#And they would have no experience with using illusions so they would not know how to make it break less easily and once it breaks have no id

[kaibutsushidousha]

The Hundred Line special guests interview from Famitsu issue 1895

A game is composed of multiple elements, like "plot", "characters", "world", and "experience". In what order do those get constructed when you make games?

Jirou Ishii: Me first. I can't present a project unless I have all parts sorted. A game only becomes a project when you have a plot, a cast, a world, and your gameplay sorted out. Of course, sometimes I can only come up with fragments of the story and characters, but I need to have some ideas, any ideas, in store for later.

Alright. You next, YOKO.

YOKOTARO: I work mainly with action games, so the process might be different from visual novels. For action games, you need to start from an estimate of the gameplay mechanics, and only then you're allowed to come up with a story, cast, and world that fit with this estimate. By estimate, I do mean a budget. Eventually, you will find some cases where the estimate will pre-establish the number of characters in your cast, and even force you to redistribute who is an ally and who is an enemy to work with that. Wait, this wasn't supposed to be a conversation about money (laughs).

Kazutaka Kodaka: But since you made it about money, I have to mention how The Hundred Line was funded from Too Kyo's own pockets and we had strict budget plans to follow. But as the game kept growing, the initial budget only lasted a few months. Mostly my fault for not knowing when to hit the brakes.

YOKO: And how much did it cost? Saying the price in yen would qualify as gore, so let's use Ronpas as the currency here.

Kodaka: I mean, I could just tell you the price in yen here and now. It's not like the interviewers would be allowed to put the number on the magazine.

YOKO: Still on the topic of money, with how inflated localization costs have been these days, I sometimes get requests to cut scenes shorter. With how colossal The Hundred Line is, how much did that weigh on your budget?

Kodaka: The Hundred Line was a collaboration with Aniplex, meaning the production costs were split between us. All procedures were carried out on agreeable terms. Well, agreeable on our end. I can't say for certain Aniplex felt the same (laughs).

In what order was the world of The Hundred Line constructed?

Kodaka: A major factor in defining the direction of the story and the characters was my age. I felt like this was my last chance to write ensemble casts and believable teenager dialogue. As for the gameplay, we went with a tactical RPG because that's what I assumed would be the cheapest.

YOKO: Oh, you fell for THOSE illusions?

Kodaka: Oh yeah, that was a total illusion alright (pained laughs). Considering this was my collaboration with Uchikoshi, we initially positioned the plot as the main item and the TRPG gameplay as just a bonus to hype up the plot. But the desire to improve the TRPG only grew as development progressed, so we kept tweaking the battles until the last day available for it. With how much we managed to add in terms of story volume, polish, and gameplay, this title is the closest thing I can call to my ideal game. Now I'm ready to die without regrets (laughs).

Ishii: So can we count the game as your will?

All: (laughs)

The Hundred Line has 100 routes and endings. Can we get YOKO's and Ishii's opinions on this length?

Ishii: It's outright amazing. Relatively short visual novels, like PARANORMASIGHT: The Seven Mysteries of Honjo or Urban Myth Dissolution Center, have been major successes lately. This game runs contrary to the trend, if anything running closer to the lengthy VNs from our careers.

Kodaka: Our goal was making a VN that the player can keep playing over time. To accomplish that, we made multiple route types, and allowed the player to interpret the ending that satisfied them the most as the true ending. This concept for this new IP came from a wish to create an aspect that would get the people of the current year to question our sanities. The best we had to offer was quality and quantity in terms of text and illustration, and that's why we created 100 routes.

Ishii: The closest thing I can think of in terms of how different the routes get from each other is Banshee's Last Cry. That game as a VN with TRPG elements instead of a pure sound novel is an amusing idea. The elements of continuing the game until you're satisfied is also an aspect I feel competes with Gnosia. All that has me very interested in The Hundred Line.

Kodaka: Making the TRPG match the plot was much harder than we imagined. We needed to fine tune the difficulty to make every battle winnable using only the characters currently featured in the story. Which is made more difficult when you have a huge number of routes with crucial differences on who is and isn't in the roster, something really time-consuming for a simple consistency check. I was often going "wait, it doesn't make sense for this character to be at this moment of this route".

Looking at the story branches, this game has a lot in common with YOKO's work.

YOKO: True. I created my route splits to add replayability to the Drakengard series. Those were times when everyone kept saying short games weren't worth it. But in the current year, making something with 100 different routes and endings is the more dangerous play.

Koutarou Uchikoshi: From a creator's perspective, my reaction to Kodaka's project pitch was "Let's rethink this one" (laughs). I showed him a flowchart with 100 routes to hammer it how rash his idea was, but that only got him more motivated…

Kodaka: I got so excited about our game (laughs).

So the document written to make him quit backfired?

Uchikoshi: Honestly, from a player perspective, I saw The Hundred Line as something that appeals both to the crowd that wants to rush it and the crowd that wants to take their time. If we actually managed to make the whole thing (laughs).

Kodaka: I remember the people at Too Kyo being really split on the volume. Due to that, I asked my close friends about their opinions on the game's length. Most Japanese friends were put off by the amount of text, but the American friends explained that only the really hardcore crowd plays Japanese games in the US, so this length would be like Christmas in July.

YOKO: Eh, I feel like the Japanese crowd is also huge on the "I want to see every ending, I want the full experience".

Kodaka: Absolutely. I certainly prefer people experiencing everything, but it's perfectly fine to walk away whenever you feel satisfied.

Uchikoshi: This might work somewhat like RPG side quests. You don't have to clear all of them, but each one you experience deepens your understanding of the game.

The Hundred Line is split into visual novel sections and tactical RPG sections. What do you believe a visual novel needs to be in this age of such rich genre diversity?

Kodaka: The most memorable title I played recently is Until Then. It felt like one of the old ones, going on extensively while still following the principles of "everything matters". We did have games that were unproductive with their high length, but nowadays, I believe the norm is keeping it short. Shorter stories mean more time-efficiency, bringing their narrative formats closer to manga chapters, TV episodes, or movies. Although I can't conclusively say one method is better than the other.

Can we consider The Hundred Line to be your personal answer to this dilemma?

Kodaka: No, not an answer to the VN genre, just an answer to the question of what VN would the current me make. Saying I hold the answer to such an indie-dominated niche would be in bad taste. I personally want large titles to be produced more often, and would love to see my game revitalizing the genre upon release.

Your thoughts, Ishii?

Ishii: I believe we could soon be getting a roguelike-style title, like the Gnosia I mentioned before. The number of games that can pull off the right balance of storytelling and roguelike gameplay is still close to zero, but I expect a high-level title to appear and codify the genre in the near future. Also, writing a visual novel has always been a battle against flowcharts and loading multiple save files. I believe in game design innovations that can create stories that eliminate the need for flowcharts and save files. I'm very excited both to discover and to create story formats never seen before.

What do you have to say, YOKO?

YOKO: I believed the advancement of technology would blur the lines between action, RPG, and visual novel. My prediction didn't come true. The genres are still as distinct as they always were. But the definition of visual novel changed. Back in the days of hardware limitations, what we currently call sound novels were the only possible style of visual novel. But now that any form of presentation is possible, the labels changed meaning. The story sections in Uncharted and Detroit: Become Human are very similar, so I imagine the only reason why only the latter gets called a visual novel is because it doesn't have action gameplay.

Uchikoshi: Good point, Detroit and Uncharted share the same base 3D character adventure controls. The only difference really is the emphasizes on their movement.

Kodaka: Visual novel and adventure game are labels used interchangeably in Japanese, but in my opinion, the English-speakers stick only with the former because it's the one that makes sense.

Ishii: Calling it a novel really draws emphasis to the writing. At the risk of going off-topic, a key similarity between novel games and basic literature is the added attention to the story text through the absence of any other element. But classic literature cares too much about being narrated in first person, and with that being the only POV option, the worlds of novels feel biased at best and barren at worst.

YOKO: Ishii, do you think you could make money with pure literature?

Ishii: Sounds doable, I already made Bungo and Alchemist a hit (laughs).

All: (laughs)

And Uchikoshi's thoughts on visual novels?

Uchikoshi: I believe Detroit: Become Human to be the ultimate form of VNs as we currently know them. Wonderful visuals, too. But if you asked me if the ideal visual novel is a live-action movie with route splits, my answer would be no. Being able to control movement is important. One project I want to create later down the line is what would Detroit: Become Human would look like if it came from the mind of a Japanese man.

Oh, I'd love to play that.

Uchikoshi: I still have a lot I want to create, but at the rate AI is evolving, I'm afraid the market will soon be dominated by AI-generated VNs.

YOKO: I'm also pretty concerned about AI running all game creators out of their jobs. In 50 years from now, people might think of us the same way we think of wandering bards nowadays.

You think AI would be able to create the outlandish worlds and stories you come up with?

YOKO: Yes.

Ishii: Same opinion (laughs).

Kodaka: I think it can copy an author's technique, but not their personality. For example, it could create a game script that resembles a David Lynch movie, but if the real David Lynch were to write for game, he wouldn't write it in the same style he uses for writing movies.

YOKO: I think a high-end AI would go beyond that and be capable of perfectly replicating the man's behavior. Its output would be based on the intention rather than the instructions.

Kodaka: The idea of an AI that fails deadlines tickles me (laughs).

YOKO: I believe we're slowly leaving the era of asking it to copy the style of our favorite creators and entering the era of asking it to create scripts catered to our tastes. The AI determines what the player likes and generates the route they would want to read. Just an idea based on how quickly the area is developing in the user recommendations department.

Kodaka: That would reduce the amount of experience people can share with one another, slowly fading away the concept of a bestseller from public consciousness worldwide.

The Hundred Line will be the first IP directly owned by Too Kyo Games. What do you believe to be the significance of owning franchises instead of only creating them?

YOKO: I don't own any of my series. I own partial rights to a manga, but for the games, I generally give everything to the client. Being real with you, owning a game franchise is not, by itself, something that makes money. But if you don't care about the money, then owning your series has one merit in the form of easier creative control. But I can control my franchises by having a relationship of mutual trust with the producers that hire me, which includes being able to tell them when I don't want a product to be made, so in my case specifically, I'd say I don't need to own anything.

Kodaka: Same here, I don't find IP ownership that significant. I may own The Hundred Line but it's not like Too Kyo Games can leverage that to make anime or stage play adaptations in our studio. We still need partner companies and production staff, and that makes the process not much different from how it would have been if the franchise rights were elsewhere. The only reason why I was so insistent in making The Hundred Line our first IP was because one of the foundation goals of Too Kyo Games was to own one franchise, didn't matter which. But with how huge of a project The Hundred Line was, it was maybe my last guess for which series we would get to keep.

Ishii: The Hundred Line really feels made with the intention of becoming a series. Kodaka already made a successful franchise out of Danganronpa, so I've been noticing the subtle details enabling the series expansion of The Hundred Line.

Kodaka: Whatever I did there was mostly unintentional. But my past successes were a basis for the creation of this new plot, cast, and world, so I could see it naturally coming out with franchise potential.

YOKO: It doesn't need to be conscious or intentional. Kodaka and Uchikoshi have a propensity for sequel hooks. A fetish, even. The games they make carry the seeds for sequels at their deepest core. I can see the sleeper agents in them.

Kodaka: I don't know about that (nervous laughs).

YOKO: You two can't help yourselves trapping characters in enclosed environments, to suffer until they reach their cruel demise. This inexplicable impact is something both of you share. It's honestly impressive how your games are so similar in plot but so different in flavor.

I agree (laughs). Onto a different subject now, tell us what makes a game built at your studio, or as a freelancer, uniquely good or uniquely difficult.

Kodaka: You think YOKOTARO still remembers anything from your employee days?

YOKO: I do. It felt really limiting, having to commute to work every day and work together with people who didn't vibe with me. The freelance life is a comfort to me. I have the freedom to choose when I go to the office and who I work with. Even when the client pitches a weak project my way, I can change it into something fun as long as I respect the important points of the budget estimate.

You're allowed to alter the client's base concept for the game?

YOKO: They get pissed because I only report that to them after the point of no return, but, y'know… negotiation skills can take you anywhere (laughs).

Ishii: I actually feel like I had more creative freedom in my employee days. I was fiercely determined to create something new, motivated by my need to charisma check the corporation in order to get my projects approved and secure a better budget. I looked really assured, since I thought casually giving them permission to fire me if it flopped was normal. That's also a reason why I wanted to be a director who supports creators after I went independent. But in reality, it's really hard to come across a director willing to quit the company for their mistakes whenever. When I say "If you're willing to put your job on the line, I'll provide you with everything you need", the default answer is "Sir, I have a family to feed". This conflict in worldview was the biggest obstacle of my early independent career.

Uchikoshi: Could it be a generational gap thing?

Ishii: No, a lot of people from my generation are strongly stability-minded, so I think I'm the only one built different.

What compromises have you been through in your freelance career?

Ishii: Once I was no longer capable of making super niche games, my first feelings were conflict and despair. I wasn't sure I'd be able to accept the person I'd become after many so many concessions to my identity, even knowing I had to do it to earn my daily bread. Nonetheless, most jobs I worked with after going solo were commercial successes. And my journey of self-search, analyzing what made them big hits, is still not over.

Kodaka and Uchikoshi went independent with the creation of Too Kyo Games. Did you notice any differences?

Kodaka: In my "salaryman era", when I had something I wanted to do, it was harder to assemble the necessary parts. Nowadays, if I ever feel like making a game for a manga or anime franchise, I can give it a shot. Being able to adjust mine and Uchikoshi's workloads at my discretion also makes life a lot easier. I can tell that trying to direct and write two or more games at the same time is too much for me, but where I have more minor roles, I have the option to move things forward by working on the weekends.

Uchikoshi : By becoming a commissioner rather than a commissionee, I learned that hierarchies were never real. When I relied on the company's salary, I assumed I was supposed to obey their request no matter how impracticable and the people being paid have no right to refuse. Then, at my first job as the one asking for things, I made my first impracticable request and heard a "No, that will not be possible. Not an option." (laughs). Turns out money and labor are items traded at the same rate. One side is not above the other. I want to be able to more confidently say no to impossible jobs.

Now we'll be moving away from the topic of work and talk about the real-life events and pieces of media that resonated with you in the past few years.

Kodaka: I've been too busy for games and movies these past couple of years. The only form of media I've been enjoying lately is wrestling. Each match ends on the same day it starts, and that's enough time to spend not thinking about my job. Things finally calmed down lately, and I took the chance to beat Metaphor: ReFantazio and Like a Dragon: Infinite Wealth back-to-back so I won't get stuck behind the times. As for movies, I watched Mobile Suit Gundam GQuuuuuuX Beginning and Conclave.

YOKO: The movies I recommend are The Wild Robot and Petals and Memories.

Huh, not a lineup I'd have expected.

YOKO: I rarely go to the theaters on my own, so whenever I'm invited to a private screening of a movie, I always try to take the opportunity. The Wild Robot impressed with how much content it could pack in only 2 hours, and I spent the whole second hour crying. I genuinely had to fight not to make any noises in the theater room. Petals and Memories is another emotional piece. When I watch something that plays out too similar to what I write, my head goes into work mode and I can't focus again, but those kinds of titles that have nothing to do with my inner world are incredibly effective at pulling my heartstrings. I heavily recommend both of these titles. Please let me use the magazine's space to deliver lengthy sinopses of them.

What about you, Ishii?

Ishii: Shanghai's immersive theater is impactful. The viewers go to a theater styled like a 5-6 room apartment and walk around the residence, following the plot unfold in real time where the actors go. It's so high quality that it made me feel something I haven't since the first time I played Dragon Quest on the NES.

Kodaka: Were the actors speaking Chinese?

Ishii: I went in accompanied by Chinese-Japanese bilinguals. I had 3 people interpreting it for me, but depending on what was happening on the scene, all three would get too panicked to translate. That part only added to the amazing immersiveness. The theater also has plays that don't rely on spoken dialogue, so I could go along for the ride and get the most out of the interactive experience.

What about you, Uchikoshi?

Uchikoshi : The most recent game that really got me was Nier: Automata.

Kodaka: From, like, 2017?

YOKO: Are you just saying stuff to be funny?

Uchikoshi : I mean it! I don't believe any game has surpassed Nier: Automata yet. It really consumed my brain and I'm not just saying this because you're sitting right here. The story is just so deep and philosophical.

YOKO: I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I will never make another that lives up to your standards!

Uchikoshi : Can you elaborate?

YOKO: I've grown too old to have skills (laughs).

Be serious (laughs)

Uchikoshi : Also, I don't know if this counts as entertainment media, but I was on a promotional trip to the United States and something happened at the bar I was in. The American friend who took me to the bar suddenly walked to a huge black man and started a rap battle against him.

YOKO: Ok, NOW you're just saying things to be funny!

Uchikoshi : It happened! (laughs)

Ishii: You should have joined them.

Kodaka: Convince them to play Nier: Automata with your rap.

All: (laughs)

Uchikoshi : I couldn't parse what they were saying, and most of all, I was scared… I pretended I didn't know him until the rap battle was over. As Ishii mentioned just now, nothing compares to the immersiveness of a real life experience.

YOKO: So, in summary, what you're is saying people are better off dropping The Hundred Line and going outside?

Uchikoshi : No, I'm saying you should live real life experiences AFTER beating The Hundred Line.

Lastly, tell us your next plans and ideas.

Kodaka: I've been exceedingly busy for the last few years, working on multiple projects, with The Hundred Line at the center of it all, but now I finally settled down for the first time since forever. I gotta take a break from creative work and focus on promoting The Hundred Line until April 24th. Besides The Hundred Line, I also have another game already fully produced, so I will be announcing this one any day now.

YOKO: I do have an ongoing project, but nothing I can discuss at the moment… What kind of answer does the magazine even expect with this kind of question?

Hah, throwing the question back at the interviewer! Well, it's about the obvious, I'm fishing for info on the future of your known titles. An ideal answer would be something like "I want to make a new Nier sequel."

YOKO: Ok, so that's the answer I'm going with. I want to make a new sequel for whichever series you, the reader, personally wants the most.

Now we're talking (laughs).

All: (laughs)

Uchikoshi : Same answer as him.

Kodaka: Didn't you say you wanted to make a game like Detroit: Become Human?

Uchikoshi : That's the one I'm talking about.

What about you, Ishii?

Ishii: I got the perfect content for you. I'm ready to throw a bomb at my fans on April 28th. It's my personal passion project at the moment, but I started already expecting certain people to want to contribute once I have something to show them for it. Let's see how well that goes. Don't miss it.

Uchikoshi : April 28th? That's four… two…

Kodaka: I was trying not to say it.

All: (laughs)

YOKO: That Uchikoshi, doing the job of the Famitsu editors for them!

Uchikoshi : I knew that none of you were going to say it, so I had to… (nervous laughs)

"April 28th" coming from Ishii's mouth is a pretty solid hint.

Ishii: Yes, the 4/28 date matters. I hope my impact in the VN scene doesn't fall behind The Hundred Line.

—————————————————————————–

Links:

Writing team interview

Design team interview

Music team interview

[7fff00]

just thinking again about the difficulty of achieving actual escape velocity from the womenswear standard of Pervasive Negative Ease…

[girl-hwat]

on my nuwho s6 rewatch with my sister, and having just read @the--highlanders recent twojamie fic and—

brainrotting jamie in the God Complex hotel

his absolute faith in the doctor that serves like a anchor for him, his possible fear room (everything he is running away from, or has lost, or will lose)

i can’t get it out of my head

[novthirty]

OUT OF BOUNDS | you get isekai-d into the N109 zone

— pairing: sylus x non-mc! reader

— synopsis: you land in the world of love and deepspace. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of his personal secretary. wc: 3.8k

— tags: isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, pining, slice of life, birthdays, holiday season, reader is not the main character, boss/employee relationship

— edit: i’ve since turned this into a multi-chapter fic! this will continue to function as a standalone one-shot, but you can find the series here.

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open!

It was just your luck to be walking home from a 7PM class on a desolate road, only for a vehicle to swerve and crash into you. The impact is like a sledgehammer to your body as you hear the crunch of glass and the snap of bones. This is it, you think, as the world around you blurs into nothingness. 

—————————————————————

You wake up in a hospital bed, where you promptly have a panic attack from the IV attached to your arm. You desperately thrash against the nurses’ hold, trying to remove the intrusive line from your body, but it’s no use as your injuries and the numerous drugs hamper your movements. You hear muffled explanations— inaudible to your clouded mind— before they decide to sedate you. You drift back to sleep. 

Sometime later, you wake up again, this time with the IV detached and a familiar face sitting by your bedside. You laugh, thinking you must be in some sort of dream or coma-induced hallucination. Because why was Sylus, a love interest from Love and Deepspace— the game you’ve been obsessed with for the past few months— sitting beside you? You say as much, and the only response he deigns you with is, “Did you sustain brain damage on top of your other injuries?”

You shake your head at the absurdity of your delusions, quickly falling back into a medically-induced sleep. Things should be back to normal when you wake up.

—————————————————————

Newsflash: they weren’t. Days passed, and you gradually had to accept that whether it was reality or not, you were gonna be stuck here until you figured out how to go back to the normal world. Sylus visits you from time to time, the strange girl who landed in his backyard and claims to be from another world. It turns out that the place you’ve woken up in is not a hospital, but Onychinus’s medical ward.

When you’ve healed enough to be discharged, you have nowhere to go. So you turn to the only person you’re familiar with in this world.  

You had been a college student, just months away from graduation before you found yourself here. It fills you with spite, how everything you’d worked hard for was taken away in the blink of an eye. But you push the bitterness aside, offering whatever skills you have to Sylus so he doesn’t kick you out. You know that this world isn’t kind, the N109 Zone one of the worst places you could have ended up. A normal civilian such as you wouldn’t survive here alone. Though you don’t have much to contribute to a criminal organization, you’re grateful when Sylus offers you the job of his personal assistant. 

Although you don’t have much work experience, your previous internships and methodical nature help you to excel at this job. Never has the leader of Onychinus been so…. organized, his colleagues around him observe the stark change in the following months. You whip him up to shape, scolding him when he arrives late to meetings, making sure he actually calls back when he says he will. His business partners now call his office to be greeted by a chirpy voice, “How may I help you? Oh, Sylus isn’t here right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

He had initially given you this job as more of a placeholder role, so you can occupy yourself with the illusion of real responsibility while he investigates his suspicions about you. Where did you come from? Who sent you? And most importantly, how did you manage to infiltrate his base right under his nose? But his investigation leads him to the simple truth: there was nothing on you. It’s as if you materialized from thin air. No records, no blood ties, no evidence of your existence before you walked into his life. 

But if reincarnation can be fact, and dragons more than legends, why deny the possibility of other realities? This, more than anything, makes him inclined to believe your claims. 

Besides, you’ve proven yourself to be… useful, he supposes. Although the fear he instilled in his business partners was enough to put them in their place, he now had you to act as a buffer to their complaints and concerns, handling matters that were beneath him. You easily adjust to his nocturnal schedule; you’re like a little crow chirping at his shoulder at all times of the day, reminding him to leave on time for meetings, to eat three meals each day (even going so far as to ask his preferred meals to inform the chefs in advance). You physically force him out of his office the moment noon hits in an attempt to prevent him from overworking, “Sun’s up, boss. It’s time to hit the sack.” 

Your office is connected to his, although it's less a room and more an alcove he cleared away when he gave you the job. You have a small desk, a fluffy pink swivel chair, and a shelf covered in the trinkets you spend your salary on. (Another thing you have in common with Mephisto, he notes to the ever-growing list.) He finds amusement to idly watch you during his downtime, twirling the strands of your hair and chewing your pen as you talk on the phone about weapons shipments and insuring someone who lost a finger in an operation. 

Contradictory to his initial expectations, you prove yourself in a professional capacity and cement your place in the ranks of Onychinus.

—————————————————————

The first surprise is truly when the clock strikes twelve on April 18, and he enters his office to find a cake on his desk. Decorated in black and maroon frosting, it’s topped with his name in crooked cursive and a crow-shaped candle to boot. Moments after, you stride in from behind with Luke and Kieran, all carrying gifts and wearing patterned party hats, singing a terribly off-key rendition of the birthday song.

“Happy birthday, Sylus! Make a wish!”

He blows the candles (and wishes for the only thing he truly desires). 

“Do you like the cake? The chefs helped me decorate it!” You say as you slice it into even triangles, giving him the largest one. Mephisto is perched on your shoulder, with his own red party hat, as you feed him small bites of your own slice. (The resemblances between the two of you are truly uncanny). The celebration is a silly endeavor that lasts no more than an hour before he kicks everyone out of his office. But try as he might, he can’t wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the day. 

When May comes, you rope him into the preparations for Luke and Kieran’s birthday. Due to your incessant nagging, he’s since discovered your shared digital calendar— complete with monthly, weekly, daily, and hourly agendas— and chosen to ignore it. “The calendar exists for you to be on time,” You seethe whenever he steps into his office late, the little shit smirking as if you didn’t just rearrange his schedule to hell and back for that one hour-long meeting he missed. However, that doesn’t mean he’s exempt from any festivities you force upon the household. 

The twins’ celebration is a significantly more chaotic affair than his, involving a two tiered cake and a booking for a laser tag arena, and ending with a trip to the medical ward. Despite the casualties, it’s the most fun Luke and Kieran have had since they joined Onychinus. (Fun that wasn’t self-orchestrated, at least). 

Your presence brings a liveliness to his found family, something that grounds you all in this high-paced line of work. A presence that, little by little, seeps into his life to the point he can no longer imagine living without it.  

—————————————————————

When he finds you on a cold midnight in November, sitting alone on the kitchen island with a puny cupcake and a candle, he asks you what the hell you think you are doing. 

“Well, it’s just a birthday. I didn't feel the need to have a lot of celebration this year." The answer is nowhere enough to appease him, especially given your grandiose efforts to celebrate literally everyone else’s birthday. So, you admit to him, “I felt a bit sad, I guess. This was my last year of college. I had so many plans for before my entry into the workforce… and now, I can't really do any of them.”

Without missing a beat, he asks, “And what were those plans?” 

You list off the various places you wanted to visit, the items you were supposed to cross from your bucket list this year. As you reminisce on old plans, you split the cupcake with him and bid him goodnight, returning to your office to catch up on work. 

When you wake up at 5 PM later that day, it’s to streamers and balloons in the living room. 

“Happy birthday!” Everyone in the house cheers as you enter the room, decked out in all sorts of party favors. Even Sylus, who was notoriously un-festive, is wearing a cone-shaped party hat striped with your favorite colors. 

What follows is an impromptu day-off for everyone in the base (you feel an oncoming migraine thinking of how you’re going to readjust Sylus’s schedule). They bring you to Linkon City, your first time visiting since your arrival, following an itinerary that matches your original plans to a T. 

Sylus is upset that you’ve kept the date to yourself for so long, but more than that, he’s angry at himself for not bothering to ask. So he does his best to make up for it in the final hours of your birthday. Throughout the evening, he drags you to every activity that had been on your wishlist, lavishing you with all sorts of presents on the way. It’s a little too much. You’re not used to being spoiled, not used to treating yourself without deserving it first, and you tell him as much. 

He tips your chin upwards with a feather-light touch, his gaze unreadable as he asks, “And who says my lovely secretary doesn’t deserve the world at her feet?” 

The atmosphere shifts, the effortless ease at which you interact with him dissipates into stutters and heated stares. You ride home on the back of his motorcycle, finding yourself flushing despite the winter chill in the air. It’s a comfortable silence, yet your heart is thumping loudly against your chest. Does he hear how he makes you feel? You wonder. 

Before he retires to his bedroom, you place a soft kiss against his cheek. “Thank you for today,” you whisper before shutting the door behind you. 

—————————————————————

From then on, things are significantly more… tense, between the two of you. What were once casual interactions turn tense with every brush of your fingers, with every meeting of your eyes across the room. He's always lavished you with the sweetest of pet names; darling, little bird, sweet girl. You assume it’s just his speech pattern, given what you had known of him from the game. But why does it make your heart race every time he refers to you with such terms of endearment? Why does it fuel your delusions of having something more? 

—————————————————————

It comes to a head during the week of Christmas, where you once again strong-arm him into having your festive way at the Onychinus base. 

You were appalled at their lack of holiday spirit for the previous years, “How can you run an organization like this?!” So you drag your boss out to the nearest Christmas tree farm. “You’re rich enough to afford a real one,” You decide definitively. He rolls his eyes but drives you there anyway. 

Each night on the week before Christmas goes similarly. The moment your work is done for the evening, you drag the whole house into some sort of festive activity. Decorating the tree, baking a gingerbread house, making eggnog. Holiday tunes fill the Onychinus base 24/7 and for once, Sylus finds that he doesn’t mind. Not when he sees the way you dance to yourself when you think no one’s looking, the way you know the words by heart and hum them under your breath. But he doesn’t participate much, mostly checking in and making a sardonic yet supportive comment before returning to his work. 

One evening, he decides to bring his work to the living room while you’re setting up the tree. It was a great source of amusement to see you struggle on your toes to place the ornaments, hoisting yourself up on whatever surface was available to you. But even he found it a bit too pitiful to watch you struggle to place the star, too vertically challenged to place the finishing touch. Couldn’t you just get a ladder? “Let me help you,” His breath tickles your ear as he grabs your waist and lifts you up. 

You squeal, holding tight to his arms and kicking at the air beneath you, “Sylus, what the fuck! Put me down!”

“Place the star, darling. While I'm still being nice.” In the end, you call it a team effort, despite his only contribution being his role as a human ladder. 

—————————————————————

You’ve been very festive and cheery the whole week of Christmas, so it disturbs him when the eve of the 25th arrives and you’re downtrodden. A shell of your typical self. He's never seen you like this before— absentminded and listless, it takes you a whole minute to realize he’s calling your name for the grand Christmas dinner you had insisted upon. You open presents with everyone in the early morning, smiling and thanking at the right cues, but he can tell your heart’s not in it.  

After the gifts have been given and the wrapping paper cleaned up, he takes you to the rooftop to ask what’s wrong. 

And so, you bare your heart to the only person who holds enough of it to break it. 

It’s a bittersweet Christmas for you, the first one you’ve ever spent away from home. For the first time since you were whisked away to this surreal world, you speak of your original life. Your family. Your friends. Your dreams. A fragile boundary that you haven’t touched with anyone here, for it hurts too much to speak of what you left behind. Of what was taken away from you. 

And it is here, underneath the midnight sky where he tells you of his search for the other half of his soul. He speaks of a similar homesickness, resonating with how out of reach home feels for you right now, as he’s waited what seems like a millennia for the person he calls his. 

You already know, of course, that sooner or later, he will meet her. This world was once your favorite game, and you had shed tears at their loss, at their cursed fate. You stay silent, listening to the tragic tale from the man himself. The affection in his tone as he speaks of her— his sorceress, his soulmate— makes you hurt for this man, for the trials he’s endured in the name of true love. But it is also a bitter reminder that you have no place by his side. 

—————————————————————

On New Year’s Eve, he doesn’t even give you the chance to feel homesick. The moment the sun goes down, he takes you on a joyride to Linkon City, bringing you to a cafe to have dinner together and sightsee the various festivities for the holiday; making sure you don’t even have a moment to feel sad. 

He brings you to the tallest building in the city, for the best view of the sky when the fireworks show starts. Despite the chilly air, his hand is warm in yours, clutching it in a tight grip as he wades through the crowd of people who had the same idea. You find a secluded corner where the two of you sit down and sip your milk tea, talking about your new year’s resolutions. 

“I don’t do resolutions,” He waved a hand, unimpressed. “If I want to change an aspect of my life, I won't wait until the start of a new year to do so.”

“Boo, you’re no fun,” You stick your tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes, but he’s internally pleased with how well he’s distracted you thus far. “My resolutions are always the same. Exercise more, eat healthy, and save money!”

“Dear, there is a private gym back home that you haven’t touched even once,” Your heart flutters at the word home. A word that brings you melancholy most of the time, but now fills your heart with a sort of domestic bliss.

“Well then, it’s perfect! I'll have no excuse not to start tomorrow.” 

He shakes his head in fond exasperation. Your eyes are glued to the magnificent colors soaring through the sky, legs bouncing in time with the countdown. But unbeknownst to you, his gaze is entirely on you. 

When the clock strikes midnight, you jump to give him a hug. “Happy New Year, Sylus!”

He cradles you in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, “Happy New Year.”

—————————————————————

As the months pass by, you grow more accustomed to the harsh edges of your new job. It's not exactly the first job you had envisioned for yourself; you had once hoped to start somewhere more in line with your aspiring career, somewhere you could make use of your degree. But plans don’t always work out. What you do is unorthodox, but it’s fulfilling and allows you to live in this dangerous world from a safe vantage point, almost like dipping your toes into a ten feet pool. 

That doesn’t mean you’re completely sheltered from all the dangers of the job, however. Given the type of clientele you handle, more often than not, you’re faced with threats of being maimed over the phone when you can’t give somebody what they want. Each time, Sylus promptly takes over and matches their energy twicefold with a more heinous, yet very real threat.

The worst days are post-missions, when you have to witness your newfound family return bloody and bruised in the name of Onychinus. You become conditioned to waiting with a first aid kit and a change of clothes for Luke and Kieran, immediately patching up their wounds. But Sylus— you almost think he’s invincible, with how he returns from even the most high-risk operations without a scratch. 

That is, until one night when he walks through the front door, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. His evol is working overtime to knit his skin back together, but the blood still pools beneath him on the marble tile. You stay by his side through the night as he recovers, listening to deluded murmurs about a time long past, and an ever-so-familiar name. 

You grip his hand in yours throughout the night. But it’s not your hand to hold. 

—————————————————————

Over the span of a year, you become one of Sylus’s closest confidants. He treats you with all the gentleness and care in the world, revealing to you a softer side of him that you knew existed in the game, but that he rarely ever showed to anyone else. You feel honored that he trusts you with these facets of himself, but you also feel guilty. 

Because what Sylus doesn’t know is that he was your favorite. You, a student facing burnout in your final year of university, began to cope with a game suggested to you, subsequently becoming engrossed with one of its newest characters. His soft treatment of the main character, juxtaposed with his violent nature, had drawn you to him. Your heart had fluttered at every tender moment, each call and text message, each appearance in the main story. You had foolishly indulged in the delusions of romance with a fictional man. 

When you landed in this world, there was a cognitive dissonance as you came to terms with the difference between the 2D character that lived on your phone screen and the living, breathing person in front of you. For a while, you were too focused on your new situation to even think of the implications of the fictional character you’d been crushing on being in close, real proximity. He had not trusted you, either. You could practically visualize his defenses in each interaction, as he contemplated what to make of you. 

At the time, you thought that by now, surely you would have woken up from this coma-induced hallucination already. Surely you would have woken back up to reality. But as you grow to accept that the situation you’re in is real, and the likelihood that you may be stuck there for the foreseeable future— before you knew it, he had crept into your heart. 

You don’t know when it started. All you know is that his presence in your life is more than the surface-level distraction it once was in your reality. No, Sylus— the living person who comforted you on the saddest birthday you’ve had, who indulged your demands for a Christmas celebration, who makes your heart race like no other— has you wrapped around his finger. He could ask anything of you, and your heart could do nothing but surrender to his whims. 

But in the back of your head, always lurking, is the distant reminder of the main character. The vivacious hunter whose life is tied to his. The other half of his soul. There’s no chance you could ever come between something destined by the universe itself, so you yield in the face of their cosmic love. You shove away your feelings and resign yourself to finding a way back home, desperately, before this world forces you to lose a love you never had a chance at. 

—————————————————————

What you don’t know is that he’s desperately blocking off every potential lead back to your world, not wanting to face a reality where you are not in his life. 

He finds himself conflicted, because his soul is tied to her. His sorcerer, his soulmate, whom he has yearned for for what feels like a millenia. But here you are, his lovely secretary, the woman who forces him into mundane festivities and stays by his side even in weakness. The two images war in his head; the dragon roaring at how distracted he’s become from searching for his mate, and the man, falling fast and hard for a woman from another world, brought to him by pure fate. A love born out of an unexpected connection. 

His search for his long-lost love continues, but alongside it are his attempts to tie you down to his world, to keep you in his grasp. Because he cannot, will not, live without you.

He will watch the world burn before he lets it take his love away again.

—————————————————————

So, the two of you continue in this cycle of push and pull, of moving closer but not close enough. You live in a limbo, desperately searching for ways to get home before the main storyline catches up to you. Haunted by the narrative, you two move in and out of each other’s orbit, just out of reach. Just out of bounds. 

—————————————————————

like and reblog if you enjoyed!

i’ve since turned this into a multi-chapter fic! this will continue to function as a standalone one-shot, but you can find the series here (comment there if you’d like to be tagged!)

[itsrlymine]

know that what you decide is what reflects and revision is no exception.

You are only ever experiencing yourself. That’s why myself and others say you manifest who you are. Your decisions decide what you see. Who you claim to be matters more than the all different methods or techniques you could begin to apply. Who you are when you use the technique is what matters. Because you are the technique. 

You “manifest” everything in your reality the exact same way. By deciding it’s yours now and knowing your truth. Speaking against that creates the illusion of separation, which is also just another extension of you. 

Decide it’s yours and it’s yours. If the 3d shows you otherwise, no it didn’t. It actually showed you exactly what you wanted to see. Don't second guess.

This literally how I manifested some cute velour sets the other day when I was at the mall. I saw these cute Juicy bottoms but no top attached. The tag on the pants literally said “No Attached Top Available.” Oh no but the 3d!!! I reread the tag and asked myself what I would think if I had the top. “Probably something like ‘I have the full set’… Oh shit… I HAVE THE FULL SET!!” As I looked through the racks, I stopped myself from thinking that I’m looking for something and reminded myself that I’m just remembering where I found the pieces. I “found” the set two seconds later… There were three sets of what I wanted in my exact size. 

What you decide is what reflects. 

“Oh but my parents are strict and they won’t let me…” Umm? No they aren’t. They fully support everything you want to do and always have. Don't second guess.

“I want to become the most amazing director in the world and I want everyone to love my work but I’m so young and I don’t have the experience to—“ Can you shut up please??? I literally just saw you walk across the stage at the Golden Globes and accept an award for your work and you still want complain?? Don't second guess.

It doesn’t matter if you have a celebrity sp and you just watched an interview where they claimed to be single or you saw paparazzi pictures of them on a date with someone else in Hollywood. Even if they were kissing. You know why?? Because you assign the meaning to whatever you see. Whether you saw nothing at all or oh?! Your sp is an actor now and they forgot to tell you but that was actually a pic for an upcoming movie?? Cool. At least you were there with them at the premiere. That's how revision works. Revision. Re-playing what you actually saw or heard.

There is no dream too big and no situation that can’t be “reversed.” It’s not even revision because the only thing that actually “occurred” was you still getting what you want.

What you decide is what reflects. 

Nothing else. Remember things for what they actually are, not some false story being “told” by your past. The past that has no say in you getting what you want. The past that’s only real based on your cue. 

The world is literally moving in your favor. At least that’s what I remember. 

[esoteriiclia]

how to assume i have been in the loa community for 3 years and i still see sooooo many people flooding bloggers' inboxes (including mine) asking how to assume, and i feel like you guys just need one straight forward answer on how to actually feel the fulfilment you desire so much. this is a snapshot of everything i have learnt in the years i have known of the law.

lets start here: the 3d is truly an illusion. a mirror that we are deceived into believing is real with no escape. but the truth is, you can detach from the 3d whenever, because you already are detached from the 3d. the 3d is literally a dead reflection of whatever you as God have created for the inner man to experience in imagination (the 4d). you aren't actually experiencing the 3d, you are experiencing your reaction to it because you think that the illusion is real. i hope i am making sense so far.

so now that we know what the 3d is, lets talk about the 4d. the 4d is real. whatever happens in your head is real. and when i say whatever happens in your head is real, i don't mean every thought you have is real. whatever you feel to be true is real, because you can only experience what you accept. for example, if you are in the state (i.e. have accepted something to be true) then you might think opposite thoughts, but you don't resonate with them (in other words you know they are not the truth). your thoughts cannot affect you if you don't accept (feel) them. they are just empty words. you can feel completely opposite to how you think. so what use is affirming "i am happy. i am healthy. i am rich" if you feel the complete opposite? it will just make you feel worse and like you are lying to yourself. so what do we do? we change how we feel!

i know this is where a lot of you guys get really tripped up. but think about it like this. everything you could ever want already exists in imagination (aka reality), and it is already yours. otherwise how else could you desire it? you must have felt it to have even desired it. if you felt some sort of fulfilment or excitement from thinking about having your desires, you wouldn't want it in the first place. why? because you want the feeling of having it; the joy, peace, excitement, satisfaction etc. so if everything is already true and already yours all at once, all you have to do is accept what you want as already yours, because it is! and i mean this literally. this is not me trying to gaslight you into believing it, and nor are you trying to convince yourself that you have it. i mean it. it is quite literally yours in reality (imagination). if you have studied the law of attraction, you might have heard the phrase tuning your frequency. and honestly that is one thing that i liked/resonated with from loattraction. like a radio, all the stations are already being sent out in radio waves, you just need to tune into the one you want to listen to. so naturally, once you know that you are choosing what radio station you are tuning into (what state you are in/what you are feeling), would it not be silly to not tune into the one you like?

this realisation made so much sense to me, and honestly helped me understand how manifestation is so effortless.

hope this helps!

love lia <3

[bluecookies02]

Viktor x Reader

tags: nsfw, suggestive but on a spiritual lvl 🤌 hurt/comfort. robo viktor and intimacy basically.

[established relationship]

Viktor's new body doesn't feel physical pleasure. Doesn't feel friction or warmth to any extensive degree.

But you'll often find yourself placed on his lap, with him guiding your hips to grind against his own. His arms guiding yours around his shoulder, neck, back...wherever your heart desires to leave a ghost of an imprint. He traces your skin with fingertips that don't really feel any pressure whatsoever, but his soul yearns to touch you like he used to.

And he does. It makes him desperate at first...lost and heartbroken. He has to learn to calculate better, in fear of not giving you a good enough illusion that he is still as human as he was, still an attentive lover that he used to be.

The kind that would spend hours making you feel good, loved and precious. He used to push himself to exhaustion just because he needed to show you his affections thoroughly.

He still would. He still does. Every little speck of him that is left within this new vessel, he selflessly gives to you. The shudders that he lets out when you whine and moan are raw and real, the adoration in his eyes when he does something right and you gasp...it's for you only.

He can feel your emotions and hear your thoughts when the connection between you is at its peak. Once you place your forehead against his and you fall apart under his skilled hands, he can experience the ecstasy similar to the one he used to when he was mortal.

It's yours. It's borrowed. But it gets him high. The fraction of your pleasure that he can feel through your bond makes him addicted, insatiable. It can be considered selfish when he thinks about it more in depth, however it isn't.

Because he would do it all just for you...even if he couldn't feel a single thing, he knows he would always feel utter love and devotion towards everything that makes you. Your plump lips, your eager hands, your honey coated words, your mind and intelligence, your familiarity.

He'd rip himself apart and turn to nothing if it made you happy.

So he's quick to learn. He learns how to press his cold lips against yours just right...all over again. Relearns how to touch you in ways he used to know by heart. The instincts that seemed to die with his body, he has to fabricate.

There's beauty in those calculations. It comforts him. Because those seemingly "robotic" efforts are naked proof that his love for you will never falter, no matter the form he takes on.

He knows that you see his struggles, notice the smaller errors he makes in rhythm, in the gentleness or the roughness of his movements. But as always, you understand him and his body, the state of it, the "faults" as he used to call them, which you always said you'd love, no matter what they were.

This stayed constant in your relationship from before and now. Your stubbornness to love him through everything , even this, and he'd be a fool to not repay you.

So he makes love to you, under the glossy, shiny stars and then under the morning sunrise, on the wet grass or the cloudy floor of his hidden universe. You'll feel him molding his body for you and pouring his soul into you until you're crying, panting and shaking underneath him.

He'll swallow the screams from your lips as you crumble for him, and he'll engrave them so deep within himself so that nothing could rip them away.

Noone can ever love me like the fictional men in my head and I'll have to accept that eventually . Anyways I hope you enjoyed this blurb, if you did, stay tuned bc this blog is slowly turning into a Viktor shrine.

requests are set to open while this season's high fuels me, so feel free to drop by🩵

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Deltarune's central conflict seems to be coalescing around the tension between being trapped in the amber of the past versus embracing the liquid uncertainty of the future - and how the fear that keeps us trapped in said past can rob us of the potential joys of said future.

Long post under the read more - you've been warned :P

Hometown has been frozen in time for a long time. Its residents cling to the illusion of a glorified past with such vigour that it has completely arrested the town's development. We see it in stages - first, with Asriel's departure to college and everyone waiting for their "golden boy" to come back home so they can bask in his immaculate aura once more. Next, we see Asgore's seeming inability to let go of his former relationship with Toriel, pouring so much of his time and energy into trying to make her return to that idealised family unit with him. Then there is Father Alvin, whose perceived inadequacy compared to his father Gerson literally manifests in him keeping his funerary object in his church desk drawer.

Struggling against that prevailing wind are the young and the restless. Undyne bristles against the stagnation of her surroundings, fuming as she directs traffic and files paperwork with an energy more appropriate for foiling a bank robbery. Rudy Holiday lies dying in hospital yet still wishes for his surviving daughter to be able to live her life to the fullest. Catti wishes to escape the yoke of her family's cloying earnestness and explore her identity through the medium of goth and incantations. And returning to Asriel, you expect that he might have seen in going away to collage a chance to escape the tar pit of his surroundings, to make something of himself other than how his family and peers saw him - an unchanging, static image of a past that no longer exists.

Of course, some people are trapped by a past they would rather eschew but do not know how to. Berdly is forever running from his own perceived inadequacy but can never quite escape it. Susie's experiences growing up cemented a conviction in her that she was fundamentally "bad", a concept that she still struggles with despite her and her newfound friends' efforts to defy it. And Noelle finds herself trapped between the desire to move forward into the future and a reverence to a past that once seemed so sweet.

The dark worlds also exhibit this struggle. The darkners eagerly await the return of their lightner "gods", the beings which gave them a purpose to live by. Queen's stated goal is to trap all lightners in her candied games and glowing screens, an endless present containing only superficial distractions and little in the way of meaning. Tenna recognises himself a relic of a bygone past, but is seduced into believing that he can turn back the clock and make the Dreemurrs adore him like they used to.

The purposes they were imbued with gave their lives direction, but that same purpose threatens to crystalise and ossify the very notion of their future, turning it into something more akin to glass or stone. The prophecy is the ultimate manifestation of this idea - a perfect, immutable record of the future that cannot be averted or defaced. Etched in glass, the future it predicts seems so fragile, but break it and a perfect replica will take its place a little further along. You can defer and delay, but you can never escape its crystalline prison. You are just as trapped by the future as you are by the past.

And so, we come to Carol and December Holiday, and Kris Dreemurr - representative of the past, the future, and the present, respectively.

There was always a sense that December felt constrained by Hometown - her mother's town - and her family - her mother's family. That she was rebellious and impulsive and wanted to make something of herself, be her own person instead of what was expected of her as the elder sister of the Holiday children and daughter to the mayor. She promised Noelle (Elly) that one day she'd take her to the city with its brilliant lights and the promise of a brighter future... or at least, a more interesting one. She wrote her own songs that preached about her desire for freedom and her drive to attain it by any means necessary. December was a shooting star tearing through the world, racing towards uncertainty with a hand eagerly reached out to grasp it.

And then, she disappeared, and that bright future was snatched from her in one fell swoop. Now, she is only the Lost Girl - her bedroom untouched as an eternal shrine which must never be desecrated, her rebelliousness canonised and lionised as an artefact of the past, reduced to a passive rendition of the lost Lenore, frozen in amber as a caricature of who and what she once was, and not who she might yet have become.

However bad Dess's disappearance might have hurt Noelle, it seems to have completely broken Carol. The character we meet in Chapter 4 is cold, rigid, inflexible. Her will in her household, and across hometown itself, is absolute, unflinching, irrefutable. She is compelled to control everything within her considerable dominion, right down to the minutiae. While she is not singlehandedly responsbile for Hometown's paralysis, she is its prime architect. And she is also apparently willing to risk wiping it all off the map for a chance - a chance - to bring December back from wherever she's gone. To this end Carol is ruthless, merciless, will do anything up to and including coercing a vulnerable teenager to assist her in her plans. The future and the present both are irrelevant - all that matters is getting her daughter back.

For the sake of the past where she had both of her daughters, Carol froze the clock and arrested Hometown in an eternal present. Now she seeks to turn that same clock back, to forsake the prospect of the future's myriad possibilities for the cast-iron solidity of what she once had. Everything she does is for the sake of her family, her daughter, her perfect life. And she's willing to do it regardless of what the family in question might actually want or need.

And trapped perfectly between these two forces, like a fly caught in a web who sees the spider approaching them, is Kris. We can infer that they looked up to Dess growing up, and the way she was completely unfettered by the stagnation of her surroundings, didn't care what other people thought of her. She would likely have represented hope for Kris that they, too, could be anything they wanted to be... until suddenly, she was gone. And perhaps that might have been okay, given enough time - perhaps they might have mourned, but kept her example alive in their mind and tried to move forward.

But Carol stopped them. Like she stopped everything else. Saw how much they cared for her. Fed them tales about bringing her back. Made them promise. And held that promise over their head like a sword of Damocles. In this way, she molded them into yet another extension of her will with a control far more adroit and complete than anything the player could possibly muster.

Find her.

You promised.

Don't forget.

But another force exerts its will upon Kris - the Player. When Kris is crushed by the weight of their perceived responsibilities, when they are rendered catatonic by the sheer impossibility of their situation... we are the ones who march them forward. We are the ones who bring them to Ralsei and Susie, new friends who represent hope for a brighter future despite the darkness. We are the ones who FORCE them to make choices again, FORCE them to assume the mantle of a hero, in defiance of the villain they may well believe themself to be. We show them another way, however forceful and inelegant our methods, however much they may fight us along that way.

Are we any better than Carol in this regard? No, I wouldn't presume that we are - our intrusion into their life is every bit a violation as her transgressions. Unlike Carol, however, we are broadly invested in Deltarune's future, rather than its past. There may only be one path, one ending... and yet still we are invested in seeing that future take shape, whatever it may be. We reflect on a past that isn't ours, but unlike Carol we take that past and use it to inform what happens in the future, instead of trying to control it. For us, the future is not set in stone, or written in glass... the future teems with uncertainty, and we cannot help but reach for it, enthralled by the possibilities it contains.

It's possible that December Holiday may yet be saved from whatever fate might have befallen her... but the damage done to Kris, and the danger to the world that has resulted from that desire begs the question: even if we COULD save December... should we? More poignantly - if December could see the chaos and the hurt that was wrought in the service of bringing her back... would she want to be brought back in the first place?

At this juncture we cannot say, we cannot know. All we can do now is wait for the promised new future.

[kityana]

there's an interesting moment in "sinsmas" that i think far too many people misunderstood.

it's this one.

Stolas is a sucker for romantic fantasies.

we know this from pretty early on. he referred to blitzo in fantastic romantic terms like "my knight in shining armor".

he crossed blitzo's boundaries again and again because he thought their relationship was more intimate than it actually was, and he was sure blitzo was on the same page.

and he's constantly shown consuming romantic media- romance novels, telenovelas and rom-coms.

and honestly? i was constantly surprised by how much the narrative didn't punish him for it. not to say he didn't experience heartbreak. not to say some illusions weren't shattered. but at no point was the narrative ever saying stolas was wrong for having those dreams.

no, not even in sinsmas. because you know what happens five minutes after stolas gets angry at himself for doing it all for a fantasy?

this.

blitzo, slaying a literal dragon with a literal sword to save stolas. it's a scene straight out of a fairytale. and just because subtlety is for losers they even call it out.

the narrative literally tells stolas, your fantasies weren't foolish. you were right to believe in them. they came true.

it's a reoccurring theme in a lot of hellaverse characters. because you know who else is a dreamer hanging on to impossibly grand fantasies?

this guy.

sure, they aren't romantic fantasies, but blitzo's business aspirations are not all that different in the level of grandness or delusion. the theme of blitzo aggrandizing himself as a boss and the success of his business have been present since the pilot. they've been hammered home several times, with him, much like stolas, steadfastly ignoring any bit of reality that doesn't settle with his fantasy.

will blitzo ever get to be the big boss of a circus business with clowns and horses? probably not. does blitzo make plenty of mistakes about the way he runs his business? of course, so many. does he have ridiculous notions about what being a boss means that he needs to unlearn? yes, definitely!

but despite everything, he pushes through. and slowly but surely, his business becomes more successful as time goes on.

charlie from "hazbin hotel" is actually another good example of that. she also has a ridiculous dream that no one believes in. she also has ridiculous notions inspired by that dream. and the narrative also rewards her for hanging on to it when no one else would believe in it but her.

the point that seems to repeat in those stories is that those fantasies are important. that the act of believing in them is important. it can inspire you. it can help you push through when the odds are stacked against you. it can provide you with the drive you need to achieve your goals.

if stolas hadn't clung on to his ridiculous romantic fantasies, he wouldn't have believed in what he and blitzo could (and did) eventually become. he wouldn't have persistently tried to reach blitzo for as long as he did, even after he realized blitzo views their relationship so differently from him. he wouldn't have jumped so readily at the chance of what they could be, and found the courage to break free from his miserable, abusive marriage. he wouldn't have let blitzo become his light, and he wouldn't have become blitzo's heart in turn.

and it's not that stolas' is completely blind to reality. he doesn't literally wants to live in a rom-com. it's actually spelled out for us in "apology tour".

stolas doesn't want to actually be chased in the rain every day, he just wants someone to show this level of care toward him, because no one ever has.

and he finally gets it. and i'm sorry to break this to you, if you're one of the people who seem to be chomping at the bits for the narrative to slap the dreams out of stolas until he gets over them, but he wouldn't have gotten all of this without his fantasies.

[honeytonedhottie]

HOW I MANIFESTED MY DESIRED APPEARANCE (success story)⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎐

so manifesting my desired appearance in full took roughly 2 weeks, also this post is pretty long bcuz im not gatekeeping anything, im giving u guys the full story, the full scoop on how i did it so here we go...

some things that i remember doing was, before going to bed i'd either read what my desired appearance looks like (i wrote a list bcuz me as a person, i LOVE writing things down) and i'd read that list before bed like it was fact.

or if i didn't have the list with me, when i was the state akin to sleep i'd talk to myself (ik it sounds weird but its natural for me so it worked) and i'd be like "ik for a fact that i am (fill in the blank)" or "ik for a fact that i have (fill in the blank)"

and i'd just say it to myself, or sometimes when i'd shower, for every part of my body that i'd wash (i separated it into sections) and for each section i'd talk about an aspect of my appearance as though it was from someone else's POV. for example, part of my desired appearance was a difference in hair texture so i'd say "omg honey's hair is SO long and glossy". like i'd talk thru someone else's pov ABOUT my appearance in either a tone of admiration, envy, or indifference.

even if i didn't see movement a couple times or got discouraged, i went back to what feels RIGHT and thats affirming for me.

some key statements i used :

i know for a fact

i have my exact desired appearance bcuz im god and i said so

another thing that rly helped me was visualization, i was living PURELY in my imagination, completely in my head. i was REAL delulu. i have a vision board on pinterest that was SO helpful for me.

when i saw things in the 3d that didn't please me i completely disregarded it, and when i tell u COMPLETELY, i completely dismissed anything that i didn't like, or that didn't sit right with me.

another little exercise that i liked to do was actually bcuz of a bad habit. so i have a RLY bad habit of checking the 3d but i used it to my advantage. my habit was that every morning the first thing i'd do is go and look in the mirror. when i manifested my desired appearance what i'd do, is i would go to the bathroom mirror and tell my subconscious what i see. so my logic behind this was that since the subconscious didn't have any eyes i could tell my subconscious that i had the head of a unicorn and it'd believe me 💀. so i would talk to my subconscious and tell it what i saw. "i see an angel skull" "i see rly rly long lashes" "i see waist-length hair" etc etc.

i went to the end and i BASKED in it. moral of this manifestation story :

persist regardless of what u experience with ur 5 senses

time is an illusion so forget about it

dont settle for less than what u seek

go straight to the end and bathe in it bcuz u can't try and be something that u already are 

failure doesn't exist

apply

[thewritetofreespeech]

I really think Gale needs to know that he is competent and good at things even without his magic/ without doing his magic.

Gale× woman girlfriend tav where they have soft sex and Gale want to enhance the experience with his magic, but reader shows him that he doesn't need to.

---------------------------🟣----------------------------------

When Tav told him that she loved him back, he thought his chest might explode from just pure excitement & relief. Not the orb.

He had been fairly certain that Tav felt the same as him. Mentally reviewed all their moments together. Stolen glances. That moment in the Weave that still seemed to linger on his fingertips even now. But one was never sure of these things until they happened. And given how his last ‘grand gesture’ had ended, Gale was nervous that this would be another defeat as well. Yet to be accepted, to be loved in return by someone he respected & admired again, Gale could die a happy man. Should the right moment Elminster spoke of was to come.

For now, however, he wanted to focus on the now. He wanted it to be perfect. A vision, just like Tav was to him. To show her how deep his affection was for her, even with their short time together. He had it all planned. To show her his home. To show him where he found the most peace and solace when not at her side. Then to make love in the way of the gods by a perfect mending of souls & mind. It would be perfect.

Yet when he told Tav of his plan, she denied him. Saying that she didn’t want illusions, just him.

“Are you sure?” Gale was caught off guard by her response. Expecting that, when offered the opportunity to experience what so few mortals could, she would jump at the chance. Even with his limitations on the Weave between the tadpole and Mystra’s bars, Gale knew he could get them close to his experience in the heavens. He wanted that for both of them. More than what these simple husks of flesh could bide them. “I can do more than woo you. I could wow you.”

Tav chuckled at his comment. Amused, even though he was being totally serious, and reaffirmed that she wanted the man, not the magic.

Gale was entirely nervous at this point but tried not to show it. He had a plan and all that was out the window. What was he supposed to do now?? The wizard endeavored to stay calm and continue with at least the original plan of being with Tav. He didn’t know if they would have a moment like this again and he would be gods damned if he was going to waste it.

Conjuring just a small bit of magic for a bed, as his back would never recover from making love on the hard ground, Gale smiled when he saw Tav fall back on it playfully. She was always so funny. This odd kind of silly mixed with bravery. Gale couldn’t remember the last time he had been with someone who was silly. Mystra was always so serious, and her wizard acolytes from his school days were no different.

He watched Tav sit up on the bed. Beckoning him over with a look and gesture of her hand that held more magic in it to command than any spell Gale could conjure. He had to obey.

Climbing onto the bed with her, Gale leaned in to kiss Tav a second time. Deeper than the first. Her lips were soft, but a little chapped from their journey. It was warm though. That heat seemed to fill Gale to his bones. He’d forgotten what it was like being with a mortal after so much time with an immortal. Mystra always seemed happy with their coupling. Open and willing to reciprocate, but it was always incorporeal for them. Gale had made offers to pleasure her in other ways. Use what skills he had to please his goddess, but she always declined. As if unwilling to let her once mortal body turn divine be touched in any way resembling a human. At the time Gale had been contented with that. But with the clarity that distance and perspective could now offer, he could now see the benefits of both.

Gale gasped into their kiss as he felt Tav’s fingers brush over the front of his tunic. Down from his chest to his belly. The muscles twitch even with the slightest touch. He had forgotten about that too. Touch.

He moved from kissing Tav’s lips down to her neck. Her breath hitched as her pulse hammered against his lips. Feeling her life’s drum just there against her skin. Gale could understand why Astarion was so tempted now. As he kissed her neck and collarbone, his fingers danced over her body. Gale may not have magic in his fingers when it came to locks, but he was certainly dexterous enough to be able to do lacings & the like. Their garments melting away as if by actual magic.

Gale took a moment to push up on his hands and get a full look at Tav. She was beautiful. Radiant. The light on her skin. The pert of her breasts in the night air. The imperfections of scars, freckles, and spots here & there all perfect. The perfection of realism.

The wizard swooped back down to finish kissing Tav all the way down. Moving to her sternum. Toying with her breasts. The weight of them soft but noticeable as he worked them in his hand. He moaned in tandem with Tav as her fingers brushed into his hair as he suckled at her breast. Feeling her there, reciprocating, listening to her enjoy what he was doing to her, Gale thought he might burst. He was so hard, and the bedding he had conjured provided little relief to the pressure as he rubbed against it.

Gale continued his path down. Kissing over Tav’s stomach until he came to the apex between her thighs. “Can you open a little more for me, my love?” He was hesitant to use the term of endearment. Fearful that he might have pushed too far. Perhaps they were not ready for pet names. But when he saw Tav part for him with a shy little smile, he decided he would call her that every day.

Her scent flowed up to him as her legs parted. Sweet yet sensual. Gale felt his mouth literally water in reflex. How long had it been since he tasted a woman fully? How longer still had it been since he’d done this with a woman that he loved?

Even with the lapse in time, it was like a fish to water for Gale. Based on Tav’s moans & shutters he had not forgotten how to please with his verbose, practiced tongue. He swiped up through her center, teasing the nub at the cleft, before sliding back down to collect her sweet honey. His hands massaged her thighs which were warm and lax by his ears. Gods. How had he gone so long without this in his life? He felt like a starving man sat down in front of his first meal.

Gale moaned into her cunt as he felt Tav reach for him between her legs. Fingers in his hair. Gripping and pulling in pleasure. His cock was already rock hard but it jutted in excitement with every tightening of her fingers. He made quick work to finish lest he truly embarrass himself on their first rendezvous.

Tav cried out as she came. Her thighs tightening in his hand. She looked beautiful lying there all spent. The slightest hint of perspiration on her skin illuminated in the moonlight. Gale had seen gods, but he could think of no sight finer.

He crawled over Tav again until they were nose to nose. “Are you sure?” He wanted to ask again. Maybe she had changed her mind? Maybe this was enough for him to hope for?

Tav just wrapped her arms around his neck and braced her knees against his side. “Do it.”

The commanding voice sent a shiver down Gale’s spine. Enough to make him almost cum right there. He restrained himself and reached down to moisten his cock with spittle and pre-cum. Then he lined up with Tav’s entrance and pushed forward.

The two of them moaned. Gale did not expect how hot inside her would be, how tight. With Mystra everything was so open and vast. The vastness of eternity and the Weave open to them to express their feelings. Here, with Tav, everything seemed to file down to a single point. A single moment. Just the two of them in the whole wide world. Gale moved his hips back and pressed forward again. Starting a slow, easy rhythm. He wanted this moment to last forever; or at least as long as possible.

Tav held on to him and moved her hips back to meet him. The perfect partnership, just like their adventure. Gale leaned down to kiss her and was met with equal passion. Tongues melding, gasping breaths, hearts racing. Everywhere Tav touched him seemed to leave a burning trail across his body, waiting to consume him. Had it always been like this with mortals and he had just forgotten? No. Gale knew he would remember this if it had happened. It had to be Tav.

His hips sped up and Tav rose to meet him with glee. He could feel that he was going to climax soon, and it became his single focus for the next few moments before stumbled in his thrust with a low, powerful moan. White hot flashes across his eyes as he was sure was spilling inside her.

Gale broke from a final kiss with Tav in their coupling and rested his head against hers. He felt tired, but indeed sated as he anticipated he would be. Complete. Should the world and the orb come to swallow him whole, Gale would be able to do it with but one regret now on his mind. That he couldn’t be with her longer.

The wizard carefully dislodged himself from Tav and pulled her close with the conjured blanket to wrap them in. “We’ll need to head back before morning.” He reasoned. The others would come looking for them, and his spell of stars would not last forever. But it would for a little while longer. For now, he just wanted to spend the remainder of the night with Tav in his arms. As a man. As two lovers. Not a wizard and adventure on a path to save the world. Just him and Tav.

[myownwholewildworld]

a man called joel (part 2)

↪ a "a man called otto" inspired fic ― jackson!joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist | AO3 summary: worried about your exchange with joel, you decide to go to tommy's house, see if there's somthing you can do to help. little do you know, it just makes things worse. author's note: hi! tyvm to everyone who has shown some love to this series so far <3 it's taken me a bit but here's part 2! i'm posting it before i change my mind haha. please heed the warnings and if you like what you read, please consider interacting with this post! love you all <3 tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. topics of death/murder and losing a child. dealing with the grief and guilt joel feels about sarah, ellie & tess. suicide attempt. tommy, maria and benji make an appearance. joel being a good uncle but a dick to everyone else. arguments. mean/cruel!joel. there's a suicide letter from joel to tommy. dual pov. reader is female, has hair. no use of y/n. joel is 61 and reader in her 40s. wordcount: ~7.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

He was such a failure, he couldn’t even kill himself properly. What a fucking shame of a human being.

After closing the door right in your face, Joel trudged towards the couch in his living room, exhausted, mind still buzzing from the near-death experience. He sighed heavily, eyeing the noose and broken hook on the floor, pieces of plasterboard dotted around the mess where he had laid just a few minutes before.

He should have died. Death had been so close, within reach… At his fingertips. And now felt distant again, like a dream he’d woken up too early from. And despite the heartache, the vision of Sarah silently begging him not to do it, Joel needed to chase that illusion. Yearned for another peaceful moment with his daughter, longed for the moment he would see her again. Alive and young and well. Like no time had passed, like she’d been by his side for the past two decades—his personal guardian angel.

His heart was still mourning the loss, his pipedream gone. Hadn’t thought of God and Heaven in a very long while, his wavering faith lost when Sarah was taken away from him. But now, perhaps, there was a chance that Sarah was waiting for him. Somewhere, somehow—and Joel was determined to find her. Whatever it cost—even his life.

Had you not interrupted, his dream may as well have come true. But the banging on the door and window along with your incessant calls had ended up filtering into his brain. Like a motherfucking, unwanted wake-up call. You’d brought him back when he truly just wanted to die, to reunite with his baby girl. Damn you.

He’d only had to try again. Try harder next time. Because he wasn’t done. Not yet, not until he put an end to his own misery. Joel was determined to finish what he had started, and nothing nor no one could stop him.

Not even you, with your pleading doe eyes. His stomach twisted at the thought of your hand reaching up to his face. How your eyes roved over his neck, worryingly and intensely. How your nose scrunched a little and your lips fell into a pout. How your brows creased with concern for a stranger, an old man you didn’t know. Joel could only hope you hadn’t put the pieces of the picture together.

His heavy sight wandered around the room, his hand palming the wrist where Sarah’s watch rested.

Time.

“Fuck, what’s the time?” Joel mouthed, throat dry and tender, while he stood up.

In the kitchen, the clock on the wall told him he was already late. Ten minutes late to a dinner he hadn’t planned on attending. And now he’d have to go, pretend nothing had happened, because of you.

Joel walked towards the door, his back stiff like a wooden plank. His left knee cracked loudly, and a burning thunder went up his thigh. At the same time, the dull pain on the back of his head shot all the way through his skull, piercing his eyeballs. The sudden sting almost made him lose his footing, feeling dizzy and unsteady. He crouched down a little, his hand grasping the armrest of the couch as Joel fought an unexpected wave of nausea.

The fall had definitely been a bad one. Regrettably, not bad enough to have him killed. Only if he had hit his head a bit harder…

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his eyes together while bile rose up his throat, leaving an acidic, bitter taste on his tongue. Groaning, he palmed the nape of his neck and then a bit further up, just to notice how his fingertips became wet. Frowning, Joel squinted one eye open to inspect his fingers.

Blood. Fucking great. Now he’d have to deal with that before going to Tommy’s. And of course, he blamed you. For all of it.

Thirty minutes later, Joel was at his brother’s doorstep, curls damp and nose cold. Rubbing his gloved hands together, he blew some warm air into his cupped palms to heat up his face, mind drifting back to today’s events.

“Joel?”

His eyes focused, travelling up from his boots to the frowning face in front of him. Seemed like his little brother had already spoken and was waiting on his reply.

“Are you gonna come in or are you gonna stay out there in the cold?” Tommy asked with a huff, moving aside to let him in.

“Right. Mind’s somewhere else today,” Joel mumbled an excuse while Tommy closed the door behind him.

“You’re late,” Tommy warned. “Maria ain’t happy, turkey’s going cold.”

Joel hmphed, removing his gloves and then his coat. Hung them on the hook by the door. When he turned around, he almost bumped into Tommy, who was standing too close.

“What’s that?” his brother’s eyes squinted, head tilted.

“What’s what?”

“Your neck. It’s… bruising. The heck have you been doing?” Tommy’s fingers reached up to the neckline of his shirt, pushing it down to have a better look. Just as you had tried to do.

Joel swatted his hand away, huffing dismissively. His skin crawled, the idea of being touched unbearable, even by a friendly hand.

“‘S nothing. Had an accident, that’s all,” he mumbled, sauntering towards the dining room.

“An accident? Did you accidentally put a rope around your neck or what?” Tommy laughed at his own occurrence, palming Joel’s shoulder as he walked besides him.

Internally, Joel flinched—a gesture he didn’t let break through the surface. “I have. I’m tired, brother. I want this to be over. It’s… I feel like my life is slipping away through my fingers. I’ve survived insufferable things, and it just feels wrong now. I’m drained of purpose. I’m tired, so very tired. I need’a rest—lay my head on the pillow and drift away… forever. See my babygirl, hug Tess. God, Tess…” he thought. But those words never escaped his mind, tucked away in the confines of his guilt, of his dread. Of his desperation.

Perhaps he should have spoken then—crack the shell of his feelings open, ask for help. But what had help gotten him so far besides heartache? Besides an overwhelming sense of failure? Speaking to Gail had only made things worse for him, forcing him to paint the picture of a crude reality with a clarity he’d been evading for years. Decades.

But he didn’t speak—wouldn’t burden his brother with his thoughts. Because it wouldn’t make a difference, Joel had made up his mind. No words would change everything he’d done, all the decisions that had led him to Death’s door.

“Benji’s been asking about his uncle the whole day. He’s got two new toys, a couple of miniature dinosaurs. Ellie gave them to him this morning,” Tommy happily chirped away, unaware of the hole he was digging in Joel’s chest. Deep and throbbing like an open, infected wound—a wound that would never heal, that would fester until his heart would rot past mending. Past salvation.

Was Ellie getting rid of everything he’d gifted her? Was she trying to erase the memory of him? Of everything they had shared up until that fateful day?

Joel had found those dinosaur toys in their visit to the Wyoming Museum of Science and History for her sixteenth birthday. Ellie had been so impressed with the life-size sculpture of the Tyrannosaurus Rex in the thick woods of the museum, Joel knew she would appreciate to have those as a memento. She’d been so elated with his gift, those two miniatures had had a special place of on her bedroom’s shelves up until she moved out to the garage.

And now she had gotten rid of them, passed them on to Benji. “At least she’s not thrown them away,” Joel weighed in his mind. Had he found those in the trash… it would have dented his rugged heart even more, that muscle condemned to the forgetfulness of death.

“Uncle!” Benji jumped off the chair, running towards him with his arms extended.

Joel’s whole demeanour shifted, a ray of sunlight slipping through the cracks of his darkness. Benji was a blessing in his life, loved him as his own. His nephew would never fill the hole of his loss but softened the edges of the gaping wound in his chest.

He knelt on the creaking wooden planks, arms outstretched to give Benji a big hug. The little Miller laughed, the sound so full of life, Joel wondered when was the last time he felt so at ease, so problem-free.

“Look! Ellie gave me these!” and then Benji shot off his embrace, skipping towards the table.

Besides an almost empty plate—Benji always had an earlier dinner than the adults and already had a dinosaur-themed pyjamas on—laid the two toys that held a special place in his heart. Benji tiptoed near the table and managed to grab them before he returned to Joel, still kneeling on the floor.

“This one’s my favourite, Uncle. Ellie said it’s a Tydono… I dunno, something-saurus! Big, big dino, he was the king of the jungle! Would eat anyone in his path. And look at this one!” Benji kept on babbling, explaining everything Ellie had told him about the figurines.

Joel listened attentively, a softness tugging at the corners of his mouth. His nephew was recounting the same stories he’d chronicled for Ellie three years ago. A part of him—the one that held to a fragile shard of hope—wanted to believe that Ellie still thought fondly of him, that perhaps she didn’t hate him as much as she’d yelled.

“Benji, it’s bedtime,” Maria chipped in, entering the dining room from the kitchen. “Hi, Joel.”

“Hey,” he greeted back with a nod, eyes going back to the Brachiosaurus toy Benji was still talking about, purposefully ignoring his mom. “I can put him to sleep, read him a bedtime story.”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. Thanks,” Maria agreed. “But quick, I’m reheating the turkey.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel agreed. “Come on, big guy.”

Joel picked Benji up, his knees and lower back loudly protesting when he stood up. Helped his nephew get into bed, read a passage of his favourite children’s book and stealthily walked out of his room when Benji drifted off. He’d enjoyed this bedtime routines with Sarah—but unlike Benji, she would get too excited about the story and ramble about it endlessly. She’d talk so much, she’d tire herself out and fall asleep halfway through a sentence.

With bated breath and an aching heart again, Joel carefully closed the door behind him with a soft click. When he arrived downstairs, Tommy was carving the last of the turkey and setting it down on a plate.

Joel reached for the dish and mumbled a “thank you” before he sat down at the table with his brother and sister-in-law. For a moment, the silence was hefty and thick, like trying to breath through a wall of water.

“Tommy said you have a new neighbour. Don’t scare her away like you did with the last one,” Maria warned him, a mighty brow cocked, looking at him over the fork she held.

Joel huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Agnes was a pain in the ass. Still is. In the span of a week, she knocked my mailbox down twice, and not by mistake,” Joel shook his head in disapproval, stuffing his mouth with the turkey.

“That’s what you said. Both times I checked, your mailbox was still standing,” Tommy butted in, a glitter of joke in his eyes.

“Because I fixed it before you came round,” he hissed, eyes averted, focused on the food.

Had he been looking up, Joel would have caught the hint of worry in Maria’s eyes. How she’d thrown a sideway glance at Tommy when she saw the bruising around his neck. How Tommy had shrugged, downplaying her concern.

Solitude is a silent storm that breaks down all our dead branches.

And the silent storm was brewing with every metal clink of cutlery. A storm Joel had been avoiding, playing ignorant to how things looked on the outside.

“How’s everything with Ellie?” Maria asked out of nowhere.

Joel’s heart plummeted to the bottom of his stomach—a strangling twist contorting his entrails when the simmering anxiety took a hold of him. But he couldn’t show it—how this all affected him, how the solitude wrecked him, playing mind games with him. As if Death was mindlessly toying with him.

“We’re good,” was his automatic answer.

“We ain’t blind, brother,” Tommy intervened. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Fuck everyone then and their stupid gossiping. People are fucking bored in this town if that’s the only thing they can talk about. Don’t they have anything better to worry about? We are fine,” Joel barked, throwing the fork at his plate, hand shaking. “‘S just a phase.”

“Problems don’t just resolve themselves if you don’t talk about them, Joel. They don’t disappear; they just grow bigger until they are blown out of proportion. If you need us to talk to her…” Maria offered calmly, unfazed by his sudden outburst.

“I said we are fucking okay, alright?” Joel’s tone grew louder, frustrated, the legs of his chair screeching against the wooden floor when he pushed it back to stand up. “Mind your fucking business, both of ya.”

“Hey. Watch your fucking mouth!” Tommy stood up, one hand pressed on the table while the other pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You don’t come to this house to disrespect us like that.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t come at all,” Joel gritted out, the tips of his ears hot with anger.

“Yeah, perhaps you fucking shouldn’t!”

“Both of you, calm down,” Maria spoke serenely, the only one keeping a cool demeanour. “No one is getting kicked out of our home, Tommy. You’re welcome here, Joel. We are just worried, that’s all. We don’t need to talk about it now, I’m sure you’ll come around when you’re ready.”

Just as Joel was about to reply, a gentle knock on the front door quickly dissipated the argument. Surely for the better—deep down, Joel appreciated the concern, his rage misplaced.

“I’ll get it,” Tommy muttered.

You twisted your hands resting on your lap, the loud noises of the community hall not reaching your ears at all. You were physically there, but your mind was elsewhere.

You really had tried to keep your mind busy for the rest of the day, pull out some dying weeds before running back inside to clean. But every time a task required some sort of focus, you just couldn’t do it. Your hands were too flimsy, trembling. An impending sense of doom had taken over your soul and you just couldn’t shake it off.

Joel Miller wasn’t well. So far, that was everything you knew. The whole exchange you had with him, how he became instantly defensive when you mentioned his fall… Any other person would have admitted what happened or at least downplayed if they were embarrassed. Not him, though. If your fingers had reached any closer to his neck, you were sure he would have bitten your hand off.

Perhaps he was just a grumpy old man. The type who would bark at every neighbour if they stepped on the grass or if something dropped from their back pockets, instantly accusing them of littering.

The type who would not let anyone help him, not even when he wasn’t okay. And that was what worried you the most. You had seen people falling to their demises just because they were too proud to admit they needed a hand. But his sin wasn’t pride, it was… something that was luring him into the dark. Something personal and painful. Something that was eating him alive.

A sudden noise startled you, jumping on the wooden bench, derailing your train of thought.

“Sorry!” A kid exclaimed happily, grabbing the football leaning against the leg of the bench.

You smiled at her, heart warm with memories of a life lived what seemed a century ago. A sparkle caught your eye—she was wearing a beautiful piece of jewellery around her neck, most probably a hand-me-down from a family member before the outbreak that changed everything.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay!” You replied before the girl giggled and ran away.

With a grin still curling your lips, your mind went back to the topic nagging at the back of your mind: Mister Joel Miller.

There and then, you decided you couldn’t just stand by with your arms crossed. And of course you were not about to knock on his door again, afraid he might actually kick your butt and throw you off his porch. Approaching Tommy was probably wiser, just to see if there was something you could do covertly, perhaps keeping an eye on Joel for him.

Standing up, you thanked the people around you on the table for the warm meal and waved them goodbye. A cacophony of “byes” followed suit—everyone was so nice here, it was like a blanket hugging your heart.

You stood just outside the main door, suddenly realising you didn’t know how to find Tommy. Thankfully, there was a woman smoking outside—Gail, as you found out when she introduced herself—who gave you directions to Tommy and Maria’s house when you explained to her where you wanted to go.

Wrapping yourself in your coat and securing your woolly scarf around your neck, you trudged forward through the thick blanket of fresh snow. A few minutes later you arrived at a cul-de-sac with just a handful of houses, not far from yours. Gail had said that the one you were looking for had a swing bench on the porch.

Scanning the area, you clicked your tongue when you saw it and ran towards the house—your toes were freezing in your winter boots, the cold nipping at the skin of your face. Determined with your mission, you walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

There was a rush of movement on the other side, some loud voices filtering through. Unable to make out what they were talking about, you just patiently waited for someone to open.

A minute later, Tommy appeared under the frame—a pronounced pinch on his brows, his mouth twisting angrily, as if you had inconveniently interrupted a heated argument.

Clearing your throat, you took a step back, realising this might not be the best time.

“Uh, hi, Tommy. Sorry, I didn’t mean to— I can come back lat—” you stumbled over your own words, feeling awkward and out of place.

“Hey,” Tommy greeted you by name. You were surprised he remembered, considering how many people he’d welcomed in. “Don’t worry. We were just having family dinner, you know how those go…”

You nodded with a weak smile—yes, you did. But it had been a long time since you sat around a table with your loved ones. A very long time, indeed.

“Who’s it?” A deep, husky voice inquired from the adjacent room.

You knew who it was before the booted steps betrayed his presence, your heart racing wildly in your chest as your mind tried to come up with some sort of excuse for your visit.

You gaped, a shaky sigh escaping your lips, when the source of your worries appeared behind Tommy. The reason you were here—to tell Tommy you thought Joel wasn’t okay, that he needed help. And you were doing it so behind Joel’s back.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he barked bitterly, nostrils flaring and a hand on his brother’s shoulder to push him out of his way. “Huh?!”

His unrequited rage took you aback. Stepping further back, you almost lost your footing with one of the steps but managed to grab onto the handrail before you fell backwards.

Why didn’t you think of this? That Joel might be here for dinner? What were you thinking?

You stared at Joel, then at a surprised Tommy, then back at Joel, all the while you just wanted to throw up your heart at their feet.

“I asked you a goddamn question,” Joel snapped, walking out onto the porch.

Your heart sank to your stomach. He was truly pissed off at you. Perhaps rightfully so—being sneaky like this was not a good start to any friendship.

“Whoa, whoa! Calm the fuck down, where are your fucking manners?!” Tommy quickly intervened, grabbing at his brother’s shoulder and pushing him back away from you. “What’s wrong with you today?!”

Your eardrums throbbed with the increased blood pressure, your heart pumping violently in your chest. You knew you had erred, but didn’t deserve such dreadful treatment—your intentions were pure, coming from a good place. You just wanted to help, make sure that Joel was surrounded by a loving support system.

As your mind raced and the two brothers confronted each other, Maria, Tommy’s partner, made an appearance. Her aura almost instantly put you at ease, her presence calming.

“Can the both of you keep quiet? You’re gonna wake Benji up,” she scolded them, stepping between the Millers before her eyes found yours. “What’s the matter?” she asked you with a smile, offering you a hand to walk inside with them.

You glanced at both Joel and Tommy, who were obviously locked in on each other, then back at Maria. Letting go of the handrail you were holding onto for dear life, you gestured with your hands.

“It’s nothing. Just a clogged pipe at home, nothing of importance. I can come back tomorrow so you can point me in the direction of someone who can help,” you stumbled over your own words. “I don’t want to interrupt, I’ll leave you guys be.”

“Nonsense,” Maria said, stepping aside to let you in. “Come on in, we were about to have dessert. We’ll send someone first thing tomorrow to help you out.”

“I’m going. M’not hungry,” Joel mumbled, jaw tight like a bow.

Was he leaving because he didn’t want to be in the same room as you? Did he despise you that much with so little interaction? You two had really started off on the wrong foot.

“Don’t be a child, Joel. I’ve got my hands full with Benji already. You’re having dessert too. Let’s go,” Maria reprimanded him, and you felt bad for forcing this situation onto him.

“I can go…”

“No, you’re staying. Everyone’s staying,” and with those final, indisputable words, Tommy, Joe and you followed Maria inside.

The house was warm, the smell inviting—cinnamon mixed with vanilla lingered in the air. The soft orangey shadow the lamps and ceiling lights casted was very comforting, pleasant to the eye. When you followed Maria’s lead into the dining room, you spied some toys scattered on an empty spot on the table. This wasn’t a house, it was a home. Lived in, cared for, full of life. Of hope too—Jackson was a permanent stronghold, a place where families could settle and blossom.

“Any allergies?” Maria asked you, tipping her head towards the empty chair besides Joel in invitation.

“No, none.”

You hesitated, Joel’s discomfort radiating off him, enveloping you. But considering there were no other empty chairs, you had no other option than to sit next to him.

Maria left the room, quickly followed by Tommy. You could hear them bickering in whispers because the silence between Joel and you was loud. Your hands nervously twisted on your lap, deciding whether to apologise or just put the matter to rest.

Before you could make up your mind, Maria and Tommy returned. The younger Miller was carrying a tray with some delicious cinnamon rolls, while Maria set down some porcelain mugs on the table.

“Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea, please.”

Her hospitality was touching, especially considering the state of the world outside Jackson’s palisade. You’d only encountered hatred and greed out there, a thirst for power so potent and pungent it would consume a human’s soul within seconds. Jackson and its people felt… different—neighbourly, kind, altruistic. The town seemed to run smoothly.

Maria and you did your best to fill the silence with chitchat once you’d relaxed a little. On the other hand, the brothers appeared to be in some sort of mean staring contest between themselves. Which, truth be told, made you feel a tad better—perhaps Joel wasn’t really mad at you but at Tommy, and you just happened to be in the crossfire.

“Yeah, of course I would like to help,” you said instantly when Maria mentioned that they were one person down on tomorrow’s afternoon patrol. “I’ve been out there for longer than I care to admit, I know my way around this area too.”

“Perfect. Joel’s patrol partner is in the infirmary with a fever. I was going to cancel it but if you don’t mind joining him, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

You almost choked on the last bite of cinnamon roll, which you had to force down by sipping on your tea. Being on patrol with Joel did not sound appealing at all—not because you would be uncomfortable, but because you knew he would.

“Listen—” Joel began to complain, but as soon as Maria shot a warning glance at him, he stopped right in his tracks. “Alright.”

“It’s settled then,” Maria concluded with finality, she wasn’t going to let Joel argue with her.

Fifteen minutes later, you were saying your goodbyes to the Millers and thanking them for having you. When the door closed behind you, you ventured a bashful look in Joel’s direction.

“We don’t need to walk together,” you gave him a way out of this uncomfortable situation.

“You want to walk the streets alone at night?” Joel questioned, raising a thick, silvery brow.

“Do I have something to worry about?”

“As idyllic as Jackson is, not every single one of us are saints.”

The veiled truth behind his words confirmed what you suspected—Joel didn’t see himself as one of the “good guys”, as worthy of the tranquillity this town offered. How much truth there was to that… you’d only have to unearth it yourself.

“Do… do I need to worry about being alone with you then?”

“What? No,” his reaction was instantaneous. His eyes had widened when his brain caught up with his own words. “Fuck, no. That’s not what I meant. I just— Well, you shouldn’t trust someone just because they are from Jackson.”

“It’s okay, Joel.” A little smile had softened your lips, his mortification somewhat endearing. “We can walk together. I trust you, I think.”

Joel hmphed but didn’t oppose. In silence you walked, but this time wasn’t as excruciating as you had feared. Perhaps he was a man of few words, and that was okay. You understood that when there was nothing of importance to say, it was better to remain silent.

Arriving at your street, your paths parted when it was time to hide in your respective homes. But before you disappeared through your door, you turned around.

Joel was standing in the middle of the road, watching you go up the steps of your porch—as if he was making sure you were getting home safely. When he found himself caught, Joel shoved his hands in the pockets of his furry coat and veered.

“Joel?” You waited for him to face you. “I’m sorry. I know how that looked like, but I wasn’t trying to… I just, you know—”

“It’s okay. I overreacted. Hope they can sort out the pipe for you tomorrow. Don’t be late for patrol,” and with that warning, he trudged forward through the snow and climbed up the steps of his porch.

You pouted—he’d misunderstood. You meant to apologise, “I wasn’t trying to go behind your back. I just worry unnecessarily, I’m sorry I overstepped your boundaries.” But he didn’t give you a chance.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed the door open and locked it behind your back. There had to be something in this house you could block a pipe with, so the plumber’s trip wouldn’t be in vain.

It gnawed at him—how you cheerfully tried to make some small talk while the only thing he could do was grunt and huff in response. Joel wasn’t trying to be rude on purpose, he just didn’t enjoy the proximity of humanity anymore. Not that he had been a big fan of socialisation in the past anyway, but since losing almost everyone he held dear, Joel didn’t see the appeal in connecting with someone else.

And after his confrontation with Tommy, the abyss separating him from the rest of the world just cracked further apart. Everything he touched, died—not everything, but everyone. As if Death was chasing after him, patiently waiting to claim him.

Death followed him everywhere, sniffing at the cuffs of his pants, but never deciding to give him the final clutch of its claws.

Joel was tired of this waiting game. Wanted it over, to be put to rest. Besides Sarah’s grave back in their Austin home. He’d even dared to put those thoughts into words a few days ago.

As soon as the ink had dried on the parchment, Joel had regretted it—asking such a thing from Tommy was cruel, evil. Selfish. But deep down, it was his dying wish; he truly believed that his bones wouldn’t find solace sitting alone six feet under, that Sarah’s presence would sooth the ache he’d left behind in this world.

He’d also written a note to Ellie. But that one… it wrecked his soul just remembering it—how the tears had blurred his vision, some falling onto the paper, smudging his calligraphy. All the things he wished to say when the silence between them would stretch, the unspoken, broken words that would hang in the void, pestering and rotting what little was left of their bond.

Did he hide them well?

“Do you like to read?” your question caught him off guard. “I saw you with a book when I met you yesterday.”

Joel looked at you askance, riding beside him. Blinking rapidly and watching his twelve, he’d hoped you hadn’t noticed the dampness in his eyes—the only visible tale of his agony.

“Mhm, sometimes,” Joel conceded, sharpening his senses to ensure the surroundings were safe.

“Anything you’ve read lately?” you insisted, your mare coming too close to his horse, rubbing necks together, neighing softly.

His stallion didn’t appreciate the caress, pulling from the reins and swaying away. The subtlety of the animals’ exchange didn’t go unnoticed by any of you, your expression wavering for a moment—were you so hurt too when he openly rejected your hand yesterday afternoon?

“Easy, Old Beardy,” Joel whispered, leaning forward to pat the horse’s neck. When the animal calmed down, he straightened his back and gave you a stern nod. “Yeah. Been reading One Hundred Years of Solitude. Dunno if you’ve heard of it.”

“Are you kidding?” your hearty laugh piqued his interest, a frown creasing his brows. “I love Gabrial García Márquez’s writing. My favourite book is Chronicle of a Death Foretold. Have you read it?”

“‘M afraid not,” was his succinct reply.

You were insistent, he’d give you that.

“Oh, I have a copy you can borrow. It’s been with me since, well, all of this happened,” you gestured around you. “While I was working in my family’s garden center, I was also getting my degree in literature. My thesis was going to be about Gabo’s writing, actually.”

“You didn’t finish?”

“The outbreak happened in my third year. Didn’t have a chance,” your excitement died off with your words, a pout painted on your lips.

“Sorry,” he apologised, even though he wasn’t sure why.

“It’s okay. I’ve made my peace with losing the life I had before that ominous day.”

You’d made your peace. What an alien thought—one Joel couldn’t grasp. It’d take a very strong, determined person to let go of the tethers of the past. Perhaps you were braver than him, at least on the outside.

Was he the only one who crumbled to his knees whenever the memories flooded back? Had age weakened him? Broken him past mending?

“Anyways, about the book you’ve been reading! There are so many beautiful passages in there. Any favourites so far?”

You were assuming he’d only read it once, but reality was, he’d lost count.

“Yeah, uhm…” Joel cleared his throat, the words coming back to him as if he’d been mentally reciting them for weeks. “He felt himself forgotten, not with the irremediable forgetfulness of the heart, but with a different kind of forgetfulness, which was more cruel and irrevocable and which he knew very well because it was the forgetfulness of death.”

He should have thought before that quote slipped. To anyone, it’d have been a quirky answer, a dark one at that. But you, it seemed, had picked up on the sadness of his heartfelt delivery—how it spoke more about himself than he’d ever admit—because the silence that followed was telling, consuming.

“It… it is a beautiful quote,” you whispered, and Joel felt the full weight of your eyes on him. “The forgetfulness of death is what we all are condemned to if we don’t nudge a dent on the people we leave behind when we pass. Is that…?”

Joel raised a hand, signalling to halt.

A faint sound that he’d grown too familiar to—a clicking, throaty call. Subtle, but enough to make his senses flare, the hair on the back of his neck stand. As far as Joel could tell, it might only be one, but the noise the clicker emitted could summon others.

Reeling your mount closer to his, you listened in silence. And when Joel’s eyes searched for yours, you gave him an understanding nod.

“We’re too close to Jackson,” you muttered.

“Yeah, gotta take care of it before it becomes a bigger problem,” Joel dismounted Old Beardy and you followed suit, tying both horses to a rail guarding the dilapidated building you both were circumventing. “Go right, sweep the area. Make sure there’re no others. I’ll go left.”

You didn’t question his decision—the alertness in your orbs bright enough to make him understand you’d encountered hundreds of clickers. Your body language had shifted too, your stance stiffer, your shoulders squared as you unsheathed a knife from your belt.

He did the same and turned around, hunting knife on hand.

The building was a wooden structure, possibly an old shed for the farmland besides it. The wood had rotten, blackened with the passage of time. The ceiling was half collapsed, an outbuilding with barn doors attached to the side.

The clicking became clearer as Joel sauntered towards the outbuilding, fingers clutching around the hilt. Crouching a little, his free hand caressed the O-shaped rusty handle and pulled, taking a step back to put some distance between himself and the threat.

A woman laid among the mouldy straw, wriggling in pain. She was in the first stages of the infection, at the point where one could still see their humanity. She had greying brown hair, wavy and long.

It wasn’t her suffering what froze him in place, but her eyes. In the darkness of the shed, they were green as a blooming meadow. The same eyes he’d woken up to for thirteen years—Tess’s. The similarities were striking, like a dagger of the past staring right at him.

Since Tess’s death, Joel had drowned the memories of her, locked them away in a godforsaken drawer of his mind and threw away the key. Because he’d never done good by her—never said what she really meant to him, how she kept his mind cool and his path straight. And in the decade they’d spent together, Joel never dared to say the three words that would have settled their relationship. Never told her how much he cared for her either—because he was a man of acts of service, wasn’t eloquent enough with the spoken word.

And then she died, sacrificing herself for the greater good, for him and Ellie to escape unscathed. Succumbed to clickers alone, with no one by her side. Without a chance to right the wrong he’d carried in his soul, his heart.

Had she known? Joel regretted never whispering an “I love you” when she’d fallen asleep in his embrace. Never opened up to her—his feelings too messed up, entangled with a fear of loss, with a caution he’d learnt after losing Sarah. Because he’d thought that if he ever said the words out loud, Joel would lose Tess. Because everyone he touched, died.

And that wasn’t the worst part, not telling her how much she meant to him. It was how Joel had stepped back away from her when she walked towards him after becoming infected, how he’d built a wall to guard his own sanity, without considering how Tess must have felt. How she’d whispered “oops, right?” to hide her own hurt at his rejection.

“I never asked you for anything. Not to feel the way I felt—”

How his breath had hitched after muttering a breathless negative. “No, you didn’t have to ask, Tess. I do feel the same way. You mean the world to me—we’ve been together for thirteen years. How could I not?”

But instead he’d been too stunted to speak, to voice his feelings, to crack the dam he’d been hiding behind for so many years.

“Joel, save who you can save,” and with that, he’d grabbed Ellie and got the fuck out. Didn’t even hesitate, didn’t mutter a goodbye, didn’t look back—his protective instinct taking over, needing to take Ellie to safety.

It still haunted him. Wrecked him even to only think about how he’d wronged her till the very end. He was a bastard, deserving of all the bad things that had happened so far. This was the universe’s retribution for all his wrongdoing.

The woman’s head snapped around in his direction, a deep clicking sound reverberating in her chest. Slowly she got up, dragging one of her feet along the straw, head tilting sideways in an unnatural, mechanical way.

And Joel simply froze. Was this poetic justice? How he was supposed to die? Perhaps it was—the end would most definitely be fitting. It was what he deserved. For being emotionally stunt, for being selfish, for being a coward, for being a murderer. For existing in this world and feeding into its malice. For being a part of the problem.

His shallow breath caught, a flood of memories drowning him—everyone he lost, appearing in front of his eyes like a grotesque newsreel. It felt like a heavy stone was crushing his chest, his lungs constrained within his ribs, his heart pounding fiercely while sweat gathered atop of his brows. Panic bubbling, clouding his mind to a point where Joel couldn’t think straight anymore.

The clicker approached, and this time, he didn’t step back away from her—from Tess. Joel dropped the knife, the woman snarling at him, his eyes shutting close.

The prospect of dying wasn’t daunting, but strangely soothing, his heartrate slowing down. Welcomed.

“Joel? Joel!”

A commotion took him back to the present—you had decked the clicker to the floor, the hilt of your knife gruesomely protruding out of her temple.

Joel blinked—not in relief, but gutted at the lost chance. The irreversibility of such a death would have been a balsam to the open wounds of his soul.

You got up to your feet and threw yourself at him, blissfully unaware of the situation. Or so he thought. You enveloped him in a crushing hug—your warmth seeping through the thick fabric of your coat, reaching his bones.

“Oh my God, Joel. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Has it bit you?” you stumbled over your own words, frantic with a rush of adrenaline.

Your hands patted his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his chest—your eyes wild with worry, searching for any sign of an infected wound. Inspecting him from head to toe, with a concern he’d not seen in someone’s eyes ever before.

Your eyes finally focused on his face and, for whatever reason, they darkened. Your eyebrows lifted into your forehead, the sadness washing over your features was a heartbreaking sight. As if you cared about him—a complete stranger who had only been rude to you, kept you at arm’s length.

“Joel,” you whispered, your ungloved hand raising up to his face.

This time, he didn’t retreat, still coming to terms with the fact that today he wouldn’t yield to the forgetfulness of death.

Your thumb brushed his cheek, a slow, sweet motion as your lips fell into a thin line, a sorrowful pout curling your mouth.

“Joel, why are you crying? What’s the matter?” you uttered, voice tinged with an anxiety he was feeling deep down in his aching bones.

Joel hadn’t realised the sheer magnitude of his emotions until then. Until your fingertips became wet from his unwanted tears. Then it hit him—not the sadness, but the anger.

“I ain’t crying,” he barked, taking a few steps back, the warmth of your hug turning cold. Running the inside of his elbow through his face, Joel turned away from you. “‘S nothing. I’m fine.”

You looked at him doe-eyed, but with a resolution he feared. You shortened the distance he had imposed, getting dangerously close to him, open hands reaching towards him.

“I said I’m fine!” he shouted at you, losing his composure. “What’s the fucking matter with all of you?! Why doesn’t it register in your fucking brains that I want to be left alone, huh? Is it so fucking difficult to comprehend? Are you fucking stupid or are you just pretending to be? God fucking dammit.”

He snarled like the animal he was—like a scared dog cornered, barking and showing teeth, because he dreaded the gentle hand that approached him.

Dreaded falling to his knees and breaking down in front of you, of anyone.

Dreaded opening the dams of his demons and not being able to herd them back inside.

Dreaded that once he spoke the words out loud, they would only be truer.

His heart was racing again, the vein in his neck bulging, blind with a misplaced rage you didn’t deserve. Deep down, he knew you didn’t. But his fear was louder than his reasoning.

Your whole expression folded, taking a step back away from him. Had Joel been the animal he thought himself to be, he would have smelt your fear. But he didn’t need to—the light behind your eyes dimmed, like a lighthouse running out of power in the middle of a stormy night.

You managed to hide your face from him, veering around without a word to head towards the horses.

Only then Joel realised he’d fucked up. He’d mistakenly taken his fury out on you. He wasn’t mad at you―damn, he wasn’t mad at anyone except himself. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Twice in a row.

“Hey,” Joel called out walking towards you, tone softer with remorse. You quickly glanced at him over your shoulder before your head snapped back to the horse. This time, your eyes transpired no emotion. “Look—”

“I got the message loud and clear, Joel,” you cut him off coldly, getting on your horse. “It’s getting dark. Let’s go back.”

You didn’t wait for him, trotting away before he could get on Old Beardy.

“Fuck,” he groaned under his breath, shaking the reins to catch up with you.

taglist: @wow-life-love4 @denisanoemi @wencontre @ccmoonshine @mystickittytaco @peelieblue @guelyury @marisemonteiroo @fangirlcentral1 @layaispunk @brittmb115 @mrsbilicablog @thedilfdiaries @eff4freddie @missadangel @moel-jiller @sunnytuliptime @queenofdisaster12 @lizzie-cakes @pedrofan @ladywraith @jessthebaker @readingiskeepingmegoing @aleariixx @anoverwhelmingdin @prose-before-hoes

[glamourscat]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. My Love Mine All Mine - Shidou Ryusei ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Content: illusion to a bad childhood and trauma but nothing explicit has been discussed, mention of reader wearing glasses synopsis: a "poetic" way of how Shidou realised he was in love with you and the implications of so love

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Cause my love is mine, all mine… I love mine, mine, mine.

It’s true that in this world, in this life, nothing is free. From what we consume to what we do—everything has a cost. Nothing is free, nothing is certain. And Shidou knows a thing or two about the latter. Growing up in a rough, violent environment where love was a conditional act, he knew from an early age that, yes, in fact; love is conditional. Some people choose to love you because you are pretty, others because you are useful to them, others even because they are selfish enough to open their hearts to the unknown aspects that life has to offer.

Still, it’s one’s capability and choice to love.

And Shidou had not been loved by his parents, not that he could say his parents loved each other to begin with. Their love was a transaction. It was not love when he was screamed at for colouring on the table as a kid and thus punished. It was not love when they forced him, unbeknownst to his young mind, to steal to survive life because of their poor income. It was not love when two selfish souls decided to bring and “raise” a child in extreme poverty, giving him a setback in life. It was not love. Every slap, every shout, every kick. It was not love.

Cause my love is mine, all mine… I love mine, mine, mine.

Love is not the possession of another. You might have birthed your child, but they do not belong to you. What belongs to you is the love you have for them; that’s all you have. The thing that most do not, or fail to, realize is that love is a deeply human experience. The profound realization that you, as an individual, have the ability to feel a certain way about someone is deeply intersected with the complexity of being human.

Shidou’s childhood was an endless expanse of longing and confusion. Every harsh word, every dismissive gesture carved deep wounds into his young heart, leaving him longing for affection, for understanding. The humane instinct to be free and simultaneously to be freed. In the silence of his room, when night came and he was left to his device at times with shedding tears, he would often wonder what it meant to be loved, to be cherished. But such thoughts were fleeting, quickly swallowed by the harsh reality that surrounded him.

And then, you appeared. Such a contradictory thing. Gentle as the caress of the wind on a summer night and yet loud and firm as thunder during the coldest winters. At first, he didn’t understand you. You were kind, sincere and in a way like him. Honest in your thoughts and words, barely sugar-coating them and yet he couldn't say you were violent. Still, his heart, conditioned to mistrust, shut off at the unfamiliar warmth you brought.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

One evening, you had followed him on the rooftop of the team's base; not that you would admit that. The untouched camera remained in your hands, as you two sat together on the rooftop, he looked at you. “Why do you stick around?” he asked, his voice rough, almost challenging.

You smiled, but it was not a mocking smile. It was challenging, the good kind. As if to say 'dare try to tell me I am wrong.' "Not that I need an excuse to, but simply because I want to." you shrug as you lay on the rooftop staring the mix of colours in the sky "I think you're worth staying for."

He scoffed, but there was a crack in his bravado. “You must be blind, then.”

“Perhaps. I do wear glasses after all" you say with a hint of a foolish smile.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

He began to understand love in the simple act of being seen, being heard. That freedom he long waited for, that need of explosion to be seen, had arrived. He does not know exactly how and when it did. He just knows that he started to recognized love in the comfort of your presence. How you stood by him, unwavering, even when his past threatened to pull him back into the abyss. You challenged him, yes, but with a gentleness that was foreign yet profoundly healing. You put him in his place when needed to, but you always did it in such a way that made him want to become a better person by the end of it.

He saw love in your dreams, your passions, and the way you lit up when speaking about them. It mirrored the fire he felt for football, a testament to the unspoken bond between two souls who dared to dream despite the odds.

Cause my love is mine, all mine… I love mine, mine, mine.

And now, Shidou, understands that love is not something to be given or taken, but something to be felt, deeply and unapologetically, within oneself. And no one can take his love away from him. Even during the hardest days, he knows that he has a choice and that choice is to love you.

© GLAMOURSCAT(all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[astra-ravana]

How To Amplify Your Magick

✵Accept That You Do Not Know: It's okay to not have all the answers. You don't have to be certain all of the time. Magick is the realm of the unknown. If it was ultimately knowable, then science would have already measured and verified it. On the other hand, things that would have once been considered magick are now common technology. So, there is a spectrum from useless knowledge to solid fact. It's up to you to decide which is which and keep a sharp, critical mind.

✵Think For Yourself: Anything that someone else has figured out , you can figure out too. The human mind's potential is illimitable. But we are continually duped into believing that we can't do it, that someone else should do it for us. Unless you're ready to think for yourself, you'll end up as a fake, or worse, someone else's pawn.

✵Keep An Open Mind: You have to be open to new ideas. An open mind is half closed, so they say. A door that is half closed is still open, and it's much the same with the mind. Don't accept as truth anything you hear, only accept the possibility that it may be. You'll have to rigorously seek out truth for yourself with a critical mind. The emphasis on truth is essential. Illusion is based on deceit, real magick on truth.

✵Reduce Your Assumptions: An assumption is basically just a guess. We make a lot of guesses in life from if gods exist to whether the floor will be there when we get out of bed in the morning. Guessing is a psychological reflex and its unlikely that we can ever fullybe free from it. The more you can manke conscious your unconscious assumptions, the more you will notice strange and magickal things about yourself, others, and the Universe.

✵Judge Not: Judgment of others clouds your awareness. Like assumption, it's a reflex. Try reserving judgment when you can. Allow yourself the patience the gather more knowledge and insight into matters. If someone seems like an idiot, ask them genuine questions. Get experience with why others think and act the way they do. Whenever you avoid judging others, you can gain wisdom.

✵Shed Expectations: Another habitual block to your magickal potential is your expectations. Our imagination is always in use, whether consciously or unconsciously. Things are going to be as they are, whether you like it or not. The thing about expectation is that people see not what they want to see, but instead what they expect to see. Projecting our image of things on the present moment or into the future is an unnecessary expenditure of energy that can be freed for authentic magickal experience.

✵Stop Labeling Everything: What is our obsession with classifying things? As soon as we have a word or a name for something, we believe that we understand what that thing is. We can't help this, it's just how our minds work. Try to notice when you are doing this. Naming can be a very powerful magickal act, but only if it's conscious. Habitual labeling will actually end up as an obstacle to true understanding.

✵Surrender To What Is: This is about allowing the present moment to just be. We tend to believe that the present is similar to the future, in that we can change it. But the present is more like the past, in that once it's here, it's here, real and unalterable. If you don't accept that, accept that you can't accept it. Look at what is around you and see that is is how it is.

✵Cultivate Courage: Courage is essential in many traditions, and the Universe rewards courage with 'Hamingja', a form of luck or charisma. It goes by many names in many traditions, but the basis is simply that courageous acts are rewarded by the Universe. Start small and work your way up. You may not br able to start with your ultimate fears, but tackle what you can and you will get there in time. The more courage you possess, the greater your magickal ability.

✵Trust The Universe: If you only have faith in one thing, have faith in this... Ultimately this Universe is here for you to learn what you must learn, to face what you must face, and to allow you to find enlightenment. It's not out to get you, quite the opposite. Enthusiasm and playfulness are two of the strongest mindsets with which we can engage in our exploration of magick. Go with thr flow!

✵Meditate: Meditation can be very simple. Sit up straight, focus on your breathing, and the feeling of your life force. Connect with yourself. It will help you master your mind and achieve grounded clarity.

✵Put It Into Action: You can read all the books, attand all the lectures, join all the groups, and talk on and on about magick, but in the end, nothing will happen unless you find some practical means to put it into action. Don't just think, do. Manifest your desires by practicing and experimenting. Learn through trial and error and it will be more valuable and powerful than anything anyone can tell you.

[midnightquips]

Chaos

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are involved in a friends with benefits situation. But when feelings start to creep in, you’re not quite sure if this situation is the best for you anymore.

Themes: Mutual Pining, Damaged lead TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of Suicide,Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of Sex,Slight Smut, Friends With Benefits, Sexual Content, LanguageSmut Author Note: This is one of my works from AO3 from 6 years ago. I've always loved this and have only posted it as a one shot. I've had the other chapters in the drafts but have never proceeded to post them. Sharing it here maybe to pick up inspiration on it again to continue it and maybe flesh it out.

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Chaos

"Happy Birthday, Y/N."

You look at the small box Bucky handed to you, unsure of how you would react. Your other hand tightens the grip on the blanket wrapped across your chest as he looks at you pensively. This was not normal post-coital procedure for you and Bucky.

Although you have been sleeping together the past few months, you had made sure to keep things casual. Bucky never shared too much about his past, and you thought this was preferable because it didn’t require you to do so as well.

Gifts were definitely a no-no. Sentiments were dangerous. Suddenly, you were worried. Was it only you who had been keeping the illusion of casual?

"How did you know?" your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"You mentioned it last time when you were drunk."

You blush at the memory from two weeks ago when you had accidentally called him after drinking too much at the local bar.

"You didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

You stare at the box again. You hadn't received a gift in years and had already forgotten what it felt like to be given one. Being an orphan since you were 17 and living alone half your life meant that there was no more reason for you to celebrate birthdays. You usually worked on that day anyway, rarely falling on a weekend like today.

"I'm happy you called me today. Might be for a totally different reason... but I’m here." He gives you a soft smile.

You almost felt shitty. Tonight, your only goal was a good distraction from what sometimes lingered on this day. Usually, getting shit-faced drunk was your solution, but since Bucky had come around, you were more than happy to use him to occupy your mind.

"I haven’t gotten a gift in years," you reply softly.

He gives you a confused look. "Weren’t you married? Your husband never gave you a gift?"

You fidget with the ribbon on the box. It was a pretty box, and you almost laughed at the image of Bucky trying to wrap it himself.

"It... it wasn’t a love marriage. It was a relief when he left me."

He takes your hand in his. It felt... intimate. More than when he fucked you. Yet, you didn’t pull away and let his hand linger on yours.

He already knew you had a shitty marriage. You didn’t have to say it—the way you refused to ever talk about it was already an indication. It’s also why he never asked. He wanted to know, of course, but he understood about not pushing. He had numerous experiences he didn’t want to talk about either.

"I’m sorry for asking," he whispers.

"No, it’s okay." It really was.

"Open it," he urges with a soft smile.

You do as you're told, and inside you find a silver necklace with a snowflake pendant.

"It’s beautiful, Bucky."

"It’s just... snow reminds me of you," he explains, as if it was needed.

You understood. Snow reminded you of him too. How he ended up in your small café during a particularly snowy day and continued to come back every day after.

How you had slipped in the back alley on black ice, and thankfully the snow had caught your fall, or else the accident would have been much worse. He was there to carry you inside the café and help you with your broken ankle, snow everywhere on his jacket.

How he first fucked you by the windowsill of your apartment after he rushed to you during a blizzard, worried because the café had been closed for days while you were wallowing/celebrating after your divorce finally went through. You hadn’t really been thinking straight, and you jumped at him the moment you saw him on your doorstep.

God, you didn’t even realize how much Bucky was there for you and felt incredibly ashamed of how you treated him. A body to keep your bed warm.

Of course, you also considered him a friend. Perhaps the only one, and you were afraid of how it had happened unconsciously. You didn’t like getting attached to people, and the more you thought about it, maybe... Bucky was really more than just a friend to you.

Nervousness started to take over Bucky as your silence continued.

"Y/N?"

"I think... we should stop sleeping together." You look away from him.

His face fell. "I’m... I’m sorry. I can take the gift back. I didn’t mean—"

You turn to him to interrupt. "It’s not the gift, Bucky. The gift is wonderful. You are wonderful. But... I just don’t think what we have is something that I want anymore."

You didn’t want him, he thought. Of course, who could? The self-pity party had started inside him, berating himself on how he was a broken shell of a man. How he had nightmares that could drive a regular man insane. A history one man cannot burden. Now, even a job that no woman could bear to stand in the long run.

You deserved something better. He understood.

You observe his reaction, trying to figure out what was going through his head.

Attachments have never brought any good to your life. Everyone you let in hurt you. Everyone you loved left.

His expression was empty. Then and there, you discovered why Bucky was the one attachment you should never have. You cannot read him, and that was a fact you cannot ignore.

"I understand," he says calmly as he turns around slowly, sitting at the edge of the bed.

You see his shoulders slump as his back faces you before he moves to get up. You had a feeling he misunderstood what you meant, but you didn’t think there would be a point to rectify it. He was better off away from you anyway.

Bucky deserves someone better. Someone that could love him the way he should be loved. Someone warm, kind, and nurturing. He needed someone that could help him heal. He did not need another damaged person like you. He has had a hard life as it is.

You decide to get dressed as well, the awkwardness starting to perpetuate between you. The silence is deafening.

Bucky turns to you after he is fully dressed. He looked so handsome in his grey Henley and jeans, you thought.

You proceed to put on a loose shirt that fell high on your thigh, your hair disheveled and lips plump from your recent lovemaking. His hands itched to drag you back into his arms again, wrap your legs around his waist, and just bury himself deep within you once more. Keep you under him all night.

You were so beautiful to him, and he felt a sharp pain in his chest knowing he could never bask in your presence again.

"I..." he starts.

'I love you,' his mind screams, but the words are stuck in his throat.

"...care about you," he instead says.

A lump in your throat is forming. Oh God, why was this suddenly becoming so hard? Your throat feels tight, and for a moment, you almost believed your breathing would just stop.

"I care about you too," you admit.

You didn’t understand yourself why you said this, but it was too late now. It was a touch move.

This was the only thing Bucky needed to hear before he strides up to you in three steps, hands gently grabbing you by the neck as he presses his forehead against yours.

"Don’t push me away. Please," he begs.

Bucky was not above it. He had begged so many times in his life. FOR his life. As the Winter Soldier. As himself. It had never been effective with Hydra, but he would not hesitate to beg you over and over because you were as important as his life.

You bite your lip. Tears were rising up within you, a sob rising from your throat, so you close your eyes as a last defensive measure. "I can’t. You have to go."

Bucky trembles at your voice. A weak command, but a command all the same.

You push at his chest, shaking yourself away from his hold. He has to leave while you are still holding on by a thread. He has to before the dam within you breaks. No one has seen you weak for years, and this would not be the day.

"Go, Bucky. Leave," you say one more time, a bit firmer.

Swallowing hard, you look at him, and somehow deep inside you, there is this small part that hopes he’ll continue fighting for you, continue fighting for whatever this was.

When he finally nods at you, it takes all your will not to stop him. Not to tell him you made a mistake and that you’re only scared. You keep your mouth pressed in a tight line, afraid of the words that might spill, of the sob that might slip.

You watch him take his jacket and head out of the bedroom. Unable to control your feet, you find yourself rushing and standing in the living room to see him continue walking away.

'Don’t look back. Don’t look back,' you think.

He pauses as his hand reaches the doorknob and, because he was Bucky, of course he looks back at you one last time.

"You were my safe place. With you, I felt like me again. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the same for you."

At this, your walls crumble, but by the time the tears fall, Bucky had already closed the door behind him.

[brittle-doughie]

*Y/N cookie was kidnapped by a beasts for wedding, all five awoken heroes is on their mission to save them and fight the other beasts to kick their asses for wanting to do what they wanted to to save the world from the awful threat and get back the peace*

Pure Vanilla: We need to hurry, my friends! Who knows what beasts would do with Y/N cookie if we too late!

Golden Cheese: Argh, those rotten thieves! How dare they steal my treasure and think they can get away with this!? I swear that they would shower in my golden radiance and spears once we get there!

White Lily, eyes darkened: Yeah... But even if we would be done, would it be enough? We could do a lot of things to them... They are immortal, so, we could drown them, using vines to strangle, beat them up, take away their soul jams and force them to experience humiliation as they slowly succumb to feeling of weakness and-

Dark Cacao: Focus! We have no second to waste!

Hollyberry: He is right, friends! What is most important right now is Y/N Cookie's safety! What we do afterwards-

*As ancients keep on running, Y/N cookie completely unharmed, was eeating candy-dog and walking peacefully notices ancients and greets them*

Y/N cookie, waving: Hi, guys!

Hollyberry, unaware: Hello, Y/N cookie! *keeps on going* -is what we decide later and-

*Ancients quickly come to realization and instantly stop, they turn around and see Y/N cookie, completely okay. It's wasn't illusion, as they would've guessed immediately*

Pure Vanilla runs to them to check for injuries: Y/N cookie! You are okay! Are you hurt? They didn't anything to you!?

Y/N Cookie: No, I am fine, really! They actually took a good care of me.

Golden Cheese: But how in the world you escaped? There is no way they would just simply let you go so easily.

Y/N cookie: Well... It's a funny story actually. When I was in the hall with all of them, they were discussing wedding preparations, but I think they didn't agree which one is are going to become my groom or bride, so, they start to fight with each other which one is going to take over the wedding. They were so distracted, that they didn't notice me going away.

Dark Cacao: But beasts have followers, how are THEY let you go without noticing?

Y/N cookie chuckles: They are actually isn't so different from their masters, it all started with Cloud Haetae Cookie who said that Mystic Flour Cookie is going to be most beautiful bride worthy to a cookie like me, then Candy Apple Cookie didn't seem to like it, as she announced that only Shadow Milk Cookie is going to be main star of the show as usual. Then it grew into a big fight who is going to marry me, Nutmeg Tiger Cookie was distant at first... Until she said that it's obvious that Burning Spice Cookie is going to take over wedding, these two didn't seem to like it as they start to yell at her, and then... Well, you get the idea, Nutmeg Tiger Cookie joined in, others joined in and then here I am, I even got lucky enough to bug candy-dog around here!

*Ancients fell silent, they weren't sure what to do, they were going on mission with hard determination to save Y/N cookie, they made such a long way, should they just go home or keep on going just to beat up beasts out of spite?*

Y/N cookie: So, where you going? On the mission or you are already done? If so, we can go to the Cookie Kingdom and you can take a rest!

*At that moment, Ancients decided scratch that, they can do it later, Y/N cookie is here and it's all that matters*

Pure Vanilla, smiling: Let's go home!

White Lily, also smiling: Yeah!

The Good Ending.