#but all of the connections in the different musical pieces in the series that i never knew about (some i did. but most i didn't) are so

[oveliagirlhaditright]

I'm having so much fun watching Green Requiem on YouTube's series about the music in Kingdom Hearts. I'm learning so much, as well:)

[earth4angels]

𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

modern!jacaerys x ballerina reader ─── first clumsy kisses on the bleachers, fluff, MAJOR FLUFF, jace is a little piece of shit in the beginning, aegon is the best friend we all need sometimes, blind date, jace acts possessive - major simp too.

summary: it takes a very braggy best friend who says he is the best cupid to ever exist for you to finally accept a blind date. however, you did not expect to cross paths with the one male who everyone wanted, a reputation of a lady-man but what could be worse? right?

a/n: this one i do want to make a series but i'll see how it's treated first so pls lemme know. listen to lovesick by laufey as you read (trust me)

jace tag list: @jacaerysgf @star611, @jules420, @gracexthoughts, @astrxq, @reyndaisy , @hxtd , @smurfelle , @nanaldy @valdezthg @littleblackcatinwonderland @nixtape-foryou @starrgurl46 @ethereal-athalia @stelleduarte @canyonmoon-2 @ambrosia-v-black

"Y/n, again. You are not lifting your leg high enough!"

You turned your head to look at your dance teacher who stood behind you, with a scolding face. You sighed, already irritated that you had to skip your friend's home welcoming party for practice.

As the music started playing again, you twirled. Your feet glided through the marble floor, the music becoming you, and for a while, you created a storyline with every bounce, and twirl you made. The final note was played as your body twirled then bent upward with your hands elegantly stretched outwards.

You looked like a painting and the few lookers that were in the room with you stared in awe. You breathed heavily through your nose as you remained in the final position until your instructor spoke.

"Amazing y/n! I feel like you hit the emotion straight in the face! I think we're done here," your instructor said, "Get out of here, enjoy the weekend off, I will see you Tuesday morning for the last rehearsals. Your audition will be on Saturday, do not forget!"

You smiled giddy that you could go early as you missed your best friend. He was finally home after visiting his grandparents, and though you and he stayed connected through Facetime, you longed to hug him.

"Thank you, Miss Royce, I will be there!" You scrambled to grab your bag; you bounced in your ballet shoes as you fell onto the floor untying the laces at a rapid pace. Your phone rang then, and you sighed in annoyance yet still picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"I cannot believe the one person that I wanted to see the most is not here. What do you take me as?" Aegon whined making you smile widely.

"Aegon!!!! I promise! I finished practice early! I'm heading over to you as fast as I can!" You slipped on your ballet slippers moaning softly at the difference between your pointe shoes and your soft slippers that relieved the pain on your feet.

"You better! Helaena and Aemond are bitching off my ear how you're not here!"

At that, you heard the voices of his siblings yelling over the phone asking about your whereabouts. You laughed at Aegon yelling, "that's MY best friend you idiots! Quit bothering!"

"Hurry! You don't have to call or anything when you arrive, the door is opened, just come to the back!"

You laughed again, hanging up after saying your goodbyes. Your velvety nude sling bag bounced with every running step you took as you ran to your car.

The house was lit up in pretty lights, you figured it was Helaena's doing along with Rhaena's, they were always the decorators when it came to parties. As you parked your car in front, you moved towards the door finding yourself hit with strong alcohol and loud music.

A scream was heard and then you were suddenly surrounded by long limbs. You huffed as the breath was taken from you, "Ooof!"

"I can't believe you are here! I have missed you so much!"

You moved your head back to see who had hugged you and when you saw their face you squealed. Both of you now bouncing, squealing together like young girls.

"Oh my gosh! Hels! You look so beautiful!"

Helaena rolled her eyes, "You are so much more beautiful! I have missed you so much, I will never leave longer than 2 months I promise!"

You hugged her tightly again muttering into her chest as she was taller than you were - how much you missed her.

"Come, the boys would want to see you!"

As you were taken to the backyard of the house you found yourself with a large crowd of people, you realized this was no longer a small gathering but rather a party. You scoffed, ah Aegon. You arrived at a ping pong table where Aegon was playing against Aemond, cheers were thrown left and right every single time they landed a shot.

You quietly stood in the middle of the table, eyeing the brothers' match, grinning softly at them throwing insults at each other. You knew it was all child's play as you knew they loved each other, but they were competitive.

"Fuck! Seven hells! You cheated!" Aegon exclaimed as he missed the shot, Aemond smirked shrugging his shoulders.

"Tough luck brother, now are you taking the shots or are you too wuss to?"

Aegon sneered, yet he never backed down, he leaned forward and grabbed all six shots, one by one they went down his throat. He shook his head and lifted his arms up as the crowd went wild. Aegon screamed with them as he was smiling boastfully.

You cleared your throat, "It's come to my attention that the jackass has not left you."

Aegon turned towards you, his soft uniquely lilac, with green-tinted eyes glimmered with joy, "Oh how much I missed you!"

You laughed as he swung you around in a tight hug, Aemond ran towards you as you were now wrapped in a group hug.

"I missed both of you idiots."

Aemond clicked his tongue, "You missed me more though, right?"

Aegon scoffed, "Shut your big chin up, again, she is MY best friend."

Your head moved from his face to Aemond as they bickered, your smile never faltering, "I missed both of you, I can't believe you guys left me for so long... I hate your mom for sending you to Oldtown."

Aegon huffed as he stuck a tongue out to his brother who did it back, "Careful babe, mom will punish you by denying you any sweet treats she bought you from home."

You gasped, "No way?" Aegon smiled as he nodded, "She bought me back treats? Why!? She didn't have to!"

Helaena who snuck her way into the group with a shot glass in her hand shoving it to your hand and nudging you to drink, "Mom loves you. I think she still wants to hook you up with Aegon."

You swallowed the tequila down, feeling the burning sensation for a few seconds before you and Aegon exclaimed together, "EW."

"She's like my sister."

"He's like my gay best friend I can never!"

Aegon stopped, before he looked at you in shock, "WHAT?"

You smiled teasingly, "Kidding," you whispered to Helaena who was grinning from the playful jabs both of you were making at each other, "Maybe."

"Okay, enough of that, let's have fun and we will catch up later, y/n sweetie, you will stay over tonight! No exceptions!"

You groaned as you got pulled into the crowd towards the homemade bar by Helaena. You did not remember much from that night besides maybe dancing too much, and accepting a body shot from some guy named Jake, or perhaps it was Jace? All you remember was how soft his lips were and how his arms held your thighs as he held you against the ping-pong table.

You groaned sitting up from the soft pillows, your head spinning in endless swirls, "Oh god... I am never drinking again."

"Sure, you're not."

You blinked, your head in your hands as you spotted Helaena next to you smiling at you teasingly. You groaned again falling back into the softness of the bed, scooting closer to her, making yourself in a small ball.

"Tell me how much of an idiot I was last night."

Helaena softly patted your hair, her finger combing through the rough tangles of your hair, "Ay. You didn't do much, you kind of deserved to have some fun. You are always practicing or studying."

"You know how badly I want to be a professional ballet dancer, I can't be a complete mess," you muttered into her chest where she continued combing your hair.

"You are perfect, not being a biased person here because you know, we're almost like sisters but I think you will be the best ballerina to ever exist, everyone will love you."

You kissed her cheek, muttering a soft thank you as you groaned again, hot flashes appearing, "Really though... how much of a clown was I?"

Helaena laughed then, "You practically made out with my nephew."

You shot up from her hold, your head spun again but paid no mind to the swirls, "Huh?! When?! I don't remember..." You trailed off mid-sentence as you forced your brain to remember said situation. You scrambled your hazy memories until it finally hit you.

You moaned in embarrassment as your hand gathered your forehead, "Oh... I remember... this is so embarrassing..."

Helaena laughed, "Relax, I think he won't remember either, both of you were pretty locked in though, until you..." She started laughing harder, "You vomited on his shoes."

You stared at her as she laughed, she was clutching her stomach from the ache that began to grow from the hard laughter she released. You sat in embarrassment, all the while you moaned from the pain and the shame that came to you.

You slapped your friend on the shoulder as she was heaving from laughing too much, "Hels! That's not funny!"

Wheezing she replied, "Relaaaax. I don't think you will ever see him again; my sister does not come around too much, she's busy running the family's business. So, chances of you ever crossing his path are 1 out of 10."

You hid in the pillow as the moaning came from the headache you were going through. What you did not expect was how quick you saw him again.

The library was calming, if there was any other place anyone would find you that was not the dance studio, you would be found in the library, reading. You slurped on your smoothie silently as your eyes scanned the words of the book, intrigued.

A rough bounce beside you made you gasp out loud, dropping your book onto the floor, your interruption grinning at you teasingly.

"Call me the best cupid to ever exist, I just got you a date!"

You rolled your eyes, picking up your book and settling back into the couch, your legs tucking under your behind, "No one asked, and no I am not going."

Aegon clicked his tongue, "I was not asking, I was informing you."

You looked up from your book, finding your best friend looking at you with mischief in his eyes, "Why would I do that? I am too busy anyways."

Aegon removed your book from your hands, putting it up in the air out of reach from your grabby hands that began to fight him.

"Exactly why! You are always practicing! You need a little spice, some drama in your life!"

You huffed as you gave up trying to get your book back, falling back to the couch and crossing your arms, "I am fine, thank you very much! I am fine being on my own, it does not interfere with my dance rehearsals, you know how much I need to nail this audition to be accepted to the ballet academy."

Aegon smiled softly, his blonde curls falling over his hazel, lilac eyes.

"I love you, y/n, I really do. But you need to get out there, you never know what you can come across with. Maybe it will be the best decision, maybe it will not. But the fact that you went through something new, is exciting. So please, enlighten yourself, go on one date."

Both of you stared at each other before you sighed, "Just one date? Then you'll leave me alone?"

He nodded rapidly, "Just one. Promise."

You leaned your head back, closing your eyes in thought, you figured, it wouldn't hurt to try having fun.

"Okay."

"Okay? Okay as in I will do it?"

You peeked an eye open finding Aegon bouncing on the couch in excitement, "Yes. I will do it."

He did a fist bump in the air as he cheered quietly, "I promise you won't regret it."

"Hopefully so."

Maybe it was a bad idea. The person who sat in the booth was in fact the person who you thought you were never going to see again. He sat with a sly smile. You were clenching your hands together in irritation, you found him incredibly annoying, yet he was so beautiful.

"Ah. I am so glad I came instead of Cregan."

You snapped your eyes up in anger, "What?!"

"Cregan was your blind date. Not me. He was just occupied sucking face with his ex-girl again that he did not come here, so I came. I wanted to see what prize I would get for being a best friend. I admit it is quite a treat for me."

Your hands itched to slap him but held back the anger that was filling your stomach, you almost wanted to cry but again, you held back. The male sitting in front of you crossed his arms, he was lean but muscular at the same time, he had very nice curls, and small but bright brown eyes that were easy to get lost in.

You were too into the drinks the night of Aegon's party to remember him but his lips... that you did remember. You blushed.

"Well," you cleared your throat, your eyes darting to the exit door of the restaurant, "this was fun, but I got to go for practice." You stood up, grabbing your bag and phone before a hand stopped you.

"Don't go. Look, I am sorry for being an ass. We can make use of the time and chat a little. If you don't want to stay after 10 minutes, I won't hold it against you. But I want to know you, I have seen you around."

You had two choices. Stay and get to know this guy or leave and swim in the shame of being stood up. You decided to hell with it, as you sat back down the booth slowly.

He smiled widely, his slight bunny teeth showing making you grin.

"My name is Jacaerys Velaryon, but you can call me Jace, everyone does anyways," he rambled, your lips quirked at the personality seeping out of him slowly. You introduced yourself, feeling a little flutter when he repeated your name softly.

The waiter came by to take your orders, Jacaerys was kind to ask what you wanted, recommending you the best choices. You felt more relaxed in his presence, he made it easy for you to open up. The food came in then, but the conversation never stopped.

He talked to you about his games, and his connection to your best friend. You found out he was in fact the co-captain of the soccer team. You heard a lot about the soccer team, how they hosted parties just to hook up with girls, or the famous captains that every girl wanted to make their boyfriends.

You grimaced at the thought you were now on the list of girls who he had dated. Shaking your head you continued to listen as you took small bites into your food, replying when asked a question.

"I have seen you. You dance very... pretty."

You choked on your pasta. His eyes widened as he reached out with a napkin whispering 'Oh shit, are you okay?' Your eyes watered but you gave a thumbs up.

"You've seen me dance?" You asked shyly.

"Have I seen you? Y/n, you are all they talk about in the halls. The next big performer of Westeros? You do not realize how much popularity you actually have do you? I have seen you once, practicing. You quite literally took my breath away."

Jacaerys muttered the last bit, he scratched his neck in shyness. You were practically red-faced; you did not dare to face him. His hand was placed on your right hand that was placed on the table, "I believe it though. You will make it big."

The flutters in your stomach made your toes curl, you wanted to hide and scream by the way he was staring at you. Jacaerys was grinning, his dimples showing slightly. He was beautiful.

"Thank... you?" you whispered, holding his hand now, watching him smile his hand now holding yours fully.

"You're welcome."

You did not want to admit it, but the date was in fact fun. You got to know him better as did he, you. You laughed at his attempt at making a whipped cream beard only for it to fall into his shirt and as he groaned, your heart fluttered. Jace, like he begged you to call him, was in fact the prime example of not judging a book by its cover.

When the check came, he quickly paid offering to take you home. In the car you sat listening to the radio in comfortable silence, you did not realize how much his hand twitched to hold yours.

"Well, we're here now."

You glanced at your home, silently cursing the time for going too quick. "Thank you for the ride, Jace. I had a lot of fun."

He smiled before it started to fade, you unbuckled your seatbelt slowly hoping that maybe... he would beg you to stay longer. He hesitated, your hand going for the door handle losing hope he was going to say something.

"Wait... y/n."

You reacted too fast for your liking, "Yes?"

"Meet me after the game? I'd like to take you somewhere."

You sat stunned before you stuttered, "As in... another date?"

His lips quirked to the side, the frat boy side slipping, "No. Just to hook up." That caused you to open your mouth to tell him off when he rolled his eyes, "Yes a date y/n."

You blushed; you did not know how much of his teasing you could take, "okay." You giggled into your hands as you closed your door, your cheek on fire holding a soft kiss made by the guy you never expected to make you feel so giddy inside. You hoped to see him again soon, and as you slept you dreamt of a curly, tall male with pretty freckles and brown eyes that looked like gems in the light.

You found yourself sitting in the bleachers surrounded by hordes of people. You had your ballet slippers on, your silk ballerina jumpsuit being covered by a skirt and a hoodie. You rushed after practice, sighing in relief when you only missed the first twenty minutes of the game.

Your classmates began looking at you not expecting to see you at a game. You never did come, Aegon begged you many times to go, to support Daeron who was also on the team. You always put practice as an excuse, but this time was different, Jace was playing, and he invited you.

You cheered whenever Jace scored, and as if he heard you, he would always throw his celebratory victories to you. Whether it was a wink or lame gun fingers. You jumped up and down as the team won their home game.

You waited by the bleachers, your feet dangling enjoying the chill of the night until you felt a jacket be dropped onto your shoulders. Jace sat next to you, his hair damped indicating his rushed shower. You sat in silence, his hands holding yours, with his thumbs caressing the front of your hands.

"Did you enjoy the game?"

You nodded, feeling too overwhelmed to speak.

"Let's make a deal yeah?" He leaned forward bending his head to face you clearly, your face growing hot when you spotted his bright brown eyes, from this angle you saw his freckles more clearly.

"Come to every single game of mine, and I will come to every dance recital, and rehearsal of yours. We will be each other's cheer squad."

Your heart grew warm, the appreciation and growing adoration for him becoming more intense. You only nodded, muttering a sincere promise as your hand reached towards his curls, brushing it to the side to avoid the droplets of water from his hair falling into his eyes. He grabbed your hand pulling you closer to him, your noses brushing.

You did not move as you did not want to seem desperate. You felt the minty breath of his, his hand holding yours as the other reached to cradle your face. You closed your eyes the moment you felt him move, your lips were wrapped with warmth, melting away every worry, growing the mass of butterflies that flew in your stomach. You met every movement of his lips, pressing yourself closer to him.

"Yo Jace! Quit making out! Are you coming to the party or not?" Cregan yelled from beneath the bleachers

You felt mutter a curse as you giggled. He pulled away still holding your hand, now intertwined with his. "Not tonight, I will be with my girl."

Cregan stopped, his jaw slacking, "Wh-at?" You even looked at him shocked. Jace only shrugged when he faced you before he looked towards his best friend, "Oh, and tell jack-ass Lannister that if I catch him sexualizing Y/n, I will beat his ass so bad he won't be able to play the playoffs."

Cregan only stood with his mouth open, shocked to see the one playboy who never wanted to commit to serious relationships in a deep make-out with a girl who he was serious about. Jace pulled you who was also stunned to his car, as both of you passed the still shocked Cregan, Jace patted him on the shoulder.

"Thanks man."

That night you sat in the back seat of his car, deep in make-out sessions, going over ice cream cones and listening to both of your favorite bands. As you sat wrapped in his strong arms you decided to question him your doubts.

"Why did you tell Cregan that?"

Jace hummed and if like he said nothing wrong, he responded lightly, "That we were together?"

You nodded, "And Lannister? What's that about?"

You felt him tense before he let out a big breath, "I plan to make you, my girlfriend. I can't stop thinking about you since I've met you. Lannister..." he huffed, "... is a jackass. A douche with no respect for anyone, if you ever cross paths with him or any of his goonies, turn the other way, and let me know if he ever does anything, promise me."

You swore you felt your heart wanting to explode, you wanted to confess your true feelings as well but felt too cowardly to do so, you only responded with a soft 'okay.' He pressed a kiss on your head, pressing you closer to his chest, you closed your eyes, hearing the soft thumps of his heart.

You fell harder for Jacaerys Velaryon that night, but you will never know how much he already loved you from afar. How when he saw you the night of Aegon's party he was shocked to see you there with a pretty light floral dress - he just did not expect to get so hammered like you were. And you definitely will never find out how Aegon texted Cregan the night after to meet you for a date when Jacaerys himself was using Cregan's phone.

You will never find out how quickly he deleted the message and went to meet you instead because this was finally his chance to talk to you, since you never turned your eye to him every time, he tried on purposely to catch your eye. You will not find out how he always stood by the door of your dance rehearsals seeing you twirl, and bounce as if you were flying in the air so prettily.

Jacaerys Velaryon has loved you deeply for a long time and he planned to love you always, you were the person he wanted to take to his mother and proudly say he wanted to marry you.

[alygator77]

♬♪ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : beat of my heart ♬♪

♬ pairing. college au // drummer! gojo x psychology major! reader (f)

♬ summary. being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realize it’s too late?

♬ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, slow burn, smut, angst with comfort, some fluff, readers mom has dementia, mentions of suicide, alcohol/weed usage, unresolved trauma, commitment issues

♬ words: 7.3k

♬ a/n. hi lovelies, welcome to the debut of this fic :) very excited to explore this dynamic between satoru and y/n, thanks for reading ♡

♬ taglist: open

series masterlist ♬ next chapter → pending...

ch 1 // the first measure

“Emotional regulation is defined as the process by which individuals influence the emotions they experience, when they experience them, and how they express them in response to different stimuli.”

Staring at the neatly printed words in your psychology textbook, your mind automatically begins to dissect the concept.

Emotional regulation. The holy grail of human behavior, wrapped neatly in clinical terms. It’s the ability to keep yourself in check, to craft a perfect mask that hides what’s boiling beneath the surface. The world only gets to see what you allow. If it were as easy as the textbook made it sound, half your classes wouldn’t exist.

Letting out a breath, you sink deeper into your chair.

People aren’t simple equations you can balance, after all—people are… complicated.

Emotions, even more so.

They ebb and flow like unpredictable tides, swelling when you least expect them, crashing down when you think you’ve regained control. They are messy, stubborn, and relentless—especially when the brain stops following its own rules.

Your mothers face comes to mind—uninvited. Her once-bright eyes are now dull with confusion, emotions flickering in and out like static on a broken TV. Dementia has stolen the filter that once kept her reactions in line with reality. It’s as if her mind is betraying her, one piece at a time.

You press your fingers against the pages of the textbook. Will any amount of psychology truly prepare you to untangle the complexities of the human mind? Can it allow you to help her—or at least understand her—before she’s lost entirely?

Before you can sink further into that thought, an ear-splitting crash reverberates through the store, jolting you back into the present. Glancing up with a sigh, the peaceful hum of the music store is shattered by the clumsy cacophony of someone abusing a drum kit like it owes him money.

Clearly, emotional regulation isn’t on that guy’s radar.

Yet, somehow, you’ve grown used to it. Working part-time here has taught you how to tune out chaos, as if the dissonance of the store has become its own kind of background music.

It’s chaotic, but it’s your kind of chaos.

The strings of guitars being tested, the pounding of drum kits, the chattering of customers—it all blends into a rhythm you no longer notice.

You’ve been working part-time in this quaint little music shop for so long that silence has become unsettling. If it’s too quiet, your mind starts wandering, spiraling into places you don’t always want to go. And so, the chaos is your anchor—it helps you focus, keeps you present.

Studying in silence feels foreign.

“Ugh… I have such a headache,” Utahime’s voice breaks through your thoughts, her hand pressing to her temple. Standing a few feet away, she shoots a glare towards the drum section. “He’s been at it for practically an hour now. Like… come on. Is he trying to destroy that kit or learn how to play it?”

Glancing up from your textbook, you eyes land on a brawny guy with jet-black hair, slamming away on the drums with no sense of rhythm, no control—just brute force.

“Has it really been that long?” you ask, blinking at the scene. The noise had faded into the background for you, becoming just another layer of the store’s soundtrack.

Utahime gives you a look that screams disbelief.

“You didn’t notice?”

You shrug.

“Guess I’ve learned to tune it out.”

“Tch… wish I could do that,” she rolls her eyes, rubbing her temples like the sound is physically burrowing into her skull. “That guy is killing me.”

Oh, shit. Now that your attention is focused, you notice just how bad it really is. It’s not just noise—it’s borderline offensive to music. He’s not even playing the drums—he’s assaulting them—completely unaware of the sonic devastation he’s unleashing on the store.

Utahime lets out another long, exasperated groan, her entire body sagging as she leans forward in defeat.

“I swear, if he keeps going, I’m going to snap,” her elbows rest on the counter, and she presses her forehead into her hands. “y/nnnn,” she whines, lifting her head just enough to glimpse at you. “Can you please do something?”

Glancing around the store, you catch the irritated looks of other customers—one guy near the synthesizers is glaring openly at the drummer, his hand gripping a set of headphones so tightly you half expect him to snap them in half.

It’s like the whole store is holding its breath, waiting for someone—anyone—to make it stop.

A sigh escapes your lips as you close your textbook. It’s one thing to tune out the chaos when you’re focused on studying, but now that you’re paying attention, the noise feels like an assault on your senses too. You can’t blame Utahime for losing her patience—though she’s never been one to take matters into her own hands.

“Fine, I’ll handle it,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from your seat.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, finally peeling her hands away from her temples. “Please, work your magic. Before we all go deaf.”

You roll your eyes internally, though you can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Magic. Sure—that’s one way to put it.

What Utahime calls ‘magic’ is really just years of learning how to manage other people’s shit without losing your cool.

It’s not magic—it’s survival. A skill you’ve honed out of necessity, not desire. And sure, maybe your love for psychology helps—you’ve got the theories to back up the practice—but most days it feels more like wrangling toddlers who never learned how to grow up.

Taking a steady breath, you step into the fray, weaving through the store’s labyrinth of instruments and displays. As you get closer, the vibrations from the drums rattle through your bones, crawling up your spine. The sound is unbearable, like nails on a chalkboard amplified through a megaphone.

The guy doesn’t even look up, his head bent low over the drum kit, raven hair falling in messy strands across his forehead. His arms move with the rhythm of someone who has no idea what rhythm actually is, and the muscles in his forearms ripple with each heavy-handed strike as he slams the sticks down like he’s personally offended by the drums.

You stand off to the side for a moment, watching him have at it. You’ve dealt with a lot of difficult people working here, but this guy? He’s so oblivious to the fact that the rest of the store is on the verge of mutiny.

Clearing your throat, you raise your voice, hoping to break through his focus.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

Another crash of the cymbals, loud enough to rattle your skull. Your jaw tightens as you try again, this time louder.

“Excuuuuse me!”

Still nothing. He’s completely in his own world, bashing away with reckless abandon. It’s like he’s in a vacuum, utterly disconnected from the chaos he’s creating around him.

Jesus this guy… your patience thins and you step closer—close enough now to feel the heat radiating off him from his overexertion. His shirt clings to his back with sweat, and the muscles in his arms continue to ripple with each reckless swing of the drumsticks.

He’s not just playing hard—he’s playing like he’s got something to prove.

As you reach out to tap his shoulder, you try to keep your touch firm but not aggressive, although, the moment your fingers make contact with him, his entire body jerks—drumsticks freezing mid-air as he whips his head around to face you.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, sharp and filled with a flicker of annoyance.

“What?” he snaps, voice dripping with irritation.

Keeping your expression neutral, you try not to let his attitude get to you.

“You’ve been at this for a while,” you begin, as calm as you can manage. “We have a limited selection and there are other customers who may be wanting to try this kit.”

His eyes narrow, clearly unimpressed.

“So?” he drawls, waving the drumsticks lazily, like your request is beneath him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you press your lips together in protest. Stay professional, you remind yourself. Shifting your weight slightly, you square your shoulders and look him directly in the eyes.

“So,” you continue, voice firmer this time, “store policy is thirty minutes per instrument. You’ve been playing for over an hour.”

A low, sarcastic laugh bubbles from his chest, the sound filled with mockery as he tilts his head back slightly.

“And… what are you gonna do about it?” leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees like he's settling for a show—eyes glimmering with amusement as his lips curl into a smirk. “Throw me out?”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek—every fiber of your being is itching to knock this guy down a peg.

Ugh. What a tool.

The condescension in his voice grates on you like sandpaper, but you force yourself to stay composed.

“Look…store policy is pretty clear,” you reply evenly, nodding towards the sign behind the counter. “You either give someone else a turn, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Your words seem to pique his interest—his smirk widens, eyes flicking over you slowly, appraisingly. Suddenly you’re more interesting to him than this drum set. He pushes himself off the stool in a slow, deliberate movement, and you hold your breath the moment he towers over you.

He’s by no means, a small guy.

The light behind him is blocked from his broad shoulders, and there’s a new edge to his gaze now. The moment he invades your space, it is just a little too close for comfort.

“Oh yeah?” your stomach turns from the low suggestive timber of his voice, “And what if I don’t feel like leaving, sweetheart? You gonna make me?”

Ick.

This guy might take the cake for being the most difficult prick you’ve had to deal with here, and that’s saying something. Working in this music shop, you’ve come across a lot of full of themselves wannabees, praising themselves like the next big thing—acting like God’s gift to music when all they want to play over and over again is ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ and ‘Wonderwall.’

A surge of discomfort ripples through your body, but you stand your ground. You know how this goes—he wants a reaction, and you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“Look dude, I’m not asking,” your tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. “This is your last warning”

His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, and a low whistle escapes his lips, as if he’s impressed—but it’s the kind of faux admiration that makes your skin crawl.

“You’re a tough one, huh?” he muses, chuckling softly.

Leaning in, the heat of his breath brushes against your skin as he invades your space once again—far too close for comfort—and you feel his gaze sweep over you slowly, lingering in a way that feels slimy and unwelcome.

“I like a girl with a little fire,” he adds, voice dropping lower. “It always makes things more fun.”

Gross.

Your hands curl into fists by your sides and you fight the urge to recoil as a surge of revulsion twists through you like a knife.

But before you can respond—before you even have the chance to formulate the sharp retort already forming on your tongue—the air shifts and a new voice cuts in.

“Wow, did I just walk in on the world’s worst pickup line, or are we about to throw hands over a drum kit?”

Turning your head towards the source of the voice, your eyes land on a tall figure standing a few feet away—his hair is a striking shade of snowy white, messy and untamed, falling in tousled strands that almost brush against the black sunglasses obscuring his eyes, and even with his face partially hidden, there’s no mistaking the mischievous glint tugging at the corners of his mouth—like he’s watching the scene unfold for his own amusement.

Despite the casual nature of his appearance—jeans slung low, a loose-fitting hoodie—there’s something undeniably striking about him. It’s the kind of presence that demands attention without asking for it

Who the hell is this guy?

Clearly irritated by the interruption, the drummer straightens up—his smirk faltering as he sizes up the newcomer.

“This doesn’t concern you, man,” he growls, tight with irritation. “I’m just having a little conversation with her.”

The snowy stranger’s grin turns sharp, though his voice remains light.

“Yeeeah, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” he steps up beside you, and without hesitation, his arm slips around your waist, pulling you smoothly into his side like you’ve always belonged there. “Everything concerning her concerns me.”

Your heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the sudden, possessive gesture. Part of you bristles at the boldness, but another part… feels oddly safe in his grasp—like he’s been by your side forever.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere as the drummer's eyes narrow—like the balance of power has tipped—the presence of this stranger throwing him off.

“Oh really? And just who the hell are you?” he snaps.

Your mysterious stranger doesn’t miss a beat—he chuckles softly, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes—brilliant, vivid blue, and gleaming with a spark that teeters between playful and dangerous. It’s the kind of look that makes your heart flip.

“Oh, me?” he feigns innocence with a nonchalant shrug, like this whole thing is just mildly amusing to him. “I’m nobody special.”

Sliding his sunglasses back into place, he casually pulls you in a bit closer, and you are met with the warmth of his body as he leans into you just slightly.

“Just here to make sure my girl doesn’t have to deal with assholes. Y’know how it is.”

Your mind scrambles to catch up.

Your girl? You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks as the words rolling off his tongue begin to register. You barely know this guy—hell, you don’t know him at all—and yet here he is, acting like the two of you are something.

But…maybe it’s working? Because the drummer’s eyes narrow further, his expression twisting as a furrow darkens over his features. Ah…but then you realize he’s not focused on the claim your stranger just made—no, his attention is locked on a different word entirely.

“Asshole?” he echoes, voice rising with indignation, practically spitting the word back. Clenching his fists, he steps forward with a scowl twisting upon you face. “You calling me an asshole?”

“Well, yeah,” your stranger remarks casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He shrugs again, utterly unfazed by the tension mounting between them. “When the shoe fits…I mean, you’re acting like one, aren’t you?”

Pure rage flashes across the drummer’s face, and you can visibly see his fists trembling slightly.

Uhh… on second thought, is this guy even helping?

Now you’re not so sure if your so-called rescuer is making things better or worse, because clearly, the drummer is on the verge of snapping.

“You better watch your mouth man,” the drummer snarls, fury simmering beneath the surface.

But the stranger’s grin only widens, and he exudes a confidence that makes it clear he’s not worried in the slightest.

“Heh. That’s a warning I get a lot,” he muses, tilting his head slightly. “But y’know what? I don’t usually listen.”

It's a wonder the drumsticks the drummer is fisting haven't cracked under pressure, given how tightly he clenches them—his knuckles turn white.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growls through gritted teeth.

A low hum rumbles against your strangers’ lips as he ponders the question thoughtfully.

“I mean, I’ve been told I’m pretty hilarious,” he scratches the back of his head, like he’s seriously considering the statement, then, glancing at you, his eyes gleam with amusement as his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose slightly.

“Whatcha think babe? Am I funny?”

The question—and that pet name—catches you completely off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

But the drummer isn’t interested in the little game your stranger seems to be playing. His jaw clenches—teeth grinding audibly as his face hardens into something feral.

“I’m about two seconds away from wiping that stupid grin off your face,” he spits, taking another aggressive step forward.

Fucking hell, is a fight really about to break out at your work?

Your pulse quickens, and for a split second, you think he might actually swing at him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the stranger says, still grinning like none of this phases him.

He releases his hold on your waist and steps forward with a smooth, almost lazy movement, placing himself between you and the drummer. His hands slip casually into his pockets, posture relaxed, but the air around him shifts.

“Let’s pump the brakes, big guy,” he tilts his head slightly, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. “You’re welcome to try. But I’ll tell ya right now—” his teasing lilt diminishes, replaced by something colder, more commanding, “you’re not gonna like how it ends.”

His words—a warning and a challenge wrapped in one—hang heavy, and for a moment it feels like the entire store is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. Glancing around, you notice a few customers watching the scene unfold.

Fucking hell—this has gone from bad to worse.

And yet…the drummer doesn’t swing. He doesn’t move—doesn’t even flinch.

He’s seething—rage evident in the set of his jaw, the clenched fists at his sides—but something about the stranger’s calm, unwavering demeanor is throwing him off balance. It’s almost impressive, really.

No, scratch that—it is impressive.

You misjudged this guy. He might have walked in here like a cocky troublemaker, throwing out cheesy one-liners and pushing your buttons, but now? Now, he’s cool under pressure, defusing a situation that could’ve easily escalated into violence.

Body language often says more than words ever could, and his is completely in control—relaxed, hands in his pockets, not a single muscle tensed for a fight, yet there’s a sharpness beneath the surface—an unspoken control that demands attention.

It’s brilliant in a way. He’s defusing the threat without lifting a finger—a textbook example of how to manage tension without aggression. This guy is winning a psychological game the drummer doesn’t even realize he’s playing.

Their silent standoff stretches, until finally, the stranger breaks the silence with his smooth and almost disarmingly casual voice.

“Look, man,” he shrugs one shoulder with a nonchalance that seems almost practiced. “This is me giving you a chance to walk away with your dignity intact.” Tilting his head slightly, he gestures toward you with a subtle nod. “She asked you politely to stop. This is a store, not your personal garage. So maybe it’s time you pack it up and go before you make things worse.”

There’s a moment—a pause that feels like it stretches just a beat too long—where you can practically see the drummer’s gears turning in his head, weighing his options, trying to hold onto whatever’s left of his bravado.

Then, finally, he mutters through gritted teeth,

“Whatever.”

The word is spat out, dripping with frustration and barely-contained rage, and with a sharp movement, he tosses the drumsticks onto the kit—the wooden sticks clattering against the drums in a final act of defiance.

“You’re not worth it, and this place sucks anyway,” he mutters, full of aggravation, but his heart no longer in it—it’s clear his fight has deflated.

Turning sharply on his heel, he shoves past both you and the stranger with a forceful shoulder, storming toward the exit, and once the door slams shut behind him, the sound reverberates through the store with an unmistakable finality.

Just like that, the tension breaks. It’s like the whole store exhales at once—the weight lifting from the air as the distant murmur of customers resumes.

Before you can fully process what just happened, the stranger beside you turns his attention back to you.

“Well, that was fun,” he remarks, “Could’ve gone worse though. I mean, I didn’t even get to throw a punch. Talk about anti-climactic, huh?”

You barely manage to take a breath as he closes the space between you just a little more, his movements slow and intentional, and your heart flutters the moment his sunglasses slip down slightly, just enough for you to get a direct glimpse of his eyes. They lock onto yours—those bright, vivid blues—and for a second, everything else around you fades into the background.

“Seriously though,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You okay?”

There’s something undeniably genuine in his tone, something that cuts through the playful exterior and lands right in your chest. You weren’t expecting that—this tenderness from someone who moments ago had brushed off a near-fight like it was nothing.

His eyes—soft but still burning with intensity—hold yours captive, and for a second, you forget how to speak.

“Uh… yeah,” you manage, “I think so.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Because I think you owe me a ‘thank you’ for that stellar rescue.”

You blink out of incredulity.

Thank you?

So much for tender—who does this guy think he is? You nearly scoff aloud. He wants a 'thank you' for a rescue that, truthfully, you weren’t even sure you needed?

Unsure whether you’re amused or annoyed by his arrogance, you open your mouth to respond—but before you can say anything, he cuts you off with a wink.

“Kidding,” he says with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Always happy to help.” His hands settle into his pockets and he pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Especially when it means I get to rescue a pretty girl like you.”

The compliment lands harder than you’d care to admit as you feel the warmth creeping up your neck and into your cheeks—betraying the fact that—against your better judgment—you’re not entirely immune to his charm.

A flicker of something stirs in your chest…

—nope. Let’s not go there.

Pushing it down before it can grow into something more, you refuse to let that feeling root itself.

You’re not looking for attention, especially not from a guy like this—a guy who flashes a cocky grin like he knows it works. The kind of guy who acts like the world bends to his whims.

Romance? No thanks. You’ve got bigger things to focus on. He’s exactly the kind of distraction you don’t need.

“Rescue might be a strong word,” you mutter, finally finding your voice again as you cross your arms over your chest. “I had it under control… mostly.”

“Oh, you did? My bad,” leaning in slightly, his voice lowers as if sharing a secret. “But trust me, that guy? He was one wrong word away from turning this into a full-on disaster. You’re lucky I stepped in when I did.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at his comment, refusing to let him rattle you this time, and there’s a flicker of amusement creeping into your voice as you challenge him.

“Lucky, huh? So, what now? You expecting a medal or something?”

His grin widens—a grin that’s undeniably magnetic, but you resist being pulled into its orbit.

“Naaaah, I’m not that high maintenance,” straightening himself, he regards you with a slight tilt of the head. “But… I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by his response.

Did he just… ask you out?

“Wait, what?” you stammer, not quite sure you heard him right.

“A coffee,” he repeats smoothly. “Y’know, like a reward for my heroic efforts.” He pauses, just long enough to make it clear he’s toying with you. “Or is that too forward? I can settle for your number instead.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips—a sharp exhale that’s part disbelief, part amusement. This guy is unbelievable.

Nope. You’re not going to let him get to you that easily.

“I don’t even know your name,” you shoot back, lifting your chin just a little higher, “and you’re already angling for a reward?”

“Ouch, y/n,” he replies, placing a hand dramatically over his chest as if you’ve wounded him deeply—his grin, however, never falters. “That stings.”

You stare at him, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“How do you…?”

“How do I know your name?” he finishes for you, clearly enjoying this a little too much. He tilts his head. “Well, for starters, your nametag.”

Oh.

You glance down quickly and—of course—there it is, printed neatly on the tag pinned to your shirt, and now you are mentally kicking yourself for not realizing sooner.

“Right… of course,” you shake your head in mild embarrassment. It’s infuriating how easily he’s messing with you.

An amused chuckle dances on his lips and he leans back ever so slightly—hands in his pockets like he has all the time in the world.

“But that’s not the only reason I know you,” he adds, voice taking on a more playful tone, almost like he’s daring you to figure it out. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

You blink, trying to piece together where you might’ve seen him before. There’s something vaguely familiar about his voice…have you heard it before? Do you know him?

“I don’t…” you start, trailing off, searching for any spark of recognition, but you come up blank. “Uhh… should I?”

Flashing you a toothy smile, he's clearly delighted by your confusion.

“Ouch again. Double whammy,” with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head in mock disappointment as his crooked grin curves up. “I guess I’m not as memorable as I thought.”

Your eyebrow quirks up at his theatrics, and despite yourself, the corner of your lips do too. Ugh. You want to be irritated with him but somehow, he makes it incredibly hard to be.

“Right… well,” tilting your head, your voice dips with playful sarcasm, “maybe if you told me your name, it might jog my memory?”

With a soft chuckle, he slides his sunglasses off and rests them on top of his head, and just like that, you’re greeted with the full, unobstructed view of his eyes—striking, electric blue, so vivid they almost don’t seem real, and they lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a flutter through your chest.

“Satoru,” he says smoothly, as if his name alone should be enough to make everything click. “Gojo Satoru.”

The name floats in your mind, like it’s circling around something, but still, nothing concrete surfaces. He seems so confident—so sure that you should know who he is—and it only adds to your frustration.

Do you know him?

Generally, you keep to yourself, both at work and on campus—with your moms condition you don’t really have time for the exciting college life. Tilting your head, your eyes narrow as you study his face—surely, you would have remembered someone like him... wouldn’t you?

“Gojo Satoru…” you test the name on your tongue as if saying it aloud might unlock some hidden memory. But still—nothing. “Sorry, not ringing any bells.”

Satoru laughs again, rich and unbothered, like this is the highlight of his day.

“Wow, I’m really striking out today,” he shakes his head in mock dismay. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

Before you can muster a response, he reaches out casually, plucking a pair of drumsticks from an endcap display nearby, twirling them between his fingers like it’s second nature. He examines them for a moment, then looks back at you with a raised brow.

“So, since we’re here and I’m feeling generous… how about you check me out?”

You glance down at the drumsticks in his hand, then back up at him—his expression is unreadable, that signature smirk lingering as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“...you mean ring up the drumsticks, right?” you clarify, though your voice is uncertain.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” he murmurs, and then, with a sly wink, he adds, “But I don’t mind if you do both.”

For a beat, your breath hitches, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

Okay—this is guy is definitely a flirt. You’re not falling for his trap.

“Wow… you’re really not subtle, are you?” reaching out, you snatch the drumsticks from his hand. “How many women actually fall for that?” you turn on your heel towards the counter, and he follows in step.

“Hmm…I’m not exactly keeping score,” he admits. “But let’s just say I don’t hear too many complaints.”

Glancing back at him, you arch an eyebrow as you approach the register—fingers automatically moving to unlock your cash drawer, and he leans casually against the counter beside you, propping his elbow on it—like he owns the space.

“Will say though,” he adds, voice dipping lower, “I don’t usually have to try this hard. You’re pretty special.”

You scoff, your fingers hesitating slightly over the keys, though you refuse to let him see how his words make a tiny flutter bloom in your chest.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you mutter under your breath, trying—and failing—to focus solely on the transaction.

Satoru hums, watching you with that same playful gleam in his eyes.

“Nah,” his tone drops to something almost conspiratorial, “you’re definitely one of a kind.”

Yup. He’s a smooth talker—and without a doubt, bad news.

Pressing your lips together, you force your gaze to remain on the screen in front of you. He’s playing a game, and you’re determined not to lose.

As you scan the barcode on the drumsticks, he casually pulls out his wallet to pay, and that’s when something catches your eye—a student ID peeking out from the clear pocket inside his wallet.

Narrowing your eyes slightly, your fingers hover mid-air as you get a better look. The ID is familiar—yet you can't make out the school’s name plastered right across it, but the logo and the colors are unmistakable.

Wait a second…

“We go to the same school?”

Satoru looks up, his grin stretching even wider and the glimmer in his eyes practically daring you to catch up—he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Took ya long enough,” he teases, playful but with a hint of smugness. “Yeah, we do.”

You blink, the pieces clicking together a little too late.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you demand, unable to stop the half-accusatory, half-embarrassed tone that underlines your voice. A groan slips past your lips and you shake your head in frustration. “I swear…you’ve been messing with me this whole time.”

With an amused chuckles, Satoru lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug.

“Hey, it’s more fun this way,” he leans in a little closer, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. “Besides,” he pauses, tilting his head just slightly while his lips curve into a sly grin. “I like watching you piece things together. You’ve got this cute little furrow in your brow when you’re thinking hard.”

The intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch, and no matter how hard you resist, there’s that undeniable flutter in your chest, warm and unwanted.

“How come I’ve never seen you around?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation back onto safer ground.

“Oof. You’re killing me, y/n. I pass by you every day, actually.”

You frown, narrowing your eyes.

“Every day? Where?”

“The water fountain,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers on the counter rhythmically, just a light touch. “Y’know, where you sit and study. Every afternoon, without fail. I walk by almost every day.”

Ah. That’s why his voice must’ve sounded familiar. You probably heard him—another voice blending into the background while you were studying.

“Really? Guess I never noticed you.”

Resting his chin in his hand, a dramatic huff falls from Satoru's lips as they form into a pout.

“Jeez…you don’t quit. I can’t believe I’m that forgettable.”

You can’t resist the soft laugh that escapes you, despite yourself—it’s hard not to find his antics at least a little amusing, and though you’d never admit it, the way he’s so desperate for your attention is almost… cute.

“Maybe you just blend into the background too much,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow while extending your hand, silently gesturing for his payment.

“Ouch...” he winces dramatically, pulling out his card before placing it in your hand. “Okay, that one stung a little.”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure your ego will recover,” you quip, glancing up briefly before focusing back on the transaction. But there’s a brief pause as you swipe his card—a silence that suddenly feels charged with something else.

You can feel his gaze lingering on you, heavy and expectant, and you try your hardest not to give in to the pull to look at him again—but the heat of his attention is unmistakable, almost like a gravitational force pulling you in, and you can feel your pulse quicken under his scrutiny.

“I gotta say, you’ve got a sharp tongue—I like it,” he murmurs.

Your fingers freeze for just a second, your breath hitching slightly as his tone shifts, and you can’t resist—your eyes flick up and he holds your gaze captive yet again.

“But it’s a bad habit, y’know,” he continues, his voice dropping, growing more intent as his eyes flicker over your features. “Not being aware of your surroundings like that...” leaning in just a fraction, his words become a quiet murmur between the two of you. “What if some creep tried to take advantage of you?”

The gentleness in his demeanor… is he genuinely concerned? It’s hard to tell—harder than you’d like to admit—and it’s easier to convince yourself he isn’t—that this is all part of his charming routine, because that makes it easier to ignore the subtle pull he has on you.

“Well,” you keep your voice steady, despite the flutter in your chest, “lucky for me, no one’s tried. Unless…” tilting your head slightly, a teasing smirk tugs at your lips, “you’re secretly admitting to being a creep.”

Satoru’s laugh spills out, rich and warm, breaking the moment just enough for you to catch your breath.

“Nah, I’m not creep,” his voice lightens as he straightens up just a little. “Just a concerned citizen looking out for someone who’s too absorbed in her textbooks to notice the world around her.”

You huff, though the corners of your mouth twitch upward against your will.

“I can handle myself, thank you very much,” you quip back, determined to maintain control over the situation. In a quick, defiant motion, you grab the receipt and shove it into his hand, a small victorious gesture.

“Right, right. You definitely proved that today when I swooped in for the rescue,” he teases, and his hand brushes yours ever so briefly as he takes the receipt—a touch so light is sends a tiny spark up your arm. “But hey, what if you don’t show up at the fountain one day? I’m gonna have to file a missing person’s report.”

You can’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

“A missing person’s report? Seriously?” you roll your eyes.

“Yup,” he grins, emphasizing the ‘p’. “You’re there so often it’s practically routine. Same spot. Same time. Every day. It’s kinda predictable, y/n. If I don’t see you there one day, I’ll just assume some creep finally got to you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, though you can’t help the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Predictable?” you retort, trying to sound indignant. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, you are,” he counters, clearly reveling in your reaction as he slips the receipt in his pocket. “But hey, that’s not a bad thing. It makes you easier to find if you ever disappear.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes, a snappy reply ready on your tongue, but he’s already raising his hands with a dramatic flair, like he’s about to paint the scene in vivid detail.

“I can see it now: ‘Missing: Cute girl who spends way too much time by the water fountain. Last seen buried in a psychology textbook. Answers to y/n.’”

It’s impossible not to laugh again, the sound bubbling up as you watch him weave his ridiculous scenario with such confidence and flair. His eyes flick to yours, and a satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth—clearly pleased with the effect he’s having on you.

“Wow,” you manage between chuckles. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Mhm,” he hums in agreement, leaning slightly closer. “Gotta be prepared. I don’t want anything happening to my favorite water fountain girl.”

Your heart flips—and for a second, it feels like he’s given you some kind of title you didn’t realize you wanted. You try to brush it off, to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks, but it’s not so easy with the way he’s looking at you.

“Riiiight… well, lucky for you,” you manage, attempting to sound nonchalant, “I’m not planning on disappearing anytime soon.”

“Good,” he murmurs, low and smooth. “Because I’d miss seeing you.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the upper hand, though the small smile that tugs at your lips betrays you.

“Uh-huh. Sure you would.”

There’s a brief moment, just the two of you—his gaze still locked onto yours, when—

“Ahem.”

You jump slightly at the sound, turning to see Utahime standing beside you, arms crossed, a knowing smile pulling at the corner of her lips. She gives you a look—a very knowing look—that sends heat rushing to your cheeks all over again.

“I’m taking my break,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes dancing with mischief as they flick between you and Satoru. “So… don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Suddenly hyper-aware of the tension in the air, you swallow hard and offer her a tight smile.

“No promises,” Satoru quips, that cocky grin returning to his face as he leans against the counter slightly—clearly unfazed by the interruption.

After Utahime saunters off, he continues smoothly, picking up right where he left off.

“So...” he starts again, “What do you say? How about you give me your number? Just in case I need it, y’know, for emergencies.”

He’s relentless, isn’t he?

Heat creeps up your neck as you blink from his boldness—with a soft, incredulous laugh, you desperately try to find your footing again.

“You really don’t give up, do you?”

That familiar and confident gleam glistens in his eyes as his grin widens.

“Not when it comes to someone as interesting as you.”

There’s a flicker of something in your chest—a flutter that you’re quick to squash.

“Mmm… sorry,” you murmur, tone sweet but firm. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of disappointment. I’m really not interested in players.”

For the briefest moment, his grin falters, and something unreadable flashes behind his eyes—a momentary crack in his facade. It’s so quick, so subtle, that you almost miss it. But there’s just enough time to wonder if maybe you hit a nerve.

Still, Satoru recovers in an instant, his playful charm sliding back into place like nothing happened.

“That’s cold, y/n,” his voice light and teasing, though there’s a trace of something deeper, almost wounded, lurking beneath. “You really think I’m that kind of guy?”

Tilting your head slightly, you cross your arms over your chest as you study him—gaze sharp but not unkind.

“Yeah, well, I’ve met enough guys like you to know how this works.”

With a soft chuckle, and a smooth, almost lazy motion, he lowers his sunglasses from where they’re perched atop his head—resting them back on the bridge of his nose as the dark lenses now obscure his eyes from you.

He’s hiding behind them—letting them do the work of shielding his real thoughts. Huh. Typical behavior for someone who enjoys the chase but avoids real vulnerability.

“You’re quick to judge. I’m just a guy who knows what he wants. And right now? I just want your number.”

Classic deflection—you think. He’s not even denying it. Still... something about the way he says it makes that familiar flutter stir in your chest, and you hate it.

“Yeah... that’s not happening,” crossing your arms more tightly, you try to maintain control of the situation.

His hands come up in mock surrender as a small, amused sigh slips from his lips.

“Bummer,” he concedes, though there’s no real disappointment in his tone, only amusement. “But hey,” he picks up the drumsticks from the counter, “offer’s on the table if you ever change your mind.”

“Right... I’ll keep that in mind,” you dryly reply, knowing full well that you won’t.

“Please do,” he shoots back with that infuriatingly confident grin. “Besides, I’ll be seeing you around, water fountain girl.”

The familiar nickname brings an unwanted warmth that you attempt to shake off.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Gojo.”

But Satoru just steps back toward the door, exuding that same unshakeable confidence. “Oh, I’m not worried,” he says with a cocky smirk. “You’re predictable, remember? I know exactly where to find you.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but before you can, he’s already halfway out the door, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers with effortless ease.

“See ya around, y/n,” he calls over his shoulder, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft jingle before you even have a chance to respond.

And just like that, the store feels quiet again, as if the air shifted back to normal now that he’s gone. You stand there for a moment, blinking at the closed door. You should feel relieved that he’s gone, that the exchange is over, but instead, you’re left with this strange, restless feeling you can’t quite shake.

What the hell just happened?

Shaking your head, you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. There’s a part of you that’s frustrated—frustrated at how easily he slipped under your skin, how effortlessly he managed to unsettle you with nothing but a grin and a few flirtatious remarks.

You hate that you’re even thinking about it. About him. He’s just another guy with too much confidence for his own good.

But something about the brief crack in his facade sticks with you. That fleeting moment where his grin faltered, and something else—something almost vulnerable—flickered behind those cocky blue eyes.

What was that?

With another shake of your head, you push the thought aside. He’s a flirt. A player. The kind of guy who never takes anything seriously.

That’s all there is to it.

You don’t have time to psychoanalyze every flippant guy who crosses your path, even if there’s a part of you that’s still curious.

Just as you’re about to shake off the thoughts entirely, your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze. You pull it out, glancing down at the screen.

Kyoko: Hey sweetie, just wanted to let you know your mom's been having a rough day today. She’s more confused than usual, keeps asking for you. Maybe you could visit soon?”

Reality crashes back in—grounding you in the weight of your responsibilities.

With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair, already mentally preparing yourself for the evening ahead.

You: Thanks for the update, Aunt Kyoko. My shift is almost over, I’ll be home soon.

Focus. There’s no room for distractions—not right now.

Not with Satoru Gojo. Not with anyone.

a/n. thanks for reading the debut of bomh (or i guess the re-debut since this is a rewrite? hehe). i'm excited to explore a lot of topics in this fic, and rewriting it definitely helped rekindle my passion for this story. so, i'm looking forward with whats to come! hope ya'll enjoyed 💕 → you are currently all caught up ♪

taglist:

@gojoslefttoenail @satoryaa @ninjaturtletoes @murtabuckz @sorcerersseestars

@reagan707 @sakurasimppp @sugxryratz @tkyemfk @lovelyjkook

@lovebittenbyevans @kaemaybae @bloopsstuff

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

✧♬•¨a.k.a. What Getting Wasted with GRUNGE BOYFRIEND!CHOSO feels like✧♬• (PT2)

Pt1 here. Inspired Moodboard here

Warning tags: suggestive, mentions of alcohol and weed, nsfw (pin, receiving f!oral)

♬ Inspired by 'I like the way you kiss me' by Artemas ♬

Pt 3?? (I feel like the last? part of this series will be the smuttiest one, already got ideas😏)

✧Grunge! Choso who became Grunge Boyfriend! Choso after you two spent the rest of the night together, wandering around the city. As the sun was about to rise, you were seated on a swing, in the middle of a deserted playground of a local park, talking about your personal stories and venting about how being different by showing your authenticity automathically makes you a weirdo in this fucked up society... Lulled by the lazy back and forth of the swing, you smiled at the sight of your matching platform Doc Martens. Shortly after enjoying the sunrise together, he walked you back home. Standing outside your door, his brows furrowed as you start rummaging through your bag, in search of your dark lipstick.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who looked like about to pass out as you grabbed his wrist and started writing your phone number on his forearm with your matte lipstick, along with a clear invitation: text me if you wanna be my boyfriend. "Don't worry it will last enough 'till you make it home...it should be long lasting..." You giggled to yourself and placed a final peck on his pale lips, making sure to leave a stain.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who did text you back as soon as he calmed down his nerves, but still couldn't believe he could call you his now...the mere thought sending chills of anticipation down his spine: he layed in bed for hours, smiling goofily at the ceiling and already fucking his fist while picturing all the naughty things he would have done to you from the following day on, finally able to show the whole world you were nothing but HIS now...

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who never felt alone anymore after you two got together, becoming the cool 'Big Bro' in your friends' circle. He feels contempt every Friday and Saturday night, when you all stumble loudly out of the club together, messing around the underground subway station at 3am. A persistent whistle echoing in your ears until morning from the loud music, pumping through the imposing speakers.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who loves sloppily making out with you, no matter the situation: holding you on the subway seat on the way home with his strong hands on your waist, totally unbothered by other people watching your tongues connecting shamefully with a sticky line of saliva, or laying on top of your tiny sexy body on the old, worn down couch at your pal's place, ending up groaning against your swollen lips and grinding his needy hips on yours whenever your black-polished nails scratched his sensitive scalp ever so slightly.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who fucks you missionary style with gritted teeth when he dives into your velvety depths for the first time, trying desperately not to cum instantly and paint your walls white with his hot seed. He instantly develops an addiction to the lewd, wet sounds your small, warm cunt makes when it swallows his fat dick over and over again at every frantic thrust. He finds his little piece of heaven between your thighs and he feels higher than he ever was when he reaches his climax, quivering and whimpering pathetically as a torrent of tiny pearls of cum erupted violently from his pinky, swollen tip, adorning your chest with a sticky necklace of his cum.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who collapses his whole body weight on you as he fights hard to catch his breath again after tasting the sweetness of your pussy. With his heartbeat slowly coming back to its usual pace, he looks up to you with adoring puppy eyes, meeting your warm smile and asking you if you too enjoyed it. When you nod and cup his face in your palms, he kisses you slowly, savouring every little whine and sigh you confess to his lips.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who just wanna be your sweetheart and treats you like a princess during the day -showering you with cute plushy animals and smothering you with kisses- just to press your head further into his pillow as he hits it desperately from the back, holding onto to you and leaving marks on your soft buttocks, as he physically cannot resist drilling your cunt when he sees you ass up, face down for him on his bed. He compliments you continuously, telling you how much he loves you and how he deep he wants to feel you. He nuts everytime you call him 'your sweet good boyfriend', moaning words of encouragement as you feel your walls flutter wildly with your impending orgasm.

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso whose hazed expressions are priceless when you try weed together for the first time, buying it from a guy who offered you some at the exit of the club. His glassy eyed stare makes him appear even cuter and kissable, while he inhales deeply and drag after drag lets go of any inhibition, confessing the depths of his adoration to you: he lazily repeats he would do ANYTHING for you, he would fight ANYONE to keep you safe in his arms, his pretty beautiful angelic girlfriend, the only one he wants to feel laying her head on his shoulder while staring outside the window on the subway train...

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso who wakes up on the cold floor of your antics the morning after with a great headache from all the alcohol and the weed of the previous night. He blushes furiously when you show him the video of his sweet, stammering confession, but he doesn't deny a single word...

Thanks for reading this far, reblogs and comments are appreciated! 🙏

✧Grunge Boyfriend! Choso whose favourite remedy for bad hangovers like this one, is to lock the whole world outside of the door and spend the whole day with you, listening to Nirvana and Radiohead from your vintage vinyl record player in your antic with his head buried for hours between your thighs.

Taglist: @lemonlimecrystal-blog @lordbelkamort @viviennevianna @verydreamerfairy

[a-d-nox]

astro hypothesis: what's your ideal bedroom like?

once upon a time (a year ago) i spoke of using your house rulers to deep dive into the story of the houses. i did a hypothesis about money and another about careers - but what about your home? for that take a look at your 4h and the persona chart of its ruler (ex: my 4h is in gemini, i will be looking at my mercury persona chart NOT my ic persona (thats more family and childhood dynamics in my opinion)).

today i want to focus on somewhere critical to all of us - our bedroom. you can look at the 12h and/or the moon in this chart to get a better idea of what your ideal bedroom looks like or should be like to feel most rested and comfortable.

why?

the 12h rules over solitude (where you might go to escape everyone else in your household), the subconscious (where we supposedly go in deep sleep), etc.

the moon rules over comfort (what we find comfort in), the subconscious (which connects again to deep sleep and dreaming), cycles and rhythms (hi sleep cycle and circadian rhythm), etc.

so here are some observations of what i believe to be important to a room based on these factors in your 4h ruler's persona chart.

a capricorn (10°, 22°) moon / 12h saturn / capricorn 12h / moon aspecting saturn person likely wants a minimal room. they don't what a lot of clutter - if their room is cluttered they might be experiencing a lot of waking/life stress/anxiety that is effecting their sleep. they like neutral and natural colors in a room - beiges, "agreeable grey", dark green, and dark blues in particular allows them to feel calm and as though they are able to relax. arctic white paint or cool white light may trigger them into feeling like they are in work mode instead of relax mode. they seek quality furniture that is timeless - they don't want to constantly have to replace the pieces they have in their room because they don't last or no longer fit the style. they don't want to have to think at the end of the day that something broke or they hate a piece because it doesn't fit the trend anymore and they now have to replace it. they don't want another thing they have to do, they just want to crash. organization is key - everything in their room should have a spot. they want everything that belongs in there to have a place (books are organized by author/series, clothing is color/season organized, glasses have a spot on a side table, jewelry has an organizer that rarely changes, etc). there is often a very refined and elegant feeling to their room. the sheets have a classic design (they are white or white and grey), the mirror is elegant yet classic, the bed is simple yet fits and fills the space well, etc. and most importantly room darkening curtains and lots of blankets (no capricorn/saturn person wants to be awakened by the sun or because they are too cold at night)!!!

a gemini (3°, 15°, 27°) moon / 12h mercury / gemini 12h / moon aspecting mercury person might have a rather eclectic style in their room. it might feel like they are testing out a look or like they have a lot of different vibes that don't necessarily fit one another. color finds its way into this room no matter what and it is often multiple colors at once that draw a person's attention. its very strange because this space is never just a sleep space for them often its multi-functional in some way shape or form like they have the ability to have a sitting space for others... could be a chair or a window seat or a desk... speaking of desks - books, vinyl, cds, gadgets, etc are a big part of the gemini/mercury vibes in a space. often their media have a spotlight moment in a room. lastly this space has an air of awareness in it - its not totally sleepy vibes, you know for sure when you see this space its not just for sleep. this is a place of study, reading, music listening, etc. it might just feel like not much sleep occurs in the space at all!

leo (5°, 17°, 29°) moon / 12h sun / leo 12h / moon aspecting sun rooms are warm and inviting. there are likely gold elements or warm paint colors used in the room. luxury is a must - the bed is likely memory foam or plush - the pillows are probably hotel/high quality. the comforter is down feathers and/or a fluffy/fuzzy blanket is present. it is very likely that stuffed animals are present too or at least one that is too adorable not to be there. there is some sort of central piece in this room - a giant mirror, a big art piece over the bed, a grand wall of books, etc. something in the room is guaranteed to always get a compliment from people who peak in during a house tour. it is also rather common especially in younger years for these people to keep their awards/trophies on display in their room as it fills them with a great sense of pride. windows are very important to this person's bedroom too as they tend to enjoy natural light when they can get it.

aries (1°, 13°, 25°) moon / 12h mars / aries 12h / moon aspecting mars people love a bold look in their room. its the energy of platform beds, industrial metal frames, etc. if they can use an "aggressive" color (red, orange, yellow, etc) in a bedroom they will... however they like a modern and sleek look despite their bold color schemes. they also like a minimal room - the bedroom is for their bed - point, blank, period. it's about having the essentials nothing more nothing less. they won't being using decorative pillows they have to remove every night or a decorative blanket that just hangs over their footboard. heavens forbid a decorative ladder with a decorative blanket that's not for use but for the eye. if they can't use it, they don't need or want it in the space it will just make them annoyed and cause them to feel like everything is in the way of them getting to the relax/wind-down portion of their day. now strangely enough, they often workout in their bedroom, so it wouldn't be shocking to find a pull up bar in the doorway or a peloton bike in the corner of the room. and 10/10 they will be getting up using an alarm - but it is rather unlikely they will need multiple alarms to make them get out of their bed in the morning.

likely more to come on home hypotheses, as i look to make renovations to my own home despite/because of being creatively burnt out. thank the heavens for astrology doing the leg work.

-a.d.

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© a-d-nox 2024 all rights reserved

[felassan]

Notes on and quotes from today’s new DA:TV coverage content from Game Informer, the video “The Making of Dragon Age: The Veilguard | Cover Story Feature”. The rest of this post is under a cut due to DA:TV spoilers.

First I'll note that the Game Informer video contains spoilers for DA:TV, so bear that in mind before deciding to watch it or read further in this post.

There were no new images, screenshots or videos from the game in the Game Informer video. There was however a series of music pieces playing in the background of the devs talking throughout. I didn't recognize these music pieces (lmk if you did tho pls hh!), so I'm wondering if the music in this video was all-new DA music from DA:TV!! 👁️

Next I will say that there was not much in the way of new information in the video. The devs were chatting about topics, info segments and talking points that have been featured in previous articles & previous coverage on the game. however, the devs seemed really happy and excited, and proud of what they've made, excited to share about it, and that was rly nice to see. :)

For the rest of this post, it is not a 'cliff notes on everything said in the video'-type post. It's just a series of notes on and quotes from the video that particularly stood out to me and that I particularly liked. ^^

"You start DA:TV having chased Solas to Minrathous. You're there to stop his ritual, there to take him down. You're there to find this character, so you're chasing him, you're trying to stop this ritual that he has already said multiple times that he is going to perform before he performs it, because, if he does, the Veil will get torn down, the Fade and the world of the waking will merge, and demons will pour out, pretty much meaning the end of life as we know it".

John Epler: "Solas always feels that he is a tragic hero, but a hero [of the story] nonetheless. So he is coming into this believing firmly that what you stopped him from doing [Rook stopping the ritual the way they did in the gameplay reveal video] was the right thing, that you've made a mistake, but, because now he's trapped, now he can't reach out and actively affect, he needs to work with you. And that allows us to provide a lot of nuance to the relationship, because Solas sees a lot of himself in you, especially the parts of himself that he maybe doesn't like to face, so there is kinda that interesting push and pull between the two characters, Solas and the main protagonist Rook. And you can define what that relationship means. You can continue to be suspicious and hostile towards him. Or you can start to see him and find that common ground, find that connection between the two of you and really develop a different relationship over thee course of the story." Mark Darrah: "This is a good direction to take the Solas story. It allows us to hopefully give a good conclusion to all of the varied attitudes towards Solas that are gonna be coming into this game. People who love Solas, people who agree with Solas, people who hate Solas, people who want to kick Solas off of a building, I think that we give you the opportunity to bring that to a close, but then tell a greater story about The Veilguard and about the world as a whole."

BioWare wanted to tell a story this time where you literally cannot save the world without these characters

The companions have relationships with each other too. "They have friendships, they have rivalries, and lean into that concept, you're not just pulling together a bunch of people who will do whatever you say, you're assembling a family and that becomes the core of what The Veilguard is all about. It's about taking this group, this found family and saving the world side by side with them."

In the game, things and the storytelling are done towards a goal, towards a storytelling goal, "towards the future" [of the franchise it sounds like], not 'just because' or 'just to do them'

John: "The message of The Veilguard is, you’re not saving the world on your own. You need your companions but you also need these factions, these other groups in the world. You help them, they help you. Now, something we wanted to avoid, because, you know, there's always the trope of, 'oh yeah, I would help you save the world but I need you to go gather 200 wood', it's kind of a silly concept, so what we wanted to build is these factions that do want to help you but have realistic challenges, problems in front of them. So narratively, you help them with their problems, they will help you with yours when the time comes, but beyond that each faction has a follower, as well as an ancillary character we’re calling 'agents', who exist as these, face of the faction. We’re not gonna get too deep into those right now, but we didn’t wanna just say, 'here's the Wardens, go deal with the Wardens', we wanted to have characters within that faction who are sympathetic, who you can see and who become the face of that faction, so even if there's moments where the faction as a whole may be on the outs with you, these characters are still with you, they’ve still got your back. It’s a core with what we’ve done with the storytelling in this game. We wanted to make sure all the content you did felt relevant. Everything you do has a purpose and has a tie back into the critical path. Sometimes it's more explicit than others, but there is always a sense that you are moving towards the goal of stopping the elven gods, stopping the end of the world, and it's not just [like how some of the side content in DA:I was]. Helping these people, helping these groups, so that they can help you when the time comes."

In the story and tone of this game, it has the highest of highest and the lowest of lows. At the lowest of lows, "it gets gritty, it gets painful, it gets dark", but there are also nice positive moments in the game and a colorful, optimistic throughline. Corinne: "This identity is something special for the franchise now and for the franchise going forward"

"the depths of Arlathan Forest"

"In the case of Arlathan, what does it look like when you go to the place where the elves had their ancient empire that was run on and fuelled by magic? What does the aftermath of that look like, especially when the gods are out in the world and raw magic is seeping back out from the Fade."

DA has always been a series where in the world, the truth has multiple perspectives

We will journey out from the Lighthouse into the area of the Fade known as the Crossroads, "which is full of mysteries, exploration, branching paths". We will take eluvians to the far corners of northern Thedas

Some of the environments are more mission-focused, "with narrative beat after narrative beat"

"We know what's gonna happen, we know when it's gonna happen, but of course it's influenced by all the decisions you've made as the player along the way"

There are also more non-linear, more open areas in which we will be able to open up new sections of the map, find new pathways, "really leaning into solving mysteries and finding ancient treasures and some of our apex battles, there are some truly terrifying enemies that you're going to encounter when you're left to your own means to kind've explore these larger areas".

"Tevinter has always been a land where mages rule, they are in charge, they make the rules and run the show. So what does that look like? And, as we've gone through DA:O, DAII and DA:I, magic has become more and more present, and part of that is because Solas has been slowly preparing this ritual for longer than anyone in the DA universe is really aware of, but also just, going into these spaces where magic is, by definition, and by the lore, much much more present. It's been fun"

For the first time in DA BW are able to let the visuals speak for themselves (as in, the technology has caught up and they aren’t just saying 'trust us, this [magic thing] is really cool')

They took great care with how they introduce each companion and major story character

Corinne is really proud of what BW have built with the CC. "It is a game where everyone belongs"

A new to DA feature in CC: full body customization with pretty robust diversity. Body shape, body size, body proportions

They invested huge effort into their strand hair technology. There are numerous hairstyles in the game, they know how much the fans care about hair and Corinne is one of these people. They know that the range of hairstyles matters too and that it is not just about quantity. "Making sure we have diverse representation for all types of players."

They took a step back and asked, how are we going to incorporate things like your background in a meaningful way?

They call difficulty levels "playstyles". This is integrated into the CC process. You can select a number of preset experiences that your character will adopt and step into the game with, but you can also customize that playstyle e.g., if you're bad at parrying, you can ease this up

Some of the locations that we will visit are "bustling cityscapes." "We're gonna go right into the heart of the Tevinter empire. We're also going to a city in Antiva called Treviso"

Corinne Busche: "[those places] have a dense populace and we knew we needed to have the tools to support a wide range of NPCs. You will not find NPCs that look alike in this game. Each one is crafted using the same tools that we're giving to our players, with the exception of some of our custom-sculpted characters like the companions. So when you go up to that market vendor in Minrathous, you can make that character. When you see the guards patrolling the street, you can make that character too. You can therefore be inspired by the population around you and go and create that in CC."

The Lighthouse as we know is our HQ and base of operations. Each of the companions has their own sanctuary, their own room within it. These spaces become a reflection of who they are. The more time we spend with them as the game develops, as we work through their arc, their room and their personality will evolve and flourish and become more complete as they trust us and we understand them better

Corinne: "There are moments in the game where two of our companions fell in love with each other and I had to make some pretty challenging choices as it related to the quest we were on, and it broke my heart, it absolutely did"

The game tries to give the player as much agency as it can, and then reflect it back on us. Choice and consequence can be hard to show, but this is a game about agency and about giving us options

We can upgrade gear and enchant gear, this extends to the companions too

The 3 specs for each of the 3 classes are highly distinct

Every attack, every swing of a sword, when you connect you feel it, these have weight

Companion abilities can be queued up one after the other

The devs are really proud of this game and excited about it. Everything that's in the game is in there because someone cares about it. The game really reflects the dev team and it's coming together well, they are really excited for us to get our hands on it soon

[source]

[halcyonfawn]

the meaning behind "face the raven" theme in "wild blue yonder" and more

a continuation of this post. i need to talk about this otherwise i'll explode.

some people have also said that this theme is playing in "last christmas" and "hell bent" (thank you for pointing that out, i'm going to die) which makes it all even worse (better). therefore, this post is, more or less, destined to turn into capaldi's era brainrot. but not all of it, i promise.

you've been warned.

first of all, allow me to refresh your memory. let's look into the context of the scenes where we heard this music theme before.

"last christmas"

according to series 8 official soundtrack, this theme is a part of "every christmas is last christmas" and is heard quite clearly two times. they're both important scenes for the doctor and clara.

too late.

a moment full of regrets and nostalgia. the doctor thinking he's lost clara again, wishing he would have come back sooner. clara reminicing her life without the doctor in it.

"so no one matched up to danny, eh?" "there was one other man, but that would never have worked out." "why not?" "he was impossible."

it is (heavily) implied that "one other man" is the doctor. does the doctor himself realise that she's talking about him? open for interpretation. but what this small exchange truly does is showing a game of saying something without actually saying it.

"can you really see no difference in me?" "clara oswald, you will never look any different to me."

yet another way of dancing around words. there's something special and touching about this last line. it is sort of a confession of unconditional love. but the word itself - love - is never spoken out loud.

then again, twelfth might be face blind.

second chances.

now, this scene is a complete opposite of the one mentioned above. it's full of hope, anticipation, happiness. a beginning of a new arc. he is given a second chance and he takes it. the doctor asks clara to run away with him once again. and she says "yes" without hesitation, takes his hand, kisses him on the cheek.

conclusion? these two scenes are focused entirely on the doctor and clara's relationship. it is there to show their strong connection, how much they mean to one another. utter devastation at the thought of their time ending and the absolute joy of reuniting after being separated. a chance at a happy ending. which also makes the music that plays on the background their theme.

"face the raven"

"every christmas is last christmas" is now turned into "face the raven" and is asocciated with clara's death. it also makes the previous name even more heartwrenching since last christmas was literally clara and doctor's last hurrah. we can hear this piece of music appear in two scenes as well.

clara's monologue about facing the raven.

"if danny pink can do it so can i. die right. die like i mean it, face the raven. maybe this is what i wanted. maybe this is it. maybe this is why i kept running. maybe this is why i kept taking all those stupid risks, kept pushing it."

she's accepting her fate and aknowleges her recklesness all the way throught the season 9. it was meant to be. there wasn't enough space for two doctors in the tardis.

"i let you get reckless" "why? why shouldn't i be reckless? you're reckless all the bloody time! why can't i be like you?" "clara, there's nothing special about me. i'm nothing but less breakable than you. i should've taken care of you."

this scene is also about how a human life can be so very short compared to the time lord's and how easily it can end. it's fragile. and it's the doctor's curse: bearing the pain of losing his loved ones.

clara meeting her fate.

as she approaches the raven, ever so brave, the doctor watches her. he hears clara scream, then witness her collapsing onto the ground. it is extremely painful, but this is, i repeat, the doctor's curse: watching his companions leave. there's no use in running away from that pain, it haunts him every step of the way.

"hell bent"

next time, "face the raven" theme can be heard during the memory wipe sequence. there is no name given for the background music in this particular moment, but it's quite obvious it represents loss and... letting go?

the doctor is about to make clara forget their time together (does that ring a bell, anyone?).

it is worth pointing out that the music becomes the loudest at the exact moment the doctor says:

"look how far i went for fear of losing you. this has to stop. one of us has to go."

it is the culmination of their relationship. companions that push each other to extremes. together they might destroy the whole universe in order to keep each other safe. there's no other way but to separate. they've formed such a strong connection than one is ought to forget the other.

even though at first the doctor is determined to wipe clara's memories, he then admits she is right: it is unfair to take away all that wonderful time they had from her. so he gives her a choice. or, more like, an offer to play a russian roulette. it's either you or me. i'm not going to press that button. we will do this together.

to summarise: all of these moments featured a strong connection between clara and the doctor. it also tells us a story about how hard it is to lose someone you care about deeply, especially for the doctor.

how is it all connected to the doctor and donna?

memory wipe

the doctor has to make donna and clara forget about him in order to keep them safe. expect that he doesn't give donna a choice, wiping her memory almost instantly, without saying a proper goodbye to her. obviously, he didn't have enough time to think of a better way to solve the problem since donna wouldn't have lasted long. however, it is still a decision he regrets making.

from "the star beast":

"i'm so glad you're back, donna. it killed me, it killed me, it killed me."

if we take a look at clara's situation, it's a bit different. i've already mentioned it above: at first, the doctor wants to do the same thing to clara that he did to donna. make her forget. expect, this time he is confronted for doing so (even threatened, at some point).

"these have been the best years of my life and they're mine."

i think this line triggers something in the doctor. because this is when he realises that this is not the right thing to do. not exactly. he'd already done it once and he regretted it. so this time, he offers a slightly different solution. someone still has to forget, but they'll press that button together. it's a mutual choice.

now, i know it's not entirely related to the dialogue in "wild blue yonder", but i think it's worth mentioning that donna and clara's stories are somewhat similar. i'm sure it's been said before, but it's still important.

donna's story was incomplete because she wasn't given a choice. now, that she remembers, 14th doctor makes sure their time together is worth-while. a second chance just like in "last christams".

too alike

another similarity between these two stories is that clara and donna are not entirely humans. not anymore.

donna's half timelord. even though her head is still not big enough to fit all the doctor's memories, she still has a part of the doctor in her.

clara's frozen in time, that makes her practically immortal. she risks her life, she reverses the polarity of the neuroblock, she gets her own tardis, she's even reffered to as "clara who" at the end of "hell bent". she has become the doctor in a sense.

but there can only be one doctor. so where's the story heading to at this point, i wonder? but we'll come back to this question later.

"but what really happened?"

before i say anything, it is obvious that the doctor's silence before and after he says "a lot" is him reminicing all that'd happened to him during the 11th, 12th and 13th reincarnations. all of the loss and pain he went through.

but why "face the raven" theme of all things? it could be a general theme of grief/nostalgia/painful memories, nothing else implied.

but please let me be delusional for a bit longer!

just as that scene in "hell bent" brought the doctor back to the moment he made donna forget him, could it be that bringing back his best friend's memories in a whole universe that "he absolutely loves", also reminded him of another important person in his life with similar story? just like "hell bent" mirrored "the journey's end", "wild blue younder" gave us a reference to "hell bent".

this is where we get back to the question about the current story direction.

foreshadowing?

donna's story is not over. and there are a lot of possibilities how it can end.

say, there is a connection to clara's story here, i wonder if that's where the plot's heading. in one of the trailers, the doctor does say "i'm not sure if i can save you this time" to donna. and it worries me. then again, maybe they're just tricking us into thinking something bad will happen (oh the drama).

i'd say it's unlikely donna's going to die because that would be absolutely devastating after just bringing her back. at the very least, the ending wouldn't be completely "happily ever after". perhaps, sacrifices will be made in order to prevent something truly horrible from happening.

why did this face come back?

in "the girl who died" twelfth doctor finally realises why he got his face. it is a call-back to "the fires of pompei" (don't even get me started on its being the episode with 10th and donna).

the message the doctor was giving to himself turned out to be:

"i'm the doctor and i save people!"

but what is 14th trying to tell himself?

i think it's about donna and more.

he's fixing his mistake of erasing her memories and depriving her of the right to remember amazing things that'd happened to her.

it's a reminder to actually tell people how much they mean to him. as we can see, 14th's more open with his feelings and constantly shows signs of affection towards his loved ones, even breaking the "never say i love you" rule.

it's about being honest and open with people because they deserve to hear it from him and he deserves to hear it back. because "things happen and then it's too late".

again, take 12th doctor, for instance. he constantly represses his feelings. but in my humble opinion, the reason why he's changed by season 10 was clara. she pulled him out of the dark place. and even though her death almost threw him back to that state again, he is still a better man by season 10.

but there were things left unsaid. love and care were always there but it was never said out loud. kind of the same thing happened with 13th.

i strongly believe that donna is that person for 14th. they're best friends who love each other deeply. and after the doctor lost her and got a second chance to fix everything, he does, he's being affectione. he's finally open with his feelings.

conslusion: why did you make us read all fo this?

to answer the question in the title: it's all tied with how memories are important and priceless, fixing past mistakes, moving on and learning to treasure every moment with people you care about like it's your last.

it can also be a foreshadowing for something terrible, but i choose to hope for the better.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

aaaand that is the end of my doctor who rant. thank you for getting this far, if you did!

my feelings about all of this can be described with this one meme:

[vidavalor]

Remembrance of Things Past

Aziraphale's scent-oriented, mindful moments in Good Omens also might be something else as well-- an attempt to circumvent the potential taking of his memories by Heaven. He might be trying to create for the future what are known as madeleine memories or involuntary memories-- the sudden rush of a memory prompted by a certain taste or, especially, by a particular scent.

On Aziraphale trying to get around Heaven by setting up triggers for The Proust Effect under the cut.

I wrote a post awhile back about how I think one of the reasons why Aziraphale keeps a journal is as a way of having something that Crowley can show to him in the event that Heaven takes his memories. While reading something doesn't necessarily trigger a memory itself-- it can but it's not guaranteed-- I think there might be other things they are doing as well that they think might be effective in different ways when it comes to helping Aziraphale retain his memory. The biggest might be actively trying to create for the future what are known as madeleine memories or involuntary memories.

Understanding of involuntary memory? It comes from the extremely Aziraphale intersection of food, the French, literature and psychology...

For anyone who does not already know about involuntary memory:

In 1913, French writer Marcel Proust published the first volume in his 'In Search of Lost Time' series and it contained a passage about the power of memory so descriptive and that resonated with so many that it got scientists to actually study and prove the validity of the connection between scent and memory about which he wrote. Proust had his narrator in the novel describe how, after dipping a lime madeleine into a pot of tea, the scent and taste of eating the madeleine brought him instantly back to a specific time in his youth when his aunt would serve them to him while he was recovering from illness as a boy. He remembered details about her house and their time together, sounds and scenes that had dimmed or been forgotten entirely... all triggered by his mind upon smelling and tasting the specific combination of flavors of the tea-dipped lime madeleine.

Most of us have probably experienced something like this and scientists have since confirmed that it's a very real phenomenon, probably rooted in our need to be able to recognize danger by scent. They have also found that, in some cases and to a slightly lesser degree, hearing specific pieces of music can also bring about a similar sense of memory. Scent, though, remains the best possible trigger for memory.

I can't imagine that after seeing Crowley struggle with his own memory for so long and knowing that it could happen to him, too, that Aziraphale wouldn't be trying everything he could think of to be prepared for the possibility that it might.

In a story that has so much focus on memory-- and in a way that seems to potentially foreshadow that Aziraphale might (temporarily) lose his before the story is over-- there also are scenes that might suggest that Aziraphale's mindful moments might also be an attempt at trying to associate moments with scent in an effort to get around Heaven and retain as much of his memory as he can in the future.

But that's only one part of it... The other part is how he and Crowley are shown to consistently tie times in the present to times in their past.

There are many reasons for doing so and we looked at some of them in other metas but another one might be as a way of trying to connect memories together in a way that, should Aziraphale lose his memories in the future, if one could be triggered with a madeleine memory, then other memories connected to it might follow.

In the first episode, Aziraphale's mindful, sensual eating experience involves breathing in the scent of the sushi with his eyes closed, as if committing it to memory. The evening, as we looked at in the Fish meta, was supposed to be a dinner with Crowley tied to their time in ancient Rome. Breathing in brine and alcohol and salt like Aziraphale is here might also be a way of trying to literally tie these scents to his memories of the scents of oysters and wine in Rome so as to not forget either.

In the parallel to the sushi scene in 1.01, Aziraphale is shown in S2 to breathe in Goldstone's when he and Crowley go there in the present. It's part of the mindful experience for him in the moment but it could also serve as a way of trying to remember the events of both the present and 1941 in the future.

Crowley also breathes in Goldstone's in the present in S2. It's something they both do without even looking at one another in the scene and just kind of know the other is, indicating that this is just a thing they do. Both of them do it instinctively, like the rampant sensualists using elements of mindfulness to work through trauma that they are lol. Aziraphale's eyes are again closed and I would bet that he's as much willing himself to never fully forget his human magic love and 1941 in the future as he is reliving memories of the past.

This scene is a really interesting inclusion because while it's set in our present of S2, it's really about the past and the future. No one has any trouble believing that they're both thinking of 1941 here, even as they're here in the present, and both of them are utilizing techniques both related to the present (mindfulness) to connect with memories of the past (Proust Effect/involuntary memory.) What else might be true as well is that they don't just do this for the past and the present moments but for potential future ones as well.

Then there's this...

There are two scenes-- one in each season-- that focus on Crowley's unsurprisingly amazing scent. While memory wouldn't be the only reason why Crowley would smell great lol, both scenes suggest that Crowley's scent is unique and distinguishable. Sandalphon can smell it as being different from Aziraphale's cologne in S1 and Shax... a paralleling character to Aziraphale, played by the actress who played the character with whom Aziraphale shared a brain in S1... well, Shax is into it. Girl's in a dead faint to a point of straight up huffing him.

While there are others, one reason for this scene, though, could be that it parallels the fact that Aziraphale actually does this sometimes, if in a decidedly less ick way than Shax did lol. Part of why Crowley's been wearing the same, apparently quite appealing, scent for awhile now could be out of an effort to help Aziraphale's mind create enough associations between Crowley's scent and Aziraphale's memories that Crowley himself might be able to trigger some of Aziraphale's memories just by his presence alone.

It's also then interesting-- and potentially a little eerie-- that the only time Aziraphale eats or drinks anything in the present in S2 is when he drinks a few sips of a cup of tea to introduce Muriel to the drink and the custom. This is just after Muriel showed up at the door and failed to recognize Aziraphale, even though he recognized them, in one of several scenes that suggest that Muriel had their memories taken from them at some point. The two characters parallel one another pretty strongly. The difference could well wind up becoming that Aziraphale is able to retain more of his memories because he and Crowley have been working for years to find ways to get around Heaven... and they're using knowledge uncovered by humans to save what they can of Aziraphale's memories.

Or, as Nina would put it:

[lunarforager]

Who is Apollo?

Hello again, and welcome to another installment of "Introduction to the Hellenic Gods"! Today's deity is *drum roll* Apollo! He was the next alphabetically but Apollo is also another deity I have worked with myself and have a strong connection to.

---

Apollo is the name given to the ancient Greek god of oracles, healing, archery, music and the arts, and light. The Roman equivalent of Apollo is also named Apollo (makes things easy).

---

Apollo, unlike Aphrodite who we spoke of before, has one main birth myth.

The story actually begins with a Titaness named Asteria. Asteria, in an attempt to escape the god Zeus' advances, threw herself into the ocean. Where she entered the sea, a piece of disconnected land was created.

Later, when the goddess Leto was impregnated by Zeus, she was cursed by Zeus' scornful wife, Hera, to not be able to give birth on any piece of land or island. While searching for a place to give birth, Leto discovered this piece of disconnected land and gave birth to her two twins, Apollo and Artemis. This piece of land was then connected to the earth by Apollo himself and was named Delos. (For anyone wondering, yes I will be covering Artemis in this series very soon!)

---

Apollo was also known by many different epithets throughout Greece and Rome. By far, the most common and most used of the epithets is Phoebus Apollo, translated roughly as Bright Apollo. This is most likely why Apollo is so heavily connected to and is seen as the god of light.

---

Some interesting facts about Apollo you might not have known:

Apollo is also sometimes represented as the god of disease, and when praying to him, people would not pray for healing but instead would pray to be protected from the disease he was sending their way. This is actually seen in the first book of Homer's Iliad, where Apollo sends down a plague of arrows on the Achaeans for kidnapping the daughter of a priest of his.

Apollo wasn't always the god of the sun. This title actually belonged to Helios but over time the two were combined into one deity and/or Apollo was seen as the sun god while Helios was instead seen as the sun personified.

Apollo is a prime example of LGBTQ+ identities being present far before the start of the modern era as there are many myths and legends about the god being attracted to and being in relationships with people of the same sex such as his relationship with Hyacinthus or his relationship with Cyparissus.

---

My favourite pieces of art and literature that depict Apollo!:

Apollo Belvedere by Leochares --> This statue depicts Apollo and is a copy of the original bronze statue. It is currently held in the Vatican

The Iliad by Homer --> In Book 1 of this epic, the god Apollo sends down a plague on the Achaean soldiers for kidnapping the daughter of a priest of his

Kylix of Apollo --> This piece of traditional Greek pottery depicts the god Apollo sitting on a chair pouring out wine and holding the instrument most connected with him, the lyre

---

Thank you all so much for the support so far on this blog! I apologize for such a late update but I was super busy today hanging out with some friends I haven't seen in such a long time and spending much needed time with my partner! I thank Aphrodite for giving me such a lovely partner who is willing to spend hundreds of dollars on Florence + the Machine posters for me lol!

[huramuna]

beware the sapphire peak - chapter 1.

aemond targaryen x wife reader x alys rivers a period piece, set in 1902.

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wordcount: 2.6k

you're a young, american lady who is an aspiring author. you are wooed by a mysterious and charming savant from england. swept off your feet, you're whisked away to his family's ancient estate, Dragonstone Hall. but with all stories, secrets are hiding around every corner, and your suitor is no different. a crimson peak inspired mini series. (this will likely be about 3 parts)

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!

content: smut, angst, gaslighting, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, alys in her girlboss gatekeep gaslight era, no use of y/n, afab reader, pre-established alysmond, this isn't going where you think it is (it might be), infidelity-ish, polyamory

to death we dance - salem's heir • the flower duet - sabine devieilhe & marianne crebassa

“You were nearly late, miss,” one of the butlers murmured in your ear. “The music’s just started.” 

“There is a quote about being fashionably late, isn’t there?” you mused, taking his gloved hand as he helped you up the steps. 

It was a banquet for your father’s business, a celebration of having struck gold (oil) and turning a huge profit. Or, in your words, an excuse for the high and mighty to get plastered and dance the night away. Your fist clenched upon the train of your dress– a lovely evening gown in eggshell white, with hand embroidered lilacs and lavender petals on it, spindling up your bodice like a trellis. Your usually somewhat unruly hair was tamed into a braided and pinned up-do, with an expensive broach poked into the bun of hair in the shape of a falling wisteria branch. 

Your father was the first to greet you, peeling away from the gaggle of portly oil barons. He kissed your cheek. “You look lovely tonight, my dear. A vision in purple, I must say.”

You smiled back at him. “Yes, well, you all but wringed my arm to get me to attend– and you shall hold up your end of the bargain… right?” you hummed softly, batting your eyelashes. 

He let out a small sigh, nodding. “I will send your manuscript to the publisher– the editor in chief is here tonight, if you’d care to mingle. Amongst… many other eligible bachelors, I might add.” 

Your father had spent the better part of the last three years gently trying to pair you up with a suitor for marriage. He was a patient man, as he had droned on about so many times before, but his patience was waning. You were twenty-one years old, and apparently, that was a ghastly sight– to be twenty-one and unmarried with no promising prospects. 

Of course, you couldn’t care less. You were more focused on finishing your manuscript in that time– you had a knack for writing and reveled in works of fiction that tended to lean to the darker sides of things. It had finally reached a point you were somewhat happy with, and had convinced your father to chat up his well connected colleagues so you may be able to send the first draft to a publisher.

The price for that, however, was to entertain suitors. At a gala. Dressed and primped like a Thanksgiving turkey. It was all so dreary to you– the ladies stared at you and whispered, citing you as the dreary one. 

Breaking away from your father with a tiny smile, you began to mingle– as well as you could, anyhow. You were awkward and a bit sheltered and it showed. However, once you said who your father was, dollar signs would flash in the eyes of the men you were speaking with, and they would push forward in the conversation. You weren’t ugly by any means and could become a good wife to some young entrepreneur– but you didn’t want that.

You were about fed up with it all three hours later, your nails clinking against the glass of champagne you were nursing for the better part of thirty minutes. Your look of slight annoyance managed to stave off any other wanton suitors– until another man approached you. You had exchanged some glances with him during the night, but you didn’t recognize him. He was tall, exceedingly taller than any of the other men there. His blonde hair, so pale it was almost white in hue, was cinched at the nape of his neck in a clean ponytail, falling between his shoulder blades. He was in a custom-fitted three piece black and green suit– you could tell from how perfectly it was hugging him, in all the right places.

A familiar heat came to your cheeks as you watched him saunter over to you with an intent in his pale blue eyes– eye? One of them, you noted as he came closer, was slightly off-color from the other and moved a bit slower. Likely fake, you thought. The light casted over the planes of his face, chiseled as it was, illuminating the slightly raised, puckered skin near the fake eye in a distinctual scar. He looked just like the perfect inspiration for a protagonist in one of your novels– or mayhaps an antagonist. He seemed to skim the line between the two in appearance alone.

Curious.

“My lady,” he greeted as he finally broke the air of silence between you, his arms placed behind him in a very calculated manner. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” he asked then, a brow perked. His accent wasn’t American– that you knew for certain– likely something European. 

“As much as I can, sir,” you responded coolly, despite being caught slightly off guard by his sudden and overwhelming presence– a dark cloud in a perfectly tailored suit. “I hope that the…” you cleared your throat, trying to sound a little more confident than you likely were. “The… event is to your liking.” you mustered a smile, diverting your gaze to your champagne, hoping there may be the secrets to being a good conversationalist somewhere within the bubbles.

He chuckled, the sound low and husky. It caused a shiver to go up your spine. “The event is well and fine, my lady. Are you… the proprietor of the gala tonight? I wouldn’t expect a beautiful thing such as yourself to plan something like this.”

You glanced up at him beneath fettered lashes. He was complimenting you and insulting the party at the same time. “No– I am not. I’d never choose such… dreary musicians for an event like this. They’re playing for a wake rather than a party– that would be my father’s doing.” you slipped it into the conversation, that this was your father’s party, trying to gauge if this handsome stranger was after what all of the others were.

Surprisingly, his expression, smooth and cool with the barest hint of a smile perking at his naturally upturned lips, didn’t change. “Dreary,” he repeated, “Melancholic, gloomy, monotonous, vapid– all good words to describe the state of affairs.”

“You have quite the expansive vocabulary, Mister…” your voice trailed off, an inadvertent way to ask for his name.

“Targaryen– Aemond Targaryen. And you?” he reached his hand out to shake yours – how incredibly formal– as you returned your own name with a wide-eyed stare.

“Targaryen. As in… the ancient bloodline? Descended from dragons, close to royalty, Dragonstone estate Targaryen?” you asked, mouth slightly agape. From what you knew of them, they were as close to the height of English royalty, real royalty, as there was in the current year, 1902. Their wealth alone, minus all of the titles, made your father’s look like a pissant trust fund. 

“The very same. You’re familiar with my family?”

“Ehm– familiar, more so I’ve heard of you all. Your family’s name comes up quite often in my father’s social circles. And I am quite nosy.”

“And what do you think?”

“About… your family? Mr. Targaryen–” 

“Call me Aemond.”

“Aemond– I don’t really know much besides the height of your prestige– and your family’s estate, Dragonstone. My father brought me back some photographs of it from his trips over the pond. It’s quite beautiful.”

“Your father brought you pictures of our home?”

“N-not just yours! I collect photographs of old estates, mostly ones from Europe. I like to use them for inspiration for my… stories. I’m a writer– a novice, mostly.”

“A writer? Have you published anything I might know?” 

“Oh, God no–” you laughed, covering your face slightly with your hand. “I’ve not yet been published. I actually sent my manuscript to… or will be sending one to a publisher soon. Hopefully.”

“What do you like to write?” he asked then, leaning a bit closer to you as if he was actually enjoying conversing with you. “Romance? Children’s fables?” he teased softly, his one eye gleaming. He was quite handsome, you thought.

“I like horror– mysteries, gothic fiction. I’m quite enamored with the… macabre and weird,” you admit. “I hope that doesn’t frighten you.” 

Aemond grinned, his teeth shining, canines pronounced against his thin lips. “Oh, yes, it does frighten me. But, all good horror stories should frighten their readers, yes? I expect you’re a fan of Vampyre? Perhaps Dracula?” 

“Both are good. My favorite, however, is Frankenstein. Mary Shelley is a genius. The Castle of Otranto is also wonderful and the pioneer of the genre. I remember trying to read it when I was younger and being scared of the dark hallways at night. Later on in life, those dark hallways enthused me enough to write about them– hence my… fascination with old houses.”

“Old homes certainly do have their fair share of secrets, don’t they?” he paused, straightening his lapel slightly before leaning back in towards you. “And do you believe what they say? That Mary’s husband wrote it and published it under her name?”

Your brows knit together in slight irritation. “Of course not. Why would he need to do such a thing? I hope you don’t mind me saying, but men already have enough advantages as is– publishing under a woman’s name instead might be considered a disadvantage.”

“Will you be publishing under your own name?” 

You blinked, taking a sip from your champagne. It was something you considered and went back and forth upon. “I haven’t decided. I have a pseudonym ready just in case.”

“Do tell– so I know what name to look for on the shelves within a year.” 

God, was he ever charming– and without even trying, really. He was well-spoken with a voice that was soft and almost whispery. It made butterflies bubble in the pit of your stomach– now that was a feeling you weren’t familiar with. “Dorian Gray.”

“Cheeky woman.” he mused. “Fancy a dance, Miss Gray?”

“... I suppose I could be swayed.”

–

Your dance together, to say the least, was a success– it started month’s worth of courting after. Aemond took you on the most splendid nights out, wining and dining you like you were a gorgeous, interesting debutante. It was exhilarating to say the least and made you feel… truly wanted– especially since his family was exceedingly wealthy, your father’s wealth couldn’t have attracted him. 

He took you to the theater, out to wondrous restaurants, and bought you various gifts like jewelry, writing supplies and outfits to wear when you went out.

It all felt very much like a dream to you– something beyond your usual, weary routine that had hardly ever changed since your mother died when you were eight years old. You’d recused into yourself then, the dark hallways that scared you so fiercely just before her death now seemed welcoming. You thrived in the dark, like a moth. 

But now, you felt something more akin to a butterfly, bathing in the sun’s light. 

It wasn’t a great surprise when Aemond asked your father for his blessing to marry you. Your father, who had harped you for years to get married, was suddenly apprehensive. 

He pulled you aside, arm around you. “Do you like this boy, dear?”

“Y-yes, father– very much so.”

“I’ll be honest, sweetheart. I’m not exactly keen on letting my only daughter go off with… some man–” 

“He isn’t just some man, father! He’s a Targ–” 

“Don’t interrupt,” he chastised firmly. “I’ve had my people look into his family further– it’s a whole mess, issues with succession, backstabbing, incest, the whole nine yards,” he took a measured breath. “But I’ve heard nothing but good things about… Aemond. But… you’d be so far away. You’d be off living in the annals of England, a whole boat’s ride away.”

“This is what you wanted, father! For me to marry, for me to be happy! This is the happiest I’ve been in… so long. You must see that?”

The creases in your father’s forehead relaxed as he regarded you for a long moment, before turning to Aemond, who was waiting patiently off to the side. He let go of your shoulder and walked to your beau, staring at him sternly. “Will you treat her right? Give her everything she deserves and more?”

Aemond perked up slightly, rubbing the side of his forefinger with his thumb in a seemingly nervous gesture. “Of course, sir. I’ll give her everything I have and more. She will be regarded as a Lady– the Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone Hall, and she wouldn’t be treated with any less respect than a Lady deserves.”

Your father’s gaze narrowed, taking it all into careful thought. “... very well. You have my blessing, son. But, one whiff of even a tear from her eye on your account, and your nads are forfeit. I may not be as well-off as your family, but I’ve got a lot of friends in a lot of places.”

– 

The marriage was a quick affair, as your father, and now Aemond, knew you had no patience for pomp and frills. Aemond gave you a beautiful ring with an absolutely gigantic sapphire inlaid in the center, citing it as a family heirloom from centuries past. Your father saw you off onto the boat, bawling his eyes out. You’d never seen your father cry– not once. 

As husband and wife, you both agreed to wait to celebrate your wedding night until you arrived in England at his family’s estate to your marital bed.

The trip overall was a little under a week’s time upon a luxurious liner, where you both enjoyed champagne and each other’s company. You craved your husband, and he craved you in the same, but you each wished to keep your agreement intact. But it was increasingly hard, as you held one another close each night and his need for you was clearly pressed to your lower back.

Dragonstone Hall was a few hours' carriage ride north of the port and was nestled upon a high-ridged cliff. It was as gorgeous as the pictures had depicted, even moreso. It was ancient, imposing against the skyline and mingling to the clouds, where sea birds and ravens alike swirled above the towering watch towers that were supported by stone walls with vines grasping to them like lifelines. 

It was gorgeous, gothic and most definitely haunted– a perfect place for a woman of horror such as yourself. 

Aemond helped you out of the carriage, a hand placed upon your waist as he guided you beyond the gates. Your eyes were wide with wonder, taking in the scenery like a breath of fresh air. Tears threatened to spill over suddenly, as you were just overwhelmed with everything going on. You were married to someone you loved, who loved you– and were the Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone Hall. 

“Something wrong, my love?” Aemond whispered into your ear, his lips tickling your lobe.

“N-no– I’m just… very happy.”

He wiped the tears away with the pad of his thumb, clearing your vision. You glanced up at one of the windows on the third story of the castle. Someone was staring back at you.

A lady. Her hair was red, her skin almost translucent. 

You must’ve been imagining it, surely. Looking to another window, another visage appeared.

Another– this time with dirty blonde hair, her blue eyes ghastly and bloodshot. She was practically see through. 

You pressed closer to Aemond, blinking profusely– it must’ve been the exhaustion from the nights on the boat catching up to you. Once you rubbed your eyes, you looked back; the figures were gone. 

As you approached the main door of the estate, another face caught your eye. 

Another woman– with dark hair and sullen, emerald eyes. They pierced through you like two heavy jewels, making goosebumps prickle atop your arms. She wasn’t ghastly or undeathly like the other two, and when you rubbed your eyes, she was still there.

She was still there, very much a living person in the flesh, with flowing blood and a beating heart. And she was beautiful.

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

what are your thoughts on the olympians’ thrones? we know that they are connected to the power of the gods, and that kronos’ tactic was to destroy olympus/their thrones in order to weaken them (so when kronos destroyed the arm rest of ares’ throne, did that weaken him during the battle with typhon?)

but why should the destruction of their thrones weaken them? isn’t the source of their power, their divinity, well, themselves? and what of minor gods? or what about during the first titanomachy? sorry for the lengthy question but it’s all very confusing and im interested in hearing your take.

SO

THE OLYMPIAN THRONES

first let's see what Dionysus had to say about this in The Last Olympian

"Whichever! Now listen, the situation is graver than you imagine. If Olympus falls, not only will the gods fade, but everything that is connected to our legacy will also begin to unravel. The very fabric of your puny little civilization—"

"Yes, yes. Your entire society will dissolve. Perhaps not right away, but mark my words, the chaos of the Titans will mean the end of Western civilization. Art, law, wine tastings, music, video games, silk shirts, black velvet paintings—all the things that make life worth living will disappear!"

"—the other gods would never admit this, but we actually need you mortals to rescue Olympus. You see, we are manifestations of your culture. If you don't care enough to save Olympus yourselves—"

Let's look at the third part first! Dionysus tells us that the gods are manifestations of human culture. And as we know, in the RRverse, the gods have moved around with the flame of progression, where the most human power is allocated. This is why they are in the US in the RRverse, and why they tend to reflect a more American culture (ie, Zeus in a CEO suit, Poseidon as a fisherman, Ares is a biker, ect.)

So what I'm getting from Dionysus's explanation here, is that the gods and human culture are intrinsically intertwined with each other. You can't have one without the other and all that. If human culture fades, the gods weaken, and if the gods weaken, human culture fades.

Something interesting to note here is that Dionysus says that the gods will fade if their thrones are destroyed...interesting, considering Dionysus and Percy also discuss how Pan faded.

But Pan didn't fade because of a lack of human belief/culture - he faded because his domain was being destroyed. Helios and Selene faded because they lost faith in themselves.

I think Dionysus might be overexaggerating a bit here. I don't think the gods would have necessarily faded if their thrones were destroyed- just significantly weakened. And perhaps, weak enough that if they ever just decided to give up...they would fade.

(Which brings up an interesting notion of Dionysus fearing them fading, because maybe that implies he thinks not all of them have the willpower to push through that...food for thought)

Kronos destroying Ares's arm rest is curious, since after the defeat of Typhon, we see the Olympian gods and nothing is out of the ordinary, even with Ares. So I'm guessing the arm rest getting cut off didn't exactly affect Ares, but if a larger piece of the throne or even the throne itself was sliced up? We'd have a different story.

I believe the source of the gods' power comes from a variety of places- mortal belief, their thrones, and belief in themselves. We see the latter occurring with Apollo in The Tower of Nero especially, where he's able to bring himself back into immortality on his own willpower, and I think we even see this happening with Hades and Poseidon, leaving their respected realms to come to the aid of Olympus and leaving behind their grudge (Hades) and ego (Poseidon) for the greater good.

This brings up an interesting idea, then. The Olympians have three main sources of power. But are they even aware of the third?

Because think about it. People, in series and out, have automatically assumed Helios and Selene faded because of a lack of mortal belief. But, that is not what happened, for they were still majorly worshipped- instead, it was a lack of faith in themselves. They lost their sense of self.

So I think the "power ranking" of these sources go as follows;

Belief in self

Mortal belief

Thrones

Mortal belief is often talked about, especially in ToA where Nero tells us mortals gave him a prolonged life and eventually immortality. He does not have a throne like the Olympians, though he does have a fasces, where his immortality is stored.

Could it be that the Olympian's immortality is stored in their thrones? Maybe. But remember, Nero is a wannabe god. There has to be drawbacks to that, and I bet the fasces was one of them. He has to contain his immortality in something, while the Olympians do not, because they are immortal. Full stop.

Now minor gods...this is a bit trickier, but I think minor gods have a power scaling of their own. The Olympians are on another level for godly power- they are The Squad so to speak.

How powerful minor gods are I think depends on their domain, as well as mortal belief/their own belief.

Hecate, for example, is probably exceptionally powerful for a minor goddess because of her position as the goddess of magic, the Mist, and crossroads among other things (did you know she has some influence over prophecy? ;3 she and Apollo were two sides of the same coin when it came to prophecy).

Iris is probably not as powerful as Hecate is, because, uh, rainbows aren't exactly powerful when it comes to magic XD

As for the Elder Olympians' power during the Titanomachy...that's also interesting to think about. Imo, I think their power grew over the time of the war, since they didn't really have the opportunity to fine-tune anything what with being in Kronos's stomach and all lol

Zeus probably got more practice in when he was young, but probably not as much when he became cupbearer. And I also think the symbols of power of the Big Three help channel their power- which now has a funny image because here are the guys learning how to focus their power with training wheels while the girls are just fucking around and finding out.

Demeter probably strangled a few people with her plants. Hera probably unleased a hoard of peacocks on someone. Hestia no doubt set a few things on fire.

lmao, that's funny to think about.

Anyway, finally got around to this one!!! :D

[sebuckyverse]

for a good time, call [3]

modern!rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

series summary: Eddie Munson is a burnt out rockstar, touring the country. When he finds a phone number written on a bathroom wall, he strikes an unusual friendship with a coffee shop barista who has no idea who he is.

warnings: 18+ cussing, f!masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, smoking, flirting, mutual pining, angst, strangers to friends to lovers word count: 3,5k

an: omg guys, here it is! i hope you enjoy. as always, if you like it let me know by reblogging or leaving a comment - it means so much to me!

chapter two ♫ masterlist ♫ askbox

chapter three ♫♪♩·..·

After a beat of silence, the phone went dead. Disappointment creeped into your soul, but you tried to fight it off. Maybe it was an accident, perhaps the connection just cut out. But as the minutes ticked by, you sat on your bed, clutching your phone that silent. Your bedroom door was open and you could see the moon illuminating your worn out sofa in the living room. It was dead silent, just like your phone.

Was this all a scam? Were you being catfished by some lonely elder, or worse, a disgusting perv? Were you that stupid and naïve?

With shaky hands, you placed your phone back on your nightstand, plugging the charger in. You settled back under the covers with your back facing your bedroom window, clutching the blanket under your chin. In the warm cocoon of your sheets, you fell into a restless sleep.

.•♫•♬•

Eddie wasn't better off. He didn't sleep at all that night. He was racking his brain trying to come up with an excuse that could justify his actions. Landing on zero ideas, he gave up at about 4.30am. He kept opening and closing his iMessage app, sometimes just watching the empty text box and other times actually typing something, then deleting it and tossing his phone on the floor.

He was a piece of shit, honestly. He was wired up to call you, he hit the right button, he heard your voice and then he panicked, once again. In those two seconds, your voice was enough to take his breath away. Your voice was quiet but hopeful and he wrecked everything.

Eddie opened the doors to his suite balcony, sitting down on a wicker basket chair and propping his feet on the metal railing. The chilly air was dancing around his hair and bare shoulders, he was only wearing a simple pair of dark sweats, from which fished out his (regular) cigarettes and lit one. He kept looking at the skyline and the city below it, he could see the roof of the arena he would be playing at later that night.

He pondered what type of music you liked, if you would like his stuff. Would you go to a show, cheer him on from the front row? Or would you be the type to wait in the dressing room unbothered, like his ex. What would you say if he asked you to come to one of his shows? They are scheduled to play two shows in New York in two weeks...

Eddie finished his cigarette stepped back into the room, opening the closet where he caught a glimpse of his rosy cheeks on the mirrored doors and putting on a Corroded Coffin hoodie. He stepped to the desk adjacent to the closet and pulled open a small drawer filled with hotel amenities. He found what he was looking for, a blank sheet of paper and a pencil, returning to the balcony where the sunrise was creeping up on the city. He used to do this back in high school, when he was still playing Dungeons & Dragons, drawing different maps and monsters for each session. It almost felt liberating, skimming the ashy tip of the pencil along the paper. He hadn't done anything creative in months, he'd only kept the same routine every day. Maybe it was time to change that. Maybe it was time to stop moping around and improve some things.

.•♫•♬•

''There you go, sir. Have a nice day!'' Robin piped out next to you, handing a middle aged guy in a very expensive looking suit his go-to espresso, to which he didn't even respond to as he kept typing away on his phone. When he was out the door, Robin rolled her eyes and muttered ''Asshole.''

You snorted, grateful for he company and for the fact that the café was pretty busy today, you could use the distraction. You woke up this morning to two text messages, one from your co-worker asking for you to fill in for her today as she had to take her dog to the vet and another was from him. You didn't open his text yet and you couldn't see it from the preview either, because he had sent a photo right after the text, so the screen just said ''Sent a photo.''

You were itching to know what could he have possibly sent, but you purposefully kept your phone at your locker today. Still feeling iffy about the situation, you hadn't mentioned the call thing to Robin, but you did fill her casually in on your texting to which in return you got a confirmation that her and Cherry were indeed now girlfriends.

''Ugh, she asked me after the show - which was amazing, by the way - and I had to say yes. You just can't say no to her,'' she kept babbling while putting a new tray full of frozen croissants to the oven.

You were re-filling the espresso machine with new beans. ''What show was it anyway?''

Robin closed the oven door with her hip while pulling the oven mitts off. ''I don't really remember, coffin something. Cherry loves them, that's why we went. It was real heavy, the singer was pretty cool though, straight from the 80s.''

''What do you mean?'' you asked.

''He had long hair, so he looked like Bon Jovi or something. I mean it was cool, but you don't see that look every day.'' she replied, straightening her apron and greeting another customer who'd just stepped in.

You hummed in response and proceeded to the cash register to take new orders. The day flew by and by the time you only had 20 minutes left, Robin was at the back, emptying the dishwasher and you were counting cash when the door opened again. You vaguely remembered her hair color and her wine red lipgloss, so it wasn't too hard to recognize Cherry when she strolled in.

''Hey, I'm Cherry.''

You accepted her outstretched palm and shook her hand. ''Y/N. Nice to finally meet you, for real this time.''

''Same here,'' she smiled ''Though I feel like I know you already. Robin talks about you a lot and I already know you can't handle more than two drinks.''

''And three tequila shots!'' you returned her smile and Robin came busting out the back, rushing past the counter and throwing her arms around Cherry, pecking her cheek.

''Glad the introductions are over,'' she quipped and turned to Cherry ''missed you, by the way.''

''Gross.'' you joked, which ended up with Robin's apron in your face.

''Ha-ha. Would you mind if-''

Before she could finish her sentence, you dismissed her with a hand swipe. ''Yeah yeah, I can finish up here.''

''You're an angel. You know I'd do the same for you if you weren't single and lonely!'' Robin snickered and you fake gasped, but they were out the door before you could say anything back, waving at you from the outside.

''Idiot.''

You grabbed your things from your locker and closed the café, stepping out onto a golden sunset. You walked along the streets leading to your apartment building, passing a bus stop with a big poster on it, the deep rich colors popping and a guy in the middle of it, clutching a guitar. You recalled your conversation with Robin from earlier. Coffin something, a singer with long hair. The name on the poster said Corroded Coffin and the guy on the poster did seem like he could be from the 80s.

Not thinking much of it, you finally decide to take a look at your phone. Besides the two texts, your breath hitched when you noticed there was a missed call as well, 4 hours ago. You checked out the messages first and opened the photo he had sent. It was a picture of a sketch, what could immediately be recognized as the New York skyline. It was nice too, the lines were sharp, it was pretty detailed too.

7.21am - Kirk ''I'm an asshole and I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, I panicked at the last second. It's a shitty excuse but it's the truth. I'm really sorry, I'd love to talk to you if I could have another chance. I couldn't sleep all night, so I drew this for you as an apology. It's not great, but I hope you accept.''

8.01pm - Kiwi 'It's a great sketch, btw.''

It didn't even take him a second to hit you back.

8.01pm - Kirk ' 'God, I thought you'd blocked me.''

8.02pm - Kiwi ''I'm still thinking about it. I'm convinced you're a catfish.''

8.02pm - Kirk ''I promise I'm not.''

8.02pm - Kiwi ''Okay, prove it.''

8.03pm - Kirk ''How would I do that?''

8.05pm - Kiwi ''I'm sure you can figure it out.''

.•♫•♬•

What the hell was he going to do? He was convinced you had blocked him last night. He sent you the text this morning and for more than 12 hours it was only showing as 'sent.' Not received, not read, nothing. Now reading you thought he was catfishing you, Eddie needed to prove to you that he was real and that he was serious this time.

Without thinking much of it, he dialed your number again and waited as it rang. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder and made his way to the dressing room bathroom, locking himself in to give him some sort of privacy.

The phone kept ringing and ringing. Were you punishing him for not picking up? He wouldn't hold it against you, he kind of deserves it. Besides, Eddie loves a woman who can beat him up.

Finally, after he had already given up hope, the line clicked and he heard your voice again. ''Yes?''

Eddie could also hear cars driving in the background, your breathing was a bit quicker than normal, a little shallow. You were outside somewhere.

''Is this proof enough?'' he asked, barely breathing.

''You could still be some weirdo, but I'll let you off the hook for now. Hi.'' Eddie thought he could hear a smile in your voice.

''Hi,'' he sighed, shoulder relaxing where he was leaning against the door. ''How are you?''

''I'm fine,'' you replied. ''I just got off work, I'm walking home.''

''I thought you had the day off.''

''I did,'' you sighed, some shuffling coming from your side. ''A co-worker asked me to switch, so I did.''

''That's generous of you, are you always this nice?'' Eddie teased.

''You tell me,'' you quipped back, matching his energy right away. He liked that, a lot. He liked you.

''I'd say so. You gave me another shot, though you didn't have to.''

''Don't waste it. I normally don't give second chances.''

Eddie chuckled, ''I won't. Can I ask you something?''

''Shoot,'' you agreed.

''Do you, like.. recognize my voice?'' he cringed. ''It's a silly thing to ask, 'm sorry.''

You laughed and the sound danced around his brain, shooting a bunch of endorphins into his belly. He hoped it wasn't weird to picture you based on your voice alone, but you sounded pretty.

''No...'' trailing off, but quickly you recouped ''So you're a musician then?''

''Uhh... maybe.''

''That's cool! Don't worry, unless you're in an 80s indie band or a 90s boyband, I probably don't know you, sorry!''

''Is that the only stuff you listen to?'' Eddie asked incredulously.

''Hey, I like what I like!'' you defended and he could hear the slight creak of a door and soft steps that became a bit louder, like you were climbing some stairs. The call crackled for a second and then he could hear keys jingling and the unlocking of another door.

''You made it home?'' he quizzed, destined to make sure you were alright.

''Yeah, finally. Now I have a three day weekend!''

''Cool! What are you pl-''

Before Eddie could finish his question, he was startled by the banging behind him, the door he was leaning against shaking under his back. He quickly covered the microphone, holding the device against his chest. ''Eddie, you in there man? We gotta start getting ready.''

It was their drummer asking. Eddie shushed him and told him he was on the phone. The drummer replied with a dishonest 'sorry' and left him be.

''Um, sorry about that. Shit.'' Eddie apologized and wondered if you heard anything.

''Don't worry about it, Eddie.'' you shot back and he could almost see the grin on your face. Why did it seem like you had the upper hand every time?

''Hmm, you got me. Now you tell me your name,'' he challenged.

''I thought you already named me,'' you shot back, your voice suddenly so sweet and innocent.

''Oh, come on. That's not fair.''

''I don't think you've earned it yet.'' Something about that sentence made him twitch in his pants. Fuck. He wanted to earn your name, something else too. Your voice was sultry, the tone of it sticking to his brain like honey. He needed more of it, he needed to keep you talking. He was in a trance almost.

''Making me work for it?'' he prompted, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, resting it on the door.

''You bet. I come with a price, you know.'' You joked.

''I'm willing to pay.'' Eddie replied, dead serious.

.•♫•♬•

Your phone call with Eddie, as you now know him, ended pretty abruptly after that. He got interrupted again and he had to go, to start getting ready for the show you supposed. For exactly two seconds after you hung up, you thought about googling him, but decided against it just as fast as that. You wanted to get to know him personally, not through tabloids.

Your body was thrumming however, your cheeks felt hot to the touch and there was the tiniest vibration between your thighs. You needed a cold shower, asap. You didn't expect the talk to excite you that much, but his voice was something else. Smooth, raspy at times when he lowered his tone. A bit more nasally when he got excited. You wanted to hear it again, teasing you. You wondered what he sounded in person, what his laugh was like, what sounded like when he was out of breath, gasping in your ear.

Stop, you scolded yourself and hurried in removing your work clothes and dumping them in the laundry basket. You took a cool shower to calm down, changed into silky pajamas, then popped a frozen pizza into the pre-heated oven and set the timer to 15 minutes. While you waited for dinner to be ready, you occupied yourself with finding a good movie to watch while you ate, poured a glass of water and changed Eddie's contact name on your phone. Watching a movie should keep you distracted for a few hours, until Eddie was free to call again, which would presumably be in the early hours of the night.

When the movie finally finished, you were full and hydrated. It was only a quarter past eleven so you still had a couple more hours to kill. You decided to move to be this time, grabbing an unfinished book from your desk and settled in under the covers. You turned on the reading lamp on the bedside table and kept your phone close to you. Soon enough, you were submerged in the book, the scene written on the page getting spicier. You gulped as you read how the main characters were ripping each others clothes off, devouring one another. You had a perfect picture in your head, the words coming alive in front of you, envisioning the guy eating out his girl the way the author had put it in the book. Shit, your thighs clenched at the thought of someone doing that to you.

You jumped when your phone vibrated against your bare thigh, slapping the book shut abruptly.

''Hello?'' you answered, trying to calm your breathing.

''Hey, what's up?'' Eddie asked, sounding a little out of breath himself.

''Oh, um, I was just reading a book.''

''What's it about?''

You cleared your throat, ''J-just some rom com, don't think you'd be interested.''

''You alright over there?'' Eddie quipped, chuckling softly.

''I'm fine, totally fine.''

''Uh-uh,'' Eddie sounded totally unconvinced ''tell me what you were reading.''

''Why?'' you were growing nervous.

''You're basically hyperventilating, that must be some book. Was it scary?''

''No.''

''Erotic?'' he joked, chuckling.

You remained quiet, the words dying on your tongue.

''Oh, it was.'' Eddie mused, his voice lower now. ''What were they doing?''

''They were just kissing and stuff,'' you whispered like you were scared someone would overhear, chewing on your bottom lip as a nervous habit.

''Did some simple kissing get you that worked up, baby?''

Baby. He was doing nothing but enhancing the tingling in your white cotton panties.

''No,'' you breathe, rubbing your thighs together at this point.

''Hmm.. Were they doing more? Having sex?'' he spoke and you could hear faint shuffling on his side, then the soft close of a door.

''Not exactly.''

''No? What then? Don't be shy.''

You squeezed your eyes shut, somehow embarrassed like the whole world could see you right now. You took a shaky breath in and quickly blurted out ''He was eating her out.''

There was a small pause before Eddie hummed. ''And how did that make you feel?''

''Good,'' you replied.

''Just good?''

You whimpered. He was toying with you, pulling your strings but you didn't want him to stop either. You switched the phone to your left hand, to free your dominant hand to caress your stomach, occasionally dipping lower. ''Aroused.''

''What are you doing right now?'' Eddies breathing sounded heavier now, too. His voice has a raspier edge than before.

''Rubbing my thighs,'' you sighed. The feeling of your palm sliding over the inside of your thighs felt nice, for a while. There was a warm wet patch on your panties, too.

''Shit. Lay down for me.''

You did as he told, scooting lower on the bed until you were horizontal. ''Okay.''

''Good girl,'' he praised.

Jesus Christ. No one had ever talked to you like that, you'd only read that in your books. Those words sent a jolt straight to your pussy.

''Want you to touch yourself, can you do that for me?''

''Y-yeah,'' you hiccupped, guiding your hand under your pajama pants and skipping your panties too, cupping your mound and feeling the gathered wetness there.

''Doing so good for me, honey. Touch your little pussy for me, tell me how wet you are.''

You couldn't hold back the moan that bubbled up as you followed his instructions, sliding your fingers easily through your blazing folds due to the slickness. ''S-so wet, Eddie.''

''Fuck,'' he groaned. ''Wish I could be there, need to see it for myself. Would you want that?''

''Yes, Eddie!'' you wailed, gliding your wet fingers down your slit, then back up again and focusing on your puffy clit, pulsing with want. You circled your clit with your middle fingers, putting the phone on speaker and dumping it next to your head so you could use your other hand to slide it under your shirt to thumb your nipple, adding even more pleasure.

''Would you let me eat your pussy, too? Let me tongue fuck your little hole?'' Your cunt clenched just at the thought of having his warm muscle shoved deep into it. It was begging to be filled, hungry for it. You found your weeping hole and pushed your middle finger in, moaning at the stretch. Eddie meanwhile continued his verbal assault. ''Fuck, baby I'd lick you so good if you'd let me have the honor. I bet you're already knuckles deep in your pussy, aren't you?''

You could only cry out ''uh uh'' as you added another finger, pushing them as far as you could reach, curling them upward to graze that one and only spot.

''Good fucking girl. Keep punishing that tight hole for me. I know it's so tight, would barely fit my fat cock. Shit. I wanna fill you up, fuck you 'til your crying, begging for me to stop. But I wouldn't stop until you were stuffed full of my cum - you want that baby? Wanna be so filled with my cum that it's flowing out of your abused hole, huh? Leaking down your crack, I'd clean you right up.''

''Eddie, oh my God!'' you cried, tears stinging your eyes as you thrashed around, your clothes sticking to your sweaty body. Fucking your fingers in and out, you pressed your palm down to add more pressure to your clit, building up your high.

''You close, sweetheart? Wanna hear you cum, you sound so fucking perfect already. Keep working those fingers, don't stop.''

''Fuckuckfuck, I'm cumming. Ohmygod.'' Your high hit and you lost all vision, only listening to Eddie talk you through it, telling you what a good girl you were, how proud he was, how good you sounded.

When you came down, you carefully withdrew your fingers and wiped them clean on your pants, trying to catch your breath.

''My name's Y/N, by the way.''

On the other side, Eddie burst out laughing.

[spacesapphi]

HES Trio Headcanon Time! (HCs below the cut, this is a long one)

TW for mentions of bullying, death, parental death, car accident, drinking, and neglect

Elliot

- he's 30yrs old and 6'0, very lanky and tall and covered in freckles. His hair is curly too!

- HC for his voice has to be Raoul from Phantom of the Opera, just has that romantic voice that fits him so well

- his family is of Irish descent and his last name is Lillis, which he finds sounds VERY romantic!

- growing up he was so obsessed with classical literature that he would often pretend his life was a novel, narrating his daily life in his head

- LOVESSSS pride & prejudice, Phantom of the Opera, and Les Mis, he'll talk your ear off about them if you let him

- was unfortunately bullied a lot for his interests growing up, even at home. He tried not to let it dampen his spirit, but it was difficult. He channels a lot of that pain into his writing

- his parents never really respected his hobbies, and his brothers weren't that kind in general. Elliot often felt alone in his house, like he was a misunderstood outcast that didnt have anyone. One of his favorite book series as a kid was Anne of Green Gables, as he connected to her feeling out of place and different from everyone around her

- pretty much canon, but he's a lightweight. One drink and he's GONE. Hes gets silly and giggly when he's drunk too

- he's autistic (I feel like everyone in the HES trio is) and his special interest is around literature, specifically romance literature. Anytime he sees something notable happen in town, or a couple do anything he goes "Oh this is just like x character in x book!" And he'll infodump about the story to anyone who will listen (usually Leah or Penny)

- he gets along well with Penny and shes actually been his test reader and editor for many of his published pieces! He always puts her name in the "special thanks" section

- takes much pride in his appearance, especially his hair. Before the farmer arrived he was the one practically keeping Pierre in business for self care products because he REFUSED to go to Joja bc "Do you know how many CHEMICALS are in those things?!"

- maladaptive daydreamer for sure. He gets frustrated with the way he cant stop daydreaming, and how music always seems to intensify it. On one hand, it gives him ideas for his writing, on the other it makes it hard for him to interact with others. When he's home alone in his cabin, Finding him pacing around, listening to his favorite CDs and records is common

- his love language is sentimental gifts. They don't need to be elaborate or expensive grand gestures. If you mention loving a certain food he'll make it for you, he'll get you things in your favorite color just to make you smile. Hes a very sweet man!

- he has a beautiful laugh!

- wears dangly earrings all the time. He likes very sparkly ones with jewels, ones that make him feel like he's in a romantic period piece. He has a killer collection of them!

Harvey

- he's 35yrs old and 6'2, though you can't tell because he's often slouched over (bad habit, he knows. His back hurts all the time). He's a chubby guy too, which makes him feel self conscious, but he learns to love himself :)

- My HC for his voice is Simon Petrikov, specifically the way he speaks in Fiona and Cake, I cannot imagine it any differently LMAO

- Harveys family is of Italian descent and his last name is Russo!

- grew up with just his mom and grandpa. His mom was a doctor and his grandpa was a retired pilot who helped spark his love for flying. He died when Harvey was 12, leaving some model planes and that radio he keeps in his office to him with a note telling him to always reach for the skies.

- Harvey has a bit of a lisp, and spent a lot of time in speech therapy as a kid. Words with lots of "s" sounds are tricky for him

- he actively went through so much testing to be a pilot, but when he got to the actual flight test where he had to get into a plane he got so anxious he threw up and ran away

- he realized then and there that he couldnt do it, and it was a hard reality to face. A lot of crying, and a lot of struggling to accept his dream wasn't attainable. He felt like he was letting his grandpa down, but his mom promised he wasn't

- when he decided to go to medical school, he couldn't decide what his focus was going to be to save his life, he changed it constantly. It took about two years to land on primary care physician and even then he still kept researching other tracks. This would come in hand once he got to pelican town and became the only doctor

- often too exhausted to cook for himself, which is why he buys so much processed food. Shane gives him a lot of shit for it every time he sees him at JojaMart ("don't say SHIT to me at my next checkup if you're going to buy that")

- his eyesight is so bad. He can't see a foot in front of him without his glasses. He's also incredibly clumsy and falls and breaks them often (I mean where did you THINK all those broken glasses you were fishing up were from?)

- like Elliot, was a victim of bullying in school, especially highschool :( Nerdy guy with a plane interest that stuck to himself was unfortunately a prime target, and he found himself in a rough situation. It actually got so bad that he took a special test to be able to graduate early so he didn't have to deal with it anymore. He passed it in tenth grade, and put all his energy into studying to be a pilot until he was old enough to join courses for it

- his mom was his biggest advocate, and was regularly down at his school to yell at administration for letting the bullying get that bad. She loved her son more than anything and would do anything for him. She was the one to suggest testing out of school, not wanting him to go through all of that for years.

- hes still close with his mom, and they regularly call and write letters to each other to keep up. Since Harvey lives so far now, they mostly meet up on important days like birthdays, holidays, and to go visit his grandfather's grave every once in a while

Shane

- he's 30yrs old and 5'7, and he hates both of those facts. Being the shortest man in town and one of the oldest single ones is a bit of a blow to his self esteem. He's pretty bulky too, a combination of muscle from working on the ranch and as a stocker, and fat from drinking and diet

- I go back and forth on his voice HC constantly, but I like the common fan interp of him sounding kinda like Nick Miller from new girl, it fits too well

- Shane is Pennsylvania Dutch on his mothers side and his last name (along with Marnies) is Yoder!

- that being said he knows very little of the PA Dutch language, though Marnie speaks it fluently. He has a bit of an accent from growing up with her

- croc wearer, don't tell me otherwise. He has a few everyday pairs, a fur lined pair for when it gets cold, and what he calls his "formal Crocs" (literally just black Crocs with bowtie jibbits this man is so fucking corny). He has normal shoes too, like sneakers and boots for the winter and work, but nothing beats his Crocs

- Jas has tried to call him dad a few times, but it makes him sad. He doesn't feel good enough to deserve that title, and he feels like he'd be disrespecting his friends by trying to take it over.

- Was in the accident that killed her parents. They took him out to celebrate his 25th birthday, going to a Tunnelers game. They were hit by a reckless driver going far above the speed limit on the way back home, and he was the only one who made it. One moment Shane was having the time of his life with his best friends in the world, the next he's waking up in the hospital finding out they're gone. As a result, his birthday has become a bit of a sore subject, hence why he "was hoping he'd forget" anytime he gets a birthday gift

- his leg got really hurt in the accident, and though its healed, he still often needs compression braces to deal with chronic pain from it. Working at Joja and on the ranch aren't exactly low impact after all

- Marnie is his only bio family thats alive and on speaking terms with him. She practically raised him for the most part, with his dad gone and mother having passed when he was little. His mother was Mona, the same Mona from the cemetery. She was Marnies twin sister, and the photo in secret note 11 is her and baby shane.

- He and Emily were childhood bestfriends growing up, and dated in highschool. They realized after about a year that they just worked better as friends though, and remain besties to this day

- he's transgender he told me himself

- Marnie was also incredibly supportive of his transition and she's fiercely protective of him. He may technically be her nephew but she sees him more as a son and thus goes full mama bear when it comes to him

- even though he doesn't take great care of himself, he makes sure jas is well taken care of, especially after he starts recovery. His clothes may be threadbare and worn, and he may look like he hasn't slept in a year, but Jas will *always* have everything she could ever need... and want. Ngl he kinda spoils her a little, especially after he cuts back and can afford it more. He feels bad saying no to her given all that she's gone through. She has a doll collection that could make the most avid collectors jealous

- he makes sure he spends time with her too, taking days off for festivals because she wants him there, taking the day off for her birthday, and trying his best to be there for her. It's an upward struggle for him to get better so he can be there for her, but he's trying

- after Joja closes down, Marnie offers him a full time job at the ranch, including pay and board. He takes the offer IMMEDIATELY, and does an amazing job at it. She's certain she'll be leaving the ranch to him once she's retired

- if you want to get him to do anything, tell him him it involves chickens in some way. Chickens are his special interest for SURE. Chicken print socks, corny puns, joke tshirts, he has it all. He practically becomes the organizer of the Egg Festival yearly once he's started recovery, putting a crazy amount of work into it to make sure it goes well. Same with the Valley Fair's petting zoo. The amount of pride he gets talking about the animals to tourists is unmatched, and it's one of the few times Marnie gets to see him look as happy as he did before the accident. Those moments are fleeting, but everytime she can see that light in his eyes she feels like everything will be ok.

[choosingwhatmatters]

Music in The Loyal Pin, Episode 1

My goodness, what a beautiful chocolate brownie of a first episode! There are already wonderful posts about the way in which the funds of the series have been put to good use. One aspect that has not been highlighted yet (please correct me if I'm wrong) is the music. And oh!, the music we get in this series.

My ears perked up from the very beginning of the show. We get an orchestral score! All the instruments of magic welcome us at the palace: strings, a harp, a glockenspiel, woodwinds, bar chimes, a piano - I was smiling within seconds.

Tv shows very rarely receive a score like this because arranging, recording and mixing music for twenty different instruments is time-consuming and complex, by which I mean expensive. One trick you can use to lower the costs is using synthesised instruments. The strings we can hear are not real. However, a brilliant thing the scoring team does here is mix in real instruments. For example, we can hear real flutes, if I am not mistaken. Some cello and violin pieces throughout the episode have also been recorded with real instruments. For me, the whole soundscape is simply beautiful!

What about the music itself? There are three things I would like to talk about: the pentatonic scale, Pachelbel and a melody that I hope will become one of Pin and Anin's.

1. The very first thing we hear when Anin has landed on Pin is a melody comprised of five different notes. For Western ears, these fives notes are inevitably associated with music from South-East Asia. The scale resulting from these notes is called a pentatonic scale, and if you ever feel like playing it: look for the black keys on any piano keyboard and go wild. The cool thing about the pentatonic scale is that it's fantastic for improvising. In Western music, it's used all the time because these notes simply sound good together.

We have a lot of ambient music in this episode. Music that blends with the peaceful atmosphere onscreen, and often the pentatonic scale is used to do just that.

2. Which brings me to another piece of music I want to talk about: Johann Pachelbel's Canon in D major. It's the first and the last piece played at the dance. While the king discusses Anin's future with the rest of the family, we can see Pin and Anin dancing to this piece. I find this significant because most music scholars believe that Pachelbel composed the Canon as wedding music (for Bach's brother, no less).

I haven't read the book the series is based on. I have avoided spoilers as best as I could. Logically, I KNOW that it is very unlikely that we get a happy ending here. But I get to see two women in a historical setting dancing to a wedding piece and this fact alone makes me very, very happy.

3. Off to my last point. Even though most of the episode features music, I have noticed very little repetition. There is, however, one piece of music that comes back.

We can hear it when Pin and Anin have their first meeting, and again when Anin discovers her windmill and her ribbon in Pin's bedroom. (What do you call those tiny windmills? And, more importantly, what is it with these two and tiny windmills? Thank you, creators, for the nod to your GAP fandom.)

The piece sounds somewhat like this:

The harmonies are more intricate, but this gives us an idea what we can listen out for in future episodes. The melody is simple and sweet. It could be connected to childhood and adolescence. I'm curious to see if we encounter it again.

And I'm very excited to see whether the score team continues with motives and reprises. I love straining my ears for these because they give us even more clues about the happenings onscreen.

Thank you for riding along with me! I am so excited to see what the show has in store for us!

[fountainpenguin]

Short Version: I don't even know how to begin explaining this, so take these 'fic doodles with no context.

Wish Fixers, my chronically unhelpful beloved...

Long Version (City Lights AU #ridspoilers beyond the above implication. Mentions of death and trauma; it gets pretty dark)

Nalooksthrough, I tag you below because I cited your co-dependent toxic friendship comic and said it was cool- If you don't want to click, that's all the tag was :)

So I started outlining my Dale backstory 'fic (Lemonade and Papercuts) since I am the most predictable person alive and of COURSE I can't resist 7 years of trauma and intimacy anxiety <3. But planning a 'fic like this requires many pieces and many questions.

First and most obvious- How did Vicky lure in Dale? From previous planning, I've already decided that since they're the same age (maybe one year off), they probably knew each other in school or activities.

Ex: Squirrely Scouts & Cream Puffs... Not unreasonable- Throughout the series, many kids participate and the organizations seem to have a big following in Dimmsdale. Vicky's sister Tootie is in the Cream Puffs and Vicky is seen bossing them around in the Season 0 episode "Scout's Honor" ("Oh Yeah! Cartoons"). There's a comic by the same name depicting Remy in Squirrely Scouts (after "Fairy Fairy Quite Contrary" but before he gets his memories back in "Remy Rides Again" and I always thought it was cute). I mean, look at him:

Pictures courtesy of the FOP Wiki

It's not unreasonable that Dale - who's also rich - might've gotten into that (especially since Doug is big on the cowboy theming and of all the rich parents, he's probably the one most okay with his son playing in dirt). Something scout-related could be an option even if Dale and Vicky went to different schools.

A friendship that gets increasingly toxic until it spirals into full-on abuse sounds really interesting (and @nalooksthrough portrayed this idea beautifully imo in THIS comic I can't stop thinking about).

Sounds fun to write, so let's go with that. What's next?

Hey, remember when 7 years ago, I headcanon'd H.P. as Dale's godfather because of this doodle in Da Rules that specifically refers to Pixie godparents and depicts a fluffy-haired kid in a purple shirt?

I recently found out I still had Dale listed as a godchild of H.P. on his full character profile on my fanfic sideblog. I was waffling over whether to retcon that (since I hadn't yet done anything with it), but I started brainstorming whether I COULD do anything with it.

I've always written Wish Fixers in 'fic [e.g. Origin of the Pixies] as a therapy business run by H.P.'s dad (which H.P. bought off him out of spite despite not being licensed for therapy) but, like...

Does Jorgen know H.P. isn't licensed? I can't see why he would... As far as he knows, H.P. owns and runs the place- especially given my lore that Wish Fixers has been in his family for many generations. Sounds qualified to me!

In "School's Out! The Musical" (episode that Da Rules screenshot is from), we learn Pixies are at the back of the line for godparent work, even under creatures like unicorns (Hence the Musical's plot requiring them to remove magical creatures from earth before they could assign themselves to Flappy Bob).

I said in a recent liveblog post that I'd always imagined this was a punishment given to them due to H.P. absolutely failing as godfather to Dale- Thus, the origin of the doodle on the page for that rule. But... I never decided what happened.

See, Dale SEEMS like a guy who would qualify for a fairy. He was probably pretty miserable under Vicky's 7 years of torture and he's still holding onto that trauma in his adulthood.

DID he have a fairy?

I'm just saying, we know from S4's "Wish Fixers" that H.P. is legally(?) allowed to make contracts that swap a fairy godparent with a pixie one if godkids choose to sign of their own free will... Hmm... I'm connecting dots I don't think I like... (I am lying).

I mean?? Dale clearly did not get out of the pit due to magical interference. If I'm committing to the doodle being Dale and reflecting an actual godfather-godson dynamic between him and H.P., then something sure went wrong there. I can't NOT make Dale suffer...

What on earth could've made Dale sign a contract for something a fairy couldn't give him? We know from "Nectar of the Odds" canon that he wished to see his dad, and thanks to previous liveblogs, I DO already have a headcanon of Dale being extremely desperate for his dad's love... Hmm... I can work with that.

I went down a rabbit hole trying to answer the question of how Vicky secured lemons for 7 years for Dale (and other kids) to work with. Here are some lemon tree facts:

- Lemon trees bear fruit after only a few years - They can bear fruit multiple times a year (depending on variety) - A single lemon tree can produce 1,500 lemons in one growing season - Dimmsdale is in California - a state known for lemon orchards.

That feels likely... An orchard of even a few trees can keep you going for a while.

But lemonade doesn't sell for much compared to other things Vicky could've set a kidnapped child up to do (Ex: In "Microphony," she has kids doing a bunch of other tasks like answering phones for her babysitting service, painting houses, and washing cars).

So... WHY lemonade? What is going on that makes this the thing Vicky has Dale do for 7 years?

And who owns the orchard? I need Vicky to obtain lemons without being stopped for 7 years.

Is it a Dimmadome orchard? Maybe, but several episodes imply Vicky's not familiar with the Dimmadomes - and she probably would have turned Dale in for cash reward if given the chance - so those are two things I need to keep in mind.

Does the orchard belong to her family? That's a possibility- Vicky is shown drinking lemonade after "Nectar of the Odds." She definitely could've bought it - It can't be too expensive unless prices were jacked up after she lost her cheap labor - but it's a drink she's seen with in multiple episodes. She definitely likes it.

And we know from "Timmy's 2D House of Horror" that Vicky's parents are terrified of her. It's not likely they'd stop her from taking lemons from the family orchard.

One problem... If Dale goes missing when he's about 9 (Closer to 7 or 8 in my planned timeline), Vicky is also 9 or younger. Are her parents scared of her when she's that small and inexperienced in the ways of the world?

In "The Switch Glitch," she's 5 and seems mild and sweet until 10-year-old Timmy mistreats her- She clearly didn't have memories of Timmy, implying she totally regressed to how she acted when she really was 5. Worth pointing out she goes off the deep end and chains up Cosmo and Wanda, so... she IS mean even at age 5. But also, she's 5. She wears the same purple hair bow in "Switch Glitch" (at 5) that she does when Timmy drains the meanness out of her in "Vicky Loses Her Icky," which is interesting.

So that begs the question... Can I turn my Dale backstory 'fic into a double story of Dale abuse AND Vicky going from a pretty innocent child to Totally Messed Up? Keeping in mind that according to Vicky in A New Wish, Vicky IS the one responsible for abusing him and he "spent 7 years' worth of Saturdays in a factory underneath a lemonade stand."

If that's the way I want to play it... Something happened to send Dale and Vicky down the dual victim-and-abuser path, destinies intertwined. And for some reason, Vicky stuck with the lemonade theme.

Dale just says he spent his Saturdays "in a factory underneath a lemonade stand." It's not out of the question he and Vicky made more lemon products than just lemonade, especially given Vicky's love for money (and those 600 lbs of lemons one tree can produce in a year). We can assume they changed locations a few times or someone would've found the trapdoor on Timmy's lawn. Plus when Dale started his abuse, Vicky hadn't started babysitting Timmy, whom she only met when he was 8.

So, I've set Dale up to be lured in by Vicky because they were friends. I like the idea of things gradually getting worse as Vicky slowly morphs from a friend into a very cruel person. If Vicky was bullying him, what stopped him from just... leaving?

Vicky's transformation was probably subtle if he stayed for so long..... I also pointed out in a recent post that Doug's underground milk empire where he uses hypnotized people for labor bears a striking amount of similarities with Vicky's lemonade stand, even down to the general vibes of "trapdoor entrance" (although it's implied there's another entrance in small building).

And if we want to be technical about things... We don't know if Doug and Dale pressed charges against Vicky. She clearly continues to babysit Timmy and other kids after "Nectar of the Odds" (Season 2).

In Season 4 ("Channel Chasers"), Doug remarks that Timmy's parents should've guessed Vicky was evil because of the Chip Skylark song "Icky Vicky," but he doesn't mention Vicky kidnapping his son. That's.... sus. He even offers to buy a car from her in Season 3's "Engine Blocked" (after Dale's escape).

Why would such a powerful guy let all of that slide? Did they just not have enough proof? Did Vicky wipe the place clean? Did Dale "not want to make a big deal about it" because he was so exhausted and grateful, he just didn't want to think about it or struggle with the legal system? Was he covering for her?? Was he scared to speak up?

... Did Dale not tell his dad the whole truth about where he was?

What if Dale was - in some vague and early concept way - in on the lemonade scheme from the beginning, back when he and Vicky were friends and she wasn't so cruel? Maybe she turned on him and sentenced him to the pit before long?

Why the underground-ness of it? Why the lemonade, which probably doesn't turn much profit... as lemonade. Unless you have unrestrained access to tons of lemons that you can turn into multiple products - Dale DID call it a factory - and no one is stopping you from accessing them...

... but how do you set up a situation where kids have access to a whole lemon orchard - presumably carefully maintained - and the adults don't take it away from them (Because... surely they would've found Dale and multiple other kids if they strayed close).

And Dale didn't leave. He does in "Nectar of the Odds" - apparently of his own volition - but not before. Was he kept there mentally as well as physically?

We KNOW Vicky can't be monitoring him 24/7 because "Nectar of the Odds" is the only episode depicting her paying attention to him, while others show her doing many other things in many other places (though it's worth noting Dale says in that episode that "Vicky's kept him locked up for so long").

Did he stay so long because it was the perceived better fate up until he miraculously crossed paths with his dad (via fairy magic) and took the risk? Would he have gone back in?

Maybe it wasn't supposed to get this out of hand. Dale and Vicky were young when this started... Somewhere between 7 and 9 (given that Dale was kept there for 7 years and Vicky is 16 when he escaped and he tells 9-year-old Dev this happened when he was Dev's age).

Maybe there was an accident. Something not just Vicky, but even Dale felt the need to cover up, especially in regards to the orchard and the fact that it needs to be Vicky's consistent source of lemons (and not something she lost out on before Dale's escape... an illusion of ownership maintained. Kids can't own the orchard, but what if they fooled people into believing it wasn't owned by kids?)

Hmm... some kind of accident that got two mostly innocent kids into huge trouble, thus setting up a horribly intertwined fate where if one of these toxic co-dependent friends backs out and squeals, even the squealer might suffer worse compared to trucking along on the cruel existing path.

tl;dr - if Vicky and Dale accidentally killed the orchard owner but they were kids and terrified to tell an adult lest they go to jail for life so they hid the body in the basement (or like ?? threw it to the coyotes or hyenas that inexplicably lurk on the fringes of Dimmsdale??) and are trying desperately to wipe their hands of this by pretending the lemon orchard is still operational so no one investigates until they can figure out a plan, and then Vicky hardens herself as a trauma response and manipulates Dale into believing it was solely his fault and she'll pin him with murder charges if he gets cold feet and turns her in, and he's miserable and gets a fairy (then loses his fairy via Pixie contract through Wish Fixers, presumably in an attempt to negotiate a way to protect himself from Vicky and somehow not gaining the ire of his father) and then H.P. (lawyer and unlicensed yet de facto therapist pulled two ways) is suddenly Dale's godfather and trying to comprehend what the flip is going on between misery and manslaughter while he's also juggling Gary, Betty, and Flappy Bob at the same time in preparation for the Musical because we know he spent 37 years on that plan...

... Would that be one messed-up yet hyperspecifically canon-compliant 'fic or what?

These thoughts have been haunting me all weekend and I HAD to get my "I'm not that kind of lawyer or therapist" joke out of my system, so there's your context. #Sorry. Is this the direction the actual 'fic will go? ... It's not the direction I really had in mind, but ?? It's off the wall and therefore I must shake it in my teeth. I can't not write Dale backstory this horrific. what. hey.

[sprunki-hcs]

I don't think that horror mode ACTUALLY actually happened. It was just a series of nightmares that everyone remembers as if it happened in the real world.

For context, the whole cast lives in a HUUUUUGE house owned by Wenda and Black caused the nightmares. Note that they are unable to die in the nightmares.

Wenda is from a SUPER wealthy family and inherited the mansion from a distant relative who included her in his/her will for whatever reason. So here she is with this HUGE house with like 15 vacant rooms. Of course, she's lonely (but that's because she is a serious jerk.) so she rents out the rooms for MUCH LOWER than how much rent usually is for a tiny apartment. Little does she know, there's an old basement dwelling spirit who does nothing but watch TV all day (Black) living in the mansion.

So for starters, Wenda is really snobby and just a passive aggressive jerk to everyone. Which is why she has no friends. She was basically like "hey I'm renting out these rooms in my mansion for like 300 bucks a month PLEASE I'M SO LONELY!" In horror mode (nightmare) she took her anger out on everyone cuz she knew she was dreaming and pretty much became mad with power.

Grey is just some dog who takes pictures at really awkward angles and posts them to Myspace. He's usually just quiet when he's home. But when he's at a show he's a different story. He "survived" the nightmares because he hid in the basement the entire time.

Garnold is a HUGE robotics geek and a big music producer as well. Like, making Fun Bot with Clukr was their Magnum Opus. They also programmed Fun 'Puter using an old monitor they found at a thrift store. They eventually built a suit for themself, making a sort of mechanism so they can lift heavy stuff without many issues. When they go to events with Simon, everyone is impressed by their suit. In the nightmare, said strength mechanism went haywire and crushed them in their suit.

Clukr is the "maid" of the house. He cleans up everything because nobody else does a good enough job according to him. He is OBSESSED with routine, so everyone thought it would be a good idea to let him do planning for the constant parties being held at the mansion. It was in fact, NOT a good idea. He's stressed all of the time but he's such a people pleaser, too. He has a slight (and by slight I mean HUGE) crush on Garnold. In the nightmares, he found Garnold frozen stiff on a hill, and when he went to check on them, a piece of their suit flung right into his head.

Raddy is SUPER, SUPER hateful. He hates Jevin and Tunner and misgenders Garnold and Sky constantly. If he's not playing video games in the basement, he's at the gym. In the nightmares, he was subject to a mob beating after he called Brud the r-bomb.

Oren is just... An alien dude I guess. He watches "indie" films, listens to "indie" music, and has anything with "indie" in the name. He goes to the skatepark with Grey and teaches him how to skate. He and Simon share a room, and of course, there is roommate drama. In the nightmares, he just got messed up by Wenda for some petty reason.

Simon is ALSO an alien guy. He goes to a TON of raves and has flyers strewn across his wall. Oren complains about him leaving dead glowsticks all over the floor but he's like, "whatever." He's super nice and gives out bracelets to everyone. In the nightmares, he got "corrupted." He can't see, but he can sense who is around him.

OWAKCX is some humanoid thing. His room resembles that of the inside of a rusty trailer. Sucks that Clukr's room is right next door to this guy. He is probably on everything you can think of on the top of your head. He actually got into rehab once, but they kicked him out because he was being super creepy to everyone around him. He also cheats on Vineria. A lot. In the nightmares he was partially skinned by Wenda (by Vineria's request.)

Speaking of Vineria, she's also humanoid-ish. She's super connected with nature, and has a full on greenhouse going on in her room. She has an elitist attitude when it comes to using all-organic stuff, and she even told of Pinki for wearing makeup once. Her nightmare version was caused by a corruption. She can't see, but unlike Simon, she can't sense people or objects around her.

Sky is a runaway who found the mansion after taking a bus to who knows where. Tunner opened the door to them and was like, "WENDY (sic), WE GOT ANOTHER CHILD!" They used to live with their SUPER unsupportive parents and decided to run away after they overheard them sending them to camp. After about two years of living at the mansion, Garnold and Clukr pretty much became their parental figures. In the nightmare, Sky was trying to defend themself against Wenda and a whole bunch of sharp pipes fell on them.

Jevin is a humanoid-type thing. He bottles up his emotions a lot and barely lets them show. He has industrial metal posters hung up in his room, but under his bed is a different story. He has a bunch of vintage Barbies and a pride flag under it. He keeps it secret because of Raddy's constant hostility towards him as well as the fact he wants to keep up his spooky/dark image. He "survived" the nightmares cuz instead of hurting him physically, Wenda decided to mess with him mentally. I'll explain this when I get to Tunner.

Durple is just your average fast-food drone who hates his life. He's also a water-dragon of some sort. He can breathe underwater so he has to clean up the pool despite him stating several times that he can't breathe in water that is full of chlorine. He also does dares and is MESSED UP after every party hosted at the mansion. He got corrupted in the nightmares. The following morning, he would slowly type, "Dream of.... Jaw... Being dislocated....... Meaning."

Pinki is a SUUUUUPER girly girl. She hosts tea parties all of the time and knows where to get the best party decorations! She's also a good baker and the designated cook of the house. She's also amazing at sewing (though Vineria is better than her), and made Kevin's cloak. In the nightmare, her face was ripped off by Wenda because she was jealous of her relationship status, as well as her beauty.

Tunner is a lizard-type guy who just keeps everyone from danger. He bottles up like Jevin, but he isn't afraid to show his anger, especially against Raddy. He also complains about people having too much screen time despite him being on level 9264 of Candy Crush LOL. He also gets everyone's names wrong (he called Jevin "Kevin" when they first met. He even called Durple "Spyro" once.) He was shot by his own gun in the nightmare. Wenda just thought his accent (which was kind of exaggerated) annoying and he was like "WENDY WHY IS THE SKY RED" and shot him. She then thought of Jevin (hurting him physically would do nothing.) and decided to drag Tunner's almost-corpse over to Jevin just to mess with him.

Fun Bot and Fun-Puter were unscathed but traumatized, despite not having the brains to actually have dreams. Not even Garnold knows how they were able to recall events from the nightmares.

Sooooo.... How did the nightmares happen in the first place? When Sky first moved in, they wanted to live in the basement for some reason. When they were moving their stuff downstairs they found Black with its face taped to the TV watching the series finale to the universe-equivalent of "The Young and the Restless". And Black got distracted by Sky RIGHT when the big twist ending happened, and it got REALLY mad about it. So as punishment they subjected all of the residents to 14 nights of nightmares.

Feel free to ask questions about these hcs, I'll gladly answer them with a reblog.

I'm also sorry that this is super long.

-PPK 🌈💚

read all of them and they were all FIRE 💜