#And keep it off the main TL

[escortingsecrets]

Shive has an alt for more nsfw content. If you wanna see some spice, then follow @eventidesecrets

[bludgeon-alt]

this requires too much context to properly explain in a caption so please just take the art at face value

[no1ryomafan]

Yknow what really fucking peeves me but I see all the time in fandom that is probably semi controversial for saying this? When old fans feel the need to unnecessarily be fucking gatekeepy about someone getting into a series from its newer entry because “it sucks” “it ruined the series”.

I don’t mean to be this person because I know sometimes there can be a really awful iteration of something new but holy FUCK can you guys stop being such fucking babies about it. You are making people who like older parts of a series but doesn’t mind newer fans entering from the latest stuff all look bad-because guess what? Not all older fans hate the new thing!-it’s fucking embarrassing and I hate how I see this constantly no matter where the fuck I go unless I do happen to like something that hasn’t gotten shit in literal years. It’s fine to be disappointed but don’t take it out on newbies, you’re just making them not wanna try a series past what they’ve already seen.

It’s not welcoming, your just fucking toxic.

[ev3nesce]

play pretend

summary: It's the end of the week, and your last task is a routine checkup with Dr. Zayne. You're childhood friend, the only stability in your life. You wouldn't trade him for anything, and if that means keeping your feelings in check, then so be it. But when the topic of an unwanted suitor comes into question, your check-up is lost to a game of pretend. Do you have the strength to let him pose as your boyfriend for a quick fix, or will you forget where the line between real and fake is drawn? Spoiler: you forget.

tl;dr: plot with porn?? going yearn for yearn with Zayne 😼

zayne x fem reader

authors note: this is purely self-indulgent LMAO I was so hurt by the new main story update that I had to write a cutesy first fuck. And yes there IS a build up to the smut people lock in I’m here to fix your attention spans. Alsoooooo there's nothing else on this account cause I got too embarrassed to post a fic on the main. Can’t have friends and fam stumbling upon smut written by my own hands. Haven’t posted a fic of any kind in years so please be kind 😘 also cross-posted this on AO3

one-shot; smut (p in v, unprotected, fingering); 9.8K words

Hands subconsciously smoothing out your still-pristine uniform, you smile at the familiar nurses who breeze by. It’s an exchange that, no matter how frequent, still strikes you as, well… funny. Never would you have pictured yourself on a first-name basis with half of Akso Hospital. Not without help, at least. You suppose such a privilege comes with the package deal that is Dr. Zayne.

Zayne, whose office is two more turns to the left. Your fingers absentmindedly fix your hair for the nth time. 

Thanks to your hasty stride, you’re a tad out of breath. And late. In hallways where staff and patients vanish from view, you shamefully jog, only to awkwardly press the brakes when those familiar faces attempt to greet you. Of course, they let you go quickly, for this is not an unusual occurrence. While you’re punctual in any other professional setting, your unique situation with your primary care physician seems to influence some tardiness. Maybe it’s because you know that, behind all the mockery and lethal side-eyes, he doesn’t really care. Not anymore; months of buttering him up and trying to coax a long-lost bond from him have undoubtedly paid off. 

But this time, it wasn’t your fault. You physically cringe at the fresh memory moments before you throw the door to Zayne’s office wide open, uncaring of what you might be interrupting. Most of the time, you had some decency to knock during your lateness. Naturally, manners were the least you could offer as an apology. Today, however, your head was a foggy mess.

“Sorry—“ You blurt out. “Sorry, I’m late.”

Zayne sits comfortably at his pristinely organised desk, and—as dramatic as ever—he does not look your way. The soft clicks of his slender fingers typing on the keyboard are the first to greet you. The reflection of the computer screen on his glasses is especially harsh at this hour as the last remnants of sunlight slip away. Beyond the wall of windows, the vibrant Friday night life of Linkon begins to stir, its pulsating energy a stark contrast to the air of serene focus in this room.

“Again.” He hums absentmindedly as you sheepishly enter and shut the door. Those tired feline eyes remain on the computer screen. “What’s the excuse this time?”

The thought of why coaxes an awkward laugh out of you. “Nothing interesting.”

Zayne’s brows ever so slightly pinch at the sound, and he finally throws a glance your way. No doubt he registers your exhausted, flustered look as you settle into a chair. “Even children are more creative when lying. You look…dishevelled.”

“No, I don’t.” You definitely do.

“Overworking yourself again?”

“What? No.”

You brace yourself for the onslaught of questions his words threaten. Whenever the topic of your work’s physical demands comes up, the conversation becomes a never-ending back-and-forth. He insists you need to take a step back. You insist he’s overreacting. Despite your best efforts, neither of you can sway the other. 

“Then what?” He presses. “Something interesting?”

You frown as the picture of your desk back at work comes to fruition, decorated with a flamboyant yet stereotypically boring gift, one that you could not bring with you. Following it is the unfavourable closeness of the gift-giver’s desk to your own. 

“I was just about to leave work—on time, mind you—when I got given a gift, so I got held up in conversation.”

“A gift?”

“Some flowers.”

“Flowers?”

There’s an inexplicable flutter in your stomach as you hint at the event to Zayne, a cringe pressing in on your shoulders, though you can’t quite justify why. Perhaps it’s the invisible, warning whisper of unspoken boundaries years in the making, as if flirtation and romance were forbidden topics in his presence. Like standing barefoot in the cold. Like a puritan child burdened with silent shame, hesitant to speak on the prospects of young love before a disapproving parent. 

The very idea of acknowledging your own desirability feels taboo. And yet, beneath that suffocating truth, a sinister and smitten urge blooms. It is a fragment of your heart eager to dangle those delicate ideas in front of him. Could you coax even an inkling of jealousy from those otherwise unreadable eyes?

Zayne busies himself for a brief, silent moment, arranging papers that are presumably yours into a neat pile and grabbing simple equipment from the drawers. You’re following gaze is spurred by the conflicting apprehension and interest. The dull scratch of a pen on paper, a breath, your heartbeat. Finally, he rests his chin on one hand and taps the pen against his desk. 

“Who gave them to you?” 

“One of the guys I work with. We happen to be stationed together often.”

“A co-worker, huh?” A moment ago, you could have sworn the usual indifference in Zayne’s face had softened. But what you’re looking at now isn’t exactly a soft look. “I presume he didn’t just want to give you flowers for the sake of it?”

“He also asked me to dinner.” You pretend to find interest in the distant view of neon lights outside the window. “Tonight.”

“What did you tell him?” 

Are the taps of his pen on the desk becoming more aggressive?

You shrug as if your answer is painfully obvious. “That I was busy. Maybe another time.”

“Why not tell him no?”

“Well…I don’t know.” You shrink in on yourself slightly, as if confined by the physical manifestation of social pressure. The man you were talking about, while friendly enough, was oftentimes difficult to deal with. Not outrightly so, but it was the little things: the subtle knack of being argumentative, an ego as inflated as a balloon ready to burst. All while you had to see him every day? …You had really drawn the short end of the stick here. “I felt bad.”

Something about your answer makes Zayne sigh. He drops the pen and reaches for the blood pressure monitor. As he speaks, his tone is both exasperated and annoyed. “Don’t worry about being polite with those things. You’re just giving him hope by saying ‘another time’.”

You shrug off the thick, leather-like jacket of your Hunter uniform reserved for office work and present your arm. Beneath it is a tight, white button-up. You try not to be aware of the few unfastened top buttons.

“What if he’s one of those ‘pay for everything’ types and takes me somewhere fancy?” You tease as Zayne wraps the band around your forearm. “One date might not hurt.”

Zayne’s grip on the arm band shifts subtly, slender fingers tugging the band unexpectedly tight. The coarse fabric presses against your pulse. His brow furrows — an indication of focus, but on what, you wonder? Zayne’s medical prowess is above the mechanics of velcro or the calibration of blood pressure machines. The clinically harsh overhead lights cast a white halo behind him that cuts sharp lines across his jaw.

“What happens when he expects more than one date?”

“You never know. I might be swayed in his favour.”

The weight of Zayne’s stare is noticeable only when he looks away, turning his focus to the machine’s screen. “You can have fun without going on pointless dates. Especially with someone you work with.”

You sigh dramatically. “I know. I’m mostly joking, but a girl can dream.”

Zayne raises a brow. “Dreaming about your coworkers? How professional of you.”

“You’re one to talk about ‘professionalism’,” you retort with a hmpf. “You’re my doctor, after all. I thought there were strict rules about interpersonal relationships with patients.”

“Rules, yes.” Scarred fingers reaching blindly for his stethoscope. As he speaks, there isn’t much authority in his voice. Instead, it’s almost quiet, far away as he sinks into thought. “But we’re friends first.”

“It still surprises me, though.”

“I’d be more surprised if you went to someone else.” 

Now it’s your turn to raise a brow. “How so?”

“Well, I know your medical history like the back of my hand, you’re comfortable with me, your condition is compatible with my specialisations…” A hint of mischief burns in the few bright specks of his otherwise dark eyes. “And I highly doubt anyone else would want to put up with you.”

Your face contorts as if his words attack your senses like a bitter lemon slice. “Ouch, Dr. Zayne. Am I that much of a pain?”

“More like a constant headache.”

Zayne reaches forward, and instinctively, you straighten up, welcoming the further tests. But the chest piece of the stethoscope isn’t in his hand. Instead, he leans down, one hand wrapping around your chair legs. The low groan of wood against wood cuts through the room as you slide towards him. He does so with ease. Incredible ease and attractive ease. 

Though his uniform usually leaves little to the imagination, the white coat pulls taut, offering a delicious view of firm muscle. You swallow hard, almost ashamed at how easily the casual display of strength weakens your knees. The man opposite you is otherwise unbothered, straightening to fix the stethoscope in his ears. 

Considering he’s about to listen to your racing heart, you look away, searching for a quick fix. Any sight except him will do. Your eyes fall to the floor…and to the very usable wheels on his own chair.

“In that case, maybe I should switch to someone else.” The cold metal presses in the open V of your button-up, right below your collarbone. “You’re so busy. I’d hate to overwork you.”

Zayne looks up at you through his lashes as he draws close. “Now you’re being dramatic. You wouldn’t last a week.”

“And what makes you so confident?”

He chuckles. Clearly, he’s enjoying the back-and-forth. “Because I know you. You’re stubborn, never listen, never follow any of my advice. Besides, you’d miss me too much.”

Your heart flutters right beneath the stethoscope.

“I do listen.” You choose not to acknowledge the latter half of his answer.

“Prove it then.”

You tilt your head, confused. He makes a zipper gesture over his lips. Oh.

For the duration of his observations, you keep quiet, allowing him to focus on the task at hand. Just as he sets the metal against your chest for the last time, your phone dings. The double chime is unmistakable: the secure messaging platform used for Hunters. You often exchange words with your colleagues through it, but at this time, those who didn’t have your personal number wouldn’t bother you. 

Your heart flutters again—this time for the wrong reason. Spurred by morbid curiosity, you fish your phone from your pocket without disturbing Zayne. Through the notification centre you scroll until the dreaded name pops up. Great.

“What’s with that look?” Zayne questions.

There’s not much more to say than the message itself. You flip your phone around to show it.

Sooo… how busy on a scale of 1 to 10 are you really tonight?

Zayne adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. A subtle squint creases the corners of his sharp, cat-like eyes, the faint glint of curiosity quickly giving way to something sterner. The amused tilt of his mouth from moments before fades, replaced by a slight frown.

“This is the flower culprit?” His tone is painfully dry as he pushes back to grab a pen and paper, jotting down something probably related to your heart rate. 

You hum in thought. “Time to come up with a good excuse, since I have nothing to do after this.”

“Or, and hear me out on this…” Zayne turns to face you, pen still in hand, as he leans back and spreads his legs. The sarcasm in his voice cuts rather than teases. “You just say no.”

Exhausted with even the thought of it, you sigh. “You don’t get it. He’s just a little…much. He tried something with Tara a while back, as if he shares a single similarity with her type, and he’s only just moved past the aftermath.” You huff a laugh. “My guess is that the only thing that will deter him is making myself incredibly uninteresting or pretending I have a boyfriend.”

“What awful options.”

Though you wouldn’t agree, you don’t argue, instead continuing to wonder aloud. “The second option would be the most effective. Two birds with one stone, even.”

Knowing him, a rumour will start at work that you have a boyfriend. A perfect excuse for the earlier gesture just being friendly, considering the flowers were presented with a considerable audience. The rumour wouldn’t be bad if there was an inkling of truth to it. Opposite you, Zayne folds his arms and taps the pen against his arm in a slow but forceful rhythm. 

…Could you use him as a scapegoat? 

The idea creeps in, sly and tempting, an offer as distracting as the taps of his pen. But no — you snuff that worrisome flame the second it sparks. The guilt it brings is akin to admitting aloud the things that cross your mind in his absence. Pretending would be more than a harmless lie, should he agree; it would cheapen your priceless bond. At least to you. The idea leaves a bitter aftertaste.

“What happens when he asks for proof?” 

“Maybe I’ll get one of my friends to play along,” you respond matter-of-factly, although the finer details are nothing more than an afterthought to you. In all honesty, you’ll probably ignore the message, but for some reason, you have yet to drop the conversation.

“And who exactly are you going to rope into this?” 

God, it’s like he’s determined to highlight every flaw in your plan. You grin. “Depends on who can be most convincing. Maybe I’ll hold an audition.”

Zayne taps the pen a few beats faster as you become stuck in a standoff-ish staring contest. Why, you’re not so sure. There should be nothing left of value in this conversation.

“I have an idea.”

“I’m listening.” You lean forward, anxious for his answer.

He tosses the pen onto his desk. “What if…I helped you out?”

You couldn’t be more thankful that the stethoscope is no longer in his hands. There’s a beat of silence as you look back at him with eyes wide in astonishment. Just moments ago, you had disregarded the idea with a sound resolve, considering it distasteful and disastrous for yourself. Now, with the offer coming from him, your stance has shifted. 

He could convince you to get away with murder. You stifle a laugh.

“You? Could you be convincing?”

“So you doubt my acting skills, huh?” He seems to relax at your light laughter, even flashing you a grin of his own. Your routine checkup has been abandoned entirely. “I’ll have you know I’d do perfectly well.”

“Prove it then. Time for your audition.” You clap your hands together twice before leaning against his desk, arm on the surface and chin in hand. “Question one: Imagine we’re going out for dinner. Where will you take me?”

Zayne looks out the large expanse of window as he considers your question with genuine depth. As he does so, he leans against his desk, vaguely mirroring your own position. “Somewhere we can have privacy, but not so secluded that it feels forced. Good food and candlelit tables. Cozy. If I really wanted to impress you, which I probably do, we could go somewhere exclusive.”

When the answer comes to its conclusion, his eyes slowly drift back to meet yours. Still unreadable. Typical. The carefully crafted response renders you speechless for a moment. You remind yourself not to let it show, pursing your previously parted lips. 

“We’ll split the bill fifty/fifty,” you add after a moment.

He scoffs. “Silly of you to think I’d let you spent even a cent.”

Don’t smile. 

“…Okay, question two: Where do we go after?”

“After…we could walk around the city if it’s a nice night and stop at some of the food stalls for something sweet—like the one I took you to after work the other week. Then I’ll drive you home. A little aimlessly, though, so I can waste time and spend more with you.”

Like the one I took you to. You raise a brow. “Nothing extravagant?”

“What, is this supposed to be a first date?”

“What if it was?”

He flashes a look of mock offence, as if the answer could not be clearer. “Realistically, how extravagant do I need to be to win you over? We’re not strangers.”

“But just like you said, we’ve done those things before. What makes this special?”

A tsk. “If you weren’t seeing the situation in a different light in accordance with our different relationship, I’d be a little worried.” 

You bite back a smile. “Fine then. Question three: I get that text while we’re out and show you. What do you say?”

“Tell you to text him something straight forward so that there’s no wiggle room. ‘I’m busy with my boyfriend, can’t talk’ should do it. Simple. If he questions the legitimacy, send him a picture where he can’t deny what we are.”

Reality suddenly draws you from the conversation’s alarming immersion. How did you get here? When did the conversation take this turn? Did the offer leave his lips on a whim, or was it brewing the second you mentioned receiving flowers? …Why? Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to even consider a version of the answer where there’s real jealousy in Zayne. This was a conversation between two friends, where one is in an awkward predicament and the other is offering a clear escape. 

Except it wasn’t clear. 

You could lie or swallow your pride and reject your colleague, but instead, you were hanging on Zayne’s every word in a daze. Though his descriptions were simple, it was almost as if you could taste the remnants of a shared dinner on your tongue, feel the chilly evening air on your cheeks and the warmth of his hand in yours as you strolled aimlessly through the streets. Imagining it isn’t an impossible task, either. Most of the outings you shared were the taunting shell of a date.

Zayne watches with an immeasurable intensity as silent seconds tick by, waiting for an answer. Should you agree? The date was only theoretical—no harm, no foul. Just a story to tell your colleagues. At most, a picture was all you needed. You match his gaze for a moment longer. Then…

“Alright. Fine.” You drum your thighs as you announce: “You’re hired.”

Zayne leans back in his chair at the news, grinning as if he’s just won a childish game of tug-of-war. “Before we start, I have one condition.”

“And that is?”

“As your employee, things will remain strictly professional, right?”

Those simple, serious words douse out the little spark in your chest—something you’re grateful for, and yet stubbornly wounded by. You snort. “I’d be worried if that wasn’t the general consensus already.”

With a hum, Zayne is the first to look away, eyes drifting behind you to the expanse of Linkon City. For once in this strange interaction, you recognise the look on this face: thoughtfulness. Oh, how you wished to pick apart his brain. Should the universe allow it, you would dive into his mind and make a nest of those fleeting thoughts otherwise destined to be unheard. In this moment, you can’t help but admire him from afar. You could swear a merciless ocean stands in the way, or a glass wall thicker than bullets could pierce. Then he stands with an outstretched hand, and suddenly, you’re back in his office, acutely aware of your physical closeness.

You place your hand in his with underlying hesitance. Before he shakes your hand, he pulls you to your feet. Warm fingers delicately apply his strength.

“Deal.”

“Deal,” you echo. You can’t help but feel surprise at his formal, dedicated approach. “Should we take a photo now, or should I just text him first and see if he believes—?”

“Photo first.” He’s quick to cut you off, shrugging off his pristine white coat in the process and haphazardly throwing it over a chair. “Who knows how long it might take for him to reply? We don’t have all night. By the time he does, I might be long gone.”

While that could be true, you knew your colleague would be waiting with bated breath for a reply. But you don’t bother to challenge Zayne in that regard and instead reach for your phone. “As you wish, Doc-tor. …How should we stand?”

Wordlessly, he takes you by the elbow and gently shuffles you to stand before him, your back to his chest. Over your shoulder you watch, quiet and nervous. There’s a pathetically large gap between the two of you. When you don’t step back to close it, he chuckles. 

“You can come closer,” he says. Then, in a more sheepish tone, he adds, “If you’re okay with that.”

You’re affirmation is nothing more than a hum, too cautious to give voice to nerves that may betray you. You’re step back is carefully calculated; not too far so that every inch of you is flush with him, not too quick to suggest eagerness. Zayne leans against his desk in an attempt to adjust his towering height according to yours. As a result, you find yourself standing between a pair of large, spread thighs that faintly brush your own.

Zayne’s movements mirror your deliberate caution, slow and measured. His hands first guide you by the shoulders, then shimmy you by your sides. Then, at a pace so gruelling it was like he wished not to disturb you, his arms slowly snaked around your waist. Each movement is made in such silence that you wonder if he’s even breathing. Were you? His arms hover an awkward inch away, giving you the opportunity to smack his wrists and lecture him on the professionalism he just swore to. You don’t. Of course you don’t. So he comfortably settles them, and you wonder if that opportunity was wasted.

Maybe if you leave your camera facing the ceiling, you won’t have to face the situation you’ve found yourself in. But unfortunately, time was moving at a very real pace, and standing around doing nothing would be just as bad. Stealing yourself, you raise your phone, nervous to make eye contact with your own self. Zayne cranes his neck to fit in the frame. Warm breath fans across your neck and ear as he does so. You shiver.

“Smiling is a must,” he murmurs. 

All you can do is nod, swallow, and smile as he instructs. Though it’s a nervous, timid smile, it is one nonetheless. Satisfied, your finger ghosts over the shutter button, only to forget all about it as he leans in a little closer, voice little more than a whisper in your ear.

“Smile wider.”

You can’t help but giggle at the feeling of his breath on your neck. It transcends the physical barrier of your skin, travelling down your spine tauntingly, leaving behind an overwhelming desire to chase the high. At least you don’t need to force a bigger smile—you take the photo the second he elicits the vulnerable reaction, capturing the fleeting appearance of a genuine smile and crinkled eyes. Though beneath it all, the ache of this hollow pretence remains.

“That tickles,” you say in a tone that is borderline accusing. 

“Sorry.” His voice remains quiet and breathy against the shell of your ear, this time with a hint of playful remorse. “It was intentional.”

“Mm-hm.” Focus. “I’m going to take one more.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Kiss me on the cheek.”

You’re not sure what possesses you to make the request. Sure, from an outside perspective, it is reasonable enough considering the act you’re mutually playing. But such a simple approach disregards human complexity. If he accepts, is that a reflection of blind obedience, or does it stir something deeper, enticing him beyond the agreement? If he refuses, does that mean he respects those boundaries out of disinterest or fear?

“…Okay.” 

That’s all he says. You’re as clueless as you were ten seconds ago. Shooing away the silly internal debate, you turn your head more his way. 

You are entirely unprepared for how he complies.

Nimble fingers trace a path beneath your jaw before finding purchase on your chin, tilting it with a subtle insistence. Fingers splayed, his grasp is all-consuming and possessive—perfect for a photo and detrimental to your moral compass. His free hand finds purchase on your hip, consistently firm despite being nowhere in frame. Were you always this close? 

The final graze of his lips against your cheek is devoid of his hand’s inescapable demand. Instead, the kiss is gentle. Cheeks red and heart racing, you have half the mind to take the photo. Then another. He lingers long enough for you to take three, your face in different stages of submission.

When you lower the phone, his touch disappears with it. What he doesn’t do is usher you away. Curious.

“Got enough photos?” He asks after a moment. The casual nature of his question is almost laughable.

“More than enough. Now to see if it was worth it…”

Zayne peers over your shoulder as you navigate to the message that caused this all. The quickly crafted response reads with little room for argument. 

Look, I think you’re great and I appreciate the flowers, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I have a boyfriend, and he thinks I should convey that I’m taken to spare both you and me, which I agree with. I am not and will not be free to spend time with you outside of work. 

It’s read immediately. The first message follows soon after.

Come on, y/n.

He continues to type. Then comes the second message.

What boyfriend? I’ve never heard of or seen any boyfriend. You don’t have to lie to me. Just give me a chance, sweetheart.

Sweetheart? You scoff aloud in offence. The gall he has to not only doubt you, but throw in a pet name is beyond you. Nevertheless, you couldn’t ask for a better opening. You don’t miss a beat before attaching the photo of Zayne kissing your smiling face with a simple: this one. You can’t deny the satisfaction it gives you to prove him wrong, regardless of the real truth. A soft laugh sounds behind you.

“A photo was worth it after all.”

“I see what you mean, now,” he muses. Though there’s a slight smile on his face, there’s a line between his brows that can’t be missed. “He’s got some nerve, calling you ‘sweetheart’ and all.”

“Sounds like someone is still in character,” you tease, nudging him with an elbow.

“Hey, I’m just making sure the message is clear,” he retorts in mock defence. “Can’t have anyone calling my girl ‘sweetheart’.”

Your breath barely has time to steady before a familiar chime sounds, drawing your attention to the unlocked screen in your hand. A shocked gasp escapes you at the few bold words staring back defiantly. What, it reads. Can he not share? Any words of indignation are snuffed by Zayne’s hand closing firmly around your wrist, angling the screen his way. The shift from subtle indifference to something far more intense is evident in that now-familiar frown.

“Ignore it.” The playfulness is gone.

“Someone really wants to get in my pants.” You sigh. “Well…work is going to be a little awkward. Thanks for your help, though.”

He huffs a laugh, though there's nothing humorous about it. “You’re welcome. Just let me know if he tries to bother you again.”

You half-turn in your spot between his legs and poke him in the chest. “What would you do then, hm?”

“I don’t know…” He trails off as he grabs your wandering hand and settles it back at your side without letting go. He continues, eyes watching where his fingers toy with your bracelets. “Maybe I’d come to the Association myself.”

“Too bad Tara knows you.” It’s a miracle your voice doesn’t waver. The pictures have already been taken; there’s nothing more to fake. “She’d see right through the act. Or should I swear her into secrecy?”

You’re unsure of how long the two of you have been absentmindedly inching closer. The room has shrunk entirely, walls dissolving as tunnel vision settles in. No longer can you pick up the sterile scent of antiseptic that clings to every surface of the hospital, nor do the fluorescent lights bother you. Now, the only tangible thread tethering you to this moment is him. Zayne. Your breath catches in your throat. A dead giveaway. His eyes flicker back to yours. Is it possible that the featherlight drag of his fingertips over your wrist has caught your pulse?

At this distance, you could count each gold fleck in his heavy-lidded eyes. Now, that look is a characteristic you’re less confident in labelling as fatigue. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he’s found in your eyes, his gaze trickles downwards. Over the imperfections of your skin to the curve of your lips, down your neck, skirting the scandalously low neckline of your button-up.

“I can be plenty convincing.” There’s a soft sensuality in the way each word leaves his lips, foreign and addictive. “No one would have to know it’s an act.”

His index finger teases your inner arm before finally making the jump to your waist. Suddenly, you can’t find the line between real and fake, hypnotised by a hazy want. You lay your hand over the one on your hip and speak with hesitance.

“You’re…doing a good job of convincing now…”

Now there’s a hand on either hip, angling you to face him entirely. His words are little more than a breath in your ear. “You think so?”

A moment of clarity draws your anxious attention to the unlocked door. Though it was late in the evening and Zayne should be leaving by now, you were also no expert in the inner workings of Akso Hospital. How often do people walk in unannounced? Would he get in trouble if someone saw him like this? In you’re peripheral, Zayne tilts his head to follow your gaze, curious. Then he laughs, the sound soft and deep, and boldly caresses your hips upon the understanding of your anxiety.

“Don’t worry.” Without lifting a finger, a subtle frost blossoms over the handle. Soft cracks echo as mounds of ice creep along the locking mechanism. The surrounding wooden frame glitters. “No one can open the door.”

You lift your chin in an attempt to tease. “Why would I be worried?”

“No reason.” His fingers continue to deftly draw circles on your hips, slow and intentional. When he leans in again, his lips almost graze the skin of your jaw. “Sweetheart.”

Not only were the lines blurred, they were gone entirely. That fact is enough to feed your confidence. Timid fingers skim over forearms exposed by rolled-up sleeves. Jagged scars rise to meet your fingertips. They whisper stories you’ve been too wary to pursue. Zayne’s biceps are pronounced beneath the black fabric of his dress shirt, his shoulders broad and inviting. Your travels come to a shy halt just short of his collar.

“You’re a tease.”

“Don’t make it so easy.”

“You’re not making this easy, either.” His grip tightens with those words.

“What do you mean?”

“Playing this game with you…” His voice wavers then, torn between sanity and delusion. “I don’t know where to stop.”

You’re unsure of what to say or do. A chill is emerging from the tips of his fingers, so cold that it seeps through the fabric of your skirt. Zayne is naturally the embodiment of his Evol; cold and unforgiving to those who don’t know him. There’s a subtle, physical aspect to the manifestation, too, from the sharpness in his features to an arresting chill that follows him. But this is different. The temperature in his hands is dropping rapidly, so much so that the shocking cold almost has a bite to it. Is he…aware that his Evol is activating? You shiver.

“You’re hands are cold,” you whisper.

Those few words connect with him like a punch—a harsh reality check. It’s evident in the way that his entire frame goes rigid, the clouded look in his eyes overshadowed by a minor horror. The daze is gone. So is the cold. Zayne withdraws his hands entirely, sinking further against his desk.

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice thick with tangible guilt.

Without missing a beat, you lean forward to match his slight escape, grabbing his hands and bringing them back before he can protest. The act is not a sensual show but instead an admittance of trust.

“I’m not afraid of it, you know,” you try with a small smile. “I don’t mind if your hands are a little cold.”

“You…don’t?” he asks, earnest in his perplexity.

You nod. He swallows.

“Why?”

Once you recognise that his hands won’t move, you slowly drape your arms over his shoulders. The expression on his face is akin to that of a wounded puppy. You’re both surprised at how quickly his hard exterior has melted and saddened by his martyrdom. Instincts rooted deep in your flawed heart pull you in, resting your cheek in the crook of his neck—a place equally as cold. Your fingers, which trace alone his nape, make contact with what you can only guess is a fine film of frost.

You sigh. “Well, you know my Evol can help ease it. If it hurts you, I can help. Besides…I’m not as delicate as you think I am.”

As you speak, the physical apprehension in his body eases. With it is the release of a shuddered breath as his arms tentatively encase you.

“You trust me too much,” he says with a light scoff.

“Sometimes you can be so dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic.”

You lift your head to squint at him. “Hm… Agree to disagree.”

You’re faces are incredibly close. The question of how close or why is entirely out the window. This wasn’t some pretend play anymore. You find nothing artificial in the position of his hands, in the way his gaze dances between your expectant eyes and parted lips. Not in his voice, not in the subtle red hue on his cheeks, not in the complaisant confessions of his ragged breaths. Nowhere. The substance that supported an illusion is suddenly weightless, dissolving alongside the frost beneath your fingertips.

“You truly are the most stubborn woman I know,” he mutters. His own stubbornness is endearing, but you’re tired of this game of cat and mouse. 

“So you don’t want to kiss me?”

Eyes less guarded than ever before stare back at you as if you’ve spoken another language.

You withdraw your hands and tilt your head away, half-joking, half-nervous by the lack of response. “No answer? Fine. I was offering, you know—“

Blinded by his previous dumbfoundedness, you don’t anticipate the speed of his reaction. Cold hands force you’re face back towards his. His head is slightly bowed, reverent eyes staring up through thick lashes. It’s as if he’s cradling an object of worship, like you’re a deity to whom he must repent. For he has sinned, disgraced by an ailing infatuation that has festered over the years, devolving into a mind-numbing greed.

Instead of the gentle tone that his words have melted into, a low, husky voice rings in your ears.

“I never said I didn’t want to kiss you.”

His thumb slides towards your lower lip, gently tracing the dip below to substantiate his claim. Air seems to escape you at the feeling of his breath, of his hands, at the way his gaze triangulates between your eyes and lips.

“I think about kissing you all the time.” 

His nose brushes against your cheek as he cranes his neck, breath fanning across your neck. All you can muster is a whispered, “Oh?”

“When I’m at home.” A warmth against your collarbone cuts through the overarching cold as his lips finally press down. Your heart stutters violently. “When I’m at work.” He kisses the expanse of skin between your neck and shoulder. One hand angles your head from the nape of your neck, fingers fervently tangled in your hair, the other cradling your waist. “When I’m with you.”

Another at the curve of your jaw. While his lips are warm, his breath comes out cold between each peck, each word. The conflicting temperatures are both shocking and enticing. 

“I’m tired…” He kisses your cheek for the second time today before pulling back to catch your eyes in earnest. “Of fantasising about it.”

Your faint smile flickers, a fragile torch that illuminates the path he no longer resists. Restraints shed, your breath mingles, and his lips come crashing against your own. It is unlike the nurturing kisses against your skin. In fact, it is anything but gentle; desperately crushing, a confession condensed into a press of mouths. Slender fingers explore the landscape of your lower abdomen, insatiable cartographers drawing maps of mystical lands. Here, he stakes his claim. A low groan echoes deep in his bones and resounds against your equally curious hands.

You suppress a groan of your own as you melt into putty kneaded by Zayne’s precise hands. Lower they go, pulling you closer by the hips, tracing the waistband of your skirt, testing how close to your ass he can get.

The results are in: he can get very close.

His grin doesn’t go unnoticed as his hands dip down with purpose, massaging the plump flesh. You’re hum of content is an addictive contingency. His grip becomes brusquely firm. You kiss him harder. Suddenly, they drop down to your thighs, and the floor disappears beneath you. A sharp gasp of surprise escapes your lips at the loss of support. Instinctively, your hold around his neck tightens, fingers grasping at the fabric of his black button-up.

Zayne’s grip on you is unwavering as he spins you both. Muscle flexes beneath your touch. One arm hooks beneath your knees and supports you effortlessly. The other reaches behind your back, pushing half of his desk’s contents onto the floor in one fluid swipe. Loose paper flutters towards the floor like fragile autumn leaves, settling soundlessly as pens clatter everywhere. The book on dream analysis that you had teased him about reading just last week lands face down with an accusing thud. It faces the ceiling with open pages, displaying the annotation of an electroencephalography. 

When Zayne sets you down on his desk, the action is gentle. The hand that helped to support you pushes apart your knees, allowing him to settle between and press a quick kiss to your lips.

“Sorry,” he says between peppered kisses. “Should I have asked before I did that?”

You chuckle against his mouth. “It’s fine. I’m giving you consent entirely. …Unless it’s something outrageous.” The latter part you add with a teasing tone.

“Is this too outrageous?”

Forehead rested against yours, he looks down to where his hand settles on your thigh. Your legs are spread wide to accommodate him. As a result, your skirt rides up dangerously high. Any higher and nothing would be left to the imagination. Slowly, his hand slides forward, aiming directly for the improper scene. You both watch in silence for a moment as he traces the raised hem, massages your thigh, then retreats slightly, only to repeat himself again and again. He meets a higher milestone each time. The urge to beg for more is debilitating, yet all you can do is shake your head, pathetic in your submission to desire.

When his lips meet yours again, his pace is slow, vaguely cautious, echoing that of his hand. Each kiss grows deeper and deeper, pushing you further back each time. The wooden surface of Zayne’s desk presses into your back before you know it. 

Angling one of your thighs against his hip, he settles over you with a new closeness. You’re skirt is as good as gone. The fabric bunches around your waist as he pushes your thigh up further. Neither of you pays verbal mind to the physical manifestation of his desire that presses against your aching core.

…Were the two of you really about to fuck in his office?

Zayne was always prim and proper. In the way he dresses, in his sophisticated speech, in his profession and borderline-OCD cleanliness. You would never peg him as the type to yield to sinful wants in scandalous places. And yet here you are, arching your back off his desk and accepting the hungry sweep of his tongue. The only thing protecting him from disciplinary action is the ice embedded in the door. You pray that all the times he insisted on his Evol’s temporal durability were not lies.

When his mouth is drawn back to your neck, your eyes flutter open. They adjust strangely to the overhead lights as little spots glitter in your vision. Confused, you squint. Instead of the specks disappearing, their forms refine into tiny snowflakes drifting through the air. They’re too faint to survive long; as soon as they settle in Zayne’s hair and on the desk, they melt into nothingness.

A question is brewing on the tip of your tongue at the sight. Though it’s quickly lost to the uninhabited corners of your mind when his fingers glide over the edges of your panties and directly across your clothed cunt. Your cheeks flare. There’s no hiding the desire that pools between your legs.

“Is this all it takes to get you so wet?” His voice is a purr against your skin.

You pout. As if you couldn’t feel his erection a second ago. “That’s not fair.” 

“What’s not fair is how long it’s taken to get you like this.” A shameful whimper builds in your throat as he circles his fingers with added weight. His free hand creeps over your mouth. “Shhh. You can stay quiet for me, can’t you?”

With wide, begging eyes, you nod with a muffled mm-hmm. Before retracting his hand, he circles above your clit a second time, then a third, testing your obedience. 

The ecstasy that burns beneath your skin from the slightest of touches is obscene. You would think that you’d been trapped in hours of foreplay, denied even the thought of release. But still, it is not enough. The feeling was akin to wearing layers on a cold day, yet still shivering. Like biting into a promising fruit that hasn’t hung from the vine long enough. It just wasn’t right, wasn’t enough. You roll your hips in an attempt to convey as much.

“Impatient?”

Through a sigh, you answer, “Just a little.”

His teeth graze your ear. “Then use your words. What do you want?”

What an unfair question to ask now, with your mind clouded in drunken lust. Articulation was difficult. So was trying to pinpoint exactly what you wanted. There were too many things you could want and not enough words in the dictionary to do them justice. So instead, all you can offer is, “You. I just want you.”

Thankfully, he seems to understand. His fingers hook around the waistband of your panties. Lifting your hips with one hand, he uses the other to shimmy them down to your ankles. A single beat isn’t missed before the adept fingers of a surgeon slide between your folds. His mouth is back on every exposed inch of skin he can find, needy and hot. You hide quiet pants behind a bitten lip. You almost pierce the swollen skin when his fingers finally find entry. 

“Keep quiet,” he reminds you in a soft voice as his index and middle fingers curl. “Only I get to hear you like this, right?”

You nod, eyes fluttering close. But your agreement doesn’t seem to be enough. He catches your rolling head and forces a moment of sobriety. Acknowledgement from every legible medium, including that of your eyes and mouth, is what he truly wants.

“Right, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. “Yes, Zayne. Just you…just…”

You’re words die out into a sharp inhale as he presses down on your clit.  He pumps in and out in tandem with the exterior pressure, stimulating screaming nerves that turn your knees to jelly and your jaw slack. The room is filled with the lewd sounds of your arousal around his fingers, your bitten-back moans, and the wet kisses trailing from your chest to your jaw, then to your mouth and back. 

A small part of you wishes for him to bite down. To leave a mark that was unmistakably his. But, although you were little more than a stranger to Zayne’s sexual nature, you could almost hear him calling hickies childish.

The steady rhythm he’s set calls for release. Like the sliver of morning light on the horizon, you can feel it approaching, an all-consuming warmth that flutters deep in your stomach and creeps up your legs. Your inner walls flutter around his fingers in an announcement of his skilled work’s reward.

“Right there,” you pant, head rolling, and fingers tugging at his hair. “Don’t stop—“

Except, he does exactly that.

You whine as he retracts his fingers, looking at him with indignation, silently demanding an explanation. Only smugness stares right back. Euphoria sinks back into the confines of your bones at the absence of stimulation. You can barely get out the question of why before he cuts you off.

“Believe me when I say I could please you for hours without question,” he says with a quick kiss before withdrawing to tower before you. “But I don’t know how long we have. I can’t let you have all the fun.”

You’re about to roll your eyes when he raises two glistening fingers to his mouth. His eyes remain trained on you as he glides his tongue over the remnants of your arousal before sucking them clean. Nothing could have prepared you for the sight.

“Sweet,” is all he says, as if he’s describing one of the new desserts sold at the cafe across the street. Your cheeks turn bright red.

Satisfied with the taunt, he reaches for his belt, and suddenly you’re reeled right back in. Your unashamed gaze tracks every movement with hunger as he undoes the buckle, then the button below. When he reaches for the zipper, he averts his eyes. Now it’s his turn to feel shy. The top of his boxers comes into view, followed by a mouth-watering outline of the exact thing you crave.

One hand hovering at the waistband, he settles back over you. A palpable shift in the air has taken place. Gone is the initial display of hunger and desire finally brought to light. In this moment, as he looks down with eyes full of affection, there’s a sense of pure, shared intimacy. Not the exhiliration of stupid decisions or a quick fuck. No. Zayne was not one to hook up with someone on a whim. Nor were you.

“You’re sure about…this?” He asks. The previous displays of confidence are nowhere to be found. You don’t think he can even bring himself to say the word, as if an explicit understanding would chase you away.

“What, having sex with you?” You kiss the tip of his nose with a smile. “I couldn’t be more sure.”

You catch an amused yet curious look on his face before he presses a slow kiss to your lips. Your heart races at the sound of shuffling fabric. Then you feel it. You can’t fight the urge to look.

Zayne holds the entirety of his impressive length in one hand. With ragged breaths, he teasingly drags the red, weeping tip across your folds. At the sight of it in his hold, of the tip circling your clit…You can only hope that he fits. 

“I’ll go slow,” he says quietly. You’re almost unsure if he’s talking to you or himself. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much? If you want to stop at all—“

You try to give him a smile as sincere as possible instead of the giggles that threaten to arise. Nerves are obviously kicking in on his end. Not that you aren’t nervous. God knows you are. But suddenly, he can’t meet your gaze for more than a few seconds, and it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever done.

You quickly cut him off before he can ramble. “I’ll tell you. I promise.”

Zayne nods, presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, and sinks into you.

If your senses weren’t already overwhelmed by him, they were now. The stretch aches at first, his sheer size foreign and unforgiving. Your jaw falls slack at the feeling, and a stuttered gasp leaves your lips. Zayne echoes the sound. Slowly, he pushes further with each roll of his hips, acutely aware of the initial shock. He sweeps away stray hairs plastered to your skin.

“You’re doing good,” he encourages, though he quickly begins to lose his coherence. “So good… You feel so…”

He cuts himself off with a low groan, and his head falls to the crook of your neck. Another careful thrust, then another. Finally, he bottoms out...and his teeth sink into your skin.

It takes everything in you not to cry out his name at the overwhelming sensations. Just moments ago, you wrote off the idea of leaving this room with physical reminders. Now, Zayne’s tongue was gliding over the fresh indents of his teeth to soothe the sting. Today was a day for many firsts.

Resisting the urge to sing your praise is becoming more and more of a punishment. You can only hope that the soft whimpers and incoherent strings of ‘yes’s and ‘keep going’s are enough. Zayne muffles his own voice with the press of his mouth to your skin, desperate and low. Where his throat leans against your chest, the reverberation of ecstasy echoes. What neither of you addresses, however, is the lewd, wet slap of skin on skin and each scraping groan of the desk legs in tandem.

When your fingers tug his hair, his tempo becomes sloppy. Heedless and disorganised, like he’s barely holding on. You’re own high is re-emerging from its previous denial. Nothing seems to register anymore, not beyond the connection of your bodies, not beyond this room, not before this moment. Every sense is reduced to your simple need for him. Sensibility no longer exists, like ink bleeding on damp paper, words blurring beyond recognition. What were the ethics of fucking your doctor? Ecstacy. That’s what.

You squirm in his partial hold, hips aching with the gruelling pace. When your eyes flutter and roll, he hums in content, suddenly slowing down.

His face contorts into something reminiscent of sympathy, brows pinched and eyes pooling with an inescapable intensity. “Right there?” 

Each syllable sounds with a deep roll of his hips. When you whimper out a drawled mmh-hmm, he suddenly picks back up. He’s so close, reaching so deep that his pelvis grinds against your clit. You’re an overstimulated mess of tangled limbs and ragged breaths.

“Zayne—“ You’re legs begin to tremble, inner walls fluttering with that telltale sign. “Fuck—I’m going to—“

When you can’t finish the sentence, he captures your slack lips in a messy kiss. 

“I know.” He trails a hand down to draw slow circles into your clit. “I’ll pull out—“

While it was the most sensible course of action, not an ounce of you wanted that. Spurred by a fraction of sobriety, you look up at him and speak solid yet shaky words.

“You can cum inside me.”

Glazed eyes look back, attention caught entirely. Parted lips attempt to form words that are lost to open-mouthed groans. He shudders. “Fuck. Are—are you sure?”

“You know I’m on birth control.” Hiding a devilish grin, you clench around his length. He sinks further into your embrace with muttered curses. Had you ever heard him say such obscene things before? “Please.”

“How could I say no to you, gorgeous?” 

His words are barely more than a whisper, lost to the scrape of the table and slap of skin. You’re shared sobriety is spent in the short exchange. Your head rolls back, nails digging into a clothed back; his teeth graze against the inches of flesh that spill out of your bra, an indicator of delirium. Everything dissapears behind eyes screwed shut. 

The song of sex is threatening to reach its crescendo, each melodic note vibrating through your entire being. Like a tide pulled by unseen moons, a shared pulse that races beyond the confines of mortal flesh. You hold him close in the moment it engulfs you, and despite Zayne’s intoxicating effect, you are suddenly very sure that this is right. The explosion of pressure in your hips that shakes your legs is right. The perfect alignment of your bodies is right. The stuttered moans as he paints your walls white are right.

For a moment, you two bask in a comfortable silence, arms slung around his shoulder and his head in the crook of your neck. When he lifts himself to hover at eye-level, you can’t help the girlish giggle at the sight of his pretty face and that pretty blush. He smiles back, albeit confused.

“What?” He asks as he absentmindedly fixes your hair.

“You’re cute,” you whisper back. 

“Cute?” He laughs. “Wouldn’t be my first pick of words, but I’ll take it—“

Zayne, who leans in to kiss your forehead, stops just a hairs breadth away when a jarring knock sounds. It cuts through the moment like a distasteful dose of medicine. Both your heads whip towards the door as the handle jiggles. Every function in your body stops. But, for the nth time today, your lucky stars seem to align; the embedded network of ice keeps the door firmly shut. 

The relief isn’t long-lived, though. Underwear God knows where, half of Zayne’s desktop scattered on the floor, hair a mess and skin splotched in shades of purple… You cringe at the disgraceful scene. Zayne sighs, fixes his clothes, and momentarily drops down to fish for your underwear—the first step to regaining modesty. When he slips it over your ankles and up thighs glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, he offers an apologetic look.

“That’s my karma for ignoring the time,” he grumbles.

You slide off the desk and into your underwear, aided by his fingers at the waistband. As he sits them on your waist and pulls down your skirt, you reach up to fix his hair. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, as if it truly was your fault. Well…half of the accountability was yours to claim.

“Don’t apologise.” Stealing a quick kiss, he adds, “Trouble.”

He slips from your grasp before you can retort.

From the view of the door, the criminalising array of pens and paper on the floor is mainly hidden, save for maybe an item or two. But even a single paper was evidence enough. Anyone witness to Zayne’s perfectionism would know as much. But by the time you recline in the chair, he’s already reaching for the thawing door handle. His tall frame blocks the view of the hallway as he pulls the door half open.

He nods. “Yvonne.”

Yvonne. Her presence teeters on the precipice of a blessing and a curse. A blessing, given your growing companionship with the kind nurse from Zayne’s division, yet a curse for precisely the same reason. She had the confidence in your connection to claw something juicy out of you in private, no doubt. Considering how often she brings up the gossip between nurses regarding Zayne and your relationship, this was information right up her alley.

Yvonne shifts her weight to the side to peer in the room—an act of curiosity you read clearly. When your eyes lock, the spark you were picturing stares right back. Interesting, her lively eyes seem to say. After wiggling her fingers in a small hello, she turns back to Zayne with a raised brow.

“Everything okay, Dr Zayne?” she asks plainly. The question is anything but plain. “This door was locked.”

Zayne’s grip on the door turns white knuckled. He clears his throat. “Everything is fine. I must have locked it by accident.”

It takes everything in you not to lose yourself to laughter. Zayne’s quick wit would one day be the death of you, but now his lack of sensibility would be the death of him. Yvonne scoffs at his jarringly poor excuse.

“Accident, huh?” Her amused gaze dances between the two of you, painfully knowing behind the war of words. “I see. Maybe be more…aware next time.”

“I will.”

She hums, posture straightening to indicate seriousness. “Well, I brought those files you requested. Sorry for not bringing them earlier—they slipped under my radar.”

“…Right. Yes. Thank you, Yvonne.”

She purses her lips for a moment and regards him with a scrutinising look. Seemingly satisfied, she says, “That’s all. It’s about time you head home, Dr Zayne. You two have fun now.”

With a wink your way, she disappears down the hallway. Zayne is quick to shut the door. You snicker.

“What’s so funny?”

“You ‘accidentally’ locked the door? Good one.”

“…Shut up.”

His words are accusing and gruff, but there’s no bite to them. He crosses the room in a few strides, taking in your features with a new softness. The two of you simply stare for a moment. Almost subconsciously, his fingers reach forward and skim the curve of your neck, following the path of fresh bruises peaking from your shirt collar. 

“Sorry for those…” he murmurs absentmindedly, lost in thought. “I don’t know why I did that.”

You chuckle. “You don’t?”

He hums. “Heat of the moment. Hickies are childish, but I…I just couldn’t help myself.”

“You may think it’s childish,” you challenge, “but I quite like them.”

A huff resembling something between a sigh and a laugh tumbles from his lips as his fingers graze the curve of your cheek. Delicate and loving, he handles you with a softness you could only read about in tragic odes. You meet his eyes with a look you can only hope shows a sliver of your own overwhelming affection. Although, regardless of the ache between your legs and skin flushed with sex, you can’t shake the disbelief. 

When did the quiet boy you shared stolen sweets with on your grandmother’s porch turn into this accomplished man who dictated your every thought? When was the first time you stole a tentative glance at your childhood crush? On the playground, perhaps. Or maybe outside the store that sold popsicles in the ruthless heat of summer. Those were memories you often basked in. Now, you begin to wonder when he first mirrored your shy gaze. 

“So,” he starts quietly, pulling you from the memories of shared smiles with a very current, very real kiss on the forehead. “About that fake date…”

[bugbeast]

Self promo for my newest card game, Jewel Thief; but you can play it for free! First, though, let's cover the basics...

TL;DR - Its a 4+ player competetive card-matching game with four rule variants; buy it here or look for the orange text in this post to learn how to play it with a regular deck

"What is Jewel Thief?"

It's a card matching game with a villain; one player tries to match jewels in a 36 card grid while their opponent, the titular Jewel Thief, periodically steals cards from the board. You can check out its page on The Game Crafter for more information, but it'll spoil the rest of this post

"What makes it special?"

The game's turn structure would theorettically allow you, perhaps via some kind of infinite cloning machine, to play a round of Jewel Thief til the heat death of the universe. While I wouldnt recommend that, its lack of a player cap (and ease of set-up; seriously, all you do is put cards on a table) makes it a good party game choice.

But that's not all!

There are three extra rule variants that drastically alter the gameplay while keeping card matching and stealing as main mechanics. I believe the cards are versatile enough to allow for many custom games, too

"Okay, but why should I buy a silly game from some bug nerd?"

First off, ouch. Second off, that's the best part; you dont have to buy it to play it! Jewel Thief can be played with a standard 52 card deck. Here's how:

Step 1. Remove the 10s, Jacks, Queens, Kings and Jokers

Step 2. Download the free rules from the shop page

Step 3. Play the game, matching cards based on their values. You'll need to designate a value as the Diamond jewel for game 4

-------

That's it for my little self-promo. If you dont buy the game, I hope you'll at least give it a try and consider supporting my future projects.

I also post art and photography, which you can find under the bugbeast art and bugbeast photos tags. I hope you check them out

Thank you for your time <3

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Edit (Mar. 25, 2024) : Thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged this; if you play the game I encourage you to share your thoughts in the comments and/or reblogs (even if you hated it). Feel free to share any custom games or house rules you come up with, too. I'd love to try them!

Edit (Aug. 10, 2024) : Final edit most likely; gonna blaze this one more time for good luck then maybe start work on a postmortem for the project, maybe give a little backstory for anyone who cares. Life is a little rough right now, but fate willing, I'll be able to work on/post about my future projects, including the future of Jewel Thief itself

[joyswonderland1108]

Jikook went on a (contractually obligated) world tour and left the fandom in a meltdown.

Okay first of all… I already know this post is going to be a mess because I have too much to say, zero organization skills. I might forget things. I might not include pictures or links or videos, but buckle up anyway. Bear with me as I unleash this demon.

🔙 Let’s rewind to pre-military: Our contractual husbands Jikook decided to soft-launch their little pre-enlistment honeymoon—hitting up NYC, Sapporo, and Jeju. Cute, romantic, iconic. And the outcome? Oh nothing… just Are You Sure (™), aka Jikook’s intimate masterpiece, sealed with soul-touching glances and lingering camera pans. Then they enlisted. TOGETHER. Are we surprised? No. Are we gagged? Always.

⌛ Fast forward to post-military: Now of course Jikook had a lil pre-discharge Tokyo getaway but ANYWAYS. Discharge time. Our boys come back looking like they drank from the fountain of youth. They do a little live, they breathe the same air again, and everything’s peaceful. Until.

✈️ Enter the chaos: Jungkook is spotted at Incheon airport. "Alone", allegedly going to the US. All good. Everyone’s like “Omg music project??” But then boom—plot twist. A Thai ARMY shares that her friend, fresh off Hobi’s concert, going back home, saw BOTH JK and Jimin at the airport. JK was walking ahead, Jimin behind. Translation? They left together. But guess what? The first airport report came from a JK solo, because OF COURSE she conveniently forgot to mention the part where Jimin was there too. Color me SHOCKED.

So yeah, now we know they both flew to NYC. Together. Again.

🕵🏻‍♀️ First sighting: A Jimin stan named Emily (who also saw them in 2023—God clearly has favorites) shares that she saw Jikook again in 2025, so now people are calling her a liar. Suddenly she’s under FBI interrogation for… not knowing every step of their enlistment timeline?? Because apparently you need to submit an entire academic paper and prove you’ve memorized BTS’ enlistment schedule before you’re allowed to tweet a damn celebrity sighting. Like girl she saw them, she shared it, she wasn’t in their faces. The TL: “Why is she pretending not to know them if she’s a Jimin stan???” Me: I don’t care if she pretends JK is a barista named Jeff. I don’t care if she called JK “some dude” and pretended not to know him. She wasn’t in their personal space. She didn’t call him names. It’s giving: solo behavior but harmless. Next.

🍜 Second sighting: Someone named “Emma” sees them in a restaurant and mentions they were wearing masks. Cue the stupidity: “Why would they wear masks while eating?” “How could she see Jimin smiling with a mask on?” Babe. People keep masks on until their food arrives. And smiles reach the eyes. Try covering your mouth and smiling. Go ahead Barbara, I’ll wait. The math is not mathing because y’all skipped common sense class.

🌪 Then silence. No news. Just heavy TL speculation: Are they filming “Are You Sure?” season 2? A GCF? An OST? A honeymoon vlog?

Suddenly someone drops the bomb

🦢They were seen in Zurich, Switzerland (or Zermatt?). Feeding ducks. Or swans. Or both. Maybe petting unicorns too who knows. Then the moral panic kicks in: “Take it with a grain of salt!!” NO. Enough with the salt. Girl, if y’all keep sprinkling salt on everything, don’t complain when the fandom ends up with high blood pressure. Too much sodium will kill you. You’re not chefs. Sit down.

👼🏻But the best part? The fandom saints returned from their caves:

“Don’t share this!”

“Respect their privacy!”

“Protect their privacy!” “In a public park?” YEAH!!

Respect their privacy from a 50-meter distance in a public European city? As if sightings don’t happen to celebrities all over the world? As if people don’t tweet “OMG I just saw Timothée Chalamet at Whole Foods” every two days on main? Apparently celebrities outside, walking on the same streets you walk on, breathing the same air, is now a privacy breach. Okay.

But also? God forbid someone posts a pic or video to confirm these sightings because y’all will be sprinting to your report pages like Olympic athletes. But if the video never comes, you’ll scream “they’re lying!” You can’t have it both ways.

📲 THEN. Jimin drops a video on Instagram dancing to Killin’ It Girl, filmed by none other than the contractually obligated cameraman Jungkook. It’s adorable. He’s giggling. Jimin’s serving. The internet breaks. We cry. We scream. We sob into our pillows. And THEN reposts it to his story with “This is what I mean by killin’ it boy…” I screamed. I ascended. I reincarnated.

Of course, the fandom Sherlock Holmes committee identifies the hotel they stayed at. AND AGAIN, the fake moralists started hyperventilating: “This is creepy!! How dare you post the hotel?? That’s their privacy!” Girl. Be serious. Jimin posted that after they had left. You think BTS debuted yesterday? You think Jimin doesn’t know how this works? They’ve been dealing with this for a decade. And riddle me this: Where was that energy when JK posted his birthday flirtation video and the hotel was ID’d in ten minutes while they were still actively staying there?? Y’all had the hotel, the floor plan, the room view, and the carpet texture identified within 20 minutes? Crickets. That’s what I thought.

🛬Hours later, Jikook are spotted in Da Nang airport, Vietnam. which confirmed they had already left Switzerland. And only THEN, pictures and videos from their time in Zurich started dropping.

Cue new moral panic:

“Wait until they leave before sharing.” …but also:

“Don’t share at all. Ever. Even when they’ve left.”

So what is it then? What are the rules? Because you sure weren’t this pressed in 2023 when they were spotted going to/leaving from Antoya and dancing on a boat with their souls intertwined and y’all were posting 4K footage? That wasn’t privacy? Suddenly “privacy” only matters when you decide it?

Also: no one was filming them inside their hotel room. (Well… JK was. But you get the point.)

Now let’s talk about the xenophobic meltdown. The moment those Da Nang airport pics dropped, the TL turned on Vietnamese fans like they were the villains in a dystopian novel. Some pictures and videos dropped while they were still there. Yes, taken from a respectful distance. No one up in their face. But ideally? Yes, wait until they’ve left.

But the TL’s reaction? UNHINGED.

People dragging Vietnamese ARMYs through the mud. Calling them “stalkers”? Excuse me??? Entire populations got slandered when the actual leaker turned out to be a cultist. But instead of correcting the misinformation and calling them out, people kept slandering Vietnamese fans. Instead of holding one individual accountable, y’all dragged an entire fandom base and disrespected a whole country. I saw Vietnamese ARMY hurt, insulted, and heartbroken over this, and rightfully so. Shame on everyone who joined that bandwagon.

🏠Now they’re back in South Korea, spotted again at Incheon. And let me tell you, they were looking fresh, healthy, adorable, sweet, couple-coded and annoyingly perfect. JK making sure Jimin got his shoes back?? I’m fine. I’m not crying. It’s allergies. . Speculations now say they’re back for Jin’s concert. Will they travel again soon? Maybe. Will I be ready with popcorn when they do? Yes.

🖼️ Oh and before I forget — Jimin posted a little drawing with “Jaykay” on the caption.

Now that’s just comedy gold.

Immediately the TL: “Is this their shared IG now?? Is this lovestagram??”

And now?

JJks are mad that JK is with Jimin.

PJMs are mad that Jimin is with JK.

Cultists are mad because JK dared to leave his “husband” behind and travel with the “homewrecker” Jimin (contractually 🤓☝️).

Like how dare he eat dinner with his contract husband? How dare he travel across the globe under a fanservice contract and film his boo dancing in a luxury hotel (contractually)?

Cultists: “JK is doing all this with Jimin contractually.”

Me: Sweetie, if this is a fanservice contract I want my money back. WHERE is the hand-holding? WHERE is the kissing? WHERE are the back hugs? WHERE are the late night cuddles? WHERE's the steamy drama? I am not being serviced properly! I want a better deal.

Also, sidenote: why is it always Jungkook’s fault when Tk falls apart in your minds? Not the fantasy relationship falling apart under the weight of reality, no. It’s always: “JK betrayed Taehyung!” Okay sure.

🌟 And finally, to the fandom saints clutching your pearls and whining about sightings being posted ”— First of all: A sighting is not outing. Second: If you think it’s private, then keep your speculation in your drafts. Don’t tweet “Jikook are together 😳” or “Are they filming a GCF?” if you’re gonna turn around and yell at people who are doing exactly what you’re doing—except with honesty and excitement. Because guess what? That’s also engaging with “private” info.

Jikook were seen. In public. And people got excited. That’s it. That’s the post. Stop making everything a moral panic. Stop treating fans like criminals for noticing things. And PLEASE, for the love of sanity, stop saying “don’t share” AFTER you’ve already read, liked, and bookmarked the damn post.

You can’t pretend to be holy after you already ate the forbidden fruit, baby.

You’re not fooling anyone.

Anygays, Jikook are married.

[ryuu242]

[Ryōshū stuff: again]

Question. Find the similarity between the moment when your mother goes to the parents’ meeting and, on her way home, tells you, “I need to talk to you,” leaving you gnawed by fear like a dog on a bone for those 30 minutes while she’s still out.

And. The scene of a sinner realizing it’s next on the platter—while it’s still lying on that very dish.

Whatever your answer, you can keep it to yourself or drop a comment below. But for now, welcome to the show: “I Play the Analysis Game: The Lore Pieces of Ryōshū Released in Canto 8, Part 1.”

(If any of the theories here are wrong, the worst would just me being wrong… and you still get something fun to read.)

[for this part i have to read on both JP and EN TL of the game to make sure they aren't too different, or else i will more fond on JP TL]

「蜘蛛の巣は恋しいか？まあ恋しいわけあらへんよな。俺っちも行くたびに気ぃ悪くなるし。」 “You miss the Spider’s Nest? Nah, course not. I'd sick by just visiting that damn place.” Spider’s Nest / Kumo no Su / 蜘蛛の巣 — For some reason, the English version chose to render this as “Spider’s House”, which gives off orphanage vibes. Like we’re about to meet a gaggle of mini Ryōshū living inside wwwww (insert spider dance BGM)

Anyway, we can temporarily refer to the Spider’s Nest as Ryōshū’s “home.” A not-so-safe one. In fact, it’s so messed up that even a Capo from the Thumb admits the place makes him feel sick.

“Heebie-jeebies” is a term used to describe a mix of anxiety, fear, unease, or nausea.

and 悪くなる (wakunaru) means "to feel worse / to become unwell," which is why I went with "feel sick"

「あとでまた顔でも見せやぁ。あんときみたいに、もういっぺん刀の握り方ちゃんと教えたるさかい。」 “Swing by later, yeah? I’ll teach you again how to properly hold a sword—just like the old days.”

「いんやぁ、そんでも・・・あんなかじゃ俺っちが一番格好よく斬る方法を教えてやったやろ？」 “Wait, didn’t I already show you the slickest way to slash someone back then?”

We’ll set aside how effective his “training” was (and whether he’s the one who got her into smoking). But out of everyone present, Lei Heng is the only one genuinely happy to see Ryōshū again—so happy, in fact, that he went easy on someone just because she showed up.

Now, remember: in a syndicate like the Thumb, where hierarchy and protocol are law, talking to a superior without permission is a massive deal. Just a few examples from Library of Ruina:

"When a subordinate dares to speak without a superior’s permission—cut off his lower jaw.” – Dennis

Katriel asked Dennis to cut out her tongue for upsetting Angela.

A Kurokumo clan head lost an arm (mercifully, thanks to sottocapo Kalo) just for apologizing on behalf of an unruly subordinate and asking a question out of turn.

So when Lei Heng only took one arm from Nangong Xianhe's young master, that was him being “merciful.” And that was after said young master’s servant got his hand shot off and tongue removed for stepping out of line just because "seein' a friendly face put me in a good mood."

Even looking at a superior could bring consequences, as Faust gently reminded Ryōshū. Yet Ryōshū made eye contact with Lei Heng—and Lei Heng jokingly called her out for not even saying hi:

「お〜い！目ぇ合ったやろ、挨拶でもしろや！」 “Oi! Our eyes met, didn’t they? Least you could do is say hello!”

This interaction leaves us with two main theories:

Lei Heng wasn’t a capo yet when he trained Ryōshū—or maybe he hadn’t joined the Thumb at that time. Now, their ranks have reversed.

He was already a Capo, but something happened—possibly Ryōshū joining Limbus Company—that significantly lowered her usual standard (or her power).

One of those must be true. Because otherwise, we’d be witnessing a full-on verbal beatdown from our temperamental artist, not some playful prodding from a capo to a muzzled mutt. This isn’t a true “conversation” anyway—it’s completely one-sided, thanks to the Thumb's law: don’t speak unless spoken to.

Then again, maybe Ryōshū just doesn’t want to talk to Lei Heng, or the power imbalance has always existed between them. But hey—you didn’t click on this post just for lukewarm takes, did you?

Another detail: Faust reminds Ryōshū of a promise she made before joining the company, which remind us that moment in Canto III when Vergilius reminded Don Quixote of their deal on the fateful day of her recruitment. It’s subtle, but may imply Faust personally recruited Ryōshū, just like she did with Yi Sang.

Moving on, this next line hints at something foreboding: one day, Ryōshū may be taken back.

「肩の力抜きぃや。お前さんを連れに来たわけやないし、あんときみたいに、なんか教えに来たわけでもないさかい。」 “Relax your shoulders. I didn’t come here to drag you back. And I’m not here to teach you a lesson like last time either.”

(“Teach a lesson” — in this context — also implies beating someone up. Classic Asian parenting energy.)

Most people hate getting smacked around, but in Ryōshū’s case—someone who practically breakdances along the boundary of sadomasochism—it’s a bit more... layered. If Lei Heng thinks that’s what sets her on edge, then it must have been that bad.

His surprise at not knowing Ryōshū had disappeared might suggest:

Ryōshū ran away. The Spider’s Nest didn’t like that and may have sent people after her.

Lei Heng, who only visits the Nest occasionally, isn’t really interested in dragging her back—and doesn’t feel like wasting his breath on her either.

His tone implies Ryōshū is fully aware she’s on borrowed time—that someone might come collect her—and she clearly doesn’t like that. Nor does she like Lei Heng, considering the entire “conversation” is him monologuing while her only line is yelling at Faust to shut up.

(Spoiler: Faust didn’t shut up. And frankly? We should be grateful she didn’t.)

「オメェのガキ、 まだあの家におるやろ。ちゃうか?」 "That brat of yours is still in that house, right? Or not?"

The word "ガキ" or "brat" in English is usually used for a boy or a rowdy, misbehaving child. That’s why I’m bringing this word to the dissection table—because it typically implies two things:

The child in question might be a boy.

The child might be really bratty, just like their parent.

It immediately feels wrong if we think of this “gaki” as Yoshihide’s pitiful daughter. Because clearly the tone and nuance of this word do not match the way the work builds the image of that girl. Now, Yoshihide’s daughter clearly isn’t described that way, but her pet monkey? That does suit the word perfectly.

"Each time he came to the Lord’s palace, he wore a clove-dyed hunting garment and a floppy eboshi on his head, but he had a vulgar appearance and his lips, too red for his age, had an unsettling bestial quality. I do not know for sure the cause of this red colour. Some said he had the habit of licking his paintbrush. Others, more slanderous, compared his appearance and gait to those of a monkey and nicknamed him Saruhide"

それが大殿様の御邸へ参ります時には、よく丁字染の狩衣に揉烏帽子をかけて居りましたが、人がらは至つて卑しい方で、何故か年よりらしくもなく、唇の目立つて赤いのが、その上に又気味の悪い、如何にも獣めいた心もちを起させたものでございます。中にはあれは画筆を舐めるので紅がつくのだなどゝ申した人も居りましたが、尤もそれより口の悪い誰彼は良秀の立居振舞が猿のやうだとか申しまして、猿秀と云ふ諢名までつけた事がございました。

--------------------------------------------

"The Prince, the Lord’s young son, who was at the time in the age of mischievousness, named the monkey Yoshihide. The monkey’s gestures were amusing indeed, and everyone in the palace laughed at the animal. If this mockery had been all, things would not have been that bad for the monkey, but each time it climbed up the pine tree in the garden or soiled the mats in the Prince’s bedroom, everyone chased him, shouting, ‘Yoshihide, Yoshihide,’ to tease the poor beast."

すると何かの折に、丹波の国から人馴れた猿を一匹、献上したものがございまして、それに丁度戯盛　りの若殿様が、良秀云ふ名を御つけになりました。唯でさへその猿の容子が可笑しい所へ、かやうな名がついたのでございますから、御邸中誰一人笑はないものはございません。それも笑ふばかりならよろしうございますが、面白半分に皆のものが、やれ御庭の松に上つたの、やれ曹司の畳をよごしたのと、その度毎に、良秀々々と呼び立てゝは、兎に角いぢめたがるのでございます。 — Hell Screen, Chapter 2

Fusion dances between characters aren’t new now—we’ve already had Linton Edgar, who combines the features of blond, sickly Linton Heathcliff. So, the idea of Yoshihide’s daughter and her monkey being thrown into the same melting pot to create a single character isn’t that far-fetched. The personification of an animal, or the animalization of a human, is a familiar motif in Japanese literature – especially when associated with the image of hell, punishment, or karma.

Of course, it could also just be Lei Heng’s way of talking. But again, what’s the point of reading an analysis if we’re going to ignore details that might be exploitable?

「う~ん、ちゃうんか? もうおらんのか? なんかあったんかいな。 俺っちはそっちの事情はよく分からんくてな。けど、何かあったんは確かっぽいな ?」 "Hmm? I got it wrong? They’re not there anymore? Guess something happened, huh. I don’t really know what’s going on over there. But seems like something definitely went down, yeah?"

So, something did happen at the Spider’s Nest—some event that caused that “brat” of Ryōshū’s to no longer be there. It’s also very likely that this very event led to Ryōshū leaving the Spider’s Nest herself.

If Ryōshū had lost a child (or some other beloved creature that was considered a child), and that animal was a monkey, then Lei Heng's use of the word "gaki" would be both an insult and a dig at the pain.

Or perhaps the "gaki" was no longer human, but had transformed into something else – an embodiment of guilt, karma, or obsession, which Ryōshū could not shake off the past.

Lei Heng’s tone and word choice make it sound like he’s bullying a child. And honestly? It doesn’t seem like it’s the first time. Their teacher-student relationship might’ve always been this one-sided.

This is also the moment he hits Ryōshū’s nerve. She nearly drew her sword if Faust hadn’t chimed in to spare our eardrums with another 5–30 Ultra Pro Max versions of Ryōshū’s wrath.

The only thing Ryōshū seems to feel when facing Lei Heng is a mix of rage and panic (焦りと怒り). This is why have to check other TL as well and English versions—the English oddly decided to go with “anxious.”

The English translation of “anxious” is a bit soft and doesn’t capture the danger of Ryōshū losing control of her emotions. Ryōshū is like a ticking time bomb here.

Saude might’ve sent Sinclair to keep both her and Heathcliff in check, but in this case, it’s Faust who had to intervene—twice—because if Sinclair, by some miracle, tried to stop her, he’d probably end up as a seven-piece chicken nugget.

"Ryōshū-san, now is not yet the time."

Why Faust? Because she seems to be the one who’s made a direct pact with Ryōshū, and also the only one who knows everything about the sinners’ pasts. That’s why she knows exactly what to do.

Let’s be real—when someone’s got deep beef with another person over past events, and then some random third party who knows nothing tries to step in, it’s only going to backfire. Or worse—it’ll throw fuel on the fire.

「次はお前さんたちのオヤジの話でもしようやないか、ヨシヒデ!」 "Next time, let’s chat about your daddies, shall we, Yoshihide?"

Another namedrop just like in Canto 7 for both Sancho and Baoyu, but it still doesn’t take the edge off the shock from the previous line.

お前さんたちのオヤジ — "your daddies."

Yes, you heard that right — plural. Not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine she'd have more than one dad. Is this… LGBT Company?/jk

But there’s something even more noteworthy here. A lot of people interpret Ryōshū as someone in a parental role — in fact, most people do, even non-fans. But have you ever stopped to think: What if Ryōshū is also someone’s child?

— Intervallo IV: Murder on the WARP Express

— Lobotomy Red Eyes E.G.O Uptie Story

— Canto VIII episode 11

From those quotes, we can tell that Ryōshū despises — or at least deeply distrusts — controlling parents. You can picture her life being smothered by overbearing fathers forcing their ideals onto her, burying her under expectations, demanding she follow the future they envisioned.

Judging by that line from Canto VIII Episode 11, it’s possible that Ryōshū was raised to reach some high position — whether that was to become “the greatest painter under heaven” or even... a lord as i mentioned before from the word "領主" (Ryōshu) — Lord.

Speaking of that, we should talk about her name, which is a whole messy process on its own.

If you’ve followed me for long time, you know that the inspiration for “Hell Screen” (Jigokuhen) came from 絵仏師良秀 (Ebusshi Ryōshū), a character from the Uji Shūi Monogatari.

And according to official sources, Ryōshū here is based on Jigokuhen. But let’s be honest — she’s not just from Jigokuhen, right? All three characters — Ebusshi Ryōshū, Yoshihide, and Ryōshū — share the same kanji for their name: 良秀 (Ryōshū / Yoshihide).

Originally, in Uji Shūi Monogatari, 良秀 was read as Ryōshū. Later, Akutagawa came along and read it as Yoshihide. And now, with the release of this Canto, it loops back again — Ryōshū becomes Yoshihide once more.

Anyway, I’m not trying to play ship-theory here, but if we’re talking about who’s the worse father, Ebusshi Ryōshū is way worse than Yoshihide.

I mean, look at it this way — one dad abandons his wife and child in a burning building and watches it like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, totally unmoved. The other dad suffers seeing his daughter burn, only to suddenly light up with joy a few seconds later like she hadn’t just turned into a charcoal brisket.

One’s bad. The other’s horrifically bad. So between “a bad dad” and “a worse dad,” they’re both still bad dads.

With all that in mind, we can tentatively guess that Ryōshū’s “daddies” — the ones Lei Heng referred to — include none other than Ebusshi Ryōshū, since at this point, the only person who out-awfuls Yoshihide is him.

And based on Lei Heng’s promise to “chat about them next time,” I fear we’ll be seeing more of these dads again. Which means we’ll be back with Lore Dissection: Part 2.

[laterreurofficial]

Hi! Found your au a few mins ago and I'm trying to understand what it's about, but it's taking a long time to reach the older posts.

So you think you could possibly sum it up for me so I can understand better? Thank you in advance, and I hope you're having a wonderful day/night =)

(TL;DR, a collection of relevant tags can be found here. Go nuts.) Hey! We really appreciate the enthusiasm, but unfortunately the best way to go through the AU is to check out the comics yourself. We have our pinned post for our chronological comics, and the #supplemental comics tag for the non-chronological comics that help flesh out some characterization. Any current summary would, unfortunately, be extremely close to canon as we have not deviated far from it yet. We're very early on in the story, after all! (So early, in fact, that many of our followers keep thinking we have more than we do.) Two main superheroes, with the power of creation and destruction respectively, face off against a supervillain with the power to transmit abilities to those with negative emotions. Team expands, hijinks ensue.

Every unique aspect of the AU is currently purely technical and not something the summary itself could address. For info about how akumatization works, visit #il te voit. For info on how prolonged use of a miraculous affects holders in this continuity, visit #mlb miraculous exposure syndrome. For info on how the sentimonster cult has been expanded to include more characters and a greater focus on the world around them, visit #lt galattaca girls. The latest pages of this SERIALIZED NARRATIVE can be accessed through sillysiluriforme's ko-fi page.

[bonsiii-art]

Please blab about the dynamic changes between Anon and Longan, we're all sat and listening OwO

ALRIGHTY ( •̀ ω •́ ) [ TL;DR bc omg this is long: Anon and Longan's relationship power imbalance goes crazy but they're both kinda into it. Warlord route is where things get rocky and it ends in a messy breakup, where Anon crumbles Longan. Emperor route is where everything is fine and they have a happy wedding :) ]

So, with Longan's new costume, it outlines three possible timelines that all branch off the main one, all starting from the outcome of the final confrontation between Longan and Gingerbrave and co. Establishing Longan and Anon's relationship before the branch-off point, while it's romantic, there's a huge power imbalance. Longan sees Anon as something that's theirs, body and soul. And this results in them having lots of control over Anon's activities especially where they go.

And Anon surprisingly does not mind it... as much at least. Their reasoning why is up to anyone since I like to keep my Anons as blank as possible. In this instance, set up is inevitable <:D. Back to this, I believe that while they are okay in their role that Longan's given them, they hope that the old dragon becomes more sentimental and trusting of them. So that Anon won't be just a cookie to them, they'll be their cookie, their one and only.

During the final battle, Anon would be in Longan Shaman's care, flying around with them in their wyvern form to stay out of danger. So, that's how they are currently and whatever happens in the story 2 months from now will help me decide what goes on from there for the main timeline! >:P ( @snipersiniora since this does answer your question. uwo quick answer is both!)

Now the two routes, starting with the Warlord of Eternal Rest path! As said, this is where everything went super wrong for everyone. The battle raged on until all the dragons were on their last legs. Longan would've hoped that the three dragons' struggle would make them falter but their resolve proved stronger than that. So, it was either them or Longan... and Longan won, killing all three. Lychee had also fallen during this due to having a change of heart and protecting Rambutan from falling debris, getting mortally wounded in the process. The destruction from the war was so great, it would scar the world for years to come. And due to Longan being pushed to their limits, the elimination of cookiekind was not perfect, as in a few survivors still remained, hidden from the dragon orbs. After the initial chaos, Longan attempts to preserve what's left of the islands and their palace. This takes years and their relationship with Anon suffers for it as the ivory dragon spends less and less time with them. Anon still loves them so they try their best to comfort Longan. However, once they saw Anon looking slightly older due to age, the reality of their cookie's mortality hits them and they panic, turning Anon into stone. (Btw, this is going off the idea that Longan can reverse the effects of turning one into stone via their power.) Finding that the world was in ruins no matter what they do, they shifted focus to finding a way to make Anon into a dragon to lengthen their lifespan. Now that they're truly alone, Longan realizes how much they took their companionship for granted and becomes unhealthily obsessed. Insert a small scenario during this period where a surviving cookie somehow sneaks into the palace to find a way to defeat Longan. That cookie finds an altar where Anon's statue is kept and in getting caught by the dragon, ends up accidentally knocking it over. The statue breaking in places sends Longan into a rage, quickly killing the intruder. The dragon's able to fix the statue with the life powder from the fallen cookie and other materials so it's cool for now, I just like angst :) Whether it's through magic or medicine, Longan finds a way to turn Anon into a dragon! So Anon wakes up, extremely sore (from being broken as a statue) but now a proper dragon. They're in a lot of confusion and unease, with their new form and the fact that Longan is much more doting than they remember. Since the dragon is less restrictive of where they go now, Anon travels around Earthbread. Things happen and they end up befriending cookie survivors. This friendship plants the seed of doubt in Anon, seeing the cookies don't deserve to live in these conditions. This all culminates in Anon creating a plan to get rid of Longan. The plan ends up being successful. All in exchange for the heartbreak Anon endures for the rest of their life, reliving the moments before the end and remembering how Longan did not fight back...

And now the Emperor of Eternal Paradise path!! This is where Longan got eeeeverything they wanted. In the final battle, they were able to get Pitaya, Ananas, and Lotus to submit defeat (or at least get them to a point where they can no longer fight on.) Once they quelled the rebellion, they set out all of their dragon orbs to take out the rest of cookiekind. After getting everything settled, Longan promises to formally be with Anon once they find a method of turning them into a dragon. And with endless resources on hand now, this takes almost no time at all (and no statue era for Anon 😔). In a new paradise, sprawling with nature and dragons, Longan and Anon vow their love and loyalty to each other. (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) To the other dragons, they'll never shake that feeling of something missing in their lives now. But for Longan, It's nothing short of perfect.

Sorry I didn't write much here; It's a bad end where everyone's completely boned. Except Longan. :D If you read all the way to the end, I'm sorry and thank youuu qwq

[tismchasm]

Thinking about the implications of Rouxls being the rules card and what that means for his mental state and the way he acts after being “abandoned” by the lightners. Spoiler free for chapters 2 3 and 4, just a long post.

In any card game, the other cards interact with each other, play off each other, and are used by the player. But the Rules Card? That doesn’t really interact with other cards. If anything, the player interacts with the card, then uses that information to interact with the regular cards. It’s always one degree of separation away from the other cards.

I would imagine this heavily influences how Rouxls acts. He’s desperate and “grateful” for any attention, (fully committing once he thinks he gets someone he can hang onto). Makes sense- people usually memorize the rules and don’t check them again after the first time. So he’d be attention starved right off the bat. His existence as the rules is so dependent on other beings: not only does he need a player to do anything, as it is his main purpose, he needs a set to be attached to.

In other words, a complete deck of cards on its own is still pretty valuable as long as you know some games to play, or you can hand it off to a friend.

The rules card has to come with a set of cards. Useless on its own (which would explain why he keep chasing after bosses. He needs a set, some kind of game to even be considered moderately useful), and it needs the full set or the rules don’t work. And if he isn’t considering as powerful in the set, nobody will obey his rules.

I honestly think he was probably a lot more relaxed before the knight put the other kings in jail. Several other sets to attend to, he had options. But when there’s just one, (King Spade), his desperation makes sense. If he falls out of favor with the last king, he’s worthless. There would be nobody to apply the rules to, because he’d be out of a position of power.

TL;DR: Is Rouxls power hungry? Yes but he has a reason because of the real-world object he’s formed from. (Also more touch starved and attention starved Rouxls content please)

[cheshitora]

I haven't seen this on your Kazutora tag (yes, I went through it) but what's your take on Kazutora as a boyfriend? I feel like he's a little nervous about it at first but I know he'd be a good one

IVE BEEN PUSHING THIS OFF BUT I SWEAR I SAW YOUR ASK 😭 ive been busy these past few days but here i am. you're absolutely right though. i haven't made a post like this and that surprises me bcuz i love my baby boy sm (not you checking out my tag lol. its mostly just reblogs tbh). and since i'm a bit stumped in my fic rn, i'll go ahead and do this

KAZUTORA AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

where do i even begin to start? (this will be the good tl btw)

╰┈➤ ❝ i will say this - one thing about kazutora that i think is pretty unanimous is his possessiveness over you. not in an overbearing way, but he has to cling onto you almost. given the circumstances in which he grew up in, understand that kazutora is looking for someone to love him. he craves love because he lacks it from his own family. so if he falls, he falls hard, especially if you're good to him. ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ so when he falls, he's going to shower you with affection in any way he can (i don't care what ken wakui says, he'll be such a good boyfriend). it is going to take some time for him to adjust having you as a partner. he's going to have his doubts about your love for him. he's going to wonder if you're serious about him. the last thing he needs/wants is to be manipulated by someone he's pouring his heart out to.❞

╰┈➤ ❝ once the fear and doubts settle over, that's when you'll notice a change in the way he acts (not in a bad way). you start to see the goofy, almost wreckless side of him. you become his main source of happiness. he spends A LOT of time at your place. eventually, he begins leaving some of his clothes there (or maybe you start stealing his hoodies. don't take his printed shirts). ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ one of my favorite things about kazutora being your boyfriend is that he's kind of a loser. let's face it - he is. man has no game so he really wonders how he pulled someone like you. but in the sweetest way possible, he's a loser virgin. he's not a smooth talker nor is he a player in anyway. he wears printed shirts - that's the most loser thing about him. but it doesn't matter because you love your loser boyfriend. don't ever worry about him cheating (he has no hoes and the thought alone makes him gag) ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ he's very handsy. he LOVES to kiss you, anywhere. it also does not take much for him to get turned on, even if the gesture is so small (he's the type to get hard if a waitress calls him "honey". lol im just kidding. or am i?) i don't think he's super prone to pda, but his possessive ass will probably (definitely) kiss you or pull you into his chest if someone looks at you too long. he loves to hold your hand though and if you try to slip your hand away, he'll pull it right back and keep a tight grip on you. ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ going back to his possessive nature, it almost borderlines obsession. no, he doesn't like it if some other person stares at you for too long. yes, you can wear whatever you want because he can fight ( just don't let him fight because he'll try to kill them). if you've been together for a decent amount of time, expect his possessiveness to increase while you're together. ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ he loves to take you out on his bike. he's very careful with you at first, making sure you're comfortable and going at a reasonable speed. but once you've been dating for a while, he has no sense of caution. crazy kids. and he takes you everywhere you wanna go on his bike. the back of his bike is your third favorite seat (the first is his face. second is his lap). ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ he's very attentive to your needs and likes. he pays attention to everything even when you think he's not. can he be clueless sometimes? absolutely. but when you're really passionate about something, he makes a clear mental note in his head so he won't forget and if he does, he almost crashes out. ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ once you start living together, he takes even better care of you (he'd rather you not work though so you don't stress out but you always fight him that you need to pull your half too). but coming home to him after a long day is best sight to see. he likes to give you massage and he'll try to cook for you too. he'll even run you a bath (he just loves you so much). ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ he'll never pressure you into getting married or having kids (partially because his own parents' marriage left him traumatized and wondering if marriage was worth it). but you're also still working out your futures and careers. you'll get married when the time is right, when you're both ready. if it happens, it happens. i will say this too - he loves it if you refer to him as your husband (somewhere in TR, kazutora just got very hard). marriage may not be on the table yet bur oh, just the thought of claiming you as his wife has him whimpering for you. ❞

a note from che : oof. i'm not sure if this was what you wanted or expected (i havent sleep well in three days im abt to pass out) but i hope you like these hcs anyway. i love tora with my whole life. my husband, my man. he's my everything so i'll probably make a pt.2 to this bcuz i have a lot more to say abt him.

[soupiestzilla]

Link to my second account where i write about my modern shellvision au hehe

anywho

Ill complete the rest of the designs later on, for now i just wanna get this au out for that poll

@shellevisionfan yo

@cupcakewebkinz double yo

Go Garden of Gods Au go . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Basically, Its an au where the mains are gods and goddesses, and every other toon, must choose to live under one of them, based on their ideals

And based on what Main they choose, they get specific blessings and curses, and a symbol somewhere on their bodies , representing their god 🥳

And another thing before we get into the actual mains.

Pebble.

Pebble isnt a god. Pebble is how toons find their ways to the gods.

This guy. Isnt he cute

At a certain point in a toons life, (usually at a certain age) , pebble shows up, and leads you off on your merry ol way to the main you wanna choose

Goodest boy

Now- the mains. I'll include their designs and symbols in later, trust (also, Every god has a representative—The first ever toons to choose them, now yeehaw)

THE GODS (AND WHAT THEY DO TO YOU)

1. VEE – Goddess of Logic and precision

Angy gal. Flashy gal also. Lightning motifs cus cmon. Machine. Electricity.

Toons who love structure, and logic (or are scared of change or lack of routine) choose vee

Blessing: Super clarity, you got quick thinking now, faster, sharper, untouchable in moments of logic or debate.

Curse: emotional detachment - you're logic guy now, not feelings guy

Rep: Brightney (best contestant cmon)

2. SHELLY – Goddess of Remnants and rememberance

Ocean therapist whos seen too much. Ocean bcs water motif bcs ammonite. Also water bcs sad. Sad gal

Two cases of toons who chose shelly. Either the artistic type that want to preserve the past poetically or something. Or toons who lost something or someone dear to them, who are grieving, choose good ol shelly

Blessing: Deep understanding of the past, you speak with wisdom beyond your years, you remember everything mhm

Curse: You’ll feel loss like a wave crash. Youll cry to the bee movie probably

Rep: Tisha (emotionally stable maid for sad shell)

3. SPROUT – God of Empathy and emotion

Official au happy guy. Floral motifs ofc

Warm, deeply loving, kind hearted and just toons fulla whimsy choose this guy

Blessing: Empathy, emotional intuition, the ability to grow silly little flowers at will because sprout likes em , and heal emotional wounds (u got emotional intelligence lesgo)

Curse: Emotions are loud. And you feel them all. At once. Constantly. Whoops

Rep: Cosmo (emotional baker boy, good for our boy sprout)

4. DANDY – God of life and death

Flower guy. Dramatic flower guy.

Theatre kids. This guy is dramatic i say once again. Thats it. Thats who choose him, other than ppl haunted by the concept of death. Yeah

Blessing: You walk through endings and beginnings without fear. You see ghosts. You understand the truth of life cycles

Curse: You get NO rest. Death loves you. Life loves you too

Rep: Dandy himself ( yeah )( showoff )

5. ASTRO – God of Time and dreams

Official au scary guy. Hasn't blinked ever since he gained consciousness probably. Has seen every timeline and dislikes them all

Only toons who have nothing left to lose, and knowledge left to chase, choose astro (rodger loves this guy)

Blessing: Precognition, you can see possible futures in your dreams, and now have impeccable time sense

Curse: Endless déjà vu. And well. If it the future aint nice then you get to live knowing that too

Rep: No one. Astro Hates his job

TL;DR- U choose god. You get to be touched by divine nonsense

-More on representatives in this post

WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH SHELLY & VEE?

Im SO GLAD YOU ASKED! (no one asked)(This is soupiestzillas blog tho)(Man up its always shellvision at the end of the day)

They’re two goddesses. They’re in love. They are TRYING to confess it

BUT. MORTALS. KEEP. INTERRUPTING.

Because i think its funny

See you can summon your gods at will by doing some hocus pocus ofcourse

Vee gets summoned mid-confession and zaps away. Shelly sobs as she's yanked into another country. It happens every single time

We (zilla) are ALL rooting for these two to just say “I love you” without getting interrupted by Finn because he lost Barnaby

Thats the shellvision Verdict today fellas

OK COOL BUT WHO’S THIS FOR?

All of the toons picked gods. Or didn’t. Or regretted it (and i will probably make another post of which ones they chose, it'll be good. Shirmpo chooses astro lol)

And now? They deal with divine nonsense 24/7

TL;DR:

Mains are now gods

You get one

You get a power

You get a curse

There’s a rock dog

Two goddesses can’t confess because finn keeps praying

You’ll love it here

🌙🌹⚡🌊🌿

[smellslikera1n]

so: cass is getting a batgirl solo series during all in, which is supposed to be DC’s new jumping off point starting in october. (unclear if it’s really a reboot or not?) but the series isn’t called cassandra cain: batgirl or anything like that. it’s just batgirl. they’re (hopefully) setting up cass as THE batgirl for whatever new era they have planned. so what about babs? well - either they keep trying to puppet the lifeless corpse of babsgirl even though cass is explicitly the main batgirl now OR (fingers crossed) they let her be oracle full time. i mean, that’s what makes sense, right? with cass as batgirl and the birds of prey with more than enough fighting members and not enough oracle…

tl;dr we are (hopefully) so back

[palajae]

switch up!

PAIRING... fan!sunghoon x idol!reader | GENRE... idol! au, fluff, meet cute, flirting? lol, sunghoon legendary rizz | WC... 0.5k | “that’s the first time anyone’s ever told me that.” 

you wave as your fan leaves, grinning widely as you prepare for the next person. you adjust the tiara on your head, fidgeting with it due to its trivial size—probably because it was originally a decorative toy intended for a five year old. 

“hello!” you charmingly greet the next fan. he introduces himself as sunghoon, and you begin signing his album. 

to: sunghoon-! <3

your smile grows as he stumbles over his words, obviously nervous to be in such close proximity to you. 

you keep your eyes and attention focused on him as you keep writing. it wasn’t hard when you had done it hundreds of times (not to mention that he was strikingly handsome.)

sunghoon looks down bashfully, “i’ve been a really big fan of yours since your debut,” he pauses, and you nod encouragingly at him to continue. 

he swears your eyes sparkle with all the stars in the galaxy. 

sunghoon takes a deep breath. he recited this too many times—imagined your breathtaking face in front of him too many times to mess up now. 

while listening and writing diligently, you feel the tiara on your head begin to slip. you really wanted to finish getting the next words down on the page, but you feel it slowly slide. 

“i just wanted to say that i will always support you. i hope you stay happy and healthy-“

however, before you can, you feel a warm hand shoot out to steady the tiara. your hand touches his immediately after, also in an attempt to adjust the crown.  

sunghoon’s concerned eyes bore into you as he mutters something. 

“s-sorry?”

sunghoon doesn’t say anything. instead, he whispers a soft, forgive me but- 

and a hand of his softly brushes the stray hairs out of your face. he gently fixes your hair that got slightly tousled when the tiara fell. 

it almost felt like he was caressing you, with his warm gaze so focused on you and only you. 

your heart skips a beat. you blink once, twice. 

“i’m really sorry, that was bothering me. i just like tidying and organizing things, you know, i appreciate clean and pure things- like you.”

he immediately stops. 

eyes widening, your can’t stop the flush that comes to your face. 

“w-wait, no, that came out-“

“that’s… the first time anyone’s ever told me that.” 

you giggle, and sunghoon melts at the sound. 

as his time with you comes to an end by the signal of your manager, he can’t help but feel fulfilled. he made you smile. he was the one that made you laugh so blissfully. 

later he’ll go home and scream silently about it, jump and prance around his room, probably. then he’ll go look back at the pictures he took of you and pray someone caught the moment on video. 

as sunghoon walks off, he catches a glimpse of the message you wrote into his album. he can’t help but let the fanboy in him out a little, a squeak escaping his mouth. 

i also like clean things. they refresh me, like you &lt;;3 

i’ll hope to see you next time? 

xoxo, y/n

a/n ▸ idc i love fan!sunghoon

MAIN TAGLIST ▸ @precioussoulofmine @kynrki @heesterical @jungwonize @rerequire @nvertheless @duolingofanaccount @hoeshii @love-4-keum @luvhyun3 @dimplewonie @yjjungwon @who-tf-soddhi @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @asteria-wood @noajakah236482 @enhacatalog @june-pop @ohsjy @ashtxrie

@lvyvsrk1

@kflixnet

send an ask/message to be added to the main tl!

[feedruggie]

you: okay, get this. amphitrite... and poseidon.

me: say no more <3333333 <3333 <33333

love that you use neal's version while your amphitrite is the way she is because he's a GORGEOUS man and yet next to her he's like some handsome guy who happens to be a king. and she's this. ethereal blue sea nymph with a CORAL crown and glowing eyes and both sweet and mischievous and just. perfect. mwah. I love herrrrrr. they r great together. im gonna give her all the cool sea glass i find on the beach.

Oomf. I'm so glad you understand and I'm so glad you love them as much as I do🥺🥺🥺. This message has triggered my brainworms so now I will explain their entire dynamic 🦐

"Like how the shoreline recedes back into the ocean, he too, will return to her side."

TL;DR: Kageyama love is war (Greek mythology version)/Eternal Will they, won't they!!!!! (They're married) (They have children together)

Long answer 🐟

I wanted to write a version of them where they are in an unforgiving spiral. It started out as unrequited love but soon turned into genuine friendship and appreciation for the other. Especially after having kids and spending centuries with him, Amphitrite does fall for Poseidon. HOWEVER!!!!!; she can't be obvious about it in fear that he'll stop putting effort into the things he does for her, forever keeping him on his toes and ensuring that he doesn't see her as just a "conquest".

She also takes on mercy as her main motif to combat Poseidon's ruthlessness unless someone really pisses her off 🐬🐬

I also wrote her to not take on suitors because idk man shes just not like that in my brain 🧠 she enjoys the company of mortals on the land above but sees them more as friends/entertainment as I've established her to be quite lonely and not get out much

On the other hand, Poseidon still has his infidelities but I wrote Amphitrite as someone who doesn't care at all about it (since it was originally unrequited love).

Poseidon will always flock back to her at the end of the day no matter how far he strays as his love for her is genuine. Bro is like obsessed. And also too prideful to acknowledge the reality that she couldn't love him back.

There are sweet moments, angst moments etc. They care if the other got injured or sick and are quite protective of their family..also Amphitrite is chill with all her step kids and their mothers because why not

At the end of the day, it's the two of them struggling to realise that the love they have for the other is unconditional as they try to stay by their partner's side in their own complicated way!

OKAY YAP SESSION OVER ☝️☝️☝️

[asleepygremlin]

Pokémon scarlet and violet and its theme of isolation and overcoming that feeling

So I don’t know if people have pointed this out or not but I noticed with the main characters of Pokemon sv, they suffer from some type of isolation. This will only focus on the main characters which are Arven, Nemona, Penny, Kieran, and Carmine. This will discuss events of scarlet and violet and its dlc so spoilers will be in this post. I apologize ahead of time for my poor wording as I’m not good at putting my thoughts into words. (I also apologize if this theme was obvious and I just sound like an idiot for noticing it now)

Tl;dr the main characters suffer from some kind of isolation whether it’s visible or hidden

The most obvious one to notice in my opinion is Arven, first I’d argue he suffers from physical isolation as growing up, sometimes the one parent he has isn’t even home most of the time and at the very least had mabosstif. He has no parents in his life and the one that partially is, is now dead. Next from the way Arven latches onto the player later on especially when seeing how he acts in mochi mayhem and how he seems kind of jealous of the players new found friendship with Kieran. This to me also shows he doesn’t have any friends either (I believe he even says mabosstif is his only friend which is kinda sad). So in short Arven has no support figures besides mabosstif, but he doesn’t truly have any human connections. That is until he makes friends with the player, Nemona, and penny

Penny is the second one that I noticed, like Arven, she also suffers from physical isolation by locking herself in her room. She’s suffered from bullying which would obviously lead to isolation and has probably caused her to close herself off from everything, but at least she has her friends at team star right? Although she does, when she first was friends with them, her identity was anonymous. She knows and connects with team star but they will never truly know and connect with her until later events which finally allow her to bridge the gap.

For the next one, I’m going to skip Nemona for last and put the kitakami siblings into this one section (also this one relies the most on speculation since we don’t know exactly what their experiences were). Unlike Arven and Penny, both of them don’t suffer from physical isolation but mentally. Carmine and Kieran have both grew up in a remote village for most of their life until attending blueberry academy. The isolation they must have felt must have been staggering. Although from the sounds of it they eventually were able to find solid ground via the league club. Now with Carmine and her prickly attitude, that might have caused her to push others away and keep to herself at times (I admit I’m speculating, I wish the dlc was longer DX). As for Kiki, I admit it’s a lot more easier for me to speculate because I relate to him more I feel you get more insight into his character compared to Carmine sorry Carmine. He is a lot more introverted and shy compared to his sister and I bet his love for the ogre led him to being a bit of a social outcast and moving to blueberry academy most likely didn’t help with him, even just feeling like he was, an outcast, plus his already bad self worth. When he meets the player, he is still very shy but seems ecstatic to finally having a friend to talk to… until you have to lie to him. I could go on an essays worth on how Kieran’s self worth and paranoia caused him to quickly think he’s being betrayed and see himself as unworthy of the player’s friendship but that’s another story and this paragraph is already getting long enough already. By losing his friendship with the player, he further isolated himself from others and it’s even worse in the indigo disk. He now isolates himself by being a ruthless champion with everyone afraid to confront him. Now he’s not alone from being a shy outcast but instead from being champion and hiding his already fragile heart with thorns. Ignore the poeticism of that last line lmao and yep this section with Kieran is of course the longest. however while both were able to find some solace in the league club, I’d argue they were able to truly open with the help of the player especially Kieran who learned to accept himself as he is.

Now finally Nemona and one I find the most fascinating because she isn’t as visibly isolated as the others and admittedly is the reason I wanted to write this. First I’d like to point out something I think people forget often, just because people seem to have a great social life and friends doesn’t mean they don’t feel lonely. Nemona is champion rank, student council president, and is overall a star student. However because she’s at the top, some people are intimidated by her and in one area convo she mentioned how someone refused to battle her because she’s a champion and battle wiz that would wreck him. Then in another area convo, she laments over people thinking that battling is natural to her and ignoring the genuine hard work that she puts into her skills. And in her final convo in her dorm room, for this I’ll just copy and paste the quote from bulbapedia and let it speak for itself.

"People would tell me to my face that I'd only managed it 'cause I have some innate gift, or 'cause I was raised differently, or whatever. And suddenly I started to feel like there was this invisible wall between me and everyone else."

(Also I was also going to add more info from the scarlet and violet novel “after the rain with you” but it hasn’t been officially translated and the only translation I found was via google translate so I decided to take it with a grain of salt and not add any info despite it having the most insight on Nemona’s character imo, if you want to take a look here’s the link)

Despite being the at the top being up there can get pretty lonely… until she met the player and had someone standing right beside her.

Anyways if you’ve read this far then thanks. This was longer than I thought it would be as I mainly typed this in one go only taking a break to do more research for Nemona’s section so sorry again if it seemed kinda rambling at times.

Edit to add: rereading this I realized that Kieran and carmine in fact do suffer from physical isolation as they live in a remote region that resembles a traditional Japanese village which could add some cultural isolation. Another type of isolation I didn’t think about was class isolation(is that even a term?) coming from Nemona as she comes from a wealthy family which could also adds to the gap between her peers. I guess I didn’t think about it like that since in comparison Arven and penny’s situation is what would usually come to mind when you think of the word isolation, my bad.