#also what the heck happened to this place

[starguardianniom]

Harumasa's health after his agent story

Let's be real here, his master's cure definitely changed things for him.

Probably in both a good and bad way.

Good because it literally saved his life and most likely bought him time so he might actually see past 26, though that's my headcanon since the game makes it clears that even the doctors have no ideas either.

Bad because well, it definitely most likely changes Harumasa's habits and gives him probably even more fear and anxiety to worry about.

Hear me out.

Harumasa is used to taking a lot of pills and most likely knows the patterns to his illness by now.

But with this cure he injected into himself?

It probably will change a lot of things for him.

I mean, for starters, if it controls his illness well, does that means he needs to have some changes in his prescriptions? Will he have new symptoms or something?

I can imagine Harumasa freaked the hell out when he awoke in the hospital after dealing with Kirishima and wondered what the heck was going on and how was he still alive because he was pretty sure he was a goner.

And then when his doctors told him he got better on his own he probably had a little mental breakdown because no way that happened and the doctors must have found a miracle treatment or something because his illness was really killing him there and with his master's "drug" he definitely thought of himself as a dead man.

Later, when finally getting through his head that he is really alive and well, he starts freaking out more because for once he doesn't hurt anywhere and it's probably the healthiest he's ever been and given he was on death's door he can't help but be extremely paranoid about his being alive and well and is scared to hell and back about what it means. Like did his illness mutate when he injected himself the drug? Is it just the calm before the storm? Is he about to get much worse? Could he suddently have worse symptoms than before? I imagine him being afraid of suddently having a seizure just like that because of the drug.

Also I see him not being in the best mental state when he wakes up because he just had about the most stressful week of his life, pursuing his master only to find out he turned into an ethereal right before he could find him which also means his years of searching for him for answers amounts to have been for nothing and losing the only person he could consider family after his parents abandoned him, having to fight him to the death while his illness was acting up badly, dealing with Kirishima, trying to save the kids, trying to get the drug before Kirishima, and then sacrificing himself so no one else would suffer like he did and to stop Kirishima for good, and then miraculously surviving and being healthier than he can remember most likely. His survival is something that happens in movies, not to him and not in real life, but the facts are there and he can't refute them so he does lose his mind a bit about it before he finally calms down.

So I headcanon that the first couple of days he stayed in the hospital and the others he stayed at home to get time to process everything before going back to work to be warmly welcomed back by his teammates and the proxy.

I bet he had a long talk about his doctor about how to proceed forward since his miraculous brush with death, like should they change his prescription, should he takes more or less pills, should he probably retire, should he takes a long vacation, and probably wanted to be tested for everything thrice just to be sure that there would be no surprises.

You're not gonna make me believe he was just fine after almost dying, he probably really was scared out of his mind afterwhat and only pulled through after much reassurances from the doctors that he was doing fine for now and that he could relax.

I mean, in his place I would be scared beyond belief as well, given the situation.

I should probably try to make a fic about it, unless someone else wants to do it, feel free to ask if you want it I'll happily let you have it first come first served.

[hotchfiles]

nothing else compares,

part-two of passenger seat // seth cohen × fem!reader w.c: 1.317 content heads-up: light descriptions of sexual sceneries, alcohol mention.

You and Seth were geeks, your phones glued to your hands, your replies to each other were always quick, a rapid fire of witty remarks and references only you two could understand. That's why it was strange not to hear from you all day.

If Seth was being honest to himself, he only noticed the lack of response from you after lunch, when he was less hungover and dizzy from the night before, and he shrugged it off as you feeling as poorly as him from the tequila shots, but now it’s 5PM and you haven’t replied and he’s freaking out.

Did you die?

Alcohol poisoning is a thing that happens.

You could’ve been run over by a car going home.

Chocked to death while throwing up. There were so many options of horrible death causes that would lead you to not replying to him quickly.

Because obviously only that could excuse such thing. Nothing less than death could keep you two from talking to each other.

He texts you more:

cohen: r u alive cohen: like for realz worried lol cohen: did smth happen?

Sends you an email:

Dearest friend, It has come to my attention that you haven’t replied to my texts for the last 9hrs. If you could be so kind to answer this e-mail quick to assure me of your safety I would be oh! So grateful. Sincerely, your BEST friend Seth.

And does the unthinkable: Seth calls you.

You don’t pick up, which is almost a relief to him because you hate speaking on the phone and he would get yelled at for calling but now the funny paranoia is starting to sink in and turn into actual worry.

He knows he should just go over to your place and find out what the heck is going on, but he is frozen in his spot, sat down on his rug staring at his phone.

He realizes he’s scared to leave and find out something really did happen and you two won’t ever talk again. A terrifying feeling that never once has reached him before.

The sound of the outside door sliding open and close again doesn’t startle him, but the soft smack at the back of his head did.

Ryan.

“Ouch, what was that for?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.” Maybe he shouldn’t have asked, that way Ryan wouldn’t have gone into details about how the best girl Seth has ever met was actually in love with him, while he was chasing and dating Summer, and how he completely crushed your heart by not remembering the night before.

“My life is a shitty afternoon sitcom.” Are the first words Seth is able to mutter as Ryan finishes explaining how much of a douche he was, because just in a sitcom would he wake up from a drunken night out, imagine it was all just an alcohol induced vivid dream of something he wasn’t aware he wanted and how much he wanted it and brush it off.

He thought he got home thinking of you and that it all just clicked in his mind like an old puzzle that had a missing piece he couldn’t find before, but it was too complicated to get into those feelings after being friends for so long.

Now he had not choice.

And you? You thought Ryan would get Seth to stop texting you and to generally leave you alone without spilling the details you shared with him. The issue with being best friends with both of them and both of them being best friends with each other was that there was never room for secrets.

The only secret Ryan was able to keep, and for years too, was the fact you were terribly in love with his curly haired brother, much because he figured it out years before you spilled the beans, which meant you were also alerted by him that Seth was coming over, giving you enough time to lock your bedroom window and tell your parents you didn't want to see him.

And you don't see him, at least not at first as the first notes of Clocks barge in your room, as loud as if you were listening it on your iPod, confusion hits you, it seems like a romantic gesture and that just can't be it. So you keep still, frozen in your spot far away from the window.

“Hey, come on! I'm all dressed up!” His complaint comes in a yell to be heard over the music, it makes you laugh and your resolve melts, being replaced by curiosity.

You notice the suit he's wearing before even opening the window and you have no choice but to run down the stairs towards the front door, Seth's voice badly singing you are, you are guiding your feet directly to where he stood in front of his car, white flower ironically matching your fluffy flip flops.

“I don't have a boombox.” He's out of breath, his voice raspy from the screaming and you're sure he's never looked or sounded this good before.

“You're such a dork, what in the 80's romance plot is this?” It’s a weak jab, especially considering he can see how moved you are by the way you quickly fidget with the rings adorning your fingers, he always loved to play with them as well when he was bored. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for the last notes of home, home, where I wanted to go echoing from his car to stop.

He takes your hands in his like a prayer, kisses the top of your fingers softly, tender and your heart feels bigger than your body. “So, last night I had this crazy dream, the most amazing, funny, talented and just… Very hot—” He stops to give you a look and you feel your insides warm up by the attention instantly. “—Girl I’ve ever met confessed she liked me and we had the most amazing night.” Seth sighs as he remembers the details he has stored in his mind, he surely doesn’t remember everything, most of it a blur that felt like a dream, looked like a haze, but he could remember the way your lips felt against his, against his neck, the way you sounded when you gasped and when you moaned his name. “And then I woke up and had to go back to my normal life.”

“And your normal life is texting the supposed most amazing, funny, talented, very hot girl you’ve ever met about Summer, first thing in the morning?” You sound bitter, and you look just the same, brows almost touching, lips turned. You quickly take your hands from his, crossing your arms over your body in an attempt to protect yourself from what’s to come.

“I mean, yeah, that sounds bad, but like, I wasn’t gonna text you hey, just woke up from a sex dream with you!” He is way too loud and it makes you laugh and shush him at the same time, “or just a good morning? Who texts their best friend good morning only, that’s just weird.”

“What about Summer?” You ask in almost a whisper, allowing yourself to get closer to him once more.

“I don’t even know who that is, for all I know we only have three seasons.” It’s a bad joke, but you know what he means, you always do, so you nod and look up to him, holding the jacket of his suit with both of your hands tenderly waiting for his move, and Seth might be a bit slow, and he might have missed years of clues coming from you, but he sees this one, holds your face with one of his hands and before you realize you’re finally feeling is lips against yours once again, no lingering taste of alcohol now, just mint and strawberry gum.

[namjoon-koya]

Author's note: I know I haven't written on here in a while and I'll probably going to disappear again (hopefully not after getting some motivation to write again) anyways this is a series I wanted to write after playing Twisted Wonderland for a while. Yuu is the reader but I'm not going to use Y/N (I think Yuu feels more appriopate than Y/N) The series will stay in order with the game but just more content for Yuu(Reader) also this will be a afab!reader so I'll be using her/she pronouns. Also I’ll probably write events too! But those will probably be mini-series.

Warning: Nothing for the first chapter.

Prologue: Weclome to the Villains' World: Part 1

You heard something suffle, at first you decided to ignore it before hearing the same shuffle again. Was it already morning? "I better hurry up and find that uniform before someone spots me..." Your eyes shot open once you heard that voice you didn't recongize who it was "urghh! This lid weighs a ton!" Lid? what the hell did they mean by that? You gently placed your hand above you before feeling it, you started to realize you weren't in your bed.

"Try this on for size!"

The voice shouted, suddenly a flash happened as blue flames suddenly engulfed your vision "f-fire? what the-" as the flames dissappeared you heard the voice more clearly now "Now to grab the good.."

That's when you saw it, a small creature with tiny blue flames coming from its ears. "What!? You ain't supposed to be awake!" He seemed more frighten than you "W-what do you mean? what the heck are you? A talking weasel?!" You quickly scrambled out the coffin making as much distance from the creature "How...How DARE YOU! I am no WEASEL! I'm Grim, sorcerer extraordinaire! Whatever, you human! Just gimme your uniform and be quick about it! 'cause if you don't... you're going to regret it!" Grim suddenly summoned blue flames behind him.

You took one step backwards "n-no way! what else am I going to wear?! Somebody help!" You shouted "Hey, come on! I'm on a tight schedule here!" Grim summoned his blue flames towards you, but you're quick to dodge it and booking it away from him, you had no idea where you’re even going but you sure as hell weren't going to stay near him.

You continued to run making sure to glance behind you every second to see if that weasel was anywhere near you, but once you saw that he wasn't behind you; you came to a sudden stop. You let out a sigh before examining the room you were in "Where am I?" As you looked around suddenly blue flames cut you off from moving any further "Foolish human! Did you really think you could slip away from ME?" Grim was smug about it "Now unless you wanna get burned into a crisp, take off that-"

Suddenly you heard a whip as Grim yelped out in pain "Me-YEOW! That hurt! What gives?"

"Consider it tough love."

You looked over and saw a man wearing what seemed to be like a crow mask, he almost looked like a weird magician "Ah, I've found you at-" he examined you more closely he seemed... confused.

"You're a girl?" You gave him a questionable look "Y-Yes?"

"There must've been a mistake Night Raven College is a all boys school... The mirrior has never made a mistake like this before? rest assure we can figure this out maybe the mirror sensed a great magic in you? but just so you know brining a poorly trained familiar is against school's policy."

What the hell was even happening?

"as if i'd serve some lowly human! now lemme go!"

The man sighed "Yes, yes. Rebellious familiars always say that. Do be quiet for a bit, won't you?" He coveres Grim's mouth you almost start to feel bad for him..Almost. "Dear me. Of all the students I've dealt with, you're the first with temerity enough to open their own gate and step out of it. Does the very notion of patience eldue you?" before you could even answer him he cuts you off.

"Now! let's go to the orientation and figure out this sitation yes?"

"wait! before I go with you just tell me one thing, where am I?"

He seemed confused by your question "Hm? have you not fully regained consciousness?" The timespace teleportation must have addled your memories... Well, these things happen, I suppose. I shall explain it to you while we walk. Truly, my magnanimity is boundless."

He gently guides you back to the orientation hall while explaining “Ahem, this is Night Raven College. It is an institution for students the world over who demonstrate a rare aptitude in magic. It is the most prestigious academy of its sort in all Twisted Wonderland, and I am Dire Crowley. Having been entrusted with its care by the chairman, I serve as headmage.”

“Magic?!” You asked confused, “only those who the dark mirror perceives as having a talent for magic are admitted to the college, those who are selected are summoned to the campus through those “gates” which can appear anywhere.”

Crowley seemed to think for a while “maybe the magic mirror detected a rare magic in you? Maybe that’s why it summoned you here and if that’s the case while NRC is still an all boys school maybe we could help you achieve being a great mage here.”

You hummed unsure of the situation “now with all that explained let us attended your orientation.” Crowley notices you stopped walking with him “a-are you sure this is a good idea?”

“If you have second thoughts you can move to different school, but maybe you can discover great things here at NRC. We won’t force you though whatever makes you feel comfortable.” You sighed and nodded following Crowley again.

As he took you back to the room with the mirror in the middle you could hear different students talking “hey does anyone know where the headmage went? He disappeared midway through the ceremony…”

“Some headmage he is..”

“Maybe he had a tummy ache?” That’s when you saw Crowley push open the doors

“I most certainly did not!”

“Ah, speak of the devil.” A boy with red hair said.

“If you must know, I was searching for the new student who’d failed to show up for orientation.” That’s when you felt it everyone’s eyes landed on you some of them shocked “a girl? I thought NRC was a boys only academy?” One whispered “it is…” his friend replied back.

“Ahem. Please step up to the Dark Mirror and be quick about it. I’ll watch your weasel.” You heard Grim struggle trying to break free from Crowley’s grasp.

All you wanted to do was bury yourself in a hole you stepped up to the magic mirror “State your name” the mirror said “I-I’m Yuu..”

“Yuu.. the nature of your soul is…” you felt nervous why was it taking so long to decide? “It is unclear to me.”

“What did you just say?” Crowley asked confused “I sense no magical power from this one she’s soulless, colorless, shapeless. Utterly vacant, therefore no dorm would be appropriate.” You wanted to glare at that stupid mirror he didnt have to put it that way… the whispers only grew louder which put you on edge even more.

“Are you suggesting that the black carriage went to receive a person who cannot even use magic? But that is absurd! The student selection process has not erred once in its century of existence!… well besides you attending an all boys school, but how can that be?” Crowley was lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even see Grim start to wiggle out free.

“Me! Let ME have this student’s seat!”

“Not so fast, you hyperactive weasel!”

“Unlike that student here, I can actually use magic! So let me be a student here! Look, I’ll show you! It’s my signature spell the cat’s meow!”

“Everyone get down!” Someone shouted, Crowley is quick to push you behind him even this situation is unclear he wasn’t going to allow you to get burned especially considering the paperwork he would have so write if you got injured, “AH! Help! I’m on fire over here!” A student shouted.

“Someone catch that blasted animal before it sets the entire school ablaze!”

“Ugh. Can I go now, or…?”

“Oh? I thought you fancied yourself a hunter. Go and help yourself to that plump little morsel!”

The student rolled his eyes “too much effort. Do it yourself.”

“Allow me to handle this, headmage Crowley, if none of you are up to the task of catching a small animal, I will accept the responsibility.” That’s when you saw a floating screen and a voice talking through it “WTG, Azul. Rackin up those participation credits.”

“Hey, um, my butt’s still on fire… could someone maybe put this out?!”

“I’m sorry, were my instructions unclear?!” Crowley scolded.

One student sighed before crossing his arms “preetty sure you can handle catching one mangy weasel all on your lonesome there, headmage.”

“How many times do I gotta say it?! I’m Grim, a spellcaster extraordinaire! I am NOT a weasel!”

“Aren’t you a spunky little fellow? Riddle, would you be so kind….?”

Riddle nodded “Furry miscreant. I will abide no rule-breaking. You will be judged by my hand.”

You could only watch as Azul and Riddle went after Grim casting spells to capture him, “Are you injured Yuu?” Crowley asked, you examined your uniform but didn’t see any injuries or burns “no I’m fine thank you.”

“Off with your head!” Riddle suddenly shouted you saw as a collar wrapped around Grim’s neck “Myah! What are you doing?!”

“The Queen of Hearts’s Rule 23: One must never bring a cat to a formal affair. Your very presence here is a violation of order, You will vacate these premises immediately.”

That response only seemed to anger Grim more “But I ain’t a cat either! Don’t you try’n collar me! I’ll burn it right off! Huh…? Wh-what gives? My fire ain’t workin!”

Riddle chuckled “until I deign to remove that collar, you won’t be using any magic. You’re naught but a pet cat now.”

“I ain’t nobody’s pet-NOTHING!” He said glaring at Riddle.

“Oh, you’ve nothing to worry about there. I certainly have no interest in having you as a pet. The collar will disappear once you’re removed from campus.” Riddle informed Grim. “Good show as always, Riddle. Your signature spell locks down any magic. It’s quite handy. I’ve just GOT to have it- I mean I’ve just got to have respect for it.” Azul smiled.

“Yuu! Was I not clear that you are expected to take responsibility for your familiar?Now discipline your-“

“He’s not mine! Did you literally not see how he tried burning me before you intervened?” You sighed.

“Oh.. it isn’t yours?”

You shook your head “nope, I’ve never seen that creature before in my life!”

“Ahem! My mistake then, I shall have it expelled from campus, I shall even spare it from being served as dinner. My, but am I kind.” You almost rolled your eyes.

“Someone take this away please.”

“Nooo! Let me goooo! You fools better remember my name! Cause I’m gonna go down in the annals of magic history! Just you wait!”

You watch as some students drag Grim away, you’re not sure why you almost felt guilty for not defending him. You shook off the feeling turning your attention to Crowley “well that was quite the unexpected fracas. I hereby declare that orientation has concluded. Housewardens, please escort your students back to the dorms.” Crowley paused before looking around, “hm? Come to think of it, I don’t see Housewarden Draconia of House Diasomnia anywhere.”

“And that surprises you? Dude’s a total recluse.”

“Wait a sec… did anyone even invite him?”

“If you’re that worried about him missing out, maybe you should have told him yourself.”

“Maybe.. but I don’t know him too well either…”

You hear students start to talk about him, some of them almost sounded scared of him. Was he actually that terrifying? “Ah, just as I’d expected. I figured I’d come down here and see for myself whether Malleus had made an appearance. But once again he was evidently not informed that his presence was required at an official ceremony.”

“You have my sincerest apologies. I assure you this oversight was in no way intended as a snub.” Azul said, “I mean, you must admit. He’s not exactly the easiest person to strike up a conversation with.” Riddle replies.

“No matter. All who were assigned to house Diasomnia, follow me. I just hope he doesn’t sulk about this..” serval students follow behind him as he leads them somewhere else.

Whatever this place was.. is definitely confusing, you turn your attention back to Crowley “Well, Yuu. This is a most unfortunate turn of events. I’m afraid you will not be attending Night Raven College after all. Surely you realize that I cannot very well admit a student with no magical ability to my academy.”

You shrugged “well I don’t think I was meant to be here in the first place honestly.”

“In any case the Dark Mirror will see you safely home. Now, step into a gate, and visualize the place from whence you came.”

You nodded and stepped towards the Dark Mirror, “O Dark Mirror! Return this soul to where it belongs!”

You both stood there for a few seconds waiting for the mirror to send you home, but.. nothing happened. “Ahem! L-let us, er.. try this again. O Dark Mirror! Return this soul—“

“There is no such place.”

“What?”

“There is no place in this world where this soul belongs. None.”

“How can that be? My, but today is a veritable cavalcade of impossible phenomena! This has never happened throughout my long tenure. I must confess that I am something of a loss. Tell me from what land do you hail?” Crowley asked.

“S-Sure I’m from…” you explained to Crowley about your homeland only remembering a few bits of it, but Crowley seemed troubled when you told him about it.

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with such a place. I am intimately acquainted with the origins of every student who has ever come here, and yet… This mysterious homeland of yours eludes me.”

Crowley seemed to think about what to do next “let us go to the library and look it up, shall we?” You nod a follow behind Crowley as he leads you back to the library, once arriving there you both go through various books trying to find your home.

Crowley sighed as you both came up empty handed “Just as I suspected. Nothing. Not only is your homeland not listed on any map from any point in history. Now, are you QUITE sure that you come from such a place? That wasn’t some sort of lie, or jape? Because if so, the only explanation is that you’ve come from another planet… or perhaps you were summoned here from another dimension?”

“Another planet?! I-I doubt it…”

“Show me everything that you brought here with you. Do you have some form of identification, a driver’s license perhaps? Or even… a shoe? You do seem a tad bit.. empty handed…”

You feel around your pockets trying to find something but again there was nothing, you shook your head in defeat “well, this is quite the predicament, I cannot have someone with no aptitude for magic bumbling about my magic academy. And, yet as an educator, I am loath to expel a young person without a cent to their name or any ability to contact their guardian… truly my grace is boundless.”

Crowley seems lost in his thoughts as he tries to come up with a solution, “oh! There’s a vacant building on this campus. It was in fact used as a dorm a long time ago. With proper cleaning. It should be habitable enough. Out of the profound kindness of my heart I will allow you to live there for the time being, in the meantime we investigate other ways to send you home. Dear me, but I am a gracious man indeed! A model educator, one might say.”

You held back the urge to roll your eyes at Crowley was he seriously just praising himself right now? “Well then, I shall take you to your dorm straight away. It is an older building but it has plenty of… character, one might say.”

You decide not to question what Crowley meant by that and followed him out, you continued to walk behind him until he suddenly stopped.

Now you know why he said that about the abounded dorm, “uh.. you want me to stay here?”

“Isn’t it delightful? Right, scoot inside now. There you go.” Crowley gently pushed your back making you step forwards to the dorm. Once entering you saw damaged furniture and dust covering it, you cringed at the sight of the cobwebs stuck into the furniture.

“This should keep the elements at bay for the time being. Now I should return to my research, do try to find some way to busy yourself. But do not let me catch you wandering the campus! Ta!” Crowley walks out of the dorm leaving you alone, you sighed “I don’t even have a place to sit..”

You picked up a few things off the floor and placed them on a nightstand, you suddenly heard the soft drumming of rain. It was almost calming for you to hear the rain until a sudden noise ruined it “gwah! It’s pouring out there!”

You quickly looked over and saw Grin “h-how did you-“

“That look on your face is priceless! Like a bat that got blasted by a water gun! As if I wouldn’t just sneak back onto the campus the second I escaped pryin’ eyes. You all got no idea what I’m capable of! I ain’t givin’ up on goin’ here just cause I got kicked out one measly ol’ time. And if you think otherwise, you don’t know Grim!”

You let out a sigh, you had to hand it to him though. Once he was determined to do something he definitely wasn’t going to give up, “why are you so determined to go to this school?” You asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? I was born to do this! I’m a a magical prodigy who’s got the makin’s to become one of the greatest mages who ever lived! So I’ve been waitin’ and waitin’ for that black carriage to come for me. And yet…” Grim’s ears went flat “hmph! That Dark Mirror’s got no eyes for talent! That’s why I took the initiative and came here myself. You humans don’t understand what a mistake you’re makin’ not lettin’ me in is a great loss to the world!”

Suddenly Grim jumped to the seat next to you “c’mon scoot over! I’m gettin’ dripped on here!” Grim felt another drop on his head “another hole in the roof?! These flamin’ ears are like my trademark, Y’know? I can’t let ‘em get doused!”

You sighed “unfortunately there’s a lot of them Grim, good luck not getting them wet.”

“I dunno why ya just don’t magic those holes away. You could have it fixed in half a jiff. Ah right. You can’t use magic at all. Hmph! Man, you’re useless.” You glared at him, “oh? Then why don’t you do it?”

“Hm? You want me to help you? You got the wrong idea, I’m just a stranger takin’ shelter from the rain. You ain’t the boss of me. If ya had some cans of tuna to trade, well, that’d be another story. But I don’t work for free.”

You rolled your eyes at Grim before feeling another drip of rain, “well I’m going to look for some buckets.” As you got up from the couch you noticed Grim shivering, you weren’t sure how long he was out in the rain for before he came to this dorm.

What he said still pissed you off, but you hated to see his small body shiver. You removed your jacket and placed it on top of Grim, “mwah! What are ya’ doing?!”

“You looked cold just use my jacket to warm up while I go look for some buckets.” You walk away from Grim leaving him baffled, Grim curled himself inside your jacket his shivers stopped.

As you start looking around the dorm you suddenly heard a loud creak in the wooden floors, you hesitated to keep moving suddenly three ghost appeared in front of you. You let out a shriek as you quickly stepped away from them one of the ghost began to laugh “we haven’t had a guest in ages!”

“Oh I’m just itchin’ for new friends!” They all laughed again “g-ghost?! What the hell?!”

You suddenly heard Grim’s voice “Hey, keep it down over-“ that’s when Grim let out a shriek of his own “g-ghost?!”

“All the people that used to live here got scared of us and ran away. We just want new ghost to play with! What do you say buddy?”

“N-no way!” You shouted, you heard Grim let out small cries “I’m a master sorcerer! I ain’t afraid of any dumb ghosts!” Grim used his magic to throw a fire spell on them only to miss “nuh-uh. Not even close.” One ghost teased.

“Over here! Over here!”

“Argh! They keep disappearing and reappearing!”

You watched as Grim’s fire burned at wooden floors, “Grim stop! You’re going to burn down the dorm if you keep missing!”

“Shaddup! I don’t need any lip from you, human!” God did you want to strangle this cat.

That’s when you got an idea “Grim! If you beat all of them maybe the headmage will let you enroll!” Grim continued to ignore you even that didn’t get his attention, “I’m Grim, master sorcerer! How come I can’t even hit one of these little-“

Suddenly the ghost appeared around you and Grim “ganging up on us… you’re a bunch of cowards!” You sighed “Grim maybe let me help?”

Grim finally broke and gave his attention to you “You, human! You tell me which way the ghost are!”

“Understood!”

You stayed focused as you shouted for Grim to shoot his fire left, finally the both of you were able to work together.

“Ah it burns!” One ghost shouted.

“Ha! Got one! Keep it up, just like that… and let’s clear out the whole lot of ‘em!”

“You got this Grim! I got your back.”

Thankfully Grim worked together with you to get rid of the ghost, “we gotta get out of here! Before we disappear for good!” The three ghost left finally leaving you and Grim alone.

“H-huh? Did we… win?”

You nodded happily “Grim that was amazing!” Grim let out a sigh of relief “I was scared outta my— I mean they didn’t faze me one bit! Just a walk in the park for a mage of my caliber! Whaddaya got to say now, ghosties? That’s right!”

You smiled at Grim “Good evening. In another gesture of my immense kindness, I have brought you dinner.” Shit, you didn’t expect Crowley to come back especially when Grim was right there in front of him, “wait! That’s the creature we ejected for causing trouble at orientation! What is it doing here?!” Crowley shouted.

“Hmp! Takin’ care of the ghost problem, that’s what you’re welcome by the way.”

Crowley turns his attention to you “what’s the meaning of this, Yuu?”

You began to explain everything to Crowley and especially the teamwork you did with Grim to get rid of the ghosts at the dorm, Crowley listening to every bit of information you told him.

“But you know, on that topic, I do seem to recall that this dorm had a mischievous ghost problem. Ah, yes… that’s why it was abandoned, in fact. The ghost scared away all the students. And you’re saying that you two joined forces to drive them away?”

“Joined forces? Ain’t exactly the way I’d describe it..” Grim said, “more like I drove em’ away, and the human watched. And I only did it ‘cause I wanted some tuna. Wait a minute! I never got those cans of tuna ya promised me!” Grim said angrily at you, “we’ll talk about that later.” You said nervously.

“Would you two be so kind as to demonstrate your ghost-eradication methods for me?”

“One, no, cause I already wiped ‘em out. And two no, ‘cause where’s my tuna?!”

“I will play the part of the ghosts. As for the tuna, you will receive it when you defeat me. Oh what generosity, Crowley… now to chug this transformation potion!” Crowley suddenly appeared as a ghost in front of you and Grim.

“Ah, you gotta be kiddin me. I gotta work together with the human again?” Grim sighed “Hey this could be your chance to enroll.” You said gently nudging Grim “all right, but this is the last time. And I better be up to my jowls in tuna afterwards!”

You start instructing Grim on which sides to use his fire on, you’re able to stay focused and Crowley wasn’t able to spook Grim once after completing a few rounds Crowley reverts back to his human form.

“Well…?” Grim asked looking at Crowley “incredible! I’ve never seen anyone bend a monster to their will quite the way you have. I must confess, my educator’s intuition did sense something about you after the events at orientation, Yuu. I could tell you had a certain animal trainer-y beast master-ish quality to you, oh yes. That said I…”

Crowley gets quiet he starts mumbling to himself, you and grim stare at each other confused before looking back at Crowley. That’s when you get an idea “would it be possible for Grim to stay with me?”

“What? A monster, stay here?”

“Did you just..” Grim says shocked at what you said.

“Please?”

“Hm, I suppose I cannot deny your plea, very well.”

“Myah! Really?” Grim said excitedly.

“Let me be clear! Under no circumstance would I admit anyone to Night Raven College who has not been selected by the Dark Mirror—especially not a monster! Nor do I intend you, Yuu. To freeload until you’re able to return home.”

Grim sighed “never shoulda got my hopes up…”

“Now, allow me to explain. It was the Dark Mirror who transported you here. Therefore this school does bear some responsibility for your well-being. So I will allow you to remain in this dorm, free of charge. However you will need to pay for your own food, clothing, and incidentals. As to how you will do so, penniless as you are hm… ah yes, a fine plan.”

You gulped “I don’t think that was a good laugh…” you mumbled

“you needn’t seem so alarmed. I’m simply going to ask you to do a few odd jobs around campus. From what you’ve done here, Yuu. I can tell you know your way around a broom. So what do you say to you two working together as a janitorial team? If you agree to that, I will make a special exception and allow you to remain on campus. I’ll also allow you use of the library, so that you may study, and research ways to return home. How boundlessly charitable I am. Ah! But only when your work is over, of course!”

“Whaaaat… what kind of deal is that?! I wanna put on one of those sweet uniforms and be a student, not sweep up people’s junk!” Grim complained.

“If you’re not satisfied with my offer I can arrange to have you thrown out again.”

“All right, fine! Let’s do it.”

“Fair enough…”

“Wonderful. Then I beseech you both… to work hard as the newest members of the Night Raven College’s janitorial staff!”

After that Crowley left leaving you and Grim alone at the dorm, you let out a sigh “we should get some rest… if we can get it at all.” You both made your way up stairs to the bedroom as it was in the living room the bedroom had everything covered in dust.

“How are we supposed to sleep in here?”

“Grim see if you can find any blankets around the dorm I’ll try to clean up here.” Grim was about to complain, but instead he didn’t and left you alone in the bedroom.

You tried dusting off the bed as best you could, this dorm needed a lot of repairs but it would have to do for the meantime. You could only hope that you would find your way back home again or at least Crowley would find it.

Grim came bouncing back into the bedroom with some blankets, they looked old and worn out but at least you two would be able to keep warm “Yuu, you actually did a good job making the bed look comfy!” Grim threw himself on the bed purring in delight.

You chuckled lightly “well thanks that makes me feel better.” You didn’t have any pajamas to sleep in so you decided to stay in your uniform for now, you covered yourself and grim in the blanket.

You sighed and stared out the window, the rain seemed to stop for now.

Would you ever find your way back home?

(Also I did not proof read this it’s like 3am lol)

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Chapter Seven

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

Yall I am having a no-good-very-bad day. Charlie's bloodwork turned out to be a lot more serious than we thought. Tomorrow I check in with a liver specialist for him- hopefully we can get an appointment, see them soon, and start treating our old man.

For warmth and comfort- masala chai with milk and sugar.

let's get into chapter seven:

San Lan took one look at that curtain and said, nope, I'm going to make a door. p202

OOP. "If you're going to draw a seal, at least draw it on a proper door. Works better." p202

Okay mysterious tattoos on San Lang. I hope we get more information about those. p203

I love how this entire village just thinks that xie lian can solve all of their problems. pp204-205

Fair. I mean the guy must have been through many places before getting here. I would have been suspicious even before him not being thirsty after a desert excursion. pp206-207

JEEZE. San Lang just spears him with a chopstick. How brutal. p208 Also skin bag- I hate this concept XD

Poor guy, Xie Lian is over here just bring down the heavenly vibe again in the array. I mean it's really not his fault. He needs info and there just happens to be a party happening. p211

These heavenly officials are bullshit though. It feels like none of them actually do real work. Good for Xie Lian for taking on Banyue Pass! p212

Hell yeah! Fu Yao and Nan Feng! p213

These two babies are so cute trying to protect xie lian from san lang. pp214-215

Fu Yao and Nan Feng have no right to judge Xie Lian for his lifestyle and DIY temple. They've been traveling with him and absolutely know how much of a mess he is. How is this homemade temple even surprising to them? p217

LOL Fu Yao about San Lang: don't you think he has ulterior motives? Xie Lian: Sure, but like I have literally nothing of value. p217

I'm loving the banter between Fu Yao & Nan Feng vs. San Lang. so so good. pp220-221

This feels like a lore drop chapter

I am not mad about this at all. I can't wait for the investigation squad to visit Banyue Pass and see what the heck is going on there. Seems nefarious since someone literally came to lure them there, BUT I still can't wait. I also want so much more banter between the babies (Fu Yao + Nan Feng) and San Lang.

[thyras]

→ of new beginnings

PAIRING → halbrand | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 6.4k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - mind manipulation s*x (bruh i have no idea what the heck to call it), unprotected p in v, masturbation (fem), reminiscing, lots of foreshadowing (LIKE LOTS)

SUMMARY → after the fall of your city and beleriand, you build a friendship with a certain elf by what seems like chance and over the centuries he welcomes you into his counsel. though your fëa grows restless as your wayward husband seems to grow in the shadows.

AUTHORS NOTE → okay so lots of quenya names and sindar names are used. i had to come up with so many that it made my brain hurt cause ya know I did not know if in the lore anyone knew sauron by mairon before the fall of numenor (could not find anything in any of my lore books) reader goes by her sindar name now only people extremely close her like celebrimbor and eärlindë use her birth name. this is where the canon gets very loose y'all ❤️ also I wanna premise that this story is basically a rewrite for my dark!reader fic, so from now on I will be implementing things from the original idea to keep it sort of in that wave length. also we will be slowing down with parts for a while as I am to the point where I had written to, so it may be a day or two until I get the next part up.

PARTS → one // two // three // four // six

Tears traced cold paths down your cheek, falling as silently as the ash drifting through the air. You turned back, stealing one last glance at the city that had stood defiant against time, a place you had watched rise and fall with the ages, now reduced to embers and smoke. Towers that once gleamed like stars in moonlight were skeletal ruins clawing at the sky. The air tasted of sorrow and soot, and your heart clenched as the truth burned within you: the shadows had come, as foretold.

A soft touch on your arm broke your reverie. You turned to see Eärlindë, her features etched with a quiet grief that mirrored your own. Her eyes, the color of an overcast sea, held you with a tenderness you didn’t deserve.

“Come,” she urged, her voice a melody too fragile for this broken world. “We have to keep moving.” Her hand rested on yours, warm and grounding.

You swallowed the storm in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the crackle of distant flames. “I’m sorry this all happened.” The words hung in the air, incomplete. You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the thought, couldn’t tell her who had truly done this. Who had torn her brother from her arms and led ruin to your gates.

You. It had been you. Blinded by a love as poisonous as it was intoxicating, you hadn’t seen the truth until it was too late.

“This is not your fault,” she said firmly, her words meant to heal. But they did not. They only deepened the wound, the knowledge that it was all your fault—a betrayal born from love.

You glanced back once more at the burning remnants of Laureandor, the jewel of your heart, now a scar on the horizon. Slowly, you closed your eyes and sealed that image away. The ache in your fëa—your very soul—was unbearable, but to keep moving, to survive, you had to let him go. You had to let the love you had for that beast burn with the city he had destroyed.

Ahead, the River Ascar shimmered beneath the moonlight, its current whispering promises of passage and pain. A voice called out, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned to see Eäriel responding to another elf, their voices weaving together in the growing darkness.

“Are you from Gondolin as well?” the stranger asked as your group neared the caravan of elves. 

Eäriel shook her head, gesturing to your small, beleaguered group. “We are from Laureandor. Orcs attacked four days ago. We are all that is left.”

The stranger’s face fell, sorrow filling his ancient eyes. “Join us, then. High King Gil-galad has set up refuge across the mountains.”

Eäriel and Ulmoion exchanged somber glances before nodding their thanks. As preparations began to merge your group with theirs, you busied yourself helping the wounded into carts and steadying horses burdened with supplies. The sound of soft weeping and labored breaths filled the night, a grim symphony of survival.

You turned to assist one last figure, only to collide with an elf carrying a crate. The collision sent him staggering, the contents of the crate jingling ominously. He barely caught himself, and your hand shot out to steady him. His eyes were wide, not with anger but with fear, his gaze darting to the crate as though it held something more precious than gold.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured, a faint chuckle slipping out as you noticed the spilled covering revealing bottles of wine. Your laughter faded as something else caught your eye—a glint of metal nestled between the bottles. An ornate hammer. One almost as old as you.

The elf’s voice, barely above a whisper, broke the moment. “Thank you,” he said, pulling the covering back over the crate in a quick, practiced motion. He turned to leave, but your hand shot out, gripping his arm like a vice.

“Did you steal that?” you demanded, your voice a low hiss beneath your hood. His eyes, wary and sharp, flickered over you before settling into an unreadable mask. The hammer in that crate wasn’t just a tool—it was a relic something from a place that shimmered with even greater light.

“Why on earth would I steal something that is rightfully mine?” His voice was low and sharp, like a blade drawn across stone. His storm-grey eyes, piercing and unrelenting, flicked down to the chain around your neck. They lingered there, taking in the fiery red jewel resting against the fabric of your gown, its light dim but unmistakable.

Surprise caught your breath. Instinctively, you clutched the jewel, the warmth of its magic pulsing faintly against your palm, and tucked it hastily beneath the folds of your dress. The movement was quick, but his gaze didn’t miss a thing.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his brow arched in a look of mock curiosity. “Perhaps,” he mused, his tone cool and measured, “it is you I should be accusing of theft?”

His face was still gentle, but there was a slight tension in his jaw that told you he was not going to take anything but the truth.

“Care to explain how such a treasure came into your possession?” he added. You swallowed hard, your throat tight, and fought to form a careful, elusive answer to his pointed question.

“I… inherited it,” you managed, the words thin and brittle.

The elf shook his head, stepping closer, his boots silent on the soft earth but his presence heavy and unyielding.

“I can recognize the work of my lineage,” he said, his voice steady yet laced with frustration. “And that jewel… it bears the unmistakable craft of my grandfather’s hands. Its design is not one to be mistaken.” His stormy grey eyes held yours, their depths now simmering with annoyance at your evasion. “So I will ask again, my lady—where did you acquire that jewel?”

You hesitated, each second feeling like an eternity under his piercing gaze. At last, you dropped your eyes, your voice lowering to a solemn whisper.

“It was a gift,” you admitted, “one that I bestowed upon my late husband.”

His expression shifted at once. The hardness in his eyes melted, replaced by a shadow of sorrow. The lines of his face softened, and he seemed to draw back just slightly, as though your words carried a weight even he could not bear to challenge.

“He returned it to me for safekeeping,” you continued, the words growing heavier as they fell. “But I shall never see him again.”

The silence that followed was profound, the grief in your voice settling between you like an invisible barrier neither dared to cross. He reached out, his hand brushing your shoulder with a softness that spoke of understanding, a gesture of condolence that stirred something deep within you.

“Please forgive me, my lady,” he said, his voice quiet and genuine.

You waved him off with a gentle smile, a mask of composure hiding the turmoil within. “I should not have accused you in the slightest, my lord. Forgive me—it is not every day one meets a member of the house that crafted the Silmarils.”

His nod was slow, his gaze weighted by a sorrow that seemed to rise from some hidden depth within him. For a moment, it lingered, almost pulling you into it, but then it faded, replaced by a measured calm.

“What was your husband’s name?” he asked, the question as delicate as the night breeze.

Panic flickered in your chest, though you did not let it touch your expression. You could not tell him the truth, could not reveal the name that would betray so much. Mairon’s identity was a closely guarded secret to you as it should be with who he was, but this elf’s knowledge and intentions remained a mystery.

“Among my kin, he was known as Mornatano,” you said smoothly. “But he held others, names he rarely spoke of.”

His brow arched, intrigue flickering across his face. “Dark Smith?” he repeated, the words rolling off his tongue with a hint of curiosity. “An unusual name for one who was gifted an honor of such noble origins.”

You shrugged lightly, maintaining the guise you had carefully woven. “We were both Moriquendi, my lord. As is my lady Eäriel, whom I serve as ward. She and I hail from the Nandor who chose to remain behind, though my husband’s origins were a mystery even to me. He never spoke of his kin.”

The elf studied you for a long moment, his grey eyes unreadable, as though weighing your words and searching for truths beneath them. You held his gaze, steady and composed, even as your heart raced. If he doubted you, he did not show it, though the silence between you hummed with unspoken tension.

“I am Celebrimbor,” he finally said, his voice steady, carrying a quiet pride. With a slight bow, he added, “Son of Curufin, and of the House of Fëanor.”

You inclined your head in return, the ghost of a smile gracing your lips. “Tintilmë of Laureandor,” you replied, your voice smooth, though you felt a flicker of apprehension when his expression shifted.

His eyes widened with recognition. “Wife of the Golden Realm smith, am I correct?”

You nodded, keeping your smile gentle, though a ripple of fear coursed through you. “Indeed,” you confirmed, the words light on your tongue despite the weight in your chest.

“Please,” he pressed, his tone eager yet polite, “you must tell me more. I never had the chance to travel south and witness his work, but I’ve heard tales—wonders that bordered on legend.”

A soft giggle escaped you, the sound as involuntary as the warmth that rose in your cheeks. Mairon had always had that effect on people, enchanting even those who only knew him by reputation. If they only knew the truth—if they knew the things you knew about him—the stories would be very different indeed.

Celebrimbor’s hand found your arm, a gesture of camaraderie, and together you rejoined the caravan, falling into step with the others. As the journey continued, you spoke of your husband’s creations, weaving stories of brilliance and artistry. You described the works of his hands with care, each word imbued with the love you still felt for him, though tempered by the sorrow that lingered in your heart.

Unbeknownst to either of you, this moment of shared admiration would one day ripple through the tapestry of your lives, binding you and Celebrimbor in ways neither could yet foresee. 

Unknowing to the both that this would one day benefit the one they called Sauron, and his grand design.

“I wish to seek pardon for my sins,” Sauron declared as he approached Eönwë, his footsteps slow yet deliberate. The remnants of Beleriand stretched out behind them, a haunting reminder of the ruin left in the wake of war. He stopped a short distance from where Eönwë stood, the wind tugging at his dark cloak. “I wish to repent.”

Eönwë regarded him carefully, his bright gaze steady and unyielding. “I cannot give you what you seek,” he said, his voice quiet yet firm. He took a measured breath, trying to temper his suspicion. Sauron was not easily trusted, his reputation a shadow that stretched far and wide. Yet as Eönwë studied him, he saw something he had not expected—the glimmer of true anguish in the Maiar’s eyes.

This was not the fear of the Valar’s judgment. It was something deeper, something ancient and raw, woven tightly into the very fabric of his being. Eönwë felt a pang of reluctant empathy but dared not let it cloud his judgment. Still, curiosity gnawed at him, and against his better judgment, he asked, “Why do you truly seek pardon?”

Sauron’s brow furrowed, confusion flashing across his face. His hesitance was palpable, the normally unshakable being caught off guard. He hesitated, his shoulders stiffening under the weight of the question.

“If I am to bring your request to Manwë himself,” Eönwë continued, his tone softening slightly but remaining firm, “I must know the truth.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Sauron’s jaw tightened, his composure faltering as his gaze dropped to the ground. Embarrassment flickered across his face—an almost mortal expression, startling in its sincerity. The feelings he harbored for you weighed heavily on him, a vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and resolute. “I made a promise,” he admitted, his words heavy with emotion. “To someone who deserves a world far greater than the one I have wrought. A world I swore to give them, to share with them for all eternity.” His hand clenched at his side as he spoke, as though trying to steady himself against the gravity of his own vow. “I promised to break the curse Morgoth placed upon them. To heal what I have shattered.”

His eyes lifted then, meeting Eönwë’s once more. There was no malice there, no hint of the deceiver he had been. Instead, there was pain—a raw, unguarded pain that pierced through the façade he had carried for so long.

“But to do so,” he continued, his voice almost breaking, “I must first seek forgiveness. I cannot undo what I have done without the aid of the Valar. And for that… I must repent.”

Eönwë studied him in silence, the tension between them stretching like a taut string. He saw the conflict in Sauron’s fëa, the genuine longing for redemption tangled with the shadows of his past. Slowly, Eönwë nodded, though his expression remained measured.

“I will bring your request to Manwë,” he said at last. “But know this—redemption is not easily won, even for those who seek it with pure intent.”

Sauron bowed his head, accepting the weight of those words. He had made his vow, and he would see it fulfilled, no matter the cost. For you, his light, he would endure anything. Even the fires of repentance.

When Eönwë returned to deliver Manwë’s verdict, the tension in the air was palpable. Sauron stood tall, his form a dark and imposing silhouette against the fading remnants of Beleriand. But as Eönwë spoke, his voice calm yet resolute, the anger and fear simmering within Sauron rose to the surface, raw and unrestrained.

Eönwë’s gaze flickered with dismay as he finished relaying the conditions. “If you truly seek repentance,” he began again, his tone unwavering despite the fury radiating from the other Maia, “you must return to Valinor. There, you will be stripped of your power for a time and bound to your fair form. You will never again leave the Blessed Realm.”

Sauron’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white, but Eönwë pressed on, though the weight of what he had to say grew heavier with each word. “True repentance,” he continued, “requires sacrifice. You must relinquish what you hold most dear to prove your loyalty and virtue. Only then will Manwë lift the curse and free them from the shadow that stains their fëa.”

Sauron’s breath hitched, and his expression twisted with rage and despair. The thought of you—the light of his existence—being free of Morgoth’s curse should have been a source of hope, but the price demanded of him turned that hope to agony. To leave you behind, to know he would never again see the one being who had brought him peace in the chaos of his existence, was an unbearable torment.

Eönwë could see the conflict raging within him—the anguish and resistance. “This is the only way,” Eönwë added softly, his voice touched with a hint of sorrow. “Redemption is not given lightly, nor is it won without cost.”

Sauron turned away sharply, his shadowy cloak swirling around him, as if to shield himself from the weight of the decree. His mind raced, his heart torn between the love that had driven him to seek forgiveness and the sacrifice that love now demanded. How could he leave you behind? How could he give you freedom at the cost of his own soul’s greatest tether?

But there was no other choice. Manwë’s judgment was final, and if Sauron wished to fulfill his vow—to free you from the darkness that lingered within you—he would have to relinquish you forever. True repentance demanded nothing less.

That was not how it happened, though.

For all the cowardice he carried in his heart, for all the intoxicating taste of power he had once gained, Sauron could not accept the verdict. He convinced himself that he could do better, that he could stay in Middle-earth and use the brilliance of his craft to heal you and the world itself. Not through the will of Manwë, but through his own hands, his own cunning. Only then, he thought, could he feel true repentance—if it was he, your beloved, who granted you salvation as he had vowed so long ago.

And in that moment of defiance, he turned his back on the light once more.

The shadows welcomed him with open arms as he descended into darkness, his heart hardening against the call of redemption. He began to plan, his mind racing with schemes and designs. He would forge anew, build an army of unparalleled might, and reshape the world until it bent to his will. One day, he would find you again, and when that day came, he would hold the power to rid you of the curse that clung to your fëa.

No Valar would dictate his actions, no decree from on high would chart his course. He was no longer Mairon, the Maia who once walked in the light.

He was the Dark Lord now, and the Dark Lord bowed to no one.

You step into the small library, the scent of aged parchment and cedarwood enveloping you as your skirts billow softly behind. Light streams through the arched windows, casting golden patterns on the floor. Across the room, Elrond Peredhel rises from his seat, his warm smile lighting up the space as he strides toward you.

“My Lord Celebrimbor did not notify me you were arriving,” You say, Elrond’s hands gently clasping yours in greeting. “It is so good to see you.”

His expression is filled with genuine delight, and when he reaches up to touch your cheek, the gesture is imbued with a familial affection that eases the tension in your chest.

“It warms my heart to see you well,” he murmurs, his voice as soothing as a lullaby. For a moment, the two of you stand in silence, the years of friendship filling the space between you. Then, with an unspoken understanding, he releases your hands, and the two of you begin walking side by side toward Celebrimbor’s private study.

“Lady Eärlindë sends her regards,” Elrond says, his tone tinged with amusement. “She is most insistent, though,” he continues, glancing at you with playful mischief, “that you come to Lindon in a year’s time to celebrate her betrothal.”

“My dear Elrond,” you reply, meeting his gaze with a smile just as teasing. “You know well that Gil-galad and I are renowned for never seeing eye to eye.”

Elrond chuckles at this, his laugh a quiet, melodic sound that fills the library with warmth. “You and Galadriel share in that sentiment,” he quips, his eyes glinting with humor.

As the two of you make your way through the quiet halls, the air between you is light, the weight of past burdens momentarily lifted. Here, amidst the tranquility of the library and the company of an old friend, you find a fleeting but much-needed sense of peace.

Once you arrived at Lord Celebrimbor’s study, the elven smith stood near the side of the room, engrossed in a parchment held lightly in his hands. His head lifted at the sound of your entrance, and a subtle smile touched his lips, though his expression remained thoughtful. Elrond moved toward the centerpiece of the room—a display holding Fëanor’s hammer. His hand hovered over it, as if the weight of its history reverberated even through the air around it. You took a seat on one of the chairs near the edge of the room, watching the two elves, your mind already awash in memory and emotion.

“Fëanor’s hammer,” Elrond mused, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “The tool that wrought the Silmarils. The jewels that contained the very light of Valinor.” His gaze shifted briefly to Celebrimbor before returning to the hammer. “Strange, isn’t it? How one object could be responsible for creating such beauty—and so much pain.”

You met Elrond’s solemn gaze, your own face shadowed with sorrow. The pain was always near, a fresh wound that never fully healed—the burning of your city, the shattering of your illusions, and the searing truth of your husband’s identity. You breathed deeply, steadying yourself against the ache.

“True creation requires sacrifice,” you said softly, your voice carrying a wistful weight. You paused, allowing the bittersweet memory of your husband’s words to settle. “Something my late husband often told me,” you added, a fondness creeping into your tone even as Celebrimbor’s gaze softened with shared sorrow.

The smith stepped closer and rested a hand on your shoulder, the warmth of the gesture offering an unspoken understanding of the grief you carried. Your hand instinctively moved to the chain beneath your gown, its familiar weight a small comfort. Though it had been centuries since you last opened your mind to him, whispers of his fate persisted—rumors that he had disappeared into shadow after Morgoth’s fall. Yet deep in your fëa, you felt a stirring certainty that those whispers were untrue, that somewhere, he still lingered.

“They say Morgoth found the Silmarils so beautiful,” Celebrimbor began, his voice contemplative, “that after he stole them, he spent weeks gazing into their depths, unable to do anything else.” His hand squeezed your shoulder briefly before he moved to the hammer, lifting it gently in his hands. “It was only when one of his tears fell upon them, and he saw his reflection twisted by his evil,”

You smiled faintly, a memory of long ago surfacing—a time when you had accused Celebrimbor of stealing the very hammer he now held. A soft laugh escaped you, the moment so distant it felt almost like a dream.

You were a tome of your husband’s work, never truly forgetting how a great smith of Aulë himself crafted marvels and forged minds as well as hearts to his work. The secrets you carried, the deeper truths of your husband’s legacy, remained locked within you, known only to you and him. Yet the wisdom you shared with Celebrimbor had undoubtedly shaped his work, even if the deepest truths were withheld.

“That the reverie was broken,” Celebrimbor finished his thought. “From, that moment, he looked upon the light no more.” He sighed, envy and awe mingling in his tone. “Fëanor’s work nearly turned the heart of the great foe himself,” he marveled, a short, incredulous laugh escaping him. “What has mine ever accomplished?”

You stood and approached him, your voice gentle. “It has turned our hearts, my lord.”

Celebrimbor glanced at you, his expression questioning, but Elrond nodded in agreement, his voice steady as he added, “It has turned many an elf’s heart.”

The smith’s gaze shifted between the two of you, uncertainty softening his posture. “My work will never compare to your husband’s,” he said, almost reluctantly. “For he was revered as one as great as Aulë himself, even surpassing Fëanor in his craft.”

Elrond turned to you, his brow furrowed in surprise. “You never told me your husband was a smith.”

You shrugged lightly, offering a pleasant smile. “There is a great deal I have not told you. But that is neither here nor there.”

Celebrimbor interjected, his voice carrying an almost teasing reverence. “My lady, Thilwen, is quite the expert on her husband’s craft.” The Sindarin name, though still strange to you, had grown familiar in this land. It was a shield of obscurity, one that kept the curious at bay. “She remains a great help to my work, even now as we aspire to do far more than both Fëanor and Morion.”

A shiver slid down your spine at the mention of the name, so close to the truth it was almost too much to bear. You swallowed hard, trying to mask the unease that briefly flickered across your face. If either elf noticed, they gave no indication.

“My lady?” Celebrimbor prompted, his voice pulling you back to the present.

You crossed the room to the drawing table, your fingers brushing against the neatly arranged parchments. “An age ago, our kind brought war to these shores,” you said softly. “Now, we wish to fill them with beauty.”

Celebrimbor joined you, his presence steady at your side, as you reached for a few pieces of parchment and began to unfurl the plans for the new forge he wished to create. Together, you sought to transform pain into beauty, forging a new legacy for the ages. 

As if it could somehow soothe the guilt that gnawed at your heart, the weight of everything you had brought to ruin through your husband’s deeds lingered, a shadow that never fully lifted. Not a day passed when you did not think of those centuries, the countless moments spent in the light of him. Twined in his arms, the world seemed to disappear, and in those fleeting instants, you were bound not just by love but by the very melody of your fëar—two threads woven together by the Song of Ilúvatar itself.

You had been his anchor, the one who tamed the tempest within him, the breaker of the Shadow that clawed at his heart. But when the curse of his master fell upon you, the mark of Morgoth’s malice staining your existence, he faltered. In his desperation to shield you from it, the man he had become unraveled, retreating from the light you had brought into his life. He turned away from the path of redemption, the path he had painstakingly carved, only to fall once more into the abyss of his former self.

Morgoth had known—he had always known—what could unmake him. It wasn’t power or fear or promises of dominion that could shatter his resolve.

It was you.

You, his single weakness. You, his enduring light, the only thing that could pierce the armor of his resolve.

And so, when the curse reached for you, when it threatened the existence of the one thing he could not bear to lose, he surrendered. He fought with all the fire of his being, but it was not enough. The desperation to save you, to undo the harm wrought by Morgoth’s will, drove him to forsake the light entirely. He gave himself to the darkness without hesitation, sacrificing even his fëa, the essence of who he was, if it meant sparing you from the pain and ruin his master had promised.

In his love, he had lost himself. And though you carried his light still, it was buried beneath the weight of his shadow.

As you readied yourself for bed, the gentle strokes of your brush through your hair carried your thoughts back to a time long past. A faint smile curved your lips as an old memory surfaced, warm and bittersweet. It was not uncommon for your mind to drift this way, for elves never truly forgot, even when the memories brought pain. Your fingers lingered at the ends of your hair, and for the first time in centuries, you felt the faint, magnetic pull of the chain and ring calling to you from their place in the ornate jewelry box before you.

The pull was subtle yet undeniable, a whisper tugging at the edges of your mind. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you reached out and opened the lid. There they lay, nestled on rich velvet, their beauty undiminished by time. The silver chain glinted faintly, its luminous blue jewel as vibrant as the rolling waves of the Bay of Balar, alive with an inner light that seemed almost otherworldly. Beside it rested the ring, its band shining with a brilliance reminiscent of the Great Trees themselves, its creation born of love and the yearning of a soul that had once known no limits.

Your breath hitched as you gazed upon them, your fingers twitching as if to reach for them. But you did not. Instead, you closed your eyes, the ache in your chest swelling. You had closed the door to those memories long ago, sealed it tightly against the pain. It was too much to bear, too dangerous to relive. These trinkets, once symbols of unshakable love and devotion, had become harbingers of anguish.

For it was not just your heart they affected, but your mark. That cursed scar, the remnant of Morgoth’s malice, a stain you could not cleanse. Whenever you dared to wear the jewel or the ring, the dark tendrils of the scar would stretch further, twisting and writhing, their shadowed reach dimming the light within you. The shadows of your chambers would stir, the stillness broken by whispers that chilled you to your core. Sweet nothings, they would murmur, tender and cruel in equal measure, taunting you to follow their call into the Void.

You pulled your hand back sharply, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. The memories, the scars, the love—it all felt too much. Closing the lid with trembling fingers, you pushed the box away and turned from it, your heart heavy with the burden of a past that refused to be forgotten.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as your fingers brushed over the chain resting around your neck. Though it had once belonged to him and had adorned him for centuries, it now felt as though a fragment of his very essence was captured within the fiery red jewel. The light of his being seemed to pulse faintly there, a protective presence that wrapped itself around you, shielding your peace. Or perhaps it was the trinket’s origins—crafted from the purest ores and the most radiant jewels of Valinor—that imbued it with such a profound and unyielding power.

Your gaze lifted to the mirror before you, and you studied your reflection. Despite the weight of the Ages you had endured, your delicate beauty remained untouched, as vibrant and eternal as the first dawn of Arda. The glow of your skin, the timeless grace in your features, and the quiet strength in your eyes spoke not of weariness but of an existence that, though burdened by pain, endured with unbroken resolve.

A smile graced your lips, soft and wistful, and you were certain it was that same smile that had first captivated him. But it was not merely your beauty that had ensnared him—it was your fëa, radiant and unyielding, that had undone him. It was your essence that had drawn him from the abyss, pulling him so far from the darkness that he had nearly returned to the being he once was, before shadow had ever tainted him.

In your presence, his heart had swelled with a purity and joy so profound that it seemed boundless, uncontainable. It was a joy that eclipsed even the echoes of his master’s will, a light that had reminded him of all he might have been, and all he could still strive to become.

But Morgoth envied his serveant so that Eru had gifted him such a beautiful being to share his existance with, or he was so disgusted by Mairon’s enchantment with you, a being of orgins he wished to mock. And in that envy or digust he had taken Mairon and turned him back to the very being Mairon had fought so hard to extingush inside of him.

You rose from your seat, slipping off your robe and carefully extinguishing each candle, one by one, until the room was cloaked in soft shadows. Crawling into the embrace of your warm sheets, you settled against the familiar softness, though your heart ached for what was no longer there. Your head turned, your eyes falling to the untouched pillow beside you.

Fingers brushed lightly across its surface, tracing invisible shapes into the pristine fabric as if by some miracle, you might conjure the presence you longed for. You could almost see him there, the glint of emerald eyes gazing back at you, and the wild, gingery strands that always seemed to catch the light. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you imagined your hand ghosting through his hair, teasingly brushing against the delicate curve of his pointed ear before he would pull you close, his arms encircling you in an unbreakable hold.

A happier time, you mused, your heart heavy with longing. Closing your eyes, you surrendered to the ache, wishing for just one more moment in that long-lost warmth.

In your dreams was where you found him most. Though not as strongly as you once did. He would often invade your dreams to spend delicate but passionate moments with you in the days after he left. His fingers ghosted over every inch of your soft skin, bringing up the fire that only he could bring up inside you. 

As you felt the wet ache fill you on this night, something was different. The shadows seemed to dance around the room more than they usually did. The usual pain you felt with them was no longer there, only the ghost of a touch that you had never truly forgotten.

“Mairon…” you whimpered in your half-dreaming state. The ghostly shadow touches morphed and molded into the warm caress of his perfect hands.

“My sweet Mori,” his voice whispered into your ear, the nickname sending waves of relinquished pleasure through your entire being. It had been an achingly long time since his lips had graced your presence with that name. “My divine Moriquendi,” his shadowy lips ghosted over your ear as you now felt the weight of his warmth encasing you. His teeth grazed against the shell of your ear as you whimpered against the touch.

“Please,” you whimpered as his shadows nestled into the moon of your thighs, right where he was made to be. Your fingers moved to push up your gown to reveal the slick opening before moving to run your fingers down to your needy core, your fingers tracing through the arousal pooling there. His ghostly lips traveled down the flesh of your neck to your clavicle as those hands ghosted over your breasts, drawing a sharp breath from your lips. 

“Be a good and faithful wife. Show me how much you have missed me, divine,” You did as he asked, and like so many times before, you slipped your fingers into your needy cunt. You imagined him seated deeply inside of you, pushing at the door to your womb in a way he only could. 

His touch grew heavier as he seemed to caress over the jewel and chain he once wore. You reached and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, a blissful smile touching your lips as you looked into those emerald eyes of the dreamlike version of your husband. His throat worked as he looked upon your face. “There is nothing I would not do for you.” You whisper, reciting the words you had told him when he confronted you about Morgoth’s curse and who he really was.

Those ghostly, pillowy lips met yours with a desperate force you had never felt in him. His fingers wrapped around your neck and squeezed lightly as the feeling of your fingers was replaced with the ghostly feeling of his cock. Thick and hard, veins creating the ridging that perfectly matched your own. Your hips arched into the touch as he began to rut into you like how he had done thousands of times before, though this time it felt completely different.

Moans and whimpers left your lips like the sweetest of christenings over this moment. The pain of his animalistic thrusts caused tears to fall from your cheeks in desperation for him to go harder and tear you apart, only to remake you into his perfect wife once more. His beautiful and divine elven wife, the very being his dark fëa called for.

“So good for me…taking all of me…” His voice panted against your cheeks as his lips ghosted over your tears, kissing them away. “So faithful…so loyal to me,” he said, brushing his nose against yours as you reached up in the dream and cupped his face. Your fëar singing in harmony once more as they had long been quiet for so long that you had almost forgotten what it felt like.

“Mairon—” You trailed off with almost a whimpered plea as your core coiled in need of release. “Don’t leave,” you pleaded. He kissed your lips once more and quickened his pace as his hand snaked down to meet your engorged mound, pulsing with impending release.

“I have you, divine; I will see you through this, I promise.” He vowed, and with that, you came over him in a relief that you had not felt in centuries. Your core pulsed against his ghostly cock until he rutted into you one final time, groaning as he now found his relief. He filled you with his essence once more, and you felt your body react in the same way it always had, arching to take every drop until he coated every part of your womb. Hoping and wishing for that miracle to finally happen. But it never did, and you had grown okay with that.

He took a moment to breathe before rolling his back onto the mattress of your home in that golden place, keeping you astride him so you were coated fully with his mark. You felt the warmth of his touch tracing up your back as you nestled into the crook of his neck. His smokey scent covered you in the dreamscape, pulling you deeper into this place. This moment was one you had wished to have forever. 

But as with all the times before, his ghostly touch started slipping away. Though with one parting kiss, he spoke one last time. His fingers ghosted through your hair. “This is not the end, Mori, I will come to you, and we will have our forever, my love,”

And like a whisper carried away by the wind, he faded from the dreamscape, retreating back into the shadows that claimed him. Your heart clenched with an ache so deep it felt as though it might shatter. Your fëa reached out instinctively, searching through the vast emptiness of the Void for his presence, yearning for even the faintest trace of him.

But there was nothing—only coldness and the unyielding weight of the grief that had lived within you for centuries, filling the spaces where his light had once been.

“I’ll be waiting,” you whispered into that endless darkness, your voice trembling yet resolute. You hoped, prayed, that somehow he could hear you across the immeasurable leagues that separated you.

You were patient. You were loyal. And you would wait for him, even if it took an age—or many more.

[michelleaneousart]

Hey everyone!

I'm still (somewhat) alive!! 🥳

I did this way back in 2020 actually, but it was meant for a zine (which, to my knowledge, never saw the light of day) and since I've been going through my computer and saw this, I figured I might as well post it now. At least it might fit the summer vibe (not where I'm at though, here it's only rain all day long...)

Hope you guys are all doing well x

[laurellala-comics]

there are two wolves inside of you. One of them is fretting that you went through all the effort of making a new art account just to pigeonhole yourself once more into a specific fandom, which holds you back from exploring original art concepts that you care about. The other one came up with three separate ace attorney comic ideas in the last hour alone and isn't stopping anytime soon

[teethbomb]

mob psycho(logical horror) 100

[sysig]

Striped (Patreon)

Bonus:

Obviously I bought it! The collar is Slightly odd with a stitch down the center, like a very shallow V Neck, and it’s quite big on me lol, but it’s very workable! And so soft, like you wouldn’t believe. Very comfy!

Also, pretty sure I’ve talked about this before, but here’s a refresher: I always pick up any Lalaloopsy from any second-hand shop I find them in, being out of production and so inexpensive and so cute - I’m a casual collector ♥ I never expect to see them, so I’m always so excited when they’re there! I actually managed to get three this time, not only with their original clothes, but also their shoes! (Why are they always missing their shoes?) And you’ll never guess which ones, what they were wearing:

It’s Rain E. and Storm E., with their black and white striped shirts!

We match <3 <3

[wieldedhonor]

/ MAN- there is so much weight on the thirteen seals, it's not just a matter of -who- Arthur is facing and how these should (mostly) apply to whoever he is fighting against, but it's also such a heavy task for arthur himself; like, till how long can he hold onto his values before they backfire on his emotional well being? How much can he keep accepting? How much of his humanity can he keep? Because sure, he's grown to learn to sacrifice almost all of himself but at the end of the day, he hasn't reached a perfectly mechanical nature as Arthur's heart is still human at the end of the day (and heck we get to see this in his legends) so in conclusion, it's like, till how long would he be able to hold onto his ideals of goodness and evil, and till how long could he keep himself detached from his own (not his Knight's) emotions and follow the values of the seals and his knights?

[sirfrogsworth]

How do you take a photo of time?

I've been watching the track events at the Olympics since I was a wee lad. It was a tradition in our family. We'd gather around our ancient low-definition 19 inch CRT television and watch tiny blobs compete against other tiny blobs and root for our country.

It was a bit like watching YouTube on your phone in 144p.

Several heroes emerged.

Jackie Joyner-Kersee was amazing.

You can't forget about Flo-Jo.

And then the Olympics decided NBA players were allowed in the competition.

Which formed... The Dream Team.

Was this fair?

Well... they won each game by an average of 44 points.

So... no. It was not fair.

Though it became more fair as time went on.

But, umm... yeah. The other teams looked like the Washington Generals and the US looked like the Harlem Globetrotters if they stopped screwing around half of the game.

But my absolute favorite Olympian was a runner named Michael Johnson.

He was cool as heck.

For one thing... gold shoes.

But he also had this crazy, upright, Tom Cruise-ish sprinting style that just made him look like a running robot on the track.

And in the 1996 Atlanta games he just trounced EVERYONE. I mean, it wasn't even close.

Yikes. Those losing blobs are probably really embarrassed.

Last night I decided to invigorate my nostalgia and watch the track events again. And I got to see one of the wildest races in history.

It didn't even last 10 seconds but it was one of the most exciting sporting events I've ever witnessed. Almost every runner won the race.

After I saw that initially, I was like... who the heck won???

Even in slow motion I wasn't sure.

This was one of the closest finishes in history. There has never been a race where all 8 runners were within this margin.

The arena was silent as the winner was being confirmed. The runners just kind of paced around waiting for official word. My best guess was the Jamaican runner, Kishane Thompson. But then the loudspeaker announced Noah Lyles.

The last tiny morsel of American pride burst out of me with a big "Wooooo!"

I forgot what it was like to be proud of my country. I wish it happened more often. But this young man, despite being last place in the first 3rd of the race, turned on the afterburners and won in a photo finish.

And that's when my inner nerd took over.

Because when they showed the photo finish image, it looked super weird.

Why is the track white?

Why do all of the runners look all warpy like that QWOP game?

So I went down a research rabbit hole to figure this out.

Photo finishes are actually fascinating. The first photo finish captured the end of a horse race in 1890. But that was mostly luck and timing. The actual photo finish mechanisms weren't used until 1937.

Originally they would film the finish line through a physical slit.

And the first horsie head that appeared in that slit would be the winner. This technology ended a huge aspect of corruption in horse race fixing almost overnight.

But we have come a long way since then. And I'd like to introduce you to the Omega Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate.

This slow motion camera sits fixed on the finish line of every race. The concept of the photo finish has remained remarkably similar to the 1930s approach. The camera sensor is specially designed to only record a vertical slit.

Only the finish line itself is actually captured.

And because it limits what it records to only that slit, it can capture 40,000 frames per second to get amazing temporal resolution.

So why don't the photo finishes just look like, well... this?

That is because the camera takes a picture of time more-so than dimensional space. I guess it would be more accurate to say it *assembles* a picture of time.

As the runners cross the finish line, the camera combines all of the little strips of pictures into a single image.

It's almost like if you tried to reassemble a piece of paper after it had been shredded.

Imagine each strip of paper is a picture of ONLY the finish line, just at a slightly different point in time.

What if someone stopped on the finish line and didn't move... what would that look like?

Once they got there, the same part of their body would just be repeated.

So the right side of the photo finish picture represents earlier in time and it just assembles the image strip by strip as time passes and you literally get a picture of time itself.

NEAT!

Okay, but how do they determine the winner from the photo finish?

I mean, that shoe looks like it is ahead of Noah Lyles!

Clavicles!

The IAFF rules state the foremost part of the torso must cross the finish line first. And the endpoint of the torso is the outer end of the clavicle.

So if you get this bone across the finish line first, you win the race.

Two more fun facts!

The start of the race is actually just as carefully timed as the end of the race. There are sensors in the starting blocks of each runner.

The starting gun also has an electronic sensor.

They have determined the fastest a human can react to the sound of a gun is roughly 100 milliseconds. So if you start running before 100 milliseconds they know you didn't actually hear the gun, you just got antsy and started running too early.

And the final fun fact...

Did you notice the Omega logo at the top of the photo finish?

That isn't superimposed or added after the fact. That is captured by the camera.

But if this image is composed only of tiny little slivers, how did they get the Omega logo to show up?

That is a little display. And it is synchronized with the Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate to show a little sliver of the Omega logo for each frame captured.

So when the final image is stitched together, it looks like a cohesive logo at the top of the photo.

Pretty clever, Omega!

[st-fanfic-bookclub]

Comment resources

Receiving comments means so much to fic authors so we’d love to encourage people to leave more. But we appreciate that leaving comments can be a bit daunting or draining, especially on days when we are tired or already stressed. So here are a few resources to hopefully encourage us all to leave more and to make doing so easier.

Archive of Our Own floating comment boxes

There are a couple of versions of these out there and they can be helpful. They are browser extensions that allow you to keep the comment box on the screen whenever you like so that you can easily comment as you read, rather than getting to the end and panicking about what to say.

Here are two different versions:

AO3 Floating Comment Box by ScriptMouse

Floaty Review Box by ravenel ← I use this one and think it’s great - Squid 💕

Feed The Fandom Fest

Have you heard of the @feedthefandomfest bingo cards? Because if you’re participating in these, maybe one of the recs on this blog could be the perfect way to tick off a square on these cards. Or, if you’ve not started one yet, why not pick one to encourage yourself to comment more and have some fun while doing so?

Here are the different cards:

Original Card

For Beginners

Fluff Edition

Angst Edition

Smut Edition

Old Fic Edition

Billy Hargrove Edition

Or put your own together!

I’d also just recommend having a look through the Feed The Fandom Fest blog in general, it’s such a wonderful resource 💖

Additional AO3 Kudos

Here’s some images of additional kudos for when you’re longing to mash that button again but all it greets you with is that mocking red smiley face. These are complete with the html to easily put them in!

AO3 Random Nice Comments

This browser extension will give you a short, nice comment from a list at the press of a button. It may be useful for beginner commenters who want to say something nice but are unsure what.

Comment prompts

If you want to craft your own comments but are unsure what to say, here’s a few starting points:

What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think back on the fic? I’m sure the author would love to know

Who was your favourite character in the fic? 

Where are you reading the fic?

Speculate on what could happen after the end of the fic

How did you react emotionally? Did you laugh? Cry? Smile? Scream?

Or there’s the simple but ever loved:

Keyboard smash

String of emojis

‘Loved this!’

Here’s some more lists of prompts:

Good and easy comment ideas by ao3-shenanigans

Some more easy comment suggestions by ao3-shenanigans

Unhinged fic comment ideas by magpie-murder 

Our comment stickers

Here’s a few stickers we made to use in place of comments if you want to leave something but still don’t know what to type out yourself:

html for the above, in order:

<img src="https://i.postimg.cc/yYRJxJ8C/readforbookclub-sticker.png" alt="sticker with stars and text reading: I READ THIS FIC FOR FANFIC BOOK CLUB AND LOVED IT" width=45% />

<img src="https://i.postimg.cc/yxgDFxh9/greatwork-sticker.png" alt="sticker with stars and text reading: I ADORE THIS FIC GREAT WORK" width=45% />

<img src="https://i.postimg.cc/c12gd7Zc/howtheactualheck-sticker.png" alt="sticker with stars and text reading: HOW THE ACTUAL HECK IS THIS SO GOOD?" width=45% />

<img src="https://i.postimg.cc/V6HSrntm/amazingwriting-star-sticker.png" alt="star-shaped sticker with text reading: AMAZING WRITING!" width=45% />

<img src="https://i.postimg.cc/RZzWHMW6/screamingcryingthrowingup-star-sticker.png" alt="star-shaped sticker with text reading: SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP" width=45% />

<img src="https://i.postimg.cc/1XkfMSMd/mayiofferyoumyfirstborn-star-sticker.png" alt="star-shaped sticker with text reading: MAY I OFFER YOU MY FIRSTBORN? OR PERHAPS MY SOUL?" width=45% />

[drchucktingle]

THE TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION TELLS CHUCK TINGLE TO STAY HOME BUT WE PROVE LOVE ANYWAY

just when you buckaroos thought 2024 would be a break from book drama, here comes chuck tingle in the mix. recently i was asked to be a featured speaker at the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION annual conference. a few days ago they rescinded my invitation. here is what happened.

(EDITED TO ADD THIS LINK. if you have a hard time reading this on way of tumblr you can also read for free on chucks patreon)

i would like to start off by saying it is not my intent to start a fight, and all those reading this should know that the actions of a few misguided folks do not speak for the whole TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION. i am sure there are many involved who will be very upset to learn what others at TLA have done in their name. there are many individuals here, so please do not paint them all as villains in your mind. besides, chuck loves the dang library everyone knows that.

the point of writing this is not to vilify. i am writing this is because MOMENTS OF DARKNESS are the best places to SHINE A LIGHT AND PROVE LOVE IS REAL. this is a perfect time for learning and growing and for us talk on some very important things that queer buckaroos and neurodivergent buckaroos face every day. this is an unfortunate moment that WE can turn around and use to prove love is real.

i am also writing this to understand some of my own personal feelings on the matter. for something that seems very simple on the surface, the trot is complex, and i am still working out my emotions on the whole dang thing. i am learning in this way.

PART ONE: BAG OF LOVE

a few months ago chuck was asked to be a featured speaker at the 2024 TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION ANNUAL CONFERENCE. i have been asked to do things like the before and it is ALWAYS a fun time to meet bookseller and librarian buds. trotting around face to face and talking about my story of conquering chronic pain and overcoming my mental hurdles is VERY IMPORTANT to me. i say YES to these things whenever i can. (here i am with authors at CALIFORNIA INDEPENDENT BOOKSELLERS ALLIANCE conference. they are a WONDERFUL group and they proved love with their OWN invitation to chuck. this was such a moving event with so many amazing authors and stories. got very teared up during this photo)

ANYWAY BUCKAROOS i get the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION invite and say 'YES BUD LETS TROT'. we are then confirmed.

months pass. a few weeks ago i get a call from my manager and agent and publisher saying ‘the TLA have rescinded their invitation.’

turns out some things had been going on behind the scenes

at some point the TLA asked chucks INCREDIBLE HEROIC BAD ASS PUBLISHER if chuck would be okay with not wearing the mask, to which tor/nightfire/macmillan said ‘what the heck are you talking about of course chuck is going to wear his mask. this is how chuck presents himself’ (NOT EXACT QUOTE)

as you all know, my pink bag way is a VERY IMPORTANT SPACE. as an autistic buckaroo it is a boundary that allows me to express myself freely and relieve my chronic pain from neurotypically masking all day. i have talked about this for years, and it is why i consider my private identity a SACRED THING. it is literally a health issue.

fortunately THE PINK BAG is never really a problem when making appearances. i have spent years going on television shows, doing interviews, speaking at other conferences and conventions, hosting book events on tour, and even MEETING WITH LAWYERS in my pink face covering. it is always respected and that is very validating to my way.

when arriving anywhere i always take precautions. i always warn buckaroos ahead of time that there is a masked man coming. i always have someone go in ahead of me JUST IN CASE. again, there has never been an issue. at a big conference where i am a special guest there is ESPECIALLY not an issue because my face and bio are printed IN THE DANG PROGRAM

SOME FUN TIMES AT BIG EVENTS BELOW:

CHUCK ON TV SHOW NAME OF 'AT MIDNIGHT' BACK BEFORE I WROTE LOVE IS REAL ON MY HEAD:

well, there has never been an issue.... UNTIL NOW.

PART TWO: RESCINDED

a few days ago TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION suddenly messaged my publishers and said that chuck tingle is no longer invited. my invitation was rescinded. the reason given was that people could possibly be uncomfortable with my mask

right out of the gate i would like to say this: it is absolutely the right of the texas library association to disinvite someone from their conference. it is their event, after all, and they can ban anyone they would like, for any reason.

of course, that doesnt mean other folks HEARING THIS NEWS wont have their own opinions the TLA choices. if the TLA disinvites someone, their reasoning for doing this can be discussed and analyzed. whether or not they follow their own guidelines can be questioned, and certainly their kindness and tact can be considered

there are a few BIG POINTS to make regarding this choice from the TLA

first and foremost, i just gotta say buckaroos, it is incredibly rude to invite someone to be a guest speaker at your event, have them confirm and mark off their calendar and turn down other offers, then rescind their invitation. this is maybe the simplest of the points, but it is an important one.

second, (DEEP BREATH HERE WE GO BUCKAROOS) i personally do not think of my autism as a disability very often, but i also KNOW that despite these feelings it ABSOLUTELY IS. autism is important to be listed as a recognized disability because of the help some autistic buckaroos need regarding government programs and things like that. ALSO just because my neurodivergence has helped me in some ways (hyperfocus and a unique artistic sensibility for example). i personally need to step back and remember my battle with stress and chronic pain from having to neurotypically mask all the time. for as much as i love being autistic it has made some things very difficult.

in other words, i am perfectly capable of speaking and interacting with folks without this pink bag on my head BUT WHEN I AM IN THE CHUCK TINGLE SPACE I REQUIRE IT. i can ONLY use this space while covering my face. is not a want. it is a need. holding this boundary is more important than i can ever say. i will not, and can not, let these spaces cross.

TLA not letting an autistic author wear the face cover theyve set up to express their neurodivergence in a safe, healthy way is--for lack of a better term--NOT A GOOD LOOK.

i cannot fathom them disinviting another author for using a disability aid. i cannot fathom them saying that a buckaroo who hears better with a hearing device cannot use it during their panel because it would make others 'uncomfortable'.

but here we are.

PART THREE: WHAT DOES A BUCKAROO GOTTA DO TO GET BANNED AROUND HERE?

this is the TLAs official stance on disability issues according to their website:

when poking around on the TLA website i noticed a few other things. i noticed a previous guest speaker wearing a niqab, and i was left wondering if the religious significance is what make that okay but chuck tingle banned. that made sense until i looked deeper and saw mascot buckaroos dressed up on the exhibition floor, and saw some kind of spiderbud in a costume contest. nobody around them seemed to be all that scared. their invitations REMAINED INTACT.

it should be mentioned here that AT ONE POINT during the discussions an email was sent from TLA saying chuck is allowed to come and wear his mask in the exhibition halls and smaller panels, just not at any of the big PAID PANELS i was once supposed to participate on. this was a confusing offer, but their explanation was that people who paid for something should have the option to not see chucks 'scary neurodivergence aid'. i tried to wrap my head around WHY they would make a distinction. maybe the exchange of money (rather than time) causes some kind of philosophical adjustment that i just cant grasp?

i wonder, would the author who wears a niqab ALSO be banned from the paid panels? i hope not

my answers trotted up short until i investigated deeper and found this quick moment from one of the TLA help videos. while some events DO require additional buckaroo cash, it actually appears that THE ENTIRE CONFERENCE IS TICKETED AND COSTS MONEY.

at this point i realized there is clearly no actual official policy about not covering your face (other than one from a few years ago saying that you HAVE to cover your face), and the addition of 'money' is a red herring. these excuses make no sense

PART FOUR: CLOSE THOSE GATES

it appears that my neurodivergence is 'scary' enough to get me uninvited, REGARDLESS what their disability and mask policies may say

BUT WHY? why is chucks preferred physical presentation valued SO little by the TLA that a THEORETICAL complaint is worth more? is my neurodivergent expression so awful? is my own safety as a queer activist such an afterthought?

is a pink bag with the words 'love is real' scrawled across the front REALLY going to frighten someone when the posters and pamphlets on the way into in panel would have a photo of my masked face saying THIS IS LITERALLY WHO IS ABOUT TO APPEAR BEFORE YOU.

if THAT accommodation is too much, would it really be so difficult to have someone trot out beforehand and make an announcement? to say 'there is someone on this upcoming panel who needs a mask to express this part of himself, if this makes you uncomfortable then this panel might not be for you'.

and really, i have to heckin ask, is this physical expression of my raw inner truth really so hideous and frightening that fear of making someone uncomfortable is a REAL problem?

(a terrifying display of autism. apparently)

i cannot imagine what kind of precautions they need to take before a stage play featuring costumes and masks.

you MIGHT think chucks queerness and left leaning politics could be the issue with this organization, but they have had drag queens as past speakers (also featuring some GLORIOUS makeup and hair that covers almost all of their faces. VERY CURIOUS). regardless, the TLA do not seem like a conservative bunch.

if you are bisexual or an autistic person who is good at 'passing' you probably already know where this is headed, your dang spiderbuckaroo senses are tingling at FULL ALERT. i will say i do not KNOW the real reason why i was uninvited, and i do not have enough information to make any concrete statement of the real answer. there is only evidence that masks have been fine at TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION events in the past, but not much else to go on.

so the FACTS part of our discussion ends there, but i think it opens us up to talk about some very important feelings that bisexual and autistic buckaroos know well.

THIS is where we take a unfortunate, hurtful moment and turn it into a discussion. this is where we prove love is real.

as someone who is constantly doubted and put through purity tests because of my unique way, we are pushing up against a subject i know well. thats right buckaroos: we are talking GATEKEEPING

AGAIN, i do not know if this is the answer, but someone in my position might be VERY STRONGLY INCLINED TO THINK that a few well-meaning left leaning buckaroos think i am a joke and that this is a character, and that there is something problematic about my work because i am not really a real person.

any upstanding left leaning organization would OF COURSE allow a mask for a neurodivergent buckaroo with an unusual visual presentation, an autistic buckaroo who conquered his chronic pain ONLY by creating this important space... but what about a FAKE autistic buckaroo?

any upstanding left leaning organization would OF COURSE allow a mask for a queer LGBTQ activist standing up for gay and trans rights against a torrent of scoundrels hunting for his legal identity. its a matter of safety... but what about a FAKE queer activist?

let me be very clear for the 100th time: i am a real person. this is not a joke. i am not playing a character. i am really autistic and bisexual. tinglers are sincere and they are not ‘so bad theyre good’. they are just good. camp damascus is not ‘my first serious book’ because my queer erotica is serious. my art is important and real.

when people tell me to unmask they often do not know WHY they want it, and of course one very good reason is innocent curiosity. but there are SOME cases where i start to get THAT feeling--that tingle all of us ‘passing’ buckaroos get when we can sense the real intent behind the poking and prodding. that is the feeling of stumbling into a gatekeepers crosshairs.

if i was to take off my pink bag, what about my face would you analyze to tell if i was REALLY queer. my eye color? my ear shape? if you learned my legal name, would you see if it sounded autistic? is my voice neurodivergent enough?

or is all of that utterly absurd? i am curious what the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION thinks.

PART FIVE: GENDERED

this will be the shortest of parts, but it has to be said. i have a very complex relationship with gender, as written about at length here and here. i understand these things can be difficult to parse for some, but i ask that you trust me when i say that the ONLY reason i have been able to talk about my gender and sexuality and learn these things about myself is because of this pink bag. this outward appearance is a direct expression and reflection of my gender journey.

if the texas library association does not care about my appearance as an expression of my autism, then i cant imagine them giving a dang about it as an expression of my gender and queerness. that being said, it is personally very important to me and i think it should be mentioned

PART SIX: SO YOU WANT TO REMOVE AN AUTISTIC QUEER AUTHOR FROM YOUR EVENT BECAUSE PEOPLE MIGHT FIND THEIR DIFFERENCES SCARY

there is a question to be asked here: how could the TLA have done this correctly?

i have one very big piece of advice i would like to shout from the rooftops. please, for the love of sweet barbara, DO ENOUGH RESEARCH to know if this appearance will be a problem and, IF SO, dont extend an invitation in the first place. unique buckaroos with different presentations are constantly left in this place of limbo because we are bombarded with careless actions like those of the TLA. before you consider extending a branch to an artist who might need more accommodations than usual, think to yourself 'CAN WE MAKE THESE ACCOMMODATIONS?'

putting all of this on the shoulders of a single 'buckaroo with a difference' is exhausting. as the TLA has shown, we currently live on a timeline where a buckaroo like myself never really knows if an invite is SOLID without doing a deep dive history lesson on how often a group discriminates and against who.

i did not want to spend my whole family holiday worrying whether or not i should say something publicly or just lie down and shut my dang mouth. i had to consider HOW i should say it. i had to worry whether or not its worth standing up for myself in the face of the largest state library association in the country. i think buckaroos with differences are with me when i say: WE ARE SICK OF HAVING TO DO THIS WORK TO COVER FOR THE POOR BEHAVIOR OF LARGE ORGANIZATIONS WHO TREAT US BADLY

another option would just be to use kindness and common sense and happily accommodate artists with unique presentations to your conventions

PART SEVEN: LOVE IS STILL REAL

i would like to close by saying THANK YOU to my publisher nightfire and editor kelly for standing up for me. they immediately stood firm and had my back. they are the real dang deal. THANK YOU to my management and agent buds dongwon and gino for trotting along beside me. THANK YOU to the folks at the texas library association who initially invited chuck with goodness in their heart and then likely got bowled over by someone else, and maybe even got knocked to the side by a big closing gate.

i hope there are librarians in texas who are still interested in carrying BURY YOUR GAYS when it comes out (which is ironically about someone who creates a space through art to express their queerness where they cant otherwise). libraries prove love is real and what they do IS SO IMPORTANT. it was SO IMPORTANT TO ME as a young buckaroo and i cannot thank you enough. i am not sure if me writing all of this will hurt my sales in some way, but this opportunity to speak about the reality of disability awareness and queer gatekeeping is too important to stay silent. (if you have not already preordered BURY YOUR GAYS then give it a preorder to make up for some texas library losses i guess.)

which leads me to my final thank you. THANK YOU to the buckaroos reading this. yes YOU. i am in the position to stand up and speak my mind against scoundrel forces ONLY because i have the might of you buckaroos by my side. the buckaroo trot is ALL OF OUR TROT and we are ALL HERE TO PROVE LOVE. i cannot tell you how much i appreciate the way you have created a space for me to express these important parts of myself. you have seen this pink mask over my face and saying YES, I ACCEPT YOU, you have literally saved my life. for that i am so thankful.

if you are UPSET by what youve read here, then turn it into something positive. you can support autistic creators, or make a donation to the AUTISTIC SELF ADVOCACY NETWORK

and besides WHO IS REALLY MISSING OUT? this is what it looks like when you invite the worlds greatest author chuck tingle to your event and treat their identity as valid. WE HAVE A DANG GOOD TIME

KEEP TROTTING INTO THE FUTURE. KEEP KICKING DOWN GATES WHEREVER THEY MAY BE. KEEP PROVING LOVE IS REAL AND PROVING IT TOGETHER. lets go buckaroos - chuck

UPDATE AN HOUR AFTER POSTING:

true buckaroo TJ KLUNE was set to be another author on panel chuck was removed from and has informed me he has now chosen to decline his invitation in support and solidarity with chuck. i am so deeply moved by this. thank you from bottom of heart buckaroo

to be very clear TJ has a huge platform and DOES NOT NEED TO DO THIS. these conferences are great for book sales and he is taking a hit out of pure solidarity. this is queer buckaroos standing up for eachother. i am floored by this kindness and love

please consider checking out his books if they are not already covering your dang bookshelf. chuck blurbed IN THE LIVES OF PUPPETS and i was blown away i heckin loved it

MOST RECENT UPDATE:

here is more

[itoshiexx]

when you're mad and use their full name

how the blue lock boyfriends react when you're mad and use their full name

pairings: isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro and itoshi sae x gn!reader (separate) | warnings: little arguments, angst if u squint, reader is kinda hot headed? lol, mostly fluff and the boys wanting to be in your good graces.

notes: did i kick depression in the ass to finish this? not really. but it worked, and here i am! this is my nagi seishiro debut omgggg hopefully i did him justice and he's not too ooc. also new design for the scenarios to match my theme. enjoy, lovelies! let me know if you'd like especific scenarios and send me an ask :)

masterlist

ISAGI YOICHI

yoichi hoped he would die. 

really. 

it’s the least he deserved for making you angry — even more so because he didn’t know what made you angry in the first place. he spent the last fifteen minutes excavating his mind to try and remember what could have ticked you off so much that you don’t even wanna look at him.

he hates it. isagi needs your eyes on him, needs to hear your voice and touch your skin. and with the way you’re so silent and distant, he might be just like a man in the desert without water.

“baby,” he looked at you on the other end of the couch, intently watching the tv show in front of you.  just a glimpse would make him breathe again. just a nod would ease his nerves. hell, he would even take a glare, as long as you were looking at him.

but he got nothing. zero. nada.

“baby, please,” he tried again. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you mad.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, but still didn’t spare him a glance. he sighed.

“i’ll never do it agai—”

“do you even know why you’re apologizing, isagi yoichi?!” you asked, exasperated. your boyfriend froze on the spot when hearing his full name, because of course he didn’t. 

as far as he knew, you were having a great day together. he bought you breakfast from your favorite bakery, you made a delicious lunch and then you two went out shopping. he even gifted you with a beautiful necklace after an enthusiastic shop employee offered to show him some pieces—

oh.

“you got jealous of the saleswoman?”

“blah blah you got jealous of the saleswoman? heck yeah I did!” you impersonated him with a high pitched, sarcastic voice that showed just how mad you were. “she was all over you, yoichi, and you didn’t do anything!” 

he swallowed thickly, daring to approach you on the couch. he hugged your frame, despite the crossed arms in front of your chest making it a little hard.

“i’m sorry, darling. i didn’t even notice she was being inappropriate because you’re the only one i pay attention to. and i always figured people would never dare be so bold if you’re by my side and we’re clearly together.”

his sweet words coated you, making you glance away, knowing that looking at his puppy eyes would end you for good. 

“you should have done something anyway.”

“i know. i totally should, and i’m sorry i didn’t. i never meant to make you feel bad or let people disrespect you.” he rested his chin on your shoulder, breath shuddering right on your ear.

the sincerity in his voice was enough to chip away your anger, and you visibly relaxed in his embrace. yoichi held a breath of relief, knowing he still had to be careful.

“i’m sorry, baby. it won’t happen again. forgive me, please?” he placed a sweet kiss on your cheek, and god, how could you keep being mad like that?

damn isagi yoichi and his genuine blue eyes.

you uncrossed your arms, embracing his instead, and finally looked at him with love again.

“fine. but just because you’re so charming, ‘ichi.”

he chuckled. “you’re the charming one. i’m totally under your spell, darling.”

and when your lips met, yoichi hoped to keep living just to have more of you.

NAGI SEISHIRO

people would often ask him if his detached, nonchalant persona ever got in his way through his life. seishiro would always say no, because everything and everyone he did care about understood his lazy way and inability to do… pretty much everything.

that didn’t mean he never made the effort, though. as much as nagi liked to live like a sloth and just go on with his life playing video games, there were still things in his life that were worth it. like football. his friends. and you, of course. 

ever since you met, seishiro discovered that being with you wasn’t a bother. and after he fell in love and you became a couple, he found himself eager to indulge you, even if it meant going out of his way. his friends congratulated him and expressed genuine happiness to see how much he improved, and that, along with your beautiful smile, filled his heart with joy. 

however, no matter how much he tried, he was still…

“nagi seishiro.” 

a shiver ran down his spine with the sound of your voice, and not the good kind. he had never heard you sound so stern, so angry, so… disappointed, even. enough to leave a sour taste in his mouth. so much so he immediately lifted his eyes from his console, only to find your harsh gaze.

“ehh? wha’ did i do, angel? don’t say my name like that,” he pouted, crawling towards your body splayed on the bed. 

even when you tried to fight his embrace, nagi took advantage of his large frame to engulf you and lay his head on your chest, so you wouldn’t walk away in case you got any angrier.

“babeeeee,” he whined, hugging you tighter.

“let go of me,” you said, and he just shook his head. “you deserve it. you weren’t even listening to what i was saying, were you?”

what a hassle. he really wasn’t listening, but… well, he got way too focused on beating the last boss. could you really blame him? 

he heard you scoff. “oh, my bad, i should have known it was the last boss. it’s more important than me anyway, right, nagi?”

fuck. fuck. fuck. did he say that out loud? he sounded like a dick. you had every right to be mad and call him by his full or last name. 

nagi lifted his head from your chest to look at you, feeling his throat tighten with the sight of your teary eyes. guilt gnawed at his chest when seeing how upset and frustrated you were. 

“eh, ’m sorry, pretty thing. i got too caught up ‘n didn’t notice you were talking t’me.”

“am i that invisible to you?” a tear almost rolled down your cheek. seishiro shook his head, a little more exasperated than usual. 

“huh? ’f course not, angel. y’re never invisible. all i see is you. y’re the most important to me,” he held eye contact, and even though you wanted to tear your gaze away, seishiro’s eyes were more magnetizing than ever, even if your view was a little blurry.

you knew your boyfriend wasn’t the type to lie, since he always claimed it was a hassle. you knew you were important to him, but his lack of consideration still hurt. 

“i’ll apologize as many times as you wish. ‘m sorry for not listening and making you feel bad. i never wan’ you to feel bad, pretty thing.” 

nagi used his strength to roll around and switch your positions, in a way you were on top of him instead. he started caressing your hair in a soothing motion, making your eyelashes flutter. “y’can talk as much as you want. i promise i’ll listen t’you.”

your eyes welled with tears for a different reason, and you hugged the striker as hard as you could. even if he faltered, seishiro never failed to make up to you and make you feel loved.

“promise, sei?”

“promise.”

ITOSHI SAE

although sae wasn’t exactly smart in the emotions field, he always knew when you weren’t happy with something. you scowled, huffed and rolled your eyes, keeping an eerie silence that was only broken when absolutely necessary. 

at that moment, he was sure you weren’t happy with him.

you both kept to yourselves while still at the event, masquerading any problems for the cameras. sae had a hand at the small of your back and he could feel how stiff you were. the midfielder wouldn't admit that seeing you so uncomfortable around him made his heart pang.

at the limo, the path to your shared penthouse was quiet, and you brushed him off when he tried to hold your hand. sae could only stare at his window with furrowed brows, itching to dissipate this awkward atmosphere. he never liked when you were mad, especially at him.

he expected some sort of explosion when you got to your apartment, but you kept your glaze off him, trying to walk to the bedroom for your night routine without even sparing him a word. 

nuh-uh. that wouldn’t do. 

he held your wrist before you could go, and lightly pulled you so that you were facing him. your eyes widened with the sudden movement, but narrowed as soon as landed on his face. 

“why are you mad?”

you scoffed. the audacity of this man. 

“you know exactly why i’m mad, itoshi sae.”

shit, the government name? you were really fucking angry.

“i wouldn’t be asking if i knew,” he answered, immediately regretting it when you glared at him, as if saying that wasn’t the right answer. “i-i mean… i didn’t realize what was wrong, amor.”

you walked closer to your boyfriend, making him release your wrist. despite his typical stoic face, sae was clinging to your every word.

“itoshi sae, you can not talk to your little brother like that!” you nearly growled on his face, surprising him. “you were very rude and condescending, and that’s no way to speak to rin!”

he frowned. you were mad because of rin? the little green monster inside of him threatened to grow, but he forced him to stay put. sae didn’t want to anger you further, so he simply let his hands slither to your hips, pulling you closer to him.

“i don’t think i was rud—” you lifted one eyebrow, and he rolled his eyes. “fine. i might have been kinda harsh.”

“and?” you crossed your arms.

he sighed. “i will apologize.”

“i’m serious about this, itoshi sae. i will ask rin—”

“i’ll tell him i’m sorry, okay? no need to keep talking about rin.” he interrupted, palms traveling to your ass while he nosed your neck. he planted a small kiss under your ear, huffing a minty breath that made you shudder. sae smirked. “and no need to keep calling me by full name, either. what happened to ‘cariño’?”

you held onto his biceps for some grounding, but still didn’t budge. 

“you weren’t very sweet today, so it’s not fitting.” 

he pouted while hiding in your neck, taking full advantage that you couldn’t see him, but was quick to withdraw to face you once again, touching your noses. one of his hands cradled your jaw, and you sighed with the pathetic effect your boyfriend had on you. 

“perdóname, amor?” he whispered against your lips, eyes sincere like you knew he could be. your poor little heart could never resist him when he was like this, rarely vulnerable and eager for you.

you gave a long exhale, arms moving to tangle around his neck. and folded.

“as long as you make it right, mi cariño.”

© 2024 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

if you like my writing and would like to support me, you can 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ! any amount is welcomed and very appreciated! ♥

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

An analysis on how Sir Pentious' character design represents his personality and development perfectly (beware of Hazbin Hotel spoilers)

Let's get this out of the way: Sir Pentious is a snake, an animal mostly known for generally believed negative traits such as poison, deceit and betrayal. We don't know WHY he's in Hell, maybe he was a "snake oil salesman" considering he comes from the Victorian times and he's into hyping up what he does, or maybe he was into war. Thing is, he's a Sinner whose design just scream "Evil".

(BTW, a snake could also represent "fertility": looking at you, Egg Boiz!)

He always had eyes all around him not just because of a stylistic choice.

Sir Pentious always felt like he was watched, and had to watch out for any danger.

"Everyone here is too nice: obviously it must be a lie! I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when?! HOW?! I must be PREPARED!"

Sadly, he's been constantly berated by other demons, far more effective in destruction, status, cruelty and charisma. Alastor won't ever bother to remember him, Cherri always ones up him, and the Vs, the ones he admires to most, won't care less about him.

To the point that Vox sent him as a spy without the intention to save him if things were going to fail. Heck, he even openly tells him to die while calling him a failure.

So of course he's got reasons to have trust issues, or taking everything so seriously, being constantly reminded of what he can't accomplish. So he puts an air of grandure that may be very flamboyant, but is VERY frail.

But, if we have to be frank here, his biggest source of insecurities... is himself.

He has eyes on his tail (his softer, more vulnerable side, which is ironically made even MORE lieable to getting hurt because of how sensitive those organs are), and inside his hood, so he could look out better for danger when on alert mode.

Heck, even the mark on his hood kinda resembles one eye.

Problem is, when you see his hood folded, when he's at ease, neutral or sad, those are not looking at outside sources.

They're looking at him, at his back. A constant stare that happens everytime he lets his guard down and shows how vulnerable he is. A gaze that can sense all of his weakness, his struggles, his insecurities.

And it's all him.

Pentious constantly believes that his inferiority complex will fade away once he'll accomplish something grand that will make others accept him. But he is his biggest critic, his worst enemy: HE is the one who believes he's a failure, that he'll never gain approval from others.

This show takes place in Hell, but this is Sir Pentious' personal Hell: insecurity born out of self hatred. Doomed to feel everyone's gaze upon him, including his own. Believing the danger to his self esteem is from others, when it's really from him.

But then he's accepted at the Hazbin Hotel: Charlie forgives him, he bonds with Angel, Husk and Niffty who don't care a bit about what he's accomplished or not, or what he's done in the past.

He feels more comfortable in showing his vulnerable side, and no one judges him for how easy it is for him to get emotional.

Of course he's still very insecure, considering how he struggles to confess to Cherri, but notice how he stops building machines or planning to attack others as soon as he starts bonding with the others: he doesn't have a reason to destroy or attack, now that he knows he's loved.

And his final design, when he goes to Heaven, shows how much he's changed, yet stayed the same. He may have died a hero, but he's still the same awkward snake we've come to love.

Speaking of love, let's talk about that!

No more eyes on his tail, now it's just on his chest (showing he's opened his heart), his glasses are now heart shaped, and even the markings inside his hood resemble kiss marks more than anything else.

And look: the mark on his hood is now heart shaped!

Why all these hearts? Why did all the eyes disappeared from his body? Even his eyes that were looking at his back?

Simple: love. Love defeated his insecurities and self hatred. He died for love.

He died protecting his friends, his new family, his new home.

He confessed and kissed Cherri knowing full well he wouldn't have made it, and yet he went anyway.

The usually cowardly and timid Pentious actually faced a great danger with courage and determination: he acted selflessly by putting himself in harm's way, he didn't steal (naturally) and by going against Adam he did indeed "stick it to the man"!

He used his weaponry knowhow and battle experience not to conquer, but to save his loved ones.

His only thought up until his demise was: "I'll go down protecting them".

And he's been rewarded not only by becoming an angel, but also being spawned directly in front of Emily and Sera, two Seraphim, the highest rank for an angel to have, who have also been depicted as snakes of fire throughout history! Sir Pentious, the lowly demon considered a failure by everyone, actually has been noticed by the Seraphim! He's come so far!

He's now come to represent the REAL symbolism of a snake: the duality of death and rebirth, transformation and immortality (ironically a reference to the fact he's been around since 1888 without ever dying from any Extermination or blessed weapons).

And isn't so poetic that a snake, the "source of the original evil", was the first sinner to ascend to Heaven? Or that this episode was released on February 1st, or National Serpent Day?

And of course, as the Bible itself says:

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."

(John 15:13)

And knowing him, I'm confident in saying he'll keep helping his friends even in his new position, like the soft hearted noodle he's always been, but was to afraid to show it up until now.