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purple-plum-petals · 8 months ago

Note

Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!

⊱ Those Three Words ⊰ || Mr. Silvair X Reader

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (specifically Route End: Mr. Silver Hair 1), Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and Horror-Elements), Cultural Barriers (Mr. Silvair Doesn’t Fully Comprehend Certain Emotions). Anything spoken in the other world’s language will be bolded. Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Slight Angst, Pre-Established Romantic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~3,280 Request: “Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!” Author’s Note: Mr. Silvair!!! He’s genuinely so pretty, y’all – it’s not fair. 😔 I find his overall character to be quite fascinating, and a part of me is really hoping the game gets a DLC or something to further expand on each of the character’s lore (and more moments with the MC, of course). Like game, what do you mean that some of the monsters may have been humans while others probably never were?? I desperately need more food… I headcanon that Mr. Silvair was either 1. never human, or 2. has been in the other world for a very long time, resulting in the loss of his memory as a human which could be why he’s so interested in researching them/maintaining the MC’s humanity. 🤔 But that’s just a theory – a game theory! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated! ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

Even after everything that had happened between you and this world’s resident human-enjoyer, you surprisingly still felt at ease with Mr. Silvair. That comfortability, though, made you think hard about your sanity. After all, it probably wasn’t normal to be comfortable around someone who enjoyed taking you apart and watching your body put itself back together over and over again. Yet, you did, and you didn’t mind your current arrangement as much as you probably would have in the past.

Mr. Silvair’s home was destroyed in a fiery explosion (courtesy of himself), so you had offered to help him find a new one. You managed to locate a large room, one that he deemed satisfactory enough to call his base, and you had been staying with him indefinitely since then. As long as you had a comfy bed to lay in and someone else to keep you company, you were happy.

Your other friends(?) frequently stopped by as well to say hello, the most common ones being Mr. Crawling and Mr. Chopped. While you were occasionally hit with a feeling of loneliness, it was hard to feel that way with so many friendly faces around. Well… maybe their faces weren’t that friendly, but they were kind and gentle with you, and that’s what truly mattered.

You hear the sound of Mr. Silvair moving around in the room adjacent to the one you typically stayed in, and you wonder to yourself what his plans for today are. The tall, long-haired man spent most of his time engaged in research. You didn’t see him as frequently as one would expect despite the fact you two were practically roommates. All you could do was hope he wasn’t messing around with and subsequently angering any more terrifying, violent ghosts. You enjoyed your current home, and going out to look for another one wasn’t very high on your list of things to do.

The Rubik’s Cube in your hand was still as scattered as ever, and it seemed like, no matter how long you spent trying to solve it, you were only able to successfully complete one side. Mr. Masque was kind enough to give it to you (he apparently had a whole stash of the things somewhere), and his gift was something you were immensely grateful for. Attempting to figure out the puzzle helped you pass the time wherever you were alone (and it most likely helped you keep your head on straight).

You’re currently lying flat on your back atop the plush bed in the relatively empty living space, looking up at the gray concrete ceiling with a blank stare. Once you decide you’ve loafed around for long enough, you stand up slowly from the bed, placing the cube gently on the covers of the cot. You stretch your arms above your head, a strangled noise coming from your throat at the movement of your stiff muscles, and you begin to make your way to the other room where your…

What even was Mr. Silvair to you? While yes, you were fond of him – hell, you’d go as far as to say you loved him – you knew he didn’t feel the same. You remember the moment he told you “I not understand like”, and that he didn’t want to save you from your condition, no… he found you entertaining to keep around, and that’s why he did what he did.

It was complicated, you thought, trying to have a relationship with a being who didn’t grasp what the concept of love was. Deep down, though, you knew you wouldn’t change it for the world. He enjoyed your presence, and that was all you could ask for.

You walk over to the metal door and knock, waiting for a response. After a moment, you hear Mr. Silvair’s voice echo, “Enter.”

The door opens with a slight creak as you twist the knob, peeking your head inside the somewhat grimy space. The room, still fairly new, didn’t have as much blood or gore as his old one did. There were fresh stains on the floor and wall, you noted, and you couldn’t help but wonder who or what they were from exactly. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, though, so you didn’t bother asking.

You grin up at the taller man and give him a small wave, saying softly, “Hello. I not bother?”

He returns your smile, placing the scalpel in his hand on the stainless steel tray that held a variety of medical tools. It looked like he was in the process of cleaning the many, typically blood-stained, pieces of equipment. Mr. Silvair turns to face you and replies gently, “Hello. You not bother. Enter.”

Tilting his head to one side, his long, silver locks move when he does, cascading down his head and slipping off his shoulder at the movement. His smile drops slightly before he asks, “Feeling unwell? Injured? Need cure?”

“No, no cure.” You quickly say, not quite in the mood to be dissected or taken apart right now (honestly, though, you never really were, even if you did understand why it needed to be done). You pause by the door before finally shutting it behind you, the both of you now alone in the private and secluded space.

Ugh – why was it so hard to say what was on your mind??

After taking a moment to build up your confidence, you tell Mr. Silvair while fidgeting with the rubber of the clear raincoat you wore, “I want see you. Communicate.”

He hums and smiles at your admission, walking over to you before placing a calloused hand on your face. Your eyes close on instinct, and your breathing shutters when he rubs his thumb across your cheek. A part of you wanted to be annoyed with him since he had to be aware of the effect he had on you, yet you didn’t want to run the risk of him removing his cool palm from your skin, so you kept your mouth shut.

It had taken quite some time for Mr. Silvair to get to this point of physical affection with you (something he began doing more often after he saw how much you enjoyed getting head-pats from Mr. Crawling), so you didn’t want to ruin any progress you two had made in your complicated and unconventional relationship.

“Okay,” Mr. Silvar starts, removing his hand from your face as he gestures to one of the two chairs in the room. He smiles down at you before saying, “Sit. We communicate.”

You do as you’re told without speaking another word, your hands folded in your lap after you sit down, watching Mr. Silvair take a seat on the chair across from you. You talk with him for quite some time, doing your best to update him on your current progress with the puzzle since that was pretty much the only thing you had going on in your life. While it wasn’t satisfying to speak in the other world’s language because it tended to miss most of the nuances of speech, it was the only way the two of you could communicate.

Mr. Silvair seemed to pick up on your frustration, seeing you were growing annoyed at the lack of words in your arsenal – the term you were looking for wasn't coming to mind. In response, he tilts his head to the side and asks you, “You upset. Why?”

“Not right words.” You reply, brows furrowed when you look up at him, your gaze landing on the bloody bandages wrapped around his eyes. You turn your head to look down at the floor, the somewhat fresh pool of blood perfectly matching the color of the Rubik’s Cube. You point to the puddle and turn to ask Mr. Silvair, “What’s this called in your language? Can you tell me how to say this color?”

“Blood.” Mr. Silvair responds, not understanding what you wanted him to explain.

“No, no.” You quickly reply, shaking your head. You continue to glance between him and the blood, enunciating your words even though he didn’t understand your language the same way you were able to understand his. You didn’t back down or give up, though, saying again, “The color – I want to know what color blood is.”

He pauses, one hand under his chin as he seemingly takes a moment to figure out what you are asking him. After a few beats, Mr. Silvair replies with a word you haven’t heard anyone speak before, “???”

You visibly brighten at the new word, and the expression on your face causes Mr. Silvair to let out a light chuckle before he crosses one of his legs over the other. You take a breath before telling him, “Okay. Thank you.”

After another pause, you continue to speak, “So… One part object done, red part. Other parts hard – not finish.”

Mr. Silvair had been leaning forward in his chair, his elbow digging into his knee while his hand rested under his chin, holding his head up as he stared at you with an unwavering gaze. He always listened to you with rapt interest, and you would be lying if you said the constant attention didn’t make your heart stutter in your chest. However, he suddenly speaks, pointing to the pool of blood you had been gesturing toward moments before, “What you call that?”

“Huh?” You ask, pausing your story to look at him. Mr. Silvair doesn’t say anything else, though, giving you a moment to comprehend what he has asked you. You perk up when your brain finally registers what Mr. Silvair had said, replying to him happily, “Oh, that’s the color red. So, blood is typically red – blood red.”

“R-ehd?” He echos, and the sound of his voice speaking a word that you were able to understand without having to flip through your mental dictionary had your breath hitching. It sounded so strange but so nice coming from his lips.

“Yeah, red! Blood is red!” You say, sounding excited and oh-so happy. Mr. Silvair would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t find the look on your face and the tone of your voice endearing. Then, your expression shifts slightly as you lean forward in your chair, saying enthusiastically, “Oh my god – I just got an idea! Me teach you me language!”

“...You language?” Mr. Silvair asks after a moment, shifting in his seat slightly.

“Yes! Me teach you!” You reply, gesturing to both him and you with your hands. Your mind remembers the way Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped helped you shortly after you first arrived, teaching you directions to walk, facial expressions, and more. They had helped you expand your knowledge of this world’s language, and they were probably responsible for your survival in so many of those early interactions. So, you smile at him as you say, “We same.”

He returns a smile, nodding his head and replying with a simple, “Okay.”

“Alright, so, let me think here…” You hum to yourself, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes while you consider what you should start with. Body parts seemed to be the first thing that popped into your head, so that’s eventually what you decided to start with. Sitting up in the chair, you point toward your hand with the other, tapping a finger to your palm as you speak, “Okay, so, this is my hand – hand. Can you say hand?”

It was kind of cute, strangely enough, seeing Mr. Slivair take the time to repeat the word you spoke over and over in his mind, trying to match the movement of your mouth with his own. Your languages were quite different in sounds, syllables, and the like, so he was practicing what to say before actually speaking. After a few moments of contemplation, he replies, “...H-ah-nd.”

“Hey, that was pretty good! Not bad for your first try, Mr. Silvair, even if the pronunciation is a bit off.” You say with a wide smile, clapping your hands together as you applaud him on his efforts. He chuckles again, finding your way of teaching to be… sweet.

Then, you speak again, once again grabbing his attention. You tap the pad of your finger under the skin of your eye, asking him, “Do you remember what this is called? I think I’ve told you before.”

Mr. Silvair is quicker in his response this time, having heard you ask him about his own eyes before as he smoothly says, “Eye.”

“Yes! Good job!” You praise once more, giving him a thumbs up in response. Then, he stands up from his seat, walking over to you while his once-white lab coat flows behind him. You crane your head back to look up at him from where you were still sitting, a simple and stupid, “...Huh?” leaving your mouth.

Mr. Silvair reaches a hand to your face, cupping your chin gently in his hand. You feel his thumb resting on your bottom lip, and he begins to move his finger back and forth along the slightly chapped flesh, tugging at it slightly. He tilts his head to the side, asking you seriously, “What this called?”

“Oh, uh…” You know your face is probably flushed beyond belief at this point if the heat cascading through your head is anything to go by, and your mind and heart are completely caught off-guard by his sudden touch and question. You avert your gaze to the side, swallowing harshly before you finally reply, “They’re my lips – they’re, umm… similar to mouth. Lips, mouth, same.”

“...Lips?” Mr. Silvair asks again for clarification, his voice having an almost husky tone to it that has a shiver travel down your spine.

You nod in response, muttering a barely audible, “Yes…”

Mr. Silvair hums at your response, a small smile gracing his lips. He leans down, face so close to yours, before he inquires with an almost teasing tone to his voice, “You want touch?”

“Y-Yes.” You answer at an almost embarrassingly fast speed.

The man who you had grown so fond of chuckles at your enthusiasm before leaning forward, pressing his lips softly to yours while he holds your face between his palms. Kisses weren’t a common thing between the two of you, and they were really only something Mr. Silvair initiated when he felt like it. You could feel the intensity at which your heart was beasting due to his sudden affections, and there was a part of you that was worried it would burst out of your chest right then and there.

Your eyes flutter shut and you tilt your head to the side, your hands coming up to rest atop his – his hands that were holding your cheeks so, so gently. It was almost sickening the way he was holding you like you could break at any moment.

Then, almost as quickly as it began, the kiss ended before you even realized it did. Mr. Silvair’s forehead was now pressed against yours, and he doesn’t make any move to remove his hands from your face. Your lips were no longer touching, and yet he still lingered.

Mr. Silvair didn’t play fair, you thought, yet you couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to kiss you so suddenly, so randomly. You close your eyes and your brows furrow at the tightening in your throat, an aching sensation slowly spreading throughout your chest like a disease before you whisper, “...I love you.”

There’s a silence, a stretch of nothingness before Mr. Silvair suddenly asks you, his voice just as soft as yours had been, “Repeat?”

“...No,” Your response is nearly immediate, and you shake your head before repeating once more, “Nothing.”

“...I love you.” The sound of those three words leaving his lips nearly causes your mind to implode. It sounded so sweet, yet it also felt worse than any suffering you had experienced before. The searing and excruciating pain, the feeling of a blade digging itself into the flesh of your torso couldn’t compare to the deep-seated torment you felt right now.

Mr. Silvair hums, tilting his head to the side as his thumbs continue to caress your cheeks, “What mean?”

You knew there was no point, no reason to try and explain your feelings again, but you do. You still do, even though you know it’s pointless to try. You can’t bring yourself to look at him as you speak, finding the concrete floor more interesting, “Mean… mean me like you. Lot like.”

There’s a pause, a moment of contemplation before Mr. Silvair says, “...Not understand.”

“I know.” You reply, nodding your head once in response.

“You know?” He asks you, sounding somewhat confused, a tone you very rarely heard from the man. Had he forgotten that moment that you couldn’t seem to forget, the memory that you continuously found replaying in your mind like a broken record? It wasn’t fair, you thought, that only you were forced to hold onto such a painful memory.

“You communicate before.” You clarify, finally willing yourself to look at his face. Mr. Silvair’s expression was tight, his lips drawn into a flat line.

You needed to get away, to just run from this moment in the hopes he would forget the whole exchange just as he apparently did the last one. You take your hands and grab his wrists, removing his palms from your face before you stand up from the chair. You refuse to look at him as you turn, heading to the door as you utter, “...I’m going to go for a walk, so I’ll be back later. Goodbye.”

Then, you feel something tug at the sleeve of your raincoat. It wasn’t strong, nothing that would actually stop you from moving, but your legs proceeded to hault at the small action. Mr. Silvair says, his tone not demanding in the slightest – if anything, it sounded like a plea as he speaks, “No exit.”

You take a deep breath and turn around to face him, asking in such a small voice that it even caught yourself off-guard, “...Why?”

“I want you here.” Mr. Silvair responds quickly, so quickly it seems to have taken both of you by surprise. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he asks, finally releasing the material of your jacket from in between his fingers, “Stay… Will you stay?”

You once again find yourself wondering if Mr. Silvair was aware of the effect he had on you as a sigh leaves your mouth. You nod your head lightly and reply, “I will stay.”

“Good.” He says in response, a gentle smile on his face as he says for the second time, “I love you.”

You frown at him and shake your head, saying with a slight edge of frustration in your voice, “No speak. Not true.”

“True… Believe true.” He says quickly, reaching out to once again place a hand against your cheek. You don’t move, don’t flinch away from his touch – you still relish the way he’s holding you like a fragile piece of glass. Mr. Silvair’s brows are furrowed ever so slightly as he mutters, “Confused.”

“You’re telling me… How do you think I feel?” You say with a huff, your hand holding into his as you find yourself nuzzling your nose into his palm. The painful feeling in your chest was still present, but it wasn’t nearly as excruciating as it had been now. You find it in yourself to smile, gazing up at him as you speak, “...but we’ll get through it together – we together. Right?”

“To-geh-ther…” He repeats, leaning down to press his forehead to yours once more as he says softly, “Yes.”

#🌸 . plum writes #💌 . anon #homicipher #文字化化 #homicipher x reader #homicipher x you #mr silvair #mr silvair x reader #mr silvair x you #homicipher imagines #homicipher drabbles #imagines #drabble #one shot #fluff #x reader #reader insert

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mandalhoerian · 4 months ago

Text

(2) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

Eight years ago, during the worst summer festival of your life, you cross paths with a certain seal for the first time.

genre: fluff, comedy | wc: 4K | read on ao3

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note: YES, THIS IS A SERIES! I hope you'll bear with me as I'm not actively editing/proofreading my writing and am going with the flow for the most part. Rafayel will also stay as a seal in the next chapter which centers around how he came to be smitten with the reader, so PLEASE PLEASE HANG TIGHT WE'RE GETTING THERE. I hope you enjoy!!!!

Ah, sweet summer festival. You're fifteen.

The entire archipelago is in motion tonight — a grand spectacle brought to life in the unofficial capital Salverna, which is also where you were born and raised, by throngs of locals with visitors pouring in from the mainland for an evening of festivities. Decorated boats crawl like jeweled beetles across the bay beneath a moonbeam sky, torches flickering like amber blossoms amidst colorful lanterns suspended overhead, painting faces in warm splashes of light. Instruments are tuned to perfect pitch, ready to launch into jigs and reels once revelers spill into dancing rings. Children sprint around bonfires with cheeks flushed by sugar, laughter ringing like silver bells in the breeze. Farther along, games fill the streets — prizes stuffed inside balloons perched precariously atop slender sticks, targets waiting to be pierced by dart tips, bobbing heads eager for coins — competing for attention with the delectable aroma of spiced sausage, roasted meat, skewers, sticky cinnamon treats, and fresh fruit piled high for sampling. Even the night's salty breath tastes like sunshine, and despite everything feeling faintly familiar, somehow still manages to seem entirely fresh.

If only you'd been there from the beginning.

No, you were here. The whole day.

At the docks, which is the farthest away from the main event.

Hauling seafood and chasing down lost tourists like some unpaid festival guide.

The family ferry business consisting of multiple vessels is the only one making direct trips between the mainland and the archipelago. Usually, things run smoothly — your parents know this route like the back of their hands, and during normal weeks, the boats run on a fairly consistent schedule with only the occasional minor detour to accommodate delayed travelers. Renting smaller boats out to tourists helps maintain some steady income for maintenance expenses during quieter months, although the real money comes from transporting passengers year-round.

But big events like this summer festival change everything. The mainland port is overflowing with people packed like sardines in a tin, and everyone scrambles for transport space like sharks smelling blood. It's impossible to accommodate every arrival simultaneously, even though Dad doubled the ferry service to operate nearly nonstop — one boat shuttling incoming guests while its twin carries locals back and forth between islands, and even then it isn't enough. People are forced to wait hours for passage, which inevitably leads to chaos erupting.

And the locals ferry doesn't just transport passengers. It hauls festival supplies — crates of seasonal produce shipped to the islands via mainland distributors, stacks upon stacks of boxes labeled FRAGILE in thick black marker, paper fans for the parade, props for the pageant, a seemingly endless list of necessary items for the vendors, bands, food stands, street performers, the barrels of festival cider rolling onto the deck, stacks of pastries needing careful hands to avoid toppling, baskets of flowers meant for decorating stalls that nearly got crushed in the shuffle — you name it — the list of deliveries keeps growing by the hour. And no one has extra hands to spare to deliver all this cargo to its final destinations.

Well, actually, one person does. Namely, you.

It started small. Mom catching you right as you tried to slip away this morning, asking to help with boarding real quick, and if you could take some packages along the way... It was easy to agree, at first — help a few elderly tourists steady themselves as they stepped from the ferry, answer questions from confused festival-goers trying to navigate between islands, toss a sack or two over your shoulder for the vendor working nearby. But an hour later, you were hauling half a crate uphill when one of the wheels broke loose, scattering fireworks across cobblestones in glittering disarray, leaving you running through town chasing them all down under curious gazes of the locals who saw the explosion...

And the moment the ferry docked, suddenly it was all hands on deck. One trip in, another out. Then, next thing you knew, you were the one handling tickets and guiding stragglers toward their destination, organizing groups, shouting helpful tips about what to avoid and what not to eat so you are not about to have people get sick on board and clean off their vomit, answering questions about local attractions and restaurant specialties, calling out to Dad who drove the ferry like it was child's play, warning the older folks and kids not to fall off because the last thing your family really needs is to be sued by someone stupid falling overboard...

And the entire time, you were in the dress you'd picked out specifically for the occasion. Thinking one more trip, and you could finally join your friends in the festivities...

A whole shift later, there are no celebrations awaiting you. No bonfire parties with the music so loud and joyous you could feel it thrumming through the ground, no crowded bars filled to bursting with cheerful singing and dancing, no raffle stalls offering chances to win souvenirs and free meals for years, no fireworks bursting across the night sky so brilliant they chased away the darkness.

Just you with your dress ruined and ripped because someone couldn't watch where they were going while drunk and collided straight into you and left you soaked in cheap beer, and the hem of it torn apart from you desperately trying to fix your mistake after misplacing the boxes of merch you were supposed to haul, again. Your friends probably already enjoying every aspect of the event, laughing their asses off in pure delight without caring for what you missed or had endured all day, knowing you were supposed to arrive with them to witness the greatest part of the summer celebration together.

With angry tears gathering at the inner corners of your eyes, you let the bags drop onto the dock with a harsh thump, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Maybe you're expecting an argument. Maybe you want to pick a fight because the frustration had been stewing ever since you woke up today and demanded release. Or maybe you hope your father would give you permission to go enjoy your own life, rather than force you to suffer his. But none of those comes to pass. Instead, he merely glances up with a tired look, holding your resentful stare before sighing heavily and scrubbing his face wearily with calloused, wrinkled hands.

“You said it would be quick,” you snap, voice shaking. “You said I could go like hours ago. The day is over!"

You choke back the wobble in your tone, biting harshly into your lower lip, hoping it'll prevent tears from leaking out even though it hardly hurts enough to distract you.

"Look, we're in the middle of peak season..."

"Which means peak profit for our business! Couldn't you have just hired someone extra to fill in?! Why did it have to be me?!"

"No other staff is available on such a short notice, especially during a big event." Dad shrugs weakly in apology, the gesture lacking any defensiveness or remorse. He looks drained, exhausted. And still, his priorities remain firmly fixed elsewhere. "Sorry, honey. Next week I'm hiring additional staff permanently, but for now — just one more hour, okay? You know we don't extend our services after the night falls and that's why—"

“No!” The frustration spills over before you can swallow it down. “It’s never ‘just a little longer.’ It’s always one more trip, one more errand, one more thing! I’m always the one stuck here!”

Dad frowns and straightens his spine slowly like a looming anime villain, wiping sweat from his brow. "Don't raise your tone on me like that, I'm not one of your little friends. This is nothing. When you become captain, you'll have to endure far more work."

"I did everything you ask and suddenly my tone is the issue?!" You gesture wildly at your ruined dress, at the damp stains and torn fabric clinging to your skin. “Look at me! I was supposed to be there with everyone else, and now I can’t even show up like this—”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Dad's voice turns sharp, exasperated. “It’s just a dress.”

"And now everyone probably hates me because I've skipped yet another celebration and ghosted them!" you huff and puff like an enraged bull despite his interruption.

"What's going on?" Mom hurries over from the harbor shop, stepping between you and your father before tempers flare even further. She takes in the scene at a glance and sighs deeply — though whether out of disappointment or irritation, you can't tell — carefully setting aside several stacks of receipts. "Are you two seriously bickering about nonsense when you should both be working?"

“I’m not being dramatic! I’m sick of this!” You throw your hands into the cold, humid sea breeze as though casting your complaints upon the tides, unable to keep the tremble from your fingers or the tears from streaking down your face. Hot drops patter against the faded wood planks beneath your feet. "“I work just as hard as you do, I never say no, but the second I want something for myself—"

Mom immediately gets what's going on, and alerts you to lower your voice by pointedly widening her eyes and thinning her lips. The entire dock is witnessing the argument and turning their heads to listen in at this point, but you don't care. Everybody should hear about this injustice.

"Yes, honey, I know," Mom hisses, "And we appreciate how hard you're trying, believe me. But — just one more trip, alright? Your friends will wait a bit longer for you, won’t they? Don't forget this isn't just about you. The archipelago depends on us running our business steadily and reliably."

And there it is. That unspoken expectation, that quiet assumption that you’ll always choose responsibility over what you want. That you’ll always understand.

Your throat tightens, choking back the bitterness burning in the pit of your stomach, and for a long moment, neither you nor your mom break the silence, and her stare remains fixed somewhere above your shoulder. Only Dad says anything, grunting a vague affirmative that tells you nothing more than your mother did; work must come first, whatever personal sacrifice must be made for that to happen.

You step back. “Forget it.”

“Honey—”

“I said forget it!”

You're running hot and cold, the rush of blood in your ears don't let your parents' protests in as you rush into the only place where you can be alone right now, the ticket counter cabin with the "CLOSED" sign on it, slamming the door shut behind you loudly and letting the cool glass barrier isolate you from the rest of reality. It's just you inside. There's a desk, empty paperwork piled neatly at the corner, a cash register. An old computer screen covered by dust. Shelves crammed with stacked-up folders and manuals. A window overlooking the harbor. This is also the place to leave your belongings at before clocking into work, just beside the locker of where the attendant usually leaves theirs.

On a whim, you snatch up your jacket and backpack before fleeing out into the crowd again. It's so easy to lose your parents along the wharf because of the teeming masses.

Your phone is buzzing rapidly in your bag with Dad and Mom both probably threatening to drag you back by your ear, so you take it out and switch to airplane mode before tossing it back in with a grimace. You're not allowed to be out this late without supervision (much less sneaking away from work), but right now, there's not an adult in existence that could compel you to walk willingly back into this mess. Screw it. Being grounded for life isn't any worse than being imprisoned on this stupid island forever anyway, you think, huffing quietly in protest as you stomp down the street. Besides, if worst comes to worst, you can spend some time with Aunt Leen. At least she wouldn't judge.

The festival feels a million miles away. You can’t go there, not in this state, stains everywhere, smelling like fish and sweat and regret, dress ripped apart. So, instead, you end up wandering along the rocky beach near the outer edge of town, in parallel to the protected seal rookery islet offshore and well beyond the boundaries of the town proper. The bright, swirling glow of the firework display across the water glints in the dark, mingling with distant stars and overshadowing the full moon, reflecting off rippling waters like flickering embers dancing across a glossy obsidian surface. The waves roll gently across sand and stone in soothing rhythmic whispers whooshes that pull you onward through the night like invisible ribbons drawing you back into the present.

This was always your favorite place as a child — wild and beautiful. An unclaimed stretch of wilderness stretching beyond the public access point, filled with coves and tide pools that felt like hidden kingdoms tucked away from the rest of the world. Here, among the jagged rocks, washed smooth by centuries of ebbing currents, you sit on one flat boulder, bare feet lapped at by the high tide and shoes by your side, frustrated tears dropping into the sea, staring absently off towards the seal islet floating peacefully in the distance.

You remember trying to swim out there years ago, despite having been strictly forbidden from venturing close to not disturb them. What would it be like, to be out in the open sea instead of tied to this isolated little community? To see something other than the same faces, places, and names repeated ad nauseam for all eternity, as though nothing changed no matter how many seasons passed? What would it take to break free?

"Ugh!" The sound bursts free before you can clamp your jaw shut, a ragged groan against clenched teeth as your palms scrub fiercely across your damp, salty cheeks.

Before you can start ranting into the night like a madman, your turmoil is shattered by a sudden, piercing cry like metal scraping stone ripping through your tangled thoughts. Your head jerks upward, pulse quickening into a painful drum-beat. Something is terribly off. Someone's hurt, panicking—or worse—maybe drowning?

But where?

You blink frantically, scanning the surrounding coastline, but the thick curtain of night refuses to offer clues. So you rely on your ears and follow the keening through the beach, stumbling hastily across damp sand, uneven rocks and slippery seaweed patches alike, nearly slipping on slimy barnacles embedded in the crevices between each massive stone and fighting hard to balance every step, all the while ignoring the scrapes accumulating on your soles from sharp pebbles digging into tender flesh and flaring in protest at every bit of impact.

Then, unmistakably—

A high-pitched, squealing shriek erupts out of the ocean — like the frantic deflating of a balloon twisting violently apart in midair.

Your stomach drops. The sound is frantic, terrified. Unmistakably animal.

And it's coming directly from the water.

At last, you spot the source of the commotion — about fifty feet offshore, just beyond a tangle of blackened driftwood clogging the shallows: Moonlight catches on slick, gray fur, the seal’s body bobbing helplessly, its hysteric movements hampered by the thick snare of a fishing net and heavy with debris, the tangled mess constricts tight, dragging it downward each time it fights to resurface.

Seals can drown. You know that much. You’ve heard Elias muttering to Dad, thick with disgust, after cutting loose yet another pup ensnared by abandoned traps — relics of poachers who refuse to acknowledge sealing was banned around here nearly thirty years ago.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

Your mind stutters, paralyzed for a breathless instant. What do I do? What do I do?

There’s no time to think.

You’re moving before reason catches up, scrambling over slick, uneven rocks as brine stings the scrapes blooming across your bare feet. Your pulse slams against your ribs. In one frantic motion, you strip off your windbreaker, fling your bag aside, and plunge into the waves without hesitation. Salt explodes in a cool rush over your skin as you kick off from the seafloor, paddling hard, muscles burning with every stroke.

Next thing you know, your arms are locked tight around the drowning seal, grappling to haul it toward shore as it thrashes wildly, overwrought beyond reason and twisting all it can to land a blow with brutal strength you wouldn't expect from a round and inflexible body like that. Flippers beat against your chest, claws scrape at your arms, and its ragged cries tear through the night like something feral and furious. It doesn’t understand you’re trying to help — it only knows fear.

Somehow, impossibly, you make it.

Every muscle in your body screams in protest as you drag the tangled pup onto the shore, collapsing beside it in a gasping sprawl, limbs weak and trembling. Your lungs gulp down air that tastes like victory, the sweetest breath you've ever taken.

And then—

The seal’s shrieks reach a fevered pitch. It flails vigorously, flinging itself against the unyielding net, snapping, fighting, tearing at the fibers with blind desperation.

That’s when you see it.

The moon-desaturated dark liquid pooling beneath its body, sinking into the wet sand in sluggish tendrils.

Blood.

"No! Stop that, stop!"

You scramble upright, stomach at your throat, hands grabbing frantically at the writhing seal to keep it from thrashing itself into worse injury.

"Hey, hey — settle down! Stop moving — please! You're making it worse!"

It doesn’t listen. It fights harder.

Panic and instinct are what fuels its every move, and the more you hold on, the more fiercely it resists, wails cutting straight to the center of your chest, high and desperate, feeding your own fear in a vicious cycle. Its pulse is hammering beneath your hands, a wild, terrified beating of a bird's wings matching your own as its breaths come fast, erratic, interrupted by harsh snorts and shuddering yelps. The pup is almost one singular muscle beneath your grip, trembling and taut with the primal need to flee.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," you chant, the words spilling out in a frantic loop, cracking under the weight of utter desperation of not knowing what to do even as you're repeating you're there to helo. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just let me help — please — fuck, what do I do — ow!"

Pain explodes up your right forearm before the scream even leaves your throat.

Teeth. Deep. Sinking into muscle like fire.

Your body jolts with the instinct to yank away, but you don’t. You can’t. One wrong move and you’ll scare it even more, maybe make it clamp down harder. Tears blur your vision, breath coming in ragged gasps as you bite your own molars together, forcing yourself to go still.

And then — so does the seal.

The aggressive lashing out ceases, replaced by eerie, frozen silence. Its nostrils flare against your skin, warm breath feathering across the bite, making the hairs on your arm stand on end. Your pulse pounds between your teeth, the sting of the wound dulling under the weight of something more pressing — its eyes.

Two inky pools, round and bottomless, reflecting your fractured likeness like tiny mirrors.

"Please," you whisper, shaky, but soft. "I just want to help. You're safe. I won’t hurt you."

The grip on your arm doesn't tighten. Doesn't loosen. The only thing left between you is the weight of your words and the fragile, fragile stillness.

"Let me go," you murmur, swallowing hard. "And we’ll fix this. Okay?"

There's a pause, a single, terrifying moment suspended in time. Then, the seal's jaws relax, and he releases his painful grip on your throbbing arm, and as quickly as the assault began, it ends. Blood rushes forth in a thin rivulet down your wrist and between your fingers. It doesn't really hurt, not compared to the dull ache in the rest of your exhausted body, and the relief that washes over you is so profound that you're momentarily dizzy from it. And yet... The fact that the seal has calmed down means everything.

"It's okay, it’s okay, don't worry about it," you say hurriedly, intended for yourself more than anything so you wouldn't freak out about it. "You were scared, that's all. It's not your fault."

But the pup isn’t looking at the net.

Its gaze is locked onto your arm, the blood pooling at the wound, round, ink-dark eyes impossibly wider, focused in a way that makes something in your chest tighten.

You stare at him, and for a fleeting, impossible second, it feels like he understands. Like he knows what he did. Awe prickles through you, pushing aside the pain, the exhaustion, everything.

Seals are intelligent — you’ve always known that — but this is so magical to experience how emotionally aware they are.

"Hey. Hey, I’m fine, buddy," you insist. "Look at me, look. I'm good, it’s just a scratch. Let's focus on getting that net off, yeah? Can't have you swimming away in that state. You’ll drown."

As you lean in to inspect, the pup shies away initially, clearly wary and distrustful, but eventually allows you to examine the tangled mess of knots and lines ensnaring his sleek, streamlined figure. The heavy, dense debris he's wrapped in like a blanket is making it impossible to unravel anything, and the more you try to remove it, the tighter the bindings grow. Your injured arm is growing numb, which is probably not a good sign, but there's no time to dwell on that now.

Frustrated and increasingly anxious, you search frantically for something in your backpack to use as scissors or a knife, but the jerky movements make the pup tense up, its tail slapping nervously in the sand, and you have to take several calming breaths to prevent scaring him further.

"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you. I'll be gentler," you promise in a rush. "Just bear with me, okay?"

All you can find is your nail clippers, but they'll have to suffice. With painstaking care, you snip away at the individual strands binding the pup's limbs together, pausing every few moments to reassure him that everything is alright, that it will survive and go back to the rookery islet. Its fur is wet and matted with blood beneath the ropes, and the sight sends a fresh surge of anger through your veins at the thought of whoever abandoned such a careless trap in the ocean.

"Almost got it, buddy, almost, you're doing great," you sniffle, working steadily to free its front flippers. They're the most delicate and prone to injuries, according to Elias. "One last cut and..."

With a soft pop, the final strand gives way and the net falls loose, the release of pressure causing the seal to scramble sideways and flop awkwardly onto his belly in a clumsy roll. It lies there motionless for a brief second before letting out a piercing, mournful wail that stabs at the pit of your stomach.

You drop your tool and fall to your knees beside him, hands hovering uncertainly over its body. You don't dare touch, afraid of hurting it further. In a burst of energy, the pup pushes itself upright, body wiggling and coiling to propel it forward in a frantic dash towards the safety of the sea. You watch helplessly, unable to move or think or react in any way, until it pauses halfway to the shoreline and glances back at you, a low whine emanating from his throat.

"Go on, get out of here," you urge him, waving it onward. "Stay safe and take care of yourself, alright? You've had enough close calls today." A pang of dread hits you, realizing how much danger the pup was already in and how lucky it had been that you happened to be nearby to save it from a terrible fate. But now, all you can do is let it return to its natural environment. "Be free, cutie," you say quietly. "Live well and happy. You deserve better than this."

The pup hesitates, still watching you with those soulful, inscrutable black eyes. Then, in an act that leaves you speechless, it turns and galumphs back to your side, lowering its head and nudging its muzzle against the bleeding gash on your forearm. When it pulls away, his whiskers are slick with red, and a strange sense of gratitude overwhelms you.

"Oh, you angel," you manage, a lump forming in your throat. The urge to viciously pet his head is strong, but this isn’t a cat or a dog. Your arm really might get bitten off from the elbow socket. "Now scram. I'm sure your mama is worried about you."

This time, the seal does as instructed. It slides gracefully down the sandy slope and slips into the waves, vanishing from view in an instant. Only a small trail of blood remains, mingling with the foam and seawater that wash over the shore, evidence of the ordeal endured by this remarkable creature wiped away in an instant by the protective hands of the sea.

The shock of it all, of the stress and adrenaline, finally catches up to you and you collapse backwards in the sand, the pain in your arm flaring once again and only now feeling the cuts on the bottom of your feet.

Shaken to your bones in a way you can’t quite name, your fingers fumble to switch off airplane mode before you even realize what you’re doing. The moment the call connects, you’re babbling into the phone, voice thick with tears, words tangled and frantic. Mom struggles to make sense of you, but it doesn’t take long for her to find you — half an hour later, sprawled on the ground, your windbreaker haphazardly draped over your shoulders, backpack wedged beneath your head. The gash on your arm is wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet, one of your old bandanas knotted tightly around the wound.

If Dad’s ferry hadn’t been stuck in the harbor, he would’ve been here too. No doubt about it.

You get an earful the moment she kneels beside you. Irresponsible. Reckless. Running off without telling anyone. Dad would’ve had a heart attack if things had gone any worse. Yes, yes, yes. You let her words wash over you, nodding at the right moments, too drained to do anything else. Her hugs and kisses make up plenty for it.

Neither of you bring up the fight. Neither of you need to. Some things are easier left unspoken.

She doesn’t mention the festival, either. But you both know what kind of rumors will be swirling by morning.

For now, you're taken to the local clinic and given a rabies and a tetanus shot, and a lecture from the nurse who treated you, warning you to never approach a wild animal again because the next time, you might not be as lucky.

#love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel fluff #rafayel #lads rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x you #l&ds rafayel x reader #lnds rafayel x reader #lads rafayel #l&ds rafayel #lnds rafayel #lads #lnds #l&ds

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meowstri · 8 months ago

Text

you could wipe my mind, i'd still be stuck on you

tags: peter parker x fem!reader, tooth-rotting fluff, college/university au, lots of sarcasm, 1k words synopsis: while going out shopping to buy snacks for movie night, your bf, peter parker, tries to convince to you to let him get a new video game. chaos ensues. a/n: wow hey welcome to my first fic posted on here... sorry if this seems rushed haha. tysm @103rafes for helping me with the ending, ily man. reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!! title is from stuck on you by grentperez

"alright, i think we've got everything!" your eyes scanned through the various assortment of junk food in the grocery cart. "movie night is gonna be awe-" You turned to face your bf only to find no one standing near you. "ugh... where is that idiot?"

walking around the store, you find your boyfriend of 1 year, peter parker, in the electronics section. of course he was. you thought, he probably even forgot what they were at the store for.

he was staring intently at the newest spider-man video game. Spider-Man 2, it had came out just last month and everyone was going crazy over it. he had a scrunched up look on his face, studying the cover of the game in the clear display case.

as you walked up to him, his senses picked up on your location and he turned his head around, quickly glancing at you before turning his head back towards the display case. "i still can't believe they make video games of me. they really captured my likeness" he let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "i am so going to get this."

rolling your eyes, you sighed. "no we're not mister. c'mon its time to go home." you tugged on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, but Peter still didn't move an inch.

"please y/n... ned has the game! so does everyone we know!"

"why don't you just go over to ned's house and play it?" you suggested, rolling your eyes once again. "yeah, keep rolling your eyes. it'll be stuck like that soon enough." he huffed with a pout. "if you let me get it i'll let you pick the movie tonight. i know you love those cheesy hallmark movies..." peter said in a sing-songy voice. he leaned in to give you a small peck on the cheek and looked at you with his chocolate puppy-dog eyes.

"your silly antics don't work on me." you can't help but let out a giggle as buried his face into your neck and kissing every expanse of skin on it. peter wrapped his arms around your waist hugging you close. "but no. out of the both of us, you're the worst at managing your spendings and we need the money."

he hummed. "but mr. stark gave me my paycheck on monday, its more than enough to buy the game and put away some of it in our savings..."

"you mean your allowance?"

"hey! i may not be an avenger, but i still work for one of the richest people in america" he laughed, messing up your hair. "so... can i still get it?"

you hesitated for a moment, doing some calculations in your head. the two of you lived together in a dingy apartment and did extra jobs on the side to keep the both of them afloat. you knew peter worked hard a lot, trying to keep his grades up while maintaining his life as the city's spider-man so maybe he did deserve something nice for himself.

the corners of your mouth lifted in a small smile. "well..."

—

“did you see that! i beat his ass so hard.” your bf laughed. you watched intently at the screen trying to decipher what was going on but all you could see were bright flashes of colour.

“you already beat ass in real life. don’t understand why you need to buy this game just to play a virtual version of yourself.” you said jokingly while eating from the bowls of chips and candy you bought earlier that day. you grimaced as you peter took a large handful of m&ms and popcorn, shoving them into his mouth.

“true, but this is more fun.” he said between mouthfuls. “plus i don’t get hurt.” he gave you a dorky little grin.

well there was no denying that, you thought as you smiled back. as much as peter tried to argue, you insisted on paying for the game as a gift. just seeing peter smile over some silly game made you fall in love with him all over again. it was surreal, dating the spider-man. the same one that appeared on the news 24/7. the same one that made you worry for days wondering if he might come back from saving crime.

but he wasn’t just spider-man. he was just plain old peter parker. the boy from queens that you met all those years ago. the boy who was practically an academic genius and the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.

interrupting you from your thoughts, peter wrapped his arm around your shoulder and held you tightly. he had already finished playing the game but he still grasped the controller in his hand.

“what are you thinking about?” he asked quietly, playing with the strands of hair falling on your shoulders. he smelled like fresh laundry and a hint of butter from the popcorn.

“what?”

peter chuckled. “you were staring at me with that look you get when you’re thinking really hard. like your nose scrunches up a bit and you have this wide smile on your face”

“oh… i wasn’t really thinking about anything.” you locked eyes with him, staring into his big, doe brown eyes. you shimmied closer to him and rested your head on shoulder. “just thinking about how great you are.”

“thanks for feeding my ego— ow!” you punched him on the arm but there was no anger to it. “im joking, im joking. you’re great too.” the smile lines on his face deepened.

peter leaned his head against yours. “thank you for getting me that game by the way. i love you.” he pressed his lips against your temple, making a line down towards your cheeks, then ending at your lips. they were soft and warm, and he tasted like slightly like chocolate.

“mm, love you too spidey-boy. now play your game, i didn’t spend 90 dollars on that for nothing.” you giggled lightly.

unable to pull away from your face, he grumbled. “okay, okay! way to ruin a moment with my lovely girlfriend…”

“does this spider-man have a girlfriend too?” you nodded towards the screen.

“you’re better than any video game girlfriend i could have as spider-man”. you couldn’t help but let out a string of laughs as he pulled you in again, planting kisses all over your face.

fin.

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pinksobg · 7 months ago

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what did you manifest 6 months ago? 🕯️🌷

pile 1 - pile 2 - pile 3

for reflection <3 intuitive reading. missed reading! :) I hope this finds you all in good health 🙏❤️🌷

pile 1 - pile one, I'm seeing you manifesting being kind and warm. maybe you were presented to various situations, most of them conflicting ones, but one thing was present: you were able to maintain kind and even help people out. you could have manifest being able to help people, teach lessons and inspire more in this season of life.

that's a bit specific, but you could also have manifest being someone's inspiration, maybe even someone's muse, someone to look up to. older sister/brother/kid and only child vibes, haha. I won't be impressed if you like old money aesthetics or listen to indie artists. I'm getting Lana del Rey too.

if you are into academics/education, I feel you manifested on that too, especially in focus/manners or time management. still, it feels like it's still a work in progress. not the kinda "not good enough" you know? but your potential is about to expand considerably more.

🤍🌷💐🕯️❤️

__________________________

pile 2 - you definitely seem to have manifest goals. opportunities. consistency. even community too! much information haha. it seems the season your younger self would be much excited for. I think that's the best way to describe it. maybe you were able to work on things in a different way, light or perspective and it was a game changer. maybe you changed your methods and even environments. even changed some relationships (friendships/romantic ones, etc). and some of you could have moved departments or paths. and trust me, that was good. you manifested clarity to work on yourself so it could have ended in a deep cleaning. this cleaning could be in your habits or mindsets. but I still feel major physical shifts. you know this one thing in palm reading, and there is one line that is divided in two ways? it's kinda it. you started fresh, pile 2. that seems nice! you made a lot of progress the last 6 months.

also, a bit specific, but you could have manifest to be more creative. or being able to show it more to the world. you could have invested more in a hobby involving creativity and that was really nice for your mental health. if you work on the creative side, you could have been feeling more confident on this period of your life.

🤍🌷💐🕯️❤️

__________________________

pile 3 - hello, pile 3! here, we mostly see healing and acceptance. you were working on you and your journey. you manifest more peace for yourself. you wanted a breath of fresh air after a tough period of blurry view. now, I sense that you are able to let things out - feelings, situations. and you manifest to move forward. I'm very proud. also, maybe you secretly manifest protection for this period, it was a must, specially from 'evil eye' if you believe in evil eye, of course. it was a period of needed cleansing. you are now more able to move on and to be brave. your manifestations were big deal. I'm really getting this proud feeling. maybe I should try to channel a message for this pile. I'm getting "my little dove" it seems really sweet. "my little dove, no need to cry anymore, these tears of yours - let me put it in the past. take my hands, write it out, bake a cake, call it out, shout it out. you know, I love the way you are doing things now, I love the way you are. you are handling things perfectly. keep it up with hope. keep it up with Faith. you are on the right path." "trust me, chill". wow... I don't know if the "trust me, chill" was for me or for you though haha. thank you. thank you for letting me read for you!

🤍🌷💐🕯️❤️

#Spotify #hope you enjoy :)#tarot community #pick a card #tarotblr #pick a photo #pick a pile #intuitive readings #tarot messages

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kohvan · 8 days ago

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My random headcanons that just make enough sense to exist

John knows Latin since he's a lawyer

John often scratches his scars and wounds (it helps him steam, but it's also a selfharm)

John actually is a perfectionist (borderline obsessive), and if something doesn't look good enough, he can get really angry. Gonna explain this one: he loves preparations, makes sure all documents are neat and perfect, always looks all put together and good, washes off the blood as soon as he can (unlike some), gets annoyed when something goes wrong... it all can be observed in his cut-scenes. And it makes sense considering the way his parents raised him.

John is still attached to brands and cannot let go of material possessions and live a more ascetic life

John is into older women (m-mommy?) when it comes to his submission in bed (since we know that he's both sadistic&masochistic and a switch)

John is the easiest to break among his brothers if you have all the right tools, and he actually seems to be waiting for someone to (wo)manhandle him and take his control away

Jacob listens to music way more often than we all think he does (keeps the mind quiet)

Jacob has the heaviest insomnia known to a human being, and he probably uses some old psychological methods like "sleeping for 2 hours every 6 hours" ahh shit

Jacob's actually very aware of himself, and it makes him nervous, but he suppresses it behind the boldness and power (in his cut-scenes, he does a lot of obviously demonstrative articulations to show that he's not afraid and holds the power here)

Jacob avoids John since he has no idea how to act around him most of the time (do they even interact in-game except for the opening scene? lol)

Jacob 👏loves👏his👏women👏 in any way. Thick, thin, submissive, dominant, obsessive, indifferent, strong, weak... women are good. He's still mostly impotent and has a low libido, tho. But God didn't forbid him to think

Joseph uses John's methods of control against John (by coaxing out his secrets and vulnerabilities and turning them into John's triggers to force him into obedience (cut-scene and book accurate))

Joseph is more physical and touchy than we think or expect him to be, and it makes him look more human-like and helps his reputation (he hugs a lot of his followers, often touches his brothers, and well, he's not afraid to get his hands covered in blood)

Joseph doesn't feel any guilt or remorse no matter what he does since he truly believes in his ideas

Joseph knows Jacob is also a good leader (according to his Book). He doesn't interfere much with Jacob's work (unlike John's) because he needs to maintain their relationship well and semi-equally

Joseph's afraid that, if something goes wrong or too violent/military-like, Jacob could take away his power and take commanding position over the Project (because the Project is radical-religious but manages to balance between weaponized violence and Bliss-indulged peace)

#far cry 5 #john seed #jacob seed #joseph seed #text post #headcanons #headcanon

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howlsofbloodhounds · 8 months ago

Note

hello howl! do you have any favorite hcs of killer that you or someone else created? do yap if there's a lot, my brain is deprived of killer🥺

Alright, this are mostly about Stage 2 because he’s on my mind. Feel free to add on with yalls own killer hcs.

1. That Killer has ADHD. Probably a stereotype born from fanon killer’s personality, but I like it if it’s done well. (Which i rarely see, but that has been changing recently!)

2. That killer is some degree of blind or in general has a hard time seeing. Makes me think his other senses would be a lot better than his sight—especially his vision worsens depending on what Stage he’s in.

3. That he and Chara did pinky wears and the pink swears were sacred—not capable of being broken or the other has the right to kill or torture the snitch however they want. (My HC.) (Alexa play secret)

4. That Chara gave Killer Asriel’s half of the heart locket/golden locket, the one that said “bffs forever.” Especially if Killer has come to associate it with control, and it’s the only way to gain control over a Killer who has been stuck in Stage 4.

5. That his SOUL is a record player of all his victims dying, fearful, hurt, painted, angry, hateful and frantic words. Or at least Killer thinks it is—as he constantly hears them in his head whenever he attempts to resist killing or hurting anyone in Stage 1, and the constant flood of internal degradation is overwhelming enough to trigger Stage 4. The last part seems be somewhat canon, but the record player isn’t.

6. Cannibal Killer, started by me, holds a little place in my heart.

7. Cathearted and Angelkin Killer. Love it. Angelkin was @justanidiotartist’s idea.

8. Princess Killer. As in there is a timeline where he and Chara overthrew Asgore’s rule and became the royals of the Underground for a time.

9. That a part of Killer’s conditioning and training was being taught royal etiquette by Chara. It was framed and hidden under the disguise of learning something new, and a game— a way to keep Killer entertained and avoid boredom, therefore keeping him stable while implementing further rules and structure—but of course it had its typical violence and the use of Resets was often if Killer ever made a mistake or forgot a single thing.

He was taught to hold himself and carry himself as “something more,” above the others in the Underground, but never above Chara and not as real as anyone else.

His spine is always straight, trying to maintain a composed demeanor even when leaning into his silly behavior and extroverted mask. He eats his food in a very specific practiced manner without conscious thought, using his hands and utensils in a specific way.

He only eats when the “Queen” (Chara, Nightmare) eats, and stops when they stop—regardless of if he’s finished or not. Sarcastic, overly exaggerated bowing and signs of deference towards Nightmare—“Your Majesty,” “Your Highness,” in a deadpan, sarcastic manner.

And this one’s a bit more canon, but he copies and mimics Chara’s ways of speaking in a formal manner— such as how he says “greetings” instead of “hello” or “hey.” Often more obvious when addressing those he views higher and above him, or when stressed.

Maintaining old habits of perfectionism and cleanliness despite appearing outwardly apathetic, as if he doesn’t really know why he does it, he just does. His spaces are to be ordered and clean, all gear and weapons done in a certain way, and it’s probably more than once he’s corrected the others gang members postures and manners of eating or speaking.

One thing Chara never managed to make him stop doing was putting his hands on the table. He did that then and he’ll keep doing it. (Somewhat canon. Bro always has his hands on the table.)

10. Killer has the same fascination with the number 9 that Chara does. My HC.

11. Killer with schizoid personality tendencies. My HC. (Bit more complicated than that.)

12. Killer is subconsciously drawn to heart imagery—especially upside down hearts. He will often absentmindedly trace them on his bones/carve them, or draw on paper. It calms down his body. Especially after having failed some type of mission—both when killing or refusing to kill.

13. He stims. They’re small and not noticeable if you aren’t looking, easily dismissed as something else, but he stims. My HC. (I like to think his whole clasping hands over the soul/chest in prayer gesture is a happy stim and a nervous one. And also finger guns.)

14. He is a romantic. But only in his own head and fantasies.

15. Golden flower tea..yum.

16. He treats his weapons and animals better than he treats actual people or himself.

17. Stage 2 will blatantly ignore you if you try to call him Sans. (Somewhat canon.)

18. Stage 2 is mostly apathetic and indifferent but also distrustful of children. My Hc.

19. Chara and Killer’s relationship has been through just about any type of dynamic you can think of. Creator/creation, parent/child (both have played this role), teacher/mentee, enemies, friends, partners. Anything but equals.

20. He is actually very good at knife tricks. Will only fail when he wants to cut himself on purpose, or wants to make someone laugh.

21. Actually a pretty good caretaker, at least physically. Mentally and emotionally tending to a patient needs some work.

22. GNC fashionita.

23. Believes having no needs will make him invulnerable and free.

24. That a more humanized Killer would have long black hair he styles in many different ways. Also that he has a hooked nose and still doesn’t look entirely human.

25. The idea that he gives himself something like tattoos that remind him of Color in his Good Ending. Gradient flaming heart rainbows like Jinx’s blue cloud tattoos. My HC.

26. Catlike behaviors. Yeah. Including being very petty and causing problems for no obvious reasons.

27. Various forms or presentations of pet or age regression depending on the Stage.

28. Hates feeling too exposed physically. ✨ body issues ✨

29. Would’ve thrown the comfort plushie Color gave to him for when he’s Stage 1 away if it the plushie didn’t have an excellent texture. (Is the reasoning he gives.)

30. Acts of service. Just come to him instinctively. Very parentified eldest daughter coded I think.

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bassmars · 2 years ago

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Hi! this is my first time posting here.. and I wrote this at like 2 am so it’s probably all jumbled up + I’m learning English (like actually) had to translate some stuff too :p

Wrote this for my friend so shout out to them, also this is somehow super long?? I don’t know how I managed that so it isn’t proof read.

Sub! Neuvillette nsfw

Furina tríes finding Neuvillette for a meeting but it seems he’s too busy (tried making it gender neutral but— yeah.)

warnings: office sex, reader has a dick but just imagine it’s a strap if you’d like, idk you fuck his ass basically, teasing

——————————

“Neuvillete!”

"Where could he be?" Furina muttered under her breath, a hint of worry breaking through her usually confident demeanor. "Leaving me alone with someone like that."

By “someone like that” she referred to Arlecchino one of the 11th fatui harbingers.

They had arranged a meeting to discuss matters of the state but it seemed Neuvillette was late, which was oddly out of character as he had always been punctual especially matters this serious.

As Furina waited nervously in Arlecchino's presence, her mind raced with concern, Furina swore she checked everywhere… everywhere but the most obvious place where you could find the chief justice himself, his office.

Arlecchino continued to scrutinize her with her piercing gaze. Furina finally blurted out, "Neuvillette should be here to assist me in this matter, but he seems to have vanished into thin air."

Arlecchino's expression remained stern, and a hint of amusement danced in her eyes as he responded, "It appears your capable assistant has chosen an interesting time to disappear. How... unfortunate for you, Furina."

Meanwhile, in Neuvillette's office, the atmosphere was thick with tension as his lips met yours.

Neuvillette's urgency was palpable as he hastily closed the door to his office, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of impatience and desire. Without wasting another moment, he turned to you, his voice husky but still filled with longing.

"Please, Y/n, do not delay any longer. I’ve been waiting for days."

Your lips curled into a knowing smirk as you approached Neuvillette with deliberate steps. The air between you two was charged with anticipation, your desires converging in the small, private space.

"Is that so?" Your voice was low and sultry, a stark contrast to his formality. Your eyes, however, remained dark with desire as you closed the distance between the two of you.

Neuvillette's fingers twitched at his sides, his impatience barely contained. "Do refrain from teasing, my dear Y/N. I find it rather challenging to contain my desires any longer."

Y/N's hands, however, moved with a deliberate slowness as they undid Neuvillette's belt, their gaze locked onto his. The anticipation in the room was electric, but Neuvillette couldn't help but feel a thrill in playing this particular game.

"Ah, but patience, Neuvillette," Y/N purred, their fingers tracing along his waistband, a teasing glint in their eyes.

Neuvillette's breath hitched, and he fought to maintain his usual composure as Y/N's touch sent shivers down his spine. "I’ve been patient enough."

Y/N's lips curled into a knowing smile as they finally freed Neuvillette from his pants. Neuvillette's arousal was evident, his desire on full display as he stood before Y/N, his usual formality slipping away.

"Then let’s not waste any more time.." Y/N's voice carried an air of command, and yet there was a mischievous playfulness to it that made Neuvillette's heart race.

Neuvillette's back met the edge of the desk, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his skin. Y/N's hands were everywhere, exploring, caressing, and igniting every inch of Neuvillette's body.

Neuvillette's fingers tangled in Y/N's hair, and he pulled them into a fierce kiss that mirrored the urgency coursing through their veins. Their mouths collided, tongues dueling for dominance as their desire spiraled higher.

Y/N's hand slipped between them, wrapping around Neuvillette's hard length, and he couldn't help but moan at the sensation. His hips bucked instinctively, seeking more of Y/N's touch.

"Y/N," Neuvillette gasped, his voice laced with desire as Y/N's grip tightened around him. The formal facade was slipping further, giving way to the intoxicating pleasure of the moment.

Yuri’s lips trailed down Neuvillette's neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake. "You're mine, Neuvillette. All mine."

Neuvillette's head spun, his arousal and need blurring his thoughts. "Fuck, yes," he managed to breathe, his grip on Y/n’s hair tightening.

In the heat of the moment, Y/n leaned down to capture Neuvillette's lips in a passionate kiss, their mouths melding together with a hunger that mirrored their desire. Neuvillette's moans of pleasure were swallowed by their kiss, the intensity of their connection deepening.

And then, Y/n's fingers found their way to Neuvillette's mouth. They slipped their fingers inside, and Neuvillette's tongue eagerly met them. With a sultry smile, Y/n withdrew their fingers, glistening with Neuvillette's saliva.

Using Neuvillette's saliva as a makeshift lubricant, Y/n continued their preparations, Y/n couldn't resist the urge to add another layer of sensation any longer to their passionate encounter. With one hand firmly gripping Neuvillette's hip, he used his free hand to slide his fingers between Neuvillette's cheeks, teasingly circling his entrance.

Neuvillette gasped at the unexpected touch, his body quivering with anticipation. Y/N's fingers dragged along the velvety walls of his ass, exploring and stretching him in tandem with his thrusts. It was a sensation that sent waves of pleasure coursing through Neuvillette's body, intensifying their connection and bringing them both closer to the brink of ecstasy. But he couldn’t release, he wanted more.

Neuvillette's voice quivered with need, his words a plea for more. "Y/N, don't tease me like this. I need you."

Y/N's response was a wicked grin as he continued his careful exploration, coming tantalizingly close to Neuvillette's prostate without quite hitting it. He could feel the heat and desire radiating from Neuvillette's body, and it only fueled his own arousal.

"Patience, Neuvillette," Y/N murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I want to make this unforgettable for you."

As Y/N stretched and prepared Neuvillette's eager ass, their connection grew even more intense. Neuvillette's moans of pleasure filled the room, his body responding eagerly to Y/N's skilled touch.

Y/N couldn't help but revel in the sensation of Neuvillette's tightness and warmth around him. It was an intoxicating feeling, one that he had longed for, and now that he had it, he intended to make the most of it.

Their passionate encounter continued, each moment filled with unrestrained desire and a playful teasing that had Neuvillette's mind in chaos. The office, once a place of formality, was now a sanctuary of shared passion, with no room for restraint or decorum.

As Y/N's fingers continued to work their magic, Neuvillette's moans grew louder and more desperate. He couldn't contain his desire any longer, and he longed for Y/N to take him completely.

"Y/N," Neuvillette gasped, his voice desperate and filled with need. "Please, I can't wait any longer. Take me."

Y/N's approach was deliberate, and as he pushed inside Neuvillette, he didn't fully enter but instead teased him by rubbing just the tip against his eager warmth. It was a calculated move, one designed to drive Neuvillette wild with desire.

Neuvillette's reaction was immediate and intense. He gasped, his body quivering with need as he desperately sought more of Y/N's touch. "Y/N, please," he begged, his voice filled with longing. "Don't tease me like this."

Y/N's grin was wicked as he continued to tantalize Neuvillette, the head of his cock dancing against Neuvillette's entrance. He could feel the way Neuvillette's body clenched around him, the walls of his ass gripping him tightly in response to the teasing.

Their connection was electric, desire and pleasure coursing through both of them. Y/N's voice was low and husky as he whispered in Neuvillette's ear, "You're so responsive, Neuvillette. I love how you react to my touch."

Neuvillette's moans grew louder, his control slipping away as Y/N's teasing pushed him to the brink of insanity. He arched his back, seeking more of Y/N's touch, more of the pleasure that only Y/N could provide.

"Y/N," Neuvillette gasped, his voice desperate and filled with need. "Please, I need you inside me. Take me."

Y/N's grin grew wider as he finally relented, pushing himself deeper into Neuvillette's eager warmth. A guttural moan escaped Neuvillette's lips as he was filled by Y/N's presence, the sensation overwhelming and exquisite.

Y/N's desire for a better position overwhelmed him, and without a word, they decided to take matters into their own hands. Neuvillette, lost in the sea of pleasure, was caught off guard as Y/N suddenly flipped him over, his chest pressed against the smooth surface of the desk, his ass now fully exposed to Y/N's hungry gaze.

Neuvillette's gasp of surprise was muffled by the desk, and he found himself in a position of vulnerability, completely at Y/N's mercy. Y/N's strength was surprising, and Neuvillette couldn't help but admire his assertiveness.

With Neuvillette now face down on the desk, his ass exposed and inviting, Y/N had full access to his most sensitive areas. It was a position that left Neuvillette trembling with anticipation, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for Y/N to take him completely.

Y/N wasted no time in taking advantage of the new position. His hands roamed over Neuvillette's back and hips, his touch both tender and demanding. He leaned over Neuvillette, his lips trailing hot kisses along the curve of his spine.

Neuvillette's moans of pleasure filled the room as Y/N's lips and hands explored every inch of his exposed skin. He couldn't contain his desire any longer, and he pressed his ass back against Y/N, silently begging for more.

Y/N's fingers brushed against Neuvillette's ass, teasing and tantalizing. He couldn't resist giving Neuvillette's cheeks a playful squeeze, earning a gasp of pleasure in response.

"Y/N," Neuvillette whispered, his voice filled with need. "Please, I need you."

Y/N's response was to position himself once again, this time pushing into Neuvillette with a single, powerful thrust. The sensation was overwhelming, and Neuvillette cried out in ecstasy as Y/N filled him completely.

Their connection deepened as they moved together in perfect harmony. The pleasure they shared was intense and all-consuming, and as they surrendered to the ecstasy that bound them together, they knew that this encounter would be one they would both cherish forever.

Y/N leaned over, his lips grazing Neuvillette's ear as he whispered, "You feel incredible like this, Neuvillette. You're mine, and I'm going to make you scream."

Neuvillette's moans filled the room as Y/N continued to thrust into him, their passion reaching new heights with every passing moment. The office, once a place of formality, was now a realm of shared desire, where they could give in to their most primal instincts without restraint.

Their movements were fervent, urgent, driven by a need that had built over days of anticipation. The desk rocked beneath them, a testament to their unrestrained desire.

Neuvillette's hands gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white as he met each of Y/n’s thrusts with equal fervor. The pleasure was exquisite, every sensation magnified by their raw need for each other.

Y/n’s voice was a low growl in Neuvillette's ear, their words driving Neuvillette closer to the edge. "You're so damn responsive, Neuvillette. My cock knows exactly how to make you scream."

Neuvillette's pants were fully down now, leaving him exposed and pressed against his desk, the situation utterly scandalous. Y/N's grip on him tightened, their desire evident in the way they pressed their body against him, their groin firmly against Neuvillette's exposed rear.

The friction and heat between them were undeniable, and Neuvillette's gasps grew more intense as pleasure coursed through his body. His arousal was evident, his cock hard and throbbing, pre-cum glistening as it dripped onto the polished surface of the desk.

Y/n's relentless desire and teasing had pushed Neuvillette to the brink of ecstasy, and he couldn't deny the intoxicating sensations that coursed through him. The office, once a place of formality, had become a sanctuary of shared passion and irresistible temptation.

In the midst of their passionate encounter, Y/N couldn't resist teasing Neuvillette further. Their voice dripped with seduction as they whispered, "What if Lady Furina walked in right now, Neuvillette? What if she saw the Iudex of Fontaine in such a compromising position?"

Neuvillette's thoughts were a jumbled mess, and he struggled to maintain some semblance of composure. His usual formality had been abandoned, and he was now fully immersed in the intoxicating moment.

"I-I..." Neuvillette stammered, unable to form a coherent response. Y/N's teasing was driving him to the brink of insanity, but he couldn't bring himself to stop or resist.

Their passionate encounter continued, with Y/N's relentless teasing pushing Neuvillette further into ecstasy. The office, once a place of formality, had become a sanctuary of shared passion, where restraint and decorum had no place.

Y/N reveled in the control they had over Neuvillette, their voice a seductive whisper in his ear. "Tell me, Neuvillette, what would you say to Lady Furina if she walked in right now? How would you explain this?"

Neuvillette's mind was a whirlwind of desire and pleasure, and he struggled to form coherent thoughts. "I... I would..." he began, his voice trembling as he was unable to finish the sentence.

Y/N's laughter was a sultry melody as they continued their relentless assault on Neuvillette's senses. "Would you tell her how much you enjoy being taken like this, Neuvillette? How you crave my touch, my every command?"

Neuvillette's moans grew louder, his resistance crumbling with each passing moment. He couldn't deny the truth of Y/N's words, and his desire for them was all-consuming.

As their passion reached its peak, Y/N's voice took on a commanding tone. "Tell me you're mine, Neuvillette. Say it."

Neuvillette's breaths were ragged, his need overwhelming. "I'm yours," he finally gasped, surrendering completely to Y/N's control.

Y/N's desire was insatiable, and as their passionate encounter with Neuvillette continued, they couldn't resist the urge to explore every inch of his body. With heated urgency, Y/N found himself wanting to feel all of Neuvillette, to experience every sensation in their shared moment of ecstasy.

Their lips locked in a fiery kiss, tongues dancing in a sensual rhythm as they continued their fervent lovemaking. Y/N's hands roamed Neuvillette's body, tracing the contours of his chest and shoulders. His shirt had become an inconvenient barrier to the sensations he craved, and he couldn't bear to wait any longer.

"Turn around, Neuvillette," Y/N whispered breathlessly, his voice dripping with desire.

Neuvillette, lost in the intoxication of their passion, complied, his chest rising and falling heavily. He couldn't help but wonder what Y/N had in mind, his curiosity piqued by their urgency.

Y/N's desire to feel all of Neuvillette was undeniable, and as he attempted to remove Neuvillette's shirt, he found it to be a more complex task than anticipated. The fabric clung to Neuvillette's body, and in his haste, Y/N decided on a more direct approach.

With a swift motion, Y/N slid his hand under Neuvillette's shirt, fingers eagerly seeking the warmth of his skin. His palm pressed against Neuvillette's chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath, and his fingers traced the contours of Neuvillette's pecs.

Neuvillette's gasp of surprise and pleasure was music to Y/N's ears as his hand explored further, fingers brushing against the hardened nubs of Neuvillette's nipples. Their shared ecstasy deepened as Y/N's touch elicited a moan from Neuvillette, his body reacting to the exquisite sensations.

Neuvillette couldn't help but break the passionate silence with a trembling voice, filled with desire and curiosity. "Y/N, what are you doing?"

Y/N's own desire was palpable, his breath hot against Neuvillette's ear as he replied, "I want to feel all of you, Neuvillette. Every inch."

Their bodies pressed together, their connection intensified by the intoxicating sensations coursing through them. Y/N continued to pound with unrelenting fervor, each thrust driving them closer to the brink of ecstasy.

"Haah," Neuvillette moaned, his pleasure building with each passing moment. Y/N's touch and their shared intimacy were overwhelming, and he could no longer contain his desire.

Their passionate encounter continued, the office now a private realm of shared desire and irresistible temptation. The complexities of their desires, the urgency of their actions, and the fervent dialogue between them created an unforgettable tableau of unrestrained passion.

As their passionate encounter reached its climax, Y/N couldn't resist the temptation to tease Neuvillette one final time. Their shared desire had pushed them both to the edge, and Y/N was determined to send Neuvillette over the precipice of ecstasy.

Their breaths were ragged, and their bodies glistened with a sheen of sweat as Y/N whispered provocatively, "I didn't know dragons could be so responsive, Neuvillette."

Neuvillette's moans of pleasure and desire filled the air, his body trembling with anticipation. Y/N had discovered his most sensitive spot, and he was now utterly at their mercy.

With one final, powerful thrust, Y/N hit Neuvillette's prostate with precision, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through him. Neuvillette's eyes widened, and he saw stars explode behind his closed eyelids as pleasure consumed him entirely.

A strangled cry of pleasure escaped Neuvillette's lips as his vision exploded with stars. The sensations coursing through his body were overwhelming, and he couldn't hold back any longer.

His release was powerful, an eruption of pleasure that left him seeing stars as he came, coating his own stomach and shirt with his essence. The intensity of the climax was like nothing he had ever experienced before, and he was left trembling and utterly spent.

After their passionate climax, Y/N couldn't help but look down at Neuvillette, his face flushed with desire, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. He was a vision of post-orgasmic bliss, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath.

With a mischievous smile, Y/N leaned down and left a lingering hickey on Neuvillette's neck, a mark of their intense encounter. Neuvillette gasped at the sensation, a mixture of pleasure and surprise coursing through him.

But before Y/N could savor the aftermath, Neuvillette's expression shifted from one of post-orgasmic bliss to sudden realization and panic. With a start, he quickly sat up, his eyes widening in alarm as he asked in a frantic voice, "What time is it?"

The urgency in Neuvillette's tone was palpable, and Y/N glanced at a nearby clock. His eyes widened as he saw the time, and he couldn't help but curse under his breath. Neuvillette was incredibly late to the meeting, and the implications of his tardiness were not lost on either of them.

Y/N quickly gathered his clothes and helped Neuvillette do the same, their movements hurried and frantic. They exchanged hurried, breathless kisses in between pulling on their clothes, the taste of each other still lingering on their lips.

As Neuvillette finally managed to get dressed, he glanced at Y/N with a mix of regret and longing. "I wish I could stay," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine desire.

Y/N smiled, his fingers tracing Neuvillette's cheek affectionately. "I know," he replied, his own desire evident in his eyes. "But duty calls, and Lady Furina awaits."

Neuvillette nodded, his expression torn between his responsibilities and his longing for Y/N. With a final, lingering kiss, they reluctantly parted ways, knowing that the world outside was waiting for them.

———

Extra:

"Well, well, Neuvillette," Furina purred, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You certainly took your sweet time getting here. Care to explain why you're so fashionably late?"

Neuvillette, still slightly breathless from his passionate encounter with Y/N, struggled to find the right words. He knew that any excuse he offered would likely be met with more of Furina's sharp wit… and probably her wanting to take him to court for being late.

Y/N's earlier teasing echoed in his mind, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of amusement despite the situation. It seemed that both his assistant and Lady Furina had a penchant for teasing him mercilessly.

With a composed facade, Neuvillette finally replied, "My apologies, Lady Furina. I was... caught up in a matter of utmost importance."

Furina's lips curled into a sly smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, I see. A matter of utmost importance, you say? Well, I do hope it was worth the delay."

#sub!neuvillette #neuvillette #genshin impact smut #genshin impact sub #neuvilette smut #sub genshin #sub!neuvilette #genshin smut #dom reader

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juju-or-anya · 8 months ago

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A character I deeply hate in *Game of Thrones* and *A Song of Ice and Fire* isn’t Daenerys, nor Cersei, nor even Sansa (and that’s saying something, as she annoys me quite a bit). No, the character I truly despise is Robert Baratheon.

Robert embodies all the traits that make me think: "I hate men" or "Men disgust me." His entire personality revolves around being a womaniser, a drunk, an overweight man obsessed with the ghost of a dead woman. Lyanna Stark has been in her grave for nearly twenty years, and she still can’t rest in peace because of his sick fixation.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. While Robert wasn’t the mastermind of the Rebellion, he was certainly the one who fuelled it. He didn’t do it for the good of the realm or out of any sense of justice; he did it because he couldn’t accept that maybe Lyanna didn’t want to marry him. She preferred to be another man’s lover rather than his wife, and instead of accepting that, he unleashed a war. Lyanna, though raised as a noble lady of the North, had a will of iron and wouldn’t have allowed herself to be kidnapped without a fight (not that she really had a chance to avoid it—after all, she was a fifteen or sixteen-year-old girl facing Rhaegar, a twenty-four-year-old trained warrior—but I think you get my point).

And let’s not even talk about his reaction to the murder and rape of Elia Martell and her children. Robert laughed cruelly when he heard that innocent children, some barely toddlers, had been brutally killed and celebrated that a helpless woman had been raped and murdered. He was happy about it.

Of course, I’m not idealising characters like Lyanna, Elia, or Rhaegar. We can’t sanctify or demonise them because we don’t truly know them. Everything we know about them is filtered through the perspectives of others, some positive, some negative. They’re “told” characters, like Lily and James Potter in Harry Potter, whose backstories depend entirely on others’ memories. But who do we actually know enough about? Robert Baratheon. We know he’s the kind of man who would order the murder of a pregnant girl across the sea—a girl who’d already lost her family and home because of his rebellion. Robert did all this, not because Aerys was a tyrant, but because he was obsessed with the memory of a woman who never loved him.

As for his supposed "love" for Lyanna, he never showed any intention of respecting her, being faithful to her, or actually loving her. He was only in love with the idea of having a beautiful, strong, wild wife he could mould and subdue to his will. Before he was even engaged to Lyanna, he’d already fathered a bastard daughter; and only a few weeks after her death, he had Gendry. So much for his “great” love for Lyanna—he was already fathering children with other women within weeks.

What’s worse is that half the story seems determined to paint him as "the good guy." Give me a break. The realm didn’t entirely collapse during his reign only because of Tywin Lannister’s ambition and the competence of the royal council, who worked tirelessly to maintain stability. None of this was thanks to Robert Baratheon, who barely managed his responsibilities while the realm barely kept itself afloat despite him.

For all these reasons and more, I deeply hate Robert Baratheon.

Edit: I'll stand corrected, because a comment corrected me and they's right. The real hero who kept King Landing stable enough for there to still be a King Landing was Jon Arryn, that man deserved a raise and the biggest statue in the world, as well as putting up with his idiot king.

Edit 2: Re-reading my post, I realized that I made a somewhat fatphobic comment when I talked about Robert's physique and if anyone feels hurt, I truly apologize. I will not delete it, because it will be evident and give me a reason to improve, we are in constant deconstruction and I do not want to delete something bad that I could have said and pretend it never happened, how will I learn if I do that?

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #robert baratheon #lyanna stark #elia martell #rhaegar targaryen #I hate you Robert Baratheon #Nothing and no one will make me love you Robert Baratheon

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thestarcollective · 1 year ago

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Maintenance Habits to Stay Polished

Here's a list of things I do to stay put together and feel polished both on the outside and internally. I always tend to feel my best when I look my best, so by implementing these small habits, you can keep up with your maintenance and be your best self!

⭒ Nails & hands: I've always struggled with my nails because I have the terrible habit of picking and biting at them. The only thing that truly gets me to stop is getting my nails done because I don't want to waste the money I spend on them by ruining them. Having my nails painted encourages me to stop picking them because having pretty nails really makes me feel beautiful. There is just something about having pretty nails that boosts my confidence and femininity. In addition to that, keeping my hands and cuticles moisturized is the cherry on top.

⭒ Hygiene: This is an obvious one, but maintaining general hygiene is undoubtedly one of the most important things. Some more specific tips I have are oil pulling for white teeth and fresher breath, tongue scraping + flossing daily, layering perfume and lotions so your scent sticks, exfoliating using a net sponge (ditch the loofah!), and refreshing your deodorant (especially after you sleep... this was a game changer for me). Adding these extra little things to your daily routine can really elevate you overall.

⭒ Water, water, water: This is also something I've really struggled with. I never seem to drink enough water and it just isn't a natural instinct for me. Whenever I do manage to drink it, I feel like I'm forcing myself to. Something that's helped me is getting a cup with a straw. This isn't just because having a cute cup is motivating (which does help a little), but drinking out of a straw is easier on my stomach than chugging it out of a regular bottle, and sipping feels more natural for me. Drinking lots of water just makes me feel cleansed from the inside out.

⭒ Hair: Styling your hair daily and finding products that work best for your hair type is super helpful. I used to just leave my hair down with no product because I didn't know what to do with it, but over the years, I've learned what hair masks and leave-in products give my hair the extra shine and body I desire. I've also tried experimenting with more styles, although I do want to try more and gain the confidence to go outside in more unique styles.

⭒ Face: Your face is the first thing most people see, so I like to do certain things to ensure it looks its best. For one, I have unruly eyebrows, so I have to take care of them about 1-2 times a week, whether trimming or plucking the stray hairs. This makes me look more put together overall. I also take care of any facial hair that I don't want. Lastly making sure my lips are hydrated and free of any dead skin keeps the looking healthy and plump.

I hope you enjoyed and can utilize these tips. Remember that everyone's body is different, and we all have different preferences on what makes us feel our best, so do you always! Let me know if you want a pt. 2! <3

#that girl #glow up #girl tips #tips #clean girl #manifestation #girlhood #girly stuff #girly #girly aesthetic #girl guide #hygiene #feminine #femininity #divine feminine

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desertleviathan · 23 days ago

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So in tomorrow's D&D game I need to be ready to run a Soccer Match, because the player characters have challenged the Royal Family of the Autumn Fae and chosen that as the medium of conflict. I tentatively have a system together for this, where I've been lifting heavily from Final Fantasy X's Blitzball and also from Rocket League for soccer-adjacent games that have already had a bit of the complexity stripped out for someone who doesn't want to take the time to read the rulebook, and also since the Video Game structures in place do so much of the heavy lifting as far as translating the real world rules into a format that I can use in a TTRPG.

Currently I plan to have it work like this:

1.) It's Arena Soccer. Smaller field size, and much smaller teams. Only 6 people on a side (coincidentally the exact number of Player Characters I have). Each team may also have one Reserve member, because I forgot to account for seven of the eight Autumn Royals being alive and present when the challenge was levied (Prince Havelor was laid to rest from being a Banshee by the player characters, which is what earned them the goodwill from the other Autumn Fae that they were willing to accept this challenge). The youngest Royal, who is half-mortal and terrified of injury or death, will be their reserve, while the PCs will be given the opportunity to recruit their own reserve before the match... or to just risk going without one.

2.) The field is encased in a magic forcefield, so there is no out of bounds for either players or the balls, dramatically cutting down the potential sources of fouls. A ball that ricochet's off the wall is still in play.

3.) Magic is technically not allowed, but some magic is harder for the Referee to detect, and some traits are so inherent to a player's physical structure that it's hard to rule them as "unnatural". However, to reduce the complexity of the whole affair I have assigned each player three special maneuvers that broadly condense the themes of their ancestry, class, and background, which seemed more manageable than letting six level 14 PCs cut loose with their full character sheet of tricks.

4.) We're doing Zone-Based movement instead of Grid Movement... which is really just Grid Movement but the squares represent larger areas. Any character with a ground speed of 25 or 30 feet per turn can move two grid spaces (I rounded it up so the couple Small creatures on the team wouldn't get screwed).

4.) Basic maneuvers are performed as Strenth (Athletics) or Dexterity (Acrobatics) checks depending on the Maneuver type. Straight Constitution rolls also come up a lot. Maneuvers include:

Shoot - An attempt to get the ball into the enemy's goal, defaults to STR (Athletics). This suffers a -3 penalty to the roll for every Zone Boundary it crosses.

Block - Performed as a Reaction, but can also be Prepared as an Action. If the enemy team can get it together enough to try shooting 3 times in a round though, watch out! An attempt by the Goalie to prevent a Shoot action from succeeding, defaults to player's choice of STR (Athletics) or DEX (Acrobatics).

Pass - An attempt to send the ball to another player on your team. Defaults to STR (Athletics). This suffers a -3 penalty to the roll for every Zone Boundary it crosses.

Take - Performed as a Reaction. An attempt to receive a ball being passed. Easier done if you are on the same team as the person performing the Pass maneuver, but the enemy team can try to intercept the ball in motion with the Take maneuver as well. Defaults to player's choice of STR (Athletics) or DEX (Acrobatics). If the ball passes through the Zone you currently occupy, you may spend 2 Endurance points to try to Take it... unless you're the player the Pass was originally directed towards, in which case Taking costs 0 Endurance.

Control - An attempt to move the ball while keeping it in your possession. Defaults to DEX (Acrobatics). Every round you maintain Control costs 1 Endurance point. A roll of 12 or more allows you to move the ball One square, 15 or more allows you to move it 2 zones, and 18 or more allows you to move it 3 squares. While you are maintaining Control, you do not get your default Run each turn.

Skirmish - Can be performed as an Action or Reaction, but you must be in the same zone as the target. An attempt to interfere with another player's Control, and possibly even prevent other players from moving, or actually cause injury (better hope the Ref isn't looking). Defaults to STR (Athletics).

Run - Every turn, a player can move 2 zones, unless they have Control of the ball in which case they have to roll to see how far they move. A player who's not doing anything else with their Action can also use it to Run, adding 2 more zones to their movement.

Fortify - A player who's not involved in the action may instead try to catch their breath and regain some Endurance. This is a straight Constitution roll with no Proficiency bonus. A 12+ regains 1 Endurance, a 15+ regains 2 Endurance, and an 18+ regains 3 Endurance. A failure loses 1 Endurance however, because you're stressing yourself out down there.

5.) Now here's where things get tricky. Each Maneuver can be performed with a Flourish, which changes the base Ability Score of the Acrobatics or Athletics check. All Flourishes cost 2 Endurance by default, and some of them have no effect on specific Maneuvers beyond changing the Ability rolled. Flourishes are evoked with Bonus Actions.

Aggressive (Strength) - You decide to get a little rough. Or a lot rough. The maneuver now has a chance to injure anyone who opposes it. If it's already a Skirmish, you're straight up trying to break their ankles.

Evasive (Dexterity) - You get extra fancy with your footwork and make it more difficult for anyone to interfere with whatever you're doing.

Efficient (Constitution) - Your motions are measured and economical, and you may partially or fully mitigate the endurance cost of the Maneuver, potentially including the cost of this Flourish.

Strategic (Intelligence) - You perform your maneuver in a way that sets up your teammates to combo off of you and receive bonuses, either the next person to act or the next person to take possession of the ball.

Observant (Wisdom) - You perform the maneuver in a way that forces the opposition to reveal information about their attributes, abilities, or plans.

Rallying (Charisma) - A particularly versatile maneuver type, but one with a higher risk of going bad. Can be used to restore Endurance to teammates, demoralize the opposition, distract the Goalie, or get the audience on your side.

6.) Each Audience zone can be swayed independently, and having them on your side grants a morale bonus to actions performed in that quadrant of the field. The crossover areas add together all bonuses and penalties, so in theory a team that really focuses on Rallying the crowd could enjoy a +4 bonus in Center Field. Luckily Prince Auberont of the Autumn Fae, the eldest son of the late queen Melpomene whose death the players came here to investigate, is an honorable man and has commanded his subjects to receive the players as his personal esteemed guests, rendering both teams Neutral in the eyes of the crowd to start. Unfortunately, most of the Royal Fae are really really Charismatic, and should have very little trouble Rallying the crowd.

7.) Matches have 2 halves, and 1 half will last no longer than 10 combat rounds (consisting of 1 turn for each of the 12 players on the field). Everyone's Endurance is restored between Halves.

8.) Players have special powers with their own activation costs.

On the Player Character side:

The Human Paladin can charge the ball with a smite-like effect that makes it painful for enemies to touch, can protect any nearby teammates from Skirmish attempts, and can use Rallying flourishes with greater efficiency.

The Cursewrought Fighter (think the enchanted denizens of the Beast's Castle, this guy was turned into a silver Gravy Boat by an egomaniacal Wizard who liked to decorate his house with transmuted foes) can use his prehensile gravy tongue to handle the ball because the rules only technically say no hands, perform bewildering antics to distract the ref, and use certain inherent spacial trickery gifts to cause the borders of the arena to "wrap" like a pac man stage, so he can move off one side and appear on the opposite side.

The Changeling Druid can swap what Ability Score she's using to her choice without having to invoke a Flourish by becoming an animal who fits that style, can take on the appearance of one of her opponents to cause passes directed towards them a chance to miss, and can use her secret psychic spiderweb magic to coordinate her teammates.

The Human(ish) Wizard (Witch) can douse the ball in the godawful special hot sauce she's been brewing, making it do ongoing damage to anyone who touches it, can act as Witchy as possible to intimidate the Autumn Courtiers from opposing her directly due to deeply held local cultural taboos about interfering with Crones, and can use her eidetic memory to recover scandalous details from the news about the Autumn Royals, all of whom are the kind of public figures who wind up in the tabloids a lot, and deny them the use of their own abilities by bringing up embarrassing shit to distract them.

The Lizardfolk Cleric can call on their Luck Goddess to actively fuck with the dice IRL, regain Endurance much more quickly as a result of having been raised in an alchemically polluted wasteland and being made of sturdy enough stuff to survive it, and can use secret toad spirit magic from another source to smuggle extra balls onto the field in their mouth, ejecting them when the ref isn't looking.

The Winter Fae Fox-Folk Ranger can make shots and passes at extreme ranges with reduced penalties, especially if no one else is near him, can send out his squad of loyal Pixie Hooligans to skirmish with people from a zone away (and have them infiltrate sections of the audience if they get spotted by the ref and ejected from the game), and pick one opponent in particular at a time to go "HEY FUCK THAT GUY" and gain bonuses to oppose them.

The planned Recruitable Secret Guest character to sit in reserve is a physically indestructible individual who can just barge through opposition without giving a single shit about his own safety.

The Autumn Royals on the other hand can do the following. To streamline things for me as DM, these are being built as Two powers each compared to the 3 each for Player Characters, but these powers will be just slightly more potent.

The eldest Prince is also King of the Werewolves (which is why he's ineligible to inherit his mother's throne), and can go Wolf Mode for bonus stats, generally intimidate the hell out of anyone, and ensure that the Refs are freed of any influence by reminding them how disappointed he'll be if they do anything shady.

The two oldest Princesses (Twins) are cursed to always oppose each other. Whenever one of them makes a roll, I'll take note of what's on the opposite side of the d20 and that will be the next roll from the other sister. They'll swap Initiative orders each round, and may also be able to swap positions, or pass the ball directly to each other without it having to travel through the space between.

The middle Princess is an incredibly proficient liar. She can lie so effectively that she can more or less rewind time by saying "That didn't just happen," and force a reroll. She can also fuck with the audience, the referees, or the player character's morale with incredible proficiency, and her Rally flourishes are always cheaper to use.

(The next youngest Prince is the Banshee, and he's not playing on account of finally being at peace with being dead. For now, anyway.)

The next youngest Princess is physically frail, but an incredibly gifted Oracle who has become so adept at foreseeing the future that she has somewhat lost the knack for communicating with the present. She will be the Goalie because she knows exactly where the ball will be. She can also Foretell to interfere with other people's dice, but whenever she splashes Doom around it tends to get everyone dirty, not just her opponents.

The next youngest Prince is still an adolescent in Fae terms, and has even stronger Serial Killer vibes than the rest of his family... but that may just be a Fae thing, or a Teen thing, or a Fae Teen thing. Regardless, pretty much any interaction with him will be unsettling enough to strip some Endurance from an opponent.

The youngest Prince is half-mortal, and the idea of hurling his fragile body around an athletics field frankly terrifies him. If he's forced to play, he will be nothing but a detriment to his siblings.

Hopefully this isn't too much bullshit to drop on my players, and hopefully it doesn't last more than one or two sessions of play... unless they're having a super good time with it, I guess.

#aclodoc #the buer valley #the baetylus-illiaster research directorate #arcanamachy #d&d 5e

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everygame · 2 months ago

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Golf (NES)

Developed/Published by: Nintendo Released: 01/05/1984 Completed: 29/03/2025 Completion: Finished all 18 holes. *cough* 50 over par *cough*

Golf. Generally accepted as being invented in my home nation of Scotland, if there’s something we can all agree on about golf, it’s that it’s shit, a terrible use of land (and a terrible use of the huge amounts of water that is needed to maintain the courses on that land) but that it somehow makes for an entertaining video game.

I mean, you don’t have to take my word for it! It was banned multiple times even in Scotland as early as the 1400s because young men should have been practising archery instead, and frankly, maybe if we hadn’t invented it maybe we’d still be an independent country. Although maybe that’s just a sign of not thinking outside of the box. Couldn’t our young men have turned their ability to hit balls with a stick into holes into some sort of a offensive weapon? By the time of golf gunpowder had reached Europe, so imagine pinging grenades towards the English front lines with deadly accuracy…

Uh, where was I?

Oh, yeah, golf. That it’s shit, but it makes a good video game.

Something surprising about golf is that despite it being one of the earliest kinds of games to be turned into a video game–as early as 1970, apparently, with Apawam, a text-based game for mainframes where you’d input your swing and see how close you got to the hole–there really isn’t much history online about it as a genre; it usually just gets shuffled under the umbrella of sports games.

Thing is–there were absolutely fucking loads of golf games in the early days of video games. It’s Pong-like in its ubiquity, but unlike Pong, which is… Pong, golf wasn’t as easy to “solve” for developers, leading to a variety of different interpretations. As usual, Magnavox put out a version as Computer Golf for Odyssey 2, and then Atari (basically) ripped them off with Golf for Atari 2600, but every one had a go, really: 1980’s PGA Golf for Intellivision, 1981 Data East had a go with 18 Holes Pro Golf in arcades, Taito in 1982 with Birdie King, and so on.

But it wouldn’t be until 1984 where it’s possible our old friend simultaneous discovery showed up that golf games would actually firm up into a genre, and while I’ve absolutely not done enough research (you go through every golf game in Mobygames’ list!) list it really does look like 1984’s Golf for Famicom–from the hand of Shigeru Miyamoto as designer and Satoru Iwata as programmer–is ground zero for what we now know as a golf video game, featuring probably the most important aspect: the “golf swing meter” where you have to hit the button three times: to start, to select your power, and then to manage the amount of curve on the ball by either getting it dead center or to one side–with the tension and skill being in if you can actually get the power and curve you want.

It’s hard to overstate how, even now, this simple mechanic makes Golf extremely playable. The game doesn’t feature any of the niceties of more modern golf games such as automatic club selection (which other games of the era managed, it seems) but it’s otherwise basically all there because golf really is this simple. You hit the ball, and then you hit it again until it goes in the hole, dealing with wind, hazards, and your own poor club choices or inability to get the timing right.

Golf is also a fondly remembered game in Satoru Iwata’s oeuvre, so much so that it was used in a rare (and limited) easter egg on Nintendo Switch. It wasn’t the first game Iwata worked on for Nintendo–according to a 1999 interview in Used Games magazine (via shmuplations) he toiled for two months on a Joust conversion that Nintendo ultimately couldn’t release then programmed Pinball. But it seems like Golf is where he made his name, doing something that no one else could do–fit an 18 hole golf course into the Famicom’s memory.

And it’s a good course! While there aren’t ever that many twists to a golf course, this one features easily understood tricks that make it fun to work out which club to use and how much power to go for–and a nice aspect of golf is that you can’t “fail” a playthrough, so you can just play all 18 holes with the worst possible score and then try again.

There are issues–the short game is near impossible, so you can find yourself racking up insanely high numbers of shots when you have to nudge your ball around rather than hit it any distance–and in the cold light of 2025 a single course isn’t going to keep you warm for very long. But almost every other golf game is inspired by this one, so if you want to play more of this but a different course… just play one of those!

Will I ever play it again? Probably not?

Final Thought: Interestingly, HAL would put out another golf game in 1984, Hole In One for the MSX. The game isn’t dated more specifically, but it’s interesting because it’s got a lot of suspicious similarities to Golf, but doesn’t do the single bar golf swing meter! It splits it into two bars, power and curve–though functionally it still requires three presses. It’s a strange decision, though I wonder if it was to try and simplify, or make clearer the the design compared to Golf.

Well, it didn’t stick–by the time of Hal’s Hole In One for SNES, they’d have gone back to the (by then) traditional golf swing meter.

Every Game I’ve Finished 14>24 is OUT NOW! You can pick it up in paperback, kindle, or epub/pdf. You can also support Every Game I’ve Finished on ko-fi! You can pick up digital copies of exp., a zine featuring all-exclusive writing at my shop, or join as a supporter at just $1 a month and get articles like this a week early.

#gaming #video games #games #txt #text #review #nintendo #nes #famicom #golf #1984

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sonkitty · 1 year ago

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Bookend Buddies - Crowley and Muriel

Introduction

Alright, I'm going to talk about Crowley and Muriel.

My starting theory was that these two knew each other as at least acquaintances, not necessarily friends, in the first draft of the story. This first draft would have resolved the matter of the cardboard box Gabriel brought much sooner. Then a second draft, or even more drafts, act as the cover for whatever happened the first time around.

After looking over Crowley and Muriel scenes, something like that could indeed be true, but certain other messages from the story emerged that seem to make that idea secondary when looking at the pair specifically together.

Trust

For one, a far understated thing about their relationship is that these two trust each other, even if they don't seem to know each other very well. It hits really hard once you get the level of trust Crowley has to have in Muriel for their assistance in the Triple of The Bigger Thresholds Trick. Their part together is for the Heaven elevator, and pockets are involved.

Pocket usage combined with threshold usage in Good Omens 2 amounts to a nightmarish puzzle that I will never truly solve. I have solved just enough to know what to look for, and I see it all over their entry into Heaven. Pockets require precise framing, and they both have it.

This trust level would put their relationship as much more likely to be actual friends despite Crowley's intense claim to the contrary in episode 5 when he tells Gabriel that Aziraphale is the only friend he has.

Bookends

The other weird message was something I found in looking for a small pattern I noticed. That pattern was that Crowley scenes tend to bookend Muriel scenes. I started to log and verify that pattern. It's not on both ends every time, and I could find only one Muriel scene where there's no bookend of a scene with him on either side.

When they both get back from Heaven in episode 6, this pattern goes into hyper-drive. It becomes a game in and of itself to see how Crowley can bookend or share Muriel scenes all the way up to the end of the episode and overall season.

Along the way, Muriel likely assists Crowley in the Single of The Pocket Trick. Muriel then ends up having bookend scenes to all 6 of Crowley's own Threshold Tricks.

Memory

I don't know how both their memories were edited or altered, but I'm left to guess that it happened and was partly voluntary with making sure they remembered just enough to maintain their trust in each other or have a way for that trust to quietly activate, as if it has a switch.

Boxes

Boxes are a theme with these two, so I'm going to discuss the boxes among the other stuff below.

...

Episode 1: The Arrival

There are 3 Matchbox Muriel scenes. Two of them happen in episode 1.

Before Muriel is shown on screen, there is a cut of Gabriel with the fly that's implied to be an extension of the scene where Aziraphale called Crowley to invite Crowley to the coffee shop.

Then Muriel finds the matchbox. I'm not going to get too much into the quote and stuff, but one could easily link it to Crowley if what I've read of its relation to "leviathan" is true since leviathans can be associated with snakes. There's also the fire-breathing Crowley pretending to be Aziraphale in season 1. Then of course that hopping and shouting with the lightning forcing the power outage on the coffee shop that comes later. The matchbox itself might be evil or borderline evil.

Muriel's hand is just as deliberate as Crowley's can be when it comes to managing the touch because part of a thumb is shown with the thumb tip itself hidden and the thumb obscured specifically by the end of the touch.

After this scene, the immediate next scene is Crowley's arrival at the coffee shop, which is also The Perfect Entrance Trick.

So, that's one Muriel scene book-ended with Crowley scenes. One could find the first part debatable, and indeed, that will happen again. Still, almost every time, there will be a Crowley scene at least before or after a Muriel scene.

That's also the first scene for Muriel to bookend one of the Threshold Tricks.

Take note.

These things add up.

We're going to take a quick break from Muriel because of the cardboard box.

In episode 1, there is an extremely important sequence of at least one Likely Fake Crowley, possibly two, storming out of the bookshop. In that sequence, the fake who looks most likely to be Aziraphale passes by a prominently displayed cardboard box and does not touch it.

Actual Crowley is a top tier player in Earthly Objects who is incredibly deliberate in what he touches, especially with his hands. He's also someone who tends to ask questions.

Remember the cardboard box and that the fake did not touch that box and did not question it. Both Crowley and Muriel are going to follow this pattern with the exception of Crowley retrieving the box during episode 6 of course.

Let's get back to Muriel.

The next debatable front bookend Crowley scene to a Muriel scene is that after Crowley shoots out lightning, his torso is shown and does not include his head. The scene cuts to Nina and Maggie realizing they are locked in. For some reason, a blurry red-headed figure wearing black is ensured to be shown in the background as if it could be Crowley. This figure is a possible fake because we later find out that Crowley lost so much of his red in his hair. Plus, there's some general confusion about the car being parked in front of the coffee shop. The car itself seems more bluish. He doesn't enter or leave and is shown to be with the car later on a different street. This possible fake allows for a stronger bookend connection to the incoming Muriel scene nonetheless.

The next cut is of Michael and Uriel for a bit before Muriel enters, but it is the same scene. Now we are at Matchbox Muriel Scene #2.

When the matchbox is set down, it does not make the sound that an empty matchbox makes. In fact, it sounds like a disguised magical book. The music gives more of a mystery vibe than a stronger intensity and possibly evil vibe it will give later in episode 5.

We learn the name of the game, Earthly Objects, and are shown an extensive touching sequence. I don't know if it's a tutorial. If it is, I can't tell you what it teaches. I can mainly tell you it makes sure to show most of Michael's digits during the sequence. Thumbs are shown, but the thumbs don't actually touch the matchbox itself. Thumbs are a big deal in Earthly Objects. A thumb tip can even set certain things into Door Mode. If that matchbox is an evil book hiding in disguise, a thumb tip could be like a password that would have accessed it. Muriel avoided doing that or avoided it in just the right way.

As this Muriel scene wraps up, Uriel says, "I think he's gone to Earth."

We're supposed to guess and assume they mean Gabriel, yet the story cuts to Crowley entering his car before he is summoned to Hell. So, this Muriel scene is given a clear back bookend Crowley scene.

Muriel does not show up again in episode 1.

But...let's get back to the cardboard box.

When Crowley returns to the bookshop, the prominently displayed cardboard box is no longer prominently displayed where it was. In fact, for a good long while, I thought it had disappeared as much as the plate of Eccles cakes, but no, it was just moved out of the way in a less obvious spot.

Now, here's something I found interesting while drafting this post. My own question to myself was, "Was the box moved out of Crowley's line of sight?" for the scene.

I was quite surprised to find out that in almost the entire scene, the box is not in his line of sight. There is only one tiny part of the scene where it is.

The box is in Crowley's line of sight briefly during the apology dance.

So, the dance might have been a clue to Crowley to know where the box was but still not visibly touch it or question it. Remember, later in episode 6, it's going to be weird when he acts like he knows about the cardboard box he never acknowledged in the whole story up to that point.

...

Episode 2: The Clue

Not that it's hard being one of the two main characters of the story, but Crowley has another front bookend scene before a Muriel scene in the minisode that starts off the episode. He is at least prevented from having a back bookend scene this time.

The episode opens with the scene of the big giant scroll and pretending to kill off the goats while actually turning them into crows instead, as Crawley.

Muriel is later shown reading a big giant scroll. I don't know if it's the exact same scroll, but it's at least supposed to be about the same thing.

Muriel does not appear again for the rest of the episode.

...

Episode 3: I Know Where I'm Going

At long last, Muriel arrives on Earth. They have a scene without Crowley scenes book-ending either side of it.

The front bookend is Gabriel drinking hot chocolate. Soon after, Muriel is the subject being seen through the window for Mrs. Sandwich. Then they start their scene with Aziraphale. One could probably estimate this scene's end as Aziraphale closing the door. So, finally, no Crowley though Crowley himself will be part of the scene immediately after.

It's possible that Muriel has had a memory wipe though how recent is hard to guess. My own guess would be that it's actually relatively recent because as stated, I think they and Crowley knew each other in the first draft of the story.

Aziraphale seems to have a moment of quiet recognition, that could be either from the recent Job minisode or if he knew Muriel in the first draft as well. I would guess that he did, but this bookend thing Crowley and Muriel have is not quite the same as what can be found between Aziraphale and Muriel. Aziraphale moves the story along without any further acknowledgment.

After Muriel enters, the cardboard box is given more focus from its designated place than usual with a blurred Muriel in the foreground. The camera work forces a shift such that Muriel receives focus, and the cardboard box is blurred. While I'm sure many people have picked up on this thing happening, I'm going to add that that particular type of blur was used in the first shared complex window scene Maggie and Nina had looking at Crowley through a window in episode 1. The blur type share was also done with Crowley and Gabriel in episode 1 when Crowley finds out Gabriel is in the bookshop. So, Muriel is given a notable share with a cardboard box instead of an actual full other character in the story. It's also a box that keeps having no touching or questioning from Crowley. Muriel doesn't touch it or question it either.

When Crowley arrives, he does sound grumpy as he complains about Aziraphale not taking the train. He soon stops, realizes Muriel is there, and says, "Who's this now?"

Take note of the "now" because this story is both deceptive and deliberate in its methods. These are the types of little clues it scatters around compared to the bigger ones. The "now" hints he knows of a "who" Muriel was from some other time.

Just as Muriel glows, Crowley is actually more cast in shadow than he already often is upon stopping to find them there. His body makes sure to stop with the shadow covering much of his upper body area in a diagonal manner.

Crowley has short sideburns despite Muriel being an angel because the bookshop literally took their claim as human. Interestingly, Crowley is also lacking his more saturated streak of red hair that is often found over the center of his left eye during the present day story.

Crowley himself quickly warms up to Muriel in a more friendly manner.

Muriel's body blocks the cardboard box from our line of sight for a good amount of the scene but not the entire time. In turn, Crowley is bound to have it in his own line of sight much more easily than in episode 1 when he returned to the bookshop. So, by now, Crowley probably knows it's there and is still just generally ignoring it while being near its presence.

There's some kind of light near Muriel that keeps flickering. While neither Crowley nor Muriel use pockets here, they both do at other times. Pockets use lighting as clues. So, I'm not going to log every single line and every single flicker, but I did notice the flicker when Muriel said "200 years". That number could mean something like when these two actually met or became friends.

Another noteworthy thing about this scene involving both characters is that it is one of the few times the story shows a person reflected in Crowley's sunglasses before The Window Trick at the end of episode 6. Muriel's reflection can actually be found, quite likely because they were intentionally showing off their cup of tea.

Crowley exits first, allowing for a scene between Muriel and Aziraphale. After Aziraphale leaves, Muriel is left alone momentarily. While they do not get the same blurred share from earlier, they are still shown specifically with the cardboard box while not touching it or questioning it.

Later, Muriel intrudes on Crowley and Aziraphale. I've actually written about the scene in my "Rule Following" section for Earthly Objects.

So, I'll mainly say that this scene does not really have a hint of them having known each other. Instead, it has Crowley manipulating the scene and Muriel to do what he wants so he can give Aziraphale a proper pass of the car keys. The toss is incredibly precise because he waits until Muriel's eyes move to the notepad, not just for them to get out their notepad. The only possible hint is if Muriel actually looked at Crowley before their notepad intentionally as a cue for when he should be ready for the toss. Then the toss isn't as impressive, so my bias prefers to think that was not the case. Head canon as you please.

Even though the two had an actual scene together, the story makes that scene a front bookend Crowley scene of yet another Muriel scene with Muriel's stop at the coffee shop.

Muriel is not seen again for the rest of the episode.

...

Episode 4 does not have Muriel. It does have Crowley touching the cardboard box of the plants. Sorry, I couldn't help notice that cardboard boxes are a thing because of the matchbox and the mainly featured cardboard box, so we may as well take note since Muriel was given that shared blur with such an important cardboard box.

...

Episode 5: The Ball

During episode 5, there are two important scenes shared between Crowley and Gabriel. The first scene is where Crowley ultimately tells Gabriel to jump out a window, then stops Gabriel from doing so. He offers to make hot chocolate. This scene is a front bookend of the last Matchbox Muriel scene. It also includes mention of an actual matchbox.

Finally, we are back to our ominous borderline evil matchbox itself with Matchbox Muriel Scene #3. This scene further manages to act as a back bookend to a touch of The Sunglasses Trick. In this matchbox scene, the subtitles say "intense music" and it is intense. The matchbox is given immediate focus to introduce the scene.

The intensity settles. Muriel is giving their report to Michael and Uriel with no Saraqael around.

In this report, Muriel says Crowley's name, including calling him, "Mr. Crowley," and describes Crowley as Aziraphale's "grumpy friend." Well, Crowley was grumpy when Muriel first saw him yes, but most of the time we saw them together, he was not grumpy. In fact, he was rather friendly. Muriel is also shown to be unaware that Crowley is a demon. When they say Aziraphale's "Mr. Fell" name, Uriel gives Muriel a look that makes Muriel definitely not say Crowley's name—not even partially.

Aside from Aziraphale, Shax, and any character involved in the 1941 minisode, the story itself seems to have some rather strict rules on who can say Crowley's name and when. If I remember right, Muriel never says Crowley's name again.

We, the audience, were never shown anyone giving Muriel Crowley's name before that point either. In addition to that, mysterious music plays while the angels stop in confusion as they grasp at the assistant bookseller they can't quite remember. The matchbox is not easily seen during all of this time, but we know we saw it first with the intense music.

We never saw Muriel see or speak to an assistant bookseller, Gabriel going by Jim, in the scenes given. Muriel's memory and the story's memory do not match with what we have been told is happening. And some possibly evil matchbox is making that happen...maybe. That thing gives off "trying to get back to its master" evil ring vibes towards Crowley. It's creepy. No, I'm not venturing too far down that road. I'm admitting it's just vibes.

The back bookend scene here is Crowley actually giving Gabriel hot chocolate.

After this point, Crowley's sideburns stay a medium-to-long length until right before the credits at the end. Part of my sideburns scheme theory is that Aziraphale and Crowley borrowed each other's homes to form a special connection that affected an invisible supernatural border that existed between the car and the bookshop. They then made their preparations for the ball through the invitations, and Crowley had his scenes with Gabriel to force this sideburn status into place.

That means a lot of pieces were moved around so that the next time Crowley encountered Muriel, his sideburns were longer despite Muriel's earlier claim of being "human" and the bookshop's reading from that.

Let's skip ahead to that Crowley and Muriel encounter.

Crowley finds Muriel near the pub. In fact, he finds Muriel at, I believe, where he parked the car in episode 2. That's quite the coincidence.

After he convinces Muriel to "arrest" him, for some reason, Crowley makes sure to enter the elevator first. Ever since I realized Crowley's sideburns respond to thresholds, I have taken note of Crowley's deliberate decisions in so much of what he does, especially in season 2. He is rather strategic overall. Him entering first sets off alarms in my head. That is not the typical way he does things. He goes alone or Aziraphale leads. In the Edinburgh minisode, Elspeth entered first, followed by Crowley, then Aziraphale. Not long before this Muriel encounter and probably not a coincidence, Crowley left with Mrs. Sandwich first. They went together. He still did not go first as only himself.

But for some reason, at this particular threshold, it is a priority that he be first. I wish I knew why instead of just constantly sensing it.

This entry into Heaven is the first part of the Triple in The Bigger Thresholds Trick. It is also the only one that expands over two episodes.

When looking at Crowley and Muriel together, here are some things I think are worth noting.

First of all, Muriel was convinced to begin with. Why would they trust him? He's a demon, and they were even given a specific look of not even saying his name. Yet still, they find Crowley convincing enough to do this arrest. Crowley told Shax in episode 2 that he was a "former demon," but when it comes to Muriel, he actually drops the "former" part of his own self-description.

Now, I do have this theory that when it comes to the longer sideburns, they are like a mark of rank on Crowley when he is around angels. I usually associate that theory more with their longest length and specifically when in the bookshop. If that theory has any merit even outside the bookshop, then latent memory in Muriel could actually be recognizing Crowley's rank from before his fall and why they ultimately abide. If I'm wrong, then Muriel still finds a way to put their trust in him, such as a latent memory of whatever they did together in the first draft of the story or past friendship they had. If there is no latent memory, Muriel just trusts him anyway.

Crowley himself is having to trust Muriel here. It is no small amount of trust either. This segment is incredibly important to performing the Trick. He trusted Aziraphale for the other two, and with Aziraphale not here, Muriel is the one he turns to for help.

Unfortunately, I do not have a desired simplified explanation of how this threshold is being tricked, but I can at least tell you I know what to look for and the deliberate methods both characters use for entering. The more simplified ways are that Crowley manages to not touch the buttons and not touch the pub doors before going up. Muriel is the one who both summons the elevator and closes the pub doors for him. When he is later seen going down, he maintains touch with his back at where the edges of the elevator doors meet.

Well, that's the easier stuff. There is something far more complicated happening with shadows, lighting, and pockets. I don't know what it is. I'm just going to tell you I see it, and I know it when I see it because I at least know what to look for. With pockets involved, that also means framing.

I won't bore you with too many of the details. It was hard to write in my initial draft. Muriel is deliberate in how they get themselves framed alongside Crowley. Probably about the most noteworthy things of such framing are a look down as if to check they are positioning themself properly and getting their right arm so close to being over the middle edge of where the elevator doors meet and still not doing that. That part might have to do with whatever was necessary a to align with a reflection in a window pane, and that reflection being over a lock.

Speaking of windows, they are both deliberately framed through the window panes. I'm not going to describe it. If you're interested and can see, I advise you just go take a look. It is assuredly intentional. Their heads and upper bodies are in a grid or something. "Gridlock" might be the simplified word I'm looking for, but I'm not fully convinced and couldn't explain it to anyone.

Here, I have at least made a GIF because the glance down helps show it's intentional:

Pockets of light were involved. Muriel used a pocket. Crowley made touches on his clothing suspiciously like when he uses pockets. His tied hands might have been tied. His belt head might have activated. It's ridiculous. I can't believe this Earthly Objects game.

Before Muriel entered, they looked at Crowley and asked, "You aren't trying to trick me, are you?"

Now a lot of people would see that question and be, like, yes, of course he is.

It definitely looks that way.

But...these two are actually tricking a threshold together. It is likely a clue to the audience to look for the Threshold Trick that's happening right in front of their eyes instead of Crowley tricking Muriel.

Even though we saw Muriel close the doors, we did not see any miracle touch to activate a button. We just see the elevator go up.

...

Episode 6: Every Day

As the two arrive in Heaven, Crowley makes sure to exit the elevator first. His foot decidedly makes sure to not touch the lower threshold of where the doors slid open. His shadow can be seen to his left side. When Muriel follows, they don't have a shadow to their left side at all.

Now on they go where probably a million important things happen since pockets were involved on the way up, but let's focus on three things.

Crowley quickly refers to Muriel's rank when asking about records. We've already seen Muriel know Crowley's name without us knowing how they got it. Now we see Crowley know Muriel's rank without us knowing how he got it. We're even going to see both of them receive each of these pieces of information later on this trip in Heaven.

Not long after the rank reference, one of the lines Crowley says is, "You're forgetting about the bees."

Crowley, how many times has Muriel helped you break into Heaven by this point?

I hope it's not more than one, but it's going to be awhile to get such an answer.

Muriel's "forgetting" are they? Does he know that Muriel knew about the bees before? Did they talk about it? Did they work together?

As the conversation continues, it leads to Crowley changing his appearance. Of note in this appearance, his newly manifested gold tie is...pocketed into his newly manifested gray jacket. If his "tied hands" activated at the entry, he's putting those hands in a pocket here and now. And he's doing that because Muriel led him to that decision.

Neither one seems to truly remember the other, but both are guiding each other to certain ends.

At some point, Crowley asks Muriel a question about if they knew why Gabriel would not want another Armageddon. They shake their head and answer "not yet". We were never actually shown Muriel's assignment for why they were on Earth. We were just led to believe it was to confirm the miracle that Aziraphale performed since all actions shown by the characters said so. Muriel has no problem admitting this "yet" part of their answer to Crowley.

Saraqael arrives and shows us one way Muriel could have gotten Crowley's name by addressing Crowley by name.

Later on is when Muriel actually gives the rank. Crowley gives them a friendly fist bump to the shoulder. They smile. Both of them are shown to be on friendly terms in what might be an earlier draft of the story. Even if it's not an earlier draft, I'm glad to see Crowley be on friendly terms with an angel who is not Aziraphale. He reached somewhat friendly terms with Gabriel, but the story made sure that Crowley and Gabriel had zero direct interaction on Gabriel's side once Gabriel recovered his memories. The same could be said of Muriel, now that I think about it.

There's footage of the cardboard box they both watch. Muriel's memory of the matchbox is shown in focus as an assumption it was whatever Gabriel really dropped.

On the exit to Heaven, I've long theorized that Crowley is invisible and Muriel looks scared and amazed by such a thing at the same time. I haven't really changed my mind. If Muriel is doing something to help because Muriel is in the middle on one side, and Crowley is in the middle on the other, I don't know what it is. I can just tell you that a pattern is indeed found between the two if one looks for such a thing.

I can also bring back the pockets.

When the light goes up and Crowley's appearance changes, something about his re-manifested clothes is decidedly different than usual. His tie strands are pocketed into his vest, which then means his thumbs and thumb joints are hidden. I don't know exactly what that means, but it's deliberate on the story's part. Thumbs do things to doors, and these thumbs are hiding themselves while Crowley has his back to a door. That's somehow doing whatever needs to be done for this Threshold Trick and Muriel convincing Crowley to change his appearance earlier contributed.

Also, there was a rainbow when the light went up.

We missed whatever led to Michael and Uriel joining Muriel, Saraqael, and Crowley in the elevator.

When Crowley and the angels arrive at the bookshop, Muriel quietly closes the doors without anyone asking. I'm left with the impression that those doors being opened when they were and while Crowley was in Heaven is supposed to be important. So, the timing of this closure and who is doing it is also important.

Muriel stays out of the way and on their own quite a bit throughout their time in the bookshop as they turn their attention to a book.

In turn, that means their attention is not on the cardboard box when it is retrieved to help Gabriel recover his memories.

When Gabriel recovers his memories, something strange happens. If Crowley is where the story told us he was—next to Aziraphale, Gabriel is acting like Crowley isn't there. Aziraphale glances where we were told Crowley was. Gabriel briefly follows this gaze, then changes course. In the next cut, he blinks as he passes over where Crowley would be. He names more characters, including Michael and Uriel. While he doesn't remember Saraqael's name, they are given an interaction. With Muriel on their own further back—just like Crowley—they, too, are ignored during this sequence. They are at least shown on screen. Eventually, Gabriel reacts to seeing Beelzebub, and we are informed that Crowley is still there by Aziraphale. Of course, with the scene cut the way it is, maybe he wasn't there, and all of these drafts are blending together but still telling us Crowley was ignored, possibly invisible, cloaked, or forgotten.

Even with Crowley visibly on screen as Beelzebub refers to Aziraphale by name, neither Gabriel nor Beelzebub acknowledge Crowley as having played any part in helping to look after Gabriel—or anything else for that matter.

Again, the cardboard box was notably ignored by Muriel. They were given a specific shared blur with the box. Why give the focus if nothing of fruition was to come from such a thing? That was a shared blur that Earthly Objects uses in its game, and that box went untouched.

Things move on with Crowley escorting Maggie and Nina out.

Now it really gets hard to track how Crowley is book-ending Muriel in the scenes at the end, but he is. I think he is doing it every time. He is shown to approach a window and look inside while several angels and demons are arguing. Aziraphale rings his bell, which is enough to grab Muriel's attention as well. Soon after, Crowley is shown looking through the window again and smiles.

Then they actually have a scene together where neither one of them talks. It is the Single in The Pocket Trick. The Pocket Trick is a difficult, confusing collection of puzzles that uses word play. Because Muriel wears all white and The Pocket Trick has a Rainbow Connection mechanic that uses non-rainbow shades, there is a very strong chance Muriel is helping Crowley with yet another Threshold Trick. Whatever it is, it probably has to do with the alignment of Crowley's sleeve and jacket through a window frame since that's when Muriel's white can be seen and then when Crowley's sunglasses appear in one of the window panes at a certain point since that's the exact frame where all-white-wearing Muriel is no longer on screen. Muriel's white probably held onto something the Trick needed during that part.

Muriel ends up bookend-ing both sides of the Single of the The Pocket Trick while also being in it. That means Muriel is pocketed into the last touch of The Pocket Trick.

From this point, I consider them both part of a much bigger scene between several characters that ends with the demons leaving. I also consider it the back bookend to that Pocket Trick Single.

The story cuts away to the Metatron and then back to another scene that Crowley and Muriel share with other characters. By the way, the angels and Crowley seem to have generally changed positions overall.

Eventually, everyone leaves, giving Crowley and Muriel a chance to have their own scene together.

Now Crowley is more grumpy. Even so, near the end of their scene, he throws a book at Muriel and says, "Go for it. Here, you'll like this one." How does Crowley know Muriel would like the book? Has he known that book to be liked by a past version of Muriel? Does he just generally know Muriel because they are either friends or decently acquainted even before this scene ever took place? Even if both answers are no, he is probably guiding Muriel to read that book. I have never read that book, The Crow Road, but I have read what other people analyzing Good Omens 2 have had to say about it. That book has characters who communicate in non-verbal code with each other.

That's something both Crowley and Aziraphale do frequently during Good Omens 2. Crowley is actually giving away how he and Aziraphale communicate to Muriel by choosing that book. That could be dangerous with someone he doesn't trust...but he trusts Muriel. He trusts Muriel so much he is trying to tell them something about himself without saying it out loud—or is reminding them.

The story moves on.

In the next Muriel scene, at first glance, it looks like Crowley does not get a front bookend scene with it. Instead, that's given to a mix of the Metatron and Aziraphale as Aziraphale walks away and enters the bookshop. Blended with that scene, Maggie and Nina leave the bookshop with Nina shown to be passing by the Metatron. If one goes back and looks very closely—and I definitely would have missed this part were it not for a Tumblr post I'm happening to remember, a small bit of Crowley can be found in the background when Maggie and Nina were leaving the bookshop.

Muriel has their scene with the Metatron about reading a book. This part allows Muriel's scene to be a front bookend to the last two touches of The Sunglasses Trick, which take place while Crowley and Aziraphale have their argument.

At the same time, Crowley's scene of those touches becomes the back bookend of another Muriel scene. This stuff is happening on purpose as a game from the story.

Crowley leaves. Sometime after, Muriel can be seen looking through the window with a big question of how much they saw of the argument. They saw enough to look sad—like someone who cares about Crowley as a friend would.

Muriel is barely part of the scene with the Metatron and Aziraphale yet still gets book-ended between Crowley scenes.

After that scene, Crowley is shown standing alone as he starts The Door Trick. So, again, we have Muriel acting as a front bookend to a Threshold Trick, and Crowley acting as a back bookend to a Muriel scene.

Muriel is not on screen during the entirety of The Door Trick, The Door Catch, and The Window Trick. They manage to stay out of the way during these important moments in the story even though, as best we can tell, they are somewhere nearby.

In Muriel's last scene, they still get book-ended by Crowley scenes. The Window Trick finishes. Muriel opens the door and enters the bookshop. That makes their scene a back bookend to the last Threshold Trick. Crowley's car is seen driving away. Before the credits start, Crowley is shown driving with short sideburns as the last scene of the season before the credits truly start to roll.

If I understand yet another pattern from this little game, starting from when I said this bookend thing went into hyper-drive, Crowley's supposed to be a front-and-back bookend to Muriel scenes whereas Muriel doesn't do that for as many of Crowley's scenes. They have a special pocket version for The Pocket Trick and a front-and-back bookend to the argument, which was the conclusion of The Sunglasses Trick. One could find Aziraphale's moment alone before the Metatron arrives as debatably its own scene, then Crowley just doesn't front-and-back bookend Muriel at that point. Otherwise, Muriel's supposed to bookend one side or the other of Crowley's scenes but not both.

I wasn't even looking for yet another game, but I found one.

Anyway, I think they're friends—good friends even. It's hard to say how long the friendship existed before season 2. This trust they share would also explain Muriel's last scene with Crowley trusting them to look after the bookshop as he leaves.

...

More here:

Bookend Buddies Part 2 - Crowley and Muriel

#good omens 2 #crowley #good omens #good omens s2 #david tennant #good omens season 2 #good omens analysis #good omens meta #good omens crowley #crowley good omens #muriel #quelin sepulveda

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