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subliminalwish · 2 days ago

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A Blooming Predicament

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Pairing: Sylus x Reader

Summary: What you thought was a chance encounter with someone on the run might not be as random as you thought.

Content: reader is not MC, reader is female, have I mentioned this is a slow burn? mentions of blood & violence

------

You stumble into your small apartment a little later than usual.

The door clicks shut behind you, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet. You barely make it a step before pressing your back against the wood and sliding down until you're sitting on the floor, legs bent, hands limp at your sides, the aftermath of what happened beginning to press in on you.

Your heart isn’t racing anymore, but the memory of it is fresh, lingering just beneath your skin. The scent of blood and gunpowder, the cool press of your fingertip against his collar, the heat of him when you brushed against his skin. Realising that you felt the movement of his throat, the slow bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. His eyes, burning red, unreadable, locked on yours as if he was trying to decipher something that only he could see.

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. It’s fine. You handled it. It was just a moment, nothing more. You aren’t the type to get caught up in things that don’t concern you.

And yet.

Your fingers brush against the fabric of your uniform, right where he had slipped something into your pocket. You hesitate before pulling it out.

The black feather sits against your palm, soft and weightless, light on your skin and heavy with a promise.

"If you ever find yourself in need of assistance, call me."

You exhale, a mirthless chuckle escaping you as you turn the feather in your hand, the light of the fluorescent above you reflecting on its smooth iridescent sheen. It almost doesn’t seem real, much like what transpired in the shop just hours before.

Assistance. Right.

What on earth kind of assistance would you need from a man being chased by armed thugs?

You push yourself off the floor, ready to put this night behind you. You give the feather on your hand one last lingering look, gently twirling it with your finger, remembering scarlet moons searing into your soul, peeling back layers and stirring emotions you dare not name.

The thought sends a ripple of unease through your chest, but before you can push it away, something shifts between your fingers. A smoky flicker of black and red wisps around the feather, curling at the edges like smouldering embers.

You barely have time to react before it vanishes in an instant, reduced to nothing before it materializes into something small and thin. It falls to the floor with a soft clatter.

You bend down to pick up what had fallen, your heart thumping against your chest. The smooth black card glints faintly under the dim light, its surface elegant yet strangely ominous. There’s no name, no instructions – only a single phone number written in deep red ink, standing out stark against the darkness of the card.

It feels heavier than it should.

You stare at the card for a long moment, your fingers ghosting over the raised ink, feeling the smoothness of it against your skin, the weight of the night pressing against your shoulders. The lingering scent of flowers clings to your clothes, yet underneath it, you swear you can still smell traces of smoky leather and something dark, something that doesn’t belong, like something out of a dream.

“What the fuck?” Was all you could muster.

You shake your head, exhaling sharply, tossing the card onto the counter, determined to forget about everything. This is far too much excitement for one day.

The moment you slump onto the couch, your phone rings. Your friend’s name flashes on the screen – calling from halfway across the city. You haven’t spoken with them in ages, remembering your mutual promise to keep in touch every now and then.

You answer with a smile, eager for something normal.

“Hey, Simone! How’s the Hunter life treating you?”

You barely register the loud flutter of feathered wings outside your window as you chat with your friend.

------

You’re pretty sure the store got robbed last night after you left.

You didn’t think much of it when you woke up feeling a weight to the late morning, took you a few seconds to remember why – like you’ve left your handprints on glass, your memory of last night shrouded in smoky wisps of black and red. There’s a sense that you’ve crossed something you don’t have words for yet, only for the feeling to be ignored as you get ready for your shift.

And yet there you stood, barely a few steps into the shop to find every single shelf devoid of flowers.

It takes you a full ten seconds to process what you’re looking at before you hear another noise from further into the shop.

Your co-worker stumbles in from the storeroom behind the counter, their face brightening up when they register your shock.

“Hey, you’re just in time!” They wave excitedly. You don’t respond, still in shock, and they chuckle at your bewilderment.

“You won’t believe what happened this morning!” They’re practically vibrating with excitement as they offer the explanation your face was begging for. “Someone called as soon as we opened and bought out our whole inventory!”

Okay, maybe not a robbery. “Who was it? And what for?”

“Well,” they pause, sounding unsure. “It was weird. They said it was to thank a friend? Maybe it’s for some fancy tribute? They said only our shop had what they wanted. Bought everything we’ve got! And because of the recent Wanderer attacks all our suppliers’ routes are messed up. We won’t get new stocks for days! Can you believe it?”

You look around again at the empty shelves, hoping this wasn’t some elaborate prank. “If a TV crew pops out from behind you, I will punch you in the face.” Your co-worker bends over the counter with laughter, clearly amused.

But no one jumps out, and it’s just you and your colleague in the empty shop, their quiet laughter echoing in the small space. Which means some obscenely rich lunatic has single-handedly decimated the shop's inventory overnight. And while it was a modest shop, you held some pride in it being well-stocked most of the time. So what kind of unhinged, last-minute event needs this many flowers?

“So, what do we do now? Do we go home?” You ask, uncertainty laced in your words.

They wipe their tears and straighten up. “Yeah, already spoke with the owner. They said we can have the next three days off since every supplier in the area is busy trying to find new routes.” You start to open your mouth, but they hold their hand up. “I already asked – we’re still getting paid.”

You let out a sigh of relief, mood already lightening up at the reassurance, and those hazy strands of black and red ease their grip on your memory a little.

Last night, you half-joked to Simone about needing a break, complaining out loud about wanting more time to sleep. Now, standing outside the shop with three unexpected days off, you can’t help but wonder if the universe has a sense of humour – or if it just enjoys messing with you.

Or if perhaps the devil had been listening.

------

The phone screen glares too bright against the dimming sky, the message from your coworker stark and matter-of-fact: new shift timings, your three days off over just like that. You sigh, pocketing the device as reality sets in.

Still, you were grateful for the respite, and as you walk home carrying your small bag of snacks you hum a soft tune to yourself.

The sky has darkened fast, thick clouds rolling in with the promise of sudden rain. Your steps were unhurried, your hand rummaging through your bag for the umbrella you always carry.

Your steps slow down even more as you busy yourself with fishing it out of your bag, fingers skimming over the hard case of your EpiPen – its smooth surface a familiar comfort – as you gently shift it aside to pull the umbrella out, the raindrops now increasing in intensity.

You pause as you click it open and as you lift it to shield you from the rain, your gaze falls to the dark alley to your left, expecting to see the usual scenery of city clutter; maybe a lost stray would dart from the corners to ask for pets or even shelter, something you might even inevitably end up taking home. You've always had a soft spot for strays.

As your eyes adjust to the dimness of the alley you see a large shape slumped against the alley wall, unmoving, half-hidden by the rubbish bins. You furrow your brows and squint.

Your vision takes in its limp arms and long legs splayed haphazardly, a puddle of something dark and thick pooling beneath the shape, mixing with the rain. The man wasn’t making any motion to escape the drizzle.

A split second of frozen horror – someone is bleeding out – before recognition slams into you.

That mess of white hair looked oddly familiar.

You were moving before you even realized it, your umbrella and bag of snacks left abandoned on the sidewalk as you ran to his side. Cupping his cheek with one hand to feel his warmth, fingers of your other hand sliding to the side of his neck to check his pulse – weak but it’s there.

He lets out a sharp exhale, casts hooded eyes at you, but he makes no other attempt to move. You didn’t like how unfocused those eyes looked. His lashes barely fluttered.

You grip his arm, heaving it over your shoulders, but his weight nearly sends you staggering. Too heavy, too limp – dead weight. You tighten your grip, knees shaking, every muscle in your body screaming protest.

It’s going to be a slow, agonising walk back to your apartment.

You don’t even know his name.

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nightbutterfly09 · 2 days ago

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Valentines day

(btw those who get flowers I recommend getting yourself invested in flower language, I probably spent most of my time on researching this lol) (also, I may be biased [is that surprising?] So Sae might get two scenarios sometime later.. we’ll see, if you want one for the other pls share your ideas and tell me about them!) Keep in mind: Valentine’s day is celebrated differently around the world. In this I made that quite obvious but it’s always written there.

Sae Itoshi:

/small piece of info: he also gives gifts on Valentine’s day so it’s not entirely like the Japanese customs/

He was a busy man, and naturally the world was against you two spending time on this special occasion. He had another long training day and they didn't take no for an answer, not even if he made sure he was free today days before.

By the time you heard the front door of your luxurious apartment open it was already 8pm. Everything you wanted to do went out in the trash.

There you were sitting on the barstool sipping on some warm tea on this chilly February night.

You were engrossed in your phone but weren't into it in particular. Your mind was everywhere except for the article you were reading.

Sae knew he f-ed up. Although he really couldn't do anything about it. It isn't in his hands when he is called in for training. He has the right to take a break but the sports industry just doesn't always work like that.

Not to mention, in the back of your mind, you always knew that you’d only come after work. Just because he loved you deeply it didn't mean he’d throw years of work out the window for love.

His arms tangled around your waist which made you startled. “Honestly, I already spoke to you a lot and you are reading such a stupid article?” “It's..not that stupid”

“It is, how about next time you just ask me how it went?” The article was about Itoshi Sae’s newest match, all the tricky goals he made and also how he made the Spanish striker look even better. “I do, you always tell me you were outstanding as usual” you chuckled.

Even if you were a little salty at him, that wasn't an excuse enough to be mad at him. At least in your book.

“Happy Valentine's day mi vida.” He whispered into your ears and got your phone out of your grasp.

“So far it's not so happy” but then he let go and gave you a small box. “Wait…”

“Don't overthink it, I just want to make it up to you.. so I booked a flight to Paris for tomorrow and we can do whatever.”

You were listening but his words seemed to fall into silence as you opened the box. It was a beautiful ring. A simple but pretty one, just as you like it.

Suddenly the thought hit you like a truck. “Wait, this isn't an engagement right?!?” Your face flushed and seriously hoped it wasn't time for that yet.

“No” his voice let out a crack of a smile. “It's just a promise right, I found your fingers weirdly missing something nowadays.. So since we aren't in a position for marriage yet, I decided on this. You don't have to wear it all the time though. And the next time I give you a ring, it will be an engagement ring.” He pressed a passionate kiss onto your lips while intertwining hour fingers.

The jewel shone on your hand with a soft glow in the dark. “Now, please don't be disappointed.. I know how important today was for you”

“It's fine mi amor” you giggle. “I don't care if you forget a birthday, an important day, or you are just busy, what matters is that you show your love for me in a way. We can celebrate Valentine’s day on the 15th too, who said it has to be on one precise day anyway?”

He smirked and shook his head lightly. “I love you Y/N”

“And I love you, Sae” the words barely left your lips and he picked you up anc placed you on the counter kissing you with passion but also many apologies unsaid.

Your boyfriend was never good with words, but he didn't mind showing his true intentions in many ways others wouldn't even think of.

“Oh, I made chocolate..but I kind of ate them already..in misery” he couldn't help but let a coy smile escape. “It's the thought that counts, and you can make it again later.” He rolled his eyes.

Seishiro Nagi:

For you two mornings were already noon for most people. Sure you had a little less sun to look at but it wasn't like you could just stay up at night and play games together.

As you awoke the sound of late snow hit your ears. It sounded like some serious snow storm in February.

You leaned over your boyfriend and checked the time on your phone. 11:34am. That's still so early. Waking up this soon was pointless but it's not like you paid more attention to it. You furrowed your brows due to the bright life emitted from your screen and saw that today was February 14th. That means only one thing.

Valentine’s day. As much as you enjoyed the quality time it was more or less a hassle. But also you made it your virtue to make homemade chocolates to Sei every 14th of February. Just for his sake.

Therefore you climbed out of the grasp of the tall figure and rushed to the kitchen after getting yourself into something cozier.

Your sloth loved homemade chocolates. Technically he loved your chocolates. He said the creamy texture and the milky aftertaste were just like what he’d buy at the store just better.

Sometimes you didn't understand much of his reasoning but regardless you went along with it.

After an hour he woke up to the fresh smell of chocolate. He slowly walked to the kitchen and tilted his head in inquiry. “What are you doing?” “Happy Valentine's day love!” “Ah.. so that's the occasion, thank you.. you too” he yawned lazily.

The white haired man walked behind you and burrowed his face into your neck as he held onto you for support. His tired body weighing onto you. You giggled. “Sei~ your hair tickles!” You could help but laugh more as he kept nuzzling into you.

“Wanna have a bite?” You smiled and raised a small heart shaped chocolate to his mouth. “Aah” he opened his mouth and lazily bit it.

His usually tired face showed sparkling eyes and an expression that yearned for more. He never had much of a sweet tooth so when he first tasted your sweets he thought they’d be all sugary, but this was more suited to his tastes with a slight bitterness in it.

He leaned down and kissed your lips softly. “Yummy” “Me or the chocolates”

His lips twitched into a smirk and kissed you again turning you to face him finally. “Both” he said and connected your lips again.

“Wanna play Valorant with me?” “I’m gonna die first aren't I?” You giggled but nodded anyway. The second you wrapped the sweets into a small bag and placed them in the fridge you went after him to boot your computer.

Later it was time to play your favorite games, which were more on the chill side. Not only did you play animal crossing but also persuaded him to play Genshin Impact with you which he often refuses to.

Not because he doesn't like it, it's more like because unless it's some farming for your favorite characters he wasn't really needed.

As the snow quieted down and the stars appeared in the night sky, the main part of your date just continued.

Nor you nor him has ever said this would be a date but don't you call a date a well spent quality time? Then you were doing the exact definition of a date.

Sure anyone could start an argument over this but with your interests aligning so closely it wasn't a matter of uncertainty whether or not this would count as a date or not.

The rest of your days always went by the same way except that he did make sure to thank you for those pretty and tasty chocolates.

Michael Kaiser:

/small piece of info: since he is german he also gives gifts on Valentine’s day so it’s not entirely like the Japanese customs/

He was never into love, not to mention Valentine’s day. He also didn’t really understand why someone would love their partner more on a specific day instead of just showing it every day.

That was before he met you. He still thought you deserve to be loved every single second but he understood the value of such a special day. Well at least he kind of knew it’s important to you so he went along with it.

He spent the entirety of last week thinking what he could do for you. His girl never asked for anything. As far as he knew you never even asked for much. What you did need he bought that anyway so he was in a pickle on what to do.

And there he was. Late with ideas. The awaited day came and he still hadn’t thought of anything. He really tried though. Suddenly he picked you up as you were making him chocolates. “Want to go somewhere?” You tilted your head a little. “The weather forecast said it’d rain soon.”

“We can still go out, maybe just stay in the car?” You chuckled. “I know you’ve been stressed out because of today but come on, we can just stay at home watch a movie, chat, and I also tried out a new recipe for chocolates which means we can eat that.” “My nutritionist will murder me, but sure if that’s what you want” He mumbled and pulled you more into his embrace.

“You can pick a movie” You shrug. “Any? Even horror?” He grinned. “Hey, I want to have a good time too.” ‘It’s not like you’d be focusing much on the screen Micha.’

People often say he’s as hard to read as understanding cave drawings but to you, Michael Kaiser’s unsaid words just glowed through his expressions. He could make a frowny face and you’d still be confident he was happy with something.

“Stop teasing.” You shook your head with a giggle. As soon as the chocolates were all done he got the first bite. “That’s so good Micha” A soft smile draped across his face. His loving gaze concentrated on ust the woman ahead. He wouldn’t admit, but he was falling deeper and deeper every second he spent with you.

A love he never experienced or saw just barged in on him. The locked iron door was kicked down without even a struggle. The secrets and hardships he never opened up about, all those deep cuts were exposed to you all of a sudden. He just found himself wanting to spend every existing minute with you. The love of his life.

All those deep scars he tried burying oh so well just resurfaced. And you tried patching them up properly. As if an insecure little girl, who tried covering her pimples with layers upon layers of foundation but only making it worse. You were there and stopped his hands before grabbing the blender again.

There was something special about you. Something no woman could ever replace. Yes you had flaws, just like him. But to him that never meant less perfection. Only more things to work on.

Rin Itoshi:

/traditional Japanese styled valentine’s +reader unable to cook :)/

As he got home from his hour-long run the sudden aroma of burnt chocolate made its way to him. “I’m home-” His voice was full of concern but he still headed to the kitchen. “Welcome home Rin!!” You smiled.

His gaze drifted to the counter. There was one batch of burnt chocolate in heart shapes and you were making another one now. “You don’t have to do this you know…” He inspected the burnt chocolates. Not only did they crumble at his touch but they also seemed genuinely uneatable. Not that he’d want to taste that. “I don’t want to hurt you but, I don’t think this is how they’re made.”

You pouted and looked at him. “Hey I know I messed those up but this will be better!” You were stubborn. Once you set your mind to something you will go through with it regardless. He knew backing off wasn’t in the cards. “I’ll help you after I showered and changed.”

“No need, I want to do this for you!” “Yeah, you either do it half-successfully and burn the kitchen down or I help you and they will be potentially digestible.”

“Stop being mean to me” you whined as he just walked out with a chuckle. After about 10 minutes he was back.

He wore a comfortable blue shirt with black sweatpants. His hair was all messy and his face had a smudge of toothpaste on it.

You giggled at his sight. “What?” He scoffed. “Lean down.” To your command he looked at you suspiciously but he obeyed.

Doon the toothpaste was wiped down. You also made sure his hair is fine. “Have you even looked in the mirror?” “I did- but I was in a hurry” “aww you missed me that much?” “No, I was afraid you’d burn the kitchen down.”

“See, you are mean again.” Regardless of his words he started helping you and making sure you two didn't leave the chocolate on the fire for long.

The chocolates weren't only pretty this time but they were also so tasty. You filled some with jam that your grandma uses often.

You were now sitting by the couch cuddling while some boring show was playing in front of you. That neither of you was interested in.

This is how a regular Valentine's day goes for Rin and you. Nothing much happening but what does, has lots of sentimental value.

The sun slowly made it's way down the horizon as you two were still playing around by the window.

You both needed nothing more. Just chocolates and the soft silence of your home.

Reo Mikage:

/piece of info: he doesn’t really follow japanese customs/

The man knew your needs by heart. Not only would he make sure every February 14th is enjoyable for you but he would also make sure every time a new experience can be written into your diary that you always thought you kept well hidden from him.

Reo did love you every day. He did show how much he treasured you each moment but he also knew that these special occasions have a sentimental value that he can't just ignore. So instead he tries making the most of it. Every single time.

He already had a hotel booked and you awoke in fresh bed sheets in a homey hotel. You slowly woke up and opened your eyes. Reo was lying next to you and he was just admiring you. “Why are you staring so much?” You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. You just woke up and you probably looked like a giant mess. “Because you’re pretty. So pretty.” The purple haired man smirked.

You were doing your makeup when he finally arrived from downstairs to order your breakfast to be this luxurious one. Not like you ever asked for such. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my queen.” Reo leaned down and kissed your lips.

“Mmm, cherry.” “I just put that on.” You pretended to pout but then out of nowhere he handed you a giant bouquet of flowers. “Flowers for the pretty woman. My pretty woman.” Pink carnations rose up from all the little white flowers. It was filled with pinks and deep purples with also little white flowers here and there. Peonies decorated the bouquet to give it a gentle and majestic look. The latter being there for the soft transition.

Lilies swayed on the edges as you held the soft purple paper it was wrapped in. There was a note to be seen with small white petals painted on it.

‘To my queen who I have to thank for a lot. You lit my world up thousands of times when I was at my worst. Thank you for always reminding me you are here less than in an arm’s reach. I want to show my utmost love to you every second of every day. I’ll never leave you and you cannot either. I love you Beautiful.'

Tears swelled up into your eyes as you read his confession. And that wasn’t even a florist’s handwriting. It was his very own.

Not only does this man spend so much time and money on you he also makes sure it doesn’t all come from his wealth. Not only do his presents have sentimental value but also it shows that he cares. He cares for you deeply.

“Reo~” You whined trying to hold your tears back. “I just did my mascara too” You whined as you tried drying off your tears. Not that right now that was the most important. You just didn’t know what to do or say to him.

It was as if words and letters and voices couldn’t convey your true feelings. As if this moment can’t possibly be written. Something ethereal. But also, something more than ethereal. That was his kind of love.

Meguru Bachira:

To say the least your boyfriend had a personality. The moment he woke up in your arms he turned and woke you up with sloppy kisses. “Morning Sunshine”

Your eyelids opened just slightly only to flinch at the amount of light that came through the window. Looks like spring was coming very soon as even the sunrays decided to interrupt your sweet dreams. “Morning Meguru~” your slightly crooked morning voice barely made it out.

“Happy Valentine's day!!” He squealed excitedly and rolled on top of you.

After finally calming him and going about your day at one point he said he had to meet up with Isagi so you were left in the house all alone. The morning jitters also sparkled onto you as you felt more energized than ever.

But Meguru had that aura around him a lot. No matter how little sleep you got or how exhausted you were because of a long week, your boyfriend would always be there to brighten your day.

After about 4 hours he finally came back. You were making chocolate. It was half ready when the door opened. “So I know today is usually your turn and I have to give white day presents BUUT hear me out.” He grinned and gave you a bouquet of colorful flowers.

Many flowers brightened in a bunch of different colors and aesthetics. You saw red tulips, red, orange and white lilies as well as hydrangeas blooming in deep pinks. Not only was it mesmerizing to look at but the smell filled the room in minutes.

“Thank you baby! I am so happy you thought of me” you grinned and leaned in to hug him.

You loved how he was the partner to always confide in, he tried his best to make everyone's day, so when it came to his loved ones he didn't shy away at all.

You put the flowers in a beautiful vase which you got from his mom last year. It was painted with flower veins strangling all over it in every direction.

Later you both wrapped the chocolates as well as little snacks and went down to the nearby park for a picnic. It has been tradition that on Valentine's day the both of you go downstairs with home cooked things and have fun.

The weather was still chilly and that's what made it more fun. It was solely you two in a friendly loneliness. Having alone time with someone was the best and you both understood that feeling well without having to speak up.

As the cold breeze hit your face you leaned more and more into Meguru’s warmth which not only warmed your body up but also his.

The gentle but earnest type of love that was so hard to find. A childlike wonder that you never grew out of.

You already knew Meguru could go overboard and he didn't miss saying “Happy Valentine's day” in every waking moment you passed each other in the house. With loud cheers and the pure happiness emitting from his mouth.

#bllk x you #blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock fanfiction #fanfic #sae itoshi #nagi seishiro #micheal kaiser #rin itoshi #reo mikage #bachira meguru #x reader #sae itoshi x reader #seishiro nagi x reader #michael kaiser x reader #reo mikage x reader #bachira x reader

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m1ckeyb3rry · 2 days ago

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Synopsis: Sunday is your mirror, as you are his — or, how meeting him spells your doom, just like losing you spells his.

HSR Masterlist

Pairing: Sunday x Reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warnings: female reader, second person in some parts and third person sunday pov in others, religious themes because…it’s sunday…, not canon compliant because idk wtf happened in penacony and i don’t feel like figuring it out, not lore compliant either because i’m #toocool for that, ooc because i wanted to make sunday a freak, major character death but not really on screen just mentioned/implied, unreliable narrators, halovians are Very Different (both from their canon depictions and from humans in general), robin mentioned but she’s also probs ooc idfk i’ve never written for honkai star rail and i’ve played for like a month tops, sunday is a d1 piner, sunday loses it, sunday crashes out, weird narrative structure, very nonsensical, in terms of endings we have no endings (it’s like open to interpretation ig), m1ckeyb3rry’s monthly drop of MID

A/N: i wrote this really quickly for my beloved illu’s birthday!! unfortunately i didn’t get the idea until like two days after the date itself so it’s a bit late LMAOO also it sucks but. it has SUNDAY !! my first foray into the hsr verse…hehe…anyways illu i could go on about how much i appreciate you and how glad i am that we’re friends but for the sake of conciseness i shall leave it at HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY GOAT @milksnake-tea I LOOK FORWARD TO ANOTHER YEAR OF CRASHING OUT TOGETHER 🙂‍↕️💖 LOVE AND KISSES I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS A BIT!!!

There is a ghost waiting for him in the confessional booth. Velvet curtains cover the latticed wood, obscuring its contents from his view, but the effect comes to nothing. He knows she’s there, he always does, he can feel her presence. It’s a chill seeping into his bones as he kneels — he doesn’t need to kneel, of course he doesn’t need to, but it’s a habit he’s yet unwilling to break — and clasps his hands together. It’s a supplication for something, but it isn’t until his mouth is opening of its own volition, his wings fluttering in alarm and his eyes widening as the words are wrenched from his lips, that he realizes what he’s begging for.

“Please,” he whispers. His voice echoes in the empty room, mocking him, teasing him. Please. Please. What right does he have to ask her anything? He’s sure that’s what she’s thinking. He’s sure she’s laughing in that odd way of hers, and his throat constricts at the image. “Please—”

Forgive me? It reverberates in his mind, that fragment of a thought, jagged at the edges, sharp like a blade and twice as cruel. Isn’t that it? Forgive me. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.

“Condemn me,” he says instead, and then he’s struck by a burst of anger, hot and unyielding and entirely at odds with the weight of his tongue in his mouth, which is all leaden and unwieldy and clumsy and despicable. “Condemn me or forgive me or what have you!”

He waits, as he always does. One, two, three. He counts on his fingers, an invisible metronome ticking in his mind, mechanical and perfect in rhythm, keeping time for his vigil. Four, five, six. The curtain flutters in a phantom breeze, and for a second he can pretend that he sees a flash of bright in the darkness of the booth, a dancing shade like a glittering iris peering back at him. Seven, eight, nine. He doesn’t care what she says. He doesn’t care about any of it. As long as she says something, it’s fine. Condemn me. Forgive me. He’s not sure which he would prefer at this point.

Ten.

The ghost is silent.

The first time you met Sunday, it was raining. Everything about him was limp in the storm — his clothes, the fabric clinging to his slender frame; his hair, spilling onto his pale brow and trailing down his mannequin-straight back; even his wings, which drooped miserably towards his shoulders, the preened feathers translucent at the edges from dampness.

When he turned to glance at you, you expected his demeanor to shimmer with the famous benevolence of his family. Sunday Oak, the heir, the young lord; certainly there would be a kindness to him, a gentleness permeating throughout the very essence of his being. Certainly he had been born a saint, anointed in the waters of his mother’s womb before he could even draw breath, incapable of humanity’s many shortcomings and fallacies. Certainly these things were true, and that was why it frightened you all the more when, for one singular moment, his impassive mien crumpled into a glare, as baleful as it was captivating.

His eyes were a sharp, canny gold, feline in both shape and shrewdness, framed by lashes clumped together with wet. They were terrible in the way of a dying star, that peculiar brand of horror so beautiful that it was impossible to look away, and indeed you stood transfixed until he cleared his throat and arranged his face into a polite smile.

“I wasn’t aware we had visitors today,” he said. He spoke carefully, perfunctorily, reading from a script he must’ve memorized long ago. You stiffened, for although he had not given you any reason to think it, you were suddenly very certain that you were not supposed to see him like this, his fingers curling over the slick rail of his balcony, his dark abdominal wings folded tightly over his stomach and his halo dull in whatever light struggled through the clouded sky.

“I was just leaving,” you said. “I must have made a wrong turn. I apologize for disturbing you, sir.”

“You needn’t apologize,” he said, and there he was, the man who you had expected: Sunday, the scion of the Oak Family. Gracious Sunday; magnanimous Sunday; Sunday the prince and Sunday the saint. He was so finely constructed it made you wince, his blinding delicacy and keen refinement eerie, preternatural. A baser instinct of yours told you to run, reminding you of a time when those of his kind ruled over humanity with impunity, pleading with you to save yourself before it was too late.

You bit back your fear so hard that blood exploded over your palate, salty and sweet in turn, viscous as you swallowed it back and offered him a smile. He did not return it in full, but the corners of his mouth curled up slightly. That should’ve been soothing, but it only served to worsen the electric anxiety running through your veins.

“I shall call my sister and tell her to fetch you,” he said. “I would hate for you to find the Oaks remiss in our hospitality. I am sincerely sorry that you were not given an escort earlier.”

There were so many things you could say to him. I ran. Does that make me remiss? I’m the one who ran from them. You could reassure him, promise him that you would be alright on your own and there was no need for Robin to come. You could do any of these things, yet you were frozen like an insect in the amber of his stare, and so you did not.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing slightly, lowering your eyes to his leather shoes in a valiant attempt to free yourself, “for your generosity.”

“Do you think it’s possible for people to forgive themselves?” he asks his sister. They’re sitting in the parlor, porcelain teacups in their hands, pinkie fingers raised primly in the air. His sister’s cup is chipped at the base, but every time he tries to throw it away, she pitches a fit, which is so uncharacteristic of her that it renders him speechless. This one is special, she insists. There’s doves painted on it. See?

It isn’t special, there’s countless others exactly like it, but he caves to her whims far too easily, as he always does. He’s prone to it, after all; she wants for things so rarely as it is, which means denying her few requests when she makes them is nigh-impossible. So he allows her to keep the ruined cup, on the condition that in his presence, she holds it in her left hand, for he never wants to see the blemish again.

“I’m not sure,” she says. Her voice is always dreamy, but as of late there’s been a tangible sadness to it. He’s asked her what’s troubling her countless times, but his every attempt is met with a shake of her head and a solemn oath that it’s nothing. “Maybe.”

“I don’t think that it is,” he says. “At least not at first. You can’t forgive yourself before you’re forgiven by anyone else.”

“If you were already so sure of the answer, brother,” she says, cocking her head at him, “then why did you ask?”

“Hm?” he says, furrowing his brow. She takes a sip of her tea, and maybe it’s the angle or maybe it’s a trick of the light, but he swears that that dammed chip is taunting him, smarting like a peeled-off scab.

“It’s a strange practice of yours,” his sister says, batting her eyes at him in a way that makes him feel shrunken and tiny, as if she knows everything and he knows nothing, although by all rights it’s the other way around.

“What do you mean by that?” he presses, voice coming out harsher than he’d like. Cringing, he sets his teacup down and folds his hands in his lap. “My apologies, sister. I — I did not mean to speak to you in that way.”

She raises her drink to her lips, smiling at him over the dove-painted rim, and says nothing more.

Robin Oak was like nightshade, the most beautiful flower you had ever seen and, incidentally, the most poisonous. She was lilac where Sunday was silver and sapphire where he was gold, but although the edges of her halo and her face were rounder than her brother’s, as malleable as he was rigid, she was no softer than he. Perhaps she was even colder for it, all the more deadly, unassuming and quiet, poised to strike with a warbling song and a tittering giggle.

“Hello,” she said, and although the two of you were ostensibly having a normal conversation, she still talked like there was a song in her voice, her cadence lyrical and amused. “We’ve been looking for you for a while.”

“I didn’t go very far,” you said, following after her as she navigated the hallways without hesitation.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “But who would’ve thought you’d end up in Sunday’s room?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” you said, cheeks heating up at the sly implication. “I sincerely thought I had happened upon some study or restroom where I might recuperate.”

“He does keep his surroundings austere,” she said. “I’ve tried to convince him to hang up paintings or photographs, but he refuses. He’s like that.”

“I see,” you said, as neutrally as possible. Robin must’ve sensed your disinterest, for with a soft, breathy, chuckle, she steered the conversation away from her brother and to another subject entirely.

“Ah, you mentioned recuperation? Do parties tire you, too?” she said, and maybe it was manipulation or maybe it was genuine kindness, but it disarmed you all the same. Bashfully, you nodded, your shoulders hunching in on themselves involuntarily as you continued down the corridor.

“They are exhausting. I can never handle them for more than a few minutes at a time,” you confessed. She wrapped an arm around your torso, a companionable vice of a grip, and although you shouldn’t have been, you were surprised to feel that her skin was blazing to the touch.

“Nor can I,” she said. “There’s a commonality. Let’s be friends.”

It was a command, not a request. You knew better than to believe that Robin Oak would request anything; the world was at her feet, the universe shifting so that her words became truth, so why would she bother with questions and hesitance the way the rest of you did? She was no more human than Sunday. She was even less, only just as good at pretending, at painting on a doll-like mask to disguise her lies.

“Well, then it is a pleasure to be your friend,” you said.

“Don’t talk like that,” she protested.

“Like what?” you said.

“Like I’m somebody important, or like I have a status worthy of only the highest respect,” she said.

“But you do,” you said. She nudged you in the side with some measure of eagerness.

“No, no, forget about that,” she said. “I’m just like you, okay?”

“Okay,” you said, even though that could not be further from the truth, even though she could not be further from you.

“I swear on truth,” he says to the congregation, the beige churchgoers in their beige robes with adoration sparkling in their devoted eyes. “I swear on the calendar. I swear on words. I swear on values. I swear on rules. I swear on meaning. I swear on—”

A chill rushes down his spine, icy fingers grabbing onto the roots of his wings and yanking. He hisses under his breath, prayers of rebuke and protection, nails digging into his palms as he chants furiously, lips moving too fast for the gatherers to understand what he is doing.

Anxious murmurs arise like the songs of a choir the longer and longer he is frozen. Somebody coughs. A child whines audibly. He continues his chanting.

Ena, the Order; Xipe, the Harmony; defend me in this tribulation. Curse this evil, bind its spirit and banish it to whence it came. I swear on truth, I swear on the calendar, I swear on words, I swear on values, I swear on rules, I swear on meaning, I swear on—

The hair by the nape of his neck is ruffled, and then the sensation vanishes and he is left alone once more. He is grateful for only a moment before he mourns her absence with a sudden savagery that takes even himself by surprise. It’s a contradiction, but she is a contradiction, so it’s fitting. He could never understand her before, so why should it be different now?

Clearing his throat and subtly adjusting his lapels, he raises his hands to silence the throngs of worshippers. They do his bidding at once, and he closes his eyes so that he does not have to see their naïveté at this final part, so that he is speaking to himself and the ghost alone — because nobody else matters in the end.

“I swear,” he says, his heart beating faster and faster until it is almost bursting from his chest and pounding in his skull, “on human dignity.”

What do Halovians know of human dignity?

“Nothing,” he says, responding to the unasked question as he turns away from the others, away from their applause and their grins. His wings cover his eyes and his hands cover his ears as he leaves the cavernous hall, the thunder of laudation fading and fading, replaced with nothing but a whistling, lonely emptiness. “They know nothing.”

He pauses, his eyes darting around surreptitiously. Then, when he is sure he is alone, he continues, under his breath so that no one can hear even if they try very hard to.

“I know nothing.”

He is sure of this much, at least.

On Halovians:

They abide by a so-called “divine creed” which they refuse to divulge to outsiders. However, they maintain that if they break these secretive laws, they are punished severely in what amounts to a foreshortened process of decay. Their holiness and altruism is, thus, not a choice but a compulsion; the one sin they are permitted is lying, and many will spin tall tales as a form of indulgence.

They are comparable in ability to the sirens from Lucyke — indeed, many researchers believe the species share a common ancestor and are one of many examples of divergent evolution found throughout the cosmos. They are nonthreatening when approached, capable of rational thought and intelligent speech, and have advanced societies with defined familial structures; hence, they are classified as a Level 0 Intelligent Species.

His halo is cracking. He doesn’t know when it began, or perhaps it’s more accurate to say he doesn’t want to know, but regardless it’s happening. The burnished gold, once a plain, gleaming expanse, is now marred by thin, unmistakeable fissures in the shape of spiderwebs. At first, he can only stare at his reflection in abject horror, but then he’s stuffing his fist in his mouth and screaming.

What will people think? When they see it, they will know what he has done. It’s tainting him. It’s above him and behind him and all around and he can’t escape, he can’t do anything, his halo is cracking and he’s screaming and she’s there again.

“Stop it,” he snaps. “Stop coming back. If you’re only here to torment me, then — then stop it!”

Is she laughing? She must be. She always laughs at him, always finds him so curious. An oddity. A Halovian. He’s not like her, she’s fond of reminding him, he’s different. He’s born for the Harmony and the sky. He’s born for a purpose greater than hers, with black wings and a bright halo and a tongue made to lie.

“Don’t leave,” he says when she begins to withdraw. “Hey. Hey. Don’t leave — don’t leave me — I can’t — don’t!”

Her absence is like a hole carved into his stomach daily anew, and if his wings weren’t losing their feathers so rapidly, he’d fold them over the gaping wound in an attempt to disguise it, to transform it, to hold himself together until he can once again become whole in earnest.

It’s pitiful. He’s pitiful. He longs for a ghost who he despises, a ghost of his own making, a ghost who is pulling apart his halo and his wings and his sanity alike. She is ruining him and he is powerless to stop her; somewhere deep inside of him, he’s not sure if he even wants to. This is what he’s owed. This is what he deserves. No matter how much he begs, she will not forgive him; no matter how much he prays, he will not forgive himself.

This time when he screams, he does not bother with muffling it.

You were certain that, in the pools of her mind, in places unknowable and unreachable, Robin believed that she loved you. She repeated that lie so often that she fooled everyone, even herself — everyone, of course, but you. You knew the truth. You knew that she never had, that she never would, that she never could.

“This is my very best friend in the entire universe,” she’d say, holding your palm against her heart. “I love her.”

She carried it like a trophy or a weapon, that meaningless phrase. I love her. Lilac instead of silver. Sapphire instead of gold. I am not a Halovian. That was what she really wanted to say. That was what you really meant to her. I am human, too. Treat me like I am human. Talk to me like I am human. Love me like I am human.

I am human.

His sister is worrying about him. He wishes he could allay her concerns like he always does, wishes he could promise that it’s nothing, that he’s fine, but whenever he tries, he can’t. It sticks in his throat, and he’s left to stare at her miserably, helplessly.

“If you need anything…” she murmurs, voice trailing off into nothingness as she pretends like she’s not looking at his halo, which is on the verge of collapse, or at his wings, which are approaching a skeletal state. “Maybe you should stay home today. Someone else can pray.”

“No,” he says. He has to do it. If he doesn’t, then he has nothing left — which is the truth, really, but he can’t accept it. Not yet. “No, I—”

He wants to say I can do it, but the words won’t come. She waits, but when he does not finish his sentence, she only sighs and nods.

“If you think that’s what’s best,” she says. If she’s expecting a response, she won’t get one, or at least not one that’ll satisfy them both. He can’t maintain his facade anymore. Those carefully constructed falsehoods which were once his birthright have abandoned him; now, he is left with nothing but the truth in its harshest form, his eyes sewn open to it and his wings tied back so he can no longer cower behind their trembling defense.

Unlike his sister, Sunday never pretended to love you. Indeed, he treated you no differently than he treated everyone else, keeping a polite, reserved distance between the two of you at all times. He was kind when you spoke, though he tended to avoid such occasions, and he took great pains to ensure that he appeared as harmless as possible, pulling his wings close to his body, averting his eyes from yours and shifting so that his halo was always partially obscured.

Robin told you that he was a proud man, so the fact that he shied away before you meant something. I’ve never seen him like this, she would ponder when he would sidle past, his feathers blending in with his pale hair, a coat thrown over his shoulders and his gaze trained directly ahead even when he greeted you. It’s unlike him.

It’s kind. That was all you ever said when she prodded at you for answers. He’s being kind to me.

Unlike her brother, Robin didn’t understand what that meant, so she would only embrace you, deceptively strong despite her frail figure, wings extending to skim along your skin in what she must’ve considered a sign of affection.

I’m glad you’re getting along, she’d say, and then you’d wonder, invariably, what it’d take to break the chords of her speech. Was she capable of producing dissonance? Or was it one of her many blessings, that avoidance of discord, of cacophony? I’m really glad. I hope one day he loves you, too.

She never asked you to love him back. She never dared to even hope for it.

“I can’t recall you ever laughing at me this much when you were alive,” he says, lying on his bed with his limbs splayed out. He’s looking up at the ceiling, which is bare, as are the walls, and the furniture — entirely by design, of course. Periodically, his wings will flap weakly, wracked with nervous tremors as he waits for her to quiet.

He doesn’t reprimand her anymore. The prospect of chasing her away is unbearable, even more unbearable than the sound of her mirth, which is as wrong to his ears as music from an untuned piano. So he ignores it, and when it is particularly agonizing, he speaks to the empty air, saying everything and nothing all at once in an attempt to silence her.

“You would ask me questions,” he remembers, drumming his fingers against the mattress. “But you wouldn’t laugh. I don’t think you found me amusing, unless I tried very hard to appear that way. I was better at it back then. At becoming what people expected of me.”

She’s not laughing anymore, but he knows she hasn’t vanished yet. She’s there in his periphery, poised to disappear as soon as he turns his head but there nonetheless. Taking advantage of the rare silence, he sits up, hugging his knees to his chest and closing his eyes.

“I didn’t pretend quite as much when it was you,” he says. “You know that, right? By the end, I couldn’t bring myself to at all.”

Does she believe him? He can’t tell. If he were her, he wouldn’t believe himself, so likely not. Exhaling heavily, he collapses backwards, tangling himself into a pile of blankets that he pulls over his shoulders.

“I should have lied to you more often,” he says, eyes drifting shut. “Maybe things would be different if I had.”

On Halovians:

Halovians are the only Level 0 Intelligent Species that do not choose long-term mates, although there is evidence to suggest that in the distant past, they remained with the same partner for life. According to legend, this is because they gave up fidelity for falsehood, trading their ability to love eternally for their freedom to lie at will.

Research disagrees with this old story, and many alternate theories have been proposed. The most common and widely-accepted is the claim that the Halovians once faced extinction and thus had to procreate at speed, leading to a permanent shift in their mating habits. The most substantial proof for this, of course, is the otherwise-inexplicable population boom…

You couldn’t say for certain when you began visiting Sunday in his room. It had happened so suddenly and yet so gradually that by the time you realized what you were doing, it was too late for you to stop. He never did anything untoward — you doubted he was capable of it — staying at his desk and scowling at his work while you wandered about, familiarizing yourself with the confines of the space.

“Why don’t you decorate?” you asked him one day.

“Decorations are only needless distractions,” he responded promptly, signing a paper with a flourish that, somehow, represented his name. Sunday Oak. You didn’t know how something so enormous and grand could be summed into two squiggles and a cross, but he seemed confident of it, so who were you to question the method? “I cannot fathom sleeping with such clutter surrounding me.”

“I see,” you said, and that was the end of it.

Your conversations with him typically went as such, endless games of question-and-answer, where you would ask whatever was on your mind and he would respond as truthfully as he was able. You often wondered when he would grow tired of it, of you, but he never did. You asked Robin why it was so, and she only shrugged enigmatically.

“Maybe he’s glad to be the one speaking for once,” she said.

“What do you mean?” you said.

“You ought to ask him,” she said. “He might not tell anyone else, but if it’s you…if it’s you, then he’ll definitely answer.”

His sister’s hands are frigid on his shoulders. She’s warm by anyone else’s standards, but for a Halovian, she’s always been cold. Even when she was born, half the size she should’ve been and with eyes as boundless as the sky, she was freezing, a shivering slip of a baby shoved into his arms by his bleeding mother.

“Your halo is breaking,” she says to him, but she’s angry, her melodic voice wavering as her fingers dig into his muscle, shaking him back and forth. “It’s breaking. Why is it breaking?”

She’s glaring at him, tears welling at her lash-line. He wants to reach out his hand and wipe them away, but more will replace them in an instant, so what is the point? She shakes him again, harder and harder, and he allows her, because he’ll always allow her impulses, and because he’s never seen her like this before.

“Why?” she says. “Why is it breaking? Tell me what you did, brother, tell me what you did!”

She isn’t asking because she wants him to give her the answer. She’s asking because she wants him to deny it, to tell her that she’s wrong, that the conclusion she’s arrived at is incorrect somehow. Once, he could’ve. He could’ve made up some story about tragedy and misfortune, and she would’ve believed him, as she always did.

That was their relationship. He lied and she believed him. She asked and he obliged her. But now that he can not lie and she has nothing to ask for, what is left?

“You know already,” he says. She gasps in the manner of an injured animal, berry-stained lips parting, indubitably to hurl accusations at him.

He doesn’t think he can handle hearing them, not from his sister of all people, so he leaves before he gets the chance.

“Does it feel strange when people touch your wings?” you said. Sunday was in his bed today, afflicted by some illness of the lungs, and you were rummaging through his bookshelf, pulling out volumes at random before putting them back where you had found them.

“Huh? Why do you ask?” he said, raising a porcelain cup to his lips. It was prescription, a medicine reeking of menthol but wearing the guise of peppermint tea — the only way, according to Robin, that he would drink it. A servant had brought it and presented it to him with a bow, walking out of the room with a look thrown at you over their shoulder, concern and envy blending into something razor-thin and cutting.

“I don’t have any,” you explained, taking out a book and tracing your fingers along the gold lettering of the title. “I can’t fathom what it’d be like.”

“Come here,” he said, and although it was mildly done, you obeyed immediately. You could never forget what he was, not completely, no matter how hard he tried to make it so that you did. You would always be human and he would always be Halovian; this fundamental disconnect was insurmountable, and anyways, you had no interest in surmounting it. It’d serve you well to remember these many little differences between yourself and the Oak siblings, between yourself and Sunday in particular.

He extended his hand, the palm facing up, and dipped his chin towards it. You tilted your head in confusion, for the act was all but inexplicable, and at this he smiled. He did not smile very frequently, and it transformed his face when he did, lighting it up, turning it into something close to human — not quite, but close. Closer than he ever was otherwise.

“Here,” he said, setting aside his teacup and using his other hand to place yours against his, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and then waiting. “Does that feel strange?”

“No,” you said.

“It’s the same for me,” he said. “To you, my wings are bizarre and outlandish, but to me and those of my kind, they are simply another body part. No more or less fantastical than an arm or an ankle.”

“Ah,” you said. He settled back against the cushions of his bed, allowing the wings by his ears to stretch out comfortably, closing his eyes and letting out an exhale that shook with the remnants of a cough.

“You want to touch them,” he said. He phrased it as a statement, not a question, and when you paused before answering, his smile grew imperceptibly larger. “I don’t mind it.”

“You don’t?” you said. He shrugged.

“It’s only fair,” he said, pressing down on the point where your veins nearly surfaced, tapping in time with your pulse before drawing his hands back and clasping them together in the cavity below his ribcage. “I wouldn’t have told you you could if I’d hold any resentment for it.”

“Aren’t Halovians known for lying?” you said. He snorted.

“Have you been doing your research?” he said.

“It’s common knowledge,” you said.

“We are,” he said. “But I swear I will always tell you the truth.”

“How can I believe that? What if that’s just another one of your lies?” you said. He cracked one eye open so that he could peek at you, and whatever he saw must’ve proven your seriousness, for he hummed in thought, carefully considering your words.

“I suppose you can’t,” he said. “It’s your prerogative. Do as you’d like, then.”

He closed his eyes again, which you supposed was his version of an invitation. Waiting until his breathing stilled and he was caught in some form of repose — whether he was truly unconscious or not escaped you, but either way he was certainly in some altered state of mind — you extended your arm and brushed your index finger against his feathers.

They were as soft as you had anticipated, cottony and shapeless compared to the firm flight-feathers of the pitch-dark wings jutting out at his sides. The bones were hollow and slight, as if you could break them only by taking them into your fist and squeezing. This was such a contradiction to the appearance he so carefully maintained that your heart softened to him despite your greatest efforts to guard it.

“Those ones are mostly down,” he said, startling you out of your daze. You had assumed he was asleep and had allowed your movements to become casual and complacent. Jerking your hand back as if he had burnt it — which he just as well might have, given the temperature of his body — you held it to your chest and took an involuntary step back while he adjusted himself in his nest of bedding. “In antiquity, back when we still ruled the skies and rarely touched the ground, it was considered a sign of friendship for Halovians to groom one another’s upper-wing feathers.”

“And now?” you said.

“And now it means nothing,” he said. “Fetch me a new cup of tea if you have the time. This one has grown cold, and I am yet unwell.”

The feathers he used to be so proud of are fraying at the edges. He hasn’t cared for them in so long, hasn’t carefully misted them or doused them in diluted soap in ages, and now they have come to this. Scraggly and broken and bent and wrong.

Sticking a finger in his mouth, he rubs it along his teeth and the bitten flesh of his inner cheeks. Decay. This is decay. He’s seen it so many other times, in so many other forms, but never did he think he’d experience it himself. And least of all so quickly! Yet it has come for him, as it comes for everyone in the end.

He finds it’s different this time. It’s different when he’s the one who’s dying.

“They say it haunts us,” Sunday said. His arm was heavy over your waist, his blankets pulled up over your chin and tucked tightly around your shoulders. Your forehead was flush with his collarbones, your eyes fluttering shut as he played with the hem of your shirt while he spoke. “The first time we kill something. It haunts us to death.”

“Is that why you’re vegetarian?” you joked.

“Yes,” he said, and although he sounded grave, you could tell he was joking, too. “Can you imagine being followed around by the ghost of a chicken and then dying while it watches?”

“A horrible way to go,” you said, laughing at the image of Sunday plugging his ears and running from the shadow of a bird as it chased him, his own wings flapping furiously as it squawked at him with no small amount of indignation.

“Indeed,” he said with a laugh of his own. Then, after a pause, he hummed thoughtfully. “You should laugh more often.”

“I’ve been told my laugh is grating,” you said.

“It’s not,” he said. “Not at all.”

“Then I shall endeavor to do as you ask,” you said. “I will laugh until you tell me to stop.”

“I’ll never tell you to stop,” he promised, and you should’ve known better than to trust him, because he was a Halovian and donning that impenetrable mask of his was a part of his nature, yet you couldn’t help yourself. You did, you trusted him more than anything or anyone, and didn’t that make you a fool? A happy, laughing one, maybe — but a fool nonetheless.

He is close to collapse when he drags himself to his bathroom. Leaning over the counter of his sink, he grips the marble edge, noticing in fascination that his knuckles are almost as white as the stone. He almost can’t endure the thought of looking in the mirror, but in a last burst of inspiration, he drags his gaze up to his haggard reflection.

His heart skips a beat when he realizes he’s not alone. Standing there, beside and behind him, is her. The ghost. His ghost.

Her face is placid — she’s not laughing, and neither is she frowning. He doesn’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but he can’t change it, so who is he to complain? He waits for her to speak, but she is silent, and he considers calling out for his sister before deciding that this time, this once and never again, he will be selfish.

“It’s you,” he says, reaching out and placing his fingers against the mirror, where the image of her cheek is distorted by imperfections in the silver.

The metal is cold under the involuntary curve of his palm, which tries to follow the contours of her face but finds it to be impossible in the second dimension. Then again, to him, she was always cold, so there’s no difference, except that she is flat where once she was whole, empty where once she was everything.

“I killed you,” he says. It’s the first time he’s spoken it aloud, the first time he’s spit out the words that he’s been dancing around ever since she appeared to him, almost a year ago exactly. Somehow, it feels like a dagger driven into his heart and a weight lifted off of his shoulders simultaneously. If he had the strength, he’d run down the hallways of the mansion and scream it at everyone.

I killed her. I killed her and now I am dying for it. You bowed your heads in reverence to me, and all along I have had this blood on my hands. I killed her! How does it feel to have followed a sinner for so long? How does it feel to know that I am forsaken, and that one day, if you are so lucky, you will be, too?

Sunday’s mouth on yours was hot like a furnace, clumsy and demanding, with a lingering aftertaste like menthol. At first, it alarmed you, the overwhelming sensation, the much of it all, but before you could even pull away, something in the back of your mind twisted, and then you were grasping for anything you could. His hair, his wings, his shirt, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, you only needed to hold onto him in some way. You could not breathe without him. You could not live without him.

That was your first indication that something was very, very wrong.

On Halovians:

Much like their presumed cousins, the sirens of Lucyke, Halovians are irresistible to their prey. Unlike the sirens, the Halovians no longer hunt; some assume that this must be one of the religious laws they abide by, while others argue that it is mere ecological responsibility.

Simply put, the Halovians were too efficient as hunters. Several lesser species have been driven to extinction by their efforts, and it is only due to the reduction in Halovian numbers, their vows of vegetarianism, and concentrated conservation efforts that the food webs on the Halovians’ native planets have stabilized in recent years.

“Sunday,” you said to him one day, when the sun had not yet risen in the sky. “I think that I will die soon.”

His mouth moved, but no sound came out. No, it seemed he was trying to say. You won’t. His lips formed the words, but they wouldn’t take shape in his throat, wouldn’t bloom into existence, and you watched as he struggled for a while before pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead.

“Yes,” he said.

“It will be your fault when I do,” you said. You weren’t accusing him; you said it simply and plainly. You were dying. It was his fault. He was the curse and the cure, if a mere prolonging of the inevitable could be considered as curing it.

He was quiet for so long that you assumed he had forgotten about the question entirely. You did not begrudge him for it — how would he answer, anyways? There was nothing that he could say which would change it. There was nothing that he could say which would reverse what he had, knowingly or unknowingly, done.

“Yes,” he said when you were halfway to dozing off.

“What?” you mumbled, the contents of the conversation already escaping you.

“Yes,” he said. “It will be my fault.”

The ghost doesn’t say anything, watching him as he turns on the sink and splashes the water onto his face in a futile effort to cool himself off. He’s feverish as he pushes himself back into a semblance of good posture, pacing back and forth along the length of the bathroom. He can only see her in the mirror, and he wonders if he somehow trapped her there or if that’s her way of teasing him; she must find him so absurd, storming away from her visage before crawling back to it like he is starved.

“I didn’t know,” he says. “You must understand that. I didn’t know! Not at first, anyways. I would’ve sent you away. If I had known, I would’ve sent you away…”

He can hear her feet against the tile, copying his own path, but he dares not turn around. What will he see if he does? What emotions will reflect in her eyes? The first time he saw her, it was fear, unadulterated and pure and choking him with its overwhelming intensity. Then, over time, it warmed into something resembling indifference, which in turn became fondness and then, finally, a sick sort of dependence, the former liveliness and curiosity glazed over with vacancy and fixation.

“I did this to you,” he admits. He’s read that accursed book on Halovians and their accursed vestigial organs and accursed archaic hunting methods so many times that he knows this for a fact. He killed her. “But I didn’t — it wasn’t my intention, please, it wasn’t, you must know that. Did you die knowing that?”

When he halts, she halts. When he takes a step forward, she does the same. It’s maddening. He doesn’t want her to echo him. Her steps sound like a prophecy, the drumbeat to a seer’s chant, and they clang in his head, the antithesis to everything he holds precious. Order. Harmony. And then there she is, discord, cacophony, waiting for him at every turn, inescapable and unavoidable.

“It’s the truth!” he snaps. The argument is entirely one-sided; the ghost never speaks to him, after all. She only laughs and sighs in turn, but no matter how hard he tries, he cannot convince her to say anything. “I can’t lie anymore. Although, that’s irrelevant; when it comes to you, I haven’t been able to lie in a long time.”

Ena, the Order; Xipe, the Harmony; defend me in this tribulation. Curse this evil, bind its spirit and banish it to whence it came.

I swear on truth. I swear on the calendar. I swear on words. I swear on values. I swear on rules. I swear on meaning. I swear on human dignity.

He’s murmuring every prayer he can think of. They play in an endless loop, springing to his lips at random, more like nonsensical jumbles of words than anything coherent. A prayer for salvation. A prayer for forgiveness. A prayer for protection. A prayer for order. A prayer for harmony. A prayer to banish her. A prayer to bring her back.

A prayer to bring her back. A prayer to bring her back. Bring her back. Bring her back. Bring her back.

“I won’t come back, you know,” she says. That’s the first time he’s heard her voice in so long, and he’s startled to find that it’s almost foreign, like he’s already begun to forget her, like she’s turned into something entirely beyond his understanding.

“Why not?” he says, his voice cracking as he scrambles for purchase against the wall. “I’ll do anything they ask. Anything you ask.”

“It doesn’t matter what you do or who you beg,” she says with a snicker. “You can’t bring someone back once you’ve killed them. You should’ve regretted it earlier; it’s meaningless now. Well, anyways, I have a question for you.”

He swallows but nods, his back to her, vision blurring out of focus as he squints at the plain wall in front of him.

“If you could meet me again, would you?” she says.

“Yes,” he says without thinking, because of course he would. How could he not?

“Knowing that it would kill me?” she adds, giggling.

Is this what it’s like for those who he interrogates? Now he is the one who cannot hide behind the comfort of fabrication, who must strip himself bare to an unsympathetic audience. He hates it, in truth. He hates it more than anything, but — but he doesn’t hate her, so clenching his jaw, he nods once more.

“Yes,” he says.

“Oh, my,” she says. “How romantic. Careful, or I’ll think you really do love me.”

He whirls around. “I do—!”

There’s nobody there. He wonders if there ever was.

#sunday x reader #sunday x y/n #sunday x you #sunday #sunday hsr #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #reader insert #canon au #hierophant #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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runninriot · 1 day ago

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Another Love

written for the @corrodedcoffinfest pop-up event It's Complicated

wc: 1.966 | rated: M | tags: past friends with benefits Eddie/Jeff, newly established Steddie, unrequited love, complicated feelings, mild hurt/comfort, friendship | also on ao3

“Guys, this is Steve. Steve, these are the guys. My best friends, who will not embarrass me today. Right?”

Eddie laughs, tries not to let his nerves show by making a silly grimace in the direction of Gareth, who lovingly scoffs and rolls his eyes, says ‘You don’t need us for that, you’re pretty good at embarrassing yourself‘, just to be a little shit. And maybe that’s good, because it means they’re not pretending to be something they’re not. There’s no need to mask who they are in front of Steve, Eddie knows that.

He knows that, once they’ve warmed up to each other, they’ll get along just fine. But still, he can’t shake the funny feeling in his gut.

This is a big deal for him, finally introducing his boyfriend to the people who, apart from Wayne, mean most to him in this world. He wants, no, needs them to accept this new person in his life, because there is one thing he’s absolutely certain of – Steve is here to stay.

Gareth and Doug, being the lifesavers they are, immediately start wrapping Steve up in a conversation and it helps ease Eddie’s nerves a bit. But out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the tension in Jeff’s shoulders. Can sense his resentment of the situation even if Jeff is obviously trying his best not to show it.

He stands off to the side, pretending to tune his guitar which he’s definitely not. Eddie knows he’s already done that before even coming to the venue. Out of all of them, Jeff’s always been the closest to a professional.

It’s something Eddie admires, one of those things he loves about him.

Jeff and Eddie go way back, met long before Gareth and Doug entered the picture. They’ve been friends forever, through thick and thin, always together against the rest of the world.

He’d never admit it out loud but Jeff’s opinion matters most. And that’s not only because he’s his best best friend. It’s also because he doesn’t know what he’d do if Jeff didn’t give him his blessing. There’s so much at stake here, so much to possibly end in ruins. This is so much more complicated than just wanting his friend's approval - there's more to consider. More to fight for. So that's what Eddie is willing to do.

“Hey, man,” Eddie claps Jeff on the back trying to act casual, ignoring the twisted knots in his stomach. “Can we talk?”

“If it’s about your boyfriend, then no.”

Jeff takes a big swig from his beer, the look in his eyes unusually cold and distant.

“Come on, man. I thought we agreed that-”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind. Look, Eddie. I’m happy for you, I really am. But you cannot expect me to put on a brave face and pretend that this doesn’t fuck me up.”

His words slice through Eddie like a knife, sharp and quick, no mercy on his heart.

Eddie probably deserves it for thinking he could ignore the giant ass elephant in the room and simply wait it out. Wait for the problem to solve itself, for everything to go back to normal, back to easy. Because truth is, there is nothing easy about this.

Eddie knew from the start that this would be complicated, no matter how much he wished it wasn’t. He knew and yet, stupid as he is, he still hoped they could just... move on. Not forget but maybe lock up the memories of a different time and go back to how things were before. When they were just friends, no feelings involved. At least not those kind of feelings.

“I’m sorry, Jeff,” he says, head tilted down to avoid his friend’s piercing gaze, “I know it’s-“

It’s what? Hard? Unfair? Well, yeah, obviously. At least from Jeff’s point of view. But what is Eddie supposed to do? He didn’t choose to fall in love with someone else, it just happened. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have feelings for Jeff, only they’re different now. Not that he ever-

It’s a cruel thought, even though it’s true. They both know it because Eddie never pretended to be in love when he wasn’t. Was he attracted to Jeff? Oh, absolutely. Otherwise they wouldn’t have ended up in bed together. More than once. And it wasn't just the prospect of easy sex that had Eddie coming back for more - it was the thought of falling asleep in Jeff's arms. To be held by someone who makes you feel safe and cared for. He loved the kisses and giggles and how okay it was to be vulnerable and open because there's nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide because Jeff already knows everything about him.

The problem is, while it had all started out as casual fun between mates, something changed over time. Something Eddie noticed too late or he would’ve ended it sooner. Jeff never told him about his feelings, so that’s on him, but it is just as much Eddie’s fault because- he should’ve known anyway. Should’ve noticed the shift. But he hadn’t. Or maybe he simply refused to acknowledge it. Selfishly ignored it until he couldn’t anymore.

When he met Steve, he instantly knew he needed to put his cards on the table and come clean about what this would mean for him and Jeff. Told him about this guy he likes – ‘Don’t know if it’s mutual but I’d like to give it a shot, see where it’s going. Maybe it’s nothing but maybe- I think he could be the one.’

And at first, Jeff seemed to be fine with that. Said he understood that they couldn’t hook up anymore. Said he’d miss the fucking but ‘Eh, whatever.’

Only it wasn’t whatever.

But Eddie was so lost in his own head, so caught up on Steve, Steve, Steve that he didn’t see what it was doing to Jeff. Didn’t notice him pulling away more and more until Gareth mentioned it. Asked if something had happened between the two because they were acting weird.

So, when he finally confronted Jeff, things seemed... okay. Better. At least that’s what he thought when Jeff told him he’d get over it, that he just needed some time to adjust. Promised Eddie that nothing had changed when it came to their friendship but right now, Eddie isn’t so sure about that anymore.

And it kills him.

Makes him lie awake at night because he can’t stop thinking about all the worst possible outcomes. What if this breaks up the band? What if Eddie loses his best friend?

“I don’t want to lose you, Jeff.”

You’re up in five, someone calls from the side of the stage and Eddie knows this is the worst possible timing for a heart-to-heart. They should be getting ready, he should be talking to his boyfriend who he abandoned and left with people he doesn’t really know, in a place he’s never been to before. But he can’t step away, can’t leave it like that, not when Jeff still hasn’t said anything.

“I need you. You’re my best friend and I- I love you.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, to use this word, this feeling that is the cause for this mess and the reason for Jeff’s pain. But it’s the right word nonetheless, because it’s the truth. Eddie loves him. Maybe not like he loves Steve but different from the way he loves Gareth and Doug. This love goes deeper than friendship, soul-deep.

“I love you. You’re important to me and I know- I know you're hurt and I am sorry but I can’t change that my heart belongs to Steve.”

Eddie can’t stop, knows he should because right now, he’s only talking himself deeper into the hole he dug for himself. But he refuses to lie, refuses to try to appease Jeff with false hope – he needs to know where they stand. And if that means Jeff will tell him to fuck off, if that will be the end of their friendship, then-

“I hate you.”

Eddie’s heart stops at Jeff's words, eyes filling with tears as he braces himself for the biggest regret he'll ever have in his life.

“I hate you so much for even thinking you could ever lose me!”

They’ve got eyes on them now, Eddie can feel it, but he doesn’t care. Can’t, not when Jeff moves closer, taking one of Eddie’s hands to place it on his chest, right above his heart.

“It hurts. It fucking hurts. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say, just sniffs and blinks away the tears blurring his vision.

“It’ll take some time for me to... get over this. But you and me, we’re bound for life, man. So don’t you ever think you’re getting rid of me. You hear me, asshole?”

Jeff smiles at him and even though there’s still sadness in his eyes, Eddie can feel that he means it.

“Uh... sorry to interrupt but, um, they said you’re up next so I-“

When Eddie turns to the voice coming from behind, he finds Steve standing there, hands in his pocket, nervously looking to the side.

“I’ll be down there somewhere. Have- have fun.”

Steve’s about to turn around, ready to step away but Eddie can't let him go like that, so he stops him.

“Baby, wait!”

He looks back at Jeff, hoping, praying to find what he’s searching for in the other man’s eyes.

“Go on, your boyfriend looks like he’s waiting for a kiss. Would be rude to leave him hanging.”

“Are you gonna be mad at me if I do?” Eddie’s not asking for permission to kiss his boyfriend, not really. But he’s willing to tone it down around Jeff if that’s what it takes.

Jeff scoffs, lets go of Eddie’s hand and takes a step back.

“So mad. But I’ll get to have you all to myself for the next 40 minutes so I guess it’s fine,” he jokes and it feels like a peace offering. Like maybe it’s the first step to better, before hopefully they can go back to how things were when everything was good, not complicated.

“I love you,” Eddie says again just because.

“Love you too, man. Now go take care of your man and then let’s get this fucking show started.”

Eddie nods, taking another moment to look at his best friend before walking over to Steve.

“Everything good with you and Jeff?” Steve asks quietly as Eddie wraps his arms around his middle to pull him close.

“I think it will be, yeah.”

Eddie's glad he never made a secret out of his past with Jeff, couldn’t bear withholding something so crucial from Steve. He needed him to know that no matter what, Jeff will always play an important role in his life. That if Steve wanted to be with him, he’d have to accept that there will always be a place in his heart that’s occupied by someone else.

Steve throws a look over Eddie’s shoulder and smiles to himself before leaning in to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Is that all?” Eddie asks when his boyfriend pulls away, leaving him longing for more.

“For now,” Steve confirms with a wink, “Your friends are waiting.”

With that, he wanders off into the crowd and Eddie, for the first time in weeks, feels a weight lift off his shoulders and heart.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated.

Maybe it just needs time and trust and mutual understanding.

He’s willing to try, willing to do everything to make this work

Because what he’s definitely not willing to do, is to give up one love for another.

#corrodedcoffinfest #pop up events #it's complicated #eddie munson #jeff stranger things #steve harrington

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crsssie · 2 days ago

Text

physics and racing... (of the heart) - Spencer Reid

word count: 1028 // (shoujo event || prompt 3 - shared secret)

summary: you soar, late to your physical, and Spencer stands dumbfounded. was that a tattoo?

The first time Spencer ever met you, he's passing the FBI academy at Quantico, and you're jumping the fence to be able to make it to the fitness test on time because... something. Spencer remembers only the sight of you jumping the fence, and it's honestly not much if you are late, but you don't seem to know that. They never tell the new recruits that— and, well, Spencer failed his physical in his earlier years so it's not like he has much of a say in it.

But, he does spot a lower back tattoo that flashes him while you're in the air.

You had locked eyes with him and held your finger over your lips before promptly flying off on the field, and Spencer wondered if you had wings from how easily you seemed to have soared over the fence when he had spotted you.

He kept to himself over that, not mentioning it to anyone. If no one asks, then it'd be normal to cover for others. Besides, he's sure someone's got a tattoo somewhere out of all the feds. Also, he had to get strings pulled so they could keep his talent.

He knows that's how he ended up on the team, after all.

Three weeks later, you're showing up at the door of the BAU after Elle's got you in tow.

You blink at him, tilting your head and offering a shy smile, and he's nodding back.

"Doctor Spencer Reid. Our specialist on... well, everything." Hotch mumbles, and since then, you're thrown into the whirlwind of things.

You get along with everyone, and you're careful to not change around them when you can avoid it, tilt of a head and a quiet brushing off of your hand when people ask if you're hot, but it's almost impossible to avoid when you're being flushed down for Anthrax with Spencer, shirt soaked through as you blink quietly, locking eyes with him as he stares back.

"You mind exercising authority?" You mumble quietly, eyes blinking up at him as he swallows slowly.

"You both mind looking away while they flush them off?" Spencer nods at you when you strip, shirt tugged over your head as the man flushes you down. There's no explicit rule about not letting people have tattoos in the FBI, contrary to most other Federal Agencies, but it's still frowned upon. You know as a matter of fact that lying on your application about having completely clear skin with no ink was a crime in itself, so you hoped to keep it that way.

You're fine, but Spencer's rushed to the hospital and near loses his damn life because of his cut.

Morgan stands to the side as you start at a cup of jello, raising a brow when he asks for a bite.

"Thought you were a germaphobe."

"Mm... jello." He mumbles, grabbing for your spoon as you hold it away.

"Hey!"

"Can I get one?"

"I'll ask the nurse."

But Spencer Reid isn't a romantic. He knows how to read about love, just not express it. And you're not quite someone who really expresses love outwardly. Everything you do could be written off as a simple flick of the wrist friendship action. Something that you do out of care because you like gifting things to people and helping others out. You send Penelope different flowers each week. You fold paper roses for Emily and bring Derek coffee in the morning. Spencer's not special, he supposes. You seem to have everyone's coffee order memorized. Though, not that it's too hard. He does too.

But maybe it isn't fair for him to dwell on everything himself. His intellect can only get so far. His emotions can't do much to fix him if he's not needing all that fixing. He just needs to understand better, perhaps. Understand his brain. He knows how his brain is working — releasing chemicals of love and he wonders if he should lower his chocolate intake or give up on peas entirely but it's completely and utterly unfair that he's the only one with a racing heart with you around. He isn't even sure how he fell for you.

He catches you tilting your head at one of the local officers as he rambles to you — cute guy. Looks innocent enough, and isn't super sleazy. The only issue is that your puffer jacket keeps riding up with how much you're pulling at it to keep your chest warm, and your undershirt is getting dangerously close to your waistline where your pants are, and the last thing he wants is you being found out for lying. He's not too sure why he feels that way. He isn't obligated to keep the secret, but it just feels like he should for some reason.

Maybe he was starstruck the first time he met you. It would've been a stretch, but he was certain he was stuck in place blinking while gaping like a fish out of water because of you. You were just. It was. It was just. You flew, and perhaps it was the strange phenomenon of a breaking of physics that you were in the process of doing when he met you but it startles him and his chest is going rampant in his chest and he does not(!) like the way that someone else is—

He meets eyes with you from across the room, holding up a file and tapping it, pursing his lips.

So he presents you with a way out, and you take it, nodding at the officer as you make your way back to the board.

"Need help?"

"Thought you might've needed a way out."

"I did."

"Then I'm glad I read you right."

You beam at him.

"Thank you."

He glances at the way your jacket rides up along your back, and he tugs on you gently for you — secondhand habit. Like a habit. Too domestic. He doesn't know why he just did that.

Spencer hears your breath hitch, and he's sure his ears are beyond red right now.

"The ink." He mumbles, pulling his fingers away as you blink at him.

"Thank you."

"Always."

But maybe he doesn't need to overthink it. Maybe, this was perfectly okay as is.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #reader insert #☾.events #☾.fics #happy valentine's bet u didn't think i'd post this series at all HUH. or for him actually. anyways

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agoodroughandtumble · 3 days ago

Text

Valentine's Day - Zoro x Reader

Status: Complete Summary: A fluffy/angsty oneshot for Valentine's Day Warning: Language (18+). These guys will never know they're in love

Even with the cold water lapping against your shins, the heat radiating from your drinking partner was enough to keep you warm. Increasingly aware that should you turn to face him the heat rising from your cheeks would give your thoughts away, you kept a steady focus on the water in front of you, the hard wood of the dock you sat on, the glint of moonlight against the gentle waves. It was annoyingly romantic.

Zoro was unaware. Zoro was always unaware. It was hardly surprising – the man didn’t have a romantic bone in his body, and even if that weren’t the case he had had ample opportunity to do anything other than this. Whatever “this” was. So. He clearly just wasn’t interested. Which was fine. Absolutely fine. Or at least it would be if you could look at him without a bombardment of gymnastic butterflies invading your stomach. It was pathetic really – the two of you sat in what Zoro would describe was a comfortable, drinking silence whilst the rest of the crews’ party raged on within earshot on the beach. You would describe it as increasingly awkward. Still, it was better than not being in an uncomfortable silence with Zoro. And so, inevitably, the patheticness continued.

You took a sip of your beer, swallowing thickly, waiting for the courage that usually followed inebriation. It wasn’t following quite as quickly as you liked. You were just going to have to ask. Or attempt to anyway. As long as he didn’t look at you. Or answer. Or hear the question. Or maybe just be aware of your existence anyway. This was, somehow, a new level of self-inflicted pathetic yearning. At least that was somewhat of a progression? Or maybe regression? Something different at least.

“So, erm,” you cleared your throat, “Any plans for tomorrow?” Despite your gaze still fixed firmly on the horizon you could feel Zoro’s eyes on you. Your fingers fidgeted against the bottle in your hand.

“What do you mean?”

His voice sounded sincere. Because of course it did. Because how could he possibly understand what you were asking the day before Valentine’s Day. “Well, you know,” you bumped your shoulder against his, trying to sound casual against your increasing frustration. “Valentine’s Day. Any plans?”

Zoro shrugged. “Guess whatever crazy shit Luffy will drag us into.”

In hindsight, you shouldn’t have been surprised. You certainly hadn’t been hopeful (well, alright, maybe, a tiny amount – that small niggling feeling that there might be something between the two of you…) but at least he hadn’t waxed lyrical about some over-elaborate plans made for Nami or Robin.

“Of course, yeah.” You nodded, hoping whatever confusion of emotions wasn’t written completely across your face. Turned out it was annoyingly difficult to keep emotions to yourself when you weren’t actually sure what those emotions were. “Same, just...vibing.” Oh, fuck. Now, that emotion you knew all too well. Just vibing? Might as well have said just being a sad bastard without a date, or just desperately waiting for the slightest hint of romance to detract from the whole Zoro had carved out of your heart only to completely neglect. Just vibing? Fucking hell.

“What do people do? On Valentine’s Day?”

You looked at him – couldn’t help yourself. And the earnestness in his eyes almost crushed you. “Oh, erm.” Your fingers fidgeted with the beer again, eyes dropping, focusing on the bubbles fizzing to the lip of the bottle. “Flowers, chocolate, dinner… I suppose.”

“Okay.” Zoro downed his bottle.

The awkward tension would have been back but he stood up before it could settle. You watched him walk back along the dock to meet the rest of the crew, your heart leaving with him.

The next morning found you on the deck leaning against the guardrail. The ever changing motion of the waves always calmed you – reassuring you that everything was temporary. Everything would pass. Even your feelings for Zoro would inevitably be washed away by the ebb and flow. And as you would forget the streams and rivers and fords of this hateful longing so too would you forget the springs. In theory. In reality in your peripheral you could see Nami and Zoro in very close proximity, and the fact that you couldn’t hear them only solidified your suspicions. Last night he’d asked you what people did on Valentine’s Day – today him and Nami were having a moment. The least he could fucking do was fall for someone you didn’t care about. At least then you could irrationally hate them.

It made sense. Zoro and Nami had known each other far longer than you had known either of them. She was beautiful, fun, intelligent and they wound each other up relentlessly. Of course all of their “bickering” over money was flirting. You should have seen it before. If you had known from the start Zoro would always be unavailable you wouldn’t have been so naïve to think you stood a chance. You just hoped they wouldn’t rub their insufferable happiness in your face. You could smile for the rest of the crew. You could wax lyrical about how perfect for each other they were. You could be happy for Nami. You couldn’t pretend to Zoro. He saw through you far too easily, and even if he couldn’t you didn’t exactly have a poker face.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the smell of salt, the gentle rocking of the ship against its berth, anything to replace the gnawing at your heart. If Zoro didn’t want it, he shouldn’t have taken it.

“What do you mean?” Zoro’s gazed fixed firmly on your face, trying to decipher the smallest flicker of emotion. You were staring at the horizon with a determination he often saw. Always far away, always something, anything that wasn’t him. He’d seen the same look on your face when you were head down towards your shoes. Every time, every single time, he’d tried to get the two of you alone you were always so focused on anything else. And yet every time you accepted his invitation. Why. When he’d asked you to have a drink with him on the dock he’d thought the pair of you could, fuck it, talk. But every time you were alone it was as if you wanted to be somewhere else.

This was stupid. It was too obvious. The faint music from the party in the background. The “clandestine” meet on the dock. The moonlight. He might as well be wearing a sign proclaiming his love. It was too much. Fuck. He always went too far. Too deep. Too… too Zoro. This was supposed to be a casual drink only now he was practically getting his dick out in front of you and expecting you to be totally cool. Fuck’s sake.

“Well, you know.” He felt your shoulder bump against his, “Valentine’s Day, any plans?”

His body tensed. Where you asking him, or were you asking him? He should say something romantic. Anything romantic. He should stay pick a star and he will get Luffy to catapult him into the sky so he could bring it back for you. He should. say. anything. “Guess whatever crazy shit Luffy will drag us into.”

Fucking stars. Fucking Luffy. Why is that in his head. It had started as a romantic gesture and now suddenly he’s wanking on about the captain. Shit, why didn’t he just drag Usopp and Sanji into the conversation too? That fucking love cook would be all over Valentine’s Day – he’s probably preparing a special dinner for you, Nami and Robin right now. Rose petals, candlelight, mood music… fucking curly brows. How could he do something so easily, so casually, so effortlessly when Zoro couldn’t even answer a question without sounding like a dick? Zoro knew how to train, how to fight, how to be a swordsman. He didn’t know how to make you smile. He didn’t know how to surprise you. He didn’t know how to convey the one fucking thing. The fucking thing.

“Of course, yeah. Same, just...vibing.”

Zoro almost felt the tone in your voice drop. You hid it well, but Zoro was all too accustomed. He had studied you almost as much as he had studied the sword. He knew every nook, every corner, every falter in your words. He didn’t need to look at you to understand how crestfallen you were.

Wait.

So… you wanted something? For Valentine’s Day? Maybe not from him, maybe (hopefully) not from anyone else but you wanted something. He could do something. It might not mean a lot but he could, would provide what you wanted. He could be a stand in paramour if that would put a smile on your face – hell, he could do anything if it put a smile on your face. “What do people do? On Valentine’s Day?”

For all of Nami’s intel and all her hype when Zoro started walking towards you the only feeling he was aware of was that of dread. He was aware that you would probably prefer anyone, literally anyone, to be approaching you but here he was – two roses behind his back because even with Nami’s help that was all he had managed to find. And fuck the pervert cook providing your dinner – he was going to. It was going to be awful and possibly inedible but he was going to do it. Flowers, chocolate, dinner. Two out of three. Maybe. Definitely one out of three. Definitely something.

“I got you these.” Zoro thrust the flowers at you.

The sudden noise made you jump – the two roses in your face made you stop.

He retracted them. “You don’t have to take them.”

“No, wait,” Finally finding some wind within your lungs in which to speak you took the two roses. “I want them. I’m, er, no. Thanks.”

Zoro stared at you. You stared back.

“Dinner’s in five minutes. Just us.” Zoro said, told you, before disappearing again.

You opened your mouth to speak but he was gone. And anyway you weren’t sure what to say. You glanced around you – the rest of the crew didn’t seem to be aware except Nami who gave you a bright smile and a thumbs up. You followed Zoro into the galley.

#olpa #one piece #zoro x reader #one piece live action #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x y/n #opla x reader #opla x y/n

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kendrysaneela · 3 days ago

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“The medical team says your tempers will rebalance quickly”

“Perhaps we could arrange another obligement session this evening”

“I said I’m fine”

Why do I feel like an obligement session is like the break room? Where when people in the Eagan cult get like thrown out of whack essentially or they go against the cult’s teaching they get placed in a session where something happens to them to rebalance their emotions or something.

Cause “Your tempers will rebalance quickly” and “Obligement session” sound like culty brainwashy shit as well as Helena’s reaction to both sentences. She seemed angry at “Your tempers will rebalance” like she seemed to be clenching her jaw and then she responded with “I said I’m fine” too quickly and urgently to “Obligement session”

I wonder if the origin of Severance was like a weird meditation thingy to control your emotions or separate your desires from yourself. To “Tame your tempers” So to speak Because think about Helena on the outside is cold and her eyes are steeled up like she’s blocking you from reading them and she wears dark clothes and she keeps her hair up and she speaks very quietly, purposely and very on the level. Even walks in more of a stiff way rather than a quick purposeful way like she does as Helly. But that’s not how Helena acted with the innies. Sure we could say that she was just pretending to be Helly but I don’t think that was all Helly. Some of that seemed genuinely Helena reacting to things. Like Mark said. She’s like Helly and Helly’s like her. Could an obligement session basically a session where they make you shove your emotions and desires back in in a way that probably isn’t pleasant? Because Helena really was wild out there she joked about her family’s lore, she slept with Mark, she showed romantic desire in front of other people. She showed affection to an innie (snow seal). I bet you ALL of that is highly frowned upon from what we know about Kier Eagan’s views not to mention the story about Dieter. I wouldn’t put it past them to do a break room esque routine on their own cult members to keep them under control. Especially someone like Helena who we know from Helly does have a very rebellious and emotional personality even if Helena doesn’t show it Helly wouldn’t be the way she is unless those rebellious and emotional tendencies existed within Helena’s brain. The desperation for autonomy and to question everything has to exist within Helena or else they wouldn’t exist within Helly. I wonder if that’s why Helly had to be in the break room for so long. Because Helena’s brain is conditioned to resist sessions like that. I wonder if the obligement sessions work on Helena? Because she clearly is not distanced from her emotions she’s just trying to hide them. But they’re written all over her face. Her anger at her father,her anger at Natalie and the other guy (forget his name) and her very clear fear and hesitation to go back to the severed floor as Helly.

#this episode made me even more obsessed with the complexities of Helena Eagan #severance #severance apple tv #helena eagan #helly r

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asterkatt · 4 hours ago

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MAJOR ISAT ACT 5 SPOILERS

(DO NOT MENTION ANYTHING PAST DORMONT PLEASE!!)

okay so. wowie. just started act 5 of ISAT and my goodness do I have some thoughts. wowie. wowzers. while I was playing I didn't really get the chance to voice my thoughts because if you've played act 5 you know there is no time to do so. you are getting hit with one emotional train after another. no time to think no time to breathe only time to suffer. but the power of doing a let's play gave me time to think while editing so I jotted down some thoughts that you're now getting. you're welcome. (these will not be coherent at all just. as a heads up. sorry in advance) okay so. first friendquest I did was Mira's (which makes sense considering she's the first one that you run into). one of the things that really stuck out to me is that she - not just now, but even pre-game - has only tolerated the teasing from everyone. She has to remind herself that they're not being mean. she has to remind herself that they're not being mean. I just... she shouldn't have to do that. and that's one of the things I love about this game - the characters are so in depth and so well written that yeah, sometimes they unintentionally hurt each other. we see it over and over and over again with Siffrin. their family will tease them, they'll brush it off, but we'll see that he never really lets go of it. I have a feeling it's the same with Mira. she's okay with Siffrin teasing her, because "it's fine, everyone does." then continuing to say that she probably just has the "kind of personality where it's easy to want to tease me"?? MIRA NO- augh. my heart breaks for her. she struggles with her identity and purpose just like. well. just like everyone else in this game actually. that's. okay. (bookmarking that realization for later). something that's really interesting about Mira's friendquest in particular is how much she seems to be projecting onto Siffrin. I feel like out of everyone, she's looking for someone who can validate her struggles the most. It goes further than looking for someone who can relate - she wants someone who can relate and tell her that everything will be okay.

so, when Siffrin says what he does, she lashes out at them. the thing I found most interesting (and heartbreaking) about how she responds is that she isn't just putting Siffrin down - she's putting herself down at the same time. I'd even argue that she's calling herself out with her line of "always talking as if you're better than me! as if you know me!" because I feel like she struggles with not knowing who she is either. after all, who is she if she can't change in the way that her belief as a housemaiden calls her to??

and of course, this is all solidified in what she says next: "you're just as lost and useless as I am!!!"

because yeah. Mirabelle. Mirabelle. feels lost and useless. she doesn't know who she is if she can't follow the change belief in the way that is required of her. she doesn't know why the head housemaiden burdened her blessed her. she doesn't feel like she's capable. she wasn't able to stop the King before, how is she supposed to do it now?? she overthinks and worries about everything and I'm sure that includes all the choices she makes. I'm sure she's had doubts about all of her family members in one way or another - but she's chosen to trust them. to trust them to help her on this impossible, hopeless, last chance quest. and Siffrin just made it clear that she was wrong to do so.

watch me collapse into a inconsolable heap on the floor because of this game

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 3 hours ago

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Punish me.

Pairing: Boss!Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 5853

Summary: What happens when your boss punishes you but you like it too much? You look for more. And more. Tags/Warnings: POV second person, no use of Y/N, legal unspecified age gap, power imbalance, dom!Joel / sub!reader, degradation, oral (m receiving), spanking, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but still, do better irl), initially dub-con but reader is very into it, risk of being caught, a little chocking if you squint, cream pie, squirting, reader has no description other than the clothes she is wearing, manipulation, slurs, pet names, reader calls Joel "Sir". This Joel is low-key inspired by Don Draper from Mad Men and the whole thing was also low-key inspired by Secretary (2002). Let me know if I forgot something important, I will add it right away. A/N: Written for Never Have I Ever challenge hosted by the lovely @yxtkiwiyxt , this was my prompt and I had so much fun working on it! Thanks for giving me the opportunity to join! 🥰 Thanks to @aurorawritestoescape for being the most precious beta and @joelmillerisapunk for being the best support I could ask for and for letting me yap about it for a month and half lol I love you so much 🥹❤️ English is not my first language, every single mistake is still on me, I deeply apologize if you find any. Thanks to anyone who will read! masterlist | Joel Miller masterlist

“Mr Miller wants to see you in his office at 3” When Pam called you to say that a shiver ran down your spine.

Your last client was the owner of a large brewing company, a self-centered rich asshole that you couldn’t stomach in any way.

He had been pressing you for weeks for you to come up with the most sexist and stupidest ad campaign ever, all while you were trying to present him with new ideas that didn't necessarily include 10 women in bikinis at the feet of one man or other such things that had been done 200 times already .

You hated the guy with every fiber of your being and you told him exactly what you were thinking about him when he called you a prude and argued that he could show you what a real man was.

Seeing his sleezy smile as he winked at you and told you that you needed to fuck more was your last straw.

You were glad to be rid of him but you knew well that your boss would not have the same opinion.

Right out of college what you wanted was to learn the profession as soon as possible, and you wanted to learn it from the best in the business.

Joel Miller owned the most famous advertising agency in town, so you did everything to get an internship there.

You understood why he was so successful from day one.

__________________________________

Pam was sitting at her desk as usual when you walked in.

Her desk was a few feet from the door of Mr. Miller's office.

A large, black, solid wooden door with a fine frame, one of those that seemed to lead to the rooms forbidden to poor commoners.

She just looked up from the computer screen to tell you to come in, Mr. Miller was waiting for you, and then she was back to work.

Pam was a woman in her 60s, blond hair perpetually pulled back in an elegant bun, a pearl necklace around her neck, cachemire sweaters in all pastel colors, silk blouses and matching skirts.

She looked very neat, austere, you could swear you never saw her smile but heck, she was really good at her job and had been managing Mr. Miller's impossible schedule for many years.

You knocked on the door feeling your heart in your throat, thinking you were one step away from being fired.

Joel's voice bounced through the door, heavy and raspy, "come in.”

You entered trying to maintain a composure.

“Good morning, Mr Miller, you wanted to see me?”

He put down the papers he was perusing on the desk and looked up at you.

“Oh, it's you,” he said in a very calm voice. “The one who made me lose a lot of money.”

“I...I'm sorry but the guy was too much of an asshole for me to take it,” you spat out.

You knew Joel appreciated people who were standing their ground.

“Excuse me, should I care? You just made a thousand dollar check disappear.”

The silence that enveloped the room was unreal.

You stood in front of his stately mahogany desk, trying to keep your back straight and your shoulders high.

Of course, he didn’t care, he was an asshole too.

________________________________

He had conducted the interviews personally, without delegating it to his subordinates.

He hired you himself, without missing the opportunity to intimidate you in the meantime.

The first day you had come in you were shy, awkward, afraid of your own shadow.

How did you think you could deliver a presentation in front of a client if you looked like a frightened little bird that had just fallen out of the nest?

Joel said he took a risk hiring you, the least you could do was to show him how much you really wanted the job.

Eventually you learned to fight.

It hadn't been pleasant or even easy, Joel wouldn't let you get away with anything, criticized your every idea, sometimes blatantly mocked you.

He had pushed you to work harder than you would have imagined and you were eager to let him know that you were worth something, that you were not just an honors graduate but could translate your knowledge into the practical field.

You also owed it to yourself.

Your parents supported you but had always told you that you were not the type to work in advertising.

Too kind, too quiet, too sweet.

“Honey, are you sure? Wouldn't you rather do some other job?” your mother always asked you.

No, you didn't want to do anything else. And you were going to prove it to everybody.

You became a sucker for Joel’s attention in no time.

Whatever type he wanted to give to you.

As you progressed and learned, he became gentler, too much so at times.

Grazing your knee under the table at meetings, touching your waist way too much as you walked down the hallways talking about some projects, playfully slapping your ass once, after successfully signing your first contract with a client.

It was becoming a relationship that other colleagues didn't have to notice.

He was your mentor, your inspiration, the person who had taken you under his wing and taught you to fly.

Along with the desire to do well, however, something else grew in you over time.

Arousal, desire, need.

It lingered in the air while you were trying to flap your wings and stay aloft.

_______________________________

“Furthermore…” his voice dropped and deepened, “we don’t tolerate this kind of language here.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the clear change in his voice.

You knew what he was doing.

And you liked it.

“Well, I’m sorry but there’s no other appropriate word to describe that person” you chirped.

You didn’t drop the asshole just to have this, you really hated the man with all you had, this was just a pleasant collateral damage.

Joel being angry at you.

Joel who wanted to punish you.

He ran a hand over his mustache, looking at you as if he wanted to devour you.

You felt your clit throb in anticipation.

He stood up from his chair, he was imposing, broad shoulders and awe-inspiring piercing eyes.

“Let me explain it to you properly. I don't care if he didn't meet your moral dictates, I don't give a damn if he was so obnoxious that he made you sick to your stomach, okay?” his voice was a thin, cold, steady blade.

“Yes, Mr. Miller” you swallowed, without breaking eye contact. “You acted like a whiny child,” he stated. “ And you made me lose a ton of money”

His heavy step creaked faintly on the fine parquet floor. He was towering over you.

“Yeah, you said that already,” you rolled your eyes.

You would have sworn you were hearing Joel’s blood simmering in his veins and that was exactly what you wanted.

“Do you think criminal lawyers like to defend murderers? Do you think they like their clients?”

“No,” you muttered

“Yeah, they don’t like them but they do it anyway because it's their job.”

That was a little extreme example but he did make a point.

You were torn.

Disappointing your mentor was the last thing you wanted but seeing him like that, ready to give you a lesson was making you horny like nothing else.

You craved it.

“Do you know what they used to do to wayward children like you?”

You could feel the warmth of his body with how close he had gotten.

“Yeah.”

His eyes looked like onyx stones.

“Say it.” “They spanked them,” you finally let out.

“Yeah. You’re goddamn right, darling. They spanked them.” His words were a sheet of ice on which you couldn't wait to slide.

“Bend over the desk.”

“No,” you tried to argue.

“I. Said. Bend.” He ordered, punctuating every word.

You raised an eyebrow, glaring at him, but finally gave in.

You approached the desk, rested your elbows on it and jostled your ass out, poised on your heels.

He positioned himself behind you, you turned to look at him, and he immediately hissed,

"Eyes to the wall, missy."

You huffed, returning your gaze to the large painting hanging behind the desk.

His hands slid down your legs.

It was the first time he touched you, the first time you felt his strong grip on your body, the first time his warmth penetrated your flesh.

“You really disappointed me today.” His voice was calm, low, but full of disgruntlement.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered.

“It's not enough,”

His hands had reached the hem of your skirt, raising it dangerously, pulling it up, exposing the edge of your thigh-high stockings and your panties.

“Do you still think you deserve a place in this agency?”

Panic welled up inside you, you felt your cheeks on fire and your hands trembling on the wood of the desk.

You didn't want to lose everything you had worked for.

Joel wouldn't sign any reference letters for you, you wouldn't get a job at any other agency, and your career would be over before it even started.

You remained stubbornly silent, trying not to be seen as weak, until he blurted out,

“answer me.”

“Yes. I made a mistake.”

“You’re goddamn right, honey,” he replied wryly.”How will you fix this?”

That honey sounded like a mockery. Like you were still too soft to do the job and be successful at it.

You hated it and it made your pussy throb at the same time.

“I will find a way, Mr. Miller.”

“We’ll see” he retorted “But you still deserve punishment, don't you think?”

“Yes,” you breathed reluctantly.

You didn’t like to admit that but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You wanted it too much.

You wanted him too much.

You didn’t hear him fumbling with his pants, no zippers coming undone, no buttons slipping through the buttonhole.

You just felt his breath fanning over your back and his hand gripping at your hips.

You felt his gaze seeping into your flesh.

You would have liked to turn around, tell him to get it over with and fuck you, but you didn’t.

You stood still in your turn, feeling the tension bubbling in your chest while he seemed so calm and collected.

He was taking his time with you.

You sighed, just before you felt the air shift behind you and his hand landed deafly on your ass.

You gasped.

Another slap had hit you.

Harder than before.

Pain spread all over your butt, tingling, until it turned into a destabilizing pleasure.

You had never done anything like that before and as disconcerting as it was to admit it, you liked it.

You liked it like crazy.

You felt a slick of arousal wetting your panties while you moaned.

“Do you want some more?”

You nodded eagerly.

“Oh. You gotta use your word, I feel like I taught you that, right?” He tutted.

“Yes.” You whispered “please”

Instead of continuing, he walked over to the bar cabinet, poured himself a couple of fingers of whiskey into a glass, sat back down on his leather chair and looked you in the eyes.

“Get out of here.”

You stood there watching him, hunched over his desk, wood still pressing on your clothed tits, feeling like you were in a fever dream.

Had it really happened?

The heat still throbbing on your ass cheek told you it had.

You stood up, straightened your skirt, your darting gaze metaphorically stabbing him.

He had humiliated you.

How had you let this happen? And most of all, why did you want more?

You left without looking back.

Pam wasn't at the desk when you left, you slipped out as quickly as possible, with one fixed thought in mind.

______________

The next few days he ignored you. He started following another girl who had just arrived and he was behaving the way he had with you.

Jealousy had never been a vice of yours. Never. But seeing him chuckle at her jokes, praise her for her efforts, smile at her, start calling her by her name like he had done with you made you furious.

It squeezed your chest in a cruel fist.

You had worked on the presentation for a market-leading make-up client, and fortunately for you, the CEO had been enthusiastic about your ideas.

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of letting him know how much he was hurting you but despite the persistence with which you tried, you grew so hungry for him that all you were thinking about was finding a way to make him furious again.

To get punished again. You hated having fallen for his game, but by now you were a fish seeking oxygen in the mesh of the fishing net.

You were trying to get his attention in every way without success.

At the peak of your desperation, you had passed an embarrassing number of times in front of his office in the hope that he would come out.

You kept meeting only Pam bringing coffee, folders or Joel's personal correspondence.

After a week she no longer seemed surprised to find you there, there was a kind of understanding in her gaze, a muted feminine solidarity, an ill-concealed displeasure.

“Honey, why do you do this to yourself?” she seemed to say.

You didn’t care. Your pussy didn’t care either.

______________

One day, when you saw Pam pass in the hallways during the lunch break, you decided to do something.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You had gotten up deliberately exclaiming, “Oh, I really need a coffee!” And you had pretended to head for the common room. At last you had turned the opposite corner and snuck into the hallway that led to Joel's office. You had to hurry.

You slipped inside in an instant and found yourself in front of the imposing door that led to the office of the object of your desires.

He was talking to someone on the phone, you could clearly hear his voice but none in response.

When he finished, you opened the door and entered, full of doubts and fears but the same moved by a disruptive urge you couldn't say no to.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Joel's rough voice greeted you. “I came to see my mentor,” you whispered. ”And to tell him that tomorrow we will sign the contract with the make-up company.”

You smiled, waiting for his reaction.

He demolished you immediately in response,

“So? What do you want, a golden star? A kiss on the forehead?”

He raised an eyebrow mockingly staring at you.

“No, I just wanted to let you know,” you countered in a voice far too resentful for your taste.

You were turning on your heels to leave when you heard his voice say,

“What is the real reason you are here?”

You turned again and looked at him.

Elbows rested on the desk, the sleeves of the white shirt he wore rolled up to leave his muscular forearms exposed, rolling the platinum ring he wore on his middle finger around, his straight shoulders wrapped in the fabric that seemed to contain his broadness with difficulty, the first few buttons left open giving you a glimpse of a few freckles on his bronze chest.

The posture of the boss judging you, sitting comfortably in his leather chair, a smirk plastered on his face, a defiant expression in his eyes.

He was both sultry and irritating.

You wanted to slap him but also take off your panties and sit on his cock.

To be honest, you wanted to do both at the same time.

“You walked in here without asking Pam,” he noted amusedly, looking at you as if he could read your mind “What were you trying to do?” “Nothing,” you lied, fidgeting with a button on your shirt. “Just my job”

“I think you were trying to get on my nerves,” he suggested

You scoffed “You think you’re the center of my universe?”

“You’re the one in my office right now. Say what you want. Or leave. But I think you want to stay, am I right? Your pussy wants it.”

You were speechless, totally caught off guard.

“What do you need, darling?” He urged you, walking towards you.

He raised a hand reaching for your cheek, brushing it with his thumb.

His voice softened slightly, the knot in your stomach tightened.

It felt manipulative.

But also arousing when he gently pulled your lower lip open and grazed it with the pads of his fingers.

He grabbed your chin and tilted your head to face him.

His gaze was authoritative, demanding but also sweet, like he was trying to get you convinced that he was a good guy, just eager to give you something you wanted so much that you showed up uninvited to his office.

“Punish me,” you breathed as he was sliding his fingers down your neck.

“See? It wasn’t so difficult. This was all I needed to know,” he chuckled softly, right after grabbing you by the waist, gentleness instantly out of the menu, pulling up your skirt to expose your ass.

“You want me to spank you again, am I right?”

Your voice came out husky and broken, you only managed to mumble a “yes”, the most desperate yes you’ve ever said in your life.

“That's what I was thinking,” he groaned

His hands were roaming your thighs “Hold-ups. Of course. You’re the target for that Agent Provocateur campaign we launched last month, aren't you?”

You would have laughed if you could but you felt his fingers graze the wet, sticky stain spreading across your panties and you gasped instead.

And then his hand crushed on your ass cheek, his ring marked your skin, pain spreading across your skin, immediately replaced by an unbearable heat.

It made you feel alive.

You had his attention again.

One, two, three spanks burned your flesh, you could clearly feel a trickle of pleasure flowing out of you.

“How dare you come into my office just to provoke me? Don’t you know who I am? Huh, little slut?”

“Yes,” you muttered. “yes Mr Miller but…”

You had started this, you would have liked to say.

You were the one flirting first.

You were the one leading me to want you, this, always.

Another slap hit you and you said nothing instead. You just moaned.

A knock on the door stopped Joel in his tracks.

He froze with his hand high up in the air.

“Who is it?” He asked nervously.

He still held you tightly by the waist, you tried to wriggle free from his grip without success.

“It’s Pam,” her voice came muffled from outside the door.

“Fuck” you whispered, you instantly looked around in panic for a place to hide.

Not the bookcase, or the bar cabinet or the nice leather couch and armchair that were placed in front of it.

There was only one option.

“Get off of me,” you hissed “now!”

Joel let go of you and you quickly cowered under the desk.

He sat down and spread his legs just enough to give you room as he moved his chair as close to the edge as he could.

“Come in” he ordered, trying to regain his composure.

Pam cracked the door open and entered the office.

You couldn’t see her but you could hear her light footsteps approaching the desk and her voice saying “I brought Mrs. Jones’ presentation that you wanted to review, Mr. Miller”

“Oh. Thanks Pam”

You could clearly hear the underlying nervousness in Joel’s voice and it was starting to make you laugh.

You decided that since he was playing dirty you would do the same.

Your hand slowly moved up his pants, grazing his ankle, then his shin, up his thigh, until it reached his crotch.

Joel was desperately trying to hide his squirming as he examined the work of his new protégé. The one he was trying to replace you with.

It was delicious to feel him like that, helpless, harmless for once, totally at your mercy as you moved your hand up and down over his clothed cock that was desperately straining against the zipper.

Pam didn't move, waiting for him to finish evaluating the project, only her regular breathing told you of her presence.

You liked the risk, the thrill of being discovered that ran under your skin.

You could do more.

Slowly, your fingers closed on the metal tag of Joel’s zipper.

You pulled it down, while Joel tried to hide the noise with a cough.

You pushed aside the flaps of his pants, pulling down his boxers to free his cock. He was hard in front of you.

Thick, pink and darker at the tip, pulsing veins ran along the shaft that was slightly curved to the right.

Little drops of pre cum dripped onto his skin, making your mouth water.

It was perfect and you had to have it. Right there and then.

You kitten-licked the underside where a white pearly bead was sliding, catching it with your tongue.

Joel squirmed visibly on his chair, you couldn’t see it but you imagined his eyebrows shutting up and his lips twisting.

You smiled in the heavy and heated air under the desk.

You hoped Pam would go away, but at the same time you were intrigued by putting Joel through the wringer without him being able to make any fumbling movements to stop you.

You held his cock in your hand, it throbbed in your palm, and a musky smell filled your nostrils. The smell of sex.

You didn’t resist and licked again, more greedily, its flavor spread over your tongue.

It was driving you crazy.

You felt his whole body stiffen as he sent his secretary away

“That's all for now Pam, thank you. Tell the team to refine the graphics and report to Ms. Jones that the idea may work but the slogan is a bit weak, I want more ideas for next week ”

He had tried to maintain a professional tone, but his voice cracked mid-sentence, and you could only be mischievously proud of that.

As soon as Pam came out he yanked up his pants and wrapped a hand around your wrist dragging you out of your hiding place.

“You dirty slut, what were you trying to do?" he rattled off.

He had you standing up and trapped you against his chest, his half-dressed erection pressing hard against your ass.

His hand closed on your wrist hurt but you didn't care, you liked being manhandled like that.

You weren’t even intimidated anymore, just feral.

Unhinged, eager, completely drunk on him.

“I thought you liked some action under the desk, Mr Miller” you replied, sneering without shame.

“Oh you’re so thoughtful, aren’t you?” He barked, shoving you on the desk again.

“Yes I am.” You have never been so cheeky before, you were quite surprised and proud of yourself.

“No, you aren’t, darling”

With that, he pushed you onto the desk, your breasts pressed against the perfectly polished wood and his hands running to your skirt to hastily tug it down.

It was like Deja vu.

The best type of.

He moved to lock the door.

“Hands on the desk, darling. And you better not take them out of there”

He took off his tie, placed it on the desk and walked over.

His authoritative voice sent a rush of arousal straight to your pussy.

He pulled down your panties, making you walk out of them and throwing them on the floor.

His hand grazed your folds, lightly at first and then he covered your whole sex and squeezed, sending a rush of adrenaline into your system

“First time doing it? Getting fucked by your boss? Mh?”

“Yes” you breathed “I’ve never done anything like this before”

”You think you earned it?”

“Yes”

He had withdrawn his hand from your pussy and placed both of them on your thighs.

“Bold of you. And I've already told you, you have to learn to speak properly. Yes, what?” His hands were gripping on your flesh so hard you were sure you'd end up with bruises.

“Yes, please” you whispered. “You think you deserve me giving attention to your pussy, huh?”

His voice was low and raspy, almost like a subdued roar.

“Yes, please. Sir.” You added, emphasizing this last word.

“That's the way I like it, you're starting to learn. Turn around” You got up from the desk and he pushed you to sit on the edge, your bare pussy leaking on the surface.

He slipped his hands down your thighs, over your bottom, up your back, stopping at the sides of your breasts. His thumbs rubbed your nipples through your shirt and lacy bra while he held you trapped between his body and the desk, standing between your open legs.

Your naked pussy throbbed against his pants, you could feel it dripping over the fabric, making a mess. He slipped his hand between the two of you, touching your folds with the pads of his fingers, up and down gathering more and more of your arousal and spreading it all over on your lips and clit. You tried hard to stifle your moans but a low husky one escaped your lips as you were rocking your hips against his hand.

“Look what I’m doing to your pussy.” He ordered while he started flicking your bundle of nerves. You looked down at his hand moving obscenely over your pussy, two of his thick fingers sliding inside you, his ring right out that was getting wet with you. You gasped loudly at the sensation when he curled them up just right, reaching for your special spot. “Be quiet” he had warned you off “either that or I’ll stop immediately” “No!” You wailed. “No, what?” He barked grasping your neck with his free hand

You looked at yourself in his pitch black eyes, losing yourself in that deep darkness.

A taunting smile curved his lips. “No, please” you were quick to correct yourself “That’s right” his hand lightly squeezed your pulse point. “Undo my shirt, now” Your fingers were moving awkwardly over the buttons, trying to unfasten them while he continued to move his fingers inside you.

His skin, unveiled before your eyes, was almost too much to bear: golden and dotted with freckles that you wanted to lick one by one.

He smelled like whiskey and mint and a distinctive something that was only his, filling your nostrils, awakening every molecule of that secret part of you that was a slave for him.

Once you reached the last one you were so worked up you were almost on your brink, Joel noticed that right away and stopped, taking away his hand from your pussy. You whined in disappointment and he retorted

“You don’t get to complain, darling” accompanying his words with a slap on your right tit “we clear?” “Yes, sir. I’m sorry” you breathed, feeling the pain spread all over your chest.

A rush of adrenaline made you quiver against his hot body.

He put his wet fingers in your mouth. “Clean them up, darling” And you did, you thoroughly swirled your tongue all over them, licking till the last drop, going feral for the taste of you and the way he pushed them through your lips, up to his knuckles.

“Good job”

He took off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. He shifted, moving you in front of him.

“Kneel. Show me how sorry you are for complaining” You kneeled right away, moving your hand over his pants, stroking the underline of his cock. “What do you want?” “Your cock” you purred “Ask nicely” he told you, totally unfazed by your attempt to bribe him

“Can I please pull your cock out, sir?” You would have looked up to anyone, but the power it exerted over you at that point was unmanageable and devoured you.

His onyx eyes were fixed on you, pinning you down to the ground, like he was holding your entire being in his fist.

You couldn’t ask for anything more.

“Go ahead”

You hastily pulled down his pants and boxers, he stepped out of them and kicked them away.

You took his shaft back into your hand, licking the tip first, coating it in your saliva, until it was glistening and pulsing right before your eyes again.

You slid it in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, savoring his musky flavor, licking him like a lollipop, like the most delicious ice cream you’ve ever had.

“That’s what a good girl does,” he praised you “she fills her pretty mouth with a nice cock, just like that” You relaxed your jaw to take all that you could of him in your mouth.

His fingers reached for the back of your head, holding you possessively

“Go on, miss, I know you want it, don’t you? You would like my cum on your tongue, huh?” You hummed against his shaft, even more eager for him.

You tried to brush your fingers on your clit, searching for some relief from the throbbing heated mess you felt between your thighs but he scolded you

“Nuh huh, girl, don’t you dare. You don’t get to come until I say it” You whined, reluctantly moving your hand away.

You kept sucking on his cock, devouring every inch of him with purpose, messy and sloppy, thin trades of your saliva running onto his length to his balls.

You swirled on the tip before sliding down to them and taking one in your mouth, greedily sucking on it.

He was granite that crumbled slightly at your every touch, trying to hold back the grunts that vibrated in his throat, trying not to close his eyes so as not to get lost in every lap of your tongue. He tried not to give you any satisfaction but at the same time his body betrayed him, letting slip how much he wanted all of that. And you.

At his brink, he stopped you, manhandling you back on the desk, tearing away your shirt making every single button pop out and yanking at your bra to expose your nipples.

His lips closed on one of your hard rock buds and sucked it avidly. You were a whimpering mess, whining under your breath “please sir, fuck me”

He grazed your nipple with his teeth, running a finger through your folds.

“Look at you, darling, so hungry for my cock your pussy is weeping, your body is shaking…”

With one hand he yanked the papers off the desk, a shower of paper clips followed the sheets to the floor along with a stapler and the golden tag with his name engraved on it.

“Lie down” he hissed

You lay on the desk, obscenely open and throbbing for him, a raw uncontrollable heat flowing through your body.

“Please” you cried.

He grabbed your legs and placed them on his shoulders, holding you tightly by your ankles.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this” he said tapping his cock on your folds and sliding it through them, before starting to enter you agonizingly slow.

“Mmm feel how good she’s stretching, darling, your tight little pussy’s all full of me”

“Yes, sir”

“Say: thank you, sir”

“Thank you, sir”

It was all inside you and your pussy was swallowing it hungrily.

He started thrusting into a steady rhythm, slowly at first, like tidal waves hitting you, ripples on a blank shore caressing your special spot, and then stronger, faster, like thunderstorm on the ocean, high dangerous waves making you see stars.

His huge cock shifting and brushing against your drenched walls, sinking into you again and again.

Your moans bounced around the room like an echo, mixing with squelching sounds of his dick slamming into you, making you his.

“Yes, baby, you’re doing so good for me” he whispered “come here”.

He grabbed you and held you close to his chest, making your legs parting some more, reaching for another angle that made you feel him even deeper.

His moustache brushed along your jawline, lowering on your neck, his lips sucking on your pulse point.

“Look at you, dripping on my desk,” he muttered softly, his voice reverberating on your skin.

The impossible pace became too much to bear when his hand moved from your hips to your clit, his thumb brushing on it.

He looked you in the eyes, feral and assertively “you want to come, huh? Make a mess all over my cock?”

“Yes.” You cried, seeing the wreck that you were reflecting in his deep brown eyes “yes, please sir I need it”

“Then come, baby” he said, increasing the pressure on your clit and pushing into you like it was a matter of life or death.

That was all you needed to hear.

You broke the dams that still kept you anchored to reality and flooded his cock, squirting all over his desk, a complete and utter disaster disheveled and exhausted.

The fine wood of his desk was probably ruined forever but he didn't seem to care in the slightest, he pumped into you, grabbing your neck and hair until he spurted all of him into your cunt.

You felt it warm and sticky, painting your walls, making you full like you’ve never been before.

He slipped out a moment later, caressing your cheeks and praising you.

You got up from his desk and clung to his neck, pulling him into a long, deep kiss, tilting your head as you felt his tongue play with yours.

“Thank you” you murmured against his lips, smiling softly “And by the way, I’m on the pill”

“I know. I saw you take it the other day in the conference room before the meeting started” he said, while adjusting his trousers and taking a clean shirt from a desk drawer.

“Get out of here, naughty girl”

“Well, you destroyed my blouse…” you said, picking up the garment from the floor.

“Here, take mine”

You put on his shirt, too big for you, trying to tuck it under your skirt so it was less noticeable how long it was. He helped you by rolling up your sleeves, barely touching your skin, but enough to make you feel a shiver down your spine.

“mmm sexy,” he said when he stopped to look at you.

“Let’s try not to make this a habit” he smirked, giving you another playful slap on your ass cheek “We can't do this 24 hours a day, seven days a week.”

“Why not?” You winked right before going out the door.

You could smell him on you and it drove you crazy. You already knew that you would use his shirt to sleep that very night and for many nights to come.

Once outside the door, Pam looked at you over her glasses, raised an eyebrow, and for the first time you saw a little smile curve her lips.

tag list for this one: @baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @thundermartini @probablyreadinsmut @almostempty @gothcsz @harriedandharassed

archive tag: @pedrostories Let me know if you want to be added or removed, I'll do it right away.

#nhie2025 #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x female reader

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manipulative-puppeteer · 2 days ago

Text

This is a little challenge I mostly made to get my own creative juices flowing, but anyone is welcomed to use it at any day of any month.

The deal here is that there are three lists from 1 to 20, the first one is a quote, second a noun and third a verb.

You roll a d20 (or take a random number from 1 to 20) three times and get one of each, and then create something based on them.

Once you do something with it, you cross it out of the list. Or not, but then the challenge is more complicated.

Also, rerolls allowed, because I wasn't smart enough to make everything fit together, so there might be weird mashups. If you end up making something, I'd love to see it, don't be afraid to tag me <3

Lists written under the cut

Quotes:

“Don’t move”

“This is going to hurt”

“It just a little blood”

“Give me your hand”

“I’m fine”

“Wide open”

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much does it hurt?”

“Breathe in, hold it…”

“Lay down”

“Tell me when it hurts”

“Stand over there”

“Describe how it hurts”

“It doesn't even hurt.”

“This is an untraditional method”

“Focus on my voice”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Stay conscious”

“Calm yourself and relax”

“Try moving”

“We'll need to run some tests”

Nouns:

Scalpel

Restrains

Syringe

Straightjacket

Saw

Vail

Anesthetic

Scissors

Bandage

Pills

Shock collar

Blood

Gloves

Disinfectant

Band-Aid

Bone

Veins

Illness

Muscle

Drug

Verbs:

Sawing

Recording

Cutting

Giving

Ripping

Applying

Running

Passing out

Changing

Slicing

Twisting

Struggling

Talking

Counting

Recreating

Stitching

Inspecting

Panicking

Putting in/out

Controlling

Side note: You thought of something for a specific combination? You like a quote? Just use it like that.

#whump #whump writing #whumblr #lab whump #whump challenge #whump prompts #whump ideas #whump prompt #whump list #whump stuff #medical whump

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ezrasxfics · 2 days ago

Note

*sashays in* salutations again. your fics are like cocaine for me. i apologize :3

ANNNNYWAYS i’m obsessed with the idea of gangle having daddy issues and kinger being her very unpredictable but genuinely sweet father figure with untapped infinite angst potential. not sure if you get the memo here, but maybe something bittersweet or leaning towards the fluffy side with that idea? thanks for all the fics you’ve written for this community so far!! :D

..i guess i wish i had you around growing up.

gangle + kinger platonic hurt/comfort (ish??)

kinger pov

(tw: implied/suggested abuse)

i’m sat in my pillow fort - in the dark, comfortable. thinking deeply. these past few days have been a lot, with pomni’s arrival and everything, so it’s nice to take some time away from everything, in the most comfortable place in the circus. now that i think about it, i’ve been doing this a lot more lately.

suddenly, a little bit of light comes through the fort, making me flinch as a small figure crawled in. gangle. despite having her happier mask on, she looks pretty distressed. normally, she’d talk to zooble, but i’m happy to be here for her if she chooses me this time - i’d never want her feeling upset, and i’d be happy if she feels comfortable enough to talk to me.

”..hey, kinger..? are you busy..?” she stammers, voice trembling as she sits by me. i take a few second before replying.

“i’m free - why? do you need something?”

“..i just wanna sit in here for a bit.. if that’s okay..?” her voice was barely audible, almost as if she wanted to say something, but was holding it back in fear of embarrassment. but, i don’t want to force anything out of her. so, instead, i put a hand on her shoulder. an invitation to talk if she needs to. her shoulders drop almost immediately, and she removes her comedy mask. “…it’s not working..” she mumbles, not looking at me directly. “i’ve felt bad all morning, even though my mask’s fine.. i don’t know what’s wrong with me- i mean, something has to have gone wrong, it normally works fine, so i’m clearly the issue- it’s me, it’s always me, and i hate that about me- i always mess up somehow- it’s my fault-!”

noticing that she’s spiralling, i put a hand up, signalling for her to pause, and take a breath, and to listen to me: “why would it be your fault? it’s just your feelings - they’re not a problem. it’s how you handle them that matters. have you been bottling stuff up? that can make things like this happen,” as i say this, she wordlessly nods, staring at the floor. almost ashamed. “it’s okay to be upset, gangle. it’s what makes you human. sometimes, you just need to relearn how to cope with your feelings, instead of just pushing them down and hoping they go away. i know that a few people here are guilty of that. it’s completely normal. you just don’t want to feel bad, but sometimes you have to let yourself feel bad, in order to be okay again. does that make sense?”

she nods again, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down before speaking up, just a few words that considerably shocked me. “i wish i had a dad like you around growing up.”

“what do you mean?” i question, edging a little closer, uncertain if she meant what i think.

“i just.. you’re so nice. and understanding. my dad..? he was none of those things. he wanted a daughter who fit into his standards of the ‘perfect daughter’. it.. i hated living with him.” she finally admitted, a small sob escaping her. “i hated living like that— like i was wearing a mask all the time— but even when i left him, the mask never left me. i needed it to feel safe, because taking it off meant that—“ she cut herself off.

sensing she didn’t want to elaborate, i say only one more thing.

“take as long as you need for it to come off. i know it’s scary, but we’ll all love you either way.”

thanks for the request!!!! and please don’t snort my fics, that doesn’t sound very healthy/j

reblogs appreciated!!

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #amazing digital circus #digital circus #the amazing digital circus fanfiction #tadc fanfiction #gangle #tadc gangle #the amazing digital circus gangle #tadc kinger #the amazing digital circus kinger #kinger

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a-man-in-the-crowd · 2 days ago

Note

hihi i love everything about this post BUT i heard you mention the original william wilson being a cardsharper and came running to yap forgive me LMAO

i have like a huge card hyperfixation and when i read william wilson the main thing that rlly stuck with me is the card scene and since then i've been trying to think how that might relate to nevermore. after all, strategy games are a huge motif in this comic.

a theory i've seen going around is that will is supposed to be wilson, the dopplegänger, and montresor takes the place of the narrator. there's a lot to talk about there, but something i wanted to mention was that while will is never shown to play cards, monty is.

and, forgive me for perhaps reading a bit too much into this, but based on his 'ace in the hole' comment, it'd seem he's specifically referencing stud poker but like idk maybe he's just using whatever poker-related phrase to get his point across, it doesn't rlly matter i'm just yapping

in william wilson, wilson exposes william as a cheater at an underground casino (? idk some underground betting place). if the theory that will is wilson and monty is william then, well, i can only wonder how monty's been cheating. just a thought idk

back to the ace in the hole thing, i'm taking this to mean monty sees people as cards, things to use when need. if ada's his ace, what does that make will?

i think will is monty's wild card. wild cards are basically any card that by that game's rules can act as any other card (e.g: to make a straight/flush or five of a kind) yk. like will. who's always turning into who he needs to be to assist monty.

another way to look at it is that will is already playing cards without making it obvious.

basically every card game has the concept of keeping your cards to yourself, or at least not giving them all away. like in this scene that keeps me up at night!

whether from monty's instruction or by his own accord, will very deliberately chooses to reveal an ability that even he would think is useless. after all, who needs more of him? we know he has serious self-esteem issues, there's no way he thinks his duplication ability is useful. he can afford to reveal this ability, or card, because no one cares and if anything it'll make people deem him less of a threat. no need to pay attention to him!

he also has crazy good memory, too. he perfectly mimicks duke's appearance, save for the colour of his bowtie that no one would have noticed were it not for eulalie already being suspicious due to her rods (i don't doubt eula would have noticed anything amiss even without her rods, but it definitely helped that she had them), and the same for lenore. mind you, he's barely seen either of these people and of the two times he's met duke one of them was out of his uniform.

this trait of his probably wasn't written with cards in mind and rather for plot convenience (which is fine, of course) but if i REALLY wanted to fit this in to my card game nonsense, it's worth noting that memory is very important in a lot of card games. you gotta keep track of which cards have been played or given out, the number of cards in each player's hands, etc etc. all those little details. much like how will is very accurate in keeping track of the details people's appearances.

and one last thing. yk how the main colours in playing cards are black and red? i'm just saying!

anyways yes you get it!! the fact will uses ribbons as his weapon?? he entangles other people?? i'm thinking maybe it reflects how in life he always wanted people to be dragged into his shit and not the other way around, or how whatever stuff he got pulled into eventually hurt the people around him but like honestly no clue

Fellow William analyst, greetings! I hope you are well, I hope you don't mind a question/ask.

I am curious about your thoughts on the lack of reaction we see of Will at the "one life" reveal at the dinner scene, if you haven't already shared your thoughts before! We know Annabel wasn't shocked, but what about Will?

It took me longer to answer than I thought, sorry

I'm not sure I can say anything new, but yes, it's pretty damn suspicious. The composition of the frame stylized as broken glass, makes it easy to draw Will with everyone, and a frame later we see him with other panicking students, so RnF didn't show his reaction quite intentionally.

But I also want to talk about his behavior further. In the next episode, Will doesn't behave the way you expect him to. Given his weak-willed personality, it seems like he should be scared and overwhelmed by the prospect of a survival game (like Morella for example) but he's confused at best, and moreover, confused by everyone else's reactions. He even tries to justify the deans, basically gaslighting the rest of the students.

Will is not afraid, but he does not understand why others are. I have only two possible explanations: either he knew, or he just doesn't care, just like Annabel. Or maybe both.

Maybe he has played these games before. Maybe he doesn't plan to fight for a second life (at least not in Nevermore, again just like Annabel). Maybe because he is somehow connected with the academic staff with all his doll aesthetic, there is no second life for him in general, he just works there. There are many options, but here I would prefer to focus on his parallels with Annabel - two characters whose reactions we don't see in this frame.

This is actually not the only scene where they are absent, contrary to common sense. In episode 6 we see the merit board for the first time. Most of the names on it are blurred, but some can be distinguished. Among them are Lenore, Annabel, Duke, Morella, Ada, Prospero and Will. All of them, except Annabel and Will, are present in the room at this moment.

I wouldn't have paid much attention to this scene if it weren't for Prospero. Why is he there? He doesn't speak a single line, and we haven't been introduced to him as a character yet. His presence here is useless. So maybe the idea really was for all the characters whose names were visible on the board to be in the scene(or at least have already been introduced, like Annabel).

So what about Will? My main problem with shapeshifter characters is that they can be anyone, anywhere, at any point in the story. Especially if they can also create their own copies. He could have already been introduced and we just didn't notice.

Now let's talk about the games these kids love to play so much. We know that Annabel is a talented chess player, and Montresor constantly uses card game slang. But did you know that it was William Wilson from Poe's original story who was a cardsharper? I just think it's such an interesting detail. Nevermore`s Will has never been seen like this, but considering how much of a board game aesthetic this webtoon has, I think it's important to note this.

And finally, there is a similarity that also makes them very different: both Annabel and Will have ribbons as an essential symbol, but it has a completely opposite meaning for each of them. For Annabel, the ribbons are a symbol of madness, fear, and perhaps her golden cage. It appears in her hallucinations after Lenore's fake death, as well as when Ada shows her her main fear.

Will, on the other hand? The ribbons are his weapon. He uses them to tangle other people. Curious, although his spectre is obviously a marionette, he doesn't have a control bar for strings, he controls the strings himself (not always successful but still).

No matter how weak-willed Will is, he's the only one in Annabel's group who isn't influenced by her. She blackmails Montresor, Prospero respects her as a leader and friend, Ada admires and envies her. But she doesn't have anything on Will. In the chess allegory, he will obviously be a pawn (and I`ll write a whole post about it, I swear), but not Annabel's pawn. I have an idea that sooner or later, Montresor will think of using Will to find dirt on Annabel in revenge. After all, given their spectre abilities, it's easier for them to find out lenabel's secret.

So, let's summarize what we found. Absolutely nothing. This post turned out to be longer than I had planned, because I was a little carried away, but I hope you found something interesting for yourself in this stream of thoughts.

Here, take funny little Will everyone. He deserves to be noticed.

#will nevermore #montresor nevermore #nevermore webtoon #these thoughts have been bouncing around in my head for a bit can you tell #when i first read william wilson i hc'd will was good at either bluff or poker or both #after thinking on it more his character matches go fish better #but that's like a whole other thing LOL

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