#SOPPY!!!!!!!!!! LOSER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[saturdays--sun]

inigo really heard me say i'm into soppy and pathetic pretty playboys and went, "ah, finally. my time to shine."

[just-a-rascalnikov]

octavian was such an interesting character, we need to talk more about this wet soppy loser

[tolucacake]

[anunfortunatekinlist]

To write you heart.

There are notebooks full, full of notes doodles recipes, poems; illustrations of love, ink soaked pages full of admiration. Small ink platter where Remus had pressed too hard on the quill, small in smudges where he’d dragged the sleeve of his robe over a particularly detailed sketch of Sirius in his casual clothes, a small section in the back of the book, full of pressed daisies from the daisy chain Sirius and James had made in the spring.

The notebook was soaked to the brim with Remus’s admiration, love and unrequited devotion to Sirius, a part of his heat that he allowed to be shown through intricate strokes of his quill, the script of his heart melted into the page.

And it was missing, it was not in his book bag? where he always kept it, he couldn’t find it anywhere. His heart was beating out of his chest, it was dangerous in anyone else’s hands, all his devotion was spilled into the pages and it threatened to ooze into the gossip-filled halls of Hogwarts.

He retraced his steps, carefully looking over the library and the Great Hall, seeing if he could see it on a table, or in someone’s hands.

He searched for what felt like eons for the secret part of his heart, until he finally decided to retire to bed, hoping to find the notebook tomorrow in one of his classes.

As he opens the door to the dorm, to only see Sirius, and the notebook.

[cloudbends]

Also I can't believe I'm saying this about a persona 5 spinoff but p5t is actually... Surprisingly good? The character dynamics within the phantom thieves are much more fleshed out (which is something I always took issue with in the original game), the character screentime is a lot more balanced and mostly no flanderisation (aka yusuke gets to Do Things for once, makoto gets to Not Do Everything thank god, morgana is the most likeable he's ever been to me), the new characters are incredibly fun and executed very well especially for spinoff-only characters, the plot concepts are interesting, the sprites are very fun and expressive, like. idk I just didn't expect it to make up for some of my issues with the main game tbh!! a pleasant surprise for sure

[thrashkink-coven]

Let yourself be cringe in your worship!!!

The Gods don’t find you embarrassing. The Gods don’t care about seeming cool and professional for the approval of others.

Make that fucking aesthetic photo collage for Aphrodite with cute pics you found on Pinterest .

Dress up like Hermes and go for a damn walk.

Collect random stones you think are cool and put them on your altar.

Put that photo of that cartoon character that reminds you of your deity on your altar.

Make that Minecraft temple to Hekate, domesticate those damn Minecraft wolves for Cerberus.

Make your deities in the sims!

Write soppy melodramatic poetry for Dionysus that no one else will read.

Make self insert fanfics about your favourite Gods and write them all as your best friends. Let them interact with your edgy ocs.

Create an AU where you and your Gods are all characters from your favourite anime.

Record silly little songs for them

Make them paintings that are full of clashing colors and weird forms.

Draw them a fursona

Wear that bright yellow outfit for Apollon.

Put on a dramatic makeup look for Aphrodite.

Call your closest deity that silly little nickname you have for them and let them call you one too.

Share your special interests with your Gods. Design your God as a pokémon or a crystal gem, or a sonic character.

Those losers that try to make you feel bad for being passionate will never have what you have.

In the words of the Great Lord Hermes: “Every human I have ever liked was at least a little bit cringe”

BE CRINGE. BE PROUD. THE GODS LOVE YOU.

[kogglyuffs]

soppy ahh fucking loser writting in his loser diary

[povlnfour]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ PADDOCK TO PADDOCK (LN) PART 5

series masterlist | prev part | next part

lando norris x fem!horse rider!reader

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris, lilymhe and 192,306 others

yourusername 🇬🇧⏭️🇸🇬

👤 tagged landonorris

view all 10,093 comments

user3 bestie is travelling the world a lot with him huh

user5 and they still deny they’re dating

landonorris 🧡

liked by yourusername

texts with lily ੈ✩‧₊˚

lando.jpg just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by danielricciardo and 90,361 others

lando.jpg exploring singapore

view all 3,498 comments

user4 WHAT THE FUCK MISS Y/N. THAT IS ILLEGAL

user5 so glad i’m not the only one freaking out over that secOND PHOTO

user7 SHE. SHES. MY GOD.

user9 does she not have the olympics or something to train for🙄

daniel.jpg is this why you’ve been hiding from me

yourusername ur not the favourite anymore

mclaren posted stories ੈ✩‧₊˚

mclaren just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by scuderiaferrari, your username and 120,417 others

mclaren P2 IN SINGAPORE AND CARLANDO PODIUM?! WHAT A RACE!

👤 tagged landonorris, carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari

view all 10,506 comments

user5 CARLANDOOOO😭😭😭😭

user2 TEARS IN MY EYES

user7 FOREVER OUR MCLAREN BOYS (oscar we love u as well)

yourusername someone raced well huh

mclaren we heard it had something to do with a certain incentive👀

user6 whAT IS GOING ON

twitter reacts ੈ✩‧₊˚

landonorris just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 250,710 others

landonorris an insane weekend. and this time i took away two trophies🧡

👤tagged carlossainz55, yourusername

view all 54,200 comments

user3 huh

user7 i am. is this confirmation? i don’t understand

yourusername baby u are so cute but the caption makes me seem like a trophy wife😭

user5 SO THEY. THEY ARE ?????

user8 CARLANDO PODIUM AND Y/NANDO DATING??? WHAT IS HAPPENING TODAY

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by landonorris, lilymhe and 234,109 others

yourusername told him if he got podium i’d be his girlfriend. guess i’m a pretty proud girlfriend right about now🧡

👤 tagged landonorris

view all 37,008 comments

user5 OH MY GOD THAT WAS THE INCENTIVE

user1 ITS HAPPENING EVERYONE STAY CALM

lilymhe ‘i don’t have time for a relationship’ - you in my messages a month ago

yourusername LEAVE ME ALONE SHDJJSJS

landonorris 🫣

user13 going to cry there’s a new mom and dad on the grid!

alex_albon so i’ve been forgotten

oscarpiastri @/landonorris you can stop pining in my dms now

landonorris PLEASE SHUT UP

yourusername IM OMW TO UR HOTEL ROOM SHOW ME RN.

landonorris made me wait long enough but you’re worth a thousand years of waiting

user7 oh he’s WHIPPED

lando.jpg just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by yourusername, flo_norris_showjumping and 108,333 others

lando.jpg you’ve been my favourite view for a while, but i’m glad i get to share it now. let’s go get you a medal baby🧡

view all 10,926 comments

user9 🙄

user3 HOPE UR CRYING RN

user6 LOLLLLL

user2 y’all are so sickeningly sweet and i love it

flo_norris_showjumping glad you got your shit together bro🩷

user7 MY FAVES ANDBWHXJSJSJ

user1 crying. sobbing. shaking. tears are flowing

yourusername 🩷 i adore you so bad

daniel.jpg you’re still a loser but i’m happy for you

taglist: @idkiwantchocolatee @vellicora @alessioayla @bborra @crimeshowjunkie @minkyungseokie @paolexsstuff @celestialpato @champagnelovers101

a/n: i know it seems like the end but it’s NOT i have a little more planned so hold on <<33 just some soppy relationship stuff really

taglist found here

- giselle xx

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

potato is love, potato is life- local hell woman gives potato to her angelic future wife

Charlie: “I don’t think I should be allowed to interact with women ever again.”

Husk: “Is this about Vaggie giggling over a fucking potato earlier-”

Charlie: “OH IT’S ABOUT THE POTATO ALL RIGHT! WHY THE FUCK DOES THE PHRASE ‘apple of my eye’ EVEN EXIST IN THE SAME UNIVERSE WHERE ‘earth apple’ IS ANOTHER WORD FOR POTATO??? WHY DO PEOPLE CALL THE STUPID SPROUTY THINGS ON POTATOES ‘eyes’????? CREATION IS STUPID! IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE!!”

Husk: “Did you fucking give her the potato.”

Charlie: (slumping) “I was trying to be romantic-!”

Husk: “Did you call HER your potato.”

Charlie: “THE POTATO OF MY HEART! The tuber of my root sprout!”

Husk: “Oh fuck. Shit, that’s. That’s terrible. You really shouldn’t fucking talk to women anymore.”

Charlie: (sobbing) “I WAS TRYING!!! TO BE SWEET!!!!!”

Angel Dust: “-hey gays m’kay, real fucked up question for ya both but- anyone know why Vag G-string is makin’ soppy doe eyes at an uncooked tater tot?”

Husk: “It’s because she’s almost as much of fucking fail loser as her girlfriend, is why.”

Charlie: (sniffs) “She. You think she likes it…?”

Angel Dust: “Charlie chip, she’s starin’ at the damn thing like it’s her first born child.”

Charlie: “Oh…”

Charlie: “…”

Charlie: “Unholy shit…. I am so GOOD with women-”

Husk: “No. No you’re fucking not. It’s just her.”

Charlie: “Well she’s the only one who counts so that’s perfect!”

Angel Dust: “Oh please don’ tell me you gave her the potato-”

Charlie: “BE RIGHT BACK IM GONNA GO GET HER ANOTHER ONE!!!”

Husk: “NO-!”

[resident-gay-bitch]

🦇 Stranger Saturdays 🦇

Will x Mike (Byler) cute getting together (3k words)

“Hey, what are you drawing?” Mike asked, almost falling out of the chair he was swinging on to get a good look at the page Will was entirely focused on. 

“None of your business, nosey.” Will scoffed, turning his page even further from Mike's view. But he glanced up, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with a soft look on his face, considering Mike for just a moment before turning back to his drawing. 

Mike felt himself blush at the fleeting attention. Mike always feels a little flustered with Will's attention, and it was only recently that he became aware as to why. 

It took El dumping him, which was not the best feeling. Getting dumped, whether one actually has feelings for their girlfriend or not, will always be a punch to the gut… and the ego. 

It was when Mike was complaining to Lucas about it later that things started clicking into place. 

You don’t love me, She said, You spend more time looking at your best friend than you do at me. 

Why don’t you call me as much as you call Will? 

When we were both hurt, you went to Will first! 

It took Lucas actually slapping him around the head to get it. To get why. 

And it’s infuriating; knowing that you’re in love with your best friend, that is. Mike was very happy being completely ignorant to the fact, thank you very much. At least then he could be a little bit soppy without feeling like he’s gonna be crowned town pariah. 

Besides, it’s agonising, wondering if his feelings could possibly be reciprocated. But he doubts the fact. The chances of Will being queer in this small town too are already slim, and the chance of him loving Mike, out of everyone else? Well, that's even slimmer. 

Lucas is a far better option. 

Hell, even Dustin! 

Even Steve, and that’s really saying something, because Steve is annoying as all hell and a total loser. 

But sometimes… sometimes it feels like… Sometimes Mike gets his hopes up, and it’s like a little spark in his chest that's fighting to not blow out. He never wants that spark to die. 

He blows a raspberry at Will and brings his chair back down to four feet, playing off his stumble very cool-ly so the teacher doesn’t take his chair away from him again. He gets told about some made up kid that swung on his chair, cracked his head open and died, at least once a week these days. 

“You don’t have to see everything I draw.” Will comments after a while, sensing Mike's blatant disappointment with the fact. 

He loves how easily Will can read him. 

Though, he’s sure his dramatic sighs and groans are obvious enough for anyone to read at this current moment. But in a more general sense, even when Mike is adamant on keeping his emotions on lock. Wills just… he’s got this way about him; an internal compass that points directly at Mike's moody feelings and gives him step by step instructions on how to cheer him up. 

“But I like everything you draw.” Mike sighs, leans a hand on his chin as he melts onto the desk, neglecting his work completely. 

“Well, you can like everything else. This is just for me.” Will says, attention completely on the page again and Mike has never been jealous of paper, but suddenly, he is. 

“I can never see it?” Mike pouts, “Not even when it’s done?”

“Nope.” Will shakes his head, keeps sketching. 

“Why not?” Mike asks, nosey, nosey, always nosey when it comes to Will Byers. 

“Because…” Will sighs, stops for a moment to glance up at Mike before his attention is gone again, “It’s embarrassing. It’s… it’s stupid, okay, it’s just for my own practice and enjoyment. It’s not even good.” 

“I’m sure it’s great–”

“Whatever.” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, “I’m too embarrassed to show you, so leave it alone. Maybe when were thirty.”

“You better keep it ‘till we’re thirty then.” Mike huffed, laying his upper body flat on the desk now in a dramatic display of boredom, “Can���t believe you won’t show me. I thought we were best friends, I saw your butt once, nothings embarrassing–”

“You didn’t mean to see my butt!” Will laughed, “Stop using that as an argument for everything.” 

“Sorry.” Mike groaned, poking his tongue out, “I just want to see your art.”

“I’ll draw something else to show you later.” 

Mike blew another raspberry, and Will completely ignored him. This feels similar to torture, for Mike. He’s not sure what to do with himself, when Will ignores him. No matter how many fart noises he makes, how many bad jokes he cracks, no matter how much he wails and wiggles around, Will just ignores him. Barely even laughs!

And Mike feels utterly betrayed by this, and maybe a little heartbroken. He lives for Will's attention, and more importantly his happiness, and most importantly his affection. And in this current moment, Will is refusing Mike all of those pleasures. 

And he’s too embarrassed to show Mike his drawing. Which is insane, because it’s probably something cool like a freaky weird dragon, or The Party going to battle or something. 

Or maybe it’s something creepy and haunted. Will does that sometimes, draws his nightmares, the pictures getting more and more graphic as he ages. And he tends to not show Mike those, so Mike doesn’t have to worry about them. But Mike always finds out, and he worries anyway, because he just wants the best for Will. Wants to make everything better, or as good as he can. 

He only hopes to bring Will half as much comfort as Will brings him. 

“William.” The teacher calls, peering down her glasses and waving him over with a finger, “I have a question about your essay.”

Will glances over at Mike and pulls a sour face before hopping up. Mike gives him a sympathetic smile, hopes Will doesn’t get detention or anything. Though, it would be funny since he’s the only one out of the Party who hasn’t gotten a detention yet. Somehow. 

Mike watches them, as Will pulls up a chair with a little annoyance. And Mike feels that annoyance even more, because that means Will is going to be up there, and away from Mike for a while. And Mike already misses him. 

Boredom gets even worse, and Mikes got this bad feeling stirring in his gut. He’s desperate to know what Will's drawing. What he’s so embarrassed about. And he knows it’s bad, knows it’s a boundary to peek, but Will has never kept a drawing from Mike before. Not really. 

Sure he’s chosen not to show things to Mike, but if asked, he’ll share. He’s never denied Mike the ability to awe over his best friend's work. 

So, when he’s not looking, Mike leans over in his chair until there's only one leg of it on the ground. 

He’s wobbling, one hand on the corner of Wills desk to attempt to help support him, his tongue strategically poked out of his mouth, and he’s glancing over at them every couple of seconds to make sure he’s not going to get caught. 

And with his middle finger, he’s able to carefully lift the corner of the closed page to catch a tiny peak. 

But he can’t quite make it out, so he dares a glance to the front, and lifts the closed page higher. 

He furrows his brow, because he’s sure he’s seeing things– Or, he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing at all. 

He stretches his arm as far as he can to open the page almost ninety-degrees, and staring up at him, coloured fully in vibrant pencil, is a portrait. 

A portrait of Mike. 

And it’s… wow, it’s amazing. 

Mike has never thought he was all that good looking, but this drawing really does him a good justice. And his hair looks fucking great. 

The portraits got every one of his freckles, his dimples, the smiling wrinkles of his eyes. Behind him is golden and warm, cast in beams of light that set him centre stage, making him look almost godly. Makes it seem like he’s actually something worth looking at. 

And when his eyes fix on the little hearts floating around his head, and the scribble of “Mr. Will Wheeler” down the bottom, Mike falls out of his chair. 

He splats down on the ground with a clatter, his chair somehow bouncing off the ground and landing on his back, ow. 

“Mike Wheeler! How many times have I told you not to swing in your chair?” The teacher bellows for probably the millionth time. 

Mike just groans in response, this is humiliating. He’s never fallen out of his chair before. And to do so in front of his whole class? Humiliating. 

He can hear Max somewhere in the classroom laughing her ass off. Total trator. 

“Detention. Now!” 

Mike rolled his eyes and got himself to his feet, collected his things and headed towards the front of the class. Not without a sparse glance at the sketchbook again, now closed, thankfully. But Mike knows what’s nestled within. 

As he walks to the teacher, to collect his detention slip, Will shakes his head laughing. He seems relaxed, which means he didn’t see Mike peaking, which is good for now, since they can’t talk about it. 

Shit. 

They have to talk about it. 

In haste, Mike collects his detention slip and races out of the room. He obviously doesn’t go to detention, instead he ditches school and skates around town because he’s freaking out and this is the only way he can think to pass the time and calm down. His moms probably gonna kill him, but whatever.  

Mr. Will Wheeler. 

Mike's heart is in his throat and his hands are trembling and he’s sweating and riddled with nerves. He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. 

Mr. Will Wheeler. 

This is… everything. 

He’s spent so long skating around and rambling in his own head about what to do, he didn’t realise school had gotten out. He only realised when the sun began to tint the sky orange and warm, casting Hawkins in a golden glow that made something once drabby into something worth looking at, just for a moment. And Mike thinks about the portrait. 

And he thinks about it. 

And he thinks about it. All the way to the Byers house. All the way to Will's bedroom window, which he climbs through without knocking. 

“What are you doing?” Will asks, a hand to his chest from the spook Mike caused. He almost dropped his cup of soda, sitting it down on his desk, flicking his sketchbook closed before Mike's eyes could pry, he thinks, “Where'd you go after English? Are you okay, you seem off?” 

Mike shook his head, sets his skateboard down under the window, drops his backpack, “I saw your drawing.”

Will's face turned ghostly white, “What?” 

“I looked.” Mike said plainly, almost lost of breath completely. Who knew talking to the guy he loved, knowing he felt somewhat the same, would be so breathtaking, “I’m sorry, but I looked. I saw what you drew… what you wrote.” 

“Fuck– Mike, I’m– I–” Will began to stutter, slowly trying to back away before he collided hip to his desk, “I’m so sorry, please don’t–”

“I’m gonna kiss you.” Mike said, very still in place, “That okay?”

“That– What?” Will asked, cherry red now, clearly as terrified as Mike was. 

“I’m gonna kiss you.” Mike said again, nodding to help convince himself to actually do it. To kiss him. To kiss Will. 

“You’re…”

Mike nodded one more time before charging forward, grabbing Will by the face, and kissing him. 

Will definitely didn’t pull away. 

In fact, he grabbed Mike back, pulling him closer and closer. And this… this is that fairytale shit in all of Holly's story books. This has got to be true love, or something. 

It’s gotta be. 

“Honey, I’ve got– Oh!” 

The both of them split apart all too fast as the door swung wide open, Joyce standing in it, staring at them both. Mike is about to freak out. 

“I’ve been waiting for this to happen– keep the door open, please. Are you staying for dinner, honey? We're having meatloaf.” 

Neither of the boys answered for a long while. Clearly just as confused as the other. It took Joyce shaking her head at them, confused, to jolt Mike into action. 

“What?” He asked, stuttering it out. 

“Are you staying for dinner?” 

“Uh… S-sure.” Mike said, because he’s not very good at saying no to Joyce these days. 

“Okay, can you two set the table for me then?” 

Mike and Will were still stuck standing in place, each a little worried to move. Mikes a little worried that the moment he does move, Will will take all of that back. 

“Hello?” Joyce said, now standing with her hands on her hips, “What is with you two today– is it because I walked in on you kissing, because I’ve seen worse, you don’t wanna know the things I’ve walked in on Jon doing–”

“Ew, mom.” Will scoffed. 

Joyce laughed, walking over into the room to tidy up Will's bed, “Don’t worry about me. Anyway, dinner will be ready in ten, so come out quickly.” 

“Okay, mom, can you please…”

“You’re okay with it?” Mike asked, terribly pale in the face. 

Joyce froze, turning her head to look at him for a moment, considering the pair. With a sigh she wandered over, her soft hand on his cheek, and she has to look up at him now– at both of them. She keeps going on about how they have to stop growing so fast. 

“Honey, all I want for my boys is happiness.” She smiled, leant up to press a little kiss to his cheek, “I’ve known about this for a long time, longer than you, I’m guessing. I’m surprised Will didn’t tell you that we’re okay with this around here. And don’t worry, I won’t tell your mom anything you don’t want me to.” She said with a wink, turning and leaving the room. 

“Ten minutes.” She called, as if she hadn’t just said the most meaningful thing she’s ever said to Mike, “Jon, El! Dinner’s almost ready, come help your brother and his boyfriend set the table.” 

Mikes heart is in his throat. 

“Boyfriend?” Came three consecutive shouts throughout the house. 

Beside him, Will groaned, shuffled over to his bed where he flopped down face first into it, “This is mortifying.” 

“Mortifying?” Mike scoffed, “Your mom just told your whole family we were in a relationship before we even agreed on a relationship!”

Will turned his head, peaking one eye up at Mike, “But… we’re… we’re in a relationship?”

Mike could feel his cheeks burning up, and he’s sure he looks stupid, blushing this much. But it can’t really be helped after kissing the boy he loves, and with the prospect of more. 

Mike nodded his head, and Will turned back into his bedsheets. The two of them stayed like that for a moment, equally as nervous, equally as awkward. They were only torn out of the best new seconds of the rest of Mike's life when they heard Hopper shout out from the kitchen. 

“Not Mike again!”

On the bed, Will broke out in hysterics. 

“He hates me.” Mike muttered. 

Rolling onto his back, Will smiled, reaching a hand out for Mike. And when he took it, his hand felt like it was burning, sparks flying everywhere. Will's hand is so soft and warm, and Mike doesn’t want to ever let go. He lets himself be dragged over towards the bed. 

“Yes, he does.” Will says through laughter, “But he's just gonna have to put up with that.” 

Before Mike could get another word in, Will yanked him down onto the bed, Mike toppling over on top of him. And they were kissing again. 

And Mike never wants to leave this moment. He’s sure this is the best thing he’s ever done, other than asking Will to be his friend that day on the swing sets. 

He can’t wait for the rest of their lives. 

ive never written byler before so this was fun yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy i think they're so sweet and i cant wait for them to become cannon in season 5 :)

ive been rooting for them sincei was 14 and watching season 1 when it first came out and thinking oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck they remind me of myself and my best friend oh fuck does this make me gay too?

[saturdays--sun]

modern au inigo hasn't experienced the same Horrors that canon inigo has, which means he hasn't been desensitized to things that would otherwise be really scary. so he's just a little bit of a scaredy cat. just a bit. this never really comes up, though, because he doesn't really interact with scary stuff, if not because of that, then because he's just not really into it.

the Problem arises, however, when he starts dating me (resident Weirdo Little Goth that loves horror, actually) because he wants to do Everything Ever with me. doesn't play a whole lot of video games, but always wants to hang out with me when i do — insists, actually, because what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn't? except now he's trapped watching his Tiny and Cute girlfriend kill hordes of zombies without batting an eye. he can barely look at the screen. why does she enjoy this. is it too late to ask to just. kiss. or something.

[bludino]

My headcanons of the gangs genders/sexualities

I am mentally ill I refuse to stay silent any longer

#1 Pomni- Bi

Pomni is a depressed, anxious little cat who keeps getting soggy despite her best attempts to get dry. She's so sad and keeps getting knocked down and that feels like the bisexuals I know and love. She probably smokes cigarettes with shaky hands and stares at the wall in the shower. Such a little loser who probably bites. Love her.

#2 Ragatha- trans and lesbian

Lesbians love sewing!! I thought I was a lesbian and I sewed then!! In honesty I made Ragatha a lesbian bc I can't stand ragatha x Jax I have to stop it at all costs I'm sorry. I feel like she's an elder gay she has such a maternal energy to her. Pomni loves it Ragatha gets the blow dryer when she gets soppy again. Also my impulses are to make every character transgender and same sex attracted.

#3 Jax- trans and gay

I made him gay so I can have him all to myself. Half jk he's my favorite character so I projected the shit outta him. He's gay and trans because he's got that t-boy swagger and I wish it so.

#4 Gangle- ace/aro

This one is also projecting. I just think it's funny if Zooble reads through Gangle's 200,000 word novel and they ask her "You're are/ace why are you even into this" and Gangle just shrugs. I think she has a shirt of the contemplative wolf and loves it unironically.

#5 Zooble- genderfluid, pansexual & ace

Bold to assume Zooble gives a fuck. They feel what they feel when they feel it, a real go with the flow thing. Zooble and Gangle are best friends, they smoke and listen to queen on the grammaphone Zooble has bc they're cool and vintage like that. I fucking love Zooble they're unbothered, moisturized as they can be in a circus hell scape and satisfied.

#6 Kinger- trans and bi

What a crazed man. Look at him. He's definitely sexually experimented with men before he met his wife but never realized it had a label until Pomni told him. What a wife guy you know Queenie was his whole world he loved her so much. It was breakfast in bed for her everyday. He can't cook though so it's probably fruit loops and frozen waffles. He probably has a homoerotic relationship with Caine where they're both oblivious to how they sound to other people. He's just trans he's always known that. He has chest scars. Don't think of the implications.

# 7 Caine- fuck if I know

Maybe he's gay. Idk. He really likes Kinger though in some aspect he's into men. He's not supposed to have favorites but he does. He does little things for every character but he likes Kinger wayyyy more.

[enbysiriusblack]

marauder characters who are absolute losers because there is such a coolification of characters that i kinda hate:

remus lupin (soppy wet man <3 trips over himself at the mere mention of sirius. has named every single sheep on the field next to his home. the tweed and elbow patch and ugly knitted sweater wearer ever)

regulus black (has yet to realise rules are actually breakable. the library is his favourite place. makes lists for every single little thing and neatly organises them in folders and binders. is never not thinking about classical pianists or true crime)

marlene mckinnon (has absolutely no filter or understanding in how to interact with other people. will ramble about a type of broomstick used in a quidditch game in 1463 for 5 hours. the most jealous and competitive person you will ever meet)

barty crouch jr (cares about his academics more than life itself. mummy's boy. panics over his exams. has yet to meet a bug and not classify it and jot info about it in his little bug book)

lily evans (the rare popular loser. avidly interested in most of her classes to the point she'll stay behind after class just to talk about the material with the teacher for fun. accidental teacher's pet. watched star wars more than ten times. read the hobbit more than twenty times)

peter pettigrew (he wouldn't be seen as a loser now, but def was in the 70s. obsessed with crystals and random stones. chess club captain. reads every superman comic. the dyslexia is strong with this one (i just wanted to make a star wars joke, his dyslexia doesn't really have anything to do with him being a loser, although some classmates would make fun of his struggling when reading and spelling)

[fountainpenguin]

"If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy? If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?" (x)

New Fairly OddParents 'fic today!

Frayed Knots - Chapter 37

"Greater Odds"

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

☁️ Cloudlands AU

✨ More Fairly OddParents 'fics

In which Anti-Cosmo struggles with right and wrong, submits his godparenting application, helps his fiancée crossdress, and forms a closer bond with Wanda Fairywinkle.

Also, if you didn't catch Chapter 36 - "House of Cards" - when I posted the new Frayed Knots cover on Friday the 13th, don't forget to read that first!

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

Greater Odds

Splitting with Anti-Lance ached so deep in my chest, I thought I’d fall to tiny pieces, my arms and legs strewn like confetti shreds across the floor. For a week, I pushed through campus life with a gritted smile damn well plastered on my face. I held composure as best I could in Mona’s company, knowing she looked to me for support in this time of separation, but Blonda was a different story. With the start of the semester came the return of our study sessions - and the absence of her judgmental sister - and after a bit of prodding on Blonda’s part, I finally cracked.

“He- he showed me through sacred ceremony how much he cared, that he loved and cherished me, that he desired my happiness… a-and when I offered to pleasure him in return, he dropped me…”

“I’m so sorry,” Blonda told me. She never touched me without permission - didn’t try to take my hand or force a hug - and she never asked that I shut up. She didn’t make any side comments like “Anti-Fairy culture is so incomprehensible” either, which I appreciated more than I really expressed at the time. I quieted on my own eventually, but keeping my mind on our early-semester studies was more difficult than I would’ve liked. My dripping nose and soppy eyes kept getting in the way. Ugh.

“Don’t tell Anti-Saffron,” I begged Blonda, clutching her shirt before she reached the door on our way out. “She’ll consider me a total loser!”

Blonda raised her brows so high, I half expected her to reply, “And this would be news to her HOW?” But… she didn’t. So I liked Blonda quite a bit.

Carl Poofypants High didn’t have a second room with an array for Anti-Fairies to roost from. I went back and forth about this with the faculty several times, with them pulling all sorts of excuses as to why they couldn’t prepare another room in a timely fashion. Bundling close with arms and wings wrapped around each other kept Mona and I from succumbing to gangrene (Again), but living outside wasn’t practical- I found myself anti-poofing back and forth between our tree and the Fairywinkle twins’ room to store my homework or pick it up again. Both Wanda and I were salty about it. And while my rank as stepson of the High Count technically granted me allotted funds and my own private accountant… I had a little too much pride to beg the off-campus housing options to give a pair of young Anti-Fairies a chance. No. I had a different plan in mind.

When out first semester vacation hit, Mona and I travelled to the Anti-Bentleaf colony to tell her mums. Anti-Penny and Anti-Dixie gushed over her, with the latter sobbing about how big her little cowgirl had grown. They peppered me about the same.

Maybe, I thought, taking every cheek kiss with due regality, marrying a dame I’ve fallen out of love with won’t be as rough as I feared. After all, my in-laws adored me. I’d even done 1 on 1 training with Anti-Penny back in the day, studying architecture, art history, and practising my demon summoning. I couldn’t walk away from all that.

We spent two nights with her family, then continued on our way to the Blue Castle. Anti-Buster opened the entry door while we floated through. He congratulated me, though I could tell from the stern line across his forehead that he still held out hope I’d break things off with Mona and attempt to repair the knots in my karmic weave. Yes, well… It just wasn’t fated that way. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. I smiled back at him and said nothing. His eyes narrowed. Then he swept off. “Perfectly peculiar,” Mona said.

“Yes, indeed. Seeing as he engaged me in play and learning far more than Anti-Bryndin did - or my mother, for that matter - I was looking forward to his response. I’d like him to stand with me on our wedding day.” Anti-Robin certainly doesn’t deserve to.

“Not that,” she said. When I blinked and turned, she lowered her voice, pulling her amauti hood even tighter around her ears. “He’s without red regality.”

“… The cloak.” I whipped my head down the empty corridor, then back to Mona. “I wondered why the field sounded so tense. Do you think he’s stepped down as First General?”

Not for his daughters. He won’t even acknowledge they’re his in public. How is Anti-Wanda handling this? Is she all right? She’d worked alongside her father ever since joining the camarilla. I should talk to her.

My core began to beat, dragging at Cosmo’s conscious mind until I felt him turn and either chew his shoulder or the back of his leg. Hold the crystal ball… I had misgivings about pulling strings for Anti-Buster’s death in spite of Mother’s pushing… but I think I could send a stranger to their next incarnation without batting an eye.

My brains were meant for so much more than clawing at the walls… and I deserved so much better than being scoffed at by a Fairy school for following Anti-Fairy custom and leaving Anti-Lance’s colony when it no longer fit my needs. I could’ve been an architect, you know. I very nearly was. Why, with my exam scores - minus the ones unfairly discriminating against me for being an Anti-Fairy - Carl Poofypants’ administration should be tripping over themselves to secure me a new room with my very own array! They ought to beg that I stay enrolled. They weren’t the only Fairy World high school around- I was hardly bound to their rules and regulations. Certainly not if they couldn’t give me or my culture the time of day.

On parchment, the dancing thoughts I so boldly entertained were still treasonous and cruel, but they were a mite less treason than they could be. Taking out a man I didn’t know sounded much more palpable to my sensitivities than killing the one who’d raised me. Not to mention, the little I knew of Big Daddy Fairywinkle - Anti-Buster’s counterpart - had not precisely assured me I wouldn’t meet resistance if I crept into his house, even with all the demon-summoner knowledge I possessed.

And then I shan’t be dooming Wanda, Blonda, Anti-Wanda, and Anti-Wendy to life without their fathers. Yes. Yes, I was quite sure I could kill another drake if it meant sparing Anti-Buster from the cruel, simmering plots of my mum.

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

[vctrvn-ls]

An Effort at Romance ☕️ | Kenny | ☕️

╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗

warnings: language

wordcount: 1.3k

summary: a little short in which you tried to do a small romantic gesture that ended up flopping because of the weather

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

It was a cold summer day in London.

About 15 degrees (celsius), but that's besides the point. The point was that you were standing at the bus stop, drenched and shivering.

There really was no point in standing under the bus shelter because you were already dripping wet, soaking, you swore you heard your socks squealching every time you moved your toes.

Anyway, why were you standing wet next to a bus stop and not dry inside an Uber?

Romance.

If you could call it that, more like failed romance, or an effort at it.

What you wanted to do was meet up with your boyfriend after work. His boxing gym was as he said "A ten minute walk down the street," which it wasn't. You ended up getting lost and as you picked up your phone it died right in your hands (tragic).

To make things worse it had started raining and now the only way to get home was by public transport.

Your mood was ruined. You felt angry, embarrassed and like a total loser, and you knew Kenny would laugh in your face for hours after finding out the whole story, he knew you hated the soppy lovebird things that would usually bring smiles to other couples when the gestures were done.

You were just a little…different (is what he guessed)

Fast forward two hours, it was 11:40pm and you were finally in the front yard of your house, walking down the little paved path that had streams of water running on it.

It was still raining, only now the wind was blowing like crazy. You saw that the lights in the living room as you struggled to open the door with slippery hands.

As the lock clicked you sighed and opened the door, stumbling in and closing it behind you.

You were so busy looking down at the puddle that you were creating under your feet, that you hadn't even noticed Kenny's presence.

You put your bag down and looked up "Oh my god!" You jolted, caught off guard by his appearance.

"Where the hell were you?" He walked over, pulling you into a rather aggressive hug. You furrowed your eyebrows, slowly putting your wet hands onto his back while listening to him talk behind you.

"I called you like a hundred times! I called your friends from work, even your boss!" He pulled away, revealing his worried expression, eyebrows knitted as he fixed his glasses like the adorable nerd he was.

"I-I-uuuhhh." You didn't know what to say. You were stunned by Kenny's reaction, you definitely weren't expecting him to worry out of all things.

"You're all wet now." You pointed to his grey sweater that now had and imprint of you.

"I don't care, where were you? I swear to god I almost lost my mind a-and the scary thing was that I didn't even know where to go to find you."

"Long story." You simply stated, giving him a crooked smile. Kenny rolled his eyes before hugging you again "Idiot." He mumbled.

You smiled to yourself, rubbing his back.

"You better tell me everything after you shower." He let you go.

"Yeah, yeah ok. You could…just join me." You grin suggestively, taking his hand.

"No." He said unenthusiastically.

"Wow that must've really fucked up your mind." You groaned, annoyed, before kicking off your shoes.

"I'm gonna make you something warm to drink before you get sick." He helped you take off your coat and blazer.

"Fine, fine. Throw these in the washing too."

He watched you slip out of your skirt and blouse right in front of him.

"Change your mind about the shower yet?" You smirked, seeing his eyes glued onto you.

"No." He took a sharp breathe in, fighting himself as he blinked and tore his eyes off of you, heading for the laundry.

"Hey Kenny I hope you don't mind me stealing your clothes," you say as you jog down the stairs and pull on his black Champion sweatshirt.

"No." You hear him call out from the kitchen as you hopped onto the couch "Wait which one?"

"Uuhhhh black crewneck." You respond, reaching for the remote.

"Yeah whatever." He walks in, and hands you a cup of tea.

"Ah," you take it "Thank you. How very British of you." You take a sip, noticing that he had changed too. "Did you load the laundry?" You ask.

"Yeah." He replies, not so confidently.

"Are you sure?"

He nods "So," he shuffles in his position, facing you "Tell me where you've been while I was here shitting bricks." He takes off his glasses and puts them down.

You chuckle "First of all that was very old-man of you."

"What?"

"Taking your glasses off like that, and second of all promise not to laugh and call me an idiot?"

"Uuhhh, yes?"

"Alright, so-"

Five minutes later the house rung with laughter as Kenny rolled around the couch holding onto his sides and howling.

You stared at him with an unamused expression painted on your face, remembering that he promised not to laugh.

Well at least he didn't call you an idiot.

"YOU IDIOT!" He yelped taking a breathe in.

Well there went the other promise.

"Oh fuck you." You crossed your eyebrows and turned to face the tv, folding your arms.

He wheezed beside you, holding on for dear life "I-I'm sorry," he covered his face "No it was really sweet of you." He moved over to you and engulfed you in a hug, tipping you over to the side.

"KEN!" You barked as you felt him falling backwards, with his arms still around you. You fell right onto him while he kept on laughing.

You were scared you had split his ribcage with your shoulder, but clearly he was fine.

"You idiot." He repeated, giving you a tight squeeze "But that was very sweet of you." He kissed your cheek.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." You shook your head.

"What? You mad at me now?"

You didn't reply.

"Hm?" He gave you another smooch "Are you?" And another one "Babyyy," and one more.

You giggled as he sprinkled your face with kisses while you tried to wriggle out of his embrace.

"Ok, ok, ok," you panted "Stop, stop." He finally let you go and you sat up, fixing your damp hair and rolling your eyes as you noticed him staring at you.

"I love youuu," he sang.

You nodded "Uhuh."

"You have to say it back. The rules of this household." He stated making you chuckle.

"Oh well if it's the rules," you grin "I love you too."

He smiled, nodding in acceptance.

"So what do you wanna watch?" You turned to Kenny as the Netflix logo popped up on the screen.

“I don’t know. I’m kinda tired,” he shrugs.

“Tsk,” you tut, turning off the tv.

“Wha-I mean you can still watch something.”

“Nah but like,” you look up in a shy manner “I wanna spend time with you.”

Kenny genuinely smiles, tilting his head and feeling warm and fuzzy on the inside. Even if your efforts at a romantic gesture failed, he still felt wanted around you, despite you pretending to be all prickly.

“Cmere,” he spreads his arms out and you suppress a smile as you shuffle over to him, laying your back on his chest as he curls his arms around you from behind.

“How’d training go?” You look up.

He nods “Good.”

“Did you eat anything?”

He shook his head “You know I don’t eat after.”

You frown “So confusing, first you eat a lot then you don’t eat at all. You’re getting thinner by the day.”

He chuckled “You sound like mum.”

“Yeah cause she’s right!”

“Ok, ok. It’s complicated. There’s a period where I need to eat a lot and a period where I should be careful of what I’m eating. Doesn’t mean I don’t .”He says as a matter-of-fact-ly.

“Can’t wait for that to be over.”

“What? Whyyy? I look great.” He laughs.

“We can’t eat out, you’re always tired and sometimes your mood is so shit I’m scared to even talk to you.” You make a very valid point.

“Uuuhhh,” Kenny had no arguments against your statement.

“Exactly. Besides you know you always look good.”

He smiles, but sighs, laying his cheek on the top of your head.

“You gonna sleep right here?” You joke.

“Yeah maybe.” He grins.

“Oh, Ken.” You shake your head.

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Natural Satellite [ch 6]

An In Stars and Time AU. In chapter six, the gang faces the King. (Spoiler warning thru Act 4)

It’s been a while since you actually fought the King. Why bother? It’s not like there’s anything waiting on the other side. Just a soppy little coda that doesn’t even resolve anything. No closure. No catharsis. No point. But Isa insisted, about the dagger. He practically begged you. If you go back on your word now, he’ll probably get a lot less cooperative. Which would be inconvenient. And you can’t think of any other way to skip the fight without letting the King kill everyone. (You could bear it, when they wouldn’t remember. But you can’t do it anymore. Not to Isa.) (It hurts to die.) The King is moaning again, whining about his stupid embarrassing ambitions. Ooohh, maybe the real victim is me actually! Maybe you guys should just lay down and die! It might have a little more appeal as a musical number. Give the fight a little razzle-dazzle. But it isn’t. It’s just a huge loser, crying. You zone out.

Watching Siffrin sleep makes Isa’s chest clench. Sif was always a tiny little guy, but they look even smaller in sleep. Hat off, guard down. Hugging their knees to their chest like they’re trying to disappear completely. They might even look peaceful, if not for the dark circles hollowing their eyes. And for the way they keep twitching and flinching, like even their dreams aren’t safe.

Sif circled the tree six times before choosing their spot, fastidious as a housecat. If Isa wasn’t totally spineless, he might have asked if they wanted to rest their head in his lap. N-Not because he wanted them to!!! Or… well. Not exclusively. Mostly it was just because Sif looked so tired. Like it’d been a million years since they last got a sound night’s sleep. And also because it kinda made Isabeau want to cry, watching Sif look around warily before laying his head down on a tree root.

It probably wouldn’t offend them just to ask. Just a simple, Hey, Sif? You look pretty uncomfortable… and I’m just sitting here, so… it really wouldn’t get in my way if you—if you wanted—if you might be more comfortable resting your head on something a little less, um, made of wood? Like, I dunno… a chunk of moss, or a stack of leaves, or... or even j-just my…

But—nope! Haha! Nnnnope!! There’s no point, anyway. Sif would just say no, and then Isa would have to sit here, watching them, knowing that they’d rather stretch out on a bed of nails than entrust their sleep to him.

It’s probably for the best. Being Sif’s pillow would be distracting. (Like, really really really distracting.) And Isa’s got enough on his mind as it is.

If the time loops aren’t a divine blessing to help Mira beat the King, then what are they for? They must be related to Sif, or else he wouldn’t have been stuck here all alone for all this time. But then why would that change now? Why would it happen in the first place?

There’s a stifled squeak. Siffrin, whimpering in his sleep.

Isa’s palms itch. Of course he knows better than to wake Sif up. At this point, it seems pretty clear that restless sleep is still miles better than no sleep at all. Still, he can’t suppress the instinct to reach out, to pet and fuss and soothe. And… maybe Sif wouldn’t mind?

But he’s kidding himself. He already saw how Sif reacted when he tried. Siffrin is quicker and sharper than anyone, but when Isa reached out, they froze like a rabbit. Paralyzed. Afraid.

…Isa did that. He did that to them.

“Stop,” Isabeau whispers to himself, out loud. He needs to focus. Sif just gave him a lot to think about, and his notes won’t stick around for long. He has all these scattered shards, twisty little splinters of a larger picture that must exist. But it feels like all he’s got are edge pieces. Like he’s still missing something central, fundamental.

He just needs a little more data.

* * *

Sure enough, that article is right where Isabeau remembered: tacked to the wall on the first floor, surrounded by hand-drawn sketches and still-lifes.

None of the articles include anything particularly helpful (e.g., say, a list of weaknesses, or an explanation of how the King’s power actually works). Mostly it’s just about how he showed up out of nowhere, and how nobody really knows where he came from. But they do have plenty to say about his fashion sense.

Siffrin frowns at the photo. “Those patterns…”

"On his chest and gauntlets, you mean?" Isa asks, curious. They're not particularly eye-catching. Just a bunch of big diamonds.

"It's just a weird losange," Bonnie huffs. They’ve never had much interest in fashion. "What's so weird about that?

Siffrin just shakes their head. “Those are stars.”

* * *

Sif moves differently now. Isa couldn’t tell back in Dormont, but in the House, it’s unmistakable There’s a leonine grace; a predatory gleam. Sif weaves through the halls like a shark that’s scented blood. Cold, efficient. Utterly without fear. When they sense him, the Sadnesses scatter like minnows. They cower in corners and blunder into walls, blind in their terror.

He doesn’t slow down until they get to the library, where they hesitate in front of one of the shelves, running a finger down the sparkly, rhinestone-studded spine of a book. They don’t open it. But they don’t have to. Isa remembers this part. Mira read it to them just two loops ago. It was a diary, someone’s memory of the day that everyone forgot an entire country. Just thinking about trying to remember gives Isa the beginnings of a headache. And Sif—

Sif asked him to say it anyway.

They looked so serious. Desperate. Like they were hungry for something they couldn’t even name.

The picture tilts. A new variable, sliding into place.

…Oh, Isa thinks to himself. Okay. It’s starting to come together.

* * *

The King’s shadow darkens the entire House, but nowhere more than the third floor. His hair curls around every doorway like the twisting vines of some pallid, lightless plant that only grows deep underground. The air hums with Craft. It makes Isa’s skin prickle, makes the hair on his arms stand up straight. No matter where you go, you can always hear the clamor of the King’s sobs, a wrenching, discordant wail that sounds like it’s being wrung out of him with a wine key. It’s overpowering. Inescapable. Isa doesn’t scare easily—not in a fight, at least—and even he can feel the dread seeping into his blood. Some primal, animal corner of his brain is telling him to run. Run. Run. You’re in danger. You’re not a hunter here. You’re prey.

And just a few steps in front of him, Sif is leading the charge with an impatient little scowl. He looks distracted. Bored. Like they’re waiting in a too-long line at the market.

They know the way, too. Right turn, left turn, pick up the key and track back. A quick stop in Mira’s room, then north for another key. In the corner of his eye, Isa can see Madame Odile eyeing them suspiciously. Siffrin doesn’t seem to notice.

And then they’re at the King.

Isabeau promised not to get in the way this time, and he’s not about to break a promise. He keeps his mouth shut while Siffrin steps forward.

“Where are you from?”

The King looks straight at them. When he brushes his hair aside, Isa can see his eyes burn white. Silver-white, like Siffrin’s. “.....What about you, bright one..... Where are you from?”

Siffrin flinches.

The King laughs.

* * *

* * *

* * *

It’s been a while since you actually fought the King. Why bother? It’s not like there’s anything waiting on the other side. Just a soppy little coda that doesn’t resolve anything. No closure. No catharsis. No point. It doesn’t even tie up any loose ends. Isa’s stupid confession is foreshadowed for the whole script—now that you know what to look for, it’s honestly a little heavy-handed—and by the time the curtain falls, nothing has changed. Chekhov’s gun lies cold on the mantle. At a certain point, it’s just bad writing.

But Isa insisted, about the dagger. He practically begged you. If you go back on your word now, he’ll probably get a lot less cooperative. Which would be inconvenient. And you can’t think of any other way to skip the fight without letting the King kill everyone. (You could bear it, when they wouldn’t remember. But you can’t do it anymore. Not to Isa.)

(It hurts to die.)

The King is moaning again, whining about his stupid embarrassing ambitions. Ooohh, maybe the real victim is me actually! Maybe you guys should just lay down and die! It might have a little more appeal as a musical number. Give the fight a little razzle-dazzle. But it isn’t. It’s just a huge loser, crying.

You zone out.

* * *

You beat the King, obviously. It’s easy now. Buff. Attack. Block. Attack. Bomb. Attack. You’re never even in any real danger, so does it really have to take so long?

The others cheer, after you finish him off. You remember to cheer, too. In the corner of your eye, you can feel Isa’s gaze on you. You do not look back.

* * *

How many times have you been on this rooftop? Probably the number doesn’t matter. All that matters is that nothing ever worked, and nothing ever changed.

There’s too much in your head. You can feel thoughts ticking, tickling, prickling. Where the expanse of possibility should stretch endlessly into the horizon, there’s only history. Hindsight. Nowhere to go but back.

You look at Euphrasie.

Your whole nervous system clenches in on itself. Your blood cold and turgid; your windpipe crusted shut with blackened sugar. Your lips itch. Your throat burns. You Cannot Talk To Her Again.

Your hands twitch toward your dagger.

…But you promised.

“Isa,” you mumble, shuffling toward his corner of the rooftop. “Can I… talk to you?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course! Always!”

“No, I mean. Um. Alone?”

In the background, Odile whistles. You very graciously ignore her.

“Oh!” Isa squeaks. “Y-Yeah, I— Yeah, of course!”

You wonder idly whether he knows that you know what he wanted to tell you, back when that was still something he cared about. Probably he doesn’t. You have a history of obliviousness, apparently. But Isabeau does too.

It doesn’t matter. That’s not what you need to talk to him about.

* * *

You are keenly aware of your family’s eyes on you as Isabeau trails you down the steps and around the corner. You might feel embarrassed, if you didn’t know for a fact that this entire timeline was about to be wiped from existence.

“I can’t talk to her,” you announce, once you’ve decided that you’re out of range.

Isa blinks at you. “Um? To…”

“The Head Housemaiden.”

“...Huh?”

Oh. That’s right. You never explained this part. Probably because you didn’t want to be here. “You know how, even if we beat the King, I still loop back?”

Isa nods.

You nod at Euphrasie. “This is where it happens.”

“Wait, she—” Isabeau looks over his shoulder and then back, goggle-eyed. “Don’t tell me Mira’s mom kills us????”

You can’t suppress a snort. “Um. No. Not like that. I talk to her, and then it’s over.”

“Wa-a-ait,” Isa says slowly. “You mean… Do you mean without dying???”

You shrug.

“But… But wouldn’t that mean—”

“No.”

“But if we could loop back without—”

“No.” He doesn’t understand. Nothing hurts worse than talking to Euphrasie.

Isabeau hesitates. “But… But if she can—”

“I can’t talk to her again.” Just thinking about how hopeful you felt, the first few times—

But that was a long time ago.

Isabeau studies your face. You expect him to press you, but—he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says instead. He exhales slowly, brushes off his hands. “Okay! Then, um, what would you normally do here?”

For just a second, your eye flicks toward your dagger.

“Ah,” Isa says. “Okay, well. Thanks for… not doing that.” He takes a breath, lets it out. “So… what do you wanna do instead?”

“…You could stab me?”

“Sif.”

Yeah, you didn’t really think he was going to go for it. “I could jump off?” You’ve never tried that before. It might be nice to feel something new!

“No???”

You scowl at him. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“...You really can’t talk to her?”

You nod. You really really can’t.

“Could I talk to her?” he asks hopefully.

You shake your head. You know you’re being difficult, but—no. He can’t! And it wouldn’t work, probably, anyway. That’s not how it’s ever worked.

Isabeau heaves a breath. “Okay. Then we just… find another way, right?”

You shrug.

“But we couldn’t figure that out last time,” his eyes flicking toward your shoulder. “We’d have to try something… else, I guess. Um. Do you… have any ideas? About why it didn’t work, or… what we could try instead?”

You think about it. You liked feeling his hand on your shoulder, you think. You think you liked it. But your cloak is thick and sturdy. You could barely even feel him. “Maybe because I couldn’t feel it on my skin?”

“Oh,” Isa whispers. “Um. D-Do you think so?”

Another shrug. What do you know? The only time touch made you loop was—

(—shut up shut up THAT NEVER HAPPENED.)

Isabeau swallows. He wraps one hand around his arm, clutching tight enough to bunch the fabric of his sleeve. “Um…”

You huff a breath. “Sorry. Never mind. It was stupid.”

“N-No!! It’s not that!! It’s just that you’re… kinda all covered up? Except your—um.” He looks away. “Your… f-face.”

…Oh.

You shouldn’t think about it and you are thinking about it, now, irrevocably. Isa’s hand on your cheek. His very warm, very large hand, cradling the side of your face. Fingers brushing your cheekbone, your temple. If you asked him, with your face burning under his touch, to tell you what he’d promised to confess, would he finally do it?

But you can’t risk it. Not here, not now. There are no more second chances. Isabeau’s already trapped here with you. Haven’t you hurt him enough?

“...Sif?”

Carefully, you peel off your gloves.

“Ohh,” Isa breathes. “Are you… D-Did you wanna…”

“I want to stab myself,” you snap, before reining yourself in. “Sorry. No. I just mean, I don’t mind stabbing myself.” It doesn’t take too long, and it always works. And it’s… yours. Not just something happening to you. “But if you wanted to try something else…”

Isa’s hand flits closer. But he doesn’t grab yours. He just—holds it out to you, palm-up. There’s an appealing flush darkening his ears, sweat beading on his brow. It’s silly, really. There’s no reason to be nervous about something like you; something that’s not even a person. But he is. It’s… interesting.

You know that you should feel sorry. You know it should embarrass you. But there’s something appealing about seeing him like this. Disarmed, unarmored. Over-exposed as a shucked oyster. It makes you feel sort of… powerful.

(Disgusting.)

You meet him in the middle. Reach out and trace a line from the tip of his longest finger to the soft skin of his wrist, where his pulse thrums through it. You pretend not to notice the way that he shudders.

“Soft,” you mumble. You’d expected his hands to be tougher, scarred and callused like yours. Especially since he fights with his fists. But you were right about one thing. He is very, very warm.

“I.” His voice comes out choked and strangled. “—have a good skincare routine?”

You snort. The pad of your thumb circles his palm, just to make his breath hitch. You can feel his pulse quicken and that’s interesting, too, so you do it again before uncurling your hand and laying your palm flat against his.

Isa pulls in a shuddering breath. You can see him steeling himself, gathering his courage before he slots his fingers into the spaces between yours and then you’re—holding hands. You’re holding hands. It feels almost familiar. Has someone held your hand before? When you try to remember, the thought twists away.

“Um,” Isa says hoarsely. “So. D-Do you feel—um—loop-y?”

You think about it. “I think you’re being too careful.”

His eyes widen.

“I think it won’t work if you don’t surprise me,” you explain. “Like. Catch me off guard.”

“O-Oh,” he whispers. “Really?”

You nod.

You’re aware that you’re pushing him. Pushing his boundaries; shoving through his comfort zone and out the other side. But that’s because you don’t want to be here.

There’s a reason you stopped coming here. Started asking your questions and ending the loop, instead of beating the King at all. You’re tired of this. Tired of hearing the same fumbling aborted confession. Tired of watching Isa decide that maybe he’d rather not know you, after all. That he’d rather be safe than be yours.

You want to push him. You want to scare him, a little. Make him suffer, make him squirm. It’s only fair, isn’t it? He’s been toying with you for a hundred loops.

(...You’re disgusting.)

Isa scuffs his feet, shifts his weight. “Um. Um… Do you… have any ideas?”

You raise an eyebrow. “If I tell you, it’s not really a surprise, Isa.”

“Haha, yeah!!!!!! I guess you’re right!!!” He looks down at your joined hands and swallows. “And. And you’re sure we can’t just—“

You glare at him and he actually squeaks. It’s cute. No it isn’t, it’s cruel. You’re playing with him, like a kid pulling the wings off a butterfly. Sadistic.

“Okay, okay, okay. No Housemaiden. S-So it just has to be… something you’d never expect…” He falters. “…Promise you won’t get mad?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. It probably depends on what he does.

“Y-Yeah, of course. Of course. And you really won’t—um—I mean—because I could do all the talking…“

“She does all the talking.”

“Okay!!” he squeaks. “S-Sorry!! Then I’ll just—um. L-Let me just try…”

Tentative, slow, he wraps his fingers around your wrist. You have maybe half a second to process what’s happening before he raises your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your palm, right where it meets your wrist. Sparks under your skin. Lightning on your tongue. You’ve never been more aware of your own nerve endings.

You blink up at him, heat-dazzled, only to find his face burning. Eyes glossy with shame, and—something else. His gaze is locked on the place where he ends and you start but when he senses you staring he catches your eye and it’s— Oh, Stars. Oh, Change or Expressions or Gems, it’s— He’s so desperate. He’s so ashamed. He wants you so much.

(—Not you. Not you. He doesn’t want you, he wants the role you were playing. But it’s hard to remember when he’s so beautiful, and so close. And so hungry. You can see it in the ember of his eyes, burning for you. But he can’t, he shouldn’t, it’s wrong; you’re disgusting and wrong and you know but he’s—he’s looking at you like he can actually see you. Like he could see you and still want you.)

There’s a shift in his stance. Isa, tilting closer, squeezing his eyes shut. He draws your wrist toward his mouth and you realize with terror that he’s going to do it again—except that he can’t, because if he does it again, you can’t be sure what kind of sound you’ll make and the pressure building in your throat feels dangerously like a whimper, and—and if you whimper, then he’ll know; he’ll know that you—he’ll know that you—

[ f e e l   a   t u g   a t   y o ur   s t o m a c h ]

And you wake up in a field.

If you wanna get updates as soon as I post em, feel free to follow the series on ao3!