#this is something I would like to be accessible to others

[valeriapryanikova]

ominous

(itsy-bitsy fanfic concept/idea/? under the cut)

[A page ripped out of a journal; the owner’s handwriting is messy and barely legible.] 

february, 29th

i'm surprised i'm not dead now.

yesterday, in the late evening, as i was painting, it started storming. suddenly and hard. one second the dark sky is clear from any clouds, and the next moment the droplets are pelting me with a surprising force. i rapidly abandoned my easel and canvas (not like there would be anything lost—the piece was dull and not working out the way i desired) in favor of seeking cover.

i was still near the village, on its outskirts, but just a bit too far from my house to reach it quickly before my whole being was drenched through and through. so i ducked into one of the huts, all of which stand empty, desolate… or so i thought, at least.

only once inside did i spot the dim, ominous, red glow of the overhead lamp; the sound of a muted conversation; the overwhelming sense of “wrong”, like i was not meant to be here. abruptly silence fell and two sets of bright eyes stared me down.

terror froze my body. i felt like a prey caught in between two predators, i could practically feel their jaws snapping around my neck.

the dredger slowly smirked at me, barring her sharp, sharp teeth. (since when are they sharp? i may not have crossed path with her often, but i swear i would’ve noticed if she had shark teeth before.) i did not stay to see if the fisherman would further react to my presence too. the control of my body returned, allowing me to let out a panicked apology for interruption and bolt out of the hut, running home at full speed.

it’s been hours since then. i couldn’t fall asleep. i’ve been up the whole night, haunted by fear. the scene of those two beasts in the darkness, ready to snap me like a twig for overhearing something (i don’t remember what exactly, all the horror of the situation evaporated all my thoughts), got stuck in my mind’s eyes. so i’ve been doing what i know how to do best—painting.

[Attached to the diary entry is a typewritten note.] 

That painter fellow is an impressionable and imaginative type. Needless to say, the actual interaction with the two fish merchants was likely a lot less… Dramatic.

The painter was reluctant to show me the painting mentioned in the last paragraph, but after some convincing I did manage to take a quick look on their recollection of the witnessed scene: it seems mostly useless for my research, but I noted down some details that might be of use in the future (refer to “AudioLog#143” transcript for more information).

Collecting data on “The Fisherman” continues to prove itself annoying. The subject is allusive: there’s not many sources mentioning him, and folk around here rarely witness him out and about. Currently the only lead I have is finding that one old newspaper article about the docks that, if I recall correctly, mentions him in an interview with workers. Perhaps, when I have time, I’ll try asking the collector from the other side of the river if he has a copy of that newspaper issue.

However, for now, I’m significantly more interested in “The Dredger” subject. There’s more than plenty info about her—I would actually say there’s too much info about her, all inconveniently inconsistent. In an attempt to get more reliable data I’m getting in contact with Mined since they have done scientific observation of this area and the people of interest. My request for access to their data has gone unanswered so far and, if shoving my anthropology degree in the faces of those bumbling idiots won’t work, I’m sure that that city nearby has enough hackers willing to do some dirty work for a pretty diamond.

I will get the data I want, one way or another.

[goatgoesmbe]

tw : sexual theme, stalking, 141 being a creep

A series : part 2 of Discord shenanigans

AO3

Word count: 2031

rated: E

Poly!141 x f!reader

The New Member

The server wasn’t meant for public in the first place.

It was just something quick Johnny made just to have a little corner to hang out when they were on leave.

They rarely used it at first, finding no reason to communicate outside of work, they were busy with their own life anyway.

That was, until Johnny started sending pictures of literally anything in his daily life. It started with scenery, dogs he saw during walks, and selfies. Soon enough, Simon joined in with his own blurry pictures, then Kyle’s award-worthy photography, and John who sent the most normal pictures of some nice views worth sharing.

Eventually, interacting through the server became so regular that they started using it when they got back on base too– They never talk about something confidential in it of course, they were still professionals after all.

The gaming session was Kyle’s idea (Well, actually it was Johnny but he couldn’t convince them to play among us), they started playing various FPS games before settling for the popular one.

Kyle played casually, Johnny played competitively (and sucked at it compared to the others), John played it rarely but was pretty decent at it, while Simon was effortlessly good at it (Which he was so smug about).

The members consisted of people they knew from their jobs, so imagine their surprise when there was a notification about a new member.

You.

They welcomed you in a friendly manner, showing no suspicion despite John telling Kyle to do a background check immediately. And oh do they like what they see.

Pretty thing that you are, messy hair, pouty lips, dark bags under your eyes that only made you look more adorable rather than off-putting, like a sleepy panda. You always wore comfortable clothes oversized shirts or hoodies on colder days while your legs were bare, sitting crosslegged in your gaming chair with a big plushie in your lap. Johnny wondered if you wore anything underneath which made them go silent. made them think.

Fuck.

It was illegal and immoral, but really– everything they had ever done was all of those things and more, so what’s a bit of hacking into the webcam of a bonnie thing like you? It was done for their own safety after all, keeping their secrets as members of a highly classified military task force. It was only normal for them to check for any individuals that got into their space. Just in case.

Sure, they could just drop it when they found out that you were just a harmless civilian, but they also learned that you were just a sweet thing.. they immediately took a liking to you, adored you, so of course they had to keep an eye on you because they wanted to make sure you were alright. Keeping a civilians safe was part of their job, right?

You live alone, which made sense as to why you have CCTVs around your place. Smart girl, looking after your security seriously. Adorable.

Was it creepy for them to have access to those CCTVs? They just cared about your safety is all, was it wrong?

Well, they didn’t really care if it was, they were in too deep already, addicted to watching you in your own world, from your pretty face looking adorable as you focused on the game you were playing, the chime of your giggle when Johnny sent something stupid, to the way those innocent eyes showed no suspicion when one of them slipped up.

“Not as bonnie as you ;)” Johnny sent one time.

“You don’t even know what i look like XD”

Fortunately, you were oblivious. But still, they need to be more careful in the future. Johnny had a limp the next day and his body was covered in marks that peeked from the t-shirt he wore. But from how he barely covered them and how he still had that smirk on his face, it looked like he would definitely do it again if it would have John sending Simon to punish him.

Watching you had become a group routine. When they weren’t in the same room, they just hopped on the hidden channel Johnny made just to ping each other whenever you were doing something that would pique their interest.

Kyle enjoyed watching you go about with your routine, waking up at noon, cooking up something simple for yourself before you lock into your PC to do your freelance job then hopped into video games. His favorite was when you did your skincare, hand went down to cup the bulge in his pants as he watched you putting on lotion all over your body. His eyes darkened at the thought of him doing it instead, sliding his hand up your legs, lathering them nicely, and perhaps sneaking an opportunity for a feel of your clothed pussy when he reached your inner thighs.

Johnny likes to watch your reaction whenever you two interact, relishing your flustered expression from his relentless flirting. He wondered if you would also be shy under him, squirming as you tried to hide your face while he took off your clothes. He would click his tongue as he pried your hands off your face and gripped both of your wrists in one hand before pinning them above your head, one knee lodged between your legs to prevent you from closing them.

John’s favorite part of your day was when you were working. Tongue peeking out slightly in concentration, your doe eyes shifted and looked sharper when you were focused. He was there when you were in an online meeting with your employer, even though noone noticed. As he watched you talk, he liked to imagine that you were working for him instead. Talking formally unlike how you usually were when you were talking to them, he imagined you calling him sir like how you called your current boss. The bastard that made you uncomfortable with the way he leered at you, making innuendos while you tried your best to keep the conversation professional. You poor thing, don’t worry, John will teach him a lesson or two about respecting you. And yes, he was a hypocrite since he was lazily pumping his shaft under the desk as he watched you doing your job.

Simon rarely said anything about it, but out of everyone in the server, he was a constant presence with how the view count never went below one. He wasn’t picky, he liked watching you doing anything, even when you were just sleeping, he’d fuck his fist messily at the view of you being so vulnerable and oblivious before shooting his cum all over the screen with your face displayed on it. He was the one who would ping the others to notify them when you were doing something he knew they would be interested in.

Like right now.

It had been a long week, you barely had time to do your hobby. Projects after project that got you awake until two am before a quick wink of rest until you had to wake up again at five. When you were looking forward to doing something fun but then finding yourself too tired to even play your favorite game. And then you’d feel bad for neglecting your hobby as you continued to be enslaved under capitalism.

You were tired, sleep-deprived, stressed, and pent-up. At times like this, you were glad that you worked from home. You couldn’t imagine yourself not snapping at people if you work in an office with coworkers. Couldn’t even find the energy to open the server these past few days since you didn’t want to interact with anyone.

So naturally, they would miss you. Naturally, they were very excited when Simon pinged all of them in the hidden channel.

The light in your room was dimmed, but they could see your figure just fine. Panting on the bed on your back, legs spread wide with your hand between them while your other hand was clutching a pillow which you use to hide your face. 

John growled, fingers twitching as he thought of taking it off you so he could see what kind of expression you were making. Instead, he gripped Kyle’s dick as the younger man rolled his hips with the Captain bottoming out in his ass as they were both settled on the couch.

Johnny pulled away from Simon’s cock with a lewd pop. “She could fit mair than that..” he panted before Simon shoved his dick back in the scot’s mouth, gloved hand gripping at his mohawk.

His words got them zeroed in on your cunt which was stuffed with your fingers deep to your knuckles. Wet squelching noises combined with your needy whines echoed around the rec room from the cheap speakers as the stream was displayed on the wall from the projector. Johnny was right, you could take more than that. And from the way you desperately bucked your hips as you moved your fingers that fast, they could tell that you wanted to take more either.

“Does she not have a fucking toy?” Kyle groaned as he jacked off with the same tempo as your fingers as he continued to move in John’s lap.

“No” Simon responded curtly. He would know, he was the one who always kept an eye on you more than anyone else after all.

He knew you didn’t have a partner and never brought anyone home. You rarely go out and when you do, you’ll be back soon enough. A quick trip to the grocery stores or some shops, as shown by the trackers he put in your phone. Low possibility of you seeking out to anyone. Perhaps it was odd for some people but he wasn’t complaining, because he was only willing to share you with the men he trusted his life with.

You rarely pleasure yourself either, which made a moment like this more special. At first, he expected you to whimper out someone’s name, a crush they didn’t know about perhaps. Fortunately, that never happened. You seem content with yourself like this, eyes closed as you focus on the way you curl your fingers and grind your palm against your clit.

But they could tell you wanted more. They agreed that you deserved more. They could give you more.

Your whole body tensed, a shudder rippled through your body as heat built in waves. Breath hitching as you gasped, soft at first before breaking into a moan, raw and unrestrained. Fingers clutching at your pillow, muscles tightening as pleasure peaked, your back arching instinctively.

A flush spread across your skin, a sheen of sweat caught the light. Eyes fluttered to a close, lips parted, as a final tremor coursed through your body before you melted into the afterglow, breathless and trembling.

Yet, your cunt still clenched around your fingers as you pulled them out, like it didn’t want to let them go, because you still wanted more. You whined, and they groaned at the expression on your face. Unsatisfied, but too tired to do anything about it.

After a moment of gathering your jumbled mind, you got up and headed to the bathroom for a shower. And while they knew it was impossible, they wished you had a camera there too.

As the men chased their own pleasures, they thought to themselves about how they could help. You were physically nowhere near them at the moment, and they didn’t want to scare you by being too upfront in the server. Didn’t want you to know what they had been doing behind your back.

The next day, an onslaught of sex toy ads kept popping up when you turned on your PC. It obviously pissed you off at first (especially with how one appeared when you share your screen during a work meeting), but eventually it made you consider getting one. And if you got a transfer to your bank account in the same amount you spent on it right after, if you received four dildos instead of one, they totally had nothing to do with it. Nope, they totally didn’t send you the exact copies of their cocks.

Next (soon)

A/N: I remember someone saying 'How are you gonna get a guy if you never leave your house' and this is my answer to that also, this series was supposed to be fun silly online friends story, so idk what happened here, I swear the story wrote itself I had nothing to do with it

open taglist : @partiallysame, @niazrzl, @iiriam, @sweetlike-sugarplum, @mordacioust, @boogeysmoth, @little-mini-me-world, @sxnshinebxcky, @lady-red-night-1234, @theycallmevalen, @z-wantstowrite, @c-moon20-12

[kingofthewilderwest]

I feel like I have, sort of. It's been over a decade and I've been in a fever dream since. What happened? I don't know. I don't know how I don't know.

There were multiple bookstores on the downtown street, several big, and all delightful. I was walking through downtown on my way to the usual used bookstore I visited. This place was a treasure, one of those used bookstores where the shopfront looks tiny, but you step inside and it runs deep; there's rows and rows and rows of books in invitingly dark niches, every shelf stuffed to max capacity, and then mountains of books stacked every which way on all other space—book skyscrapers conquering the limited floor real estate, book stacks climbing up the desk where the employee would take your card, book stacks morphing into the shelf so you hardly knew where the shelf ended and the freeform stacks began—the ultimate organized, chaotic clutter of books, books, books. You never knew what you'd find, but the books ran heady and obscure, a delightful deep-dive of knowledge.

But on my way, a man beckoned me to an unassuming door. I'd seen the door before, I think, but it'd always been a locked mystery. It was on the main street filled with store fronts, but it might've been squeaked between two buildings. There was another store cheek-and-jowl next to it, so it had to be a tiny sliver of real estate. It was a regular door and there was no accompanying storefront to show you what was inside. Just a door, and on it, the name of the store. Another bookshop, allegedly. Allegedly, again, because that door was easy to miss, and because I'd never seen anyone go in or out of it or seen signs of life that you could go in and out of it.

Today was different. This man, he beckoned me in. The door, it was opened to me.

And inside was a bookstore six times the size I thought it could be. Books displayed in inviting stacks on tables in the front. Bookshelves snaking about the interior, all in their eclectic order. Books climbing up the walls to the ceiling. The interior was cramped and maze-ish, but, at the same time, it was vast.

I didn't see all the books at once, but therein lay the magic of it. Every time I thought I'd seen more books than I could expect, I came across another passage that opened into another area. The books climbing to the walls could be accessed by a staircase to a second floor. A second floor! Here? How?! The entire way up to the second floor: books covering each inch. And then you'd turn and there was the final room, books again covering every inch. Lots of old books—not trashy, but those types of heavy, beautiful, rare treasures.

It was enchanting.

It was so enchanting, in fact, that I feel like the bookstore upright disappeared after I left it.

Not just the bookstore.

But the door.

The damn door.

Disappeared.

In this city that I'd been living in years, on a street I'd been shopping for years and knew every inch of.

I kept looking for that door on the way to the used bookstore I usually went to. I kept saying, "Well, it's an easy door to miss." I'd keep peering at the nooks and crannies between buildings, thinking, "It was this intersection, right? Or did I remember wrong?" I never... saw that door again. I never went into that bookstore again.

I don't have dreams that are realistic and can be mistaken for reality. I'm a vanilla person who doesn't even consume coffee, let alone something that could make me trip.

What the heck happened? What did I remember wrong? Because I had to have remembered something wrong—where the door was, what building it was, what it looked like inside, something, something, something! My mind vividly tells me where the door is, but there's no door there! There's! No! Door! There! There's no door anywhere up and down that street in the vague vicinity of where I was teleported away to this fucking fae-ass bookstore.

I looked for years, guys! I have looked for years trying to refind just the door!

It's a mystery that's nagged me for over a decade, and it'll nag me for decades more.

yeah libraries are cool but have you ever found a library with a secret doorway disguised as a bookshelf that leads to a smaller, hidden library filled with ancient books full of mysteries and forgotten knowledge? me neither and i'm sad about it

[cloudyluun]

Until You Stay | famous!harry

Summary: Beth Monroe is a sharp-tongued journalist looking for her big break. Harry Styles is a cocky, untouchable rockstar who doesn’t take well to being challenged. What starts as a battle of wills—sharp words and razor-edged tension—spirals into something darker, filthier, and impossible to walk away from. But when feelings get involved, when the masks slip, will they still be able to pretend it doesn’t mean anything?

A/N: This is a commissioned work of fiction based on Harry as a famous singer, I make no claims of knowing him personally in any way. But someone trusted me to bring their filthy, angsty dreams to life, and I may have gone just a little feral in the process. So enjoy the chaos, the tension, and, of course, Harry being an insufferable asshole.

Word Count: 7,7k

Warnings: 

Explicit Smut (very detailed & filthy)

Rough Sex, Degradation, and Dom/Sub Dynamics

Jealous/Possessive Harry

Toxic Dynamics & Power Struggles

Strong Language & Dirty Talk

Angst & Emotional Turmoil

Paparazzi & Media Manipulation

Mentions of Alcohol & Self-Destructive Behavior

A Hard-Won Happy Ending

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Beth Monroe had always known she was meant for more than this.

Twenty-seven years old and already jaded, she was the kind of journalist who wanted to chase real stories—the ones that peeled back the glossy surface of the world and exposed what lay underneath. The truth. Not the watered-down, PR-approved version of it, but the raw, unfiltered mess of reality. That’s why she had spent years clawing her way through the ranks of journalism, determined to escape the suffocating confines of celebrity gossip and meaningless soundbites.

But the industry had other plans for her.

She had started with ambition, fresh out of college, ready to write the stories that mattered. But the jobs that paid? The ones that kept the rent covered and the lights on? Those were the ones that required clickbait headlines and shallow coverage of people who barely seemed real.

And so, Beth had become another faceless name in the sea of entertainment journalists, forced to write about scandals, red carpet outfits, and who's dating who. She’d learned how to craft engaging pieces that held just enough bite to make them feel substantial, but in the end, it was all just noise. A constant cycle of disposable stories about people whose lives would never be touched by the words she wrote.

That’s why this assignment felt like her last shot.

Her boss had made it clear—this was either going to be her big break or her last chance before she was permanently relegated to covering B-list divorces and influencer drama.

"We need something real, Beth," her editor, Jonathan Pierce, had told her, fingers tapping against his desk as he leveled her with that too-patient look. "Not just another shallow puff piece. Styles is at the peak of his career right now. People want to know who he is, not the version we see on stage, but the man underneath it all."

Beth had bit back the urge to roll her eyes.

Harry Styles.

Of course.

If there was one name that could guarantee headlines and clicks, it was his. He was a global phenomenon, a walking enigma, an untouchable icon. At thirty, he had long since outgrown his boyband past, solidifying himself as one of the most powerful and respected musicians in the industry. His concerts sold out within minutes. His albums dominated the charts. His face was plastered across billboards, magazines, and social media feeds worldwide.

And yet—he was also infamously private.

Beth had done her research. He gave interviews, sure, but they were carefully controlled, filled with charming deflections and rehearsed soundbites. The media loved him, but no one actually knew him.

Her job? To change that.

She had been granted exclusive access to his European tour, shadowing him across multiple countries, given rare, behind-the-scenes insight into the life of Harry Styles, the person.

Beth knew how this would go.

She would show up, ask the hard-hitting questions, and be met with infuriatingly smooth non-answers. He’d probably flash that boyish smirk, tilt his head just right, and make it impossible for anyone to push too hard. The public adored him for that.

But Beth?

She wasn’t here to adore him. She was here to unravel him.

Still, she wasn’t expecting her first glimpse of him to hit her like a gut punch.

The moment she stepped into that room, she knew.

He was going to be a problem.

The private event was held at an intimate venue in Paris; a low-lit, exclusive affair where only VIPs, industry elites, and carefully selected press members were allowed inside. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, leather seating, and the faint musk of whiskey poured into crystal glasses.

Beth walked in, blending into the sea of journalists and label executives, scanning the room for the man she had spent weeks researching.

And then she saw him.

Harry Styles did not belong to the real world.

There was something about the way he existed in a space, the way people naturally gravitated toward him—an effortless pull, an undeniable gravity.

He stood near the back of the room, dressed in an all-black ensemble that should have looked simple but instead made him look infuriatingly expensive. The tailored slacks. The silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to hint at tattoos inked across golden skin. The loose, effortless curls.

But it wasn’t just his looks.

It was the way he carried himself like he was untouchable.

Beth watched as he laughed at something someone said, flashing that devastating grin that made cameras worship him. But it was the look in his eyes that caught her attention—sharp, assessing, distant, even as he smiled.

And then, as if sensing her stare, he turned.

Their gazes met.

A slow flicker of recognition crossed his face, though they had never met before. His green eyes scanned her, quick and unreadable.

And then, just as fast, he looked away.

Dismissive.

Beth felt heat rise to her throat.

Oh.

Oh, he was going to be a problem.

And he had no idea what was coming for him.

Beth didn’t look away first.

She wasn’t the type to shrink under scrutiny, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. But Harry? He barely spared her a full second before shifting his attention elsewhere, like she wasn’t worth a second glance.

The disinterest was strategic, she realized almost immediately. A controlled dismissal. The kind that kept people chasing, trying harder, falling over themselves for just an ounce of acknowledgment. She’d seen it before—men in power using silence as their weapon, turning the simple act of ignoring someone into an exercise of dominance.

It didn’t work on her.

So when she was finally ushered forward—her name murmured alongside a polite introduction—she didn’t bother offering her hand or plastering on a media-friendly smile. She met him with the same level of apathy he had thrown her way.

“Beth Monroe,” the event coordinator introduced. “She’s covering the European tour for Pulse magazine.”

Harry, who had just been charming some record executive’s wife with an easy smile and effortless conversation, didn’t even pretend to be interested. He gave the barest nod, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before lifting it to his lips.

“Journalist,” he mused, voice low, almost amused—but not in a way that invited conversation. More like he was tasting the word and finding it unappetizing.

Beth crossed her arms. "Is that a problem?"

That made him look at her properly.

Up close, she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the sharp contrast between deliberate nonchalance and razor-sharp awareness. She knew the game well—he was observing, measuring, deciding exactly how much space she was allowed to take up.

And then, in the most unbothered, condescending way possible, he simply muttered, "No. Just predictable."

Beth’s lips parted, caught between shock and incredulous amusement.

"Predictable?" she echoed, lifting an eyebrow. "That’s a bit rich coming from a man whose entire brand is built on being the world’s most palatable rockstar."

There it was.

The shift.

The flicker of something in his gaze like she had managed to surprise him. Like maybe he wasn’t expecting her to push back.

It lasted half a second before he schooled his features, tipping his glass back and dismissing her completely.

Beth could feel the eyes on them. The silent tension in the room as the moment stretched between them. But Harry? He wasn’t interested. At least, not enough to entertain her further.

His voice was maddeningly even as he murmured, "Enjoy the party, Miss Monroe."

And just like that, he turned his back on her.

Beth spent the rest of the night watching. Not because she was enthralled—fuck no—but because she needed to understand him. If she was going to do this job right, she needed to know what made him tick, needed to peel back the carefully constructed layers he used to keep the world at arm’s length.

What she noticed was infuriating.

Harry was charming with everyone else. Effortlessly engaged, magnetic in a way that made people lean in, hang on his every word. He gave them just enough of himself—never too much, never too little. His persona was crafted with surgical precision.

But with her?

Nothing.

He ignored her. Not obviously, not rudely, but in a way that felt intentional. Every time she tried to break into a conversation, he sidestepped her. When she asked a question, he answered in vague, detached sentences.

And when she finally managed to pull him into a one-on-one exchange again, it ended just as quickly as the first.

“I’ve noticed you never really answer questions,” she said, arms crossed as she studied him from across the dimly lit bar area.

Harry didn’t look up from where he was stirring his drink with a lazy wrist. “And I’ve noticed journalists never stop asking them.”

Beth exhaled sharply through her nose. “Right. Because heaven forbid anyone learns something real about Harry Styles.”

That got his attention.

He set his glass down, leaning against the counter as his gaze slid over her slowly.

“You lot aren’t interested in ‘real.’” His voice was quiet, but firm. “You’re interested in a headline.”

Beth bristled. “And you’re interested in a narrative.”

Something shifted.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the weight of the conversation settling between them.

Then Harry smirked.

“Good luck with your story, Miss Monroe.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Beth clenched her jaw.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

Beth had dealt with difficult men before. Politicians who thought they were too powerful to be held accountable, executives who assumed her presence in a room meant she was someone’s assistant rather than the journalist they’d have to answer to. She had sharpened herself against condescension and arrogance, made a career out of standing her ground in rooms filled with people who wanted to dismiss her.

But Harry Styles?

He was a different breed of difficult.

For the next several weeks, Beth followed him across Europe, shadowing his tour with increasing frustration. She sat through press conferences where he charmed reporters into asking safe, meaningless questions—the kind that allowed him to give those clever, detached answers that never actually revealed anything.

She watched him interact with fans, saw the way he flipped the switch so effortlessly—one moment the distant, untouchable rockstar, the next, someone who could make a stadium of people feel like they mattered.

And yet, with her?

He remained a wall.

He made it a point to avoid her questions, brushing past them with an easy smirk and a raised eyebrow, like he found her attempts amusing.

“Beth, darling, you’re thinking too hard,” he had murmured once, lounging backstage after a show, still glistening with sweat from the stage lights. “Why don’t you just write the same piece everyone else does? You know, the whole ‘Harry Styles is mysterious but also terribly charming’ bit. Sells every time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t write fanfiction.”

He grinned. “Shame.”

And then there were the games.

Beth would show up for scheduled interview slots, only to be told that Harry was "unavailable." Sometimes it was because he was in a mood. Sometimes it was because he was “too busy” relaxing in his dressing room, scrolling through his phone, while she sat outside with her recorder untouched on her lap.

When she finally called him out on it, he didn’t even pretend to feel bad.

“Beth, love,” he drawled, voice dripping in mock sympathy, “you’re in my world now. Things don’t always run on schedule.”

Her patience cracked. “So you’re just wasting my time for fun?”

Harry leaned back in his seat, legs spread wide, fingers tapping lazily against the armrest. “Not for fun.” Then, after a beat, he smirked. “Though it is fun watching you get all worked up.”

She wanted to throw something at him.

The breaking point came after a particularly brutal argument.

It had been a long day—one of those rare occasions when Beth had actually gotten a few uninterrupted moments to ask real questions. She had pushed harder than usual, refusing to let him slide through with half-answers and smirks.

“Why do you do that?” she had asked, arms crossed as she watched him peel the rings off his fingers after soundcheck.

Harry flicked a glance up. “Do what?”

“Pretend you’re giving people something real when all you’re actually doing is controlling the narrative.”

The look he gave her was sharp, guarded. “That’s rich, coming from someone whose job is to spin a story.”

Beth exhaled through her nose. “You think this is easy for me? That I just write whatever sells? I’m not here to make you look good, Harry. I’m here to write the truth.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

And then, before she even saw him move, he was in front of her.

Too close.

Her breath caught.

She wasn’t sure if he had stepped forward or if she had unconsciously leaned in, but suddenly, there was no space between them. The air thickened, buzzing with something hot and electric.

His jaw flexed.

His hands curled into loose fists at his sides, as if he was holding something back.

Beth lifted her chin, refusing to shrink away.

The corner of his mouth twitched—not in amusement, not quite. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and slow, a quiet challenge.

“You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

Beth swallowed, throat tight. “I think you hate that you can’t intimidate me.”

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating pause.

For a second—just a second—she swore his gaze dropped to her mouth.

But neither of them moved.

Neither of them acted on it.

And later that night, when Beth was alone in her hotel room, staring at the ceiling—she realized she was still thinking about it.

She wondered if he was, too.

Beth liked to believe that she had control over herself—over her emotions, over the way her body reacted, over the frustrating, infuriating pull she felt every time Harry Styles so much as looked at her.

But control was hard to maintain when someone was constantly poking, prodding, pushing just to see where her breaking point was.

And Harry?

Harry was pushing.

Hard.

It happened in Milan.

The afterparty was in full swing—music thumping, bodies swaying, conversations weaving in and out of the dim, golden-lit space. Beth wasn’t drinking, but the atmosphere was intoxicating in itself, everyone high off the post-show adrenaline.

Harry had been watching her all night.

Not obviously, not in a way anyone else would notice, but she felt it. The flicker of his gaze when she moved through the crowd, the way his attention snagged whenever she threw her head back in laughter.

She ignored it.

She refused to let him get in her head.

Which was why, when another musician—Nate, a guitarist from one of the opening acts—struck up a conversation with her, Beth didn’t hesitate to let herself enjoy it.

He was easy to talk to, charming in a way that didn’t feel like a performance. And when he leaned in, whispering something that made her laugh—a real, unguarded laugh—she barely had time to register the shift in the air before Harry was there.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t say anything.

He just stood there, nursing a drink, his stare cutting through the noise like a blade.

Beth felt it before she saw it—the shift in Nate’s posture, the way his fingers curled around the bottle in his hand.

“I’ll catch you later,” Nate murmured, voice a little too careful.

Beth blinked. “Wait, what?”

But he was already slipping away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the room.

And that was when she felt him.

The warmth of his presence behind her, the slow exhale against the shell of her ear.

“You like playing games, love?”

Beth closed her eyes.

Of course. Of course he had to do this.

She turned slowly, deliberately, only to find him watching her with a look she couldn’t quite place.

“Excuse me?” she said, tone light, though she could feel her pulse thrumming against her skin.

Harry tilted his head, mocking. “That was cute. The whole giggle and lean-in routine. Did you rehearse that?”

Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not allowed to have a conversation without your approval?”

His jaw flexed. “Didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, exactly?”

He took a step closer.

Then another.

Beth refused to step back.

His voice dropped lower, dangerously smooth.

“I’m saying… you’ve been running your mouth for weeks. Acting like you don’t give a shit about me. But then—” He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “—then you go and pull that?”

She scoffed. “Pull what?”

Harry smiled. It wasn’t nice.

“You wanted me to see that.”

Beth’s stomach flipped.

She should have laughed in his face. Should have rolled her eyes, brushed past him, walked away.

But she didn’t.

Because there was something about the way he was looking at her.

Something thick and charged and dangerous.

His hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t trust himself not to touch her.

Beth’s breath shook.

The music downstairs faded into a dull throb, the laughter and chatter dissolving into nothing. The party might as well have been on the other side of the world.

It was just them now.

Beth barely registered how it happened—one moment, she was in the thick of the afterparty, heat and voices pressing in on all sides. The next, the door clicked shut behind her. A soft, decisive sound.

She turned just in time to see Harry’s hand linger on the lock, fingers curling around the metal, twisting until it slid into place. A quiet snick.

Her pulse skittered.

Slowly, he turned back to her, gaze dark and unreadable.

Somehow, between one breath and the next, Beth’s back was already against the wall, cool brick pressing through the thin fabric of her dress. She could still feel the phantom warmth of Nate’s touch—light, fleeting—but it didn’t matter. Not when Harry was in front of her now. Not when his body was taut with something sharp, something dark. His eyes, usually lidded with lazy arrogance, were harder now. Narrowed. Burning.

His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was trying to control himself.

Then, low, rough, "You like playing games, love?"

A shiver ran down her spine.

She forced herself to lift her chin. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

His jaw twitched.

Slow. Measured. He reached out, running two fingers up her arm, featherlight but searing. Beth refused to react, refused to show him that he got under her skin.

His lips curled. "Laughing. Touching. Batting your lashes at him like you wanted him to take you right there in front of everyone."

That made her scoff. "Oh, fuck off—"

She barely got the words out before he was on her.

No warning. No hesitation.

One hand shot to her throat—not squeezing, just holding, firm enough to make her gasp as his body pressed flush against hers. His other hand planted itself beside her head, caging her in completely.

His mouth hovered just above hers, breath warm, uneven.

"You wanna push me, is that it?" he murmured, voice like gravel. "You wanna see what happens when I lose my patience?"

Her breath hitched.

It wasn’t fear curling in her stomach. It was something much worse.

She wanted this.

Needed it.

So she pushed him again, knowing it was reckless. "Maybe I do."

That was all it took.

Harry didn’t waste another second.

His grip tightened, and then he was kissing her—if it could even be called that. There was nothing soft about it. No buildup, no hesitation. It was a clash of teeth and tongues, a war between them.

His hand left her throat, moving down, down, over the thin fabric of her dress, gripping her waist so tightly it ached.

Beth’s nails raked down his arms, her own frustration spilling over. She wanted to hurt him. Make him feel this the way she did.

"Fuck—"

The word was ripped from her throat as he yanked her leg up, hitching it over his hip. The dress rode up instantly, baring her thigh, and then his hand was there, fingers digging into her skin, making her burn.

Desperate.

That was what this was.

It wasn’t love.

It wasn’t romance.

It was hunger.

It was starving.

His teeth scraped along her jaw, down her neck. He bit—not enough to leave marks, but enough to make her feel it.

“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging his mouth down her jaw. “Needy. Desperate. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Her fingers fisted in his hair. "Fuck you."

He laughed, breathless, dark.

"Say it," he pressed. "Say you want it."

Beth clenched her teeth. She hated him.

And yet.

And yet.

"Say it."

She swallowed hard, nails still biting into his shoulders. "I want it."

He hummed in approval, pushing her harder against the wall. "Good girl."

Then he wrecked her.

There was no teasing. No gentle touch. He dragged her panties down and shoved her dress up with no regard, making her gasp as the cool air kissed her exposed skin. His fingers slid between her thighs, finding her soaked, and he smirked.

"Fuckin’ knew it," he muttered, lips brushing her ear. "You act like you don’t want this, but look at you."

She bit her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

It didn’t last.

His fingers slipped inside her, rough, unrelenting, and the cry broke from her throat before she could stop it.

"That’s it," he murmured, pumping them hard and deep. "Don’t hold back now."

Her head tipped back against the wall, hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of his shirt. His thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing, teasing, pushing her closer and closer to the edge with every sharp movement.

"Thinkin’ about him now?" Harry taunted, voice low. "Bet you’re not."

She wasn’t.

She hated it, but she wasn’t.

All she could think about was Harry.

His fingers. His voice. The way he was taking what he wanted without a second thought.

Her whole body tensed, pleasure winding tight in her stomach.

And then he pulled away.

A whimper slipped out before she could stop it.

He grinned. "Not yet."

He undid his belt in a swift motion, shoved his jeans down just enough, and then he was lifting her completely, pressing her against the wall, spreading her open for him.

She barely had time to take a breath before he slammed into her.

"Fuck—"

She choked on a gasp, nails raking down his back as he filled her, stretched her in a way that made her legs shake.

There was no time to adjust.

No time to breathe.

He just fucked her.

Hard.

Desperate.

The wall scraped against her back with every sharp thrust, and she loved it.

His fingers bit into her thighs, holding her in place, making her take every inch, every punishing roll of his hips.

"You take me so fuckin’ well," he murmured, voice strained, lips dragging over her neck. "Like you need this."

She did.

God help her, she did.

She was close—so fucking close, and she knew he could feel it in the way she clenched around him, in the way her nails dug deeper, in the way her body arched.

"Say it," he ordered. "Say you’re mine."

Her breath stuttered.

He thrust harder. "Say it, Beth."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her body screaming for release.

And then she broke.

"I’m yours."

He groaned, deep and guttural, and that was all it took.

Pleasure crashed through her, leaving her shaking, wrecked, gasping as he kept going, drawing it out until she had nothing left to give.

Moments later, he followed, hips jerking, a rough growl spilling from his throat as he came deep inside her.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Their breathing was heavy, erratic, mingling in the thick air between them.

Then, just like that, it was gone.

Harry pulled away, adjusted himself, ran a hand through his hair like nothing had happened.

Beth watched, still breathless, still reeling.

He met her eyes, his own dark, unreadable.

Then, with a smirk that made her stomach flip, he stepped back.

"See you around, love."

And then he was gone.

Leaving her wrecked, ruined, and still fucking wanting.

But worst of all?

She still wanted him.

She hated herself for it.

She hated him more.

Beth barely remembered leaving the party, barely registered the way the city lights blurred together in the back of her cab, the hum of Milan’s nightlife drowning out the noise in her head. Her body still felt him—his hands, his breath, the rough edge of his voice scraping against her skin.

It should have been enough.

It should have burned her out, smothered whatever slow, insidious pull had been building between them.

But it didn’t.

Because when she saw him again the next day, sitting in the green room of the arena, lounging like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t ruined her the night before—Beth realized something awful.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

--

Harry was different now.

Not in the way Beth had expected—not in the way most men got after a night like that.

There was no smugness, no knowing smirk, no self-satisfied arrogance that she could take a swing at.

Instead, he was… colder.

Distant. Detached. Like she was nothing more than a mild inconvenience, an insignificant blip on his radar.

He barely looked at her.

Didn’t acknowledge her when she walked into a room, didn’t spare her even a glance during soundcheck or press briefings.

And that should have been fine.

She should have been fine.

But the second she started talking to someone else—the second she so much as smiled in another man’s direction—Harry’s jaw would lock.

His shoulders would tense.

His fingers would curl around his drink, around his microphone, around anything to keep from doing something reckless.

Beth noticed.

And she made sure he knew it.

She leaned in closer when someone else made her laugh. Let her fingers linger just a little longer when she touched an arm. Tilted her head just right when she listened, knowing Harry was in the room, knowing he was watching even if he refused to look at her directly.

She wanted to prove a point.

If she was just a fuck, if she was nothing, then he shouldn’t care.

So why did he?

--

It happened in Paris.

Beth had been talking to a photographer, a harmless conversation, nothing she wasn’t allowed to do.

Harry had been across the room, pretending he didn’t give a shit.

Then suddenly, he wasn’t.

Suddenly, he was right there.

His hand closed around her wrist, fingers tight, his voice just low enough for only her to hear.

“Outside. Now.”

She blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “Excuse me?”

His grip didn’t loosen. “You heard me.”

For a second, she considered telling him to go to hell.

But she didn’t.

Because she wanted this too.

The door barely shut behind them before he was on her.

Teeth at her jaw, hands rough on her hips, shoving her against the brick wall of some dark alley behind the venue.

Beth gasped, but it wasn’t from shock.

She should have expected this.

She had wanted this.

“You’re a fucking brat,” Harry muttered against her skin, his voice thick with frustration, with heat, with something else she couldn’t name. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Beth grinned, sharp and mean. “What am I doing, Harry?”

His fingers tightened.

“You think you can get a reaction out of me?” His teeth scraped her jaw. “Think you can make me jealous?”

Her breath hitched.

“So you admit it?” she whispered. “You were jealous?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because the way he touched her—rougher, filthier than before—told her everything she needed to know.

The first time had been about control. About proving a point.

This time?

This time, it was a need.

Desperate. Dirty. Addictive.

And neither of them could stop.

Every time they tried, they failed.

The silence never lasted. The distance never held.

Because the second they were in the same room again, the second their eyes locked across crowded spaces, it was already too late.

They had pulled each other under too many times to pretend they knew how to breathe without drowning.

Beth knew it was toxic.

Knew it in the way her hands trembled when she buttoned up her shirt in the dark, his warmth still clinging to her skin.

Knew it in the way Harry’s fingers curled into fists when he watched her leave, like he wanted to reach for her but refused to let himself.

Knew it in the way they never talked about it.

Because talking would make it real. Talking would force them to admit that it wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just convenience, wasn’t just a mistake they kept making over and over again.

But they didn’t stop.

Not when they should have.

Not even when the headlines started.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown rumors, twisting what they had into something uglier, something Beth couldn’t control.

She was losing pieces of herself to this, to him.

And Harry—Harry wasn’t losing anything.

Not his reputation. Not his career. Not his control.

She should have left before it reached this point—before it ripped through them like a wildfire, scorching everything in its path, leaving nothing but wreckage and ruin in its wake.

Before it bled into everything else.

Before it turned into this.

--

It happened in London, outside a sleek, high-end restaurant that reeked of old money and exclusivity—the kind of place Harry fit into effortlessly, where his name alone held weight, where he belonged.

Beth never had any interest in it. The glint of polished silverware, the hushed conversations over expensive wine, the way the air itself seemed thicker inside—like money had a scent, and it didn’t belong to people like her.

She hadn’t even wanted to come. Had told herself, promised herself, that she was done. That she wouldn’t let him do this to her again.

And yet, here she was.

The air outside was thick, muggy, summer pressing against her skin like a second layer, suffocating, clinging. A neon sign from across the street flickered, buzzing intermittently, painting the pavement in broken splashes of red light.

Harry stood a few steps away, pacing, hands raking through his already-messy curls. His jaw was locked, shoulders drawn tight, his frustration visible in the tense way he moved. He looked untouchable—towering, sharp, devastating in his black suit, the collar of his shirt slightly open like even it couldn’t handle the heat of the moment.

His eyes found hers—dark, searing, burning like embers about to catch.

“Are you seriously fucking mad at me for this?” His voice was low, taut, a thread stretched too thin, on the verge of snapping.

Beth folded her arms tightly across her chest, holding herself together. She could feel the anger, coiling hot in her stomach, winding through her like a slow, controlled burn. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

His lips pressed into a hard, thin line. “Enlighten me.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. He didn’t care. He never fucking cared.

“Your team,” she spat, voice shaking despite her best efforts, “just made me look like some desperate, attention-seeking—”

“—that’s not what happened.”

“Really?” She stepped closer, chin tilting up defiantly, her eyes searching his face for something—anything. A flicker of regret. Understanding. A crack in the cold, calculated exterior he was so good at wearing. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like they threw me under the fucking bus to save your ass.”

The photos had hit the tabloids that morning.

Beth Monroe, clinging to Harry Styles. Beth Monroe, picking a fight in public. Beth Monroe, the problem.

Headlines twisting the truth, reshaping the narrative, turning her into something she wasn’t. His PR team had done what they always did—spun the story, cleaned up the mess, protected the asset.

Beth had been collateral damage.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze flicking away as if he couldn’t be bothered to deal with this. “Jesus, Beth, why do you care so much what people think?”

Her stomach twisted—not just at the words, but at how he said them.

Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.

Like all of this—all the nights, all the touches, all the ways they’d clawed at each other, desperate and reckless—had meant absolutely fucking nothing to him.

And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe she had been fooling herself this entire time.

Something inside her snapped—something raw and fragile and past the point of saving.

“You know what?” She took a breath, forcing her voice to stay steady, forcing herself to hold his gaze even though it hurt. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

And before she could change her mind—before she could let him pull her back in—she turned around.

And for the first time, she didn’t look back.

It should have been a relief.

Should have felt like he had won.

But it didn’t.

Harry downed the rest of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he set it down with more force than necessary.

The neon lights of the club flickered above him, casting shadows along the crowded space. Smoke curled through the air, mixing with the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, a heartbeat that wasn’t his. People surrounded him—laughter, touches, whispers—but none of it registered.

His third drink.

Or maybe his fourth.

He wasn’t keeping track. Didn’t need to.

Because Beth was gone.

And he should feel lighter. Should feel fucking free.

But instead, there was just this—this hollow, gnawing feeling in his chest, a slow rot that no amount of whiskey could burn away.

He had told himself it was just sex. That it was just a game.

A messy, reckless game they both played, fully aware of the rules.

So why the fuck was he still thinking about her?

Why did he still hear her voice—sharp and furious, echoing in his ears like an accusation he couldn’t shake?

I don’t. Not anymore.

Why did he still see her face when he closed his eyes—not the smirking, defiant expression she always wore when they fought, but the way she had looked at him that night—raw, open, hurt.

Why the fuck did that bother him?

Harry scoffed under his breath, shaking his head, reaching for another drink.

Fuck that.

She’d be back.

She always came back.

Wouldn’t she?

The weeks passed.

She didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t show up at any more venues.

And no matter how many women he took home—no matter how many soft lips and unfamiliar hands he let touch him—it was never the same.

Because none of them were her.

None of them made him feel alive the way she did when she pushed him, when she fought him, when she stood her ground and refused to give in.

And for the first time, Harry realized—

He had fucked up.

Not just in the way he always did—careless, reckless, breaking things without thinking about the consequences.

No, this was different.

This was real.

This was Beth.

And he had let her slip through his fingers like she was nothing.

Like she hadn’t changed him.

Like she hadn’t fucking ruined him.

It took him weeks. Too many weeks.

Weeks of sleepless nights, of bitter drinks that burned as they went down, of meaningless encounters with women who weren’t her.

Weeks of ignoring the pit in his stomach whenever he reached for his phone and saw her name missing from his notifications.

Weeks of denying—lying to himself—until he couldn’t anymore.

Until it became impossible to pretend that this wasn’t more.

That she wasn’t everything.

So, he found her.

No cameras. No PR team carefully crafting the narrative. No staged apology meant to keep his image intact.

Just him.

Beth stood in the doorway of her apartment, eyes wary, lips pressed together like she wasn’t sure if she should slam the door in his face or let him inside just to yell at him.

She was in sweats, hair tied back, looking so soft and real and heartbreakingly beautiful that Harry had to clench his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching for her.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You really have no concept of boundaries, do you?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Would it help if I said I knocked first?”

Beth lifted a single, unimpressed brow.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

She sighed, exhaling heavily, fingers gripping the doorframe. “What do you want, Harry?”

Her voice was flat, tired—so fucking tired—and it hit him in the chest like a punch.

He did that.

He made her sound like that.

And maybe if she had been yelling, maybe if she had been angry, it would have been easier.

But this?

This quiet disappointment, this absence of fire, of fight—this was worse.

Because it meant she had already decided to let him go.

And he couldn’t have that.

He wouldn’t.

Harry swallowed, licking his lips, feeling the words crawl up his throat, unfamiliar and foreign and terrifying.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, voice rough, uneven. “You got too close.”

Beth’s gaze flickered, but she didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop him either.

“I didn’t—I don’t—” He let out a slow breath, shifting his weight. “You were supposed to be temporary, Beth.” His voice cracked on her name. “And I don’t want temporary anymore.”

Her eyes softened. Just a little.

But she didn’t let him off the hook.

Not yet.

She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head. “So what? You came all this way just to tell me that?”

His jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

“And now you expect me to just—what? Forget everything? Pretend like you didn’t throw me to the wolves the second things got hard?”

“No.” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t expect that.”

Beth exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment before she looked at him again, and fuck, he felt stripped bare under her gaze.

“I was falling for you,” she whispered, the words barely audible but lethal. “And you made me feel like I was nothing.”

His stomach dropped.

“I know,” he rasped. “And I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, Beth.”

She didn’t speak, but her fingers trembled where they curled around her sleeve.

Harry took a step closer.

Then another.

Until she was right there, close enough to touch, but he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he just let himself be seen—raw, vulnerable, desperate in a way he had never allowed himself to be before.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice low, uneven. “But I want to try. I want you.”

Beth swallowed hard, blinking quickly, like she was trying to hold something back.

“Say it again.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Say it again,” she whispered.

Harry took a breath, steady and sure.

“I want you.”

Beth let out a shaky exhale, something breaking, fracturing between them—but this time, it wasn’t falling apart.

It was falling into place.

She didn’t answer.

Not with words.

But when she finally reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him down, letting him in—

He knew.

She wanted him too.

-

This isn’t like before.

It’s not fueled by resentment, not tangled in frustration or sharp-edged words.

It’s not an attempt to silence their own thoughts or to claim victory in an unwinnable battle.

This time, it’s different.

Because this time, they’re choosing each other.

And neither of them wants to pretend anymore.

It’s quiet.

Not the uneasy, tension-laced silence they used to share, but something softer. He’s brought her here—to his real place, not some impersonal hotel room or a shadowy corner where they could disappear without consequence.

It’s his space.

Dim lighting from the city outside filters through half-drawn blinds, painting warm, golden stripes across the floor. The air is thick, heavy with something unspoken, the echoes of every past moment clinging to the walls.

No noise from the outside world.

Just them.

And for the first time, that’s all they need.

They stand close but don’t touch—not yet.

It’s strange, this carefulness between them, this slow, deliberate restraint. For so long, everything between them has been about force, about taking, about dominance wrapped in lust.

But now—

His fingers reach for her, hesitant but certain, trailing the line of her jaw with an aching kind of reverence.

No roughness. No bruising grip.

Just a slow, featherlight touch, like he’s memorizing her, like he’s afraid to move too fast.

Beth’s breath stutters. She tilts her face into his touch, just barely, just enough to tell him that she wants this too.

When she opens her eyes, he’s already watching her.

Already waiting.

Already sure.

When he kisses her, it’s nothing like before.

Not an attempt to overpower, not a silent demand for control.

It’s soft.

Tentative, at first—like he’s rediscovering her, learning the shape of her lips, savoring her warmth. A slow slide of mouths, the quiet exhale of breath mingling between them.

And then—

The restraint fractures.

A low, desperate groan rumbles in his chest, and his hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, molding her against him. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, but it’s not about possession anymore.

It’s need.

It’s want.

It’s everything they’ve never allowed themselves to feel.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him down into her, and he lets her. Lets her take as much as she wants.

He doesn’t rush.

Doesn’t tear at her clothes like before, doesn’t drag fabric over her skin like it’s just another obstacle to get through.

He takes his time.

Fingers skimming her shoulders, down the length of her arms, over her ribs. He lingers, watching her, drinking her in like he’s seeing her for the first time.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough with something raw, something that sounds like awe.

Her breath catches.

She should feel exposed. Vulnerable.

But the heat in his gaze doesn’t make her feel bare.

It makes her feel wanted.

She reaches for him then, pulling at his shirt, sliding her hands over warm, firm skin, feeling the steady, grounding beat of his heart beneath her palms.

He lets her undress him too.

No rush. No urgency.

Just this.

Just them.

He takes his time.

Worships her with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, exploring every inch like he’s memorizing her, like he never wants to forget the way she feels beneath him.

His fingers trace the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her inner thigh.

He doesn’t hurry.

Doesn’t just take.

He gives.

She fists the sheets when he drags his mouth lower, when he pauses to watch her reaction, when he smirks against her skin at the way she shifts, needy, impatient.

She doesn’t want to beg. Not this time.

But when his mouth finally touches her, warm and devastatingly slow—

She does.

He doesn’t rush her to the edge.

He builds it.

His mouth works her over with precision, savoring every shudder, every gasp, every quiet, breathless plea.

His hands hold her open, steadying her, grounding her, keeping her exactly where he wants her.

He watches her the entire time.

Doesn’t look away.

Not when she trembles.

Not when she cries out his name.

Not when she finally, finally falls apart beneath him.

He just holds her gaze, dark and unwavering, like he’s making damn sure she knows—

This means something.

When he finally slides into her, it’s different.

No rough, frantic pace. No bruising hands.

Just this.

Just the slow, deliberate push of his hips, deep and measured, drawing a gasp from her lips.

He stills for a moment, presses his forehead against hers, breathing her in, grounding himself in the feel of her.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, her nails dragging lightly over his skin.

Not clawing.

Not marking.

Just holding.

He moves then.

Not just fucking—making love.

Every slow thrust feels like a confession.

Every whispered “mine” against her lips feels like a promise.

And this time—

She doesn’t fight it.

She lets him have her.

And takes him in return.

No rush to leave.

No scramble for clothes.

No silence.

Just this.

Just them, tangled in sheets that smell like them, his arms heavy around her, his fingers tracing slow, mindless patterns against her back.

For the first time, he stays.

For the first time, she lets him.

There’s a pause. A deep, quiet moment where neither of them speaks.

Then—

“You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

His voice is quiet. Certain.

Beth doesn’t hesitate.

She shifts closer, presses her lips against his jaw, and breathes him in.

“Yeah, Harry.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips.

She watches it spread, watches the tension leave his body, watches the way he finally lets himself believe it.

“I am.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry, @mema10, @angelbabyyy99, @iloveharrystyles04, @cinemharry, @drwho06, @donutsandpalmtrees, @panini, @mads3502; @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa, @one-sweet-gubler, @rizosrizos26, @ciriceimpera, @everyscarisahealingplace, @hello-heyhi, @sexymfharriet, @lizsogolden, @hannah9921, @chicabonitasblog, @huhidontknowstuff, @berrywoods1245, @jennovaaa, @angeldavis777, @prettygurl-2009, @almostcontentcreator, @run-for-the-hills, @maudie-duan, @dipmeinhoneyh, @harrrrystylesslut, @georgiarose94, @stylestarkey, @watarmelon212, @ hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east

[jbird-the-manwich]

"pro-ai" people. I think you ought to unpack that a tad. I think their might be some assumptions in there doing an awful lot of heavy lifting that may not be all that valuable.

All of your examples require an internet connection, and for those services to be live on the web. Even templates, you either have to download them or the specialized software that runs them.

All of these require information access on remote servers, and they each require their own, individual process, and for those individual services to be maintained in a way that is free or affordable.

An llm is a generalist. that can do all of these, and a lot more things, in one installation, that can still be on your machine and run if your connection goes down. Should you take its medical advice? Probably not. Is error checking over? No. Is that still very handy to format an email when FormatAnEmail.com is down? uh. yeah.

The choice of whether or not to use AI should depend on the task and how good AI is at it and the other resources at your disposal.

this false "pro-ai" and "anti-ai" dichotomy is silly, and is predicated on an assumption that "AI" is always going to meet some criteria that is objectionable in all cases for all reasonable people that isn't true.

I see where this argument comes from, but the evils of "ai" are actually the evils of like 3 companies and I would argue its more useful as consumers to recall that, considering these companies are trying to sell it to you. But these evils aren't true because of the ai. They're true because of the companies trying to win an arms race.

"Ai is evil"

not even true of most llms or most llm research.

It applies with the most parity to the 2 or 3 models we see being advertised the most, and the companies attached in the public zeitgeist, but those models are fairly extreme outliers for their size, complexity, resource use, and the audacity of their holding companies. They don't really represent a representative sample of the qualities any LLM *must* have or will have. Most research in llms in the last several years has been about making them smaller and more resource efficient.

I would argue there is no useful "anti-ai" and "pro-ai" identity. There are consumers angry about specific models and generalizing those shortcomings to an entire paradigm of computing based on the first one or two things they've heard about "AI" and deciding they're all of the devil, and... people who didn't do that.

"Using ai" does not necessarilly mean chatgpt. We have language models that are open source. That are local. That are private. That do not put money directly in the hands of any company. One that's 260 something megabytes for the weights. a hundred or so million parameters in comparison to chatgpts estimated trillions. LLMs run all gamuts of size, resource use, "intelligence" and data provinance and once training is done the model itself is just basically a ROM image. There is very little you can say about the implementation of chatgpt that would apply to every llm, not now, not a year ago, and especially not moving forward.

It's a tool. Not a demon. And for things the tool is less good at, finetuning the tool is entirely possible and is accessible to anyone who can follow a basic python tutorial. we are not at the mercy of these companies or their doings to provide ourselves access to the tool nor are we necessarily culpable to any problem you can name in AI unless we specifically choose to be. And we can choose specifically not to be and still use AI by using more ethical ai models. Usage of an LLM does not preclude that foul play is being rewarded in some way with patronage to any specific dealer.

Deciding there's "Anti-AI" and "Pro-AI" is just pretend internet politics. It's two straw men jerking off while they hold eye contact to assert dominance. People who want to use AI in a more ethical way were already capable of doing that, for... literal years. and no one who's thinking very critically and is abreast of the options available is wearing either of those hats with their whole pussy because they just don't make any sense. You can't really hear "using ai" and be sure something that should be boycotted is happening. And I personally am not deciding to fight over how someone writes their grocery list. I literally just. could not be fucked to care about anything much less. "This nasty bitch wrote her grocery list with token generation" idgaf. I just... don't.

I think a lot of what pro-AI people are really wanting is stuff that already exists but they don't know it's out there like

can't format a work email? templates

don't know how to write a resume? templates

writing a thank you card or a condolences card or a wedding invitation? templates templates templates

not sure how to format your citations in MLA or whatever format? citationmachine.net

summary of something you're reading for school/work? cliffsnotes.com

recipe based on ingredients in your fridge? whatsintherefrigerator.com

there's a million more like, guys, we don't need AI, we never needed generative AI

[nightplvmes]

it'll be quick

sylus x fem!reader | nsfw, +18, MDNI!—explicit content, penetration, sex in public place | an : i don't know if I like this, any opinion is welcome... likes and reblogs are appreciated :)

"Sy..." She gasped feeling her breasts press against the wall in front of her. Her breathing was already heavy and it hadn't been more than a couple of minutes.

"It'll be quick," he murmured, kissing her cheek. She didn't stop there, too many things were going through her head at once. The place where they were. The bathroom door. Sylus' hands sliding under her dress to push aside her underwear.

"Someone can see us," she gasped again but she didn't even make an attempt to get away or stop from him, she didn't want to stop, she needed him as much as he did. Sylus placed a kiss on her bare shoulder and smiled. It was an auction or a fundraiser... or a fundraising auction, she wasn't sure yet. Sylus had been teasing her all night and she had barely paid attention to her surroundings. She didn't even want to be there, neither did he, he had mentioned how those events were nothing more than a farce but he needed people to see him.

And now there they were, in an empty bathroom (maybe), her boyfriend's hands on her and she was sure what would happen next. "Spread your legs." She complied and felt another kiss on her cheek. Someone could come in at any moment and see them like that, what would they do if that happened? Just die of embarrassment. "So pretty... embarrassed and needy." One of his arms went around her waist, pulling her close to him, and his other hand slid down to hold one of her thighs.

"We shouldn't do this," she repeated letting her head fall back, allowing Sylus access to her neck—sucking with the intention of leaving a visible mark.

"No, we shouldn't," he replied holding her tightly before sliding inside her. "So tight around me." He left a peak on her lips and began to thrust into her, trying to be fast without hurting her.

She moaned, holding on tightly to the wall in front of her. She had discovered two things about Sylus: He could be slow and gentle, careful as he whispered sweet things in her ear. But he could also be fast, he could be slightly rough without hurting her or making her uncomfortable. "Sy–ah..." She wanted to say something, the words were in her throat but she just wanted to moan and writhe in his arms. "Fuck, that's... so good."

"Shh" He gently cupped her jaw, causing her to turn her face towards him. "Someone can come in, remember?" She nodded, feeling dizzy from the pleasure. Her mind couldn't focus on anything else but her boyfriend's arms around her and the way he was thrusting into her.

Fast.

Slow.

Hard.

Then fast again.

"Oh god... Sylus-" She placed her hand against the wall and he took it to intertwine their fingers.

"I know." He nodded without letting her finish. He could feel it, the way she tightened around him. His hand dropped from her thigh but holding her waist tightly, his free hand sliding between her folds to her sensitive clit. She whimpered harder, bucking her hips against him. "So beautiful..." Sylus let out a growl and took her jaw again this time to kiss her in an attempt to silence her moans.

"Mmph!" She writhed in his arms, heat building in her body and it was only a matter of seconds before she finally came and felt her legs shake. Sylus stopped kissing her, held her hips tightly and thrust one last time inside her. His deep moans echoed in her ears as she felt her insides being filled. She held onto the wall again to avoid falling to the ground, it took her several moments to realize what they had just done... and where. "I couldn't believe we did this," she muttered after a few seconds, her breathing still heavy.

"I know." He smiled kissing her lips once more but this time it was a slower and softer kiss. He helped her adjust her clothes while leaving kisses on her cheek or forehead. She wasn't sure if anyone had seen or heard them, she hoped she hadn't been too loud.

Sylus held her in his arms to prevent her legs from collapsing. He helped her clean herself up, though not completely, as a reminder of what they had done. The rest of the night he didn't leave her side for a second, but that was normal. What was not usual was feeling the remains of his seed still inside her every time she had to move.

[thezerotry]

I think a big part comes to formatting

years ago, before Netflix n stuff, you had to wait for weekly releases, like 1 episode per week, 22 episodes per season, so things took a looot longer

and fans had much more time in between to process stuff, discuss and create fan content, and there where a lot less channels to watch stuff on, time slots were limited

now you have seasons that come every 2-4 years (if at all in some cases) and you can binge watch in a week or two, like, there's a reason Netflix only uses the first month as base for data comsuption, and there's a ton of series, movies or wtv coming out, you can access more stuff than ever before from all across the globe and it's never been easier

so yeah, no, there's over abundance, a lot of ppl don't give a crap about fandom stuff, cause they can jump to the next thing right fucking now

I feel like a lot of fandom content was generated to fill that vacuum between releases, now that it's not longer a need, some ppl just cross the bridge and get interested in something else, and hey, that's fine

and of course platforms like twt, ig, tiktok, help with that, you constantly see things trending, and hashtags, and reels and challenges and wtv the fuck else kids do these days, and media gets vastly affected for it

I'm not saying it's worse or better, just different, on one hand, yeah fandom spaces are fickle and have huge fluctuations, but I feel like the ppl who stay are the ones that would engage and create more content anyways

on the other, the sheer amount of stuff you can watch is amazing, like 15 years ago was a pain in the ass if you wanted to watch a, idk a Thai series, now you can just pressing a few buttons and that's beautiful

and hey, if you are worried about consuming media like fast food, then... don't, that's up to you, but you can't change how others engage with content, and if you wish for more fan content? well, that's up to you too, might be kinda lonely sometimes, but with enough digging any fandom can have a few deranged passionate fans

personally I think it’s a shame how fandoms “died” too soon these days. I’m not talking in literal sense and I know there are people who stay passionate about their fandoms long after the hype is gone. I’m talking about the “popularity” and how people in general engage with a piece of media they like and how fast they let the hype die down? I don’t know if I’m making any sense, but what I’m trying to say is a fanfic or a fan art of a show that is recently released will get tons of likes, comments, reblogs which is great. but the engagement for fan made content about that same show usually drops drastically — and I mean drastically — once the show is no longer “recent”. and I’m not even talking about when the show is several years old. because you can see the significant drop of engagement a fanfic or fan art about that show receives once the show is like a month old or two. it’s discouraging how most people tend to lose interest and stop engaging with fanfic / fan art once its source material is no longer “new and shiny”.

especially when writing fanfics and creating fan art take time. writers and artists often receive less engagement / appreciation for their works if they take “too long” to create and the source material is no longer “new and shiny” and so people move on to something else that’s new and shiny. it’s heartbreaking to see.

obviously this is in no way to manipulate or guilt trip people into engaging with anything. because yeah you can do whatever you want. this isn’t to force, manipulate or guilt trip anyone into liking or reblogging a fan work or anything. this is just me hoping people will one day take things slower and enjoy things they’re passionate about longer like how we used to in the past.

[swimming-karyss]

Sabo: loneliness, connection and affection

Trying to organise my thoughts on this matter hehe

I just thought that Sabo's relationship with loneliness and connection are very interesting, and not much people talk about how terribly lonely his childhood days were(even compared to Ace&Luffy).

Ace has been alienated from people from the beginning. Raised in the middle of the jungle, by bandits who never showed much affection, and who repeated the same hurtful words as others did. The state of loneliness is the norm for him. He has never known any other life. Naturally, he'd be protective of what little he has(Sabo) and reluctant to open up and accept new connections(Luffy).

As for Luffy, he has been left alone. Shanks left him after a year staying at Windmill village. Garp constantly took him out of his regular life only to leave him alone in the jungle. And he as well took him away from the village and Makino, after he ate his devil fruit. And while he didn't have [present] parents, he had been cared for. Luffy knows the difference between loneliness and companionship. Which is why he chased Ace's recognition so much.

Sabo's situation is more similar to Luffy's.

But do you ever think that Sabo loved his parents? That he wanted them to love him too? He wouldn't have drawn them if he didn't. He wouldn't be so disheartened at their dismissal if he hated them from the start. But his parents made their love conditional. Sabo had to earn their love and his happiness, while they ignored his pain and attempts to connect. 

And as you know this kind of relationship could leave a lasting impact on how one navigates their future relationships! But on that later😊

Now, Sabo ran away and that opened a whole other can of worms. He's a child, that for five years didn't have anyone to rely on. Of course, Ace was with him, but after he left for the day, Sabo was left completely alone. I mean, at least Ace had Dadan and occasionally Makino and Garp, they shared meals together, he could turn to them in case something happened and they provided him with company and a roof above his head. Sabo lived on the Gray Terminal by himself, in a place where people considered him either a troublemaker to avoid, or a pest to get rid of (those like pirates and bandits). So through Ace and Luffy Sabo gains not only brothers but also other connections and people who care about him! And he welcomes both Dadan and Makino with a bright smile :) Now that I think about it, just like Ace told him about Luffy, he also must've told Sabo about them too🥹

And while all this is nice, his previous problems didn't go away magically. 

(… But his issues aren't stated or shown as explicitly as Ace and Luffy's, so they are easier to dismiss.)

Even though Sabo trusted Ace with his life, he still kept his origins a secret from him, whether it was because he felt them insignificant compared to Ace's or because he feared abandonment in case Ace would be disappointed. And he was more than willing to keep his secret until the very end - Luffy&Ace literally had to beat(strangle) the truth out of him. Sabo also put distance between them in another way too: Ace thought the two of them would sail together, Sabo didn't.

That is honestly also a point to how controlling his parents were. Sabo wanted freedom so much that he didn't mind the loneliness that came with it. Well, he got what he wanted ;) 

Now it would be easy to say that his amnesia also erased his trauma. But it didn't! Sabo still felt hid parents' influence. (And unlike the other weird amnesia case (the sea sure likes to take people's memories huh) - Big Mom - he didn't revert to his younger self, he only lost access to his memories, his feelings and 'character development' remained). If anything it only led to Sabo not being able to identify the cause of his issues → not being able to treat them properly. Now, the RA seem like decent guys, they very well could be the needed support system for Sabo, but again, it's an army with a whole lot of other issues to deal with. So either way his trauma most likely was allowed to fester for a while as we see its consequences show in his adulthood. 

Even though Sabo seems to be doing well as an adult, there's still some signs of emotional distance. He has never reciprocated a hug, even though he doesn't have a problem with physical touch in general, he didn't even think about approaching Luffy in Dressrosa at first and was very tense when actually talking to him. And it's honestly fascinating just how stiff his body language was in Dressrosa (maybe I'll talk about it in general some other time) - be it shock or anger he keeps his arms to his body, unlike Koala or Hack, who choose violence.

He also showed barely any reaction during Vegapunk's speech despite the panelling focusing on him specifically. I'd say he mostly keeps his negative emotions in check, bc in Robin's little flashback he was quite expressive! The main counterpoint is 'special Luff' where he is very open about his anger, but he has a really decent reason for it: his feelings being made fun of. And as you'll see later it's a very sensitive topic for him →

To begin with, he avoids talking about things that have emotionally impacted him in any way.

1.This one might be a stretch, but he begins to talk about his encounter with Fujitora, only not to say anything in the end, idk what's wrong with him; 2. After a very emotional fight with Burgess Sabo dismisses any worries without even mentioning the fight; 3. He refuses to talk with Hack about Luffy, even though we know that he loves to yap about him to Dragon. And that is right after he didn't want to wake Luffy up to even say goodbye! He also changes the topic quickly so Karasu wouldn't be able to further question him.

Even though these scenes are played as gags, he really seems to have trouble with emotional intimacy and opening up about his feelings. And that makes him seem inattentive and irresponsible, thus affecting his relationships with others even more… 

And speaking of which, he is accustomed with either suppressing his feelings or at least just keeping them in check. He hides his worries from his colleagues, appearing as cheerful as always. And during his meeting with Dragon and Iva he brushes aside his guilt and grief for king Kobra (but, I mean it's a work meeting, they need to be professional) and never once he acknowledges his injuries.

And if he's willing to disregard such a thing as grief, how do you think he really feels about his new title, which was gained by the blood of a man he failed to save?

And frankly, right now we don't know much about Sabo! We know about his childhood, and the way he presents himself now(and that is some material to work with), but the 12 years in the Revolutionary Army are a mystery, and again it's an army, I bet he's seen many things, especially considering how high his position is!

tldr: like Luffy, Sabo has a special relationship with loneliness and abandonment. But unlike Luffy, who especially in pre-ts hated separation, Sabo pushes people away. And what makes it even harder for others to connect with him, is that he tends to hide his feelings and problems.

(like a cat)

but again, I might be reading something wrong, my bad

[ekingston]

Hi; I don't know if you're still following the word-stream stuff, but the app is back online on the app store as "booktok - books and podcasts". The reviews marking it as having AI scraped data are still on the page itself, even though the name has changed, and duckduckgo still directs to their page if you look up "word-stream audiobooks"-- although if I don't know how long that will last. The website is seemingly gone, but the app still presumably has access to all the stolen works in the database.

Best regards, -someone else whose fics were stolen

yup

word-stream is back

it just calls itself—in an obvious attempt to profit from the TikTok upheaval—BookTok, now. and it’s not just the app, either: the whole website is back online, same as it was just before Cliff Weitzman took it down.

(in case you missed it, here are the original story & the update.)

fortunately (so far) the fanfiction category hasn't been re-added, but if you go to the store page for the app you can see that it’s still using 'fan-created universes' as advertising.

Weitzman didn't register the app under his own name this time, but through something called 'Oak Prime Inc'. hilariously, however, the email address listed in BookTok's privacy policy still refers to word-stream.com, so if Cliff was trying to scrub the connection between Speechify and his BookTok app, he didn't do a very thorough job.

here's the thing (and i'm about to put this up in a separate, more easily digestible post): if you take a look at the terms & conditions of Cliff's other platform, Speechify, it claims a truly comprehensive license to use the works uploaded to that platform in any way Cliff sees fit, including publishing and monetizing it elsewhere. and i keep seeing posts on Reddit and Bluesky from both readers and writers, happily using the Speechify app to read fanfic, advanced reader copies and their own yet-to-be-published work to them.

this is a BAD IDEA. Cliff has already proven that he will take work authored by others without their permission and redistribute it wholesale if he thinks it might make him money.

Cliff is the financial beneficiary of both Speechify and word-stream/booktokapp. it seems pretty obvious to me that he's trying to claim, via Speechify's terms & conditions, that every work uploaded to Speechify is his to do with whatever he pleases, which naturally includes moving them to this other platform so he can charge people for two subscriptions instead of just the one.

thank you so much for keeping an eye on this, anon, and for reaching out!! like i said, another post will go up today about the above, but i'm going to ask you all to help ensure that my posts & my name aren't the only ones giving voice to this message. when i tried to approach people about this issue on social media, often the—completely justified!—response was 'why should I take your word for it?' and Wikipedia only allowed the mention of Weitzman's copyright infringement to remain on his page when 'The Endless Appetite for Fanfiction' was listed as a source.

it can't just be me. DON’T take my word for it. do your own research (i would love to be proven wrong about this!), talk to your friends, engage with posts on social media similar to the ones i mentioned above (those are just some examples, don’t pile on to the OPs!) and make sure people know what they're jeopardizing. help me protect authors from money-grubbing shitheads like this one.

[mogruith]

BG3 Photomode Tutorial #2: Scene Manipulation

I'm going to cover just the things that I use the most and how I find more scenes. There might be better processes out there with the new mod tools, but I will just share what works for me. There's more advanced topics covered by Moxi as well.

Above is an example of (without any mods except Script Extender):

Using Shadowheart's Act 1 wine-drinking cutscene with Minthara taking Shadowheart's role.

Playing it in Act 3

Playing it in a place that is not normally accessible

You will be able to pull out most scenes in the game, replace the actors, and understand how to troubleshoot common issues.

I'll share some general advice on how to make the most of these scenes - it's not an exact science (that I know of) but sometimes you get lucky and it works out.

Warning: This is going to be very finicky and you may not pick it up right away. And that's okay! You don't NEED this, but try to revisit it once in a while, because it opens up a LOT of opportunities. This will also still be useful once Patch 8 is out.

First, let me put the code before you that I used to create the above screenshot. This is code you can paste into Script Extender Debug Console. If you don't know what that is, click here.

Osi.QRY_StartDialogCustom_Fixed("CAMP_GoblinHuntCelebration_SD_ROM_NightWithShadowheart_924fb8e6-8622-bc02-43c8-77c80ddc1d3e", "S_GOB_DrowCommander_25721313-0c15-4935-8176-9f134385451b",Osi.DB_Avatars:Get(nil)[1][1], 1,1,-1,1)

This is a lot, but let me break it down again:

Green is the command used to play cutscenes along with some additional parameters. This will never change.

Red is the first parameter: the name and UUID (big string of numbers/letters) of Shadowheart's cutscene.

Note that this parameter is ALWAYS surrounded by quotation marks (").

Purple is the second parameter: name and UUID of Minthara's character model. It is the first actor in the list, which is Shadowheart's role in this instance.

Note that when you use a character model and string combination like this, it's ALWAYS surrounded by quotation marks (").

Blue is the third parameter: Tav's role. There's a couple methods for finding Tav, but this is what I use.

Note that [1][1] is the Lead Tav. If you have a 2nd player in a multiplayer session, they'll use [2][1]. Not sure what that would be with a third, but it's probably [3][1].

If you want to change the actors, you absolutely can. Tav's role can be played by a companion with a Tav in Shadowheart's role. I don't recommend having two companions in a cutscene (using name/UUID). But there's workarounds, such as transforming Tav to look like a companion.

What To Expect

There's certain side effects to replacing companions with other models. There are methods to resolve these issues, but I generally don't bother unless I am looking for something specific.

They will not voice the dialog lines, won't open their mouths to say the lines.

They will have expressions on their face that go along with those linse.

They will not have very little body language in some cases (biggest issue with this).

If you run the command in the same Act where the cutscene normally takes places, your characters will be teleported to that location and it will play out in that location with new actors you set up in the command.

If you run the command anywhere else, it will play ~generally~ in the area you played it - they may get teleported some distance away to start. This can be difficult to control but is sometimes worth it.

How to Maintain Voice and Body Language while Changing Appearance

Sometimes you may want to keep the body language from the original actor's cutscene because you want to keep a hand gesture and expression in the shot. But you want them to still look like Tav/another companion.

The short version is: You need to take the ORIGINAL actor of the role and make your Tav look like them before you play the cutscene. There's two commands you can plug in to the Script Extender Debug Console to make that happen. Let's say for the header image, I want Shadowheart to look like Minthara and maintain her body language while talking. First I need Shadowheart to take on Minthara's appearance so we're going to use a transformation command:

Osi.Transform("S_Player_ShadowHeart_3ed74f06-3c60-42dc-83f6-f034cb47c679", "S_GOB_DrowCommander_25721313-0c15-4935-8176-9f134385451b","884b16b1-e4e1-474a-8de4-fb1836491f01");

Breaking it down again:

Green is the command and the third/final parameter which dictates that we're going to transform a character using a certain kind of rule - something like the rules that define Disguise Self.

Pink is first parameter, which determines who will be transformed. In this case, Shadowheart will undergo the transformation.

Purple is the second parameter, which is what the transformation will look like. In this case, Shadowheart will be transformed to look like Minthara.

We also need her gear. You could just swap their inventories, but there's also a command for that, minus the dye information.

Osi.CopyCharacterEquipment("S_Player_ShadowHeart_3ed74f06-3c60-42dc-83f6-f034cb47c679", "S_GOB_DrowCommander_25721313-0c15-4935-8176-9f134385451b")

Similar deal here, but let's break it down once more:

Green is the command for copying character equipment.

Pink is the first parameter, which is the recipient of the equipment. Shadowheart will be the recipient of the equipment.

Purple is the second parameter, which is the source of the equipment. In this case, we're copying Minthara's equipment over to Shadowheart.

Once again, Dye isn't carried over, so you'll need to do that before playing the cutscene.

Note that once you've done this, you now need to play the cutscene with the original Companion that you've now made a doppleganger of Minthara:

Osi.QRY_StartDialogCustom_Fixed("CAMP_GoblinHuntCelebration_SD_ROM_NightWithShadowheart_924fb8e6-8622-bc02-43c8-77c80ddc1d3e", "S_Player_ShadowHeart_3ed74f06-3c60-42dc-83f6-f034cb47c679",Osi.DB_Avatars:Get(nil)[1][1], 1,1,-1,1)

Note that this is exactly the same as the first command in the post, except now Shadowheart replaces Minthara in the second parameter slot.

You now have Minthara speaking Shadowheart's lines and being fully expressive and gesturing as though she were Shadowheart herself.

This tutorial is already getting long, so I'll cut it off there. Next time I'll cover how you can find the names and IDs of cutscenes based on a bit of dialog from the scene you're looking for.

[st3f13ily]

The Offside Obsession

Summary: Soccer was everything to Sae Itoshi, his priority, his goal, but then you came in.

Yandere Sae Itoshi, His point of view

A request

Soccer was everything.

Since I was a kid, I never wasted time on pointless things. While others played around, I trained. While they slept, I worked. I had one goal, to be the best. Not just in Japan, not just in Spain.

The world.

I had no distractions. No weaknesses. No attachments.

And then you happened.

I didn’t notice you at first. You were just another person in the background, another face in a sea of people I didn’t care about. But then one day you talked to me.

It was nothing special. A simple exchange. A meaningless moment.

But something about you stuck.

I found myself thinking about you in the middle of a match, your voice echoing in my head as I passed the ball. I hated it. Soccer was my only priority. There was no room for unnecessary thoughts, no space for distractions.

So I ignored it. I ignored you.

But you never dissappear.

Both my thoughts and real life.

Everytime I look up, you were there. Your present became a constant, a quite pull you couldn't shake it off.

And the worst part?? I didn't want to.

This feeling is new.

At first, I convinced myself it was nothing. A minor curiosity.

But then I started noticing things about you. The way you laughed, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved, the way you were so close yet just out of reach.

I started listening, watching, memorising about you.

I was like an obsessed fan stalking their idol. Except, you aren't even a celebrity.

Though, it wasn't enough.

I needed to know more.

Who you talked to, where you went, what made you smile. It was easy. People were predictable, careless with their information. A few words, a little effort, and suddenly, I had access to your world.

But then, another feeling we're created.

I hated it when others were near you. It irritated me when you smiled at them the way you smiled at me. Did you even realize how reckless you were? Did you know how easy it would be for someone to take advantage of you?

Jealousy?

So I made sure certain people disappeared from your life. Some lost interest. Others transferred schools. A few had unfortunate accidents on the field. Nothing too serious, just enough to keep them away.

You are completely unaware that every step you took, every decision you made, led you straight to me.

I made sure you depended on me. I gave you enough freedom to think you had a choice.

You need help with something? I was the only one who could give it.

You were upset? I was the only one who could comfort you.

You were lost? I made sure I was the only one you could turn to.

Cause in the game of soccer, I play to win.

But in a game of you and me?

There's no referee. No rules. No escape.

Stayed tuned for my next Itoshi Sae x Reader. Fluff

Summary: Rin Itoshi was just a kid when he noticed his big brother's act of coldness went away every time you were near. Sae Itoshi was just a kid when he noticed his heart become warm whenever you talk to him. You were just a kid when you noticed two boys on the playground and it was your mission to annoy the one who never smile.

[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

The Void and Anti-Void, Science and Eldritch Reasoning

About a week ago, I was chatting with @sarcosticsarcomere about the Void and Anti-Void, and the potential science behind them as well as the mysticism of them, ie, something ostentatiously eldritch and Lovecraftian in nature. This is a ramble about it, and please feel free to add on! I'm gnawing at my enclosure trying to figure this out ;v; ESPECIALLY the Anti-Void good lord

Firstly, in terms of structure, the Voids and Anti-Voids overlap each other in a series of parallel dimensions where there are holes (think worm holes and other similar distortions in time) where Gasters or other beings trapped within could escape or travel between dimensions

If being trapped within the Anti-Void creates creatures like glitches and errors such as Geno and Blueberror and Error respectively, why can't the regular Void warp whatever material falls into it until they can't count as what they once were?

Both the Void and the Anti-Void exist as dimensions outside of reality, contradicting and breaking the rules each reality has previously enforced for itself and all that live in it.

But while the Void is an enclosed space open to anyone with the means to enter, the Anti-Void is an open space with limited access granted to very very few (This is why only Error could enter the place for a long while).

As far as I know, there is only one Anti-Void but there are multiple Voids, meaning there are more void walkers than errors out there. This is because the Anti-Void is connected to everything and nothing all at once, but each Void has its own timeline.

It's often considered that the Void is the absence of time and the Anti-Void is the absence of space, but there is nothing confirming that other than how its inhabitants felt from way too long in isolation.

Color and Geno watched time pass without them in their timelines, but Error and Blueberror had nothing of interest to explore in the Anti-Void, because there is nothing interesting in it. Both are complete absences of reality.

At least the Void hides things. The Anti-Void doesn't.

Because the Anti-Void is connected to nothing and everything at once, and each Void has its own timeline, Voids take up the majority of space (which the Anti-Void lacks) and the Anti-Void takes up the majority of Time.

Time being nebulous at best and circular at worst.

It's why Cross spent a decade in the Void and he and XChara suffered: trapped in the white Void of Xtale (not the Antivoid) because the AU paper still existed, and Cross was trapped inside of it.

[Note: IDK if Jakei ever confirmed exactly how long Cross was there but Im going to assume a decade bc of asthetics, what with Cross being the X-Event, Timeline X, X-Tale, all using the roman numeral X which is "ten." ]

Current HC but not entirely sure how plausible it is: Due to the destruction of Xtale and all the Code (space) of XTale removed, Cross accidentally created another Anti-Void. And since he wasn't alone the whole time (because of XChara, Ink, and because humans can't become errors), that's why he didn't become an error himself. He would've become an error if it weren't for Ink's company. XChara sharing a body with him and making XTale become another part of the Anti-Void had it be familiar to Cross's Code, but it is still now a part of the Void/Anti-Void. If Ink hadn't befriended and frequently spent time with Cross, it would have only delayed the inevitable and turned him into a glitch

Reason why: In the Underverse pilot, Cross glitches when Classic teleports through the voids, right? I think that since Cross got upset with Ink when he realized Ink couldn't bring back his AU, this is further proof that Cross would've become an error without Ink's company. And since Ink had left, Cross was starting to become a glitch (when he glitches now and then. Yes it's a way to denote the switch of XChara and Cross, but still, it's glitching) until he'd stolen part of Classic's Soul

XChara's soul may also be a reason why Cross had a longer defense against turning, because humans cannot become errors. However, because XChara's Soul was trapped in Cross's body, Cross was still turning, albeit at a slower rate than most. Unless XChara took total control of their body then he would be immune, but Cross would resist that and XChara doesn't have the complete strength to maintain that hold. Then Error took their soul and the glitching started immediately afterwards.

Cross's Anti-Void and Error's Anti-Void must've merged at some point, which is how Error found him and XChara. Maybe their pocket dimensions were separate at first, because Error can keep most other people from entering his territory, but Cross didn't even know what his Anti-Void was supposed to be in absence of XTale, and that's why Ink, Core!Frisk, Nightmare, and Dream could enter it freely: the pocket dimension gradually expanded into the overarching Anti-Void

Similar to how the universe is constantly expanding, with galaxies away from Earth faster the farther away they are, Voids are constantly expanding (how the multiverse continues to grow with each additional AU; same case with different multiverses and whatnot)

How that relates to the Anti-Void is that, to account for the exponential growth of Voids, the Anti-Void slowly expands. This expansion could be the absorption of abandoned or destroyed AUs, and it happens at all because all matter cannot be created or destroyed.

All that excess needs to go somewhere; it's the Void and Anti-Voids way of maintaining themselves. Anyway, the expansion includes the Anti-Void of Ink's abandoned -----tale AU to Error's, then whatever other AUs were abandoned and forgotten (like maybe GZTale? Flowerfell? Just off the top of my head, correlating the fandom and Creators with the multiverses) and now more recently, XTale's Au/Anti-Void.

The Void is supposed to contain each reality from blending into each other, not the other way around.

The Void is not just empty space. It's vast, boundless, and unknowable nothingness and all that is; an improbable paradox teeming with probability. It's the absence of life and time, the very concepts on which the fabric of reality itself hinges upon.

It Is and Is Not, constantly expanding, destroying and recreating, feeding and ending itself in a never ending cycle.

Encountering the Void strips away the comforting illusion that you have any importance, that your identity itself is lost in the unknowable seas of the cosmos. Lost in a vast, uncaring emptiness that stretches forever and continues to grow, you will drown for all eternity should you slip below its waves.

Anyone trapped in the Void or touched by it, would be subject to this sea of madness and drown. Take Epic and his Eye, for example.

The laws of physics and logic Gester desperately attempts to assign to the creation he'd made as an avatar to this Unknowable power will never be fully within his grasp because it was never meant to be Known. Trying to control the Void is like trying to eat a dream, or provide reason to pure Chaos.

The Void is Limbo animated: it is death and the end of existence. Not only the absence of life, but the very erasure of meaning. In the Void, one Truth is made Known: for all the hubris of man, never could they be what the Other is; and so, Everything will fade into oblivion.

To control or enforce rules of reality upon the Void is madness. Nothing is as it is and everything is nothing as it was. Trust nothing. Not what you see, not what you hear, not even what you think.

Any mind no matter how brilliant would fracture under the strain of contemplating the unthinkable. How Epic endured is a sheer testament to his will.

The Void is emptiness. And yet, the emptiness itself is not devoid of conscious. Somethings are there. Watching. Listening. Speaking.

What have you seen? What have you heard? What do you feel crawling up your spine and consuming, becoming, you and all that you are and will be?

Stare long enough into the abyss, and it will stare back

Epic's Eye and the Void *Because part of this whole equation is related to the Void, many unplanned results could happen because of that association and there is no monster magic or human science that can determine how something that exists just outside their range of logic can operate inside of it. *In this manner of speaking, Gester is playing recklessly with fire, and that fire will strip itself out of all who wish to contain, control, and manage it. **Gester may be intelligent and creative, but he lacks judgment and intuition, and as a result, his creation will become something beyond him. ***The chaos theory, antimatter, and dark energy all associated with the Void have a pattern of destruction inside reality, but outside of it they all find a semblance of peace and order, but Epic will suffer from that order. To sleep is to fight for his life in the Void, to encounter void walkers and phantoms whose own state of persons have been long since obliterated from their shells. They know something is missing and they wish to take it back, but the Eye is a protective measure as much as it is a malicious one.

*Chaos is “a state of utter confusion and disorder; a total lack of organization or order.” Chaos theory is defined as “a field of mathematics that includes other fields such as physics, economics, biology, and philosophy."

**Chaos theory studies the behavior of dynamical systems that are highly sensitive to initial conditions in what is now named "the butterfly effect", where everything exists in a cloud pf probability. Small differences in initial conditions yield widely diverging outcomes for chaotic systems, rendering long-term prediction impossible. This happens even though these systems are deterministic, meaning that their future behavior is fully determined by their initial conditions, with no random elements involved. ***This substantial change in the final result is not expected. It is also totally unpredictable. Thus, we say that there is chaos manifested in this example. ****Gester created the Eye in hopes of containing the Chaos of the Void in a controlled system: the Eye being the gateway, Epic the vessel, and the Void the source of power

Because if he succeeded, if you could control Chaos itself, then all of Reality and the Beyond would be in your grasp. But ofc Chaos cannot be controlled. Epic is changed from a simple monster to an avatar of Chaos. But he is not native born, and so the the Void via the Eye both punishes what it deems to be a hubristic intruder playing God, while also granting Epic the chance to become Other.

Cleaner agent in sleep, returning with chills of fresh death upon waking. He may not be native to the Void, but the Void now has a claim on his power, its own hybrid. Whose mana is permanently changed, his very essence the ineffable cold, leylines filled with the icy waves of a cosmos of madness.

The Eye, like the Void, operates outside of reality, so of course that would explain why Epic still gets LV despite only killing creations of the Eye itself and only in his dreams.

But why would the Eye despise Epic and not Gester himself? That’s the whole reason it attempts to destroy Epic in the first place as explained in Epictale's prequel comic No Pain No Gain. Because it's stuck with him. It does hate Gester too, but Gester isn't its prison.

And during the Epictale comic, Gester is awake and fighting the entire time after acquiring the Eye from Epic and later Packs's . (So we can’t confirm that Gester would suffer the same fate as Epic or not.)

Then with Packs, why would he not suffer from the Eye? Because Packs was never made to use his Eye, never made to open the gateway. (His Eye doesn’t even have blasters, as I recall from an official ask) So his Eye was never “awakened”.

Each Eye is connected to the Void, and the Void hates Rules. It's not against doors being placed, but cannot stand them being open at Reality's leisure.

[reading-stains]

Important to make clear. Meta has actively changed their policy into end-to-end encryption, so no one outside of the recipient and sender can access your texts messages. Which means that while the case (Aug. 2022) referenced above from Facebook is real, they changed their policy in 2023. This doesn’t mean that we should be any less aware about the companies that we use and their data collection, I just wanted to update the facts on the post.

Please make sure to double check information we find on all media platforms. I had originally reblogged before checking the info, but I got curious about the details and figured out that this is no longer applicable to the same degree.

Other info I think are important to highlight after I read up.

1. X does NOT make it easy to mass delete messages. Conversations are very likely stuck on the platform, whom we know does not respect data collection ethics. I would refrain from having any intimate or important conversations on the platform.

2. Meta, aka Facebook and Instagram (and technically WhatsApp but they’re not included in this policy), automatically uses your texts, posts, photos, and captions as a means to develop their AI models. You can turn this off. This article explains how.

3. Meta’s, particularly Instagram’s (I know right, you always hear Facebook as the bad one), third-party data sharing has been abhorrent. And it’s not so strange that the easiest articles to find are now a couple years old. Their policies haven’t radically changed - the news coverage on it has. Make sure to keep an eye out. I can’t list to you what their third-party policy is, because after fifteen minutes, I can’t find a clear list. This is not a new problem, the company likes to separate information into many smaller articles that are scattered across different terms and links.

4. TikTok has some very complicated policy descriptors. You do not need to be a user for your data to be collected, you just have to open a link. They collect data from private messaging. They may collect contact lists from your relationship with other apps (the private policy listing says the following: “if you choose to sign-up or log-in to the Platform using a third-party service such as such as Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or Google, or link your TikTok account to a third-party service.”) They do not a describe a requirement for you to agree to this collection from other parties.

5. TikTok may also use your user content to help identify you. According to their policy, they “may collect biometric identifiers and biometric information as defined under U.S. laws, such as faceprints and voiceprints, from your User Content.” In other words, they may track and collect information for things such as vocal and facial recognition.

I hope you learned something with me. Make sure to double check information when you find these things, and don’t be afraid to double check me! Let’s all just stay safe 💪

PSA: never discuss private affairs in your DMs, especially contraception and abortion. Social media moguls will absolutely sell you out to the government. There are already cases of people being charged based on evidence in their DMs.

[reptilian-rapscallian]

Right I usually only talk about the marauders but I need to talk about Dan and Phil for a second because the fan response to the livestream ticketing is ridiculous.

I'm going to quickly preface this by saying that yes, the hidden service charges were INSANE and unfair, but they've since stated that starting today they're going to do partial refunds and lower the prices so that they're balanced better. It's very clear that they didn't know about the service charges, and people suddenly trying to imply that it was a malicious decision are driving me up the wall.

Since that initial issue, people have taken it as an opportunity to not only be overly critical, but to just insult them???

Firstly, £12 as a starter price for a livestream ticket is reasonable. Literally every theatre livestream ticket I've ever seen has started at £16-£18 and gone up from there, so realistically this is a reasonable price!! Chances are they did their best to get it as low as they possibly could without losing money. Tours are fucking expensive, with most people who tour either making minimal money or breaking even (something not even that), and running under the assumption that they're absolutely LOADED when they've been very open about the fact that they've got a mortgage to pay is WILD. They need to make money to be able to make content!!

Also, the vast majority of their content is free. They have far more free and readily available content than most other influencers out there. People are acting like it's insane to briefly put the tour behind a paywall, like wad didn't get ads blocked STRAIGHT after it became free and readily available. Also, it's not just access to the tour that you're paying for? There's a preshow/'red carpet', and then an after-party q&a if you've opted for the £16 or any of the merch bundles. If you don't want to pay, the tour will STILL be available to you at some point, and I think it's wild to act like it's unfair that they need to make money? I'm sorry, but they need to be able to pay their bills.

One thing I feel like it's most important to acknowledge is that you're not being forced to buy it. People are acting like they were held at gunpoint and forced to check out with the service fees. If PayPal checked you out without showing you the service fees (which is a PayPal glitch, not an issue from Dan and Phil), then you can get a refund pretty easily. If not, you can email and chances are you'll get a refund (if you want the whole cost back and not just the service fees because those are getting automatically refunded). However, acting like you saw the service fees, had the money and checked out anyway, means that Dan and Phil forced you to do it is WILD. Dan making a joke with a fan about skipping work (in which they called their job one of the most important in the world) is NOT Dan forcing everybody to miss life events for the livestream and I'm so confused about why people are seeing it that way. You're not obligated to do anything, and being mad at Dan and Phil for releasing merch bundles at all after buying one is genuinely unfathomable to me as a thought process.

Also, acting like they're not taking it seriously enough when they're actively doing what people asked and resolving the issue is wild??? If they had released an overly professional "statement" you guys would have jumped to call them cold and uncaring. This was easily the best way they could have resolved the issue, and I'm genuinely so confused by everybody being so willing to insult Phil's response as if he didn't do EXACTLY what people wanted them to do??? Also being mad at them specifically for the merch not being available internationally (which is definitely an issue) is insane because they don't actually control the merch shipments??? Like why are they suddenly expected to change something that chances are they don't know how to change???

Suddenly jumping to insult them personally, or going out of your way to accuse them of being hyper-capitalists is uncalled for and just plain rude. It was this shit that kept me from taking part in the online communities pre-hiatus, and I'm genuinely really frustrated to see it coming back. Acting like they're the biggest depiction of capitalism is insane. Have you ever shopped at Amazon? Literally any major supermarket? Any name brand ever? They're bigger examples of submitting to a capitalist regime than Dan and Phil!! As much as we can all (rightfully) criticise our capitalist society, we all have to feed into it to survive because it's so deeply ingrained into our lives. They need to eat, they need to pay their bills, and they're doing their best to make it fun for their audience.

Yes, the hidden service fees were insane. Yes, the merch bundles not being available internationally is upsetting. However, they're literally doing everything in their power to fix it, and were clearly unaware of these things before the tickets went on sale.

There's a difference between rightfully pointing out issues and just insulting them personally and being really shit about them??? They haven't forced you to buy anything and they're resolving the issue. Calm tf down.

[takusan-no-ai]

“Even if the Stars Align”

PAIRING: Miyabi x Male Reader (Romantic) (Angst)

SUMMARY: (Y/N) and Miyabi fight against all odds to be together.

“And in other news, Miyabi of the Hoshimi family, void hunter of Section 6, was possibly seen with her lover? Anonymous sources captured photos of the young lady enjoying a coffee on Sixth Street with none other than (Y/N).” The news reporter moved aside, showcasing the exclusive photo in high definition.

“(Y/N) is future heir to the EC Pharmacy, a renowned medical center that has been a major contributor to lessening ether corruption. Said heir was recently abducted and considered a ‘priority asset’, to which Miss Hoshimi was tasked with rescuing him herself.”

A photo of the two standing close to each other was shown on screen.

“EC Pharmacy and the Hoshimi family have a strong relationship and history with each other, making it possible that the two heirs are potentially in a arranged endogamous marriage. During the date the couple was reportedly seen enjoying each others company, even getting within close proximity to take a picture together.”

The screen switches to showcasing (Y/N)’s father and Souichirou Hoshimi calming down the loud press and aggressive fans of Miyabi.

“Is there a hidden agenda behind this case? Are the two families involved planning something? Does the Hoshimi family want closer connections towards EC Pharmacy and is (Y/N) planning to take over the Hoshimi business along with his own? We’ll keep you updated as soon as we have more information.”

The tv screen turns off without a sound. But the slamming of a remote more than makes up for the uncomfortable silence. (Y/N)’s father looked at the blank screen, a scowl on his face.

“The nerve of those people! Always in other people’s business. It is things like this that make a partnership with the Hoshimi family so difficult.” He stomped back and forth whilst huffing here and there.

(Y/N) sat down on the large sofa, a strained smile on his face. “But you and Souichirou handled it, right? So it’ll be fine—”

“And you! It is that casual attitude of yours that gave the press and those obsessive ‘fans’ of Miss Hoshimi such leverage. You do not call him ‘Souichirou’; he is a business partner, so call him Mr Hoshimi.” He scolded his son. (Y/N) looked down, face scrunched up.

His father had a point. This wasn’t the first time (Y/N)’s eccentric ways had caused him some trouble. But even still, none of them compared to this scandal.

It wasn’t a particularly bad thing, his friendship with Miyabi. But the press knew how to spin a story. Twist it into a lie. Cause panic. The number one ether corruption clinic’s future heir becoming president of the Hoshimi company would cause an outrage amongst the high society.

Then there were the lower class who could only wonder if this would lead to a change in the way things worked. If they would have to suffer whatever possibilities happened in the future.

“…it’s so damn stupid.” (Y/N) mumbled under his breath. “Who gives a damn if we’re friends or lovers? Our businesses work together and everyone is happy but the second it can potentially become more than that it’s a problem?”

His father watched as his son complained through gritted teeth.

“And me? Being the owner of the Hoshimi family company? Ha! Mr. Hoshimi promised that to Miyabi regardless of who she married.”

“And that someone she marries certainly will not be you.” His father stared down at him, towering above (Y/N). “I do not need you further jeopardizing our relationship with the Hoshimi family. Until this is all taken cared of I forbid you from leaving and will be keeping you under stricter supervision.”

(Y/N) shot up with a panicked look. “What?! You can’t—”

“I can and I will. You are to be transported to our family villa. Guarded all hours. And limited access to the outside world. This is the only way to keep those nosy paparazzi from turning another narrative.”

(Y/N) stared at his father in astonishment, eyes wide open and mouth agape. He gripped his hands into tight fists, and with an annoyed huff, walked back to his room.

There he locked the door, opening a loose floorboard from under his bed, and pocketing his emergency phone; his other already having been confiscated. Only to be returned to him once it was “child proof”.

And like that he was taken away to his villa.

…

Some days had passed since then, and although the tension was lessened, it didn’t help to deter all the journalists. They would camp out around Section 6, just behind the fence; though some did try to climb over. All to try and get an exclusive interview with Miyabi.

There in the Section 6 office she was. Her ears drooped slightly. Her performance review came in, and it wasn’t any different from the previous days. That is to say that it was just as bad as before. She didn’t care for the drama going on; her father even allowing her to continue seeing him as she pleased.

The problem is that he hadn’t come to see her once. And just the thought of that had her, surprisingly to even herself, enraged. Here she was failing to do her job all because she couldn’t get her mind off of him. She wanted to train so badly. But even that was becoming difficult.

The little texts he would send her here and there weren’t cutting it. Miyabi had never felt this way before. An unspoken yearning that she wanted for nothing more than to simply go away.

Yanagi, Soukaku, and Harumasa stared at their chief as she fiddled with her scrolls.

“Is Miyabi going to be okay?” Soukaku asked.

“Maybe chief just needs a break to cool her head?” Harumasa chimed in.

“No, Asaba. What she needs is a push.” Yanagi said.

“Eh? What do you mean sis?”

“What I mean is that we should encourage her to get what she wants: (Y/N).”

Harumasa nodded. “Yeah, chief isn’t just lovesick. She’s super dense. Being indirect isn’t going to work well.”

Soukaku gasped. “Harumasamasa! Careful, Miss Miyabi might hear you!”

“You’re being even louder, Soukaku. But you’re right.” Yanagi chided them both.

“I’m dense?” Miyabi questioned the trio, having suddenly appeared behind them. They jumped in surprise, Harumasa already raising his hands in a prayer.

“Please don’t be mad, chief! But we really are worried about you.” He said.

“I’m lovesick? What does that mean, Yanagi?”

Miyabi looked towards her with a downcast expression, yet her eyes glowed like the stars. Eager to find her answer.

“It means…that you desperately want to see the person you love. And that not being near them will cause great distress. That is your predicament, Miyabi.”

She looked down at her phone. Staring at the last text (Y/N) had sent her. He was staying in his villa, as he was ordered to by his father. Miyabi thought back to their meet up, and even their first encounter.

She had grown attached to him in such a short period of time. Something about his personality drew her in. And his fun nature. And his good looks—

Yeah, her blushing face reflected on her blackened screen made it all the more clear to her. Truly, this was the hardest training she had ever undergone; she was in love. And Miyabi refused to let it end like this.

“I’m leaving early today, Yanagi.” Miyabi stated while already leaving the office in a quick stride.

Yanagi giggled. “Ha. It seems our chief is growing more and more.”

…

“Sir, our sources report that Miss Hoshimi was seen close in the vicinity of the villa.” A guard reported to (Y/N)’s father. The man was just filling through paper work, and with an exasperated sigh, motioned for the guard to bring him his phone.

Just as he was dialing the number of his son, Souichirou’s call came through. Confused, he answered. “Yes, Mr Hoshimi?”

“Ha, you old man, enough with the formalities. We’re practically family.” Souichirou jested over the call. He quickly cleared his throat. “But enough pleasantries. Miyabi already informed me that she intends to see (Y/N). And I ask you, not as a business partner, but as a friend, to let her.”

(Y/N)’s father was silenced in shock. “But…if they do fall in love—”

“I’m afraid there’s no ‘if’ anymore dear friend.”

“The press will hound them. They will never have a moment of peace until the public grows tired of this meager propaganda.”

“And that’s where we adults come in. They’ll be fine. I can’t say you were any different from your son either. I still remember the day when your parents forbade you from seeing Donna; then you sneaked off and serenaded—”

“Alright! Alright!” He started to cough in his hand, blushing in embarrassment. “Fine. They need to grow up eventually. And protecting them from something as basic as a scandal will just hinder them.”

“Haha! I knew you would eventually let up you fossil.” Souichirou teased him more.

“Oh, so somebody is all young now? Then surely you are young enough to come over for a drink. And you will drink the alcohol.”

And like that, nothing stood in Miyabi’s way to (Y/N).

…

She finally made it there. Miyabi looked outside of the front door, ready to see (Y/N) again. Her heart started pounding loudly. And a small smile formed on her face. However her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of frustrated grunts.

Miyabi walked off to the side of the villa, and there she saw him.

(Y/N).

Climbing down his villa.

Not at all stealthily.

“(Y/N)?” She called out to him. He turned around, believing his ears were deceiving him.

“Miyabi?! What are you—ah!” He lost his grip and fell from the balcony.

Miyabi quickly dove forward and caught him in midair. Landing down seamlessly with (Y/N) in her arms in a cradle carry. “Thanks…and sorry.” (Y/N) said to her, a larger than life smile on his face.

Miyabi grimaced despite sharing a smile as well. “You’re…too…,” and with a tumble they both fell down. Laughing and smiling all the while.

Miyabi and (Y/N) gazed into each other’s eyes.

“Miyabi.”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, (Y/N).”

…

“Miyabi?”

“Yes?” She answered with a sigh.

“Even if the stars align to keep us apart, I’ll always love you. And I’ll always find my way to you.”

And with that, they kissed.

- Fin

[thealexchen]

Why Dontnod's games feel original and inspired (and why Deck Nine's games don't)

So, I've talked at length about how Double Exposure feels much more like a corporate product than a playable piece of art entertainment [My initial thoughts on the DE trailer] [My thoughts on the early access paywall] [My thoughts on the weird marketing].

But now with the release of Lost Records, I feel like I have no choice but to confront the question: were any of Deck Nine's games truly original or inspired in any way? And honestly, I have to say no.

Objectively, I could say it's because Deck Nine literally has not produced any original IP's since their rebrand from Idol Minds in 2017. Their only narrative adventure games are all part of the LiS franchise. But even their most original game, True Colors, pretty obviously follows the first game's narrative formula (young woman with a superpower investigates a sudden disappearance/death in a small town with a dark secret, has two opposite sex love interests, learns about a twist villain, is nearly murdered, and goes through a psychological nightmare in the last episode) to a tee. But oh look, there's also a LARP!

But I believe there's more to it than that, because when I look at Dontnod's games, they are always inspired by other works. Life is Strange 1 plays very clear homage to Twin Peaks with the Pacific Northwest setting and Rachel Amber resembling Laura Palmer. Max Caulfield is named after the protagonist of The Catcher in the Rye, another novel about the fleeting innocence of childhood and superficiality of society. Life is Strange borrows tropes from Donnie Darko, Groundhog Day, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, Stand By Me, and even Blue is The Warmest Color for its themes and plot points. Just take a look at its "Shout-out" page on TV Tropes. And the result is... something completely original, with riveting plot twists, memorable characters, and an ending that will make you cry.

This shouldn't make sense, right? You'd think this big soup of references would turn into an indistinguishable mess of cliches, but Life is Strange managed to be a synthesis of everything the writers loved and were inspired by, to become something completely new. Why? Because nobody had tried to take Twin Peaks, Donnie Darko, and The Catcher in the Rye and turn it into a video game before! And make it gay!

The point being, Dontnod consistently makes original material because they take creative risks. This is definitely not done lightly, since they still need to be a company that generates profit, but they still prioritize making art over selling out. Their stories feel inspired because they are inspired; when writers love what they're writing about, the result is a passion project that has loving, clever nods to all the works that are woven into it.

So perhaps a way to reword that first question is to then ask, "Have Deck Nine's games ever been inspired by anything?" And unfortunately, the answer is still no. Instead, they just copy what they hope will sell well. And a bland imitation for the sake of generating profit is never going to produce anything that feels original.

This takes me back to Lost Records, which is also clearly inspired by the same works: Twin Peaks, It: Chapter One, The Craft, The Blair Witch Project, The Goonies, Stand By Me. But again, no other game studio besides Dontnod has ever looked at these works and thought, "But what if it starred teenage lesbians instead?" Or, more specifically: "How do we capture the spirit of what made these media great and incorporate that into a new story for a new audience?" And those characters have so much thought and care poured into them too: while I've been disappointed that Double Exposure Max looks airbrushed to hell and back, I love that the Bloom & Rage girls have asymmetrical faces, acne, freckles, body hair, skin discoloration, and diverse body types. Double Exposure is marketed as nostalgia bait for fans, where Max is reduced to a prettied-up, polished-up, representation of nostalgia, not even her own character anymore, in a game that otherwise has no connection to the original. Her quips are reduced to "Hey! Remember our good ol', dad-joke cracking, dorky Max Caulfield??" and her grief is shoved aside for "Hey, look at that appealing new love interest! Because we knoooow y'all love your sapphic romance, right?"

By contrast, Lost Records has only been out for 10 days, but I already feel like the girls are some of the most memorable characters I've come across in gaming for the niche they fill. Swann seems like your typical Max-like dork, except she's also a movie buff and giddy about bugs, horror, and the paranormal; and has clearly been affected by her mother's fatphobic beliefs. Autumn is a level-headed leader who always stuck to her desire to help others, and her Blackness naturally informs her desire to feel valued and not cause trouble in a small, very white, conservative town. Nora intrigues me so much for going from a fun-loving rebel punk teen to a more gender-conforming, capitalist-leaning, influencer businesswoman. And Kat feels like an evolution of Chloe's cynicism, where her scrappy charm belies an almost unsettling obsession with the occult and a deep, tragic chasm of rage at having to confront her mortality far too young. They make sense. They feel carefully written, genuine, and like real people.

But most of all, Dontnod's games have never felt like products. In fact, most of their characters have historically gone against the grain of what traditionally "marketable" characters are. The first LiS took all these aforementioned stories about straight white men and chose to remix and retell it through the eyes of a young, queer, time-traveling girl instead. Tell Me Why is the first AAA game with a trans protagonist, and Tyler is voiced by a trans actor in all the language dubs. Lost Records decided that it would tell its story through four queer teenage girls, with women writers onboard, and fucking own it. As long as Dontnod keeps making games that stick to their creative integrity, I'll keep respecting their vision in whatever they decide to create next. Also, maybe I should finally watch Twin Peaks.

Thank you for reading!