#inventory management with square

[neiptune]

surreal, but nice

cw: 7k wc, female reader, strangers to lovers, osamu doesn't exactly know how to handle one of the most famous music artists in japan suddenly popping in onigiri miya, inspired by notting hill, my sappy entry for the romcom collab hosted by @bloompompom! thank you @yellow-sword-lily, this fic is also a little yours :)

Miya Osamu is a creature of habit.

He gets up fairly early, showers, never leaves the small apartment without fixing himself a nutritious breakfast, more or less knows and is therefore prepared to what to expect from each particular day.

Downstairs there’s his beloved shop, a dormant creature he gently stirs from sleep each morning. When he doesn’t have to head to the market to select and order the freshest products, Osamu starts the day by contacting all his suppliers and arranging the deliveries. He then checks the inventory, reviews reservations, welcomes the only other chef to discuss any special preparations or new experiments. It’s not unusual for him to check his emails, monitor the website and official social media of the shop, the one thing he actually hates doing because he knows damn well one negative comment will ruin his day, especially since there’s nothing he can do to rectify mistakes made days, sometimes weeks before.

He has a chef, one dishwasher, three servers, two food delivery drivers and that’s about it. Osamu Miya is the owner, manager, host, executive chef, server and cashier of onigiri Miya. He juggles management skills, culinary talent and business acumen just perfectly. He’s prepared and knows exactly what each day has in store for him.

Until you happen.

Osamu has been cooking for almost three hours by the time the shop officially opens at 11AM. It’s not unusual for new faces to come in from time to time, despite his clientele being more or less established, but it is rare to hear the little door chime ring so soon. Except if his dumb brother happens to be in town.

But you’re not his dumb brother. You’re a new and yet strangely familiar face, even hidden behind thick sunglasses and a beret that one could deem more appropriate to a parisian getaway rather than a Kansai one.

“Morning” you offer a little bow, hesitant by the door “you’re open, right?”

“Uh, sure” he smiles, still a little uncertain after a moment of astonishment “I don’t often have clients for breakfast. What can I get ya?”

“I’ve been told this is the best onigiri shop in town. I’ll let you decide”

You seem to consider your options for a moment, then decide to sit at the closest empty table. Osamu would usually provide more than a nod: he’d make conversation, ask questions. Forming bonds with whoever visits his shop and trusts his food is his favorite part of the day, as well as a great activity to engage in while his hands are busy putting the rice into molds.

“Close that mouth” is the only thing he utters under his breath, glancing at the server who set your table “yer catching flies”

“But it’s her!” Hiro squeaks as silently as humanly possible “I’m gonna ask for an autograph”

“You will do no such thing”

“We could hang it in the shop!”

“Go help in the kitchen, Minato called in sick today. I’ll handle this”

Hiro disappears behind closed doors but only after batting his freakishly long lashes to his boss, a heartbreaking disappointed look on his face.

Osamu takes a deep breath and squeezes the molds together, an action executed as gently as possible to keep the fluffy texture that makes his onigiri the best in town.

He knows you, of course he knows you. Not only your face was on any available surface for the entirety of the previous summer (posters, billboards, magazine covers to advertise your first ever concert in the Koshien stadium), he’s also pretty sure in high school Atsumu had perpetually ruined the walls of their shared room with some crappy adhesive squares used to hang your poster.

Osamu is not really a dedicated listener, he knows a couple of your most famous songs and that your success is damn near planetary. You have a house in Tokyo but spend most of the year in America, California if he recalls correctly, and you tour across Europe as well. Yet, it’s been easy to pick what to serve you. The gourmet options such as salmon roe or roast beef are off the table: they don’t make new clients feel special. What new clients need is a taste of authenticity, something that reminds them of home, and don’t you look just like the kind of person who could use some of that?

Osamu decides on pickled plum, tuna mayo and bonito flakes. One serving usually consists of three onigiri but he can’t resist adding an extra treat for you, a tenmusu onigiri. He’s recently perfected the recipe with an egg-free tempura batter that is still thick enough to absorb his special sauce.

He hopes it’s not creepy that he lingers by your table after he brings your meal: celebrity or not, you’re a new client. And Osamu can’t resist observing the wander taking over customers who are unfamiliar with his kitchen, as soon as they take the first bite. He hopes you are no exception.

“If this is an onigiri” you lock eyes with him and smile, glorious, radiant “what the hell have I been eating until now?”

“Probably not the best in town” he grins, proud, a slight blush already coating his cheeks. Damn it, he’s tempted to turn the baseball cap once more, let the brim shield his awkwardness. But that would be totally lame.

“Is it a family business?”

“No. It’s just… mine”

You hum, busy chewing on another bite. Then you swallow and ask another question, invite him to sit eventually, then apologize because he’s probably busy (he is) and has things to do (he does) but this is never going to happen again for Osamu, because he’s not Atsumu. And so he sits and makes conversation like a normal human being that definitely isn’t obsessively dwelling on how beautiful you are, how different your voice sounds when you’re not singing, how much he’d hate for a client to come in and pop that bubble. Which is exactly what happens and he doesn’t like it one bit how you interrupt your chuckle, lower your head, hunch your shoulders in an attempt to hide. He doesn’t like that he has to excuse himself, call Hiro back form the kitchen, make conversation with Suzuki-san, listen while he describes all his latest hospital visits in horrifying detail.

You look at him from time to time, the quiet shop owner suddenly turned chatty sparks your curiosity. He’s skilled with his hands and genuinely interested in what the person who must be an habitué has to say. He’s attractive, too. Especially as he tries to disguise the occasional glances directed your way or the disappointment that flashes in his eyes when you get up and start collecting your things.

“Can I get the check, please?” you approach the counter, pretend not to notice his hesitation. Osamu decides against indulging in the “it’s on the house” cliche, opts for treating you as any other client. With the exception of a small discount you won’t even notice.

“That was the best breakfast I had in a while” you collect the receipt and put in your pocket.

“You should come back, then. To have another” Osamu cringes internally as soon as the words leave his mouth and Suzuki-san’s chuckle makes him want to dig a hole to disappear into. But you smile, despite probably having heard the corny line a million other times, and tell him that you just might.

It would’ve been perfect: a beautiful ending to a glorious encounter. It could’ve been. If only you didn’t turn around so abruptly, a small shriek echoing across the shop as you came face to face with Mai, the sudden sound and panic causing her to jump and spill the fresh iced tea from the jug in her hand all over your painfully clean, crisp, starched, white button down.

You both freeze, your mouth open in a silent scream, an horrified look in Mai’s eyes that would’ve been comical on literally any other occasion. Osamu wishes he would’ve went with the “it’s on the house” cliche.

“Oh my god! Oh god! It’s you! I mean, I’m sorry!” Mai’s voice comes out an octave too high “my god, I’m so sorry!”

“Well, this is great” you frantically grab a handful of napkins from the counter and attempt to dab the mess on your shirt “I have a meeting in half an hour!”

“Please, take my uniform! I will pay for the dry cleaning!”

“Actually” Osamu chimes in as politely as possible, trying his best not to let his anxiety get the best of him “don’t take this the wrong way but, uh, I live upstairs. You can get cleaned up and…”

“You’re kidding, right?” your astonished look is almost glacial. It makes him falter just slightly.

“Or ya can leave with a giant orange stain on yer wet, probably uncomfortably cold shirt?”

“Miya-san!” Mai’s hiss and your shocked expression make him think that sarcasm probably wasn’t a good idea. Osamu sighs.

“Listen, I’m really sorry. These are the keys, you can go on your own, I promise the bathroom’s clean”

You eye him for a few seconds more, then decide against grabbing the keys from his hand.

“I’m gonna need a change of clothes”

Osamu blinks a couple times, dumbfounded. His clothes? You’re asking to wear… his clothes?

“Sure! Yeah, sure. Come on” now his voice sounds uncharacteristically squeaky and he clears his throat as you follow him up the stairs, Suzuki-san’s good grief still ringing in his ears.

Thank god he cleaned the entire apartment just the day before. As much as he likes to brag about being the tidy twin, deep down he knows he’s just as messy as Atsumu.

Osamu tries hard not to look at you, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed while he rummages in his drawers in search of something that could fit you. He shortly wonders if it’d be a good idea to offer a complementary bento box to make up for the disaster Mai caused.

“I’m genuinely sorry” he starts rambling because the silence is unbearable and some of Atsumu’s genes really do take over sometimes “the worst incident we ever had at the shop was my brother almost choking on his dinner. I had to perform the heimlich maneuver, it wasn’t pretty” god, where the hell are this clean, not embarrassing shirts?

“Guess this one will go down in history” your voice is less sharp now, which relieves him.

“Oh, no. I will never tell anyone about this, ever. Mai and Suzuki-san will have to sign an nda. A proper, legally binding one”

The laugh you offer sounds weirdly intimate in the small space of his bedroom, it makes the tips of his ears hot. Finally, he’s able to dig out a decent, basic shirt you accept by thanking him softly. When you lock yourself in the bathroom, Osamu rushes to the kitchen to tidy up the mess he’s left behind after that morning’s breakfast. No time to concentrate on how you’re actually, genuinely in his home, cleaning yourself in the same bathroom he showered in, without a shirt on.

No one’s ever going to believe him. Hell, he may not believe it himself by the end of the day.

“Hey” he jumps at your voice, sudden and closer than expected. You look good in his basic shirt, it suits you somehow. Did you shove your own in one of the bags you left by the door?

“Hey” Osamu says back and cringes for the millionth time “are ya hungry?”

You smile when he shuts his eyes for a second, right after the silly question leaves his mouth.

“Not hungry”

“Right. Of course. Thirsty? I have really good tea, from Shizuoka. And orange juice” he pauses for a second, then adds “or water”

Your smile grows, almost melts into a giggle. “Not thirsty either”

“Okay” he clears his throat “how about dessert? I made some mitarashi dango just yesterday”

“I have a meeting to attend”

“Oh. Sure, yeah, that makes sense” he wants to bash his head against the wall “I’ll walk you out. To downstairs” thank fuck ‘Tsumu isn’t there, he’d never let him live this down. Jesus.

You precede him to the door, gather your bags, then softly thank him for the shirt.

“Nice meeting you, Osamu” he nearly explodes when you say his name, no honorifics whatsoever. How do you even know? He hasn’t carried a name tag on his shirt for years.

“It was nice to meet you too” there’s no time to dwell on dumb, pointless questions “surreal, but nice”

He thinks if your smile could conjure waves, he’d gladly give up all the oxygen in his lungs and drown in them. Has someone ever looked as beautiful while smiling at him? He doesn’t think so. He can’t think. Not when you’re leaning closer, not when your arms are suddenly wrapped around his neck, not when you’re pressing your lips to his. Holy shit. You’re pressing your lips to his. And he’s forgotten how to breathe, let alone kiss. Osamu just freezes, like a marble statue, like a teenager who’s never touched a woman before. Right as he’s about to swallow the shock and fucking move, you’re already pulling away, eyes not leaving his despite the slight self-consciousness swarming in those irises.

And then you disappear, just like the dream he believed you were, all that’s left is an empty spot by the door and his heart slamming against a pathetically ill-equipped ribcage.

La Suite is one of the most luxurious hotels in the prefecture and Osamu feels out of place with the 30 onigiri order he’s carrying past a french restaurant and a traditional japanese one, all soft carpeting, dim lights and wide windows. So different from his.

He timidly explains that he’s there to deliver an order to a certain Bennet-san, who for some reason insisted he’d be the one bringing it to her hotel. They look at him funny but let him through and give the coordinates: top floor, superior double room. A woman meets him the second he steps out of the elevator and sternly asks him to follow her, a silly part of him wonders if he’s about to get murdered in one of the top 25 hotels in Japan. But then she knocks on a door right before swinging it open and he doesn’t even get to explain that he’s not supposed to get inside, she can take the bloody bag and he’ll be on his merry way, but once again Osamu fails to determine what the day holds in store for him.

Once more, it’s you. A less preppy version, one that seems so small in such a gigantic room, the sea breeze blowing from the terrace gracefully lifting up the hem of a tennis skirt you immediately fight to keep down as you promptly get up from the couch.

“Hi” he says, so dumbfounded he barely notices the door closing behind him.

“Miya-san” you bow, keep your eyes down, no sign of a smile he could by now deem familiar “I’m sorry for the trouble, I know the hotel is pretty far from the restaurant and you must be busy. This will only take a second”

Osamu’s brows furrow, confusion evident in the way he cocks his head. You don’t catch it, because your eyes are glued to the floor. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior. I don’t know what came over me, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me”

His eyes soften as part of the tension leaves his shoulders. Truth is, Osamu is glad you’re apologizing: despite how beautiful and dreamy you may be, life is not quite a movie and he doesn’t exactly appreciate being blindsided by a stranger. He doesn’t really understand what made you think kissing him would be a good idea (was his awkardness interpreted the wrong way? Did his stare linger on your smile a second too long?) but he’s certain you meant no harm. A shitty person certainly wouldn’t take time out of her day to leave an autograph on a napkin, especially right after half a jug of iced tea was spilled on her shirt just minutes before. To Hiro, with love.

After a moment, he clears his throat. “Can ya look at me?”

You meet his gaze hesitantly, mouth a thin line of harsh disapproval directed at yourself. For a second, you remind him of someone and he almost breaks into a smile.

“Thank you for apologizing. We’re good”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah!” he chuckles “you didn’t have to place such a big order”

You blink twice, then start nervously fiddling with your fingers “ah, actually I didn’t do it to… well, those onigiris are just really good. I wanted to take some extra ones with me”

“You’re leaving?” he doesn’t mean to sound disappointed, especially not while you’re so intentionally keeping your distance.

“Kinda. My record label rented a house in the countryside, I’ll spend most of the summer locked in, trying to finish my new album. I couldn’t do it in America, I missed being home but didn’t want to endure Tokyo’s chaos so I ended up picking Hyogo. Sorry, you didn’t ask to know all that” you chuckle tensely “we leave tomorrow and I didn’t want to go without apologizing first. That’s all. You may go now”

Osamu hums. “I may go? As in I’m excused?” he laughs when your painfully stoic expression melts into sheer horror.

“No! Of course not, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“You take yourself too seriously” he grins “I’m just messin’ with ya”

“That’s not very nice of you”

“Would you compare it to kissing a stranger out of the blue?”

“Oh god” you hide your overheated face in your hands “you said we’re good!”

“And we are” Osamu steps closer to gently place the bags still in his hands on the marble topped pedestal coffee table. It’s just fun to tease you, one of the many irritating habits he shares with his brother.

His brother. Osamu looks up, a risky desire taking shape in his head and threatening to spill over the tip of his tongue.

“I’m really sorry, Miya-san” you repeat and he doesn’t love that you’re now calling him that “uh, this is your shirt. Cleaned and ironed. Thank you for…”

“Whatcha doing tonight?”

You freeze, paper bag still in hand. “Uhm, nothing interesting”

“No packing?”

“My manager does that for me”

He chuckles. “Right. Chances you’d want to spend your last night in the city at an even less interesting birthday party?”

Osamu waits patiently while you weigh your options, recognizes the confusion in your hesitant stare but doesn’t quite understand why there’s a weary vibration to your voce when you accept, the slight disappointment that flashes across your features.

It’s only fair, you think as he parts from the room with a smile and the command to secure those onigiris in a fridge. If showing you off to his friends like some valuable conquest is the way he wants to even the score, you’re in no position to deny him. You’re the one at fault and you’ve been given a chance to make up for it by wearing the facade you wear best.

Then why does it feel so disheartening, this time?

When Shinsuke opens the door, he’s more surprised by your presence than the carefully wrapped gift in your hands. Not that he doubted Osamu: why send a message to the group chat telling everyone that a) he was bringing someone and b) they should’ve absolutely not behaved any differently than usual if not better (in bold), if he wasn’t actually going to show up with a plus one?

Still, a small part of him did wonder if Atsumu’s and Rintaro’s relentless teasing finally got the best of him. Shinsuke doesn’t think that his friend works too much or that he should start “looking around” before “his hair starts greying again only this once naturally”. He remembers Osamu rolling his eyes at his brother when he implied that at this rate he’s gonna have to tie the knot with the restaurant, only to then space out for most of the evening as everyone else found new topics to migrate toward.

In short, Shinsuke wondered if Osamu was going to come up with a last minute excuse to justify the empty spot next to him at the table. But it seems that spot is going to be taken after all, by you nonetheless.

“Nice to meet you, Kita-san” you smile after Osamu introduces you by your name and nothing else, not a wink, not even a subtle hint or a reasonable explanation “happy birthday”

Shinsuke accepts the gift with a polite thank you and he’s almost made sure you could preserve a nice, normal memory of stepping foot into his house for the first time, of course failing to consider the Hinata factor.

“Thank god, Osamu, I’m so hungry- holy shit! Is her your gift? I only brought a cap that says farm hair don’t care!” there’s a strange but seemingly friendly redhead looking at you with eyes so wide you fear they might roll out of their sockets.

“Shoyo, any chance you checked the chat today?” Osamu smiles at him widely but Kita recognizes the tension at the corners.

“What? Of course not, I was busy picking a cute gift” Hinata smiles too but his excitement is genuine “hello, nice to meet you! Please come in, you can help us set the table!”

You chuckle and meet Osamu’s horrified eyes for a second, his posture relaxes as your gentle reassurance puts him at ease. I’ll be in the other room, then. Leave it to Hinata to make a gigantic deal out of a special guest only to treat her as one of his buddies ten seconds later. You seemed comfortable, though, as one always feels whenever Shoyo happens to be around.

“Who is she?” Shinsuke doesn’t mean for his tone to be so conspiratorial but he keeps it low, just in case you might still hear them.

“A friend. Kinda. Ya wouldn’t believe me” Osamu takes his jacket off and hangs it by the door, then picks up the plethora of bags from the floor and makes his way into his friend’s kitchen.

“No, I mean… who is she? Why does Shoyo know her?” Shinsuke follows suit, intent on helping him distribute all the food he’s brought in the different plates he has prepared. Osamu shakes his initial surprise off with a chuckle.

“Only one of the most famous pop music artists in Japan”

Kita stills his movements for a second, then absorbs the new information with a simple nod. “Right. And you met her at the shop”

“How d’ya know?”

“Where else would you be meeting a pop music artist?”

“Don’t make it sound so obvious” Osamu pulls a face and Shinsuke’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Well, she’s here. With you. Is it like… a date?”

“No” the peremptory answer comes embarrassingly fast “it’s her last night in the city, she’s here because she didn’t have anything better planned”

“But you invited her”

“Yes”

“Because you like her”

“I don’t-” Osamu gestures vaguely with his hands “it’s not like that. ‘Tsumu used to have a poster of her face in our room, for fuck’s sake”

Kita hums. “So what you actually mean is it can’t be like that”

“I don’t see the difference”

“I do”

“Well-” a loud commotion Osamu has been trained for over two decades to instantly recognize as his brother’s voice, makes the words die in his throat. By the time him and Shinsuke return to the colorfully decorated living room (courtesy of an overly enthusiastic Hinata and one resigned Rintaro), Atsumu is already talking your ear off and seemingly invading your personal space multiple times as he follows you around the table you’re setting with Suna like a golden retriever on a sugar overload.

“Shoyo, you were supposed to keep her safe” Osamu glares at his brother and takes a mental note to scold Aran too, later. For snickering.

Hinata doesn’t get the chance to defend himself because of course Atsumu’s the only one who could outshine that intense excitement with his own.

“Samu! What the hell? If this is yer gift to Shin, what are ya plannin’ to get me exactly?”

“Can everyone stop assuming she’s here as a thing and not as a person?” it comes out harsher than intended and Osamu feels his face grow hot when all those present simply stare at him. When you stare at him.

Suna clears his throat.

“Cut him some slack, he came out of the bathroom and we could barely convince him she’s not a hallucination” you chuckle at that, which makes the ever stoic Rintaro look away with a faint blush blossoming on his pale cheeks.

“Wait” Atsumu looks at you, then at his brother and his brows become progressively furrowed “she’s here with you? As in, you invited her? And she said yes?”

Osamu wonders why he thought a simple admonishment in the group chat would be enough. He has half an idea of shoving an onigiri right into his brother’s loud mouth and not perform any maneuver whatsoever when the rice obstructs his airways.

“Actually, I wanted to come” you chime in so gently it takes a few moments for him to register the words “I’m leaving tomorrow and when Miya-san mentioned it was one of his friends’ birthday, I shamelessly asked if I could tag along. Hope I’m not a bother”

Kita is looking at you the same way Osamu is, puzzled. Hinata almost chokes on his coke and starts coughing profusely, so much that Aran has to lend him a napkin.

“A bother? No, of course not!” his nose might be on fire but by god, he physically cannot let you believe such nonsense for a second too long.

Atsumu’s mouth hangs wide open, brows still knit that make his expression overall hilarious “you make her call you Miya-san? Yikes, bro” he turns to you and makes a scene of slamming a hand on his chest “please, feel free to call me ‘Tsumu. I think we’re intimate enough by now”

“Given that we took five selfies and you made me sign my name on your abs, I also think we’re intimate enough” your grin seems genuine, which only startles Osamu more.

“Ya made her do what?” oh, there are probably not enough words in the japanese vocabulary for the way he’ll have to apologize at the end of the night.

“It’s fine, I didn’t mind” you shrug “but if I could ask everyone a small favor…”

“Sure, anything!” Atsumu’s interruption only makes your smile grow wider “I’d really like to celebrate Kita-san’s birthday like you’d normally do. Please don’t make a big deal out of me, it’s his night after all”

“She’s asking not to be treated like a circus act” Aran whispers to Hinata, who blinks his big brown eyes in quiet understanding.

“Done!” Atsumu’s fist hits his chest right where the heart is as he solemnly declares “you’re one of the boys now, consider yourself a pal”

“Thanks, ‘Tsumu” he tries to keep his composure but nearly implodes as you direct your attention to Shoyo “no, Hinata-san, this doesn’t mean we won’t be taking that picture I promised. Don’t worry” your wink is the prettiest, most wonderful thing he’s ever witnessed and thank fuck he’s done drinking that coke because his airways suddenly feel clogged.

Kita thinks this is already the most entertaining birthday he’s ever celebrated.

And celebrate his birthday you all do. Normally, as per your request. You sit between Rintaro and Osamu at dinner and masterfully divert the attention from yourself whenever the questions start piling up. The uno reverse technique works well: your curiosity feels flattering and everyone is happy to satisfy it. The questions you direct are extremely specific, your laugh echoes alongside everyone else’s and Osamu can’t help but think that, in some odd way, you fit in seamlessly. 

Keeping his eyes off of you isn’t but a strenuous fight with himself, it’d be lovely if looking would be the only activity he’d be allowed to engage in. It’s not hard to guess why hordes of fans and admirers are so enamoured: you’re such a natural. Polite, poised, funny, charismatic. Making you laugh feels like a privilege, having your brows raise in interest makes the story one’s recounting instantly fascinating. And yet you’re not doing any of that on purpose, he can tell. The one thing you’re being intentionally careful about is avoiding his gaze and making sure your arm doesn’t accidentally brush against his.

Osamu wants to ask himself why but also refuses to indulge in childish fantasies. What, he thought you liked him? Part of him believed you’d accepted to come to some stranger’s birthday party purely to spend an evening with him. Bullshit. Everyone in the world knows who you are and he simply owns an onigiri shop in Hyogo, one you happened to visit by sheer chance. He’s the guy you are so embarrassed to be seen with, you had to come up with a lie to justify your presence at the very same table that seems to adore you.

But when he jokingly throws a grain of rice at Aran, you hide your chuckle behind your hand. If he speaks, you always turn to look. Osamu doesn’t remember a social gathering where he tried to come up with just as many things to say, desperately conjuring genes that always weigh heavier in Atsumu. Unfortunately, the one person he could always count on, his dear friend and trusty supplier, decides his birthday night is the perfect occasion to stab him in the back.

“I’m sorry, I just need to ask” Kita refills your glass with fresh wine from across the table before retracting to his seat once more “your encounter with Osamu, how did it happen exactly?”

“Yeah, was his onigiri so good you wanted to-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Shoyo” Aran clears his throat as Suna, next to you, has a hard time swallowing his stir fry noodles.

“She heard my shop was the best in town, which it is, came to try it. That’s the story” Osamu wishes he could disappear into his kitchen as he often does when things at the restaurant get uncomfortable.

“I don’t buy it” Shinsuke shrugs “is that really the whole story?”

Kita’s knowing stare really hasn’t changed since high school and it seems you’re affected by it just as much as every other human. His eyes bore right into yours, trained to detect hesitation or even the hint of a lie, giving you no escape. Goddamn it, he’s still the team captain, there’s no running from him.

“Well” you gently swirl the glass in your hand, suddenly very much focused on the crimson liquid swooshing inside “I also kissed him”

This time someone does actually choke and, of course, it’s Atsumu. Right as Rintaro utters an ever quiet holy shit, he explodes in a coughing fit and Aran promptly strikes between his shoulder blades with the heel of his hand, perhaps with more force than needed. Thankfully, Atsumu manages to swallow his bite and, despite the tears threatening to run down his cheeks in all their shimmering glory, still conjures the energy needed to point an intimidating finger at his brother “ya bastard!”

“That’s a joke, right?” Hinata’s eyes have once again grown three sizes.

Kita doesn’t ask, the answer is written all over Osamu’s crimson red face. He was right, no one would’ve believed him.

“No, I really did” you take a sip from your glass and now everyone is looking at you like you’re some kind of alien. Except for Atsumu, who’s still glaring daggers at his brother.

“So this is… a date for you two?” Suna’s just as shocked as everyone else but seems to be the only person currently able to string words together.

“Oh, no” you brush the question off with a gracious wave of the hand “I just did it to thank him”

This time the silence stretches for a moment too long. Atsumu seems on the verge of passing out.

“You kissed him to thank him?” Kita cocks his head.

“Yeah. I mean, he was very kind. Have you never kissed someone to thank them?”

“Uh… no. I don’t think so”

“Really?”

“Do you…” Aran hopes to the gods that the words don’t come out the wrong way “do that often?”

“Aran” as much as Osamu wishes the earth could swallow him whole, he doesn’t want you to think his friends may be implying something they’re really not.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“It’s okay” you let our a nervous chuckle and because Osamu is sitting so close, he hears the shaky breath too “I know it was wrong. I tend to forget that’s not what normal people are used to. I apologized and now we’re good, right, Miya-san?” your eyes meet his and he feels his heart drop right into his stomach.

“Why are you used to that?” he asks instead of replying to your question and you just. Freeze.

“Yeah…” Hinata quietly chimes in “that doesn’t sound like something anyone should be used to”

For the first time, you don’t know how to respond. Osamu senses your panic, can read it in your eyes, but is too baffled to think of something smart or chivalrous to say.

“Holy shit, ya know what that means?” Atsumu slams both his hands on the table and both you and everyone else jump “it means she thinks I’m hot! In another life, I’d have a chance! Sorry, Shin, I know it’s yer birthday but I think this is the best night of my life!”

A quiet, astonished moment follows, then the table erupts in genuine laughter. You’re giggling so much you have to hold your stomach, Kita is shaking his head in resignation, Suna rolls his eyes with affection. Osamu settles for a smile as he relaxes against his chair once more. His brother may be loud and annoyingly inopportune, but his quiet support never once faltered throughout the years. One doesn’t need to be an old acquaintance to be taken under Miya Atsumu’s wing: if he senses as much as the hint of unease, his charismatic idiocy is summoned right away at the service of whoever may need it. Yet his loyalty remains unshakeable: Osamu knows that, in his stupid head, you’re already forbidden territory.

His mind is dizzy with confusion he doesn’t know how to properly address. As Kita blows out the candles on the cake he’s made, Osamu feels a wave of affection inundate his heart. He remembers that are nights like this that are worth being present, even if he has to get up at dawn or his sink is full of dirty dishes and he’s exhausted. Life only ever feels right when he’s with his friends or his family. It’s a routine he’s trained hard to get used to: work, work, work, carve out small moments to spend with those who come and go. It’s important for him to be there, when they come.

Osamu almost misses it, too focused on cleaning an extra plate or two in the kitchen, to make sure the birthday boy can get to relax once they leave. And then you call for him, a small crack in that poised facade of yours when his name almost slips out. You rush into the kitchen and urge him to hurry up, they’re already singing happy birthday to Kita-san. Come on, you’re missing it!

You probably wanted to go for his sleeve and found his hand instead, dragged him out of the room so quickly Osamu barely had the time to put the towel down. For some reason, once in the living room you don’t let go right away and neither does he. You only do so to clap with everyone else and even then it’s not entirely possible to establish who lets go first. Regardless, Osamu gives your hand a light squeeze and hopes you notice, despite there being no signs to indicate that.

You’re the first two people to excuse themselves: he refuses to let you go back to your hotel on your own, doesn’t give two shits that you have a driver or could well afford a cab because it’s a beautiful evening and Osamu is itching to have as little as ten minutes alone with you. He watches as you formally offer a hand to Suna and he grins as he shakes it, gently taking it in between his in a respectful attempt at suggesting that there’s no need to be so ceremonious.

You exchange quick hugs with everyone else, take the picture promised to Hinata, chuckle lightly when Atsumu timidly asks for a kiss on the cheek just because “it’s the american way of saying goodbye!” and of course you accomodate the request. Osamu is almost willing to bet you genuinely had fun but he also can’t seem to shake off the odd feeling suggesting you’ve somehow taken it upon yourself to just… appease everyone for the entire evening. Like some kind of duty. He doesn’t want you to think back to this evening like a task that had to be carried out.

“Oh my god, I cannot fucking believe it!” Atsumu’s shriek echoes loud and clear in the empty street  as soon as Kita shuts the door and you meet Osamu’s exasperated glare.

“I’m genuinely not sure what I should start apologizing for” he runs a hand through his brown hair and his stress makes you smile as you fall into a comfortable walking pace.

“I should start by thanking you for inviting me. Can’t remember the last time I had such a normal night”

“My friends are many things but I don’t know if they really fall into the normal category”

You laugh at that. “I think they’re really nice. It was fun. I didn’t know there were two of you”

Osamu grimaces, lightly shaking his head “good call, he’s the thing I should start apologizing for”

“I liked Atsumu” of course you did, don’t they all? “you’re lucky to have such good friends and a brother. Is it true what they say about weird connections us twinless mortals wouldn’t get?”

He sighs. As much as Osamu hates stereotypes and all the disadvantages that come with not being able to be his own person, the curse of always being considered nothing but part of a set, he knows the bond with Atsumu is just as rare and irreplaceable as people make it out to be.

“Well, I can pretty much always read his mind. But it’s not a twin thing, s’just an Atsumu thing” he shrugs “most transparent, honest person on earth”

“You’re both very kind” your observation strikes him. It hits the nail on the head: he does his best but it’s unusual for someone to notice ‘Tsumu’s selflessness right away.

“Could say the same about ya” he’s eager to direct the topic to the thing he’s really interested in, the one person who refused every bit of attention directed her way throughout the night “that tea collection must’ve costed a fortune. Shinsuke loves tea, yer manager picked well”

You hum, gaze focused on your feet. “Actually, I picked it”

Another thing Osamu has in common with his brother, the ability to royally fuck up in such a short amount of time.

“Oh, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, happens all the time”

“What happens?”

“People assuming things” you’re not mad, there’s just a sad vibration to your voice. If he could punch himself in the face, he would.

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be” Osamu hates the smile you toss at him. He hates it so much he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and watches you turn around, confusion flashing in your disenchanted eyes.

“There’s a pretty cool park ‘round the corner. How about a detour? If you’re not too tired”

You hum in agreement, ask him to lead the way. Careful, Osamu, you’d like to say. This same polite regard is what got me in trouble the first time.

The park, which is more of a garden really, is a slice of eden in the jungle that any city inevitably ends up feeling like. Lowlands, an abundance of irregular but colorful flowerbeds that seem to glow in the dark, the warm air of the evening saturated with the sweet scent of lime trees, a gravel path you both follow all the way to a small, wooden playground. It’s only natural to gravitate toward the swings, relish in the comfort of the stillness the evening offers. It always feels like the earth rotates slower, pace decelerating to give you more time to enjoy the things it’s hard to appreciate during your hectic days.

Osamu approaches the swing like an old friend, takes hold of the chains with both hands. He lightly pushes off the ground with his feet while pulling back, giving you a perfect view of his perfect profile.

“I don’t want to assume” he says quietly “so is it okay if I ask?”

“Yeah” you rest your head on the chain you’re holding, still looking at him who won’t look at you.

“Why did you tell ‘Tsumu you asked me to come tonight?” the actual question dies in his throat. Were you that embarrassed of being there with me?

“You seemed pretty self-conscious. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable” and I guess that way, you got to seem cooler.

Osamu almost chokes on his own spit from how surprised he is by your answer. What the fuck.

“I wasn’t-” not for the reason you seem to believe “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable!”

You smile, patiently waiting for the moment where he’ll finally turn to meet your gaze instead of persistently staring at his feet. “I don’t think I ever felt that comfortable in a room filled with men”

“That shouldn’t be an exceptional occurrence”

“Right. But it is”

He spends a few moments trying to come up with the right words, a handful of seconds spent with part of his brain wishing he could have a talk with all the men who made you feel unsafe. How many? Where, why? Are they the reason why Osamu wants to get so desperately close and yet keep a respectful distance, not to scare you off, not to be another name added to the list of creeps you surely hate?

“Why did you kiss me?” those are far from being the right, considerate words he was trying to summon, but they bubble up from his throat before he can stop them.

You hum, pensive “I don’t know. You’re pretty, you’re gentle, I thought t’was what you expected to happen. It’s what men usually expect in return”

“In return for what?” he fights the urge to keep his eyes down, confident that the darkness will conceal the redness of his cheeks. You think he’s pretty and the first thing his dumb brain is able to link the revelation to, is Atsumu. Shit, he was right, this means you do find him attractive as well.

“Anything, really” your chuckle is devoid of actual humor “I know this night was supposed to make up for it but I didn’t expect to have so much fun. Regardless, I hope we’re even now”

Osamu furrows his brows.

“Ya think that’s why I invited ya?”

“Why else?”

He almost laughs, incredulous. You hide that mistrust really well, Osamu has to give it you. It feels unfair that life has given someone who seemingly has everything, so many reasons to think you can only be seen as an empty shell, some trophy with the sole purpose of being flaunted.

“You said you were leaving. I didn’t like the idea of not seeing you again”

“Really?” your lips curl into a small smile “the weird girl who jumped you on your first meeting?”

“You’re weird” he concedes “and selfless. Intelligent. Maybe jokes are not your forte but, hey, ya get to look like that” your laugh compliments his really well and Osamu can’t help but think he’d like to sit in a park, in the middle of the night, and talk and laugh and be with you just once more.

You briefly wonder if the man sitting so close to you is aware of just how devastatingly charming he is. Part of you wishes he’d want to take you out on a proper date, let you meet his friends on different occasions, include a weird stranger in such a well balanced life. Part of you also knows you’d never want to ruin that for him. Not for someone like Osamu. People who are unfortunate enough to stumble across you are almost always harassed away, it’s a life you’re used to and can’t bring yourself to run from. It’s who you are and, most importantly, all you have. It’d be too dangerous for your heart to desire anything different.

But he’s looking at you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, land emerged from the sea millions of years ago for his eyes only to experience such a sight. No one’s ever looked at you with such wonder.

“I don’t want to assume” he holds your gaze locked to his, swing dangling lightly as he leans closer “so is it okay if I ask?”

“Yes” you utter a little too breathlessly.

“Can I kiss ya?”

You hum in affirmation and close your eyes, heart beating a little faster than what you’re used to as you sense his proximity. He smells nice, radiates warmth and his soft hair tickles a little when his lips gently press to your cheek.

Osamu smiles when he catches a glimpse of disappointment flashing over your features, the first of many clues he wants to learn how to interpret correctly. The cracks in a facade he’d make his personal mission to tear down.

“I know you have to go away tomorrow” he gently moves a strand of hair away from your forehead “but I wondered, if you didn’t, whether you might let me see ya a little. Or a lot, maybe”

You lean into his touch, calloused fingertips still barely grazing your skin.

“A lot sounds good”

[solxamber]

Rest Assured - Jamil Viper x reader

4 times you see Jamil nearing his breaking point and the 1 time you intervene

You’ve always prided yourself on being observant. Some might call it nosy, but you prefer thoughtful. After all, if you didn’t keep an eye on things, who would? Especially when it came to someone like Jamil Viper, who, despite his best efforts to appear unfazed, was absolutely not fine.

And lately, it’s been like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

The guy was practically doing everything—cooking, cleaning, managing Kalim, studying, practicing, and dealing with an endless amount of Scarabia chaos. But today? Today felt like the universe decided to crank up the difficulty setting on his life, and you were determined to intervene. But first, you needed to observe.

Instance 1: Spaghetti Saga

It began in the kitchen, where Jamil was, unsurprisingly, cooking for the entire dorm. Kalim, bless his overly-enthusiastic heart, had announced a Scarabia Spaghetti Spectacular—an idea that seemed innocent enough on the surface. Until you realized that Kalim had no intention of helping. Well, he tried. Keyword: tried.

“Jamil! Jamil!” Kalim ran into the kitchen, arms full of ingredients that had no business being in spaghetti. “Look! I found some strawberries! And these marshmallows! They’d go perfectly in the sauce, right?”

Jamil froze mid-stir, his hand gripping the spoon so tightly you were concerned it might snap in two. Slowly, he turned to face Kalim, a polite but strained smile plastered across his face. “Strawberries? In spaghetti sauce?”

Kalim nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! It’s sweet, right? Sweet is good!”

Jamil’s eye twitched, just a little. “Kalim�� no.”

“But—”

“No strawberries. No marshmallows. Please.”

Kalim deflated slightly but wasn’t deterred. “Okay! No problem! I’ll just add them to the salad instead.”

Before Jamil could react, Kalim darted off, presumably to wreak havoc on the next innocent dish. You caught the moment Jamil whispered to himself, “I’m in hell.”

And that was only the beginning.

Instance 2: Basketball Breakdown

The next incident occurred during basketball practice. Now, Jamil was usually the best player on the court, no question. Quick reflexes, sharp strategy—he could wipe the floor with the other teams without even breaking a sweat. But today?

Today, it was like he forgot what a basketball was.

It started innocently enough. A pass here, a dribble there, nothing out of the ordinary. But then one of the players tossed him the ball, and Jamil, in a moment that defied all logic and reason, missed it entirely. The ball smacked him square in the face with an audible thud.

The gym went silent. You could hear the collective gasp from the team, all eyes on Jamil, who stood there frozen, gripping his nose.

“Jamil!” Kalim shouted from across the court, jogging over. “Are you okay? Here, I brought some ice just in case!” He whipped out a handful of ice cubes from his pocket, offering them as if this was a totally normal thing to do.

Jamil stared at him, then at the ice cubes, and for a brief moment, you swore you saw his soul leave his body. But instead of snapping, he simply nodded, took the ice cubes, and walked off the court in silence, leaving everyone else standing there in stunned confusion.

“Did he just—?” one of the players started to ask, but you shook your head. “Don’t.”

You made another mental note. This was getting serious.

Instance 3: Paperwork Pandemonium

After practice, you found Jamil in his dorm room, surrounded by a sea of paperwork. And, of course, Kalim was there too, oblivious to the storm brewing in Jamil’s head.

“Jamil, can you help me organize these?” Kalim asked, holding up a stack of papers. “I don’t really know what half of them are, but they seem important!”

Jamil glanced at the pile with a deadpan expression. “Kalim, that’s the inventory for the next three months. You were supposed to file this weeks ago.”

Kalim blinked, still smiling. “Oh… well, I knew it was important!”

Jamil’s fingers twitched as he grabbed the papers from Kalim, scanning them quickly. “These are all overdue. We’re going to get fined if we don’t submit them by tomorrow.”

Kalim’s eyes widened in horror. “Tomorrow?! Oh no! What are we gonna do?”

Jamil took a deep breath, visibly restraining himself. “We aren’t going to do anything. I am going to fix this. Again.”

Kalim, ever the optimist, beamed. “Thanks, Jamil! You’re the best!”

And with that, he was off to who knows where, leaving Jamil alone in the paperwork disaster zone. You watched as he stared at the pile in front of him, his eye twitching again. He muttered something under his breath—something you were pretty sure wasn’t very polite.

You added another mental note. He was hanging by a thread.

Instance 4: The Final Straw (Almost)

The fourth instance happened later that evening, when you found Jamil in the library, supposedly studying for finals. But when you approached his table, you found him sitting there, staring blankly at a textbook. His pen was poised over a page, but he hadn’t written a single word.

“Hey,” you said softly, sitting down next to him. “How’s studying going?”

He didn’t answer at first, just continued staring at the book like it held all the answers to his existential crisis. Finally, he sighed. “I can’t do this.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t… I can’t handle all of this. Kalim. Finals. The dorm. Everything.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his voice. “It’s too much.”

You stared at him for a moment, then reached over and gently placed your hand on his. “You don’t have to handle it all by yourself, you know.”

He looked up at you, exhaustion clear in his eyes. “Who else is going to do it? Kalim? The other students? No one can do it like I can.”

You could hear the defeat in his voice, the resignation. He truly believed he was stuck in this never-ending cycle of responsibilities, with no way out.

That was it. You’d seen enough.

The Fifth Time’s the Charm: Break Time for Jamil

Without another word, you grabbed Jamil by the arm and pulled him out of the library. He barely had the energy to protest, following you like a zombie as you led him to a quiet, secluded spot in the courtyard. Once there, you gently pushed him down onto a bench.

“Sit,” you ordered, and to your surprise, he didn’t argue.

He sat there, looking completely drained, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion. You sat next to him, feeling your heart twist as you saw just how close he was to breaking down. This wasn’t the Jamil you were used to—this was someone who had been running on fumes for way too long.

You didn’t even think. You just acted. Before he could react, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

Jamil stiffened at first, clearly not used to such open displays of affection. But after a few seconds, he slowly relaxed, leaning into your embrace like a man who had been drowning and finally found a lifeline.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You hugged him tighter, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I know. You’ve been doing too much for too long. You need a break.”

“I can’t,” he muttered, shaking his head. “There’s too much to do.”

“Screw the to-do list,” you replied. “You’re not a machine, Jamil. You need to rest, or you’re going to collapse.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just leaned into you, letting himself be vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. You could feel the tension slowly draining from his body, the weight of his responsibilities finally lifting, if only for a moment.

And then, before you knew it, he was asleep.

You blinked in surprise, looking down at his head resting in your lap. His breathing had evened out, and his face, usually so guarded and composed, was now relaxed in peaceful slumber.

You couldn’t help but smile, gently running your fingers through his hair. He needed this more than he’d ever admit. And you? You were more than happy to be his pillow.

Jamil didn’t wake up for a while, and when he finally did, it was gradual, the soft sunlight filtering through the trees casting a warm glow over the courtyard. His lashes fluttered against your lap, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion as he blinked awake. The moment he realized where he was, nestled against you, his cheeks flushed and honestly, he looked adorable.

“I—” Jamil began, his voice thick with grogginess as he pushed himself up, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. “Did I fall asleep?”

You offered a soft smile, brushing a few strands of his hair away from his face. “Yep. Right in my lap, too. You must’ve been really tired.”

His eyes widened, and the blush on his cheeks deepened. Jamil rarely let his guard down, but right now, he looked almost vulnerable, caught between embarrassment and gratitude. “I’m… sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Jamil,” you interrupted gently, placing a hand on his arm to keep him from sitting up fully. “Don’t apologize. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and you finally let yourself rest. I’m glad you did.”

He stared at you, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. His shoulders sagged, and for once, he didn’t try to fight it. He stayed close to you, his body still angled toward yours, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away completely.

You could see it, the weight of the exhaustion he’d been carrying for so long. The lines of stress etched into his face, the constant need to be on alert. Jamil had always been the responsible one, the one who took on everyone else’s burdens. But now, in this moment, you wanted to be the one to take care of him.

“Hey,” you said softly, threading your fingers through his hair again, watching as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “How about we get out of here? Take a break. A real break.”

Jamil’s eyes opened, and he frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, let’s go somewhere. Just the two of us. Somewhere far away from all of this. No Scarabia, no endless responsibilities. Just… us.” You leaned in a little closer, lowering your voice as if you were sharing a secret. “You deserve it, Jamil. You’ve done more than enough. It’s time to take care of yourself.”

He hesitated, his frown deepening, as if the very idea of abandoning his duties was too much to comprehend. “I can’t just leave… there’s too much to do. Kalim—”

“Will be perfectly fine,” you interrupted, your tone leaving no room for argument. “And besides, I think Kalim would be all for this. In fact, I bet he’d love the idea.”

Jamil looked unconvinced, but before he could argue further, you gave him a gentle nudge. “Think about it. You could actually relax for once. No one bothering you, no one asking for a hundred different things at once. Just peace and quiet. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

He glanced down at his hands, clearly mulling over your words. You could tell he was struggling with the thought of letting go, even just for a little while. Jamil had been in control for so long, it was hard for him to imagine a world where he didn’t have to be.

But you weren’t about to let him slip back into that cycle.

Reaching out, you gently cupped his cheek, tilting his head up so he was looking at you again. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, Jamil. Let me take care of you for a change.”

His breath caught at your words, and for a long moment, he just stared at you, something soft and unspoken passing between you. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned into your touch, his eyes slipping closed as he exhaled a long, weary breath.

“I don’t know if I know how to relax,” he admitted quietly.

You chuckled softly, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Good thing you’ve got me then. I’ll teach you.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, with a small sigh, Jamil opened his eyes again, his gaze meeting yours. “You really think we could just… leave? Just like that?”

“Absolutely,” you said, the determination clear in your voice. “We’ll go somewhere beautiful, somewhere quiet. No one to bother us. Just you, me, and a whole lot of nothing.”

Jamil let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head slightly. “And what about Kalim? He’s bound to make a mess of things if I’m gone too long.”

“Don’t worry about him,” you said with a grin. “We’ll get him on board. Heck, Kalim will probably help us pack.”

And as if summoned by your words, Kalim himself appeared around the corner, grinning ear to ear like he’d just heard the best news of his life. “Did someone say vacation? I am so in!”

Jamil stared at him, his expression caught between disbelief and mild exasperation. “Kalim—”

Kalim bounded over to you both, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, Jamil, this is perfect! You’ve been working so hard lately, you totally deserve a break! You should l go somewhere fun! Ooh, maybe a beach? Or the mountains! Or, ooh, how about a floating island? I heard there’s one with the best sunrises!”

“Kalim—” Jamil tried again, but Kalim was on a roll.

“I’ll even help you pack! I can get everything ready! Don’t worry about Scarabia, I’ve got it all covered!” Kalim’s grin widened as he clapped Jamil on the shoulder. “You just focus on relaxing!”

Jamil blinked, looking thoroughly overwhelmed by Kalim’s sudden enthusiasm. “I… don’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘yes’?” you teased, nudging him again. “Come on, Jamil. You deserve this. Let yourself have something nice for once.”

Jamil glanced between you and Kalim, clearly torn. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that still wanted to cling to his responsibilities, to keep everything in order. But then, slowly, his expression softened. He let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“…Fine,” he muttered, his lips curving into a small, tired smile. “But only if you promise we’re not going anywhere too ridiculous.”

Kalim’s eyes lit up, and he practically bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes! Don’t worry, I’ll find the perfect spot! You’ll love it!”

But before Kalim could dash off in a whirlwind of excitement, there was a sound behind you that made you groan inwardly—Crowley.

The headmaster sauntered into view, his usual over-the-top grandeur evident in every step. “Vacation, you say? Oh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible! You see, I was just about to ask you two for some assistance with a few important matters—”

Before he could finish, Jamil stood up sharply, his expression darkening. For once, it wasn’t the usual calm, collected Jamil standing in front of you. This Jamil was one step away from grabbing Crowley by the collar and shaking him like a rag doll.

“Headmaster,” Jamil began, his voice low and dangerous, “I have been running this dorm, managing everything from meals to paperwork, while studying and handling Kalim’s disasters for months. I have not had a break. I am this close to losing my mind.”

Crowley blinked, clearly taken aback by Jamil’s sudden intensity.

“If you try to take this vacation from me,” Jamil continued, his tone flat but terrifying, “I swear I will not be responsible for what happens next.”

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, but one look at Jamil’s expression—wild-eyed, teetering on the edge—was enough to make him think twice. “Ah, well, I suppose the matters can wait! Yes, yes, of course! You both deserve some time off. Enjoy your… rest.”

Jamil didn’t wait for any further confirmation. He grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet, and shot Crowley a glare that could have melted steel. “We’re leaving. Now.”

You tried to suppress your laughter as Jamil practically dragged you away, Kalim bouncing along happily beside you.

Once you were a safe distance from the courtyard, Jamil finally slowed down, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He glanced down at you, his hand still holding yours.

“You really think this is going to work?” he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

You grinned, squeezing his hand gently. “Absolutely. I’ll make sure of it.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you saw Jamil smile—a real, genuine smile, soft and full of relief. He leaned in closer, his voice low as he whispered, “Thank you. For… everything.”

Your heart fluttered as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering just a little longer than necessary. “You deserve it,” you whispered back, resting your head on his shoulder. “And I’ll be right there with you the whole time.”

Jamil chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around your waist as you both walked off, Kalim already rambling about potential vacation spots. But for now, you didn’t care where you were going. All that mattered was that it would be the two of you together.

Masterlist

[ravagerrush]

he seems like a great lawyer

[ID: A low resolution digital drawing of the Juppet from Hermitcraft holding up a welcome mat. It is square, and resembles a topographic map, with rainbow text in comic sans reading, in all lowercase, "inventory management is my passion". The Juppet is a light blue muppet-like creature with an orange nose, glasses, and long hair. The Juppet wears a teal button-up shirt and khaki pants, with dark brown shoes. One of the Juppet's legs is kicked in the air, in joy. Behind the Juppet, holding him up, is Joehills. Joehills is a white man with back-length hair, with the bottom portion dyed a bright green. He wears long, dangling earrings with small green glass panels on the end, green cat-eye sunglasses, a blue t-shirt over a long sleeved black-and-white shirt, as well as wrinkled genes. Both the Juppet and Joe are smiling. The background is a rough gradient of orange to purple. End ID]

[huntingingoodwill]

taste (d.b.)

masterlist

pairing: dieter bravo x personal shopper! reader

desc: you give dieter some much needed cooking lessons. he’s a terrible student.

a/n: written as a stand-alone but! if u wanna read the first personal shopper! reader story it’s right here

“Tell me again,” you sighed, whipping your tinted shades off your face as you hugged the bag of groceries closer to your chest, “how did you manage to convince me to do this?” 

Dieter sauntered over, a triumphant glint in his eye as he peered at you over the edge of his sunglasses. 

“My irresistible charm,” he grinned, taking the bag from your hands. “Or… maybe the fact that you’re on my payroll? But I like to think it’s the former. You’re even starting to dress like me.” He smirked, gesturing at the sunglasses you had cinched between your fingers. 

Ever since admitting he didn’t know how to cook, Dieter had been trying to convince you to come over and give him a cooking lesson whenever his personal chef had a day off:  a thinly veiled attempt to relentlessly flirt with you over dinner. Yes, it was out of your job scope as his personal shopper, but you gave in rather easily - there was something amusing about him, something almost…cute. Not that you’d admit that to him, of course.

“I don’t wear sunglasses indoors,” you pulled the shades off his face and tossed them aside, where they clattered onto his dining table.

His eyes narrowed, squinting into the soft lighting of his house. 

“When did it get so bright in here?” 

You rolled your eyes, sauntering past him into the kitchen.

“How does someone who doesn’t know how to cook have an amazing kitchen like this?” you sighed.

You marvelled at his kitchen, all high ceilings and marble counters, with countless appliances populating the shelves. 

“A couple of shitty Netflix originals and the cost is covered," he sighed, reliving the cringey scenes in his mind. The tortured look in his eye flickered away, replaced with a smile. “So, you ready for our second date?” 

“It’s not really a date. I’m just teaching you how to cook. Out of pity.” 

“So, you pity me.” he smirked, as if that was a win, “That means you care.” 

“It means I knew you’d starve without your chef.” 

“Which means,” he smiled, pointing a finger at you, “you care.” 

You ignored him, pointedly dumping out the contents of the grocery bag onto the counter, holding up a large yellow onion. 

“This,” you said, brandishing it, “is an onion.” 

You sounded the syllables out, voice sarcastically cresting through each letter.

Dieter put on an expression of mock shock. “No. Way.” 

“Way. And you’re gonna cut it,” you said, tossing him the onion, which he narrowly managed to avoid dropping. “Think you can handle that?” 

“I can try,” he said, with an air of confidence you were not fully convinced of. 

You had decided to do something simple, as you knew Dieter’s cooking skills were lacking. Your fingers skimmed the countertop, taking inventory of what you had brought. Pasta, jarred sauce, tomatoes, garlic, onion, basil-

“I can’t try.” Dieter’s voice warbled unsteadily. 

You turned to be met by the sight of a tearful Dieter, his eyes red (well, redder than usual, and for different reasons), and glazed with tears. He held the knife in his hand, the bite of the onion’s stench wafting up from where it lay, half chopped, on the counter.

“Feeling a bit emotional?” you laughed, tossing the onions into a pan with oil and placing it over the stove.

“I’m an actor. I’m in touch with my feelings,” his voice cracked. 

You stifled a laugh, tearing off a square of paper towel from the roll. You closed the space between you two, dabbing the tears off his cheeks. Catching his eye, you suddenly became aware of your closeness, your heart thrumming. Swallowing thickly, you broke eye contact and focused on wicking away his tears, trying to calm your heartbeat. You did not date clients.

“Is this getting kinda… romantic, right now?” Dieter said, unable to hide his grin. 

Of course, even as you tried to push away the tension, he’d pick up on it instantly. 

You rolled your eyes. “You’re crying while holding a knife. And you smell like onions.” 

The corner of his lips pulled up in a lopsided smile. “Better than how most of my dates go.” 

You snorted, tossing the paper towel aside. “You really meant it when you said you couldn’t cook, huh?” 

“I can’t even boil water.” 

You threw your head back in a laugh. “Well, that’s certainly a good place to start.”

You grabbed a pot, filling it with water and placing it atop the burner. 

“Here’s how you boil water. You ready?” 

“Yes,” he said, determination lighting up his eyes as he rolled up his sleeves.

“I don’t think you are, it’s a huge undertaking,” you said, feigning complete earnestness as you pressed your lips into a solemn line. 

“I’ve been training my whole life for this. I’m ready,” he played along, eyebrows knitting together as he focused his eyes on the pot. 

“Give me your hand.” 

“I’ll warn you. It’s shaking,” he said, making his hand tremble dramatically. 

“I’m nervous too,” you said, barely able to conceal your smile. “You ready?” 

You put your hand over his, the skin of the back of his palm warm against the cold metal of his rings. You led it toward the stove knob. Holding your hand over his, you guided him to turn the knob, fire sprouting from the stove beneath the pot. 

“Wait a little while, and you’ve boiled water,” you smiled. 

“Does that mean you’ll take your hand off mine? I hope not,” he sighed, watching bubbles ping against the pot as the water began to simmer. 

“I’ll have to do it eventually.” 

“Then do it,” he challenged.

“No,” you said, keeping your hand firm over his, trying to convince yourself that you didn’t actually like the feeling of his skin against your palm. 

“Why not?” 

“Because you told me to,” you smiled, your thumb ghosting his knuckles, fingers nearly slotting into the spaces in between his. 

“I’m your boss. I’m supposed to tell you to do things,” he chuckled. 

“This is after hours. You don’t know how to cook, I’m teaching you how. If anything, I’m your boss now.” 

“Hot,” he smirked. 

“Ew,” you laughed, not feeling an iota of disgust. 

“It is getting kinda hot in here.”

“Because of me?” You smirked, taking a note from his cheesy lines. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. 

“Yes. But also physically. Maybe because the onions are burning.” 

“Fuck.” 

You turned toward the stove, the charred remains of the onions sticking to the bottom of the pan in a sticky, black blob.

“I think I’m rubbing off on you,” Dieter sighed, throwing an arm over your shoulder. You allowed yourself to lean into his side, relishing the warmth that emanated from him as you both looked despairingly upon the blackened pan. “You don’t even know how to cook now.”

“Who needs to know how to cook?” You sighed in defeat. “There's always delivery."

Thirty minutes later, the two of you were sitting at his dining table, a greasy pizza box sitting before you. 

“Are you sure this pizza is organic?” He said, shovelling a slice into his mouth. 

“‘Course not,” you sighed, picking up a slice, “But do you really care?”

“Ugh,” he said, taking another bite, “No.” 

You laughed, gazing at that little crinkle at the edge of his eye as his brown irises glowed in the flickering candlelight. 

“The candle is a nice touch,” your voice was dreamy as you gestured at the candle he lit on the dining table, the room bathed in its warm light. Maybe you did date clients. “It’s almost-” 

“-Romantic?” He grinned.  

“Hazardous,” you smirked, trying not to make any rash decisions, no matter how much you wanted to kiss him, “Try not to set anything on fire.”

“No promises,” he said, that glint in his eyes bright, even in the low light of the candlelit room. “It’s kinda bright in here, huh?” He chuckled, reaching for his sunglasses and sliding them on. 

You chuckled as he looked at you expectantly. Alright, you’d give in. 

“A little,” you smiled, putting your own sunglasses on, matching him. 

His lips formed a huge smile as he put his arm around you, the weight around your shoulders pleasant. He opened his mouth, about to make another cheesy remark when you cut him off.

“Let’s be clear,” you said, wagging a finger in his face, “I am not starting to dress like you. I haven’t fully given up yet,” you teased, gesturing at his outfit, a sweatpants and ratty hoodie combination. “I’m taking you clothes shopping next. That’s within my job scope, at least.” 

“It’ll be our third date,” he smiled, pulling you closer. 

“Shut up,” you smiled. 

[ghostofskywalker]

Filed Under: Incident Reports

Words: 1,106

Summary: managing a bar was never easy, but you tried your best to keep things running smoothly, even if sometimes you had to make hard decisions

or alternatively: a collection of 79’s most hilariously infamous incident reports, some which made you ponder a career change.

@clonexreaderbingo square: 79's

ao3 link || clone troopers masterlist

Note: this fic is a sister story to one of my favorite fics i've ever written, filed under: payroll complaints. I loved the idea of doing a "filed under" collection of unconventional reader fics, so i wrote this :) and of course this is dedicated to my friend @captainsophiestark, who is one of the best people i've met on here and who i think loves the first one as much as i do :)

“Hey boss!” The sound of someone talking to you caught your attention as you checked off items on the inventory list you were taking. “Can I talk to you?”

The nervous expression on Kalina’s face was not one you were accustomed to seeing, so your face immediately shifted. She was your newest employee, and you hoped everything was alright. “Is everything okay?” 

“I had to file an incident report last night after you left,” she said, looking down at the floor, as if she was expecting you to launch into a tirade and fire her. 

Instead, you burst out into laughter, and she looked up at you, confusion present in her eyes. “Was it a good one?” you asked once you had pulled yourself back together. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“The incident report,” you said. “Do you think it would make the Hall of Fame?” 

Clearly, the other employees had not filled her in on this very important part of working at this particular establishment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered. 

You reached out to gently pat her shoulder. “In this place, incident reports are a dime a dozen,” you said. “So we take the funniest ones and file them separately. Come on,” you said, heading behind the bar in the direction of your office. “I’ll show you.” 

The file folder was exactly where it always was, and Kalina handed you the one she had filled out last night as you laid the various pieces of flimsi across your desk. “What battalion were the clones from last night part of?” you asked.

“The 501st I think.” 

“Oh don’t worry, I think at this point we have enough for a whole file on them.” 

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ ﾟ･:*

Incident Report #7103

Time of Disruption: 23:41

Damage Sustained: Three bottles of Corellian Whiskey, Minor scrapes from scattered glass

Description of Incident: A Jedi General accompanying his troops to the bar for the evening attempted to utilize the Force to have their drinks refilled without having to get up or alert any of the employees. Startled (by his own drunken hiccup, according to witnesses) as the bottles were crossing the room, it turns out the use of any kind of Jedi tricks requires intense concentration or objects will crash to the ground. 

Statement From Parties Involved: [Trooper with “5” tattooed on his forehead] “Wow. We thought he would have had a higher alcohol tolerance than that.”

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ ﾟ･:*

Incident Report #7476

Time of Disruption: 19:28

Damage Sustained: One drink transport droid, three bottles various liquor, two employee uniforms

Description of Incident: On the way back from the refresher, a drink transport droid startled a commander with orange-yellow armor, and he subsequently roundhouse kicked the droid’s head clean off, where it landed behind the bar and startled employees as they mixed drinks. 

Statement From Parties Involved: profuse apologies from the commander, while his troopers (who were privy to the entire event) laughed with glee. 

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ ﾟ･:*

Incident Report #7729

Time of Disruption: 21:09

Damage Sustained: Minor injuries (from faceplant)

Description of Incident: Trooper with goggles did not accurately guess his alcohol tolerance, and immediately falls face-first onto the floor after stepping down from a stool at the bar, going unconscious momentarily. Thankfully, his squad was nearby and was able to help him out of the establishment.

Statement From Parties Involved: [Trooper with skeleton face tattoo, as his goggled brother is still reciting random facts about hyperspace engines] “We’re sorry. He isn’t usually like this.”

[Silver-haired trooper] “Don’t listen to Hunter. He may not usually drink this much, but this behavior is very much normal.”

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ ﾟ･:*

Incident Report #7999

Time of Disruption: 20:42

Damage Sustained: Emotional (embarrassment) 

Description of Incident: Frantic troopers in blue armor approached the bar and informed staff that their commanding officer had accompanied them this evening and was now apparently missing. After imploring that the music was stopped and an announcement was made, the CO was eventually located (and understandably embarrassed) drinking with commanders of other battalions in a booth not directly in the eye line of their troopers. Atmosphere returns to business as usual within 10 minutes. 

Statement From Parties Involved: [Trooper with Republic symbol tattooed on his forehead] “We couldn’t find Rex and were worried he’d been kidnapped.” 

[Trooper with medic symbol on his shoulder, tiredly] “In a bar filled with clones?” 

[Republic Symbol] “You never know!” 

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ ﾟ･:*

Incident Report #8954

Time of Disruption: 21:42

Damage Sustained: Four bottles of various liquor, minor shock and dropped drinks, sadness (intruder was whisked away before employees were able to pet it)

Description of Incident: Upon apparent escape from leash, a massif burst through the door and ran in circles around the bar, knocking over several drink transport droids and one startled employee. It also started to approach groups of troopers, barking and jumping on them to demand affection. A tired-looking member of the Coruscant Guard eventually ran in and was able to carry their little escape artist back to headquarters.

Statement From Parties Involved: [massif, in a friendly manner] “bark!” 

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ ﾟ･:*

Incident Report #8533

Time of Disruption: 02:37

Damage Sustained: Employee’s Innocence

Description of Incident: Trooper with teal accents on his armor spotted getting particularly personal with his date for the evening due to the secluded location of his table and the absence of the rest of his squad. In the future, employees should make sure they find some way to announce their presence when informing customers that the bar will be closing in less than half an hour. 

Statement From Parties Involved:  [To Employee, not the least bit embarrassed]: “Sorry, I didn’t hear you there.” 

[To Date]: “You wanna get out of here?” 

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ ﾟ･:*

Incident Report #9148

Employee Attending: Kalina Zainne

Time of Disruption: 21:59

Damage Sustained: Loss of Refresher facilities for several hours, Scorch marks on several tables

Description of Incident: Due to a drinking game (of which the exact rules are unknown), small bomb-like devices were built and accidentally detonated both at the table the group was sitting at and in the men’s refresher. When the fire on the table started to get out of control, the only liquid at the table (which happened to be whiskey) was dumped on the device, subsequently making the situation worse. The building’s sprinkler systems were activated and did put out the fire, but showered all patrons with cold water.

Statement From Parties Involved: [Trooper with Republic symbol tattooed on forehead] “Rex is going to kill us.”

Yeah, this was definitely joining the ranks in the Hall of Fame.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

divider credit to djarrex

[spicyclover]

Delilah | part three

Summary: “Hey there, Delilah                                                                                                         I know times are gettin' hard                                                                               But just believe me, girl                                                                                    Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar                                                           We'll have it good                                                                                                We'll have the life we knew we would                                                                  My word is good. “

Part One | Part Two | Part Three 

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section! 

I'm open to requests.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

“Delilah, come on. Let’s go. We’re done shopping for today.” She turns to you, and the stranger raises his head. Your heart misses a beat. It’s not possible. What’s he doing there. The eyes of the unknown also open.

The world stops. Your breathing stops. You never thought for a second that this day would come so fast. You are stunned, frozen on the spot. You look at this man who was once a close acquaintance. You do not know what to say, and neither is he. His brain integrates information.

For a moment, when he saw this little girl at the corner of a booth, he thought he saw his son's face. It was only the blink of an eye for a moment, but she had this expression and figures so similar that it troubled him. Trouble because he knows very well that his son has no children. He needs to see her closely. He watched her from a distance for a few minutes before daring to approach her. And then their eyes met. The same as his son. It was almost a return in time. For a second, his five-year-old son was in front of him.

Delilah watched the man with big eyes before she started talking to him happily. She smiled with all her teeth when he showed interest in her finds in her pink basket. She made him a complete inventory of its contents before smiling again at the elderly man. Then your voice resounded, and the moment passed. Carlos Sainz Sr’s eyes rose towards your figure, and the surprise is read on his face. Never in his life has he thought of seeing you again. You exchange no words. The discomfort and uneasiness is heavy and pressing. You only want to escape as quickly as possible on the first train. You take your daughter’s little hand and move away from the square.

"¿Cómo te llamas, pequeña?" Ask Carlos Sainz Sr, pushing his voice through the crowd. What’s your name, little one?

"Delilah. Delilah Y/L/N." She answers proudly before turning to her mother.

You met your parents in the car. You want to run away. Far away. Isolated. He knows. That’s for sure. He’ll tell him. It will ruin everything you’ve built. You close the door violently, and your father starts without asking anything. You can feel their worried looks on you. Delilah, in her car seat, looks joyfully at the landscape. You are lost in your thoughts. Why haven’t you been more careful? You’ve managed to keep it a secret all this time. Questions scroll through your head like a groceries list. You feel your phone vibrating, and your heart misses a beat. You remain forbidden for a moment before taking the object and opening it. It’s a message from Paola; Cato chewed your shoelaces. A sigh of relief escapes your mouth, and you answer vaguely that it is nothing.

The rest of the day is quiet. You help in the gardens while Delilah plays in the small pools that your parents bought. You watch her from the corner of your eye. Her little polka-dot red swimsuit brings out her caramel complexion and dark eyes. She’s swimming, monopolizing your father’s concentration, trying to get the garden hose to work.

“¡Papi! Mírame a mí,” She screams, her head popping out of the water. “¡Papi!” Papi! Look at me!

“Sí, sí, es genial Delilah.” Your father responds vaguely by grumbling after the tip. “¡Esto es una mierda!” Yea, yea, it’s excellent, Delilah. It's crap.”

“¡Papi!”

You wipe the earth with your hands and go back to the front of the house to get a bag of potting soil. You’re focused and don’t notice the two people outside the portal waiting. You only raise your head as you hear the sound of a voice that is familiar to you. Your eyes cross their eyes. Carlos Sr and Reyes stand, a bottle of red wine and a basket in hand. You sigh and slowly approach.

"What are you doing here?" You ask.

"We want to talk to you, Hermosa." Answer Reyes nicely.

Reyes has always been there for you. She has always considered you her daughter. After all, you have spent many summers in their company.

"I have nothing to tell you."

"I think you do."

"It’s none of your business." You say turn heels.

"She looks like him like two drops of water. You’re not going to make me think she’s not his." Carlos says, pointing away in the backward where they could hear your daughter laughing.

"No, you’re right. I have nothing to make you believe. He’s not the father. Leave before I call the police."

You grab one of the bags of soil and head back to the back of the house.

"Y/n!" Call Carlos Sr. "He’s not perfect, but he has a right to know. Why you hid her from him?" The drop gets the vase full, and you flip, an angry expression on your face.

"Because you think he doesn’t know?" You exclaim. "You think I didn’t spend months trying to reach him. That I did not come crying in tears at his door, begging him to open it to me in the pouring rain. That the only thing he had to tell me was that he didn’t want it and that I had to get rid of it because I was not and would never be good enough for him. If that’s what you believe, you’re wrong. Now get out of here and don’t come back." You say, the tears running down your cheeks. Reyes' eyes fill with tears, and Carlos Sr can’t believe what you say. How can he? His son is perfect...

You turn around for good and return to the back of the house. Your mother notices your puffy, reddened eyes with tears but makes no comment. She knows you don’t want to talk about it. You go back to tapping the earth to flip it. The shovel blows into the ground slowly, calming you down and lowering your pressure. No one suspects they came to see you. The rest of the afternoon and evening is spent in a peaceful atmosphere. You can even forget about them when you bathe Delilah. She always makes you laugh with the foam on her head. That’s when you’re glad she’s in your life, despite everything that’s happened. You are grateful that she is there daily and that you share your life with her. Seeing her grow up hurts you but, at the same time, fills you with joy.

Delilah is sleeping peacefully beside you. You’ve been watching the ceiling for three hours now, unable to sleep. You sigh one more time before you give up and get up. You go up to the window and sit there. The night is clear. You can see some stars. Somethings, back in Fuengirola, you got up to the roof and lay under the stars. You often did this during the summers when Delilah was much younger. Hearing the city and the agitation of the night always helps her calm down from her disturbed dreams. You sometimes think; it makes her feel less alone. Delilah dreams. You hear her whisper incomprehensible phrases in her sleep. She whispers your name. She has always had a troubled sleep. She talks like he does it too. 

It was a cool autumn night, and you were all in a cottage by a lake. Your two families are gone for the week, and you share your bed with Blanca and Ana. You’re lying next to her in the queen bed while Carlos sleeps on an air mattress on the floor. You can’t sleep. You argued before you left with your boyfriend then, and you replay the scene in your head. He is angry because you refuse to have advanced relations with him. You’re only sixteen, after all. You don’t feel ready, but you can’t help to feel pressured by him. It makes you angry and a feeling you can't quite describe yet. You turn your head and look at Carlos. He sleeps peacefully next to you. His mouth is ajar. Her lips are so soft. You often imagine how they would feel on yours. Your body turns, and you watch her sleep. You hear him whispering in his sleep, little words or little sentences. You are not sure. You come closer to try to understand, but it’s just gibberish.

Your hand comes out of the warm duvet, and you stroke the outline of his nose with your fingertips. He shudders, but he doesn’t wake up. Your finger continues its journey and arrives at the corner of his lips. You hesitate momentarily before passing your hand on it when you feel Carlos move. His body jiggles, and his head comes to find your finger. You find yourself in the middle of his lips, and unconsciously, he gently kisses your index. You blush strongly, and you withdraw your hand quickly. You are warm, and this heat spreads throughout your body. You feel your crotch become sweaty and turn to the other side. Ashamed of what just happened without his knowledge. You close your eyes, and you only see his lips kissing your finger. You spend the rest of the night awake with that strange heat between your legs.

The following day, when the sun is high, you sleep deeply. The others have already left the room for a long time. The shutters are pulled. A slight breeze cools the room. In your sleep, you are out of the duvet and intertwined in it. Your shorts are raised at the corner of your buttocks, and your t-shirt covers very little skin. You are sure your stomach and your head are facing the window. You are deeply asleep, and you do not hear the agitation downstairs.

"Carlos, ve a por Y/n para almorzar. Sé que estamos de vacaciones, pero no estamos aquí solo para dormir.” Says Reyes, pointing the stairs at his son. "Carlos, go get Y/n for lunch. I know we’re on vacation, but we’re not here to just sleep." 

He gets up from the couch, and heads against the heart goes the room. He always thought of you as his sister, but recently, he has emotions that he does not understand when he sees you. His heart capsizes, and every time you laugh, his body warms up with a strange warmth. When you gave him your ocean eyes.  He has never experienced this with anyone. He enters the room and sees you. Lying down. In this innocent position. His body reacts, and his cheeks warm up. Your breathing is slow. You are asleep. He sees through the sheets and your t-shirt the tip of your breast. "She is beautiful." He thinks while trying to drive away these impure thoughts towards you. He approaches you. He can’t help but run his fingers over the bare skin of your legs. "So soft, so warm." It gradually rises, tracing the contour of your body. It is warm and feels the thrill you run under its hand. He smiles before continuing his way. He touches the outline of your buttocks before drawing that of your spine. He looks at your face, and his eyes stop on your lips. He wants to kiss you. He wants to capture them from his own. To hear you say his name. He leans over to you, letting his instincts speak.

Suddenly, steps resound from the staircase, and he abruptly departs. By the way, he accidentally hangs a strand of your hair and pulls it out of your bed, falling down the bed. You scream in pain as you open your eyes frantically. You look around, and Carlos' two sisters enter the room while Carlos struggles to get up, tangling in the duvet.

At this memory, a blank smile appears on your face. You raise your head and see the cute face of your daughter, who struggles to open her eyes.

"Mama," she whispers, still asleep.

"Go back to sleep, baby. It’s not morning yet," you get up from your seat and return to bed. She hugs you and places her head on your chest. Her thumb in her mouth and her cuddly toy in the other. She falls back to your side. Your eyelids are heavy, and you drift towards the arms of Morpheus in your turn. Maybe you can consider seeing them. They probably love to meet Delilah. She would like them too. In those thoughts, you really drift away. 

______________________________________________________________________

Let me know if you are still interested in this story :) I have a few interesting ideas.  

TAG LIST (All Stories) : darkmalice00 karmabyfernando

TAG LIST (This story): karmabyfernando omgsuperstarg soosheee mypage-myfandoms trouble-sistar aileeincomplexity sweetwerewolfqueen darkmalice00 gaslysainz kimikimki fandomsfeminismandme aundercover dreams-with-thoughts lazypinkpig oscarpastryyyyy darkomiomi avengersheart styles-sunflower formula1mount

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

I had the opportunity to attend rose city comicon this weekend! it was fun!

i got so many compliments on the crochet things I was wearing. I've been considering for a while that I might be able to make money selling crochet things at events like cons and ren faires/fantasy festivals. I'll have to spend a lot of time and money building an inventory and making more of a social media presence for myself and whatever.

but if I do manage to get to that point and I have a booth selling crochet, what items do you all think would be the most popular?

(image description: all the crochet items from the poll, in order. one photo of a dragon scale glove, one photo of a collection of parasols, four photos of different shawls with lacy patterns, two photos of scarves and a photo of a hooded scarf, and two photos of cocoon cardigans, which are very loose square shapes and have short baggy sleeves. end description)

if I have a sense of what people would be more likely to purchase, I can build a more effective inventory. keeping in mind, of course, none of it would be cheap and the parasols would probably be the most expensive thing here. but maybe by next year or the year after that I could have enough inventory to get a booth at some local event and sell some things.

If I figure out the most cost efficient way to make art prints, maybe I can even do some cool fantasy illustrations like a nice print of some speculative evolution or some of the art from my own worldbuilding posts like the centaur deities or something. I'm genuinely kind of excited and motivated now! it's been so hard to figure out how I can earn a living without sacrificing all the time I put into my personal passions, or how to earn money from my passions without sacrificing the joy I get from making things. but maybe I actually can do it, if I just find the right venues.

also if you'd like to help me build my yarn stash so I can craft a large inventory of things to sell, please consider donating to my ko-fi page or paying me for a commission! I am also willing to do crochet commissions, I just don't have a specific info page for it right now.

[irisintheafterglow]

End Game #10 - The Epilogue

summary: after signing with the best team in the country, satoru asks you a question on new year's day. (read the rest of the volleyball captain!gojo au here!)

wc: 1.1k

cw/tags: post-highschool time skip, established relationship, mentions of alcohol and parties,

note: happy new year everyone! i hope 2024 brings you love, happiness, and success. hope you like this little epilogue <3

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated :))

“I didn’t think it was physically possible to have this much glitter,” you huff, pulling a stray golden streamer from the top of your head and discarding it in the trash bin. The dustpan and brush take a break on the dining room table and you lean against the back of the couch, picking at a loose thread on Satoru’s old high school jersey. “Next time, we’re having the party at Suguru’s.”

“You don’t need to do all of this, babe,” your boyfriend reminds you from the kitchen, taking inventory of the catering leftovers and copious amounts of alcohol covering your marble counters. It was still early enough in the morning that girls were walking around the building’s lobby with their heels slung between their fingers. “I’ll have the cleaners come by in the morning to pick up all of that.” 

“There’s candle wax on the floor, Satoru. I don’t even know how that ended up there without setting off a fire alarm,” you point out and he nods in agreement. “I’m just glad we have hardwood. This would be a nightmare to get out of the carpet.”

“It doesn’t need to be a nightmare at all, if you just let the cleaners take care of it. But, if it makes you feel better, remember that I moved all the cleaning supplies to the cabinet in the hallway.” Colorful tubes of glass carefully clank together as he repositions them on the shelves of the wet bar, sweeping confetti and more streamers off of the marble with the back of his hand. When he’s done reorganizing the remaining bottles, he neatens the stack of square polaroids and then promptly messes them up again, spreading them across the counter like a dealer with a deck of cards. “Can you believe we had this many people over last night?”

“I’m still in disbelief that we have this place, honestly,” you admit, slinging a leg over the side of the couch and rolling over the back, landing in the living room of your shared penthouse with Satoru. It still surprised you, what Olympic gold and brand sponsorships could buy, even with the tall ceilings and stunning views of downtown Tokyo. It brought a lot of acquaintances that had the nerve to call themselves your friends, most of them whose names you couldn’t remember. The important people were still in your life, though, Suguru with his highschool ASB sweetheart and the former first years all sharing a flat. It wasn’t a bad life, to say the least. “I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up and you’ll just be a figment of my imagination.”

“Believe it or not, I have the exact same nightmare.” He flops down next to you and pulls you closer to give himself more space, absentmindedly chucking a few throw pillows to maximize the space. “All these fluffy pillows and expensive wines seem a little too good to be true sometimes.”

“You’re an Olympic athlete, sweetheart. Fluffy pillows and expensive wines are pocket change for you.”

“For us, you mean. Nothing is just for me anymore,” he corrects. Ever since he signed on with the most successful pro team in the country and you earned your degree in sports management, everything had been you and him. Though it was new territory for both of you, it still felt familiar in some ways as you served the same roles that you did during high school. When Suguru joined the team, it only became more comfortable and the light-hearted banter helped keep you grounded in such a competitive atmosphere. “Speaking of, we should consider getting married.” Your eyes fly open after fluttering shut against his chest and you sit up, stick straight. 

“What did you just say?” You look down at him in shock, only to be met with a shit-eating smirk. 

“You know exactly what I said,” he says quietly.

“You can’t joke around about those kinds of things,” you murmur as you fall back into your original position, poking a finger into his side for good measure. “It’s not nice.”

“Who said I was joking?”

“Why? Why now, of all times?” 

“You expected me to have a much larger proposal,” he muses and you feel your face become warmer. In your defense, he was always known as the flashy one, the one who brought you bouquets of flowers when you were in class or sent your study room catering to make sure you’d eaten. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought of marrying Satoru before. You just expected a much grander gesture than mentioning it while you procrastinate cleaning up the sparkly mess in your bathtub. “Disappointed?”

“No, just…surprised,” you say slowly and he hums thoughtfully. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“About marrying you? Since we won Nationals, obviously,” he states like it was written all over your bedroom wall in Sharpie. “But, if you’re asking about proposing while we’re lying on a glitter-covered couch at five in the morning, I thought of it just now. Call it delirium.”

“Hmm,” is all you can muster up as a response.

“Hmm.” He hums in the same tone, looking at you curiously. “So, what do you say?”

“You actually wanna marry me?” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes melodramatically in exasperation. 

“I can’t believe you just asked that,” he says under his breath, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. “I cannot believe that you just asked me that.” You follow his movements until you’re sitting with him, shoulder to shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Satoru. I just…get doubtful at times.”

“Doubtful that I love you?”

“Doubtful that you’ll let me stay with you through all of this.” Your hands gesture vaguely at the high ceilings and the shining floors, out at the stretch of Tokyo’s skyline and the infinite horizon beyond it. “I’m scared you’ll find someone else to share such a lavish life with–”

“I wouldn’t ask you to marry me if I wanted to spend my life with anyone else, sweetheart. I’ve got this ring from my sock drawer to prove it.” Your jaw hits the floor and he starts laughing, your body frozen in place but screaming at you to see if he’s right as he fishes something from his pocket. “I wanna clean up glitter and bottles with you on New Year’s day for the rest of my life,” he promises, taking your hand and sliding an elegantly simple band on your left ring finger. 

“I can’t believe you propose to me in the most unassuming way possible,” you chuckle, admiring the way the morning light catches on the metal. “You didn’t even get down on one knee.”

“This is the private proposal to make sure you say yes,” he reassures you with a grin. “The public proposal will be much more extravagant.”

“Mmm, I can’t wait. Happy New Year, Satoru.”

“Happy New Year, my love.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Unexpected Delivery

There had been many changes when their father returned home. Some were new, some were the old status quo reasserting itself.

As Jeff had taken over the daily running of Tracy Industries and the paperwork associated with International Rescue, Scott had managed to take back some of his old duties on the Island.

One of those was unpacking the supplies Virgil regularly brought back from the mainland.

First was the perishables: foods, some of Brains’ more exotic experimental materials, whatever-the-hell it was that Gordon was ordering in to assist in rehabilitating their surrounding sea-scape. Personal deliveries came second, portioning out the mail orders; of which a not-insignificant portion was personal food stocks – Grandma still couldn’t be dissuaded from cooking, even though everyone now had more time to contribute to kitchen duties. Third was domestic consumables: toilet paper, light bulbs, cleaning supplies, and personal grooming and hygiene products – including so much deodorant. And then maintenance supplies; raw materials for production of the custom parts necessary for the maintenance of the Thunderbirds, parts for maintenance for the Villa and auxiliary buildings.

It was a comfortable routine, and one that Scott enjoyed, especially dealing with the maintenance supplies. Checking the packing slip against their internal register of projected deliveries, using the pallet-bot to deposit the large crates and bins at the appropriate areas, before unpacking the individual crates, confirming the itemised stock within, and storing them in the appropriate locations, as he updated the warehousing inventory.

It was a simple – and satisfying – job.

Today there was an extra crate. A large roughly square crate, one and one half to two metres in every dimension and solidly built. Scott frowned at it. There was no sender’s ident, and the anonymous holographic label implanted in the rough-hewn, tightly-spaced wooden slats simply read ‘International Rescue’.

Nothing was unaccounted for on the projected deliveries. There was nothing left over from previous runs, nothing on back order.

Scott checked Virgil’s collection register. This package had been collected from their mail facility at Tracy Industries Headquarters, the security assessment on this crate was attached. Nothing untoward. No radiation, no explosive compounds, no biological matter …

Thunderbird Two’s pod sensors hadn’t detected a threat, either.

“What is it?”

Scott started, jumping as the Mechanic materialised beside him, looking between Scott and the crate curiously.

A slight hesitation – he still hadn’t fully overcome his distrust of the other man, nor had the Mechanic suddenly taken a liking to him – and he explained the situation.

“Only one way to find out. If all the scans are clear.”

Scott waved his tablet at the man, who, after a second, took it, and considered the record trail. He handed the tablet back, and summoned two of his ‘scorpion’ mechas to the crate.

“Better blow them up, than us, if your scans are wrong,” was the response to Scott’s raised eyebrow.

Scott agreed without hesitation. The crate was in a secure section of the hangars, there was no danger to any of their equipment – they had learnt that the hard way, soon after Jeff had … gone on sabbatical. The two men backed off a respectful distance, and watched as the two machines surged forward, powerful pinchers forcing themselves under the lid and prising it up, before skittering around the crate to settle either side of it, like guardians.

The back of the lid was hinged, and a holographic sign projected against the rough and splintery wood. ‘A gift. From a friend.’

The two men approached cautiously. And stared in shock at what lay on the straw at the bottom of the crate.

The Hood, bound hand and foot – hands behind his back – lay half curled with in the space. His naked body bruised and bloody, the slight rise and fall of his chest the only sign the man was alive.

Scott Tracy – Commander of International Rescue, First Responder, Qualified Paramedic, and Survivor of a POW Camp – swallowed his bile as he took in the sight of the bloody and weeping bandage around the man’s head that ineffectively protected what he knew would be the bloody and empty socket where the cybernetic eye had been.

Mutely Scott and the Mechanic stared at each other, both searching for answers the other didn’t have.

How were they ever going to explain this?

Notes:

Febuwhump Day 21 “Unresponsive”.

Whoops. I totally missed posting this one on the date. Other important dates I have missed include my mothers, and my niece's birthdays. Oh well, off to the dog house!

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[nishayuro]

To our highest of highs, to my lowest of lows. Genshin Impact Imposter! Au

Self Aware Genshin AU (SAGAU)

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff 

GN! Reader

Summary: Waking up not in your room and in a grassy plain with a blue sky is definitely not what you thought would happen, so is being in the world of one of your games.

Part 1 , Part 2

Waking up in Teyvat, realising that it's probably not a dream, you start to panic a bit. “Oh god, how did this happen… uhh okay I have my phone…” you whispered, taking your phone and looking at the screen. You observed that there are no characters in your party, nor in your character page, you checked your inventory, nothing. “This is like starting from square one all over again, except I’m in actual Teyvat and I have no vision nor experience in weaponry…” You complained. 

You opened the map area to see that you are at the peak of Starsnatch Cliff, from there you can see the city of Mondstat. “Hmm, Let’s see if waypoints will work for me” you said, choosing to teleport to the statue of the seven at Windrise. 

A wave of dark fog engulfed you and when it dispersed, you were standing in front of an Anemo statue. “Now, I wonder what happens if I…” you mumbled, reaching towards the statue. A light of blueish green appeared and surrounded you. “So… Do I have Anemo powers now?” you asked yourself, ‘anemo!’ you thought and did a pushing motion. A gust of wind came out of your hands. “Yow!! I have powers now!!” you exclaimed. “Alright, time to head to Mondstat!” You said, looking at your map as a guide.

You traversed the terrain surprisingly easily with the help of your phone as a map. While you were walking, you spotted a group of hilichurls with their towers in the making setting up camp. ‘Uh oh…’ you thought, trying your best to remain calm, now it has settled into you that Teyvat is a dangerous place to wonder about. Monsters lurked almost everywhere. You tried to walk away from them but seemingly so, one has spotted you, immediately telling its peers of your presence, they ran towards you. 

‘Oh shit- I should run!’ and you did, but just as you were about to lose them, you tripped. 

You looked back in fear as they closed the distance, you braced yourself to protect you if they attacked, but lo and behold all they did was drop to their knees with a bow. 

“Wh-what…?”  you questioned, confused with what's happening. You saw a family of dendro slimes approach you, hesitantly you reached towards them, the slimes immediately relishing in your touch. You realised you weren’t in any danger right now and these mobs were only being friendly. ‘I’m so sorry for always attacking you all in game… I kinda needed the materials T-T ‘  you thought. 

After a while you got up and bid them goodbye. You walked towards the city gates of Mondstat. Although the teleport waypoints were available, you wanted to get the opportunity to explore the world on your own and maybe find chests on the way. Lucky for you, you managed to find some common and exquisite chests, containing trinkets, mora and some weapons. 

“Hmm… A polearm or the sword…?” you decided to take both. As you went to pick them up, you realised something, “Oh… I don’t have a bag…” you said out loud. You grabbed the polearm but then it disappeared. “Wha-” confused, you opened your phone and went to your inventory. “Ohh! They automatically go in the inventory? Cool! But… how do I wield it though…” excitedly, you tried thinking of the polearm. ‘Pls work pls work pls work… I summon the polearm’. You felt some metal in your hands and to your excitement, the polearm was in your hands. “Cool!! So that’s how the characters summon their weapons!!” you exclaimed. 

“Now to put it back… usually they do this…” you say, doing a sheathing motion. The weapon dissolved into particles and attached itself to your back, disappearing after some time. “This is soo cool!!” you say to yourself as you continue your walk. 

In the palace south of dragonspine, Barbatos runs into the throne room, alerting the guards and the divine creator. “Your grace! This imposter is no ordinary folk, they managed to acquire the power of Anemo! I felt it!” the Anemo archon exclaims. 

“Well, that must mean their destination is Mondstat. Have the acolytes patrol the city and the wilderness, their destination should be the city. Remember, bring them back to me alive.” the fake creator orders, a cold tone present in their words. 

“Yes, your grace.” Barbatos bows, and rushes out of the room to inform the Knights of Favonius about the order. 

‘Your downfall will be my victory, only one can remain, and you, true one, will die in my hands. You will have never existed, and I shall be the true ruler. For what is a land abandoned by its owner if not property of its new founder’ the imposter thought, a ghost of a smile creeping into their face. 

masterlist

navigation

Taglist (Reply to be added) : @shizunxie, @itsyourgirlria

[blackbloodteeth]

The overhead light flicks on for a few seconds before solidifying across the mess that is the dusty, half-forgotten storage room that sinks back into Maka with as about as deadpan as a sigh gets. Half-forgotten because she is the only one bothering to actually take note of it, and only managed to make even a fraction of a dent in all the unlabeled goods and abandoned stock that's probably older than she is – But hey, clipboard in hand and hair double-tied for good measure, someone's got to take care of things around here even if it isn't any of the clowns in upper management (no offense to the one she actually likes, and probably none taken).

Squaring her shoulders and her due diligence, Maka makes her way to where she last left off, because even if this is her second rodeo at this particular locale, it will be a rodeo of organization and bucking off all the items she'd sorted already that could've made her cash in on her health insurance from littering the floor alone. Lower shelf – Going top to bottom – there's another pile of unmarked goods (more to the point almost completely faded with age) to go through, having her re-mark which ones are recognizable, which ones will be dealt with later, and a nice, collective number on how much business she will be doing with recycling.

Her eyebrows soon screw together after scratching down another number, time and attention nearly halting all of the sudden when she slides a box of seemingly no notable interest out from its corner of the lowest shelf and kind of jolts her hand away as if getting struck by static electricity. It didn't really feel like static electricity, per say, but it was very jarring for some reason and that's the point being made here.

The clipboard makes a soft thud as she sets it aside onto one of the other lost boxes, pen following suit, her curiosity (and due suspicion) gently lifting the Questionable Item of Scrutiny with both her hands and – Maka's face quickly unknots when a faint but consistent beat, like a metronome, reverberates through the… metal? Ceramic? Of the smallish container, definitely not quite the size of her head but still substantial enough to need both sets of fingers to support it.

It's… strange. How could something still be functional down here when this storage room is enough to sue the company for gross negligence? Why is it even… metronoming to begin with – She feels like she would've heard it until now- Did she accidentally turn it on, then?

The sheer amount of questions puts her face back into Holmes mode, the little rhythm between her palms just ticking away and taking all of her attention away from what she's supposed to be doing, the devious bastard. She pops the syllable of that last thought before resigning to her cat-fatal curiosities and presses her ear up to the top(?) of the box.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.

Oh she didn't want to make the obvious comparison, but that sounds exactly like a heartbeat. That's… she's not sure how to feel about that right now.

She turns the box around in her hands, lifting it to peer at its featureless underside(?) before spotting what looks suspiciously like a keyhole and latch indents embedded into the surface that- Actually, you know what, this is not her property and if it belongs to anyone they can just reclaim it after inventory and she'll just set that back on its shelf, thank you.

There's a squirmy feeling in her hands now that she doesn't quite enjoy the idea of assessing at the moment, so she shakes it off (and tries to wipe it off on her overshirt, because who knows how much dust it's accumulated down here) in an attempt to steel her absolutely non-curious mind into returning to her initial duties – And failing as she can hear the faint thump-thumps echoing against the surrounding shelving- Ah right, she must've set it off, hadn't she.

Really, genuinely, she wants to ignore it. She examined it, she concluded it, it shouldn't be anything more than a report to fill out now that she's discovered something that still works and probably needs shutting off. But Maka just happening to be Maka, she can barely even take her eyes off it now that she knows it's there, let alone stop herself from- Well from whatever the hell it is that compels her to not only not find a way to get it open, but to put it up to her own heart for whatever reason. Okay maybe it's not an entirely far-fetched idea, it's just… weird. Why is she having feelings and ideas, she's supposed to be inventory management.

Something especially weird almost makes her laugh at the way the definitely-a-heartbeat-at-this-point echoes into her chest, like she can almost hear it whispering if she could just listen a little closer, genuinely actually startling her when an audible click – just one – pierces the overhead buzz of silence in the room. It only takes a 12-second pause for her to immediately gander at where the keyhole and indents are, and notice that one of them seems to have actually come undone somehow.

No luck forcing the other one open though……

The rhythmic pulse continues playing on into her fingers as the keyhole isn't quite so generous to her peeping, beats counting on the seconds when she closes her eyes and keeps her head trained on the ceiling, breathing in through the nose, and out through the mouth.

She's going to sneak this thing home with her and get driven mad by its secrets, isn't she.

Something jarring suddenly snaps him into sitting up, completely unheard of with all the laidback and procrastinating relaxing he was just getting into a second ago on this cushy chair (which was definitely not intended to be leaned back on, but it's practically shaped like him at this point now). He's searching around, hearing something almost… familiar at the edges of his vision, until he starts to dread the realization that it's coming from the inside.

His fingers tense and untense before he takes a potshot at putting a hand up to his chest, eyebrows now shooting up to the moon when he feels a faint, but not unnoticeable, beating beneath his ribcage. Deafening, as he can finally hear it again in his fingertips and the back of his mind like ripples leading from somewhere. And it was at this very moment that Soul undoubtedly, unquestionably, absolutely understood that peace had never truly been an option in his life:

Somebody found the box.

[odysseywritings]

What Would a Point and Click Adventurer Do?

@flashfictionfridayofficial

(tw cult, dark comedy)

The mysterious island, with its beautiful sparkling ocean and pink sky, held the next important item for Sierra Lucas. Shiny jewelry, strange tools, a taxidermied head, and so much more filled her endless inventory. But a missing slot was reserved for the elusive pink rat, held captive in a luxurious building with an eight pronged sigil and a capital S in-between two overlapping squares.

Sierra rapidly walked to the front, aimed her lips at the golden complex, and said "Golly, these guys aren't short on donations."

Her eyes bugged out and saw the building's security. Sierra needed to be stealthy and clever to distract the armed guards. She sifted through her inventory, saved her progress in a diary titled 'Bomb,' and hoped for the best. She was ready to chuck the bomb until the sizzle alerted the guards and she turned into Swiss cheese.

Thankfully she loaded back to before that horrible event, and went for another item, this time throwing a gem in front of the guards. The two bickered about who saw it first, became impetuously angry, and riddled the other with bullets. She quickly sauntered by and entered the building.

The interior was immaculate and large, yet the the doorways stretched out to cartoonish degrees and she felt she could see the other rooms and a staircase from how compact everything looked. The members were deathly nervous and smiled with gruesomely gummy grins while their eyes shifted like a compass. Any information from them about the pink rat was irrelevant.

"A pink rat? Why, that's the silliest thing I ever heard! Next you'll say it's behind that door there! Oh, and if you see our leader, would you tell him how good I was at lying?"

Sierra continued to browse the gawdy, Escher-esque pastel nightmare house until she saw a door labeled "Get out!" It seemed to be enough for an obedient population.

Sierra opened it and found the cult leader trying to seduce a younger follower. She didn't want to create a scene, so she pulled out her inventory again, and tried finding the subtlest way to dispatch him.

She jabbed 8 poisoned needles into him and he convulsed on the floor. Sierra smiled like a gleeful child.

"You know what they say, it's the dose that kills you, so I brought every dose just in case. Just like Dad taught me!"

Grateful for the rescue, the follower helped Sierra find the pink rat, sad and bored in its little cage as it played a tiny harmonica. Sierra briskly acquired the rat and headed off and wore the leader's clothes.

"My people, you are under new management! Leave now or I will smite and sic my lawyers on thee!"

Most fled but the higher ups chased her and wanted to silence her for seeing too much. The fake religion wouldn't stop until she was dead, and she knew they'd target her to the ends of the earth. She managed to get outside and block the door with the dead guards, but the cult heads kept banging to get out. With little to lose, she poked and prodded the rat for help.

The pink rat squeaked and raised its skinny forelegs out as if to pray. The door was sealed shut with divine rodent energy with a large rat stamp of approval. Sierra sighed in relief and kissed the rat for its help. She could continue her adventure without those duplicitous charlatans hounding her.

Yet her curiosity got the better of her and went through different saves and loads to see what would happen. She decided to throw ordinary table salt on the building and it exploded into a smoking pile of rubble.

"I had a feeling that would work! And no one important died!"

[astrobolical]

A (Hopefully) Helpful Guide to What in "Hell" is Bad?

Part 2 - My Devils, Levelling, Skills, and Artifacts

Last Updated: Nov 2, 2023

I have a mild love of documentation (okay, it’s a problem) and I find it fun— so here we go! I’ve hopefully written out most of the options you’ll encounter while playing, as I know it’s been a confusing start with the game coming out in the state that it did.

And let’s be real here, most gacha-style games can feel overwhelming at first, especially if you’re new to them overall. It happens, and with all the questions I’ve seen floating about, I wanted to maybe help someone out, as well as have some fun. Or this’ll flop, either way, still fun.

There will absolutely be things I’ve missed, or glossed over— or even gotten wrong— so feel free to ask about anything, tell me things, or correct me.

For full transparency— I have spent money on this game, but I have not “whaled” whatsoever. I wanted to test certain things, and I have a strong sense of curiousity.

Looking for another part of the game? Check out the other parts:

Part 1 - General Overview, Achievements and Contracts

Part 2 - You Are Here!

Part 3 - Chapters, Levels and Dark Sanctuary

Part 4 - Unit Types, Elements, Battle Boards & Battle Tips

Part 5 - Shop, Secret Shop, Inventory and Management

Part 6 - Secret Club (Adore), Secret Club (Unholy Board), Hell-Oh! Talk

Now, let's continue!

My Devils - General

For now, lets start with a general overview of the options you have— because there’s quite a few. We’ll delve more into levelling and upgrades soon. There’s a lot going on here, so I’ll give a brief explanation.

Information - Left Side

Name of the Devil (L-Grade devils tend to have an indicative word of the pose or version of them, as there will be multiple of them going forward)

Paraphilia - What gets that devil going

A brief explanation of who they are

The upside down crosses represent how many duplicates you’ve used to Evolve them (in this case, I’ve gotten four additional copies of Beelzebub)

Their rank and their current level

Their type— Light, fire, water, etc

Their range/style of fighting — in Beelzebub’s case he’s close range, but there’s others we’ll get to later when discussing battle

Stats — their current stats, such as attack, HP, their speed and how many enemies they are capable of blocking at once

Finally, icons that indicate their abilities— L-Grade’s have three of these, their normal attack, ultimate and a passive ability — we’ll elaborate soon

Information - Center

Floating next to the character is the artifact that’s currently equipped— if empty, the devil currently has none

The devil’s image

The first of the three square icons along the bottom, with the dripping heart, indicates the devils’ current affection/friendship level— this is raised by using them in battle (you unlock information, voice lines, comics, keys and tears through using them in battle)

The winking face will show you different expressions and voice lines as you unlock them through use

The magnifying glass will let you see their art fully, if applicable

Information - Right

In the top-right, you can use the options here to sort and choose to not show certain devil grades for ease of searching

A list of all devils you currently have, you can scroll through to see the information for each of them

A count of your devils out of all current devils available (for me 55/62)

They are ordered by rarity by default

Information - Bottom Options

Here’s where we’ll get into a lot more detail— I’m going to break these out into their own individual sections, so let’s get started!

My Devils - Raise

There’s some duplicate information on the left; so I’m not going to run through that again.

One difference, though, is that it shows you what the devil’s stats/level will become when you upgrade them.

What do you need?

All items that are required can be found along the right-hand side of the Raise screen, for levelling it’s simply Pure Gold and Crowley’s Magic Books (don’t worry if you don’t know where to get these yet!)

It shows you the Amount Required / Amount Possessed (i.e. 1,765 Pure Gold is required, and I have 769,263)

You can’t level in bulk, so be prepared to click level up as many times as you need/can— you can interrupt them while they talk, though! (I don’t suggest levelling devils like Phenix with your volume on if you’re not alone… just a warning!)

I’ve reached a milestone! What do I do?

Congrats— you’ve reached the first step of promotion! I’ll use Sitri for this example, because he’s still at level 20 for me.

To Promote a devil, it requires a bit more than just Gold and Books. Actually, it requires one of the most finite and slow resources you’ll find in WHB— Tears of Solomon!

It also requires a significant increase of Gold and Books— so you may need to do some grinding, but don’t worry I’ll tell you how soon if you don’t know. I’ll also talk about the items you find in this game further down.

You cannot continue to level until you promote your devil— and they will reach another milestone at 40, etc.

The costs will continue to raise as your devils get stronger. I highly suggest choosing a few to focus on, rather than attempting to do everyone at once.

Where do I find these items?

I'll be covering this in more detail when I reach these areas, but here's a basic breakdown.

Pure Gold - Completing levels, achievements, but primarily through Dark Sanctuary

Crowley's Books - Completing levels, achievements, but primarily through Dark Sanctuary

Tears of Solomon - Daily/Weekly Achievements, Daily Sign In Rewards, Shop, Various Mission Rewards (Look below for more details)

"Food" Item - Jellybeans, Gummies, Pudding-- you'll find all of these hidden away within the Dark Sanctuary

I seriously can’t find any Tears of Solomon?! Help?!

Don’t stress! As of the October 25, 2023 update, it’s not so bad anymore— additional ways have been added, and some limits have been upped. But here’s the main spots you’ll be finding these.

Guilty Gem Exchange House - 30 Per Day (Shop)

Pancake Exchange - 2 Per Week (Shop)

Necronomicon Exchange - 30 Per Week (Shop)

Daily Achievement - 1 Per Day

Weekly Achievement - 1 Per Week

96% “Affection” on your S-L Grade Devils - 10 per Devil

Mission Pass - 24 across various rewards

Event Shops - 30 per day (when available)

Daily Sign in - 24 over the course of 28 days

You can also get these from Solomon’s Levelup Support Pass in the shop— as it says, you get these rewards as you level up your account. There’s also a special premium reward for a price (if someone could remind me of how much this was, that’d be fantastic— I bought it after they lowered the price from the ridiculously high one they originally had).

Free Tears Rewards:

Level 10 - 5 Tears

Level 20 - 10 Tears

Level 30 - 10 Tears

Level 40 - 15 Tears

Level 50 - 20 Tears

Special Reward Pass Tears Rewards:

Level 15 - 5 Tears

Level 25 - 10 Tears

Level 35 - 10 Tears

Level 45 - 15 Tears

My Devils - Evolve

Here’s where you can put your duplicate devils to use! If you’ve gotten multiple copies of the same devil, coming to this screen will allow you to use the “Tealeaves” you get from the duplicates.

You can only Evolve a devil up to 5 times

If you've gotten a devil 6 times total-- congrats, you've maxed out their evolution

The benefits you'll unlock are listed on the lower left-hand side

Once maxed out, it will still say "Insufficient Tealeaves" even if you have them-- I'm not sure why they didn't change the UI

What if I get them a 7th time?

Easy! Excess tealeaves can be sold from your inventory-- that's coming up soon, as it's not very clear.

That’s really all there is to it!

My Devils - Skill

Hoo-boy, alright, here’s another place to use those Tears, gold, and another item we haven’t seen yet… but don’t worry, this isn’t something you need to worry about right away.

Getting skills to their third level is a good enough goal, at least when starting out.

Along the top of this screen you will see each skill a particular devil has available to it (the same you see indicated by icons on their information screen)

Tapping on one will switch your view to it, where you can view what it does, and level it up if you so choose

Most characters just have a basic attack and ultimate— but there’s some outliers

L-Grade devils also have an additional passive ability

And some odd characters, like Marbas, may only have one! (We just wheel him out and let him heal, it's fine)

But again, don’t stress about these quite yet— the game’s still new, we aren’t expected to have this all maxed out yet.

My Devils - Opinion

I won’t really dwell on this one — there isn’t much to say. Here you can find community opinions on the devil! It will tell you how many people have given their opinion, and show you the opinions on the right hand side.

You can sort them by likes (popularity) or how new they are— up to you!

Artifacts

These items you’ve gotten during your pulls in Contracts are essentially weapons for your devils— equipment that makes them stronger, and gives additional effects that can play a part during battle. Some are more useful than others, but reading what they can do is important.

Also, don’t be afraid to switch them up.

You can access your artifacts two ways— for now, we’ll focus on accessing them directly through the My Devils screen, so also explain equipping them.

How Do I Equip Artifacts?

Right beside the image of your devil, to the left of him, will be a circular icon, tap it!

If it’s empty, it will immediately take you to select from artifacts you own

You can tap on any artifacts you’re interested in to read more about them, including a brief story-like description and the artifact’s effect during battle

Below the image of the artifact, it will tell you it’s current stats— how much attack and health it’s providing to the devil you’ll equip it to

How Do I Change Artifacts?

Once you’ve equipped an artifact, it’ll show up in that same little circular icon beside them (with upside down crosses just like the devil— hint hint, they have the same mechanic)!

This time, it’ll bring up a menu that will show you your currently selected artifact, with its description, level and effect.

Below, you click the purple button labeled “Replace.” Now you’ll be taken to the same selection screen you encountered when selecting it to begin with.

How Do I Enhance Artifacts?

The same as above, you’ll want to tap on that circular icon again, and this time click the purple button labeled “Enhance.”

This will take you to a similar select screen… but there’s a big difference.

Artifacts require other artifacts, or an item called “Artifact Enhancement Stone” to level up, along with Pure Gold

Using Artifact Enhancement Stones is cheaper— it requires less Pure Gold, but chances are you won’t have all that many of them. That’s okay!

We’ll feed the artifact other ones you don’t need or want to use, unfortunately that’s just the way it is

DON’T use copies of the same artifact to level it, though!

Levelling these can be expensive— so you may need to grind some Pure Gold

Example of Cost:

For me to level a level 1 artifact to level 10, using only B-Grade artifacts as fodder, it will cost me 16,000 Pure Gold— and it only escalates from there!

How do I get Artifact Enhancement Stones?

You can get these from the shop or achievements!

They aren’t all that hard to build up, so don’t waste resources in the shop unless you absolutely feel you need to

They provide some exp, but significantly less than regular artifacts (at least from my experience)

I Can’t Level My Artifact Anymore?! - Let’s Evolve it then!

Yep, these also have milestones and caps just like devils— only it’s a lot less clearly indicated. Don’t worry if you didn’t understand what it wants from you, they don’t tell you well at all.

When an artifact is at its current max level, you need to select a copy of the same artifact to feed it. Once you do, you’ll be able to go back to levelling it until you reach the next cap, rinse and repeat!

That means, just like devils, you’ll need six copies of an artifact to “max” the evolution.

Unlike devils, though, its levelling is directly tied to it.

In Part 3, we'll cover Story and Dark Sanctuary!

[mthollowell-writes]

"Don't Let the Fruit Spoil"

The instruction was simple:

“Don’t let the fruit spoil.”

Hugo didn’t know how to interpret this when he first rented the place. The property owners were a curious bunch. When they handed him the keys, they left stacks of newspaper from seven years ago all on the kitchen floor. The walls in the bathroom were speckled in light blue paint. He noted both on the move-in inventory.

The instruction was somehow stranger than all that. It was printed on white cardstock on a square no bigger than a business card. He found it in the back of the fridge in black bold lettering.

“Don’t let the fruit spoil.”

What fruit? And why not?

Hugo emailed the property manager about it and got no response. After a few days, Hugo chucked it out with the rest of the old newspaper.

[kayawolfhorse]

Supermoon - Chapter Two | Read on Ao3

Previous / Next

— ☾ —

The storm eventually comes, dumping buckets upon the Boatem crew and completely soaking person and horse alike in a matter of seconds.

Pearl is quick to grab her mercifully waterproof cloak from her inventory, draping it across her shoulders and over part of Moon’s hindquarters, drawing the deep red hood up. Grian and Scar aren’t so prepared, both scrambling to lift shields over their heads in an attempt to block the rain. Grian soon gives up on the effort, trotting past Pearl looking positively sodden both in state of mind and being. Scar, however, manages to get a good hold on the thing, and gives Grian a wink that looks hilariously out of place beneath his makeshift cover.

“Nice hat you’ve got there, Scar!” Pearl shouts over the deafening clamor of the rain.

He grins back at Pearl in response, before his horse slipping in a particularly muddy part of the path uproots and knocks the shield over entirely. Pearl winces, and her arm twitches over to grab at Scar, despite him being a good four blocks away. Thankfully, both Scar and his steed regain balance quickly.

“Let’s maybe find some shelter?” Impulse suggests, concern in his tone, from somewhere behind Pearl.

“I’m working on it!” is Grian’s response, far ahead of the group, and moments later he stops and turns around. “Found a surface cave,” he shouts, pointing to the left of the path, “large enough for the horses, too.”

The cave’s mouth opens against the side of a steep hill, indeed tall enough to allow horse and rider to enter without trouble. Mumbo and Impulse dismount quickly and hang torches on the stony walls before mobs can spawn, and Grian ventures into the small opening that leads off of the back wall. Pearl and Scar tend to the horses, taking the bits from their mouths and tying the reins to a fallen log near the entrance.

“You think we can light a fire in here?” Scar ponders after the horses are squared away.

Mumbo turns, and looks between the shivering members with raised eyebrows. “I think we’re going to have to!”

“The ceiling’s tall enough for it.” Impulse shrugs, and sets to work building a fire in the middle of the cave. Shortly after, a small, warm campfire is alight, and the flames cast shadows that dance across the walls around them.

“Oh yeah, this is nice,” Scar says, huddling as close to the fire as he can get. Mumbo plonks down beside him, taking off the coat he’s worn in place of his usual suit jacket and wringing out his red tie.

Pearl strips off her soaked hoodie and slips her cloak back on over her tank top. “Has Grian come back yet?” she asks, after swallowing a bite of bread.

“Don’t believe he has,” Impulse says. “Should someone go get him?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” With a torch in one hand and bread in the other, Pearl starts down the long, spindly cave after Grian.

It doesn’t take too long to find him, though time always feels a bit strange underground. The narrow walls around Pearl open up into a beautiful lush cave, glowing berries ripe upon long, draping vines hanging from a mossy ceiling. Shallow clay pools line the ledge Pearl finds herself upon, the rest of the cave a way’s below. Grian sits at the edge of one of them, his knees drawn up to his chin. An arrow sticks out of his still wet sweater, but wobbles with his breathing. The puncture is shallow.

He’s completely still. Grian is always moving, always fidgeting with his hands, his feet. She takes a seat next to him.

For a second, maybe two, everything’s silent, save for the light splashing of fish and axolotls further in the ponds.

“We’ve got a fire going up top,” Pearl offers, by way of conversation. “Could go get you all nice and warmed up.”

“Hm,” is what she gets in reply. Pearl lets the syllable echo across the lonely stone walls.

Even rarer than Grian’s still moments are his quiet ones. It doesn’t take long for him to turn to Pearl, a sharp movement, and say, “You’re not worried? About any of this?” He punctuates the final word with a wide, sweeping gesture.

“Well sure I am,” Pearl manages to get out. A weak answer that doesn’t convey the mountain of worry that’s found a home upon her chest.

Grian, too, finds the response dissatisfying. “If we fail, we’re putting all of our friends in terrible danger. I don’t think either of us could live with ourselves if that happened.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t.” If anything happened to any of the hermits Pearl’s come to care about so much, she’s not sure she would ever be able to forgive herself.

“Aren’t you afraid of us failing?” Something tinged with desperation creeps into Grian’s tone, a note Pearl can’t quite identify.

Pearl’s suddenly swept up in a memory, from when she and Grian were young and their respective wings had just started growing strong enough to support their weight.

They stood together on a tree branch four blocks off the ground, Pearl’s hair in twin braids and Grian’s sweater green, instead of his signature red. Despite the impulsive nature that’d stuck with Grian since he could move on his own, he was nervous to jump.

Young Grian had asked a similar question to the one his present self proposed now. Pearl promised him that she’d jump first, and would catch him if he fell. After linking pinkies to seal the deal, Pearl extended her wings and tipped forward, letting the breeze catch her and float her gently down.

Grian jumped soon after, on his colorful macaw wings. He glided down easily, and turned to her with a grin so infectious Pearl couldn’t help but return it. She’d fallen in love with flying first, but he fell harder.

Present Pearl has no such luxury of taking the first jump, but she offers her hand out anyway. Grian looks surprised, but is quick to take it. Pearl squeezes, once, and he returns it before they both let go.

“It’s not going to be easy, but when has it ever been, aye? I think we’ll manage,” Pearl says, as much for Grian’s benefit as her own. She hopes they can manage.

“There’s more to it than that and you know it,” Grian grumps, his stress a practically palpable thing between them.

Pearl’s chest feels tight. She sighs. “I know. I want to protect them as much as you do.” She glances down at her gloves, black with a little moon stitched onto the back of each one, covering her hands partway up her fingers. “There’s nothing we can do but try, I guess. Though I can’t say I’m thrilled to have to see the Watchers again.”

This time, it’s Grian who reaches for Pearl, giving her shoulder an awkward but sweet pat and withdrawing his hand before she has time to accuse him of sentimentality.

“I’m not happy about it either. But by getting the egg, I think,” his voice betrays him, trembling around the edges, “I hope it’ll keep them properly away from the server. For good.”

Won't that be nice? Pearl can’t deny the times her antennae have twitched, sensing the presence of a gaze only she can feel at the back of her neck.

Privately, Grian’s told Pearl of the nightmares he suffers from, beneath an audience of a thousand glowing eyes.

“I hope so, too.” Pearl stands up and shakes out her cloak to dislodge any debris. “We do have a pretty nice fire going, if you’d be interested in drying off instead of sulking in a damp cave,” she teases, to Grian’s indignant denial.

Grian complains about his damp shoes as they walk back, and Pearl teases him with her waterproof boots. He lightly shoves her, and in return Pearl kicks a bit of water at him from a puddle they pass.

They rejoin their friends together, and it isn’t long until the rain stops, revealing a beautiful blue sky above the dark clouds. After a quick lunch of flasks of soup, baked potatoes, and cookies that Scar had passed around, declaring them the best on the server (which everyone secretly agreed with as they munched on them), the group was off once more, a crisp wind rustling Pearl’s hair and leaves crunching beneath Moon’s hooves.

Pearl falls into step next to Impulse, and they chat about a new farm he’s working the details out on as they watch Grian, Scar, and Mumbo in front of them, the latter two cheerfully singing Wonderwall as Grian huffs in annoyance. As they turn a corner, Pearl catches a glimpse of the side of Grian’s face, and the smile he’s trying to contain.

Further into the evening, the unmistakable hiss of a creeper interrupts the quiet chatter of the group. Pearl pivots her horse away just in time to avoid the explosion—the much-larger-than-a-normal-creeper’s explosion.

“What on Earth are charged creepers doing out here?!” Mumbo yelps as his steed canters away from another creeper—a charged one—that’s heading straight for him.

“So that’s where they went!” Scar looks thoughtful even in the chaos of swerving away from the mobs.

“Scar!” Grian yells, and levels his bow at one of the creepers, before breaking sight to run away from it when it targets him instead.

Pearl counts six charged creepers in total. How they got all the way out here, a thousand blocks away from where Scar had been collecting them, is beyond her.

“Well we can’t just leave them here!” Impulse guides his horse away from the two on him.

“Yeah, but I can’t stay still enough to aim without them catching up. Anyone have boats?” Grian asks, responded to with a chorus of noes.

“Okay, new plan. Impulse, you and Mumbo get the creepers focused on you. Pearl and Scar, bow them. I’ll help shoot and jump in distracting if needed.” Grian points between the group as he speaks. “Capeesh?”

“Aye aye, captain!” Scar gives Grian a two-fingered salute and trots up next to Pearl.

The plan works well, with only one close call when one of the creepers gets too close to Scar. Grian shoots it down quickly.

Before they continue on, Grian and Impulse, the two people with dirt on them—of all blocks, but useful in the moment—fix up the single creeper hole left behind.

“Well! That was fun,” Scar says cheerfully, and laughs when Grian scolds him with far too much amusement in his voice to be truly resentful.

The rest of the day is uneventful, save for once instance in which Scar manages to almost fall out of his saddle kicking up into a canter. How the man can be so clumsy but speak with such grace is beyond Pearl.

They stop for camp just as the sun sets, with plans for rising early the next morning. As she pitches her pale green tent, Pearl catches sight of the almost full moon, rising over the eastern horizon. Such a sight would usually bring her peace, and even now she can’t help but smile at it as if greeting an old friend, but there’s a gnawing tension in her stomach that’s hard to ignore.

After the last stake is hammered into place and her sleeping bag is set up inside, Pearl leaves her tent to join her friends around the campfire situated in the center of their little camp, this one larger than the fire they had going in the cave.

Mumbo is the only one missing, and she glances beyond the fire to see him struggling with his tent. From this angle, the trademark ‘i’ that runs up the side of Impulse’s tent looks almost like an exclamation mark hovering over Mumbo’s head. Grian sets off to help him, and the remaining three get to work stoking the fire and setting up their dinner, plus the makings for s’mores at the end of it.

One fallen log already sits near the campfire, and Pearl spots another a little way’s away, which she promptly drags over to make more seating opposite of it. Scar gives Pearl a playful round of applause, and she gives a joking flex of her arm before sitting down and grabbing the mug of apple cider Impulse offers her.

Grian and Mumbo soon return, tent finally constructed, the latter exclamiming, “redstone is easier than this!” Dinner is full of traded stories, jokes, and laughter. S’mores are assembled and a toast is made in favor of Boatem, which quickly devolves into chaos as Grian and Scar attempt to get sticky, melted marshmallow in the other’s hair.

Pearl sits next to Mumbo, a shared blanket draped across both of their shoulders to shield against the cold night, and is filled with a warmth for her friends, her family, that, just for a moment, beats out the spike of ice lodged in her chest. She’d be content to stay here forever, with the sounds of her friends’ laughter and the warmth from the drink cupped between her palms, Pearl thinks.

Eventually, with the moon shining over a dwindling fire, Pearl bids her goodnight to Scar and Grian, the other two having already retired for the night. No longer is the atmosphere loud enough to drown out her worries, and they grow louder to the quiet tune of murmured conversation and ashes crackling in the fire pit as Pearl walks back to her things.

The stars wink as Pearl zips herself into her tent. Their very twinkle seems to mock her, and Pearl tucks her head beneath her pillow in defense. The roar in her ears only increases as she falls into fitful rest, and her dreams are strange, disoriented.

They’ll get that egg, no matter what. Whatever it takes, Pearl won’t let the Watchers win.

(Reblogs do more than likes!)

[victorluvsalice]

-->And then it was back home around 10 PM! Where they were greeted by Shock, herself back from her off-lot adventures for the day. :p I had Alice give the kitty some pets while Smiler went to scavenge the trash piles she’d created from her earlier attempts to repair the turbines for parts and Victor Repairioed the remaining turbines and one busted water collector. Smiler then got put on recycling duty (recycling all the various bits of trash in everyone’s inventories, the eggs they forgot to put in the fridge, some of the muckleberries and morel mushrooms in the household inventory, and a fancy Crystal Creations square shelving unit that I apparently forgot to delete out of the household inventory earlier) while Alice serenaded Victor. This put him very much in the mood, so I sent them upstairs to have a little woo and hoo while Smiler got put back to work on making their new Servo buddy (they’re up to the torso!). I ended up ending the playsession with Victor taking a post-woohoo pee while Alice decided to mop up the puddles outside because, again, Erratic (though hilariously, it started raining again on their lot the moment she decided to do so) –

-->But, before I left the save file entirely, I took a moment to hit Manage Worlds and visit Newcrest – then popped into the Gallery and looked up Petey Plays It’s user ID. Because in-game, the gang was up to Fall Monday, aka Spookfest – and out-of-game, my next playsession fell on 7/7/2024 – aka the Valicer Anniversary! So I wanted the session to revolve around the gang having a group date – and because of the holiday, I wanted an appropriate place for them to go. So I swung by Petey’s to grab his Haunted Museum lot from the “better museums” video of his I watched a little while ago! :D I plopped it down in Newcrest and vowed to give it a bit of a spit-shine before their date (as parts of the museum felt a little empty to me) –

But that you will be seeing next update. ;) Or, well, if you want a teaser, you can always go back and look at this post. XD Either way, Spookfest Valicer Group Date next time! Hope you're looking forward to it!