K4limSunn!!

So, companies are tracking you no matter what you do, but this specifically is something I care about deeply.

Essentially, when you share a link, sometimes it has extra data that tracks where it comes from and goes.

Opening Spotify, clicking the first item, and using the share button, I get something like open.spotify.com/track/4P0f1HTaA2UwtLJGryNgJZ?si=DBvbfihOSweU1KHj9Mib8w

That ?si=...........…. is the tracker. It tells Spotify who clicks on the link and ties it to you, meaning Spotify knows who your friends are even if you never follow them.

Similarly, if on Amazon or EBay in the browser, I get something like www.ebay.com/itm/146493392451?_skw=lenovo&itmmeta=............&hash=item................&itmprp=enc..............

And, similarly, everything after the question mark is tracking you. I had to blank it out because it was so long!

There is an exception for a few things (I.E. the v=..... on YouTube, but not the si=..... on YouTube)

The general rule is delete everything after the ? and if it breaks, add something back.

the idea of yuu who got sent to nrc with nothing but a pouch full of stickers; some of their favourite animes, puffy stickers of cute cartoon animals, glittery sheets of little stars, etc.

the first time it happened was during one of trein's long boring lectures. you were doodling something on your notebook and felt that your doodles were a bit off, like something was missing, so you took out a sheet of wonderland themed stickers and put some painted-red white roses to complete your piece of art.

ace, having caught up on what you were doing, leaned towards you to take a glimpse. his eyes lingered on an ace of hearts card soldier sticker and you noticed. you peeled off the sticker and put it on his forehead.

"hey!" he protested, before peeling it off of his forehead and put it on the front of his notebook. you snickered and decided to do the same to the other heartslabyul student who was sitting beside you.

turning to your left, you peeled off a deuce of spade card soldier sticker and put it on deuce's cheek, shattering his focus on the lecture completely. he looked at you, wide eyed, "huh?!" you immediately shushed him, not wanting to catch trein's attention.

"you should've seen the look on your face!" ace snorted, loudly, which seemed to grab the professor's attention.

"trappola, please repeat what i just explained."

"oh, uhh..."

he turned to you and deuce for help but the two of you were avoiding his gaze, eyes glued to each of your notebooks—with the card soldier sticker still plastered on deuce's cheek.

'traitors!' his eyes shifted back and forth from trein to the blank page of his own notebook. fuck.

the next time it happened was supposed to be a prank. you had somehow agreed to one of ace's schemes and the current target was riddle. the plan was easy, decorating riddle's precious notebook cover with stickers.

you didn't know if riddle had pissed the first year off or ace was just being ace, but the idea wasn't that bad, you were just curious on how riddle's reaction would be, though this was definitely not what the both of you expected.

your and ace's jaws went slacked when you saw riddle held up his glittery-pink-hedgehog-stickers covered notebook, looking at it with awe, like he had just found a chamber full of strawberry tarts.

"housewarden...?" ace trailed off, and riddle snapped out of his daze, clearing his throat at the sight of his underclassmen—staring at him in shock.

"i assume this is the two of you's doing?"

a nod.

"was this supposed to be another one of your pranks?"

another nod.

"though it seems that the outcome was not to your expectation?"

the silence was enough of an answer.

riddle was the one who broke the silence, he coughed onto his fist then averted his gaze from the both of you, the tips of his ears slightly pink, his next words were barely a whisper but you still managed to hear it, "do you perhaps have the flamingo ones?"

this turned into a little habit of yours; some tiny dessert stickers on trey's cookbook pages, a funny looking chicken sticker that cater insisted you put on his phone case, a big fat red cat sticker on the back of ace's phone case, matching with deuce's blue one and your [f/c] one, you even gave some flamingo stickers to riddle to place wherever he pleased.

and this little habit of yours wasn't limited to your heartslabyul friends. you could find a leech sticker on floyd's water bottle (yes, you gave a leech one on purpose while cackling. "shrimpyyy, i'm a moray eel, yknow?" "but you're a leech," "...ehhh *shrugs*"), a wolf one on jack's watering can with the caption 'alpha male' (jack swore he only blinked and all of a sudden, it was there), a poison apple sticker on rook's quiver, and more.

one day, however, kalim was surprised when jamil peeled a cute smiley otter sticker off of his cheek after he came back from pop music club to the scarabia dormitory.

"eh?"

"don't tell me you didn't know."

"...oh! so, that's why lilia, cater, and yuu were giggling!"

from then on, people would check their bodies and faces for any sight of stickers. leona found one on his bicep, epel had one on his elbow, and silver woke up to his face decorated with dozens of stickers.

it became a game called "find the stickers!" which was basically self explanatory, the nrc students had to find the stickers the prefect plastered on them or their things.

it was funny because the chance was 50/50. there'd be a time where the prefect discreetly put a sticker on them and they wouldn't know until someone told them or they found it themselves. or, the prefect could overtly make any physical contact with them and didn't plant any stickers at all.

the last one often made them question themselves because the prefect could initiate physical contact and didn't put any stickers for the first few times which let them put down their guards around them, only to found one after the seventh time.

this also happened with the other way around where the prefect planted stickers on them multiple times and the one time they didn't, the poor victim still thought there was a sticker on their body.

students would find themselves checking their belongings and each other's bodies, their guts telling them that there was at least one sticker hiding within them.

the peak of the event was when sebek let out a guttural scream once his eyes landed on malleus, horns and face decorated with cute stickers; bows and hearts and all that. the prince's face bright as he beamed, "child of man said that humans often decorate their friends' faces to strengthen their bonds."

sebek fainted, lilia took dozens of photos from different angles whilst urging silver to stand beside malleus so they could take some photos together, and silver—his own face decorated with stickers like malleus'—only nodded reverently.

꒰ঌ ⋮ author note : this was inspired by a friend of mine who always put stickers on me and our friends, and me who also put stickers on them and their things.

ʚ edited : yuu was supposed to be gn but i accidentally used 'her' earlier, sorry for the confusion guys, i already fixed it!

Word Count: 4.5k Summary: Being given three chances to travel back in time, Akechi does everything he can to make sure you will not suffer such a tragic fate. Note: i tried something..... dont expect too much from this fic if im being honest DHADSAHDAS

Waitress taking my order: Such arrogance! Not only do you presume to boast under the guise of being humble, but your order employs the most decadent of linguistic excesses - the tautology!

My date, who until recently thought "tautology" referred to the study of tensile strengths and upon learning her mistake compensated by reading through its Wikipedia article: That would be more correctly identified as a "pleonasm".

The editor I hired to curate my posts who styles himself as a sort of scheming court advisor: My liege, this one is getting away from us. The punchline loses much of its impact when the rest of the joke is derailed by this increasingly self-indulgent meta humour. Were it up to me, your Grace, which of course it is not, I would cut the others and leave myself as the only supporting character. You need noone else, Your Majesty...

mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters

light angst, relationship with no label

masterlist

The photograph trembled faintly between your fingers not because the wind from the half-open window was strong enough to move it, no. It was because your hands would not stop shaking.

The picture had been taken months ago—carelessly candid, terribly intimate. Scaramouche stood beside you with that perpetual expression of detached arrogance painted across his sharp features, violet eyes half-lidded as though the world bored him beyond measure. Yet his hand had been around your wrist in the photograph. Gentle enough to make your chest ache.

You stared at it for far too long.

“What are we?” you whispered into the silence of your apartment.

The question sounded pathetic aloud. A relationship without a label was akin to balancing atop fraying wire—one wrong movement and everything snapped beneath your feet. There was nothing solid to grasp onto. No certainty. No promises. Only fragments of affection strewn carelessly between moments of ambiguity.

Sometimes Scaramouche treated you like you were his lover. Sometimes he treated you like you were merely convenient and the most agonizing part of it all was that you could never gather the courage to ask him which one was real because losing him altogether would be far worse than this torment.

Your thumb brushed over the glossy surface of the photograph, tracing the outline of his face. You remembered every moment with humiliating clarity.

Especially that night.

The rain had descended without warning, torrential and merciless, soaking the city in silver. You had laughed at first, sprinting beside him through crowded streets while passersby scrambled for shelter beneath awnings and convenience stores.

“Fuck,” you had wheezed between laughter, shoes splashing through puddles. “We should’ve checked the weather forecast.”

Scaramouche scoffed beside you, drenched indigo hair clinging to his face. “And carry an umbrella around like an old married couple? Absolutely not.”

Despite his words, he grabbed your hand tightly. Firmly—like it belonged there.

The memory alone made your throat tighten.

You remembered how warm his palm felt despite the freezing rain. How he kept glancing back at you with that rare smile—a real one, not the mocking smirk he wore all the time. It had transformed his entire face, softened every jagged edge until he looked devastatingly human.

“Are you cold?” he asked over the roar of rainfall.

You shook your head even though your teeth were chattering. “I’m tired of running.”

“Tch. Weak.” Yet he slowed down immediately.

The two of you ended up beneath a dimly lit bus stop, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the bench while rainwater dripped from your clothes. Your breathing was ragged from running. Scaramouche leaned back lazily, one arm stretched along the backrest behind you.

You could still remember the way he looked at you. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You could see the softness in his eyes— dangerously soft.

A strand of wet hair stuck to your cheek, and before you could move it away, his fingers brushed against your skin first. Featherlight. Reverent, almost.

Your pulse had stuttered. “Scara—”

Then he kissed you. As though he could not help himself.

The rain drowned out the sound you made against his mouth. His hand cupped your jaw while the other settled at your waist, pulling you closer with startling desperation. Cold rainwater slid down your skin, yet his lips were warm enough to make your head spin.

You remembered clutching the front of his soaked shirt while he kissed you like something starving and afterward, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing unevenly.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you named it.

Perhaps that was the beginning of everything or perhaps it was the beginning of the end.

A shaky exhale left your lips as you placed the photograph down on the table. Scaramouche was romantic in ways he would never openly admit. It existed in subtleties. In the quiet intimacy of domesticity.

Like the mornings when he was too lazy to do his eyeliner himself.

“Don’t mess it up,” he muttered one afternoon, seated lazily on the bathroom counter.

“You say that every time.” you rolled your eyes at him.

“Because you nearly poke my eye out.”

“Gosh. Why are you so dramatic”

You stood between his parted knees while carefully applying the dark liner to his eyes. He watched you through lowered lashes, expression unreadable, though his hand remained settled on your waist the entire time. Not moving. Not letting go.

Sometimes his thumb would absentmindedly rub circles against your side while you worked, and you would pretend not to notice because acknowledging it made your heart unbearably loud.

Other times, after a particularly exhausting day, you would mumble that you were too tired to cook. Scaramouche never responded with comfort outright. He was incapable of tenderness that obvious. Instead, he disappeared for half an hour and returned with takeout bags hanging from one hand.

“Eat before you pass out,” he grumbled, averting his gaze.

You nearly laughed every single time. It was always the little things.

Movie nights where you thought he was still awake beside you, only to glance down and realize he had fallen asleep against your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist instinctively, breath warm against your skin while the television flickered forgotten light across the room.

You love him.

Grocery trips where he pushed the trolley with one hand shoved into his pocket while silently placing things back whenever you said, “That’s too expensive.”

Only for you to discover them paid for later. The way he remembered your coffee order despite pretending not to care. The way he walked slightly slower whenever you were tired. The way his eyes softened—just barely—whenever you laughed too hard.

It was unbearable because people who were merely friends did not do these things.

People who loved each other did.

Yet the word remained lodged in your throat like shattered glass. You feared asking. Feared hearing uncertainty. Feared hearing rejection even more.

The front door suddenly clicked open. Scaramouche stepped inside, shrugging off his jacket with visible irritation. “The traffic was fucking horrendous.”

Then his eyes landed on you. Immediately, his expression shifted. Subtle but noticeable.

His brows furrowed faintly as he approached. “Why do you look like someone died?”

You quickly wiped beneath your eyes, only then realizing tears had gathered there. “Nothing.”

“Tch. You’re a terrible liar.” He crouched in front of the couch, violet eyes scrutinizing your face with unnerving intensity. His fingers brushed your chin upward before you could avoid him.

The gentleness nearly broke you. “Talk to me” he said quietly. “Please”

Your chest tightened painfully. You wanted to ask him. God, you wanted to.

What are we?

What am I to you?

But fear stitched your lips shut because if Scaramouche looked at you with indifference after all this time, you did not think you would survive it.

So instead, you shook your head and for once—just once—he looked almost wounded by your silence. Then, without a word, he pulled you toward him.

Your forehead pressed against his shoulder while his arms wrapped around you with startling firmness, as though he feared you might disappear if he loosened his hold.

“You think too much,” he murmured against your hair.

The irony of it nearly made you laugh because he was the reason your heart had become such a catastrophic thing in the first place. And still— still you melted into his embrace like it was home. Maybe there truly were feelings suspended by a thread neither of you dared to name.

Maybe both of you were cowards.

Or maybe this fragile, undefined thing existed because neither of you knew how to survive losing the other once words made it real.

—————————————————————————

❤️💙💛GRACEFUL💛💙❤️

There was little to do in the hour left you had to mourn. To mourn the life that was destined to end, were it not for fate then it most certainty would’ve been nature itself. This had to be fate playing a cruel hand to you and your lover. The one who’s bedside you sat besides, much older and frailer than you remember. Zandik, the only love of your life, the one you would’ve been laying with were it not for his insistence on your life to extend past that of his own. You, ageless and forever in your prime. You once stood together like that, in the prime of both of your lives. Oh, just where had the time gone? It felt like only yesterday you two were mapping out the laboratory granted to Zandik- or rather, Dottore as a Fatui Harbinger. If only time had been kinder, then maybe your partner wouldn’t be breathing as if he was expected to rather than with ease.  The decline began when the back aches began. These weren’t the usual pains Dottore would feel when stretching after a long night spent filing paperwork away, researching, and working at his desk. No, this pain was lasting. A gentle reminder for him to take care of his health better; you lectured him until he’d eventually come to rest with you. You seemed more aware of his health than he ever was, almost ironic considering he was supposed to be the doctor here. He was fifty years old at that point. Plenty of time for Dottore to consider his health seriously.  

“It’s rather late, don’t you think? I’m quite tired myself.” As if you were the harbinger himself, you simply waltzed inside at some point. If you had just arrived, he wouldn’t have known, as his work kept his attention occupied to the point of extreme focus. Most of the work given could only be oversaw by The Doctor himself. The paperwork that covered his desk spoke enough in its own sheer volume.  

“Which begs the question as to why you are here yourself, my dear.” Your retort came quickly, as expected of someone of your diligence. “Don’t turn this around on me, Zandik. I expect you to be in bed at least twice a week.” The faintest sound of a hum emitted from the Harbinger. “You would rather have me tonight than tomorrow?” Never had he outright declined you regarding this arrangement you had set for the two of you. It had begun as more of a compromise, now it had turned into its own rule.    Your approach came from behind, arms wrapped around his neck as if to pull him into a rest just with your touch alone. If only you’d stay like this for a bit longer, he quite liked the feeling. 

It wasn’t long before the Doctor would be in bed with you. 

Now, was seeing Zandik with gray hairs common? Of course, he was often stressed due to his responsibilities as a Harbinger. It was no surprise to you or him, it was however a notable sight to see his light locks begin turning less blue and more muted. You acknowledged then exactly what it told, it was his age showing. After decades, it seems his age was becoming more obvious by the years that passed in handful. Neither of you lamented on this, it would be unnecessarily consuming for the time you two had left.  

Initially you had been insistent on aging on with him. It felt disturbing to know your beloved Zandik was going to eventually leave you sooner rather than later. The endless march of death seemed more of a bother than an inevitability, you would’ve been just fine to die right with him. As sad as it may sound, you did not have anyone but him. Zandik, likewise, had nobody else other than you. Though Pantalone was a good friend, his closest, there was only one person like you who fit into the slot of his organic heart.  

You two only had each other, which worked now and especially back in the akademiya. To lose him would be losing a part of yourself you had never learned to let go, regardless of his actions and deeds you never once planned to abandon him. Yet now you were faced with the difficult decision of needing to live on for him. Eventually you would find the will to live on for yourself, but that would take a while, maybe forever if you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge your own pains.  

It was within your best interest to focus on other matters that would not cause you stress or headaches. Omega had said, almost insisted really, while attempting to console you. You chose to not bring the topic up to him thereafter.  

The sight of Zandik, now so frail, so utterly aged. He looked too human to resemble the monster his village swore him to be, laid like this. Eighty years old, much older now. He didn’t quite resemble the Doctor you knew, it almost seemed as if that rigid scholar you knew back in the akademiya had returned in a way, though not with the energy and youth. It was more so his overall behavior.  

He was far less reserved with his mannerism, though he needed assistance to get around now, which you happily aided him in. There was a light that wasn’t there before, a flickering one at that, still there, nonetheless. When he began using a wheelchair was when you’d take him on walks throughout the lab or around Zapolyarny Palace. Those walks were nice, you’d like to think he enjoyed them as much as you did. Though you weren’t quite sure he enjoyed the walks for himself, he seemed to always be looking your way. As if there was a view he just couldn’t miss, not even for the dimming world around him.  

You, ever unchanging even after so many years. Even if you had chosen to leave this world alongside him, the odds of you changing then were almost close to none. You truly were a constant, the variable he never foresaw. A variable he’d never trade not even for the world.  

“I think it’s time we head to your room. I’ll have Eta visit you later, he has a lot of drawings to show you.” Though he didn’t respond, he nodded his head at your words. A smile dawned your expression at that, you needn’t for a response anyway.  

Then came the day you had to say goodbye to Zandik, for the last time.  

His health began to rapidly decline around a year ago, the segments showed no outward care for the old man’s health, only the status of his being. While you did adore the segments, you couldn’t help but feel a certain type of way at their apathy. It was almost staggering how little they did for Zandik, their own creator, in his time of need. Your spouse was dying, yet not even the versions of himself could bring themselves to care unless there was a new change to observe.  

Truly, you loved them. You really did, but right now it was hard to bring yourself around them, especially the younger segments. They were less reserved than their older counterparts, which made their crude comments all the more hurtful. While their efforts to keep quiet when you were around were appreciated, it was blatantly obvious when the room would fall silent when you entered that they were talking about him. Just what plans did they have for his body after he was gone? Did they even care enough to think about that? The thought of burying Zandik made you feel nauseous. Could you even bring yourself to remove his body?  

Those thoughts rummaged through your head, burying themselves within the deepest cracks of your mind, all while you walked beside Omega. Your distress may have been too prevalent throughout your walk to Zandik’s room, you really couldn’t hide your pain anymore.  

“The option to turn back now would bear no consequences, I will have you aware, █████.” Neither of you stopped, simply slowed the pace of which you walked. His tone was as easy as his words, which sounded far too hard for you to even consider. Much less think about, just how could he say such a thing? “His conscious is hardly there.” “Even so, Zandik still needs me, Omega.” Nothing changed in the segment's expression, his face as unreadable as his intention. Loyalty was a trait of which you wore like a badge and extended to those you cared for so eagerly. Your loyalty or care was not a question. “If that is your decision, my dear.” 

Now you were here, by his side as you always had been. He wasn’t awake, he needed as much rest as possible these days. Though he was not awake or could hear your words, his hearing was also one of the many things his decline had tainted, you still spoke. “It’s just... not fair.” then it began, the downpour of your emotions rushing in all at once, like a crashing current forcing you to let it out. The heat to your face and blurring of your eyes were overwhelming, as was the breaking of your heart. Taking ahold of his hand felt nice, despite how brittle and unfamiliar they were now. His hands were the only ones you would ever want to feel in the palm of your own. “...I'm sorry, I’m so sorry-” Apologies came as if they were owed and, in a way, they were, just not from you.  

There would be no goodbyes left unsaid. Stories came so naturally through broken cords. The squeezes to his hand were the most you could do to let him know even in his rest that you were here, that you would not leave his side until it was necessary. If only the world had been kinder, then maybe you two would have been happier. The future had never looked so bleak until now.  

Unfortunately, by the time you’d return to his room by morning to see him, just one more time. Omega would have already told you he was gone.