#I cannot be the only one think they played intense mind game on this one microphone; can I?

[hyohaehyuk]

Video: Sam Reid & Jacob Anderson on ANNE RICE'S INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE's epic love story | TV Insider and photo via hsywa216

They surely had a lot of fun with that microphone 😉

[piscesmerc26]

Shining a light on “unfavorable” placements. pt.1

Within astrology, I notice a lot of people addressing only the dark sides of dark placements. These placements being considered as unfavorable and or “unfortunate”. However, tougher aspects/placements are generally considered to be gifts, though they are challenges, I see them as direct callings on what allows the individual to reach success. I am not a professional but these are patterns/observations I make from personal experience and life all around me. Now buckle up, this’ll be a long post, I’ll be discussing only planetary/object placements, next part will be aspects however, less descriptive.

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12H & 8H Suns and Moons

12H Suns are considered to be unfavorable however, this placement is actually a gift, though the sun is “shadowed” in this area; individuals with 12H are actually here on a mission, though it is bleak to see, individuals with this placement have power and it’s not even locked potential, it’s just power that they cannot see themselves but naturally exude. 12H suns are directly connected to the subconscious, they have this “one foot in one foot out” approach to reality, they are immensely creative and are gifted with compassion at early ages, though they don’t realize it, they tend to be ahead of the game in the early stages of life

12H Moons; these individuals are given heavy emotions, probably even a transformative connection with their mother, their emotions is where their spiritual knowledge lies, they have strong intuition and are the true empaths of astrology. Those with this placement are driven by their feelings, they know the ins and outs and have all the secrets, this is more hidden/internal knowledge, similar to 12H suns, they can gain a lot of knowledge later in life

Now 8H Suns/Moons are similar to one another. Individuals with these placements have true power in them, and they are gifted with depth and intensity that people are actually afraid of. These are the type of people to get told something toxic about themselves and they hit you with a “I know.” or they will outwardly tell you themselves (If other points in the chart agree). They are masters when it comes to shadow work and they are constantly changing–if you don’t see them for at least a month and they come back, their mindset could have taken a complete 180, for better or for worse. The 8H expands everything it touches, it creates an intense amount of depth to the matter. These individuals also tend to have a lot of people that will outwardly try to put them down, whether it is directly or indirectly, they also tend to have karma on their side. Their Image(Sun) and their emotions(moon)are heavily protected and praying on these individuals' downfall is like asking for a spiritual ass whooping.

Mercury in Pisces & Sagittarius:

Having Mercury in Pisces is an unfavorable placement, these individuals could be seen as forgetful, in a constant cycle of daze, and emotionally detached. However, the thoughts that boil within the brain of this placement is insane. I mean, we have a civil rights activist and a famous genius with this placement, if that doesn’t tell you anything idk what to tell you. These individuals are gifted with a lot of creativity, their thoughts actually run a mile a minute, they are typically well versed in various hobbies, these are the type of people if you ask what they do they might not give you one answer and hang around them long enough, you will see them having a new hobby every week. The ADHD masters, they’ll tell you they never played an instrument and hop on and immediately sound like an intermediate musician. These people have seen and heard it all, they are intelligent and their words hold weight. They say one thing and it’ll last you a lifetime, their advice sits in the back of people’s minds, their words are food for the soul, everything they say is more calculated and meaningful than even they think themselves. Truly underrated.

Next my lovely Sagittarian Mercuries. These individuals could be seen as rude, blunt, obnoxious, and or lacking emotional depth but just like their jupiterian sister pisces; they are much wiser than they put on. These individuals are witty, they are intelligent, they are humorous, their words hold power as well, they tell the truth and they build people up, they’re down to earth and self-assured, they have a way of making people listen, they are captivating in their words and can be lyrically gifted, natural poets in their own way.

Cadent Dominant Placements:

Being Cadent Dominant in my learnings is considered to have most of your placements within the 3H, 6H, 9H, and 12H. In addition, in case you don’t know, cadent houses are the houses further away from the angular houses and after the succedent houses, they tend to be where the most work has to happen are seen as challenging placements to have. Now, these individuals are smart as fuck, for lack of a better term. They are gifted with an inner drive, a drive that not many people will see or understand but themselves, these individuals have the power of moving masses. Though their efforts are indirect, they tend to hit people when it’s least expected–driven, misunderstood and powerful. 3H placements are well versed in communication, 6Hers know how to get shit done, 9Hers and 12Hers are mass movers and the backbone influencers. Having these placements indicate someone important, possibly even beyond a metaphysical sense. They don’t stop until they win and their perseverance is remarkable just as their lives are.

Saturn/Uranus/Pluto Ruled or Dominance (etc.)

Talk about “fuck around and find out”, these indivudals are like the older or even the middle children in astrology, many people with significant Pluto/Saturn/Uranus in their chart, this includes being ruled(MC & ASC), having it as a dominant planet, placed within the 1H, or aspecting Sun/Moon/Asc–tend to be protected like crazy. They tend to go through a lot of inner struggle and tend to constantly have something to work on, it’s like once they’re done with one lesson they’re given another. It’s like being stuck with chores all day and you’re finally done with your last one and once you’re about to step outside or go to your room to lay down, their parents call them and ask them to do something else and the cycle goes on lol. These individuals are resilient and are hardworking, they’re unique and nothing generally gets past them, you fuck with them, you’re fucking with their team as well, and best believe the universe is ready to dish back what you sent in tenfold; this even applies to the individual, but they rarely fuck up cause they know how it can get everytime. Gifted with power, control and drive, these individuals are goal-oriented, they don’t let anything get in their way and if there is even a slight indication of a distraction about to occur, they shut it down real quick. I like this.

Saturn in Angular Houses (1H, 4H, 7H, 10H) and HM: 5H.

Saturn in these houses are hard hitting. Cracking my knuckles because I’m about to go IN. I will state the

To start, Saturn in the 1H, these individuals are constantly met with lessons that have to do with their identity, they will be put in situations where they are physically limited and their identity is limited/restricted, these people will obsess over themselves and hold themselves to a high standard. However, even through this, these individuals not only directly have karma on their side, but they are ultimately gifted with a deep knowing of self, they build their identity and it is a literal weapon to anyone who brings murky intentions into their world, simply because of how resilient they are and how much they worked through restriction in the past.

For Saturn in the 4H, they may have had issues that involved restriction with their family, this is heavy because they sat through that for their entire lives, up to 18 and possibly even further than that. These individuals weren’t able to make a house a home or generally find a proper home. In their older years, they work with this energy to make a place for themselves and others, they have the power of compassion and comfort.

For Saturn in the 7H & 5H, these individuals are known to have tough luck in love, relationships are rare and if they have many relationships, they are often restrictive and unsatisfactory. They may struggle additionally with their sense of worth and bear a false outlook on love. However, in some moments in their younger years and in their older years, they possess deep knowledge on love, they seem to take it seriously and their love is rich, they are gifted with deep compassion and the ability to be long term with other people. They have unforgettable love, and they are typically unforgettable people as a whole.

Lastly for Saturn 10H, these people could feel restricted career wise, they may feel that they’re always being attacked in their reputation and are held from their true potential, however, they actually overextend themselves more than what they were meant, they can influence and hold a lot of power.

These can also be applied to Pluto as well, with more of a transformative foundation, however, Saturn and Pluto tend to be both extremely transformative planets.

Chiron in Succedent Houses (2H, 5H, 8H, 11H)

These placements tend to fit in a similar category, they are often scarred with themes that are prioritized in life; Money, Fun, Transformation and Community. They tend to see others experience joy and balance within these themes however, they find that this is the source of their trauma and unhealthy codependency that they desire to break away from. Ultimately, these individuals are gifted with strength and influence, they are creative, influential and open-minded when conflicts are properly addressed.

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In this post, I went into depth on placements that have more power than what is spoken about them; however, the dark tends to hold more truth about the light than the light does of itself. The placements listed are powerful and resilient, gifted with all sorts of things, and if you believe that something in your chart is insignificant, understand that astrology is a tool to access potential, it can hint at traits but it is not a concrete definition because there are other calculations that exist and have existed even beyond Traditional Western astrology. Next part will be on aspects, thank you for reading.

- J🧡

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hello queen. You are my favourite writer on tumblr. I'm always so excited when I see that you updated something. Could I please request Carlos daughter being a huge Barcelona football fan instead of Real Madrid. And when the drivers all together watch a game against those two and Real wins, Carlos daughter running to Charles cause her father made her team lose

Thank you so much 💓

Real vs Barca

The paddock buzzed with its usual pre-race energy. Engineers ran last-minute checks, journalists hovered with their microphones at the ready, and fans crowded the stands, hoping for a glimpse of their favorite drivers. But amid all the racing chaos, Carlos had only one thing on his mind today: El Clásico.

It wasn’t just any match—it was Real Madrid vs. Barcelona. A day of rivalry, passion, and, most importantly, a chance for him to rub in Madrid’s superiority once and for all.

But there was one major problem.

His own daughter, Yn, was a Barcelona fan.

Carlos still didn’t understand how it happened. He had done everything right. When Yn was born, he had immediately wrapped her in a Real Madrid onesie, played Madrid anthems in the nursery, and even taught her to clap whenever he said “Hala Madrid.” For a while, it worked. She would happily wear Madrid’s white jersey, cheering along without question.

Then she turned four.

Suddenly, she had opinions. Suddenly, she loved FC Barcelona.

It had started with her favorite color—blue. Then it was the cool Barcelona crest, then the way her little heart decided Gavi was her favorite player. And now, today, in the motorhome filled with drivers who came to watch the game, she stood proudly in a tiny Barcelona jersey with Gavi’s name printed on the back.

Carlos groaned in despair.

“Mi amor, por favor, why are you doing this to me?” he sighed dramatically, kneeling to her level.

Yn giggled, her brown eyes sparkling mischievously. “Barca is the best, Papá!”

“No, mija, Madrid is the best,” Carlos corrected, fixing her jersey like he could erase the colors from existence. “We are Madridistas in this house.”

Yn shook her head firmly. “I am Barca.”

“Dios mío,” Carlos muttered, standing up as Max, Lando, Pierre, and Charles walked into the room, holding bowls of snacks and drinks.

“Are we ready for the drama?” Lando smirked, plopping onto the couch.

“The game or the father-daughter war?” Pierre teased, nodding toward Carlos, who had his arms crossed, glaring at the tiny Barcelona fan.

“The war,” Max answered, throwing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Because if Barca wins, Carlos might actually cry.”

Carlos groaned. “She’s four! She’s supposed to listen to me.”

“She’s four,” Charles corrected, leaning against the table with a smug grin. “She does what she wants.”

Yn grinned up at her uncle Charlie and reached her little arms out. “Up!”

Carlos watched in horror as his own daughter abandoned him and climbed into Charles’ arms, snuggling against him.

“Oh, come on!” Carlos threw his hands in the air. “She’s my daughter!”

“She’s also my niece,” Charles teased, poking Yn’s side and making her giggle. “And clearly, she has taste.”

“She does not have taste!” Carlos objected. “She’s four, she doesn’t even know what taste is!”

Yn gasped dramatically. “I do know! And Barca is better.”

Max whistled lowly. “Oof, Carlos, I think she’s got you there.”

Carlos covered his face with his hands. “I cannot believe this is happening.”

As the game started, the room filled with anticipation. Carlos sat on the couch, Yn nestled beside Charles, her little legs swinging off the edge. Every time Barcelona touched the ball, she cheered loudly, clapping her hands.

Carlos groaned. His own daughter was against him.

“She’s happy,” Charles said with a chuckle, rubbing Yn’s back.

“I am not,” Carlos deadpanned.

The game was intense. Real Madrid took the lead, and Carlos cheered loudly, pumping his fists in the air. Yn pouted, crossing her arms. Then Barcelona equalized, and she jumped up, screaming excitedly, throwing her little arms around Charles.

Carlos watched in betrayal.

When Real Madrid scored again, Carlos lifted his arms victoriously.

“¡Vamos! That’s what I’m talking about!” He grinned at Yn. “See, mi amor? Madrid is better.”

Yn stuck out her tongue at him. “Not true!”

The final minutes were nerve-wracking, but when the referee blew the whistle, the score read 2-1 to Real Madrid.

Carlos jumped up, celebrating like he had won a Grand Prix.

Yn, however, looked absolutely devastated. Her little face fell, her lip wobbling, eyes glassy with tears.

“Mi niña, don’t be sad,” Carlos said quickly, kneeling in front of her. “It’s just a game, okay? You’ll win next time.”

Yn sniffled. Then, her little eyebrows furrowed, and she glared at Carlos.

“This is your fault.”

Carlos blinked. “What?”

Yn stomped her tiny foot. “You were too happy! That’s why Barca lost!”

The entire room erupted into laughter.

“No, no, no,” Carlos quickly shook his head, trying to grab her hands, but Yn turned and ran straight into Charles’ arms.

Carlos was left, kneeling on the floor, watching as his daughter buried her little face into Charles’ chest while he rubbed her back comfortingly.

“Carlos,” Lando wheezed through laughter.

Pierre wiped a tear from his eye. “Man, you shouldn't have cheered so much for Real. Look at poor Yn.”

“Not my fault!” Carlos objected, still in shock. “Why am I the bad guy?”

Yn peeked up from Charles’ shoulder and glared at her Papá. “Because you made Barca lose.”

Carlos groaned dramatically. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Max clapped him on the back. “At least Madrid won?”

Carlos sighed, defeated, watching his daughter cling to Charles. He would need a new strategy. Maybe next season, he could convince her to switch teams. Until then… he had lost this battle.

But not the war.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves!I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[peachiejeongin]

Making Out with Stray Kids

Synopsis: Heated make out sessions with Stray Kids.

Pairing: ot8!SKZ x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive

Notice: Hello, my loves! Enjoy these short make out blurbs I wrote a while back as I continue to work on Part 4 of The Phantoms :)

 ~ Bang Chan Soft kisses. It started as one small kiss, a simple peck on his lips to be precise; it was his reward, in a sense, for producing arduously through the night. Now, Chan cannot seem to get enough of you, having you pulled onto his lap and leaning back into you. Neither of you minded this sudden change of the itinerary; Chan needed a break, after all. His lips taste like strawberry gummies and soda pop, a quick snack from earlier in the night. They move perfectly in sync with yours, slow at first, but full of love nevertheless. His arms circle around your waist, careful not to pull you in too fast. You are never able to comprehend how gentle he always is with you, asking every ten minutes if you are okay or if you need anything; a soft ‘yes’ is the only word you’re seemingly able to form in between kisses and whines. No matter how many songs Chan has produced, the soft sounds you make under his touch are his favorite melodies. His head falls back onto the rest of his chair as your swollen lips make their way down to the side of his neck, bruising the sensitive skin lightly and eliciting a sincere moan. Chan does not have the humility to admit it, but he is a total sucker for your lips on him. “You’re so pretty, Hon. I love you so much.” ~ Lee Know Slightly rough, but extremely passionate. You are not exactly sure how you ended up in your current position, yet here you were, pressed up against the wall and kissing Minho dizzy. It does not plague your mind in the slightest; after all, kissing Minho was much more thrilling than figuring out how you ended up kissing him. The kisses are intense, resulting in light huffing from both parties. Minho has one hand on your waist and the other in your hair, pulling at the strands lightly. He moves one leg in between yours, while simultaneously lifting your chin up to gain access to your neck. His lips trail down to your exposed jaw, littering kisses down your neck and stopping at your collarbones. He bites his lip when you attempt to gain the upper hand, tugging his head backwards by his hair and kissing areas relative to where he had just gently marked you. He lowly warns you not to leave marks on him; he, according to an earlier conversation, has a photo shoot tomorrow morning. Yet, his eyes are telling a different story, silently daring you to leave bruises wherever you please. Precisely when you think you have won control over him, he moves the hand previously gripping your waist up to the base of your neck. “What do you think you’re doing, Darling?” ~ Changbin Silly kisses. You are in the back seat of Changbin’s car. His face is slightly blushed, only revealed by the subtle neon glow of the city creeping into the vehicle. His lips are warm, and there is a certain softness to them that only he possesses. Despite this softness, neither of you ever take making out seriously; that is exactly the case in this scenario. Changbin teasingly squeezes your side, resulting in giggles from the both of you. After this brief moment of fun, you’re back to eagerly exploring one another. A bit of play fighting is incorporated as you tussle in attempt to pin the other one down first. Changbin puts on a bratty pout, huffing playfully once you beat him to it. This whiny demeanor did not last long; the sweet scent of your perfume began to cloud Changbin’s senses as all he could focus on was the feeling of your lips gently kissing on his collarbones. Blood abandoned his face, rushing to other, more sensitive parts of his body. He swallowed hard, bunching the hem of your t-shirt in his fist as he so desperately tried to silence himself. His teasing joy is over; it is his turn to succumb to your fun. ”I can play this game all night, Dear.” ~ Hyunjin Lustful kisses. You are on Hyunjin’s lap. A soft, yet sensual playlist lowly blares in the background as Hyunjin’s hands guide your movements against him. His lips are plush and full, tasting of cotton candy from his lip balm. His tongue lightly battles with yours for dominance, but neither of you care enough to actually win; instead, you ravish in exploring each other’s mouths. He moves up to lightly nibble on your ear, his hot breath fanning over it as he whispers the dirtiest thoughts possible to elicit a reaction from you, before smirking as if he said nothing. His hands move from your waist slowly down to your ass, teasingly massaging it. He smiles trickily at every sweet sound coming from your mouth, pretending not to hear your cries of need. His hands make their way up to tug your shirt down slightly, giving him access to your chest. Hyunjin is one to value the moment; therefore, he gets you as needy as he possibly can before even considering taking action. ”Have patience, Love. Our night has just begun.”

~ Han Messy, eager kisses. Han was not one to spend weeks, much less days at a time without talking to you. He always managed to carve a second out of his schedule to at least shoot an ‘I love you’ your way. Yet, you haven’t seen Han in nearly a month, much less spoken to him. He did not respond to your texts or calls, and FaceTiming was not even in the question at this point. Despite your admiration of the attention he payed to every comeback, you missed his gentle caress. It felt like nearly half a century before Han finally reached out. ‘Hi, Honey! I’m finally done with promotions! Can’t wait to see you :)’. The minute he stepped foot in your home, you had jumped into his arms before he could even get a ‘hello’ out. Desperation clouded your judgment as you began to kiss him dizzy. The kisses were slightly rushed, but no less loving than before. He tasted like citrus fruit, most likely due to his chewing gum. You can tell Han’s been quite worked up as well; he is touchier than normal, running his soft hands roaming over and exploring every curve and indent of your body. Breathy ‘I missed yous’ were exchanged in between kisses. The need to get impossibly closer was almost overbearing, even with your bodies and lips practically smushed against one another’s. Even though you haven’t seen each other in weeks, the teasing is still rampant. ”Do we need to move this to the bedroom, Babe?”

~ Felix Sugary kisses. Your back is pressed firmly against the kitchen counter; Felix’s hands are pressed to your cheeks with an equally gentle force as he kisses you. His lips are delightfully sweet, similarly to the brownies baking in the oven nearby. He savors the moment as if you are his favorite sweet treat, not wanting to let go of the delectable flavor just yet. He smiles into every kiss, astounded by how beautiful you look under his soft gaze. It is slow and lovely, his hands gently thumbing over your cheeks from time to time. He is gentle with you, and you with him, placing your hands tenderly on his chest. You do your best not to lose track of time with Felix; you do not want to overstep, plus, the brownies are still baking. It is hard not to feel lightheaded, however, when he litters soft kisses along your jaw and the sides of your neck. The brownies are definitely not the only thing warming up in the kitchen. “My pretty baby.”

~ Seungmin Slow, lazy kisses. You are laid atop Seungmin’s rumpled fluffy bedding; his bedroom is messy, but you do not mind. Your leg is hooked over his waist as he rubs gentle patterns on your bare skin, kissing you gently. You’re supposed to be studying science notes, not each other. Yet, pencils, paper, and textbooks are pushed to the side, and long out of your minds; kissing was much more exciting than studying biological concepts. As such, you found yourself here, your limbs tangled up with each others and your lips softly moving in sync. He lets you set the pace, allowing you to go as gently as you like. Every touch from Seungmin is so sensual and caring. He takes his time with you, kissing and caressing you as if you both have all the time in the world. Your hand finds its way to his tousled hair, which matches your messy ponytail. He mutters breathy ‘I love yous’ in between every kiss, breaking occasionally to nip at you playfully and eliciting soft chuckles from you. Seungmin takes every opportunity as such to traverse more and more, exploring what you both like. “I cherish moments like these with you.”

~ Jeongin Playful kisses. It is one’o’clock in the morning. You ventured to the Stray Kids residence earlier in the night for a sleepover with Jeongin. Now, you are situated under a huge, lofi blanket fort, exchanging flirty banter with one another. It starts with feather-light pecks on each others’ faces. Soon, it turns into the both of you wrapped up in each others arms, kissing each other dazedly. The feeling is still a new one for the both of you; you are not too huge on intimate affection and the relationship is still fairly new. Jeongin is not exactly sure where to place his hands because of this, so he perches them high on your back. The kisses are a bit stiff at first; however, you both ease into them as time goes on. He is quiet, but his soft actions speak louder than the silence. Jeongin incorporates a bit of amusement into the kissing, lightly tickling your sides to relieve both of your nerves. Jeongin decides to experiment slightly, trailing soft pecks down your neck and jaw. He is careful and slightly hesitant with the kisses. With every new movement, he asks if you liked it or if you were okay. As aforementioned, it is still new to both of you. Every new action is exciting, and incorporating a bit of reassurance and fun never hurt anyone. “I hope you’re my first and last. I love you.”

[pmpmyread]

Content Warnings: 18+/MDNI, suggestive themes Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!Reader Summary: "It’s just way too tight, Kento. I really don’t think you’ll fit.” You deliberately punctuate your statement with a lilt of your voice, which implies far more than your words convey, a shift that does not go unnoticed by Nanami. It’s what finally earns you the view you’re fishing for. Word count: 3.4k

It’s a bright, frigid winter afternoon, the kind that sees the sun casting a dazzling light off the patches of the morning’s snowfall with near-blinding intensity. Your breath fogs slightly as you bring your hands to your mouth, pretending to warm up the fingers that conceal the chuckle you simply cannot contain anymore.

You’re sitting in your car, parked just outside Nanami’s apartment building, watching in quiet amusement as the sorcerer emerges through the automatic door and approaches you. His eyes are narrowed in a sharp, assessing gaze as he glances first at the front and then at the rear of your car, undoubtedly taking stock of the cramped space and the less-than-ideal angle you’d managed to maneuver into. When his gaze briefly locks with yours, it is a small shake of his head that acknowledges your sheepish smile before he crosses in front of the car ahead of you to reach your side.

Oh, how you love to play the game.

It’s a game that owes its inception to a spark ignited within you one evening, several months prior. Your second official date with Nanami Kento was a memorable one; a wonderful outing together comprising delicious food and delightful open conversation, which allowed you to discover an unfiltered side to the otherwise reserved colleague you’d grown so fond of. You’d learned so much about him in the space of a mere few hours.

After which you'd also learned something about yourself.

“Damn, they really boxed us in like this…” You’d said as Nanami opened the passenger door to his car for you.

You’d just wrapped dinner at a quaint and charming restaurant whose only drawback was the inconvenience of only having street parking available on what was a rather narrow street. It now appeared that since your arrival, two vehicles had parked so closely, both behind and in front of Nanami’s, leaving it with hardly any room to exit.

“That is rather bothersome,” Nanami said before gently closing your door and squeezing his way over to the driver’s side.

He took a moment after pushing the ignition, and you sensed he was making a mental calculation in his mind as he thought through this conundrum. You reached into your handbag, taking the opportunity to quickly reapply a thin layer of your tinted lip balm, which you damn near bit off when Nanami abruptly draped his arm over the back of your seat as he looked over his shoulder, assuming a new position that saw him leaning both backward and towards you. The combination of his sudden nearness, the faint woody scent of his cologne, and his warm breath on your neck was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” He murmured, more to himself, his confident words a low rumble that tickled your ear and sent a warmth spreading through you.

When you finally dared take a sidelong glance at Nanami, you were gifted with a breathtaking sight. You took notice of the way the setting sunlight illuminated his strong jawline, of how it enhanced the sharp features of his face, and of the subtle radiance emanating from his profile.

You watched his eyebrows furrow in focus, his eyes narrow in calculation, averting your gaze just as he faced forward again, shifting your focus to where his fingers gripped the wheel as he turned it with the same practiced precision he carried when out on the field, exorcising curses.

The sleeves of his blue dress shirt were rolled back, revealing strong forearms that flexed as he brought his right arm from the steering wheel to the gear stick. In just a handful of dexterous maneuvers, he found the right angle and effortlessly managed to glide out.

Just like that.

Heat sluiced through the air, through you, and suddenly it was warm, far too warm, even for an early summer evening. The low buzz of excitement that had hummed just below your surface all evening had now reached its fever pitch. The air in the car was charged with a quiet intensity. Even today you wonder what you must have looked like in the moment, what kind of expression you had on your face as your eyes remained fixed on Nanami as if he was the first person to ever reverse out of a damn parking spot, what he might have seen in your eyes when he finally glanced your way and caught your lingering eyes, prompting him to ask, in a tone tinged with earnest curiosity:

“Is something wrong?”

“No, uh… You didn’t even use your backup camera.” It’s the desperate substitute for a coherent reply formulated by your slightly panicked mind.

“I didn’t, no. I find that leaning on the traditional way works best in a tricky situation like that. In fact, I usually don’t use the camera at all.” He paused a bit before playfully adding, “Is this a deal-breaker for you?”

“Well yes, Nanami, I perceive you so differently now…” You buried your genuine sigh of relief beneath one of mock concession. “But since I really like you, I guess I can learn to live with your lifestyle.”

“Thank you for accepting my cavalier ways.” Nanami’s lips curved into one of his warm smiles that you’ve grown to live for, distracting you, only for a brief moment, from the fact that you’d almost gotten caught flagrantly ogling him.

I have got to be careful with this, you’d thought to yourself at the time.

And for a while, you did; you discreetly savored in the rare opportunities you were offered, and keenly watched Nanami engage in the skillful displays that were his reverse maneuvers.

But now, it’s several months later, and time and familiarity have long since dulled the edge of caution.

Now, you’ve shed some of your inhibitions, and you allow yourself to be a bit bolder, more brazen.

Now, you don’t always want to wait for opportunities, so sometimes you manufacture them.

The distinctive clicking sound of your door latch snaps you out of your reverie as Nanami opens it, and the frigid winter air finds your face again, bringing you back to the current moment.

One quick look at him, at the tousled blonde locks freely cascading over the reading glasses he didn’t bother removing, at the black sweatshirt peeking through his unzipped puffer jacket, at the comfortable gray sweatpants emblematic of his peaceful weekend détentes confirms what you’d suspected a few minutes ago, as you texted your SOS regarding your precarious parking job.

You imagine the soft glow of his reading lamp and you can almost hear the light rustle of pages from the book he was likely reading before you interrupted him. For a moment, you feel the prickling sensation of guilt crawling up your spine. But then a second picture, even more alluring than the first, fills your mind, a vision so enticing that it relegates any and all thoughts of retreat to the far back corner of your mind, and you find yourself back on task with renewed motivation.

“Hey, thanks for being my hero again.” You cheerfully say, springing out of the car and landing on your tiptoes, your arms encircling his neck as you brush his cheek with a light kiss, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cool lips.

“Your knack for finding the trickiest spots on this street is unmatched, truly remarkable.” The bright sunlight reflects off his glasses, but you don’t need to see his eyes to detect the affection underlying Nanami’s exasperated tone. This isn’t his first rodeo, this is not your first time pulling this stunt, and you’re not new to this careful plotting of the conditions that would grant you the otherwise rare view you enjoy so much.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I always prefer this side for the convenient view I get from your place. I saw the spot and I really thought I could hack it.” You point back at the high-rise towards Nanami’s window, the one that faces this street some twelve stories above you, intent on feigning innocence by leaning onto the plausible excuse you’ve employed time and time again.

“You know, if you’d told me you’d be available earlier, I could’ve picked you up myself,” he says as he gently taps his boots to the side of your car, carefully ridding himself of the snow clinging to his boots before taking the wheel.

“I didn’t want to disturb you… Though I realize that I sort of am right now.” Your reply is apologetic in its tone but unapologetic in its objective to obscure your true intentions. You start on the path Nanami just took to get to you, following into the fresh footprints left by his boots in the snow to find the sidewalk again, expertly dodging the “you never disturb me” he undoubtedly has ready at the tip of his tongue.

Because you are disturbing him, deliberately so.

In theory, parallel parking never was your forte. Technically speaking, you could use his help. It is a stretch of a rationalization, something you know very well, being the architect of your premeditated predicament, as evidenced by the self-satisfied smirk that tugs at your lips once more.

You try your best to school your expression back into neutrality as you re-enter Nanami’s field of vision and as you move to enact the next step of your little scheme. Once you finally reach the car, it is in the back that you slide into, rather than the passenger seat.

Nanami uses the edge of his shirt to wipe the fog from his glasses before he wears them again, and only then, through the rearview mirror, does he seem to register your unusual decision to sit where you do. A slow arch of his eyebrow betrays his amused confusion.

“I’ve already made peace with being your valet, but am I to be your chauffeur as well?”

“Ah, you know, all of my things are on the front seat. I figured this is simpler,” you say in the most persuasive tone you can.

He glances down at the passenger seat, where you’ve indeed ensured, before driving here, to pile your handbag over the three hefty grocery bags holding the ingredients for your shared dinner, the ones you’ve deliberately left out of your spacious trunk.

“I see…” he says, finding your gaze through the mirror again, something unreadable briefly crossing his eyes. “I know we just discussed this the other day but I do wish you’d just let me rent you a spot in the indoor parking lot.” He adds, finding his train of thought once more as he shifts the gear into drive and begins his maneuver, moving a few inches forward.

“There’s no need, Kento. We’ll be moving in together soon, and besides, I rarely bring my car around here. It only amounts to a couple of times a month, if that.” Your rehearsed responses are a refrain from a conversation you’ve already had countless times.

“So you take my spot then, and I’ll park on the street. My car is smaller, and it will be easier this way.” His hand stills over the gear switcher, awaiting your feedback on his proposed alternative. Incorrigibly pragmatic, this man is; always so logical, constantly looking to make your life easier, all things you utterly love about him. But this is not a problem you want him to solve, at least not in the ways he’s thinking. The seconds tick by, each one a hammer blow against your carefully crafted plan.

So you quickly decide to shift tactics.

“I guess you’re right.” You slowly say. “You should get us out of this spot and park us elsewhere. I don’t think it can be done.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it can’t—”

“It’s just way too tight, Kento. I really don’t think you’ll fit.” You deliberately punctuate your statement with a lilt of your voice, one which implies far more than your words convey, a shift that does not go unnoticed by Nanami, who responds instantly with a lift of his head up as he anchors his gaze to yours. The signs that betray the successful effect of your instigation are nearly imperceptible but they are there; in the minute narrowing of his eyes, in the slight lift of his eyebrows, in the subtle hitch of his breath.

It’s what finally earns you the view you’re fishing for, today’s at a newfound angle; Nanami finally reaches behind the passenger seat, places his hand on the headrest, and takes his usual position to reverse.

“Well, I’m certainly not one to back down from a challenge,” he says, defiance laced in his tone.

You mentally give yourself a pat on the back, but your triumph is quickly replaced with another sentiment. Because for some reason, as he maneuvers the car a few inches backward, Nanami holds your gaze, and you hold your breath. He doesn’t waver as the car slightly jerks under the audible tap of his foot on the pedal, and now you’re nervous. You are acutely aware of the ridiculously small space left between the cars, making his blind attempt at the maneuver seem irrational.

“Hey, shouldn’t you actually be keeping your eyes on the road?” It comes out of you, more a breathless utterance than a clear question. You watch Nanami shift back to drive and give a few light taps to the gas pedal, before switching back to reverse, his amusement now increasingly evident as his eyes find yours once more.

“Hey, shouldn’t you actually be seated next to me? Or is this the new best seat in the house?” His gaze does not waver, and he punctuates each of those last three syllables with a tap to the pedal, each producing a short, jerky backward jolt of the vehicle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nanami.” You mumble this, and you don’t even bother to sound convincing at this point, you’re still reeling at this unrelenting teasing. Here you are, having scored something even better than the mere view you were after, and somehow you’ve still lost the upper hand.

“Ah, so I’m just Nanami, now?” He says with what is now unmistakably a smirk.

A nervous scoff escapes you and you attempt to avert your gaze to something, anything other than his sly, piercing hazel eyes. You’re not left with many alternatives, so your eyes find purchase on the hand he’s placed on the headrest right in front of you, and you hope it will suffice to bring your heart rate down, to lower the increasingly warming temperature in the car, and to help you find your footing again in this repartee.

He must notice your newfound anchor and he must be determined to sink you because Nanami’s fingers begin to move in a light rhythmic tapping of his index finger and you now find yourself somewhat distracted again. His hand disappears momentarily as he grips the wheel to move forward, and when it returns, it is both his index and middle fingers that are moving again, together, this time.

What begins as a seemingly random, lazy, circular motion quickly transfigures into a slow, deliberate up-and-down rubbing motion; the minute squeaking sound of fingers against rubber, an audible evidence of a nebulously steady rhythm. Suddenly, it’s a pattern you recognize all too well, a motion you’ve watched him, felt him enact far too many times, one that causes a familiar fizzing of your stomach and compels you to instinctively squeeze your thighs together.

You find yourself unwittingly transfixed, the subject-changing retort you so desperately want to wield in self-defence, never quite making it to your lips. Did seconds pass? Did minutes? It is only once Nanami pulls his hand back to himself, and breaks the tense silence that you realize that the car has long since stopped moving,

“Now, tell me how I did.” He says in a commanding but gentle tone.

“How you… what?” You are decidedly disoriented and you don’t even know what he’s asking anymore.

“Check the curb, my love, and tell me if I’m aligned properly?” His abrupt flip back to his usual kind and even tone after engaging in the most egregious display of pettiness is dizzying.

You open your door to find your car perfectly positioned, your dicey position long since corrected.

You shut your door to meet a gaze that betrays the mischief simmering just beneath Nanami’s surface.

“You’re good,” you mumble, still pulling yourself back to reality. You would marvel at this masterclass in hand and eye and apparent finger coordination if you could think straight. Instead, your mind is a mix of hot and bothered and confused and you think to yourself that perhaps this time, you bit off just a bit more than you could chew.

“It was a tight fit, but as usual, I made it in.” He says these words in such a casual tone, and you know that he knows that he doesn’t need much more than this, that you’re already riled up.

Decidedly eager to vacate the car and get a breath of fresh air, you lean over the center console to reach for your handbag. Unbeknownst to you, Nanami sees this as an opening, an advantage to exploit.

By the time you feel Nanami’s arm draping just behind you as he reaches for the passenger seat once more, it’s already too late, and you find yourself stuck in your awkwardly bent position on the other side of his arm.

“Actually,” you feel more than you hear his voice rumble just behind your left ear, “I think I could back up a bit more.”

You watch him shift the gear into reverse, and he moves to look over his shoulder, but he can only really make it halfway.

Your faces are so close that you can see your reflection in his eyes, pupils and irises now indistinguishable. This is beyond impractical; you know it and he knows it. You look down to find something to grab onto, using the center console to brace yourself against the next anticipated jolt of the moving car.

It’s one that never materializes.

After a few moments of inertia, you finally lift your face to level your eyes with his, and by now it is a full-on, mischievous smirk plastered on his face.

And this ignites you. Because you, too, are not one to back down from a challenge.

You decide to make the most out of your newfound position by moving your left hand to grab onto his right leg. There it is, the shift of his expression, the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth now nothing more than a memory. Slowly but surely, you glide your hand up his leg, maintaining your eye contact, inching closer and closer up toward his lap. You watch as his breath hitches for a moment, as his gaze wavers, as a brief dark flicker crosses his eyes, telegraphing in advance the question he’s about to blurt out in a disquiet of his own, one you’re now more than willing to answer.

“What are you—” He breathes out.

“Well, Kento, I need to hold on to something, don’t I? You wouldn’t want me to fall, right?”

Nanami reaches down to switch the gear to what you assume is ‘Park’, his first gesture of concession. But you don’t relent, no, you double down.

You shift some of your weight off the console and onto your offending hand, gliding upwards, up towards his lap. Moving inwards, in towards his—

Your movement is abruptly halted, but you don’t miss the small audible groan that melts into the gulp he swallows as he closes his free hand over yours in a grasp that is both as gentle and as firm as his tone when he finally chokes out, “Upstairs.”

“Oh. Is this capitulation I hear from my beloved valet?” Your voice does not come out as even as you intend, your breath hitches, and frankly, it’s a miracle that you’re still holding your own, that you still manage to speak because the truth of the matter is that witnessing the effect of your anticipatory torture on him only serves to exacerbate your own conundrum.

“Let’s call it a temporary truce,” he says as he gently interlaces your fingers, cautiously moving your hand away from the danger zone all the while bringing his face as close to yours without touching, as if to spill his next words of promise directly into your mouth, words that come out as a deep rumble and that travel straight to your core.

“Capitulation is what I’ll pull from you real soon.”

[mythalism]

i think what people need to understand is that no amount of essays assuring me of veilguard's strengths, of which i agree there are plenty, is going to change the fact that the emotional experience veilguard prompted within me (and for many others) while i played it was a deeply negative one. discomfort at best, painful at worst. im talking stomach aches. visceral, somatic creeping disappointment and dread that i tried to fight for hours and hours but eventually had no choice but to accept. i stopped wanting to play entirely around 30 hours. i felt vaguely ill. i felt anxious. i could not sleep for a few days. and im not saying i felt sick because it was so bad, but that i felt sick because of the sinking realization that i was about to be terribly, horribly disappointed after so, so long. you could call me dramatic and im sure someone will. idk what to tell you. my emotions manifest physically long before they become decipherable or understandable to me mentally, especially when they're 10 years in the making. probably an autism symptom. regardless, it was genuinely pretty awful, especially because i had immense good faith for this game. i was so hopeful and optimistic and generally thrilled and literally anyone who followed me before october 31 would know that. the emotional whiplash and crash was intense and devastating, and i was reeling for days. you cannot tell me that this experience was "wrong" or "toxic" due to it's negative nature. it was entirely involuntary and outside of my control, as i would expect many people's joy was. emotional reactions are not beholden to fandom discourse.

any post i have made criticizing the game since is attempt to make sense of the emotional roller-coaster of the past 10 years, this summer, and finally this game's release. i do not come on here and write out my criticisms of veilguard because i want YOU to dislike it too. the nature of my essays are not persuasive. if they do persuade you its just because i am a well-trained essayist. sorry. if they dont, great! that wasnt the point. i have no desire to change anyone's mind on the game, in fact i actually would not wish the disappointment i felt on anyone. the fact that i have a lot of followers who agree with what i say and who spread the thoughts i express across tumblr is literally out of my control. when i write out my long-winded criticisms, it is out of a need to express and externalize that sinking, cold feeling i had while playing, in pursuit of understanding exactly why playing that game felt that way to me. identifying, analyzing and verbalizing is the only way i have been able to process my experience. its confessional and therapeutic more than anything. it helps other people understand their own difficult emotional process with the game. its not an attempt to ruin your fun. my negative experience with veilguard does not invalidate anyone else's positive one.

i see so many posts acting like all criticism is an intentional, targeted hate campaign and i dont understand that assumption. to what ends? what would that achieve? why would i bother with such a thing? maybe that is some people's intention in the deep hater corners of this website, and im blissfully unaware. if it is, fuck them. its certainly the intention of annoying grifters, but i feel the distinction between transphobe grifters and devastated fans is pretty clear, so im not sure why the lines are deliberately blurred as if those groups are remotely similar. some of my criticisms come from a more objective place. the writing comes to mind, and it's a consistent criticism from thousands of players. but just because i consider it to be poorly executed, does not make it unlovable. and when i say that i think its poorly done, i am not saying that you cannot or should not love it, or that you are stupid for loving it. maybe someone out there is saying that!!! but i am not. things do not have to be perfect to be enjoyable. they dont even have to be well executed to be enjoyable. "i think x aspect of veilguard is poorly done for yz reasons" is a completely different sentence than "you should not like x aspect of veilguard for yz reasons". these are not the same statements. i see so many posts that are so vitriolic and acting like two experiences of this game cannot coexist, that one has to win and be objectively right, moralizing them on a false axis of positivity = good and negativity = bad, and acting like the existence of one negates the experience of the other. and why? why would that be true? i literally love so many things that other people think are absolute ass. i also love plenty of things that i myself think are actual ass. i love them anyway. this is allowed and really fun. i am not sure who told you that it is not.

however, i have just as much of a right to express my disappointment as you have to express your excitement. i am genuinely happy for everyone who loves the game, i am glad it resonated, or that you saw yourself in its characters, or that it just scratched your hyperfixation itch. but whatever je ne se quoi it had for you, it did not have for me. i have written out so much criticism about so many aspects of the game, but fundamentally what it comes down to and what i cannot express in words is that while i played after waiting 10 years for that moment, it felt wrong. it wasn't that i had specific expectations for game story that were not met, in fact, it exceeded my expectations in a lot of ways. i mean that in terms of how i felt, something was off. it did not resonate. it did not land. it did not hit the right cord with me. i did not have enough moments of joy to outweigh the feeling of emptiness. i did not walk away from it feeling the way that the previous games made me feel. and ive been trying to figure out exactly why that is for three months now by talking about it with people who feel similarly. i am not sure that i will ever be able to analyze my way into figuring it out. it might just have to simply be that it left me bereft.

and so my posts are not anti-veilguard hater propaganda to make you feel like shit for loving the game. rather, they are me verbally processing exactly why i feel like shit so i can hopefully stop feeling like shit. to assume that people who are trying to process these negative feelings are toxic and intentionally malicious is a projection made in bad faith. i love dragon age, and it is because i love it so much that it disappointed me, and it is because disappointed me that i have to verbally process it on tumblr.com so that i dont go absolutely insane. i tag my posts properly. i do not go into tags where i do not belong. i do not rage-bait. i am participating in post-partum dragon age therapy between me and my followers. if it ends up on your dash, sorry. my therapy is popular i guess. so please for the love of god enjoy the game, freely and enthusiastically. i am happy for you. i will sit here and be jealous that it spoke to something in your soul that it unfortunately did not speak to in mine, and nothing i say can take that away from you. please stop interpreting it as an attempt to.

[ode2rin]

it has become an awful pattern of habit how much itoshi sae always shows up at your doorstep only when he wants to. 

“don’t go out with oliver.”

and here he was again, like a recurring relapse that happens every single time you thought you’re doing better. the kind that hits when you think you're finally making progress, that momentary flicker of doing better before it all crumbles.

and you were. you’re doing good, doing better, but god, does it hurt like hell when he pulls stunts like this.

it was a relentless tug-of-war, a game he played so unfairly, leaving you with no rules, no defenses. you were damn sick of it. 

“really?” the word escaped as a scoff, a blend of disbelief and irritation coating your voice. “you're showing up to my place at this hour just to say that?” 

a drawn-out exhale left sae's lips at your reaction, the scent of alcohol accompanying it—a scent foreign to the sae you'd known. was he drinking? itoshi sae doesn’t drink – or at least the sae you knew would never let a single drop of alcohol taint his flesh. 

“just don’t. he’ll hurt you.”

a bitter laugh escaped you, “you're one to talk about hurting people, aren't you?”

if you didn't know better, you'd mistake the look he shot you for something resembling an apology mixed with regret. but no, you knew that those eyes can never hold such, not for you, not for anyone.

“news flash, itoshi. you don’t have the right to decide who i can or cannot go out with.” 

“don’t i?” 

his challenge lingered in the air, a question not constrained by words but driven by conflicting wills, a daring meeting of gazes that had been evaded until now.

you're so fucking unfair, itoshi sae.

“leave,” you spat, your grip on the doorknob tightened, fingers almost digging into the cool metal. 

“don’t i, y/n? do i not have a right to you?”

“please, sae. just go,” you murmured, eyes squeezed shut, a trace of tears threatening to break free.

“— because you have all damn rights to me that it fucking terrifies me.” 

and there it was.

the vulnerability he so fiercely and stubbornly concealed, laid bare for you to witness. it slipped out like an admission, raw and unguarded.

sae's insides churned as your gaze bore into him, the intensity of it feeling like a searing heat that left him exposed, his thoughts laid bare. it was as if you were looking at him as if he had grown a second head, an incredulity mirrored in his own disbelief at what he had just blurted.

but it’s the truth, a truth etched not in alcohol-induced haze but in the sobering clarity that you, ever loving you, terrified him. 

“you– you terrify me," his words stumbled out, like he was admitting a secret he never meant to reveal. “you’re the first thought that comes to my mind, and the last one before i sleep. i feel you everywhere, your presence, your absence — it terrifies me, y/n.” 

he ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration that echoed the inner chaos he couldn't quite contain. the sting of alcohol just added to the jumble of thoughts, like mixing a cocktail of emotions he wasn't prepared to deal with. 

sae had never been great with handling drinks, and here he was, wearing his heart on his sleeve, a little more vulnerable than he’d intended. 

after all, a body so foreign to alcohol can only handle so much.

and it's ironic how that also applies to sae's acceptance of your love – like a liquor he's not used to, but still very much would like a taste.

he knew he had absolutely no right to show up here; he had no right to stop you from going out with another man; he had no right to claim a part of you, not after he shattered your heart because he was afraid of his own.

he knew that, but itoshi sae is selfish. he wanted you, terrifyingly so. he hoped — prayed, even—no one will ever have you the same way he does. 

and he meant that in the most selfish way possible. because, time and time again, itoshi sae was selfish, even more so when it came to loving you.

“it terrifies me,” he carried on, a touch firmer this time, his gaze unyielding as it held yours, “how much you consume me, and it frightens me even more how much i would let you.”

“then just let me, you stupid asshole.” 

the words burst out of you, a declaration that felt like a leap of faith. your arms instinctively reached out, embracing him as if to underscore your determination. you had caught his confession like a lifeline, and now it was your turn to throw your heart into the mix.

“and you have all the damn rights to me too,” you murmured against his lips.

the truth is, he doesn't deserve you, not in the slightest. but god, you want him to— so bad. and after hearing what he said, you knew he wanted the same thing too.

you wrap your arms tighter around him, and it's like fitting together two missing pieces. you missed this, missed him. no amount of trying will ever relieve the longing. because truth be told, hearts aren't great at playing hide and seek; that much can be seen from the way you’re both holding on to each other.

“i'll love you slowly, until it's not scary, until you get used to it,” you whispered, forehead pressed against his.

in the quiet space between your whispered words, sae felt the world shift beneath his feet. 

love with you wasn't meant to be frightening. love with you wasn't meant to be all-consuming.

love with you, he realized, only needed to be exactly like this— your fingers against his nape, a smile curving your lips, and the assurance in your gaze that promised better times ahead.

“i’ll get used to it.” maybe the words came off wobbly, but he couldn’t care any less now; it was a promise.

“you better.” you let out a chuckle, genuine this time, and it took just one chuckle for sae to realize that everything will be just fine. 

[extra]:

“sae?”

you pull his attention, sensing his wakefulness from the lingering kisses he peppers on your skin. the same man who laid bare his heart to you was sprawled within your sheets, his breathing gentle against your neck.

though his lips stay sealed, the comforting squeeze of your hand relays that he was listening.

“where did you hear that i’m going out with oliver?”

a brief pause, followed by a scoff. way to ruin a moment, sae’s inner voice grumbles at the timing of your question. why bring up another guy's name now, especially when he's shirtless and right above you? the nerve.

“doesn’t matter.” he dismisses your question. 

yet, there's something oddly satisfying about riling up the usually composed sae, it’s one of your life’s greatest pleasures. and so, you press on, unable to resist the urge to tease. 

“come on, now. i want to know what made my cold and grumpy sae to show up at my door at 2 am, professing that i terrify him,” you pushed, meeting his irritated glare with an arched brow. “— and don’t give me that look. those were your words, not mine!”

tch. he clicks his tongue, fully aware you won't let him live down his confession. “got it from shidou. he told me right before asking me to drink with him.”

as those words escape sae’s lips, you burst into laughter, leaving him to wonder if he broke you with last night's late-night affection.

“what’s so funny?” he raises an eyebrow at your sudden outburst.

“shidou tricked you into drinking with him, love. i turned down oliver without a second thought. we didn't even get close to going on a date,” you playfully reveal, your grin growing. “i kind of mentioned that to shidou. we share gossip occasionally, you know.”

sae froze at what you said, and he didn’t need no damn mirror to see that he was turning red from the embarrassment and realization that he had been lured to drink.

“i’ll kill him.”

“and i’ll thank him.” may shidou get all the dopamine he so cunningly desires. 

note. i also don't know what this is so don't look at me now :P i'm throwing tomatoes at myself

[novaursa]

The Gods Are Cruel (and so is he)

- Summary: Maegor always thought of you. Even when you were convinced he had forgotten you.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Note: This story captures Maegor's inner struggle and events before Fire and Blood.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

For as long as Maegor can remember, you have been the one thing denied to him. He’s conquered kingdoms, brought men to their knees, and ruled with the iron will of a dragon. But he cannot have you. His own father, King Aegon, forbade it. “She’s your niece, Maegor. There are limits, even for us.” As if the blood of the dragon were not meant to twist and coil upon itself, strengthening the line.

You’re the second-born daughter of Aenys, the weakling king who, even now, sits the Iron Throne in pitiful splendor. His half-brother’s mewling reign grates on Maegor’s nerves, but it’s the distance between you that fuels his rage. You’re imprisoned on Dragonstone, hidden away like a relic too precious to behold. And for what? To preserve your innocence? To keep you untouched by his flame?

His hand tightens around Blackfyre’s hilt as he recalls the way you looked at him, the first time your eyes truly met. You were but a girl then, your hair falling in soft waves of silver down your back, your eyes wide with awe and fear. A look that has haunted him ever since, seeping into his dreams, twisting his desires into something darker, more dangerous. He dreams of you, night after night, your body beneath his, your mouth forming his name like a prayer. You, the one thing he cannot have, the one thing he would raze cities to possess.

And yet, you are kept from him. Aenys has you guarded like a treasure, a pawn in his political games. The gods themselves conspire against him, placing you always just out of reach. He has seen you only in glimpses now, from across the court or from the back of his dragon, Balerion, circling above Dragonstone like an unholy sentinel.

What do you think of him? He wonders, in the quiet of his chambers, when even the echoes of war fall silent. Do you fear him, as the rest do? Or do you feel it too—the pull between you, the force that binds your fates as surely as dragonfire and blood?

His first wife, Ceryse, lies cold and untouched in his bed, her barren womb a constant reminder of the child he was never meant to sire with her. He took her as duty demanded, but his heart—and his loins—have always belonged to you. A woman he could mold, could teach, could keep. In his darkest thoughts, he imagines how your skin would feel under his hands, how your breath would catch as he whispered your name. Y/N.

Does your heart beat faster when you think of him? Do you lie awake at night, wondering if he’s thinking of you, too? You must. You have to. Because if you don’t, what is left for him? What can satiate this unquenchable thirst that rages through him, consuming him like wildfire?

The gods mock him with every breath you take beyond his reach. They have shackled him to a woman who cannot bear him heirs, as if to deny him the legacy he was born to create. They have put you on Dragonstone, behind walls and guards and duty, as if they think any of that could hold him back forever. But he will have you. His father’s wishes, Aenys’ weakness, the gods themselves—none of it matters. You belong to him.

In his mind, he sees the two of you, alone in the Dragonmont, the heat of the beasts around you only heightening the fever that pulses through his veins. He would take you there, make you his in every way, his hands on your skin, your nails in his back. The thought is almost unbearable in its intensity. But it is only a dream, a hollow mockery of what he craves.

He remembers the song you played once, in the Red Keep, your fingers dancing over the strings of a harp. It was a haunting melody, something about love and death entwined, the lyrics slipping from your lips like smoke. It was not for him—you hadn’t even known he was there—but he felt the words like a dagger in his chest. The horror of his love. A love that destroys, that devours. And yet, he would have it no other way.

You are the one thing that could calm his rage, and the one thing that stokes it to an inferno. He could burn the world for you, if it meant seeing you by his side, wearing his crown, carrying his children. He would destroy anyone who stands in his way, even the gods themselves. Because you are his, and he is yours, no matter how high the walls they build between you.

The gods are cruel. But so is he. And he is patient. For now.

But not forever.

Exile is a bitter draught, and Maegor tastes its poison on his tongue every day. Here, across the Narrow Sea, he is surrounded by false smiles and sharper knives, an unwelcome guest in a land that does not know the fire of dragons. He is supposed to be broken, he thinks. This was Aenys' intent—to crush his spirit, to strip him of power and keep him from you. It should have worked.

But Maegor is not so easily broken.

Every day he is here, he feels you slipping further away, like water through his fingers. Every day, the distance grows, a chasm that he fears even a dragon’s wings could not cross. You must think him weak now, to have been cast aside, to have failed in taking what is rightfully his. Do you believe the stories? That he is a monster, a madman, unworthy of the blood in his veins?

He paces the halls of this foreign stronghold, his mind churning with thoughts of you, of the night they took you from him. He had almost had you, his hand outstretched, your name a growl on his lips, when Aenys’ guards pulled you away, your eyes wide with something he cannot name. Fear? Betrayal? Desire?

Aenys had raged at him, his voice trembling with a fury Maegor had never thought his spineless brother capable of. “You will not touch her! Do you hear me, brother? I will not let you taint her with your madness!” As if your purity were some fragile thing, as if you were not a dragon yourself, with fire in your blood.

His exile was swift, the king’s command carried out by his lapdog lords who dared not look Maegor in the eye as they escorted him to the ship, bound for a land that does not know him. Aenys spoke of protecting you, of preserving the fragile peace between the Crown and the Faith. He was terrified of another rebellion, afraid that Maegor’s obsession with you would shatter what little stability he had managed to cling to. The Faith would rise against such a union, scream of abomination and blasphemy, and the weak-willed sheep of Westeros would follow.

And so, Maegor was sent away like a common criminal, the dragon without his fire, the beast without his prey.

But what they do not understand, what even you perhaps cannot see, is that this does not break him. No, this only feeds the flames, stokes the hunger that gnaws at him day and night. In his solitude, he thinks of you, of the way your lips parted when you spoke his name, the tremor in your voice as you told him to stop. And beneath that tremor, beneath the fear, he heard something else—something that made his blood burn and his pulse quicken.

You want him. He knows it, has seen it in your eyes, in the way you cannot help but look at him when you think no one is watching. It is a look he has seen before, in women who knew the danger of wanting a man like him, who knew the risk and were drawn to it all the same. But you—you are not like them. You are his niece, his kin, and that only makes the desire more potent, more twisted.

It is as if the gods themselves crafted you to tempt him, to drive him to madness. They dangle you before him, a prize he cannot claim, and laugh as he claws at the edges of sanity, his mind unraveling with every thought of you. Y/N, the name a whisper on his lips as he dreams, a curse and a prayer all at once. He imagines you as you must be now, cloistered away on Dragonstone, your beauty kept hidden from the world, your spirit shackled by duty and fear.

What do you think of him now, your would-be captor, your would-be king? Do you despise him for his failure, for letting them take him from you? Or do you still dream of him, as he dreams of you, your hands reaching out in the darkness, your voice calling him back across the sea? He would come for you, if he could. He would set fire to this whole wretched land if it meant seeing you again, holding you, tasting the lips that have haunted him for so long.

But no, he is here, caged by exile, by duty, by the very blood that runs through his veins. Aenys thinks this will keep him at bay, that distance and shame will cool his fire. A fool’s hope. Every night, Maegor’s dreams grow darker, his thoughts more twisted, until he no longer knows where desire ends and madness begins.

He thinks of what he would do, if you were here now. How he would take you in his arms, heedless of your protests, your pleas. You would fight him, at first—he knows you would. But he would not stop. He would crush every barrier, break every rule that the world has placed between you, until there is nothing left but the two of you, entwined in a knot of blood and fire and desire. He would teach you what it means to be his, to be bound to him in a way that no one, not Aenys, not the gods themselves, could sever.

And would you love him, then? Would you finally see him for what he is, for what he could be to you? Or would you still fear him, still see him as the monster they have all made him out to be? It does not matter, he tells himself. Love, hate—they are two sides of the same coin, both burning with the same intensity. And he would have either, or both, if it meant having you.

He will not stay here forever. This exile is a cage of straw, and he is a dragon. One day, he will break free, and when he does, he will come for you. No more half-measures, no more hesitant glances and whispered promises. He will take you, as he was meant to, as he was born to. And if the world burns for it, so be it.

The gods think they can keep him from you. But he will show them the folly of trying to chain a dragon. And when he does, he will take back what is his, with fire and blood.

The wine in Pentos is bitter and thin, a poor substitute for the strong, dark vintages of home. Maegor swirls the goblet, his gaze unfocused, the liquid rippling like the storm inside him. He’s been here for what feels like years, a dragon caged, his wings clipped. Exile is a wound that festers, seeping poison into his thoughts, breeding resentment, rage—and longing. Always longing.

He imagines you on Dragonstone, your days spent looking out over the sea, wondering if he’s forgotten you. Do you think him weak for not returning, for letting Aenys and his lapdogs banish him so easily? The thought of your disappointment, your disdain, cuts deeper than any blade. He should be there, should have fought harder, should have…

The door to his chambers bursts open, and his hand flies to Blackfyre’s hilt, the dark thoughts scattering like smoke. But it is no assassin or enemy lord. It is Visenya, his mother, sweeping in like a tempest, her eyes alight with a fire he hasn’t seen in years. For a moment, he thinks he is dreaming. Visenya, the indomitable, the iron queen who shaped him, forged him in the heat of her will and her ambition. The only one who has ever understood him, who has ever truly known him.

“Mother,” he breathes, his voice rough from disuse.

She crosses the room in a few swift steps, her presence as commanding as ever. There is no preamble, no softening of the words that follow. “Aenys is dead.”

The goblet slips from his fingers, clattering to the floor, the wine spilling in a dark pool at his feet. Dead. The weakling king, the half-brother who took everything from him, who caged him in this foreign land and kept you locked away. Dead.

“How?” he asks, his voice a low growl, his mind reeling. This changes everything. The iron bonds of exile shatter in an instant, and all the bitterness, all the rage that has been festering in his heart explodes like wildfire.

“His own weakness killed him,” Visenya says, her lip curling in disdain. “The Faith rose against him, the realm crumbled around him, and he could not hold it together. He was never fit to rule. He left the Seven Kingdoms in chaos.”

And you. What did he leave you with? A kingdom in ruins, a throne contested, and you still locked away, still untouched, still denied to him. Maegor’s blood boils at the thought of it, at the thought of you alone on that bleak island, your beauty hidden from the world, your spirit shackled by a man too weak to protect what was his.

“He is gone,” Visenya continues, her voice hard as steel. “The throne is yours, Maegor. But you must act. The lords will not sit idle; they will scheme and plot and raise their banners for Aenys’ wretched brood. You must return, and you must take what is rightfully yours.”

The throne. The Iron Throne, forged by fire and blood, by the will of their house. But more than that—more than crowns and kingdoms and power—there is you. The promise of you, the dream that has tormented him in the long, empty nights of exile. He sees it all, now, with a clarity that almost blinds him. Aenys is dead, the gods have finally relented, and the path to you is clear.

He rises from his chair, his eyes fixed on Visenya’s face. “And her?” He does not need to speak your name; they both know who he means.

Visenya’s eyes gleam, a predatory smile curling her lips. “You will have her, as it should have been from the start. She is your right, your reward. No one will keep her from you now, not the Faith, not the lords, not even the gods. You will take the throne, and you will take her.”

The words are like a balm, soothing the raw wound of exile, of longing. He sees it now, the vision of what could be, what will be: you, by his side, crowned in Valyrian steel and dragon’s flame, the blood of your enemies soaking the earth at your feet. His queen. His wife. The one thing denied to him, now within his grasp.

Aenys is dead, and with him, the last barrier between Maegor and the life he was meant to have. He will return, he will seize the throne, and he will take you. The thought of it fills him with a fierce, terrible joy. He imagines the look on your face when he storms Dragonstone, when he bursts into your chambers, his eyes wild with the need that has driven him mad for so long. You will fight him, at first, as you must. But he will not be denied. He will make you see, make you understand that you were always his, from the moment you were born.

He thinks of the song you played that day in the Red Keep, the haunting melody that still echoes in his mind. There is horror in our love, the words sang, and yes, there is. There is darkness, and fire, and blood. But there is also something deeper, something that binds you to him in ways you cannot yet fathom. He will show you, when you are his, what it means to love a dragon, to be consumed by the flame and not be burned.

He looks at Visenya, his heart hammering in his chest. “We go to Westeros. We take the throne, and I take her.”

She nods, the fierce pride in her eyes a reflection of his own. “Yes, my son. You will have it all.”

The gods have relented, have finally turned their faces from him and given him what he has craved for so long. The throne, the power, and you. His beautiful, stubborn, untouchable Y/N. No more dreams, no more whispered prayers to uncaring gods. This is destiny, and it will not be denied.

He is coming for you, and nothing—not lords, not priests, not the very heavens themselves—will stop him. You will be his, as you were always meant to be. And if there is horror in it, then let there be horror. Let the world tremble before the fire of his love.

Because he is Maegor, son of Visenya, true heir of Aegon the Conqueror. And he will have what is his.

[shaiyasstuff]

hiii, I love your writings so so much and every time I open the app I hope to see a new post of yours <3 usually I don't ask for stuff because I know writing is difficult and demanding, I write for myself sometimes just for fun and it takes a lot of brain working that I do not have lmao but if you do something similar to what I'm craving for I would be really really happy!

Basically I'm just a big nerd woman, I love anime and video games the most, it's the joy of my life besides doing art, and recently I've been thinking of my past bcs my birthday is in 8 days and reminding how bullying was a thing for girls like me (I'm over it now I'm almost 26 lol but some scars are permanent) and I would love to know how you vision the lads man enjoying/inserting themselves in their partner world of likings, maybe thrilled with how much knowledge you have about it all? bcs again, I'm reeeally into it and I love knowing/reading everything lol lore obsessed for sure (if possible something with valorant/league of legends/star rail if you know some of them but it can be anything seriously, and please nanami from jujutsu kaisen especially for zayne because they are my husbands 4 life and I love them the most ><) also I love your pfp, frieren is AMAZING!!!

Anyways, thank you very much for sharing your hardwork and beautiful mind, you're amazing and I hope you never stop writing what is in your heart <3 love you

SKSKSK ANOTHER FRIEREN FAN!! Hot take: Frieren deserves AOTY i dont care what others say XD Thank you so much for requesting this!! This was so much fun to write and honestly so so so so cute! I giggled a little too much imagining our boys just being with us (not mc, US, the real us)

So here is your request written below!! Do tell me if it’s not satisfactory >.< (I don’t play Star Rail so I did some research, if it isn’t accurate pls dont kill me) @goddamn-it-girl

Sylus

Sylus never really got video games.

“Why waste time in virtual battlefields when the real world demands strategy?” he’d say with a dismissive wave of his hand, like he was too good for flashy pixels and keyboard tapping.

But then one night, you’re in your usual spot, headset on, deep in a League match. You mutter under your breath, almost without thinking—

“God, I wish Sylus was more like Kayn’s Shadow Assassin form.”

And just like that, he’s behind you.

No warning. No hello.

Just standing there, arms crossed, eyes glued to your screen.

He doesn’t say much at first. Just watches.

“Hm,” he hums thoughtfully as your fingers fly across the keyboard—Q, Q, D—blink forward, another kill.

“It doesn’t seem that hard.”

Next week, you walk into the room after a long day—bag dropped, shoes kicked off—only to find him hunched at your desk.

Your computer’s on. He’s wearing your headset.

You watch, amused, as he furiously taps keys with a strange kind of intensity. His brows are furrowed.

And then you catch his champion.

You cross your arms, smirking.

“I cannot believe you got jealous over a video game character.”

Sylus scoffs, not even turning away from the screen.

“I wasn’t jealous. I’m learning to jungle. That way I can protect your lane.”

You laugh, falling into your spot beside him like it’s second nature now.

Because you know that’s not really why.

He just likes the way your eyes light up when you win.

Rafayel

Rafayel shares your love for video games.

He gets your obsession with Star Rail.

He’s the type to sit right next to you as you ramble about lore for the hundredth time, nodding along like it’s the most important story he’s ever heard.

“I’m telling you, Natasha is literally the coolest—like, hands down.”

“Hm. No,” he says, already smiling. “Himeko’s the coolest.”

Cue the dramatic banter.

You clutch your chest like you’ve been wounded. “How dare you.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

So you fake a cry, full-on pout and teary eyes.

He sighs dramatically, hands in the air. “Okay! Okay! Natasha’s the coolest! The best! The queen!”

You flash him a smug smile. Victory.

Then, one afternoon, you finish cooking lunch—something warm, something he usually comes running for the second it hits the air.

But today? Nothing.

Frowning, you head to the bedroom.

The door creaks open and—

There he is, slouched over the study table, completely zoned in. His brows are drawn together, pencil in hand, the quiet scratch of graphite filling the room.

“What are you doing?” you ask, curious.

He jumps like he’s been caught red-handed and slams the sketchbook shut, hugging it to his chest.

“Nothing!” he says way too fast, flashing you that boyish grin. “Is lunch ready?”

You laugh, shaking your head, and motion him to follow.

But back in the room, the sketchbook still sits on the table, forgotten in his rush.

One page left open—just enough for you to see it.

A carefully drawn sketch of you, soft and radiant, dressed as Natasha.

Of course he thinks she’s the coolest.

She looks a lot like the person he loves.

Xavier

Xavier would be insanely good at Valorant.

He saw you play once. Literally once.

And the next weekend?

There’s suddenly a whole PC setup right next to yours—dual monitors, custom keycaps, matching chairs.

He’s ready.

You blink at the setup, suspicious.

“What is this?”

“I figured we could grind to Immortal together,” he says like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

And he means it.

The first time you watch him play, you’re slack-jawed.

“How are you so good at this?”

He just shrugs, smug. “I’ve got good hand-eye coordination.”

Cheeky bastard.

But he’s not just good at the game—he’s good at being with you.

He’ll pull you into his lap on the couch after a long match, your legs draped over his, your hands gesturing wildly as you talk about Omega Earth lore like it’s gospel.

And he’s right there, nodding along with genuine interest.

He treats your passions like art.

When you draw your Reyna and Gekko ship, he’ll lean in over your shoulder, voice soft.

“You know what would be cool? What if Agent 7 wasn’t Reyna’s little sister, but actually the real founder of Valorant?”

You pause.

“You can’t just—drop lore like that—”

“Oh, and did you know if you wallbang that corner on Lotus with a Sheriff—”

“That makes so much sense!” you gasp, and then immediately groan. “No wonder I’m hard stuck Gold.”

He just grins. Because he doesn’t just drop into your world for the weekend—

He builds a home in it. Right beside you.

Zayne

Zayne wouldn’t just support your love for anime—he’d understand it.

He’d see the depth in it the same way you do.

You’d spend nights curled up on the couch, Jujutsu Kaisen playing on loop, your eyes wide and shining with every fight scene, every emotional beat.

He’s right beside you, always—arm slung around your shoulder, fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm as he watches with quiet attention.

He’d chuckle softly whenever you’d throw yourself back dramatically, clutching your chest and declaring, “I can’t do this,” after every tragic death.

He’d never mock it—he’d just pull you closer.

Then one night, he wakes up to an empty bed.

It takes him seconds to notice your absence—your warmth, the subtle weight of your presence.

He pads into the living room quietly, finding you exactly where he expected.

Curled up on the couch, legs drawn to your chest, your face softly lit by the glow of your phone screen.

You’re scrolling through endless fanart of Nanami—

Nanami glowing with cursed energy.

Nanami, suit wrinkled, tie loose.

Nanami, unwavering, standing tall even as the world tries to break him.

Zayne doesn’t say a word.

Just walks over and gently lifts you into his arms, settling you onto his lap like you belong there.

Let’s be honest, you do.

You hesitate, then murmur, almost shyly, “He reminds me of you.”

Your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt.

“Not just the suit thing. It’s the way you carry yourself. How you protect the people you love. Even when it costs you.”

He’s quiet for a beat, then nods.

“I see myself in him too.”

You giggle, already scrolling to show him more—

“Wait, look at this one. And this one. And oh my god this—”

He just smiles. Soft. Reverent.

Because he doesn’t just tolerate your love for anime—

He sees the soul of it reflected in you.

And maybe, just maybe, in him too.

[senka-mesecine]

NEEED your thoughts on Barnes with a crush that is infuriatingly somehow more nonchalant than him. Never wants to discuss their feelings, makes a lot of jokes instead, etc. She’s been around this platoon of dudes for so long, she can’t fathom sitting down with Barnes and having a serious conversation. Partly because she’s oblivious to his feelings, but more so that a part of her knows deep down how Barnes feels, and she’s just so avoidant.

I’m imagining that Barnes can play the long game, hold out for months, thinking he can outlast her in her avoidance. Que him being in this strange middle ground of being WAY too forceful in his advances and avoiding her all the same. How does the resolution go? How long does the game last? Do you think Barnes ever eventually just gets sick of it, and sits reader down and makes her confront whats going on? Or does he try to outlast her for so long they just end up distancing from each other all together?

---

I imagine that in a weird sense Barnes takes responsibility.

How do I know this?

Well, when he killed Elias he flat out presented himself to the Heads in the Underworld effectively calmly saying 'Yeah, I did it. I murdered your leader and friend. He was full of shit and he had it a long time coming --- longer than most of you been in active duty. I'm giving you a chance, or rather, intimidating you into making things even and killing me in turn. So, go ahead, kill me, even as I'm outnumbered six to one.'

Going as far as getting bitter and angry when the outcome of this request wasn't his immediate death.

That's how literal and upfront the guy is.

Faced with the conundrum of both you and him being emotionally reserved?

The same principle is true.

Sooner or later Barnes will take responsibility once more by sheer virtue that he probably thinks that's a man's domain (and job) by default of being a man and it'll be as on the nose as him stating that you want him and he wants you (seeing as how he doesn't dabble in crushes --- more like maddening, 'I'll kill for you and I'll die for you' frenzied-out bloodlust of a passion tucked away beneath a cool, stony exterior) so the thing that ought to be is that you come together on that front, because sure, he is patient, he is disciplined, he is stoic, shockingly so even, but sooner or later he has a moment when he knows 'the time is now' and when further waiting, procrastinating and prolonging only translates to inertia, dodging and cowardice --- two traits he doesn't abide by. Make no mistake, though. It is not that he cannot outlast you in a waiting game. Chances are Barnes doesn't want to...not after a certain point anyway, once a call to action is necessary. Meaning that the man is very likely to get you alone, up close and personal and give you a good talking to, one on one, extremely directly, no pussyfooting around, after which confrontation you two could very well come out with an understanding. You'll be left in no denial concerning what's on his mind and yes, he'll coax your feelings out of you too by sheer gravitas of his intense, overwhelming presence during this big talk, if nothing else. In the end, where Barnes is concerned there can be only one reality; only 'yes' or 'no' answers exist in life. No 'maybes'. You either say yes to him or you'll be murky and flippant and effectively say 'no' through that if not through actual words. But, one thing is for certain. He faces this head on in a way that could be described as almost bizarrely honorable in the vein of 'So, we gon' do sumn' bout this shit or we just gon' sit 'round like a row of hangin' wall flowers?'

[xenniejunk]

I really had no clue what to title this, I've staring at this over and over again and I think I totally flopped with the typing. I'm definitely going to rewrite this, but here's the first draft I guess?

If they're are spelling errors, so sorry Charlie!

1284 Words || Bakugou Centric -, he has a small spiral moment. 𐙚🧸ྀི __________

“Activity Day” was- well a lot, things were happening everywhere and it’s loud. 

Really fucking loud. 

Class 1-A was spread around the room,  playing board games, creating puppet shows, reading aloud some silently, television blasting and no-one was quite sure what was baking in the oven. Aizawa was somewhat stressed. This was only supposed to last a few hours but keeping track of so many children in that amount of time felt as if he was on a late night patrol shift. 

From having to replace Shoto’s chapter books with picture filled one’s since when he reads aloud to Hanta has his tongue tied since he can’t pronounce the large words and stumbles over them and becomes frustrated. Informing Izuku that no- sugar and salt are not the same thing and you can’t put salt in the cookies. No Ochako, you cannot lick the batter with your fingers. Eijirou you can’t re-dye your hair with no supervision, No Tenya making paper snowflakes does not follow a specific rule pattern. 

No, No, No, No! 

They had too much energy, and the four cups of coffee that Aizawa had taken before this was starting to wear off. He sighed as he turned to see Denki now beginning to draw on the walls with Mashirao’s tail for a second time, rushing over. 

Katsuki wasn’t eager for this to be taking place, yet here he was standing in the middle of a busy room like an idiot not exactly knowing which direction to go, but standing there was making him shift left and right and he was starting to dig his nails into his cuticles. 

So he just picked a direction. 

Katsuki wandered around as he decided on what he actually wanted to do, all his friends were doing different things and none of them suited him at all. Not all the girls doing a fashion show, which he thought was a bit impressive, Yaoyorozu created materials and sowed quietly as Mina sloppily painted Tsuyu’s nails, Jirou taking in conversion as she strummed with a makeshift guitar crafts with rubber bands and a tissue box; Toru humming an off key made up song.

Fumikage and Mezou in an intense game on All Might Monopoly using all the game pieces for Dark Shadow as well as his Mezou’s other appendages, so it would be fair. 

Koji had managed to find a bird and bring it inside, pacing around and having a full conversation. 

Ridkido and Yuga make their way to the kitchen, Ridkido taking the bowl that Izuku was mixing with unknown spices and adding the correct fillings to make a small cake to share, explaining the steps as both Ochaco and Izuku watch in awe. Yuga digging in the refrigerator for labeled tupperware where his fancy cheeses resided. Minoru was out of the room for extra work he had missed. 

Katsuki glanced back and forth, but there was really nothing that caught  his eye. He really would want to go back to his room however they all agreed to do this on a Saturday for a few hours and it seemed reasonable at the time but now that he’s actually down here he’s overwhelmed. Katsuki feels weird, his chest feels tight and his eyes hurt. There’s just too much happening- his breathing becoming unsteady.  

He had told Aizawa this morning that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, that he didn’t need to participate in any “baby activities” he’s a bit older and he’d find something to keep his mind busy as he decides to made his way to television staring blankly at a show about fairy princesses or something he’s not really sure, his vision is blurry as he attempts not to blink. 

If he blinks he’ll definitely cry but he’s not going to admit that even in his mental. He’s sliding up and down, and he can’t just pick a headspace! 

He can’t freak out, it’s stupid to freak out. His friends are having fun so he should be too, Aizawa looks stressed, really fucking stressed he’s walking around everywhere and eye’s look deader than usual. Katsuki knows he’s difficult to deal with when he’s- useless and pathetic, he wipes his eyes as he glances over to Aizawa once more he’s on one knee speaking to Eijirou, having to gently inform him for the fourth time that he can’t dye his hair until tomorrow, sitting him down at a small table to give him a moment to cool off. 

Katsuki settles for the corner, walking over and sitting down. Face pressed in the knees. He doesn’t like it, the sound, the chatter. It’s not fun at all- he intends to stay like this for another two hours. No-one really seems to notice, not that it matters he doesn’t want to be touched at all, as soon as he stepped in the room he slid between ages.

It’s fine, he can handle this. He’s not going to ruin his classmates' fun, and make Aizawa fuss over him because he’s a “bit stressed” which he isn't at all. It’s actually nothing. He’s used to loud noises all the time- he is a loud noise.

 It shouldn’t matter right now when the sound is out of his control and it’s crispy- He should hearing aids off, he’s not allowed to usually- he gets frightened when he doesn’t have them in, and it makes him anxious which is why Katsuki only takes them out to sleep. 

He hums out, the tone of his voice is nice- great even it almost cancels some of the now blaring sounds as the class begins to somehow become more active. He lightly rocks himself back and forth- it helps but it’s not enough, it’s like his chest is being compressed- eyes pricking with tears as he rocks more aggressively. 

I don’t like this, I don’t like this, I don’t like this, I don’t like this, I don’t like this, I don’t like this, 

I don’t like this, I don’t like this-  It’s too loud, too-

Aizawa gently touches his shoulder, Katsuki’s eyes shoot up with a heavy gasp. “Bakugou? Are you doing alright?” Aizawa asks softly - Katsuki tries to push himself further against the wall. “No- I can… I can do it.. No-” Bakugou utters out he was supposed to be- this sucks. He’s making him do more work, he’s embarrassing himself. 

“You don’t have to, this must be a lot for you right now yeah?” Aizawa speaks again softly, Katsuki shakes his head. “I-M’sorry.. I said I could..” Katsuki stutters out. “You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be, no-one will judge you.” he lets out a sob in response “Busy..M’sorry..” 

“I am busy, but I’m never busy enough to take care of you,” Katsuki sniffs, body slightly relaxing. 

“L-Loud..” 

“Yeah? It’s very loud, how about we turn off all the noise.” Aizawa hums as he reaches out for Katsuki’s hearing aids, taking them out gently sitting in his case that he carries around. Katsuki quickly flaps his hand. 

"Better?" Aizawa signs out, Katsuki slowly nods his head, he reaches his arms out as Aizawa slowly stands lifting Katsuki up tucking his head on his shoulder nuzzling into his thick and surprisingly soft scarf. Aizawa holds Katsuki in his arms as he does another loop around to make sure the children aren’t eating glue. 

Katsuki eyes are wide as he observes, Aizawa sometimes sits him down signing if he wants to partake in any activity but he just shakes his head before reaching up his hands and wanting to be lifted again. He ends up falling asleep on Aizawa’s shoulder, breathing stills as Aizawa holds him tight.

I loveeee Bakugou with hearing aids!

[burningcrab]

how im imagining ᵐʸ drifter's relationships with the hex. obvy subject to change once the expansion drops and we get to know them better

arthur: you know the sibling thing where you go open your sibling's door and talk to them about stupid shit and then flip them off or something and walk away without closing the door. she does that when he's in the security office. beyond that i don't think they have much of a personal relationship. years of fighting solo in duviri means she struggles with having a commander so she probably gives him heartburn when she fucks off to do her own thing in the field

aoi: they should be at the club. specifically drifter should be at the club learning how to stop fumbling women. aoi gets them shots because drifter says she doesnt get drunk. sadly drifter has only been drinking weird duviri beer as imagined by a teenager for most of her life so the first time she gets drunk off tequila and fireball and shit she freaks out and thinks shes actually dying and turns invisible in the bathroom. aoi drags her back out to dance and then they have a homoerotic midnight atomicycle ride back to base

lettie: seething because learning vazarin healing backfired and now her stupid void body won't let her manufacture "accidental" injuries. she can't even get a paper cut and ask lettie to kiss it better because she heals too fast. drifter is down horrendous for lettie but between immunity to mild injuries and a fear of rodents its just a disaster. meanwhile lettie likes drifter more than any of the rest of the team because at least drifter's dumbass attempts to play hero on missions don't require intensive care afterwards like arthur's "Tank Incident"

amir: listens and nods while amir explains the gameplay of caliber chicks 2 at 225 wpm for six minutes. tries playing with him but doesn't get the appeal so she just sits around while he plays and offers unhelpful and irrelevant advice whenever he dies. like "you should try parrying" when he loses tetris or "do a bullet jump" in a racing game. she also steals his energy drinks, which is probably good for amir but definitely bad for everyone else who has to deal with hopped-up drifter

quincy: drifter works best with him in the field out of all the hex members. he says it's because she's really good at being annoying and distracting and getting in the enemy's face with a shotgun so he can line up his shots. she says this is true, and thank you very much quincy thats sweet of you. drifter loves to be annoying and quincy is the only one smart enough to weaponize that. drifter is also permanently banned from shooting contests with quincy after she blew a hole in the wall with a plasma shotgun instead of using a normal gun for target practice

eleanor: oscillates between wanting to help eleanor and getting annoyed with her cryptic bullshit. also oscillates between thinking the mind control/telepathy thing is completely terrifying and thinking its awesome (and kind of hot). absolutely cannot stop asking eleanor weird questions and will keep it up until she gets the psychic equivalent of a sucker punch and her nose starts bleeding (which heals before she can get to lettie). sometimes she tells eleanor stories about the lotus.

[diakittyau]

Theme of Kuchizuke's story.

Hello. (￣▽￣)ノ I wanted to talk about the themes, personal experiences and fears I put into the first part of Deluding Moonlight AU, Kuchizuke.

First of,

! spoiler warning for the animation ! Please watch it before reading.

And second, the topics that I'm going to cover, as well as some scenes from animation, may be unpleasant to some people. I'll be covering: abuse, unhealthy relationships, depression and death.

With all that out of the way, let's begin.

Here's a fact: I'm not into shipping, even though the story of Deluding Moonlight is heavily tied to one character having an infatuation for another. I don't care about fanon romanization, kissing stuff or anything like that. I have favorite duos, such as Sonic & Amy, Knuckles & Rouge, Shadow & Maria, none of which I see in the romantic relationships and just enjoy their canonical dynamics. Some of them are funny, some comforting, I don't need to see them kissing or something. So if that's the case, how did I get to making this story? At first the idea of vampire Rouge just randomly came to mind when I listened to the song "BUCK-TICK — Kuchizuke". I thought it might be an interesting idea to make an animation of it. But since the song is heavily implied of love, obsession and passion, I had to think of a plot line that can accompany it. When it comes to characters, for me it's always important to keep their initial characterizations without significantly changing it. I probably should add that I'm only into Japanese Sonic, so I'm staying true to their original Japanese characterizations. Not including anything from the American side, as comics, tv shows and even dubs. And yes, there's no official Sonic couples (I'm talking games only) and I'm not going into fanon. What should I do? Well, there is one thing I can work with, and that is one-sided love. And thankfully, Rouge has it. On multiple occasions she's shown to have interest in Knuckles, flirting and mocking him. And as I said, I enjoy their fun dynamic.

So now on to building up the story. We're talking vampires, so deception and no mutual love were main points that I focused on. And that's where my personal stuff comes to play. The first one is:

Fear of abusive relationships.

As a child born in Russia, in a typical fashion I saw the horrors of dysfunctional family. I never got physical abuse myself from it, but I've been neglected by one parent and saw the suffering of another. Since the early childhood I didn't have normal ideas about love and relationships, because I simply didn't saw any. My psyche was affected, and I live with the trauma and fear ever since. I've never been in a relationship. All my life I could only analyze it by looking at others, which gave me an idea about what love is and that entering into a relationship with someone was a very important step. This cannot be neglected and done haphazardly. This is a union of two people, and understanding, compromise, and consideration of personal interests are important in it. Otherwise things can end up pretty badly.

Isn't that right?

And that's the part of me that's been reflected on Knuckles, but more on that later. First, we need to understand what parts of me were reflected on Rouge, and it was:

Depression.

I was in a depressive state for at least seven years. While depressive episodes have occasionally faded away, they reached their peak two years ago. That's when I succumbed to seclusion, intensive self-flagellating, imposter syndrome, feelings of rejection and uselessness. And for the first time I felt desperate for love. I have had a difficult time understanding my own feelings before, but back them it just got 200 times worse. I didn’t understand whether I felt love for the first time or was it something else completely? Did I really want to love, or did I just want someone to pity and comfort me? Do I really have friends and people I can trust, and do they accept me or just use me? I didn't know myself anymore. It's been hard and long way of figuring myself out, and only the huge possibility that I had autism explained everything that had happened to me throughout my life. That's when I accepted myself and was able to climb out of this deep hole that seemed bottomless. There's also another thing that really bothers me since my early years:

The fear of time passing.

I don't like changes, I don't like growing old and fading, I don't want to lose something or someone because their time has come. I fear death, future, the unknown. I never wanted my video-game characters to die and my own stories have always been stuck at one particular time without much moving forward. That's why I have always had a deep connection with vampires. That and the aesthetic, of course. That's should be all the main point, now let's see how all this falls on the characters. Starting with Knuckles.

Now I should mention, that out of all the Sonic character I can relate to Knuckles the most. His worldview, his social skills, his dedication to his life's work, his short-temper and so forth. And this is perfect, since it is so much easier for me to stay true to his character. Back to the personal stuff: several times I was in situations where some people wanted to date me. The thing was, I hadn't felt any attraction to any of these people, it was simply beyond my understanding. Not to mention I didn't know them for a long time, but after a few short conversations it seemed like they were seriously considering me their girlfriend. I treated them quite indulgently and friendly at first, but very soon I caught myself thinking that they just irritate me, and my attitude towards them was already beginning to border on hate. I just wanted them to leave me alone with their imposition of relationships. That personal experience pretty much resonates with Knuckles' role in Kuchizuke. He's been forced to fall in love with Rouge by her dark magic, and the latter didn't even took his own feeling into consideration. And his personal boundaries were not taken into account either.

To Rouge, Knuckles just been the possession. This approach to getting his love only led to hatred and ended up in the tragedy.

I kept Rouge's mysterious nature with her own goals and ways to achieve them. Back to the personal stuff once more: as I established before, I have a hard time understanding my own feelings, and at the peak of my depression I didn’t know how to deal with negative emotions at all. Perhaps that's why I felt the need for a soulmate for the first time. But was it love? Now it seems to me more that my special interest simply fell on a certain person who filled the voids in my soul and brightened up the endless stream of negative thoughts. Even so, I find my past self quite selfish, because I only wanted my own happiness with that person, even though the feeling obviously weren't mutual. However, it is also worth clarifying that I didn't have enough courage or social skills even to make any moves, most of the times simply living in my own world of illusions. But when I got out of depression, this not-love of mine simply vanished. So, this is were the theme comes from. Obsession and the desire to be with someone who can fill your mental emptiness. Of course, regardless of the opinion of this very person. The romanticized scenes of a "dream date" were mear delusion, having nothing to do with the real feelings of a person she loved.

I will explore Rouge's character more in the future, so keep in mind some of the stuff I said.

In conclusion.

Through this tragic tale of one-sided love I really wanted to say something simple yet very important:

Love is not a fairy tale.

and relationships are a very serious step for both parties, where understanding, compromises and trust are important. Love in this story is a complete self—deception and manipulation, with selfish motives and a sad outcome.

[magnusbae]

If you're interested, here's a prompt from the ones who just shared:

"Then why did you do it?" "BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!"

No rush hehe I hope you get rest and have fun writing this!

Now, see, I could have taken this as an open prompt and went with something else, but I know you like dreamling and so I was good.

Thanks for the prompt dear! 💖 Also special thanks goes to @cuubism for actually going through it 🌻🌻🌻 any mistakes are me ignoring her wisdom or straight up forgetting to edit it. one of the two.

Dreamling - some flavor of hurt/comfort(?) 'you dare?' kind of situation going on there, 1,394w

▾▾▾

“I cannot fathom why—” 

Dream halts mid-sentence, his outrage rendering him speechless for a precious moment in which Hob tries, fruitlessly, to come up with a way to placate him, to explain in a way that will somehow pass as acceptable to Dream. The betrayal is tangible in the air, so charged that Hob’s hair actually stands on end as if from static. It feels like standing at your front door, still safe but seeing the hurricane on the horizon, knowing that this false safety can and will change in moments. Hob cannot think of a single thing. 

“You.” Dream grits his teeth so tightly that they scrape loudly, the sound of it making Hob’s own teeth ache uncomfortably. “Know.” Dream says each word as if it takes a great burden to even use human speech and not simply burn a hole in Hob’s mind. Given Dream’s past record, which Hob had recently learnt of, perhaps it does. “You know I do not ask.”

“I know.” Hob winces.

There’s no denying that he knew. Knew full well that asking Dream’s sibling for help was a guaranteed way to not only outrage him, but also land Hob a very creative punishment and the end of their long friendship.

He knew that, and did it anyway. 

Would again, if he had to.

He will not apologize for that.

Dream seems to come to the same conclusion, cheeks reddening in a surprising display of humanity, of lack of control over his appearance. The darkness that creeps into his eyes is distinctly not human. Hob shudders but fixes his eyes on Dream’s, refusing to avert his eyes like a reprimanded youth. He did what he did, and he’s not sorry.

''Then.” To Hob’s surprise, Dream seems to level himself, to school the darkness out of his eyes and ask with a calm that is somehow more unnerving than his rage. “Why did you do it?" There is a finality to this question, like a judge asking for one last confession to tip the scale one way or another. There will be judgment at the end of it, Hob knows. 

“Because…” he sucks in a breath, there’s a ball of nerves in his stomach and frustration, surprising him with its intensity, it feels almost like anger.

Why is he here, searching for excuses for something he believes in wholeheartedly? He doesn’t want to learn firsthand of Dream’s notorious pettiness but he’s not here to play these sort of games. 

The outraged huff is stuck in his throat— he didn’t even realize he had raised his voice this much, not until the ring of it strains his ears. He is practically shouting. And he doesn’t care. 

 ''BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.''

There’s anger in it, frustration, a measure of desperation.

“I bloody love you more than I fear you, that’s why.” His own cheeks burn, itch, tingle with the indignation of it all. “Because I’m a besotted fool who would make a pact with the devil if I had to, if it meant helping you.” He gestures curtly at Dream, then spreads his arm in an exaggerated motion of question. “Why else? Seriously, why else?!” He stops at that, breathing harshly. This is not how he had imagined, not even close. Fuck it. And fuck Lucifer, too. And Dream’s all too pleased sibling, on top.

Through his outburst Hob had stopped paying attention to Dream’s face, only his eyes, latching onto them as if they were his anchor in this universe, the only constant thing, in life, in this.

When he finally looks, really looks, he realizes with a start that Dream’s cheeks are no longer red with anger, that his eyebrows are not as tightly knitted, that his pale lips form a small and lax ‘o’. 

His friend looks taken aback, pacified and…surprised.

Like he couldn’t fathom this being the reason for Hob’s supposed betrayal of trust. Like this was the last rationale he had expected to hear, like he, an Endless being of incomprehensible wisdom, is unable to conceive this simple truth. Like he’s at a loss now.

Like he’s a bloody idiot. Hob shakes his head in amazement, his own anger evaporating as quickly as it came. Yet again he wonders how it is possible to be all knowing and yet so blind, so oblivious to such a simple truth, one Hob didn’t even try too hard to hide, really.

“I know you didn’t want me to,” he softens his voice, speaking more quietly “but I really didn’t have a choice. If I could do this on my own, you know I would have, I’d do worse for you.” He smiles at Dream, he doesn’t even try to sound self-deprecating, it’s the honest truth. He would.

His hand drops by his side and he awaits then, for his judgment.

“You love, me?”

Hob doesn't know how to respond to such a simple question other than–

“I do.”

There’s nothing else to add to that, he said it all, he did it all, even Dream must understand this is no passing fancy. One does not risk their immortal soul for something insignificant. Especially not Hob. One does it when it means everything. And in this case, it did. Dream did. 

Dream seems to again, come to the same conclusion. 

He wilts, shoulders sagging. He looks both much older and much younger at the same time, like this knowledge has stricken him, hurt him.

“You shouldn’t” is all he says. 

“But I do.” Hob answers in return. 

“I see that.” Dream’s voice is a whisper carried by the breeze, gentle, endless, aching. He looks torn in that moment, the judge whose scales no longer measure in any understandable manner. He casts his gaze down. 

“Just let me,” Hob says. He did not come here demanding boons, nor love, only to help Dream. “Forgive my impudent human inclinations to save what I love, and let us continue as we were. Friends. “

“Friends…” Dream repeats after him, as if in disbelief.

Dream opens his mouth to say more—to accept or refuse, Hob doesn’t know—but in that exact moment Matthew half-crashes, half-lands on Dream’s shoulder, a flutter of black feathers and barely muffled curses.

“Boss! Oh for fuck’s sake— I mean cracker’s sake— I mean what the hell— I mean you’re fine—you’re actually okay, I was sure that this time you’re like legit—” he notices Hob then, and cawing loudly he curses again “You actually did it you son of a bitch— you really did!” His wings open excitedly, brushing against Dream’s face, covering it up.

“Matthew.” 

“Uh-” Matthew folds his wings immediately. 

Hob looks at Dream then, the moment is decidedly broken but he has to know if he’d see him again, he can’t just go on not knowing, it’ll drive him insane. “Dream—” he starts, but Dream speaks over him.

“We will discuss this—” Dream’s lips tighten, eyes flicking to Matthew and then back at Hob. “At a later time.” He concludes rather curtly, seemingly deciding that addressing exactly what they will be discussing is not something he wants his Raven to be privy to.

“Right…” Hob murmurs, not speaking further of the topic either. It’s one thing to break Dream’s boundaries over life and death, another entirely over his own impatience and need to know. Dream wanting to see him again at all is already a damn good sign, and Hob will take it, gladly.

“I’ll see you later then, Dream” He uses the name even while not being sure he is still permitted to, that he did not lose the privilege. Dream tilts his head but doesn’t object, instead he nods once and disappears in a swirl of golden sand.

“Show off…” Hob murmurs into the empty air, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s a good feeling in his gut, he should probably be worried but he has a feeling that things will work out, that it all will be just fine. He can’t explain it, but he has learnt to trust his gut over the years. After all, it once led him to believe that he would never die.

It was right then, and it’ll be right now too. He and Dream will figure it out and will be better for it. Just like the other time, just like always. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA (30f) for losing my cool/snapping at my roommate and friend (30m, who I will call Kyle) because he was too loud playing games online with his friends?

For context, in case it's needed: this happened a couple months ago, but it's been on my mind. We are both autistic and thus got a late start in our adult lives, in several ways. We have been friends for 10 years and have lived together for roughly 7 of them, on and off (we adopted 2 cats together many years ago, its just easier like this so we dont have to separate them or force one of us to be away from the cats. we love them very much. kind of a coparenting situation lol). Kyle has a salaried tech job that's remote for 70% of the time, and I've recently become a full-time online college student after failing to "make it" without a degree.

We live in a tiny 2-bedroom house that Kyle's family owns. We're only charged for utilities, which is why neither of us are leaving anytime soon (contrary to what you might assume, Kyle does not make a lot of money), especially since it's giving me the opportunity to go to school full-time and not worry about rent. Kyle helps me a lot with groceries and other necessities and I do most of the chores.

So we are always basically on top of each other, and sometimes we get on each other's nerves. We try to be respectful of each others' space, but it's hard because there is not much space in the first place.

I had a really busy day studying and doing homework, which is basically every day for me, since I'm taking 6 classes, 4 of which are STEM classes. So I tend to fall asleep early if I'm not unintentionally pulling all-nighters. I was trying to sleep when this happened around 9pm.

He usually closes his door because he knows he can be very loud, but it doesn't help much. I ended up having to close my own door to try and drown out some of his yelling and laughing, which I understand is going to happen and I try not to hold it against him.

But then he opened his door and left it wide open, so I could hear everything, like he was in the same room. Something really funny must have happened because he started scream-laughing.

Despite this being a semi-regular weekly occurrence, I was really startled. I figured, it probably wasn't intentional and he'll try to quiet down and close his door. I tried to relax and as soon as I started to fall asleep, he did it again, except louder.

This time he didn't stop, he was full-on screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs. Kinda like those game streamers/youtubers where literally all they do is scream the whole time? Very similar. My cat, who was asleep under the blanket on top of me, got startled awake and scratched the shit out of my leg.

I think this all triggered a "fight" response because I was suddenly just so incredibly pissed at Kyle, which I tried to get under control, but he would not stop screaming and I literally could not hear myself think.

(I cannot wear earplugs or have anything in/covering my ears for huge sensory reasons.)

Then my cat wanted to leave the room to see what the commotion was, so I had to open the door, which gave me a direct line of sight to to Kyle at his computer.

I walked over to his doorway. Tried to knock and call his name, but he didnt notice with his noise cancelling headphones on. So I slammed my hand against his door to get his attention & yelled "Hey! Shut the fuck up, Kyle!"

He looked surprised to see me and laughed and kinds waved it off and said "sorry, it got a little intense" and he started to explain what they were doing.

I cut him off and said "I don't care. Shut the hell up." He said he could close his door again, and I said "No, you need to stop. Just stop! You're freaking the cats out too!" and I pointed to my leg with huge bloody scratch marks, shut his door, went back to my room, shut my own door. And of course after that I had adrenaline coursing through my body and I couldn't fall asleep anyway.

After that, I didnt hear a single sound from his room apart from an occasional quiet laugh. I started to feel guilty. I think I overreacted and ruined his fun. I know this is his way of blowing off steam halfway through the work week.

I also felt embarrassed because his friends probably heard me throwing a fit. We have lived with them before, and they're exactly that loud every single night. I have had to ask them to quiet down multiple times, and Kyle told me later on that gave them the impression that I'm. Well, "neurotic, controlling bitch" was heavily implied. Kyle is usually a lot more chill, but being around these guys influences him to act more like them.

But, I guess being loud while having fun isn't a crime, especially when it's not even 10pm yet. I feel like I proved his friends right, maybe.

The next morning I apologized, he apologized too, and everything seems to be good between us, but it's been a while and he's a lot quieter during game night now. He's such a reserved and stressed out person, he hardly ever laughs except when he's playing games, so I feel like I destroyed an important outlet.

I told another friend what happened and she said I didn't overreact at all and she would have flipped out way sooner if her husband did that. (Not sure it's comparable I mean we aren't married lol) And for the record, this friend and her husband were once part of a now-fractured friend group including Kyle and his game night friends, but grew apart, for a lot of reasons, but I think mainly because the Loud Gamer Friends never really grew up while everyone else matured and moved on to different phases in life.

Basically my friends current impression of Kyle is that he is a decent person but incredibly emotionally stunted and feels like he may unintentionally cope in ways that often hurt me without caring as much as she thinks he should. Which....feels partially accurate, I guess. But isn't that placing too much responsibility on him for my wellbeing? He does a lot for me, so it felt like an unfair thing to say.

My mom on the other hand, seems to fully think I am an asshole fun-ruiner. She thinks I should have tried harder to calm down. Maybe I should have approached him sooner - nicely.

And I agree. He probably would have tried his best to oblige even if he couldn't fully succeed. But that's the reason I didn't bother - in the past he has only been able to honor that kind of request for maybe 10-15 minutes, then forgets, and it's exhausting to keep reminding him.

Anyway... what does everyone here think?

[thekitsandthekats]

love love love the manifestation of guilt in both daeho and gihun and how this manifestation is juxtaposed with each other. like the intense, inescapable guilt daeho felt about lying. he'd lied about being part of the marines, he lied about being this big strong guy because he wanted to be a big strong guy, he wanted to stand with gihun and all the rest. but then everyone died. all the people that went to fight for gihun's cause died. and there must be a part of his mind that wonders if he's responsible, if he's to blame. esp because he didn't bring back the magazines, he clearly let everyone down. but of course, he cannot blame himself for this (even tho he does). and he cannot be around the others too because maybe they blame him for it as well.

and that's the same for gihun who shuts down and stops interacting with everyone around him. he blames himself for daring to dream, for daring to hope that he can stop the games, collapse the system, and the guilt in failing to do that literally silences him. he then distances himself from everyone both by being chained up but also not interacting with everyone who tries to speak to him.

and what i think is incredible about this is that they both blame themselves and the other person. daeho blames himself internally, and blames gihun, externally. while gihun blames daeho externally and himself internally. it's such a clever play on their characters especially when you realise that the manifestations cannot co exist. they can never go back to the way things were before, they can never forgive each other because that'll mean admitting guilt, admitting that you were the one to blame, that it's your fault. and neither of them can do that, not until the other is defeated.

one has to kill the other for the truth to come through. and the truth is that neither of them are to blame. they're both victims, victims to a system designed to turn men into monsters, victims of a system built to force you into action, force you to be the one to pull the trigger, a system built in such a way that the minute you fight against it in any shape or form, it's your fault for losing. it's your fault for not making it, even tho making it was never an option.

the minute gihun kills daeho he says that it was his fault. that it was gihun's fault and in as much as this is true, it's also not. gihun isn't at fault and neither is daeho. they're just in the worst possible situation, forced to make impossible choices and hoping that they're making the right ones.

gihun said they should fight because he thought that's what they should do.

daeho lied about being in the marines because he wanted to belong and thought that was the only way to do it.

and the guilt felt from those choices consumes them whole.