#ALL of the characters in this game are so so good even the ones I didn't really like at first.

[sailornymph]

never knew i needed; bllk boyfriends

synopsis — realizing you’re the one

content warning — aged up characters, insinuation of mature themes

♡ chigiri hyoma

clenching his jaw, chigiri kept his head straight avoiding all of the flashing cameras, as he left the airport. he should’ve been elated, his team had yet another victory, and yet all he could think about was you. hours after the shared success, while the others left to celebrate, he paced the floor of his hotel room, trying to resist the urge to scream. he couldn't even remember how the argument started, something along the lines of you telling him he had to calm down on the field, getting a flag after shoving a player who called him a pretty boy, he didn't want to hear what you had to say, passing words with each other leading to him being called cocky and sassy, he found himself becoming angrier. he certainly was not sassy, and cocky? he was better than nearly every player on the field, he had every right to be cocky!

going down the escalator, he furrowed his eyebrows still thinking about the stupid argument. nearly an hour passed and while the situation was long gone from his mind, he couldn't bring himself to back down, when you suddenly hung up. he tried calling you back, ready to have another reason to argue, but to his surprise, you had turned your phone off. by the end of the night, he was left feeling like a fool, worried about the state of his relationship. noticing his mom and sister, but you where nowhere in sight, he released a nervous sigh, as he met them halfway. accepting their hugs, he didn't say anything, following behind them, as they went on and on about how great he did, and how they wished they could've came.

approaching the car, he nearly cried like a baby, when he saw you leaning against the car, your arms crossed. you clearly had told his sister and mom about the argument, their expressions giving it away. taking his bag, they got into the car, while being nosey trying to read his lips.

“hey,” he mumbled. rolling your eyes, you pulled him closer, kissing his lips, his arms immediately going around you.

“are you still upset with me, hyoma?” you asked, smiling as he slowly shook his head.

“n-no”

“i know you're one of the best, one of the fastest, but you're more than a football player to me, and your aspirations are also important to me. yes, you have every right to have that ego of yours, but you don't need to do that again, for your well being and the sake of your career,” you told him, crossing your arms.

staring at you for a moment, he could only grin. how did he get so lucky? just hours ago, you were the reason he was screaming like a madman and now he couldn't stop grinning at the sight of you talking to him as if you were his boss.

“i thought you were going to break up with me, you turned your phone off” he smiled, as you furrowed your eyebrows.

“no, i just didn't want to argue with you, when you didn't want to hear what i was saying”

“you're right, i’m sorry,” he said, laying his head on your shoulder. this felt strange, but right. you were the one, he never believed in other half’s, soulmates, or any of that nonsense, and then you came along.

“you’re sorry? just like that,” you said, finding him unbelievable. the way he was suddenly bending at your will was quite interesting. it was like the idea of you potentially ending the relationship changed something within him.

“i’ll be good, for you,” he flirted, as your face burned at his shamelessness, before he pecked your lips, reaching for your hand, and leading you to the car.

♡ nagi seishiro

nagi was very discreet, his eyes moving over to glance at you. sitting next to him, one leg crossed over the other, lightly bouncing it to whatever you were listening to. occasionally opening your phone, to respond to a text message, before continuing to listen to your music. boredly playing his game, he didn't even move as you accepted the key to the suite the two of you would be sharing. releasing a sigh, he placed his phone into his pocket, standing as you stood. grabbing both of your bags, he followed behind you, as he became aware of his surroundings.

his teammates were talking with their partners who came along — most of them telling the players about their plans to explore the city, while the team would get rest for their early practice tomorrow. looking to you, you didn't pay them any mind, entering the elevator, holding the door open until he walked in. suddenly, his mind was all over the place, he was unfamiliar with this kind of situation.

you had been together for about six months now, and it was your first time traveling with him. he didn't plan on going anywhere, playing his games, before going to bed — but if going explore was something everyone else’s partners did — he wanted you to enjoy that luxury, he just didn't know how to bring it up.

unlocking the door, you walked inside, leaving the door open for him to carry everything in. taking your shoes off, as you shut the door, you plopped onto the bed, lying back. sitting your bags on the counter, he sat next to you, catching you easily, as you climbed into his lap.

“would you like to join me in a shower?” you asked, smiling at his rosy cheeks. pulling him off the bed, as he nodded.

leading him to the large bathroom, you bit your lip at how appetizing he looked, wearing his tracksuit, and you felt excited at how amazing he would look with it off.

“y/n, you don't have to stay in the room when we travel, everyone’s partners’ usually will explore the cities-

“do you want me to leave?” you asked, as he towered over you in the shower, water dripping down his hair.

“no, of course not, i just don't want you bored while i am on my phone or asleep,” he said tiredly, pulling you closer into his chest.

“i’m sure this city has many great places to visit, but i was going to spend time with you if that is okay,” you said, looking up at his dark eyes.

“you don't have to-

“i like our habits, it’s what makes our relationship so special to me, your games are a part of you, and i don't mind it,” you said, going on your toes to kiss his soft lips, before turning to face the water.

staring at you, he was unsure what this feeling was. love? not exactly, he knew he loved you for some time now, this was deeper. you were the one. he wanted to spend forever with you. he could be himself, the two of you could sit in complete silence and be full of contentment. he needed to cherish you, to provide the deepest most sincere form of love he could give.

allowing his hand to move between your legs, he pressed you even closer, as you moaned. it sounded like music to his ears.

“hm, marry me”

“seishiro, it’s a bit early to decide about something like that, you don’t think?” you looked up at him, with a worried expression.

“i couldn’t be more sure, i’d like to be with you forever,” he replied, his fingers determined as ever.

“i-if you win the game, then i will give you an answer,” you said, biting back to lewd noises.

“we both know we will be winning”

“fine, if you win, as soon as we are back in japan, i’ll marry you, but if you lose you have to wait a while longer”

“you should start looking at rings because we’ll be buying it as soon as we’re back home,” he smirked, kissing your cheek, before backing away to let you rinse off.

♡ bachira meguru

‘dude, you’re way too clingy’

‘for real, she’s going to end up leaving you for a real man if you keep acting like a baby’

‘yeah, she’s going to get the ick, then it’s over for you’

despite being at the lively social gathering, bachira was not feeling the scenery in the slightest. since he began dating you, three months ago, he had been getting a bit of negative attention. according to nearly everyone, except a few close friends and relatives — every time the two of you were seen, he was being annoyingly clingy. he had even seen it a few times on social media, he was being too clingy, he was too eccentric.

he didn’t want to run you away, he liked you, a lot! he hoped the feeling was mutual because he enjoyed your company. you just got him, unlike most people, his mother loved you, and he just couldn’t imagine how he had lived his life before, without knowing you. however, with all of this pushback, he found himself distancing himself from you. perhaps you did need your space sometimes, he didn’t have to sleep over every night. he didn’t have to invite himself to tag along when you were doing errands. but the space was killing him :( even hanging with isagi, it wasn’t the same as with you, he needed to learn to not be clingy.

“excuse me, have you seen bachira?”

“i think he was outside,” hearing your voice, his posture straightened. you were here? and looking for him? standing up, he excused himself, approaching your figure. you stood out like a sore thumb. while everyone wore their expensive clothing, you wore the cutest sundress.

“y/n,” he approached, his heart shattering when he saw the slight puffiness in your face. you had been crying.

“meguru,” you whispered, as his arm went around your waist, as he led you away into the nearest bathroom, locking the door.

“what’s wrong, y/n”

“meguru, are you cheating on me? or you'd like to break up?” you asked, making his eyes widen.

“what? i’d never cheat on you, and i certainly don't want to break up, is it rumors-

“then why are you avoiding me? i had to find out you were here through isagi. you don't come over, you don't call, and you're always busy. if i’m not what you want, just tell me,” you told him, frustratingly.

“you are everything that i want, and more. i don't want to run you away, being clingy. if i give you the ick, then it’s over for me”

“who told you that? that is not true, meguru. i love everything about you. i enjoy spending time with you and i don't feel like you are being clingy or giving me the ick, you're just being you”

“i'm sorry i had you worried, i am… in love with you, and i don’t want to lose what we have,” he shook his head, as his arms went around your waist.

“i love you too and you won’t, could i please have my old meguru back?” your eyes pleaded with his, and he knew immediately, that he could never hurt you like this again. he only wanted to see you smile, laugh, moan- within a matter of seconds he had vowed to himself to love you and bring you happiness, no matter what anyone thought of him or you.

not saying a word, he simply nodded, going to kiss your neck, going straight to your “sensitive spot” nibbling on your skin. as you began to giggle, trying to wiggle from his grasp, he held you close.

“what’s so funny dear?” he asked, as if he wasn't doing anything.

“you're tickling me,” you laughed.

“i did not, this is tickling,” he began to tickle you, before stopping. as your laughter ceased, he moved closer to you, softly kissing your lips.

“would you like to get out of here?” he continued.

“please?”

“do you think we could do that thing again, when we get to your place, in the shower?”

“meguru, i’m still suppose to be upset about you for basically ignoring me for weeks”

“but i love you and you love me and you look absolutely beautiful with my big c-

“don’t even”

“how about a foot massage?” he changed the subject, snickering, back to his usual self.

“now we’re talking”

♡ isagi yoichi

“yoichi,” you screamed his name from the top of the stadium, watching as he turned around, searching for you. as his eyes landed on your distant figure, he waved, watching as you came down the steps, joining him on the field.

before you could jump down the last step, he had already run over, catching you, spinning you around before letting your feet touch the grass.

“i’ve missed you,” he spoke, sighing. he wished you could travel more often with him, but you had only been together a few months now, and he wanted to respect your decision to continue working.

“i missed you too, am i interrupting practice? i didn't want to stay in my hotel-

“no, i was finishing up, why don't you sit on the bench, and we can go get a bite after?” he said, reaching for your hand, placing a kiss on your fingers as you nodded.

sitting down, you watched in amazement as he began to dribble the ball with his feet before he suddenly kicked the ball. gasping at how strong his kick was, the ball quickly flew into the goal. clapping, you cheered for him as if he'd actually scored a point. facing you, his face was red as he smiled, approaching.

“i’m just going to change and get my things,” he told you, mentally cursing himself for sounding like he was still a shy schoolboy.

“okay, i’ll wait here,” you nodded, watching as he left.

putting his things away, and grabbing his bag, the last thing isagi expected to see you doing when he returned outside, was attempting to dribble the ball. you tried to run, but you couldn’t move too fast, or you’d lose the ball. losing your balance, you fell, and hearing loud footsteps you yelped, seeing your yoichi drop his bag, and running to you.

“y/n, are you alright?” he hovered over you.

“am i hurt? no. embarrassed? extremely,” you said, making him chuckle.

“you were getting a bit of practice too,” he smirked.

“football has never been my forte, i’ve only been to a few games before and that’s including yours. the point i’m making is i’ve never wanted to get better at anything so badly. you love this sport and i’d like to understand what it means to be a striker, to understand you more,” you explained.

“come here,” he chuckled, helping you stand, placing his hands on your hips.

“you were doing good, and you’re at a perfect position to score, use whichever leg you’re more comfortable with, and kick,” he instructed, slowly backing away.

kicking the ball, you dropped your head in defeat as the ball flew, but then dropped and began to roll — still a good distance from the goal. jogging to get the ball, isagi brought the ball back, sitting it on the ground in front of you.

“you can do it, focus. concentrate on the ball and the goal,” he said, stepping aside. furrowing your eyebrows, you kicked the ball much harder than before, gasping as this time, it flew into the net, while not nearly as hard as yoichi’s kick, it still went in.

“i did it”

“you did it,” he cheered for you, picking you up, jumping around, before finally letting you down.

“it’s because of you, i’d like to learn more about what it’s like to be a striker”

“it means that much to you?”

“it means a lot to you and if i am with you, i want to see it from your perspective,” you said. something about your words made his stomach flutter in an unfamiliar way.

suddenly he could see life with you, beyond the present. marriage, children, and getting old together. he wanted to melt under your gaze, bend to your commands, and meet every desire uttered from your lips. his heart and mind were agreeing at the thought that the one for him had finally come along and stood in front of him, looking as perfect as ever.

“we can train as much as you want,” he muttered, blushing as you kissed his lips. pulling away, you turned your head in embarrassment as your stomach growled.

“let’s get some food in your tummy, princess,” he winked, jogging to get his back, before coming back, his fingers interlocking with your own, as you began telling him about a restaurant you saw earlier today.

[starryal1na]

─ 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

genre: fluff, sfw

word count: 1.4k

characters: aventurine, sunday, boothill, mr reca, alhaitham, kaveh

notes: those headcanons are coming from my silly little mind so don't take them too seriously (ᵕ—ᴗ—) i tried to write them as canon as possible but it might come off as a bit ooc (especially mr reca since we still don't know much about him...) i personally had lots of fun writing for them since they are my favorites male characters from the games <333

Aventurine 𔘓

kisses you as if it were his last – an emotional kisser – needs to be complimented

If you're at the kissing stage with him, congratulations since he doesn't let just anyone in his life. Let alone sharing such an intimate act. Kissing Aventurine may come across as desperate, dare I say needy. It's a lot since he pours all of his emotions into each press of his lips on yours. You feel everything– his complete devotion to you, his fear of losing you, even his inner battles about whether keeping you in his life is a good idea. Even so, each of his kiss is meaningful. No matter how intense it gets, you cherish the way he allows himself to put his guards down with you.

Since he has low self-esteem, compliment him on how good his lips feel on yours. Whisper sweet words here and there between kisses until his features soften, easing all of his worries. Because he craves validation more than anything, your praise will have his heart melting in no time. Only then will he feel more confident, taking the lead and locking your lips in a passionate heated kiss. He will leave you panting and asking for more <3

Sunday 𔘓

kisses you with the greatest care – your lips are his hyperfixation (he will think about them all day long)

He is kinda shy, not daring initiate a kiss even though he dreams of kissing you over and over again. Ever since your first kiss, Sunday hasn't been able to get enough. He unapologetically stares at your lips when you talk, smile or even eat something, fantasizing about making them swollen from a make out session. All his thoughts shut down as soon as you indulge him, crashing your lips against his. It's like he is on cloud nine, the plush of your lips eager yet delicate.

His lips are soft, the softest you've ever felt. He isn’t particularly fond of tongue kissing so he prefers to give you soft, gentle pecks. However, if he feels confident he will deepen them, his body pressing closer to yours as muffled gasps of delight escapes his mouth. And when he kisses you, it’s as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. He is careful with the way he holds you, as if you might break if he dares to tighten his grip. Speaking of hands, he is always touching you. His personal favorite is keeping one hand on your cheek, gently rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone while resting the other on your waist guiding you even closer to him <3

Boothill 𔘓

a biter – and a cheeky kisser – loves to cover your face in kisses only to smother your lips over and over again

He is all for heatedly making out with you. It doesn't matter if you're in public or not, he isn't unshamed at all if it means having his pretty lover panting in his robotic arms. He loves to tease you, especially with his sharp pointy teeth. Whenever you're sitting on his lap, breathlessly following the lead Boothill sets for your make out session, he grazes his sharpened teeth over your bottom lip at some point. It's just enough to hurt a little but he knows deep down you like it this way, so why not take advantage of it ?

Aside from the biting, Boothill also loves teasing you by purposely avoiding your lips. In those moments you wish you had the power to complain, but you're left speechless. He is surprisingly soft as he presses his lips against your forehead, eyelids, cheekbones and then all the way down to your chin and neck. He is taking his time with you, cherishing these quiet moments with you since being a Galaxy Ranger is far from being safe. It's when you're looking at him with eyes full of love, of belonging, that he locks your lips into a tender kiss. But, as cheeky as he is, he pulls away only to press another kiss on your lips, this time with more force. Then another, and another, until it turns into quick breath-stealing kisses. It’s endearing though, how utterly adorable he can be when it comes to you and the way he loves you <3

Mr Reca 𔘓

a perfomative kisser – needs the setting to be perfect in order to kiss you – makes comments about the kisses

As a film director, Reca is an expert at building up a romantic kissing moment— and that applies to his love life as well. Whenever he wants to kiss you, it has to be perfectly executed, to the point where he practically writes the script for your kisses beforehand. It might comes across as superficial, but that’s just how he operates. Otherwise he’d be disappointed in himself. The setting must be romantic enough, so he usually takes you to a breathtaking landscape, a luxurious restaurant or carefully arrange your shared space– dimly lit with candles, with soft, romantic music playing in the background. Every detail must align with his vision of the perfect moment.

Kissing him is perfect. As intented. You don't mind that it was planned since you acknowledge his need to be in control of it. He just wants to be good to you. Plus, he knows how to work you up. Tilting your chin up, he compliments you on how gorgeous you look before closing the gap between your lips. The warmth of his lips is so comforting to you, as is the way he holds you. You can't help but roll your eyes when you hear the enthusiastic "magnificient !" comment he manages to blurt out. The only response he gets is you deepening the kiss, determined to shut him up for good <3

Alhaitham 𔘓

lazy kisser – doesn't kiss a lot but when he does he blows your mind – leaves you breathless and acts like nothing happened

He barely takes the initiative himself, unless you’ve been making out for a long time. Alhaitham's lack of action doesn't come from not enjoying it— it's just that he doesn't really think about it. Most of the time, it's you who come to him asking for a kiss. He never denies you the pleasure of having your pretty lips on his but, like I said, you have to work for it. If you don’t, he simply stands there and give you a chaste kiss.

Other times it's just that Alhaitham likes to tease you, purposely reacting slowly until you grow impatient and take matters into your own hands. Alhaitham patiently waits, curious to see how far you want to go with him. You have piqued his interest and that's all you needed, biting then licking his bottom lip before deepening the kiss. Soon enough, he is the one taking control, moving your lips together as he pulls you on his lap and keeps you as close as possible to him. Because yeah, Alhaitham can be very clingy when he wants to. As soon as you're done, he goes right back to his reading, looking completely unaffected (he is not though, he is internally blushing) <3

Kaveh 𔘓

kisses a lot – steals kisses whenever he has the chance to – unapologetic about the amount of kisses he shares with you (he is just a sweetheart okay)

He is the one who, I believe, would kiss you the most out of the others. He takes initiative a lot. Whenever you cross paths, he stops you just to press his lips on yours. Doing the dishes ? A kiss. Doing errands ? He subtly pulls you into a corner to steal one. Getting ready for the day ? One, two, three...... ten kisses before he finally lets you leave the house. You're not complaining, not when it means seeing him all giddy and flustered afterward. And honestly, it’s not like it leaves you indifferent either. So really, it’s a win-win situation.

The roles are reversed when he is overworking himself on a project. Convincing him to take a well-deserved break is tough, but once he does he is rewarded with the softest kisses in the quiet of his study. He sighs contentedly at the mere brush of your lips, as if you’ve just given him the ability to function properly all over again. His work fades from his mind the moment you leave him with shiny, swollen red lips. And if you sneak into his study every now and then to steal more kisses while he works, he doesn’t complain in the least <3

/!\ don't steal, translate or repost this and claim it as you own /!\

[snapscube]

that's a wrap on dual destinies!!! pretty freaking enjoyable game all things said and done!!! i liked it a lot.

i have some lingering woes with the remaining threads that they STILL have yet to return to from apollo, particularly regarding trucy literally being apollo's sister and phoenix for some fucking ridiculous reason never once elaborated on not having told them yet. but, as it stands, i can hopefully leave those behind moving forward. it's a misstep, but one that i'll try not to hold against spirit of justice as much as i hold it against this one unless they give me a really good reason to dredge it back up.

on its own, it has a ton of good stories to offer. athena and the blackquills are some real standout characters here, i absolutely love them.

not much else to say right now especially as i am somewhat in a rush to set up for a stream tonight but! yeah! good shit! i love these games so much man, even with all their faults and bruises. can't wait to see how it all wraps up (thus far) in the next one

[lastlabyrinth]

It's the CBC Black History Month Challenge!!!!!!!!!

sqex recently failed to adapt a winning player hairstyle design, one with coils, into the game. i think all of us were pretty disappointed when they claimed they didn't have the technology to do it right. it's good that they want to try again someday. but until then i think it'd be nice if we allowed ourselves to imagine the characters of ffxiv with Black features even if they can't look that way yet in game.

if you haven't done custom deliveries yet in endwalker, may i suggest you give them a try? it's a great questline and Margrat is a brilliant, nerdy Black woman. without her effort and knowledge (and titanic amounts of coffee, judging from her energy levels) our heroes would never have reached the ends of creation to save the universe. but moreover i think she's just so charming… she is not just an engineer and scientist but an advocate for her fellow workers. and while she's already beautiful, i thought she would be beautiful with natural hair, too.

Now for the important part. To my Black followers: You belong in science, engineering, and professional spaces. You belong in stories. You belong in games!! And you belong just as you are. You are not too dark; your natural hair is not dirty or unprofessional or "too hard" to draw or model. The art you touch is enriched for your presence, and the places you're shut out from are the poorer for your absence. It's a question of effort and a question of Black presence in creative spaces, and I'm angry that we can't make a character who looks like this in FFXIV. So until (and even after!) you can, I hope you let your imagination run wild and invite yourself into every space that lacks your magic. I love you!!

there's not many days left in BHM but i'll still tag my friends @ababblesaurus, @myrfing, @flower-waltz and @saprophilous because i bet they would draw something cool if they had time….

[gojo-mochi]

Telling JJK men “I’m not putting my minecraft bed next to yours tonight”

TW: Sweet/Simple. Mild Suggestive on Toji's part

Gojo:

Dramatically falls to his knees, tears, snot, all the works. Threatens to jump off the highest block in all the lands. Kidnaps your pet wolf or favorite farm animal and tells you that he’s “taking the kids and leaving.” Would loudly put on sad music as he plays right next to you, digging in the mines underground very, very slowly. Not even using his best equipment, just a shitty stone pickaxe because he thinks that makes him look more gloomy in your eyes. Would talk out loud to all the animals you own about how he misses you and how “Momma” is mad at him. 

Geto:

Looks flabbergasted that you would even utter something like that to him. Hits back with “Well, I’m not gonna put my bed next to yours!” Like he was the one to said that in the first bed. Quickly goes to make a very elaborate Minecraft House so he can brag about how comfy and deluxe it is in front of it. Makes a grand tour of showing you the inside, which ends at the bedroom which he decorated to the nines. A sly attempt to somehow make you jealous enough so you would come crawling back to him so you could live in this new fancy mansion he made (in a video game)

Nanami: 

Have a heartbroken look on his face right after you said that, and you immediately regret it. Would take his bed out of the house first so your character can still be in there; would move his bed down to the basement or another building. Goes on a journey to pick up some flowers or lure in a new pet dog/cat/parrot to win back your love (he never lost it). You put your beds back together in less an hour and played the rest of the night, all snuggled up in Nanami’s lap as you watch him tend to the farming. 

Choso: Is also heartbroken by your words. Stops playing the game and looks at you like a kicked puppy. “Does that also mean that I can’t sleep with you in our bed tonight?” (He’s talking about your real-life bed). You don’t know whether or not you should tease him further or just say that it was a joke all along. If you decide to tease him further and double down on your words, he would spend a whole day in secret, building something to show you in the game world. A whole field of flowers or a statue of your in-game character as a show of good will. 

Toji:

Not really into the game that much but plays it because you like it. So saying that doesn’t really bother him until you say it also applies in real life, then that will get his head to turn. With his eyebrow raised and his arm crossed, he looks at you and asks, “Are you really going to go down this route?” You fought hard to keep a straight face and nodded. “If you take it back now, I will forget this all even happened, last chance.” Toji uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on his knees as he got into position to start chasing. You glance at your escape route (the door) and suck in a breath. “You’ll never catch me alive.” And with that you ran. You sprinted out the door as fast as you could, screaming for your life as Toji chased behind you.  You don’t get far before he catches you and throws you over his shoulder, pinning you down to your shared bed, and making you regret your words from earlier.

[s4vcu]

hq boys and their first encounter with you! | pt 1

featuring: tobio kageyama, keiji akaashi and hajime iwaizumi

a/n: gonna start this off w my favs! and will do other parts for sure. this was longer than i intended for it to be, sorry for how LONG it is 😭 anyways, i’m gonna keep posting as much as i can while i have this much time to spare. thank ygs sm! 😭💔

note: gender neutral reader! reader and characters mentioned above are noted to be eyeing one another. (it can be taken as romantic wise or not..i just realized this after proofreading 🥲)

——————————————————————————

ఌ | tobio kageyama

you’ve already been seeing this guy around the area during his routinely morning jogs. living somewhat close to tobio, you usually headed out around the same time as him. coincidentally doing so, it was usually to arrive to school earlier and do some volunteer work with the different clubs in karasuno, whether it was because extra help was needed with painting or building something, organizing stuff or just helping the club managers in general with tasks that were sometimes overwhelming them. your help was always greatly appreciated, and through that itself you were quite known in the school despite only being a first year. always catching a glimpse of him preparing before starting his jog, you solely knew him as a fellow first year who was a setter for the volleyball team and someone who you were basically neighbours with.

meanwhile, tobio only heard of you through other people, knowing of you as someone who was willing to sacrifice their time, whether it was in the morning like usual or even after school without the expectation of any personal gain. he would always see you as he started his jogs, the two of you crossing paths everytime as you headed towards one direction while he headed towards the other. not to mention, you had high grades, which made you capable to tutor other students whenever. (we all know he needs that tutoring.. 😭)

this one time during lunch, you went to the vending machine, your eyes sparkling as you realized you made it before anyone else as there was only one last milk carton there. happily purchasing it, you stepped aside, about to open it with the straw but suddenly hearing footsteps growing louder and heavy panting. you turned around, looking up at the setter who realized he didn’t make it in time.

“damn it..” he grumbled to himself, staring intently at the rows that would usually have more milk cartons as if he was in denial there were none left - only then making eye contact with you, seeing as you were holding the unopened milk carton in your hand.

that was the first time the two of you had ever made any sort of eye contact. although you had both been in each other’s lives, neither of you actually acknowledged one another, being strangers and knowing very little about each other aside from attending the same school. you looked down at the carton before looking back up at him.

“were you going to buy this too?” you ask softly, your gentle voice catching him off guard. people would say you were soft-spoken, but for the first time that he heard your voice and made eye contact ever, a new sort of feeling was introduced to him.

“uh..yeah.” he muttered, awkwardly scratching his nape, a faint blush on the otherwise usually grumpy setter’s cheeks. now that he’s got a good look at you, he believed that you were even prettier than he already initially thought.

seeing how he was running to get to the vending machine, it made you think just how much having that simple milk carton meant to him. you handed it to him, smiling. “you can have it.” you say, but before he could respond (let alone react), you ran off after seeing the time with some sort of urgency.

that was certainly thoughtful of you.

ఌ | keiji akaashi

you often watched their games after being tagged along by your friend who was eyeing the ace, bokuto, and it was often against your wishes. it wasn’t that they sucked or anything, they didn’t. in fact, they were crazy good..you were just dedicated to your studies and prioritized that over anything else, aside from enjoying reading in your free time.

“come onnn! it’s really fun to watch, i mean it!” your friend says as you sighed. “okay, okay. i know it’s fun to watch. but we need to leave early, i need to study.” you say, but deep down, you couldn’t help but notice the second year setter every time, finding yourself focusing on him every game but simply shaking those thoughts off.

the more that the two of you frequented watching their games, the more that you, unknowingly, had caught the quiet setter’s eye. no matter where the games would be held at, you and your friend would always sit near the front. (your friend wanted to get a good view..) that observation alongside another observation that either you or the both of you would leave early never went unnoticed. there were also some times where you’d coincidentally be at the library at the same time he would come, either busy studying or simply reading a book - though he never did anything, simply watching from afar. and you did the same.

that’s how it was between you two. until they had another game. this time, it was different. although we normally expect some things to be the usual, that’d usually be a sign of when the most unexpected thing would take place, right? well, the two of you were pretty early this time, and you thought, reading a bit before the game started wouldn’t hurt, right? so as your friend was trying to coax you out of your focus on the words in the pages in front of you, bokuto was pretty loud really loud, looking right at you and your friend in the bleachers with a beaming smile all the way from the court.

“(y/n), seriously, LOOK UP!” your friend says with urgency and excitement, making you look up from your book and making eye contact with the setter, the guy who’s lowkey caught your eye while your friend stared at bokuto.

“AKAASSHIII! IS THAT WHO YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT?! LOOK, THEY’RE LOOKING AT YOU NOW!” bokuto excitedly says, akaashi turning a bit red as he broke eye contact with you, embarrassed as he could only facepalm.

“bokuto-san. you’re too loud. i told you to keep quiet.” akaashi says in his usual, most respectful but gentle spoken tone of voice.

“BUT IT WORKED!!!” he replied, slowly dragging akaashi near the two of you. you swear you saw your friend almost faint based off your peripheral vision.

akaashi reluctantly accepted his fate, sighing to himself, and soon, the duo was standing right in front of you and your friend. you were shy, simply giving a small smile, still processing what was happening. bokuto happily introduced him to you as you nodded, looking back at akaashi and introducing yourself.

“nice to meet you, (y/n). i’m really sorry for bokuto-san’s sudden outburst, but i’d love to talk with you more sometime. we’re starting our warmup very soon.” akaashi replied, excusing him and bokuto from the two of you before being the one to drag him back towards the court this time.

though the ace made it awkward for the both of you, atleast you both had been introduced to one another now. a win is a win, right? (though your friend was sulking. bokuto was too focused on getting you two to talk, staring intently at the two of you as if he was analyzing something instead of noticing or talking to them. maybe you two could help them eventually..)

ఌ | hajime iwaizumi

many girls in seijoh were head over heels for the popular third year setter, oikawa. almost all of them simply looked forward to having even a glimpse of him, others exaggerating by saying how seeing oikawa “makes their day complete”..but not much seemed to notice the setter’s best friend except you. you thought he was pretty handsome too, how was he not getting any attention? you wondered - also wondering what it was like for him to deal with his best friend’s fangirls everyday, feeling bad for his position.

but how could you not? even you yourself having to deal with the fangirls rushing up the stairs, down the stairs, in the hallways and even when it was after school as they crowded by the gym area in hopes of seeing oikawa was a real pain.

..and this feeling was mutual for both you and iwaizumi, where you’d at times catch his irritated expression, sometimes even witnessing him hit oikawa with a volleyball, his aim never missing (and making you laugh from afar in the process).

iwaizumi was more than sick of it, though he would tolerate it anyways but definitely snap. it’s never not happened before, what reason does he have to not prepare for it to happen again? even if he wished that it would stop for a day, it never did. on school campus and even at other schools, or anywhere..he wonders how he’s been able to last that long.

though he did expect every girl to be fawning over his best friend, he was surprised to see you trying your hardest to ignore the crowd every time, yet alone show any interest in the famous setter. sometimes seeing you laugh from afar after catching a glimpse of him hitting oikawa with a volleyball, sometimes making eye contact with one another, even - it made you stand out in his eyes. but oikawa noticed too, liking a challenge.

“iwa-chan. do you know (y/n)?” oikawa asks while on the way home with him once, immediately earning a glance from iwaizumi.

“oh, that’s their name? i’ve seen them around, but i don’t know them personally.” he responds, though he’s interested deep down.

“they’re interesting, don’t you think? always tries avoiding my crowd of fangirls, never pays attention to me..it’s a challenge for me.” oikawa says teasingly, though unknowingly hitting a nerve for iwa.

“..what? what do you mean, challenge?” iwa replies, the usual irritation but this time mixed with a small hint of some other sort of feeling mixed in his tone.

“as in..maybe i can make them notice me!” oikawa says.

“as if they’d notice YOU. leave them alone, they ignore you and your fangirls for a reason, shittykawa.” he replies, his brows furrowed, his tone still the same - and this time, oikawa picks up on it.

“woah, iwa-chan. what’s with that tone? you like them or something?” he asks, earning an incoherent grumble from iwaizumi, the tips of his ears red.

“no. i’m just saying. just leave them alone. clearly they don’t have time for that.” he grumbles, this time more audible as he only hears a laugh from oikawa in return.

“okay, iwa-chan. whatever you say.” he says.

as soon as the next day came, they had practice in the morning, and you coincidentally decided to come to school earlier and enjoy the fresh breeze on a bench, though it was near the gym.

as you were walking by, minding your own business, you suddenly felt a ball hit the side of your head quite strongly, making you fall down on the ground. immediately, you heard footsteps approaching, seeing someone kneel in front of you.

“hey, are you okay? i’m so sorry-“ iwaizumi says, pausing when the two of you make eye contact, not expecting the person he hit to be you. of all times that he could’ve missed hitting oikawa, it just had to be now. and you of all possible people..

“..i’m okay. it’s okay, don’t worry.” you replied, noticing the genuine look of guilt in his eyes, the glow of the sunrise on his handsome face making his features look even better.

“no, i’m really sorry. that was meant for shittykawa-“ he says in reply, only to be interrupted by the setter.

“oh? iwa-chan, stop calling me that!” oikawa says, though a smirk is on his face. “and would you look at that. you missed terribly. anyways, you’re (y/n), right?” he says, looking at you as iwaizumi helped you up. the vein on his forehead only grew more noticeable as oikawa took the opportunity of flirting as he was talking with you, feeling incredibly bad.

not only did he hit you terribly hard instead of his annoying best friend, but you were now being flirted with by the setter who just told him the day before that he sees you as a challenge. he internally blamed himself for causing you trouble..and as oikawa was still talking to you, he grabbed the volleyball that was on the ground, this time hitting him accurately with it and letting the setter yelp in pain.

“just shut up already, shittykawa. this is your fault.” iwaizumi grumbles, glaring at him as oikawa sighed, saying his goodbyes before he walked away.

“..i need to go too. i’m really sorry again.” he says, the tips of his ears red from the small conversation, wishing he could bring himself to say more. two ‘i’m really sorry’s plus a ‘i’m so sorry’ would not make the cut. maybe to you, it was, but to him it definitely wasn’t. (though he was embarrassed, he definitely went out of his way to check up on you and make sure you were doing okay whenever he saw you that same day. 🥹🤚)

[justladders]

The only reason I like something without reblogging it is because I wanted to save it to look at it later. And if I ever reblog without any kind of comment or tag it's because I forgot.

There’s a friend of mine where, after our DnD sessions, they’ll individually ask people’s opinions on how they role-played their character. Now, they’re really good, and we tell them that all the time, but when they ask, no matter if you say it was good or bad, they ask why you think that (and if you’re alright with sharing why). They don’t argue that you misunderstood something about their performance, they just listen, and prompt further if you leave something vague. The only type of comments they’ll make about your opinion is that you phrased something about your answer really well, like in a way that tickled their brain.

When one of the other members of the group asked why they wanted to know the details, they basically responded, “Well, you need an outside opinion when you do creative stuff. And not just ‘it’s good or bad’ because you can’t do anything with that. People are normally quick to point out when they dislike something, but won’t bother to comment when it’s something they like, so if you all like what I did, I want to know why. Maybe I did something that I thought would be interpreted a certain way, but it ended up coming off differently. Even if that different way was still good, I want to know why it was good, why it didn’t come off how I thought, and I’ll never know if no one says anything.”

They’re very good at DnD. They understand the game balance really well, are even making their own adjustments and QoL to the game for their own campaign, and always make and play characters that everyone ends up loving. And we tell them that they do a good job with stuff they make.

Though, in their words, “Things can always be better, and it can only be better if someone’s willing to say something.”

[everywishway]

Unions and the Defence of Supergiant Games

Hey, so I'm pretty sure everyone and their mom has seen takes on Hades 2 rn bc of what one of the VAs said. This is causing a lot more harm then good rn and, while I don't claim to be an expert on unions, but even just basic research shows Supergiant is largely innocent and this is a misunderstanding.

Supergiant stated they will not be recasting and also they don't fall under the companies that can not be working or supported during the SAG- AFTRA strike.

Being an indie development company, they do not fall under the issues SAG is striking and possibly can not even sign said agreement because they are an indie company (i'd have to fact-check that). This strike is supposed to affect larger companies like EA, Sony, X-Box, etc who are pushing for AI. Below is a statement from Supergiant about the statement made by the VA.

When similar strikes happened for both SAG and the WGA, other smaller companies did not have to halt production because their work did not meet the guidelines that the strike fell under. Spindel Horse and GLITCH are both indie animation companies that did not have to halt production.

One other example is Dropout.TV where they did not need to stop under SAG rules and guidelines, they did so out of respect. While Supergiant could, they don't have too and why would they? Fans have been waiting for almost three years now and they are polishing at a record speed.

Secondly is the term "Scab" being thrown around when it comes to who Supergiant hires, which largely comes from people not knowing what a true scab is.

A Scab ISN'T any person working in a given position when a strike is happening. It's a member of SAID UNION who crosses the picket line or does work for lower pay then the Union states.

Unions have several levels of entry that not all people meet. Being under smaller workers unions for starters along with proof of employment and others.

Supergiant, being smaller and indie makes it so it can hire people who aren't SAG members and help promote them to be bigger names in the industry along with eventually becoming possible members of the unions.

For example, Michael Kovach (famous VA for Jax from TADC, Several characters from Poppy Playtime, One character in Billie Bust Up (IDK), and most famously the original pilot VA for Angeldust from Hazbin Hotel) is not a member of SAG but supports the union and has been in multiple roles since the SAG strikes began.

While I have not done research into who exactly is being called a "Scab" in terms of the Supergiant controversy, please keep yourself educated about the term because it is super derogatory and may cause these people to never be able to join the unions. Being labeled a "scab", even incorrectly, makes it nearly impossible for people to join unions.

A lot of the "If you don't join a union then your against unions" mentality I've seen from people creates a harmful, uneducated stereotype that large corporations want. They want normal consumers to see Union Supporters as aggressive and hopping down your throat to deny you money. This villainizes unions in the long run.

Overall, Supergiant is not doing anything wrong and the mob mentality jump on them comes from a lack of educated perspectives (esp since a large portion of this community is the younger demographic with not much union knowlege).

While I don't see it happening, the large explosion of this on social media along with the VA's lack of understanding may cause Supergiant (or even other companies) to not work with them again after Hades 2 is complete. This is a huge liability that is harming their company and, if they do proceed to go this route I do not blame them, and neither should you. This is safety and security in their brand so more games we appreciate can come out in the future. The VA is a grown adult who has made decisions and will deal with the consequences when/if they happen. Please send no hate to Supergiant or the VA who I have intentionally left nameless so nobody can attack them. Thank you.

[hemlock-dreams]

Hiii loving everything so far

I have a silly question. In the previous posts you write about wade and peter not having intimacy with others for various reasons and that's why they kinda sexualized fighting and violence. My question is: how? I find it hard to get this idea, I mean I know bdsm is real, hurt and pleasure and all, but they obv don't go to level of our boys. How does one hypersexualize violence?

sorry if it's kind of confusing

Good night ^^

It's actually less about BDSM practices and more about association and conditioning. (cough Pavlov) One of the most common pieces of advice you can get in regards to building habits is to create rewarding associations between actions. You can, to a certain extent, trick your brain into connection emotions and action together just by pairing them up.

Peter can't engage in sexual contact with people. And adrenaline and fear are known causes in creating arousal. Every time he has a good fight, his body feels high from all the adrenaline and excitement. Maybe one day, after a good fight, with his body thrumming from all the leftover jitters- he gets off. It's not even because he's necessarily horny, just to get rid of the extra steam.

Then he does it again. And again. And again- until he starts associating the act of fighting and being hurt with sexual release. Maybe he even starts chasing fights because that's the only way he can get off without pressure of performing and feelings of guilt and fear from his powers.

It's not a healthy coping mechanism for the lack of intimacy, for sure, but it's safe.

For Wade, it's both a coping mechanism and a way to regain control of his life. His entire body is constantly in pain, and lets be real, his mental health is a shitshow. Even doing regular things like masturbating probably comes with a big heap of chronic pain. Over the decades, it would be impossible not to link them.

And most people can't stand Deadpool for a regular relationship. The closest he gets to consistent physical contact is probably through fighting. His entire life is pain, and he's getting hurt anyways- But if he goads people, if he pisses them off enough to swing his way, then he can get hurt on his own terms. He doesn't have to wait to be dealt (another) shitty hand, he can rig the game.

That feeling of finally having control of his circumstances is the biggest turn on.

So his hypersexualization of violence is actually more emotional than physical, unlike Peter.

And ofc, obviously, these are fictional characters so we can push these feelings to the extreme. (I don't think most people can condition themselves to liking being stabbed, no matter how much they microdose on stabbings lmaoo.)

Hope this helps!!!

[rotationalsymmetry]

I know it tends to lead to more heat than light when people do a "ok disability though" counterpoint to these sorts of posts, but I do want to point out that this sort of thing is exactly one situation where it can help to zoom out and look at the issue from a societal rather than individual perspective.

I spent a fair bit of time on the internet before I got sick -- in college, when I was surrounded by people I mostly liked and lots of fun things to do, in the mountains when I was surrounded by natural beauty -- and somewhat more than I thought I should, but it was very much in balance. I'd spend a few hours reading webcomics when I thought I should have been doing my homework or NaNoWriMo or meditation or something, but I'd also go out and walk for a few hours, or go grocery shopping, or bake bread, or play "gay Life" (Life the board game but the pegs in front seat of your car can be the same color) with the Alliance kids, or do that homework I'd been putting off. I'd go on Facebook maybe a couple times a week to keep up with what my friends were doing and as far as social media went, that was it.

The times I've spent an out of balance amount of time on screen stuff, rather than a reasonable leisure amount of time that I felt guilty about because I've got an overdeveloped "work ethic", were when I was depressed and unemployed and socially isolated, and now when I have CFS and am unemployed and socially isolated. I can sit outside for a bit, but I take a while to get dressed because I'm sick and I can't do long walks like I used to because I'm sick and my ability to grocery shop or cook...anyways, you get the idea. Social contact too.

And part of that is my illness -- impairment. And part of that is living in a society where either you're working (or something like working, like going to school) or you may as well not exist, people do not make room for disabled people in society. I'd get out more if it was socially acceptable to walk around the block in my pajamas and a bath robe, but it's not and I don't; I'd get out more if I expected I could lie down on public benches without getting harassed by a cop, but I can't expect that so I don't.

We have a society. That is happy for people like me to spend all our time on electronics and none of it in meat space, because that's convenient and easy and good for capitalism, and who the fuck even cares about disabled people anyways.

(And thank goodness the internet exists, because how the fuck would I find people who know how to live with my illness without it? I'd do what people used to do and just be sick and have no clue what to do to manage my symptoms better. I'm substantially better off than I was at my worst due to activities related to looking at a screen.)

And sure, there's some wiggle room where I can make an effort to spend more time on idk coloring books or whatever and less on screen stuff, and I do, and I can reach out to people I know for calls and quiet at home visits where we talk or play board games but only for a couple hours at a time, and I do, but it would be so much fucking easier and better if I wasn't swimming fucking upstream about it.

There is an attitude that gets all over the place like spilled glitter that good health (physical or mental) is primarily about individual choices and is maybe even a reflection of personal character, and it just isn't, not with physical health and not with mental health either, personal choices aren't irrelevant but they're not doing the heavy lifting either and we could treat health as a COLLECTIVE, social concern, something that we do together and for each other and also something that is morally neutral on an individual level, something that happens to us more than the consequences of our choices.

And we could expect that some people can't be healthy (at least not with current medical knowledge) and need care and accommodation and that's not a personal failing and it's not something that anyone's going to be able to fix any time soon but sick people can have better or worse lives in a way that is not tied to better or worse health.

(Very. Much. Including. Depressed. People.)

unironically tho, you need to fill your life with nature and exercise and reading and crafting and cooking and physically engaging with the world around you. the key to happiness is not in your computer screen, especially not if most of your time is spent looking at bad opinions and arguing with people. it sounds so stupid but you are an animal that needs enrichment. so take your meds, go outside or at least look outside and turn off the computer and phone more often. I promise you'll feel better.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Aaaaa Yuuna is so cuuutee 💗😆 Her hair is so prettyyy. But with the addition of the new Yuu I’ve come up with a theory that with the pattern the mangas have taken so far, they’ll start switching back and fourth between male and female yuus for the rest of the dorms:

Heartslabyul - Yuuken (Male)

Savanaclaw - Yuuka (Female)

Octavinelle - Yuuta (Male)

Scarabia - Yuuna (Female)

Pomefiore - Male

Ignihyde - Female

Diasomnia - Male

Just something I came up with that i wanted to share with you ^^ Also who is the manga artist for Scarabia 🤔

[Referencing the Episode of Scarabia!]

Lots of Yuuna-related asks recently (and for good reason!) so I decided to lump them all into one post :DD

Yes, Yuuna is very cute~ The alternating genders of the manga!Yuus has actually been a pretty popular theory for a while now, actually! Some believe this is meant to be the Yuus having the opposite genders as the Great Seven member of their respective books/dorms. But yeah, the pattern seems likely at this point.

The mangaka for the Episode of Scarabia is Majiko-sensei! They have previously contributed a chapter to the manga anthology. You can read more about their past works here.

I'm not sure if "[taking] care of [one's] appearance" is the right phrase to use (as it unintentionally implies other Yuus are slobs/don't care about how they present themselves, when that's definitely not the case)? Maybe it would be more accurate to say, "Yuuna has stereotypically feminine aesthetic tastes", though it's more immature and preppy than Vil's is. I think Yuuna has a cuteness that's more characteristic of Cater than Vil--but all three of them definitely have overlap in their interests in makeup, fashion, social media, etc. I feel like Yuuna would get along with them both!! We do technically see her interacting with Cater (they take a selfie before he departs for winter break) and are assumed to have already known each other due to the events of books 1 and 2. Too bad we don't really get to see them interact in those books... and that we won't see Yuuna interact with Vil for the Episode of Pomefiore. We'll have a new Yuu by then (which gets into my disappointment with never being able to fully follow a single manga!Yuu and their character arc through to the end of the main story...)💦

Yeah, it's nice to have variety in the manga!Yuus' personalities, skillsets, and interests! ^^ It makes them a lot of fun to follow, even if we know they'll only be with us for the length of one book/dorm.

I've personally really been loving Yuuta and Yuuna a lot. Yuuken and Yuuka are also nice, but I find that their general characters are kind of similar (athletic and level-headed) and don't differ enough to result in interactions unique from game!Yuu (with perhaps the exception of them being able to physically contribute to battles). This is not true of Yuuta and Yuuna, whose abilities extend to other areas and therefore have a larger impact on the world and its characters. For example, Yuuta's love of food + cooking skill has him shouting at Grim sometimes for not appreciating food, but it also becomes excellent leverage for sleeping over at Savanaclaw later in book 3. You can also see how Yuuna's outgoing personality would draw people to her and allow her to make connections.

The manga!Yuus also speak to the diversity of Yuus we see in the fandom. I know a lot of us were waiting for a girl Yuu (which we got with Yuuka), a Yuu of different body type (which we got with Yuuta), and a very femme presenting Yuu (which we got with Yuuna). Yuuken is also great because he was the first Yuu we got that actually had the ability and the confidence in his fighting capabilities to charge head-on into an OB fight.

As I state in my pinned post, manga raws generally come from Monthy GFantasy, which publishes new chapters of the Twst manga online each month. You must PAY to access those raws.

In the case of the Episode of Scarabia, the full first volume was released in today. It is avaliable on Kindle through the Amazon JP store. This is still something you would need to PAY for if you're interested in seeing the full thing right away.

I cannot provide full chapters to the public, as this is paid content that I receive from my own friends who subscribe to GFantasy and/or who bought the first volume of Scarabia on Kindle. You can make your own decision whether or not you wish to purchase for yourself; however, there is most likely a scanlation team that will put out an English version sooner or later. Again though, this would surely take some time to get done, especially when there's 4 chapters of Scarabia to translate.

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Before I end up making that post I want to talk about briefly with the release of IS5 again, the concept of each IS havin a fundamental theme of unreality to them. I really like this, because it feels like in a pretty unsubtle way a solid way to ground the structure of a roguelike setting into what is normally a pretty grounded storyline.

IS1, Ceobe's Fungimist (please Hypergryph let it return), is a hallucination caused be Ceobe eating weird forest mushrooms. Nothing that happens in IS1 is real, explicitly. However, IS1 is fundamentally drawing from something, and in Ceobe's case, it seems to be drawing from her memories of traveling abroad Terra looking for the origins of her axe (and food, of course). What are things Ceobe's remembers happening to her, what are hallucinations filing in the gaps, and what are Ceobe catching glimpses of fundamental truths of the world (the Black Procession and the Feranmut skeleton that is Maybe? Lifebone for instance) is left extremely vague. Characters such as the Frozen Monstrosity do seem to genuinely exist, but there was no Frozen Monstrosity in Lungmen. Was Ceobe using something she herself experienced in place of Frostnova, or is Ceobe hallucinating the entire thing regardless? Who knows. Ceobe probably doesn't have the answers for you.

IS2 has explicit themes of madness and deception, and although I do not find him a particularly compelling character or plot device, a playwright who can literally warp reality with his plays. Much of the stage design recycles echoes the stage design from IS1, almost as if the Troupe is welcoming you, the player, onto their stage. You aren't here to discern the truth behind the Troupe, you're here to save one man, and while you are able to peel back the curtains somewhat, you never really do learn what the Troupe is. There are puppets who come to life and whose music damages your souls, there are actors driven so fully into their roles that they end up traveling to Sami to carry out their destined end, there's a Troupe Leader whose defining imagery is puppets and strings, and yet, you're no closer to finding out how this all happened than you are trying to explain why the Knights' Duel node exists.

IS3 asks the question "What if time is like evolution?" and presents its unreality in the form of a sprawling, massive bundle of alternative timelines to your own. It feels almost impossible to line up most of the events and memory mappings and endings on top of each other, and even the endings seemingly branch off into several versions of themselves. While, for example, the Irene encounter maps onto her own memory mapping story, we never see the timeline involving Lumen's memory mapping in the game at all. There is no Seaborn version of Gladiia in-game for you to fight. This is made seemingly all the more uncanny by the fact that there is actually a canon timeline going on, and the implication through the Bosky event that you are only seeing these alternative timelines because curiosity got the better of you. You came into contact with technology alien and yet familiar, and as a result, your good little timeline where you just save a girl who tries to commit identity death turns into you having to watch from the third person a version of the world where you and Mizuki are potentially the only intelligent life left on Terra for all eternity.

(No seriously, this ending is fucked up, what the fuck.)

IS4, on the other hand, gives us a reality that is unraveling, so fragile and malleable that you can cause things to manifest out of sheer force of will, something there are explicit warnings about not doing. It's a land where the living become the shambling, almost mechanical dead, and the mechanical being living creatures. It's a world where the abyss looks back at you, and finds you to be worth destroying. Gravity isn't right, time isn't right, language isn't right, snow falls black and the dead rise once again to beckon you home. There's nightmares in the shadows, and they're eating away at everything.

Sorry shit I got dark there. IS5 is Nymph's happy little storytime where she explores future and alternative versions of Kazdel through the imagination of her and her compatriots. What if Theresis and Theresa worked together and Nasti completed her designs (and maybe committed a genocide????) and Kazdel was a flying utopia city? What if the Teekaz all walked in a different direction and became the Sankta, or all became the Anasa? You know, sometimes you lose your sense of reality and become dependent on the visions you see from the Revenants, sometimes you need a little bunny to pull you out, and sometimes those Revenants might have actually caused a new reality to exist but haha, don't worry about that.

What if, hahaha, just saying what if, there was a version of Amiya in a world where the Sarkaz barely exist, where she was given the crown by a dying Theresa with no guidance on how to use it ethically? Haha I mean, what if Kal'tsit wasn't around? What if, just theoretically, there was a version of Amiya for whom the most formative person in her life was the decaying mind of a man stuck as an AI program who kept his people alive for 10,000 years? What if, hehehehe you know, what if, there were special endings you got for each of the stories you told where you went onto fight her, showing up closing up those stories, those worlds, to eternally protect them until she can find the answer to all troubles? What if the Sarkaz prophecy from Chapter 7 kept coming up, over and over again, the prophecy of an Amiya who would melt millions of lives into memories over and over again? What if this was an Amiya so immediately dangerous that the Sankta version of Buldrokkas'tee doesn't hesitate in trying to kill her?

I mean that would be a really scary story if it was true. Really it's Nymph's special storytime with the revenants. Don't worry about it.

Anyways I love pretty much each of these takes (IS2 is definitely the weakest though) and it shows a lot of thought from the storywriters about how they wanted to integrate a roguelike mode into their game.

[love-byers]

the van scene is going to pay off. THE VAN SCENE IS GOING TO PAY OFF. the VAN SCENE. (where will basically stabs himself in the heart and accepts that he's going to be desperately and unrequitedly in love with mike for the rest of his life) is going to PAY OFF.

DO YOU GUYS REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?? ROMANTIC TROPES LIKE THIS CAN ONLY GO ONE WAY

okay okay for example, in young royals (spoilers ahead) season 1 ends with simon and wilhelm at odds because wilhelm denied their relationship to the public despite telling simon he would tell the truth. simon decides he can't be wilhelm's secret and basically breaks up with him.

then, in s2, wilhelm is constantly trying to weasel his way back into being with simon because he desperately misses him, but simon sticks to his word and doesn't cave in. simon gets a new boyfriend and wilhelm fucking SPIRALS and briefly becomes borderline psychotic, but then one night at a dance/party/ball where he properly meets simon's boyfriend, he gives up and accepts that simon is moving on, like simon has been asking him to do all season. he tells simon that he's sorry for bothering him and that he'll leave him alone from now on and his boyfriend seems nice. he does the thing that deeply hurts himself, but he believes will make simon happy. he chooses simon's happiness over his own. he does the right thing. he does the selfless thing.

and guess what happens next? simon follows wilhelm outside and kisses him and they make out in a garden. wilhelm got what he wanted, but only after putting simon's happiness before his own.

and this same thing happens at the end of the season. in s2 simon goes on a journey of learning to understand why wilhelm wants their relationship to be a secret, because at first in s1 he doesn't at all and it makes him very angry. but by the end of s2 he finally understands. he tells wilhelm that he wants to be with him and if that means they have to be a secret, then so be it. simon makes a sacrifice. he lets go of his integrity towards himself and decides to be wilhelm's secret, even though that's not the ideal scenario. he knows it's what wilhelm wants, and if that's the only way it'll work, then so be it.

and guess what happens next? wilhelm goes up in front of the whole country and admits that he is in a relationship with simon and that he won't be hiding any longer. simon got what he wanted all along, but only after putting their love before his own self-integrity.

are you getting what i'm saying?

in writing, sacrifice and making the difficult decision rewards characters with getting what they want. that's what makes it so satisfying, that's what makes it PAY OFF. that's what "pay off" means. hard work pays off. hard, uncomfortable, painful, sorrowful work pays off because something good comes from it. something so good that it makes all the pain worth it, because the pain is what directly lead to it. simon and wilhelm didn't get the happiness they wanted until they sacrificed something they wanted for the overall good or the good of someone else. they didn't get what they wanted until they were selfless.

literally the only way a scene like the van scene can pay off is with will getting what he wanted all along. there is literally no other way i can see this going. it's just unheard of for a plot point like this to end in any other way than in will's favor. will giving the painting to mike is symbolic of him letting go and accepting that he will always love mike and will never be loved back. the painting itself is symbolic of will's feelings. it's wills feelings in a physical form, because after the van scene will does not plan on ever bringing it up again. that's why the painting has to exist, so that will's feelings can come to light in s5, because will is not gonna be the one to bring it up. he thinks it's game over. mike gently confirming to will that it is indeed game over but being an ally to him is not a reward, that's the bare minimum. like i can't stress to you enough how an arc conclusion like that is the exact thing writers are taught not to do, the exact thing we are warned against in school. the exact thing that gets a bad response in a workshop. you just don't do it you don't, especially not with a character as tortured and marginalized as will byers

anyways my point is, the thing will used to accept that mike will never love him and push mike and el together (the painting) is going to be the very thing that pulls mike right back in. this painful and selfless thing that will did is actually going to bring him the biggest reward, the thing he's always wanted. that's just how writing works bro

edit: and i wanted to add one more in here real quick bc ive seen people say "oh so only happy endings make sense??" when bylers say will deserves a happy ending

no, that's not the case at all. "pay off" does not equate to "happy ending" payoff can mean all kinds of things. if a character repeatedly makes bad decisions and it lands them in the shitter, that's pay off. that's good writing. unless you're writing a story just created to make people sad and leave people unsatisfied as some sort of statement, there is absolutely no reason for that.

and another good example of pay off that isn't necessarily happy: the hunger games (spoilers ahead). the hunger games is a story about oppression and corruption and abusive government. it's a commentary on control and abuse of power and how it hurts people. the whole thing is kick started by katniss volunteering for the games in place of her sister, it's kick started by katniss trying to keep her sister alive. so prim (her sister) ultimately dying in the last book can be considered payoff. and though this isn't happy, it works because of the overall theme of the books. it's about abuse, tragedy, trauma, etc etc. and it goes even deeper when you consider the fact that prim was killed by a bomb made by "the good side", because mockingjay (the last book) delved into showing the beginnings of yet another abusive controlling government and how more war and killing only leads to more suffering for EVERYONE. prim dying is UNFAIR. and that's the point. that's why the whole thing, ALL the corruption, even on the "good side" must come down because it only leads to tragedy and unfairness. though this is quite depressing, it is "pay off". it's good writing

okay hunger games ted talk over

[cerulianecho]

I wouldn't say this is a radical take but rather a childish and short sighted one. It's a take of someone who pretends not to see what is right in front of them in order to make a fake point with misleading language that sounds like it's impactful but when you analyze it, there's nothing of substance beneath.

All the games are political, but DA4 takes a sharp turn towards the personal. - Explain how is DA4 'personal' and how DA1-3 are not, and what do you even define as 'personal' here in juxtaposition to 'political'. Why does 'personal' and 'political' need to be on the opposite sides of a spectrum, instead of coexisting together? And explain why would one be better than the other.

All the factions we met before have good people to offer, and it’s presented as a hopeful new beginning—one where unity is possible despite ideological divides. This isn’t a case of simplifying the world or erasing conflict; it’s a shift in focus. - If this isn't erasing conflict, do tell us where the conflict is then? Where is the tension between characters who are forced to work together despite their vast differences in lifestyles and ideologies because the world is ending. If they have no true ideological divides then it is plain for all to see that they ARE simplified, and that there is no conflict to be had between them, except maybe about who ate the last cookie? Is this what you mean when you say 'conflict'. DA1-3 fans expected something deeper than disagreements about one's food/drinks and fashion choices. Oh they all just happen to have nothing significant to disagree about, and when they do disagree about pointless crap they need to be told by the player to get along as if they were toddlers? How poignant and realistic. /s 'Shift in focus' sounds like such corpo language tbh, it's kind of funny coming from someone who loves Veilguard. When you said: 'The previous games invited debate about systemic oppression and power structures, but DA4 takes a stance, and many don’t want to investigate why they’re so irritated by this', you unwittingly provided an answer to why people are irritated by something you see as positive. How could we be possibly irritated by not being allowed to play the game for ourselves and make the judgements ourselves instead of basically watching a movie, where we move the character that we basically have no control over, and where we have no impact on the game ourselves.

It moves the subtext into text; it’s no longer a possible reading of the game but an obvious one. It doesn’t just make the political elements explicit; it also adds a value judgment. Being a bigot is just bad. - This is the crux of it all, and the irony of you being able to pinpoint the problem but not being able to recognize it as a problem is not lost on me. This is why people see Veilguard enjoyers as childish and the game as shallow. Dragon Age games used to be role playing video games. A role playing game isn't a game where you are not given a choice to choose your character's morality, actions and views and it isn't a game that makes value judgements without letting you as a player experience the possibility of making different kinds of moral choices. And what IS a morally good choice is not clear cut in real life, something that a real adult should already know. 'Being a bigot is just bad', are you 12? Is this supposed to be a cartoon where we teach kids being mean is bad, or is it supposed to be a video game with heavy topics aimed at adults? A role playing video game is NOT didactic. It assumes it is being played by an adult and adults do not need nor want didactic stories. If you are not an adult, go play games for children instead. Dragon Age wasn't supposed to be your Disney fairy tale where the good guys are pure and saccharine, and the bad guys are cartoonishly evil without actually ever having to deal with the true horror of evil. Real life has shades of grey everywhere. This realism is what made Dragon Age stories poignant until DA4. The fairy tale we received DID make DA4 into a lesser game because childish fairy tales are a downgrade from realism. Childish fairy tales are material meant to be enjoyed by small children, not adults. Instead of moral ambiguity for its own sake, the game leans into the idea that choices still matter, but some choices—like choosing to be cruel—aren’t morally neutral. - If the game doesn't let you make choices that aren't morally good, what choices does it let you make that still matter? What can possibly matter more than the moral path you take when faced with a world ending event? Where are these choices that matter? There are no significant choices that matter because DA4 was not just turned into something childish, but it is also no longer a role playing game. It completely lost the foundations of what made Dragon Age into the franchise that many people loved and now you question those people why they hate the game that has nothing in common with the games that made them love Dragon Age. Go and enjoy your game if you want. I don't care. But every Veilguard hater is completely justified in hating it and it is pretty obvious why. Anyone who pretends that we have no reason for it are burying their heads in the sand.

So my radical take on DA1-3 vs DA4 is that all the games are political, but DA4 takes a sharp turn towards the personal. It moves the subtext into text; it’s no longer a possible reading of the game but an obvious one. It doesn’t just make the political elements explicit; it also adds a value judgment. Being a bigot is just bad. It explicitly states that the heroes of this story are decent people, not just Rook but the companions themselves.

All the factions we met before have good people to offer, and it’s presented as a hopeful new beginning—one where unity is possible despite ideological divides. This isn’t a case of simplifying the world or erasing conflict; it’s a shift in focus. Instead of moral ambiguity for its own sake, the game leans into the idea that choices still matter, but some choices—like choosing to be cruel—aren’t morally neutral. It’s not just about survival or political maneuvering anymore; it’s about what kind of world you want to build.

Some people are really pissed off, and some are trying to overanalyze Veilguard as “less than.” The change in making a statement is condemned as a devolution instead of a change in narrative priorities. But is it really less complex, or just unwilling to hide behind the veneer of neutrality? The previous games invited debate about systemic oppression and power structures, but DA4 takes a stance, and many don’t want to investigate why they’re so irritated by this.

[olderthannetfic]

Unhinged confession time: I used to functionally fake having a self-insert OC. Everyone insisted that all people had one and that no one actually didn't have one or picture themselves in the story they were writing. I got hit with a lot of "oh, so you're lying. you're lying because you're ~*~not like other girls~*~, right? you're soooo much better than us because you would never stoop to our level, right?" and eventually I just caved. I gave up. I wrote an OC with my name and hair color in an obligatory, barely-there relationship with the fandom bicycle. That fic hardly ever updated, usually once or twice a year when I was bored. It made people stop accusing me of being full of internalized misogyny and contempt for women.

I have never pictured myself in stories. I don't picture myself when I masturbate. I don't make myself in games with customization and clothing. I don't daydream about myself. I don't have any desire to fuck the fandom bicycle, who I think actually is really annoying and needs intense therapy before he'd even be able to say something that wasn't hiding behind irony or trite MCU style humor. I was blatantly, obviously way more interested in shipping someone else with an OC who does not share my ethnicity, gender, age, economic background or upbringing. But woman = self-insert so if you don't self-insert, you must be against women.

Eventually fandom drama went down and I quietly retreated to writing on a different account. Being attached to any of the shit-stirrers was murder on the comments' section in that it immediately became all about so-and-so and not, you know, the story. And yes, starting from zero means less comments overall, but I would rather have no comments than comments about drama I wasn't even involved in directly.

Other than when doing so was needed to stay in the good graces of BNF in the main fandom Discord server, I've never written a self-insert and I was very glad to never have to do so again. It's so fucking boring. But if you think that, you must have low self-esteem or internalized misogyny or think you're soooo much better than everyone. You must, deep down, want to write an OC just like you! For representation and escapism and empowerment! Because no one could ever enjoy digging into the headspace of someone different than them, obviously. We all like to imagine ourselves all the time, right?

No. I don't. I like creating characters. I don't want to remake me again and again and again and again. I didn't even draw myself in my drawings when I was three years old in preschool. I don't know why I'd be into it now. "It's relatable!" I don't need a character to be identical to me to relate to them! I can relate to a character who's very different from me, and that's not rare, or weird, or unusual! Every single person reading this can think of a character who's very different from them who they related to or felt for in some way.

I think selfshippers and self-insert OC writers get too much flack. I do. But I loathe the "everyone does it!" mentality used to defend it because it always ends up back at this point where everyone who doesn't stands by going, "No, actually, I don't. And pretending I do is boring as tar."

--

I once read some sexuality researchers the riot act for leaving this axis out of their study. Their response: "But the older research we're comparing to left it out, so we have to as well or the results won't line up in a useful way!"

Self inserting makes my skin crawl in a dysphoric way. This is common among AFAB m/m shippers I've known in particular, but I suspect it's plenty common in general.

[heliosunny]

Hello!! hello! i love all your works!!! and how much you post per day???? pls take breaks between writing if you can!

i read the streamer!jing yuan one...

if requests are open can i request sunday with the same scenario?

i imagine he'd never play any otome games on his own so robin would have to coerce him into playing the game. i also see him to be the type of player who'd clear every route and have things down to a T ...

but what if there was one route he never finished? the hardest route to trigger and the one with the most bad endings cause the favourability bar is super fickle?

but the payoff is worth it once he somehow???? manages to trigger a yandere event hehe

Yandere!Streamer Sunday x Reader

Game Loading… Welcome Back.

Sunday leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms before settling in for another long night. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this.

When Robin had first forced him to play, he’d scoffed at the idea. Him? A dating game? No way. But somewhere along the way—after countless hours, multiple endings, and way too much money spent on DLC—he’d become obsessed. His competitive streak wouldn’t let him quit until he had 100% completion.

And yet, one route remained unfinished.

Yours.

You were the hardest love interest to win over, your favorability bar more unstable than any other. No matter what he did, one wrong move could send it plummeting. He had watched others fail, seen forums filled with players begging for hints. No one had a clear guide. No one had reached the true ending.

Tonight, that would change.

“Alright, chat” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t care how long it takes—I’m finishing Y/N’s route tonight.”

“Sunday, you’re too deep in, bro.” “At this point, Y/N is your real partner.” “No way you’re getting the true ending. It’s cursed.” “Watch him fumble and lose favorability in five minutes.”

He exhaled, ignoring the teasing comments as the title screen faded, and the game resumed where he left off.

This was it.

Carefully, he selected his next dialogue option, choosing words with precision. Your sprite appeared, and for the first time in all his failed attempts, the favorability bar twitched upward.

[Favorability +5]

“That’s new” he muttered, brows furrowing. Chat exploded with excitement, theories flying in real-time. He leaned in, hyper-focused. The background music softened, replaced by an eerie silence.

Then, the screen flickered.

“What the-?”

Your expression on screen shifted. Subtle, almost imperceptible. The soft smile you usually wore seemed… off. Before he could react, a new dialogue box popped up.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“?????” “This isn’t in the script, bro.” “GOT THE SECRET ROUTE?!” “ABORT. ABORT.”

Before he could click anything, the screen distorted. Pixels warped, the background dissolving into a mess of static. A sudden high-pitched ringing filled his headphones.

Then—darkness.

Sunday had always been good at games. He could grind through any RPG, master mechanics, and break down any system with enough time and effort. But Ethereal Reverie: Fated Bonds was different.

When he stumbled upon your route, he had been hooked.

You were different from other love interests. You're the ultimate challenge. And Sunday loves that.

In the world of Ethereal Reverie, you were the kingdom’s renowned scholar and strategist, sought after by nobles and rulers alike. Your mind was your greatest weapon, and you wielded it with precision. Unlike the other characters—who were knights, royals, and adventurers—you had no need for physical prowess. Instead, you navigated court politics, warfare, and intrigue, always three steps ahead of everyone else.

Most players never even got past your acquaintance phase. Your favorability was infamously fickle—one wrong move and you'd cut ties with the protagonist entirely, locking them out of your story. It was said that only a handful of players had even managed to trigger a romance flag, and none had reached the true ending.

Sunday was determined to be the first.

But now, as he stared up at you—no longer a 2D sprite but a living, breathing person—he realized he had made a grave mistake.

“Sunday.”

His breath caught in his throat. You knew his name. That wasn’t possible. His in-game avatar had a preset name—Caius—the default protagonist. But you weren’t looking at Caius. You were looking at him.

Sunday barely had time to process what was happening before another voice called out from behind you.

“Lord Sunday, you’ve finally arrived.”

What?

It wasn’t just you.

He turned his head sharply, eyes darting around. The grand stone courtyard he had landed in was familiar—ornate fountains, banners bearing the royal crest, and intricate marble pillars. This was the capital’s royal palace, the heart of the kingdom.

He knew this place. He had seen it countless times in the game.

But this wasn’t the protagonist’s usual starting point.

And then the pieces clicked.

His ornate outfit, the way the NPCs were addressing him, the "Lord" title—

This wasn’t his usual avatar.

The game hadn’t just dragged him into the world. It had assigned him a new role.

A dangerous one.

There was only one person in Ethereal Reverie who was constantly at odds with you. One person who stood as your rival in the court’s deadly political game. The one strategist whose name was whispered with both admiration and fear—

Lord Sunday, the Grand Strategist of the Northern Territories.

He had become your greatest enemy.

Why the hell did the game slot me into the villain’s role?

“Lord Sunday. I hope you’re ready. We have much to discuss.”

He had spent a month obsessing over you, trying to understand your thought process, learning every intricate detail of your route. He knew how dangerous you could be.

And now, he was trapped inside the game—forced to be your rival.

The tension in the grand hall was suffocating.

Sunday sat at the long, polished table, hands clenched into fists against his lap as his brain scrambled to keep up. Across from him, you stood poised, arms crossed, your expression carefully neutral—yet he could see the sharpness in your gaze, the unmistakable glint of contempt.

You hated him.

Which was funny, considering he had spent weeks trying to get you to like him.

“This is reckless” you said coldly, turning away from him to address the gathered nobles and military officers. “If we march our forces north under such a thinly-veiled deception, we risk stretching our supply lines too far. It’s a fool’s errand.”

Sunday barely heard the murmurs of agreement that followed. His mind was still caught on the fact that you were speaking to him like he was an actual person. Not a scripted character, but as though he had always been here—as though this world had been real from the start.

And worst of all?

His name, his role in this world, had come with pre-existing relationships—and every single one of them pointed to you absolutely despising him.

He could feel the weight of the stares on him, waiting for his rebuttal. He had no choice but to play along.

“Stretching our supply lines?” he scoffed, leaning back into his chair, “What, do you think my forces can’t handle a simple flanking maneuver? Or do you just enjoy opposing me on principle?”

A flicker of irritation crossed your face. “I oppose stupid ideas on principle.”

There it is.

You had always been like this in the game—blunt, tactical, calculating. You didn’t suffer fools, and apparently, he was a fool in your eyes.

Fine. If that’s how this world saw him, he’d use it to his advantage.

“The southern front is already stabilizing” he continued smoothly, gesturing to the map. “If we strike before the enemy fully regroups, we force them into a defensive position and eliminate their supply routes. You can’t tell me you don’t see the logic in that.”

You narrowed your eyes, and for a moment, Sunday swore he saw something flicker across your expression.

Then, your lips curled into a humorless smile.

“Oh, I see the logic. I also see the arrogance of a man who plays at war like a gambler throwing dice.”

A collective oof rippled through the court. Even Sunday felt that one.

The tension between the two of you was so thick it could be cut with a blade.

“Tell me, Lord Sunday” you continued, “when was the last time one of your little schemes didn’t end in absolute disaster?”

That was a loaded question.

And one he definitely didn’t know the answer to.

Because he had no idea what his past self had actually done in this world.

What the hell did my predecessor do to make you hate me this much?!

Sunday knew when to back down. He had spent the past month failing your route over and over again, watching his choices backfire, and seeing your favorability bar plummet to zero in an instant. Pushing you wouldn’t work.

So, he changed tactics.

For the next few weeks, Sunday did what he did best—he studied you.

Not in the obsessive, love-struck way he had before. No, this time, he played the role the game had given him—your rival. A nuisance at court, a persistent thorn in your side, someone you could never quite get rid of.

But somewhere along the way, he started slipping into your life.

When you left the palace on a diplomatic mission, your caravan mysteriously found safe passage through bandit territory—unaware that Sunday had bribed the local mercenaries to keep them away.

When you spent long nights buried in military reports, a second set of documents would appear on your desk—already summarized with the most critical information highlighted.

When an assassination attempt nearly succeeded in the dead of night, your would-be killer was found dead in an alley the next morning. The guards claimed they had no idea who had done it.

And your favorability bar?

It didn’t move.

No matter how many times Sunday secretly lent a hand, no matter how much effort he put in, you remained completely indifferent to him.

It was infuriating.

It was addicting.

But then, Kristiana betrayed you.

And Sunday knew—this was it. This was where he had to step in.

Kristiana—your most trusted friend, the one person you had allowed yourself to rely on—had sold you out.

For what?

Power. Influence. A higher seat at the table.

Sunday had seen the signs before you did.

But even he hadn’t expected it to be this cruel.

By the time you realized, it was too late.

The palace was in an uproar, whispers spreading like wildfire. You had been accused of treason. Fabricated evidence, falsified reports—all of it meticulously crafted to erase you from power.

And it would have worked.

If Sunday hadn’t stepped in.

When you were dragged into the throne room, stripped of your titles and power, the nobles stood like vultures, watching your downfall with thinly veiled amusement. Kristiana stood at the front, her expression unreadable.

And then—

Sunday spoke.

“...What an interesting turn of events.”

His voice was lazy, amused, and every single person in the room stiffened. Because Sunday never spoke at these gatherings unless he had something dangerous to say.

You turned to him, eyes narrowing. “What are you playing at?”

He ignored you.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but are we really accusing the kingdom’s greatest strategist of treason?” He chuckled. “How convenient. And Kristiana, of all people, is the one bringing it forward?”

Kristiana lifted her chin. “The evidence is irrefutable.”

Sunday tilted his head. “Is it?”

Then, before anyone could react, he threw a stack of papers onto the table.

“What—” Kristiana’s eyes widened.

Sunday grinned. “Because I have evidence too. And mine says you’re the traitor.”

Kristiana paled.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he said, “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

He turned to look at you “I told you, didn’t I?” His voice was quieter now, softer, just for you. “You don’t have to fight alone.”

And for the first time since you met him, since he arrived in this world, your favorability bar moved.

All eyes were on Sunday. It was infuriating how effortlessly he controlled the room.

He had just turned your execution trial into his own personal stage.

Kristiana’s hands trembled as she stared at the documents he had thrown onto the table. Papers filled with her secret dealings, her correspondence with enemy factions—detailed proof that she had orchestrated everything.

You didn’t know whether to feel furious or relieved.

Kristiana quickly schooled her expression, regaining her composure. “This is absurd” she said sharply, eyes flicking between Sunday and the king. “Lord Sunday has always opposed Y/N. He has no reason to support them now unless—”

Her gaze snapped to you, then back to Sunday.

“…Unless he’s playing a game of his own.”

She was right. Sunday was known for strategy, deception, manipulation. He wasn’t a savior. He was your rival. You thought.

This wasn’t kindness—this was tactics.

Kristiana latched onto that, her voice rising. “Your Majesty, can’t you see? This is just another one of his ploys! He—he’s aligning with them to further his own agenda!”

Sunday let out a low chuckle.

“Now, now, Kristiana.” His tone was almost mocking. “If that were true, wouldn’t it make you the fool for not realizing it sooner?”

Kristiana’s face burned red with rage.

And you didn’t know what to believe.

Sunday’s interference had saved you. But why?

You weren’t friends. You weren’t allies. You were enemies.

“Your Majesty” Sunday finally said, turning to the king with that same, insufferable confidence. “With all due respect, I think it’s clear who the real traitor is.”

The king’s gaze flickered between you and Kristiana. The weight of the court’s murmurs filled the air.

“Guards” the king ordered. “…Take Kristiana into custody.”

“Wait—!”

The guards moved instantly, seizing her arms before she could react. She thrashed against them, screaming your name—screaming that you would regret this. That Sunday would betray you, too.

And maybe she was right.

You didn’t even notice how tightly your hands had curled into fists until you felt the sting of your own nails against your palms.

The moment the doors slammed shut behind Kristiana’s struggling form, the tension in the room finally snapped.

“What do you want?” you asked him, voice carefully neutral.

Sunday smiled.

“I’m resigning from my position as Grand Strategist.”

The room erupted.

“You—”

Sunday’s smirk didn’t waver as he turned his back on them all. “Figure the rest out yourselves. I’m done.”

And with that, he walked away.

Sunday had abandoned his entire career.

For what?

You didn’t know.

And that was the most dangerous part of all.

The tavern was dimly lit, the scent of alcohol and warm food hanging in the air. It was quieter than usual—most of the patrons had already retreated to their rooms or stumbled home.

Sunday sat alone in the corner, one hand wrapped loosely around a glass of dark liquor. He wasn’t drunk, but there was a sluggishness to his movements.

His fingers tapped idly against the table as he swirled the drink in his hand. Resigning had been necessary. The position was a leash, binding him to forces he had no control over. And if he wanted to truly be close to you— if he wanted to get everything he desired—

He had to start over.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

His eyes snapped open.

You stood at the entrance of the tavern. Unlike in the palace, where your every movement was calculated, here, in the dim light of the inn, there was something… different about you.

Sunday leaned back in his chair, “What, no gloating? I thought you’d be thrilled to see me jobless and miserable.”

You sighed, stepping forward. “I don’t have time for your dramatics.”

You pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, elbows resting on the worn wooden table.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Kristiana was a problem,” he said simply. “I dealt with it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

For a moment, he considered telling you the truth. That you were the reason. That, in another life, he had spent weeks chasing after you, memorizing every dialogue choice, failing and failing just to see you look at him with something other than cold indifference.

That this was all a game to him once—but now?

Now, it was his reality.

“Would you believe me if I said I was just tired of playing the role they wanted me to?”

Your brows furrowed, caught off guard by his sincerity.

“I should just let you waste away here, but…”

You hesitated. Then, with a sigh, you reached into your coat and slid a folded letter across the table.

“…I need a strategist.”

His fingers brushed over the letter as he picked it up, unfolding it with careful precision. His eyes scanned the contents—an official contract, under your seal. The offer was clear: a position within your faction, under your personal command.

He had to bite back the grin threatening to form.

Staying in the palace as Grand Strategist kept him shackled to the court’s politics, unable to act freely. But working under you?

That gave him access to everything.

To you.

“Does this mean we’re friends now?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I accept.”

And just like that—

He had slipped right back into your life.

The first few days of having Sunday around were... strange.

You weren’t used to having someone constantly at your side. At first, you thought giving him a position as your personal servant was just a way to keep him under control—make sure he wasn’t scheming something behind your back. After all, he was your enemy.

Or at least, he used to be.

Now, he was everywhere.

You barely had a moment to breathe without Sunday inserting himself into your routine. If you so much as reached for a teapot, he was already pouring your tea. If you sighed after a long day of dealing with incompetent nobles, he was magically at your side, hands on your shoulders, pressing into the knots of tension like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Why are you still here?” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Sunday, standing beside your desk, completely unbothered, merely hummed as he flipped through the reports you had been working on. “Making sure you don’t overwork yourself.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Mm. Clearly.” He held up a document, tilting his head. “Like this mistake right here?”

You snatched the paper from his hand, scanning it quickly—only to freeze when you spotted the minor miscalculation. Your grip on the paper tightened.

Sunday smirked. “You’re welcome.”

You exhaled sharply, setting the document down before rubbing your temples. “I should fire you.”

“But you won’t.”

With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, exhaustion settling in. You had been working since morning, and the strain was finally catching up to you.

Without a word, Sunday moved behind you.

Before you could react, his hands were on your shoulders, fingers pressing into the knots of tension with practiced ease.

“…You’re tense”

You gritted your teeth. “Maybe because someone keeps breathing down my neck.”

He chuckled, his fingers working at the tension with slow, deliberate pressure. It felt annoyingly good. You hated to admit it, but he was good at this.

“You know” he said, “I think I’m growing on you.”

Your eyes snapped open.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And yet, he didn’t stop.

---

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Secret route triggered. Remaining lives: 4

Sunday gasped as his consciousness was yanked back into existence. One moment, there was nothing—just the cold, suffocating embrace of death. And then, suddenly—He was back.

He jolted upright, hand instinctively clutching his chest. He could still feel it. The sharp pain. The blood. The sheer betrayal.

You had killed him.

Not out of hatred. Not out of revenge.

But because you thought he was scheming against you.

The memory was blurry. He remembered standing in your office, your cold, empty gaze, the guards stepping forward—your blade piercing through him.

This was new. The system had never interfered like this before. He had suspected that this world wasn’t entirely real, but for it to suddenly have rules about death?

The message had been clear:

If he died four more times, he was gone for good.

And there was only one way to stop that from happening.

He had to figure out why you had killed him.

-2nd life-

This time, Sunday was careful.

He stayed out of sight. He watched. He listened. He took note of everything—the way the guards moved, the shifts in your behavior, the whispers among the servants.

And yet, despite all his caution, he still died.

A dagger in the dark.

Slipping through his ribs as he passed through the halls alone.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Remaining lives: 3

-3rd life-

He wasn’t alone this time.

He stuck by your side closer than ever, watching you, watching your people. And still— The moment he took a sip of wine, his throat locked up. His vision blurred. Poison. As his body collapsed to the floor, he saw the wide-eyed horror on your face, the way you rushed to his side.

The way you whispered, "Who did this?"

But the system was already pulling him back.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Remaining lives: 2

---

When he came back again, Sunday finally had enough pieces.

He had overheard the murmurs between the palace servants. How they whispered in dark corners, how they spoke of him as if he was a threat. How someone had been spreading lies about him to you.

You had always been calculating. If you believed he was plotting something, then that meant you were given evidence.

Fabricated evidence.

And just like that—he knew.

Someone in your inner circle wanted him dead.

And if he didn’t fix it soon,

he would die for real.

Sunday had two lives left.

This time, he didn’t act recklessly. He smiled at the servants. Charmed the guards. Pretended he didn’t know that any of them had already been responsible for his previous deaths.

And most importantly?

He stayed close to you.

It didn’t take long for him to confirm his suspicions.

The whispers in the halls, the stolen glances between certain attendants, the way they avoided his gaze whenever he passed. Someone had been feeding you lies about him.

Twisting the truth. Painting him as a traitor.

And the final piece clicked into place when he overheard a conversation outside the grand hall.

“Has the master grown suspicious?”

“Not yet. But if that man continues to cling to them, we’ll have to push harder. The evidence is nearly ready.”

Evidence.

They think they can manipulate me?

They have no idea who they’re dealing with.

He had to move carefully.

But even knowing what he knew, he still miscalculated.

Sunday had been following the movements of one of the suspicious attendants, gathering clues, trying to find solid proof before he confronted you—

When he felt the cold press of a blade against his throat.

“You should have stayed in your place.”

The blade sliced.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅.

-Last chance-

Sunday woke up shaking.

This was it. One life left.

The moment he was revived, he went straight to you.

He didn’t wait for the lies to spread again. Didn’t wait for another chance to be stabbed in the dark.

He had to make you listen. So when he found you in your private study, brow furrowed over a new report, Sunday did something he had never done before.

He dropped to his knees.

“What are you—?”

“Someone has been feeding you false information about me.”

“What?”

“I don’t know who exactly is behind it, but I have proof that some of the palace attendants have been manipulating you,” he said, voice low and urgent. “I’ve overheard them talking. The whispers in the halls. The fabricated ‘evidence’ against me.”

“Tell me,” he said, “what did they show you?”

You hesitated.

Your fingers tightened over the report in your hands.

Sunday saw the conflict in your eyes, the way your mind worked behind that carefully unreadable expression.

For weeks, he had been watching you—learning you. Every minute change in your stance, the flicker of your gaze when something unsettled you. And now?

You were unsettled.

Good.

That meant he was getting somewhere.

“Tell me, then.” Your voice was composed, but he could hear the tension beneath it. “What do you think I saw?”

“Something that made me look like a traitor.”

He pressed on.

“Documents with my forged signature? Secret meetings I never attended?” His voice lowered. “Maybe even an intercepted message—words twisted just enough to convince you that I had been plotting against you all along.”

Sunday exhaled slowly. “You didn’t question it because it made sense, didn’t it?” He tilted his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “Because I’ve always been your biggest obstacle. Because I’ve always been the one who stood against you.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t deny it, either.

He needed to tread carefully. One wrong move, and you could still see him as a threat.

“But even after all that… you let me stay by your side.” He tilted his head, watching your reaction. “Why?”

“You were useful.”

“Liar”

Sunday sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look. You don’t trust me. Fine. But at least trust yourself.” His voice softened. “Think about it, really think about it—was there ever a time I actually betrayed you?”

Sunday leaned back slightly, voice steady as he gave his final push. “If you still want to kill me after thinking it through, then do it.”

You stared at him.

Seconds passed.

Then, your fingers loosened over the report in your hands.

You set it down.

“…Who?”

“Let me find out.”

And this time, he wouldn’t die before getting his answer.

For the first time in weeks, Sunday wasn’t lurking in the shadows or biting his tongue. No, this time, he moved freely.

You hadn’t explicitly told him to investigate, but by not ordering him to stop, you had given him permission.

And he would take full advantage of that.

Sunday wasn’t stupid. The moment he started looking too closely, his enemies would know.

So he laid a trap. He spread a rumor. A whisper in the halls, planted through a careless slip to an eavesdropping maid:

“The master is growing suspicious.”

It took less than a day for the rats to scurry.

Late into the night, Sunday followed a group of attendants as they snuck through the palace corridors, slipping into a secluded study.

He pressed against the wall, listening.

“The fool is still alive.”

Kristiana.

Your former best friend.

“No matter. The next attempt will not fail” she continued. “Their trust in him is wavering, but it is not broken. We must strike before it is too late.”

A second voice—one of your high-ranking advisors—spoke up. “Then we must act now. The documents are already prepared. A few words from our informant and the master will be forced to execute him. This time, there will be no hesitation.”

So that’s how they did it.

Forcing your hand. Setting you up so that killing him was the only logical choice.

He stepped into the dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows.

“Do you take me for a fool?”

The room fell silent.

Kristiana’s eyes widened before narrowing. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I shouldn’t be alive either, and yet, here I am.” His gaze flicked over the forged documents on the table, then back to her. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

The advisor paled. “You have no proof—”

“I don’t need proof, because you’re going to confess.”

Kristiana scoffed. “And why would we do that?”

“Because,” he murmured, taking a slow step forward, “I am still standing here.”

“And that means I know exactly what you’ve done.”

Sunday let the silence stretch before delivering the final blow:

“I wonder what will happen when I tell the master.”

Kristiana was a skilled manipulator, but even the most cunning fox could be outplayed. Still, Kristiana wasn’t the type to surrender without a fight.

“You assume Y/N will believe you.”

“I don’t assume. I know.”

Kristiana clicked her tongue, fingers twitching toward the hidden dagger at her belt.

“Let me guess. This is the part where you try to silence me?”

He didn’t give her the chance.

Before her blade could even leave its sheath, guards swarmed the room.

Her face twisted in shock as soldiers restrained her, yanking the weapon from her grasp.

Sunday turned, finally meeting your gaze as you stepped into the room.

You weren’t looking at him, though.

You were looking at Kristiana.

“…Why?”

Kristiana let out a breathless laugh. “You still don’t get it?” Her smile was sharp. “I was never going to let you win.”

“Take her away.”

[Favorability +20]

For the first time since entering this world, Sunday saw the notification appear.

All this time, he had been serving you, watching you, following you. He had given you his loyalty, his time, even his own life. And yet, only now, after clearing out the people who poisoned your ears, did the game decide to acknowledge his efforts?

Still, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he watched you.

You had been silent since Kristiana was taken away. You stood there, alone in the now-empty study, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“…You were right”

Sunday blinked. “What?”

“About Kristiana. About the lies.” Your jaw clenched. “About me being too blind to see it.”

“…You trusted her,” he said simply. “It wasn’t stupid.”

“It was careless.”

“No. It was human.”

[Favorability +10]

This time, he really did laugh.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

For the first time since Sunday entered this world, things were peaceful.

Kristiana was gone. The whispers had died down.

And you stopped looking at him with suspicion.

You still didn’t fully trust him, but that was fine.

Because you let him stay.

He continued to serve you, just like before.

When you were tired, you didn’t push him away when he set down a cup of tea beside you.

When he disappeared for a few hours, you caught yourself wondering where he had gone.

[Favorabiliy +5]

It was slow.

But it was happening.

Of course, he knew this peace wouldn’t last forever.

Kristiana might be gone, but her knowing smile haunted the back of his mind.

Something else was coming. The true storm. And Sunday would be ready.

The palace halls were silent.

The mourning drapes hung heavy over the grand windows, blocking out the golden light of dawn. Even the servants moved quietly, their usual whispers and hurried footsteps replaced by a solemn stillness.

Your father was gone.

The weight of it pressed down on you like an iron chain.

He had held on as long as he could. Even in his final hours, he had smiled at you—his tired eyes filled with warmth, his hand resting weakly over yours.

“You will be alright.”

His last words echoed in your mind.

But you weren’t.

You could barely eat. Barely drink. Barely breathe.

The world around you blurred. People came and went, offering condolences, yet their voices were distant, as if muffled by water.

And through it all—

Sunday remained.

----

You didn’t see it. Didn’t notice the way Sunday silently turned away envoys, nobles, and officials, intercepting their letters before they could reach your hands. Marriage proposals. Political alliances disguised as heartfelt offers. Opportunists circling like vultures, waiting for the moment your grief would make you vulnerable.

Sunday burned them all.

Every request. Every demand. Every veiled attempt at stealing you away.

They didn’t deserve you.

And if anyone thought they could force your hand—

Well.

They would have to go through him.

-----

The night was cold.

You sat by your father’s desk, the candlelight flickering against the tear-stained letters before you.

You hadn’t touched the meal that had been left for you.

“You need to eat.”

You didn’t respond.

He stepped closer. Gently, he placed a cup of warm broth beside you, the steam curling into the air.

Still, you didn’t move.

“…He wouldn’t want you to waste away like this.”

For a moment, Sunday thought you would ignore him again.

But then, slowly, you reached for the cup. The broth sat warm in your hands, but you barely tasted it. It was just something to do. A distraction. A meaningless action to appease Sunday so he wouldn’t pester you further.

You had expected him to leave once you took a sip.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Sunday crouched beside you, plucking a small piece of softened bread from the untouched plate.

“Here.”

“I can feed myself.”

He didn’t argue. He simply held the bread near your lips, gaze steady.

“You’ve barely eaten in days.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned forward and took a small bite.

The moment the food hit your tongue, you realized how hungry you truly were.

You had been so caught up in grief, in the crushing weight of loss, that you had ignored your own needs. But now, your body reminded you—loud and clear—that it was starving.

Sunday didn’t say anything as he picked up another piece and lifted it toward you.

And without thinking, you let him feed you.

The warmth of his fingertips, the way he wordlessly knew when to offer you water, the way his gaze never once wavered from yours.

For the first time, you actually looked at him.

He had always been there, hadn’t he? Lingering in the background, watching over you, handling things before you even had to ask.

And now, up close like this, he wasn’t that annoying.

Actually… he was— Handsome.

The thought struck you so suddenly that you nearly choked on your next bite.

Sunday blinked, brows furrowing slightly. “Careful.”

You coughed, hastily grabbing the cup of water he handed you. Heat crept up your neck, but whether it was from embarrassment or something else, you weren’t sure.

“What’s wrong? Finally realizing how charming I am?”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t push it.”

But he only chuckled, satisfied.

[Favorability +5]

You didn’t see it. The tiny, nearly imperceptible shimmer in the air—like a system notification only meant for him.

“What?” he said. “Did I get more handsome just now, or are you finally acknowledging that I’ve been devastatingly attractive this entire time?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You’re seriously fishing for compliments while feeding me?”

“Multi-tasking is an important skill.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he plucked another piece of bread from the plate and held it up, smirking, “you’re still letting me feed you.”

You froze, only just realizing it.

You could argue, push him away, reclaim some of your dignity… but you were still hungry. And honestly, this was the first real conversation you’d had since your father passed.

…It was nice.

So instead of answering, you simply huffed and took another bite, avoiding his gaze.

“You know, if I had known all it took was feeding you to make you behave, I would’ve done this ages ago.”

“I take it back. You’re annoying.”

“Too late. You already let me in.”

-----

Sunday should have been pleased.

You were recovering. You were finally eating, standing tall once more, resuming the duties your father left behind. He had worked for this. Stayed by your side through the worst of it. Protected you, fed you, shielded you from the opportunistic nobles who sought to take advantage of your grief.

And now?

Now you were back to work.

And he hated it.

Not because he wanted you to remain weak—no, he would never wish that on you. But because now, he had less control. Before, when you were withdrawn in your chambers, he was the one managing things. The one turning away suitors, handling your food, ensuring your safety without question.

But now?

Now you were surrounded by people. Officials, nobles, potential threats.

And worst of all—

You were talking to them. Laughing with them. Standing too close to them.

Sunday’s fingers twitched as he watched from the shadows of the court hall.

He couldn’t stand this.

His jaw clenched as he watched you tilt your head toward one of your advisors, listening intently to whatever nonsense they were feeding you.

You weren’t even aware of it, were you? How vulnerable you were in moments like these.

What if someone whispered poison into your ear? What if they sought to turn you against him?

His mind spun with all the possibilities—his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface—

And then, a soft chime.

A faint glow only he could see.

𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑹𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔: 𝑼𝒏𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅

Favorability: 40%

40%. It had never been this high before.

But if he had learned anything from playing this game before—

40% wasn’t enough.

Sunday’s mind was already calculating his next move when another chime echoed in his ears.

[System Assistance Available]

His eyes widened slightly. Since when?

Before, the system only interfered when he died. It never offered him anything—no guidance, no tools, nothing. But now?

He focused on the faint glow only he could see, willing the system to respond.

[Query Registered: Assistance Requested]

A loading screen flickered in his vision before a new window appeared.

[Available Items – Secret Route]

Whispering Veil – Conceals the user’s actions from others for a limited time. (1 use)

Falsified Letters – Alters the contents of incoming messages before they reach the recipient. (3 uses)

Echo Crystal – Records and replays conversations to the user. (1 use)

Subtle Influence – Temporarily shifts favorability by +5% in a critical moment. (1 use)

Locking Key – Prevents an individual from leaving a designated area for 12 hours. (1 use)

These were cheats. This world had been working against him for so long, making every step toward you a battle. But now?

Now he had weapons.

The Falsified Letters were already useful. How many proposals had he secretly turned down for you? With these, he wouldn’t have to intercept them—he could alter them entirely.

The Echo Crystal was perfect. He would find out exactly what these scheming nobles were saying to you behind his back.

But the Subtle Influence?

Sunday’s fingers twitched.

A guaranteed +5%?

It took him months to raise your favorability even this much. He could get closer right now.

…But no.

Not yet.

[Item Acquired: Echo Crystal]

Let’s see what these people were really saying.

Sunday gripped the Echo Crystal in his palm, feeling the faint warmth of its magic pulse against his skin.

Slipping out of sight, he activated the crystal. A shimmer of light pulsed from its surface before fading, leaving only a soft hum in his ears.

“We need to act soon.”

Sunday’s eyes narrowed.

The voice was familiar—one of the noble councilmen, Lord Arventis. A well-spoken official who had spent the past weeks pretending to be loyal to you.

Another voice joined in, one that sent a sharp chill through his spine.

Kristiana.

“Y/n's regaining their strength” she murmured. “If we don’t secure their hand in marriage or weaken their standing, soon they'll become untouchable.”

Sunday’s fingers curled tight around the crystal.

These leeches. These pathetic, scheming rats.

They weren’t just trying to manipulate you anymore.

They were planning to seize control.

Sunday exhaled, slipping the crystal into his sleeve as he stepped out from the shadows.

He needed a plan.

And this time?

He wasn’t playing fair.

It took two days.

Two days of watching, listening, gathering proof.

Every word spoken behind your back, every noble secretly conspiring against you—Sunday had it all.

And now?

Now, it was time to remove the pieces from the board.

One by one, carefully, subtly.

The Falsified Letters were the first to be used.

Kristiana? Lord Arventis? The others who sought to control you?

Every letter they sent—every request for a private meeting, every false plea of loyalty—was altered.

You never saw their real words.

Instead, what you received were poorly veiled insults. Demands. Mockery disguised as diplomacy.

Your anger was immediate.

Within hours, you had your court questioning their intentions.

Within a day, Lord Arventis had lost your favor.

And Kristiana?

Her carefully woven web of deception began to unravel.

Sunday watched it all unfold with quiet satisfaction.

When you looked at him that evening, your gaze lingering just a little too long—

Sunday saw it.

That flicker of realization.

That first, fragile crack in your walls. He didn’t need the system to tell him this time. You were finally seeing him.

Sunday had been waiting for the right moment.

The Locking Key wasn’t something to use carelessly. It was a tool meant for control, for ensuring that no one could interfere with what was about to happen.

It happened without warning. The door, which had been perfectly fine just moments ago, let out a soft click.

You frowned, standing up to test the handle, only for it to remain firmly shut. “…Strange.”

Sunday, who had been silently refilling your tea, glanced up in feigned curiosity. “Something wrong?”

You jiggled the handle again. “The door isn’t opening.”

His lips parted in mock surprise. “Oh?”

You turned to face him, your exhaustion making you more irritable than usual. “Did you do something?”

He blinked at you, the perfect picture of innocence. “Why would I lock us in?”

“Then what, the palace just decided to trap me here?”

He hummed in thought. “Maybe it’s fate.”

You shot him a glare, but deep down, you knew there was no use fighting it. You were tired—too tired—and the energy to argue with him simply wasn’t there.

The weight of the past few days had finally caught up to you. The grief, the stress, the endless work… it was pressing down on your chest, your body begging for rest.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you brought them to your temple.

Sunday noticed immediately.

“Sit” he murmured.

You resisted. “I’m fine.”

“You can barely stand.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, something shifted. A strange warmth settled in your mind—a pull, a quiet lure, almost like… magic. It was subtle, like a whisper, telling you that you should just listen to him. That for once, you could stop fighting.

Your legs moved before you could think.

You collapsed into the nearest seat, but the hard wooden chair was uncomfortable, your body aching as you tried to relax.

Sunday sighed. “You’ll never rest like that.”

He moved forward, taking the empty space beside you—no, not beside. Right behind.

Before you could react, his hands were on your arms, guiding you gently but insistently. “Come here.”

Your breath hitched. “What—”

He pulled you onto his lap.

You should’ve moved. But your exhaustion made you weak, and your body—traitorous, selfish—sank into him instead.

His warmth seeped into your skin, his steady breathing oddly calming as your head rested against his shoulder. His fingers brushed against your wrist before settling at your back in a silent reassurance.

“…Better?” he asked softly.

You hesitated, then—reluctantly—nodded.

“You’re finally listening to me.”

You hated the way your face warmed.

[Favorability +30]

Sunday felt the chime before he saw the number.

Thirty. Thirty?

That was insane.

Nothing he’d done before—no silent loyalty, no favors, no devotion—had ever made your favorability jump this high.

He had expected a modest increase, maybe five or ten points at most. But this?

This was a breakthrough.

His mind raced, replaying every second leading up to this moment. The exhaustion, the quiet lure of his voice, the way you had naturally leaned into him without fighting.

And then it clicked.

You liked skinship.

Or rather, you found comfort in it.

Not that you’d ever admit it, of course. You were still too stubborn, too prideful to say it out loud. But your body?

Your body didn’t lie.

It was something subconscious, something deeply ingrained in you that even you didn’t seem aware of.

All this time, he had been carefully balancing between too much and too little, afraid of pushing his luck. And yet, the answer had been right in front of him—literal physical closeness.

Of course, he couldn’t abuse it recklessly. You were quick to irritation, your temper flaring if someone overstepped.

But if he did it right…

If he played this carefully…

Then he had just unlocked his greatest weapon.

His arms tightened around you slightly, as if testing the waters, but he didn’t push further. For now, he let you rest against him, let you trust him.

And when your breathing evened out, when the tension in your muscles melted completely, Sunday only smiled to himself.

Checkmate.

----

The next morning, when you drowsily shuffled into the dining hall, he was already there, waiting. He handed you a steaming cup of tea, but instead of simply setting it down, he took your hand in his, guiding your fingers around the cup.

[Favorability +5]

A test—and a success.

You barely reacted, too groggy to care. But it worked.

At midday, when you were busy drafting letters and reviewing reports, he appeared by your side with an ink-stained cloth.

Without a word, he took your hand and gently wiped the smudge off your fingers.

You stiffened for a second but didn’t pull away.

[Favorability +7]

And so, the pattern continued.

Each day, a small touch here, a silent act there. Never enough to raise suspicion, never enough to cross a line, but just enough to nudge you closer.

[Favorability +2]

At 84%, you had stopped questioning him.

At 87%, you had stopped fighting it.

And now?

90%.

The notification chimed in his ears.

You still didn’t notice.

But he did.

And now, the only thing left to do…

Was push you past the threshold.

---

Sunday had been playing the game well. He had spent days getting closer, learning your preferences, adjusting his every move to keep you comfortable while steadily increasing your favorability.

But what he didn’t know—what he never could have anticipated—was that the more you grew attached to him…

The more possessive you became.

It wasn’t obvious at first. A lingering glance here, an oddly fixated stare there.

Then it got worse.

And today?

Today, you were seething.

You stared at Sunday across the dining table, your fingers gripping the silverware a little too tightly as you cut into your meal.

He was being too calm.

Like he had nothing to be guilty for.

“So.”

Sunday barely looked up from his plate. “So?”

“I heard you were with the maid today.”

He paused for a fraction of a second before responding. “…I was.”

That made your grip tighten.

You placed your utensils down with a little too much force. “You were seen with her at the market.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but his expression remained composed. “She was just getting supplies. I needed to ask about—”

“Flowers?” you cut in, your tone sharp.

His lips parted in realization. “…You’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” you lied. “I’m simply asking why my personal servant was out shopping for flowers with another woman.”

Sunday stared at you, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.

You weren’t supposed to be like this.

You weren’t supposed to care.

But you did.

Because the way you felt at that moment—the way your blood boiled at the idea of him entertaining someone else, at the thought of him being kind to someone that wasn’t you—it was irrational. Terrifyingly so.

“…You think I was flirting?”

“Wasn’t it?”

Something flickered in his gaze before he let out a small breath. Then, he placed his utensils down and leaned forward.

“Look at me.”

“If I wanted to flirt, don’t you think you’d be the first to know?”

You should have let it go.

You should have brushed it off, laughed, changed the subject.

But instead, you found yourself gripping the edge of the table, voice quiet but trembling with something unfamiliar. “…Then don’t do it.”

Sunday’s smirk faltered.

For the first time, he saw it.

The hint of something deeper in your eyes.

This wasn’t just a favorability boost anymore.

This was dangerous.

And for the first time…

He wasn’t sure who was hunting who.

[Favorability: 96%] → [Favorability: 94%]

Why?

He had been so careful, every action calculated, every touch measured. You were supposed to be getting closer, not slipping away.

Just as he was about to summon the system, a knock echoed through his room, followed by the soft creak of the door opening.

“Who were you talking to?”

For a split second, panic clawed at his chest, but he forced himself to relax, plastering on his usual lazy smirk.

“Talking? I was just thinking out loud.” He leaned back, stretching as if nothing was wrong. “Why? Miss me already?”

Your eyes didn’t waver.

“…Let’s go for a walk.”

Sunday blinked. “…A walk?”

You nodded, stepping further inside. “You’ve been inside all day, haven’t you? A change of atmosphere would be good.”

His mind raced. He needed answers from the system—but with you watching him like a hawk, there was no way he could summon it now.

“…Fine.” He stood, brushing himself off. “But if this is some elaborate scheme to make me carry all your shopping bags, I’ll protest.”

You scoffed. “As if I’d waste your time with something so trivial.”

(But if it meant keeping you outside longer, he wouldn’t have minded.)

The air was cool, a soft breeze brushing against the streets as you and Sunday wandered through the bustling town. You had led him to a small ice cream stand, insisting that since it was his first time out in a while, he should try something sweet.

Sunday wasn’t really one for desserts, but the moment he saw the way your eyes lit up as you tasted yours, he found himself taking a bite of his own without complaint.

“What do you think?”

Sunday tapped his chin, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… tastes better than I expected.”

You rolled your eyes. “You could just say you like it, you know.”

“And give you the satisfaction of being right?” He smirked. “Never.”

You huffed, taking another bite of your own, and he had to force himself to look away before he stared too long.

Then, it happened.

You took a step forward—and slipped.

Sunday’s body reacted before he could think.

In an instant, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you against him just before you could hit the ground.

The ice cream you had been holding slipped from your grip, landing pathetically on the pavement, but neither of you reacted to it.

Because at that moment, you were way too close.

Your face was inches from his, your breath warm against his skin.

Your hands had instinctively grabbed onto his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric. You weren’t moving away.

[Favorability +3]

“…You okay?”

Sunday swallowed, forcing himself to breathe.

He was the one who caught you—so why did it feel like he was the one about to fall?

Sunday wasn’t sure how long he held you like that.

Seconds? Minutes?

It didn’t matter.

Because all he could focus on was the warmth of your body against his, the way your breath hitched slightly as you realized how close you were.

Your hands were still resting against his chest, fingers lightly curled into the fabric of his clothes. His arm, firm and unmoving, remained around your waist, securing you in place.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

“…Are you going to let me go?”

“Do you want me to?”

Your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering down to where his fingers pressed into your side, then back up to his eyes.

You didn’t answer.

And he didn’t need you to.

His other hand lifted instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

Sunday had spent so long trying to read you, to predict your reactions, to find ways to win you over. But right now?

You were looking at him like you were the one figuring him out.

Slowly, your hand slid up from his chest to rest lightly against his collarbone. The touch was hesitant but intentional.

You weren’t pushing him away.

If anything, you were leaning in.

His grip around you tightened slightly as his gaze flickered to your lips. He could kiss you right now.

And then—

“Ah! Your Grace!”

Both of you froze.

Sunday barely had time to react before someone practically materialized beside you, bowing so quickly they almost fell over.

“It’s an honor to see you again! Thank you for your generosity the other day—our village has been thriving because of your kindness!”

Your entire body went rigid.

Sunday could feel the way your muscles tensed, your hands jerking away from him like you had just realized what was happening.

The warmth disappeared.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

You coughed, taking an awkward step back. “Ah, yes. Of course. I’m…glad to hear that.”

Sunday clenched his jaw, forcing himself to exhale slowly.

He turned his head slightly—only to see you blushing.

Not just a small, embarrassed flush—a full-on, heated, flustered mess.

Sunday blinked.

You? Blushing? Over him?

His heart nearly stopped.

And that was before he felt the warmth creeping up his own neck.

His ears burned.

You glanced at him briefly, eyes darting away almost immediately when you realized he was already looking at you.

Sunday almost cursed out loud. Instead, he cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from grabbing you again. “…We should keep walking.”

You nodded way too fast. “Y-Yeah. Let’s go.”

The villager beamed, bowing once more before stepping aside.

And as the two of you walked off—still visibly flustered, still awkwardly avoiding each other’s gaze—Sunday let out a small breath.

Maybe that damn favorability bar was a nightmare to raise.

But right now?

He didn’t even need to check it to know that something between you had changed.

Sunday woke up with an immediate sense of wrongness.

For one—his arms didn’t move.

For two—his legs didn’t move.

For three—you were straddling him.

He blinked, slowly coming to terms with his predicament. His wrists were tied to the bedposts. His ankles were similarly restrained. And above him, sitting comfortably atop his waist, you were smirking down at him.

“…I must still be dreaming”

You chuckled. “Oh, you’re awake? That’s good. I was starting to think you were just pretending.”

Sunday squinted at you. “Why. Am I. Tied up.”

You shrugged, tilting your head in mock innocence. “I thought I’d do something different today. Y’know, entertain you.”

His lips parted, a dumbfounded expression flickering over his face.

Entertain him.

He was seconds away from losing his mind.

Your fingers drummed along his chest, your weight warm and solid against him. “You seem awfully close with the maids these days. I thought perhaps… I should remind you where your loyalties lie.”

Sunday stared.

“Excuse me?”

You smiled, leaning in slightly.

The warmth of your breath tickled his cheek. “You’ve been talking a lot with them, haven’t you?”

You were jealous.

The realization slammed into him like a freight train.

The hours he had spent gathering information—asking the maids about your favorite foods, your daily habits, your preferences—had backfired spectacularly.

And now here you were, pinning him to his own damn bed.

Sunday had never, in all his life, imagined the ‘Impossible Route’ would turn out like this.

You leaned in even closer, lips dangerously near his ear. “…You should be more careful. People might think you’re plotting something.”

His jaw clenched.

His heartbeat thundered.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And you were enjoying every second of it.

Sunday inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain calm. “Alright. You’ve had your fun. Now untie me.”

You hummed in thought, fingers lazily tracing the outline of his collarbone. “Mmm… I don’t know. I think I like you like this.”

Sunday's patience snapped.

In one swift motion, he flexed his wrists and ripped free of the bindings.

Before you could react, Sunday flipped you over, pinning you beneath him.

Your back hit the mattress, your wrists caught in his grip. The tables had turned.

“My turn.”

You barely had time to blink before he leaned down—and stole your lips.

Your mind went blank.

Sunday pulled back just enough to see the dazed look in your eyes, his lips still hovering over yours.

“Next time you try to trap me” he murmured, “make sure I can’t escape.”

And then—

The door swung open.

“…Oh.”

Sunday didn’t move.

You didn’t move.

The servant froze in place.

A long, suffocating silence filled the room.

“…Should I come back later?”

You shoved Sunday off of you so hard he nearly fell off the bed.

“GET OUT.”

The servant practically tripped over themselves trying to flee.

The door slammed shut.

You and Sunday sat there for a moment, staring at each other.

Your face? Completely red.

Sunday, meanwhile, simply grinned.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“SHUT UP.”

You avoided him for the rest of the day.

Which, really, was adorable.

Every time Sunday entered a room, you’d suddenly be very interested in a random document or an irrelevant piece of decor. The moment his eyes met yours? Immediate retreat. He’d never seen you so utterly defeated before—it was addicting.

And that blush? That frustrated, completely flustered look?

He wanted to see more of it.

You tried to act like nothing had happened the next morning. You sat at your usual spot, drinking tea as if the past twenty-four hours hadn’t completely obliterated your composure.

Sunday casually poured himself a cup and sat across from you, resting his chin in his palm.

“So.” He smirked. “That was quite the reaction yesterday.”

You choked on your tea.

Coughing violently, you shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

“You’re not denying it?”

Finally, you set your cup down with a soft clink and exhaled sharply.

“…Fine.” You looked at him, shoulders squared, lips pressed into a thin line. “I admit it. I lost that round.”

“Round?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb.”

His grin widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “…You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am. Still by your side.”

You faltered. Your fingers curled slightly, as if hesitant to say what you were thinking. Sunday watched as you took a slow breath, steadying yourself.

Then, with clear reluctance, you muttered—

“…I suppose I don’t mind.”

He almost forgot how to breathe.

You weren’t looking at him, too focused on the way your tea swirled in your cup. But Sunday could see it—the faintest hint of a smile on your lips. The soft flush still lingering on your ears.

[Favorability: 100%]

His heart skipped a beat.

You finally looked back at him, eyebrow raised. “Why are you staring?”

Sunday blinked. He schooled his expression just in time, lips curling into his usual smirk.

“…No reason.”

But inside?

Inside, he knew.

He had won.

And he would never let you go.