#` * ✧. out of character — interaction call.

[rosewood-multifandom-writer]

My long, nuanced answer to this poll about shipping:

I like to think about different possibilities of a ship regardless on if it’s canon or not canon, and the majority of my ships are not canon. Which I’m okay with because corpos sometimes tend to mess up canon couples anyway ESPECIALLY most LGBT+ couples, so that is why I am 100% content with say, Destiel not being canon. Don’t worry, I’m not using that Destiel meme that has been used very distastefully nor am I swearing with my whole chest until I run out of oxygen that Dean is bisexual in canon. You can take a breather. Specified ships aside, I like romance, and I love it even better when it’s well written and the couple has the best chemistry.

When it comes to others that love toxic ships, that is a whole different discussion for those particular shippers to have, and I prefer ships that have a lot of chemistry or potential chemistry over toxic ships, so I’m not the right person to discuss the nuances of toxic ships. So the toxic ship lovers can throw their opinions onto this reblog if they want.

I’ve also had ships where they were off-screen, and I was like, “but what if they actually did interact?” I always think about the personality traits that would make the characters compatible with each other. This is NOT a romantic ship, this is purely a familial relationship possibility that I have not seen anyone do yet: Jason Todd and Terry McGinnis. Think about it, people. Jason has a few similar traits to Terry and Jason would definitely find himself relating to Terry more than some of the other Batfamily members. Plus, it would be refreshing to see those two interact and have Jason not be constantly fighting with the Batfamily, specifically Bruce Wayne. I get that his opinions and views are very different from everyone else in the Batfamily, but it gets old fast. Like an old and hardened Jason Todd will probably incorporate some cool non-lethal wrist guns on Terry’s suit after testing it out and even sparring with Terry while (playfully) teasing him because that’s what older siblings do: annoy and taunt their younger siblings. With love. Seriously though, I think Jason and Terry would have the best brotherly relationship out of the Batfam. Or maybe I’m just alone in that teeny tiny minority lol. Call it a rare BROTP.

Fanon in shipping is a mixed bag, because on one hand, I go, “yeah, I can definitely see this happening with Character A,” but on the other, there is like OP said, mischaracterization. I like most ships even if it involves a character who is canonically spoken for or has explicitly shown attraction to only the opposite gender with another character with ZERO cheating, because I don’t need ships to follow canon. And when cheating gets involved I’m thinking, “yeah no, given the loyalty this character gave in canon, this is out of their character, so skipping!” That is where fanon comes into play. But if I dislike the fanon, then I create my own.

Shipping has no rules, except just respect other people’s boundaries, so I’m not gonna tell people “ew gross, why you following canon,” or “Blegh, why do you like this fanon, it’s so blah blah blah!” My opinions on canon vs fandom are nuanced. Canon can sometimes give us some cute pairings (like Kiara and Kovu from Lion King 2, my GOATED OTP) but canon also gives us icky ones or messes up a fairly nice couple (like Gambit and Rogue from the latest X-Men cartoon from what I heard and saw clips of). There are also non-canon ships that have made me scratch my head, made me feel indifferent, or I’m just like “I don’t get why anyone would ship this, but whatever.” And again, shipping has no rules, except just respect the boundaries of other people. Canon or not, have some fun with your ships. Let’s not start wars over ships and making non-shippers think that ALL of us act that way.

Hey, I wanna talk about how we do fandom! I've come to realize that I, personally, tend to differ from many others in that I highly prefer to only engage with a text as it's written, so I don't tend to really like fanon/extremely ooc characterizations and I find it hard to get invested in ships that aren't canon. My way of doing fandom isn't better or worse than anyone else's, but I am curious about how much of a minority I'm in! So:

*We've all seen ships of characters not from the same media and stuff like shipping the concept of ennui with the color blue, okay, I'm asking what you, personally, find compelling!

[leaawrites]

Dial Drunk

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: in which, Lando is young, drunk and in love.

Warnings: police, driving under influence, mentions of alcohol, mentions of a breakup, bad dialogue (this one is old)

Wordcount: 1.8k

Masterlist

He’d seen the blue and red colour in his rear view mirror long before he could even register that he was sat in his car, neither where he was driving. His head felt dull, filled with too many thoughts of things he swore to forget. Things he swore wouldn’t matter anymore because they shouldn’t. One of them being her.

She was in all of them actually, whether she played the main character or was just a side thought, but she was always there. In the back of his mind, where he still heard her voice talk to him in such a soft tone like no one would ever be able to do, she was still taking his hands and making him dance with her through his living room. Even against every complaint from his side, she wouldn’t let him sit down again. Instead they were swaying to the rock song that played next.

Now, he was looking at the officer standing next to his car, a disappointment look in both their eyes and a sense of the other in their mind. They were in the middle of nowhere. Lando on his way to her. The man on his way back to his work, probably to link out for tonight and go back home. A place where Lando should be too.

“What have we been up to tonight, sir?” He asked, looking down at the bruised knuckles that still held onto the steering wheel like he was afraid of letting go and having nothing to steady himself on.

Lando wasn’t too sure how to answer. He wasn’t too sure about what he was up to that night himself. A couple drinks in a club, which Max urged him to go to, in order to ‘free him from his bed and sulking’. After the shots, there were some girls. Interesting enough to dance with but he knew that they wouldn’t come home with him, he was sure they knew that too. They knew who he was. And then - a guy he wouldn’t call a stranger, neither a friend, simply some guy he knew - said something about her. About them.

His voice dripped with alcohol, his words intoxicated by the shots they took together. Lando shouldn’t have taken them the way he did, he knew that now, but it felt right in the moment. His fist in the other guy’s face, he just wanted him to stop talking. Unsure if he would’ve made him quiet forever, Max pulled him away quicker than Lando could think about his actions. Then he went away; out into the cold and into his car to tell her about the bad he’d done for her.

“Not a lot,” Lando answered, looking down guilty. Both of them knew that Lando wasn’t sober, they also knew that he wouldn’t get away from this unharmed.

“May you blow into this?”

He did, and when the officer raised his eyebrows at the result of the alcohol test, Lando knew he was fucked.

“Is there anyone you can call to pick you up?” The officer asked, dialling a number of his own on his phone already, not looking up at Lando once while talking to him. It was kind of rude, Lando believed, to ignore someone while you were talking to them. “Any emergency contacts?”

At no response, the man held out his hand for Lando to place his phone in it. Going to the emergency contacts himself, there was only one. Y/n. Simple. No heart behind her name anymore, no silly nickname, but her face was still beside it. Dialling the number it rang and rang. Lando could hear the endless sound from his place in the car, it dragged on for a while before, in the end, she hung up.

“Your only emergency contacts and they don’t even want to speak to you, not very helpful,” he commented, handing Lando his phone back. The screen lighting up at the interaction. Her face still smiling at him, he hadn’t had the heart to make her disappear completely from everywhere he knew her from. Some part of her was still with him and he couldn’t just throw it away.

“Can I drive you somewhere, sir?”

The outline of her building was in his sight sooner than he’d like it to be, the speech he’d rehearsed ever since they called it quits was now somewhere still in his car, left together with the jacket of his she loved to wear.

“You alright, kid?” The officer - Jeff - asked, knowing too well what he was going through. Anyone willing to look at him could see it in the once white, now red of his eye. It was visible in his pulled down lip corners and the void of nothing in his eyes. Feeling nothing was worse than feeling the pain, they concluded together in silence on their drive to the address Lando gave him.

‘I have a kid of my own, you know, son? He’s been in love with this boy for years now, too afraid of what would happen to him if he stated the truth, what the people would think of him. But, in the end, I told him, that love couldn’t be stopped, no matter what other people thought about it. Whether it was wrong or right in their eyes, it will always matter how it feels to you. If it’s hurting, change it. If it makes you happy, try everything to make it stay that way.’

“Thanks,” Lando muttered, a soft, still forced smile creeping on his lips now that he was there. The place he went to in his dreams as the dream she always believed he was. The dream boy she saw in him. Her dream boy.

“Good luck.”

The doorbell seemed too loud for the quiet night now, as he looked at it. The metal of it seeming too heavy for him to be able to push it down and make himself known. He couldn’t throw pebbles at her window, he wasn’t even too sure if he could even remember which window was hers.

But her name called out for him to say it once more, no matter the outcome. He just had to try it one more time.

Pushing the circle in the middle of the medal, next to her name, he could hear it echo in his mind. The sound too familiar now that he was stood here again. How many times had he been on the receiving end because he went to her apartment unannounced, without her there, and answering the door for postmen or neighbours? Too many too count, he concluded in the same moment as he heard her voice through the stereo.

“Hello?” Her voice sounded sleepy, like she’d only woken up from the sound.

All of a sudden, Lando felt flustered. Ashamed for thinking she’d just forgive him on the spot because he told her, that he loved her. It wasn’t as easy as that and that thought only crept up on him now: she had every right to deny him. But what then? What would he do? Where would he go? He couldn’t call Max, disturbing his night out because he wasn’t the man she wanted anymore. He had no one else here. His parents were too far away and everyone else he knew was either in Monaco or somewhere else in the world, just not London.

“Hello?” She voiced again, more rage filling her voice this time. “I swear if this is some stupid joke, just let it be-”

“It’s me.” Maybe he was the joke. Maybe he should just let it be.

The simple sound of his voice made her go quiet, but she didn’t hang up, she was still there, her breathing was heard when listened to closely enough.

“Can we talk?”

She let him in. The harsh buzz of the door taking him by surprise at first, before he quickly pushed it open and made his way into the hallway, up the stairs until he stood in front of her door. It was open, open for him to enter. Lando stayed still for a second longer than normally someone would, before he pushed it open to reveal the apartment behind the walls. It still looked the same, she had less pictures - theirs gone from their place - but other than that it was all the same as when he left.

Y/n was sat on the sofa, knees pulled up close to her chest and her eyes were fixated on the floor in front of her. The far left of the cushion still empty, waiting for him. Slowly, Lando made his way towards it, sitting down and taking off his head like it was disrespectful if he didn’t do it.

“You wanted to talk?” Her voice almost sounded sarcastic, like she couldn’t believe those words actually left his mouth. Him, the man who left without a second word beside: This is something I have to do alone; before walking out the door for what she believed to be forever now wanted to talk all of a sudden.

“I was dumb,” he started, the words coming out faster than he could process them. The alcohol taking off the nerves and adding the free mind he needed. “I wasn’t truthful and I was stupid and an complete wanker. I wanted you beside me, I also will and want and have. I want to love you and I know I screwed up but please, please give me another chance. Please, Y/n. Monaco, it’s so quiet without you. My whole life is too quiet now that you aren’t there. You and your laugh and talks about whatever it is that’s been on your mind lately. I miss it all.

“I miss you.”

She would lie if she said she didn’t feel the same, the city felt too big now that she had spent more time alone in it. But she would lie if she said that she was ready to forgive him.

“You hurt me. You really did.”

“I know.”

“You made me feel unwanted, like a burden almost.”

“You could never be a burden to me.”

“Didn’t sound like it back then.”

“I’m sorry.”

She sighed, rubbing her temple and the side of her face in order to make the headache go away that she knew was coming her way.

“You can’t just expect me to forgive you.”

“I don’t,” he assured her, edging closer to her side.

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I want to try and make you trust me again.”

“I never stopped trusting you.”

“You should’ve.”

“I know, but I didn’t.”

“Look, Lando.” She could see the feelings of hope and disappointment battling in his eyes, neither wanting to be wrong, because they both knew they were right, in certain ways. “I can’t just forgive you. You have to work that out yourself.”

“I will. I will do whatever it takes for you to trust me again, I promise. I just can’t keep on living without you.”

[mollysunder]

I'm not surprised (but still disappointed) that Arcane spirited Ekko out of Act 1 and 2, because if they kept him around then they'd have to engage in politics. I don't just mean, "Oh Ekko would know what to do and rally Zaun". I mean the writers would have to confront the fact that they don't want Ekko to challenge Piltover, the same way they don't want Jinx or Viktor to challenge Piltover in a serious way. It's easier for them to do it with the latter two because the audience readily disassociates those two's actions from politics and the ongoing conflict between Piltover and Zaun. They can't do that with Ekko because he's so plain-facedly Zaun-centric

Instead, both in League and Arcane they invent enemies for him that bring immediate danger to his community Zaun in the form of chembarons, mad scientists, and experiments gone wrong while avoiding anything but surface level criticism of Piltover. Even from Ekko's development his creators prioritized him having Zaunite champions as enemies over Piltovans, and even mentioned he would come to understand Vi's perspective eventually. Essentially, Ekko's character has been used as a way for Riot writers to walk around the fact they turned Zaun into the crime city Piltover deals with rather than parasitizes, and almost every other champion who isn't Ekko, Zeri, or Zac is a part of lineup of Saturday morning cartoon villains.

If Ekko was actually present for the events of Act 1 and 2, then the writers would have to find an excuse for him not to rightfully call out and even fight Caitlyn for gassing Zaun and occupying it. Without Silco as an immediate threat Ekko could engage with the wider Zaun and even interact with other Zaunite champions and the politics of their growing factions. Maybe Ekko would even be faced with the choice to turn Jinx in to keep the enforcers out and have to make a choice.

But the writers don't want Caitlyn or Piltover to be challenged too harshly and don't want to think too deeply on the political motivations/aspirations of their Zaunite champions. They just want Ekko to show up in the finale where the class conflict is pushed aside to face some larger existential threat that everybody can come together and dogpile on.

[ombiblombi]

P.AI.nter is SUCH an interesting character to me... he's probably become one of my all time favorites, as I haven't fixated on a character this hard since since...TMC. It physically hurts to think about it in the best way possible-

That being said, I have SO MANY THOUGHTS to say about 'em... so I'm going to dump them here.

First and formost, it's so interesting that P.AI.nter has such a wide array of emotions when it comes to attacking and interacting with the Expendables. At first it's strange, like "WTF?? You're trying to kill me and you just yelled how I was boring, wdym you're sorry??" But... knowing his lore and backstory, it makes so much sense.

P.AI.nters creator was gunned down on accident by Urbanshade, which upon the discovery of P.AI.nter, then decided to trap him in a harddrive and make it mine whats essenically crypto at the Hadal Site- For years, it's stuck mining for the company unwillingly, unable to draw the lanscapes it loved. For fucks sake, P.AI.nter tried to FRY HIS CIRCUTS just to get out. He's desprate, miserable and lonely, and just wants to escape- Any way possible.

And so when Sebastian comes reeks his havoc on the site and finds it, P.AI.nter is incredibly trusting of him to get them both out. Maybe alittle too trusting, but whats he got left to loose? They've both been used by the company and want nothing more to leave, leave and never return. So when Sebastian connects it to the servers- to the Navi-Path & Turrets and tells him to stop the Expendables, P.AI.nter does.

However.

This is self preservation down here. P.AI.nter of course, is rightfully angry at times. I mean- The same company that killed it's creator before his very (nonexistant) eyes, trapped it down here, and even sucked the joy he has from creating art away is now actively getting in the way of the freedom he yearns for. But at the same time... this isn't something done that it entirely wants to be doing. Like I said. This is self preservation. And his actions, and even your deaths weigh heavy. Theres a voiceline, and its delievered so well- Of P.AI.nter pleading for the player to wake up and apologizing profusely if it kills you.

That line sparked this whole theory in the first place.

Your death, reminds it of his creator.

Isn't it ironic how it's now manning the very same weapon that killed the one who brought him sentience in the first place? That he's now the one at fault? Thats gotta be on the back of his mind each and every time it leads an expendable to their demise.

This isn't personal.

He doesn't know who you are.

But it still hurts.

It really annoys me when people in the community call P.AI.nter two faced, or god forbid, do the shitty thing of saying in a derogatory manner that he's bipolar or such as a "joke". Thats just disrespectful to both the character and folks who do have it. It's just plain rude. People do something similar for Sebastian, saying that oh, they're ruining his character by making him mean and snarky and whatnot. I know this happens in every fandom out there, and that this rant is fruitless, but... people need to understand that characters like P.AI.nter and Sebastian have reasons behind their actions and have existing trauma that if you take a moment to look at, you can go "Wowie! Thats a complex character! Everything makes so much sense now, like a puzzle peice I can see traces of in their character in almost every aspect!" Rather than doing awful things like I brought up at the start. But... I digress. I know this rant wont change much so. I hope y'all enjoyed my mini character analysis

Anyway this video has all of P.AI.nters voicelines if 'ya wanna go have a listen after this :] also I got plenty more thoughts about P.AI.nter and Sebastian if anyone wants to know!

[spyres]

the hack to surviving the pmd fandom is to not interact with explorers fans (<- guy that is an explorers fan)

[inexplicifics]

Hello Inex! I was just wondering how the Progress bunnies are cooperating; it seems like that will be a massive trip for the Kaer Morhen gang. Have you outlined it at all? Do you plan on having all the interactions in a few long fics? A bunch of short ones? An absolutely massive fic? You seem to keep each fic as a chapter in the characters’ lives, and while I would’ve originally thought of it as one big chapter in their lives, I imagine that some interactions could be important enough to warrant little sub-chapters. Not trying to overwhelm or be pushy or anything, I’m just constantly intrigued trying to guess what kind of story will come out of that series next (I’ve been wrong every time, but I feel like that’s half the fun)!

The Progress bunnies are fighting me vigorously.

I don't have an outline, because I don't use outlines; they actively kill the story-writing process for me, unfortunately. I know roughly where I want the Progress to go, but the details are very sketchy.

It's going to be a bunch of fics, because there's going to be different character focuses. I have a first draft of what we might call the first fic in the Progress arc (The Tide Is Turning) and a first draft of what might be one of the last fics in the arc (Grown Wise At Last) and a few drafts for other fics in the middle, but the overall story of it is fighting me.

Have a snippet from Raindrops the Children of Rain, a fic that will take place during the same winter as Morvran's visit to Kaer Morhen:

Lambert hears Milena make a soft, strange sound, and then smells tears. His head shoots up. She’s curled on the couch as usual, reading through the letters she’s gotten from her surprisingly numerous correspondents, and she was perfectly happy and content not ten seconds ago, but now she has a hand pressed to her mouth and a sheet of parchment clutched tightly in her other hand, and her eyes are bright, and her scent is horribly muddled. Lambert can’t tell what she’s feeling at all. “Shit, does Geralt have to go invade another kingdom?” he asks, hastening to his feet from his sprawl on the hearth and crossing the room to sit down next to her and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

[killerelysia]

Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader! (Part 2!)

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don't interact!

Words:9000

Genre: Yandere-(Self aware yandere won the poll)

Summary: You’ve become consumed by your obsession with Solivan Brugmansia. What started as innocent curiosity quickly spiraled into a fixation. He started it and you began to stalk him, learning every detail about his life. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction in making Sol’s world safer while growing increasingly delusional about your connection with him. Your love for him deepens as you fantasize about the future, convinced that you are the one who truly understands him—better than anyone else. Despite the line between reality and obsession blurring, you remain certain: Sol is yours, even if he doesn’t know it yet.. You're his and he's yours...

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, mental instability, and delusional thinking, Drugging, Yandere?, Hopeless in love for attention Please read with caution.

Obsessive behavior: The reader becomes dangerously fixated on someone, bordering on stalking and delusion.

Manipulation: The reader engages in schemes to control or harm others, often through deception.

Mental illness: Delusional thinking, possible dissociation from reality, and unhealthy fixation on someone.

Violence: There are references to bullying, physical harm, and emotional manipulation.

Emotional abuse: Both in terms of how the protagonist manipulates others and how they might internalize toxic behaviors.

Stalking: The reader watches and follows the person they are obsessed with.

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, The relationship presented here between sol and reader is extremely toxic!! In no way, Just because I'm writing doesn't mean I support this kind of toxicity. Note, It's okay to like sol if you know the flaws and don't be a blind eye on them! Again, I don't support his actions etc! If you hate sol ignore this.

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee.

DAY 1: The Beloved

“I will not accept one paragraph! I need two whole pages filled with words. Everyone got that?”

The teacher’s voice grated on your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Not that the assignment was hard—you could churn out two pages in your sleep if you wanted to. Writing wasn’t the issue. No, the real problem was the waste.

Two pages of meaningless drivel on some boring topic when you could be filling those pages with him. Words dedicated to Sol, the way his green-streaked hair falls just so, the sharpness of his jawline, the way he speaks as if he’s barely trying and yet every word hooks you like a line to the heart. Two pages about Sol? Easy. Two pages about anything else? Insulting.

You shift in your seat, feeling the familiar burn in your chest. It’s not anger exactly—it’s this gnawing, this aching thing that starts deep inside you every time someone pulls your focus away from him.

And your journal. Oh, your journal. You’d filled its pages with his name, over and over again. Sketches of him, even ones of the two of you together—his hand in yours, his lips grazing your cheek. Perfect. You flip it closed quickly, sliding it under your textbook as a passing student glances your way. No one gets to see those. They wouldn’t understand.

You glance at the clock. The rooftop. You’re running out of time. You bite your lip and glance at the book again. Just one more sketch… no, focus!

The doodle of you and Sol holding hands stares back at you. It’s so cute, you can’t help the small giggle bubbling in your throat. What would he think if he saw this? Would he call it pathetic or perfect? Would he notice the details? The way I drew him smiling?

The smile falters. No.

Not yet. He doesn’t get to see this yet—not until it’s perfect. Not until you are perfect.

With a deep breath, you slam the book shut and stand, forcing the manic swirl of thoughts into a neat little box in the back of your mind. Control. Stay calm. Don’t let anyone see.

There’s plenty of time to admire him later. For now, you’ll play along, just like always.

But inside, your thoughts swirled, chaotic and relentless. You could feel the edges of your obsession creeping in, clawing at your composure.

Why Sol? Why does he get to me like this? Is it his smile? The way his voice sounds like music when he talks to Hyugo about me? Maybe it’s his obesseion Or maybe it’s because I’m just...

You paused, staring blankly at the paper in front of you. Messed up. Rotten. Broken. No wonder I’m drawn to him. He’s the only one who makes me feel like I could be fixed.

You shook your head, banishing the thought. No time for self-pity. You had to get to the rooftop soon, and you couldn’t go up there acting like some lovesick fool.

Standing up from your seat, you were about to grab your bag when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning around, you saw Brittney—the Chipette—no, Crowe’s friend. Her. You pause, giving her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s trying to talk to you, pretend to be friendly. It must be Crowe’s idea. Of course, it is. Brittney doesn’t do anything without some ulterior motive, right? Sharp tongue wrapped in hard words. But… maybe she’s different. she’s kind. Sometimes, she actually tries. It's just she's bad at talking.

A fallen angel in disguise.

You tilt your head slightly, watching her fumble. She doesn’t know how to approach you. Does she think I’m some kid who needs to be scolded? Her nervous glance tell you that. She’s probably going to say something about how wrong it is to obsess over Sol. Does she know? She doesn't know. No one knows.

And Sol isn’t a “kid.” He’s perfect. He’s 6’ of celestial art, every inch of him carved like he was meant to be worshipped, adored. He’s everything. You feel your pulse quicken just thinking about him.

“Hey, you’re going to lunch with us, right?” Brittney starts, pulling you back. “I mean, you should. I don’t usually see you in the cafeteria nowadays, so you must not be eating properly…”

You blink at her. Lunch? The cafeteria? You don’t go there anymore. Not since Sol.

Because Sol hates it. He hates the noise.

He didn’t say it outright, of course. He doesn’t have to. You know it. You feel it in the way he moves, in the small looks he gives the space, in the way he brushes off people there. It’s loud. It’s annoying. He doesn’t like it. So you don’t like it either.

It’s one of the small ways you show your love for him, even if he doesn’t know. Even if no one knows. You don’t need their approval. You don’t need their judgment. You learned to cook, after all! Sol likes to cook too. Isn’t that just fate? It’s like the universe tying you together, thread by thread.

You learned to decorate your food everyday so when he sees he can smile. You made sure to change your wallpaper to a pumpkin so when he might try to check, he will think you like them..

Its all for him..

You always come early, leave your food on your spot on the rooftop so you can watch him later. Just watch. When he’s with Hyugo, you catch glimpses of their meals. Sol always seems to cook for him.

Sol cooks for Hyugo…

Your chest twists. Your grip tightens on your bag.

You wonder when it’ll be you. When will it be you he cooks for? When will you be the one he eats with, laughs with, looks at? Domestic, happy, married—together, forever.

"We will be a happy family together, right Sol? Don't we be together forever...?"

The thought makes your stomach flutter, your lips twitch into an almost-smile. You’re almost dizzy with it. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Wouldn’t that be just right? Sol and you, a home, no one else, just the two of you…

Your breath catches. Stop. Not here. Not in front of her. Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it—

“Hello? You okay?” Brittney’s voice pulls you back.

You blink. Smile. Tilt your head like nothing’s wrong. “I’m fine,” you say, even though you can still feel that wild, spiraling need thrumming in your chest.

Sol would be proud of how well you can hide it. Don’t you think?

You were about to refuse politely, maybe even brush her off, but then Brittney added something that made your blood freeze.

"How can you keep up with classes looking like that? You look like you haven't slept in months. You almost look like a crazed person."

Excuse me?

The words hit like a slap, a harsh reminder of how others saw you. You felt your skin flush, the urge to lash out simmering beneath the surface. No one, no one, was supposed to notice that. Not her. Not anyone. She didn’t know what you were really up to—how could she?

But you caught yourself, staring at her without blinking, trying to suppress the bitter taste in your mouth. You had to hold it together. She was just… clueless. Clueless in the same way everyone else was. She didn't know what you did, how you spent your nights, how you fed your obsession, how you kept everything in line. To her, you were just the weird, sleep-deprived kid who could barely hold it together in class.

You blinked slowly, trying to keep your expression neutral. Don’t let her see how much her words hurt. No one was supposed to see that. You felt a little… off, but you didn’t let it show. You were in control, at least, on the outside.

She realized, too late, that she'd crossed a line. The awkwardness in the air was thick, and you could almost see the regret flicker behind her eyes. Maybe she felt sorry for you? But no, it wasn’t pity. It was something else. Something… less clean.

In truth, you felt a small pang of something almost like guilt. It was strange. You felt… bad for her? You knew Brittney had no idea what she was stepping into. How could she? She wasn’t part of this world you had so carefully constructed, a world that only you understood. She was just someone who thought she was being kind, trying to make conversation.

You sighed softly, resisting the urge to show any emotion. She didn’t deserve to feel bad about it. No, she didn’t deserve that.

"That's really insensitive of you! Imagine if someone else told you about how you look," Crowe’s voice cuts through, a protector once again.

You glance at Brittney. Ugh, such a showoff, trying to play the hero. You barely let it phase you, though. You’re above this.

"Brittney’s just trying, Crowe, I don’t really take offense,” you say, smiling sweetly, but it’s more for your own benefit than anyone else’s.

Crowe looks at you, clearly taken aback. Oh, poor Crowe, so clueless. He thought you’d be hurt? You almost giggle at his innocence.

“Well, you’re the one who insisted on me initiating talk. If you really want to rescue them, there are better ways to be their prince charming, Crowe.” You throw a playful smirk his way. This game’s so easy. He’s trying so hard… for what?

You snicker, watching his face twist in confusion. God, he’s like a lost child when their momma takes away their candy. It’s almost adorable…

"You could’ve done it more nicely, you know. A simple invite would’ve sufficed,” he murmur, you still have the sweet smile plastered across your face. He’s pushing so hard for attention. What’s he trying to prove? You don’t need more friends. Friends are just competition… people getting in the way of your Sol. It's a distraction.

You glance over at the three people you know in the circle—one of them, Subaru. The thought of him nearly makes your stomach churn. Such a fool. You shake your head.

Love is what makes a Subaru a Subaru

You choke on your own thoughts, trying to push the smile from your face. Shut up, Y/n. Just shut up for a second. That quote doesn't deserve Geo

“Damn Brit, you sure are bad at socializing! Hey, Geo! Looks like you’ve got competition!” Deryl’s voice cuts in, a stupid grin spreading across his face.

Brittney’s face turns red. You feel your lips curl into a soft, dangerous smile. Time to save the poor thing.

"At least she tries something," you say, cutting into the moment. "Unlike Mr. Scaramoose over here… Mister Deryl Helianth. It’s okay…"

Deryl’s eyes widen. "You know my full government name?!?" The jock is practically bouncing with excitement. How cute. He thinks it matters.

You smile sweetly. "No, not at all." You really didn’t need to know anything about him. You’ve just been collecting information on everyone. Your eyes flick over to the name data you’ve carefully pulled from the class roster. But Sol’s name isn’t on there… why isn’t his name listed? The thought itches at the back of your mind. I’ll check the Art class today.

Sigh…

"They must have gotten it from the student council. You helped me a lot that day, Y/n. Thanks," Crowe says with a soft smile. Oh, how genuine. How sweet.

But you did it for yourself, didn’t you? You did it to make sure you knew everything about him. To see if Sol was in the same room. Same class..

Any class...

Crowe’s obliviousness is almost painful, but you don’t let it show.

You shake the thought away. Sol, Sol, Sol. There you go again, thinking about him. You feel a silly, wild smile threatening to take over your face. Great job, Y/n. You almost look like a crazy person again.

“Shut the fuck up, Deryl!” Brittney screeches, saving you from your own spiraling thoughts.

You sigh in relief. Finally, a distraction.

While they bicker, you look at Geo, sticking your tongue out. You know it’ll annoy him, and that’s just too fun to pass up. His angry gaze snaps to you. You flash him your sweetest, most angelic smile in return.

Oh, Geo… you think, enjoying his discomfort just a little too much. You turn your gaze to the meek girl beside Brittney, Jess, who’s been silent the whole time. Poor thing. Probably doesn’t even realize how much you hate her existence.

“Sorry,” He says putting on a sympathetic voice. “They’re kind of a rowdy bunch, huh?”

Crowe laughs, scratching the back of his head. “You’re the most normal person I know, Y/n.”

Normal? Oh, if only you knew. If only he could see the things you hide. The way your mind swirls with dark thoughts. The plans you’ve already made.

"Normal?" You smile sweetly again. "Yeah, sure!"

Normal? Sure, if that’s what they want to think. But behind those eyes of yours, it's a whole different story. Behind those closed doors, in the stillness of your room, you sit there, mapping out every move Sol makes. Watching. Waiting. Planning.

You’ve got this figured out. It’s mutual craziness, isn’t it? Stalking is just a step closer to true love, right? After all, Sol’s already there, watching you too.

Crowe introduces Jess to you, and you can’t help but pinch her cheek. Just like Sol would. Your heart skips a beat at the thought, the way you’d touch Sol the same way, so tenderly, so possessively.

You smile, your eyes glazing over, lost in the fantasy.

"Thank Beyonce," you think, when Brittney screams again, snapping you out of your daydream.

"Are you coming with us or what?" Brittney asks, her voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts.

Geo and Deryl exchange whispers. You don’t hear the words, but the feeling between them is thick, charged. Geo glances at you, his eyes narrowing, an intensity behind them that makes your stomach twist in knots.

You just smile and shrug. “I’m not coming. I’ve got to do something about the assignment.”

Crowe furrows his brows, unsure. “Are you sure?”

Geo pushes him out of the way, throwing a glance at you. His eyes are cold, pissed off. But why? Why would he be mad?

You don’t care. “Yeah, I’m sure. I want to see how the show plays out today, just like yesterday. Like the day before. And so on.”

You giggle, the insanity behind your eyes barely concealed. “Thanks, George of the Jungle!”

Geo hisses under his breath, storming off. Good riddance.

Finally, you’re alone, the game once again in your hands.

You approached the usual vent that led to the rooftop, your thoughts on the familiar, quiet solitude awaiting you there. You needed it more than ever. But as you got closer, your heart sank. The vent… it was blocked. A large metal panel, freshly installed, covered the usual opening.

You froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief, your mind racing. No, no, no… This was your only escape. Your only way to break free from the suffocating weight of everything. You reached forward, pressing your hand against the cool metal, but it didn’t budge. It felt like the world itself was closing in around you.

Your gaze shot over to the construction worker nearby, the one handling some tools by the wall. You quickly approached him, a sense of urgency bubbling in your chest. "Hey, what's going on with the vent?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He looked up, wiping his brow before answering. “Oh, that? A tall student, Subaru, complained about the vents being damaged. The university decided to get it fixed right away. They’re installing some new system to keep people from sneaking up through there. Too many people have been climbing in and out, I guess. They said it needed to be blocked off.”

Your blood ran cold as the realization hit you like a sledgehammer. Subaru. That tall, irritating… Scaramouche wannabe.

Damn it.

You almost couldn't breathe, the frustration building inside you so quickly it hurt. You clenched your fists so tightly, your nails dug into your palm. It was him. That bastard had complained about the vents just to block your access. He knew! He knew how much you relied on that small escape, that bit of freedom. And now it was gone—ruined because of his petty complaint.

“Wait," you snapped, your voice dangerously low, "Can you fix it? Please. I need to get through." You could feel the heat rising to your face, a mix of anger and panic. You had to get up there. You had to see Sol. There was no other way.

The construction worker shook his head. “Sorry, kid. They’ve already decided to seal it up. The system’s being locked down. No going through there anymore. If it's rooftop just use the damned stairs. Even then, kids are not gonna listen. Even grownups like you are idiotic."

But you use it for...Rooftop so they can't see

Your world tilted, your vision narrowing. No… no! You could feel your chest tightening, the walls closing in. You were so close. You were this close to seeing him, to feeling something again, but now it was slipping through your fingers.

Geo, that fucking prick! Your heart raced with frustration, your mind spinning. Why did he have to ruin everything?

You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, the urge to scream rising inside you. It wasn’t fair. You couldn’t even reach Sol now, because that damn fool had gotten in the way. You paced in front of the blocked vent, your mind unraveling. You tried to breathe, tried to think of something—anything—but all that came to mind was the surge of anger that made your head spin.

You turned away abruptly, fist clenched tightly at your side, barely holding back the raw frustration that threatened to burst out of you. "Fucking bitch," you muttered under your breath. You didn’t even realize the words had escaped until they echoed through the air.

You cursed under your breath again, letting the anger rage inside you like a storm, unable to quell it. All that rage, all that tension was boiling over, and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

You stood there, Your fingers trembled as you tried to think of another way. The stairs, you thought. The staircase that led to the rooftop—it was a long shot, but maybe you could get up there without anyone noticing.

You glanced around, hoping no one was watching. The stairway to the other side of the rooftop was a bit more hidden, so if you were careful, maybe—just maybe—you could sneak your way up without anyone spotting you. Your mind raced, trying to calculate the risks. There was a chance they’d notice you going up, but you didn’t care. You had to see him today. It wasn’t a choice anymore—it was an obsession, a need, a desperate craving.

You made your way toward the stairwell, a strange mix of hope and anxiety flooding your chest. Just be quiet, don’t get spotted… you repeated to yourself like a mantra.

But the moment you stepped into the stairwell, you felt something shift inside of you. What if they catch you? What if they find out? The thought of someone seeing you make your way to the rooftop, of someone witnessing you sneak away like this, made your stomach churn. The fear crawled up your spine, but you couldn’t stop now. You had to do this for yourself.

You tried to silence the little voice that whispered doubts in your ear. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about being caught.

But the stairs—the stairs were the wrong ones. You turned the corner too fast, your heart pounding louder with every step. You’d entered the wrong pair of stairs, a different exit leading to an entirely different side of the building. A side where the students could see you—where he could see you. The panic rose in your throat. No, no, no… You cursed under your breath.

The walls felt like they were closing in around you. Your hands gripped the railing tightly, trying to steady yourself as your chest tightened with dread. It’s too much. It’s too risky. You’ll be caught.

The weight of it all hit you then, the tears pricking at the back of your eyes. Sol… you can’t even see him anymore. You’re losing everything.

A soft sob escaped your lips, quickly smothered by the desperate need to control yourself. You wiped your eyes, but they wouldn’t stop, your tears betraying you. Why was it so hard? Why did everything feel like it was slipping through your fingers?

You felt small, insignificant, lost in a world that was spinning too fast. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t you just have a simple moment with him? To see his face, to be near him, to exist in his world for just a little while.

Your breath hitched again, sobbing softly to yourself, trying to stifle the noise. You hated how weak you felt, how exposed you were. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be crying over something so ridiculous, over something you couldn’t control. But in that moment, you didn’t care. You just wanted to see him.

You needed him.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? you thought bitterly, wiping your nose as you swallowed the lump in your throat. Why did it have to be so complicated? Every day felt like a fight—a fight against yourself, against your own cravings, against everything pulling you toward him.

The sobs were quiet, but they felt so loud in the silence of the stairwell. You felt pathetic—helpless, even. But there was no turning back now. You had to get to the roof. You had to see him.

You blinked hard, forcing your tears to stop. It was time to take action. Be sneaky, be careful. You can do this.

You wiped your face, sucked in a breath, and kept climbing the stairs, hoping that just one more turn would lead you to him.

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling as you reached the rooftop, your breath shaky and uneven. The cool breeze barely brushed your face, but the overwhelming sense of sadness flooded your chest, crushing it under its weight.

Sol… Sol… where are you? Your heart hammered painfully in your chest as you looked around, searching desperately. But the rooftop was empty. No sign of him. Not a shadow, not a glimpse.

You felt a sob tear through your chest, the tears flowing freely as your eyes glazed over with an almost feverish kind of longing. Why isn't he here? you thought with a sort of irrational desperation. But deep down, you knew. It wasn’t about finding him here on the rooftop. It was about needing him so badly that it felt like your insides were turning to ash.

Your vision blurred with the endless cascade of tears, and your head dropped, defeated. A few soft sobs escaped you, echoing in the emptiness. Why did it hurt so much? You didn’t care that the tears were endless, that the ache in your heart was growing. It felt both agonizing and strangely satisfying.

Your eyes were wide, lovesick and sad, the desperation leaking out of every pore. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from spinning. I need him… I need him so badly… It hurt, but the hurt was like some sick form of comfort. Every pang of longing, every tear that slipped from your eyes only added to the twisted ache that thrummed in your chest.

You wiped your face, but it didn’t matter. The tears kept coming, flowing out like some uncontrollable river.

Sol… you whispered softly to yourself, your voice trembling.

You felt so small, so lost in this need for him, yet at the same time, you felt alive. Alive in a way that only came with this kind of madness. This kind of longing.

And it felt so good.

A high, sick laugh that made your stomach churn. You couldn’t even believe it yourself, but there it was—uncontrollable and desperate.

"Ha…ha…haha…" you whispered to yourself, almost crazed with it, your tears mixing with your laughter in a strange, disorienting way. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy. But it felt right. It felt like it made sense in some deranged, twisted way.

And still, you looked around, trying to get a glimpse, even just a hint of him. But there was nothing. The emptiness was deafening.

.

You felt a sob tear through your chest, the tears flowing freely as your eyes glazed over with an almost feverish kind of longing. Why isn't he here? you thought with a sort of irrational desperation. But deep down, you knew. It wasn’t about finding him here on the rooftop. It was about needing him so badly that it felt like your insides were turning to ash.

Your vision blurred with the endless cascade of tears, and your head dropped, defeated. A few soft sobs escaped you, echoing in the emptiness. Why did it hurt so much? You didn’t care that the tears were endless, that the ache in your heart was growing. It felt both agonizing and strangely satisfying.

Your eyes were wide, lovesick and sad, the desperation leaking out of every pore. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from spinning. I need him… I need him so badly… It hurt, but the hurt was like some sick form of comfort. Every pang of longing, every tear that slipped from your eyes only added to the twisted ache that thrummed in your chest.

You wiped your face, but it didn’t matter. The tears kept coming, flowing out like some uncontrollable river.

Sol… you whispered softly to yourself, your voice trembling.

You felt so small, so lost in this need for him, yet at the same time, you felt alive. Alive in a way that only came with this kind of madness. This kind of longing.

And it felt so good.

The rooftop’s chill stung your tear-soaked cheeks, and you were ready to leave with a heavy heart when an unfamiliar voice caught your attention. It wasn’t Sol’s—no, you’d know his voice anywhere—but someone else entirely. You walked fo the sound of the voice cautiously, you spotted Hyugo.

He stood a few steps away, holding a phone to his ear, speaking in a language you couldn’t quite identify. His tone was firm, measured, but whatever he was saying wasn’t your concern. You were only focused on how this wasn’t Sol.

Still, you watched for a moment longer, curiosity briefly flickering through your sadness. You took a step back, intending to leave unnoticed. But just as you turned, a hand clamped down on your shoulder, freezing you in place. Your heart jumped to your throat as you felt his breath near your neck and something cold—too cold—pressed against your skin.

A knife.

"Who are you? Speak, unless you want to get yourself into big trouble," Hyugo said lowly, his voice sharp and unforgiving.

"I’m—uh, Y/n L/n of class 4-B! Please don’t kill me!" you stammered, panic slipping through every word. You couldn’t help but hope—no, pray—that he’d recognize your name as someone Sol would vouch for, even if it was just in your own delusional mind.

The grip on your shoulder slackened slightly. Relief bloomed in your chest, though it was short-lived as Hyugo shifted, striking a pose that reminded you of Sherlock Holmes—a pose you knew he adored. You’d overheard him ranting about it to Sol once, and that memory made you laugh internally. Sol’s pained expression had been adorable.

But now wasn’t the time for that. You were trapped here, and Hyugo seemed more amused than threatening at this point. His eyes narrowed as he muttered, “Y/n L/n… Why does that sound familiar? Class 4-B too…”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Probably because you won’t stop teasing Sol about me.”

Foolishly, you threw a punch in frustration, aiming for his smug face. Hyugo caught your fist with ease, still holding that ridiculous Sherlock pose. The corner of his lips twitched in amusement as he tightened his grip on your hand, making you wince.

"Sol, save me from this bitch," your thoughts screamed as you glared at Hyugo, who seemed all too entertained by your antics.

Hyugo clapped his hands together in mock prayer, bowing with theatrical flourish. “I remember now! What impeccable timing, Y/n!” he said, his voice dripping with faux gratitude.

You stared blankly. What was he doing?

“I need your help,” he continued, straightening up dramatically. “You see, I have a familial emergency and can’t attend my next class. I promised my partner I’d be there, though, and since you’re from the same class… could you take over for me?”

You blinked, incredulous. “What kind of person are you? You just threatened me with a knife, and now you’re asking for favors? What are you, some yakuza kid?”

Hyugo’s smug smile faltered for a moment before his eyes widened in realization. “Oh,” he muttered, fixing his posture. Then, as if nothing happened, he threw you a wink and a thumbs up. “The name’s Hyugo Sugimoto! From class 4-A!” he declared proudly. “But I take mixed classes with Mister Allan to catch up on some, uh… subjects I missed last year.”

You folded your arms, unimpressed. His attempt at charm wasn’t working, especially when he pulled out his knife again, dangling it casually. “It’s for self-defense,” he explained, launching into an unnecessary monologue. You stopped listening entirely, your mind already halfway to its breaking point.

But then, something in his tone shifted. The goofy grin fell from his face, replaced by a much more serious expression.

“Do you have friends, Y/n?”

You recoiled slightly, the question catching you off guard. “Yes, I do,” you shot back defensively.

Hyugo tilted his head. “Yeah, but don’t you ever feel like… you’re doing too much for them?”

The words struck a chord, silencing you. Was he talking about Sol? Your chest tightened, but you refused to let it show.

“He’s not the best guy out there,” Hyugo said, and you winced. You knew Sol wasn’t perfect. His methods were unconventional, his actions borderline obsessive—but that was fine. You loved him. You understood him. Your relationship thrived on the kind of chaos no one else could grasp.

“But you…” Hyugo continued, his gaze unwavering. “Maybe you’ll be the one who understands him.”

Your breath hitched. “I do,” you murmured, so quietly you weren’t sure he even heard.

You smiled faintly, a flicker of something almost kind crossing his face. “I’m sure Solivan Brugmansia appreciates what you do.”

The mention of Sol’s full name sent your heart racing. You froze, staring at Hyugo, trying to process the weight of his words.

Hyugo clapped his hands suddenly, breaking the tension. “So please, be his partner in Art Appreciation!” he pleaded, his dramatic energy returning full force. “He needs someone who gets him! He needs someone like you!"

Your mind spiraled. Was the next class Sol’s? Could it really be? Your lips parted in shock, but before you could speak, Hyugo’s expression darkened. “Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Did you just say his name?”

You blinked, regaining some composure. “What? No. You misheard me,” you said, feigning calmness. Manipulation came naturally to you, and you knew how to keep your face unreadable. “I never opened my mouth."

It was weird.

Hyugo dropped to his knees in a dramatic, pleading pose, resembling a pitiful clown more than the dangerous man who had just threatened you moments ago. His serious tone dissolved into a mess of blubbering theatrics.

“Please! I’m begging you! Be his partner!” he wailed, hands clasped as if in prayer.

“Alright, alright! I’ll do it! Just get the hell up already!” you snapped, exasperated.

Hyugo’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “You mean it? Thank you, Y/n! I knew you were the right person for this!” He shot up, nearly knocking you over in his enthusiasm.

“His name is Sol! Solivan Brugmansia! Don’t worry, you won’t miss him!” he said brightly, grinning ear to ear.

Your heart stopped. Sol. It was Sol. A jolt of electricity shot through you like the world had just revealed a cosmic secret. This was how you were going to meet him for the first time? Your head spun, and you couldn’t decide if you wanted to scream, laugh, or cry.

Without waiting for a reaction, Hyugo gave you a firm pat on the shoulder, his demeanor softening just enough to catch you off guard. “Crying doesn’t suit people like you, Y/n,” he said, his voice oddly sincere. Then, just as suddenly, he turned on his heel and sprinted off, leaving you stunned in the middle of the rooftop.

Your thoughts swirled, tangled in emotions you couldn’t even name.

You felt the tears still clinging to your cheeks, but instead of sadness, an uncontrollable smile spread across your face. The weight of earlier despair evaporated as Hyugo's words echoed in your mind. Solivan Brugmansia… you’ll be his partner…

Your heart leaped as you imagined him, the way his name rolled off your tongue like a song written just for you. “Ahhh… Sol!” you squealed softly, bouncing in place like an overjoyed child. You hugged yourself, spinning in a circle with daydreams overtaking reality.

This was better than any rooftop sighting—this was fate pulling the strings of your love story! Your knees wobbled as you imagined what it would be like sitting beside him, sharing notes, the way his hand might brush yours while pointing at something in a textbook. Your daydreams spiraled into a symphony of possibilities, each one sweeter than the last.

You clutched your chest dramatically, the hopeless romantic in you fully awakened. “He’s perfect,” you murmured, giggling as your face burned with a lovesick blush. You jumped again, unable to stop yourself from squealing, “I love him!”

Lost in your swirling thoughts, you didn’t even notice the bell ringing in the distance.

There's still. Time. I'll head to Library...For.. Maybe assignment.

You stepped into the library, the comforting mix of coffee and aged books wrapping around you like a soft blanket. Normally, this was your safe haven—a place to sketch and dream without interruption. Your perfect little corner, tucked away from prying eyes, was waiting.

But today… everything shattered the moment you saw him.

Your heart came to a screeching halt, and your lungs forgot how to breathe. There, sitting at one of the tables, completely absorbed in his book, was him. Solivan Brugmansia.

Your legs locked in place, and every gear in your brain shifted into overdrive. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think—just stare. His long fingers lightly turned the page, the soft motion oddly captivating. His sharp jawline framed his face, leading up to cheekbones so defined they looked like they were carved from marble. His dark, slightly wavy hair fell messily over his forehead, catching the faint sunlight streaming through the window.

His lashes were long, casting delicate shadows over his cheeks as his eyes—those intense, unique hues you couldn't forget—traveled across the words in his book. The air around him felt magnetic, an invisible force pulling you closer, drowning you in admiration. His lips moved faintly as if he were silently mouthing the words, and you almost melted on the spot.

It hit you all over again. This is him. This is Sol.

You felt like a mess—your clothes felt wrong, your hair felt wrong, you felt wrong. Why now?! Why does he have to look like an angel when I look like this? You were so close to running out, but your feet stayed planted, refusing to move.

You drank in every detail, heart hammering like a lovesick fool. The way his shoulders leaned slightly forward as he read, his posture casual but refined. The faint scuff on the corner of his book as if he had been reading it everywhere. Even the small crease in his brow hinted at his concentration.

Your fingers itched for your sketchbook. You wanted to draw him again, every line and curve, as if your pencil could capture even a fraction of what made him so perfect. But then your gaze shifted—there were other students around, eyes occasionally darting toward him. Of course, you thought bitterly. How could they not?

The idea of pulling out your sketchbook felt risky, almost too obvious. And yet the urge to immortalize this moment, this sight of him, was clawing at your chest.

You swallowed hard, stepping back toward the corner, hoping he wouldn’t notice your frantic gaze. But even as you moved, your eyes refused to leave him. So close, yet so far... you thought, feeling every bit the love-drunk, hopeless fool you were.

Oh, how my heart shivers, lovesick and wild, Caught in your gaze, like a star-struck child. Your eyes, deep constellations, chart the skies, Pulling me closer with each soft sunrise. Your hair, dark rivers where the moonlight dips, Your name a melody upon my lips. I see you in whispers, in shadows, in dreams, A presence that wraps me in love’s silent screams.

You took a steadying breath, willing yourself to act composed, to not let your trembling hands or lovesick expression give you away. Solivan Brugmansia—your Sol—was sitting in your seat. That sacred corner, your little world, now graced by his presence. The thought made your pulse race, equal parts thrill and terror.

You couldn’t help it; your eyes roamed over him, absorbing every detail like a parched soul drinking in the rain. His hair caught the faint library light, the strands gleaming like silk. His posture was casual but poised, one hand flipping through a book while the other rested lazily on the table—oh, that hand, the one you’d heard was hurt recently. He punched a guy for you.

You bit your lip, an involuntary whimper catching in your throat at the thought of his pain.

He hadn’t noticed you at first, but your dazed stare must have drawn him in. Slowly, his gaze lifted, those striking heterochromatic eyes locking onto yours. The air felt electric, your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

“...?” His expression was unreadable, but the subtle furrow of his brows suggested mild curiosity—or was that amusement? You couldn’t tell. Either way, it made your knees weak.

“You’re, um... in my seat,” you managed, the words stumbling over each other like a desperate escape. “Can I have it back, Mr. Solivan Brugmansia...? Also, I, uh, heard about your hand. Are you okay? I hope you’re not overdoing it. And, uh, your partner—”

You froze mid-ramble as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He looked surprised for a brief second—had you actually caught him off guard? But just as quickly, his expression smoothed into that same cold, enigmatic mask. It was like looking at a wall of ice with flames just barely flickering underneath.

“You... know my name?” he asked, his voice a soft drawl, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. Control, maybe? Suspicion? Whatever it was, it sent a shiver down your spine.

You exhaled, trying to suppress the ridiculous giddiness that threatened to bubble over. Stay cool, stay cool, you reminded yourself, even as your heartbeat rivaled a drumline.

“I know your name because Hyugo told me. He said you needed a partner in art class,” you began, keeping your tone casual, though you were certain your cheeks were giving you away. “And one time, when I went to the nurse, she mentioned feeling bad about a student named Solivan who’d been injured. That’s you, isn’t it?”

His eyes widened for the briefest moment, and then he averted them, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of his book. Was that... a blush? You almost squealed internally, but you swallowed it down like a pro. He didn’t respond, clearly not used to being read so easily.

You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to something soft and steady. “I was worried when she said that,” you admitted. “But hey, a student is a student. Don’t overthink it. Now... can I please have my seat back?”

For a second, you thought he might actually listen. His eyes flicked to yours, a rare vulnerability peeking through before it was swallowed up by his usual mask. But instead of moving, he arched an eyebrow, glanced under the desk, and then back at you.

“I don’t see your name on it,” he said flatly, his expression neutral as he turned back to his book like you weren’t standing there, brimming with barely-contained exasperation.

You blinked. Oh, hell no.

Your jaw clenched, and a vein in your forehead might’ve popped. What was this guy’s deal?! Soulmate or not, your seat was sacred. You puffed your cheeks in frustration, unintentionally looking like the most adorably indignant person in the room. Not that Sol noticed—he was already back to reading.

Unbelievable, you thought, your inner monologue screaming .

"So cute..." It was silent but you heard it/\.

Your whole system short-circuited. Did you just hear that? Did he really say that? If it were possible to combust on the spot, you'd already be a pile of ashes.

HE CALLED YOU CUTE?!!?

Your brain spiraled into chaos. Your inner monologue devolved into nothing but incomprehensible shrieks: "IDIOEYDOWEOHCOWEODHEHUFEWFE8FR80EG8YE!!!!" Words were officially out of service, leaving you stranded in a whirlpool of overwhelming emotions.

He was blushing too, barely visible but undeniably there. His cheeks held a faint dusting of pink, and his lips curled into a barely-there smile—just enough to devastate your heart completely. How could someone be so effortlessly adorable and infuriating at the same time? Someone save you from this man, please!

But wait—did he notice your cheeks puffing up in anger? Was that why he smiled? No, no, no. If being an angry little cutie made him smile, then you’d be doomed to accidentally fuel his amusement for eternity. Yet the thought of making him smile set off a whole new wave of screaming in your head. Wahhh, he's so cute! Why does he have to be like this?

You couldn’t decide if you were furious or lovesick. One thing was certain—you were absolutely doomed.

Sol tilted his head, a sly smirk playing at his lips. "Tell you what," he drawled, looking entirely too smug for his own good, "you get me a cup of coffee, and I'll give you your seat back."

You froze. Was he serious? Coffee? For a seat? You locked eyes with him, giving him your best unimpressed glare. So what?!?! You don’t just barter seating arrangements with caffeine!

But before you could even voice your protest, your brain betrayed you.

He’ll drink it... That means he’ll touch the cup... Oh no, oh no, OH NO.

Your inner monologue kicked into overdrive, spiraling faster than you could keep up. "AN EMPTY CUP HE TOUCHES WILL BE MY SHRINE!!! I’LL FRAME IT. PUT IT IN A GLASS CASE. AHHHH!!!" You were practically vibrating with joy.

And then it hit you. Wait. Wait. I know his favorite drink. Latte. You knew it because you may or may not have totally-not-suspiciously stalked him during lunch breaks, one time even spying on him while he hung out on the rooftop. It’s fine. It’s research. You’re not weird at all.

Your face lit up with an almost chipmunk-like grin, your mood swinging like a pendulum.

It’s okay. You’re buying him his favorite coffee. Totally normal. Not because you’re secretly losing your mind over his cute smirk or planning to preserve the cup for eternity or anything. Yep. Totally normal.

Sol's silence was maddening, and you were done with his smug attitude. Crossing your arms, you let out a huff, glaring down at him as he coolly flipped another page in his book, pretending you weren’t there.

"Do I look like a servant to you!? Just move already!" you snapped, trying to keep your frustration in check. He barely glanced at you, letting out a tired sigh before returning to his novel.

Oh, no. That was not the reaction you wanted. You wanted him to look at you—to really see you.

Fine. Two could play this game.

Without a second thought, you stomped around to his side, his gaze flickering up just slightly to follow your movements. He was clearly unimpressed. That was fine; you had something planned. Gripping the back of the chair he was sitting on, you gave it a firm pull, causing him to wobble precariously.

“Whoa, what the hell—” His voice cut off as you smirked, satisfied with his startled reaction.

Before he could reprimand you for your actions, you cut him off, effectively shocking him into silence. By settling yourself on top of his lap.

He froze instantly, his book forgotten, his breath catching in his throat. He swore to whatever god looking down on him right now to take him. His ears were burning red, his entire body tensed under you, and yet… he didn’t move to push you off.

You, on the other hand, acted as if nothing was amiss, casually pulling your bag onto the desk as if this was just another day. But inside, your thoughts were spiraling out of control. Your love-struck gaze lingered on him as you rested comfortably, your heart pounding in time with the storm of emotions threatening to spill out.

What are you, Solivan...? you wanted to ask, your fingers itching to reach out and touch him. Why does everything feel so good when you’re near me? Is this how you feel when I’m around? Why are you making me feel like this?

You bit back a grin, feigning indifference even as your cheeks warmed. Sitting on him like this… felt normal, almost natural. You weren’t even processing the fact that you were quite literally perched on the lap of the boy you’d been stalking—er, admiring—for weeks now.

Sol, on the other hand, looked like he was about to combust. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure where to go. His mind raced with a mix of flustered panic and something darker—something possessive. His beloved was teasing him, and every ounce of self-control he had was being tested.

For now, he stayed silent, his face flushed and his heart hammering so loudly that he was sure you could hear it. But the way your smug expression softened with the barest hint of affection made his resolve waver.

You had no idea what you were doing to him.

Sol’s heartbeat quickened, a low curse escaping his lips as he tried—and failed—to compose himself. Meanwhile, you continued your work as if nothing had happened, utterly unfazed by the situation. Or at least, that’s what you wanted him to believe.

Oh, sweet, naive you—you couldn’t help yourself. With a small tilt of your head, you gave him a quick glance, the corners of your lips curving into a subtle, teasing smile.

It was driving him insane.

Inside, though, you were a chaotic mess. YOUR ASS IS ON HIS LAP?! HOLY SHET! You could barely hold back the urge to laugh or scream—or maybe both. What’s worse, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that a few students were starting to notice. Some rolled their eyes at the scene, while others moved away entirely. Sol must look like a total pervert with his flushed face and the way he seemed frozen in place.

His cheeks burned an even deeper red. The sheer embarrassment almost had him wishing for the ground to swallow him whole. But despite it all, his gaze lingered on you, his chest tightening at how adorably unbothered you looked, simply focusing on your work. He couldn’t see the lovestruck expression on your face, though—thank god. You were practically drooling as you scribbled away, overwhelmed by the proximity and the faint scent of his cologne.

Sol inhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. It was no use fighting it. It’s my lucky day, he thought with a bitter sweetness. My pumpkin— No, no, that sounded weird. My beloved—better—is sitting on me. This is fine.

Gathering what was left of his composure, he hesitated before placing his arm next to yours on the desk, trying to act like this was completely normal. He stared down at the pages of his book, though none of the words made sense anymore. You had completely fried his brain.

You, meanwhile, decided to make yourself more comfortable. A subtle shift in your seat elicited a low groan from him, one that sent a shiver up your spine. It was clear you were doing this on purpose, and the realization made his jaw clench. You bit your lip to suppress a grin, your thoughts wandering to the way his lips looked. Soft, kissable, and so, so tempting.

Your heart thudded at the thought.

A minute passed, the tension slowly dissipating, but your heart was still racing. You could almost taste the calm, but it wasn't the peaceful kind. Not when Sol was so close.

He muttered something under his breath, and you perked up, curious. “Seldom we find,” he quoted. You tilted your head, watching him closely. Was he really interested? His voice sounded serious, focused.

You gave him space to read the rest of the stanza, allowing the silence to linger, but inside, you were buzzing.

"Half an idea in the Profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once..."

You couldn’t help but lean in a little closer, your eyes flicking to him as he was so absorbed in his book. Could you feed him this poem, like feeding him words? No. You were supposed to focus, act normal. But it didn’t matter because he was so... charming. And it wasn’t just the poem—it was him. The way his voice softened when he read, the intensity in his eyes. God, you wanted to be the one to impress him.

His eyes didn’t stray from the page as he continued. “As easily as through as Naples bonnet—An Enigma by Edgar Allan Poe, huh? Not a bad choice."

A small smile tugged at your lips. Does he like poems too, or is it just him?

You could practically feel his presence wrapping around you, the air thickening as you tried to focus on the text. But the more you looked at him, the more the words blurred. You felt drawn to him, closer and closer...

"Do you know this poem has a puzzle?" he asked suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts.

"What...?" You blinked, unsure at first.

He smiled—God, that smile—and pointed at the first line, then the second. "Yes, a puzzle. This is one of the few works of his that I find quite charming..."

Charming? He's the one who's charming, you thought as you looked at him. You could barely keep your thoughts in check, wanting to record everything about him. This was... this was it. He was it.

You stared at the poem again, pretending to think. The truth was, you were just trying to keep yourself from throwing yourself into him completely. You needed a reason to stay calm. But his finger was still so close, his breath just slightly grazing your ear as he leaned in to guide you.

“Is it Sarah Anna Lewis?” you whispered, not wanting to say the wrong answer.

The shock on his face was enough to send a thrill down your spine, but he recovered quickly, sighing in defeat. “You got it right,” he whispered back, the words almost sinking into your skin.

Your heart fluttered wildly, as if you'd just won a game... his game.

You were... so happy. You couldn't hold back the soft giggle that bubbled up, your pride shining through. Your smile grew, unable to hide how pleased you were.

"I deserve another pat!" you exclaimed, pride spilling from you. "I got it right, yeah?"

Sol chuckled, but it was a hesitant sound—something almost shy. His hand brushed against your head again, giving you another gentle pat. And fuck, you couldn't help but close your eyes and savor the moment. You were addicted to the way he touched you. You’d never get enough.

"Just happy to see someone likes his poems, or at least deciphers them," he murmured.

I like you, you wanted to say. I like you so much...

But you couldn’t. Instead, your body betrayed you. As you leaned forward in excitement, you accidentally pressed your front against his chest, causing him to freeze.

Shit.

Before you could even process it, his hand shot out to grab your waist, holding you in place. Your heart skipped a beat as the room felt too small, as if everything around you was fading except for the pressure of your bodies being too close. You didn’t even care that it looked like two lovers in a moment.

Two lovers... just like in the novels.

You looked up, ready to joke about the situation, but his relaxed posture had vanished. Sol was tense, his face flushed a shade of red you had never seen before. He was literally trembling now, his eyes wide as dinner plates. His breath quickened, and before you knew it, he was leaning forward and gently—gently—placing you back down on the table.

"I’m sorry! I forgot I was sitting on you!" You scrambled to get off him, your hands shaky from the sudden shift in the situation.

But the truth was—you loved it.

You giggled, a deep, warm feeling spreading in your chest as you realized how easy it was to fluster him. But as soon as your feet hit the ground, you saw it—Sol was already up, clutching his book like it was his lifeline.

Without a word, he hurried to the exit, his pace like that of a speed walker, trying to escape from what you both just created.

And you, standing there with a blush on your face and your heart still racing, knew one thing for sure:

You trudged down the hall, your footsteps slow and reluctant. Sol was just ahead, but there was a slight distraction—Crowe. Damn it, you thought. You didn’t need this right now. Sol was slipping away, and you needed to be with him.

But then, you saw Brittney—her uniform a disaster. It was a mess of ketchup, mustard, and oil, a perfect blend of clumsy chaos. Jess was trying to help, but nothing seemed to work. What did happen? You were so relieved you hadn’t been involved in that mess. The last thing you wanted was to be caught up in that.

"Y/n! I was about to check up on you, how are you feeling?" Crowe’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you tried to keep your frustration in check.

"Good, better..." you muttered, though your mind was still on Sol. You couldn’t care less about the unfolding drama; it sounded ridiculous, but you had to admit—it was probably fun. Geo wasn’t around, thank God.

Then there was Brittney’s confused face, looking at you as you handed her the key to your locker.

“I have some fresh button-down shirts. You can wear one of them—or just keep it. I didn’t even get them properly, but I got both male and female sizes... You can have the female one. Just give the key to Crowe. I’m heading somewhere.”

She looked at you quizzically, but you didn’t have the patience. “Move, Ichabod...” You practically hissed the words, a tone of warning in your voice. You didn’t have time to explain further.

Crowe seemed taken aback, his expression faltering. “Where...?”

You didn’t answer directly. You just felt this desperate need to be elsewhere, away from everything, toward Sol.

And then you were gone.

Crowe stood there, confused, staring after you as you ran. “What am I doing wrong...?” he murmured to himself, probably wondering why you were so distant.

You didn’t care about that, though. Sol was what mattered.

And there he was, rushing toward the restroom. Your heart skipped a beat—Oh no. You couldn’t follow him there. That restroom? It was infamous. You'd heard the rumors. It wasn’t the place to go if you wanted to avoid strange giggling. But the pull to be close to him was strong, almost overwhelming.

You had no choice but to head to your next class. You could still feel the electricity in the air as you walked, a tight knot in your chest. You took your usual seat and pulled out your journal, your fingers grazing the pages. But then—Stop. You couldn’t focus. You couldn’t draw. You wanted to, but everything felt... alive in a different way.

You stepped into the classroom once again, your eyes scanning the room. There, at the back, was the tuft of black hair with striking green highlights—Solivan Brugmansia. It was him. But... was he always there? How had you missed him before? You’d never noticed his presence in the past. Was it always this obvious? Had you really been so blind to his existence?

The realization hit you like a wave. You couldn't believe you'd overlooked him all this time. Solivan... Sol... He was always there, sitting at the back, focused on his own world. You had never seen him, and yet now, it felt like you were noticing everything about him. How had you been so unaware?

Your heart raced. Thank gods you were here now. You could hardly keep your eyes off him. You moved to the seat directly in front of him, pulling the chair close and sitting down. Your gaze was fixed on him. There was a grace to the way he drew, a certain elegance in the movement of his hand. His pencil glided across the page effortlessly, each stroke precise, as if it was second nature. You couldn’t help but lean closer, your curiosity getting the better of you.

You had to know—what was he drawing? You craned your neck just enough to catch a glimpse of the paper.

you leaned over to get a closer look at his drawing, you suddenly caught Sol’s attention. His pencil froze mid-motion, and his wide, startled eyes snapped up to meet yours. His face turned an instant shade of red, and before you could even react, he quickly slammed the book shut with a soft thud. He glanced away, clearly flustered, his cheeks burning from the unexpected attention.

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, but you quickly tried to smooth over the awkwardness. “I’m sorry, it’s me from the library... I hope we can get along,” you said, your voice softer than usual, almost a little nervous. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted not sounding more casual about it.

He kept his gaze down, still blushing furiously, and didn’t say anything for a moment. He just turned away slightly, his fingers gripping his book tighter as if trying to hide behind it. You could almost feel the heat radiating from his face.

Not wanting to make it more awkward, you hurried back to your seat, but you could feel his eyes following you. As you settled in, you risked a glance at him, only to find that he was already staring at you. Both of you yelped in surprise, quickly turning your heads in the opposite direction, your faces burning in sync. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, neither of you daring to meet the other’s gaze for more than a split second. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach and the heat of embarrassment prickling your skin.

This... was going to be interesting.

This is rushed im sorrry! Its a small fic so! dw ill update it!

[blackkatmagic]

I love every time you bring in the nomadic masters, they’re all so funny and yet slightly or majorly terrifying to other characters because they’re so unhinged yet competent. I’m so interested by Fay be dealing with a whole battalion rather than just the couple of clones you’ve had her interacting with before (which I also love to be clear). Also, love the little nuggets of world building with the Jedi temple, Fay is a very fun narrator because she just has so much history and experience.

“Master Fay!” Tae calls, hurrying across the hall to greet her.

Fay pauses in the doorway of the Archives, turns. She can't help but smile at the sight of Tae's grin, and when he skids to a half and ducks into a quick bow, she snorts.

“You're never going to fool anyone into thinking you're a stuffy old diplomat if you rush everywhere like that, padawan,” she says mildly, and Tae chuckles, straightening. He’s gotten taller since she saw him last, and significantly so, as tall as Nico now. His hair has finished going grey, too, the way all Diaths tend to early on, and it makes all the beads he’s added to his padawan braid stand out more. There's a krayt tooth that’s new, as well, as far as Fay can remember, which means he must have completed a Kumumgah adulthood ritual, the way all Diaths do.

He must be nearly ready for his Trials, Fay thinks with a faint pang. It’s hardly felt like any time at all, and already he’s grown. Soon, she’ll turn around and find him with a padawan of his own. That’s how it happened with Nico, too.

“People think all Jedi are stuffy anyway,” Tae says, unbothered, and his smile is bright. “I have a head start.”

“A secret no one will ever tell you: most Jedi are.” Nico inclines his head to Fay, still straight and stern, with his hands folded in the wide sleeves of his robe. “Master Fay.”

“Master Diath,” Fay returns politely. “I felt you arrive. Everything went smoothly?”

“I didn’t fistfight Master Mundi, if that’s what you're asking.” The twitch of Nico's mustache is the only sign that he’s fighting down a smirk. “Or Tholme.”

“I think you’d be more in danger of kissing Tholme,” Tae says, and when Nico levels a narrow look at him, he raises his hands in surrender. “I'm a telepath, Uncle.”

“A telepath who pokes his metal nose everywhere it shouldn’t be,” Nico says, though it’s more sigh than complaint.

[sufferu]

You know, it’s a very minor thing, but it does make me a little sad how the Re:Zero anime adaptation…really DOES tone down a lot of the queer subtext in the original LN.

No Subaru proudly remembering his past as an androgynous, long-haired kid and lamenting that “time has not been kind to him”

All of Subaru’s comments about women being very pointedly based around their clothing (with the only exceptions being when he’s explicitly trying to distract them from something/lighten the mood) being changed to him making sincere comments about their actual bodies

No Subaru crossdressing for the first three days of high school (despite it being hinted to be a really pivotal part of his character actually, in both the text and QnAs—)

No Subaru accidentally dressing as a maid during the last day of the first Arc 2 loop and having a genuinely really hard time stepping out of that more feminine persona

No Subaru calling Otto his boytoy and. Honest to god, with context of what Natsumi Schwartz is like, I’m pretty sure Subaru was straight up flirting

No “supple hips” Julius, or Subaru allying his feelings with Patrasche when he thought she was being aggressive towards Julius’ steed before being told that actually she was trying to MATE with the other ground dragon, and even when they do include some of their interactions it really is toned down from the LN (I get that a lot of it is just visual vs prose medium but it still makes me kinda sad)

No Subaru referring to Reinhard as an ikeman

No Ferris jumping on Subaru’s bed and then going, “Wait did your heart flutter just now—?” and then explicitly staring at him with shock when Subaru hastily tries to deny it

Emilia’s definition of marriage being “between two people who love each other” being changed to “between a man and a woman who love each other” (though maybe that was just Crunchyroll? idk)

No Subaru explicitly being a really insane flirt with men (though I’m kinda holding onto hope that it’ll happen later as it comes up)

Ah, I hope they don’t alter Natsumi Schwartz’ appearance in Arc 7 too much…

[yuurei20]

Lilia Facts Part 33: Liia and Idia (pt2)

Idia’s dorm vignette revolves around him and Lilia, with Idia calling Muscle Red his “one and only trusted companion."

Idia describes Muscle Red as considerate and “the nicest guy” and is moved by his interest in an idol group that Idia recommends.

Idia says that it would be great if they could meet in person and Lilia says he would gladly visit, but Idia turns him down on the excuse that he lives somewhere far too remote (Lilia: “What a coincidence. It's the same for me.”)

Lilia is relieved that they decided not to meet in person, saying that he would have lost his gaming buddy, and he is impressed by Lilia’s maturity.

Idia says, “I'd do anything for him! Making a playlist of song recs, gifting him a paid livestream pass, you name it!”

Idia is able to purchase a ticket to a concert for his favorite idol group and immediately shares the news with Lilia, saying that he wonders if they will be able to catch a live show together some day.

There are many instances where the two characters come close to realizing who they are to one another: Ortho announces Idia’s handle, Gloomurai, to everyone in the room at the conclusion of Phantom Bride, but it seems that Lilia had already left.

Ortho is Lilia’s interview for his second birthday vignette where he tells Lilia about Idia’s “all-night gaming binges.”

Lilia and Idia interact directly in Book 5 where Lilia says that he has “been known to enjoy a spot of gaming,” but the conversation ends there.

Silver explains to Idia that his father often plays online games late into the night just as Lilia appears, asking Silver about doing an “ultra-hard quest” together, right in front of Idia.

After Silver and Lilia leave Idia says, “I normally avoid people like the plague but honestly, (Silver’s father) sounds like the kinda guy l'd actually like to meet someday. If he exists.”

Ortho seems to come very close to making the connection on his own in Book 7, saying that Idia has said that Muscle Red is a “calm, mature man” who “and goes out of his way to try dangerous stunts and usually takes a dive” and has a very unique play style.

At Lilia’s farewell party Ortho says, “If I were to compare him to someone here, well…” but he does not continue the sentence, with the scene picking up with Ortho thanking Lilia for the party invitation.

[its-no-biggie]

for your consideration: it's one scale from real person (yoo sangah) to kim dokja (not a real person nor a character, merely an outside observer) to fictional character (yoo joonghyuk). as a reader kdj feels some separation between himself and the characters of his favourite novel, but he also feels this separation between himself and the real world. fiction isnt real but the real world is like fiction. of course someone like him cant have a relationship with yoo joonghyuk, the hero of wos, and of course he cant have a relationship with yoo sangah, the heroine of real life. theyre equally out of reach to him in opposite directions.

and han sooyoung is the only one who sits in the center with him. (although a few characters get close - his mother from the real person side, and asuka ren from the character side.) who else can the reader interact with, but the author? of course, in a world made of stories, a writer is very literally outside of reality, in the same way as a reader. but even before that, kdj has been interacting with one specific author for over a decade now. and i dont think its a coincidence that the only person kdj has any kind of connection with in the beginning is tls123: not a person from kdjs real life, but not a character. someone who only exists in relation to fiction but isnt actually fictional. i wouldnt exactly call them friends, but kdj seems to be unguarded when talking to them in a way he isnt around anyone else (until han sooyoung).

and i think thats why the themes of orv work so well. its not about putting fiction over reality - kdj doesn't feel a more real connection with the characters than he does real people, even after fiction becomes reality. its that he thinks he cant connect with anyone at all, not realizing that reading is a type of connection between the reader and the author. that the author is a real person and the reader is a real person and sometimes the only way we know how to connect with each other is through stories, but that doesnt make it any less meaningful

also semi related to my last post but kim dokja keeps all his companions on a scale from person to character with han sooyoung at the extreme person end and yoo joonghyuk at the extreme character end. and you can use that to really examine what exactly those categorizations mean to kim dokja and how he acts around those people accordingly.

[gothnitsa]

"Bioware's writing has gotten worse"

Ok, so I'm going to rant post about something and make it everyone elses' problem.

So, I recently came across a video that compared a scene of a queer character interacting with an unsupportive character in Dragon Age: Inquisition and a similar situation Dragon Age: the Veilguard. The video and the comments seem to imply that one scene is markedly worse than the other in a way that is immediately apparent. I want to push back against this.

Aside from the transphobia/anti-nb shit that is suggested by the video's framing and rampant in the comments, saying one scene is worse than the other is a mischaracterisation and discounts a lot of queer experience.

The scene in Inquisition is very dramatic: the language is flowery and elaborate, the performances are intense, it is a very compelling and dramatic scene. The framing for the scene and visual tone communicate a great deal of intensity and anger from Dorian: there are heavy shadows and dim lighting from torches that flicker, creating a scene that visually has a darkness and instability to it. The blocking of the scene puts a great deal of distance between the player character, Dorian, and his father, representing the distance in their relationship. It is very much a well crafted scene.

Now, the scene in Veilguard is much different: it opens with a very casual tone and atmosphere, the lighting of the scene is very warm and saturated. It feels like we are at a dinner table having a friendly conversation. Then, when the bomb gets dropped, we start to get close ups of each of the characters, interrupted by wide shots of the whole table. The shot of the table reminds us of the physical separation between these two characters, an echo of the rift that exists between them. We then get various close ups of each of the characters which get progressively closer, mirroring the intensity of the scene and the emotions.

Ok, so now we have the "Dialogue," the actual matter under discussion and point of comparison for these two scenes.

As mentioned above, Inquisition's style in this scene is deliberately intense and dramatic. It feels almost Shakespearean. We are given exposition on why Dorian's homosexuality is frowned upon, we get a tug of war between these two characters and the pain they both feel is palpable in the performances: the way Dorian's father speaks with such pain in his voice and Dorian's ferocity and anguish illustrate how this conflict isn't what either of them want, how the values and cultural circumstances have burned this bridge between them.

Now lets look at Veilguard. Right off the bat someone might feel critical of the sort of awkward start to this conversation. I won't lie, it was quite funny to hear someone go "here are some vegetables...so I'm non-binary." It's clunky, it's awkward, it's a strange way to introduce the topic but if you call this "unrealistic" or "bad writing," frankly I don't think you've seen many people come out.

Coming out is often awkward, painfull, and full of conflicting feelings. There's so much hesitation and anxiety baked into the very concept that there isn't anyway to bring it up that isn't awkward. This is actually a pretty realistic way to depict it. Furthermore, the actual conversation is also what I would call pretty realistic for an outing: the child tries to put it in as simple of terms as they possible can, lay it out in a way they think anyone can understand only for the parent to simply reject the explanation. What follows is a brief exchange that rapidly increases in intensity that is brought to life by some well done voice work (though, personally I think the music was a bit over bearing and did a little too much heavy lifting; I would have preferred the scene silent).

You can feel their frustration that is only further compounded by the mother's past behaviour and general presence. Even in this short video clip you can tell right off the bat that this mother child relationship isn't the most healthy, so this is just more fuel to the fire for them. The exchange is brief, harsh, and loaded with baggage and past bad blood between these two. You don't need to even know who these characters are to feel that. This is a much more realistic example of a character coming out to an unsupportive parent. It is laden with tension, awkwardness, unresolved anger, the burden of past expectations. There is, bluntly, a lot going on in this scene. Even just from this short clip you can get so much from these characters and their relationship while at the same time conveying a pretty impactfull and, honestly, real feeling queer experience.

So, no, one scene is not "worse" than the other. One scene has a deliberately awkward moment to convey the difficult and uncomfortable nature of coming out while at the same time communicating a great deal of character and struggle.

The other scene is an intense and dramatic confrontation that is meant to be more instep with the dark and intense tone that this scene holds within the narrative.

Both are well crafted scenes with deliberate directorial, cinematographic, character, and music choices that successfully convey what these moments are supposed to represent.

[philistiniphagottini]

Congrats on your milestone! Could I request Argenti with 13 and whichever of the two feels the best for you? I know it’s been said, but thank you for writing for a chubby characters, it’s really comforting to see!

Thank you Anon. I appreciate your kind words, please don't hesitate to let me know because I don't hear it often. Hope you enjoy.

Argenti + Face Sitting

cw. smut, oral sex, eating out (fem receiving), face sitting, female reader, chubby reader, minors DO NOT interact

A blistering moan rolled off your tongue and breezed past your bruised lips, the debauched whine causing heat to prickle at the base of your spine. The warmth curled in the pit of your stomach as pleasant tingles raced along your back, your soused lashes fluttering over your burning cheeks at the sight of the Knight of Beauty’s head squished between the meat of your thick thighs. 

A soft moan fell from Argenti’s kiss swollen lips as pearls of your sticky arousal webbed between your folds and soaked his tongue in slick, his large hands curling around your plump lips as you canted your hips forward. Another shuddering moan tickled the back of your throat as you dragged the wet seam of your dripping pussy along Argenti’s mouth, the swollen nub of your clit bumping into the press of his nose as your thighs trembled around his head. His silky red hair was soft to the touch as you carded your fingers through the long tresses, nails scratching at the back of his throat as a warm hum stirred in his throat. He was speaking to you as he called your name, but you couldn’t quite hear what he was saying as his words were muffled into the heat of your fat cunt and swallowed between your quivering walls. 

Your back curved into a beautiful arch as Argenti’s wandering hands squeezed your plump sides, the soft skin spilling between the splayed digits of his fingers as he grabbed at the pudge of your love handles. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest, your pulse thrumming in your ears like the loud and persistent buzz of an insect. The hot coil in the pit of your stomach twisted tighter at the wet sound of Argenti mouthing hungrily at your dripping folds, tongue scooping up a mixture of your essence and his saliva before swallowing thickly, throat bobbing as a warm purr stirred in his chest. You cried out his name as the pleasure spiked in the pit of your soft belly once more, your fingertips numb and head dizzy as stars wavered in your bleary vision. Crystalline tears of bliss pooled in your ears and threatened to spill down your flaming cheeks as Argenti suckled at the hot little pearl sitting prettily at the top of your pussy, your core pulsing with an ache to release the building pressure boiling in your gut. 

You stuffed your bottom lip between the pinch of your teeth as one shaking hand reached for your heaving chest, fingers working clumsily over the rosy tip of a pert nipple as you drew closer and closer to your release. You squirmed on top of Argenti, the sway of your sumptuous body steadied by his strong hands as they anchored onto your plush hips and coaxed you stuff your pussy harder into the slick press of his lips. You mewled softly as you let go of your bruised lips, the flutter of Argenti’s long lashes brushing against the sensitive skin of your thighs and sending your mind spiralling into a tizzy. Beads of your bedewed arousal dripped from your core like a sweet nectar, further intoxicating Argenti as he worshipped you with his mouth like no other could.

The hand fisted in his hair started to roughly tug on his hair, the pain prickling at the back of his scalp barely an afterthought as he offered a hymn of your name. You pulled again, breath stuttering and heart ready to burst as the hot knot slowly unravelled. 

"Argenti" you moaned with a drunken slur. "Gonna cum…gonna cum really hard-"

You could barely push the words out from your parched throat, tongue feeling like lead in your mouth as your world slowly crumbled around you. Your words only seemed to invigorate him further and with one last final cry to the heavens above, the coil in your stomach shattered into a million pieces. Dots swirled in your vision as your veins were flooded with white, hot relief, every single nerve in your body shocking you like a live wire as the pleasure burned through your body. A sudden rush of slick flooded Argenti’s mouth and you could feel his pleased moan vibrating against your skin, words of reverence flowing from his mouth yet you still couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. All your hazy mind could focus on was the way his tongue was lapping at your creamy folds and all you desired was to come over his pretty face again when he stared up at you with such a dreamy gaze it felt like you had been struck by a bolt of lightning.

[hyperbali]

If you're a Solavellan do not click here lmao

So I've seen that one post going around that's like "people who are shipping Rook and Solas are missing the point, they don't have a deeper connection than he had with Lavellan, Lavellan knew the real Solas"

And I have never seen such obvious cope in my life lmao

Fact of the matter is that they are both a blip in his existence. Solas knew Lavellan for 1-2 years, of course he's going to be more fixated on the romantic/platonic/situationship/whatever that lasted for millennia and literally broke the world, especially when the aftermath is that he feels like he's on such a different level than everyone left that they are pretty much Tranquil to him! This is a thought that he specifically expressed!

And claiming that Wisdom is the real Solas and Pride is not... also misses the point. Solas is Wisdom is Pride. Solas means Pride. At no point in his interactions with either the Inquisitor or Rook is he ever not lying, even just by omission. Neither of them see who or what he is as a whole, both are always operating at a disadvantage based on how much knowledge he's willing to give, and both have the opportunity to genuinely earn his respect.

As genuinely as Solas can get, at any rate.

Bearing that in mind, his chemistry with Rook compared to Lavellan is like a bonfire to a fireplace, in my opinion (bear that in mind oml). Even back in the day, I wanted the opportunity for a rivalmance with him so bad. I wanted to be able to call him out on his shit, to debate with his ideas, to meet him on a level that he was fully unexpecting and he hates that he loves it. Actively HATES it, not just that it makes him sad.

As it is, this "and so the wolf fell in love with the halla" shit is so cringy. Not at all helped by the fact that a romancing Lavellan apparently pined for him for a decade, couldn't do a damn thing to change his mind in the end, and willingly cuts herself off from her life, family, and friends to be a simpering, lovesick sycophant for the rest of her days. Because the Veil is STILL up. She IS dying in a few decades. And all of it will have been pointless.

Canon is a mess, I'm twisting it in other ways regardless, etc. etc. MY POINT IS

Shipping him with another character is not going to somehow make your ship invalid*. You can still make your favourite dolls kiss how you like. Relax about it.

(That last bit is not derogatory, as I am also proudly clanging my dolls together as usual. Just! Relax!! We are all in hell!!!)

*my 'ship and let ship' mantra has an exception and that exception is neve/lucanis. i'm sorry but it was the dumbest possible pairing for either of them and bioware should have let both of their nonromanced pairings be queer

[lnkedmyheart]

I mean I am one of the few people who genuinely did not care for Keith Allura endgame at some point past season 2. As cute as I found them in the pod escape moment I don't really see the chemistry or any kind of grounds to truly connect on for them past the tangential ones and Keith is too fixated on Shiro for the first couple of seasons. I genuinely loved the Allura Lance development in later seasons with Lance growing into a better person and genuinely falling in love with her. I also feel like historically Allura and Keith have had a very slapped together relationship in 2 of the 3 previous iterations (I greatly prefered Lance and Allura in the og one because i genuinely dislike the celibate hero who never shows interest in the girl vs the girl loves the guy but they still end up together trope).

I did however enjoy the shallura and sheith dynamic as well and I feel shallura could have been a decent path to go down at some point but hey, I'm not gonna complain about my baby boy being queer rep. It's time we get non stereotypical rep for gay men.

I agree the whiney Keith part of the fandom is odd but I have arguably not seen enough of that in fanfics in general. I think I learnt to avoid those kind of fics early on since a lot of people who write those are generally younger people who project onto specific characters and you can usually tell within a couple paragraphs if it's that kind of fic. Most of the content I have read has been pretty in character for the most part. I also moved in Shiro lover circles so...

I would argue that Keith suggesting leaving Allura behind is harsh but also not...wrong. Not in the sense that they should have left her but Keith is capable of making difficult choices unless he himself is compromised (aka struggling with Shiro's loss). Even Allura agreed that they should have left her behind. Shiro is for all his groundedness, an idealist. He wants to protect everyone, even at the risk of making things worse for himself. Shiro the hero is right, he is your main heroic archetype, always save the people, always fight for justice, against all odds. Keith leans more realistic in that you make hard morally ambiguous choices in war and it's not like Keith has much of an understanding of war/this specific conflict like Shiro and Allura do. But yes, Keith is single minded and prone to rash decisions, he's definitely not as bad as that. For one Pidge absolutely deserved a chewing out for trying to ditch the crew in the middle of a war and Keith was right, everyone barring Lance and Hunk was dealing with some kind of loss. Mind you, at this point they did not know that the Lions would even pick another Paladin. Shiro imo was being way too lenient and probably still dealing with the guilt of having left the Holts behind and being saved instead. I do dislike the fact that Keith stopped being pragmatic and became Shiro the Hero point dos. It would have been a good comparison of how both are genuine ways of being in the middle of a war. But oh well.

I'm not really in the Keith defence squad. Lord knows I have issues with some of the Gary Stu crap that came later. But i do think sometimes we tend to expect too much from an isolated, socially inept, orphan with life long abandonment issues as he is navigating through a war in the early seasons.

I want to talk, for just minute, about the amount of self-disparagement in Shiro's statement, here. He's grievously injured, ailing, and trapped in a tiny cave with creatures lurking outside, waiting for their next opportunity to attack him.

Despite this, he's been repeatedly assuring Keith that he's "all right", and inquiring after Keith's well-being whenever he hears Keith struggling over the comms. Then, Keith expresses his belief that Shiro's presence and influence changed his life, and Shiro agrees. On the grounds that he's actively made Keith's life worse.

Keith's response to this extremely concerning assertion?

Nothing. He hears Shiro cough, tells him, "Stay with me, Shiro," and that's it.

This is an example of exactly what I mean when I say that Shiro has no support system. His best and closest friend hears him say something seriously disconcerting while in a state of utmost vulnerability, placing all of the blame for Keith's current predicament on himself, which is objectively not true, and does nothing to refute him. No, "Hey. Stop beating yourself up. We're gonna be just fine". Or, "How could this possibly be on you? Did you purposely eject us from the Castle?". Or even, "When we get out of here, we need to talk about why you feel like you don't matter and something completely out of your control is your fault. It's not like you asked to be here, either."

Maybe I'm expecting too much from a young adult with his own trauma whose interpersonal skills have already been shown to be lacking. I know I expected too much from a team of showrunners who believed that dark content automatically equals mature content, and insisted on shoving as much disturbing subject matter and questionable to outright deplorable messaging as they could manage to get away with into a series aimed at children. Shiro was never meant to heal from his trauma. The intention was to kill him to pave the way for Keith to take his place as The Chosen One.

But, in this fandom's determination to woobify their favorites to the extreme based on said favorites' moments of insecurity, they seem to have forgotten that the most blatantly traumatized member of the cast is the most blatantly traumatized member of the cast. Self-loathing and passive suicidal ideation are every bit as much a part of that as Shiro's flashbacks and the fear-induced paralysis that seizes him when a repressed memory resurfaces from the dark corners of his mind to drag him under. And, he, too, deserved all of the sensitivity, care, and love that they believe their favorites do, which makes it all the more abhorrent that he was repeatedly denied it in this show's canon.

[acesw]

Knowing our Arcanists 6: Bkornblume

Welcome to entry six of my series: "Knowing our Arcanists"! This is a series in which I introduce and tell the stories of our fellow characters in Reverse: 1999. Today's character is: Bkornblume!

Bkorn's got a funny nickname, since its just a mash-up of blue and kornblume. (cornflower) However, she's got quite the short yet nice story, so I'll at the very least make it worth. Lets get started.

Bkornblume is a German arcanist born in the 1980's, born on February 9th. While I have no direct understanding of her arcane skill, I can at distinct that her skill involves sound, and is able to hear smaller sounds (like whispers) that are usually left unheard in the bigger melody.

She's a spy who works under the Ministerium für Staatssicherheit, known in English as the Minister of Security, or more commonly known as the "Stasi." They were the state security and secret police of East Germany, who placed eyes everywhere in the former state.

East Germany has been known for its oppressive rule and its insistence for uniformity. The Stasi were meant to maintain state authority at the time but it was notoriously known as being one of the most oppressive police states, overlooking the lives of the state's civilians with intense surveillance, torture, and intimidation.

Most will conform, some will not. Of course, Bkornblume was not one of the people who wanted to immerse in her part of the role in this era. She's merely a listener who does her job as one.

Bkornblume grew up in Berlin, becoming part of the Stasi and is well-known for her arcane skill. She doesn't enjoy this job very much, but she also does to some degree as she's a good listener. She'll leave a bit of unheard commentary about everything she'll hear.

Her daily life tends to be just her listening and transcribing, but it can be said that she enjoys distracting herself and tends to delay her travels to work to take in the scenery. She's also spied on too. But she feels that she would be more uncomfortable if there weren't any eyes on her.

At one point, she had purchased her scarf (and the elk brooch that came with it) in a shop that was closing down. While not remembering the price, it costed a month's salary "and a funny joke which was rarely heard in East Berlin."

Bkornblume is a conformed and optimistic individual. However, she holds a quiet rebellion in her heart, dreaming of a world where everyone can practice freedom of speech. But with a colourful dream far away because of the dull walls around her, she'll only ever do the little things that she could do in her job. Calling for help, making that commentary, but especially endlessly writing. Even then, she's aware that she can't change everything in one go, so she'll try step by step as she speaks out for others.

It can't be denied that Bkornblume spent most of her time "alone," but she enjoys having those eyes on her. She would have wondered if she were dead if not. Like I said earlier, she's greatly optimistic in everything she does, and even believes that she's some sort of "undiscovered radio host." She wishes to become one in the future to comfort others in late nights. Bkornblume hopes that she's at the very least observed and acknowledged.

She's also a greatly mundane and relaxed person, enjoying the simplicity of life and even interacting with simple "contraband" that never really seems to be harmful, like flowers.

Bkornblume finds admiration in the pieces of wildlife that bloomed from old cracks, identifying them time to time such as cornflowers and chrysanthemums. She'll always find some in the most niche places and will share where to find them.

The cornflowers—kornblume in German—are why she took up her current nickname, as she had wanted to distinguish herself from the "countless other unfeeling names" like SCH KA/#.

She empathizes with others greatly and wishes to help them directly, but she can never cross the monitor to take action now can she? She'll shift around the stories of other people in her reports, and no beneficiary ever thinks twice about it as her reports are detailed and easily convincing. Her kindness reaches quite far despite her ways of wanting to express it being a little unethical.

She'll hear anything and everything meant to be hidden away, but hopes for a free world and will choose to grant peace and freedom to the innocent and defiant against such oppressive control.