#the event is over but i still wanted to post it

[illyrianbitch]

A Grave Misfortune

Pairing: Reader x Eris Vanserra

Summary: When your affair with Eris is discovered, you find yourselves burying a body and sealing the grave with a bargain —keep quiet, never speak of it again. But not all secrets lie still when you put them to rest.

Warnings: SMUT, adultery, morally questionable eris and reader, graphic depictions of violence and injury (but its kinda funny if you tilt your head), post-orgasm manslaughter/accidental murder, partners in crime, blackmail, and a bargain :D

Word Count: 5.6k

omg....new series...my passion project...

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“F-fuck.”

It was half a gasp, half a moan, slipping from your lips before Eris’s hand covered them.

“Shh.” His breath ghosted over your ear, cruel and gentle in the same measure. “You’ll get us caught.”

His other hand slid higher beneath your skirts, gathering fabric in careless fistfuls as he fucked into you— the metal of his rings pressing into your warm skin. It was always like this—dirty, hurried, the barest undoing of his breeches just enough for him to slide inside you.

The air in the small, dimly lit servant's closet was laced with the smell of dust and sex, the walls closing in around you as Eris’s teeth scraped against your throat. You knew he liked it like this—the power, the filth, the risk. The control. 

Eris enjoyed that. Enjoyed you because of it.

"Or should I let them hear?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he gound deeper.

You whimpered and he swallowed the sound, chuckling low in his throat as he brought you into a kiss. All teeth and tongue, brazen and dirty.

Somewhere, on the other side of the house, Dane was sitting with the other males at the event—polite, oblivious. He was probably wondering where his sweet wife had disappeared to, wondering when you’d be back. This time, you’d told him it was a stomach ache. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did, indeed, have an ache—only it wasn’t pain, not really. More like a desperation, a need that had been stirring since Eris’s eyes tracked you across the room from the moment he spotted you.

Eris’s hips snapped harder, finding that perfect angle—the one that made you clench around him and grind your teeth to keep from crying out. 

“That’s it,” he breathed, looking down between your bodies. His pace stuttered for half a second, like the sight alone was enough to break his composure. “Gods, you take me so beautifully, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer—not with the heat fogging your senses, not with the way he was fucking you like he wanted to break you open. His brows lifted, a flicker of smug amusement flashing in his amber eyes.

“Nothing to say?” His hands tightened on your hips, pulling back just enough to make you feel the loss—barely there, not far enough to let you escape. “That’s rude.”

You glared at him through the haze. “What the hell?”

“I asked you a question.” He punctuated the words with a sharp little thrust, smirking when your breath caught. “It’s rude not to answer.”

You rolled your eyes. His fingers pinched at your waist in reprimand—just hard enough to sting.

“If you wanted polite,” you panted, dragging him closer by the lapels of his coat, “you should’ve gone for Taryn’s wife.”

Eris’s smirk curved slow and wicked. He drove into you and you couldn’t stop the sharp gasp that left your lips. He chuckled, clearly satisfied, and the sound vibrated through your chest as he pushed himself against you.

"Ooh," he purred. "But she doesn't have a cunt that feels this good."

Your body betrayed you—clenching tight around him, slick and desperate. He noticed, of course, he always did, and his grin only grew smugger as he locked his hands under your ass. Your legs wrapped around him instantly, body lifting off the floor as the strength of his arms held you.

He fucked you harder then, chasing the heat coiling low in both of you. The small room filled with the obscene sound of skin meeting skin.

“Just– shut up and keep going," you moaned, nearly clawing at his skull, fingers digging into his hair. "Gods, you’re infuriating."

Eris groaned as you writhed against him, hips snapping into yours again and again and again.

“Beg for it, then,” he said, his teeth grazing the tender skin of your neck. “Maybe I’ll let you finish.”

“With a cunt that feels this good?” Your voice was barely more than a ragged whisper. “Maybe you should be begging.”

The growl that tore from his throat was pure animal. His hips snapped forward, the force of it knocking your head back against the wall. The bite he sank into your neck was a mistake—you both knew it. No evidence. No marks.

“Oh, c’mon,” Eris purred, licking over the imprint of his teeth. “It’s just you and me. No need to keep up appearances.”

“Stop talking,” you gasped, nails scoring into his scalp.  You were close— so fucking close. And you needed him to shut up. Him and that sinfully rough voice. You fought the overwhelming urge to do exactly what he wished: beg him to keep going.

“I know what you need,” he whispered, smug and syrup-slow. “And I’ll give it to you. I always do, huh?”

You couldn't answer—only clutch him harder, the coil inside you winding tighter.

"And they call me uncaring," he mocked, fucking into you harder.

"Do you just enjoy the sound of your own voice?"

He chuckled. “Almost as much as these glorious sounds of yours.”

Infuriating, arrogant, insufferab-

"Oh, fuck." Your body trembled as your cunt fluttered around him, dragging a broken groan from his chest. "F-fine," you panted. "Stop talking. Please. You feel amazing. Just fuck me."

His smirk widened, victorious. He slowed his pace, savoring the control, before he growled low in his throat. “Now, was that so hard?”

And just as the last word left his lips, he drove into you—again and again—until you shattered around him, your release crashing over you in hot, silent waves. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, choking back the scream building in your throat. Eris followed a heartbeat later, groaning low as he spilled inside you, his rhythm stuttering before he slumped against you, his forehead falling into the crook of your neck. 

Your body sagged against the wall, sliding down slightly as both you and Eris lost the strength to keep yourselves upright.  You let yourself float—limbs heavy, mind half-lost—following the spidery veins in the ceiling as you titled your head back. You hadn’t noticed them before. The closet had been too dark, barely lit by the flame Eris had conjured to find his bearings.

It shouldn’t have been this bright.

Your brow knit faintly, lips parting to pull in another breath. Then—

The feeling.

That awful, creeping sensation—the weight of something watching.

Your gaze dragged downward, over Eris’s shoulder, past the wild tangle of his hair.

The door was open.

And there was someone there.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in deep emerald silk.

He had pale green eyes, a neatly trimmed beard, and shaggy dark blonde hair that didn’t seem to quite obey him. A gold signet glinted on his ring finger—the same Dane wore as a mark of his station in the Autumn Court's forces, ingrained with the royal symbol of the Court. Specifically, the noble ranks beneath Eris's command.

You recognized him. Some minor soldier whose name you'd never bothered to learn. He lingered on the edges of court gatherings, always circling, always watching—like a dog waiting for scraps.

He blinked once, gaze sweeping over your position. Your tangled limbs. The flush blooming down your neck.

Then, a slow, pleased curl of his lips, as if this scene—this dirty secret—delighted him.

Not shock, not disgust. Amusement.

You panicked, realizing it, even as you knew you were screwed. He was going to tell. Going to ruin you.

You shoved at Eris, scrambling to fix your dress before you ran after the male.

“Wait,” you called, voice hoarse, lying as you added, “It’s not what you think.”

The slick between your thighs—sticky and unaddressed—mocked you with every step, the purest and damning evidence of everything you were about to insist hadn't happened. You clenched your legs tighter, as if that could make it disappear. As if he couldn't smell it.

The corridor was narrow and stale, lined with wooden tables, old hunting trophies, and moth-eaten tapestries. You could’ve sworn it had been smaller before—just a few quick strides when Eris led you down it, his palm pressing low on your spine.

Now, it stretched endlessly. 

Ahead, the male’s emerald-clad shoulder rounded the corner.

“Wait—damn it—just listen to me.”

Within a few more panicked strides, your hand finally snatched at his sleeve. He wrenched free, spinning to face you with a force that knocked your balance.

“I wonder what your husband will think,” he mused, and the smugness made your blood curdle.

“You didn’t see anything,” you tried again, lowering your voice. Gods, you wished you remembered his name, cared enough to try. Surely Dane had mentioned it a few times. If only you cared enough about him to listen. “I can pay you—”

The male before you scoffed. “Whoring and bribery? What a charming little wife you are.”

“What do you want?” The words tasted like ash. They scraped from your throat—raw, desperate. “Anything.”

“Anything?” His mouth twisted. “A harlot’s price, then?”

You swallowed hard, shame crawling under your skin. The kind of shame that made you feel hollowed out, skin too tight over brittle bones. But it disappeared quickly, morphing into a feeling you knew much better: anger. 

"Beron must be told, too, of course. Can you imagine his delight?" He whistled, a grin forming on his lips. "I was just thinking I could use a bit more favor."

Your heart pounded so hard you thought you might be sick.

“I’ll give you whatever you want.” The words sliced as they left your mouth. They sounded so much like a plea—too much like begging. You hated it. 

The male leaned in, close enough for you to smell the wine on his breath. "Anything?"

He let the word stretch—dragging the syllables out like something viscous. Like honey dripping slow from the comb.

"I think," he murmured, fingers brushing the hair from your cheek in a mockery of tenderness, "I'll let them see for themselves. Smell it, too. How poetic—like cattle branded before a slaughter."

You slapped his hand away. He caught your wrist in return—rough, restricting—and yanked you forward. Panic licked up your spine. He was stronger than you. A male born and bred for war. You thrashed, your heart rattling against your ribs.

Where was Eris?

Would he let you die for this?

Of course he would. Eris didn’t care for you. 

Hung, burned, beheaded. It wouldn’t matter.

The thought made you claw harder. Eris could cheat his way out of death if he wished—fireborn and silver-tongued. You could not. You'd be made an example of.

"Let me go," you hissed, twisting. His fingers dug deeper.

"I think not."

You lunged, fumbling for anything—your elbow catching his ribs, your nails raking his cheek. The fight tipped sideways. His grip slipped—only for him to shove you against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Your skull thudded against an ancient hunting trophy mounted there—some long-dead animal’s curling horns. The table beside you clattered with the force. 

"Anything you want," you said again. 

“You just gave me everything I want.” He leaned in close. You could smell him—leather and sweat and old wine. “Such fire,” he mused, “You were wasted on Dane. Is that why you were so desperate for the princeling?”

He wasn’t wrong. It angered you more. You lurched, clawing at his face—nails scraping along his jaw. He caught your wrist again, pinning it against the wall.

“Get off—”

He shifted, angling to reach for something—a knife, maybe, at his belt. Something to scare you into obedience. You thrashed, wild, barely noticing the way the walls seemed to close in. How much smaller the corridor felt now. How the air hung thicker.

Your free hand fumbled blindly, searching—until your fingers closed around something cold. Heavy.

The curved handle of an old candlestick.

You swung it without thinking, the brass base crunching against his temple. He staggered, hissing—but not enough. He was too close, still between you and freedom. His lip curled as he reached for you again.

You hit him again. Harder.

Something wet and pink burst from his split brow. His knees buckled. His weight pitched forward, slamming you both against the wall—right beneath the mounted trophy once more.

For a sickening second, you thought he was about to recover. He let out a low, gurgling snarl, shoving back upright—

And then the old, rattling mount gave way.

The beast’s curved antlers plunged down from the wall, and by the grace of the Mother, missed you entirely as they struck straight through his chest— sharp, heavy points driving through bone and flesh.

The sound he made was wet, awful—thin little gasps squeezing around the obstruction, like he was trying to breathe through a mouthful of water. His hands twitched, blindly pawing at the points of bone piercing through him. Little useless slaps, like a drowning man trying to fight the tide.

You couldn't look away. 

He twitched again. Another weak, gasp. 

You watched still. Watched as his eyes glazed over.

His knees gave out just as the candlestick fell from your grasp, both falling onto the carpet with a thud. 

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. Not until you heard a soft sound behind you. A sigh.

You turned, dazed, to find Eris adjusting his breeches, smoothing a hand through his hair as if he’s just stepped out of a business meeting rather than a scandalous fuck followed by an accidental murder.

He tilted his head and surveyed the scene before him.

"Well," he said, after a long moment. "That’s inconvenient."

You stared at him, mouth still agape, eyes still wide. Eris hummed, almost thoughtful, then turned and began walking.

You blinked. "Where are you going?"

“To get a different jacket."

Your mouth opened. Closed. You should’ve said something, should have reacted, but your mind was empty, wiped clean by shock.

Eris didn’t even look at you, just smoothed a hand down his clothes. "If we’re going to bury a body, it’s a little nippy outside." He paused, tapping his fingers against his chin, before snapping them lightly. "You should probably get to finding a shovel."

Your hands were still shaking as your gaze fell back upon the body at your feet.

The blood was still there, the body as well, but it was wrong now, blurred at the edges, folded into the world in a way that made it vanish to everyone else. A glamour.

 Eris’s voice drifted lazily down the hall:

"Stop staring. The dead aren’t known for their patience."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The grave didn’t dig itself.

You drove the shovel into the frozen earth, the metal scraping uselessly against the stale ground. Again. And again. It didn’t get any easier. The dirt resisted you, every attempt sending a dull, aching vibration up your arms.

Behind you, Eris sighed. Loudly.

“At that rate,” he mused, “we’ll be here until this court becomes winter.”

Your grip tightened on the shovel. You didn’t look at him. “It’d go faster if you helped.”

Eris hummed, as if weighing that possibility. “It would’ve gone a lot better if you didn’t kill someone.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay quiet. If you said what you were thinking, you might've had to bury him next.

The silence between you thickened with frost. You kept digging.

Eris, for his part, didn’t help. Instead, he crouched beside the body, tilting his head slightly, like he admired a sculpture rather than a corpse swaddled in dark velvet. Then, with the careless ease of someone inspecting an expensive cloak, he lifted the edge of the fabric. Peered inside.

Then sighed. Again. “Shame. One of my favorite rugs.”

You stared at him.

He flicked his gaze up. “What?”

Your lips parted. You searched for a response—one that could possibly encompass the depth of the feelings you were currently experiencing.

None came to mind.

Eris only shrugged and let the fabric fall back over the body, as if that somehow fixed the situation. He straightened and took a long, considering look at the half-dug grave, then sighed for the third time, this time like he was doing you a favor.

“I suppose we could burn him,” he said, almost to himself.

You exhaled sharply. “Then why the hell am I digging?”

Eris arched a brow. “Because magic lingers,” he said, patient in the way a teacher is patient with a particularly dense student. “If I incinerate him, it will leave a mark—one my father would notice. And I’d rather not explain why my magic is tangled up in a murder.”

You dropped the shovel with a dull thud, flexing your fingers. “You should be helping. Not antagonizing me with solutions that aren’t even viable.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“This is your problem.” He stretched, flexing his fingers in the cold air just as you had done. “And now that I think about it, I believe I will get going.”

“No, you can’t. You need to help me.”

He just looked at you. Unmoved. “I don’t need to do anything.”

“You have to.”

“Why?” he repeated, amused now.

“Because—”

Eris smirked. Tilted his head. “Because I fucked you?”

You stiffened.

He clicked his tongue, clearly enjoying himself. “And now I owe you some sense of loyalty? Is that it?” He took a lazy step closer. “Did you think what we had meant something?”

You didn’t. You were glad it meant nothing. 

You never tried to fool yourself into believing Eris Vanserra was a good male. You never tried to fool yourself into thinking you were a good fae, either. That’s what made the affair so easy. So nice. You could both be selfish without guilt, take what you wanted without pretending you wanted anything more.

But now, as you stood in the middle of a dark, frozen forest, with a body cooling at your feet and no one but Eris beside you—

You realized, without the distraction of pleasure, how much you disliked him.

Something inside you bristled at that.

Not just at him, at yourself. Because you were in this mess because of him. Because you let yourself get into this mess, knowing exactly the kind of male he was.

And now, here you were. Excused from your marital bed on the pretense of a stomache. Another lie stacked atop the others. Dane was likely asleep by now, none the wiser. He never was.

“You have to help,” you said once more.

Eris didn’t move. His expression didn’t shift. But something flickered behind his gaze.

“Why?” he asked again, voice lower now.

You took a deep breath, analyzing him with a careful eye. Eris Vanserra was a creature of hunger—of sharp edges hidden beneath silk, waiting for the next thing to devour. He could make you feel like prey without ever laying a hand on you.

If you were going to be damned for fucking him, you wouldn’t go down quietly. You wouldn’t let him consume you without leaving your mark—without sinking your teeth into him and tasting his blood in return.

You stepped closer. “Because if I’m going down, I’m dragging you with me.”

That got a reaction.

Eris stilled, his expression sharpening. Then—unexpectedly—his lips twitched. Not a smirk this time. Something quieter. Almost impressed.

“You’re blackmailing me,” he said, more observation than question.

“Yes.”

Another silence. Then, slowly, Eris smiled.

A secret. As if that would be enough. As if a secret could bind someone like him—a male who could cheat death itself, who could find his way out of promises the way most people slipped out of clothing. He’d done worse things for people who mattered more, had hunted his own family for sport—or so you’d heard.

It was sobering to consider all the things he'd done that hadn't mattered enough to you to stop you from bedding him, from chasing your own release. Perhaps there were countless bodies before the one that lay cold a few feet away from you—perhaps that was why Eris was so oddly composed. Not because he was heartless—although some might argue, and you might’ve been inclined to listen despite hearing his heartbeat against yours as he came inside you—but because he had done this before. What was murder to a High Lord’s heir? A sport, maybe. A skill.

And none of that had mattered to you. None of those possible lives meant enough.

You were not a good fae. You were not good or righteous.

Which made it easier to tell him, with no hesitation, “A secret isn’t enough.”

His amusement deepened. “No?”

You lifted your left hand. Cleaner. Less covered in dirt and grime.

“A bargain.”

Eris looked at your hand. Then at you. Then, finally, he clasped it in his. His hands were warm—always had been. You’d noticed it the first time he touched you. He could strip you bare with those hands, tear you apart without ever igniting a flame. 

A fireborn Vanserra, through and through. You’d always wondered how that fire worked, if there was some flicker of flame lurking beneath skin and bone. 

The heat spread through your fingers, curling into your palm, winding up your arm until a brush of magic settled, strange and unseen. 

You’d never made a bargain before. It felt oddly intimate, like two threads wrapping around one another and pulling tight. Eris Vanserra came with a lot of firsts, it seemed. Your first affair. Your first murder. A bargain on top like a neatly wrapped bow on a life-changing present.

You started to pull your hand back—but Eris’s fingers shifted. A fleeting brush along your ring finger. The ghost of a touch against your gold wedding band.

Your stomach curled.

Before you could think too hard about it, he tugged you forward and kissed you.

The kiss was rough. More animal than male. Teeth and heat and the faint taste of smoke— he tasted like that, sometimes, when he was exceptionally passionate. The heat of him melted the night frost straight off your skin.

It should’ve been horrible—kissing him here, with the scent of death still clinging to the air, with a body half-buried between you. But you kissed him back. It was much more fun than thinking about what you had done.

He pulled away with a grin, thumb dragging along your lower lip—just barely brushing the blood there. His expression shifted, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Did he hurt you?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

It took a moment to remember where the taste of blood in your mouth had come from—not from the dead male, but from your own teeth, biting into your lip at your climax.

Your face heated. You hated yourself for it.  “That was my doing.”

For a heartbeat, Eris’s thumb stayed where it was, pressed against your mouth. Then—slowly—he grinned. Relaxed. He seemed proud as the realization settled into him, turning away and back toward the grave.

The earth groaned. Just slightly. A few inches of dirt disappeared before you, no more. Barely helpful—barely anything at all.

You turned to him, incredulous.

Eris held up a finger, not even looking at you. “Magic lingers, remember.” His smirk flicked wider. “Only small amounts for now.”

Your mouth opened to argue—

“Do not tempt me,” he cut in smoothly. “I will fill it back up and make you start over.”

You snapped your mouth shut.

Eris grinned. Then stretched—luxuriously, like he was enjoying himself far too much—and walked back toward the corpse.

You went back to digging.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Eris supposed he’d go on a hunt later.

Not for any real reason—just the idle thought that it had been a while since he’d taken the hounds out properly. Fresh meat always tasted better than the market’s offerings, and the mindless rhythm of tracking, waiting, and killing had its own kind of satisfaction. Maybe he’d take them out near the eastern woods, where the deer were fat this time of year.

It was hotter than usual today. He could feel it in the way the air settled in the halls—thick and still, pressing against his skin. His jacket, despite being tailored perfectly to him, suddenly felt constricting. He glanced down and noticed a single loose thread near the cuff, barely noticeable, but there all the same.

He was almost tempted to convince himself it was going to be a bad day.

But then he stepped into the council chamber, and none of it mattered anymore.

The second he crossed the threshold, he was sharp. Focused. The weight of the room settled over him like a second skin—one he had long since learned to wear without discomfort. Beron was already speaking, his voice edged with irritation. Another dispute between the lesser lords. Something about trade routes or taxes or whatever other petty squabble they’d dredged up this time.

Eris took his seat, adjusting his cuffs as though he were hearing it all for the first time. He’d known about this all before, of course. He made sure he knew everything that happened in his court. 

His court. 

He glanced around the table, gaze sliding over familiar faces. When it landed on Dane, he lingered. The male was listening intently, his posture rigid—always the good soldier. But Eris was staring too hard, and Dane, like any good soldier would, took notice. He turned slightly, meeting Eris’s gaze—blue eyes locking with burnished amber. And then Dane dipped his head. In acknowledgement. In respect.

Eris should’ve felt guilt.

But there was nothing there, just a strange emptiness.

You had been his affair, his mess.

But Dane? He was his soldier. Loyal to a fault. Not to him—not to Beron either—but to Autumn. Eris respected that.

Apparently not enough to keep himself from bedding his wife.

He hadn’t seen you in a week. Not that he had really been counting, but he liked to keep his life in meticulous order. It helped him to know when things fell out of place.

It was for the better, Eris told himself. As beneficial as a murder could be. The affair had been destined to bring him more trouble than it was worth. The blackmail, the threat of exposure—it was inevitable. He'd known it even as he had taken the risks. The whole thing had been nothing more than a reckless indulgence, a brief spark in an otherwise tedious life.

And yet, there was a flicker of discomfort in the back of his mind. Guilt? No. Not really. But discomfort, yes. Concerns.

His thoughts drifted back to that night—to the way Harlan had looked, slumped against the floor like something discarded. Eris had recognized him within seconds—Harlan wasn't entirely memorable, but Eris made a point to know every male that could have the ability, or the misplaced arrogance, to kill him. 

Eris liked that type of order. He was, after all, a collector at heart. Just like his mother. Of different things, of course. Of people. Of secrets. Of potential enemies and betrayals to anticipate.

He was almost tempted to say that dying was the most interesting thing Harlan could’ve done—that the mounted animal trophy actually offered some more... embellishment to his appearance.

Maybe Eris would take a hunt out to the eastern woods after all. If he found something good enough, he could have a replacement trophy commissioned. Just similar enough to replace the one that had impaled Harlan like a roasted chicken dinner.

Not that he thought Beron ever went into the corridors where the court’s help stayed. But just in case.

His father had a way of doing things like that—doing things that inconvenienced him. Like a talent, the only one he had, truly, besides outward cruelty and a strange knack for making someone love the taste of violence.

Eris hated the idea of macabre trophies, didn’t find any thrill in staring at the animals he hunted. He did it for a purpose—for the hounds, for good hide and fur to make coats for himself, for his mother. Perhaps his brothers if he was feeling unusually charitable. Rare, though. Rarely did he indulge in kindness.

It would be a hassle, too, to find someone to taxidermy it quickly. You were going to cost him another afternoon—at least this time it wouldn’t be next to a poorly dug grave.

He admired your nerve. Blackmail was such a dirty little word. He preferred to think of it as mutual interest. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d been particularly fond of the male you’d killed.

He was only upset about the rug.

“Harlan has not responded to our summons.”

Eris’s head tilted slightly, the perfect picture of idle curiosity. Another commander spoke—something about Harlan leaving his estate abruptly, disappearing without a word. Eris hummed, fingers smoothing down the sleeve of his jacket.

“How concerning,” he murmured. “I suppose it is unlike him.”

Beron’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade.

Eris met it without hesitation, letting the silence stretch.

“Do you think the rumors are true?” he added lazily. Rumors Eris had perfectly crafted. He was quite proud of the ones he’d chosen this time around. 

And then the doors creaked open.

Eris turned his head.

Harlan stepped inside as if nothing was amiss, straightening his coat with a casual tug.

He was paler than he should have been. His posture just a touch too careful. But more than anything, it was the way he moved—like something testing the limits of its own skin—that made Eris’s fingers twitch.

“Apologies for my delay,” Harlan said smoothly. His gaze swept over the room, then landed—pointedly, intentionally—on Eris. “I was… indisposed.”

Eris didn’t blink.

Well.

If Harlan's death was a mere inconvenience, his apparent resurrection was a... problem. Unfortunate.

Eris thought that maybe there was a lesson here for him to learn. He hated riddles—only enjoyed a curious, deceptive tongue when it was his. Eris wasn’t sure if he believed in fate, or karma, but he did believe in one thing: finishing the job right.

Harlan couldn't be here, alive.

Eris didn’t care how it happened. He would learn, store the information, and show Harlan why dead things tend to stay dead—at least, the ones that Eris made sure of.

But he couldn't kill him, not in front of all these people. And now he was distracted, in an important meeting, no less. He could’ve wrung Harlan's neck for that annoyance alone—all resurrection facets aside.

Harlan took a seat. Next to him. He leaned in slightly, voice low.

“Is everything alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Eris wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him speak—or maybe he’d just never bothered to listen. He hummed. “Do I?”

“Yes. A bit rattled?”

“I don’t get rattled.”

Harlan’s mouth curved, something almost like amusement flickering behind his too-bright eyes. They had always been a rather dull green. Maybe death brought some life with it, somehow. Collected solely in his irises. “No?” 

“No,” Eris replied.

A beat. Then—

“I must've slept like the dead last night,” Harlan murmured. “I struggled to claw my way out of bed.”

Eris’s jaw tensed. “Sounds like a healer’s problem.”

“Perhaps.”

Eris glanced down at Harlan’s hand—at the small specks of dirt clinging to it. In strange places. None under the fingernails, where he would have presumed residue to be. They were clean, in fact—uncomfortably so.

He raised an unimpressed brow. “Picked up gardening, I see.”

Harlan chuckled low. “I took the scenic route—couldn’t resist a little time in the woods. Funny, the things the earth spits back out this time of year.”

Eris didn’t look at him. “Measly worms and once-bloodied bones? All meaningless things, ready to return back into the dirt where they belong.”

Harlan smiled. 

“Sometimes the dirt refuses to keep what it's given.”

Eris’s fingers curled once against the wood and the meeting began. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You didn’t believe in gods.

Not the way others did. You didn't pray to them, didn't ask for guidance or mercy. It seemed a waste—to beg to something that had no interest in listening. If they existed at all, they'd only ever laughed at you. Or maybe this—this—wasn't a laugh at all. Maybe it was a lesson. A quiet correction meant to make you better, make you regret, make you want to be good.

If that was the case, it had failed spectacularly.

You were cold, and annoyed, and hungry. You had no plans to be good—no desire, either. If the gods wanted you to fall to your knees, they'd have to break them first.

A twig snapped behind you.

Footsteps—slow, unhurried, elegant, even. You didn't have to look to know who they belonged to.

"We have a problem."

Eris’s voice was calm. Unbothered, almost—like he'd merely come to check on a minor inconvenience. The breeze stirred through the trees, cool against your face. 

You glanced at him from over your shoulder. "You think?"

He stopped next to you, going stiff as his gaze fell on the scene before you. 

The loose dirt at your feet hadn't been disturbed—not by roots, not by rain. The earth had simply opened itself back up, as if whatever had been placed inside it had decided it didn't belong there.

You stared at the gaping mouth of the grave. 

If gods were real, they weren't laughing now. 

No. They were watching.

Waiting to see what you'd do.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: chat... what do we think :D this was the most fun ive had writing in a while....i wonder.... if you guys fw this as much as me. aka lmk what you think (desperate need of some excitement hehe) and if you'd like to be on a taglist <3

also... i loved making the lil header. so cutsey. we love partners in crime to lovers!

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[emmiesoverthemoon]

⭑ come back to me

Pairing: g-dragon/ kwon jiyong x reader

Word Count: 4,550

Summary: Three years after you left your ex-boyfriend after he insulted your small modelling career, you reunite at a prestigious annual fashion gala.

Tags: second chance, hurt/comfort, slight angst, happy ending, exes-to-soon-to-be-lovers

cross posted on ao3 here

Today, you are one of the biggest names in the fashion industry, known for your beautifully authentic and original image that deserves the largest frame in an art gallery, the centre point on a stage, the brightest on a runway. Your confidence is effortless, your alluring demeanour sparked inspiration in many brands, designers, and agencies. You are the world’s muse, and clothing garments are their medium, created perfectly for you with intentions of highlighting and enhancing your natural elegance and grace.

No matter how dim a room’s lighting scheme could be, Jiyong could always spot you in a crowd. To him, your spectacular warm, inviting glow reflected upon any surroundings and ensured that any space you were to enter became infinitely more beautiful. Selfishly, all he wanted to do was bask in your luminescence and indulge himself into you, worshipping you as if you were a deity, deeming him fortunate enough for you to call his very name. He once did indulge himself, and held this to be his most favoured hobby, but he had ripped himself away from participating. He had some regrets, but some much, much larger than others.

The one that lay the heaviest on his conscious was you.

You, the one he once had the honour of calling his, and if he didn’t screw it up, he still would hold it close. You both had been an item for three years, the public being blissfully unaware of your relationship, as Jiyong knew how ruthlessly critical a portion the internet could be toward his potential suitors. He strove to keep you to himself; his sweet sweet little secret.

Of course, knowing the circumstances of his fame and career, you were okay with this. Naturally, however, you did yearn to be able to be a ‘normal’ couple; to be able to go out to dates, to hold hands in public, hell, even to just be able to leave the house together. But you never held him as responsible for your animosity towards the prying eyes of the media. You knew it was not his choice.

What was his choice, on the other hand, was how tightly he held the reins of his pride. Jiyong was a prideful man, he had every right to be, considering his achievements and successes. When you both were together, you were building yourself into the famous model you are today—attending as many castings as your manager could book you, walking as many shows varying in size as your heels could carry you, etc.—and obviously you were not as globally recognised as Jiyong. And on one evening, he made it apparent that he knew it well.

“Because you aren’t enough out there, unlike me. To them, I am leagues beyond you. I can’t have my image tainted with that."

The words sliced through your mind, each syllable lingering, replaying over and over. The weight of them felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the pleasant evening you had just shared moments ago. Not long ago, the two of you were laughing over dinner in his expansive, dimly lit home, talking about an upcoming gala. Jiyong had been invited for yet another year to one of the most exclusive fashion industry events, a cocktail affair where the names everyone recognizes congregate like icons in their own right. Your manager had miraculously secured you an invite—your first time attending. Your excitement was palpable, but so were your nerves.

This wasn’t just another party. This was your debut among the greats—the designers, the supermodels, the editors, all the ones whose names spark a fire in every aspirant’s chest. Your chance to cement yourself amongst your idols as someone who deserves their place alongside them. You were already second-guessing your wardrobe choice, wondering if your impression would hold up among legends. And the thought of possibly being seen with him, Jiyong, the elusive industry titan who you had been quietly involved with, made the evening feel like a balancing act. A part of you wanted to break the silence, make things public, even if just with a casual greeting, so that you could stop pretending in front of the world. But when you brought it up, Jiyong immediately dismissed the idea, his tone heavy with disdain.

A simple suggestion from you, one that felt innocent enough—a “meeting for the first time” in front of the cameras—was met with cold, condescending logic. “It would raise suspicions,” he had said dismissively. You tried to explain, to assure him that it would be harmless, a natural first step toward unveiling your relationship. But he wouldn’t hear it. “You” weren’t ready, “he” wasn’t ready—“the world” wasn’t ready, according to him.

And then, the words tumbled out of his mouth like a heavy, painful truth: “Because you aren’t enough out there unlike me. To them, I am leagues beyond you. I can’t have my image tainted with that."

The sting of his declaration hit you like a physical blow. You could feel your chest tighten, the air in your lungs suddenly too thick to inhale. In an instant, you stood up from the table, your chair scraping loudly against the floor, the echoes of the sudden movement cutting through the thick, glossy silence of the room. You didn’t look back. You grabbed your purse, hands trembling slightly as you made for the door. Every step you took toward the exit was a battle against the burning, threatening tears that hovered just behind your eyes. But you would not let him see you break—not now, not ever. His words had revealed something you couldn’t ignore: he had made his opinion clear, and it wasn’t one you could reconcile. You were beneath him. And you refused to let that stand.

Jiyong called after you, his voice rising, a mixture of immediate regret and desperation. "I didn’t mean it that way," he tried, but the excuses came too late. "I didn’t word it right." He sounded pitiful, but you weren’t interested in his explanation. You had heard everything you needed to.

The door slammed behind you, cutting off his voice.

You didn’t hesitate. The last words you spoke to him echoed in the cool night air: “I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for your pathetic ego. Go find someone more famous than me who can knock you down a peg.”

That was the last time you saw or heard Jiyong. And for three years, you pushed the memory of him away. But tonight, as the gala approaches again, you find yourself standing on the cusp of another year, another invitation, another flight from Korea to Paris in anticipation. The past feels so distant now, but the thoughts of him, of that night, have a strange way of creeping back into your mind.

The gala is everything you’ve come to expect from a night like this—elegance woven into every moment, a sense of timeless luxury that settles over the room like a soft velvet curtain. The ballroom is vast, the ceiling high, adorned with grand crystal chandeliers that catch the light and scatter it in soft, sparkling patterns across the polished marble floors. There’s a gentle hum of conversations, laced with laughter, punctuated by the clink of champagne glasses. The air is fragrant with an intoxicating mix of expensive perfumes, floral arrangements, and the ever-present scent of Parisian sophistication. Soft jazz plays in the background, its notes curling through the air, blending perfectly with the low murmur of voices. The walls are draped in opulent fabric, gold accents framing the large windows that offer a glimpse of the twinkling stars against the night sky draped as a veil, casting cool night air over the city.

As you glide through the room, it’s as though the very space parts for you. Your presence is magnetic, not because of a need for attention but because it’s undeniable. You've been here before, after all—many times now. You’ve grown accustomed to this world, not as an outsider, but as one of its beloved stars. Fashion knows you well, adores you, and respects you. You are a staple at these events, not just because of your work but because of the way you carry yourself: effortlessly divine and poised. There's a sense of ease about you tonight, a calm under the bright lights and all the eyes that flicker toward you as you pass. Your gown, a delicate yet striking creation of silk, catching the light with every step. It moves with you, flowing like liquid metal, the intricate beading of the fabric shimmering like constellations scattered across the dress. You look flawless—radiant, understated, yet undeniably captivating.

The whispers of admiration follow you as you walk, but there’s no need for words to validate your presence; your confidence speaks volumes. Designers, photographers, models, and influencers all acknowledge you, whether with a simple nod or a quiet compliment. To them, you are more than just a face—they know the hard work, the hours of preparation, the dedication you pour into your craft. You’ve earned your place here, not by chance, but by sheer, unmatched talent and authenticity. And as you move further into the crowd, you are greeted by those who have become familiar faces—the editors, the stylists, the creatives who have watched your journey unfold and who continue to champion you. Tonight, as always, you are the epitome of elegance, the pulse of this glamorous world that thrives on beauty, ambition, and artistry. There’s a quiet power that radiates from you, a reminder that in a room full of luminaries, it is your presence that lingers longest in their minds.

Your heart skips a moment when you catch the sound of a strikingly familiar laugh from across the room. A sweet jingle the back of your mind yearned to hear over and over again, despite the hurt. Although it had been approximately three years since you left Jiyong’s home that night, a small part of you still missed him. You were unsure if you truly missed him, or if it was the idea of what your relationship was; his effect on you, the way he spoke to you, the way he knew exactly where to touch to have your eyes widening and your heart racing. You often wondered if your mind was trapped in a prison cell of nostalgic wonder, constantly torturing you with flashbacks to moments you once held dear.

You let your eyes gracefully and subtly wander across the room, trying to spot the source of the laugh. Once you spotted him, you subconsciously let out a small flinch; you caught him staring back at you. An unreadable expression was scrawled across his smooth complexion, trailing across your face, your neck, and down your figure as he soaked in the view he yearned to see the moment you left that night.

Your heart began to race—not pleasantly, no, alarmingly, the heightened walls of the ballroom begun to constrict around you, suddenly envisioning everything becoming a whole lot warmer, tighter. Once over yonder you would dream for this warm, cozy feeling, for caterpillars to deem your stomach a safe haven for them to cocoon into beautiful butterflies, fluttering and fuelling the blood to rush to your cheeks, creating a beautiful crimson hue that he adored seeing you clad in, knowing he was the reason for its existence in the first place. But now, the warmth was smothering, asphyxiating.

You were the first to break eye contact, your eyes nervous—no; anxious and stressed. The weight of his focus on you was too suffocating, too overwhelming, just too much to handle for even a second longer. You needed an escape, a sanctuary where you can breathe freely for god’s sake. The lurching of your heart into your trachea, the trembling travelling from inside your bones through to your intrinsic muscles of the hand, which expressed exteriorly through the rattle of your fingertips, were symptoms of him—his charisma and magnetism, ones that you needed to experience not a single moment more.

You huffed, a futile attempt to alleviate some of the discomfort in your chest and lungs. You needed to get out of this room before it closed in and swallowed you whole.

You found yourself drawn to the balcony which was situated across a restaurant, playing melodic jazz music, as you gaze to the stars, a melodic saxophone is there to provide a tune rich with passion and humanity to sway along to. You had expected Jiyong to be present once again, he was the G-Dragon, you were just foolish in assuming that the ballroom would be full enough to avoid his attention.

Unfortunately, this balcony-made-haven was not as safe as you might have assumed. Your trance of relaxation with the woodwind instrument snapped, your bubble burst by the sound of a door sliding open and closed. Damn you for assuming you’d be safe.

Jiyong steps out onto the balcony, his presence immediate, like a gust of wind before the storm. You decide to give him a glance over your shoulder, and suddenly you can’t help but feel the familiar heat return, the way his eyes have a way of pulling you in despite your best efforts. Jiyong’s small grin is knowing, enticing, a familiar curve of his lips that used to be your favorite sight in the world, and your favourite place to touch with your own cheesy smile. Used to be.

“I knew you’d love the view from here,” he says, his voice like a silk thread that winds around you, pulling tighter with every word. “You would always tell me that a clear view of the night’s sky could draw you out of anywhere.”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you turn to gaze at the bustling townspeople below, feeling the weight of the moment. Your chest tightens. You want to breathe in the night air, let it fill you and wash away the old memories, the ones of warmth and tenderness that feel so distant now. But he won’t let you have that peace.

“Still alive up there?” Although his words are light and hold no room for depth, his words drift toward you like his old cigarette smoke, curling, adhesive, and insistent. An invitation for conversation you did not want to open.

You force yourself to focus on the glow of the Eiffel Tower, the steady pulse of the lights from across the Seine. It’s easier than meeting his gaze, easier than acknowledging the quiet storm stirring between the two of you. You couldn’t believe your ears; after all this time with no attempt to contact you with an apology, he opened your first conversation with him with fallacious teasing.

“I’m silent for a reason, take a hint,” you say, intending to remain sharp, but the words are too soft, too hesitant. You don’t want to give him that satisfaction, but your heart betrays you in the quietest of ways.

Jiyong steps closer, the heat of his body seeping into the cool night, his scent—familiar and dangerous—wrapping itself around you. The tension crackles in the air like static before a lightning strike.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, his voice lowering to a dangerous level, the kind that still sends a shiver down your spine. “Don’t pretend you’re unaffected by me.”

His fingers brush against your arm, just enough to remind you of how well he knows the geography of your body. You swallow, biting your lip to keep the words in check. You feel your heart beating, begging you to fall back into him, but you know better. You cannot betray yourself like this.

“I’m not pretending,” you say again, but this time the words are hollow, thin, as if the very act of saying them is a lie.

He moves closer still, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, stirring the tendrils of your hair you spent so long to perfect. You can almost hear the beat of your pulse in your ears, the thrum of your blood, and you hate how it betrays you.

“I don’t want this,” you say, the words carrying edge now, cutting through the fog of memories that cloud your thoughts. “I don’t want that... pain from us.”

The words hang in the air, heavy, like the scent of rain before the downpour. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, his eyes fixed on you as though he’s searching for something. A crack. A softening. A moment when he can slip back in.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, as if he knows you better than you know yourself.

You turn away, arms folding across your chest as though that could shield you from him. But it doesn’t. It never has. The tightness in your throat threatens to spill over, but you won’t let him see. You won’t let him win.

The balcony creaks underfoot as he steps closer again, his hand brushing against the railing as if searching for something solid to hold onto. You know the feeling. You’re both teetering on the edge, balanced precariously between what was and what will never be again.

“You’re still angry,” he says, his voice a low hum now, vibrating in the space between you. “You’re still upset that I... said that to you. That I caused us to fall apart.”

You choose not to indulge him with your gaze, but you can feel his gaze like a weight on your back, pulling you toward him. You don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not here, not with him. But you can’t ignore the truth in his words.

“I’m angry because you didn’t care,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper, as though the confession would break you if it were louder. “You didn’t bother to try to reach out to me; I would’ve answered my phone, you should’ve known be better than that. You let me go without a fight.”

His breath hitches, a moment of surprise before he steps even closer, too close now, his body pressing into yours like an immovable force.

“I’m still fighting,” he murmurs, the words brushing the shell of your ear, trying to engrave a promise in your eardrum.

You shake your head, pulling away, forcing space between you. But the crack in your voice betrays you. “It’s too late for that.”

And for a moment, the world seems to still. The city below, the hum of voices inside, the thrum of the night—it all fades into the distance. All that’s left is you and him, tangled in the past, standing on a precipice, neither one of you willing to take the step toward what might come next.

He watches you closely, his eyes darkened by something unspoken, a regret buried beneath the surface, and for a split second, you almost think he’s not the man you left behind. But then he smiles, a slow, arc of his lips that makes your stomach twist.

He says nothing, but slowly raises his arm to brush against your waist. Slowly enough so that if you so pleased, you could move away, move him away. He would respect that.

But you let it happen.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” He whispered, he’s close enough that you can feel the teasing, sensual tone licking against the slope of your neck where it meets with the base of your ear, reverberating through your head. He chuckles, his voice lowering, dripping with seductive teasing, forming a warm pit form in your stomach, “That is, if you want me to.”

You want to, oh god, you want to give in. You know he’s right, you were always one to give in to him; you were melting to fall right back into in his hands, and you knew it, he knew it. But instead, you don’t respond. You look out over the city once more, the lights shimmering beneath the weight of your silence. You wonder how much longer you can pretend that you’re not still tangled in the wreckage of everything you once had.

Juxtaposing your desires, you are a stubborn woman, and you need him to be aware of the pain he inflicted before he can be let in so easily. You suck in a deep breath, and your heels take one small, rushed step away.

“You know what?” you say, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “I’m tired of you pretending like you didn’t hurt me. You really think you can just waltz back into my life because you flash that damn grin and speak like that to me in that damn voice? Well, guess what, it’s not working anymore.”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him get a word in. You’re not finished.

“You said I wasn’t enough for you. And you didn’t just insult me verbally—you destroyed everything I thought we had. You invalidated and belittled everything I had worked toward at that point. Every single thing you said, every promise you made? It faded to nothing. You think you can apologize your way back in with some pitiful little look in your eyes? I’m not buying it.”

The words pour out of you, each one drenched in the venom of old wounds. You can feel the heat in your chest, the fire that’s been simmering for so long now rising to your throat. It’s so much easier to be angry than to be hurt, so much easier to tear him down than let him see how much he’s broken you.

“You don’t get to walk in here, after how high I have built myself, acting like I’m just supposed to forgive you, to fall for your charm. Do you think I’m naïve?”

There’s a moment of silence, and you take a second step back, finally meeting his eyes. But you see something you didn’t expect—something like regret, something deeper than just his usual smugness. And it stops you in your tracks.

“I’m not done,” you say, more quietly now, the edge of your anger still sharp but softer. “But I’ll tell you one thing—you don’t get me back with your words. Not with any of…” You wave your arms around, gesturing to the air between you. “This. You have to earn me back. You have to earn my trust again. And I don’t even know if I’ll let you. So, no, you don’t get to come back into my life that easily.”

You’re not prepared for the way your voice falters then, how it cracks and slips as you finish the last sentence. You hadn’t meant to break, not like this, but now that the anger is gone, the sadness rushes in. You don’t even try to hide it as the tears start to fall, hot and furious, blurring your vision. Your chest tightens, the lump in your throat suffocating you.

And there he is, standing in front of you—his eyes no longer filled with that arrogant glint, but something more raw, something that makes your heart stutter in a way you haven’t felt in months. Small tears brimming his eyes as well, he reaches out, his hand tentative at first, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

Jiyong’s hand lands on your arm, and the sensation of it feels like a remedy on a burn. He offers an embrace to soothe you, and you impulsively fall into him, not allowing your mind a chance take the wheel. You despise yourself for needing him like this.

“I was an idiot,” he says, his voice low, not the usual playful tone but something real, something genuine. “I know I hurt you. I know I hurt us. I wasn’t fair to you, and I can’t change that. I can’t take back the things I did, the things I said, but I am sorry. More than I could ever say. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me, if that’s what it takes.”

You blink, a part of you wanting to reject it, to slap away the apology and keep holding onto your anger. But another part of you—the part that’s still so so tired—wants to believe him.

“You broke me. I trusted you, and you just let me leave. A single call would have been better than silence. I felt like you quickly moved on without even caring what your words did to me,” you softly cried, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

He steps closer, his hand still warm on your arm, and you don’t pull away, “I know. And I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I was a coward. I was selfish. And I hurt the one person I never should’ve hurt.”

You swallow, another sob catching in your throat. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect him to apologise like this, so carefully, so thoughtfully. You didn’t expect him to look at you like he was the one who needed to heal. It does something to you, something you don’t know how to handle.

“I don’t know if I can ever trust you again,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I don’t know if I can forget how easily you let me go, after such a long time.”

He nods, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t deserve that trust, not yet. But I will work every single day to earn it. I’ll show you, if you’ll let me. I’ll earn your heart again. Not because I think I deserve it, but because I want to. Because I’m sorry—and I’ll show you that I can be the man you deserve.”

You sniff, gently wiling at your face, angry at yourself for letting your guard down, for feeling even the smallest glimmer of hope. But that’s the thing with him—he has a way of making you believe in something, even when you were sure you’ve shut that door and thrown away the key.

“You’ve got a long way to go,” you say, voice hoarse, but there’s something in it that feels like forgiveness. Not full forgiveness, not yet. But maybe—just maybe maybe it’s a start.

“I know, my love. I know,” his voice was no louder than a whisper, allowing you to fill space with your thoughts over his. He presses his lips against your forehead, which sends nostalgic sparks from the crown of your head, all the way through your torso and limbs, then inside your chest, electrifying your heart.

You remain in his arms for a moment longer, the weight of it all pressing in. You don’t say anything more. You don’t have to. The words, the apology, the admission—they hang between you like a fragile thread, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a sliver of something you thought was long gone.

Maybe you can forgive him. Maybe you can let him back in. But not now. Not yet. That is not something that can happen in just one night.

And for the first time in three years, you feel something more than anger. You feel hope—faint, fragile, but still there.

hey everyone! this is my first fic here! so i hope you like it! i was a bit nervous to post this :)

if there is anything specific youd like from me please don’t hesitate to let me know and i’ll do my best! :3

[hjparisian]

angel baby - theodore nott x reader

p: theodore nott x fem!reader w: just some fluff, theo pining, swearing, drinking, ooc(?), kinda modern au? (mentions 1996 romeo and juliet) s: after hearing who his crush is being at the slytherin's halloween party, theo decides to impress her with his own costume a/n: i know i know, very late, but i finally got around to finishing this and still wanted to post it

It was a week before Halloween, which to many, was one of the most anticipated holidays other than Christmas. But it wasn't the candy upper year students were excited for. Rather, it was the Slytherin party that would be happening that night.

All the girls were chatting about who they would be for the night. Ideas ranging from vampires to scantily dressed nurses. It was a night to show off.

Theo never cared much about the costume part. The past couple years he settled on skeleton face paint, mainly because his roommate Enzo has a surprisingly good eye for art.

Truthfully, he had planned to do the same again, despite Blaise's insistence on doing something different. But plans had changed for him.

Theo was at the Slytherin table with the rest of his friends as they chatted about the upcoming event of the season.

"I'm so excited for this party," exclaimed Daphne. "Have you guys decided on what you're wearing?"

"I've decided on a black cat," Pansy told them. "Got the perfect outfit and everything."

"Oooh you're gonna look so good Pans!" (Y/N) told her.

"I know, I'm so excited. What about you Daph?"

Daphne smiles. "I'm going to be a vampire." A sound of 'Ooos' was heard after the girl's answer. "What about you (Y/N)?"

(Y/N) giggles a bit before responding, the sound making Theo's heart pick up a bit. "Do you guys remember that one muggle movie we watched during summer?"

"Was it that weird one where that girl and boy died at the end because their families hated each other?" Draco chimes in.

The girl scoffed at Draco's comment. "Well yes, but you know its more than that." The boy rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, I think I want to be Juliet from the party scene."

"Oooh, is that the one where she's dressed as an angel?" asked Daphne. "You're going to look stunning!"

(Y/N) grins, thanking Daphne. Her smile made Theo's lips twitch a bit, wanting to mirror her. A small nudge was felt on the boy's left side where Mattheo sat, smirking at him. Caught red handed.

It wasn't like nobody knew about Theo's crush on his fellow Slytherin classmate. In fact, Mattheo had been the first to know about it, albeit, not by choice. Theo had kept his interest for the girl low key. It was just that Mattheo had notice Theo staring a little too long at (Y/N) one time and had basically got his friend to confess his crush.

After that, Mattheo had made it his mission to help Theo to get with (Y/N).

"I just wished I could have someone be my Romeo though," (Y/N) confided with her friends. "It would make the costume feel more complete."

"He was the knight right?" Asked Pansy. "That would be so cute."

This had caught Theo's attention again. The gears were beginning to turn in his head.

Back at the dorms, Theo was pacing, Enzo and Mattheo watching him from Mattheo's bed.

"So are you going to tell us what's happening or are we going to continue watching you burn a path in the floor?" Enzo asked his dormmate. "Feel like I'm getting dizzy from watching you."

Theo stops his tracks before looking towards his two friends. "I need to find a halloween costume."

Enzo stared at the boy, confused. While Mattheo had a feeling as to what was stirring in his friend's mind.

"You're going to match with (Y/N), huh?" Mattheo asked.

"Finally!" Enzo shouts, startling the other two. "Thank Merlin, I won't have to do that fucking face paint anymore. You know I was getting tired of that shit, right?"

Theo rolled his eyes at his friend.

"Anyways," Enzo began. "What's (Y/N) going to be?"

Mattheo answered. "An angel basically."

"She wants to be Juliet from that movie we watched over the summer." Theo explained to him as he sat on his own bed. "But during that party scene."

"And Romeo here wants to be her knight in shining armor," Mattheo said.

"Ooh. And let me guess, you need our help?"

"No, well, kinda," Theo said. "Help me find the perfect costume."

"And what will we get out of this?" Mattheo had a look of mischief in his eyes.

"Nothing."

"Well. Then you wouldn't mind if I asked (Y/N) to the party would you? Share a drink or two with her, maybe dance?"

"You wouldn't."

"Oh I would," his roommate said. "Unless you do my homework for a month."

"No bloody way."

"Fine. Three weeks."

"Two and that's final."

Mattheo thought for a second before grinning. "Alright, two weeks it is. Didn't think you'd actually go for it though, was just joking a bit."

"Oh you bastard, I'm going to kill you!"

That weekend, the boys had dedicated their time at Hogsmeade to finding stuff for Theo's costume. They had found the items surprisingly quick thanks to Enzo and his eye for things.

The three had ended their day at the Three Broomsticks with Draco and Blaise, who noticed the bags they carried, but decided to not question it (didn't stop Mattheo from telling them what was going on).

The day of the party had come way too soon for Theo's liking. He stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself with the costume on.

What if (Y/N) doesn't like his costume? What if she thought it was stupid and laughed at him? Should he have done this?

So many thoughts and scenarios ran through Theo's mind, he was half tempted to take the costume off and go for a smoke.

"Theo?"

The boy looked towards the door to find Enzo and Mattheo. The two were examing Theo's current state.

"You good?" Mattheo asked. Theo just shrugged.

"Come on mate," Enzo said to him. "She'll like the costume. And if she doesn't, who cares? Now, let's go for some shots. I know Mattheo has been itching for some."

After a few more minutes, Enzo and Mattheo had successfully gotten Theo out of the dorm room and into the Slytherin common room. And true to his word, Enzo had gotten a couple shots into his dorm mates to liven things up.

Things were going alright for Theo. A couple shots had gotten him feeling more loose, but he was still thinking about (Y/N), whose whereabouts were unknown to him.

He was grabbing another drink when he heard his name being called. Confused, he turned around to find the culprit.

"(Y/N)."

"Hi Theo."

The boy took a second to look at (Y/N)'s outfit, or what he thought was a second. He saw how intricate it was, almost like it was a replica of the costume from the film.

She looked like an angel.

"I like your costume," Theo heard her say. Seems like he wasn't the only one looking.

"Thank you. Don't look too bad yourself."

(Y/N) smiled at his comment. "Thanks. Made it myself."

"Well it looks lovely," Theo said to her. "Drink?"

She nodded, taking the drink Theo offered her.

"Who are you supposed to be?" She asked after taking a sip.

"Oh uh," the boy began. "Romeo. From the movie we watched back during the summer. Thought his party fit was cool."

"Really? Well I like it. You look really good Theo."

Theo felt his cheeks heat up. She liked his costume. He would have to thank Enzo (and maybe Mattheo) for his help.

The music in the common room had begun to slow down. Couples gathered with each other and swayed to the music. Theo turned his head and saw Mattheo dancing with a girl, but he was looking directly at him.

'Ask her' Mattheo mouthed to him, discreetly pointing at the girl next to him.

Theo nodded his head at his mate before turning to his crush beside him. Just as he was about to speak, the words on the tip of his tongue were stolen.

"Dance with me?"

(Y/N) looked up at Theo, waiting for his answer. Out of shock, Theo just nodded. Taking his answer, (Y/N) pulled Theo closer to the center of the room where everyone was. She wrapped her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist. Eyes gazing at each other. Everything felt perfect.

"So, why did you choose this costume, Theo?"

He faltered in his steps, surprised at the sudden question. He had two choices, he could be honest and admit his feelings, or lie and say Mattheo made him do it, which is something he would actually do. But the more he looked at her, realizing how close they were, he needed to say the right thing.

"I did it for you."

"For me?"

Theo nodded. "I heard how you wanted someone to match with you to make your costume feel complete. I wanted to make your night special. Because. I like you (Y/N)."

(Y/N) halted her steps, confusing Theo.

"You like me?"

The boy nodded, feeling slightly nervous. "Actually have a while."

(Y/N) took in this new information, nodding at him. The silence between them was killing Theo. He was half tempted to kill Mattheo if she said she didn't like him. Since technically, if he thinks about it, it would be.

As Theo was going through every little thought and concern in his head, he missed out on the girl in front of him trying to speak to him. He finally tuned back into the world when she said his name.

"Hm?"

"Theo, I was trying to tell you, I like you too," (Y/N) tells him with a smile on her face.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well bloody hell finally," said a voice.

The two turned to see Mattheo looking at the two, seemingly having stopped dancing to spy on this moment.

"Thought I would never see the day come where Theo finally admits his feelings for you. I was thinking I was gonna have to make a move myself."

"Mattheo shut the fuck up." Theo glared at his roommate.

Mattheo stuck his hands up. "Alright, alright. I'll leave you too lovebirds alone. Don't be surprised when Enzo is asking you questions when you come back to the dorm." The Slytherin took his leave, relieving Theo.

"I hate that motherfucker," he mutters, raking his hands through his hair.

(Y/N) chuckles. "Maybe, but I think you don't mind him. You guys are best friends after all."

Theo laughs, shaking his head.

"So, I hear there's a Hogsmeade trip happening next week. Would you want to go on a date there?"

"I'd like that." (Y/N) grins.

[quesocheeso]

3am AU

Shadowpeach edition

I'm enjoying having this AU be written posts while I'm also working on comic strips for it, it's fun👍

Okay okay, since the au is based on what happens in canon/ canon present time I'll be referring to stuff from there

Okay so Shadowpeach is complicated in 3am AU (when are they not?) they're by all means rivals who are still hostile to each other, they have just extremely reeled it back when raising their kids, so although Xiaoxing knows they're in somewhat okay(?) terms, he doesn't know what really happened between them. Shadowpeach really went from enemies to co-parents, and they never spoke of their own issues, just an agreement to raise the kids without hostility to each other. Although at the time they shook hands on this, they only had Xiaoxing and the plan was to raise him to adulthood before going back to trying to beat each other up,,,but then they had Xiaoyue which monkey wrench moment fr

I also want to clarify, Shadowpeach aren't together in this AU, they definitely hook up with each other whenever they want, but they aren't together. Do they have romantic feelings for each other? Oh boy they definitely do, I just find it hilarious that Macaque knows he does, while Wukong is kinda oblivious or thinks he has indigestion.

Which brings me to the main topic: Love.

No matter how much Macaque says he hates or despises Wukong, he still goes out of his way to help him. No matter if his own life is in danger he is always there, and isn't that care? One could even say love? Maybe even...Unconditional love.

Hate is born out of love that has rotten, especially between two people like these monkeys.

Just like Peng said, my favorite little instigator, "is there anything wukong can do that will break his hold over you" like wow doesn't that sum it up

In the 3am AU, Macaque has always known that he loved Wukong romantically, even before the journey or brotherhood.

Wukong never really figured out his own feelings, and most likely didn't have a sense of unconditional love for the other, doesn't mean he didn't care.

He just didn't feel as intense as Macaque did, and that's fine.

I do think he was the first to fall out of love with the other (even before he realized he was in love😭) and I mean after the events that transpired in jttw it makes sense and is valid.

I just find it hilarious that the guy who died from his mistakes, got revived and hated the other, still fell in love again first like brother pls

Like dude you died?? You weren't supposed to come back, that was it. You got killed with the knowledge that that was the end, only reincarnation could bring you back and yet your back to being a simp???

Although kudos to him for his love being converted to hate ig

And yet here they are now, with two kids and a home in the island.

I think people in the outside can see how down bad Mac really is, which is hilarious when they look at Wukong and he's like ya that's my "rival", he's also a lil more hostile in their everyday lives which guys pls just talk like yeesh

Doesn't mean Wukong isn't down bad too, my guy just won't realize how much he really cares until it's almost too late😊

Shadowpeach just starts to figure out themselves after Season 3,,,like finally

[phangays]

Dan and Phil TIT Livestream: A Rant

If you’ve been following the whole ticket disaster situation then you might know what I mean. If not here’s a recap

Tickets went on sale for the TIT virtual show thingy. They’re starting at 15$ USD and go up for different stuff. This does not include tax/purchasing fees. Idk about other places in regards to pricing

Many counties cannot, until less than an hour ago of writing this, get the merch. But they can still get tickets to the event

There was an issue with PayPal on the ticket providers end that caused fees to not show up

There was a different issue of prices being higher than they were supposed to be on the providers end as well

All of these issues are being fixed as I speak

During this entire thing people have been nothing but negative and demanding. They’re blaming Dan and Phil for something they didn’t control. And DnP are keeping everyone updated as the news comes out

At the time of posting this: all PayPal issue have been fixed, the higher prices are being refunded, and 150 countries have been added to have shipping of merch. Total refunds have also been offered

All I have seen is people complaining over and over and over. Like BRO. I understand being upset prices are higher than they were meant to be. You are being refunded. It takes time. Chill out

I understand being upset about not being able to see why the PayPal prices went up during checkout. This has been fixed and you can see it now. Even still, have y’all never heard of taxes??? Of purchasing fees??? Ya know, stuff that happens anytime you buy tickets online to something??? Like hello??? And why are we blaming DnP for something that is not their fault? They don’t control taxes. They don’t control purchasing fees. Those are done by the provider. Take issues when them, not DnP

People are also complaining about needing to pay to see the show online. Now listen, I understand wanting to be able to see the show online if you didn’t get to go in person. But you have to remember this is a show that they worked for. They paid for. It not bring free admission make sense to me personally. Maybe I’m biased. But you’re paying to see their work. HOWEVER I also understand that this is something not everyone can afford. I get this. And it sucks. But it’s not only cheaper than seeing the show in person but there’s a chance it might also be put up online for free at a later date like Dan did with his tour. That’s not a guarantee tho. They haven’t said yes or no to this yet

Now I have nothing to say about not being able to ship to different countries until a little while ago. I have no idea how that works. I have no idea who’s in charge of that. I have no idea if it’s because of said country, because of DnP, or because of the shipping company. Since I don’t know, I won’t speak on it and won’t place blame on anyone. Because I simply do not know or understand how it works

People are also mad that Dan hasn’t said anything??? Why do we need Dan to say anything when Phil is doing it??? They’re a duo, one person can, and has historically done, speak for both. We don’t need separate conversations for the same issue. It can make things confusing

Like I’m sorry this happened, but it’s being fixed

Be patient. Be calm

[nyxtickled]

Hey. I read your post about socal.

I have nothing more to say other than I'm proud to see you standing strong to that type of behavior and informing the community.

I, admittedly, grinned hard when you mentioned how he'll never have access to you again while on the plane with him. You are radiant, strong, and badass.

Keep being great, and I know everyone with some sense will stand with ya.

thank you so much friend 🥺💖 ya know, your third paragraph makes me realize there’s probably a lot of people who would love to have seen me say what really deserved to be said. so just for closure, below the cut is the last text i ever sent him :)

“you will never have access to me ever again.

and you should really know that i didn’t seek ANYONE out, although it’s useless to tell you that because you will say whatever you please. you did this to yourself. i provided nothing but honesty and receipts when i was approached. i made new friends, and you happened to tell a different story to every single one of them including myself. you’re pathological. i don’t know why anyone would do what you do or say what you say. it’s genuinely fucking terrifying.

all i wanted was to have all ties cut with you. finding out that you’ve compulsively created scenarios about all the women you were involved with, and for NO reason at all, while dragging each one along for a different motive and keeping each one under a different impression of how the other one felt? absolute fucking insanity.

you need to stop while you still can honestly. because everyone fucking knows that you’ve bullshitted every single one of us. T and Adi know that i have never once been jealous, vengeful, malicious, or insecure whatsoever about them. i now know that T was never trying to session with you due to being “jealous” over our tumblr videos. i also now know that it was you who pursued her for sessions time and time again. absolutely shameful that you’d describe her the way you did when she WAS always so sweet. you had me thinking she was some jealous competitive lee and she never once even cared what the fuck we were posting. oh, and Adi didn’t either, surprise surprise!

the mysterious event you supposedly played hooky from with T, to session with me at the casino? the reason why you asked me not to post content saying we played the previous night? insane behavior. there was never any fucking event. that’s LUNACY. oh, and you think i’m enjoying my “revenge tour,” yeah? just like you said about [lee 1]? just like you said about [lee 2]? what a magnificent phenomenon that everyone who ever finds you out for the narrative-twisting fantasy fiction author that you are is actually just being *vengeful* and trying to *ruin what means most to you.* you don’t see the common denominator here? you think WE wouldn’t see it?! are you really that vapid? you couldn’t be. i really didn’t think so.

aaaand yet, here you are. reading text messages from me out loud to Adi while you try to control the narrative there too, but leaving out the part where i wrote what you didn’t want to admit to. telling me whatever you thought i’d want to hear to keep me around for fucking tumblr views and fake vetting purposes, knowing damn well you don’t possess a FRACTION of the emotional responsibility that is actually required in a D/s dynamic with a “primary lee” that you offered me. a dynamic i didn’t even ask for by the fucking way. smoke and fuckin mirrors and too coward to just admit that you’re simply not interested. or is it because you actually just don’t have what it takes and that’s what you’re too afraid to admit?

this shit is fucking sociopathy and that barely scratches the surface. you will NEVER have access to me again and i don’t give a fuck what you say to anyone about me because i have nothing to hide. the truth is very easy to remember. i never have to defend myself to anyone. you know why? because i don’t lie, manipulate or coalesce for the sake of nothing more than my embarrassingly fragile ego. you fucked this up, not me.”

[liketwoswansinbalance]

what wouldve happened if the Saders (especially Marialena) didn't foretell the prophecy? What wouldve happened if Rafal didn't leave?

This has been in my ask box for months. I hope anon is still around if they still wanted the answer.

@fourleafclovxr Feel free to ignore this, but if you're interested, do you have any thoughts about this question—since it deals with seers and Saders?

⸻

If the neither brother had knowledge of the prophecy then there's a slight chance it may not have happened in a self-fulfilling way with their attempts to prevent it from coming true only furthering its completion. They might've been able to maintain peace.

Yet, even if the prophecy were not told, well, their world is still governed by fate, and considering how much of an inescapable grip that predestination has over everyone's lives, how fates that can't be circumvented—I'm not sure if the innate genre they lived in could have changed from "tragedy."

Even if fates can be subverted by being fulfilled in unconventional ways (as any room for interpretation could be exploited by participants) I don't see how fratricide and there being just One left standing(?) could contain some kind of exceptional clause.

Regardless, this possibility would mean that some sort of "user-friendly" loopholes could exist in their world, like how Chaddick's blood on the handkerchief allowed Rhian II to pull Excalibur when he otherwise wouldn't have been able to.

That instance of cheating is the best example I have at the moment. The rightful son didn't pull the sword, but the event itself, of the sword being pulled, still was able to happen given situational factors. The rightful heir's blood still came into contact with the sword, the sword was pulled (by someone), and the "right" candidate became king by the end. What happened between seminal events may not have mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Thus, prophecies may well work in a top-down way, only going as small-scale as they need to, to ensure outcomes.

So, from this, we could take away that the endings may be predetermined, but that the path to such endings could be open to interference—only to the degree that the ending wouldn't change as the result of any meddling, even if unanticipated third parties involve themselves.

The parties not affected by the prophecy, outside its bounds, could plausibly do whatever they wanted, and have free will (ostensibly, everyone has free will though), but I could venture to say that the consequences of said, seemingly free actions could be manipulated by the hand of fate, to produce those certain outcomes.

Basically, in the Woods, no matter what you try, since you at least have the freedom to try, you won't change a thing with your actions. All those actions would still snowball to produce the exact outcome that's set to happen. (And, if this were true, trying to change your fate would be futile. E.g., think of how Sophie and Agatha were locked into their true natures. They couldn't switch sides.)

(Keep in mind that this post just represents my view of things. We don't necessarily have canon confirmation of anything I'm speculating about.)

Applied to the prequels, if Midas' or the Pan's presences/roles were never predetermined, then they just helped the inevitable end along. If neither of them had been there, perhaps the prophecy still could have reached the same ending by other equally-as-effective means. (Different potential plot(s), one outcome.)

We could also argue that Adela's wording was vague enough to exploit.

So, the same thing could apply to the twins: the prophecy of the One and Adela's betrayal, war, death could happen, and lead to the same outcomes, but the specifics could unfold differently. Or, the events could all happen in the same way but hold different meaning/implications for the future (no 200 year curse despite fratricide or death of another form for Rafal?). Or, none of the events could happen in the same way, but the final ending would be fixed, like I proposed before. I guess we don't really know how malleable or interpretable prophecies or visions are.

And seeing that it's Marialena, I wouldn't put it past her to use red-herrings or mislead, even without saying a word of prophecy. Lying, other methods, or other dialogue/persuasion could produce the same results.

It's hard to separate out the cause and effect to me. We should ask: did (early) knowledge of the prophecy affect how it played out? Or was it set in stone? Or was it inevitable that Rafal's particular combination of character traits (the extorting, the threats, etc.) and the situation (in Monrovia) would have led him to finding out about the prophecy and that that very moment was also a part of the prophecy in action, happening or beginning?

⸻

Second, if Rafal hadn't left, I think the characterization that would hold true was the bit of internal monologue we saw in Fall, that he intentionally cedes some minor(?) arguments to keep the peace with Rhian.

Rhian might not even realize anything were wrong or that Rafal were (probably) hurt by his side being devalued.

I would suspect if Rhian were aware, not much would change. Rhian is prone to burying conflict and truth after all. But, I couldn't see him dwelling on the conflict Rafal lay to rest, unless he had good reason to, or lasting guilt/shame over it.

Rafal on the other hand holds grudges, and while we know he isn't the Evil brother now, he has Evil tendencies, of course, so he could easily let his resentment accumulate and fester inside until he found it in himself to do something: either leave, like he did, or perhaps, display passive aggression?

Outright anger against his brother would not be productive, but if his resentment became that severe, he could potentially lash out, and Rhian would see Rafal's "unprovoked" response as coming out of nowhere. Then, Rhian could accuse him of being irrationally antagonistic, like a villain without motive, or Evil that "always" (often, as of late) loses and that has to deprive Good of an ending to gain one for itself, as we would see the beginning hints of Evil's losing streak no matter what.

By that point, Rafal might either drop the issue, but secretly continue to hold the grudge for the rest of time, a reasonably moderate and functional if not flawless happy ending for the both of them. (Would it last? I'm doubtful.)

Or, Rafal could argue back, setting off the prophecy, even if it had a delayed start this time since I suspect any major enough argument could have set the brothers down the wrong path, no matter what the argument was about, Aladdin or someone/something else, if their bond had weakened over the decades, like it might've been implied to have done in canon.

[llyfrenfys]

Okay - real talk : Update and how I've been

So I've felt very overwhelmed these past few months - mainly due to being preoccupied with keeping a roof over my head, putting food on the table and bills paid. I'm still very much preoccupied with all of these things. But slowly, good things are happening amongst the bad and I want to focus on those things.

Firstly, in early February three of my queer art pieces (pictured) were unveiled along with the works of 9 other artists in the Tir Cwiar exhibition in Elysium Gallery in Swansea, in collaboration with On Your Face Collective. It's something I'm immensely proud of and happy about - so many people came to the opening of the exhibition on the 7th and I met so many wonderful people on the night.

Secondly, I have been buoyed by connecting with other queer people in Ceredigion - especially at events like Friday's Aberration Cymru event and I've been buoyed by the support of my friends here in Aberystwyth. You know who you are reading this!

I've been through a lot - so much. So much I can't even begin to describe or explain. I've had losses, I've jumped through hoop after hoop. But I keep going. There's been setbacks aplenty - but I have no intention of putting down pen or paintbrush any time soon.

So, with that in mind - since November I officially became self-employed and declared myself as such to HMRC. Right now, Llyfr Enfys is my sole source of income. Which means, I'll be ramping up selling my prints, poetry and dissertation to help support myself as well as taking on freelance work where I am able.

I've been overwhelmed with the love and warmth of the response to my last post and can confirm as of today I have paid the last looming bill (for now). Thank you so, so much to everyone who has helped support me monetarily - I will be buying more stamps ASAP and then sending everything off to you all 💜

But from here on in - expect a lot more from Llyfr Enfys - solidarity forever and much love 💗

[mapofsouthdakota]

Caleb speculations

Caleb and the MC —

Inspired by The story of Hou Yi and Chang’e?

Another reason why I believe Caleb’s upcoming memories and myths will be almost exclusively inspired by Chinese traditional folklore

(This is banter but also kinda serious)

Poetic Caleb, awwhh! I THINK NOT! Sir, you are speaking in riddles and I will crack ‘em like a walnut!

Lemme fill you in on some Chinese folklore

Chang’e and Hou Yi (嫦娥与后羿) – The Moon and the Earth

This is one of China’s most well-known tragic love stories, associated with the Mid-Autumn Festival (中秋节, Zhōngqiūjié).

Chang’e and Hou Yi are central figures in a tragic Chinese myth. In ancient times, there were ten suns in the sky, scorching the Earth. The hero Hou Yi, a great archer, shot down nine of the suns to save the world, leaving only one. As a reward, the Jade Emperor gave him a magical elixir of immortality. However, Hou Yi, not wanting to live forever without his wife Chang’e, kept the elixir for them both.

Not only is Caleb a ranged companion in battle, is also a friggin roboman. He’s basically immortal at this point (an overstatement but you get me, right?). And Caleb refers to the sun in the screen shots, like Hou Yi made it to be only one sun. LET ME also remind you on how every inch of his being is summer, sun and warmth.

Over time, Hou Yi’s power and ambition grew, and he became a king. His trusted apprentice, Peng Meng, tried to steal the elixir. To protect it, Chang’e drank it herself, inadvertently becoming immortal and ascending to the moon.

Sounds familiar right? Hello ambitious Colonel Caleb, where u at. The other part, tho. There isn’t a spec of me that doesn’t 100% acknowledge the MC as some kind of immortal being. But time will tell.

Hou Yi was heartbroken and spent every night gazing at the moon, longing for his beloved wife. In return, Chang’e looked down at Earth, forever separated but still in love.

Cough. See the screen shots I posted. I might be severely trippin’ but Caleb states how he and the MC should not end up chasing each other like the sun and the moon 🌕💔🌞

Their story symbolizes sacrifice, love, and the consequences of immortality, and it is celebrated during the Mid-Autumn Festival, where people honor Chang’e and admire the full moon. At the Mid-Autumn Festival, it is common to eat mooncakes, which symbolize the fullness and completeness of the moon, and by extension, the hope for family unity—a bittersweet reminder of Chang’e’s eternal longing and sacrifice.

That last part has me 💀 I’m calling it. We’ll get an event in Autumn that nods to this folklore. I bet ya we’ll be moon goddesses stuffing ourselfs with mooncakes LOL

The Apple Blossom and the Moon Goddess (Chang’e)

Just a lil something I also found while looking through all the tragic lovestories I could find in Chinese folklore:

One lesser-known folk tale links apple blossoms to Chang’e, the Moon Goddess. In some regional variations of her legend, after ascending to the moon, Chang’e was said to have created a celestial orchard where apple trees bloomed eternally. The blossoms in this version symbolize eternal beauty, love from afar, and the longing between separated lovers—similar to how Hou Yi and Chang’e are forever apart.

Guess who has apple blossoms as his flower? 👀 Ca-leb. The fuqin yearning losers are rooted in folklore imo

So to sum up my HUMBLE opinion:

I find it highly likely that we have already seen Infold’s inspiration from Chinese folklore. This doesn’t mean that every little detail has to be identical to the folklore, but the vibe, the inspiration and the morale will be deeply rooted in Chinese folklore/tradition and stories, imo.

Mind you, his trope is like the otome game trope, (aka the forbidden, yearning, soft yandere trope), but also a common trope in Chinese folklore (I should probably do a post on that at some point). Iow, I have kinda landed on the theory that:

CALEB IS INFOLD’S WAY TO PLEASE THE PLAYERS ASKING FOR MORE CHINESE INSPIRED THEMES RATHER THAN WESTERN

And people like me who is 100% addicted to Chinese folklore at this point. I swear to god.

Okey then, thank you for reading 💕

[degrees-of-seracchii]

this took a millennia to make cause i kept getting distracted and gathering screenshots to back my points up was incredibly time consuming

but it has been done. anon from how many days ago i hope you are happy

A little of Pure Sydney's flaws

There will be two parts to this cause on god this is long. On this part I will be exploring flaws that tend to be a bit more visible with pure Sydney

This is in no way a complete analysis, I definitely have missed many more of Sydney's flaws, and because Tumblr is a bitch and a half, I regrettably cannot jam as many screenshots from the game/its codes as much as I would like. But I hope this post could act as a good point of reference regardless for any fans of Sydney, or people looking to explore more of their character out there!

Continuing under the cut.

So.

What’s the deal with Sydney? What’s wrong with them, what are their flaws and what make the relationship between them and the PC so toxic?

Well ain’t there just so much to unpack.

In short, Sydney at their core is a spineless, directionless, malleable individual that important influences in their life can easily shape, be it their family, the Temple, or the PC.

Sydney, as they are today, was raised with beliefs upheld by the temple. Something they are deeply religious, devoted and grateful for. However, as we all know, some of those values can be extremely morally questionable.

Speaking of deeply devoted let’s start with Pure Sydney, shall we? 

Victim blaming tendencies

One of the ideals Sydney was raised with is their extremely victim-blaming mindset. Which I have shown here

2. Lust and internal conflict

Something else that fascinates me greatly is that regardless of their state, Sydney is always tempted by the PC. PC’s existence and presence alone are pushing Sydney towards the pit of sinful desires no matter if they are Pure or Corrupted. 

The first thing that comes to mind is when accepting their confession results in a decrease of Sydney’s Purity stat: 

The notion of accepting Sydney’s affections is seen as an encouragement for them to fall towards sin. 

Being in a relationship with PC means they are constantly fighting their own urges and desires. Being taught their entire life that these feelings are wrong, Sydney suffers from tremendous guilt. Even when promised and permitted by the Temple, Sydney still finds physical intimacy with the PC sinful:

These just go to show how deeply buried Sydney is in the Temple’s teachings, unable to stray from it. Which is a perfect segue into their next flaw

3. Attachment to the Temple and blind faith.

Even from the latest confessional scene added, Sydney clearly cares about PC’s wellbeing and displays great concern for them, almost breaking out of the ideals they were raised with just to defend their beloved. But they are not quite there yet. They still seek out for the Temple when they are faced with these doubts. They think that they are doing something wrong for prioritizing the PC’s best interest over the Temple’s teachings. 

Sydney is INCAPABLE of detaching themselves from the Temple. The Temple is just such a big part of Sydney’s character that no matter what, they will side with the Temple before they think about the PC when forced to make that choice. 

And in a way, Sydney’s blind faith is encouraged by the Player for choosing to keep them Pure. The PC is essentially acting as another shelter, shielding, “protecting” them. The PC never expressed that they wanted a change of mindset from Sydney, so Sydney never had a change in mindset. 

And if you played the new confessional event, you would know that you as the player never had the option to either. This might have been intentional. But I will expand on that later. 

More showings of Sydney’s blind faith can be found in littler events while praying with Sydney in the Temple, where they would turn a blind eye to fellow followers being punished:

A bit more about their attachment to the Temple I have also mentioned here.

4. Superiority/Saviour complex

Another aspect of Sydney that people talk about, but I don’t think quite enough, is how aggressive they can get, specifically towards those they deem as sinners. This is a trait shared among both states of Sydney.

For example, the beach date:

And several more.

Though, pure Sydney might be a tad worse at this. As they seem to find themselves more righteous than sinners:

If they are the one taking confessions, pure Sydney is often more judgemental compared to the more empathetic corrupt Sydney:

When PC as a member of the Temple is caught masturbating by Sydney, they take matters into their own hands:

They also display a bit of a saviour complex from their opinions about the PC at low Purity:

5. Dumb teenager

Just a small thing, but I feel like most people just brush over the fact that pure Sydney practically proposes to PC at high enough lust.

I think I don’t need to stress just how insane it is to propose to someone you haven’t known for long. Just to what? Have sex? Loser behaviour. 

I can't wait to explore their flaws when corrupted :3

When kept pure, Sydney has so many interesting flaws that make them incredibly humane and a little irritating, but that's the charm of their character! They are deeply troubled and blinded by their own devotion that they are ignorant, a bit arrogant and even self destructive. It's what makes Sydney... Sydney and I wouldn't have them any other way.

[turidtorkilsdottir]

The fall of Illario Dellamorte was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Illario Appreciation Week is over but I wanted to post this one as my last entry for the entirety of the event. Thousand thanks to @captastra for organising this! It still is a pleasure to scroll through all the entries 🥰🥰🥰

Virtual Photography and edit by me. The quote in the picture is from Black Sails.

Mod by @lemonina00 ❤️

[specialistpinky]

*♡ big juicy ♡* | choso x oc

next episode

「 ✦ coke & rum ✦ 」

wc: 4.5k

a/n: heya! this is my first time trying out tumblr to post my works (2014 is soooo back), so we're gonna see how this goes. enjoy~!

bust down middle pointer, i got it black (i'm a big fine ho!) walkin' through the club lookin like a snack (but you knew that though)

—GET IT SEXYY by SEXYY RED

why the hell do they make these damn dorms so confusing? i think, wandering down the hall and hauling my luggage while looking down at the map again, squinting to make sure i'm heading in the right direction.

i take in my surroundings. the walls are bland beige with lime-green accents. a few back-to-school event flyers hang on the walls. the carpet is one of those funky 80s arcade patterns that kids used to throw up all over. 

these are supposed to be the senior dorms? i thought they would’ve been a hell of a lot nicer.

after a bunch of twists and turns and endless numbers that weren't my room, i creep up to a door, gazing at the three numbers plated on the side: 824.

"finally! praise Jesus," i sigh, rejoicing for my long-awaited rest.

i fold the paper up and stuff it in my back pocket. i breathe in and out, remembering that i have a roommate again. yeah, it's cheaper to live with someone else, but my privacy is crucial to me, and i have a very low tolerance for other people's bad habits, so i would’ve preferred living by myself. out of my control now, though.

i can only hope my roommate is fairly decent this time. last year, i got a trust fund baby who liked blasting the same five fucking songs all day, passed out drunk in the bathroom, and piled up dishes in the sink.

i knock on the door hard, seeing if someone will open it. i have a key, but i don't feel like opening it. my federal-ass knocking will surely get my roomie's attention. plus, i'd rather meet them from a distance than walk inside and find something i don't wanna see.

the lock clicks as the doorknob turns, the door creaking open.

"Yuji, it’s seven in the morning. i already told you i'm not letting you borrow my car."

my eyes widen a little. in the doorway stands a tall, grown-ass man with dark shoulder-length hair wearing a faded Metallica shirt and plaid boxers. he's littered with tattoos from what i can see, some of the work peeking from under his half-clad thighs. he's rubbing his eye like a tired child woken up from nap time and keeping them closed, clearly not seeing that i'm not "Yuji."

i cross my arms and squint. "who’re you?" i question, harboring a little bit of hostility in my voice—for good reason, though. a random man just opened the door when i fully expected a woman.

the guy stops rubbing his eyes and blinks once, twice before eyeing me up and down with an equally confused look.

"you're not Yuji," he rasps, scratching his chin.

i jut my hip out, cocking my head to the side. "yeah, definitely not. you’re not Ashlee."

i pull out the dorm letter from my other pocket to check if i'm crazy, and yep, still says Ashlee’s my roommate.

"is Ashlee here?" i look back up at the man who's sporting a deadpan face. i try to peer inside the room, asking, "are you like, her boyfriend or somethin'? cuz we’re gonna have to talk about how often you’re allowed to stay here."

he tilts in the same direction i'm moving, blocking my view. i frown. his face stays blank. "there's no Ashlee here," he says.

i stay silent for a moment. then i huff out of my nose and smirk. "alright, funny guy, quit fuckin' around and bring out my roommate."

he blinks all frog-like, slow and unbothered, then screws his eyes shut before scratching his eyebrow. "i’m telling you there’s no Ashlee here. i live here. you might have the wrong room."

i'm tempted to roll my eyes at his backtalk and slightly condescending tone, but i'm attempting to be nicer these days, so i offer a tight-lipped smile.

i speak calmly, "this is room 824, right?"

i knew the answer; i just wanted to see how he would respond. he seems to think i'm some fucking bimbo with no thoughts to my dainty little head.

the man scratches his neck and nods. "yeah?" his statement comes out more like a question.

i nod once, the top of my lip curling. "right, that's what i thought. so, i'm telling you," i emphasize my words by pointing at myself and then at the mystery man who claims to live in my dorm, "this is where i was assigned as per the letter."

i wave the flimsy piece of paper in the air and hold it out to him. "you're more than welcome to take a read."

he snatches the letter from me, aggravating my soul further as he stands there in his indecency and indignation. he skims the paper, muttering to himself before looking back up at me, a befuddled, fatigued look adorning his features.

he cocks an eyebrow, handing the paper back to me. "you're a girl, though," he comments intelligently. 

i can't help it as the whites of my eyes probably make themselves known and my irises disappear before reappearing.

i purse my lips together and make them pop, bucking my eyes for a second in irritation. "no shit, Sherlock," i spit. i sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "how the fuck did i end up in a co-ed dorm?" i mumble under my breath, trying to compose myself before i break down in the middle of this hallway and alarm the whole floor.

i suck my teeth and hold out a loud groan, making my way inside. "ugh, this is so ridiculous," i grumble, completely ignoring the man in the doorway.

he barely moves out of the doorway, making space for me to enter, a clear look of disdain i hardly acknowledge and feel targeting my backside.

"make yourself at home," he mumbles sarcastically.

i strut through the small space, looking around and humming, "not too bad. at least you keep it tidy in here." i turn back to the man whom i have the unfortunate pleasure of rooming with. "let’s keep it that way."

he doesn't reply beyond that weird little blink again. yuck! it gives me major goosebumps.

i try to keep the faces to a minimum as i walk up to my room door, pulling out a key from my purse to unlock it.

i twist the key and—

clunk!

"huh?" 

that didn’t sound good.

i try again, jiggling the key around this time but still feeling resistance. i twist using both hands and all my might to unlock my room. i grunt, pushing and turning until my fingertips turn bright red, then stop, out of breath from my effort.

i pinch my eyebrows together, frustrated at this stupid fucking door barring me from my one safe haven for the next ten months.

"urgh! damn it," i groan. i cock my leg back to kick the door but halt right before my foot makes contact. i don't have on shoes; i probably shouldn’t do that.

i growl low in my throat, banging my fist on the door and attempting to open it several more times before giving up. i sulk into the kitchen and sit down at the table. my roommate—i still don't know his name—is sitting on the couch, glued to the television, occupying his mouth with what looks like a sucker. looks a little young to be a heavy smoker. must be quitting.

the longer i look at him, the more i have to admit how attractive he is—fine as hell, even. his piercing lavender eyes are hypnotic. all them tattoos give a nice edge, and his boxers hanging on his hips with the little v-line poking out caught my attention. he's got those pink, pouty lips people kill for. he looks pretty well-kempt: nice clear skin, thick healthy hair, and clean nails. not typical male behavior. shit, he might be gay, huh?

i smack myself, shaking my head at the thoughts. so what if he is gay? i think, not like i should get at him, anyway.

i'm so glad i have a single because if i had to share a room with him? i don't even wanna put that into the air, man.

a hand waves over my face, snapping me out of my horny thoughts. i jump back and find my roommate standing before me with that confused, droopy look. i furrow my eyebrows and bark out a "what?"

he does that stupid bimbo blink again, then he smirks at me and says, "you were just standing there. figured you needed help."

jesus, we haven’t even made it 24 hours and he already knows how to push buttons i didn’t even know existed. 

and this is who i have to room with for the next nine months. awesome. just. awesome

"thought you would’ve scurried to your room by now,” he husks, his eyelids low and a smirk on his face.

i flip my hair out of my face. “can’t get in.”

“can't get into your room, huh?” he leans down to look me square in the face, swirling around the stick in his mouth. “that’s a shame. explains why you were struggling with the door."

so, he knew i was struggling and did nothing to help or ask me if i’m okay? what a fucking chump.

i scoff and roll my eyes so hard i feel them sticking to the back of my skull. i swear, if i roll them one more time, i'mma be stuck looking like the Exorcist.

i mutter a "whatever," spinning on my heel to grab my suitcases from outside.

when i open the front door, i notice that my stuff isn't there anymore. i peek from behind the door, looking in both directions of the hallway to see if anyone grabbed them by accident. or on purpose—you never know.

after a few seconds, i groan and shut the door, irritated that my stuff disappeared.

"yo, emo boy, you seen my stuff sitting in the hall...way?" i ask, my words trailing off as i turn around to see the man pointing behind me. i follow his direction, finding my luggage in the living room's corner.

i eye my housemate with crossed arms. "oh," i say simply.

the man mimics me while leaning back against the nearest wall with his foot kicked up. "you left them out there, and i figured you forgot, so i brought them in for you."

well, isn't that so sweet and thoughtful of him? golly, it makes it so much better than his attitude has the charm of a rock taped to a stick.

i nod once. "thank you," i say.

"you're welcome."

my gaze starts to wander again, trailing from his exposed collarbone to his flexed arms. i can make out some of his tattoos: a few birds scattered across his throat, a purple flower right below his Adam's apple, and a couple of names etched on his forearms.

he clears his throat with an amused expression. wow, i didn't think he made any other faces besides drowsy and nonchalant.

he cocks his head to the side. "see something you like, princess?"

oh, he wanna be bold. okay, i see what's going on.

i squint at him challengingly as i round the table, slowly making my way over to him and smiling at him with hooded eyes. "don't flatter yourself, boo. just wondering if you steal from Salvation Army or if you genuinely dress like that. plus, i tend to like my men a little..." i poke him in the middle of his chest, “meatier.” he follows my finger before looking back at me with a raised brow.

"anyways," i say, drawing out the word and backing away. "since you're in a helpful mood, could you grab Millie and roll her to my room?" i bat my eyelashes to add extra flare to my request. no one can resist it.

he keeps that same tired, disinterested look on his face, his hypnotic lavender irises raking up and down my body. he snorts with a smirk and walks past me, lightly shoulder-checking me and beelining for the couch.

fuck, that didn't work on him?!

i fix my face, clearing my throat as i walk to the fridge and duck down, finding a Coke way in the back of the top shelf. "jackpot," i whisper, swiping it and popping the tab open, gulping down half the drink in a few seconds. i let out a small burp before pushing out a louder one.

the man looks back at me and cringes, his nose scrunching up in disgust but not saying anything.

i meet his gaze, shrugging with no remorse. it's natural, so why not let loose? i take another sip and ask again, "so, can you get Millie for me, please?"

he blinks and turns back to the TV, his hands behind his head. "who the hell is Millie?" he rasps.

i groan, "ugh, Millie! my Millie!"

he turns back around and furrows an eyebrow. "again, who is Millie? is she a dog or something?"

i point to my luggage in the corner. "Millie's the cute sparkly rouge suitcase with the gold handle."

he looks at my hand directed at my luggage and then back at me, bewildered. "Millie's a suitcase." his words come out like a statement rather than a question.

i raise an eyebrow and roll my neck. "uh, duh. you got a hearing problem?"

"you named your suitcase?" he chuckles wryly.

i furrow my eyebrows. "well, obviously me. i name all my precious things."

he laughs harder. "who names their suitcase? that's so lame."

"you listen to Metallica, so," i mutter, taking a sip of my drink.

"what?" 

i shake my head. "nothing," i say, glancing to the side.

"right. you know, you have a bratty attitude," he comments. "it's incredible you haven’t managed to piss someone off enough to get kicked out."

i hide my grin behind the soda can and reply coyly, "who says i haven't already done that?"

"can't imagine how that happened," he huffs. he waves a hand and turns back to the TV. "anyhow, get your own suitcase."

i whimper dramatically, "but i've been packing, moving, and traveling since Monday, and i've been so tired lately, and my body is in total pain from all of it, so i don't think i'll be able to carry all of those heavy bags by my lonesome, and—”

"all right, okay, please just stop! i’ll do it," he relents, shaking his head and grumbling as he walks over to my stuff. he grabs Millie's handle, scoffing, "can't believe i'm doing this."

he pulls Millie; she doesn't budge. he turns around and stares at my bag confused. he pulls again, hardly moving her. he instead uses both hands, tugging backward until Millie squeaks and starts scraping her rusty wheels across the carpet.

"jesus, woman, what do you have in here—rocks?" he grunts.

i grin, leaning against the counter as his biceps flex with each pull. his neck veins and arm veins bulge against his pale skin, decorating his muscles nicely. that little frustrated look on his face amuses me, too. nothing like seeing a man struggle at the behest of a woman.

woah, Freudian slip much?

"need help over there?" i ask coyly.

he shakes his head, readjusting his grip and stabilizing his body before pulling Millie in one last swift motion, clobbering his foot with one of her wheels in the process. he stumbles back and hits the wall, cursing, "fucking shit!” he crouches down to soothe his injury.

i let out a hard "HA!" before covering it up with a cough. i keep drinking to keep from laughing again. he hears me (not a shocker), so i'm met with a nasty glare, which makes me snort and nearly spit out my soda. I don’t blame him for that. i would do the same if i were made to do someone else's mundane bidding and they started laughing at me after i hurt myself. unfortunately for him—and fortunately for me—i'm not in that situation.

i notice the red mark appearing on the hilt of his foot from the kitchen. i coo mockingly, "oh no! poor baby. need me to kiss your boo-boo?"

he looks at me with another grimace, baring his teeth. i stick my tongue out playfully. i watch him wobble as he stands back up, grunting with each limp he takes to his room and saying under his breath "brat" before slamming the door behind him.

i can't help but smirk again. i was going to ask him to take Bobbi and Brownie with him for me, but he's injured now—wouldn't want him to somehow die on me and i be held liable for his early demise.

i continue sipping on my soda as i pull my phone out of my purse and call up my homegirl. 

she picks up after the second ring. "hey, bitch!"

"hey, babe. where you at?"

"i'm at home. why, what's up?"

i cross my legs and lean back in my chair. "girl! i'm so fucking exhausted, but i need to go shopping for my room. you got time today?"

"girl, i don’t know. i'm supposed to be going to brunch soon."

i suck my teeth. "boo, you whore. and to think i was gonna treat you to barbecue. oh well, i'll call someone else."

"wait, wait, wait! lemme see what Nana says."

i hear some rustling and hushed voices in the background. i shouldn't be surprised she was laid up in the bed with her man and didn't tell me, knowing how shameless that girl is.

i don't comment and patiently wait for her reply.

"okay, he's gonna push brunch to dinner. you lucky as fuck my man's chill like that cuz we had reservations."

"damn, my bad. should've told me. now i feel like i'm disturbing y'all."

she sighs, "it's fine. plus, i haven't seen you in like, three months. i miss my boo!"

"i missed you, too, boo. but, bitch, lemme tell you!" i rub my forehead and whine, "these muthafuckas got me all the way fucked up cuz why the fuck did they give the wrong roommate?"

"girl, how the fuck do they give you the wrong roommate?"

"man, i have no idea, but i guess it could be worse."

"who is it? it ain't that rich bitch from last year, is it? cuz i'll beat that ho ass again just cuz i can."

i chuckle at her quick resort to violence. "nah, it ain't her," i say. "i heard she transferred to some private school overseas, so i'on know why she'd come back to this ghetto ass school."

"she betta not. anyways, who you rooming with?"

i mentally prepare myself as i say, "chile, why i get a man–?"

before i can even finish, i hear a shrill scream from the other side. i pull the phone back, looking at it like it offended me. i mean, my ears are offended with allat fucking screaming she doing early in the morning. her neighbors must think she get stabbed every time she and her man hunch (which i have the displeasure of knowing they have sex every day, so i can only imagine).

"BITCH, THEY PUT YOU WITH A MAN? bitch, oh my god, you so fuckin' lucky! that was my number-one fantasy for years! is he hot??"

i chuckle, peering around the room to see if he was around. i cover my mouth and whisper into the receiver, "girl, the man is fine as all hell."

"and you ain't tell me?! what he look like?"

"bitch, i just found out like 30 minutes ago i had a male roommate. he a emo boy, first of all."

"oh, okay, okay, we love a good emo boy. i heard they got big dicks, too!"

"girl, shut up ‘fore you get in trouble with Nanami! anyways, he hella tall and he buff, but he ain't buff buff. to be honest, he look kinda sickly and malnourished. makes me wonder what he be eating for him to look like that."

another loud but less deafening squeal assaults my eardrum. "sounds like he need to be fed, then!" 

i can hear her eyebrows wiggling through the phone. she continues, "ooo, bitch, i need to come over and see what he look like right NEOW. cuz if you don't fuck him, i will!"

i belly-laugh, knocking my head back. "bruh, he ain't even my type for real," i quip. "also, don't you got a whole ass boyfriend?" i giggle through my words.

"aye, as i always say: don't let your current boyfriend—"

"stop you from finding your future husband. yeah, yeah, i know how that goes," i finish for her, chewing on my bottom lip. "i mean, you still shouldn't do it for your sake."

"i know, i know, i'm just playin'! plus, my Kento treats me so well. he’s practically my husband at this point. i can't let him go. neva eva!"

i know she will never let that man go. the way he dotes on her hand and foot with no hesitation makes my heart swell and my stomach sick at the same time. seeing them together restores my faith in humanity bit by bit, and i can only wish for something like that to come my way.

i look at myself in the mirror across from me, noticing my lip makeup fading and my hair losing its shape.

i stand up, going over to my other luggage and rummaging through them to find my makeup bag, finding my gloss and lip liner pencil. i get up to fix myself up in the hallway mirror and reapply my lipgloss while i talk. "you betta not. cuz if you do, imma beat that ass and take him for myself."

"oooh, i'm so scared. Nanamin, baby, save me! bestie said she's gonna hurt me and steal you away from me."

i hear her pouting through the phone and Kento murmuring in the background. i press the phone between my ear and my shoulder as i rake my fingers through my hair.

"girl, bye. you're such a drama queen. also, hey, Kento."

i hear a deep but small "hello" back. there’s more shuffling and whispering before my friend comes back on the phone.

"bitch, you're crowned royalty for drama. pot calling the kettle black as hell."

"sure, whatever you say. also imma need you to pick me cuz i don't got a car right now."

"what? the hell happened to your car?"

i suck my teeth. "girl, 'member how i told you my sister crashed her bucket drunk driving a couple weeks ago? my mom was all like, 'she needs a car until we can get her a new one, so we need to keep yours at home.' like dude, it's MY car! how you just gon' take my car that i bought with my own money? shit is wicked."

"damn, bitch, for real? a'ight, i'll come get you in twenty minutes because you know i love me a good spree."

i smile. "cool, cuz i need to figure out how i'mma get into my room before i go to sleep tonight."

"how you locked out the room already? you just got there."

i sigh, "bitch, i'on know. these people get on my fuckin' nerves."

"we'll lockpick it when i get there. see you then! kisses. muah!"

"bye, love you. mwah!" i send a kiss through the phone before hanging up.

i rake my hands through my hair, fluffing it poofier before giving myself a toothy grin and blowing a kiss in the mirror.

i hear a low wolf whistle. "wow, bratty and conceited? a double trouble princess."

i whip my head around to see emo boy leaning against the wall, now wearing loose gray sweatpants and a Cocteau Twins muscle tee with his hair in two spiky space buns. shit, i might've been lying when i joked about him not being my type. he need to stop dressing like that before i throw him on a street corner and make some money off him.

i throw him a tight-lipped smile and go back to messing with my hair in the mirror. "bratty? always. conceited? not over here, honey. just a hottie with high self-esteem."

"is that right?" he husks. i hear him moving but pay him no mind as i straighten my skirt. i turn around, looking at the back of it. i smile, seeing my ass poking out from underneath the skimpy garment.

i gaze at myself for a little longer, my eyes traveling up my body before they land on emo boy standing right behind me. i flinch a little, turning my head to face him.

his tired eyes flash an emotion i can't discern. for a moment, it looked like lust.

i take a deep breath. i cock an eyebrow and ask, "can i help you?"

he stays quiet, looking down at me with that creepy lopsided smile. he eyes me up and down before stepping away, beelining for the couch and plopping down, kicking his socked feet up on the coffee table. he flicks through television channels as he says, "that outfit suits you."

the fuck is that supposed to mean?

i let out a short laugh, pulling my shirt down before turning to my housemate. "them eye-bags suit you, too, emo boy."

that man need to find him some business 'fore i find some for him. shit, he can find some business himself between these muthafuckin' chocolate thighs.

ugh, i should stop thinkin' like that about my housemate. i would rather not get caught up in another situationship or get involved with someone from this school ever again, even if it runs an exhilarating chill down my spine to imagine how big it is .

picking up my phone from the counter, i text my friend.

yo, eta?

bout 10 minutes ;)))

i sigh, going back to the kitchen table and sitting my chin in my palm. i'm still annoyed at the fact that my door is jammed. if she can't get into the room, i'm gonna have to call maintenance, which definitely puts a dent in my plans to sleep tomorrow morning.

that doesn't stop me from mentally planning my decorations. i imagine where i want my posters arranged. i have a few Britney Spears and Tyra Banks posters stowed away in my suitcases, and the canopy i bought back home should be coming in the mail soon. then, after my target trip, my room should be a girl's paradise times 100.

optimizing is key while i'm here. i should probably get a set of speakers and some lights, too. maybe a bean bag if there's space.

so many ideas, so little time and money.

knock, knock, knock!

i perk up, clapping my hands and bouncing a little in my seat. "yay, my bestie is here! eek!" i squeal. i stand up to greet her at the door only to find my housemate already opening the door. he barely cracks it open and he's blocking the way, so i can't see who's on the other side. eventually, my housemate moves to the side, letting the other person walk in. i look to who it is. my eyes widen and my jaw drops as i watch them walk in. before i can even control it, i find myself whispering in shock.

"Itadori?"

[prince-kallisto]

☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆ Ahhh thank you very much for your reply! You worded a lot of things I was trying to say much clearer- so thank you lots 😆💖

It’s very funny how some parts of the EN fandom has such strict, self-imposed views on the Yuu’s, and the “canonicty” of…OCs lol. When TWST is honestly very freeing with their gender norms and their MC. Honestly, I feel bad for the future Pomefiore MC already- I feel like no matter what, there would be no winning -v- But I’m really excited for their future concept!!

😆💖🐦‍⬛ I’m a Crowley yume, and I’m always gushing over ever line he says and taking it romantically. But that’s just me, and I know the game isn’t an Otome. It may feed us some fanservice both in and out of game (ie merch), but it won’t be an Otome. So it’s upsetting that a small yet vocal portion of the fandom are demanding it to be one for their one ship, while also disrespecting their fellow male and NB shippers in the fandom 🤷 female, male, or NB Yuu is still Malleyuu- but again, it’s for our imaginations, not a romance for the official manga to depict. It’s…ironic that a lot of these same exact accounts were criticizing a small group of BL fans who complained a “girl Yuu was getting in the way of their ship,” while they turn around and demand a girl Yuu for a “valid” Malleyuu lmao

😆💖 if you ever write an essay, I’d love to read it! I almost wanted to rant about it myself, but I knew I’d get off topic if I rambled too much in one post 🤣 I don’t understand why conversations about more diverse romance are always shut down. We ARE making our own- it’s just a shame that’s there’s very little support for them from bigger communities! And even in communities that are kinder, whenever a male or NB fan asks for recommendations, we’re always directed to completely non-romantic games just because the player character is neutral 🤷 while I’m grateful nonetheless, it goes to show how little there is out there for us male/NB fans of romance or “otome” style games. I really love the many routes, art styles, and types of romances in Otome, and I’ve yet to seen in replicated in a more gender-inclusive format. Maybe one day! 💖

I think in regards to fanfic, the main issue I have with self-insert or gender neutral fanfics is that there’s often still descriptions of a character left behind, usually afab descriptions. When everything is fully tagged, I don’t mind as much, but it can be a whiplash otherwise. This can also happen with descriptors in a self insert like…blonde hair or something, which unless it was tagged, is certainly NOT a characteristic everyone has

😭 ANXJHD. Yeah the whole Yuuka situation is so odd. I remember a lot of excitement when she was first revealed because, girl Yuu. But now that YUUNA is released, well I’m seeing some amazing yuri fanart between the two 😆💖🌷 but again, I’ve seen several cases (surprisingly???) of Yuuna being put on a pedestal for “being more of a woman” compared to Yuuka, which is so icky. I’m happy for the femme rep, but PLEASE do not equate this to the “first real girl” rep 😭😭😭😭😭😭 I tend to lean towards a femme style for myself irl (I like to be cute 🫡), and I think I just got so upset over the situation not only for the Yuuka treatment but the sudden dysphoria LMAO 😭😭😭

Ahh random note, but I’m always very fond of the Harveston event lines about Epel. A picture of his grandma in her youth looked EXACTLY like him- just in a dress. And all the other boys complimented the photo, mistaking her for Epel. When Epel was confused about what photo they were talking about, I believe Jade said “the one where you’re wearing a dress.” There was never any blubbering over the mere idea of Epel wearing a dress- it was just a charming photo that they thought was Epel in a dress 🤷

Idk it’s just moments like those that really make the twst world feel comforting that way 😆 the world is very diverse and lively, and that fact is cemented in the way that the game Yuu is genderless. All these “rules” and expectations in the EN fandom are completely contrary to the spirit of the game.

I loved reading your ramble! It was super enlightening and it made me happy to read- thank you for reading my long rant as well! ☺️💖🐦‍⬛ I’m really grateful that me and my nonbinary sona has been really accepted in my local community, I’ve never once felt unwelcome in these spaces. But when I gaze across the vast desert that is the rest of twst social media…I learn that even a cool girl like Yuuka is controversial 🤣🤣

Ahh these are the sort of topics I don’t know how to word well in English , so forgive me if I have roundabout explanations for things 😆 this is a bit of a vent, I apologize again for any mistaken words on anything 💦

But I guess I’m just a little disheartened by the EN fandom- particularly with the whole manga Yuu situation. I adore all the Yuu’s, I love all the Yuu OCs that this amazing and creative fandom has designed.

But I’m seeing an…over exaggeration? Or pedestal put onto the Scarabia Yuu, Yuuna Oujou, and the way some people have discussed the manga Yuu’s have made me a little uncomfortable.

I’ve seen some people be like “finally! A girl Yuu for the manga!” Or “finally! A Yuu who presents herself as a woman!” (This is way different than a celebration of a femme Yuu btw).

? Yuuka, the Savanaclaw Yuu, IS a woman. Some people have been claiming that she’s “hiding her gender” in the all-boy’s school, or “downplaying” her gender, and how they’re so happy that Yuuna is “unapologetically a woman.”

But Yuuka, even in her previous world, has ways presented as a bit more masc- a very bifauxnen, cool girl type of character who is resolute in her strength because of her judo experience. A translation of the manga I read even has her referring to herself as a “ordinary school girl.” It’s just her own personal style of presenting herself. She also exercises in a sports bra! The only troubles she has is the troubles ALL Yuu’s have: that they’re magicless and aren’t meant to be here at this school and this WORLD.

And frankly, it’s uncomfortable that I’ve seen so many people in the fandom act as if feminine style is the only valid way to present as a woman, the implications that Yuuka is not a woman from the way she chooses to dress or cut her hair.

I’m so so happy that people find joy in a very femme presenting Yuu- I love Yuuna just as much! But when the conversation begins turning into…implying femininity is the only way to be/present as a woman, that’s not…it just feels awful. Yuuka was our first girl Yuu, Yuuna is the second. They present differently, but neither of them ever once worry about having the “hide” their gender. Please celebrate Yuuna’s style if that’s what you mean, instead of the “true girl” Yuu.

And on another note, there is the very popular and so far very likely theory of a “boy-girl” pattern in the manga Yuu’s- especially since all the Yuu’s so far have been the opposite gender as the Disney villains of each dorm. Meaning, the theory is that a male Yuu is likely for Diasomnia.

And I’m seeing a very vocal crowd dismissing the idea of male Yuu in the Diasomnia arc, that they want a girl, they’d hate a male Yuu, “Malleus forgot it’s not an Otome so it has to be a girl Yuu!”, they want a girl to be with Malleus “because [we] want Malleyuu.”

And again. It just feels so…alienating. Malleus and Malleyuu personally isn’t for me, but I’ve spent many years hopping around Otome and romance games in the past, and male and NB fans of these genres are frequently told that they don’t belong in the fandom, that these games cater to women.

But most conversations bringing up the possibility of romance games bringing in he/him, they/them or even customizable pronouns for the player are often shut down in most community spaces. Games like TWST, with an ambiguous MC and individual interactions with a character of your choice (ie the home screen voicelines)- or even games like Obey Me or the Arcana, are a rarity have made me really happy and feel really comfortable in the fandoms. Even if the game’s audience is mostly women, the MC/Yuu has *always* had an open identity.

So…the concept that Malleyuu is only WANTED by a portion of the fandom ONLY it’s a girl Yuu just brings back those same feelings again. Of course you may have whatever Yuu you want in your own personal Malleyuu ship!! But one girl Yuu can never represent the whole fandom, one male Yuu can never represent the whole fandom. So it’s strange there’s this complete outcry at the idea of a boy, and in turn of non-het Malleyuu ships in the fandom.

The manga and the Yuu’s have never shown a romantic relationship towards any character- any fanservicey moments still remain from the game, no matter the Yuu it’s aimed towards. And not just from Housewardens- all the characters have their bits of fanservice! But it never goes farther than that in the main story especially.

With the reveal of Yuuna, the EN fandom has been celebrating the diversity and openmindness of the world of twst, and how customizable your Yuu’s truly are. Yuu is…you! Yuu can be whoever you want. But it all falls apart when a portion of the fandom see Yuuna as the only valid girl Yuu, when the mere idea of a male Yuu for Diasomnia or for Malleyuu is bashed and hated.

Or you know what- the idea of male or even NB Yuu is bashed entirely every single time there’s a damn announcement for the manga. A while back, the Scarabia manga announcements were mistranslated in English, and the gender ambiguous language for Yuu was accidental turned into he/him (which turned out to be Yuuna). And the level of vitriol I saw over the idea of a male Yuu was so fucking disheartening. And now it’s happening all over again with a future Diasomnia manga.

Is the manga and their Yuu’s really a celebration of diversity in the EN fandom? It doesn’t feel that way, at all. Perhaps I’m just being self centered about this, but I’ve found myself increasingly upset about how vocal these two issues have been, and I wish some people could be more mindful about it

Apologies for my incoherency in this vent 💦💦💦💦💦 this is NOT hate toward Malleyuu or Yuuna fans as a whole- or towards anyone in fact. This is just a vent and a slight critique just certain parts of the fan bas

[visionkept]

Spices From the West. character guide: TOMOYA.

LIKES, GIVE:  1.- it’s similar to their specialty. loves the soft texture, tomoya is a big fan of lightly sweet things as this.  2 and 3.- simple, fresh, and easy to cook. The flavour is just right, not exceeding nor lacking.

        ❝ Mm, a field of FLOWERS has bloomed in my tongue with a single bite. It feels like SPRING all over again !! ❞  ❝ MEOW ~ ❞ ❝ W - wait, Tama !! Don’t eat all of it in one go, leave some for me too ! ❞

NEUTRAL, GIVE: salad, fried / grilled food, steak, soup, etc.

       ❝ It’s evident you are good at this. We shouldn’t waste any of it. I know ! Let me take some of the leftovers for my travels. ❞

DISLIKES, GIVE: 1.- hates mint in general, mainly when it’s the main ingredient.  2 and 3.- their palate is not used to extremely flavoured dishes.

         ❝ There’s a STORM of FLAVOURS in my mouth that I can’t exactly describe. . .  ❞ GULP.  ❝ I really hope it doesn’t last for long . . .  ❞

[a2zillustration]

The final day

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[cautiously0ptimistic]

And we go beyond the farthest reaches, where the light bends and wraps beneath us. And I know, as you collapse into me, this is the start of something.