#but I estimate at least 2k

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Commission for @zeleneagle

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Stages under the cut :3

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

hypothetically if the merguru fic went over 20k would. literally anyone read it 😭😭 pls be honest

[carryonlikewedidbefore]

I hate shipping prices.

One CD and a mug, the shipping cost to Australia is slightly more than the 2 items combined. So I think, of what the hell you like that shirt why not get a backup?

Somehow a $26 tshirt ups the shipping by $14

[always-just-red]

Hey, a fluff scenario for cuddling with Rafayel? Thank you 🐡✨

This one really got away from me ahaha, whoops. There's also a moment where my fine art degree really leaps out, so look forward to that, everyone. My first time writing for Raf - thank you anon!!

Perspective

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: You've spent two hours preparing a meal for Rafayel, and he has absolutely no intention of sitting down to it.

Genre: fluff fluff FLUFF!

Warnings/Additional tags: established relationship, cuddling, kisses, lots of intimacy tbh (soft, not spicy!)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Thirty minutes. You and Thomas had spent thirty minutes on the phone trying to figure out where your boyfriend actually was. Half an hour of he’s not with you? and no, I thought he was with you!— back and forth, like a metronome, and it wasn’t exactly the first time, either.

You’re seasoned investigators at this point: called constantly out of retirement for one last job you swear you’re too old for, and yet you know is never going to really be the last. You’ve already got matching t-shirts printed for the tortured agent’s next birthday: ‘Special Unit: Find Rafayel.’ (He won’t find it half as funny as you do.)

Neither of you had heard from the artist since Tuesday, and— it being Friday— he was either in his studio, painting, or definitely dead. It fell within your jurisdiction to find out, so you’d driven here two hours ago, texting Thomas upon arriving:

He's alive!! 🥳🥳🥳

You’re less excited about it now.

Stood at Rafayel’s kitchen island, you lay out the last of the buffet you’ve prepared to try to entice him away from his art. It’s worked in the past: has seen him sniff the air and follow his stomach to whatever you were cooking, like a stubborn stray cat.

“C’mon, Raf,” you call out, because he’s not taking the bait. “Food’s getting cold.”

“Not hungry!”

Your fists ball around the cutlery you’re setting down on the marble; he’s not eaten for three days. You glance up at him across the open space of his home, taking a deep breath through your nose as you watch him scrawl away at his painting. Somewhere in your mind, Thomas is speaking. This is what you signed up for, remember?

Reluctantly, you cross between the rooms, folding your arms as you come up behind Rafayel. “Raf,” you insist again, “come and sit down. Please? You need to eat something.”

“I’m fiiiiiine.” His paintbrush drags viridian over the lower third of his piece.

“You’re not fine,” you huff, and he doesn’t respond. “Rafayel.”

“Rafayel?” he mimics with a chuckle. “You’re mad.”

He’s ‘Rafayel’ in only two types of circumstance: when he’s making you really, really happy, or he’s making you consider the career-leap between bodyguard and assassin. It’s an extraordinarily thin line, and he just loves walking the tightrope.

“I’m not mad, just worried. Can’t you come eat with me? Your painting isn’t going anywhere.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, smoothing out a stroke of paint, “but what about my inspiration?”

“That’ll be waiting for you, too.”

“You think?” His lips curve as he pensively pokes at them with the wooden end of his brush. “I guess you did spend a lot of time cooking, huh? And if you’re really that worried, then…” He spins around with wide eyes. An epiphany. “Feed it to me?”

You stare back, unmoved by the puppy-like expression. He looks cute, yeah, but you’re not falling for it again. This is exactly how he looked earlier, when you’d convinced him to at least accept a glass of water. You’d almost drowned him in your subsequent efforts to actually get it down his throat.

Rafayel mixes three colours on his palette as you relive the ordeal. Like the once-white of his shirt, it’s awash with vibrant greens and blues, some fresh, some days-old. He pauses when he’s done, but you can tell he’s itching to get back to the canvas. “Give me, like… half an hour?” he estimates. The number’s been plucked from thin air. “The food’s gonna be delicious, even if it’s cold. You made it!”

“Raf, I—”

“And how can I even enjoy it if I’m racing to get back here? I wanna savour it, y’know? And anyway…” he trails off, his attention drawn by something above.

“Yeah?” you prompt, glancing upwards. There’s nothing there.

His gaze snaps back. “Sorry, the ceiling was doing something weird. But yeah, anyway, it’s not like you have to— I mean, it’s not like I’m going to— wait. What were we talking about again?”

Not much surprises you these days, but your mouth is still agape. Enough is enough. “Put the paintbrush down. You’re done.”

He nonchalantly returns to the painting. “I’m really not, though.”

You narrow your eyes. Reassess. “You were right about the ceiling.”

“Yeah?” He looks up.

You snatch the paintbrush. “Ha!”

He blinks blankly at you and your eagerly-clutched trophy, unfazed by the moment of triumph. “Cute trick,” he shrugs. He runs a finger across the palette and applies the new colour to the painting with a quick sweep. “What’s next, Miss Bodyguard? You gonna cut off my ha— ow, ow, ow! Hey! Take it easy!”

You’re pinching his ear, dragging him wordlessly to the kitchen, because you're out of things to say.

“Fine. Fine!” he groans as he tries to keep up with you. You release him and he straightens, his face pink, but not as pink as his ear. “You win! Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

You stop dead in your tracks, then turn with a look so cold he couldn’t melt it with all of his fire.

“I mean— ahaha,” he laughs nervously, rubbing his neck. “It smells amazing, cutie. You’re amazing. I can’t wait.”

…

Rafayel sits back on his stool, still staring at his painting. The mood is different from earlier. There’s no more restlessness or impatience; he isn’t in a rush. He’s humming a soft song you’re almost certain you’ve heard before, but you can’t quite place the melody. It’s pretty, though: the sort of tune one might recall from a childhood music box, or maybe even a dream.

There’s a clink as you stack two finished plates. Then another. And another.

“Don’t,” Rafayel says quietly, catching your hand before you can collect the plate nearest to him. “I’ll do it later— promise. Sit with me?”

You were never going to say no, but his hands are on your hips before you can say yes, and he’s turning you gently— pulling you up onto his lap. You smile as his arms wrap around you, keeping you from slipping, and he’s warm as you relax back against him.

“What do you think?” he asks, staring out over your shoulder.

Your gaze follows his to the painting, still waiting for him. “It’s okay.”

“Oh yeah?” You can feel him chuckle before it reaches your ears.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a smile, shifting to face him as much as you can. “Kinda pales in comparison to my favourite masterpiece. This one,” you poke two fingers to his chest. “Right… about—” they walk higher, “—here!”

You boop his nose and he immediately scoffs, his face going red. “Sheesh,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eyes. “That was lame.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not!”

He squirms as you laugh and try to touch his cheeks; they’re going to feel hot, and he’s a sore loser. His hands don’t manage to capture yours, so they settle for finding your hips again, swivelling you around until you’re trapped by his embrace. You’re both one misjudged move away from toppling to the floor, so you let him keep his victory. What’s left of his dignity, too.  

Your laughter rescinds like a tide, but the quiet is far from empty.

“C’mon,” Rafayel tries again. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, nudging your head, urging you to look forward. His hair is feather-soft on your skin, and he peppers chaste kisses along the line of your jaw. “Tell me. What do you see?”  

You hum contentedly. “A painting.” You’re not thinking about it at all; your eyes are closed.

“And?”

“A plant. A sofa. Some curtains,” you recall.

“You know what I meant,” he grins against you.

You lean back with a sigh, no longer supporting your own weight, but sinking into him with trust and begrudging compliance. It’s not bad, as surrenders go. He gives you a squeeze of encouragement and your head rolls back, stopping at his shoulder. His breath is skirting over your cheek, just barely.

You open your eyes and really look at the painting.

“It’s beautiful, Raf,” you murmur. It is; it was always going to be. “Everything you do is beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, “I know.” But he wants more. “Does it make you think of something, maybe? Anything?”

There’s no right or specific answer. This isn’t remotely your field of expertise, and you’re oceans apart sometimes, so he has to outstretch a hand. Two viewpoints. Two sides of a coin; you never should have seen each-other.

Your life is hunting monsters, and his is finding beauty in a world where they exist. It’s not what you see, it’s how you see it. Crimson to him is a sunset; to you it’s blood.  

Something in you aches as your eyes roam over his latest work. He won’t tell you what it’s meant to be, not really: that’s a private understanding between him and the canvas, his heart and every stroke of paint. Does it make you think of something? Though the marks are fixed, they’re somehow fluid. The emerald tones are marred by shadows, as though something’s lurking beneath the surface, but there are traces of white, too. Light: shimmering.

“Reflections,” you finally answer. “Scattered to anonymity by a now turbulent lake. They belonged to something else, once, but they’ve taken a new shape— a restless and ever-changing identity— and no-one knows what it is, let alone what it was.”

With a satisfied smile, you close your eyes. That ought to keep him quiet for a minute.

Sure enough, Rafayel is silent. You don’t have to see his crystalline eyes to know they’re set on the painting, soaking it in with a new perspective. His favourite perspective: yours.

You have never been strangers to each-other. Two sides of a coin are still the same coin.

With a light laugh of surprise, he plants a kiss on your shoulder. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.” He’s nuzzling into you again. “I know I can be—”

“A pain in the ass?”

He laughs louder. “I was gonna say eccentric.”

“Oh…” You draw air through your teeth. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Your voice is humourless, your face plain. It lasts all of two seconds, and then the charade is falling to pieces; he’s nibbling at your ear, your neck, and it tickles mercilessly. You giggle, but you don’t try to escape. The punishment fits the crime, and who are you to deny him his justice?

You’re quickly running out of breath, so Rafayel ceases his assault, letting you get it back. “Can I look at you now?” you ask.

He clicks his tongue. “I’ll allow it.”

You shift and he lifts you a little— helping you twist around to face him. He smiles fondly as he links his hands behind you, stopping you from falling as you lean back to enjoy the view. It’s the best kind of smile: one that reaches his eyes and makes them sparkle, like the water in the painting, but infinitely more pretty.

You want to feel that smile on your lips, so you lean in and kiss him.

It’s tender and perfect and when you’re done, you snuggle closer, wrapping your arms around him and nestling like you’ll be staying there for a while. You can hear his heart, and though a part of it is in his painting, the rest is with you. Always with you.

“Shouldn’t you get back to your work?” you ask as you think of it, smiling into his shirt. He won’t— not tonight.

“Nah,” he says, running his fingers through your hair. “It can wait.”

[frownyalfred]

today’s fun writing fact: did you know that most writing coaches estimate that it takes around one hour for the average writer to write 1000 words?

I know what you’re thinking — that’s really slow! I can write that in 20 minutes. Right, but that assumes that when you started typing, you knew exactly what you were going to write — every line of dialogue your characters were about to say, every description perfectly pre-planned, etc.

And then you have to go back and edit it. And tag it. And cut out parts that don’t work and add new bits. So by the time you’ve got that “short” fic all ready to go, you’ve probably spent at least two hours on it, maybe more.

So yeah, as an author, I cringe seeing the “this was so short!!” comments on fics, even when they’re well-intentioned. Because someone just took 2+ hours out of their day for something you could read in less than five minutes and be done with.

The next time you see that author put out a 1-2k chapter, remember to do the math! And leave a comment 💜 that’s how you keep those updates coming.

[takes1]

heyy I must tell you all those tsukishima fics were so good😭 i used to literally log on to tumblr everyday just becausd of yoy😭 can I request a mattsun x oblivious reader?? Where he has tried multiple times to tell her thwt he likes her but something or the other happens and he can't and also thr reader has absolutely no idea that he likes her. Maybe in thr end he can be like do you not like me and stuff snd then she is so confused becsue she did not think thwt he'd like her back snd lmao they go out later

mattsun x oblivious!reader

the sheer quantity of tsukki lovers was a shock when i first started posting that old series lemme tell you. i rlly appreciate that!!

warnings. sfw, fluff

details. libero!reader / girls team!reader / mattsun fluff / aoba johsai fluff / oblivious!reader / platonic?cuddling / mattsun is always warm / giving you his jacket trope / rbf!mattsun / thinking he hates you trope / pda / 2k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. requests OPEN

There was only so much to be done about the bitter cold tonight. The Aoba Johsai teams had their joint biyearly dinner, but thanks to a last-minute close for renovation at your usual spot, you and at least fifteen others were stuck waiting for a reservation outside on the town square.

"Fuck-k!" Oikawa shuddered loudly, teeth chattering as he stepped out from the restaurant you were all barred from.

Somebody whined, "I just wanna sit down!"

Iwa trailed close behind, steam practically coming off of his head as he stared down at his phone. He kept his foot in the door for an older couple, sparing a passive-aggressive look at how easily they were seated.

"It'll be another 20 minutes at least," You overheard him, quiet but frothing with frustration, to your own team captain.

Only a few were properly dressed for the weather outside. It was getting darker fast, and the wind was picking up.

You were able to catch a glimpse of his phone screen. He had the estimated wait time from the restaurant's website; 5 groups were before you, but they were nowhere to be seen.

A harsh wind howled through the street and inspired you to jump behind the nearest body. You and the other liberos were lucky to have your faces protected by the gathered group of shoulders and chests, but that's where your blessings ended. Your cardigan could've been made of tissue paper, how thin it was.

The wind settled and you glanced to see who you had nestled up to- you jumped back with a muffled yelp. It went ignored because of the symphony of complaints, curses to the weather.

Matsukawa was glowering down at you. God, was he warm, but he was so mean.

He was the most unsettling member of the guys' team by far. You got along fine with everyone else, but there was some unspoken hatred in his eyes every time you had to interact with him.

He often tried to speak with you after practice, about receiving of all things, quizzing you about your methods from the games he watched or practices he caught. You didn't like how his questions were made to make you feel stupid, so you tended to keep it short with him and run away as soon as you could.

His stare was harsh and judgmental, his frown deep and unforgiving. It gave the impression that he was tearing you apart in his mind.

"Awww, (Y/n)," Your captain, whom you had backed into, put her arms around you at once.

She didn't offer as much heat as him, but it helped to make you feel safer, and wanted. You turned and pressed your face against her chest as she pulled her jacket around the both of you.

Most of the girls were huddled similarly, choice of attire more of an issue than the heavy-coated guys.

Matsukawa wore a thick, black work hoodie, nice thick pants, boots, and a utility jacket over that. You squinted, jealous and bitter, at how he wasn't shivering at all.

"Tw- t-twenty- minutes?" You shuddered against her, sniffling.

She hummed, her cold, dead fingers no help against your sides.

The wind was so strong that it stole your breath with every gust. Your ears were throbbing, your nose numb, even when another teammate joined the huddle.

Not only had you not dressed for the cold, but you didn't expect to be standing so much, so your heels were killing your feet. Another twenty minutes wasn't doable.

"Hey! There's some benches over here!" Somebody called from down the sidewalk and around the corner.

Those that knew it would take longer, especially in uncomfortable shoes, instantly started to migrate away from the door of the restaurant.

The benches were a little wet from the light drizzle earlier. It made most of your teammates hesitate to sit down, including you. You gave a dismal sniffle, completely exhausted from shivering, unable to get any colder or more glum. You peeled off your cardigan.

"Hey, wait wait-!"

"Noo!"

Your teammates gasped, grabbing at you, as you used it to wipe the bench dry.

You turned, offering them a seat, your ferocious shaking in direct contrast to the point you were trying to make.

"It- was-wasn't keeping me warm-- anyway," You struggled to declare.

The three of you sat down on the freezing metal. At least it was dry now. You stared, twitching hard, at the soggy ball in your numb fingers and tried to zone out.

Your eyes had been closed when someone big squeezed in next to you, at the end of the bench. It was too much energy to open them to see who it was.

But a heavy, warm, and cozy presence over you shocked you to open your eyes again.

"Put this on before you pass out," Matsukawa muttered, hands grabbing at the back of his own hoodie, too.

Your face would've felt warm if not for the conditions. It was already stinging, but it stung some more.

"Thank you," You shivered.

His lowered, studied stare at you as you struggled to put on his hoodie with numbed limbs made you feel like a dumbass. He probably thought you were an idiot.

His arm was so solid as he took his outer jacket back, to put it on over his long sleeve shirt. You quickly put up the plush hood and pulled the drawstrings, ears pounding at the relief of some heat.

Then his arm was back, around your shoulders, rubbing firm to get you warmed up faster.

"Thank you," You repeated, better now, and all you could possibly think to say.

When you glanced at him, you found him looking around. There was a protective air to him, like he was busy watching for something while he took care of you. He wore it well.

His hoodie smelled distinctly like him and you found that you did not mind it in the slightest. You were subtle, pulling it over your nose -breathing deep now that you weren't struggling to filter this icy cold air-, letting your body get wracked by his strong rubbing, your head steadied a little on the inside of his big shoulder. It slowly fell, heavier, on him as you learned to trust that he was being helpful.

The wind picked up again- this time you felt invulnerable to its brutality, but he squeezed his working arm into your waist and pulled you, shockingly easy, into his side with no space left between your bodies.

At this point, you were feeling guilty for enjoying it so much. There was no ounce of softness in his angry face to indicate he wanted to hold you. His nose crunched more at the wind, now that he had less layers to protect him. You could only assume he was just being chivalrous.

It made the remainder of the wait harder, in a different way.

"Oh," Iwa raised his brow at you as you passed him to go inside.

He didn't look at you for long, because he referred his gaze to Matsukawa and exchanged a smirk you couldn't see.

When you were all seated, nobody went to sit right next to you. The table was full except for the one seat while everyone filed in. At first, Watari pulled the chair out, but took one look at you and also said, "Ooh," before sitting elsewhere.

Matsukawa sat down without so much as a look at you.

Every guy at the table was looking at him, so you knew you were right about something. You just didn't know what, yet.

The whole evening, he was quiet and only spoke a few times when directly referred to. Otherwise, you felt the weight of his subtle, unwavering gaze anytime you mustered up the courage to contribute to the conversation at the table.

Surely he just wanted his hoodie back. He wore it so often, so it must have been how pitiful you looked outside to make him give it up like that.

Bellies full, bill paid, and a little more relaxed after a fun dinner out with friends despite his presence, you were all starting to leave to go home.

You stood still outside for a moment, sniffling but content, pulling up a route on your phone to walk back to the bus stop. It was a subtle way to wait for him to come out, so you could give him back his hoodie and brave the freezing journey back.

"You got somebody to walk you back?"

He leaned down to speak quietly, just to you. You watched his hand close the distance and rest on your shoulder. It made you stutter.

"Not- not officially."

Then he was walking you back to the bus stop, making a silent trek more difficult than it had to be if you had just gone by yourself. When you spared some meager glances at him, he had that same vibe about him- like he was preoccupied, displeased, and would be unpleasant if you tried to say anything.

It would be another five minutes for the bus.

He stood close to you, his arm against yours, because this bench was wet and you weren't going to repeat that mistake.

"Do you- uh," He rocked a little on his heels when you looked at him, "Do you not... like me?"

It was a staggering question. You held yourself, painfully aware that you were only standing because of his hoodie around you.

"Sure, I like you," You said in a stilted tone.

It wasn't enough and you knew it as it rolled off your tongue.

You cleared your throat. He looked away.

"I mean- I thought you hated me before today, so," You gave an empty laugh to help ease the tension.

"Hate you?" He turned towards you, hands in his pockets. It was the most emotion you had ever seen on his face.

Clearly, something was off. You squinted at him but only could hold it for a second, "Well, yeah, you're kinda... mean-,"

The shock on his face made you stumble over your words.

"But- uh, today you were so nice! Thank you, for your hoodie, that was very sweet-," You glanced around his face, confused, trailing off, "-of, you..."

He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, eyes closed, pained at your words. You felt astoundingly guilty, more cold than ever, in a way.

"I gave you my hoodie because I like you."

He put the hand back in his pocket, turning to face the street, watching the lamp posts with a forlorn air about him, "I've been tryin' to ask you out for months."

Your mouth hung open. You covered it, after a few seconds, with your hand.

Was that what all the looks meant? Was that seriously what he was getting at every time he spoke to you? Your face warmed- a welcome sensation.

"I... didn't know," You said simply, pressing up to his side.

It worked, thank god, and though it took him a second, he put a hefty arm around you.

"You were really that clueless?" He muttered, rubbing his warm face with his other hand.

The truth did feel pretty obvious in hindsight, but you reminded him, "You're more intimidating than you think."

In the quiet, the bus sighed around the corner.

"So... I can keep the hoodie?"

You looked up at him, excited at what you could see now as his nervousness. He pressed a hasty kiss to the top of your head as the bus rolled to a stop in front of you.

"Hell, yeah."

VIP

@integers @yuchacco

my masterlist. my request box.

[thatdeadaquarius]

Harry Potter/Genshin Impact Crossover Fun🎉

for @kiraisastay my beta reader for the big fat Eldritch AU awhile back! :)

“…a genshin/Harry Potter crossover where reader (still fem) comes from genshin (so she has a vision) and tries to fit in at Hogwarts (would love for it to be set around the Goblet Of Fire so the hp characters in that age start maturing and actually understand what happens around them and aren't little kids , plus, y'know, YULE BALL), would also like for the reader to have a more stoic/emotionless personality with tragic past (so like having scars y'knowww) cuz it makes character building a lot more juicy ahah, but you can write it however you want tho!! (this can be funnier to write if you're feeling a lot creative)”

UGH sorry i took forever! im rlly bad at estimating time...

I hope this is a fun read at least, and thanks for much for taking on that eldritch monster fic awhile back lol

☆

Orbit: Long Headcanon/fic-thing (~2k words) - Harry Potter x Genshin Impact Crossover (4th Year)

Sun: Feminine Reader (she/her), Slytherin Reader, Reader is 15-16 year old.

Stars: Harry, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Snape, Viktor Krum, mentions of others.

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Reader has rough past, & Trigger Warnings: vague mentions of scars, Reader has bad relationship with parents.

☆

You’re so fucking happy your Cryo Vision came with you.

You knew you were in a different country, one you definitely had never been to before, but you couldn’t figure out for the life of you where it was at first

Your first guess was Fontaine, but the robes and strange overuse of catalyst weapons (actually, only catalyst weapons??) began to convince you otherwise real quick,

Fontaine was just the closest country you could compare it to

yeah so obviously by the time u realized you shouldn't be waving a sword around, it was too late lmao, u scared the shit out of the potions shopkeeper and had to make a hasty exit

bc for some reason any other weapon than a catalyst is shamed here?? which makes no sense to you, as it seems like their “magic” here could just as easily be channeled into different weapons/items??

u guess not having monsters to randomly fight everytime u just wanna take a walk outside makes for a pretty peaceful world, and specifically this country ”England” or the “United Kingdom”

u had taken a week or so to re-orient yourself to this new world, how only a certain society knew about their magic, how there were no gods here, at least not any u could easily interact with, and that most people your age would be in school still???

while u could choose to pursue higher education or specialize in Sumeru’s Akademiya, basic schooling was still provided in every country in Teyvat up until about 15 years old

but at this point u were willing to do what it took to blend into this world, and u didnt want anyone to be asking how old u were/why u werent in school when you wandered around, so u went to Hogwarts

It also proved to be a good way to acquaint urself with the world/its magic and give u a place to better excuse any social or magical mistakes

But needless to say, u struggled, u had to constantly find some workaround for “magic” from the wands/catalysts in classes

and luckily they took u being a transfer student pretty smoothly, as u were just in time for the “Triwizard Tournament” to be announced and other schools were coming to participate, u easily got accepted in

and the only one who batted an eye at it was the weird old Headmaster, who u already suspected knew more abt u than he was letting on (Dumbledore seemed to have eyes everywhere the more u learned, which made u more suspicious of him too)

you'd been sorted into Slytherin, along with the Russian magical students, (Durmstrang?)

of which you had absolutely no frame of reference for how bad that was, other than being accused of literally being from the Abyss 💀

while the rest of the student body treated u with the basic contempt u learned all Slytherins just seemed to kind of get all the time, ur own house was a little more confusing when it came to you

some were curious abt all the scars, the strange glowing snowflake gem that u concealed on ur hip, what ur country was like and what the magic school over there was like (thank fuck for ur poker face and insane lying skills that made it believable)

(there was absolutely a rumor abt u pulling a sword on Filch at some point, u neither denied nor supported it)

the other half of the slytherins were all uptight about u possibly being a “Muggleborn” and sneered at u every chance they got (some weird blond kid a year or 2 below you??)

or they outright ignored u

tbh u didn't really get much genuine favor between Slytherins just being Slytherins and ur own reputation/cold disposition until Professor Snape saw how good u were at potions a month into this insanity

(it was just basic alchemy? nearly everyone, especially Vision-users, knew how to do it back home? why was it so special here?? u had this kind of question a lot in this world over most things, like the “muggles dont know abt magic” thing, it seem like more trouble than its worth.)

U both got along in the same way a cold-demeanor father bonds with his carbon copy cold-demeanor daughter lol

in which he invited u for tea sometimes out of polite extra teaching for “ur future plans of being a potion master, like myself”

which okay?? u were better than most ur age at potions bc of alchemy (which u learned is taught at higher levels of potion mastery) and its not like you've figured out how to get back to ur world anytime soon

so u just roll with that being ur “future career” for now, it makes the old emo professor happy so u figure why not

And its the first scrap of favor you’ve found here so it works

Tho u did complain at Snape for picking on Gryffindors, saying “ur rlly not helping that Slytherin reputation for tall dark and evil here”

He proceeded to make u clean and reorganize his potion stores for that lol

(Tho he did start to lighten up the more u picked on him abt it, the poor kid with huge round glasses followed you with his huge green eyes for weeks, he seems to be the only one who's really realized ur the one convincing Snape to mellow out)

U begin researching information (thanks to Snape) in the forbidden part of the library abt different worlds/time travel, anything thatd put u close to possibly getting back home

Or, to be honest, a portal would be better, bc youd like to come back here sometimes,

Its not like u have family back home (not any who you'd want to visit), mostly just a few good friends who'd be worried abt u (Childe misses his sparring partner for sure)

Which then leads u to noticing that boy with the black hair and big round glasses (was it smth like,,, harold sculptor? Atp that seems like a feasible name to you bc in this world parents rlly were cruel abt naming their kid “feathery” or smth wild)

Harold and two others, one with fluffy long hair, and the other a redhead,

Were attempting to “spy” on u from behind bookshelves or at tables seated near the forbidden section

U saw them learn the times u came there and how they made sure to match them (tho it seems the redhead got bored easily and begged to eat instead)

You'd actually managed to make friends with some Durmstrang friends in the meantime too

And by that u mean Viktor Krum mostly

Ppl were constantly obsessed with him and he'd managed to escape up the astronomy tower to get some peace and quiet,

Only to run into u reading away, and he'd heard abt ur reputation, and wanted to befriend u

U two got along rlly well, lots of peaceful silences, and chill convos, esp since u guys had some stuff in common

Mostly how ur both foreign to Hogwarts/this country and adjusting still

Anyway that is to say, Viktor teased u abt the ducklings following u around everywhere thinking they were sneaky

And this was a routine u got used to, until it was time for the tournament

You hadnt bothered to put ur name in, u didnt feel like risking ur life for no reason afterall

So needless to say u were pissed when rumors went around abt u putting Harol- Harry's name in the goblet

(u finally learned his name, apparently he's famous for not dying? As a baby?? A powerful tyrant evil wizard wanted to kill him as a baby??? Just,, why)

Not only that but then he was obligated to be in the tournament???

U knew there was smth insane abt this school, bringing back this crazy tournament in the first place, somehow getting Harry's name in the goblet,

but u didn't think they were batshit crazy.

(Dumbledore is not helping his case in your eyes, esp as u suspect he’s got Snape involved in his BS too somehow…)

So needless to say you were going to fix this mess since these seasoned “wizard adults” weren't 😒

You snuck into the Great Hall using a high level alchemy invisibility amulet, and used ur Cryo vision to extinguish the Goblet of Fire 💀

It reset the game, and luckily they were able to resubmit the champions to the Triwizard Tournament and hide away the Goblet before it got tampered with again

Lol u got Harry out of it, and it wasnt until later in the library that u get cornered by the Gryffindor fourth year himself

He admits to seeing u under his invisibilty cloak that night and thanks you for getting him out of that hell, poor kid looks so grateful 😭

But regardless of that, he insists u tell him abt the ice spell u used, how u used it wandless, with no incantation, etc.

You just gave him a small smile (his big green eyes look even more shocked behind the glasses, what, was that old professor right? do u rlly not smile that much?) and tell him he owes u one

He agrees and u go on ur way to the forbidden section

(U dont explain the ice, afterall, who would believe him? You werent even that much older, and only “master wizards” could do what u did)

After that, Harry starts to follow u around a lot more,

much to the annoyance of his redhead friend (Rodrick? Rocky? smth with a R-) and the absolute admiration of the younger girl with big hair

the champions start the first trial, and u help Viktor out with a plan to defeat the dragon and get the egg in one piece (u had lots of experience with monsters after all, and Viktor and Snape, who couldn't keep his big nose out of your business, were simultaneously disturbed and yet not surprised by this information)

it works flawlessly, and that's when you notice the new DA teacher acting suspicious

as the champions gear up for the 2nd trial, u help Viktor try to figure out the egg’s secrets,

Both Harry and Hermione have taken to interrupting ur library research time (u finally learned her name, but not the redhead, he seemed a bit rude tbh so u don't care to know)

after brainstorming (well more like talking at the brick wall that was Snape) with the old potions professor over tea gossip time again, u finally figure out how to get the egg open without screaming, and tell Viktor

Who thanks u by taking u to the Yule Ball, but u only manage the first dance before u get absorbed in the food and the cool decor, and u also convince him to gossip with u in the corner too

(u do appreciate having a reason to dress up at least, as you attempt to imitate the Tsaritsa herself with this dress)

U notice further on into the night that Hermione ran out looking upset, and ur “girl’s girl” instinct kicks in, (regardless of ur neutrality for her, u lie to urself) and follow her outside to comfort her

u talk, and tho ur cold demanour did intimidate her a little, after she realized u were genuinely trying to help her, she took u up on the offer, and asked if u two could be friends since she’s “surrounded by stupid Gryffindor boys all the time”

u agreed amused, and convinced her to join Viktor and u in ur gossip session, which Harry (after humiliating himself on the dance floor), joined in later as well

(You may or may not have iced the floor secretly under the redhead’s and the equally annoying prissy Slytherin blonde’s feet, sending them sprawling on top of each other, so neither would come bother u four)

Over the next week you hear from Hermione’s researching/studying sessions with you that Ron did apologize to her, of which u advised her to get revenge on him anyway lmao

Harry at one point came groaning and complaining to you abt Cedric bothering him abt the egg problem, and u went ahead and gave it to him

Finally the next task was here, something abt rescuing smth underwater that mattered to each of the champions

u were immediately on ur guard when Dumbledore called u and 3 other seemingly random ppl to ur office (but u began to connect the dots after realizing one of them was the little sister of the Fontai- French Champion)

only to deflect the spell that would've knocked u out, and instead pretend to be knocked out

u obv kept ur Vision on u at all times, as always, and realized what was happening as the teachers levitated u all out to the lake

Snape snapped about being the one in charge of you, (and lowkey told u he knew u were awake, did he sound a little,, proud?? no, not Snape surely of all ppl)

Viktor did end up fishing you out, which he said u “looked like a very unhappy drenched old tom cat” while swimming to shore, (u awkwardly pat him on the back for thinking ur the best part of Hogwarts, and then smacked him for getting u kidnapped to go into a freezing lake)

and u also ended up helping Viktor rescue the other girl left behind, and froze some of the mermaids’ tails in the water for their trouble

Fleur was so grateful that she came to hunt you (and Viktor too at the time) for helping her and her sister that she came to thank u two again while at the library

which then led to her sometimes hanging around ur table at the library (everyone avoids it like the plague initially bc of you, but now youve got a gaggle of wizards rotating out all the time, like the younger years Harry/Hermione/Ron, Viktor, and now Fleur)

by the time the third trial rolls around, youve taken to bullying the prissy blonde brat a year below you to keep him from not only bothering Harry and Hermione, but also ur own peace and quiet

The other Slytherins are beginning to warm up to you, or at least not actively ignore you, since you’ve been hanging around Viktor Krum, along with gaining favor from Snape more obviously (he’d plopped a singular towel in ur lap after getting out of the lake, and u might as well have “Snape’s Favorite” written across ur forehead for all that means)

(also some of them may or may not find u roasting the annoying blonde bully kid amusing too)

it isn't until u see the creepy retired Aura (or whatever they call their knights) DA professor milling about the castle more, nearer the Gryffindor tower, that you begin to warn Harry to spread the word among his little lion club to not travel alone, esp in the evenings

(u don't like how his weird rolling blue eye looks thru you, it reminds u of Dumbledore)

by the time the third trial is finally announced, you have ur sights set on that weird old man, and end up following him to his classroom at one point,

in which he cracks open a rattling trunk, tosses some food in, and seems to have definitely stolen what you assume to be the Triwizard trophy

he casts a spell on it, and you put on that same invisibiltiy amulet from alchemy to better follow him, and watch him sneak into Dumbledore’s office to return the trophy

(You break the “portkey” spell you find on it)

(you also leave a note behind on the headmaster’s desk to look into a trunk in the new DA professor’s classroom storage, and to be more careful hiring the next one.)

Harry somehow gets sucked into the maze you find out, and you end up sneaking in to save him, using your sword and Cryo Vision to battle him out

(finally, Archons, you didnt realize how much you'd miss fighting monsters)

Aurors descend upon Hogwarts, only just after the trial ends, and Viktor wins (you trained him too well for him to not, and may or may not have viciously sparred with him a little too much for him to not be a little afraid of the consequences of losing after you helped him so much lol)

Just as Harry is taken in by Dumbledore for questioning of how he got trapped in the maze, he runs back to nearly squeeze the life out of you in a hug, he tells you thanks for helping him again (and forced u to promise to teach him sword fighting or “ice magic”)

Then, surprisingly, the entirety of Durmstrang (and some Slytherins??) haul you up into the air with Viktor to celebrate his victory

(You can see Snape snickering at ur misery in the air)

Viktor and Fleur stay penpals, and the “golden trio” (more like “gryffindor triplets”) sticks around your library table

and you think you could start to get used to this, and Harry, Hermione, and Snape had gotten you a Yule/winter gift

(what’s Christmas. and why is everyone obsessed with decorating trees??)

…that is until Hermione looks over your shoulder one day at your usual reading table, and points to a book you’ve chosen for research,

saying “if you need to make a portal somewhere, that’s the book you should be looking in.”

☆

i hope you liked it!! and that it wasn't too much of a clusterfuck/chaos that was barely readable 😅

again, thanks for being patient with me, and here's finally ur payment for dealing with my ass lmao

Happy late new year!!

Safe Travels Kirarisastay,

💀♒

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[soraka-in-warhammer40k]

A side effect of taking one's gym-sessions seriously again (also called "no loner haunted by the deadline") that I once again did not expect is the all-consuming hunger. Never before have I related to the Nids so much like the times when I actively go back to 3+ training sessions a week. CALORIES FOR THE CALORIE GOD, CARBS FOR THE CARB THRONE!

But it also got me thinking - just how do Space Marines handle it? Not only do those big bodies need a bunch of fuel, they also have a whole company of new recruits at all times, and those go completly beyond "kids currently hitting a growth spurt" in terms of dietary needs.

For reference, a Space Marine without armor weights about ~400kg more or less dependant on personal genetics and specific geneseed. This is mostly due to muscle mass being considerably more dense than fat as well as a number of skeletal enhancements.

If I would take myself as a starting point here with ~70kg, that would mean to become a Space Marine I would have to more than QUINTUPLE my weight over the course of five or so years with most of that frontloaded into the first years. So let's assume three years. A quick googling says that it takes about 6000+ of EXCESS kcal to build 1kg of muscle, of which 1800 will be contained in the actual muscle and the rest of blown on the actual construction process - and denser stuff like bones will at least take just as much if not more.

So let's just make a short calculation: 6000kcal x 330kg to gain = 1,980.000 EXCESS calories that you need IN ADDITION to the ones you need to keep your body functional. On that note: the average human body burns roughly 2.000 a day, more or less depending on sex, size, and so on, but generally that is a good middle ground to work with. So if we take that big number and divide it through that, we get 990 days worth of regular people food. So you need as much food as a regular person eats in 3 years - just as extra bits, for the weight gain! So these 2k a day come on top of what is already needed!

But how many calories DOES a Space Marine need? A regular human's 2k is definetly not cutting it, and the number goes up depending on how much muscle and other active bits you have. All those extra bones they have won't burn much, but the muscles surely will - and they also do training and stuff! So you can take a Strongman athlete as a baseline, and you reach a point where your body requires 7000kcal or even more a day to function during intense training, perhaps more. If we add the 2k from before, that's 9000kcal of food PER DAY EVERY DAY for several years, and that's on the lower end of things when it comes to rough estimations.

JUST WHAT DO THEY FEED THOSE KIDS?!

[from-izzy]

that's him, that's just who he is | tbz choi chanhee | new

"At least between us both,” the camera shutters and you take a shaky inhale, “one of us took the right path.”

​PAIRING » tbz choi chanhee (new) x gn!reader (proofread twice—lmk if i made a mistake!)​ TROPE/AU » ​friends 2 strangers, highschool au!, non-idol au!, idol au! (chanhee towards the end) GENRE​ » angsty angst angst, unread messages, comforting friendship, supporting friendship, you both attend the same music academy, you both are preparing to become celebrities/idols! WORD COUNT » 4168 (no seriously, 2k word limit who?) ESTIMATED READING TIME » 15 mins WARNINGS (lmk if i missed anything!) » financial difficulties, stress relating to: money, music, balancing friendships-work-school, upwards comparisons, failure at achieving dream job (reader's side), unsupportive teachers

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 series introduction 🤍 series masterlist 🤍 part of 'especially to you...'

my third story! i take it back when i said that the second is my favourite story because this is my new (no pun intended) favourite story. i had to stop multiple times because it hit me too many times 🥹👍

well...the self insert is really real here 🫂 and this got seriously personal (let's see how many times i say this with this series 👀)

big respect to chanhee for balancing his education, preparing to be an idol and having a part time job 🫂 i respect him so much

thank you for reading honey bee ☘️🐝 @sanaxo-o and happiest birthday to you!! this story isn't much of a gift since you've read it before but there is the other one hehe 💕

Unlike most of your other lessons, this one passed by as quickly as a blink of an eye. It might be because the air conditioner in the room was set to the perfect temperature or the way the tie around your collar didn’t suffocate you too much or maybe, it was the way that you were practically showered with a bunch of compliments as soon as you took a deep breath from your diaphragm, lifted your cheekbones and sung your heart out.

Swiftly, you smile at the affirming nods that your teacher gave you, writing down her notes to the three-minute performance that you were assigned to for the last month. Across the whole month, you recall the way the tip of the pen scratches the plastic board vigorously, tapping rapidly and furiously throughout the longest three minutes of your life. Usually, you would be assigned a new song every three weeks or have two songs to practice for five weeks. On the times that you didn’t succeed, it would be a hell lot of criticism, tears and punches on the wall as soon as you exited the small studio. Heck, even with the times when the tears made it out in the room, you could tell that even though she toned down her volume, those eyes looked at you no further than disinterest—sometimes she would unmistakably roll her eyes too.

It has always been in short, sickening.

Those were the times that you wanted to just rip out your vocal cords, swear that you would never sing again, not that you even could at that point, and run away from the one thing that gave you life in your tiring days.

“Pick a song.”

The statement made your head slightly crane forward towards your suddenly easygoing teacher. You let out a confusing hum and question to which she responds with an amused smile.

“I can…choose?”

“You can’t truly be a singer if you don’t know what songs fit you best or if you need someone to pick what songs you should sing. You don’t have to choose a challenging song yet. You’ve been singing for the past half year and you’re good at it, but you really only found your style recently and I would rather you focus on further developing it.” She shrugs leisurely after, “It’s up to you though.”

Either way, I’m still going to get paid.

Numerous song titles juggle in your mind, the different lyrics and tunes playing in your head as the memories of your lives flash through their respective melodies. However, it wasn’t easy for your mouth to announce any of the songs, your mind thinking of all the technicalities within each song that would definitely challenge the fragile, insecure side of you.

But art is a special type of hobby.

It’s one of those hobbies that no one would ever be able to ‘perfect’. Somebody would always criticise and pick it apart ruthlessly—and you would always have to pick up their words and carry them deep within your heart.

“Are you sure?” The way that she tilts her head to the side after writing down your choice says everything.

But you stood your ground.

You’ve been in love with this song for so long and all you wanted to do was to learn it properly. Who knows when you’ll be given the chance to pick again? So, with the bravest smile and the most convincing nod that your shaking body could give, she does her final notes on that worn-out notebook of hers. She also recites your homework and expectations for the next lesson before excusing your presence from the room.

You couldn't wait to scream the excitement out of your body, tell your parents and your best friend about what just happened, analyse the song and its technical aspec—

"I just don't think you'll make it."

You halt your steps and your journey. For such a good music academy, these rooms seriously needed thicker walls. You were genuinely surprised that you were still able to focus on your lessons (most of the time) through all the electric guitar, drum kits and unfortunately, other singers who were unable to hit those certain high notes.

It's times like these that you wish the academy could invest in their building more. You were lucky that your lesson room is located at the end of the hallway meaning that your criticism could only be heard by you, the teacher and maybe the two rooms in front and beside yours.

Chanhee wasn't so fortunate, being at the very front, the first door on the left. It left him vulnerable. The voice cracks, the times when he would go off tune or the rare times when he missed his count. It would all mercilessly be heard by anyone who would pass by just to go to the toilet or refill their empty, cold coffee mug.

You stood next to the wall where the glass doors of the lesson door, biting your bottom lip and you noticed how Chanhee wouldn’t even say anything to his teacher’s words. You could imagine how he had his head hung low, nodding occasionally at the words and was forced to repeat the same line over and over and over again until he got it right. You prayed silently in your heart and mind that time would go quicker for him so that he could walk out, breathe in some fresh air and take a break from the suffocating practice room.

When the door clicks open, Chanhee has that tired, sad smile to you that he gives most of the time. Your eyebrows fell a little but you were still able to give him an encouraging one back.

“No?” You asked even though you very much knew the answer.

“No.” He quietly affirms after a short pause.

“I’m still proud of you though.” Just like any other day at school, after lessons or any other time, you lightly punch his shoulder, him chuckling and shoving you back. “I guess…that’s why they’re called ‘lessons’ after all.”

The realisation of your words made Chanhee groan. Lessons that are made throughout a lifetime—one that he has been attending for a year and a half unlike you who only started at the start of the year. He gave up his time with his friends, time to study which most of society thinks is the best way to secure a well-financed job, and gave up his money to buy clothes for himself that he just walked past whenever he knew he would get tempted. All those part-time jobs, ones that would go late into the still busy nights of Seoul or the ones early in the morning before school when most people would still be snoring, were all done with his dream that someday his voice would be heard by the world.

“How did yours go?”

You know that you should just be truthful. You both have been stuck to the hip for the last few years and Chanhee is not an easy person to deceive. Plus, you need to take into consideration as well of lying at this current moment. You didn’t want Chanhee to think that you were trying to make him feel better by potentially pitying him. What good would that bring to anyone right now in this situation? That’s not what friends do.

“I was given a chance to choose a song.” The small genuine, congratulatory smile that Chanhee gives makes you relax your back into the wall further, the tension easing away from your body. “I also managed to get through that vocal run that I’ve been agonising and crying to you about for the past week.” You slump your body against the wall as you recall your homework, “But she gave me more scales to use as runs for practice.”

“Scales really do suck.” Chanhee whispers to you teasingly, once again getting pushed by you.

“Yeah.” You acknowledge shortly after. “But it does help me with my breathing and flexibility which I highly suck at.”

“Hey,” he scolds your words lightly, “at least you have a distinctive sound and know how to put emotions according to the sound. My teacher just said I sound generic.”

Yes. That description for Chanhee—no, just any singer—is weird and you would dare to say, highly misleading.

If we’re talking about musical terms, every single singer has a unique timbre. Even if the note stays the same, every person will have a different tone colour because well, every person is different. Saying that a singer has a generic voice, highly contradicts the definite concept of instrument timbre.

You know how much this troubled Chanhee even though he tries his best to hide it. The comments about his timbre have been repeated so many times that it’s got to him a lot. In the beginning, he would just smile bitterly and indicate that he wouldn’t want to talk about the lesson, kicking the group of stones on the pathway to release his anger. However, as you both grew closer after an assigned duet performance, he was able to open up to you little by little, slowly but surely, keeping the friendship that grew even after you did your ending bow to the audience. He would still hide a little bit of his feelings to himself, embarrassed that he would talk about himself even though you reassured him that it was completely fine.

To him, how others see him is the most important thing for him. From the compliments that would grow the contagious smile on his face, to the heartbreaking crying scenes that he would hide from the rest of the world, all those words he took to heart so that he could improve himself as a person—and in this case, as an artist. In this harsh world, the words that would be spat out by teachers would be so deeply etched in a person’s heart that all of a sudden, giving up everything that they have worked so hard for would be easier done.

It’s during those times that you and Chanhee would lean on each other, reassuring each other not to run away from the weekly lessons and giving comfort after each one. Chanhee is internally grateful for the times that you would hold his shoulders, lightly shaking his frail, tired body before giving him words of encouragement. He would do a similar thing for you when you feel like you didn’t progress, stopping your self-criticism and pushing you to keep going. To you, he would just let you cry on his shoulder as you hug him tight, patting your back calmingly.

The light snowing season greets the both of you as soon as you exit the building. For you, your next destination is home but for Chanhee, ninety-eight percent of the time it would be his job at the barbeque restaurant, the seafood restaurant or even that new Chinese restaurant that he recently just started.

Given the good results of your lesson, you selfishly wanted to have some fun but the words died down in your throat when you slightly turned your head towards your friend. His black hair still peaked out from the beanie that kept both of his ears warm, the scarf that you gifted him hid the slight downturn of his lips and the physical expression of his heavy heart. His eyelashes fluttered away the snowflakes in the cold but still bright night and his rosy cheeks only grew brighter and more evident the slower the journey to your next destination would take.

“Just a little penguin in his somewhat natural habitat?” Your attempt to get a response out from him is successful when you see his cheekbones rise—the same way that they would rise whenever he sings his heart out.

“What a way to start a conversation.”

Your heart lightens at your successful attempt, linking your right arm with his as you continue to walk down the still-shared path that makes the distance between all your worries and yourself further away. However, like all journeys, you finally arrive at that one spot.

The one that split into two different roads, unlike the one you have been walking a few minutes ago.

The right road would take you both to safety, warmth and relaxation.

The left road would force you to unlink Chanhee’s arm, sending him to the busy, loud civilisation where he would put on his apron and raise the pitch of his voice fit for customer service.

“Are you…off to work?” He senses the sadness lingering in your voice and the way your right hand tightens around his forearm even through the thick, winter clothes.

“…yeah.”

“I see.” You managed to muster a stable response tone. “Come on, I’ll drop you there.” You turn your body towards the crowd but can’t go too far due to the other set of feet that stays grounded on the worn-down, cold stone floor, “Chanhee?”

“Maybe…” Suddenly, the sky starts to sprinkle down its pretty shapes of ice. “I’m just not meant to be a singer.”

You gasp quietly, the faint white exhale slowly disappearing behind the dark background. Seeing the tears finally slide down his cheeks made you realise one thing: he’s opening up. He’s doing the thing that he has tried to hide from everyone. In tune with his emotions, your eyes started to build their layer of moisture, the wind making it harder for you to keep your tears in. You couldn’t think straight, your free arm wiping your eyes to rid the hardships from your face while trying to give Chanhee words of encouragement.

“You’re going to get ther—”

“What if you had to give up so much,” He cut you off, gasping and inhaling more air to accommodate his crying, “earn so much money, gave it away and it didn’t give you good results? Whatever it may be…An event, a trip, an investment.” His voice gradually trails off as he lists life occurrences.

You’ve thought about the same thing thousands of times, back and forth, no matter where, when and who you were with. In a world where pursuing art can be a hard, long path, what would happen if nothing good were to come out of it? All your hard work, all your money, all your time…you’ll never be able to get those back.

Is it worth it? Is it worth the gamble?

“I would probably beat myself over it.” You tried to keep your whimpers at bay as you confessed the same answer that would come back every time you went on your downward spiral, “I would most probably always question why I did what I did. If I did the event with someone, and for some reason, they were the ones that made the situation bad, then I would’ve gone back and forth, asking myself if it was worth it. Why didn’t I go alone? Why was I so scared? What was I so scared of?”

Should you move to a different academy? But your teacher is well known. Should you still do it anyway? Knowing that you had to go through many processes and hardships to even get lessons with this teacher. Even if most of the time, you felt like giving up music, surely her experience would lead you to someplace good…right?

“But then…would answering those questions lead to happiness?” Chanhee scoffs at his absurd thoughts. Tilting his head to the sky, he relishes the way the snowflakes land on his pale skin, disappearing when they touch his skin, the side branches melting into his warmth. “Even after answering the question, would you be able to know what to do next? What would it lead to?”

Even though Chanhee was the first one to cry and break down, your wails were louder the more his words resonated within you, touching the parts of your heart that you never wanted to say out loud, scared of where and how your unconscious mind would take you. With everything in him, he untangles his arms to wrap them around your neck, patting the back of your head as you cry on his shoulder. He also lets his tears soak your scarf, resting his cheek on his arm and his chapped wavering lips rubbing against the delicate wool of your scarf, trying his best to soften his cries.

“I just…” One of his hands pats your back, giving you his comfort—even though he probably needed it more than you, “Music and singing used to be happiness that could fit in my pocket. It felt secure and safe. I could just put on my earphones and I’ll feel happy.” You notice the tighter hold after, “But music grew too fast and too big for me that I couldn’t catch up with it anymore.”

You only nod to his words, knowing how much Chanhee sacrificed to pay for his lessons. Some judged him, calling him stuck up and selfish even though they knew that he was independent in his journey to become a singer. It pains you to hear those words come out as scoffs and laughter and soon enough, you hold his hand and cut ties with them all, leaving their flabbergasted faces behind.

The sky starts to cry with you both beautifully in the form of its unique icy shapes. You both watch the snowflakes disappear on the ground, on each other clothing, on your noses. Finding the strength and breath to continue, you slowly push your body away, wiping the last bit of your tears to face your best friend straight into his eyes.

“You’re going to find happiness that you can rely on, Chanhee.” You couldn’t see his lips but you were sure that it was pouting and shivering, “It may be music or it may be something that music brings you. It may be the stage or maybe people who you will come to work with or maybe the people who will cheer you on but I’m sure you’ll find it soon.”

Even with the bustling environment around you both, there was no way that you could have missed his muttering, especially with the white puff of air, “At this rate…”

He feels the weight and pressure of your palms on both his shoulders but he still looks down to the ground where the snow slowly buries the sides of his shoes, “I promise you that if you keep going, I don’t have a single doubt that you’ll find your style. Regardless of what your crappy teacher says, you’re unique and I love your voice.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Wiping the lone tear on his cheek, “The world is going to be amazed when they hear your voice and I'm sure you'll be a good influence to them.”

For the first time in the day, Chanhee finally smiled. You observe the way his eyes disappear into pretty little upside-down moons. His head tilts back slightly, revealing the upturned corner of his lips behind the scarf that kept him warm and his teeth shine brighter with the help of the light from the marketplace behind you. Your hands were able to finally relax and mirrored the same expression back to your now radiant friend.

“Promise me that we’ll stand on the same stage someday.”

But life plays a twisted fate on you both and loves to put more pressure than you can ever carry. Having to move to a different school and a different region is not on your list of expectations. You argued endlessly about the decision to move, feeling unfair that none of your opinions mattered to them as they relentlessly started to look for moving trucks to hire. With the good offer that your dad received and realising that the youngest in the family had no final say, you tried your best to hold back the tears when telling Chanhee the news.

He cries for you and himself, already imagining the loneliness of walking to the music academy after a long day of school and the drags of his feet across the gravel in the night after each lesson. You assured him that you would call often and unlike you, he promised you the same thing. Time told you both that your friendship was still strong despite the physical distance between you both and with time, so did both your musical skills.

The trade-off for talent in your friendship is the less frequent phone calls and text messages. It was decreasing steadily and slowly until eventually, there was no more red dot beside his name on your phone even though you're sure there would be one beside your name on his. When sadness turned into confusion, then morphed into anger, hate and bitterness whenever someone asked you about him, you still found yourself swiping through your many photos with him. Just like how he cries on your last day, you cry from the silence of him.

Thankfully, time did heal your heart even though you couldn’t find a friend like him ever again. Things have changed for you and you were sure that it was the same for Chanhee. You grew taller, changed your hairstyle, hobbies, dreams and aspirations. What time didn’t seem to change however was the delivered sign that never changed with your messages. You let it go and went on with your life.

When you did come back to Seoul, you realised that the city had changed drastically. You wondered if it’s really that or if you were just struggling to remember the city that you once walked around in every day. But unlike your thoughts, maybe Seoul did change drastically. Amid the new but still bustling environment, there was this one cafe that was incredibly packed. Needing to get away from the cold, you entered to be greeted with a well-decorated interior and the gold ‘Happy Birthday New’ balloon shines brightly, especially with the light that is right above it. Many were posing in front of the gold foil fringe backdrop.

You almost didn’t recognise the boy in the picture. You don’t remember when you took your scarf off and picked up a random framed picture in the frame before picking up another one next to it, and another one, and another one. Each showed his growth. You could tell not only from his appearance but also from the bigger stage that he performed along with ten other boys. Suddenly, it clicks and it all makes sense. Hearing everyone else around you talk about him fondly took away the heavy weight that his name brought and a new feeling overtook your heart.

For the first time in a very long time, seeing his face made you smile and it didn’t hurt.

Your phone slides into your shaking hands, swipe open the camera app from the lock screen and point it at the framed picture in your hand, “At least between us both,” the camera shutters and you take a shaky inhale, “one of us took the right path.”

You know from the laughter in the space, the feeling of the radiant energy of those around you and the happiness on people’s faces as they point their cameras to their fanmade goods and the interior of the place, that Choi Chanhee has done it. The stage looked extremely good on him, even if the light was too bright and he looked so pale sometimes.

“I’m glad it was you.”

You whisper somewhat solemnly and with a bit of jealousy. Your clenched fist is a puny attempt in trying to keep your tears from expressing the hurt that suddenly hit you as you recall that moment in your life. The multiple rejections to the companies that you auditioned for, the way people on the streets pass by more frequently as their ears and eyes are focused on other’s performances—the night where you listed all your musical instruments for sale and promised that you would never sing ever again.

“You shy, talented, loveable penguin.” And it would seem that his fans agree with the chosen animal with the pouting blue penguin on top of his head. “That’s just who you are, Chanhee.”

Maybe the fame wasn’t for you. Shortly after moving, you found out that the stage was more of a hobby, especially with how you just wanted to stand on stage but never wanted to practise and study music theory properly. You just wanted to shout out the lyrics and sentimentally sing the lyrics of existing songs instead of having your name in an album or next to the credits and royalty rights to the song. But knowing that it fit Chanhee well, it was more than enough for you. He may not have known it before but you wish with all your being that he knows his capability to make others smile, including you.

Even if your broken smile is within millions that he probably would never see from the podium that rightfully held him high.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 series introduction 🤍 series masterlist 🤍 'especially to you...' tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿@sanaxo-o @astrae4

[meitantei-lavi]

guh. well. I wasn't looking forward to making another commissions post yet here we are.

here's the deal: on Feb 15/16, i had to go to the ER for some serious abdominal pain and other unpleasant issues that i won't go into. while i'm still waiting on the results of their labs (they're assuming it's an infection of. some variety), i'm also waiting on the bill. which i know won't be pretty. i'm estimating at LEAST $2k. that coupled with my other medical expenses from past and future appointments (as well as my cat's medical expenses) puts me in a position where i COULD potentially pay everything off with my savings, but then i would have literally nothing left. which isn't great since i do still have to pay bills and buy groceries and such.

to avoid that, i am once again asking for commissions. i'm putting my rules/price structure under the cut. PLEASE consider commissioning a small trans artist like moi and PLEASE reblog this post to spread the word (but don't tag as s*gnal b**st, thank you!)

pricing and rules:

prices depend on time and medium, but expect the base price for most pieces to be around $170. as always, i am willing to negotiate pricing so long as it’s reasonable HOW I CALCULATE FEES: $170 (rounded up from 168 cos i like numbers that end in 0’s and 5’s)  = $28/hr * 4 (the average amount of time I spend on a fully colored/rendered commission) + the “Starving Artist Fee” (50% of the hourly sum, this pays for gas, groceries, and cat food)

i will only start a piece after i have confirmed payment through p*ypal or v*nmo. please tell me the best email to use for invoicing and i will send you an invoice (through p*ypal) with the price we discuss. dm me for my v*nmo username 

i am also taking commissions for D&D miniatures. my goal is to buy a light box for photography so i can better advertise them. the base price for a standard 28mm mini is $50. if you’re interested, please message me for details

additional info:

stuff I’ll draw: Oc’s (references/descriptions please!) D&D characters (same as above!) Mild blood/gore LGBTQ+ stuff Furry stuff

stuff I won’t draw: R-18 Hate speech (if ur a terf or a nazi or whatever, get the fuck off my page, numbnuts, lol!) Excessive gore/violence Mechs (i have no patience for it) P*dophilia. Fuck off with that i will report u

COMMISSION SLOTS:

OPEN

OPEN

OPEN

OPEN

OPEN

~*~*~*~*~

If my commission prices are a bit out of ur price range BUT you’d still like to support my art, check out this post detailing my ko-fi prices!

[ephemereos]

WRITING COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

My writing commissions are open, and here's all you need to know!

⭐️ Prices ⭐️

Up to 1k words: 5 eur

Between 1k and 2k words: 10 eur

Between 2k and 3k words: 15 eur

Past the 3k word mark, it will be 5 eur for every additional 500 words (EX: 4500 words= 30 eur)

☑️ Do's ☑️

Any kind of ship, from canon x canon, to oc x canon, to reader inserts etc.

Any fandom, even those I'm not familiar with (I'll do careful research for it and we can incorporate any headcanons and requests you might have!)

NSFW and gore (to be discussed first to see if I am comfortable with the actual request)

❌Don'ts❌

Minor-adult relationships

Incest

SA

Purposefully offensive content.

✉️ How to contact me ✉️

You can send me a dm here or send an email to useless.italiano@gmail.com with any inquiry or curiosity you might have! I'm always happy to clear things up or help people understand better what they might want from a commission from me, so never be afraid to pose questions or ask for anything.

⚠️ Rules ⚠️

payment is ALWAYS upfront through paypal. I will ONLY agree to split payments past the 3500/4k word mark, with half upfront, half once the story is complete

I work on a first come, first served basis. If i am already working on someone else's commission, or if I have others queued up, you will be immediately informed and given a time estimate of when I can start working on your piece.

I always let clients know an estimate on how long it will take me to complete their piece, during which they get at least one or two updates (depending on the length of the piece) on how it's going, to allow them to see how it's coming along and what changes need to be made. I will always, only contact you with the pdf file through the mail we will use to communicate.

examples of my writing can be found on my AO3 here

Thank you to anyone who will reblog this and help me get the word out!

[abugsomewhere]

I’ve written 541 words so far, these chapters are gonna be long ones. It’s looking like it’ll be… uhh, maybe 2k words per chapter?? That’s the goal at least. I’m not amazing at estimating, but around 2k is what I usually see in chapters. So, opinions on chapter length?

[leviathans-watching]

om m.list ━ individual characters (bros)

[back]

lucifer

lucifer watching you sleep

reunion w/ lucifer

open affection with lucifer

lucifer x witch!mc

random texts with lucifer

your heart’s on my horizon - 1.8k

“And you don’t know what kind of curse?” Lucifer runs a hand through his hair anxiously. You stir slightly but still do not wake.

“We’ve got it narrowed down. Nothing too harmful, at least for demons, but the main concern is that we’re not sure how it’ll interact with a human. We’re just waiting for MC to wake at this point.”

Lucifer crouches down, examining your face closely. At least you don’t look like you’re in pain. Removing a glove, he presses the back of his hand to your forehead. It’s as he’s doing this that your eyes flutter open, taking him in.

“MC?” he asks panickedly, and Diavolo hurries closer, leaning over you as well. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m more than alright,” you say, sitting up. “Now that you’re here, Lucifer, I’m perfect.”

haunted & holy - 2k

“We’ll always be together, right?” you asked, clasping his hand softly.

“Of course,” Lucifer replied with ease, flipping your hand over so he could hold it for real. “Nothing in this world could ever take me from you.”

Oh, how those words played in his head when he fell, your tear-stained face the last thing he had seen. Your hand, reaching futilely for him, even as you were pulled back by several other angels.

can’t afford to lose you any longer - 2.3k

stepping into the hall, he clicks on mammon’s contact, holding his phone to his ear. it rings several times, but just as he thinks it’s going to go to voicemail, his younger brother picks up.

“lucifer!” mammon says. “oh thank god. i was just about to call ya!” mammon’s voice is loud, nervous. something is definitely wrong. why would mammon be calling him?

“what’s the matter?” lucifer asks, a bad feeling unfurling in his chest.

“it’s about mc,” mammon says, grave. “they got into an accident, and are in the hospital. i was gonna call ya sooner but satan said i should wait ‘till the doctor told us what was goin’ on.”

“what? mammon, what happened? are they okay?”

mammon hesitates. “they’re not in any immediate danger,” he hedges, and lucifer growls. “okay, okay. they’re in a coma, caused by the exertion of magical energy-”

“magical energy?” lucifer exclaims, but mammon barrels on.

“-but it’s estimated they’re not in any danger,” mammon continues, “we just don’t know when they’ll wake up yet. ‘pparently some lower-level dirtbags got brave due to your absence and decided to ‘purify the devildom once more.’” lucifer could hear the disgust in his voice.

mammon

playing pool with mammon

school play lead!mammon

“for you my dear? anything.”

getting overwhelmed by yelling/fighting

modeling with mammon | part 2

mammon with a chubby/fat mc

roller skating with mammon

mammon and sick!mc

painting a mural with mammon

dancing at the royal ball with mammon

rejecting nightbringer!mammon

meet-cute with mammon

It’s mammons bday again

swirl with mammon

mammon's birthday

random texts with mammon

selfish, for once - 18k

Mammon… is not what you were expecting. Instead of some horrific creature, you’re met with a pretty normal-looking guy, all things considered. Sure, he’s got horns and wings, but that’s it. Oh. He has abs, too. So horns, wings, and very prominent abs.

“My name is MC,” you say bravely, looking very intently at his eyes, which are an inhumane blue. “And I summoned you. I wish to make a pact.”

“A pact?” Mammon squawks, confusing you. “That’s what you were tryin’ to do?”

You raise a brow. “Yes?”

Mammon curses, slipping into the rough tones of the underworld. “A goddamn pact. Shit.” Shaking his head roughly, he fixes you with a hard look. “Hate to break it to you, Sweetcheeks, but you fucked up.”

“What?” You squint at him. “No. No way. I followed all of the instructions perfectly.”

“And there’s your problem. Whoever told you that was a pact spell was lyin’ to you.” Mammon seems genuinely distressed, and you feel very out of your element.

“Well then, what kind of spell was it?”

Mammon winces like he was hoping you weren’t going to ask. “It’s a, uh, binding spell. We’re bound together now. Our souls are, for a lack of a better term, intertwined.”

chaos causer - 10k

Alone for the holidays? Mad at your family? Hire me to ruin the night.

I am a human magic user that has recently had a lot of time open up to me with nothing to fill it. Why not use this time in a meaningful way? I asked myself, before dismissing the idea. I’m a young adult willing to pretend to be your date for any holiday dinner or party.

Thanks to my magic, I can play any age, except child (for obvious reasons), and have no problem changing my appearance as need be. I am a skilled actor and promise to sell my character well. Your satisfaction is guaranteed.

I revel in causing chaos and making things worse.

I require no payment aside from the free meal. This offer is available to anyone in any of the three realms, as I have experience dealing with an assortment of humans, angels, and demons. Do NOT contact me with unsolicited offers or services.

home is wherever I’m with you - 1.3k

"let’s get out of here,” you say one day, in the wake of an explosive argument between the brothers that left mammon nearly in tears.

“what?” he says, tilting his head towards you. “just- drive?”

“yeah. we’ll come back eventually, but let’s just go somewhere that’s not here.” mammon doesn’t look quite convinced, so you double down, pleading with him. “i’ll take all of the blame and everything. please mammon, i just want to explore some.”

“lucifer’ll kill us.”

“not if he can’t find us,” you say with more cheekiness than you feel, making mammon snort half-heartedly. “c’mon,” you wheedle, “just the two of us, complete freedom, no tasks, no chores-”

“fine,” mammon agrees, and you grin. you feel impulsive and wild, the wanderlust already taking over. “let’s do it.”

liminal spaces (in my heart) - .9k

you and a handsome stranger keep meeting in the oddest of places. mammon x gn!reader

Golden - 4k

“MC. I know you want to do something for Mammon’s birthday.”

“How do you-”

“All-seeing time lord, remember?” His tone held a note of humor. “Anyway, I have a plan. There is a car in the parking lot of the school, that has swimming suits, a picnic, and everything you’d need for the beach.”

“Diavolo’s?”

“Yes. Now, as a responsible person, I shouldn’t be suggesting you skip school, but I also know Mammon is deeply upset, and the sooner you head out the better. You will know the car when you see it. It is by the back of the lot.” Barbatos gave you a small smile.

*

When everyone forgets Mammon’s birthday you can’t let it slide. With the help of Barbatos, you take him to the beach for an afternoon that hopefully makes up for everyone else’s forgetfulness.

angry at all the things i can’t change - 1.9k | part 2 - 3k

ask from @/dexpairs-blog: Hi! If that’s ok could i request MC not hiding their preference for Mammon (in general, not just romantic), and when they’re asked why they say that they relate to him since at home they’re treated the sale say his brothers treat him and want to make him feel loved.

*

Five times you give Mammon the love and care he deserves and one time you make sure the other brothers get what’s coming to them.

levi

nervous!MC asking levi out

getting overwhelmed by yelling/fighting

playing scary games with levi

drinking with levi

misunderstandings with levi

levi’s fkn hot

levi's bday (yr 3)

satan

seeing snow with satan

domestic morning with satan

comparing now

spring walk

asmo

mc wanting to learn about asmo’s interests (fem!reader)

‘ruination’ with asmo

asmo x goth!mc • part 2

meeting asmo at the club

dancing with asmo

like, subscribe, and maybe fall in love

*NOT CLICKBAIT!!!* when asmo learns that you, the newest exchange student has a youtube account and following somewhat comparable to his own, he decided right then and there not to like you. however, after an unfortunate (and misleading) exchange goes viral, he has no choice but to fake date you in order to save face. will asmo crush you and put you into place like you deserve? or are those funny feelings in his stomach not hate, like he had thought? like, subscribe, and maybe fall in love (with this smau) to find out!!

beel

beel with a mc who works out with him

beel concerned about mc’s appetite

mc not being scared of beel

getting overwhelmed by yelling/fighting

tipsy!reader telling beel you love him

beel winning you a teddy bear

seeing the sunrise with beel

giving beel candy

should have known better w/ beel

human world buffet

stupid handsome boys

“just stay with me”

love thy neighbor - 7k

Before the boxes can fully tip over, you feel the top one getting lifted, a tanned arm entering your vision.

“Whoah,” the stranger says, and you shift the boxes remaining, moving them out of your way. Without the box that had been on top, it’s much easier for you to get a handle on everything. “Careful there,” he continues once you’re finally able to see him, and you have to adjust where you’re looking because seriously, this guy is way taller than you expected.

Or, living next door to a demon.

belphie

belphie doesn’t like sleeping with you

showing him constellations

what might be memory feels like flesh and bone - 1.4k | part 2 - 1.1k

He was blinded by his rage, his grief, and the only person who had made an honest effort to help him out was you, you who he had so easily turned on once he had gotten what he wanted.

It was hard, Belphegor was learning, facing and owning up to his own mistakes.

*

He did not deserve your kindness.

Yet you offered it to him in quiet moments, and in soft movements.

And he could only comply, ensnared by the soft feeling of your fingers on his cheekbones, collecting any wayward tears.

[lorei-writes]

Needless Need

Chevalier x OC (OC Chart: Esther) Fluff Word count estimate: 2k

Because... it is quite sweet to see characters grow, and I quite enjoy putting Chevalier in situations that are both sweet and ridiculous.

Bambi (Esther's dog) is the star of the show, I swear.

Content Warnings: none

He may not understand the heart that now beats in his chest, but nevertheless, it is still his, so they must cooperate. His gloved hand reaches for the handle, the cold of brass holding his warmth in turn. Chevalier grips it tighter to allow for the chill to intrude on him further, the wood shivering at his ever-cooling gaze. To spare any more effort would be unnecessary – sufficient material evidence has been provided, and yet… The longer he stares at the oaken grain, the deeper into him does it see, as if inviting him to go past it and examine the reality. Chevalier scoffs at himself internally. What a completely needless need…

Return, return…

First there was light, and only then did the becoming wrap itself in time and space. However, there still are hours when it is neither the night nor the day, the sun living somewhere at the frontier as moments grow long, entangled with past, future, and present as well. It is precisely then that Rhodolite falls silent, for the sound has not been called into life as of yet – the rebirth of the day cannot come before light, so for the light they do wait… Unless one opts to persist in this state between states.

Chevalier strides through the halls of the Royal Palace; his footstep is sharp enough to graze the walls. Nevertheless, it carries little threat, or at the very least it does not appear to wish harm upon anybody, let alone the doors or the curtain hanging by the tall windows. It would be uncalled for. The guards have already delivered their reports – Chevalier knows all that he needs to know. The act of seeing it for himself is completely redundant, yet… his legs carry him forward of their own accord. So go he must, and so he goes.

Up the stairs.

Into the living quarters.

Past rooms that could very well not be there.

This path is a familiar one, more so than any other trace left in the library that is his head; Chevalier needs not recall it. Its specifics are visceral, near-innately connected to the most primary functions an organism executes to keep itself from death. Somewhere along the way, taking a detour to her room has become of the same importance as breathing, sleep, hunger… Hunger in particular, yes. Perhaps that is the very root of his not-quite-obligation to see that Esther is well; regardless, any such idle musings would be of waste.

He is at her door.

To turn away? No, he will not.

He may not understand the heart that now beats in his chest, but nevertheless, it is still his, so they must cooperate. His gloved hand reaches for the handle, the cold of brass holding his warmth in turn. Chevalier grips it tighter to allow for the chill to intrude on him further, the wood shivering at his ever-cooling gaze. To spare any more effort would be unnecessary – sufficient material evidence has been provided, and yet… The longer he stares at the oaken grain, the deeper into him does it see, as if inviting him to go past it and examine the reality. Chevalier scoffs at himself internally. What a completely needless need…

The room is devoid of any recent signs of human presence, unsurprisingly. It is wasteful of him to even step into it, to pay any mind to the cold at his skin, to reason it is part fault of the mere few incandescing embers left in the hearth; to take note of the creases left over the duvet, of the slightly skewed angle at which it was placed, indicatory of the fact that the bed has not been made by well-practised hands of a maid. Even breathing there servers no purpose whatsoever – whatever truth it could reveal, he has already uncovered for himself… Yet Chevalier still breathes, his mind instinctively latching onto the frail trails of steam still lingering in the air, and he turns on his heel, leaves.

The door shudders in its frame.

The corridor is just as he has seen it; however, it now comes to reason that it must have been swept soon before his return, or at the very least soon enough for it to erase any traces of the space being used. Ever as discerning, Chevalier cannot stop his eyes from seeing nor his mind from comprehending, a model of the events that transpired in the past hours conjuring itself without as much as a single conscious thought being employed for the task.

In his mind’s eye, he pictures the hurrying maids, panicked hands that somehow allowed for the few specks of dust to still loiter on the window frames, the ticking clock that points to a too late hour – and the further back in time he goes, the clearer Esther becomes. Her slumped shoulders as she returns to her room, the agitation hoovering above her head as she exists it an hour or so later, the tapping of Bambi’s claws as they follow the very path he now walks…

Their hands press onto the door handle, his real and hers imaginary.

His room is pristine, as per the usual state of affairs. It is order, predictability, and practicality to a fault. Upright book spines salute him from over the shelves, half-emptied inkpot lying stationed over his desk, prepared to receive orders at any time, any day; the sofa reports that it indeed is ready to provide him with rest. All just the way he has left it, all except for the lump in his bed. Just as expected, and just as predicted, the final guard is waiting there as well. The dog raises his head from the floor, pointy ears flicking to the front, sharp eyes turning towards the door. Bambi brews a whisper of a growl inside of his throat…

“Bambi,” Chevalier says, a whimper answering his call. A conversation, one may say.

Between a beast.

And a beast.

Perhaps it is only natural for a lesser of their kind to cower in presence of those mightier than it; however, Bambi does not tremble in fear. A fury of a tail wags his entire body, each of its sways more powerful than the previous one, and it is only the carpet that muffles his very excited, very pawing, paws. Chevalier takes a step forward – the dog is at his side, the elongated snout pushing at his hand. “Pet me or else…” he understands the thinly veiled threat, so he relents. Awakening the palace would usually not be on the list of his primary concerns, yet with Esther being among its residents… that much may have changed.

“She’s spoiling you,” Chevalier sighs, his attention divided between the guardian-pet and one who he guards. His eyes widen ever so slightly, Esther shifting below the covers, alarmed but not yet disturbed. Her breathing deepens. It is only natural, the black of night going grey signalling for the impending arrival of the day.

But not yet.

Not yet.

It is still this state between states.

Chevalier steps forward, towards the wardrobe, and undoes the ties of his cape. He makes quick work of the buttons of his jacket, of his shirt, discards his boots, gloves, belts, instead opting for some more comfortable wear. The equipment is part responsible for the task’s success and his objective is to rest. Bambi trailing his every step, Chevalier approaches the bed.

The sheets whisper quietly between themselves as he eases between the covers, perhaps mildly surprised their very owner would opt to make do with a pillow that is not his own. However, Chevalier cares less than little for such trivial drivel. Sleep and let sleep – nothing else is of any concern. He lays his head down, closes his eyes… Feels a person staring at him, a hand brushing his hair back.

He has not been found out.

Should he move?

Should he stall?

Chevalier weighs his options for a short while, his personal greed winning over any kindness he – allegedly – carries in his heart. He opts to remain silent, adjusts his breathing on a whim, all just to fool her, to see… To feel, Esther drawing nearer still. Her warmth is palpable, the thin layer of her underthings being hardly enough to serve the function of a frontier for the bodily heat. She pushes the duvet higher up his arm before caving in and nuzzling into him.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers against his skin.

“You’re being loud.”

“Am not,” she murmurs in reply, evidently not yet awake, just around the point of being aware of herself. “How long have…?”

“I’ve just come back.”

Esther pushes herself up on her elbow, her lips forming a pout. “Don’t tell me you weren’t going to wake me up.”

“Would you rather I lied?” Chevalier replies, quite satisfied with the frown it puts over her face. Her expression is only enhanced by the utter disarray that is her hair. He reaches to smooth it out, a shimmer of a smile flickering in the wake of his touch…

It fades.

It fades so fast that Chevalier nearly flinches back.

Esther catches his hand, interlocks their fingers before bringing it to her chest. A shadow has cast over her eyes – and he wonders, worries, or perhaps knows that it must be because of the stench of blood that he has failed to wash out. The images of the ambush play out in his mind, still fresh and tainted with viscous slickness, the feeling of it lurking just below the surface of his skin. Nevertheless, Chevalier does not pull back He turns rigid instead, as if viscerally expecting for her to push him away.

“You’re so cold. Give them here,” Esther urges… no, demands. She grabs his hands, not quite gentle but not brutal either, with a bit too much nails and too little fingertips; however, she still guides him, and in his astonishment, he allows her to proceed. Her warmth nibbles at the chill that set over him, unable to banish it, but not unwilling to – and both able and willing it becomes as their hands reach her thighs. Her skin is supple iron, heated to the point of glowing white. Scorching. Hot.

She locks him without as much as a word.

Esther lets her head fall onto the pillow. Content, she smiles with unfocused eyes, only mildly physical in the blue-ish grey light of the dawn.

“Now… Better,” she declares. She blinks, her lashes becoming harder to lift each time they fall… Until they stay just above her cheeks. Unbelievable, yet real, and no less tangible than the little crease that forms between her brows whenever Chevalier tries to retreat. Her knees press together and her ankles cross to hold him in place. Firmly.

“Not yet… cold…” she mutters out. “I don’t… want you to… cold…”

Chevalier looks at her again, although more so to count her freckles than to disregard her “request”. Esther has the habit of growing brazen once not fully awake, he is well aware of that much being the case. Has been for quite a while, ever since the carriage incident that one time. Regardless, rousing her has not been his intent, and it has not become one since he found himself in this dubious predicament. Chevalier makes himself comfortable, as comfortable as he can get… Only to feel a nudge to his bottom coming from just off the bed. He looks over his shoulder, pleading eyes staring at him, well, pleadingly… although with a touch of an unspoken threat. Bambi reiterates his demands, tainting his nose with yet another, most nefarious, poke.

“Bambi.”

Again. The dog wishes not to relent – and since Chevalier’s hands are quite occupied, his choices have shrunk quite considerably. To free himself, but to wake Esther up; to endure, but not to close his eyes even once; to give in, and to sleep at last, back in his own bed after what would amount to roughly twelve nights of absence… A conundrum, but not quite.

“Hop,” he orders in a tone much too serious for the word; however, Bambi obeys without a bark of complaint. The dog stomps over the duvet for a moment (a moment too long), nearly trips over his very own paws, before eventually walking the decisive circle and setting behind Chevalier’s legs. Not yet satisfied, Bambi lifts his head again, a silent desire emerging in his gaze.

“No.”

Ah. At least he has tried. Nothing has been lost, and in the end, Bambi needs to sleep as well.

… together, with his family, again.

Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @tele86

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June 25th, 2023 - Chapter 2 Progress DevBlog

I'm pretty disappointed with my progress this week but I had to work late a lot. I started working at a start-up a couple months ago and I really like it but it's been crazy busy. Anyway...

Progress with writing was pretty slow last week. Because the game was beta tested this past week (thank you to those who assisted!), I spent most of my time fixing a bunch of coding errors since I suck. lol. Here's what I did coding-wise (you'll see these changes when chapter 2 comes out):

fixed a bunch of conditional errors and a couple javascript ones where I accidentally added a period (RIP);

re-did some of the color schemes...again. It should be easier to read and I feel like I got the light/dark themes to a better place;

you can now change the font size and you can now choose OpenDyslexic as a font type.

okay, that doesn't sound like a lot. See screenshots at the end for a glimpse!

I wrote 3,293 words... I'm planning to write every day for at least 2-3 hours this week to catch up. Ideally, I would write 2K words a day.

I think there are about 20,000 more words to finish chapter 2? Just my estimate though.

Here is where things stand for Chapter 2...

Word Count (includes some code):

Current demo word count: 59,479

Current word count for just ch 2: 82,920

Total game word count (including ch2): 142,399 and counting...

Next, here's the scene order and what's written/coded/in progress:

Scene 1 - completely written and coded

Scene 2 - completely written and coded

Scene 3 - completely written and coded

Scene 4 - completely written and coded

Scene 5 - completely written and coded

Scene 6 - completely written and coded

Scene 7 - completely written and coded

Scene 8 - completely written and coded

Scene 9 - completely written and coded

Scene 10 - partially written and partially coded (sorry no percentage, I hate math)

Scene 11 - in progress (4 main branches)

Scene 12 - completely written and coded

Scene 13 - completely written and coded

Additionally, because I was so busy, I forgot to log in to Patreon and pause it. I've had it paused for a couple of months because I don't have time to do extra content and I don't want anyone to pay for no reason! However, I slipped up, so I went ahead and left it open right now and uploaded the current build with the incomplete chapter 2. I don't recommend anyone subscribe just to play it since it's not done but it's there in case someone wants to or is already subscribed. I anticipate adding a couple more scene variations next week.

Below are a few screenshots of what the game looks like. There's even a snippet of a scene from Ch2. It's not super different! But I think it looks better?

Oh, if you want to read a couple beta tester thoughts, keep looking, otherwise, thanks for taking the time to read!

Thank you and I hope you all have a great week <3

[sohotthateveryonedied]

because i've never made a poll before and now that i'm on the last chapter of that raven cycle fic i've been working on i need to do something about the pile of half-concocted fics sitting in my drafts, i'm letting the public decide what my next project is. but mostly i just want to play with the poll feature <3

most of these are at least halfway written and i just need to get off my ass and finish them, but there are so many that all i do is stare at them all indecisively and get nothing done. these are the titles with a brief description and estimated word count

i'll (probably) just write and post everything in the order of what people want most to least because how else am i supposed to find motivation in this economy