#“sometimes yearning is more powerful than resentment”

[rellasnowheenim]

i'm sorry but “moon in the day” kdrama has got me in a tight chokehold it's going to be my personality for next few days

[severinageto]

Monday night thought:

Satoru and Suguru’s love stemmed from a connection beyond mere physical attraction, the sound of their laughter, or the nights spent talking. It was a deep, elemental connection, a catastrophic clash of two souls that, despite their differences, were destined to meet again and again, over and over, like rivers that always find their way to the sea.

They could be considered opposites: Satoru was born with overwhelming power, a beacon of light that shines, tirelessly, invincible, almost divine. Suguru, on the other hand, became more introspective, engulfed in shadows, questioning the blindness of justice and the fragility of the ideals he once believed in. Though those differences drove them apart, they, against all odds, against all approval, and even against their own will, created an inevitable and beautiful balance, like day and night that, though they never meet, always follow one another.

The love between them wasn’t something that needed to be declared, even if the one who speaks wishes to possess words worthy of it. The love between them didn’t need to be understood, nor did it require other eyes than that blue and that purple. Their love was ever-present, like a mute word that imbued every glance, every touch, and every decision they made. From the moment the Fates wove their threads together, both felt that the other could hear the need, that nocturnal cry that longs for an embrace, from the other; an invisible, hidden part of themselves that they would never, ever have discovered alone. Both felt that they were, after all, an extension of the other.

But spring, even though it had been of a brilliant blue, inevitably came to an end.

Near the twilight of them both, when ruthless adulthood was tearing away their lives, Suguru was, for Satoru, the only person capable of understanding the loneliness of being the strongest. In a world where no one stood on equal footing with him, the worst of all cursed users not only understood him but challenged him, grounded him, and made his humanity more raw. And even if he didn’t want it, even from a distance, even when the fall hurt, he flew by his side.

For Suguru, Satoru secretly symbolized the apex of hope he still had for the world. Like an old, forgotten photo at the back of a drawer, seeing him gave him a strength that sometimes lacked, the vigor his heart needed to pump his fiery blood. Just as a camellia blooms in the harshest of winters, Satoru, with his blinding light, represented the possibility of something Suguru could no longer reach but would always yearn for in his innermost self, from the distance of his grandiloquent throne.

However, that distance, that growing chasm between them, deep and dizzying as a cliff, only made their love more tragic, more intricate, more inevitable. Like two stars orbiting on opposing paths, their mutual attraction was a force they couldn’t avoid, though they tried—and oh, how they tried. Every time they met, even in the most tense and resentment-filled moments, there was that glow, that echo of a past where they were both young, dreamers, and united.

United by something stronger than fate, more inevitable than entropy, and more immense than gravity.

United, perhaps, by the worst of curses.

——————- images by https://twitter.com/Joiimaeng

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

A Life Bartered Ch 3

Yandere! Human Miles Quaritch x Mutant/Human Female Reader.

Set: Avatar 2009.

Warnings: Smut, Older man and younger woman, huge age gap, unhealthy love from men and Navi men. Foul Language. Attempt to impregnate. Painful Sex.

Four more nights till you will tie the knot to the Navi who 'won' you. To be Mated with Ebe. As to be his wife. Married and to bear his children. 

You gulped. Was it even possible for an advanced human being such as yourself and a Navi male to produce half breeds? 

Being a woman with natural maternal affection, you knew you would love any and all of your future children. You just wished your future babies would be sired by your ex lover. The Head of Security. 

You blew an exhale of loneliness. You still had little battery life left in your cell phone. You wished you took pictures of your handsome “boyfriend”. 

Or whatever he was to you. He treated you like his wife. But, because of your bitchy attitude, it was one sided. And he must have known.

You sometimes caught his hurt expressions when you didn't heed to his affectionate touches or gave him half assed responses. 

You resented him for abusing his power to get you into his bed for money. 

Come to think of it, you furrowed your brows in concentration. He didn't apologize to you after giving yourself in to get the funds back for the program, but he did more than his side of the bargain. 

His soldiers would accompany the other scientists in the wild jungle to study plants and gather resources. The cafeteria received more quality food. The heating system got upgraded. Nice hot showers and heated air made the science bunks and labs cozy and comfortable. 

And you, you got the lion share. You got the highest qualities of makeup, perfume, designer clothes from the magazine orders sent to and from Earth when supplies come in. 

And not only that. The Colonel would voluntarily brush your long hair whenever he was free from work or gym. And for some reason he was fascinated with your feet. He once complimented how tiny they were. He would always massage them.  But best of all, you liked his stares. When you applied makeup on the vanity mirror desk he ordered when you moved into his room. He would sit on his bed. 

And watch you doll yourself up. He would lick his lips and look as if he was in pain. You found it amusing. Then eventually, he would always ruin your lipstick. He would look as if someone punched him in the mouth.

He would use soap and water to scrub your lipstain off his face. But, removing makeup was not easy. So, some staff noticed. But, they were too scared to tease their superior. 

You smiled at the memory and stared at the stars of Pandora. You wondered if Quaritch was looking outside too. But, sadly, with all his work, gym, and extra work correcting the mistakes Selfridge would make. You assumed he was asleep and exhausted. 

That poor man. 

You treated him like shit. 

You felt like a homewrecker. 

A bad woman. 

You looked at Ebe’s sleeping form. He didn't rape you. Not yet. You were lucky. He was waiting for the wedding night. Maybe, you should be kind to Ebe. He seemed to love you like how Quaritch did. He is ugly. But, maybe he looked ugly to you because you loved and missed the Colonel. 

Closing your eyes you yearned to see the handsome face you took for granted. You hoped and wondered if the Colonel had pictures of you on his phone.

You dismissed it immediately. Even if he did have pictures of you, he probably deleted it. You don't deserve him. 

“Good bye, My Love.” You whispered as you stared at the dark sky. 

…………

The Colonel walked up to the quarters of his trusted sidekick, Corporal Lyle Wainfleet of his Marine Squad.

He remembered a crucial detail of you. He caught you talking and giggling with that female pilot that worked with Lyle. Judging by how many times you socialized with her, the Colonel assumed you two were close friends. Not as close as Grace. Better than nothing. 

The harsh knock made a grumpy Lyle open the door with a mean look in his face. He was about to cuss out whoever woke him. Then he straightened when he saw his superior. 

“Colonel?”

“Your pilot is a personal friend of Name, right?”

Lyle was taken back at the mention of your name. Since those Savages took you, no one dared to utter your name in the Colonel's presence. 

After affirming the Colonel's question. The blonde man felt less tense and actually happy since that text you sent him. 

Lyle missed you. He hardly spoke to you much. Besides greetings and how orders the Colonel gave him to you like to meet him somewhere or go to his office. 

Lyle couldn't not notice not only your beauty but your personality and intelligence. He was smitten and jealous that the Colonel got to you first. But, you knew that the Colonel would steal you from him even if he didn't meet you before him. 

Lyle guessed you were not fated to be with him. 

Lucky bastard. 

“Get that Pilot. We will get Name back. Only the three of us know.”

“Yes, Sir.” The Corporal wasted no time. Lyle was scared that you were perhaps either dead or almost dead after being raped. There is no way a pretty face like yours can't get taken advantage of. Navi or human. You were just that beautiful. 

He still pitied you. 

…………

Trudy was the same way when Wainfleet knocked on her door in the middle of the night. She was about to yell but Wainfleet whispered harshly and explained the rescue mission. Trudy was ecstatic. 

Since Trudy was dating Norm, she knew the situation. That you were forced to be with the Colonel. And an evil Navi warrior wanted you.

She knew like all beings not all are totally bad or good. But the Navi man who took you. Damn, she hated him. He was no better than Quaritch. 

Trudy dressed up in her pilot suit and jogged with the armed Wainfleet to her chopper waiting for them was the tough man Quaritch. 

He was ready with his mask and machine gun.

Shit will go down.

Quaritch printed the tracking area code and picture of where you were located by his cellphone. 

He gave the paper to Trudy. Starting the chopper, they finally set off. 

The Warrior out to save the damsel in distress. 

………

Trudy landed the chopper away from the intended area as the orders of the Colonel. Lyle and Quaritch jumped off the plane with their guns ready to kill. The night vision built in his mask indicated body warmth of two individuals. A Navi and a human sleeping under the abyss tree. 

It must be her. 

Colonel Quaritch nodded to Lyle. Taking the cue, Lyle threw the grenade to the far left of the field and it landed on a plant that had some kind of nest. Like a hornet nest. 

Boom. 

The flame engulfed the grass and the yells of those damn savages made Lyle and the Colonel crouch down to hide. The same ugly ass Navi came from under the Tree and was yelling in his native tongue.

Then Quaritch saw you. You came out obviously in shock from the commotion. Your eyes widened at the awful site. Fire burning the beautiful shrubbery and plants of the area. 

What a shame. While feeling sorry for the lost wildlife. A hand covered your mouth. You were too unhealthy to struggle. You then turned to see the man you are aching for.

It was dark for you to see. But the fire showed some light. It was him. 

He let go of you. You stared in disbelief as he put his finger to his lips and picked you up bridal style. 

He ran to the chopper and he made you sit next to his seat before strapping you. He frowned when he noticed how even lighter you were in his arms. You lost too much weight. Were you even fed? That monkey probably tortured you. 

Quaritch clenched his teeth with rage. Lyle hopped in and quickly ordered Trudy to go. The Colonel noticed your shivering form. He took off his Marine jacket and covered you. He held you close. He tucked you underneath his chin and wrapped his arms around you. 

You couldn't hold it in. You burst into sobs. The Colonel felt his tank top wet. “I thought you were dead.”

You mumbled. “ Might as well.”

The Colonel heard it clear then sighed. 

Lyle, on the other hand, watched the two of you with pity.

 He was also impressed by you too. He expected you to be haggard. You looked perfect as ever. Just sad and sick. Too skinny. Your hair was still glossy with no flyaways or frizz. 

 And your skin looked like it was filtered with Photoshop. With your blood red lips and pink cheeks you still had your natural makeup.

The oversized nightgown made you look oddly cute. But it was thin as fuck. The white dress was too big and not your size. Looked like the Navi who demanded you must have stolen the fabric materials when the cargo that arrived from Earth was to be sent to the base. 

The chopper landed on the parking lot and Trudy waited for you to come out of your seat. The Colonel hopped out then grabbed your lithe hand and settled you to the firm ground. Trudy didn't hesitate to engulf you in a hug.

The Colonel and Corporal Wainfleet watched you hug back. Shaking his head, the Colonel had to return his weapons to the supply room. He ordered you to be sent to his room. Quaritch gave his room key to Trudy. 

Quietly as mice, you and your friend snuck inside the luxurious room of the Colonel. You noticed how there were broken furniture and holes on the wall. 

Trudy wasted no time turning on the hot shower. You didn't want to further burden your friend, so you did your best to shampoo your long hair and use soap on your body. 

You forgot how long you were taken away by Ebe but you didn't want to know. It felt like years. Time went so slow. It was nice now. You felt a little invincible. You cheated death and escaped the true punishment of your wicked crimes against the Colonel.

You sure dodged a bullet. After that, Trudy wrapped you with the Colonel's shower towel and led you to his bed. You didn't notice but all your items were still in his room. 

Your clothes, books, makeup, everything. The Colonel gave the cat equivalent pet he caught for you to the science pukes. Obviously, he couldn't take care of it. He wasn't cruel to starve an animal. 

Those science bitches seemed to be thrilled to have that weird creature. Not that he was complaining. Quaritch didn't admit it, he was jealous that you showed more affection to that pet than to him before he gave you up. 

“You may leave.”

Both women's heads turned to see the Colonel in the doorway without his combat gear. Trudy stood up but stopped when Quaritch held out a paper. 

Turned out it was a check. You saw your friend's eyes widened as she read it. Must been a large sum of money. Trudy thanked Quaritch and disappeared. 

You looked confused. Quaritch said nothing. He stripped himself and threw his clothes to the floor. 

Sitting next to you, you didn't say anything when he brushed your long wet tresses. Like old times,  He would stop and sniff them by gently grabbing the ends of your hair to his nose then continue brushing.

He finished and laid down on the bed and made you rest on top of him. You cling to him like a wounded animal. Quaritch felt you shaking and still cold. He wrapped your lithe frame closer to his heated body. 

“Were you …?” 

The Colonel couldn't bring himself to say it. You said not yet. The blonde man blew an exhale. That blue monkey was so lucky. If he did rape you. The Colonel would have made you go to the doctor regardless of being seen. And check if you were pregnant with a half breed.

And squash that fetus beneath his foot. 

But, that fuckin’ Navi was planning on it and wanted to. The Colonel decided to not give him that bad of a painful death. 

Noticing how still you were. He peeked down to see you asleep. What a night. 

Corporal Wainfleet punched in the ticket for his superior . He announced to the staff today was the Colonel’s day off.

Quaritch didn't care what time it was when he woke from his peaceful slumber. He felt light as a feather.

He stroked your long (hair type) hair as you continued your slumber. You were still as a rock. Damn. You must have been really tired. Normally, you would toss and turn around nine times in bed.

With pity in his eyes the Colonel watched you breathe in and out. He wondered if you ever dreamed of him like he did of you. Or even thought of him.  But, the memory of you texting him confirmed his curiosity. He screenshot your message and saved it to his photos on his cellphone.

Gently, he removed himself from your grip and off the bed. He hurriedly showered and dressed in his uniform to enter the Marine cafeteria. 

He as usual was greeted with respect but he didn't want to look suspicious. He hoped no one would notice him gathering extra food to his tray. 

He normally wouldn't eat luxurious food. Luxury makes a man weak to be lazy and pathetic. But, you lost so much damn weight and feared you might be sick. 

He will go to the hospital wing and his own personal doctor will check you. 

Quaritch will swore him to secrecy through bribes and also threats. As a Marine, you are to never trust no one. Unless proven greatly otherwise. 

Like you. Quaritch didn't trust you before but now. He knew you changed. 

He forgave you. 

It was no surprise you were still sleeping. He placed the tray on his table and then leaned down to dip his face. He kissed your cheek and gently rubbed your shoulders. 

You stirred and opened your lovely eyes in confusion before blinking. It was cute. You looked surprised to see him and looked around your area. The Colonel smirked. He made you sit up before wrapping his bathrobe around you. 

He cut the Salisbury steak and pressed the fork to your lips. You were confused. You didn't eat meat. But, you knew the reason. If the Colonel got only plant based food for you. It would look suspicious. You assumed you were to be hidden until further notice. 

And you needed muscles and gain weight. 

You let him feed you like a toddler. You remembered how he ordered you to feed him while “dating” him. 

He would tease you calling you his tradwife.

You felt offended and labeled him a toxic masculine man. Now, you realized you were foolish to not understand he was joking and you were the one toxic. A crazy witch.

As mentioned before, the Colonel would massage your feet whenever he had free time and brush your hair. Most important, he would take care of you when you were on your period and voluntarily feed you.

You cooked and cleaned out of duty but that was it. Few times he made you feed him and you complained. The colonel noticed your attitude then stopped asking you to feed him and other affectionate gestures. He became grumpy. He wanted you to act like a real girlfriend but was meeting him half way in the relationship. Like you didn't want it to work.

It reminded him again you were forced to be with him for the sake of the avatar program.

It added more guilt inside your chest. He didn't say if he forgave you or not. Then again, you apologized in the text and not in person. 

You wanted to say sorry in person but the Colonel continued feeding you. He then took a few bites himself from the same fork and made you drink water. When you watched him drink from the same glass after you. 

You felt… flattered. It was intimate without being sexual. Like real romance rather than superficial lust.

You blushed but sadly Quaritch didn't notice. He was too worried for you. 

Ebe tried to feed you but you would always vomit your food later. Maybe it's because you would feel hopeless and sob later. 

Now that you are much happier. You could stomach the delicious food. You may not eat meat due to pitying the animals, but you cannot deny it tastes good. 

You would cook meat dishes for the Colonel at the base and your family while on Earth. And to be precise, you would taste your own food to make sure it tastes good. Meat or not. 

The Colonel knew you were trying your best to not complain about eating. He set the plate away then caressed your cheekbone. 

You looked at him confused. Quaritch explained his doctor will secretly come here to check you up. No one is to know of you. 

So it's true. You realized that the Colonel acted on his own to rescue you. If Selfridge found out…

There was a hesitant knock. The Colonel knew that voice. A middle aged man walked in with a medic bag. Like the old days, this doctor visited you instead.

The Colonel stood back with his arms crossed and leaning against the wall and watched the doctor examine you. 

“She is malnourished.” The doctor looked over his shoulder at the Colonel. “She needs a blood transfusion.”

Quaritch nodded. “I will give her my blood.” He didn't hesitate.

The doctor then looked at you. He asked if you ever knew you were pregnant before. 

Your eyes widened and the Colonel kept his calm face but was also surprised inside. 

“I am afraid you lost weight not only from starvation but miscarriage.”

You couldn't help it. You clutched your face and began to cry quietly. That explained you always vomiting in the jungle. The moodiness. 

You remembered your last period. It was more painful than usual. And you felt weird when bathing. Ebe gave you a bucket to wash yourself. While doing so, you felt like something slide off between your legs when cleaning. 

No. 

Your poor baby.

Damn you. It was your fault. 

The Colonel's breath hitched. No doubt that baby was his. After fucking you last before giving you up, you didn't pack anything. Including your pills. 

He killed his own child. Damn him. It was all his fault. 

The Colonel watched you sob he wanted to punch the wall again and make another hole. 

“I will prescribe her depression and insomnia pills.”

The doctor stood up and whispered to the Colonel.

He said he suspected you to be suicidal and should be under all supervision.

The doctor left. Quaritch had a hazed look in his beautiful blue eyes. The doctor will return to start the blood transfer process by bringing the tubes and syringes.

The Colonel made sure to heat up the room even more. He sat next to you after dressing you up in your skirt and blouse. He didn't dress you in your underwear. He was sad as you were to care. While waiting for the doctor to return, the Colonel grabbed your hand and kissed your cold delicate fingers.

It used to be the opposite. He was always the cold one and it would compliment against your warm feathery touches. A knock came again and the doctor started the process. 

Quaritch made sure you got extra blood but the doctor said he cannot do it all at once. Daily with regular transfusion and healthy eating and sunshine will make you good as new again. 

But, since you were a mutant. It will make you recover quicker. Being alone finally, the Colonel stroked your hair. 

“You're very young, and a mutant. You conceived because you didn't pack your pills and missed them for one day. It's impossible to not get knocked up again.” He tried to cheer you up.

You looked out the window. Then looked back at him with more tears. You told him how none of your future pregnancies can replace any child you lost before.

The Colonel said nothing about your answer. He kept his face to the normal stern look. Inside though, he felt warm by your morally right response. He was right about you all along. You didn't show it at first, being a spoiled brat. Rude to him too. 

Maybe it was because he scared you to run to him at first when he almost shut the program. Not to mention, people stereotyped you all your life for always being the most beautiful girl. Assuming you had an easy life and were a snob. 

The Colonel said nothing. He gently made you lay down on the bed and he hovered over you with his biceps caging you and he finally kissed you since the farewell kiss at the fields where he dropped you off. 

He couldn't kiss you with that damn mask he was wearing when he rescued you. 

You felt his callused hands hold your face against his. He immediately snuck his tongue inside and to his surprise, you responded and was bat shit crazy for him as he was for you. You must have been hungry. 

Continuing kissing you. He kicked off his trousers and boxers. He then trailed his lips against your neck. He gently bit you. Then sucked the bruise. He knew you also wanted the same. 

The Colonel moved out of your reach and looked down at your form.

He sighed and shook his head. If someone saw his neck, it would be suspicious. You huffed in disappointment. The Colonel gave you an apologetic look. He removed his tank top. Being bare and ready. He began attacking your perky tits. 

You were so impatient. And he knew it. He wanted to suck your cunt. But to hell with it. Later. He sheathed his cock inside and bullied his shaft inside your wet hole.

He groaned in pain. He knew you didn't get laid in almost three months. But, this is torturous. It was like you were raping him. You looked at him with worry. Quaritch ignored you and dug inside deeper to loosen you up.

Finally, all his inches went inside. Already you felt your juices overflowing your womanhood.

He must have stopped masturbating. You wondered why. 

Moans of pain and not pleasure escaped your fat lips and your nails dug in the shoulder of your lover. You hissed in pain. “Please slow down.”

Quaritch cursed again. “If I stop you will be even tighter before tomorrow.”

Having sex after months of celibacy was hell. Oh, well. As long as you don't get raped. You won't complain. 

“Oh, my fucking God.” The Colonel clenched his jaw. 

Quaritch saw the blood coming out of your vagina. It was working. Hopefully next time it will be easier. He needs to loosen the stronghold clutches of your cunt. 

The Colonel cummed inside and spilled his hot seed. His and your breathings were ragged. With great difficulty, Quaritch slowly pulled out from your greedy vagina. His dick was swollen and red from the pain and not from the blood. 

Damn. That was painful as fuck. It was like his penis was about to explode from the harsh friction. 

He didn't blame you and shouldn't complain. He laid back on the bed next to you catching his breath. He pulled you to his muscular chest.

“We’ll try again.”

You let out a “hmm” as you clung to him. You went back to sleep. Quaritch kissed your nose then closed his eyes again.

Who knows what tomorrow may bring. 

AU: I know I said I am taking a break. But, I forgot I already typed this on my old google docs. I do not want to torture my followers. I will post Anti-America and Anti Israel and Pro Palestine pictures. I am working on my new Yandere! Gellert Grindelwald x Reader. A new version of Lowly Desires.

I will call it Dark Desires. Just to spoil it. I will not add a love triangle. Credence may love Reader Chan but she does not love him and will not have an affair with him.

[weirdmageddon]

davejade is so zelink

at first i was like “theyre nothing alike fym. i mean i can see dave and link but jade and zelda seem so different” but then i thought about it

the girls living in a tower have a strong personality and love science technology and flora and fauna but are so tangled up in being lonely ultra powerful plot devices. also im pretty sure jade’s dream self being awake on prospit the kingdom of light for as long as she could remember and staring into the clouds of skaia that forecast events is something idk

chill impassive “just some guy” knight with a “flair for the absurd” who has to send his broken legendary sword, that’s said to defeat a big tyrannical muscly green guy, back in time to unfuck it to complete a timeloop. and constantly breaks swords

also he drops the g off of -ing sometimes so it’s like -in’. and whatever this mhm yep mhm stuff is. and gaslighting people for fun

btw link would probably fuse a snoop dogg snow cone machete if given the opportunity. also unreal air is absolutely something he would deploy ad infinitum for a vertical boost or just grind down rails on and then ragdoll when it breaks into artifact dust

he dies—or almost dies—in her arms (interestingly while she wears a strapless dress) and gets revived later

theres a frog at one point

theres plenty of differences though these are all rather superficial. narratively they’re very different which is why i was like “huh…i dont see it” at first

the biggest major difference in terms of arcs is that jade never harbored an attitude or jealousy towards dave at any point. shes not really a jealous person, and she doesnt take dave’s cool exterior seriously she just humors him

and when she did once compare her progress to theirs it was never with resentment. but also dave reassured her really damn quick about it while link’s lack of communication allowed zelda’s doubts to fester

even though i love them both jade’s just plain more agreeable than zelda haha. she’s not like “augh it comes so easy to him” she’s like “wow that’s so cool that comes so easy to him!!!”

edit: oh fuck the yearning we gotta talk about the separation and yearning

[thesinglesjukebox]

CHAPPELL ROAN - "GOOD LUCK, BABE!"

Good Song, Babe!

[7.76]

Alfred Soto: Hey, y'all, Spotify played "Good Luck, Babe!" after ILLIT's "Magnetic" -- are the streaming gods Jukebox-friendly? Maybe a synth line patterned after Wham!'s "Last Christmas" and a vocal that commands attention despite singing a line like "sexually explicit kinda love affair." Then again, that's how people talk. [8]

Jeffrey Brister: What if the narrator of “I Kissed A Girl” was a fucking liar whose inability to admit her attraction and healthily process and metabolize her emotions made her so transparently readable her spurned girlfriend shot a bullet made of yearning, resentment, and justifiably venomous smugness directly between her eyes? [9]

Taylor Alatorre: I have a soft spot for music that performs a kind of empowerment driven by romantic spite, while at the same time being precision-engineered to make the singer look small-minded and weak to the sober bystander; this is why I can never forswear Drive-Thru Records or pre-2016 Drake. In that vein, "Good Luck, Babe!" can be heard as a more ideologically palatable version of "Hotline Bling," right down to the self-degrading tinniness of the initial backing synths. Both songs construct a character whose presumptuous sense of entitlement becomes more apparent with time, and both ask us to sympathize with that character, not in spite of that entitlement, but because of it. Because relatability, and because we're hard-wired to believe almost any convenient lie if it's made to sound pretty enough. Chappell Roan's relative vocal restraint here represents her attempt to come off as the reliable narrator, to prevent too many of her unnervingly real feelings from spilling over. It's an effort that comes undone as soon as she gets to the bridge, when she drops the blasé affect, claims the power of omniscience, and uses it to peer into her rival suitor's future bedroom. "You're nothing more than his wife" -- sure, whatever you need to tell yourself. What, too cynical, you say? Whichever reading the listener goes with, they're choosing cynicism, either the listener's toward Chappell or Chappell's toward the other girl, who at the end of the day may just be a garden-variety bisexual; we're not allowed to know. Love is still a battlefield in the 2020s, queer love not excepted, and "Good Luck, Babe!" isn't afraid to show off the sometimes gory aftermath of those battles, caked in just enough gloss to give us the option of seeing something different in it. A potent cocktail of unraveling passions and high-grade copium, it arrives just in time to be used in AMVs of the final season of Sound! Euphonium, otherwise known as the official anime of yuri-baiting. Good luck, Kumiko! [8]

Will Adams: A breakup song directed at a queer person who was clearly uncertain, self-conscious and anxious about their identity leading them to push a great thing away? Oof. I'm the problem, it's me! But any discomfort I have with seeing myself in "Good Luck, Babe" is assuaged by its giant hooks, a bridge that mounts the tension (sadly, a rarity for pop at this point), and Dan Nigro's production, which draws from the same pillow-soft '80s synthpop of "So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings." It's the sugar to help the medicine go down. [8]

Leah Isobel: I'm convinced that Taylor caused a lesbian pop revolution. Not on purpose, obviously, but perhaps inevitably; of course her simultaneous insistence on both the femininity and the import of her perspective would inspire a generation of gay girls young enough to look for validation from pop culture and old enough to perform deep reads on the line "she's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers." Some of those artists have even made minor commercial breakthroughs, though nothing has heralded the arrival of a real-deal pop star the way that "Good Luck, Babe!" has. On a musical level, I don't know if I see it. It's catchy, sure, but its chorus isn't quite as singalongable as "Red Wine Supernova," and it doesn't sell Chappell as a persona the way "Pink Pony Club" does. Its production and vocal delivery are so arch that all I can see are the references: a little Wham! synth here, a little Marina & The Diamonds-circa-The Family Jewels whoop there, a "Bags" melodic bite for good measure. (Sidebar: I'm compiling this for an eventual piece about how Immunity is the most influential pop album of the last decade no one steal this from me thank you!) But maybe that's it. A pop star is voracious, ambitious, all-consuming; she cannibalizes. What "Good Luck, Babe!" offers isn't mushy sincerity, but steely-eyed purpose. I don't love it, but I do respect it. [7]

Hannah Jocelyn: I've written so much about about the power of "Good Luck, Babe" but I don't think it's perfect. Among my nitpicks; the "sexually explicit kinda love affair" line doesn't land, the ending nearly kills the momentum, and I've always heard some weird aliasing artifacts on the hi-hats, even in the 24/48 flac download (which might be the nerdiest thing I've ever written on TSJ). But there’s a reason I've been obsessed with this song, and it's not just because I've wound up The Other Woman in emotional affairs with queer/questioning women before. I wasn't as on board with Roan at first, then this song made me go back and get acquainted with the Femininomenon. Unlike most of Midwest Princess, this is not OMG I'm a girl??? and I like GIRLS??? music, and unlike several similar songs about loving women in denial, it's not self-pitying. This feels more real, with palpably complex emotions underneath the showy vocals, and it feels messy in a way that queer pop stars were once supposed to avoid. I could go on and on, and I have, but I'll say this: I genuinely think this song will change lives and cause people to reconsider their identities. At least one of my friends has already mentioned crying to this song. I recently spoke with a music writer that claimed music wasn't necessary, but for the right person, some songs are. [9]

Alex Clifton: I don’t know what I can say about this song that Hannah didn’t already say in her excellent Billboard article, but I’ll try. Up until now Chappell Roan has been my good-time music, with tracks like “Pink Pony Club” and “Red Wine Supernova” regularly stuck in my head.  She’s a girl from small-town Missouri in full drag regalia aiming to give everyone a great time, and she constantly delivers on that front. “Good Luck, Babe!” sounds happy but is one of the more lyrically devastating songs I’ve heard this year, and Roan’s performance is incredible. The way she screams “I TOLD YOU SO” at the end of the bridge rips at something in my heart. It’s angry as all hell but also has a level of concern; Roan doesn’t want the subject to end up in a dead-end relationship and just wishes she’d get her shit together. It’s a delicate line to thread but goes to show that Chappell Roan isn’t just a novelty pop writer. It’s exhilarating watching someone’s star rise, and to watch this song specifically become the catalyst for additional recognition is unlike anything I’ve seen before.  [10]

Ian Mathers: I was hugely impressed with "Casual," even more so with Roan's first record overall, but I'm lightly gobsmacked here with how quickly she's put out something else that simultaneously feels like it could have been on The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess, like it sums up what that album was doing (and how well it does it), and like she's already moved past her work there. And it's her most successful single so far? It very much feels like things are going to keep going up from here. [10]

Jackie Powell: When “Good Luck, Babe!” came out last month, it wasn’t what I was expecting on my first listen. I got a tease from friends about what this song was about, but I was underwhelmed by the fact that I couldn’t clearly understand the story that Chappell Roan worked very hard on constructing. Her vocal style on other tracks like “Red Wine Supernova” or “Casual” is much more based in her chest voice and as a result is much easier to lyrically comprehend while listening. On “Good Luck, Babe!” Roan slurs a lot. She opts to implement much more mixing in her head voice during the hook which matches the sonic feel of the synths and drum machine that producer Dan Nigro has added in. The hook flutters and it flutters in a tone that’s paradoxical to the story she’s trying to tell. This is a song about rage, is it not? This is a song about compulsory heterosexuality, a phenomenon that is incredibly frustrating as it is prevalent in 2024. We don’t hear that rage until the absolutely mind blowing bridge where Roan’s upper register soars when she tells her past lover that she told her so. This story that Roan tells is one that so many queer people often face. It’s that same level of discomfort that Ben Platt and Renee Rapp have both sung about in their respective songs “Andrew” and “Pretty Girls.” This track’s importance can’t be understated. Its rise in popular culture can’t be undervalued. But I do wish that the story was illustrated more blatantly. Slurring aside, where is the music video for this? The video for “Casual” was exactly what a Roan fan would expect: a cross between the films Splash and Jennifer’s Body with a dash of heartbreak. I’m reminded of the queer women artists like Hayley Kiyoko and Zolita who have both gained a following for the honest queer stories they’ve portrayed in their music videos, which have garnered meaningful amounts of views. Meanwhile, DJ Louie XIVI recently had a Pop Pantheon episode that pondered if the music video is indeed dead. I would hate for that to be the case for Roan, an artist that thrives on theatrics, visuals and play— the fuel that her exponential and unexpected rise to stardom requires. [7]

Isabel Cole: I feel like it was probably deliberate to set the big bursting kiss-off chorus up in the flutiest part of her range where she can't really enunciate, but I still find it annoying to listen to. The bridge is pretty good, though. [5]

Mark Sinker: Gorgeous control of voice over bare control of desire; fragments of the crunchily expressed across the oldest (cliched, she says it herself) story, oh i'm the “other girl”!!¡¡ and then the closing device (which you can call brechtian if you’re fancy, or lazy) undermines it a little, at least musicially.  [6]

Joshua Lu: The bitter, lesbian reimagining of Gwen Stefani's "Cool" I never knew I needed. [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: I am all for Chappell Roan's meteoric rise to fame as the next local drag supporting queer, but this song feels as basic camp as the fonts used in the visuals for her Coachella performance.  [6]

Nortey Dowuona: If anyone is wondering why this is the Chappell Roan hit, it's because it sounds like a synthpop song from 1986, and pop fans are still somehow locked into 1983-1988 as the best time to listen to pop music. That said, "you're standing face to face with 'I TOLD YOU SO'" is a FANTASTIC LYRIC. [9]

Katherine St. Asaph: The belted "I TOLD YOU SO" is unexpected and amazing. The part that flips the hook from "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" into a soprano trill is great -- between "Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl" ("Footloose") and "Red Wine Supernova" ("What's Up") she's now three for three on rewriting the Great Karaoke Songbook for 2024. The line "you have to stop the world just to stop the feeling" is so perfect it feels like it must have been written in stone centuries ago and just now unearthed. But if I'm being completely honest with myself, everything else in the track is pretty mid, and repeated listens just make the mid parts seem proportionally larger. [5]

Andrew Karpan: An exuberant jubilant kiss-off for fans of Roan’s last version of this (“My Kink Is Karma”) but more pointed, less funny and charged with a contemplative melancholy bellied under its titanic build. The radical space of queer longing turns into an ocean that lifts all boats. “With your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife.” We are lifted and listening.  [8]

Rachel Saywitz: I worry sometimes that I’m not wanting enough. Or I want, but the wrong things. Or I don’t want the right things enough. Chappell Roan is want, maximized and poptimized, and “Good Luck, Babe” is its earnestly sweet manifestation. Roan masters pop’s narrative drama as she coaxes her past, closeted self to breathy, sapphic jubilation with the wave of a bouncing synth wand and a Florence Welch operatic belt. Love is want, at its core, and I feel it cascading through me with each listen, urging my spirit to coalesce with my mind, for once. I want, I want, I want. [9]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[mxtxfanatic]

Anyways, now that I’m done shitting on Lan Qiren (for now), let’s get into the steps eliminate resentful spirits and apply this to what the story has to say on revenge. Lan Wangji helpfully tells us that the three steps are:

“Firstly, deliverance; secondly, suppression; thirdly, obliteration. The initial attempt should focus on his yearning for his parents, wife and children, fulfill his last wishes and absolve his obsessions; if that fails, the next step would be suppression. If he is malicious and his resentment persists, then the final option is to obliterate. The cultivation world should follow this sequence without fail.”

–Chapt. 14: The Flirtatious and the Refined Part 4: I Hate You, taming wangxian

However, Wei Wuxian throws a wrench into this neat little chart by asking: “what if the creature’s wish cannot be fulfilled, i.e. its wish is to go on a killing spree of innocents”? Obviously this cannot be allowed or else it would cause even more havoc and wrongdoing than the initial injustice, so then suppression and obliteration become options.

This can be applied, too, with all the characters seeking vengeance in blood. Just like the theoretical executioner being left on the street to rot, sometimes people allow or do terrible things to undeserving people. However, that does not mean that every desire of the wronged party is a valid one. The executioner wanting to be properly buried by his loved ones to make up for the injustice of being left to rot in the sun for a week is reasonable; the executioner wanting to murder every person who walked by his corpse is not. In the same way, the cultivation clans standing up to and defeating the Wen Clan who had been oppressing them is reasonable. Confiscating their lands and money to be redistributed while dispersing their clan’s power is reasonable. Assigning every person with Wen blood to a labor camp to die a humiliating and torturous death is not reasonable. Branding individuals with your clan symbol as you torture them is not reasonable. Once your wishes turn from understandable to unreasonable, then you must either be suppressed or obliterated. Jiang Cheng stays in a place where he can be suppressed. Jin Guangyao and Xue Yang, on the other hand, must be obliterated.

[sacred-coffin]

Ok so. Primo posting. Give me patience tho, my brain is a little fried but I so badly need to get these thoughts out of my head. CW for discussion of violence below, nothing too specific tho.

I read a reeeaaally nice fic [Link to that btw] and its been gently haunting me since (affectionate) and the gist is Primo ... indulging in a service so that he can study human blood up close. From the source. I loved it.

I would like to imagine, at least for the moment, a Primo who is hardly ever happy. He gets slight joy out of his family sometimes. He has his hobbies. But it doesn't really make him HAPPY very often. And sure, he fucks a lot but it usually isn't very satisfying, and it's because he wants something more intense.

He is someone who never stopped studying. He loved to learn new things- he had subjects he liked more than most, but he appreciated all kinds of knowledge. He much preferred the macabre and antiquated subjects (think out-dated medical practices and such). He was the person who would gleefully tell you all about medieval torture practices and get mad when you told him to stop talking about it. That's probably why he ended up being such an angry person; it wasn't the interests he had, but the complete lack of interest or care from others about it.

As he continued to learn things, he grew to resent people even more. He was very good at keeping up appearances, though. Sure the Clergy is evil, but Primo was a bit much for their tastes. (Its kind of like. The clergy would vote for 'tigers that eat your face' but then be shocked that the tigers wanted to eat THEIR faces. At least, that's how i see it)

So as he worked his way up the ranks, he would act very pleasant to be around, helpful, etc. Etc. Everyone just kind of assumed he grew out of being really cruel and off-putting. He had an intense passion against their enemies, and for the further success of the Clergy. He was the perfect candidate to become the next Papa.

I know there probably isn't really any confirmation that Primo was a cardinal before papa, but, imo he had to have been. Partially bc that seems to be how it is for catholism (I think?? Idk I was never Christian) but also because it just seems to fit with the idea of him being very devoted to his work. With that said, I think once he finally made his way up to being a cardinal, he started to indulge in the more intense interests he had. He never stopped studying what he wanted, but he kept it low-key. But once he's in an (seemingly) untouchable place of power (I mean. Come on. He's basically Papa already, it's just a matter of when) he feels more comfortable expressing these things. Not too openly though!

If we follow along with my idea that the Papas (or cardinals!) All had a ghoul assigned to them... I think Primo had a ghoulette who was very much up for his games. She was probably the only person that made Primo happy, because she helped him do whatever dark and violent things he wanted to do. And she was very good at keeping it hush-hush.

It was a shock to everyone when he became Papa, and he was suddenly that angry young man again. They never knew he had never stopped yearning for violence and punishment for all he thought were unworthy.

[stagefourlovenote]

★ ANSWERING QUESTIONS ABOUT MY OC ;

i’m struggling to find motivation and such in writing about my characters again, and dot is one of my favorite ocs. it’s mostly because i graduate in a few days and haven’t been able to focus on them in general, so i have some time now and i want to just :3 rant. ramble. my blog bro idk. i’m answering just random questions i found online that sort of help flesh out characters <3.

★ HOW IS THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH FAMILY ;

dot was raised by a single mother, who was basically disowned by her own family for getting pregnant. their relationship is complicated, her mother resents her for stealing away her ‘youth’ , yet she still tried to provide for her at least until she was old enough to work. her mother would repeat the cycle of disowning when dot turned 17, kicking dot out for being ‘selfish’ for wanting to achieve her goals. in reality her mother was jealous that she was planning for college, that she’d be able to make something of her self. plus the fact that she relied on dot to help with rent and such. her mother was also a hypocrite, being a strict catholic woman who got pregnant at 17 and now acts like a saint. though!

★ WHAT WERE THEIR PLANS FOR THE FUTURE ;

dottie had planned on becoming an archivist of some sort, maybe being a librarian at the very least. her plans were cut short during her 3rd of college when she died. she always regrets not being able to graduate, the whole fight with her mother was pointless then if she was always going to end up a ‘failure’. it hurts her feelings to think about it, so she avoids really talking about school itself — rather opting to just speak about the things she’s learned.

★ WHAT DOES YOUR CHARACTER LIKE IN OTHER PEOPLE ;

in general, she likes to keep company around those that are funny. she enjoys the fact that they still can make life seem so humorous despite the consequences. those who are also good listeners are nice, but she is one to be a listener herself, she’s good to rant to. to her, it’s nice to be known and remembers the smallest of facts, even if idiotic — she looks for those that can do the same.

★ HOW QUICK IS YOUR CHARACTER TO TRUST OTHERS ;

for a while after becoming a proxy, she didn’t really trust anyone. being betrayed by a childhood friend really does something to you, especially if you wound up dead from it. actions speak louder than words when it comes to trust, unless you’re defending her in a situation, then she may take your side a bit more. as she grew used to her situation, she’s more of a respect me and i’ll respect you person. she’ll be kind for the sake of it, treat others who you want to be treated ! but when others go against that, it’s hard for her to really trust or care. unless you help her understand why you act the way you do.

★ BELIEFS / RELIGION ;

she may not consider herself as a devout catholic, but she still respects the saints. there are times where after a particularly harsh mission, she’ll find herself wandering to the nearest cathedral. she doesn’t pray, or participate, she just sort of sits. she knows she’s so far deep in the hell of it all, but it’s nice to just pretend sometimes. or maybe she just misses the comfort of a higher power.

other than that, she can be a bit superstitious. even if she knows it’s ridiculous, she sort of gets antsy or anxious at the thought of someone ‘jinxing’ themselves. (“go knock on wood right now”).

★ ON A NORMAL DAY, WHAT WOULD YOU FIND IN THEIR BAG ;

a copy of her favorite book maybe, heavily annotated as a way of comfort (frankenstein, she knows it’s a known classic she just finds it too relatable and latched onto it from a young age). good luck charms made for her, she’s sentimental. a few cds maybe; kate bush, early mcr (emo 😞), misfits , thursday , fleetwood mac — it really depends. polaroids , if she’s away for a bit of a mission she yearns. and her journal. maybe random ass items as well. like why do you have a finger trap in there.

★ HOW DO THEY RESPOND TO CONFLICT ;

depends on the situation, but a lot of the time she sits back and watches anxiously. other times she tries to mediate, she worries what will happen if others fight for too long (mostly if they’re being defiant to the operator). she does it because she cares, but sometimes people really just see her as a coward. if she’s directly involved in the conflict, even if she isn’t in the wrong, she has a way of convincing herself she can be. unfortunately, it is very easy to do so. though, if a boundary is crossed expect a full cut off.

★ CHARACTER INSPIRATION ;

people / characters that sort of inspired dots personality : spencer agnew (humor wise, smosh) , gerard way (personality , him outside of the stage acts), ben hargreeves (umbrella academy), the demo man (mcr, devotion) , hank (swiss army man), frank (little miss sunshine), courage the cowardly dog (😭). there’s probably others i just don’t remember.

songs : highway 9 — barnaby bright. the devil wears a suit and tie — colter wall. being cool — kimya dawson. abbey — mitski. bigmouth strikes again — the smiths. early sunsets over monroeville — mcr. hounds of love — kate bush. do you know what i’m seeing — panic!. east coast — alex g. golden — fall out boy. this close — flyleaf.

random : deer , foxes , the back of the library, ambient / warm lighting, willow trees, water stained books. i feel like she just sort of resembles these things.

★ END ;

erm that’s it :3. just really random questions to answer about dot cause i’m bored, and want to think about her more.

[ofdusk]

✧.* i blew up my mom and all i got was this lousy sword ( shadow yato drabble )

This sword had always had a purpose far greater than her own. 

To end a great war, to lead its siblings to victory alongside it. The Yato was forged to slay dragons, to save humanity. 

And yet it had landed in her still trembling hands, been granted to her only yards away from where her mother’s body grew cold. It had chosen her to be its warrior, to do once more what had been done so long ago -- to end a great war.

She had felt it when first her fingers had found its gilded hilt -- that voice, that life; a power meant for something far more than she had ever known -- and again when it had met Leo’s Brynhildr or Xander’s Siegfried. 

That thrall when she had faced Ryoma, when she stared down the sharp end of Takumi’s arrow. Her blade had reached, had tried to extend limbs that it did not possess, had yearned. 

To be reunited with all it had lost, to be whole. 

Strange, how similarly she had felt -- how sometimes she still does feel. For there will always be something missing, always a part of herself that she would have to mourn. Her mother, her brothers, her dearest Lilith, Azura... 

Lives lost to pay the price of peace, gaps left in her heart, in the blade of her sword. There was no path without sacrifice, no war without loss, and yet on days those empty places ached greater than any wound. Each its own pain, each more fresh than the last. 

And no matter how long spent mourning, those holes would never be filled. 

She wonders if her sword grieves too, wonders if it feels those losses just the same as she does. How many years had it spent apart from its brothers, how many centuries deep was the distance forged between it and its own? 

Did it feel enough to resent her for keeping them away, for being the cause of those losses? Or did it perhaps understand what had to have been done? It was the byproduct of war, the harbinger of its end. Surely if it knew to hurt it could know what hurt must be sanctioned for good.

Silently still she wonders after what might have been, what another life may have permitted her to keep. There were no choices that came without a cost, no trail that did not require a sacrifice to follow, but had the one that she chose truly been the cleanest?

[dollmother]

5/25/24

her scent, the ghost living under my bed. i am haunted, hunted everywhere i go no matter how much my mind tries to banish her. free me, free me from this cage i’ve laid in. i no longer wish to feel this way, yet.. at every hint of her presence my body reacts viscerally. i can feel my chest tighten and breath tremble around her. i wonder why this is one of the responses i have no power over. despite my needs and wants, this dear vessel betrays me at every turn. there has not been a single moment of respite where thoughts of her left me alone to be at peace. there has not been one day where i have not held her closely to my heart. my mind, body, heart, soul are my limbs. they all move at their own whims, but do they ever collide? i resent that this is what has become of me, prisoner to the ghost of her. i think it over quite often, if i had the chance to redo the past eight months since we’ve met…

i believe i would have stuck with my initial choice to reject her advances. we would have remained just friends, nothing more—companions at a distances, cities apart. i would have stayed in california, and she in D.C—we would have never met each other face to face. or stared longingly at each other’s beaded gaze against the backdrop of sunlight. i still remember the very first time we met in the backdrop of philadelphian sunlight. i think we were both in shock to some extent, emotions buried but not completely hidden. she was just as tall as i expected, had the same awkward stance and smile i’d always known. she did not shatter my illusion from our time behind the electronic screen. in many ways that comforted me. knowing that she was exactly who she always was, i felt joyed in her company. her voice was the same yet, it felt so much different when you could trace her every word on those lips. i knew there was something about this person that would leave me entrenched in our bond. during this time we were just friends with no romantic inclinations towards one another. or was there? was there a tension that i completely ignored because i was distracted by someone else? did i void i try to fill with kat erase the bond we once shared? maybe in that moment i was blind to it. maybe during that time of our first meeting we had a mutual yet latent yearning for one another. i saw her for the first time and i knew something had changed in me. then now, almost two months later things would devolve and turn into this…

sometimes it is difficult to accept that our situation would resolve like this. we aren’t on speaking terms anymore. now it feels as if we are strangers, barely acquaintances that happen to live in the same house. that is our curse, to share the same home, after things have gone so terribly wrong. i have cut the string that tied us together. there isn’t  a single way (that i could think of) to mend this severed connection. but ultimately, that’s how the story ends and we all have to accept that. i believe she has. to be resolved and accepting of how we end. no reconciliation, just a break. whether or not it is clean is up to me and what i choose to do. it pains me to admit that i still harbor deep feelings for her. no matter how hard i try convincing myself im over it—her scent haunts me. then my chest starts hurting whenever she’s closing by.

if it were up to me, i would not feel this way. i’d rather feel nothing towards her than this. now if given the chance, i could return back to the moment when we first met and block her. i think it was inevitable that we would’ve caught feelings for one another even if we tried being just friends. i think i would’ve had to avoid meeting her in the first place …then

then none of the horrible shit that happened between us would’ve happened…

then again, none of our happiest moments would’ve existed either. i would be okay with that. i’d be okay, really—to not have any memories with her and she of mine.. we would’ve carried on with our lives in ignorance of what could’ve been, and what will come to pass. while i could scroll through our past conversations, our texts, our exchanges over discord, our dms on insta and tiktok…god. just so many moments we shared. is it worth all this pain to live knowing what we had together? or is it better in the bliss that we never locked eyes? i don’t know. my life now would’ve been entirely different had we not. i wonder when i’ll be free. if this feeling will ever pass. it most likely will, there’s no way she can linger over me like that? i’ve gotten over everyone i’ve felt this way about in the past yet…. i don’t know. somehow she feels different. i don’t believe she’s like the others at all. is that a crime to admit? this is a fatal wound. i’m not entirely sure i’ll ever truly recover. 

[renshengs]

adding on to this: i don't think it's wise or realistic to paint kwon hyuk as some altruistic empathetic hyung to juwon and i don't think he and juwon ever had that dynamic of being thick as thieves, standing in solidarity together. i think it's more interesting that we witness the forming of that dynamic in the later episodes when han kihwan's mask of civility begins to slip further and further.

for kwon hyuk, i don't think juwon's resentment of his father was one of his priorities and i don't think his dedication toward han kihwan was a performance, though his personality certainly shrank down in hkh's presence, as is very understandable. when they met, kwon hyuk was a boy with assumedly excellent academic performance who han kihwan had deemed fit to tutor his only son despite, you know, his lower-status background. han kihwan's willingness to sponsor and support kwon hyuk financially would have been like a beacon to someone like him then, a boy from a low-income family to whom a successful future of that degree was something he could only dream of. that sort of gesture, which most likely meant nothing to han kihwan, would have been grand and life-changing for kwon hyuk. he would have been extremely grateful for han kihwan's support. at the time, juwon would have merely been the path through which he could access that kind of support, and it's safe to assume that kwon hyuk wasn't all that privy to the han family father-son dynamics either, seeing as the scriptbook says juwon and his father didn't even spend time together on important holidays.

i think it's important to remember kwon hyuk is clearly ambitious and practical in his approach to things, which is why he clung to han kihwan for so long—to him, even the factor of intimidation wouldn't have outweighed the benefits of being connected to someone so powerful. that slap han kihwan delivered in the show, then, was poignant. that was about where kwon hyuk drew his line. he’s not a particularly morally upstanding person; he’s not in pursuit of the ultimate form of justice like juwon; he’s not a terrible person either. there is only so much outside of his life that he really cares about, and that’s okay. i don’t think he was always concerning himself with what he probably saw as juwon’s classic rich boy problems. i don’t find it very interesting, personally, to try and make him out to be a better, kinder person than the show presented him as. i find it more compelling that his final betrayal of han kihwan was done partially out of self-preservation, as he should, and also that he’s the type of person who cares a lot about his own security, being someone whose background was not financially secure, and yet he sometimes goes out of his way anyway to help juwon out because against all odds he does care about him, even if he puts on an attitude about it. even if we, the audience, are the only ones who really understand enough to see these gestures as him grudgingly worrying about juwon.

kwon hyuk is a pretty self-serving person, which makes sense considering his background, and that makes him interesting! he stuck with han kihwan largely out of self-interest, then cut him off, also largely out of self-interest. kwon hyuk’s separation from han kihwan was a necessary one; it was his own long-awaited character growth, and i like that the narrative subtly and consistently hints to us as to why on earth he’d ever want to stay connected to han kihwan at all—that he probably yearns for a father figure who can give him what his real father cannot (financial stability), that he possesses the sort of desperation for a sense of safety that people who’ve had difficult childhoods one way or another often do. what really changed things in the end was that juwon warned him about han kihwan’s downfall first, and in doing so made kwon hyuk realize, more startlingly than he ever did, that this bullheaded young master actually cared about him. both kwon hyuk and juwon are visibly repressed people and can only escape their own repression by distancing themselves from han kihwan. in the end, it’s all about gathering the courage to reach out to others, opening the doors so that emotional connection can flow through.

the state of juwon and kwon hyuk's relationship is so fascinating to me. flesh & blood son vs. son-my-father-wishes-he-had. that strange awkward and sometimes sad tension between them. a lot of it is a difference in backgrounds: juwon doesn't fully understand kwon hyuk's attachment to han kihwan nor kwon hyuk's willingness to serve and kiss up to someone like that, while kwon hyuk finds it difficult to fathom juwon's rebellion/resistance toward his father, who is an extremely powerful sponsor to have and represents to kwon hyuk a path to success, a way out of the implied desperation and poverty of his background.

they both like each other more than they realize and more than they'd want to admit. kwon hyuk has known juwon for a decade without Knowing him. they're both occupying several roles in each other's lives at once, all of them intersecting with each other, and the overlaps make it very awkward. kwon hyuk is juwon's brother figure and his former tutor and the middleman between him and his father and the fabled "kid your parents won't stop comparing you to" and also like, his colleague. a family friend. he's the only person juwon hangs out with, and their idea of "hanging out" is mostly just sitting parallel to each other in the private section of some gorgeous uppity seoul bar while kwon hyuk badgers juwon about friends and dating and, you know, pleasing his father.

kwon hyuk's approach to being a good hyung to juwon is also very funny. he's pretty serious about it. there's very obviously a part of him that wants to knock some sense into this elite rich prettyboy's head so that he doesn't get himself stuck in places kwon hyuk can't dig him back out of, but also this is made ineffective by the fact that his methods often rely on (unintentionally) condescending juwon, such as at the beginning of episode 10. which, like, he wasn't even wrong. juwon was absolutely not equipped to be facing lee dongsik.

the problem with his approach is that he's going by the older-sibling-who-is-better-than-you manual, half-chiding and half-lecturing, because he is not just juwon's hyung but also han kihwan's perfect little helper, the son figure he turns to, especially when his actual son disappoints him, which results in kwon hyuk feeling even more threatened by the need to be flawless and Unlike Juwon. due to their awkward inexplicable positions in each other's lives, juwon is wary of him for so long because he interprets the attention kwon hyuk gives him as an extension of kwon hyuk's supposed lifelong gratitude toward han kihwan. he's dissuaded by kwon hyuk's proximity to han kihwan. their relationship is burdened by the presence of juwon's father crowding out the potential space for closeness between them, which is, among other smaller reasons, the main reason why they can't grow any closer to each other. it quite literally takes the whole show and life-altering discoveries for juwon to finally open up enough that he becomes willing to reach out to kwon hyuk, not because he's 100% certain that kwon hyuk even likes him that much but because he's finally accepted the fact that, fine, he does care about this annoying snooty hyung of his, and cares enough that he doesn't want kwon hyuk to be caught in the crossfire.

and kwon hyuk does meet him halfway when he reaches out! juwon is rewarded by the narrative for letting himself be more honest and vulnerable with kwon hyuk than he's ever dared to be, and this time kwon hyuk considers his words and listens to him instead of treating him like a baby who doesn't know anything. it's sooo important to me that they're able to grow closer once han kihwan is out of the picture. it's so so important to me that juwon has people in his life who are not lee dongsik nor the rest of the manyang squad. i think post-canon both of them catch up sometimes when juwon's in seoul and it's—easier. better. feels realer.

[that-one-lilith]

Double Blessing, Double Curse (1)

Thanks to @nicebonescomrade for this title suggestion!

As you can see, this will be a whole series. Three parts for sure, after that I'll have to see if I am going to continue it.

The first part is relatively soft, but I promise...it will not stay that way. This is going to be pure angst in the future.

It's also inspired by one of @chocoenvy 's works. Not gonna say which though because that would be a spoiler for the next part. ;)

And one last thing: This is a Female Reader story!

Happy reading! <3

Word count: 2.7k (i think)

Warnings: slight bleeding, nothing more; a bit of a mental breakdown; manipulation if you read between the lines

Teyvat was created by one God. It's a known fact.

Statues and temples have been erected in their honor and to show their ultimate respect to them. Many more secret, personal temples stayed hidden in homes, in which people prayed to themself and wished for their God to listen.

Everyone knew their God's face.

A woman so serene, so beautiful, so absolutely ethereal. Two halos crowned her head and sometimes glowed, although they were made of nothing else but marble. It was said that those little signs of life indicated that she was watching in that moment.

The Creator was loved above all, even by the Tsaritsa, who's cold heart has long forgotten what it was like to cherish. As long as the God looked upon her still, a small spark of her former self would remain.

Thus it was no surprise that, once the day came that the Creator's light vanished for months on end before a human resembling her appeared, that they proclaimed her coming all across Teyvat.

The Human Goddess was weak and didn't harbor any of the memories or powers the Creator was said to have. Yet her appearance and the outstanding warmth she exuded spoke of the divine essence she still had. It didn't matter what state she was in. She was their God and they welcomed her that way.

The poor young woman didn't understand the situation. She'd just been ripped out of her own world and found herself somewhere she thought to be a game and nothing more. The spark of euphoria in her heart didn't stop the anguish and fear. To find oneself alone and in a familiar yet strange world was no easy thing, even more so when she's being called the creator of said world. It's what the loyal, beloved acolytes didn't take into account. They had expected a Goddess that knew, that remembered.

The very moment she was left alone in a expensively decorated and furnished room in Dawn Winery was the moment the Human Goddess escaped. She didn't care about the injuries sustained from the fall out of the second floor, nor did she mind the calls of the guards posted all across the ground outside. She bolted as if her life depended on it, mind in a frenzy.

The acolytes yearned to follow, but they knew better than to scare their poor God more. They felt guilty for not having seen your fear and distrust before. Weren't they supposed to make her feel welcome and safe? How is it that they were able to disregard her palpable emotions with such ease then?

It was unanimously decided that the Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius would follow their God and try and calm her down. Albedo was known as one of her favored vessels, often being guided across the various lands, her heavenly light surrounding him.

It irked the Archons that it was not them she had taken as vessels as much as him. They were far better than that fake of a human would ever be, much stronger, too. And they had served the Creator for much longer. In spite of their resentment and jealousy, they stood back and waited for the alchemist to return.

Albedo didn't take long to fulfill his word of doing it fast. The Human Goddess was slow and left behind clear signs of trespassing in the areas she went through. He caught up to her and came to a halt a few meters in front even, forcing her to stop unless she wished to collide with him.

Her wide, teary eyes gazed at him and she shook her head, backing up several steps. "Please, let me go. You've got it all wrong, I'm not your God. I beg you, please-"

He held up a hand, the movement ceased her begging. "Don't be afraid, Your Grace. We just want to help you and protect you. Why don't you come back with me? We'll talk back in Dawn Winery and explain the situation to you better."

He spoke softly and full of raw admiration. His body felt warm underneath her gaze. The same warth that had surrounded him as her vessel. That was all he needed to feel to confirm the undeniable truth.

Still - his God took another step back, only to trip over a branch on the ground. The fall was harsh and her hands, which she'd thrust out in order to catch her body, burnt. Tears now fell freely, running down her pale cheeks. She sobbed. "You've got it all wrong, I'm human, I'm not a god!"

Albedo was quick to rush to her side, kneeling down by her side. He clicked his tongue in dismay as he picked up her hands to inspect the possible wounds she'd attained. She flinched and tried to pull her hand back, but his strong grip stopped her. "Your Grace, you must be careful. You..."

His voice trailed off, voice dying in his throat. She watched as he pulled her hand closer, inspecting the palm and the blood she felt running out of the scrapes.

"Your...your blood." The alchemist sounded amazed and awed. "It's..."

He had no words.

In legends and stories of old, authors often spoke about the differences between the Creator and the humans that had been created in their like. One spoke of them having golden ichor run through their veins. Another spun the tale of tears holding the universe. A third said they were taller than this world, arms capable of hugging their creation to their chest.

It seemed as if all of those were just myths, or maybe their human body was different from their god one.

The blood that started to pool on her open palm was red, albeit darker than that of a true human. Golden swirls mixed into it, moving around even when the blood didn't not, and small stars faded in and out of existence all over it.

"Look", he spoke softly, his fingers caressing her wrist. He felt her pulse beating fast, the heartbeat a sound so oddly familiar to him. "Your blood proves that you're our Creator."

The Human Goddess stared at her own blood in confusion. "But...but I remember bleeding red. Real red. Not this", she whispered.

Albedo took out a roll of bandages he always carried around in case of failed experiments and started to wrap her hands up. He took note that he had to clean it later, make sure to disinfect it. It wouldn't do good for his God to get sick. The tips of his fingers graced her soft skin occasionally and her breath hitched. She did not stop staring at her hand, even as the wounds were covered up.

"A goddess...", she repeated to herself, the word feeling weird in her mouth. Her, a goddess? She was human, she had to be. She remembered her world, her family, the red blood she bled.

Then how was this possible?

Albedo left her to her thoughts, intertwining his fingers with hers. A shiver ran down his spine and if he had any blood running through his veins, he was sure he'd be blushing right now. His palms fit perfectly against hers. Perhaps this was why Gold had made him. To be with their God and help them in this time of confusion and need; and not to find the limits of alchemy as she'd told him all those years ago.

A homunculus whose sole purpose it was to serve their Creator.

"Your Grace", he cooed, searching her face in case she was tempted to dart off again. He tightened his hold on her a bit, hoping his touch reassured her. "The others worry for you. We should go back."

The Human Goddess looked away from her hands at last and into his azur eyes. The reverent smile on his face was different compared to the stoic expression his in-game model had held most of the time.

But this wasn't just a game anymore, was it?

The pain she felt, the ache in her limbs from falling to the ground, it was all too real.

If she went with him, she'd be safe. He was strong, capable of protecting her, and maybe he could even help her get back to her own world.

However...

Would he even help her leave Teyvat behind?

They called her a God, the Creator of this wonderful world she'd come to cherish despite it being a work of fiction. It was clear that they wished to have her close. If it was in hopes of gaining favor or just basking in a godly presence, she did not know.

She didn't even know if she wanted to know the answer to this question.

Albedo saw the moment she shut herself off and he panicked on the inside. She had to come back willingly as he didn't want to knock her out, but if the progress kept going this way, he'd have no other choice.

He held onto her even as she tried to wiggle her hands out of his grip. He pulled the Human Goddess close until her head bumped lightly against his shoulder. Letting go of her hands, he was quick to wrap his arms around her in a what he hoped was a comforting embrace.

She sobbed again, fighting against his hold on her, but he didn't budge. Instead he placed a hand on the back of her head and buried her face in the crook of his head, right where the star decorated his skin.

"It must be so hard, not remembering anything." Albedo looked into the distance, all too aware of the seething people watching him from the shadows. "We just want to help you and appreciate you. I promise by my life. If it helps you, I'll stay by your side all the time unless you request otherwise. I'm yours to command."

The Human Goddess shook her head. Words failed her and she just cried, shedding the tears she'd held in ever since coming here a week ago.

Alone and separated, half of her soul missing.

What he offered was what she'd wanted this whole time. A warm place to sleep, care, comfort. Someone to confide in.

She reluctantly accepted, lips moving against his skin as she muttered. Albedo hummed, eyes sparkling in satisfaction. Together they went back to Dawn Winery, Albedo happy and the Human Goddess tired to the bones. Halfway to the manor, he picked her up and carried her on his back, her head lolling and nuzzling back into his neck.

The acolytes were happy to see her back safe. Some disliked the fact she got hurt, although even they were happy to hear that they hadn't been wrong, her starry blood proving her godhood.

Once the Human Goddess got proper rest, she was sat down on an armchair, the Archons standing in front of her in a semi-circle. They all vowed to serve her until she ascended back into her heavenly plane, ignoring her requests to just treat her like another human being.

Only the Cry Archon didn't come, opting to send an envoy in the form of a Harbinger instead.

Albedo stayed true to his words the whole time. He only left her side in the bathroom or at night as she slept, opting to either wait outside her room or in Diluc's study. He lacked any motivation to continue his alchemical experiments and even as he tried to read a book, his mind always wandered back to her.

The Archons made her have hearings, during which she'd be forced to listen to people's worries and fears, and hopes and dreams. Her helplessness was clear and at first one or the other whispered the right words to say into her ear until she got the hang of what they wanted to hear. She didn't know it, wouldn't believe it if she ever found it, but sometimes her words came true.

A farmer crying to her for help after rain destroyed his most recent harvest was said to have grown new plants in less than a week after his visit to the Human Goddess.

An infertile woman begging for a child had a healthy baby growing in her belly two months later.

Little miracles, but miracles nonetheless.

The hearings and forced conversations with the ever greedy Archons drained her.

At night, before she went to bed, she'd sit beside Albedo on a couch, pressing close to him and hiding her face in his side. The alchemist enjoyed these peaceful moments the most, treasuring them and drawing them later as a means to remember them far into the future.

Unfortunately, it didn't last long.

The Archons were jealous. They didn't like that their God clung to one person so much. Weren't they made just as their Creator wanted them to be? Why didn't she spend time with them? He was a low homunculus, lesser than a human. He had no right to bask in her presence this much.

They started to pester the Human Goddess about meeting up with some of her acolytes to spend some time outside the house. Albedo was a busy man, for sure he'd appreciate the reprieve of going back to Dragonspine and continue his research.

What about Chongyun? The poor exorcist had been hoping to have her accompany him on one of his missions.

Or maybe Klee? The little girl would love to go fish-bombing with her.

Perhaps she'd prefer someone like Thoma? He could take her to festivals, watch Yoimiya's firework shows.

The constant nagging wore her down. The pressure was too much for her and she caved in, on one condition.

"Of course, Your Grace! Whatever you want." Venti grinned at her.

The Human Goddess worried on her bottom lip. "I'd like to meet the Traveller."

All these weeks she's spent holed up in Dawn Winery, she never once saw them. She didn't even know who was where in this world. Though she understood. The Traveller Siblings came from a different world, they would have no reason to bow to her feet as the whole of Teyvat did. Passerbys, that's all they were.

Her reasons to meet up with the good sibling were different though. Something that she hadn't even told Albedo. She'd been careful about what she said to the alchemist. He may do his best to keep the Archons at bay half of the time, but he was still an acolyte. The moment she'd talk about wanting to go back home was the moment all hell would break lose. She saw it in their eyes, in their devotion.

A day after her request, Lumine stood in the Winery's salon, Paimon floating by her side and complaining about being hungry. Both didn't understand why they'd been called.

She had heard the stories of a so-called Creator descending to Teyvat as a human, of course. It was impossible not to. People were happy and even the monsters and animals responfed to their presence.

But she was still an outlander, not from this world.

It didn't seem to matter to the Human Goddess. The moment she spied Lumine from atop the stairs, she raced down the steps, ignoring the concerned voices of her acolytes telling her to be careful. She flung her arms around the Traveller and shocked the ones in the room into silence. Lumine's arms automatically came up to catch her, too stunned to speak at the familiarity she was greeted with.

Only to grow sad upon hearing the words whispered fast and quiet into her ears. She hugged the Human Goddess tight, the two sharing each other's pain in silence.

If the Archons had thought her connection to Albedo was bad, this certainly was even worse.

Lumine and the Human Goddess were inseparable, always whispering in each other's ears about things noone else was allowed to hear. They tried to bully the Traveller into telling them what their God was speaking of, but that only caused Lumine to glare and stomp off, disgusted by their blatant disrespect for her privacy.

Not even Albedo, who returned from Dragonspine a week after his departure, managed to get her to tell him the things she told Lumine. It hurt. He was replaced and couldn't do anything about it. The few times they spent alone were not enough to ease the ache in his heart.

It was all the Archons' fault. Had they never pressured the Human Goddess, she'd be holding onto him still, finding comfort in his presence, not Lumine's. Yes, it really wasn't her fault.

Days turned into weeks and soon, the Human Goddess grew easier to be around. She'd spent time with more people, even if she came back to Lumine at the end of the day. She visited the various nations and greeted the people, always listening to their problems and pleas.

Teyvat's nature wanted to bloom in response to their Creator's happiness.

Yet something was missing and it found itself impossible of showing their God's state.

Three months after the Human Goddess's arrival, news of a human male resembling their beloved Creator reached their ears.

The Archons rallied hunting parties, angered by the thought of someone daring to impersonate the Human Goddess now that she was finally here. And a man no less!

They made sure to not let her hear the news, thinking it better to leave her in innocent bliss.

Which would prove to be their downfall.

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john x reader (part 3 of ?)

gif by @michaelgreys but i cropped it cause god daMn 👀

read part one and two! | my masterlist

a/n: this one goes out to all my john bitches!! i know it's hard out here, we get no new content but this part is steamy as hell. its not over yet, though! i'm a sucker for happy endings, ok? i hope you all like it, i'm still working on requests as i go :) much love to @stxdyblr-2k for ghostwriting on this series, she has the most amazing ideas in the world 🖤

love, abi xxx

tagging: @datewithgianni

prompt: john's been ignoring you and you want to know why.

warnings: fluff, angst, nsfw!! smut, cocky john, just straight up porn at the end but can you blame me

John hadn't spoken a word in your direction for a week. Despite constantly seeing you glued to Ada's hip, he’d barely acknowledged you since the wedding. He didn’t even bother looking up. Instead his jaw tensed, taking longer inhales of smoke, constantly examining the pocket watch dangling from his right hip. You were the last person John wanted to see right now. He couldn’t get you out of his head, the flush of your cheeks as you had moaned for him imprinted in his memory. You were fucking picturesque writhing around in his lap, a mess for him, and only him. He’d never felt like this; never wanted someone so badly it hurt. Usually, he drowned what little emotions he had in the nearest bottle of whiskey. You, however, were igniting something inside him he’d never felt. Lust, yes, but it was more. A yearning, a need, to see you smile at his crap jokes for the rest of his fucking life. God, you were getting to him.

His coldness and distance towards you hadn't gone unnoticed. To John’s embarrassment, his brothers regularly referred to it as "a little tiff", usually when you were within earshot, as they loved embarrassing his brother. They were blissfully unaware of the full story, assuming his cockiness had put you off him. He sometimes wondered the same; even though you remained polite by greeting him despite the minimal nod he responded with, you seemed ashamed. John only hoped it wasn't because you were ashamed of him. The truth was, he couldn't get the intensity between the two of you off his mind. Whenever he so much as caught a glimpse of you, he remembered how pretty you looked begging for him, then the embarrassment of having to reject you out of family loyalty. You admitting you wanted to have sex with him, him getting fucked off at you because you were off your face, complicating everything. Yet, every night, he held your words close to him, trying to decipher them.

He knew his brothers wouldn't get it. They wouldn't understand how tragic it was; they'd think it was funny that Ada's best friend wanted to fuck him. Either way, John would always rather put himself in the firing line of his brother's jokes than risk your reputation being blemished. He just couldn't look at you without a wave of guilt and sexual attraction flowing through his veins, causing his jaw to clench and his shoulders to stiffen, his suit jacket expertly covering strain on the crotch of his trousers.

A full week had passed since the wedding, of a man Tommy had recruited in an assassination effort. It was embarrassing how his family used money to attempt to push the trauma they created under the carpet. He knew he didn't have room to talk, but fuckin’ hell, a wedding? Maybe Tommy should've just not hired him to blow the brains out of his own father. Well, it was one way to get rid of the police commissioner who got too nosey, John guessed.

He had hoped that you were a passing phase of infatuation. He’d had many before; he’d been notorious around Birmingham for his conquests. Sure, it was possible he had just gotten overly excited and intoxicated around a beautiful girl. Yet, in the quiet moments of his life, in between his kids and business, his mind was only on you. You, straddling him in that booth, the way you grinned at him as he approached you at the wedding party. Sometimes when he was driving home, his mind would drift off thinking of the feeling of your figure pressed against him, the feel of your lips, your laugh, the sound of your heaving breaths against his ear. You haunted him the most at night, visions of you with his name on your lips in his silk sheets. You were his forbidden fruit, dangling barely out of reach.

***

John was at his desk, paperwork long abandoned in favour of whiskey and a cigar, lost in his own thoughts. The loud tapping of rain and the wind of the storm outside shook the windows, yet John felt somewhat at peace; a temporary peace, but he could unwind. Just his desk, the moonlight, the gas lamp illuminating his empty glass and the heavy English rain for company. He found far more joy in the simplicity of life than his brothers, who reeked of new money. He liked his things the way they were, it all worked, but he had to admit he was a sucker for a good suit. The kids were long in bed, the nanny to comfort their nightmares. It made him feel like a shit father, and he didn't want to be like his useless dad. He had started resenting the life Thomas was forcing him to live; the booze, the partying, the Tokyo, the fighting. It was wearing on him. He needed a break from everyone in this town, he reckoned.

However, a certain unexpected guest was always welcome to him. You had just drifted across his mind when a firm knock at the door caught his attention. He straightened his tie, leaving his legs outstretched and crossed on the dark oak desk, calling for the visitor to enter.

There you were. Dripping from head to toe, but still as beautiful as ever to him, despite your damp hair and slightly smudged makeup. You had caught him off guard, and in his surprise, he couldn't suppress the cheeky grin which spread across his face.

"Got caught in the storm, eh? I'll put the fire on and pour you a drink yeah? Warm you up." He slurred slightly, springing into action, lighting the fire and going to fill two glasses with whiskey, which you politely refused.

"I'm not drinking tonight, Mr. Shelby."

He decides he won't either. He tried to ignore your piercing gaze, motioning you to sit across his desk from him, reaching to put the whiskey in his drawer. "That's not like you. Where you headed, love? That lecture with Ada?"

"I came to see you."

He noted your firm tone, the flirty smile, the coy eye contact.

"What's the occasion?"

"You've been avoiding me." You told him bluntly, his cheeks reddening, eye contact breaking momentarily.

"Yeah, I know." He took a draw from his cigar, rolling the smoke from between his lips on the exhale. "M’sorry."

You watched him for a moment and he met your eyes, suddenly softened from his usual icey blue inquisitive stare. To shame, he looked so vulnerable right now. You could feel yourself falling for him again. This is what you hung around for, the fleeting glimpses of the authentic John Shelby. The lad you'd first giggled about in the girl's bathroom at lunch, barely knowing what sex was. Barely understanding power and politics. Unaware of who you'd both end up as.

"You're fucking soaked to the bone. Come on, I'll put your clothes to dry by the fire. And don't give me that look, I'll give you my coat to save your modesty, lass." He teased. You ignored the way his muscles flexed as he reached for his woolen jacket, some outrageously expensive tailored affair from some London boutique, his large rough hands brushing your fingers. "I'll turn around."

You grasped the coat, heading to the fireplace and warming up for a moment, checking that you were far from his line of sight. This was a dangerous game for you both. You wished he'd grab you, take you on his desk and finish what he started, but the way he absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited indicated that he was restraining himself.

You'd rid yourself of your thin jacket, bought from the market stall last week, effortlessly trendy but an imitation of the pricey stuff Ada and the blinder wives and girlfriends you knew. You were jealous of their fur coats, they were always warm and glamorous looking even on the coldest winter night in Birmingham.

You glanced across the room to John. He was staring intently at the wall lost in thought, teeth gritted.

"John? Could you unzip me?" You asked, purposefully making your voice sound as neutral as possible, looking at him over your shoulder.

He paused, bringing his fingers to rub circles against his jaw. You caught a glimpse of white teeth and dimples as he glanced at you out the corner of his eye and you can't help but match his coy grin. He pushed himself off the desk and quickly closed the small distance towards you, his hand finding first your shoulder then the zip at the nape of your neck, your breath hitching as he pulled the zip to your waist. You could feel his eyes tracing the curvature of your spine and hips. You both hesitated for a moment, before John’s warm fingertips grazed your waist, lips pressing into your hair affectionately. His mouth found his way to your ear, cheekbone, jaw and then neck, encouraged by the way your left hand cradled his head as you pressed your body back into his and how your eyes drifted shut at his touch.

"Sweetheart, why did you come here?" He muttered into your ear, his words and casual affection causing your core to swell in response.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you. I've barely slept in a week, feel terrible. Then you've been ignoring me-"

"It isn't personal, Y/N. You know this isn’t how I want it to be." His hands found their way to your waist, gripping lightly at your hip bones, sending a shiver down your back.

"Well this is how it is, John. It's never going to be any different. So, what are you going to do about it?"

"What are you fucking on about, love?"

"I reckon that just once can't hurt, nobody would know but us. Then we can both move on with our lives..."

John hesitated, "What about Ada?" His head rested on your shoulder, the scent of your sweet perfume causing him to want you even more. Jesus, he was too far gone.

"We were so close the first night I got here and we didn't. No one caught on then, why would it be different now?"

He wanted to trust you so badly, it ached inside of him. He wanted to feel you around him, make you cum for him again and again, for you to be breathless and shaking under him. He wanted to give you everything he could, even if just once. But he couldn't.

"She's my sister. Family is everything; if I don't have them, I’ve got nothin’." He stated firmly, yet his palms lingered on your hips, the liquor destroying his perception of the distinction between friendly touching and actions that made you swallow deeply and pray for relief.

"You have me for tonight." You pulled away from him, ignoring the groan that escaped from his lips at the loss of contact. You locked your eyes with his blue ones and pushed the straps of your dress from your shoulders, allowing the damp material to pool around your feet, standing in front of the man you'd wanted for years. It was now or never.

He stayed silent, watching you, eyes not leaving yours, challenging you for a brief moment before his eyes flickered over your figure.

"Is it such a crime to want to fuck you?" You asked, the silk of your skimpy underwear forcing John to wipe the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he drank you in, mumbling profanities under his breath. Yet, despite the glances and his sudden frustration, you could tell you had him. His eyes were feral and hungry, daring you to keep pushing him. His shoulders were squared, he was ready for action. The crackling firelight illuminated you beautifully; you were irresistible to him.

"It's not a crime. Where'd you get this backbone from?" He asked, reaching for you but you stepped away, teasing him.

"University up north does sommet to a woman."

"You can fuck off or fuck me with that attitude."

"The latter if you behave yourself, Mr Shelby."

He smirked at you, holding his hands up in mock surrender, before wrapping his coat around your shoulders, pulling you towards him by the back of the collar. "You've got a mouth on you, love. You gonna put it to good use?"

"I was told months ago that you'd sort me out, John-" Your speech was interrupted by a small squealing giggle as he tugged at your hair lightly for mocking his voice, his eyes bright and crinkled at the edges due to his grin. "I'm disappointed with these delays, especially from the Shelby Company."

"Well, as the boss, I'll sort it for you, personally and immediately. Let me make it up to you, lass," John crooned, his lips meeting yours once again, fingers pushing your thighs apart, still clad in your black stockings and garter belt. "This is where we got up to last time, yes?"

"Yes Mr. Shelby, I believe so."

He pressed his lips and teeth against where your jaw met your neck, tracing his index and middle fingers over the silk of your underwear which covered your slit. You couldn’t help but lean into him, a slight hiss escaping your teeth.

"You like that, huh? You're fuckin’ soaked for me already, love," John muttered against your neck, lifting your left leg to hook around his waist, easily lifting you onto his desk, scattering loose papers and heavy accounting books onto the floor in his urgency to feel your bare skin on his. "They teach you how to push a bloke over the edge at that fancy university?"

"No, I figured that out on my own actually."

"Always knew you were bright," He smirked, quickly ridding you of your flimsy panties, the pads of his fingertips hot against your thighs. "Always going for the ones smarter than me, Tommy reckons it's not difficult."

"Your brother's chatting shit, he's not the one ‘bout to fuck me on his desk, yeah?" You shot back, opening your thighs to encourage him, your cunt exposed, cutting off John’s laugh. He couldn’t help but stare, eyes glued to your dripping cunt. "You're my favourite brother, always have been. If you tell Finn, I'll kill you," You teased.

"Come off it," John grunted in reply, unable to restrain pressing kisses to your inner thighs, your head tilting back, fingers desperately clutching at his hair. “Need t’get a proper taste of you, yeah? Look so fuckin’ sweet for me.” His mouth reached your core, slowly dipping his tongue into you, causing your mouth to fall open in ecstasy. God, his lips were even softer than they looked. His movements switched from light and teasing to purposeful and focused, his fingers curled and pumping inside you, tongue and thumb attacking your clit. He'd gotten on his knees, your legs wrapped around his neck as he groaned into your cunt, causing you to buck your hips wildly at the sensation, moans falling out of your mouth.

“Fuckin’ christ, John,” You swore, feeling yourself pulsate and twitch around his nimble fingers, crying out into the empty office building. You were getting so close, your hips jerking independently, chest heaving as you gasped for air. You were quickly getting overstimulated, you were so close. Before you could finish, John raised his head back to yours, letting you taste yourself on his mouth, his hands moving from your cunt to your tits, finger tips tracing the outline of your nipples through your silk bra.

"If we get to do this once, I want to feel you finish on my cock, doll," John grunted in a hushed tone, pointedly moving his lips to your collarbone when you opened your mouth to argue back to him.

"Then I get to ride you." Your statement took him by surprise; most women he'd slept with seemed fairly passive in bed. Sure they enjoyed themselves, but they never took control. He could feel himself swell in response to your words. He'd never been put in this position; he was a stranger to it, but the idea was thrilling and wickedly seductive. Especially from someone who was the epitome of "girl-next-door" as they were growing up.

"Polly reckoned you'd be trouble since Ada told us you'd returned. Don't mind getting into trouble with you, though," He teased, his plump mouth dipping to your cleavage, unclasping your bra, tongue circling your hardening nipples.

"John, fuckin’ christ, need you to finish me off, yeah?" You begged, voice shaking, much to his amusement, his fingers re-entering you roughly. John pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, soothing your body from the sharp sensation, the slight pain exacerbating the pleasure arising from his mouth and fingers.

"I've barely started with you, and already you're begging for me to fuck you." He muttered into your skin, as he watched you writhe and lift your hips, reacting beautifully to the feelings he was reawakening within you.

"John, m’not fucking about, yeah? I need you," You whined, hand resting on his inner thigh, fingers grazing the fastenings across his groin, gazing up at him from your seat on his desk. John hated waiting for relief, he had very little patience, and almost immediately he gave in and collapsed into his large armchair, pulling you on top of him, letting you pin his wrists to the chair and grind against him as your mouth found his, then his neck, removing his waistcoat, shirt and tie, revealing his muscular chest. The bruising kisses you pressed to his skin left him breathless and needing more, helping you unbuckle his belt and push his suit trousers down his legs. You couldn’t help but take him into your hand, moving it up and down his sensitive shaft.

“Christ, you’re too fuckin’ good at this,” John groaned as you spit on your palm to better move your hand up and down his cock, teasing the sensitive tip with your fingers and tongue. He couldn’t help but watch you, keeping eye contact as you toyed with him, blue eyes heavy with pleasure and lust for more.

You angled your hips above him and he adjusted himself, using his hand to better push himself inside you. You yelped lightly as you adjusted to his girth, his mouth distracting you by pressing kisses on your shoulder and tangling his hands through your hair, trying to control his breaths as you adjusted to him, soft moans falling from your mouth, your tight cunt gripping his cock.

“S’fuckin’ perfect, like your pussy was made for me,” he groaned, breath growing heavier with the sensation of you grinding against him. Pushing his hips up into you, he couldn’t help but grab at your hip bones, grip burning into your skin, bouncing you on his cock, mouth slightly slack, groaning as he grasped at your flesh. You’d imagined hundreds of times how fucking irresistible John would look underneath you, but it was nothing compared to the real thing.

The thrill of having John Shelby with his trousers down in his office, quickly dissolving into a moaning and grunting mess with every rotation or twist of your hips, in the midst of a stormy night while the thunder echoed around the empty streets below was almost too much to take. You should be home right now, curled up in that empty unheated flat, behaving yourself. Even on a date or fucking someone else. But instead you'd gone to him and now you were riding him. You wanted the moment to last forever, right now everything felt so right, you knew when it was over the guilt would hit. But you couldn't avoid it, you could feel your legs start to shake.

“Look so god damn pretty ridin’ me, love. Makin’ me wanna cum inside you.” John growled, panting, struggling to keep pace as you moaned on top of him. Your fingers found his jawline and guided him to look up at you, craving to see how his face looked when he finally came undone. He reached between your legs, torturing your clit with his fingers while he slammed into you a few extra times, using up the rest of his energy. The extra stimulation pushed you over the edge, crying out John’s name as you felt yourself release. Watching you whine his name was the last straw for him, spilling into you as your dripping cunt squeezed him, reveling in the image of you a mess for him.

***

You finally came back to your senses, catching your breath, John clutching you to his chest protectively for a minute or two, enjoying the tranquility and post-sex clarity. He checked his clock, sighing and lifting you from his lap to his desk, running a towel under the sink in the corner of his room and passing it to you to clean up between your legs with.

"Charming," You smirked, tired but satisfied. "No wonder the ladies always come back for more."

"Not you though, aye? One night only exclusive, this." He matched your playful tone, but his eyes were dull with exhaustion and he looked almost upset. He was probably just knackered after working all day and then going overtime just to please you.

"Make yourself useful and grab my clothes for me John-lad." You teased, thankfully changing the subject. He rolled his eyes in the waning firelight, locating the clothes the two of you had left scattered around the room. You quickly dressed, not caring how he watched you silently, as though trying to memorize the image of you. Your clothes were far drier than earlier, the last remaining remnants of damp clutching to the fibers and freezing you all over again. Yet before you could even comment, John's wool coat was wrapped back around your shoulders.

"Because you're cold, not because you look fuckable in it." He said pointedly, smirking slightly, the edges seeming artificial.

"Remind me not to fall madly in love with you. Won't be able to help myself if you keep talking like that, Mr. Shelby." You retorted sarcastically with a grin, earning a gentle dig to the ribs.

"It's Mr. Shelby if you're trying to fuck me. John is between friends and family, right?"

"Someone better inform Mr. Solomons of that distinction, then," You paused, "Mr. Shelby."

"Don't be a fucking cocktease." He scolded with a small grin, grabbing his car keys and hat from the door. "You want a lift then? Don't dick about being polite, Y/N, it's fucking midnight, just accept it."

"Since you asked so nicely."

"You know you've got worse since you've been at uni? Too fast for us lot now." He teased, half serious, as he led you to his car. He couldn't believe the beautiful woman in his passenger seat was the girl with pigtails who'd chase Ada around the canal with their girl gang for hours, the pretty teen who read for hours in his sister's bedroom, comparing notes together. No one was surprised you got a scholarship to university, despite your gender and class. You'd been incredibly lucky. Yet, you'd seen the world and had come back to Birmingham and picked him.

Shame you could only pick him once.

[solomonish]

The Nowdateables and What You Are to Them

Do you ever wonder what it is about you that keeps your demon (or angel, or sorcerer) by your side? Not necessarily the traits you have that attracted them to you (and still do), or what they think makes you you, but the reason you’ve become so irreplaceable and imperative in their life that they don’t think they could live without you.

Brothers: here!

To Diavolo, you feel like normalcy.

He’s the future king of the Devildom, so it’s always been foolish for him to yearn for quite possibly the only thing he can’t have.

Everything is important, everything is a trap, there are never right answers, and everything comes with a price somebody won’t be happy about paying. Such is the life of the prince, a destiny that will only get harsher with time. Those who try to get close to him are often just looking for a boon, and those he wants to be close to him (hint hint Barbatos, HINT HINT LUCIFER) never want to pass the formality barrier. (Or the resentment barrier resulting from Diavolo holding Lucifer’s sister’s life as a bargaining chip for his unwavering eternal loyalty, but. Well. Remember what he said about prices and unhappiness?) The life he leads is terribly, dreadfully lonely.

When you come along, you show him what it is to just have something normal. You aren’t after him for power or money, you just want him for his company. Your presence is the most valuable thing in the world - whether you’re pulling him along on the streets, skipping ahead as if you aren’t leading the literal prince around like a lovesick dog, or just sitting in his study, finish tasks or calling out to him to tell him the jokes you scroll across on your D.D.D., you give him something he could never replace. There is no second layer he has to scramble to figure out, there are no disastrous consequences for the realm if he says the wrong thing - to you, he is an equal, he is just Diavolo, and even though others gasp at the thought, he is elated with this turn of events.

Even if he says his relationship with you is “normal,” it is the most treasured and important thing in his life.

To Barbatos, you feel inevitable.

Barbatos knows - two words that will always be true.

His power is well-known, his power is coveted, and, regrettably, his power is, for most, his defining feature. He does use it quite a lot, albeit very responsibly, to help his young lord out. As such, nothing surprises him, and it is near impossible to catch him off guard. Even more so, he seems to know how to navigate any situation. He is in control, he is the driving force behind so much. It’s useful, but it makes for a rather monotonous existence.

But you...you seem like you will always find a way to be around him. Barbatos doesn’t believe in inevitable destiny, but you sure do come close. You aren’t some grand scheme he has to painstakingly track in order to make sure something good happens. You aren’t some “what if?” thrown in the air that he needs to worry about. You are someone with your own wants and desires, and somehow he always seems to be part of them. He doesn’t have to worry about you, about the constantly shifting tides of time that may or may not take you away from him because you are the type of person who will always come back.

Barbatos knows that you will come back to him, that you will be with him - not because he’s checked, or because he’ll make it happen, but because you want to, and because you can be trusted.

To Solomon, you feel like home.

Solomon has lived many lives, in many places, and he has never really made one to be for him.

The world is constantly changing, and Solomon has changed with it. He’s also kept careful watch over it, tending to the needs of the people in making sure the more powerful realms don’t decide to tread over this one. As such, he is constantly moving - sometimes, he isn’t even within the human realm. He lives places, and he has houses, but he doesn’t have a home. Sometimes, the human realm isn’t even his home. Sometimes, he just exists.

There is something about you that makes Solomon want to stay. His wanderlust of the years dies down when he’s with you, and he realizes the joys of simply being for a while. Even his magic seems a second priority to keeping you around (and, hopefully, happy - even better if it’s because of him specifically.) You are comfortable. You are cozy. You are safe, even if he didn’t feel like he was in any particular danger before. At the end of a long day, you are the thing he yearns to return to. You are the constant he wants to keep for as long as he can.

For the first time in a long time, Solomon understand what a home is - and maybe it does lie where the heart is.

To Simeon, you feel precious.

Simeon has experienced divinity, paradise, and heaven, but never a luxury entirely his to indulge in.

He is an angel, after all, and the Celestial Realm is bountiful in wonderful experiences. Simeon is no stranger to kindness, patience, gentleness - all virtues, all aspects of love. He has witnessed the paradise of the Celestial Realm, shared in the collective treasures of the Realm’s wealth and beauty - anything you could consider a luxury, he could equate to his home. Though it has never bothered him before, these were never his alone.

You bring out something foreign in him, a desire to have something entirely his own. Not in the way that would restrict you, of course - but when you give him a gentle kiss to his cheek or lay your head on his shoulder, he wants nothing more than to stay like that forever. You have always been a treasure to him, a default to him being an angel, but you quickly become the most precious thing in the world to him. He wants to shower you in all the love and attention you deserve, to make sure you know just how priceless you are.

Though he wants to keep you to himself, he could never call this feeling selfish - not when the greatest prize in the world is to be the reason you smile and to hold you so dear

[utopianparadoxist]

This is very close to being on the money to me but crucially, Roxy DOES tell her stuff constantly, to the point that it tires Roxy out and breeds resentment/feeds into Roxy's own frustrated loneliness, because of the very same thing that keeps Jane frustrated and lonely:

Jane doesn't believe her.

It's a huge point of conflict in their pre-Sburb relationship, that Roxy is constantly telling Jane the truth about crockercorp and sad things about just, her basic life, that Jane outright dismisses as lies or pranks constantly. Dirk tells Roxy he's made similar, albeit more tentative efforts with Jane, and has simply given up and decided to wait for life to prove to her what she won't believe from them.

She's juxtaposed against Jake in this regard, who believes everything and is thus much more readily able to meet Roxy and Dirk at their emotional realities; BUT isn't actually any better because he believes everything pretty tactically, twisting his beliefs just right to enable his anxious anti-confrontational and escapist tendencies, and is thus rendered just as prone to lonely, self-destructive isolationism as Jane is, just in an inverted way.

All the alphas struggle with a version of this, it's the root of their group dynamic; passionate, intense, yearning love and loyalty for the other three (four/five, depending on if you count AR/Hal and Calliope, and I do) warped and complicated by their inability to understand their rotten world, themselves, or each other. Ultimate Dirk is the apex, most pathetic version of this, but he sums it up best;

"Sometimes love just isn't enough. Sometimes what you need is understanding."

Jane's isolation is, imo, rooted in her relatively privileged life, compared to the other alphas, the fact that she's been socially programmed by a subversive fascist corporation through which she's been promised power and influence over society, and most of all through her comfortable willingness to take for granted that she alone understands the truth about all things in the world, and her friends are all either silly, misled, confused, or just willing to fuck with her.

It's the conservative's curse, socially speaking! The barest roots of the potential for ugliness that comes full fore in the epilogues.

And all the Alphas are kind of subtly coded as conservative, as temporally displaced members of an older and thus more conservative generation. Jane and Roxy are contrasting variations on the 1950's American housewife archetype; Dirk represents a very particular style of gay intellectualized masculinity worship that, at his worst, gets easily blurred with outright machismo and toxic masculinity, if not straight up patriarchy; and Jake conciously self-styles himself as a roughhousing no-think jock because that's easier than letting himself be smart enough to consider the thoughts and feelings of everyone he's so scared to disappoint, let alone his own fears and sadness, all while being associated with willful ignorance and Christianity, in his association with the ruling God/Satan of Homestucks' mythocosmos, Lord English, and his association with angels, both literal through Hope and through Dirk, who is himself obsessed with his own demonic and/or angelic potential, the question of whether his soul can be saved. Read Zoe keepers' essay on Dirk as Satan analogue for more on that.

Of course that all culminates in the Alphas' creating Lord English, the ultimate representation and enforcer of all those conservative tropes and biases the Alphas already carry ambiently, and presumably taught Caliborn about passively. He then becomes the very reason their world and lives are so fucked up, over multiple lifetimes! A kind of temporal timeloop inflicted karmic punishment for the Alphas' toxic biases, if you want to think of it that way, though hardly a fair one if you ask me.

Anyway uh. I guess god pressed the hyperfixate about the alphas button on me today. It's absolutely true that Jane is the loneliest girl in the world, though I think that also goes for Roxy when she ids as a girl. The alphas are the loneliest group of best friends in love ever. I cry

i don't think people give jane credit for being the loneliest girl in the world for alpha earth

[apiscircensis]

ok so here’s the first of the ocs

"Are you prepared for what's next?”

Morgan Heerser 🦑 bio under the cut (wall of text ahead)

Biographical Information Gender : Male (Squid merman) Age: 18 Birthday: February 28 Star sign: Pisces Height: 168cm Eye Color: Ice Blue Hair Color: Seafoam Green Family: Grandmother, Mother

Professional Status Dorm: Octavinelle School Year: Third Occupation: Student Club: Board Game Club Best Subject: Magic History

Fun Facts Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous Favorite Food: Shrimp, pastries Least Favorite Food: Stale bread Dislikes: Liars Hobby: Gambling Talents: Playing the piano

Personality

He’s gloomy, distant, and temperamental and is perfectly willing to demonstrate it. He has little patience for incompetence and becomes angry easily when people get on his nerves. He values loyalty and a strong will.

Though he was knowledgeable about it, he had no actual experience with life on land before coming to the NRC, and his human body can be a bit frail. His true merman form however is massive and incredibly strong.

Despite being a reclusive loner, he’s also a hopeless romantic. He’s an avid reader of poetry and lover of music. Though he would never admit it, he yearns to one day find a love as strong and vast as the sea itself.

Inspired on Davy Jones (Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest)

Biographical Info 

- Morgan was homeschooled by his very elderly grandma and absent party mom. They're both very intelligent women and powerful witches. Mom is very loving but just too much of a free spirit to commit to the life of a single mother so she leaves often, sometimes for days at a time. Morgan doesn't resent her for her absences, but does wish she had been around more often while he was growing up. Grandma is more strict but not at all restrictive. She is very well educated and knowledgeable in general, and tells interesting stories, but is just too old to be fun to be around lol

- His family lives past the outskirts of the nearest town , and even in town there aren’t many children so he’s mostly interacted with adults throughout his life. There are a few people in his hometown that he has good relationships with, but in general children and adults alike tend to find him a bit creepy so they avoid him a little. He's reclusive by nature so he's never cared much.

- Despite that, it is known that he is a powerful being and mage just like his mom and grandma, so he has had his run-ins with people wanting to use that for their own benefit, which has made him generally weary of others' intentions. He hates being lied to.

Trivia

- Morgan was an infinitely curious child and would spend most of his free time either exploring the deep sea or educating himself on anything he could about the world at large, from history of any given country, to science, to shitty popular media. He recognizes there's still much he doesn't know, mainly in regards to common things like sports, entertainment, technology and such (as those things move really fast) but he's never afraid to ask "stupid" questions.

- Aside from being an intensely lonely child with too much time and easy access to bad romance novels and couples’ mementos found at shipwrecks, his love for love comes from his fondest childhood memories being of the time he would spend with his mom being told countless stories, legends, and songs, all of them ultimately revolving around love.

- It was at one of said shipwrecks that he found the piano he learned to play on. He told his grandmother about it and she enchanted it so he could play it underwater. She also taught him the basics of musical theory, but Morgan mostly taught himself to play by ear through trial and error (Grandma, also being a weary, reclusive loner has always been more content to have Morgan exploring the depths alone than mingling with people, so she was pleased at this development).

- He never really had any intention of visiting the surface world until the possibility of studying at NRC came up. He's undecided about what he wants to do next because he's still very much a reclusive loner lol, but at the same time his previous life seems a bit too quiet to him now.- The hardest part of adapting to school life for him has been the sheer amount of people he's made to exist around at all times.

- He originally intended to join the Pop Music Club, that is until he found out it was actually just chill & chat hour for the extroverts lolol. He'll still play with them if they invite him to tho, and occasionally plays at the Mostro Lounge as well.

- Despite being rather antisocial he has good people skills that he uses to get what he wants out of others. This includes sweet talking Heartslabyul students into inviting him to their tea parties (he has put on a bit of weight since he came to school lol (not that he cares)).

- He loves trinkets as much as the next merfolk but is content with just looking at them. He’s fascinated by Jacob's bottled ships, but not so much the snow globes. He absolutely despises those tacky feathers Blake wears on his hat.

- He struggles with chronic leg pain. It’s a bit of a mystery what exactly causes this but the working theory is that some ingredient in the potion that allows him to take human form may not fully agree with his body. He has been doing research with Prof. Crewel to figure out what’s up with him and how to fix it, and has sort of unwittingly become a case study for Pomefiore students interested in the field. He’s careful to not overexert himself and manages fine most of the time but it’s not rare to see him using his cane in the late hours. However, one too many flights of stairs or a particularly heavy PE class can have him miserably limping his way through campus the rest of the day. He keeps his discomfort to himself, but it's known that he becomes more temperamental when he's in pain. Generally he gets better with rest but sometimes Jacob will offer to massage his legs for him if he notices him being particularly sulky.

-

Morgan was the second character of this batch that I thought up and the first I designed. I wanted to give him something of a frail appearance, with a bit of a “young master” vibe, because I like the idea of a character that seems unassuming at first glance but is actually fearsome and imposing.