#i changed my mind on that they just remain black i think its cool that way

[sirenspells]

[Amnesiac Omori AU]

Grown up Omori concepts! My idea for the final chapter of the fic for this AU is that it's an epilogue that takes place ten years in the future (so he's ~22 years old in this pic), so it's got me thinking about what Omori's like when he's older

Notes:

He dyed his hair partially white to honor his past self and to signify how he's accepted his past as part of himself

He's aroace! Never ends up settling down with anyone and is perfectly happy and content about it <3

Not depicted here but for his career I imagine he goes into computer programming!

I'm thinking he maybe becomes roommates with Andrew, no matter what though him and Andrew remain very close

The main conflict for the epilogue's story is that Omori develops a tendency to overwork himself, which is something his friends help him deal with

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Paring Eddie Munson x Reader 

Summary In the wake of a storm, you seek out Eddie because he gives the best hugs and may be the only person in Hawkins who has the answers you need [fluff, 2.1k]

A/N Eddie didn’t come back wrong. Not in the way you’re thinking, at least. But he does hear things from time to time…

The sweet scent of wet earth lingers inescapably as you pedal, bike wheels whirring softly as they weave around potholes filled with rain. The familiar stillness that follows every storm has settled over Hawkins. Cool droplets fall from tree branches onto your skin, contrasting the warm fall air. With the wind at your face, the heaviness in your chest begins to lift as you travel further from home. 

When you arrive, rain drips from the Forest Hills entrance sign. The old, chipped wood has survived years of vandalism and wear. Puddles of water have collected on the gravel road, and colorful toys have sunken into muddy portions of front yards. The closer you get to Eddie’s trailer, the more you hear muffled music permeating from within the four walls. 

The lights are on, visible through the curtains. It isn’t until you’re close enough to dismount your ride that you realize you’re hearing Ozzy Osbourne. Eddie’s voice passionately joins in as the chorus circles back around, a smile pulling at your lips as you rest your bike against his trailer. 

The moment you knock on the door, he quiets. There’s brief shuffling, then purposeful footsteps until he’s finally swinging it open. The way his eyebrows shoot up at the sight of you is comical. A guitar solo pours out to greet you as well. 

His curly hair is pulled back in a low, messy bun and a black pair of pajama pants ride his hips. Every time you see him, there seem to be more designs inked across his pale skin. They’re down his arms, splayed across his chest. The dragon was your favorite of them all. Snaked along the side of his rib cage with its mouth bared, shielding a splotch of scars. 

“You’re goin’ off the rails, huh?” There’s a playful lilt to your voice as you quote the lyrics back to him, tilting your head. 

His cheeks flush as he opens the door wider for you, your perfume wafting as you walk in. “Every day of my life—fuck me, I can’t believe you heard all that,” he groans, running a hand down his face. 

After shutting the door, he turns off the stereo. You sigh as you toe off your vans and take a relaxed look around the small space. With Crazy Train having come to an end, you can hear the TV quietly droning about the possibility of more rain. 

For as much as there was that changed in the world, this place seldom did. With its warm lamplight and eternal coziness. The air smelled of pine, underscored with smoke. Even the mug shelves and baseball caps hanging on the walls have stood the test of time. 

When your eyes meet again, he offers a boyish grin that settles under your skin. “Wasn’t expecting your pretty face today.” He tucks some wispy flyaways behind his ears. 

“Sorry I didn’t call first,” you say. “I just needed to get out of the house...needed to see you.” Eddie doesn’t miss the brief shadow that flickers in your eyes, as though another thought is protesting from a cage in the back of your mind. 

As much as he’s tempted, he doesn’t coax it out. “Nothing wrong with a good ol’ change of scenery.” He lifts his brows in that charming way of his. “Not that this is the Four Seasons or anything—” 

Before he knows it, your arms are around him. A hum vibrates through his chest as you tuck your nose into the warmth of his skin. As he hugs you in return, the remaining tension melts right from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Once he’s sure you’re feeling better, he starts rocking from side to side until your smile slips through. 

You try to pull away, but he only squeezes tighter. “Eddie,” you whine through a giddy laugh. 

“Nope, you’ve gotta commit now,” he quips. “I don’t make the rules, angel.” Hearing that, you relax into him, exhaling at the playfulness and familiarity of his embrace. 

“How do you do it?” You murmur into him like he’s some sort of magic. 

He smooths his palm up your back, gently massaging at the base of your neck. “Do what?” 

“Make everything better,” you whisper, feeling the rest of your worries dissolve under his touch. 

A weak chuckle rumbles through his chest as he pulls back to look at you. The honesty in your eyes makes him feel like he’s an imposter. Like he’s somehow got you fooled. “I don’t know about everything...” 

Life has been different since the Upside Down. There were scars from that day that were never going to fade, engraved beyond skin deep. It was the voices from before, the rumors and taunts, that made him feel like he was that same punk teenager who corrupted everything he touched. Like being himself was innately wrong. 

It was hard to believe that someone like you genuinely enjoyed his company, found him helpful, thought he was good. But he was getting better about it because he didn’t make it this far for those old voices to hold the same power. These days, new voices echoed around him, not confined to memories but strikingly real, intimately near. Never unkind, just disembodied and drifting through the in-between. 

They didn’t scare him anymore. He learned when to listen and when to tune them out. Something was bound to follow after he crawled his way back to the land of the living. Nevertheless, he’s grateful for a second chance at life. If things had ended any differently, he never would’ve seen how much better things could get—or cross paths with you. 

You think for a moment before speaking up again, “Then we’ll agree to disagree.” 

Eddie takes your chin between his forefinger and thumb, eyes flitting over your face in awe. You grow shy under his gaze, and that’s when he leans in to kiss you, his plush lips soft and slow. A satisfied sound rises in your throat as you trail your hands along his waist, feeling the different textures of his scarred skin beneath your fingertips. 

Caught up in the warmth of your mouth and the pleasant stirring in his gut, he doesn’t feel you pull the elastic from his hair, letting it cascade down over his shoulders. However, he smiles at the feeling of your fingertips gently scratching his scalp. 

“I got something for you,” he eventually whispers, pecking your lips one last time before heading to his bedroom. 

Butterflies dance in your stomach as you trail after him, toying with the hem of your shirt. You take a seat on the foot of his bed, watching him saunter to his nightstand, humming under his breath. Your eyes drift to the dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades, the blade descending a short way down his spine. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, turning back around with something hidden behind his back. Eddie snickers as he approaches, your eyes adorably shut. It’s a contagious sound. The bed dips as he takes a seat, his thigh pressing against yours. 

He taps your nose with something soft, prompting you to open your eyes. 

It’s a small stuffed ghost with two black buttons for eyes, and an even smaller one for a mouth. You’re quiet as you take it from him, thoughtfully turning it over in your hands. Shaped like a comma, it has two adorable arms raised up from the sides. Faint stitching is visible along the perimeter like it was homemade. Eddie shifts and scratches the back of his neck, unsure how to interpret your silence.

A smile finally breaks across your face. “He’s adorable. Where’d you get him?” 

Eddie runs a relieved hand through his hair. “You’re not gonna believe me, but Wayne and I went to visit Ruth in the nursing home the other day. You remember her? The lady who used to live a couple trailers down.” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “They happened to be having one of those activity days where someone comes in to lead a craft or whatever…“

“And you stayed?”

He kisses your cheek. “Bingo.” Then his voice grows fond. “All I could think about was making one for you.”

Warmth spreads throughout your chest. “I’m gonna name him Ghostie.“

The distant sound of a car door shutting makes you jump and look towards the window. Eddie almost laughs, but stops himself at the way your shoulders slump in dejection. Like you’re upset at yourself for reacting.  

He leans in, talking carefully, “You alright?” You shake your head in dismissal, but his attentiveness doubles down. “Talk to me, Goose.” 

The reference makes you smile, and you nudge him for it. “I’ve just been a little on edge.” There’s something else you want to add, but don’t. Eddie’s ready to prod it out this time around, but you’re quick to tap his nose with the stuffed ghost. “I might just be going off the rails like you and Ozzy.” 

He huffs an amused breath. “Not gonna let that go, huh?” 

“Never.” 

•••

The rain starts back up again. Slowly, before pattering down harsher against the roof. By then, you’ve already eaten dinner and settled on the couch for Beetlejuice, the sun long set. Eddie’s arm rests over your shoulders as you lay asleep in his lap, Ghostie tucked into the crook of your elbow. He had a feeling things would end up this way.

When he shakes with a chuckle at yet another wacky scene, you stir. He doesn’t realize until you shift with a soft hum. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he practically coos, squeezing your shoulder. 

“How dare you laugh and be amused.” Your voice is soft and groggy in that way he adores.

“I know, I’m awful,” he agrees with feigned gravity. “Gotta go turn myself in. Tell the kids I love them.” You snort as you sit up, snuggling into his side with Ghostie in your lap. 

The lights flicker as a strong gust of wind blows outside. A concerned furrow forms between his brows at the way you gasp and stiffen. This jumpiness is unlike you. He rubs your arm in hopes of loosening you up, but darkness promptly envelopes the room. You can hardly see aside from mere outlines. 

The sides of the trailer creak as the wind continues, a bit fiercer than before. Eddie curses under his breath at the inconvenience, while you’ve grown even more rigid and silent. There’s a false glimmer of hope when the lights briefly flicker, but darkness soon prevails again.

“It’s okay,” Eddie assures, pulling you closer. “Wind’s just disturbing the lines. They’ll be back on in a second.” The lights flicker before dying out again. 

Tears well in your eyes. Your voice wavers as you speak, “Eddie?” 

“I’m here,” he assures. “I’ll go grab a flash—”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” 

Now it's his turn to still. It’s not a foreign question, not by a longshot. It’s one that was peppered throughout his childhood, and always returned in the later half of every year when the nights began to grow a little longer. It’s the sound of your voice that sets it apart this time around. You’re not seeking an answer for fun or on a whim. You’re searching for a second opinion. Deep down you knew, out of every other soul in Hawkins, he’d have one to give. No one came back from the Upside Down without a few ties that lingered. 

He’s quiet for a while, the sound of wind and rain filling the space between you. 

“It’s not a matter of belief,” he finally says, swallowing hard. “If something’s real—God, Satan, ghosts, whatever…” he pauses. “It’ll keep existing whether you believe it does or not.” 

“So do you think…are ghosts real?” He can’t see your attentiveness, but he can hear it. 

He chuckles humorlessly, blindly taking your hand in his so you know he’s not making fun of you or messing around. 

The two of you start talking at the same time, “I—” 

“Can feel them,” you breathe. “At my house. It started a few days ago after you left.” 

Like he may have left them behind.

The lights stutter back on as the TV bursts back to life, somehow picking right back up. Eddie reaches for the remote and turns it off, his finger lingering on the button. When his attention settles back on you, there’s a sense of disbelief in his dark eyes, like he’s looking into a mirror for the first time in a while. 

“Feel them?” he slowly repeats, searching your gaze for more. 

“Hear their voices... like soft whispers,” you continue. “So I know they’re real.” 

There’s a thoughtful beat of silence.

“Me too.” 

- 

Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think. 

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[s7toru]

“spider! babe, there’s a spider in the house!”

your toast clatters on the plate as you drop everything and fling yourself onto the couch, four limbs scrambling to get off the floor. wide eyes seek out your boyfriend in the moment of chaos, and find him crouched on the tv stand, arms wrapped around the tv to hold him still. 

“where?” you ask him, eyes dropping to the ground. he doesn’t need to reply because you spot the creepy crawly darting cluelessly about on the carpet, eight legs crawling about in frantic panic. “oh my god, gojo! do something about it!” 

“are you kidding? you’re out of your mind if you think i’m getting anywhere near that thing!”

your mind blanks at his refusal. “you won’t have to get anywhere near it, dummy. just turn on your infinity and smack it or something!” 

gojo remains wrapped around the tv, already shaking his head even before the last of your sentence leaves your mouth. “that’s not how it works.” 

“really. then, please, remind me why you can’t just use your infinity to kill the spider.” 

“listen, even if it’s on i’ll still be aware that i’m squishing the bug. all its bug juice will splatter out all over me!”

“over your infinity.” you correct him. 

“you didn’t listen.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. “i didn’t want to get rid of the wasp nest outside our house the other day either but i still had to do it. and i don’t even have something to keep them away from me!”

“you lost the rock paper scissors, i had no hand in that.”

“well.” you say. “technically you did. you had a hand, it was a rock.” 

gojo rolls his eyes. “don’t be dramatic, i was supporting you.”

“from inside the house.” you recall his face beaming at you through the window, hand flashing a thumbs up as you were armed with only a rake and your willpower, and your frown deepens.

“and yet, i was still supporting you.” gojo pauses, considering. “you did well, by the way. i’ve never seen anyone smack a wasp mid air like that.” 

the compliment lifts some anger off your shoulders and you grin. “thanks! i was proud of that too!” reality slaps you across the face, readjusting your expression. “wait, don’t think you can change the topic just by complimenting me.” 

he shrugs. “it was worth a try.” 

you pause. “does that mean you didn’t mean it?”

“no! you were actually cool.”

you smile again. “okay, thanks.” 

“the sound it made was really satisfying.” he adds.

“right? like pow.” you gesture an explosion with your hands and watch as gojo gives you a skeptical look.

“really? i thought it was more like thwack.” his voice turns all dramatic at the last syllable and you scoff at his attempt.

“if this was a marvel comic the sound effect that would show up would be pow. in all red too, with crazy fonts.” 

“this is like you saying math is red—”

“it is.” you cut in, matter-of-factly.

“you’re so wrong it hurts. english is red, math is blue.” 

“why would math be blue?”

“because i feel sad doing math.”

“okay fair. but english is green.”

“none of them is green.” 

you furrow your brows. not because of his horrid opinion, but because your eyes had found its way back on the ground. you notice a lack of legs, a lack of a small, black creature terrorising the carpet. "wait, where did the spider go?"

the complain on gojo's tongue dies, and he looks around, too.

your biggest fear becomes reality, and when you look back up at gojo to express your concern, it's there.

something was crawling up gojo’s arm. it fumbles up the fabric of his shirt, swimming through the folds. your mouth falls open but before you can scream out to warn him, gojo's eyes had already followed your gaze. “it’s on me!”

“flick it off!” you cry out in panic, weight shifting as you edge further away from him, though you were nowhere close.

gojo reaches up, prepping his fingers for an attack when you realise the trajectory was aimed towards you. 

“wait, babe! flick it away from us!”

“then we’re going to lose sight of it!” the skin of his finger was turning white at the strength building up behind the flick. if the impact wasn't enough to kill it, the speed in which it hits the surface would send it to the afterlife. “no time to think!” 

he releases his index finger from his thumb and the force smacks the spider head on. it’s a blur really, as the spider flies through the air. you gape at it horrified, watching as if in slow motion as it soars in a beautiful arc, and lands directly on the very top of your head. 

you wonder if your scream could shatter glass. considering that your house still had its windows, you realise it couldn’t. though, you’re sure if you were tested again that it wouldn’t end as cleanly.

“gojo!” you scream. “i don’t ask for much but can you please get it off me, i’m begging you!”

gojo steps down from the tv stand, relief on his face. “thank god it’s off the floor.”

“gojo!” 

“yes, yes.” he makes his way, slowly, painfully, over to you as you crouch frozen on the couch. something in his smile told you he was very pleased at the sight. was that a cramp creeping up your thigh? oh, how you were going to make him pay. “where did it go?” he asks, joyfully, dancing around you.

“don’t even joke.” you hiss at him, and he laughs, reaching over to let the spider walk on his finger. specifically, he lets the spider walk over his finger on his infinity. 

he holds it out to you with a proud smile. “there! we’re all safe and sound now.” 

you glare at him. “what happened to being deathly scared of the spider?” 

he shrugs. 

you reach over and flick the spider onto his face.

a/n: brainrot save me, save me brainrot

[darkestspring]

Sometimes I wonder if you ever think about me the way I think about you.

with aegon x niece or sister reader please!

2k followers event | requests open

Maybe it would be easier if Aegon hated you as he hated your brothers. It would be much easier to just brush off the thoughts he always had of you.

He didn't care about Aemond, egging your brothers on to bully him without a thought and then stopping cold turkey when he saw your disapproving stare.

It hurt more any words, your disapproving stare as you guided your brother's away scolding them.

But that was then, he was a teenager then and he was a man now, just as you were no longer a girl but a woman. He still thought the same of you. Still yearned the same.

No amount of his mother's nagging or his grandfather's shouting could change his mind, he wanted you so badly that it felt like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest. It felt like if you didn't look at him or speak to him, he'd go crazy.

That's why in the several years you were aware after driftmark, he spent them drunk out of his mind or out in brothels, searching for girls that looked like you. But they were never the same and he ended up just giving up and keeping himself stupid drunk.

His every thought was consumed by you, you were drving him mad with your absence.

Come back, he pleaded drunkenly to himself, come back and soothe my heart so that I may be whole again. Take responsibility for what you have caused in me.

When you finally came back, wearing red and black, standing just a bit ahead of Jace, he felt like his breath had been stolen from him. It felt like finally all the fighting with his mother and protesting his farce of an attempted marriage to Helaena was worth it, you were back.

"Niece." His voice was smooth as he cornered you just outside of the chambers you were staying in for the remaining days of your visit.

"Uncle." Your voice was cool as you peered up at him through inquisitive eyes. "Someone might interpret this as something it is not."

"And what is this, niece?" Aegon tilted his head to the side. "Sometimes I wonder if you ever think about me the way I think about you." He whispered softly, thumb grazing over your bottom lip softly, eyes dark as he gazed down at you.

"Do you yearn painfully for me the way I do for you?" His voice turned almost raspy as he leaned closer to you.

You peered up at him almost studying him as you intently peered into his eyes. It seems you had found what you wanted in him that you cupped his cheeks softly with your hands and kissed him.

It felt like another fantasy, was he dreaming again because he missed you so dearly? He didn't care if he did because it was everything he imagined it to be.

He felt whole again.

[lvrtwn]

venus if she was awesome

speedpaint and more thoughts under the cut

venus has always been one of my favorite characters, though i feel her design is pretty underwhelming with a lot of wasted potential. this is kind of a redesign, kind of my own personal headcannon, and kind of how i imagined venus in my head as a kid.

this is supposed to be my version of g1 venus, more similar in facial features and keeping the straight hair. i absolutely love her new hair and face in g3 but im hesitant to call the new outfit an improvement. both g1s outfit and g3s outfit are bad in their own ways. i dont want it to seem like im shitting on the new design. again i think the face sculpts, hair, and body types of g3 are so awesome. its great to see more diversity being included in the designs. i just decided to go with g1 venuses look because thats the venus i grew up with

i definitely took some inspiration from g3s outfit for this design. i like the idea of it but the execution is just not great, not to say her original outfit is any better. i feel like out of all of tge original monsters she was the one with the most waisted potential. i love her personality and the abilities she has but the way she was styled has always bothered me.

in the movies shes described as “eco-punk” which is SUCH a cool style to go with a plant monster character. i just feel like the “punk” in “eco-punk” was never really represented in her outfits. i personally love punk music and clothing; ive been an active member in my local diy scene for many years and i love seeing all the outfits people put together.

i thought i would give her an outfit that shows off a couple of my personal favorite staples of punk style. big chunky leather boots with lots of straps and buckles. kept the shoe mouths from the original because they cool as hell. lots of leather, studs, spikes. i gave her denim cutoff shorts inspired by her gen 3 outfit, same with the torn black top. punk style has a big focus on comfort, practicality, and making things yourself. i imagine she cut a pair of old pants into shorts, roughly cut her “undead kennedys”band shirt tank into a crop top, and probably repurposed the remaining fabric. i also totally didnt draw this whole thing as an excuse to use that pun. i included asymmetrical leg accessories, with one fishnet stocking and one torn up sock. i also feel like she repurposed these, continuing to wear her old torn up socks instead of just throwing them out. i gave her a big chunky studded belt matching one of her cuffs with a recycling symbol belt buckle. i feel like it communicates an important aspect of her personality just at a glance, plus i just love big belt buckles. lastly i added piercings because 1. theyre cool and 2. i for some reason remembered her having an eyebrow piercing but i guess she never had one.

i mostly kept her body and hair the same. changed her ears and hair color slightly but thats just personal preference. i decided to make the vines on her body look more like tattoos instead of being 3d. i imagine she can make them grow into real vines, but when shes not using her powers theyre just flat against her skin. gave her a facial expression that made her look a little more unhinged. she might only do things for the good of the earth but she can still mind control people at will.

i wish i leaned a little bit more into the plant theming but im overall still super happy with how this came out. maybe ill made more monster high redesigns in the future

[alohomorasstuff]

mattheos tutor, slow burn, fluff, angst, trauma, shy school girl

thank u sm for giving me requests. I’ve gone for being Mattheo’s tutor in this one, it’s angsty however i definitely want to create a fic based on the reader being shy soon!

This is my first fic so pls let me know what you all think because i’m low-key proud I enjoyed reading it back 🙏🏽🙏🏽

warning- slightly mature themes but nothing too extreme

—————————————————————————————

Mattheo riddle x reader

Like ink-

Y/n’s audible sigh ricocheted off the cool stone walls of the dungeon in which she was currently suffering through potions in. The cause of this guttural sound was Professor Slughorn, stating that Y/n would be tutoring a fellow member of the class. Now, normally the girl would not mind, she was smart after all and took any chance to help others study as it helped her to consolidate her knowledge. However, the problem lay with who she had been tasked with tutoring for the next few weeks.

By no means was Y/N a terrible person. In fact, she was quite the opposite. She was popular- boys wanted to be with her, girls wanted to just simply be her. She was the Slytherin Princess in her own right. Shiny black locks, dark rich eyes that were deep,told a story with every flutter of her lashes. With no hesitation, Y/n flicked her eyes towards her subject and was met by two gorgeous pools of brown, flecked with gold. A playful, yet almost sinful glimmer flashed across his eyes and Y/n’s eyes darted down to his lips, his tongue dancing across them making them shine.

No.

Y/N redirected her lustful gaze into a hate fuelled scowl. Mattheo Riddle. The slytherin heir, prince, heartthrob was nothing worth falling for. His reputation for having girls like a revolving door made Y/N feel sick.Yes, his face was beautiful but his personality was nothing of the sort. Mattheo continued to smirk, seemingly amused by Y/N’s attempt at intimidation. “Do one Riddle”

“I’d much rather do you Princess” Mattheo chuckled , his curls bouncing across his forehead. Gosh was he beautiful.

“ Oh please, how many girls has that worked on this week?”Mattheo’s eyes remained playful, yet he abstained from answering, his eyebrow quirked in amusement instead.

Pathetic.

“Meet me at 7 in the library and do not be late or I will rip every single curl off of your obnoxiously large head”. This elicited a giggle to fall off Mattheo’s lips, a strange feeling brewing within Y/N’s stomach.

Stop it.

————————————————————————————

Studying with Mattheo was going well, until it wasn’t. Surprisingly, Mattheo was taking in what Y/N was telling him, brows furrowed in concentration as he scribbled down notes on his parchment. Y/N kept stealing glances at him, unaware that he was watching her every move. They continued working until they both reached towards the ink pot. Their hands clashed together sending the pot flying towards its victim - which just so happened to be Y/N’s blouse. The ink sunk into her shirt, spreading like poison leaving Y/N with a damp chest. She was shocked, but even more shocked at the reaction given by Mattheo. He looked guilty and began to apologise profusely, something Y/N was not expecting.

“Teo it’s fine, it’s fine don’t worry” Y/N sighed unsure of what to do. Mattheo’s ears pricked up.

“Teo?” he questioned, staring intently at Y/N.

“oh, I uh- oh be quiet you know what I meant. You’re nothing special Riddle and don’t ever think for a second that you are” she spat. Mattheo’s disposition suddenly changed. He began to move closer and Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat. “Don’t be such a brat Y/N. You know what happens to brats. They get punished. Do you want to be punished?” He groaned.

His lips danced across the skin on her neck and she suddenly felt vulnerable, the damp of her top now not the only wetness she could feel as she clenched her thighs. Mattheo took note of this. He knew she liked it, wanted it, needed it.

This was wrong, so wrong. Y/N had a burning hatred for him she was sure of it. “Go to hell riddle” .

Y/N suddenly felt a strong, muscular hand grip the base of her throat. She whimpered. “Tut tut Y/N. If I were to do that, who would be here to make you feel like this Princess?” he questioned, tightening his grip. He reached down with his spare hand and began to toy with the buttons of her shirt. “Would be such a pity if these were to just-“

Pop.

Y/N suddenly felt the cool air of the library across her chest and gasped. “Teo” she whispered. He looked towards her, his eyes now sinfully dark. “Say that again”.

All sense of wishing him dead had now dried up and the passion within her now began to spread like the ink on her now torn shirt.

“Please Teo, give me what I need”

“And what is that mí amor?”

“you”

Mattheo groaned and connected his lips with Y/N’s. She succumbed to him, allowed him to control her. He moved his head away, Y/N whimpering at the loss of contact.

“So needy, look at you so weak, so desperate for me. I knew it was an act. I knew the pathetic looks, the witty comments were just a facade. You want me. You need me. You know you do ” Mattheo purred, tangling his fingers through her hair.

“Do one Riddle”

“Let me”

And Y/N did; she knew she wanted him, needed him and that was what she was going to get.

————————————————————————————

Panting breaths, roaming hands, stolen kisses, the absence of clothes and the warmth of bare skin.

Mattheo and Y/N’s foreheads were pressed together as Mattheo coaxed her down from her high.

“Still want me to go to hell princess?” He cooed.

“only if you take me to heaven first” she breathed back.

And with that, he pressed his lips to hers gently, the creases of his now plump, red lips tattooing her smooth lips like ink, as if sealing them shut with a promise.

[thefirstknife]

idk if you've talked about this, but Maya says something interesting in her "final" message to the Young Wolf. She says the YW should ponder "iterations" of the conversation on the riverbank (iirc) but I don't remember the YW mentioned in the Dark Timeline, and in the Epistemic lore tab, Praedyth says "the figure always changes." Is the YW a unique individual or do they exist in other timelines too? (I feel like I've missed a few details so I'm hoping you can answer. 😅)

It's a really cool message that will be interesting to revisit from time to time.

I leave this to you now, when it is too early to act. Before you have the faculty to understand its gravitas. You were offered the age you've fought to restore. Everything we've lost. You won't find it on this narcissist's station. I will set it in front of you, finely crafted and tuned. You mistakenly label it hubris, and resist. And you know... failure is a catalyst: it breeds invention. Would you comprehend the endless permutations of our conversation on the riverbank? I was only trying to change your mind. To help you see a better future. That exchange... did not always end in your favor. It does not have to still. You believe my ideology, virulent. All right. Know that I have bled across time, and under the skin of the cosmos. My knowledge became its fabric, filled its vessels, through its mind. Humanity is scattered, yet to see a Collective, focused. But in this infinite network the Vex have created... There is one answer. A Golden Timeline... With a heavy cost.

It took a few reads for me to wrap my mind around this. Maya definitely confirms that this happened in multiple timelines, in some way. We're not really sure if it's exactly the same though, obviously, since we can't really check.

The interesting bit is that the few timelines that Elsie has seen, all of them have failed because, essentially, the YW never became what they did because we didn't destroy the Black Heart. Those timelines have failed completely. But there seems to be other timelines in which we do exist, except we're always someone else (kinda like keeping everyone's Guardian canon, in a way) which we know from Epistemic as you've noted, and it's really cool:

Some visions he gets once, while some come back over and over again. One recurring image: a piece of the Traveler cracked off from its body, lying belly-up in a forest, with a small figure standing in front of it. The figure changes every time, but the sickly glow of the Traveler doesn't.

This is us regaining our Light at the Shard of the Traveler in the Red War, so it's post-Black Heart.

I think the YW is unique in a way that they only exist in the timeline where they destroy the Black Heart (D1 base story), but since there's an unknown number of timelines, this person is always someone different (so there's no one canon YW, it could be any of us). There's also timelines where we never become the YW because Elsie never helps us and we never destroy the Black Heart and things spiral from there.

It always remains a question if anyone using the Vex and their Network and technology is actually seeing real existing things, or perhaps simulations or possibilities. I do wonder if they left Maya around with the Echo for some future purpose or at least to keep their options open. Also intrigued about her mentioning "a Golden Timeline" and if that will mean anything in the future or if it's just her yapping from the Network. I did not expect her to stay around and especially not with the Echo in her posession so I'm super excited about the possibility of storylines with this in the future.

[doomsdaydicecascader]

wow you’re the first person i’ve seen actually support the retcon, that’s cool

i’ve always been neutral on it but would you be down with explaining your opinions on the retcon?

so my number one feeling is that the way homestuck is most like a game is not in its framing or its many subsystems within itself, but in that homestuck is a challenge to the reader first and foremost. it challenges a lot of existing preconceptions about what stories are, what stories can be.

sometimes this is in some stupid ways, but a lot of the time, it's in very palateable ways. hussie describes stuff like the juxtaposition of the earthbound walksprite panels and hussnasty mode as a "creative power move", something that keeps readers on their toes, something which kind of prods at your expectations and why you have those expectations.

and it helps to ask, what challenge is homestuck presenting to me, the reader, by doing this. this is the repeated motion of homestuck, like. "oh, what, it's insane that there's a whole playable game", "oh, what, it's insane that the fallout and consequences of an entire session of the game is being given in just three walkarounds". rose's arc is a challenge to the idea of a "coming of age" story, how do you come of age into a world where the metrics for growth and maturity and adulthood are denied to you? what if "adulthood" and "maturity" were fake ideas all along? well, if nothing matters, maybe you should have a drink to rest your mind about it.

one of the most direct challenges is the challenge of what death means in a story - there are a lot of stories where death is a bad end for a character. an impactful enough character death can change culture around itself for as long as it remains relevant. but that's not what death is in homestuck. death in homestuck is the freedom from being in homestuck. this is most prevalent with its deployment of gnostic ideas - yaldabaoth's treasure being homestuck itself expresses this most directly. the creator has made a flawed world and encourages the suffering of its inhabitants.

death is freedom from this flawed world, and this is expressed in terezi: remem8er. characters who did terrible things, horrible things, unforgiveable things, can find peace in death.

and i think the retcon is far and away the headiest challenge, the final boss of storytelling in homestuck's terms, because it directly challenges the idea of continuity, which is, by the way, TOTALLY FAKE.

continuity isnt actually real, its a thing youre actively constructing as you read. the drawings, the words, the music, the animation, the gameplay - all these things can help shape the idea of art, but the art itself, that's produced by you, the reader. and i think this is a good time to switch over to talking about the never-ending story for a moment.

the never-ending story is a story about atreyu. he goes on a fantasy quest, one which involves the death of his beloved steed artax, the plight of the world of fantasia, and confrontations with the nothing, this devouring force which threatens to end it. and ultimately, he loses. the forces of the nothing are just too overwhelming for a fictional character to overcome. the stakes are too high, no ending could be satisfactory and not contrived.

but then he doesn't lose.

because the never-ending story, the movie, is about bastian, and the relationship and empathy he builds with atreyu as he follows him on his adventure, and bastian, as the reader, is capable of caring about atreyu and fantasia even as it's been reduced to nothing. and its bastian caring about it, and bringing his own context, his own experiences - the name of his dead mother - to the story, that allows it to be reborn as something that can be completed.

and then he rides on the big luck dragon falkor and barfs on the bullies from the start of the movie.

homestuck is doing the same thing, but filtered through the language of video games. if youre playing ff9 and lose to black waltz #3 or whatever, it's a video game, that's to be expected. just do better next time. you wiped on the trial, it's normal, regroup and pull again. youve got 90 minutes. and in that time, in that regression, you become the kind of person who could overcome that challenge.

and it's a powerful challenge! it's one most readers don't overcome, because they are still stuck in the terms of thinking about things in what they expect out of it, instead of what it is. and this is kind of the core idea of homestuck.

hussie put it the best themself:

Homestuck, as an examination of all forms of creative practice, whether cosmic or artistic, isolates the tension between perfect, celebrated idealization and specific, flawed instantiation. The purity of the ideal is what's initially sought, but the imperfection of the specific is what has true value. Conflict and suffering arise from the guilt and stress associated with overvaluing the former. Deliverance and humanity come from recognizing and embracing the latter.

and honestly, i like what the retcon does for basically all the characters it changes dramatically. people take issue with rose's alcoholism plotline being resolved with vriska_slap.png but i don't really, because rose's alcoholism isn't like, of itself if that makes sense. it's alcoholism as an extension of nihilism, in a way that doesn't reflect real alcoholism, but it doesn't have to. s'a story. things can mean things nonliterally.

and vriska regresses as a character, but i think this specific regression is the core of homestuck. you get the platonic ideal of vriska-ness, one who didn't see and feel the trauma she inflicted on tavros, one who has completely supplanted gamzee's role as the plot-mover guide in the alpha session. and one who only makes token gestures at reparations and atonement for her misdeeds. one who is still obsessed with being at the center. and between 2016 and 2019, i was so certain that she had died a heroic death in act 7 that it is an immovable core plot point of my own comic.

(homework: why would homestuck call act 7 the rapture?)

and like, those pre-retcon characters literally do still exist, they show up in remem8er. remem8er goes unbelievably hard on giving every single dead character in the comic the best catharsis available to them: deliverance from having to be in homestuck. and i mean that entirely sincerely! the best ending for a homestuck character is not being in homestuck. and that's a tough thing for people to get their minds around.

but again, it kind of comes naturally with taking homestuck as it is, and thinking intently about what it's doing, what conventions it's challenging and how it's challenging them. because sometimes it's deeply stupid (decade-plus of thought on the matter has not made the incest any more palateable or understandable)

but sometimes it's the best shit in the whole world

[cilil]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 | 𝐀 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐬

AN: My last one for @feast-of-horns - for now. The Turgon x Caranthir sequel I promised will be coming, just at a later date. Thanks for reading and being patient!

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Námo x Vairë 𓄌 Synopsis: Námo and Vairë try out their own version of predator/prey play. 𓄌 Warnings: Smut, shapeshifting (Námo with female parts) 𓄌 Oneshot (~1k words) | AO3

"You know," Vairë said, spinning silver threads with four of her six hands while a fifth caressed the back of her husband's cool hand. "I have always been fascinated by this feast Oromë is so fond of." 

"Have you now?" Despite his usual neutral tone and posture, there was a faint hint of humour colouring Námo's voice. 

"Indeed." She hummed to herself, watching the motions of her hands as she dwelt on the thought. "We may not be hunters like he and his people are, but I would be lying if I said I couldn't comprehend the satisfaction of..." 

Skillfully, Vairë looped the thread around four index fingers and pulled it taut. 

"...catching something pretty just right." 

Námo observed her with the calm amusement of one who already knew the outcome of the conversation and was merely waiting for it to unfold. 

"I suppose you do, though your prey is both less corporeal and less flighty than Oromë's," he mused. "Yet thus far you speak in riddles. If there is anything you would have of me, you must ask."

"You would make me spell it out and show you, you who knows all and forgets nothing?" Vairë scolded playfully. "But I don't mind." 

Her sixth hand replaced the fifth, clasping Námo's, while the thus freed hand rose to his face. Gently, she turned his head and pulled away his veil. 

"I think I would like to capture you, my beautiful husband." 

Indeed, he was breathtaking underneath his veil, as Vairë thought whenever she removed it. Features too beautiful and ethereal to ever seem as stern and unforgiving as he was often seen, a face frightening only in its irresistible allure and divine grace. 

Námo smiled at her. "You already have. I shall be all yours." 

It was all the encouragement Vairë needed. Her four hands holding the thread spun around hastily, faster than the eye could see, yet with the precision of a true master of her craft. She then threw it at her husband like a net and crooked two index fingers as if to direct it as it wrapped around his wrists like a silvery snare. 

Reminiscent of a spider web, it floated in the air, thrumming with the power of her will and her music, and Námo kept smiling even as his arms were secured in place and his feet lifted off the ground. 

"Wonderful work as always, beloved."

"Thank you." 

Vairë willed the nails on one of her hands to turn into claws and raised it, ready to strike and devour her food like a spider discovering prey in its web. 

"Tell me, what will I find underneath those robes of yours?" she purred. 

"Whatever it is that you wish to find," Námo answered. 

"You already knew that as well, didn't you?" Vairë let out a chuckle, then cut his robes open with vicious efficiency. 

She was going to fix the damage later if she felt like it; there were prettier things she could find for her husband to wear than those plain black robes. 

Námo's fána was, as it had always been, less corporeal than those of other Ainur, almost ephemeral in the way he willed it in and out of existence within the blink of an eye. Some of its features remained ever the same, most importantly his tall, slender figure, his long, almost spindly legs and the ghostly pallor of his smooth, cool skin. Yet other features were ever fluid, changing and shifting at will. 

His hips were narrow as usual, but between his legs Vairë was greeted with the gentle slope of a vulva. Her eyes lit up in excitement — she had desired to bed her husband in such a manner for a while. For even though Námo aligned more with male temper and often presented accordingly, he was just as, if not more beautiful than any lady she had seen. 

"You saw my thoughts," was all Vairë said as she knelt down in front of him to examine. 

"Such is my nature." Námo spread his legs without needing to be prompted. "My flesh exists only for your pleasure, I need it for nought else." 

"At this point you are asking to be devoured."

"Perhaps I am, yes." 

"In that case, I shall." 

Vairë moved closer until she was kneeling between Námo's legs, caressing his thighs as she rested them on her shoulders. When she kissed his folds, she was reminded of a water lily with its petals closed, delicate and hiding its true beauty, and determined to coax it into opening up to her. 

Námo sighed. He was a quiet lover and not prone to outbursts of passion, but Vairë could tell he was sensitive. Almost as if he had never been touched before. Which he had been, though not in this form. The sense of novelty fanned the flames of her desire.

She took hold of his thighs and began to enjoy his new fána. First quick, teasing licks across his folds to explore. Then bolder, dipping her tongue in-between, pushing inside, searching for the sensitive little pearl that would ensure his pleasure. A gasp, a tentative moan. She could feel it now, right against the tip of her tongue. 

Entranced by the wonderful timbre of her husband's voice, Vairë continued. Námo was panting now, trying to adjust to the new sensations he was experiencing. 

Unfortunately for him, his wife wasn't merciful. She could feel his muscles twitching and traces of his arousal leaking out of him, wettening her lips and chin like morning dew. 

Oh how she loved him. Vairë could do this all day. 

Circling her tongue around his pearl, she carefully pushed one finger inside Námo, then two. He was tight but not entirely unused to penetration, he had taken her before in a different shape. 

"Please..." she heard his voice in her mind. 

"You are begging already?" Vairë neither slowed down nor withdrew, instead taking it as encouragement to thrust her fingers in and out of Námo. 

Whatever he had meant to say in response never came as his fána was overwhelmed by pleasure and driven to an early climax, leaving him speechless. 

It was only then that Vairë granted Námo a break. 

"Coming so fast?" she teased. "You do realise I haven't even started yet?" 

He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. 

"Take me as many times as you see fit, beloved, as is your right after a successful hunt."

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @saintstars @singleteapot @urwendii @wandererindreams

[diodellet]

what can i do for you? (jamil viper x gn!reader*)

i was originally thinking of a hcs post for who would be the best charac to borrow a hair tie from and then realized my bias would shine through so... yeah? hooray for ya girl's first twst fic? jamil makes me confused... like i wan to punch him sm???? maybe its bc im still in recovery over not getting his alab naria ssr content warnings: -anachronistic (it is set in the main story of twst, the events of the Prologue chapter happened but there are no references to Overblots.) -references to some spoilers for Book 4 -*reader has thick, long, not-straight hair word count: 5.5k words

chapter 1: just let me do this for you

When it came to most things in his life, Jamil had little to say with regards to how he felt about such. From a young age, he was taught to put his personal thoughts aside. If he had so much to say, then he could direct that energy to his work instead. From a young age, he was taught not to make a big deal out of things, rather, he learned to placate and smooth things over. With time, even little joys were overlooked out of his mind’s automatic urge to run through his tasks and obligations again and again. There was no end to the things he had to attend to, so whatever he felt, whatever he had to say, would go disregarded and ultimately remain unsaid. But for some reason, today felt different.

Of course, nothing outwardly changed. Flight class was technically his second subject of the day after morning training at the basketball club. The sun’s rays had yet to grow harsh and he had enough time to get his body to fully wake up. The flying drills were easy enough to accomplish. With it being early into the semester, the class was still being made to recall past lessons. But as usual, Jamil would have to take his time completing them, making sure to match the majority of his classmates’ skill level to land squarely in the middle. Though, the teacher’s attention was mostly focused on the first years since it was their first time flying out in an open area. Another loud yell followed by the shrill sound of the coach’s whistle told him that another first-year nearly fell off their broom. 

Sparing the field a cursory glance, he estimated that he could complete the practice course a bit quicker than he usually did. He could shave off a few seconds from his regular record. Maybe he deserved to show some progress in the class and use the remaining time for something else. Hovering above the treeline, he watched the specks of students going about. The cool temperature of the wind grazed against his shoulders, the golden ornaments in his hair chimed softly with the movement. For once, it could be said that Jamil was in a good mood.

The same couldn’t be said for you though.

He spotted you, the blue flames of your familiar’s ears starkly standing out against the field of green and the black of the PE uniform. That combined with the loud and late entrance the both of you made, caught the attention of all the involved classes. Your frantic screaming, along with the broom speeding faster than what was manageable led to the pair of you getting stuck in a tree. The two Heartslabyul students who frequently accompanied you, tried to get you down without aggravating any possible injuries you sustained.

Come to think of it, he did have to remind Ace about afternoon training. Guiding his own broom, he descended to land a ways from where your group was standing.

“Have you ever heard of a hairbrush?” Ace picked a bunch of leaves out of your hair.

“I already told you I woke up late—ow—so I couldn’t.” You winced before swatting his hands away. “...and besides, my hair tie broke.” 

“Y’were hurrying me to finish eating breakfast…”

“Because you’re powering the broom, Grim. I’m not gonna make you do that on an empty stomach.”

“Maybe you could get a haircut if it’s such a hassle to take care of?” Deuce suggested as he handed you your broom. It probably flew and landed a bit further away after you and Grim crashed. 

“Maybe.” You tilted your head, tone pensive as you considered the prospect, before your expression gave way to a grimace. “But it’ll be expensive…”

“Come visit Heartslabyul then, we’ll use the hedge shears on you.”

That remark pulled a laugh from you. And it was contagious, making your friends smile in turn. The conversation continued in such a way as you slowly combed your hair. With each pass of your fingers through the locks, your expression would scrunch up in slight pain before you’d move on to undo the rest of the tangles.

“Okay, this is probably the best I can do. Ace?” You held out an open hand to accept his spare hair tie.

“Took you forever. Coach Vargas’ll be calling your names any second now.” He dropped it into your palm.

“Not if he calls you guys first—Coach! Trappola’s skipping out on drills!” Just as you raised your voice to bring attention to your friend, the hair tie around your fingers snapped apart, turning into a piece of string. “Ack—wait!” you cursed.

The shrill sound of Vargas’ whistle pierced the air. “Trappola, enough dilly-dallying! You’re up. Spade, you’ll be after him!” 

“Ha, karma!” Ace laughed at you before hopping onto his broom and speeding off. 

“No! Argh!” You scowled, shoving the useless band into your pocket. Letting go of your hair, letting it tumble down your shoulders.

“I think y’deserved that, henchman.” Grim quipped.

You asked, “what do we do, Grim? Do we just go for it?”

“Just don’t start screaming at me again. Let’s go, let’s go! We’re gonna be left behind!” He pawed at the side of your leg, before bounding off in the direction that Ace and Deuce went in.

You leaned against your broom and carded a hand through your hair, then again and again. The repetitive motion seemed to do little for you and you ended up dropping onto your haunches, releasing a long shaky exhale. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, deciding to approach you.

“Oh crap, you saw that—” You straightened up. “Agh, I’m sor—I mean, who are you?”

He introduced himself as a second year in Scarabia, added that he was in the same club as Ace. At the mention of that, your initial trepidation dissipated. You also introduced yourself, the magicless student living with Grim in the formerly-abandoned dormitory.

“Your familiar made quite the appearance at the entrance ceremony,” he remarked. 

“Aah… Grim isn’t really my familiar,” you explained. “But he needs the credits, so… we’ve become sort of a package deal.” One of your free hands toyed with the ends of your hair. 

Jamil had to admit that he could somewhat empathize with your situation. Having to pick up after someone else, spending all of your time being responsible for another. It was the story of his life. “It seems like a handful.”

Which was a severe understatement, considering the bits and pieces of rumors surrounding you and the several times he’s seen you chasing after the catlike monster through the hallways. Said understatement elicited a laugh from you. “You should’ve seen us earlier.”

“Earlier?” He injected a practiced amount of obliviousness into his tone. 

“Ah, nevermind.” A loose lock of hair fell in front of your face as you rocked on the balls of your feet. “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have either a spare hair tie or tips for controlling a broom, would you?”

He had a spare, always kept one on him. But not in the case that he misplaced them. The band of red had its improvised uses. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s only so much my understanding of theory can do for Grim. I’ve tried asking others, but I don’t…” You kicked at a patch of grass as you considered your next words. “...I don’t get it,” you admitted in a soft voice.

He could hazard a guess as to who you asked, and yet there wasn’t much he could do to help. Casting magic differed from individual to individual. For him, his own magic was almost indistinguishable from himself, it felt no different from moving a limb. One of his hands came up to his chin as he sank into thought. “You’d… lessen your chances of having an accident as long as you don’t pull up your broom. There’s no ceiling to stop you this time.” 

“Easier said than done, but thanks.” You gave an appreciative smile. The wind kicked up and your expression gave way to nervousness as you glanced up at the sky. “Fingers crossed I don’t fall and break all my bones.”

“Wait.” Jamil reached into his pocket and pulled out his spare hair tie. “This will also help.”

You fixed him with a suspicious look, but nonetheless accepted it. “This won’t break on me, will it?” He shook his head, no.

You looped the band once, twice, three times into a snug ponytail. “Oh, huh.” You ran the tip of your finger along the decorative feather.

“It’ll hold up better than Ace’s.” His lips curled into a knowing smile.

“...So you did see that!” You pointed accusingly at him, mortification painting your features. “You saw all of that!” 

Before Jamil could reply, the sharp sound of Vargas’ whistle piercing through the air followed by the sound of your name being called cut your conversation short. For a moment you looked unsure of what to prioritize, until you moved to grip your broom with your other hand. “I’ll give this back!” You called over your shoulder as you ran towards the practice course.

As soon as the class ended, he searched for Ace, managed to remind him about that afternoon’s meeting. To which the freshman responded with a casual ‘aight,’ before going to return the brooms. He supposed that the three of you would switch every now and then to be the one responsible for putting away all your brooms. 

Grim jumped onto your shoulder, climbed to perch atop your head to crow about his flying skills. You reached a hand up to scratch at the fire monster’s chin, calling his attention and quizzing him about the different ingredients needed for a Numbing Potion, the steps needed to prepare mandrake root, and… the correct method of handling poisonous ingredients? That wasn’t something brought up in Potions quizzes.

There’s a story behind that, probably. Before he could approach you though, Deuce turned your attention to his own notes. You squinted at the page, mumbling silently to yourself as you pieced together his solution. You sounded unsure as you explained the problem to the fellow first year.

At the sound of Ace’s voice saying that the both of you were wrong, Jamil withdrew. Okay, guess that means he shouldn’t disturb you and your friends.

He had other obligations to attend to anyways. He could just ask Ace to get it back for him during training. Of course, a part of him was irked at the thought of carelessly leaving his belongings with another person—a stranger, at that—but if he lingered on those thoughts, he’d end up nursing a migraine for the rest of the day.

He didn’t know it then, but that was the last time you addressed him casually. 

[...]

His good mood for the day ended with that Flight class. A pop quiz sprung on the class which mainly consisted of material from an advanced, optional reading. Don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t the spontaneity nor the class’s collective low scores that irked him, rather the teacher’s disappointment in said results which added insult to injury. Following that, his next class, a research paper comprising a quarter of his final grade was assigned and made into a group project. Which he didn’t see the need for, it was just a vocal majority of the class wanting to coast by without exerting much effort.

 Look on the bright side, he reminded himself with a copious amount of sarcasm, there were no pressing emergencies so far today. But then again, that could’ve been a problem in itself. Call him paranoid, but the times where Kalim has tried and failed to solve his own problems were too numerous to keep count of.

“How were your classes?” Kalim asked.

“They were alright, nothing noteworthy,” he replied with a shrug as he took Kalim’s things. “Did you turn in the student information sheets to the Headmaster?”

Kalim pressed a hand against his temple, the bracelet adorning his wrist clinking with the movement. “Oh, I almost forgot about that. I still need to collect them from the first and second years.” 

He supposed he could afford to leave club early for this. “I’ll make sure to do that after club, then.” While this would hurt his chances of being picked for the starting lineup, dorm responsibilities always came first. The reminder did little to calm the bit of annoyance flaring up inside him though. 

Kalim’s expression shifted into one of concern. "You don't have to, I can do it after my classes." 

"There's going to be a meeting for the dorm leaders later today though.”

"Then I could just do it after that—oh! Or we could do it now," he suggested brightly.

“No.” Jamil could feel the startings of a headache above his left eye. “You’re not skipping lunch for this.”

The sound of idle conversation and students milling about grew louder the closer they reached the cafeteria. The queue for the buffet was almost long enough to snake around the perimeter of the room. At least he had the foresight to pack lunch, that only left the challenge of finding free seats for the both of them. Jamil’s hand tugged at the collar of his hoodie. Or maybe they could eat at the courtyard, the weather outside seemed fine—

“Hey, is it alright if me and my friend sit at this table?” Spoken too soon.

At least, there was a familiar face.

“Sure, knock yourselves out. ” Ace replied, giving a casual wave.

“Thanks!” The both of them took the seats across from your friend group. 

His clubmate sat between you and an empty seat. You were resting your head on your folded arms, asleep. Judging by the lack of trays, Deuce and Grim were probably somewhere in the line getting food.

“We’re back!” Speak of the devil. 

The other Heartslabyul freshman carried two trays, and passed one of them to Ace, while a third one hovered just behind him. Grim leapt onto the table, looking awfully pleased with himself. Another round of quick introductions were made. Jamil learned that this was apparently a regular occurrence when you had multiple quizzes to take during the day.

“Wake up, I got us food!” The levitating tray fell onto the table with a clatter. But you didn’t stir at the sound. The monster padded closer to you, pawed at the exposed part of your face. “I got only the best morsels for my henchman!”

“Did he get into a fight?” Ace looked up from his meal, at Deuce’s sheepish expression he grimaced. “The both of you? Jeez, they’re gonna be in for a rude awakening.”

“I tried stopping him…” 

“They got a taste of my fiery wrath, mwahaha!” Grim ignored the way that the other two tried to shush him. “Ooh, what’s that?”

“Hm, this?” Kalim pointed at his lunch. “Wanna try some? It’s really good.”

With wide curious eyes, Grim moved closer. “Don’t mind if I do—hey! What gives?”

Jamil held out a hand to block the fire-monster from taking a straight out bite of the food being offered to him. “Don’t just give away your lunch like that, I only made enough for you.” 

Before the dorm leader could protest, an upbeat guitar instrumental started playing. You slowly sat up and turned the alarm off before it could repeat. One of your hands wiped at your face. There were imprints marking your forehead and the side of your cheek from your uniform’s sleeves. Underneath your elbows, an Alchemy textbook was being used as a makeshift pillow.

“Henchmaaan, this guy’s tryna starve me!”

“Don’t listen to ‘im, he wants to eat someone else’s food.”

“It’s really fine, I don’t mind sharing!” 

“Kalim, are you even listening to me—”

You blinked owlishly at each of them, the gears in your head slowly turning as you took in the situation. “Um, who…what?”

In those few seconds, Grim took his chance, lunging to snatch a piece of meat from Kalim’s unguarded lunchbox, cackling to himself as he bounded to your side.

You were still fighting off your drowsiness, the two first-years were telling Grim off and apologizing to the dorm leader while said thief showed zero remorse, and Kalim laughed brightly with amusement. Whether it was pointed at himself or at your friend group tripping over each other, or some mix of both, it was his go-to reaction to everything. Especially in the face of nuisances.

 Jamil massaged the bridge of his nose in an effort to stave off the returning headache. Why did he even bother? He set aside a portion of his own lunch, giving it to Kalim. “Here.” 

“Thanks, Jamil!” God, Kalim’s persistent optimism was painful to look at.

He didn’t respond, only tugging his hood up and keeping his attention pointed at his lunch.

The only good thing about eating in the cafeteria was that the ambient noise was more than enough to make up for any awkward pauses in the conversation. Unless you were in the company of someone who never ran out of things to say.

“Hey, I just noticed that you’re wearing the same thing as Jamil.” Like right now.

Keeping a neutral expression plastered on his face, he stole a subtle glance at you—you were poring over a section in the textbook with Deuce, who leaned over to get a clearer look, to Ace’s chagrin—the red gem adorning the hair tie gleamed, standing out against the curls of your ponytail. The three of you looked up, pausing the last-minute review.

“Oh, I always keep my hair tied—” you started to answer before your eyes widened in realization. Hooking a finger around the band, you freed your unruly hair from its hold and reached to offer it back to Jamil. “I’m sorry, I was too focused on our next class—”

“But we’re going to have to change into our lab coats later. For the practical quiz?” Deuce reminded you, passing the empty lunch trays to Ace.

You clapped a hand, the one that was holding his hair tie, against your forehead. A loud curse fell from your lips. “Ah…I forgot about that too…”

“It’s alright, you can keep using it.” The practiced response was basically muscle memory for him at this point. An automatic impulse to placate, to never rock the boat.

“Are you sure?” A concerned, almost guilty expression washed over your features. That sight, combined with the loose locks of hair framing the sides of your face, was…hard to look at for some reason.

Making a noncommittal sound, he busied himself with putting away his used utensils. “Just come by Scarabia after classes end.” 

It wasn’t like he had anything important to do anyway.

[...]

Because of club meetings, you and Grim were the only ones visiting. You mentioned something about how the both of you still had yet to join a club, with the majority of cleaning up the Ramshackle dorm taking up your afterschool activities. But what was supposed to be a quick visit to the dorm ended up becoming a full tour of the place at Kalim’s insistence. He just had to find himself in the company of not just one, but two additional absent-minded individuals. 

He should just ask for it back, get it over with—

“Oh, would you like to have some snacks? My family sent over a few boxes of baklava to share.”

“Baklava? What’s that?” Grim’s tail flicked back and forth.

The moment he resolved one problem, another one would spring up. “...Sure, I’ll handle it.”

“Thanks Jamil,” Kalim said, before turning to Grim. “You haven’t tried it before? It’s really yummy.”

“But what is it?” The sound of conversation faded behind Jamil as he went to the kitchen.

Pressing the heels of his palms to his eye sockets, he allowed himself a scant few seconds of letting the frustration wash over him before composing himself. Filling the kettle with water and setting it on the stove to boil, then pulling out the needed number of plates and a platter to serve the pastries on, tasting for poison…

He remembered how Grim gorged himself on most of the food he brought for you during lunch. For once, there was a silver lining to the lavish amount that was gifted by Kalim’s parents.

He’s much calmer by the time he leaves the kitchen, effortlessly balancing the trays of food and bringing them to the common area.

“Ooh, that does look yummy.” Grim appraises after giving his serving of baklava a cursory sniff. “I’m diggin’ in!” He raised his fork to take a large bite of the dessert. 

Jamil learned that the fire-monster’s paws were capable of some dexterity the more he watched Grim eat.

“What do you think? Eat as much as you like, my family sent lots! Jamil, have some!” Kalim held up a forkful.

Jamil acquiesced, pausing in his task of serving tea. The flaky pastry combined with the flavor of honey and pistachio was a welcome sweetness. “It’s good to eat.”

“‘Good to eat’? This is delicious, henchman, I demand another!” Grim held up his empty plate.

“What’s the magic word?” you asked, holding the refilled plate away from Grim. 

“Now, please!” The response pulled a short laugh from your throat, more amused than exasperated. You chided him for taking such large bites.

Kalim explained, “oh, he actually means that there’s no poison in the food.”

The both of you looked at him, then at Jamil. “...Poison?”

The dorm leader waved a dismissive hand. “It’s kind of why I only eat Jamil’s cooking.” 

Your expression was unreadable as you took in Kalim’s words. Throughout the tour, whenever Kalim would mention something about his home life, about Scarabia, you would glance over at Jamil for just a fraction of a second before going back to the conversation at hand.

So he was caught. More than being the vice dorm leader, more than being his so-called ‘friend,’ his presence around Kalim was a job, and it was one that he performed strictly out of duty.

“Ah, sorry for bringing the mood down. But you don’t need to worry about us!” Kalim reassured you. “Would you like something else?”

“No, no it’s okay.” You mustered a polite smile. “I um…think I’d like some more tea.”

“Sure!” He accepted your cup, refilling it to the brim. Ignoring Jamil’s insistence to do it for him.

It wasn’t like the attempts made on his life put a dent in his naivete, Jamil thought to himself. He set another piece of baklava on his plate and took a bite, this one was walnut-flavored. Sure, there was the occasional moment where Kalim suffered from leftover nausea after recovering from poisoning, but he always bounced back. 

The light conversation started back up, eventually. But you still wore that pensive expression, carding your fingers through the end of your ponytail as you listened to the conversation in front of you.

“I’ll start cleaning up.” Jamil stood up from his seat to take the used dishes and empty teapot. His initial estimate proved to be right, seeing as how there were no leftovers for him to dispose of.

“I’d like to help!” You stood up, somehow managing to neatly stack your plate and fork with Grim’s while holding your cups in your other hand.

“Just leave it to me,” Jamil reached forward to accept it from you before you took a step back. “What are you doing?”

“You… can’t take it from me if I take it to the kitchen first!” Your words spilled out in a rush before you dashed away.

You didn’t even know where anything was—just how were you planning on doing that?

“Kalim!” He scowled as the dorm leader took the teapot from the tray and followed after you.

“I’d like to help too!” he called back with a bright smile on his lips. The gesture sent a rush of irritation through Jamil. “The kitchen’s the other direction!”

He was expecting to hear the sound of shattered ceramic, another mess for him to clean up, but the sound of light-hearted laughter echoed in his ears.

“Mragh…do they really have to do this every time we visit someplace else…” Grim grumbled himself before hopping off the cushion.

By the time he arrived at the kitchen, you were halfway through washing the used dishes. The sleeves of your blazer were messily rolled up to your elbows. You were in the middle of talking about how your first few days at the Ramshackle dorm, how the ghosts were capable roommates despite their incorporeal form. It was almost like you barged into a family, but they were willing to accept you and Grim under their care, never mind the rocky start.

Though your voice and pleasant expression remained steady, the moment Kalim asked about your family, one of the teacups tumbled out of your hold and landed in the sink with a loud clatter. The noise shattered the warm atmosphere.

Jamil took that as his cue to guide Kalim out of the kitchen, which the latter reluctantly agreed to. Giving you a worried look just before he left.

“Please excuse him, Kalim didn’t mean to pry—”

You shook your head, at least you didn’t seem angry. “It’s funny, I can remember doing things like this with them.” You glanced at Jamil, then back to the running water before admitting quietly. “But I barely remember them, my family, my friends.”

“Don’t think about that, henchman. You have me now.” You stumbled as Grim leapt onto your shoulder, clambering up to the top of your head.

“...You’re right, I guess so.” The smile didn’t reach your eyes.

[...]

You stood in front of the mirror, head craned upwards to stare at the intricate frame. Your hands busied themselves with twisting and picking at your fingers. Since you were standing alone, Grim probably went on ahead at your request. 

Jamil decided to speak up, “forgetting something?”

Turning to the sound of his voice, your confused expression gave way to sheepishness as you noticed what was in his hand. It was the notebook you were carrying with you when you arrived at the dorm. “Oh shoot—” You quickly took it and flipped through the pages. “Sorry, where’d I leave it?”

“It was in the common area.” 

"Y’know, I think that place is more ‘pillows’ than lounge.’”

“You can thank the Asim Family for that.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, just that lost ‘nd found spells got to have a limit or something.”

“Or you just get used to it.” He shrugged.

A part of him thought back to the brief conversation in the kitchen, the little admission you made. But you made no mention of it again, there wasn’t a trace of embarrassment, no hesitant request to forget about it. Your hand carded through your hair, brushing aside the short baby hairs, and through your ponytail. His eyes caught how your fingers grazed against the ornamental feather attached to the hair tie. 

“You should start heading back to Ramshackle.”

“I know, I really should…but I still feel like I’m forgetting something.”

His hair tie. You were still wearing it, but at some point in today, you had completely, unwittingly accepted it as part of your person. He might just outright ask for it back, but instead, he asked you, “what are your classes for tomorrow?”

You blinked. “Um. I think I have five subjects? No, wait—”

“That should be History and Alchemy.” He counted on two fingers.

“—yeah. Uh, we get free study on Wednesdays so that leaves Animal Linguistics and Practical Magic.” Four fingers.

“And what do you have to pass for those subjects?” 

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Oh crap…what were we going to do tomorrow—there’s a quiz for History of Magic… two worksheets to pass for Alchemy homework, um…Oh! We’re going to have a report on a new chapter in Linguistics...” You listed the first three easily before trailing off to think.

“Nothing for Practical Magic?”

Your brow furrowed. “...I don’t think so?”

“No assigned readings? Practice quizzes? Group reports?” He listed a few more options. Mentioned anything but that band of red tying your hair and keeping it out of your face. With each shake of your head, he watched your expression sink deeper into contemplation.

“I think we just have a lecture for that day… Everything else is due next week.” You conceded after a few more seconds of racking your brain. “Ugh, it’s right at the tip of my tongue though. I really think I’m forgetting something.” You recounted the same number of requirements on your own hand, the index finger of your other hand bending your pinky.

His hand returned to his side. “You’re overthinking it.”

“Big words, coming from the Dorm of Overthinking.”

He couldn’t help the exasperated sigh. “Mindfulness and overthinking aren’t the same.”

“Are too—wait, now I know what I’m forgetting!” Well, it was fun while it lasted. He expected to see you reach upwards and undo your ponytail, to see your hair tumble messily over your shoulders, to hear a quick goodbye. Normalcy was only two quick steps away, the distance between you and the mirror.

Instead, you folded your other fingers, holding up your pinky. “I’ll come over after classes to help you out.”

“Ha?” Your solution was to give yourself more to do?!

“Is-is that too much?” Your head tilted to the side, concern laced your tone.

Schooling his expression back into a neutral one, he backtracked, “no—I mean, don’t you have anything better to do?” With your free time? He left that last part unsaid.

“You’d have to be a fool not to admit that two sets of hands are better than one,” you reasoned.

It isn’t that simple, he wanted to say. If only your words could have undone the rigid duty that had dictated his entire life. But, what could he say to someone who was just as, if not more, stubborn than they appeared? It was too much of a hassle to deal with, he reasoned to himself.

He linked his pinky finger with yours. Made no mention of the way you tensed up at the contact and filed it away in his mind. “Very well, I’ll hold you to that.” 

“Cool.” A few more beats passed, your gaze darted from his face then to your joined hands. “...okay.” Your tone softened bashfully at that last word. With your head tilted downwards, as if adamantly turned away, more loose strands of your hair slipped from your ponytail. At least you weren’t able to see what his own expression looked like. He imagined brushing the hair aside and tucking it behind your ear.

Instead he drew back, pulling his hand away from yours and slipping it into his pocket. In this way, the residual heat from your hand wouldn’t dissipate as quickly. “Didn’t you say you had a test for History tomorrow?”

Breaking out of your reverie, you cursed and turned to the mirror. “You’re right, um… Sorry for overstaying my welcome, thank you for to—” The rest of your sentence cut off the moment you went through the portal. But he didn’t need to guess what you were trying to say. Your goodbye floated in the air, pleasant and warm, settling comfortably into his mind. 

He spared a glance outside. The sky was growing dark, a day consisted of 24 hours, and he wasn’t one to lose track of time. But a part of him swore that whatever happened that afternoon took place for longer than two hours. He stopped in his tracks, for once he wasn’t thinking two or three steps ahead for tomorrow and the day after.

Get it together, Jamil Viper. His facade as a retainer for the Asim family slipped back into place. First, he had to clean up the lounge, then prepare dinner. After that he needed to go over the recent chapter for Ancient Incantations, to help Kalim review for Defensive Magic. What could be prepared for breakfast and lunch tomorrow, he should ask if Kalim had any preferences. He counted each task on a finger, his mind seamlessly recalling what else needed to be done for tomorrow, for the party this weekend, and so on. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he didn’t take a look until late in the night, after he finished putting everything away and made his last checks around the dorm.

Unknown Number IM SORRY I FORGOT TO RETURN YOUR HAIR THINGY AAAAAA I can Run back and drop it off Or is it Too late??? Ahhh im really sorry See i KNEW i was forgetting something this whole time!!!

From the first message, he already knew who the sender was. Did you ask Ace for his number? He changed the name to yours and started typing a reply. Unbeknownst to him, an amused smile tugged at his lips.

Jamil It's fine, I already told you I have more than one. It isn't a bother. Red looks good on y|

What was he doing? The back of his neck grew warm with embarrassment. He erased that last message.

Just make sure you bring it with you tomorrow.

chapter 2: take my hand like you mean it chapter 3: you're afraid to believe it A/N: first id like to thank @jessamine-rose for her time and patience in dealin wid my shenaniganery as she beta'd this story. fic+chapter title credits to this song iykyk wink wonk idk what else to say other than strap in? get ready? this is overly self-indulgent? ill update the links when i get around to finishing pt. 2 (as of now im 1.2k words in) i hope this was fun to read haha i was being hounded with worms in the brain for this funny guy lmao (read: 🤧📢📢GAGO KA JAMIL HANGKYUT MO TALAGAAAAA) don't be afraid to rb and holler in da tags! i cherish each and every comment 💞💞

[arachnixe]

How Could I Ever Forget You?

(Part 5 of The New Goddess - Previous: Past The Limits Of Worship)

It’s spring, and I’m seated near father as he introduces to his court a new magician. It is considered auspicious to time announcements of major changes with the Feast of Augury, and so it is the first time most of the assembled guests hear the news that old Magister Lange has passed.

Magistra Velle immediately captures my attention with the way her personality seems to dominate the room. She is tall and aloof. Her exotic black dress shimmers, catching the light with rainbow hues like I’ve never seen before—father will later deny my request for one just like it—and I am captivated by the way her lips are painted black—again I will be denied—in defiance of all courtly norms of fashion. I watch the way she moves through the formal proceedings, cordial without a trace of warmth, greeting each member of the court with a just-so bow and a polite smile that never touches her eyes. They are intimidated by her, I realize, ill at ease with her manner.

It feels odd that I should not feel the same way. Though I’m acknowledged as an adult, I wield no authority that doesn’t come from my father. Velle is significantly older than me, fully in possession of her own arcane power. With a snap of her fingers, she could end my life. It would be wise to fear her, but it isn’t fear that quickens my pulse as I watch her.

The ceremony concludes with me, the royal heir, receiving her formal greeting.

“Princess Natalia.” Velle moves to offer her customary bow, but I preempt her by extending my hand. It’s an unusual gesture for this ceremony, but not altogether unprecedented, and to her credit, Velle hesitates for only an instant before taking my hand and pressing lips to it. The look she gives me afterward is unreadable, and it isn’t until she turns away that I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I slip away as the attention of the court shifts to the food our servants lay out for the feast. My heart pounds in my chest, so anxious am I about being witnessed as I find an unoccupied room to duck into. When I’m sure I’m alone, I lift my hand to admire the faint mark left behind. Velle’s lip color. I press my own lips to it, lingering far longer than the kiss she offered, until fear gets the better of me and I scrub my hand clean with furious urgency, returning to the feast with an uncontrollable flush in my face.

I remain unaware of the dark smudge on my lips until I retire to my room that night and see myself in the mirror.

---

Some years later and half a continent away, a young mortal woman pours me tea while her husband distracts their children from showing too much curiosity to this oddly dressed stranger in their midst.

“So what brings you to Tassica Village?” There’s no subterfuge in her thoughts, no ulterior motives lurking anywhere in her mind. These people are simply content to offer shelter to a weary traveler—as they assume I must be—as her journey takes her through their town.

“I’m here on a spiritual quest of sorts.” I sip from the steaming cup. The tea tastes like its components, but I feel gratitude toward the generosity that inspired it. “I’m making a pilgrimage to Mount Ossen, which I believe to be the final resting place of one of the old gods.”

My host raises her eyebrows in surprise, glancing out her window at the sleeping volcano that dominates the view. She assumes me to be a cultist of the old pantheon but doesn’t want to offend by telling me I don’t act as unpleasantly morbid as that type tends to be. With quick thinking, she saves herself from appearing rude by directing her commentary toward the tea. “They must like it hot where you’re from, yeah? I have to let mine cool down a bit still or I’ll be suffering from a burnt tongue for days.”

I smile warmly. “No, I confess I’m a bit unusual in my ability to tolerate heat.”

“Well, don’t be in too much of a rush to finish. I’d love to hear more about the kingdom you hail from. What was it called again?”

“Rutennia,” I repeat for her. “Far to the south of here, across the sea.”

“Wow! I’ve never met anyone from such a long way away. Will you stay for dinner and tell us of your home?”

I follow the local custom of declining the initial offer so as not to burden my host, then accepting when she and her husband team up to insist. These sorts of detours among mortals make for a welcome distraction from the pursuit of my ambitions. Someday a great many people like this will know who I am and bow down in worship, and time among them helps remind me why the worship of humans is a worthwhile prize.

---

I scream into my pillow until I go hoarse. They tell me I am an adult when it comes to matters of betrothal and marriage, but when I ask to have Magistra Velle give me private lessons in her craft, I’m suddenly just a teenage girl for whom it’s wildly inappropriate to study black magic. Sure, and when I’m no longer a teenager in a few years, the issue will be that I’m too old to begin studying, and I’m a princess besides, so really I should be focusing on other matters. I know an excuse when I hear one.

I bet Velle got started when she was just a child. She’s probably been practicing her whole life to be as cool-headed and powerful as she is today. I wish I could be like that.

Maybe I should accept my father’s compromise and let Haeland Marta teach me “a few healing spells.” I guess that must be okay because it’s not “magic for war.” Ugh.

But… now that I’m considering it, maybe it’s not so bad. I don’t get to spend more time with Velle like I want, but having magic that complements hers has its appeal. Imagine the two of us together… she throwing lightning bolts at our enemies while I cast a protective barrier to shield her from harm. But then someone gets past my defenses and shoots her with an arrow! She tells me she’s fine, but I know she’s just playing it cool like she always does.

Then I have to take her back home and tend to her wounds, and she resists, telling me “princess, I cannot rest while your enemies are still at the gates!”

And then I go, “but what about you?” with tears in my eyes.

“Who cares about me?” she says. “I’m just a court magician, and you’re royalty!”

And I say “I care! I care about you!”

And then she looks at me and realizes that there’s one person in this world who isn’t afraid of her, and, and…

Ohhh… I can’t let anyone know I’m thinking these kinds of things.

I scrub at my face with my hands. What’s wrong with me?

---

Another tremor. Laying down at the peak, I can feel the volcano threatening to erupt, pulsing and twitching, building to another surge soon. My hand strokes the earth, coaxing it further. I don’t care to wait a century for this one’s next scheduled eruption, nor even longer for the next truly major one. I hunger for what’s inside.

Before long I get what I want. A distant rumble builds into an explosive climax, flinging stone, filling the sky with ash, and flooding this whole slope with a surge of molten rock.

More.

A second eruption washes over me, burying me deeper in lava. I’d be dead in at least four different ways if I were still mortal, but instead I remain dissatisfied. I plunge my senses deeper underground, wrap a hand of invisible force around the source of all this beautiful pyroclastic flow and squeeze until I get another, more powerful than the first two combined.

There we go.

I guide the lava’s flow to ensure it flows over me and past my body, the heat no more than a pleasurable caress that does not distract me from the prize it carries upward from deep under the earth into arms reach at last. I clasp a mummified hand and heave myself and the body up and out of the molten rock.

Here it is, the corpse of another god, unusually intact considering the conditions of its burial. Who were you that you had to be buried so inaccessible a place? How powerful were you in life that I could feel your energy calling to me with such mouthwatering might?

Most of the body is ready to crumble into dust, but I delicately unfurl brittle skin, push aside shriveled lumps of former organs, and find a perfectly preserved liver, still moist and quivering. It tries to jerk out of my grasp as soon as I lay hands on it, resisting me, forcing me to wrestle it into my mouth and fighting my efforts to rip it apart with my teeth and choke it down.

The power of every god wants a vessel, but they don’t like to share. No single god should wield the power of many. What I am doing is blasphemy.

Good.

---

Haeland Marta insists I help prepare Magister Lange’s body for the funeral ceremony. This has absolutely nothing to do with my studies and everything to do with the fact that she’s old and wants someone younger than her to do all the bending and moving that she can’t handle anymore.

Bleh. Some healer she is if she can’t even fix her own joints. I hear Istow’s are the best in the world, but despite them being our neighbor and ally, my father won’t pay to send for a real expert to tutor me. “Marta’s fine to teach enough of the basics to satisfy you.” He has no idea what I need to satisfy me. I could strangle him.

The old woman mutters to herself while passing a hand over the dead magician. “That’s not right…”

“What’s wrong, Haeland?”

She ignores my question, consulting the massive tome she has to lug around because she barely remembers her own training anymore. At last she stabs her finger at a page, clucks her tongue, and sighs. “That’s the one. Still remnants of it in his body. Poison. Ah, Your Highness, I should have checked before.”

I peer over her shoulder at the diagram of a familiar flower. Icy fingers grip my chest, and my breath hitches. I’ve seen some just like this once before: the day I snuck into Magistra Velle’s private rooms. Oh no. This is bad. If Marta tells someone, they might search the palace, and they might find the same poison that killed Magister Lange in Velle’s room, and… then she’ll be gone.

Maybe I can prevent that from happening. There probably won’t be another chance. I can do this. I have to cast the spell I’ve been practicing, but with just the right mistake. Haeland Marta told me how dangerous healing can be if you err in certain ways, and…

I put my hand on the old woman’s shoulder and heal her exactly wrong. Her heart is weak, and it doesn’t take much of a nudge to stop it altogether.

Oh. Oh no. Did I really just…? This was a mistake. This was a huge mistake. I bite my tongue hard to prevent myself from freaking out and screaming. I can undo it, right?

I cast the spell again, but correctly this time, and… nothing. I try again. And again and again. “You can’t bring someone back from the dead, girlie,” Haeland Marta once told me, and she’s wrong because she’s old and stupid and not as good as the healers from Istow, and…

I sob into my hands. What have I done? I… I…

I helped Velle. That’s what’s important, right? And, and, and now they’ll have to send for someone to replace Haeland Marta. Maybe one of the real experts. So this could be a good thing. Good for both of us.

Someday I’ll learn how to resurrect the dead. I’ll learn how to fix my mistakes. And this, this is a mistake, even if turns out for the best. I mustn’t make a habit of solving my problems this way.

---

Panting, sweating, heaving, spasming. This one is too much. It’s much too much. The power of fully three gods inside me. Three gods! Hahahahaha!

It’s too much.

No, no, no, damn it all, no. I will not surrender. I will have it all. There are many more powers to consume after this. This world is littered with them, and I can feel every last one calling out to me.

More like screaming my name in fear.

Whatever dwindling will lingers in each one, they hate that a human has elevated herself above them. Hahahahaha, let them hate. They are lost without me. They are dead and food to me.

A sickening pop inside me curls my body into the fetal position. Blood bursts from my pores, oozing like sweat. Maybe no human is really capable of containing this much power. I feel it threatening to split me open on a spiritual level. This could kill me.

I refuse. My soul is unconquerable. I will grow to accommodate my hungers.

I gave Nina the body she always ached for. I sculpted a palace in the sky for her and Jay to live the lives they deserve. I can do anything, except… No, I can’t die before taming her, can I?

Deep breaths. I just need to expand my sense of self. If a human soul cannot contain this much power, then I will evolve beyond human limits. Monster or dragon or demon, whatever it takes to devour all the gods and all the powers that died on this world, I will become what I must.

---

“Natalia’s aptitude for healing is remarkable, Your Highness, and she’s shown such enthusiasm for the topic as well.” Haeland Moore takes a moment to smile at me with pride. “I would be happy to accept her proposal. I daresay in two more years she’ll earn the title Haeland herself.”

“Her title is already Princess,” my father grumbles. “There are few higher aside from my own.”

“Quite so. It’s just that, ah, in Istow, as you know, one of our most revered monarchs was…”

“You would have me send my only daughter away to study healing magic.” He openly sneers at the idea.

Magistra Velle chimes in. “I say let her go. You have a rebellion to squash, and moving your heir farther from the front lines is a prudent choice.”

The king rubs his temple with two fingers in frustration. “After your most recent blunder, Magistra, I’m much less inclined to trust your judgment—oh, how I wish Lange were still with us—but you may have a point. And after the last two promising suitors turned out to have such weak constitutions,” he sighs, “and the unexpected death of that tutor from Melland as well… perhaps we should let our little bad luck charm be someone else’s problem for a while. If she happens to learn enough to keep her next suitor alive for more than a few weeks in her company, so much the better.”

This might be the first time I’ve heard those three mentioned in connection with me as the common thread before. Perhaps it’s the same for Velle, as some unreadable expression crosses her face, and she shifts her gaze to me appraisingly. I blush, as I always do when she pays attention to me, returning her look with a shy smile. I hope she understands we’re on the same team here.

Haeland Moore ignores everything except his opening. “She will learn how to do that much and more. You have my word, Your Majesty.”

“I’ll take your word, and to that I’ll add a knight to accompany her. Someone not too important, in case her bad luck strikes again. Maybe Count Warren’s boy?” He waves a hand. “Go, make the arrangements before I change my mind.”

I mouth the words “wait for me,” to Magistra Velle, who makes no movement to acknowledge them. I’ll be back for you. I promise.

I have no way of knowing it will be nearly five years before I return, and by then Velle, stripped of her title, will have vowed revenge on the royal family, setting out on a quest to ascend to godhood.

---

I’m stable. Stable enough, at least. Warped and deformed by swallowing something far larger than I should have, but I live. It still fights, but with effort perhaps I can mold my body back into something that appears familiar to others.

I cast my eyes about my surroundings, examining the devastation around the volcano. The lava appears to have mostly cooled already. How much time have I spent wrestling with the digestion process? I really should return home.

Wait, that spot over there. That’s where Tassica was, wasn’t it? Funny how it never even occurred to me to warn anyone that I was planning on provoking this eruption, and that Tassica would be wiped out.

I float down to the spot where kind people showed me uncomplicated hospitality. I pity them, but I feel no particular attachment to them. Mortals die all too easily, right? Does it even matter?

Should I choose to be a merciful god? Would it mean anything in the long run? No, these are the wrong questions. I am a god. I have more power coursing through me than has anyone who ever walked the world. I can do anything. All that matters is what it pleases me to do.

Today I think it would please me to offer magnanimity. It suits me to reward these people for their hospitality. Like puppies, mortals must be conditioned with suitable rewards that encourage behaviors I approve of. I’ve performed a resurrection once before, what’s a few more?

Carve an opening in the cooled lava with a wave of my hand. Restore the plants, the homes, everything burnt to ash, including animals and human bodies. Trace the souls and pull them back. My divine energy is still erratic, it still wants to fight me, but even so this is a shockingly easy task—no not a “task,” I am performing divine miracles, and I laugh with pleasure as I continue.

I can do better than restoring a piece of this flawed world to itself, though, can’t I? I can make it better. Let the land be more fertile, the crops more robust, the buildings sturdier, the people stronger and healthier. I’ll nudge the atmostpheric currents such that these people will never see another typhoon nor dry season. Even that is a trifle.

I do my best to pull my body back into human shape, but the struggle to contain everything is profound. I hardly even notice that the sun has set because right now I am pure daylight, and the one thing that feels beyond me now is to appear as I did when I first arrived. Almost in unison, the villagers awaken, and they are drawn to me like moths. As is only natural, they fall to their knees and heap prayers upon me. It’s beyond anything I ever imagined. One man reaches toward me—oh, the husband who hosted me earlier—and drunk on worship, I permit a finger to gently graze one of his.

He collapses into convulsions, his mind flooded with tiny, chaotic shards of my own sight. He babbles uncontrollably with fragments of phrases almost like truths and—

Ah, I seem to have broken him. That’s… exciting, actually. Terribly exciting. Maybe it’s the intoxication of so much worship, or maybe it’s the wild divine might pushing me to the ragged edge of self control, but I like what that did to him, and I will not undo it.

I shall inspire the understanding that contact with me has gifted him divine visions, and these people will venerate him as a prophet or oracle. Let them gather around and admire the beauty of a mind shattered by contact with the new goddess of this world.

---

Home again, I rest. I grant my little bird a boon.

I digest. My pet princess and I have a date.

I remember self-control. By the time I visit Velle I’m downright stable.

“I hope you’re ready to be tamed.” I speak the words with such profound gentleness that her ears don’t even rupture.

[re-whump]

Glass Eden - Enclosure

prev congrats on not being eaten, but you're still trapped with the snake contains: non-human whumpee (borrower and lamia/naga, both tiny), captivity, pet trope, neglect, dehumanization, communication barrier, conditioned whumpee, concussion, (mild) emeto

Poe

It had to be a game of some sort, yes?

She had few ways to truly lose and I even fewer to win, but it must be a game.

The master of the house had thrown me in here for entertainment, after all. I had assumed it would be his entertainment, but apparently I wasn’t even worth that.  

I couldn’t know if I’d been spared out of mercy or boredom or merely saved for later. I wasn’t even sure she was intelligent enough to have had a reason, that my survival wasn’t mere whim. The master of the house kept her like a pet, so it was possible her relatable visage was mere coincidence. Then again, it had seemed like she had been trying to speak with me, and the master of the house was hardly a compassionate figure. He threw me in here for sport, he may as well be keeping a person in a cage.

I think he knew that she wouldn’t finish me off. He left before she had released me. But I also recognized the silver box on the other side of the glass and its ominous black eye. He was still watching, or at least recording to watch later. He would be able to entertain himself with my inevitable death, over and over again. He would watch her feed on me and be able to share it with however many of his awful kin as he liked, just as soon as she changed her mind and attacked me again. Nightmare after never ending nightmare. 

For now she seemed content to remain in the stone-looking cave on the far side of the terrarium. One bend of her pale, looping tail squeezed out the entrance, so I could even look over and be sure she stayed put. But my tail continued to quiver at her perfect silence. She could come for me at any moment and if I wasn’t looking at her, I wouldn’t know.

I needed to hide. I could feel the instinct pushing up beneath the rest of my thoughts to demand attention. Anger, self-pity, despair…none of them quite held up to the desperate urging to escape back into the shadows. I had been raised to believe—to know—that being seen by the monsters that owned the house was one of the worst things that could happen to me, and I couldn’t just push the feeling aside now that I’d been caught. The glass walls and open air were torturous.I would worry about survival later. I would worry about water and food and self-defense and how to get out of here later. First, I was going to carve a hiding space into the bark lining the cage, tucking in between the glass and some large stone. My crushed ribs burned as I pushed myself beneath the surface. 

When that was done, I curled up to cry.

When that was done, I was still trapped. 

~

Hecate

I had pleasant dreams about a patch of sun and another body lying curled up alongside my own. 

I played them over in my head for awhile, lazily enjoying the empty schedule ahead of me. Hugh only ever expected me to perform when he had guests, not like the last hands. And he liked me to look like me, not dolled up and polished. 

I scratched an itch along the thin scales on my hips and decided I could do with a wash anyway. That wasn’t polish, that was hygiene. I had a rash or something on my side there that never seemed to heal. I couldn’t do as good a job as the hands, but a long soak in even the tepid water on the cool side of the tank would feel refreshing enough.

I slid towards the sound of gently running water. There was a short waterfall on one end of the shallow pool that provided an endless supply of clean water. I’m not sure where exactly it came from, but there were a lot of things I didn’t understand. I only ever got to take short excursions beyond my glass walls and hardly anyone had ever thought I might like an explanation. It wasn’t like I could ask for clarifications. Mostly, I was thankful that this enclosure was at least full of interesting plants and clean bedding and even some clay I could sculpt with.

The water stole away that wonderful heat reserve I’d built up sleeping over the hot floor, but it was worth it. The sharp pinches that dotted the line between scale and skin fell away too, although the burning lower down on my belly lingered. I twisted around to check on what that might be, then tensed as I remembered how I’d hurt myself. Or, not myself, how I’d gotten…bit? Scratched? Hurt, somehow, by the…thing. The little prey-person-thing. The maybe-child. 

Were they still here? Or had Hugh come back to collect them?

I whistled as I drew myself out of the water. Their scent was faint, but in a space that usually only housed myself, it was more than enough to trace them. They were wedged between a stone hide and the wall, lying still. As I got closer, they made a muffled squeak, not unlike a rat’s.

I slowed, continuing to sing. It was an old song, a gentle one, one I’ve known since I was just a hatchling. I used to know words to it, something about the sun, but it had been so long and become so meaningless that now all I knew was the tune. The words were in the language I had used with my clutchmates anyway, one without all those tricky human noises. I doubt the prey-person-thing would have understood it. 

The substrate lurched as they clawed their way to the surface. I leaned back to keep the spray of bark out of my face. The glass pinged as they backed themself into the wall. 

“Hey, hey, shhh,” I whispered. 

“No, no, stop! Please! I’ve done nothing to deserve this!” they cried.

“Shh,” I repeated.

There wasn’t much else I could say. I couldn’t speak, not like they did. I had the wrong mouth for it. My tongue was meant for sneaking tastes of the air, not dancing between t and k and th and r and all the rest. 

“You-you aren’t attacking me?” 

I shook my head. I hoped they could see, even if I couldn’t. It seemed like it. They took a sharp breath like they were reacting to something. 

“You understand me? You are intelligent, then? Can you talk?”

“I…mm.”

I pushed off the ground, head cocked. I could hardly answer three questions at once. I motioned with my hands for them to go slower, but it must have looked like something else from where they were standing. They were still sweating fear. 

“J-just stay away from me! Please!” they whimpered.

I wanted to hold the poor thing to reassure them, but I wasn't dumb enough to think it would work. I just did my best to show him I meant no harm. 

--

Poe

The python-woman stared for several excruciating seconds.

She sighed and looked as if she might cry, then lowered herself back down against the ground again. I wanted to believe it was some kind of submissive gesture, but I was loathe to get too optimistic with my life on the line.

I wished she would blink. 

I didn’t move. I was too afraid it was some sort of trap about to spring. I watched a cat catch a mouse like that once, on a trip out into the garden. It had hunkered down and just stared for nearly a full minute. And that minute must have felt like an eternity for the mouse as it waited for that inevitable pounce. The cat had let it go again and again and again until the poor girl was too bloody and tired to try and run.

Eternity dragged on. 

I waited and waited and waited until the creature finally grew bored of waiting. She backed away and silently drifted back to the other side of the cage. 

I had to get out of here.

I crept around the perimeter looking for some way out. The only breaks in the glass were along the front, where the human had first thrown me in. The glass fit together so tightly, I couldn’t even wedge my fingers between the two panes, never mind try to pry them further apart. The mechanisms to lock the door in place were too far overhead for me to even examine. I turned to glare at the camera still gawking at me from the other side of the glass. 

I could weave something out of the foliage, perhaps, or turn my little dagger into something more useful. Assuming I had the time.

I kept my distance from her as I explored and only partially for that most obvious reason of avoiding her. The far end of the tank where she seemed to prefer to rest was significantly hotter than the other, and the whole place was uncomfortably humid. I assume it all suited her but it was making me sweat on top of everything else.

I thought about taking off the wool I had wrapped around my shoulders, but it was also the closest thing to armor that I had. I was dressed to survive the cold floor of the underused study, not monster attacks. I retreated back towards where I had heard water on the cooler half of the enclosure. My aching ribs demanded a rest anyways.

The water was…not clean, to say the least. A small waterfall churned the pool, likely intended to keep the water from growing too stagnant, but it was clearly not up to the task. I knelt down and grimaced at the pool. It was clear enough, but a layer of dirt and dead bugs littered the bottom. I drank anyway; it wasn’t as if it was the most questionable thing I’d ever ingested. It was refreshing enough.

After a short break I thought about what to do for shelter while I was trapped in here. I probably couldn’t make anything truly safe, but I could at least gather up a decent bed to rest in. Something more comfortable for my sore ribs. As for food…I would have to hope some of these plants might be edible. I didn’t know them. I chose a spot to set up distance from the water, assuming she’d come back here to drink again before long.

A distant creaking caught my attention, and it was not the snake. The housemaster was back. I ducked as deep into the shadows as I could, as much habit as anything.

He moved slowly, spending a few minutes walking around and admiring various displays around the room. It was too far for me to make out the details, but I assume he was looking at other pets. I didn’t want to know anything more. 

He turned to this prison before too long. The snake emerged from her cave to whistle and wave at him. He greeted her with a smile and oh-so-easily opened up the doors, nearly removing the entire front wall.

And his attention was fixed on the snake, not me. 

I warily crept towards the open doors. I waited until he had his hands full with the snake-woman and I launched towards my freedom. 

It was a hopeless endeavor. The movement caught his eye and he released the snake to take a clumsy swipe at me. Of course, a man twenty times my size didn’t need to be too precise to ruin me and these were hardly ideal conditions for me. His massive forearm slammed into me like a wall, knocking my breath away. I went skidding off the edge of the shelf before I could catch my balance. 

“Shit!” the master hissed. “Didn’t realize you were still in there.”

I landed in a heap at his feet. At some point, either during the fall or the landing, my head cracked against something hard. My eyes watered as I tried to pull myself back together, back into a coherent train of thought, so I could get up and—

“No, no, you’re not getting out of here. I’m not letting some thieving vermin run wild in my home,” the master said. 

A flat weight collapsed on top of me as I tried to crawl away. Shoe, I registered dimly. Very bad place to be. Very messy death. I wondered how much of it I would feel. He pressed down, just hard enough that I might burst if I tried to move, and dragged me towards the rest of him. He leaned down. My head swelled full of pain and panic. 

I heard someone scream. I wondered if it might be me, even if screaming wasn’t a behavior borrowers were naturally inclined to perform. I closed my mouth with a groan and the sound kept coming. I pressed my ears back. It hurt. My head hurt so bad and the noise made it worse. 

“Hey! Hey, my! My!” the scream shrieked. 

Something struck the glass overhead and the weight crushing my chest pulled away. I threw myself forward to escape at the same moment the master bent down over me and all that motion all at once set my head spinning and stomach heaving.

“Mm? You do want it, then, girl? You were just saving it for later?”

I may have taken an entire two steps before collapsing back onto my knees to vomit up the meager contents of my stomach. I was still retching, unable to move, as the housemaster’s hand fell over me and pinched the back of my shirt. Vomit ran down my chin as I was lifted so quickly into the air that the world turned into a blur. 

“No, don’t,” I croaked, several seconds after he tossed me back in the bark. 

The snake woman reached for me. I kicked at her. She sputtered, but only because the housemaster pulled her away. 

“Ah-ah, Hecate. I’ll let you have the little pest, but for now you’re coming out with me. Come along. It won’t go anywhere,” Hugh said.

The glass slid closed. The lock clicked. The towering shadow disappeared down the hallway. I stopped fighting to keep my eyes open.

I might as well finish dying before she came back to finish her game.

[doodles-of-a-nerd-kid]

*Warning, this is gonna be a ridiculously long post...

So, some of you reeeeally wanted to know just a teeny weenie bit more about my weird boy huh? Well, here ya go:

Yeah, where do I freakin' start with this--? It was not only hard to put together despite the very simple (and more obvious) inspirations... but I had to mega ponder whatever the heck I was on when creating this character, LOL

Lets break it down all over again:

It is extremely obvious (I think) of which characters Tilde's appearance mostly stems from... our funny scout robots from Cave Story: Mr. Traveler and Curly Brace themselves. (Which heehee geddit he has a punctuation naem TILDE ~~ xdd)

I'm pretty sure some of you have probably assumed (Especially with how much I pair them together...^^") Tilde is... well... their kid somehow--

Not... quite? It's... much more complicated than that, don't worry about it! Anyways, I basically chucked them both into a blender to combine their appearances together as much as possible; an example of this is Tilde's hair! It's a blonde color like Curly's and straight; but has a waviness, spiking up at the ends like Quote's hair.

Tilde's antenna earphone things are green, and his eye color is also that bluescreen blue that Curly has as well, lol.

So Tilde's outfit inspirations! Tilde is actually wearing Sue Sakamoto's sweater, along with someone's long green scarf. Its a bit old and worn out... but it's very shnazzy, dontcha think? ^^ In earlier drawing drafts of Tilde back in 2021, his sleeves were actually much more sprite accurate to Sue's-- But then I played OneShot and drew them droopy like Niko's once and it... stuck. idc its staying too. I think I wanted to give him a cuteness bonus, so I gave him hairpins thanks to Chase from Harvest Moon lol

Underneath Tilde's sweater he is wearing a simple black tank with magenta shorts, like Quote's tank and sprite Curly's pants. His shoes I unfortunately don't have a direct correlation for their colors, but they're inspired by Cave Story 3D JP Curly's shoes.

A much more rare appearance, but this is what Tilde looks like as an adolescent-- Don't question why, just roll with it-- I have my reasons and I won't tell you :^) When I was drawing him, my brain just handed me Basil from Omori. Literally, just Basil's energy and a bit of the Mother series protagonists for outfit design... I tried to swishing it around a bit and ended up with a very puntable looking guy, which was the exact vibe I was going for~ >:3c

I gave Tilde a sweater turtleneck and called it a day, then Lucas came to mind again when I was coloring-- Which overall made this particular bit of the outfit more interesting ^^ Tilde here is also wearing Toroko's pendant. Not really much else to cover here, since the many traits from Tilde's youth carries into here. Continuing...

Oh boy, how the times have changed and he's all grown up now T_T

Tilde when he's older takes almost all the liberties from especially Quote, wearing his infamous deadpan expression naturally... but he still remains extremely expressive like Curly ^^

Tilde's outfit is very obviously influenced by them, from their cargo pants to their color schemes (which are also admittedly being carried from his youth as well.) Quote's Blade Strangers design (If you ever heard of it.) was definitely an influence for him as well--

BUT to keep him looking a bit more fresh, I devised to use even more of that special jrpg sauce i love to throw on my characters lmAO

Y'all should already know from my previous post that I'm a weeb a Japanese culture enthusiast, not gonna explain that again

Specially for his outfit Tetsuya Nomura's character designs immediately come to mind, i cannot tell you which one specifically.

While imagining the "cool rpg boy outfit" all these characters blend together in my head, probs because they seem to have similar vibes LOL (very cool Nomura-san)

100% CERTAIN Felix from Golden Sun had an influence on Tilde's outward appearance. I actually drew older Tilde before teen Tilde, and I gave him long hair partly bc of him-- lmao

(While Soren from Fire Emblem is not a main influence for Tilde, he is simply here because I hate him for making me realize long haired dudes are just,,, peak character design idk what to tell you.)

So that's Tilde's sheet

goes very crazy I know

If imma do a Tilde sheet, i gotta do it properly-- He's the best(est)

I'm very tired I worked on this for almost a whole week lol imma sleep or something

[a-moth-to-the-light]

Comeback Celebration: Current Top Ten Sunmi Songs

I noticed, while I was working on this, that I talk about Sunmi the way orbits talk about Loona--I think you'll see what I mean as we go down the list! I think it's the admiration I have for how creative & well-crafted her releases are. "Heroine" was the song that got me into Sunmi, though her most recent comeback at the time was "Lalalay" (I remember because the ponytail dance was EVERYWHERE). My admiration was secured after her 1/6 album--even though her discography is still small, I think that album really fleshed it out, to the point where I finally felt like I could understand her as an artist. Happy Sunmi comeback to us all!

1. pporappippam

This is my "Butterfly". I remember when this song came out, I remember when it changed the world, it's all things divine, it's my conduit to a romanticized version of my teenage years, it's a supercut of all the most wonderful colors you've ever seen in the sky at sunset. In all seriousness, though--I really don't get how people find this song boring. It manages to be a soft, ethereal track and an addictive pop hit, a perfect balance of peaceful atmospherics and unrelenting pace. This one is really special to me!

2. 1/6

This is my "Loonatic". I got dream pop with this song--okay, "1/6" might not exactly be dream pop, but it's soft and dreamy in a way that made me finally see the appeal of that type of song, like why someone would want to get lost in that hazy sonic world.

3. Siren

"Siren" is a piano crashing into you from a third-story window. Like, I don't know how it's ever possible to be emotionally ready for this song. Its brute-force approach is just so goddamn memorable, especially because Sunmi doesn't overuse it in the rest of her discography--she usually goes for subtlety, but her vocals carry a powerful chorus like this one just so well.

4. Narcissism

This one's also in the brute-force category, especially because the production takes this really messy, maximalist approach--and fuck it, it works. I love this song a whole lot: the soft intro; the weird schoolbell-through-intercom-static sounds; the way the chorus hits; the way Sunmi navigates the song's rapid rises and falls. If you miss old-school EDM (read: if you obsess over Dreamcatcher's "Can't get you out of my mind" like I do), I think you'll really enjoy this one.

5. Call

Yeah, no surprise here, I always love club music. But this club classic is particularly intricate, built on a really interesting contrast: Sunmi's gritty vocals over an exceptionally pristine house beat.

6. Black Pearl

This song is just cool. Like, that saxophone solo is just really, really cool. Like, I want to be a guy who has this song at the top of his most-listened list. Maybe one day!

7. Heroine

Yeah, the beat drop is kind of wimpy, so that part didn't age all that great. But Sunmi's PERFORMANCE here?? That prechorus is one for the ages. Five years ago, the emotion of this song absolutely captivated me, and it still resonates with me today.

8. Lalalay

In contrast, this one aged wonderfully! Now that I'm not being constantly overloaded with beat drops in every other song (thank you, 2019 Twice & 2021 Olivia Rodrigo!), I can really appreciate how interesting "Lalalay" is! I used to think this one was boring and lacking inspiration, but now that I'm revisiting it, I think the dynamics of the chorus are pretty compelling (yes, I think the beat drop is compelling, sue me)--like, do you hear how the weird note thingie is fading in and out? how the volume shifts? I love it so much!! My favorite part is the bridge, though--the flight attendant bit remains iconic, and the segue into the final chorus is breathtaking.

9. Heart Burn

This will forever remind me of a song from my childhood--the melody of the chorus is vaguely reminiscent of Taylor Dayne's "Tell It to My Heart", which my mom used to play in the car--so this song hits unfairly hard for me. Like, it's already a reserved, mysterious summer hit, but to me it sounds like a half-formed image of your old living room, or the voice of an elementary-school friend whose name you can't quite recall speaking from the void. Cloudy, surreal, a bit unsettling, but altogether sweet. Also, the color scheme of this music video is super striking, so "Heart Burn", despite its simplicity, gets a LOT of bias points from me.

10. What the Flower

This is like the evil twin of Red Velvet's "Good, Bad, Ugly". They both go for the lounge-singer vibe, but Red Velvet have really pure, sweet-sounding vocals, while Sunmi's voice, and her work as a whole, have always been very savory (like, anti-saccharine?). Both songs are great, and I especially love how both allow for some wonderful piano appreciation (shoutout to the guitar in "What the Flower", too!). The singalong bit at the end of "What the Flower" is really striking, so this one has stuck around in my head over the years, even before I could really appreciate its quieter sections.

Honorable Mentions: 24 Hours (obligatory), Who am I, Curve (also obligatory), Tail (Sunmi's charisma wins this one), Call my name

[phant0m-l0rd]

I wanted to share this cool find I made a few weeks ago while going through some of my uncle's old music magazines from the early 80s : an article from June 1984 written by Hervé Picart about a little up and coming band called Metallica... Finding this article felt like opening a time capsule.

(Magazine: BEST N°191, June 1984, French.)

I translated the article to English for the non-French speakers- translation after the cut:

Everything is currently changing on the good old West Coast. Just as we thought Frisco and Los Angeles forever attached to FM rock, poppy hits and beach boy philosophy, a surprising push of hard fever has come to contaminate them. Van Halen is no longer alone. Mötley Crüe, Heaven, and many others are shaking up the prophet kingdom in California, to such an extent that it might soon be necessary to rebaptise the Golden Gate "Metal Gate". Among all these new groups which are currently candidates to convert Jerry Garcia to heavy music and force everyone to trade their flower patterned bermuda for a black leather jacket, Metallica is without a doubt the most significant, and the most jostling act. These Californians have only released one album as of right now, but an album of such power, and accompanied by such emotion that a regular dose of Metallica has become a priority for all metalheads worthy of that name. There is no doubt both from a musical standpoint and from a purely emotional one that America now beholds its own Iron Maiden. Nothing less.

Like always in the case of rising waves, it was a compilation of various heavy groups, created in 1982 by the little local label Metal Blade Records and baptised "Metal Massacre", which revealed to the public of aficionados and curious minds alike the existence of Metallica. Their unique title, the henceforth mythical "Hit the lights", crushed all competition like Maiden's "Sanctuary" had done on the legendary "Metal For Muthas". "Hit the lights", it was a sort of sonic whirlwind which makes one want to take from all bands known for their label of "speed" that very label and reserve it for Metallica. The gang was then at the tail-end of their first chapter and was finishing off their work with their first formation, as five, with two guitarists.

Of this initial quintet, today there only remains the singer/rhythm guitarist James Hetfield and the drummer Lars Ulrich. The others, exhausted, passed the baton to the bassist Cliff Burton (speaking of which, treacherous minds have said ever since his solo "Anesthesia" that he had a dinosaur for a teacher), and the electrifying lead guitarist Kirk Hammett. As evidenced, Hetfield and Hammett are the two poles of Metallica, one with his warm and powerful voice which lends itself well to choruses of miraculously melodic quality amongst such chaos, and the other with his totally insane solos. Visibly, Kirk Hammett has learned to play his Flying V thinking it was a machine gun because he seems to create blasts more than anything. His virtuosity, the speed of his going along the fretboard inevitably make you dizzy.

After having blown minds from the get-go thanks to "Hit the lights", Metallica found a peculiar glory as immediate as it was underground, as those wired into heavy music consider it the pinnacle of power to be able to share, like sharp conspirators, precious copies of cassettes of demo tapes the band had made in order to make the rounds among record labels. While some official labels, rather frightened, quickly closed the door on them, the incredible interest from the underground scene acted like propaganda for the group, from Frisco to LA. Metallica then decided to play this game in their favour and opted for the small label Megaforce in order to release their first album, the crushing "Kill 'em all", very quickly released in England by the knowing people of Music for Nations, then later here by Bernett.

This more than mighty album does a good job in presenting two different aspects of Metallica. On one hand, relatively short songs, but hyper-accelerated, like "Hit the lights", the famous "Motorbreath", or the terrific "Whiplash". On the other, much longer tracks, composed of various sequences which battle each other, superposing riffs, rhythmic sections syncopated to an extreme, and more labyrinthine tracks that undeniably make one think of Iron Maiden. And all of that magnetised by the two bewitching Flying Vs, that of Hetfield which sounds like a metallic cavalcade (that of the "Four horsemen" of the apocalypse), and that of Hammett which comes again and again like a Mirage plane attacking. Midway between Motörhead and Maiden, then.

Ever since this incandescent record which has made them appear in Europe like the saviours of American rock, Metallica is progressively emerging from its lair. This spring, they were in Europe recording a new album. "Ride the Lightning", which will come out in June when they'll come to shake the first swarms of French fans, will give you all the occasion to fully integrate their healthy maxim, "Bang that head that doesn't bang"!!!

- Hervé Picart

Discography:

- In French pressing: "Kill 'em all" (Bernett- Musidisc)

- Imported:

"Seek and destroy " (max 45 live tours)

"Metal up your ass" (other version of "Kill 'em all")

[nero-vanderwolf]

Warm.

That’s what Makoto feels- warm and hazy, like he’s hovering on the edge of consciousness. Somewhere beside him, Kotone is floating too. His sister is with him, and that comforts him.

“You could stay here,” a familiar voice says.

Makoto sits up, staring into the white void.

Ryoji appears, a soft smile on his face. “You and Kotone both. You could stay here, between life and death. Your bodies would remain alive, but your consciousness would be here.”

Makoto pulls him into a wordless hug, holding him close. Kotone stirs beside him.

“I don’t want to stay here,” she says softly, taking Ryoji’s hand in her own. “I promised everyone. I swore to them that I would fight. And I want to keep doing that.”

Ryoji looked at her with a sad smile. “I understand. I will always be with you, though. Right by your side. The offer still stands if ever you change your mind.”

Kotone nods, then extends her hand to Makoto. “C’mon, Mako. We have a promise to fulfill.”

Makoto hesitates. Does he really want to leave Ryoji? Does he really want to go back?

He could stay here, Ryoji said. He could stay here and be happy and stay alive. Everything could be okay.

But then, faintly, he hears noise. It sounds like screaming, like yelling, like pleading.

It’s Yosuke, shouting at him to get up, dammit. It’s Yu fighting off Shadows with Izanagi, begging for him to wake up. It’s Akihiko telling him he’s stronger than that, that he knows Makoto can get up.

“...One day, Ryoji. One day, I’ll come back to you and stay. I promise.”

A light gleams in his and Kotone’s chests, bright and warm. Ryoji smiles sadly, gently pulls his hand away from Makoto’s.

“I’ll wait for you until then,” Ryoji says, and everything fades away into blackness, just like it did when they sacrificed their powers for the Great Seal.

“COME ON! GET UP, MAKOTO!”

Makoto sits up, gasping for air. It feels like any trace of oxygen has been sucked from his lungs, and he’s desperate to get it back. His skin feels clammy and cold, and he struggles to his feet, coughing.

Akihiko swings at a Shadow that definitely had its eyes on Makoto, and Yu obliterates it with a strike of lightning from Izanagi.

“Sorry- Didn’t mean for that to happen,” Makoto mumbles, stabbing at another Shadow. It snarls, attacking Yosuke- who sidesteps it with ease.

“Hey, all good! Just try to stay on your feet next time, okay?” He says, giving Makoto a grin. Makoto still feels like he had all his internal organs rearranged inside him, but he nods and continues to fight.

After the battle, Yu stops, puts a hand on Makoto’s shoulder and taps his earpiece. “Fuuka-san, can you bring my and Junpei-san’s groups back to the entrance?”

“Are you sure?” Fuuka asks. Just like with everything she says, it’s clear she doesn’t doubt Yu as a leader. It’s more confirmation for what she needs to do.

Makoto can think of more than a few times where he’s accidentally activated the teleporter and managed to save himself from accidentally going all the way back to the entrance because Fuuka asked before activating it on her side.

“Yeah, bring us back,” Yu confirms, then seemingly remembers he isn’t talking to Rise, because he hastily adds in a “please-!”

So Makoto and Kotone both end up in what they’ve decided to call time-out, with Yu and Shinji agreeing that they look sickly and need to rest. Akihiko reiterates to Fuuka and Rise that they are absolutely, in no way, by no means, allowed to go back into the dungeon. Which they find incredibly unfair. After all, Ken is their friend, too. They want to help look for him, to help rescue him.

However, despite all their complaints and protests, Shinji and Yu end up being proven right after they fall asleep on each other, covered by Fuuka and Rise’s jackets.

Maybe some things are better sat out.

Maybe other things are better with the power of two ex-Wildcards.

holy shit. the revival. that's so cool and also scary??? like imagine dying and coming back to life, you have no air and your body is cold... i never really thought about the fact they DIE when they fall in battle. also them seeing ryoji when they die... and makoto promising that someday he'll see ryoji again... im not crying you're crying. the fact he doesnt want to die anymore because he wants to live to protect his friends, to live with them, to have a life. its just so...