#misting solution

[jessica-anderson]

Mist and Relax: The Relaxing Effects of a Backyard Misting System Introduction

When the summer sun blazes overhead, finding ways to relax and unwind becomes crucial for maintaining our well-being. While beaches and vacations are enticing, you don't need to travel far to experience tranquility. Creating a serene backyard oasis can provide the perfect escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. And to take your backyard relaxation to the next level, consider installing a backyard misting system. 

How a Backyard Misting System Works?

Before diving into the relaxing benefits, let's briefly understand how a backyard misting system works. The system comprises high-pressure water lines and specialized misting nozzles strategically placed around your backyard. When water is forced through these nozzles at high pressure, it forms a fine mist released into the air. As the mist evaporates, it cools the surrounding air, creating a refreshing and enjoyable atmosphere.

1. Embrace the Calming Ambiance

A backyard misting system can instantly transform your outdoor space into a calming and serene environment. As the mist gently envelops your backyard, it creates an ambiance reminiscent of a spa or a tropical retreat. The sound of water droplets and the misty haze combine to set the stage for relaxation and peace of mind. Whether reading a book, meditating, or simply lounging, the calming ambiance induced by the misting system will make you feel like you're on a blissful getaway.

2. Stress Relief and Mental Well-being

Spending time in a cool and tranquil outdoor setting has been shown to reduce stress and promote mental well-being. The soothing mist and the refreshing feel on your skin have a positive effect on your senses, encouraging relaxation and reducing anxiety. Stepping into your mist-cooled backyard after a long day can help wash away stress and tension, allowing you to recharge and find mental clarity amidst the chaos of daily life.

3. Enhanced Outdoor Meditation and Yoga

For those who enjoy meditation or yoga, a misting system can greatly enhance the experience. Meditating in a serene mist-covered backyard can create a sense of peace and connectedness with nature. The cool mist also helps regulate body temperature during yoga sessions, preventing overheating and promoting a more comfortable practice. With the calming effects of the mist, you can achieve a deeper level of mindfulness and relaxation.

4. Spa-Like Retreat at Home

A backyard misting system can transform your outdoor space into a private spa-like retreat. Imagine lounging on a cozy chair with a refreshing drink while the mist gently cools your skin. You can even add soothing background music or the sound of a gentle waterfall to create the ultimate relaxation spot. With a misting system, you can indulge in a spa experience without leaving the comfort of your home.

5. Quality Time with Family and Friends

In addition to providing relaxation for yourself, a misting system can foster bonding and quality time with family and friends. Gather around the mist-cooled patio or create a comfortable seating area, inviting loved ones to share in the serene environment. The relaxing ambiance encourages open conversations and laughter, making it an ideal setting for meaningful connections and creating lasting memories.

Conclusion

A backyard misting system offers more than just a cool respite from the summer heat; it creates an oasis of relaxation and tranquility in your outdoor space. The calming ambiance and stress-relieving effects of the mist can help you unwind and recharge, promoting better mental well-being. Whether meditating, doing yoga, or simply enjoying quality time with loved ones, the misting system sets the stage for a serene experience. So, invest in a backyard misting system and embrace the blissful mist to create your personal relaxation haven at home.

[leigh-mccoy]

Hank during Inhumans vs Xmen: WHY are we jumping to all out war??? I won't be a part of this. I'm going back to my lab to figure out how to solve this problem WITHOUT killing people

Storm and the other mutants, attacking Hank and imprisoning him: Wow Hank i can't believe you'd betray us like that :'(

[cleaningitemsblogs]

A Clean Home Company’s Aromatic Mist: Natural Fragrance with a Purpose

Your home is your sanctuary, and the right scent can transform any space into a haven of calm and joy. But when it comes to air fresheners, natural is always better. That’s why A Clean Home Company’s Aromatic Mist is the perfect choice for those who value safe, natural scents.

Why Choose A Clean Home Company’s Aromatic Mist?

This aromatic mist is a natural air freshener crafted with pure essential oils, offering a refreshing and soothing fragrance without any harsh chemicals. It comes in a reusable 2oz glass bottle, making it an eco-friendly choice for those who care about sustainability.

The Power of Pure Essential Oils

Lavender: Known for promoting relaxation and restful sleep.

Orange Zest: Uplifts mood and relieves stress, creating a cheerful atmosphere.

Safe for Everyone

Baby-Safe: Free from harsh chemicals, making it ideal for nurseries and children’s rooms.

Pet-Safe: A gentle choice for homes with furry family members.

Eco-Friendly: The glass bottle is reusable and recyclable.

How to Use A Clean Home Company’s Aromatic Mist

Shake the bottle gently.

Spray in any room for an instant burst of natural fragrance.

Use it in bedrooms, living areas, or even on linens for a soothing scent.

Versatile and Refreshing

Bedrooms: Promote a calming bedtime environment.

Living Rooms: Create a welcoming and fresh atmosphere.

Offices: Enhance focus with a refreshing aroma.

A Clean Home Company: Your Partner in Natural Living

We believe in offering safe, eco-friendly, and natural products for your home. Our Aromatic Mist is crafted with your family’s well-being in mind, providing a refreshing scent without compromising safety.

Try A Clean Home Company’s Aromatic Mist Today

Ready to bring a touch of natural luxury to your space? Choose A Clean Home Company’s Aromatic Mist and experience the calming power of pure essential oils.

Order yours now and refresh your home the natural way.

[outdoorovernights]

Ausic Portable Misting Fan Review

Are you tired of the sweltering summer heat and desperately seeking relief without being tethered to a stationary fan or air conditioner? The Ausic Portable Misting Fan might just hold the answer to your summer woes. Let’s spend some time together exploring the ins and outs of this intriguing gadget. With its promising features, it certainly looks like a compelling choice to keep you cool while…

[auto2mation1]

The Seres ODME-S 663 MK III Oil Discharge Monitoring & Control Equipment is a high-performance system designed for marine vessels to comply with MARPOL regulations. It ensures accurate monitoring and control of oil discharge, preventing marine pollution. Featuring automated detection, real-time monitoring, and advanced data logging, this system enhances environmental compliance and operational efficiency. The ODME-S 663 MK III is ideal for tankers, helping ship operators meet strict discharge limits with ease. Auto2mation offers this reliable and efficient solution to support sustainable maritime operations. Upgrade your vessel’s compliance with this cutting-edge oil discharge monitoring system.

[homunculus-argument]

Imagine going on a walk on a really foggy day, enjoying the vaguely eerie, faint and distant aesthetic of it all, and the soft quiet of having no other people around. You're about to cross a familiar bridge when you suddenly feel lightheaded. It's nothing to worry about, just a weirdly wobbly feeling that means you should sit down. And probably get more iron in your diet. Either way, you need to get up and you need to cross this bridge to get home. But now being alone has put this weird fear in you - irrational or not - that if you walk over the bridge, you might get dizzy again and fall from it.

Weird and lonely problems require weird and lonely solutions. Since you're all alone here anyhow, you can act strange if you need to. So you get down on all fours - not on your hands and knees, but on the balls of your feet, like a dog. And like this, you start to slowly creep over the bridge. Nice and slow, happy about your solution that made it feel safe to cross and get home. You can be weird if you want to, nobody's judging here.

You're creeping at a comfortable speed, very slowly, but the bridge isn't that long. You can kind of make out the outlines of things on the other side through the mist. The end of the bridge, a familiar tree, a streetlamp, the silhouette of a bush and-

A person. A human figure. You freeze mid-step to stare. That is the most definitely the outline of a person, standing perfectly still. Staring right at you. You don't know how long this moment lingers, but eventually you can't hold your balance anymore and you have to step forward, placing your open palm back on the cold damp bridge. The figure turns, and takes off running. Bolting off in a very normal, startled way that anyone would when they're spooked.

It occurs to you that you only saw the vague outline of an unexpected person, an obscure figure standing in the fog. They, however, saw the vague outline of you, something perhaps vaguely human-shaped, but moving in a way that people simply do not, slowly, very slowly, creeping over a bridge.

Assuming that nobody would see you, you accidentally became someone's unexplained Silent Hill experience.

[jl-yana]

30ml 50ml Vertical Stripes Cylindrical Glass Perfume Spray Bottle #perfume

[rebeccathenaturalist]

So this is a really creative solution to a pernicious ecological problem! The short version is that arid ecosystems like deserts are quite fragile. For example, many have soil that is covered in a thin biocrust that can be damaged just by walking or driving on it. And because life needs water to grow and recover, these super-dry ecosystems may not be able to repair a footprint or tire track for over a century.

However, arid ecosystems are often some of the least understood because they can be difficult to access. And they suffer from P.R. issues because deserts are often seen as "bad" ecosystems full of death and nothingness, and because we do legitimately want to avoid the desertification of other native habitats.

In order to raise awareness and appreciation of these landscapes, biological surveys that tally the living beings found there help show how biodiverse they can be. And when we know more about how abundant or scarce a given species there is, it gives us more impetus to protect them, especially those that are at risk of extinction.

These paramotorists were able to fly across Peru's lomas (coastal fog deserts), which primarily receive scant amounts of moisture from mist. They collected plant samples to take back to scientists, carefully recording where they were found. And because they were able to fly long distances, they could minimize the amount of time their feet were on the ground and therefore minimize their impact on the local ecology.

At a time where it seems every interaction between motorized technology and nature is a negative one, this is a pleasant departure. yes, of course we wish we weren't in a place where we have to be worried about increasing extinction and other ecological woes. But let's take the wins where we can; the morale boost is crucial to being able to keep looking toward a better future.

[michajawkan]

Anyways here’s every pic of Gebura carrying me to various degrees from my Ruina livetweet thread #GEBURASWEEP

[goorgeousz]

paperwork for two | aaron hotchner

after hours au

paperwork for two | aaron hotchner

after hours au

pairing: aaron hotchner x profiler!female!reader

summary: you help a stubborn aaron with his paperwork.

content/tw: just pure fluff, reader wants to help, and aaron claims he doesn't need it (he desperately does)

word count: 1.3k

a/n: I don’t know if you people are into this kind of posts… but this au is a slow burn and I’m a sucker for relationships development so😭

anyway, you can ask me anything about their relationship or request a specific scenario (being in this au or not)

since some of you asked, i decided to make a tag list (for this au only and for all of my criminal minds x reader posts) ! let me know if you want to be in it :)

after hours masterlist

main masterlist

Hotch heard the three quick knocks on his door, and it was the first time he glanced up from his paperwork for the last couple hours.

Yes, you were counting.

“Come in.” he said, his voice hoarse from barely speaking. It was a dull friday at the BAU, the team had come back from a case in Atlantic City just a few days prior, so the most agitation they had that day was the ungodly amount of paperwork.

The rest of the team had left, all of them having worked extra time to try and minimize the amount of work on monday, but the tiredness got the best of them.

Except, of course, for Hotch.

One doesn’t become an Unit Chief by just giving the government the entirety of their days — their nighttime absolutely must be compromised too.

You opened the door, folding your arms close to your chest and leaning against the doorframe, staring at your boss in disapproval.

“Are you leaving anytime soon?” you asked, already knowing the answer. Hotch glanced at his watch, his eyes slightly widened in surprise — in that barely-noticeable way of his — and back at the stack of paper.

“Not really. The team?”

“They just left.” you explained. He nodded in approval. His team was fine, at least one less thing for him to worry about. Before he could ask when you were leaving — less in a “leave me alone” and more in a “I’m worried about you, go get some rest” way — you pointed at the stack of files on the right side of his desk. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

He looked at it, trying to estimate a time frame. The approximated results made him sigh loudly. “Too much.” his eyes turned back to you, who looked a mist of worry, pity and fear. With your eyebrows furrowed, your mouth in a pout (the one you unconsciously did when you were deep in thought), he knew you were thinking of a solution. So Hotch, the most selfless person on earth, stopped you. “But I might leave it for Monday. I’ll just finish this one to ease the load for then.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting with your life to not call on his bluff. Giving him a short nod, you wiped your hands on your pants in what he knew was stress, like your body itched by not being able to help. “Alright, I’ll leave you at it.”

“Thank you. Good night.” he said, and you nodded — still with your lips pressed together — before closing the door behind you.

He could still hear the clicking of your heels fading away — not too far away, his hearing wasn’t that good. There was no point in denying: you were right to be worried. It was late, and he was tired. And he couldn’t possibly finish that amount of paperwork before the sunrise. He really should get some rest. But somehow his body couldn’t physically let itself relax when it knew how much work was pending. It was best — at least not worse — for him to finish it all right now and then get some rest.

So, knowing that whining would get him absolutely nowhere but later to his oh, long awaited rest, he just sighed, shifted slightly on his seat and got back to work.

Again, he lost himself in his work, not even realizing how much time had passed until he heard another knock on the door. Three quick knocks. Which was weird because he knew for a fact that everyone on the team had already left.

“Come in?” he probably should’ve asked who was there first, but he would tell them to come in no matter the answer.

When the door was opened, Hotch was left with more questions than before.

You opened it with your elbow and closed it with your hip with an ease that only someone used to doing this could master. On your right hand you had a to-go coffee cup holder with two large and definitely sugary drinks from the nearby coffee shop, and on your left you carried a large takeout bag, its smell filling the office immediately. Last but not least on the lists of surprises, you had changed from your work appropriate clothes to a much more comfortable attire: leggings, hoodie and slippers.

“What…?” he dazed, not even knowing where to begin . You bit back a laugh “The coffee, the food or the clothes? Or me?” you asked, clearly amused by his confused look. “Yes.” you actually laughed at that.

“This is iced caramel macchiato. We’ll need the sugar as much as the caffeine. These are burritos from Derek’s go-to place. I figured I’d pick something we could eat using only one hand. You know, to save time and effort. See? I, too, can think like a boss.”

“You didn’t have to.” he said, blinking. His stomach growled like it wanted to beg for your help. You rolled your eyes at him.

“When was the last time you had a proper meal? Move those papers, please?” you asked, nodding towards the mess on his desk. He complied immediately, more to help and ease the weight you carried than to agree to your little late night picnic.

“Burritos and overly-sugary coffees are barely a proper meal” he teased. You narrowed your eyes. “You survived on burnt coffee, cashews and dark chocolate bars from the vending machine for the last three days.” Instead of pointing out how much you paid attention to him – because that would’ve affected him more than you, truly – he just surrendered. “Fair enough. Now, you should go home.”

“And miss all the fun?” you asked, sitting criss crossed on the chair in front of him – no, he would not think about your flexibility – and quickly tying your hair with a red claw clip. “Besides, I have nothing else to do tonight. Hand me the straws, will you?”

He handed them a pointed look. “You should go rest. You’re not on the clock.”

“If I’m not on the clock, all your orders are just stubborn suggestions that I’ll choose to ignore. Respectfully.”

“Saying ‘respectfully’ after an insubordination doesn’t automatically make up for it.”

“You could also just say ‘thank you’.” you raised your eyebrows, inducing him to accept it. His gaze softened and the tip of his ears blushed. He didn’t have to be so stubborn all of the time.

“Thank you.” he said quietly. You wouldn’t comment on how your heartbeat raced slightly.

You grabbed a few silence and you ate in silence, apart from some comments about the food and the drink. Although he complained about the coffee being ‘too sugary for his taste’, Hotch drank the entire 16 oz in it. Being a sympathetic employee and friend, you didn’t make fun of him. But you would keep that to yourself, just in case someone decided to pick on your sweet tooth again.

The night went on with small talk, a few laughs (!!) and much paperwork. You even managed to finish it before 3 a.m. It went surprisingly smoothly for a couple of people who hadn’t been alone for months.

Hotch wouldn’t think about the circumstances of that last encounter right now, with you in front of him. And he couldn’t dare to let his eyes wonder at how those leggings hugged tightly and perfectly those full thighs of yours. He chose to ignore the stubborn thump on his chest when you laughed, the sound echoing through the empty halls of the unit while you waited for the elevator to finally go home. He was even able to keep his body from jerking in ecstasy when you held on to his arms when you lost balance because of how hard you laughed at a particularly funny joke of his (he partially blamed the sleep deprived state you were in, but he let himself be a little proud. Just a little.)

He didn’t stare for too long (after the five first minutes) at the message you sent him to let him know you got home safe and wishing you a good night. And a smiley face. 

He was nonchalant like that.

[jessica-anderson]

The Science Behind Misting Systems: How They Work and Their Benefits

Outdoor misting systems have become increasingly popular for their ability to provide a refreshing and cooling experience in hot weather. These systems work on scientific principles that harness the power of water droplets to create a comfortable environment.

How Do Misting Systems Work?

Misting systems work by utilizing the physics of evaporation. The system comprises a network of high-pressure water pipes connected to misting nozzles. When activated, water is forced through the nozzles, breaking it into tiny droplets. These droplets are so small that they create a mist that quickly evaporates upon contact with the surrounding air.

The Power of Evaporation

Evaporative Cooling

Evaporation is an endothermic process requiring heat energy from the surroundings to convert liquid water into vapor. As the misting system sprays fine water droplets into the air, the droplets rapidly evaporate, drawing heat from the surrounding environment. This evaporation process results in a cooling effect on the air and surfaces near the misting system.

Droplet Size and Surface Area

The effectiveness of misting systems relies on the size of the water droplets produced. Smaller droplets have a larger surface area-to-volume ratio, allowing for more efficient evaporation. Misting systems are designed to produce droplets ranging from 5 to 30 micrometers in size, maximizing the evaporative cooling effect.

Benefits of Misting Systems

Temperature Reduction

The primary benefit of misting systems is their ability to reduce ambient temperatures. By evaporating water droplets, misting systems create a cool microclimate in their vicinity. This makes them ideal for outdoor spaces, such as patios, porches, and outdoor dining areas, where people can enjoy relief from the heat without needing air conditioning.

Improved Air Quality

Misting systems also contribute to improved air quality. As the water droplets interact with the surrounding atmosphere, they help to remove dust, pollen, and other airborne particles. This results in cleaner and fresher air, particularly beneficial for individuals with allergies or respiratory conditions.

Humidity Control

In arid or dry climates, misting systems can help increase humidity levels. By adding moisture to the air, these systems create a more comfortable environment, preventing dryness of the skin, eyes, and respiratory passages. This is especially useful in regions where low humidity can lead to discomfort and potential health issues.

Dust Suppression

Misting systems have applications beyond temperature control. They are often used for dust suppression in industrial settings, construction sites, and agricultural operations. The fine mist produced by these systems helps to weigh down dust particles, preventing them from becoming airborne and reducing the risk of respiratory problems and equipment damage.

Pest Control

Misting systems can also serve as a natural pest control method. Certain insects, such as mosquitoes, are repelled by the mist and tend to avoid areas where misting systems operate. This can benefit outdoor spaces, providing a more enjoyable experience free from annoying pests.

Conclusion

Misting systems operate on the principle of evaporative cooling, utilizing the power of water droplets to create a comfortable and refreshing environment. By harnessing the physics of evaporation, these systems effectively reduce temperatures, improve air quality, control humidity, suppress dust, and even repel pests. Whether for personal use in outdoor spaces or industrial applications, misting systems offer numerous benefits. They are a testament to the scientific principles that make them efficient and valuable tools in various settings.

[fightingthetoxicallegations]

OPEN STARTER:

"I bet you don't feel lighter." No, I don't feel lighter.

TW: Derealization, minor(?) injury

Theo's been dealing with some things lately, but he just can't think of any solution to any of his problems. He feels bad for it, for not being able to help, no matter how much he tries. Now that he's seen the state Argo was in when he left him in that cell, he feels... horrible as ever.

He had to shadow travel away, he couldn't stay with his brother any further. It was clear Argo didn't want him there, and he would respect his brother's wishes... most of the time. Once he made sure Argo was back in control and relatively safe — or at least knew he'd claim to be safe — he left.

Though, something happened when he was in that cell. The Death Mist surrounded him at one point, and refused to leave him since. He did manage to briefly rid his hands from it, but it was only temporary and he's not sure he can bounce back from this as easily as he though he could back when it all started. It's cold. Really, really cold.

You find him in the forest again, standing in the shadow of a tree. Though, it's... not really him. It's more so a cloud of mist, or at least it looks to be that. A cloud of mist in a vaguely humanoid shape, with... some unnatural coloration to it. Almost like human skin. What could convince some that it really is Theo are the greenish-red blobs visible on the cloud's form. Around where a human chest would be, and the most of them are around where the heart would be.

Taglist (ask to be added or deleted!!!): @the-great-emperor-commodus @another-argo @literally-tinker-bell @roryandthethorns @dad-left-for-the-milk @reyno-solis-real @reluctant-son-of-time @judas-of-eris @notaeoluschild @tearslikeacid

[cleaningitemsblogs]

Aromatic Mist: A Natural Way to Refresh Your Home and Mind

Imagine stepping into a space filled with the calming scent of lavender or the uplifting aroma of fresh orange zest. A Clean Home Company’s Aromatic Mist is more than just an air freshener—it’s a natural way to create a refreshing and tranquil atmosphere in your home while benefiting from the power of aromatherapy.

Why Choose a Natural Aromatic Mist?

Traditional air fresheners often contain artificial fragrances and chemicals that can irritate the respiratory system and introduce toxins into your home. Our aromatic mist spray bottle is made with pure essential oils, ensuring a toxin-free and safe experience for you, your family, and even your pets.

The Benefits of A Clean Home Company’s Aromatic Mist

1. Long-Lasting and Refreshing Scent

A single spritz of our mist instantly refreshes any space, providing a natural, inviting aroma that lingers. Whether you need to eliminate odors or simply enhance your home’s ambiance, this mist delivers a fresh burst of scent without overpowering.

2. Aromatherapy Benefits

Lavender: Known for its calming properties, lavender promotes relaxation and better sleep. Spray it in your bedroom before bedtime for a more restful night.

Orange Zest: Bright, citrusy, and uplifting, orange zest helps boost mood and reduce stress, making it perfect for your workspace or living areas.

3. Eco-Friendly Packaging

Sustainability is at the core of our mission. Our aromatic mist comes in a 2oz reusable and recyclable glass bottle, minimizing waste and reducing plastic pollution.

4. Versatile Use for Every Space

Our mist isn’t just for the home—it’s perfect for:

Bedrooms (to promote relaxation)

Living areas (for a fresh, welcoming feel)

Bathrooms (to neutralize odors)

Car interiors (for a clean, uplifting drive)

Yoga and meditation spaces (to enhance focus and mindfulness)

5. Safe for Babies and Pets

Unlike synthetic air fresheners, our mist is free from harmful chemicals, making it safe for use around babies and pets. You can refresh any space with confidence, knowing that every ingredient is natural and non-toxic.

[outdoorovernights]

Ausic 9L Bucket Portable Misting Fan Review

Have you ever been out on a sweltering summer day, wishing for something more than just a slight breeze to cool you off? You might be intrigued by the Ausic 9L Bucket Portable Misting Fan. Packed with features designed to help you conquer the summer heat, this fan goes beyond being just another camping gadget. Let’s talk about how it might just be a game-changer for your outdoor escapades. What…

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (1/20)

Here I aaam! Remembering that the posts will be every Saturday.

So, enjoy it!

*I'm a little drunk rigth now, so, I'm sorry if you find mistakes*

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio X Fem Reader

Summary: A serie of events makes you fall into the good graces of two older women.

Hey! I've a masterlist

Fascination

You wake up to the first rays of sunlight slipping through the gaps in the curtains. Your bedroom is small, just 23 square meters, but it’s the only space in the world you can truly call your own. A study desk pushed against the wall, shelves crammed with books and notebooks filled to the last page, and plants scattered in every corner—ferns, succulents, and a small cactus that stubbornly clings to life even when you forget to water it.

After stretching, you get up and head straight to the window, where your plants greet the day. You talk to them in a soft tone as you mist them, almost as if expecting a reply. “You look beautiful today. I promise I won’t forget you again.”

Lucky, your overly talkative black cat, meows at your feet. He wants nothing but your attention, and you oblige, stroking his head with a tired smile. “Good morning, Lucky. Seems like you’ve got a lot to say, huh?” He meows back, and you laugh.

In the comfortable silence of the morning, your mind drifts, as it often does, to the past. You grew up in the suburbs, in a small house that was always full. Your father did his best to raise you and your five older siblings, but there was a gap that was never filled: your mother. She left when you were just a child, and though no one in the family spoke openly about it, her absence was a constant shadow in your life.

You remember the nights when your older siblings would laugh and argue in the living room, while you, the youngest, hid in a corner with a book or a notebook. Writing was your escape, your way of creating a world where you had control, where mothers didn’t leave and bad things always had a solution.

She left when you were little, leaving behind you, your five older siblings, and a father who never knew how to handle her absence. You remember the nights when the silence of the house was broken by questions no one dared to ask. Why did she leave? Was it us? Was it me?

No matter how hard he tried, your father couldn’t fill the void she left behind. He worked all day, came home exhausted, and did his best to keep the house running, but affection and kind words were never his strong suit.

“You’re strong. You don’t need to cry over this,” he’d say every time tears threatened to spill. Gradually, you learned to swallow your tears and convince yourself that you needed to be strong, even when everything inside you wanted to collapse.

Her absence shaped much of who you are today, though not in a way you like to admit. It’s hard to look in the mirror and not feel... inadequate. You wonder if she left because you weren’t good enough, because you weren’t good enough.

These thoughts are like shadows that appear at the most unexpected times, especially when you try to open up to someone. Intimacy is terrifying. You fear that if people truly know you, they’ll abandon you, just like she did.

In school, this made you shy and reserved. You always felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, unable to fit in. Your siblings tried to shield you from the worst, but they had their own battles to fight.

You were the youngest, the “baby” of the house, and yet you never had the chance to be treated as such. While they laughed and argued, you hid in your room, writing stories that transported you to worlds where mothers didn’t abandon their daughters.

This absence also gave you a fierce determination. You promised yourself that if no one was there to take care of you, then you would take care of yourself. You studied late into the night, devouring books on screenwriting and filmmaking from the public library.

When the college acceptance letter arrived, it felt like the world had paused for a moment. You’d made it. The first in your family to set foot on a university campus. Despite the pride, the insecurity is always there, lurking. The fear of not being good enough, of failing, of being discarded. You work hard because you feel you have something to prove, even if no one asked you to.

The sound of the bell above the door announces another day of work at the small café. You walk in, adjusting your apron with a resigned sigh. The air smells comforting, like fresh coffee, but the weight of the shift ahead is always present. You do everything there: serve tables, clean counters, even organize the stock. Your boss is an unpleasant man, known for his sexist jokes and invasive behavior. But you need the money, so you swallow your anger and keep going.

América, your coworker, is the opposite of you. Rebellious and fearless, she confronts the boss without hesitation, even knowing it could cost her the job. You make an unlikely team, but somehow it works.

As you wipe down the counter, you hear the sharp click of heels echoing through the café. The sound has a weight to it, cutting through the usual hum of the room. A barely perceptible pause spreads through the space, as if the air itself had been suspended for a second. It’s not just curiosity—it’s reverence.

Your gaze lifts almost instinctively, and it’s impossible not to notice the woman who just walked in. Tall, with perfectly styled dark hair and a black blazer that looks tailor-made, she exudes power. But it’s more than that. There’s something in the way her eyes sweep the room—a sharp coldness, as if she could dissect everyone there with just a glance. And people notice her. Some whisper her name, others try not to stare too long.

You swallow hard, trying not to seem intimidated. But when her eyes finally land on you, it’s as if the world around you has disappeared. She doesn’t look away, and the intensity of that moment makes your stomach churn. For a split second, it feels like she knows exactly who you are—all your fears, insecurities, and dreams laid bare before her.

Summoning what little courage you have left, you adjust your apron and force a smile you’ve practiced hundreds of times. “Good morning, what can I get for you today?” Your voice sounds calm, but your heart is racing.

The woman continues to stare at you, silent. Her dark eyes analyze every detail: the slightly worn apron, your hands gripping the notepad too tightly, even the stray strand of hair that escaped your bun. It’s unsettling, as if she’s assessing every tiny aspect of your existence.

“A caramel latte... and a black coffee. No sugar. To go.” Her voice finally breaks the silence. It’s low, gravelly, like distant thunder, and carries a strange familiarity—as if she’s used to being obeyed without question.

You nod, trying to stay professional. But as you prepare the orders, you feel her eyes on you, watching every move. The weight of her gaze is almost unbearable, like a test you didn’t know you were being forced to take. Your hands start to tremble, and an anxious heat spreads through your body. The feeling of being judged grows.

When you turn to hand over the drinks, the tension in your muscles is so tight that your hands falter. Before you realize it, the hot coffee cup slips, spilling the brown liquid all over the woman’s immaculate white blouse. The sound of the cup hitting the counter is muffled by the low, controlled sound of frustration that escapes her lips—not a scream, but a deep, restrained noise.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” you exclaim, your voice trembling. Grabbing napkins in a panic, you lean in to clean up the mess but freeze when you see the stain spreading across the expensive fabric.

The murmur in the café grows louder. Someone lets out an audible sigh, while another mutters something about “the mighty Rio” being treated so carelessly. The name hangs in the air, and only then does it fully hit you.

You knew she seemed powerful, but you hadn’t realized you were standing in front of Rio Vidal—one of the world’s most renowned visual artists. Like her wife, Agatha Harkness, she’s an icon. Together, they’re one of the few openly gay couples to dominate and be celebrated by the industry. Her fame precedes her, and now you’ve just spilled coffee on her.

The woman doesn’t say anything immediately, but her eyes—once analytical—now seem to pierce through you. There’s something terrifyingly calm about the way she looks at you, as if she’s deciding how much of a reaction you’re worth.

Before you can stammer out more apologies, your boss’s voice cuts through the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he shouts, his anger exploding. “How can you be so clumsy? A client of this caliber, and you do this?! I should fire you right now!”

The embarrassment spreads through you like the coffee on her blouse. Your eyes well up as you try to explain, but the words won’t come. All you can do is look at the woman, hoping she’ll say something—anything.

She, however, doesn’t even glance at your boss. Her eyes remain fixed on you, as if he doesn’t exist. Finally, she breaks the silence with a low, sharp voice: “That really isn’t necessary.”

Your boss stammers, surprised. “But, ma’am, she—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Her gaze silences him, and for the first time, you see a man who thrives on authority shrink back.

You try to catch your breath, your face burning with shame. With a thread of courage, you murmur, “Please, come with me. I—I can fix this.” Your voice falters, but there’s something in your insistence that makes her tilt her head slightly, as if weighing your determination before nodding.

In the restroom, the silence between you is heavy but not empty. You grab the spare blouse you always carry and try to gather your thoughts, but when you turn around, the air seems to leave your lungs.

The woman unbuttons her blazer with precise movements, and when she removes the stained shirt, she reveals a black silk blouse so delicate that the light highlights the curves of her collarbone and the edges of her lace bra.

Your gaze involuntarily drifts to her shoulder, where the skin reddened by the coffee looks almost fragile. The sight is intimate in a way you weren’t prepared for, and your face burns.

“I... I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have...” you begin, but your voice falters. Your mind is torn between the embarrassment of the accident and the hypnotic presence of her, which seems to fill the small space of the restroom.

“Do you always get this nervous?” Her question is unexpected, her voice low and laden with something you can’t decipher. It’s almost a challenge, a test, and her gaze remains fixed on you, as if expecting more than a simple answer.

“I... I don’t know. Maybe?” You look away, shrinking slightly as you hand her the clean blouse. It’s cheap fabric but carries the faint scent of your homemade perfume. When her fingers brush against yours as she takes it, a shiver runs down your skin, quick and unexpected.

She puts on the blouse slowly, unhurried, and her words follow like an echo: “You shouldn’t apologize so much. Especially when you don’t know what for.” The statement is intriguing, almost disconcerting. Your heart races, as if you’ve just stumbled upon something you don’t fully understand.

Before she leaves, you blurt out, the words tumbling out in one breath: “Please... let me wash your blouse. I want... I need to make it up to you.”

She pauses at the door and turns, her eyes locking onto yours once more. There’s something different now, a genuine interest, almost calculated.

Without a word, she pulls a black card from her pocket, elegant and scented with a faint woody aroma. “When it’s ready, come to this address.” Her voice is low but layered with meaning you can’t interpret.

She leaves before you can respond, her posture impeccable and her steps controlled, as if every movement were rehearsed. You’re left alone in the restroom, holding the card that feels heavier than it should.

Rio Vidal.

The name echoes in your mind. A short, strong name, as enigmatic as she is. And for some reason you can’t explain, you feel like you’ve just opened a door to something that will change your life in ways even the worst coffee spills couldn’t predict.

A few minutes later, you gather enough courage to leave the restroom. Your heart is still pounding in your chest, as if trying to remind you of the disaster that just happened.

You find your boss standing near the counter, wearing the same disdainful look that always makes your skin crawl. But something is different today. He doesn’t explode into shouts as you expected.

“Rio Vidal. The Rio Vidal—” He crosses his arms and sighs, as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say, “—said it was fine. And she was very clear that you shouldn’t be punished.”

You blink, confused. The black card in your hand feels heavier now. Why would she do that? Was it pity? Some kind of veiled charity because of your desperation? Or... something more?

The woody scent of the card wafts up to you, a tangible reminder of the woman who, even with coffee spilled on her expensive blouse, had remained impassive and enigmatic.

“Get back to work before I change my mind,” your boss grumbles, but his tone has lost its usual edge. You don’t argue, just tuck the card into your pocket, still feeling every embossed letter like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

[...]

You practically run to the university. Your legs ache, but it doesn’t matter because today is important. When you finally reach the worn-down building that houses the film department, you can barely catch your breath. The room is packed with anxious students, and excited whispers fill the air.

“You’re almost late!” Darcy whispers, pushing a notebook aside to make room for you. Her eyes are wide, nervous. “Agatha Harkness is already here.”

Her name makes your heart race, in a completely different way from the panic you felt before.

Agatha Harkness.

The legend. The queen. The woman who made actors cry on set and screenwriters question if they were good enough to write even a single line of dialogue. She was a monster… but undeniably a genius. Everything that came from her hands was masterful, and you secretly harbored an absurd admiration for her.

Peter, sitting in front of you, whispers to Darcy, “Do you think she’s going to rip someone’s heart out today? She did that the last time she visited a university…”

Darcy, next to him, makes a face. “On the first day?”

“Without a doubt,” Peter replies, shrugging.

Before you can respond, the door swings open. The sound of her heels is the first thing that fills the sudden silence. And then she enters.

Agatha is everything you imagined and more. Tall, dressed in an impeccable purple suit that seems to radiate authority, with a smile that borders on cruel and eyes that scan the room as if evaluating every soul present. Her presence is a punch to the stomach, yet at the same time, something in you feels magnetized by her. It’s impossible to look away.

She wastes no time with warm introductions. Instead, she tosses a stack of papers onto the desk and begins speaking. Her voice is deep, firm, and filled with an intensity that makes the air feel heavier.

“Writing is an act of courage. And from what I’ve heard, many of you have been content with mediocrity.”

The students exchange nervous glances. Darcy practically sinks into her chair beside you. You, on the other hand, feel your heart race even more. There’s something hypnotic about the way she speaks, as if every word is carefully sharpened to cut.

“Now, here’s what you’re going to do.” Agatha steps up to the blackboard and writes something with an elegant pen. “Write a scene. Any scene. But make it something worth reading. Because if I think you’re wasting my time…” She lifts her gaze, and the silence that follows is more threatening than any word. “—your nonexistent careers won’t even start.”

Agatha picks up the first stack of papers and starts reading in silence, her eyes moving rapidly from side to side. The room is absolutely silent, so quiet that the sound of students breathing feels deafening.

After a few seconds, she lets out an almost exasperated sigh and lifts a paper, holding it up as if it were evidence of a terrible crime.

“Who wrote this?”

A girl in the back of the room timidly raises her hand, almost regretting existing.

Agatha narrows her eyes at the paper, then at the girl. “Is this a love story?”

The girl shakes her head, mumbling something about the plot being deeper than it seemed.

“No. It’s not.” Agatha cuts in, her voice as cold as steel. “This is a cheap fanfic disguised as a script. Characters with no substance, dialogues recycled from a teen drama. Where is the humanity? Where is the real conflict? This isn’t writing. This is a murder of art.”

The girl seems to shrink into her seat.

Agatha tosses the paper onto the desk and picks up the next one. This time, she doesn’t read for long before looking up. “Who thinks it’s acceptable to start a scene with ‘Once upon a time’ in an academic assignment? Are you trying to sell an idea or put a child to sleep?”

A boy in the front row tries to justify his choice, but Agatha raises a hand, cutting him off.

“I’m not here to hear excuses. I’m here to see talent. And so far, I’ve seen nothing worth my time.”

The silence in the room is palpable. You see Darcy whisper something to Peter, probably something like “Yeah, definitely heartless,” but you can’t focus. Your own script is in your hands, and the weight of the paper feels like lead.

Finally, your turn comes. With trembling hands, you hand the sheet to Agatha Harkness, feeling as if you’re handing over a piece of yourself. She takes the paper with an almost deliberate calm, and for a moment, you’re sure she’s going to toss it onto the “failures” pile without even looking.

But then, something in the title seems to catch her attention. Her eyes, previously indifferent, narrow slightly, and she begins to read.

Seconds turn into eternities as you watch her. The room around you fades away; all you can hear is the sound of your own heart pounding against your ribs. Your mind drifts back, inevitably, to the moment you wrote those words—the weight of the story, the piece of your soul you decided to share.

Agatha turns the page. Once, then again. Her silence is like a knife. You don’t know if this is good or bad.

When she finally finishes, she places the paper on the desk. Unlike the others, she doesn’t discard it immediately, but she also doesn’t show approval. Her eyes lock onto you, assessing, and there’s something new in her expression: a trace of curiosity.

“Interesting.” Her tone is neutral, but there’s something hidden in it—a hint of intrigue, perhaps? She leans forward slightly, crossing her arms. “Are you trying to tell a personal story?”

Your face burns instantly, and you feel the weight of all the eyes around you. Still, you find the strength to nod in confirmation, even as shame nearly swallows you whole.

“Hmm.” Agatha raises an eyebrow, pressing her lips into a thoughtful line. “You have no technique. No structure. The writing is messy, almost amateurish.”

Her words cut deep, and you bite your lip hard to keep the bile from rising in your throat.

“But…” She pauses, looking at the paper with unsettling intensity. “You have—” then, she focuses on you, and seeing those ocean-blue eyes so close makes your body tremble. “—something.”

Her choice of words is as vague as it is provocative, and you feel the weight of that “something” hanging in the air between you. She narrows her eyes, as if trying to figure out exactly what it was in the text that caught her—or in you.

“Stay after the bell rings.”

Her voice is final, like a sentence, but there’s no hostility. She dismisses you with a slight wave of her hand, and you feel a mixture of relief and anxiety as you return to your seat.

While the others hand in their scripts, you remain restless, trying to decipher Agatha’s expression and the reason behind her words. What in your text could have caught her attention? The room around you is filled with muffled murmurs, but in your mind, it’s as if you’re trapped in a storm.

As soon as the bell rings, only three people remain in the room besides you. The silence is dense, heavy with expectation, as Agatha moves with the same deliberate calm as before.

Of course, she already knows exactly what she’s doing. This special, hand-picked mentorship was clearly a strategy to appear more "kind" to the public, even though, so far, there had been nothing friendly about her approach.

You watch as she begins the individual feedbacks, calling Darcy first. The girl in front of you seems to be caught between hope and terror but agrees to step forward. As Agatha starts speaking to her, you try to distract yourself, but you can’t stop your eyes from wandering back to the director.

She is... magnetic. Even as she crushes Darcy’s creative dreams with precise, cutting words, there’s something about her that simply demands attention. And then it happens.

For a moment—or perhaps for all eternity—her blue eyes meet yours.

Your throat goes dry instantly. It’s impossible to interpret what’s in that gaze, but it hits you hard. Curiosity? Judgment? Or something else? You try to look away, but it’s as if you’re trapped. She stares at you for only a few seconds before returning to her conversation with Darcy, as if nothing had happened. But you know it did.

Your heart pounds so loudly it feels like it echoes in the empty room. Nervousness is consuming you, but there’s something else, a sensation you weren’t expecting. A tightness in your stomach.

Desire? Nervousness? Anxiety?

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to take a deep breath and organize your thoughts, but it only makes things worse. It feels like she has pulled a piece of the air around you away with just that look.

Time moves slowly. Agatha finishes Darcy’s feedback, moving on to the next student. And then, when your turn finally comes, you don’t know if you’re ready—or if you ever would be.

She calls your name firmly, and you stand up. Your legs feel weak as you walk toward her, carrying the weight of her expectation and your own desire to impress her.

“So,” she begins, crossing her arms, her sharp gaze settling on you. “Let’s talk about what you wrote.”

As soon as you sit before her, Agatha picks up your sheet of paper, holding it carefully, as if she were carrying something precious—or something dangerous. She doesn’t say anything right away, just fixes her eyes on the text for a few seconds before beginning to read again, this time out loud:

"One day, I had a dream about my mother. She was married to the man she truly loved, and without children. There, I had never seen her so happy."

Her voice is deep, but it carries a softness you didn’t expect. It’s as if she’s savoring each word, analyzing every nuance.

When she finishes, Agatha places the paper on the table with a controlled gesture and looks directly at you. The silence that follows seems to last an eternity.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of that gaze, as if she could see every secret you tried to hide.

“Is your mother the main character here?” The question is direct, blunt—like everything about her.

You feel your face heat up, looking away. “I... maybe?” you murmur, the words hesitant.

“No need to lie,” she interrupts, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “The text screams it. Every line, every word choice… it’s as if you were exorcizing a ghost. Tell me, is that what you tried to do? Exorcize the guilt of loving and hating at the same time?”

The brutality of the question leaves you speechless. You shift in your chair, uncomfortable, but she doesn’t seem inclined to ease the tension.

“Did she leave you?” Agatha presses, her eyes locked onto yours, as if she could pull the truth out of you by force.

You hesitate but finally let out a shaky sigh. “Yes.”

For a moment, her face seems to change. Something in her gaze softens, but only for a fraction of a second before she composes herself again.

“And yet, you chose not to hate her.” She tilts her head, as if studying a particularly intriguing piece of art. “That is… rare.”

“I think that… she did what she thought was best for her,” you reply, your voice almost a whisper. “I don’t blame her for seeking happiness, even if it hurt me.”

Agatha remains silent for a few moments, as if processing something. There was something in the text—or maybe in the way you spoke—that seemed to touch an old wound in her. A shadow passes over her face, but she quickly pushes it away, replacing it with a neutral expression.

“You have talent,” she declares, breaking the silence. “Still raw, but it’s genuine. And, more importantly, you have courage. The kind of courage I’m looking for.”

You blink, confused. “Looking for?”

Agatha leans forward, her eyes gleaming with dangerous intensity. “I’m assembling a team for my next project. I need minds that think like yours—that see beyond the surface and aren’t afraid to explore the shadows. Would you be interested?”

Your heart races. Working with Agatha Harkness? The woman you admired, even feared? It was more than you could have imagined, but the answer was obvious.

“Yes,” you respond quickly, barely able to contain the excitement in your voice.

Agatha smiles, and the gesture is as enigmatic as the rest of her. “Good. Get ready, little gem. I’m going to shape you piece by piece," The way she spoke was hypnotic, pulling you in. “and it will be… painful.”

As soon as you answer affirmatively, Agatha pulls something from the pocket of her purple blazer: a business card. It’s blue, with purple lettering in an elegant cursive font. The floral scent of the paper fills the air as she slides the card across the table toward you.

“Come to this address tomorrow,” she says, her voice firm but low, as if each word were chosen with care. “Seven at night. And don’t be late.”

You take the card with trembling fingers, its weight feeling heavier than it should. The moment you touch it, a wave of déjà vu washes over you. The texture, the scent, even the sophistication of the design remind you of the card Rio gave you earlier.

Two women so different, and yet… so similar. Both had a presence that seemed to capture the room, leaving you breathless. Both seemed to see through you, as if they could decipher your deepest thoughts with a single look.

You feel your heart speed up, confusion mixing with excitement. Why had these women, so powerful and enigmatic, captivated you so much? Rio had left something in you—a sense of unresolved mystery. Now, Agatha was doing the same, but in an even more intense way.

“Something wrong?” Agatha’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present.

“N-no,” you reply quickly, slipping the card into your backpack. “I’ll be there.”

She only tilts her head, her eyes lingering on you for a moment before turning and leaving the room. Her silhouette disappears through the door, but the weight of her presence still lingers—heavy, inescapable.

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, a single question echoes in your mind: What the hell were you getting yourself into?

And more importantly, why couldn’t you stop feeling excited about it?

~*~

Y/n... How lucky you are, huh?

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[prettybugsinbandages]

Blot!reader pt. 8

Part 8 to this

This is a darker story. I suggest you refrain from reading it if you're in a fragile mental state or unable to handle darker themes.

The days blurred together, spinning like a carousel that had lost its rhythm—too fast, too bright, too sweet in all the wrong ways. It was beautiful, almost nostalgically so, but nauseating. As if time had decided to move forward with a cruel sort of cheer, indifferent to the heaviness you carried with each step.

After that night, no one asked questions.

Perhaps they didn't know how. Perhaps they feared the answers. Or maybe, deep down, they understood that no explanation offered could make any of it easier to bear. No truth would be gentle enough to soothe the ache or clean enough to satisfy curiosity.

The Blot, once a constant presence—whispering in corners of your mind, teasing you, luring and lamenting in equal measure—had gone quiet. It had curled into some hidden recess of your mind and fallen silent. No more murmurs. No more laughter. Not even sorrow.

Just stillness.

And in that silence, the days continued. Time didn't heal so much as it dulled. The pain didn't vanish, but its edges softened, becoming something you could carry without crumbling.

Word of your circumstances had reached others too. Rook, ever the optimist, had suggested involving more minds might help—perhaps a collective pursuit would bring clarity, or even a solution. But all it did was wrap you in an uncomfortable awareness. You weren't a mystery to solve. You were a burden to be managed.

A melancholy settled over campus like mist, creeping into everything and everyone. Even the most powerful students, the most composed individuals, wore subtle changes in their expressions. It was like ripples in still water—small, but undeniable. You noticed them. And worse, you knew you had caused them.

Ruggie caught your eye in passing once. His ears drooped, not out of fear this time, but something gentler. Understanding, maybe. He shifted his weight like he might walk toward you—might say something—but in the end, he turned away. He didn't blame you. He knew what happened was terrifying. But he also knew you were terrified too. Still, things weren't the same, and that subtle drift between you stung sharper than outright blame ever could.

Then there was Riddle.

He said nothing. But you caught him watching you in the reflection of your teacup—eyes focused not on your face, but on the quiet tension in your hands, the way you rubbed the edge of the porcelain like it might fray under your touch. Your tea had gone cold long ago, but you remained seated, fingers tracing delicate swirls as if hoping to anchor yourself in something familiar.

In a quiet, grand gesture of hope—or maybe desperation—Heartslabyul's signature rose guardian had been unearthed. The flowers replanted, replaced with blooms of your choosing. Riddle hadn't mentioned it aloud. He didn't need to. Somewhere beneath his rules and routines, he hoped you'd still be around when the first buds opened. As if time itself could become a clock, counting down not to an end—but to a beginning.

One late night, as you lay motionless in bed, half-present and barely breathing through the static of your own thoughts, a soft ping from your phone flickered through the silence. The shadows in your room flickered, signaling that the Blot had also been startled by the sound. Idia had sent you a message—long, rambling, awkward, and painfully sincere. He apologized for the last tense interaction, for the things he'd said and the things he hadn't. Attached were coordinates.

Curiosity, or maybe something gentler than that, stirred in your chest as you followed them in-game.

What waited for you was a massive, underground bunker built block by block with obsessive care—stocked with everything you liked and needed, every silly item you'd once casually mentioned, every rare collectible he knew you adored, and even every animal—tamable and untamable—neatly confined in entity-friendly spaces as well. It was a digital sanctuary, crafted with shaking hands and a quiet breaking heart. He didn't say he missed you. He didn't have to. The base was the confession.

Idia: I just want you to keep going. Even if it's not for me.

His last message read, surprisingly written with perfect grammar.

Meanwhile, outside your actual window, Malleus continued his nightly rituals. The gentle tap of wind or the faint glimmer of magic was all that marked his passing. The gifts he left behind were unique and otherworldly—small fae tokens: a branch from his favorite tree, a stone somehow carved into an intricate small gargoyle, a piece of glass shaped like a tear that never fell. Each one left in hope, in helplessness, in longing. He was trying to help. Trying to understand. But even the great faerie prince could not comprehend the wound inside you, only mourn that he couldn't soothe it.

Silver never said much. His silences were eloquent and graceful. He continued his quiet patrols past Ramshackle, watching from a respectful distance. He'd always been a guardian of dreams and peace—but he couldn't guard you from yourself. Or the Blot. So instead, he left small flowers woven into crowns and rings on your doorstep when he could, humble blooms from his walks. But they were always wilted by morning. As if even nature understood the fragility of his offering.

You never mentioned the state you often found them in, not wanting to see the boy wilt himself.

The Yuus were gentler now, but more intense in their presence. Always hovering, always nearby. They didn't speak of the truth—but it haunted the spaces between your conversations. The weight of your confession clung to them like a second skin. They smiled at you as if afraid the wrong word might shatter the air around you.

You hated the way they all looked at you—as if you were glass set on the edge of a high shelf. As if breathing too hard might tip you over.

But the truth?

Nothing had changed.

Not really.

Somewhere deep down, you had already made your choice—long before any of them noticed the fracture. It sat inside you like a quiet star: constant, cold, inevitable. You didn't know when the moment would come, only that you'd know it when it did.

And for all their efforts—sweet, sincere, achingly kind—you couldn't be saved in the way they hoped. But overtime it became painfully clear how difficult that goal truly was.

And it wasn't their fault.

It only made the guilt worse.

Like a debt you wished they'd stop trying to repay.

Because the person they were fighting to save—the one who had held them all together—was slipping quietly out of reach. And no one, not even you, knew if they could come back.

The news spread like fire on dry grass—swift, bright, and impossible to ignore.

A way home had been found.

Reactions rippled across campus in a tangled mess of emotions: elation, sorrow, disbelief, anxiety, longing. Some students whispered with hope in their voices; others stared blankly at the walls, caught in a strange limbo of what-ifs and memories. And through it all, one truth remained: you had changed them.

The way people looked at you—the way they felt about you—had shifted. No longer were you just a strange newcomer from another world. Somewhere along the line, you'd become theirs. A friend, a rival, a confidant, a source of chaos and comfort.

And now you were all leaving.

Headmage Crowley called a formal meeting, though even he lacked his usual flair. He stood a little straighter than usual, voice more solemn than usual. The mirror home was open, stable. The stars had aligned in a rare cosmic arrangement. The gate thrummed with raw energy—ready to bring you back where it all began.

Your world. Or... was it?

Because deep inside you, a whisper lingered. Faint. Familiar. The Blot's story. The idea that this—this—was your real world. That your soul had bloomed here once before. Perhaps that's why the ocean reached for you on calm days, why the wind danced with you when you in lonely moments, why the snow and sun kissed you with reverence instead of indifference.

The world here didn't just accept you. It welcomed you. Embraced you. And so did the people within it.

And as the final day drew nearer, fleeting moments played in your mind like petals caught in a breeze:

Deuce had leaned over during class, whispering urgently as if trying to catch time by the tail. His teal eyes shimmered with quiet urgency, like deep ponds stirred with emotion. "You should text me if you go," he said, lips tugged into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "All of us. Even if it's like... cross-dimensional." It wasn't meant to sway your choice, just a promise: you are loved here.

Leona dropped his thoughts at lunch like they didn't weigh as much as they clearly did. He sat across from you, lazily pushing a tray your way. "Ordered too much." he muttered—though you both knew he didn't. As you ate, his gaze lingered, not on your face, but on the simple fact that you were still here. Still present. Still real. "You're stronger than you think. Even without all that Blot junk." The lion gave a soft scoff, one ear flicking. "You'd fit in at the Sunset Savanna. People respect lions there. And you have the strength of a Lion." You knew what he meant: There was a place waiting for you.

And Kalim? He couldn't sit still. Ever since the news broke, he'd been rushing around like a whirlwind of joy and dread, putting together elaborate gift boxes for each of you. Trinkets, silks, spices, ornate keepsakes—things that would make jaws drop back in your world. He said it was so you'd never forget him. And oddly enough, Jamil never once protested. He simply helped. Quietly. Carefully. Like he, too, wanted to give you something that could never be repaid.

The hour before your departure arrived too quickly, yet dragged with unbearable weight.

Within the quiet hush of the Mirror Chamber, everything was illuminated by an eerie softness—like the world itself knew this was a moment it should handle delicately. The usual chatter had fallen to a hush. The air was heavy with unsaid things.

Trey approaches first, carrying bags loaded with care. You could tell he'd packed them himself. Neatly arranged inside were tarts—your favorites—alongside sweets he'd made over the years. Some were crumbling a little from being hastily prepared. Others were packed carefully in tins or paper to preserve their shape. Between them, he'd slipped in small, handwritten notes. Jokes. Memories. Reminders. Pieces of a life he can't follow.

"For the road," he said, voice rough and cracked, like he hadn't spoken all morning. Not quite the easygoing Trey you remembered. As Yuuken reached in to quietly take one of the signature sweets, there was a shared understanding—this was the last taste of Heartslabyul you would have. The last sweetness made for you.

The Mirror Chamber had filled with those closest to you, all huddled in a makeshift half-circle, as though any moment now they'd try to block the mirror with their bodies. A final attempt to keep you here.

Confessions clung to the walls like mold. Unspoken apologies floated like dust in the morning light. It felt like being at the edge of something vast—something you couldn't see beyond, but could feel.

Vil approached you next. Always composed, always immaculate, his heels clicked quietly against the floorboards as he came to fix your collar. His fingers moved with precision, but his touch lingered just a second longer than it needed to.

"You've always made an impression," he said, eyes narrowing though the edges of his expression faltered, "Now make an even better one when you go back. Hold your head high. Don't cry in front of that portal." His voice lowered, the gentleness slipping out against his will. "You deserve to leave with dignity. After everything, you deserve it."

You stood surrounded by uncharacteristic warmth, by familiarity, by those you'd once hated, distrusted, or even feared—only to later realize their cruelty wasn't personal. They'd simply been broken in their own ways, the reality around all of you unknowingly manipulated by something beyond comprehension. And still, you had come to matter to them.

The mirror at the center of the room pulsed gently, casting an otherworldly green glow that flickered across their faces—across your face. The kind of glow that seemed to hum with power, with promise.

Beyond that glass: a world you had once called home. You could almost hear it—distant sounds, the hush of a subway station, the hum of the bus, rain against a window, a fan left on all year. You could smell it, too—concrete warmed by the sun, your favorite food spot down the street, old paper and familiar detergent.

It called to you like a siren, and inside, something shifted.

The Blot was silent now. Dormant. Patient. Maybe it hoped to return with you. Maybe it simply waited to see what you'd choose.

Because that's what this moment truly was: a choice.

You, standing between two lives. Two worlds. Two versions of yourself. Whole, but scattered. Loved, but always longing.

The mirror ripples.

And somewhere behind you, someone whispered—maybe it was Azul, perhaps Jamil—"Are you really going to leave?"

With Lilia's assistance, Grim carefully raised the old ghost camera to capture you all in a final, treasured moment. For once, the lens faces the Ramshackle Prefects and not their subjects; A final keepsake for those you're leaving behind.

You swallow down a lump in your throat as you watch the Yuus all leave one-by-one, your feet now rooted to the ground.

Your decision, chosen long ago, came into play now.

Break the contract.

Remain with the Blot.

Reach for him.

Go home.

Thank you all so much for following me on this journey through my second posted story since I was a kid.

I hope I wrote this well and many doubts still linger about it. Some parts I'm proud of, others I'm a little hesitant to admire.

Reading your comments and asks always made my day better and writing this gave me something to do. I apologize if the endings seemed shitty. The fanfic writer curse really got me while I was trying to write the endings and they're written pretty far apart from everything.

I hope I can keep improving on on writing, maybe I'll post another long fic like this but I'll likely do requests for smaller things if anyone would like.

All these endings took me a whole month. This part began on April 17th and it's now May 17th. I hope the long wait has been worth this for you all.

Again, thank you.

I've been thinking about writing my own original story if anybody would be interested. Though everything is rough in drafts.

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