or why— only that it is your duty to haunt this home, that you are abysmally cold, and that you are dead.

You don't know if you had any last words, what it was like to draw a breath, or how to stop feeling so cold. Cradling yourself somehow makes it worse. But you are dead, so what does it matter if you can't remember?

If you had aspirations and meaning in life, then you suppose you should try to find them in death, too. So you float around empty halls, deliberately bump into things just for the fun of it, and pretend that you aren't dead. It is purposeful enough.

There's a boy who lives with you.

You are dead, and he is alive, yet he seems completely unbothered by your loud, obnoxious presence.

Sae feels more dead than alive.

He is 13 years old when he moves into his temporary home in Madrid. It's old and worn. It is all his parents could afford with Yen in a foreign country.

His new home is despairingly lonely. It makes the heart in his chest sink into the pit of his stomach. He misses Rin. His parents. Japan.

He should be thankful. He doesn't mean to be a brat. But the small apartment is cramped and cold and smells like mildew. He's allergic to something in the walls. His light buzzes horribly when it turns on.

And, well. The place is haunted.

You are a ghost haunting an old, rickety apartment in Madrid.

You've never seen your reflection in the mirror, but you're pretty sure you look scary. There has been others before him— a young couple with a dog; a retired carpenter; a businessman complaining about how shitty work is over the phone. Each and every one of them have left you the same way: screaming, crying, colour drained from their faces and packing their suitcase before you could even say hello.

It's a little lonely, being a ghost. Sometimes you wish you came off a little friendlier. You have no ill intent, you're just bored. Bored and lonely and wishing to know why everyone thinks you're so terrifying.

The boy who lives with you is the first. He's the first to look you dead in the eyes and shrug you off. He's the first to fall asleep knowing your presence is watching. He's the first to leave out a bowl of warm, steaming rice for you even though he seems to know you can't physically eat it.

His company is silent, as is yours. It's better than nothing.

Sae is 13 years and 5 months old when he tells Rin his apartment is haunted.

"A ghost? Seriously?" Rin sounds unimpressed even through the static of the phone call. Take it from the kid who watches horror movies in his spare time. Freak, Sae thinks.

"Seriously. I have a picture."

He can hear his brother pulling his phone away from his ear to look at the image he just sent. The call goes quiet for a moment, and then Rin is scoffing in the microphone again.

"Quit messing with me." The younger Itoshi sighs. "This isn't funny."

Rin is only 11. He lives at home with Mom and Dad. He's not alone right now, in a place where everyone speaks a jumbled language he can't decipher yet.

He doesn't understand that even if Sae isn't being haunted, he shouldn't crush his brother's hopes that someone, or something, is watching over him.

"I'm not," Sae deadpans.

"Yeah, okay, and what does this ghost do, then?" He still sounds skeptical.

"Mostly just knocks over my books and stuff."

From his couch, he watches you bristle in embarrassment and scurry away into the darkness of the hall.

You are some sort of untethered soul, unsure of where your actual body rests. It could be 10 meters from this apartment. It could be in Antarctica, for all you know.

Okay, well, Antarctica is a bit of a reach, but you're certain that your body is somewhere. You wonder what kind of clothes you used to wear; what kind of music you used to listen to; what kind of hairstyle you used to prefer.

You wonder if these things are anything like Sae's.

He's all you have right now. It would be nice if you had some things in common. Maybe you could be friends, if he was ever going to acknowledge you to your face instead of gossiping to his brother.

You watch him quietly from the kitchen table, waiting for your bowl of rice. You must make some kind of face when he instead places a plate of eggs in front of you.

He almost laughs, you think. He hasn't shown any sort of emotion in response to you thus far, so it's hard to tell.

"Coaches told me I have to be stricter about my diet," he says out loud. It's the first words he has ever spoken to you. It's the first words anyone has ever spoken to you.

He eats his bland eggs silently after that remark, eyeing them disdainfully.

You have that in common, at least. You miss your warm bowl of rice.

Sae thinks you are funny.

He's only ever known ghosts to be malicious, benevolent beings. Things stuck in purgatory with no way out, forced to wander the mortal plane and thus turning into baneful monsters. Watching spooky movies with Rin has ingrained this into him—  hardwired his brain into giving him goosebumps whenever you're around even though he knows you're harmless.

He has to wonder how anyone could ever find a ghost like you genuinely scary, with your avoidant eyes and that patience while you wait for breakfast.

He doesn't mind doing twice the amount of dishes. Not if it means he doesn't feel alone.

You do silly things, like shoving his belongings over when you want his attention, or sitting on the floor and blowing bone-chillingly cold air into his face when he's taking his midday nap.

He's discovered that your inconsistent corporeal interactions with the world are quite amusing.

"What's your name?" He asks one day over eggs that he's shoving around on his plate.

Silence. Of course.

"Don't have one?"

You shake your head, but really, you don't know. You can't remember.

Sae has never been the talkative type, but for some reason he just can't keep his mouth closed. Being a complete shut-in and not having anyone to talk to outside of his team would do that to him, he guesses. He's thankful that you at least don't seem to have a language barrier when he speaks Japanese.

"Should I name you?"

Your offended expression screams: What am I, a pet?

He just smiles, placing his fork down and observing you carefully. And the name he decides on dances at the tip of his tongue, sounds so sweet coming from his lips.

You can't help but think the name was meant for you, in life or in death.

You like listening to Sae talk.

He has a voice smooth as silk, so charming and boyish. He's young, you think. He told you once that you also looked rather young, and asked you how old you were when you died.

Even if you had an answer for him, it's not like you could have told him.

Sae is famous for his age, you discover one night while watching television with him. You're sitting on the floor and he's on the couch. You cause the TV to frizzle and crack with static but he doesn't shoo you away. Maybe he finds your presence more valuable than the background noise of the screen.

He's in a recording, playing what he calls "football"— light blue uniform, eyes wide with adrenaline, sweat sticking to his forehead and a proud shine in his expression. He isn't smiling by any means (you've also discovered that he rarely does), but you can tell he's happy.

"I'm going to be the greatest striker," he says from the couch. He talks about his dreams a lot, which is apparently what he used to do with Rin, but you don't mind filling in that role temporarily. "I'm going to be the best in the entire world."

You don't know anything about football, but you believe him anyways.

Sae is 14 years old when he gets his first contract payment.

This is his chance, he realizes, to move out of his shitty little apartment and into an actual livable home.

He has to consider if you'll feel lonely, if you even can feel lonely, and if you'll like hanging out with your next housemate, whoever it is that's unlucky enough to have a ghost befall them.

He's getting soft. If it were any other point in his life, Sae would have taken the chance to move out without hesitation. But you've been there for him since day one, kept him enough company — no matter how quiet — for him not to go literally insane.

You're the only thing he has in Madrid that he can come home to right now. You’re the only reason he even comes home at night instead of just sleeping in the locker rooms.

If not him, who else would feed you crappy bland eggs in the morning?

You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. You, football, sleep. At some point, it became his routine.

"I was thinking of moving out."

Your head tilts to the side. You seem perplexed by his statement.

"Like, leaving. Leaving here."

You blink at him, head tilting the other way. There's a look in your eyes that tells him you understand. There's also a look that tells him it's not your first time being abandoned, left in this terribly lonely, smelly apartment.

"I can never tell what you're thinking," he huffs.

You're still for a moment, just staring at him as if you suddenly can't understand Japanese. But then you get up from the table, walk over to the container of dry rice that's been untouched for so long that it's gathering dust, and knock it over.

"Hey," he scolds sharply, chair screeching as he stands. "I have to clean that, you know?"

You start moving the spilled rice into place. He watches curiously as you sort dry rice into a pile. You don't know any Kanji, he isn't surprised. But you know enough to draw him a universally understood symbol.

When he peers over at the messy counter, he finds himself staring at a giant X. Stay, it means. Don't leave.

That night, when he knows you've retreated into the closet where you seemingly go to sleep, he crumples up the lease for his new place without signing and burns the paper.

It's because he needs to make you eggs tomorrow morning. Only he would know to do that.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?"

You raise your head from the edge of the bed. You've made it a new habit to protect him in his sleep, from what he can tell. Perching yourself on the floor beside the mattress and resting there, head in your arms, making his sheets cold.

You shake your head. Of course not, he internally smacks himself. What a ridiculous notion.

He rolls himself over onto his side, looking at you from under his duvet. "So when you sleep, you don't see anything?"

Another shake of the head. He isn't sure you're understanding him. There's another pause as he peers at you, and then he sighs, eyes sliding shut.

"Do ghosts ever have dreams?" He asks again, this time emphasizing his words in a different way and hoping you'll answer him the way he wants.

Your eyes shift away for a second, as if pondering. When you look back he's surprised to see that you look... bashful?

You point at him, then at yourself, then shy away again.

You. Me. Friends.

Sae feels silly that it makes his heart ache a little— the sadness carried in your face and a loneliness so powerful he feels it rattling in his own bones.

Well, the two of you have a lot more in common than he thought. How long had you been alone? Was that really all you ever dreamed of? Having a friend?

Suddenly, his doubts about his own dreams feel immeasurably small.

He reaches out to pat your head. His hand goes through you.

Sae is 15 years old when he packs up his belongings for a flight to Japan.

"I'll be back," he promises with a small smile. You believe him. He doesn't lie to you.

You wait patiently at the door for him for two weeks, three days, and sixteen hours. When he comes home, he finds you sitting on the floor like you always do with your head in your knees and a sleepy expression on your face.

He seems colder. More withdrawn, for some reason.

"Miss me?" Sae asks, but he's not even looking at you. He makes his way over to the kitchen and dumps a cup of rice into the cooker, suitcase abandoned at the door unpacked.

You trail behind him curiously, watching him in confusion as he washes it in the sink. He pauses, finally glancing at you before reaching over and dumping a second cup of rice in.

"I stress eat. Don't tell my coach."

The words don't make much sense to you, but you nod anyways.

For the first time in months, he places a bowl of warm rice in front of you. You do as he does, say thanks for the food in your head even though you can't eat, and observe him. You both sit quietly in the dim light of the apartment, moonlight beaming through your single rickety window.

He only gets four bites in before he puts his head in his hands and sobs.

You've never seen someone cry so hard before. Usually, they only do it when they first catch a glimpse of you and flee in terror. You've never known it to be such a painful sound— like a bird singing for the sky but never finding it.

Sae sits there for a long time just crying to himself, not caring that your presence is still watching. It's not like you'd ever judge him or have the voice to speak this secret, anyways.

"Fuck—" he hiccups, wiping up his face. "—Sorry."

You look at him funny. He has no reason to apologize. He's just a kid. A 15 year old kid who needs to stress eat in the solitude of his lonely apartment right now. It makes your chest squeeze; an unfamiliar, horrible feeling that's completely new to you. You wonder if this is what all the anime he watches calls a heart.

By the time he finishes crying, his rice is cold. And when he looks up, his eyes widen. Your lips are trembling and you look like you want to shout at him, but you can't. You are dead. You're a ghost. You can't yell some sense into him, even if you tried.

In the pale moonlight shining into the room, he can see tears illuminated on your cheeks.

Sae is 16 years old when he meets his first partner.

"They're nice," he reassures you as he slicks his bangs up with gel. You shake your head in disapproval and he rolls his eyes. You always liked his bangs down, thinks he looks better that way. "Well, I can't stay single forever."

You scowl at him and swivel on your heel to stubbornly deny his claims. He just laughs.

"You're seriously jealous?"

You shoot him a glare.

"If you really don't like them, you could always scare them away. You are a ghost, aren't you?" He reaches up to pat your head as he always does. And as always, his hand phases through you.

He turns around to fix his hair again, leaning into the mirror to see himself closer.

You're not sure if you even have human features. You can't see them in a reflection, anyways. Even if you did, you're sure they're pretty scary.

You glance at Sae in the reflection. He looks as good as ever, no longer a scrawny little 13 year old kid who eats rice for breakfast every morning. You wonder if his partner is pretty like he is.

He must notice the chill in the air grow ten times colder— a telling sign that your mood is dropping. He turns around to see what has happened, only to find you sulking.

"What?"

You pout, gesturing to the mirror. He looks to the vanity, then to you, and he shakes his head with an exasperated smile.

"I was wondering when you'd ask," he says as if this was a conversation he's been waiting for. And then he talks. Talks more than you've heard in a long time— since he came home from Japan, probably.

He's gotten meaner over the years. He was always a rude little kid, but being pushed around in football must have given him thicker skin and a sharper tongue. You've never known him to be a saint of a human, someone who speaks so eloquently in their descriptions. But here he is now, defying your every expectation like he always does.

He tells you what colour your hair is. Compares the shape of your head to a fruit you can't recall an image of. Gives you a detailed explanation of all your flaws and marks and why he thinks they're so perfect because it proves that you were indeed alive and human at some point.

"You're beautiful," he concludes casually, as if he's not turning the entire world on its head right now.

Silence fills the room as he waits for your response. You don't do anything but gawk at him, and he chuckles.

He doesn't show up to his date that night.

"Your hair got longer," Sae points out one day while he's scrolling through his phone.

Your eyes flutter open from where your head rests on the coffee table. You hadn't even noticed. Can ghosts grow? 

"You know, I used to think you'd stay the same forever, but you've been growing up with me. It's cute."

Have you? Is it cute? Are you seriously so tethered to him that you've been unconsciously changing to match him?

Sae puts his phone down at your confusion. "Should I give you a birthday if you're going to grow up?"

You don't know what a birthday is. When he tries to explain it, you're even more perplexed. Ghosts don't have birthdays. They have... deathdays.

He puts a cake in front of you anyways and lets you blow out the candles.

Sae is 17 years old when he gets the eviction notice.

Four years. Four long, hard, unbelievably painful years later, and he's finally being kicked out of his house.

13 year old Sae would have celebrated. All he feels now is despair.

He doesn't tell you. He can't. How can he explain that he won't wake up every morning at 6am sharp to make you eggs? That you won't have someone around who will tell you every little thing that's changed about you from the last day? That you won't be able to doodle him little incomprehensible blobs with dry rice anymore?

He shouldn't care so much. You're not chained to this Earth. You might just disappear once he leaves, inperceptable to anyone else. The thought makes him so sick that he throws up that night. He tells you he ate some bad food.

Sae doesn't want you to feel sad or lonely, but it's not like he can just become a squatter in this place. His dream is to play football, not be thrown into jail.

You wake up one morning, and he's gone.

There isn't a note. There isn't an explanation anywhere to be found. There isn't even a trace of evidence that Itoshi Sae ever lived here.

Well, except for the plate of eggs and bowl of rice sitting on the stove.

You thought you would have been used to being alone by now. For some time, you were used to it. But that was many years ago.

You're not sure how long you've been haunting this apartment in Madrid, nor do you know how much time passes after Sae leaves. The world seems to come to a halt, actually. Without him, what fun is being a ghost?

Now you're just a lost soul like all the others. There isn't anything special about you. You're just the ghost that used to haunt Itoshi Sae and wake him up from his naps.

For the first time in years, you only know one thing. A singular fact that keeps you bound to this world: it's your duty to haunt this home. There is nothing else.

No one moves in after Sae leaves. No one new comes to be haunted. No one dares to set foot into this apartment. You remember that there were moments when life flickered inside of you, if even for just a fraction of your infinite time. The reason for that has abandoned you without explanation.

There's a knock on the door one day. You can't open it, and the person outside doesn't bother sticking around to see you phasing through the door to look around.

There's a birthday cake on the floor with candles that say '19' sticking out of it.

Only one human in the entire world would have deemed today to be your 19th birthday. He's nowhere to be seen.

He moves back to Japan on his 21st birthday. Sae is having trouble remembering what you look like, despite seeing you in his dreams every night.

It's a terrible realization. So terrible that it makes him sob into his pillow at night when no one in the world is awake to hear his anguish.

Japan is lonelier than Madrid. He never thought it would happen, and he blames you entirely.

He doesn't have anyone waiting for him when he opens the door to his luxury penthouse apartment. He only washes one plate in the morning. He wakes up from his midday naps undisturbed and rested.

Sae misses you deeply. And he can't help but wonder if you feel the same.

(You don't know what the yearning ache inside of you is. You don't know what to call it.

You miss him, too. You just can't put a name to the feeling.)

He doesn't stop seeing you in wisps; little blurs in his peripheral that make his head turn fast as lightning. Wherever he looks, you're gone.

It's not fair that you're a ghost who both literally and figuratively haunts him. He'd like to move on in life and forget about those 4 miserable years he spent living in that damned apartment.

He can't. Sae is incapable of moving on from that place. The irony of it is that you actually can't move on from that place, for some reason.

He would give anything to have you haunting him again. It doesn't matter where in the world the two of you are, if you were together everything would be okay. He's impossibly lonely without you.

You start to think that you're the selfish one.

The idea of leaving this terrible apartment in Madrid scares you to your very core— whatever soul is resting in your incorporeal body. It's not fair to place the blame entirely on Sae. Not when you're too wimpy to leave this place and find him.

Death is lonely without him.

One step forward, one day at a time. It's the advice Sae used to mutter to himself while getting ready in the morning.

One step forward, one day at a time. One step forward, one day at a time. And day by day, you're slowly inching closer to the door.

Sae talks to Rin and all he can think about is your confused smiles and head tilts. He talks to his parents and all he can imagine is how cold the room would be if it were you. He talks to his fucking therapist and thinks that all of her shitty advice can't compare to your quiet understanding— that your tears of solidarity are the only thing that could make him feel better.

It's fucked up, really, that he can't move on. His body is in Japan going through the motions: playing football, being famous, being interviewed and going home to nothing. His heart is in Madrid. You took it with you and refuse to let go.

You're the closest thing to love he's ever felt, perhaps— his only friend in Spain. His only reason not to leave. A ghost from his childhood that protected him in his sleep and ate bland eggs for breakfast across the table from him every morning. A ghost that would sit on the floor and wait for him to come home every day. A ghost that kept him company when he had no one else.

He loves you. He doesn't. He needs you. He doesn't. He misses you. He doesn't. Whatever. What does it matter now?

"So playing football has always been your dream?"

Sae stares blankly at the interviewer. He's reminded of a distant conversation: he is laying in bed looking at a ghost with a lump in his throat, and then he makes his first and only friend in Spain.

"Yes."

"And now that you're back in Japan, will you be playing for the national team?"

"I have no interest in playing on such a weak team." In other words, he has no reason to stay in Japan.

"So where will you go?"

Anywhere but here, he wants to say. In reality, he doesn't know where to go anymore if not to his old apartment in Spain. He just knows that he wants to come home to your sleepy face.

(That night, he makes two bowls of rice. He cries like he's 15 years old again and just ruined his relationship with his brother.)

You've never been outside before.

You've heard about it, almost entirely from Sae but also from little snippets of anime he liked to watch. It's brighter than you imagined it to be, and warmer. You're not sure you've ever felt so warm before— it's hard to when you are a walking freezer.

There isn't anyone to tell you where to go. No one pays you any mind. You wonder if you even exist anymore outside of the small confines of that old apartment.

Something tells you that you do.

You don't know where to start looking. He could be all the way across the globe for all you know, though he did used to talk about his home country.

You have no map. You have no sense of direction. You have no one to ask for help. 

All you have is the soul caged within your ghostly body tugging in one direction, and wispy feet dragging your body along in response.

Sae is 23 years old when he finally signs the contract to play for Japan, after months of being pestered by Rin about it.

His relationship with his brother is complicated. On one hand, he feels as though Rin will never truly forgive him for what he did when he was 15. On the other, he looks so ecstatic to be playing football together again that Sae wonders if their discourse was imaginary.

Japan is just a smidge less lonely with Rin in his life.

He wants to tell you all about it. That everything worked out and it's fine now. That you can stop weeping for him and to wipe up the tears that fall into nothing.

He counts the distance between you. Fourteen thousand kilometres separate him from telling you how he's living his new dream: playing football with his little brother again.

Fourteen thousand kilometers, ten years of needing you, and a reminder set on his phone to buy you a birthday cake again this year.

His heart aches.

Japan is loud and busy and everyone is always in a hurry to get places.

You have to wonder if Sae really grew up in a city like this, and how he turned out so calm and unmovable. The street names are all in Kanji you can't read, but your soul tells you that you're going the right way, anyways.

There's a crowd gathering when your feet finally come to a halt. Lights flash and there are fancy looking people with microphones clamouring toward the center.

It's only a fraction of a second that your eyes meet, and then someone shoves him into the back of the car and they drive off.

He must be famous here, too.

Sae is 24 years old tossing and turning in his bed, wondering if you were just a figment of his imagination or if you were truly standing there under a streetlamp watching him.

It wouldn't be the first time he dreamed you into existence; on some occasions you feel so real that he nearly reaches out to attempt to pat your head, like he always used to do when he was younger.

He goes back to that spot a couple hours later. The crowd is long gone and it's the dead of night— no one would be around to witness Itoshi Sae looking psychotic.

He doesn't find you in that spot. Instead, you're two blocks down and crouched in front of the window of a 24 hour shop. There's an ad for sparklers, and though you can't read the poster itself, the picture makes you stare with wide eyes.

He crouches down beside you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

"Do you want one?" He asks. You look at him in a strange way and his knees grow weak beneath him. You nod.

He comes out five minutes later with a few packs in his hand, walking away from you down the street to the park. You follow him quietly as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

Sae holds one out, flicks the lighter in his pocket open and ignites the first sparkler. You watch it in fascination, ghostly form illuminated in warm orange and yellow light.

He smiles at you as if 7 years of distance never existed between you.

When the sparkler dies out, he lights another. And another. And another, until he's gone through all the packets he could afford with the Yen in his wallet right now.

As if 7 years of distance never existed between you, he reaches out to pat your head. His hand falls through you.

You think Sae's new apartment is pretentious, but it's clean and open and doesn't smell like mildew.

It's hard to imagine what kind of purpose you had before him— all your memories are flooded with his hands and eyes and bangs and small smiles reserved for you. You think that the only reason you were ever materialized into the mortal plane was to haunt him, and only him. Itoshi Sae's permanent looming presence.

He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, you've noticed he's been smiling more lately since you started waiting for him to come home by the door.

Sae is 25 years old when you fall asleep beside him in his bed.

You don't care that he's a kicker or a blanket hog in his sleep. It's not like either of those would affect you. He watches your sleeping face carefully, waiting to see if he would ever wake up from this blissful dream and be alone again.

But every time he wakes up, there you are.

You've grown since he left you in Madrid— you don't look like some lost little kid anymore, at least. He wonders if your souls are truly so intertwined that you would change alongside him, regardless of the distance.

Your eyes flutter open and his breath catches in his throat. You blink at him slowly in the pale moonlight, brows furrowed.

You point at him. Then yourself.

You. Me.

He nods in understanding.

When he drops a plate of protein pancakes in front of you for breakfast, you look confused.

"Oh, sorry. Do you want rice?"

You shake your head. You don't care what's for breakfast, as long as you're sitting across from him while he eats it.

"I'm going to be the world's best midfielder," he tells you one day. You're on the floor and he's on the couch, and it's like time had never even passed.

You don't know what that means, but it's his dream so it must be important. The most important thing in the world.

What you don't know is that it's not his entire dream. World's best midfielder doesn't mean a thing if he can't come home to tell you all about it.

You are dead.

You're a ghost haunting Itoshi Sae— one that followed him from Madrid all the way to Japan. You don't remember how, or when, or why you died. You can't remember what your face looks like either, no matter how much Sae tries to describe it to you. 

You are dead. You're a ghost knocking over Sae's belongings to get his attention when you want it. You're the ghost curled up in bed with him even though he has to wear two layers to stay warm because of it. You're the ghost watching him rotate through different breakfasts that he says could never compare to a good old warm bowl of rice.

You are a ghost, and Itoshi Sae gave you a name. A birthday. A purpose greater than being a loud nuisance.

You are a ghost who likes to watch him light sparklers on his balcony. Who feels the things described only in the books he reads to you. Who learned to love somewhere along the way.

You are dead, and somehow alive at the same time.

(One day, Sae will be brave. One day, he will tell you he loves you. One day, he will thank you for waiting for him at the door when he comes home.)

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[danihow]

Fake

Jake x GN!Reader ENHYPEN

Summary: When walking home from the library someone is following you, you call the first person that comes to mind, your fake boyfriend.

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: Someone's following reader, fake dating, stress, simping, rain, mentions of fear, and idk what else.

A/N: Am i writing this over this tiktok, yes. Do I also not like this, yes.

Your life felt like a movie, like a romcom with a surprisingly not that cheap budget.

Sure, it has been a bit too boring for the past few years as you were focused on your grades more than your social life, besides going out of your friends you never did anything far too exciting.

It was almost embarassing that one of the most exciting things you've done in your last three years of college was that one time in your sophomore year where you ran from the guards because you were in the library after closing hours and had to snuck out.

No. It was really embarassing.

At least, you could say your life has not been boring ever since your senior year started, ever since you met him.

Sim Jake.

One of the most outstanding members of the schools' soccer team, almost everyone that knew him were fully rooting for him to be casted in some first division team soon. And, almost every student in your major were too, as he himself was studying your major.

You two have never really exchanged more than a good morning or good luck when seeing each other in the hallways of your faculty, you could've sworn he probably didn't even can recall your name clarily. But you also could've had sworn you would graduate without interacting with him.

You were at least 95% sure about it.

That is, until you were asked by him to tutor him in accountability and finances, a subject he need to nail in order to be graduate with a good score and go to the team he has been receiving calls from, and, for better or for worse, a subject you were amazing at.

Somehow, and you didn't knew exactly when or where, you ended up in a fake dating deal with him.

He needed a tutor.

You needed some excitement.

He was single and in need of forgeting about his ex.

You were bored and didn't mind a 'boyfriend'.

It was perfect!

You thought it was the most bizarre and stupid idea you could think of, and it has been nothing but fun for the last couple of months the deal has been on, you 'felt like you've found a great friend in jake.

But as everything even barely good you had, you ruined it, and you realized it when the smiles he gave you everytime you met to hang out started to give life to something in your belly. When the glances you shot him became subtler, as if not meant to be done. When your eyes started lingering for longer seconds each time he drove you places, admiring the sharp silhouette of his nose and his jawline, the way his eyelashes brushed ever so slightly his cheeks each time he blinked.

You heart got warmer and warmer each time you even dared to look at him, until the heat on your cheeks was no longer ignorable.

You fell for you fake boyfriend.

You fell hard for Jake.

And you were so scared about it.

Your now friendship that blossomed between the two of you and the rest of his teammates, was far too precious for you to ruin it with what you felt, ignoring all the flirty glances and gestures from him. You couldn't even bear the thought of losing your friendship with Heeseung and Niki, with whom you gossiped during training, nor Sunghoon, Jay and Sunghoon who received you with food when you visited his shared apartment; you couldn't bear to lose him.

You had to unfall, ASAP.

Today, almost seven months after staring this messy deal between the two of you, you were decided of getting over this little crush of yours.

The night was really cold, one of jake's forgotten hoodies drapped over your shoulders as you walked to your apartment from the school library, having just finished a project due to monday, your work pal going home for the weekend, forcing you to finale it today. You even had to tell Jake you couldn't hang out with him at his apartment with his roomates to work on it.

The wind was brushing against your face, hair flying everywhere as you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

Out of instinct you looked behind you, hoping to find nothing as usual and keep on walking home, but rather got unpleasently surprised to find a man alone all dark clothed walking at most 10 meters behind you.

Maybe he lives nearby. You thought, walking a tiny bit quicker.

But much to your desmay, two turns to the right and one to the left he was now at least 8 meters from you, each time you walked faster he did so too.

You were fucking frightened by now.

Pulling your phone out, you quickly called the first person that came into mind, fingers moving on their own as they typed, in a mere second the ringing was already by your ear.

"Hey." Jake said at the other side of the line, the faint sound of the TV at the background accompained by Heeseung's screams would usually give you a homey feeling, but not today.

"Jake, someone's following me, i'm scared" you muttered rather silently, keeping on with your fast walk, at least 10 minutes more until you got to your place.

"What? Where are you?" He asked, shuffling sounding around, sudden silence in the room. "Send me your live location, I'm going to get you."

"Okay, I- I will." You didn't dare not to do as he said, the amount of time you've heard him this serious could be counted with your fingers, but it someway reassured you.

In less than 5 minutes the sound of a so familiar motor was heard from the end of the block, parking with a scfreching sound right beside you as Jake hopped out of Jay's car, a bee like line traced in his mind all the way to you.

As soon as you were within arm reach he engulfed you in a hug, his arms around your shoulders as he breathed you in, reassuring himself. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do we have to beat someone?" He said as soon as he pulled away, hands now craddling your face with so much care it would've made you melt if it wasnt for the adrenaline running in your veins.

"I'm okay." you whispered, now ashamed as you realized Heeseung, Jay and Sunghoon were in the car too.

"You sure sweetheart?" His question definetly was not doubting you, he was doubting himself, wanting to be completely sure of was he had heard. After your nod, he stared over your shoulder to find noone there as he toon you by the hand. "Let's get you home."

Its was almost ridiculous how quick the silent drive to your apartment complex was, your hand subconciously drawing figures on Jake's trying to calm yourself down from the scare.

The fact that Jake walked you to the door didn't help stop the slowly rising stampede running through you. "I know its too much but... can't you stay?" You asked, not daring to look up to him as you did so, his hands still in yours. "Yunjin isn't home until tomorrow... But you don't have to if you dont want to."

"If you want me to I will." He deadpans, voice so determined that made you look up, his eyes already on you and oh so warm, you doubted seriously what thoughts crossed his mind to make him look like that. "Only if you want me to stay."

"I do." You nod, looking at him as he went to say somthing to the guys, his hands waving goodbye to you as Jay yelled goodnight and drove away. The fumbling of your hand searching your keys being the only thing interrupting the silence between you.

As you walked throught the hallway all the way up to your apartment a comfortable air fell within you, his hand aching to hold yours again, your mind instead focusing on not make a fool out of you at the time of placing your key in the keyhole in the darkness of the hall.

And thanks to someone above, you didn't, easily opening and closing the door behind you two, words falling in a ramble as soon as you licked the lights on. "I know this isn't what we agreed to but..."

"What are you talking about?" He asks, confusion written all over his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips.

"I'm sorry for making you come, I panicked and should've called the cops, I'm also sorry for overstepping the li..."

"Y/N, what are you apologizing for?"

"I overstepped the lines of our agreement, this is fake after all, I shouldn't-"

"Is this still fake to you?" The hurt his voice held made something drop in your stomach, sinking it so far down you could swear is now below the floor.

"W-what?" Your voice was thin, eyes wide as he walked closer to you, one of his hands snaking around your waist without ever moving his gaze from you.

"Is this fake?" He reiterates, his other hand holding yours to place it above where his heart is. "Does the fear I felt at the mere thought of someone hurting you, feels fake?" He starts, eyes so sincere you felt like they were drowning you. "Does the way my heart races as I look at you so close in front of me, feels fake?" He keeps on going, heart beting almost worryingly against your ribcage. " If the roles were reversed, and i was the one hurt, how would you feel?"

"I'd be petrified..." You mutter, unabke to look away from him.

"And its real. See? This..." he says, fingers signaling between him and you. "Us. We are not fake anymore, at least not to me."

"Jake."

"Is this real to you too?"

"Jake..."

"If its not, i can walk out that door and pretend this talk never happened, but if it is, know I'm never leaving now."

"It is."

"Then let me kiss you, for real this time." His voice every second became softer, sweeter, barely above a mutter at the end of the sentence, lips gently falling over yours as he kissed you with so much emotion you felt like melting against him.

"Let me date you, as a real couple this time." He whispers as you broke apart, forehead resting gently on yours, his eyes still closed as his breath calmed itself, mind still running over the fact this was all indeed not a dream. "Let me be yours."

"I was so scared of falling for you..." You whisper against his lips, hands traveling up to rest in his chest. "I was scared of losing you, I-"

"You would never lose me, not when you make me feel like the luckiest guy ever to have you around." He smiles, brown eyes looking so intensely into yours.

"I'd have to say I'm luckier, having the Sim Jake falling for me huh." You had to tease, playing with the wrinkles of his shirt.

"Nah, I'm definitely luckier." He smiles stupidly, a zoo storming throught the both of you.

"Whatever floats your boat." You shrugged, pulling away from him.

"Let's go to sleep love." He chuckled at your teasy smile, pulling you by the hand over to your room. "My sweet, lovely partner." He muttered, hugging you as he fell backwards into the mattress, pulling you with him.

"Why does it sound so different now?" You ask between giggles, resting you head over his shoulder just as you did when you fake cuddled in his apartment.

"Because it real to us now." He mumbles against your hair,, a soft kiss on the top of your head following shortly after. "And I've never been happier to be awake."

[btslil-bbyboy]

Situationship

*Warning: Minipulation, Toxic relationship, depression, stalking, power imbalance, abuse, dead dove, toxic, obsessive reader, delulu reader, I'll add tags that you guys think I should add.

Read at your own risk. Male reader! This is how I imagine Alastor gets a partner

Alastor

A bit of time with Rosie for some gossip did wonders for Alastor, especially since he's been gone awhile.

Can you imagine his curiosity of a sinner called (M/n) is quickly climbing up the social ladder? A new Overlord seems to be quite famous from what he has heard.

When he finally meets you in the Overlord meeting room, his eyes seems to stay on you.

The sinner who is dressed so... cheap. This is your first impression? He has to call you out on it of course.

The insults from him irrated you so much over the past few months that you decided to change your wardrobe. He wants style? Fine.

The next time you see each other, Alastor can't help but smile wide in victory. This he could get used to.

With that, the more he interacted with you, the more desire you felt for him. The familiar feelings of your human self is returning, that feeling of sweaty palms, heart thumping, and scenarios inside your head play wonderful interactions with him.

That glance he gave you? He was totally checking you out!

Oh! He's questioning about the extermination? You need to jump in and support your man!

Alastor has noticed the change immediately of your bored hollow self to this Vox like persona. No, worse than Vox.

Sure Vox has cameras around to keep an eye on him but you... you were basically crawling at his feet with a tail wagging behind you.

Like a mutt, eager to please even if he says something out of pocket towards you. It seems he can't get you off his back unless he kills you.

But that will be unproductive. You are an Overlord no matter if you were new to the scene. You must be powerful and he doesn't have history with you unlike Vox.

This is a chance for him he can't miss out on so he'll play along a little.

He'll give out compliments as rewards for you when you comply his orders like a treat to a puppy.

Slash at you when you step out of line, for example trying to hold his hand. You pout up at him, not getting up from the ground, wallowing in sorrow. You disappointed him.

Next time you're around him, you don't touch but stay close. Almost purring when he pats your head with a 'Good boy. You're a fast learner.'

That was it. That is what you wanted to hear. The snap inside your head connected that you're his as much as he's yours.

No matter how much you flinch when he initiate physical contact, your mind tricking you as excitement of affection from the man.

But sometimes, you return to that hollow person. The one that stares off to space. The one Alastor seems to get the most entertained from.

This switch is something he can't predict but its always fun to watch.

That glaze in your eyes as you talk to someone. Imitating aura oozing out as you seem to get more aggravated towards everyone around you.

The way you display your powers sends tingles down his spine, especially when he's the only one that can snap you out of that trance, looking up at him like some sort of god.

And you do. Which is the reason why you sold your soul to him.

But not so fast, you are an Overlord for a reason though. The contract was thoroughly read and rewritten which was unfortunate for Alastor.

It seems like this contract was more of a...relationship term. Alastor had a decision to make and if he didn't like it, nothing can stop him from leaving.

But.

'Alastor, the owner of the soul, can dictate expectations, boundaries, and responsibilities within the relationship. (M/n), the seller of said soul, must obey and follow the guidelines and maintaining it.'

What a waist of power if Alastor doesn't agree.

It's a good thing he does though.

Cause you'll be lost once again to that hollowness if he doesn't.

A blast of green and (f/c) crashes around them both. A thick silver chain around your neck connects to the other side of the chain which Alastor holds on to, the handle rusty heart shaped.

'Now let the fun begin'

[furicookiebndz]

Lucifer x !FemReader : My old friend

Hello everyone, it is my first time writing this, i hope it will be good enough, have fun! This fan art isn't mine. Full credits to the amazingly talented artist/creator.

It has been thousands of years since evil began.

Lucifer, whose pride blinded him, attempted to dethrone the creator, only to ultimately fail and be banished from Paradise.

Lilith, who refused to submit to Adam, in turn fled from this magical place, but which hides many facades.

Yet few people know that with them, a third person flew out of Paradise. And even rarer are people who know the cause, 3 to be precise.

However, behind this unusual act lie very dark secrets, seen as…

-Can you stop, Vag'? You're giving me a headache.

The young woman turned her head towards the source of this execrable voice, a spider who was visibly lying carefree on the sofa, arms behind her head, a bored expression on her face.

Refraining from answering him, she continued:

Tragic, some thought it was another rebellious woman, others a fallen angel because of a serious crime, but that wasn't logical, what's worse than to confront the creator?"

-That doesn't help all of us, the young woman noted, running her hand through her hair, frustrated.

-It would be beneficial to have her on our side, especially if she has such a significant influence on the world of the living and beyond, Charlie concluded thoughtfully.

-But she hid from the world, living as a hermit. Many think it's a myth, but given what's been happening lately, I believe it's much more present than sinners think.

Vaggie rubbed her temples, trying to come up with an idea.

-Who the hell are you talking about? I hate it when you pretend to be Sherlock and leave me like the old cookie in the back of the cupboard.

-Are you interested in what we do? retorted Vaggie sarcastically

-No, more about why you were busting my balls, joked Angel.

-You don't even have one, asshole, mumbled quietly Husk, taking a sip of his cheap booze.

-Want to check~? It is free for you kitty cat.

-Not even for a thousand balls, growled quietly Husk, who was beginning to lose his patient.

-Ouuh finally a price there is progress, Daddy, the spider sent him a kiss

Alastor, who was reading a book by the fireplace, decided to speak

-Charlie, Darling, you seem concerned about this person Let me see…

He seemed surprised for a moment, before smiling more, if possible.

-My my, what a terrible coincidence. The person you are looking for is one of the most sought after. Didn't Lucifer tell you about Lady (Y/N)?

-Um… We're not exactly talking about all that-

“Daddy issues,” Husk muttered.

Alastor continued:

-As reported in this document, she flew away shortly after your parents. She was a person living in Heaven, she was not human, but not an angel entirely though, she had two pairs of wings, although she is the appearance of a mortal, yet she had her own power, not to be underestimated. She embodied humor, justice and determination. In short, all these things that are way too boring-

-Cut it short, Alastor, Vaggie said, snapping her fingers.

-But when Lucifer challenged God, she did not follow him, not because she had to beat him, but because he knew just as well as she did that what he was doing was wrong. For the first time in her life she felt an immense disappointment in the love he had once inspired in her, and the semblance of a relationship that was perhaps tending to end disappeared with the appearance of the first demon, your father, Charlie.

However, you are aware that shortly after the creation of Lilith, she quickly became friends with your mother, and when she flew away from Paradise, and she learned the cause, she entered in a black anger, so black that Gabriel had difficulty in containing it, Until then, she had always been obedient, never contesting the decisions, which were of infallible Justice, but this departure had torn away part of her herself. She confronted the lord, she tried to rally the others to her cause, but nothing changed. Disappointed, she left that place, and no one ever saw her again.

There was a heavy silence for a moment, before Angel said:

-So…Is she still a virgin?

Vaggie rolled her eyes before Charlie had an idea:

I'm sure she's not that far away. Maybe I should ask my father to contact her again. She must care about him, at least I hope so, and if I convince her, Gabriel won't be able to object!

Vaggie refrained from adding a comment, she knew it was too good to be able to do it, but in front of her girlfriend's adorable face, she couldn't refuse anything.

______________________________________________________________

-No, Lucifer said firmly, before Charlie could even finish his idea.

-But dad-

-End of discussion, I don't want to hear anything, he turned around and mechanically squeezed the rubber duck in his hand, like an anti-stress ball.

Lucifer seemed elsewhere, deep in thought. His friend, his old friend…

.

.

.

“Luciferrrrr!” A burst of joy appeared as she walked towards him, a smile on her lips, a book in her hands.

Lucifer as usual had a lyre in his hands. He looked up at Y/N and smiled.

One discussion led to another, he shared his ideas about the mortal world, while she agreed with some and shared her opinion on others. They would sometimes just stay silent, or she would read aloud from a book, and he would then accompany her with his lyre.

Such a beautiful memory…

.

.

.

Why Lucifer?! Why did you do this?

This same friend was there with her eyes filled with tears, disappointed in him.

Lucifer looked down. One mistake, just one mistake, had caused him to lose those he considered family, and his closest friend.

He wanted to tell her that it was just a misunderstanding, that it was for the best, but the damage was already done.

He took Lilith's hand and without a word, left for their new home.

The young woman, in tears, could only watch them leave, the man she loved and her friend, without being able to do anything, because her principles prevented her. Gabriel placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and said nothing. If she knew, he couldn't imagine how she would have reacted

.

.

.

-Dad?

Lucifer seemed to come out of his thoughts and focused on a family portrait. Lilith was already gone, after their separation he only had his daughter left, and after a second of thought he sighed and said:

-I'll see what I can do…

-It's true? Oh thank you Dad, thank you thank you thank you!, cried Charlie enthusiastically.

She took him in her arms, and Lucifer said to himself that finally, if having a hug from his daughter meant having to seek the 7 rings of Hell and even the beyond, he would do it without complaining.

Now all that remained was to find it, the most complicated part…

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucifer, Charlie and the hotel members thought for several days, using all their knowledge and powers to find her. If she was neither in Hell, nor in Heaven, or even in the mortal world, she must be between the latter options-

Lucifer suddenly had an idea, remembering a conversation they had shared long ago, and he cast an incantation, which opened a portal to a world- no, a unique place, so messy and blurry, and yet so… familiar, as if he were…

“In the middle of a dream,” Charlie whispered softly. The rest of the team followed her, looking around curiously. Lucifer asked himself so many questions, was it a place where souls rested between life and death? He did not know it. After all, the soul left the body for a while when it slept, that would explain the place.

-Who are you? I sense human souls, but something else…

They saw several women advancing, of great beauty, similar to fairies, but armed, ready to defend themselves, if it was not for another who stopped them by raising her hand, she advanced slowly, and Lucifer recognized her completely. right now.

-(Y/N)..Lucifer seemed upset to see her, and tried to pull himself together by talking to himself. "Ok, Ok. It's going to be okay buddy, you can do it, you can do it", When he met her gaze, he lost all his courage and hid behind Charlie.

-Dad!

-What? I-I'm just covering your back Charlie.

-At least what I thought of you is true, you're just a sissy Lucifer, Alastor sneered.

You looked at him for a moment, the man you had loved for thousands of years, it was..strange. You didn't know whether you should greet him or hit him.

-Lucifer, what is the honor of this visit worth to me? In 10,000 years you have never had the decency to come visit me.

Sarcasm. Something unusual about you, he couldn't help but admire you. Your two pairs of wings were now grey, but your eyes were still this soft (e/c) shade, but now full of resentment, and perhaps.. mockery?

-And you, you must be his daughter, mhh?

You moved closer to her and observed her suspiciously, while she was sweating profusely, and Vaggie seemed on the edge on attacking you, and to her surprise, you smiled widely and took her in your arms, with surprising strength.

-My lord you are his carbon copy, so pretty~, you squish her cheek cheeks and gush about her, while she laughs awkwardly.

Everyone was stunned by how fast the tension dissipates, and the women behind you giggle, seemingly aware by how fast your emotions tend to change. Lucifer smiles, maybe he still had a chance..

-But you seem so polite, unlike some, you cast a dark look at Lucifer, and greeted the others with a sympathetic and curious look, their offering to sit down for a while to talk.

...maybe not finally.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

-If I understood everything, you created a hotel to rehabilitate sinners… and are trying to convince Heaven, is that right?

She nodded and Lucifer tried to add something, but you stopped him:

-I don't speak with traitors and liars, especially if they forget to send me a life message for eons.

Lucifer doesn't say anything wanting to make anything worse. He knew he was wrong, and sighed heavily.

(Y/N)-1 Lucifer-0.

-Damn, this girl is awesome, Angel whispered excitedly.

Vaggie continued:

-Lady (Y/N), you still have decent relationship with heaven.Could you try talking to some highers-up about it? Like Gabrie-

-No, this thing is no longer part of my circle of close friends, I can still try to talk about it again with Sera and Emily, but I can't do anything with the other weirdo.

Charlie felt hopeless, and she took your hands and looked at you with a miserable expression.

-I beg you, you must speak to him, my people are dying every year at the hands of the exorcists, and I-I cannot stand by and do nothing. Can you try..?

At his beaten puppy look, you widened your eyes, it was exactly-

Please don't tell them where I was, Lucifer pleaded with adorable eyes. You sighed but smiled, nodding your head.

-Well, i will. But I'm not promising anything though-

-Thank you thank you thank you, she hugged you, and you hugged her back with a smile.

Lucifer felt his heart beat faster, these two women who are precious to him have finally met, and got along better than he expected.

Now all he had to do was sort out one last problem.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Explanations were made. You listened patiently, and after a while you answered:

-Why Lucifer, didn't you tell me before? I-I thought I was your friend.

Lucifer held her gaze, and for the first time in millennia he took his courage in both hands and took hers:

-I didn't want to see your disappointed look, I know I made a mistake, but I only thought about doing the right thing. And I-

-You got scared?

He nodded, and you sighed:

-I don't blame you, at least not anymore.

He raised his eyes, feeling a bit of hope, and feeling Charlie's encouraging look, he continued:

-So, can we try again? I mean our relationship- Well our friendship!

He blushed slightly and you chuckled softly:

-Yes, always Lucifer.

[yuri-is-online]

Bitch the Pot (Trey Clover x Reader)

Trey's birthday is coming up and you really want to buy him a present.

But what if he doesn't want it? What if he just thinks of your efforts as annoying, or even worse what if he sees right through you and makes things awkward. What if he stashes things away and makes fun of them later, years later when he barely remembers your name.

What if he's secretly looking forward to your presence and hasn't even considered he'd be lucky enough to get a gift. What if... what if...

notes: they/them used for Yuu, we're going to hurt comfort town choo choo mother fuckers, I am using the Hitchhiking Ghost names for the Ramshackle Ghosts because I am unoriginal, the more I think about Trey the more I realize Idia is right, Trey's a skethcy mfer and yeah that's hot. If you like this check out my masterlist for more fic.

You didn't want to indulge Trey's teeth thing.

Sure it will make him happy, smooth over all your little insecurities pricking at your heart as you poke through the second hand store for what you had thought would be a really cute idea on your way here but now weren't so sure about. Besides you are pretty sure that everyone else is going to buy him a bundle of floss and call it a day, well other than Rook who has been waxing poetic about how he had "the most fitting cap for the Rose Chevalier" so all the more reason to put a little less of a personal interest into your gifting and more of a thoughtful touch.

As thoughtful as you could afford anyway. You aren't even sure Trey likes these sorts of things, though that worry is sort of drowned by how surprised you are to find nice looking china in Crane Port's equivalent of a Good Will. There is a nice selection of tea cups, mismatched saucer plates, and the odd pot sat all by its lonesome all with neatly written prices on stickers you don't look forward to scrubbing off.

Afternoon Tea Special~ Pick one Pot, 4 cups w/ saucers, creamer, and sugar bowl: all for just 25 T!

Cute, and not a bad idea you supposed even if it did feel a bit overkill. Your original intention had just been to pick up a sugar bowl and maybe one cup, something for him to put candies in that had a lid so no flies could get at his violets. But it really would be a shame to pass up such a nice deal and hey, if Trey didn't like it he could just ditch it with the Heartslabyul kitchenware once he graduated and never speak to you again.

"Oh this is such a cute little selection!" The lady at the counter's eyes practically sparkle as she carefully wraps up your choices in tissue paper.

"It's a birthday gift." You can't help but mumble and the sparkle flutters out to her entire body, ah that's right, this lady always did look a bit bored when you came in. It seems like you have fed her and her knitting circle for the rest of the week.

"Well then this won't to at all." She huffs and stops wrapping up your order and bends under her counter, the tell tale ruffles of paper and boxes sounding oddly comforting as she produces what you think is a hat box and proudly begins to organize the mismatched set and fetches out even more tissue paper. "Must be for someone important with how long you've been eyeing up a sugar bowl." She wiggles her eye brows. You try to keep your focus on said bowl, you didn't realize she'd been watching you but then again you have been coming down here every spare weekend to stare at it. This shop was nice, it had a bunch of cheap clothes and nick knacks that were used sure, but a life saver for someone from a completely different world. If the lady is thankfully not offended by your silence. She simply tacks your receipt to the box and sends you off with a wink.

"Thank you for your purchase! Please come back soon!" And tell me all bout it! You swear she says it but you don't hear it, too much blood is thrumming in your ears

The hat box is not out of place among the gifts on the party table, so trey doesn't have an excuse to stare at it even if his eyes keep coming back to it. It's lavender, plain save for the cream bow he hopes Yuu tied around it, and had been decently heavy when he picked it up before Cater scolded him about playing favorites.

"Be a good Senior and eat the cookies we made for you until Riddle brings out the cake." He flicks his nose with a knowing look. "Normal people save the best for last right? I'm sure Yuu-yuu will be fine with waiting, since they can barely look at you today~" And of course like a fool he whips his head to look, startling them and proving Cater's point as they immediately scurry back to Ace and Deuce.

"Screw you." He's only half joking but Cater's fully laughing and probably already took a picture. "I'm just worried they felt like they needed to bring a gift I would have been happy just to-"

"No you wouldn't have." For someone who likes lying to himself Cater really doesn't seemed thrilled with his choice to gaslight himself. "You would have spent the rest of the night thinking 'ooooh it'd be really nice if I got something from Yuu, I wonder if they hate meeee, I should make sure they think I don't care about helping them some more so they leave me alone and I don't have to think about how nice it would be to-'"

"Cater!" Trey has never been so grateful to hear Riddle yell about anything in his life. "Could you please help me with the cake? I was going to ask Yuu but they had to go back to Ramshackle."

"Yuu's back at Ramshackle?" Trey reaches to adjust his glasses, trying to ground himself.

"Yes, they said they were feeling sick and-" That's all Trey registers, though he hears the rest "went back to lie down, Grim insisted on staying to make sure the food didn't get them sick." It's his party, he can't just leave that would be an extreme violation of the rules but Cater's earlier accusation comes back to him. Make them think I won't care about them. It's not intentional, he thinks it's obvious he always will but then again-

"Fifteen minutes." Cater whispers under his breath.

"Thirty."

"You're delusional." Still Cater doesn't sound mad. "Eighteen."

"Twenty." He's already snatched up the hat box and making his way towards the doors.

~~~~

"Awww Yuu." Phineas would pat your head if he could. "I'm sure it's not that bad, you're just overthinking things."

"Yeah I think anyone would be happy to get a gift from you!" Gus tries, all three ghosts perking up slightly when you smile just a bit at his encouragement. "And if not then well..."

"I know I'm just being dramatic but I couldn't stand waiting anymore." You don't mention how Ace and Deuce had been teasing you, not wanting to relive the absolute embarrassment of having been caught staring at their Vice-Warden one too many times for dots to remain unconnected. "I asked Grim to bring back some cake but I don't know if he'll remember."

"Oooh let's take bets on it!" Ezra cheers and a familiar, unexpected laugh interrupts sending the ghosts scattering and leaving you at the mercy of a familiar face.

"I think it's safe to say that would be a pretty obvious bet." Trey sets the hat box on your coffee table, folding his strong arms and firmly sticking a lump in your throat. "You should have bet on me."

"Returning your gift is not bringing me something." You huff and Trey has the decency to look a bit awkward.

"I'm not here to return it, there's rules to gifts you know." Oh no. "For example, on our birthdays, the Queen of Hearts says we get to ask for anything we want." He finally moves, unfortunately for you he's decided to use his height to his advantage and lean over the table to crowd you back into the couch. "And I spent a long time thinking about what I should ask for from you."

"Um- I well-" You're looking everywhere but him now, as if you were before. "I did get you a gift though?" He laughs.

"And you ran away before I could thank you." Trey begins to unwrap the ribbons, slowly as if he's waiting for you to look at him but not wanting to deny his curiosity any longer. "But that doesn't change the rules. Sorry, I didn't make them."

The sugar bowl is the first piece he finds, the shop lady has to have set it on top on purpose. His eyebrows raise, not in disappointment you think, curiosity hopefully as he slowly opens the rest of them.

"Sorry." You immediately say to fill the space out of habit, and Trey stops his examination to look up at you.

"What for?" He picks up the sugar bowl, just as amused as you with the clover flowers patterned across it in a nice twist on his name and half the accessories he owns. "Don't tell me you want this stuff back, its mine now."

"No! I'm glad you like," you cringe at the question in your tone and cower at the smirk on Trey's face "I mean I hope you like it."

"A hand picked tea set from the Ramshackle Prefect? It's perfect. Especially for a birthday gift for me." He carefully wraps up the cups and their saucers, silence once again falling over the room as you wonder why he hasn't called you out on your lie, the self doubt suggesting he hadn't noticed. "I meant what I said earlier you know."

"What, about making demands of me?" You say.

"Hey chill I only sort of meant it like that." He doesn't even bother trying to hide his amusement. "I mean betting on me. I know it might sound strange to hear me say, but I do have things I think are worth extra effort. And if I have to put in a lot of it to get you to understand that I am glad you are in my life, then I'll just have to do that." So he did know you weren't sick, and was just dancing around the subject to be polite as usual.

"Happy birthday Trey." Because what else are you supposed to say, and he tries his best to not let his disappointment show as he takes his opened gift back to the rose garden. "I'm- I hope you have a nice time at your party."

He pauses at the threshold of your dorm, the wicked smile returning. "I think I know what I want to ask you to do."

"Oh no." You did not mean to say that out loud.

"Mhm. But you are going to have to come back to Heartslabyul to hear it, but after the party, we can use our cups." Our cups he says, as if you had picked out any cups that were supposed to represent you.

He noticed, of course Trey noticed that there was no trace of Yuu in this very you gift. But he could fix that, if you would just give him a chance. And maybe get the calm celebration he actually wants when you do.

[utilitycaster]

Eh, I doubt this will stop them but I'll cover the alleged hypocrisy since they appear to be harassing other people as well before going to bed.

[description: reblog from harassing-little-hypocrite. The real question is why was the little hypocrite so upset about Imodna in the first place? There is only one answer to that question, and the little hypocrite refuses to give any reasonable alternative. Sure, it made sense to criticize Imodna before, it really left a lot to be desired. But now, there is a new ship that, at best, has all the problems Imodna had. Why is the little hypocrite a fan of one ship but has never stopped shitting on the other? What is different about them, really?]

I assume "little hypocrite" is referring to me, because it was a reblog of my post, but given the URL it might be the poster talking about themselves in the third person like Elmo does. Who can say, really.

Anyway, I agree, Imodna does leave a lot to be desired. I'm not upset; I think it's boring but it also only comes up for like two minutes every other episode.

What's different about Fearne and Ashton: To be clear, I don't consider this an OTP, I don't have strong investment in it being endgame, I absolutely don't expect it to be monogamous, and honestly if it jumped straight into Undying Devotion To Each Other next episode instead of making out and having more interesting conversations I'd be immediately turned off. But right now? They've had a conversation of substance, they discussed their goals in concrete ways, they've had a silly flirty thing going on with the stealing game throughout the campaign (even when I thought the fanon of the ship sucked - which I still do - I felt a hookup would be fun but anything deeper would be contrived), and, perhaps most crucially, they can express frustrations with each other. My issue with Imodna has always been that they have the same boring-ass conversation in slightly different configurations over and over, the two potentially interesting conflicts they had fizzled out like a cheap whoopie cushion, and god, I'm so bored. Fearne and Ashton have conflict. That's the main thing I've wanted from Imodna - I've said that repeatedly - and they've failed to deliver. That's the difference.

Anyone can look through my blog and find plenty of other F/F ships I've enjoyed greatly; I happen to dislike this particular one. There's plenty of straight ships I think suck as well. It's deeply irresponsible to co-opt the language of social justice over stupid fandom wank; you sure aren't helping lesbians in any material way through this, that's for certain, if this is what I considered fun I'd develop literally any other hobby, and it does not really worry me what you think of me given that you don't know me in real life and as such have no basis to pass such judgments with authority.

It's interesting that for a ship where so many shippers seem desperate for more approval from the fandom, multiple Imodna shippers like you are simultaneously out here asking the question "what if I made myself as unpleasant as possible?" (I know you say you find it leaves a lot to be desired, but given that you're specifically mad that I like a different ship more than Imodna...yeah, sure.) Not sure if you're the old fandom bottom-feeder or a new one, but man, people who were neutral on Imodna have begun to sour on it because it's getting a reputation for being the ship of choice for clowns like you, and it's only going to keep getting worse, and people who prefer other things are going to just keep blocking you and write meta and fic for their ships and you'll get less and less.

[yourlocallovesickie]

I saw your doc ock post!!! I also just got into him!!! Ummm idk if you’re still writing but really anything regarding him as the recipient of stuffing, farting, diarrhea, and/or constipation would be great!!! Thank you!!!

(sorry that this is so late! hopefully its worth it, ive been very busy but also writing this on and off for a while. Thank you for the request it was a lot of fun :) enjoy!)

BEFORE YOU READ! This story contains lots of scat, stuffing, and m@sturb*tion, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+ i indulged myself a little more than usual lol

Doc rubbed his stomach, or at least tried with that annoying metal band in the way. He'd definitely never really been skinny, and the suit was designed to fit his body, but after the explosion it seemed to have clamped down onto him, and especially now that he was bloated; rolls of his tummy sticking out from the top and bottom of the belt. His poor stomach was pressing so hard on it the metal was bowing ever-so-slightly. The rubbing didn't help the ache, the only response from his gut being a horrible cramp and gurgle, weeks of trapped gas and waste and now what was probably a weeks-worth of cheap snack food swirling around. Being a super-villain you don't really have the best dietary options and can only really eat what you can steal, and primarily from gas stations unless you want to cause a scene over some steak. Another cramp surged through his intestines and he bent over to give room while he flexed his asshole with a grunt, pushing and pushing until his guts felt like they were going to burst. Nothing. Not even a fart. There had to be some way he could get things going, he'd been stuck in his lair barely making any progress on his generator because of this stupid bellyache, and it only seemed to get worse. But it wasn't like he could just stop eating! Then, he got an idea.

One of his four giant metal actuators crept over to the small fridge in the corner of the room; one of the many things he had invented to accomodate his stay in the ruins of his lab. The actuator opened it, and Otto was happy to find a full carton of milk. He'd gotten a little lactose intolerant as the years went by, not bad just enough to give him a solid case of the runs and some gas for a while, which he would gladly take on for relief. Another cramp shot through his gut, sending a gurgle out through his bowels. Excitedly, he bored down with his hands on his knees and pushed. His asshole gaped open, kissing the insides of his underwear, but again nothing. He groaned and opened the carton, ready to just chug it straight out. He didn't have any clean dishes anyway.

With the fullness in his stomach, which seemed already packed to the brim, the milk was not going down easy. Every few gulps he'd have to let off to calm down the nausea starting to build, and let out a few milky burps that only end up making him feel fuller. If before he was bloated, by half the carton was gone he was huge. His stomach gurgled nonstop, and he sat idly on the ground, milk in hand and a pack of crackers to help it wash down as his stomach expanded around the belt, coming over it on the sides with a red, angry hue. The pain was unbearable. Gurgles and groans that sounded sicker and sicker by the minute filled the room, accompanied with his animalistic grunts and curses as he desperately tried to get something out. He could feel the milk begin to seep into everything he had eaten, and then finally! Moving down his intestine. He could feel the burning inside him, and knew that his next load if it ever came was going to be liquid, but he looked forward to it if it meant he could actually poop. He didn't remember the last time he unloaded but it had definitely been over a week, maybe more. And he was usually a pretty consistent guy.

As the hours went by he had finally finished the jug and now sat on the floor, hands desperately kneading into his stomach as he let out dry burps and moaned through cramps. The milk was starting to run through his system, the pressure that once lie under his belt now pressing against some mass behind his asshole. Crawling on the floor, he threw his ass into the air, uncaring that he was still wearing pants and underwear, and pushed with everything he had. The mass moved maybe a centimeter.

"Come on..." he grunted to himself, and pushed again, feeling all of the hot mush in his rectum push against the hard turd. He was sweating now, teeth grit and eyes screwed shut as he lay unabashedly with his legs spread wide. He guessed he couldnt get anymore embarrassed than this, and two of his metal arms flew down to remove his pants. He hooked his naked legs over his arms and scooted down into place, his other arms steadied himself against the wall, holding him up as he shook and strained. Inch by inch, he could feel the hot liquid shit forcing the mass through his bowels, working him so hard he was breaking a bit of a sweat. "Please--" He grunted as hard as he could, flexing his asshole once more and a small pocket of air around the turd squirted out of him, blasting a jet of hot warm stink onto the floor in front of him.

His guts roiled, pushing desperately to get more out. He grunted and groaned, sounding somewhat primal as his eyebrows furrowed and face turned red in concentration. Several short and slightly damp farts shot out, each one carrying the mass a little more until it was finally resting against his asshole. He took a deep breath before giving it one final push, asshole puckering to reveal the large brown lump inside him, which didn't move. His guts groaned and churned around it, pushing the diarrhea that rest snugly behind it forward and compacting it even harder against the clog in his system. Trapped gas squelched and his eyes were starting to grow wet. Along with the strain, the embarrassment of the situation was very very real, even alone having his naked ass exposed like this felt alien.

The pressure in his stomach got worse, and the bottom of his belly and bowels bloated up, the pressure from the belt creating an even worse pain so bad he felt he would pop. He had to do something, and as another unsuccessful push traveled through his guts he grew desperate. His legs hiked up farther, and one arm came down to rest by his ass, hesitating. Was he really about to do this?

Gggrrgllgg... His stomach answered him, twisting in an agonizing affirmation, and his asshole was forced open another time. His fingers ventured inside, the rim wet and soft from forcing out what little gas he could, and lubing itself up to prepare for what was cooking in his guts. His middle finger slipped inside, and the foreign sensation made it feel like he was already messing himself, but he quickly found the log blocking said fate. It was hard and round inside him, stretching past the walls of his colon and stopping him up good. He knew there was no way he would be able to fit his fingers around the turd to pull it out, so instead he resigned to breaking it up. The sensation of having his fingers stuffed in his own ass, literally about to dig the shit out had already given him quite a tall erection, and he used some of the precum beginning to spit out of his cock as lube before venturing back into his hole.

The sensations were incredible; the pressure of his diarrhea crammed up behind the monster of a log he was currently dismantling, the sexuality of his fingers sliding in and out of his own butt, his massive erection steadily pumping thick hot precum out on his thighs... Even the actuators began to purr and click as they held his position on the floor for him. 20-30 minutes passed and the log was finally venturing closer and closer to the exit, now in still very large but easier to push out chunks. Sliding his finger out from his ass one last time, giving his aching belly and encouraging pat, and moaning out an even more encouraging grunt, Otto began pushing again. His asshole bloomed open, sore and irritated, and he could feel several large knobs of solid feces begin sliding out, fast. Wet farts forced themselves out, pushing his turds to go even faster until one exceptionally juicy fart was plugged by a soft, wet 'ppllrrfffbbt' as his asshole stretched around the first turd. His stomach groaned, the belt forcing even more pressure than he was applying as a hard, slippery shit shot from his asshole, letting out a series of wet sharts that stained the dark floor of his lair with a muddy brown. The turd fell on the floor, resting beneath his asscheeks with a soft noise unheard over the crackling of the rest of his load and his grunting. His face was certainly red from the struggle, and sweat rolled down his face as he filled the room with animalistic moans. His hole didn't even have time think about closing to rest before two more turds were forcing their way out, nudging over the first one to make room in their pile on the floor.

The bottom of Otto's asscheeks were smeared a dirty brown, and the whole room smelled of shit, an odd turn-on the physicist found as another hot smelly jet of farts covered the pile. The pressure was slightly better, but his stomach roiled and bowels moaned, and he knew he was nowhere close to finished. The next load that slid out of his hole was significantly softer and more malleable, pockets of chunky brown liquid sliding out the sides of each piece of mushy shit. The release was incredible; more than a weeks worth of waste all forcing its way out of him at once. As his asshole bloomed harder, forcing a small spurt of shit that began a trickling stream of thick diarrhea, he took one hand to his hard cock. Slowly, he began pumping it, and his moans of pain and grunts of relief turned into those of pleasure.

By this time he was having full on diarrhea, the milk having degraded all of the shit in his body to a thick, chunky liquid like a chowder. His legs were raised in the air, asshole on full display as it worked, the lips blooming open to kiss out more disgusting mud. The sounds were much louder and wetter, his farts becoming more frequent and intense, blasting chunk after chunk of poop all over the floor in front of him, going feet past the huge pile he'd created. Each wet noise from his body send a throbbing wave of arousal through his cock and stroked up the base, sending him closer and closer to coming, but he had more to go.

His ass squirted steadily for about 3 or 4 minutes, and by the time it finally tapered down his poor abused hole felt like fire. He actually had to push to get the final chunks out; mostly just degraded sludge and loud, hot farts. His stomach felt empty, a welcome feeling considering the past week and more of pain, and he realized how hungry he actually felt. Looking down at his pile, or more a smear, of poo he thought about how full he'd felt, and how bloated. All of that having been stored up inside him, brewing and going soft in his rectum. The idea sent him over the edge. At the same time the very last slippery turd slid out of his butt into the shitcastle, his cock throbbed and thick, hearty ropes of cum spurted out of it, adding what appeared to be whipped cream to a hot fudge sundae. With one last, airy fart splitting open his asscheeks, he laid down completely on the floor beside his pile, absolutely exhausted. One of his actuators crawled up, almost seeming embarrassed as it presented him a napkin, and upon his go-ahead, slinked around his legs to wipe up his ass. It was beyond disgusting, coated in diarrhea and would definitely smell awful for a while, as would the rest of his lair. He just hoped it wouldn't hinder him too much as so he couldn't focus on his project, now that he could finally get back to it.

[yeah-yeah-beebiss-1]

early impressions from the first 2 hours or so of pokemon scarlet: an ambitious, would-be phenomenal game held back by being released way too early

graphics are dogshit as expected, still looks like a late PS2 game

performance is rough - a lot of random frame drops and choppy animations, pop-in is somehow worse than PLA; there were several early cutscenes in the school classroom where all your schoolmates were moving at like 6fps that were extremely distracting

-koraidon’s jumping physics are super fucked up; in general the game has strong Bethesda energy with weird clipping and frame drops and general jank (for example, the only buildings you can enter are stores, and by “enter” i mean “the camera zooms in on the door until the whole screen is taken up by the door texture which is then used as a background for the shop UI”)

speedrunners are going to have a blast breaking this game wide open, which is to say the general quality control is very poor

pokemon variety is enormous, i nearly had a full PC box by the 2 hour mark just grabbing one of everything i saw

i can already tell that difficulty/level balancing is going to be a concern - exp share is always on and there are a lot of opportunities for experience, the only way you’ll be able to get through the game without being grotesquely overleveled for two of the three story paths is to box your whole team after completing one and starting over with low-level critters

overworld/catching mechanics don’t feel as polished as PLA’s; overworld catching is gone, there’s no reticule for aiming pokeballs to ambush wild pokemon, camera controls aren’t as flexible

you can set destination markers on the map, but they only show up on the minimap - playing this after finishing xenoblade 3 (which lets you see the markers in the world and even toggle guide paths) just makes me feel like it’s going to be a substantial learning curve for people not used to/fond of open-world games

terastallizing doesn’t feel like as much of a game breaker as dynamax or mega evolution

the gym leader implementation of terastallizing is boring as hell - rather than changing their ace to something that’ll counter whatever you brought to counter the gym type, they use it to change a pokemon that isn’t their gym type to match their gym type (the bug-type gym leader, for example, has a teddiursa that she terastallizes into bug type)

the soundtrack varies from respectable to absolutely amazing from what i’ve heard so far, the wild pokemon battle theme is dynamic based on area and the team star and tera raid battle themes go way harder than they have any right to - it’ll be interesting to see exactly how much influence toby fox had over the soundtrack, because some of these tracks definitely have his vibes all over them

in all fairness, i’m playing a leaked dump of a retail cartridge so there’s the possibility of a day-one patch fixing some of these issues, but the lack of polish runs so deep that i don’t think a single patch could address it

overall, i’m still having a decent time with the game because the pokemon formula is inherently pretty watertight and the exploration is pretty fun, but the game just feels blatantly unfinished so i couldn’t in good conscience recommend people drop $60 on it

i have a feeling there’s going to be more than a few instances of people getting buyer’s remorse and unloading their copies for cheap by early december, so i’d strongly recommend just waiting for that to happen so you can get it secondhand for $40-45

[final-girl96]

STOLEN HEARTS CHAPTER NINE

May 14, 1984

"What happened to not going to prom? "Especially not with fucking Eddie." I rolled my eyes at my dad trying to impersonate me. "I don't sound like that. And he asked me yesterday. He made it sound fun." I shrugged trying to hide the smile that wanted to creep up on my face.

"Fun? What kind of fun?" He asked and I think maybe he stopped breathing. "He's going to take me to a cheap motel and pop my cherry… are you okay? You're turning red." His shoulders were stiff and his eyes bore into me. "Oh! Oh, my god, dad! Calm down…I was joking!" I burst out into laughter. "He just mentioned going for like an hour to some chaos between the popular assholes. Then go get burgers and shakes."

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" I smiled, "Love you!" I said, hugging him and kissing his cheek before running off upstairs to finish getting ready for school. When I came back down he was still standing in the same spot. "Am I driving myself or are you going to take me like you said you were going to for the rest of the year?" He slowly nodded his head. "Yup.

I'd like to say the day went by like any other day. But it wasn't. I was asked to prom by at least three other guys and that was before lunch. I was about to walk into the cafeteria until I saw two more sitting at the table I alway sit at. Flowers in hand and glaring at each other. Now while most girls would love this kind of attention, I hated it. And it only made it worse because they wouldn't be asking if they didn't know who my dad was.

I opted for the library instead. I walked in, waved at Mrs. Walter, and headed to the very back and hid in my little corner. I couldn't wait for the day to be over. I was only there for ten minutes when the chair across from me was pulled out and someone sat in front of me. "So, it looks like you've got quite a fan base." I looked up at the dark curly haired boy and rolled my eyes.

"The only reason they even asked is because they now know my dad's some big deal. They wouldn't have asked otherwise," I said. "Well, for the record, I liked you before I knew who your dad was. I mean you annoyed me and still do sometimes. And it is fucking awesome that your dad is…" he stopped talking at zee the look on my face.

"Sorry. Not the point. The light is I'd like it if you'd give me a second chance. Go to the prom with me. I saw Misty Everton sucking Julian Shulman face off behind the bleachers yesterday. Girl really knows how to get around." He reached across the table and grabbed my hand and it felt like a shock of electricity went through me. "What do you say? Go to the prom, mess some shit up, get the fuck out of there and then go grab some burgers and shakes."

"I don't know. I mean I have so many options to pick from and…" I could keep myself from laughing at the look on his face. "Joking. I'll go with you…but!" I cut him off before he could even think about saying anything. "But, if you're more than five minutes late I will never speak to you again." He nodded his head rapidly with a huge smile on his face. "I'll be there on time. I promise!" He got up and ran off, making Mrs. Walter yell at him for running and being too loud.

It was a struggle but I was able to avoid people for the rest of the dad and rushed outside as soon as school let out. Dad was out there talking to Eddie as he waited for me. "Hey…" they both looked at me, Eddie looked like he was about to shit himself. "Are you okay?" I asked him and he slowly nodded his head. I looked over at my dad and he just shrugged.

"Oh. My god, Mr. Hexley, hi! I'm Misty, a good friend of your daughters." Me and Eddie snapped our heads to look behind us to see Misty walking up to my dad with her hand held out. "You actually went to school with my dad, Phil Everton." Dad looked at her hand but didn't shake it. "Yes. I know who you are. I also know that you're not friends with my daughter. Now if you'll excuse us. Come on, little viper. Time to go shopping!" He walked over to the driver side and got in.

Misty looked like she was just slapped in the face with how he regarded her. Eddie and I laughed and he opened the door for me. "I'll see you tomorrow at lunch?" I nodded and got in the car. Once the door was closed and I was buckled dad took off out of the school parking lot.

"Looks like we're going into the city and getting you a dress and whatever else you need and want. Seeing as you're going to prom with Eddie. Maybe a chastity belt too," he said. I groaned, and hit my head on the headrest behind me. "Dad! Oh. My god, stop! I'm not going to have sex with Eddie!"

We ended up going to Indianapolis to The Fashion Mall at Keystone and spent time looking for a dress, shoes, and anything else that I needed until the mall was about to close. "Well, that was fun. Not surprising that you didn't go flashy and colorful. Weird you didn't go with heels but not surprising. I'll call up Cindy and see if she can fly out here and do your hair for ya for Saturday." I smiled and we walked into the house. "Thanks, dad. But I think I'll just do something simple."

If I was being honest, I was kind of excited to go to prom. Sure it was just some stupid dance but at least it'll be a memory I can share with my own kids one day, if I decide I want any. The only thing I was worried about was if Eddie would actually show up or not. The little voice in the back of my head was putting doubts in my head.

What if he doesn't show up? What if this is all some cruel joke? What if he meets some girl again and forgets about me? Or what if he changes his mind and decides to take someone else? It was all just a bunch of what ifs and the worst thing I could think about always follows that what if.

[seat-safety-switch]

Have you ever wondered just how much uncorked horsepower is all around you? We live in an era where cheap access to gross amounts of grunt is easily available. Even if you’re European, a quick perusal of the relevant periodicals reveals that the shittiest imaginable family hauler is making more horsepower than a full-ass sports car of the 1970s. And nobody uses it.

Sure, there’s the argument that we need all this pluck to keep our increasingly-heavy land barges moving in traffic. That doesn’t account for the fact that horsepower has been inflated much faster than even the ballooning curb weight of commuter cars. Nowadays, 300hp is table stakes for a pickup truck, and automakers are bolting on turbochargers to make up for the crippling weakness of having to reduce their four-bangers to sub-2L.

All of this only serves to infuriate me further. I’ll be stuck in traffic, trying to keep my 79-horsepower bullshit barge on the boil, and some nimrod in front of me with four hundred horsepower and an “M” badge on the back of their SUV is dragging the brakes through a corner. I need that momentum! And what’s worse: they won’t dollop out all those unused ponies. That poor engine must be so bored.

You may be asking yourself: wouldn’t I approve of a lowly-stressed engine? Exactly the opposite. Not only are today’s modern engines complicated, containing advanced engineering concepts like “important gaskets,” but they have a tendency to get all coked up when they’re not treated with the sharp backhand that they were designed for. As soon as I figure out how to bolt a modern engine into my car, and trick it into working by telling it sweet lies over the CAN-bus, I want to go fast. And if I do go fast, well, I’m gonna stretch those rods and rip that built-up carbon all across the cylinder walls. An Italian tuneup is only fun when the horse doesn’t immediately shit out its lungs and then slip in the blood.

All this is to say: got a car with more than 100hp? Do me a favour. Beat the shit out of it. Really whip it like you hate it. Slam your hand in the door a few times before you turn the key this morning (do they still have keys?) Hey, you never know. Maybe you’ll find out that you can make use of all that horsepower, and that weird smelly guy in the hairy-looking brown Volare will stop swearing at you. Maybe you’ll even get hooked, and become friends with him. He could use a good discount on engines.

[thefudge]

Hi thefudge! I love reading your thoughts on fiction and I was wondering if you've heard of Obsession, a Netflix series starring Richard Armitage. He plays the role of a surgeon who has an affair with his son's fiancée.

thx! and yes, i have lol, but i have kept quiet about it because i am not a fan, even though i don't hate it, per se.

i will say, the trailer made the show look kind of cheap and bland, but upon watching the first episode i was sort of pleasantly surprised.

that being said, i have two big main issues:

a) i don't like the source material. so this is based on a novel called "damage" by josephine hart which is a very apt title, because it's all about the massive damage these people inflict on themselves and others. i read it back in the day and found it... interesting. it's not erotica, it's literary fiction through and through. and it's a mostly unpleasant, philosophical book. there is a famous 1992 adaptation with jeremy irons and juliette binoche which is faithful, in that it is not very pleasant and hardly erotic. because the thing about this novel is that the passion between these two characters is bizarre and unappealing, and i don't think it's just me. i think the novel wants you to feel that even these two people are not enjoying themselves, but they have to go through with it. it's compulsive and tortuous, like anna karenina and vronsky in the last throes of their doomed affair. and that's what's sort of fascinating about it. it's obsessive and deranged and not fun. hell, you don't really get any progression, you don't get tension and yearning and all the good forbidden stuff, because from page one, the guy is absolutely besotted with her and doesn't care about the consequences because he can't, it's that bad. the moment they meet is fatal, because they both realize what's happening. it's not love at first sight, it's like finding out how you'll die. it's sort of romantic but incredibly unsexy. there is no tension there. you just see two characters trembling with morbid anticipation. and that's fascinating and cool...but it is also deeply unpleasant and sort of pathetic (imo).

that's why i see this novel as more of a philosophical introspection into the limits of love, morality, responsibility. it's an intellectual exercise. and i appreciate it for that and for the daring questions it poses. but it makes me feel nothing. i am left cold by these two characters. so i only kind of enjoy the intellectual experiment.

which is why any filmic adaptations will have roughly the same effect on me. the netflix adaptation is both better and worse than the 1992 version, because it is less silly (god, jeremy irons loves to be The Most), but it is not as weird and daring. it's better than i thought it would be, and some scenes are compelling (though i didn't finish the series) but i just don't know what to do with it. it also doesn't work for me because i need progression. i don't like it when characters have an instant and inexplicable connection without even knowing each other. i can appreciate it in literary fiction and as an intellectual exercise with a moral/philosophical point, but....emotionally, i am bored by it. so it's a case where my subjective preferences interfere.

my other issue which is also subjective is that:

b) richard armitage doesn't work for me in this part. i love richard armitage, he's a beautiful man, but he doesn't have that subtle ick factor necessary to pull this off. he's the earnest gruff guy who doesn't understand all this kinky shit, he just wants to fuck you and hold your hand. he does not sell the obsession and the pathology to me. he does his very best, i will give him that, but something about it feels inauthentic. his facial reactions are, at times, so forced they become hilarious. he's constantly and very earnestly glowering like he's still on the set of north and south. it just doesn't work for me, even though i can tell he's putting his whole armitussy in it lol.

but even if! even if richard armitage was right for the part, i'd still find this deeply unappealing and unpleasant. interesting intellectually! but just unpleasant. which i think is the point of the novel, but it's a depressing point.

my favorite character in the book was always the wife, and indira varma is my fave here too, she is amazing and too good for this show lol. but other than that...i don't see the point of telling this story again, ultimately. i know the ending is shocking and incisive and yet, it just feels pointless, all of it. but do check out the 1992 film to see true fucked-upedness!

[crowtrobotx]

A little stupid thank you to @grisailledreams for bein’ a good friend and also consistently supporting my mediocre writing, to the point where she gets mad if anyone beats her to being the first comment on a Chrysalis chapter lol. 💜 Ily.

This is largely just for her but because some of you care about Astarion and Karl/Kris, here’s a fun little crossover I decided to share on here rather than solely in private. Brynne is her OC, and Karl is a Dwarf artificer in BG3 because it’s funny and I said so.

Title: Feline Fancy

Words: 1301

Pairings: Astarion x OC, background BG3!verse Karl Heisenberg x OC (they’re also sometimes a polycule. Everyone is bi/pan and nothing matters.)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

************************************************

“Good Gods. It’s like watching a flea-ridden stray put on a show for scraps.”

“Astarion. Be nice.”

“I am being nice. I didn’t say the worse version that was rattling around in my head.”

Judging by the oppressive darkness and quiet that bore down on the little wilderness camp from all sides, it must have been somewhere in the wee hours of the morning by now. The crickets had stopped their shrieking, at least, although Brynne’s light plucks at her lute sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness. Between the heavy sensation pulling at his eyelids from the cheap wine - Baldur’s Grape, what a joke - and the buzzing sensation in his blood still present from feeding on an unfortunate bandit earlier, Astarion was trapped in a strange chasm between exhaustion and mania, one that was making him exceedingly grouchy. The sight of the pair on the other side of the bonfire wasn’t helping - even against the bright orange glow of flame he could make them out, and fuck he couldn’t escape from the sound of the infuriating giggles.

The party hadn’t known each other that long. They were still feeling each other out, which sometimes led to awkward situations like tonight, where the quartet had argued about the watch schedule to the point that they had all decided to stay awake out of pure spite.

Though he would stake himself before he admitted it, he trusted Brynne’s judgment, for the most part. If she said their two new companions were a value to their cause, then so be it. It was true that the elves’ talents, while useful, were better suited to petty thievery than full on adventuring. Having an exceptionally angry outlander who regularly threw fully grown men over bar tables and a deeply insane artificer with a moral backbone best described as “jelly-like” at least gave them a fighting chance.

But did the Dwarf have to be so damn dramatic?

Karl had announced (loudly, far too loudly) to the group that he was going to bed some time ago before sauntering off to the tent he and his partner shared. Kris, a Barbarian woman and the partner in question, had simply shrugged and continued sharpening the monstrous greataxe she bore that was almost as tall as Astarion himself. When she hadn’t followed after an hour, Karl had poked his head back out with the look of an petulant child plastered on his face, sighed loudly, gone back inside, sighed even louder, and then stomped back outside to plop down in the grass at Kris’s side.

If Astarion didn’t know better, he’d have almost said that she’d smirked at the display, as if she’d quietly concocted the whole thing herself. Cheeky. A few minutes passed in silence - rare for the party - before Karl wordlessly flopped to his side, head landing squarely in the Barbarian’s lap.

What had followed was the expected quick bickering that the couple seemed to use as some twisted variety of foreplay, culminating with Kris abandoning her task and begrudgingly beginning to scratch her short nails through his silvery hair and beard. The Dwarf, apparently not content with merely acting like a lap animal, proceeded to debase himself further by periodically rotating and shifting to ensure that she reached the right spots and making sounds that wouldn’t have sounded out of place coming from a content Owlbear.

Astarion wanted to vomit.

“It’s pathetic,” Astarion said, taking another swig of the dry red. “Truly, truly sad.”

Brynne sighed at his side and set her lute to lean against the fallen log they were sat upon. She’d been trying to tune it to little avail - the strings badly needed replaced, but they were so far from refined civilization at the moment that just getting the instrument to survive until the next backwater luthier popped up would be an achievement.

“Well, I think it’s sweet.” The pale pink of her skin was lovely in the firelight, and the deep green of her wavy hair made it seem to blend into the dark of the sky overhead. She was ethereal, beautiful, too good to be in the situation they’d found themselves - which meant, for Astarion, that she was also infuriating.

“You would,” he sneered. “You think everything is sweet. Remember when we passed by that ridiculous Tiefling caravan a few weeks ago? You burst into tears at the sight of the pseudodragon hatchling they had in that cage.”

“It was so small!” Brynne whined. She covered her face with her hands and groaned. “I just wanted to bite it!”

“And there! Hypocrisy! You’re always chastising me when I say the same thing.”

“Because you mean bite as in ‘break skin and drain blood.’ I mean bite in the way that you chomp on a baby’s chubby cheeks. It’s different.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. He lifted the goblet to his lips once more and was vexed to find it empty. He was pretty sure the only alcohol left was the Barbarian’s whiskey flask, and even he wasn’t arrogant (or stupid) enough to ask her to share. It seemed he’d have to greet the morning sober. What a shame.

Another low chuckle from Kris. Another contented sigh from Karl. It was maddening.

“Why does she put up with it?” he mused aloud. “He acts like this all the time - like if he doesn’t get attention for ten minutes he’ll burst into flame! And she enables it!”

Brynne didn’t respond. She only turned her blue-eyed gaze to him and raised a brow, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just…. Baffling! How did he even feed himself before meeting her? What’ll we do if Kris has to go off on her own for a few days? I’m certainly not going to give him head scratches like he’s the world’s most bedraggled mutt. It’ll be like having a full time job! If the rest of us adults can get by without being pampered like child emperors, the Dwarf should be more than capable.”

Brynne blinked.

“You want to get petted, too.”

“Indeed.”

Astarion rolled onto his back and settled his tousle of white curls into Brynne’s lap. The Wood Elf laughed, like a high ringing bell, and clicked her tongue. “You’re certain you’re not some kind of polymorphed cat?”

“If I am, you’re the sucker who can’t resist getting a good purr out of me.”

The night hid whatever blush might have blossomed on Brynne’s cheeks. She lightly slapped his hand and settled back, ready to get comfortable until the dawn bled color into the sky.

“No beard, so I’ll have to just focus on your hair, if it pleases your majesty.”

“Do be careful not to mess it up that much. I put a lot of effort into looking flawless, you know.”

“Too bad it’s not working.”

“You wound me, my lady.”

Brynne snorted. “Fair is fair, you blood sucking charlatan.”

She threaded her fingers through his curls, the gentle scratch of nails on his scalp eliciting a light shiver that shook its way down his spine. Once again, he’d rather go back to eating rats than confess just how chuffed he was to have her full, adoring and undivided attention, even for a moment. Come morning, the focus would be back on surviving the mountain pass, rationing supplies, trying not to attract the attention of whatever ancient things lurked in the shadowy crevasses that loomed overhead.

He still had doubts - still found himself occasionally wanting to run off and risk his chances alone. But, to his delight and horror, those desires grew weaker with each passing day, each passing swipe of her hands across his head.

Astarion shut his eyes, lips pulling into an easy and content smile, and missed the loving yet exasperated head shakes exchanged between Brynne and Kris from across the fire.

[ct-hardcase]

11, 26, 29, 37 >:)

thank you for the (very opinion-based al;gjakgjaskdgj) asks :)

11. Three tropes that are fine but overrated:

a. Never really got the mafia AU appeal? Nothing against it, but I won't seek fics out with that one.

b. If this is a safe space, found family is great but it's getting a bit oversaturated in both canon and fanon spaces for me recently. I enjoy it if a character's dynamics don't get sanded down for the sake of camaraderie (canon ghost crew, bargerean jade crew, etc.), but it feels cheap to me if characters just get reduced to "mom", "dad", or (almost worse) infantlized because they got put into the "kid" slot, even as a grown adult. Goes with the himbo bastardization tbh.

c. Enemies to lovers can be fun, but too often I find that the trope can cannibalize characters' personalities (especially when a piece of media becomes a popular fandom), and there's some types of enemies where the transition to lovers just makes me deeply uncomfortable no matter what.

26. What would you describe as OOC?: Depends on the fic. I've seen a lot of posts here lately that emphasize that it's less if a character does something OOC than if an author can justify them doing that and make it believable.

I think that works for more character-focused fic, but no matter what, I tend to look for synchronicity with a character's canon tone of voice and speech patterns (something I struggle with lmao), as well as consistency with how emotionally vulnerable/expressive they'd be in a given situation. If neither of those boxes are ticked, there's a fair chance I might find it OOC.

29. What's the hardest thing about writing?: Descriptions, hands down. Trying to get the feel of a setting and certain mannerisms is something I have to consciously work in every time. Other than that, pacing, probably.

37. Do you research before writing or while you write? Is it fun or boring for you?: Again, depends on the writing. I have a few one-shots I wrote and published with almost none.

For anything that has at least a bit of proofreading, I'll try to make sure certain details are as close to right as I can get them without a canon deep-dive (I went down a rabbit hole for the Fox and Windu fic to see if light switches existed in star wars, for example; or in an upcoming fic, what ship would a First Order platoon would use to touch down on a planet), and try to get a handle on character voices by watching source material, but I don't do a ton of external research into writing technique or super nitpicky canon if I can feasibly tapdance around it.

[steelycunt]

I think it’s so telling when the lyrics that her fans use as examples of her supposed “genius” are always just like either the most overused metaphor or some cliché biblical/mythological reference… And I don’t even think she’s completely terrible, she does have some good lyrics,, but the ones they choose are always the most boring ones possible. Like if you genuinely think this is what good writing looks like then I just don’t think we’re going to get anywhere here.

Also, and I get that this is subjective, but the whole thing of likening your stories to ancient myths is just such a pet peeve of mine. It can definitely work if there’s some effort put into it, especially if it’s more specific and doesn’t just use the most well known ones (or like if it’s supposed to be poking fun at a character being particularly dramatic) but most of the time it just seems like a cheap trick to bring some unearned gravitas to the thing and it annoys me to no end.

no exactly say that!! it is what i see happening the most people are like well you cant deny she's a talented lyricist look at this lyric [insert random mythological/classical reference] and im just thinking but thats still not a good lyric? just because you throw a gatsby reference in doesnt make it a good reference? she doesnt get points for knowing what the hanging gardens of babylon are? because the lyric isnt good and the reference often doesnt make sense or hasnt been employed correctly or effectively and so obviously has just been crammed in there and does not hold up under scrutiny. im sure she has better lyrics but people wheel out the mythological references and its like if you actually think this is a good lyric because she knows who midas is i dont really know what to say. i can write a song and throw in a reference to fucking icarus or something but if it doesnt work and fits clunkily and makes no sense in the wider context of the song that reference has not automatically added value and the lyric isnt good and probably actually makes me a worse lyricist rather than a better one. i do think those sort of references can be used well they can be subtle and appropriate and artful BUT its the subtleness, appropriateness and artfulness that in turn makes the lyric good, not the mere employment of a reference. it is knowing where to use the reference and which one to use and how to use it and IF to use one at all, and honestly considering the first line of swiftie defense to 'she's not a good lyricist' is to break out the allusion lyrics, none of the ones ive ever seen have been good lol