#where you're like 'wow. that's a lot to get across in two lines.'

[sirensslament]

UNREQUITED yeon sieun x reader

summary!: You’ve had a quiet crush on Yeon Sieun for what feels like forever, obvious to everyone, even him. Despite your popularity and his usual indifference, something shifts one ordinary school day. When bullies cross a line, and you're the one to defend him, your world and his unexpectedly collide. A late-night tutoring session turns into something much more, something neither of you can quite put into words.

Pairing: oblivious!sieun x pining!femalereader

Trope: academic rivals (ish), to reluctant crush

Genre: fluff, slice of life, school life, romance

Note: i needed to write something for sieun, he's been invading my mind. also, i feel the need to write something for suho and beomseok. yes even beomseok.

Word count: 4k

warnings !: none!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The fluorescent lights above buzz faintly, casting a soft white glow over the rows of students slouched at their desks. Outside the classroom windows, the sky is clear, just blue and clouds and the occasional rustle of wind. It’s one of those rare calm mornings, the kind where everything feels still, yet full of potential.

Your pen glides across the page with practiced rhythm, highlighting a line of notes in pink. You’re not really studying, you already read this chapter, twice even, but it’s something to do while waiting for the teacher.

Around you, the usual murmur of chaos unfolds: chairs scraping, laughter bubbling from random groups, the distant thump of someone playing music too loud through their earphones.

Suho is, unsurprisingly, dead asleep at his desk beside you. Face smooshed against his pink arm pilllow, hair a wild mess, mouth slightly open.

You narrow your eyes at him.

He’s been like that since first bell.

You reach down, grab a rubber ball from your pencil case, and flick it at his forehead.

Thunk.

He jerks up with a strangled grunt. “What the hell—?!”

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” you say sweetly, flipping your pen between your fingers. “Drooled a little, by the way.”

He wipes his cheek and glares at you. “I was in the middle of a dream.”

“Yeah? Dreaming about being a normal functioning student for once?”

He flips you off without looking. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you bicker like this every morning, a rhythm so natural it’s practically a warm-up for your brain. You’re close with Suho, not in a romantic way (which is something you two used to get mistaken for), but the kind of close that only comes from years of mutual trust, shared secrets, and stupid arguements.

You nudge him with your elbow. “You snored.”

“Liar.”

“Ask the class.”

“Ask your mom.”

You gasp. “Wow. You’re bold for someone who failed last month’s exam.”

“Bold for someone who’s still pining over Mr. Calculator up there,” he mutters.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He jerks his chin toward the front row.

Yeon Sieun sits in his usual spot, upright and pristine. His desk is spotless, not a single pen out of line. He reads from a thick textbook like the rest of the room doesn’t exist.

You try not to look.

You fail.

His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, just enough to soften the sharpness of his features. There’s something annoyingly elegant about him, even when he does nothing but sit and read.

“I’m not pining,” you say, a little too fast.

Suho smirks. “You literally sighed when you looked at him yesterday.”

“I was yawning.”

“You whispered ‘he’s so mysterious’ under your breath.”

“You have no proof.”

“I recorded it.”

You smack his arm. He snickers and slouches deeper into his chair.

The truth is: yeah, okay. You might be a little into Sieun.

Okay, a lot.

It’s not just the looks (though the looks are a problem). It’s the way he moves, like he’s too precise for this world. The way he’s smarter than every teacher but never brags. The way he somehow makes silence feel heavier than shouting.

But also? The way he doesn’t give a single shit about you.

It’s maddening.

He’s the only guy who’s never flirted, never smiled, never acknowledged your existence beyond the occasional polite nod. And for some reason? That makes you like him even more.

You sigh, quietly this time, and go back to pretending to study.

That’s when you hear it.

The slap of sneakers against the floor. The loud, lazy laughter of guys who think volume equals confidence.

Yeongbin and Jeongchan swagger into the classroom like they own it, already bumping into chairs and shouting inside jokes no one else fucking cares about.

“Here comes the circus,” Suho mutters under his breath.

You glance up just in time to see Jeongchan knock over someone’s water bottle with a flick of his foot. No apology. Of course not. He's the same guy who made a poor student record himself dancing to some k-pop song, the same guy who forced another student to eat their own shoe.

You tense. Watchful.

They don’t usually mess with Sieun. Not because they respect him, but because they’re scared of you.

Everyone knows. Everyone knows you’ve got it bad for him. Even the bullies. Especially the bullies. And up ‘til now, they’ve been smart enough to steer clear.

But something’s different today.

Yeongbin tosses a paper ball.

It lands right on Sieun’s desk.

You sit up straighter.

Sieun looks up. His movements are slow, deliberate. The kind of calm that feels dangerous. He doesn’t speak, just stares, those beautiful, dark eyes of his staring into yeongbin.

Yeongbin grins. “What, you got something to say?”

The class quiets.

You can feel it coming. That shift. That storm in the air.

Before Sieun can respond, you do.

You shove your chair back and stand, voice sharp.

“Hey!” The word cracks like a whip. “Why don’t you fuck off for once, huh? Or are you so bored you have to pick fights with someone ten times smarter than your dumbass?”

The entire class goes “Ooooohhhhhh—” like it’s a playground fight.

Yeongbin opens his mouth, but you stand up and walk past your desk.

“Say one more word and I’ll rearrange your face.”

He snorts. “Damn. Sieun’s bitch is barking now?”

You take the blow and smile sweetly. “I bite.”

The door slides open.

The teacher walks in.

Everyone snaps back into their seats.

But the air doesn’t go back to normal, not really.

You glance at Sieun.

He’s already turned back to his book, like nothing happened.

But you swear,

Just for a second,

His eyes flicked to you.

The classroom settles into something like silence, not the peaceful kind, but the awkward, tight-lipped kind that hangs in the air after something just barely avoided becoming a scene. You slide back into your seat, heart still beating a little fast from earlier. You’re not usually one to shout in class, but Yeongbin and his idiot minions had it coming.

Beside you, Suho lets out a low whistle, eyes wide. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

You huff, flick your pen at him again. “Should’ve been on that note weeks ago.”

He chuckles, stretching his arms behind his head with the casual smugness of someone who has no idea what’s about to hit him. “You’re so protective of him,” he says, nodding subtly toward the front.

You glance up, instinctively. Sieun’s still reading, his posture perfect, back straight, fingers curled neatly around a black pen. He hasn’t even looked back at you. Not once. No gratitude, no reaction, not even a single twitch of acknowledgement.

Your lips twist into something between a pout and a sigh.

Suho watches you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Unrequited love is crazy.”

“I will break your nose.”

“You can try.”

Before you can retaliate, the teacher’s voice cuts through the room.

“Alright, everyone, settle down. Time to return your exams.”

A groan ripples through the class. People shift nervously in their seats, the bravado from a few minutes ago immediately melting into dread. Even Suho straightens a little, lips pressing together in quiet fear.

You swallow.

Right.

The exam.

You did study. Kind of. You had good intentions. But between school drama, watching late-night films, and… okay, maybe you spent too much time scrolling through study playlists and not enough actually studying.

Still. You’re usually solid. You’ll be fine.

The teacher begins handing out the papers, row by row, her voice a low mutter as she comments on the scores.

“Kim Haejo, 83… Not bad, but you rushed the last page.”

“Lee Da-in, 71. Need to revise the essay format.”

Then she reaches the front.

You catch it before it’s even announced, just a flicker of movement as the teacher places the paper down in front of Sieun.

A full page. Crisp red ink.

A perfect score. 100.

Your stomach twists.

Of course.

Of course he did.

He doesn’t react. Doesn’t smirk or even blink. He just takes the paper, places it neatly on the corner of his desk, and moves on like it’s no big deal. Like being flawless is just routine.

You look away quickly, biting the inside of your cheek.

Jealousy isn’t quite the right word. It’s more like… admiration mixed with frustration. You don’t want to be him, but you want to be near him. Want him to see you. Acknowledge you. Just once.

The teacher finally reaches your row.

You brace yourself.

And then,

“y/n. 61.”

…

You blink.

Sixty-what?

You take the paper with frozen fingers, eyes scanning the red marks. You did… that badly?

Suho leans over, peering at your score. His face splits into a grin so wide, you want to smack it off. “Ohhhh, damn. That’s tragic.”

You jab your elbow into his ribs. “Don’t speak to me.”

“Sixty-one? From the girl who color-codes her notes?”

“At least I didn’t fail,” you shoot back, flipping over his paper.

32.

You stare at it. Then stare at him.

He looks smug.

You burst out laughing.

“I knew you were stupid,” you manage between wheezes. “But this is a new record.”

He throws a pencil at you. “Betrayal in my own home.”

“This isn’t your home. This is a battlefield and you just died.” You stick your tongue up at him and throw up the middle finger just as the teacher turns around.

No one pays attention when you two go back to your silly banter, hitting each other with the now rolled up exam paper.

And you don’t see it, not right away, but he does glance.

Sieun.

A brief, subtle glance over his shoulder. No emotion, no expression. Just a quick flick of his eyes in your direction, as if cataloguing your laughter, the way your shoulders shake, the brightness of your grin.

Then he turns back around.

Not a word. Not a sound.

Just that single glance.

And for some reason?

Your heart skips.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The school bell rings with its usual shrill tone, sharp and final. The moment it does, chairs scrape against the floor and chatter explodes through the classroom like a shaken soda can. Students flood the hallway in clusters, some rushing for cram school, others heading to convenience stores or the bus stop. You take your time packing up, partly because you’re still mourning your exam score, partly because your stomach is doing backflips over what you’re about to do.

Suho’s long gone, he practically sprinted out as soon as the final bell rang, muttering something about street food and a nap.

Coward.

You, on the other hand, have a plan.

Well… "plan" might be generous. It’s more like a vague, impulsive idea wrapped in the thin tissue paper of hope.

You zip up your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way out of class, your heart thudding just a little too hard.

You spot him a few meters ahead. Sieun. Walking alone, as always, head slightly bowed, backpack hanging neat and square on his shoulders. The hallway crowds shift and part around him like he’s not even there, like his existence doesn’t need space or sound. He moves like he’s got somewhere to be, even if it’s just home.

You follow.

Casually, of course.

Not like a creep.

You keep a few steps behind, pretending to scroll through your phone, eyes flicking up now and then to track his outline as he exits through the school gates.

The sun’s dipped low now, casting everything in that soft, honey-colored light that makes even cracked pavement look cinematic. Spring’s in the air, cool, but not cold, the breeze gentle against your skin. The sounds of traffic and distant conversations float through the open air.

He walks in a straight line, deliberate and quiet, like everything he does. There’s a certain rhythm to his movements, shoulders squared, steps even, gaze fixed ahead. You don’t think he’s noticed you.

Until he suddenly stops.

You freeze, nearly tripping over your own feet.

He turns around, slowly.

Your heart lurches into your throat.

You quickly look to the side, pretending to admire a particularly interesting patch of sidewalk cracks. Casual. Totally natural. Nothing weird here.

His gaze lingers for a second longer than it needs to, blank, unreadable.

Then, just like that, he turns back and continues walking.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Okay. That could’ve gone worse.

You pick up your pace just a bit. It’s not far now, you know he usually takes this route down past the old bookstore, then cuts across the quieter residential area. You’ve seen him do it before. Not that you were watching on purpose. That one time was purely coincidence. Probably.

After another few seconds, you decide to just do it. No more stalling.

You break into a few quick steps until you’re walking beside him, not too close, not too far. Just enough to feel the difference in your breathing. Just enough to hear the slight swish of his backpack straps when he walks.

He slows down a fraction. Looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

You stop right in front of him.

He stops too.

The breeze rustles your hair, brushing it into your face. You tuck it behind your ear, suddenly very aware of how loud your heartbeat is.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just stares.

His face is neutral. Impassive. A little tired around the eyes.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, fingers tightening around the straps of your bag. You clear your throat.

“Um.”

Still nothing.

You press on. “So… I kinda sucked on the exam.”

Silence.

You glance up at him. He blinks. Slowly.

“I mean, I usually do okay, but this time I just…” You trail off, swallowing. “Anyway. I was wondering if...maybe, you could, I don’t know. Help me study? A little?”

He stares.

You smile, trying not to let it wobble. “I’m not asking for, like, full-time tutoring or anything. Just… a couple sessions. One? One session? A single hour of your genius brain?”

Still no response.

You shift your bag again. “I’ll pay you,” you add quickly. “With snacks. Or drinks. Or loyalty. Whatever currency you prefer.”

He blinks again.

Finally, after what feels like a century, he speaks. “…Why me?” His deep voice almost sends you into a coma.

You blink. “Why… you?”

He nods once. “You have other friends. Why me?”

You exhale a soft laugh, surprised. “Well, yeah, I do. But none of them got a hundred on the exam. You’re kind of the smartest person I know.”

He looks like he wants to deny it, but doesn’t.

Instead, he says, “You don’t even like me.”

Your brows shoot up. “Wait, what? Who told you that?”

He tilts his head, voice low. “Isn’t that what people like Suho always say? That you ‘pine’ for me?” His tone is unreadable. Not mocking, exactly. Just… dry.

Damn Suho, always getting in your way regardless of his presence.

You flush instantly. “That’s not--I don’t--okay, first of all, Suho’s an idiot.”

“Mm.”

“And second of all--” You pause. “Wait. You actually knew about that?”

He shrugs. “Everyone does.”

You stare at him, mortified. “That’s so embarrassing.”

He says nothing.

“Like, deeply, deeply embarrassing.”

Still nothing.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay, fine, yes. I have a crush on you. Had. Had a crush. Past tense. Ancient history. Practically prehistoric.”

“…Right.”

You squint at him. “Are you mocking me?”

He shrugs again.

You exhale, deflating slightly. “Look. Can we just skip the awkward and go straight to the part where you say yes?”

He looks at you for a long moment.

Then, softly, almost too quiet to hear, he says, “Fine.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

He nods.

“Just like that?”

“…Don’t make me regret it.”

You grin. “Never.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The library is tucked into the corner of an older street, nestled between a stationery shop and a run-down tea house that’s been closed for as long as you can remember. The sign is a little faded, the glass door sticks when you pull it open, and the smell inside is a mix of paper, dust, and old wood polish. It’s not the kind of place most students bother with, too quiet, too slow, too analog in a world of glowing screens and digital flashcards.

But for some reason, it feels just right.

He holds the door open for you, wordless as ever. You step inside with a murmur of thanks, trying not to show how fast your heart is beating.

The place is nearly empty, just one older woman sitting at a table near the window, a stack of romance novels beside her, and a student asleep over his textbook in the far corner. The air is still, padded and soft, every sound muffled by the thick carpet and the shelves rising around you like wooden sentinels.

Sieun leads the way, moving with his usual precision. Not too fast, not too slow. Just a steady, even pace that seems immune to nerves or second-guessing. You wonder what that’s like.

You follow him to a back table, one of the smaller ones, pressed against a wall of korean history texts and outdated encyclopedias. The light overhead is warm, casting a soft halo on the table’s scratched surface.

You take a seat, pulling out your notebook. He sits opposite you, already unpacking a textbook and a pencil case so neat and minimal it could’ve come straight out of a study vlog.

You try to act casual, flipping open your notes. “So… where do we start?”

He glances up, then reaches for your exam paper, the one you reluctantly brought with you in your bag.

“Your structure’s fine,” he says, scanning it. “You lose points on clarity. You rush your conclusions. You don’t support your arguments.”

You blink. “Wow, okay. Go easy on me.”

“I am.”

You squint. “That was you being gentle?”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching, just a fraction. If you weren’t looking so closely, you might’ve missed it.

You grin to yourself. Progress.

He flips the exam to a specific paragraph and pushes it toward you. “Rewrite this. Just the ending.”

You oblige, biting your pen and focusing on the sentence. But your eyes keep drifting, over the paper, to his hands. Long fingers, pale knuckles, one thumbnail slightly chipped. His handwriting is ridiculously clean. You watch the way he taps his pencil against the page, once, twice, and then stops when you look up again.

“Are you going to do it,” he asks without looking up, “or are you going to keep staring at me like that?”

You freeze.

“…Huh?”

“You’ve been sighing every five minutes,” he says, voice flat but not unkind. “And leaning on your palm like we’re filming a drama.”

You jolt upright, yanking your hand away from your cheek. “Oh my god.”

His eyes flick up to you now. His expression is unreadable, but you swear his ears are a little red.

You sink slightly into your seat. “I wasn’t sighing that much.”

He doesn’t reply.

“…Okay, maybe I was. But I wasn’t daydreaming. I was just, resting my face.”

He looks back down at your exam. “Whatever you say.”

You groan, slumping back in your chair. “You’re so mean.”

“You asked me to help you.”

“I didn’t think tutoring came with constructive criticism.”

Another twitch of his mouth. That almost-smile again.

You let yourself smile too, just a little. There’s something weirdly comforting about his bluntness. Like it cuts through the chaos in your head. No fake politeness, no performance. Just him.

“Alright, fine,” you mutter, pulling your notebook closer. “Keep violating me. But only if it helps.”

He hands you another worksheet. “It does.”

You glare at him, but take it anyway.

The next half hour is quieter. More focused. He’s a good teacher, in his own awkward way, clear, patient, methodical. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t roll his eyes when you ask dumb questions. Sometimes he pauses too long, searching for the right word, and you realize how carefully he chooses what to say, even if it’s just about sentence structure.

You steal glances when he’s not looking.

The way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he’s reading. The subtle crease between his brows when he’s thinking. The way he taps his fingers on the table in quiet, rhythmic patterns.

You realize, in that moment, that you really, really like him.

And not just because he’s smart or pretty or mysterious. But because of this. This quiet version of him. The one who sits across from you and treats you like someone worth teaching. The one who doesn't flinch when you ask dumb questions. The one who, though he pretends not to notice, does see you.

“You’re staring again.”

You jump, snapping back to reality. “I’m not!”

“You sighed.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You also smiled for no reason.”

You cross your arms. “Are you secretly a detective or something? How do you notice everything?”

He pauses. Then shrugs. “You’re easy to read.”

Your stomach flips.

“That’s rude,” you say.

“It’s not,” he replies. “You just… wear everything on your face.”

You blink.

He’s still looking at you, finally really looking, and for a moment, the space between you feels heavier. Like something unsaid is hovering in the air, thick and electric.

You don’t know what to say.

So you look away. Down at your paper. Up at the clock.

“Oh my god, it’s dark out.”

He glances at the window. He nods.

You both pack your things, slower than necessary. The library’s even emptier now. The romance novel lady is gone. So is the sleeping student. The silence is somehow louder, now that it’s just the two of you.

You walk out side by side, the door creaking behind you. The air is colder now, the sky a soft navy blue, stars barely visible through the haze of city lights. Street lamps flicker on, painting the sidewalk gold and orange.

You walk together in silence.

It’s not awkward, though.

It’s... comfortable.

Every few steps, your hands almost brush. But not quite.

You’re nearing your street when you slow down, then stop completely.

He pauses too.

You turn to face him, gripping the strap of your bag like it’s a lifeline.

“Thanks,” you say. “For today.”

He nods once. “It was fine.”

You laugh softly. “That’s your version of a compliment, huh?”

He looks at you, then away. Shrugs. “You improved.”

“Coming from you, that’s practically a declaration of love.”

He doesn’t respond to that.

So, naturally, your brain does something stupid.

Your heart’s racing. Your hands are sweaty. Your legs are jelly. But still, you lean forward, and before you can even think about how insane this is...

You press a quick, soft kiss to his lips.

Just a second. Barely more than a breath.

His lips are cold from the night air, and you can feel the faint, startled inhale he takes, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch.

You realize what you just did.

You squeal, a sound that escapes before you can stop it, and stumble back like you’ve been electrocuted.

“I--oh my god--I didn’t mean--I mean I did, but not like that--I mean I didn’t plan it, it just--”

You’re already running.

“BYE,” you yell over your shoulder, clutching your backpack like it’s shielding you from divine judgment.

You don't look back.

You don't dare.

But if you had…

You might’ve seen him standing there, hand half-raised, eyes wide.

And the faintest, smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

a/n: huh.

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine Shanks finding out you're a painter

You: *humming along to some music as you apply a fresh coat of paint to the wall of the galley*

Benn and Lucky Roux: *walk in*

Benn: Hey Kid.

You: Hey

Lucky Roux: Did you make sure to use the mold resistant paint?

You: Yes Roux.

Benn: And you applied the sealant before the paint?

You: *nods your head* And the primer, I got this man, thanks for checking in on me.

Benn: Alright then, I'm just gonna open this here winder to get some fresh air in here, so you don't get high off the paint fumes.

You: aww, but that's the best part.

Lucky Roux: *snorts* Let me know when you're done, so I can start dinner. Also, when you are done, you might want to put up a barrier, so none of the others accidentally lean on it.

You: I enjoy seeing them covered in paint. So I think they're gonna be in for a surprise, or at least the boss will be. Because I bet you a thousand berry that he's definitely gonna lean in the paint.

Lucky Roux: I'll take that bet.

Benn: I ain't, because he'll definitely gonna do it.

The next morning

Shanks: *Still annoyed that he got paint in his hair the night before* is this shit finally dry?

Benn: yeah, the kid didn't paint in straight lines though.

Shanks: what! But they're usually so meticulous about doing tasks perfectly.

Benn: it was on purpose too, take a close look.

Shanks: *leans in and glides his fingers across a floral design in the brush strokes* do you think they like painting?

Benn: I believe so, that, or they inhaled too much paint fumes and decided to have fun with it.

Shanks: both are possible... Didn't they repaint the hallway, and bathrooms?

Benn: yeah? They painted patterns there too.

Weeks later

Shanks: Hey (y/n) I got you something! *Presents you with a colorful variety of house paints, and a bunch of supplies*

You: ... Wow, that's a lot of paint, are you wanting me to repaint every room on the ship?

Shanks: no silly, for you to have fun with. We noticed the patterns you painted in the galley and thought you might like more colors.

You: but where would I paint?

Shanks: where ever you'd like.

You: *Kisses him on the cheek, scoops up the supplies, and runs to your room*, Thank you!

Two days later in the galley

You: I finished my room is it okay if I paint this wall now?

Shanks: Go for it.

Benn: *watches you run off* they painted their whole room you know.

Shanks: I saw, I was impressed they managed to paint such steady line work with the ship moving so much.

Benn: I think the little maze design the pained on their door frame was my favorite. Do you think they take requests?

Shanks: I dunno.

You: *pushes the box of supplies onto one of the tables*

Benn: is it okay if I asked you to paint something?

You: sure!

Yassop: Wait, you take requests! I want the pillar in my room painted.

The crew: *crowd around you listing off the things they want painted*

Shanks: Guys, let em breathe for fuck's sake! Make a list so they can start painting.

Lucky Roux: I ain't writing down my request because it's simple, don't paint any more realistic bug on the damn walls. I nearly shit myself when I saw the cockroach you painted in the bathroom, that was not a fun surprise at three in the morning.

You: only termite holes, got it.

Lucky Roux: (y/n) no! No termite holes.

You: fine fine, although the fact that the paint on that cockroach didn't even get to dry before one of y'all smacked it, is hilarious.

Shanks: no more realistic bugs, dear, in fact avoid painting realistic critters all together please.

You: ugh fine.

Shanks: I have a project I'd like you to paint, but I'll need to get you a canvas for it. *Winks at you and wiggles his eyebrows*

Benn: Gross.... if he's getting a nude I want one too.

Shanks: You want my nudes too?

Benn: I want a nude of myself, ding-dong.

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[growinguparo]

Hello,

I came across your blog when I was trying to find out more about aromanticism so hope you don't mind me sending this to you.

I think I might be on the aromantic spectrum but I'm confused about it. I know it means someone who don't experience romantic attraction but I do often think some people are attractive so would that mean that I'm not aromantic? "What exactly does not feeling romantic attraction actually mean?

"Aromantic individuals can still experience intense, loving feelings, but they are not romantic in nature." I read this but was confused. So you can still be in love with someone but not have romantic feelings?

Sorry, I hadn't quite finished my ask just now. So I like reading romance books and watching romance films so I'm confused if that would mean I'm not aromantic? Thanks.

hi! i'll start with the addition because it's the simplest. no, liking romance books and films does not mean you can't be aromantic. a distinction you may find more helpful is, when you read/watch these, do you wish you were one of the characters? not literally but like do you read about romance and go wow i wish i had someone in my life who i could have that kind of relationship with? if you picture yourself realistically in their shoes, is that great or do you feel uncomfortable or trapped? why? what aspects of it are great, and what aspects would you rather not have?

I do often think some people are attractive so would that mean that I'm not aromantic?

what does this word mean to you? they are good-looking? in the aro community we call that "aesthetic attraction" which basically just means we appreciate their appearance, but it doesn't necessarily "do anything" for us. they turn you on physically or make you think about sex? that would clearly be sexual attraction.

those two types of attraction are relatively clear-cut, but it gets harder to differentiate romantic attraction from strong feelings of friendship, because the difference between them is just a line drawn in the sand. friendship and romance are both social constructs and their definitions depend entirely on the culture you're living in and your own personal feelings. so try to think about what YOU consider the difference to be. where do YOU draw the line in the sand? for example, if you and a friend were to kiss, would that be acceptable to you within the bounds of friendship, or would that have definite romantic connotations to you? would it feel inherently "different" somehow from your friendship? (if so, is it good or bad?) you can do this thought experiment for any of the behaviours typically viewed in your culture as being romantic. your answer may match your culture's, or it may not!

once you've understood what YOU personally view as romantic, you can evaluate whether the attraction you feel to people is a desire to do these things.

MY personal definitions of friendship and romance have a lot of overlap. a few of the things that alert me that what i'm feeling is romantic: feeling butterflies, feeling like i'm being pulled to them by a magnet, thinking about them all the time, wanting to kiss them. but even when i feel all that, there are things my culture considers romantic that i don't want: cohabitation, marriage, viewing the relationship as more important than my other relationships, PDA, being sappy. anything that doesn't come naturally to me, i won't force it.

So you can still be in love with someone but not have romantic feelings?

the specific phrasing "in love with someone" is used almost exclusively in a romantic context in english, but aside from that, essentially yes. my culture would argue that only romantic couples can feel intense love for each other, but 1) that's dumb and 2) a relationship is defined by the people in it. if they don't feel like it's romantic, it's not romantic.

i hope this helps :) i wish it was more black and white but it really is subjective. questioning is confusing, be patient with yourself <2

[guppybibi]

hii !! can you do akito (shinonome) with a gf who’s OBSESSED with another group? i just thought of this and found it funny

he’s always like “why don’t we go to your place” and reader is like oh no it’s ok haha!! because it’s kind of embarrassing but there’s so much merch it’s impossible to take down

and one day he convinces you to let him stay over and boom. posters everywhere. cds everywhere. binders full of photocards. a whole shelf of albums just sitting there. don’t forget the dvds and polaroids! bonus points if you forgot to turn off your cd player when you answered the door so it’s blasting said group’s music as well 💀

( ++ doesn’t have to be any group in particular but i’m heavy in my enhypen phase right now, so maybe them? that’d make it even more nerdy but 😭 )

𖦹 pairing: Akito Shinonome x fem!reader

𖦹 content: Confused Akito, fluff, kpop stuff, idk..

𖦹 notes: aaaa i love this idea, tysm! for the group i chose enhypen as well but also stray kids because you can never stan too many groups ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ (i had the biggest stray kids phase lollzz, plus idk much abt enhypen:c sorrie) also wrote half of this at school wowie

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ

-Just..so confused?? He doesn't get the thing about collecting photo cards and the terms fans use so you have to explain it to him.

-Once he gets it though he's just mildly concerned, for your sanity and wallet. He does commend your dedication and loyalty to these groups though (silently hopes you do the same with him.) 

-Occasionally asks you if VBS had merch would you buy some, his reaction would vary on your answer. -

-If you say no he’ll just say ‘uh huh’ and walk away. (pancakes are the solution, TRUST.) + he's just playing around, he isn't mad. 

-If you say yes he’ll just smirk smugly and try to talk everyone into making merch. (he fails)

He’s so confused right now, he just doesn't get what's the big deal about it. The ginger knew you absolutely loved these so called K-POP groups and he didn't mind at all, not a tiny bit. To be fair, he was somewhat an idol as well. A street musician to be exact but that was close enough. 

And today was another added episode to the collection of you not letting him go to your home, what exactly were you hiding from him? He stood before you, in all his glory, a skeptical look on his face. “C'mon doll..is yer room messy or somethin’? I’m sure it can't be that bad, trust me–I’ve seen worse.” He said in an attempt to reassure you, intently watching how your lips pressed into a thin line and your eyes darted across the park you two were at. “L..-look! A bunch of people are doing cool skating tricks!” You exclaim, pointing to a bunch of randos doing flips or whatever. Distracting him was worth the shot, no guarantees it’ll work though. 

He almost facepalms himself when he hears your shitty attempt at diverting his attention elsewhere. “Doll I’m not the smartest but I'm not that dumb..” It was honestly offensive that you thought that would work..You couldn't keep hiding forever, you two wouldn't progress if you didn't allow him to do something so simple as coming into your home. And as he said, he's somewhat of an ‘idol’ as well so he probably wouldn't find it too weird. Yeah, think positive! He won't think you're some kind of koreaboo or anything!

“Right..I guess you could come over to my place. But on one condition..” She starts. “Don't find it weird..?” He chuckles in response, shaking his head. “No promises.” 

And that's how he ended up in this rather strange position, sitting on your cozy bed as the posters on your walls stared down at him. “Wow..this is um..a lot.” His mouth formed a crooked smile, glancing at the shelf filled with albums. Where you got the money for all of this was a mystery to him. “So..who are they?” He asks, flopping back onto your bed, full of a bunch of stuffed animals. Your eyes start to sparkle, this was your time to shine, well rather to rant about your unhealthy obsession with these KPOP groups but let's not talk about that right now. 

After your rather lengthy explanation about every basic thing he needs to know, the expression on his gruff face seems unreadable. Was he angry or somehow jealous about it? Or was he simply just not interested in it? That might've been the case, but not right now at least. “Mmh..alright.” He sounded way too casual about it for comfort if you’re being honest. But if he was held captive and needed to be honest, extra–I know, he found this..mildly concerning addiction of yours quite endearing. It’s not like it would cause problems along the way, unless you spent all of your money on merchandise and went broke but he has enough trust in you not to do that..don’t break that by buying some lightstick that costs more than your kidney. 

[veevz-drawz]

DoaHD | Entry 4: I Felt a Spark

A/N: Hi again, I've been gone for like… Almost two months now? Sorry about that lol, a lot has happened. I got a boyfriend! And turns out when you're in a relationship you don't have a lot of free time to do what you want… So I broke up with him! (jkjk I just wasn't as into him as I thought)

Anyways I started pharmacy school so updates will probably halt for the time being :/. I plan to slowly write portions of the next chapter (which will be 100% more interesting than this one I swear) throughout the semester, but I'm probably not going to publish it until the end of my first clinical rotation in the winter, so I apologize in advance for the wait.

Taglist: @minecraftninjerkid @ryctone @shipperlewaterkitty | Google Form to be added to taglist

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She didn’t come up with anything.

Strawberry Tea Cookie stared at her sketchbook in silent disappointment, the pages looking more like the aftermath of the Dark Flour War than the meticulous planning of a seasoned fashion designer. The rising sun’s cold rays swam across the pages, searching for any sort of golden lining in this mess, yet all it did was confirm that her glory days were long gone.

Crumbs, she’s hopeless.

The designer sighed and slammed her book shut, tucking it out of sight between two couch cushions. She reached for her cup in order to take another sip of tea, her frustration growing upon realizing her cup was empty. Tiredness dissolved each speck of flour in her dough, arms weighed down by thick molasses as she tried picking up the teapot, which was, disappointingly enough, also empty.

Strawberry Tea Cookie turned to watch the sun slowly climb its way up the sky, displacing the inky blue she got accustomed to with shades of periwinkle and orange, stinging her already hardened eyes. She let her head fall within the comforting darkness of her arms, hoping to get some rest before they land in the Crème Republic.

.

.

.

“Ohhhh, I’m so nervous,” a cookie whispered to her friend. “What if I don’t get an apprenticeship?”

Hundreds of cookies crowd around the small bulletin board that stood in the center of the academy’s lounge. On it was a long piece of paper printed with students’ names and their mentor for upcoming term.

Amongst the anxious chatter were loud cheers as students found they had a match, or quiet sobs from those who didn’t quite make it on the list. Yet all decrescendoed into curious whispers when a certain freshly baked designer, glazed in shades of scarlet, stepped into the atrium.

“Did you hear..?”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

The sea of students parted for her, stepping into line with every click of her tempered chocolate heels to form a straight path towards the bulletin board.

“What!? There’s no way!”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

She stopped in front of the board, quietly scanning through the long list of names. Despite her aloof demeanor, the uncertainty within kept rising like bread dough as the alphabetical list trickled closer and closer to where her name would be.

All these apprehensive whispers… That can’t be a good thing.

Sangria Cookie…

Sapodilla Cookie…

Sour Cherry Cookie…

Star Apple Cookie…

“Well, it’s a given…”

—Pierce the fabric, loop the thread.

Strawberry Tea Cookie…

She perked up at the sight of her name, eyes immediately darting across the dotted line to see…

…Blueberry Raisin Cookie.

A small smile cinched up her lips, that overwhelming nervousness washed away by excitement and pride. All those years working her dough off at this school— the countless all nighters, the constant stream of harsh critiques, the seemingly endless assignments— finally paid off.

“Wow Strawberry Tea Cookie, congrats…” her classmate whistled, standing beside her. “Bet you’re excited to get to work with Professor Blueberry Raisin Cookie…”

To apprentice under the Hollyberry Kingdom’s most renowned fashion designer—who hailed from the very family that first established oat couture—was an opportunity that not even the most esteemed alumni of the Royal Berry Institute of Design could imagine receiving.

And it had just been bestowed upon her.

“Yeah…” Strawberry Tea Cookie’s smile grew wider. “I am.”

Her classmate chuckled, which caught the young designer’s attention. She turned and shot them a quizzical expression.

“Sorry, sorry.” They looked away bashfully. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you smile like that.”

“This is an opportunity of a lifetime, it’s only natural that I would smile.” Strawberry Tea Cookie replied matter-of-fact-ly, still confused on what was so funny. 

“No, no, I’m just saying…” They laughed. “Ah, nevermind…”

A gentle shake of her shoulder pulled Strawberry Tea Cookie from her dream—back into the world where she was sore and barely cognizant of her own existence.

“My lady, we’re almost at the Créme Republic,” Strawberry Butler Cookie whispered. “Everybody’s gone outside.”

The designer groaned, tiredly lifting herself from the table and standing up. She stumbled on her first few steps, dragging herself across the cabinet like one of those jellywalker creatures.

“Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie, did you stay up all night?” Strawberry Butler Cookie inquired worriedly, though his tone also held a dash of annoyance. “You know very well that’s not healthy for you!”

“I…” The former heiress sighed as she grasped the doorknob. Of all the things that have changed in her life recently, her butler nagging about her less-than-consistent sleep schedule had remained… well, consistent. “...Thought I could create something meaningful.”

She opened the door and stepped outside.

A gust of strong, cold wind practically slapped Strawberry Tea Cookie awake before subsiding into a light breeze. Crisp, fresh air reinvigorated her very dough like she had been sprinkled with more life powder. As she made her way across the airship’s deck, the gales combed free the sticky knots tangled within her hair, alleviating that gross feeling.

Strawberry Tea Cookie leaned against the metal guard rail, scarlet eyes widening in awe as she took in the sight before her.

Amidst the azure blue sky decorated with cotton candy clouds shone a brilliant city piped in white. Grand mansions bordered the Republic’s edge, away from the main landmass through long, jutted platforms that made the city look like it was built on a shattered plate; each shard was held up by pillars rising from the sparkling sea. Lining the pristinely polished roads were blocks of small, condensed homes with roofs the color of the vibrant sky. Square bushes edged the vast maze of waterways, like the border of royal frosting the Great Witches pipe on a freshly baked cookie before filling them in.

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s eyes followed the canals deeper towards the city center, trailing up a tall waterfall before meeting its source.

“Wow…” The designer breathed, her voice so quiet that no other cookie could hear, only manifesting as a puff of condensed air lost to the sky.

At the heart of the Republic stood a giant, colorless murex shell that floated above all else—unfeeling and apathetic—immune to crumble like a timeless icon. Much like a roll of fruit leather pulled from the center, the shell was voluminously layered at the top, showing off its immaculately creased grooves that tightly cinched to an eventual fine point at the bottom.

Imposing spikes of all shapes and sizes decorated the shell’s head like a monarch’s crown, reaching for any fragment of light to capture and reflect back as a beautiful halo of white. Arched windows carved around the shell’s spire poured out fresh water, collecting in streams around the structure’s many grooves before gradually falling down to the city below.

To Strawberry Tea Cookie, it was like a unique hybrid between a polonaise skirt and a mermaid tail dress, two styles from vastly different eras and with even more conflicting construction methods. It would be a challenge to combine the two together. However, it was similar enough to Chocolate Bonbon Cookie’s everyday dress, perhaps she could reference its pattern and then add an additional layer for that polonaise look.

She’ll definitely need to visit that place the moment her schedule clears up. Not only is it important to see one’s source material up close, but a true artist must understand its purpose so as to not misappropriate its symbolism.

“You seem to have an idea, my lady.” The designer was snapped from her thoughts by Strawberry Butler Cookie’s comment. She turned to face him, his expression glimmering with wise joy.

Strawberry Tea Cookie glanced back to the brilliant view of the Créme Republic. Her breath hitched, stuck in her inhale as she truly took in the sight before her. A long lost excitement bloomed within as the ship descended, and the designer couldn’t help but let that exhilaratingly nervous anticipation spread up her lips in the form of a wide, genuine smile.

For the first time in forever—as cliché as it sounded—she truly realized how vibrant and beautiful everything was.

“Yeah,” she finally let go of her held breath, turning to face Strawberry Butler Cookie. “I think I finally do.”

He only chuckled in response.

.

.

.

Strawberry Tea Cookie and her butler were the last to leave the airship and join the others on the airfield. As they approached Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie, the figure they were talking to turned his attention to the pair.

“Ah, you must be the guest Hollyberry Cookie was talking about~,” the stranger, with a voice full of smooth—oddly practiced—cadence, said. “Miss Strawberry Tea Cookie, yes?”

“Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie,” she corrected before dipping into a curtsy. “This is my butler, Strawberry Butler Cookie.” He nodded at the cue of his name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both, Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie and Strawberry Butler Cookie.” The cookie before her gave a courteous bow. “My name is Clotted Cream Cookie, consul of this fair city.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Consul—” Strawberry Tea Cookie cut off when a strong arm looped around her neck, yanking the rest of her words out with a strangled high pitch.

“Strawberry Tea Cookie, you’re being far too modest!” Hollyberry Cookie pulled the designer closer with so much strength that the latter was lurched forward, almost losing her balance. “Consul, this fine lass here is the future leader of House Strawberry, one of the most renowned designers in the Hollyberry Kingdom, and my granddaughter’s personal stylist~.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie felt the jam within her crystalize at those claims—the majority of which were now false.

The Consul’s eyes perked up, seemingly impressed by her obsolete feats. “My, I’m honored to be in the presence of such an esteemed guest, then~.”

“You’re too kind, Consul.” Strawberry Tea Cookie let out a strained laugh while releasing herself from the former queen’s grip, wanting to do nothing but escape this situation.

Make a good impression.

She froze in her place, those subconscious words pulling and posing her to face Clotted Cream Cookie once again. “...I should be the one honored to be in your presence.” She pitched her words higher at the end, hoping to sound more sweet but instead coming off as if she were choking on durian fumes.

An awkward silence ensued, with Strawberry Tea Cookie unable to think of what to say next.

“Well, tonight we are celebrating the reconstruction of the Crème Republic,” the Consul mentioned with a polite, charming smile. “You and Strawberry Butler Cookie are more than welcome to attend.”

Would she have enough time to go? Getting settled into her new home will most likely take the entire day. 

But she remembered the way her mother became the definitive head of House Strawberry. Through courting the eldest son of the Oolong Dynasty and conducting complex business negotiations, she was able to establish a strong tea trade agreement that worked in House Strawberry’s favor. These imported teas, combined with the refreshing selection of fruits found deep within the Cranberry Forest, quickly became a household staple throughout the kingdom. The economic prosperity that followed immediately convinced Goji Berry Cookie to select Strawberry Mousse Cookie as their next leader. 

If Strawberry Tea Cookie could continue expanding House Strawberry’s trading network, it would surely increase her chances of taking back her heirship. As far as she knew, all her cousin did was paint and nothing else. He was not exposed to the business side of House Strawberry like she was, and perhaps she could use that to her advantage to expand her feats beyond fashion.

“We’ll be sure to attend,” Strawberry Tea Cookie gave another curtsy. As she dipped, the tiredness that was temporarily lifted instantly came crashing down. While she absolutely despised entertaining strangers, it was something she must do in order to prove herself. “Thank you so much for extending this invitation.”

“It’s only natural to invite friends of Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie,” Clotted Cream Cookie chimed. “I’ll be looking forward to your appearance this evening~.”

“My lady, the carriage is ready to take us to our accommodations.” Strawberry Butler Cookie announced.

“Why don’t we come along and help you unpack?” Hollyberry Cookie offered, her retainer nodding in agreement. “You have at least twelve full juice barrels worth of stuff, it’s going to take you until the next morning to go through everything, haha!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie glanced at the wagon with all her packed belongings, which seemed even more comically small compared to the carriage from the day before. 

“If you two wouldn’t mind,” Strawberry Tea Cookie turned back to answer them. “The help would be greatly appreciated.” Especially from two of the strongest cookies in the Hollyberry Kingdom.

“We would be more than happy to help,” Wildberry Cookie assured. “And I could give you all a tour of the Crème Republic afterwards.”

“Thank you, but we would like to decline,” Strawberry Butler Cookie cut in, interjecting before the designer could agree to Wildberry Cookie’s offer. “My lady had quite a… restless night, it would be best if she didn’t over exert herself before tonight’s party.” He shot her a finalizing glare, which Strawberry Tea Cookie matched with an annoyed one.

However another pulse of exhaustion struck her right after, and she found her initial irritation immediately transformed into gratitude for her butler’s intervention.

Perhaps she overdid it a little… But does she even have the luxury to take a break?

“Clotted Cream Cookie, why don’t you join us?” Hollyberry Cookie, who was in the process of boarding the wagon, asked. “The more hands, the merrier!”

“Thank you, but I’ll have to decline,” the Consul smiled as he took a step back. “I’m afraid there are other items that I must attend to before tonight’s celebration.”

“To the sharpest piping tip as usual, Consul,” the former queen teased. “Very well, that leaves more fun for us~!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie couldn’t help but feel amused at the fact that Hollyberry Cookie seemed more excited to go than she was. But perhaps it was another opportunity to spend time with cookies she deemed close.

.

.

.

.

The wagon, pulled by two cream coated cookie horses, slowly made its way down the azure streets of the Republic, gently rocking against the many bleached shells unevenly mixed into the pavement. Despite the wall of buildings blocking out most of the sun’s rays, a few slivers of brilliant light managed to weave its way through the thin alleyways, accentuating the road’s pearlescent shine that glimmered with prosperity and new beginnings.

As her friends chatted amongst themselves, Strawberry Tea Cookie settled into the ride by watching the cookies going about their daily lives. She observed as they greeted each other in passing, darting in and out of the many luxuriously decorated storefronts the street had to offer. Some stayed to chat, their conversations lost to the whims of the wind that lightly blew on hanged laundry and ruffled the newspapers cookies were reading. Others were more in a hurry, barreling past those who walked with leisure towards an unknown destination, their ambitious worry uncaring as the neatness of their clothes waned.

Each cookie here seemed to radiate an aura of nobility, both in the way they dressed and acted. Their clothes were timelessly dandy and darling, much unlike the more loose-fitting garments the Old Vanilla Kingdom was known for. Waffle cloaks and cotton robes were replaced with more form-fitting suits, its colors paled to the simple warmth of the past. Despite its origin, they were a perfect blend between the clothing upper and lower class cookies wore back in the Hollyberry Kingdom—which could serve to benefit Strawberry Tea Cookie when developing her new collection.

But for now, she should focus on studying Republic attire. She already pinpointed a few boutiques to visit once she had settled down, and tonight’s celebration should give her a better understanding of how cookies here dressed.

The wagon stopped in front of a house that was sandwiched between two storefronts. It was a double layered, rectangular building coated in white buttercream stucco; thick, flat white piping bordered the leveled roof and where the two layered floors met. The upper layer had a set of rectangular, blue double doors that opened to a balcony full of bougainvillea jelly cube flowers. Its vines crept down to the lower layer, surrounding the front door and the triple paned window adjacent to it, both of which were also framed in blue. Underneath the window was a stubby planter the same width as the sill, holding an assortment of lush green shrubbery.

This seemed to have been a shop converted into a residence.

Strawberry Tea Cookie was the first to hop off the wagon followed by Hollyberry Cookie and Wildberry Cookie, Strawberry Butler Cookie stayed behind to unload everything with the—albeit unwelcomed—help of the coachcookie.

“The owner said that the key should be here somewhere…” The designer mumbled as she sorted through the multitude of rocks found at the base of the planter. But with a bit of digging, she managed to find a bronze key taped to the underside of a medium-sized rock chocolate. She immediately dashed to unlock the door, just in time for Strawberry Butler Cookie to carry in the first bundle of luggage.

Upon entering the foyer, which was connected to another room, the four cookies were greeted with walls frosted in buttercream white and floors made of geometrically arranged brown sugar cubes. There was a set of stairs going to the second floor, and a corridor that led to the living room.

The living room was illuminated by a wide, arched window that opened into a quaint courtyard shared by other buildings. There was a tall lamp in the corner where two long, beige sofas met; marshmallow pillows dyed in various shades of red decorated each couch, matching the carpet’s color underneath. At the center was a short, ovalish coffee table with a few magazines neatly arranged across. There was a bathroom adjacent to the corridor’s entrance, right under the stairs.

The kitchen, only separated by a single counter from the living room, had wooden counters lacquered with melted sugar spanning the entire perimeter of the area; white cabinets connected the counters to the floor. In the middle of the kitchen was an island counter surrounded by four cracker stools. Above it was a crate-esque structure where various kitchenware hung from. There was another window above the sink that looked out to the courtyard, along with a door in the corner to exit.

“This isn’t as fancy as the kitchen back home,” Strawberry Butler Cookie commented as he inspected the stove and fridge. “But it’ll do,” he quickly glanced at the pots and pans provided, grimacing at their battered forms. “Good thing I brought my own supplies…”

Another small corridor, which doubled as a sort of pantry, connected the kitchen back to the seemingly empty room next to the foyer. Said room, as Strawberry Tea Cookie stepped into it, was completely flooded with natural light due to the curved windows that almost touched the ceiling. Maroon curtains, tied at the ends in a pretty bow, partitioned off each window panel. At one corner was a sugar lacquered desk and chair, and in the center was a long wooden table with a basket on it.

The basket had an assortment of dried fruit and chocolates, along with a note from the owner of the residence that read: “I cleared this room so you could have some space to work on your designs. I hope this and the new decor make you feel more at home!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie smiled, her host was so much nicer compared to her previous landlord, who kept raising the rent every month until her and Mont Blanc Cookie decided staying in that dingy shoebox wasn’t worth the coins.

Stepping up to the second floor led to a guarded landing made of hardwood, which curved in an L shape along the stairs. It had three rooms; a storage closet was at the backmost of the house, followed by two bedrooms.

The bedroom next to the storage closet had a curtained window overlooking the courtyard. It was quaint; unremarkable with only a simple twin bed, desk, and dresser. Strawberry Butler Cookie took that room.

Next to that room was what many would consider the master bedroom, given how it was the largest and in possession of the balcony. The room was furnished with a queen sized bed decorated in red pillows and blankets, it also had a small vanity that doubled as a desk, along with a walk-in closet. Given how her butler claimed the previous room, Strawberry Tea Cookie was left with this room—not that she was complaining.

“We should start unpacking,” Wildberry Cookie mentioned, watching the location of the sun from the balcony. “The celebration will start in a few hours.”

“I agree,” Strawberry Butler Cookie turned to exit the bedroom. “At the very least we should get the big ticket items set up, like my lady’s sewing machine.”

“Then let’s get to it!” Hollyberry Cookie exulted, raising her fist. “With the four of us, we’ll get everything settled in no time!”

[skaruresonic]

idk man I would have been just as happy with a Sonic Generations remaster without a Shadow campaign stapled on. >>Doom Wings have no narrative use because Shadow doesn't suffer in any meaningful way because of them. For all of fandom's claims that SxS Gens would deepen the character, his biggest problem is the wings are physically painful. But it's not as though they foundationally shake his view of himself like his existential angst over being a weapon of war in Battle; he simply goes "Cool, another weapon to bludgeon Black Doom to death with" and moves on with his life. Much character development, many depth, wow.

To rub salt in the wound, they control like complete ass? It's just a slower Super Shadow, and sometimes when it's egregiously bad, it reminds me of Rouge's gliding in '06. The concept would have been easier to swallow if it actually wasn't unwieldy, but nah.

>>The White Space music is so dire? Why is it so dire??? bro chill out? It's fine the first five minutes, but it drives me insane when it loops for the millionth time two hours in.

>>AFAIK, collecting all 80 pieces to complete Orbot and Cubot's spaceship does nothing. tfw the game is so peak it offers no incentive for fetch quests.

>>Unlike Gens vanilla, which gave you a choice of challenges to unlock Boss keys, in SxS Gens you must complete all missions in order to obtain Boss keys.

Granted, you only get about 4 missions per boss, but the fact that progress is locked behind mandatory challenges makes the experience feel more constrictive. You don't like a certain mission Doom Surf challenge my beloathed? Get bent, I guess.

>>Radical Highway Act One was the only point in the game where I found any real enjoyment because the mechanics were pared down. Coincidentally, your Doom powers are disabled in this level, forcing you to rely on Chaos Control and Chaos Spear. Reducing the gimmicks made the experience more streamlined, which let me consider the application of my moveset in greater depth.

I strongly feel that had ST instead channeled their focus into structuring the level design around creative uses of Chaos Control and Chaos Spear instead of scattering them across several Doom powers, the gameplay experience would have been a lot more enjoyable.

>>Outside of character interactions, which were tbh the best part of the game, SxS suffers from a general lack of whimsy. Everything is so ~srs bsns~ in tone that it almost suffocates.

There's a little ironic humor to be found in the fact that Shadow goes "no. perish" when Mephiles screams that he wants to exist, but I doubt that was intentional.

>>"Somehow, Black Doom returned" is an actual plot point. Don't question it. Shut up.

>>The boss fights suck ass. I'm sorry but they do. Every single one, I was like, "Thank God that's over."

>>Bosses are placed in odd, incongruent locations; Mephiles is found in a cave under Chaos Island while you encounter Metal Overlord in Kingdom Valley. Although Gerald handwaves this as spacetime instability, that's not how White Space functioned in Sonic Gens.

>>No, Patrick, stapling a Surfer Blooper gimmick to Metal Overlord doesn't suddenly make his fight peak boss design.

>>The one boss fight it would have been thematically appropriate and germane to include from a gameplay perspective, SA2's vs. Sonic? Just a cutscene. Even if Shadow needed to "lose," surely ST could have rewritten a Shadow win so that Sonic manages to get ahold of the fake Emerald anyway. Shadow could have done something as simple as said "Fine, take it. Clearly you need it more than I do."

>>You're gonna make the campaign a crash course on Shadow's history but not include Shadow androids, even though they'd have more reason to exist in White Space than Mephiles? I am disappoint.

>>While the White Space dialogue is pretty much the game's only draw for me, a few of Omega's lines are still a little wonky. For some reason they felt it appropriate to have him say he and Shadow showed Metal "mercy" after Sonic Heroes. He also gives this jargon-filled speech on his power source, which based on context clues makes me think he's powered via Chaos Drive.

[differentluminaryllama]

Books and a Cup of Tea (part 8): The Wheel of Time: The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan

Warning: fangirling ahead. Lots of fangirling. I'm serious. This is your last chance to turn around.

Oh, you're still here? Well, then -

When I started reading the Wheel of Time, it took me a little time to get into the writing style. Everything felt slow and a little bit lengthy at first, but in the end, now, after having finished the book yesterday... Wow. What first felt like a peculiar, drawn out writing style that hinged too much on descriptions of - well, everything... quickly became my favorite part of the book. Jordan describes a lot, and very detailed too - you will find yourself mentally standing in eight different common rooms of inns while reading this book alone, and if you ever questioned how to best describe clothing and dresses? This book is for you, my friend. Jordan describes everything in so much detail - the cities, the wilderness, the people - without ever making it boring. You simply feel as if you were a fly on the wall accompanying this bunch from the Two Rivers all the way to Fal Dara.

Next: the characters. They were all so lifelike. Well, Moiraine is my favorite, no questions asked. She's a queen. I love her.

But what's most refreshing about the Emond's Fielders is that they are realistically afraid. Instead of just accepting their fate, and welcoming it, they are full of doubts and flaws. I mean, Rand is afraid even after he traveled basically across half the continent and goes into the Blight to get to the Eye of the World. He doesn't say: "oh, I'm important to the Pattern, I got this". He's afraid - even 729 pages in, when he's almost at the finish line of a months long journey, he's afraid.

Light help me, I've never been so afraid. I don't want to go any further. No further!

from: The Wheel of Time: The Eye of the World - Chapter 49: The Dark One Stirs, p. 729

He doesn't adapt as quickly as other main characters do in current fantasy novels, which is refreshing.

I mean, just compare this to The Atlas Six, where at least three main characters have a god complex after the first two books.

They are so many interesting characters and lore and story to this world Jordan created. It's all amazing.

I did not see a single plot twist coming.

So, in a nutshell, EotW is above all else one thing: Glorious.

[legendliz]

Separation ch.5

Summary - Four finds himself awake and notices one of their heroes isn't insight. Wild and this mysterious princess learn more about each other.

Four awoke with blurry sight and a bit of a headache. It took only a minute for his vision to return to normal, though. And he guessed the headache was a side effect of going through the portal like usual. He looked to see where he was. A cave with various amounts of furniture, the only light was a small lantern casting a blue glow. It wasn't a lot of light, but it was just enough.

Four sighed heavily and stared at his own shadow the light had made visible. Unlike any other shadow, it had a look that was slightly different. It was wearing a hat and wide smile. It waved something it did on its own. But Four just smiled.

"How's Zelda?" He asked.

Shadow gave a thumbs up, then the hylian sign for worried. Four laughed softly.

"Tell her, me and the others, are holding up just fine. And that she doesn't have to worry."

Shadows' smile was replaced with a look of annoyance as he pointed at his shoulder.

"It was one injury, Shadow!"

Shadow then proceeded to hold up nine fingers and then put six of them down, then shrugged.

" . . . Fair, but we'll find them."

Shadow shrugged again and signed if you say so.

" . . . So, how are you holding up?"

Shadow stopped dead for a minute before holding up a thumbs up. It's been a little odd being not just a shadow, but I suppose I will get used to it, he signed, but I wish I could still talk to you in person and not just through your Shadow and this sign. But I suppose I will just have to wait till you get back to our own Hyrule.

" Yeah but at least this is better than nothing. I'm still not sure why it won't allow you to come through. I'm guessing it has something to do with the mirror not being in this era.

Probably, Shadow signed, Hey Link, you came through that portal with two others right?

"Yeah why?"

Because he signed, only one is in here.

"Huh?"

Four looked around frantically and took notice that the Vet was gone. How had he missed this before?

"Crap! I have to go find him, thanks, Shadow! Talk later!"

And Four got up and bolted out the cave.

" So now I'm on a quest to find them, clear my name, and possibly stop the rifts permanently if that's even possible."

Explained Zelda as she carefully dabbed the wet cloth on the injuries she had missed when first patching Wild up. She was surprised at how calm he was while she did this. From this, she could tell that injuries came often to him and that he was used to someone, maybe even himself patching him up quite often. She was also quite surprised at how many scares he had. His right side was practically covered in them, and you could clearly see the ones covering across his right ear on to his.

" Woah. That's ruff."

"I guess. But what about you? Clearly, you're a knight, but what's your story?"

"How did you know? I didn't tell you I was a knight."

" I've seen enough knights to know. It's the way you don't flinch when I patch up your injuries. The way you don't talk very much and always call me princess. The fact that you carry a variety of weapons. The scars. If not a knight, then a warrior. Speaking of scars . . . what happened? If you don't mind me asking."

"It's well you wouldn't believe if I told you."

"At this point, I believe anything."

"Even if I told you I got these from malice infestation automaton right before I died in my princesses arms. And was then placed in a resurrecting sleep only to wake up 100 years later with anisia?"

"Damn. That's . . . Wow."

"And that's not even my entire journey, heh."

"Double damn."

It didn't take long for Four to find the missing hero. He was only feet away from the entrance of the cave. He was just sitting there staring at nothing. Four approached quietly his footsteps barely makeing any noise. When he was in line with Legend, he sat down next to him. He looked at Legend, seeing his face stained with tears. The look on Legends' face was one. Four knew too well. Like Four Legend had lost someone, but it was clear, unlike Four whoever Legend lost he didn't get back. They were just . . . gone.

"Legend?"

He didn't look at Four but away. Before letting out a small," What?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"You sure? It might make you feel better? And if you want, I won't tell anyone."

" . . . "

"Or I can just-"

"I lost the love of my life. And it was my fault. And I got in an argument a bad one with the person I'm closest to back at home. I didn't even get to apologize."

"I can't say I've been in the exact situation you're in, but I have been in similar ones. I have gotten in lots of arguments and have definitely lost people close to me. I'm sure that whoever you got in an argument with will forgive you. And for your loss . . . I'm sorry. I wish you were fortunate enough to get them back like me. But don't blame yourself it makes it worse."

Silence followed, and they just sat watching the stars. Before Four got up and headed back, stopping when Legend called back to him.

"Four wait . . . Thank you."

Four smiled and nodded before disappearing in the cave.

Don't blame himself? How was he not when it was fault, plain and clear? What else could he see it as? Legend thought for a moment before coming up with an answer that satisfied him.

He had granted a wish, hadn't he?

End of ch.5

[salty-dracon]

OK, so the plot of this mini story that I said should make people's stomach twist in knots, with the point being that "no matter how abhorrent you think this all is, you're one 'correct victim' away from cheering this on".

A man is driving by the side of the road at night in a mid-sized town when he comes across a long line of cars and what looks like a bunch of people partying in front of a fire pit. Out of curiosity, the man stops and walks up to the party. He's surprised to see not only a large number of high school and college youth there, but also at least ten older people and a few younger kids. The fire pit is itself just a small empty pool that has been covered in heated coals and surrounded by a fence.

He asks one of the older women what this party is. She says that her granddaughter (she also points to the parents and older sibling) was murdered by a man. She talks about how the community deeply cared for the poor victim, and that all of the people in the area were there to support the family in their grieving. The man goes on believing that this is some kind of obscure funeral ritual for a bit.

Suddenly, another truck pulls up, and two men emerge, carrying a girl who can't be older than eight years old. The crowd then whips into a frenzy, shouting threats of murder and accusations at the little girl, who is terrified. The woman explains that they're going to punish the murderer now. The man claims this makes no sense- why not kidnap the murderer if he's not in prison, and why kidnap a little girl if he is? The woman explains that even though murderers can pay in blood, they won't ever know the pain of losing someone innocent who they love, ie the pain they've caused the rest of this community by murdering the victim. The little girl, revealed to be the murderer's daughter, is the remedy for that. It's classic vengeance- blood for blood.

The man watches in horror as the girl is thrown into the middle of the fire pit. From a diving board, the victim's sister begins to swipe oil using a bottle over the coals, which catch on fire as they hit the coals and wound the girl as she runs around to avoid being hit. As the crowd cheers, yelling her that "This is what you get for being born to that murderer!" and such, the girl screams and begs for help. The man is horrified at the display, and especially the way the people treat this like a show or a game, but having come to empathize with the family over their love for the victim, adopts their vindictive idea of justice and cheers on the slow torturing of the victim until finally she dies. The party reaches its after-event stage, where the victim's family expresses relief that they've finally seen justice done, and they thank the man for showing kindness to them.

The man drives home (with lots of food from the family), with it not really hitting him that yeah, he seriously cheered that all on.

"Wow, this is a messed up story!" Yeah, I really hope it is. Part of my philosophy when it comes to worldbuilding is that I want the reader to feel like they could exist in this world, and this world is a horrifying cultural dystopia. And then I want them to think about the concept of mob violence.

[koraesrambles]

GREAT READING ADVENTURE PART 1 (CW: pictures from the Sandman comics may be disturbing to some)

I started with the Sandman, by Neil Gaiman. A legend in comic spheres, and one that I'd been wanting to read for a while.

I found 10 volumes at my local library and have made my way through two of them so far. First off, as a horror book DAMN. DAAAAAAAAAAAAMN these books do not pull punches. They come at you like a gut punch and just keep going. I like to describe myself as someone who enjoys "horror lite" I love monsters, I love angst and crazy situations and some messed up stuff, but I'm kind of a baby about it. Things like Supernatural, Gravity Falls (It's kid friendly, but there's blood!), Buffy the Vampire Slayer, that's my jam (wow, that list makes me feel about 5 years old, but whatever! I like what I like!). The Sandman Is Not That.

The Writing

Don't get me wrong, it is beautiful in every way, but it's also a lot for a wussy like myself. I'm enthralled, captivated, unable to look away, but there have been multiple times where I've needed to close my eyes for a second and remind myself that this is a comic book, and the world isn't necessarily this dark all the time. I'm pretty triggered by children in danger/getting hurt/dying and these books don't shy away from that. But they're also just . . . so beautiful.

The writing is annoyingly amazing. I expected nothing less, it is Neil Gaiman, but sometimes as a writer you look at other people's writing and just sit back in awe. I wish I could write something like this. Or, if not exactly like this, something as beautiful and poignant as this. The story flows so beautifully. Every scene perfectly blending in with the next. Every word feels like it has a point, which makes you want to pay attention to everything to make sure you're not missing anything.

Writing is my main background, but comic writing is so different from prose. This is what I struggled with the most while drafting up OUTCAST ODYSSEY, how do I get everything across that I need to when I can't just write it all out? How do I pace it when telling a story with pictures vs words feels so different? But Neil does this so well. It felt lyrical, and I could see his influence on every single page. The art was done by someone else, but the ideas, the imagry, the way the story flows from one idea to the next, is all a result of absolutely phenomenal writing.

It reminded me to trust readers to read between the lines. It's difficult to find the line between "subtlty" and "confusing" and I am often guilty of feeling like I need to spell things out to my readers so that they won't miss anything, but more often then not that just slows down the plot and makes the whole experience clunky. You don't want to go too far in the other direction either, but Neil knew who his audience was and trusted them to at least give things a second glance. I was worried at the beginning that I'd be too dumb to figure out what he was hinting at, but he was able to patiently feed me the information without me getting frustrated or lost.

It's a skill that comes with experience and practice, but I feel like this story really really shines at it. I found myself studying the way he handled exposition and wanting to emulate it in my own work.

The Art

The art is also stunning. It's not "cute" art. It's not something that I would want to hang up in my house or look at for hours. It's amazing from a skill standpoint (which is easy for me to tell just due to my own extremely obvious shortcomings) but it's not concerned with everyone looking like hollywood movie stars.

Which . . . I mean, that's definitely a feature, not a bug. This story is not supposed to be cute, and a cutsy art style would absolutely ruin the atmosphere. It is rough and full of sharp points. it doesn't shy away from nudity or gore. The characters are not attractive, these are not anime stars, but they are compelling, and distinct enough that I was able to easily tell who everyone is, which is more often then not extremely difficult for me (i think I may be a bit face-blind).

The art adds to the horror of everything. Even when things are supposed to be calm, or sexy, or whatever, there's an edge of panic and unease to it. Part of that is the reader knowing that there's more going on behind the scenes then the character knows, but it's also the style. The heavy black shadows, the hard lines, the emphasis on some details while the obscuring of others, it all combines to perfectly compliment the writing. It's not a pleasure to look at, but that's absolutely the point. It's also extremely difficult to look away FROM. How can something simultaneously look jarring, eerie, and unpolished, while also whispering "Yes. This is beautiful art. Look at it. Bask in it."?

I'm a newbie artist. It's way beyond my skillset to even begin to figure out how they were able to accomplish this. But someday I hope I figure out the secret.

The art perfectly compliments the writing, and the two work together to tell the story. I remember feeling a little annoyed on the artists' behalf that the Sandman is always known as "Neil Gaiman's" when the art side of comics is so incredibly important. The art sets the tone and compliments the words. It helps with reading between the lines and helping us know how seriously we should be taking the words.

Characters

All of the characters are great! Except the ones I already knew. I'm not saying they were bad, just bland compared to everyone else. Constantine, the Justice League, every cameo that came up and I was excited for felt . . . not quite out of place, but not quite seamless either. I was most excited for Constantine, and he was fine, but I probably have enjoyed him more in every other comic I've ever seen him in. I know they were all included just to try and sell the first few issues of a new story, and I respect that (the amount of comics that I've read just because my favorite character showed up for a few panels is . . *cough* embarrassing), but I was kind of bummed by how little conflict they added to the story.

Constantine immediately agrees to help Morpheus (which, okay, he can see how powerful Morpheus is and doesn't want to get on his bad side, totally in character. But I like Constantine best when he's being a bit of a dickhead), when I was really expecting a bit of tension or at least antagonism between them. We briefly see Etrigan but he is so quickly outshined by Lucifer that I nearly forgot about him, Scarecrow shows up but I didn't really feel like he added much besides a familiar face, we see Scott Free (who I know very little about) and J'onn (whose reaction to Dream was probably the most interesting) but all they do is immediately tell Morpheus where he needs to go. Why were they so quick to be okay with this obviously terrifying powerful force just grabbing stuff? I guess I understand why J'onn was okay with it, since he knew who Morpheus was, but it still felt weird that there wasn't even a single moment of hesitation or resistance. They basically served as a plot GPS.

Again, there's nothing wrong with any of them, they just didn't feel as vibrant as all of the other characters we were introduced to. Even the woman who gave Dr. Destiny/Dr Dee a ride was more vivid and felt more real and purposeful than the cameos did. At least to me.

The original characters (or at least everyone I didn't recognize. Was Dr. Dee a Gaiman original or had he shown up previously? Cuz he was very much A tier villain for me,) were all amazing and vivid and lively. I cared about them way faster than I normally do, especially at the very beginning of a story. The cameos felt exactly like what they were: Cameos to sell the book.

Final Thoughts

This book is, objectively, better than anything I will ever create. And that's not even a diss on myself, it's just objective fact on the quality of this piece. I learned a lot looking through it, trying to figure out what Gaiman did that worked vs didn't. The lyricism vs crassness of the writing, the way the art complimented the dialogue, how the panels flowed and where it was easy for me to follow vs where I got a little confused. It's a beautiful book and I can absolutely see why it's a graphic novel must read. I'm planning on reading the rest of the series, but I can only read one volume a day, because the horror of it all absolutely follows me after I close the last page.

[alias-sam]

Pierced by a Golden Soul

Chapter 42. Sleepover

Platonic Jojo's x Reader

Summary: Fate is a bizarre concept with countless more bizarre implications. In life sometimes such extraordinary events happen that the only reasoning left must be fate. The tragedies that constantly befall the Joestar bloodline for example may be the unluckiest series of cards drawn in human history, or perhaps the work of a greater power. There is no way to tell for sure. Had Dio Brando or Jonathan Joestar moved slightly on a divergent path the world itself would be left very different. The fate or luck of the noble Joestar bloodline has led to destruction of evil likes of the Pillar Men and DIO. This story is of a similar caliber to that of the other Joestars (as I am sure you are familiar with them). This is a story of lost souls, compassion, hope, and above all fate.

Word Count: 1,552

(Crosspost from Wattpad, full fic is already posted there.)

Your explanation of the past few weeks of your life was... complicated to say the least. But Vita held on to your every word.

"...and that leaves us where we are. Hopefully all of that makes at least a little sense."

"Wow." Vita breathed, looking up at you in awe. "You really did all that?"

"Among other things, yeah." You nodded. It was a long story, with a lot to explain, so you skipped a few details that you deemed too complicated or strange. "Anyways..." You groaned uncomfortably at the feeling of mud and sand in your clothes. "I should probably get going."

"You're in no condition to walk all the way home." Vita carefully tore his gaze from your fatigued form to the window. It was still raining heavily outside, so badly the sunset was completely blotted out by the storm clouds. "Can your mom pick you up?"

"Nope."Your mom didn't even own a car. She was also going to be worried sick if you didn't get home soon. "Got a phone I can borrow?" You asked bluntly. Vita nodded before leading you down to his living room. The two of you went as quietly as possible since Vita's parents didn't know you were there. He pointed you over to a phone hanging on the wall. You carefully typed your home phone number, anxiously waiting for your mother to pick up. Your heart nearly stopped when the line clicked. "H-"

"Y/n! Where have you been?!" Senora Jones' angry voice came over the line.

"Hello to you too."

"Y/n..." Your mother warned sternly, obviously in no mood for any teenage sarcasm. "Where are you? Are you okay? Why aren't you home yet?"

"I'm still at Vita's house. We sort of lost track of time." You explained timidly. After glancing out a nearby window at the horrendous storm outside you continued. "At this point I think I should just stay the night." You heard Senora Jones sigh across the line.

"Have you eaten? Do you have something to wear?"

"Yep." You answered after looking down at your mud-stained clothes dusted with sand.

"Fine, but we are having a serious talk about this tomorrow." Senora Jones relented.

"Okay... I love you."

"I love you too darling. Goodnight." The line clicked off. You stood there contemplating for a moment before becoming very aware of Vita's presence hovering over your shoulder.

"You're pretty good at that."

"Lying to my mom? That's not a compliment." You replied sadly. The air between the two of you became very stale as you headed back up to the refuge of Vita's room. It was obvious he thought the whole situation was an amazing adventure, it didn't seem he processed just how dangerous your life had become. Or the danger he could be in.

"So... stands." Vita finally said, breaking the silence as the two of you reached the massive staircase that led to the second floor. "What else can you tell me?"

"I'll admit, your stand is a little different compared to the ones I've seen. I didn't think a stand could possess living things."

"So even for a stand user I'm abnormal..." Vita muttered sadly.

"Not quite." You said quickly. "Compared to the crazy things I've seen the past two weeks your stand isn't too bad." You paused as you through about your experiences in the woods. "Just really really freaky when you aren't expecting it." You explained, sugarcoating just how terrifying his stand could be at times.

"What did you call yours again?" Vita asked.

"Golden Soul. Don't judge me for the name, I'm not the one who came up with it." You replied. "It was kind of a placeholder that stuck."

"Does mine get a name?" Vita looked at you curiously.

"If you want it to." You shrugged. At this point all of the stands you had interacted with had names. "Did you have one in mind?"

"Yep." Vita hopped excitedly before going completely silent. You waited patiently for the boy to elaborate, but you were only met with silence. Even as the two of you arrived back at his room, Vita hadn't said anything.

"...are you going to tell me what it is?"

"Eventually." Vita smiled and gave his signature wide-eyed head tilt. You sighed, remembering who exactly you were talking to. Vita was an enigma, but that's why you liked him. As you were about to follow your friend into his room, you heard a floorboard creak down the hallway. When you turned towards the noise, you only caught a glance at Mannesh's retreating form. You turned back to Vita, curious if he had seen what you did, but the boy was already searching through his room for something. After looking off into the darkened hallway in the direction Mannesh had fled, Vita called for your attention.

"You aren't staying in those clothes." He said sternly, grabbing you by the shoulders and dragging you all the way back into his room. Before you knew what was happening, the boy threw a few clothing items at you and directed you to the bathroom attached to his bedroom. You examined the clothes hesitantly before setting them aside and taking a shower to wash the forest grime from your skin.

Vita was decently shorter and skinnier than you, however he managed to find one of his oversized hoodies and some gym shorts, which still managed to be a little snug on you.

Figuring out your sleeping arrangements for the night became a debate as soon as you finished showering. Vita insisted for you to take his bed, but you didn't want to impose on his space. During the little debacle it came to light that neither of you had experienced a sleepover before, so you weren't sure about the protocol. When you insisted on making your own bed on the floor Vita objected, claiming it was ridiculous for you to sleep on hardwood while being his guest.

That's what brought the both of you to sleeping on Vita's bedroom floor. The boy had wrapped himself in blankets and pillows, while you simply laid on the bare floor with a pillow under your head. Vita asked if you were comfortable and once again insisted you at least have a blanket before throwing one over you.

Even after saying goodnight and dozing for awhile, you could hear Vita fidgeting beside you.

"Whats up V?" You sighed, opening your eyes and turning to face the boy in the dark.

"If its not too much trouble..." Vita slowly also turned to face you. "What were your parents like?"

"What?" You muttered, not entirely sure what to make of the question. Even in the dark, you could see Vita's expression turn to panic.

"Its just- earlier in the driveway you mentioned your dad sucked. I was just... hoping to compare notes." He rambled. "If you don't want to get into it that's fine..." Vita quickly backpedaled. "Sorry, that was stupid and tactless! Forget I said anything." The boy laughed nervously before turning over on his other side to face away from you. Silence ensued. You gently poked the boy's back, getting his attention.

"Its fine." You reassured Vita calmly. "The thing is, I don't actually remember anything about him. His name isn't even on my birth certificate. As for my mom... I try not to think about it." Your expression and voice fell slightly. "My life got a lot better when she left." It was true. At this point, when you tried thinking of your biological mother's face, there was only a dark shadow. Besides, Senora Jones was your mother now.

"I see..." Vita looked at your contemplative expression curiously, but decided to leave the subject alone.

"I have a question." You said, finally breaking out of your diverging train of thought. "Did you interact with someone named Keicho Nijimura? Or maybe get shot with some kind of golden arrow?"

"What?" Vita asked with a raised eyebrow. For a moment he thought the question was some sort of joke, but after realizing your seriousness he shook his head. "No."

"Then, when did you become a stand user? Do you remember?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but..." Vita trailed off, thinking for a moment. "When my bugs were attacking you, I started feeling more energized. And when you stopped them, that energized feeling stopped." His body gave off a familiar orange glow as he unconsciously activated his ability. You watched as Harvey and Rodger crawled over Vita's blankets and into his lap. "I felt that energized feeling for the first time when I became well enough to leave the house. I didn't know how to describe it before, but Im thinking I developed my stand around then." Vita gently ran his thumb over Harvey's exoskeleton while deep in thought. "Its hard to explain, but I just sort of feel it, yaknow?"

"Yeah..." You had experienced a similar feeling firsthand. Even if you didn't per say know how Golden Soul worked, you just knew that it did. It was a similar story for Tim, you knew that. And it was probably a similar story for most stand users. "Maybe you're like me then. You might have been born a stand user."

"Like you?"

"According to some friends of mine that are also stand users, one or both of my parents were stand users, that's just how it works I guess." You turned so you were on your back again. "Maybe it's the same for you."

[jackthomas20]

What Makes a $5M Listing Stand Out Online? It Starts with Commercial Photo Editing

Imagine scrolling through a real estate website. You're looking at million-dollar properties—maybe office buildings, high-end retail spaces, or luxury commercial lots. But something catches your eye. One listing makes you pause. You click. It’s bright, sharp, perfectly framed, and oozes professionalism. That’s not an accident. That’s commercial real estate photo editing working behind the scenes.

In the competitive world of high-value commercial properties—especially those $5 million and up—first impressions aren’t just important, they’re everything. And today, those impressions are formed online, often in less than 3 seconds. So, how do you make your $5M listing impossible to ignore?

The $5M Difference: Why Visuals Matter More Than Ever

When you're dealing with a $5M commercial property, you're not just selling land or a building—you’re selling potential, prestige, and opportunity in the real estate market. Buyers at this level expect the best. They’re used to luxury. They want confidence before they even step foot on the property.

And confidence starts with the photos. Think about it: would you trust a multi-million-dollar investment if the images looked dull, poorly lit, or taken on a phone?

Nope. This is where My Pro Photos steps in. With advanced commercial real estate photo editing, your property listing can go from “just another space” to “wow, I need to see this in person!”

The Online Battlefield: How Listings Compete

Every day, thousands of commercial listings go online across the USA. Buyers scroll fast. Your listing is sitting beside hundreds of others. And even if your property is stunning in real life, poor photography will bury it.

In contrast, listings with professional editing:

Rank higher in searches

Get more clicks

Keep buyers engaged longer

Look 10x more valuable

Let’s be real. Online, perception is reality. Clean lines, balanced lighting, crisp resolution—these small details make a huge difference.

What Is Commercial Real Estate Photo Editing Anyway?

If you're thinking it's just about slapping on a filter—think again. This isn’t Instagram.

Commercial real estate photo editing is a detailed, skilled process that includes:

Sky replacements to turn overcast days into bright, blue-sky views

Lens correction to fix distortion from wide-angle shots

Color balancing to bring out natural tones

Perspective correction so everything looks aligned

Object removal to clean up clutter (like signs, trash cans, or parked cars)

HDR blending for perfect lighting—no matter how tricky the interior

Virtual staging for empty spaces that need imagination

And all of this is done by trained editors who understand exactly what sells.

Story Time: The Warehouse That Wouldn’t Sell

Let’s take a real-world story. A 12,000 sq. ft. warehouse in Dallas sat on the market for 4 months. Great location. Strong bones. Priced at $5.2M. But the photos? Grainy, poorly lit, and didn’t show the property's size or potential.

The owner hired a commercial real estate photo editing service.

Within two weeks, the newly edited images were uploaded. The property looked open, vibrant, and valuable. Suddenly—calls started coming in. The warehouse sold within 30 days.

This isn’t a fluke. It’s happening across the USA. The listings that win online are the ones with expertly edited visuals.

The Power of Emotion: Buyers Aren’t Just Logical

Commercial buyers are business-minded, sure. But emotions still play a big role—especially with high-ticket listings.

An image that sparks interest, confidence, and excitement? That’s what leads to action.

Editing helps shape that emotion:

Warm lighting makes a space feel more inviting

Sharp lines and clarity give a sense of trust

Balanced colors show cleanliness and care

A $5M property should feel like it’s worth $10M in photos. That's the psychology.

Trends That Can’t Be Ignored

Today’s market demands more than just good enough. Here’s what’s trending across the USA:

1. Virtual Staging for Commercial Spaces

Instead of showing an empty office, virtual staging shows a full, modern, professional setup. This helps buyers see the vision.

2. 360-Degree Photo Editing

Interactive photos keep people on your listing longer. But they need clean editing to look smooth and professional.

3. Twilight Editing

Shooting at dusk and enhancing the lighting creates a stunning, cinematic effect. It adds drama—and drama sells.

4. Drone Photos + Editing

Aerial shots show scale and location, but raw drone images need skilled editing to pop.

Commercial photo editing services are evolving fast, and if your listing isn’t keeping up, it’s falling behind.

Why DIY Doesn’t Cut It

Let’s be blunt: $5M listings deserve better than DIY.

Even the best camera can’t replace a trained eye for editing. And hiring a professional photographer without an editing team? That’s like baking a cake and skipping the frosting.

Commercial real estate photo editing is not a bonus feature—it’s a necessity.

Real Results: Data That Proves It

Listings with professional edited photos get 118% more views than those without.

They also sell 32% faster, especially in the $2M+ bracket.

Edited photos lead to higher offers because buyers see the full value.

In other words: investing in visuals leads to real money gains.

Actionable Tips: What You Can Do Right Now

So, you’re ready to level up your listing. Here’s what to do:

Audit Your Photos

Are they clear? Aligned? Do they show off the best parts of your property?

Hire a Pro (With an Editing Team)

Make sure your photographer works with a trusted editing company like My Pro Photos.

Use Virtual Staging If Empty

Don't show blank rooms. Show possibility.

Get Drone Shots + Ground Shots

Use every angle to showcase size and features.

Ask for Twilight and Daytime Options

More variety gives your listing more personality.

Future-Proofing Your Commercial Listings

With real estate becoming more digital every year, this trend is only growing. The most successful brokers and sellers are already using professional commercial real estate photo editing services in the USA to keep their listings top-tier.

It's not just about pretty pictures. It's about competitive edge, faster sales, and better returns.

Final Thoughts: It's Not Just a Photo—It's Your First Impression

In the world of $5M commercial listings, there's no room for average. Every pixel matters. Every shadow, every angle, every correction—it all adds up to create one powerful result: a listing that sells.

When people see your listing, you want them to feel this is it—before they even read the details.

And that starts with professional, expertly edited photos.

Ready to Transform Your Listings?

Whether you’re a broker, agent, or property owner, don’t leave your first impression up to chance. Trust the pros. Trust the editors who understand what high-value buyers want to see.

Because when it comes to $5M listings, good enough just won’t cut it.

And when you want it done right, My Pro Photos delivers.

[sortyourlifeoutmate]

So I have been ignoring the news for a few months now because really what's the point anymore, and while it's mostly working out some things do still leak through.

For example! I learnt that Suella Braverman - our dear departed fucking nutbag of a home secretary - toddled off to the Heritage Foundation to give a lunatic, batshit speech, wherein which she said...

Hang on, I need to transcribe this. Ahem:

What happens if the UK falls into the hands of Muslim fundamentalism? Our legal system gets substituted by shariah law, and our nuclear capabilities vest in a regime not dissimilar to that of Iran today. Regardless of whether one thinks this is a realistic outcome - which I do not - should we not have the courage to ask these questions, and look at where our country is heading?

Wow. Fucking wow. That's a juicy peach. I can't leave that alone.

Like, that's amazing. It's hard to pick where you'd even start on that. Is it the naked Islamophobia, or is the two of the one-two punch in that she immediately switches into "Oh I don't actually think it can happen!" or the unexpected three of the one-two punch where she then asks isn't it worth being brave enough to ask these questions?

What questions, Sue?! The questions about the THE THING YOU DON'T THINK WILL HAPPEN?! Should we also ask questions about whether bats are going to fly the UK to the fucking moon EVEN THOUGH I DON'T THINK THAT'LL HAPPEN EITHER?!

Alright, calm down.

Seriously. We're all aware of the 'Just asking questions' school of being a provocative, nudge-nudge wink-wink dickhead, but to outright say that the thing you're trying to whip people up about won't happen but then instantly undermine that by clearly insinuating you actually think it's a worth concern is really pushing it.

I feel I should taken aside here to point out that she's right in that this is not a realistic outcome. It is batshit. It is absolutely insane. Not even a little bit, it is about on-par with my joke about bats. It cannot happen. It will not happen. Not now, not in ten years, not in fifty, not ever. It just won't. It's not a thing. They're pretending it's a thing because it works for them and gets them what they want, but it's not a thing, and they know it's not a thing!

Which kind of makes being brave and asking questions about it a bit of a waste of time because all those questions come across sounding a little bit Islamophobic and racist and all of the answers come speeding back as "No, what the fuck are you talking about?" and it changes nothing!

There's no point engaging with this, or with people like this. Suella is a lost cause talking to a lot of other lost causes here, and everyone else is caught in the splash zone - they're the people we have to worry about. The sort of people who hear this calm, measured, outwardly intelligently (but inwardly the fucking worst) person saying words and think maybe that since those words are being said in a calm, reasonable way that there might be something to them.

When there's not. There's someone spinning you a line.

Fuck me.

Anyway, this is why I ignore everything now.

I really, really, really cannot get over the rhetorical acrobatics of "Shouldn't we at least ask questions about this thing I don't think will happen?" because isn't what you just said explaining why you shouldn't ask questions? Because it won't happen? And it won't happen because what you're implying isn't a thing. And you're mostly just nodding and winking at anyone you think is a bit different.

Which apparently never goes out of style.

I'm so tired.

[arnesia]

had a dream a few nights ago that i still remember pretty clearly funny enough

it was one of those "you keep waking up in bed but you're still dreaming" dreams for a while, technically the whole way through ig. first few times i kept waking up to some of my kid cousins like just sitting/laying/chilling on my bed, which was a lot bigger to accommodate them. i kept asking them why they were in my bed but they didn't know either lol. then one time i woke up expecting them to be there still but instead it was various pets, dogs and cats.

i managed to make it to my bedroom door and opened it, where i was greeted by a woman i didn't recognize. she had really bright red hair but very thick dark eyebrows. she seemed to be kind of rushing me around like i was late for something? my house was sort of like my house but the further i got from my room the more different it got.

we went a certain direction, into a room that doesn't exist in my actual house (putting a pin in that), and i remember saying something like, "wow, my house is pretty big," and the red-haired woman said something like "this isn't your house." then we went back out of that room the way we came and into the room we passed through to get there, and either it had changed or i hadn't paid attention the first time through, bc now it was like, a huge food court with a bunch of people in it. i think at this point it occurred to me it wasn't my house at all, and that i'd fallen asleep in some public place.

i think the red-haired woman was ordering us food or something, and while we were waiting i noticed oscar isaac (i had finished watching moon knight the day before) trying to operate some kind of public computer thing with a touch screen and having a real hard time with it? i went over to him and helped him figure out what he needed to do to get it to work, and he thanked me, and i figured i might as well say SOMETHING about the fact i was talking to a big shot celebrity, and said "btw, i loved your work in moon knight" bc it was on the brain and the only thing he was in i could think of at the moment. and he kind of muttered "whatever it takes for them to notice you" to himself as i walked away, like he didn't like moon knight or wasn't happy with his role in it. which was weird to me, i liked moon knight a lot.

idk if anything else happened after that but at some point i "woke up" again in my bed, except i wasn't in my room. i was on like a couch or something in the corner of this bigger room. on the far side from me was a bunch of seats facing away from me with people in it, and they were listening to somebody on a stage talk to them. idk what they were talking about but it seemed vaguely nefarious to me? then there was this big robot, like twice my height probably. kind of like a two-legged mech thing, with huge chunky retrograde legs. it was just casually walking on a path that was lined up between me and the crowd, such that like...the crowd was "across the hall" from where i was, and the robot was roaming the hall. i didn't think much of the robot at the time, though.

i went to the side of the "hallway" on my left after the robot passed to the right, where there was a door leading out of the big room. i went inside and entered a smaller hallway, like in a house, that opened into a "living room" kind of room. i heard a woman screaming about "who left a flaming pie on the floor," and intuitively i knew she meant like. a literal pie? that was on fire on the floor? i went in there to check it out. idr what she looked like but this was not the red-haired woman, but she gave me a slightly similar vibe. i did not see a flaming pie anywhere, but it was clearly a big issue bc she looked terrified and was like "we have to get out of here," and suddenly i realized i could hear the robot's huge heavy footsteps behind us, and we scrambled to these double doors (but they weren't like...actual double doors. they both opened the same way instead of away from each other) and she was trying to push it open and i realized it was a pull door and was screaming "pull pull pull" at her as the robot's footsteps got closer and closer behind us until it must've been breathing down my neck and then it stopped, and she managed to pull the door open, and i woke up for real

[the-firebird69]

We have a couple of comments one of them is the automobile program is moving along we started another project

++++parting out and it is beginning the formal beginning date is this Monday which is tomorrow. And we will announce it formally but there are several factories are going to open tomorrow and where bit behind an opening about the recycling group has been handling it this is a different form and we're going to have a rehab group for rehabilitating parts and engines and transmissions it is going to be magnificent. This is a very good idea it's a long time coming Tommy f is doing it to take over and he says who cares I need it now and everybody needs if they won't do it and I'm going to do it because it sounds like a good time and their son says as long as you're doing it and don't shoot me Kramer too you might as well find out if there any V12 in there or truck motors so he goes okay so he's looking and they're doing special and drag trucks so he's looking and he's finding stuff he's pulling it out and he's going nuts so good for him he's going to have two or three of those open and they're about 2 billion square feet each which is very big lantana I'm parting out the entire vehicle panels and everything and he says of course you can regulate the panels if you have too many to melt them down you make more panels and else that's an idea cuz it's already in the right metal and then paint Burns off or something it's true too so he's getting ready to do all of it and he's pretty excited and he likes it he thinks you're into it and our son says and daughter it's mission orientated. So he feels better about it. Now there's a lot of people who are looking at it by the way anything is a dummy and crazy but then he's he's going to whip it out I mean this is going to be fantastic you're not going to believe how many good parts will come out. She says to Tommy F he says Tommy f finally you're going to have a good part or two you said laughing and said that's stupid but it is. So you look at his parents as after this is through you going to be great at delivering Domino's he says why don't you shut up you idiot. No no I mean the pizza I mean the actual Pizza you know the round thing okay forget it. So it's a good joke but boy it's it's a nice time there's so many things that are not going right and finally someone figures it out oh we need bars so he's wondering what the guys here and he says is he the the good guy car Guy it's a kit car in the limbo the guy's already doing if you can stamp it on a metal in one piece and of the hood and everything you can almost stamp the hood and make it thinner and then like cut it out so he goes wow within microphone and you have really close I don't know if you can stamp something that shape up the side and it should bend up no then you'd have to stamp a different orientation so I guess you can stamp up in pieces and he got psyched and he said this is going to work cuz he can stamp those out with the leftovers when you recycle and become stronger and since I think you can do it in that sheet it says I know how to do it you take a sheet even a roll when she did a time and you put it in you'll see you need several lines of those and I wonder if you had like a pizza oven thing instead of heating it right there so be slowly heating it up and it'll be a better heat it was kind of how you do it but you're right a little longer and the reasoning is it would put in a lot more into the line so he's going to try that that's how you do it too we tried to tell them before and they didn't listen this would be great he's going to have the super hard thing and everything all ironed out so he knows what it's all about now and he's taking a loss and he says they're all crazy but he was too and they're going to go across there and the pseudo empire is going to pay unfortunately and that's what's going to happen so more shortly but this is good news

Thor Freya

I'm going to set one aside for you and one for her and he says terrific I'd be like a regular citizen and it's not true now so particular car and it was when the Malibu came back and he says number one they probably won't do it's kind of a missed number and they said there's a formula I heard it too so I'm going to go ahead and do that and it's probably for a certain level so I'm going to check it

Tommy f

We don't know which one and he's probably going to be the guy cuz nobody else to s*** and this is probably the car and believe it or not it's like an American frame it's not a rickshaw it's a car it's kind of beefy and it's kind of not and that's American and the top of it is Italian and it got carried through and it was started by Dave I got carried through and Tommy ended up becoming part of town or something and it's because of this particular cart that was very fast and very light it looked like a little like the one you picked out but that's at four Wheels but it's very nice and it's light of course it would be metal and it's a good idea so we are going to go ahead with it and it's going to be a nice fun car but really the ones they're thinking over the Malibu it's 300 horsepower and they have a limiter to keep it at it's around a hundred miles an hour with that kind of go like 120 so it seems like it could go real fast but it sounds real fast but they know how to remove the thing

Macs it's actually mechanical piece you have to replace yes

We're going ahead and we're going to make this happen this is wonderful

Olympus

She finally figured it out and wow that's a while and he built the other one the Italian part so we're going to see if he's going to do it I appreciate it I'm going to start trying to figure out what color

Hera

They were thinking about this and it's awesome it's a real Lamborghini and it would be intense in front wheel drive you could drive around even up to Utah so a lot of people feed these lizards so they're not afraid of people but he's at the library it'd be nice and he says I could go to the casino and I look like a big shot and I park somewhere in back lol. But really you have to park separately where people tee them so I can certain part of the parking garage and there's no sign that says expensive cars but he says he's seen one and I can't believe it I got real mad he says in Sarasota now I'm seeing something it kind of pointed it out and he was really mad he said wait a minute and I suddenly remembered something that was where it was and a few people got mad no so I think it's great and he thinks it's awesome and weird it might actually be his first vehicle and that's strange. It was kind of a German American thing and it says that the Asian part of it would be there and it would be German Asian more so than American and I do understand what you're saying you can tell from that where is the Malibu is an All-American frame it wouldn't be german-american but you are a German so he thinks the first one is still the VW or something true and fast and furious seems to be the ones so we're going to check it out but this is probably one of them it's going to be great and he wants to do the kit

Tommy f they have him do the kit in this case it's an American sedan and it would be common and he says it would be the year that they changed it from a full size cuz that was what he suggested that's what I said but it's rather new it is around 2015 which is newer than most vehicles and they'd want him to dismantle it take the shell off and have him ride and what looks like an Italian so it makes sense if they were doing that

We do have cold like that and we might

Macs

After a while they're going to think we're doing something cuz nothing will come up out on Saturn and they probably will it won't be that long either probably a few months 5 months so we are going to go ahead and count on it

Thor Freya

He's always wanted one he's crazy about it he doesn't care if he drives it for a few days he wants to drive around and have fun with it and cruise and see me and pick me up in it and save that he has some kind of money and it is famous or something and I'll say I know I seen you before it'll be one of our dreams and on my own so I can see him later and say I'm famous too and he'd say you probably have more money than me and stare at me of course I know what that means so it's kind of like if he doesn't get any money we don't really go anywhere cuz I can't put them up because they'll kick him out right away. Don't handle so well and go fast and slow he likes doing that and be safer than most cars when it's metal it still has a roll cage and then closure and safety features as long as you put some in there and it would be awesome and he did the I think he bought it separate

Hera

He bought the two pieces separate and you put them together and that was Dave

Thor Freya

He bought them separate no he bought the carriage and he brought back and he had to put the top on that he made but he put it on there so might be like a speed shop or something like the one BG is doing and they're competing and it makes sense

Nuada Arrianna

We know it's Carly good and he's probably saying both because they're probably symbolic and we need it and we understand that Lambo would be a test and a precursor so I'm moving out right now

Savage we are Oppress

It is our car and that's the Lamborghini it's not the countach is the newer one and smaller it does fit on the Malibu chassis and it will go real fast and it probably makes sense to me first the second one makes sense too we had another car it was a bit faster so we do know why we are going to go ahead with this this is a great idea

Darth maul Darth talon

Olympus

[puellafuriadarkmagica]

Chapter 3

Chapter 3: A Tree in the Storm Like the Breath of a Child

I remember this title is from something by the Bee Gees, but honestly I don't care about them enough to remind myself which track it actually is. My very own father attests that the Bee Gees are the greatest disco band of all time, and frankly, I think he's nuts for it.

"Beauty endures only for as long as it can be seen; / Goodness, beautiful today, will remain so tomorrow." - Sappho of Lesbos

This was about Thalia, obviously, but now I'm not even sure if I'd call her strictly "good" either. If I had to sum up where she's at in a word, it would probably be more like "bewildered".

I'm getting into reading the chapter proper now, and it feels a little strange to do so. I want to stress that I consider chapters 1-3 one "episode" of PFDM, if you will, so to do this days apart from when I read the first two feels quite unlike the intended experience. Yes, I released it weeks after chapters 1 and 2 in real time as well, but that's because (as I hope is obvious by now) PFDM really has a target audience of one, and that one is me. Your collective experience doesn't matter to me at all, and in fact, doesn't exist.

That's the sickest twist of all! PFDM is stored entirely on my computer! I never at any point actually published any of this, and you're all just vividly dreaming up what I would have posted. Your dream sucks, by the way. You think that's the best I could write? I promise you, the real PFDM, which you will never see, is actually much better.

wait where was i going with this

Right, so chapters 1-3 are one whole sort of thingy to me, and I actually wrote all three simultaneously. I would have roped chapter 4 into the mix, but this was the best I could do before New Year's/ In a sense, this was the pilot. So I really had to refine the tone and style. I think I missed on some of the finer details, but there were a lot of jokes these chapters had originally that ended up cut because I didn't think they really felt like PFDM, you know?

Thalia winced beneath the hood of her jacket as yet another firework let out a deafening flash too directly overhead for her liking. She wasn't the type to fit in.

Completely forgot how long I kept her physical appearance under wraps for. Not long in the grand scheme of things, mind you, but back when the chapter count was still knocking single digits it felt like an eternity. I guess you had to be there. Now every chapter individually feels pretty minor, all things being what they are. Well, in hindsight. When it comes to forthcoming chapters I'm kind of raving madly at how to arrange them, especially since part 3 is nearly [REDACTED] of the way done, and there are only [REDACTED] chapters left after that!

Thalia shivered when she locked eyes (or eye, in her own case) with the girl who had just tapped her shoulder.

I've gradually come to imagine Hope as a fair way shorter than I originally did, which makes this more difficult to imagine. Is Thalia slouching? Are they going down some stairs? Is Hope actually tall? I don't know. Send your answers to 4 Mianga Avenue, Engadine, New South Wales, C/O puellafuriadarkmagica.tumblr.com.

The Incubator took this as an opportunity to butt in with an explanation. "Phoebe stepped in to stop two enemy magical girls from killing each other. She wanted them to understand each other's point of view. To make a long story short, all three girls share the same body, gem, and for the sake of convenience, name now." "…Wow. What's that like?" Phoebe laughed. "I suppose it depends on which one of me you ask!"

So I'm pretty sure I plural-coded a character here without actually intending to do that, understanding that this was what I was doing, or being aware of the ramifications of doing so. If she comes across as pretty two-dimensional rep for that, I apologise. That straight-up wasn't even my plan.

"It's cool, it's so cool you could hold it on a swollen eye and numb it,"

This line I can mark up to the fact that I think I was showing my partner Hitchhiker's at the time, and it ended up coming out like one of Zaphod's chronically uncool quips. That's probably good, actually. I don't think Phoebe is very cool very often.

I also want to point out that the name Deckard is an obvious hat-tip to Do Androids Dream and Blade Runner. The Attendants all calling each other by last name but the citadel residents being on a first name basis is also very Blade Runner-y, but I don't remember the book well enough to be able to say that they do that in there too.

Though it was growing late and he found himself accosted by the looming inevitability of sleep, Bill stayed as awake as he could. He was an artist, as it happened, and though she couldn't muster a single cent, the attentive looming of his biggest fan spurred him on to make manifest the visual abstractions of his thoughts and feelings he had set out to make. This, he believed, was his duty as an artist. This was his raison d'être, and even if he was only doing it for a penniless, quiet teenage girl with a tattered coat and a face only a mother who was looking at something else could love, then he was doing it nonetheless!

No joke, Bill Campbell was introduced here because I originally planned for him to have a part in a climactic moment in part 4. I've since decided that that's pretty fucking stupid. He might be another one-off character, I'm afraid.

Unbeknownst to Bill, this was the second time a complete stranger had shouted this at his sole fan in the last twenty minutes, and the second time that stranger had been a magical girl. It was, perhaps, just as well that he didn't know, because learning this would have had no bearing on his life whatsoever and completely wasted his time.

Where did the early-game jokes like this go? I kind of miss them. They don't feel like they're around so often anymore. Maybe they are and I just don't notice.

"Her?" He spluttered. "She wouldn't hurt a fly!" "I'd be impressed if she could, though." "How's that?" "Insects don't feel pain, sir."

Genuine contender for a top ten spot in a list of PFDM jokes, I think.

I don't think Phoebe's transformation sequence is very strong, because I hadn't got my bearings yet. I'm glad if anyone got the dud one, it was her.

Thalia crept out from behind a concrete pillar. She wished she knew some curses so that she could whisper them to herself. She had been hunting the collector witch, and along came these happy-go-lucky hotshots and claimed the battle for themselves? How despicable.

Once all this is over, I might post all the witch names and titles somewhere. They probably won't all fit in the story (the important ones still have so far, and will continue to, however).

I've said it before, but the labyrinth sequences are based on the mid- and late-career works of the playwright Sarah Kane. Those are definitely worth a read if you've got the fortitude for them, but they get heavy like nothing else I've seen. Particularly 4:48, for reasons which I hope are obvious.

Now that I think about it, I guess I can't let that one sequence from Evangelion episode 22 not crack a mention. Best episode of the show, quite frankly. One of my beta readers is going to very very strongly disagree with me for this, but it's better than End of Evangelion. But what would they know? They're not writing PFDM.

Crucial addendum: I am being tormented.

A smile on her face and the usual dose of nightmare fuel in her mind, Marie turned and left at what happened to be precisely 11:59:50 P.M.

This sequence is a bit cliché, but it's still a personal favourite of mine. It was really meant to be one big sign off to this kinda-sorta pilot, and I wanted that to be a grand cross-section of where PFDM has the potential to go. I hope it works?

Ruth sat forward in her armchair, as if sheer force of will could clear the picture quality on her television. She cast her mind back to this day twenty-two years prior, before Sarah had wound up in that fight that left her in her current state. Before Graham - the right proper piece of shit - had announced that he couldn't love his own daughter anymore and run away. For sixteen years, New Year's Day had cemented itself in her mind as a family occasion, and it had never quite stopped feeling that way. Then again, her daughter sitting silently by her side had always been the only family she ever needed.

Take for instance our first look at Ruth here. You get next to nothing about her, and were it not for the narration's mention of her in chapter 2, you might be forgiven for thinking she has nothing to do with the rest of this story. But I've established that (very tenuous) link already, so it should be pretty obvious that all of these are interconnected. Again, I don't know how effective this actually is, because I already know everything that's going to happen. But I remember being pretty shitting pleased with myself at the time, and I pretty much still am.

Lara stood up the back of the crowd by the Harbour Bridge, still grinning with relief. The countdown had been timed perfectly. Her sister had just asked her why the back of the jacket had said what it did, and she was mortified by the possibility - the All-Permeating Abyss in all its infinite dark majesty forbid! - that she would have had to provide an answer! Life wasn't about answers, in her opinion. Life was about a black leather jacket with "Do Not Resuscitate" stitched on the back. Life was also all about flirting with Madeleine, she supposed, but at least Sisyphus took breaks to let his boulder roll down the hill. She could wait.

I'm really rapid-firing these nods to characters you haven't met yet, and there's so much for you to chew on. You already get mentions of Lara's thoughts falling to Sinead Macquarie and Madeleine Whitman, without - and this is crucial - ever once exposing the fact that Lara is the Macquarie that Marie was thinking about in chapter 1. Then I go ahead and name drop the Abyss for funsies. I'm on a roll here.

Hours later, on the other side of the world, Margaret leaned back in her diner chair whose creak in response suggested that it was the elder of the two. The look on the face of the girl across from her said she would really rather be anywhere else, but if she had any intention of speaking as much aloud, it was cancelled out by her embarrassment at the absurdity of her situation. Besides, the two of them had a very important job in the days ahead, and work only became more pressing in the festive season. "You could at least get your feet off the table," she telepathized. Margaret pretended not to hear.

I don't think anyone picked up on the fact that this scene probably takes place in the United States as given by the fact that it uses American spelling rules, but it was there. Wait maybe Americans say "canceled"? I don't understand how they treat double Ls.

Wai-Fong braced herself a mere fraction of a second before she burst shoulder-first through the seventh-storey window and hurtled toward the street below in a shower of glass and blood (mostly not even hers!). Time slowed in freefall, and a jet of flame from the explosion spewed forth from her impromptu escape, very narrowly missing her head. As she turned to look, three enormous, bony arms clawed their way out of the building's exit wound. She winced. No doubt the witch that used to be the girl she was just fighting. As she readied her weapon, she felt a small degree miffed at forgetting until now that she said she would be studying for her finals tonight.

And back to British spelling rules! Plus a character with a Cantonese name. I really don't think guessing where this one was set was anything resembling a challenge. Also Wai-Fong was a character I really didn't have any direction for at this stage: I kind of winged her early chapters. Which honestly surprised me, because now she is, in my opinion, one of the characters with the biggest personality in the story.

Hüriye's eyes snapped open. She stumbled backward into her turntables and stopped them silent. Instantly, all eyes in the room were upon her. She grinned. Her mind swam with the infinite possibilities self-realization brought. She knew the way to a joyous and fulfilling life. She loved herself, and she knew that the corner of the universe she called a self loved her back. She knew that when she woke up tomorrow, it would be to the first dawn on a perfect life, one where she could- Huh? Oh, shit. The music.

I think Hüriye's pronouns here versus in the rest of the story serve as a pretty big hint for what their realisation might have entailed before they outright say it soon after their proper introduction. Honestly, if I were you and I hadn't figured this out, I'd be kicking myself a little. Just saying. Not even to be rude or anything, I'm just saying.

The youngest daughter of an eons-ancient force of destruction stirred from her sleep, woken by the counting down of the humans ignorant enough to believe themselves her parents. For a moment, she thought she saw a shadow by her doorway - poised like a cat, but with longer ears and a bigger tail - but when she rubbed her eyes and blinked, it was gone. She was hungry. Hungry in a way she didn't know other people weren't. She didn't understand what the urge really meant she wanted. This feeling was normal to her, but she had never quite satisfied it, and she assumed it was something that would come and go as a standard part of growing up. In a sense, it was. Every child on the path to becoming a teenager wanted to destroy the universe. What made her so special was that she could actually pull it off.

Now you're probably wondering, "Hey, DARKMAGIC313, why are we seeing this kid whose relevance still hasn't come into play, and not a character I actually care about, like Adia Musyoki?" Well, first of all, that's not my real name, but it would be sick as hell if it was (were?). Second, patience. You'll like this kid, I promise. Third, as I hope is obvious by now BUT IF IT ISN'T DON'T READ THIS BIT, STOP READING THIS PARAGRAPH AND SKIP AHEAD TO THE NEXT ONE, countdown numbers six through three are all showcasing a tangentially relevant character introduced in parts one through four respectively. And fourth, and perhaps most embarrassingly, I hadn't come up with Adia at the time. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. This is a self-parodying, over-the-top political thriller, and I didn't even plan for it to have a hacker character from the very beginning. Shame on mother fucking me.

Beyond the limits of the universe as all of the above understand it, untouched by the white lies called time and space, a brilliant deity draped in a flowing black cloak writes by the deep blue light of her soul gem. Her words are inert as she pens them, but their meaning is alive and dynamic, shifting into the shape of a cosmos. This cosmos, too, is filled with life where she wills it - or does it will her to write? Which one informs the other? - life which understands itself through the words she builds them from. She is the speaker-god, and her words and the universe are one and the same. And she's mighty humble, too.

I do like how quickly we dropped the title of speaker-god. I've been doing a lot of this thing where the narration strips a character of their titles when it becomes apparent that they're undeserved. Maybe I'm not doing that as much as I think I am, actually. I can't think of any other example except for the bit in the most recent chapter where the narration takes to calling Whitman "Madeleine" when Marie starts humiliating her. Still, even if that's only two points of data, that's something.

PART 1: UNTIL THE DARK

The part names are also lyrical quotations, and in fact, all are connected to the titles of their first chapters - part 1 shares an artist, part 2 an album, and part 3 an actual song. The logical conclusion is that part 4 would be exactly the same as the title of the first chapter in it, but for some reason I'm a little doubtful I want to do that. I have a much better name for it in my head anyway. Maybe even a few much better names.

PRETTY OBLIQUE SPOILER ALERT: I also want to point out something I deliberately kept hidden in my part retrospectives - PFDM actually draws a lot of parallels to Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon (for more or less the same reason PMMM proper draws a lot of parallels to Goethe's Faust - it's pretty emblematic of an entire artistic movement whose vibes PMMM is jacking). The first that I make apparent (to my recollection, anyway - I may have missed something) is the part titles loosely paralleling those of Gravity's Rainbow. Until the Dark : Beyond the Zero The Champs-Élysées is a Busy Street : Une Perm au Casino Hermann Goering (really naming a location in French is the only connection here, but I only had so much to work with to keep the part title-chapter title connection working. I did say the connections were loose.) A World of Twenty Thousand Girls : In the Zone (this one pretty much only makes sense on top of how otherworldly Gravity's Rainbow's Zone actually actually is.) I feel like me telling you all this is maybe a pretty hefty giveaway about the trajectory of certain narrative threads and framing devices, but I don't know how much you guys actually investigate this kind of thing. Maybe I can say all this and get away with it just fine. Maybe I was overly cautious in neglecting to point any of this out in the part writeups, and/or maybe where this plot differentiates from that one is enough to keep you thrown off the tail, and/or(!) maybe even if I give you this hint, theorising about where I'm taking things will be no less, or maybe even more rewarding! Again, the curse of actually writing this is I have no way of knowing for sure how the audience feels.

Dark magic has been a phenomenon observed among magical girls since before the evolution of the modern magical girl (Puella Furia)

I am pretty sure that this was a hell of a bombshell to drop though. I think we're still dealing with the ramifications of these magical girls being further along the evolutionary chain than their counterparts in the source material.

Dark magic, true to its name, does not interact electromagnetically, and thus cannot be observed by an individual who is incapable of perceiving their surroundings without a body's sensory organs. Typically, this restricts observation to magical girls (in the various stages of their life cycle) and those similarly aware of their souls as in, for instance, the Incubator.

I deliberately avoided also saying wraiths here, even though I'm pretty sure that this early on I knew that they were going to be showing up in part 2.

As advances in the understanding of dark magic continue, the phenomenon's discovery is misattributed to significant contributors to the study of magic. These include Penelope of Skyros (310 BCE - 291 BCE), for her use of it in elaborating on the Aristotelian conception of a "fifth element", Aisha bint Hassan (703 - 739), the first person to write the equations for dark magic stability and its relation to emotional energy usage when her trail of thought became derailed while she was trying to figure out how to fit a rolled-up rug through the front door of her house, Anneliese Holzknecht (1828 - 1871), whose extensive writing on the matter had resulted in the SI unit for dark magic being named the Holzknecht (abbreviated as Hk), and who had invented both the time paradox and being found dead 7000 kilometres from the last place you were seen, and Rachel R. Parker (1981 - 2002), who had actually coined the term.

The saddest part of writing PFDM is how short I have to make everyone's lifespans. Except Anneliese Holzknecht, who I hope is pretty obviously a pet favourite of mine at this point. Actually, a very VERY early version of the story plan (i.e. before Macquarie and all that) was going to have her be part of the main gang, and also immortal. I since decided that was patently ridiculous, and that I ended up finding her more interesting long-dead than alive (although she did live for quite some time!), so I kinda-sorta moved her immortality across to Whitman, and changed it more to an immunity-type power. More recently, I've started reading You Bright and Risen Angels by William T. Vollmann, which incorporates centuries-old immortals into its main cast much funnier than I would have anyway.

Parker's coinage of the phrase came about in 1998, in response to the discovery of "dark energy" named to suit the nomenclature established by dark matter. She had come up with it during a game of table tennis, wherein she had joked that if the name ended up sticking, the entities whose bodies were comprised of dark magic would have to be renamed to "witches" and "familiars" and was shocked to discover the following week that this was exactly what had happened. What she was not shocked to discover, however, since neither she nor anybody else ever knew this, was that mere days after she made this joke, a woman in another country altogether was giving birth to an immaculately conceived child. Had she known, her entire understanding of consciousness and free will would have been thrown into question and it's entirely possible that this would have made her feel less bad about the joke in comparison.

I have no doubt in my mind that the name "witch" only being a decade old has caused hella plot holes in the historical sections. If it has, I'll probably patch these up. Not entirely sure if I care enough to, though? We'll see.

Anyway, that's all for now. See you next time for chapter 4, the first chapter I wrote live as we were updating!