#I had them written in a format and tumblr

[terrietont]

Beach City grew a lot over time since Steven’s departure and it got a little too crowded for some of the more firey gems. Bismuth was forced to construct more and more homes for more and more gems and it grew a little stressful after a while. She adored the new era of peace, but sometimes she missed just hanging out with the gems alone.

The B Team (as Peridot called them) crystal gems of Lapis, Bismuth and Peridot decided to relocate their homes just a little bit away from Little Homeworld. The trio were close with their friends, but they still needed their own space especially with the population growing every day since the liberation of the gem empire.

Peridot often claimed the growing noise was “cluttering her work style” and Lapis was generally overwhelmed with so many gems in one place and found it especially hard to relax after a long day of mentoring and showing off her “meep Morps”

Bismuth couldn’t even lie about how much more peaceful the days have become since moving. Of course she loved her gem comrades, but even she; the ever confident metal worker needed personal time too.

Now she could have time to herself to think about certain… “problems” that had been on her mind for an annoyingly longer time than she’d hoped for.

That night out with Pearl, Steven and Connie was one of the best nights she ever had since her reformation. Seeing her once anxious and frustrated friend so happy, so relaxed and so contented warmed her up like the lava she bathed in, but it felt like there was a piece missing from her gem.

Ever since that night, she couldn’t stop thinking about Pearl. Getting closer to the ex-servant was making it harder to manage her feelings.

She really thought she could let go of those feelings after admitting them to Steven, but they only seemed to grow stronger since that night.

She became more and more flirtatious, trying not to show it to anyone. (Though she was sure Garnet was aware due to that little smirk the fusion kept giving her.) Stars, it made her so nervous to think about admitting to Pearl just the stuff she told Steven, let alone everything she felt entirely!

Of course what she said to him was true; she did want to catch up… but that wasn’t just it. She was really hoping her dumb feelings would dissipate once she told someone about them, but ever since Steven left beach city, she didn’t really have the courage to tell the gems about this and she almost knew without a doubt Amethyst would go blabbing the secret around town (even if it was by accident).

She just couldn’t shake the emotions out of her body.

It was like torture! She couldn’t just keep pretending like everything was okay with her and Pearl… she had to tell her. It was going to come out one way or another.

She’d prefer it came out by her own will and not her blurting it out in the middle of conversation.

Bismuth stared over at the lush trees in the open forest, feeling nothing but the cold wind on her body and the morning sunshine peaking through the white clouds.

The buildings behind her empty of her allied gems. Namely, Peridot’s tall green ‘peridot-shaped’ home and Lapis’s more lazily built blue tent-like structure right next door. Bismuth also had her own miniture forge and resting place for Peridot’s obnoxiously large room. (Something Peridot built for all of them so they could “sleep over” as the green gem put it). It was nice, and it felt like home.

Just peace and quiet, no other sounds to interrupt her thoughts-

‘Crackle, Crackle’.

The sound of a rustling bag caught her by surprise. She turned to see Lapis, standing there with what looked like a bag of chips. The gem was putting them in her mouth so casually, Bismuth almost thought she was Amethyst shapeshifted if it weren’t for the blatant blue hue.

“Oh! Didn’t see ya there, Blue!” Bismuth smiled nervously. “Hey, you going okay over there?” The blue gem asked, gently grabbing a chip and putting it in her mouth. “Oh uh yeah yeah… just thinking about things, that’s all.”

Bismuth stopped to look at Lapis with a curious smile. “I didn’t know you liked to eat!”

Lapis shrugged. “Yeah sometimes, I dunno it’s fun when it’s just something small.” She replied.

“Haha yeah, I mean I don’t really eat all that much, but I do like a good pizza every now and then.” Bismuth laughed.

“Tried it. Too cheesy and gooey” Lapis replied, swallowing her chips.

Bismuth chuckled then continued to stare back into the wilderness. “So… what are you day dreaming about?” Lapis asked, curious.

Bismuth stoped and turned, hiding her nervousness. “Uh well… you know lots of things and wait, where did you learn about day dreaming?”

Lapis snorted with a relaxed grin.

“When you nap as much as I do, you tend to drift off when you’re awake as well” she explained nonchalantly.

“That makes sense” Bismuth nodded.

The silence came again and Bismuth found herself lost in thought. “Who are you day dreaming about?” Lapis asked, smile getting a little wider.

“Huh? Who?” Bismuth’s face darkened… how on earth did the ocean gem catch on so quickly? ‘How did she know?’ Bismuth thought to herself.

“Yeah, who?” Lapis nudged playfully.

“Um well, I uh…” Bismuth sucked in a huge breath. There was no hiding it from Lapis at least “Was it that obvious?” She asked sheepishly.

“To someone who knows what it was like, yeah.” Lapis explained.

“Huh? Wait… you day dream about someone too?” Bismuth asked, curious and kind of desperate for some closure.

“Yeah I used to have these weird feelings around Peridot all the time, I had dreams we’d be I dunno a fusion at some point” Lapis laughed, blushing at the memory.

“But uh fusion kind of sucks for me and Peridot doesn’t want to fuse anyway which is fine. I guess what I’m trying to say is, yeah I kept day dreaming about her off and on, it was like torture” she shuddered, rubbing her arms together.

“That’s what this feels like!” Bismuth exclaimed in desperation. “But how did you tell her?”

Lapis turned her head to the side in confusion. “Tell her?”

“Yeah! You did tell her, right?” Bismuth asked. Lapis looked away. “Not really. I don’t really want to make her uncomfortable, she’s not the kind of gem to feel that way about anyone. I just kinda held it all in and then it went away I guess?” There was a hint of sadness in Lapis’ voice.

“I just- I don’t know how you could just hold it in all the time! I-I want to tell her how I feel about everything! I want to hold her and tell her how beautiful she is and how she makes me laugh and smile and she’s so strong and brave and… I could never amount to her bravery.” Bismuth vented, her hands turned into fists.

“Sounds like you got it bad” Lapis teased with a friendly smile. Bismuth forced a smile, but she was clearly embarrassed, her face being a much darker shade than her whole body.

“Maybe I just need to let it go. Not like I haven’t tried that!” She vented again, feelings compeltely mixed up.

Lapis pondered this for a moment. “Well… you could tell her and maybe she feels the same way? And if she doesn’t… then uh you guys can still be friends, right?” She shrugged.

Bismuth looked over for a moment, thinking long and hard. “I guess… I just, I feel like it would make things so tense between us for the rest of our lives.”

“Gonna be honest with you Bis.” Lapis began, looking at Bismuth directly. “It could be super weird at first but if you guys really get along, you can start over and just be friends again right? I mean I did some pretty dumb things and Peridot and Steven still hung out with me” She tried reassuring the nervous blacksmith, but it didn’t seem to be helping.

“Okay but what if she DOES feel the same way?!” Bismuth replied in panic.

“Then that’s good right?” Lapis shrugged

“Is it?” Bismuth replied, shaken for a moment thinking about Pearl ACTUALLY reciprocating the feelings.

“Oh stars… I just don’t know how to do it!” She exclaimed.

Lapis hummed in thought for a moment. “Hmmm… maybe you need to talk to a certain someone about it? Someone who knows about feelings and stuff way more” she suggested with a knowing grin.

Bismuth’s eyes lit up in realization. “Garnet! I know she’ll help me with this!”

“Yeah she um… she’s pretty good when it comes to this stuff” Lapis replied, looking away looking suddenly nervous.

“Okay! I-I think I can do it!” Bismuth puffed out her chest confidently and brushed off the dust from her outfit. “I just gotta go talk to Garnet!” She reminded herself.

She turned to face a slightly surprised Lapis with a grateful smile.

“Hey Lapis? Thanks, I needed to get that off my chest”

The blue gem blinked for a moment before snort-chuckling. “Well uh yeah sure anytime”

Bismuth warped into the temple where she found Garnet waiting for her on the couch, stroking Cat Steven’s head gently.

“Oh Garnet, you’re here!” Bismuth said in surprise.

Garnet had a small smile on her lips. It was pretty obvious she knew what Bismuth was coming to her for.

“I saw you coming here asking for my advice on an urgent matter” Garnet replied stoically. Bismuth laughed nervously, fidgeting with her fingers. “Oh yeah, future vision” she said under her breath.

“Come.” Garnet motioned for the buff gem to sit with her.

“So, Pearl then…” Garnet’s smile began to widen ever so slightly.

Alas, Bismuth’s face went dark again. “Oh. Is it that obvious?” She felt like she was repeating the same thing earlier that day, except feeling even more incompetent than before.

“Bismuth, whatever fate decides for you and Pearl, I know is going to be alright and all I can see is that you both end up being happy.” Garnet reassured.

“But… how did Ruby and Sapphire do it?” Asked Bismuth.

“How did they not crumble into little pieces when they admit their feelings for one another?”

Garnet laughed under her breath a little. “Ruby and Sapphire were a complete mess. They never once had a calm moment when they fell in love. They were completely love struck.”

“But… what if only one of them were love struck? What happened then?” Bismuth asked, becoming a little more desperate for a quick answer with each passing minute.

Garnet thought for a moment, touching her visor.

“Well… they both ended up dwelling on their feelings for a while until one of them made the decision to talk about it, otherwise they’d stay the same. Restless, tortured, longing.” The fusion explained, cringing at the past for a moment when Ruby and sapphire used to bottle up their feelings more often before they finally decided to stay perma fused.

“I mean it’s not like I want to fuse with her, it’s just… I want to be with her and make her happy and make her smile and just be there for her through the good and the bad, and just support her in anyway I can!” Bismuth sighed, day dreaming again.

Garnet could feel Ruby and Sapphire awing deep within her fusion.

“Bismuth, you need to tell her right away!”

The fusion’s voice suddenly perked up with excitement.

“Wha-huh?!” Bismuth looked startled for a moment and then looked to her side, sweating nervously.

“Uh I um, I dunno Garnet, it just seems like it’s too soon, you know?”

“Well if you don’t do it sooner, you’ll never get around to it and you’ll continue to suffer with deep longing” Garnet explained with harshness, reverting back to her stoic nature.

Bismuth sighed, clenching her fists. “I-“

“You’re right! You’re right!” She stood up, feeling more determined than ever, this time actually feeling like she could do it.

“I better think of something too, maybe prepare a monologue and get some fancy wearables!”

Garnet gave her a smile. “Show her you mean Bismuth” she joked.

The rainbow gem chuckled

“And you better come up with something soon because Pearl is about to use the warp in twelve seconds” Garnet added just as emotionless as before.

“SHE- WHAT!?”

Bismuth tensed with panic.

“Oh shucks! Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?!” She whined, hands griping to her rainbow locks.

“You got this.” Garnet replied simply, giving her a thumbs up and a toothy smile before leaving towards her temple room.

“W-wait!” Bismuth tried, but failed to stop her.

That’s when the warp activated. The whooshing sound of the warp pad and the blue column flashing down shocked Bismuth into hurriedly straightening herself and her hair, brushing off her gem as nicely as she could; though she looked like a real

mess when she stood there waiting; sweating and twitching in anticipation.

Pearl was humming something as she returned from the warp pad, her face remaining neutral before she noticed the pale gem with rainbow hair standing there, almost startling her with her silent presence.

Pearl lit up with joy, clapping her hands together.

“Oh Bismuth! So good to see you again! Did you need something?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Bismuth stood there trying to sound as stoic as possible but her posture said otherwise. She looked like she was imitating a wall.

“Oh… is there something wrong? If it’s about my criticisms of the wedding armour I-I I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said anything-“ she started rambling anxiously.

“What? No no no!” Bismuth shook her head. “It’s about… Us.”

Pearl’s eyes widened for a moment. “Us?” She repeated.

“Yes. Us.”

Pearl didn’t have internal organs, but it felt like she had a heart that just stopped beating for a second. She was worried, concerned, curious, flustered. She didn’t know why. Was it going to be what she thought it was?

Bismuth let out a deep sigh. “Pearl, I need to tell you something. Something that’s been on my mind for well… ever since I met you” she lowered herself to Pearl’s eye level, letting her face go warm without the worry of the reactions she might be getting.

Pearl’s irises went glossy for a moment. Something about the way Bismuth spoke so soflty felt so familar to her…

“Rose” Pearl swallowed, approaching her leader. Said leader turned around with a curious pout, her fluffy pink hair waving around the motion of her body. “Is something wrong, Pearl?” Rose asked worriedly. Pearl clenched her fists tightly. “Can I tell you something?”

Rose smiled warmly. “Of course Pearl, you can tell me anything!”

Pearl smiled slightly, a blush on her face. “Yes uhm.. well the thing is… I’ve been thinking about us..” Pearl admit, flustered.

“Us?” Rose asked, confused.

“Yes. Us.” Pearl continued to force her confidence, but was shaking on the inside. Rose sat down, looking at Pearl expectantly.

“I-I need to tell you s-something I’ve been m-meaning to tell you since we’ve been uhm… around” She gulped, blushing furiously.

Rose, moved, put her hands together, stars in her eyes.

“Yes Pearl?”

Pearl inhaled sharply and then finally let it out “I-I’ve always felt so close to you e-even more now and I-I want to be with you and I-I want to be your Pearl forever. Rose, I love you!”

Rose smiled widely with a giggle. “Aww Pearl I love you too! you’re such a funny gem! So loving and caring and you care about everyone so much!”

Pearl felt like her gem was cracking in two.

“Just the same way Greg-“ Rose suddenly perked up in realization. “Pearl! I need your advice on this! Greg has asked me to be his “Girl-friend?” I have no idea what that means, but he wants to see me tonight about it! What do you think I should go with for my attire? I want your opinion!” She squealed, bouncing up and down like an excited toddler.

“I-I see…” Pearl choked out, holding back tears.

“Pearl? What’s wrong?” Rose rested a hand on Pearl’s shoulder, looking into her eyes.”Oh-Oh it’s nothing!” Pearl forced a laugh, holding back tears as much as she possibly could.

“You mean the world to me, Pearl, you know that? So… black pants outfit or white flowing one?” Rose asked, showing off to her what looked like a tuxedo and a white dress similar to her own.

“Oh whatever you think looks best!” Pearl forced a smile. “Oh you’re right! I think the white one would make Greg really happy!” Rose sighed, blushing at the thought of seeing her human lover again.

“Y-yes I’m sure it would…”

“And Pearl?” Rose turned to her with a warm smile.

“Rose?” Pearl’s voice laced with longing and desperation.

“Don’t forget about our little outing tomorrow, just you me and Greg, my best friends in the whole world !” Rose chuckled warmly and went to hug Pearl. Rose was warm and soft, but Pearl only felt cold and broken.

“Well, wish me luck Pearl! Gotta go dress for the ocassion and impress Mr. universe! Hehe!” Rose got up almost immediately, running to her room.

Pearl stood there silent.

Eventually Rose said goodbye to her gems and left for her “date”, saying “don’t wait up!” Before disappearing into the night. When Garnet and Amethyst retreat to their rooms, all hell broke loose

Pearl fell to her knees and wept. She was angry. Angry at Greg, angry at Rose, angry at herself. What was she thinking confessing like that? She felt so useless and empty. Of course she chose Greg… she just wished deep down she hadn’t.

Everything hurt and it hurt for so long. She was so deeply in love with her Diamond, so deeply in love with Rose… but nothing ever really came of it. Rose made her choice, and she wasn’t it.

As the memory resurfaced, so did Pearl’s attention towards Bismuth who started rambling for a moment. “Pearl… that night we went out to the skating rink.” Bismuth swooned, blushing.

“That was one of best nights of my life”

Pearl’s cheeks went blue and she could not get a single word out.

Years and years of hiding her true feelings came bursting out of the rainbow gem.

“I’m going to honest with you, I always felt this way about you, even when you were falling for Rose. I had to hide eveything because I was afraid!” Bismuth explained, her voice becoming more and more emotional.

“I was afraid of what you would think of me and afraid of how you’d react. You don’t need anyone to be happy! I love that you are yourself and even more so that you’ve really come into your own” She continued causing Pearl to start tearing up, a happy smile on her face, her hands cupped together.

“Bismuth…” Pearl said, only finding enough courage for a soft gasp.

“What I’m trying to say is… I really like you Pearl, I always have and I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go out sometime, maybe for a walk or somethin’ I’ve been trying to get rid of these feelings but no matter how hard I try, they just keep comin’ back harder than ever!” Bismuth’s face was completely flushed by now, but it felt so good to finally let these feelings out.

Pearl’s face was bright blue and she looked like she was about to collapse from the confession. It was so familar, except this time… she was the recipient! She almost couldn’t believe it!

Bismuth had always valued her while she was chasing after an impossible dream. Bismuth was always right there, ready to catch her, to laugh with her, to help her. That was until Rose bubbled her in secret... How much pain she was in over this and how much she tried to hide everything she felt about Pearl for so long.

Pearl was moved to tears.

She felt valued, appreciated, loved, seen. The opposite of how Rose made her feel after she was rejected for Greg. She really thought for so long that Rose was her ultimate fate, her true love, her fantasy turned reality. She would go back in time and tell her past self everything that she so obliviously missed before, if she could!

Pearl’s hands flew to her lips, tears running down her cheeks and blue blush still covering them.

“Pearl… I want to be your rock and if you don’t want that, I understand completely. I’ll always be there to support you no matter what descision you make” Bismuth finished, looking straight into Pearl’s eyes, tearing up at the same time.

“Bismuth I…” Pearl was completely stunned, almost shaking in shock.

Somehow, she felt nauseous, despite not having a stomach. This was so new and so different.

The awkward silence broken as Bismuth began stammering.

“I-I’m really sorry I didn’t want to overwhelm you I um… f-forget I said anything!” She forced a chuckle backing away to give Pearl space, feeling completely embarrassed. “Bismuth.” Pearl stared lovingly at the blacksmith.

“Yeah?” Bismuth turned back, blushing still. “I would love to go for a walk with you” Pearl smiled, speaking soflty, blushing still.

Bismuth let out a half-laugh half sigh of relief. “Really? Where did you wanna go?”

“Anywhere” Pearl held Bismuth’s hands in hers, despite the hand size difference. She reached her head towards Bismuth’s cheek and gave a quick peck, avoiding poking her nose into the taller gem’s face.

Bismuth froze, eyes wide and cheeks still as dark as ever.

“You’re the most beautiful, wonderful, powerful rock in the cosmos, you know that?” Bismuth swooned, almost falling over from the surprise peck.

Pearl chuckled flirtatiously. “Oh Bismuth, don’t be silly. That title belongs to a certain Blacksmith”

Bismuth laughed and couldn’t stop herself from scooping the ex-servant into her arms. Pearl yelped in surprise but was smiling from cheek to cheek, laughing.

“Bismuth, you smooth stone!” She flirted back.

“Who are you calling the smooth one, doll?” Bismuth nicknamed, looking deep into Pearl’s eyes. Pearl couldn’t help but chuckle, swooning over her once more.

For what felt like eternity, they spun around, sharing eachother’s loving gazes, finally finding one another.

“You know” Pearl began, flirtatiously. “Humans usually plan weeks ahead for these things called ‘dates’ but I think we should start right now!” She expressed with a loving gleam in her eyes.

“The most important thing to do on these romantic escapades, is to dress for the occassion!” Pearl said ‘as a matter of fact’. “I know just the attire to dress for!” She popped out with excitement.

“Oh? Dress nicely huh? I think I have a lil’ somethin’ for that!” Bismuth winked and walked over to the warp pad. “I’ll be right back, in my you could say, dating material!” She chuckled lovingly.

“Oh Bismuth you haven’t even seen the REAL fancy suit!” Pearl replied sultry.

Pearl came out of her room wearing the deluxe black tuxedo from Empire City and Bismuth warped back with a white Tuxedo instead.

The rest of day the two did everything they wanted to do together for a long time. Pearl helped Bismuth with puzzles, Bismuth and Pearl began to cook together and both of them talked about old times.

Then as the sun began to set, they walked out still in their formal clothes onto the quiet beach.

There they stood, staring at the calm ocean as the sun started to set over it. Pearl rested her head on Bismuth’s shoulder, watching it with content. “I guess this was uh our first date huh?” Bismuth laughed.

“The first of many” Pearl replied back, eyes closing as she rested closer into her shoulders.

Bismuth’s smile grew so much it hurt and her eyes were so wide and teary. She felt so happy, so calm, so relaxed.

The future was looking bright and it all started with tonight.

#bispearl #Steven universe #steven universe future #bismuth #Pearl #pearl su #bismuth su #pearl x bismuth #bismuth x pearl #fanfiction #su fanfic #tumblr fucked up my notes #I had them written in a format and tumblr #was like #nah let’s ruin her paragraphs #thanks a lot tumblr

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #derek morgan #penelope garcia #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #h writes (hypothetically)

[lisafication]

This post is uh, extremely normal I swear

So hello yes I am absolutely On My Bullshit regarding my new favourite game. 

That’s right, it’s the cannibal incest game, The Coffin of Andy and Leyley. And I’m here to shove five thousand words of pretentious analysis down your throat because, and I do not exaggerate, I think it is one of, if not the best written game I have ever played. And I have played a lot of games, including Baldur’s Gate 3, Final Fantasy XIV and Undertale, to name a few narrative luminaries to come to mind.

That wordcount is not an exaggeration. My brainworms are extremely powerful and now you can share them with me as I walk you through my insane skyscraper of inference-driven analysis.

Or you can click away. I really wouldn’t blame you, it’s quite a lot.

Content Warnings: …Yes?

(To drop the bit for a moment, The Coffin of Andy and Leyley covers extremely disturbing material and challenges you to examine aspects of living in this world that many have taken for granted all their life, it is not a comfortable game, this will cover similar topics and will often echo the game’s unremitting scepticism on basic principles of society and humanity and you should look after yourself first. My Content Warning is framed as a joke, but it’s also quite real in that the game is designed to make you uncomfortable and there’s no shame in that not being for you.)

This was originally posted on and formatted for Sufficient Velocity, and you can probably more easily read and discuss it with me here.

With that said, let’s dig in. I have had to split this into multiple posts because tumblr will only allow so many images. There will be spoilers for all endings.

She’s excited, are you?

It’s All About Ashley

It really is, isn’t it? I mean, for approximately eighty percent of the total game as currently released and the entirety of Episode 1, you’re in control of Ashley, just as she’s in control of her and Andrew’s relationship for 80% of the game, up until the various ending sequences where it begins to slip. The only other characters who really matter at all in and of themselves are Andrew and her mother — and the former is under her thumb, and she eats the latter. It’s all about Ashley. Even her obsession with Andrew is, ultimately, about Ashley.

But who is Ashley? What is Ashley? Why is Ashley, even? Let’s take a look.

Ashley as presented to us in Episode 1 is very straightforward, so let’s list off the traits we’re given — she is malicious, she is fearless, she lacks empathy, she doesn’t have anything resembling a conscience, she demands Andrew belong to her and her alone, she has him at her beck and call.

In Episode 2, we’re ostensibly shown how she has him at her beck and call— she leverages the threat of reporting Nina’s death over him and had him swear to be with her forever. We’re shown that even as a child she was “just, like that” — but as a child, she hadn’t learnt to live with it yet, to laugh at the farce of it all.

Yeah, exactly like that!

And she does this throughout Episode 1 — The Coffin of Andy and Leyley is a remarkably silly game much of the time, finding moments of absurdity and levity against a backdrop blacker than pitch — and most of the time, your internal narration is coming from Ashley and the jokes will not-infrequently come at her own expense.

She will later get negged by her human sacrifice for her poor ritual circle drawing

Her reaction to being told that her soul is as dark and viscous as tar is “You guess you already knew that” — it’s confirmation to her, not new information. Ashley knows who she is. But who taught her this? There’s layers to this, nothing in this game is as simple and straightforward as it appears at first sight, which is why I’ve been obsessing over it for days.

While it’s common in fiction, the truth of the matter is, most ‘bad people’ really do think they’re good people. But Ashley has never once thought of herself as a good person — or perhaps better put as a person worthy of love — as we learn across Episodes 1 & 2, with our flashbacks to Andy and Leyley and the VERY VERY QUIET!!!

I really wish I had space in this essay to talk about this, but I’d like to touch on these being traits usually more easily forgiven in young boys than young girls at some point.

If she removes all other options, only then can she expect him to like her.

This is something that is echoed in the modern day — her seeming self-assurance is easily shaken and she reaches out to the world — usually Andrew — to affirm and validate her, soothing her insecurities, using any tool she deems necessary. Even when her life is on the line when Andrew has her by the throat at the climax of Episode 1, the only ‘compelling reason’ she can give Andrew to not kill her is her ability to soothe his nightmares. When he tells her there are sleeping pills for that…

Most people would have a bit more to argue for their existence.

While she, unlike Andrew, acknowledges having had friends before the quarantine… you know she’s got a point that they didn’t even bother to answer her calls, that was clearly not something the state was interfering with given Andrew’s calls with his mother and his girlfriend, and given her general demeanour it’s not hard to imagine that… they weren’t ever very close. When we see her and Nina talk in the infamous ‘box scene’, it’s clear that Nina doesn’t like her very much, despite Andrew’s assessment of Nina as being one of Ashley’s friends.

We see further support for her general lack of companionship in her dream sequence in the Burial route — Leyley and Leyley Alone. No matter what you do, you can’t place the pink plushy at the family table, the flowers won’t bloom if you give the Julia and Nina plushies her own as a companion instead of Andrew’s — and if you’re bold enough to go for the ‘incest route’, in the ‘Love’ room you see that no one ever looks happy to be with her in the childlike depictions of her history, nor is she happy in turn, save for when she’s with Andrew. In a bit of heavy-handed metaphor, the player then overwrites all of these tense, upset, hard moments with Andrew, having him fill in for everyone else in life — and happy with her.

Once Upon A Lousy Life…

THE END

And that’s why she needs him to affirm her, because no one else ever has and no one else ever will. It’s even included in their comic beats — when the siblings are getting along well, they’ll often play a game where Andrew dramatically overpraises Ashley while she demands more; it’s a comedic bit but I mean — it really does matter to her!

For the record, she opened a door. She gets a little heart in a speech bubble after this exchange.

We have a great example of this dynamic, that of insecurity and affirmation, in Episode 1, after Andrew has killed for her, butchered for her, his girlfriend broke up with her, he’s seemingly thrown his entire life away for her… she’s still insecure over her relationship with him, she’s uncertain of her control and she needs him to reaffirm it for her.

This is her victory, surely?

Andrew affirms her once, with his usual dead-eyed look.

But she's still not so sure.

He actively reaches out to affirm her again with cheer.

Look how happy she is!

While it’s most obvious and clear cut here, it’s hardly the only case. Let’s look back to the aftermath of Andy and Leyley and the VERY VERY QUIET!!! (I’m not using the other name). Leyley is, after similarly extreme acts — he murdered a girl and hid her body for her — convinced Andy doesn’t like her and she needs this leverage to keep him around, to meet her basic needs for survival. Because that’s what this is — she receives no care of affection elsewhere, so she forces it out of the only source she sees available through the means she sees as necessary.

I really hope we see some of their earlier childhood in Episode 3

What exactly made her like this? Was it just neglect, or something more specific…

She needs this to be the case because otherwise she doesn’t believe he’d stay.

This pattern repeats throughout — Ashley’s insecurities are hit on and she reaches out to Andy to affirm that she is not alone, and she will use any and every tool to exploit her ostensible control over him and force him to be what she needs him to be — and as long as she has that, as long as she is everything to him and it’s not possible for him to leave, she’s happy. As long as she thinks he loves her in her very particular, very peculiar view of love, she’s content, come what may. As long as Andy and Leyley are together, they can take on the world.

Let’s talk about that view of love, because there’s always more layers to unpack here I’m only scratching the surface with this essay — Ashley consistently refers to anyone else Andrew may have befriended or spent time with as a whore, a slut, a bitch — highly gendered insults that bring to mind the idea that he’s cheating in some way. But it’s not even about sex — when Andrew mentions that their parents had friends, she accuses them of cheating on each other in the same way!

There’s a lot to unpack about Ashley’s view of femininity and the role the patriarchy plays in their relationship.

Any kind of emotional engagement, any kind of commitment, any kind of life outside of your significant other is, to Ashley, cheating. Because that’s what she needs from Andrew, a seeming complete and total commitment, secure in her place as the only thing in his life, because she cannot understand anyone picking her if they have a choice.

This insecurity she has in her relationship is what drives her to empower the trinket — he can’t leave her as long as she can protect him with prophetic dreams, after all. She needs every kind of leverage she can get because until she succeeds in being everything to him, in devouring him so completely she has him in her thrall mind, body and soul she can’t be sure of herself — hell, her dream sequence in Burial has you placing Andrew’s signature green plushy, ‘the best thing in the world’ in a cage far away from anything else.

Ultimately, it really is all about Ashley — even her seeming obsession with Andrew ultimately comes back to her own insecurities. If she is everything to ‘the best thing in the world’, some of that ‘best’ must surely reflect on her! 

But that’s enough about the more normal, straightforward and understandable sibling. 

That was not a joke.

Andrew’s Rank 100 Deception

The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world that he did not exist.

Let me explain.

You might have noticed that in the previous section I often use language such as ‘ostensibly’ or ‘seemingly’ to describe Andy and Leyley’s relationship, and there’s a good reason for that. From the beginning of the game through to its end, Andrew is lying to you, the player, without ever falsely representing or misinforming you about events that occurred.

The common, or obvious ‘initial take’ on Andrew as presented in Episode 1 is fairly straightforward. The game primes you to think this way, it frames things and strings reveals just right so as to make it very easy to overlook the incongruities it introduces in Episode 2. He’s a victim. Plain and simple, Ashley is his abuser and he is her victim and would be fine, a normal albeit kinda depressed guy without her.

It really is not a difficult conclusion to draw

You can go all the way through the game, have him try to accept his mother’s olive branch and enter the Decay route as a method for him to finally actualise his desire to get out from Ashley’s thumb and it makes sense, it’s a reasonable way for the story to go, given his character.

You see him this way because the game primes you in Episode 1 to view their relationship like Andrew does — he’s lying. He’s lying to himself, he’s lying to Ashley and he’s so good at it — Deception Rank 100 — he even lies to you. Without misrepresenting a single event or otherwise misleading you directly, the game gets you to buy into his preferred self-perception. Nina? Ashley. Julia? Ashley. The murders they commit in the course of the game? Ashley, Ashley, Ashley, it’s not his fault he’s not to blame he’s just a doormat at the beck and call of his demonic sister.

But he wants to be there. From the very outset, the very first puzzle, that’s made clear. Does anyone else remember this exchange, from right at the beginning of the game?

Ashley wants to investigate the music!

Andrew disapproves…

…Or does he?! 

Like. Listen. Okay. You do not frown when saying ‘Nope’ and then smile when saying that you’ll instead tag along if they do it if your heart is at all in the no. That’s not an objection, that’s using Ashley as his excuse. Especially if you immediately throw her the balcony key that she could not possibly have gotten from you by force (more on Andrew’s ability to use force later).

This is the very first time you control both characters together with Andrew following Ashley instead of off on his own, the first adventure, the first puzzle! 

But put a pin in that for now, let’s talk about his initial framing in Episode 2 first. Episode 1 has set us up to, generally speaking, believe the superficial framing of the siblings as portrayed in its promotional art:

The question that we then ask, right at the heart of it is… why is he a doormat? We explore this in his dream sequence in Episode 2, which does make it clear that the boy’s not okay but— it’s real easy, given the priming from Episode 1 to make you think that he’s the one with the originally functional moral compass, to think that that him being fucked up is damage done to him by Nina’s death and being bound to Ashley for his entire life. She corrupted him.

But, well, is that the case?

You're primed to ignore this as manipulation (which it is) but the best manipulation has some truth to it.

Precisely two things spur Andrew to action in the entire game, consistently — they are the fear of consequences and Ashley. And the first incident of that fear, the very first time we’re shown his seeming moral compass as a kid — the first time it’s really hammered home that it’s a fear of consequences rather than any true moral qualms is after Nina’s death. And why does he fear consequences here?

……

The ‘natural’ read that many take away from this sequence, particularly those who have only played Decay, is that Ashley browbeat him into doing this against his will, using emotional blackmail to overwhelm his objections, and then used the event itself to bind him to her forever as her personal doormat.

In a strict sense, this is true. But this doesn’t match up with the details, something the game uses shock to encourage you to overlook. That outburst is before any kind of threat has been made, and absolutely nothing either of them say anything about it being morally bad until Ashley weaponises ‘you’re a bad person’ against Andrew — morality didn’t seem to enter his mind or the equation at all until Ashley brought it up. More than that, his greatest fear and driving motivation even prior to that is, as shown above, being taken away from Ashley.

She, of course, recognises this and uses it against him. But she never needed to, it didn’t change anything about Andrew’s attachment to her, it was there to address her own insecurities.

Just like to touch on how a lot of his affirmations are preceded by him confirming her insecurities.

I adore this phrasing

There’s a second prong to this as well, to the question of ‘who really calls the shots here’ because — Andrew can, at any stage, apply an ‘ultimate veto’ of physical violence. The game is very clear to the player that that is on the table — even when they were children, when Andy swears their blood oath, he briefly considers killing her — and take note of how he ultimately got a ‘winning’ condition out of her by not specifying there wouldn’t be others and she is forced to accept that, there. Even outside of their most serious confrontations, Ashley is portrayed as having to convince, manipulate or otherwise coerce Andrew into going along with her schemes — she really can’t make him do anything, she doesn’t have the supremacy in violence and, to a lesser extent, capability that would allow her to. 

Andrew, you are like ten years old.

The truth of the matter is, Ashley can only make Andrew do anything because he lets her. I don’t mean in the sense that I’m saying abuse victims let their abusers emotionally abuse them, I mean in the sense that he is clearly considering his options on the table and choosing to discard those that could stop her, or bring an end to any of this. He needs her.

But it’s true that he hates her, too. He has to hate her, because if he doesn’t hate her, if he isn’t forced to have done this, that means… he’s responsible. And nothing, at the start of the story, is as important to Andrew as avoiding the consequences of his own actions, not even Ashley. By the midpoint, he loves her, he hates her, he can’t live without her, he wants to kill her — by the end… well, that depends if you’re on Decay or Burial, but more on that in a bit.

A great scene to study for this dynamic is the climax of Episode 1, when Andrew grabs Ashley by the throat and considers strangling her to death. She’s pushed him too far with hurtful words and assault, and he’s seemingly had enough.

It’s still framed as a question of risk, of consequences happening to him. 

Like, this is not the usual behaviour of someone who’s been pushed past their breaking point.

He tells Ashley that he wants to kill her, because she’s just going to throw another fit and that’s a risk to him. She is… not framed as being able to fight back (she does have a gun here, and more on that in a later essay, maybe). He’s so calculated in how he approaches his use of violence here, which isn’t at all what you’d expect of someone about to commit a crime of passion… but it’s very easy to overlook because of the abuser/victim narrative that the player fits his behaviour into the narrative that the game primes them to accept, brushing incongruities under the carpet.

At the start of Episode 2, we get to control Andrew for the first time, and the first obvious holes in his cover start to show. Some of this is optional — you only learn that he’s been faking having nightmares in order to share a bed with Ashley if you choose to go back into the motel room and check the bed, for example — but not all of it.

----(See reblogs for the second half)

#the coffin of andy and leyley #tcoaal #andrew graves #ashley graves #spoilers #multipost

[coolaboutlucy]

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 | 𝙚. 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙢𝙨

pairing: nepo baby!business owner!ellie williams x afab!business owner!reader

tags: smut, fingering (r receiving), pet names/name calling?? (dirty girl, pretty, good girl, baby), slight praise??, god why is tagging so hard, mild language, unethical business practices??, thoughts are green, ellie lowk an asshole, but both reader and ellie are pretty harsh to eachother, maybe that’s it, bare with me if i forget something pls. 😭🙏

a/n: i wrote this directly on tumblr bc i did NAWT feel like pulling up google docs today saur the format might be a lil off. i was watching this show on netflix called ‘locked up’, and like an episode from season two is what inspired this!!! 😜 the show is good honestly it just drags on sometimes!!! ive actually never actually written smut any times before this (believe it or not hehe) anyways, let’s get into it!!!

P.S - DEDICATED TO @sweetysaccharine YAWP YAWP!!!! <333 HOPE U ENJOY POOKIEEEE

P.P.S - don’t look at the typos or i will find you (IM JOKING)

rumors traveled fast, and sometimes it wasn’t always good. for one, they could be infuriating. a company you’d been toe to toe with for.. quite some time had gotten a new ceo. some young girl. articles appeared online about some kinda nepotism scandal. the photo on the top of the article displayed a photo of the previous ceo — joel miller, and the new owner, ellie. they looked happy. but why were they accused of something as harmful as nepotism? long story short, joel turned his brother down for the position (even though he was the better option) so ellie could have it. favoritism of sorts. but god was she infuriating! her stupid, flashy displays of wealth (that probably didn’t even belong to her) made you so mad! and also, her arrogance and her constant need to compete with you was very infuriating aswell. you had influence, she had money. wouldn’t these things be considered as a double kill in some perfect world? yes. would you ever even consider working with someone like her? absolutely not. you couldn’t even stand being in the same vicinity as her whenever you two ended up at the same social events.

imagine that terrible, ugly feeling of anger that coursed hot through your veins once finding out she’d brought possibly one of the biggest clients you could’ve ever had. it was one thing for her to shove it in your face that she was wealthy but this? she’d completely overstepped. storming your way through the companies large building, you find yourself at her offices door knocking like a madwoman. “open the goddamn door, williams!” you yell as you attempt to open the door on your own. she doesn’t say anything, but you’re just almost certain she’s smirking or something. she opens the door with this.. look. it was weird. a perfect mixture of condescending, arrogance, and ‘i know what i did and i don’t regret it’. “are you insane?” “mm.. yeah. i guess so.” you laugh, dumbfounded by her. “how bout you come into my office for a seat and a drink?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “let’s handle this civilly, shall we? knowing you, i have the feeling that this could get real ugly.” she pushed open the door with that same condescending/arrogant smile. of course, reluctantly, you walk inside. maybe this could be resolved civilly.

the sound of some smooth music played. it sounded like micheal buble or something. she walks around her desk to pour you a glass of bourbon. she hands it to and you just hold it. “it’s not poisoned, see?” she says before taking a sip. you take a sip and of it before putting the glass on her desk. “so, i realized that.. i have something you want.” the something being that client. “why else would i be here? that was a really petty move and you know that.” she chuckled. “yknow, i could just.. refer them back to you.” initially, you’re in disbelief. ellie? being generous? no way. she must’ve completely lost it. “but! it comes with a price.” of course it does. nothing was free, not in this economy. you kept your expectations low for this very reason. you raise an eyebrow at her. “we could work together. become business partners.”

she turns her music up a little. she dances her way over to you, circling you a bit. “no chance, ellie. how could i ever work with someone like you?” she chuckled again. “why wouldn’t you work with ‘someone like me’? you have something that i want aswell.” “what?” “power. influence. however you may wanna word it. i admire that.” it had to be some sick joke. why would she wanna work with you? “shouldn’t all your daddys money be more than enough to keep you in a position of power?” you quarry, then crossing your arms. a part of you didn’t believe that she’d been the one asking you for help.

“just think about it. me, giving you money. you, drawing power hungry clients in with that pretty face of yours. we’d work together like yin and yang.” she proposed before taking another sip of the drink in her glass. that was her giving a go at an analogy. was it good? she didn’t know. did she care? not at all. “you bullshitting me, williams?” “not at all. all you gotta do.. is say ‘yes’. cmon.” she offers her hand, those pretty slender fingers and that tattoo that peeking from underneath that black button up shirt were just so.. enticing. you were in your head, just thinking. was this a good idea? could i trust her? she probably has bad intentions. but she was so tempting. this had to be one of the seven deadly sins or something.

she snaps infront of your face. “where’d you go?” she asks. “nowhere.” you respond quickly. “so, you taking the offer or not? or.. will i have to convince you?” she takes a step closer to you. temptation taints your brain.

you’re not in control of your thoughts anymore. ellie was.

her hand seeks solace on your waist. “shouldn’t finding business like this be considered illegal?” you whisper to her. “im not a law abiding woman. and quite frankly, i don’t give two shits.” maybe it wouldn’t be illegal if nobody knew. but all you thought about was her. how she smells. how she’s looking at you. how her hands feel on your body. you can’t stop yourself. your lips crash down onto hers. your fingers tangle in her auburn hair as the both of you kiss passionately. she brings you to her desk, knocking stuff over as she sat you on her desk.

glass shattered, pictures were knocked out of their frames, and her computer mouse was.. somewhere. your back arches into her touch as you let out a soft moan into her mouth. she takes the opportunity to slide her tongue into your mouth. in the competition of dominance between your tongues, she reigns supreme. her hands slide up your body and end up on your oxford button up shirt. she doesn’t unbutton it, she rips that shit open. “i’ll get you a new one.” she mumbled as the buttons from the shirt scatter across the room.

“you’d better. or else id have to come back here and get it by force.” “oh please, you’ll be back here for more reasons than a goddamn shirt.” she said as she peppers kisses down to your jawline, then your neck. “don’t leave any marks.” “but why?” “oh, i dunno, cause i don’t want anyone asking me who i had sex with?” “who gives a shit? your workers get paid to look the other way, don’t they?”

well, she makes a good point. and you can’t argue with a point as valid as that. she sinks her teeth into a sweet spot of your neck, making you moan out as she runs her tongue along the new mark. she sticks her tongue out again to run it all the way down to one of your boobs. the sensation makes you shiver. “wore this pretty bra for me, didntcha? you were just expecting this. you must’ve wanted me to touch you like this, didn’t you? dirty girl. must’ve been waiting for me to bend you over this table.” she rambled all while stripping you of your bra, then leaving soft kisses and licks across the valley of your breasts.

she takes her time, making you wait for it. she knew what she was doing to you, and she was going to make you wait. “ellie, you’re going soo slow! you know what i want.” you whine as she leaves kisses and bites all over your exposed skin. “tell me what you want or you’ll get nothing. tell me where you want me.” she whispered. “i want your fingers.” “where?” “you know where.” “tell me or you get nothing.” you hesitate for a moment before saying feebly. “in.. in my pussy..” “that’s a good girl.”

she smiles as she pushes her hands into your slacks. she could feel your wetness. “i got you this worked up, huh? who knew little miss perfect could get this wet over me, a ‘nepo baby’?” she teased with a cocky smile. she slowly slides your slacks and underwear all the way down to your ankles before she applies a delicious amount of pressure to your clit. you gasp, your hand wrapping around her wrist. “oh, you like that do you, huh? you want more? fucking beg for it. cmon.” she applies more pressure to your clit, rubbing small and soft circles as her fingers ghost your sopping entrance. “oh— please ellie, i need more. give me more.” “gonna take more than that, baby.” you whine when she suddenly takes all that pressure away from you.

you let out another whine as you attempt to rut against her hand. her free hand slaps your thigh as she shakes her head in disapproval. “none of that. keep still. you get nothing until you beg like a good girl.” “please, please. ill do anything. just please touch me.” she chuckles at you. she found it cute how you were so desperate to chase that pleasure. “god, you’re so desperate. you need it so.. goddamn bad, don’t you?” she lets out a grunt in the middle of her sentence as she suddenly plunged into your pussy.

as she moves her fingers, she groans at how wet her you were. first she starts with middle finger, then adding her ring finger. her long fingers are hitting that sweet spot in you. she was making you see stars. “listen to yourself. look at ‘er, she’s crying for me.” she coos as she speeds her pace. you moan out. “watch me, baby.” you slowly look down at her fingers plunging in and out of you. sounds of wet squelching fill your ears. you bite your lip and you toss your head back as you let out a moan. you grind yourself down onto her fingers, chasing that wonderful and blissful orgasm.

you felt a pressure building up in your stomach. your eyes were fluttering open and shut. everytime you looked away, she stopped. you made sure to not look away. once that pressure in your stomach felt like it was gonna release, your moans became more broken. “ellie! ellie— oh fuck! ellie! im gonna cum! don’t stop, please don’t stop!” you say between moans as you bring your hand back down to hold her wrist in place.

“oh yeah? gonna cum? let go for me. make a mess on my fingers. cmon. i know you can do it.” she said as she kept her pace at that same one that was making you see stars. she’d been rambling something to you, talking you through it as she watched you cum all over her fingers. she helps you ride out your orgasm, a slight tremble in your legs becoming more apparent.

“what do we say?” “thank you.” she smiled as she pulled her fingers out. the sudden loss makes you whine. she sucks her fingers clean and you watch as her tongue runs across the length of her fingers. “still being a tease, williams?” you ask as you look at her while she does it. “mm.. well no, i dont think so. just savouring how good you taste.” when she was finally satisfied, she drops her hands. “so, you finally ready to stop being so stubborn and take the deal?” “not a chance if it means we get to have sex like this.” you respond with a chuckle. “maybe you need to be fucked again, hm?” she ask with a smile.

needless to say, you’d went another time, and on the third you fucked ellie. eventually you come to some sort of agreement after you’d been laid on her leather sofa, naked and feeling like you were floating. the only question you had now is what the hell had you gotten into. “will this turn into a scandal?” you ask. “.. probably not if we keep this under wraps.” she responds as she puts her head in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses to it. “plus, yknow i can just pay the media off right? they won’t say anything. not a peep.” she reassured as she smiled softly.

#wlfabby #tlou #the last of us #the last of us 2 #the last of us part two #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x you #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #ellie x afab!reader #ellie smut #tlou x reader smut

[syoddeye]

more reading recs

because one post isn't enough. we are hashtag blessed with fic.

as requested, i've highlighted fics with noncon and/or dubcon elements in orange. beyond that, you are responsible for reading tags, warnings, and summaries.

pairings are indicated, although these may change or may not be established yet.

there is no method to this madness, no specific order. these are listed here as my brain remembered them.

i've checked all the links maybe three times, if they're broken, i blame tumblr's formatting.

without further ado...

Slasher Handler by @dragonnarrative-writes - Ghost x Reader

"Simon does serial killer things. What a rascal!" Another fantastically written Simon, with wonderful dashes of Gaz and Price. It's put the term 'romance knives' in my vocabulary. There are many quotable bits and moments that made my blood run cold with how normal the ~situation~ feels, but everything has to be experienced firsthand.

The Far Shore by @deadbranch - Soap x Reader

DB's fic collection is rich, and The Far Shore is no different. I fucking loved Pacific Rim, so when I saw her first mention a PR AU, I did imaginary backflips. DB's Readers are some of my favorites because of how complex and realistic they feel, and when combined with the visceral depth of the neural handshake AND Soap? Compelling. The dynamic between them is fascinating. I almost can't wait for it to be finished so I can go back and dissect it.

Falling into Place by @mortuarywriting

Morg's brought the first COD Isekai AU I've read, like a little treat, with A/B/O to boot. The first chapter hooked me and cracked me up. Their dialogue reads so well, it truly feels like I got sucked into the universe. The panicked ramblings, the over-explanation, the 'oh shit, we don't even have a shared cultural touchstone' moments. I cannot wait for more.

Carvings by @femalefemur - Price x Reader

Cyn's got this amazing thing going on called 'Top Quality Worms' where she takes me by the hand and leads me down a rabbit hole I didn't know I'd find so cozy. Carvings is one piece from her incredible list, featuring a bloody, possessive Captain Price. Somehow, out of this entire piece, Price snapping a pen really did it for me. Did someone say loss of control? Oh no, not my kryptonite!

Under Your Spell by @groguspicklejar - Gaz x Reader x Soap

This fic had me at the pairing tag. Lured me right in. No hope for me, and I'm not mad about it. The way Gaz and Soap play off of each other in Under Your Spell is spine-tingling in more ways than one. The definition of scaroused. Kelsi writes a wonderful Gaz. The first two paragraphs in part two, Split My Skin, describe him perfectly to me.

Chokehold by @ccrites - Soap x Reader

Chokehold is a chef's kiss read. Starts off as a cute and sweet gym read, and uh, well, it does get sweeter, in a way. Without spoiling anything, there is a brief cab ride that made me take a lap before things got really going for Reader. CC's Soap is a delightful tease that is tender all at the same time. I'd join his gym in a heartbeat.

Knight/Princess AU by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world - Price x Reader

I've read and re-read this AU series a dozen times. It's so gd cute, I might need to see the dentist about how it's rotting my teeth. Seriously, it makes ME want to be a princess. Specifically Price's princess. Bear writes such a sweet and gruff Price, catch me holding a hand over my heart and just sighing. I'm also a big fan of multiple POVs and the insight into each character.

Martyr in the Making by @eilidh-eternal - Ghost x Reader

I had a tattoo touch-up the other day, and while waiting, I thought about this fic: the dream and nightmare of being tattooed by Simon and the rest of the 141. It's a dream for obvious reasons (probably unhealthy for me) and a nightmare because of, well, you'll have to read the story. Getting a tattoo can be such an intimate experience. You put yourself into someone's care and get something permanently etched onto your body. When Reader sits for Simon, you're right there with her, the two of you on an altar.

Liquid Smooth by @cordeliawhohung - Gaz x Reader

Bodyguard!Gaz save me, save me, bodyguard!Gaz. Ugh, Gaz is fucking incredible in every flavor, but there is something that hits different about the guy when he's flexing those 'VIP protection' skills. There are several tiny moments in Liquid Smooth that made me audibly whisper, "God, I wish that were me." If you have a conifer tree allergy, you might not be able to handle the god-tier pining. (I'll see myself out.)

pornstar!Gaz by @cordeliawhohung - Gaz x Reader

Gotta include the series that I drop everything for whenever I see an update. Another fantastic depiction of best man Kyle Gaz Garrick. The charm, the jealousy, the care...My personal favorite installments are Whispers and Threesomes.

plus size puppygirl!reader / Simon & Reader / Punishment by @secretsynthetic - Price x Reader x Ghost

Ghost gets his Captain a puppy, and Synth gives us a tasty Price x Reader x Ghost story. I've linked the intro and a Simon x Reader snippet, but my personal favorite is Punishment. Punishment is a deeper dive into Price the disciplinarian: "how the hell do i get a mutt like you to fuckin’ listen?" I'd gush about it, but again, this is another one to read and experience firsthand. One of my favorite recent explorations of a PriceGhost dynamic.

~~

i'll probably cobble another one of these together in may 2024. my fic backlog is something else. i blame it on all the massive talent. mwah.

#sy fic recs #fic recs #i am a deeply corny person so we're gonna roll with my bad jokes and declarations of love and admiration if that's cool #if there's a typo i'm going to lose it #authors if i've mislabeled please let me know!! #dropping this like a bird at the door and skittering

[darksvster]

Announcing...

House of the Dragon Season 1 Script Excerpts

I got my hands on the scripts for episodes 2-10 and was able to grab quotes/scenes to share. I will be posting them once a day under the tag #HOTDS1Script here and on Twitter.

More Info ↓

FAQ

Q: How did you get these scripts?

A: They are available to read at the WGA Library in LA. You must go in physically to the library and you can not copy or photograph scripts.

Q: Why are there huge watermarks?

A: This took a LOT of time. I had to go into the library on my day off, handwrite these scenes while reading them, put them into the proper script formatting, then style them. It took a lot of work, and people often take content without crediting in fandom.

Q: Can you find ___ scene for me?

A: I’m open to questions but I did not have a lot of time so I scanned through the scripts for scenes I was interested in. If I go back in the future, I am open to taking requests.

Q: Has the script been edited by you?

A: The only edits I made were for brevity. I cut out whenever a character had their entire name listed or all of their titles, and I summarized scenes we’ve already seen on screen in parentheses.

Q: This scene doesn't make sense...

A: The scripts are not always consistent with the final episode. Some of these are early script drafts. If something doesn’t make sense, the creative team obviously decided to go in a different direction for the scene.

Q: Why do some episodes have more quotes than others?

A: I ran out of time reading these scripts. The library isn’t open for a long time and I was on a limited schedule. Whatever feels lacking is probably due to my time constraints.

Due to the word limit on Twitter, details on the date the script was written, who wrote it, and which revision it is will not be on the Twitter posts but they will be included on each Tumblr post.

Finally, even with watermarks, I know people will repost my work without crediting me. If you do decide to repost the specific edit, please do not remove my watermark. If you decide to share the content with others, please credit my account directly. If you have more questions about specific ships, I did a more specific FAQ for ships.

Answered Questions

Is there any description of the dragons?

Do Alicent and Criston have a sexual relationship?

Do you have scenes from Driftmark re: Larys/Alicent/Criston, or the "spoiled cunt" Criston scene?

Where are the other Rhaewin/Harwin scenes?

Will we get Helaena dragon dreams scenes? Or any scenes between her and Aegon or her and Alicent?

Are there any Daemyra missing scenes?

Do you have the Daemyra choking scene from Episode 10?

Do you have anything on Rhaenys?

Do you have anything on Aegon?

When are you posting these excerpts? What order are you posting them in?

Anything on Cristonyra? Or Lucemond?

What are your favorite episodes?

How many excerpts do you have in total?

#HOTDS1Script #house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #asoiaf #mine

[wordstome]

now that we don't talk

I cannot be your friend, so I pay the price of what I lost And what it cost Now that we don't talk

alpha colonel König x beta ex-lover reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, reader's callsign is Eden, reader speaks French, omegaverse, exes to lovers, fraternization

2.2k words

tw: none

I swear to God one day I'll write something that doesn't involve that big hooded freak. But today is not that day.

Shoutout to loganlermanstanaccount here on Tumblr, who I won't tag. The bullet point headcanons with written parts interspersed format is from their excellent college roommate Miguel O'Hara post, which became their fic Rigor Mortis. I highly recommend both!

Also, excuse the absolutely butchered military content. I'm sure none of this is how it works in real life, but alas, this is fanfiction, not a research paper. Reader serves a Laswell-like role, but I refrained from labeling her as CIA even though I do call her a station chief. For the purposes of this fic, she's the voice in the operatives' ear during ops. We're playing a bit fast and loose with the terminology here.

You’re a highly skilled intelligence agent and operative handler.

You’ve spent most of your life dedicated to your career: moving through the ranks, proving yourself, refusing to let anything stand in the way of your ambitions.

You’ve done some things you aren’t proud of, but always for the right reason. Or the reason that made the most cold, logical sense. Even when your heart tells you otherwise. Nobody in this line of work has clean hands, after all.

You’ve always done what needs to be done. For everyone’s best interest.

Today marks the first day of your collaboration with a PMC called KorTac. You’re hunting down a homegrown cult turned out-of-control terrorist cell.

You haven’t had much experience working with mercenaries, but in terms of hardened war criminals, KorTac’s people are quite well mannered.

Not that you had expected them to be rude and discourteous, but, well. You are an outsider. They haven’t necessarily embraced you, but their reception was nice enough.

You’ve got a meeting with their commander, but you can’t quite find the room you’re supposed to be meeting in. Not a great first impression to make, but luckily, someone takes pity on you.

He introduces himself. Korean. Callsign Horangi.

“You’ll get used to the layout of the base,” he says as you follow him through winding hallways.

“I hope so,” you reply. “I’ll be here for a while." You study the walls, the signs and numbers on the doors, trying your best to memorize everything.

"Do you know your commander well?" you ask. You're not the world's biggest fan of small talk, but you may as well know what you're walking into.

"König? Yeah, we've been close ever since he joined up." Horangi says, leading you into a long hallway. "He's a good guy. A little intense, but don't let that get to you. He's just getting the job done."

"We'll get along if he's competent." You can respect a man who forgoes pleasantries for making sure the shit gets shoveled.

"You don't have to worry about that." Horangi stops and holds the door open for you. "After you."

You study him for just a moment before entering the room. He's curt and to the point. Not bad-looking, either. Hopefully you'll get more chances to—

Your heart nearly stops.

KorTac's commander is facing away from the doorway, shuffling through some papers by the looks of it. But you would know him from any angle. The set of his shoulders, the way his stance is at ease but never truly relaxed, the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck.

You have to force yourself to step into the room. And when you do, he turns around.

You're vaguely aware of Horangi stepping around you to get into the room, but that's happening somewhere far away from the headspace you occupy right now. By the way König's eyes widen as they meet yours, he's in the same place too.

He hasn't aged so much as he's gotten more tired. He never did sleep enough, but now he looks like he hasn't gotten a sound night's rest in a long time. He's put-together, but there's a haggardness to him that probably wouldn't be noticeable to anybody but you. Someone who knew him when he was younger, and in the prime of his life. Someone who used to know every scar on his body, every crease of his brow, and now hasn't seen him in more than a decade.

The man who broke your heart stands on the other end of the room, staring at you as if he's seen a ghost.

The two of you stand there for a while before Horangi's voice shakes you back to reality. "Brought the station chief, sir."

"I...see." König—you suppose that's what he calls himself nowadays, the arrogant prick—clears his throat. "Thank you, Hong-jin."

"No problem." Horangi takes a seat. "The others will be in soon."

Horangi seems like a perceptive enough guy. Can he tell that the room feels several degrees colder? You pull a chair out, the furthest one from König's position possible, and ignore the hurt that briefly flashes across his face as you sit down.

The meeting goes well. It's just an opportunity for you to formally introduce yourself to the KorTac operators you'll primarily be working with for the next few months.

You can tell they're a close knit group by the easy way they interact with each other: they've worked together for a while.

König, too, is part of them, which must be how they pick up on the chilly dynamic between the two of you. Some of them are just puzzled. For most of them, it raises their hackles.

It doesn't matter to you. You can barely focus on getting through the meeting without feeling like you're going to faint.

It's absurd. You're not some delicate Regency-era lady. You're a hardened military officer. But it makes no difference.

It doesn't matter how long it's been, it seems. He's still the only one who can make you feel like this.

You can't get out of there fast enough after the meeting has concluded. Not only are the others shooting you suspicious looks, but you've spent too long in his presence. Any longer, and you don't know how you're going to keep your composure.

But you can't escape him. Of course not. Why did you ever think otherwise? You hear him call for you, and you walk faster. But it's futile.

This hallway is smaller, narrower, less open. Nobody's around to watch when he slams you against the wall to stop your hasty retreat. Nobody's around to see the way you sway in his hold, overwhelmed by the smell of him all around you. You're bathed in it, the overpowering presence of him.

"We need to talk." he demands.

"We just did. Meeting's over," you shoot back, making a paltry attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. He loosens his hold on you, but you're still trapped between him and the wall. No exit.

"I didn't plan this, in case you're wondering."

"That much was obvious." He's let his hair grow out longer, you notice at the most inopportune time possible. It suits him, you think.

He sighs in frustration. "If we're going to work together, we have to be civil."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't expose how much of a scoundrel you are in front of your precious squad," you bite.

You feel a twinge of smug satisfaction as regret settles into his expression. Too little, too late.

"I don't want it to be like this, either," he murmurs. "Ignoring and avoiding each other."

"You don't get to tell me how to act."

"You're right. But it's been a long time. Can't we try to get along? Not for my sake, but...yours."

"Well that's not condescending at all."

"That's not what I meant. I know my team. If you're walking around resenting me openly like that, they won't trust you. And they need to, if you're working with us."

He's right, and you know it. But there's that deep instinct inside you, older than your bloodline, waking up after a long slumber. It wants him, snapping at the bit to give into him and do whatever he asks of you. The urge will consume you if you don't fight it every step of the way.

You glare up at him, hoping you come off as brimming with resentment instead of desire. "As long as you and your team stay professional, I can too."

He's not satisfied with that answer, but it's all you're going to give him.

"Fine." He steps away from you, and you pour all your willpower into commanding your body to stay still. To not chase after his closeness. You sway on the spot, dizzy with his scent after having gone so long without it.

"This hallway is a dead end, by the way."

You try, you really do. But it's hard to be around him without feeling the urge to touch him, to press yourself against him and inhale him like the most destructive drug possible.

Your only recourse is to stay as physically far away from him as possible.

You do your best to ingratiate yourself with the other operators. You and Calisto are fast friends: she's got a breezy confidence to her that's quite refreshing. It also doesn't hurt that you speak French, as well. There's a bit of kinship felt whenever the two of you are holding a conversation none of the others can understand.

Horangi's a different story, though. The initial courtesy he showed you is a bit more clipped, now that it's clear something is up between you and König.

You can't believe you missed it the first time, the way König's smell is all over him. It really has been too long.

The two of them must be pretty close. You give up trying not to fixate on the idea.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop on them, but you were curious. Even more curious when you hear your name mentioned.

"It's pretty clear you and Eden know each other. None of us are stupid."

You freeze in your tracks. The door is closed, but you can hear Horangi's voice, loud and clear in the room behind it.

"It's not relevant. She's just here to do a job."

"I think it's pretty relevant that she gets up and leaves whenever you enter a room, regardless of what she's doing. She can't get away from you fast enough."

You give a surreptitious look at your surroundings, then lean down slightly, pressing your ear to the door.

"You're not going to give this up, are you?"

"Hell fucking no."

You hear König sigh. "Fine. We knew each other before I joined KorTac. Back when I was in the Jagdkommando."

Do you want to hear this? Your painful history, relayed to a near stranger? Horangi's not a stranger to him, that's for sure.

"And?"

"We were...involved."

"You and a beta? Never took you for the type."

"Well, neither did I. But she was...special. Smart, pretty, deadeye with a knife. Wouldn't give me the time of day, of course. I was obsessed with her."

"Naturally."

"Give me a fucking break, okay?"

"Can't wait to hear how this ended."

"Not...great. I was a total dick."

You can say that again, you think.

"I was young. Real dumbass who thought he was hot shit."

"You still aren't."

"Shut the fuck up." Something twinges inside you at the hearty laughter the two of them share. You missed that laugh.

"Despite everything, it was the most stable relationship I've ever been in. We looked out for each other. She knew me better than some of my family does."

"How did you fuck that up, then?"

"I got too comfortable. Started thinking I could do better. God, what a fucking idiot I was. I loved her like crazy, but I didn't realize how good I had it until it was gone."

"She left you?"

"No. I was the one who ended things. In the worst way possible, too. I told her the relationship wasn't going to go anywhere, that we were never going to be a serious thing."

"Ouch. Why not?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. You remember that night, like a shard of glass buried in your chest. As hard as you tried to forget, you'll never forget the way you felt. Like the world was ending.

You'll never forget the decision you had to make.

"I told her I couldn't see myself with a beta long-term."

"...that's fucked up."

"I know. I know. I was too caught up in that shitty macho alpha mindset. I was fucking ravenous back then, and I thought only an omega could give me what I needed."

"I get it now. If I were her, I would have quit on the spot seeing you in that meeting room."

"Yeah. She's a better person than I can ever imagine being."

Well. It's nice to know he regrets it, you think. Not that it does you much good now. Quiet as a mouse, you make a quick exit before you can get caught.

You make it back to the the room you've been assigned to. They were nice enough to give you your own private quarters, something you deeply appreciate when you need to be alone with your own thoughts. Like right now.

It's a strange feeling, to sort of get closure like this. Not at the end, but at the beginning of something new. You still have to see each other. Does it help that you know how he feels? Maybe, but it doesn't ease your own guilt. In fact, it makes it worse.

You're not mad at him for telling Horangi. You're glad he did, actually. There are some secrets that cause more harm to keep than not.

You open a drawer and pull out the pill bottle, hidden underneath your other possessions, and stare at the label.

WARNING - SUPPRESSANTS. NOT TO BE USED BY ALPHAS. ONLY CONSUME UNDER PHYSICIAN SUPERVISION.

You would know.

BOOM! There you have it. (In case it wasn't clear, the suppressants are for omegas.)

@sprout-fics's omegaverse 141 headcanons series inspired me to write something based off the idea of an omega disguising themselves as a beta in the military. Please check out her series, it's great.

I was really into exploring how omegaverse dynamics can make complicated relationships even messier. I did consider writing this story without the omegaverse, but I think now it's kind of an essential element. (I also just. Want them to have crazy nasty omegaverse sex. Sue me) I can't picture König ever breaking up with someone he deeply loved and was obsessed with, unless he had a reason like that. Still not a great reason, but a little bit understandable. Eden being a disguised omega also adds a bit of spice to the exes-to-lovers arc, too: she could have just come out and told him she's not actually a beta, but she chose not to for the sake of her career. Oof. Ruthless judgement calls were made on both sides.

I put this out because this idea had me in a STRANGLEHOLD, and I just had to get it out before I burst. Hopefully my writing's still up to par 😅 As for Kingdom Come, part iii may take a little while longer because a lot is going to happen in it, so I hope this can tide you guys over until then.

As usual, comments and feedback are always appreciated! I would love to talk about this au more. And again, if you'd like to be tagged, drop a reply. And if you're in the taglist and would like to be removed/only tagged for Kingdom Come, please let me know!

@crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @mantishymns @lexuria

#könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #mw2 #konig mw2 #könig mw2 #fic: now that we don't talk

[discord-lurking]

Dungeons and Daddies Wiki Drama: A Greek Tragedy Told through the Medium of Forum Posts (Part 1)

Prologue

Greek tragedies are typically formatted in three or more acts interspersed with choral interludes, beginning with a prologue, and ending with an exodus. In these, protagonists often meet their downfall due to their fatal flaw, or hamartia: the ways in which the protagonists are their own undoing. Our own human failings are the things that bring us the most pain.

When considering a three-act Greek tragedy structure for this, my first thought was to use the Oresteia as a framing device, a trilogy of plays written by Aeschylus about Agamemnon's family in the aftermath of the Trojan War. Upon reflection, though, the themes of the Oresteia (revenge vs. justice, perpetuating a cycle of violence, honor and punishment) didn't quite fit the story I was trying to tell.

No, this is a classic tale of hubris: excessive pride and its ultimate downfall.

After all, what position could come with more power than that of wiki moderator for a Dungeons and Dragons podcast series?

Act One: The Beginning of the End

The D&Dads wiki has historically been... unhelpful, at best. (Source: Myself.) Trouble had been brewing for a long time.

Forum posts from spring 2022 began noting issues cropping up around the wiki. First, it was a complaint about anonymous users "disrupting" the wiki (specifically on Jodie-related pages) while also fixing mistakes in articles.

I'm unsure what specific "disruptions" were meant, but the proposal to ban anonymous users didn't garner much traction.

March 21st, 2022:

After little activity for months (only one forum post, related to infoboxes), wiki user TwoRatner had a radical proposition: wiki migration.

December 17th, 2022:

TwoRatner suggested an alternate platform that would have different editing options, then made a potentially-prophetic statement: the wiki might be cursed.

This warning went unheeded.

December 27th, 2022:

Ten days after the migration suggestion, TwoRatner came back to ask if there were any recent changes. This went unanswered for months until new user Penguinwithafancytophat reported adding art to character pages (including Glenn, a main season 1 character since the start of the podcast in 2019, who incredibly might not have had any official art on his wiki page before March of 2023).

Spring of 2023 seemed to bring along a revival of the wiki, with new editors coming in, engaging with the forum, and attempting to make suggestions on how to improve wiki organization.

March 31st, 2023:

May 27th, 2023:

July 17th, 2023:

October 2nd, 2023:

Interestingly, the only administrator seen to be interacting with these enthusiastic new editors? Gaycowboyrats. Let's put a pin in that.

Enter: the drama.

It started out simple enough- a forum posts for administrators to discuss changes that needed to be made.

November 3rd, 2023:

76 replies.

Seventy. Six. Replies. Each deeply interesting in its own way.

However, this is a Tumblr post, not an Hbomberguy video essay, so I'll keep it brief.

The discussion started out as one might expect a wiki admin discussion to start:

Mods discussed blocks, deleting stub pages, spam, etc. Standard wiki business.

The first reply to ping my interest:

Removing cast pages from a wiki about their work seemed like an odd decision, in my non-wiki-editor opinion, but the last line is what really stuck out: "Besides, I hate the idea of someone vandalizing the pages to defame them."

Several questions arose for me:

Was this a known problem? Were people constantly vandalizing cast pages?

Would a vandalized fandom wiki page really defame somebody?

Isn't the point of wiki editing to remove vandalization on articles?

The administrators began to stand out to me as deeply invested in a very specific sense of wiki justice.

Users TwoRatner, Brazil86, and TheOneTrueGod41 agreed with Honic's take.

Another thing to ping my interest: these users seemed to share a similar odd, slightly stilted, writing style. Almost Tommy Wiseau-esque.

Brazil86 expressed optimism about users engaging with wiki pages, something that would begin to set them apart from other administrators.

As I read, themes began to emerge: wiki justice, and incongruous one-liners.

Quoth Honic Washington: "I just found a wave of nonsense fish. My backyard is full of them. Hey, TOTG41, do you like jazz? I like jazz."

Truly, modern poetry.

Administrator Marth8204 suggested giving people more time. More time for what? Unclear. It seems a plan was afoot.

TwoRatner came in with a hot take: "I feel like we need a community more right now, than adding links that people can search for in the search bar."

Brazil86 agreed: Changing the navigation was less important than getting people editing and making friends.

Another theme began to emerge: wiki community as more important than wiki functionality.

Gaycowboyrats had some (incredibly reasonable) objections to this, pointing out that the wiki was a resource for many visitors who might not participate- something that is generally true of wikis as a form of content.

Honic Washington responded to this, the signs of wiki-related stress beginning to show.

Honic posts a long rant about the thankless task of moderating a wiki, which goes largely unacknowledged.

Notable TwoRatner quotes:

"You can't crack open a few omelets without punching a few egg-rolls."

"Now Freddie will get more money. What do you all say? I think I helped quite a bit."

Another theme emerges: discontent in the wiki moderator ranks.

Honic reaches full Joker mode. Again, this goes largely unacknowledged.

Honic: "I am leader. I am a painter! Keep your rules. Keep your status. Keep your friends."

"Keep your status"- words that will reverberate throughout the rest of this tale.

The final theme? Wiki moderator status, and the maintenance of it.

After Honic's bomb drop, conversation about regular wiki moderation continued, with mods considering the addition of a bot to make edits.

Admin Discussion Zone, first started by Honic Washington, ends not with a bang but with a whimper.

Over nearly a year of forum posts, patterns emerged.

Firstly- users attempting to engage in the wiki, wiki administrators not engaging with these new users, then wiki administrators bemoaning the lack of user engagement.

The notable exception was Gaycowboyrats, the only wiki administrator to engage with new users in the forums. Gaycowboyrats, the administrator whose (incredibly reasonable) suggestions ended with Honic Washington's villain-esque monologues and denouement as a moderator.

Secondly- administrators putting forth large-scale, drastic solutions to real or perceived wiki problems. This includes Cheesoid4 wanting to ban anonymous users, TwoRatner suggesting site migration, Honic deleting cast pages to prevent vandalism, and more to come.

Thirdly- wiki administrators seeming to share similar styles of speech and occasional non-sequiturs. Interestingly, this mainly seems to include the wiki administrators who agree with each other.

Funny how that happens.

Chorus

Stay tuned for Part 2, where the forum drama really starts to heat up.

#dungeons and daddies

[brisquad-unit-4402]

Hello it’s me again! It’s been a while, I hope you’ve been doing okay. I recently have been reading through a lot of angst to comfort and I have an idea for a request!

May I request an Ike fic where reader is a liver in NIJISANJI and has a crush on Ike but knows they have no chance with him. Then one day reader accidentally spills their feelings to Ike and Ike comforts them after hearing about readers feelings?

I hope you’re not tired of me requesting Ike fics (ily him to much) and I hope you have a good day/night! <3

-🖋️

stars above your skin

oh 🖋 we're really in it now

how long have i had this request in my inbox? early march? and now exactly one day after blue light dropped, i give you a ~19.5k word ike fic. much love and effort has gone into this one, only seconded by the massive amounts of brainrot.

so yeah, i'm not tired of ike requests. i'm literally a quilldren that writes fanfic. this is the opposite of a problem

in fact this might be one of my favorite things i've written... the second half is such a good bedtime story for me...!

this is going to get NASTY to read on tumblr—as in my site is lagging so hard just typing these a/n notes. so i'm going to remind you all that not only is liking/reblogging recommended to keep track of this fic, but also that i have an ao3 account (same name as url but without dashsince it's much more accessible than tumblr for long fic. i recommend reading on tumblr if you can because of some formatting but to each their own!

here’s a funny story about this fic. i was working on it while a bunch of people sat behind me, you see, and one of my greatest irrational fears is that people sitting behind me will be able to see my laptop screen and laugh at what i’m writing…! and with these requests i usually title them the fandom name and my name, and a short phrase about the request, and this one was “workplace romance”, and i just got so afraid right then and there i changed it to the first thing i could think of, based off a clip i saw of pomu, selen, aia and doppio…!! and that’s why the wip doc is titled “nijisanji 4402 - pliskin”, and why i will always refer to this fic as "pliskin" much more than the actual title

by the way here’s a cover of iris that was pretty fitting for this fic. you’ll know when to play it. enjoy

tags: hurt/comfort, reader is a niji vtuber, gender neutral reader, off-collab, mutual pining, misunderstandings, fluff, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, cuddling, everyone in niji is your wingman, implied uki/ren if you squint but it’s mostly because uki will flirt with 80% of the men in this company

cameos: aia amare, alban knox, mika melatika, nina kosaka, ren zotto, uki violeta, vox akuma, fulgur ovid (mentioned)

⚠️ drinking/alcohol (unspecified if reader drinks alcohol)

⚠️ horror/gore mentions (non-detailed), out of context outlast spoilers i guess?

author's commentary here (spoilers) ↣

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There are dozens of these videos on YouTube, and never have you come across the same one twice. You would know. You have a bad habit of clicking on them. 

After all, they’re labeled with your name on them, and right next to it, Ike Eveland. You are smart enough to recognize it’s not worth your time and just another compilation of the same moments and fans trying to make a mountain out of a molehill, but your heart says otherwise. To be fair, the compilations were a much more recent development than the one you hid under lock and key. 

When you first joined Nijisanji, some of your senpais sent you messages full of greetings and offers to help you get on your feet as a streamer. Ike was one of those senpais, and whenever you popped into voice calls just to hang out, he was easy to talk to, like an old friend. Naturally, a fast friendship formed, and when you debuted, he was one of the first people you collabed with- and the one with the best reception. Your new fans (‘Bookworms,’ they called themselves, after your name Reader) loved how well your humor bounced off each other, and when weeks passed and you announced another collab on your schedule with Ike, your Bookworms rejoiced. 

Even when you weren’t working, you would still talk to him. He told you about his homeland in the past and his novels, both released and unpublished. He was a storyteller even when he was talking about something as minute as making a sandwich, and whenever you brought up your past and interests, he was an excellent listener. You had your differences, but he always knew what questions to ask so he could understand you better, and you loved the opportunity to ramble. 

It had been nearly three months since you debuted, and four if you count the day you were officially hired and began to build yourself as a streamer. Whenever you look at the endlessly long text history between you and Ike, you have to wonder: is it normal to feel so connected to someone you’ve only known for three-maybe-four months? 

You’re not an idiot. You aren’t about to say Ike is the most important thing in the world to you, but he gets pretty damn close. That terrifies you. You shouldn’t be so attached to someone you barely know. 

But then again, you trust Ike. He’s opened up to you about things he would never say to others, and he keeps your secrets buried in the grave. You’ve lost count of how much advice he’s given you, but you’ve never forgotten a single one, and whenever you feel lost about something you know you can count on him to help you out. 

You grimace, sip out of your drinking glass, and press ‘play’ on the next compilation. 

A cute intro plays with the clipper’s name. Above it are the words Pen and Paper, surrounded by puffy pink hearts. 

That was the duo name between you and Ike, but "ship name" was more accurate among fanwork.

You weren’t exactly unaware about it. Weeks ago, you were surfing Twitter and the site’s algorithm granted you your introduction into Pen and Paper. This was shortly after your first collab with Ike, and after you established your shipping rules with your audience (“I’m fine with anything, as long as the other liver is okay with it!”, you proclaimed, totally oblivious to how soon that would blow up in your face). The fanartist posted a messy black-and-white sketch, but you could make out the pattern of Ike’s scarf wrapped around you and him at the same time, forcing your bodies into close proximity with averted eyes and dusty blushes. 

You appreciated the fanartist’s passion and skill, but the thought of you and Ike as an item sunk in your chest like you swallowed a rock. You swiped past. You went back to your scrolling, found some good thumbnails, and retweeted some cute solo fanart, but before the week ended, you made a private account with a fake name and staked out the tags for Pen and Paper to follow that fanartist.

Damn fanartist. You tried to deny it, and told yourself that you followed their art because you liked the style. But their account was full of ship art, and when Twitter gave you similar users that all worked under the hashtag, you had to face facts. If you wanted to look at it optimistically, at least you figured it out early on before anything had the chance to sour while you were still blissfully ignorant of yourself; even then, that doesn’t make it any harder than it already is.

Besides all the texts, the meetings, the schedules and events, and then including the streams and collabs and the art and the fandom… 

“Why?” You ask out loud in the silence of your room. “Why did I have to fall for my coworker?”

And with audiences of over hundreds of people watching you fall for him, nonetheless!

It’s irritating. You have a job that keeps you motivated to work hard. It’s given you a dedicated fanbase, rare opportunities, and coworkers you all recognize as your friends. Really, finding someone to care for because of it should be a blessing, but it’s such a headache. What if your fanbases get jealous, or even worse, outright hate it? Would you be able to keep up a relationship when you and Ike are dedicated to your careers and streams? Why are you even thinking like this? You scold yourself. There’s no way this would ever work out. It’s all fantasy and smoke and mirrors, because fandoms love love. Shipping is never a reflection of the streamers, just the characters you play. You’re delusional if you think your stupid crush could actually go anywhere.

But fandoms love love. The only comfort you have is being able to pretend something could happen. The ship art is a lie, and so are the fanfics, and the clippers that tag their videos as Pen and Paper are just here for a possibility that never could happen.

The compilation is full of little hints and teases, and if you were being honest with yourself, most of it was more like two friends getting along than actual flirting. But you didn’t trust yourself to see your clumsiness for what it is when Ike’s little laughs are like music to your ears. 

Damage control, you tell yourself. It’s like studying how you play your favorite games. You can pinpoint where you stumble and leave yourself open for attack in Apex, Smash, even Crab Game, and then amend those mistakes the next time you pick up the game. Real life should be no different. Just stop acting so dorky all the time by finding moments of dork in your VODs and avoid them next time you talk to Ike.

This clip was from your second collab with Ike. Captions floated along the bottom of the screen. Ike's captions were in his signature blue.

IKE: You know, there’s a lot of content about us two as a duo.

READER: They call us Pen and Paper, right?

IKE: Yeah, my art tag is flooded with art of the both of us. 

READER: Oh my God, look at the chat. Mine’s full of people saying they love us together. 

IKE: Aww, thanks, Quilldren! I’m happy I can play with Reader too. 

READER: Thank you, Bookworms; thank you, Quilldren. Hey, there’s a lot more overlap than I expected.

IKE: They’re like Bookdren.

READER: Or Quillworms.

IKE: Quillworms, that sounds way better. They’re like our children.

READER: www

IKE: www

Never fucking mind about acting so dorky all the time. You kick yourself for bringing up Pen and Paper, and your giggly laugh. You hate it. A neon sign above your head that says “SIMP” would be less obvious than that stupid schoolkid laugh.

But Ike’s laughter is music, back in the moment and now as you revisit it, and his model’s eyes squint with a wide smile.

He really is an amazing man. If you didn’t know him as well as you do, you’d think he’s perfect. But you’ve seen him in moments of vulnerability, the parts of himself that never shows through on stream and even rarer among his friends. Through it all he manages to keep going, and you admire him so much for sticking to his guns even when he’s expressed all his doubts about himself. The fact that he trusts you enough to let his guard down only adds to how honored you are to know him, and at the same time, the fact that there’s so much trust between you two just makes you feel worse for having a crush on him. You hate keeping secrets like this when you let Ike read you like an open book for everything else, and even just wishing you were something more to him feels like a betrayal of all that trust. You wish you could just be satisfied to know him.

The compilation continues. The next clip is a totsu Fall Guys collab hosted by Fulgur Ovid that you and Ike joined in on. Fuuchan got eliminated early in the match, and spectated on you while the other livers ran around Roll On with players tugging them this way and that. 

You moved around the rotating levels at the perfect sweet spot between two rings, and balanced at the top of the roll as the slime level slowly rose.

A longer wall approached, so you shuffled from one level to another, but another player grabbed your bean avatar and dragged you along to the wall even as you yelled out in panic on Discord. You smashed your keys to struggle, but they had an advantage, and it was clear the wall would push you down to the slime for an impending elimination.

That is, until a familiar Miku bean grabbed the other side of your avatar, and pulled the other way towards the ring that would save your life. Resigned, your attacker backed off and barely dodged out of the way while Ike’s Miku bean brought you back to safety.

The other two livers in the game were too noisy to notice you. Fuuchan was commentating every move you made, and when Ike saved you, he said, “Ike coming in clutch, let’s fucking go.”

Your recorded self didn’t hear him at all, though. You swooned, “Ike, my hero!”

Meanwhile in the present, you wanted to puke. You meant for that to sound like an over-the-top joke, but you crush is getting so serious that it sounds less like a bit and more like how you gush about him in private. 

At least Fuuchan’s audio was louder than everyone else, since he was the host, and the other two livers were preoccupied with their own game to notice your lovey-dovey tone and how Ike laughed music at you. It was bad enough clippers transcribed your words in captions, but you weren’t sure how you would handle it if those three picked up on you and your dumb crush. The less that know about your workplace romance, the better.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“Reader,” Aia coos. Even with audio only, you could tell her eyes were sparkling. “You didn’t tell me you had a workplace romance!”

Well, so much for that plan. You froze over. “Who told you that?”

Mika answers way too quickly. “It’s Alban’s fault.”

“Fuck off, Mika, you brought it up first!”

“You said it though!”

Man, you were already starting to regret joining VC today. You finished your offline work a lot faster than expected, so when you realized that three of your close friends in the company were all online in VC together while Alban privately streamed a rhythm game, you figured you would join the call while you prepared dinner. 

But if that was your greeting, you needed to mentally prepare for the wild interrogation you were about to experience. At least Aia, despite her love for drama, knew how to navigate these sorts of things delicately. And you don’t mean to call Mika and Alban bad friends—they were the exact opposite, in fact—but they were much nosier than Aia ever came across.

“Okay, but Reader just asked who leaked it, and didn’t deny it,” Aia says. “So that means it must be true!”

Scratch that. Aia is the worst out of all of them.

“I hate you guys. No hello or anything, just gossip about my love life,” you lament.

She gasps, and if her eyes were sparkling before, then roses bloomed around her as she spoke. “It’s love?”

Mika shrieks like a banshee. “Oh hell no, you’re in love and you didn’t tell us?!”

“It’s not love. It’s nothing!”

“Nah-uh, Reader, no running away from it, we know,” Alban says. “Better to just get it all out in the open than pretend like nothing’s up.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to snoop.”

“I’m being serious. Keeping stuff bottled up deteriorates you, especially when love’s involved.” He missed a note. “Shit. And yeah, okay, I want some gossip, but I have a point and you know it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, I blew a full combo just to say that!”

“Can I add? In case you forgot, Reader, we’re all in the same company,” Mika says. “Sure, I might be in a different branch, but who knows? Maybe we can help.”

“And fuck you too.” You sigh in defeat. As vitriolic as your shared humor was, these three were still some of your best friends, and you know they don’t mean any harm. “Ugh, I hate this. This is confidential information. Like, CIA levels of confidential. If I tell you guys, you can’t tell a single soul about it. Understand?”

The three all chime in agreement. And unfortunately, you trust them. You take advantage of your coworkers swearing themselves to secrecy to hype yourself up and just rip off the band-aid. “It’s Ike.”

“We know.”

“What the hell do you mean, you know?!”

“It’s obvious,” Aia says. Your heart hammers in your chest. Then she sputters for a moment, like she realized she might’ve hit a soft spot. “Well, you have to focus on it to see it, but once you see it, it’s hard to ignore. You two go well together.”

Alban pitches in. “Agreed. I’m not even gonna be subtle about it, you and Ike have great chemistry. I’m happy for you two.”

“Okay, I guess.” Your eyes drift away from your prepared ingredients to the corner of your kitchen. “But I don’t know. Are you sure? Because I feel like I always act like an idiot whenever I’m around him. And I doubt he’d ever feel the same way.”

“Wait.” Aia pauses. “You’re… not dating?”

“No. Just a crush. Not love, not dating, nothing. And it’s never going to be anything more than that because it’s just a big stupid crush on my coworker, who doesn’t even live close enough to visit, and this is all a recipe for disaster.”

She doesn’t say anything about that. Actually, none of them do. Even Alban pressed pause on his game, and the Discord stream went motionless as your words sunk in. 

Mika is the one to break the silence. “You’re shitting me.”

“That’s the truth. Happy?”

“No, like, you’re shitting me, there’s no way.”

“Mikaaa.” Alban drags out her name as he scolds her. 

“Hey, I’m just saying, that’s crazy, especially since—“

“Don’t tell Reader that!”

“Tell me what?” 

“We thought you were already a thing. You know, dating, in a relationship, whatever,” Mika clarifies. It hits you like a punch to the gut. “Or at least that you had something going on, and kept it secret so it wouldn’t be awkward for everyone else to work with you two. Which, by the way, we’re all chill with, so if, hypothetically, you decided to hypothetically go for it, we would hypothetically cheer you on and set off hypothetical fireworks. I’d rent a food truck.”

Alban resumes his game. “Yeah, what she said. Go get that hypothetical novelist bussy.”

“Don’t hypothetically talk about my brother like that.”

“You’re sure this is okay?” You ask. “Mika, I know you and Ike are close. This isn’t going to make anything weird, is it?”

“You’re fine, Reader. If I had problems, I would’ve cornered you and threatened you over text ages ago when I figured it out.”

“That’s another thing. How did you guys know?”

Aia pipes up first. “I know I said it was obvious, but I think that’s just because we know each other since we’re good friends. You two just go together, you know? It’s hard to explain, but whenever Reader and Ike-senpai are in the same room you think, ‘those two would be cute,’ and then you realize they are cute, right there in the moment. And you talk a lot faster on stream whenever you’re both on the same page. Almost as fast as me.”

 “Plus, it’s really common to see both of you on VC at the same time, and you’re always happy whenever he shows up,” Mika affirms. “Alban says whenever one of you enters the call the other is soon to follow.” 

“It’s true. You talk fast whenever you talk to him on VC too, not just stream. And your laugh kind of changes?”

“Dammit, I knew my laugh was my tell. This sucks. This seriously sucks.”

“It might not be all that bad,” Mika says. “Who knows, maybe things might end up better than you expect. You should tell him.”

“No way,” you fire back. “There no way he’d actually reciprocate. And I know you guys are fine with me asking, but Ike himself is just going to reject me, and it’s going to be awkward, and literally everyone in the company who has ever talked to us will be able to tell something’s up.”

“They won’t be weird,” Aia insists. “We won’t, either, and Ike-senpai is a good guy. Even if it doesn’t work out, he wouldn’t leave you out to dry like that.”

“You don’t know. None of you have ever been in this situation.”

“That’s true, but there’s always a chance.”

“If you ask me, it sounds more like you’re afraid of what you think would happen instead of what rationally would,” Alban says. He’s still laser-focused on his game. “I dunno. If you’re really set on getting over it, then go ahead and ignore it, but that’s just going to eat at you for who knows how long before your crush starts to fade.”

“Well, I didn’t ask.”

“Fine. Forget I said anything.”

You regret the acidic tone in your voice the second you said it, but Alban was off in his own world of music. He’d tell you if he had a problem with how you spoke to him, but you still feel gross about your knee-jerk reaction. 

You’re just… defensive. Yep, that’s the word. Whenever you’re this interested in someone, you put your walls up and protect yourself from letting anyone worm through and hit a weak point. 

Aia hums like an analyst. “Just keep it in mind, Reader. Not everything is out to get you.”

You know your friends just wanted the best for you, but things just aren’t as simple as they’d like to imagine it. It’s none of their business, anyways. It was pure coincidence that they figured out your thoughts on Ike, and that means none of them have any real authority to advise you on your love life.

“I think we’re done talking about this,” you assert.

“Well, you heard ‘em. Pack it up, show’s over.” Mika changed the subject. “Hey, did you guys know if you try to break open a freshly boiled egg, it explodes?”

Alban slams his hands on his keyboard so loudly that you hear the switches over his noise suppression. The stream goes from a string of Awesome! notes to nothing but misses as he abandons the game. “YES. Yes, actually, I DO know.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“MEAT! WANTS MEAT! WANTS MEAT! MEAT!”

“AAAAAAAAHHHH!”

The stream is to the birds. Fuck that noise. Godspeed to the Bookworms, they’ll need it, but not nearly as much as you. 

When you were settling on a schedule, the last undecided spot for the week was Friday’s stream. That simply wouldn’t do. Friday nights kick off the weekend, and the break from school and work is prime time for a wide audience, so pretty much everyone in Nijisanji reserves their juiciest streams for the weekend. You’re no exception.

…Except for the fact that you didn’t have a clue about what to do for Friday’s stream. One Twitter poll and conveniently timed Steam sale later, you published your schedule with a game your fans voted on: Outlast.

You walked in knowing it would be a horror game, and you figured it would be fine. After all, you’ve played games from Chilla’s Art before, and a few quirky indie psychological releases here and there. You wouldn’t call yourself a stone-faced horror lover that can keep a straight face at anything, but aside from a few creepy moments in those game, you’ve kept your cool relatively well. 

Outlast threw all that out the window. You realized almost immediately that you had no idea how to handle the primal fear of the chase. 

Footsteps pound against a metal floor. You plead for help in the emptiness of your home as you smash the controls, as if that would make your character move the cabinet over the door any faster. Screams resonate in tune between you and the chained man in the room with you, and all the while, the howling of your pursuer grows louder and louder as he gets closer.

You finally uncover the door and dash through. Tremors run though all your thoughts while your heart beats overtime. 

You still haven’t gotten used to all the jumpscares, even though you’re at the edge of your seat and ready to start running yourself. A fork in the road approaches, and when you start off one direction, you’re greeted by a bloodied man in the distance. “AAAHH!”

Faster than light, you slam the key to the other hall and book it. You spot a new storage container to shove in front of the door just in time for text to appear on the screen: Look for pushable objects to block doors.

“No shit, why wouldn’t you tell me that before, oh my God, aaaaah!” The screams—from both the voice actors and your own cries—grate against your eardrums while chase music thunders in-between the gasps for air. 

As you grab the container and start to push, you mash the pause button. When the menu appears, you lean back in your chair and run your hands over your face. Your model pouts cutely while the real you whimpers. The mic barely picks it up.

You take a breath before groaning in fear and pain. “Guys. I don’t think I can do this…” Another groan as you trail off. “This game is so much. Give me a second.”

As you raise yourself back from your chair, it’s with a slump forward. Your chat is full of headpat emotes and hearts in your color, along with some quick words of courage. A few are recommending you take a break. “Thanks, Bookworms. I’m so afraid, but I’m committed and I don’t want to just leave it here.”

Your eyes flutter closed as you take a sip of water to clear your head. The cold drink startles you out of the dingy asylum atmosphere, but the screaming still lingers between your ears. “You know what? Who else is online right now? Maybe I need someone in VC to hold me to this.”

The emojis in chat slowly patter out as your viewers go back to text. Looks like most of your Bookworms like the idea of calling someone else while you stream the game. Some of their messages catch your eye. 

gatamiizuus: you can call ike :ReaderHeadpat: 

messXed-up!: ike!!

lunasmortas: what about ike?

A few more chats mention Ike, and while usually you’d be irritated they mentioned another liver out of the blue, your shoulders still relax at the sight of his name. “Wait, Ike? Is Ike here?”

You scroll back in the chat history, and search for any mod messages. Sure enough, barely a minute ago while you were still being chased:

Ike Eveland 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : GANBARE!

You cling onto that message like a lifeline. Ike is familiar. Ike is comforting. And most importantly, Ike would never call you a pussy.

Chat floods over with his name while you check the official Nijisanji Discord server. Almost everyone in Nijisanji sets their status to offline by default, and Ike is one of them, but you still scan through the member list anyways, praying a little green indicator will light up by his icon.

His status doesn’t change, but before you can even click on his profile, your Direct Messages tab gains a notification. He just messaged you.

Ike Eveland: Watching your stream right now

Ike Eveland: Are you okay?

You exhale. Ike is the most dependable guy you know, even when it’s pure coincidence he was watching your stream while you freaked out. 

With your heart still in your throat, you respond.

Me: uuuuuuugh i guess

Me: the game is really scary

Me: i don’t want to cancel the stream but i don’t think i can play it by myself 😭

Ike Eveland: 🫂    | 🫂 1 |

Ike Eveland: Would you feel better if I called you?

Me: i was just about to ask    | 👌 1 |

Me: you don’t have to if you don’t want to tho!! i don’t want to be a nuisance lol

Ike Eveland: Don’t worry I offered to!

Ike Eveland started a voice call.

“Ikeee!” The second the call starts, all your restraint goes forgotten. “Ike, I was so scared!”

You babble on about everything you’ve endured up to this point: the gore, the grime, and the patients in the asylum that hunt you like animals. 

 “I’m here, it’s alright now,” he assures you. “I’m here, okay? Take your time, you’re safe.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m relieved. But it was so scary.” You sink and bury yourself in the collar of your shirt. “You’ve streamed this before, and kept a cool head the entire time, right? How do you do it?”

“Well, it wasn’t my first time playing, for starters. Everyone gets freaked out at first. It’s a horror game, Reader, it’s okay to react to it. I remember the first time I played it, it scared me so bad I had to quit after half an hour.” He giggles a bit at himself. The sound is comforting. “That was a few years ago. I think I had nightmares about it, until I realized I needed to know the rest of the story. ”

Your voice is small. “That was really brave of you.”

“I avoided it for days. I doubt that’s brave.”

“It’s braver than calling someone just to get the guts to play the game.”

“Hey, don’t put my friend Reader down just to bring me up.” He keeps his tone light to let you know you’re allowed to smile. “Being able to face your fears is plenty on its own, and you shouldn’t be devaluing that. How long have you been at it?”

“A little over two hours?” You glance at the stream monitor, and ignore the chat as much as you can. You still register the hearts in your color and his signature blue. “I don’t know. I did a lot of pausing, too, so it’s probably less than that…”

“But you were still able to stream for that long. Remember, I could only play for thirty minutes during my first time! You’re stronger than you think you are.”

You avert your eyes from your stream setup. You feel painfully seen, but the chat is nothing to you. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Then I’ll be here to remind you. Is that okay?”

“I’d like that.” You return to the screen, and in the darkness of the blurred labyrinth, you see your reflection stare back. Your hair is disheveled from how you kept thrashing around in reaction to the game and your shoulders are high with tension, but only now did you realize how the corners of your lips rose after the call started. Ike really got to you. “Thank you, Ike, you’re so considerate. I appreciate you a lot. You’re a really good guy.”

He chuckles slowly, soft like a blanket. Your shoulders ease. Ike’s words are just as soft, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s nervous too. “Haha, um. Yeah. Thank you?” He doesn’t take compliments well, but they’re true, and you hope he knows it as well as you do. He clears his throat. “Ahem. Um, how are you feeling?”

“Not great, but better. I want to try again.”

“You’ve got this, Reader, you can do it.” Ike is still quiet, but enthusiastic. “You can do it!”

You go shaky. “Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay.”

But you still press Return To Game.

And when you scream barely five seconds later, Ike is still calm, and you hone in on his voice as you persevere.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Just as you go to bed, you realize that you basically just made a fool of yourself in front of your crush by getting scared at a game he’s already conquered. 

You slam a pillow over your face and groan.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Ike lands an all-out attack just in time to check the chat and the swarm of viewers that just joined. “Oh, Reader! Thank you for the raid, it’s good to see you! Welcome, everybody.”

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : take care of my bookworms for me? i’m getting milk

“Of course. They’re our Quillworms, after all.” You go fuzzy. He remembered the fan name! “Have a good break, Reader! Rest well.”

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : 👍

It was the end of the week, and the stream you just finished was the last on your schedule. You announced a few days ago that you would take a break for a little more than two weeks so you could catch up on offline work as well as rest, and the Bookworms sent you off with a lot of love. It’ll be hard for some of your diehard fans, but you’re sure they’ll manage. You have a feeling it’ll be easier than they expect. 

“Speaking of breaks, I haven’t finished my schedule yet. I think I’ll wait a day or two to post it.” The stream cracks in red and black as Ike’s party in Persona 5 Royal clobbers the enemy Shadows. Monsters bleed out behind the protagonist’s cocky smirk. “I’ll be offline for the next two days, so I’ll have some time to think about it.”

Ike mashes through the battle results, and sets back off into exploring the palace. His stream fades into background noise as you get back to the task at hand. 

You sent a few messages to some of your other coworkers regarding your break. Next was finishing some paperwork for management, and reaching out to others that needed access to the files. Sure, your time off was for offline work, but the work you had to get done would only take an afternoon at most. You wanted to meet even the far-off deadlines as soon as possible so you could be properly free for the rest of your vacation.

By the time you finished your paperwork, your coworkers were able to respond to you. A group chat full of other livers had a new response every minute about the next two weeks, and Aia sent you a QR code that would let you save some time and money on your flight. 

Ike ended yet another super-long P5R stream just a few minutes after you grabbed all your luggage, got to the airport, and made it to your terminal. You had some time to kill, but you were sick of the headphones over your ears.

Not to mention, you were waiting for the fans to catch up on the real reason why you were on break.

Curiously, you log into your private Twitter—you don’t plan to interact with anything but you’re always paranoid about your online presence—and start searching for the code words fans think Vtubers have no idea about. Symbols replace letters and names morph into sounds while emojis speak volumes.  

The Stargazers don’t mention it at all. That’s to be expected, after all. Their oshi goes on break often, so nothing seems too out of the ordinary. Besides, you wouldn’t put it past them to have even more intricate subtweets than what you’re looking for.

Only a few of Nina’s Honeybunnies put the pieces together at first, but then you check Quilldren subtweets. As it turns out, when Ike mentioned he’d be taking a few days off, a few of his fans noticed how Nina was going to be offline at the same time, and a smaller fraction of those compared how Mika had yet to release a schedule. 

Underneath your face mask, you smile. With the career being dependent on both anonymity and your voice, you wore a nondescript black mask through the entire airport in case someone recognized you, just as well as to hide the tiny giggle that always bubbles up whenever you watch your fans scramble around theorizing. They don’t have all the pieces, after all. None of the Aiadmirers nor the Renvaders even considered it.

They’ll figure it out in time nonetheless. Uki and Nina are close to landing, and Aia was the first to disembark her plane. The rest of your friends are set to arrive after you, and besides, Vox should be ending his last stream of the week right now. You’re sure the Kindred will start plotting in the next hour, provided their oshi didn’t give them too big of a hint about his plans for the next week as he’s known to do.

You board your plane and settle into your seat, ready to nap the flight away. You’ll need the rest, after all. It’s about time you join an off-collab.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Nina doesn’t even get the chance to look away from her phone before she gets a rush of replies on her first voice tweet.

She doesn’t bother to read them anyways. She’s too busy howling out the lyrics to “Wannabe.”

It’ll be hard to discern all the voices. Ike’s high range is always easy to pick out, but Vox blends in as a bass, and you can always hear Mika’s grin through her singing. Ren and Aia are the furthest from the phone, and as loud as they sing, they’re still drowned out along with you, Uki, and Nina herself.

Mika chooses the wrong time to look around the karaoke booth. While Aia sings passionately about what she wants (what she really, really wants), her body language crumples and rises like an electrocuted high school theater kid. The ghost has a hiccuping, sweeping laugh that overpowers half of the singers, and then Aia snorts at herself when Mika covers her mouth, which gets Vox to snort even louder, and before you know it, it’s just Uki and Nina doing their damndest not to break. Even then, Nina’s voice wavers along to the Spice Girls as she resists a laugh, and Uki’s eyes are squeezed shut smiling.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The bar stool slides out from the counter so quietly that you wonder if the Airbnb owner knew just how handy it would be for a house full of streamers on vacation. You lean forward while Mika tells a story about how she, Aia, Ren and you went out for a coffee run, and crossed paths with some teenagers with matching Iluna keychains on their backpacks. 

Speaking of Iluna, their represents sat together on the couch. Aia set her plate and fork on the coffee table, not a single pool of sauce left over from the pasta dinner Vox and Uki prepared together. Somehow Ren made enough room in his luggage to bring along a teal ukulele, and idly strums along. Uki sits between Ren and the armrest, swirling the last of his pasta between his fork.

Across from them, Vox and Nina took ownership of two plush chairs that could only fit one person each. Each chair was next to a corner table, and they stacked their plates on top of one another to make room for a jug of orange juice and two cocktail glasses. Ike took a bottle of rum and poured it into his soda, then slid it back to the corner table before pulling up the bar stool next to you. 

“It was like, one of them had a clear phone case and held it out to show the others a video,” Mika says. She perched on top of the counter itself, next to her travel microphone and the second-nastiest kitchen stream setup you’ve ever seen. She was no Scarle, but so many wires stretched across the island and along the way that it was just easier for her to climb onto the polished granite to keep an eye on the chat. “Smack-dab in the center was a PNG of Vox. And then a bunch of tinier Voxes around it. And here’s how you know it’s bad, you could see the color of the phone itself through the case because it’s clear, right? It was red. Red! That’s commitment!”

“I’m telling you, Mika, there’s no way they got a red phone just because of Vox,” Aia says. “That’s got to be a coincidence.”

Vox hums into his glass. “No, they absolutely did. You mean to tell me your fans don’t spoil you rotten and buy new phones just because they’re your color?”

“My color is white, Vox, like every phone ever is my color!”

“Still, I’ve never seen Aia go so quiet so fast.” Ren’s ukulele twangs as he grins. His fangs were just as prominent in real life. “It was awesome.”

“It was scary, but funny,” you say. “We saw the Vox case and the Iluna keychains, and all of us just went silent. And we all had masks, too, so it was like, one moment you could hear Ren’s fuckboy laugh, and the second we saw the case, we all put up our masks and went quieter than the grave.”

Ren palms the neck of the ukulele and mutes the chord in mock offense. “Hey! I’m not a fuckboy!”

“Didn’t say you were, but if you want to out yourself like that, be my guest. They’d chop off your horns and sell them like Kyo.”

“One of them had an Aster keychain.” Ren bitterly resumes playing. Uki sets his plate on the table and drapes himself over the alien’s shoulder as he opened up his phone to check the off-collab’s live tag. The stream was supposed to be a live Q&A, but was so easy to talk to everyone that the questions often turned into conversation before someone remembered the stream. “If Aia or I said anything, we’d be fucked.”

“Imagine how fucked we would’ve been if Vox woke up in time to go with us,” you say.

Ike snickers. “Is it bad that I would’ve paid money to see that?”

The two Luxiem members get into a playful argument over who would win in a fight: all the effort Nijisanji and its employees put into protecting their privacy, or one silly phone case. Ren’s riffing turns into a simple rendition of “Iris” and Nina hums along from across the living room. The ukulele is slow and unique enough to not be mistaken for the original, but you wonder if those two would be able to avoid copyright entirely.

Nonetheless, the vibe is comfortable. You’re miles away from home, but in a room with some of your closest friends in the world, it’s like you never left. Truthfully, it’s more like you’ve finally found your place. The music just feels right, like it was written for this moment, and Aia leans back into the couch while Nina sways in her seat to the jaunty little ukulele. Ren looks as cheery as his instrument sounds, especially with a peaceful Uki nuzzled up to him. 

While Ike and Vox go at it, Mika props her chin up with both hands and watches them like a reality TV show. There’s a glint in Vox’s eyes as Ike drums up a snide response, the only sane man to the demon’s goofiness. He brings his rum and coke to his lips like punctuation, a silent so, what? hidden in the boozy soda. 

Vox knows how to run his mouth, and he launches into one of his patented anecdotes. While all eyes are on the demon and the chat hones in on his voice, you focus on how Ike tilts his head up to drink. His neck stretches out from the collar of his black band tee, and with each sip, his Adam’s apple bobs. 

You’ve always thought he was good-looking on stream, but he’s gorgeous in person, all long lines and graceful features, and cameras can’t capture the tiny little freckles drizzled down the back of his neck. You didn’t even know he had freckles. It was only after you saw him for the first time that you noticed pale, reddish dots all over his nose and cheeks, fading out by his temples and the arch of his lips. Spending the day walking around in the sun from place to place revealed more whenever the wind flicked his jacket collar out right. They scatter at his nape, right below the blue tips of his hair, and meet one another further down his back, or so you’d presume. Without the jacket, you can catch marks spread out along his arms with distance between one another, and his shirt sleeve starts right where the freckles cluster together. You can only imagine how far down they go.

You avert your eyes. You can’t think about what’s under the shirt when you’re sitting right next to him, and certainly not while on stream, even if chat can’t see you check him out!

Unfortunately, the side opposite of Ike is the one with Ren and Uki. Those two are idyllic. Without a care in the world, it seems. You envy how easily Uki can act on what he wants, even if you know he doesn’t see Ren like how you see Ike. Ren doesn’t mind it at all, either. He literally lives by the rhythm of his own ukulele. 

Ike lowers his drink with his eyes closed, as if it would make the refreshing feeling last longer. His eyelashes are the same ashen color as his hair. Gold gleams between his ears and on the chain of his glasses.

Possessed by the music, and distracted by the rambling, you become one with the background and lean along Ike’s arm.

It’s an indulgent dip into the waters, but shallow compared to all you feel for him. Ever since you met Ike in person it’s been easier to control yourself around him, and if anything, you’re reminded that this is the man you’ve gotten the closest to in both career and friendship. The only barrier between your cheek and his body is his shirt sleeve, but your arm rests against his forearm, right where the freckles taper off. There’s no resistance at all as you make yourself comfortable in the crook of his arm. 

But you hold yourself back. Even though the off-collab made you feel gutsier than before, you think that you’d pass out if you tried anything else. Besides, you feel so at peace against his arm, but too afraid to look up and see his reaction. 

The blend of peace and fear churns in your heart as it dawns on you: you were wrong to call this a crush. It runs far deeper than you could’ve imagined.

Vox says something with finality. His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, but the words go unregistered. As he spoke, his eyes drifted around with his body language, but he snaps to look at Ike expectantly. You swear his smirk gets a little more mischievous as he does. 

The air stills, even though you know eyes aren’t on you, just the man you lean on. It stays frozen as Ike waits to respond. You still don’t have the heart to look up at him and break your selfish, unrequited fantasy.

You just want to stay here, unresisted.

Ike deadpans. “Anyways.”

Just like that, the moment is over, and Mika laughing at Vox striking out clears the air around you. But Vox’s eyes fall to you for just a split second as he moves in his seat. Frost settles down your back at the thought that he knows, but there’s a solid chance he hasn’t connected the dots. You pray he hasn’t.

Then you see Fox Mom herself right behind him, and she shoots you a shit-eating grin with a hand over her heart and a glass in the other. 

No doubt about it. You’re screwed. 

The frost turns to glaciers and burns into hot shame all at once. You love Nina, you really do, and you’d always consider her a good friend before coworker. However, she’s known for fishing around for any crumb of fanservice, and she gets straight to the point whenever she eggs it on, not to mention how she loves to tease her kids on just about anything. You are never going to hear the end of this if she can help it.

You really don’t know what you expected. It feels like everyone’s staring at you, even the chat. You can’t help but feel bitter. How come Uki can flirt with as many guys as he wants, you wonder, but I can’t even touch Ike without getting eyed up? 

You know the answer, but it doesn’t do anything to help the bitterness and the embarrassment, and how much you want to hide. On instinct, you take advantage of the warmth and nestle yourself deeper into Ike to hide your face, just in time as he curls his head above yours.

Nina makes a sound kind of like a fork stuck in the garbage disposal for the briefest of moments before smashing her lips together and bringing her glass to her mouth like a mute button. As if you didn’t feel seen enough. 

“Find any other questions, Uki-senpai?” Aia’s nose is buried in her phone, and God, you could kiss her for changing the subject. As much as she poked fun about you about Ike, she was still a total angel and a ride-or-die all at once. 

“Oh, I have questions,” Uki says. Luckily, he’s graceful enough to leave it at that. “Twitter wants to know first impressions for everyone that hasn’t off-collabed before.”

Ren speaks. “I think the only person I’ve done an off-collab with before is Nina, so is it cool if I go first?”

Aia gestures for him to go on. She’s still stuck on her phone as he continues.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, but you ignore it. Then again and again and again, and when you finally check it, you understand why. When Aia, Mika and Alban first heard you spill your feelings for Ike, they made a group chat dedicated to wingmanning—or at least, that’s what they pitched it as. They tease you more than anything else, and as irritating as it gets… you have to admit, it’s nice to confide in them, and nice to know they wouldn’t hold it against you.

Anyways, Alban’s going apeshit. 

Group Chat: 💙 PENANDPAPER REAL 2K4EVER 💕 (4 Members)

Aia Amare: image.png    | 📌 2 |

Alban Knox: AKDHSLSJDKSHSA

Alban Knox: AASDFSDF

Alban Knox: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Alban Knox: AAAAAAAAAA

Alban Knox: HAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAA AAAAAAA KYAAAAAAAA

Alban Knox: 💕💕💕💙💕💙💕💙💙💙💕💙💕💕💙

Alban Knox: 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

Alban Knox: HOW ARE YOU GUYSS NOT LOSING YUOR MINDSA BOUT THIS

Aia Amare: I AM

Me: omfg did you seriously get a picture of us 

Alban Knox: WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGGGGGG DONT CHDCK THIS GC    | 👆 1 |

Me: wtf did you expect you’re spamming 

Alban Knox: YOU AR ELITERALLY CUDDLNG GO FOCUS ON THAY JOT US

Me: we are not cuddling

Alban Knox: YOU ARE

Aia Amare: YOU ARE

Mika Melatika pinned a message.     | 🖕 1 |

Me: mika wth you too? 😭 

Mika Melatika: image.png

Me: did you srsly take a selfie with us in the background

Mika Melatika: YES this needs to be immortalized

Me: you people suck    | 🥰 3 |

Alban Knox: GET THAT NOVELIST BUSSY!!!!

Aia Amare: As if you aren’t about to save that picture yourself~

Alban Knox: NOVELUSSY!!!!!!!!!

Fuck, she got you there. You cast a pointed look at the angelic maiden herself, or at least as pointed as you can be with a man you’re scared to love wrapped around you. She looks as satisfied as a cat pushing a glass off a counter. 

You set your phone on ‘do not disturb’ and placed it behind you on the counter with a huff.

“Reader, honey, how about you?” Nina leans forward, half-lidded and as sultry as ever. She swirled her drink around in its glass. “It’s your first off-collab ever, right? I’d love to hear what you have to say.”

“Oh, well, um.” Your brain struggles to catch up. “First impressions, right…”

Aia slips you a thumbs up. You’re going to rip her a new one after this. Her, and Mika, and definitely Nina; this is the most subtle Nina’s ever been but you can tell she’s fishing for an answer here. You can take your friends figuring it out, embarrassing as it is, but you are not about to expose yourself to thousands of live viewers. 

“It’s kind of crazy actually meeting up with everyone,” you start. “I’ve known them for so long, but all online, and being able to match the voice to the face in real life, I don’t think I can actually describe it. It’s kind of surreal, but it feels so nice to just talk to them in person. Aia, Nina and Uki were the first people I met up with, and man, those three are a sight. I know everyone says it, but Uki is absolutely the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Nina and Aia are really pretty, too. Hey, Aiadmirers, did you know when your oshi laughs, she looks just as cute as she sounds?”

Aia yells. “Reader, shut up!”

“Then stop being so cute all the time, you dork!” 

“I’m not a dork! I’m cool!”

You resume, satisfied with your revenge. “Mika and Vox are both really chill. They’re kind of quiet, so if you’re just walking by, you’d think they’re two normal people just going about their days. But whenever we talk it’s always something insane. Vox sounds like a dignified gentleman and Mika is kind of like that cool girl that you want to be friends with, but if you actually pay attention, Mika’s showing Vox a picture of her insides during surgery while he’s reciting something about the Bite of ‘87. And Ren is probably one of the most straightforward people you’ll ever see. He’s so optimistic, and really expressive, too, even though most of the expressions are all different types of smiles.”

“What’s your impression of Ike?” Nina asks.

What does she expect you to say to that one, that screens can’t capture how the sun glitters through his glassy green eyes? Hearing him say your name in-person sends shockwaves through your body? How you want to kiss every little freckle he’s never mentioned before and keeps hidden under long sleeves, even though it’s the beautiful skin he lives in daily?

“Same old Ike. He’s exactly like how I expected,” you say. A total fib. 

She cocks her head. “Really? Even after all the time you’ve spent together?”

“I’m trying to hang out with everyone.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

Cornered. Nina takes a long, slow drink from her glass as you scramble for a quick answer that won’t immediately out you. “Whenever I talk to Ike, he’s really emotive. You can tell what he’s thinking before he says anything. He also has a good sense of style, so he’s fun to go shopping with, and honestly, fun to do anything with. He’s someone you can always have a good time with, and always makes you feel so comfortable around him. Ike’s magnetic.”

Mika muffles a coo behind you. You’re going to kill her if you survive this stream.

“That’s very sweet, Reader,” Nina replies. “Hear that, Ike?”

“Yes, I did.” He sounds strained.

“Got any feelings about it?”

“Yes? I mean—er, thanks?” You feel Ike’s head rustle. “I, umm. What am I supposed to say about that?”

“I don’t know. I just think that about you, that’s all…”

“Aww, cute. I love that you love each other,” Nina muses. 

Ike spits out, “It’s not like that!” Just as you admit, “Yeah, I guess so.”

You process his words too late, though, and even as you sputter the ukulele music cuts out just in time with Nina and Mika’s unfiltered fangirl squeals. Ren’s palms mute the chord as his eyes go wide. Aia is already on her phone with her jaw to the floor and Uki throws a look at Nina while he mouths, did that just happen? 

“I-I mean!” Your throat goes dry and Ike lurches away from you when Vox gleefully shakes Nina like a rag doll. “I—wh—Ike, I mean, of course I love you—“ Mika screams again— “As a friend!”

When you turn to face Ike, he’s curled up into a ball on the barstool with his shirt collar over his face. Even as you feel the blood rush to your face, you keep shouting. That’s all you have left. You’re live. “Like, we’re best friends on and off stream and I love you!”

He mutters something, but you can’t tell what. Only his neck and the tips of his ears poke out from his shirt. Were they always that red?

You repeat yourself. “I said, we’re best friends and I love you, so much!”

“And I said, I know, thank you, I love you too, Reader!” Ike jerks out to face you as he cries. He looks like a tomato. 

Then he buries his face into his hands and squeaks like how he always does when something’s too cute to handle, or he’s got too many emotions he needs to let out. “You can’t see me, I’m too embarrassed. I’m hiding forever and I’m never coming out.”

You hope the ground swallows you up and you never have to confront this moment again. 

Uki hisses under his breath and muffles Ren's ukulele. You don't know what he said, but you realize all too late that the alien prince himself was laying down the first few notes of “Fly Me To The Moon.”

While you slump and fold your arms over your face on the counter in pure embarrassment, Aia stands up and commandeers the mic. She slaps a hand over Mika’s mouth to muffle the scream. “Man, bummer that Ike-senpai is gone from us forever, but you know what else might be gone forever if you don’t get it now? The sponsor for this stream, our current limited-edition Nijisanji voice packs!”

And as much as you could kiss her yet again for changing the subject, you can’t get over how everything blew up in the last five minutes, and groan into your arms instead. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The stream passed, luckily, without a hitch after that. No one asked any questions, but it was pretty damn clear everyone in the room had an idea of what just happened, and the impending shitstorm. In fact, it was so clear that when you stalked off to your room to sulk, no one made a fuss, and when you realized ten minutes into your sulking session that you left your phone on the counter, you figured it wasn’t worth it to show your face again until after you finished your pity party. 

The entire time, you laid in your bed with a pillow over your face so you could pretend like you were being absorbed into the sweet embrace of death. Overdramatic, sure, but you figured you were justified. 

Without your phone, you had no way to check exactly how bad the fallout was on Twitter. The poor Pen and Paper tags were sure to be flooded with fans imagining a happy ending to that stint you’d never be able to experience yourself, like salt in the wound. Not to mention, it was a huge seven-person off-collab! It didn’t just end with the Pen and Paper fans. No, it would extend past the Bookworms and the Quilldren, and certainly to the rest of the fandoms with an oshi in this Airbnb. Maybe even the offshoot viewers who don’t regularly watch your content, but made an exception for the off-collab, or, you know, the ones who have no idea who you or Ike are but can’t get enough of the whole accidental-confession-live-on-stream thing. Forget Nina; the entire Vtuber community is never, ever, ever going to live this down. 

Ike sounded so distraught, too. You wanted to kick yourself for it. Not only did you make a fool of yourself, but he got caught in the crossfire just because you didn’t catch yourself slipping. Not like he’d reciprocate anyways. He’s always been bad at taking compliments, but you keep thinking about how embarrassed he was about you loving him. 

All your frustration and humiliation coursed through the darkness under your pillow, and you stew so bitterly that you don’t even dream when you fall asleep. 

You just wake up groggy and exhausted, but too restless to go back to sleep. You look out the window, and the stars have barely come out to play in the early night sky. 

As much as you’d hate to admit it, that impromptu nap made you tired of brooding. Besides, you can’t hide from your friends forever. Hopelessly in love or not, they’re still your friends, and even if you decided to stream during the trip, this off-collab was always about spending time with them instead of worrying over your online presence. 

It takes you half an hour to hype yourself up, but eventually, you open your door and step out into the hall. 

You can already hear voices further away in the Airbnb. You place one of them as Nina, and after her, a baritone that could only belong to Vox. 

“…Fuck Twitter, they’re going to forget about it in two weeks or less anyways.” You overhear as you walk down the hall of rooms and closer to the living room. You’ve heard Vox passionate before, but never this serious as well. “Besides, what exactly did they say?”

A mumble. You can’t place the words, but you bristle when you recognize the voice. That’s unmistakably Ike. 

“See? Again, I’m so sorry. I was out of line, and I forgot my place. I shouldn’t have interrogated them like that,” Nina says. “But you’re overthinking what they said.”

Another mumble. By now, you’re in the kitchen. You lift your phone from where you left it, and hold your fingers over the half of the screen where your notifications appear as you check the time. It’s barely 11 PM. 

The kitchen and living room are connected, with plenty of seating space all around. That was why Mika’s travel laptop was still on the counter and plugged into the wall from the stream earlier, but on the other side of the wall from the kitchen, you noticed an open window and silhouettes from it. Four people sat on the shallow roof overlooking the uneven ground plenty of feet under the building. A pair of fox ears twitch at the night wind as they watched the stars grow brighter in the sky. 

You look through the fridge. You’re peckish, but if you were to be honest with yourself, you’re trying to stay quiet for a reason. 

There’s a huff. “Oh my god, dude. Just tell Reader already.”

You stand up a little straighter. Mika was with them? Were they talking about you?

“There’s nothing to be said, Mika!” Ike huffs back. “I’m screwed anyways. Just drop it, okay? I don’t need this getting in the way of what was supposed to be just a normal trip.”

“You can’t keep running away forever. Just act like an adult and tell them. It’s going to be fine, I swear.”

“And how exactly do you know that?”

“Well…” Mika trails off. “I can’t say. I just know, okay?”

“Uh-huh. And I know I’m screwed.” The wind rustles outside. You stay motionless. “Just two weeks. Can I please just have two weeks where I don’t have to worry about this until the trip is over.”

It’s a question, but he says it with such exasperation that no one can consider any other answers. 

“Fine.” Nina relinquishes. “Have it your way. I’m just worried for you two.”

“It’s going to work out, Ike. But I’m tired.” Vox stifles a yawn. “Tomorrow is going to be better. Let it go for the night and come back to it once you’re in better shape, and just remember. It’s going to work out.”

“Thanks, Vox.”

“Now get in here.”

You hear shuffling fabric before the two men start yelling. Vox cackles while Ike cries through gritted teeth. “Dang it, Vox, I’m going to shove you off this roof!”

“Get ruffled, idiot! That’s your fault for trusting me!”

“I just wanted a hug!”

You snicker under your breath. Vox loves to ruffle Ike’s hair despite the latter’s protests, though he tends to accept it instead of shove him off like anyone else that would dare. Besides, as dreary as Ike sounded during that conversation, he nearly sounded like his old self as Vox and the others laughed.

“I think I’ll go too. Mommy needs her beauty sleep.”

“Mm, I’m still pretty awake. Wanna keep looking at the sky with me, Ike?”

“Sure. Here, Nina, let me move out of the way…”

Shuffling turns to footsteps, and brings you back to reality. You busy yourself looking through the paltry groceries.

The sound of footsteps gets louder and louder, until they become a hollow click on the hardwood floor. Nina crawls through the window, but stops in her tracks with a startled noise.

You turn around and nod as casually as possible. “Oh, hey, Nina.”

Vox is also halfway through the window, and his eyes go comically wide as he forgets how to move. “Oh. Hey. Reader. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah! Um!” Nina coughs long enough to make you uncomfortable. “What are you doing here?”

“Took a nap. Got hungry.” It’s not a lie. You grope around in the fridge and breathe a sigh of relief when you see a stick of string cheese in your hands. “You guys just hanging out?”

Nina nods. “Yeah, we were on the roof. It’s getting late, though. You should get some rest for tomorrow—“

Vox elbows her. “But not after looking at the sky for a little bit. It’s beautiful. Very clear. Romantic, even. The architects did a wonderful job placing this house right at the perfect angle to watch the stars rise. Did I mention it was romantic?”

You act natural and take a big bite out of the string cheese. “Once or twice. Is it the seniors’ bedtime?”

“You got me,” Vox says. 

“I love going to sleep early and giving my kids private time before bed to reflect and hold deep conversations with one another about their feelings,” Nina says. “And also nighttime face masks.”

“Woo, skincare, what she said.” 

“Hey, by the way, Reader, honey, did you hear anything we talked about?”

“No,” you lie.

“Cool,” Vox says. You eat the rest of the string cheese in one bite. “Good for you. And goodnight, Reader.” He dusts himself off before casting his golden gaze down at you. “Be nice, will you?”

Shivers go down your back. You have a feeling he’s referring to something unspoken. “I will.”

“That’s my sweet thing,” he purrs. “Anyways, I’m going the fuck to beddy bye. Honk shoo, Reader, don’t stay up too late.”

Vox struts off with dark hair flowing behind him and the scent of his aftershave in the air. He leaves you to stand awkwardly next to Nina. 

Suddenly, she takes you by your shoulders and forces you in front of her. You blurt out an unflattering startled noise before she gets right up in your face and stares dead into your eyes.  

“Please be good,” she says darkly. Was that a threat? “Please be so, so good to my baby.”

“I will,” you say, more out of fear than anything else.

She blinks once, then she’s back to the doting mother you know and love. She squeezes your shoulders. “Thank you, honey! Sweet dreams!”

And just like the Voice Demon before her, Nina bounds off to her room. 

Huh. That was weird. Nonetheless, you’re alone in the living room, and you can see the outline of Ike and Mika sitting on the roof in silence. 

You lightly knock on the side of the window. They both perk up at the sound. “Cool if I join you?”

Mika responds quickly. “Sure! Watch your step, Reader. The roof isn’t that steep but it would be awkward if you ate shit.”

“Agreed.” You step onto the tiling, and shift your body to match the angle. You feel like a newborn deer learning to walk. Luckily, Nina and Vox leaving meant that there was more than enough space for you right next to the window. 

Ike sits between you and Mika. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah…” 

‘Pretty’ is putting it mildly. The stars are so clear tonight, and scatter across the sky like sequins. The Airbnb was located further away from the heart of the city, so the darkness only amplified how bright the stars shone against the stark night. A breeze drags through the air and fallen leaves rustle between the grass. 

“This is so nice.” Comfort settles into you like the breeze in your hair. “I love it.”

Ike sighs. “Right? It’s so peaceful.”

“And there’s so many more stars out here than there are in the city.”

“It makes you want to just zone out and cool down.”

“Yeah, totally.” Mika coughs. “Huh! Cool! Well, I’m tired now. Just keep staying out here and enjoy the sky, I’m going to bed. Enjoy yourselves.”

Mika inelegantly shuffles around your bodies and slips back inside before either of you can properly tell her goodnight. 

Ike cocks his head as he watches her stumble through the window. “She just said she would stay out…”

“Hm?”

“Ah, nothing. Just thinking to myself.”

With the extra space, Ike leans back and lays along the roof. The stars cast a dreamy glow over his soft smile as he continues. “It really is something that just makes you want to have a deep conversation, or just think, you know?”

You hum in agreement. You get what he means, but there’s only one topic you can imagine having a deep conversation about right now, and it’s the very one you brooded over earlier that day. 

But Ike is Ike. He’s rational and calm and kind, and laughs at your stupid jokes, and texts you first before any of your other mutual friends. The night turns the tips of his hair bluer than usual, and the stars remind you of the freckles hidden along his creamy skin. His glasses reflect the galaxy above.

Even though today’s stream was embarrassing, you know Ike trusts you enough to tell you if you’ve ever crossed a boundary. After all, it’s commonplace to discuss limits on and off stream as soon as possible, and your friendship was so strong that you’ve both opened up to one another. He’d let you know if the whole cuddling thing was too much. Besides, he didn’t resist. He even rested his head on yours. That has to account for something, right?

You snap out of your thoughts when you feel a gentle tug on the sleeve of your hoodie. It’s Ike. He asks, “Lay down with me?”

A wave of fondness washes over you like the tide. He’s cute when he’s earnest like this. You get as comfortable as you can on the tiling, and when you still, you hear something shift before your hand grows warm. Ike scooted closer to you, and placed his pinky finger over yours. 

This is bliss. A beautiful sight with a beautiful boy next to you. Your best friend. 

“I do love you,” you say. 

It just feels right to say. 

Ike is silent. He doesn’t make a single sound as you stare up at the stars and the blackened sky. The breeze rocks a tree, and as the leaves part, you see the moon for the first time: one thin, waning crescent that blends into the darkness. 

Ike’s head is turned away from you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking at all. 

“…I don’t know what you mean,” he admits. “You do? As a friend?”

“We’ve always been friends.”

“Just that?”

“I don’t know what you’re asking me, Ike.”

“N-never mind. I’m sorry, am I making it weird?”

“No, you could never make it weird.” The colors of the view gloss together. You feel like a balloon slowly deflating. “Feels like that’s all I’m doing lately, though.”

Neither of you say anything. 

This was a bad idea. 

You swear the rustling leaves mock you. 

“Wait.” Ike practically snatches your hand up. “Wait, Reader, are you saying you like me?”

“Yeah. I’m saying that I love you.”

Ike stares at you, and if you had to choose just one word to describe his expression, it’s stricken. His mouth is slightly parted, and his shocked eyes drive holes through your skin, leaving you exposed. The brief stutter that escapes him sounds like it was dredged out from frozen, murky waters. “I—”

He drops your hand and turns away. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, barely audible. “This is… this is a lot.”

“I’m sorry too, this was a stupid idea. What was I thinking?” You get on your feet, but the slope makes what could’ve been a fluid motion into a stumbling, slow rise, as if your legs weren’t jelly enough already. You inch to the window mortified. “I think I should go. Sorry to bother you.”

You don’t dare to glance at him before you step back inside, not even when he calls your name halfway through the window.

Once you’re back in the living room, you cover your face, then drag your hands through your hair. You can’t even begin to describe how exhausted you feel. This is heartbreak, isn’t it?

You blink furiously, and the outline of a figure by the fridge comes into view. 

“Reader?” Mika asks. She has a stick of string cheese in her hand, but walks to you. “Reader, what happened—”

You take her empty hand and pace to your room. You open the door. “Are you okay?”

The second it shuts, your breath hitches. Mika doesn’t hesitate to take you in her arms. She holds you as the first tear falls, and you begin to cry.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You wake up the next day sprawled in your bed, even though the blankets are tucked comfortably around you. On the floor is a pillow and another pile of blankets, and when you recognize the dark hair tied into a loose ponytail, the memories of last night come rushing back.

What an awful night. Awful decisions all day, really, and all of them ones you made. You really don’t know what you were thinking. You groan at the memory.

“Reader?” Mika perks up. Her phone is in her hands, but she sits up level to your face on the floor. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

Another groan.

“Yeah, I figured,” she says. “Nina, Vox and Ike went out to do their own thing, and I think Ren and Uki are cafe-hopping. It’s just you, me and Aia in the house right now.”

You rub the sleepy out of your eyes. “That’s cool, I guess.” You cast a downward glance to Mika’s makeshift bed on the floor. “Sorry for being a nuisance.”

“You’re not a nuisance, Reader, don’t say that.” She nudges you. “We’re friends. It’s what friends do. Speaking of, do you want Aia to come by? And Alban’s online, so I can call him, too. If you want.”

“It’d be nice…”

Less than ten minutes pass before Aia shows up at your door with breakfast sandwiches and orange juice. All three of you sit on the blanketed floor while Mika voice calls Alban on her phone. A pot of coffee brews over speakerphone as you recount last night. 

“...And to make things worse, we just streamed yesterday,” you explain. “God, I should check Twitter. There’s got to be a million people with eyes on our ship tag, and ugh, I hate thinking about how many weirdos are going to push a ship that can’t work out IRL.”

“I can check it for you,” Aia offers. You hand her your phone. “You remember your Twitter password?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Sorry in advance.” She deletes the app off your home screen.

You begin to protest, but she turns off the phone and sets it aside, out of your reach. “You’re off the clock, Reader! Work troubles can wait until you’re back online, and that includes doomscrolling. You can redownload it when you’re in a better headspace.”

“I really hate admitting you’re right.”

“Shit, Reader,” Alban finally says. “He seriously dropped the ball. I’m sorry.”

“I know. I really thought he would get it, but it took him so long to piece it together, like he never thought about us like that before. I should’ve known it was just me. I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, you’re hurt,” Mika says. “It’s understandable, but that still doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“Is it wrong that I feel like I deserve it? I mean, I knew day one that this wouldn’t work out. We work together online, and we have fans that ship us with each other and the rest of this company, for fuck’s sake. Getting heartbroken was inevitable and I still went for it. Either I’m a glutton for pain or I’m just plain clueless.”

Alban’s voice is distant from the phone as he messes with his coffee maker. You can’t properly hear him under his breath and over the pot, but if you could, you could’ve heard him mumble, Trust me, you’re not the only clueless one here.

But he returns back at the phone, and you’re totally oblivious. “You can’t choose who you fall for,” he says. “It was really that bad?”

“It took him like a minute to realize I was confessing. And then when he realized it, he apologized to me.”

Aia straightens. “Did he say no?”

“Not really, but why would he apologize if he reciprocated?”

Aia exchanges a look with Mika. Alban grumbles. “No fucking way.”

“Tell me exactly how he reacted,” Aia instructs. She plowed through her sandwich during the conversation, but she left the remaining half on her plate forgotten as she laced her fingers together and leaned forward like a calculated boss. 

“It was like he couldn’t comprehend what I was saying at first. He asked if I meant it as friends, until he asked me if I liked him. And when I told him I loved him in response, he was so shocked that he let go of my hand, so I left.”

“No fucking way,” Alban repeats, and groans as he drawls out his words. You can practically hear him drag his hands over his face. “No fucking way. Ikeeeee. He seriously dropped the ball.”

“I know. I can’t believe it.”

Aia takes both of your hands in her own. “Reader, I’m not even saying this to hurt you, but this is the clumsiest confession I’ve ever heard of.”

You squint. “Right, that makes me feel so much better.”

“I’m really not! You know what this sounds like? Miscommunication,” she declares. “You didn’t get a solid yes or no. So now it’s going to be awkward between you two until you get an actual answer to the confession, or at least some kind of resolution. You wanna know what I think? It sounds like he didn’t even believe what he was hearing before you left. Which, by the way, is a common response to not just confessions but other major news, so chances are you didn’t blow up your friendship as hard as you thought.”

“She has a point,” Alban says. “I believe you, Reader, but Ike isn’t the type of person to just crush other people’s feelings like that. You just woke up, right?”

“I haven’t even left my room yet. Mika says everyone else is out of the house. He’s with Vox and Nina, I think.”

“So then he hasn’t had a chance to talk to you since the confession,” he continues. “And those three are really close. I’m willing to bet they’re helping him manage it, ‘cause it sounds like he’s going through it just as confused as you are.”

You stare at the floor. Hope feels foreign, yet you can’t help but wonder. You struggle to remember the exact way Ike reacted last night, but you really can’t tell what facts were clouded over by the rejection. A rejection that possibly didn’t even happen, mind you. The confusion and regret blurs over everything like water on wet ink.

“You really think so?” You quietly ask.

Aia nods, and Alban agrees over the phone.

Mika pipes up, a glass of juice in her hands. “Here’s my take. We can theorize as much as we want, but none of us really know what Ike’s thinking about, least of all you. Especially since you didn’t actually resolve anything, and that tension is going to eat at you until you get an answer or it actually damages your friendship. You ask me, the next best thing you can do is bring it up.”

She takes a sip of her juice and leaves you to absorb her advice. 

You mull it over along with the memory of last night. “He called my name as I left.”

Alban chokes on his coffee. “He called your name?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t respond.”

“Oh my God. READER!” He shouts so loud that Mika turns the volume down. “I’m going to lose it. I’m actually freaking it right now. Reader!”

“What?”

“Fuck what Mika said earlier, you are stupid!”

“Hey!”

“I’m saying this in the nicest way possible, you are so stupid. He was trying to talk to you!”

Your face goes through a handful of emotions as you sputter. “Are you serious, Alban?”

“Yes! Mika, Aia, back me up.”

Aia crinkles her nose. “I did just say it sounded like a total miscommunication.”

Meanwhile, Mika twirls a lock of red-and-black hair between her finger, distracting herself. She hesitates, trying to figure out exactly how she wants to say her piece, before she simply shakes her head and stills. “Just talk to him.”

“Which is easier said than done.” Your shoulders roll back as you stare up at the ceiling, your hands supporting you as you lean. Even with your friends’ encouragement, the memory of how hard you blew it last night still haunts you. It’s even worse than starting at ground zero; you’ve already tasted failure once, and you’re hesitant to embarrass yourself again. 

That stricken look Ike gave you flashes across your sight every time you blink. What was he thinking when he stared at you like that? You can’t tell if the disgust is true or if your anxieties are getting the best of you.

The best solution to anxieties, however, is looking at the facts—or at least, what isn’t tainted by your bias. Your friends mentioned there was nothing wrong with a workplace romance, and as much as the stream made you want to cringe, no one seemed put off by it. Alban and Aia are set on getting you and Ike to talk, and so is Mika. In fact, Mika spoke with Ike as well as Vox and Nina last night before you entered, and even if you had no idea what those four were talking about, you still picked up your name and that apparently Ike had something to tell you.

Pieces start to fall into place when you consider the three around you, staging an intervention over a late breakfast. Aia always gets you in situations where you can be close to Ike and bails you out when it gets awkward, and as much as he won’t get off your back about it, Alban gave you great advice between all his teasing. Mika was nosy at first when she learned about your feelings, but now that you think about it, she’s been incredibly tactful ever since the off-collab began. 

You can’t help but snicker as you connect the dots. “Is this the first time you guys actually started wingmanning for me?”

Aia purses her lips. “Hey, not the first. Remember when we made that group chat? We’ve always been your wingmen.”

“I know. But you guys are seriously helping,” you say. “Thanks. Though I do wonder, Mika…”

She perks up as you say her name. “Be real with me. Do you know more than you’re letting on?”

She flinches. Alban’s fingers snap over the phone. “Busted.”

Mika holds her hands up like a criminal caught in the act, but there’s a loose, sly smile hanging on her face. “I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

“What do you mean, it’s not your place to say?”

“I’m sorry, Reader, but I made a promise not to spill, and I’ve been doing way too much behind the scenes to break the promise like that. Just do me a favor and talk to the guy, will you? That’s the best I can tell you.” Mika rests her head in a hand, and the smirk looks even more knowing. “And if you can’t figure it out after that, then you’re definitely stupid.”

You bluster. “I’m not stupid!” 

“Still remains to be seen.” Aia gently flicks your forehead. “But you do look a lot better. How are you feeling now?”

Aside from the fading pain on your forehead? You’re surprised at how much lighter you feel now that you unloaded all your worries with your friends. The rejection still stings, and you’re not exactly confident, but, well, you’re smiling. The clean, tangy taste of orange juice lingers between your tongue. Aia and Mika sitting on the pile of blankets reminds you that regardless of your love life, they’d stay by your side until the bitter end, and Alban’s voice keeps you connected with your friends no matter where in the world you are.

You snatch Aia’s half-eaten sandwich off her plate and sink your teeth into the bread. She cries out in protest. “Hey!”

“Better now.” You set the sandwich back where you found it. Even though your future with Ike looks cloudy, the smile doesn’t leave. “Don’t flick me.”

“Speaking of.” Mika picks up the phone and scrolls through her messages. “Nina just texted that she, Vox and Ike will come back in an hour or less. Reader, are you up for this?”

“What do you mean, ‘up for this?’”

“Just seeing Ike again. It was a weird night,” she says. “I stand by what I said, but if it’s going to be too much too soon, then Aia and I can cover for you until you feel better.”

“I don’t know.” That’s what gets your expression to sink from light to thoughtful. “I think I want to take your advice. I just don’t know if I’m ready to talk it out yet.”

“Still wanna hang out with us or take a moment to yourself?”

“I think I’d just go back to moping if I was alone,” you joke.

“Cool. Let me go grab some nail polish Nina gave me yesterday.” Mika rises and strides to the door. “You have a steadier hand than me. And Nina said the color suits me more than her.”

Aia’s face lights up. She happily cries ”Girls’ night!” even though it’s barely noon and Alban is decidedly not a girl, but then he croons something in a valley girl accent so strong you can’t even tell what he’s saying. Scratch that; he’s a girl by association.

When he drawls out one long “Yaaaaaas, bestie!” you can’t help but laugh. Your love life is in shambles, but at least your friendships are solid as hell. You’d give the world for these three.

Mika returns a moment later, travel-sized nail supplies in her arms and a totally unrelated topic on the mind. The sharp scent of the lacquer startles you out of your thoughts as you uncap the bottle and Mika splays her hands out, and Alban and Aia air their opinions on something entertainingly dumb. 

Nina was right: this color is stunning on Mika. You paint Aia’s nails too, and halfway through her second hand, you hear the front door open, the end of an intelligible conversation, and telltale footsteps, each diverting across the house. The girls’ eyes flicker to you. You know they’re trying to read your expression, but you concentrate on how the brushstrokes pool together into one smooth coat. Your thoughts are a storm and you can’t even pick out the emotion commanding it. 

So you keep joking along instead and focus on the nail polish, refusing to give the storm an opportunity to strike. Alban quips off of you, and the moment passes as Mika and Aia return to the conversation. 

That is, until half an hour later when you hear a knock on the door. Mika cocks her head, a silent question, and when you nod she stands. Her nails dried when you finished Aia’s, and dot the doorknob as she cracks it open. A tiny margin of light from the hallway shines into your room, and you realize she positioned herself square in front of the threshold, shielding you from the person on the other side. 

She talks evenly. “Hey, welcome back.”

“Thanks. Is Reader here?”

Your mind thunders as you register the voice. You can only see the leg of his jeans behind Mika, but you recognize Ike’s voice on the other side. 

Aia shuffles by as a second shield. “Need them for something?”

“Kind of,” Ike says. “Do you mind if I talk to them?”

“I don’t know, what’s it about—“

“Aia, you can lay off him.” You call from your corner of the room. “You too, Mika.”

“Whatever you say. Just let me just grab my stuff…”

Mika grabs the nail supplies and deafens on Discord, but doesn’t even think to pick up the blankets along the ground. Instead, she glides to you and whispers under her breath. “We’re rooting for you. Send us a text if you need anything, okay?”

You nod. Aia slips past the threshold, but not without shooting you a thumbs up and mouthing ‘good luck.’ Not even a second later, your phone buzzes, and you catch Alban’s contact sending you an encouraging message in all-caps. 

“See you later!” Aia chirps. “Play nice, you two.”

The scent of the lacquer follows them as they leave, and the sound of their footsteps fade in time. 

Still in the doorway, Ike raises a hand to fidget with the chain along his glasses. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Oh! Come in. Sit anywhere, I don’t mind.”

You stay planted on the floor like how you were with your friends, and Ike sits next to you. You face the wall in front while he gets comfortable.

No words are exchanged as Ike maneuvers around the blankets, and eventually settles down with his back on the floor and head resting on a pillow, staring up at the ceiling. The light is off, but the blinds filter in thin beams of sunlight that cross over the room and the edge of his collar like a grid. 

“Lay with me?” He asks. Then it strikes you like ringing metal; you sit next to each other in the same positions as that night on the roof. 

Suddenly Ike raises his hands like static. “Not that you have to! I just figured it would be good to get comfortable and all, you know?” Ike hastily explains, then clears his throat. “I wanted to talk. About last night, I mean.”

Your chest flutters at the mention of it, but you remember all your friends’ encouragement. Here he is, the novelist of your (heartbroken) dreams, already bringing up the topic you dread to mention. You need to take this chance to face it head-on, now or never. 

You glide down like the ceiling is full of stars. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“A lot, honestly. I don’t know how to go about it, but first of all, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You cross your arms. “You said that enough last night.”

“Not like that! I mean I’m sorry I acted the way I did. I think I made every wrong choice once you said that you… that.” He shovels a hand through his hair. “I’m making it weird again. I should apologize for that, too, it’s just kind of embarrassing saying out loud that you, um, you loved me. Not that you should be embarrassed. I mean, I get it if you are, but that took a lot of guts. You should be proud of that. I admire you for that.”

“Slow down. What are you even saying?”

“What I wish I said last night. More than anything else, I’m sorry I got caught off-guard. I must’ve been so standoffish, because my idiot brain just didn’t believe what I was hearing until it was too late and the damage was already done.” Hair the color of ash and ocean falls over his face. “Honestly, I can’t believe it now.”

“I get it. Bad idea from me. Can we move on from that yet?”

“I don’t think it was a bad idea at all. I just had no idea that you liked me.”

“Give me some time and I’ll get over it, eventually. I’m not going to let it get in the way of working with you, if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

“No, that’s not it either! I—“

Ike’s eyes squeeze shut. His voice is so quiet, you can’t discern what he’s saying. “…Actually, I’m…”

“Repeat that?”

“I’m happy. Really happy,” Ike says. His pitch rises like a balloon floating up into space, struggling to stay composed. “I’m not good at saying it, but I meant it when I said… when I said it during the stream.”

You wave a hand in the air. “It was weird timing, and I know you mean it like a friend,” you reply. “I didn’t mean to pressure you into saying it, and just being friends is fine. Even though I’m a loser that messed up just about everything.”

The hand catches in midair. Doll-like fingers weave through your grasp, and turn your touch warm as Ike turns to look at you. “Not with me. Don’t say that about yourself, okay?” 

You stare at how easily he held your hand, and how his fingers cradle your heart between the palms. The corners of Ike’s eyes are narrowed, two beads of peridot stone that can see through every little line of text between your pages, but there’s gentleness under his glasses. Something uncertain and fluffy. Softened like a lamb even though he leaves you defenseless. 

You don’t know what to say. Ike is beautiful and kind and handsome and thoughtful when he’s earnest like this. He’s got you stupid in the head and wrapped around his pinky finger, and doesn’t have a single clue.

Peridot sparkles. “You’re so much more than that. You don’t mess things up, Reader. I’m in love with you.”

Your mouth goes dry and your tongue is still tied. Forget speechlessness; the man took your own damn thoughts away. Your hand remains frozen in air with Ike’s. If it weren’t for the light drag of one of his fingernails along your skin, then you would have figured he took your senses as well.

But the drag ends, and the fingers unlace themselves, and chilled air fills in the gaps Ike once held close. The tips of his fingers rest at the curve of your palm for just one second more before they drift away.

The glint in his eyes dulls. His hand falls to his chest, over his heart, just as slow as he parted. The uncertainty took over, and now it’s like staring at a cloud that doesn’t know if it should rain. Ike’s gaze lowers to his heart. There’s a stretch of silence and motionlessness as he stares at where your touch once was, and you’re paralyzed where you lay.

Ike's hand curls in on itself, too loose to make a fist, and his lashes sink over his eyes. His mouth is set into a flat line, but the cheeks are dusted in pinks and reds and peppered freckles in-between, demure and shy all the while.

He turns his face away soon after that. Another break of silence, and he shuffles again, with your vision on his back as if it were a hiding place.

It startles you out of your stupor. The gridded sunlight lets you analyze what you missed. After months of thinking your feelings would never be reciprocated, Ike thought of you just the same. He’s always been in your corner, and you would go to the ends of the earth for him, and everything is in its perfect position. But his back is still turned, and the memory of last night—your confession, and his inaction—it rushes to your head.

So you reach out instead.

Maybe it’s a little selfish. You’re tired of bumbling around and concealing your true feelings, and now that everything's out in the open, you aren’t about to let go without resolution.

But Ike is your best friend, and the man you fell in love with. There was no way you’d ever let go in the first place.

You wrap your arms around his back and hug Ike.

“I think I get why you were so taken aback last night,” you whisper. Even though you’re alone with Ike, you still say it like a secret. “I can barely believe it myself.”

Your warmth is inviting, and every second that passes is another defense downed. Your head perches right above his neck and along his shoulder. It’s not your first hug with Ike at all, but there’s only been so many since you first met him in person that it still feels special, and with your bodies flush to the floor, it’s intimate. His eyes are averted and one cheek lays down on the blankets, but the tips of his ears glow scarlet under his jewelry. 

“I’m glad you were patient with me. I really didn’t think I had a chance with you. You know, the long distance and the company, and you know, the standard pining fare. I’m really lucky.” A smile slips through your words. “I’ll stay with you, okay? So take all the time you need.”

Ike chuckles. Even his laughter is blushy-bashful. “I’m just so happy you feel the same, too. I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

His body curls as he lays, and your legs brush along his as you cuddle. Holding him makes it feel like he was made to fit in your arms. You sigh. “I love when you can’t contain it. It’s so cute.” 

Ike squeaks at that, and unwittingly proves your point. “It feels so good to say that out loud. I mean, you’re okay with it, right?” A nod. “And you’re okay with… I don’t know. Are we still friends?”

“Of course we are, no matter what. You said you loved me first, so let me say this one?” 

You have a feeling you know what’s coming next. You hug him even tighter.

“Reader, let’s go out. I don’t want this feeling to end,” he confesses, and your world turns into rose and blush. “Can we?”

Though you expected it, he still takes your breath away—until he taps you on the hand. “Come on, say something before my heart explodes!”

“Mine already did! I can’t even think straight, and—I’d love that. I really want this.”

Another squeal breaks out as Ike buries his head into a blanket, and your heart soars as he melts. He resembles a swaddled-up kitten, and the rays of sunlight line his silhouette. The fluffy blanket reminds you of an angel’s downy wings along his kitten features. You can’t even see his face between the blanket and his hair, but his squeal continues, muted through the blanket as he swoons. 

Somehow that only makes you feel even more flustered. “No, don’t hide! I want to see you!”

Maybe it would’ve been better for your heart if he stayed put, because when Ike rises—with disheveled hair and glitter in his eyes the color of seaglass, and jewelry that frames his red face, and that galaxy of freckles you hold so dear and shine like stars between his blush—you feel your heart stop. Again.

“When did you start having this effect on me?” You ask, mesmerized, and before you know it you thumb over one of his rosy cheeks. “Your freckles are so beautiful.”

He sheepishly grins. “They don’t really show up online. They’re pale.”

“Never noticed them until I met you in person. I love them. I love you.”

The grin gets a little wider. One of his fingers grazes along the corner of your ear. Has his hand always been along your jawline?

Ike’s eyes are shining under the grid of sunlight. The lashes flit just a bit lower from your gaze. “Reader, can we…?”

You close your eyes.

And when Ike’s lips graze your own, you smile on instinct before you remember to kiss back. 

Ike brings you near, searching for the taste of you as he continues. His touch lodges past your jawline and into your hair, and when one of the fingers grazes along your ear you’re reminded just how much you love Ike. All the yearning you hid for so long bleeds through as you sink down to his level with his head in your hand, gentle yet impassioned.

Then your face bumps against Ike’s glasses. The kiss breaks as you back away.

There’s a brief pause in the aftermath. Ike wordlessly adjusts his glasses, now knocked off-center. Despite finally getting on the same page on your relationship with Ike, you’re still as clumsy about your feelings as ever.

But the corners of your lips curve up as he inspects the lens you squished, then a barely-stifled giggle, and next thing you know, Ike’s laughing along with you, still underneath your body and with one hand in your hair while the other holds his glasses in place. He sounds as charming as he looks, and the fact that he joined you even when you chuckled out of the blue means that his mind is just as charming as well.

Not that it was breaking news. You know your best friend well, and now that you don’t need to deny your feelings any longer, you know you’ve got good taste if Ike’s under you with crinkled eyes and hearty laughter.

When you speak next, the giggles patter out between your words but the quiet delight hangs in your teeth. “Can we try that again?”

Then his lips are on yours again, and the laughter twists between the second kiss, and the third, and the fourth, all the way until you collapse on the blankets with arms around each other, staring up at the stars on the bland popcorn ceiling as adoration fills the space between you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

bonus.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Starting soon…

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The chat flickers alive as a four-pointed flower, a diamond, and a thorned heart give way to the stream and the novelist behind the stinger. 

Kaidororero: welcome back ike!

Min (Ikey’s Book): 💙 IKEY IS BACK 💙

A normal broom: HI IKE

lunasmortas: 💙💙💙

viperip: ike! :_heart: :_heart: :_heart:

Sun shines through a clear day in Ike’s room onscreen, but in reality, blackout curtains block out the day outside. A sweet smile graces both Ike’s face and his model as the Quilldren welcome him home. 

He greets them, and cracks open a can of soda as he quickly scans through the chat. Obviously, the off-collab is on everyone’s minds. 

juuuuuuuuuus: did you have fun?

Kaidororero: offcollab POOOG

lunasmortas: SO CUTE :_heart: :heart:

Johnclone: Hope you had a good time!

zZirasthingZz: PEN AND PAPER REAL

Hm. A mod will eventually bonk that message. But then again, it’s inevitable that the ship would come up in chat. 

Ike takes it in stride and ignores it like any other shipper, but his heart still skips a beat. Nonetheless, he doesn’t call any attention to it. “How about that off-collab, right? I met up with my friends! Where do I even begin?”

Ike recounts his trip from the beginning, and the Quilldren react to his stories with interest. He was one of the last to arrive, so Nina, Uki and Reader picked him up from the airport, and met up with Aia, Ren, and Mika at the Airbnb. Vox was the only one to arrive after him, hot off the heels of a flight delay, but the demon was a welcome party all his own despite his exhaustion. 

“We went to karaoke once Vox got situated,” Ike explains. “Nina put that song in first so we could all let loose, and so she would have a fun voice tweet for everyone. Might as well confirm everyone that showed up, right?

“But after that, we didn’t want to stress ourselves out to perform for voice tweets instead of just having fun, so that was the only song we recorded. I wish you could’ve heard Uki and Vox’s duet, though. And while we were singing, turns out Ren packed a ukulele with him! Sometimes he would learn how to play along by ear, like a jam session. Mika knows how to play ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ too, so everyone joined in singing that while she played it. It was so much fun.”

Johnclone: Everyone sounded great!

sunblast99: uki’s voice >>>>>> everything else 💜💙

haabinae: :_tskr:

Festersk: WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT 🗣🗣

A normal broom: what did you sing?

Ike leans back in his chair. He blows a lock of hair out of his sight as he tries to think. “I remember Vox sang something by George Strait, so then we all egged him on to sing ‘Country Roads.’ He only did it once I promised to queue up ‘Toxicity’ by System of a Down afterwards.”

lunasmortas: OMG 💙💙💙

gatamiizuus: ayo?

Y A M: YESSSSSSS :_tskr: :_tskr:

haabinae: I LOVE SOAD :_fanboy:

Thornmy: SO COOL 💙

“Thank you.” He says it out of obligation. If he thinks too hard about the compliments, he’ll get embarrassed. “What else was there? I think there was some Motionless in White, and Spiritbox. Oh, and My First Story. Can’t forget My First Story.”

K. K. Soda: ooooo

Alban Knox 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : what about mcr

asper ch.: METAL SCREAM?

deeboorgur: HI ALBAN

Y A M: MCR YEAAAAA  :_glowstick_1: :_glowstick_2:

“I’m getting there, Alban!” 

Ike takes a sip while the Quilldren greet Alban. He’s not too surprised Alban seems to know more than the other viewers. He’s close with almost everyone that went on the trip, and was super active on Discord during the off-collab. The novelist lowers his soda as the chat floods in orange hearts. He wonders how Alban learned so much as an observer. He should ask. 

But that’s a question for after stream. Ike continues. “Thank Nina for that. She queued up ‘I’m Not Okay’ by My Chemical Romance, and then shoved two mics in my hands and Reader’s.”

And the chat explodes. 

Kaidororero: OMGGGGGG 💙💕

Y A M: PEN AND PAPER SO CUTE :_tskr:

zZirasthingZz: PEN AND PAPER DUET

asper ch.: AYOOOO MCR

gatamiizuus: I LOVE READER

ystariya: PEN AND PAPER MY BELOVED

“It’s a really fun song! It’s almost all clean vocals, but there’s this scream in the middle. Up until then, we sang together, but then I screamed, and Reader picked up the slack and sang the parts of the verse I couldn’t. They’re amazing.”

gatamiizuus: READER SIMPS COME GET Y’ALL’S JUICE

Thornmy: THAT SOUNDS SO GOOD

lunasmortas: 💙💕💙💕

ystariya: READER KARAOKE STREAM WHEN

Kaidororero: AWWWWWWW

The model on the screen doesn’t have the same glint in Ike’s eye when he talks about you. That first day of the trip was all about getting comfortable after long travel hours, and the stories went on as the days went by. Sightseeing with Aia and shopping with Uki by day, and spending the night shooting the shit with Ren until it turns into the littlest hours of the morning.

“Vox wanted to try a bunch of different restaurants with me, but you know me, ya boi is not good with most foods. So Nina usually came along in case I couldn’t finish something. She and Vox would share my leftovers.”

Something fond crosses over Ike’s face. His eyes cloud over in fog descending over a clear-sky day. “We would always talk over food about anything. I appreciate it a lot. They really get me.” The fog stills. “And over breakfast one morning, they gave me some excellent advice over something I’ve been meaning to do.”

ver*batim: ❤️💙❤️

K. K. Soda: MILORDDDDD

nroneo: :_heart:

A normal broom: upcoming project? 👀 

Johnclone: I love Nina Kosaka!

“Not a project, no. It was something I was really worried about, even when I was supposed to be taking a break with my friends,” he says. “But those two seriously helped me clear my head about it. Mika, too. Vox and Nina had a lot of nuanced advice, but Mika told it to me straight, and helped handle what I couldn’t. I’m really thankful to have them.”

His set jaw loosens. “Maybe I’ll talk about it one day.”

The model cocks to the side. Motion blurs the foggy sobriety away. With a lightness to his voice and a knowing gaze, Ike looks straight into the camera and smiles, sentimentality forgotten. The air clears. “But for now, it’s a secret~!

“Ah, now where was I? Spending time with my friends, right? Reader and I hung out often. Sometimes with others, but it ended up being the two of us more than not.”

Birds chirp outside Ike’s window in time with the hum of his PC. The backlit keyboard in front of the monitors glows the same color as the computer, a healthy blue light that tints the tips of his fingers. He usually sets it to a rainbow spectrum in his own time, but static blue is reserved for going live. It gets him in the right mindset for streaming, and makes his little apartment feel fantastical like the noble background that accompanies his model, even if it only reaches his fingertips. 

He’s sure the Ike on the screen has fingertips tinged with blue just like him, an extension of the man outside the screen but without the grittier details. Smooth, pristine hands under gloves where his are callused from guitar playing. Nothing under the model’s eyes but lashes and a line of red that brings out the pink in his eyes, very much unlike the heavy bags and sunken face from an awful delay on his flight back home. No freckles, either, but even cameras rarely pick them up on video call. Nina cooed over them the first time they met, as motherly as ever, but behind closed doors Reader was utterly fascinated with them. They mentioned something about watching blush travel around his face with the smattering of freckles in-between once or twice… maybe more? Doesn’t matter when he’s never heard that before and it repeats in his head when he catches himself daydreaming. It’s one of the best things he’s ever heard.

Vtuber Model Ike’s face doesn’t heat up like how Real Ike’s certainly is now. He clears his throat. “The weather was really nice during the entire trip, so we would always get into good conversations while walking back to where we were staying. And sometimes we didn’t want to end the conversation, so we’d just keep walking past our Airbnb until our feet hurt or it got dark, whichever came first. 

“Oh, here’s something funny. Uki really loves cafes, right? Usually he woke up early with Ren to go check out some cafes in the morning, way before the rest of us would even think of waking up. By the time everyone else woke up, they already finished their breakfast, and Uki would tell Reader about the ones to visit or skip. Whenever Uki recommended one, Reader always wanted to go themselves, so I went along to keep them company.” 

Even as his skin returns to its original shade, the sweetness sticks to his throat like the soda he’s barely touched at all. He’s wistful. He didn’t expect to miss Reader this much; after all, his relationship with them has bloomed so much ever since you first started working together, but two weeks together (including mutual close friends) changes things. It’s only been two days since he returned home, but he feels out of rhythm with them. 

He’s gotten too accustomed to them. Over the last few months, he thought he did a good job putting aside his feelings for Reader, even when Nina would tease him after every Pen and Paper collab and Vox and Mika would be right behind her, hyping him up to make a move. The fear of rejection was what motivated him to keep his close friendship with Reader without ever confessing to them.

“Reader…”

The world around him is nothing. Paused to buffer as he thinks. He can’t remember the last time he felt so happy. Just being in the same room as them makes him feel stupid, and surely he’s been acting like it. Everything he says sounds clumsy when he’s with them. After all, on that day when he owned up to the feelings he repressed for so long that he couldn’t properly react to Reader’s confession, he couldn’t say much more than how happy he was. Words fail to describe what Reader means to him, yet he’s a novelist, for crying out loud! How ironic!

“...Reader is so patient with me,” Ike says. “And they’re so considerate and dedicated. I wish I told them that earlier. It’s hard to say things out loud like this, but you only meet people like Reader once in a lifetime if you’re lucky, and even then, there’s no one quite like Reader.”

ystariya: i love reader

Kaidororero: pen and paper awwww

Y A M: PEN AND PAPER

acklmystafoot: ike is so sweet!!!

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : 💙

“Aaah!”

Ike recoils like his keyboard is flaming lava. The model on the screen leans back and freezes in place while he nearly throws himself out of his chair. “R-Reader! What are you doing here?!”

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : FKJLJJSLKFJDKS LMAOOOOOOOO

Johnclone: Hello Reader!

Y A M: OMG

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : just wanted to say hi

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : hi!

Festersk: LMAO

Ike sputters out nothing but empty air and nervous laughter. “Haha. Um. Hi! Welcome!”

Stupid! He wants to kick himself. He’s made improvement on verbalizing affection, and he’s comfortable with Reader, especially now that there aren’t any secrets left, but he’s still so unfamiliar with affection being returned that his heart is still doing kickflips in his chest. 

haabinae: :_blush: :_blush: :_blush:

juuuuuuuuuus: most normal pen and paper moment

Thornmy: AWWW

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : check discord

A normal broom: Oh?

“Ah, okay! Give me a second.” Ike keeps his Discord on mute, and usually disables desktop notifications when he’s live, so he’s not surprised to open the window to unread messages and some non-urgent pings. Sure enough, Reader sent him something.

Reader: because you were talking about cafes

Reader: image.png (3)    | 💙 1 |

Me: Oh I recognize these from our first date!

It’s been over a week now, but just saying he went on a date with Reader has him squeezing his legs together so his feet wouldn’t start kicking in the air. 

Reader: ahh you remembered! 

Me: I should’ve figured you took more pictures than the ones you showed me

Reader: dw i have more i wanted to show you

Reader: image.png (8)    | 💙 1 |

Me: Seriously how are you so good at photography I don’t get it-

Me: You’re really pretty in this one!

Me: UGHHHH WHY DO I LOOK SO WEIRD    | ❌ 1 | 💕 1 |

Me: I DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE YOU TAKE THIS ONE

Reader: WTH YOU’RE NOT WEIRD

Reader: YOU’RE LITERALLY SO HANDSOME WHY DO YOU  T H I N K  I TOOK THAT PIC

Well, great, now he’s actually kicking in his seat. Ike is inclined to disagree, but when Reader says it, it’s a super-effective attack on his poor little novelist heart. 

Me: Akaslwdnja

Me: Thank you 😭

Reader: anyways i gotta go i stream in 20 min and i’ve barely eaten my food

Me: Go eat! Do you have enough water?

Reader: just refilled my bottle

Me: Good then don’t let me keep you! Have a good stream!

And before he can overthink it, in the moment—

Me: I love you!

His sights are set on his second monitor.

Reader is typing…

Reader doesn’t have to respond. Sometimes just saying it is enough. 

Reader: fdsjdfkl.

Ike’s been trying to relearn that lesson ever since he realized everything he repressed was reciprocated.

Reader: i love you too, ike

Words heard across the world, one of the people he holds most dear.

His heart beats loud in his ears, but he can feel it slow, somehow. Reader is exhilarating, but there’s security in them, too. The nerves kick in until he remembers they’re just as exposed as the other, and the vulnerability generate a sense of comfort. Reader makes him feel understood like no one else in the world does, and he trusts them more than anything.

He does. He does, he does, he does, even if he only has the strength to say it one at a time. Ike is in love.

Reader: i’ll let you know when i’m done streaming, we can watch a movie together after

Me: It’s a date!    | 💕 1 |

It takes him a moment to tear his gaze away from your messages. 

His streaming monitor reflects his movements. The chat moves along. Blue light spreads through his fingertips, just like how he imagines Vtuber Model Ike’s hands resting on his own keyboard, an extension of the man outside the screen, proof of the fantastical.

“They sent me something.” Ike’s laughter is gentle. “I really do love them.”

The chat zooms past, as expected. Surely that would get clipped alongside the off-collab Q&A, but he can’t seem to care. He doubts the fandom would really understand how deep the connection goes, and if they do? Some things are just meant to be private.

Besides, on the day Ike and Reader get comfortable enough in their relationship to go public, he knows the Quilldren have his back, just like Reader and their Bookworms. 

“Reader, if you’re still there, we need to meet up again,” Ike says. “I don’t know when, but one day.”

A flurry of messages, but only one truly matters.

Reader 【NIJISANJI EN】 ✓ : i wouldn’t miss it for the world

The model onscreen grins. It pales in comparison to Ike himself.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊commentary ↣

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

#ike eveland x reader #ike eveland #ike eveland fluff #ike eveland angst #luxiem #luxiem x reader #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji #4402 writes #🖋 anon #fanfic is unrealistic and i know this because clippers would NEVER use semicolons in their captions #eating string cheese wrong is symbolic. it represents eavesdropping and shitty lies that go unnoticed #i hope i never see a typo in this thing this fic is literally impossible to edit on mobile #update: there were typos. and i had to wait 3 minutes for the editor to load on my laptop before i could fix them. rip #pliskinverse

[embrosegraves]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕂𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕪 ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕊𝕙𝕠𝕨: 𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕥

(request) Kimi Raikkonen x Reader Reader talks about Kimi on The Kelly Clarkson Show

Warnings: Badly written script format. Mostly this is for people who have bad internet and can't look at pictures on Tumblr

[Kelly Clarkson] Okay, I have been dying to ask this whole time.

[Y/n Raikkonen] Please, ask away!

[Kelly Clarkson] Okay, now this shouldn't be news to anyone, you're married to a now retired Formula One Driver, Kimi Raikkonen.

[Y/n Raikkonen] And I'm blushing already! You brought up my husband and now I'm blushing. *laughs*

[Kelly Clarkson] That's a good thing! That's a good thing!

[Kelly Clarkson] Now, you've been married for a good many years now, and I know I wasn't the only one confused when news spread of who exactly your husband was.

[Y/n Raikkonen] Yeah I can see why. *laughs*

[Kelly Clarkson] What I wanna know is, what have been some of the most memorable "Iceman" moments?

[Kelly Clarkson] Because I mean, I can think of a few but I'm wondering if there have been any the world hasn't witnessed.

[Y/n Raikkonen] I mean, Kimi is very different around our family, but I think some of the most memorable moments were definitely the 2009 Malaysian GP with the ice cream.

[Kelly Clarkson] Do you know why he did that?

[Y/n Raikkonen] My money's on the fact that he was trying to distract from our first pregnancy.

[Kelly Clarkson] Really?

[Y/n Raikkonen] Mhmm! He's always been really good about not bringing unwanted attention to our kids.

[Kelly Clarkson] Alright, and what other moments come to mind about The Iceman?

[Y/n Raikkonen] Well, in quite a few of them he's got a bit of a potty mouth, which for the sake of the show, I won't be repeating.

[Kelly Clarkson] Probably for the best *laughs*

[Y/n Raikkonen] *laughs* Yeah probably. But otherwise, I think what is probably THE most memorable moment was Monaco 2006.

[Kelly Clarkson] Right! that was when he retired-

[Y/n Raikkonen] -retired from the race and went to his yacht.

[Y/n Raikkonen] Yeah, I remember watching the race from the yacht deck.

[Kelly Clarkson] How did you feel, watching him retire the car and then going right to the yacht?

[Y/n Raikkonen] I'll be honest, I was a little mad at him.

[Kelly Clarkson] Mad? How come?

[Y/n Raikkonen] Well, you know, he was supposed to be a professional racer. I don't know to me it felt like he was just- giving up. I remember saying to him, I said "I'll let it be this time, but next time, I'm walking you back to the pits myself."

[Kelly Clarkson] Did he ever tell you why he went to his yacht instead of the pits?

[Y/n Raikkonen] The very same day actually. For his sake, I won't put it on air but it was- it was a very sweet reason.

[Kelly Clarkson] He got himself out of trouble? *laughs*

[Y/n Raikkonen] He did yeah! *laughs* I'm glad I married him.

be kind to me, I've never written in script format before 😖

but anyways, aside from the atrocious formatting of this, I had a lot of fun (despite how confused I got doing the images for the other part).

as always, like, replies and reblogs are always appreciated!

MUAH <3

#formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #formula one #formula 1 #kimi raikkonen x reader #kimi raikkonen #f1 #kr7 #kimi raikkonen x you #kimi raikkonen imagine #kimi raikkonen fic

[soapymansuds]

OKOKOK, I just saw a Reel that gave me this idea and it’s rotting me from the inside out so I’m giving this to you. You’re welcome ig?

Tags!!!! SWF, Ghost, Soap,Price, Gaz, Male Reader, Motorcyclist Reader, The circus??, Use of Y/N, He/Him pronouns, Spelling errors, Grammar errors, was written in the middle of the night, Author is still getting used to Tumblr formatting please be gentle with him, OOC

It had been a long few months. Between missions, paperwork, and training, the team barely had time to rest. So seeing as the latest pile of papers was dissipating and nothing particularly interesting seemed to be happening, Captain had an idea.

“You’re kidding, right?” Ghost chides from his seat in the commons with a disapproving tilt of his head.

“No, no I am not. We’re going to the circus.” Price grins, arms wide as if attempting to force the boys to accept the idea. “C’mon, we’ve been working so hard, we deserve a quick break, and this seems like the perfect opportunity. Nothing takes your mind off things like overpriced beer and overly fried foods.”

“Well I for one, m’excited! I havnae been to the circus since I was a tot.” Soap claps, standing to join his captain in rousing the troops. His first order being to clap Gaz on the shoulder in encouragement. He shakes his head with a chuckle but stands with them anyway sighing, “Hell, why not.”

They all stare expectantly at Ghost, who pinches the bridge of his nose with a shake of his head before standing up with a groan. “Fine.”

“Alright.” Price claps his hands in front of himself. “Let’s get going then.” He grins, squeezing Ghost’s shoulder appreciatively.

~time skip~

As they finish parking and piling out of the Jeep, Gaz takes a moment to acknowledge the obvious. “More of an arena than a tent, dontcha think?”

“More airflow I s’pose.” Soap shrugs, slinging an arm over Ghost’s shoulder as they find the entrance.

Once inside, the stench of grease and children floods their noses, but Gaz seems to be the only one fazed, with a gentle shake of his head as if he could shoo the smell away.

“Right, well I’m off to find the booze. Have fun lads.” Price grins, tipping his hat as he wanders off. Gaz is next as he spots the rows of carnival games, walking off silently towards the sharp shooter game.

“So what catches your eye L.T.?” Soap nudges Ghost, who seems uninterested in anything really. He shrugs as they keep walking, searching for something to stare at until he’s allowed to leave. The hum of a motor catches his attention as they near a crowd circled around a fence. The closer they get, the more they can see. A ramp, a hoop, a big metal ball, and a motorcycle. But to their surprise, the motorcycle seems to be driving itself, nearly hitting the ground and it spins in circles on its side. The bike is pearly white, prismatic reflections dancing in the sunlight as it moves.

“Oh! A trick rider! Always wanted to be one when I was young.” Soap pulls Ghost closer to the rail to get a better view. As they approach, they notice the rider. A man a bit shorter than the two, fully covered in red and black leather gear with a matte black helmet. His visor is golden and stretches oddly to his chin unlike a normal helmet. ( https://images.app.goo.gl/UKZg4c2wA4JpYGkt9 for reference)

He raises his arms at the applause, and despite not seeing his face, you can tell he’s smiling. Suddenly, the bike changes course, bumping off a ramp and steadying itself upright. It points straight at the rider and keeps moving like it’s going to hit him. He doesn’t seem to notice and the crowd erupts, desperate to warn him of the danger. As they start screaming, he looks over his shoulder, and within inches of his life, he grabs the bike by the handles. He bounces into the air, standing upside down above the handles. The crowd cheers louder still as he spins the bike around, and falls beautifully into the seat. He skids to a stop mere inches from the boundary. Mere inches from where Soap and Ghost stand. Soap’s grin, wide and dopey, seems to draw him in.

He takes a moment to size them up before nodding, seemingly to himself, and waving them in. Beckoning them past the border and towards himself as he turns the bike back towards the center of the ring. They stand for a moment, unsure what to do before he nods his head inward once more and they hop the steel rail.

He takes a moment as they enter to hype the crowd for their arrival as if they were planning to be their from the beginning. He then leases them to the huge metal ball, swerving in front of them to drop the ramp and ride in. They stand outside the dome, but Soap’s smile never falters. Even as the rider waves them into the sphere.

As they get in, the rider drops his kickstand and hops off the bike, both to close the door and to talk to his new “assistants”

He lifts his visor just barely as he turns back to them. “Alrighty boys! Welcome to the Doom Dome!” He raises his arms and the crowd follows with avid cheering. “There are a couple of rules, and most of them are Do. Not. Move. Got it?” He grins and it’s just barely noticeable under his visor.

“Sir, yes Sir.” Soap laughs with a goofy salute. Ghost simply nods. The rider tilts his head at him with a floppy smirk, trying to decide if he’s unamused or just the quiet type.

“Words, Big Boy. I gotta know you’re hearing me.” He extends a hand, an attempt at breaking the tension. “I’m Y/N. And you are…?”

Ghost seems vaguely taken aback by the statement, but shakes his hand on instinct, mumbling out “Ghost.”

“Ghost!” The rider calls at the crowd and the scream in excitement. “Anddd…?” He reaches for the other man’s hand, who takes it, grinning like an idiot. “Call me Johnny.”

“Johnny!” The crowd roars again. “Alright boys, I need you back to back. Can I put my hands on yah for a sec?” He hold his arms up just barely before both men nod at him. “What did I say about using your words?” He juts his hip dramatically, crossing his arms with a giggle. Both men respond “Yes sir.” quicker than even they had expected.

“Atta boys!” He grins, placing a hand on both of their chests and maneuvering them to be back to back. Once he’s satisfied with their position, he swing a leg back over his bike. “Now don’t move. Kay?” He gives them a thumbs up, which they return, and he slaps his visor down. He swings his arms up to instigate the crowd, successfully causing them to starts screaming. Ghost notices for a moment that the crowd has nearly doubled since they left it, and he finds himself grateful to be in here not out there. But the though doesn’t last long as a tire is suddenly directly in his view. It spins wildly for a moment before disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. He feels the wind as the bike loops around him, adrenaline playing with his nerves just slightly. He can feel the excitement radiating off Soap in waves, and as he turns over his shoulder, he’s sees the exact wide eyed slack jawed look he was expecting. Soaps eyes trace the biker’s every move like a dog following a treat and Ghost can’t help but chuckle. As he turns back to facing forward, he flinched back just barely, as a hand reaches off the bikes handle and reaches down to tap his nose lightly as he passes. He follows the hand as it reaches out for Soap, ruffling his Mohawk as he circles.

His hand lifts back up to the bike as he begins looping vertically. The motor roars in both their ears as the bike does loop after gravity defying loop and Ghost can feel himself grin at the dizzying sensation of it all.

As the bike slows down, eventually stopping in the same place it started, the crowd goes wild. He drops the kick stand again and opens the door of the dome, waving for Ghost and Johnny to follow him. They do as instructed and he leads them to halfway between the crowd and the dome. As he stops, he fidgets with the underside of his helmet before sliding it off completely.

Soap can’t help but stare at him, hair tussled from the helmet, smile stretched ear to ear as he takes both their hands in each of his and raises them to the crowd. As if declaring them victorious. They defeated the Doom Dome. The crowd continues to scream as he lowers both their arms and steps forward to thank them. Soap looks ver the smaller man to Ghost, who shares an understanding look. This guy was down right pretty and neither one knew what to do about it. But as the crowd dies down and wanders off, he turns back to them, grin as wide as ever.

“Y’all did great!” He laughs, picking up his helmet. “You ever done that before?” I tilts his head curiously and the boys can’t help but think he looks like a puppy. All dopey grinned and doe eyed.

Soap answers first. “Na, we’ve never been in a Doom Done before, but it’s been my dream since I was a wee tyke! Wanted to be jus like you when I grew up.” He laughs, ruffling his hair a touch.

“Woah! Y’all ain’t from around here, are yah? Is that Scottish I’m hearing?” His eyes grow impossibly bigger.

This time, Ghost speaks. “Yeah, we’re just visiting.” And Y/N’s head tilts towards him.

“Oh! Well it was real nice of y’all to stop by our little circus!” His eyes close appreciatively. “Hey, I tell you what. You boys seem nice. And you said you wanted to be a rider when you were a kid, yeah? Here. Have my number, in case y’all ever wanna learn to ride! I got a couple o’ old practice bikes in storage. I’m sure they’d be happy see some use!” He pats himself down a moment, before pulling out a pair of business cards and holding them out to each of them.

Soap takes it gladly, and while Ghost is vaguely more apprehensive, he takes it anyway was Soap beams at the card. “I think I’ll have to take you up on that!”

“Please do! I’ve got to skedaddle, but it was real nice meeting you boys! Come back any time, Kay?” He waves as he wanders back to his bike and walks it out of the arena.

~I don’t know how to end this, so this is it. Xoxo, K.O.~

#ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost x male reader #soap x male reader #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #cod x male reader

[leeknowsintrusivethots]

A Stray Concubine

| Part 1 | Pairings: Prince!Lee Know/You, Prince!Bangchan/You, RivalNoble!Hyunjin/You? We are all about possibility here. Summary: Entering into a harem choosing was something you have been groomed for since you were young. Your aim is to make Crown Prince Christopher fall at your heels in order to restore your ruined family name and fortune, but games of love are much harder than games of lies and deceit. Content: Angst (is it me if it's not?), slow burn, smut(warnings below the cut), fictional historical universe, dark themes, second person perspective, historical-typical gender roles, imperial harem-inspired concubine system, multi-pov WC: 5119 Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites. Notes: I'm back to writing again, keyboard slappin' again. Also, I am having trouble figuring out a way to format POV shifts on tumblr that is clean but not intrusive. I am open to suggestions.

Smut Warnings: very brief/very vanilla smut, sex with a stranger, no strings, mentions/illusions of oral, smut is not between leads of the story?(idk, I think some of you might be peeved by that. We do it for the plot.)

You

Powerful was a word that most would not place on a woman. 

Women were meant to be demure and delicate. They were meant to rear children and attend to household affairs as their husbands brought in income and fought in wars where there would be no true victors. It was not a woman's place to meddle in affairs of politics and governance outside of securing marriage alliances for unwanted daughters to bring extra wealth and prestige to the family name. That is simply how the world worked. 

You never questioned it in your childhood. You wore the pretty, colorful silks. You learned to speak eloquently but never out of turn. You played instruments and studied embroidery and other womanly arts. You were exactly what society dictated you be: a pretty face being prepared to be sold off for the honor of your family name. 

It was a single, fateful trip to the capital with your mother and father that had changed not only your perspective but the entire course of your life. Your family name was tarnished and your father was executed by the ruling Bang family for murder and treason. The only thing that had saved you and your mother was the grace of the sex you had been born with and her tears and pleas for mercy. Even as she cried and begged in front of His Majesty, the truths you had known crumbled to dust. 

Your father had been a puzzle piece in a generations long game of chess where the kings and queens played with the lives of others to gain power of their own. He had been a disposable pawn, easily lost to the ages as a traitor whom there would be no songs written about. Everyone knew it, and it didn't take long for you to realize it for yourself. You, even at a young age, looked beyond your mother's pretty tears and prettier words. 

You knew Princess Mai was set to wed the young lord Hwang.

The Hwangs were a powerful family - rivaling your own in terms of wealth and influence. Hwang Hyunjin was the sole heir to his family's fortunes. A marriage alliance with Princess Mai would tip the precarious balance of power to favor the Hwangs more greatly. It would have been a match that would have been detrimental to your own family's power. 

You knew all of this. You also knew the vial of dark purple liquid your mother had hidden under the flowing sleeve of her gown was not nail polish as she had told you. You had watched keenly as she had slipped the liquid into Princess Mai’s goblet as you all supped with the Queen without anyone else the wiser. Your mother's poison had killed the young princess before the physicians could even get through the door. As Queen Bang had cried and screamed for the loss of her child, your mother had secretly smiled. 

She had ruined the Hwang’s grab for more power and gotten rid of a Bang daughter in one fell swoop. She was the chess master, and she had outmaneuvered them all with a pretty face and a pretty smile. You don't know if she foresaw any of the consequences of her actions: the execution of her husband, the ruin of the family businesses, and the loss of your family's prestige.

Your mother had broken the mold. She had held your father under a spell with her looks alone. His station allowed him to take other wives if he chose, but he never did. He allowed her the freedom that many women would never get to taste in this lifetime, and she took it with greed and left him in a grave of her making. 

“Was the power worth it, Mother?” You asked the carriage window that tottered down the street.

Through the pristine glass, the lush landscape was ruined by the image of heavily armed men on horseback. They wore the colors and heraldry of the Bangs, and they patrolled the road to the palace with keen eyes and sharp blades. Their numbers were more than usual as they surveyed the throng of carriages and ladies on horseback that made the journey in an unlikely parade. 

The Selection was the only time that the Kingdom of Miroh would see such an odd assortment of women making their way to the Palace of Kings. It was a rare event, only happening when the Royal family required more women to act as concubines and maids. The needs of the Palace had nobles and commoners alike sending their daughters off for the possibilities of fame and fortune. 

Serving the royals as a maid was an honor that most of the peasantry could only dream of, but even nobles would be pleased if one of their younger daughters could secure a spot in the Royal household. It would ensure that they were at least in the line of sight of the many princes, and the maid staff were compensated fairly for their time along with accommodations and food provided for them. There were certainly worse places for a woman to find herself.

You, however, were not sent by your mother with such plebeian goals. 

It was not comfort you sought, nor was it the possibility of an affair with the princes. You were to aim higher. You were to become one of the women that history scorned for reaching beyond her station. 

Your aim was to ensure that you became Prince Bang's Most Favored. Your mother would accept no less. She wanted the favor, the prestige and wealth that would come along with your rise. It had always been her goal, and it had been fed to you for so long that you weren't even sure how much of it was your own desire over her influence. 

Did you want that level of power?

Did you even care to join the Royal family in such a fashion?

Would you ever even come to care for Prince Bang as more than a chess piece on your own board?

These were questions that you could not answer. You often thought of being a young girl again - ignorant to the world and the affairs of adults. You liked your pretty dresses. You loved running through your family's well maintained gardens with your favored hunting hound on your heels. You loved scrubbing paint off your arms and being scolded by your governess for ruining good gowns after a day of painting lessons. You were innocent then, but that was certainly no longer the case. 

The frivolities of childhood had to be left behind. You were an adult, and you knew more of the world than you cared to. You knew that as a gently bred woman, you would never be more than a broodmare for a rich and powerful man unless you took charge like your mother had so many times before. The consequences could be grave; you could lose your head if you weren't careful, but great queens had never become so by following the status quo. 

As you toiled with emotions far beyond your depth, the King's Gate shadowed your carriage eerily. It was an original part of the palace’s structure, built so solidly that the centuries had done minimal damage to its intricate design. It towered over the road, blocking out the sun with marbled walls inlaid with precious metals and jewels. It was meant to intimidate, and belittle. It was meant to make everyone passing in its shadows feel weak and small in comparison to the glory of the Royal Family. It opened seldomly, and only for whatever family sat the throne at the time. 

Its momentous shadow lasted for what felt like an eternity as the line of carriages trudged along the walls of the palace to a more appropriate entrance for those not of royal blood. You and the other women arriving for the selection were being directed to the same gate used for supply carriages and merchants. It was yet another mind game: being delivered like fine cattle to await the murderous whims of a king. It was a way to ensure all women of the selection knew their place - but you saw things through the lens of your mother. 

The Gate of Kings was the first thing all arrivals to the palace would see by design, but it would never open for them. Instead of intimidation, you saw a challenge to inflame and inspire your heart. You would enter through the Merchant's Gate, but you knew that the Gate of Kings would open for you one day. It was all a matter of what you had to do to make it happen - consequences be damned. 

Prince Minho

Head held high. Feet light and delicate. Body slim and lithe. Features sharp and regal despite station. Gown loose and flowing in bright, ostentatious colors. 

She could be a candidate, Lee Minho thought to himself as he watched the dancers practice. 

The brightly colored fabric of her gown rode up her ankles as she moved, offering the briefest flash of a pale and delicate ankle. It was inappropriate – bordering on scandalous. Had it been even a decade prior, she might have been imprisoned for her lewdness but times were changing. It was a fact of life as set in stone as the changing of seasons: people evolved and people learned. 

Minho liked that concept. He liked the ideas of society shifting and expanding. He liked the change of pace from the monotony, but what he liked even more was the prospect of those daring enough to enact that change. It took an uncommon spirit to go against the masses – to challenge the very knowledge that civilized society was built on. 

As if reading his thoughts, the dancer’s eyes found his and held them. Her's were not the wide eyes of an innocent maid. They were heavily lidded, seductive in their intent.

It was another act of impudence, a daring so strong she probably would be locked in a labor camp if his father witnessed the scene. A woman so open in her sexuality was a threat to the masculinity of the insecure men around her who grasped at whatever shred of power they thought was within their reach. She would be scorned – likely punished by her closest male relative had she acted so with any other man.

Lee Minho was certainly not just any man off the streets of Miroh. He was so much more, and arguably so much worse. A Prince of Miroh could easily have her pretty head taken off for such an insignificant slight against social norms. He hated himself for even thinking about it, but he did. He hated himself even as the dance practice came to a natural end and the dancer approached him carelessly. 

It was a silent exchange – not a single word passing her rouged lips as he took her slim hand in his and led her from the banquet hall. He knew what she wanted. It's what they all wanted. Motivations differed, but the methods never changed. A fun time with a Prince of one of the most powerful nations in the world. He was never one to reject the advances, never had been. 

Lee Minho was many things. He was a Second Prince of Miroh. He was the son of the most powerful man in the kingdom. He was the younger brother of the Crown Prince. He was an intellectual, a graceful fencer, and the official Spare of the Bang family. These were all monikers and titles the public used to describe him, but behind closed doors they sang a different tune. 

He was the shame of the Royal family. He favored arts over swordsmanship. He was an alcoholic who frequented ill reputed pubs and discussed philosophy over ale with criminal scholars. He was a rake who lived at brothels and slept with low class whores. They talked as if they knew him. They spoke as if he sat at their tables and discussed with him personally over hot tea – but they had no idea. 

They knew nothing of the self hatred that coursed through his veins. They knew nothing of the helplessness he felt due to his station. They would never understand the uncontrollable guilt that never failed to find him. 

He was a Prince. He held all the power in the world but that power was wrapped up and presented to him with strings attached ever since he came into the world. He could drink, he could talk and he could sleep his way through the entirety of Miroh but that was as far as his freedom extended. The second he even stepped over the invisible line of what was acceptable, everything could be taken away. 

The change he wanted was within his reach – a delicate treasure that would be so easy to share. Reaching up to break it free for the rest of the world would spell the end of everything he had, but he was not brave enough. He was a coward – a coward hiding behind fancy words and under the colorful skirts of women far more courageous than he. 

His frustrations often manifested in indulgence in the freedoms he was allowed. He would drink, he would dine, and he would fuck in a vain attempt to fill the deepest pits of his tarnished soul. He never wanted it. He had wanted to change it, but his own desires had twisted him. He became the very thing he feared: a powerful man taking advantage of the luxuries given to him without giving anything in return. 

The dancer’s back was pressed against a thin wooden door. Her lithe legs had wrapped around him of their own accord and her hands were threading into his hair and the fabric of his shirt – pulling him deeper into a brief moment where he was not a Prince. He was a normal man without a moral compass, enjoying the pleasures of a woman's body. 

There was no foreplay – no kissing or passionate words. He didn't even get her name before he was pushing her skirts up and sinking his sheathed cock into her cunt. It was not an act of love. It was the act of a desperate fool seeking to forget the world around him. 

And he took. He took the brief reprieve with abandon. The door shook dangerously behind her. Her nails raked him though his shirt hard enough to leave marks. Her moans and whines intermingled with his hushed pants to fill his ears with sensual distraction as her walls squeezed him. 

It was over too fast. The sounds, smells, and feelings of arousal tapering until all that was left was grim reality. Post orgasm clarity was never a good moment sober. Words failed him, and all the truths he ran from distracted him from the beautiful woman who had originally caught his eye. 

“Talia,” she spoke as she adjusted her skirts. 

“Excuse me?” He questioned dumbly. He had put space between them, giving himself a moment of reprieve and allowing her a moment to collect herself. 

“My name: Talia,” she repeated. 

“You're telling me now?” He asked in mild amusement. 

“Figured you might want to know who just made you cum,” she shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Is that any way for a lady to speak?” he asked at her audacity. It was brazen and crass, but he was far from mad about it. Her words had his cock twitching in his pants again.

“M’no Lady. You know as well as me that I'm not gentleborn.”

“Since we're being so frank, relieve me of my curiosity,” he said as he propped himself against an abandoned and dusty desk against the wall opposite of her. He regarded her levelly, but with the easy charisma that he was often praised for. 

“Anything for Second Prince Bang,” she mocked with a quirk of her brows. She never shied away from his stare, never let herself be subdued by the power his titles held. He liked that – a lot. 

“I figured you knew.” He was not surprised in the slightest. His portraits were few and far in between, but it was highly likely the palace staff had informed the dancers one of the princes was watching in on their practice. She made no comment of guilt, so he continued, “What did you want from this entanglement?”

“Other than being able to brag that I fucked a Prince?” She laughed. It was not a malicious laugh, but a genuine one. She also found their exchange amusing. 

“Are you going to join my fanclub?”

“I'll be the leader.”

At her remark, he laughed. It was an honest laugh, one that had him feeling light and free. It was an uncommon feeling for him, one only his brothers had managed to make him feel. He liked this girl, but that's all he ever could do was like her. He was under no illusions that this was just an exchange of banter. She was a passing moment in his life, not a permanent fixture. 

“Were you that pleased?” He asked with a spark in his gut. He made to move from the desk, but she put her hands up in surrender. 

“So pleased, I fear another round would have me fainting.” She let out a sigh as she fanned herself in exaggeration before letting out a snort of derision. “Isn't that what the gentleladies say when their ladybits can't take it anymore?”

“Even noblewomen like to dabble in the fine art of overstimulation,” he smirked back. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Are you avoiding my question?”

“I would never dare,” she hummed with a twinkle showing in her eyes. It was teasing – daring on its own. 

“Then answer.”

“Is that a command, Your Highness?”

“Would you obey if it were?”

His question had her approaching him, a smirk that mirrored his own pulling at her painted lips as the gauzy material of her dress flowed around her slim figure enticingly. When she was directly in front of him, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin, she sank to her knees before him. Her hands deftly handled the ties of his trousers to pull them down enough to free him. 

“If the Prince commands, I will serve.” Her mouth, hot and wanting, was on him before he could even think of a witty response.

Prince Christopher

As heir apparent of a nation, Christopher Bang was not unaccustomed to worry. He worried about the coming winter and if the provinces had prepared their food stores accordingly. The winters in Miroh could be harsh– deadly even. If the cold didn’t kill the populace, hunger was a certain second contender. If he could help alleviate that in any way: he would. It was his birthright and his duty, and he was nothing if not a man of his station. 

Any indication of increasing hostilities in the Borderlands would have him holed up in his personal offices for weeks on end. He would analyze patterns. He would discern strategies. He would rethink choices in generals. He would make plans to advocate for peace treaties with the neighboring territories. WIthout fail, his efforts would be rebuked by the King and the conflicts would continue unchecked. He never stopped trying. 

The conflicts never turned to all out war. They were simply petty squabbles with centuries long history over dejure land rights. It was almost ingrained as tradition– sons carrying out the same trite battles as a matter of pride over any true cause. Ofcourse, it wasn’t the Kings or Princes that suffered. 

It was the common soldiers with wives and children waiting for their safe return. It was the fishermen who watched warily as flagships came to shore. It was the farmers who worked full days for a meager loaf of bread only to watch their livelihoods be put to the torch in a war they never asked for. It was average people who held no stake nor say in the matters of governance or state. It didn’t matter to them who held the territories they called home. Their lot would stay the same regardless of which Lords called themselves King, but the battles for that title hurt them more than anyone else. 

Christopher knew that. He wanted to change it. He wanted to right historical wrongs and be the King his people needed. Alas, he couldn't. All he could do was worry. 

It wasn't even just grand matters of state that occupied his mind. Smaller, more personal affairs piled on his already overloaded platter of responsibilities. He was the eldest of his family's sons – even in the circles of peasantry that came with its own responsibility. He had to look out for his younger siblings. He had to ensure they played their parts as royal children and kept the family name clean and as prestigious as ever. Some of his brothers made it harder than others. 

Changbin had taken his duties easily as had their younger brothers: Seungmin and Jeongin. They knew their stations and how to conform within the standards that befit them. Felix and Jisung tried, but they were more empathetic. They struggled with their places on the world stage– questioning the morality of their way of life and the responsibilities they held. It wasn't a negative thing, and Christopher could not fault them for it. It was a natural part of being human.

In his youth, it wasn't at all uncommon for his studies and training as heir to lead him down a spiral of questions. He was one of the most powerful men in the world thanks to nothing other than being born a son of the Bang Family. He could make people tremble in fear if he so much as looked at them with ill intent. He held the power of life and death in his hands. How could that possibly be fair? How could he live knowing that he had everything while others had nothing? He was as well aware of the moral quandaries as Jisung and Felix. He would not fault them for floundering – he could not.

The hardest thing – he had learned – was having all the power in the world and still trying to be a decent human. 

The duties and power of royalty were a loaded hand cannon given at whim by an unfair creator. Some men would tremble at the burden, and lay it down without problem. Some would take the power to head and heart, and become a terrible beast whose machinations could ruin entire realms with a single shot. Others –  a very rare few – had the sense and sensibility to know not only how to shoot, but how to aim. 

It was Christopher’s only hope that he ended up in the history books as one of the latter. He would be a good king when the time came. He would care for his people and not let the burden of rule turn him hard and corrupt. He would be the role model his brothers needed. 

But these were simply hopes and dreams. In reality, he was simply one Prince amongst many others. His father still held the crown of governance, and he answered to the King as well as anyone else. 

“You can not simply force him!” Beauty Lee cried out with as much emotion as Christopher had ever seen her express. She was usually so calm, and collected. She was a Beauty of the King’s Harem, but he had learned far too early that even his father could break the cool facade of the Palace women with little effort. 

“And what's to stop me, Woman?” King Bang grunted back with a bite. His voice was not to be forgotten. It was distinct in its unyielding harshness, and it suited his appearance just as well. 

He was a hardened man – a King but a true warrior at heart. He was graying and wrinkling in age, but he was still considered a handsome – even fearsome – man.  Under the wrinkles covering his face and hands were scars from battle. He had seen war, but his age and dress showed he also knew luxury in equal measure. 

“He is your son! You must have an ounce of compassion for your own blood!” Beauty Lee protested. 

“Compassion? Is compassion what he needs, now?” The words were not spoken, but spat in frustration. It was a testament to Beauty Lee’s determination that she did not shirk away from the words. “I'd rather a firm beating to undo all the years of coddling you've put the boy through.”

“Is a mother's love coddling? I shall not deny he is flawed. Heaven knows we all are, but he's grown into a good man with a good heart!” Her voice was calmer, but still burning with resolve. 

The feeling of dread that had been slowly rising in Christopher’s chest engulfed him until he felt bile rising in the back of throat. He knew he had not been summoned to the King’s receiving chambers to simply witness a lover’s quarrel. They were speaking of Second Prince Minho - Beauty Lee’s only son and the Second of the Bang Sons.

Minho wasn’t like his other brothers. He had always been incredibly brave even if outlandish. He broke tradition: galavanting across the world with intellectuals, keeping the company of whores and artists, and never accepting his duties as a Prince of the Royal Family. He had always done what he wanted, and Christopher admired him for it even if it stressed him out to his wits end. 

“A heart our enemies would tear out of his chest and eat for protein. He is soft. Sometimes I question whether he is even my son,” King Bang said viciously. It was a tone that could cut down enemies. I was not a tone to take with a gentlewoman, especially not regarding your own blood.

“You– you can't say such things! He is your true son! I swear it,” Beauty Lee prostrated. 

“Ah, bugger off woman! If I had any true suspicions you would be dead and he would be left to rot in a cell.”

“Please, Your Highness. Minho admires you so much, he just needs time.”

“Time? Had I known you and your welp would be so resource intensive, I would have left you both in the whore house you came from.” King Bang said it as if he were discussing the menu for the upcoming festivities. It was as casual a threat as could be delivered, but it was a threat. 

“Plea–”

“Save your whimpering. There will be no further discussion. Minho will cease his fruitless adventures and settle down here in the palace with a harem befitting his station – or he will be sent to the Borderlands indefinitely.”

“You would send your own son to die in such a way?” Beauty Lee cried. As if suddenly realizing he was present, her wild eyes fell on Christopher. Before he could even register what was happening, she was tugging the sleeve of his shirt in desperation. “My Prince! He is your brother! Minho will die in the Borderlands! You know it.”

“Unhand the Crown Prince, Woman! I have taken heads for less!” King Bang roared amongst her pleas for mercy.  

It was moments like this that Christopher liked to pretend. He was not simply Prince Christopher: he was King Christopher. He held the power. He would never let Beauty Lee be in such distress and he would be content to let Minho live as he saw fit, but those were still dreams. He was but a Prince, and Minho was too. If they wanted to survive for a future, they all had their parts to play. He could not pretend: he had to take action. 

“Father,” Christopher spoke up as Beauty Lee clung to him. “I will take responsibility.”

“For Minho?” King Bang questioned with narrowed eyes. He was always suspicious– always seeing a play even if there was none, and truly Christopher didn’t have one. 

“Yes. I will ensure he settles down into Court Life,” Christopher assured his dad and the bleary-eyed Beauty. She blinked up at him with hope, and even fondness. She always had been kind to him and his brothers. She would sneak them sweets when they were young and practiced at swords and the King forbade it. She was a kind woman – maybe too kind for the world she had been adopted into. “I will make sure he accepts it, and adjusts appropriately.”

“Sometimes, I fear I have raised no sons, but seven bleeding hearts instead,” King Bang sighed. He contemplated for a moment, his eyes flashing between his concubine and his heir with laser focus. If he were looking for something, he seemed to be content with what he found. “I will let you.”

“Oh, Your Majesty. I will be forever grateful. You are good, and just!” Beauty Lee cried as she dropped Christopher’s arm only to bow as low as possible at the foot of the King’s ornate desk chair he occupied. 

“Save your words,” he commanded her. Her words stopped at once at his admonishment. “If Christopher should fail to tame my most wayward son, it will be a statement of his right to rule.”

As he spoke, he stared right into the eyes of Chrisopher. 

The young prince was not surprised. He had spent his entire life jumping through hoops to earn not only his crown, but even a shred of affection from the larger than life figure that he shared blood with. His aptitude had never failed him, but he would never feel safe relying on his father’s love for anything in his life. 

“If I cannot trust my heir to command his own blood, how can I trust him to command the people of an entire kingdom?” the King added. He let the threat hang in the air before turning his attention back to the sniveling Beauty at his feet. “In other words, if he fails: you will ruin two of my sons.”

It was another threat meant for the woman who had borne him a child. 

She was one of his longest lasting concubines. It was rumored that Beauty Lee was the one woman of the harem that held any love from the King, and she had suffered for it. She had been scorned and bullied by the other women of the King’s harem. She had been attacked in countless games of court intrigue. She had outlasted all the attempts to have her ousted from the court and from his favor. 

Christopher could only wonder: how would she survive the biggest threat of them all? 

#stray kids smut #skz ff #skz smut #lee know fanfic #lee know ff #lee minho smut #lee minho fanfic #lee know smut #stray kids fanfic #bangchan smut #lee know x reader #bangchan x reader #bangchan ff #bangchan fanfic #stray kids ff #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fanfic

[monstersandmaw]

Male werewolf x trans male reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and  theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used,  copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Commission #5 out of 5! That means I’ve written 21,271 words in total this week (according to Scrivener). Ooof! I’m gonna go sit down now... (this is my second go at posting this because the formatting was off the first time. Tumblr, pls stop and let me post the werewolf boyfriend story. This is literally the werewolf boyfriend website)

Anyway, thank you lovely commissioner for trusting me with your prompt, and for checking it over for me before I shared it here, since I’m not trans.

Contents: trans male reader, injury and mention of blood to our werewolf-spirit, a very expensive gift, oral sex (no specific words used for reader’s anatomy), non-penetrative sex, visible werewolf knot, fluffy ending

Wordcount: 4407

With a forager’s bag slung across your shoulder and a woven basket hooked over your arm, you swigged the last dregs of your morning tea down and darted towards the door. The bounty of a new autumn day beckoned, and the forest around your cottage would be bursting with fruit and mushrooms at this time of year.

You tugged open the door, the reluctant hinges groaning at you, took a single step outside, and froze. At first you thought that the enormous creature sprawled quite literally across the doorstep was a bear, but as you stared dumbstruck at the too-long limbs and the thick, grey-brown coat, and the shaggy, lupine tail, your heart stopped beating. This was something supernatural.

The thought of stepping silently back into the safety of your stone cottage, closing the door, and staying inside until it went away flashed across your mind, but almost before you could process what you were doing, you had dropped the basket at the threshold and stepped over the creature’s outstretched left arm to walk around to its side.

It was still breathing, though the sound had an unhealthy, wet whistle to it, like a punctured blacksmith’s bellows, and there was blood matting the thick fur on its left side where the short, stocky shaft of a crossbow bolt was cruelly embedded in its ribs.

“Oh,” you gasped, hand rising to your lips even as horror plunged right through you at the sight of it. Blood still seeped around the shaft, and something silver glinted beneath the fur. You looked anew at the creature and wondered if it was a werewolf. “If you are and that’s silver, it’ll be fatal if I don’t get it out,” you muttered, kneeling and bringing your fingertips carefully to the creature’s side. “No way I can move you though,” you added, glancing at the creature’s long, powerful, solid legs and at the breadth of its shoulders and the muscles on its arms, visible beneath the thick, coarse fur that covered its body.

At the sound of your voice, the creature’s left ear flicked and it rumbled a growl at you.

“Easy now,” you said through gritted teeth. “I’m trying to help you here.”

The growling did cease, but the way it petered out made you think that perhaps they’d just run out of breath.

“I can work with that,” you said to yourself. “I’m going to get my bag, and I’m going to get this nasty thing out of you, alright?”

You hurried back inside, removed the empty foraging bag from your shoulders and skidded to a halt beside the bookshelf. Among all the tomes on herbs and plants and mushrooms, there was a reference book about supernatural entities. You knew they existed — you'd lived in the woods too long to doubt that there was more than the mundane out there — but you’d never actually thought to encounter anything, let alone find the supernatural bleeding out in your own back yard.

Puffing the air from your lungs, you rallied your courage and opened the leather-bound book to the section on ‘lycanthropy’. Silver was indeed poisonous to them, but the book said it caused the skin and fur to smoke and burn, neither of which you’d seen in the creature outside. Perhaps it was only steel, but you thought the colour was wrong for that. You’d seen the blacksmith forging her blades of bright, greyish steel, and you glanced over at a silver penny pendant that hung in your window for luck. The tone of the pendant was different, brighter and whiter than the steel, and the same hue as the tip of the crossbow bolt.

“Not a werewolf then?” you frowned, but that didn’t change the fact that whatever it was, it was slowly bleeding out on your doorstep.

With the supplies you’d need hastily gathered, you went back outside to find that the creature had rolled a little more onto its good side, exposing the black shaft of the bolt, and a bit more of its face and chest.

Lupine rather than ursine in its features, it opened its black eyes and gazed dolorously up at you, half-heartedly baring huge canines on one side.

“Hey,” you scolded. “Here to help, remember. That looks like silver, but you don’t seem overly bothered by it…”

The creature scoffed a laugh at you.

“I mean, aside from the fact that it’s punched a hole in your ribs and you’re bleeding to death,” you said, and again, the creature huffed at you.

Then, just as you knelt down in the dirt beside it, the creature spoke. Its voice was low and rough, like an avalanche in the distance, and the words were clearly slurred with pain. “You’re right. Not… a werewolf.”

“Oh,” you breathed. “You can talk… If you’re not a werewolf, what are you?”

“I am… an aspect… of the forest itself,” the creature ground out around a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You blinked, half wishing you hadn’t asked. “Right. Well, I guess I’d better get this bolt out of you all the same, huh?”

“If you would be so kind,” the creature said with a dry note of humour to its gravelly voice that made you relax just a fraction.

You gave a quiet warning as you prepared to take the bolt out, and the wolf-like creature nodded in readiness. All in all, the procedure went as well as you could have hoped for, and there was a neat row of stitches pinching the slate grey skin together in no time at all.

“Thank you,” the wolfish entity said, laying its head back down on the path and breathing steadily for a few minutes before casting you a sidelong look. “I interrupted your morning,” they said wryly.

“Yeah, no shit,” you laughed, eyeing the formerly-clean swatch of linen you’d used to staunch the bleeding. “But that’s alright. The berries and hazelnuts will be there tomorrow.”

“And thanks to you, so will I.”

Something akin to pride kindled in your ribcage at that, and you smiled. “The forest has been good to me since I came here,” you shrugged. “About time I returned the favour. What should I call you, by the way?”

The creature blinked slowly, apparently surprised. “I have had a few names in my life, but not many of them have been kindly given by humans — Hunger, Strife, Sheep-Thief, and… worse.”

“Never too late to buck the trend,” you said with another twitch of your shoulder. For all the warnings those names implied, you felt no fear when you looked at the creature; only curiosity, and an odd sense of kinship you couldn’t define. “You hungry? I’ve got some smoked venison that I got from the butcher yesterday. We can think of a new name for you while you get your strength back.”

Your deliberate and relentless optimism seemed to rub off on the creature, because they heaved a huge sigh and smiled in a ‘do as you please’ kind of gesture, tail thumping ever so slightly against the path while you went to fetch some food.

“Here,” you said, returning to sit cross-legged beside them on the dirt outside your cottage. They had managed to heave their body out of that undignified sprawl, but they were still lying down on one side. You sliced off pieces of the smoked venison from the haunch on the wooden board and held them out one by one for the wolf-spirit to take with their clawed, paw-like hand. They didn't eat particularly elegantly, but there was something rather adorable about a creature the size of a grizzly bear taking strips of meat from your hand.

“You know,” you said, “I thought you were a dead bear when I opened the door. Gave me quite the surprise.”

They laughed at that, dark eyes glinting. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

“People have mistaken you for a dead bear before?”

Again, the wolf-like creature laughed, but the sound cut off into a brief but high whimper as the wound on their side flared with pain. “No,” they grunted. “Not a dead one, at least.”

“Maybe we should call you ‘Beorn’ this time.”

They tilted their head, big, triangular ears listening to the sound on your lips, and then they nodded. “My mother used to joke that her boy was born a bear instead of a wolf,” he said quietly after a moment. “The name is more fitting than you realised.”

“Beorn it is then,” you said, feeling just a little emotional. “How quickly do forest spirits heal, anyway? I’m pretty good with humans, but I’m in uncharted territory with your kind.”

“I’ll be well again in no time,” he said.

“Who shot you with that anyway?” you asked as you stared at the dart that lay abandoned in the grass beside you, its bloody, silver tip glinting like a lost fang. “Will they come looking for you?”

He shook his head and eyed the venison again. You sheared off another piece for him and he took it gratefully before answering. “I don’t think so. They were werewolf hunters by the look of them —”

“— explains the silver,” you interjected and he nodded.

“And why they shot at me. They say my kind are what sorcerers modelled their curse on when they created werewolves, thousands of years ago.”

“Huh,” you breathed.

When the venison was almost all gone, Beorn looked a little guilty. “Thank you for sharing your food with me,” he said. “I fear I’ve deprived you of something valuable.”

He had, but you weren’t about to tell him it’d cost you a small fortune, or that you’d planned to make the preserved meat last through most of the coming winter. “Eh, don’t worry about it. The forest will provide, right?”

Beorn fixed you with a steady look but said nothing. He heaved himself up, first onto all fours, and then, using the stone wall of your cottage, onto his hind legs. Standing like that, he must have been nearly seven feet tall, and as you looked up at him, you felt your mouth go a little bit dry. He was obviously still extraordinarily powerful despite his injury, and the way the claws on his hind paws dug into the earth and his chest filled as he inhaled did strange things to your equilibrium.

You swallowed, waiting nervously to see what would happen next, and he offered you a smile that was quite literally wolfish before looking over his shoulder towards the nearby trees.

“Wait,” you croaked. “You’re not leaving like that, are you?”

“No,” he said. “I was going to sit a while in the sun and recover my strength, if you will permit the trespass a little longer?”

“Stay as long as you like,” you smiled. “I live in your woods, don’t I?”

He just smiled at that. “Don’t wait around on my account,” he said after a moment. “The day is still fairly young, and I’ve held you up long enough.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

He moved to sit beneath your kitchen window, lounging with his long hind legs splayed, his left bent at the knee so he could hunch protectively over his injury while the other stretched out. He flexed his paws, dark claws glinting in the sunlight, and laid his head back against the stone wall just beneath the windowsill.

“You… want me to bring you anything?” you asked him, as though you were going to the village shop and thought he might want a bagel or a pint of milk.

He cracked his eyes open again and smiled. “I can always be won over by a blackberry or two. There are some out near the stream now, but be careful. The moss and algae has grown over the banks and made it slippery. I had to haul a young fawn out of there not long ago.”

The image of him grabbing a slender little deer by the belly and lifting it out of the gully was almost too much for you to take without making an undignified squeak, so you just grinned at him and nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

Three hours later, you came back to find him gone, and you tried not to let the sudden barb of disappointment sting too much. After all, he wasn’t some stray dog that had come limping into your yard for help. He was a forest spirit.

You eyed the spot where he’d been lying though, and set a large handful of blackberries down on the flattened grass, just in case.

In the morning, the berries were gone, but in their place was something of such value that you could hardly take in what you were seeing. It didn’t look like much, but you knew it was worth a king’s ransom. “No way,” you breathed, stepping over to the small, dark brown, lumpy, spherical object and crouching down. You swallowed.

A twig snapped behind you and you whipped around, losing your balance and sitting down hard on the damp ground. Beorn was standing on his hind legs at the edge of the path, and if he was injured anymore, you couldn’t see it.

“Beorn,” you breathed, and then looked back to where a specimen of the rarest and most expensive truffle in the whole world sat on your doorstep like it was just another autumn mushroom. “Do you know what this is?”

He tilted his head and smiled, baring his huge, thick canines. He leaned his elbow on the fence post of the paddock that you hoped one day would contain a goat and some geese. “Of course I know what it is. You humans are always hunting through the forest for them.”

“They’re… They’re more expensive than gold, Beorn!”

“You shared your food with me, and deprived yourself of your winter stores just so that I could eat and heal, and you never looked for anything in return. If I happen to know where to find a few of these, then that’s only fair in my eyes. Now you can sell it in town.”

“Where am I going to say I got it?” you asked, still sitting stunned on the ground. “They’ll think I’m hiding the secret!” In fact, if you sold it in the capital, you could probably get enough for it to buy a whole forest of your own. You’d be richer than half the aristocracy in the land. Dizziness swept over you and you started to laugh.

He approached you then, walking on his hind legs, talons just pricking into the earth and flexing slightly with each step. He halted in front of you and held out his enormous, paw-like hand. He had rough pads like a wolf, but his fingers and thumb were humanoid in shape, though they had curved, black claws. You slid your hand into his and let him haul you carefully to your feet again.

“You’re… healed?” you asked, eyeing the spot on his side where the crossbow bolt had been only the previous day.

Beorn nodded. His dark eyes glinted softly in the morning light, and somehow he didn't seem quite real anymore. It was as though he might vanish if you blinked or looked away too long, and you tightened your grip on his hand. He rumbled something that was somewhere between a sigh and a purr, and then laughed softly.

“I can’t believe you brought me a truffle,” you laughed. “You could have brought me a deer to feed me or something, but no. You bring me a truffle.”

“I can take it back if you like,” he said with an easy chuckle. “There are wild boar in the forest who would very much enjoy devouring that for breakfast…��

“No!” you yelped, playfully putting yourself between the stupendously expensive mushroom and the terrifying forest spirit who could probably just bite your entire head off with a single snap of his jaws. He laughed, the sound deep and rich as it rose from his belly and he tipped his head back, tail swishing from side to side.

“Oh, I like you,” he said when his mirth had faded. “I like you a lot. I’m glad we met, human.”

“I’m not glad you got hurt, but I’m glad we met too,” you said. “And not just because of the truffle. Gods, I could buy my own castle with that.”

He froze and then his ears swivelled back just a little. “Would you… leave?” he asked.

“No,” you said without a second thought. “I earned this place — this peace,” you said with a growl of your own to match the fierceness in the wolf you saw before you. “I wouldn’t change any of it for anything. You’re stuck with me, Beorn. Friend for life.”

His shoulders dropped a few inches and he sighed softly. The trees around the cottage swayed and sighed too, and the whole forest seemed to let go of a tense breath with it. “May I visit you from time to time?” he asked.

A grin spread across your face and you nodded. “As often as you like. After you disappeared yesterday, I kind of thought that was it,” you admitted. “I mean… You’re a forest spirit — I wasn’t sure how much you’d want to hang around with a boring old human.”

“I’d very much like to spend time with you,” he said, his voice dipping low and warm. “And you’re anything but boring.” Before he could go on though, one of his large, triangular ears flicked back and he tensed with a growl. “Someone’s coming up the path. I should not be seen with you.”

“Come back tonight?” you asked, even as he spun on the spot and darted for the trees on all fours, moving like a shadow. He was out of sight in a handful of heartbeats and you ducked inside to get something to put the stupidly expensive truffle in. No point in advertising that you had something that valuable just lying around, even if the inhabitants of the nearby village were the gentlest, kindest folk you could ever have hoped to meet.

After three nights spent talking with Beorn — the first sitting outside in the surprisingly balmy autumn air, and the second two inside your own house, with him stretched out on the hearthrug, soaking up the heat of the fire in luxurious bliss — you decided to take the truffle to the city. It would be a long journey to travel the King’s Road around the ancient, sacred forest, and Beorn instead offered to guide you through the heart of it to save you weeks of unnecessary tramping.

“You’re sure the forest won’t… object?” you asked as you packed your bag one morning and he sat on his haunches like a hound near the door. He always liked to keep one ear on the forest nearby if he could, as though expecting trouble or looking for an easy way out. He was, after all, a wild spirit. He seemed comfortable enough in your presence, but being inside the stone walls of your cottage for too long made him twitchy.

“With my blessing and friendship, you could travel freely through the whole forest alone, and nothing would dare harm you.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No,” he said, and the simple truth of it almost moved you to tears.

“Well… thanks,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly as you stuffed a spare shirt into your pack.

You moved together through territory you knew on that first day, but he led you to a secret, mossy glen that night. You were so tired, you almost fell asleep with your pack on, but he helped you make a camp and a little fire to boil water for tea, and when the night grew chilly, he curled up around you and let you rest with your back against his ribs and your cloak pulled up around your chin. You fell asleep there, and woke stiff and achy in the morning, but gloriously warm.

That became the pattern of your days in the forest with Beorn: you ate a breakfast of wild berries and nuts when your bread rations ran out, and he guided you through the most beautiful country you’d ever seen: thundering, white waterfalls plunging down into mossy crevasses that seemed to swallow the river whole; groves of autumn aspen that rained leaves down around you like a shower of little gold coins; bramble thickets so old and so dense that nothing grew beneath them and the thorns were as large as your hand and each blackberry was the size of an apple. Finally, on your last night before you reached the edge of the forest on the southern side, he took you to a grove where fireflies danced and spiralled with blue-green will-o-the-wisp fairies.

You crouched with him at the edge of the clearing, hardly daring to breathe as the lights winked and sparkled, coiling and twisting in and out of each other in an endlessly varied choreography. Beorn placed his palm at the small of your back to steady you, and you leaned further into his touch as the performance continued.

Eventually, on some intangible cue, the fireflies and fairies all rushed upwards towards the opening in the canopy above, speeding out like sparks from a campfire into the night, and leaving you and Beorn alone in the mossy glen.

“That was incredible,” you whispered when you finally got your breath back.

“I thought you would enjoy that,” he said. He surprised you by lowering his great wolf’s head and nuzzling his cheek against your shoulder. He rumbled a soft moan and closed his eyes.

You turned to look at him and brought your hand slowly to his cheek. “You’re so beautiful, Beorn,” you murmured. You hadn’t meant to speak your thoughts, and the moment you did, he froze. Before you could call the words back or formulate some lie to cover your embarrassment, Beorn sighed happily once more.

“I don’t think a human has ever called me ‘beautiful’ before,” he said with a shy laugh. His big, dark eyes stared intently at you in the dark, and you felt a prickle of arousal go through you. He inhaled and then nuzzled against you again.

“Beorn…” you gasped, your fingers tightening in his fur, tugging. “I… I want you…”

With another whining moan, he let his teeth rake over your throat, his tongue hot and wet against the cool night air on your skin, and you gasped, exposing your neck to him.

He growled at you and lowered you down onto your back, your cloak spread out beneath you amid the soft moss. “I want… I want to taste you,” he said in a deep, rough voice. His hands gripped your waist and you found your legs parting for him almost without a second thought. “Will you let me?”

“Gods, yes,” you grunted, and helped him undo the belt at your waist. He drew off your clothes delicately with his claws and your skin prickled into goosebumps.

He ran the rough pads of his paw-like hands up the inside of your thighs, his jaws loosely parted. He was panting slightly and you could see his white teeth glinting in the moonlight. He pressed his cold, wet nose against you and you jerked and bucked as he let his hot, rasping tongue lave over you; tasting you, savouring you.

His talon-tipped fingers tightened on your thighs, claws pricking, holding your legs open for him as he got to work. After a few strokes, his eyes rolled closed and he let out a deep, low-frequency growl that went right through you. He lavished attention on you until you were shaking and gasping, and he was unrelenting.

“Beorn, I’m going to come,” you gasped and his teeth just nudged against your skin for a moment, adding a perfect counterpoint to the rolling heat of his tongue and his breath. “You’re going to make me come.”

He hadn’t once stopped growling, and you weren’t sure he could speak until he grunted and removed his left hand from your thigh. You just about had enough strength to raise your head behind the pleasure buzzing through you, and you looked down the length of your body to see that he was working his own cock in his hand while still letting his tongue toy with you. Thick, red, and leaking all over his fingers, dripping freely onto the moss between his knees, his cock was hard and there was a knot forming at the base. He squeezed his hand around it but he leaned down over you again and you saw stars as his cold nose pressed against you with an insistent eagerness.

“Come for me,” he snarled through bared teeth. “Come for me.”

A few seconds later, your back arched and you came against the heat of his mouth. He spilled a heartbeat after you did, and you cracked an eye open to watch him throw his head back and howl.

Unabashed, he broadcast his pleasure to the forest, and you lay there and watched his cock pulse and spurt over his knuckles as he gripped the swollen knot hard. He made such a beautiful mess of himself, and he never took his other hand off your leg, keeping himself grounded through the roaring pleasure that tore through him in waves.

When he finally stopped coming, the howl faded from his throat, and he let his head drop down to regard you. He was breathing like he’d just raced across the forest, and his pupils were blown black and wide.

“You’re perfect,” he said. “Gods, but you’re perfect.”

You laughed quietly, fondly, and lay there dazed and sensitive and satisfied.

“Come back to me?” he asked in a whisper as he lay down beside you a while later and pulled you tight against his chest.

“What do you mean? I’m right here…”

You felt him shake his head a little. “When you’re done in the city. Will you come back to me?”

“Of course I will,” you promised, half-twisting in his embrace to look up at him. “Anyway, it’s all your fault that I’m going to the city with the world’s most expensive mushroom in my pocket!”

He laughed and held you tight, and when you parted at the edge of the forest the next day, he told you he would wait for you there until you returned.

__

Thanks for reading this story, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging it (as well as leaving a like) if you enjoyed it, since that will help others find it.

Take care, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar) | Library/Story Archive Blog

#werewolf #werewolf boyfriend #male werewolf x reader #trans male reader #trans reader #male werewolf #werewolf x reader #werewolf romance #forest spirit #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster romance

[dilftaroooo]

a lil something for my black gorls bc apparently every reader in this fandom is fair skinned </3

oh lord ghost turns into holy spirit bc of how much he worships u and yo body goodness gracious (i am so sorry father god 💀🧎🏽‍♀️). got carried away. p.s. yall i haven’t written anything in a hot minute so this small thirst might be raggedy as hell (my coochie was doin the thinking)

tags: smut + afab reader + ghost loves you sm + just as much as u love him + finger lickin good pussy eatin + body worship + slight dumbification + i was planning on making him rough with u but then i went soft :) + p power + piv sex + barely proofread + im so sleepy i’ll probably edit the format later + forgot how much i fucking hate tumblr’s editing antics.

You had lost count already. How many times you came to be exact. Has it gone up to Two? Three? Yeah—three. At least that’s what you think. Well—you suppose thinking is starting to become more and more of a rare luxury considering the state you were in—dazed and stupid. Eyes decorated with a red glow from the tears that spilled from them along with a glossy sheen that finished the look.

Subtle hints of wet mascara slid down the apples of your cheeks as Ghost’s fingers delve deep within your wet entrance. His digits were more than acquainted to the slimy ridges that lived inside of you. He graciously pets your most sensitive spots with the utmost care, making your pussy scream as his moist lips kisses your bothered clit as though he’s cooing it to sleep. His tender nature juxtaposes the foreboding gleam of his skull mask and dark eyes drowning in war paint.

It’s those eyes. The ones that made you shiver and whine whenever they catch sight of you. The ones that glare under dim, yellow lights when you inevitably made him jealous. Enough to make them turn green. The ones that form crescent moons whenever he reminds you how much he loves you (the mild appearance of crow’s feet adorning the outer corners). Those eyes—

God, those big fucking eyes.

Sweat makes your melanin coated skin glisten, emitting a warm glow that send tingles up Ghost’s spine. He can feel the goosebumps covering his body as you inadvertently arch your back, pushing your warm sex up against his upper lip, making him groan into your sensitive nub. Your core tighten once more, your pedicured toes stretched across the apex of his back, polish chipped and damaged from irritation, the power of your orgasm jolting you with a hot flash.

Now it's your fourth time.

Brown areolas raise up and down from your big breaths, in the process of coming down from that high you’ve encountered just a second ago. But Ghost doesn’t know rest as he gorges your nipple in his mouth, adoring the quick yelp escaping your lips.

“Ah, Ghost…” You say with kind fragility. Your palms lightly tap his shoulder. Not telling him to stop but telling him to slow down. It was too much. His hands caressed your naked curves. He loved admiring your body. Taking the time to relish just how gorgeous you really are—from head to toe:

Your cornrows styled in intricate parts, freshly layered with the tropical smell of coconuts. Skin gleaming with the overly used shea butter that rarely missed a day off your body. Lips full and plump and coated with that cherry chapstick he loves to taste. Your breast were round and soft to the touch. And your pussy—Fuck, that pussy shined with your juices. Juices he created from fucking you silly with his fingers.

Ghost wasn’t a religious man. He never was. But of all the possible religions out there, your pussy was the one he worshiped the most.

He loved this pussy. Kneeled for this pussy. Prayed for this pussy.

Your being was his shrine and your name was his mantra. He couldn’t get enough of you and your light touches and gentle praises. Ghost couldn’t find more ways to thank you for your existence.

He releases your nipple with a soft pop and utters a voice lower than you’ve ever heard him use, “I need you, love.” You don’t take long to nod with evident fervor. Languidly aiding him in unbuckling his pants and releasing him from those tight restraints.

“I need you,” He repeats. “need that soaking wet cunt.” His Mancunian accent is thick and laced with desire when his mouth spewed that last word. You let go of a wanting mewl before spreading the dark, puffy lips that lead to your sopping wet hole. Just what he wanted.

You both moan in unison as you both get what you want. His hand engulfed yours and you’re quickly reminded of how big he is. His fingers are long and thick. Your legs twitch as you remember how they feel rubbing inside you. He leisurely finds his way deep in your sex. Your tightness pains him in the way that he likes. Leaning down to grunt into your ear, nose filled with that familiar coconut scent, you clench around him when his teeth bites down at the shell of your ear.

He loves you. He loves you so much—your hair, your eyes, your lips, your smile, your voice, your taste, your scent. You’re wonderful. Breathtaking. Beautiful. So so beautiful. He’s so glad he has you. That you’re in his arm moaning so prettily for him. And its almost unbelievable to him that you think of him the same way he thinks of you.

Once your breathing gets heavier and his thrusts gets sloppier and your eye starts twitching, you both finally succumb to the hot rush of pleasure. You don’t object to his heavy weight toppling over you after he fills you up (you encourage it with a hug despite how heavy he is). It feels good—laying like this. So intimate. You pet the back of his head taking in his warmth. Time passes before he slowly looks up at you, his eyes the same temperature as both of your bodies meshed together, and he suddenly states,

“That’s your fifth one, doll.” And you can’t help the quiet snicker that leaves you before giving him a playful slap to his arm, telling him to shut up. You somehow manage to catch a small glimpse of him rolling his eyes beneath that inky mask of his. This was intimate indeed. You finish off the night with a kiss to his forehead and you felt your heart flutter when he answered with a subdued hum.

#ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #mw2 smut #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 smut #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost mw2 #black reader

[morallyinept]

hi can you recommend the best way to break into the fanfic world on here? i'm new, yay, and don't know how the tagging system or anything works

thank you in advance!!

Hello Lovely Non! 🖤

Oooh! Exciting!! YAY! 🎉🎉 Firstly, welcome, welcome. How wonderful it is that you wanna write and share something with us all, that's so cool! ✨️

Look, Dieter's excited too!

I suppose the best way to break in, is to take the leap. I know, groundbreaking advice Jett, right? Hehe! 😆

From experience, these are all things I've learnt and had guidance on myself during my time on wacky Tumblr, so here are my pearls of wisdom for ya...

So you've written the fic. WOO! 🎉 Now what? Well, firstly, have a treat. Some cake or vodka, or both. You've earned it. 🍰

Then, when you're no longer hungover and throwing up cake, do these things:

And make yourself a banging banner of some kind, or use a picture/GIF. I'm personally more likely to be drawn to a fic to read if there's a cool banner, or you've made a mood board or have a GIF. Kinda sets the tone, you know? We love a bit of the ol' aesthetic. Like a bookcover, we're immediately drawn in with our eyes. Be creative, go nuts. Use the free trial of Canva to go design crazy.

Check it through for grammar and spelling as much as you can.

You can always have someone beta read it for you. And look at your formatting to ensure you don't have massive spaces between your paragraphs etc... When I copy and paste into Tumblr, it screws up the formatting from Google docs, just to test my already thin thread of patience further, no doubt... 😑 It's not a massive deal, but I guess presentation is a hook in itself, right?

Beware of glitches when saving your drafts on Tumblr too. The app especially loves to auto-post it when you hit save, 🤬 so double check you're saving it in draft, not in post, before you're ready to post it to the world.

Everyone has their owns tastes and comforts when reading fic, and quite rightly so. Variety is the spice of life. 🌶 And look, you'll NEVER please everyone. So don't even try. But what is important is that you give the reader a choice to read it or not.

⚠️🚫🔞👉🏻👌🏻 Ensure you list any trigger warnings.

Look, there's this age old debate that continually surfaces on whether we should list every single trigger or warning in our fic, or should we just... not? 🤔

The simple answer is, it's up to you, ultimately. Not everyone does this or feels the need to do this. I mean, published books don't, right?

HOWEVERRRRR. And it's a capital letter however. There are so many people who won't want to read stories about certain topics. Age Gap, Anal, Noncon etc...

Kinda looks like a sandwich to me... I'm hungry 🥪

I personally won't release a fic without listing all the triggers as I don't want any of my readers to encounter something that could be triggering for them later on. Yes, to some degree it can give away "spoilers" but it's up to you as the writer ultimately about how much you want to give away. If you fic contains Age Gap, you can simply write "Age Gap."

Use the Read More/Keep Reading divider.

It looks like this on the app:

Some people write a paragraph or two before they place it on, others hide the whole fic and just leave the intro/warnings etc... on show. How you do it is up to you, but please, please use it!

Nobody likes to scroll through a whole chapter of 10k+ words trying to get to the next post... nobody. Cue ranty Anons in your mailbox if you don't. We've all been there and made that mistake. 😬

Plus, using this will also hide any explicit or triggering content from immediate view. People more than likely won't read your fic if you don't have one of these on it.

# Tagging

Tagging - to tag or not to tag?

Tagging is a massive topic, but essentially it boils down to two types of tagging.

Tagging using a # which is at the bottom of each of your posts, and tagging people in your posts by using the @ and then their username.

So say, for example, you've written a Joel Miller fic.

Oh, hey Joel... we're talking about you handsome, not to you.

You can tag it "joel miller" or "joel miller tlou" or "joel miller x reader" etc... People can follow the tag, so they'll see your work in it if they're following it.

If you search the tag on Tumblr it'll tell you how many people are following that tag too, so you'll know which ones are more popular and will be seen by the most eyes.

Currently (as of writing this response) the 'Joel Miller' tag has 225k followers! 👀 So if you write a Joel Miller fic, you deffo want one of your first 5 tags to be that one!

Someone's popular, eh Joel?

@ Tagging

He loves it really.

☝🏻Note that the first 5 tags you use are the ones that Tumblr actually uses to make your fic show up in those tags too. You can put up to 30 tags on a fic and yet Tumblr only counts the first 5. Dumb, I know. 🤦🏻‍♀️ The rest is just for your own use to find it again on your blog.

If you search your own blog using "Joel Miller" everything you've ever posted with Joel Miller will come up. So you can use your own tags or words for yourself too. I use "Jett's fic recs" for example, when I re-blog someone's fic so I can find it again.

⚠️ And you can use tags to highlight triggers too, for example you can write "tw blood" for a blood warning. (tw = trigger warning) People can block tags so certain things don't show up in their feed as a way of shielding themselves from content they don't want to see/read. So if I've blocked "tw blood" I won't ever see your fic, even with all the other tags you use.

So be mindful of how you tag, not only for yourself, but for others too.

And essentially tags are how some people choose to comment and interact with you. Some people write mini fics in the tags! It's really quite fun. Just remember, there's a limit of 30 tags per post and put your best 5 first.

You can also tag users! You can offer up a tag list to users who you think might be interested in reading your fic (feel free to tag me, I'd love to read it!) A lot of writers have a bunch of regular readers who they'll tag @ username on their works. They're called tag lists. Readers may reach out to you to ask to be tagged too.

There's no shame in hyping your own work - you wrote it, be proud of it! 🙌🏻

Others choose not to do this and instead create a side blog for notifications of their works. It's up to you how you choose to do this, but if you tag specific people, chances are they're going to read your work because they want to.

You can tag up to 50 users on a single post, I believe. (Or at least it's 50 users and 50 links when I do my fic rec lists) I think it varies if you're on app or desktop. Someone will correct me if I'm wrong... but there is deffo a limit.

Reblog your own work for time zones.

So, I'm in the UK and the majority of my followers are in the USA, so when I'm in bed snoozing away, they're awake and reading smut at work.... 😏 So I'll schedule my fic to release at various points in the day and night so everyone can see it on their feed.

Keep it circling too, I'll go back and re-blog older works when more people follow me so they don't miss out. And as a writer, you'll want people to love your older works as much as the new.

And finally, some basic etiquette...

Please don't be disheartened if your fic doesn't get the traction you want right away.

It does not mean that your writing isn't good. We all started in the fandom with 0 followers and 0 reblogs. Its important to remember to write, first and foremost, for your own enjoyment. The right people will find you and love your work, it just takes a bit of time.

You can jazz your fic up with dividers and GIFs. Just ensure you give credit by @ tagging the person who made the divider you're using, if you choose to use one, and use the GIF search function on Tumblr for your GIFs, as they auto tag and credit the creator of the GIF for you. And that way, everyone stays happy. ✌🏻

And finally...

Interact with your comments and reblogs. People took the time to read your work, even just a simple thank you back is always appreciated and well received.

Re-blog, re-blog, re-blog what you love!

The like button is for bookmarking only. It does absolutely nothing to make posts get seen like it does on other socials. Re-blogging is what gets yours and others work seen and put on people's feeds on Tumblr. If you want people to re-blog your own work, you'll need to give back and re-blog theirs too. Tumblr is all about sharing in the form of re-blogs.

Love you! 🖤

✨️HAVE FUN!✨️

I'm so excited you're here and can't wait to read your fics! 🤗

Apologies if any of this you may already know, I just wanted to share what I've learnt in abundance.

And if you have further questions, feel free to reach out. I'm no expert, but I'll try and help if I can.

And if anyone else has any tips/hints/advice etc... feel free to share in the comments.

#jett's asks #pedro pascal #joel miller #dieter bravo #new writers yay! #welcome!

[cr-pisacs-evil-brother]

Pathologic Bachelor ARG Megapost

This post is a culmination of months of (mostly my own) research into the Bachelor ARG. For far too many days and far too many hours, I’ve been doing my best to solve this, with the help of a few other people. I looked very deep into most Fyodor Vitin posts, played through The Marble Nest several times, looked extensively through the Pathologic wiki, and read/analyzed countless outside sources for this post, and I will link as many of them as I can. (If there are links that you think would help the ARG that you’d like included in here with credit please let me know.) For any people that are credited, an “@” before their name implies that it’s a Tumblr username, while a “u/” proceeding their name implies it’s a Reddit username. I have discovered and analyzed dozens of leads, some of which are more likely to be important or intentional on the part of IPL than others. The primary purpose of this post is to give all of you Pathologic fans new leads and theories to analyze in pursuit of solving the mystery behind this ARG, so many of the things within this post should be looked into further! With this post, I will lay out my findings in a series of sections, all of them having several connections to each other. This post is more than 10,000 words and is not meant to be read all at once, so feel free to read sections, take breaks, re-read sections, or skip around if you'd like. “Observations, Research, Analysis” is a vast majority of this post and consists of observations made about the ARG material, as well as any research I did into those findings that bore fruit, and analysis/connections to other things. The additional notes section consists of some of the conclusions I’ve reached after putting all of my evidence together, as well as some connections I didn't really make in the previous section, but keep in mind they’re still just theories so they could obviously be wrong. I would like to emphasize that I am not a native Russian speaker, but I did have many native Russian speakers helping me along the way, and in particular, I’d like to thank @kurury-chan for her massive help with this. She transcribed the newspaper for me, provided tons of consulting, translated many other Russian sources, and actually went out of the way to go on an irl tour of a certain ARG-related location to see if my theories about it could hold any ground! Because I'm not a native Russian speaker, the sections where I'm required to analyze Russian text (notably the newspaper section) will probably be the least interesting and I'll probably end up making a lot of points that aren't valid. Additionally, I’d like to thank @cryingsyren (who also happens to be my bf) and @ded-not-ded for their help. As for formatting, since Tumblr doesn't have tiered lists for some fucking reason, all main points will be written as bullet points, and any sub-points within that bullet will then have numbered points afterward. For example like this:

The first main point about a topic

Sub-point of the first point

Second sub-point

The second main point about a topic

I'll either do that or I'll do it like this:

First main point

First sub-point First sub-sub-point

Second sub-point

Second main point

Edit 1: I've had to revert much of the Chat text (the font I used for the sub-points above) to regular text because of a formatting glitch that irreversibly changed most of the Chat text to bold, which was very confusing.

Depending on which looks better in the context of the points. Because that formatting is so awkward and clunky I'll try to minimize the use of tiered lists as I convert this from the Google Docs format to the Tumblr Format. Most of the time that I use tiered lists here it's to deal with the character limit Tumblr has on single blocks of text within a post. With that out of the way, let's just get into the post.

Observations, Research, Analysis:

"The Accident" Fyodor Vitin post

The first thing I noticed about the newspaper when I took a good look at it was the use of bolding with certain letters. If you look at the Newspaper you’ll also see ink splattered on the page in several areas, which could be a clue toward noticing the bolded letters, or it could be something else I’ve yet to discover. I knew I wouldn’t be able to transcribe the entire newspaper by myself, not being a Russian speaker (although I’ve just started learning!) so I enlisted the help of @kurury-chan, a native Russian speaker, and she transcribed the entire newspaper for me in Cyrillic. After getting this transcription I went through and spent a couple of days looking for which letters were bolded, writing them down, and coming up with possible translations/meanings. I’ve come up with lots of possible meanings for these, but for many of them I couldn’t figure anything out, and I’d love help if anyone has any idea what they could mean! To me many of them seem like word fragments that are simply missing one or two letters, and so in the document where I list all of the bolded letters I put some words/phrases that are very close to the seemingly fragmented words. Once again keep in mind that, while I’m trying to learn Russian, my understanding of the language is still rather weak, so I may have mistranslated some of these. Another small detail to mention is that there’s a prominent crease on the left side of the paper that runs through a decent portion of the bolded words. First, I’ll start with the bolded letters on the left side of the page. I may have missed a couple, and I may have written some of them down as bolded when maybe they aren’t supposed to be seen as such.

Here is a link to a list of all the letters I think are bolded on the left side, which lines they’re on, and possible meanings, many of which I’ll be discussing here. I will not go individually through what I believe all the bolded letters mean, but I will go through and explain the ones I think are most meaningful and important, as well as some connections I’ve made with them. And here is a link to the original Russian transcription and my best attempt at an English translation.

It’s possible that the crease that runs through the left side of the paper and notably runs through many bolded words somehow denotes that those particular bolded words are special, or perhaps that they should be seen as separate from the other bolded words.

Line 15 has a rather interesting bolded phrase, because it actually appears to make a somewhat coherent 3-word phrase, but one of the words seems to be a surname, “Pepe.” Additionally, the crease on the left side of the page starts right above the word “ПЕПЕЛИЩЕ” in the title, and splits it so that “ПЕПЕ” is separate from the rest of the word. (ПЕПЕ is Pepe in Cyrillic.) If you want to know what the non-Pepe words say, skip to the next bullet point, because the rest of this one is my analysis of the ПЕПЕ part. So, of course, I looked into the name a bit, looking through all notable historical figures with the last name, and found one that I think is of special interest: Guglielmo Pepe. Born in the small ancient town of Squillace, Pepe entered the army at a very young age, and was an Italian commander during the early 1800s, but his military career was fraught with trouble, as he also had rather revolutionary politics, which angered both the government he was serving and many of his peers, and he was exiled on several occasions. Upon Pepe’s return to Italy at the age of 30, he was given the rank of general. After this, the most notable events in his life would largely consist of his attempts at going rogue in revolutionary attempts to change the existing power structure, for which he was usually punished. (It’s also perhaps worth mentioning that his brother was part of the attempted French invasion of Russia.) All of this is to say, Pepe obviously shares some striking similarities to General Block, perhaps the most striking of which is his status as a 30-year-old general, which is an aspect of Block’s character that is highlighted several times. So, of course, I looked into Block’s character a bit more, and discovered that in the Russian version of the game he is called “General Ash” instead of “General Ashes.” “Strange,” I thought, until I saw that in Russian, Ash is “Пепел” which is pronounced as “Pepel” for anyone that isn’t familiar with Cyrillic. If we look into it, we do see that the letter after the Пепе is л, but it is notably not bold. This is, if you're counting, two separate times in this paper where the plural for ash, пепелище, is split up so that only the пепе is emphasized. As for other connections between Pepe and Block, we could look at them both harboring some revolutionary tendencies and being punished for it, both by The Powers That Be and his peers. General Block also tells Artemy that he was born in a town not too dissimilar to the Town on Gorkhon; this is interesting because there are some connections to be drawn between Squillace and Gorkhon, primarily that both of them preserve the beauties of ancient times that have all but been lost to most people. Related to this, it should also be noted that I believe the plot of The Marble Nest was heavily based on the plot of The Seventh Seal, which is the same movie that inspired the character Alexander Block.

The rest of line 15 is also interesting, but I’m not sure exactly what it’s supposed to mean yet. It translates to “Heaven on Pepe” basically. I consider the “Pepe” part to probably be the most important, since there’s a large crease that runs through it, which I think probably denotes a level of importance? The line’s meaning might be related to the fact that “heaven” is sort of a synonym for “utopia,” or the character that Block is based on is the protagonist of a movie that revolves around the ideas of heaven and Christianity, which is something we saw very briefly with Block in Pathologic 1. If you have any ideas please post about them and tag me, or simply comment/reblog this with your ideas!

Line 1 and line 18’s bolded letters both start out with “ов”, and for my English speakers out there it is pronounced sorta like “ove.” ов is interesting because if you translate it as о-в it actually is the shortened form of “island” in Russian. Line 1’s bolded letters read as “ов попо”, and for people not familiar with Cyrillic попо is basically “popo.” There are, apparently, many Popo islands in the world, and I couldn’t find one that I think directly connects to the ARG or Pathologic, but maybe someone else out there will, or perhaps that line has a different meaning to it. As for line 18, it says “ов испустивших” and according to Russian wiktionary, the second word is one letter off from the word “Emitted.” I looked a bit deeper, though, because that didn’t satisfy me (why would they use the incorrect spelling of a word after all?) and I didn’t see much, but I did find two things that used the exact word “испустивших” that interested me: A Saudi Arabian newspaper that has been translated into Russian, as well as a Russian poem from 1777 celebrating the birth of Grand Duke Alexander Pavlovich, also known as Alexander I of Russia. The latter is more interesting to me for numerous reasons, the first one being that it might serve my theory about the connection between line 1 and 15, as line 1’s bolded letters end with попо and line 15’s end with пепе. The connection is weak, too weak for me to make it a separate bullet point, but strong enough for me to want to explain. So, as we know, there is a connection between line 1 and 18, it’s what this whole bullet point is about, and this theory (using the term “theory” loosely) relies on us seeing them as very closely connected. Basically, Alexander I was the ruler of Russia during the French invasion, which is interesting because, if you’ll remember, Guglielmo Pepe’s brother, Florestano Pepe, took part in the French invasion. This, to me, is an interesting connection, but I do admit it’s definitely a reach.

That’s where I’ll stop talking about the bolded letters on the left side of the paper. If you’d like to see what other bolded letters there are, what they could possibly mean, and try to decipher the meaning for yourself please go to my linked Google Doc(s).

As for the right side of the Newspaper, there are some bolded letters, but I can't seem to make much sense out of them, and by this point in my research I was starting to pursue more promising ARG leads, so this section is rather incomplete. Just as a reminder, the right side of the newspaper is an advertisement for a lantern/kerosene shop. I personally think the right side is more interesting than the left for a couple reasons, but most of them are either self-evident or will be discussed later.

The lantern on the right side of the paper is the same model that’s used throughout the Haruspex’s route, but most notably it’s used a ton during The Marble Nest as set dressing. And when I say "a ton" I really mean it.

I also remembered vaguely an unused lantern item found in the game files of Pathologic 2, so I went to the Pathologic wiki to look for it, and surely enough the exact lantern used by Artemy, the one that appears so many times in The Marble Nest, is also an unused item present in the game files. When using console commands to give yourself the item, you’re able to click on it and select the “touch” option, upon which you’ll see the number 6192355001378070 where the name of the item should be, and 6192355001378072 where the touch text should be. I’m not sure exactly what these numbers are supposed to mean; my first thought was that they seemed long enough to be coordinates, so I put them into google maps and it does lead to a location in Russia! Nonetheless, the numbers are a little bit too long to make sense as cohesive coordinates. Still, it might be something worth investigating. You'll see later in this post just how significant numbers and number patterns are in this ARG.

The word used to describe one of the victims of this inferno, “academician,” has sorta interesting connotations in countries that were once part of or heavily influenced by the USSR. This person is referred to as “Mr. F.L.” in the article. This guy is also said to be a historian and a “бытооописателя,” which as you can probably tell by the fact that I’m not using the translated English version is a weird word. Perhaps the strangest thing about this word is the fact that it clearly has 3 o’s where there should only be one. The actual meaning of this word is odd, as it’s very rarely used, and according to all sources I could find (including native Russian speaker and linguistics enthusiast @kurury-chan) it is either an archaic term for a historian or a term meaning “writer of everyday life.” I’m honestly not sure what that means, and at first, I thought it meant something like a blogger. The most complete and coherent definition I could find describes it as “author of works describing everyday life.” A different translation I found seems to say it means something like "chronicler," which I suppose makes some sense.

In the bottom right part of the paper, you will notice what at first appears to be a signature. Admittedly I had almost no hand in this part of the investigation, except for the isolation and upscaling of the text. Most of the work here was done by @cryingsyren with some help from @kurury-chan and @ded-not-ded. Here is the image that I got for them of the text, and here is our current interpretation of it: It at first seemed to be Russian cursive (and it probably is supposed to be), which complicates things quite a bit, and @cryingsyren spent a couple days trying to figure out exactly what it says, (with some help from @kurury-chan) and as far as we can tell it’s four letters, which are separated into either two or three sections. I think we have a decent grasp on what they’re supposed to be in Cyrillic, but the interesting thing is that they do look a lot like both Russian and Latin cursive. I’ll describe them now using what Latin character they look like in quotes followed by what Cyrillic character they look like in parenthesis. The first section is an “M” (М) and a “K” (К), which are very clearly connected. The next section is either an “H” (Н) or an “H” and an “n/u”. We’re not exactly sure whether the H and the n/u are supposed to be connected, but the n/u being lowercase seems to imply it is. The interesting thing about the n/u is that, while it looks like it could be a Latin n or u, it also looks like it could be a Cyrillic и, which is the italicized version of the Russian letter и. It seems all too coincidental that all of the letters they used have almost exact visual counterparts in the Latin alphabet. At the moment our working theory is that it could be initials, and this is where I come in, because for days I knew I recognized the "MK" part of the signature, but I couldn't remember exactly where from until today. For anyone that has played too much Pathologic Classic HD like me, you may recognize the "MK" signature from the center of the loading screen in that game, scrawled in a way that most people wouldn't pay attention to it, and certainly that most people wouldn't have it committed to memory like me. During the roughly 170 hours I've spent playing the game I've probably looked at that MK more than I've looked at my youngest brother. This presents the question, who is MK? Well at first I thought it could be Mr. Katzman, as referenced in the "Mask" post, but that didn't seem right to me. This is when the fact that so much of my brain is Pathologic lore facts came to help again, when I remembered state inquisitor Mark Karminsky, who you may remember as being one of the men people thought would come to the town before Aglaya Lilich showed up. As for the rest of the writing, I'll leave that up to you guys to figure out.

Something to note for later on: We know there to be 19 inquisitors when Pathologic takes place, and in this ARG the number 19 becomes very important with later clues.

"Mask" Fyodor Vitin post

Arguably this is the Fyodor Vitin post I’ve done the most research into, and it eventually led me to develop a very deep and passionate interest in the Buryat peoples that has so far caused me to read several books and around a dozen academic papers about them. I haven’t only done research into the Buryats for this post, though, because although the Buryats are the primary inspiration for The Kin, they’re not the only inspiration. Despite all of this research work, this section will be rather short because I’ve already been through and exhausted most possible leads I’ve found, and this is what remains. Since the post is in English, and I think everyone that follows me presumably knows English (если вы не говорите по-английски, я хвалю вас за то, что вы зашли так далеко) I won’t summarize it, so I’d recommend reading the Vitin post and then coming back.

We see in the post the mask of “Muu Shubuun,” which we’ll immediately notice is almost the exact same mask as is used by the Executors in the game. Actually, in the Marble Nest, you can acquire the Executor mask, and its touch text reads, “The mask of Muu Shubuun, ‘the wicked bird.’ Part of the Reaper costume from the local theatre.” I have found several different sources that lead me to believe this is based on actual Buryat folklore, however, I’ve heard several conflicting accounts on whether Muu Shubuun is an evil spirit that tricks people by taking the shape of a beautiful woman, or if it’s closer to what we see in the game/ARG, but both seem to be documented as existing within sources on the Buryats. I think this confusion between the two likely means the stories and connotations associated with Muu Shubuun vary based on different groups of Buryats. An alternate spelling I’ve seen used is “Mu Shuvuu.” Possibly related to this is the character “Shar Shuvuu” (which means “eagle owl”), who appears in The Marble Nest during the “marriage” scene in the steppe camp behind the cathedral. In fact, a surprisingly high number of NPC characters in this DLC are named after birds.

The phrase used in the post to describe a seasonal festival, “dosoo ba beshē tēēhēē” is where I’ve devoted much of my research, with most of that research being from about a month ago. Only the third word in this phrase, beshē, appears as a kin word in the games as far as I know. However, we can use a method here that people in the Pathologic community have been using for years to figure out the meaning of kin words: Most of the steppe language in the game is based on one of many languages: Buryat mostly, Mongolian sometimes, Tibetan sometimes, and some parts of it also take inspiration from other languages of similar origin to these. A majority of the language seems to be based on Buryat, and many Kin words come straight from the language. A few words in the game seem to be made up entirely by Ice-Pick Lodge, and many are based on words from the aforementioned real languages but tweaked slightly, as if to indicate that the steppe language spawned from those languages but has some distinctive elements. To determine what this phrase means, I tried my best to dig into the languages and find parallels:

“Dosö” in Buryat means “inside”

In Mongolian “dooshoo” means “down”

In Mongolian “ba” means either “and,” “we,” or “sorcery”

In Tibetan, “ba” means “cow”

“Beshē” in the game’s steppe language means either “not” or “other”

The prefix “të-” in Buryat means “to transport”

In Mongolian the prefix “te'e-” also means “to transport”

As for the “-hee” part of the word, I have not found a single source that could tell me what it means. I’ve found several Buryat words that end in “he,” but I can’t seem to find a connection between them strong enough to suggest what it denotes.

Upon first seeing this festival mentioned, I believe I commented somewhere on the Pathologic subreddit that it might be the same one we see in the Kin’s camp behind the cathedral in The Marble Nest. While I’m not 100% convinced still, I also don’t doubt it that much. One interesting thing to note for any people that might wanna investigate this in the future is that I’m pretty sure what we see in the Marble Nest is the same thing that Nara and the Haruspex perform in the abattoir, as they both seem to happen on day 10, and if you look close you can see that Nara is the one that is cut open in The Marble Nest. Seemingly with the Haruspex gone, there is no one that knows the lines and so the ritual doesn’t go as smoothly as it could.

“Messages” Fyodor Vitin Post:

This particular Fyodor Vitin post is the third one, which if you know Ice-Pick Lodge certainly has some importance to it. The post is a series of letters and images, one depicting an Executor and one depicting Voronika Kroy, who's a minor character in Pathologic 2 and the main character in the Pathologic Feverish Feelings ARG. The letters detail how the recipient’s reports about Voronika Kroy have been seen and have started an investigation by the Federal Bureau. What’s most interesting to me are two things: the jumble of (Latin alphabet) letters in the bottom left, and the number used within the letters (the post-card letters in this case).

The number in question is “196-17-1” which is apparently the case number used for the Voronika Kroy investigation. This number will be more important later in relation to other clues. One interesting thing I've found is that the RGB value for 196-17-1 is a deep red.

The jumble of letters at the bottom of the picture is “eiamrucdvrturxoevecid”. It is 21 letters and can be divided up into chunks of 3 or 7 letters. 3 and 7 of course being Ice-Pick Lodge’s favorite numbers. Up until this point, it has been assumed that this is an anagram, and I have no reason to doubt that. It has already been pointed out in the Pathologic subreddit that the words “Executor” and “Corvid” can be found in the anagram, as well as the Latin words “Cura”, “Curare”, “Curari”, “Medici”, and “Vivam.” Credit for finding the Latin words goes to u/apostforisaac who is apparently studying Latin at university! Additionally, u/Own_Sympathy_9814 deduced a possible meaning by unscrambling the anagram and finding “MAVRUD + VERIDIC + EXECUTOR”, which they believe hints toward the answers lying in the Marble Nest (I wrote the entire Marble Nest section of this post before finding their post about that, so I do feel pretty validated by it). Many people have been approaching this anagram, like many other parts of the ARG, as if they have one right answer, and frankly, I just don’t think that’s in the style of Ice-Pick Lodge. I’ll quickly list out some words/phrases I found in the anagram and what they mean/how they could relate. I will also include words that have already been discussed, and they’ll be marked with a “*” so you don’t think I found them. Most of the ones marked with a * I won’t be discussing, as most have already been discussed extensively. I also won’t be discussing the ones that I think probably don’t have much meaning, but I’m including them because it still could be something later on down the road.

I am You don’t actually even have to unscramble the letters to get this one, as the second, third, and fourth letters of the jumble simply spell it out. What's interesting is that the 7 "I am" discourses are a crucial part of the Christian Gospel according to John. The Gospel according to John was an important clue during the Feverish Feelings ARG, which revolved around Voronika Kroy and her Inquisitor father, Peter Kroy. If we're speaking of the four canonical gospels, we must also address the Gospel according to Mark, which coincidentally is the name of an inquisitor that has popped up elsewhere in this ARG. Following this theme, there is actually a non-canonical Gospel According to Peter, which seems too cool to be a coincidence.

Eve This is one you don’t have to unscramble also. Interestingly, Daniil is often compared to a snake, even being called a snake-man in Marble Nest by Shaazgai, a man belonging to the Kin. In the biblical story of Adam and Eve, it is a snake, often thought to be the devil, that convinces Eve to eat the forbidden fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

Retroviridae The scientific name for a retrovirus. If I was more knowledgeable about biology I would say more, but this seems important.

Rex Iudaeorum Translating in Latin to “King of the Jews,” this was the inscription that allegedly was put on the cross that held Jesus of Nazareth, as detailed by 19:19 in the book of John. Very interesting as Daniil does compare himself to Jesus at least once in the Haruspex route, on the night before Aglaya comes. The Gospels, as discussed before, all detail the life and crucifixion of Jesus Christ. The "19" connection is also interesting because of the inquisitor detail, and I'll talk about more of the connections to 19 later in the post.

Cardio Commonly used medically as a prefix for heart conditions, “cardio” is a Latinized version of the Greek “kardia,” which simply means heart. Heart imagery is very common and significant to the Bachelor.

Eva This is similar to the Russian version of Eve.

Corvid*

Cura*

Curare*

Curari*

Medici*

Vivam*

Mavrud*

Veridic*

Executor*

Order Could relate to the committee in The Marble Nest and the fact that after they’re replaced by tragedians the absurd order begins getting sent out to the orderlies.

Carex ericetorum This is a plant that would almost definitely be present in/around the Town on GorkhonThis is a plant that would almost definitely be present in/around the Town on Gorkhon

Creature

Marble Nest:

The Marble Nest, as we know, is very concise, only really lasting half a day in-game. Because of this, the dialogue does tend to feel a lot more intentional, as though the named characters are not necessarily speaking only to The Bachelor but also trying to convey a message to the player. This, of course, is because The Marble Nest takes place inside Dankovsky’s head. If this ARG will be revolving partly around The Bachelor, as it seems to be, then there’s no better place to start than digging into his head, which is why I’ve played so much of the Marble Nest for this.

There are several specific stories/myths/historical figures that are mentioned through Marble Nest. First, we’ll go through some of these.

There is a very interesting conversation that The Bachelor has with Georgiy Kain, where he is trying to justify his decision to lift the quarantine restrictions to The Bachelor, who is rather upset obviously. I’ll cut down and paraphrase most of the dialogue, since if I didn’t this would be much longer, but basically the conversation goes as:

[Georgiy introduces himself, and says he decided to let The Bachelor sleep so that he would have the strength to face the upcoming trial] [Daniil asks if Georgiy lifted the restrictions and let the plague into The Stone Yard] Georgiy: “Quite so. It's plain to me that you are on the verge of shredding me into pieces. But still your wrath. As a great Athenian once said, ‘Strike, if you will, but hear.’” Daniil: “Themistocles, I know. He met a rather gruesome end, by the way. Died of plague.” Georgiy: “No, it was Pericles. You are a learned man, but history is not your strong suit. Which is why you should listen to me. Perhaps it will help you see something that you missed in your previous studies.” [Georgiy then goes on to explain a bunch of other stuff about the plague, which as far as I’m concerned isn’t all that useful to the task at hand.]

I find this so interesting because The Bachelor, in his own head, poses a question to himself, gets it wrong, and then has another separate figment of his imagination correct him, and then proceeds to tell The Bachelor that he’s not great at history and should listen to Georgiy more. What’s even more interesting is that, as far as I can tell, Georgiy and Daniil are both wrong, it was actually Themistocles that said “Strike, if you will, but hear,” and it was Pericles that died of plague. I found this interesting enough to look into who Themistocles and Pericles were, and here’s what I found:

Themistocles was a politician and general that broke the mold by being non-aristocratic and populist, which gave him the support of the people but put him at odds with the nobles and some of his peers. He turned 30 in 494 BC, which qualified him to run for the position of Archon, which he did, and won the position the following year. He had a prominent rivalry with another politician named Aristides. Whereas Themistocles was populist, Aristides primarily fought for the upper class. Themistocles eventually 20the rivalry after Aristides was exiled. Years later, though, Themistocles himself was exiled, and while he was gone his enemies took the opportunity to charge him with treasonous activities, knowing he could not defend himself. Because of this, Themistocles could never return to Athens, and so found employment and a home among the people that he once fought against while serving Athens. Given military command once more, he was actually Themistocles who said “Strike, if you will, but hear,” and it was Pericles who died of plague. I found this interesting enough to look into who Themistocles and Pericles were, and here’s what I found: Pericles, to me, has less interesting things about him in relation to Pathologic, with the main two being that he rehabilitated the image of Themistocles and he died of a plague. What could be interesting is the fact that General Block and Captain Longin are in both Pathologic 1 and 2 often compared to Achilles and Patroclus, two Greek soldiers from ancient folktales, primarily known for being two of the most important characters in The Iliad. To me, drawing a connection between Achilles and Block, as well as Pericles and Longin, isn’t that absurd. What could also be interesting to note is that Pericles was the main character in a play written in part by William Shakespeare. While Themistocles' life almost exactly fits the character arc of General Block, down to the weird connection between him dying of the plague in The Marble Nest and Themistocles drinking bull blood (as well as Dankovsky thinking Themistocles died of the plague), I think how Pericles fits in could lie in the Shakespearean play, as we all know how important theater is to Pathologic. You see by now at least partially what I think this alludes to, but I’ll talk more about it in the additional notes section.

Next, I’ll discuss a mythical story brought up in the Marble Nest: The Tower of Babel. This is brought up by the clerks sitting directly outside Georgiy Kain’s house. I think most people would talk to these guys right before talking to Georgiy, but I have more to say about it so it’s written second. When talking to one of the clerks during their argument about the plague, one man mentions that he thinks The Polyhedron is at fault, and no matter how Dankovsky replies (he has 3 options), the man then says “History already knows an example of people trying to erect an impossible tower. It ended in tragedy.” I could go on explaining why I believe this guy is talking specifically about the Tower of Babel, this post is already long enough so just trust my reasoning here, please. Notable to the point I’m trying to make, one of the other clerks brings up that he thinks the plague was started because of the irreconcilable differences between The Kin and the town, and the fact that the Kin have been forcibly mashed into the town. When Dankovsky asks the man if something is holding the Kin in the town, preventing them from leaving and returning to the earth, the man says “Someone is… our rulers. They have embedded the steppe people into this town, carved them into its warm flesh. This isn't a town, it's an honest-to-God minotaur. A chimera. And chimeras have remarkably short lifespans and bad health. Can you breed a snake and a crane? You can, yes. But the progeny won't live long.” This dialogue is interesting for a few reasons, one related to the tower of Babel and two related to other possible ARG clues. The first interesting thing is that what he’s describing, drawing a connection between the Tower of Babel and the Polyhedron, actually makes a lot of sense. To him, the Polyhedron is not only an affront to God, but its accentuation of human hubris coincides with a beating down of nature and the earth, represented in part by most of the Polyhedron’s mass being concentrated far above the earth while also piercing the earth’s heart. The story of the mythical tower, to oversimplify it, is essentially a tale of people from many different walks of life all coming together to construct a giant, seemingly impossibly tall tower in order to avoid the possibility of a second biblical flood destroying most of humanity. God sees this attempt as an affront to both him and the natural order, and so before the men are able to finish the tower he divides them all by making them speak different languages, making it impossible for them to understand each other. So, in this second clerk’s interpretation, the plague is a result of the town both rebelling against/abusing nature and also taking the Kin into itself. Unlike the first man, who believes the tower itself is at fault, this second one believes it’s all because of the town making itself into a “chimera,” which he believes cannot live long. What’s clear to me, though, is that although these men believe they disagree, their explanations complement each other very well, which brings us to our third man, who has a rather simple but somewhat confusing explanation. This clerk believes that this plague occurred in the town because men should not be “remodeled or altered,” and when asked what that has to do with the epidemic he replies “I don’t know… It wasn't we who designed the world like this. I believe in men, Doctor; in superhumans, I do not. This earthly life wouldn't fit them. Immortals have no place in the world of the living. This is just how it works. Take from it what you will.” This man seems to be implying that Simon Kain, the immortal man, is the reason why this plague appeared in the town. This is when it all started to come together for me: these men's stories do really all complement each other, because here they are posing the Polyhedron, chimera, and Simon as all the same. This will further be explained in the additional notes section. Three parts of one whole if you will.

Now, the mention of the Tower of Babel is interesting for two other reasons, one of which will be discussed in the additional notes section and one of which I’ll discuss here. In the Fyodor Vitin “One can work here” post there are numerous items displayed in the room pictured, but perhaps most interesting to me is the golden bull statue that sits at the front and center of the photo. My first thought when seeing that image was “Oh! This reminds me of the biblical story of the golden calf statue, which I bet is what they’re referencing.” For those who aren’t familiar, I’ll be oversimplifying another biblical story now. While trekking from Egypt to the holy land, Moses leaves his people behind to climb to the top of a mountain and commune with God. Moses is gone for forty days, upon which the people are fearful that he will not return, and so they molded a calf statue out of gold to worship. God, upon seeing this, sends Moses down to the base of the mountain to punish his people for their sins. Moses burns the golden calf in a fire, ground it to powder and water, and forced his people to drink it. He then killed all of them basically. My thought process was related to the fact that The Bachelor is punished severely by The Powers That Be for his own affront to God, the pursuit of immortality. Now, after that previous discussion about the Tower of Babel, I am noticing some very interesting things in this picture, and primarily that there are two other related statues. Now that we have the previous context about The Tower of Babel and the clerks in our mind, we can see new meaning in these statues: a black statue of a centaur, and a white bust of a man. The interesting thing about the centaur should be obvious, it is another chimera. The bust of the man, which seems to be made of marble, reminded me somewhat of ancient Greek statues that are chiseled to glorify certain leaders and make them seem somewhat perfect while also immortalizing them in stone. You can probably see the connection I’m making here, and so I will leave the rest of the explanation for the additional notes section.

Another thing that's interesting to note is the aforementioned three men, unlike most characters in Pathologic 2 and the Marble Nest, do not stop moving when you pause the game; their animations continue to play even after you bring up the pause menu. If you’re unaware, there is actually a small detail in Pathologic 2 where pretty much everything nature-based or that is a natural force of the world, as well as everything that’s supposed to be seen in a meta-narrative sense, does not stop moving when you pause the game. This includes rain, leaves falling, the particle effects that come off the clocks, fire, executors (not orderlies), plague particles, etc. Once I noticed this (while trying to get a screenshot of some things to analyze) I tested out some other NPCs in The Marble Nest, and all of the other people I tested seemed to freeze when the game was paused. However, this is not to say that no other characters in the Marble Nest move when the game is paused. I only tested about 4 guys besides the primary trio we're discussing, mostly just to make sure it's not a thing that all Marble Nest characters do. If one of you people reading this would like to go through and see which characters in The Marble Nest also possess this trait, it could prove fascinating.

Finally, I’ll talk about two somewhat modern (at least modern compared to the previous two) stories that are brought up in The Marble Nest, although not directly: The Time Machine by H.G. Wells and The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe. Admittedly, I have not read either of these stories (it’s possible I read the EAP story 5-6 years ago and just don’t remember it), but I do actually know quite a bit about the stories and their themes from a couple of literary studies on specific genres I’ve done over the years. Additionally, for this section, I have done some more research on the plots and themes of these stories which yielded fascinating results.

The Time Machine is brought up when The Bachelor visits The Cathedral and speaks to a Tragedian standing within. The Tragedian talks about how the building is not a temple, but a machine. Daniil asks what kind of machine, and The Tragedian responds “This is a time machine. Time works differently on the inside and on the outside. It's frozen now. I think something's broken.” To which Dankovsky can say “A time machine? Are you saying it can transport me to the past or to the future? Like in that Englishman's book, what's his name…” For this, I did some research into what book he could be referring to, and almost instantly Time Machine stood out to me for a number of reasons. I think there might be something interesting to be said about how this relates to the ARG, but I’m not going to be the one to say it, because I’m honestly not sure how or if it does. I will describe how it connects to Pathologic though, in case that sparks anyones mind. The work is apparently seen as popularizing the idea of time travel and the time machine, which relates to what IPL has said about The Bachelor’s route I suppose. As for the plot, it’s about a Victorian man using a time machine to travel to the year of A.D. 802,701. He meets two races of people, one descended from the oppressed working class and one descended from the pampered owning class. Over hundreds of thousands of years of this lifestyle, the two races have started to diverge, with the owning class becoming child-like and basically useless, while the working class has been forced into a life of toil and hardship which has shaped them into a race of underground-dwelling animalistic race of people. Essentially the novel is a depiction of class struggle and the class contradictions inherent within capitalism, but with a bit of a metaphorical twist. The toiling of the working class underground is what allows the upper class to live in abundance without the need for work. There is very interesting commentary here to be made on the worms/odonghs in the game, as well as the eternal youth that is present in some elements of the stone yard, but this isn’t a Pathologic essay, it’s a Pathologic ARG essay.

The Masque of the Red Death is alluded to by The Bachelor in a dialogue with a wandering citizen, who opens up the conversation by saying “A masquerade ball will be held in the main square this evening. People want to celebrate our victory over the sand pest. You don't mind…?” To which The Bachelor has 3 possible replies, one of them being “I seem to vaguely remember a rather famous story about a masquerade held to celebrate a victory over a plague. Remember how it ended?” To summarize, The Masque of the Red Death is about a group of noblemen taking refuge in an abbey to hide from a plague (the plague is known as the Red Death). The plague’s symptoms are gruesome, and all people who contract it apparently die within a half hour. The main character, Prince Prospero, and his fellow noblemen believe themselves to be entirely safe, though, as they have welded shut all the doors and isolated themselves in the abbey. To entertain the guests, the prince holds a masquerade ball that takes place in seven of the rooms of his abbey, each colored differently. The first six rooms are blue, purple, green, orange, white, and violet, with the last being black and illuminated by a red window. No guests venture into the seventh room, as they are all scared to enter it. Every hour a clock in that room chimes, upon which the guests freeze and go silent momentarily, before resuming normal activity once the chiming stops, only to do the same thing after an hour. Once midnight comes, a person appears in robes covered in blood and resembling a funeral shroud, wearing a mask that depicts a person clearly infected with the Red Death. This figure walks through six of the chambers before the prince starts chasing them with a dagger. Confronting them in the seventh room, the prince immediately falls dead upon seeing this person’s face. The other party-goers all charge the figure, stripping them of their clothes and mask, only to find that there is no one underneath. The conclusion of the story states that the figure was not a person, but rather an embodiment of the Red Death. The Red Death also appears as a reference in the novel The Phantom of the Opera, as well as several film and musical adaptations. The titular phantom dresses up as The Red Death, and in many adaptations wears a skull mask as part of the costume.

I believe Hamlet is also brought up at some point in The Marble Nest, but I can’t seem to find the dialogue so I’m unsure if that’s true.

Next, I'll talk about another random Marble Nest clue

The Bachelor’s hover text for the beetle item says “I used to collect these as a kid. Left the collection with my father.” @pseudoquiddity found that a paper on the top of “The Beginning” Fyodor Vitin post spells out Mechnikov, which is almost definitely referencing Ilya Ilyich Mechnikov, who was a Russian zoologist and immunologist who achieved incredible scientific discovery during his life, and notably for us he was largely focused on the issue of aging and extending human life. Mechnikov was actually brought up in an IPL teletype post as one of the Bachelor’s main influences scientifically, alongside Albert Einstein and Max Planck. The relevant thing about Mechnikov here is that, as a zoologist, he did many notable studies on insects throughout his career to see how their bodies reacted to things compared to how ours did. One thing that’s interesting to me is that the type of beetles we see in the game, I believe, are based on Trypocopris Vernalis, commonly known as the spring dumbledor or spring dor beetle, which is not known to inhibit the region that the Town on Gorkhon would reside in. Another thing I find interesting is the touch text from the Alpha version of the game, which reads “Some fifteen years ago, the Soul-and-a-Halves, the gang of children who are defined by sharing special bonds with their pets, actually considered to allow flower chafers as their "Halves" due to the beetles ‘looking as though they knew something’. The idea was quickly abandoned as ridiculous.” Maybe I’m just 8.6 thousand words into this post and have finally gone insane, but I think the beetles “looking as though they know something”, combined with their close connection to Dankovsky, it seems too intentional.

In the “Feverish Feelings” ARG, the Beatles (the band) were brought up indirectly and used by the players as a clue to get more information. This also related to the clue relating to the Gospel according to John. Additionally, speaking of Mechnikov, u/Fantastic_Advice5593 theorized that the numbers on Daniil’s train ticket from one of the original ARG notes could be hinting toward the date May 15th, or 5/15 (15/5 if you use the non-American dating system I believe), which is Mechnikov Day, and is commonly recognized as Mechnikov’s date of birth. Proving this connection further, the “Messages” Fyodor Vitin post was posted on May 15th. Another interesting thing is that if we convert the time that the “Messages” image was posted to the time scheme used in Pathologic (that is, a 24-hour clock), it comes out to 19:35 (Using GMT+3 time zone, as that’s where Moscow is located.) This is interesting because “Messages” was also posted 19 days after the previous post, and I know for a fact that 19 is an important number in this ARG: The newspaper from the “The Accident” post was labeled as issue number 19, the bible passage that we saw referenced in the anagram from the “Messages” post is John 19:19, the jumble of letters that we found in the touch text for the unused lantern item includes “19,” and so does the 196-17-1 number from Messages. In a way, the number 19 is sort of a self-checking method to substantiate some of the clues we’ve found thus far.

Griffins’ Tower

Many of the details in this section wouldn’t be possible without @kurury-chan who, upon my inquiry about the tower and its accompanying pharmacy, actually visited it, got tons of cool pictures, and translated a ton of the history for me! I literally cannot thank her enough for her help with many elements of this post, but especially in this section. In the original Pathologic ARG, “Feverish Feelings,” the Griffins’ Tower is brought up a couple of times throughout, and was part of an intensive fandom discussion because many elements of it paralleled many themes and plot points of Pathologic. The following connections/possibly related facts are a combination of fandom discussion from the time and my own research:

The tower is connected to a pharmacy that has existed since the 18th century. Both were once owned by the Poehl family, who were a rather eccentric yet somewhat mysterious rich family. Rumors from the time (The 18th/19th century) speculate that members of the family engaged in “…alchemy and witchcraft, and in the basements of the house he turned mercury into gold and bred griffins. Since ancient times, it was believed that griffins, mythical creatures with the body of a lion and the head of an eagle, were the guardians to secret sacred knowledge and treasures.”

In 1994, the artist Alexey Kostroma, together with the society "Here and There" (Tut i tam), organized a demonstration/art-piece to advocate for the preservation of the tower and the revitalization of the city, which they believed was falling apart before their very eyes. During this demonstration, they hoisted a large egg (approximately 1.5 meters) onto the top of the tower, and they painted (I’m not sure what was used to put the numbers on the tower, but I assume it was paint) numbers on almost every brick of the tower. While the purposes for the those two additions rarely get brought up in conversations surrounding it, the egg and the numbers are now some of the most well-known parts of the tower, despite the fact that neither of the two are there anymore. The Polyhedron, as we know, is a tower that at the top houses children and is made from its own complex blueprints. Additionally, in the Marble Nest, but also throughout Pathologic as a whole, there is a common piece of imagery that connects eggs and the Utopians. In the opening of The Marble Nest, the item that’s used on the loading screen is an egg. If you look at the egg sprite in P2, you’ll see a crack in it that heavily resembles the Polyhedron. Daniil Dankovsky commonly uses the Latin phrase “ab ovo,” which means “from the beginning” but when literally translated means “from the egg,” and his touch text for the egg in Marble Nest reads “To understand anything, start ab ovo — ‘from the egg.’”

While playing through The Marble Nest several times for this ARG, I noticed something that gave me more confidence in The Griffins’ Tower playing a role in it. If you guys have played Pathologic as much as I have you’ll know there’s a tower in between the Stone Yard and the steppe that you can’t enter and is barely ever really explained. If I’m picking apart my brain correctly for Pathologic 1 knowledge, I believe it is implied to be a Focus of some sort. If you’ve only played Pathologic 2, or you haven’t played through The Bachelor’s route in P1 enough, or you haven’t read through the Pathologic “Corpus” entries, you probably have an incomplete idea of what a “focus” is and all that it entails. I won’t go too deep into it now, but it’s said in one of the Corpus entries that, on top of the Polyhedron, Cathedral, Stillwater, Crucible, etc., there were a number of experimental Focuses that were built for Simon Kain to test the limits of what buildings could capture the human soul and memories. It’s a building you can’t ever enter, but it does have a visible door, which is very similar to the way that Simon’s focus is described by Victor Kain. I’d like to draw your attention to the visual similarities between that tower and the Griffin Tower. I’d also like to draw your attention to the fact that, in the original design concepts of Pathologic 1 every character is associated with a specific animal, and Simon Kain’s is a griffin. What is a griffin? Well, it’s a fusion between two drastically different creatures, a lion and an eagle; a griffin is a chimera.

Interestingly, in 2005 (the year Pathologic came out) the pharmacy connected to The Griffins Tower was closed for a while because it became flooded with water while trying to extinguish a fire.

There is a photo in the pharmacy connected to the tower (which has now been converted into a museum about the history of the place and pharmacies in general) that depicts, during the early 1900s, the pharmacy sitting next to a theater called “Simpatiya” (Sympathy).

While @kurury-chan was on a tour of the pharmacy/museum she found an interesting marmite that was on display. It was created by Samuel Clarke and it’s called “Pyramid,” and the marmite has an accompanying poem: Когда ночи темные, подумайте о Кларке, который попал точно в цель. Его ночные огни создают светлые ночи, в которых вы прекрасно видите. (When the nights are dark, think of Clark hitting the mark. His night lights create bright nights in which you can see perfectly) This is interesting largely because the poem reminds me somewhat of the body text for the lantern ad found in the newspaper post.

In the original email mentioning the Griffin’s Tower, Voronika Kroy appends the message by saying “P.S. I feel like I’ll need this memory later.”

Seventh Seal

I watched this movie after discovering all of the allusions to General Block we’ve seen thus far, but being unsure what to do with any of them. For those that don’t know, the movie The Seventh Seal’s protagonist Octavius Block has been listed as one of the main inspirations for Alexander Block, and since IPL seems intent on leading us to analyze certain works of literature/film/theater for this, I decided to look into it. What I found is incredibly interesting I think, because it seems that one of the main inspirations for The Marble Nest is The Seventh Seal.

The title is based on a bible verse (from the Book of Revelations) that reads “And when the Lamb had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour.” This verse appears both at the very beginning of the movie and then again toward the end. This thirty minutes/half-an-hour element appears prominently in both this story and The Masque of the Red Death. One other place it appears is on the pocket watch in the first Fyodor Vitin post, where the time on it is 2:30. I am very confident that it also appears in The Marble Nest once or twice, but despite looking I was unable to find it. If anyone else knows where it might be, either comment on this post or message me, and I will put it in this section and credit you.

The movie's plot revolves around Antonius Block, a disillusioned medieval knight returning from the Crusades. Block is struggling throughout the movie with his inability to believe in God and his realization that his whole life has been wasted. He wishes more than anything to do one last deed before his death to give his life meaning. The movie is set during the Black Death, with prominent elements of the story revolving around the plague. The movie largely focuses on how Block takes in several poor and out-of-luck folks fleeing the plague, inviting them to stay at his castle and escorting them along the way.

Toward the beginning of the movie, Death comes to take Block, but he convinces Death to play him in a game of chess for his life. This game of chess continues throughout the movie, with Death allowing Block to take several breaks in order to find clarity about his life and death. Toward the end of the movie, he allows Death to take his queen, effectively ensuring he would lose the game in the next turn, so that his companions could get away without Death noticing. After returning to his castle, everyone has a nice meal before Death arrives and takes everyone, excluding the people that Block helped get away by tricking Death.

Many things from Pathologic seem to take inspiration from this movie; most notable being the storyline of The Marble Nest (Dankovsky’s “People” screen categorizes people as chess pieces, essentially implying that his struggle against death is a sort of chess match), but there are also some smaller things. For example, there is a scene where the characters encounter someone afflicted with the plague who cries out for help, and one of the women tries to get closer to give the man water, but another person stops her, as giving water to a plague victim is futile and dangerous; almost immediately after this, a personification of Death appears. This heavily reminds me of the intro/tutorial of Pathologic 2, where a similar scene occurs.

While watching the movie, it’s very easy to see how Block was directly inspired by the main character, but it’s hard to convey exactly how without describing many scenes in detail, so I will simply describe one of them. After leaving a church confessional where he admits to his faith faltering and wanting to perform one meaningful deed before he dies, Block encounters a young woman who’s about to be burned at the stake for allegedly having ties to the devil. He takes pity on this woman, seeing something special in her, and believes she can tell him about life after death. This, to me, seems very reminiscent of Block’s storyline with the Changeling in P1.

Another small lead before this part of the post is finished: This lead, I will admit, I stumbled across completely at random, and will not talk about much because there’s not much I can say about it that isn’t obvious. It might be worth looking into the Russian philosopher Nikolai Fyodorovich Fyodorov, and perhaps thinking about if Fyodor Vitin was based partially on him, since we know Vitin works closely with Daniil.

Additional Notes/Comments:

In the newspaper clipping, it is said that a man with the initials “F.L.” had been one of the apparent two victims of the fire that burned down several buildings. This man (who I’ll simply refer to as “F” from now on) is an academician, historian, and writer of everyday life, which obviously fits well with the man that we know as Fyodor Vitin, and it has been assumed up until this point that he was the victim of this fire. I think there are three possibilities here: Fyodor Vitin was not the victim of this fire somehow, Fyodor Vitin is not his real name, or the newspaper is lying to us. In connection to the light/lantern emphasis in the newspaper, it might be worth it to note that the word “vitin” in Faroese means something like “the lighthouse”/“the beacon”, while in old Swedish it means something like “to know.” What’s more interesting is that Vitin in old Swedish is a second-person plural present indicative, and for people that got a useful education, that means it’s a verb that’s used to factually describe the current actions of the people that the speaker is saying it to. If Vitin isn’t his real surname, his username could mean “Fyodor beacon”, or “Fyodor (that you all) know”.

As discussed extensively in the section on the Tower of Babel, there is a direct connection drawn between the Polyhedron, Simon, and chimeras. We elaborated a bit on this connection in the section on the Griffins’ Tower. What’s especially interesting then is the fact that, in The Marble Nest, the Polyhedron is labeled as “focus,” implying that Simon’s essence is infused in the Polyhedron, as is what happens in the first game. This, I believe, confirms our theory about the connection even further. What then makes this even more related to the ARG is the fact that in the “One can work here” post by Fyodor Vitin, we see the three statues depicting the golden bull, the centaur, and the marble bust of a man. It is then worth noting that this bust of a man made of marble could be a reference to The Marble Nest, perhaps trying to get us to look there for clues. I believe, if the golden bull is meant to represent the Polyhedron (or at least the Polyhedron argument in The Marble Nest), and the centaur is meant to represent the chimera, then the marble bust of the man is meant to represent Simon (or, once again, represent the Simon/immortal man argument from the Marble Nest). This is supported by my point about the marble busts both immortalizing men and also making them more into concepts than men (as the statue can only depict a small part of a man’s life, usually depicting him in battle, leading a governmental position, etc). In the original game, and as can slightly be seen in hints of the second game, Simon is sometimes seen as more of a concept than a man; he is the ideology of the utopians incarnate, the perfect man that represents everything humanity could be. As a chimera is vital to Burakh’s quest, so too is it vital for Dankovsky’s (and it’s interesting to note that Burakh has the chimera revelation while in conversation with Dankovsky.) If the Marble Nest is used to represent the stone yard, or the “town” in its purest form, then Simon Kain is the marble man. It then becomes important to figure out where the “One can work here” picture is supposed to be depicting. I believe, if the statues there are supposed to represent all that we’ve said so far, the location should be representative of Dankovsky’s fight against death, and therefore I say it probably has to be Thanatica.

Now, as for all the connections with General Block, there are obviously many of them, from the Guglielmo Pepe hypothesis to the mention of Aristides/Pericles to The Seventh Seal to the whole “ash” thing, it seems far too much to be a series of coincidences. I don’t think it’s too crazy to connect the prominent appearance of the number 30 in the Block/Pepe/Aristides context to the prominent appearance of the number 30 (as in half an hour) in The Seventh Seal, which makes the appearance of the number 30 in that first Fyodor Vitin post even more interesting. It’s long been theorized that, from what we see in the Haruspex’s route and what we’ve seen in Pathologic 1, the Bachelor’s new route will probably feature General Block much more prominently. Perhaps, as the first ARG was so focused on the inquisitors, we’ll also get to learn more about the army in this one. Maybe General Ashes even had something to do with the building that was reduced to ashes?

The topic of religion, and specifically Christianity, comes up a lot in The Marble Nest. I think all the connections I’ve made in this post to Christianity have convinced you that it’s seemingly an important part of this ARG. In the first ARG, there were certain biblical passages that acted as clues, specifically from the Gospel according to John, which we talked about in the section on the “Messages” post. As is also mentioned in that section, the connection to Inquisitors Peter Kroy and Mark Karminsky seems to be driving us toward looking into The Gospel according to Peter and The Gospel according to Mark. It’s also talked about in that section how these both relate to Daniil. Mark Karminsky specifically also seems to have had something to do with the "Accident" mentioned in the newspaper, and so perhaps combining numbers from the newspaper within the Gospel of Mark could lead to some clues.

Still, as much as I’ve said in this post, there is more I wish to analyze but have not yet. This post has been in the works for a while, though, and I don’t want people to be waiting any longer, so I’ll have to save that other stuff for another day.

If anyone can somehow get into the game files of the Marble Nest and retrieve the texture/model for any of the letters or books (like the two linked images), that will end up being very helpful.

Other screenshots from Pathologic 2/The Marble Nest that could be of interest:

Grigory Gorky (Pathologic 2) Grigory Gorky (The Marble Nest) Mikhail Goba (The Marble Nest) Daniil Death Certificate (The Marble Nest) Rug (The Marble Nest) Book (The Marble Nest) Familiar Bloody Handprint (The Marble Nest) Tipped Over Lantern (The Marble Nest) Staff Sergeant Plover (The Marble Nest) Avrely Gubar (The Marble Nest) Odd use of Roman Numerals (The Marble Nest) Cathedral Letter (The Marble Nest) Plant that I found several times in the Cathedral (The Marble Nest)

#pathologic #pathologic 2 #pathologic arg #daniil dankovsky #мор утопия #Bachelor ARG