#telling myself I’m going to write books or something but I never actually sit down and do it but still… it’s nice

[floral-hex]

It’s almost 6 in the morning. Can’t sleep. Admittedly lonely. So I’ll type a little text post to feel like I’m actually “doing” something.

Doubled my vilazadone. Started buspirone. I’ve been on a diuretic for my ears (it’s complicated) for about a week now, but whether it’s coincidental or not, my hearing has been pretty great since I started. But hearing comes and goes, so we’ll see if this holds in the coming weeks. My body is having trouble adjusting to all of these new meds, but I think it’s starting to rebalance itself. Chemicals, man…

Okay, I really don’t know what else to say here. Just bored on a Saturday night… well, now Sunday morning. Might go eat some captain crunch. I just started the buspirone and I think it’s maybe making me.. eeeeee 😬😬😬😬… you get it? Not anxious, just on edge. They said take before bed to get used to it, but maybe they meant “hey, take as you’re falling asleep, because if you’re awake when it kicks in, you will stay awake.” Or maybe it’s just normal loneliness and anxiety keeping me up. Who knows. This seems like a downer post, yeah? Sorry. It’ll be positive, ya. I’ll go make some cereal, watch some tv, you all can do whatever you’re doing this morning. There are some birds chirping outside, I’ll see if my cats are awake, it’ll be nice.

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely!! if you're comfortable writing something like this, could I maybe request poly!marauders where reader who is normally very independent but gets submissive at times, but not in a sexual way? like she just gets overwhelmed and wants the boys to be in charge for a while, but maybe the relationship is still new and she feels too needy and can't bring herself to tell them and eventually they realize?

again, no worries if you're not comfortable writing this, just thought I'd ask <3

Thank you for requesting gorgeous !

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“This is deeply, atrociously unjust,” Sirius says as James sits down in front of you, him on the floor and you on the couch. He’s wet and fresh-smelling from the shower. “You never let me do your hair.” 

“Because you always act like you’re trying to tear it out as some sort of twisted revenge plot,” says James, passing you a brush and the curl cream you and Sirius had found for him. Normally, you adore this routine, the chance to run your fingers through James’ hair and the way his eyes close blissfully while you do it. You love to pamper him. But tonight you’re not really in the mood. You do it because he expects you to, coating his curls in product with your usual tenderness but wishing you were on the receiving end of it instead. “She’s got the touch of an angel.” 

Sirius crosses his arms. He’s leaned against the side of the couch, leering over you like a vulture. Remus is reading in the armchair, and though he’s pretending to ignore all of you, the corner of his mouth tilts up. 

“Beauty is pain,” Sirius grouses.

“We should start a hair train,” James decides. “She’ll do mine, you can do hers, Remus will do yours, and I’ll do his.” 

Sirius seems to be considering this. You lean down towards James’ ear. “You’re throwing me to the wolves,” you stage-whisper. 

“It’s you or me, sweetheart.” 

Actually, the idea of Sirius playing with your hair—even at the risk of losing a good amount of it—doesn’t sound so awful. 

“I can get in the shower right now,” you offer, only half joking. 

Sirius lets a grin slip loose, sitting next to you to plant a smacker on your cheek. “Thank you, darling, but that’s alright. You shouldn’t have to atone for his mistakes.” 

You return his smile, doing your best to bury your disappointment.

“I didn’t consent to the hair train either,” Remus says without looking up from his book. “There’s a reason James doesn’t do his own hair.” 

“Oi,” James objects. “I’ve got admirers fighting over the opportunity to do my hair, why would I do it myself?” 

Remus marks his page, flipping the book closed. “What are we having for dinner?” he asks. 

“I don’t know, but I’m famished.” James doesn’t miss a beat, latching onto the new topic eagerly. “We could order takeaway?” 

“Or just cut out the middleman and go out,” Sirius says. “Unless someone feels like cooking? Which I don’t.” 

“We know,” Remus teases. “I don’t either, not tonight.” 

“I could if I needed to,” James says, “but I’m alright with whatever gets food in me the fastest.” 

They all look to you. “I don’t much feel like cooking,” you add your piece. Your voice comes out quieter than you’d intended.

“Alright,” Remus says. “Then let’s not cook tonight. What do you want to do, love? Go out or stay in?” 

You comb the brush slowly through James’ hair, twisting to define his curls. “I don’t know,” you say. 

Sirius turns to you, frowning. “Come on, baby.” He bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “What do you feel like having?” 

“I don’t know.” You try not to sigh. “Um, can you pick?”

You don’t look up from the top of James’ head, but you can feel them exchanging looks. They’ve all been a little extra gentle with you lately. They know you’re dealing with a lot. Anytime you try to tally it all up and make sense of it in your head, you start feeling like you could cry. Your exhaustion has sunk so deeply within you that it’s seeped into your bloodstream. You think by now there’s got to be traces of it in the marrow of your bones. 

“Hey,” Sirius says softly. “Look at me.” 

You do, pausing with the brush held aloft over James’ head. He’s got his eyebrows drawn together like he’s trying to figure you out. “I’m sorry,” you say. It’s not your boyfriends’ faults that you’re feeling overwhelmed; you don’t mean to drag them down with you. 

“What for, sweetness?” He sets a hand on your thigh, rings biting into your skin as he gives the flesh a loving squeeze. “Just tell us what you need.” 

You try to give him a smile. You really do love him. “I want…I don’t know, I guess I’m just tired. I want to not think for a little while.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows come up a bit in the middle, and James turns around from below you. 

“Aw, sweetheart.” His tone is as gooey and sweet as raw honey. “Do you just want us to take care of you, angel?” He sets his hands on your knees, pushing himself up to kiss your chin. “You should’ve said something.” 

“We can stay in,” Remus suggests whilst James worms his way underneath you, getting you in his lap. “Order takeaway from that Thai place you like.” 

“That sounds nice,” you say meekly, face growing warm. James presses rapid-fire kisses to your cheek. One-two-three. 

“You wanna have a shower, baby?” Sirius asks you. He looks heart-wrenchingly concerned. It’s not like you to want to give away control like this. “I could do your hair when you get out.” 

“Don’t do it,” James cautions you. “He steals our hair to make tiny dolls of us, I’m sure of it.” 

Sirius sends him a withering look. “I’ll be gentle.” 

“I’d like that,” you tell Sirius, and he softens. 

“Yeah?” He brushes a piece of hair away from your face and presses his hand to your cheek. Squishy fond. “Okay, baby, we’ll pamper you to hell and back.” 

“I’m going to find the menu for takeaway,” Remus says, prying himself up from his chair. 

“James,” Sirius says, not particularly kindly, “you will have to let her go for her to shower.” 

“Never. Not on my life. Not at gunpoint.” You shrink as James makes his face at home in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nose nudging at a ticklish spot. “She’s my darling sweetheart angel.” 

“She’s our darling sweetheart angel,” Remus corrects him from the kitchen. You think your face could melt titanium. 

“James, please,” you complain. “I’m never telling you all anything again.”

“Careful.” Sirius raises an eyebrow at you, mock stern. “That sounded dangerously close to a thought, and those won’t be allowed until at least tomorrow morning.”

[pheonixgrave]

Softer Now (18+)

Ahh! You guys seem to be really enjoying these. I realized I was just writing the same Tav so there's that

Warnings: Soft smut, definite voyeurism, a decent amount of blood drinking, Soft!Astarion, pre-Act III, post-Act II

“Aren’t you just a little jealous?” Karlach asked, joining Astarion near the stash of wine they found.

“Why would I be jealous of the walking encyclopedia?” He smirked, watching a certain elf interact with a certain wizard.

“Oh c’mon! He’s flirting with her and you two are a thing, right?”

“I find it rather charming, actually,” he took a swig of the awful wine in his hand.

The Tiefling looked from the vampire spawn to the pair looking over some old tome whose name no one else could pronounce. “Charming?”

“Let me tell you what I see,” he set the bottle down to face the barbarian. “To you and I, Gale is obviously flirting. In a very clumsy manner, but flirting all the same. Our fearless leader, however, has no idea. To her, he is as much of a friend as Wyll or Shadowheart. Yet, he keeps trying because he has no clue that she simply isn’t flirting back.”

“That doesn’t make you angry?”

“Of course not!” He laughed, “I can barely believe he managed to bed a goddess with how he flirts.”

“It does seem pretty out there, as far as stories go,” Karlach crossed her arms and continued to watch the pair. 

“Anyways, I know there’s no competition.”

She smirked, “You do sound a teensy bit jealous.”

“My dear, I do not get jealous.” The more he thought about it, the more pause it gave him. Their resident wizard does try to hold her attention more often than he should. But Tav’s time was her own. He knew he had nothing to worry about. After everything they’ve been through, he couldn’t imagine her changing her mind at the last moment. Right?

Tav, on the other hand, was enjoying pouring over the old tome they had found. It gave some interesting insight into Illithids and their reasonings. Unfortunately, she was unable to read the language it was written in. She was thankful for Gale in that sense. Who knew he spoke Deep Speech? Granted it was written in Espruar but the script itself was odd. The wizard had helped her decipher a few pages about psionic energy and how they have mastered it. It truly was fascinating. 

“This is nice,” Gale spoke from next to her. He was holding the dusty tome in his hands with the bard sitting near him, using her mage hand to scribble any notes she’s taken. 

She looked up at him with wide eyes, “I suppose it is! I’m very happy we found this book.”

“It truly is remarkable,” he swallowed, “It’s also a nice excuse to spend more time together in the midst of all this madness.” 

“Oh! I suppose it is nice to sit with everyone.” She didn’t fail to notice him scoot slightly closer. Just a hair between them now.

Gale closed the book and turned to look at the elf next to him. “I’m afraid I must ask you something.”

Something in Tav’s mind warned her to walk away. But she was still getting used to that voice, so she elected not to listen to it. This was Gale. This was her friend. “What’s on your mind?”

He grabbed her hands in his, “I have noticed you and Astarion getting rather close recently.”

Tav wasn’t sure how to react. She was already flustered by the sudden turn of the conversation. She was more than happy to keep speaking of the Illithid empire. “Where are you going with this, Gale?”

Gale’s eyes never left hers. It was like he was trying far too hard to bear into her soul and she simply…didn’t want him to. “I told myself it was casual, not a matter of the heart but…clearly I was wrong and it looks like I am the last to know. I know how close you two have gotten, I just thought you would show me the respect of telling me first.”

The Elf’s jaw dropped, “Tell you? Tell you what?”

“But you can tell me now. Who is it to be? Me or him?” The look in Gale’s eyes was nearly as serious as when he was told he’d have to become a bomb.

“What exactly am I choosing here?” Tav blinked, glancing down at the wizard’s hands that completely enveloped hers. It took her a moment before her brain caught up. “Oh! Oh, Gale! I had no idea you felt this strongly.”

A glimmer of a smile reached his face, “Well, perhaps I should have done more. Been more charming, more flattering, harder to reach…but I was only myself. Sometimes that just isn’t enough.” His face dropped looking at hers, “Whatever your decision is, I will respect it. But you must choose. You cannot have us both.”

Tav made a choked sound in the back of her throat before clearing it. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I think it’s for the best that we aren’t involved like that. I want to be with Astarion.”

“I see. I suppose he does have a certain charm about him, if you’re into that sort of thing.” He sighed, “I’ll just put my feelings to one side. I think that’s best for everyone. It’s certainly the best thing for me. I won’t leave, unless you want me to. Or until fate forces my hand, your friendship is all we have. And I will be happy to have it, eventually.”

Tav’s heart broke for the man. It must be quite painful to not have those feelings returned. For a moment, she thought about what she would do if Astarion ever stops feeling the things he says he feels for her. And the thought almost brought tears to her eyes. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” she couldn’t hide the crack in her voice. But Gale was never going to be the cause of it. 

“Worry not. I carry my regrets wherever I go and I am used to their weight. One more will not break my back.” He gripped her hands one final time before she pulled away. 

She gave him a sad smile before walking over to where Karlach and Astarion stood. Grabbing the bottle from Astarion’s hands, she drank deep for a moment. They both glanced at each other before turning back towards the Elf. She handed the bottle back to him before smiling at Karlach, “Is there anything you have to admit to me? Any deep romantic feelings or attachment?”

Karlach laughed, “What? No, soldier!” She put her still warm hand on the much smaller elf’s shoulder. “You’re a dear friend. More than that, you’re family.”

Tav’s shoulders dropped, “Oh thank the Gods.” She turned to Astarion who was watching her with raised eyebrows, “Bed?” 

The moment they were inside his tent, she buried her face in his chest with her arms wrapped so tightly around his waist. “Darling, what’s wrong? Did the mean mage say something he shouldn’t have?” 

She didn’t want to pull far enough away to answer him. She didn’t want him to see her start to cry. She just shook her head and held him as close as she could. She wasn’t sure how to process these feelings. The vampire spawn just wrapped his arms around her trembling form. 

“You don’t have to say anything, just nod your head. Did Gale hurt you in any way?” She could hear the growl in his voice. It sounded more dangerous than normal. 

She pulled away with a deep inhale. She looked up at him with tears already streaming down her face. With a sniffle she whispered, “Gale admitted he had feelings for me, yes. But then I thought about how miserable life would be without you in it.”

Astarion froze, his body tensed. “So let me get this straight,” he swallowed, more nervous than he’s ever really been before. “You told Gale you’re not interested just to be with me? I do come with my complications, my love.”

She let out a breathy laugh, “I told Gale I’m not interested because I’m simply not interested.” Her hand reached up to stroke his cheek, “I just don’t ever want to imagine a life without you again. A world where you’re not with me. Because you’ve always been near, even if I didn’t know it.”

He remembers the night he told her about Cazador. The night he told her about the Szarr palace was also the same night she had told her about her tower. And how she could see the palace from her desk. It was true, they really have always been close in one way or another. “And you got that worked up because…?”

“I wouldn’t even know what I was missing,” she smiled at him, eyes still full of emotion. “You’ve been all of my firsts. First kiss, first night together. Hells, the first time I’ve held someone's hand was with you. This is all still very new to me. And the moment I thought about you not being with me I-” she let out a choked sob before gripping his shirt in her fists and burying her face in his chest once again. 

For a moment, the vampire spawn didn’t react. It still takes him a moment to return affection but he managed to wrap his arms around the trembling bard. He swallowed before gently rubbing the small of her back. The thought of someone wanting him this badly was…daunting, to say the least. He knew if they had met before the nautiloid, he’d mark her as a victim. She was pretty and just naive enough to fall for him. Hells, he had even known her parents. Cazador loved having the city’s nobility over, but never her. 

She was always the princess in the tower. Always there but never seen. Even Cazador had thought she was a mere rumor and nothing else.

For a while, he just held her while she cried. He wasn’t sure what else he could do besides hold her. Nothing he could say would comfort her. They weren’t even sure if they would survive this mess. So he pulled her closer. The rest of the night passed as they were wrapped in each other’s embrace. Soft, whispered words of a future sprinkled with hope. For the first time in his unlife, he had more than just hope.

The next couple of days passed uneventfully. They were only traveling, plain and simple. Onwards to Baldur’s Gate. Where all of their dooms or salvations lay. In the gloom of it all, Tav wanted some fun. She had gone to Shadowheart and pilfered some of her extra blankets with promises to replace them once they reached the city. As they set up camp yet again, she made her way towards the lake side. She laid out all of the blankets in a large square before finding the extra food she had squirreled away. And pulled out the best wine she could find. It was an obviously aged bottle still covered in a thick layer of dust, but the label looked fancy.  She truly knew nothing about wine so she prayed to whomever was listening that it wasn’t swill. She then adjusted her bustier in an awkward manner before smiling to herself and searching for the vampire spawn.

He wasn’t hard to find. No one heard what she whispered in his ear. But they certainly noticed the fond smile and raised eyebrows as she dragged him away from the camp. Astarion looked at the little picnic she had put together, his hand in hers before kissing the top of her head. “And what’s the special occasion, darling?”

She smiled up at him, unabashed emotion in her eyes with a grin on her face. She was truly divine in the moonlight. She shrugged, “I just wanted to do something nice for you. We reach Baldur’s Gate in a couple days and we have to hit the ground running soon. I just wanted to take a moment, just for us.” She picked up the bottle of wine she had found, “I hope it’s okay. I know it’s old but I don’t know if it’s good.” 

He smiled and pulled her close. “Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing?”

The tips of her ears flushed as he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. And then they sat and talked and ate and drank. They spoke about the Gauntlet of Shar, about the monastery, about the Moonrise Towers. And the conversation drifted to their party as Tav slowly became more and more tipsy. She talked about Wyll and his obvious daddy issues. Shadowheart and her love for more adult literature. And Astarion was all too happy to sit and listen to her. It’s one of the things that drew him to her, after all. She could read people like they were a book she was all too happy to read. 

As the evening turned into night, the pair ended up against a nearby rock. Tav sitting on his lap as he peppered her neck with kisses. And as Tav’s giggles turned into soft moans as his hands started to travel to her waist. “You should keep quiet, my sweet, we wouldn’t want to wake the entire camp up. Would we?” He whispered before nipping at the base of her neck. 

“I-I think you’d like that far too much,” she managed to gasp out as he helped her rock her hips back and forth against him. 

He chuckled against her neck, leaving trails of almost bites with his fangs. “What ever makes you say that?”

“Astarion!” She moaned, grabbing the back of his head as he finally sank his teeth into her neck. She gripped his curls in one hand and dug her nails into his shoulder with the other. Her hips moved on their own as he slowly drank from her. His arms wrapped around her waist as he held her up. Between the wine and him drinking from her, she felt lightheaded. But that made the friction between them feel all the more intense. 

“You always taste just so perfect, my love.” He slowly released her neck before slamming his lips against hers. He knew he was being needy but he craved her. As his lips melded against hers his nimble fingers went to work on the knots of her bustier. It never took him long to get her out of her clothes and tonight was no exception. 

She grabbed his hands before he could fully remove her bustier, cradling his hands in hers. “Are you sure you want to do this? We really don’t have to. I’m happy to just sit here with you.” Her voice was barely a whisper, something meant just for him. 

He smiled at her before kissing her again, “Darling, if I didn’t wish to have you, I wouldn’t have you half dressed sitting on my lap.”

She smiled and let go of his hands and let him return to practically tearing off her clothing. He wasn’t satisfied until she was sat on his lap in nothing but her underwear. His face buried in her breasts, leaving small little nicks with his teeth as he made his way back up to her lips. Her hands gripped his shoulder as he snaked his hand down her body. He made sure to feel all the softness that was still on her body, never failing to trace her curves. 

Tav was small but years in a tower had made her body gentle. Her hands were rough from her instruments, yes, and she did have a lot of skill with a blade. But she was in no way muscular. And Astarion enjoyed that more than he could say. He enjoyed being able to almost see the tremors in her thighs before he felt it. Gods, he needed her. 

It only took him a moment to find her clit and draw slow, gentle circles around it. Never quite touching it directly. “Darling, you’re already shaking. Did you miss me that much?”

“Yes!” She cried into his ear. “Y-you’re teasing me.” Her head fell against his shoulder as her body trembled against him. 

“Oh, I’d never do such a thing,” He smiled and buried his hand in her hair. “I simply want to take my time enjoying you.” The vampire spawn slowly filled her cunt with his fingers, his palm grinding against her clit. 

She tried hard to keep quiet. Really she did. But when his fingers curled inside of her? She couldn’t help but cry out his name. How was he so patient? All she wanted was to have him inside her. He pumped his fingers in and out of her cunt so painfully slowly. 

Now, Tav may have been too focused on the rogue’s hands to notice anything else. But Astarion wasn’t. He knew Halsin and Gale were keeping watch tonight. He also knew it was far too late for anyone else to be awake. Which is why his hands didn’t stop when he noticed the bushes across from them moved. It was so subtle that he almost missed it.

Almost.

Someone was watching them. And he had an inkling he knew exactly who it was. The thought made him grin against Tav’s bloodsoaked neck. He sped up his fingers, holding her as she writhed against him. “That’s it, love, don’t hold a single thing back.” She came with a cry of his name. She was still trembling as he made a show of licking his own fingers clean. “I do so enjoy how you taste, my love.” He didn’t whisper this time. He wanted the wizard in the bushes to hear.

With shaking hands she went to untie the knots on his trousers. He leaned back against the rock, letting her take his length in her hands. “M-may I?” Her neck was stained just as red as the flush on her cheeks. Her big blue eyes wide in anticipation. 

“May you what?” His hand went to her throat and he felt her breath catch.

“M-may I ride you?” It really was endearing how she asked. Her voice was breathless and her chest was heaving. He had never been overly rough with her. But with a voyeur in the bushes? He was more than tempted to lay claim to the nearly virgin in his lap. 

He pouted at her, “I’m not quite sure what you mean, darling.”

Her eyes went wider than before. “W-what?”

She was so innocent. So pure, he had never even heard her swear before. “What is it exactly that you would like to do?” He purred, his forehead meeting hers. “Don’t play coy with me now.”

She swallowed, the tips of her ears matching the rest of her face. “Astarion,” she whined. 

“If you use your words, love, I’ll be happy to give you anything you want.”

She whined again when the grip around her throat tightened ever so slightly. “I-I want-” another swallow, “I want to ride your cock.”

He smiled, “See? Now was that so hard? You did so well,” he whispered against her lips.  She adjusted herself over him, still holding him in one hand while the other braced herself on his shoulder. His hand still held her throat, not quite squeezing just letting her know he was there. The bard lowered herself onto him. He groaned as she sank down. “Perfect.”

Her other hand flew up to his chest while she gripped his blouse so tightly that her knuckles were whiter than before. Her head spun while the wine loosened her tongue. “Gods, Astarion.” 

“Use your words, darling,” he moaned against her neck, his eyes keeping an eye on the bush yet again. He wanted the wizard to see how good he could make her feel. He wanted him to see that he wasn’t even a thought on her mind. He wanted him to see that she wanted him and not Gale.

She sat for a moment, adjusting to his size before rocking her hips back and forth. Astarion’s hands flew to her hips to help guide her movements. “Feels so good,” she whimpered, still clutching at his blouse. 

“That’s it, pet. You can take it, I know you can.” Her movements were entirely her own. She gradually went from rocking to bouncing. His body told him to throw his head back but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Maybe now Gale would realize she was his. Maybe he had more of a possessive streak than he thought. 

“Your hand, put it back!” She used his chest as leverage for her movements. He could feel her getting close and who was he to deny her? He instinctively put his hand back around her throat and squeezed. He had never felt her tighten around him harder. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. He let her sit like that for a moment as she started to relax once again.

Whoever was in the bushes was gone now. Either too riled up to stay or too heartbroken to watch. Either way, Astarion found it satisfying. Satisfying enough to toss Tav on her back and put her ankles on his shoulder. It was something about knowing Tav not only trusted him but chose him, drove him wild. Far more than any lover he’s had in the past. Even through her half opened eyes and her mind filled with wine and pleasure, her eyes were still filled with that emotion. That feeling that he wouldn’t dare put words to yet. 

She was his. And he was equally hers. 

Her moans and whimpers filled the air but he felt so far away from her. Too far. She grabbed his hands and pulled him closer, lacing her hands with his. “Beautiful,” was all she could whisper before she clenched around him. This time, he wasn’t far behind her. They laid like that for a while. Him on top of her, her tracing small patterns on his back. The scars were a reminder of what awaited them in Baldur’s Gate. But it could wait for now. For now they had each other. 

“Did you see who was in the bushes?” 

He immediately met her eyes, “You knew?”

“I’m naive, not stupid.” She giggled, rolling over to her side.

“I believe we just gave the magic eater quite the eyeful.”

[lookforsomeoneelse]

Can we get some more sahsrau? Does not have to be a long one-shot, I just really like how you write! And I would love to hear more of your ideas!

Maybe about how specific characters show that they interact with the reader? For example, how they act before reader is in HSR, and once reader is in HSR? As for characters, you can choose who ever you want! You're the one writing it after all.

As for writing, you asked if writing gets better if you do it often? And well, for me what works is writing, doesn't matter if it not good, just enjoy yourself. Plus reading books, fanfics, or whatever you like once again, and this time try to pay attention to how things are worded in your favorite books/fanfics.

Anyway, take good care of yourself cause there are always people who care about you, and stay hydrated!

Alright! First ask. Only gonna be headcanons because I’m a procrastinator. Reader discretion is advised, because I have no idea what to put for the content warning. I think it only goes for Kafka though.

Herta

I touched on her briefly in another post, but know that despite her arrogance and apathy towards most, she’s just as down bad for you as the rest of the cast.

She gives her absolute best when it comes to you.

Also in Simulated Universe, your word is absolute law. If the simulated you decides that the project is a bad idea or something, Herta will absolutely stop, regardless of the resources she put into its creation.

I imagine her to be with you the exact opposite of how she treats everybody else- with the utmost respect and attention.

Once you actually do make it inside of the game for whatever reason, Herta is absolutely ecstatic.

When you’re actually around her though…

Let’s say that her IQ drops by a significant amount.

Combined with her intense faith, this can lead to a lot of misunderstandings and false assumptions.

You can legit just be sitting down or something and herta will be in the background like “WRITE THAT DOWN, WRITE THAT DOWN!”

Misha

Born as a reincarnation(?) of the Watchmaker, I’m not actually going to discuss him. Rather, I wanna talk about who he originally was, and (technically) his creation.

Mikhail Char Legwork, aka The Watchmaker, was also a devout follower of yours.

All throughout his travels on the Express, he never lost sight of your mercy, which allowed him to survive on his long journeys.

Thanks to this, you end up as a “character” in the Clockie cartoon, who the writers show as a mysterious figure who gave Clockie his powers.

There’s also a LOT of propaganda surrounding you in basically every piece of media, (in the game) including Clockie.

Speaking of media…

Robin

ah yes, the shining popstar of the universe herself, Robin!

Robin’s no doubt another faithful follower of yours.

She believes that her amazing voice and innate talent came from you (it actually came from Chevy, holy cow is she a good singer) and she gives many praises to you for that.

In fact, do you want to know what her best selling single is?

It’s not Sway to my Beat in Cosmos, nor Hope is The Thing with Feathers, and it’s not even If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking!

It’s actually a song- a hymn, rather, composed and sung specifically just for you.

Ask basically anybody who is a fan of hers and I can bet that they know the lyrics by heart and can absolutely sing it backwards.

Make it into their reality, and you’ll get free access to front seats to any and all of her concerts. And when I say “front seat” I mean you get a whole ass throne specifically built for your comfort.

She will die of joy if you ask her for an autograph. Keep that in mind.

Kafka

last but most certainly not least, it’s our mom, but more commonly known as Kafka, the charismatic and beautiful Stellaron Hunter with a big bounty and big boobies. (I’m f#cking ashamed of myself for writing that)

She’s the one character on this list that we haven’t been given a backstory for- except some voice lines, but they really don’t tell us anything.

As such, the only real thing I can tell you is that she’s faithful to you, just like everyone else.

It becomes a completely different song and dance if you come to them, though.

She’s essentially a glorified wine aunt, and she will treat you out for whatever you wish.

She’s also very very defensive of you.

That guy over looks stole a glance? Dead next morning.

That girl goes even within 50 meters of you without your permission? Her fate is sealed.

Kafka is by no means like this to you, however.

She’s probably gonna lick your shoes free of charge.

(A/N: I, uh, really like asks. please send more. you probably won’t get anything good, but least you’ll get what you requested.)

[maudie-duan]

Series Summary: In a crowd full of adoring fans, Harry can’t seem to take his eyes off the girl standing front row, who won’t look up from her phone—I mean, why the hell come to a One Direction concert, have one of the best spots in the house, and not look at him at least once??? What happens when Harry takes it upon himself to get Romee’s attention? Will he be “that” asshole, or is he as charming as he thinks?

Word Count: 3.1K

A/N: Yay! I finally had time to write! enjoy!!

Tag List: @howling-wolf97 @simplebuteffectivex @sassamanda77

Warning: Mature, Eventual Smut, Strong Language, Angst.

To say I lost it at the concert was an understatement—Not only did I break up with my boyfriend through text. My phone was stolen by that guy Harry—please forgive me, but I still don’t know his last name. All I know is that he went out of his way to get my phone and then had the audacity to read my texts—what the fuck!

Sure, I guess—cool—have a little fun, but don’t you think it would have been more entertaining if it were at the expense of someone else, you know, someone that might have actually enjoyed it—got off on the fact that the hottest member of the band was singling them out, but fuck, I was on the verge of a breakdown, and the second they started singing. I lost it!

And why did he have to be so fucking cute sitting there, singing such heart-wrenching lines, with that sexy rasp cutting me to my core—and Clara—Clara knew I was going to freak once I had the opportunity to finally unload—and god the way the fans were going crazy, tugging and swaying me in every which direction, losing their minds as if I were the “chosen one.” 

I didn’t want the attention or the praise; I just wanted to get the hell out of there—I just wanted my phone back.

Why would he even want my phone? Surely, he had a lot more going on than a girl like 

me from Oklahoma. The only interesting thing about me is that I like to read and enjoy music, but clearly, not his kind of music, or at least my pride won’t let me enjoy anything coming from his mouth because I’m so fucking mad.

I think it was voodoo or some kind of magic because the second we locked eyes. I swear I could feel my brain oozing, flipping through every emotion running through my mind like a picture book, this uncontrollable urge flooding my system.

The chemicals in my brain fucking altering as he walked over, his microphone pressed to his perfect mouth; I thought, “Wow��those pictures we crept last night don’t even touch the surface.” and suddenly I’m a fan girl getting sucked in by the charm—and when he crouched down in front of me, hair falling in his face, he knew it—Harry knew how hot he was, running a hand through his hair, a cunning grin turned up at the corner of his mouth—he was smug with the effortless act of it all, waving the security guard over, the man filling the hopeless space between us. He whispered something in the man’s ear, eyes never leaving mine, and I’m telling you I was physically shaking. It was like a sensory overload of the greatest proportions. I could feel the hundreds of eyes beating down my back, everyone craning their necks to get a better look—at him—at me.

With ease, Harry hands the man my phone, sending me a wink as he stretches to his feet—so tall, dammit—towering in front of me on the stage. His playful smile says it all, and when the man hands me the phone, I force myself to look away, shoving it in the purse slung across my body—At that moment, I don’t trust anyone. I didn’t know what the fans were capable of, but I’m telling you, I genuinely felt fear when they were bumping into me, trying to get his attention—that’s another thing; he should know better than to put someone in danger like that—what an asshole.

Okay—and I’m back at mad—and he is staring at me, and it feels more confusing than me sending my boyfriend a breakup text—ex-boyfriend—because at least his intentions were clear—was this just for entertainment’s sake? All the phones recording me now make me think this is just a game, like maybe he does this often—and now I can feel the heat crawling, a slow burn rising to my face. 

And god, what does my face look like right now? Is my makeup everywhere? “I’m sorry—” he says, “Please, don’t hate me…” and his British accent has me swooning again, his hand running through his hair—it’s unfair—like being in this boy band has blessed him with the gift of persuasion—he’s mastered it I’ll give him that, and as my eyes roam his body I’m taking in more details—details that make me want to leap this fucking barrier and explore the crazy thoughts circling my mind right now as my eyes travel down his body…

Fuck!—he catches me staring, shooting me a knowing grin that squeezes my inside with a curious wonder—almost primal—when I glimpse a peek of a tattoo lining his waist. I pull Clara into me, leaning close to her ear, and all I can say is, “Holy fuck—”

So—yes, there was attraction, I’ll give him that too, but fuck, why did it have to be tonight of all nights—because now I can feel my phone vibrating in my purse, and I know who it is, and now it’s taking me out of the moment and into a mournful despair that I don’t think I could shake right now, no matter how cute the boy in front of me is—and yes—I know, for some this would be a one and a lifetime chance, but fuck Harry for putting me in this situation and fuck Tyler for even existing because I am so angry at him right now. 

Here, I was feeling every range of emotion trying to be present, and then the boys announced that this was their last song. Do you want to know what I did? I cried because what the hell was my life right now? I was miserable at best; I was lost in a crowd of people emanating every sense of happiness and joy— but when their sadness filled the venue, we all felt it. Their tears of grief became my tears of grief. The gloom they felt when the boys sang their last line made me numb, and so I didn’t even chance a second glance at Harry when I walked away from that stage.

I didn’t say a word the whole trek through the venue, ignoring girls who wanted to take a picture because—they couldn’t believe Harry stole my phone—Clara became my other half, held my hand, leading our way through the crowd. At some point, I must have genuinely dissociated because somehow, we were at Clara’s apartment, crossing the threshold of the doorway like we had just run a marathon.

Without thought, I walked to her couch and slumped down into the cushions, becoming the “sloth of a human” I was lurching toward with every passing second. I kicked my boot off, swinging my legs up onto the couch, and fell back into the pillows, feeling a ripple of announce when the strap of my purse started choking me, and I leaned forward enough to sling it over my head, trashing it to the floor with a loud thud. 

“Is it safe to talk yet?” Clara asks, toeing her shoes off and kicking them toward mine.

“I never said it wasn’t—” I tell her, my head drifting toward her as she sits in front of the couch next to me.

She purses her lip, her eyes shifting to the ground like “Yeah right,” and shakes her head, “I’m sorry I gave your phone away—”

“It’s fine—” I force.

“No…seriously—I was just so caught up in the moment, and you know how I get…”

“Clara—it’s fine really…it’s over now…”

She laughs, pushing my shoulder, “But can we talk about how crazy that was?” 

“I—I don’t know…” I mutter, crossing an arm over my eyes before Clara can catch sight of the tears welling because, of course, now I’m crying—again.

Clara clicks her tongue, trying to pry my arm from my face, but it only makes me cry harder, “I broke up with Ty—” I confess, pushing the words through heaving breaths of guilt—shame—I don’t know. How can one be reeling from a breakup and on some kind of high, all because some cute boy wanted to flirt with me—wait, was he flirting? The thought dries my tears fast—because fuck Tyler— A fucking singer from a famous boy band just hit on me, and I’m crying over spilled milk that was way past its expiration date. 

“Clara…?” I pull my arm away from my face, wiping at the tears still spilling at the corner of my eyes.

“Are you going to ask me if I think you made the right decision?” she asks, and my gaze flicks to her face, worry creasing her brow, and I think I already know what she’s going to say.

“Because I’ve always hated him—” she clarifies, and I know this. She’s been begging me for years to end it with him, “I think you can do better—”

“Fuck—Romee…Harry Styles was hitting on you tonight, dude—like hitting on—you!”

“Was he hitting on me?” I question, just for confirmation, because yeah, was that all even real? 

She laughs out, grabbing my arm, jerking it back and forth until my whole body is moving with the motion, “Okay—”

“Okay—so what—? it’s not like anything is going to come from it…” I tell her. 

“I mean, that was a one and a lifetime chance—you could have worked that in so many ways…I mean—” she says, shaking her head like it’s the end of the world, like, “Man, you really fucked this one…”

The thought makes my stomach twist as I try to brush off her words, but deep down, I know she’s right, “Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now—can I?” 

Clara sits up, eyes widening like a light bulb flicking on, “What—?” I ask, a nervous sheen of sweat already marking my palms—it’s truly terrifying when she gets this way. She’s so much more outgoing. She loves this kind of stuff—In fact, this is exactly her vibe, so why isn’t this happening to her?

“I think you should slide into his DM…” She says without a single conviction, like that’s not the craziest idea ever. 

“Clara…slide into his DM’s?” I ask, arching a brow.

“And say what?” 

“I don’t know anything…like “Hey, you stole my phone…” is a start…it could be anything—”

“He’s like famous—famous, Clara…yeah, right?”

“Oh my god, Romee, can you like just for one time in your life—live?” she spits, all playfulness gone. Her words hit me like a ton of bricks because was that not just what Tyler was asking?

I shake my head, casting my eye to the floor, shame heating my body, and all I can picture is Tyler already fucking some other girl. “All I’m trying to say is that—I’m sure there are hundreds of girls pouring into his DM’s right now trying to claim that line…”

When I look back at Clara, remorse stings her features. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “That wasn’t fair…”

“It’s fine—maybe there’s just a little bit of truth there…” I say, pinching my thumb and index fingers together. 

“But I think you’re right…I don’t know what our in would be…” Clara agrees.

“Oh—maybe I can get my dad to buy us more tickets—?”

“I don’t know Clara…I can’t imagine that those tickets were cheap…” I tell her.

“No—you’re right…and I still need him to pay my rent. I’m not ready to get a job,” Clara said so seriously, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” she asks, with a slow-spreading smile.

“You lucky bitch—that’s all…” I say

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes, “And now you don’t have an excuse not to move here…I have an extra room, dammit! My dad is already paying the rent.”

“I know—” Clara looks down at my purse then. My phone buzzing through my bag makes a loud zipping sound against the wood floor, drawing her out of the conversation. 

I clear my throat, “I already know who it is—don’t answer it!”

And being Clara, she reaches for my bag, swiping it from my reach before I can react—damn—this is the second time tonight. Clearly, I have not learned my lesson.

“Clara—please, dude…”

“No—just let me give him a piece of my mind for once…I’ve been so good…like this whole time, and how many years has it been…four? “

“You owe me this—” she tells me as she types in my passcode. The screen flashes in front of her face, but she has a weird look, a reaction that isn’t matching up.

“Who is this random number calling you?” she asks, and I sit up, trying to glimpse the number, but she’s answering the call before I even have the chance.

“Hello—?” she says, raising a brow. There’s a moment of silence before she perks up, eyes going wide. 

“What?” I whispered, attempting to get her attention. I stare at her, trying to gather context clues, but she’s gone mute, eyes bulging with excitement, and out of nowhere, she squeals and tosses the phone on the couch, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. 

“What the fuck, Clara—?” I hiss, reaching for my phone. Whoever it is is still on the line, the seconds counting up on the screen, and when I bring the phone to my ear, she squeals again—louder this time—and I pace to the guest bedroom, lazily closing the door behind me. 

“Hello?” I say into the phone, already skeptical of the caller. Why would Clara react that way? 

“Hi—it’s Harry—please don’t scream into the phone again…” he says, his British drawl filling the line.

“O—kay—hold on one sec…” I tell him, bounding to the door, and I don’t know why but I’m holding the phone out like it’s the plague, but inwardly, I’m freaking the fuck out—becuase holy shit how is this happening? And then I realize he’s waiting. So I bring the phone to my ear, drawing in a slow breath through my nose.

“Harry—” I say, peeking my head around the door frame—Clara is in full panic mode, pacing back and forth like she is waiting to hear some sort of verdict. When she catches sight of me, she raises her arms in question.

“Still—here…” he says, and I think he’s yawning, his words stretching with an exhale. 

“That was my friend that answered the phone…sorry about that—”

“Wait—how did you get my number?”

“What do you mean?” he laughs.

“I mean—” I start, pulling the phone away from my ear to check the time—it’s almost 1 a.m.—and I’m thinking what the actual fuck could he want. 

“I mean, like, why are you calling? I ask, a nervous flutter building in the pit of my stomach—this is both thrilling and scary, even if this was a regular guy. I would still be freaking way out.

“Don’t know, really…” is all he says.

I wait, holding my breath for more, and when he doesn’t say anything, I exhale a silent breath, “Okay…so—”

“Can I see you?” he asks, straight to the point, and I slam the door shut, pressing my back flat against it. 

I’m at a loss for words, “ummm….I don’t know—”

“Is it a weird ask?” and he kind of laughs because I’m sure he already knows the answer. 

“Harry—” 

“Wait—what’s your name? I’ll need a name to tell security—”

“Security—? Oh my god—wait, what? Who says I’m going?” I question, smiling to myself as I make a slow descent downward, sliding down the door until my butt hits the ground—until I can press my hand flat against the cold hardwood floor, the chill meaning this moment is real and that this is happening. 

“My name is Romee—” I tell him softly.

“Well, Romee…is that a yes? Or a no?” he asks, and the deep rasp of his voice unsettles me in ways I haven’t felt in a long time—because when was the last time I felt this excited, had something to look forward to?

“Romee—before you answer that. It’s okay if you don’t want to come. I’m realizing now how strange this all must be…”

“Yeah…strange—” I whisper, a bit dazed, him saying my name stirring something internal. I keep picturing him on that stage, remembering all the ways I had imagined him—the details that had my head spinning. 

“It’s just—” he begins but doesn’t finish the thought. I’m holding my breath again, listening to his slow breaths, anxiously waiting for him to say anything.

“It’s just what? Harry—” I gently nudge.

“I just—I don’t—” he exhales a loud breath into the phone, maybe frustrated. It’s making me nervous and desperate to know. 

“Gosh—” I laugh, “The anticipation alone is making me want to take you up on your offer—”

A low rasp blooms in my ear, “No—I’m sorry—” he says, now laughing. 

“It’s just hard to explain…I don’t know, I just really want to see you…” 

My chest swells with his words. The giddy curiosity of all the possibilities and when he says, “Romee…please—” I squeeze my eyes shut, head falling back against the door—he had me at “Romee”—he could say my name over and over, but when he said “please…” I felt the longing pulse between my legs.

Then he said, “It won’t be weird, I promise—I just—I don’t know…want to make it up to you…” just like that, so casual, like all of this is normal—like me going to his hotel room won’t change me in some way. 

“Harry—” 

“Romee…” he whispers.

I let out a small laugh, “And how will you make it up to me? I ask, voice low, intrigued by the shift taking place.

“Whatever you want…it’s yours…” And his voice is a slow vibration drifting through my body, piquing my curious mind one persuasive word after another, and I’m dying to explore this—him and his body. 

Everything in me wanted to reply with something witty, but “Mmmm…” rose in my throat like a tapered moan I kept sealed behind my lips, nearly giving myself away. 

“That’s a yes, then?” he rasps. 

“Harry…” I whisper.

“Romee…”

“Say my name again…” I whisper softer this time.

“Romee…please…I promise—”

And there it was again, that pulse now humming up my spine. “What’s the address?” I ask because I’m weak, and I want whatever he’s trying to give, and I deserve this—He owes me after all, right? 

A/N: Tag list open! Can't wait to get this story moving!!

Previous Chapters<-

[morsesnotes]

I'm still not over this interview and these interactions specifically. They're so dorky in a very endearing way:

Shaun Evans: I think [Donna Tartt] herself is kind of extraordinary. Have you read “The Goldfinch”?

1883Mag: Yes! Weirdly enough, I started with “The Goldfinch” and loved it, thought it was incredible, and then wanted to go back and read her other work. She has another book, “The Little Friend”, I don’t know if you’ve read that?

Shaun: I’ve not read it yet!

1883Mag: It’s probably not as good as the other two.

Shaun: That’s good to know actually. She’s such an extraordinary writer. I feel like…and this is so rare but so amazing when you do get it, but when you read something and you’ve felt everything there with those people. I was totally there, I was totally present. That is an extraordinary thing when you think about it, right? Someone has sat at their kitchen table or wherever they’re sitting…at their desk…and they’re just putting words on paper but it’s translated and makes you feel something and you go on an experience. And I feel like that with Donna Tartt. Her work is…I started to watch videos of her on YouTube…weird [laughs] but she takes years to write her books, doesn’t she?

----

1883Mag: It’s nice that they facilitated an environment where you could feel comfortable asking questions and why they made the artistic choices they made. It must be such an interesting filming experience because…it feels cramped, when you’re watching it. It feels claustrophobic on the ship.

Shaun: The set was like that! It was like that. It was vast in a way that was incredibly detailed and enabled you to shoot in a very narrow and condensed, claustrophobic way, so it was an extraordinary set, so I have to pay tribute to those guys. But, to go back to the director thing. I would never ask them, Why did you do this? Tell me about it. Because, as a director, you don’t want to feel like people are breathing down your neck. So I would simply observe them.

1883Mag: You’re not like, What’s going on here? [Laughs]

Shaun: [Laughs] Excuse me, before we go on, why are you doing that? Is that a wise choice?

1883Mag: They’re sweating, like Uhhhh…

Shaun: And it’ll be my last job as an actor as well!

1883Mag: You’re getting fired from everything. Now you have to do photography full time because they’re like, This guy is overly excited…[Laughs].

Shaun: [Laughs]. That’s me, jack of all trades, master of none!

----

1883Mag: It’s nice that you were able to start it off by directing, and that you didn’t do anything so crazy that they just took the camera away from you. [Laughs].

Shaun: [Laughs]. Quite the attempt! I chained myself behind the camera, so.

1883Mag: You’re like, I’m fine, I’m fine, I just needed to get it out of my system! [Laughs].

Shaun: [Laughs]. All right guys, come on, please?!

1883Mag: [Laughs]. Totally throw your entire reputation away. They’re gonna be like, So, he’s gonna be recast for season 9…

Shaun: [Laughs]. And could you lose our phone number, please? Trying to call them like, Hey, I’m Endeavour! And they’re like, Not anymore!

1883Mag: [Laughs]. Everyone can be replaced! You’re just muttering in your dark room like, I used to be an inspector once.

Shaun: [Laughs]. Like, I much preferred photography anyway. As I just do some interesting self-portraits.

1883Mag: As long as you don’t cut your ear off, you’ll be totally fine! [Laughs].

Shaun: Can you imagine?

1883Mag: Terrible, but hilarious.

Shaun: [Laughs]. Terrible but hilarious, yeah!

[watermelonsloth]

Hi.... If you don't mind me asking, can I ask, what are your top 10 (or top 7) favorite media (can be books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series/games/etc) and your top 10 favorite characters from any media ? Why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this questions before......

Hello to you as well. I don’t mind people asking me questions and I haven’t answered this before. This is long so read more under the cut.

I prefer the number 7, so I’m gonna do my top 7 favorite pieces of media. Don’t let the numbers fool you, these are in no particular order. Also, be warned, I don’t know how much sense what I say will make to anyone who has watched/read these.

1 - Naruto/Shippuden (only those two and specifically the manga) - I have thought about, analyzed, and talked about this series too much to lie to you and say it isn’t one of my favorite series of all time. Even with all of its flaws, it holds a place near and dear to my heart. It has some of my favorite character work I’ve ever seen even with its imperfections, the first 27 volumes of Naruto are still some of my favorite written books/manga, Kakashi vs Obito is my favorite fight in any piece of media (quite frankly, the Naruto anime has ruined fights scenes for me), and this series is what inspired me to get into media analysis in the first place.

2 - Fullmetal Alchemist/Brotherhood - This is my legally obligated mentioning of Fullmetal Alchemist and the Brotherhood anime adaptation. Excellent character work (+actually good female characters), beautiful art, some of my favorite foreshadowing/slow burn ever, and commentary on the hubris of man and strength in collectivism while criticizing both the military and the institution of religion. Chef’s kiss! This is a great example of someone knowing what story they wanted to tell and fucking telling it. The biggest problem I have with the series is that every time I want to rewatch it, I feel the need to watch all of it at once and that’s just a lot of anime for me to devote my full attention to in one sitting.

3 - Madoka Magica (I can only vouch for PMMM, I haven't watched the other stuff) - Fun fact: this is the first piece of media to make me cry. Something about Sayaka’s story just… got to me. I really like this because it’s an example of a deconstruction done right. Of the few other deconstructions I’ve seen, they tend to be too shallow to even really feel like deconstructions or too dark. Madoka Magica hits that sweet spot of going to those deep and dark places while still maintaining a sense of hope.

4 - Across the Spiderverse - Since I’ve recently slipped into quite the superhero phase, all inclusions are superhero related moving forward. So I remember going into the theater to watch this completely blind. I had heard of Into the Spiderverse and had heard nothing but positive reviews, but I also wasn’t big into superheroes or Spider-Man so I never watched it for myself. I don’t think I made it through the first ten minutes of atsv before thinking “Goddamn it, now I have to watch the first movie.” Between the two, I had to pick atsv because, while I did like itsv, I had some problems with it. Namely, I thought that it underutilized a chunk of its cast (Spidernoir, Spiderham, Peni, and the villains felt wasted) and I thought they could’ve done more with the interdimensional travel idea. Atsv made these pretty much complete nonissues. The only character I felt like could’ve used a bit more attention was Spiderbyte, that was the only issue I had with it besides the movie ending before I was done watching it. Other than that, I don’t know what else I can say about this movie that hasn’t been said a million times before. The art is disgustingly, dream-crushingly good and if the writing doesn’t match that level of skill, it gets damn close.

5 - My Adventures With Superman - My Adventures With Superman has my favorite adaptation of Superman hands down. Yeah, I like my Clark Kent with a little more self-confidence, but for a Superman who’s just starting out and the story they wanted to tell, it works. As I’ve said before, I don’t care for him being used as a racial allegory but I do like them exploring his sense of identity. The series automatically gets points for two very underrated but important parts of writing: the main couple is actually one I can root for and it doesn’t waste the audience’s time. What I mean by not wasting the audience’s time is that they don’t draw out the Clark is Superman reveal or the will-they-won’t-they between Clark and Lois unnecessarily. It also has the first villains I genuinely want to strangle in a while (looking at you Amanda “The Audacity” Waller and Lex “Make Earth Great Again” Luthor). I can’t wait to see what they do with Superboy in season 3.

6 - The Batman (2022) - To continue the train of DC characters finally getting good adaptations: the Battinson movie. The set design, the cinematography, the action, the pacing of the mystery (it’s a long watch but it’s worth it), Alfred helping solve the mystery, Batman, Jim Gordon, the dynamic between Batman and Jim Gordon, Riddler, Catwoman actually mattering and having a good dynamic/romance with Batman, the balancing of multiple Gotham rogues, the humor that I didn’t expect it to have (especially from the Penguin). This Batman needs a Robin yesterday. This movie is probably my favorite movie on the list. I want to put emphasis on the set design/how Gotham looks. I recently started watch Gotham (the tv show) and I was so disappointed that Gotham didn’t look any different from a standard east coast city. But this Gotham looks like Gotham. This Gotham looks like a place you’d only live in if the rent was 25¢ a month or you couldn’t afford to move out. This Gotham looks like a city that would have some guy dressed as bat beating up criminals.

7 - Deadpool 3: Deadpool and Wolverine - I was weighing between including this or the live action One Piece and just decided to pick the one I had more to say about. This is the first movie to genuinely and consistently make me laugh in a while. The plot’s kind of meh; it’s a fun allegory for the Fox X-Men series but it wasn’t especially investing and the villains were entertaining but nothing to write home about. What truly makes this movie worth the watch is Deadpool, Wolverine, and their dynamic and development with one another. The development both of their characters got actually caught me off guard since, once again, this is a movie I went in mostly blind to. All I really knew about the Deadpool films were the humor and in my experience, comedies (especially dark comedies) tend to be afraid of getting too serious. But this movie actually balanced the comedy with the serious moments of development without either feeling too jarring or forced.

Talking about my favorite characters will be a lot quicker because I don’t actually have consistent favorite characters. My favorite characters change all the time because I have a love-hate relationship with many of my all time favorites and they shift depending on what I’ve been watching/reading/thinking about most recently. It doesn’t help that the qualifications for being on my list of favorites are: I’m not actively frustrated with their character writing and I find them entertaining.

If I had to say what my top 10, in no particular order, are right now, I’d list: Pein from Naruto, Sasori from Naruto, Joker from the animated Under the Red Hood movie, Kimihiro Watanuki from xxxHolic, Sam Wilson from The Falcon and The Winter Soldier, MaoMao from The Apothecary Diaries, Wade Wilson from the two Deadpool movies I’ve seen (the first and third), Robin from Teen Titans (the animated show), Katherine Howard from Six, and Hobie Brown from Across the Spiderverse.

[wildflower-otome]

[Translation] Shuuen no Virche EpiC:lycoris - Mathis Claude - Encore After Story

Source: Shuuen no Virche EpiC:lycoris Limited Edition Booklet Note: Spoilers for Mathis's Side End -Encore- below.

A distance that can't be closed – Mathis Encore Short Story

—No matter who dies, the world continues to revolve. Human activity will not disappear and fade away.

If one were to think of it that way, the world was cruel at the same time as it made it easier for one to look towards the future.

‘…………’

With such thoughts in my mind, I continued to walk alone through the marché. And as I did so—

—‘Have you read that novel everyone’s been talking about these days?’

I heard the voices of some women whispering.

…..The rumours of the Deliverer that had had the country in an uproar forgotten, recently this had become the only topic they talked about.

The one volume that without fail would always be kept in stock if one were to stop by any shop that sold books—was what now had Arpéchéle abuzz.

(I’m really not quite sure how to feel about it…..)

Because no matter how popular his books became, the day when he would be able to hear people sing his praises for himself would never come.

* * *

‘—Mathis?’

‘!’

In the dark space, her voice echoed out.

I immediately headed over to the iron bars from the far end of the cell in which I was imprisoned.

‘This voice—it must be you. You’ve come to see me again today?’

‘Yes. I thought I might be able to help you with your writing.....and I’ve also brought you some food.’

The lively sounding voice belonged to my beloved.

I could tell that she was smiling, but it wasn’t possible for me to confirm that for myself.

—Previously, I had crushed my own eyes in order to kill myself as the “Deliverer.”

Hearing her voice and feeling her touch through the iron bars like this was now the only way we could interact with one another.

‘I’ve made plenty, so please eat as much as you like. I made sure to put a lot of your recent favourite ingredients into them too.’

‘Wah, thank you so much…..!’

Thanks to Scien’s arranging it, she had been given permission to bring me food. 

Taking a sandwich out from the basket, she passed it to me through the bars.

‘Um. This is the pointy part, so I should hold it like this, right—?’

After feeling out the shape of the sandwich by touch, I began to eat it carefully, making sure that the contents didn’t spill out.

‘Yeah, this is delicious! I feel as if I could eat a hundred of them.....!’

‘Make sure to eat up so you’ve got the energy for writing. .....Is the plotting for your story going well?’

‘Sure is. It’s what I spend all day thinking about after all.’

After eating a number of the sandwiches, I came to sit down just before the bars.

Following my lead, she sat down just across from me, and I heard the sound of the manuscript papers she had brought with her being unfurled.

‘I thought of an idea of how to continue the next part of the story from last time. The male main character actually has a secret he’s hiding from the person he loves—’

‘Is it.....something serious?’

‘No, just something he’s a little worried about. .....But to him it’s something important, perhaps something he can’t tell the other person precisely because they’re someone he cares about.....’

Even without my saying the words, “Let’s begin” she continued on with writing the story I had put together.

Although the sound of her pen moving across the page in unison with my words felt very comforting to hear.....

‘...............’

‘.....Is something the matter? Was I speaking too fast?’

.....I could sense her slight hesitation. 

I stopped my storytelling and turned my face in her direction.

‘Ah, I’m sorry. .....Recently, it’s all they’re talking about at the marché…and I guess I’ve got mixed feelings about it.’ 

‘Ah.....’

‘I never really thought that a novel I published for my own self-satisfaction would become so popular either. .....Even though it should be common knowledge that the author is me, "the Deliverer" serial killer.’

.....That’s right. The novel I had written while in prison had caught the eye of someone from a prominent family, and subsequently spread across Arpéchéle on a whim of theirs.

Reception had been chilly at first, considering the number of women who had been my victims, however—a change gradually occurred once more and more people began to actually read it.

Despite being written by a cold-blooded killer, I had heard that it had been praised as a pure and beautiful story—one that had moved the hearts of many, reliver and human alike. .....Although to me such praise seemed excessive.

‘It makes me happy that so many people are reading your story, Mathis, but.... Recently there have been people saying they find it interesting because it was written by a murderer.....’

‘.....It’s understandable that they’d be curious. I’ve decided to buy books in the past myself because of who wrote it..... In a sense, being ridiculed like that might just be another part of my punishment.’

‘.....Mathis.’

‘Ah, but still—the novels I write are always full of my feelings for you. If even just a bit of that can get across to people, I’m more than happy!’

Not wanting to sadden her, I smiled to show that I was thinking positively.

(.....Although truth be told, I don’t even have the right to smile like this.)

That was only a given, considering what I had done.

Nonetheless, at the very least, I wanted to be allowed to smile in order not to darken that of my beloved’s.

‘.....Heheh. It’s almost as if I’m being the one being cheered up. I think you’d have a hard time telling who was the older one now.’

‘Glad to hear it. As a man, I want you to rely on me as much as possible.’

But with that thought, a certain possibility came to my mind.

‘.....Camille is in hiding right now, but I wonder if he’s been reading my novels these days.’

‘...I’m not sure. I’d be curious to know, too.’

Despite Scien being the one behind the search for him, he had yet to be caught.

Although I didn’t know whether or not his experiments had succeeded in reviving Rosalie.....

‘.....Mathis.’

‘!’

Just as I was thinking about such things, my cheeks were enveloped in a gentle warmth.

—It took me a few seconds to realise that it was her hands that were covering my cheeks.

‘Y-You startled me. Did something happen all of a sudden?’

‘.....You’re always thinking about others, Mathis, but I worry for you. At least while it’s just the two of us—you can be selfish, you know?’

‘Ah......’

It appeared she had read my thoughts. Now that she had seen through to my complicated thoughts on the man who had been the cause of everything, I was full of remorse.

(Camille’s experiments left wounds on her heart—he cannot be forgiven. To make up for what he did, I want to put her at ease right now.)

At the same time, her feelings for me made me so happy that I smiled.

‘.....In that case. Would you kiss me? It’ll have to be through the bars though.’

‘—Gladly.’

As she answered, she drew me closer. Through the limited gaps between the iron bars, our lips pressed against each other’s.

They were tinged with a heat that was slightly hotter than the warmth that had enveloped my cheeks earlier.

.....Until my sinful life was over, this was as close as we would ever be able to get to one another.

Although I felt very apologetic about that—

‘I’ll always be with you, Mathis. .....Until our lives run out, let’s keep writing novels together.’

I felt as if her cheerful sounding voice, untinged with even a hint of gloom—was my one and only salvation.

[poopwons]

ok now im gonna need u to write photographer armin pls & thank you!! him giving u a photo album of his fav photos when he confesses? yes 100%

CHLOE MY DEAREST. omg I'm sorry I left you in drafts for so long. I had two panic inducing pet incidents happen within like two days of each other. Everyone's okay, I just freak out when things happen to my babies. **I've also never written for Armin, so this was a bit of a challenge for me. I hope this is okay💖 It's probably my own insecurities about the way I look but I literally fantasize about seeing myself through other peoples eyes, so literally any opportunity to write about that, I'm gonna take it LOL**

You love when it's like this. Just you and Armin laying out on the hood of his car, music playing softly through the open windows, while you talk about anything and everything under the sun.

You loved everyone in the friend group, but you and Armin just seemed to have a special connection. It was easy to talk to him about everything, and he was always bringing little fun facts for you when you needed some cheering up or even just a change of subject when things got too heavy.

So, here you were, chattering on and on about a movie you’d watched recently, telling him about every theory you’d thought up and all the different characters. You can’t help but notice Armin seems to be looking at you differently this time, more attentive, but also not. Like he’s making more eye contact but he’s not actually hearing you.

“Armin?…you okay?” You ask, face etched with concern.

“Hm?” He seems to shake himself out of his head to answer you. “Y-yeah. I’m fine, sorry. Just a lot of my mind, I guess.”

Well, that was different. He’s usually really up front with you when something was bothering him. The two of you confiding in each other and offering advice where you could.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You sit up, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him more clearly. He seems…you don’t know, nervous maybe?

He pauses, like he’s trying to decide if he really wants to talk to you about this specific thing or not. He sighs, turning to face you.

"Do you ever wonder if it's better to enjoy something the way it is, taking what you can get, rather than risking ruining everything by asking for more?"

"I guess that depends on what the thing is," you say, trying not to pry. "I think, if it's something important to you, what's the harm in asking for more and trying to get the most out of it?"

Armin makes a face, it's almost a pained expression. You scoot a little closer to him, taking his hand in yours, trying to comfort him.

"It would help if I knew exactly what we were referring to." You say gently, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. You just want him to know that you're here for him, just like he's always been there for you.

He takes a deep breath, looking into your eyes, you hope he can see the genuine concern there,

"You know, every time I talk to everyone else about this, they always tell me just to man up and say something. That everything will end up okay, and I'm sure if it was anyone else, that would be true. But, I'm not anyone else, I'm me and..and.."

He does this when he's nervous or anxious about something. Ranting and going on and on, not realizing that all the extra words don't do anything to soothe his nerves. You give his hand another squeeze.

"Armin," You say gently, "I still don't have any idea what you're talking about."

He gives you an apologetic look, then lets out a nervous chuckle.

"Sorry, you're right. I'm not being very clear, am I?" He shakes his head again and goes to move off the hood. "Hang on, maybe this will help."

You wait for him as he goes into the trunk of the car, searching for something before slamming the trunk back down and holding out a book to you. You take it hesitantly, unsure if it's really meant for you or not despite him handing it to you.

"Open it," He's still standing at the hood of the car, fiddling with his nails.

You take the book, holding it upright and opening it, surprised to see a bunch of photos, and you seem to be at the center of all of them. There are photos where you were all obviously with the group, but despite there being so many other potential subjects, Armin had focused on you. There were some photos that he took when it was just the two of you, late at night when he'd take you on a drive after complaining that you couldn't sleep, photos of the two of you at breakfast together.

"I um.. I was saving that for your birthday, but Jean and Connie said I should just give it to you now. It's all my favorite pictures of us, a-and some of my favorites of you." He runs his hand through his hair, sighing before he continues. "Look, I know we're really good friends, and I don't want to mess up anything we have.. I just.." Another sigh, and you can't help but stare at him now, album still clutched in your hands. "You're so... special, an-and smart, and funny, and beautiful, it..god, it drives me crazy sometimes. I...like you..like, really, really like you."

You just sit there, hands clutching the album, staring at him. You can't believe what you just heard. Your heart is hammering in your chest, the blood rushing in your ears. He keeps going while you process everything he's said.

"and I... totally get it if you don't feel the same. Our friendship is so important to me and I don't want this to make things weird.."

"Armin," You start, setting the book to the side, before sitting up on your knees to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you. "I like you too, a lot."

"You do?" He asks like he's genuinely surprised.

"Yes, you dummy." You chuckle, cupping his face in your hands. "Do you see me calling anyone else at 3am when I can't sleep?"

"I..I mean, no but I thought you just liked riding in my car the best."

"I like being with you the best."

"Oh," He lets that process for a minute, while you just look at him with that same lovey-dovey look you've always given him, wondering how in the hell he could have missed it. "So, do..do you want to be with me?"

"Obviously," You giggle again, before pressing your lips to his, content to spend your whole summer just like this, with your boyfriend.

[realbeijinger]

A semi-coherent rant on climate change, the value of idealism, and a criticism of TGCF (But also not really because I haven’t finished it yet and also I love MXTX…)

I’m in the middle of Book 3 of Tian Guan Ci Fu, and it is legit making me depressed. Like really, unnecessarily sad. I know I should probably wait until the end to write up my thoughts since I don’t know how things will ultimately turn out, but I feel like I need to process. And so, here we go…

First of all, I am sooo Xie Lian. I feel like this story gets me down so much because it hits too close to home. When I was little, I was super idealistic—I used to go around telling people that love was the most important thing in the world, and that civilization was wrong, because we were destroying the environment, and so we should all go back to living in harmony with nature. I was like a crazy, radical five year old, but also somehow mature-sounding and nauseatingly sweet. Grownups loved me and assumed I would grow up to do something big. But… I haven’t really. Instead I am just a normal person and realized that the world is actually super complicated—like I said, sooo Xie Lian. Except I never became a god or saved even one person…    

Anyways, it’s not like I disagree with MXTX’s criticism of blind idealism. She hit the nail on the head—crushingly well. But I guess, like Xie Lian, I am still clinging to that last bit of hope I haven’t let go of yet.

In TGCF and Mo Dao Zu Shi, things are never black and white, and she criticizes those characters who act with a blind sense of righteousness. She believes in nuance. And yet, in our current moment, we are headed toward a climate catastrophe, and it feels like we are all just sitting back, trying to carefully weigh the ideal course of action—the pros and cons, scared of being too rash, too impulsive—while the world burns.

When I first started watching the Untamed (which is where my MXTX journey started), I was initially drawn in by this extremely beautiful man who was willing to sacrifice so much to do what was right. I loved how he refused to compromise with this screwed up society. Because, I am so frustrated with myself for always compromising. For being part of this system that’s horrible and destroying the world and personally doing very little to stop it. And I wanted to be inspired—and for a minute I was by Wei Wuxian.  

And then, of course, it turns out that the real message was the complete opposite of that, and having dogmatic, uncompromising morals is not something to be applauded. In the eyes of MXTX, it’s very dangerous.

And I mean, she’s not wrong. But I can’t help but think maybe we still need heroes like that. I really admire Greta Thunberg who refuses to fly in planes, buy anything new, doesn’t eat meat. Before anyone joined her protests, she was ditching school every day, literally sitting all by herself in front of Swedish parliament with one pathetic-looking sign. I mean that kind of commitment takes HUGE resolve. It has to come from a total sense of self-righteousness, from a complete unwillingness to compromise or back down—a refusal to listen to her parents, or her teachers, or the large numbers of people around her who were definitely telling her she was nuts. I mean, I try to go veg, and my mother-in-law hands me one homemade meat dish and I instantly fold…

In interviews, Greta often talks about how being on the autism spectrum causes her to view the world in very black and white terms—with good and evil being clearly defined. She often refers to the older generation as “evil” for their role in the climate crisis—a word MXTX would probably not approve of. Normally, I don’t think black and white thinking is good. I also believe in nuance. But when it comes to something like climate, it’s incredibly complicated but also incredibly simple. We have to stop burning fossil fuels. We have to do it now. If we want humanity to survive, we don’t have a choice. We gotta pull out all the stops. We can’t hesitate. And if we do, we’ll lose everything. Any drawbacks that may come from us not using fossil fuels are completely outweighed if the climate goes to shit. There’s no real nuance in that. And to get people to make that sort of change, you need passion. You need motivation. You need feeling. Basically, you need blind idealism. We are soooo screwed, and really, blind idealism is all we have left.     

And I want to have that. Part of me wants to get back to that idealism I lost. But like Xie Lian, I don’t know how…

I dunno. There are always reasons not to do anything. Most of us know life is complicated—our limitations are usually way too obvious. But, I think, sometimes we still should take the single log bridge into darkness. And maybe we need some dumb, cliché hero story to give us the motivation to do it…

Of course, saving the world is not easy. Especially when it comes to large scale national or international politics, the situation in Xianle demonstrates very clearly how easy it is to create unintended consequences. Everything is so complex. There are so many factors, so many competing interests to consider. I do not envy political leaders.

But most of us are not political leaders. Most of us are just ordinary people who want to make the world a little better. We have the capacity to be activists, but that’s it. We don’t have the power to make detailed policy decisions anyway. And so, to some extent, I don’t think we need to worry so much about all that. We just have to push politicians in the right direction.

Even at that high leadership level, though, I do think it’s possible to make better choices—ones that create less harm. And I do think we have an obligation to try and find those. I don’t agree with what the State Preceptor said (and what I think MXTX actually believes), that “Assigning fault is meaningless.” To me, that’s akin to giving up on morality altogether.

A lot of this is a matter of perspective. Yes, if you zoom out far enough, assigning fault is meaningless. But then, if you zoom out far enough, everything is meaningless. Everything we love and care about will one day be gone. Our battles for justice, for equality, for the people we love, will all be entirely pointless once our current society goes the way of the Aztecs, once humanity disappears, once the earth gets swallowed by the sun.

Again, if we zoom far enough out, climate change is not really a problem. According to that wise state preceptor, “In this world, fortune—good or bad—is predetermined.” MXTX believes there is only so much good fortune in the world. If we somehow manage to take too much of it, we will eventually pay the price. Balance will be restored.  

Which is exactly what is happening in this era of climate catastrophe. In the past 200 years since the industrial revolution, humanity has taken a lot of fortune. For the first time in history, we don’t worry every day about finding food. We’ve conquered a whole host of deadly diseases, have greatly reduced our need for manual labor, and can spend our days in mental pursuits, making art, or writing self-indulgent essays about Chinese web novels.

All of this, I would argue, is not really because of human ingenuity, but because we happened to find an incredibly powerful energy source—fossil fuels—which have given us the illusion of “human progress.” Let’s remember that this “progress” has only lasted for about 200 years, a small dot on the graph of human existence (300,000 years), and that for most of that time, people viewed history as a cycle, with inevitable ups and downs, rather than a continuous march upward.

In other words, in the past 200 years, we’ve taken too much fortune. But nature will correct the balance. I don’t think climate change will destroy life on earth. Even if the worst happens and humanity bites the dust, other species will most likely persist, evolving into creatures completely new—a rebirth, of sorts. Looking at it from that far-off, disinterested perspective, it’s not really a problem. It’s just what nature does. New species follow each other, one after the next—like passing seasons.

But, even if all this is true, I don’t think we can be so detached. I don’t think we can live our lives believing that morality is pointless, not trying to do the right thing, or not worrying about how our actions affect others. If we approach life with such indifference, what’s to stop us from completely giving up?

One of my favorite TV shows is this old drama called Dead Like Me, where a wise, older character (a state preceptor, of sorts), says to the main character, “If you stand too close to a painting — all you see are patches of color, if you stand too far back, you can't see any of the detail.” In other words, when it comes to life, you need to stand the right distance away. Personally, I think MXTX is standing too far back. It’s true, there is so much we can’t control. Though we may be able to make things better for a bit, we cannot alter the basic cycle of life. Life is suffering. It was true when Buddha said it, and it’s true now. And if we try to “attempt the impossible,” as the Jiang motto says, and radically change that dynamic, we will fail.

But unlike in MXTX’s universe, fate doesn’t really screw us at every turn. Every day there are small victories. I used to do social work, which really was an exercise in the futility of trying to fix deeply rooted problems with insufficient tools, but I still remember those few times when I did do something right: the old man with dementia I got to take his meds, the guy who found his family on Facebook.

Even just writing a stupid email to Biden telling him to stop the drilling… we have to value those actions. We have to be invested. Sure, the universe doesn’t care. But I think we should still care. We can’t just throw up our hands and say the world is fucked. Because if everyone did that, the world really would be fucked. Even more so than it already is.  

Again, I realize I don’t entirely know where she’s going with all this. It’s very possible there’s going to be more to it than just criticizing idealism. Despite all the depressing stuff, I see crumbs of hope in how Hua Cheng loves Xie Lian, and values his attempts to help others. The line, “Although foolish, it is brave,” just floored me. I loved it so much. Honestly, I’d probably be happy if she leaves open any hope for idealism at all.   

But also, I have to prepare myself for the possibility that I will not totally agree with what she has to say. Which should be fine. I mean, in real life, I’m pretty good at interacting with people I fundamentally disagree with. But… in the hands of an author like MXTX, I feel like my emotions are like putty. I’m completely at her mercy. And partially, I don’t want to fight that. I want to give myself to the story, and lose myself in it completely. That’s a great feeling, but also, kind of… vulnerable? And then, when so emotionally invested, to suddenly realize that what the author’s saying bothers me…

Of course, I’ll get over it. I always do. Usually I write meta or fanfic as a way to process—to get out of someone else’s story, out of their head, and back into my own.

Anyways, we’ll see. Don’t tell me what happens!! I am trusting YOU, strangers on the internet!

If that’s not blind idealism, I don’t know what is…

[muriel-not-the-dim-one]

@actual-changeling explained, beautifully in my opinion, what happened that afternoon in the bookstore. I did look in the window but only for a moment to thank Mr. Fell for the book Mr. Crowley gave me. At that moment, I realized what “broken heart” really meant.

I decided to write down some things for Mr. Crowley in case he ever came back by. I’m only a 37th scrivener, but I keep very good records.

From the journal of Muriel, 37th Scrivener, Assistant Bookstore Keeper to Mr. AZ Fell: Entry #1

It’s been *7 hours and 15 days*, since Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley left. I keep finding things to keep myself busy, but I find myself missing them both.

I love the books. The rich smell of them. The sweet bergamot, leather, Earl Grey and Talisker that lingered in the back room especially.

Sometimes I take Mr. Fells soft, grey jacket off the coat rack, where it has lived since he left, wrap it around my body and sit in the sunlight, my body tucked into the chair I have come to love. The first time I did this, it was almost a guilty feeling. Like peeking into someone’s private memories without their permission. But as time went on, it became soothing, calming, loving.

I close my eyes and see flashes of memories. Meeting the snake/demon in the garden. Feeling that first rain, and the overwhelming feeling to protect the demon. To cover him with his wing, when what they really wanted to do was wrap him tightly, hold him close. To take away the pain they felt within.

Sometimes I never even opened the blinds in the shop. (That came as no surprise to anyone who was familiar with the bookshop and it’s strange hours.) The memories flooding through me, transporting me to a time that only a deep love can take you to. As much as I loved reading the books, wearing Aziraphales jacket was like BEING in a book, like living each moment.

Standing with Crawley/ Crowley feeling the rain on their face as the flood was beginning. Sensing the pain inside the demon as he looked at the kids playing. I knew something was wrong with this, but God had to do it, right? I just couldn’t put my finger on why.

Being in Rome, hearing Crowleys voice. Aziraphales heart (even though angels and demons didn’t need them) leaping in excitement, only to feel the overwhelming anger, anxiety, deep shame (?) not because of Crowley or what he had done, but because of the human capacity for evil, far worse than even hell and it’s demons were capable of. Trying to joke with Crowley about still being a demon, only to have it backfire in his face. Telling Crowley he was in Rome to go to a new restaurant. (I really need to try some of the human food. If it was as good as the cuppatea and cocoa I had tasted, I was pretty sure I would like it.) Aziraphale offering to tempt Crowley with oysters and the warmth that surged through their body when Crowley looked at Aziraphale, that half smile radiating like the sun within them.

Standing in a crowd, watching the horror they were inflicting on this beautiful, kind soul. Hearing Crawley/Crowley come up beside him. Turning to look at the demon, her beauty radiating. She cared deeply for the carpenter, and couldn’t understand until Aziraphale told her the message the carpenter was delivering, why they would choose to hurt him. That memory seemed the most painful to me.

Realizing Crowley would face a horrible death if Hell ever found out about Job and what Crowley had done. The pride I felt knowing that Aziraphale, his love of Humanity and Crowley, would be willing to sacrifice his life as well.

On and on the memories went, flashes of joy, love, and a never ending relationship between them.

The Globe and Shakespeare. Why did Aziraphale deny Crowley so much? I couldn’t decide if it was fear or protectiveness.

The way Crowley would do anything for him.

Saving him from the Bastille when he could have saved himself.

Realizing Crowley was always watching out for his Angel. The nazis and possible discorporation, saving Aziraphales beloved books. The touch of his hand as he gave him the sachel. The almost breathlessness I felt at that moment revealing the depth of love that Aziraphale felt for Crowley. The magic show Crowley gave him the confidence to do.

Crowleys note when he asked Aziraphale for insurance. The complete HORROR he felt when he thought Crowley wanted it in case he needed to destroy himself. It seemed to Crowley the way Aziraphale acted, he was appalled at him for asking. Like he thought he wanted him to possibly get into trouble for it. In reality, Aziraphale couldn’t bear the thought of a life without Crowley, the pain and terror showing on his face.

Later hearing about Crowleys “little caper” scared Aziraphale. It made him almost go mad with worry. He knew no one involved but he, understood what even one drop of Holy Water could do to Crowley. As much of a danger, sneaking Holy Water to a demon could be for Aziraphale, he was NOT going to let this happen. He was not going to allow a chance that anything could happen to Crowley.

The sense of relief, the deep love, the rush of feeling, I heard the words almost spoken with an ache, “Aziraphale DOES love me as much as I love him.” The power so strong, so beautifully pure it slammed me in the chest. I had to stand and take the jacket off.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and as I touched the wetness on my cheeks, unbelievably aching for an Angel and a Demon that were kind to me.

*End Journal Entry for the day*

I began sorting through the books, anything to keep myself busy, willing the tears to stop.

[onbeingadreamer]

New year, new me?

What I’m leaving behind and what I’m embracing 2025 - New year, new me? 

“New year, new me” seems to be a standard phrase I’ve repeated, in vain, for the last few years, and we all know how it's pretty much an universally known rule that most of our new year's resolutions usually don’t make it that far… With new year’s approaching and with 2024 basically, sorry for my French, sucking, I’ve been yearning to get my life back together as a “lost and confused” 16 year old girl. Alors, what I did then was I made a list of what I’m manifesting in my life, and I was thinking of sharing this with you all since I was feeling generous today. No but jokes aside, I want to get on a motivational path in my life both physically and mentally, and I would love it if I also inspired people on the way. 

This is thrash! I’m leaving this behind: 

Spending hours and hours of scrolling on my phone, not only getting nowhere in my life, but also losing important time that I could dedicate to things I genuinely enjoy. I don’t really feel that there’s more to be said about this subject. 

Being shy and afraid of talking to people I view as “superior” to me in my school's social hierarchy. This was a real problem for me when I went to school in Sweden’s most snobby area, but since I now go to one of Sweden’s most academically prestigious schools with people that have the same motivation and mindset as me, there's really no need to look down on myself. This is just negative energy and something that's in my head, my manifestations tell me that I need to repel from all sorts of negative energy! 

Letting one bad event ruin my whole week, and therefore always feeling sorry for myself. This is a bad habit that in my case takes away discipline and promotes laziness. Yes, something unpleasant took place, but life isn’t sunshine and rainbows all the time! As Franklin D. Roosevelt stated, a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor. 

Wow I love this, therefore I’m embracing this! 

Reading more books than I did the previous year. In 2024, I read 26 books. While this may be a lot for some people, it's not a positive number for me. I absolutely adore reading, it's my most beloved thing in the whole wide world. But somewhere along the road of 2024, I kind of lost my spark. So in 2025, I’m investing in really good and interesting books full of knowledge and enjoyment. To achieve this, I’m going to do really detailed research of a book before reading it, so that it doesn't fail to live up to my expectations. As I’m writing this, I actually finished reading Agatha Christies “And then there were none”. Extraordinarily good book, utterly wonderful! I could feel my spark lightning up while reading it, so much that I devoured the whole thing in one sitting.

My tumblr blog!! My brain processes one year's worth of thoughts in one day, therefore I’ve always loved to write my thoughts down in a diary. I’ve decided to go to great lengths and create my own digital diary, my own tumblr blog! But don’t worry, the writing style and everything else will be much more professional, serious, interesting, and inspiring than in this silly post. 

Getting a proper sleeping routine in order to sleep more. What to do? Well, that's the question. I always complain that it takes so much time for me to fall asleep, but I never really think about what I do before going to bed - listening to exciting music, studying until my head hurts, never really having a wind-down. Girl, make that cup of tea, do that yoga or meditation, read a really boring book that makes you wanna fall asleep, and turn those awful lights off!

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty (Part 4)

I don’t feel like talking anymore, so when a boy Jen knows comes over to join us on the sofa, I don’t even bother introducing myself, I just get up and go back inside. I spend some time wandering from room to room, going in and out of living rooms, dining rooms, studies, libraries, just looking at the kinds of things these people have in their house. Things that seem extravagant, that seem to have been bought just because they could be, not because they were necessary. There’s no way that anybody could ever read so many books in a lifetime. 

I go into the room with the grand piano and sit there plucking out some notes for a while, and then when I give up, having not produced anything that sounded all that great, I look to yet another bookcase and scan its shelves for something interesting enough to absorb myself in for a while. 

I spot a copy of Goodnight Mr. Tom tucked away among a row of hardcover classics. It’s a book I haven’t read in years, and I can hardly remember much about the story, only that I enjoyed reading it. I take it and flip open the front cover, and it’s well worn, the pages stained and fingerprinted. There’s writing on the first page, neat, looping, pencilled cursive that forms the words: Jude Turner. 5th Class. I stare at it for a while, and consider whether anybody would notice if this book went missing. How easy would it be for me to take it back into the kitchen and smuggle it into my bag, just so I could hold onto something that’s his?

“Are you going to play a tune or what?” 

I spin around with a start to see Jude leaning against the door frame with amusement on his face. I wonder how long he’s been standing there looking at me. I gather myself quickly and hold up the book to show him. “I was looking at this, actually. I read it in school.”

“I did too.” He comes over and sits with me on the piano stool, and I let him take it out of my hands. “I think about this book a lot, actually, and how it was kind of nuts that they made eleven year olds read it.”

“Why? Because of the war stuff?”

He lets out a little laugh. “Wasn’t there a scene with a dead baby?” Then he puts the book right back on the shelf. “No need to be reading a book like that when you’re at a party.” He says to me, “It’s grim enough.”

His whole left side is pressed against me, and I feel nervous and fidgety. “How are you feeling? A bit sad?” I ask him. 

“No. I’m doing fantastic.” He says. “Are you sad?”

“No, never better.” I say, and we stare each other down, a pair of rotten liars.

“I’m sorry I haven’t had a lot of time to talk to you, it’s hectic. Everyone wants to relive their fondest memories of me and talk about the good times. It’s weird, it’s kind of like being at my own funeral.” 

“They’re just going to miss you.”

“Yes but I’m not dying, I’m going to Germany.”

“It won’t be the same when you’re gone, though.” I begin, but he quickly cuts me off with a sharp: “I don’t want to talk about that.”  

I feel stupid, and stare down at my feet, the same old white adidas that saw me through the summer now looking so worn out and scruffy, their condition accentuated by the polished wooden floor beneath them.  

“Jude.” Someone says from the doorway, and I look up to see Michelle standing there, her mere presence only making me feel a hundred times worse. “We have a surprise for you. Can you come out to the kitchen?” 

“Yeah, just a second.” He tells her, and then she goes away. Nobody bothered introducing us and I’m glad of it, because I don’t think I could handle the discovery that Michelle is not only beautiful, but also a nice person. 

“They’ve all signed a card.” He explains. “And they’re going to give it to me now.”

“So much for a surprise.”

“Someone already let it slip. I don’t think I even want it.” He admits. 

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not goodbye, it’s like a see-you-later. I just hate all the fuss.” A muscle twitches in his jaw.

“Well, then I’m glad nobody asked me to sign it.” 

“Me too. I don’t want you to have written some platitude for me, some yearbook style ‘You rock! Never change!’”

“Is that what you think I’d write?” I laugh. 

“No, I just… you get the idea.”

“I do.”

“I’ll see you again, Evie. It’s not the end.” He says, looking right at me. 

“I know.” I say, and then someone is shouting his name from the kitchen, I watch him anxiously, waiting for him to get up and leave but he just ignores them. 

“I know we won’t get much time to talk tonight.” He tells me. “But we can tomorrow if you want to. My flight is at seven.”

“That’s early.”

“Yeah, I know, but if you can manage it, you can see me off. I’m getting up at four, so we can have breakfast together.”

“The last meal?”

“Not the last.”

“Okay. The last for now.”

“Will you get up? We can sit out and watch the sunrise. I’ll make you coffee.”

“Just me?”

“Just you, just us.”

“Yes.” I say immediately. “I’ll set my alarm. I’ll be there.”

“Okay.”

They’re still calling for him, so he wrenches himself from the seat and goes out to the kitchen for his gift, looking back at me one more time to point his finger at me. “Four.” he says again, and then he’s gone. 

Jude’s family gets home at midnight, Ivy sleeping in her fathers arms, and after that the party dies down quickly.  I start clearing up all of the cups and filling the bins with bottles and cans while Jude sits down at the end of the garden with Jen, talking about something that seems important, so I don’t interrupt them, regardless of how badly I want to sit and talk to him again, completely addicted to the things my body does whenever he’s close to me.

The last few stragglers, those who are staying the night, hunker down on the living room couches and I go upstairs and take one of the guest rooms. I ignore the pile of suitcases that Jen mentioned, unable to think about a whole life packed into bags like that, set for their journey across western europe tomorrow. 

As I lay in bed with the lights on I listen for Jude’s footsteps on the stairs. I hear him come up quietly, and then go into the bathroom. I imagine him coming to my door and knocking on it, and that I’ll let him in and he’ll sit with me on the bed and we’ll talk and talk about everything we can think of until our throats are sore, and I’ll run my fingers through his hair and touch his nose, his mouth, his earlobes with their tiny silver hoops and trace every freckle on his face so I can draw him from memory when he’s gone. 

But he comes out of the bathroom and goes straight into his bedroom. I grab my phone to set the alarm, then suddenly remember to text my mother. I compose a quick message telling her that I’m safe and well, and going to bed. Then I shove it under the pillow, turn off the light and go to sleep. 

Prev // Next

[washa]

I listened to The Summit audio (part 3) and here’s my favourite personal comments/thoughts! (Erik sleep with one eye fucking open.)

Yeah istg Porter if it’s a joke or something I will strangle you until your eyes pop out like a looney toon character. 

Damn. I’ll sit 🙏

I mean they both got beheaded. What’s with Bad vampires getting beheaded??

Again. Why are they so jabby.

HUH??? WILLIAM WHAT NOW. WHY HOW HUH????

Banishment. What other definition of banishment is there 😕 

OH SHIT HE WAS A SECRET SPY KINDA SHIT? Treasure be fucking around with a spy 😭

William is a two faced bitch confirmed?? (Jokes promise, I always thought William is such an interesting character from his first video and this proves it.)

HE ORDERED YOU TO WHAT. HOW DID YOU GET DEMON BLOOD THEN??

Oh my god he killed them for their property and money. I mean like probably not just that but still. William come on. 😕

Yes Porter, I HAVE MANY QUESTIONS?? MANY FUCKING QUESTIONS

No, I figured that. HOW DID YOU GET DEMON BLOOD PORTER?

Erik is having a FIELD DAY writing this. 

Porter i’m not saying it was wrong to kill them, but maybe don’t kill them 😊

Mmm yk what i smell, Corruption.

Holy shit there could’ve been ANOTHER Inversion??

Vincent. Vincent do you hear yourself? 

So it’s like, whoever kills each other first.

They all supported it, God this is so fucked up 😭

A fucked up game of chess, a really fucked up game of chess. 

God I’m imagining the fanfics on Ao3 after this audio.

Let’s just not become vampires. It seems so shitty. Like what fucking benefits are there. 

“Sometimes that involves killing, sometimes it doesn’t. I act in service of the House of Solaire and its interests, whatever form that takes.” Treasure. Treasure dearest. PLEASE RUN. 

LIKE DON’T GET ME WRONG, Porter is such an interesting character, I wanna pick his brain. BUT Treasure needs to BOOK IT.

Vincent.. I'm so sorry. Lovely give him a kiss and a hug. I’m imaging the audio after this, like the aftershock videos. 

I’m sorry the way he said moustache 😭 

Vincent.. VINCENT 💔 God someone don’t tell Sam too unless he knows somehow.

Thank you Porter, talk your sassy ass into his heart. 

“He loves you, Vincent. He loves you enough to not want you to get your hand dirty.” SHUT UP SHUT UP 

I’M GONNA START SOBBING 

“He knows he never should’ve turned you. You are his biggest regret.” I’m gonna throw myself off a cliff.

I’m done, I'm done, LIKE I KNEW THAT WAS HAPPENING ABOUT THE REGRET. BUT OH MY GOD DOES IT HURT LIKE A BITCH HEARING IT STRAIGHT UP.

“Play nice.” It’s giving the same energy as “Down Boy.” 

Porter.. PORTER NO 😭 god they all need therapy. All of them. 

His genuine care for Vincent, Porter, Sam, Alexis and Lovely. Questionable dad of the year check!! 

“I drove, obviously.” Porter. 😒

No actually we do have time for your past, you just made Vincent rethink his.

“That’s the story of Porter Solaire. Bad, Worse, Better.” Now is it going to be good or horrible? Again Treasure tread lightly. 

What happened Porter, What happened to you? 😕

JUMPED YOU??? Oh Porter dearest. Oh Porter.. 

NO PORTER.. PORTER. 😭

“Now that they were mine to command.” “Make the new life for myself i’ve always wanted-” Watch me scream, WATCH ME SCREAM. 

WAIT NO THE “he sees me as a friend and you as a child. HIS child” HURTS MORE. SO MUCH MORE. 

After all William did for Porter, and now Porter saw that Vincent was given everything and more but threw it away out of anger. He got mad, Because as Porter said multiple times, Vincent never felt what he felt. And to see Vincent be cared for more, even if Porter was willing to do anything for William. OH MY GOD 😭

Porter, Thank you. I’m glad you both are healing in a way.

[proximacentaurib]

alright this is for the second ask game, the 1-50 one

1, 2, 6, 10, 11, 13, 15 (i expect a classical and a periodic), 19, 23, 24, 33, 35, 40, 44, 47, 48, 48.5 (Describe yourself with one quote (be serious (no ironic humor))), 50

get perceived again bucko

Going to speed through answering these because I do have a paper to write and if I don’t answer this ask now then I’ll keep thinking about it instead of writing my overdue essay

1. Do you prefer writing with black or blue pen?

Honestly don’t have a strong preference but I’m leaning towards black

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or the city?

City, probably

6. Do you prefer baths or showers?

Showers. Baths got ruined for me in 6th grade when I overheard this girl telling her friend “ew omg you still take baths? I just think that’s gross. You’re like just sitting there in a soup of your own dirt. With showers it just washes right off” and I thought “man she has a point. Guess I’m never taking a bath again” and I kid you not I literally have not taken a single bath in the 8 years since

10. Do you like your name? Would you ever change it?

I think my name is cool as a name by itself but I actually kind of hate it (and have for the past several years) in reference to myself because the vibes are all off and it really just doesn’t feel like me. I forget I even have a name most of the time. Unfortunately no other names sound right either so I guess I’m stuck with this one

11. Who is a mentor to you?

I have been asked this question countless times in my life for random icebreaker questions and personality assessments and whatnot and I never had an answer because I don’t consider anyone a mentor. Like I do admire a fair number of people for different aspects and aspire to reach those levels, but none of that is mentorship

13. Are you a restless sleeper?

Not at all, as evidenced by the 15.5 consecutive hours of sleep I got the other day. I mean I will get bouts of insomnia occasionally but that’s been happening really rarely since I got out of high school

15. Which element best represents you?

Air, probably. When I was 4 I was genuinely convinced I had magic powers that let me control the wind, and I kept believing that until I was about 9

When Shem asked me this question the other day I think I did put bismuth down as an answer, or at the very least I considered adding that as an answer (genuinely don’t remember. What if I never even answered the ask and only imagined answering. What if there never was any ask. Who can say, really). But anyway I just think bismuth is cool. As for what periodic element actually represents my personality…maybe like argon or something. If I remember correctly the etymology of argon points back to “lazy”, and it’s also a noble gas and I’m not only the noblest person around but also the world champion of mental stability

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten?

I am an EXTREMELY picky eater so I avoid strange foods. I think my grandma made me try kholodets (meat jelly) when I was a kid and it was…not good, to say the least

23. Have you ever met someone famous?

Not like FAMOUS famous but I’ve gone to some book signings before if that counts??

24. Do you keep a diary or a journal?

Come on, you know the answer already. Do you really think someone who keeps a diary or journal or has literally any normal method of cataloguing daily events would act the way I do and have texting patterns as deranged as mine

33. What is your favorite scent?

I’m not particularly attuned to scents, so I don’t know. I like the way some of my favorite teas smell?

35. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

I would have so much cool art and so many cool other items and have the best interior decorations you’ll ever see in your life. And I will also be extremely humble about it

40. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it?

“Had to”? Are you trying to fucking kill me or something? I’d get a heart attack and die instantly at the first touch of the…apparatus (forgot what they’re called. The multi-needle contraptions with the ink. Is there even a word for that?). I also don’t have any pictures in mind

44. If you could travel back to any era, which would you choose?

I don’t know, I don’t care enough about the past to have an answer for this. Maybe I could silently skulk around Ancient Rome or something

EDIT: this isn’t a historical era but it’s an era to ME and I’m the only one that matters here. I would travel 4 years into the past because I have quite a few bones to pick with my 15-year-old self. I think a punch or two and several bits of prophetic advice should be able to solve and/or prevent a good amount of the issues I graduated high school with

47. How would you spend your ideal day?

Genuinely don’t know what would actually qualify as “ideal” but just any day where I can comfortably hang out with friends, I guess. My standards are extremely low so I will genuinely be overjoyed to do people’s chores for them or something

48. Describe yourself using one word

Halfhearted

48.5. Describe yourself using one quote

First one that came to mind was this quote from Crime and Punishment:

“Existence alone had never been enough for him; he had always wanted more.”

Second one that came to mind was this quote from Shriek:

“He is not a human being at all, but composed entirely of digressions and transgressions.”

Third quote that came to mind:

“You are the smartest funniest coolest most awesome most amazing most talented most beautiful most brilliant most well-rounded most amicable most enlightened brightest warmest kindest and overall best entity in this whole galaxy” —my legion of 20000 devoted fans

50. Invent your own word. What does it mean?

What, like on the spot? Uhhhhh blorgle and it’s what I did to your mom last night

There, finally done after 30+ minutes. God I am so far behind on this paper it’s insane

[aogram]

Temperamental Alloy - (Prisoner 003) Qibra First Trial Voice Drama

Heavy footsteps, and a door swings open. Someone sits down in a chair. The person across from them grunts in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything.

Qibra:

…

Verus:

…

Qibra:

…

Verus:

…

Qibra:

…What is it?

Verus:

What is what?

Qibra:

We havin’ a staring contest or something? Aren’t you supposed to be asking me questions?

Verus:

I was waiting for you to speak first.

Qibra:

Whatever. Just get on with it.

Verus sighs.

Verus:

I should have known they wouldn’t all be as cooperative as the first two…

Qibra:

I’m not exactly interested in having a conversation with the bastard who put me in this musty place.

Verus:

Good thing I’m not the person responsible for this, then.

Qibra:

Great. So whoever put us in here just sent a lackey. Wonderful. You got a complaints department? A little box where we can write down our grievances? Can a lawyer get me out of here? 

Verus:

The answer to all of those questions is no. 

Qibra:

Of course I can’t expect the lackey to have any useful information.

Verus:

I wouldn’t call myself a lackey. I’m the Warden. Verus.

Qibra:

Um. Not calling you that. Anyway, no lackey willingly says they’re a lackey. But you fit the description.

Verus:

How, exactly?

Qibra:

You’re following the orders of what someone tells you while not knowing a thing about the purpose behind them.

Verus:

What makes you think you don’t know the purpose of all this?

Qibra:

I looked at you for about two seconds, and could tell you’re about as confused as the rest of us.

Verus:

…I suppose I am following orders, but I know what I’m doing.

Qibra:

…Okay. Prove that by actually getting information out of me, then.

Verus:

I will.

Qibra:

Good. What are you gonna use? The spiked chair? Stretching rack? Iron maiden? Or maybe you’re just gonna waterboard me. Ha.

Verus:

What makes you think I’m going to torture you?

Qibra:

..It was a joke, idiot. That was why I laughed at the end. Ha. Ha.

Verus:

You said that with a completely straight face.

Qibra:

Yeah, that’s why it was funny. Deadpan. It’s good for card games, too.

Verus:

Your delivery is terrible.

Qibra:

Shut it, lackey. Gods, I try to lighten the mood a little bit and you just shut it all down. Go ahead and ask your stupid questions. I know that’s all you do.

Verus:

Stupid questions? Did Ralis tell you that? Or Renata?

Qibra:

Oh please, that knight barely talks to me. It was the Gith.

Verus:

Oh. …What did he say?

Qibra:

He just, y’know, described the type of questions you gave him. 

Verus:

So you assigned the ‘stupid’ part to the questions yourself.

Qibra:

Yeah, well, he described them, and they sounded stupid.

Verus:

…This is getting nowhere. Just answer what I ask of you.

Qibra:

Never said I wouldn’t.

Verus:

So you were just making a scene for no real reason, then.

Qibra:

I’m just statin’ the truth. That’s all. Get on with it.

Verus:

Name and age?

Qibra:

Qibra of Elderport. I’m 17. 

Verus:

17?

Qibra:

Goblin lifespans, dumbass. 

Verus:

Right. Sorry. I did a lot of research in the library before starting these interrogations, but there are surprisingly few books on goblin culture. 

Qibra:

Yeah, there wouldn’t be. People don’t seem to care about the “lesser races.” Not that I give a shit about goblin culture. Don’t know anything about it.

Verus:

So you weren’t raised among your kind, then.

Qibra:

Nope. Grew up in the city. With all the quote-unquote “civilized” people.

Verus:

So what’s your occupation?

Qibra:

I’m a blacksmith. I make weapons and armor. Pretty good weapons and armor.

Verus:

Hm. And what do you think of life here?

Qibra:

Like I said, I don’t like it. This place is stupid. 

Verus:

Stupid?

Qibra:

Yes. Stupid. And probably illegal.

Verus:

Illegal?

Qibra:

Detaining a bunch of people in a creepy castle for an indeterminate amount of time. That’s like, 3 different crimes, I think.

Verus:

It’s also illegal to kill someone.

Qibra:

There it fucking is. The ‘ohhh, you killed someone’. News flash. I didn’t.

Verus:

So you’re saying you shouldn’t be here?

Qibra:

No shit. I don’t think any of us should be here, actually.

Verus:

Why do you think that?

Qibra:

Well, besides the fact that this is massively illegal and unethical, it’s also just stupid. I don’t know if this is a thing in whatever place you’re from, ass-imar, but where I come from there’s this thing called, uh, nuance. You know, the gray area. The line between good and evil. Black and white. All that shit.

Verus:

…I know what that is.

Qibra:

Well, does the asshole who put us here know? Because all this innocent or guilty, absolved or condemned shit seems awfully black and white.

Verus:

Look, it’s my job to judge you based on your sins. Not ponder the reason this place exists in the first place.

Qibra:

My situation is a whole lot more than just whether or not I murdered someone. You can’t just judge me one way or another.

Verus:

I can. I will. That’s why I’m here. To see if you deserve to be absolved or condemned.

Qibra:

Ugh. Bastard. How about this: neither. Yeah, I did something bad, yeah, someone died, but does that mean I murdered someone? That I’m a horrible person? No.

Verus:

Everyone here killed someone.

Qibra:

So then what’s the point in judging us in the first place? If we’re all murderers?

Verus:

Some of your reasons may be forgivable. 

Qibra:

Oh, cut the crap. There’s nothing to forgive if it wasn’t murder in the first place.

Verus:

So are you saying you should be absolved?

Qibra:

Well, no, of course I’m not innocent! I don’t deserve total absolution! I was responsible for someone dying! I wouldn’t even forgive myself! But I’ve got too much going on for it to be a matter of innocent versus guilty.

Verus:

Is it now?

Qibra:

It is. That’s what I’ve been saying for this whole fucking talk. Listen up: I’m at fault. I can’t go free. I need to make some form of penance. If this were Elderport, I’d be given some minor sentence that I’d happily see through with. But I’m not a killer. So I can’t stay here forever and endure whatever fate that awaits me after you judge me like I’m some villain.

Gears grinding as the platform lowers.

Verus:

Time’s up. It’s time to get down there. I would have liked to be able to ask you more questions, but since you insisted on wasting so much time, I suppose that will have to wait.

Qibra:

You wanted my thoughts, and you got them.

Verus:

I barely got any useful information out of you.

Qibra:

Too bad.

Verus:

You know, all of this attitude isn’t going to make me want to absolve you.

Qibra:

Absolve, condemn. Absolve, condemn.. Gods, do you only know two words?

Verus:

They’re the only two words that matter in this situation. Now I suggest you cooperate and let me view the vision.

Qibra:

You fucking bastard…! Take this!

A chair falls to the floor and light footsteps are heard running towards something, only to abruptly stop.

Verus:

You can’t attack me.

Qibra:

Gods damn it… You can’t make me go down there… you just don’t get it…

Verus:

Well, we’ll see.

Qibra:

I’ll make you get it… I swear on my life…!

Verus:

Calm yourself, Prisoner 003. Get down there and get ready to sing your sins.

---

Read Qibra’s first trial MV Transcript here

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