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sunni-stuff · 2 days ago

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Adira and Mama have always celebrated valentines together. And now we have Simon, who in addition to wanting to create a connection with Adira, he also wants to recreate that "love" with Mom. So, this Valentine's Day, Simon and Adira team up to give Mom a wonderful gift!

Valentine’s Day.

The holiday where people got all sappy, handed out cards, and smothered their significant others with roses and kisses. The streets would be painted in shades of red and pink, filled with the bustling energy of couples trying to outdo each other with grand romantic gestures.

But for you, Valentine’s Day had always been about something else. Since Adira was born, it became a tradition to celebrate the love of your life in your own way. You didn’t need a partner to make the day meaningful; you had her. Every year, you’d gift her a small box of her favorite chocolates—indulgent, sweet pieces she’d greedily munch on, leaving her cheeks smeared with chocolate and her gummy grin brighter than the sun.

You couldn’t help but remember the memory of how Adira’s love affair with that brand of chocolate started. Godiva Gold Collection—an unnecessarily expensive, fancy brand that had somehow become her favorite. You still had the box that started it all, tucked away in the closet of keepsakes, its shiny gold lid a time capsule of an unexpected moment from your early days at the daycare.

It was your first Valentine’s Day as an assistant, back before you had your own class. You’d been trying to keep a low profile, just another cog in the machine, but one of the dads had made that impossible. For weeks, he’d been flirting with you, persistent in a way that made you roll your eyes more than blush. Day in and day out, he’d linger a little too long during drop-offs or pick-ups, throwing out compliments like confetti. It was harmless enough, but you never entertained it beyond polite smiles.

That Valentine’s Day, though, he decided to up the ante. Strolling in with his daughter on one arm and an elaborate, glittering box of chocolates in the other, he sauntered over to you with the confidence of a man who thought he’d already won.

“I thought you might like these,” he said, handing you the Godiva box with a grin that was probably meant to be charming but mostly came off smug. “Figured you deserved a little something for always being so amazing.”

You took the box graciously, murmuring a polite thank-you. And that’s when the moment turned unexpectedly sweet.

Before you could even process the interaction, a tiny figure toddled into the room—Adira, barely one year old, her chubby legs carrying her as fast as they could toward you. Her little hand stretched up, fingers opening and closing in that unmistakable signal: I want.

You smiled at her, heart melting as it always did. “Of course, little fox,” you murmured, placing the box carefully in her hands. She hugged it to her chest with the kind of pure joy that only a child could muster, her little fingers already fumbling with the lid.

The dad’s confident grin faltered as he watched the scene unfold. His brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait… You give chocolate to all the kids here? Isn’t that, uh, bad for them?” He gestured awkwardly toward Adira, who had now plopped herself onto the floor, fully engrossed in her mission to open the box.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood back up. “No, I don’t give chocolate to all the kids,” you said, your tone gentle but firm. “Adira’s mine.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you watched as the realization dawned on him. His eyes widened, darting between you and Adira as if trying to piece together a puzzle he hadn’t even realized was in front of him.

“She’s… yours?” he asked, incredulous.

You nodded, glancing down at Adira, who had successfully pried the box open and was now holding a truffle in her tiny hands like it was a treasure. “Yep. My daughter,” you said, pride evident in your voice. “She’s the reason I started working here, actually. Thought it’d be a good way to balance work and being there for her.”

The man’s face turned an odd shade of red, and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. He had assumed, just like so many others, that you were childless and ready to play along with his flirtations. But you weren’t. And that, in some small way, felt like a victory.

“Oh. Wow. I didn’t realize,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I, uh, thought you were single. And… you know, childless.”

“Nope,” you said with a small laugh. “Very much a mom.”

He began backing toward the door with an apologetic smile. “Right, well… I should get going. My daughter’s probably waiting for me. Happy Valentine’s Day!” And just like that, he was gone.

Wasn't he holding his daughter?

His swift retreat had you chuckling even as you turned your attention back to Adira, who was now blissfully munching on her stolen treasure. She looked up at you, her grin wide and sticky, chocolate clinging to her growing pearly whites.

“Yum!” she declared, holding up another piece as if offering it to you.

Now, every Valentine’s Day, when you handed her a new box, she’d squeal with glee, just like she did when she was a baby. And every time, it reminded you why you didn’t need flowers, cards, or romantic gestures to make the day special.

Adira was your Valentine. She always had been, and she always would be.

Valentine’s Day had arrived once again, painting the streets with an abundance of roses, teddy bears, and couples hand in hand. The air was charged with the energy of love—or at least, that’s how the advertisements made it seem.

For you, it was a different story. As a single parent, Valentine's Day didn’t come with the same excitement. Instead, it was a quiet reminder of the love you shared with Adira—the kind of love that didn't need gifts or fancy dinners. You had your own little celebration planned with her at home, but first, there was work.

The daycare was closing early that day, giving most of the staff the chance to spend time with their partners. But for the rest of you—those without a special someone—it was business as usual. The meeting, something about the upcoming budgets for the year, was mandatory.

As you wrapped up your workday, you felt a twinge of guilt. Adira wouldn’t have the patience to wait while you sat through the meeting. She never did, and today wasn’t going to be any different. So, in a bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision, you called Simon. He was more than happy to help, even though the idea of being with Adira all afternoon seemed like a challenge. Still, he was eager to do what he could, giving you time to get through the meeting without worrying.

Unbeknownst to you, your apartment was currently in a state of complete disarray.

It all started when Simon, while rummaging through the pantry for snacks, stumbled upon a familiar gold box tucked in the corner. He didn’t know why the sight of the Godiva box stirred something in him, but it did. For a split second, his mind conjured up the idea that you had someone special—someone who’d given you the overpriced chocolate. His stomach twisted at the thought.

Why did that bother him? It wasn’t like he had any claim over you. You were just co-parenting. But still, the idea of some other guy swooping in and winning you over with fancy chocolates rubbed him the wrong way.

The thought simmered in the back of his mind until he turned to Adira, who was running around, triumphantly waving around her Barbie head like a trophy . An idea formed, one that made the edges of his frown soften into something more determined.

“How about we make your mom something special?” he proposed, crouching down to her level.

Adira’s eyes lit up, her face brightening with an enthusiastic grin. “Yeah! Special for Mommy!” She bounced to her feet, already brimming with elation.

“Alright, lass,” he said, ruffling her hair. “We’ll need a plan. Let’s get to work.”

By the time thirty minutes had passed, your apartment was barely recognizable. Flour dusted nearly every surface, glitter and scraps of colorful paper were strewn across the living room, and the faint smell of something slightly burnt wafted from the kitchen. Simon was in over his head.

He had underestimated two things: the sheer mess a three-year-old could create when left unchecked and the complexity of trying to bake cookies with said three-year-old as his assistant.

His phone laid on the counter, a lifeline to Gaz, who had graciously agreed to walk him through baking cookies. "Alright, I’ve got the dough… I think. What’s next?” he asked, glancing at the slightly lumpy mixture in the bowl.

On the other end of the line, Gaz chuckled. “Mate, it shouldn’t look like that. Did you actually measure the ingredients, or did you just eyeball it?”

Simon huffed, frustration bubbling as he wiped a streak of flour off his cheek. “I followed the recipe! Mostly. Adira added her own… interpretations.”

As if on cue, Adira, perched on a stool beside him, giggled mischievously, her tiny hands gripping the now-empty container of sprinkles. She enthusiastically dumped half of it into the bowl, sending a white puff into the air. She giggled uncontrollably as flour settled into her hair, making her look like a tiny ghost.

“Looks funny!” she declared, wiping her flour-dusted hands on his sleeve.

Simon groaned, but he couldn’t suppress the chuckle that followed. “Yeah, you look like you’ve been rolling around in snow.” Glancing at the concoction they were making, pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself, “This is a disaster.”

“Oi, it’s not a disaster,” Gaz chimed in, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “You’ve just got… a creative helper. Roll with it. Kids love messy projects.”

As they moved on to rolling out the dough, Adira decided to take charge of the cookie cutters. She pressed them into the dough with all the strength her tiny hands could muster, creating wobbly fox shapes that were more abstract than symmetrical. “For Mommy!” she declared with each press, her little voice full of pride.

Simon’s heart softened at her excitement. Despite the chaos, she was having the time of her life, and he couldn’t deny that it was… fun, in a strange, messy sort of way.

“Alright, Gaz,” Simon said, propping the phone closer to his ear as he picked up a cookie sheet. “What temperature do I need to set the oven at?”

“Preheat it to 350. And keep an eye on those cookies—you don’t want them to burn.”

“Got it,” Simon replied, sliding the tray into the oven.

While the cookies were “baking” (a generous term for the mess he’d shoved into the oven), Simon pulled out some paper, markers, and glitter he’d found in your supply cabinet. Adira jumped in eagerly, grabbing a red marker to scribble a heart on a piece of paper.

“Mommy likes red,” she informed him with absolute certainty, her tongue poking out in concentration as she drew wobbly shapes.

“Aye, red it is,” Simon agreed, his own hands now dusted with glitter as he helped her glue a few sparkly hearts onto the card. “We’ll make it the prettiest card she’s ever seen.”

By the time the cookies were done, the kitchen was a disaster zone, glitter was everywhere, and Simon had flour smeared across his cheek. Adira was thrilled, though, holding up her homemade card with pride.

Simon pulled the cookies out of the oven, sighing in relief when they actually looked halfway decent. Adira gasped in delight, clapping her flour-dusted hands together.

“They’re perfect,” she declared, though one cookie was clearly missing a chunk where she’d snuck a bite of the dough earlier.

Simon chuckled, ruffling her hair. “You’re right, they’re perfect.”

By the time you got home, the chaos was still evident—scraps of paper littered the floor, flour smudged on the counters, and a sticky trail of frosting led to the living room. But in the middle of it all were Simon and Adira, sitting at the table with the slightly wonky cookies and a handmade card, waiting for you with proud grins on their faces.

"Happy Valentine’s Day, Mommy!” Adira exclaimed, jumping up to present you with her card.

Your heart melted at the sight, the mess fading into the background as you took in the scene before you. This wasn’t what you’d expected, but it was perfect.

Your voice caught in your throat as you held up the card Adira had made. The inside was adorned with little foxes, and the words scribbled across the page were a mix of Simon’s careful handwriting and Adira’s wobbly, childlike scrawl. The sentence read: “Call me Swiper because I’ve stolen your heart.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your chest tightening at the sight of it. The card was so simple, yet so heartfelt. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered love from the two people who had, in their own way, quietly wormed their way into your heart.

"You guys did all this…?" Your voice a little shaky, as you looked from the card to Simon and Adira, who were both sitting proudly at the table. Simon had flour on his cheek, and Adira’s face was a picture of joy, her hands covered in frosting and sprinkles. It was clear they’d both put their all into this little surprise.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin on his face as he shrugged. “Well, Adira here had the idea. I just... tried not to burn the cookies.”

Adira giggled, holding up one of the cookies as if it were a trophy. It was slightly misshapen, with sprinkles all over it, but it didn’t matter. It was perfect in its imperfection. “Mommy, for you!” she exclaimed, her voice full of pride.

Your eyes softened, your heart swelling with love and something else you couldn’t quite place—appreciation, gratitude, maybe even a little awe. The moment was small, yet so significant.

“Thank you, Adira,” you whispered softly, your heart swelling as you knelt down to scoop her up into a hug. She squirmed in your arms, giggling as she wrapped her tiny arms around your neck, her little fingers gripping your hair with an uncoordinated but tender affection.

Simon stood back, watching the two of you with a quiet smile. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face was enough. He was content, knowing he’d been part of this moment.

“This is the best Valentine’s Day gift ever,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple as she squished her cheek against yours, still grinning ear to ear.

Simon hesitated for a moment, a twinge of uncertainty crossing his face as he stood there watching the tender scene. He knew he wasn’t quite there yet, not in the way you and Adira had been all this time. He was a part of this moment, but he still wasn’t sure exactly where he fit in. His eyes flickered between you, your outstretched arms, and the small bundle of joy that was his daughter, so full of love and happiness—it made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t ignore.

But then, your words cut through the haze of his hesitation. "Why are you just standing there?"

You were smiling, the playful hint of a challenge in your eyes, but there was something more in your voice too—an invitation. You didn’t have to say anything else; it was in the way you held out your arms, in the way you pulled him in with your gaze.

Simon took a slow, steadying breath, his heart beating a little faster. He moved forward, tentative at first, before lowering himself to kneel beside you both. Adira giggled as he wrapped his arms around the two of you, her laughter echoing in the warm air of the apartment. He wasn’t just trying to fit into a place anymore. He carved one out for himself—right there, with you and Adira. And that, more than anything, felt like home.

It wasn’t the romantic, picture-perfect Valentine’s Day you’d imagined in the past, but it was better. It was real. It was messy, sweet, and full of love. The kind of love that came in small, beautiful moments like these.

And for the first time in a long while, you realized that maybe this was exactly how it was supposed to be.

A/N: I just wanna say rq, I appreciate the love AND to the anon who sent this, your brain needs to be kissed. I said I wasn't gonna do long fics as often but this was too juicy to pass up. Thank you!

ALSO, pls yall don't have to send me asks to be on the taglist! If you comment I'll add u!

TAGLIST: @pipedream411 @ficcharsimp009 @frogofrg @loonagabs @lunamoonbby @vixenshiftsvrs @devoetee @shorty-tolentino @aethelwyneleigh27 @ayesha-eroticax3 @julesjuminos @tacticalgirlboss @teenagellamaangel @gifted-aurora @awildewit @emilia527 @danielle143 @maniacalbooper @t3a-bag @sockertop @arrozyfrijoles23 @azaleapeachberry @terry2227 @rip-cod-brainrot @montenegroisr @sweetheartturtle2007 @hepprine @kodokunarisu-blog

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #cod x reader #simon riley #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #singlemom!reader #we meet again #sunshine sunni

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copperbadge · 1 day ago

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Sam, how on earth did you get permabanned from tinder and okcupid? That seems like such a random thing!

I'm still not entirely sure; I have a theory, and Tinder gave me an indication, but by policy they don't tell people why they've been banned. Which I can understand, if someone reported you for bad behavior they don't want you to know or suspect who.

For me it was very weird. I'd had accounts with both before but had deleted them so I needed to reregister. When I registered for Tinder they kept making me verify I was real in different ways, like some weird escalating scale of identity. At last they had me take a real specific picture, and then I got an email saying I could not prove I was real to their satisfaction, and that I was permabanned. I never even interacted with anyone on the app.

But there are plenty of apps, so I went to okcupid a few days later and while they didn't SAY Tinder tattled to them, they immediately denied and permabanned me when I put in my phone number. I can only suppose they talked. They're both owned by the same company, so it tracks.

Most dating apps are owned by one or two companies, they're just formulated differently for different tastes/wants. What's funny is that I'm on at least one other app owned by Match Group and that one, Hinge, is totally fine with me. So idk.

The post office also didn't believe my address was real for the first few years I tried to register for their postal Letters to Santa giving program. I still can't get delivery meals that don't go badly awry. It's enough to give a guy a complex, but honestly I never felt good or comfortable on those two apps anyway so it might be for my own good. Having been on different ones now, I genuinely think OKCupid is one of the more toxic apps in this sphere, purely because it markets itself so specifically to people looking for authenticity but doesn't really foster it. A lot of other apps at least don't pretend they aren't meat markets.

I've had to approach dating apps in general as hostile places, simply because the level of harm they inflict for someone with RSD is so high. I don't blame the other users, but the apps themselves are structured so that you can, for example, see all the people who didn't think you were date material, but have to pay to see people who thought you were. Being radically honest about who I am and what I want has been helpful because I expect a much higher rejection rate from that, so I'm braced for it, but it's still not fun. On the other hand, this is the first try where I've made meaningful connections that have resulted in real dates. Breakfast Date, who I met on Hinge, has been really hot and fun, and Museum Date, who I met on eHarmony, is an ongoing exercise in hilarity (sexy hilarity) so for the first time it's worth it. And I don't think that would have been the case on OKCupid.

#sam dates

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whipped-for-kpop-fics · 2 days ago

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Naive - L.C

💡Who: Lee Chan (Seventeen) x female reader 💡What: Best friends to ??? Angst. Thriller. Soft moments. Dark themes (please check warnings). 18+ 💡Word count: 11.5k 💡Warnings: Profanity. Stalking. Nonconsensual voyeurism. Nonconsensual photos. Cheating. Major injury (Not Chan or reader). Mentions of a car accident. Mentions of sexual harassment. Mentions of panic attacks and almost panic attacks. No smut, but suggestive content, some dirty talk and mentions of sexual acts. Very morally dark character. Drugging. Kidnapping. Restraints. Chan calls reader angel a lot (mostly because I don’t wanna use y/n), and baby in the second half.

Summary: Breakups are always painful, but at least you have your best friend by your side to make everything better. Right?

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- I know nothing about flower meanings, it all came straight from Wikipedia so don't blame me for inaccurate meanings, it's just a fic.

“It’s okay, he’s in the past, he’s not worth your tears,” your best friend soothes as you cry into his chest for the third night in a row.

“I-I should’ve li-listened to you,” you sob, gripping his t-shirt tighter and curling up smaller.

“It doesn’t matter now; what matters is you ended it and never have to deal with that asshole again.”

“A-asshole is too kind.”

Chan chuckles and tilts his head against the top of your head yet says nothing more and simply continues to hold you until you run out of tears for your cheating, pervert of an ex-boyfriend. Proving once again that Lee Chan is the only man you can ever trust to be good and honest.

Over a year ago, you met Lee Chan while in the gardening section of the bookstore. It was a cliché romcom moment where you both reached for the same book and your hands met before your eyes did. He smiled at you with a soft little chuckle and said something like “guess we both want to know what Victorian people thought flowers meant”, which somehow led to you both buying a copy of the book on the Victorian language of flowers to take to the nearby coffee shop with the intention of reading side by side. Though very little reading happened, and you found yourself sitting there with Chan for hours; laughing and talking as if you’ve known one another for years. It was like he was made to be the other half of you, designed with only you in mind.

At first, you thought maybe it was true; that Chan was your romantic soulmate. But you were seeing someone else at the time and pushed the thought of Chan being anything but platonic entirely out of your mind.

It’s a year and multiple failed relationships later, while you’re out shopping on a rare day off, that something changes.

“What do you think of this one?” Chan asks, drawing your attention to where he’s a few racks away donned in the black, leather biker jacket he just found on the men’s sale rack.

“Oh,” you murmur, suddenly hit with the realisation that your best friend is ridiculously attractive.

It’s not that you’ve ever thought Chan is ugly; in fact, you first paid attention to him in the bookstore past a glance because of how handsome he is. But that was over a year ago and your thoughts have never moved on from considering him the same kind of beautiful as you would a piece of art that you see in a store, yet easily move on past without looking back.

Yet now, you’ve noticed and suddenly can’t draw your eyes away from him.

“Hello?” Chan laughs, waving his arms to bring you back to reality when you do nothing more than stare at him for almost a full minute. “You alright? Getting hungry?” He pouts at you teasingly. “Does the baby need num nums?”

“I hate it when you say that” you remind and stick your middle finger up at him, making him laugh while you turn back to the sale rack you had been looking through.

“I know, why do you think I say it?” He cackles and bounces over to prod you and gain your attention back. “You didn’t say what you think? Do I look sexy?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you while posing in the jacket. “Should I get it?”

“Yeah,” you answer with a nod after taking his body in once more and turning away.

“Was that yes to getting it, or that I look sexy?” He murmurs from suddenly behind you with his mouth right by your ear. You jolt in surprise having not heard him approach, then turn to whack his arm while he cracks up laughing. “You think I’m sexyyy!” He sings loudly, just to annoy you.

“Why are we best friends again?”

“I took pity on you and your bad taste in men.” He definitely deserves the hit this time, even if he’s right.

Ever since you’ve known Chan, you’ve had nothing but terrible luck with picking men to date. You always think they’re okay at first, but then the red flags start popping up and begin waving manically in the hot air spewing from their mouths.

You really thought you had run out of bad luck and finally picked a good one with your ex. He was kind and endlessly attractive; a hard worker, yet always made time for fun and relaxation; and his parents loved you.

It lasted a whole seven months before you found another woman’s underwear in his car, and you realised you should’ve listened to Chan’s gut feeling about Kyle from the start. Finding a stack of polaroids of various women getting changed when you were emptying his apartment of your belongings that same night only made the heartache worse. Not only did he cheat on you, but he also likes to take photos of unsuspecting women through windows and cracked doors.

Upon turning your back on him three weeks ago, you decided to give up on men and always listen to Chan’s gut instincts from now on.

You don’t need a boyfriend; you just need your best friend.

Just when you’re about to leave your apartment building to meet with Chan for lunch one day, you come face to face with your ex. He looks, frankly put, like shit. He used to be so well put together, never to an obsessive degree but he was always well rested and tidy, but now he looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in at least two days with his hair sticking up a little as if he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. He’s still wearing nice clothes, but they’re creased, and his shoes aren’t even properly tied.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss while glaring at the man and trying to step past him, but he gets in your path with his hands held up placatingly; he even doesn’t attempt to touch you or get in your personal space.

Vaguely, you think how weird it is of him to respect that boundary yet have polaroids of you half naked in the changing room at your gym. A completely separate gym to the one he frequents too, which somehow makes it even worse; that he went so far out of his way to take the photos you never consented to.

“I just want to talk to you, please? Just a few minutes and I’ll go, and you’ll never see me again,” he pleads. The genuine desperation in his eyes makes you relent and nod. “Can we go somewhere a little less public? I’m not asking to go somewhere isolated, just not the middle of the building lobby.”

Again, you relent and move to the side of the lobby out of the light foot traffic; still perfectly in sight of others yet far enough away to have a private conversation.

“Thank you,” he breathes out gratefully and relaxes a little as you lean one shoulder against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest.

“What is it? I’m going to be late to meet Chan.”

“Right, how is he?”

“Good, it’s Chan. He’s always good.” The words are a little pointed, designed to hurt, and the way his features flinch at the jab sends a little surge of satisfaction into you. Though there’s something in you aching at that same hurt in his eyes; it looks too real.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” he agrees softly, and you hum. “So uh, I just…I can’t stop thinking about what happened.”

“Cheating on me or taking photos of women without their consent?” You question, glaring again at the reminder of why you want nothing to do with this man before you. This pathetic, sad eyed, mess of a man.

It’s funny how far he’s fallen in so little time. Strange how a man who cheated on you in the backseat of the same car he often pulled you into with shared giggles, can break so much at being called out on his misdeeds.

You really thought he would just move on to the next conquest and forget all about you for good, just like he did while with the other woman. Or women. You never asked how many there were.

Yet the man before you doesn’t seem to have moved on at all.

“I didn’t do either of those things,” he repeats the words he had said to you a little over a month ago. You didn’t believe him then; you were so full of anger and betrayal as you tried to cradle the pieces of your shattered heart and hoped he hadn’t stolen any of the pieces leaving you unable to stitch it back together again.

Now that you’ve let go of most of your anger and Chan has helped you in putting the pieces back together to the point that your heart is almost whole and healing, you can see through the pain and tears and notice that this man in front of you looks genuine. He’s looking at you without any attempt to look aside or shrink away. He isn’t hiding.

“I found underwear in your car Kyle,” you point out, holding your ground even if you suddenly realise that something here doesn’t feel right. “And those photos in your apartment.”

“I know, I know, and I’ve been trying to figure out how the fuck they got there because it wasn’t me.”

“You live alone and don’t share your car.”

“I know!” He exclaims, hands flying up in frustration, though it doesn’t feel like it’s aimed at you, especially as he steps back to make certain that he doesn’t accidentally hit you. Kyle’s always been considerate like that; always made sure to give you a wide berth when he flung his arms around in play or frustration. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be a cheating pervert. A man can be against physically harming his partner and still betray their trust so deeply.

“Then only you could’ve put them there.”

“No, no, I didn’t though,” he steps closer while lifting his hands between you, though he brings them to his own chest instead of touching you. “Look me in the eye and tell me I have ever done a thing to make you think I would cheat on you or take photos without consent. I never even asked you for pictures; you were the one who offered and asked if you could send me pictures months into our relationship.”

The thing is, he’s right. Although you did have sex regularly and he would send you dirty texts when he was in the mood, Kyle never asked for nudes. You had to be the one to bring it up and ask if he was against that kind of thing.

Now that he brings it up, you can vividly recall him telling you that does enjoy nudes and would certainly enjoy seeing photos of you like that, but he also knows how dangerous they can be to send and receive because of hacking, losing phones or breaking up. He had been so genuine about it and triple checked that you were comfortable with it entirely before giving you consent to send him photos whenever you wanted.

“You had those polaroids, you didn’t need me to send you any,” you reason in a mumble. You don’t even know if you believe what you’re saying at this point, or if you’re just trying to explain the behaviour away. Something isn’t sitting right in you.

“Why would I want polaroids of random women I don’t even know when I have you?” He asks, eyes silently begging you to understand.

“There were photos of me too,” you answer.

“What?” He frowns confusedly. “I didn’t see those, just the top ones before you took them all away.”

“You know I was in there, at the gym changing rooms.”

“I’ve never been anywhere near your gym!” He puts his face in his hands. “I don’t understand what the fuck is going on. I swear I have never been to your gym.” He looks at you imploringly as his hands drop. “And you know I keep my car clean, there’s no way I would’ve failed to notice that underwear; so if I did cheat on you, do you really think I’d miss the evidence and leave them somewhere you’d see them?”

You open your mouth to retort automatically, only to realise there isn’t a single word ready to roll off your tongue. He’s making far too much sense and that doesn’t make sense.

He cheated on you. He’s a pervert who takes photos of unsuspecting women in vulnerable situations. He’s a terrible person.

At least, you thought he was.

Maybe Chan is right and you’re just naïve when faced with a handsome man giving you big puppy dog eyes.

“I need to go,” you decide after a few long moments of trying to form some kind of reaction other than staring at him with furrowed brows. “Chan’s waiting.”

“Right,” Kyle lets out a disappointed sigh, yet nods resignedly and steps back as if giving you space to leave. He hadn’t been in your way in the first place but it’s a silent sign that he won’t try to stop you. “I guess I can’t say anything else to convince you that I didn’t do those things, and I never would. I…I wanted to marry you, you know?”

“What?” You whisper in shock, eyebrows lifting as your eyes turn wide. “Marry me?”

“Yeah,” he lets out a soft, humourless laugh and runs one hand through his hair while looking aside, a shy flush creeping onto his neck and ears. “I was in love with you.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, well, no, actually, that’s a lie.” He looks at you and catches the way your face falls into a frown hearing him admitting to lying to your face like that. “I’m still so fucking in love with you that I can’t function properly knowing you hate me. I’m not asking you to come back to me; I know that won’t happen. I’m just…asking you to really think about it, about us, and me. I never lied to you, never showed you a false me. You know me better than anyone else. Do you really believe I did those things?”

“What took you so long?” Chan pouts at you when you sit down in your usual seat opposite him at your usual table in your usual café. “Angel?”

“Uh, so Kyle was at my apartment,” you inform, picking up your mug that’s been waiting for you for ten minutes already thanks to Chan always ordering for you both. Usually you arrive minutes before your food and drinks arrive, but today you’re late for the first time.

“What?” Chan’s face drops so drastically it throws you off for a second. You’ve never seen such a dark expression on him; you’ve never seen him so entirely void of any light. He doesn’t look like your best friend. “Your apartment? Did he force himself in? Did he hurt you?”

“No, no, I meant the lobby and no, he’s never hurt me. He wouldn’t do that.”

“He cheated on you, took fucking creeper shots of you in your gym and you think he’s above putting his hands on you?” He scoffs, shaking his head a little and pushes the salt across the table to you. You hadn’t asked for it, but you will before you start eating.

He’s always doing thoughtful little things like that for you, but you’ve never really noticed it until the last weeks. Silently noticing what you need and giving it to you with a smile.

But he’s not smiling now. He looks concerned now, rounded eyes locked on you and head tilted down a little as he frowns, almost looking at you through his eyelashes. “I don’t want to be mean or anything, but he fooled you before, angel, he’s clearly trying to do it again. I don’t know what he said to you, but you’ve got that lost look you get when you don’t know what to do.”

“He made good points, Channie,” you reply as you salt your fries before putting the shaker down. Chan doesn’t even look at it past a quick glance before sliding it back to its home out of the way.

“What good points could he have for cheating on you?”

“He said he didn’t do it-” Chan sighs heavily, cutting you off.

“Angel, he said that before, remember? Why do you suddenly believe that piece of shit?”

“Because…he looked honest.”

Chan stares at you for a moment before he sighs and reaches over to hold your hands. “I say this with all the love in me, but you’re not the best judge of character, angel. You’re naïve, innocent. I love that you see the good in the world and everyone, really, I fucking love it; it’s really sweet and cute. But it’s going to get you hurt all over again if you let him fool you like this.”

You look down at your hands in Chan’s, then back up at his face. His gaze is entirely open; big eyes and soft, naturally pouting lips. Your heart skips a beat.

You look away while nodding in understanding, silently telling him that you’re listening to him as you free your hands so that you can pick up your fork.

“Good, I really don’t want to see you hurt again like that. It broke my heart,” Chan says, relaxing as he picks up his own fork to stab too many fries onto the prongs, which he then points at you. “If you break my heart again like that, I’m stealing your TV.”

“My TV?” You sputter in surprise before laughing. Chan grins around the too many fries in his mouth and nods. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me though,” he sings around his mouthful while stabbing more fries.

Even with the view of his partially chewed food in his mouth, you can’t really deny it.

“No! Stop it!” You giggle while trying to block Chan from entering your kitchen behind you. “It’s not ready!”

“Just tell me what you’re doing!” He replies, laughing along with you as he tries to dart around you.

“Not yet! Just wait, you impatient shit!”

“No!” He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you away from the doorway and spin you both, so his back is to the kitchen now instead of yours. “Ha!”

“No!” You gasp and reach out, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt and in a panic, you yank him closer harshly, unintentionally making him stumble into you.

“Shit, are you okay?” He worries once you’re both steady and he’s holding your upper arms to nudge you back just enough that he can look at your face. You’re frowning, though he can only see your furrowed eyebrows thanks to your hand being over most of the bottom half of your face to cup your nose as his shoulder had collided with it. “Oh, did I hurt you?”

“Asshole,” you murmur while nodding, even if it doesn’t hurt that much; you just honestly like being doted on by your best friend to the extent that you are willing to play up minor injuries to gain his gentle touch and attention.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he apologises, frowning at you as he carefully tugs your hand down. “Let Doctor Channie see.”

“You’d be a terrible doctor,” you reply, moving your hand down to let him cup your face so that he can tilt your head into the light coming in through the windows and see your features better.

“What? I’d be great!” He defends, pouting at you offendedly.

“You thought the uvula is what you pee from.”

“It’s not my fault!” He blushes a little at the reminder of his innocent mix up. “Nobody told me that dangly thing isn’t tonsils! And the pee pipe thingy starts with a U too!”

“Urethra.”

“Exactly, they’re so similar! They should name them differently. Anyway, that doesn’t mean anything, I’d still be a good doctor.”

“Yeah, until you try to catheter someone’s throat.” His expression turns unimpressed, and you can’t help but giggle. He rolls his eyes as his lips turn up into a smile.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs, turning his attention back to your slightly red nose.

“Mm, so what’s the verdict doc?” You tease, poking at his stomach and trying not to focus on the physical reminder that your best friend has abs under his baggy clothes.

“I think you’ll be okay with the right treatment.”

“And what treatment is that?”

“The best thing for a boo-boo,” he replies seriously, and then visibly nearly breaks into a laugh at the almost glare you land on him. “What?”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Yes you are. My baby,” he coos and taps his thumbs to your cheeks. You hope he doesn’t see or feel the way they warm at his words. “I specialise in baby angels, I know this.”

“You’re seriously ridiculous.”

“Mm, so, are you consenting to Doctor Channie’s effective boo-boo treatment?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t told me what it is yet.”

“You know what the treatment for a boo-boo is, angel,” he chuckles and tilts forward to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “Like that.”

“I didn’t consent to that treatment, I can sue you,” you mumble, trying to distract from the growing pink on your cheeks. Chan’s eyes glide over your features, lips turning up into a soft smile. “Stop smiling at me like that!” You whine, slapping his waist so gently that it can’t even be classed at a slap, more like you’re just putting your hands on his waist with a little force.

“But you’re so fucking cute,” he reasons, smiling wider. “My cute baby,” he murmurs lowly and brushes his nose against yours gently. Your breath hitches at the tender action while your fingers curl reflexively to loosely grip his t-shirt. “Do I have consent to administer treatment, angel?” He whispers, lips so close to yours that you can almost feel them moving as he talks.

“I…” Just as you start to nod, your phone starts to ring in the kitchen, making you jump in surprise and jolt away from Chan in a natural reaction to the unexpected noise. “I should get that.”

“Right,” Chan mutters, dropping his arms to his side with a disappointed frown as he watches you scoot around him to enter the kitchen.

When you pick up your phone from the counter, you’re more than just a little surprised to see your ex’s mother calling you.

You haven’t heard from her since the breakup when she messaged you to say that she doesn’t know what happened, but she hopes that you and her can still be friends as she values you so highly. You hadn’t responded then; you hadn’t wanted to interact with anyone who you knew through him, even if you had regret ghosting her afterwards because she genuinely is such a lovely woman who always treated you lovingly.

Still, even with the period of no contact between you, you pick your phone up to answer the call. “Hello?”

“O-oh thank goodness,” the still familiar voice sobs in relief.

“Auntie? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Kyle, there-there’s been an accident.”

Just over an hour after receiving the call, you’re tucked up in between Kyle’s parents on the couch of the private room with their arms around you, both of them crying for their son as you do your best to comfort them while feeling numb yourself. You’re too in shock at the sight of the heavily injured man laid unconscious on the bed to process it.

When you had arrived with Chan right behind you, the pair had just about managed to tell you through their tears that Kyle had been driving to work that morning when another vehicle had violently run him off of the road.

It had been on such a quiet road so early that nobody else was around; no witnesses to give details of the other car, nor to run to his aide or call for help. By the time someone found the wreck in the ditch, it had been long enough that too much damage had been done.

And now, even after hours of surgery, there’s no knowing if Kyle will make it through the night, let alone wake up again. There’s only waiting.

So, you wait.

“They’ll call if there’s any sign,” Chan reminds as he helps you out of your jacket. “You spent two days by his side, angel, there’s nothing more you can do for him. He’s not your responsibility or person to care for anymore. His parents and sister are there, and they promised to call you.”

“I know,” you reply, moving woodenly as Chan leads you through your apartment to the kitchen with his hand in yours to keep you moving.

He flicks on the light and falls still at the sight of the mess you left on the counter from leaving so quickly three evenings ago to get to the hospital. He never learned what you had been refusing to let him see until now. “Cake,” he murmurs, noticing the half decorated cake on the counter, surrounded by all the items you had been using to decorate it.

“For your new job,” you reply with a shrug. “It’s no good now. Sorry, I’ll buy you a replacement tomorrow.”

“No, no, you don’t have to. Just knowing is enough for me,” Chan assures, turning to bring you in to hold against his chest where you melt against him with an exhale. “I appreciate the thought and effort you went to, angel; that means more than a store bought cake ever could.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t finish it.”

“It’s not your fault. Let’s order something for dinner and while it’s on its way, I’ll clean this up while you go shower.”

“Do I smell?” You mumble against his shoulder.

“Like sadness,” he retorts with a joking edge to his sombre tone that makes you jab your fingers into his waist in scold. He yelps and contorts away from your fingers without releasing his arms from around you. “And meanness.”

“Meanness,” you repeat, scoffing a short laugh and leaning back from his shoulder to look at him.

“Yes. It’s mean to take advantage of my weak spots.”

“You do it to me all the time.”

“Yes, but you’re the nice one, my angel,” he coos, pinching your cheek before he lets you go to nudge you out of the kitchen while you try to recall just when it got so normal for Chan to call you his.

Since becoming best friends with Chan, it’s not unusual at all to return home and find him in your apartment as if he owns the place. Honestly, you genuinely think he spends more time in your apartment than his own, especially the past couple months. The couch is practically his bed at this point.

What is very unusual however, is to arrive home to find the door slightly open and hear another voice talking with Chan from inside your apartment.

“Chan?” You call in a cautious, soft voice as you nudge the door open and peer around it.

“Hi, angel, welcome home,” Chan greets, smiling at you and motioning you to join him opposite the two uniformed police officers standing and talking to him in the entrance hall.

“What’s going on, Channie?” You ask as you stand at his side and cling to his hand while remaining just a little behind him and away from the officers. They’re both taller than you and Chan, with one of them being thick with muscle and rather intimidating. Though when he smiles at you in polite greeting, most of the fear melts away.

“This is Officer Choi Seungcheol and Officer Chwe Hansol, they’re here to talk to you about Kyle,” Chan explains, motioning to each man in turn.

“Is there news on who ran him off the road?” You ask, looking at the two men with hope in your eyes and chest. It’s been over a week since the incident and there hasn’t been any more information about who put Kyle into such a devastating condition.

The last you heard, they had managed to get sight of a damaged SUV in the general vicinity from CCTV a handful of roads away, but the plates turned out to be stolen from another car across the country over a year ago and the windows were blacked out so there’s no way to tell who was driving the car. Whoever it was clearly knows the streets well enough that they escaped the CCTV quickly and the vehicle hasn’t shown up since. Nor has one matching the description been scrapped or sent to be fixed.

“That’s not our department,” the intimidating officer, Seungcheol, replies while giving you another gentle little smile. “I’m afraid we’re from the sexual crimes division, ma’am.”

“Sexual crimes?” You whisper in shock. “Wh-what?”

“We’ve received reports that Kyle has sexually harassed and stalked multiple women over the past year.”

“No, he-he wouldn’t-” you argue, shaking your head as your hands start to tremble ever so slightly, so you hold onto Chan’s hand tighter with both of yours to try and cease the shuddering movements. “You’re wrong.”

“I understand that it’s hard to hear these things about someone you thought you knew, but we have to follow up every lead we have to get all the information we need to press charges.”

“He’s in a hospital bed!” You baulk and let out an incredulous laugh. “You want to charge a man who might not even wake up? What kind of a person are you?!”

“It’s not our choice, ma’am. We’re just doing our jobs and trying to get justice for the victims.”

“I’m not having any part in this. I have nothing to say to you. He never did a thing wrong to me. Get out,” you insist, pointing to the door. “I’m not going to let you bring these accusations into my home without proof.”

“We have proof,” the other officer speaks up, earning a slightly disapproving look from his partner, but he isn’t stopped. “We saw proof ourselves; photos of women taken from outside of windows and other positions that clearly show a lack of consent. And a hidden, digital diary alluding to the acts that match up with statements we received from victims.”

“Photos?” You repeat disbelievingly.

“Yes ma’am, and I’m afraid you were in some. Based on the angle and quality, we believe the photos were taken from a roof into what we can only assume is your own bedroom.”

“My bedroom?”

“Yes ma’am. May we see your room and take photos for comparative purposes?”

“My bedroom…” You can only repeat, too in shock to do anything else as you stare dumbly at the two uniformed men in front of you.

“I think she needs a moment,” Chan says while putting his arm around you to support your gradually weakening body.

“Of course, we’ll wait right here,” Seungcheol agrees in a gentle tone and nods understandingly.

Chan carefully takes you to the living room to sit you on the couch and kneels in front of you. “Baby, breathe, come on,” he encourages softly as he holds your face. “You’re going to have a panic attack if you don’t copy me, come on.” He starts to take exaggerated breaths; big inhale, hold, slow exhale.

You blink at him unseeingly for a few of his breaths before your eyes drop to his mouth and you naturally copy the man who has helped you level your breathing more times than you can count the past year.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praises. “A few more for me, you can do a few more for your Channie, right?” You nod so he smiles and takes a handful more deep, steadying breaths, each of which you obediently copy. “Good, well done.” He leans forward and kisses your head. “I’ll deal with the cops, okay? You just sit here and let your Channie handle it all. You just relax, angel.”

There isn’t a single part of you that wants to face the officers and their accusations again, so you simply nod and let Chan tuck a blanket around you as you curl up against the back of the sofa, before he turns on the TV just loud enough that when he goes back into the hall to talk to the two men, you can’t make out their low murmuring voices.

Throughout the remainder of the visit from the two officers, you don’t move, just sit staring blankly at the cushions in front of you as your mind whirls.

You don’t know what to believe. When Kyle had visited you that day, you really did believe him. Even now, there’s a part of you that struggles to believe the sincerity in his eyes and voice to be nothing more than a clever act to fool you. He has never laid a hand on you, never forced you to do anything or kicked up a fuss if you rejected his advances. Kyle was good.

Or maybe not.

If the police aren’t lying to you, then they have proof; more photos, even though you took the ones you found that time and burned them all, and witness accounts, or well, victim’s statements would be the correct term.

You know it’s possible to spend your entire life with a person and never truly know them, but you truly had thought that you knew Kyle. You had been so close to falling in love with him; that’s why it had hurt so much. You truly had believed that one day, you’d fall mutually in love with him, with a good man, and have a happy life together.

But all this; the accusations, the proof you had found yourself even if you still struggle to accept it at face value, it just goes to show that you never really know a person.

“They’re gone,” Chan’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. You turn your head to watch him cross the living room to sit at your side and invite himself under the blanket. He puts his left arm on the back of the couch in a silent offer that you readily accept, shuffling closer to tuck up under his arm and settle when it’s around you securely.

“Was it my room?” You ask, not really sure if you want to know the answer. But you need to.

Chan lets out a breath that sounds like a reluctant sigh. It’s almost answer enough, yet you need to hear it. “Yeah, angel, it looks like it was your room. They took photos and are going to go to the roof of the motel opposite to take a photo from there to see if it matches. I’ve given them my number to keep me updated and so they contact me if they need to, not you. I told them about the photos you found too and that you burned them so no-one else can have them.”

“Should-should I have reported him then?” You wonder, suddenly worried that you had potentially endangered women by not stepping up.

“Maybe,” he replies in a way that you just know means he thinks you should’ve, but he doesn’t want to upset you.

You curl up smaller and turn your face into his shoulder to let the familiar, soothing scent of his cologne and laundry detergent ease you.

Chan tilts his head on top of yours and holds you that bit tighter. “At least he can’t hurt anyone else anymore.”

The words are supposed to be comforting, but they don’t comfort you at all.

The news comes only a few days later.

It didn’t take long to gather evidence to support the accusations against Kyle. The warrant for his home turned up the photos and a hidden memory stick containing a written diary with documents matching dates of some of the statements, though many more entries without a woman to match to the words. The police just had to confirm the evidence and talk to some people before moving forward with it, like they did with you and Chan.

If it wasn’t for Kyle’s condition, the case would’ve been closed only two days after the police visited you, and he would’ve been sent off to prison. As it is, the man still hasn’t woken and the doctors aren’t confident that he ever will, so he can’t really be held accountable for his actions.

When Chan tells you the news, you feel bad that for the first time, you’re glad that Kyle is unconscious and likely to never wake up; at least this way, he won’t have to face the accusations which a part of you still can’t believe are true.

What you are finally letting yourself believe though, are all the times Chan called you naïve.

“Delivery for the cutest baby angel to have ever existed,” comes the greeting from behind the massive bouquet of flowers almost shoved in your face the very moment you open the front door of your apartment to see who has been insistently ringing the bell.

“That is an obscene amount of flowers,” you murmur while eyeing the bouquet.

It lowers and your best friend’s head appears as he pouts at you cutely. “Don’t you want it?”

“Gimmie,” you encourage, making grabby hands. Chan grins and hands you the bouquet, which is literally three times bigger than your head, before stepping into the apartment while you wander off, happily admiring and sniffing the multitude of flowers.

It’s not unusual for Chan to bring you flowers at all; rather, it’s unusual for your home to not have flowers gifted to you from your best friend. Even if he can’t visit you he sends you flowers at least weekly, and the ones he sends tend to always be more extravagant as if he’s making up for not giving them to you in person.

Every single bouquet is always handpicked by Chan; he always chooses which flowers to give you, not based on their colour or scent but for the meaning.

One of the things that helped you and Chan bond when you first met was your shared love of flowers and their meanings. You both know the meanings of a vast array of flowers, and he always includes yellow roses in his bouquet to symbolise your friendship.

Today is no different; there is an abundance of yellow roses in the bouquet, but there are a mixture of other flowers often in yellow themes, as it seems rather common for yellow flowers to symbolise friendship and happiness.

But sometimes there’s other colours; a little pop of pink tulips to show he cares, white carnations with a cheeky wink as he calls you baby angel, fragrant lavender to remind you of his loyalty to your friendship. Every bouquet is carefully crafted as a message; to tell you that Chan is your best friend and will always be there to love and support you.

And today, right there amongst the usual flowers, a handful of light pink roses.

You run through your mental list of flower meanings. Pink roses tend to mean grace, dark pink for gratitude and light pink has a few meanings just like many flowers. Many of the flowers Chan gives you have multiple meanings, but when put together the bouquets he gives you all mean the same thing. However, light pink roses aren’t used to symbolise friendship, innocence, or care. They mean youth, energy, passion, desire. None of those really blend with the rest of the bouquet’s meaning and it throws you for a loop.

“Did they put in the wrong flower?” You ask, pointing to the light pink roses as you look over at Chan puzzled. He walks over to peer at the bouquet and where you’re motioning, before shaking his head. “But they don’t mean friendship,” you mumble confusedly and look at the flowers again as you try to decipher their reasoning.

Chan doesn’t say a word, just leans his left hip against the counter, left palm on the surface and right hand fiddling with the unused belt loop on your jeans as he waits.

“Wait!” You turn to face him while pointing an accusing finger at him. “Is this you calling me a baby again? Light pink roses for youth?”

Chan chuckles and shakes his head, sliding two of his fingers into the loop now you’re facing one another and letting his palm settle against your hip. “No, it’s not that, though that’s a good one, I should’ve thought of that.”

“Then what?” You tilt your head a little, pouting naturally with your innocent confusion.

“You know. I know you know this one, angel,” he encourages and tugs you closer.

“Joy of life?” You offer, too used to him leading you around and being physically affectionate to really register how close he has you, or how his thumb is gradually tugging at your t-shirt where it’s tucked into your jeans.

“No.”

“Well it’s certainly not energy, you always say I lack energy. Or are you trying to like, manifest energy for me?”

“No, but once again, that’s good, I’ll make you a manifestation bouquet one day soon.”

“Then what? I’m confused, Chan.”

“Want me to tell you?” You nod in confirmation. “What if I show you?”

“What?”

He smirks a little, then pushes off of the counter and cups your jaw with his left hand. “Should I tell you, or show you, baby?” He murmurs, voice pitching low in a way that sends shivers up and down your spine. He leans in closer, brushing his nose against your cheek and nose in a teasing manner, but he doesn’t do anything more. “Well?”

It takes a few seconds for you to react; your heart is racing with anticipation, and you need to swallow a few times. He pulls back and notices your gaze slide down to his lips. “Show me,” you say in a voice so soft and shy it’s practically a whisper.

Chan doesn’t need to be told twice; he darts forward to slot his lips against yours for the first time. There’s no hesitance in his movements, no gentle teasing and dancing as he eases you into it; he kisses you passionately from the first moment, guiding your head to tilt in the perfect angle to deepen the kiss to a filthy degree when he coaxes your mouth open only seconds after his lips touch yours.

You never expected this from Chan; never imagined he’d kiss in such a manner that you feel like he’s consuming your heart and soul in the best of ways. He’s only been kissing you for a few seconds, yet your knees are weak, and you have to cling to him to keep yourself upright.

The moment your hand grips the back of his neck, Chan groans in pleased approval against your mouth and pins you roughly against the counter; his hips pressed against yours and his right hand giving up being subtle about his wants as he yanks your t-shirt out of the waistband of your jeans so that he can slide his hand underneath and run his palm against your bare skin.

Of course, a kiss that passionate can’t go on for too long, you especially need to catch your breath as you hadn’t been prepared at all for the intensity and keep forgetting to breathe as your lips and tongue move with his.

Though when you press against his chest and turn your head aside slightly to try and catch your breath, Chan doesn’t stop kissing you, he just relocates his focus, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses over your jaw and down your neck.

“Wanted you for so fucking long, angel,” he admits, voice thick with arousal and sounding unfairly in breath even if his chest is heaving too. He drags his teeth over the crook of your neck making you gasp and grip him tighter. “Driving me crazy, ‘m so hard. Can I have you? Can I take you to bed and drown in your pussy? Fuck you so hard I owe you a new bed?”

“Fuck,” you breathe out and grab a handful of his hair to drag him back up. His eyes are so hooded that you’re not certain he’s even looking at you. He looks so far gone and it does dangerous things to you. “Y-you do so much for me, Chan.”

“What?” He blinks away some of the lust dazing him to peer at you confusedly, and a little offended and the out of place comment. “What are you talking about all of a sudden? I’m trying to take you to bed, and you say that? You can just say no, not do some weird speech.”

“I’m not doing that,” you assure and move your left hand off of his shoulder, down his torso and under his oversized t-shirt to find the button of his jeans. He looks down in surprise, then back up at you with desire flooding back into his expression and eyes as you skilfully get his jeans open. Neither of you care that they immediately drop to the floor around his ankles with the jangle of his keys in his pocket, as you get your hand in his boxers. “Let me do this for you.”

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, whatever you want angel,” he approves before leaning in to seal your lips back together.

After your tryst in the kitchen, which lead to half of the bouquet getting destroyed when Chan bent you over the counter chest first into the flowers, sex is suddenly on the table for the two of you. Often literally. It seems as if that encounter opened the floodgates of a year of repressed desire from Chan and alerted you to the fact that his passion is more than just a little reciprocated.

Of course, you’ve known for a while now that you’re attracted to Chan; ever since the realisation that day in the store thanks to the leather jacket, which he is often prancing around in, especially since he’s realised how much you like him in it. Sometimes he’ll even turn up at your apartment, open the zip of his jacket and reveal that he’s wearing nothing but your marks underneath, leading to you pinning him to the closest surface to expand on the collection.

What you hadn’t known is just how deep your attraction runs. That at some point within you, the lust starts to morph and before it reaches your chest, it turns to a love which squeezes your heart a little every time he slows down to press a soft kiss to your lips, or you find him looking at you with eyes sparkling with adoration.

You never imagined that you would fall for your best friend, yet here you are, weeks into your relationship turning sexual, and falling asleep naked in his arms more often than not while not wanting the morning to come because you know he’ll leave before you’re awake so that he can go home and get ready for work.

There’s a part of you that has, on more than one occasion, almost blurted out that he should just bring his work clothes over; you’ve already made space in the wardrobe to hang his shirts and space in the drawer for his trousers. But you don’t.

As much as you’ve come to understand and accept that the love you feel for Chan is no longer purely platonic, you aren’t ready to move on from your ex. There’s still a piece of your heart in Kyle’s hands, even if they are limp in his hospital bed and your heart should’ve been released back to you months ago.

You’ve tried to move on; you thought it would’ve happened naturally thanks to your recently developed feelings for your best friend and the regular sessions of getting fucked dumb into various surfaces by the man.

Still, Kyle remains, and you don’t understand why your heart won’t let you love Chan entirely.

You hope that Chan is happy with this; that he’s content to spend spare moments between your usual hangouts and your thighs. You don’t want to have to tell him that you’re not over Kyle; you know that Chan doesn’t like the man. Although he never voices his displeasure in you still visiting the Kyle in the hospital, you can always see it in his eyes when you leave and how he fucks you that bit harder when you return.

Hope, it seems, is still stubbornly stuck in the bottom of the box, and has no place in the real world, especially not yours.

“You have a key,” you point out flatly when you open the door having expected the takeout you’ve ordered for dinner for yourself and Chan, yet find the man himself on the other side of the door with his hands behind his back and still wearing his work clothes. “What’re you hiding? Please tell me it’s dinner; I thought you’re the delivery man you know?”

“It’s not dinner,” he chuckles, then brings his hands around to reveal this week’s bouquet. Tulips; red, yellow, and orange. Love.

“Chan…” you trail off, not sure what to say and expression downturned when you look up at him. You can practically see the moment you break his heart.

“Oh, I guess I misread this,” he smiles embarrassed and awkward, even with the pain evident in his eyes. “I thought that you might return my feelings finally, but I guess not.”

“You’re not wrong,” you confess softly. “I just…I’m not over Kyle.”

“What?” His features scrunch in bewilderment. “You’re not over the man who would be arrested for sexual harassment and stalking right now if not in a coma? Am I hearing that right?”

“I still can’t connect that to the man I knew.”

“He really fucked with your head, didn’t he?” His arms lower defeatedly.

“No, he didn’t. He was just…good to me.”

“He cheated on you, angel, he wrote about it in his diary and other women have said as much too. What’s it going to take for you to accept that and move on?”

“I-I don’t know, Chan. I’m sorry but I just can’t do that. I’ve tried to get over him, but it hasn’t happened.”

“Well…I’m not going anywhere,” he declares and steps forward to offer the bouquet. “You may not be able to love me and be with me the way I want, but I still love you, with everything in me and I’ll be here for you all the same.”

“Won’t that hurt you?”

“Baby,” he chuckles and tenderly cups your cheek in one hand, the other still holding the tulips you’ve yet to accept. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first laid my eyes on you; I’ve been by your side through all of the assholes you gave your time to, even if they didn’t deserve it. This one will pass too.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” a flash of determination appears in his eyes as he smiles at you. “You’ll be mine soon enough, I promise you that, angel.”

At first, you had been cautious with Chan after his confession. You don’t want to hurt him and make him suffer at your side, so you pulled back on the affection and stopped the sexual aspect of your relationship entirely. Chan hadn’t been very happy and pouted at you when you turned him down the first time, but he didn’t push it and accepted it. Though he still reaches out to pull you close to hold and well, you don’t really want to quit him truthfully, so you let that happen.

After a few weeks, it’s as if the month of mind-blowing sex never happened and you and Chan are back to being nothing more than best friends. He keeps to his word and remains by your side as he always has, with no pushing or attempts to get you to reconsider and accept his love wholeheartedly.

Maybe that’s why one day when you’re laid side by side on a picnic blanket looking up at the stars with the snacks and drinks, which Chan supplied for the stargazing session, contently settling in your belly, you look at him and for the first time, you don’t feel as if your heart is missing a single piece.

“What?” Chan asks, side eyeing you amusedly when you’ve been staring at him instead of the sky for a few seconds too long. “Are you about to tell me that the stars in the sky don’t sparkle as bright as the stars in my eyes?”

“Where do you even come up with this stuff?” You laugh and nudge him playfully before sitting up. “Whoa,” you murmur when your head spins, eyes slamming closed and hands flying out to try and balance yourself.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Chan’s hands are on you in seconds as he sits up to support you.

“M wobbly,” you slur, trying to look at him as your hands grip him tight. “Channie,” you start to panic as the dizziness doesn’t subside at all, if anything it feels like it’s getting worse as he starts to multiply before your eyes. “S-something’s wrong.”

“Shh, it’s okay, Channie’s got you, lay down angel, Channie’s got you,” he soothes, gently laying you back down on the blanket and propping himself up on his right elbow as his left hand cups your cheek. “You’ll feel better soon; just close your eyes and let your Channie look after you.”

“Chan…” You’re finding it harder and harder to move your body with every second. It feels as if your muscles are turning to sludge and bones rubber. You try to lift your arm from where it flopped to your stomach when he laid you down, yet you can’t lift it.

Chan watches the panic fill your eyes and strokes his hand over your head, then back to your cheek again. “You’re okay, my love, I’ll never let anything happen to you. Your Channie will always look after you.”

You can’t even open your mouth to respond. A choked sound leaves your parted lips as your vision starts blurring darkly around the edges.

“I will do whatever I need to, to make sure that nobody can ever hurt you again, my angel,” his voice is taking on a strange otherworldly quality, fading in and out every other syllable.

It feels as if you’re becoming one with the ground under you. It’s still hard against your back, yet it feels as if you’re melting into it, like every point of contact is rapidly ceasing to exist as you fight to keep your eyes open.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Chan’s warped voice meets you. He says something else, but a buzzing appears, overlapping his muffled words until the high pitched sound is all you can hear.

You feel something touch your forehead and brush down gently, forcing your eyes closed. You don’t have the strength to open them again.

It’s pitch black, only the ringing for company until suddenly, it leaves.

There’s barely time to register the pure silence before your consciousness melts into the ground to join the rest of you.

Everything comes back to you all at once.

Your body jerks awake as your eyes fly open. The soft, natural light around you is too bright on your sore eyes and the gentle sound of the birds outside singing their morning song pierces your sensitive ears. Instinctively, you close your eyes and lift your hands with the intention of pressing your palms to your ears to block out the noise, but something stops you from raising your hands more than a few inches.

Panicked, your eyes open and look down to find thick, padded straps around your wrists and buckled in place with a chain connecting each to the wooden frame of the bed under you. You tug, but they don’t give. You try to move your legs, but your ankles are bound in the same way; even if you don’t look at them to check, you just know you’d see the same binds there.

“Breathe,” the voice is familiar, is the one that you’re so used to listening to that you find yourself listening and taking some deep, stabilising breaths without even thinking about it. “Good girl.”

After a few seconds, you realise that Chan is in the room; the strange room where you’re cuffed to a strange bed. You have no idea where you are; the walls look wooden and it smells kind of musty, like it hasn’t been used in a while, but the familiar scent of Chan’s laundry detergent meets your nose from the soft, clean pillow under your head when you turn your head to try and find the man.

He’s sitting in a rickety old rocking chair near the closed door of the small room.

There’s nothing else in the room; no curtains on the window on the wall, which the right side of the bed is pushed against; the window is cracked open, letting in fresh air but even from where you’re laid, you can see bars on the outside. There’s a bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling emitting a redundant, soft orange glow. And nothing else.

Just you, the bed, the chair, and the man you thought was your best friend looking at you as he gently rocks back and forth, back and forth, the chair creaking with every movement.

For tense moments, minutes maybe, you just stare at Chan in horror. This is not the man you’ve spent the past almost two years side by side with. This is not the man you had been seconds away from telling that you finally loved him with everything in you.

Your Chan is beautiful inside and out; with bright eyes always shining with mirth and adoration when they find you, and a smile that could weaken the toughest of hearts. He was love and happiness. Your love. Your happiness. You don’t know where that’s gone.

This Chan terrifies you. His face is flat, no smile, no sparkle in his eyes. He’s looking at you with an expression so dark and haunting; something similar to the way he looked when you told him that Kyle turned up at your apartment building all those months ago in the café, yet somehow so much worse.

For the first time since meeting Lee Chan, you look at him and you want to be as far away as possible, and then further. This isn’t a man you want to be near. Yet, you’re left without a choice.

“Wha-what’s going on, Chan?” You stammer.

“This is your fault, you know,” he informs matter-of-factly. “If you had just said yes to me that day, if you hadn’t held onto that fucking asshole, then this would’ve never happened. We could be at home, in bed; I could be buried deep in your pussy and filling you with cum again and again until you’re round with my baby. We could’ve been happy; had our family, gotten married,” he huffs a dry laugh and abruptly stops rocking. “We could’ve had the perfect fucking family, baby! We could’ve been perfect. But no! You had to cling to that asshole!” He gets to his feet, flinging his arms up in the air as his lips start to split into a disbelieving smile.

He doesn’t even seem to notice that you flinch and try to move further away from him as he steps closer. He seems entirely caught up in his own monologue as he starts to pace the short length of the room to your left.

“I’ve done everything I can to win you over! I studied you for fucking months before showing myself to you. Changed my hair, changed my style, even changed my fucking interests to suit your tastes!” He wheels around and stalks closer to put his right hand on the headboard above you while he stares down at you with eyes wide. “I fucking hate flowers, you know? Hate those stupid fucking things, yet I read every fucking book I could find to learn about them. Learned how to grow them from tiny little seeds all for you,” he points at you. “And what thanks do I get?” He laughs and pushes away from the bed to turn and take a few steps away. “Nothing! Okay, no, no, that’s not fair to you,” he concedes.

Chan turns to face you with his hands and features settled so suddenly into something so placating that you wonder if you had imagined the unhinged mess he was seconds ago.

“I got to taste that pretty little pussy and feel it around my cock, your mouth too. Fuck, baby, I could’ve held out longer if you hadn’t ended that but you, you little cock tease, had to give me a taste of heaven and rip it away from me.” He tuts disapprovingly and gives you an exaggerated pout. “You’ve really broken my heart, you know?”

“Th-then let me go and you never ha-have to see me again,” you try to reason, but he laughs; a full, loud, rolling laugh while leaning over with his hands on his knees as if you’ve told the best joke he’s ever heard.

“Oh, angel!” He exclaims as he straightens up, clapping his hands amusedly. “That’s good, really good. You’re so funny, baby, it’s one of the things I love most about you. You’ve always made me laugh.”

For a few seconds, he looks at you so tenderly that he looks like your Chan again; the Chan you fell in love with, the Chan you wish you had realised was a trick from the start. It makes sense that he always called you naïve when he knows from experience how easy it is to fool you.

“You’re mine now, ‘till death do us part and all that. Sorry I don’t have a ring for you, I’ve never been one for accessories.” He lifts his bare hands to wiggle them at you.

It’s only now that you realise he isn’t wearing a single piece of jewellery, something you thought wasn’t possible for your Chan. His clothes aren’t baggy and hiding his form, and hair no longer shaggy and in his eyes. He’s wearing blue jeans like usual, but these ones are straight legged and show off his thick thighs and ass; his plain white fitted t-shirt is tucked into his jeans neatly, showcasing his slim waist and strong upper body; with his hair neatly styled back in a casual, yet neat, manner. You’ve never seen him like this; he looks older this way, less playful.

It's another reminder that he’s not your Chan. He never truly was.

“I wish it didn’t come to this; you know?” He comments while walking over to sit on the edge of the bed by your waist and brush the back of his fingers over your cheek, entirely ignoring the way you flinch away from this touch, even if it is painfully tender. “You’re so beautiful; I’ve wanted you from the moment I first laid eyes on you, even if you never saw me.” He sighs dramatically and gets up to stand beside the bed. “Even back then you looked anywhere but me. It’s funny though,” he muses, pacing a little as his lips start to lift and bring back that manic smile he earlier wore.

It scares the shit out of you.

“You never once questioned your bad luck,” he quotes your own words with a mocking tone, trying not to laugh as he does so. “Or how it only appeared once I came into your life. You really are fucking naïve, baby.”

“What did you do?” You whisper, horrified at the realisation that Chan had been the reason that all of your relationships have failed.

Now that you think about it, he had always warned you away from them all for some reason; some kind of claim of a bad feeling, a rumour, seeing them kissing another woman. You never questioned how he always had something to say about every single man you showed interest in, or seemed to know things he shouldn’t really know. You put too much trust in the man from day one and now it’s come back to bite you in the ass.

“Whatever I needed to. It was all so easy too, like you wanted a reason to leave them all. I really thought it was because you wanted me,” he laughs darkly and pins an equally as dark look on you as his smile drops. “And then Kyle came along. Fucking Kyle. Perfect Kyle with his clean record and respect and giant, squishy heart. Well, it’s extra squishy now I pushed him off the road,” he laughs, eyes lighting with twisted delight.

“No,” you choke out. “You- no- you didn’t- tell me you didn’t do that to him, Chan,” you plead desperately.

Chan laughs and walks over to lean over you again, his left hand braced against the headboard and the other playing with the strands of your hair on the pillow beside your head. “If only you had believed me. If you hadn’t let him talk to you that day; if you had just kicked him out and come right to me like you were supposed to, it would’ve never happened, angel. You had me right there waiting for you and you picked that asshole and now guess what?” He looks at you with a bright, manic smile, eyes wide and shining with mirth you wish doesn’t exist. “He’s never fucking waking up, baby!” He beams, looking so proud of himself. “I made sure of that!”

You feel sick to your stomach.

It must show on your face because Chan’s own falls and he frowns at you. “Don’t look at me like that. This isn’t my fault.” He scoffs and backs up from the bed as that terrifyingly haunting look returns to his features. “I didn’t think I’d have to go this far; I thought you’d accept all those rumours and evidence I spent so much time, money, and effort planting. I bribed and blackmailed so many people the past months. Got the asshole fucking convicted and you still refuse to pick me.”

Chan sighs heavily, as if it really does pain him, before he pivots and walks to the door to open it, though he turns just enough to look back at you.

“I can’t tell if you’re too smart to believe all that or fucking stupid to still want to be by his side after all the accusations. Maybe he did brainwash your naïve little self.”

He stares at you for an unnervingly long moment as if he’s trying to figure you out and wondering what exactly Kyle did to earn your loyalty, and how exactly he can mimic it to make you his.

“Oh well,” he decides with a shrug, making you jolt at his sudden voice. “Not that it matters anymore because I’m not letting you leave here. If you’re not going to be mine on your own terms, we’re doing it my way.”

He closes the door after him, and you break with the sound of the lock clicking into place.

Tears roll down your cheeks and temples, soaking the soft pillow under your head as sobs tear from your chest. You keep tugging at the binds holding you down, yet they don’t budge.

You’re stuck here.

Even if you somehow escape your binds, there are bars on the window and a lock securing the thick wooden door.

You’re stuck here. For good.

Forever.

Stuck with the man you had trusted to look after you, to be by your side for a long time. You just never expected it to be like this. You as his prisoner; his little plaything to do with as he pleases until he gets bored of you and then… you don’t even want to think about it.

The sun slowly rises higher and higher into the sky and finally, you stop pulling at your binds, stop crying; out of energy and tears with your whole body hurting, yet nothing in comparison to the pain in your heart where it’s stomped into the wooden floorboards and covered in Chan’s footprints.

You dread the moment he returns. Dread having to live your life like this.

But you know you don’t have a choice. You’re his now, to do with as he pleases. You no longer have a choice in how your life goes.

The click of the lock disengaging sends fear racing through your tired body, adrenaline pumping, yet there’s still nothing you can do as Chan steps into the room with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face.

“Hi baby, it’s time for food! I made your favourite.”

As you watch him approach wearing that same cute smile that first drew you to him, all you can do is curse yourself for being so fucking naïve.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @tusswrites

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a-sassy-bench · 2 days ago

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Algorithms

Social media needs engagement to make money. Anger generates more engagement than anything. Think about when you see some ludicrous claim and you get all frustrated and want to correct them and if you do it starts a heated back and forth. That is social media's bread and butter.

"The more incendiary the material, the more it keeps users engaged, the more it is boosted by the algorithm."

It is in a social media company's best interest to boost the most inflammatory content in its algorithm to get people heated and keep them online. When you interact with content, the algorithm starts automatically pushing you more content related to that. Maybe you see someone say something about vaccines and you watch it because it's something you don't know about or because you just need to know what ridiculous thing they are saying. Once you do that, it will start suggesting more content like that to you and it's easy to fall into a hole where the content it suggests gets farther and farther to the right.

From the same article linked above: "When an internal Facebook experiment created a fake account for a fictional user – “Carol Smith,” a 41-year old conservative mother from North Carolina – this account was recommended pages and groups related to QAnon within days of its creation. “Carol” was recommended an account associated with the militia group Three Percenters within three weeks."

But it isn't limited to only your activity.

"Platforms like Facebook use complex algorithms to target ads based on social connections. The Meta Pixel tracks user behavior across different sites and can influence ad recommendations for connected friends. For example, you like a post about hiking gear on Facebook, and your friend, who is connected to you, starts seeing ads for similar hiking equipment even though they haven't shown interest in hiking."

I don't have a link for this, but it's obvious to me your IP address plays a part, as well. When my best friend came to visit, all of a sudden all of my ads were for bras. I never get those ads because I stopped buying bras when the pandemic hit and I never looked back. My best friend had just been looking for bras and I was getting ads for the places they were just shopping at now that they were on my wifi. And i couldn't help but notice that YouTube started suggesting I watch a bunch of videos I had never shown interest in, but were made by people my friend followed.

So the algorithm is built to radicalize, our schools focus more on testing and less on things like media literacy, and if you're someone who didn't have a great education you will consume the media without scrutiny and continue to be fed more of that media in ever increasingly problematic ways. Or perhaps you are an unaware young adult/child and you live in a home with conservative parents so the algorithm shows you media that your parents engage in on that same IP address and you fall down the same rabbit hole. Either way it's all the same and we're all being eaten alive by the algorithm.

#well that did turn into quite an #essay #didn't it?#i have a lot of feelings about this #fuck the algorithm #us politics #social media #media literacy

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yummymitzy · 24 hours ago

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Hi! I love your writing! Could you write a part two to Dangerous, right? Maybe it's their first mission or Nat needs a rescue and sees the reader's true form? Can you make it really angsty with a happy ending though?

Dangerous, Right? Part II

Summary: Hydra mission goes wrong on Natasha’s side, but did everything else go wrong?

Pt I

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader , Lucifer Morningstar x Reader (platonic)

WC: 2320

A/N: Sorry if it’s not as angsty as you expected😭😭

ᨖᨖೱᨖ⧗ᨖⴵᨖ🕷️ᨖⴵᨖ⧗ᨖೱᨖᨖ

Tonights mission wasn’t any different from any other mission, infiltrate the base and grab the necessary intel without suspicion. Until it wasn’t easy anymore, she hadn’t suspected that they’d be waiting for her.

It happened all so quickly for Natasha, one minute she was confident she’d make it home before the night falls; then the next minute a group of agents ambush her.

She felt almost embarrassed that she’s got herself in this position, but she’d dwell over that later.

The agents were quick on their feet, never faster than her. Her only negative was that she was out numbered, she didn’t feel any better when more agents swarmed through the door.

Her heart was thrumming in her ears while she clutched her fists tighter, the surrounding agents were sprawled on the floor of the room. Natasha’s adrenaline was so high, she hadn’t felt the blood soaking through the leather encasing her waist.

Once the adrenaline slowed, a sharp pang shot through her side. Reaching her hand down and grazing it against the wound, blood was all she saw on her fingertips. Cursing under her breath, she couldn’t believe how she let this mission turn to shit.

The sound of heavy footsteps outside the door caught Natasha’s attention, it wasn’t one person either. This really should have been the one day she would have taken a day off, Natasha thought.

She wanted to be at home, the compound, watching White Chicks with her friends while her eyes slowly drift towards you, losing focus of the movie. She hadn’t meant to be so forward with you during your first interaction.

It just felt all too fast for Natasha, she’s grown used each and every one of them with every moment that passed by. She never expected she’d had to repeat that process all over again when you and your brother turned up at the door.

Feeling guilty wasn’t a foreign feeling for Natasha, but this emotion felt more overwhelming than usual. Was it because she was on the brink of dying? She wasn’t sure.

She felt guilty for all of the innocent people she’s killed, guilty for the people who she wasn’t able to save. Guilty for how she acted with you. If only. Just if only she had spent her time getting to know you instead of judging.

Unbeknownst to her, FRIDAY was quick to alert the team of her condition. Right as FRIDAY displayed Natasha’s vitals, you were out the room, determined to get to her.

“Y/N!”

A strong voice echoing the hall of which you were rushing to get out of. Time wasn’t on your hands even if you wished that it were.

“Y/N! Take me with!”

The strong voice yelled once more. You had already known it was Lucifer from the start, his stern voice wasn’t one you were able to miss.

“Then catch up. I’m not waiting around.” You said over your shoulder, footsteps never faltering as you rushed down the corridor. The heavy footsteps behind you were all you needed to know.

“Do you think we’re able to make it fast enough with the quinjets?” Lucifer huffed behind you once you stepped foot onto the landing pad of the building.

“Ohh, no. Those things are slow.” You huffed a laugh as your wings extended behind you. Sparing a glance at Lucifer, a look of confusion was painted on his face, accompanied with a hint of exasperation.

“Now hurry up and catch up! If I hear that she’s dead, your grave will be dug next to hers!” You yell over your shoulder, feet lifting off the platform as you drive through the air towards Natasha’s location.

Dying really wasn’t the best feeling. It was a feeling Natasha became familiar with, it cane with the job. But this time, it felt different.

The pit in her stomach wasn’t from pain, it was an emotion she couldn’t define. What was it? Was it guilt? Natasha questioned, until the emotions began rushing through her.

She didn’t know what she’d die first from, the guilt or her wound. She felt sorry for how she made you and your brother feel unwelcome, it was a defense mechanism she wasn’t able to shake off.

Neither of you deserved that, it was barely your guys’s first day and the tension she created was unbearable. She was angry, frustrated with herself that she had judged your character. A hint of sadness also resided within Natasha, a foreign feeling to her. She was upset she wasn’t able to establish a great relationship with you, she wanted to be your friend, maybe more.

But that couldn’t happen now, and she was scared. Being afraid was an emotion she crossed paths with too many times to count. She was afraid of dying, afraid of not being able to clean the red off of her ledger, afraid of not being able to start off new with you.

Natasha had came to peace with the idea of dying, but not like this. She wanted to die once her ledger was cleaned, once her life didn’t feel like she was living off of the same schedule everyday.

She didn’t want to die with the guilt of her past weighing on her shoulders, she wanted to be free of that. Letting out a shaky sigh, she slowly seated herself onto the floor ; leaning upright against the wall as her hand tightly clutches her wound in an attempt to ease the bleeding.

Was Natasha close to dying before? Yes. But it never left her this fucking exhausted. She felt as though she was trying to compete against the two supersoliders in a race and still graciously lost.

Her worries eased as the surrounding area around Natasha blurred. Natasha’s head felt lighter and the tension in her body slowly lifted, and the pain from her wound numb enough to leave the throbbing. Natasha wasn’t against death if it was ever this calm, if she doesn’t include how she died.

The moment she shut her eyes, an explosion immediately caught her attention. So maybe she wasn’t going to die peacefully after all, she thought. Her eyes darted around the room, the room seemed untouched, meaning that explosion wasn’t near.

Huffing, her head lulled back, her eyes burning holes into the ceiling above her. Until the explosion reached her ears again, the pain in her side increasing tenfold. The explosion sounded more closer this time.

But before Natasha could dwell on it more, the door to the room she lays in opens. Two silhouettes were all she could make up due to the blinding light behind them. Were they here to kill her off? Might as well.

“It’s a quick in and out, don’t bother wasting time on any other agents.” A familiar voice stated, the owner of the voice stepping closer to her. Was it you? Was it really you? Why had you gone all this way to save her? Especially when she made you feel so unwelcome.

“..Y/N?” She croaked out, her voice wavering from not being used for a good minute. Her vision clearing slightly once the figure that she now knows is you is stood right in front of her.

She hears another body drop once more and she doesn’t need to turn her head knowing it’s an agent. Once her vision clears up, she’s shocked. Natasha wasn’t expected to be greeted with another sight other than your face.

Well it was your face, but different. It seemed more…devilish. Horns protruding out of your hair and curving away from your face, much like a goat. Your irises shone a bright red as your wings fluttered behind you. The only thing she could make out of your features was compassion, and something else she couldn’t define.

“Hey, Nat. We’re going to take you home, okay?” Your voice drops to a softer tone than she’s ever heard, she wishes to hear it more often. The guilt once more pangs against her heart, how could you be so kind to seek her out with how she treated you?

She hummed, that was the only response she could give at the moment. She was shocked, she understood why you were placed in the Avengers now, you really did have potential. She never doubted that for a moment. But that wasn’t her reason.

She was speechless to how you flew all this way without the quinjet all just for her? If she felt guilty then, then she felt even more guilty now. She wasn’t even sure if you really had forgiven her, consoling her in the dead of night.

Black spots started to form in the corner of Natasha’s eyes, vision becoming blurred once more before her eyes shut. The action sent a panic through your body. It was as if somebody had dumped cold ice water on you.

You didn’t waste any time rushing towards Natasha’s limp body. Sending a look towards Lucifer, you bolted towards the nearest window and slammed your side into it, preventing any shards from impaling the already injured woman.

You’ve flown countless of times before, but flying with a limp person in your arms?

The adrenaline kept you on your feet, as you drove through the wind. The gusts of wind kept you in reality, and the city lights looked beautiful from above. Only if the situation at hand wasn’t so drastic, you would have taken Natasha to gaze with you as a way to mend your friendship. relationship?

The flight back to the compound was incredibly fast, you didn’t even wait a minute before rushing towards the medical bay. Stealing a glance down towards the redheaded woman you’re carrying, she looked peaceful. Ever yet more graceful than she already is.

Why hadn’t she alerted any one of her state? Why did you and the rest of the team have to find out from FRIDAY?

Questions were piling in your head at 100 mph, your feelings are conflicting. You felt worried for Natasha, guilty that you hadn’t been there sooner, and another emotion. Was it admiration? Did you like Natasha? Fuck that, you’ll focus on that when she gets better, if she even does.

Once you reached the med bay, Dr.Cho immediately took over. The worry for Natasha was filling your bones, you had just met her but you felt as though the both of you could be so much more.

You shut your eyes, Dr. Cho was quick and efficient and you trusted her skills.

You didn’t know how long your eyes had been shut until Dr. Cho tapped you awake. Her worried gaze was the first thing you saw.

“She’s stable and the wound should heal nice, all that’s left is for her to wake up.” She stated, her words slow as she was trying to find the right words to ease your racing mind.

“Alright. Thanks doc.” Not once have you looked away from Natasha’s sleeping form. She looked gorgeous, even in a hospital bed.

You were true to your words that very night. You forgave her, there wasn’t anything to hold against her even if you thought harder about it. There wasn’t anything about her that you would dislike, her radiating smile, her fiery hair and personality, the kindness and compassion she holds with her teammates.

One twitch from her fingers was all it took for your thoughts to vanish. She was awake.

Seeing her eyes flutter open left you breathless. All the worries disappears when you saw her forest green eyes peer up at you.

“Hey Nat. How are you holding up?” You sat up, watching her in your peripheral while you fixed her a glass of water. Accepting the glass, she was quick to finish it, her eyes peering up at you once more as you placed the glass on a nearby table.

“Feels like I’ve been shot.” Apparently her attempt at joking didn’t fly past you from the glare you sent towards her.

Taking a deep sigh, she looks you dead in the eyes, a genuine glint shining in them.

“I feel like I should really apologize, Y/N. Although you said you forgave me, it doesn’t make up for all of the things I said.”

“Nat-“ “No, let me finish, I need to say this.” Your eyes widened a fraction before staying silent once more. Natasha shouldn’t feel the need to apologize to you when you already forgave her.

“All the things I said, it was unnecessary, not to mention not professional. I couldn’t help but judge, I felt like Fury just let you guys in the team like it was an open audition.” She huffed a laugh before continuing once more.

“You saving me proved that you really are worth being on the team. I never meant to hurt you, I just felt….protective, this team grew to be my family and I felt forced to trust you and Lucifer so quick. I’m really sorry, Y/N, you don’t have to feel bound to empathize with me. I just wanted to let you know of my intentions.”

You were shocked to say the least, the words that spilled from Natasha’s mouth brung tears to your eyes. You fought hard to not let the tears spill as you processed the information.

Neither were you able to find any words to respond to Natasha’s speech. Natasha noticed that, retracting herself from you with insecurity written on her face. She expected you to turn against her and leave her alone in the room.

Next thing Natasha knew was feeling a warmth embrace her, you were hugging her. Carefully raising her hands, she embraced you further, her hold on you becoming tighter as you both shared a moment that will impact your relationship forevermore.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x reader #marvel #black widow x reader #mcu #black widow #natasha romanoff

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teoft · 2 days ago

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It's like Tumblr has become almost a diary for me, thanks to no character limit and a read more button. This atmosphere of acceptance and understanding helps a lot too.

I'll get back to posting actual art, juggling with Twitter and Bluesky along with commissions is taking up a lot of my time.

Anyway, thoughts about art community and being social

For the longest time I've had this feeling of being an outsider in this vague community of artists that see as colleagues of sorts. Like I meet all the "criteria" of being in the group, and yet don't really feel like I'm part of it. Well, it seems I am right in some way, and the reason is that they interact with each other, while I sit here drawing alone.

Unfortunately I've always been prone to isolate myself from others. I grew up feeling like I should be ashamed of loving to draw, since it was always fanart monsters, creatures and cool guys instead of "proper art" like animals and portraits. Before social media, I only drew for myself and never showed anything to anybody. I hid my art from my family, from the world, so that I wouldn't be judged. I think it is one of the biggest reasons why I have trouble interacting with people in the context of art (tbh I'm shit at being social anyway but that's a whole another problem).

Even when I had a scanner and means to post my art online, I never did, due to the whole "if you put something online it'll be there forever" mindset. My first actual account anywhere online must've been Facebook in 2010ish, where I only had a few friends. It was the perfect place for me to finally post anything online, and so I did: I used to post pretty much everything I drew on there. Slowly gaining courage, I eventually made my original Tumblr account, then Deviantart, Twitter, etc.

Still, all I did was throw my art out there in hopes of somebody liking it. I didn't really know how to interact with the people who commented on my posts, so instead I mostly just... made more art. I did have some friend groups here and there, but either they ended up falling apart or my social battery drained in such a way that I slowly drifted away. I had gotten used to just being by myself and relying only on myself in the online art world.

During my design studies, I started putting more thought and work on promoting myself, so that it could be one career path for me to take. My mindset was that I'll work hard and become "big", even if it meant that one post gained me just one follower. In 2020 I ended up going viral with a meme and suddenly getting tens of thousands of followers. It was great and a welcome boost of morale, but unfortunately 2020 was otherwise one of the worst years in my life.

Throughout the years people have come and gone, so the only constant for me has been myself, and my drive to develop my skills. Thus it's been too easy for me to just isolate myself. In a way it has been my strength with regards to art, but sometimes I wish I knew how to make lasting connections. I think/know I might be autistic to some degree, which adds to the difficulty of being social. Though, to be honest, I don't know if I'd gotten this far without my autistic hyperfixations.

I guess the thing I need to do now to fix this problem of loneliness and isolation is to just... slowly try and be more social. To reply to comments and talk to people. All of which is easier said than done. Still, just gotta take that first step and then keep going.

Despite lacking the kind of community I yearn for, it seems I've made a name for myself, enough so that people seem to take pride in knowing me. Or at least that's the impression I've gotten a few times. But still, I am happy that I've had a positive effect on people. After all, my two main motivators in art are that I like doing it, and I like when people enjoy my art.

#Teoft rambles

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redballracing · 3 days ago

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i'm back here after two straight years of locking in for my studies and i need to find people who can match my yap about motorsports because that's pretty much my only interest 🌹 okay just reach out to me for lifelong companionship or interact with this post and i'll come to you okay now bye i love you bye

#IF IT VROOMS I TUNE IN #f1 #indycar #motogp #wec #imsa #all of it #max verstappen #mv33 #marc marquez #mm93 #fernando alonso #charles leclerc #pecco bagnaia #colton herta #george russell #just be adding goats and baby goats

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admirationandromantics · 2 days ago

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Going overboard, 1: Memento Mori

Okay, so first the prologue, and now the first chapter. As I've said before, not all chapters include a Josh-interactions because of accuracy to the game, so you'll just have to live with it. If you haven't read the Prologue, go to my profile, then the masterlist, Josh Washington. You'll find it there. Get ready for tomorrow!

❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀

Chapter 1: Memento Mori

After what happened up on the mountain last year, Josh didn’t stay in touch. At first we all tried to talk to him, help him, but we gave up one after another. He talked with Sam a lot. I think she did the most she could until he cut contact. I didn’t want to put too much on him, and we all were in grief as well, so it probably was the best solution.

Sam and I had regular coffees. It helped us both. We shared stories about them, and she told me about everything which happened that night. The prank wasn’t about me, nor Josh. Not even Beth, but she still had to suffer the consequences. Poor Beth, and poor Hannah. We all knew she had a thing for Mike, but setting her up like that was not okay. I now despised them all, Jessica, Emily, Mike, Matt, Ashley. Matt was such a sweet guy, I couldn’t imagine him standing there with a camera, recording everything. For me though, Ashley hurt the most. I loved her, I truly did, but I cut contact quickly after I got to know about the evening. She sent me a bunch of texts, begging me to talk to her. She was sorry, she was drunk, caught up in the moment, and everyone was doing it so she felt like she had to. She never knew that the aftermath would be as bloody as it did. I still didn’t text her back.

A month before the anniversary of their disappearance, Sam got a video message from Josh. He invited her up to the cabin again, stating that this would be a way to honour their memory, and relive the experience, but with a good ending. There would be booze, partying and just making new memories. Based on the video, it seemed like he asked everyone in the old group. Everyone except me. I felt hurt. Betrayed in a way. I was one of the few he talked to, cried to. Our relationship didn’t evolve after the event, but I was still there for him, trying to comfort him. Sam told me that I should come with her, but I declined. If he didn’t want me there, it was okay. She couldn’t understand why, but she kept being insistent, urging me to give it a chance. I didn’t have to be there the whole time, and if I wanted to, I could leave the very next day since the bus went through the area once every day.

It would be good to talk to Josh, maybe even if he didn’t want to. I was selfish, I knew that, but I had to see him. I wanted to see how he was doing, how he was feeling. This also made me think of Chris. He would probably be there, and I hadn’t kept in touch with him either. I felt bad, but at the same time, we weren’t that close. I knew that he still hung out with Ashley sometimes, and maybe that made me a bit afraid. Maybe she would try to contact me through him? Maybe I wasn’t just selfish. Ashley also needed to talk. Talk to me, clear the air. I would let her. I finally agreed to come with Sam up to the cabin.

***

The bus is empty, except for Sam and I of course. She didn’t pack much, and I didn’t either. I figured that I wouldn’t stay long. I just needed to talk to people, get some weights off my shoulders. The radio is playing, and no surprise, it’s about Beth and Hannah. I hold my composure, trying not to cry. The trip is long, and I end up sleeping on her shoulder for a good amount of it. Sam is watching something on her phone, but I don’t peek. I simply look out the window. There is an eerie feeling to these mountains. I felt the same last year, but this time it feels stronger. The black trees are covered in snow, untouched by animals.

Finally we reach our stop. The sign says “Blackwood Pines” and hadn’t it been for last year's events, I would still love the name. Being here for the first time felt magical, straight out of Narnia, joining a winter wonderland of mystery. Now, I feel nervous. The air isn’t as fresh, the ground not as hard and the snow was too white. Instead of smelling winter, I smell something musk, like a dead animal or rotten meat. I look over at Sam, and I think she notices too.

We start walking in silence, through the gate and up the trail. As we walk, she stops.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” I whisper, getting anxious. Maybe it’s a wild animal, a wolf or a bear.

“Hello!?” Sam shouts, and my eyes widen. Why would she do that, what if the animal looks at us as a threat now. I look around, expecting something to pop out, but it’s silent.

“Sorry, I probably just thought I heard something,” she says, continuing walking. She notices my tenseness.

“Are you okay?”

“No, absolutely not” I state, looking around again.

“Hey I get it, this is weird, but we’re doing this for Josh right,” she starts, taking my hand, stopping me.

“I hate to say it, but you need to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen, and people are just being friendly”

“I know, I know. I just can’t shake off this feeling that there’s something here”

“It’s because of last year. We’re all still thinking about it, so we know how you’re feeling”

I look up at her. She’s right, I’m not alone in this, and we’ve both been there for each other the whole year.

“Yeah, thanks for the talk. It’s just… well, weird”

“It is, but I think this is good for you. This trip could be a way for you to let go, get some closure. They both would’ve wanted that for you” she says, before pulling me into a hug. I breathe, and some of the tension lifts. Thank God I still have Sam. When we pull away she looks at me, smiling. I smile back, before looking behind her. My mouth opens, eyes widen and my breath hitches. I grab her hand, holding hard.

“S-Sam, c-c-careful. Stand s-s-till,” I whisper. She holds her breath while searching my face for answers.

“Boo!” I shout, punching her with both my hands. She screeches, jumps and I feel her pulse in her hand.

“Got you” I laugh, while she’s still trying to compose herself.

“Fucking asshole” she says. I can’t stop laughing.

“You know, you’re going to ‘wolf wolf’ me.”

“I can live with that” I continue laughing, before starting to walk again, her following after.

“I’m joking, that was out of line, sorry” I say after a while.

“At least you got to see my ‘frozen’ face”

“Yeah that’s why I laughed”

We reach the gate, and a piece of paper is pinned on the lock.

“The gate’s busted, climb over -Chris”

“I guess we have to climb,” I state, looking at the gate. There are big spikes on the top of the gate, so I look over at the side. It’s a stone wall.

“Right up my alley” Sam says enthusiastically. Of course it is.

“I’ll give you a lift first if you take my bag” she says, already taking off her bag.

“Fine, just don’t throw me over with those strong climber-arms of yours” I reply, taking her bag and making my way to the wall. She puts out her hands and I grab somewhere safe on the wall. She helps me get up, and I jump down the other side, looking up, waiting for her.

“Gosh, the stones are cold” she complains, finally getting to the top.

“Should’ve worn gloves” I smile, showing off my red-covered hands in a theatrical manner. She laughs before hopping down. I give her backpack back, and we continue up.

When we finally arrive at the cable car station, the place seems empty. I see a couple of cars in the parking lot, but don’t want to check who they belong to. One of them must be Josh’s. I walk up to the bench, noticing a backpack and a ringing phone. My curiosity is immense, but I don’t touch it. Sam notices who’s bag it is.

“Hey Chris!” she yells, looking around for him.

“Hey guys” he answers, and we both turn around. He seems older, more harsh than the year before, but I don’t comment on it.

“How are you ladies?”

“Well, as you can expect” Sam answers, still smiling. I smile as well, keeping the mood light. I don’t notice how much I’ve missed him before seeing him now. Something in me breaks a little.

“Oh, so, I found something kind of amazing”

“What?”

“I’m not gonna tell you got to see for yourself” he smiles, grabbing his backpack and leading us around the house. We get to the other side where we’re met with a shooting range. Barrels and bottles stacked for hitting, as well as bags hanging from the trees.

“Ta-da! Pretty rad right?” Chris exclaims, loving this a bit too much. Sam forces a smile, guns are not a source of happiness for a pacifist.

“A gun range on the bottom of a ski lodge” I comment. “How… nordic?”

Chris picks up a gun before looking at me.

“Well, have you met Josh’s dad?”

“Yeah”

“Then we shouldn’t be surprised” he says before turning and aiming the gun. I hold my breath, not comfortable with this funny clumsy guy holding a death-weapon. He shoots the bags and one of the cans. I’m kind of impressed.

“Nice shootin Tex” Sam teases, not impressed. I guess it would take something better than shooting to impress her. She fakes an annoyed look before turning my way.

“Wanna try?”

“You know what, sure. It’s been a while” I say before taking the gun from him, taking off my backpack and laying it beside me.

“You’ve done this before?”

“Josh has taken me shooting several times, not hunting though, luckily” I smile, remembering how close we felt the first time he showed me how to use it.

“I bet that’s not the only thing you two have done” he comments, a smirk on his lips.

“Haha, funny guy” I tease back. Sam holds her laughter. I shoot a couple of bags, stopping when a squirrel jumps on one of the barrels.

“I guess that’s our sign to start going to the lodge,” I say, leaving the gun and grabbing my bag.

“Jeez, I wish Josh would take me shooting,” Chris says, and I smile.

The cable car is coming, and Sam makes her way over there. I use the opportunity to grab ahold of him.

“Hey Chris, about this year-” I start, but he holds a finger up, signalling for me to stop.

“I get it, if I were in your shoes I would’ve done the same”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s weird being back, but I’ve been wanting to clear up everything. We should keep in contact, even though you don’t want to talk to Ashley, I understand”

“When did you become such an understanding gentleman,” I tease, punching his arm and start walking. He lifts his arms in the air.

“Haven’t I always been?” And I laugh at him.

We all get in the cable car, and it starts moving up. Chris starts talking about how he and Josh met, and I pay close attention. I’ve only heard this story from Josh, and I love getting the different story-perspectives.

***

We arrive at the top, I stand and try to open the door. It will not open.

“Uh, guys, I can’t get the door open.” Chris tries, but can’t manage either. His response is to smack the window.

“Ahh, what the hell!” I hear someone say. Jessica. I compose myself.

“Jess! Over here, open the door!” Chris shouts. I see her through the window, and I bite my lips from having to look put together. Don’t look like a bitch, don’t look like a bitch, don’t look like you have anything against this piece of scum. I keep chanting in my head.

She opens the door, and we all thank her. As we walk out, Chris starts whining.

“Oh my god. I thought we were goners. Another ten minutes in there and I would’ve chewed off my own leg.”

“Aw, sick Chris,” Sam comments.

“Look, I’ve got a lot of meat on my bones. This is all muscle down there.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Yeah riiiiiight”

“Keep telling yourself that Chris,” I add, clapping him on the shoulder as I walk past him. He lowers his voice to a whisper.

“Well, we all know who’s bone you want to jump…”

I turn around, mouth agape and eyes threatening. He immediately puts his hands up in defence, walking backwards two paces.

“Just jokes, just jokes” says, voice cracking.

“Dickhead”

“Notice how I’m not going to make another joke about that,” he answers. I quickly make a snowball and throw it at him, hitting his chest. Sam places herself between us, arms tense as if waiting for someone to attack.

Chris uses this opportunity to snatch whatever Jess is holding.

“Well, well, well… What do we have here?”

“Chris” Sam starts. He opens it, a surprised look on his face.

“My goodness! Seems like someone has a crush on our good friend and dear class president Michael Munroe.” Shit. That’s not good.

“Chris,” I threaten.

“And what kind of sizzling erotica might our Jessica be capable of imagining, I wonder…”

Before he’s able to see more, Jess quickly snatches the item back.

“If you must know-” she starts.

“Mike and I are together now.” We all look at each other.

“Drama,” Chris answers.

“No, pretty cut clean actually. Em’s out, I’m in,” she explains. I look over at Sam. She doesn’t know what to say. Luckily, Chris breaks the awkwardness.

“Well, we should keep going”

“You go, I’ll be waiting here for a bit”

“Waiting for Mike?”

“Just go”

We oblige, walking further and leaving her behind. The trail is quite big and visible. It’s comfortable to walk on. As we turn a corner, I see the cabin. The cabin where Josh is, where Ashley is probably waiting. The cabin which was the last place two of our best friends were seen alive one year ago.

#until dawn #chris hartley #joshua washington #chris until dawn #christopher hartley #ashley brown #josh washington #samantha giddings #until dawn chris #until dawn jessica #jessica until dawn #ahsley until dawn #sam until dawn #josh x reader #until dawn josh #josh until dawn #joshua washington x reader

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postcardsfromheapside · 2 days ago

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No. I wasn't missing the point of most criticism. Literally, I saw post after post of people saying they wished the characters could be mean to each other. Some posts were more specific, like "I don't like Taash," (and I'm sure you can imagine what THAT'S about) and some were more ambigious but cited DA2 and how everyone was bitchy toward each other.

I honestly don't care where you work and what you do, because hopefully most of us after the age of 30 have experienced an adult job where we have to be reasonable with our coworkers, even if we strongly disagree, or outright dislike them. I had the suspicion that most people who think that there is "no conflict," or "low conflict" or "bad writing" in this game haven't experienced this kind of setting in any capacity. What I'm now hearing is that you might have, but you didn't absorb any of the dialogue, or switch out your party to listen to banter, which is an essential function for picking up information in any DA game.

I walked around Arlathan with Lucanis and Harding, and they have a whole ongoing conversation in which she threatens him with one of her special arrows. And he agrees that if Spite should take him over, she should do something about it. Harding isn't frightened, because Harding isn't a pushover, but she's not taking any shit either. Did you walk around with just the two of them right after recruiting Lucanis? Did you frequently visit the rest of the companions so that you could see just how much Lucanis and Davrin *didn't* get along? Neve mentions what sounded like a knock-down drag out fight.

**Just because this isn't explicitly mentioned to you doesn't make it bad writing - it means you haven't had the time we had with Inquisition to play the game over and over and switch out your party so you can see everyone's interactions with each other. You will actually have to play the game multiple times and switch your party out a fair amount in order to see these interactions. Or wait for people to post them to tumblr. You can complain about how unfair this is, or remember that Inquisition has 10 years on this game, and it's been out for just shy of a month.**

Why in the absolute fuck would Davrin manufacture conflict between himself and someone he could easily conjecture isn't pro-slavery based on the fact that within five minutes he could find out she's from Dock Town, she's a private investigator working with the Shadow Dragons, and LITERALLY WHEN YOU GET ONTO THE DOCK WITH HIM, her first priority as she's running back to Minrathous is to say "if the dragon wrecks havoc, the Venatori will take over." Davrin isn't an idiot, he could pretty well surmise that she's not "pro slavery" with only the barest of interactions and Rook saying "yeah Neve's cool."

Why would Neve yell at you? Why is it bad writing for the writers to give Neve a personality you don't agree with, because you're uncomfortable with how she reacts? Neve's an adult who is used to working on her own and people not showing up for her - she says this MULTIPLE TIMES - it's actually a large arc of bonding with her, as a friend and a lover. She's not going to scream at you, she's so far past the point of being loud about disappointment, she's on the other side, for one, and for another, she does in fact understand that the entire North of Thedas is on fire and blighting Treviso is pretty fucking bad when it has no major defenses. Rook doesn't endlessly apologize. She came back after a short pause and while I didn't have her healing abilities after that, it didn't take long for me to boost my bond with her back up and feel like we were friends again.

This honestly feels like you're having a personal reaction that you need to examine, and it's not something to do with the writing, since the game mechanics and the dialogue don't actually bear out what you're putting down here.

All of the companions who have conflict initially have to figure out how to trust each other and it sometimes takes most of the game for them to do that. If you didn't spend the time listening to their banter as they work their way through it, that's not Bioware's problem. That's you. And...I don't want to have repeated conversations where I go into Emmrich's (my romance) room and "vent"? I didn't do that with Cullen. I didn't do that with Anders. Why would it suddenly be a thing here? But if you listen in to people's conversations, they do express dismay and doubt and fear about the various quests they've been on. Again, it feels like you didn't spend the time eavesdropping or taking people out and listening to banter.

I have no idea what you're talking about with flirting. I flirted with every companion at first even though I knew I was running for Emmrich, and all of them responded according to their personality. I romanced Cullen in Inquisition, and he was pretty quiet initially, until you get to Skyhold, and similarly, most of the companions here retain a certain reticence until the game progresses. But if you're looking for people who get flustered - Lace and Bellara absolutely do! And Emmrich isn't flustered, but he's taken aback a few times before he collects himself and flirts back - though whether you'd actually recognize it for flirting, I'm starting to wonder. The fact that you can't tell with Neve is actually making me tilt my head at the screen, and I say this as a self-confessed disaster who is very very bad at knowing someone is interested. Even I can tell what's going on in DA romances.

This is probably a lost cause, but I urge you to either spend time playing the game again, or watch someone else who really loves DA (and is Veilguard positive) play so that you can watch without being in the thick of it, and hopefully experience more dialogue and different choices.

No, I'm not done yet, I'm house sitting and she left me snacks and soda and not even god could keep me from venting my spleen at this point.

"I wish the companions were meaner to each other in this game, like in DA2."

While I think there's a larger argument to be made discussing the similarities between DA2 and Veilguard, I need everyone to get so close to me right now about a glaring difference:

DA2 involved a ragtag group of assholes with their own agendas coalescing around Hawke's personality or exchange of favors. There was no larger "goal," except maybe Varric's expedition - everything else is encountered as circumstance. You wend your way through your companions' stories while a city winds ever tighter into itself, a spring about to literally explode.

There's zero reason for these people to be nice to each other. They have no point in being around each other except Hawke. They can bitch at each other all they like.

Rook becomes Varric's second in command (I've seen one post say it's about 6 months before the events of the game) with an explicit purpose: find and stop Solas. Harding and Neve are recruited as experts in their respective fields for this particular goal. When it all goes to shit, Neve recruits another expert, Lucanis, to deal with the fallout, and Harding finds Davrin, *also* an expert in his field (monster hunting). When Rook has to make a particularly consequence heavy decision, two more are added to the crew: Emmrich (Fade expert) and Taash (dragon expert). All of these people are extremely competent, and know from the jump that they have one particular goal in mind.

They join ready to work together on Day 1 because if they don't, there's simply no other alternative. It's lights out. Even when they mistrust each other, the direness of the situation is not lost on them. Infighting serves no purpose. That's why the struggle is directed inward: clean up your own house, so we can move as a single unit.

Honestly the fact that what people took away from this game was "I wish my friends were meaner to each other" and not "wow, I wish we all worked together to keep evil dictators from taking over" is fucking mindblowing when I sit back and reread this.

#fandom critical #datv #dragon age: the veilguard

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ayebibs · 1 day ago

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What would have made the Veilguard companions more compelling?

I keep wracking my brain trying to determine how the marketing of this game was so focused on the companions, their rich lives outside of the narrative, and the journeys that they go on when I think that they are objectively the worst written companions to date. Not to say that their appearances aren’t well designed or that they don’t have really fun and cute moments, but they are simply less three-dimensional than previous companions. Fundamentally, my biggest grievance with the Veilguard companions is that I just don’t find any of them nuanced or interesting. They are all good people, but they are not good or believable characters that fit this plot and interact with it in meaningful ways.

I have never been one of those people that ignore canon, but I have been perseverating on the missed potential of this highly anticipated game that we’ve waited ten years for. So, I wanted to criticize some of these characters and explore some changes that might’ve made for a more compelling group of characters had they been written differently, but (hopefully) respecting the vision of who the characters are at their core because I do think that the skeleton of something great is here.

Disclaimer because this is long and critical: There are a lot of spoilers below. I haven’t read all of the Dragon Age books and I could be missing things, but I also think that the game and the characters’ journeys should speak for themselves as we go through the story. I also get that these are just my opinions, I’m a STEM girlie by trade and a creative on the side! Not everything I suggest may be great or realistic for building a plot or realistic for writing the script of a videogame. I also don’t mind conversations about these characters! I think that would be fun, I just don’t want to be shat on for being very disappointed in this game when it’s been my favorite video game series for half my life and I went in very hyped and willing to excuse a lot!

Alright, if you’re still with me, buckle up!

First, before I outline the specific changes I would make to each character, I want to address that there are just flaws with the way BioWare decided to handle companions as a whole in this game. I want to mention them now because they impact nearly every character and I don’t become repetitive:

1. Most importantly, the approval system is pointless and probably could be left out of this game for all it means to the narrative. It is nearly impossible to wrack up disapproval for the companions and you increase approval and bond by just taking companions out and completing a quest. If the companions like nearly everything that Rook does, then it means that they don’t care enough about anything to have strong rigid opinions (which is good for a well-written character). If companions don’t have an opportunity for meaningful agreements or disagreements, it means that the writing is not what people expect of a Dragon Age game based on every single installment we’ve had so far. It is one of the few things that have stayed the same in all of the past games and one of the things that I think fans are really upset about and should have been nonnegotiable.

2. All of the factions (except for maybe the Grey Wardens) really just needed to be messier and more complicated. Not all of the factions were meant to be heroic throughout the series. As others have commented, the Lords of Fortune and the Antivan Crows are the most glaring examples of this. However, I think that the Mournwatch and Veiljumpers are not exempt from this either. The factions serve as crucial parts of our companion’s backstory and by sanitizing them, we are wiping key opportunities for character development. For example, it could be way more interesting to have a character who fundamentally disagrees with their faction, but doesn’t know how to escape it. Or, what about a character who loves their faction and makes us feel conflicted about them because of their willingness to explain away the faction’s history? I could write (another) essay on this, so I’ll leave this point here.

3. We simply needed to have more conversations with all of the companions. All we have are these short, uninteresting cutscenes to learn about the companions. The player should be able to go up to the companions and ask them about the history of their faction, who they trust and care about in their faction (and why), their past, and their opinions about new information (on other companions, side quests, and plot points). None of these even need a cutscene, just voice acting. It would also help players feel more connected to the companions.

4. There needed to be more visible personal and interpersonal conflict. The companions read like coworkers to me. They mostly like each other and, even if they do have disagreements, they are never explored in the narrative. They don’t seem to have any hugely conflicting viewpoints on any topic and, even if they do, they are benign. For example, what to pack for a camping trip or not wanting to talk about a particular topic (dragons vs. spirits) can be interesting in addition to more complex banter but the banter just feels inappropriate and irrelevant for the plot of this game. Overall, the companions rarely make a fit about anything. It feels like the writers didn’t want any character to appear problematic, but they made them flat because none of them seem to have a hill to die on except that they should save the world. This might have been fine in a game series that didn’t focus so heavily on companions and the way that ethics are shaped by personal experience, but this is not that imaginary game series.

5. The companion quests should have focused more on worldbuilding and getting to know the characters. I have little to say about this other than that the quests for Harding to try out her powers, training Assan with Davrin, shopping with Lucanis, and lighting candles with Emmrich, etc. were lazy, uncreative filler. I really cannot put it any other way. They should have all had quests that better explored their faction and, by extension, them. We barely learn anything in those quests and they are time wasters. Those are the scenes that should have been converted to a codex entry, not some of the important lore drops that we currently have in the codex.

6. Rook chooses one option of a binary for every companion towards the end of their personal quests. I’m okay with some of these, I think that it made sense for Bellara and Davrin to ask Rook what to do in their personal quests because it felt more natural. A friend asking a friend for their input. On the other hand, some of these are really inconsequential, semantic, and mindset related (Neve) and others are such personal choices that it feels inappropriate for Rook to be involved (Emmrich and Lucanis). In a lot of these cases, it would have made more sense to have dialogue options sprinkled throughout the game that influenced companions to make their ultimate choices. Giving Rook so much power in these decisions makes the companions feel one-dimensional because it strips them of agency that any believable character would want. Even if they wanted Rook to make these decisions, companions should have felt more strongly towards the options and either praised or disparaged Rook for their decision.

7. Finally, I found all of the romances very lackluster. I was never someone who considered Dragon Age games glorified dating sims (I actually really don’t like that take, even if it's all jokes), but I found myself missing the depth of relationships in previous games. All the relationships felt too new and shallow. Largely, I think this is due to points 3 and 4, but also due to a lack of reactivity with your companions. For example, companions barely acknowledge you getting them a gift or flirting. This could have also been helped by a few extra cutscenes with the companions.

That mostly covers the overarching issues that apply to all characters. Some of these things might come back in my individual discussions of the characters if it is particularly bad.

If you’re still with me, here are my thoughts on each companion and/or what I think would have made them more interesting:

Bellara

I came to like Bellara much more than I anticipated from the trailers and marketing. However, she is really emblematic of how the writers didn’t want problematic characters. There is nothing in the game that would cause people to accuse her of being problematic, but despite being an elf (a historically oppressed and enslaved group), she is so quick to apologize for the actions of ancient elves who oppressed her ancestors thousands of years ago which is ridiculous and solves nothing. It also really seems like the writers wanted her flaw or quirkiness to be some kind of neurodivergence and nerdiness and that alone doesn’t make a compelling character. I actually think it would be interesting if Bellara was, if not pro-Solas, pro-hearing him out because his intentions were in the interest of the elven people even though he made some shitty decisions. I think she would want to be interested in what Solas knew about the ancient elves and what their society looked like before the Veil. I think she’d want to know as much as she could about the technology. I think it would be interesting if she guiltily admitted to wondering what the world would look like if the Veil came down. How different would it really be to what they’re already experiencing? Could they not mitigate the problems? I think this would be an excellent point of tension between Bellara and Davrin (who is Dalish but might not understand her curiosity in the face of the blight) or Harding (whose people were so impacted by Solas and Mythal’s actions… more on Harding later).

Davrin

Davrin is actually my favorite companions in this game, but I still wanted more from him. I think it would be really interesting if, when the team is gathered around after Weisshaupt that Davrin really pushed back against the idea of sorting out their personal shit before progressing. He’s a grey warden who, in his estimation, just failed his one purpose. I think that this would cause a bit of tension between him and some other characters, like maybe Taash whose concerns are more personal than anyone else's at the time. He is serious and straightforward, so I don’t think it��d be out of character and it would make their friendship and training montage more satisfying later on if they had to move on from it. I would also expand on the fact that he was disappointed to not die when he killed one of the archdemons? It was touched on so briefly and he seems to emotionally resolve it in a few dialogue lines which I think is crazy, even considering that he wants to live to save the griffons and raise Assan. A “blow up” about how the team needs to put their personal affairs aside while struggling to keep his own personal affairs together would introduce a little more depth to his plot line and expand on one of the more interesting things about him that we barely got any time with.

Harding

Harding was one of the most boring characters to me in this game because she felt so flat and there were so many ways to make her more interesting. Her character isn’t helped by the Varric twist because the narrative requires that she doesn’t grieve except for one scene despite knowing Varric for at least a decade. Personally, I think that changing her reaction if/when she finds out what Solas and Mythal did to the Titans and her people would make her more well-rounded and believable. From that point on, Harding should be anti-Solas and you should lose approval with her every time you entertain the idea of trusting him. Maybe she could even express disappointment/frustration/sadness for an Inquisitor who believes Solas can be saved or speak of them more highly if they think that he is irredeemable. Also, we should’ve spent more time with her and the dwarven people. I think Veilguard was such a rushed and half-baked attempt at wrapping up that storyline. We learned so much about the dwarves in the last two games and we get to spend so little time with them.

Taash

Interestingly, I think Taash is one of the few companions with really obvious flaws. They are childish and impatient, but they’re poorly written and their flaws are never acknowledged or treated as flaws by the narrative. In my playthrough, their relationship with Harding might have been an interesting place to explore and address that childishness. It was also a missed opportunity for them to explore Qunari and Rivaini culture. As other people have commented, the binary choice between being Rivaini or Qunari is odd in tandem with Taash’s journey of self-discovery and identity. I think that choice shouldn’t exist and should be encouraged by dialogue options peppered throughout their larger quest. We were so close to exploring the rift that can form in families between first generation children and immigrant parents (and learning more about Rivain and the Qun by extension) when there is love but a fundamental difference in culture and lived experience. Instead, I feel like the narrative never gave us a chance to really hear Shathann out before her death, but I’ll give the writers a break because I think that they were going for tragedy and unresolved conflict and I don't know if I trust them to make that a conversation that fits the world and isn't anachronistic.

Emmrich

The thing that bothered me most about the Emmrich storyline was the final choice between Emmrich becoming a lich and bringing back Manfred. This is another choice that Rook should have influenced rather than choose outright. The number of times that you asked probing questions or commented on Emmrich’s desire to become a lich through more conversations about Emmrich’s fear of death and relationship with Manfred should have determined his final decision. Personally, it felt inappropriate for Rook to make that decision directly for him, no matter how much the game tried to justify it. I would have also liked to see his fear of death impact him more throughout his quest line and the narrative. The final quests are literally a suicide mission and he should have had more dialogue regarding it.

Neve

I’m going to admit that Neve was hardened in my playthrough and I haven’t explored her character in playthroughs where you save Dock Town, so this section might not be applicable to half of you. I didn’t understand a lot of Neve’s motivation behind her actions. I didn’t understand why she felt so passionately about her city or her jobs. Her drive felt hollow to me, making her personal quests feel generic. When I got to Neve’s quest where we gathered clues near the water in Dock Town, I was excited to finally learn anything about her, but it was devoid of any meaningful backstory. I would have written the quest to better explore Neve’s past, motivations, and personal relationships. The other big thing that stands out is that Neve is a noir detective and the VA has clearly gotten direction to sound like one, but her story is so devoid of mystery, intrigue, and many of themes that would make that more than aesthetic. And, like, isn’t her whole faction about freeing slaves? Why not make her personal quest more closely tied to that?

Lucanis

Lucanis’ personal quests are so tied to the dynamics of his faction, so I think a lot could have been solved by making the Crows more morally grey. I think Teia and Viago could have stayed the same, but we should have seen more negative interactions between him and the rest of the Crows. Outside of Illario, Catarina would have been an exceptional vessel to explore the problems within the Crows and a theme like generational trauma or exploitation. The party banter between him and Davrin criticizing each other's factions could have been an excellent space to talk about the negative aspects of the Crows and how Lucanis’ feels about them, either defend some misdeeds or express how he feels conflicted about his past contracts. In my game (when you save Treviso), Spite also felt more like a mildly important accessory in Lucanis’ plot than a significant problem. Few characters had anything significant to say about Spite and he caused few problems. I actually thought Spite was fun for most of the game, but he needed to be more problematic because he gave the impression that he was included more to build an aesthetic for Lucanis than a character-defining plot point. Finally, I think Rook deciding what to do with Illario was a poor decision. I would have written this as a decision Lucanis makes on his own based on how Rook encourages him to deal with Spite through a more fleshed out character arc.

This pretty much summarizes my thoughts on all of the companions. As you can tell, I am very Normal about this game.

I wanted to like these characters so much and they have an unbelievable amount of potential. They are all so fascinating in concept and all of them are poorly executed either due to the relationship building mechanics of the game, because of the writing and dialogue, or a mixture of both. That said, there are brief moments when I like them and I get glimpses of what they could’ve been.

I just hope the characters are better explored in future games (if we get one).

#here is my silly little essay critiquing the veilguard companions and what i think would make them more compelling #this is very Normal behavior #dragon age: veilguard #veilguard critical #dragon age critical #bioware critical #datv critical #dragon age

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