#breaking the fourth wall whoops

[aninonimosstuff-blog]

What did you have to leave behind as you fled TurboTime? Anything/anyone you had to say goodbye to?

[bloodgodhn]

If I see the word dreambur one more time, I will break the fourth wall.

[viciouslyfilthy]

Joy and Prosperity.

((What started off as a small dash comm. ic as Sün turned into a whole ass mini OC interaction djdjd enjoy some new year angst (?) Writing with everyone's favourite old man group !! Happy New Year 🐀🐀))

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"It's my... hmm.. what a human would call birthday~ and I've been away far too long from my beloved, loyal guardians and defenders of my flock~" the Summer spirit cheerfully declared as he stomped into view.

The gang's all here! The other six sins sat by a long table, within what seemed to be a cave-like structure; it's 'walls' were littered with human skulls and overall remains, barely lit by torches some of Sün's cult members had set up.

Claude shifted nervously in his seat: they were deep within the Catacombs of Paris. He hated this place. It reeked of death and dread.

"Bring me a glass of water! Immédiatement! (Immediately!)" The aristocrat demanded as he looked over from his seat to where some members of the flock were located, hooded figures hidden within a tunnel entrance, watching from afar curiously.

"With all due respect, My Lord, if we want to get specific- this date of the year would be according to the Gregorian Calendar." Freddy spoke up, his emerald green eyes watching as a sheepish, hooded follower brought Claude his requested drink- which he pompously snatched away from the person's gentle grasp, causing them to flinch and quickly retreating back to where they belonged. Far from the table.

The personification of Wrath continued, "There are many, many different calendars depending on time periods, cultures- old and recent... that mark different dates of when the 'world' would have 'started', in a way. You understand." He said, before Eden quickly chipped in:

"Y-yes! He's right!"

"And even with our oldest recorded calendar... the mesolithic arrangement, dating all the way to back 8 thousand years Before Christ, as you'll know-" Freddy paused again, expecting Eden to continue- to which he wasted no time:

"The exact timing, date of the very 'beginning' of our life, more importantly- yours... fro-..from the moment you begun to breathe o-on this planet... to when you actually became self-aware and concious as an entity... remains to be unclear and unknown, eh.." the priest trailed off, resting both of his bony old hands over his belly, shyly smiling. Happy to share information alongside his best friend.

"Yes?" Sün simply asked, leaning over the table as two of his claws tapped on it's wooden surface.

The rat-priest awkwardly had a staring match with the deity, growing uncertain if he was meant to reply...

"Are you both quite done with your history lesson?" Sün asked once he was met with silence, his tone condescending. The air tensed up a little with this response.

"I've said this before, and I'll say it again: I do not care for date accuracies. What matters is the planet having successfully spun around, completing the three-hundred-sixty-five solar days. Another year... not in celebration of my birth, you fools. My aging is not as limited as a human or an animal, to be celebrated; another year in celebratrion of the very planet WE LIVE ON!" Sün suddenly screamed, his tone abruptly going from calm and collected- to absolute fury as he slammed a clenched, clawed fist down on the table and causing it to shake.

This caught off guard many of the sins- Claude choked on his drink, causing it to spill over his chest a little; Rotgut and Eden flinched back in their seat; Jeremiah simply lifted his head up from his palm and his gaze finally focusing on the angered God, and Willy practically fell out of his chair with a yelp and cowered in fear, pathetically hiding behind Eden's chair, shakingly clutching at his clothing.

Freddy was the only one that remained perfectly still and unphased by Sün's reaction, although he begun to sweat as he nervously looked down at his hands, worrying for his friend's safety.

Silence. Some cult members could be heard whispering amongst themselves.

"I keep this beauty alive. My heart makes it thrive with life. I want what my essence keeps alive to be cared for and praised. And I myself want to be given the respect and acknowledgement I deserve." He rambled as his heavy footsteps echoed, he circled around the table, observing each and every one of the sins.

Willy scrambled underneath the table, fearfully hugging Eden's legs as Sün's walking pace slowed as he approached the rat-priest, until he fully stopped right behind him. Eden didn't dare turn around, he was shaking with dread and fear. His rats within him squirmed and anxiously gnawed on his bones.

"And what do I get instead?" Sün asked condescendingly as a clawed, dark hand gently wrapped around the old priest's neck, "Disappointment. With useless information I have lived through." His warm grip quickly intensifying in heat and tightening around him. The poor man could feel his rats, his precious babies, squeak in fear and worming around his insides in an attempt to get away from the heat.

They would burst out of him. They didn't want to, but they would dig their way out in an instinctive attempt to escape the rising heat, just like that one old torture method...

Freddy's hands clutched together with anxiety, though he kept an emotionless face; Rotgut seemed to want to say something, but he felt... cowardice, he felt his words would hold no value even if he tried, Sün would just brush him aside, no...?

Finally, as if by miracle, liquid getting splashed on the cruel deity's hand caught his (and Eden's) attention; the heat quickly vanished and his grip softened.

Claude held his empty glass before the both of them, it dripped some droplets of water still; he was standing up from his chair.

"Suffit. (Enough.) " He mused, his tone flat and slightly bothered- as if he was watching some high school drama and was annoyed by it.

"Indeed. I think that would be enough for all of us." Freddy chimed in, suddenly grabbing the God's wretched hand and tearing it from his friend's neck with force as he, too, stood up from his chair. Now he did have an expression on his face: frustration, anger.

Eden gulped heavily, his rats still tense but slightly more relaxed; he stumbled his way up, avoiding Sün like the plague as he speed-walked to the other side of the table with Willy in tow, the wild fox-man absolutely terrified still- he couldn't even choke up one word, only heavy breathing.

"Unless you wish to start your new year by starting petty fights in front of your flock, when we're all supposed to bask in your glory, hm?" The scientist added, now using that same condescending tone.

"Wouldn't that be hypocritcal and embarassing, My Lord?" He practically hissed that title between gritted teeth as he stared daggers into Sün's glowing pupils, the ponytail holder beginning to make a sizzling sound before breaking and freeing the man's milky-white locks; his mane growing warm as the tips of his hair became almost flame-like.

"Drama de ano novo... de novo. Exatamente o que eu desejava. (new year drama... again. Just what I wished for.)" Jeremiah mumbled to himself quietly in a sarcastic tone as he rubbed his eyes with two fingers, tired of this already.

"... very well." Sün replied, his collected tone 'miraculously' returning- although he tore his hand away from Freddy's grip.

They both continued to silently stare at eachother for a moment, as if they were intensely fighting only with eachother's gaze. And just like that they parted ways, Freddy going over to be by his friend's side.

"I suppose it would be more of a waste of my valuable time..." the deity continued,

"Such a little thing such as a rat wouldn't be worth the punishment during such an important but short event... even if the year date of our universe never changes...ah, the 'canon', as the modern term puts it." Sün chuckled lightly at pronouncing that 'modern' word.

[differenteagletragedy]

Part two of this one where Price is your neighbor and falls in love with you but whoops you have an awful gross boyfriend :/

John is a man who embraces his flaws. He knows each and every single one of them by heart, and if he doesn't put time into fixing them, he works long and hard to make them into something useful.

And thank goodness he does, because it turns out that his competitive streak and his slight obsessive tendencies -- the urge to devour the things he loves, to feast on them endlessly until he's either consumed it all or been consumed himself -- would come in handy in his mission to win you over and away from your useless leech of a boyfriend.

For days, every time he sees you, the boyfriend is attached to your side, a parasite sucking all the light and life from you, and it almost hurts John to watch. To see such a pretty little thing like you get used -- because it's obvious to him, from the heart-to-heart you'd had all those weeks ago, as well as just from simple observation, that that's what was happening -- when he could be making you smile, making you happy ... it's a struggle.

But he wants to bide his time. He knows if he comes in to your rescue, guns blazing, it could backfire, that even if he knows in his bones that you are meant to belong to him, it might seem overwhelming and presumptuous at best to make such a declaration so early.

"I'm glad he's back," you tell him the first time he gets you alone -- a Wednesday night in the laundry room of your shared apartment complex. "I think things are working out better this time, I really do."

"Is that so?" he replies in a carefully measured tone. He shoots you a tight grin that he knows good and well doesn't meet his eyes as he moves his clothes from the washer to the dryer.

You give him a look, one that tells him that you know he knows you're bullshitting, and he lets out a small laugh.

"I don't mean to rain on your parade, love, truly, I don't," he tells you. "But I seem to remember you being none too happy about the man. You didn't exactly paint a happy picture when you spoke of him, yeah?"

You sigh as you take each individual piece of clothing from the dryer, folding it neatly and placing it in your basket, and he tries not to notice how much it gets under his skin to see your lovely, careful hands smoothing out your boyfriend's clothes before mixing them in with your own.

"I know," you admit softly. "But he's here, and he's trying ... well, trying for him. And maybe that's better than being alone."

John wants nothing more than to pull you away from the machines, to press you against the wall and kiss you until all that sad resignation was gone from your voice. He wants to hold you until you understand that you deserve more than the scraps of a pathetic man too stupid, self-involved or both to realize what a treasure he had in you.

But he's playing the long game now. So instead, he hums thoughtfully, then says, "You ever think that there's another option?"

You grin, and it's a shot of warmth to his chest, a cozy little feeling that spreads out and over him and god, he wants so much more of that.

Before you can respond, a buzzer goes off -- your second load of laundry, ready to be dried. It breaks the moment, but that's all right. John is a patient man. He can create another.

A week or two later, he's heading out for a bit, a quick trip to the shops to pick up some groceries. As he's walking to his parking spot, he hears raised voices, and when he pinpoints one of them as yours, he walks faster.

He sees you standing by your car, looking as cute as ever wrapped up in your winter coat, and your boyfriend kneeling on the ground by your rear right tire. It's flat, and there's a jack and a tire iron lying on the pavement near it, but no real work done on repairing the situation.

"Look, it's not a big deal," John hears you tell your boyfriend, the frustration apparent in your voice like this is your fourth or fifth time repeating this same line. "I'll call someone to come fix it, it's --"

"I can fix the fucking tire, Jesus Christ," the boyfriend barks, and for John, that's quite enough of that.

"There a problem?" he asks, a bit of the Captain coming out in his tone as he glares down at the other man.

"Just a flat tire," you tell him. "Someone is pretending they know how to change it, but --"

"For the last time, I know how to change the goddamn tire, your piece of shit car is just --"

"Let me have a go then," John interrupts, his lips in a tight line.

The boyfriend rises, moving to stand in front of John. He has an inch or two on him, and he clearly tries to use them to intimidate John, which is a ridiculous enough move that both men can hear you bite back a laugh.

It's a pissing contest, pure and simple, but John is playing to win. He stands his ground, staring steady until the boyfriend sighs and gestures to the tire, inviting him to take over.

As John goes to take over the job, the boyfriend purposefully brushes against his shoulder with his own, leaning in to growl, "She's not going to fuck you for changing her tire, old man."

The remark was just low enough for you to miss up, but pointed enough for John to imagine a number of scenarios in quick succession, most of them involving the tire iron and shutting up the boyfriend's rotten mouth for good. But again, John is all smooth control, so he just pats the man's shoulder before he gets down on his knees and begins, with little trouble, the process of changing the tire.

It's at some point before the new tire is put on that the boyfriend storms back inside, muttering some feeble remark about not feeling like going out anymore. When he leaves, you move closer to John, watching him as easily continues the job.

"Thank you," you say softly. "You didn't have to do this."

He smiles up at you quickly before his eyes go back to the tire, and says, "Quite all right, sweetheart. No trouble at all."

When he's done, he packs everything back up for you, tucking it all in your trunk. You protest, trying to grab the tools from him, but it's easy enough for him to out-maneuver you. He holds the tire iron up high, out of your reach, and you laugh easily, all earlier tension gone, and the difference in you when you're with him, when it's just the two of you, is almost enough to make him ache with longing.

You thank him again, tell him again that he didn't have to help, and a bit of his resolve snaps. He doesn't want much more time to go by without you knowing that you deserve that kind of help, those simple, easy little acts of kindness.

"Tell you what," he says, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "If it makes you feel more at ease, you can pay me back for the labor."

"Yeah, sure," you reply earnestly. "How much?"

"One cup of coffee. That's my rate."

You gift him with another bright smile as you pick up on the offer, but he sees your eyes glance towards the apartment building.

"I maybe shouldn't," you respond. "My boyfriend is --"

"Not here," John finishes the sentence for you. "And I, the man who just slaved away to do a repair on your vehicle, am."

"... So you are."

He grins, lowering his voice just a smidge more, adding "Quite thirsty too."

You laugh, then gesture for him to get in your car -- an agreement, for coffee, at least.

It's a small victory, but as John well knows, that's how wars are won.

PART THREE -- PART FOUR

[iloveboysinred]

Hiiii how are you ??

Hope your okay, would it be possible to have a lil smuty keith x afab reader fic, at the episode where they go to the pool that allura told them about (I don't remember wich episode it was), and like he gets all flustered from seing reader in her bikini, and a lil jealous cus lance tries flirting with reader.

Ofc take ur time, and I hope you rest well !!!!<3<3

Rendezvous | [Keith Kogane]

mdni 18+ content | Keith Kogane x afab! reader

cw; explicit sexual content, p in v sex, jealous Keith, rough sex, mean Keith, spanking, semi-public sex, orgasm denial, not really canon adjacent.

hi! I'm doing okay, it took a lot of will (and spliffs) to write this since writers block and lack of motivation has been whooping my ssssaa. Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

masterlist

Landing on a tropical planet for a temporary break was like a dream come true for you and the other paladins. The warm, humid climate almost made it feel like you were all back home on a regular sunny day. The whole crew had decided to spend their break time differently, fully taking advantage of the few hours of peace, savoring every second of paradise before you were up and running around space again.

Shiro had decided to take the productive route, opting to spend his time strengthening his bond with the black lion, deeming it absolutely necessary after the recent battle against Zarkon, where he almost took complete control of the vessel. Pidge and Hunk spent there's in the kitchen, no doubt creating new recipes with the food items collected on weekly supply hauls from local planets. Allura had been in her room all day, playing games like dress up and hide n' seek with her mice, the castle walls echoing her laughter while Coran made some maintenance repairs to the castle.

You, Keith and Lance had mutually agreed to share the pool, the rising temperature of the castle prompting you to finally wear your bikini. It was a simple but sexy red once piece, the panty accentuating the curve of your hips and the connecting top snuggly holding your breasts in place.

Keith shamelessly eyed you down as soon as he saw you, his face slightly flushing at the sight of your exposed skin. It was fun, seeing him so flustered-- especially knowing he had seen it all before. You played coy, bending over in front of him to pick up something you had "dropped" and adjusting your breasts in the bikini top over and over again, making sure he caught the way they settled back in to place, knowing exactly what was going through his mind, his hungry gaze making it all the more obvious.

You knew you took it too far, though, when you began to play around with Lance. The two of you splashed at each other, swimming around the pool competitively. Lance's natural affinity to water made it hard to keep up. He swam circles around you, calling out flirty little comments as he doused you in water whenever he got the chance. Keith remained in rigid silence, watching the both of you interact with a furrow in his brow. You could tell he was irked, his expression twisting into one you knew well the closer you got to Lance. He was Jealous. Brazenly so.

It was that same jealousy that had you where you were now-- bent over in the pool storage room, your hands gripping onto the wire shelf in front of you. The shelf rattled against the wall from the movement of your bodies, Keith rocking you back and fourth on his dick. The grip he had on your hips was bruising, his fingers digging into your skin as he fucked into you, his teeth grit tight, trying hard to keep his groans of pleasure concealed. You had less self control, your moans and whines for more echoing through the room, all shame and fear of getting caught out the window the second he entered you. He pressed his chest to your back, the bikini you had been wearing discarded and forgotten somewhere in the room, leaving your body completely open to his touch. He huffed and groaned into your ear, his hands leaving your hips to roam up and down your body, coming up to knead and fondle your breasts, squeezing them roughly while he thrust into you.

"Keith s-slow down" you gasped, the breath barley able to escape your lungs, your mouth hanging open in ecstasy when his fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles over the bud and effectively putting a pause to your pleas. "Slow down, baby?" he grunted, his voice a deep rasp in your ear, sounding nothing like the gentle lover you knew so well. "I thought this was what you wanted" he pulled you closer to his body, grinding his hips into your ass, the tip of his dick pressing into you deep. The vicious pace of his hips combined with the euphoric stimulation on your clit was starting to make your vision blur. "Parading around that asshole in that tight, fucking bikini." he sunk his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, making you cry out. "You think he could fuck you better than me? huh?" his hips snapped into you, hitting your sweet spot with abandon, the obscene squelching of your pussy made you flustered, the erotic noises made you cover your face from his view as your body fell apart beneath him.

He took in a breath, delivering a stinging swat to your ass when you didn't speak. "What, you don't hear me talking to you?" he sneered, smirking in satisfaction as you trembled beneath him, your quivering pussy gushing from your still building arousal. His hands came down to your ass, kneading the fat in his hands to soothe the sting. "C'mon baby, tell me what I wanna hear" he panted against your ear, his hips never ceasing their assault, the thick head of his dick abusing your sweet spot over and over and over. "A-ah, ah! no, k-keith no" you answered, your words fading from coherency to mindless broken words and babbles, your brain foggy from the pleasure buzzing up and down your veins. "mmmh, good girl" you felt him smile against the nape of your neck, grabbing your chin to swing your face around, leaving a bruising kiss against your swollen lips. You whined into his mouth feeling your body begin to tense, your swollen clit pulsing from the continuous stimulation from his fingers.

Right when you were on the brink of your high, your body contorting in pleasure from your impending orgasm--he pulled out of you quicker than you could blink. You whipped around to look at him in shock, eyes glossy with unshed tears. He acted oblivious, casually tucking his still hard dick away into his swim trunks. You watched him in silent outrage as he picked up the forgotten bikini, setting it down on the shelf in front of you.

"Keith, you can't be fucking serious" you gasped, your boyfriend giving you a sheepish shrug in response, "What, can't take what you dish out?" you scowled at him, frustration shooting up your spine at his snarky remark, your legs shakily holding you up as you struggled to slip the bikini back on. Keith chuckled, pressing one last needy kiss to your lips. "I think I'll head back to my room..I've had enough swimming for today" he whispered against your lips, his words holding a double meaning, an invitation. He pulled away from you, rendering you breathless as he walked out the door, leaving you no choice left but to follow, pouncing on him as soon as you reached his quarters.

[aphoticarachne]

What is this feeling?

Tom Riddle x reader

Chapter iii

Chapter ii

Warning: choking?? Whoops

a/n: I hate this chapter sm oh my god

September’s chill clung to the stone walls of the castle, sharp and unrelenting. The Great Hall, usually alive with chatter, had quieted to a murmur as a few determined students hunched over their books. You sat at the far edge of the Slytherin table, the last traces of daylight casting fleeting shadows over the polished wood.

Zelda had insisted you leave the library, claiming you needed a break from your relentless study habits, though her version of "reviewing" was little more than thinly veiled gossip.

When you mentioned being paired with Tom Riddle for your Potions project, she recoiled as if struck, her disdain for him as palpable as his contempt for you.

"How do you even breathe in the same room as him?" Zelda hissed, her lips curling into something between a sneer and a grimace. "If it were me, I’d have cursed him six ways to Sunday."

"I hate him as much as you do," you murmured, your eyes fixed on the dense text before you, though the words blurred into meaningless lines.

"Hate isn’t enough," she snapped. "Everyone knows he’s been gunning for you since first year, and for what? You’re brighter than him, that’s what it is. Can’t handle the competition." She leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. "If I were you, I’d tell Slughorn to shove his cauldron—"

"Ladies."

His voice cut through the air like a knife, low and deliberate. You stiffened, the pages of your spellbook forgotten as you glanced up to meet his gaze.

Tom stood just beyond the table, perfectly composed as always, the golden light from the stained-glass windows spilling over his features, giving him an otherworldly, almost angelic quality. But you knew better—angels did not lurk in shadows, and they certainly didn’t wear that expression of quiet cruelty.

"Miss Zabini," he began, his tone sharp and dispassionate, "surely you’re aware students are expected to remain at their own House tables."

Zelda tilted her head, her lips curling into a slow, mocking smile. "Riddle, if you keep your tie any tighter, I imagine it’ll strangle what little humanity you’ve got left."

His expression didn’t waver, though something flickered behind his eyes. "Leave," he said, his voice calm but cold, "or I’ll be forced to inform your Head of House."

Mocking him under her breath, Zelda stood and shot you a grin before strolling off.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" you said, not bothering to look up as you turned another page in your book.

"Mayhaps if you didn't surround yourself with halfwits like that Gryffindor, you'd actually accomplish something worthwile." His words were as sharp as his gaze, which raked over you with a deliberate slowness that felt more invasive than curious.

"I’ve already finished my work. Why do you care? It’s the weekend, Riddle. Go find someone else to torment."

"Are you attending Slughorn's dinner tonight?" he asked, his voice carefully measured with seriousness.

The Slug Club—an infamous little cabal of Slughorn's favored students. Exclusive, elitist, and insufferably self-important. You and Tom had been inducted in your fourth year, both chosen for reasons that aligned with Slughorn's peculiar calculus of prestige and potential. The dinners were tedious at best, but you had never missed one. Not entirely out of obligation, though. You had quickly discovered that your presence, as unwelcome as it was to Tom, was an exquisite way to unsettle him. Watching his carefully constructed façade fracture, even for a moment, had become a quiet thrill.

You closed your spellbook deliberately, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes. "I am," you replied, your lips curling into a smirk. "Why? You wish to escort me, Riddle?"

His expression hardened, that cool veneer slipping to reveal a glimmer of something darker, sharper. "I would sooner be scorched to ash by a Hungarian Horntail than be seen anywhere with you. Do not flatter yourself."

"Then why are you asking?" you countered, your tone cutting, the faintest edge of amusement lingering beneath your words.

For a moment, he seemed poised to answer, but the silence stretched, heavy and charged. Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows of the hall, his cloak billowing behind him. You exhaled slowly, rolling your eyes at his endless need to cloak himself in that maddening, calculated mystery.

Slughorn's office was always transformed for these dinners—lavish, yet suffocating. The floating candles cast their warm glow over the room, illuminating the walls adorned with portraits of Slug Club alumni, all frozen in postures of smug accomplishment. The air carried a faint sweetness from the polished oak furniture and spiced wine, a reminder of Slughorn’s particular tastes.

The moment you stepped through the door, Slughorn himself greeted you with his usual joviality, his round face crinkling with delight as he clasped your hand. After enduring a few moments of pleasantries, you excused yourself, weaving through the small crowd to find Archibald Fawley. Archie, the Minister’s nephew and a fellow Slytherin, greeted you warmly, his smile earnest and open.

He was the sort of boy your father would have approved of—well-bred, intelligent, polite. But to you, he was only Archie. A loyal friend and nothing more. No matter how hard he tried to veil his feelings behind jokes or light conversation, you couldn’t return them. The gentle affection in his gaze was matched only by the regret you knew it caused him.

As you laughed softly at something Archie had said, a prickling sensation spread across the back of your neck. You felt the weight of a gaze before you saw it. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Abraxas Malfoy watching you, his expression unreadable, his goblet poised at his lips. His focus was unwavering, and though you were used to the unwanted attention of certain members of the Slug Club, his stare sent an uneasy chill down your spine. There was something about Abraxas—something not quite right.

On the other side of the room, Tom stood beside him, his dark eyes sharp and calculating as he observed the interaction. His expression betrayed nothing, but the faintest flicker of something—disdain? Irritation?—danced beneath the surface. He noticed everything. How Abraxas' attention drifted from their conversation to you, how his gaze lingered too long.

"Malfoy," Tom said, his voice cutting through the haze of Abraxas' thoughts.

Abraxas blinked, startled. "What?"

"You stare at her as if she's some unattainable prize," Tom murmured, his tone even but laced with quiet malice. "If you're so fascinated, go. Dance with her."

Abraxas furrowed his brow, unsure if he had misheard. "Excuse me?"

Tom stepped closer, his presence suddenly suffocating. "I don't repeat myself, Malfoy. You disgrace yourself gawking like a child. I expected better." His words were a low, venomous whisper, the faintest smirk curling at the corners of his mouth as his eyes flicked toward you.

Abraxas hesitated, his fingers tightening around his goblet. "I don’t want to—"

"Do you take me for a fool?" Tom interrupted, his voice colder now, more dangerous. "You, of all people, should know what I am capable of. Do not insult me with lies."

Abraxas faltered, the blood draining from his face. He set his goblet down with trembling hands and nodded, walking stiffly toward you. Tom watched, his expression unreadable, but his knuckles whitened against his own goblet as his eyes lingered on you—laughing, carefree, with Archie Fawley.

Why did Tom compel his closest companion—if such a term could truly be applied to anyone in his orbit—to dance with her? He didn’t know.

He didn’t know why his chest constricted as he watched her laugh at Fawley’s idiotic remarks. Or why the sight of her tilting her head toward Fawley with the kind of interest she never spared him made his jaw tighten and his nails dig crescents into his palm.

What he did know was that he wanted to tear Archibald Fawley apart, piece by agonizing piece. Those pathetic, worshipful eyes Fawley always turned on her—did she notice them? Did she care?

Tom noticed. He always did.

Abraxas approached with a practiced elegance, his every movement steeped in decorum. His polite greeting preceded the inevitable request for a dance. It was expected—ingrained in him like second nature. Across the room, Archie’s jaw tightened as he glanced at you, his silence brimming with quiet disapproval before he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

You sighed, resigning yourself to the Slytherin aristocrat's poised invitation. His hand in yours felt formal, detached, as though the act of spinning you around the dance floor was simply another choreographed performance.

But the weight of another gaze bore down on you—a darker, heavier presence. Tom Riddle. His stare cut through the golden glow of the room, sharp and oppressive. It wasn’t admiration or longing. No, it was something far more venomous, far more consuming. His watchful eyes burned through your composure, making your stomach churn and your skin crawl.

Abraxas' murmured praises were lost to you, his polished charm a dull hum against the tightening in your chest. The music softened into its interlude, and as the room swayed to the rhythm, so did you, trapped in a moment that felt suffocating.

Leaning closer, Abraxas whispered, his breath brushing your ear, "Are you alright?"

You nodded too quickly, your voice strained yet polite. "I just need to step out for a moment, if that's alright."

His brow furrowed in concern. "Do you need an escort? I would be more than—"

With that, you slipped away, leaving him standing alone as you made your escape, the weight of Tom’s relentless gaze still burning into your back.

The sharp clatter of your heels echoed through the silent, shadowy halls of Hogwarts. The suffocating air of the Great Hall still lingered in your chest, and you strode purposefully toward the nearest refuge you could find—the Prefects’ bathroom.

The grand, echoing space greeted you with silence as you gripped the edge of the porcelain sink, your knuckles white from the pressure. Your reflection stared back at you, disheveled and trembling.

What the hell was that?

The memory of Tom’s piercing gaze burned in your mind. It had felt suffocating, as though his eyes alone had stolen the air from your lungs. Could he have cursed you? Cast some silent hex when no one was watching? The idea gnawed at you, feeding the simmering rage that now bubbled to the surface.

No matter how petty your rivalry with Tom had been, you had always drawn the line at real harm. But now? Now, he’d crossed a line you couldn’t forgive. Your hands shook as the anger boiled over, spilling into a furious scream that ripped through the air, piercing the stillness of the bathroom.

"Fucking bastard," you hissed through gritted teeth, trembling with rage. Dead. You wanted him dead. The thought was intoxicating, your fury curling around the image of his blood-streaked face.

His blood on your hands would feel like a baptism.

"How dramatic," a voice drawled from the shadows, smooth and cutting. "You’ll wake the Hufflepuffs, and we can’t have that, can we?"

Your head snapped up. His voice. Low, familiar, mocking. For a moment, you thought you were imagining things until he stepped forward from the darkness, his pale face illuminated by the faint glow of the enchanted candles.

Tom Riddle.

The sight of him made your blood run cold and seethe all at once. He was too calm, too collected, as though he’d planned this confrontation down to the last syllable.

Had he been following you?

He tilted his head, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk that sent a chill down your spine. "And here I thought I’d stumbled upon a banshee mid-wail."

Your glare could have burned through steel. "Did you hex me?"

Tom stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Don’t be ridiculous. The Deterioration Hex? Child’s play. But I must admit, your dramatics are far more entertaining than any spell I could cast."

Your fury bubbled over. "What is wrong with you?" you hissed, your voice breaking. "You’re sick in the head, you know that? A twisted, pathetic, stupid—stupid orphan."

The insult barely left your lips before his hand shot out, his fingers curling around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, not yet, but the threat was there, his touch icy against your skin.

"Careful," he whispered, his voice dangerously soft. His face was close to yours now, his breath brushing against your cheek. "Filthy little witch. I wonder—did you enjoy it? The attention? The way Fawley and Malfoy fawned over you? You were begging for it, weren’t you?"

You clawed at his hand, your nails biting into his skin as you gasped for breath. "I—" your voice broke. "I hate you."

Tom’s grip loosened just slightly, though his piercing gaze remained locked on yours. Slowly, a cruel smirk curled his lips, his voice venomous and low.

"Hate me all you like," he murmured, his tone cutting and intimate. "But don’t lie to yourself. You hate me because I see you—every mask you wear, every filthy little thought you try to bury. You hate me because you can't hide from me."

And then, as if the rage in his eyes had dissipated into something darker, something more dangerous, he shoved you back against the sink.

He stepped back, adjusting his tie with that same maddening composure that made you want to scream. “Good night,” he said smoothly, his voice low and sharp, as if it were some final command. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late. We have a potion to brew.”

With that, he turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing through the grand, empty bathroom as he walked away.

"Raving lunatic!" you spat, the words dripping with disdain, your gaze seething with the anger he had so easily provoked.

Tom paused mid-stride, his shoulders stiffening, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, you caught the faintest twitch of his lips, though whether it was a smirk or a grimace, you couldn’t tell. Without another word, he continued on his way, leaving you fuming in his wake.

Deena speaks .ᐟ

Tom MIGHT just be bipolar.

Ohmygod I finally published this shitty chapter school has been crazy !! I only managed to finish this today because I'm absent. Anyway, hate this chapter omfg.

Chapter four will be posted soon hopefully^^

[jungkoode]

FUCK ME UP | FRAGMENTS

˗ˏˋ whiteboard chronicles ˎˊ˗

⋆｡°✩ story details ✩°｡⋆

collection: APARTMENT 6B SHENANIGANS (FMU)

wordcount: 1,1k

⋆｡°✩ read more ✩°｡⋆

main story: fuck me up

read on ao3

read on wattpad

✧ author's note ✧

OKAY SO. This was not planned. I mean, yes, it kind of was planned because it WAS one of my concept ideas as you have probably seen in the index. BUT.

I wasn't expecting to write this on a random ass Tuesday during my break??? This is the silliest idea, but it formed in my mind and I just had to write this down. So you're welcome for random FMU content on a Tuesday?

Anyway, enjoy this goofy ass drabble. I know I laughed while writing it. Hope you laugh while reading it!

The whiteboard hanging beside the fridge was the first thing you noticed when you stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed at 7 AM on your fourth day in the apartment. It wasn’t there the day before. Neither was the note written in precise, controlled handwriting:

“Whoever left their dishes in the sink overnight: Don’t.” - Yoongi

You stared at it for a beat too long, coffee mug halfway to your lips. Well. That was new.

And completely directed at you, because you definitely left a bowl and spoon in the sink the night before. You glanced over your shoulder, but the apartment was quiet. Yoongi must have already left for his early client meeting.

Before you could stop yourself, you picked up the black marker dangling from its magnetic holder and wrote in your loose, slightly messy lowercase:

“sorry! won’t happen again” - y/n

Two days later, you were greeted by another note:

“The garbage doesn’t take itself out. Neither do I.” - Yoongi

Beneath it, in chaotic, barely legible scrawl that you immediately recognized as Jungkook’s:

“i took it out mon. phoenix’s turn” - jk

You rolled your eyes and added:

“bold of u to assume i generate garbage. that’s a YOU problem mf” - y/n

By the end of your first week, the whiteboard had evolved:

“Stop drinking my almond milk. Buy your own.” - Yoongi

“wasn’t me lol. phoenix sus af. caught her red-handed no cap 🧢 ” - jk

And yeah. There was actually a horribly scribbled cap doodle. 

“i was testing it to see if it was spoiled bc im nice. you’re welcome” - y/n

“It was a new carton.” - Yoongi

“… whoops?” - y/n

The second week brought escalation:

“Bathroom schedule. RESPECT IT.” - Yoongi

“phoenix spent 40 mins in there this am. i was LATE. so NOT the vibes” - jk

“some of us have actual hair to wash, jungkook. not my fault” - y/n

“some of us have JOBS to get to fr fr” - jk

“Some of us need SILENCE to work. Take this argument elsewhere.” - Yoongi

Day ten of cohabitation:

“Griffin knocked over my coffee mug AGAIN. Control your cat.” - Yoongi

“bold of u to assume griffin can be controlled” - jk

“he only knocks over YOUR stuff bc you claim to hate him. he knows. cats always know” - y/n

“I do hate him.” - Yoongi

That evening, you returned to find a new addition: a small, surprisingly detailed doodle of what appeared to be Griffin with devil horns, signed by Yoongi. 

Underneath, Jungkook had drawn a halo and angel wings around it with “no lies detected” scrawled beside it.

By day twelve:

“If I hear ‘Wonderwall’ on that guitar ONE MORE TIME at 2 AM there will be consequences." - Yoongi

“it was ‘sweet child o mine’ actually smh. musical education lacking???” - jk

“regardless: rogue, some of us sleep at normal human hours” - y/n

“some of us didn’t bang their headboard against the wall at 1 am. pot, kettle, iykyk” - jk

You flushed bright red when you read this. That was ONE TIME when you were rearranging your furniture, but of course, he’d make it sound like… Jesus.

“i was MOVING FURNITURE.” - y/n

“suuuuuuuuure, phoenix” - jk

“Both of you: headphones exist. Use them.” - Yoongi

The next morning brought a new development:

“COFFEE MAKER RULES:” 1. Rinse it after use 2. Don’t change my settings 3. If you empty it, refill the water “This is not a democracy.” - JK

Jungkook had actually used proper capitalization for his coffee rules, which told you exactly how serious he was about his precious brewing machine.

You couldn’t resist responding:

“counterpoint: it’s just coffee bro” - y/n

His reply came quickly:

“HERESY” - jk

“Some of us need coffee to tolerate living with you two.” - Yoongi

That afternoon, Yoongi left a new note:

“Refrigerator organization system is now ENFORCED. Labels provided.” - Yoongi

You came home later to find Jungkook had added:

“phoenix labeled my protein shakes ‘gym bro juice’ - v mature” - jk

You couldn’t help grinning as you added:

“if the shoe fits, rogue. and it does, along with your massive protein powder collection that’s taking over the kitchen” - y/n

The next morning, his response was waiting:

“my protein powder keeps me strong enough to help when u can’t reach the top shelf” - jk

You narrowed your eyes before writing:

“i will climb the counter like a normal person, thx” - y/n

By evening, Yoongi had added:

“That’s how you fell last week.” - Yoongi

You scowled at the betrayal.

Day fourteen—today—you had woken up to find a weekend notice:

“OUT OF TOWN THIS WEEKEND. Keep the apartment standing.” - Yoongi

You grabbed the marker, adding:

“roger that, captain obvious” - y/n

By mid-morning, Jungkook had responded:

“no promises. phoenix brings out the worst in me ngl” - jk

You snorted and added:

“mutual, rogue” - y/n

Now, you stand before the whiteboard, marker in hand, examining two weeks’ worth of passive-aggressive notes. It’s become something of a gallery of snark, a dysfunctional family bulletin board.

You find yourself smiling at Jungkook’s chaotic scrawl, full of abbreviations and lowercase letters, contrasting with Yoongi’s precise penmanship and perfect grammar. The way the three of you communicate through this ridiculous medium is strangely… comfortable? Not that you’d ever admit it.

You’ve already noticed patterns: Yoongi writes in black marker exclusively, with perfect punctuation. Jungkook grabs whatever color is available, usually purple or blue, his writing tilted and messy, full of text-speak and abbreviations. You tend toward green or red, your lowercase letters rounded but clear.

You'd be lying if you said you don't kind of enjoy this weird, annotated glimpse into your shared lives.

Or how Jungkook’s ridiculous coffee snobbery—serious enough to warrant actual capitalization—makes you roll your eyes and snort at the same time.

Or how Yoongi pretends to hate Griffin while his latest note passive-aggressively mentioned seeing cat treats left out on the counter “for the demon cat I allegedly don’t care about.”

Or how, despite all the bickering and boundary-setting and passive-aggressive notes…

You probably wouldn’t trade this chaotic whiteboard for anything.

Not that you’ll ever tell them that. Instead, you uncap the marker again and write:

“whoever used the last of the toilet paper without replacing it: you’re dead to me” - y/n

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder what ridiculous note will appear next in this strange, dysfunctional roommate communication system you’ve all somehow adopted.

Maybe it’s not the worst way to avoid actually talking to each other.

Maybe it’s even a little fun.

But you’ll keep that thought to yourself.

index

⋆｡°✩ taglist✩°｡⋆

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[cyraspirit]

I was re-watching “Riders of Berk” and talking about “Race to the edge” with a friend and here are some highlights:

1. The gang did use dragon nip in “What Flies Beneath”:

And this happened:

2. My friend is the person Snotlout is based off of. Also in “What Flies Beneath”, when Hiccup jumps into the Whispering Death’s tunnel:

Fishlegs: I’m so glad I’m not down there with him

My friend: Push him!!

Snotlout (after pushing Fishlegs): Whoops 😂

My friend: 😳😂

3. In Breakneck bog, my friend said one of the funniest things ever:

My friend: How are they excreting this fog? Where’s it coming from?

Me: Just wait.

My friend: I mean, the show’s about dragons, so they’re just dragons with really bad gas?

(This genuinely should’ve been a storyline at this point.)

4. Toothless is the cutest dragon.

5. Hiccup sass is iconic at this point.

6. The future could’ve been avoided had Hiccup let the twins and Snotlout dump Johann back into the sea in “Breakneck bog”

7. Ruff and Tuff are one of the few characters who can break the fourth wall without things seeming obvious:

Tuff: How does he always have the dragon blade?

Ruff: We’ve discussed this, Hiccup Haddock is a magical being. We haven’t seen two perfect of his magic abilities.

8. According to my friend, the twins are from the future:

(Buffalord Soldier) Tuff: I decided to eat some mouldy bread. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know but, bam, instantly cured.

(Defenders of the Wing part 1) Tuff: Only he can find the confidence which he is now lacking. He needs to go to a seminar.

[zones-spinterest-corner]

Whoops my hand slipped

Made this bitch a reference

He’s so pathetic I wanna soak him like a cat getting bathed against its will /aff

Btw he can break the fourth wall in his full deity form

[bloodgodhn]

If I see the word dreambur one more time, I will break the fourth wall.

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Something about the Hatchetfield trilogy villains being able to break the fourth wall only after they gain the power of the Lord(s) In Black.

In TGWDLM, Paul and Emma acknowledge the audience as a shrub-lined alleyway, while the apotheosis addresses them throughout, specifically in the opening and closing numbers. And only then does Emma acknowledge them, as she's been infected and is screaming for help.

In Black Friday, the audience is addressed by that one Joey-played villain whose name I don't remember rn when he has one hold an apple (and maybe more I don't remember).

In NPMD, Max interacts with the audience after coming back, including telling them to shut up. And then Grace interacts only after it's revealed she kept the book ("did you think I'd stop with him?").

Yet another convoluted reason for me to say I like the stage version over the soundtrack.

Edit: Whoops. Nvm

[og-deadpool]

It's me baby!!

Well hiya! I'm just here to see what's going on around the island, and join in all on the fun activities! If you see me out and about, don't worry about it and mind your business <3 You can call me Deadpool, Pool, Wade - whatever floats your little boat really. Don't be disrespectful - I DO have access to a whole whack of guns and swords, and I might have a couple screws loose, so it would be best not to forget that - Whoops, I really didn't mean for that to sound threatening, hehe!

Other than that, here are some basic rules from the owner of the blog:

This is an adult run blog - I am 28 and I would rather keep interactions with minors to a minimum

I'm going to try to keep this guy close to in character as I can - he will be ... An unhinged, slightly violently, excessively flirty, pansexual mess of a man.

NSFW asks/content is fine - nothing too explicit (I'll just ignore it) but anything that even veers in that direction with other blogs will need to have ages attached.

While I don't have problems with minors interacting with this blog, again he is unhinged and can come across as quite rude - if that's an issue, please just don't interact or block if you need to!

#deadpool answers will be used when answering asks

#sharing is caring dp will be used for reblogs

#Deadpool Fourth Wall Break will be used for fortography / in game shots and videos

[ ] and [[ ]] will be used for the white/yellow voices in his head and italics for whenever he's talking with them even though he says it out loud - if it's in the [ ] then it's not something that can be heard by others

(( )) will be used for anytime its OOC/me talking

[dragonagecompanions]

Why do you think Varric made the Inquisitor a Comte? Wouldn’t that make them outrank him? Dumar seemed pretty powerless and I always thought that Varric got shoved in the rule to make him in charge of the recovery of Kirkwall but not actually of Kirkwall?

Sweet gentle anon, I know it was not your intention but you have stumbled into one of my favorite conversational topics and I hope you are ready for the fall out.

Welcome, children, to Fereldone talks about Thedas' Geo/Theopolitical bullshit!

(tl:dr at the bottom)

So, very important things to know going in: Kirkwall's political history is weird. Founded by the Tevinter Imperium in -620 Ancient (which is DA equivalent of BC/BCE, or the time before the ages ascribed to history by the chantry), it was a mining city. After a slave tried to kill the Archon the Magisterium decided they needed to start importing- and presumably breaking the will of- slaves farther from the heart of the imperium and thus the City of Chains gained purpose.

I could throw a lot of facts and names at you, but here's the basics-- it housed millions of slaves over hundreds of years, at the end of the ancient age they rebelled and overthrew it. Kirk means black in Alamarri, the stone they mined there was jet black, and so Kirkwall (black walls) becomes a Free city. It suffered during the fourth blight in the Exalted Age (fifth age, for those keeping score at home), was conquered by the Qunari in the Storm Age (seventh age) and was then conquered by the Orlesians. Orlais was on a roll with the whole 'we own everything whoops killed your ancestral leaders', but in the Blessed age (eighth age) the people retaliate and overthrow the empire to regain independence.

For reasons I can only assume are laziness and a desire not to change all the paperwork, the leader of Kirkwall is still referred to by the Orlesian word Viscount/Viscomte. Bear with me, this is important later.

We are now in the early dragon age (9th age, and when Inquisition happens). The first two rulers of free Kirkwall sucked. Basically they blockaded their own port and made people pay a fortune to get in and trade. This didn't sit well with the Chantry, who would much rather do that themselves, and in 9:14 Divine Beatrix II (later saved by Cassandra!) tells the Templars to strong arm him into submission talk some sense into the viscount.

The knight commander is killed in the exchange, and so his second command Meredith Stannard steps up to try her hand at negotiations. It goes poorly, so she arrests and jails the Viscount and essentially takes control of the city with full Chantry approval. Now the Templars are essentially in control of the city, and so they appoint a puppet leader (Dumar) to play act in control. But Meredith is actually in charge, and everyone knows it.

Including Elthina, who named her Knight Commander. This is why the Chantry never actually does anything about templar abuses.

So! If you are still with me, this is where Viscount becomes important. There are some wibbly bits about how you treat Sebastian Vael in DA2, but essentially Kirkwall decides that it's time to be an actual city state and not a poorly run Theocracy. As the only man with a plan (and the money and influence to do it), Varric steps in to help his home town. Ecstatic at not being responsible for that, the nobles (comtes) band together and put him in charge.

So while yes, in Orlais Viscount be beneath comte, Kirkwall has been so broken up and conquered and messed with over the years that names and titles are meaningless. In my personal opinion, Varric ennobles the inquisitor so that they will always have a staunch ally amongst the backbiting Kirkwaller nobles. It's also a nice and generous a decent thing to do, of course, but Varric is very good at making something do a lot of things for him all at once.

(Also, Varric knows exactly what that key does. He just ensured that someone smart enough and invested enough in peace will always be able to either open or close the harbor--making sure that the people who depend on him will be safe no matter what.)

Personally, the Trespasser epilouge is useless. It's the result of not having a head writer to review things, and the sweet but misguided attempt to give us closure if DA4 never happened. Hawke doesn't come back to Kirkwall. They are in Weisshaupt (if not in the Fade), and that plotIine will likely be in the final game. The Inquisition in whatever form it still has will be heading north, possibly with Kirkwall as an operating base, and this way the Inquisitor (who is confirmed to not be playabe in DA4) will have a reason to be there and not in Tevinter.

That's my read, anyway.

tl;dr Kirkwall has weird history that led to odd ways of organizing their nobility, Varric wants friends in places almost as high as him, shit's going down in the north and I think the inquisitor will be in Kirkwall so the writers needed a reason to put them there.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

Mod Fereldone

[irl-batsignal]

WHY DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM... (once more, hibiscus proceeds to be terrible at secret identities) (has revealed self on two blogs already) -🌺

because i dont just look at rp bloggers<3

Whoops whats a fourth wall break. Haha. Ignore that

Ignore that.

I'm just a great detective, being raised by batman

[hellfiresky]

I’m Hellfire (they/them). I cosplay my own Mandalorian OC and write a The Clone Wars fanfic inspired by her. What started as a simple backstory has spiraled into a full-fledged story—and we’re now at Chapter 20 (whoops lol). Eventually, it’ll develop into a Rex/F!OC extremely slow-burn story.

Have a look if you’re interested:

Ge'tal Solus, an exiled Mandalorian anarchist, has carved out a life in the depths of Coruscant during the Clone Wars. Navigating the galaxy as a bounty hunter, she does whatever it takes to survive in the underworld. Despite her disdain for the forces of the Republic, Ge'tal finds herself drawn into the conflict, ironically aiding the very clones she mistrusts. In a galaxy torn by war, can she reconcile her beliefs with her actions?

[or]

The Clone Wars from the eyes of a "civilian" with their own issues, doubts, and contrasting ideology that doesn't necessarily side with the Republic or the Separatists. Exploring how clone troopers are imagined to be, mostly, in their downtime, presented in a narrative style inspired by Fleabag's fourth-wall-breaking storytelling. This is an OC-focused story. Somewhat political and lots of swearing. Most chapters have connections to canon episodes, books, and legends.

I also have some WIPs posted - basically spin offs of the main story. They all fall under the same series and thus the same universe. Both work as standalone:

Red Tides

Fresh off Kamino, the Spectre Squad - Blaze, Quake, Ridge, and Steel are ready to take the galaxy by storm… or so they think. Between mundane duties, oddball assignments, and weird encounters, these shinies quickly learn that life as a clone trooper is anything but glamorous. But hey, at least the caf machine works… sometimes.

(The Clone Wars through the eyes of low-ranking clone troopers and shinies.)

Written in Red

Tavi Drezz, a Coruscant-based investigative journalist and occasional war holographer, gains unprecedented access to the frontlines of the Clone Wars. Embedded alongside the Grand Army of the Republic units and other journalists, she captures not just the battles, but the sentient cost of the conflict. Clones, civilians, and systems caught in the war’s grip.

(The Clone Wars reimagined through the eyes of a frontline journalist. Tavi's journey blends a personal narrative with immersive, in-world journalistic articles that frame events from canon episodes in a new light.)

[ladyteelia]

Phantascope being able to hear whenever anyone says or thinks his name is such a great story telling device! It's so cool!

Just in the middle of a paragraph of Video thinking, and accidentally thinks his real name, and he just pops up in between paragraphs to say hello. It visualizes the power so well over the medium of writing.

And then she has to make an effort to not think of it or otherwise she gets jump scared because he also has instant gps and teleportation.

She gets upset one time at her mom, runs out of the carriage, and instantly gets hit with an ass whooping because she accidentally thought the wrong name. Like, just absolutely no chill

EEE Thank you! That means a lot to me! ^ ^ I've always wanted to try and incorporate it into my writing.

He is SO ruthless about it. Video's going to be so on guard in book 5 only to realize, wow, she can think freely about her new foes without consequence. He definitely left a mark on her and it's going to affect her even without him constantly looming over her like he has in the past books.

My whole point of view is that he was like, reading the book with the reader and intervening when he wanted. He was my guy who was breaking the fourth wall in his own way, always observing and reading into what was going on, and so excited when a single thought of him gave him someone's location, just waiting for one mess-up so he knew where she was when she was always on the move. It was quite spooky and difficult to write at times, but so fun in the final turn out.

I am so glad you liked it! X3