#but replaying it its like. Oh Yeah Those Are His Eyes

[todayisafridaynight]

kashiwagi’s guilt over the nishiki situation is so real bro killed kazama in a past life to try and make up for it

[connorsui]

Infinite Heartstrings

Obsessed! Satoru x fem! Reader

Genre/warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, comedy, satoru falling in love with you

Synopsis: Satoru Gojo is hopelessly smitten with you, but his usual confidence falters whenever you're around.

Note: this takes place when everything hasn't gone to depression 💔

w.c: 1.3K

Satoru Gojo was not one to lose his cool. The man who faced down curses without batting an eye, who cracked jokes mid-battle, and who carried the weight of the world on his broad, relaxed shoulders—he was unshakeable. At least, that's what everyone believed. But those closest to him, like Suguru Geto and Shoko Ieiri, knew better.

"He's doing it again," Shoko muttered, glancing over the top of her medical file at the white-haired sorcerer pacing back and forth in their shared lounge.

"How could anyone be so perfect?" Satoru gushed, his hands waving animatedly in the air as he recounted every detail of his latest encounter with you. "The way she smiled at me—I'm telling you, it was like the sun itself decided to bless me with its warmth!"

Suguru, leaning against the wall with an exasperated look, sighed deeply. "You’re hopeless, Satoru. We get it. She smiled at you…and to be factual she wasn't doing it just towards you"

"But it wasn't just a smile," Satoru insisted, blue eyes sparkling with an intensity that had nothing to do with his cursed techniques. "It was... it was *the* smile! Like, 'I can die happy now' kind of smile!"

Shoko rolled her eyes, closing her file with a snap. "You’ve been saying the same thing for weeks. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?"

"Because—because—" Satoru paused, searching for the right words, his usual confidence faltering. "Because– I mean she wouldn't reject meeee …right!? …THE Satoru Gojo!? – I just gotta find the right time is all”

Suguru and Shoko exchanged a glance, the kind that spoke volumes without words. Satoru Gojo, the man who could have anything and anyone, was terrified of rejection.

When you spoke to him, it was as if the world slowed down. The way your voice reached his ears, gentle and melodic, made his heart race in a way he couldn't control. It wasn’t fair how you did that to him, how you made him—a man who usually had the upper hand—feel so completely and utterly at your mercy. That even his six eyes looked at you with pure admiration and beauty.

“God's it's as if I can stare at her soul forever”

“Do you see that! She styled her hair today!”

“Having her in our lives would feel less lonely”

“ She will love us too, right!?”

“She looks so soft…”

“Her very being is immaculate”

"Satoru?" Your voice snapped him back to reality, and he realized he'd been staring at you for a little too long. His face flushed, and he quickly cleared his throat.

"Oh, uh, yeah! Sorry, I was just... uh... admiring the view!" He cringed internally, immediately regretting his choice of words. What kind of line was that?

Surprised; you stared at him directly until you giggled, a sound that sent his heart soaring. "Your mind is getting soo cloudy lately, Gojo…but, I can't lie when you stare off into the universe, it makes you look cute!”

Cute.

You called him cute, for a brief moment Satoru's six eyes went silent.

You liked him enough to tease him!

Later that night, he found himself groaning into his pillow, replaying the conversation in his head for the hundredth time. "Cute … I can't believe she called me cute..." He grumbled, his face half-buried in the pillow, a faint blush still lingering on his cheeks. Why couldn’t he ever say something smooth to you? Something that would make you see him as the suave, confident man he was supposed to be?

But the next day, his resolve hardened. He was Satoru Gojo, after all. He could do this. He can make this right!

So, he showed up at your door with a bouquet of red tulips and baby’s breath, their soft elegance a reflection of his feelings for you. Of course, he didn’t tell you that he had grilled your friend for an hour to find out your favorite flowers.

"Red tulips?" You raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. "How did you know these are my favorites?"

Satoru grinned, pushing up his sunglasses with a cocky tilt of his head. "I have my ways. Lucky guess, maybe?"

You smiled, taking the bouquet with a gentle touch that made his heart skip a beat. "Thank you, Satoru. They're beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he blurted out, and immediately, his face turned red. He couldn't believe he’d just said that out loud. The normally confident sorcerer was now a stuttering, blushing mess.

"You're so sweet," you said softly, and Satoru could have sworn the entire world melted away in that moment. Just you, him, and the beating of his heart that felt louder than any curse he’d ever faced.

Satoru couldn’t take it anymore. He’d spent weeks—no, months—dancing around his feelings, trying to play it cool, trying to be smooth. But every time he saw you, every time you smiled at him, he felt like he was going to explode.

So there he was, standing in front of you, his usual swagger nowhere to be found. His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair, revealing those striking blue eyes that were now filled with nervous energy.

"Any moment i'm going to lose myself…" he stammered, his voice a little too loud, a little too shaky. You looked at him, curious and a bit concerned.

"....what?"

"I... I really like you. And not just in a 'hey, let's be friends' kind of way, but in a 'I think about you all the time and I want to be with you' kind of way, — I mean — who wouldn't want to be with me right? — you would be with me …right? " he confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush before he lost his nerve. His face was burning, and he was sure he looked like an idiot, but he didn’t care anymore.

You blinked, taking a moment to process his sudden outburst. Then, a soft smile spread across your lips, and you stepped closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.

"Satoru Gojo," you said with a teasing lilt, "I think I like you too."

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief flooding through him. “Me…right? ..you mean me….not as the stro-"

Silencing him. You kissed his cheek. “I mean you Satoru …I mean you”

Satoru's heart nearly burst from his chest as your words sank in, the warmth of your kiss lingering on his cheek like a brand. For a moment, he was utterly speechless, his brain short-circuiting as it tried to process the fact that you actually liked him back.

His usual confident grin slowly returned, this time softer, more genuine, as he gazed at you with those intense blue eyes, now filled with nothing but adoration.

And for the first time in a long while, Satoru Gojo knew that he didn’t have to face the world alone. Because now, he had you.

Ooc satoru is my fav satoru

[azlumire]

izuku midoriya did not expect you to barge into his class right in the middle of teaching.

your face was sweaty, a almost panicked look in your eyes as you stood gasping at the doorway, your hand clutching a white plastic bag.

he couldn't really blame his students for becoming startled, because you did look rather ominous with your all-black clothing and that crazed look on your face—you were so adorable though, even if you seemed like you were about to set fire to his classroom—so he lifted a single hand to calm down his shouting students.

which didn't work.

"sensei! is that a villan-?!"

"we're all dead we're all dead we're SO DEA-"

"shut up, we're literally in a building full of pro-heroes-!"

"who is that-"

"bean."

izuku sighed, giving up on controlling his class. he walked over to you, looking rather handsome with his green hair all touseled, his perfectly tailored clothes fitting his lean frame... oh you fell in love again, just by seeing that gentle look in his eyes.

resist. resist. you will not be weakened by a single charming grin-

you nearly melted into a pile of mush as he smiled at you, wrapping a singular arm around your waist.

"h-hey. what are you doing here?"

you frowned up at him, brandishing the plastic bag at him, the annoyed facade dripping off with each second. a small flush covered his face as he peeked inside.

"you forgot your lunch." you mutter, gazing at the class.

a very rowdy class. you squirmed as they all continued to stare at you, the arguments slowly silencing as everyone became aware that you were probably not a villain.

it got silent.

were those crickets chirping in the background?

"i should probably go-"

"yeah... yeah, maybe. do you think you can... come back to eat lunch with me?" he whispers, a hopeful glint in his emerald eyes as he clutches his bento box.

you chuckle and nod, "yes. i'll be back later, 'kay? try not to miss me that much."

izuku nods, stars in his eyes—its you. you're his star—and he presses a quick kiss against your lips (because fuck pda) and watched you go, red prominently shown on his face and a dreamy smile on his wistful face.

oh right he has students. he's supposed to be teaching.

he quickly turned to the class, gingerly putting the plastic bag on his desk as he attempted to form a proper explanation.

the class bombarded him with questions before he could even say what was about to fall out of his mouth.

"sensei, who was that?!"

"was that another hero?!"

"is that your partner, sensei?"

he nods absently, his mind absently replaying the moments he had with you, a love-struck expression on his face.

he looked like a fool in love.

mainly because he is a fool in love.

[cheeseceli]

That must be right

Pairing: Min Yoongi × Gn!reader

Genre: fluff, f2l, drabble

Request: can i request a yoongi idolbf! x reader and its just like a fluffy date, they're just dating and didnt really actually confess their feeling yet and like at the end of the date he or reader confesses

Warnings: tzuyu (twice) makes a cameo, suga overthinks a bit, y/n was delulu for a second here, not proofread.

A/n: don't you just love when he smiles | daily click

Yoongi doesn't know what to feel right now.

He should be happy, because oh my God this is happening. But he should also be anxious, because what is he supposed to do now that this is happening? And on top of it, he should be scared, because is this even supposed to be happening?

The way you saved his number as "my love" is a fact that has been spiraling in his head for hours now, since he discovered it. And it is just a silly little detail about your every day life. He wasn't even supposed to know about that. But he does. And now he can't stop thinking about that.

It's also about how you told Tzuyu (who definitely shouldn't have told Suga) you couldn't go out with her since you were having a date with your boyfriend. The boyfriend being Yoongi. And the date being the place you guys should go to in a few hours.

And there's nothing wrong with that, right? Except for the fact that you called him your boyfriend when he is... not your boyfriend. He would love to be, of course! But he is not. Unless he got lost in translation, which he highly doubts, considering how he is always replaying everything you say and do in his mind.

But you called him that. And, in some type of way, you called him your love as well. Never to his face, but you did. And Yoongi has no idea on how much of that he should consider. It could be just a not very funny joke. But you wouldn't joke about it, would you? So maybe he should just behave like nothing happened. Yeah, that's right. He shouldn't even know about those things at all.

So for the rest of the day, he pretends that he didn't discover anything. Everything is exactly as it was. But he can't bring himself to actually forget those. "My boyfriend". "My love". Those sentences were quite harsh to forget about.

You guys are on a date, so why can't you be actually dating? Do you even know that this is a romantic date? Does Yoongi know that? When did the line between friends who are secretly in love and actual lovers blurry itself so hard? It's getting ridiculous at this point. So many questions and very few answers.

He watches as you hold the huge popcorn bucket, trying your best not to drop anything. You were just waiting in line with him, waiting for the movie session to start, but you were so happy. Even when just standing still, your eyes were undeniably full of joy.

Yoongi also didn't miss how you never failed at being close to him. Not on a way to overwhelm him, just to be there. Like you just wanted his company, even if you weren't touching each other. Even if you were in complete silence, even if you didn't even look at each other just yet. You were both there. And that was all that mattered.

Useless to say that he paid absolutely no attention to the movie on the silver screen. He had no idea of who was staring in it, or what it was about. He barely looked at it to be honest. He was looking at you all the time. My boyfriend. My love. You surely acted like there was truth to those words.

For the first time in the past hour or so he looked away from you. He focused his gaze on the movie playing instead, but only because he wanted to reach to hold your hand, and he wouldn't be able to do it if he looked at you while doing so. That was proven particularly correct as he felt you turning your head just to look at him the moment you felt his touch.

He should've looked though. Maybe then he would see how your eyes proved that Yoongi was indeed your love. Maybe just not your boyfriend. Yet. That was soon to be solved, as he was already planning on how to confess the moment the two of you got out of the movie theater.

You were, after all, calling him your boyfriend for a while now. However, now it was time for him to call you his partner. Oh, and he so would do it. It felt right to do so.

And if it feels right, it must be right.

Masterlist | you'll probably like: shut me up

Reminder that this is all fiction! This does not represent the members in real life!

Taglist: @yuyubeans @butnotmontana

Dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics | credits for images 1, 2 and 3

[teddybeartoji]

let me tell u this idea i have of going to the club with bestie!roomie!toji

you're all comfy in his lap, back against his broad chest, in a private booth (thank you shiu) while the others in the group are busy drinking or on the dance floor. but you are more than content with just staying with toji. the way his hand strokes up and down your back, occasionally, going over your hip and playfully squeezing your ass as he feigns innocence !!

trying to get him back by teasing him, pouting as you tell him that you want his opinion on this new outfit you bought bc you don't know if the color fits you. and he does NOT expect to see you open a picture of you posing in the mirror in cute pink lingerie that hugs you in all the right places. “i like this one, the pink set was so pretty, but i dunno if i like it on me,” you hum

toji is losing his fucking MIND right now, his arms gripping you tighter as he lets out a heavy sigh at the view. he doesn't even get a chance to say anything before you're swiping to the left and you grow a little shy, giving a fake little 'woops'

instead of a picture, it’s a fucking video. a video of you fucking yourself with a toy playing on the screen angled so only he could see!! the volume is low so only you both can hear it and toji can HEAR the wet gushing of your pussy, creaming around the toy as you moaned and begged oh so cutely. “aww...toji, I couldn’t even get the toy all the way in,” you whine. “only got it halfway…”

its taking everything in him not to just fuck you right now, to show you he'd make sure you'd be able to get cock in you all the way. "kook at my best girl, so fuckin' desperate and needy," he hums, resting his chin on your shoulder as he watches the video. "tsk, tsk, tsk...poor think, y'should be filled up properly, hm? stretched on my cock til you're taking all of it...i'd make sure ya cream for real, baby doll."

“i wanted t’ send this to you, wanted you t’ see it and tell you t’ come help me get it in me,” you pouted, leaning into him. "plus, when it feels too good i can't help but run away from it, and it makes it sooo hard t' cum, tojiiiii....you wouldn' let me run from it, right, big guy?"

the way you look at him over your shoulder with those pretty eyes that just scream mischief..."mmn, you should've. i would've come over right away. make sure we get some cock into ya like y'need it. stretch you out niiiiice and good, get m'cock into that tight, pretty pussy of yours...like the good best friend i am," he purrs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

yeah im insane !!!!

LUNARRRR WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU I WANT YOU SO BAD WHEN I TELL YOU THAT MY EYES POPPED OUT OF MY HEAD I MEAN THAT I HAD TO FUCKING LOOK FOR THEM IN THE DARK BEFORE I COULD DO ANYTHING ELSE RAAAAHHHHHHH

THIS IS SO FUCKING HOT LUNAR I NEED TO MAKEOUT WITH YOU ASAP. FIRST OF ALL THE LINGERIE??????????????????? GODDDDDDDDDDDDDD IT'S SOOFUCKING PRETTY TOJI IS A STRONG STRONG MAN FOR NOT FOLDING IMMEDIATELY BC WTF. OMFG AND I LOOOOOVE THE TOUCHING FUCK IT'S SO HOT LIKE YEAH I WANNA SIT ON HIS LAP AND I WANT HIM TO SQUEEZE MY ASSS AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHSTOP THIS MADNESS RIGHT NOW

WHEN HE RESTS HIS HEAD ON YOUR SHOULDER????????????????????????????????????????? I DIED. I DIED I DIED I DIED. THE CLOSENESS IS DRIVING ME INSANE ACTUALLY LUNAR I REALLY DO NEED TO BITE YOU OR SOMETHING YOU'RE SO SEXY AND THEN A KISS ON THE CHEEEEEEK????????? GODDD I AM NOT YOUR STRONGEST SOLDIERRRRR I WANT TO SUCK HIM RIGHT THEREEEEEEEE BALLS AND EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND YOU KNOW HE'S GETTING BRICKED BC YOU CAN JUST FEEL IT POKING AT YOU FROM BEHIND FUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKMMM

he calls the cab bc he wants to help his bestie out:(((( but then he's getting soooooooo handsy in the cab already bc how could he not:((( the video keeps replaying in his head and you just keep staring at him with these mischievous eyes and he kinda just wants to eat you yk

his fingers keep kneading your thighs as you play with the hair on his nape andmmmmmmmmmmmmmm he's so hard it fucking hurtss. and when you're finally at your place he doesn't even let you properly open the fucking door bc he just needs his lips on you whewww he's such a good friend:(((((((((((((((((((((((((( he's gonna teach you how to take it and he's not gonna let you run away:((((((((((((((((((((he's so perfect lunar i need him so fucking bad i just drooled on my shirt what the actual fuck

[hihello-pinky]

middle of the night

last installment to the After 8PM mini series (yep, calling it that) hehe

part one | part two

suna rintarou x afab reader!

angst to fluff, ig

latter part is not edited and written during the middle of the night (intended)

likes and reblogs will be appreciated! xoxo

leave me love? (tips!)

***

almost everyone will agree that finding something to dislike about hani nakamura is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

you remember the first time you overhear that statement at lunch in the cafeteria, and you laughing a little to yourself. you can’t even blame the gossiping students because that’s just how nice hani is.

however, you should have known that when trying to find a needle in a haystack, you begin to doubt its existence until you feel a prick and you’re bleeding and the needle already got you.

the pain you’re currently feeling is far akin to a small prick as you replay the conversation you had with suna at the convenience store in the middle of the night again and again and again.

“what did you want to talk about that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” he had asked.

you had taken a deep breath before replying, the words came out of you quickly, as if your bravery for confessing has a timer. “well, i… i have something to tell you. it’s actually a bit selfish of me to say this to you but… i like you as more than just a friend, rin, and it’s been a while now. i’m sorry for suddenly springing this unto you but i just have this need to confess or else i would feel like exploding inside. you don’t have to say anything; you can choose to interact less with me from now on but yeah, i just really needed to get it off of my chest.”

suna had surprised you with his reaction. he had a deep frown on his face and given you an accusing look. “do you really not want me to be happy?”

“huh?”

“for fuck’s sake, y/n, i know about your little game! hani told me everything. you dropping all the hints all those months ago, fueling whatever sort of feelings i had for you, playing with my heart, when you only want to use me to be closer to osamu. i even chose to ignore those because i know we’re young and inclined to do stupid, bad things. but damn! can’t you just leave me alone?”

and you were so dumbstruck by what he had told you that you were only able to look at him in disbelief.

“cat got your tongue?” he bitterly asked before breaking eye contact.

you shook your head after you had processed what he said and with a defeated sigh, said, “we’ve been friends for two years. did you really believe i was that kind of person? why didn’t you ask me to confirm it? and most importantly, i grew up with the miyas so why would i even use you to get to osamu, who, by the way, is like a brother to me? you know what, suna? maybe you’re right. i should leave you alone. i don’t deserve to be around someone who would easily believe lies about me.”

you feel tears roll down your cheeks as you force your mind to stop the reel of what would probably be the last time you ever talked to suna. not for the first time, you wish to never have called him and asked to meet. oh, to only have sucked the pain up and not confess to him. maybe the heartbreak would be less than what you have to deal with right now.

the concerned look on his face as he met you in the convenience store doesn’t matter anymore; neither does the fact that he was wearing the hoodie you’ve always asked him to give to you.

hurt, betrayal, and anger all brew inside of you. you can’t even fully process everything. hani, who everyone sees as the sweet and kind person betrayed you as a friend. suna, who had captured your heart, hurt you for believing that you are capable of doing such terrible things. and to top it all, anger at the both of them and mostly anger at yourself for walking away from suna before he can even respond to what you said to him.

*

suffice it is to say, the next time you see suna is extremely awkward. it’s at volleyball practice and thankfully, you’re not the sole manager of the club, making it easier for you to avoid any interactions with him.

“are you feeling better now?” osamu quietly asks you as he takes the water bottle from your hand during one of their breaks.

you reply with a nod but before you can let go of the bottle and escape from the twin's prodding questions, the grey-haired boy uses it to pull you closer to him. “you didn’t respond to any of my messages yesterday and you’re avoiding suna like he’s the plague.”

you click your tongue. of course he would notice. the same way he knew the reason of your breakdown in his car after that dinner. i’m not an idiot, y/n. i can see through your lies during all the time ‘sumu and me teased you. you actually really like sunarin.

“i swear i’m fine, ‘samu. stop being a worry-wart for me, okay?” you forcefully take your hand from the bottle and you swivel away from the twin only to meet eyes with suna.

it’s obvious he’s been watching the interaction and your chest tightens, thinking about what he said the other night. once you notice him begin to walk towards your direction, you quickly turn to tend to aran. thankfully, the coach calls for the practice to resume not long after.

you usually admire suna during practice (when you’re not too busy taking notes) but just seeing him at the present brings back memories of what happened so you try to avoid looking at him. those same memories keeping you up at night. suna, at your favorite convenience store in the middle of the night, looking at your exasperatedly and shooting words that hurt you while wearing your favorite hoodies of him.

the coach’s whistle echoes in the gym, breaking you out of your sorrowful thoughts. “suna, are you not feeling well? you seem a lot distracted.”

suna sighs heavily and you barely miss your co-managers whispering to each other how there are rumors that suna recently got in a lovers' quarrel with hani. your heart is thumping wildly as you watch him approach the coach who is sitting very near to where you’re standing.

“sorry, coach,” he says as he scratches at his nape. “yes, i’m not feeling well.” he then shoots you a not-so-subtle quick look. “can y/n accompany me to the clinic?”

*

he knows it’s a foul move to involve the coach and the team in the middle of practice but suna didn’t know what else to do. you’ve blocked his number and all his social accounts. his attempts to talk to you in person have all been futile. it's not helping that osamu refuses to talk to him about you.

so, really, he was left with no choice.

however, you remain awfully quiet as the two of you walk towards the school infirmary, a good distance between your bodies. he wants to talk to you but he doesn’t know where to begin, especially that this is very different from all the times that he has walked you home in the past where a silence is most welcome, oftentimes interrupted when a stray cat passes by.

when you arrive at the clinic, the nurse is out so you take seats at the waiting area. “y/n…” he finally says after a few moments pass with your deliberately ignoring him.

you still refuse to look at him and instead play with your hands. the action calls his attention towards your wrist and it breaks his heart to see the absence of the beaded bracelet that you always wore ever since he gave it to you after he won it in an egg claw machine game a year ago.

“y/n, please… will you hear me out?” suna doesn't mind that there obviously is desperation in his voice,

your jaw clenches a little as your fingers pause. he imagines the internal conflict within you before you finally let out a soft sigh. “okay.”

suna doesn’t miss a beat. “i’m sorry. i’m so, very sorry, y/n. i talked to hani and she admitted to everything. still, it does not change the fact that i hurt you by believing in her lies. i don’t know what happened to me and i have no excuse for myself.”

when you finally look at him, he almost wishes you continued to avoid his gaze. gone is the warmth that he always sees in your gaze and in its place is just hurt and sadness. “i just keep thinking… that all these months, during our every interaction, at the back of your mind, there’s this thought that i’m a bad person. and i…” your voice breaks as you swallow. “i don’t know, suna. why didn’t you just talk to me?”

why? it’s the same question he’s been pestering himself with for the past two nights. how could he let that happen? why was he easily deceived by hani’s lies?

“i’m sorry, y/n,” he apologizes again, aware of the despair laced in his voice. “i wish i can take away the hurt i’ve caused you.”

your teary eyes mirror his own. “i don’t know if i can trust my so-called friends ever again. i’m just confused and sad and hurt, rin.”

the slip of his nickname buries the hatchet deeper in his chest and suna just wants to scream. he wants to say that he broke up with hani shortly after she confessed about the lies. but that wouldn’t change anything now, and it’s not like you would care. not knowing what else to do, he moves to sit beside you and carefully reaches for your hand.

when you don’t resist, he begins to rub this thumb against your palm as he gently maneuvers your head against his shoulder. his chest tightens as the sleeve of his uniform quickly dampens.

no more words leave either of your mouths, the silence enveloping you as he lets you cry against him, just like how he let your tears stain his hoodie the first time you bumped into each other at the 12th convenience store in the middle of the night over a year ago, the warmth of his shoulder comforting you from your pet hedgehog’s passing.

only this time, your tears are caused by him.

*

“suna, you’ve been a close friend of miya atsumu ever since high school, how are you feeling about his engagement?” the reporter asks behind the camera.

you watch suna wear that signature smirk of his. “of course i’m happy for my friend, and i wish a lot of good luck to his beloved.” his answer causes a few laughter from around him.

“how about you, then? you’ve been extremely secretive about your love life.” the reporter follows up excitedly.

suna raises an eyebrow. “i thought you said you only have one question for me?” he shakes his head before beginning to walk away. “but all i can say is that i’m happy.”

the reporter fumbles a little but he has lost suna already, so he moves on to one of the other players from the national team.

you’re about to switch channels when a small figure joins you on the couch. “mama! was that papa?”

you turn to your son – a complete miniature of his father – and ruffle his hair. “yes, sweetie.”

he breaks into a toothless grin and goes to the center of the living room to dance around, all the while singing about how his papa is in the television.

meanwhile, your phone rings and you answer it quickly. “hey.”

“hey. did you watch?”

“yeah… you were so great. though i have one question for you, and i promise it’s one question only.”

rin’s soft chuckle at the other end of the line makes your heart flutter. “so you saw the interview? go on, what’s your question, love?”

you take a quick but deep breath before asking. “do you ever regret agreeing to keeping our relationship secret? like, nobody knows you’re married and with a kid, and most people think you’re just some volleyball-obsessed person who’s going to grow old alone.”

he laughs once again. “i didn’t know people think that about me,” he mocks surprise. “but to answer your question, no. i’d rather people believe i’d grow old alone than curse me for being a jerk who once hurt the love of his life when they were teens.

"i also don’t want people to know that i spent my senior year in high school trying to woo you and earn your forgiveness. how you forgave me and we became friends again but then you rejected me when i confessed after graduation? no way.”

you’re also laughing now, reminiscing on the past. how, after that day in the clinic, you and suna drifted for the rest of sophomore year. you had wanted space and he respected that.

you never got closure with hani, her family coincidentally having to move to tokyo after that school year ended but you think that’s for the best. you didn’t know what you would have told her anyway.

“so all this secrecy because you don’t want people to know that you’ve been rejected?” the teasing in your voice makes you giggle yourself.

“yes,” he replies playfully. “and also because i want to protect you! i remained loyally single for years until you finally agreed to a date during your senior year in university. god knows some crazy fans might curse you for making the suna rintarou wait for you!"

“and whose fault is that?” you’re smiling crazily into the phone now. “also, since we’re spilling stuff here, how about you also tell the world how you knocked me up three months into our relationship?”

your eyes drift to your three-year-old son who’s running towards the sounds at the front door. it’s when you notice that rin has dropped the call. he crouches down to kiss your son at the top of his head before covering his ears. “again, i’m sorry about that accident honey, but look at our little angel, isn’t he a cutie?”

you cross the small distance from the couch to the doorway. finally reaching your husband, you kiss him on the cheek. “the world is missing out on seeing your cute mini version.”

he wraps an arm around you as you both watch your son whose attention has gone back to the toys on the carpet. “what’s with all these hints, love? are you saying you’re finally okay with giving the public a glimpse of our happy life?”

you nuzzle your head against his chest. “maybe yes. maybe no… maybe later when…”

“hmm?”

you don’t respond for a while. “say, rin, do you want to drop by the 12th convenience store later around midnight once our son is asleep? i already asked osamu to come over to watch him.”

rin hums against you. "that's random, though? and how come you get 'samu to agree to babysitting favors so easily when i have to literally boost the sales of his onigiri?"

"silly, silly, sunarin," you singsong as you slap him playfully. "so, what do you think? wanna go to our convenience store later, at the middle of the night?"

"okay. do i need to bring the big eco-bag for the snacks we will be hauling?"

you untangle yourself from his arms as you make your way to your child. a perfect guise to hide your grin. "actually, no. we'll just be buying a little item."

*

in hindsight, you should have known better.

atsumu miya, despite being a professional volleyball player and recently getting engaged to the nonchalant sakusa kiyoomi, still likes to drink alcohol.

here you find yourself again at a long table, your friends from the volleyball club in high school gathered along with some of their plus ones. onigiri miya had closed early today for the private event. as osamu miya worked on the food with the help of his new assistant (whose eyes can't stop admiring her boss, but you'll tease osamu about that later) his blonde brother is already almost done with his first bottle.

he's telling the story of how they pranked one of their teammates that he and sakusa had broken up as a way of sharing their engagement. when the poor younger boy learned of the joke, he had ignored them to the point that atsumu had to reach out to kageyama to get him to talk to him.

"i told you it was a stupid idea and yet you didn't listen," sakusa adds to the ending of atsumu's story.

you laugh with your friends around the table, your lips opening up in a yawn once the laughter dies down. rin, ever the observant lover, lowly asks if you're okay, gently squeezing your hand he's holding under the table.

"i'm fine," you smile sweetly at him and his eyes soften a little. upon seeing he's still a little bit worried, you peck his cheek. "don't worry about me."

"you should be getting some rest," he says.

he must have said it louder than he intended or maybe you two just did not notice the table going quiet. atsumu speaks. "rest? suna, we're still not at the age to be tucking in bed at 8:00 PM. you know what we actually need? drinks!"

somehow, he gets the others to drink as well. shortly after, osamu finishes with the food preparation and his assistant, along with kita and aran, help set the table. the group happily eat and converse, sharing updates about their lives and reminiscing on their high school days. suddenly, you feel someone glaring at you.

"what?" you curiously ask atsumu whose eyes are looking at you with as much focus as he can muster with his tipsy state. "you're cheating!"

"huh?" your brows are furrowed and you turn to rin beside you but to your surprise, he's laughing. everyone looks at the both of you, half-intrigued and half amused.

rin kisses your forehead before taking the glass on his left and sipping. "he meant this, love. idiot surprisingly notices i've been drinking for us."

you're pretty sure you're already blushing. "oh."

"ah ha!" atsumu looks proud. "so i was right? come one, y/n, it's no fair! why are you not drinking? omimi and ginjima are the designated drivers tonight so no need to hold back!"

your cheeks still feel warm. "actually, i can't... i shouldn't have been drinking three weeks ago..." you exchange a look with rin and he nods at you. before you can continue, atsumu cuts you off with an excited squeal. "suna rintarou! how dare you keep this secret from me! and you, y/n, i thought i'm your brother!"

"for goodness' sake, 'tsumu, calm down," suna responds to the blonde, we actually only found out a week ago."

atsumu pouts, his cute drunken antics entertaining everyone at the table. "fine, forgiven. but i better be the godfather this time around!"

*

despite ginjima's insistence to drive you and rintarou home, you both decline his offer. after all, the walk home for onigiri miya restaurant to your home is not that far and late night walks with your rin is always welcome.

the moon and stars provide the two of you light as you walk home, your arms linked together. the night's breeze is nothing against rin's warm body. "love, i'm gonna tell you something but please don't panic, okay?"

his sudden sentence surprises you but you hum in agreement anyway.

"we're being followed by some media."

"oh."

he stops in his track, urging you to do the same. he looks down at your face, eyes holding gentleness one would not have expected from the stoic middle blocker. "do you want me to tell them off?"

you surprise yourself by saying no. rin cocks his head slightly before you respond. "i think i'm okay with a little bit of our private life being shared to the world."

he studies your face for a moment before smiling. "okay."

"okay?"

"yeah," he breathes close, hand already cupping your face. you get on your tiptoes as suna rintarou leans down and kisses you, but not before softly whispering, "i love you, y/n."

camera shutters be damned.

*

[ 11:07 PM]

[Instagram Update: s.rintarou posted a photo]

[is the "growing old alone" in the room with us?]

-end-

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Strange Creature's Love

In honor of Ithaqua's release month (beta march 2 and release the 11th but that joseph's birthday lol). Small fic cause it really last minute but here's wonderwall lol

Rated Explicit | Warning: Ithaqua just that weird little guy

The first time you met Ithaqua, it was not during a match but a strange celebration. There are a few events in the manor that give hints to the passing of time here, and those are the ‘"Anniversary” events is one of them, but there is no number to them just like the New Year and Lunar New Year events. He was there watching, not one to approach others, much less socialize.

You only approached because he looked well small, not really that intimidating given he had no stilts or weapon in his hand.

You attempted conversion, figuring as someone new maybe he just was shy.

His words were rather… Odd, unsettling with a threat but a weird hint of something else.

You replayed those words over and over again in your mind, the strange phrasing.

“What exactly... are you looking forward to meeting? Ahh, I see, I see… I feel the same way.” Standing up and then invading your space, you are suddenly aware he still towers above you. You go still as his head tilts to the side like a curious owl, “The moment I met you... how about I make it so you can never say you want to meet anyone else again?” Your eyes drift to the two fingers lifting your chin up so your face is in him completely. “After all... I remember you very well.”

That freaked you out as you ran away when your fight or flight instincts kicked in hard.

The laugh he let out clearly mocking and one that haunted you as he suddenly became a frequent hunter in your matches.

The hyper fixation towards you is clear when he either took you out of the match quickly or saved you for last. A game of hunter and prey, he would stalk you before striking. Waiting if you give up or fight back.

A few times you surrender to avoid him when you only remain, but you always fight, giving your all to either find the dungeon or make it to the exit gate.

Strange looking back as he lays next to you holding your naked body against his body, his cloak covering both as the picnic blanket under you provides extra comfort. His breath is warm on your neck, steady, your hand stroking his messy blonde hair. This relationship sparked by a match where he only wanted you, anyone who got between that was hit yet not chased after.

He led you to the basement where he asked you simply to be his. No sweet words, no gift of romance, he was straightforward about what he wanted.

You agreed unsure, you thought it was a joke. Ithaqua was not joking, especially about his feelings.

Ithaqua hums when you seek out him to share warmth, he growls though when you moan as his cock is still buried inside of your filled hole.

“Careful.”

“Trying but it's cold.” Though spring is coming early this year, it is still cold. Ithaqua wanting to take you in the forest is losing its appeal. “Let’s go back to your room.” Mumbling when he holds you against his chest.

“My room?”

“Yeah, I want to be around you and all that is you, Ithaqua.” He has been to your room a number of times, rubbing his scent on your blankets and you before leaving like a creature. You have come to appreciate it when you have lonely nights.

“Hmm.” Hips his moving slowly, “Yes, after my cum drips down from your hole.”

“Ithaqua, oh!” Holding onto him as he suddenly keeps up the pace, your nails scratching deep into his already scratched-up back, “Ah, please, Ithaqua.”

“Begging yet I have no intention of denying you.”

He rarely does unless he wants to prolong the activity but normally he wants to give equally as he takes.

“Mine.” On top of you holding up and bending your legs to watch the cock disappear and reappear within you, “Yes.” Possessive, it scares you though not as bad as before.

“Ithaqua, God, so deep.”

He chuckles at your words, he likes it when you tell him how good you feel. A pride in being the one to have you crying out to the heavens the name of the Night Watch, to be giving of your love to freely, and to be thoroughly marked by him. It has a few times crossed his mind how he often fucks you enough as he is trying to breed you.

A thought that though he has no want for children, it amuses him how often you are equally eager for him and his cock.

“Ithaqua! So close.”

“Keep your eyes on me. I want to watch you fall.”

And you do, a cry of his name with your eyes barely able to lock on his and that taunt cord in the pit of your stomach snapping. You are disoriented and on cloud nine, whining as he keeps going. When the Night Watch is about to cum, he puts your legs over his shoulders as he goes essentially feral. Rutting into you like a beast in heat, snarling and saying at times worryingly possessive words— He has gotten better, but his passion runs deep in these moments.

You barely recover before cumming again with each other, his lips consuming yours to silence himself, your hands trying to grasp his face before he pulls away to soothe your aching legs. He keeps you connected to him until his cock softens and in his mind the idea of his seed taking, silly and foolish but it amuses him nonetheless.

[kiwixlime]

Quiet and Confident

X is for Xennial 

You really love this old man.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader Notes: I haven’t died! I have just been through so much since I last updated anything and as much as I told myself I could do things, I just wasn’t in the right headspace. In these two years, I’ve fallen in and out of love, dealt with natural disasters, ups and lows of my emotions, and a boring list of other things. But I’ve been going down the rabbit hole lately, replaying my games, and I’ve been missing my boys so badly. And for the first time in forever, I have the inspiration to pick up where I left off. Who knows how long this will last. But right now, it feels right. I feel happy and ready to move on. So I present this. I felt it was the easiest way to ease back into writing. A simple and short one shot that of course includes our favorite dilf.  Warnings because we need those: Just some fluff and some suggestive conversation. Age gap, obviously. I love old man Joel. It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything interesting so I’m not ready to dive right back into the smut yet haha. Soon, though! Soon. Anyway, this is short and sweet because it’s been a roadblock in my drafts and I have better things planned and I just want to get this out of the way. Definitely not my best work, but I promise better things are ahead. 

“Ha, Xennial.” 

“Somethin’ funny to you?” 

“Nope, nothing.” 

“You’re askin’ for it.” 

“Asking for what, grandpa?” 

Joel groans and mutters something to himself. You can’t help but laugh, sitting up in your bed, bringing your arms out in front of you to stretch yourself awake. The sun barely seeps through the curtains of your bedroom, but there’s enough of a glow for you to take in the markings that embellish your wrists. You smile, tucking your hands into your lap. 

“We should be more careful,” you express, catching his attention again. 

Curious, he enters your room, closing the bathroom door behind him. His sculpted figure makes its way to the edge of your bed. You stare in awe as he stands tall over you. He's old, but he's Godly. So fucking Godly. With a concerned pout, he holds his hands out, urging you to show him your wounds. 

When you comply, revealing the reddening marks and deepening bruises, he frowns. In the moment, he loves being rough with you. There's nothing better than listening to you beg and plead and whimper like a desperate little bitch. But once the lust wears out, he feels a little bad for treating you so...dirty. 

“Sorry, princess,” he hums and brings your wrists to his lips. His warm breath hits your skin, sending goosebumps up your arms and warmth throughout your belly. “Grandpa just can’t help himself.” 

“Oh, ew,” you whine, yanking yourself away from him. You fall back onto the bed, pulling the sheet up with you to cover your grossed-out face. You started it, but ew. “You ruined it.” 

“Hey,” he chuckles, lowering himself onto the mattress with you. “You started it. Callin’ me old 'n' shit.” 

“I’m sorry!” You giggle, exposing your face to him as he slowly pulls the white cotton fabric off your body. He's barely listening as he takes in the sight of you, gorgeous and innocent, just for him. “I just can’t get over it. Xennial.” 

“Why is that so fuckin’ funny to you?” He asks with a smile, his focus back on your face, finding you absolutely adorable with your cheeky smile and glistening eyes. 

Last night, before heading home, you guys were out with your sister and his brother and a few others, just shooting the shit and having a drink. Tommy referred to Joel as an Xennial and for some reason, you just lost it. It was the funniest thing you'd heard. 

“It’s just another way of calling you old,” you say like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “I like it.” 

“Yeah, well,” he huffs, feigning annoyance. “You weren’t thinkin’ I was too old for you last night, tied to the bed and beggin' to be--.” 

You grunt, slapping his arm. He’s not wrong. And he knows you’re joking. You like the fact that Joel is so much older than you. It’s not some weird kink thing, even though it seems that way and you happily play along to the roles. But there’s maturity in him, wisdom, and he doesn’t play games with your emotions. He’s straightforward and too old for bullshit. He lets you know what he wants and you love that you don’t have to guess. 

Plus, you feel comfortable with him. He’s strong and tough and sometimes a little scary, but he makes you feel safe. More than that, he teaches you how to hold your own; he teaches you how to protect yourself. You appreciate that. He’s delicate with your feelings and serious about your well-being. 

“Speaking of,” you say, the tone change in your voice is not lost on the older man. “You’re getting careless in public, you have to be careful or my sister will find out.” 

Thickness fills the air around you, leaving Joel with an uneasy feeling in his gut. You can feel the tension raying off of him and practically suffocating you. "Right," he says. 

Recalling the night prior, you can’t count the number of times Joel almost slipped up in front of everyone. It was either an intimate look that lasted a few seconds too long, a touch that was borderline indecent, or just his overall demeanor showing that he was way too close to you. Luckily, no one noticed as they were either occupied or intoxicated, but one of these days you won’t be so lucky. And your sister will lose her shit. 

“Is it the age thing?” He asks with a frown, his spirit darkening a bit. In all seriousness, his age is a bit of a sore subject between you two. He made sure a thousand and one times that you were okay with the large gap that existed between you two, and you were - you are. But sometimes it still gets to him. 

The last thing he wants is for someone, your sister especially, to think he has ill intentions towards you. And he doesn’t want people thinking badly of you, either. Even at the end of the world, the town loves their gossip. 

You’re young, but you’re not naive, you’re not stupid or careless, you know what you’re getting yourself into.  

“That and you know…” You trail off when you notice he’s lost in thought. 

“What?” He asks, dumbly, and you laugh. You stare at him, waiting for his brain to catch up, and when it finally clicks he lets out a small “oh.” 

“She wanted you first,” you finish, watching his face fall. He looks uncomfortable, squirming a bit under your gaze. It’s not something he likes remembering, mostly because it brings his tired brain back to the age thing again and leaves him with a sour feeling in his stomach. He’s not a creep. He’s not. Right? 

“And I wanted you,” he says softly, shyly almost. He doesn’t have to say much for you to know what’s going on in his gorgeous head. It’s painfully obvious. 

“And I wanted you,” you reply. “I know there’s something, deep down in your gut, telling you that this is bad, but I’m telling you to ignore it. I’m an adult, Joel. I’ve been an adult for years.” 

“I know that,” he sighs. “It’s just--” 

“It’s nothing,” you say firmly. “Look around, love. Look at the world we’re living in. If we find love, if we find comfort, who are we to deny it?” 

“I like what you’re sayin’,” he admits with a handsome grin, his hand finding yours, counting your fingers as he presses soft kisses to each one. He brings your palm to his cheek, resting against it and looking at you with such adoration. “You have me wrapped around your finger, you know that?” 

You hum, eyes fluttering closed, loving what he’s saying and how he says it. His naked body relaxes against yours as he climbs on top of you. Warm lips find your neck, sending your sensitive body and mind into a spell. You could stay here forever, getting lost within him, making yourself at home in his embrace. God, your sister would be so disappointed for so many reasons. 

“Everyone always says I’m just the younger version of her,” you whisper, killing the mood as Joel’s lips falter against your skin. He pulls away, brows furrowed in confusion and a little disappointment. “Sorry,” you squeak. 

“Somethin’ on your mind?” He asks with concern. 

Sighing, you sit up, Joel grumbling in disappointment as he sits up with you. “I don’t question whether or not I want to be with you,” you tell him with certainty. “But she is the one person who scares me with this. She already thinks I’ve become a different person since coming to Jackson. And I keep going over last night. One of these days, we’re going to slip. And she’s going to kill you. I’ve always been told I’m just the mini version of her. So if she finds out, she’s going to think the worst of you. She’s going to think you’re the worst kind of pervert.” 

The rambling is doing your head in, but you can’t stop. Your inside thoughts are out there now and you can’t get them back on their leash. It’s been a while since you’ve panicked like this and you really don’t care for it. 

“Because I didn’t want her?” He scoffs, standing from the bed and grabbing his clothes from the floor. He slips his boxers on and then his jeans, feeling awkward being exposed during this kind of conversation. “You’re not a mini version of her,” he insists, sitting back beside you. “You look alike, sure, but that’s where the similarities end, darlin’. I promise.” 

It’s nice to hear, and it’s something you want to believe. But his words can’t erase years of everyone you know telling you how alike you and Lexie are. Maybe that’s why you’ve changed so much. It wasn’t the world ending, it was the newfound freedom. Here, you aren’t Lexie’s little sister. Here, you are your own being. And no one knows otherwise. 

“Listen,” Joel starts before your mind can spiral again. He grabs your hand, holding it tightly to keep you grounded. “Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I just don’t know Lexie well enough. But your sister, to me, seems like the type who is always tryin’ to impress everyone. I get the feelin’ she has the need to be liked; to fit herself into whatever shape someone asks of her.” 

Part of you wants to jump into your sister’s defense and tell Joel she's not like that. But you can’t seem to find your voice. And you’re not sure if you’d be lying or telling the truth. 

“But you aren’t like that at all. You don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, and you don’t cater to 'em. You don’t make yourself smaller to make everyone else feel more important. You’re quiet and confident. And I love that about you,” he finishes and you can hardly contain yourself. 

As the words leave his lips, you pounce on him, rolling him onto his back while you crawl on top of him. He lets out a little grunt and winces, grabbing onto your hips tighter than you were anticipating. 

“Oops,” you laugh. “Did I hurt your old back?” 

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart,” he says, gruffly. “I’ll show you how fuckin’ old I am.” 

You roll your eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

Joel grits his teeth before asking, “When does your sister get home?” 

You shrug. “Not for a couple hours, why?” 

He laughs and pushes himself up, quickly flipping your positions. He reaches for the binds tied to your headboard and grins down at you, fire in his eyes. “I just think you need a reminder,” he says. “of what happens when you talk back to me.” 

[bellofthemeadow]

Dawn Ends the Night - Chapter 3

Aemond Targaryen x FemReader (Dayne)

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 4.7K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: The aftermath of the attack sees Prince Aemond wrestle with new feelings.

Notes: Hello everyone, I hope you are all enjoying this chaotic posting schedule just as much as I am!!! I am back with a new chapter, a little window into Aemond's very messy mind. That man is a softboy at heart, he just needs like 20 years of therapy. RN its the beginning of a slight "obsession" as our boy for the first is feeling... something that is not murder, or hatred, or the need to burn everything with Vhagar. So yeah.

Like always thank you to everyone who reblogged and commented I love interacting with y'all and I really hope that you enjoy this chapter 💜💜💜

Taglist: @duds31 , @snh96, @lol-im-done, @heavenly1927, @whimsywilde , @queen-123s-posts

Through your Eyes

In the silence of his bedchamber, Aemond's pulse raced like the chained dragons lagering in the dragon pit, its beat echoing from the cavern of his chest to the very tips of his fingers, awakening the primal blood-rage that slept within his Targaryen blood. The air around him trembled with his ragged breaths, each one a stormy gust tearing through the otherwise stillness of the room. Alone, he wrestled with his armor, the leather stained with the day's deadly encounter. He would need to get the leather treated so the blood wouldn’t leave its reddish mark, Aemond thought with annoyance.  His hands, though shaking with a fury he struggled to contain, methodically peeled away each layer, dismissing the need for a manservant's aid. This was his ritual of solitude, after a lost fight in the yard with Ser Criston, or an annoying dinner with Aegon, Aemond needed to take a moment to confront the tempest within, a moment to try and tame the dragon. 

“My thanks for saving us” your sweet words echoed in Aemond’s brain like the hymns his mother had once insisted he memorize, trapped in his mind – relentless in their grab for his undivided attention. Although he had just met you earlier (had it only been 3 hours?) each detail was etched into his memory with unnerving clarity —the putrid stench of Flea Bottom that now seemed to permeate his very being and clung all the way to his smallclothes, the satisfying melody of the guard's screams echoes loud as he replays  the moment he severed the man's hand from his foul body; an act of true dragon-justice.  

 Your eyes. 

Those eyes, captivating and raw, rimmed with red, their watery sheen reflecting a tumult of fury and fear. It was a look Aemond rarely witnessed in others, but they were a mirror to the emotions he often grappled with in his daily solitude. Staring into his own reflection, he was accustomed to seeing the same intensity in his sole eye, the other a remnant of his past, a void where fear once dwelled. Now, that fear was often overshadowed by a simmering fury, a relentless fire that had become his constant companion. Yet, in your gaze, he saw the fear and anger, a young bird still scared of an unknown, cruel world – but oh so angry and unwilling to get yourself drag down by its cruelty.  

Since coming back to the keep after he had settled the matter at the market, Aemond’s mind was inexorably drawn back to the market, to the moment he first laid eyes on you. He had not needed anyone to point you out; he knew who you were from the second he saw you, holding that little boy who was clinging onto you like the barnacles that littered the rocks in blackwater bay.  

Seeing you so small yet standing so tall in the shadow of the guard’s golden cloak, he had only seen the resolve and desire to protect; for Aemond, it was like a visceral pull that transcended mere sight that had drawn him to you, like he was being pulled with a thight string attached to his heart.And in the dirt of Flea Bottom, you had stood cloaked in a gown of gauzy lilac in a style of dress he had never seen at court. The sheerness of the sleeves and the plunge of the loose bodice defied the strict, colorless conventions of the court and in a way that would surely raise his mother's brow in disapproval. But Aemond did not care for what was proper, as when he freed the man’s body from its hand, he only longed to take you in his arms, to press the silky fabric of your gown, under which he knew luscious curves hid, between his fingertips.  

Aemond closed his eyes trying to imagine what you would feel like in his arms, he could almost feel it if he concentrated enough - were he a bold man, Aemond would have tugged on the fabric of your dress to bring you closer to him, to hold you tight. Not for unseemly reasons as you were still his betrothed, a lady of noble birth at that, and he was no Aegon. It was hard to admit it to himself, but all he wanted was to inhale the sweet citrusy scent he had caught when you had tied the purple scrap of silk to his bicep.  

Aemond unwound the fabric from his arm with a tenderness that echoed the way his mother handled her most precious emerald necklace, an heirloom passed down from his grandmother. She cherished it so deeply that she allowed only herself to touch or clean it, guarding it like a dragon hoarding its treasure. But to Aemond, this simple piece of purple cloth was infinitely more valuable than any gems or riches that lay in the royal vault; it was the only tangible thread linking him to you. Through this favor, you were his and he was yours, bonded through blood and silk. He hoped one day he could shower you in trinkets; ruby-red necklaces, perhaps paired with a green samite gown, or freshwater pearls jewelery ; he had heard that Riverrun made amazing hairnet with them  –Aemond could not help but smile at the thought of you outfitted with tokens from him, all would know that you belonged to him.  

Aemond let the fabric dance lightly between his fingertips and bringing the scarf closer, he tentatively pressed it against his nose, inhaling deeply. The fragrance was faint, a hint of your presence as if you had only briefly held the fabric in your grasp. Frustration flickered within him as he sought more of your scent, breathing in with an intensity born of deep longing and desire. Aemond was no stranger to yearning; his life was a testament to insatiable hunger - for recognition, for greatness, for respect, and for the Iron Throne. His brother, with his lecherous appetite and penchant for debauchery, and his older sister who is always entangled in a web of deceit with her brood of Strong bastards, were both underserving of what should have been rightfully Aemond.  

Yet, as he held the fabric close to his face, Aemond felt his greed transform from ugly and covetous to an all-encompassing desire to protect and care. He yearned not for accolades or crowns, but for the intimacy of your existence in his arms. Indeed, Aemond was a greedy man, and at that moment, he longed to truly have you, to have your scent permeate his skin. The mere thought of burying his face in your hair, drawing in the essence of your being, became a need that tugged at his very core. He almost scoffed at his thoughts, to think that the dragonrider of Vhagar would be reduced to a puddle of quivering emotions! If, when his mother first informed him of his betrothal, Aegon had told him that in barely a moon's turn he would desire nothing more than the simple pleasure of his betrothed's closeness, to breathe in the sweet aroma, he would have throttled his idiot brother. But you had ensnared him – a simple instant in your presence, a look from your beautiful eyes and he was yours. What a mess he was.  

Closing his eyes, Aemond did his best to recall the delicate touch of your hands as they had wrapped the fabric around his arm. The feeling of your delicate fingers resonated deep within him, intimate and gentle, unlike any he had ever experienced. The soft pressure of your fingers against his skin, the careful way you secured the scarf, it all felt like a silent promise, I shall care for you, my lord husbands. Words Aemond yearned to hear falling from your plush lips.  

Under the tender scrutiny of your eyes, Aemond felt a man transformed; Gone was the bitter sting of being known as 'Aemond the Dragonless' or 'Aemond-who-sends-the-maids-crying.' Instead, he felt seen as who he should have been, had fate not cruelly snatched away his eye – a true dragon prince, deserving of admiration and respect. Deserving of a crown, even if his weak father refused to admit it.  

"Prince Aemond!" The call from Ser Criston echoed forcefully through the door, breaking the stillness of the chamber and brought Aemond from his musings. Huffing, Aemond groaned in displeasure, he could understand now why Aegon stopped his sword training - Ser Criston did have the worst of timing. Maybe if he held his breath, Ser Criston would go away. He waited a minute, but the pounding restarted; Of course, he would not go away, the knight was relentless.  

"Just a moment," Aemond replied tersely.  

"The Queen requests your presence immediately, my prince. The matter is urgent, so please make haste my prince" came Ser Criston's insistent voice from the other side. 

Aemond groaned before swiftly splashing cool water across his face, feeling it's refreshing touch against his skin and hastily pulling a tunic over his head, covering his bare chest. There would be time for a proper bath later in the evening, before dinner and the official presentation of his betrothed to court, he reasoned. 

His fingers then reached for the purple silk and carefully he tied it around his wrist, positioning it high enough to remain concealed beneath the folds of his jerkin. Though hidden from view, its presence was a secret comfort, a reminder that he did not dream you – that you existed, in flesh and blood.  

Aemond flung the door open, his movements brusque, revealing the stern figure of Ser Criston Cole. The knight looked annoyed; his lips downturned in displeasure. Without exchanging words, Aemond began striding towards his mother’s solar, the path so familiar that he required no guidance, least of all from his mother’s shadow. 

"The Queen is quite agitated, my prince," Ser Criston broke the silence, his voice echoing down the dimly lit corridor. "She has been informed of the incident at the market and is... less than pleased." 

Aemond's steps faltered, his fists clenching at his sides, he knew it was coming, he just had not imagined it would happen so soon, although it made sense as Alicent had many eyes and ears all over the city. Aemond looked at Ser Criston before rolling his eye, the knight had no doubt babbled the second he had reached his mother's vicinity. The thought of disappointing his mother tightly squeezed at his heart, with gritted teeth, Aemond let out a noncommittal grunt in a thinly veiled effort to maintain composure. Ser Criston, however, persisted. "In light of the current tensions at court, such a public display of violence was... ill-advised, to say the least. For a prince of the realm to act so rashly..." 

Stopping abruptly, the torchlight casting long shadows that danced on the walls, Aemond turned sharply, his eyes a stormy sea of frustration and barely contained rage. "And what would you have had me do, Ser Criston? Stand by while that animal threatened my betrothed with cold steel? Be grateful I let him leave with his life." 

Ser Criston's demeanor remained stoic, attempting to soothe the prince's anger. "These are indeed trying times, my prince. But your betrothed should not have found herself in such a predicament. A lady of her station venturing away from her escort raises questions about her discretion. Such behavior could bring unforeseen troubles to our doorstep..." 

Aemond's voice cut through the air, sharp as Valyrian steel. "I severed the hand that dared harm her. What do you think I would do to the tongues of those who dare tarnish her name?" 

Ser Criston's expression flickered, a brief moment of uncertainty crossing his face. "My prince, I did not mean to imply—" 

"I know exactly what you implied," Aemond interjected, his voice laced with a cold venom. He unconsciously reached to his right arm where he knew your favor was hidden, touching it to bring your bravery to his words. "Remember your place, Ser Criston. As much as you are a valued member of this household and as much as I have always considered you to be a great mentor, I will not tolerate any slight against my betrothed. Is that clear?" 

"Yes, my prince," Ser Criston conceded, the strain in his voice evident. "I shall be more mindful." 

With a curt nod, Aemond turned away and, as he moved through the corridors, passing servants and knights alike, he noticed their efforts to avoid meeting his gaze. It was a dance he had grown accustomed to, yet today, it felt more pronounced as it made the hole beneath the eye-patch throbbed. Trying to keep the pain at bay, he imagined you at his side holding his hand and giving a sweet reassuring smile. It seemed to help somewhat as the pain started subsiding, leaving in its wake only the feeling of emptiness. It would do for now.  

 Reaching the door to the Queen's solar, Aemond paused, collecting his thoughts. He had hoped that by now, his usual icy composure would have resettled over him like a familiar cloak, that the fiery dragon within would have been tamed and subdued. Yet, beneath his skin, a prickling heat lingered, a reminder of the inferno that had coursed through his veins earlier. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the encounter ahead. The comforting memory of your grateful eyes had to be set aside, replaced with the bracing reality of his mother's scrutiny. 

Aemond gently rapped on the door and after a brief pause, one of his mother's handmaidens opened the door, allowing him and Ser Criston to enter the room. Inside, Queen Alicent, adorned in a dress of her usual striking green, paced before a large window. Her anxiety was palpable, evidenced by the way she gnawed at her cuticles, some of which were surrounded by tiny specks of blood where she had bitten too deeply.  

Aemond felt a pang of shame tighten in his gut. He was rather unaccustomed to being the source of his mother's disappointment. Throughout his life, she had always shown him a particular kind of attention, especially during his more vulnerable, bullied childhood years when he did not have a dragon to stop people (Aegon) from mocking him. Displeasing Queen Alicent was not something he took lightly. His gaze swept across the room, and Aemond noticed the unusual absence of Otto Hightower, which was odd as the man always had a way to immerse himself in every family discussion. 

Aemond's thoughts were shattered by the sharp rebuke of his mother. "Aemond, for the love of the Seven, what possessed you?" Queen Alicent's voice might have sounded stern and strict to the uneased ear, but Aemond could hear a pinch of desperation. "To attack and dismember a gold cloak in full view of the public. Do you realize the talk this will incite!?" Her eyes, usually so full of maternal warmth reserved for him, now bore into him with a sternness that made him inwardly flinch. 

The smoldering embers of Aemond's anger flared up once more, and he met his mother's gaze with his own steely look – the one that made grown man shudder. "Mother, that man was a disgrace to his cloak. He was assaulting the woman who is to be my wife, threatening her life. He was a beast, unworthy of his position and of the gold on his back. By intervening, I not only did what was necessary to protect my intended, but I restored the name of the King in the eyes of the people of King’s Landing. I will not apologize for my actions as I was under the impression that Lady Dayne, being betrothed to a prince, would be under the protection of our house. It seems I was mistaken. Perhaps I should have allowed her to be stripped naked and beaten for all of Flea bottom to see, would this have been more appropriate?!" 

Queen Alicent, her fingers once again finding their way to her mouth, bit her nails nervously. With a weary sigh, she approached Aemond, her hands reaching out to gently grasp his arms. "Aemond, you misunderstand my concern," she began, her voice tinged with fatigue. "Your actions in defending your betrothed were commendable, but the manner in which you executed them... it is the brutality of it that troubles me. Such a display of violence and cruelty, it's not befitting a prince of your stature." 

Aemond's response came with a touch of bitterness, "Mother, the people of King’s Landing have always viewed me as a monster. What I did today is likely mild in comparison to what they all believe me capable of. And frankly, the man got off lightly. Had it been solely up to me, I would have fed him to Vhagar without a second thought." 

Queen Alicent's sigh was heavy. "Aemond, please," she implored. "I understand your urge to protect your future wife, but you have not even properly met her, your reaction was..." 

"You understand nothing," Aemond interjected sharply, his voice rising with indignation. "My name is Aemond Targaryen! NOT Aemond Hightower and I will uphold the words of my house, 'Fire and Blood,' in dealing with any who threaten us. And that includes Lady Dayne, from the moment Ggrandfather arranged for our betrothal. " 

Alicent's expression turned grave, her gaze unyielding "Is that truly your desire, Aemond? To be remembered as another Maegor the Cruel? To walk the same dark path as your uncle, the rogue that all the nobility of the realm scorns? What legacy do you wish to leave – Aemond the Monstrous? Aemond the Brutal?" 

Aemond winced upon his mother's words – Aemond the monstruous? A bitter retort escaped his lips, "Perhaps I do want that. Perhaps if they called me 'Aemond the Cruel' openly as they all think it, my dear older sister would reconsider herself, parading her bastards as if they were legitimate heirs, worthy of the throne." 

Queen Alicent took a deep, steadying breath, her eyes closing momentarily in a silent plea for patience. She released Aemond's arms, turning away from him, her posture one of weary resignation. "I only wish that you would remember the lessons of mercy taught by the Mother," she said softly. "I understand your anger, Aemond, but you must see that there are alternatives to your actions. Violence, war, death – these are not the sole answers to all our difficulties." 

Aemond felt sour upon his mother’s words, had she always been so blind? "And what would be the 'appropriate' answer, mother, when Rhaenyra learns of your plans with Grandfather? When she discovers your intention to crown Aegon over her?" 

"Aemond, please," Alicent implored, but he pressed on relentlessly. 

"Do you truly believe she will simply just accept it? Do you not see that war and violence are already at our doorstep? Is this not why you arranged my marriage to Lady Dayne – to secure Dorne's support when conflict inevitably breaks out? Consider how our position would weaken if I had allowed the first Dornish lady on our soil since the conquest to be abused on the streets of King's Landing. Prince Quoren might have renounced our alliance entirely. And then what, Mother? Whom would you have me marry? A distant Beesbury cousin? Perhaps some lesser Velaryon to challenge Lord Corlys? What would your grand strategy be, mother?" 

Alicent remained silent, her figure still and composed, even as the tension in the room thickened. Aemond felt like a snarling dragon, spewing fire at the calm and poised figure of his mother – but a dragon could burn down a tower if needed. From his vantage point in the corner, Ser Criston, who had been observing the exchange in silence, finally spoke up, his voice stern. "Prince or not, you will show the proper respect when addressing the Queen." 

Alicent's voice was calm, final. "It is alright, Ser Criston. My son is evidently still distressed from today's events. You may leave us, Aemond." She did not turn back to look at Aemond, her gaze fixed somewhere distant. 

"Mother," Aemond uttered, the anger was still there, but a deep feeling of regret was starting to tightnened in his troath – he had never spoken to his mother this. Had always revered her as the woman who had always loved him, would always love and cherish him, eyes or no eyes. The woman who had taken his side on Driftmark, who had been willing to draw blood for him. So why was he so angry? Because you know of another woman who would have taken your side on Driftmark now, a smooth voice whispered in his mind. He could imagine Lady Dayne, except instead of the little street urchin clinging to you, it was him – holding you as you were soothing him and urling insults to the Strong. Nevertheless, although Aemond knew he had won the argument, the victory was hollow and left a bitter taste in his mouth.  

As Aemond stormed out of his mother's solar, the door slammed shut with a force that was quite petulant and wholly unbefitting of his princely demeanor. The urge to visit Vhagar tugged at him; her presence, the soothing texture of her scales, and the smoldering depths of her yellow eyes often brought him solace in tumultuous times. Soaring through the skies on her back, he found unparalleled freedom, a sense of true self that grounded him amidst the chaos of court life. But today, his steps wavered, his usual path to where Vhagar rested, momentarily forgotten. 

A different impulse guided him instead, steering his course through the corridors of the castle. He caught sight of a maid, her steps quick and purposeful towards the kitchens. In a swift motion, Aemond reached out, his hand gently but firmly grasping her arm. His voice, though laced with the lingering storm of his recent encounter, carried a softer edge. "Tell me, where in the castle is the Dayne retinue lodging?" 

The maid, attempting to maintain her composure, did everything to avoid the intense gaze of his solitary eye, stuttered her reply. "In... the west wing, my prince," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. With a nod of acknowledgement, Aemond released her, his mind now set on a new destination. 

Navigating the labyrinth of corridors towards the West wing, Prince Aemond was in a whirlwind as each step he took was shadowed by uncertainty - would you be there in your quarters? And if so, would you welcome his presence? He wondered if the radiant spark that had lit your eyes earlier, the one that had captivated him so completely, would still shine when faced with him alone. Doubt nagged at him, whispering questions of whether you might prefer solitude over his company. He shook his head, none of it mattered; the second-guessing, the fear. He needed to see you, to lay eyes on you and ensure your well-being. These thoughts propelled him towards your quarters, and he felt more like a dragon than ever before, like a great beast tracking its prey before feasting – unrelenting, with a singular purpose. You.  

As Prince Aemond neared the West wing, he was met with a contingent of guards adorned with the Dayne sigil – a white fallen star against a field of lilac. A frown marred his features. Where had these men been when you needed them most? "I wish to see my betrothed." Aemond’s tone left no place for arguments. 

However, one of the guards, an older man with a graying beard and sharp brown eyes, appeared unmoved by Aemond's royal status and instead eyed the prince distrustfully. "The lady is currently resting after a taxing day... My prince" The last part was definitely added as an afterthought. 

Bastard, Aemond thought angrily, did he not know he was speaking to a prince? How dare this commoner (who had let harm come to you) come between him and his need to see you! Aemond's sneer was barely concealed. "I'm well aware of her trying day, as I was present," he retorted, trying to quell the anger that pulsed in his veins. "Is it a Dornish custom then, that betrothed couples cannot converse? Especially after one of the party saved the other. Quite a peculiar custom if you ask me." 

Another younger guard grumbled “Not as much as fucking your siblings...” If Aemond was not so consumed with thoughts of you, he would have had whipped this guard for the insolence.  

The older guard's expression soured further, his eyes narrowing. "Given today’s events, where one of your men assaulted our lady, you'll understand my prince,” definitely a sneer” “Our caution.”  

"And the man responsible has been dealt with," Aemond countered firmly, his gaze unwavering. 

The standoff continued for a tense moment before the older guard relented under Aemond's intense gaze. For once, Aemond was quite satisfied that his one eye could make even the fiercest of men grow uncomfortable, it helped to get his bidding done. The guard led the prince to a corner door and knocked briskly. "My lady, Prince Aemond is here to see you," he announced. 

The response came in the form of your familiar, melodious voice, which had haunted Aemond's thoughts throughout the day. "Come in!" you called out, and Aemond felt a mixture of relief and apprehension as he prepared to enter. 

Upon opening the room, Aemond was met with a scene quite unexpected. There you were, center stage in the spacious chamber, having exchanged your earlier attire for a strikingly different ensemble. You were adorned in a long, elegant purple tunic with short sleeves that left your arms gracefully exposed. Underneath, a pair of voluminous white breeches reached down to your calves, leaving the lower parts of your legs exposed. Aemond gulped loudly at the sight of you, he had never seen a young lady dressed in such a manner. Were all Dornish ladies such beautiful women, who scorned proper attire? Were all Dornish ladies so... enticing? No, Aemond thought decidedly, you must be one of a kind, a lone bright star in the otherwise dark skies of his life.  

Yet, it was the action before him that truly caught him off guard. You were in the midst of a tussle with the same young boy from earlier - Daven, was it? You were attempting to apply soap to his hair, a task he seemed to be resisting with all the vigor a 5-year-old boy could muster. On the large bed nearby, another boy of a similar age sat, munching on a bright red apple, his eyes wide with fascination as he observed the struggle. 

“My Lady... Am I... Bothering you? Aemond muttered, at a lost feeling like he might be intruding on such a strange, yet merry moment.”  

Your smile bloomed like a desert rose at dawn, eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that one might associate with discovering a long-lost treasure, or seeing a long-lost friend... Or lover. Gently, you shifted the still-pouting boy in your arms to face Aemond, calling to him with a warmth that melted the icy barriers around the prince's heart. "Look, Davos! Our brave prince who saved us earlier has come to see us!" The boy, Davos, offered a shy smile and a timid wave, his earlier resistance forgotten in the presence of his hero. 

Aemond felt an unfamiliar flush of warmth spread across his cheeks under your gaze, filled with gratitude and something deeper, something that seemed to stir the very core of his being. The usual fire that raged within him, driving his every ambition and desire, seemed to simmer down into a comforting warmth, a feeling he couldn't quite place but didn't wish to escape. 

His heart pounding a rapid rhythm, Aemond offered a slight bow. "Might I be of assistance, my Lady?" 

Your response came with an infectious beam. "Another pair of hands would be most welcome." 

Positioning himself to be of help, Aemond muttered, "Guide me to where I can be most useful, my Lady." 

With a soft and tender smile, you replied, "I believe, my prince, that you are perfect just where you are." 

Perfect right where he is?  

Aemond would never leave your side, nothing would ever tear from you and you from him. The Gods had always scorned him since his childhood, this was payment. His due. You were his and he was yours from this day until the end of his days.  

Next chapter

[balioc]

Is this a concept-formulation that's already kicking around out there somewhere? It might well be. It feels like the sort of thing that someone would already have developed. But it's new to me, at least, so I'll muddle around with it as best as I can.

On one end of the spectrum, you've got the musical hook. A hook is maybe two seconds of music, if that. And when you hear it, if it's good, you get a concentrated spike of -- oh, yeah, that's the shit right there, this exact experience in this exact moment is fucking awesome. And then, as soon as it's come, it's gone. All you can do is wait for it to come back later in the track, or rewind a few seconds, or maybe just replay that tiny little scrap of music in your head.

The pleasure of a good hook is incredibly condensed. It doesn't even really extend into the rest of the song, let alone into the rest of your life. To experience it, you have to be listening to those exact few bars (if only in your mind). It has no penumbra, no shades-of-experience that color other aspects of your existence. On the other hand, well...when you're listening to those exact few bars, you know it, and it's great. If it's a good enough hook, you kinda just want to listen to it over and over again, like you're popping Pringles or something.

All the way on the other end of the spectrum, you've got something like a traditional-style TTRPG campaign.

Even when it's being run masterfully, a game like D&D has a very low proportion of that's the shit right there moments, and a very high proportion of tedious yak-shaving stuff. Every so often you get your critical success in a high-stakes moment, every so often you get your awesome monologue or your big-drama scene or whatever...but for every moment like that, there's a hundred moments or more of the other stuff. The commonplace D&D play experience is famous for its vast amounts of OOC joking-around, which is not how things look when people are deeply engaged with the art on a moment-by-moment basis. And, of course, not every campaign is run masterfully. Sometimes boredom, or eye-rolling, is what you get in almost every moment.

And yet people love their D&D campaigns, like really incredibly a lot, and are deeply affected by them, and not-uncommonly have their whole lives changed by them.

The correct model here, I think, is that the pleasure generated by that kind of TTRPG experience is super diffuse. It's almost all penumbra. The awesomeness doesn't inhere in any one moment, or even any one scene or any one story arc. It inheres in the broad strokes of the campaign, in the ongoing knowledge that YOU ARE YOUR COOL CHARACTER and you go on a million cool adventures, in the mythos and the running jokes that add up invisibly over time into magic. And it pervades the entirety of your existence. You can think about it when you're lying in your bed, you can chat about it with your friends over lunch, and the awesomeness is just as much there as it is when you're actually playing. Maybe more so.

**********

Once you start looking at art through this variable-diffusion-of-appreciation lens, you can see many different points on the spectrum.

It's obvious that a short story is more concentrated than a novel, which is more concentrated than a series; it's obvious that a movie is more concentrated than a TV show. But it's not just the choice of medium that pushes in one direction or the other. It's a million different choices concerning content and style. Lushly descriptive language, in prose fiction, serves to concentrate the reader's appreciation into the moment of reading -- it forces the expenditure of extra attention for the sake of creating a beautiful mental moment, which in the vast majority of cases will be gone and forgotten almost instantly. Abstracted and philosophical language does the exact opposite, pulling the reader out of the narrative for a little bit for the sake of giving him something to roll around in his head. Suspense, and surprising plot developments, are concentration techniques that can have their full effect only during the transition from unspoiled-to-spoiled (and they serve to emphasize and heighten the moments of that transition). Archetypical, iconic plots are diffusion techniques that trade predictability-in-the-now for satisfaction-in-contemplating-the-story-later.

Sitcoms strike me as being vehicles for diffuse appreciation, to a huge extent, even more than other TV shows of comparable length etc. Much of what makes them good is just the presence of the characters and their distinctive shticks in your mindscape, in a way that builds from episode to episode without any particular grounding in specifics. When I think about a sitcom that I like, I find myself concluding that I like the show overall more than I like any single given episode. Which is weird, right? You'd expect some sort of bell-curve thing where the best episodes, or even the best individual moments, rise up above the averaged-out mass of the whole. But no.

**********

Fannishness is, overall, a very diffuse form of appreciation. This is true in the very-obvious sense that you're enjoying the work during a time when you're not actually consuming the work, by dint of consuming/producing fanworks and talking with other fans etc. But it's also true in the somewhat-less-obvious sense that the enjoyment-of-the-thing usually ends up very unrooted in the specifics of the thing, the plot beats and characterization details and so forth. You have a big beloved vibe, with lots of bits and bobs attached, and you can take the bits and bobs you like best and rearrange them however you like best when you're engaging in fandom.

**********

I believe it is overall true that concentrated appreciation is much more legible than diffuse appreciation. More legible to artists and art theorists, more legible to marketers and consumers. When you talk about art being good or bad or successful or unsuccessful, it's very easy to think in terms of "what is it like to consume this moment-by-moment?", and much harder to think in terms of "how does each piece of the work pervade the whole of the work, and also the general thoughtscape of the consumer?" For this reason, concentration techniques are associated with prestige, and high-prestige analysis tends to focus on a work's ability to generate concentrated appreciation.

...I also believe that different people want to be appreciating art, in the ideal case, at different levels of diffusion. There are people for whom a good artistic experience means lots of crack-hit awesome moments, and others for whom a good artistic experience means getting to live in an infinite penumbra, and others who fall at every point in between.

**********

For reasons I may discuss later, I think this concept-suite is extremely valent to the construction of theater LARPs, and the tension between people who expect more-concentrated enjoyment and people who expect more-diffuse enjoyment is responsible for a lot of the Wars Over What's Good within that sphere.

[catsburgers]

chat this MIGHT be dialtown! (closeups under the cut!! ft. their songs and why i paired them w/ the ones i did)

randy - today today (jack stauber)

the lyrics fit him heaps and it actually makes me a little sad. i didn't write out the entire verse bc i ran out of space but the full part is

"Today, today, is one of those days That carries you slowly into next time And as folks walk by, you see with your eye "Hold me" is repeatedly given

and by GOD is that him. pathetic sad sopping wet man who just needs a hug please give him one oh my god

norm - chemical overreaction (will wood) (you'll notice a pattern later on)

that song has a very midwest cowboy feel to me (the line "Nettles on my saddle and a badge on my vest" is a very big give away), and yeah he IS a chemical overreaction like.. yeah. the line i picked was just the one that stood out to me the most

"My mouth is dry and my eyes are red I’m chewing on sand ‘cause the desert’s in my head" uhh yeah

typegingi - popipo (lamaze-p)

i honestly couldn't think of a song for them because they are just So. if you asked me to make a playlist it would be full of vocaloid bc i feel like theyd listen to it. it plays 24/7 in their mind

"ぽっぴぽっぴぽっぽっぴっぽ (x11)"

oliver - things to do (alex g)

oliver was someone i struggled with admittedly, i was gonna go for a lemon demon song bc honestly he gives those freak vibes (he IS two trucks and i stand by that) but i feel like things to do fits too. like read the lyrics its so him (or i have a very skewed view of these characters idk sorry)

"Hold on tight to this time, this place cause Everything you know will be erased You were born inside your head and That is where you'll be when you are dead"

karen - willard! (will wood)

please listen to willard! its so her pretty please pls pls plssss. tired bank worker thats so so tired but wants to see the world. plss...

"You know I couldn't hurt a fly, my friend I'm not the type to step on ants I've nearly cried for moths that die at porchlight lamps More for the plights of mice than men See, I myself have been stepped on so many times It's started to feel like my place I've failed to fit in into those nests that scrape the sky Is there room for me in your cage?"

bigfoot

i did his route over a year ago and didnt do it again during my replay sorry bigfoot fans love you :(

EXPLODES I LOVE EXPLAINING THESE

god/hobo - mr capgras

ITS HIM. LIKE IDKK ITS SAUR HIM.

"What you feel and what you do Are those things really you? And if not, then what is? (Never never never) So, my God, what’s wrong with you? And I’m still asking who that is"

roger - i bet on losing dogs (mitski)

hes so mitski coded its insane. we havent got much from the dialtown teaser but we DO have his dsaf personality to go off, and he was a complete mess in that.

"I bet on losing dogs I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place By the ring Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down I'll be there on their side I'm losing by their side"

peter - a pearl (mitski)

all dsaf holdovers are mitski coded bc it was born into their body the moment they became a phone guy. once again not much to go off in dialtown and ik he seemed rlly chill in what interaction we had but god he is my fav and you can pry my mitski from my cold dead hands. also yeah i reused his art from my dsaf drawing sorrry i didnt think it was worth it redoing the exact same ref

"It's just that I fell in love with a war Nobody told me it ended And it left a pearl in my head And I roll it around every night"

mayor mingus - everything i wanted (billie eilish) / laplace's angel (will wood)

ok i couldnt pick between these two, theyre so different but so similar

everything i wanted is rlly her, like even the title is so mingus. she's dialtowns mayor, she has everything she wants, except her grandfathers recognition and she'll never get it.

"They called me weak Like I'm not just somebody's daughter Coulda been a nightmare But it felt like they were right there And it feels like yesterday was a year ago But I don't wanna let anybody know"

laplace angel is also her to a lesser degree, the song is about the difference between good and bad, and UGH we know mingus is evil but she's also hurting and thats not an excuse and [explodes]. the little (hurt people? hurt people!) that's officially in the song title is also her. like the term "hurt people hurt people" arehghks. the repeated "if you were in my shoes, you'd walk that mile/you'd see i wear the same size as you" like. shit if ppl were in her shoes WOULD they do the same thing?? probably not!! but she feels like she HAS to do these things and assumes that everyone else would do it too. yk. i love mayor mingus so much

"You, could you take a look at me? (Man no more than animal is made of moral chemicals) Am I bad, am I bad, am I bad, am I really that bad? (Any form mechanical, thank you God) Ooh, whatever you think of me (From the hordes of cannibals, to psych wards of hospitals) If you were in my shoes, you’d see I wear the same size as you (It’s a small world after all) Oh oh right!"

billy - ???

demons dont get songs.

finally

jerry - half decade hangover (will wood)

hes sooo. even the title is him. like yeah he WOULD be hungover on the job if i was jerry id be pounding vodka by the litre. 12 german shepards each with different illnesses. yeah pass me the margarita (i have never had an alcoholic beverage in my life).

"Wonder how I didn’t die This is not my life, I’m no survivor, I only happened to survive Wonder how I sleep at night Well I count pink elephants, blessings, and skeletons"

if you read to the end, thank u so much (and please go seek therapy). if you have any other song suggests lmk in the replies!! but dont tell me songs wont fit i MIGHT cry. these designs r mostly canon but i added my own flair to them (namely typegingis entire design, god/hobo having dog ear antenna (inspired by my own dt oc having cat ear antenna), peters springlock scars, mingus being way more cat then orignally and also making rogers suit just a LITTLE too big for him, showing how he really isnt fit for this position in his job. he'll grow into it eventually <3)

[gravemations]

Just an Illusion DOAI OC Paul Fic

*memory processes active, replaying memory* 

Red lights flicker above, Paul is in the holding area in the labs again. A place that he was awfully familiar with, where he was waiting for another of those forsaken tests, he always hated them. 

He didn't like how the scientist would poke and prod  him but he knew he was sick for a long time and you are doing this job as a caretaker as payment for his treatment. 

He knew he was still sick, he could really feel his body for a long time. Didn't help that he didn't remember much, None of them really gave him a straight explanation for what he had thought. 

Some said that he survived a house fire that disfigured him, others said it was Veldigun sickness but it was really the same answer, it didn't help that his background was also muddled and did not have access to his own file. 

“You really believe they still have your best intentions in mind? what has it been, 1-2 months and still no answers.“ 

A very familiar voice drifted into his mind, one that he dreaded for months ever since he first started working here. 

“ You again??! Why can't you just leave me alone for once.“

Paul  stomped around the room in anger at hearing that voice again, he thought it had left this time. 

A transparent blue figure appeared in front of him, Its hair was a mess with leaves and sticks in it, its jumper ripped and covered in red marks with a green patch on their left arm with a yellow flower that was turning black.   

Its face was covered by a mark of red with only green eyes showing in front of it, Paul was familiar with this figure. Just an illusion that the foundation produced, he has been told to ignore these but this one was particularly loud and he had a hard time trying to ignore it. 

It frowned hovering in front of him, looking right into his eyes. 

“ Not answering again, come on Paul you're smarter than this. Why are you not questioning anything that's going on here?“ 

“I'm not questioning anything, I'll just get into more trouble than I already am. I am not on good terms with the foundation at the moment thanks to you, so now kindly dissipate like the worthless illusion you are.“

Paul waves off the figure like he always does, he knows that he is not even meant to acknowledge it at all. 

The ghostly figure seems to be bothered with comment and crosses its arms in a defensive pose, till it suddenly gains a cheeky green across its face. 

“Oh just an illusion you say?? Can just an illusion do this?“

As it said this Paul's arm starts to move on its own without his input and punches a hole into the wall.  

“WHAT IN THE!??? OK OK, just stop.“

Paul freaks about as he loses control of his arm for a second before regaining control, checking his hard for damage. 

Lucky for him, his hand was fine not even feeling it like usual, Did it always feel so sharp?. 

“Did you really have to do that?“

Paul staring daggers at it. 

The figure floats around him and it laughs a tiny bit. 

“Weird that didn't hurt you huh? But yeah sorry about that. It was just to prove my point. I knew that it wouldn't hurt you. I did not intend on breaking the wall, You're stronger than you look .“  

“Okay fine you proved your point, you're not just an illusion. So what do you want from me?“

He grumbles, he is dealing with something more extreme than he first anticipated. 

“Oh I don't want anything from you, I'm here to help you. This place is not safe for you, they want to keep you locked up to see how you tick. I'm just here to remind you who you really are, Paul.“

It said sincerely for once. 

Paul begins to ask what it meant by that before the sound of metal doors opening and the sound of a quicken pace enter from the hall, there appears a tired Dr Finch catching his breath at the doorway. 

He stands there catching his breath before approaching Paul with an angry look on his face. 

“#56 What on earth are you doing? Do you know how much it is to fix a hole in the wall? I'll have to report this.“

Finch responds to Paul as he guides him out of the room for testing. 

*memory ended*

Everything then fades to black as a shade of blue covers Paul's eyes, As he begins to process the room he is in. He can feel minor damage to the back of his head even though it is not painful.

Paul felt disoriented as he looked around the room, The floor was dirt and uneven. The walls around him were clearly tin and old tools and chemicals were around. Paul came to the conclusion that he was in an old shed. 

He tried to get up but he realized he was tied to an old wooden chair, he thought about trying to wriggle out of it before hearing voices just outside. 

“Do you really have to keep that thing in my shed, what if it gets out?“

A gruff voice with a bit of a southern accent could be heard sharing its concerns. 

“It's okay Simon, the caretaker is not going to get out and besides if it does I'm pretty sure Clyde can huddle it. It's just one caretaker. We just need information for the raid and then we can deal with it.“

A different voice comforted the others concerns, This voice was younger and lacked a clearer accent but Paul could tell exactly who this was.   

Paul felt the dread building as the door opened to revive a human of slender frame,with messy brown hair with faded bleached sides wearing a green flannel and a purple patch with a yellow flower on their right. 

He felt a sense of panic, defeat but also strangely relief as standing before him The Eastridge Traitor “Alex Williams.“

Alex approached Paul with caution with that damn Demon right behind him, He had never seen it up close and now he wishes he didn't. Those Yellow eyes staring right into him, not ever looking away. Staring at him with curiosity and malice. 

Not before long Alex decided to speak up. 

“I hope you don't mind but we have some questions for you?“

[1ore]

went through the art on your site and I absolutely love motu's mask . I fully was under the impression he was a guy with a animal head at first, out of curiosity what was your inspiration for its design ?

THANK YOU!! I love that he gives the impression of having a real critter head. He would be so indignant about this, which is great, because we have to keep him humble.

so Motu came about after I replayed Morrowind for the first time as an adult, and I wanted to port my player character, Roan, into Moribund. I had put a lot of time into her story, and I guess by that point it had drifted from the source material enough that it was time to wiggle out onto dry land.

Back then, Moribund was distinctly lacking in war and sociopolitical beef, so I needed a real guy-of-all-time to fill the shoes of Dagoth Ur and the Sixth House... which is to say that yeah, the fact that Motu wears a mask, the burnished gold/bronze color, the engraved rays in his sideburns, those are all nods to the og

The earliest iterations of Motu's mask were modeled after baboons and macaques.

couldn't tell you why I gravitated to them. I think part of it was because I had written off primates for most of my life. I grew up a wolf girl and I thought that any animal without prominent fuzzy ears looked weird. (oh how the turn tables.)

Then he pivoted to a chimeric, set beast-type critter. I was younger and I didn't have the language for what I was observing at the time, but I was drawn to cynocephaly as a cross-cultural phenomenon. I also liked the idea of him being a visual wordplay on "dog-headed" and "god-headed"

I don't remember if I designed boondogs concurrently with him or after him, but that's the in-world justification for why he looks Like That. his mask is modeled after them.

I also had Roan and Koda's masks to reference. they were early examples of the mask-wearing practice in high Asthaom, and I knew I wanted Motu's mask to mirror theirs.

honestly, I feel like his mask is still a work-in-progress. I have a hard time wrapping my head around the planes of his cheeks and eyes. I think they can be done better.

(i swear i've drawn it more recently i just don't have access to my sketchbooks right now)

this also isn't unique to Motu, but his colors/geometry/asthaom's identity/my art in general draw heavily from settler and indigenous folk art in the Southwest, folk art in general, and also the cultural exchange happening in east asia during the time of the maritime silk road. people were making cheap crafts for mass export to satisfy the tastes of a wide variety of people who had never seen this part of the world, but this was also before the colonial powers that be, so It's a bunch of cultural and material knockoffs of knockoffs of knockoffs in a way that's not... like... always benign, but Different, sometimes less asymmetrical, and endearing to me as a knockoff myself LOL. it's an excuse to learn more and make clumsy efforts to reconnect with whatever tha hell it means to be japanese american.

now that I think of it, this comes full circle with Morrowind taking heavily from Indian history and Hindu cosmology. really playing a game of telephone with another guy's orientalism all the way back to the silk road. motu would hate this regardless. totally ruining his illusion of a pure and static cultural heritage.

but what can i say. i love when we pass around the Creature

[shishi] [shachihoko] [inugami]

:)

[mp3minded]

note: this was written before volume 12's release.

The Liam Route Experience, in Casa Amor.

Going back to the beginning of Casa Amor for a Liam redo, I knew I'd experience the worst of his behavior again. Which, on the one hand, really put my quest for him to the test, to say the least. (Here are all the times where I let my MC keep her backbone, and Liam in check 💀)

(And for the record, he was lying about Bea here 🤡 but MC couldn't know that then, realistically 😭)

On the other hand.. I'd also say it was worth the trip back. 👀 It was funny to see everyone look at MC crazy, whenever she expressed interest in Liam;

And uwu there was a number of things that jumped out at me this time 'round, now that I only had my attention on all things Liam. Despite how much he initially banged on about Bea, he did nothing with her on the 1st night of Casa, even though she was open to bedtime kisses by then, one can assume;

And, speaking of The Liam List.. he put Claudia below "Emel" (the interchangeable other OG girl) because she'd of been more "difficult" to win over. And, MC was below Claudia. It can be easily argued that, he knew he couldn't gameplay his way to MC, which was why he didn't bother in the first place. He just avoided his own opinion on her, by talking about what he thinks she thought of him instead—classic deflection. Why was that only done for MC? 👁☕️

Not mention something else I connected the dots on, which I think is a huge revelation.. Liam infamously flopped the Mr. and Mrs. Challenge with Bea, since he basically zoned out during his entire date with her. But MC? He's got quite an opinion on her situation with the OG!LI, to where he wanted to plant a seed of doubt with them—and why would he want to do that? 👁 I think it's a shady/sabotaging form of grafting.

In any case, this moment here showed me that yes, he was keeping tabs on MC, more than he normally lets on 👁☕️

Even though he never really verbally reciprocated MC's flirts with him.. he did always say "thank you, MC" whenever she did, and. I don't know why, I found that kinda cute uwu and i like imagining him say my name in an earnest way too OKAY SHUSH 😭💀

When him and MC do share 'lil moments together, it's so innocent? 🥺 like I think the best example of this was during the one-on-one you can have with him at the Casa pool.

At first, I didn't expose his gameplaying to Bea because I thought something would come out of that choice, but it just made the scene shorter to the point of boredom, and through exposing him instead, I got the chance to then apologize;

And this is from taking the high ground, instead of pushing him into the pool (which I did do the last time, so I haven't seen this before 😭);

And, oh my god. This next moment (from the same scene) below, tore me up so bad, that I kept revisiting it in my photo gallery in-between my breaks from replay, and my imagination would just run on overtime, everytime. If there was ever, a screencap picture that could say a thousand words on its own, it'd be this one;

THE IMPLICATIONS!!!! FROM SO EARLY ON!!!! WHY is he giving me those puppy eyes!? 😭🥺

At first, I thought we could've only seen GLIMPSES of what can be learned during later interactions with him in the villa—that he doesn't find MC as ineligible for him, as he lied about in Casa. So yeah, when I saw this, I.. well. I think I'd rather save those first impressions for fic writing, I found it that thought provoking 🥺

Like, why did Liam want MC to stay? 🥺

it's got me so emo like—GOD. I have to see his route through now, come hell or high water.

[banzaitaka]

Yandere themes

Hunter x Hunter_Phantom Troupe_Masterlist

Feitan Portor x gn! reader

Response

"You slept well?"

A question that should be relatively easy to answer. Even if one would consider the quality of their slumber to be hard to put into words, or determine if it was a positive experience or not, that question shouldn’t leave someone with a tight throat. Locking eyes with your captor for a second, you pondered about how you should answer. Answering truthfully, as if it wasn’t the cold-hearted man who kidnapped you that was standing in front of you, and instead someone you’d deem close to you like a friend, actually was pretty easy; No, you slept horribly. Insomnia already had been in your life for a while, but this was getting on a new level.

Your heart was always beating so hard you could feel it all across your body. Every little sound made you flinch. And the blinking, red light of the camera in the upper corner of the room had you frozen, scared to move. Under these circumstances (and more) it was obviously hard to relax, which is why you only ever were able to fall asleep when you were absolutely exhausted and could barely keep your eyes open. (Unless Feitan felt generous enough to drug your drink with sleep medicine) Still, you rarely fell into a deep slumber. And instead your situation plagued you even further in dreamland. What you had hoped could be an escape from the “love“ of your captor revealed itself as something just as horrific, maybe even more so.

On good nights, your nightmares simply replayed some scenarios you felt uncomfortable in, on bad nights, they replayed scenes you prayed to only witness in fiction. And on the worst nights, your fears of what else could happen, no matter how silly the thought was, welcome themselves in as well. You started cursing out that part of your brain that was responsible for the images of your inner eyes for it being just as much of a sadist as the one demanding you to call him your lover.

Lover.

It was clear to you that Feitan‘s attraction to you was more obsession than anything more innocent and pure like “love“. You dared to utter those thoughts to him only once before. The way his eyes wrinkled with joy at your words made you regret your words instantly, you couldn‘t even begin to guess why he was smiling befind the big collar. Was he amused by your guts to dare say such a thing to his face? Was he content with the word you used to describe his feelings towards you? Was he imagining your face twisting in pain as he punished you for your boldness? It never came clear to you, and that‘s why you went back to walking on egg shells around the man, more on your toes than ever. Oh, how you wished you could read him better, or he would reveal more of his wants, you believed it would make your life- no, this wasn‘t a life- your stay much easier. And maybe a good rest, with nothing but an endless void of nothingness in your mind, would find its way to you. A fantasy like this was all the hope you could get, so you took it, wholeheartedly.

Feitan raised a brow at your hesitation. This was a simple ‘yes‘ or ‘no‘ question, answering shouldn’t take so long even if you were an idiot sometimes. He was not oblivious to the war going on inside your head wether you should speak the truth or not. That was exactly the reason why he thought you were an idiot. The hand sliding over your waist had you snapping out of your thoughts and your gaze back to the black-haired laying next to you on the bed. The soft circles of his thumb over your exposed skin was a huge contrast to the cuts and bruises he gifted you before. So much of a clear contrast that you got the feeling he was urging you into choosing one answer over the other. A hint of how you could make the day into a good one for yourself. A hint of what he wanted.

You took it, clutching the shimmer of hope in your hand as you sighed, “Yeah, I slept real good.“, your smile was small, but present. You even made sure to wrinkle your eyes just a tiny bit to make it look real. And you really hoped that would be enough happiness, even if it was faux, to satisfy him and his sick, twisted views. His lips closed into a straight line, face free from his seemingly constant frown, and you cheered for yourself in victory. You allowed him to pull you closer to him. If this is what you had to endure to have one good day, then so be it. You sighed again, this time with a real, relieved smile, snuggling closer to your ‘lover‘ to make him think you really meant it, just so you can relax for once. The hand that didn‘t rest on your waist crawled up into your hair, fingers combing through your locks. Okay, maybe putting your hand on his chest is a good way to respond.

One harsh tug on your hair destroyed all the hope you had, and you couldn‘t help but gasp in shock. With your hair in his tight grip, he angled your head so you‘d be looking at him. There it was, the frown. But! But didn‘t you respond the way he wanted? He was always the one who wanted to pretend what was going on in this house was okay, and saying otherwise was just asking for punishment. So why-

“You lying.“, oh, “I watched you sleep. Could barely relax your face.“, a smile edged on his face, “Now, what do liars deserve?“

[pageofheartdj]

Aaaand another small thing XD

***

The days after the near end of the world were hectic. There was so much to do, so much to fix. Luz was a constant presence helping in all the ways she could. Everyone was doing their fair share.

But there was no need in lil’ ol’ King. Not that that bothered him. Nope, not at all.

Baby titans need their rest, Eda said, patting their head. Scoff, he was no baby! He was a big boy now!

So what if everything is so different and the owl house still feels wrong and he doesn't want to sleep without Eda.

He was still capable! He was not a baby!

Frustration had built up once again, the unwelcome tears threatening to burst through. Without a second thought King reached to the side, searching for a familiar soft fluff. Instead he grabbed an empty air. Oh, right. He gave away Francois to the Collector.

The thoughts about the star child entered his mind, as they inevitably always did.

He felt conflicted about them. He didn’t hate him, he couldn't, not after everything. He even liked him. True, their friendship wasn’t real at that time, but he still grew to care about them and he hoped their friendship became real in the end. But he still felt bitter over how every little thing he knew and was used to was shaken, a weird parody of his life took its place instead.

Should he be angry at the Collector? Technically Belos was the one who ruined everything to begin with. In fact, if not for Collector everyone would have been… dead. But Collector was the one who gave that freaky spell to Belos.

… Collector didn’t understand mortality at that time. But Belos did.

Yeah, Belos sucked, no question!

King gave a tired sigh.

He missed Francois and the comfort his soft plush body gave him. He didn’t regret giving him away though. King was a big kid now, he could take care of himself…Collector could take care of himself too, couldn’t he? But then King remembered how sad and lost they looked.

No, the Collector needed Francois more.

At least the thought that Francoise was with them gave him some comfort. He will look after the Collector. Wherever they are.

As usual when it came to the star child, King was lost in his head, replaying their conversations, imagining where they could be right now and what they were doing. He could spend hours undisturbed like this.

And then the room bursted with light.

“WEH!”

Falling on his knees King shielded his eyes from sharp brightness, confused and scared from such a sudden outburst. What happened?! Where did this light come from?!

After the light died down, King shakingly opened his eyes, blinking the black spots away. At first glance nothing was different, but the room somehow still looked brighter. Except now it was soft and gave away a warm and fuzzy glow. Closely looking around the room again, King raised his head. And there!

In the center of the room, frozen in the air, there was a sparkling blue star. King immediately knew whose star it was.

Scrambling to his feet he ran towards the star that slowly dropped right into King’s waiting hands. Then it exploded in star-like glitter and colorful ribbons, leaving a scroll in its place. With a star seal on it.

What is this?

King carefully opened it.

It was… a letter? A letter from the Collector!

He could recognise Collector’s handwriting anywhere, even though he never saw Collector actually write, aside from rare initials of their names! The letters were all rounded and big, with little stars or smiley faces in every one of them. They even had a rainbow glow to them.

Collector wrote to him. King felt his tail starting wagging.

Calming his heart from jumping out of his throat King gulped and started reading:

KING

This is Collector! And this is the letter from me! For you!

The witch with pretty pink hair said I could write those when I am not visiting. So we can talk!

If you want to?

She said I can write whatever I want about whatever I do. So I did!

I didn’t get far away from the demon realm, I can still see the purple blip from where I am sitting. I am on SPACE ROCK! I forgot how nice it is in space. There is so much SPACE!

Francois says hi! He seems to like it here! I am taking GOOD care of him don’t you worry!

I want to know everything that happens with you too so please write about anything you want!

I don’t know how letters work so I hope I did okay.

If When you are done you can just put that star seal on it and it will send it to me! Hope you will write back!

BYE!

King reread the letter a few times, again and again.

It was a clumsy one, not that King knew better, he never wrote one himself either. But he saw Hooty’s and Lilith’s letters, so he could claim to have more expertise in this!

He still carefully grasped the shimmering paper, already thinking of a place where he could hide it and keep protected. He doubted he could actually damage it that easily, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

Wow. King had never received a letter. He had all his loved ones by his side, who would write to him? But now he had a friend out there who wrote to him. An actual letter.

The answer! He needed to write a reply!

He stood up.

“EDA, WHERE IS A PAPER AND A PEN?”

“Wow, what's the emergency??” Eda's voice was heard from the living room.

“IT IS ‘I WILLl BLOW UP’ EMERGENCY!”

“Okay-okay, everything is in the top drawer in my room”, Eda cackled in response.

“The one that bites?”

“Nah, the other one.”

King ran straight to it, gathered the paper and Luz’s glowing pen and stopped. He didn’t know what to write, his brain couldn’t grasp on anything worth the attention. There was nothing interesting going on while the Collector was in SPACE. King didn’t know how interesting it was there, but the Collector seemed to be really excited about it. But they also said they wanted to know everything.

Screw this, they can do whatever and write whatever! No one can tell two gods what to do!

Feeling nervous excitement building up, King started remembering all the cool things he saw lately, wondering what to start with.

But he knew the one thing to write for sure:

Dear Collector.