#i can do whatever i want because its MY STORY!!

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle (Here) | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits You Steal:

Bargaining (Inherited AND Developed): No partner of Azul's is a shmuck. Not because of his standards (a little bit), but because you will learn to negotiate through trial and error. Being his pearl does not exclude you from daily verbal tango. He can and will still come after Ramshackle if given the opportunity. What? Just come stay in Octavinelle. He won't even charge for it, and you can bring Grim. He is always three steps ahead. Buying him a present is like the world's most daunting task, because he somehow already knows what's inside the box. Every. Time. Even if you shop a year in advance. Don't even start with arguments. He has a rebuttal for EVERYTHING. There is never a winner, only a settlement because he is so stubborn (and you equally so. Pride is contagious). As adults you're constantly exposed to business deals and sometimes have to deal with handling negotiations. Not to mention people with grudges against Azul attempting to shmooze their way through you. Only to find that you are just as manipulative.

"Pearl, Jade says that our deal with the Bas triplets for the next semester has been renewed? I hadn't scheduled their extension meeting until the first Saturday of next month. Would you have anything to say on this?" <- Long story short, the triplets tracked you down to beg for help in getting out of their work contract with Azul. He was always fair, and they entered willingly. No corruption on his part...but they were hell bent on not working in the kitchens with Floyd anymore. Solution? You managed to shmooze an extra week on their terms, in exchange for not being put on Floyd's shift anymore. Azul is so proud - but don't do that again. You're the one telling Floyd he doesn't get to play 'spot the difference' with the triplets anymore. Not him.

Smell Sensitivity (Developed): Nothing shanks the nostrils like sea brine. No pun intended. Lingering around Octavinelle equates to constantly smelling fish. Most students there come from the coral sea and don't mind it. Others only stop in for a quick bite to eat, and don't stay a moment more. The Mostro Lounge just has a potent smell that can't be found anywhere else. Like McDonald's french fries...but fish. Grim loves it, you now get nauseated when a scented candle is lit.

"Must you pinch your nose? Think of my- Octavinelle's reputation for a moment" <- Azul is brewing a scent masking potion as we speak. You're really hitting his pride here, even if you can't help it.

Glasses Wipes (Developed): Octopunk heats up when you so much as touch him in public. Then his glasses get foggy. If you wear makeup, its smears on his skin (to which he acts unbothered, but we all know it's a ruse). He obviously carries a hankey but having some wipes on hand is a nice gesture. Unnecessary, but sweet-ish.

Refined Pallet (Inherited): The cup ramen and foraged greens just do not cut it anymore. Not when Azul's made a VIP menu over at the lounge just for you. Sure, the place has a variety of options but he'll always get Floyd to cook up whatever you're in the mood for. At a discount (since Grim can eat him out of pocket). Have you ever had 100% dark, sea-salt chocolate imported from the coral sea? Ever tasted it in a rich devil's cake, baked fresh with only the best ingredients? Betty Crocker, who???

"I must say, your diet could still use some work - do not look at me that way. The twins found your hidden stash of instant noodles during our 'occupation' at Ramshackle. Under the stairs, pearl? Really? When was the last time your sodium was checked?"

Aversion to Sea Food (Developed): You will never understand how the Coral Sea students are okay with the Mostro Lounge. Neither what was running through Azul's head when he decided to open a SEA FOOD restaurant. Honestly? Red flag. One you ignored, but still a red flag. The existence of merpeople and therianthropes is still new and novel to you. To each their own, but you can't eat any sea creatures knowing that it could be - no, it can't be? Floyd's always joking that Azul is tasty but...it's just a joke, right?

"As much as Floyd loves to special make your chicken strips with wedges...why do you never order from the public menu? I assure you, Mostro Lounge is supplied with only the highest quality - h-huh? What crazy thoughts are you having?! Honestly!" <- This explains so much. He always thought you stared at the food with envy, because Grim would eat your pocket out and leave you to sip on lemon water. He had to force the special 'vip' meals down your throat at the start. is this why you're so uncomfortable having lunch with Floyd and his weekly Takoyaki binge?

Appraisal (Developed): Ever see those shows where a professional goes around to antique markets, and can point out forgeries, fake gems, etc. by eye? That is Azul. He's a collector of gadgets and gizmos aplenty - anyway. Strolls through antique marts, coin collecting showcases, and other marketing events will undoubtably train the eye over time. No scammer will ever shmooze ya out of house and home. Sorry Sam.

Habits He Steals:

Jacket (Developed): Mermen run cold. The uniform blazer Azul dons is more-so just for show than anything. Clothes are overall a novel concept, since most in the coral sea dress minimalistic (or not at all). The lounge runs quite chilly as well. Not enough to deter customers, but the perfect temperature to get uncomfortable after a few hours. Now Azul has many jealous bones in his body, and would rather drop dead than see one of the leech twins loan out their blazer so you can nap in the back room (they're doing it on purpose). Azul often offers his coat out to you the moment you walk inside - so often, that all the part-time workers know if you're on lot if he's walking without it.

"I need my jacket back, please. Why? N-no particular reason. Do I need an excuse to wear my own clothes?" <- Ruggie - Mostro Lounge's most reliable and simultaneously difficult part timer, mind you - was the first to pick up the correlation. If the VIP lounge was shut, and Azul was out doing quality rounds? It meant you were in the back, and he was in a better mood. The perfect time to sneak a platter unnoticed. Azul must take precautions.

Snitches Get Stitches (Developed): ONE perk of living with ghosts. Honey you get ALL the tea on campus. You just need to butter them up with a game of pranks and it’s ripe for the taking. Now, who do you think is going to make full use of this? Azul. They won’t give it to him directly because it’s more fun to make him frustrated. Which means he has to go through you. *Which means* he gets very crafty in buttering you up for details.

Midnight Hour (Developed): This mainly applies to his adult years. Wherever he goes - business or otherwise - you come with more often than not. As a youth his dealings were important - yes. Yet he was still getting his swimming legs in business and his primary demographic was students. Contrary to his pride, Azul wasn't someone important. Someone actually worth targeting like the Briar Prince. The real world is much more risky. You can help with negotiations and running facilities. You might 'think' he is tossing you into the end zone with all his ambitions...but no. Any dealings with high-stake confrontations are handled only after midnight.

"Two-o-clock in the am hours. That is the latest I can offer - well, it seems we've reached an impasse. This deal clearly is not worth my effort, if such 'accommodations' are beyond your capabilities. Allow one of my partners to escort you off the premises." <- Let's make one thing clear. No contract is ever worth putting you at risk. One twin (usually Jade) will remain at his side, the other (Floyd...because he's honestly not the best for negotiations. More guard dog material, and has fun hanging out with you) back with at the house/hotel. Azul doesn't trust 'anyone', and the Leech family is obviously in business with him. He takes no chances, screw probability, and can't kill the inner control-nerd in him. He's never out past three-am and would rather you feel a bit left out then dead somewhere in the Stillwater.

Land Legs (Developed): Considering he will be on land more for the foreseeable future, Azul puts more effort to building his land legs. Not that he wasn't trying before, but there wasn't any guarantee that he'd be working the land beyond NRC. So with the reassurance that 'something' (someone) will require his attention on shore, he decides to invest the effort. Azul will not get on one of those flying deathtraps past academy years though. He's getting a license and pulling up in a new Bugatti.

Pictures (Inherited): Much to Azul's chagrin, you love photos. Maybe it's because you have little to recall from your own world. Maybe it's because you're in the photography club. Maybe it's because you love his misery - but you are always taking photos. At first he insisted that you never get him in the frame. He hates them. Still does, do not misunderstand...and the idea of someone having so many with him included eats him up. Yet his insistent denials do lessen, and he tolerates them. You cannot post them anywhere. Yet...he will only 'mildly' grimace when looking at them around your house. Only because who the heck is coming over that he hasn't approved of?

"This picture? Ah...that is my dear pearl. They are breathtaking, are they not? I truly am the most fortunate man alive. Ah. My apologies, let's return to discussing the contract terms. May I see your completed punch-card?" <- And because you're in them too. As a youth, he kept your photo on his desk in the lounge. Sometimes a client would ask about you, and he'd lapse for a moment before folding the frame down and out of their view. He'd tuck it away whenever you came around, but would talk to it when alone. About his day, his work, whatever first year came crying because Floyd used them as a dart board - and dare I say that he'd keep a family photo in your later years together. Azul hates pictures of himself, but not as much as he loves ones of you. Look at him. Big softie.

—

"Of course. I have remarkable potential as an instructor, do I not? Is it not a great fortune to have me as one's partner? Take this as a lesson that your boss can influence even the most lost souls." == Azul shows no reservation. The moment he caught two part-timers gossiping about your 'conversion' to the 'dark side'. Why, he was positively beaming. His grin wide with a touch of something sinister. Gossip is fine, but they should know better than to do so in his den. Anything noteworthy would undoubtably reach his ears with time, but oh was it a joy to watch them squirm. Honestly. They're fortunate that he's in such a good mood - what was intended to be slandering has just made his day. They're still getting put on shift with Floyd though. He's merciful, yet no martyr.

Habits you steal:

Foraging (Inherited): You are always looking around for plants to propagandize. It's like stealing but not - because Crowley doesn't have any 'rules' about it so...heh. Free food. Jade's a living encyclopedia when it comes to botany and agriculture. He's the whole reason you've got a mini apothecary going in the kitchen and that instant-noodle stash got amped up in flavor. What? you ever add some fresh mushrooms and green onions to that instant chicken yakisoba? Mwah. The mountain lover's club needs to look out, 'cause the Ramshackle Prefect is about to bleed campus dry for every last specimen.

Yapping (Developed): Spinning off the above 'route'. Many people think Floyd's the talkative twin. Nah. This motherf*cker does NOT shut up. He treats you like his second conscience, asking questions he doesn't expect to be answered and giving commentary like your own personal narrator. Who needs thoughts when he literally says everything before you can think it? Floyd salutes you - 'cause finally. Finally, it isn't him subjected to Jade's inner spiels. Sorry Shrimpy, you are a sacrifice he's willing to make. If you ever break up or fight with Jade - Floyd's going to hunt you down - he can never go back. Never.

On a side note, you're an excellent listener now.

Tea (Inherited): Do you hate tea? No you don't. Not Jade's tea. There isn't much to comment on here, other than you will develop a taste for his Atlantic Twice-Seeped Water-Lily brew. You'll be craving it every night if ever sent back to our world (as if that'll happen). Mixed with honey from the Afterglow Savannah and served in a baby-blue ceramic cup that has a shimmer handle. That's your mug, by the way. He has other brews...some improvised and caution is indeed extended. They're tasty for the most part though.

“Ah, just smell that aroma. I developed this blend made just for you, my dear. I’m not one to seek out sweet floral notes for my tea, yet this flavor is an acquired taste that pulls you in for more. I finish the cup without realizing each time” -> Jade can be sweet himself, when he wants to be.

Wearing gloves (Developed): Jade makes you touch weird shit. All the time. Unprompted. He also makes you eat weird shit, but more often than not you can escape by shoveling his experiments onto someone he can get a more interesting reaction out of. Classically condition him not to feed you the weird shit by being unresponsive - off topic. Point is that with his obscene collection of terrariums? Plus being pulled along for foraging quests? You will be touching unknown and possibly poisonous plants, bugs, dirt, maybe some aquatic creatures like toads and fish. For all that is good, keep a pack of rubber gloves in your schoolbag. Keep a pair of insulated leather gloves in your breast pocket at all times too. Hand Sanitizer as well. Who knows when you’ll be elbow deep in murky water riddled with mysterious rainbow moss. What makes it rainbow? You don’t know and Jade won’t say. He does quip that it changes colors with emotions. Screw Twisted Wonderland and it’s freakish botany.

“Oh my, would you look at that vibrant shade of purple. Why are you so frightened? These are meant to be happy ‘bonding’ times for us as a couple, isn’t that what you said? Fufu - oh. Hurry up and put it in this jar. You’ll ruin the sample at this pace,” <- In truth, Jade saw red blooming at the edges of the moss and called quits before your nerves turned to anger. Fear? Amusing. Especially since you have more harmful ‘house plants’ growing on the mantle back at your dorm. Curtesy of Jade himself, of course. Azul doesn’t let him store his more precarious collection in Octavinelle and what you don’t know won’t hurt you. Yet he won’t push the jokes too far, since so few ever come out foraging with him. No no. He needs you to continue as a willing participant. Don’t get angry at him just yet, there are still so many places to explore and the day is young!

Doppelgänger Paranoia (Developed): The Leech twins tried to pull that shit where they swapped places for a day. Therefore you are now freakishly paranoid of Floyd trying to take Jade’s place to pull a prank. It is no help that Floyd is insanely good at mimicking his brother and vice versa. Sure, you could make a keyword or ask Jade to wear something special as a give away. Mark him. Maybe make an excuse of it being a thing human couples do and stick a pin on his lapel. Yet there isn’t a guarantee that he won’t just let Floyd in on it to see what happens. He’s a jerk like that, but your jerk nonetheless.

“Your caution is entertaining, and I do find all this extra attention flattering. Yet there are more taxing worries to mull over, wouldn’t you agree? Surely I’ve earned enough trust to circumvent any doubts in that mind of yours?” -> Do you know that the twin-swap was just a one time trick? Probably not. Doing it again would be boring with no novel results, but Jade does love watching you squirm with suspicion. He’ll offer an assurance eventually, and it will be your call to believe him or not. Until then? He has no problem being under your watchful eye. It’s quite cute, after all.

Habits he steals:

Grammar Control (Developed): Purely to piss you off. Coming from another world - your dialect isn't exactly the same as everyone in Twisted Wonderland. There are region specific languages, and then there is the common tongue. For simplicities sake, let's just say that everyone in TWST can speak common tongue and transferring over gave you this ability. Except (like Epel) you carry a heavy accent - and Jade loves to play grammar police. Your irritation never ceases to amuse him. That's right. He's the train kid from the 'Polar Express'. Just less nasal.

“Let’s try to capture that illusive letter ‘R’, shall we? You don’t want to give onlookers any more ammunition as a respectable prefect.”-> Says the only person using this as ammunition, except for Ace when he gets really snappy and Riddle’s mild cringe when your accent butchers a toast at the Unbirthday party. At this point you’re hearing ‘red leather, yellow leather’ and ‘mark went on a lark after dark’ in your sleep.

Routes (Developed): Another one with the need to have a bit of control. Just a bit. Get ready to roll out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn, because he will be there at five-am sharp to haul you back to Octavinelle (or on a hike. Saturday's only). Isn't it a human custom to stick close to your partner? He's just making sure you're cared for. Which is why you exist attached to his hip most days

Symbiosis 1 (Developed): Only a mild-note for Jade. His brother, noted below, takes this concept more to heart. Jade uses it as an enhancing factor to an already “well-rounded” relationship. The law of the sea dictates that those stronger will enter a ‘pact’ with weaker creatures - protection in exchange for care. You are not in need of protection with that frosh posse and stubborn head of yours. Jade mostly uses this ‘symbiotic relationship’ as a way to get you to do things for him, and to talk down your impulsive behaviors from time to time. Aka you won’t create excessive trouble if it means he feels ‘bound’ to go with (as if he wouldn’t be overjoyed to get in some chaos)

Observation (Developed?): Jade...knows everything about you. It's infuriating (to you, not him), but you are still a potential client regardless of his personal interest. Hobbies, tastes, your worst and best subject, weaknesses -all categorized. Azul and his business come first. Yet you're the only student on campus that has a 'doctored' file. Why?

“I never realized you are adverse to crowds. Yet you handle navigating Night Raven with no difficulties? Is this a mere preference, or would you prefer to find somewhere quiet while I accompany the others? What do you need?” -> (During Playful Land Event) He can't get the finer details without asking questions. There is no source for information about your world or your person other than your word of mouth. His unique magic would be easy - but it's just one question. One, and you might be too resilient for a response. Where's the fun? What makes this a habit is that Jade's keen eye becomes sharper.

Ramshackle (Developed): Bro just moved in. I’m serious. He got permission by pulling a favor. Azul doesn’t let him keep the more precarious plants in Octavinelle, so Jade has overtaken the kitchen with potted flora and fungi. Floyd is enthusiastic that he doesn't have to share a room - what? Twins don't always stick together. Those two probably fight more than they get along. Plus with Jade at Ramshackle it's an excuse to go see what's up with Shrimpy and maybe play with torture the little freshies you hang around with. It’s chapter three but you aren't booted out and have to deal with both Leeches every day. Seven preserve you.

—

“I let my excitement get the better of me for a moment…please, continue as if I am not here. My apologies.” == How rare for Jade’s mask to slip in front of his underclassmen. He was able to brush it off - giving a fib about his clubs upcoming excursion (not entirely untrue. He is excited to go for a hike with you this weekend). Yet the normally dull gossip of his dorm-mates was too much to bare. Not because your changes are becoming more pronounced, but because these little fish are foolish enough to think it’s making him soft. Enough to gossip so blatantly in his earshot? Gods, they make his job much too easy.

Habits you steal:

Leering (Inherited): Floyd...oh dear. He has this habit of staring holes into the back of your head. Anyone's head, really. His presence is intimidating, and it's hard not to pick up what’s going on in his head. There's a catch to this though. You only leer at other people when he isn't around. Too busy with the man in question to bother 'people-watching' (unless you're actually pissed). Riddle is constantly on edge now because he has TWO people giving him the heebee-jeebies. Prefect, it was bad enough you were taking influence from ADeuce. Now the Leech brothers? Well, he'd still take you over Floyd any day. At least you won't try to act on that unsettling aura...yet.

“Somethin’ on my face?…why’re you staring at me like that? Unless you want my attention? Hehe, ya shoulda just said so!” <- Floyd can do it to you, but you can’t to him. Not unless you want to be suplexed and squished tightly for hours on end.

Impulse actions (Inherited): Chaotic energy anyone? Floyd needs a partner who is one of two things - can kick his ass on occasion so he'll play nice, or who will match his freak. Since matching the strength of a Moray Eel isn't something most humans can do? Well, maybe a bitch slap here or there but be aware he is letting it happen. Just know. Better be playful too, not no actual challenge. Point being- you need to match his freak. No buzz-kills.

“Ne Ne~ Yanno, I’ve never seen those super fancy fireworks you land people like to set off. Wanna go get some and rig the - eh? You already got them?….Hahaha Shrimpy’s getting gutsy. I’m so happy” -> His eyes are practically glowing with anticipation. You’re now Azul's third headache 1000%, someone get that man an Asprin.

Snacks (Developed): Floyd can EAT. The only one with a stronger appetite is Jade, but he has a better control over his hunger. While their bodies changed to look human, their appetites did not decrease. Going with ‘symbiosis,’ Floyd gets a bit needy and talks like you’re his internal clock. Jade’s the yapper but Floyd just expects you to know what he needs. So you will always be carrying a selection of snacks (Grim gets in on this) in your bag/purse. Also fidget toys. Not for eating, but to give him when you’re stuck anywhere particularly boring. Props if you can somehow get a two-in-one with the twisted wonderland equivalent of those Air Heads Pull-Aparts.

Lullaby and Goodnight (Developed) : Instant calming effect. Merfolk are very particular with music and are sensitive to vocals. Floyd in particular is super picky. You could be the worst singer on the planet (Floyd will give you half-assed lip for it if you are, in all fairness) but the easiest way to calm him down is with music. It’s cringey and unrealistic to us land-folk but there’s plenty of singing in Atlantica. So humming a soft lullaby for him while sitting together won’t earn any looks in Octavinelle. Unless you sound awful, to which he will punt anyone that speaks out. Not that they would, since a calm Floyd is a godsend no matter the means achieved.

“Did I say you could listen in, hah? Sounds to me like someone’s in the mood for ‘my’ kinda song….don’t move, Shrimpy. This’ll be quick.” <- Good or bad - doesn’t matter. Getting to hear you is Floyd’s privilege. He’s a bit possessive of it, to be frank. So if someone butts in when he’s in the middle of calming down, Floyd’s going to be pissed to the max.

The Little Mermaid (Inherited): Drags you down to the sea at every opportunity. Don’t fight him, just guzzle the vomit-inducing potion and get a move on. Floyd doesn’t care how much a mer-transfiguration potion costs, Azul can take care of it. Floyd hates being restrained to dry land, and hey. He’s up here, so it’s only fair you go down into the sea trenches too. Don’t worry, he won’t take you anywhere too dangerous. He’ll even teach you how to get your sea legs - fish legs? Look. He teaches you how to swim in your mer-form, which he is severely disappointed does not resemble a shrimp.

Habits he steals:

Phone Privileges (Developed) : Floyd’s cellphone is normally in DND mode at all times. The only exceptions are Azul and his Momma - Jade was one too up until they came to dry land. There’s only so many mushroom photos and long voicemails about random crap that Floyd can take. Oh - and you’re an exception now. He saves all your voicemails - some for callbacks to win arguments and others to play when he’s about to sleep. You just better be careful when you call him and what for, also always pick up if he calls you. Otherwise there’s going to be one angry eel lurking by your bedroom window. With ‘first-contact’ privileges, all the unflattering candid pics he has of you are just a click away from being shared if he feels like it (teases but wouldn’t do it. Well, unless you really are ignoring him. Be warned)

Using F*cking Doors(Inherited) : Yes. Yes, you read that right. Floyd loves to parkour across campus. The amount of times he’s snuck into Ramshackle through that tiny circle window in the attic is frustrating. You’re seriously considering bolting the thing shut if it keeps him off the roof and on the ground. Y’know, for someone who can’t fly a broom? He sure has no problem climbing brick walls with his bare hands like some kinda cockroach. A Leech cockroach. Jamil’s worst nightmare good god. After the sixth-or-so heart attack, Floyd’s not allowed anywhere near Ramshackle if it’s not through the front door. The ghosts have strict instructions to punt him…to which he took as a challenge (because of course he did). Until a window was smashed, and you sent hellfire down upon him.

“I said it was an’ accident! What more do you want from me, huh? It’s your fault anyway for sicking those ghost fish on me - Urk…fiiine. I’m sorry or whatever” <- Always will back down the moment you come across as genuinely pissed. Usually with a grunt and hiss under his breath, kicking his foot before stalking off to cool down for a bit. Always fixes whatever he broke or tries to make amends once his mood is less sour.

Symbiosis II (Developed): Paired with the above 'match his freak' and second rendition of Jade's. Except Floyd is 100% serious. Floyd's going to do right by you, but you've got to do right by him. People are going to wonder why the small-pint prefect is sitting here covering one of bro's shifts (they feared for your life when you basically told him to 'fuck off', knowing he was angry after getting scolded by Azul) but that's how it is. Floyd's symbiosis is different than Jade's. He's more impulsive, yet also more predictable with what he needs. The definition of "no one can tell me to do shit except my spouse" 'cause symbiosis is a mutual respect and trade. No one can pick on you except for him. No one can help you the way he does. He is not going anywhere. Ever. Bonded for life - that kind of ‘sappy shit’.

"I already said I don't wanna... ughhh, babysitting those frosh fishies is so booooring. Can't we just ask Azul to lock 'em in a tank or somethin'?.... ALRIGHT, Little Shrimpy. I get it already so stop yammering in my ear...." <- Floyd's the softer brother, if you can believe that. Acts of service are what get him and he thrives on being needed. So you'll be doing it a lot to earn that compliance from him. Be the iron fist that gets him to back down, and simultaneously the one slipping him a few party poppers to set off at one of Heartslabyul's tea-parties as a reward.

The ✨Fashion✨ (Developed) : Surface-world fashion is one of Floyd’s special interests. Oddly enough? You’re a perfectly-sized dress up doll. It’s cute how large his shoes are in comparison to your feet. Hah! You look like a clown clobbering around in those things. He 100% gives you a pair of light up sneakers that sparkle when you walk - makes it easier to find you in crowds. Not that he needs to. Mostly it’s just for fun. He’ll even get a matching pair so you don’t feel zeroed out.

VIP Menu (Developed) : Floyd has a ‘secret’ menu over at the Mostro Lounge. He’s the head cook, don’t ya know? Makes real tasty dishes. C’mon, praise him. He’ll add a few dishes just for you since you’re so picky - that’s a bad trait to have for a broke Shrimp by the way. Good thing he’s around to make sure you’re eating.

“Oi! I told ya that was for you. If the lil’ seal’s hungry he can get somethin’ off the menu on his own…unless he’s lookin’ for a squeeze?” <- One major gripe Floyd has with Grim is how he’s always mooching off your plate. It’s fine if Azul’s picky with his food, cause that’s Azul. You’re different ‘cause in Floyd’s mind responsible for you. Again. He takes the symbiosis thing more seriously than Jade, and will poke your cheek relentlessly and comment if it’s lost it’s squish. He always serves you something to eat, even if you don’t order. Doesn’t let anyone else prepare it either.

Protective (Developed) : At the risk of sounding like a broken record, Floyd is very attentive. He’s clingy as hell and always looking for an excuse to have a good tussle - you’re his favorite person to screw with. Yet only himself, Azul, and Jade get the green card to look at you with anything other than respect. Cause he knows they don’t mean it - and even your little freshman buddies don’t get a pass. Maybe the seal since Floyd could squish Grim like a grape and he knows it. Leona’s almost gotten many challenges for the whole ‘herbivore’ thing.

—

“ ‘s nice, right? What’s better than one of me? Two, hah! Jade might have my face but now Shrimpy’s got my personality” == Finds the situation funny for like, an hour? Maybe two? Doesn’t matter because ‘Shrimpy is Shrimpy’ - plain as that, really. He gets more joy out of teasing people when they find out you’re with him. As if Floyd gives two sh*ts what other people think? Nah.

[clodstargazer]

I feel like the reputation of videogames as art will forever be jeopardized by their very nature, of audiovisual experiences that explicitly have the audience participate and be part of it.

For all visual media mainstream success is almost entirely dependent on how good the experience feels, as audiences at large simply don't want to think; the most popular piece of any given medium at any given time is generally just bad because it's the lowest common denominator, that doesn't expect people to engage deeply with it.

Videogames are hit the worst by this because a good-feeling game - that is, an audiovisual experience that directly involves the audience and stimulates them in a good way - will just be treated by most as a toy, as a commodity: if the game can provide that adreline surge, satisfaction in mastery, sexual gratification and what have you, whatever story the game might be trying to tell or whatever theme it might be trying to explore will at best simply not matter and be ignored by most players, and at worst it will be seen as an annoyance, a pointless diversion from the "meat" of the game.

(The most prototypical example of this in my mind is any FromSoftware game, their combination of engaging and challenging gameplay and subtle narrative that is up to the player to engage with has resulted in them getting appropriated by "hardcore" gamers that laugh at how "incomprehensible" and "irrelevant" the story is to the experience, that will look at you like you sprouted a second head if you genuinely value it as integral to the experience)

Companies know this perfectly well so they market accordingly, either by highlighting how cool and shiny and powerful the new console is and how much Stuff it can do, and how big and pretty and exciting its games will be, or by talking about how much Every Leaf is individually rendered or how you can see the pores on the Hollywood Actor's face while he talks; and these games do get criticized, but almost exclusively as products of mindless entertainment, there's hardly ever a mainstream discussion about the game's themes and what it's trying to convey, most people either don't care or are actively hostile towards the idea of Politics In Games.

But the way videogames can interact with the player as art is so interesting! Their defining characteristic of active player participation is so unique from a storytelling perspective, no other form of media has it and therefore games can tell stories in ways no other medium can. Even games that focus on gameplay and enjoyment first and foremost (which I love btw, I don't want to seem like I don't) can convey messages and ideas through their gameplay, simply by virtue of having the player do and think things and look at stuff.

As things stand now games are simply too commodified, too tied to their nature of products of the entertainment industry for customers conditioned to mindlessly consume and not think challenging thoughts; in a very real non-too-hyperbolic way, for games to be seriously seen as art, mainstream commercial gaming needs to fall and crash completely.

As an art form, games have a huge problem with being seen as disposable content, both by executives and by players. Videogames are like the comic books of audiovisual media. Sure, maybe there's a cool moment now and then, but if you bring it up in a discussion of art, you're almost always gonna get laughed at.

Writing in games is always gonna be undervalued compared to books or tv shows cause with any game there's gonna be a percentage of the audience that just doesn't care. Unless your game is like a visual novel, people probably didn't pick a game up for the story, and even if it is, some are gonna be skipping the dialogue. Gamers are insane. And executives know this, so games are almost never developed from a standpoint of "we're gonna deliver a really gripping story." No, they just care about having the most raytracing and visible pores, because that impresses investors. A game needs to be visually impressive first, and it needs to feel good to play second, and then maybe they'll worry about the writing at step seven or eight.

As someone who really cares about the progress of games as an art form, it gets me sad.

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 26

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

A fearful man, nearly two meters tall, was walking behind you in the dark woods, using the light of a cigarette lighter and you as a shield. This was about as pathetic as your life could sound at the moment.

You both walked hesitantly, careful not to step on any dry leaves that might alert whatever was making the noises nearby. Noah seemed to get closer with each step, and whenever his arm brushed against yours, a brief shiver ran down your spine.

“Could you stay at least one step away?” you muttered while checking behind a bush. “You’re making me nervous.”

“You’re the one with the light, and I can barely see in broad daylight, let alone in the dark!” Noah retorted, almost offended. “Don’t think I’m using this situation to take advantage of being near you.”

“Oh, really?” You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head at the joke. “I never would have guessed if you hadn’t said anything.”

Noah huffed and took a step back, and you chuckled as you continued walking, pressing the lighter's button with a bit more force. It was a simple motion, but it required extra effort with trembling fingers, a side effect of withdrawal.

Pretending nothing was wrong was becoming an impossible challenge as each withdrawal symptom hit harder than the last. Your body’s dwindling supply of the drug felt like a red alert. The abrupt pause gnawed at you more than years of uninterrupted use ever had. No one gets clean overnight.

Least of all you.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Noah jumped, startled once again by a sound coming from the bushes. You couldn’t help but laugh, covering your mouth with one hand, but when you lifted the lighter’s flame toward his face and saw his blank expression, you quickly stifled your laughter and focused back on the strange noise’s source. It was almost funny, the way he trusted his life to your shaky hands for a few seconds.

Ruling out the possibility that it was a real person, your chest felt a bit lighter. After being chased through the streets and finding your house open as if someone had broken in, you weren’t taking any more chances.

“Ah…” you said quietly, almost frustrated, as you knelt on one knee and looked up at the towering monument that blocked the moonlight. “It’s just a bird.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he muttered, incredulous, and from his tone, you could tell Noah would have preferred it to be a bear if only to make his earlier display seem less ridiculous. “Fine, fine, leave it there, and let’s head back inside.”

“He’s hurt.” Your words sounded more like sorrow as you handed him the lighter so he could provide some light. “The weird noise was because he got tangled in the branches. Look!”

You stepped aside, giving Noah room to kneel beside you. Thankfully, he had enough empathy not to say anything snide, instead waiting to see what you’d do next. Maybe he remembered that you loved animals, adored birds in particular, and always wanted a dog but never felt competent enough to care for one.

Now, the two of you watched the small bird among the dry leaves, its wing broken and a raspy whistle escaping its beak. You bit your lower lip, trying to devise a quick and effective strategy, your eyes falling on a loose thread from your sleeve. Wrapping the thread around your index finger, you tugged it free with your thumb.

“Do you think it still has a chance?” he asked, tilting his head as you gently brought the bird closer.

“When Seth used to shoot at birds singing in our backyard, he rarely hit them, but the shock of the gunfire made them fall and injure themselves just like this one,” you recalled, the bitter memory immediately filling you with regret for sharing it. Still, you continued, inspecting the bird. “I’d keep them in my room, tying their wings with string and popsicle sticks until they could fly again.”

“Did it work?” There was genuine interest in his voice, warming the cold knot in your stomach and making you smile as you nodded.

“Yes! Two days, and they’d be flying again, even if slowly.” As you spoke, you knotted the thread and, using a hairpin, improvised a splint to keep the bird’s wing stable.

“It’s a shame we won’t know if it truly healed since we’re leaving it here alone.”

“We’ve done our part, offering help without taking it away from where it belongs for some selfish idea of solidarity. It will decide what to do next with this new chance.” You smiled, standing alongside him, watching the little bird struggle but ultimately move forward—free.

A few steps ahead, you found a river where you insisted on stopping to wash your hands. Subtle raindrops fell over the water, unable to blur the moonlight so bright it illuminated the entire area. You lifted your gaze, fascinated by the reflection on the water.

“Damn, it’s freezing here,” Noah grumbled, hugging his arms. You barely heard him as you played with the water, dipping your fingers into the cold stream. Rain had a special way of making the chill feel bearable, even pleasant.

“Hey! What are you doing?” he exclaimed in near desperation as he saw you strip off your clothes, tossing them onto a rock. Wearing only your underwear, you smiled, recognizing the tone of his voice. It was almost like a time machine. Noah was still as unsure as the first time he’d seen you embrace the rain without fear of soaking your clothes.

“I want to jump in the river,” you declared, puffing out your chest as you freed your hair. He struggled not to stare at your body in the moonlight, his restless eyes darting nervously.

“You’ve lost your mind!” He let out an awkward laugh, grabbing your shirt from the ground and tossing it at your chest. “Get dressed! Let’s go! You hate working sober, and you’ll definitely make my life hell if you get sick!”

“It’s been so long since we’ve had any kind of break that maybe I am losing it. We’re stuck in a deserted place with no way back to the hotel before dawn. Like it or not, we have to put up with each other, so why can’t you stop being so unbearable?” you teased, tossing the shirt back at him and shrugging, certain you were close to pushing him over the edge. “I won’t tell Scarlet if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“You’re pathetic and immature,” he muttered, rolling his eyes impatiently. “I’m freezing, Miss I’m Willing to Annoy Noah Sebastian!”

“Well then, don’t let me stop you! Look how nice the water is!” Taking advantage of his distraction—Noah had let down his defensive posture—you pushed him into the river. To both your surprise, it was deeper than it seemed.

You stood on the riverbank for a moment, laughing at your audacity, but you couldn’t resist for long. Taking a few steps back to gain momentum, you leaped into the water after him. The impact was cold and disorienting, but it didn’t take long for your eyes to find Noah’s figure beneath the surface.

His expression was anything but amused. His eyes were narrowed, his lips pressed into a line of disapproval that only made your laughter intensify as you both surfaced.

“You’re insane!” he muttered, spitting out water and pushing his hair out of his face. “And I’m freezing, thanks to you!”

“Oh, poor thing!” you teased, splashing a handful of water at him.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes.

Before you could react, he splashed water at you, igniting an awkward, laughter-filled battle. Every movement sent water splashing around you, mixing with the rain that continued to fall, turning the river into a chaotic dance of droplets.

You tried to swim away as he closed the distance, but the sound of your shared laughter — yours and his, in perfect harmony — drowned out any sense of urgency. You were both surrounded by problems, carrying the wreckage of everything that had trampled over what you once felt for each other in the past two years. Day by day, you fought to bury it, to smother the persistent flame that refused to die.

But it was impossible.

The energy between you was an uncontrollable force. In the same space, the air shifted, gravity seemed to pull you together. You radiated electricity, igniting each other, yearning with an almost insane intensity for what no principle or real obligation could replace: the singular feeling only the other’s presence could bring.

“There’s no use running!” he exclaimed, launching himself in the opposite direction to cut you off.

Eventually, you felt his arms reach you, a touch firm yet gentle, as if he always knew exactly how to hold you. Both of your breaths were heavy, your faces close enough that you could see every drop of water on his skin, his intense gaze locked onto yours.

Noah paused for a moment, his smile softening, as if lost in something deeper than the river surrounding you. Your hands rested on his broad shoulders, his soaked shirt clinging to his torso, outlining his chest and strong arms.

“You know this is the part of you I always hoped would never change?” he said, his voice low, almost drowned out by the rain and the current.

Your eyes searched his, a mixture of surprise and anticipation building within you.

“What part?” you asked, almost breathless.

“This one. The part that lives. That doesn’t mind getting wet, laughing out loud, dragging me — even if only for a few seconds — into feeling what it’s like to be as free as you.” He smiled, small and genuine, and that expression, so sincere, completely disarmed you. “I’m still a fan of that part.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in, threading his fingers into the damp strands of hair at the nape of your neck, bringing your face to his, and the kiss happened. It started slow, as if the entire world had slowed down to let that moment exist. Then it grew more intense, with both your bodies colliding, separated only by the droplets of water sliding between you, filled with everything words couldn’t say.

You savored every chance to be together again as if it were the last of your lives.

The rain continued, but you no longer felt the cold. Only the warmth of his touch, the hands that held you as if nothing could take you away. And, for an instant, the rest of the world didn’t matter. Each drop sliding down your skin was forgotten in the heat of that moment, in the pressure of his lips against yours. The river seemed to transform into an exclusive stage for the two of you, as if the universe itself conspired for that moment.

When the kiss finally broke, you stayed close, your foreheads almost touching, your breaths mingling as you tried to catch them. Noah opened his eyes, a different kind of light reflecting there, his lips trembling from the cold.

In the rain — your shared trademark.

You both remained silent for a moment, the sound of water and rain filling the space between you. It was as if the world had paused, allowing you both to process what had just happened.

“So…” you began, swimming slightly backward, trying to break the tension that was starting to form. “Still cold?”

“Not enough to forgive you for pushing me into the river,” he replied, but there was a playful smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, so you’re still mad?” you teased, splashing another handful of water at him.

“Maybe,” he said, a mischievous gleam reappearing in his eyes as he moved closer again.

“Maybe?” You instinctively retreated, but he was already too close, his strong arms wrapping around your waist once more. Before you could protest, Noah spun you both in the water, drawing a surprised laugh from you.

“Now we’re even,” he declared, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like you’d both let go of everything that haunted you.

The rain began to ease, the drops now softer, as if even the sky was weary. You swam to the shore, the laughter gradually fading, but the lightness of that moment lingering between you.

Sitting side by side on the wet grass, both of you soaked but oddly comfortable, he looked at you with narrowed, bright eyes, an expression that held more than words could say.

“You seem worried about something.”

“It’s my mom’s birthday today…” you said softly, knowing Noah usually didn’t like when you brought her up. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, just as you expected. “Sorry for bringing it up with you, but it’s impossible not to remember every year.”

“I’ve always been a good listener. Above all else, we were best friends. You don’t need to apologize for wanting to talk to me,” he said quietly, with evident hesitation but sincerity. “I know you can’t talk to anyone else.”

“Thank you.” You raised one side of your lips in a smile that was more a reflection of relief.

“You always called her on her birthday, Mother’s Day, and Christmas. I remember that.”

“I filled her voicemail,” you said with a slightly embarrassed laugh, but out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Noah still serious, his gaze lost in something that wasn’t in front of him. “After a while, Crystal’s phone stopped ringing. Now it seems like it’s turned off.”

He cleared his throat slightly, as if something scratched at it, diverting his gaze for a few seconds before returning it to you. “Maybe she changed her number.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” You nodded, relaxing your shoulders and tossing a stone into the river, the sound of water breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Do you think she might’ve looked for me at some point over the years?”

Noah’s gaze was fixed on you. His restless fingers fidgeted with one another as he swallowed hard before shaking his head.

“I’m sure not.” He said, the words coming out slowly. “But… but it matters to you, doesn’t it?”

“I thought about going back to Richmond and stopping by her house a few times. I don’t know, don’t ask me why, but I felt this need countless times. To see her, to know how she was doing.”

“But you’re afraid of what you might find if you go there.”

“Yeah…” you replied, the word escaping almost as a whisper. You rested your chin on your arms, using the silence to reflect.

Anyone in your place would hate her, and maybe you had felt that at some point. But in the worst moments of your life, when pain was your only ally, your mother’s company was still what you sought when you returned home. Hers was the name you called out every night, and it was her you hoped to see at the end of every performance.

You waited for her for nine years.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Noah shrink slightly, pressing his temple in silence, as if he didn’t want to bother you with his groan of pain. Without ignoring him, you got up and gently asked him to walk back with you. After gathering everything that was scattered around, you both walked through the woods. He offered to carry you on his back if you were tired, but you refused and kept walking barefoot.

You tried to distract him so he’d forget the discomfort that was clearly bothering him. You brought up random topics, teased him more, and the two of you even managed to come up with part of a possible new song. But every now and then, he’d fall silent when that pounding in his head demanded his attention.

Back at the house, you used a pile of wood to light the fireplace and warm up. Noah had forgotten his hoodie at home, so he gave it to you to cover yourself while your clothes were hung to dry. You watched him sitting on the floor, his bare back exposed, revealing the large, colorful tattoo on his skin. He was in nothing but boxers, poking at the flames to make them grow.

In your pocket, you felt a piece of plastic pressing against your fingers. When you pulled it out, you saw an orange pill bottle with his name on the label.

“You’re the person most against self-medicating that I know. Would it be invading your privacy to ask why you’re carrying this in your pocket?” you asked without letting go of it, still calm as you looked at him. He turned his head slightly, his expression serene as he glanced over his shoulder at you.

“I still feel the same way about self-medicating, but the doctor who treated me said it’d be good to use those when I get headaches like that.”

You tightened your grip on the bottle, your eyes fixed on the label. Something about that name, about the doctor’s stamp, pulsed in your memory—like a song you can’t remember the lyrics to but know you’ve heard before.

“Dr. Klein?” you murmured, frowning as you scanned the printed name. Unease crept down your spine, as though an old shadow were trying to infiltrate your thoughts.

Noah turned slowly, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to decipher what had changed in your expression.

“Yeah. Is there a problem with that?”

You hesitated, your fingertips gliding over the bottle, now more cautiously, almost as if it might explode at any moment.

“I don’t know… I think I’ve heard that name somewhere before.”

He raised an eyebrow, a little suspicious, but chose not to press the matter. You were grateful for that since you needed time to rummage through your memory to figure out why it felt so familiar. But nothing seemed clear in your mind, and you dismissed it as a silly déjà vu.

After he fell asleep, you stayed by his side, hugging your knees as you watched him. The night’s silence seemed to amplify the sound of his breathing—a soft but fragile rhythm, as if it could shatter at any moment. The empty bottle nearby felt like a cruel reminder of his vulnerability.

You rested your head against the windowpane, staring at the reflection of the dimly lit room. The moonlight filtered through the half-open curtains, illuminating Noah’s features. Every line on his face, every shadow formed by months of absence and suffering, seemed to cry out for something he’d never admit out loud. Help.

Your chest tightened, a dull ache you couldn’t ignore, like a fist pressed against your heart. You hated feeling trapped in that bubble again, in that fate of trying to protect him at all costs. So many times, you’d sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t let it happen, but there you were, watching over his sleep as if every second of vigilance could make a difference.

He shifted slightly, a soft sigh escaping his parted lips. You held your breath, waiting for any sign he might be in pain again, but he only settled deeper into the blankets. Even so, you didn’t relax.

The doubts swirled in your mind like a storm. What if he needed you? What if he was getting worse? What if you weren’t enough to help him this time?

A warm tear rolled down your face, but you ignored it. The fear was overwhelming, a weight that seemed to sink your lungs, and the silence of the night only made it more oppressive.

“You can’t carry the whole world, you know?” you murmured to yourself, but the words felt empty, powerless.

Noah mumbled something incomprehensible in his sleep, his brow furrowing for a brief moment before relaxing again. You wanted to believe he was fine, that the apparent calm was real, but you couldn’t convince yourself.

And so, the night stretched on, slow and relentless. You stayed there, unmoving, staring into the early hours with tired eyes and a heavy heart, promising yourself you’d be there if he needed you—even if it meant losing yet another part of yourself in the process.

Finally, dawn arrived, and you were getting ready to head back to the hotel. Noah insisted you keep his hoodie when he noticed it was still drizzling outside. He was still groggy, unusually quiet, and you found it odd, knowing that mornings were rarely his silent moments—especially after the previous night.

“Are you okay?” you asked, watching as he turned away from the pensive moment he’d been caught in at the door.

“I don’t remember falling asleep in the bed…” Noah murmured, scratching the side of his head. “Did you figure out where that noise was coming from?”

You stared at him for a few seconds, folding your arms tightly when you saw the pure sincerity in his confused eyes. Noah didn’t remember the night before.

“I did… it was just a bird,” you said softly, and he gave a faint smile, nodding with a compressed grin.

“Ready to go?” He craned his neck to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything, and you followed him.

“We’re heading back to the hotel, but before we go any further, I really want to propose a truce.”

“A truce?” he asked, raising his eyebrows with a cautious expression.

“I’m not saying this night changed our lives or erased everything we’ve done to each other over the past two years, especially the last few months.” You took a deep breath, summoning the courage to continue. “But I think we can coexist as two human beings who… who loved each other deeply and now respect each other.”

Noah looked at you, puzzled, as if trying to decipher your words.

“I can’t promise things will be like they were or fool us with a false hope that we still have a chance, because I haven’t changed, Noah. And I can’t lie to you—I really haven’t changed.” You gave a sheepish smile, scratching the side of your head. “But I really wish we could live in a bearable environment until this is over, and we each go our separate ways.”

He stayed silent for a few moments before nodding slightly, his lips flexed in hesitation. Internally, you crossed your fingers, hoping he wouldn’t turn your attempt to be near him into something so complex. You felt the need to stay close, and you desperately needed an excuse to do so. He needed someone.

“You’re right.”

Noah sniffled discreetly, brushing off the discomfort in his nose, and took a step forward.

“But you’re not the only one who hasn’t changed… I’m still the same as back then, and that’s one of the reasons I want to keep my distance now. This version isn’t what you deserve.”

A painful silence lingered between you, and you closed your eyes for a few seconds, hoping to find another scenario when you opened them again. But he was still there.

“We should go. We’re going to be late for soundcheck, and Matt will chew us out,” you said. He gave a faint smile, trying to lighten the moment, but the shadow of his words still hung between you.

After the soundcheck, you returned to the dressing room and slumped heavily into the chair in front of the vanity. Your trembling hands rested on the surface as you stared at the pale reflection in the mirror. Your eyes were sunken, heavily concealed under layers of makeup. Your pupils were dilated, and cold sweat dripped down your neck. A tremor ran through your legs, forcing you to cross them in an attempt to mask it.

Your knotted stomach couldn’t digest anything but liquids, and the sharp pain in your head was a cruel reminder of withdrawal.

The sound of your phone ringing hammered at the back of your skull like a knife turning slowly. It was constant, repetitive, deafening, and every time you answered, all you heard was faint breathing in the background and the sound of something scratching. It made you stop paying attention to the device, treating it as if it didn’t exist.

With a sudden movement, you grabbed it and shoved it under the couch cushion, as if that could silence the noise that seemed intent on driving you mad.

You leaned forward, holding your head in your hands, when the door suddenly opened. Scarlet walked in, radiating that insufferable energy of control disguised as concern.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her tone suddenly softened but still laced with something insidious.

“It’s just a lack of patience,” you replied, trying not to show the weight of your confusion. “The incessant ringing of my phone gives me a headache.”

Scarlet glanced around and easily found the device under the cushion.

“You mean this phone?”

You nodded, not raising your eyes to her.

She frowned, glancing between you and the screen. “But it doesn’t have any missed calls.”

“What?” You jerked your head up, feeling the ground shift beneath your feet.

“Look…” Scarlet extended the phone toward you, and the blood drained from your face as you realized she was right. “There haven’t been any calls. Are you sure about what you’re saying?”

“Stop asking me if I’m sure of what I see or know, as if I’m crazy!” Your voice rose, echoing through the narrow dressing room walls.

“I’m sorry, but it’s normal for me to worry when I see you like this.” She tilted her head, her tone falsely empathetic, poisoning the air. “Your mind’s getting more confused every day. It’s not hard to imagine you’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

“But I’m not making this up! I’ve really been getting messages and calls nonstop for days!” you snapped, running your nails along the side of your head, as if you could scrape away the irritation. “Even…”

You stopped yourself, hesitating to mention the recent episodes—the feeling of being followed, the sight of your door being tampered with.

It was exactly the kind of thing Scarlet would use against you.

“Don’t tell me you’re also feeling like you’re being watched or constantly followed?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but the alarm in her eyes betrayed her. “I really should be worried about the clear signs of paranoia you’ve been showing…”

“STOP!” you shouted, the tension crackling in your voice like electricity, but she pressed on.

“You know it’s common for people in your state, don’t you? These things you’ve been using long-term erode your brain, and the tendency is for you to become more dangerous every day—not just to yourself but to others. That explains why Noah’s been keeping his distance.”

“I already told you to stop and get out of here!” Your voice shook, and you ignored her words, turning back to the mirror. The reflection was a battlefield where your inner chaos spilled outward. It wasn’t the moment—by no means—to absorb anything she said. You simply didn’t have enough control.

“Maybe it’s the perfect time to lock you up in rehab again.”

Those words hit like a punch, knocking the air from your lungs. Blood drained from your face, and your hands began to tremble as you heard something that should’ve been confidential. You had guarded that secret so carefully, buried under layers of shame and failure. Those months had felt useless—a recovery attempt now being used against you.

How did she know about that?

It didn’t matter.

You clenched your fists, jaw rigid, forcing yourself not to respond. Your vision blurred, breathing quickened, and a suffocating heat surged through your body. The incessant noise in the back of your mind, the weight of the accusations, and the physical pain melded into a whirlwind. Before you could control it, you lunged at her with all the force of your pent-up rage and despair, slapping her across the face.

Your body collided with hers, knocking her backward into the vanity. The impact sent some items crashing to the floor, but you didn’t stop. Your hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her as you screamed incoherent words—a mixture of anger and pain slamming her head against the wall with each strike. Blood trickled from her nose as the blows intensified.

Scarlet tried to defend herself, grabbing your hair and pushing your face away, but you were in an uncontrollable state. She attempted to slap you, but it only fueled your fury, blinding your vision until all you saw was red. You shoved her hard, slamming her against the wall again. She gasped for air but maintained that broken, defiant glare. With a firm tug on her hair, you alternated between punches and slaps. Adrenaline burned through your veins as you pinned her down, straddling her to immobilize her movements.

“Now you’ve got plenty of proof to call me crazy, you miserable bitch!” you screamed, your eyes wide, tears mixed with sweat streaming down your face.

She managed to free herself for a moment and tried to fight back, but the struggle was clumsy, chaotic. You both stumbled, knocking over a chair, until the sound of the door opening interrupted everything. Someone had heard the commotion and was about to step in.

You let go of Scarlet, breathing heavily, while she collapsed into loud sobs, struggling with exaggerated difficulty to move.

Both of you stayed silent for a moment, the room suffocating with the tension of the fight.

“What the hell happened here?” Noah’s voice cut through as he scanned the wrecked dressing room, startled by the disheveled girl sobbing and clinging to him.

“She freaked out and attacked me!” Scarlet sobbed, clutching his torso, her smudged makeup running as she brushed blood-matted hair away from her face.

Noah glanced between her and you, waiting for your explanation. But you merely shrugged with a restrained smile. After all, she’d come out worse. She was more injured than you, and any argument you made would be dismissed.

If she wanted to be the center of attention tonight, you had given her that.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby

[kroovv]

previous anon here: dorian's predatory business practices are a lot like wattpad's if you know anything about that—they pocket a huge portion of the proceeds for every VN they publish and only give very few pennies to the actual authors, essentially using other people's work to line their own pockets, while pretending to provide a great platform for artists. Last I heard they also have terms that say whatever you upload to them becomes their property IP. it's the kind of situation where they convince artists its the easiest option for publishing a VN, when in reality there are other ways that are just as or even more simple that allow u to keep full ownership of ur work. I also have a grudge against them specifically because they bought up an indie VN studio that I was a fan of, put previously free stuff behind a paywall and otherwise ran it into the ground, and their social media people were very unprofessional and sent threatening messages to fans for making fan content.

Renpy takes some learning, but it's really simple once you know how it works. And besides renpy there are other VN engines that are even simpler (Unity even has a VN library called Fungus thats very simple and straightforward to use) TyranoBuilder is also a popular one. As for chapters, there are absolutely people on itchio updating their VNs a chapter at a time, although i dont know if its in the way youd want; pushing each separate chapters as updates to the main game, or releasing each chapter as a separate game come to mind as options.

(i'd honestly even offer to convert the game to renpy for you since ive been working extensively with renpy for the past 2 years and am very familiar with it and how to work it, if it meant i could save one artist from the clutches of dorian, but that feels too much like overstepping 😅)

So i am not sure if maybe they have changed things, but with games self published to them they own 0% of that IP so I will own Gravehearts 100% only if they where to buy it from me then they’d own it but i personally do not see that happening lmao. From what i understand about it is it is like Webtoons but for VNs anyone can upload to it but they still own it like how i still own Horizon Walkers even though it’s on Webtoons and Tapas. They do take a % of what you make so that is why I would love to also have my own app or game on itch as well!

I have a decent following for my artwork but who knows what that vendiagram is for people who like VNs is, so if i where to publish the game somewhere by itself i don’t know how well it would do because I don’t know if i have the audience for it, also i don’t know if people would even see it when i post about it cause social media sucks. So like posting HW to webtoons so that people who read comics might see it that’s what I am kind of hoping for with posting Gravehearts to Dorian.

Again with Gravehearts i own it 100%, with publishing games there you can chose when and where people pay for things, and people do paywall love interests and main story stuff but i fully do not intend to do that because it is ✨shitty✨. So I will not be putting any main story or love interests behind paywalls the only thing I would do as paid stuff are optional scenes with a character where you can get a nice full art piece of them from it! (Im also trying to figure out if i could put some kind of code on the image so people can download high res versions of it as phone wallpapers! So you’re actually paying for something more tangible)

However like i said previously i would love to make my own app for it, or something like an app or on itch, but i could maybe try do it in tangent with Dorian, so people who don’t want to support them can still support the story somewhere else! But it might take a little while for me to be able to do something like that because it’d be learning a whole bunch of new stuff and it is just me but I will do my best 👍

[kirammanswifey]

《The Heart That Couldn't Stay》

Mel Medarda

writer's note: i can only say that i love sad endings. so anyways, this little (pretty long) scenarios comes from my arcane imagines, i'll let the link down there for anyone is interested, also i'll be posting a story for each one of those scenarios for this week, tomorrow it's jayce's turn ;)

link:

warnings: smut, fingering, angst, kinda fluff, sad ending, mel's such a love bird, reader can be a little mean but she has her reasons.

The Greek sky burned with the colors of sunset, a palette that seemed plucked straight from an Impressionist painting. The spiritual retreat Mel had chosen was nestled between mountains and the Aegean Sea, a sanctuary designed to unburden the mind. Yet, in hers, only chaos reigned. Her work as an international consultant had been relentlessly demanding, draining her creative energy for strategy and art alike. Inspiration, the elusive muse she sought, had vanished entirely.

That evening, a local collector had organized a dinner at his villa—an event brimming with artists and influential figures in the art world. Mel attended more out of obligation than genuine interest. She wandered through the private collection, examining sculptures with a detached gaze, her wine glass resting lightly in her hand. Everything around her felt hollow, devoid of meaning, until she heard a voice behind her—clear, melodic, and disarmingly self-assured.

"Did you know this sculptor worked blindfolded? He believed his hands understood form better than his eyes."

Startled, Mel turned. There you were. For a moment, she was at a loss for words. She had always considered herself striking, a vision of exotic elegance, but your beauty defied comparison. It was surreal, almost otherworldly. Perhaps it was the way your eyes shimmered as if they'd stolen the light of distant stars or how your smile radiated an effortless confidence that drew others in. Whatever it was, you were magnetic, a living paradox that demanded attention.

You wore a sheer white dress that contrasted beautifully with your skin, revealing more than it concealed, yet you seemed unbothered—on the contrary, you reveled in the freedom it afforded.

"That sounds... contradictory," Mel responded, intrigued, though she fought to keep her gaze from lingering on the tantalizing curve of your barely covered form.

"Isn’t all art a contradiction?" you replied with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

For the first time in days, Mel felt her mind stir from its slumber. "You seem well-versed in contradictions."

"Perhaps because I am one," you said with a playful tilt of your head, extending your hand toward her. "Call me Zephyr."

Mel took your hand, noting the silky softness of your skin. "Zephyr? I assume that’s not your real name." Her elegant brow arched inquisitively as she studied you. It was as though you held all the secrets of the cosmos, and she longed to unravel them.

You let out a soft laugh, a sound as entrancing as a siren’s song. "It isn’t, but I prefer it. It suits me better."

Mel’s curiosity sharpened. She needed to know more, to hear every syllable that fell from your captivating lips. "Why Zephyr?"

"Because it’s beautiful," you said simply. "Like a gentle breeze—it doesn’t disrupt or intrude, only graces you with its presence. And as quickly as it comes, it’s gone." You gestured with your hand, mimicking the delicate path of the wind, even blowing softly as if to give life to your words.

Mel smiled, entertained by your theatrics. She studied you intently, capturing every nuance of your expression. She could tell she wasn’t the first to be enchanted by your enigmatic charm. And yet, she found herself wanting to be the one exception—the one to see beyond your veil of mystery.

"Zephyr, then," Mel murmured, setting her wine glass on a nearby table. "Do you always make it a habit to bewilder strangers in galleries?" There was a playful edge to her tone, a subtle challenge laced with flirtation.

"Only those who seem to need it," you replied, circling her with deliberate grace, your gaze never leaving hers.

"And what makes you think I’m in need?" Mel hated to admit it, but she was spellbound. Each word you spoke felt more fascinating than the last. For someone as difficult to impress as Mel Medarda, this was no small feat.

You met her gaze with an intensity that seemed to pierce her flawless exterior. "Because you’re here, surrounded by art, but not feeling it. It’s as if you’re searching for something… yet you don’t know what it is." Your knack for reading people was uncanny, a skill you wielded like an artist’s brush to paint reactions as vivid as your observations.

Mel was momentarily speechless. Rarely did anyone manage to see through her polished façade. "Perhaps you’re right. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here."

"I’m a model," you said casually. "I work with painters, sculptors… I enjoy being part of their creations. And I like meeting intriguing people." Your voice carried an honesty that made it impossible to doubt you. Art wasn’t just a part of your life—it was the lens through which you viewed the world.

"Does that mean you find me intriguing?" Mel’s amusement was evident, but so was the faint undercurrent of seduction in her voice.

You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting against her ear, deliberate and tantalizing. "I’m giving you the chance to prove it."

The conversation flowed effortlessly as you explored the villa together. Mel couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken with someone like this. The way you spoke about art and life was intoxicating—each idea fresh, bold, and delivered with a passion that reignited something dormant within her.

When the dinner concluded, you invited her for a walk through the gardens. Under the starlit sky, Mel realized the Greek breeze bore a whisper of your essence: gentle yet unforgettable.

"What do you do when you’re not modeling for artists?" Mel asked as they strolled past ancient olive trees.

"I live," you said simply, as though it were the easiest thing in the world. "I don’t make plans or tie myself down. I savor whatever comes my way. And you?"

"I live to work," Mel confessed with a hint of irony.

You stopped and turned to face her, your gaze filled with quiet compassion. "How tragic. I hope that changes one day."

Something shifted inside Mel at that moment, a spark she hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t just attraction—it was curiosity, inspiration. She wanted to know more about you, the enigma who seemed to defy all her carefully constructed rules.

When you finally said goodbye, you offered her one last, enigmatic smile before vanishing into the night.

Mel remained rooted to the spot, the breeze playing with her hair. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, her mind was alive with possibilities, her thoughts consumed by the living mystery that you were.

The days following your encounter at the villa became a blend of shared moments between Mel and you. It was as if the gentle breeze you had spoken of that night had decided to linger, wrapping both of you in an air of discovery and unspoken wishes. The connection between you was subtle, like an invisible thread that neither of you could ignore, yet neither dared to name.

You found yourself taking her to places even the locals didn’t know existed. First, a hidden beach nestled between cliffs, where the water was so clear that you could see every pebble resting on the seabed. As you walked along the shore, the ocean breeze played with your hair, and Mel watched you as though you were part of the landscape, as if you belonged to that place as much as the sand and waves.

"How did you find this spot?" Mel finally asked, breaking the silence that had reigned for several minutes.

"It’s easier to find what others overlook when you’re not searching for anything," you replied with a smile that she was beginning to recognize as your signature—an enigmatic gesture that spoke volumes while revealing nothing at all.

Mel laughed softly. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"I do," you said, winking before stepping closer to the water, letting the waves kiss your feet.

Another day, you took her to an art studio tucked away in a narrow city alley. The walls were covered in paintings, some completed, others barely begun. Sculptures and scattered tools filled the space, and the air smelled of paint and freshly carved wood.

"Is this place yours?" Mel asked, her gaze sweeping across the room.

"It belongs to a friend," you explained. "He lets me come here when I need to remember that chaos can also be beautiful."

Mel watched as you moved through the canvases, brushing your fingertips lightly over a few of them, as though you were reading them rather than touching them. You stopped in front of an unfinished painting and gestured toward it with your chin.

"What do you see?" you asked.

Mel squinted, trying to decipher the shapes and colors. "It’s hard to say... It looks like a landscape, but there’s something more abstract about it. As if the artist is searching for something they haven’t found yet."

"Exactly," you said, turning to face her. "Sometimes art is just that—a search with no end."

It was then, as she observed you surrounded by art and mystery, that Mel said it.

"I want you to be my muse."

You turned to her, not so much surprised as flattered. "Your muse?"

Mel nodded, crossing her arms as she tried to maintain a serious expression. "I have a painting I can’t finish. I’ve tried everything, but... I feel like something’s missing. And I think that something is you."

Your enigmatic smile appeared once more, though your eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "Are you sure? Being your muse comes with risks."

"What risks?" Mel asked, raising an eyebrow—a gesture you had noticed she often made when nervous.

You stepped closer to her, the space between you diminishing, and whispered, "That you might fall in love with me. Promise me you won’t fall in love with me." Your expression was tinged with sadness; you didn’t want Mel to make the same mistake others had. You liked her too much for that.

Mel’s laughter filled the studio, but you noticed the faint blush creeping across her cheeks. "I think I can handle it," she finally said, though you weren’t entirely convinced.

The first painting session took place the following day in Mel’s studio, where she had set up a large canvas in the center of the room. The golden hues of the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow that made your skin shimmer as though you were made of light.

You sat gracefully on a stool, crossing your legs, while Mel prepared her brushes and paints. You watched her in silence, captivated by the intensity of her focus.

"Ready?" she asked, glancing up at you.

"I was born ready," you replied with a smile that seemed to challenge her.

As Mel began to paint, the tension in the room became palpable. Her eyes flicked between the canvas and you, as though each brushstroke was a confession. For your part, you remained still, though inside you could feel the energy building between you, like an electric current threatening to spark.

"I can’t figure you out," Mel murmured suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Why would you want to?" you asked reflexively, though you already knew the answer. You were used to this—people becoming obsessed with the idea of unraveling you, of discovering why you were the way you were, instead of simply accepting you as you were. But no, humans were selfish; they always wanted more.

"Because I feel like there are so many layers to you... and I want to see them all," Mel said, speaking as though she were discovering a new world, an uncharted planet yet to be named by scientists.

You allowed yourself a soft laugh, though there was a hint of melancholy in it. "Perhaps some things are more beautiful when they remain hidden."

Hours later, just as Mel was about to add the finishing touches, the rain began. The storm arrived abruptly, with heavy drops pelting the windows and wind howling to break in.

"We should stop," Mel said, but you were already on your feet.

You stepped outside without a word, letting the rain soak your dress and hair. Instead of seeking shelter, you began to dance, spinning with your arms outstretched, as though celebrating the storm’s arrival.

Mel watched you from the doorway, utterly captivated. She had never seen anything so beautiful, so pure. Finally, she couldn’t resist and stepped out after you, ignoring the rain drenching her clothes.

When she reached you, you stopped and looked her directly in the eyes. The starry sky seemed to reflect in your gaze, and Mel felt everything else fade away.

Without thinking, you closed the space between you and kissed her. It was a slow, deep kiss, filled with every unsaid word and every promise yet to be made. Promises that would never be kept.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, but neither the rain nor the cold seemed to matter.

"Come with me," Mel said, taking your hand.

You followed her inside, the wooden floorboards creaking softly beneath your soaked shoes. Rainwater drips from your hair, tracing rivulets down the curve of your neck and between the valley of your breasts, visible through the drenched fabric of your black dress. The cool air pebbles your nipples, making them strain against the damp material.

Mel closes the door behind you, the click echoing in the tranquil space. Shadows dance across the whitewashed walls, cast by the flickering candlelight illuminating an array of paintings - vibrant splashes of color amidst the neutral tones. The scent of rain mingles with the earthy aroma of oil paints and turpentine.

"You have no idea how much I've been waiting for this moment," Mel murmurs, her voice low and sultry. She reaches out, trailing a finger along your jawline, tilting your chin up gently. Her touch is cool from the rain, sending shivers down your spine. You laughed softly, enjoying the moment. Her desperation for you was entertaining.

You lean into her hand, your own coming up to cover hers. Your fingers intertwine, thumbs brushing against each other in a intimate caress. Mel's skin is soft, yet calloused from hours spent holding a paintbrush. You bring her hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to her palm, feeling her pulse flutter beneath your touch.

"I've been waiting for this too, Mel,"

Mel's breath hitches, her chest rising and falling more rapidly. She takes another step closer, until your bodies are a mere whisper apart. You can feel the heat radiating off her, a stark contrast to the chill of the rain. Her eyes never leave yours as she reaches for the hem of your dress, slowly, teasingly, peeling the drenched fabric up and over your head.

Cool air kisses your newly exposed skin, making your nipples tighten further. Mel's gaze drops to your chest, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She leans in, her breath ghosting over the swell of your breasts. Your heart pounds, anticipation coiling in your belly.

You help her shrug out of her own shirt, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Beneath, she wears a lacy bra and a pair of matching panties, both a shade darker than the candlelit room. The damp fabric clings to her curves, hinting at the supple flesh beneath. You reach out, tracing the lace along her collarbone, feeling the heat of her skin through the delicate material.

Mel shivers at your touch, her nipples visibly hardening beneath the flimsy lace. She takes your hand, guiding it lower, over the swell of her breasts, down her taut stomach. Stopping just above the waistband of her panties, she looks up at you through hooded eyes, her gaze smoldering with unspoken desires.

Leaning in, you capture her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all your pent-up longing into the embrace. Mel responds hungrily, her fingers tangling in your damp hair, pulling you closer. Your bodies mold together, the coolness of your rain-soaked skin contrasting with the heat building between you. It was so stimulating.

You walk backwards until your legs hit the edge of the paint-splattered drop cloth draped across the center of the room. Mel's hands roam over your naked back, nails raking lightly over your skin, leaving tingling trails in their wake. She pushes you gently, urging you to sit on the edge of the canvas.

Falling back onto the soft fabric, you watch as Mel unhooks her bra, letting it slip down her arms and onto the floor. Her breasts are full and perfect, topped with chocolate nipples that beg to be tasted. She leans over you, hair falling like a curtain around you both as she takes your hands, placing them on her breasts.

You knead the soft flesh, feeling the weight of her in your palms. Mel arches into your touch, a breathy moan escaping her lips. You roll her nipples between your fingers, feeling them stiffen and peak. Mel's hips undulate against yours, the heat of her core evident even through the layers separating you.

Sitting up, you hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties, slowly dragging them down her long, toned legs. She lifts her hips, helping you remove the last barrier between you. Now, she's bare before you, all smooth skin and tempting curves, illuminated by the flickering candlelight.

She takes your hand, guiding it to the small of her back as she presses herself against you, your hands roaming the curves of her damp dark skin.

"Touch me," Mel breathes, her voice husky with desire. "Feel how much I crave you. My body and my soul needs you."

Your fingers trace her chest, feeling her heart racing beneath your touch. She shivers as your hand cups the soft swell of her breast, your thumb brushing against the hardened peak. A soft moan escapes her lips, her head falling back as she arches into your caress.

You lean in, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. You can taste the rain on her skin, the salt of her desire. "I want you to touch every inch of my body," you murmur, your voice low and filled with want. "To explore the canvas of my body with your hands, your mouth, until you have mapped every curve and hollow."

Mel's hand slides down your back, her nails raking lightly against your skin. She cups your rear, pulling your hips flush against hers. You can feel the heat of her core, even through the layers of your clothing. "Oh, I'll. There's nothing that i crave more than that," she breathes, her lips a hairsbreadth from yours. "I'll taste all of you."

You capture her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all your pent-up desire and longing into the embrace. She kisses you back fiercely, her tongue plundering your mouth, tangling with yours. Your hands roam her body, squeezing the firm globes of her ass, the soft give of her thighs, the delicate bones of her ribs.

Mel’s hands are just as busy, sliding under your dress. Pulling it down and pushing it off your hips. You kick it off and are left in nothing but a pair of soaked panties. The cool air kisses your hot skin, making you shiver. But then Mel’s hands are on you again, sliding under the damp fabric to cup your most intimate place. Her fingers find your center, caressing the slick folds, eliciting all sorts of reactions from you.

You gasp as Mel’s fingers find your slick heat, your hips bucking at her touch. She caresses your folds, teasing your entrance, feeling your arousal coat her fingers. “You’re so wet,” she murmurs, her voice filled with wonder and desire. “So ready for me.”

You can only moan in response, your head falling back as she circles your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your toes curl. Your hands grip her shoulders, nails digging into her soft skin as the pleasure builds.

Mel leans in, her lips brushing against your ear. "I want to taste your pleasure," she whispers, her hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "I want to feel you come undone in my mouth, on my tongue."

Before you can respond, she's lowering herself to her knees, her face level with your aching core. She hooks her fingers in the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs. You lift your hips, helping her remove the last barrier between you.

Now you're bare before her, exposed and wanting. Mel looks up at you, her eyes dark with lust as she takes in the sight of your glistening folds. "Beautiful," she breathes. "Absolutely gorgeous. You are a goddess on earth. I'm sure Aphrodite envies every inch of your perfection. The perfect muse. The best work of art."

You smiled at her, pleased. That was why you liked to get involved with artists, their compliments were on another level.

You watch, heart pounding, as she leans in and inhales deeply, taking in your scent. Then, slowly, teasingly, she leans in and drags the flat of her tongue along your slit, from your entrance to your clit. You cry out, your hands fisting in her hair as bolts of electricity shoot through your body.

Mel hums against your flesh, the vibrations adding to the intense sensation. She licks you again, slower this time, savoring your taste. Her tongue delves between your folds, stroking your walls, feeling your silken heat. She laps at your essence, drinking it down like a woman thirsting.

Your hips undulate against her face, seeking more of her touch. She gives you what you crave, sealing her lips around your clit and suckling gently. The dual sensations of her lips and tongue working in tandem has you seeing stars, your chest heaving with each ragged breath.

As she suckles, her fingers find your entrance, plunging inside. She pumps them in and out, curling them to stroke that secret spot deep within you. The pleasure builds.

Mel's fingers pump faster, plunging in and out of your dripping core as she suckles your clit with increasing fervor. The obscene sound of your arousal fills the studio, mingling with your wanton moans and cries. She can feel your walls starting to flutter around her invading fingers, your body tensing as your climax approaches.

Releasing your clit with a wet pop, Mel looks up at you, her lips glistening with your essence. "Come for me," she commands, her voice rough with lust. "I want to feel you come apart on my tongue."

She seals her lips around your clit once more and suckles hard, two fingers pumping relentlessly into your weeping core. That's all it takes to send you flying over the edge. Your body goes rigid, back arching as a scream of ecstasy tears from your throat.

Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over you, your inner walls clenching and spasming around Mel's fingers. She works you through your climax, her tongue and fingers never stilling until the last aftershock subsides. As you come down, she gentles her touch, bringing you back to earth.

Finally, she withdraws her fingers, bringing them to her lips to lick them clean. "Delicious," she purrs, her gaze never leaving yours. "I could feast on you for hours."

Once you've regained some composure, you reach out and take Mel's hands, gently tugging her up until she's sitting beside you on the sofa. She comes willingly, a playful smirk on her face. You pull her into a deep, sensual kiss, tasting yourself on her lips and tongue.

Breaking the kiss, you gaze into her eyes, your own filled with a new kind of hunger. "Now it's my turn to worship you," you murmur, your voice low and filled with desire. I'm going to make you discover new sensations. "I'll take you to heaven and bring you down to hell. At the same time. You won't know what's happening, you won't remember anything. You'll only remember me and the pleasure I'll give you."

You guide Mel to lie back against the sofa cushions, her dark hair fanning out around her head like a halo. She complies, her eyes never leaving yours as you settle between her spread thighs. You can see the anticipation in her gaze, the way her chest rises and falls with each ragged breath.

Starting at her ankles, you begin your exploration, trailing your fingers slowly up her calves. Her skin is soft and smooth. You caress her knees, feeling the firmness of the muscles beneath the skin.

Higher you go, skimming your hands along her thighs. Her skin is warm and slightly damp from the rain, the scent of her arousal perfuming the air. You can see the way her muscles tense and flutter beneath your touch, reacting to your every caress.

At the apex of her thighs, you pause, your gaze locked with hers. She's watching you intently, her lips parted slightly, her chest heaving. You can feel the heat radiating off her core, see the damp patch darkening the fabric of her panties.

Unable to resist, you lean in and press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to her clothed sex. She gasps, her hips jerking up slightly at the contact. The kiss deepens, your lips moving against her, feeling the shape of her beneath the thin material.

You slowly peel Mel's panties down her legs, revealing her glistening folds to your hungry gaze. She lifts her hips to help you remove the last barrier between you and her aching desire. As you toss the soaked fabric aside, you settle between her thighs, your face mere inches from her dripping sex.

Mel's scent fills your nostrils, the heady aroma of her arousal making your head spin with want. You breathe in deeply, relishing her intoxicating essence. She watches you, her eyes hooded and darkened with lust, as you lean in and extend your tongue.

Slowly, teasingly, you drag your tongue along her slit, feeling her slick arousal coat your taste buds. Mel shudders, a soft moan escaping her lips as your mouth makes contact with her most sensitive flesh. You can feel her walls fluttering, reacting to your touch.

Encouraged by her response, you delve deeper, your tongue plunging into her hot, tight channel. You stroke her walls, feeling the silken texture, tasting her ambrosia. Mel's fingers tangle in your hair, gripping tightly as you feast on her sex.

You lave attention on every inch of her glistening folds, your tongue swirling around her throbbing clit before suckling gently on the sensitive bud. Mel writhes beneath you, her thighs clenching around your head as she grinds her hips against your face.

"Don't stop," she pleads, her voice ragged and breathless. "Please don't stop. I need... I need..."

Her words dissolve into a low moan as you double your efforts, your fingers joining your tongue in pleasuring her. You plunge two digits into her dripping core, pumping them in and out, stroking her walls in time with the strokes of your tongue against her clit.

Mel's grip on your hair tightens, her back arching off the sofa cushions as her climax builds rapidly. You can feel her walls starting to clench, her body tensing, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

With a final, hard suckle to her clit and a curl of your fingers deep inside her, you send Mel flying over the edge. She cries out, a sound of pure ecstasy, as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave.

As Mel's climax subsides, her body goes limp against the sofa, chest heaving as she catches her breath. You place a final, gentle kiss on her sensitive flesh before slowly crawling up her body, leaving a trail of soft kisses along her skin like the perfect lover you were.

Reaching her lips, you capture them in a searing, passionate kiss, pouring all your love and desire into the embrace. Mel kisses you back fiercely, tasting herself on your mouth, moaning softly as her fingers caress your face.

Breaking the kiss, you gaze into her eyes, your own shining with adoration and a deep sense of satisfaction. "That was incredible," you whisper, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. "You're incredible."

Mel smiles, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling with post-orgasmic bliss. "I could say the same to you," she murmurs, pulling you down for another tender kiss. "Never in my life have I felt so... complete. So utterly satisfied."

You settle beside her on the sofa, your bodies pressed close, legs entwined. The candlelight flickers over your naked forms, casting a warm, intimate glow. You trace patterns on her skin, marveling at the softness, the smoothness, the way she shivers at your touch.

Mel nestles closer, resting her head on your chest, listening to the steady beat of your heart. Your fingers comb through her dark hair, gently disentangling the damp locks. She sighs contentedly, her hand resting on your stomach, her thumb tracing idle circles on your skin.

In the comfortable silence, you both bask in the afterglow of your lovemaking, the intimacy of the moment. The studio, once filled with the sounds of your passion, now holds a serene, tranquil atmosphere.

Outside, the rain continues to patter against the window panes, the wind whispering through the trees.

Mel quickly fell asleep on your shoulder, you smiled at the tenderness. You adjusted her to a better position and remained silent with your thoughts. You stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you had made another mistake.

The morning after that night under the rain, Mel woke up with a calmness she couldn’t recall feeling before. She turned toward your side of the sofá, and there you were, eyes closed, your head slightly tilted to one side, as if sleep had found you in the middle of a deep thought. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine that scene repeating every day: you, her, the intimacy of dawn.

But when you opened your eyes, the warmth Mel had hoped for wasn’t there. A polite smile, nothing more. Your movements were gentle yet distant, as if you were preparing for a farewell you hadn’t yet spoken.

“Will you stay for breakfast?” she asked, trying to conceal the vulnerability creeping into her voice.

“I can’t. There are things I need to do,” you replied as you got out of the furniture, dressing at a pace neither hurried nor inviting, leaving no room for Mel to insist.

And so began the days that followed. Mel, eager to draw closer to you, and you, keeping your distance, though you occasionally let glimpses of a deeper connection shine through. Each time she thought she’d breached your walls, you rebuilt them with a coldness that left her unsettled.

Your relationship became a whirlwind of intense, conflicting emotions. On one hand, there were moments when Mel felt you were entirely hers: your touches, your kisses, the overwhelming passion you shared when together. But then came the silences, the averted gazes, the evasive answers that left Mel feeling hollow.

One night, after one of those breathtakingly passionate encounters, Mel finally dared to ask what had been weighing on her for weeks.

“Why do you do this?”

You turned to look at her, your eyes flickering with a mixture of surprise and caution. “Do what?”

“Be so close to me… and then so far away,” Mel said, her voice trembling slightly. “I feel like every time I think I know you, you pull away. As if you want to keep me at arm’s length.”

You sighed, averting your gaze toward the window, as though you wished to escape both her and the conversation. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me,” Mel pressed. “Let me understand you.”

For a moment, you seemed torn between the instinct to flee and the possibility of opening up. Finally, you rose from the bed, walking toward the window, wrapping yourself in a sheet. From there, you stared out at the city, your thoughts warring within you.

“There was someone before you, before anyone else,” you began, your voice a mere whisper. “Someone who taught me that you can’t love without losing a part of yourself.” You closed your eyes for a moment, blocking out memories that still stung.

Mel sat up, hugging her knees, waiting for you to continue. She didn’t dare interrupt, fearing any word might make you retreat.

“Her name was Caitlyn,” you said at last, her name still difficult to speak. “She was… perfect. Or at least, that’s what I believed. She was everything I’m not: just, noble, constant. And I… I was her opposite. We were like night and day, but somehow, we worked. Or so I thought.”

You paused, and Mel could see the tension in your shoulders, as if the weight of your memories was too much to bear.

“At first, it was exhilarating. She made me feel alive, like I’d finally found a place where I belonged. But then… the differences began to show. Caitlyn wanted order, rules, a clear purpose. And I… I’m chaos. I’ve always been. I tried to be what she needed, I tried to change, but it was never enough. To Caitlyn, I was always a problem to solve, a piece that didn’t fit into her perfect world.”

Mel edged closer to you but didn’t dare touch you. “What happened to her?”

“She left,” you said, your voice steady but laden with pain. “She left because she couldn’t handle what I am. She left because she couldn’t endure the chaos. And I… well, I learned not to expect anything from anyone.”

You turned to Mel, and your eyes held something she hadn’t seen before: vulnerability. “That’s what I am, Mel. Chaos. I’m not constant, I’m not someone you can understand or fix. And I’m certainly not someone you can save.”

Mel shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t want to save you. I just want… to be with you. I want you to let me try.”

You smiled sadly, stepping closer and cupping her face in your hands. “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” you whispered before kissing her with an intensity that seemed to etch your words into her heart.

That night, while Mel slept, her breathing soft and steady, you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts oscillating between the serenity of the moment and the storm raging in your mind. Her presence beside you, her gentle warmth, was a constant reminder of what she offered and what you could never fully give back.

Your gaze drifted to her face. In the faint light streaming through the window, she looked angelic—lips slightly parted, hair tousled yet perfect. Her softness, the way her body relaxed under the sheets, radiated a warmth that felt foreign to you.

But it wasn’t her you were thinking of. Unbidden, your mind wandered to Caitlyn. Mel’s face blurred, morphing for an instant into Caitlyn’s, and the echoes of nights spent with her stirred in your chest.

You remembered how Caitlyn used to sleep differently—more composed, her movements deliberate, even in the vulnerability of rest. The contrast with Mel was stark. Caitlyn had never been as open, as vulnerable as Mel. Her love had been stern, unyielding, and what hurt the most was that what you had felt for Caitlyn was nothing like what you felt now for Mel.

You wondered if, deep down, you wished Caitlyn were the one beside you now, holding you, breathing softly by your side. Sometimes, the thought of Caitlyn drew a sigh from your lips, and you couldn’t tell if you lamented it or longed for it with every fiber of your being. Perhaps, you thought, if Caitlyn had been there, things would have been different. She wouldn’t have allowed you to pull away. She would have fought for you, for your love.

But Caitlyn was gone. Caitlyn had left you, taking with her the chance to experience what a genuine, albeit imperfect, love could be. And now, here you were, with Mel, who, without intending to, was overwhelming you with her boundless love and expectations. A love so pure yet too much for someone like you, who had grown used to the emptiness, the cold that kept you safe.

As your eyes traced Mel’s peaceful features, you realized that while your body was here, beside her, your heart, no matter how much you tried to deny it, still sought Caitlyn. It was as if her image was etched into your mind, haunting every corner of your life.

“Why aren’t you her?” you whispered in your thoughts, wishing Mel’s presence could replace what you had lost. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t fair. Not to Mel, and not to yourself.

Caitlyn had been a part of you that you could never reclaim, and maybe—just maybe—that was why you kept your distance. For fear that Mel would become the next victim of a wound that had never truly healed.

You knew Mel was beginning to idealize you, to believe she could change you, as if love alone could mend the cracks in your soul. But you had learned the hard way that it couldn’t. Love doesn’t save; it transforms. And sometimes, those transformations left more scars than they healed.

You promised yourself that, for her sake, you wouldn’t let her get too close. Yet part of you—that small, fractured part that still yearned to feel something other than emptiness—hoped she wouldn’t give up. Yes. You were human, and you were selfish too.

Though your days unfolded with the tranquility of routine, your heart beat in chaotic disarray. At times, you couldn't help but think that Mel was an illusion—a figure too radiant, too intense. And yet, when you looked at her, you knew she was real. She was there, always, her eyes shining with a love so profound and genuine it seemed to consume you, leaving no room to escape.

You kept your distance, of course, because you couldn’t give her what she wanted—what she longed for. Deep down, you knew you’d never be the woman she believed you could become.

Mel was entirely devoted to you, and you were painfully aware of it. To her, you were the muse of her dreams, the missing piece in her life. Her art, her world—everything revolved around you. And no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you knew you had become the center of her existence.

In her infinite passion, she had finished the painting she had been tirelessly working on. Each brushstroke was a silent cry from her heart—a tapestry woven from emotion and anguish, love and despair. The canvas now hanging in her studio captured the magnitude of what you shared but also the boundaries of what you were willing to give. The painting was beautiful, no doubt, but it was also a mirror reflecting all you could never be for her.

The city’s cultural showcase arrived, and as expected, Mel invited you. You felt at ease in the spotlight—you were born for it. The world around you was like a stage you commanded effortlessly. It was so easy, in fact, that it often bored you, driving you to seek novelty, to avoid stagnation at any cost.

You moved through the crowd, flirting shamelessly, aware that Mel couldn’t take her eyes off you. You found it amusing, you had to admit, but you didn’t care about her opinion or her feelings. You had learned to live only for yourself, as everyone should.

The painting was there, standing as a silent declaration of what had been between you. People gathered around it, observing, commenting, admiring. They all said the same things: “It’s stunning.” “A masterpiece.” But you knew that, for Mel, the painting wasn’t just a piece of art. It was a testament to what she felt for you. And that realization stung more than you had expected.

At the end of the night, as the crowd thinned, Mel took your hand with an expression of pride and vulnerability.

“You’ve charmed everyone tonight. Do you realize what you’ve done?” she said, her voice soft but brimming with emotion. “You helped me break through. My work is a success because of you.”

The light in her eyes reflected an uncomfortable truth. She wasn’t just talking about the painting. She didn’t see you merely as a muse for her art. She saw you as something more—something you didn’t know how to handle.

Mel wrapped her arms around you, her body pressing against yours with a familiarity that unsettled you. But when her lips moved closer, when she tried to kiss you, something inside you shattered. You turned your face away abruptly, rejecting her without hesitation.

Her expression shifted from surprise to confusion, then to frustration. It seemed as though she couldn’t comprehend what she had done wrong. It didn’t matter how much she tried; you didn’t feel the same, and you never would, no matter how many gestures of love or tender words she offered.

Your gaze drifted back to the painting—a portrait of you that seemed to delve far beyond the surface. Who were you in that painting? Who were you to Mel? A muse? A perfect image in her mind? A fantasy she could never fulfill?

Before you could speak, Mel broke the silence, her tone urgent, almost desperate.

“I need you to know how I feel,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, as if each word cost her a great effort. “I need more from you. I want you to be mine—entirely. Not just your body, but your soul.”

Her words hit you like a crashing wave against an immovable stone. You felt trapped, as though you were being pulled into something you couldn’t control. But you couldn’t give her what she was asking for. You couldn’t promise her a future that didn’t exist.

“I’ve given you everything I have,” Mel continued, her voice softer now, fragile, like glass on the verge of breaking. “I’ve opened my heart, my mind, my art. But there’s still something missing. Something I don’t want to ask for, but I can’t stop longing for.”

The air in the room grew thick, suffocating. You could hardly breathe, as though an invisible force was tightening around your chest. The weight of her gaze, the intensity of her desire, crushed you.

“Mel…” you finally said, your voice cold, almost detached—a wall you had built to protect yourself. “I’ve been clear from the start. You’ll never be Caitlyn. No one ever will.”

Mel recoiled slightly, as if your words had struck her like a physical blow. Her eyes shimmered with pain, but she said nothing. She simply stared at you, searching for solace, for some sliver of hope. But there was nothing you could give her.

“You’ve fallen in love with an idea that isn’t real,” you said firmly, each word leaving your lips like a dagger. “No one will ever make me love again the way I loved her. I’m not a hero. I’m not a savior. I’m not what you’re looking for. What I can give you will never be enough.”

Mel opened her mouth, but no words came out at first. She was processing, grasping for a way to undo what had just been said, to rewrite your words, to make them her own. But the words were already spoken. There was no turning back.

At last, the chill of your voice broke her.

“Then… what are we? What have I been to you?” she asked, her voice trembling, her body rigid, as though she wanted to run but couldn’t.

You stepped closer, though you made sure to keep an emotional distance. She needed to understand, no matter how much it hurt.

“What we are is nothing, Mel,” you said with unflinching resolve. “You and I are nothing. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

The air between you grew heavier, almost unbearable. The words hung in the room like a dense fog, enveloping everything around you. Mel stood frozen, her eyes brimming with a mixture of sorrow and disbelief. Her lips parted, but no sound escaped. It seemed she couldn’t fully process what you had just told her.

You knew those words were the cruelest you’d ever spoken, but they were also the most necessary. You couldn’t keep dragging Mel into a love you couldn’t reciprocate, and you couldn’t keep seeing her as someone she wasn’t.

She could never replace what you had lost with Caitlyn, and you couldn’t keep fooling yourself—or her.

Turning away, you let the silence between you grow. As you walked toward the exit, a knot tightened in your stomach. The words exchanged between you wouldn’t change anything. Perhaps the chasm between you was deeper than either of you had ever imagined.

Mel would never fully understand what you had lost or what it had cost you to get here. And even if you wanted to, you couldn’t give her more.

The silence of those three days was torment itself. The gallery room, the paintings, the space you shared—it all remained, untouched, like an open wound refusing to heal. Time crept by sluggishly, as though the world itself had come to a halt. Mel didn’t seek you out. She had been shattered, and the image of her face—confused, hurt, and broken—lingered in your mind like a ghost. You knew what you’d said had been necessary, but you also knew it had fractured something deep within her. You never intended to hurt her, but some truths, no matter how cruel, serve as shields. And this wall you had built was meant to protect you both.

By the third day, when you thought you might finally begin to breathe without the weight of her gaze, she appeared.

Mel stood at the door of your apartment. Her eyes were red, swollen from what must have been hours—perhaps days—of crying. Her face was drawn, and when she finally spoke, her voice was as fractured as her composure, trembling under the weight of words that seemed to cost her everything.

"I need to talk to you," she said, her voice trembling.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You simply looked at her, and for a fleeting moment, the world vanished. There was only her—the woman who had stormed into your life with all the force of a tempest, leaving you unsteady in her wake. And now, that tempest seemed extinguished, leaving behind nothing but the vulnerability you had feared seeing.

"I know I overstepped—I didn’t respect your space when you needed it, I know that," she began, her hands clenched tightly at her sides, as though bracing herself. "But I can do better. I can’t let this end like this, Zephyr. I can’t let us hang in this void."

Her eyes glistened with a determination that made you hesitate. It was as if she was clawing for a lifeline, pleading silently for forgiveness—for the chance to undo what had already been done. Yet, instead of retreating, she stepped closer, her words growing more desperate, more raw.

"I—I love you. Do you understand? I love you," she said, her voice cracking under the weight of the confession. "I’ve tried, but I can’t live without you. I’ve thought about it, over and over, and I can’t leave this unfinished. I need us to matter."

You stood frozen, her words hanging in the air like shards of glass. Part of you wanted to reach for her, to tell her what she wanted to hear. But fear—fear of causing her more pain—anchored you to the spot.

"Mel..." you whispered finally, your voice soft, yet laced with a coldness you couldn’t suppress. "I warned you from the start—not to fall in love with me."

The words lingered in the space between you, and for a moment, you thought she might not understand. But the light in her eyes didn’t fade. Instead, her gaze grew more intense, as though she were searching for a crack, a weakness, a way to prove you wrong.

"But why? Why not?" she pressed, her hands now reaching out to you, as if trying to pull you back to her, back to the love she so desperately clung to. "We can go to London. We can start fresh, together. I need to return to my work there, but I won’t leave you behind. I promised myself I wouldn’t. Come with me—everything will change. I’ll make sure you never regret it. Please, just say yes. Say yes to me."

Her words hung in the air, shimmering with promises of a future that felt more like a dream than reality. London, a fresh start, a new chapter—it all sounded so perfect, as though the past could be erased with one step forward. But you knew better. You knew you couldn’t escape the truth of what you felt—or didn’t feel.

"Mel," you sighed, letting the carefully built walls around your heart crumble. "It’s not about any of that. I don’t care if you leave or stay. I have my life here, and I’m happy in my own way. I don’t need you, Mel—I never did. And you don’t need me either. No one needs someone else to survive. It feels that way now, but in time, you’ll see I was right."

She took another step toward you, her eyes searching yours desperately, as if willing you to change your mind. But all you could do was hold her gaze, unable to offer the solace she craved.

"I care about you, Mel," you continued, your voice heavy with sorrow, "but not the way you care about me. Not the way you need me to. I can’t keep being the lifeline you’re grasping at. I told you not to fall for me because I knew I couldn’t be what you wanted."

Her breath hitched, and the raw anguish in her eyes was almost unbearable.

"Then what am I to you?" she asked, her voice a fragile whisper. "What have I been to you, if not what I hoped?"

You held her gaze, searching for the right words, but none would come. You couldn’t tell her she had been nothing more than an illusion—a reflection of what she wanted to see. And yet, you knew you couldn’t keep pretending to be something you weren’t.

"You are someone who brought light into my life," you said at last, your tone as heavy as hers. "Someone who gave me moments of joy, of companionship. I’ve learned from you, Mel. But that’s not enough. I can’t be what you’re looking for. I’m not who you think I am."

Her expression shattered further, the pale mask of her face cracking under the weight of your words. Her lips trembled as she struggled to respond, to find some ground to stand on in the midst of your rejection.

"What do you want from me?" she asked finally, her voice breaking. "What can I do to make you see how much I love you? What more can I give?"

"Let me go," you replied softly, each word carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid truths. "Let me go, so you can find what you truly need. It isn’t me."

The silence between you became suffocating. The air itself felt heavier, the moment unbearable in its finality. She stood frozen, as though the world had stopped around her, unable to process what you had just said.

You took a slow breath, knowing what you had to do next.

"Tell me," you said, your voice steady, though tinged with sadness, "what’s my favorite color?"

She blinked, stunned by the question. Her gaze flitted across your face, searching for an answer, for some clue. But you both knew she didn’t know.

The silence stretched, and finally, she admitted it. She didn’t know.

That was all the proof you needed.

You smiled softly, the gesture laced with sorrow.

"You don’t know me, Mel," you said gently. "You’re not in love with me. You’re in love with the idea of me—the version of me you’ve created in your mind. Not the real me."

Before her, your figure stood firm, distant—a shadow fading slowly into the past.

No more words were needed. Everything had already been said, each syllable carving the path to this inevitable moment. The goodbye had been silently written long before, and now the last chapter was closing. Mel’s heart thundered in her chest, a pain blossoming within her that defied words. So much remained unspoken, so many pleas hovered on her lips, yet none escaped. She knew the truth—this ending was already written, and no force in the world could rewrite it.

You stepped toward her, and though the storm inside threatened to consume her, Mel didn’t move, didn’t speak. How she wished for simplicity, for perfection—for you to look at her with the same love that she had poured into you endlessly. But reality painted a different picture.

With a gentleness that was almost cruel in its tenderness, you kissed her cheek. The touch, fleeting as it was, carried the weight of an eternity. Mel closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the gesture seep into her skin. But it wasn’t the kiss itself that shattered her—it was the sadness behind it, the resignation of a love that had never flourished the way she had dreamed.

“Thank you for everything,” you said, your voice steady yet distant. “For all that we shared. But this... it can’t continue.”

Mel’s eyes searched yours, desperate for a flicker of doubt, a hint that perhaps this wasn’t final. But all she found was determination—unyielding and absolute—lodging itself into her chest like a dagger.

She couldn’t understand. She couldn’t accept it.

“Why?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling under the weight of her anguish.

You hesitated, your gaze softening momentarily. Then, stepping back, you looked at her with a bittersweet blend of sorrow and resolve. It was as if everything Mel had ever sought in you, every piece of the connection she had tried to weave, was now slipping through her fingers like sand.

“I don’t want you to keep waiting for something I can’t give,” you began, your tone firm but tinged with regret. “I don’t want you to waste your time. Time is precious, Mel. And I can’t change who I am, nor do I want to. Not for you, not for anyone. The healthiest thing for both of us is to say goodbye and move on with our lives—as we were always meant to.”

The words hit her like a tidal wave, the air rushing from her lungs as though the ground had been pulled out from under her. Goodbye? Was this truly it? Could everything they had built, everything they had shared, crumble so easily in a single breath?

“No!” she cried out, her voice rising involuntarily, as if sheer desperation could bend fate. But the plea felt hollow, echoing in the void between them. There was nothing left to salvage.

You studied her for a long moment, your expression unreadable. There was no anger in your eyes, only the quiet sorrow of someone bidding farewell to a dream that had never truly been theirs. Mel’s tear-filled gaze searched for answers, for something—anything—that could stop this unraveling. But all she found was silence.

It was over.

Mel swallowed hard, feeling a fracture deep within her soul. She couldn’t let the despair consume her, couldn’t let the pain define her. And yet, it did. It was as if the weight of the universe had descended upon her, every emotion—grief, abandonment, inadequacy—crashing over her all at once.

You turned away, your steps carrying you toward the door. The finality of it hung in the air like a storm cloud. Mel remained frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. She could only watch as the last vestiges of what she had cherished slipped away.

At the threshold, you paused. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though you might turn back, as though the story might still change. But you didn’t. Instead, you sighed softly, your back to her, the weight of unspoken words heavy in the space between you.

“Goodbye, Mel,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath. And with that final whisper, you disappeared, leaving her alone with the emptiness, the ache, and the reality that nothing could be undone.

Mel stood there in the stillness, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the room. Minutes passed before she finally moved, retreating into the solitude of her home. The quiet enveloped her, and the weight of your absence pressed down with unbearable force. Something inside her had shattered, something she knew could never be made whole again.

By the next morning, Mel was at the airport, her ticket to London clutched tightly in her hand. The cold city air greeted her as she stepped off the plane, biting against her skin as if to remind her she was still alive. But inside, she felt hollow.

In her hand, she held a postcard—a picture of the Greek isles, the sea and mountains stretching endlessly. It was one of the few remnants of you she still possessed, a fragment of the life you had once shared. Staring at it, a phrase echoed in her mind, as clear as if you had whispered it in her ear:

“Promise me that you won’t fall in love with me.”

And in that moment, something broke entirely. It was the hardest truth she had ever faced, the truth she had buried deep within her heart. She had never been enough. She would never be enough.

But she accepted it. With a heart fractured but resolute, she accepted it. And as she stepped into the crowd, she understood a lesson she had always known: some stories do not end happily. Peace is not always attainable. But at least the love she had felt was real, even if it had not been returned.

[altruistic-meme]

i can't speak on being a "good" commenter because that really depends on what you consider "good" to be, and honestly for most writers ANY commenter that isn't unasked for criticism or hate is a good commenter.

BUT as for being a consistent commenter, I have been working on that myself recently and this is my method: have a prepared response. it may seem like it's unoriginal or silly to have a copy-paste comment, but it's actually super helpful.

that's because for me, my biggest issue with not commenting as often as I wanted to was that I often wouldn't have the energy to put in any thought AT ALL behind it and that made me feel bad because if I had enough energy to read the fic, I SHOULD have enough energy to at Ieast say WHY I finished, right? so I would end up holding on to fics that I had finished with the intent to return to them when I DID have energy and leave a comment. except it never worked like that, and i ended up losing the fics without ever commenting.

the counter? "🖤🖤" thats it. every time I reach the end of a fic I enjoyed, i told myself that all I had to do was add those two hearts. sometimes I'll get there and realize that I want to mention something else as well, or that i want to just make a silly comment like "oh my heart!" or "poor [x]!" but those hearts are VITAL because even if i CANT think of anything else to add, I've still got a whole comment right there, ready to go, and I won't feel bad about having nothing to comment.

and believe me, there is NOTHING wrong with just having a really simple comment like an emoji or two, or just saying "loved it" or whatever! those comments STILL MEAN SOMETHING TO THE AUTHOR! it's engagement that they asked for when they posted their story, it's proof that people put there like their writing, and its just nice to get even the easy and simple comments.

and if you feel brave, you can expand on yours more! mine is just 2 emojis, but you can take "loved this fic" and turn it into "loved [ ]" and fill in that blank with anything from that fic. "loved how you wrote this scene" "loved when this character said that" "loved this line" "loved that i felt this emotion" etc etc etc. the point is to have a base that you can then build on when you have the mind/energy to! if you're low energy, just leave it at "loved this fic/chapter" and when you have more to say, you can add on then!

I hope this makes sense and helps anyone out there! fandom relies on participation from all parties, and im happy that you are asking about how to do that yourself!

It’s more of a fic reader confession- I feel like a failure. Everyone in this fandom is so good and consistent at making comments on fics. I see the same people commenting on every chapter in many stories. I comment but not nearly enough as I would like. What is the secret to being a good commenter or at least consistent one, because our authors deserve all the praise!

📖

[marypsue]

Man, it's cool and all if you see a metaphor for marginalisation in the monstrous, and if you want the power fantasy of 'what if you could just eat anybody who threatened you/pissed you off'. Me too.

However, as soon as you start saying 'no, these monsters are a 1:1 on Specific Marginalised Group, and you have to treat them in the fiction like they are directly representative of real human members of the marginalised group', BUT you also, in the fiction, make them hurt/kill/eat humans? And then try to shame me, your audience, for noticing or engaging with the bit where they kill people, because you made them directly representative of a real-world marginalised group? You have lost me, and also, I think, the plot.

[stiffyck]

"i dont like animated movies" okay but why. like i genuinely would like to know WHY. and id like to hear literally any other reason besides "animation is for kids" or "its childish"

[silverwhittlingknife]

hi Silver! o/ because that fanart made me wonder - would you happen to know when/where Dick's stuffed elephant plush Zitka turns up in the comics?

GREETINGS CAM <3333 THAT ART WAS SO CUTE

Yeah, I think your instincts are right - it's a truly adorable bit of transformative fandom, but I'm 95% percent sure it's not comics canon. Barbara has canon plushies, but I don't think anyone else does.

I got kinda invested in the investigation (it's hard to prove a negative!) and I ended up typing out an entire History of Elinore/Zitka, so, uh, if you're curious, meet me below the cut for:

Where does Elinore / Zitka - the animal - appear in comics?

Did Dick ever have a stuffed elephant toy in comics?

Where does Elinore / Zitka appear in comics?

We're gonna go in chronological order!

Dick's circus elephant friend was first created for practical reasons: in Batman 436, Marv Wolfman does a big expanded flashback to Dick's circus backstory as a way to subtly show us Tim before officially introducing him (so that we can have a technically-solvable mystery-of-Tim's-identity in LPoD). In this comic, there's an elephant named Elinore who loves Dick:

Aww. Such a cute elephant!

Batman 436 comes out in August 1989. New Titans 60 comes out a few months later, in November, and guess what? When Dick visits the circus, he is suddenly surprised by an unexpected blast from the past! It turns out that even though it's been years, Elinore still remembers him!

Here's the part where Elinore remembers Dick:

SUCH a cute elephant. I love her.

(Guess who else still remembers Dick even though it was so long ago. Guess which other character is about to be an unexpected blast from the past. Guess which character Elinore is directly paralleling guess guess guess sorry everything is about Dick and Tim in my mind but I can focus I swear)

Four years later, in 1993, Batman: The Animated Series retells Dick's origin story. They like and keep Wolfman's elephant, but they change her name to Zitka:

Wolfman doesn't return to the elephant beyond those two appearances, and a few years down the line, New Titans gets cancelled and Wolfman's not writing Dick anymore anyway. So the animal gets abandoned for a while, until Devin Grayson, a fan of both Wolfman and B:tAS, revives the Wolfman-era Titans team in JLA/Titans and then the ongoing series Titans 1999.

Grayson then brings back the elephant in a flashback to Dick's past in Titans 16 (Jun 2000), where she imports the B:tAS name. Sometimes I'm skeptical of TV-to-comics imports, but honestly, I endorse this one. You lose the alliteration, which is a shame, but IMO Zitka is a better elephant name than Elinore.

Here's Dick with the newly-christened Zitka in Titans 16:

Grayson also briefly references the elephant in Gotham Knights 20 and - in a final angsty callback - in Nightwing 88 (Feb 2004), where Zitka tries futilely to comfort Dick in the midst of his trauma conga line:

... And... honestly, I think that's it for comic appearances? The two Wolfman comics plus the three Grayson comics.

Both Wolfman and Grayson are writing multiple titles - Batman, New Titans, Titans, Gotham Knights, and Nightwing between the two of them, spanning a big chunk of Dick's post-Crisis canon - and both writers use the elephant for heartwarming moments of nostalgia, which means if you're doing a post-Crisis readthrough for Dick, Elinore/Zitka feels memorable. But I don't think she actually shows up that much.

For post-2011, I am not as well-informed - throwing this out to the dash? anyone know? - but I feel like Zitka the heartwarming symbol of Dick's heartwarming circus past is, uh, thematically very at odds with the Court of Owls evil!circus vibes, so my instinct is that this story element was almost certainly dropped in the reboot.

Did Dick ever have a stuffed elephant toy in comics?

In WFA, yes; in main comics continuity, no. Technically, I have not read every comic ever published, so I could be wrong!! But I don't think so.

Below, find my rambling reasoning on the tonal vibes of pre-Crisis, post-Crisis, and post-2011, and why this particular story element doesn't seem right to me for the first two.

Pre-Crisis (...okay, mostly the Silver Age): stuffed animal, yes or no?

tl;dr no, requires too much background knowledge on the part of the reader, plus the elephant wasn't a thing until later

Elinore doesn't get created until post-Crisis, but also just generally, pre-Crisis callbacks are more along the lines of this reference in Batman 129 (published in 1960), where, wow, Batman and Robin are hunting jewel thieves - and it turns out Robin recognized this strongman! BUT HOW?!

The comic goes on to recap Dick's entire origin story in flashback, on the assumption that you may not know it.

(BTW, if you'd like to know more about Haly's Circus throughout the years, nightwingology has a great post here summarizing a lot of fun plotlines and characters!)

Basically: Silver Age comics are very self-consciously episodic and kid-friendly; they're not generally gonna do overly-elaborate callbacks because they don't know what comics their kid readers may have randomly picked up or remember.

By the time of post-Crisis, comic books were being written for an adult audience buying from the direct market, i.e. readers who are collecting whole runs & don't need or want Dick's origin story to be recapped to us in full every time it's referenced. That's why in post-Crisis, we get stuff like "hey, neat, this particular soda brand is getting mentioned in several different books!!" or "in order to understand this story arc, buy SIXTEEN DIFFERENT COMICS in FIVE DIFFERENT RUNS and read them ALL ACCORDING TO A NUMBERED ORDER and also you better be following the individual plotlines and recognize these five minor characters who we don't bother to introduce!! Good luck!!" But the elaborate post-Crisis plotlines - and subtler worldbuilding like a stuffed animal callback to Dick's backstory - don't make a lot of story sense UNLESS you're imagining your readers as completionist adult fans.

So IMO a stuffed animal wouldn't be a pre-Crisis thing unless it was The Episodic Story Of the Week, and I don't think a stuffed animal is action-adventure-y enough for the fast-paced storytelling of the Silver Age. (Unless it, like, came to life and tried to eat you or something.)

Post-Crisis: stuffed animals, yes or no?

tl;dr: no, Dick's a manly tough guy, he's not gonna have a stuffed animal, that'd be lame, like something Tim might do

Part of the edgy grimdark adult vibes in 80s/90s comics is that some characters who used to be kinda silly & goofy & lighthearted - like Batman and Robin - get reimagined as Serious and Angsty and Edgy in a Tough Cool Manly Brooding Way. This massively affects characterization for Bruce, Dick, and Bruce and Dick's relationship.

(I obviously love this change & love the tense Bruce-and-Dick interactions, but plenty of fans of the earlier fluffy comics really disliked the edgy retcons of Miller / Wolfman / Starlin / et al.)

The upshot is that post-Crisis is a period when you could have a recurring reference like a stuffed elephant, but you wouldn't have a stuffed elephant, not for Dick. I think a toy like that would be too cutesy / childish / effeminate to give a male character in post-Crisis, unless you were poking fun at him.

Now, you could probably let Tim have a stuffed animal, because Tim is sometimes cool but also sometimes a tryhard loser who is faking being cool and not entirely pulling it off (see e.g. the Robin comic where he practices tough-guy faces in the mirror, or the Teen Titans comic where Conner discovers his cringy Enya CD, or when he's fanboying over Connor and it's awkward, etc etc.). A stuffed animal would be deeply embarrassing, and you'd have to be careful to compensate by having Tim do something cool afterward - but Tim's character concept allows for "he's kind of a loser sometimes."

But Dick isn't!! In post-Crisis, Dick's a tough / impressive / "cool guy" character, the kind of guy anyone would want to be, even in the flashbacks where he's Robin, and even in the stories where he's more lighthearted than angsty. It'd be kinda lame for Dick to have a stuffed elephant, so he wouldn't. I feel like Dick would be more likely to poke fun at it if someone had one, like when he's making fun of Wally for liking the Hardy Boys. Dick could have a Batman action figure, at most, and if he had one he would have it ironically.

Basically: in post-Crisis, a male character hugging a stuffed elephant feels more likely to be a punchline to me, not something poignant. (Even with Tim, Tim could have an embarrassing stuffed animal, but he couldn't hug it when sad - that's too far. Maybe Booster Gold might do this. Probably he wouldn't, but spiritually, he would. Sorry Booster ilu! <3)

Instead, Dick instinctively deals with his inner turmoil like the TORTURED ACTION HERO he is: by punching things and brooding and yelling and joining the mob and sleeping on rooftops and going on obsessive secret missions and acquiring Angsty Stubble!! Just like Batman!

(Technically I don't know if Bruce ever joined the mob but you know he would.)

Anyway as you know this is my favorite continuity and I am poking fun affectionately, but uh, yeah sdfsfdsfs. No stuffed animals.

Post-2011 / Infinite Frontier / Wayne Family Adventures: stuffed animals, yes or no?

tl;dr it's in WFA! Probably not anywhere else, but it could be.

Post-2011 stuff tends to be cutesier overall, most of all in the current Infinite Frontier era. So I don't feel like this would be tonally out-of-line with IF comics. Taylor tends to go for more meme-y references rather than fanfic references, though.

So the obvious best fit is WFA, which is aiming for a rough approximation of Silver Age family-friendly vibes - wholesome, episodic plots, Teaching Good Moral Lessons For The Youth, etc. - plus lots of Easter eggs for fanfic readers and some comic references.

And look, here we are:

Aww.

Whew - that's everything I could find!

Anyway as you can probably tell, I LOVE the elephant, so this was a very entertaining rabbit hole to go down, thank you <3

[sparklecarehospital]

Sometimes I wonder how I'm ever gonna be able to work on the other Spinch stories I have, I have so many ideas for things but only so much fixation power

[yuwuta]

i get critiquing plot holes and power differences/disadvantages and systemic things like sexism and sexualization/fetishization and racism in manga and stories in general, and i also understand loving your favorite character and wanting a certain outcome for them, but it's always a little bonkers to me that people geniuenly believe they could have come up with better endings or outcomes than the authors themselves... like i know people get attached to their favs and everything but manga and story telling is an artform and it's art that's created by a real life person who chooses to share their story with you there is no "better" ending that you could have come up with because you couldn't have come up with those characters in the first place! sure you think you could worm them around in better scenarios but even that is wishful thinking because you couldn't have, wouldn't have, and didn't come up with the world and scenes around them to navigate them in canon in the first place! idk i get wishful thinking and hopes and cracking jokes and fix-it fics and ships all that but sometimes i feel like people need to be humble and take a step back lol.... it's not your story and there's nothing for you to change, much less publicly scream about how the author fucked up just bc your favorite character didnt end up how you wanted them to.... and if u feel that strongly just like... do it in your own little online or irl community lol there's no need to scream on the internet every 3 months about how u think the mangaka who gave u the character u love so much is a piss poor artist

[triglycercule]

swapinverse posting rn,,,,, (WAKE UP UNTITLED29876011111 MY LISTENER I KNOW YOU GET NO SLEEP BUT SWAPINVERSE CRUMBS SWAPINVERSE CRUMBS PSPSPSPSPPSPSPS)

anyways currently reworking savior and godDAMN is he soooo,,,,,,, my boy i love my boy. why does he literally combine the melancholic vibe of dust and then whatever the hell killer's got going on in his lore. hes literally so sad and emo and depressed but also has a perfect amount of i-dont-care-ness and built in commands,,,,,, hes so PERFECT my vision of this modernized savior is soooo amazing,,,,, none of you will be ready trust (hyping myself up over nothing)

i think its because i'm finally starting to THINK about my character's,,,,,,, characters?????? like before they were just concepts. i think. like just IDEAS and now especially for savior i'm starting to actually analyze his character and see where things go from there,,,, its sooooo fun i love this sosososos much,,,, now let's see if this streak of analysis will carry on for the 2 i still need to finish finish (crash and vice.SER my glitchy fuckass sons)

google what is the symbolic representation for ribbons and ribbon dancing and silk acrobatics. google ANSWER ME

[icewindandboringhorror]

finally finished all of one character's entire quests/optional dialogue/questions/etc.... 100,000 words... .... aughhh

[puppppppppy]

Ouhhhh friendship I love friendship……..

[ratatatastic]

do you write fic on ao3?

unfortunately for everyone involved i do!

[todayisafridaynight]

what makes minedai even sadder is that we never rlly see daigo try to build a bond with anyone else like he did with mine it rlly shows how badly it effected him like yeah he reached out to shinada in y5 but that’s rlly it and he probably would wanna leave him alone after that and not involve him in any yakuza stuff so i don’t think they would’ve hung out or anything like that afterwards. All he rlly had were saejima and majima but they were more like babysitters than anything, wish we saw more of their dynamic tho like we did with majima and daigo in dead souls since that was fun and we were lowkey robbed but in canon he’s just as lonely as he was before majimas promise to kiryu. And mine is the only person he really had a meaningful relationship with romantic or not they were still really close and we don’t see that again with daigo ever (from what i recall after y3) ok sorry for rambling LMFAO

even with shinada, he reached out to him more so out of 'duty' and trying to make up for the misfortune that befell him because of yakuza than wanting to rekindle any kind of friendship they might have had in high school (though it sounds more like they were just acquaintances if shinada needing a second to remember who daigo was is anything), so yah i doubt they really had any kind of bond afterwards

dead souls really was the only time after Y3 where we got to see daigo be more sociable with someone, but its as you say majima and saejima are more like retainers than close friends