#and why should I be always the one to blame?

[in-class-daydreams]

Imaging you and ex-husband Gojo getting into an ugly fight for one of the first times since the initial divorce.

"Does your little boyfriend know you kissed me?" he asks lowly.

Your living room was not the ideal place to get into spats like this, but you'd rather here than either school where eavesdroppers can spread your business all over the place.

"He doesn't, actually!" You turn and stalk towards the kitchen, calling over your shoulder, "He's not my boyfriend, so it doesn't matter."

Satoru and his ridiculous long legs easily keep up with you. "Is that how that works?"

You turn to face him, only to bump right into his chest. When did he get that close?

Jabbing a finger into his chest, you say, "If, by some insane lapse in judgement, I kissed you while I had a boyfriend, I'd own it and come clean. It's called 'communication,' Satoru, look it up." Again, you turn to make your way into another room, eager to be away from him, but he grabs you by the wrist.

"I hate when you do that! You say some pain in the ass thing, then you try to walk away! You do it every time," he gripes. "And what would you tell him, huh?"

"I'd tell him your fucking lips were dry!" you snap. "And that it was a mistake."

Satoru grabs you by the face with one hand, squishing your cheeks together and forcing you to look at him. With one flick of his finger, he uses his technique to force his blindfold off. You're left looking into his crystal blue eyes that make you feel like a teenager again.

"You still love me," he tells you.

"I don't."

"I can tell. You look at me the same way you always have."

"No."

"Say it!"

"Fuck off!" You turn and bite his hand hard. He yelps and recoils. His fault for always letting you through his infinity. "You want me to love you, Satoru?" you shout. "You wanna act like you've changed?"

Memories of him walking into the restaurant with another woman on his arm flash in your mind. Holding back tears, you continue, "Maybe you have. But you changed for other women instead of me, so why should I give a damn about what you want?"

Satoru always blamed himself for the divorce, as much as you tried in the past to reassure him that there were a dozen factors working against you. He's done his best to take what you've said in the end days of your marriage to heart and become a better man. Communicating with dates, being better about speaking his true thoughts, all of it was an attempt to be the type of man you wanted to be married to. For you to imply that all that was too little, too late cut him deeper than you could ever know.

And so, in a stroke of pure idiocy, Satoru reaches out, cups your face, and kisses you like he'd never get to again.

Heehoo

Click [here] to keep up with ex-husband Gojo and his estranged family | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[enviedear]

HONEY DON'T FEED IT, IT WILL COME BACK

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

in which working undercover alongside your ex-boyfriend feels like cruel and unusual punishment. like a feral hound—he keeps coming back into your life.

CW | ex!jason, petty old lovers, miscommunication (prior), reader riling him up, cursing, and somewhat ambigous ending (somewhat). 1.7k words. 🎧ྀི

you have to stop letting yourself get involved with JASON TODD. two years ago, fine. but now, you know better. or you should.

working with him is entirely different than being with him—or that’s what you tell yourself. at least vigilantism allows you to ignore his jeers to focus on dodging attacks, rush ahead of him when he tries to bring up the past, or turn off your comms if he grates on you too much.

unfortunately, you can't pull any of your normal tactics this time. not for this job.

you thought the undercover gig selina offered you was a 'one night only' sort of thing, not an entire week. Your mind could never have conjured spending seven painfully awkward days in a honeymoon suite playing blushing newlyweds with your somehow everpresent ex-boyfriend. either way, your current situation is aggravating beyond whatever you're getting paid for this.

besides his usual mouthing off and brooding, jason's been tolerable. like a bad dog gone old, not sweet—but just tired enough not to bite. you’re so unused to jason being docile, it almost aches. and maybe that's why you've been so...unruly.

unruly enough to snag yourself a date while undercover. you knew it was stupid before you did it, but said yes the minute your eyes latched onto jason's. it was the most of a rise you'd be able to get out of him the entire job. it had felt vindicated in the moment. but you played an idiotic hand, his cards trumping yours. for split second he reacted, but just as quickly as it had appeared—it vanished.

he was good at keeping his calm in public, when he had to. but he always boiled over eventually. always saved for private places and so intense. he can’t help it, you think, being so much. he has to let it out, like a poison.

his composure faded for that split second when you both entered back into the suite, voice low, snide, and angry—all to fizzle out with a huff. "go on your stupid fuckin' date. ruin the whole mission. i don't care."

he had said it so nonchalantly. as if merely speaking to you was utterly beneath him. such a reaction was new. in the year you dated him, and the two years that have followed, you've known jason to get mad. you expect it. you can always count on being able to push his buttons just enough. hell, he could count on doing the exact same to you. but the silence that followed his words, the calm way he sauntered off into the bathroom—that completely destroyed whatever game you'd built up in your head.

you got ready in spite of his strange behavior. did your hair, pulled out one of your prettiest dresses, and dabbed on a perfume he had bought you, still half full and primarily only used for special occasions. you left the room with a slam of the door.

the date was terrible to say the very least. he was loud and with a penchant to only discuss himself or his sports betting. you left before you could get your entrée, making up an excuse and promising to definitely reschedule. too embarrassed to return so soon, you took your time getting back to the hotel. three stops and one impulse purchase of a street hotdog later, you stepped back into your honeymoon suite. a cruel fate.

jason's in the bed, propped up with fluffy white pillows and ignoring you, reading an absolutely tattered hardcover. you neglect to break the silence, opting to take your makeup off in the bathroom. your waterproof mascara peels on your lashes, and you can only take so many seconds of scrubbing before you give up.

you pace around the room a bit, lost in thought as you remove your jewelry. you feel undeniably silly for risking your cover for a vengeful and shitty date. selfishly, you still blame jason for it. maybe if he hadn't whispered, "don't mess this up, act like you like me. people are watching." at a couple's excursion, or on a group hike after you laughed at one of his jokes and he muttered, "not too much, it's not real."

he was always on edge and he took everything so personally. the last two years have been a constant competition with him. a brutal tug of war that neither of you can seem to win. where he goes low, you're ready to go lower.

you're broken out of your trance by a firm grip on your wrist, followed by jason's gruff voice, "stop putting your shit on my side."

you look at him baffled, "it's just earrings. sorry i didn't want to crawl all over you to put them on my nightstand."

"save us both alot of trouble if you just didn't wear 'em." he mutters, grip loosing on your wrist. his eyes don’t leave yours, and there's an eerie firmness in his stare.

you yank yourself away fully and glare down at him, "i wasn't aware my existence bothered you so much."

jason rolls his celadon colored irises, "existing doesn’t bother me. you messing with everything does."

there's a beat of silence. you’re not sure what to say back. there's a dissonance now—and it's too quiet. it feels wrong. you wait for the sardonic retort, the simmering anger under the surface. instead, he sits back relaxed, casually tossing his book aside.

"you went on that date to get under my skin, didn’t you?" his brows narrow and his voice is rough, but there's no fire behind it, just resignation.

"does it matter?" you fire back, crossing your arms over your chest. "you said you didn’t care, remember?"

"yeah, well, i lied." he admits, his eyes finally meeting yours fully, the weight of his words lingering in the space between you.

you stand frozen for a moment, caught off guard by the confession. you’re so used to his biting remarks, the endless back-and-forth. this is new—too straightforward, too honest.

“you lied?” you repeat with an inflection, unsure whether to believe him or not. this could easily be another one of his plays, another way to draw you in and then shove you back out again. the cycle.

he huffs, running a hand through his messy hair before sitting up straighter, hands falling to his thighs. “yeah, i lied. big shocker, huh?” there’s a hint of sarcasm, but it’s mostly exasperation. he’s tired, as if he's finally had enough of the game.

you don’t know exactly what to say. so many little fights, all the times you both pushed and pulled, trying to get a reaction out of each other—it all feels hollow now. the tension’s still there, but it’s shifted, less sharp, and more fragile.

“why?” the earnest question slips out before you can stop it. you don’t know if you’re asking about his lie or why he’s admitting it now, but you ask regardless. too nervous to try and make yourself more clear.

his eyes flick up to meet yours, and for once, there’s no mask, literal or physical. just jason. your jason.

“because i do care,” he mutters, almost begrudgingly, like the words are the most difficult thing he's ever faced. “i always fuckin’ care, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? you think i don’t give a damn, but i do. too much, probably.”

jason never talks like this—had never. never let down his walls in this way. perviously the most you got was a huff and a murmured "i'm heading out".

like he’s cracked open a door that’s been locked for years, you’re both standing on opposite sides, unsure of whether to step through or slam it shut.

“then why do you act like this?” you ask, voice softer but still confused. “why do you make everything so hard?”

his lips press into a thin line, and he exhales sharply. “because it’s easier to be pissed off at you than admit how much i miss you. how much i hate seeing you with someone else, even if he's a fuckin' loser.”

“jason—” you start, unsure of what to truly say. a mixture of slight annoyance and reverence sit in your chest, your mind spinning to find the right words, “do you mean this? or are you jealous? because i’m not going to start this up again just for you to push me away when it starts getting serious.”

his eyes narrow, despite himself, “see? much easier when i’m just pissed off at you.” he shakes his head, sighing, “of course i fuckin’ mean it. i don’t lie to you. never have, sweetheart.”

you're still staring him down, the last of your resolve fading out, "you're serious?"

he tilts his head back, eyes closing, "for once, yeah."

you move to sit beside him on the bed, watching your legs bounce instead of replying. jason sits up straighter, and you can see him staring down at you from your peripheral. he's fiddling with his thumbs, a trait you associate with him muddling over his thoughts. probably contemplating exactly what you are: where to go from here?

his fingers brush against yours and he clears his throat, "i don't expect anything. hell—you don't have to want anything to do with me after this." he pulls his hand away from yours slightly, "i'm an ass. i've been angry for... well, a long time. but mostly at myself, for fucking it up with you. and i wanted to tell you."

you take his hand in yours, not missing the way he freezes up at first. still shocked by your comfort. you take a breath before you look up at him, "thank you," you start with what's easiest. "i like it when you care, when you tell me."

he hums, staring down at your interlocked hands.

"i've missed you too, jason. it's no fun pretending i don't." you keep your tone gentle.

a second follows, and then the dam breaks. jason leans into you, resting his head against your shoulder. such a simple gesture, but so unlike jason todd. there's nothing inherently romantic about it, and it's not desperate or solemn—merely human. human vulnerability so rarely displayed willingly.

you don't pull away. you could, and you know you could. but no part of you wants to. you're perfectly fine to sit like this forever. it soothes you in a way you weren't aware you needed soothing.

there's no fight left in either of you, at least none for each other. there's no kissing and making up, no loud voices and slammed doors—nothing like how it once was. just a sincere conversation and baby steps, but in truth, it's the closest you've come to reconciliation in years. and it feels good, healthy—saccharine.

you don't make any promises, nothing set in stone, but you stay like that for a long time. soaking in each other's presence. and when sleep becomes unavoidable, it's jason's arms you ease into.

[mayapapaya33]

I had sort of hoped Keyleth would have matured and grown past her anger at the Matron over the past 33 years but I suppose it's in character that she hasn't fully dealt with her grief yet. And the Vorb probably isn't helping her issues either. It just sucks because I think a lot of the fandom take Vox Machina's grief fueled blame and fully accept it as fact when the reality is that Vax's situation is almost entirely his own responsibility. The only other person with any remote culpability is Percy. And even Percy is only really to blame for accidentally Killing Vex, not for Vax's choices. But even if you want to hold Percy accountable for Vax's choice in the tomb as well, that still doesn't make him responsible for Vax's death. Vax could have lived a long full life as the Matron's Champion, as shown by the Delightful Purvan Suul and his companion Galdric.

Vax was a borderline suicidal, self-sacrificing character from day one. He always threw himself into danger headfirst regardless of the cost to himself. Between Percy accidentally setting off the trap creating the circumstances for Vax trading himself to the matron during Vex's resurrection, all the way up to Vax CHOSING to come back as a revenant after being disintegrated in order to help defeat Vecna, the choices have always been his. Especially him, fate touched as he is. Ultimately, Vecna killed Vax and Vax killed Vax. I think it's easier to blame the Matron than to be angry with Vax for being who he was.

The Matron maintains the balance of life and death. She accepted Vax's offers both times, do you think she should have refused? The first refusal would have meant Vex's death, and the second refusal would have meant Vax possibly just staying dead after being disintegrated, and not being there to fight against Vecna, which was truly an all hands on deck situation. There was no time to fuck around with a resurrection ritual that might not even work, the whole world was in danger. One life, a life that was already lost, is a small price to pay to save the world. I'm pretty sure Vax would agree with me!

Frankly, Vox Machina were super lucky and privileged to have so many successful resurrections between them. I think they got a little spoilt and entitled about it honestly. Most people have never even met someone who's been resurrected before, they did it like 20 times! Vax was disintegrated, he chose to come back as a revenant to fight Vecna, protect the world, and help his family. An opportunity he was only given due to his allegiance to the Matron. She gave Vox Machina and Vax extra time together and a chance to help save the world.

For those of you shouting "what about true resurrection!?! I hear you, and Matt said it's complicated and didn't elaborate lol. Personally, I think the Matron has quite the special a barrier of entry to true resurrection, if the spell even works at all in Exandria. I think they touched on it briefly in Calamity but I've forgotten. I can only imagine what insane ritual Matt concocted years ago that he's had plenty of time to work on since. Part of the Matron's whole thing is that everyone must eventually go into death, sure they can avoid it for a while, so some resurrection is fine (the DC gets higher every time), but eventually enough is enough and it's time to go. Hence why necromancers and liches are her enemies.

At any rate, I'm really proud of Keyleth for going to therapy and I hope she goes back when all of this moon business is over because she still needs it and that turtle lady in the frog seemed great lol.

[azsazz]

Shots & Spins

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Req from @kristijenner19: I saw you were thinking about hockey!AZ because same. How about a fic where she's a figure skater and they're trying to teach each other their respective sports. Imagine poor Az trying to do a spin/jump/twizzle and a reader who can barely ever make a shot into a goal

Bonus points if they switch their skates and have to re-learn how to skate with the new blade

Warnings: Mild panic attack, mentions of readers injury (torn ACL), trauma from coaches (verbal) mentioned.

Word Count: 3088

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown

HOCKEY SZN SOON MY LOVES 💙💙

Notes: I swear I meant to make this cuter but of course, I had to give it some angst 😅

_________________________________________

“What is this?” You question. You’re probably being rude, with your nose scrunched in disgust. With the way you’re holding the pair of skates as far away from your body as possible, you’re pretty sure you look like the biggest bitch on all of campus. But for the life of you, you can’t figure out why Azriel has handed you hockey skates.

“They’re skates,” Azriel answers. You rip your glare from the offending skates at his obvious response. Your heart stumbles in your chest at the sight of his pink lips twitching, begging to reveal that grin he spends most of his time expertly hiding.

You don’t even realize you’re leaning closer in anticipation, so eager to see that smile until the hitch of his breath snaps you back to consciousness.

You rock back on your heels so quickly you nearly tumble over. Would tumble over if it weren’t for Azriel’s quick reflexes, his large hands enveloping your waist and steadying you back on your feet.

“Thanks,” you reply flatly, dipping your chin to the ground to hide your flaming cheeks. There’s not an ounce of amusement in your body.

“You’re welcome.” You don’t like the smugness in his tone or the way he’s playing with you. Tilting your face back up, you muster all the annoyance lancing through your veins at his retort, shooting him the nastiest glare.

“That’s not what I meant, Az, and you know it. Why am I holding a pair of hockey skates?”

Azriel sits on the bench beside the empty arena, and you want to pout. Why would you want to spend any more time at the rink than you already do? You’re bone-fucking-tired and your knee is feeling stiff. You overdid it in practice this week, trying to get back into the shape you were in before the time you’d been forced to take off, and it’s hitting you hard. All you really want to do is crawl home, roll out your muscles, and dive into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

When you don’t join Azriel, he says, with a humor you don’t feel, “Don’t tell me you forgot about our little bet. Or how you so gracefully lost it.”

Of course you hadn’t forgotten. Who could forget losing at something as simple as a race across the arena? Afterwards, you tried to blame it on the differences in the ice, how it was colder and harder than you were used to, as it was prepared for the hockey team’s game later that weekend.

A rookie mistake, honestly. One that you’ve been kicking yourself over up until this very moment. Well, if you could kick with your injured leg, that is, you’d be doing just that.

You grind your teeth as a memory rises to the forefront of your mind. Your coach’s voice rings in your head, shrill and reprimanding. Why would you take such foolish chances? You need to get your head in your sport or you’re never going to make it on the Olympic team, let alone the University team.

Shame presses down on you, and your eyes prick at the criticism you should be used to by now. Your private coach from your time before Velaris University, Amarantha, had been very creative with her insults, always coming up with comments worse and harsher to cut down any semblance of confidence you had in your sport.

You bet she’s thrilled that you won’t be back in her presence until you’re healed enough. If you heal enough to relearn the very trick that took you out of the running for the Olympic team in the first place.

It must be a thing, coaches insulting their prodigies. You glance at Azriel from the corner of your eye and wonder if his coach is the same way. If Rhys is brutal with his teammates.

And you hate losing. It was Azriel who you wished forgotten about the bet you’d so stupidly agreed to, but here he is, wearing the same look that got you into this position in the first place.

You take your time studying him as you mull over how to get out of this. Azriel’s broad shoulders take up the space of two people, and his deep, dark hair falls over his brow, growing out into the perfect flow all the players seem to be sporting right now. You wonder if it’s superstition or they actually like the look. His thick lashes sweep as he bats them, and your cheeks take on a pink hue as he pretends to preen under your attention.

“Look,” he all but sighs, giving up his act. He leans back, reaching over to grab something out of sight. When Azriel rightens himself, he holds a pair of figure skates, a sheepish smile on his face. The apples of his cheeks mottle with pink. “I got myself figure skates, so we can both look like fools out there. Together.”

Fuck. The sentiment makes your throat tighten. He doesn’t have to be so damn thoughtful, you’re hardly even friends for Mother’s sake.

“Fine,” you manage when you can speak again. You plop onto the bench beside him. Your knee throbs dully in protest, but it’s nothing you haven’t been able to smother before. You’ve worked through worse conditions than hockey prepped ice, have skated in casts and aches so deep you weren’t sure you’d be able to compete at all if it weren’t for your raw love for the sport and your brutal stubbornness, holding yourself to the highest of standards.

And it’s not like you’re going to be doing your usual tricks. No, that’s all Azriel. All you have to manage is a few forward spirals, twizzles, and perhaps an axel just to show off a little, because there’s no way he’ll be able to recreate all of that in one go.

You just hope your knee stays steady for a few more hours.

The both of you lace your shoes in silence. The hockey skates are so different from your figure skates, you note. The blade is much thicker than you’re used to, more curved too. The boots are shorter, and you grimace at the lack of ankle support.

Not to mention you’re not entirely sure how well you’ll be able to stop without your toe pick.

Azriel leads you to the ice. You step on tentatively, giving the new skates a test. They have a lot more give than you’re used to. They’re not as snug, but easy enough to navigate. Muscle memory kicks in and after a few sluggish runs up and down the ice, you think you’ve gotten the hang of it.

The rest of this bet should be a breeze, especially compared to how Azriel is faring.

His face is contorted with a concentrated frown. He looks stiff as a fucking board, which make you giggle and him complain about. “How the hell do you wear these things? I can barely even move my ankles!”

“Practice makes perfect, young Padawon,” you tease, testing how best to shift your weight on the new blades. The pressure on your knee isn’t terrible, thanks to the looseness of the hockey skates.

“Yeah, yeah,” Azriel waves you off. He trails behind you at a slower rate, focused on getting used to the stiffness of the figure skates on his feet. “Just wait until we scrimmage.”

Ugh, no thanks. This is just perfect for you, the both of you out on the open ice, all alone. You don’t want to ruin this peaceful bliss by bringing your competitive personalities into it.

“I knew if we raced under different conditions I’d have won!” You exclaim, zipping past Azriel again, showing off. He glares playfully, but you’re much too busy admiring your skates to notice the way he’s tucked his lip between his teeth, hiding a satisfied grin.

His toe pick digs into the ice, grinding down as he gets a feeling for the foreign piece, but his eyes stay glued on you.

“Ready for a stick and gloves already, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” you throw a smirk back in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest and cocking a brow. “You ready for twizzling?”

“Twizzlers?”

You roll your eyes at his lame joke, but your heart still skips at his wry smile. It’s more than cute. You push off your blade, moving closer to him.

Which is fine, until you try to use your toe pick to stop, only for the realization to hit that there isn’t one on these skates.

You go barreling into Azriel, who catches you in his arms. Your motion throws him off balance and before you even have the chance to squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself, you’re both falling to the ice.

Azriel hits with a grunt that reverberates through your bones. You’d think that Azriel breaking your landing would be less painful than it is, but with the way the muscle is packed on his body, he’s just as hard as the ice that’s no longer beneath your feet.

“Sorry,” you cringe. It comes out breathless and embarrassment flushes your cheeks, but you’re frozen to your spot and all too aware of how his large, warm hands are wrapped firmly around your waist.

“No worries.” Your lashes flutter as his breathy whisper caresses your face. He’s probably just winded, that’s why he sounds like that. Yes, that’s exactly what it is. “Didn’t think to remind you how to stop.”

“I know how to stop,” you argue, but there’s none of your usual fire tainting the words. You can’t even muster one of your famous glares that you reserve for the normally broody hockey player. You break eye contact as the humiliation begins creeping in. You scratch your nail distractedly down the waffled fabric of his olive colored henley. “I just…forgot, I guess.”

The hitching of his breath in his chest shifts your body and you jolt, the situation slamming into you like a truck.

You scramble off Azriel, grimacing at the sound of your blades clinking against his. His grip loosens, hands falling away as you slip to the ice beside him.

You shoot to your knees, then not-so-carefully climb to your feet. Azriel holds his hands out from where he’s still lying on the ground, like he’s more than ready to catch you again should you fall.

You’re positive the heat of your cheeks could melt the entire arena’s ice right now. You need to get the fuck out of here before you embarrass yourself further. You need to never show your face around here again. You’ve already transferred schools once, what’s one more time?

Azriel calls your name, but you hardly hear him over your racing thoughts. If the sheer embarrassment wasn’t enough, Coach Weaver’s voice now fills the rest of your head, screeching about your recklessness and how you could’ve injured yourself—

He’s quicker than you thought, or you’ve been trapped in your mortified headspace for too long because Azriel’s on his feet, towering over you and pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” your voice trembles and his hands tighten around you. He lets you bury your face into his chest and pretends not to notice the tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. You’re fucking trembling, and his heart is pounding just as hard.

This is all his fault.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breathe,” he tries to console. He looks around frantically, like one of the sports therapist students or coaches might be walking past the rinks this late at night. There’s no soul in the building besides the both of you, everyone resting for their busy weekends of competitions and away hockey games. “Please.”

You focus on his words, how he guides you, three seconds in, three seconds out. You focus on the soothing patterns he’s drawing down your back, focus on the beating of his heart and latch onto his scent: night-chilled mist and cedar.

“Sorry,” you croak when you finally manage to calm yourself and slide a step back. Your gaze sits pointedly on the ice. You don’t want him to see you like this, a woman who’s about to fucking crumble.

“Don’t be,” Azriel says softly. His hand finds your face, and as much as you don’t want him to, he lifts your chin. You don’t fight it, emotionally exhausted. You should have asked for a raincheck, but you can admit to the fact that Azriel’s gentle touch is a comfort that you can’t help but lean into.

Sad, hazel eyes meet yours. They’re more golden brown than green, a forest of hues backlit by a burst of gold. Your breath hitches as he drags a thumb softly across your lips. They part, even though you don’t mean them to, and the whisper of breath that leaves you passes over his hand, crawls up his arm, and sends shivers down his spine.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

You’re not sure you can hold yourself together enough to answer his question without completely melting into a puddle at his feet.

Your silence must be answer enough. Azriel takes both of your hands in his own and guides you back toward the bench where you left your shoes. His grip is reassuring, and you’re so tired that you don’t even have it in yourself to sling a witty remark his way.

For what might be the first time in your life, you allow yourself to be taken care of.

You can’t even muster a chuckle at the way he stumbles over the toe pick on his way off the ice, or the way you’re waddling in these skates. You feel anything but graceful and strong right now, but with Azriel’s hand in yours, it’s not as off-putting as you feared it might be.

“Sit,” he says, keeping his fingers clasped around yours as you heed his command. It brings you eye-level to his hands, puckered and pink and scarred to hell. They’re beautiful in every way. He embraces his story, and it’s an incredible strength, one you’re much too terrified of attempting to recreate.

“Azriel, no,” you protest, jolting forward when he lowers himself to his knees before you. You plant your hands on his shoulders, ready to force him away because you’re more than capable of taking your own skates off.

He catches your wrists, and you didn’t think his eyes could soften any more, but they do, and you melt. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of this for you.”

You try to swallow past the knot in your throat to thank him but are unable to. Instead, you nod and reluctantly sit back.

Azriel’s gentle with his movements, like you’re a wild doe that he’s helping free from a snare. He unties the tight knots, and your heart pinches when he struggles for a moment. You wouldn’t notice if you weren’t watching so intently, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Like he knows you need to see this.

You carefully keep your mind from wandering into how good he looks like this before you.

He slips the first skate off, and you stretch your toes. It’s a reflex. Azriel smiles, peeking up at you just in time to catch your blush. His gaze ducks away before you become embarrassed, setting your foot down and holding your other ankle, lifting to get to work.

You hiss softly at the ache in your knee.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Concern laces his voice, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“No, no,” you cringe a little at the lingering sting. “It’s nothing.”

“Sweetheart.” Azriel says sternly. Seriously. “That reaction wasn’t nothing. What’s wrong?”

You sigh, defeated in more ways than one. You don’t want to admit that the injury that threw your entire career off-kilter is acting up again. You’d rather not have anyone know.

Perhaps Azriel is different. Or, maybe he’s forcing you, because the gold in his eyes is intense, pinning you to your spot. His mouth is set in a straight, firm line. He looks like he means fucking business.

You avert your gaze. You’ve never admitted defeat like this, but if Azriel can wear his scars so proudly, maybe you can too.

“I tore my ACL a few months ago.” You admit, sniffling. You can feel the shock in Azriel’s gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. He’s the first person at this school outside of your coach who’s hearing it. You’ve never been so vulnerable, especially with someone you hardly know. You press on nonetheless. “It’s been fine up until now.” A white lie. “But it’s been a little sore since I started practicing my jumps again.”

“How many months is ‘a few’?” He questions, and he’s not going to like the answer, so you opt for brushing over it.

“I’ll go back to seeing my therapist,” you offer instead, but even you’re not too sure how much truth your words hold.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Azriel says, and you don’t want his sympathy, but you’re too exhausted for your usual anger to stir to life. “You need to take care of yourself, before it gets any worse.”

His sentiment has your nose stinging, eyes prickling once again. What the fuck is wrong with you these days? Get it together, girl. You can cry in your own room, not in front of the hot boy who’s helping you with your godsdamned shoes.

You drag your gaze back to his. “I will.” You think.

He studies you for a moment before nodding, accepting your answer whether he believes it or not. You don’t have it in yourself to care right now. No, you just want to be back in the safety of your dorm.

Azriel is even more careful removing this skate and helping you slip into your shoes. He makes quick work of his own, and while his head is down, you admire his stature. Broad shoulders and chest that tapers into a tight waist, an ass for days.

You’re not done drooling over him when he stands, offering you a hand.

You slip your palm into his, ignoring the electricity that zips down your arm. You’re hyperaware of him by your side, and it’s only when he’s absolutely sure that you’re steady on your feet that he drops your hand.

You try not to feel too disappointed at the loss.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” Azriel offers, and you trail him from the arena, your heart feeling a bit fuller with the nickname.

_________________________________________

Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13

[inkspiredwriting]

Flirting Flops and Jealousy Jokes

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves and his wife, Y/n, had a playful and competitive relationship, always trying to outdo each other in various games and pranks. One afternoon, Five, feeling a bit mischievous, decided to test the waters of jealousy. His plan? Flirt with another woman and see how Y/n would react.

“I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” Five muttered to himself, adjusting his collar as he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. “Just enough to make her a little jealous.”

They were at a café with some friends, including Klaus, who was already sipping a fancy cocktail and eyeing the other patrons with a knowing smirk. Five scanned the crowd and spotted a woman sitting alone at the bar, engrossed in a book. She seemed like a safe target for his little experiment.

With a casual stride, Five approached the woman at the bar. He flashed a charming smile and said, “Hello there. You look like you’re enjoying your book.”

The woman glanced up, clearly taken by surprise. “Oh, hi. Yes, it’s really interesting.”

“Mind if I join you?” Five asked, leaning against the bar with what he hoped was a suave demeanor.

The woman seemed slightly flustered but nodded. “Sure, I guess.”

Five launched into a series of light compliments and small talk, keeping an eye on Y/n from the corner of his vision. She was chatting with Klaus but noticed Five’s new friend almost immediately. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she excused herself from Klaus, making a beeline for the bar.

Y/n, trying to keep her composure, sauntered over to Five and the woman. She slid her arm around Five’s waist, plastering a sweet smile on her face. “Hey, darling. Who’s your new friend?”

Five, inwardly thrilled that his plan was working, kept his tone nonchalant. “Oh, this is, uh...” He turned to the woman, suddenly realizing he hadn’t gotten her name.

“Linda,” the woman supplied, looking slightly uncomfortable now.

“Yes, Linda,” Five said, trying to regain his composure. “We were just discussing books.”

“Books, huh?” Y/n said, her smile tightening. “Well, Linda, Five here has the most interesting taste in literature. Isn’t that right, honey?”

Five, sensing the tension in Y/n’s voice, tried to smooth things over. “Absolutely. Linda, have you ever read about quantum physics?”

Linda’s eyes widened. “Um, no, not really. I should get going. Nice meeting you both.”

As Linda hurried away, Five turned to face Y/n, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “Someone jealous, are we?”

Y/n folded her arms, giving him a look that could melt steel. “Jealous? More like annoyed that my husband is trying to flirt with other women.”

Five chuckled, pulling Y/n close. “It was just a little experiment. I wanted to see how you’d react.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Well, congratulations, you got a reaction. And now, you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

“Anything for you, my love,” Five said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “What’s your price?”

“Let’s see,” Y/n pretended to ponder, tapping her chin. “How about you make me dinner tonight? And no takeout. I want the real deal.”

Five groaned playfully. “Fine, but don’t blame me if the kitchen ends up in flames.”

Klaus, who had been watching the whole scene unfold from his spot at the table, burst into laughter. “You two are hilarious. Five, you’re lucky she didn’t dump that cocktail over your head.”

Y/n laughed, poking Five in the ribs. “That’s because I love him too much to waste a good drink.”

Five grinned, wrapping his arm around Y/n’s shoulders as they walked back to join their friends. “And that, my dear, is why you’re the best wife in all the timelines.”

That evening, Five attempted to make a fancy dinner for Y/n, as promised. Despite his best efforts, the kitchen soon resembled a war zone, with flour and sauce splattered everywhere and smoke rising from the oven.

Y/n, sitting at the counter with a glass of wine, watched the chaos with a mix of amusement and affection. “You know, you’re actually kind of cute when you’re trying so hard.”

Five, waving a dish towel at the smoke detector, turned to her with an exasperated smile. “Remind me never to make you jealous again. This is way too much work.”

Y/n laughed, taking another sip of her wine. “Agreed. But it’s the thought that counts.”

Finally, after much trial and error, Five managed to present a somewhat passable meal. They sat down at the table, clinking their glasses together.

“To experiments that backfire,” Y/n toasted, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

“And to the most patient and forgiving wife,” Five added, his gaze full of love.

And as they enjoyed their meal, Five realized that no other woman is as wonderful as his.

[thelunarfairy]

The look without shine

So, it really was Amane.

And yes, they share the same entity, since always, as I have already mentioned in thousands of posts out there.

It's always been here…Always.

This made me think… that tired look in Amane's eyes… That vague and lost look in Tsukasa's eyes… two lost children who had their innocence stolen by a "thing".

What that thing, what that entity made them become… all for one wish, the wish to save each other…

The wish that took them both deeper, further away from the salvation they so desperately sought. It's painful to see how far they could go for salvation.

To see that even in the "ideal reality" they wouldn't have salvation, neither of them…

Amane trying to do what it takes to save the one he loves, but being devoured equally by what Tsukasa was pulled into.

I can understand why Tsukasa gave up, why he wouldn't come back. Why should he prolong the suffering? In truth, it was Amane who should have left in the first place.

But neither of them accept this pain.

To see those tired eyes, trying their best to continue holding on to this painful love.

Seeing Amane in that state

Didn't make me think about guilt, about villainy, about whether or not he was responsible for all of this or that everything that was happening was his fault, or even the people or what was left of them screaming from the other side of the windows for Mitsuba to run away.

I was thinking about the weight, how those eyes of his reflected an emptiness, a darkness, a tiredness that apparently no one could help alleviate.

How could someone so hurt, hurt other people… the fear of pain, the fear of loss, the "injustice".

Why would Tsukasa have to have a twin who would die so soon? Why would he have to suffer with the death of his beloved brother? In the same way, why would Amane have to lose Tsukasa?

The injustice of life.

The twins made innocent people pay because of their tragic fate, even if no one was to blame for Amane having that terminal illness, even if Tsukasa had chosen to leave, no one should pay for their happiness.

So that look… that tired look of someone who knows what they are doing, of someone who knows that the choice they have made and are making is wrong, but still keeps moving forward because the world is not "fair". Because they want to live next to the person they love.

The look without light, without shine…Just wanting to live again…just wanting happiness..

It makes me particularly sad, their fate is the same…

Maybe, we have the same thoughts….Tsuchigomori….

[rs-hawk]

Beauty and the Beast but the Beast doesn't return to full human when the curse is broken, because it was almost too late to break it when it happens

So instead of seemlessly regaining the throne and getting married with Beauty, the people of the town are still uneasy, even though they remember him now, and don't understand why Beauty stays by his side when they're free to return to the village

Likewise some of the humans-turned-objects-turned-humans still have characteristics of their former objects, like the candlestick's hair will sometimes catch fire when they're upset (harmless to them but still scary), or the alarm clock will get ringing migraines in a more literal way

I just think it could be a really neat story, fluff or smut or whathaveyou

I know that this is an o bylder ask but I have been thinking about it for awhile. I might do another part if y'all like it but I had a hard time narrowing it down to which characters to focus on.

Belle was surprised when Beast, Adam?, didn't return to fully human. Though to say that she was displeased wouldn't be true either. Her smile was always warm and genuine when she looked at him. He would smile back at her with his teeth that were a little too long, set on a face that almost, if you squinted, still looked like he was a beast. His horns had nearly disappeared, but when Belle would run her fingers through his thick, luscious hair, she could still feel just a prick of them.

Of course the town people remembered him, though they struggled with the fact that they too had been cursed. How could they have possibly been cursed for so long and no one had been the wiser? Belle tried to get more people to come to the palace to meet him, to participate in his welcome back ball, but very few came back.

"Maybe you should go home," one day Adam sighed, putting his head in her lap.

"I am home," Belle insisted, once again running her fingers through his hair.

"You know that's not what I meant. The townspeople... they are afraid of me. Your father still is cross with me, and how could I blame him? I kidnapped him and then you. I'm sorry," he muttered, nuzzling her leg and grabbing her thighs with his paw like hands, his long nails lightly scrapping her delicate skin there.

"Wherever you are is home to me," she purred, kissing the top of his head.

In the next room, Cogsworth was getting annoyed with Lumiere for once again flirting with the maids. It always caused such a mess. The large man grabbed Lumiere by the tie, tugging him closer to him.

"If you don't stop with this nonsense at once, I'm going to have to insist to the Master that you have a leave of absence, and where would you go if not here?" Cogsworth hisses, his mustache twitching as if they were hands on a clock ticking.

"Oh Cogsworth, my dear friend, are you jealous, mm? Do you miss us being, how would you say, stored together?" Lumiere smirked, looking up at the little man with a twinkle in his eyes.

Cogsworth blushed, letting go of the former candle. "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Mm, don't be so quick to sweep, my dear friend. We could be stored together tonight if you like," he continued to smirk, the start of a flame sparking off the tip of a lock of hair, dying as the ember wafered between them.

Like this story? Support me on Ko-fi ☕❤️

[wanderingblindly]

as i've gotten three different choscar kiss prompts (are yall. ok?), and idk when I'll get to them, i figured i could split the difference by sharing some of my choscar wip. is that a fair exchange? choscar anons pls love me premise is: charles as the "childhood best friend's older brother". oscar as the long-term down-bad idiot. charles is now -- surprise! -- oscar's boss at his new job.

Mr. To You

Is he allowed to use his phone? How often is too often to get up and wander towards the café? Is it weird to explore the floor a bit? Maybe introduce himself to his new coworkers?

He looks over at Max – sat in a different row, the middle desk – and notes the distinct lack of cell on his desk. That probably settles at least one question, doesn't it? Movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention; he shifts to take a not-so-subtle look, face freezing between two expressions: shock and abject terror.

Walking down their half of the hallway, waving good morning to a man that Oscar can't see, is a ghost from Oscar's past.

Or rather, a ghost from his entire childhood, teenagehood, and adolescence.

His shoes, light brown Italian leather, perfectly elegant and perfectly on trend, tap against the short-pile carpet as he draws closer – flashing another smile towards Max, whose shoulders visibly tense from behind.

Oscar feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, red-hot heat rushing under his skin like he's been doused in boiling water. Time seems to move in slow motion as he takes another step closer, as his hand – adorned with an oversized watch that should look horrendously gaudy, but rather highlights the span of his palm – moves to undo the button of his navy blazer.

And his chin turns, pink lips parted to flash yet another smile.

At him.

Charles Leclerc, the object of his hormone-fueled fixations since before he even had hormones to blame, looks at him – brilliant green eyes catching his with ease, dimple starting to show as he mouths 'good mor–'

Before he can finish, Oscar bolts; he scrambles to his feet and dashes towards the glass door a few steps behind him.

He's moving before he even realizes it, storming out onto the small balcony and stumbling over the wrought-iron seating set. He nearly falls flat on his face, which – at this point – may have been a mercy. Maybe if he punches in his nose and knocks out his teeth, Charles Leclerc won't even remember who he is – maybe he'll get to go home and quit over the phone, and no one would ever need to know.

The beating sun feels like ice compared to the blood pressing up against his skin, painting him a frantic, alarming shade of pink.

Not even taking a moment to calm his racing heart, Oscar pulls out his phone.

Oscar Piastri

What the fuck did you do

Arthur

yes yes good morning

im good! how are you???

Oscar Piastri

ARTHUR

Arthur

so polite, i am always saying this

why is it always me thats doing something??????

what the fuck did YOU do?? huh???

[rainforestakiie]

Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer part 04

The Imp

hi everyone! i am back with the fourth instalment of @inubaki’s request! i think there might be one last part after this? maybe two! it is all leading up to something~ can't wait for everyone to read it!

‘A Priest observing that one of fathers in his charge seems to be heavily distracted by something no one else can see. Father Adam had come to them young, an unwanted fourth child to a Nobel family hoping to gain the church’s favor. Life is hard for Adam whim continues to wait for his family to return for him, growing into despair until one day he suddenly improves. He claims he’s spoken to an angel. And, to his credit, does give information far beyond what any child should know. But the older Adam gets, the more distracted he becomes. More happy, but conflicted. Till one day he disappears.'

The Imp (Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer) = Part 01. Part 02. Part 03. Part 04.

By the time Adam reached his sixteenth birthday, the nuns of the church began to act... strangely. Their behaviour shifted in subtle but unsettling ways, like shadows moving just out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t the birthday celebration that unnerved him, there was no fanfare, no candles or songs, but the way they seemed to watch him, their eyes filled with something he couldn't quite decipher.

Sister Sera, normally soft-spoken and kind, now looked at him with a gaze that sent a chill creeping down his spine. She lingered too long in doorways, her once-gentle hands trembling ever so slightly as she clasped her rosary beads. Sister Uriel, the one who always offered a warm smile, now barely looked at him, her face pale and gaunt as if she’d seen something dreadful that she refused to speak of.

Their whispers grew louder, too. Hushed conversations behind thick wooden doors would fall to silence the moment Adam drew near, only to start up again in a frantic murmur once he passed. He began to feel as though he was an intruder in the place, he had called home for as long as he could remember.

At night, it was worse. The air in the church grew thick, almost suffocating. His room, usually a sanctuary of peace, felt heavy with an unseen presence. The crucifix above his bed seemed to cast strange, jagged shadows across the walls, distorting and shifting in ways that made his heart pound. Sometimes, just on the edge of sleep, he swore he heard something—a faint scratching from behind the walls, as if something was trying to get in.

He couldn't understand why turning sixteen had such a weight to it. Why did the nuns look at him with a mix of fear and pity, as though he were marked for something unspeakable? Their prayers became louder, more desperate, the candles in the chapel flickering wildly as if a wind was passing through, but the windows were sealed tight.

It was as though they were waiting. Waiting for something that only they knew was coming. Something tied to him—something that grew closer with every passing day.

The harsh whispers of the other orphans slithered through the corridors like poison-laced smoke, curling around Adam’s ears and tightening in his chest. He kept his head low, his eyes fixed on the worn stone floor as he shuffled past the children who watched him with narrowed eyes. Every whisper felt like a dagger, sharp and malicious, stabbing deeper into his already fragile mind. Adam couldn’t understand why his sixteenth birthday seemed to isolate him even more, as if a silent decision had been made that he no longer belonged—if he ever had.

He had always kept to himself, never one for loud conversations or playful scuffles in the courtyard. But now, it felt different. It felt... deliberate. The church, once a place of quiet refuge, had become suffocating. The orphans, who had once merely ignored him, now seemed to actively avoid him, or worse, blame him. For what, Adam didn’t know.

As he turned a corner into one of the dimly lit hallways, the faint sound of sobbing reached his ears. Adam paused, glancing down the corridor to see a young girl, no older than eight, kneeling beside the large glass tank in the corner. Her small shoulders shook with each quiet sob.

Adam hesitated, his brow furrowing as he slowly approached. His gaze shifted from the girl to the tank—and he froze. The water, usually clear and alive with bright, darting fish, was now still. Too still. Every fish floated lifelessly, their bodies eerily suspended in the water, scales reflecting the dim light in dull patterns. All of them were dead.

A sick feeling churned in Adam's stomach. He wanted to comfort the girl, tell her everything would be alright, even though he wasn’t sure it would. He took a tentative step forward, but before he could reach her, Eveline shoved him hard. He stumbled back, his hands bracing against the cold stone wall to keep from falling.

She didn’t speak—she didn’t need to. The glare she gave him said more than words could. Her dark eyes burned with accusation, with loathing. Adam swallowed, feeling his face grow hot under her gaze. He could feel the eyes of the other girls now, all of them staring at him with the same hostile look. They didn’t say it out loud, but he could hear it in their silence—they blamed him for the fish, for everything.

His throat tightened. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out. Instead, he turned and hurried away, his steps quick and uneven. The whispers behind him grew louder, harsher.

"Omen," they hissed. "Bad luck."

Adam's breath grew shallow as the words circled around him like vultures, picking at his mind.

Everything goes wrong when Adam’s around.

The words echoed louder, bouncing off the high walls of the church in his head. He hadn’t done anything—he didn’t understand why they hated him so much. His legs weakened, and he stumbled down by the towering grandfather clock at the end of the corridor, his hands trembling as he curled into himself. His vision blurred, and his chest ached as he gasped for air, panic rising like a storm inside him.

The whispers continued. He could hear them—he could feel them.

He’s cursed.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him, and Adam jerked his head up, wide-eyed, heart pounding in his throat. But it wasn’t one of the bullies. It was Steve.

Steve knelt down next to him; his face etched with concern.

"Hey, it’s alright," he murmured, his voice gentle but firm. "Don’t listen to them, Adam. They’re just being cruel."

Adam tried to steady his breathing, but the whispers lingered, faint and insidious in the back of his mind. He flinched as Eveline’s mocking voice floated down the hallway, louder than the rest.

"Cursed," she spat. "Bad luck, that’s what you are."

Steve’s expression hardened. "I swear, if she doesn’t stop, I’ll—"

He started to stand, but Adam grabbed his hand, shaking his head desperately, his wide eyes begging him not to go.

Steve sighed, his anger melting into a soft understanding.

"Okay, okay, I won’t go," he said, giving Adam’s hand a gentle squeeze. "But if I hear her say one more thing, I’m not biting my tongue."

Adam managed a small nod, still sniffling as he tried to calm himself down. The trembling in his hands slowly lessened, and Steve offered him a warm smile, his eyes twinkling as he said, “How about we head back to our room? I’ll tell you one of my terrible jokes on the way.”

Despite everything, Adam couldn’t help but smile. Steve always knew how to make things feel less... heavy.

With Steve’s help, Adam stood, and together they made their way towards their shared room. Steve kept his promise, launching into a stream of ridiculous dad jokes, each one worse than the last, until Adam found himself laughing softly despite the lingering dread that clung to him.

But as they reached the top of the staircase, approaching the landing where their room was, both stopped. A shadow, faint but unmistakable, slithered across the wall and disappeared into their room.

Steve's arm shot out protectively, stopping Adam from stepping forward. His face darkened with suspicion as he glared at the door. "If this is another one of their stupid pranks..."

His voice trailed off into a low growl, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I swear, if they’ve messed with your stuff again, I’m telling Sister Sera this time."

Adam's stomach knotted as Steve marched toward the door, his voice rising. "Alright, we know you’re in there! Come out now, or—"

Steve’s voice faltered as he reached the doorway. His face twisted in disbelief; eyes wide.

Adam’s heart raced, curiosity mingling with fear. He hesitated, then, with trembling steps, he peeked around Steve, expecting to find their room ransacked, their belongings scattered in the usual cruel mess.

Inside the room, Adam expected chaos. The memory of last month's prank—the younger kids ransacking his things, throwing his belongings around like a cruel game—lingered in his mind. But this time, there was no mess. No scattered books, no overturned chair. The room was, at first glance, eerily neat... mostly clean. But it didn’t take long for Adam and Steve to notice something strange.

Black rose petals. Crispy, brittle, and dry as if scorched by some unseen fire. They were scattered across the floor in a deliberate path, leading from the doorway straight to Adam's bed. Adam’s pulse quickened. The dark petals felt out of place, sinister. His gaze followed the trail, and his heart skipped when he saw it—on his bed, nestled like a gift wrapped in death, was a large, beautiful bouquet of black roses. They were impossibly dark, each petal a velvety black, absorbing the dim light from the window.

Coiled around the base of the bouquet, a stark white snake lay perfectly still, its smooth body draped like a ribbon. Its eyes were half-lidded, tongue flickering lazily in and out. For a moment, Adam stood frozen, his mouth dry. His instincts screamed to back away, to run. The image of the snake contrasted sharply with the stillness of the room, like a silent predator waiting to strike.

But something strange urged him closer.

Steve stood behind him, staring in confusion. “Who the hell leaves a snake as a birthday present?” he muttered. “That’s... weird.”

Adam swallowed hard; his throat tight as he edged toward the bed. The snake remained still, almost docile. With shaky hands, he reached out, fingers trembling as they brushed the snake’s cool, smooth scales. To his surprise, the serpent didn’t react violently. Instead, it slithered lazily across his lap, its body coiling and uncoiling with soft, slow movements. The snake’s hissing was gentle, barely audible, as though it was whispering something only Adam could hear.

Adam blinked, finding himself strangely... calm. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand running over the bouquet of black roses. The scent that rose from them was intoxicating—a rich, sweet fragrance that flooded his senses. For a moment, all the tension drained from his body. He sighed, holding the roses close to his chest, as if the flowers offered him some unspoken comfort.

But Adam has no idea. He had no family…

Steve raised an eyebrow, scratching his head. “Yeah, well, it’s... odd. I mean, black roses? A snake?”

His gaze drifted down to the petals on the floor. His eyes narrowed, and he knelt down, running his hand over the path of blackened petals.

 “Am I tripping, or do these look like they’re arranged in a pentagram?”

Adam glanced at the floor; his curiosity piqued. But when he looked, the pattern didn’t immediately make sense to him. It was just petals, scattered in strange directions. He shrugged; the weight of the flowers still pressed close to his chest.

Steve stood up, shaking his head. "Maybe it's nothing."

With a huff, Steve turned his attention to his own bed, muttering about pranks and younger kids. He pulled the quilt back, fully expecting to collapse into the familiar comfort of his bedding. But instead, what he found turned his face pale, his mouth twisting into a grimace of disgust.

From beneath the quilt spilled writhing maggots, pale and slimy, squirming over thick patches of moist, black dirt. Worms writhed between the sheets, tangling together in a grotesque, pulsating mass. The stench hit them next—a damp, earthy smell, pungent with rot.

Steve’s horrified gasp echoed through the room, loud and guttural. He staggered back, his voice shaking with fury.

 "What the—! Adam, what the hell is this?!" His voice cracked as he cursed, his face twisted with rage and disgust. "I’m gonna kill those brats! This isn’t funny! This is sick!"

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, cold fear washing over him as he stared at the infested bed. His breath came in short gasps, his fingers clenching tighter around the roses. Steve stormed toward the door, throwing it open with a fury Adam had never seen in him before.

“I swear to God, if I find out who did this, I’m telling Sister Sera right now!” Steve’s voice echoed down the hallway as he disappeared, his footsteps heavy with anger.

Adam sat frozen on the edge of his bed; his wide green eyes glued to the squirming mess that had been Steve’s bedding. His grip on the bouquet tightened, his thoughts racing. He didn’t understand why this was happening. Why were they targeting him again? What had he done?

The room felt suffocating, thick with an unnatural tension. The white snake, still draped lazily across his lap, slithered over his shoulder, it’s cool body pressing against his neck. Adam’s breath hitched, but then he felt something strange—something unsettling.

The snake’s head gently nuzzled his cheek, almost affectionately. It moved slowly, deliberately. And then—was that a laugh?

Adam blinked, his heart skipping a beat. He could’ve sworn the snake had... laughed. A low, soft sound, almost like a faint chuckle. But that couldn’t be right. Snakes don’t laugh. He shook his head, trying to push the thought away, but the eerie sensation lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a thick fog.

The petals on the floor shifted slightly, as if moved by an unseen breeze.

And deep inside him, something shifted, like a slow crack forming in the walls of his carefully contained world. Adam’s green eyes drifted back to the bouquet of black roses cradled in his lap, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled. A soft, almost timid curve of his lips. The black petals, once ominous, now seemed beautiful in his hands—delicate, fragile, like something precious.

It was the first time anyone had given him flowers.

The thought sent warmth spreading through his chest, melting away the icy tendrils of fear that had been gripping him moments before. Adam’s fingers brushed over the velvet-like petals, his touch gentle, reverent. He had never received a gift like this—never been given anything with such a strange, intimate care. His mind wandered, his heartbeat slowing as a familiar name crept into his thoughts.

“Are… are…” he began softly, his voice barely a whisper as he glanced at the small white snake coiled around his neck. It’s cool, smooth body pressed against his skin like a comforting weight. Adam licked his dry lips and, for the first time in what felt like years, he allowed a soft, genuine smile to form.

“Are these a gift from… Luci?”

The name fell from his lips like a secret, hidden away for too long. Luci. The Imp. His Imp. The thought of Luci made Adam's heart swell, the melancholy that had wrapped around him for so long lifting, even if only for a moment. He hadn’t seen the little creature in over a year—not since the last time he’d been utterly alone, buried beneath the crushing weight of the orphanage’s cold, indifferent walls. Luci had always appeared when he was most vulnerable, when the sadness became too much to bear.

And now, with the bouquet of black roses in his arms, Adam couldn't shake the feeling that Luci had returned in some way. Even though the Imp wasn’t here physically, Adam could sense the connection, like an invisible thread pulling him back to those moments where Luci had made everything better.

The snake, with its calm, slithering movements, rubbed its small head against his cheek, as if in answer. The soft, cool pressure felt... affectionate. Reassuring.

Adam’s smile widened, his heart soaring with a childlike joy.

So, the roses were from Luci!

He pulled the bouquet closer to his chest, hugging the flowers tightly. The sweet, intoxicating scent filled his lungs, calming him. The strange weight of the day—the stares, the accusations, the dead fish, the maggots in Steve’s bed—seemed to fade into the background. None of it mattered anymore. Not when Luci was thinking of him. Not when the Imp had remembered him after all this time.

As he cuddled the flowers, his thoughts drifted back to the first time he’d seen Luci. He had been younger then, maybe ten or eleven, and utterly broken by the cruelty of the other children. It had been after a particularly awful prank that left him bruised and bleeding, and that night, in the dark corner of the chapel, Luci had appeared—a small, shadowy figure with mischievous eyes and a grin too wide for its face. Luci had never spoken a word, but Adam had understood. The Imp had made the pain go away, if only for a little while.

And now, Adam was sure Luci had returned, in some subtle, invisible way. The white snake nuzzling him, the black roses with their mysterious scent... they were all signs. Signs that Luci hadn’t forgotten him.

Still clutching the bouquet, Adam stood up slowly, his heart fluttering with excitement. The weight of the snake, now lazily draped across his shoulders, felt like a protective cloak, keeping him safe from the cruelty of the outside world.

Steve was still gone, likely yelling at Sister Sera about the mess in his bed, but Adam didn’t care. All he could think about was Luci, the strange, comforting presence that had once filled his life with a quiet, mischievous magic.

He glanced at the petals on the floor again. Steve had said something about them being arranged in a pentagram, but Adam didn’t see it that way. To him, they were part of Luci’s gift—an offering of beauty and mystery, just like the Imp had always been.

Adam’s fingers absentmindedly stroked the snake’s smooth, white body as he stood by the window, staring out at the darkening sky. His mind drifted, lost in the memory of Luci’s wide grin, the way the Imp had made him feel seen in a world that had otherwise forgotten him.

A soft, gentle hiss escaped the snake’s mouth, and Adam couldn’t help but smile again. Maybe the snake wasn’t Luci, but it was a reminder—a reminder that, even in the darkness, there were small moments of magic meant only for him.

As the last of the sunlight faded, casting long, eerie shadows across the room, Adam stood there, clutching the roses to his chest, feeling an odd sense of peace. Whatever had changed inside him, whatever connection had been rekindled with Luci, it made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

But beneath the calm, something darker lingered—a whisper in the back of his mind, soft and persistent. A feeling that this gift, beautiful as it was, had a purpose. That perhaps Luci wasn’t done with him yet.

“I think I will call you Basil.”

~#~

The days blended into one another as Adam and Steve became inseparable. Adam, mute and withdrawn, found solace in Steve’s presence, his constant companionship a balm to the loneliness that gnawed at him. Steve seemed to understand him without words, offering his quiet jokes and warm touches instead of prying questions. It was a sweet, gentle connection that Adam had never known before.

Adam couldn't go outside in the sun—his pale skin reacted violently to it—so Steve opted to stay inside with him, spending long hours in the dim corridors of the church, in the dusty, forgotten corners where the sunlight barely touched. When Adam sat in the library, his sanctuary, Steve would sit next to him, their knees brushing together and shoulders touching. There was a warmth to Steve’s presence, one that made Adam’s heart race in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

Always, Adam had Basil, his little white snake, curled around his wrist or resting on his shoulder. The snake had become his constant companion, a creature that seemed to understand his silence better than anyone. But Basil didn’t take kindly to Steve. Whenever Steve would get too close, the snake would hiss, its tongue flicking out aggressively, eyes narrowing in warning.

Steve, of course, made light of it, smiling that crooked grin that always made Adam's stomach flutter.

 “Basil’s our love child, you know,” Steve would say with a wink, reaching out to ruffle Adam’s hair. “He’s just mad ‘cause he doesn’t accept me as Papa yet.”

Basil would hiss in response, and Adam would blush deeply, his face turning scarlet. He’d bury his head in the bouquet of black roses still resting on his nightstand, hiding his burning cheeks. The joke lodged in his mind, making him wonder—if Steve was the “Papa,” did that make him the “mother”? The thought embarrassed him further, his thoughts tangled and confused.

But then, like a dark whisper creeping into his mind, Adam would remember Luci. His Imp, his protector. He thought of the delicate China-doll family he’d once created with Luci, an imaginary world where they belonged together. It felt real, so real, even though the Imp had been gone for a long time now. While Steve was here, by his side day in and day out, Luci’s absence hung over him like a shadow. Adam adored Luci, more than anything, but the Imp was hardly ever around. He wondered, conflicted, if he was betraying Luci somehow by growing so close to Steve.

Adam often found himself watching Steve when he thought the older boy wouldn’t notice—admiring his bright red hair, the way his freckles dotted his sun-kissed skin, like stars in a night sky. Adam wanted to reach out, to trace those freckles with his fingers, to count each one like a secret only he could uncover.

One afternoon, as they sat side by side in the library, Adam caught himself staring again, lost in thought, admiring how beautiful Steve looked in the soft light filtering through the tall windows. His eyes traced the sharp angles of Steve’s face, the way his lips curled up in that ever-present smirk.

Steve, sensing the attention, turned his head and caught Adam’s gaze. His grin widened, teasing.

“Like what you see?” he asked with a wink.

Adam’s face flushed crimson, his heart leaping into his throat. He quickly turned away, embarrassed and flustered, but Steve laughed—soft and joyful, a sound that made Adam’s heart skip a beat.

Steve leaned in closer, his breath warm against Adam’s ear. “I kind of like it when you look, you know,” he whispered, his voice low and playful.

Adam’s eyes widened in surprise, his pulse quickening. He turned back to Steve, his green eyes wide with confusion and hope, but before he could process the moment, a deafening bang shattered the quiet of the library.

Both boys jumped to their feet, startled. Adam’s heart raced, panic rising in his chest. The sound had come from somewhere deep within the library, and it was followed by the creaking groan of wood—heavy, ancient bookshelves shifting unnaturally.

Steve grabbed Adam’s hand, yanking him out of the narrow corridor between the shelves just in time to see the entire row of bookshelves begin to topple over, one by one. Like dominos, they fell, crashing down with a force that made the room shudder. Dust and old, forgotten books filled the air, the ground trembling beneath their feet as each towering shelf slammed into the next.

Adam’s eyes grew wide with terror. His heart pounded against his ribs as he stared at the destruction unfolding in front of him. It was as if the library itself was collapsing in on them, the walls closing in, the air growing heavy with dust and dread.

Just as the last shelf hit the ground with a resounding crash, the door to the library burst open, revealing Sister Sera and Uriel, their long black habits flowing behind them as they rushed in. The two nuns stopped dead in their tracks, eyes wide in shock as they took in the devastation around them.

“What in Heaven’s name happened here?” Sister Sera demanded, her voice sharp with disbelief.

Adam, as always, could not answer. His throat tightened; his tongue heavy in his mouth. He stood frozen, his hand still clasped tightly in Steve’s, his mind racing.

Steve squeezed his hand, stepping in front of Adam protectively, but even he seemed lost for words, his face pale with shock.

As Sister Sera and Uriel surveyed the wreckage, Adam’s eyes drifted toward the far corner of the library. Amidst the swirling dust and shadows, something flickered—just for a moment. A shape, small and dark, standing in the corner where the light didn’t reach. It was barely visible, but Adam’s heart skipped a beat as his gaze locked onto it.

A shadow. A familiar shadow. One that looked eerily like Luci.

Adam blinked, his breath catching in his throat. Was it really him? Could Luci have caused this?

No… Luci wouldn’t hurt him. Would he?

The figure in the corner flickered again, then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Adam’s heart raced; his mind spiralling. He couldn’t be sure if it had been real or just his imagination playing tricks on him. But something deep inside him stirred—a gnawing unease, a whisper of doubt.

Steve’s grip on his hand tightened. He glanced down at Adam, his brow furrowed with concern. “You, okay?”

Adam nodded, but inside, his thoughts churned. What had caused the shelves to fall? Was it just an accident? Or had something—someone—else been at work? And if it was Luci… what did that mean?

For the first time, Adam felt a chill of fear creeping up his spine. The warmth of Steve’s hand in his own did little to chase it away.

~#~

Adam’s eighteenth birthday marked the start of a new change, though he couldn’t quite understand why. Something simmered beneath the surface, like an itch just out of reach. His heart fluttered in his chest, that familiar warmth creeping up his neck and colouring his cheeks. He sat shyly at the foot of his bed, hands nervously clutching the edge of the mattress, his emerald eyes gleaming as they fell upon the brightly coloured box before him.

The box was adorned with adorable apple-like patterns, almost childlike in their simplicity, framed with soft pastel shades that seemed out of place in the dimly lit room. Adam couldn’t help but sigh sweetly at the sight of it. It was too perfect, too innocent for the atmosphere that hung heavy around him, but something about it tugged at his heart. Maybe it was the care Steve had put into it, or perhaps the fleeting joy it brought into the otherwise oppressive stillness of the church.

“Happy birthday, Addie!”

Steve’s voice broke the silence, cheerful and far too loud for the tiny room. The ridiculous party hat perched on his head, with the same apple patterns decorating it, only added to the absurdity of the moment. He grinned wildly, eyes crinkling in amusement, and with a flourish, he pulled the string of a party-popper above Adam’s head. Streams of brightly coloured ribbons rained down over Adam, catching in his hair and across his shoulders, mixing with the soft, white scales of Basil, who had lazily coiled himself around Adam’s neck.

“Whoop! Whoop!” Steve cheered, fist-pumping the air gleefully.

“Another year older! Another step closer to the end!” His laughter echoed through the small space, carefree and full of life. “Soon, the afterlife of a Sinner will be for you~”

Adam blinked in surprise at Steve’s strange choice of words, but a small smile tugged at his lips, despite himself. He looked up through the shower of ribbons, his heart swelling at Steve’s exuberance, at the way he tried so hard to make this day special. The church was always cold, dark, and looming—its ancient walls held secrets, whispers, and shadows—but Steve managed to bring light into Adam’s world, even if only for a moment.

Basil, however, was less impressed. The white snake shifted, its long body coiling tighter around Adam’s neck, lifting its head to fix Steve with an unblinking, reptilian stare. A soft, warning hiss escaped Basil’s throat, his forked tongue flickering in and out, as if expressing its distaste for the loudness and fuss.

Steve, always unfazed, chuckled and ruffled his fiery red hair, adjusting the ridiculous hat on his head.

 “Come on, Basil. You’ve got to accept me eventually. I’m part of the family too, know.” He winked at Adam. “He’s just jealous cause he’s not the centre of attention today.”

The snake hissed again, and Adam’s cheeks flushed deeper as he hid his face, stifling a giggle. He couldn’t help but think how true Steve’s words were, in a way. Basil did seem possessive, always there, watching, observing every interaction Adam had with Steve. But Basil was more than just a pet. The snake had been with Adam through so much—through every cruel word, every cold glance from the other orphans, every inexplicable event that marked Adam’s life with an eerie, unshakable tension.

His focus homed in on Steve. Steve, who had always been there. Steve, who had never missed a birthday. Steve, who was the one constant in his life filled with silence and shadows.

The way Steve was grinning at him now sent a rush of warmth through Adam’s veins, disarming the tension that had wrapped itself around his heart. Adam could feel his cheeks flush, his gaze caught in Steve’s, unable to look away. Something about Steve’s presence always managed to soothe the darkness, make the ever-lurking fear dissipate, even just for a moment.

Steve noticed him staring again, the same teasing grin pulling at the corners of his lips. Without hesitation, he leaned forward, closing the space between them, ignoring the soft warning hiss that slipped from Basil’s mouth. Steve’s fingers brushed against Adam’s cheek, a feather-light touch that made Adam’s breath hitch in his throat.

Adam gasped, his wide eyes locking with Steve’s as his body jolted in surprise. The touch, so gentle, so deliberate, sent a ripple of unfamiliar sensations through him. His heart stuttered, caught between terror and longing.

Steve’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper, his tone intimate and tender.

"I’ve got another birthday present for you, Addie," he murmured, his words barely audible above the soft hiss of the snake. "If you want it."

Adam’s throat went dry, and all he could do was nod, the motion slow and unsure, but the pull towards Steve undeniable. He felt himself leaning closer, drawn in by the warmth of Steve’s presence, the safety he exuded. And then, softly, hesitantly, their lips met.

The kiss was gentle, sweet, a soft press of lips that sent Adam spiralling. His heart raced, but it wasn’t fear that fuelled it this time—it was something deeper, something that made his entire body hum with a nervous, fluttering energy. His hands clenched the edges of the bed, knuckles white, as he melted into the moment, into Steve’s warmth. His face flushed hot, the room around them blurring as every sense seemed to home in on the way Steve’s lips felt against his.

When they finally parted, Adam’s breath caught, and his eyes flickered up to meet Steve’s. His cheeks were burning, his mind spinning in a thousand different directions. Steve was watching him with that same teasing grin, though this time there was something more—something softer in his eyes.

"Was I really that good of a kisser?" Steve teased, his voice a low chuckle, but Adam could see the hint of vulnerability behind it, as if he truly wanted to know.

Adam’s face burned hotter, and he shyly shrugged, unable to find the words to answer. He couldn’t speak, of course—he never could—but even if he had the ability, he wasn’t sure what he’d say. His emotions were tangled, his mind buzzing with thoughts he didn’t quite understand yet. But the warmth in his chest was unmistakable.

Steve laughed, the sound filling the room and cutting through the lingering tension like a ray of sunlight piercing a storm. He reached for the brightly wrapped gift on the bed, the apple-patterned box that had caught Adam’s attention earlier and shook it playfully.

"You still need to open this before we get to the cake," Steve charmingly said.

Adam smiled, a soft, almost bashful smile, and reached out to take the gift. His hands trembled slightly as he began to unwrap it, the delicate paper crinkling under his fingers. He felt a surge of warmth as he unwrapped the gift, but the darkness that had hung over him for so long lingered in the corners of the room, in the shadows that seemed to move when no one was looking.

Basil hissed again, his small body coiling tighter around Adam’s neck, his beady eyes watching Steve warily. The snake had always been protective of Adam, sensing something that Adam himself couldn’t quite understand. And as much as Adam adored Steve, something in the air felt different now thicker, charged, as if the kiss had shifted something deeper within him.

Steve had taken his first kiss.

Adam hoped Steve would take his firsts.

Basil hissed again, his breath seething through clenched teeth, the sound sharp and venomous like the warning of a cornered serpent. The room had shifted, its shadows thickening, pressing in from the edges with a suffocating weight. It was as though the very walls recoiled from what had just unfolded, casting the space into a murky twilight that swallowed the light. Disappointment hung in the air like a cold, damp fog, seeping into every corner of the box-shaped room. Basil’s dark eyes, gleaming with barely concealed contempt, flickered over the two figures, his gaze a smouldering accusation.

A shudder crawled down Steve’s spine, an icy finger trailing across his skin as if something unseen had brushed against him. He instinctively pressed a trembling hand to the back of his neck, his pulse quickening beneath his fingertips. The air in the room was thick, heavy with something unspoken, something dangerous. His eyes darted, scanning the dim space, searching for any sign of what might be lurking just out of sight.

But nothing. Only silence, and the relentless, oppressive darkness creeping closer.

Steve forced a tight smile, his lips twitching as he glanced toward Adam, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. There was a flicker of unease there, a crack in his composure that betrayed the mounting tension crawling beneath his skin. Adam smiled back, but there was something off about it. Something cold. Something wrong.

In the shadowed corners of the room, the darkness seemed to pulse, alive with a quiet, watching malice.

~#~

Adam woke early, an unsettling sense of wrongness gnawing at him before his eyes had even fully opened. The stillness of the morning felt heavy, thick, like the air before a storm. He sat up slowly, his gaze sweeping across the dim room with wary caution. The wardrobe stood against the far wall, its dark wooden surface looming ominously in the low light, just as it always had, but something about it seemed different. The knots in the wood looked like eyes, watching, waiting. That old fear from his childhood resurfaced, making his throat tighten. For years, he had tied the skipping rope around the handles, a makeshift lock against whatever terror his young mind had believed lived inside. The rope was still there, frayed from countless knots and untangling.

Adam swallowed thickly, his stomach twisting with a sick sense of dread, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. He shifted his gaze toward Steve’s bed, expecting to see his best friend’s familiar figure tangled in the sheets. But the bed was empty, the covers rumpled and tossed aside. A chill settled in Adam’s bones.

Steve was never a morning person... Where could he be?

Adam pushed the quilts off his legs, his muscles tense as if sensing something terrible was on the horizon. His feet touched the cold floor, but before he could stand, his eyes drifted to the pillow beside him, where Basil—his little white snake—always curled up to sleep.

But Basil was gone.

A surge of panic shot through Adam, a sick wave of worry washing over him. His heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm erratic, as if something was beating inside him, trying to get out. He forced himself up, though his legs trembled beneath him, weak and unsteady. The room suddenly felt too quiet, too empty, like a hollow shell of what it had been only the night before. Something was wrong. Something was deeply, horribly wrong.

Adam stepped into the corridor, the cold air biting at his skin. The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet, the sound unnervingly loud in the silence. Each step felt like a whisper of warning, as if the house itself was trying to tell him to turn back. But he couldn’t. He had to find Steve. He had to find Basil.

He was halfway to the staircase when a deafening crash reverberated through the house, followed by a scream that tore through the quiet like a knife. The sound hit Adam like a physical blow, and his ears buzzed with a strange, oppressive white noise. His body moved on instinct, stumbling forward, his breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. When he reached the top of the stairs, he froze, peering over the rail.

Below him, the corridor was alive with chaos. Nuns rushed toward the staircase, their black habits swirling like storm clouds. Children gathered in frightened clusters, their faces pale with shock. And there, at the bottom of the stairs, lay Steve.

Adam’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. Steve’s body was twisted, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, his face contorted in pain. Sister Sera was crouched beside him, her hands fluttering over his broken form as she called for help. Adam's blood turned to ice as he crouched at the top of the stairs, gripping the wooden beams so tightly his knuckles turned white. His mind reeled, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Steve had been pushed.

He had to have been.

There was no other explanation. But when Adam looked around, there was no one near him. No one except... himself.

His thoughts spiralled into panic.

 No, no, no... I didn’t push him. I couldn’t have.

He loved Steve, more than anything in this world. The very idea of hurting him made Adam’s stomach churn with nausea. But if it wasn’t him, then who?

A soft hiss broke the suffocating silence, sending a jolt of terror through Adam. His head snapped toward the sound, and his blood ran cold. Slithering across the floor, near the base of the stairs, was Basil. The little white snake was moving away from the chaos, toward the shadowed wall. Adam’s breath caught in his throat as he watched, paralyzed, as Basil approached the dark corner.

Then, from the wall, something shifted—something not quite human. A shadow emerged, its form impossibly black, save for the glowing red eyes that burned like embers in the darkness. The shadow was tall, towering, with a grotesque, distorted shape. Long, spindly fingers—each ending in sharp, razor-like claws—extended from the wall, reaching out with slow, deliberate intent.

Basil slithered up the shadow’s outstretched hand and melted into it, disappearing into the darkness as though he’d never existed.

Adam’s entire body went rigid with fear, his pulse pounding so hard he could hear it thundering in his ears. He clung to the wooden beams, his fingers digging into the splintered wood as his breath came in short, panicked bursts. The shadow seemed to breathe, the air around it is growing colder, more suffocating.

The thing’s red eyes locked onto Adam, burning with a hunger that sent a violent tremor through his body.

“…Luci?”

~#~

Adam sat on the edge of his bed, the room cold and suffocating with the weight of silence. His once bright emerald eyes, now dull and lifeless, stared blankly across the room at Steve’s empty bed, his gaze lingering on the rumpled sheets that had remained untouched since the accident. Steve had been gone all day, whisked away to the infirmary, and the gnawing void his absence left behind felt like a stone lodged in Adam’s chest, pressing down with a cruel weight. His heart pounded so heavily, it felt as though the rhythm was hammering against his skull, each beat sending sharp pulses of pain through his temples.

No one had spoken to him. Not since the fall. Not even Sister Sera, who always had a kind word or a calming hand to offer. Now, they all avoided him like a plague. Their whispers had grown louder, more pointed. Their eyes slid away from him whenever he entered a room, and the few that dared to meet his gaze only held fear and suspicion.

They blame me, Adam thought bitterly, his hands twisting anxiously in his lap. He could feel their judgment pressing against him, even when they weren't looking. They thought he was cursed. Maybe they were right.

The shadows lengthened as night fell, the church slowly sinking into a haunting stillness. The distant echo of footsteps faded, leaving Adam alone with nothing but his thoughts—and the horrible guilt gnawing at his insides. He couldn’t sit still any longer. Something was wrong. Steve... Steve needed him.

His legs shook as he rose to his feet, a trembling breath escaping his lips. He stood there for a moment, trying to gather his courage. The air felt heavy, thick with the same oppressive tension that had haunted him since Steve’s accident. His fingers fidgeted nervously, twisting together as he tiptoed toward the door. The corridor stretched out in front of him like a dark and endless tunnel, but Adam knew where he had to go.

Moving as quietly as he could, he slipped out of the room, his bare feet padding softly along the cold, creaking wood. Every step felt like a risk, as if the house itself was watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. The nuns wouldn’t approve of him being out of bed at this hour, especially not after everything that had happened. But none of that mattered now.

As he neared the dumbwaiter, the familiar small shaft embedded in the wall, he felt a flicker of hesitation. The tiny door slid open with a soft creak, just as it had so many times before. Adam paused, his breath catching in his throat. Was he really doing this? He’d climbed into that dumbwaiter so many times as a child, but it felt different now. Everything felt different. Darker. More dangerous. The whispered rumors of his curse tugged at the corners of his mind.

Emily lost her sight because of you. Steve fell because of you. This is all your fault.

He couldn’t shake the thought, no matter how much he wanted to. The fear clawed at him, twisting in his gut. But he had to know. He had to see.

With a sharp inhale, Adam climbed into the dumbwaiter. The space was tighter now, more claustrophobic, his shoulders brushing the sides as he squeezed himself in. The door slid shut with a loud thud, sealing him inside the darkness. His heart raced as the dumbwaiter suddenly lurched, the cables groaning as it began its rapid descent through the building. Faster and faster it went, the air rushing past him, the sound of rattling metal filling the tiny compartment.

And then, with a final jarring thud, it stopped.

The door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit basement beyond. Adam’s stomach turned as he peered into the room, the smell of damp stone and cold metal filling his nostrils. It was just as he remembered, yet something about it felt... wrong.

The room stretched before him, long tables lined both sides, and unlit bulbs dangled from the ceiling like forgotten eyes. Most of them still worked, casting faint, yellow light, but one bulb had blown, leaving a portion of the room drenched in deep shadow. The darkness seemed to pulse there, thick and unsettling, the broken bulb giving the entire space an eerie, abandoned feel.

Adam’s footsteps were cautious as he stepped out of the dumbwaiter, his heart pounding with every movement. The floor beneath him felt colder here, the chill creeping up through his feet as he approached the turn at the far end of the room. His breaths came shallow, quick, the silence pressing in around him like a living thing.

“Luci?” he called, curling his hands in front of himself. “Luci, I want to talk to you.”

“Luci?”

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

When Valentine Low broke the news of M bullying the Palace staffs, she immediately barked back saying this is a smear campaign against her. Now the Hollywood Reporter asked for their comments before they release their article and she had no comments on it.

So she's only brave enough to demean and thrash the UK staffs? Doesn't dare to say anything against their American staffs huh? Why does she do that RTA?

She can pass off bullying the Brits as xenophobia (they hate her because she’s a foreigner) and cultural differences. Remember, Meghan’s whole clapback to the British bullying allegations is that she’s a go-getter American and that work ethic contrasts with British work culture*. She can get away with that in the UK because she’s hedging her bets that the majority of people have never worked with Americans or know Americans personally and thus think she’s telling the truth.

*But even that’s not a solid defense for her. I’m reminded of a story - it’s either from Low or Bower, but maybe Spare? - where Meghan strolled into the KP offices late in the morning and announced that she brought bagels for breakfast. No one reacted and the staff felt it was actually tone-deaf of her to stroll in at 11 announcing breakfast when they’d been working for a few hours already. So right away, Meghan’s claims that she’s a go-getter American boss are debunked because no one who calls herself a go-getter is delaying her arrival to the office by 5-6 hours so she can do yoga and talk to her friends back home in California - as claimed in Finding Freedom.

She can’t do that here because we’ll call it out for the bullshit it is, because we all know better and we know the difference between the go-getter American boss babe Meghan wants us to think she is and the toxic narcissist boss dick she actually is. Meghan wants us to think she’s Miranda Priestly with the charm of Leslie Knope but she’s really just Mr. Burns dressed up as Jan Levinson.

For the record, American work ethic actually comes from the Puritans: it’s working hard all day every day to pull yourself up by the bootstraps but when the workday ends, the workday ends. It’s why we have shit maternity/parental leave and have practically no vacation time (compared to other countries) - because the Puritans sucked the fun out of everything and then when the class divide happened during the Industrial Revolution, the rich got richer, the poor got poorer, and everyone developed the mindset of “well, it was like that for me and I persevered so why should I make it better for you?” (Which, by the way, is 1-the main debate today over welfare programs and 2-why the ‘rags to riches’/Cinderella story works so well here, for any non-Americans here.)

Well, that was a very-so-far-off-the-road-we-can’t-see-it-anymore tangent.

Anyway. Getting back to the point. Which is that all the excuses Meghan gave to justify, or blame others for, her behavior in the UK doesn’t work here. She knows it and she’s stuck. That’s why she isn’t talking. Her whole game is over when the Americans start talking because while we don’t always get along, one of the very few things that all Americans agree on is bad bosses suck and rude celebrities that bully everyone are the worst.

Now, where’s my Swingline red stapler? And why couldn’t Dolly sing 10-3?

[jeeseth]

sorry! , izna ot7

pairing , izna x fem!reader

context , how will izna apologise to their girlfriend after an argument!

tags — fluff! might be a little angsty tho, drabble?, idol/non-idol au, literally a different ways of apologising, this is just how i think the izna members will apologise!

﹟mai !

mai will def be the type that will apologise to you IMMEDIATELY after you two had a fight, like i can already imagine her holding your hands while apologising slowly to you 🥹 PLUS her loving and caring gaze staring right into your almost teary one at hearing her apology.

"baby, i’m sorry i didn’t mean it. i love you so much." she apologised while interviewing your hands with her!

i love our calm baby, like how can you stay mad at her when she’s looking you in the eyes while speaking to you softly. I LOVE HER SO MUCH

﹟jeemin !

our calm baby number two! will definitely stay quiet (sulk) for a while then she’ll realised that it was actually her fault and would come running to apologise to you <3

imagine you’re just chilling in the bedroom and she suddenly come running to you like a puppy seeing its owner! she’s a bear tho but whatever. anyway, i literally can see her standing over at the door with the biggest guilt look on her face.

"baby… i’m sorry." she mumbled, looking down on the floor. you swear you immediately forget that you’re mad at her once you saw the pout on her face. i would too tbh

﹟jiyoon !

she’s lowkey testing your patience even more after the fight AND during the fight (argument). jiyoon staring at you blankly as you keep scolding her, how can it not piss you off? but that’s the thing! she knew about it and she tried her best to try and get your forgiveness since she can’t stand the silent treatment you’re giving her.

imagine waking up the next day and you open your front door to get some fresh air but then, you see a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolate on your doorstep! oh and of course you saw a little note saying ‘sorry for pissing you off.’

dw, you texted her after that and said i love you to her! which makes the worry in jiyoon’s heart melt away!

"i love you more, stupid"

﹟koko !

one thing about her is that i can clarify that she’s a bit stupid! but cute kind of stupid obv <3 she won’t even understand that you were scolding her but after she realised it, she would just stare off to space and think about how should she apologise to you.

well the first thing she tries to do is definitely not to approach you… let’s just say that koko is the type to be scared of her own girlfriend. who wouldn’t but anyway! she’ll def tried to bake something but ended up almost burning the house down. you immediately rush to the kitchen after smelling something burning and you’re laughing your ass off after seeing all the flour splattered on her face. and that’s how you forget that you were mad at her! girlie barely tried and is already forgiven <3

﹟sarang !

clingy. physical touch. kisses. three words to describe the ryu sarang. you were already getting skeptical when you saw sarang just smiling at you as you scold her, but sarang just couldn’t resist the urge to kiss your stupid face right there! it does caught you off guard but it also does lessen your madness a bit!

"what was that for?"

"that’s the only way to make you stop scolding me" sarang giggle and pulls you into a tight hug like nothing happened. you don’t blame her tho, you really enjoyed being in her warm embrace <3!!

﹟jungeun !

hmm… why do i feel like she’ll just say a quick ‘sorry’ then went to sulk in her bedroom. jungeun def HATES fighting or arguing with you. so after every argument it’s always ended up with HER giving you the silent treatment… only for a while tho because it doesn’t affect you at all but it does affect her!

so she’ll just straight ahead and stand in front of you while you’re watching Netflix on the couch.

"i’m sorry. please don’t be mad at me. it was my fault."

cutie.

﹟saebi !

our cute crybaby!!! she would already be breaking into tears as soon as you stop arguing with her. she tried to not make it obvious that she’s literally bawling her eyes out but her sniffles really betrays her. also saebi sucking in harsh breath every five seconds 😭 i can imagine it.

would immediately failed at holding back her tears and went to cry into your arms instead. i’m not sure how’s that possible since she’s sooo tall but.. it’s fine cause it’s saebi!

and that’s how you spend the next few hours comforting her as she keeps apologising to you. it was cute tho it got you giggling the whole time.

"i-i’m.. i’m sorry.. please don’t leave- don’t laugh!" she sobbed burying her face on your shoulders <3

[three-headed-monster]

It really bugs me when people say that since Quinn and Jack own the lake house in Mich but not Luke then that means he’s not as close as them or that they don’t want him there

Idk to me it always seemed like common sense that the reason he didn’t buy the house with them was because he was 1 too young and 2 he wasn’t in the nhl yet and probably didn’t have the means to do so

i agree anon, that it's strange that people question why he wasn't apart of the buying process (cause yeah you're not putting a 17-year-old on a housing lease even if he did have the means).

when it comes to luke, i fear a lot of those headcanons stem from not understanding the difference between independence vs not being close to your brothers/not loving your brothers. in my view, luke is very very independent person. he likes the person he is away from the influence of anyone else in general, and he likes being just himself. it's why he chooses to live at home with his parents, why he acts differently sometimes around his friends vs his family, why he seems to hold a lot of his own unique interests. it's not a bad thing! it's just who he is, but it also leads to people thinking he isn't close to his brothers (when it's more about wanting to do his own thing rather than them not wanting him there)

obviously he loves them, they helped shape into the person he is and taught him everything he knows. and they love him for being their little brother and a good person to be around. but being around other people who have such big personalities sometimes, like the whole of the ntdp 2019 training group, can be stifling ! i don't blame luke for like wanting to chill out and be less involved atm.

and also people often forget when headcanoning, things aren't as black and white as they seem! people are more than their one character trait and there *can* and *should* be nuance in talking about things about this. just because luke isn't at the lake house a lot doesn't mean his brothers hate him, it could quite literally mean he could just need a break from living with them 24/7 lmao

[alma-amentet]

OK, I think I'm officially done.

Last two days were awful. I'm mentally shattered and exhausted. Was getting better from prev time, but then... Yesterday I was just a click away from blocking a person, but in the end decided to hold. Blocked a tag instead, that was it (lrb, yeah).

So today she blocked me herself. I don't blame anyone (trying to not be hard on myself... bc yeah I tend to blame myself first thing. Hope this post doesn't add nails to my coffin lid, I'm just trying to speak abt my POV and not make it worse). It was 1:1, cultist 🤝 d*ckrider.

Yet still feel very bitter. We were nice and supportive in the past, that was the reason I hesitated, but recently it was only triggering. I nearly cried bc of her posts not once! Tried to be understanding, yet couldn't stop taking it personally. We had several talks, it wasn't helping. I know it's my own problem. My bad is that I haven't taken measures earlier (like explaining everything and parting peacefully). I too didn't want to loose nice moots... Even if it's obviously no longer nice. I'm not some vile toxic bitch (or stupid paladin hell yeah), you know, I have feelings, too. And everyone makes mistakes.

Maybe all for good. In the end, still hard.

The thing is I reblogged another post from a person she's had troubles with, she took it personally. OK that one was really too harsh, but then, me seeing all those posts about stupid brainwashed Miquella cultists day by day felt no different. I actually did a repost while still half asleep, maybe it was my subconscious reply to what was yesterday.

Guess I just happened to be on the wrong side, with people who did her wrong. They did nothing to me, I wasn't going to take sides at all (like discussing people behind their backs, bullying and such). Interacting with them really helps easing my frustration over the DLC, while trying to find sense in it really doesn't. I lost all that sense.

I totally don't judge people who keep doing it, even envious to some point. Would like just to stay dwelling peacefully in AUs, fixes and pre-DLC lore bc not ready to ditch this interest (actually now even afraid it may die with all this turmoil). Hate is not an option, but to me, all that 'disco horse' was also not easy to take, no better than people it was judging.

So yeah, all for good in the end. 1:1, like I said.

As for that reblog. I did it bc yeah, venting and ranting is my way of coping. It really helps. To feel not alone, to relieve the stress. Yet I never adrresed of called names anyone myself. And then... I explained enough already: was half asleep and really pissed off by previous day's stuff on my dash which happened not even once, that's it.

[fumifooms]

Dungeon lord Chilchuck

What would his wish as a dungeon lord be? What would he be like? Headcanons & speculation post for fun. But I’ll start with analytic lead up because that’s always fun for me, though feel free to skip and skim.

When it comes to what Chilchuck’s dungeon lord desires could/would be like we have mainly 3 hints: His nightmare, his succubus and what the winged lion says to him.

Why: — From what we see nightmares are based on the person’s worst fears and insecurities, both Laios’ and Marcille’s nightmare were closely tied to their dungeon lord wishes (Laios’ dream monster being summoned to crush the ghosts of relationships that represented the pressure to fit in and belong, Marcille seeking control over death and aging through magic to avoid loss), the fuel behind their desire/goal if you will. Fear and deep-seated desires are seemingly closely tied, something also supported by Thistle and Mithrun’s reigns as dungeon lords (Thistle proving his worth through fulfilling his given duty + protecting his loved ones, being listened to instead of having to listen, Mithrun escaping rigid two-faced elven society and living in a wonderland where he has no enemies and he’s loved, free from everyone he knew yet propped up by the person symbolizing his brother being chosen over him, the bastard child).

— I’ve talked about the significance I assign to the succubi often by now, but rundown: What we see of each character is all very telling if you care to listen, it shows not only someone’s "ideal form" but what they want from it. Izutsumi’s is familial, offering a hug and comfort, Marcille’s is romantic with a character she knows and loves, offering a kiss on a hand and a connection regardless of how distant it actually is, and Laios’ is platonic, arguable at first but then Laios’ fear of judgement is placated and he is offered the picture perfect friend group that accepts his interest (if you want my full look at Laios’ succubus go here). They take on the most alluring form, most ideal person of their victim, even uncovering deep subconscious desires, so precisely and effectively to the point it leaves victims physically frozen before the object of their desire. Succubi and the demon are themselves tied in lore and it’s easy to see how similar their core skill are. Succubi don’t give a good idea of what a character would wish for on their own but they certainly give hints on what they crave, regardless of how you want to read it.

— Last bit is self-explanatory. To placate Chilchuck and win his compliance over, the monster that reads your soul like an open book offers to give him something specific. But! It’s also important to remember that the lion isn’t offering to fulfill Chilchuck’s dream world wish here, it’s a second prize, because his goal with what he promised Laios is that they’d stay in this world, away from everyone and everything else. Chilchuck wants to get away but is kept back, and it’s here the lion placates him with "hey it’s okay! You can’t do that but I can still give you this! This is enough right? It’ll make everything easier on you".

What each bit says: — Long version in another post. Tldlr: His daughters and family are obviously important to him, and this reinforces that he takes on the role of protector a lot, he’s constantly worried for his party members’ lives and implicitly his family’s. Safety and stability, both economical and otherwise, are his core values and goals, and he berates both others and himself if someone fails on those fronts. Here, there’s the fear of not being enough, of not having been able to protect, and of course of loss.

— Chil’s succubi are obviously sexual, and not only that but agressively and straightforwardly so. It’s not like Marcille’s where there’s personality involved, all they do is give him sultry looks and pretty smiles before jumping on him. His succubi aren’t like Izutsumi’s, always the same exact person and appearance, so it’s not someone but an appealing general idea. The idea of a sexual being he can regard as simply a gorgeous piece of meat and a good time no strings attached. In my interpretation, especially with my reading of Laios’ succubus where even with deep-seated desires negative emotions can be too intense to effectively freeze a victim, I think this doesn’t contradict his character. Relationships have been painful to him in the past, in the succubus scene when his wife gets mentioned his immediate reaction is to yell "Don’t bring her up now!", like with his habit of drinking and as a tallman liking his senses feeling dulled, it’s about not having to feel emotions with how difficult they are to deal with sometimes and just feeling good, or at least not having to think, for a while. If a succubus showcases someone’s ideal connection with an ideal person, then Chilchuck’s is with a pretty person that doesn’t stir any negative memory or drama, someone low stakes and low maintenance that doesn’t require him to manage or talk out feelings because there’s none involved in the first place.

— Once more, wife and family are important! He does long for his family, not only his wife but his daughters, and vice versa. This suggests not only that he wants good relationships with them but that he wants them to be with him, a family life. Far from the cut communication they all more of less have during canon, and perhaps far from their life pre-canon when he worked away from home a significant amount of time. We’ve seen recreations of people by the winged lion before with doppelgangers and monsters (naga), and though he claims he can make satisfying imitations, what we’ve seen is that they base themselves on the best memories of that person, like with Marcille’s dad, or twist behavior to be more pleasant, like Mithrun’s lover (and possibly twist appearances depending on the person’s view of them, but that’s Mithrun analysis). The line does suggest Chilchuck would want his family members as they are in reality and not idealized versions, but the circumstances are chaotic and urgent enough in the scene (and again the lion isn’t fulfilling Chilchuck’s wish but trying to make him content for Laios’) that it could just be the winged lion saying what he needs to to convince him the fastest possible, and like we see with Laios that can crumble to give way to deeper or more complex desires.

On top of that we just have general info on Chil. How does Chilchuck deal w his issues? What does he like to do? He likes alcohol and ignoring his problems. We have to remember there is a split between what someone would consciously wish for and what their soul uncontrollably irrationally craves. As always with Dunmeshi, there’s a narrative of irrational deep-seated desires vs active wants, what you crave vs what you strive for, what you dream of vs what’s actually good for you, the animal vs the human inside you, heart vs mind. Chilchuck craving a harem of hot babes in his fantasies but wanting his family life & wife back again is not mutually exclusive. You may crave becoming a monster and tasting what humans are like a little but still want to save the world & your friends more.

Btw can we adress the irony of him terrified of being the last one alive, of being left by his daughters and wife, of having left and coming back home one day to see everything gone or rampaged, yet not caring about dying of liver failure himself, knowing every time that he enters a dungeon there’s a real risk he may not come out. Die somewhere I can’t see you. I prefer leaving you than being left behind. He’s selfish and shortsighted like that… Chilchuck is selfless in many ways of course, but perhaps also due to his own relationship with his parents, he often undermines the effects he has on others in his relationships, both the good and the bad (he talks himself down about being cowardly and greedy yes, but never hints at his bad health habits, alcoholism and starving himself, may have affected his loved ones, doesn’t question his wife falling into a bad mood the night before she left, and talks about the possibility of dying here and there very casually, though obviously he tries his best to stay alive when it doesn’t concern his health).

Chilchuck king of "Let me just avoid and ignore my problems surely they’ll go away, things might work out and if they don’t well tough luck I’ll survive and I probably deserve it anyways". If I don’t look at it it will dissapear <3 Why care when you can simply not think about it.

You might not understand Mister "my love will stay strong through months of work travel and also 4 years of separation" and Mister "well idk my siblings and me are kinda strangers and my dad is dead but that’s kinda whatever", but typically relationships need some form of maintenance and emotional availability…

The actual headcanons finally

I kinda have 2 routes in mind for dunlord Chil and both of them are centered on "I care too much, i wish things were easy", so first is a lot like his succubi, it’s full on indulging in his guilty pleasures like alcohol and bodies and it’s to keep him in a constant state of thrill and euphoria and distracted, unfeeling about stuff that really matters. "Nothing matters except that I’m enjoying the moment!" vibe. He gets to live a life worthy of Dionysus, with alcohol and women and debauchery and like— never having to think again, never having to feel anything but pleasure again, never have to feel guilty or shitty or angry or sad. He has a harem and gets everything on a silver platter.

Breaking news demon magic-induced rush of euphoria and power still not enough to cure this man of his self-hatred nor his capacity for thought!! But in his case a state of euphoria is what he seeks I think, to kinda mask or replace the Everything Else.

The other is what I think closer to what canon suggests, with what WL implied too with "I’ll make you a new wife and kids like the originals!! 😊", it’s a (spoilers) Wandavision type thing where it’s a slice of life where he’s never at work and always at home and the family eats lunches at the dinner table together and everything and everyone at any moment is just. Happy. No issues. It was all a dream, this is real and everything is fine and your family is perfect and happy. I like to think the timeline would be wonky, his daughters would fluctuate in age, but he’d want to be there for what he missed, would want them to still rely on him and look up to him like when they were young, would like to forget that they’re now independent adults and the distance that grew between Chilchuck and his siblings is happening between them as well. Chil would want doppelgangers of his family imo, at its core just a general wish for a peaceful happy family life with no drama, no need to compromise, a little paradise of unconditional love and no consequences. It’s for sure straightforward, but Chilchuck is a man with straightforward desires…

But see Chilchuck is a greedy man, and he wants it both ways without having to sacrifice anything or expanding any efforts himself. He wants to have his cake and eat it too. I think playing with these two opposite directions and mixing and matching is most fun. Him leading a life where he indulges in all his worst habits while still having everything he wants… Him getting to have BOTH his wife and any woman he can imagine up, his life like two sides of a coin he can flip at any moment where he’s partying then he’s at home enjoying the quiet and his toddler daughters playing with toys on the carpet. Christ when you remember it’s all an illusion that’s terrifying, the doppelgangers and succubi from the winged lion playing chilchuck ping pong.

A safe little haven both security-stability wise and emotionally. Gets to have both the relaxing and the thrilling in any dose he wants, mixed or separatedly. What I’d argue he had pre-canon too: Can live it up in taverns away from home, stays away from home for long periods of time, and can come back to home aka the symbol of relaxation and safety whenever he decides to. Something he can leave and come back to at will, an anchor he can trust in (until it’s taken from him and his wife leaves. Or in his worse nightmare people rush in and kill his daughters). The ideal of a house and family to a working man, perhaps…

I think it’s fun to think on wether or not these desires would be interesting at all to the winged lion… In canon he seeks out "rare/complex desires", common simple things like I imagine riches, sex, substances and pleasure would be are boring to him, he’s eaten those so many times already. So perhaps he wouldn’t last long as a dunlord, the WL would want to eat him fully quick, can’t keep him interested or waiting long for a meager meal, too much effort raising the cattle and too low quality meat. By making it more twisted or layered Chil’s desire would become more desirable to the demon, it’s part of what’s fun with the third option to me. But whatever. Has he ever eaten a guy with this much repression and self-sabotage... Like trying to get the meat out of a walnut, enrichment…

Other dunlord Chil takes I’ve seen that are fun and good:

@feelo-fick and @pluvio-floret have a dunlord Chilchuck AU project dubbed "tragedy AU" where Chilchuck is said to be "on vacation", in a weird delirious state, only half-there half of the time… From which he doesn’t want to wake up </3 Quoting Feelo, this is why the vacation thing is only a half-joke cause he is 1) letting all his responsibilities go 2) indulging in himself and 3) "spending time with his family" <- lie but you get what i mean. Additional comments that have me vigorously nodding: because changing is hard why cant things just be okay right now without the effort !!! Life is hard he’s so so tired he just wants to feel good… he just wants life to feel nice and easy for a sec while he can learn to breathe again and lose the stress and trauma he’s accumulated…….. spoiler alert yes !!! in fact a depressed person can suck themselves into their job and lock out the world who wouldve thought !!!

And then Cabinette I know posted about his dunlord take once but I don’t have the link, in which Chil has a lot of nosebleeds because of mana overload which is fun and interesting to think about imo~

In dunmeshi, where characters get underground pockets of the world as their playground disconnected from everything outside and the rest of the world, it’s important to remember to face reality even if it has conflict and people with different views and stances from you, it’s something Chilchuck and Marcille and everyone needed to learn, and the thing with a dungeon lord AU is that you imagine a timeline where he fails to <3

A timeline where his dungeon lord wish is to desire nothing bc hope and want has only ever hurt him would also go so hard. Very universal thing though I suppose.

… And this is why a Chilchuck-centric Coraline AU is really really interesting and fitting and topical— Ok that’ll go in a separate reblog/post at @Fumiku I need to let this end

[phoenixcatch7]

Reading loz/lu fics and it's just so interesting how wide the spectrum is of their personalities.

Sometimes it's got an in universe reason (different past (usually gender or species change), recent or ongoing traumatic events, a spectacularly bad first meeting), but sometimes (often) the characters are just... Weirdly angsty or peppy, there's no in between!

And I'm beginning to think less people have played more than one game than I thought XD.

Not that it's anyone's fault! One game is more than enough to be part of it all, and loz is exclusive to Nintendo consoles - and all the older stuff is frustratingly hard to get hold of. Heck, I'm still looking for wind waker, and that was really popular! And then you have to play it! They're not small games!!

But could people writing wild please ease off just a tiiiiiny bit so he can be a semi functional member of society pretty please XD? He's just as much a polite boy as any other member of the chain! He won't even run in shops! He can't attack npcs! He talks to every single person he's ever seen and remembers every single name. Yes, he's three quarters woodland creature with a hefty amount of trauma but he's also a fashionista who managed to avoid accidentally taking sides in a mayoral election and that's not easy!

[nyxofdemons]

this was going to be like a mile long essay but i just realized the most concise way to say it is that "it feels like a retcon that blitz has been so resentful and hostile towards fizz all this time since he was supposed to feel guilty" is simply not a good criticism when we have been shown, time and time again, that blitz's number one defense mechanism when he feels guilty or judged or attacked is to lash out, to deflect and ignore all his responsibility, and to shift the blame to someone else. that's like. his defining character flaw