#an after where those left can live and learn and grow

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 13

word count: 7.3k

hi! this was inspired by one of the comments left in my inbox so thank u for the suggestion! i've read the other ones and have noted them down as well. happy reading!

"Harryyy, come on!" Aspen's playful whine echoed through the quiet library, earning a raised brow from an older patron seated nearby. Aspen winced apologetically before turning back to Harry, who stood a few feet away, his expression as unimpressed as ever, though the slight curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

"No," he puffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he bent down into the book cart. With one hand, he pulled out another hardcover while his other steadied the wobbling stack she had precariously piled earlier. He reached over, extending the book toward her without breaking stride. "Here, unless you wanna use me as a ladder again."

Aspen's cheeks flushed. The last time they'd done this, she had struggled with the top shelves and made him crouch down so she could awkwardly step onto his thigh. He hadn't let her live it down since.

It had become their little routine. Aspen was buried neck-deep in midterms and work shifts, balancing her time between lectures, the library, and stolen moments of quiet with Harry. On the nights where their schedules aligned, Harry had made it a habit of swinging by the library before closing time. At first, Aspen had protested his help, insisting she could finish on her own, but Harry, as persistent as he was, always wore her down. Now, she couldn't help but smile every time she saw him stroll through the doors with that easy confidence, ready to argue until she let him pitch in.

Today was no different. Aspen had barely clocked in after her lecture when Harry texted her: Be there at 4. A simple message, but it left her cheeks warm for the rest of her shift. By the time he arrived, they'd fallen into their usual rhythm. Aspen would work, and Harry would pretend to grumble about helping but inevitably do it anyway—though only after extracting a promise of a few kisses in his car afterward.

"Come on, if you make an Instagram account, we could all follow you, spy on your so-called private life," Aspen teased, glancing over her shoulder with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically, biting back a giggle when Harry rolled his eyes.

"You already do that," he shot back, sliding another book into her waiting hands. "And I only really talk to you guys anyway. What's Instagram gonna do that my contacts and iMessage can't?"

Aspen jutted out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, cradling the book to her chest. "But then you could post all those artsy photos you take! Come on, Harry, you're practically an undercover photographer."

That earned her a full-on laugh, low and rich, as Harry leaned his hip against the cart. She wasn't wrong. One thing Aspen had quickly learned about him was his knack for capturing beauty in the mundane. Whether it was the glow of a sunset behind the mountains, the way fog curled lazily through downtown's alleys, or the candid snaps he'd take when she wasn't looking, his camera roll was a treasure trove of little moments. She knew he had an actual camera at home, too—one he swore was on its third memory card. But the thought of him sharing even a glimpse of those moments on Instagram made her grin grow wider.

Harry sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck like he was truly at a crossroads. "Alright, alright," he relented, earning an excited squeal from Aspen. "I'll make one so you can do all your little tagging stuff, but I'm not promising to post a single thing."

Aspen narrowed her eyes, as if weighing the seriousness of his promise, before finally giving in. "Deal." Her grin was infectious, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle. She'd been pestering him for days, and deep down, he didn't really mind. The idea of her tagging him in pictures, forcing him into her corner of the social media world, wasn't so bad. Maybe he'd even scroll through it occasionally when he was bored or needed a distraction between clients.

Sliding the last book onto the shelf, Aspen turned back to him, her hands on her hips. "You know," she started with a sly smile, "this means you officially owe me now."

Harry raised a brow, smirking. "Oh yeah? And what exactly do I owe you?"

"A coffee," she declared confidently. "Because I've been running on fumes all day, and if I don't get caffeine soon, you're going to have a grumpy librarian on your hands."

Harry chuckled, stepping closer and letting his hand brush lightly against hers. "Alright, love. Let's get you your coffee. But only if I get one of those kisses in return."

Aspen's cheeks turned a deep shade of pink, her bashful smile tugging at his heart as she nodded. "Deal."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Harry carried his jacket hooked on his finger over his shoulder, the fabric swaying slightly with each step, while his other arm rested securely around Aspen’s shoulders. The warmth of his touch seeped through her sweater, grounding her as they exited the softly lit library into the crisp evening air. The muffled hum of passing cars filled the quiet space between them as they strolled toward his car, their pace unhurried, comfortable.

"Zayn told me earlier he’d be out with Isobel," Harry began, his voice low and inviting as he reached to open the passenger door for her. He leaned casually against the door frame, his jacket still dangling from his finger, as Aspen climbed in. "So I was wonderin’," he continued, his green eyes catching hers in the dim glow of the streetlamp, "if you’d like t’stay for dinner? It’s not too late. I could whip us somethin’ up."

Aspen paused, her hands fumbling slightly with her seatbelt as she glanced up at him. The way he stood there, effortlessly charming with a soft smile playing on his lips, made her heart flutter. "Yeah! I’d like to, H. Thank you," she replied, her own smile small but genuine.

Harry’s smile widened just a fraction before he leaned down, pressing a warm kiss to her forehead. The gesture left her momentarily breathless, her eyes fluttering shut instinctively at the tenderness. He shut the door gently behind her and rounded the car, sliding into the driver’s seat with an ease that came from countless nights like this. As the engine purred to life and warm air began to flood the cabin, Aspen’s stomach let out a low growl, breaking the comfortable silence.

Harry let out a puff of air, a laugh that was both teasing and fond. "Hungry, are we?" he teased, glancing at her sideways with a smirk. Aspen’s cheeks turned pink as she ducked her head in embarrassment, but her lips curved into a sheepish grin.

"Maybe a little," she admitted, the confession barely audible over the soft hum of the heater.

By the time they arrived at his apartment, Harry had already shrugged off his jacket and was heading for the kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable," he called over his shoulder as Aspen toed off her shoes and hung her tote bag neatly on the coat rack by the door. Before disappearing into the living room, she felt the soft press of his lips on her forehead again, a fleeting touch that left her cheeks warm.

Harry rummaged through his fridge, the faint clink of jars and the rustle of packaging filling the kitchen as he searched. "Baby?" His voice broke the quiet after a couple of minutes, pulling Aspen from her thoughts as she peeked her head around the corner.

"Yeah?" she asked softly, stepping into the kitchen. The cold tile against her pink, frilly sock-covered feet made her shiver, but the sight of Harry, slightly hunched with his head in the fridge, was enough to distract her. He turned toward her with a package of chicken in hand, his smile easy and affectionate.

"Are you okay with chicken? Gonna do somethin’ easy with it—maybe some broccoli and potatoes?" he asked, holding up the ingredients as if to get her approval.

Aspen nodded quickly, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see her silent affirmation. Realizing her mistake, she squeaked out a soft, "Yes... yes! That sounds good, thank you."

Harry chuckled quietly to himself, charmed by her shy but earnest response. She pulled one of the chairs out from the island and perched on it, her feet resting on the footrest as she settled in to watch him. Aspen wanted to keep him company, to be near him while he worked his magic in the kitchen, but she stayed quiet, her gaze soft as she observed him move.

Harry worked with a practiced ease, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he began chopping broccoli and seasoning the chicken. The faint clatter of utensils and the rhythmic chop of the knife filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clink of a glass or a soft hum from Harry as he focused. Aspen found herself mesmerized by the simple yet deliberate way he moved, every gesture seeming natural and unhurried.

"You’re really good at this," she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the faint sizzle as he turned on the stovetop.

Harry glanced up, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. "At cookin’? Or at convincin’ you to stay for dinner?"

Aspen giggled, her hands fidgeting slightly in her lap. "Both, maybe," she admitted, her cheeks tinting pink.

"Well, lucky for you," he said, flashing her a grin as he set the pan on the stove, "I happen to enjoy doin’ both."

Dinner had gone by in a blur of easy conversation, soft laughter, and the comfortable rhythm that Harry and Aspen had found themselves settling into. Aspen was shy, yes, but around Harry, there was a growing ease—a sense that she could let her guard down without judgment. They spoke about their day, her recounting a particularly funny mishap during her shift at the library, and him sharing a story about a client who insisted on getting a tattoo of their cat dressed as a pirate. It left Aspen giggling behind her hand, her laughter light and airy, a sound Harry was quickly growing addicted to.

As the plates were cleared and the last bites of dinner had been taken, Harry stood and began gathering the dishes, shooting her a teasing look when she moved to help. "Sit tight, love," he said, shaking his head. "I’ll take care of this. You’ve had a long day."

Aspen hesitated, her hands half-reaching for a plate, but she relented under the warmth of his gaze. “Okay,” she murmured softly, her voice small but sweet.

Harry rinsed the plates before stacking them neatly in the sink. He turned to her, wiping his hands on a dish towel, and his expression softened. "Y’want somethin’ more comfortable to wear? Don’t have to if you’re fine as is, but if y’want, I can grab you a shirt or somethin’."

Aspen blinked at him, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face before she nodded. "That would be nice... if you don’t mind."

Harry’s grin was immediate and reassuring. "‘Course not. Be right back."

He returned moments later with a well-worn black t-shirt, the fabric soft from years of wear. He handed it to her, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. “Bathroom’s just down the hall on the left,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction. Aspen nodded, clutching the shirt to her chest as she padded down the hallway.

Inside the bathroom, Aspen closed the door behind her and let out a quiet breath. The room was clean, with simple touches that felt inherently like Harry—spare but thoughtful. A small plant sat in the corner near the window, and the counter was neat, save for a watch and a bottle of cologne. She couldn’t resist running her fingers lightly over the label of the bottle, smiling to herself at how even the scent of it made her think of him.

She slipped out of her sweater, folding it neatly on the counter, and pulled Harry’s shirt over her head. The fabric was oversized, hanging loosely over her frame, and the faint scent of him clung to it—something warm and comforting. She decided to keep her leggings on, smoothing them down before taking one last glance at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks warmed as she imagined Harry seeing her like this, wearing his clothes.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, the faint sound of running water guided her back to the kitchen. Harry was standing at the sink, his sleeves rolled up, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he scrubbed at a pan. The sight of him made her pause for a moment, her lips curving into a soft smile before she shuffled into the room.

Harry glanced up as she entered, and for a second, he froze. The shirt was far too big for her, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs, the neckline slightly loose on her petite frame. She looked small, cozy, and unmistakably his. The thought hit him with a surprising intensity. His shirt. On her. It felt... right. Like a quiet claim, subtle but undeniable.

"Y’look good," he said after a beat, his voice low and sincere as he dried his hands on the towel. He crossed the room toward her, his green eyes soft as they took her in.

Aspen’s cheeks flushed pink, and she toyed with the hem of the shirt, glancing down shyly. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s lips quirked up in a fond smile. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly over her arm. "You make it look better than I ever did," he added, his tone playful but laced with an underlying tenderness.

Aspen peeked up at him, her lips twitching into a small, bashful smile. “You’re just saying that.”

"Not a chance," Harry replied, shaking his head as he gazed at her. In that moment, with her standing in his kitchen, wearing his shirt and looking like the very embodiment of comfort, Harry couldn’t help but think that this—her, here—was something he could get used to. Something he wanted to get used to.

With the dishes done and the clock showing just past eight, Harry leaned against the counter, drying the last plate. He looked over at Aspen, who was seated on one of the kitchen stools, idly running her fingers along the hem of his shirt. She looked completely at home, and the sight filled Harry with a quiet warmth he didn’t quite know how to put into words.

"Not too late yet," Harry said, tossing the dish towel over his shoulder. "How d’you feel about a movie? Could use a bit of a break after today, yeah?"

Aspen’s eyes lit up, and she nodded. “That sounds nice. I—I wouldn’t mind cuddling up with you again,” she admitted, her voice shy but steady enough to make Harry’s chest swell with affection.

He grinned, the dimples in his cheeks deepening. "Alright then. Y’pick somethin’, and I’ll get the living room sorted. Just gimme a sec to change out of these," he said, gesturing to his skinny jeans and button-up shirt.

Aspen’s cheeks warmed at the thought of him getting more comfortable. "Okay," she replied softly, sliding off the stool and padding into the living room. She browsed through his small stack of DVDs on the shelf, her fingers brushing over the spines as she considered what to watch.

Meanwhile, Harry disappeared into his room, tugging off his work clothes and swapping them for a pair of gray sweats and a plain white tee. He left his hair a little mussed, the loose curls falling naturally around his face, and kept only one of his rings on—a silver one he wore on his index finger. As he glanced at himself in the mirror, he wondered if Aspen would notice the change. 

When he returned to the living room, Aspen was kneeling in front of the TV, the remote in her hand and a movie paused on the screen. "This okay?" she asked, turning to him with an uncertain smile.

"Perfect," Harry replied as he crossed the room. But instead of sitting down next to her, he grinned mischievously, lunging toward her with playful energy.

Aspen let out a surprised squeak as Harry tackled her onto the couch, gently but with enough force to leave her laughing breathlessly. "Harry!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed as he settled them both into a comfortable position after teasing her a bit. He tucked her firmly into his side, pulling a throw blanket over the both of them with one hand.

"There," he said with a satisfied grin, his arm draped around her shoulders as she snuggled into his side. Her small hand rested on his abdomen, the fabric of his shirt soft beneath her fingers.

Aspen sighed contentedly, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Being close to Harry like this was quickly becoming one of her favorite things, and she couldn’t help but smile at how natural it felt.

Harry, meanwhile, was busy memorizing every detail of the moment. The way Aspen fit against him like she was meant to be there. The feel of her hand resting on his stomach, moving ever so slightly in rhythm with his breathing. He started tracing light patterns along her arm with his fingers, the repetitive motion soothing for both of them.

"Y’comfy, love?" Harry asked, his voice low and warm.

Aspen nodded against his chest, her face half-hidden by the fabric of his shirt. "Mmhm. Very," she murmured, her shyness laced with contentment.

Harry glanced down at her, his green eyes softening as he watched her settle further into his side. She looked perfect—completely at ease, her cheeks still slightly pink, her fingers brushing lightly over his stomach as if she couldn’t help but touch him.

The movie started, but Harry found it hard to focus on the screen. His thoughts kept drifting back to Aspen. How cute she looked in his oversized shirt, her leggings still clinging to her legs. How much she looked like she belonged there, with him, wrapped up in their own little bubble of warmth and comfort.

"Y’know," Harry said softly after a while, his fingers pausing their movements on her arm, "I could get used to this."

Aspen peeked up at him, her shy smile returning as her heart fluttered at his words. "Me too," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Harry’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied grin. "I should have y'around more often, then, hm?" Aspen nodded, settling more into his side when he gave her arm a reassured squeeze. When Harry caught her beautiful brown eyes flicker down to his lips, he took that as his sign to tilt his head and close the space. She sighed contently, which made Harry grin into their kiss. Slowly, he was learning her little clues and asks without having to actually ask for them. Harry didn't mind. He vowed to himself to understand her always.

As Harry settled onto the couch and his eyes wandered back to the TV, Aspen couldn’t help but notice the subtle differences in him. His curls were slightly messier than usual, like he’d run his fingers through them carelessly after changing. Her eyes flicked to his hand resting on the edge of the blanket, and she noticed he was wearing only one ring, a simple silver one on his index finger. It was such a small detail, but it made her stomach flutter. Even with all the tattoos winding across his arms, his lip piercing catching the light, and the remnants of chipped black polish on his nails, he looked so much like the Harry he showed only to her—soft, unguarded, and entirely hers. It made her heart ache in the best way, knowing she got to see him like this, in these intimate, quiet moments.

The movie had long since settled into a soft lull, its dialogue blending into the warm hum of the apartment. Aspen and Harry had started the evening curled up together, but as time passed, their slow breathing matched the quiet rhythm of the soundtrack, and without realizing it, they both drifted into sleep. Harry’s arm remained wrapped around Aspen, her cheek resting on his shoulder, and the blanket had slipped slightly, pooling at their legs.

Hours passed until Harry stirred, his body instinctively turning toward his side in search of comfort. In his half-conscious state, his hand moved as if reaching for Aspen, but when his fingers met only the cool fabric of the couch, his eyes fluttered open. Disoriented at first, he blinked into the dim glow of the room. Where had she gone? The clock on the wall read just past midnight. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, the blanket falling away as he stretched and glanced toward the hallway.

A faint light spilled from the kitchen, and Harry padded toward it, the hardwood floor cool beneath his bare feet. Leaning against the doorframe, he found her standing in front of the open freezer, her petite frame silhouetted by the soft white glow. She was peering into its depths with a furrowed brow, her hands rubbing her arms lightly as the cool air spilled out around her. She hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on whatever she was searching for.

“Aspen?” His voice was soft, still laced with sleep, and her head whipped around so fast that a lock of hair fell into her eyes. Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she slammed the freezer door shut, stepping back awkwardly.

“Oh! I… I didn’t mean to wake you,” Aspen stammered, her voice barely audible. Her hands fidgeted in front of her, fingers twisting together nervously as she searched for the right words. “I was just, um… I got thirsty—well, no, not thirsty, but… hungry? Kind of?” She trailed off, her cheeks already flushing as she realized how jumbled her explanation sounded. Her gaze dropped to her socked feet, avoiding Harry’s eyes.

Harry leaned casually against the kitchen doorway, a soft, sleepy smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t teasing, just patient and understanding. “You’re fine, love,” he said gently, his voice still raspy from sleep. “What were you looking for?”

“I… uh…” Aspen hesitated, her hands nervously tugging at the hem of his oversized shirt she wore, the soft fabric bunching under her fingers. Her heart thudded as she felt her cheeks burn hotter. She wanted to tell him, but the thought of admitting she was craving something so specific—so indulgent—made her stomach twist with embarrassment.

Harry noticed her hesitation, his brow furrowing slightly. Taking a step forward, he tilted his head, meeting her gaze even though she tried to avoid it. “Aspen,” he said softly, his voice coaxing. “It’s okay. Whatever you want, just tell me.”

“I—” Her voice wavered, and she swallowed nervously, still unable to meet his eyes. “It’s silly. Don’t worry about it.”

Harry smiled warmly, taking another step toward her. “Silly or not, you’re standing in the middle of my kitchen at midnight. So whatever it is, it must be worth finding, yeah?” He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought for a moment. “Let’s see… were you looking for snacks? Chips? Crackers?” He tilted his head playfully. “Maybe leftover pizza?”

Aspen shook her head, a soft laugh escaping despite her nerves. “No… none of those.”

Harry grinned, encouraged by the sound of her laugh. “Alright, what about something sweet, then? Chocolate? Cookies?” He paused, pretending to consider. “Ice cream?”

At that, her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, and her fingers twisted even tighter in the fabric of his shirt. She nodded shyly, glancing up at him for only a split second before looking away again. “Ice cream,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s heart melted at how utterly bashful she was. He stepped closer, his hand brushing gently against her arm to reassure her. “Ice cream, huh?” he repeated with a soft chuckle. “That’s not silly at all, Aspen. I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to raid my freezer.”

Her head snapped up, wide-eyed. “I wasn’t raiding!” she protested, her voice rising slightly in defense before softening again. “I mean… I was just looking.”

Harry chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—just looking,” he teased, opening the freezer himself and glancing back at her. “So, what flavor are we after?”

Aspen hesitated, nervously toying with her hair now. “I, um… I think you had mint chocolate chip the other day?” she said hesitantly, her voice wavering.

Harry caught the way her blush deepened, and his smile softened further. “Mint chocolate chip,” he echoed thoughtfully, his tone light and reassuring. “Good choice, love. Let’s see if we’ve got any left.”

He turned back to the freezer, but his mind lingered on her. The way she looked so small and shy in his kitchen, wearing his shirt, made his chest ache in the best way. She was adorable, and he loved how vulnerable and comfortable she was around him—even when she was nervous.

Harry leaned into the freezer, moving a few frozen bags and containers around until he spotted a familiar green carton pushed to the very back. “Got it,” he announced, pulling it out with a triumphant smile.

Aspen’s face lit up, and she let out a small, delighted laugh. “You’re good at this.”

“I try,” Harry teased, grabbing two spoons from the drawer before motioning toward the floor. “C’mon. Let’s eat before it melts.”

They settled on the cool tile, their backs against the cabinets, and Harry opened the lid with a satisfying pop. He offered her the first spoonful, watching as her eyes lit up at the first taste. “Still your favorite?” he asked, taking a bite for himself.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, nodding enthusiastically. The sweetness melted on her tongue, and she sighed contentedly. Harry still had sleep in his eyes, but being able to be awake with her was worth any amount of sleep.

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft clink of spoons against the carton. Harry glanced at Aspen between bites, his gaze lingering on how the overhead light highlighted the soft curve of her cheeks and the way her eyes crinkled slightly when she smiled. She looked completely at ease now, the embarrassment from earlier forgotten, and he felt a wave of warmth settle over him.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice low and thoughtful, “this feels kind 'f perfect. Jus' you and me, stealing ice cream in the middle of the night.”

Aspen glanced at him, her shy smile growing. “Yeah,” she agreed softly. “It really does.”

As they continued to share the ice cream, the quiet intimacy of the moment lingered, filling the kitchen with a warmth that had nothing to do with the light overhead. Harry twirled his spoon in the carton absently, a small smile playing on his lips. “Alright,” he began, breaking the silence, “I’ve got a question for you.”

Aspen looked at him curiously, her spoon poised mid-air. “What kind of question?”

“Nothing too serious,” Harry assured her, leaning back against the cabinet. “Just… what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t had the chance to yet?”

“Nothing too serious,” Harry assured her, leaning back against the cabinet. He stretched his legs out in front of him, his bare feet crossing lazily. Her legs were shorter than his, a small quirk that turned the corner of his lips up when he noticed it from how they sat. Despite his casual posture, his green eyes were alert, focused entirely on Aspen. “Jus… what’s something you’ve always wanted t'do but haven’t had the chance t'yet?”

Aspen froze for a moment, the question hanging in the air. Her fingers traced the edge of the ice cream lid nervously, her mind racing with possibilities. There were so many things she had dreamed of, so many ideas she’d quietly nurtured but never spoken aloud. “I don’t know,” she murmured finally, her voice soft. “There’s a lot I’d like to do someday.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into an encouraging smile. He knew that hesitation of hers, that instinct to downplay her desires, but he wanted to hear more. “Like what? Give me one thing,” he coaxed gently, his voice low and warm.

Aspen’s breath caught. The way Harry looked at her—calm, patient, and interested—made her feel safe, like her answer really mattered. She dropped her gaze to her lap, gathering her courage as her heart thudded in her chest. “I’ve always wanted to travel,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just… pack a bag and go somewhere completely new. Maybe Italy, or Japan.”

Harry noticed the shift in her tone as she continued, her shyness giving way to quiet enthusiasm. “I want to see the art, the history,” she went on, her words picking up pace. “Experience things that feel bigger than me.”

He couldn’t look away. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about her dreams, the subtle curve of her lips as her confidence grew—it was like seeing a different side of her unfold, piece by piece. His chest ached in the best way, a deep warmth blooming inside him. “That sounds amazing,” he said softly, his voice full of sincerity. “You’d love it. You’ve got tha' curiosity about you—like you’d soak it all in, every detail.”

Aspen felt her cheeks flush, her gaze dipping once more. His words struck something deep within her, something fragile and precious. She wasn’t used to being seen like this, to someone noticing and valuing the quiet parts of her that she often kept hidden. “What about you?” she asked quickly, desperate to shift the focus away from herself. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of the shirt she was wearing—Harry’s shirt—and she peeked up at him, her shyness mixing with genuine curiosity. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

Harry chuckled, a low sound that made Aspen’s heart flutter. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he gave her a playful look. “You’re gonna laugh.”

“I won’t,” she promised, her eyes wide and earnest. She meant it; she couldn’t imagine laughing at him, not when he was sharing a piece of himself like this.

“Alright,” Harry said, his voice taking on a mock conspiratorial tone. “I’ve always wanted t'learn how to surf. Properly, I mean. Not just flopping 'round on a board.”

Aspen blinked in surprise before a soft laugh escaped her lips. It wasn’t mocking—it was light and delighted, filled with a warmth that spread between them. “That’s not silly at all,” she said quickly, her smile growing. “I can actually picture you on a beach.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah? With all the tattoos n' everything?”

She nodded, her cheeks dimpling. “It suits you. The freedom of it… the connection to nature. It feels like you.”

Harry felt his breath hitch at her words, but it was subtle and went without notice. She said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but it hit him deeply. He wasn’t used to being seen in that way, his desires and identity so easily understood. “You’re pretty good at this, you know?” he said quietly, his voice tinged with awe. “Seeing people for who they are.”

Aspen’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink, and she ducked her head shyly. “I just… like paying attention.”

He smiled softly, his heart swelling at her words. He realized that was one of the things he admired most about her—how much she noticed, how much she cared, even if she didn’t always say it aloud.

The moment hung between them, tender and unspoken, as their hearts opened just a little more. And in the quiet warmth of the kitchen, with an empty carton of ice cream forgotten beside them, Harry felt something settle deep within him—a certainty that this, whatever this was, was worth every moment.

Aspen shifted slightly, tucking her legs closer to her body as she glanced at Harry. The weight of their conversation hung in the air, but it wasn’t heavy—it was comforting, like a warm blanket wrapping them in something safe and intimate. Her voice was soft when she spoke again, careful not to disrupt the gentle mood they’d settled into.

“What’s something that calms you down? Like... instantly?” she asked, her curiosity genuine. Her wide eyes studied him, searching his face for an answer.

Harry tilted his head back against the cabinet, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His closed eyes peered open to look at her with a sheepish smirk. “You’re gonna think ’m cheesy.”

Aspen raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin slipping onto her face. “What is it?”

He finally murmured, “Talking to you.” Harry let out a small puff of air, though he wasn't lying. She was his grounding piece. She took his mess and made sense of it.

Aspen let out a playful whine, nudging his shoulder with hers as her cheeks flared pink. “Harry! Be serious!” she giggled, her laugh bubbling up and breaking the quiet.

“I am serious!” he defended, grinning now, though the teasing glint in her eyes made him laugh softly. “Alright, alright. Lemme think.”

She waited patiently, her gaze steady on him. Her heart thudded gently in her chest as she watched him search for an answer, the way his brow furrowed slightly and his lips pressed together in thought. Finally, he spoke.

“Tattooing,” he said simply at first, but there was a weight in his tone that made Aspen sit up a little straighter. His fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hem of his shirt as he continued, his voice quieter now, more reflective. “Whether it’s actually tattooing someone or just sketching a new design... it’s like everything else disappears for a while. There’s jus' me n' the lines I’m creating. It’s... grounding.”

Aspen tilted her head, her interest piqued. She could tell there was more he wasn’t saying, so she stayed quiet, giving him the space to keep going.

“It’s not jus' about the art,” Harry admitted, his green eyes flickering to hers before looking away again, as if what he was about to say felt too vulnerable to meet her gaze. “It’s... therapeutic, in a way. When I’m tattooing someone, there’s this trust, y'know? They’re letting me leave something permanent on them, something that means something to them. And when I’m sketching, i’s like... I can take whatever’s in my head—whatever’s making me feel restless or stuck—and put it on paper. Turn it into something that makes sense.”

Aspen’s heart ached at the sincerity in his words, the way he spoke with such quiet passion. She hadn’t expected such a heartfelt answer, but it made sense. Tattooing wasn’t just a job to him; it was a part of who he was.

“It’s kind of like...” Harry paused, searching for the right words. “When I’m holding the machine, or even just a pencil, it’s like I have control over something. Like no matter how messy life gets, I can create something beautiful from it. It’s calming in a way nothing else is.”

Aspen’s lips parted slightly, her breath catching at his honesty. She’d always admired Harry’s talent, but hearing him talk about it like this—so deeply, so openly—gave her a new perspective. “That’s... really beautiful,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “I never thought about it like that before.”

Harry looked at her then, his gaze steady and full of something unspoken. “It’s the same feeling I get when I’m with you,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Like everything else fades, and it’s just us. Simple.”

Aspen felt her cheeks heat again, her heart thudding against her ribs. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t—his eyes held her in place, and she didn’t want to break the moment.

“Thank you for telling me that,” she said finally, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. She reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against his hand before curling around it. “It means a lot.”

Harry smiled softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Anytime, baby,” he murmured, his voice like a promise. And in the quiet stillness of the kitchen, with only the faint hum of the fridge in the background, they stayed like that—two people learning each other, piece by piece, with every shared word and touch.

Harry's thumb brushed against the back of Aspen’s hand as he held it, the simple contact sparking warmth that spread through both of them. He glanced down at their joined hands, a soft smile tugging at his lips before he looked back up at her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her wide eyes flickered nervously between their hands and his face. She was shy, as always, but there was a comfort in her expression now—a softness that told him she felt safe.

The kitchen was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator, but neither of them noticed. Harry’s gaze lingered on her, taking in the delicate curve of her cheek, the way her lashes fluttered as she peeked up at him. His chest tightened with an unfamiliar ache—not of pain, but of something deeper. Something he couldn’t quite put into words. He felt it every time she looked at him like that, like he was someone who mattered, someone who could make her feel special.

Aspen’s heart raced as she felt the weight of his gaze. It was gentle, but it held an intensity that made her stomach flutter. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention—wasn’t used to someone looking at her like she was something worth cherishing. Yet, with Harry, it felt... right. Natural, even. Her fingers fidgeted slightly against his, but she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to.

Harry leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull back, to stop him if she wanted. But she didn’t move. Her breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly, but there was no fear—only a quiet, nervous anticipation. His hand gently released hers, moving to cup her cheek instead. His thumb brushed along her skin, soft and deliberate, as if he were memorizing the feel of her.

“You’re somethin’ else, Aspen,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, like a promise wrapped in affection.

Aspen’s lips parted slightly, her breath trembling as her thoughts spun. She didn’t know what to say—wasn’t sure she could form words even if she wanted to. All she could do was feel—the warmth of his hand against her cheek, the way his green eyes held hers like she was the only thing that mattered.

Harry dipped his head, closing the small distance between them. His lips brushed hers gently, barely more than a whisper of a kiss. It was soft, tentative, as though he was asking for permission rather than taking. Aspen’s heart thudded against her ribs, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause.

When he pulled back slightly, their noses still brushing, Harry searched her face, his thumb still stroking her cheek. “Okay?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Aspen nodded, her cheeks burning as her lips curved into a shy smile. “Yeah,” she breathed, her voice almost as quiet as his.

Encouraged by her response, Harry leaned in again, pressing another kiss to her lips. This one lingered a little longer, though it was just as gentle. His heart swelled at the way she leaned into him, her fingers lightly brushing against his knee for balance. She was hesitant, but she wasn’t holding back. Not with him.

Aspen felt her nerves melting away, replaced by a warmth that seemed to start in her chest and spread to every part of her. Kissing Harry felt... safe. Like she didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or being too much. He made her feel like she was enough—just as she was.

When they finally pulled apart, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed as he soaked in the moment. “You’re somethin’ else,” he repeated, his voice filled with awe.

Aspen let out a quiet laugh, her fingers curling against his knee. “You’ve said that already,” she teased softly, her shyness giving way to a growing comfort in his presence.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, opening his eyes to look at her. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

She smiled, her heart fluttering at his words. And as they sat there, still tangled in the intimacy of the moment, Aspen realized that maybe, just maybe, she was starting to believe him.

"Something good, I hope.," Aspen quipped, her doe eyes looking up into his.

"Oh, you have no idea."

Aspen only felt the heat crawl up her neck and blush her face. Harry thumbed over her reddening cheek, a cute trait he learned to adore about her. After a few moments of just being in each other's silence, her lips released a tiny yawn which made Harry's lips crack a small smile. "C'mon," he tossed the spoons in the sink above him, pushing himself to stand up before he held out a hand. "Satisfied now, baby? Or is there somethin' else you would like? My kitchen is all yours."

Aspen shook her head shyly, taking his big hand to prop herself back to her two feet. "No, no. I'm all set now. Thank you so much, Harry." The mans heart softened at her words. "Alright, then le's get you back t'bed."

His voice dripped in sleep, low and hanging on to the two brain cells that were currently keeping him awake now. "I'll get you tucked into bed and I'll take the couch." Harry picked up the empty carton, tossing it onto the pile of trash in his bin. Before Aspen could say another word or even think of one to say, his arms slid around the back of her thighs and under her arms to sweep her off her feet. 

"Harry!," Aspen exlaimed in surprise, kicking her feet as she giggled. Harry kissed her shoulder and carried her bridal style down the hall to his bedroom, where he carefully set her down under the sheets. He pulled them back over Aspen, who was slightly sitting up against his headboard. "Do y'want me to stay until you fall asleep? I'll take the couch tonight so—."

Aspen shaking her head cut his sentence off. He tilted his head and furrowed his brows at her shy expression and wandering eyes, taking note of her fidgeting fingers. "You...," she started, come on Aspen—she sucked in a breath— "You can stay. Only if you want, but please." The girls words were rushed by still remained shy and squeakish. His lips tugged back into a smile, which he found himself doing more lately because of her compared to the last few years of his life. 

"Are you letting me know I can stay?" Harry knew her offer was more of her asking, but he didn't want to shine that light onto her. The man gently brushed her hair behind her ear. Anything to make her feel comfortable, he would do. When she nodded again, he hummed contently. "I would love t'stay with you, Asp. Thank you f'letting me." 

Normally, Harry would be down to his briefs if he had been by himself. But to not scare Aspen off, he climbed into bed after removing just his ring on his index finger. He let it clatter into the little tray and he settled under the covers next to him. He didn't mind that she picked his side of the bed, his mind quickly allowing it to become just hers.

Aspen had always had issues falling asleep or staying asleep in a bed or a place that wasn't her own. The first and only time she had a sleepover was when she was eleven, and she had called her sister to pick her up at two in the morning because she just couldn't sleep. But it was different in Harrys bed. She molded into the divot in the bed that was previously there, which she pieced together was Harry's original side of the bed. Aspen felt safe, felt comfortable surrounded by his scent and the soft duvet. 

"Is it okay if I hold you?" Even though they cuddled here and there (every time one of them was over), he still thought it would be respectful to ask in case she needed her space. That idea quickly left his mind when she shuffled closer and curled back into his side like she had earlier in the night. His arms instinctively wrapped around her small frame and his nose buried into the top of her head, followed by a small lasting kiss.

"I've got you, baby. Get some sleep." 

And with that, Aspen found Harry in her dreams once more.

[hoarding-stories]

Going wild about how each chapter shows a different facet of horror

The circle of Vassal and Veil: horror in the environment.

A classical look at things, there are forces in this world beyond your understanding, they will chew you up and spit you out. See them, know them, survive them, adapt to them.

The circle of Needle and Thread: horror in humanity

Really powerfully done, a showing in how people can be horrifying, do horrible things to each other with the most human of reasons. Nothing beyond our ken is necessary for true horror to take place.

The circle of Tide and Bone: horror in the self

Rather complex and with a sprinkling of cosmic flavoring there but, where did you start? Where will you end? It is always a rough road and how will you change, be changed? What will you lose, what will you give up? What parts of yourself are worth the losing if it means you get a step closer to what you want, what you need. Who are you, if not for the people and things you care about, what happens to you when they're gone, how far will you go in their absence? Will you look back and see the person you were as someone entirely different, something in you twisted, lost? Will it have been worth it? The horror in change and the fact that you cannot go backwards to the way things once were.

Cannot wait to see what the Circle of the Crimson Mirror has to offer

[fozmeadows]

the older I get, the more the technological changes I've lived through as a millennial feel bizarre to me. we had computers in my primary school classroom; I first learned to type on a typewriter. I had a cellphone as a teenager, but still needed a physical train timetable. my parents listened to LP records when I was growing up; meanwhile, my childhood cassette tape collection became a CD collection, until I started downloading mp3s on kazaa over our 56k modem internet connection to play in winamp on my desktop computer, and now my laptop doesn't even have a disc tray. I used to save my word documents on floppy discs. I grew up using the rotary phone at my grandparents' house and our wall-connected landline; my mother's first cellphone was so big, we called it The Brick. I once took my desktop computer - monitor, tower and all - on the train to attend a LAN party at a friend's house where we had to connect to the internet with physical cables to play together, and where one friend's massive CRT monitor wouldn't fit on any available table. as kids, we used to make concertina caterpillars in class with the punctured and perforated paper strips that were left over whenever anything was printed on the room's dot matrix printer, which was outdated by the time I was in high school. VHS tapes became DVDs, and you could still rent both at the local video store when I was first married, but those shops all died out within the next six years. my facebook account predates the iphone camera - I used to carry around a separate digital camera and manually upload photos to the computer in order to post them; there are rolls of undeveloped film from my childhood still in envelopes from the chemist's in my childhood photo albums. I have a photo album from my wedding, but no physical albums of my child; by then, we were all posting online, and now that's a decade's worth of pictures I'd have to sort through manually in order to create one. there are video games I tell my son about but can't ever show him because the consoles they used to run on are all obsolete and the games were never remastered for the new ones that don't have the requisite backwards compatibility. I used to have a walkman for car trips as a kid; then I had a discman and a plastic hardshell case of CDs to carry around as a teenager; later, a friend gave my husband and I engraved matching ipods as a wedding present, and we used them both until they stopped working; now they're obsolete. today I texted my mother, who was born in 1950, a tiktok upload of an instructional video for girls from 1956 on how to look after their hair and nails and fold their clothes. my father was born four years after the invention of colour televison; he worked in radio and print journalism, and in the years before his health declined, even though he logically understood that newspapers existed online, he would clip out articles from the physical paper, put them in an envelope and mail them to me overseas if he wanted me to read them. and now I hold the world in a glass-faced rectangle, and I have access to everything and ownership of nothing, and everything I write online can potentially be wiped out at the drop of a hat by the ego of an idiot manchild billionaire. as a child, I wore a watch, but like most of my generation, I stopped when cellphones started telling us the time and they became redundant. now, my son wears a smartwatch so we can call him home from playing in the neighbourhood park, and there's a tanline on his wrist ike the one I haven't had since the age of fifteen. and I wonder: what will 2030 look like?

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

I promised you some lions! Let's talk about manes, males, and management.

This is Tandie, the current male lion at the Woodland Park Zoo.

Notice anything odd about him? He's got one of those hilarious awkward teenager manes. Except... this cat is nine years old.

I was, of course, immediately curious.

Manes serve a lot of purposes for male lions, including being an indicator of health and fitness - it's actually a sexually selected trait and a social signal. Mane texture / hair quality / length is dependent on nutrition and the body having energy to grow (and carry around!) that much hair! The color is also a signal: males with darker manes have been found to have higher testosterone levels.

In one research report, wild males were much more likely to avoid a lion decoy when it had a longer or darker mane - but the girls really loved a dark mane. It's thought this is because a long, dark mane is an indicator of mate quality. Males with longer, darker manes have higher testosterone and were pretty healthy: meaning they had more energy for fighting, had a better chance of recovering if they got injured, and generally had a higher rate of offspring survival. Manes matter!

So, back to Tandie. He was actually born at the Woodland Park Zoo in 2014 alongside two brothers, to dad Xerxes and mother Adia.

This was Xerxes (rip).

Obviously, a very large, dark, lush mane on Xerxes here. So where did these blond muttonchops come from on his son?

I asked the zoo docents and got an answer that didn't make a lot of sense. They told me that after the three cubs grew into adolescents, they were moved to the Oakland Zoo together. But living together suppressed his testosterone, and he never grew a mane.

Hmmmm.

Here's a photo from 2016, when the brothers debuted at Oakland. They're a year and a half old in this photo.

(Photo Credit: Oakland Zoo)

And here's from an announcement for their third birthday.

(Photo credit: Oakland Zoo)

Okay, so these dudes obviously all were growing manes as of 2017. I think Tandie is the one on the left in the first photo, and laying down in the middle on the second. What happened?

I was just in the Bay Area for a zoo road trip, of course I went to Oakland and tracked down a docent to ask some questions.

It turns out that shortly after the brothers turned three, they started acting like adult male lions: they started scuffling regularly. It's a normal social thing for male lions to live in groups, called coalitions, but according to my lion experts there's generally a baseline level of some social jostling within them. It wasn't quite clear from what the docent said if they couldn't manage the boys together, or if they just wanted to avoid the scratches and small wounds that result from normal lion behavior. Regardless, they put all three of the boys on testosterone blockers in order to be able to keep them together as a social group.

Now, I don't know a lot about the use of hormone alteration as a form of captive animal management, except in the case of birth control. I don't think it's something that's unethical - there was just a webinar on it that I saw go by - but I don't think it's commonly done with big cats. Lions have kind of complicated reproductive cycles, and for instance, we've been learning that female lions can take much longer to come into estrus again than expected after coming off hormonal birth control.

In males, testosterone blockers (or being neutered) means they lose their manes. This is why a lot of rescues will do a vasectomy on their males instead of a neuter - it allows them to keep their mane and the social signals that accompany it.

Tandie returned home to Woodland Park Zoo after Xerxes passed in early 2022, and the docent told me all of the lions had been off their blockers "for while." I'd guess those things happened around the same time, since bringing the trio down to a duo at Oakland would reduce some of the social tensions.

Hormones are such interesting things, though. One of Tandie's brothers has a full mane again, and the other is still totally mane-less.

As for Tandie, his mane is growing back in, and it looks like he might rival his dad for length and coloration.

He started here, in February:

Yesterday:

What a difference four months (and maybe proximity to a girl) makes!

[pseudowho]

It was in the corridors of Jujutsu High, that Nanami Kento first learned that one of the First Years had gone missing.

Whispers of varying voice rose and fell along the wood-panelled walls as Kento walked with a growing unease. Rumours rose on both sides around him, as if in some uncanny valley.

"...off the rails..."

"...not answering calls apparently..."

"...unauthorised? Gojo's not here..."

"...gone rogue. Sukuna's vessel?"

Kento paused, outwardly unreadable as his blood ran cold, with his hand upon the doorknob. Balanced on a knife edge, he moved again, slow and considered, stepping out before closing the door behind him. His feet paddled madly beneath still water, and Kento pulled out his phone, typing fast.

His phone to his ear. A pause.

"Hi, Fushiguro-kun? Do you know where Itadori-kun is?" A pause. A single flat command. "Tell me, immediately."

Another pause; a nod, a pen and paper not required.

Kento waited until he was completely out of the line of sight, to begin running beneath Jujutsu High's tree-lined torii gates.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Scum.

Yuuji's red boots skid, bloodslick, and he stumbled around a corridor with his breath loud in his ears.

--execute him already--

He wasn't experienced enough for this; but he knew that when he came, hoping to earn his own goodness as proof, to those who determined his worth based on the monster he contained.

--better off dead--

And maybe I am, Yuuji thought, slammed by flailing bestial limbs into concrete, that crumpled like wet paper beneath his body. Slumping down against the wall, Yuuji accepted that the only dignity he could afford himself, would be to choose a good death for himself, as the boy he was, fighting to save lives, instead of the beast within, fighting to take them.

"Itadori-kun. Move behind me. I'll take it from here."

Yuuji looked up from the floor, slow and stunned. Kento stood before him, stony-faced as he bound his spotted tie around his fist, alight with swathes of blue fire.

"...Nanamin...I--"

"I'll scold you after. Behind me."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Yuuji's eyes were downcast, and chunks of rubble shook from his hair to his thighs, when Kento slammed his car door. As Kento stepped into his own seat, Yuuji caught the tail end of a conversation.

"...coming home to ours. Gojo knows. He's got it handled with the school. Yes. Alright. We won't be long."

The car rumbled to life. Yuuji's fists clenched in his lap, his face twisted with pain, guilt, the crushing weight of failure and embarrassment. Kento allowed him this, for a few minutes, driving seamlessly through the Tokyo evening traffic.

"Are you going to explain what you were doing, Itadori-kun?"

Yuuji was silent, gagged by the sheer volumes he could speak, all fighting for precedence. He heard the faintest sigh from Kento.

"Yuuji?"

Still, nothing. Kento's hands gripped the wheel a little tighter.

"I see. We shall talk after dinner."

"...you can just drop me back to the school--"

"We shall talk after dinner."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Your hands worried the baggy sleeves of your cardigan before you heard the front door unlock. You stopped, plastering on a smile, and walking over to greet Yuuji as the door clicked open, Kento guiding Yuuji in and shutting the door behind him.

Yuuji's eyes never left the floor to accept your smile. He was thoroughly reduced, hidden behind cloud. Your eyes flicked to Kento, sensing his fixed cool anger, and you redoubled your efforts for Yuuji.

"Busy day, huh? You hungry? I've made lots...come on."

You sat together, tense in silence. Kento ate, robotic and clipped. Yuuji pushed the food around his plate, utterly silent. Kento pressed a napkin to his mouth, lowering it and clearing his throat. He repeated himself.

'Yuuji. Are you going to explain what you were doing?"

Silence. You placed your knife and fork down, your throat thickening with impending confrontation. Yuuji squirmed in his seat as frost formed beneath Kento.

"...I just...just wanted to be useful."

"Useful?"

"...just...wanted to be better than they say I am."

"They?"

You felt Yuuji's stress climbing, racking exponentially with Kento's insistent dig for clarity. You opened your mouth to try to soften Kento's blows before Yuuji blurted.

"Anyone who matters at Jujutsu High thinks I'm scum. Thinks I'm--I'm-- no better than--than him." Yuuji snapped, gesturing to the slits of Sukuna's other eyes on his face, and shoving his plate away with a clatter. Kento bristled, the frost thickening.

"Control your temper, Yuuji--"

"Oh yeah? And why should I? I could have died a good death there-- trying to help people, if you hadn't--"

Kento slapped his napkin down on the table, moving to stand, and you felt yourself shut down beneath the gravity of his rage, knowing it was all concern, but terrifying nonetheless, and you felt the escalation as Yuuji stood, too, facing Kento with combatant teenage fury--

"And who, exactly, were you helping, Yuuji? Were you helping the sorcerers who would have come to rescue you, if I hadn't? You call that a good death, giving the higher ups exactly what they want--"

"--well they can fucking have what they want, then, can't they, nobody gives a shit about me anyway--"

"--language, Yuuji--"

"--nobody fucking cares--"

"I care."

Yuuji's face crumpled, his anger burning out hot and fast. Transitioning from man to boy again, his sleeves rubbed the rage tumbling out as tears.

Kento's chest heaved with the fever-pitch of battle. He turned on the spot, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair, as he stared up at the ceiling, calming himself. He turned to Yuuji again.

"I care. And I need you safe. And while I cannot fathom the stress you are under, I am so disappointed with you, that you view yourself with the same ill-regard as those with such pithy, ignorant understanding."

Yuuji's hands hung limp at his sides, now, the tears falling freely. Kento rubbed one hand down over his own face, appraising Yuuji with ruffled impassivity.

"...finish your dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

A sigh, weary. "Then go and get cleaned up, and go to your room."

"I...dont have a room, here."

"You do. Third door on the left."

A heavy pause. Slow footsteps carried Yuuji away. Your head rested on steepled fingertips, your dinner churning in your stomach as you bit back nausea.

You thought of all of the words you could say to Kento, but dismissed them as soon as they came into your head; all too visceral, none of them helpful, and maturity held your tongue.

"...you get cleaned up, too. I'll tidy away dinner."

"No, no. You cooked. I'll tidy--"

"Nanami Kento. Do as you are told."

Kento was silent, stewing. Eventually, he stood, walking away down the corridor. You heard two showers, running. You left spare pyjamas in Yuuji's bedroom.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

A gentle three knock-knock-knocks sounded at Yuuji's bedroom door, and he sat up fast in his borrowed pyjamas, wide eyes tired in a tearstained face. He sniffled.

"Y-yeah, uh...come in."

You peeked your head around the door, smiling. Yuuji offered a watery smile in return.

"Alright, kiddo?"

Yuuji swallowed thickly, nodding, resting his chin on drawn-up knees. You sat at the end of his bed, pressing a mug of hot chocolate into his hands, and he felt it balm his soul before he had even drunk it; the act of receiving it, so much more significant than its imbibement. You let him warm in the gesture for a moment.

"...he cares about you, Yuuji. A lot. You know that, right?"

Yuuji's mouth puckered, and he shrugged his rejection, churlish. You raised one eyebrow at him, a gentle, chastising challenge, and Yuuji blushed.

"...yeah, I guess. I mean...I...I know."

"You know?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do."

You smirked, eyes twinkling. "What gave it away? Was it the running to save you in battle? Or the bringing you home for dinner?"

Yuuji's mouth was obscured, buried in his knees. He paused. You didn't manage to hear the words muffled by his legs, and you tilted your head to one side.

"...sorry?"

"It was--...was when he said he was...disappointed with me."

[god-syndicate-if]

DEMO - Latest release on 11/15/2024 - Current wordcount 90k.

COG forum You've always been angry.

Rage comes naturally to you. With how much life has messed with you it's only fair that you use your anger. That's why you became a boxer. The thrill of breaking an opponent. And hoping they might break you in turn. They never do though. Every fight is a disappointment, almost as much of a disappointment as they pay for each fight.

Enter Jackie Roth, club owner, mob boss, and former god. When she offers you a job you can't say no. Not that you would, not when she and everyone in her gang feel so familiar to you. At least with this job you'll be able to use that rage inside you more.

As you learn the ways of the criminal underground you reconnect with people you never met. Reforge bonds that you've never made. And recall memories you've never had. You were a god once upon a time, can you become one again?

God Syndicate is an interactive novel where you play the newest incarnation of Ares, The God of War. It's 18+ for violence, explicit sexual themes, drug use, morally questionable behavior, and more.

Customize your MC, play male, female, or nonbinary. With transgender options and pronoun selection. Customize your appearance and develop your personality.

Romance or befriend a cast of characters, including gods with more issues than you can count or even a mortal! Asexual and Aromantic options available.

Show the gods why you were feared all those years ago or prove that you're better than your past lives.

Uncover the mystery of disappearing gods as well as the mystery of your past.

Help out Elysium, the club where you'll practically live from now on. It seems to attract gods and that isn't always good.

Take out your anger on people who might even deserve it.

Zeus: Jackie Roth - She/Her. [Not an RO]

Jackie is The King of The Gods and she makes sure everyone knows it. Her word is law in Elysium and beyond. Fail her and you'll have a storm waiting for you. In the years since your disappearance Jackie's love for her family has seem to only grow. But she has a criminal empire to run and you're just the weapon she needs.

Hermes: Riley Liao Zhi - Gender Selectable. [RO]

The Messenger of The Gods. Or in Riley's case, the ever bored personal assistant to Jackie. Riley's an adrenaline junkie with a heart of gold. As the one who found you they feel almost responsible for you. But why do they also seem so afraid of you?

Apollo: Franco Valerio - He/Him. [RO]

As expected of The God of Music, Franco's your classic rich and famous rock star. Well he would be, if only he could get out of Elysium. His love of singing and love of his family are two chains he can't break that tie him here. Will your arrival help break those chains or tighten them?

Aphrodite: Damiana "Dame" Rivette - Gender Selectable. [RO]

Quiet and Serious, Dame is no longer The God of Love they once were. The passion of their life faded and now bitterness grows where love should. The only friend they have in Elysium seems to be their fiance, Johnny. To make their life even worse, you arrive.

The Mortal: Sigourney Hawthorn - She/Her. [RO]

Newly divorced from a god, Sigrouney struggles with juggling her (demigod) child, relentless job, and love life. As her daughter, Claudia, grows she wonders if she can keep up or if she'll be left behind. And now with your arrival Claudia's godly family gets bigger and her presence gets smaller.

Artemis: Rebel Reyes - Gender Selectable [RO]

How can The God of the Hunt thrive in the city? The prey here are either too weak or too annoying to hunt. The only thing Rebel craves is to feel that thrill again. With your arrival they have a perfect chance, who better to hunt than the God of War? They can't wait to meet you.

The Old Flame: Harper Ward - Gender Selectable [RO]

A friend from a better time. Harper and you were once inseparable. They saw you at your darkest and kept you calm. Years after an explosive break up they've reemerged into your life far different than you knew them. Can you find the dying embers of your old friend? Is it even worth the pain?

[madwomansapologist]

ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ a hound left without a leash

★彡 synopsis: your love is constant, ever-present and ever-growing. toji finds it endearing. how you're not afraid of being soft around him. but he can’t be like that. his love isn't gentle and quiet like yours: it's remorseless, made of sharp fangs soaked in blood—five times toji felt loved by you, five times he loved you back.

content warnings: established relationship, fluff & angst & smut, domesticity, movie night, toji is soooo in love it's embarrassing, touch starved meet clingy, he's bad at feelings don't give him space, devotion, beach date, hurt/comfort, his love language is acts of service it's not his fault he only knows how to kill, violence (not towards reader), gaslight if you squint, voyeurism, sex toy, manhandling, lots of spit and bites and scratches, creampie, cockwarming.

bella's note: inspired by the song valentine by laufey. y'all say thank you, @gothsuguru for making like three posts about toji that reminded me of my love for this deadbeat killer.

word count: [4.3K]

(It took Toji by surprise the first time he noticed it.)

Toji tried to focus on the action movie—clearly made with no aspiration beyond gathering as much money as possible. He really did. Before learning the bland protagonist’s name, heavy eyelids and comfy blankets came together with a sickening plan to betray his determination.

There was no movie to pretend to watch by the time Toji woke up. The television was turned off, the living room silent if not by his untamed heartbeat. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, blurs turning into discernible shapes, Toji breathed no more.

Only after seeing it on the television that Toji was able to feel it on his body. Fingertips running through his still-damp hair, thumb pressing softly against his temple. A constant movement, warm and calm. It made him think about waves in an empty shore.

A contained laughter guided his eyes away from the screen. Leaning on your shoulder, Toji saw you. Eyes narrowing at your phone, undoubtedly fighting to stay open, the tip of your tongue between your parted lips. Caressing his hair, you nibbled on your tongue.

For you, it was an old habit you couldn’t get rid of. For Toji, it was a telltale of your concentration.

Once he learned there was a way to read you, Toji aimed to collect all your telltales. He has all those little signals memorized to translate your behaviors into something he can fully understand. Into something he can transforming into actions.

Distant gaze means hesitation, which in turn means say something, anything, goddamnit. Trembling lips and fervent rage, scrunched nose and jealousy, discreet smiles and nauseating happiness. Toji could fill libraries with everything there is to know about you.

Staring at the soft muscle, Toji knew what your concentration required from him: silence, just for a while. Toji gave you what you needed, hoping somehow you knew what he meant by it—I love you, I love you, I love you.

Wondering about what you needed him to do for you Toji didn’t even notice your nails scratching behind his ears, where you knew he’s sensitive enough to melt into your palm. If he had, maybe Toji would’ve fallen asleep on your shoulder again and rest properly for once.

Toji can’t remember the name of the movie that lulled him to sleep. If he was at your home, if it was late at night, if it was during an unexpected blizzard. Toji can only remember that your eyes weren’t on him, and your touch was gentle.

Scrolling endlessly as you kept him awake, Toji thought once more about how soft your skin is when compared to his. It lacked scars. You lack roughness, precision, disgust. All those things Toji once believed being an adult meant: you don’t have any of them.

(The first time he noticed your love was gentle and quiet, Toji didn’t knew how to react.)

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

(Obviously, Toji never lets you win.)

“Just throw me, Toji”, you practically meowed his name. When he completely ignored your presence, you pinched his cheek. Toji took a deep breath. “Please. Pretty please.”

Your cold hands cupped his cheeks, trying to get Toji to look at you. Pouting, plush bottom lip on display, you stared at him through your lashes. You knew it would take one look at you for him to fold and give in.

He slipped away from your hold, so fast you only noticed he was gone when Toji was already laying down on your beach sarong. That made you giggle. He does that all the time. Moves faster than your eyes can comprehend.

It’s so alluring you couldn’t even force yourself to get mad over Toji mistaking your new sarong for a sheet.

“Brat, I’ve told ya”, he tilted his head back. Toji rest his arm over his head, in a not-so-subtle way of ensuring he wouldn’t accidentally sneak a glance at you. Toji could feel on his bones that you were pouting. “I’m not doing that.”

Maybe because you both went on a whim to a beach on a random tuesday, maybe because this one isn’t as popular as you feared, it was truly a peaceful day. No kids running around, no loud music blasting through someone else’s phone, no drunks yelling just because.

It’s so close from being a perfect day, now all you need is to hear Toji saying yes, darling, anything for you. Not that you ever heard that before. At least, not worded like that.

With a melodramatic sigh, you walked to where your stuff was. Searching among all the bags tossed around, you found just what would change his mind. As your malignant plan developed inside of your mind, a grin spread across your face.

Sitting on his lap, your soaked thighs clamped around Toji’s thick waist. Sighing once more, you rolled your hips with the poor excuse of searching for a more comfortable position. Warm fingers pressed down on his hips; nails close enough to ghost over his happy trail.

“Behave”, Toji groaned, free hand closing around your hip. He easily held you in place. You smelled like salt and malice. “I won’t change my mind.”

You bent over Toji, soaked bikini pressing down against his toned chest. Scratching his forearm, you brushed your nose against his cheek. “Can I try to convince you?”, you whispered sultry against his ear.

Softening his hold on you, Toji smirked. “You’re a fucking menace.”

Splash.

Pouring cold water on his face, you took advantage of his surprised state to run away while you’re still able to. Laughing more than you could breathe, you tilted your head back to look at Toji. “Now tell me something I don’t know.”

Just like you expected, Toji looked at you.

Just like you always forget, Toji was fast. Really, really fast.

Colliding with his chest, you frowned as your mind processed that Toji was right in front of you. As a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, you knew there was nothing you could do to escape his grip. You tried to anyway.

“That’s cheating”, you yelled. It made him laugh like hell, chest vibrating against your stomach. Lifted up far above the ground, you moved your feet uselessly. “It’s so unfair, you need to let me win sometimes too!”

A slap against your ass shut you up. “Annoying brat”, Toji threw you over his shoulders. You tried to squirm away, but decided to settle for just complaining once he bit your thigh. “As if. You can earn your victory or stop acting like a bored cat for once.”

Giggling, you pressed your elbows down on his shoulder. “Toji. My love”, your voice imbued in honey and sugar made him face you. Smiling angelically, you pointed at the cliff providing the shade you two enjoyed all day. “Throw me in the water. From up there, please.”

Another sigh. I’m almost breaking him, you thought. “Why? Just… why?”

“Because I want to jump so badly but I’m a coward”, you pouted. His eyes fell towards your bottom lip. “So just throw me. Pleeeeeeeaase. Pretty please.”

“If you drown, I’m not saving your ass.”

“Deal”, you kissed his jaw.

Another slap. “Spoiled, annoying brat.”

(Except, obviously, Toji always lets you win.)

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

(If you had asked, Toji would’ve confessed in a heartbeat.)

Toji took of his shoes and frowned at your heels fallen out of place. Murmuring to himself about how when he does it with his sneakers it’s a crime deserving of death sentence, Toji closed the buckles of your heels and put them inside the shoe rack.

He knew something was off once the silence lingered. Never one to doubt himself, Toji didn’t hesitate. He analyzed the floor, searched for different scents, checked the front door’s handler. Passing through every room with a hand near his hidden gun, Toji didn’t breathe until seeing you on your bed.

Although, what Toji saw didn’t make him any more relieved.

It’s late at night and you’re still wearing your responsible-adult clothes—that’s how you call those you buy solely so your coworkers won’t judge you. Earrings intertwined with your sweaty hair, necklace pressed against your collarbone, belt too tight to be comfortable.

Moonlight showed him your puffy eyelids smeared with mascara. Half-open as you stared at the ceiling, you didn’t seem to acknowledge Toji’s presence. You didn’t seem to acknowledge anything at all.

“Hi, love.” Toji kneeled down, whispering in order to not startle you. He pressed his chin on your pillow, hands moving your hair away from your face. “Are you here with me?”

Another tear rolled down your face once you blinked. Toji pressed his thumb against your skin, stopping it from falling into your ear. You tried to turn your face away from him, but hesitated once the warmth of his hands made to your heavy mind.

“Need to sleep”, you murmured, voice so thin Toji felt his throat shut.

Soaked in sweat, Toji ran his fingers through your hair without bothering you. He scratched your head, draw figures on your scalp, avoided any knots. Your name, his own, any other word he could think of: his fingertips wrote on your head. For what felt like hours, that’s all he did.

You tilted your head, staring at him. Toji can’t remember ever seeing your eyes like that. Dim. He wondered where you lost your light, and made a quiet promise to return it to you. “Sorry.”

“Don’t.” Toji simply continued to caress your head. “Tell me what to do.”

For the first time in hours, you thought about what you needed. With a single phrase, Toji reminded you that you had a body. “Can you get me my towel?”

Toji would’ve done anything, everything, you asked him to.

With your towel on the mattress, Toji assisted you to sit down. One hand on the small of your back, another cupping your cheek. You melted into his touch, but closed your eyes once he kneeled in front of you. Running away from his careful gaze, you grabbed your towel and forced yourself to walk into the bathroom.

It didn’t surprise you that Toji followed you. Or that he took the towel from your hands, unclasped your jewelry, slid your clothes off of you. Neither as the water hitting your body was on the temperature you prefer, as he hugged you tightly under the shower, as he didn’t make questions you couldn’t quite answer.

Not even your worst day would make you forget how soft your Toji is.

Toji relies on your body to tell him what you need, but once or twice you will say it yourself. Can you get me my towel? You want to be clean again. And knowing what you want, Toji knows what to do.

In no rush, he put your shampoo on his hand and massaged your head. Once your back found a support on his chest, he rinsed your hair while protecting your eyes. After moisturizing, he brushed your hair until he could feel no more knots. Washing the remains of conditioner away from his hands, he moved to the rest of your body.

It didn’t feel weird, and that did surprise you. To feel his hands on your naked body without feeling desire or desired. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Far from it. As Toji washed you, you just felt less lonely.

“Toji?”

He kissed your scalp, massaging your shoulders. He drawn little hearts on your skin. “I am here”, Toji hummed.

“It’s nothing”, you closed your eyes. That was a lie. You meant to say thank you, and I’m sorry but knew he would get mad if you did so. “Just wanted to hear you.”

“I am right here.”

(He would’ve confessed to mimic you, because Toji’s love is anything but gentle and quiet.)

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

(You wouldn’t ask him to. You would never.)

Ignoring the sorcerer’s terrified eyes, his movements were harsh and cold. It felt just right. To have a combat knife between his fingers again. How natural. As if his hands came from a mold, one made to wield blades and nothing more. That would make sense. For his body to be assembled instead of born.

Gun left aside; chair dragged across the concrete floor. Toji sat in front of the muzzled sorcerer, spreading his legs as he sharpened the blade. Moonlight made it clear. Cold sweat, stunned eyes, shaken limbs. He was a scared, coward animal.

“Don’t cry now”, Toji cocked an eyebrow. Spreading his legs, he admired the thin edge. Perfect. Dragging out the silence for one more instant, Toji stared at the walking corpse. “Not when you begged for this.”

A clan left behind; hellish decades erased within an insurgent decision. Toji doesn’t need to be a Zenin to have enemies. Blood-stained hands collect them just as easily. But after slaughtering enemies enough times, those smart enough to be considered dangerous by others knew better than facing him.

But rumors travel fast and, in his absence, fools gained confidence.

This late on his life, Toji couldn’t tell if it was instinct or muscle memory. He simply knew the sorcerer was about to do something stupid. The knife’s handle hit the man in the temple. As he fought to continue conscious, Toji observed his skin turning purple.

He felt proud. This night left no wound or bruise on his skin. There will be no perplexed gaze, uncertain touch, questions that can’t be answered honestly. Once he comes back to his home, you will have no reason to worry.

“You hurt her.” Toji wondered how long it would take. To get back to you. To return your caring gaze, feel your caring touch, hear your caring questions. “Now I’ll hurt you.”

It begged. It tried to negotiate, numbers rising as Toji continued in silence. If rumors travel fast, so does the truth. Toji turned soft, a rumor that thing discovered to be a lie the moment it decided to bother you. Toji can be bought, a fact that never once included you.

“What do you want?!” And the tears came back. They usually do, with loud and unstoppable sobs. Don’t matter who they are, in the end they beg just the same. “I can give it to you. Tell me your price.”

“Your right hand”, Toji tilted his head, sliding the edge of the knife against the armchair. “You touched her with your right hand.”

Toji was merely taunting the sorcerer. He would never use a combat knife to torture someone. That doesn’t sound like him at all. Toji will saw both hands with a dull knife.

(But you didn’t need to ask him to. Toji would always.)

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

(Toji didn’t need to say it.)

It took him long enough to unlock the door to your apartment. The voice of a senator on a news channel welcomed Toji. Heels inside the shoe rack, handbag and headphone forgotten on the couch. Hearing you hum in the shower, Toji turned the TV off.

He could picture it so clearly. You stretching your neck and walking barefoot into the living room, rubbing your eyes just to immediately remember about the mascara. Calling for him. Hearing nothing in response. Choosing something loud on the TV and deciding to take a long shower because it’s friday, I deserve this.

Toji sighed, relief washing over him in waves. You’re back to being you.

He put the takeout on the table and organized the groceries on the kitchen cabinet—his excuses for staying out longer than usual. Toji was careful with them. Food from your favorite restaurant, cleaning products you mentioned before. Lies build on solid truths.

He doesn’t have an excuse for the scent of antiseptic soap, but once your products made to his nostrils Toji realized he wouldn’t need one. Scents way too sweet, enough to confuse slightly his keen senses. There is no way you’re able to smell anything but yourself.

As the bathroom door opened, Toji grabbed a towel on the laundry and locked himself inside it before you could get a hold of him. He doesn’t think you would notice, and if you did you wouldn’t waste your breath on it, but Toji won’t risk it.

Washing himself once more, Toji tried not to wonder about what would make you despise him more: what he did, or that he doesn’t feel any remorse. Would it make it better for you if Toji cried in the shower? If he stared at his clean hands and saw blood on them? Toji could pretend for you. He really would.

You’re safe and sound, mere steps away from him. Toji showers hearing your loud music. Toji can picture that too. You waiting for him as your sleepy eyes challenge your determination—you always fall asleep before he gets to you. You being you. No shaky breathes, no unstoppable tears. He could never feel remorse.

Toji went after you with a towel around his hips. Following the music most likely coming from your phone, he gently opened the bedroom door to not wake you up. Leaning on the door frame, Toji chuckled.

With your eyes closed, you were far from sleeping. Wrinkled sheets falling out of bed, toes curling against the mattress. Damp towel forgotten on the floor. A hand squeezing his pillow, the other hidden between your thighs. Forearms moving in the rhythm you created to yourself; small gasps concealed by a song.

Spit gathered in the corner of your mouth, mesmerizing Toji. How he wished to sink his teeth into your glossy lips. A broken moan and your back arched, his eyebrows furrowing in synchrony with yours. You did it as the waves of pleasure became too much, and Toji as he finally saw what you had between your legs.

From the blunt and bulbous head to its thick length, it was truly no wonder why you were so quiet. All way out, then all way in. Your concentration was on fucking yourself with the dark purple dildo, the rest simply too much for you little brain.

He never saw that one before.

Wrist burning from your incessant movements, your free hand abandoned his pillow to press down on your clit. A simple and precise touch that made you whimper. Feeling shivers down his spine, Toji smirked.

Your eyes fluttered open.

A beat later, they meet his and widened. All way out. Mouth hanging open, you chuckled. It sounded like you were about to lose your sanity. Then all way in. “There you are.”

Toji crossed his arms, leaving his place at the door to a new one at the end of the bed. “Putting on a show for me?”

“Not on purpose”, you laughed it off. It felt so dirty. For you to talk normally while doing something so lewd. As if you weren’t fully exposed—as if he wasn’t too. “I could say the same about you.”

Skin reddish because of the hot water, black hair dripping wet. You followed every drop, burning him with your ravenous gaze. Veins evident on his thick neck. Long fingers pressing down on his forearms, a reminder of how bad you miss his touch. Huge thighs, even when relaxed.

He dropped the towel. “Not on purpose”, Toji lied.

A knee sunk on the bed, his hands caressing your heels. Toji forced your legs up, tilting his head to kiss the side of your foot. He put one on each shoulder, another knee sinking down on the bed. Grabbing at the fat of your thighs, Toji pulled you closer.

Toji has a way of making you feel weightless.

He bit his tongue, a hand massaging your thigh. Always the cocky asshole, Toji rubbed your overwhelmed clit with his thumb. Staring into his hungry eyes, you grinned.

Holding the firm base of the dildo, Toji pulled it out of you. The sounds your cunt let out, soaked and soft, made him squeeze your thighs. With a pop, there it was, covered in lubricant and your excitement. Your core clamped around nothing.

Toji spat on you, fingers rough against your sore lips as his other hand pumped his cock. You swallowed watching Toji compare with your dildo. You both could see the truth. How your toy was much bigger and ticker.

Salivating, Toji was so proud of you.

Bending over you, forcing your thighs against your chest, Toji admired your sweaty face. He kissed your temple, pressing the dildo’s tip against your lips. “Your collection only grows”, Toji groaned. “That’s a new one.”

“Not new”, you lapped at the protruding head. “Is for when I miss you.”

Toji sank his teeth into your shoulder, hiding his burning cheeks against your skin. Fingers ran through his hair; nails scratched his forearm. “You saw me this morning.”

His tongue was everywhere, moving too fast for you to keep up. Kissing your shoulder, licking your neck, biting your collarbone. Toji is always too much. How perfect of him. “Are you that needy you can’t go hours without me?”

“Miss you all the time”, you struggled to breath. Pulling him by the hair, you made Toji face you. Lost on his dark eyes, time seemed to stop. “Say you miss me too.”

“Miss you all the time”, Toji obeyed. It wouldn’t matter if he didn’t. Not when you can see his flushed cheeks. As a reward, you kissed the scar on his mouth—you would’ve kissed it anyway. “Think about you all the time.”

You bit his earlobe, nose sliding against his neck as you searched for that sweet spot able to make Toji stutter. Once you did, mouth sucking it without mercy, Toji gave your hips a strong squeeze. His calloused hands would mark you tonight.

Toji humped on your thigh. You could feel precum leaking against your skin. He settled for leaning his forehead against yours. “You smell way too sweet.”

“I can get new lotions”, you offered. “Something you like better.”

“Don’t.” Toji cupped your face, ignoring your clit to rub the length of his cock against your slit. Pushing your head against the pillow, he kissed your forehead. “I like you sweet.”

Toji didn’t meant to slip inside you. He wanted to taunt you some more. To fuck you with your dildo and make you scream right into his open lips. Toji wanted you drooling. And once you begged him enough, showing what a polite woman you are, Toji would make you cry with his tongue deep into your walls.

But you were so wet.

“T-Toji!” You gasped, eyes wide as you felt all of him. Pulling his hair, you bit his bottom lip. “Can feel you so deep…”

“I know”, Toji grabbed the headboard, thighs shaking. So fucking welcoming. Thumbs stroking your hips, his mind was a mess because of you. “I know.”

Your eyes meet his. A part of Toji wanted to look away. To hide how fragile you make him. How your gaze burns him deeply. The other wanted to never shy away from you. To never know what it feels like to not be watched by you.

No one ever sees him, the one who left it all behind. No one but you.

His body collapsed against yours. His hands pulled your hair, making you tilt your head so he could continue to torture your neck. Thighs forcing yours open, chest pressing down against yours. You could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat. This gigantic man crushing you against the mattress, so heavy it was difficult to breath.

Drunk on his overwhelming intensity, you admired Toji. His hips rolling up, so slow you could feel the trace of every vein on his cock. His length inside you, never giving you a break. His hair dripping on you, a blend of water and sweat.

“Remind me… to thank my new friend”, Toji tilted his head, pointing at the dildo besides your pillow. His raspy voice was more addictive than cocaine. “Got you ready to take me all in.”

Fighting his grasp on your hair, you hugged his shoulders and forced your head up. Sharing an open mouth kiss, your drool fell on your chest. It felt so cold. Or perhaps your skin was too feverish. Toji devoured your every moan, hands tightening around your hips.

���Missed you so much”, you whimpered. His forehead leaned on yours, eyes closing as Toji tried to not lose himself. You continued to admire him. “Missed being yours.”

“You’re always mine. All the time”, Toji groaned. His tip hit your most sensitive spot; your eyes closing on their own. Toji rubbed your neglected clit, a hand grabbing the roots of your head. His grip firm yet gentle. “Look at me.”

You obeyed, staring into his dark eyes again. You could swear you saw stars on them. Toji leaned his forehead on yours, your touch enough to make him forget everything but your name.

“There you go”, he whispered. “Focus on me, pretty. Don’t look away.”

Searching for those stars again, the waves of pleasure strong enough to shatter your mind. There was nothing but that spot you and Toji turned into one. Blinded by a fog, crushed by him, you came looking into his eyes.

Toji filled you with all he had. His head fell on your chest, it all too much for him to bear. It all too good for him to fully believe it was real. Gasping, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t do anything but breath on you. Sweet you.

Running your trembling fingers through his hair, you collapsed against the pillow. Toji was heavy enough to make you breathless, but you didn’t want him to move. You wanted him as close as he could get.

“Welcome back”, Toji murmured. Mimicking you, Toji ran his fingers through your hair. You felt him smiling against your skin. “I missed you.”

You knew exactly what he meant by that. “I love you too”, you whispered.

all rights reserved to © madwomansapologist

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Five w/ apocalypse reader— 'the end of the world is the most unfortunate circumstance to develop an obsessive trauma bond.'

Yandere Five had been but a barely pubescent teen when he so wisely chose to manipulate time to win an argument with his dismissive parental figure. It was jarring in the beginning. Everything he had ever known had been stripped from him. There was nothing left but debris and blood.

He always had his powers to aid him, yet for the first time they failed. He realized that his reliance on them is what caused this problem in the first place.

How could he be so idiotic?

Fastrack, six years or so, he tended to lose track due to the harsh winter blocking what was left of the sun and the overarching smog always present. Where was he going with this? Oh, yes. It made it difficult to calendar because of the extenuating circumstances.

It had to be about February when he met you. The snow had settled over more monotonous ruins of what was probably a rural town. Most of the sun rays were blocked by smog and strange cloud formations manipulated by the effects of it all. Still, he could see you, leaning against what still stood of a brick building, devoring a stale-looking twinkie.

"This one's interesting, huh, Dolores?" Think we're gonna have to shoot em'?"

Yandere Five ends up sticking by your side to culminate resources and find your true reasoning for being here. That's totally the justification, yeah. It isn't as if he is incredibly touch starved and on the edge of losing what little sanity he had. He just needs to figure you out. That he does, a little too well.

Yandere Five becomes overbearing. You can't tell if you are being questioned by your future murderer or stalker. He demands you answer all his questions promptly and with the utmost truth. He doesn't fluff them and act nicely or reply with basic human empathy. He simply loses his edge after he learns one more thing about you.

Are you allowed to do the same to him in return?

Absolutely not.

You learning about him is on a need to know basis. So if he feels that you need to know it, you will.

Take him by his word. You have to.

Yandere Five isn't the largest fan of physical affection, or physical anything in fact. It takes years in the apocalypse for him to willingly be touched by you. That's at least how he tries to appear. His expressions are always so blank and dismissive. A sarcastic quip is always on the tip of his sharp tongue.

Yet after only a few months of traveling together, he is more than eager to feel your skin under his.

He doesn't want to be near you, no, but you injured yourself by being foolish. He warned you against it, and still you continued. So now he is using some of the minimal medical supplies you both have so he can patch you up. If both of you were back pre-apocalypse, then he would definitely install a tracker inside your arm. For protection, obviously.

He doesn't want to be touched, no, but you're shivering. Losing the only other seemingly living human being, besides Delores, in the apocalypse would leave him at a great disadvantage.

He doesn't want intimacy with you, no. He has just to cuddle you to protect you and keep the nightmares away. He has to kiss your irresistible lips to keep your morale up. He has to let his thoughts about you to linger about in private, unexplored places so he may relieve himself to release relaxing and happy hormones. It's simple as that.

Deep down, he knows the true reason is that he has become utterly smitten with you. He has just chosen to do his best to gaslight himself, even though statistics state it only makes those feelings worse. Perhaps he wants that. Maybe he just wants one person in this fucked-up world that is his and his wholly and unequivocally.

Yandere Five even gets rid of his beloved Delores for you. He was growing paranoid about her. She kept teasing him about how lovesick he was. She was talking about starting to fall in love with you too. The final straw is when she said she wanted a threesome with you. In the dead of night, he disposed of her, a bullet in her head.

Strangely enough you dropped the subject after asking once. It puzzled him. Did you truly dislike Delores that much to be so nonchalant about her disappearance? Did you know what he did? Of course you didn't. You obviously hated Delores and are glad she is gone.

Good.

He likes it this way.

No more distractions, just you two.

Yandere Five doesn't want to figure out the equation to get back to his pre-apoctalyptic life. He writes down a bunch of meaningful numbers in chalk. They aren't coordinations for returning to the academy. They're calculations about your possible romantic relationship, sexual aspects, how submissive you are, and more.

He has detailed a four letter plan in his private journal.

S ubmissivness — how complacent are you? are you gullible to his tactic? how strong is your moral code? would you go along with him knowing how truly infatuated he is with your very existence?

I nterest — how are you feeling? what are your reactions? he needs to know every single thing about you. he needs to know all of your likes just as importantly as your dislikes.

N eutrality — how will his actions affect you and everything else around you? what is the path that will keep you closest to him while also making him seem like the one in charge? this is how we will know if he has gone too far.

S way — how close are others getting to you? are they looking to befriend you? are their true intentions more sinister? he has to analyze every expression and every movement of those who make any contact with you.

You call it his diary. It is not a diary! Diaries are for feelings; journals are filled with statistics. Besides, you won't ever find the location of his actual diary. He writes it in southern Sumerian anyway. You don't have a chance at deciphering it.

Yandere Five meets the Handler while you are snoozing away after a particularly hard day of labor. He can't believe the promise this strange woman puts before him. He works for this Commission for five years, and after that, he's good as done. He gets you in whatever place he wishes for the rest of your lives.

It's a bunch of bullshit as far as he's concerned. Miracles usually don't come with strings attached. Then again, does he really have a choice? He doesn't want to see you suffer anymore than you already have.

So he takes this once in a lifetime 'golden' opportunity.

Let's just hope this one doesn't bite him in the ass.

Yandere Five tells you that he has a way to get you out of here. The both of you just have to spend a little time away from each other. His body psychically aches while way from you, and it isn't just because he's a crotchety old man. The both of you weren't going to be young forever.

He doesn't necessarily hate the job until he learns that killing you is part of keeping the time continuum in check. He doesn't wait a day after learning that information. He takes your hand and escapes somewhere in the past.

Of course his calculations were rushed and were off in the worst possible way. Of course he ends up in the middle of his father's funeral, both of you stuck in your thirteen-year-old bodies. Of course Kalus has to make a sex joke about it.

Damn it! He wants to scream at the top of his lungs.

He needs you! He had you all to himself, and then other people just had to fuck it up.

It's okay. It's okay.

He'll figure out a way to stop all of this and keep you forever.

Forever. What a pleasant thought.

[citricacidprince]

doodle request on relativity falls - id love 2 see ur vers of fiddleford and where he stands in the story!! :DD

Of course!!!

Oh Fiddleford, my dearly beloved Fiddleford, he’s just a little guy who makes machines that hurt people and I love him for that <3

In my Relativity Falls AU Fidds is a kid from Tennessee who moved to Gravity Falls pretty recently, like in the past year.

He’s still really handy with mechanics, like a genuine prodigy, but he’s so riddled with anxiety that it’s a battle to get him to share any of his projects outside of his robots he makes to get revenge on those who wrong him!

He really does like hanging out with the twins, he thinks their both fun and is very happy they actually wanna be his friend, however their constant ‘Getting into weird and magical trouble’ is so stress inducing to him he’s going to get gray hairs by the time he’s 20 (Dipper can relate-)

I don’t have a lot of things solidified for him yet, other than I want him to be EXTREMELY tempted to use the Memory Gun on himself, to forget a lot of the horrifying things he’s seen over the summer, but is stopped by Candy (The inventor of the gun) at the last second. You see, Candy didn’t spiral like Fiddleford did in the show, she only ever used the memory gun on herself once. However, she used it to erase every bit of knowledge she ever learned about the weirdness of Gravity Falls, and Candy had spent YEARS of her life dedicated to it, she was arguably more curious about the weirdness of Gravity Falls than Dipper was. He was only curious out of morbid curiosity, she saw the whimsy and wonder in it all. So when Candy used the Memory Gun on herself and erased such a huge chunk of her memory it cracked her psyche, not leaving her a rambling and insane kook like Fiddleford, but more oblivious and unaware to everything around her while also being a liiiiittle ‘not all there’.

Between the two of them Candy definitely got the better end of the stick. Fiddleford was deemed insane and used the memory gun over and over again until he couldn’t even remember who he was anyone, his life falling apart. Candy used it once to make sure no one could ever use her research to hurt anyone after she learned her lab partner was literally working with an otherworldly being who could go into peoples heads and it cracked her mind because her research WAS her entire life, leaving her oblivious and dazed. However, Candy managed to find people who cared about her and were willing to care for her despite this. Sure she lives in the dump, but whenever a storm comes through or she gets hungry she can always go up to her friends Grenda, Mabel Mason, or even Pacifica at some point to help her out. Fiddleford had no one.

I want Candy to give Fidds a little pep talk, convincing him that despite those memories being scary and uncomfortable he’s going to need all of them because they’re what will help him grow as a person. He can’t just pick and choose which ones he wants because one day he’ll realize he doesn’t have any memories left to burn.

Maybe there could even be a moment where Fidds tries to use the memory gun on Candy because he convinces himself he NEEDS it and doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of hating choice, but freezes up when he realizes it does work on her anymore. The realizes what he just did because of how badly he wanted that memory gun seconds after he did it and starts to tremble, dropping the memory gun as he begins uncontrollably crying that he ‘didn’t mean it’ and he’s sorry. Candy wouldn’t hold it against him, just seeing a scared kid who was so desperate to make the mind numbing anxiety that he would do anything, and she’d hug him and tell him it’s okay before leading him back to the rest of the group.

Fiddleford makes me soooo ill I love him <3

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟐]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.6k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, mentions of abuse/alcoholism

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘

Summer brings longer days and sunrises that spill like molten gold over the horizon.

Kinich sits by the river to watch, washing clothes in the bubbling water and listening to his mother hum nearby. Her voice is lovely like this, carried lightly along the wind, part of her he wishes he would’ve inherited. She has these rare moments of peace sometimes, when she’s among her crops and the weather is gentle, where she’s temporarily able to forget about the house-shaking fights from the night before. Kinich tries not to disturb her in those times; mostly, he learns just by watching her.

His father, on the other hand, stays out later every day—longer days mean more time to gamble, and Kinich is often left yawning by the time the front door slams open. Their Mora pouches grow tighter and tighter, and his mother stops bringing him to the market with her.

One day, she stops going at all.

Then, she stops humming.

Kinich gets used to having the same meals every day—he eats Grainfruit so much that he gets sick of it, and vows that once he has the option, he’ll never eat it again. He stops thinking about making friends and starts thinking about his own survival. When he has some time, he finds ways to make his own fun anyway; he harvests plants to weave into rope, then makes his own swings on the trees nearby. He finds that he likes the feeling of flying through the air, though he hasn’t quite gotten advanced enough to do any true climbing yet.

Every so often, Kinich thinks about the tribe. He can hear them occasionally, on nights of celebration—the firelight and vivacious laughter pierce the night, even all the way out here. He hasn’t gotten the chance to visit the main village in a while, and courier visits are infrequent, not that his parents receive much mail anyway. Perhaps a mountain of bills, if nothing else.

In even rarer moments, he thinks of you. 

It comes on days when his mother locks herself in her room and his father disappears for hours, the quiet desire for companionship. He feels truly stupid even pondering it, but he wonders how you’re doing sometimes. He wonders if you ever learned how to make flower crowns, and if the other kids in the tribe are being nice to you again. 

He wonders if you’re alone, and sometimes, he wonders if he could be too.

“Yanta passed away,” his mother murmurs one day, cutting up a Grainfruit. Kinich’s stomach lurches at the thought of taking another bite of the crop, but he says nothing; he never complains to his mother. Instead, he stands beside her at the kitchen counter on a short stool, carefully grinding grain into flour. “The courier came by today and told me.”

For a moment, Kinich says nothing. Observant as he is for his age, he gauges his mother’s expression—she’d known Yanta a long time, after all. But she doesn’t look sad, at least not truly. Instead, she just looks…resigned.

“I’m sure she’s in a better place now,” he manages to reply.

His mother smiles bitterly. The knife cuts through the soft fruit with too much force, blade hitting the cutting board with a loud thud—Kinich nearly flinches at the sound.

“I’m sure she is.”

They lapse back into silence, and his mother stares out the kitchen window, wistful. He tries not to think about that too much, because he’s unsure how to feel about the implications.

(He knows she’s thinking about somewhere far away, but he wonders if he’s in that vision, too.)

Kinich learns that the price of his mother’s smile is his own usefulness—she smiles when he brings home larger harvests. When he can contribute, she ruffles at his hair and tenderly takes the basket from his hands. He finds that he likes that feeling—being useful, being needed. It’s the reason why he works so hard, the reason why his small hands form calluses, skin turning rough from labor.

A commotion sounds from outside—his father is home. His mother places the knife down immediately, moving on pure instinct. She takes up the cloth by the sink and wipes down her hands. It’s a pitiful thing, full of holes and threadbare from years of use. Kinich thinks he should weave a new one the next time he has a chance; the thought that it might please his mother makes his chest warm.

“Go to your bedroom,” his mother orders, hurried. The flour sits on the counter, forgotten, only half-finished. He looks at it longingly, even as his mother pushes him out of the kitchen.

He just manages to slip into his bedroom by the time the front door slams open, nearly flying off the hinges. Kinich’s eyes flutter shut, lips pressed into a thin line—the losses today must’ve been worse than usual.

“Don’t slam the door! Kinich is sleeping,” his mother argues. There’s a series of groans and squeaks—his father is stumbling into the furniture again, probably making a mess. “What’s got you so upset already?”

“It was the damn orphan kid,” his father slurs, spitting on the floor. Kinich silently seethes in disgust. “She’s always running around our fucking property, guess since she’s got nowhere else to go.”

Kinich isn’t sure who his father is referring to, but it doesn’t really matter anyway. The screams outside the door grow louder, until it feels like the walls of the house will fall from the noise. If he were any younger, he might’ve folded his pillow over his ears in an attempt to block out the noise. He’d stopped doing that years ago, though, having grown used to the chaos.

His mother screams and cries until the daylight disappears completely, and his father yells and inflicts as much damage as he can—both to the house and to his wife. Kinich pretends to be asleep the whole time, grip tight on his blankets. It’s not until the moon rises in the sky, watchful, that his parents tire themselves out, retiring to bed with fresh bruises. 

It’s quiet, at least for a bit.

The next day, Kinich rises with the sun. 

His mother is already outside, and his father is…somewhere. It doesn’t really matter where the man is, only that he isn’t here, and Kinich can enjoy the fleeting peace. The routine comes easily to him in the mornings—he sets about rearranging the scattered dining chairs and dragging the table back into place. It’s a useless endeavor, he knows, considering they’ll probably end up downed again by tomorrow. But there’s something about these small victories, in which he can pretend his house is normal for the day—where he can pretend it’s just him and his mom.

He cleans quietly, humming to himself, then decides against it—it doesn’t sound like when his mother does it.

She comes back inside a few minutes later, not sparing him a word. It makes something sting in his chest, the lack of recognition—he’d hoped she would praise him for tidying up, or maybe ask him to help her harvest. Still, he continues cleaning, grabbing a broom to sweep up the remnants of things his parents had broken in anger. He sweeps up smashed bottles, careful to avoid the glass, before stopping at the mess under the counter. He pauses.

For reasons he can’t explain, the sight makes him inexplicably sad:

The bowl of half-ground flour, shattered into a thousand pieces and flung across the floor.

/

When the air cools and leaves begin to fall from the trees, a ghost appears in the forest.

Kinich first notices it one morning after he goes outside to water his crops and check on their growth. The forest leaves are still full-bodied by this time, but they’re turning; as he walks, the emerald ceiling turns to deep reds, burnt oranges, and pale yellows. Yesterday, the breeze was gentle, but today it nips at his skin—he pulls his thin jacket tighter around himself. 

He’s not a superstitious or fearful person by any means. He’s grown used to being alone over the years, and the creaks of the house and the whispers in the forest don’t scare him like they used to. 

Still, he’s inclined to admit the chill that runs through his blood when he finds the small bag of berries awaiting him. 

It’s placed in such a specific location that he can’t help but feel it’s meant for him—a stone that marks the perimeter of his garden plot. There’s no note, though he checks thoroughly for one, nor any indication of who it might be from. The thought makes him a bit uncomfortable—no one from the village usually comes through here. He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him, but he finds himself rushing home after the fact.

The gifts don’t stop coming. 

It’s always inconsequential, little things like cheap candies and leaf whistles left on stones. They’re placed in very particular spots—areas around his crops, around his traps, or the trees where he usually sits to be alone. Kinich starts to feel like someone is watching him, and the shadows in the forest seem to loom a bit longer than usual. A collection of tiny trinkets and treats grows in the corner of his bedroom.

It takes three more weeks before he discovers that ghosts are, in fact, not real.

With the temperatures dropping, he decides to visit his crops a bit later than usual that day, when the sun is fully up and provides some semblance of warmth. The thought of the ghost still lays dormant in the back of his mind, but it’s less of a concern—after all, it doesn’t seem to pose a threat.

(And really, he can’t complain about having extra candy every now and then.)

He just about reaches the clearing when he spots a shadowed figure knelt over his crops. Initially, Kinich mistakes it for a wild animal—there’s no shortage of them around here, and they’re always interested in chewing at his plants. He readies himself to scream in an attempt to scare it away, but it suddenly moves in a way that is distinctly human—he freezes where he stands. Slowly, cautiously, he leans forward in the foliage to get a better look.

The figure rises just as his eyes narrow on the small object now laying on the stone.

It’s a crown, woven with jade and gold flowers.

“It’s you,” he breathes, mostly out of shock. You jolt like a deer in the headlights at the sound, eyes wide, and there’s a beat of silence before you turn and sprint away. Truthfully, Kinich considers himself a smart kid, but even he feels dumbfounded by the whole situation. It takes him about another second to start chasing after you, an impromptu game of tag with no clear objective.

“Stop!”

You’re quite swift for a child, but Kinich is faster, knows these woods better; he catches up to you with ease, and his fingers wrap around your wrist in a fashion that reminds him of when you first met. This time, you try to break out of his grip, but it only makes him hold tighter. In a panic, your ankle catches on a tree root, and that’s all it takes for both of you to go tumbling down.

Kinich hits the ground hard, tangled in your limbs, and he groans when his shoulder skids in the dirt—instantly, his mind is assessing the value lost in the event of an injury. If he gets hurt, how will he pay for it? How will he hunt? How will he harvest?

The thought just makes him angrier as he straightens to his feet, unsteady and brushing grime off his clothes. You’re a bit slower to rise, still on your hands and knees—Kinich pulls you up by your collar instead, lips curled into a snarl.

“Why are you running from me? Why are you leaving these things?” The words come out in a hiss, frustration boiling over. “Why are you doing this?”

You tear out of his grip, looking just as indignant.

“Because Chief Wayna said you’re lonely!”

Nearby, birds flock away from the noise, a rush of darkness flying overhead.

Kinich flinches at your words—he’s not even sure if it’s true, but the notion of it sends a pulse of lightning through his heart. Lonely? He turns away, fists clenched.

“Well, he’s wrong. So you can go back to the village.”

“I don’t think he’s wrong,” you say, arms crossed. “You’re the only kid out here, right? That would make anyone lonely.”

He thinks of his parents; on an average day, it’s true that they don’t talk very much. But that doesn’t make him lonely—in fact, he thinks he’s doing just fine by himself. Thinking of friends and other things makes him less useful to his mother, and he despises that thought.

“You don’t even know me,” he argues, eyes narrowed, and you huff. 

“I don’t. But that’s why I’m here,” you say. Kinich watches as you squat to the ground, thumbing over the thin petals of the flower crown. “Because I want to know you. I want to be friends. Is that so bad?”

He rolls his eyes. “There’s plenty of other kids in the village. Go play with them.”

You’re more stubborn than you let on, he realizes. Because even as he explains every reason why you shouldn’t be here, your feet remain firmly rooted in place, a pout written over your lips.

“I don’t want to play with them. I want to play with you.”

He’s not sure why the words hit him as hard as they do—you’re just a child who wants to play. Maybe you’re bored with the other kids, or maybe they still don’t like you, but it’s not like you’re coming to him out of genuine necessity. 

(Distantly, he reminds himself that he’s a child too. He forgets that sometimes.)

“...Why me?” he probes, tentative. “Why does it even matter to you?”

You seem to sense that a crack has formed in his resolve, and your expression softens. The wind rushes by as you outstretch one hand, holding the flower crown out to him—an olive branch.

“Because you’re the one who offered to help me back then,” you say, nearly a whisper, “and that matters to me.”

For the second time since he’s met you, Kinich finds himself genuinely speechless. He’s not a talkative person to begin with, but it��s not out of a lack of things to say—it’s out of a lack of necessity. There’s no need to speak in the life he lives, only to move. To survive. But here you are, latching onto him simply because you want his company.

I don’t need friends, he thinks desperately.

Before he can stop himself, he gently plucks the crown from your hands.

You smile.

In the next few weeks after that, Kinich lets you come around, if only for a few hours.

The forest clearing becomes your meeting place—he learns a lot about you among the crunching leaves and bare trees. He learns that you’re an orphan, that your favorite season is spring, that you think his eyes are pretty. You don’t tend to think before you speak, only saying things as they come to mind. In a lot of ways, you’re his opposite. 

He’s not sure what the feeling is that takes root in his chest.

Next, he teaches you what he knows. You had suggested it offhandedly one day, that he might teach you how to weave—that maybe you might be able to do something more complex than flower crowns. He had been a bit hesitant—he doesn’t consider himself an expert, after all—but relented after you asked over and over.

(He always seems to relent when it comes to you.)

He finds that he likes the way your eyes sparkle when he teaches you something new, or when you successfully try something for the first time. You’re overjoyed when you weave your first rope, when your traps come back full, when your first plant finally blooms. Kinich merely watches, a warmth permeating his chest. He starts to crave your company, the way you cling to him, the way you need him. Soon, he starts to think that a small part of him might have needed you too.

Despite his willingness to spend time with you, he’s quite strict with your time—once the sun dips, he’s quick to send you off. 

“Go home,” he says, looking pointedly toward his house. He’s always waiting for something. “And don’t let anyone see you.”

You never disobey, mostly because you have no reason to—ascending the mountain in the dark is difficult anyway, and you don’t want to overstay your welcome.

And though his house still shakes and rocks with screaming every night when he returns, Kinich finds it a bit easier to sleep when he thinks of meeting you the next day.

/

Kinich’s mother disappears on a winter night.

Something startles him awake, and his eyes slide open to see the moon hanging over the inky sky. It’s uncharacteristically quiet, save for the subdued snoring of his father passed out on the couch. At times like these, Kinich misses the warmer months; the river outside has long since frozen over, and he sometimes relied on its steady bubbling rush to put him to sleep.

These days, it’s too cold for you to make the trip down the mountain. The ice makes it far more dangerous to make the descent, and even someone as stubborn as you wouldn’t risk it. Kinich thinks he finally understands what loneliness means.

Winter also means more time spent inside, and forced quarters with his father. The weather seems to take a toll on the man—he skips work more and more these days, citing an ache in his bones. Kinich’s mother works longer days now, desperate to feed them all. He helps as he can, setting traps in the forest to catch wild game, but it’s not enough sometimes. Some days, he sleeps with his stomach empty. 

He sits up in bed, slow.

He’s still short enough that his feet barely dangle above the ground when he swings his legs over the edge, wincing when he first makes contact with the cold floor. It had been snowing when he had first fallen asleep, cheek stinging from the force of his father’s hand. Outside, a blanket of white is settling, still undisturbed by human interference. His footsteps are light, trained from years of practice.

The door creaks open, millimeters at a time, lest he accidentally wake his father. He peeks a single eye out of the crack, observing how the man lays draped over the couch. Several bottles of alcohol lie vacant on the table, emptied down his father’s throat in one of his fits of rage. He’d lost more Mora than usual today—Kinich’s mother had been the unfortunate scapegoat for his anger, and Kinich as well when he came to her defense. 

He slips through the opening in the door, agile, creeping past his father’s sleeping form and into the kitchen. It’s still a mess, as a result of earlier. One of the cabinet doors sits unlatched at an awkward angle, evidence of the fight. Kinich’s fingers twitch to fix it, but decide against it; it would make too much noise, and the cabinet is bare anyway. 

He moves on.

His mother’s bedroom—technically his parents’ bedroom, but the two haven’t slept together in years—is half-visible through a crack in the door, but it doesn’t look the same as he remembers. The bedsheets are smoothed down, his mother nowhere to be seen. He glances out the window again—there are times when she awakens in the middle of the night to take walks, craving temporary silence, but the notion seems unlikely with the current weather.

Kinich eases the door open quietly, exposing the disaster to his eyes.

His mother’s things are strewn about the room in various states of disarray—someone had left in a hurry. The bed frame also sits crooked, revealing a loose floorboard beneath that had been pulled aside. The perfect place to hide something, whether it had been jewelry, Mora, or something else.

A seed of panic plants itself in his stomach. 

He rushes over to the front door, tripping as he goes—he slams to the floor with a cry. A hand slaps over his mouth in fear, eyes flickering over to his father. The man turns over, but doesn’t awaken, so he scrambles to his feet, finally seizing the doorknob and throwing it open. 

Nothing but a starless night awaits him outside—a burst of freezing air surges into the house, but Kinich doesn’t feel it at all. Instead, he stares out into the snowy landscape, gaze following the trail his mother had left behind.

Shallow footfalls leading away from the house—leading away from him.

Kinich is not ignorant; even young as he is, he understands the situation instantly.

His mother had weighed the value of her son and the value of her freedom, and he had not been the final choice.

That night, Kinich doesn’t cry.

Instead, he creeps back into bed, deathly quiet in his footsteps and wincing when the door creaks. A shiver runs down his body; teeth chattering, he slides beneath his thin blanket. His father doesn’t stir, and for once, Kinich doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel anything at all.

For a few minutes, he tosses and turns. It doesn’t help—the dread settles in all the same. There are too many questions and not enough answers to placate him. He thinks of his mother and her smile.

Distantly, he wonders if he can blame her, or even hate her. If he weighed his options, would he have made the same choice? If he had been more useful, would she have stayed?

What more could he have done?

As he falls back to sleep, Kinich wonders how long it will be until spring comes again.

[ajortga]

love at first glance

pairing: tara carpenter x bass guitarist!fem reader

word count: 5.5k+

summary: in which tara admires your bass skills, then admires you even more.

author's note: please bear with me, i don't know what i'm doing but i'm just hoping these scrambled words just go well. tv girl mentioned!

-

based off request!

tara carpenter x masc! fem reader and reader is in a band, maybe like lead guitarist or bass? but like tara goes to a concert with all of the core 4 (+anika cuz i miss her) and like is mesmerized by reader. maybe they make eye contact during a song or sum? they leave the concert and tara is still thinking about reader and reader is still thinking about tara. cut to like later maybe at a party or a bar and they bump into each other and chop it up, but reader is like awkward-ish?

-

You’ve always had a love for anything that was related to music. Your parents made you take singing lessons ever since you were little. 

At first, you hated it. Singing Mary Had a Little Lamb in different keys was not entertaining. But as you grew older and probably didn’t need to sing that song every practice, you began to use your house’s grand piano that was left untouched for years. And then, being able to sing and knowing your keys inside and out wasn’t so bad after all. 

You spent countless times in the living room, the echo of your voice lingering against your house as you learned your favorite songs.

You wrote songs and composed as you experimented with your voice and the keys. It was almost never surprising when your parents caught you up late at night under your pillow, pencil scratching notes across lined pieces of paper. In every single talent show, audition, or musical, your name would be signed. Everyone in your family knew that one day, you’d grow to be a musician. 

People would even begin to see you whenever they were at warehouses and you’d be playing a piano. At every gathering, your relatives would ask, “Where is that little Y/N?” And your parents would look at each other with a knowing glance, both saying confidently, “Probably in the living room with that damn piano.”

You loved listening to music, making music, playing music, feeling your emotions in music, god, every time you’d go out, your earphones would be in your pockets.

So when you were gifted an acoustic guitar for your 12th birthday, to say the least, you were fucking thrilled. Instead of playing the piano 7 days a week, you’d play guitar for half those days. Gosh, was it hard learning a string instrument after playing piano for half your life? Maybe. But you loved it. 

You’d practice and practice, gradually getting better, then you’d play the electric and bass. And was the bass guitar a hell of a sound, you loved it. 

Then, the best thing ever happened to you. You had grouped up with your friends and quickly became a band with all your talents combined. Slowly but surely, did you begin to realize how far you had gone. Because in a blink of an eye, you were at concerts, fingers pressing down on your strings as it electrified through stadiums and arenas while people cheered. 

Cheered for you. That’s something you’ll never regret in your entire life.

-

You turn your bass’s machine head, plucking each string as you tune them before your concert. Nights like this never get old, you’d always be left with the adrenaline from every concert, like your body was refreshed when you slept under your hotel room’s covers.

As your hair and makeup stylist’s makeup brush dabs across your cheeks, you trace the outline of your bass guitar and look at yourself in the mirror. Layered hair, a black tank top over your toned arms, hidden beneath a red leather jacket. Your favorite part would probably be your nails painted red to compliment your hands. You had to keep them short though.

What would this night bring you? Everytime you close your eyes and listen, you can hear the faint echo of your bass vibrating through, lights swaying into the crowd, a smile forming on your face.

Every night had something different, there were different people, a different crowd, it makes you feel different every time. Yet you still feel the thrill and pride swell against your chest.

Junia, one of your closest friends that plays the drums, pops her head in. “You look hot,” she grins, “Jess said she’d come to pick us up at 40. You’re going to kill it, Bass.”

Bass. What an original nickname, you lean your chin into your palm as you raise your eyebrows, “You know it, June.” 

7:45.

-

Tara looks at herself in the mirror, Mindy and Chad screaming at each other while playing Jenga in the background. She pushes a stubborn strand of hair away from her eyelashes while she curls them. 

“CHEATER!-” Mindy yells, making the brunette flinch and breathe in frustration. She was not going to get her eyelashes pulled out.

After Tara was done with a cropped graphic tee, a jean skirt, and a cute little white bow in her hair, she walked through the hallway and into the living room, still adjusting her gold hoops.

There, Anika and her sister seemed the sanest out of them all. On the other hand, the twins were fighting over the remote. 

“Babies,” Sam mutters, pushing her dark brown hair back.

Anika pulls the remote out of both of their hands easily while Chad mutters ‘what the fuck’ under his breath. 

It was like being in a daycare. Tara ate a cookie while watching Anika throw the remote onto the sofa, wearing a lace tank top with jeans, “Mindss, why don’t we just leave the remote and find something else. Your hair is getting all poofy.” 

“And a little dingussy,” Chad adds.

Mindy smacks him, “Don’t ever use ‘dingussy’ to describe something. It sounds sexual.”

Before they could say furthermore, Tara jumps in, mentally begging them to shut up for a moment, “You have the keys, Sam?”

Sam pulls them out of the pocket in her jeans. 

Tara gives a small nod, looking a little over Sam, “Anika, tickets?”

“Yep, 5 of them,” she says, pulling out each ticket one by one with one hand and smoothing out Mindy’s hair with the other. When it was 5:30PM, they were all off, crawling into Sam’s car. Tara immediately sat in the passenger seat. 

I’m not sacrificing my hair by sitting in the middle seat, she thinks as she looks back at Anika, who was basically separating the two twins that were probably yelling in her ear at this point.

“You guys will love them. Jess has always been one of the most talented people I know in music. I have no doubt her band will be the best on stage.”

When Anika had first mentioned when she won a giveaway for a concert. It was for a barricade, but it was stated that they were allowed to be in the front row, the tickets she won had granted her that. Tara wasn’t very interested. Music just wasn’t something she always listened to on a daily basis. But there were 5, and no way would she miss out. 

So she listened to a song, played it on Spotify while walking to class. 

The scene shifts to a local coffee shop in Woodsboro.

“Let me tell you, the bass was fucking amazing! Brilliant!” Tara yaps excitedly to the four people in front of her. She loved how well the drums, electric, lyrics, and bass sounded. The bass blessed her ears. She had immediately added it to her favorites. 

“Bass, huh?” Anika smiles while drinking her coffee. “I think that’s one of the leads, Y/N. Jess always talks about how good she sounds, she usually comes up with all the riffs and lines.”

Y/N. It was unique, Tara made a note to remember it. Yet, she forgot about that conversation no less than 2 days after.

-

They all stepped out once they could see people lining up and buying the light up sticks that were controlled throughout the concert. Tara found it cool that the sticks had stars on them, in fact, the lights were one of the parts that made a concert a concert. 

Mindy was yelling happily and doing a little dance once their tickets got scanned and they all ran to the front row. 

Anika gave a cocky grin, “Maybe they’ll notice us because we’re in the front!”

It was thirty minutes until the background music came to a stop and the lights slowly started to dim. People were screaming, Tara’s heart was pounding against her chest. It was dead silent, whispers and occasional excited screams echoed.

“Oh my god, it’s happening,” Mindy whispers loudly, holding onto Anika as they look at the curtains.

They wait a moment, then two, and by the third one, drums begin to echo. ‘Tsst’ being echoed, before it follows with a loud 16th beat of drums. Then, the curtains open as Tara’s eyes widen.

Are you sick of me?

Would you like to be?

I'm trying to tell you something,

Something that I already said

The drums softly fill Tara’s ears, as she watches them play, she finally notices you. Perfect layered hair, messy in all the right ways. The bass girl. Something about the way the warmth of the light danced across your face in all the right ways captivated her. The way your deep red leather jacket hung over your shoulder, exposing your defined collar bones and toned arms while you pressed on strings.

Oh god, it felt as if a new story line with different love interests began to change for Tara. She could see the veins against your slim hands as they traveled across your guitar with ease. You mouthed the lyrics, enjoying yourself as you close your eyes and sway softly to the beat. 

You like a pretty boy,

With a pretty voice

Who is trying to sell you something,

Something that you already have

The drums left Tara’s thoughts, now hearing you and the way that your bass adds on to the magic of it all. You’re just standing there, your bangs swiping across your features as you tuck it to your sides, smiling to yourself as you scan the crowd for a moment then look back down to your strings.

Maybe it was the way you looked like you were the right person for this part–to be on stage like you were meant for it. Or maybe it was the way your gaze flickered to the front row and landed on Tara’s wide ones. She could see the way you tilted your head and gave her a curious, wondering look, before giving her a small smile. 

Oh my god, your smile was so cute. If she could describe it, it’s like the kind of smile that made her all giggly and was so contagious that she felt herself slowly smile.

The lights shine over your face, making everything about you glow. You pluck at the strings as you mouth the chorus to Tara. Her eyes searched all over your face. You don’t break eye contact with her.

But if you're too drunk to drive,

And the music is right

She might let you stay,

But just for the night

“And if she grabs for your hand, and drags you along,” Tara mouths back in time with the song.

One of your eyebrows raise as the light shines onto you once again, god, she can almost hear your soft, breathy voice teasingly singing, “She might want a kiss before the end of this song..”

Anika screams, jumping up and down and hyping everyone up, waving her heart stick in beat with the song. 

Because love can burn like a cigarette…

-

By the end of the concert, Tara was love struck. Very very love struck. It was late when her and the four of her friends walked out, the stars shining just a little brighter. She couldn’t get you out of her head. She might have grown gray hairs. How could you be more than any other celebrity crush?

She prayed to the universe that it would align you both together. Just like each star was in the night sky.

It’s bad, Loving Machine is playing and she can only think about you strumming your guitar.

Here she comes walking down the street,

Maddie Klein and her fabulous loving machine-

“Earth to Tara, hello?” Anika pauses the music, waving her hand into the girl’s face. It was almost like a record scratch moment as Tara blinked and looked around. “Oh, sorry, what?”

“Did you like the concert?” She asks, holding onto her star light up as the red light makes the glitter under her eyes sparkle. Anika was now in the middle, the car a little quieter since Chad was now in the passenger seat.

“Oh yeah, I loved it.” Tara answers, half of her attention slipping away. She starts to see you from a camera, lighting cast against your tan skin, a TV effect on you, making your movements jerky. 

The rest of the people are fading away, their voices, so loud and eager. Blah blah blah blah… Y/N.. Bassist. Love of her life.

Dreamy sigh.

Blah.. Blah.. “Yeah the bassist was hot.” Mindy’s voice suddenly being processed.

“What?” Tara immediately turns away from the window and looks at Mindy on the opposite side. Oh god, now she was going to have to fight for you? "No! Go find someone else to admire!” She grumbles, before immediately looking away.

The whole car shakes as they all laugh, playfully hitting Tara. “See? She was literally summoned, baby!” Anika giggles, talking to Mindy. “She wasn’t giving any shits when we were talking, and as soon as we talked about Senorita Y/N, she was like poof!”

Sam looks from the rearview mirror, an eyebrow raised, “Already? One concert that lasted two hours and she’s already wrapped you around her little finger?”

Little fingers, those veiny hands that played so smoothly across the-

Chad turns around excitedly, like a child peeking at surprise presents, “She was literally captivated the whole damn concert! You should’ve seen her, a love sick puppy!”

Her sister cackles, the car moving as she keeps snorting, “Gotta admit though, she’s fine wine.”

“Sam!” Tara rubs her cheeks, she seriously hoped she wasn’t going to have to battle till death for you.

“Chill!” Sam coaxes, putting one hand up in the air, “I would totally go for her if you weren’t interested. Didn’t think you had a thing for ‘Sam accepted’ girls.”

The freckled cheek girl couldn’t help but sigh, the thought of you still lingering in her mind. Like a twinkling little Melody who’s lyrics couldn’t get out of her mind, even when she slept.

-

It had been a week. Tara says that she doesn’t think of you too often, but every single time she hears your band’s song, you end up in her mind for the whole day. Every time she steps into a coffee shop, she wonders if you’d be the person to give a free concert. 

She wonders if you’re as sweet as your name sounds. She wonders if you’d hold doors for others or walk old ladies down the street. She wonders if your hand would fit hers. She wonders if you had even thought of her after the curtains closed.

She wonders if you smell good, if you’d smell like a musky, sweet, fruity vanilla-y scent with leather undertones. She sure hoped so.

To say the least, you’ve thought about the brunette just as much. You were having fun, strumming your guitar and feeling the beat radiate off your skin. Until you lay eyes on her. She had wide, brown doe eyes that made your knees buckle. 

She was heaven-sent. You could even make out her tan freckled cheeks. And you were almost in denial when she was looking at you. It was always who was singing that people looked at, heck, you did too. But you were looking at her. And she was looking at you.

Plenty of people might have looked at you, but she was different. Like she was mesmerized by how you played. Like she was a moth to your flame. 

In fact, you don’t know if anyone has ever looked at you with that much admiration.

The girl was so beautifully written, you wished you knew who she was. Instead, she was one out of 8 billion people out there, in a blink of an eye, a close of a curtain, she was off.

-

Tara looked at herself in the mirror, standing there like.. She didn’t even know, her serious eyes trailing down to what she was wearing, before turning to Anika slowly.

“Anika, I look like a hot dog.” She cries, looking at the way the costume swallowed her whole in the fitting room.

“That’s because you’re wearing a hot dog costume, Tar. But you look like a steaming hot hot dog!” Anika shakes her head, her head only visible since she was basically a whole mustard bottle. 

Mindy waddles through the living room, a red ketchup bottle, a red dangling earring complimenting her poofy hair. “Has anyone seen my earring? I can’t find it! It was in my purse and I thought if it looked good, I’d totally buy this.”

Chad walks in the girl’s fitting room, slightly peeking as Sam walks out of her dressing room, a serious expression on their face, a cookie and milk costume. 

Tara wants to laugh, but no way in hell was she going to wear this at a costume party, at least not at a serious one.

-

After actually taking it seriously, Tara decides on a pirate outfit, tying up her bandana. 

She can almost hear the music blasting from her apartment, which is filled with laughter and chatting from her ‘family.’

Her eyes skim over her board, looking for her calendar that was usually meant for school, roaming around the small photos of you and a heart drawn over your face. She traces over it, before getting ready to leave, not even looking at the calendar. 

Maybe the calendar was just an excuse.

After 5 songs and a half of your band’s music, the core five, including sweet Anika, open the door. A heavy scent of booze fills their senses, sweat, and a mix of perfumes all lingered. Not to mention, it was stuffy.

“Ugh, do they ever think about AC?” Sam grumbles, clearly not a party person as she gets whacked across the face from a toilet plumber that belonged to a person who was wearing a damn toilet costume. Mindy cackled, before tripping and almost crashing into them, luckily her girlfriend tugged her back.

They pushed against cowboy hats and random inflatable dinosaurs, across the dance floor, and to the drinks station.

Tara did not leave empty handed, her mouth gulping down the bubbly bitterness of alcohol. 

She was buzzed, a few drinks here and she was flushed and giggling, so she made sure to think about her intake. As she parted from the other four to find a trash can, scanning the groups of people. Sometimes she found people she knew at school, cute boys, just people she’s seen.

Tara took a different route back to her friends, the music growing louder in her ears when she got near the dance floor, slivering through bodies. It was almost inevitable that her nose would scrunch, too strong of a perfume, or just sweat.. It made her nauseous. 

Where was she going? She didn’t know, she stood on her tippy toes, her ruffled blouse crinkling as she searched for her friends.

Her face smacked right into someone, her hand automatically being placed on their chest. She opened her mouth, about to apologize and prepare for a scolding until her nose twitched. A fruity and sweet vanilla-y smell, and a light leathery contrast.. No?..

“Shoot,” you look down, your drink almost spilling on yourself as you look at the shorter person as you smooth out their hair. Did you ruin it? “I’m sorry, are you okay?”

Tara looks at her outfit, perfectly fine, no stains. Hearing your soft, breathy voice, it was unrecognizable to her at first.

“No, it’s totally fine, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Tara says, immediately looking up and seeing your big curious eyes.

Oh my god.

Your eyes search hers, like you’re scanning her. Like you feel you’ve seen her before. No, you know you have. But where? The trace of her nose, doe eyes, oh! Tara almost puts a hand over her mouth because she can almost see the swirling sense of recognition in your eyes.

You opened your mouth to say something, maybe to ask about the concert, but you closed it. You don’t even know if she noticed you, maybe she was spacing out and was not acknowledging you during your concert a few weeks ago.

When it came to people, especially ones you crushed on, you were all stuttering words and pink cheeks.

The shorter girl sees the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and she registers what you’re wearing as her eyes trail down. And fuck, you looked angellic. Seriously.

A halo over your head and wings enveloping your sides. A black corset and ruffled skirt that showed a little of your legs, which were covered with tights. God, she thinks she can see the muscles as you cross one leg over the other.

It immediately makes you think she’s judging you. This costume was not your cup of tea, but your friends invited you to match with them, all angels in different colors.

The little pirate instead gives you a genuine look, “I like your costume,” she says, focusing a little too much on your toned arms and slightly flushed cheeks.

“I um.. Thank you..?” You bite your tongue, not knowing her name. In what chance do you get to meet the girl that made you think soulmates were real once again? At least a 1 in 300 chance. 

“Tara,” she answers for you, pretending she didn’t already have your name embedded in the back of her head. 

“I’m Y/N,” you bite a smile, she probably didn’t recognize you. You take a small sip from your drink, nose scrunching at the taste.

“You’re good at the bass,” she says nonchalantly, and you almost choke on your drink. 

You didn’t think she’d recognize you, but now knowing that, you tilt your head. “Thank you. It comes from years of practice. What did you think?” You were genuinely curious.

“I think you’re just so good at the bass..” She mumbles, again, trailing off, before clearing her throat. “I mean, the bass always makes the songs so much better! You know? It’s like realizing how amazing something really is when you notice it-”

“I appreciate it,” you say, now aware of your surroundings because instead of where you two just bumped into each other, you were sitting at a table. You turn your head, looking at where you were, probably near the back. 

Tara took the opportunity to notice your damn jawline, so perfect and sleek and defined-

“I like your freckles,” you admit, voice breathy. You turn back to look at her while batting your eyelashes, Tara’s eyes trained on how your hands.. Veiny hands lifted the cup to your lips.

The compliment almost catches her off guard, because with all the compliments she might get, freckles were usually not on the list. It used to make her insecure, but the way you said it and looked said otherwise. The alcohol was definitely taking a toll on you, because you were staring at her with no shame whatsoever.

Wide, searching eyes, it looked as if you were trying to memorize every detail. 

The flutters in Tara’s stomach would’ve lasted longer. Except her eyes teared away from yours as she could see a very familiar ketchup and mustard costume and two other people behind them.

“Oh my god!” She groans quietly, covering her face as she scoots deeper into the booth.

She completely forgot that she slithered away from them, getting side tracked.

The brunette could die from embarrassment. You on the other hand.. Just prettily sitting there with a curious look on your face, the small warmth of the lamp casting a glow onto your face.

You bite your lip, trying to fight back a small giggle as you peek at the costumes that you can almost kind of guess who they are to Tara.

-

“SHE’S LOOKING THIS WAY!” Mindy hollers, tugging the mustard bottle next to her as Chad scribbles something on a piece of paper.

“Tara’s literally hiding from us.”

“Hold it up!”

-

They’re screaming at each other. You can’t hear it from all the music and party chatter, but you can definitely figure it out from their expressions. For a moment, they turn away from you, so you can’t see them.

You slip on a leather jacket that was in your bag.

A hiding Tara is in the corner of the booth, you raise your eyebrows at her.

It doesn’t take long before the four people across the room slowly turn to you in synchronization. 

“Um, I don’t-” You start, feeling a little awkward.

They hold up a paper, and you can’t even see what the words are saying. It’s at least the size of a penny. And from here, you can’t even make out the words.

-

“Dingus,” Mindy shouts to her twin, noticing the confused expression on your face as you try to understand what the paper is saying. She finally turns the paper around after holding it up. “It’s too small, that’s why!”

-

One of the four holds up a finger, signaling you to give them a moment as they adjust, before turning around.

‘Give her your numbar’ The sign says, you still don’t get it. Oh, number. You grab a tissue from the booth, and take out a sharpie from your pocket. Sharpies were always needed whenever you went out. To write down something on your hand, to sign autographs..

You slip the paper to Tara, giving her a small smile. She was definitely embarrassed. She didn’t even notice you slipping it to her, because after 5 seconds of you sliding it to her again, she still was clueless! The girl, instead, turned around to look out, immediately still seeing her stupid friends.

You sigh, putting the paper into your pocket. You feel a little bad for her.

Party lights fill the empty crevices of the room while you scoot out of the booth and stand up, pretending you didn’t notice the four people who were staring into the back of your skull.

“I think my friends are playing some Uno, you wanna come?” You offer, guiding her out of the booth as you look down at her.

“Sure.”

-

As the game went on, the last two players in the center still battling it out, Tara could see you were all fuzzy and flushed. 

You were definitely drunk. Too drunk to drive.

Your knees were nudged against hers, a little closer than expected, cuddled into her, but she didn’t mind. God no she definitely didn’t.

She was talking a lot, and you were always open ears and one of the best listeners. And then you would ramble and Tara would listen. It made you both feel heard and understood.

After a moment, you remember something. 

“Can I borrow your phone real quick? Uh, my phone is dead right now and I have to text a friend where I’m at.” You lie, your words slightly mushed together.

“Sure,” Tara says, unlocking her phone and handing it to you, a little drunk. You try to ignore the fact that the wallpaper is you from the concert she attended weeks ago.

You slip into the contacts, adding your contact and changing the name to; y/n, the bass guitarist ♡.

She didn’t even notice for the rest of the night.

As the sun slept at night, Tara stared at the ceiling, her vinyl spinning while a crackled “Say Yes to Heaven” reverberated around her bedroom.

She wished she could’ve stayed so much longer, but her friends had to leave, and there was no way she was taking an Uber or driving when tipsy.

Tara wanted to ask for your number, but because you never asked, maybe you didn’t because this didn’t mean as much as it did to her.

Curiosity was getting the best of her as she checked the messages on her phone, wondering how you typed like to your friends. But to her surprise, there were no messages to a number she didn’t recognize. The last number was just to Sam.

Her nose wrinkled, swiping to check the apps recently opened as she clicked the recent one. 

Dimples creased against her cheeks as she saw your name with a little heart. She immediately clicked to message you. But to her surprise, you had already done so.

 y/n, the bass guitarist ♡: whatcha doing? i hope ur not asleep yet>:(

tara ☆🧭: thankfully not yet, i’m in bed. u know, i was going to be a little sad than i’d like to admit if i didn’t get your number. 

 y/n, the bass guitarist ♡: i did hand you a paper, but you were hiding in the corner of the booth and i thought it would be easier this way

It took her a moment to think of what to say, before she thought of something she never thought she’d do late at night.

tara ☆🧭: do u wanna call? maybe just talk to each other till one of us falls asleep.

You usually weren't the person to connect over facetimes and calls, sometimes you didn't know what to say in the moment. You don't know..

She doesn’t get a response for a minute, before her phone vibrates in her hand and she swipes to answer.

Your hair was let down loose, in an oversized tee that even then she could still see your collarbones. You give a sleepy smile.

“Tara,” you say softly, and something in Tara thumps because you look so happy to see her. She grins back, shifting so she could see you better.

“I’ve never really done one of these,” your quiet voice says, a warmer tone casting over your face. “Do you want to say hi to Cinnamon? He’s my puppy.” You say, pushing your hair back.

The brunette nods, “Puppies are so cute, my sister isn’t very fond though. They sometimes make her sneeze.”

“Oh, allergies you could get a poodle breed or something, Cinnamon doesn’t shed much,” you agree, your camera slightly shaking as she can slightly hear you call your dog's name in a cute voice. “Come here, boy!”

Seconds later, you bring out your puppy, which lolls outs his tongue as you press a kiss to his head. Tara can see your red nails as you mess up his hair.

“Tell me about yourself,” Tara says, looking at you through the screen with pure curiosity.

“I-” You pause, thinking for a moment before shaking your head. “I think you should tell me about yourself first. It’s late and I want to listen to you. As much as I’d try to stay up, I’d fall asleep if you went second.” You murmur, cuddling with Cinnamon.

What you said made Tara feel something she doesn’t feel often. Appreciated? Well, she always wants to listen to others when calling, then she might go second, but when you brought up her going first? That made her feel fireworks.

“Okay, what do you want to know first?”

“What’s your favorite memory and why?”

-

As an hour, then two passes, you begin to tell Tara about yourself. She’s never felt so heard before. Both your lamps are off, now the only light from each others screens.

She can tell you’re beginning to doze off. The way you’re pausing and blinking sleepily before murmuring a little too softly. 

“What is something that you hate?”

You don’t say anything for a moment, your light breaths heard on the other end as you shift slightly and prop up your phone.

“Peppercorns..” You yawn, keeping your eyes half open. “They’re fine for seasoning, but when I bite into them, god.. It tastes so bad..”

You pause again, eyes heavy as you blink. “When you feel like you have to change for other people to like you. When you have to be someone you’re not because of people that don’t make you feel like you can be yourself.”

Tara nods, rubbing her eyes as she admires your defined features, even from the darkness. She could see the softness too. If she looked enough.

“I think those people make me feel the worst. Not wanting to be the one laughed at so you change to the one that’s laughing. Or when people talk down on the things you love. It hurts. And that’s something that I hope no one goes through.”

Wow, something about that makes her get to know the kind of person you are by a landslide.

“That’s a good response. What about your favorite fruit?”

“Mmm.. Watermelon. The sweet ones.. It’s so refreshing and…” You trail off, your eyes closing as your breathing evens out. Your lips were slightly parted, your puppy making a small whimper as he snuggles into you.

It’s silent, except for the faint white noise from Tara’s ceiling fan. You looked like a dream. Everything you talked about made Tara see nothing but good. And knowing that makes her feel like she should start seeing things the way you do.

A car passes by, the softest lyrics playing, it lulls Tara to bed.

We were listening to lovers rock

In her bedroom

You both fall asleep on call, maybe people were meant for each other.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Exhausted, Papyrus fell on his knees in the dust. It was covering everything in the room, from the floor to the ceiling. The main door was gone, like most of the windows. Thankfully, no monster tried to enter the balcony, too high. Papyrus crawled to pick up the door, still in one piece by some miracle, and put it in its place. The hinges were gone with a part of the wall, but he forced it to hold by nailing it with some planks that held the windows closed and was now on the floor.

He picked up his phone, hidden deep in his armor. His hands were still shaking with the adrenaline. Sans left about twenty messages, asking if he was fine, then warning him Frisk was gone, then asking him again if he was alright, more and more distressed as the hours went by.

Papyrus simply sent: "Alive. Frisk here." before walking to the kitchen to make sure the child was fine. Several bullets ricocheted against the closet door, but it faced the brunt efficiently. He cleared the chairs out of the way and opened the door, maybe too brutally.

Frisk screamed out of terror and threw themselves in the back of the cabinet. They curled up on themselves, hands on the head, sobbing uncontrollably. They were shaking as well.

Papyrus flinched. He saw himself at five years old, in the same position, as Sans was screaming and fighting for their lives in the living room. This was not a world to grow up. No child should ever be born in this hellish place. Bitter, he felt his soul squeezed painfully. It was his fault. He should have brought the child back to the Ruins. Frisk shouldn't have assisted to any of this.

The skeleton kneeled at their level. He never had been really talented to comfort people.

"Frisk? It's over, they're gone. You can come out."

He leaned a hand towards the human. Frisk kicked it away and tried to get as far as they could from him in the closet. Papyrus tried to stay neutral, but his face betrayed for a few seconds how much it hurt him. He didn't want Frisk to be scared of him. Not after everything they went through to protect them.

The skeleton looked around for a second and noticed a hole in the closet door. Small, but enough for a child to witness everything that happened outside. Frisk saw him slaughter attackers and end monsters on the floor without mercy. Papyrus felt guilty. He gave the child some space and sat in front of the closet, unsure what to do.

No Weakness, Chapter 3.

_______________________________________

Hello, hello!

I commissioned this masterpiece to @seirindono, a French (yeah, team French!) illustrator who works on a multi AU universe called The Missing Scarf, which is a banger. Really cool comic with lots of great characters that you really want to read. Go read it!

I wasn't sure on which fic I wanted a drawing at first, but since we already got one for Horrortale: Rotten Apple (thanks again Zeragii, love you), why not No Weakness?

It's a post-pacific Underfell fic where instead of breaking the Barrier, Sans refused Frisk to fight Asgore and brought them back in safety to Toriel. Now Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Mettaton, Toriel and Sans are hiding the child away, trying not to get killed.

The story however is about Undyne and Papyrus' friendship. After Papyrus surprises Undyne kissing Asgore, he is promoted to general of the Royal Guard. Except Papyrus knows something is really wrong here, since that role was obviously supposed to Undyne's. But the more he tries to understand, the more people try to dissuade him from learning more. All the hints lead to Asgore, but how to reach the monarch without getting himself killed, and by extension, those he cares the most about? Between his duty and his friendship, Papyrus will have to make a choice.

I asked for one of my favorite parts ever, which is the moment Frisk realizes how things really work in Underfell, after witnessing Papyrus committing carnage right after he got promoted to General. It's tradition :D

Anyway, if you want to read the story, it's right here. I'm on summer break right now, but new chapters are coming soon!

Thanks again to Seirindono for their amazing work, I love it so much <3 Really great artist, don't hesitate to commission them! They're really nice and pays great attention to details. It was really cool collaborating with you <3

Go send them some love!

[coriphallus]

DA: The Veilguard Spoiler review pt2 - The Grime

this is a hard one to tackle without strawmaning anyone because itll be a direct response to alot of defense ive seen for the games morality system so ill just start by saying, iykyk

never a genre has been better equipped to discuss ethics than the interactive medium of games and yes, bioware games have been doing it since baldurs gate and no, theyve not always been 'centrist' and 'conservative'. im not even gonna entertain that idea. do you remember the cultural landscape DA:O released to? the landscape it was developed in? dont give me that just because zevran doesnt write in his little notes -that you can conveniently read- 'gay good. not me but me bisexual'

Thedas is a flawed world and its a world thats just as desperate to hang on to its status quo as our own. every time you play an elf thats thriving, or a human thats queer, or a mage thats not institutionalised you exist in a world that doesnt want you, it is an act of defiance that you do.

im sure we can all see why these games were so popular with the audience they can only weakly try to pander to today.

derailing time again; so one of my favourite paintings of all time is saturn devouring his son. it makes me feel so uncomfortable that it gave me nightmares as a child, and i still cant look at it without feeling this knot in my throat. i hate it. i hate how it makes me feel, how that man looks at me in terror like its begging me for help while cannibalising another. weird story but i was bewitched by that painting as a little kid.

it is not a well drawn painting, the proportions are all over the place, brush strokes crude and inelegant. it doesnt even have a deeper story nor was it intended for an audience. i will never know what goya thought of when drawing it.

i thought alot about that painting later in my life when i was struggling with mental health problems, i thought about goya alot too as an adult and after learning about his life. i stared at his paintings and remembered when i told my dad that i hated [saturns] big eyes and hed jokingly said "it would be scarier if he didnt have eyes"

i know what the drawing looks like now, nearly everyone with a little access to the internet does. if somebody removed saturn from it, we'd still be left with a brutalised headless carcass of a man in a canvas too big for itself. if we removed that too all we'd be left with would be void.

i dont want to live in a world where all i know of goya is his rococo work, i dont want to stare at the painting of a void knowing what filled it before. i hated every second of germinale but i never wanted it to be anything other than itself, the story it tells could never hold credence otherwise.

DAV has done its best to paint over it, but its still on the old canvas and i cant look away from the negative space its left, i know whats under it and it unsettles me, infuriates me. it hands me a palette with baby blues and pinks and tells me to paint over it to make a prettier painting. didnt i hate the eyes? wasnt it gross before?

i am not going to write why we need some grime in art, but its absence is disheartening. and to those who say hanged people in the streets or blighted villagers is dark and mature ill say no. its a kids idea of maturity, its the aesthetic of it with no substance. it means nothing to me if rook can just drench themselves in gallons of blight as they crawl through it. the horror of blight has never been the black goo and slimy tentacles, or the monster woman with way too many tits. it is watching people you love slowly fade away, it is a woman who was forced to cannibalise the contaminated flesh of her friends because the woman she loved betrayed her, it was the sheer scale and inevitability of it.

one area we go to is overrun by it and the game begs me to feel hopeful that flowers are growing again when it never let me lose hope. people have already prevailed, they have roofs over their heads and a steady supply of food on their tables. their spirit is unwavering.

its bad, everybody says. the sky is grey and soil is blackened, as my rook turns some statues to access a haunted house whos inhabitants are long gone and the only story they could ever tell is gone with them.

if the question is do i want to see famine? plague? misery? abuse? assault? the answer is yes. yes. i want to see it all of the filth. i rather face the fucking monster head on with its big bulging eyes and misshapen limbs than stare at the abyss its absence leaves on the canvas.

and if nothing else, this bastardization is disrespectful to the people who gave the IP its fame.

Why choose to be good?

back in the bsn days ive wondered why, even in a fictional universe where your choices have no real-life repercussions what-so-ever, players had more 'good' playthroughts than 'bad'?

what happens when you start killing NPCs, when youre needlessly mean to them? the game actively closes off its own content. you get less out of the game. just as, completely incidentally, you'd get less out of your life if you just started killing everyone around you. The world would be emptier, youd be alone.

in that quote i stole from good place chidi doesnt ask "why be good?" the wording is painfully deliberate. doing good is always a choice, and often not the easy one. what makes the act matter is that you chose to do it, even when given 6 other options not to. did i stop in the middle of an important quest to help a man retrieve an heirloom from a darkspawn infested hut? did i hear what that heirloom meant to him?

i cant stop thinking about that speech ever since playing this game after knowing its predecessors.

So, why do it then? Why choose to be good, every day, if there is no guaranteed reward we can count on, now or in the afterlife? I argue that we choose to be good because of our bonds with other people and our innate desire to treat them with dignity. Simply put, we are not in this alone.

i cant stop looking at this game that spits on its own legacy and think how could they have missed what fundamentally makes us human so bad, what makes us relate and empathise with eachother. what makes us pick the option to interact with an npc who openly hates what hawke is, and allow us to see the traumatised man underneath.

these characters of fiction are written by real people. i have absolutely nothing in common with a guy from canada yet for a brief moment in time i feel a sense of camaraderie as ive felt with goya that i couldnt articulate as a kid.

Nothing too terrible

DAV says it over and over again -as its wont to do with every piece of its flimsy morality- that people can change, people can be redeemed yet it shines as the game with most static characters in its franchise. it simply says things, and since it has nothing to show for it it makes sure to say it repeatedly, in case you missed it.

so when i first played DAO i was in high school, i started with a human noble because fresh out of dark side edgy kotor fame i wanted to be a posh brat. also because, ya kno, we were poor my entire life up until that point and i wanted to have power.

i committed to it, even as the game stripped cousland of everything he had, because i thought a man like him would. i picked the racist options, the sexist options, the options a man in couslands place would. halfway point of the game as i exhausted the initial dialogues something happened; this man who got paid to kill people, who showed no remorse nor care for his victims, begged my cousland to stil his blade.

and i did. i thought maybe he would be as confused as i was, maybe he had a moment of clarity but from thereon bit by bit he was less of an asshole. the characters grew around me, and my character grew around them. i chose to be good because -textually- we were in this together, at the end of all things.

rook is not a character, theyre a mascot. and quite frankly i think they may be a very evangelical mascot because they remind me of evangelical preachings of jesus more than the man from the bible (and i say this as someone whos only exposure to christianity has been through foreign media and the bible ive read that one time). they are the epitome of do no evil and their existence hinges on the frail concept of moral purity. theyre not a person trying to do good, who wants to be good, they are 'good'

-and lemme tell you its a wild choice to have someone like that locked in a prison of 'regret'-

rook can be mean to only one person in the game, and thats someone they dont even have a personal beef with for the most part. but even then they would be shouting at a wall because the game doesnt only undermine them with its narrative, but also every npc in the game suddenly gets possessed by the ghost of wattpad rejects past for a moment to tell them everyone can be redeemed. and i believe it because i played the other games, i believe it because i know zevran and sten and morrigan, isabela and thom and iron bull and dorian. i know it because i can see the vague shapes behind the new coat of paint but i am not rook.

so no, the game fails to get people-can-change points by its own merit, and it cannot gain points from its prequels because it destroyed them. none of those characters i watched grow exist in this universe. zevran cant exist with DAV crows, fenris` story cant exist in an imperium with invisible slaves only glimpsed through empty cages and broken chains left scattered on the ground. i dont know which morrigan this NPC is, is it the woman who grew to learn kindness, who begged to sleep with her friend just to save them despite knowing it would play into the plans of a destiny she so desperately tried to break free from? or is she the clever puppet her mother groomed her to be who wanted to harness the power of a god? i dont know her, i dont know this dorian or this isabela beyond their names ipso facto this is not a sequel.

bellara asks an assassin why he is trying to save the world and his answer is "ive done some things in the past im not too proud of. nothing too terrible, but some of it was bad." and i can hear the games desperation for me to not engage with its material in that 'nothing too terrible'

lucanis never killed anyone innocent, taash never harmed an animal they could shoo of or reason with, emmrich venerates the dead and is friends with every wisp he pulls to use in menial labour, davrin joined the wardens willingly because he wanted to do good...

rook tells harding that her anger is justified when shes not even allowed anger of her own.

nothing too terrible.

aside from creating boring and nonsensical and static characters it creates a dreadful echochamber that we're forced to sustain. No taash is not valid, their gender is but their behaviour is not and for the character to grow and mature it needs to be addressed. lucanis doesnt need to be pampered in shock blankets he needs to see how repressing his problems and jeopardising his health puts people around him in danger etc etc. they are adults and they need to learn more complex ways of healing. and if rooks flaw is that theyre an enabler, then that needs to be acknowledged by the narrative in some way too, and not mindlessly endorsed because they say some buzzwords.

none of these interpersonal relationships feels real because none of these people feel real beyond some draft of themes and tropes. some interactions literally remind me of two bots in facebook comments

i look at this dialogue wheel with familiar symbols and all im reminded of is hawke telling carver he carries every death with him, of him telling his uncle that he wasnt fast enough, of him begging the person he loves to tell him that his mothers death wasnt his fault.

and they dont. they just sit there with him.

[giamee]

✦ ⠂⠂୨୧ DO YOU WANT SOMEBODY LIKE I WANT SOMEBODY?

ಇ roommate!jing yuan, roommate!sampo, roommate!gepard x reader ︴wordcount :: 1.7k ︴contains :: nothing crazy, sampo with tattoos, in gepard's part reader drinks wine like a White Woman TM ︴part one ︴requested by @elsy34 @sydneyy-l @fairiesdobesparklin @w9vyy

ఌ︎. | JING YUAN

you've quickly come to realise that your roommate is a workaholic

his punctuality, his strict regime of getting up at 6 and coming back at 6 seems to be the only constant in your life

the little mumbled apologies to inanimate objects as his too-large frame squeezes into your dingy shared bathroom causes you to roll over in your bed, a little smile growing at his sweet antics

then after about the 20 minutes it took him to shower and get ready, as well as fix himself - and you, you've noticed recently- breakfast before he's out the door as quietly as he can manage

then you're out of bed a bit after he leaves, yawning idly as you make your way out of your room, smiling fondly at the intricarely prepared fruit and yoghurt bowl that jing yuan had left you, along with a little smily face drawn on a post-it note

you eat it slowly, savouring the taste of it as you slowly wake up, before naking your way into the bathroom to freshen up

it's warm from the shower jing yuan had taken earlier, and the combination of his products and cologne that he had also sprayed almost envelopes you in a hug as you brush your teeth, your eyes noticing the little doodles left by the steam on the mirror

"out of milk" - :( is what jing yuan had decided to write this time, along with his attempt of a drawing of a milk carton

you giggle at the wonkiness of it, making a mental note to add it to the shopping list later

and you do your own little routine too, leaving a little later than him and coming back a little sooner on account of the fact that your job was a lot closer to your apartment than his was

and this next part- when the work day was over- was your most favourite part of the shared little routine that had been forged over the weeks you've spent living with jing yuan

you hear the key turn in the lock as your roommate lets himself in, a teasing "honey, i'm home" accompanying the slight shuffle of him taking off his coat and shoes

you cast him a wave from what you're doing tonight - this time, it's your turn to cook dinner - and you turn your attention back to the stove as you hear jing yuan pad over to you , peering over your shoulder and humming in approval at the choice of food

that brief closeness in proximity tantalised you with the same warmth and smells of his cologne that had been so comforting in the morning, and you felt some of your own stress melt away as you kept stirring the contents of the pan

and in this pseudo domesticity, you found comfort in your roommate, as he began to set the table for just the two of you

ఌ︎. | SAMPO

where to start with him omg

you don't know what to think when you first move in

he seems so scary with his hair and his tattoos and his cigarettes

but he's sweet, too, and his face lights up a little every time he manages to make you laugh

and hey, maybe he wouldn't be too bad as a roommate

after he figured out that you aren't a smoker yourself, he makes sure to always smoke either before he came back to your shared space, or out on the balcony far away from you

"those things will kill you, y'know"

your protest is lighthearted, and sampo smirks as he brings his lighter to the end of the cig dangling from his lips

"it's not like i'm gonna live forever"

it was the little things, after all

and little by little, your differing lifestyles began to integrate

you come to learn that sampo had a knack for remembering the details

you had been called to cover a coworker's shift at the last minute, one that would end a lot later than you're accustomed to

and since you took the bus to and from work, you were really not looking forward to taking it on the way back, when it would be pitch black outside with mostly drunkards to keep you company on it

and that dreadful thought had been put off for the time being

but with your shift drawing to a close, you stop your work momentarily to check what the buzz from your phone was

hey

i'm outside

come out when you're ready

-sampo

your eyebrows knitted together in confusion

you had told sampo when you would get off work, but you definitely hadn't asked him to pick you up after it had ended

but you were never one to turn down such an offer

you finished closing up, before leaving the building

you spotted a couple cars left parked on the side of the road, though all were empty with the headlights off

you clutched your phone, about to text sampo and ask exactly where he was l, before you heard a shout of your name from somewhere to your left that had you spinning on your heel

and you didn't know what to expect when sampo said he was here to pick you up, but it certainly wasn't this

you approached sampo, eyeing the motorbike that he was leaned against dubiously, mentally cursing yourself for assuming that he would drive a car, because of course sampo just had to do something more dangerous than that

sampo straightened up as you drew close, smiling and handing you a spare helmet, laughing at the uncertainty on your face

"if you hold on to me, you'll be fine, c'mon"

ఌ︎. | GEPARD (PT. 2)

it was hard to tell where you and gepard stood right now, ever since that night

on the one hand, you were still friendly around each other, and nothing had really changed behaviour-wise in either of you

yet on the other, your brain was constantly plaguing you with the memories of how his fingers had felt against your thighs, fingers in his hair and scratching at his scalp as he melted against you

it wasn't technically romantic, but it sure as hell had felt like it

and maybe it was just the wine that you had been drinking that night, but there's certain moments where you catch a certain hungered look in his eyes that makes you think that maybe, just maybe he was feeling the same inner turmoil that you were

but life goes on

work was getting busier for gepard, and much to your chagrin you were seeing less and less of him

maybe that was for the best, to give you the space and time to get over the silly little crush that you had on your roommate

"but you don't want to," that little pesky voice in the back of your head whispered to you

you shook your head a little violently to clear it, deciding that a distraction was in order

you had an unopened bottle of wine and a new series to binge screaming your name right now

and so you settle on your couch, putting on the show, letting yourself sigh into the cushions and welcoming the little headache that would ensue after you finish your first couple glasses

you noticed, with some amusement, that this was basically the position that you were in when gepard had laid on your thighs

these thoughts would be harder to avoid than you realise

you managed to immerse yourself into the show somewhat, too engrossed to hear the front door open, much like how it had happened that night

but your attention is transfixed to the screen, not to the sight of gepard as he walks in, yawning and practically making a beeline to where you sat on the couch

and then you realised he was there, when the cushions dipped underneath his weight, his arms thrown against the back of the sofa, one resting behind you

there's a pang of ... disappointment? that you feel when you realise that he hadn't sat in front of you once again, but you push that aside, scanning your roommate's face ij concern

he looks paler than usual, deep eyebags underneath his dulled eyes, and a glance at the time has you double taking as you see that it's past eleven

"your overtime pay must be through the roof," you try to joke, and you get the feeling that the half smile gepard responds with is the most that he can muster right now

and again, like there is some other being urging you to do so, you find yourself acting without thinking about consequences or what it might imply

"do you want a massage?"

gepard doesn't even have the energy to look surprised, merely nodding

you motion for him to lie flat on the couch, and he does so a little too quickly, not giving your tipsy self enough time to stand up before his head falls onto your thighs

oh, you think

he looks really pretty like this

his feet are dangling a little off the end due to his too-tall stature meeting the too-small couch, but you do your best to make him otherwise comfortable

he's on his front, arms now snaking their way around your hips and legs like he's done this so many tines before, and you could have sworn that the man even nuzzled his cheek against your soft skin before lying still

your hands hover for a second, unsure of how exactly to start and not expecting it to even get this far, butterflies in your stomach be damned

your fingers gingerly meet the junction where his neck joins his shoulder, immediately prodding a knot of tension

you do your best to rub circles into his skin, feeling out the muscle underneath to target

you were no professional, but the way that gepard was sighing contentedly from your touch made you think that you were doing something right

it was a few minutes of this silence, his breaths beginnign to even as you wirked your way down his back, doing the best that you could over the material of his shirt stretched thin across his back

the slight loll of his head alerted you that he was asleep, along with the softest puffs of air from his mouth that blew against your thigh

you continued for a bit more, wanting to do your best to get the knots out, before you felt the tug of sleep at yourself as well

the rhythm of gepard's breathing was constant and soothing, and you dismissed the worries of what to do about you and him and this predicament tomorrow- when you both wake up on the couch

gia's notes :: much anticipated continuation of the roommate hsr series yippeee ^_^ gepard is back 💯💯 also i only realised like... near the end of jing yuan's part that his ass is NOT a workaholic but... whats done is done ig 😔 shoutout to me not having played the 2.0 update yet,, or the game at all recently tbh ,,,

-‘๑’- honkai star rail masterlist

[azullumi]

“there’s so many fishes in the sea but i never learned how to swim” ; aventurine

summary — a guide to pining presented by yours truly, aventurine.

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff, secret pining but like aventurine can be too obvious, not proofread, 0.8k ; headcanons

tagging — @toorurs (sorry boo i forgot to tag 😭)

note — i know i could have done better with this one, my brain wasn’t just working and im also on a trip. this is day 6 and 7 of writing for him until i get him !!

Aventurine yearns for connection yet he erects tall walls of self-preservation, fearing vulnerability, attachment, and betrayals (the shadow of his fear of losing someone dear to him all over again will haunt and follow his steps). He’s always distant, seemingly detached to the people around him like a leaf that never touches the ground as the wind carries it away; his only drive for relationships is due to mutual-benefit or a give-and-take situation. So what happens to him when he falls and yearns for someone?

Love is violence, he knows that but his eyes would stumble after your shadow and he wonders what it feels like to live in it. He’ll lie under your gaze and he’ll dream what it feels like to be seen, what it feels like to be loved by you. He will seek ways to be close to you but not close enough that you’ll know the rhythm of his heart spells out the letters of your name. In each moment of longing, it is all tinged with a taste of bitterness as this yearning, though desired, is a precarious precipice—everything will crumble and fall once he speaks about it.

So he settles with stolen looks with wishful thinking that you’ll cast a glance at his direction, he settles with the small things at first before he begins to become selfish—he’ll make up reasons just to see and talk to you, think of excuses just so he could linger a little longer in your presence. He’ll make up games and initiates bets where he knows he’ll always win but would let himself lose anyways; winning or losing didn’t matter to him in those moments with you.

“Go ahead, guess.”

You fell into a deep thought, staring at the two hands balled into fist that are in front of you. Your eyebrows were scrunched, trying to listen to the voice of your instinct but everything was silent inside your head.

“Take your time. After all, whoever loses has to follow what the winner wants.” Aventurine spoke and you could discern the hint of amusement in his tone as he watched you fall into some sort of predicament—all you had to do was to choose which one of his hands was the coin in. It was just one of the simple games you’ll play with him every time you see each other. Come to think of it, his visits to your department have been quite frequent despite having no particular business, official or not.

“Shh. I’m thinking.” You answer, lifting your index finger to your mouth in a hush gesture. It took you a few moments of silence and thoughtful humming before you pointed at his left hand, “That one.”

But he opens his left hand to show nothing on his palm, his right hand revealing the coin at the same time, and you are hit with a wave of disappointment. A chuckle slips past his lips and you just sighed—there was nothing you could do but to admit defeat. “Well then, what do you want me to do?”

Aventurine, without a single second of hesitation, answered. “Let me take you out to dinner.”

The thing is you could have laid yourself bare to him, you could tell him all of the sins that taint your skin, the words left unspoken in your mouth, the growing mold in your lungs. He’ll see the rot and will choose to stay, he’ll see the cobwebs and dusty bookshelves, and he’ll love you still, he’ll see the torn wallpapers and ruined floors and he’ll still adore you (he’ll find you where you are most ruined and he will love you there).

(His hand would gently tug and hold at the cuffs of your sleeves, letting the warmth and closeness of his touch linger in hopes that you’ll see him in the sun that holds you gently.)

Many people claim that they love you but do they adore you the same way as he does? Would they cross bridges for you when he’ll swim oceans just to see the way your eyes catch the light? Would they traverse the stars just to listen to the sound of your laughter? 

(He’ll see the dirt in your hands and will help you wash it off when others would simply walk away.)

He’ll think of you as he laid in his bed, satin sheets all wrinkled and messy as his pillows scattered around his form, and he wondered how nice it would be to have your things among his. to have the smell of your perfume mixed with his, to have you in his arms before he sleeps (he has dreams of his dreams and you’re always in it).

All this yearning, longing, and adoration will turn into a sword that will make him bleed the more he holds on to it and you’ll stay in his thoughts as the blood will run dry on his being. He simply hopes he crosses your mind once in a while so that he won’t feel pathetic for thinking of you all the time.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[dicipher]

F it we ball here have my character studies of the homicipher boys bc my ass has been knee deep in this game for making the mod and i need to place my notes somewhere anyway. Call me homicipher matpat...

SPOILERS. Obviously..

Crawling

Goal: stay with Adami

Abilities: intelligence, knowledge of the layout of the other world, knowledge of how to survive encounters with aggressive entities, physical strength [strong upper body, able to kill Stitch with no weapons],speed [can go as fast as a person running while crawling]

Crawling works as Adami's primary tutorial trough the otherworld. It's not clear what exactly caused his infatuation with her since it's near instant after seeing her for the first time. He has an understanding of many locations and people, as well as how the world works and what Adami wants to ask of him. He's playful, defaulting to a smile as his neutral state, and he's amidst the few characters to produce sound in-game. Usually giggles or cries. He's also acting as the male lead, and most of his endings and interactions can be read as romantic, being one of the only characters to say he likes Adami. (Other being Scarletella)

Extra: Crawling is able to stand but he refers to being bad at using his legs. When he does stand, he walks slowly and sluggishly as compared to his ability to nearly sprint while on all fours. Confirming this.

Extra: Yatsunagi said in a tweet that if you choose to exit the otherworld whitout Crawling, he will remain waiting there forever waiting for Adami to return., which is reminescent of the story of Hachiko the dog, who waited at the station for his owner to return forever.

Extra: in some concept art, Crawling is shown to be a similar height to Silvair when standing up

Scarletella

Goal: obtain Adami's name

Abilities: projection, reality warping of some sort, illusions, telepathy, teleportation, creating and controlling sub spaces or larger illusions [blood dimension, ghost apartments], free roam between worlds [his projected body only]

Scarletella works as the main antagonist of the game. He is the reason Adami happened across the otherworld, scaring her towards an entrance. He was an urban legend that haunted the ghost apartments, a location that only appears on rainy days, where Adami was presumedly dumping bodies or leading people there to kill them. This causes Scarlet to grow an infatuation with Adami, as he would feed on the corpses she left there, and for him to mistakenly assume she was courting him by feeding him corpses. Scarletella mostly affects Adami through afflicting her mind, trying to break her into giving him her name.

Extra: he's possibly inspired by a Kasa-obake, a type of yokai that's thought to be a tsukumogami, an object that if left abandonned long enough, will gain life. The Kasa-Obake is a living red umbrella, though those umbrellas are usually traditional umbrellas and take the shape of an umbrella with a single leg and an eye.

Extra: Yatsunagi said she wanted to draw a woman with a red umbrella but ended up making a guy after all.

Extra: Yatsunagi said that Scarletella knows the realworld language despite being born a monster, and that he possibly learns other languages trough reading minds and absorbing that knowledge. She also says that knowing a language and communicating are different, and that Scarletella only thinks for himself.

Extra: Scarletella is inspired by the idea of japanese urban legends (like Kuchisake-onna, Hanako-san, Hasshaku-sama, The red room, Gozu, Aka manto, etc).

Extra: Gap reffers to the ghost appartments as 'his world'. This is also taking place in what seems to be a dream sequence or an alternate location since Adami will either wake back with crawling or in another otherworld location, and not in the real world. So it's much more likely gap reffers strictly to the alternate plane of the Ghost appartments and the blood water domain as Scarlet's world and not the overall otherworld, since it continues to exist independently from Scarlet after he is defeated, and most characters don't seem to be aware of his existence at all.

Extra: In the videogame Ghostwire tokyo you can encounter a quest that will lead you to meet a variation of the Kuchisake-Onna that is completely red and in a red trenchcoat which is reminescent of Scarletella's design. There are also locations of infinite shallow water simmilar to the location you fight him in.

Silvair

Goal: research and study the unknown (primarily how realworld beings are affected by the otherworld)

Abilities: intelligence, medical knowledge on other species [unlike nurse], knowledge of explosives, physical strength [lifts a heavy weapon easily], regeneration

Silvair works as Adami's main source of information in the otherworld. His knowledge of everything including language as well as how to effectively teach things results in him being one of the better sources for finding words early game. While he's shown as curteous and polite, he also shows no remorse in brutalizing others for his own morbid curiosity or research. He treats others in reaction to what helps him moreso than out of kindness.

Extra: when prompted wether he likes Adami, Silvair responds with 'not understand like', this could point to the idea that Silvair doesn't feel or at least understand the feeling of liking/loving something/someone. His lack of empathy or compassion regarding brutalizing Chopped and Adami seems to reinforce this idea, as he's confused as to why Adami is angry at him breaking her body. Simmilar in how some humans cannot or struggle to feel empathy or love and will see relationships moreso as transactions, though that can be typically learned and worked on.

Extra: The cut hand seems to be another entity that Silvair brutalized, while it's first met with Chopped, it does not leave Silvair's home and is the one to lead you there, it also is not Chopped hand's since he notes it to be a different entity.

Extra: when questionned regarding his knowledge, Silvair responds that someone taught him. This could point to Silvair having been on at least good terms with a human wiht medical knowledge in the past. Or it could point to him being a human pre-game and having done medical studies in his past.

Chopped

Goal: to be in a safe environment (with safe people or in a safe place)

Abilities: none [he uh.. he can roll around if he tries real hard maybe?]

Chopped mainly works as one of Adami's friends, unlike other characters he stands out as needing to be protected instead of being a protector. His incredible vulnerability means he's often picked on in some way. He's usually shown with Silvair, though he also often seems to get lost on his own somehow.

Extra: Chopped enjoys being clean and put together, he seems to know the hairdresser on a basis simmilar to Silvair.

Extra: Chopped recovers not by eating human flesh but by sleeping (supported by his dialogue when leaving Silvair's apartment and how often he sleeps). Chopped dislikes being handled against his will, and his vulnerability at being essentially completely disabled makes him easy prey for other residents to pick on.

Extra: Chopped is implied to have been a human like Adami pre-main story. Silvair's treatment of us is reminescent of him and Chopped is amongst the most expressive and human-like of the cast.

Hood

Goal: to help Adami be safe

Abilities: strength [carries a heavy weapon], proficiency in executing ennemies, intelligence

Hood works as Adami's first proper introduction to the game and it's mechanics. He also works as some sort of passive protector to humans who enter the otherworld. Though he isn't interested in keeping them safe long term and would rather be on his own most of the time.

Extra: Hood allegedly has no head, but his body is.. squishy.. ish? He's seen handling weapons with a hand, so it's unclear what of his body exists and what does not.

Gap

Goal: to obtain various human body parts trough trade or request

Abilities: teleportation, manifesting trough any space so long as it is dark enough and is being observed [schrodinger's gap], free roam between worlds, intelligence, 4th wall breaking

Gap is the first real threat encountered by Adami. He also works as the main source of lore and progression of the main storyline. He also works to actively help Adami break free from Scarletella. Though this doesn't seem to be out of kindness but out of boredom, as if he has nothing better to do.

Extra: Gap says he has no reason for wanting body parts. Gap says he has no heart, or most things for that matter. He's only shown having hands/arms and a head/face.

Extra: though gap says he has no particular reason for wanting body parts, he only seems interested in human parts, and his specie presumedly eats flesh. Gap is never explicitly implied to eat the body parts he's given, though, and the idea that he lacks a heart could mean he lacks a digestive tract, like Chopped, and recovers energy in a different way, like him.

Extra: Gap is much more aggressive in chap 1/beta than he is in the rest of the game. This could be due to a light change in the writing of his character later down the line, as he's much more simplistic and actively hunts Adami trough gaps, while full release gap appears ever so often in holes Adami looks trough to poke fun, show off his collection or ask permission to take body parts.

Hugeface

Goal: to capture smaller living beings to use them as dolls/pets

Abilities: strength, size, ability to exist 'outside' the bounds of the otherworld [ in the void above/outside rooms]

Hugeface is a looming threat encountered troughout the otherworld. He treats any character smaller than him as some sort of pet, handling them clumsily and roughly like an infant would a new pet hamster. He also is implied to collect ones he finds cute as pets, placing them in little fake environments.

Extra: Hugeface is implied to exist in a space simmilar to what would be 'out of bounds' in a videogame, the space only seems to appear in rooms with missing walls, ceilings, or windows in some way. Such as the door in chap 1, the giant ravine in Machete's story, and in locations without ceilings.

Machete

Goal: to do whatever he wants with no one in his way

Abilities: strength, speed, fighting proficiency

Machete is an extremely aggressive entity, he will fight Adami unprovoked, though he seems much more interested in the actual fight than in killing or eating her. He thinks her and any who fail at defeating him as weaklings.

Extra: Machete's aggression might stem from him misinterpreting someone others do as someone trying to pick a fight. He's also overconfident in winning every fight, so he isn't afraid to fight, unlike Stitch who does not fight even when attacked directly.

Extra: Machete's skin and overall affliction could be similar to Adami's [red blotches on skin], this could also be dry and fresh blood stains though..

Telephone

Goal: to help Adami to avoid death

The telephone is an entity that will call any available phone to transfer information to Adami. This is usually advice on how to avoid upcoming monsters (scarletella, Hugeface) or navigate areas (maze), making it one of the few beings to actively be good, having no known of ulterior motive.

Extra: Telephone seems to be able to speak trough any sort of telephone, unclear where the line is drawn. (Would two cans and a string work??)

Stitch

Goal: to entertain himself

Abilities: intelligence (quick to learn how new things work, knowledgeable of a variety of things and locations including things from the real world, one of the few to recognize us as human)

Stitch acts as a mild antagonist due to his habit of forcefully showing Adami things he finds interesting or dragging her to places to amuse himself. When he has nothing to do, he mopes around depressingly until he comes across something new. He's upbeat and playful, not bad intentioned but he doesn't consider others much.

Extra: Even when threatened or attacked (Adami or Crawling), Stitch doesn't fight back.

Wheelchair

Goal: to heal from his injuries

Wheelchair is encountered twice, he's a rude, aggressive and demanding entity that will demand Adami fixes him. If Adami outright refuses to help him, he will kill her.

Extra: it's unclear what exactly he suffers from. He points to his eye being missing as well as his mouth being split. His skin appears to be corroding in some way, and he seems completely unable to use his legs to move. His affliction is not like Chopped or Adami's, and Silvair either has not met him or did not find him interesting or cooperative enough to care for him. It could be that his disease is unique in some way, or that it's incurable. It could also be that it's resulted from a fight, since his mouth was cut open, presumedly by someone else.

Masque

Goal: to entertain others

Abilities: teleportation [of himself and others/other objects]

Masque is a peaceful entity, he will appear and offer to show Adami a magic trick, either way leads to him leaving.

Extra: Masque is not aggressive even if you refuse to watch his magic tricks.

Human

Goal: to escape the otherworld

Human is a human met near the end of the game. He's scared of Adami, presumably because she's nearly fully a monster at that point, or because her own urban legend is circulating now. Or maybe it's the blood and crowbar. Either way he doesn't fully trust her, and he's nervous of her. He's killed off screen shortly after meeting Adami.

Extra: in the original Jpn version of the game, he's an english speaker, in the eng ver this is reversed to him speaking jpn while adami speaks english.

Extra: the only way of falling to the otherworld that we are shown is the elevator, or falling into it [backrooms style]. Ot could be that the Human fell out from another, english speaking country, or it could be that he was a foreigner in Japan when he fell.

Extra: Human speaks some otherworld, pointing to the idea that he was taught by some benevolent characters like Silvair or Hood pre-meeting Adami.

Adami Adashino

Goal: escape the other world/ break Scarletella's curse

Abilities: strenght, changing size (temporary), regeneration

Adami is a human japanese woman, while she appears as a more shy and ditsy amnesiac girl, it's revealed she's a murderer who had been dumping bodies at the ghost appartments, attracting Scarletella's attention

Extra: one of the symbols in Adami's name is the same used for 'monster', foreshadowing.

Extra: in Blissful love life end, Adami is shown to live alone, presumably without parents or family. She also does not mention missing her family or worrying about her friends and family looking for her. So it's unlikely she has any.

Extra: Adami Adashino is the 'default'/'canon' mc name, as it is the name already in the field you need to fill out when you remember your name.

Extra: Adami goes trough various appearance changes trough out the story:

She starts in a japanese sailor school uniform (hinting to the fact she was most likely a high school student) and had longer hair

This is changed to a white dress (given by bride),

Then her iconic white raincoat (given by bride).

Her hair is cut shorter and it turns white/grey by the end of the story. (Cut by gap, turns white from exposure to the other world)

Her face gets covered in bandages by nurse, her eyes presumably turn red at some point that is never specifically mentionned

General stuff

Extra: lots of characters are seen using their left hands (Silvair is often drawing holding his syringe+weapon in his left hand, but occasionally his right) (Crawling points to things with his left hand) (Scarlet holds his umbrella in his left hand) (Hood holds his weapon in his left hand as well as his right). This could be a continuity error in how they are drawn, or it could be that they're ambidextrous (it's more common for lefties to become ambidextrous). This is not the case for Gap though who is mostly shown using his right hand.

Extra: some characters are not able to recognize Adami as human (Chopped) , while others immediately do (Hood, Silvair).

Extra: Yatsunagi said the otherworld language comes from birth to monsters (not humans turned to monster)

If you have any corrections or thoughts feel free to comment them so i can fix anything accordingly, reblogs are harder to answer to