#I feel it would depend on the side plot of the story

[uwouldthink]

With all due respect, It's the writer's job to figure out how to take all the disparate ideas they want to include and weave them into a narrative that's not only coherent but satisfying in regards to the set up and pay off that are already established.

Adrien needed to be in the final battle because that was the story they set up. There had to be a confrontation between him and Gabriel. He didn't need to have an entire character arc in the fight but he needed to have some measure of closure, even if he would still grapple with everything in s6. That the scene needed to be primarily action focused is no excuse as any good action scene should also explore character or themes, or else it's just empty spectacle.

Is it easy to do? No. But again, that's the writers' entire job.

OP is right that having Adrien there present a difficulty in the sense that he steals a lot of the spotlight from Marinette and that she can't be relegated to a side character either. However, it's far from impossible to write the finale in a way that fixes it.

They could've add two mini climaxes in the finale, something that's pretty common in season finale where you have several characters and plotlines that need resolution. The focus would be on Adrien confronting his father in the first half and then on Marinette confronting... whatever the stakes for her in the second half.

(That's a big part of the issue. The show didn't establish any proper stakes for Marinette or an investment in the conflict other than being Ladybug. It's hard to think of a fitting season-finale level opponent that could challenge her because it's hard to pin down what she should be challenged on. Challenging her on being Ladybug is what I would go for if we're going a more canon compliant route, but it's not really satisfying because she already showed plenty she's a good Ladybug so it would just be rehashing the plot of a regular episode. Challenging her on being the guardian would be my pick, as she showed actual struggles with it and that plotline ended on her losing, so her triumph here would feel like development. However, it would need more setup in the preceding season in order to be satisfying, so it's a more extensive re-write.)

One, more canon compliant, possibility is having the two of them confronting Gabriel in a fight. Adrien initially takes the center stage because of his reaction and to get closure. Then in the middle he gets incapacitated and taken out of the fighting, leaving only Marinette to fight Hawkmoth and finish everything.

The reason he gets incapacitated is dependent on what you want to emphasize. It could be used to show that Gabriel is too far gone with the way he takes Adrien out. It could emphasize the power of love with Adrien sacrificing himself so Marinette could finish Gabriel off. It could be used to emphasize Adrien's refusal to be controlled by Gabriel by having him take himself out (and so playing on him being the hero of destruction) when Gabriel tries to to use him against Ladybug by controlling him with his amok. There are a lot of ways you can take this.

Alternatively, they could separate the heroes by adding a more dangerous obstacle for Marinette to deal with, perhaps even of the world destroying/controlling variety. So they would have two plotlines running through the finale, the more personal and lower stakes story of Adrien confronting his father and an epic save the world plotline for Marinette.

The two heroes would go to try and stop the world destroying threat only for Hawkmoth to stand in their way to it. Chat Noir would keep him busy and allow Ladybug to run past him to handle the world destroying threat. Easy separation of the two with each getting a threat to deal with that serves as a proper culmination for their arc.

What would be the threat be? Take your pick. Mlb's lore is loose enough that you can insert any number of things without setting them up. A ritual to summon some ancient, powerful creature (that Ladybug could fight), for example. Or the villains using the alliance rings to suck people's life force to power this thing or that (the final boss here could be Tomoe, potentially in a mecha or a power suit, or maybe with some of the miraculous herself).

Those setups also allow to have Bug Noire. If Adrien is incapacitated, he could give Ladybug the ring himself or ask Plagg to give it to her (say he's too far away and we want to preserve the secret identities). If Ladybug is dealing with a world ending threat, have it do something that makes Adrien decide that Ladybug needs the ring more than him and let him try to talk Gabriel down. The heart of their conflict is in the personal drama anyway rather than the magical fight.

Would this give everything we got from the finale? Some setups could, if you finagle things enough. But sometimes you just need to kill your darlings, and mlb is a show with a lot of darlings that need to be assassinated.

That being said, there is actually a set up where you can get all the same outcomes of the finale AND have Adrien there confronting his father.

Just have Adrien be akumatized.

Do it in a situation where Gabriel doesn't know he's Chat Noir and so he manages to slip the ring off his finger and give it to Plagg before he's taken over, and you have a convenient reason for why Adrien wouldn't remember anything about the encounter. It would also allow him to explore the more repressed emotions about Gabriel.

Have him taken out in the middle of the finale to allow Marinette some solo screentime (as mentioned before) and you're set.

Writers are the gods of the story. They can arrange circumstances and invent whatever reasons are needed to tell the story they want. That I could come up with three different set ups that could work tells me those professional writers either didn't have the skill to pull off the story they told (in which case I have to question why they're being paid to do this job), or they simply didn't want to write the story they had set up and chose to ignore it in favor of the cool moments they did want to write.

Honestly I think my take on the "Chat Noir was not there in the final battle" comes down to the fact that I kind of just don't think a satisfying final battle between Chat Noir and Monarch was actually possible.

I read a lot of fic, for example, and I've read the scenario play out a lot of times in a ton of ways and I've never been fully convinced of it tbh (and not because they weren't great fic!!). It seems just completely traumatic for Adrien in a way that the scenario inherently cannot properly focus on, because it's all happening in the middle of an action scene and Adrien is too busy being Mid-Battle to properly have a cathartic breakdown about it all. I mean, Chat Blanc already showed us what would happen if he did have a breakdown mid-battle (and why wouldn't he?). And though it'd be fun to have a big triumphant moment of him defeating his abusive father, Adrien simply isn't a character who would find that scenario triumphant, or cathartic, or anything other than viscerally traumatic.

Also, I agree that it's unfair that Chat Noir was not present— like it was unfairly tilted in Ladybug's favor— but I don't think it'd be fair if he was present, either. Because Marinette is, in fact, the main character. The main character whose character arc is primarily focused on her finding her footing as a hero and discovering all the responsibilities that come with that power (as opposed to Adrien, whose character arc is moreso about freedom and identity). And let's face it, in a fight between Ladybug and Chat Noir and Monarch, nobody would be focused on Ladybug at all. It's not about her. It's not her fight. She'd just be there as moral support and an extra set of hands, which really doesn't work for her character arc at all and is completely unfair to her!

Basically, it would just be Chat Noir temporarily acting as the main character and having the worst time of his life in the most un-cathartic battle for him possible left completely traumatized with Ladybug in the background awkwardly trying to comfort him after the fact? And then the season ends? And then the next season presumably goes back to Ladybug being the main character? After a time-skip to the new school year? It's just an ending that I feel like is a lot better in theory than actually on paper. And you can probably make an argument for ways that it could be made to work, where it would enhance Ladybug's story in a meaningful way where she still feels like the main character, and would somehow be triumphant for Chat Noir despite it probably being the worst moment of his life, and somehow not make the rest of the series following feel like bonus content as opposed to a continuation of the story...... but, I dunno. I think it's a lot easier said than done.

The fact of the matter is, I've always been waaayyyy more interested in how the aftermath of Gabriel's defeat affects Adrien than the battle itself. Post-Hawkmoth defeat is one of my favorite types of fic for a reason, and it's because the aftermath can be so juicy, especially for Adrien as a character. I think whether or not Adrien is actually there in the battle itself has always been kind of irrelevant to me, because no matter how Gabriel is defeated, his defeat will have immense repercussions on Adrien's life going forward. And the way they did it, Marinette is now a part of it in a more active way, too. Which is good for her character!

( Also, if he was there to triumphantly defeat Gabriel, would that mean he would just.... watch his father die? of cataclysm? a-and.... nathalie would just.... die, too? so he'd have three dead parents after all that? who he watched all die (or, in emilie's case, saw her corpse)? or is this a scenario where MONARCH BEATS CHAT NOIR and still makes the wish? is that cathartic? for Adrien to lose to Gabriel? Frankly, I loved seeing Gimmi and The Wish, it's been teased for so long that I was expecting it, and I loved the fact that Nathalie got to live as her narrative reward for coming to her senses and trying to murder Gabriel with a crossbow. I like that we got to watch a full season of Gabriel painfully dying to a cataclysm— poetically inflicted on him by Adrien, but of Gabriel's own doing. I like that Nathalie has presumably adopted Adrien after having an arc of her trying to be a parent to him once she realized nobody else would, that's so much more interesting than any other alternative. I just don't see how all of these things, some of my favorite things that season 5 gave, can still all exist at once with Chat Noir present in the final battle in any way that's satisfying. )

[heyacris]

Can't sleep right now, I'm daydreaming about hypothetical routes and the good and bad endings to a Blush Blush visual novel

[icewindandboringhorror]

One of the interesting bits of trying to resume working on the game after so long is looking back at my ancient Draft Placeholder versions of an image from 4 yrs ago trying to remember what the hell I meant back then, to hopefully interpret it into some more final (ish..) form of the same thing .. making slow progress lol

[blissfulflw]

Hii!! So um 🥺, im not sure how to write a request but um here's mine 👉👈

Loser Fem Reader x Popular Cool Girl Karina

So the plot goes like, Reader and Karina go to the same school and of course Karina is popular at their school and Reader knows it but she doesn't have like the cliche crush on her but she just knows. So one day they were both late and Reader rides their bike and tried to speed up but she didn't check around her corner and was suddenly hit by someone's car. Reader tries to get up fast, embarrassed by the fact that they got hit, someone gets out of the car to check on her, and asks Reader if they're okay, Reader recognizes the voice and realizes that it was actually Karina, so she gets more embarrassed and just brushes off the fact that she got hit by a car and just rides away ignoring the pain. Of course Karina was bewildered by this and just stares at Reader's back as she bikes away. Soon after, still in pain Reader tries to attend school, acting normal like usual, but then Karina recognizes her stuff like that and they talk eventually, like Karina now recognizes that Reader goes to their school and stuff like that.

So yeh thats the whole intro, as for the whole plot you can think of it lol, I just thought it would be a funny story like most introverts would act like they're ok as if they didn't get hit with a 100kg force lol.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝐵𝑖𝑐𝑦𝑐𝑙𝑒 𝐶𝑟𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑠

Pairing- Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem reader

Genre- Fluff

Word count- 6887

Mornings are supposed to be quiet. That’s your thing. The soft click of your bike chain, the chill air brushing your cheeks, earbuds in and the world tuned out. You like your little routines—the ones that keep you out of the way. You’re not trying to be late. You’re not trying to be seen.

But the universe had other plans today.

Your phone never buzzed with its usual alarm. Maybe it died overnight. Maybe the software glitched. Maybe fate just woke up with a sick sense of humor. Either way, you woke up forty minutes later than you should have, heart already hammering before your feet hit the ground.

The panic didn’t settle—it bloomed. You barely had time to wash your face. Forget breakfast. You threw on the first hoodie you saw, a faded one from some band no one remembers, and forced your arms through the sleeves of your ragged backpack. One shoelace was still untied as you slammed your front door and grabbed your bike from the porch like your life depended on it.

The wind felt sharper than usual as you sped down the street, legs burning with every pedal. You could already picture the tardy slip, the teacher’s passive-aggressive sigh. More than that, you hated the thought of walking into a classroom last, everyone looking up to see which loser couldn’t manage to get to school on time.

You leaned into the curves of the street like a practiced rider—sharp, fast, automatic. You were almost there. One more turn and you’d be in sight of the side lot. You didn’t slow down. You didn’t think.

You didn’t look.

That was your mistake.

The honk came too late. Tires screeched against asphalt. Your front tire clipped something hard and metallic, and your body pitched forward in a messy blur of panic and gravity.

The landing hurt. A lot. Not broken-bone hurt, but definitely I’m-going-to-feel-this-tomorrow hurt. Your elbow grated against pavement. Your knee twisted weird. The breath rushed out of you in a harsh exhale as you hit the ground and skidded a few inches before stopping.

You groaned softly, already burning with embarrassment before you could even assess the damage. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, hoping—praying—no one saw that.

“Are you okay?” a voice called, slightly breathless.

You froze.

You knew that voice.

A car door slammed shut behind you. Shoes crunched over gravel. You turned your head, wincing at the motion, just in time to see her.

Jimin.

Of all people.

The girl walking toward you looked like a magazine cover come to life, even in a simple school uniform. Her blazer was perfectly fitted, her long dark hair falling over one shoulder like it had been styled that way on purpose. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but her skin still had that unfair, flawless glow that made you want to disappear.

You knew who she was, obviously. Everyone did. She was that girl—the one you hear laughing from down the hallway, the one whose Instagram account somehow had more followers than the school’s official page. She was friends with everyone, enemies with no one, and untouchable in the kind of way that didn’t seem real.

And now she was standing over you. Worried. Looking directly at you.

Her brows furrowed as she took in your torn jeans, your bleeding elbow, the blood already soaking through your sleeve.

“You’re bleeding,” she said softly, crouching beside you.

You sat up straighter on reflex. “I’m—uh—I’m fine.”

You reached for your bike, but the handlebar had twisted completely sideways and the chain had popped off. Still, you tugged it upright like that would undo what just happened.

Jimin tilted her head. “You sure? You kinda hit the hood pretty hard.”

Her car was sleek, black, and parked just a few feet behind you. It gleamed in the morning sun, not a dent on it. Of course it didn’t. If anything, your bike looked worse than her bumper.

“It’s fine,” you said again, this time more insistent, your voice rising with panic. “I wasn’t paying attention. Totally my fault. Sorry about—your car.”

Jimin blinked at that. “My car’s fine, but—seriously, you don’t have to—”

You didn’t wait for her to finish. Your face was already flushed with heat, your arm pulsing, and the longer she looked at you, the harder it was to breathe.

You shoved the bike forward, forced the pedal into place, and ignored the sting shooting through your knee as you pushed off. “Sorry—g-gotta go. I’m late.”

“Wait—!”

But you were already pedaling away, crooked and shaky, sweat beading at your hairline as you tried not to cry. Not from pain. Not even from fear.

Just sheer, mortifying embarrassment.

_____

Your knee throbbed with every step as you limped your way through the school gates, trying to make your movements look casual. You weren’t limping. Nope. Definitely not. Just walking with a little… attitude. A swagger, maybe. Definitely not a result of being sideswiped by a luxury car driven by Yu freaking Jimin.

You could still hear her voice echoing in your head.

“You’re bleeding.”

You rolled your eyes at yourself as you shuffled past the front office. She probably said that to people all the time. It wasn’t like it meant anything. She was just being polite. Or concerned for legal reasons. You might’ve dented her bumper with your body.

God, could this day get any worse?

You slid into homeroom just as the bell rang, dropping into your seat with a wince as your knee made contact with the edge of your desk. You hissed under your breath, pulling your hoodie sleeve over the bloodstained cuff. No one noticed. Not that you expected them to.

Being invisible was a kind of superpower. You’d trained for it. Eyes down. Words mumbled. Walk fast. No sudden movements. It worked like a charm. Until now.

Because someone did notice.

And that someone was now standing just inside the classroom door.

Yu Jimin.

Your heart sank. Not again.

She scanned the room like she was looking for someone. And when her eyes landed on you, you could actually feel it. Like a pin dropping directly onto your skin.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just tilted her head the tiniest bit, like she was still trying to figure you out. You quickly looked down at your desk, pretending to be intensely fascinated by the geometry textbook you hadn’t opened all semester.

Jimin moved to her seat a few rows ahead, her friends already buzzing around her like satellites. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she wasn’t laughing like usual. And—worse—she glanced back at you. Twice.

You were doomed.

_____

You made it through two more classes before you had to go to the nurse’s office. You told yourself it was for the bandages, not the fact that your leg was screaming every time you moved. The nurse barely glanced at you before handing over antiseptic wipes and some gauze. She didn’t ask what happened. You didn’t offer.

When you stepped back into the hallway, you weren’t expecting anyone to be there.

But of course, Jimin was.

She was leaning against the opposite wall like she’d been waiting. When she spotted you, her arms crossed and one brow lifted.

“You,” she said simply.

You froze mid-step. “Me…?”

“You ran away this morning.”

You gave her a flat look. “I didn’t run. I biked. Poorly.”

A corner of her mouth twitched, and you hated how perfect her smirk was. “And now you’re limping. So… not that poorly.”

You glanced around, hoping no one else was witnessing this interaction. “Did you follow me?”

“No,” she said, tilting her head. “You just looked like someone who’d hide in the nurse’s office.”

“Ouch.”

“I meant it in a nice way.”

“You hit me with your car.”

“That was your fault,” she said easily, but not unkindly. “You didn’t check the intersection.”

“You didn’t stop at the stop sign.”

“I did! You just came out of nowhere like a street goblin on a rusty bike.”

You blinked. “Did you just call me a goblin?”

“I said it affectionately.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or die. Probably both. Maybe at the same time.

There was a pause. And then Jimin’s expression softened.

“Hey,” she said, a little quieter. “Seriously. Are you okay?”

Your throat tightened a little. She said it like she meant it. Like she actually cared. You didn’t know what to do with that.

You nodded quickly. “I’m fine. Just a few scrapes.”

“Your elbow’s still bleeding.”

You looked down. So it was.

“Damn it.”

“Come on,” she said, reaching forward before you could stop her. She gently tugged your hoodie sleeve back to look at the wound, frowning when she saw the half-dried blood. “That’s not gonna heal right like that.”

You pulled your arm back on instinct. “It’s fine. I don’t need a—”

“I have a first aid kit in my locker.”

Of course she did. Queen of preparedness.

Before you could protest, she turned and started walking, tossing a casual “Follow me” over her shoulder.

And, somehow, you did.

Her locker was near the science wing, lined with pink stickers and Polaroids of her and her friends. She punched in the combo without looking, then pulled the door open to reveal an immaculate interior: mini mirror, gum, emergency deodorant, mascara, and—yep—first aid kit.

“You run a small hospital in there?” you muttered as she rummaged.

Jimin pulled out the kit and handed you a fresh antiseptic wipe. “Can’t always trust the nurse’s office. The Band-Aids in there expired in, like, 2012.”

You bit back a smile and wiped your elbow, wincing as the sting hit.

Jimin watched you. “You don’t go here much, do you?”

You frowned. “I’ve been here for two years.”

“I mean… like, go here. You keep to yourself.”

You shrugged, not answering.

“I notice things,” she added after a second.

You raised an eyebrow. “Like street goblins?”

That made her laugh. It was warm and real, not the showy kind she used with her crowd.

“Okay, I deserve that.”

“Why are you even talking to me?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. Your voice was quieter now, the edges a little raw. It wasn’t meant to sound bitter—but maybe it did.

Jimin blinked, surprised. “Because I hit you with my car?”

“That was this morning.”

“So?”

“So you don’t usually talk to people like me.”

She tilted her head, like she was genuinely confused. “What do you mean, people like you?”

You looked away. “Forget it.”

“No,” she said. “Say it.”

“People you don’t notice.”

There was a pause. Jimin leaned back against the lockers, studying you.

“Well,” she said finally, “I noticed you now.”

And for some reason, that made your chest ache a little.

_____

You didn’t expect anything to come of it.

People like Jimin existed in a different orbit. She brushed against the edge of your world today because of a car accident. That didn’t mean she’d stay.

And yet—

You caught her looking at you again in third period.

Not a subtle glance, not an accidental flicker of her gaze. A real, sustained look. She was sitting across the room, one row over and three seats down, next to her usual group. She didn’t laugh when someone showed her something on their phone. She didn’t flip her hair or roll her eyes dramatically the way she always did. She just watched you.

You did your best not to shrink into your hoodie.

When lunch came around, you made your usual exit before the bell. That way you could get to your usual spot in the back corner of the library, where the only noise was the occasional printer malfunction and the rustle of gum wrappers. You didn’t eat in the cafeteria. You’d made that mistake once last year and got bumped so hard into a tray of spaghetti you’d sworn off the lunchroom for good.

But as you reached the double doors to the library, a voice called out behind you.

“Hey!”

You flinched before you turned.

Yu Jimin.

Again.

She jogged up, her bag swinging against her hip. “Where are you going?”

You blinked. “Library.”

“To eat?”

You lifted your sandwich from your hoodie pocket like a badge of honor. “Yeah.”

She frowned. “Why don’t you eat in the cafeteria?”

“Because it’s loud. And crowded. And smells like someone microwaved fish.”

She laughed. “That’s… true.”

“Anyway,” you said, hitching your backpack higher, “you’ve got your table, right? The big round one by the vending machines. With the beautiful people.”

“You know where I sit?”

You gave her a flat look. “Everyone knows where you sit.”

She looked oddly pleased by that. Not in a smug way—just like she hadn’t realized it mattered. “Come sit with me today.”

You stared. “What?”

She gestured casually. “Come on. Just today. I’ll even protect you from any rogue spaghetti.”

Your stomach did a somersault. “Why?”

“Because you’re funny,” she said. “And you got hit by a car. That earns you at least one free lunch.”

You hesitated. Your instincts screamed at you to run. Hide. Retreat to safety.

But then Jimin tilted her head, smiling just a little. It wasn’t her usual confident smirk. It was softer. Curious.

And against your better judgment, you said, “Okay.”

The cafeteria didn’t implode when you walked in with Jimin.

But it felt like it might.

Heads turned. Conversations paused. You saw more than one person lean over to whisper something. You kept your eyes locked on the back of Jimin’s head as she led you through the maze of tables like she didn’t notice any of it.

You sat beside her.

Her friends were already there. Minjeong, Yizhou, and two others whose names you only vaguely remembered. You braced for them to laugh or ask what you were doing there. But surprisingly, they didn’t.

Minjeong gave you a small nod. “You’re the bike girl, right?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Jimin cut in, voice cheerful. “Her name’s Y/N. And I hit her with my car this morning.”

“Ohhh,” Yizhou said, leaning in with interest. “You’re the one.”

“I didn’t press charges,” you said dryly, and the table laughed.

You blinked. You hadn’t meant to be funny.

“You’re okay though?” Minjeong asked, more seriously. “That was kind of dramatic.”

“I’ve had worse,” you muttered. “But yeah. I’m fine.”

“You should’ve seen her,” Jimin said, smiling now as she peeled an orange. “She bounced up like it was nothing. Just dusted herself off and rode away like some kind of anime protagonist.”

“I did not.”

“You did,” Jimin insisted. “Very mysterious. Very main character energy.”

You tried not to turn red. You failed.

The lunch period passed in a strange blur. You didn’t talk much. You didn’t have to. Just being there, with them—part of the conversation instead of outside it—was enough.

And every time you thought maybe you’d said something stupid, you’d glance up and catch Jimin looking at you again.

Not like she was amused.

Not like you were some novelty.

Like she was trying to understand you.

_____

After lunch, things felt… tilted.

You’d expected things to go back to normal. That was always the way with people like Jimin—they touched your life like a meteor streaking across the sky. Bright, fast, unforgettable. But ultimately gone.

Except she wasn’t gone.

She walked with you halfway to your next class. No big deal. She said she was “just heading that way.” But she didn’t even turn down the hallway when you parted—just waited at the corner and watched you disappear into the crowd.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the day. Your body ached in slow waves—especially your knee—but that wasn’t what made your skin feel too tight. It was her.

Yu Jimin.

You didn’t have a crush on her. You were sure of that.

Right?

It wasn’t like one of those stories where the nerdy girl falls for the popular girl and everything goes spiraling. You weren’t imagining holding hands in the rain or carving her name into your desk. You were just…

Noticing.

The way she looked at you like she was listening with her whole body.

The way she made you feel like maybe you weren’t invisible after all.

You hated that it mattered.

When the final bell rang, you moved through the hallway like a ghost. Familiar. Invisible. Safe.

At least until you reached the bike rack.

Your poor ride was still half-broken, its front wheel warped, the chain slacked off and hanging like a busted necklace. You sighed and crouched beside it, trying to fix it before anyone could walk by and see.

“Need a ride?”

You jumped.

Jimin was standing there again, like she’d spawned out of thin air. Her bag slung over one shoulder, a casual breeze ruffling her hair like she was in a music video. She gestured toward her car, parked illegally beside the curb with zero shame.

“I’m good,” you said quickly, tugging at the chain. “Thanks.”

“You’re not good. Your bike’s crying.”

“It’s just—bent. A little.”

“I can drop you off.”

You stood up and wiped your hands on your hoodie. “Why are you doing this?”

Jimin blinked. “Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Talking to me. Offering rides. Sitting with me at lunch like we’re friends.”

“Maybe we are.”

You snorted. “No offense, but I don’t think you need another friend.”

“Maybe I need you.”

The words hung there, heavier than they should’ve been. You searched her face, waiting for the joke. The punchline.

But she wasn’t smiling.

“I didn’t mean that in a weird way,” she added, softer now. “I just meant… you’re different. People around me usually want something. Attention. Clout. A seat at the table. You didn’t even want me to help after I hit you.”

You looked away. “Yeah, well. I don’t really like attention.”

“I noticed.”

She hesitated. “But I want to give it to you anyway.”

Your heart stuttered. You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you didn’t say anything.

Instead, you climbed into her passenger seat like a coward.

_____

The inside of her car smelled faintly like cherry gum and vanilla. The seats were leather. The air conditioner whispered cool air against your skin as she pulled out of the parking lot like she’d done it a thousand times—with one hand on the wheel and sunglasses she didn’t even need.

“You always drive like you’re in a K-drama?” you asked, trying not to fidget with your sleeves.

Jimin grinned. “Only when I’ve got a mysterious runaway on board.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please stop calling me that.”

She didn’t answer. Just hummed something tuneless under her breath and drove.

You gave her your address reluctantly. It felt weird, letting someone like her into your world. You half-expected her to comment on your neighborhood when you got close. Not because it was bad, but because it was normal. Uneventful. A little rundown in spots. A lot like you.

But she didn’t say a word.

She parked in front of your house and turned off the engine, not moving right away.

You glanced at her. “What, you wanna come in and see my extensive collection of socially-awkward trauma?”

She snorted. “Only if you’ve got snacks.”

You cracked a smile despite yourself. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for not suing me.”

She met your eyes, and for a moment, it felt like you weren’t just someone she hit with a car. You were someone she saw.

You unbuckled your seatbelt. “So… see you tomorrow?”

“If you don’t dodge me again.”

“No promises.”

As you stepped out of the car and started toward your front door, you could feel her watching. Not in a creepy way. Just… lingering. Like she didn’t want the moment to end.

You didn’t look back.

But you smiled the whole way inside.

_____

You woke up sore.

Not the good kind of sore that came from working out or some accidental burst of physical activity. The dull, thudding kind. The kind that settled in your joints and made getting out of bed feel like a bad idea.

Your knee hated you.

Your elbow looked like someone had taken sandpaper to it. And your pride—well, that was still quietly bleeding out somewhere behind your ribcage.

You stared at the ceiling, letting the early morning light leak in around your curtains.

And then your phone buzzed.

A message.

From a number you didn’t recognize.

[Unknown Number]: Morning. Don’t bike today.

[Unknown Number]: Seriously. I mean it. I’ll be outside in 15.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You already knew who it was. No name needed.

[You]: How did you get my number

[Unknown Number]: I’m Yu Jimin. I have people.

[Unknown Number]: Also Ningning stole it from the attendance sheet

[Unknown Number]: But mostly I have people.

You blinked, rereading it three times.

[You]: This is weird

[Yu Jimin]: So is getting hit by a car and refusing a ride

[Yu Jimin]: 10 minutes now. Don’t make me get out of the car again.

You stared at the screen.

And then slowly sat up, bones groaning in protest.

_____

Ten minutes later, you stepped outside.

The air was crisp. Clean. The kind of morning that made everything feel a little too real. The sunlight wasn’t quite warm yet, and your hoodie was zipped to your chin.

Her car was parked at the curb.

And she was leaning against the hood like she was posing for a magazine cover.

Sunglasses. Hoodie. Coffee cup balanced in one hand. Looking devastatingly casual.

You walked up, tugging your sleeves down over your fingers.

“You weren’t kidding.”

“I never kid about transportation.”

You eyed her. “You do realize I have functioning legs?”

She smirked. “Barely.”

You opened the passenger door and slid in. It still smelled like vanilla and something floral you couldn’t quite place. She climbed in after you, started the engine with one hand.

For a few minutes, you drove in silence.

Then Jimin glanced over. “You always listen to nothing in the morning?”

You blinked. “What?”

“No music. No podcast. Just vibes and existential dread?”

You laughed, startled. “I guess I never thought about it.”

“Well, today’s different,” she said, tapping her phone. “You’re in my car. That means you get the Jimin Morning Mix™.”

She hit play.

A soft beat filled the car—some Korean indie track you didn’t recognize. Gentle vocals. Dreamy synths. It was… weirdly nice. It didn’t match what you thought she’d listen to. You expected hyper-pop or something loud. This was… quiet. Introspective.

“Didn’t think this was your vibe,” you said.

Jimin shrugged. “People assume a lot about me.”

You watched her for a second. Her hands on the wheel. Her mouth pressed into a line that didn’t quite smile. Her voice had a weight behind it, just for a second.

You looked back at the road.

“Yeah,” you said. “I get that.”

At school, she parked illegally again like she had diplomatic immunity. You followed her in, trying to keep your hood up, but of course, people noticed.

The whispers started almost immediately.

“She’s with Jimin again—”

“Didn’t she get hit by her car or something?”

“Are they… friends?”

You did your best to shrink into your hoodie.

Jimin noticed. Of course she did.

“Ignore them,” she said, holding the front door open for you. “They’ll find something else to talk about tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I’ll make them.”

You turned your head slightly. “You’re scaring me, Yu Jimin.”

“I’m charming.”

“You’re something.”

She laughed.

 That morning, you found her waiting outside your classroom when the bell rang.

You blinked. “Do you not have class?”

“I do,” she said. “But I figured we could walk together. You limped less today, by the way.”

“Thanks. I healed overnight. Like a Pokémon.”

She grinned and fell into step beside you.

It was subtle, the way people looked at you differently now. Some of it was curiosity. Some of it felt more like envy. But the weirdest part?

You weren’t invisible anymore.

And it was because of her.

And the strangest part?

You didn’t hate it.

_____

The final bell rang, but today, it didn’t mean the usual rush to pack up and scatter. Instead, you found yourself standing by the front doors with Jimin, watching the stream of students spill out into the afternoon sun.

“Wanna grab something?” she asked, voice easy but with that unmistakable glint of challenge you’d come to recognize. “There’s a new convenience store that opened a few blocks from here. They’ve got weird snacks and those fancy iced coffees you like.”

You blinked. “How do you know I like iced coffee?”

She smirked. “I have my sources. And I’ve been paying attention.”

You hesitated for a split second, then shrugged. “Sure, why not? Could be worse than sitting in the library alone.”

Jimin grinned and led the way out, her steps confident and relaxed. You followed, trying not to think about the strange flutter in your chest every time she looked back at you with that half-smile.

_____

The convenience store smelled like cold air and plastic wrappers. Bright fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating the rows of snacks and drinks like they were treasures waiting to be discovered.

Jimin wandered over to the iced coffee section and picked up a couple of drinks, handing one to you without a word.

You took it, fingers brushing hers just briefly, and looked around. “So… this is your favorite hangout?”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “No. But it’s the kind of place where I can be… normal. No cameras, no expectations. Just me and a bunch of junk food.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as someone who just hangs out in convenience stores.”

“Yeah?” She took a sip of her coffee, eyes on you now. “Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

You cocked your head. “Okay, mystery girl, spill.”

Her smile softened, and for a moment, she looked less like the untouchable queen of school and more like someone you could actually talk to.

“My family’s… complicated. I guess I learned early how to put on a show. But that doesn’t mean I always want to be the center of it.”

You nodded, surprised by how much you wanted to keep listening.

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “I just want to sit in a place like this, drink a bad iced coffee, and not have to be anyone’s idea of perfect.”

You took a long sip of your own drink, feeling like you were seeing her for the first time.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said after a beat. “I don’t usually do this stuff with people like you.”

You blinked. “People like me?”

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. “You know. Not part of the usual crowd. You’re… different. Not trying to impress or compete.”

You felt your cheeks heat up but managed a smile. “Maybe I’m different in a good way.”

“Definitely,” she said, smiling back.

As you walked back toward school, side by side, you realized something:

This—whatever this was—wasn’t about popularity or status anymore.

It was about two people starting to understand each other.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

_____

The days after that convenience store trip passed in a strange sort of blur. School felt different — not because classes changed, or the workload eased, but because Jimin’s presence shifted the gravity of your usual orbit. Somehow, the walls you built around yourself felt less necessary. Like maybe someone finally saw the real you, and wasn’t running away.

That afternoon, you found yourself sitting on the cracked pavement behind the school, your backpack carelessly tossed aside. Jimin was next to you, chewing on a straw from a soda she’d swiped from the vending machine, legs stretched out in front of her like she owned the world. Or maybe just this corner of it.

Neither of you said much. You didn’t need to.

The silence wasn’t heavy or awkward. It was easy, like the pause between notes in a song — the part that lets everything else breathe.

You glanced at her sideways. “Why do you always hang out back here?”

She shrugged, eyes fixed on the sky. “Because no one usually comes here. It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

You nodded, understanding that more than you wanted to admit.

“You ever feel like you’re playing a part all the time?” she asked suddenly.

Your heart skipped. “All the time.”

She looked over, and for the first time, you caught a flicker of vulnerability beneath her cool exterior.

“I’m supposed to be perfect. The best. The most popular. But sometimes, I just want to be me — whoever that is.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. “Maybe you’re more ‘you’ than you think.”

She smiled, soft and real. “Maybe.”

For a moment, it felt like the world shrunk down to just the two of you, sharing secrets in the quiet afternoon light.

Then she nudged your shoulder gently. “You know, if you ever want to get away from the chaos — even for a little bit — you can come find me.”

You met her gaze, feeling the weight of her words. They weren’t just an offer. They were a promise.

And somehow, you knew you’d take her up on it.

That evening, your thoughts kept drifting back to Jimin — her easy smile, the way she looked at you like you were the only person in the room, the soft way she’d touched your shoulder. It was confusing and new, and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

The next morning, you woke to your phone buzzing. It was her.

Jimin: Hey. You up? I’m outside.

Your heart sped up, a strange mix of excitement and nerves curling in your stomach. You threw on your hoodie and jeans, grabbed your bag, and stepped outside.

Her car was waiting at the curb, just like yesterday.

“You’re persistent,” you teased as you slid into the passenger seat.

She grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

The morning air was crisp, and the car smelled like vanilla and cherry gum — the scent somehow comforting now.

As she drove, she reached over and lightly brushed your hand.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

Her fingers lingered for a moment before pulling back, but the spark between your skin stayed.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all week,” she admitted, eyes on the road.

You laughed softly, heart pounding. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” she said, turning to look at you with that half-smile that made your knees weak. “I’m glad I finally did.”

For the first time, you let yourself lean a little closer.

Maybe this was the start of something neither of you saw coming.

You weren’t sure when it changed.

When a late ride to school became something like ritual. When the silence between you and Jimin turned warm. When your body started remembering the brush of her fingers before your mind could catch up.

But it had.

And now, sitting beside her in the car again — parked at the edge of a quiet overlook just outside town — it felt like you were both pretending it hadn’t.

She hadn’t said anything outright. Neither had you. But the tension lived in the space between your knees, barely a few inches apart. It hummed in the way she kept stealing glances at you and looked away a moment too late.

You were sipping from the iced coffee she’d bought you (again), staring out the windshield at the empty horizon, when she said it.

Quiet. Like she was afraid it might scare you off.

“Do you think we would’ve ended up here if I hadn’t hit you with my car?”

You blinked, lips parted around the straw. “Wow. Way to romance me, Jimin.”

She laughed, pressing her head back against the seat, her hand curled in her lap. “I’m serious.”

You glanced over. Her expression had softened. There was something behind it — like she was trying to say more than her words would allow.

“I think…” you started slowly, “…you would’ve still caught my attention eventually. You’re kind of impossible to ignore.”

She looked over. “Even when you weren’t into me?”

“I never said that.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

You didn’t look at her, not fully. You just stared down at the condensation on your cup and said, “I didn’t have a crush on you. That part was true. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious. Or aware.”

“So what changed?”

You swallowed.

“You started seeing me,” you said. “Like… actually seeing me. Not just someone at school. Not just ‘that girl who bikes in too fast and eats lunch alone.’ You looked. And you didn’t look away.”

Jimin was quiet for a long beat. The kind of silence that made your heart race because you didn’t know what would come next.

Then: “I don’t usually get to look at people like this.”

You turned, finally, eyes meeting hers. “Like what?”

“Like it matters.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it hit you in the chest like a punch — all soft edges and raw honesty.

“I’ve had people obsess over me, sure. Crushes. Fans, even. But it’s always from a distance. They’re chasing something that isn’t real.”

“And me?”

“You never chased,” she said. “You just… stayed.”

The words hung there between you, heavy with something unnamed.

She turned toward you fully now, one leg bent on the seat, her elbow resting near yours. “It’s terrifying,” she said softly. “How easy it is to talk to you. How quiet the world feels when I’m near you.”

Your heart stuttered.

“You’re not what I expected,” she continued. “You don’t try to impress me. You don’t shrink away either. You’re just you. And I didn’t realize how much I needed that until I found it.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your mouth was dry, and your chest felt tight in a way that wasn’t unpleasant — just unfamiliar.

“You make me feel… less alone,” you admitted. “Like I don’t have to apologize for being quiet. Or awkward. Or not perfect.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re not awkward.”

You laughed under your breath. “You hit me with a car and I apologized.”

She grinned. “Okay, yeah. That was awkward.”

You looked at her again.

Closer this time.

Her hand was still near yours, fingers barely brushing. She didn’t pull away. You didn’t either.

“I think I’m starting to get a crush,” you said suddenly.

It came out fast. Unfiltered. Real.

She blinked, then smiled — slow and small and dangerous in its sweetness.

“Yeah?” she murmured.

“Yeah.”

You didn’t kiss her.

Not yet.

But something passed between you — electric and impossible to take back. A silent agreement.

Something was happening.

Something fragile. Something real.

And this time, neither of you looked away.

You didn’t want to go home.

Not yet.

The sky was bleeding into that pale watercolor haze between late afternoon and dusk, and the car was still warm with sunlight trapped in the windows. The kind of warmth that makes you drowsy, that makes the silence feel alive instead of empty.

Jimin hadn’t moved since you last spoke — still watching you, her body turned toward yours, her elbow brushing the center console, her eyes soft in a way that made your chest ache.

You were the one who broke the silence, voice low. “Can we just… sit for a little while?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We can sit.”

No hesitation.

No teasing.

Just her voice, quiet and steady.

You shifted, tucking your legs under you on the seat, facing her completely now. The iced coffee in your hand had long since gone lukewarm, but you held onto it like it anchored you to something. Something real.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on your face — not in the way most people looked at you, as if they were trying to figure you out or pick you apart. She looked like she was learning. Memorizing.

You tried to hold still under that kind of attention. It wasn’t easy.

“You know,” she said softly, “I thought I knew everything about this school. All the faces. All the stories.”

You tilted your head. “And?”

“And then you came crashing into me. Literally. And suddenly I realized I didn’t know a damn thing.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being honest,” she said. “It’s different with you.”

“Different how?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “With you… I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to talk just to fill silence. I don’t have to be ‘Jimin’ with the capital J.”

She paused.

“With you, I can be just Jimin.”

That made something inside you ache — the kind of ache you didn’t have a name for. The kind that only happened when someone peeled back a part of themselves and handed it to you, open and fragile.

And you wanted to hold it carefully. Gently.

“I like just Jimin,” you said quietly. “A lot, actually.”

She let out a breath that sounded like relief. Her smile wobbled slightly at the corners.

Then she reached out — slowly, like giving you a chance to pull away — and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

Her fingertips brushed your skin. Your breath hitched.

“Y/N,” she said, your name soft like it wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but the first time it meant something.

“Yeah?”

“If I did something impulsive right now, would you hate me for it?”

You swallowed, pulse thudding loud in your ears.

“That depends,” you said. “How impulsive are we talking?”

She hesitated, her hand still hovering by your cheek. Her thumb brushed the corner of your jaw, feather-light.

And then she whispered, “I kind of want to kiss you.”

Your whole body went still.

Then warm.

Then weightless.

You didn’t answer with words.

You leaned forward just a little — enough.

That was all she needed.

Her lips brushed yours, soft and careful. A question, not a demand. You answered it by kissing her back — just as soft, just as careful.

When you pulled apart, neither of you said anything for a long moment.

The air inside the car felt different. Heavy with new meaning.

Jimin let her forehead rest lightly against yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you biked away from me with half your body bleeding,” she murmured.

You laughed — really laughed — and she did too, and it felt like something cracked open between you. Something easy. Something terrifying. Something true.

“You’re the worst,” you said into her shoulder.

“I know,” she replied. “But I’m your worst now, right?”

You didn’t answer.

You just nodded into her hoodie and stayed there.

And she didn’t move.

_____

The next Monday morning, you walked into school not as “the girl who eats lunch alone,” or “the one who got hit by a car,” but as someone different.

Not because of the stares. Not because of the whispers.

But because Jimin was waiting for you at the front steps.

She leaned against the railing like it was nothing. Like she wasn’t the most talked-about person in the building. Like she wasn’t wearing your hoodie — the navy blue one you’d left in her car two nights ago.

You slowed as you approached, heart thudding behind your ribs.

Jimin looked up. Smiled. That same soft, quiet smile she only ever gave you now.

“Morning,” she said.

“Hey,” you replied.

She tilted her head. “You sleep okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“Not really.” She stretched her arms overhead, hoodie sleeves hanging past her hands. “Kept thinking about you.”

It was so casual. So effortless.

Like she’d been waiting to say that since the second you left her car.

You looked down at the sidewalk, trying not to grin like an idiot. “You’re really not subtle, huh?”

“Not with you,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice dipped, quieter now. “I don’t want to be.”

The hallway behind her buzzed with early morning chaos — lockers slamming, friends shouting across the stairs, the shrill echo of the bell. But none of it mattered.

Not when she was standing this close. Not when her hand brushed yours again — this time not a question, but a claim.

“I don’t care what people say,” she said, voice low. “I want to do this for real.”

You looked up at her, heart hammering.

“This?”

She nodded, her fingers gently curling around yours. “Us. I’m not good at slow. Or quiet. But I’ll try, if that’s what you need.”

You squeezed her hand.

“I don’t need perfect,” you said. “I just need you.”

And it was enough.

It was more than enough.

Because the girl everyone thought had everything had found someone who saw her — not the shine, not the surface, but the soul underneath.

And you — the quiet, awkward girl who never asked for much — had been seen too.

Truly seen.

For who you were. For everything you were still becoming.

And this time, neither of you ran away.

[bigtedbear]

“ 𝐜𝗼𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡, 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐫 “

𝐩𝐫𝗼𝗺𝐩𝐭: 𝐲𝐚𝐧! 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝗼𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝗼𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝗼𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐭

content warnings: boss and employee, abuse of power (like that's the entire plot), yandere themes, nsfw content 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+, male reader, amab reader, gay sex, anal penetration, anal fingering, head (character receiving), hickies, hook-ups, friends with benefits (fwb) turned feelings relationships, cock-blocking, situationships, possessive-obsessive behavior, stalking, sunday as your crazy girlfriend (who u don't know is your girlfriend yet !!)

heavy on the yandere themes this time around!

not a lot of smut I fear <//3

warnings that this may not be my best work, it took me a LOONNNG ass time to finish this so the quality, tone, etc. may vary

apologies in advance :')

“ new contact noted! caller sunday has been added to your phonebook! - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

“ new contact noted! caller aventurine has been added to your phonebook! - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

If anyone were to ask Sunday about the first time he met you, his answer would depend on the person.

Strangers would receive a very basic, formal answer. You were assigned to lead the team in charge of his security.

Closer friends may get a different story, depending on how close they are, naturally.

The true story was a little bit embarrassing after all, caught staring a little too long at something you weren’t exactly supposed to see.

He was busy. He’d spent his morning darting to and from locations to make important meetings, be seen in all the right spots, shake hands with the right people, say all the right things. Consistent and careful cultivation of his reputation and his image seemed to be all he ever did with his time and that day was no different.

There was only one problem.

On the day that he first met you, his leads had run dry.

So instead of attending scheduled events, handling confessionals, or making sure he was on time to important meetings, he was left wandering the hotel Lobby on the off chance someone important might see him extending his consideration to Penacony’s regular visitors.

Despite how much the constant fawning grinded on his nerves, he reminded himself over and over again that it would all be worth it in the end. Still, no matter who was in the crowd, it blended together into a constant cacophony of “Mister Sunday, Mister Sunday, Mister Sunday!”.

“How kind you are, Mister Sunday!”

“It’s always such a joy to see you no matter the hour, Mister Sunday!”

“You’re such a gentleman, Mister Sunday!”

Realizing nobody of concern would be there to see him, he cut himself short. A polite smile here, a well-timed nod there, and a firm handshake with an older gentleman to tie a bow on the conversation, his mouth opened his mouth to say an all too familiar phrase.

“This has been delightful, but I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself.”

With the nearly synced chorus of farewells behind him, Sunday began his retreat to the VIP floor of the Reverie. His contemplation drowned out the pleasant, if not repetitive sound of the elevator music flooding the little cramped metal box. As the doors opened, though, he was abruptly knocked out of his thoughts by the sight that greeted him.

Almost immediately, his eyes locked on to an all too familiar looking iridescent glint from the corner of his vision.

A charmony dove.

Then he really focused on it.

No, not just one charmony dove.

It just looked like one from where he was standing. From where he was, next to the elevator, the flock of charmony doves gathered around this one sitting area on the opposite side of the floor was small enough to make his brain think it was just one charmony dove a lot closer to him.

He glanced around him, making sure no visitors would see, before extending his hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light of the chandelier above. He squinted, trying to make out what exactly caused all the birds to gather in the first place.

But his eyes failed him and he was left just as confused.

The wings on either side of his head fluttered slightly in indignation. With one of his hands still tucked behind his back, he ventured closer to the curious gathering of birds. The curved nature of the balcony meant it was still virtually impossible for him to ascertain what exactly he would find upon his arrival.

So imagine his shock when he saw a person in the center of the chaos.

Miraculously undisturbed by the hundreds of birds gathered around the table, even as they continued to sing and warble their signature tune, there was a man laying his head on the table.

Sleeping.

For a moment, Sunday stood at a safe distance, utterly dumbfounded. The next moment, he picked his jaw off the floor.

The charmony doves were more than happy to use the mystery man’s shoulders as a perch. Furthermore, the man was deep enough in his sleep that the brush of feathers and the sensation of little feet all over his arms and the nape of his neck went completely unnoticed.

He used his arms as a cushion for his head, cranium tilted to the side to make room for fresh air flow. Sunday’s eyes trailed just slightly lower, catching sight of a card in the man’s hand.

It was connected to a lanyard hanging off his neck, the ID clutched so tightly it bent with the curvature of his palm. Stranger still, the ID card was a work ID.

“Strange, isn't it? I didn't know what to think the first time I saw it either.”

Before Sunday could get a closer look, he was interrupted by an uncomfortably familiar voice. He jumped slightly, neck snapping to look at the source, “Gallagher.”

The man in question raised his hands defensively, shrugging nonchalantly. The charmony doves seemed to readjust themselves to suit the new rising tension in the air. Still, the sleeping man didn’t seem any more aware than before. “Relax, I'm not here for you.”

Sunday noted that Gallagher’s usually low voice was even dimmer than he remembered, not all that dissimilar to a whisper. Reflexively, he lowered his tone to follow suit, “I presume you're here for him then.”

“Yeah, he usually takes a nap on his lunch breaks,” the older man rumbled, “Hardly gets any sleep with his team leader running him around doing enough work for two people.”

Sunday raised a skeptical brow, “He does this often?”

Gallagher hummed, seemingly rummaging through his memory, “Every once in a while, when he gets assigned shifts near the VIP lounge.”

“The doves… do they gather every time he does this? Why hasn't anyone been made aware of this?”

The older bloodhound crossed his arms, “Didn't see the need to make a problem where there wasn't one. He’s not bothering anyone and he's off the clock.”

The head of the Oak Family frowned, brows pinching in bewilderment. “...I see.”

The two of them stood in silence for another moment before Gallagher looked down to his wrist to check his watch, “His lunch break is about to be over, he’ll wake up soon. You probably have somewhere to be, right?”

Sunday seemed to catch himself, blinking a couple times before nodding, “Ah- I- yes, I should've been on my way back to the Golden Hour.”

Gallagher gave a grunt in response, seemingly unimpressed.

The young halovian bowed his head, eyes darting back over to look at the man sleeping soundly once again.

Without thinking about it, his eyes lingered on the ID badge secured by the man's iron grip as he left. He registered only a few words before he pried eyes off of him for good.

‘NAME: [name] [surname]

Clearance: Entry Level Security’

Naturally, Sunday’s inner thoughts and desire for complete control over a situation didn't allow him to simply roll over and accept a natural phenomena within the Reverie without a(n un)healthy dose of worry. Using the new recruit’s name and his extensive ties within Penacony, he pried open the hypothetical crate housing the answer to his burning question with a proverbial crowbar.

A Penacony native, one that came from an average family. Not much was noted about them, his mother and father were seemingly normal civilians that worked hard at their day jobs and landed themselves squarely in the upper-middle class. His mother was the one with ties in the Bloodhound family, the one that vouched for his resume and got him hired in the first place.

But then came the question, why was he constantly surrounded by charmony doves?

The answer to that question was MUCH harder to obtain and, consequently, took weeks of dedicated snooping to figure out.

There simply wasn't an answer.

By all accounts, the man was never particularly fond of them, but they'd followed him around since he was a child. Sunday only managed to find out through the man’s educational records.

He'd gotten in trouble with teachers when he was younger because they suspected he'd been feeding them while their backs were turned, but they later rescinded any accusations upon closer observation. He'd actually taken to trying to scare the birds off, getting into even MORE trouble with his teachers.

It'd started off with him shooing them away by running at them and yelling with his arms raised above head trying to intimidate some kind of angry predator. When they inevitably came back, it escalated to him smacking the birds for landing on him. Eventually, when he hadn't gotten anywhere with that, he started throwing rocks at the doves whenever he'd see them around the schoolyard.

Admittedly, Sunday dug a lot further into it than he'd expected. Worse still, he'd turned up empty-handed.

It frustrated him, to leave it up to a simple “it just happens”, but if this had truly been happening since childhood and had no presumable pattern… what options was he left with?

Eventually, as he got higher and higher within the order of the Family, his list of responsibilities grew longer and longer. The matter found itself buried in thousands of memories of other trivial nonsense he didn't have the luxury of entertaining anymore.

He was too busy tending to confessionals, honing the powers of the harmony, meeting with influential figures of the Family, and finally, taking his place as the head of the Oak Family.

By the time he'd met with you again, he'd almost completely forgotten any and all the strange details surrounding the first time he’d seen you.

It was a bit of a low point in Sunday’s life. He and his sister had chosen two different paths in life. While he was the head of THE most influential faction in Penacony, Robin had always longed to spread harmony to as many people as possible. Even if it meant she had to leave her brother’s side, she began her career as a performer and was signed for an intergalactic tour.

She’d left the week before Sunday was informed there was an extreme staffing overhaul within the Oak family.

The most notable change came in security, citing instances that sensitive information had been leaked to other factions. They couldn't accuse any member of the group specifically, which meant they had to clear out any potential traitors on the outside before they could zero in on any evidence of internal betrayal.

He took the hiccup in stride, but inside he was more than frustrated. Sunday hated change and there were suddenly a lot of big changes happening at once.

Still, like a good soldier, he put on a brave face and cleared a minuscule slot of time to introduce himself to the new officer in charge of the Oak Family’s security staff.

Very honestly, Sunday’s foul circumstances meant he didn't truly make an effort to give the new guy a fair chance at landing in his good graces. The meeting room was a cramped, newly cleaned out office that had a scratched-up, scrappy looking table with flimsy folding chairs. He'd come from a meeting discussing things with people who gave him a headache and barely cleared out fifteen minutes before another meeting with people who got on his nerves.

No matter what happened, Sunday would continue to be in a sour mood.

At least, that was what he thought would happen.

Despite the mounting pile of unfortunate circumstances, you didn't seem to be swayed. You sat in the weak excuse of a chair with your hands folded on top of eachother on the table in front of you with a pleasantly neutral expression on your face.

When the door creaked open, you stood up, as was the etiquette in Penacony.

As the meeting began, a sense of uneasiness washed over the head of the Oak family. There was a tingling sense of apprehension at the back of his mind as he shut the door to the tiny broom closet of a meeting room.

The man was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Sunday’s inner dilemma only seemed to worsen when he caught the nearly imperceptible shift in the other’s eye. The man knew there was something off about his expression.

Despite that it didn't stop him from outstretching his hand to offer a greeting. “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I hope I won't disappoint.”

Short, concise, polite.

The Oak family head noted, eyes trailing down to the ID card hanging on the man’s lanyard.

‘NAME: [name] [surname]

Clearance: Oak Family Personnel’

The wings on either side of his face twitched with the sudden sense of recognition. Trying to remain as level-headed as possible, Sunday took your hand in his. He gave a firm shake. “I’m sure you won’t, you've been a member of the family for a while now.”

You nodded your head silently, going to take out a small folder. "There wasn't much time reserved for this meeting, but I wanted to still wanted to make a good impression. I brought a list of some of my past assignments, but a copy was already forwarded to your office."

A tingle ran down his spine the longer he made eye contact. There was a foreign feeling building up in the bottom of his gut, a feeling that made him apprehensive. "Yes, I'm afraid I'll have to take a look at these later, I have a meeting following shortly after this."

Your eyes crinkled at the corners with an unspoken kindness that tickled the recesses of his ribcage, ghosting butterfly kisses off each bone with tender reverence.

"Of course, sir," your fingers gingerly tucked the manila folder back into the bag you'd brought with you, "I'll be following your lead, starting today."

When you made eye contact, there was something piercing and holistic about the way you looked at him. In the dreamscape, he was used to a more glazed over, passive look no matter who he was speaking to. It was a natural side effect of being in a paradise hidden beyond the gates of sleep.

His response lagged for a second, an awkward pause before he seemed to snap back to his senses.

When he'd looked into it at first, as stated earlier, he couldn't figure out why wherever you went, the charming doves wouldn't be far to follow. The longer he looked however, the more and more he understood.

In a world where everyone bowed to the authority of rest, you were the first person the head of the Oak Family had ever met with such a sharp gaze.

Bright, alert, attentive.

A nervous grin crept up his cheeks, Sunday himself nodding to avoid eye contact. Quietly, he mumbled,

"...I suppose you will."

‘Have you seen Mr. Sunday lately?’ 

‘No, is something the matter with him?’ 

‘Why, it seems to me that Mr. Sunday is growing pretty smitten with a certain someone…’ 

Rumors constantly flit around Dewlight Pavilion, family members whisper hushed musings behind pristine gloves at all times. It is rare, however, that Sunday is seriously brought up in the quiet giggles echoing the corridors. 

A young Pepeshi woman chortles, ‘You should see how much he's brightened up these last couple of weeks.’ 

A cleaner with tousled hair underneath his uniform cap hums, ‘I don't know Mr. Sunday well, but he seems to have gotten some kind of weight off his shoulders.’ 

One of the intelleron consultants chews on a thought, ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something different about Mr. Sunday, more at ease.’ 

Even stranger, nobody seemed to follow up on those whispers to correct the record.  No members of the Oak Family shushing the loose-lipped gossip mongers usually meant something.  It could mean the gossip wasn't anything worth noting.  But when it came to the romantic status of one of the most sought-after bachelors in Penacony, really nothing was too small.

No, there was something else far more likely hidden in plain sight. 

The family wanted you to believe them.

Sunday wanted you to believe them. 

You swallow the urge to wring your hands nervously but it goes down feeling like the bile rising in the back of your throat.  Walking through Dewlight Pavilion never fails to make you feel like you’re going crazy.  

You hear your coworkers’ voices so clearly you could swear your life on it, but it’s like they have some magical sixth sense that lets them know the second before you’re going to look at them.  It’s like the second your eyes land on them, their lips are pressed into a thin line and the little group they were huddled in disperses to go back to work.  It’s like they’re taunting you.

The various workers depart to their station from the main hall, leaving a clear path for you to take up the stairs.  Each step makes you feel more nauseous than the last, the vintage lights and their golden visage spinning in your peripherals as you try to focus on the plush red carpet under your feet.  It’s soft, but it’s almost like you can’t feel it squished under the soles of your shoes. 

Your feet lead you, on autopilot, to the same office you were always summoned to just after the end of your shift.  There was a sudden surge of anxiety gripping your diaphragm, but you did your best to push it down.  Both hands reached to smooth the front of your uniform, shaking ever so slightly. 

That wouldn’t do.  

You took a deep breath in, clenching your hands into fists, the same breath escaping your nostrils as you let the same hands relax at your sides.  You ended up disappointed anyways, your fingers twitching as they wrapped around the handle to Sunday’s office.  Still, anymore stalling and you’d likely be late for your meeting. 

‘SQUEEEAK!’

Your eyes squeezed shut with a grimace, luckily still hidden by the large wooden door.  You inhaled sharply before wiping the expression off your face, pushing the squeaky door open enough to slip into the room. 

You didn’t need to look up to imagine the same pair of honey-toned eyes lifting from the stacks upon stacks of paperwork on his perfectly organized, polished wooden desk.  Even further, you didn’t need to look up to imagine him haphazardly pushing the stack of papers he’d been looking at to the side.  

“[name]?” 

You let the breath you’d been holding flow out through your nostrils, finally turning around to face him head on.  

Sunday, in all his pristine, well-kempt glory.  He set his pen down on the desk, a gloved hand loosely beckoning you forward.  He didn’t say anything, you didn’t either. The same red carpet covered the inside of his office, the same red carpet squished under your shoe as you walked closer to his desk.  

You didn’t miss the way his eyes followed you wherever you walked, certainly didn’t miss the way they lingered far too long for comfort. 

Opposite his desk, a chair with plush red cushions.  It felt far too fancy for someone as low on the totem pole as yourself, but you didn’t dare make any comment on it.  Making eye contact felt too direct, instead your gaze fell to your lap.   

“...Mr. Sunday,” you asked, attempting to rub your palms off on your slacks, “if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is the purpose of this meeting?” 

He pursed his lips and you feared you’d said something to upset him. “Just Sunday is fine, no need to act like a stranger.” 

The halovian wings on either side of his head opened up before resituating themselves back on either side of his head, his small smile seemed to widen, but you weren’t sure if that was your mind playing tricks on you at this point, “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that have been circulating lately.” 

Your pulse spiked.

“Ah, I-I suppose I have.” 

Your fists tightened into balls where they’d been resting on your thighs.  You could swear you picked up on some kind of twisted amusement dancing in his eyes, like he was toying with you.  

But it vanished just as quickly, his eyes growing downturned, as though embarrassed or understanding, “I understand it may be a tad bit awkward, talking about it I mean,” he rested his elbow on the cool wood, propping his chin up on an open palm, “but I wanted to hear your opinion on them.” 

“My…opinion?” 

He hummed, calm, as though he were asking for something as straight-forward as the color of the sky. 

You swallowed, dryly.  “Well, I can’t say I’m all that fond of them.” 

“Oh?” Even if he didn’t move all that much, his expression made him feel like he was leaning in on you, closing in.  “Do tell.” 

“It…” you paused again, looking for anything around the room except for Sunday to rest your eyes on, “It makes me feel as though my abilities are being brought into question.  People may assume I only got this job or keep this job because of some kind of feelings you harbor for me, but I earned my position just like everyone else.” 

He went to answer, but it seemed like all the feelings you’d been bottling up were surging past your lips like a tsunami you couldn’t hold back anymore.  “Rumors about a relationship aren’t good for your integrity and they aren’t good for ensuring I do my job without interference.”  Your expression got serious, brows settling into a firm line while your lips curved into a frown.  “For both our careers, I think it’d be better if there was a little bit more distance between us in the future.” 

“...”

Sunday was no longer smiling.

The silence was thick enough to suck the air out of the room, hanging in place like a misty fog.  Perhaps that was why it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

The wings on either side of Sunday’s head made some kind of fluttering noise as he repositioned them once again, a little less elegantly than the first time.  

“I see.” 

The head of the Oak Family sat up abruptly, resting his other elbow on the table so he could interlace his fingers in front of the lower half of his face. “I wanted your input before I made any decisions handling the rumor mill.  It seems we’re largely on the same page.” 

‘Liar.’ 

It rang clearly in your head like a bell, but you obviously couldn’t say it to his face.  You chewed on the inside of your cheek, eyes flitting to the door before returning to your hands in your lap.  “I appreciate the concern, but I’m just a security officer.  I trust you to handle this how you see fit.” 

“...”

“...Am I free to go, sir?” 

Sunday appeared to be thinking.  

“I believe the best outcome will come from both of us staying on the same page,” he started laying his palms flat on the table, “but I understand that you’re probably eager to clock out for today.” 

“...”

His smile returned, jaw unnaturally clenched.

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped by tomorrow before clocking out again, just to go over the situation in a little bit more detail.” 

You were quiet.  Too quiet.  

You could feel his stare boring holes into you, even if you refused to make eye contact.

“...of course, Mr. Sunday.”

“Long week?”

You didn’t even raise your head from where you’d slumped over the bar counter.  In fact, you assumed the alluring voice calling from over your shoulder was talking to someone else.  The Soulglad was working its magic, smoothing out any disharmony that seemed to rise from your situation at work. 

It always sloshes around in your mouth cold, fizzy like soda but it goes down your throat like a sweet mug of hot chocolate, bubbling up warm at the bottom of your gut like some kind of warm internal hug.  The glass you’d been nursing was empty by now, though. 

Some people get angry, giggly, reckless when they’re drunk. Maybe you would’ve been one of those people, but today? You were too tired to be anything except sleepy.  Arms crossed on top of the counter, resting your face on your forearms, you were maybe two seconds away from falling into the most blissful slumber of your entire life.  

The slumber, however, was unceremoniously tugged just out of reach by the man situating himself on the bar stool right next to yours.

 I mean, it wasn’t his fault technically. He hadn’t gone out of his way to shake you to get your attention or anything.  It just so happened the creaking of the bar counter under his palms seemed to do the work for him.  That didn’t stop it from ruining your evening, though. 

You pried your head from your forearms  like you needed a proverbial crowbar to pick your neck up.  Your brows were angrily set lower on your face, lips curled with an extra dose of distaste.  There’s a dissatisfied rumble in the back of your throat while you correct your posture, sitting up straight.  Reluctantly, you rub the sleep out of your eyes with a swipe of your hand.  

Impishly, the man who’d called out to you earlier snickers before turning towards the working bartender.  His Soulglad order goes unheard in your little stupor.  You raise your arms towards the ceiling, attempting to get a satisfying crack in your back to no avail, instead slouching in your seat again so you could reach for the nearly forgotten empty cup you’d downed about half an hour ago.

You wait for the bartender to come back from fetching the pretty stranger’s drink, patiently, formerly angry features melting into a much calmer expression.  You massage your temple with your free hand, trying to ignore the incoming hangover you’ll be dealing with come tomorrow morning.  

Despite very obviously appearing to be drowning your problems in liquor, the man sitting next to you seems reluctant to leave you to your sorrows and spirits.  

“You don’t seem to be doing so hot, big guy.”

You tap your finger on the rim on your glass, “Gee, what gave it away?” 

The first thing you notice about the man is his hair.  Compared to the rest of the crowd, it’s a jarringly soft, sandy blonde.  It’s the easiest thing to spot, especially since the alcohol is starting to blur your vision.  

“Oh, I don’t know,” he hums, leaning closer to you over the wooden counter.  “Why don’t you tell me?” 

The next thing you notice is his eyes.  The two of you lock gazes and it feels like you stop breathing for a second.  His iris was made up of electrifying hues of magenta and teal, lining his pupil in alternating rings.  

You stared for a moment too long to be considered natural, completely forgetting what he’d asked you in the first place.  You blinked, embarrassed, turning your attention to how empty your drink was.  You gave a heavy exhale through the nose before responding, “God, where would I even start?” 

“Well, take it from the top.” Finally, you take note of how expensive his clothing is.  As a Penacony native and one who works in tandem with the public sphere, you recognize the rings on his fingers from the high-end jewelers at Oti Mall the very second his rings clink on the wooden countertop. “I’m a really good listener when I want to be.” 

He’s leaning in closer, you can smell just the slightest hint of cologne from where he’s started resting his head on his hand.  

“Well,” You start, eyes tracing the fluff on his collar, “As flattered as I am, my lips are sealed.” 

He elongates the ‘Whaaaatt’ he lets out in response.  He sits up a little bit straighter.  It’s cute, reminds you of a bird fluffing up its feathers.  “I’m just trying to make some friends while I’m in town.  Saw you all by yourself and thought I might have found a kindred soul to talk to over a glass of wine.”

You huff, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your own lips.  His playful attitude is infectious and you can’t help but fold when you’re this drunk and impressionable.  “We can talk, just not about my problems.  I save that for the second date at least.” 

The other man’s eyes light up with mischief, “Oh?”

The bartender finally returns with the mystery man’s wine glass.  He takes a look at the crimson in the glass, sizing it up before seemingly deciding it was satisfactory.  You, on the other hand, place another order for what you’d been pounding back earlier.  The younger bartender eyes you up and down for a moment, trying to figure out if you were drunk enough he should consider cutting you off for the night.  

Still, he disappears behind the counter again with your empty glass to get you another refill and you can focus your attention on the mystery man swishing his wine around in his glass.  He brings the glass just under his nose, seemingly surprised by what he smells. 

You raise a brow at him, crossing your arms over one another on top of the counter again.  “Did they stiff you?” 

He hums, “I can’t tell yet.”  He tips the glass back, taking just about the smallest sip you’ve ever seen anyone manage in a Penacony bar.   He lets the taste settle in his mouth, giving another noncommittal hum.  

You watch him in silence, hanging on his next word.  

Funnily enough, he doesn’t say anything next.  He holds the glass out to you.

You’re reminded of the alcohol muddying your senses when it takes you an extra second to realize he wants you to take the glass from him.  Dumbly, you blink at him, “Me?”  You jab a finger at your own chest, “You want me to taste test your wine?” 

He laughs, more breath than anything else, “Why not?” 

You purse your lips, “Well, I don’t know what you think I’ve been drinking, but the people I know don’t usually get buzzed on red wine.” 

He offers you the glass again, “Just try it, I want to know what you think of it.” 

You look at him funny, earning another laugh from him.  Tentatively, you wrap your fingers around the glass, just barely brushing your fingers with this mystery man.  “You’re strange, y’know.  Not a lot of people offer their drinks to total strangers.” 

You take a sip of his wine as he watches, seemingly captivated with the way your adam’s apple bobs when you swallow.

“Well,” he starts, taking the glass back just as the bartender on shift is returning with your own drink of choice, “We don’t have to be total strangers.” 

You take the glass from your coworker graciously, giving a curt nod to signal your gratitude.  But, unlike the last 3 times he’d gotten you the same drink, you don’t immediately take to gulping half of it down.  Instead, you’re staring back into the same magnetic eyes that you thought ruined your night earlier.  “Yeah? And what do you suggest we do?” 

He’s coy, hiding the bottom half of his face behind his wine, “We could start with names.” 

You didn’t think about it for long, already in too deep to act like you weren’t equally as enamored.  

“(name).” 

He sets his glass down on the table, seemingly uninterested in the contents at this point. 

 “Well, (name), you can call me Aventurine.”

As was customary in the land of festivities, the bar was once again alive with groups of friends, family, lovers, and strangers alike.  As was also customary, almost all of them nursed some kind of alcoholic beverage or Soul Glad while they conversed amongst themselves.  

A young woman with a tall wine glass would bat her eyes at a young fellow gripping a pint of beer like he needed it to breathe.  A group of older gentlemen seemed to have variants of the same drink, each just barely distinguishable from the drink next to it, belly-laughing about nonsense that made it obvious they were drunker than the bar staff should’ve allowed. 

That was the odd thing.  Normally, you’d be doing the same as everyone else.  The moment you clocked out of the most awkward, gruelingly uncomfortable work environment you’d ever been unfortunate enough to be subjected to, you’d just be another face throwing back a couple drinks to take off the edge before heading home to actually relax.  Today, despite the not-so-subtle lingering bar staff, you still hadn’t gotten yourself a drink just yet.  

You were waiting for someone.  

Well, you were maybe waiting for someone. 

 The two of you hadn’t agreed to meet up again after getting drunk off your asses the night prior, but you really hoped he would show up again. 

Absent-mindedly, you drummed your fingers on the top of the familiar wood with one hand, the other reaching into your pocket. It’d become a nervous habit.  Nobody really seemed to notice but the amount you would check the clock had drastically skyrocketed since you’d started working in the Dewlight Pavilion. 

Since you’d started working for Sunday.  

The moment you’d realized what you were doing, it was like a switch went off in your brain.  Your hand moved to tuck your phone back in your pocket, your inner monologue scolding you for getting so worked up over someone you’d only known for a few hours.

“...”

You sat in silence, both hands loosely gripping the edge of the counter top.  

You weren’t left by yourself for long, though.  In fact, literal seconds before you planned on flagging down a bartender to grab a drink, you were startled by a pair of gloved hands reaching out in front of your face to cover your eyes.  

The touch was delicate and the material of the gloves was familiar.  

Your breath caught in your throat.  

Your heart rate picked up, automatically on high alert.

“Guess who?” 

Immediately, your heart dropped back down to where it was supposed to be in your chest. 

“Aventurine?” 

The gloves pulled away from your face, no longer obscuring your vision.  You noted immediately that they were black, not white.  You were so caught off-guard by the gesture earlier you hadn’t even thought to check what color the gloves were.  

The aforementioned man, none the wiser to your inner dilemma, rested his hands on your shoulders with a smile.  “How’d you know?”

On auto-pilot, your posture relaxed, an exhale passing through your lips in relief.  You played it off as a joke, swiping a palm across the back of your forehead animatedly, “Well, I only know a couple people with those gloves and you’re the only person who wouldn’t be trying to kill me.” 

He snickered, once again sliding onto the bar stool right next to you.  “Really?  You have enemies?” 

You shrugged in response.  

He hummed, “Color me surprised.” 

You smiled back at him, genuinely this time.  “Live and learn, right?” 

Aventurine nodded, raising an arm to flag down the bartender.  “As much as I’d like a repeat of yesterday afternoon, I actually have somewhere to be today.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Really? What have you got planned for your afternoon in the land of festivities?” 

He cracks a half-smile, “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you.” 

You cock your head to the side, earning yourself an amused grin.  

He gazes off towards where the bartenders are running around like headless chickens, attempting to keep guests happy during the after-work rush.  “I rented out a huge roulette table for myself and a few big investors with the company I work for.”

You purse your lips, giving him a certain look he seemingly didn’t anticipate coming from you.  

He pushes your shoulder, “Hey, what’s that face for?  I’m plenty lucky!” 

You nod, incredulously,  “Uh-huh? Anything else you want to say?”  

He huffs, trying to hold a serious expression, but almost immediately he’s fighting an uphill battle.  “I’ve never lost a bet of any kind in my life.” 

You snort, “Whatever you say.” 

He crosses his arms, resting them on the bar counter, “I haven’t!” 

You can’t help the grin on your face nor the overconfident manner in which you doubt him.  You’d seen this kind of thing a million times before.  Tourists always like to play their luck gambling and it turns out, they don’t have much to play.  “Mhm.” 

Anything less than a smile is gone from his face at this point, “If you come to the roulette table with me, I’ll prove it to you.” 

While he’s looking straight at your side profile, you’re looking for a good moment to flag down one of the bartenders that’d seemingly forgotten the two of you existed at all.  “I don’t do gambling anymore.  I lost half a paycheck while I was drunk and I swore I would never do something that stupid ever again.” 

“You don’t need to be the one gambling,” he adds, almost a little too quickly.  “You can just sit back and watch.”  

You were already going to open your mouth to give him a maybe, but he cut you off before you could so much as make a sound.  “I’ll even cover your drinks for the night.”

You glance at the bar counter, seemingly weighing your options.  He interlocks his fingers, playing up the begging act before you swat his hands away with a chuckle, “Okay, okay! You’ve convinced me, you’re going to embarrass the both of us.” 

He silently cheers, hopping off the bar stool before motioning for you to follow him.  

Your jaw drops, “Now? We’re going now?” 

He nods,coffering a hand, “Well? The reservation starts in ten minutes and I plan on getting my money’s worth.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek. 

You’re nervous.  

No, you should be nervous. 

You’ve talked to Aventurine for maybe 5 hours total if you’re being generous.  You shouldn’t be this eager to follow a random stranger, albeit  a handsome stranger, into some dark, shady roulette table room.  

But you are.  

You slip your hand into his, letting him lead you out of the VIP Lounge before you can consider turning down his offer. 

‘CRASH!’ 

The sound of the stapler clattering to the ground is deafening in the silence of Sunday’s office.  

With a swipe of his arm, the giant stack of paperwork he had yet to complete flew off the corner of his desk.  

‘THUMP!’ 

It falls in a giant heap to the ground, the recoil sending papers flying across the red carpet floor.  

He grabs the lamp that’d been in the office longer than he had by the base, yanking the cord out of the wall in the process. 

‘SMASH!’ 

The lightbulb shatters when it makes contact with the bookshelf he’d thrown it at.  All that’s left on his desk is the line of neatly organized pens in black and blue ink.  

Even then, that’s too much. 

With Herculean strength he didn’t know he possessed, he grabs his desk by its corners, flipping the entire thing over onto the floor.  

‘BANG!’ 

Sunday’s teeth are grit, grinding against one another hard enough his jaw aches.  His hands are shaking where they’re curled up into fists at his side.  His chest heaves, but not from the exertion.  

Something inside him burns. 

It rumbles, it aches, it hurts. 

His fingers itch for destruction of some kind, more destruction than tearing apart his office can give him.  He needs to see carnage, needs to cause some kind of catastrophe but his status means he can only do so much without jeopardizing his future prospects. 

The wings on either side of his face flutter indignantly. 

It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.  

His vision is starting to get spotty.  

Every time he tried to swallow down the urge to tear apart anything and everything he could get his hands on, he just kept on seeing the pictures that’d sent him into such a fervor in the first place. 

Why?

Why? 

What was it about the IPC Stoneheart that caught your interest? 

What did he have to offer that Sunday didn’t? 

Originally, he tried to push down the burning feeling of competition.  

The first picture he’d been sent wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.  Aventurine cradled a glass of blood red wine in one hand, the other one was counting something off on his fingers.  You leaned in, resting your chin on one of your hands while taking a sip of your own drink.  

It was just a friendly outing between two strangers in a bar! 

But then it wasn’t just a friendly outing between two strangers in a bar, it turned into inviting you out on the town whenever you weren’t working.  

Every picture he was sent made Sunday feel like he was being jabbed with a hot poker.  The nagging voice at the back of his head went from being nothing more than occasional whispers to near constant chatter.  

Competition and jealousy boiled over, returning as steaming hot inadequacy and betrayal.  

The cameras around Penacony caught the two of you frequenting gambling dens, all smiles and coy banter behind the mountains of game chips Aventurine’s supernatural luck managed to rake in.  

The head of the Oak Family tried to come up with a reason why you’d choose to follow after Aventurine.  Maybe the family hadn’t been paying you enough, maybe you were only toying with Aventurine for his money.  If Sunday increased your pay, maybe you’d stop running around behind his back! 

But that would only explain the times you were pictured at the casino tables. 

What about all the times the two of you had wandered around the Moment of Scorchsand? 

Drinking, dancing, bar hopping?  Were those just an added on fling? Another way of cheating Aventurine out of his money?  

Or, or the moment of Stars?  

Did you need Aventurine’s money to have a good time at an amusement park?

Why did you pay for that date then? Why was that date your idea? 

Why did the cameras catch the two of you making out on the elevator ride up to Aventurine’s hotel room? 

The halovian clutched his head in both hands.

He needs the room to stop spinning, he needs those images out of his head. 

But he can’t seem to stop them, no matter how hard he tries.  The second he manages to push one down, another five images are burning themselves into his brain.  

Cruelly, the voice that’d been telling him to act on his suspicions sooner only seems to get louder and louder.  It laughs at him, ridicules him.  

Sunday cries out in pure anguish, sending a fist hurtling straight through the wall behind his desk.  

“FUCK!”

“Hngh… Oh-” 

Aventurine’s fingers curl in your hair, tugging your strands with enough force your scalp burns.  You groan, throat spasming around where you’d taken his cock down to the base.  The pleasant vibrations only send his head tipping back against the silk-cover pillows in a delayed moan, toes curling from where you’d thrown his legs over your shoulder.  

Your middle finger ghosts over his prostate a second time and his jaw drops.  Reflexively, he pulled your face closer to his pelvis leading you to choke.  You lave your tongue over one of the more prominent veins on the underside of his pretty pink shaft on your way up, kitten licking the tip as your chest heaves.  You take in a much deeper breath, pulling off of him completely in favor of grabbing the bottle of lube that’d you’d carelessly thrown aside earlier.  

His eyes are just a smidge glossed over when he picks his head up from the pillow, meeting your gaze with his lower lip jutted out in a pout.  “Mmm… I was so close, why’d you have to stop?” 

He’s a picture, blonde hair sticking to his forehead, teal button-up only half undone and hanging off his shoulders.  His collarbones and shoulders are littered with hickies in a plethora of colors, reminders of each time you’d found yourself in the same hotel room after a haze of a night spent drinking, gambling, and/or flirting.  

“It’s hard getting comfy with something down your throat, babe.” With the cap of the bottle already mostly screwed off, you make quick work of it with your teeth.  Pulling your middle finger out of his tight ass, you squirt a healthy dollop onto your middle and index fingers.  

His eyes drop to where your fingers are working him open, two fingers sinking in knuckle deep.  He whimpers when he hears the filthy squelch the lube makes when you start moving them back and forth.  His breath gets stuck in his lungs when he feels the pads of your fingers glide over his prostate again.  “Hurry up-” he bites his lip when he feels the warmth of your breath fan over his leaking tip, “Wanna feel you inside already.”

Your laugh is breathy as you start to scissor your fingers to make room for a third.  You blow cold air on his tip, relishing the way his knees try to lock up around your neck, the way his cute dick twitches.  He shoots you a half-hearted glare, pushing his hips further on your fingers to try and feel for that one spot that would send him to the stars above.  You’d hooked up with him enough to know exactly where it was in this position, angling your fingers to skillfully knead the little bump with startling accuracy.  

“Fuck- Yes, please, (name), right there!” 

His thighs seize up on either side of your head, eyes rolling into the back of his head.  One of the hands tangled in your hair finds itself covering his mouth, muffling his whines.  The hand still knotted up in your tresses tries to pull you closer, nonverbally pleading for more.  You slip in a third finger and he groans at the stretch,wiggling his hips even though you aren’t moving.

Your mouth is on his tip in an attempt to pacify him, licking over his slit as you pull your fingers out again.  He’s easily distracted and his hips are trying their best to thrust up from where they’re pinned on the mattress.  There’s another healthy slathering of lube on your fingers before you’re working him open again, taking as much of his pretty pink cock in your mouth without using your throat.  

His moans are getting higher and higher in pitch, grip getting tighter and tighter on your scalp.  He whimpers between them like he’s in pain, but the way his heels are digging into the small of your back, you know he isn’t actually hurting.   

“Ah~, (nickname), I’m gonna- I’m gonna cummmngh~”

Crystalline tears pool at the corners of his eyes, his back rising in the perfect arch the deeper you’re thrusting your fingers.  You pull off his dick with a smile, a line of saliva between your lips and the angry red tip serving a messy reminder.  You’re panting, both trying to catch your breath but also because you’re hardly containing your own excitement.  “Yeah? You’re gonna cum?” 

He nods his head quickly biting his lips, and Aeons, he sounds angelic when you prod around his insides looking for his prostate again.  “Mmhm… Ngh~” 

Your free hand wraps around the base of his dick with a smile, chuckling when his grip on your hair is just about tight enough he’s getting ready to pull out chunks of your follicles.  You’re stroking him up and down, nice and slow at the same pace you’re thrusting.  “You wanna cum?” 

He nods his head even harder this time, the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes starting to slide down his cheeks one by one.  

You stop stroking him, hand coming to a stop working his insides too, “I wanna hear you say it,” you press a lingering kiss on the top of his thigh, “Need to hear you say it f’me before you cum, darling.” 

He chokes on a frustrated sob, “I-I needa cum- please, baby, n-need it so bad-”

He’s too slow to bite his lip again, an uncharacteristically screamlike moan ripped from his throat the moment your hands started massaging his sweet spot again.  Despite already being arched, his back is pushing itself off the bed as he struggles to keep his voice down.  He’s chasing your hands, despite the fact they aren’t going anywhere. 

You start sucking a hickey into his inner thigh, watching the way his cock twitches and his legs jolt.  

“CUMminGgh! Oh, hoh- I’m cumMINg~” 

He keens, spasming and seizing up before he creams thick and heavy onto his chest with a labored sob.  His chest is moving so fast it looks like he’s hyperventilating and he’s scrambling to pry your mouth off his over sensitive inner thighs.  

You groan against his skin, immediately getting up from where you’re kneeling at the foot of the bed to crawl on top of him.  Despite just how intense he came, he’s more than eager to welcome you onto the bed with open arms.  His hands are immediately reaching for your shirt buttons, fumbling to get them undone with shaky hands.  You’re caging him in with one arm, the other reaching up to help him undo your button-up.  

He scowls at the last few–the ones he decided were taking too long–before he’s taking the fabric in both hands and popping the buttons off in one fell swoop.  You’re pleasantly surprised, even more so when his hand is reaching for your belt buckle all on his own.  

Usually, he enjoyed being pampered in bed, him taking the initiative was more than unexpected–pleasant, but unexpected. 

“What’s the rush?” You tease, letting your arm fall back into place holding you up, “I’m all yours, all night.” 

Aventurine whines, fingers catching on the clasp of the buckle, “That’s not soon enough, wanna feel you now.”

“Fuck…” The sight of him being so needy is turning you on to an embarrassing degree.  At this point, you’re guessing the front of your boxers are all but soaked through.  

The man underneath you isn’t the only one that’s impatient, it seems.  Moments later, your hand is reaching down to help him free you from the confines of your uniform slacks.  One of his hands reaches up to yank you down close enough to kiss him, clumsy and wanting. 

Your lips are about to connect, the night’s really heating up, and you couldn’t think of anything that could ruin the moment until- 

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’ 

The two of you freeze, eyes darting towards the door.  

You look back down at him, “Were you expecting anyone tonight?” 

“No.” Aventurine scowls, pursing his lips, “I told the front desk to say I wasn’t here tonight.” 

You frown, “Then, who-” 

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’ 

You get off the disheveled blonde, snatching his robe off the back of his closet door.  He takes it quickly, getting off the bed to cover himself.  

You’re trying to button-up what buttons remain on your shirt, redoing your belt buckle while you’re at it.  

Aventurine turns back to you, approaching the entrance to his luxury hotel suite as he shrugs the fluffy black robe, “Don’t think you’re getting away from me, we’re starting up again the second I’m-”

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’ 

He grits his teeth, “I’m on my way!” 

He ties the waistband into a knot, sliding on a pair of equally fluffy slippers by the bedroom door before disappearing from sight. 

You don’t think much of it, after all, you’d spent enough nights out with Aventurine to know he was someone important in a huge corporation.  It didn’t seem out of the question that something might’ve needed his immediate attention. 

In the mirror of the wardrobe next to the bed, you’re fixing your hair and counting the buttons missing from your uniform when the door opens. 

“Sunday! What a pleasant surprise.”

there's a note on the side of the phone booth, read it?

" happy gay month cuz u know u gay and stuff <3 "

guys there isn't that much smut don't be mad at me i have a heat fic and another fic about blowing out brant's back to write😔

ANYWAYS

If you guys haven't checked my pinned lately, I'd recommend giving it a read because it contains my plans for this account's future and all that good stuff <3

I really appreciate the people who stuck with me over like 5 months of prolonged absence, y'all are real ones and I wish I could kiss u all hot and romantical on the mouth

I'll admit this isn't my best work, especially since I've kind of fallen out of HSR and Genshin, but it's here for whoever wants to read it !

It's been wonderful getting to know all of you guys and I'm sincerely grateful for all the support you guys have shown for me and my little writing hobby :,)))))

divider credits:

@/im4yeons

@/saradika-graphics

@/enchanthings

@/cutestgrotto

[thewritingfairy]

This is so funny because just today I was hoping you would upload a new chapter and immediately when I check Tumblr you updated. I swear we share the same mind! Anyways u love chapter 12 pookie, Damian is very much self reflecting in his own way slowly but surely but I want to know, who is out off all the batfam the worst yandere because in my opinion I think its either Jason or Alfred.

Phone format, Chapter mentioned: 13. Damian attempts self-reflection

This is actually very funny, because I update whenever I have a random burst of inspiration for this story. (Its also why the chapters are often short or multiple after each other because I go from writing to no motivation to sudden motivation). And sometimes I just take days or weeks to write.

But the worst yandere...

Honestly? It depends from which angle you look at it.

When it comes to betrayal? Tim (also delusional). Especially since he knows what it's like to be neglected, he knows how much damage it brings and you thought you would have some solidarity with him. You don't care for his reasons, you simply care for his actions.

When it comes to possessiveness, Damian and Jason. For obvious reasons, Damian has an obsession with blood relations and Jason's possessiveness is actually a plot line so I can't spoil too much. But he basically sees you as a better version of his mother that he failed to protect and keep alive before, so now he wants to ensure you cannot leave them. Because if you leave you'll be like his mother. And you don't want that now do you?

When it comes to protectiveness, Cass, Bruce and Barbara. Cass feels immense guilt for ignoring your pain, so she'll attempt to shield you from more even if it means kidnapping you or locking you up. Barbara is in the same boat but also because she knows how hard it was at first to become disabled, so she feels guilt for not being there for you. And Bruce is Bruce, with his obsessive plans, his canon nature is already a bit shit, his yandere side just makes it all worse. And when it comes to protectiveness? Eventually you'll won't be able to breath without someone monitoring you if he had his way.

When it comes to delusional Alfred, Dick and Stephanie. We've all seen how Alfred acts, like a piece of shit and he honestly thinks your behaviour is just a fase. Dick feels the need to protect everyone and to be loved by everyone, so he's mainly delusional. He makes himself think that you do love them and still want to be with them (you don't). Stephanie doesn't really want to acknowledge how she has hurt you, so she pretends you guys are okay but she feels the need to keep you (in a sense) so that you'll no longer get hurt.

The easiest would be Duke.

Duke knows what you want, so he'll always take your side. Especially with your past and his own morals. Duke doesn't throw away what he stands for simply because he feels an obsessive need to protect you or to lock you up. No. But he might come with you to everything check if everything is safe and then pretend to leave but he's actually just stalking at a respectful distance and out of sight (from everyone !!!)

I also would like to note that there is no such thing as respectful stalking in real life. Fiction doesn't equate to what's healthy in real life. also you got happy because I updated? Pls, you've made my day, I needed that before my exam tomorrow.

[kiarst]

little late night thoughts (again):

yan!batfam x neglected!reader (again because this trope just has so much potential for crossovers and the yan!batfam ideas are rotting in my head) but this time, we're messing with voltron.

same start where mc somehow ends up in batfam's care and ends up getting neglected. They are around Tim's age in during the vld series plot so around 18-19 maybe. In order to try and prove themselves to the batfam or try to gain their attention, they run away and apply to the garrison as a medic (yes, i know that the garrison is mainly for pilots and stuff but for this au, they have a medical course). why a medic? because they aren't confident enough to fly a plane and they find that a medic is still a very important role in a team.

they end up in the same year as keith, lance and hunk. I don't know how they first interact with them, maybe mc and keith end up as partners during a collaborative activity between the pilot and medic class and they somehow? end up becoming friends or they end up becoming the medic on lance's team. I don't know but basically, mc ends up with the main group and the shenanigans of the vld plot ensue. maybe there's another lion and mc is their pilot and they slowly learn how to pilot with help from shiro, keith and/or lance (mainly shiro cuz he was one of the best pilot's in the garrison and keith cuz he was also one of the best pilots in their year). maybe they just stay in the castle and help and are the designated medic, patching everyone up and keeping an eye on everyone's vitals and stuff. mc eventually tells everyone who they really are (cuz they used their mother's maiden name to enroll), maybe because someone found out or they did it a bit after pidge's reveal cuz it's like 'oh, we're airing out secrets now?'. the members of the team from earth kinda freak out but also understand if mc doesn't elaborate further until they feel ready to. mc slowly grows as plot progresses, realizing that their feelings about the neglect are valid and that they should live for themselves and to help others, something like that while allowing themselves to be vulnerable and depend on the team cuz they were neglected for a long time and had to mostly be independent.

now for the batfam's side. On their side, again they don't notice. maybe alfred notices or they all don't notice until the news that 4 students from the garrison, an ex-student and a missing pilot have disappeared. I prefer the news one cuz it's gonna hit like a freight train once they see mc's picture flash on screen. breakdowns, arguing, regretting and lashing out ensue and they use their resources to try and locate mc, even asking some space heroes and alien connections they have for help.

I don't know how the space stuff would work. maybe the green lantern corps are aware and trying to do something but the galra are too big of a problem to take on full force. I'm leaning more towards the voltron space being far, far away from the dc space maybe (for convenience). like the dc space people have heard of it, they just think it's a legend or stories from space's past. the galra invasion of earth would be wild though with the heroes existing, kind of wonder how that will go.

also would mc have a love interest in this au? who would it be?

Thoughts?

edit: added a bit to clarify mc's age and also because I have no idea how old the cadets of the garrison are when they first enroll and are first years

[alpaca-clouds]

I really find it frustrating how very different in regards to effort the different companion quests in BG3 are.

Like, you have Astarion and Shadowheart who both have those really nice paced out companion quests with a rather good structure in the story, a dungeon for that quest each and this big bombastic finale with stuff that is only connected to their quest and nothing else. They both also - regardless of whether you romance them or not - have quite a few of cut scenes connected to the quest.

Then there are Gale and Lae'zel. Their companion quests are a lot more weaved into the actual main quest which you can see both positive and negative. Positive: They are a lot more related to the plot. Negative: You will do most of the stuff from their quests either way. You can argue that the creché is a dungeon connected to Lae'zel, and you can also make the argument that Laroakan's tower is kinda Gale's dungeon.

Then there is Wyll, who mostly just hangs around during Act 1 and 2 and then has a little tiny bit of quest in Act 3, though the game will very much make sure to push you into the quest even if you have not recruited Wyll or Wyll has left the party. So, yeah, depending how you read it, there are two dungeons that are kinda connected to Wyll (the Iron Throne and then the Ansur dungeon).

And then... there is Karlach. Karlach's quest can be summarized by: "Fight some fake paladins, get one piece of infernal iron, get a second piece of infernal iron, defeat Gortash." The Gortash fight is not even like the two Wyll dungeons, that are not really Wyll exclusive (I mean, technically none of the quests is), that are optional outside of the Wyll questline. No, you will have to confront Gortash in one way or another to finish the game, no matter whether you have Karlach recruited or not.

And it makes it just feel so very... unsatisfying. I think a lot of the problems that people (like me) have with act 3 of the game really are connected to the fact that the endings for the companions outside of Astarion and Shadowheart feel rather, well, as I said: unsatisfying.

I mean, yes, Gale and Lae'zel are connected with the plot, but also their resolution is kinda pushed somehow into this "post-final-boss" scene and hence feels not really as if it actually resolves somethng. Especially as it feels also so very disconnected from basically everything else in the game you do with them.

With Wyll I would even argue that technically the post-Ansur stuff could almost serve as a proper resolution... If the dialogue was not bugged as hell. At least it is for me. And of course it still does not compare at all with the stuff happening with Astarion and Shadowheart.

And then there is Karlach. I just... I am sorry, I hate how the game handels Karlach. Especially because she is such a cool character. But her companion quest gives you less to do than your average side-quest. It is a fucking fetch quest. That's it. And it has no proper resolution. Because in Act 3 there is not even an attempt made to solve her issue. I spoke about that before: I would be totally fine if there was a quest in Act 3 where the player tries to get the engine fixed in the city. BUT THERE ISN'T. It is like: "Well, Dammon does not know anything. Tough luck Karlach. You gotta either die or go back to hell." Meanwhile I am like: "THEN ASK SOMEONE ELSE?" Ask the Ironhand Gnomes, ask the Gondians, ask bloody Gortash, try to make a deal with Raphael. Like, there has to be something, right?

And look, while I would have loved some Halsin content in Act 3, I am fine with the fact that there is not really anything. That is alright. Because really, the entire Act 2 stuff and how Halsin is interwoven with it might very well be the game's highlight for me.

Just as I am fine that Jaheira and Minsc are more like cameos with not that big of a role in Act 3.

(Again, I cannot talk minthy, because I failed to recruit her so far because I do not like to play evil characters.)

But... Yeah. I will not go here and argue that the game is incomplete. It is not. But it still is very frustrating how the game handles the companion quests in this regard, because the companions are the beating heart of the game. And I think the ending of the game would have been more satisfying if the companion quests had been more comparable in quality.

[caesarflickermans]

SUZANNE COLLINS: SOTR EXCLUSIVE EDITIONS INTERVIEW

This is a transcript from the Barnes & Noble / Waterstones exclusive edition interview. To my knowledge, they are the same.

Not to be confused with interview on her website, which you can find here.

transcript below

DL: Did you always know you’d write a novel about the second Quarter Quell? If not, what compelled you to return to this particular point in the Hunger Games timeline?

SC: I always start with the underlying ideas—in this case, implicit submission, the uncertainty of inductive reasoning, propaganda, love—and they find their way to the story that supports them. But yes, I think I did want to do Haymitch’s story because I’ve always known that the version Katniss and Peeta saw on the train was very misleading. When I landed on implicit submission and its dependency on propaganda, Haymitch’s was the natural tale to tell. Just like the state of nature debate led naturally to Coriolanus’s story.

DL: The quote at the start of the book from the philosopher David Hume is a very telling one. It starts, “Nothing appears more surprising to those, who consider human affairs with a philosophical eye, than the easiness with which they are governed by the few; and the implicit submission, with which men resign their own sentiments and passions to those of their rulers.” This feels like a key to the entire book.

SC: If all people do is read the full Hume quote and discuss it, this book has been a win for me. This quote invites so many questions. Like, “Do you think Hume is right? As human beings, do we ultimately end up being governed by a few people? Not in, say, a totalitarian state, but in a democracy?” (After thinking about it, every single person I asked about this said yes. No one seemed happy about it.) “But why have we resigned our own sentiments and passions to those rulers? Why are we implicitly submitting to this? Especially since force is on our side, as the governed.” Hume answers that for us. We’re allowing ourselves to be controlled by “opinion.” And that’s where propaganda comes in.

All right, then, “What propaganda do we all consume on a daily basis that maintains this status quo? Is it harder to maintain in an autocracy or a democracy where we pride ourselves on our intellectual or political freedom? How much propaganda does it take to make you think that implicit submission is what you want? Is it inevitable? Is there a way to protect ourselves against it? What would that entail?”

DL: Haymitch is starting at a very different place than Katniss or Coriolanus—while his life has had its sadness, it’s largely been a good life so far. How does that change the stakes within the novel?

SC: Yes, his life has been largely good. A loving family, good friends, the love of his life. A sweet part-time job that may lead to a profitable, if illegal, career. He’s happy except for the shadow of the Games that hangs over them all. So, emotionally, his loss is the greatest because he has the most to lose. And unlike Katniss and Coriolanus, who have loved ones to the end, Snow tries to strip Haymitch of everything: family, friends, lover, job, community, happiness, and the freedom to love anyone. His personal stakes couldn’t be higher.

DL: What was it like to be creating a new work that you’d already loosely outlined in Catching Fire?

SC: Actually, it helped. Younger me provided a protagonist, his arena, his overall arc, and some of the cast, including Maysilee Donner. Having to build off the recap, not having everything to decide, meant some extra challenges on the plotting side, but ultimately it was freeing. I just had to work within what was established. Of course, knowing that the narrative had been manipulated into a piece of Capitol propaganda gave me a lot of freedom as well. 

DL: It’s such an interesting scenario, to have our very reliable narrator understand that he is surrounded by so many unreliable narrators — and that, in fact, unreliable narration is a powerful political tool. The “card-stacking” that helps him a little in the beginning (with Plutarch using the manipulation as an excuse to give Haymitch time with his family) ends up being existentially overwhelming when Haymitch watches the “recap” of the Games and realizes how history is truly written by the victory (and not the Victor). To me, this felt like the biggest revelation to Haymitch — the sheer degree of manipulation. Can you talk a little about how this revelation about propaganda sits within the larger scope of the series?

SC: After he watches the reaping on the train, Haymitch realizes that he’s the Gamemakers’ puppet and that they will manipulate his image and actions to serve their needs. Within the arena, he can only wonder what they’re showing the audience. But the full force of their deception doesn’t hit him until he sees how completely they’ve changed his story the night he’s crowned. Remember, too, that in order to appease Snow and protect his loved ones and, when that fails, to fulfill his promise to Lenore Dove, he has to carry the Gamemakers’ narrative forward as the absolute truth. It’s an enormous burden that he bears alone because all of his allies who lived the truth are dead. Keeping the real version straight in his own head while promoting the fabricated version would require constant vigilance. But deep down, even through his white liquor fog, he realizes it’s imperative that he do it. If he can’t distinguish between the two, the Capitol wins. This foreshadows Peeta’s hijacking in Mockingjay and reinforces the question the whole series asks about the information we’re consuming: “Real or not real?”

DL: If I could give you a time machine back to when you were writing Catching Fire, would you have asked yourself to do anything differently?

SC: No, but maybe in the Mockingjay book. I might have shortened the period between Haymitch being crowned victor and when he loses his family. It doesn’t need to be two weeks. Although it does give Snow an additional window to torment him in the Capitol. But really, he could have gone straight home after the Victor’s Ceremony.

DL: Besides Haymitch, was there any other character from the trilogy that you particularly enjoyed revisiting in Sunrise?

SC: I love doing all of them: Plutarch, Effie, Beetee, Mags, Wiress, Burdock, Asterid. Getting to share who they were and what motivated them. They didn’t arise fully formed in the trilogy. All the characters are on journeys. Beetee losing Ampert, Effie clinging to her Capitol beliefs, Asterid healing the sick in 12, Plutarch still staying in the games. Everybody has their own story.

DL: One of the most fascinating things about seeing the Games play out over time — going from the Tenth to the Fiftieth to the Seventy-fourth and Seventy-fifth — is understanding both the evolution of the Games and the evolution of the roles within the Games. In particular, I’d love to ask you about the contrast between Drusilla and the Effie of the Trilogy. There seems to be a profound generational difference that shapes their view of their role in the Games — and, indeed, seeing the start of Effie’s relationship here made me suddenly understand the dynamic that must have governed District 12 tributes for the next twenty-five years. Can you talk about what makes Drusilla tick versus what ultimately makes Effie tick?

SC: As escorts, both Drusilla and Effie are ambassadors for the Hunger Games. Drusilla who lived through the cruelties of the Dark Days, has channeled her experience into vengeance against the districts. She’s dehumanized her enemy, referring to them as beasts and pigs, and she has no qualms about ushering the piglets into the arena. Effie, born decades after the war, has embraced the Hunger Games as her patriotic duty. She’s been raised on them as necessary evil and a reminder of a war that Panem can never afford to repeat. Unlike Drusilla, she believes all the participants have a noble role to play. That begins to wear thin over the years. Every Games it becomes harder to justify the atrocity. You can see her clinging to good manners for reassurance of humanity’s decency. But in terms of the Hunger Games, Effie being assigned as their escort was a lucky break for District 12. She might be ridiculous, but she’s not malicious.

DL: Even though Maysilee is mentioned in Catching Fire, we really get to know her for the first time in this book. In many ways, she’s not so much defined by her privilege as she is by her lack of control over her life — when we first talked about her, you said she was “indentured into a life she doesn’t want.” What do you think fuels Maysilee, both in the arena and out of it?

SC: Rage. She’s one of the angriest characters I’ve ever written. She’s mad about the injustice of the world she’s born into and not it threatens and limits her life on every level. Before she’s reaped, that just manifests as meanness. But once she’s reaped, she begins to evolve and focus that emotion on the Capitol. She remembers who the enemy is.

DL: Snow makes quite an appearance when he arrives at Plutarch’s apartment. What was it like to see him in this era, after spending so much time with his younger self when writing Ballad?

SC: When I started working on this book, for the first time Snow and I were about the same age. We’re both entering our third act. I could feel his middle-agedness in mind and body, imagine his lost and realized dreams, and sense the cost of maintaining them. He's devoted his whole life to controlling Panem. But the work will never be done. It's exhausting.

Emotionally, he's beginning to reflect back on his life. His loves and losses. His resentment at the Heavensbee library when his own childhood books were burned for warmth, his cynicism over Haymitch's romance, his fear and loathing of District 12. I enjoyed having Lucy Gray's memory rise up and disrupt his life.

DL: And poor Haymitch doesn't even know why he's setting Snow off! But that does lead me to a question about Lenore Dove, who has grown up in a very different Covey world than Lucy Gray. How do you feel her outlook is shaped by her Covey roots?

SC: Lenore Dove romanticizes the Covey's prewar days as itinerant musicians on the open road. She also knows the losses that followed, the murdered parents and orphaned Covey children. And in particular, she's haunted by the fate of Lucy Gray. She wears bright bits of Lucy Gray's dress about her person and keeps her forbidden lyrics alive in private performances for Haymitch and Burdock. The Capitol has never meant anything but oppression and pain for her people; and that fuels her desire to bring it down.

DL: And how did Poe become such a part of the book?

SC: Haymitch's love needed a name. Since she's Covey, that starts with a ballad. I knew she'd died young, as Haymitch mentions this in Mockingjay. So, love of his life - her early death + his relentless grief = Edgar Allan Poe. I’m right back at the Romantic poets again. Even then, I’ve got several poems to choose from — “Annabel Lee,” “Ulalume,” “Lenore,” “To One in Paradise” — but I couldn’t resist “The Raven.”

DL: One of the things I love about Ballad and Sunrise is that they make the series much more about “the long game,” showing that the events of the trilogy don’t happen because the right girl shows up at the right time, but because of decades of planning. In many ways, Plutarch’s extremely ambiguous role is the biggest acknowledgment we have of long-game tactics. I don’t want you to try to pin him down here — I know he is ambiguous for a reason — but perhaps you could discuss his role.

SC: Plutarch’s the master of the long game. In Sunrise, we see him as a young man who’s convinced the government needs overthrowing, but he’s just taking his first baby steps. by the time we get to the trilogy, he’s masterminding the rebellion. He’s built a network in both the districts and the Capitol. He’s found an army in District 13 and allied with Coin. When Katniss shows up, he’s got a Mockingjay for his propaganda. He orchestrates the Airtime Assault that brings down the Capitol. And he manages to do all of this while convincingly playing a Gamemaker.

He doesn’t glorify humanity. At the end of the war, he tells Katniss, “We’re fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction. Although who knows? Maybe this will be it, Katniss.” And when she asks what, he answers “The time it sticks. Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race.” So, at heart, he’s an optimist. He doesn’t accept that war and self-destruction are inevitable. Plutarch believes that we’re all on a continuum. We’re all ultimately playing the long game. You may fight your whole life for a greater good and never see the fruits of your labor. Plenty of people have done that historically. And so he tells Haymitch, “You were capable of imagining a different future. And maybe it won’t be realized today, maybe not in our lifetime. Maybe it will take generations. We’re all part of a continuum. Does that make it pointless?” I think that’s a question we all have to ask ourselves.

DL: When we first discussed the manuscript, you told me, “Books are part of Plutarch’s privilege.” In seeming contrast, there is the transmission of stories through song that we see echoing within Haymitch. I’d love for you to share more about this and the role books and songs play in the storytelling within this series.

SC: The Heavensbees have enormous wealth and privilege and, largely thanks to Trajan Heavensbee, that has allowed them to collect and protect an impressive library. The only other personal collection we’re sure exists belongs to the Covey. Much smaller, of course, but it’s apparently got some great books in it. Poetry, philosophy, literature, and at least one guide to raising poultry. The only book the Everdeens owned was the edible and medicinal plant guide they made themselves. That expands into the memorial book at the end.

District 12 doesn’t have many books, but they have plenty of songs. Why? Because a book can be burned, but you can’t burn a song. It can be passed along from person to person without a trace, no physical form required. Theoretically, you could commit a book to memory, like in Fahrenheit 451, but that’s a talent not everybody’s going to share.

By the trilogy, the songs have been discouraged as well. Under Snow, the live music in 12 devolves from the Covey performing in the Hob in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes to a trio of instrumentalists in Sunrise on the Reaping to a lone fiddler (Clerk Carmine) in the trilogy. Lucy Gray’s songs, which Katniss sings unaccompanied in the trilogy, are held in memory and are passed along orally. Snow would love to stamp them out entirely, not just because he doesn’t like music, but because they’re powerful politically. A protest song like “The Goose and the Common” can articulate an injustice, stir people up, and become a rallying point.

DL: Just because you mentioned it, I’m going to ask: Are Snow and Clerk Carmine the only two people we see in Ballad, Sunrise, and the trilogy? (I won’t ask what Tigris is up to during Sunrise, but whatever it is, I know it’s good.)

SC: Yes, I think it does come down to Snow and Clerk Carmine. A handful of Snow’s classmates might still be around by the trilogy, but they’re not named characters.

DL: I’m fascinated by the surface similarity of Katniss’s, Coriolanus’s, and Haymitch’s family structures. All have dead fathers. All are being raised by a mother or grandmother. All have a single sibling or cousin in their care. But even if the structures are alike, their experiences vary. In what ways do you think they were shaped similarly by this structure and in what ways were their upbringings different?

SC: You see this a lot in books for young audiences, where the protagonist is orphaned or placed outside of parental protection, leaving them to fend for themselves. It requires them to be responsible for their own survival and choices.

Haymitch has always had at least one functional parent, which is not true of the others. I think this has allowed him to be more open-hearted and optimistic than the other two heading into the story. Coriolanus is orphaned during the war and his grandmother does an impressive job keeping him and Tigris alive, but by the time that book opens she lives in her own world and her grandchildren care for her. Katniss loses her mother to grief and depression when her father dies and becomes her family's provider and protector at age eleven. Haymitch doesn't have to take full responsibility for himself until he's reaped.

DL: The role of the sibling (and I count Tigris as a sibling) is also so important within the series, to the degree that, in this book, becoming a "found" sibling is the highest mark of trust. Can you talk about exploring that dynamic within the series?

SC: In Ballad, when Coriolanus is filling out Lucy Gray's questionnaire and there's no place to record her cousins, he thinks, "There should be a place for anyone who cared for you at all. In fact, maybe that should be the question to start with: Who cares about you? Or even better, Who can you count on?" There's the family you're born into and the family you choose. All the protagonists have trustworthy families to begin with, but they adopt "found" siblings as well and those bonds are born of experience. Maysilee for Haymitch, Finnick for Katniss, even Sejanus for Coriolanus. People who care about you that you can count on. They replicate the natural sibling bond and aren't limited by biology. All of them ultimately find siblings among people they once viewed as antagonists.

DL: With the Newcomers, we see a different angle to the presentation of alliances within the Games — and in some ways, this alliance is in conversation with the alliance that forms in Catching Fire. In many ways, alliances are the unsung hero of the series, especially when we look at the long game. What does Ampert establish with the Newcomers that echoes throughout the series?

SC: Ampert’s laying the groundwork for the rebellion later with the district alliance in the third Quarter Quell. It’s a work in progress. Even in the trilogy, we’re well into the war before the rebels finally get all the districts on board. But Ampert’s message wins out. “We don’t have to put up with living under the Capitol’s rule. We have greater numbers, more power, more strength. We can change our lives.”

DL: I love how within Sunrise we see how Mags’s and Wiress’s mentoring styles contrast — and neither one is at all like Haymitch’s mentoring style in the trilogy. I can’t believe I’ve never asked you this question before, but of all the characters we’ve seen across the five books, which one would you most want to be your mentor?

SC: Haymitch, but not until the trilogy when he pulls himself together. Before that, I think I’d go with Mags, who’s brought home several victors while retaining her humanity.

DL: How thoroughly do you outline before you start writing?

SC: Pretty thoroughly, this time more than usual. I started with Post-its and laid out everything that was established about the second Quarter Quell in the version that Katniss and Peeta watch on the train in Catching Fire. Then I added in a few things that Haymitch mentions to Katniss in Mockingjay. And finally, I overlaid that with the story of what really happened. Additionally, I had to weave in characters and events from the past and the future.

There are a lot of balls to keep in the air. Multiple versions exist of, say, the reaping: the one we live through with Haymitch, where Woodbine gets killed; a second that’s aired to the public after the delay; a third of Plutarch’s card-stacked edit that they broadcast the night of the reaping that includes footage of Ma and Sid; and a fourth version played during Haymitch’s Victor’s Ceremony, which seems quite close to the one Katniss and Peeta view, but it could have been tweaked a bit over time. It’s a lot to keep straight.

DL: In terms of the smaller connections between this book and the other books (like the use of the word sweetheart or the presence of geese in Haymitch’s early story), were these things you knew going into the book from the start, or were they things that happened when you were putting words to the page?

SC: These were things I knew about, but I didn’t know if I’d ever write Haymitch’s story and have the opportunity to lay in their history. So many things are like that when you’re building a world. But Haymitch’s decision to tend geese at the end of Mockingjay wasn’t random.

DL: And, of course, for my final question I need to ask... what do you have against gumdrops?SC: Not a thing.

[midnight-in-town]

Long dead contractor or fake one ?

Thinking again about this guy ^ who probably isn't the Polaris Star Lord (because Polaris from ch169 doesn't have the similar neck tattoo thingy).

Crack theory from my insomnia : the thing is, we know UT checked Seb's cinematic records during the Campania arc and thus knows what contract Seb made with Ciel (i.e the 3 rules from ch138)...

...the remaining question though is whether he saw more than what we readers saw of Seb's CR.

When it comes to humans, their cinematic records start at birth and end at death. However, we don't know enough about demonology in Kuro to be sure

whether Seb's own CR only begins at his current summoning,

or if he has centuries old CR depicting his entire existence as a demon and thus all his previous contracts.

Depending on the answer, this means UT could have seen just Seb's existence since being summoned by our!Ciel, or also past contractors. Noteworthy, when Grelle briefly checked Seb's CR during the JTR arc, she too only saw moments of Seb's "life" as Ciel's butler.

So, if UT had access to Seb's memories of previous contractors, then he could have somehow found this guy and brought him back to life (somehow finding his corpse where Seb ate his soul, idek).

However, if UT didn't have access to Seb's CR before the current summoning and contract with our!Ciel, then the question remains : who is this guy from the cliffhanger and how did he end up involved ?

Considering UT's goal of separating Ciel from Seb...

...if UT had no way of finding a previous recent contractor and bringing him back to bizarre doll state, what if he faked one ? After all, he doesn't have to play fair when it comes to fighting against a demon.

Seb's contract with Ciel is based on the 3 main rules they discussed during ch138. Namely in that chapter, Seb and Ciel discussed the matter of possible betrayal and...

...while Seb said that multiple contracts were against his aesthetics, UT could have taken a corpse and altered his CR (by adding fake memories, like he did with the Campania BDs) to trick Ciel into thinking Seb broke their agreement of no multiple contracts, thus rendering the contract null.

This would explain the whole "would you like me to give you a hand ?"

And "then why did they welcome us ?"

Now, for anyone who might come at me saying "but Ciel would never believe such a thing" : I understand the feeling since Seb is indeed too stupid to betray his own aesthetics, but I beg to differ considering the Green Witch arc, the "90% serious" incident and mostly the fact that...

...Ciel doesn't trust that Seb has his best intentions in mind, far from it.

It will take convincing arguments for sure, but UT is not some ordinary villain and, again, the Nectar Springs Hotel staff was expecting them. Lastly, considering the theory that UT could be Cedric K. Ros, Frances once said in ch14...

...and I think it could apply to UT as well.

I mean, so far, the Campania, Weston and Blue Sect arcs saw UT winning every time. As for the current investigations, Mey and Bard were successful but Finny & Snake weren't, meaning that if Ciel & Seb lose, it's going to be a tie (which would keep real!Ciel longer in the story).

Maybe this arc will highlight that Seb was right in ch14 and our!Ciel can't win against UT and his brother if he doesn't add more Phantomhive brains to his side (aka Frances becoming some sort of mentor like Seb mentioned) :

TL;DR I don't know if Seb's past as a demon before the contract with Ciel could be relevant to the plot, so I wouldn't put it past UT to create a fake contractor to try and make the contract with our!Ciel null.

UT doesn't know how to mourn but he does know how to hatch conniving plans.

[btstrology]

The Last Gift (Preview)

✯ Genre: SUPER ANGST but with fluff to compensate the pain lol, coworkers rivalry, from haters to lovers, slice of life, romance, mature, eventual SMUT, pregnancy, single parent.

❥ Pairing : Yoongi x Reader

✉ Plot:  After years of pursuing your dream job, you've finally been transferred to Seoul to work in the marketing division of Samsung. Everything should be fantastic except for one problem: your coworker has been an ass to you nonstop since day one. Fed up with his behavior, you decide to investigate him, hoping to dig up something that could get him kicked out of the company. But what a surprise when you find out his biggest secret.

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

“It’s always been about her…not me…” a tear streams down your face as your voice trembles. “I should’ve known nothing would ever change” your breath hitches, fingers clutching at your sleeves as if they could steady you. “And yet, I ignored it for my own sake… because that was my way of coping with the fact that, despite all these years… you still… love her.” you gasp, tears falling uncontrollably.

Yoongi stands rigid, his eyes filled with pain as he watches you break down. He reaches out–then hesitates, his arm dropping limply at his side.

“And do you know what’s the most frustrating thing?” you continue, your voice cracking in a pained laugh. His lips part to speak, but no words come. “I can’t even get mad about it. Because I knew from the very beginning that I had already lost to her.”

A single tear escapes the corner of Yoongi’s eye, but he doesn’t move. Maybe because he doesn’t know what to do, maybe because he’s too scared that you will disappear if he does. 

You stand there, waiting for him to speak, to hug you, to tell you that everything will be fine, to do something–but he doesn’t. Unable to look at him any longer, you cover your face with your hands, your body shaking with sobs. “Tell me, Yoongi… Did you ever really love me, even once? Did you see me for who I am, or was I just a reflection of your past?”

He hesitantly takes a step forward, his voice barely a whisper. “I–”

But you step back, hating for once his presence near you. Your eyes lock on his face, searching for answers that you know you will never have “Just who am I to you? Who…Who really am I?” And as if he could sense it, he instinctively stretches his arm, his hand desperately to catch you, but before he can reach for your wrist, you turn and run, leaving him behind–broken, speechless, and alone once more.

He watches as you run away from him, turning to a small dot in the distance.

He wants to chase after you–he really wants to–but he’s too shattered, too weighed down by sadness, too exhausted. Exhausted by everything–by his own feelings, by his bad decisions, by the weight of the past. 

You left him, and in the worst way possible. 

If he had known that this would be the last day he’d ever see you, he would have run after you as if his life depended on it.

But sadly, in life, sometimes you only get one chance. 

And this was it. 

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

Well… how do I start? I’ve always wanted to write, not just fanfics, but to write in general, but I lack experience and I’m such a perfectionist that I’ve never had the courage to publish anything until now. I’m still hesitating about pursuing fanfics because English is my third language, and I’m scared of making grammar mistakes. Sometimes I feel like I can’t properly express what’s in my mind because of this. Depending on how well my previews are received, I might give it a try…or not. I do have plenty of ideas and fics that I started to writing during the pandemic, but as I said, whether I publish them or not depends on how interested people might be in my stories.

For now, I’ll just publish the previews of each fic and see how this turns out.

To those who may read this, thank you for taking the time. I really appreciate it 🥺💜

PS: I'm really not happy on how this turned out so feel free to correct my grammar or anything you see is wrong~

[eelclaw]

the protagonists of the broken code. who's rootspring

i am tbc's number 1 hater! negative thoughts below

shadowsight: other characters sometimes acknowledge that he was manipulated by ashfur, but the narrative puts all of the blame for the ashfur situation on him, neglecting that (a) he did exactly what he was supposed to do as a healer (obey and take messages from a starclan cat), and (b) the codebreaker hysteria was far more a product of clan culture than the actions of a single apprentice. he isn't treated like the victim that he is, and it is frustrating and not cathartic.

bristlefrost: what the hell does she even do. what does her spy arc accomplish or contribute (like mother, like daughter). she finds out that bramblestar isn't bramblestar far too early. she's so perfect and she has no flaws and she's so empty. i want her to be worse. how much more interesting would she be if she was sneaky and selfish? if she was loyal to the imposter because she truly believed in what he was saying? not to mention how she reciprocates rootspring's feelings with literally zero warning, and ceases to have what little character she'd had to begin with. i genuinely don't care that she dies, they did nothing to make her an engaging character. miss bristlefrost, i'm sorry they did you so bad.

rootspring: first rootpaw thinks he's weird because of his father. i hate this because i hate tree. later, rootpaw thinks he's weird because he can see ghosts. so they give him this "i just want to be normal" deal, and the clans suddenly pretend that ghosts are silly and not real. sure, rootspring and tree are the first clan cats with this specific power. and i get that the clans have very rigid beliefs, and they are afraid of anything that contradicts those beliefs, and that's interesting! but ghosts have been appearing to clan cats all the way back to tpb. fireheart tries to kill clawface at one point and he senses spottedleaf's spirit beside him, there to avenge her death. so rootspring's issue is stupid and he's nothingburger to me.

bramblestar: the arc really depends on me giving a shit about what happens to him. which i don't.

i think bramblestar is unintentionally a bad person and a great character. he proves himself by rejecting tigerstar, but he's still deeply insecure. he makes mistake after mistake (conspiring with tigerstar; hesitating to save firestar from the fox trap; forsaking his children after finding out they're not biologically his; using his power over squirrelflight as a warrior, deputy, and leader to control her), and for none of these mistakes is he held accountable (no thunderclan cat except leafpool learns that he plotted with tigerstar; he is allowed to remain deputy; his children think he was the best father ever; in every situation, squirrelflight seems to bear the consequences of his actions).

in other words, bramblestar gets chance after chance to redeem himself, and he keeps fucking it up. again, that's interesting! there is a story here about how difficult childhoods affect adults, and how powerful men are not held responsible for hurting people. except that's not how he's written. he's written as a completely good person, a brave and noble leader, and all of the clans respect him and they need to get him back.

there's a crazy amount of bramblestar worship in this arc. even rootspring, a brand new skyclan apprentice, thinks about how important bramblestar, the thunderclan leader, is, and how all the clans wouldn't be the same without him. i can't take it seriously.

graystripe: graystripe also got a crazy amount of worship. i couldn't stand reading every few paragraphs about how great he is.

side note: shadowsight, bristlefrost, and rootspring all want the same thing. they advocate against killing bramblestar's body. wouldn't it be more interesting if the protagonists had different perspectives and opinions? if they wanted different things? for example, it makes sense that shadowsight wouldn't want bramblestar dead. he feels like the only way to make up for his mistake is to recover bramblestar alive. but bristlefrost could be in favor of killing bramblestar, because the only way to make up for her mistake (supporting the imposter) is to get rid of him. putting our protagonists at odds would generate some interesting conflict.

conclusion: i also have problems with ashfur (why does ashfur try to stir up trouble with codebreaking which will certainly get him caught when he could just take over bramblestar's body and live quietly with squirrelflight), tigerheartstar, mothwing, starclan, the dark forest insta-death water, firestar possessing rootspring, the pacing (oh my god! they were debating whether to kill bramblestar for like three books! and for three more books they were running in circles in the dark forest!), etc. but i've already written a lot and i'm out of steam lol.

let me finish by saying these are kids books, and i'm not expecting them to be the cream of the crop, but there are a lot of writing choices which are incredibly misogynistic and/or completely baffling from a narrative standpoint. i still have a soft spot for this series though. dammit. okay bye

[casino-lights]

so we have confirmation that veilguard was made in a year and a half. that's understandably such a time crunch and must have put unimaginable stress on the dev team, especially with the mass effect team coming in partway through. I do have empathy for the writers. no one deserves to lose their job at a time like this, especially not after such a roller coaster of a development cycle and after working on this series for so many years.

however.

obsidian made kotor 2, a game praised for its writing and many fans' favorite of the pair, in 14 months. they then proceeded to make fallout: new vegas, again praised for its writing and hailed as a shining example of video game storytelling, in 18 months. a lot of content was ultimately cut from both of these games, but in kotor's case, it was lovingly added back in by fans over the years despite not being especially easy to mod because the fans were so passionate about what they already had that they wanted to enhance it. these games are both known to be kinda janky as well. but the games at their core have satisfying stories, characters, and an incredible overall narrative that feels satisfying and fits with their respective universes, maintains respect for the established lore and characters, and is tonally consistent with the atmosphere and themes of previous games. hell, dragon age 2 was also made in about the same time frame based on what I could find, and as much as the assets were reused there and it could be occasionally glitchy, it remains one of the best bioware narratives with some of their most memorable characters, and it accomplished that while both keeping to the lore and vibe of the dragon age series AND expanding it into new territory.

I am aware that there are differences like engines, era, expectations, pushes from management, etc, but I'm mostly focusing on the writing and the narrative team's priorities. I wouldn't care if they reused assets to save time and money. I wouldn't care if a couple side quests had to go, or some character arcs were a little less polished, or some side characters were cut entirely. honestly I would have preferred it if some of the characters WERE cut entirely. if you're just going to spit on all of her character development, don't bring morrigan back. cut some of that banter in the lighthouse and let me talk to my companions properly. cut that goddamn arena and put those resources toward fleshing out the lords of fortune. even if the rest of the team wanted that entire faction cut so they could focus on other things, cut the fucking faction.

I will never apologize for rightfully criticizing the choices the writers made while making this game. the game talks to you - both you as the player AND you as the character - like you're stupid. repeating things over and over again just to make sure you Really Get It, dumbing down so many aspects of its own lore, reducing any kind of conflict to therapy speak or an HR meeting, etc. rook has no characterization to speak of and their dialogue and tone is wildly inconsistent depending on which npc you're speaking to at the time. why is rook clever enough to do playful, flirty hunter/prey banter with davrin but also too awkward to properly flirt with harding? the one canonically nonbinary neurodivergent companion frequently expresses themselves by growling and roaring and their individuality and competency are repeatedly undermined by their own writer's narrative decisions and banter. the game disregards its own lore and at times straight up contradicts itself. it's pretty, but lacks substance, and fails to live up to the standards a lot of us had for a dragon age game.

I won't pretend I know everything that went on behind the scenes but I think a year and a half is more than enough time to write a better narrative than what we got, even with some pushback from another dev team. I've seen countless thinkpieces by fans who have come up with solutions for plot holes and fixes for the overall narrative, and these are people who came up with this stuff in a matter of a few days or weeks, or sometimes just a few hours. you can't blame me for thinking veteran bioware writers - who SHOULD know their own lore by now - could have come up with something better than this in that amount of time, regardless of the limitations. choices were made and things were prioritized that shouldn't have been. I do not forgive the writers, EA, or bioware execs for this, and I will continue to criticize the responsible parties for the product we were sold, which includes criticizing the writers for shoddy work.

tl;dr: I don't believe the writing team made the best of the time they had and I fault them for that. but maybe that's on me for hoping that a game with its narrative led by weekes and epler would have actually been good in the first place.

[justcameheretobyler]

Byler doubt?

This isn’t even about bad writing

Will is one of the characters the Duffers care the most.

They didn’t give Will a place in the main plot in two seasons for a reason.

They said it themselves after s2, Will should be away from the Upside Down drama for a while.

He should just have a normal life as a kid, with his own struggles while growing up.

It was on purpose, they wanted to give him a break, at least a break from Henry and the MF.

And guess who is the one that leads the party when Will is in danger?

Ofc is Mike.

So, as Will is in the “side line” Mike is kind of too.

They were always a team, their dynamics in the story take the same amount depending of each other.

It’s not the same with the other characters.

So, it’s kind of logic that now, the story will get even better for them, if Will is in the spotlight, so is Mike.

And with the feelings they have now, it would be weird they don’t get to be together.

Their slowburn was specially for this moment.

I don’t know how it will be resolved in general, but I do know (I’m actually pretty sure) that Will and Mike’s scenes were beautifully shot. The dialogues, the cinematography, everything.

Now that is almost exposed to the audience, the directors will go crazy with them.

So, the real question is

Are you guys ready for Byler happening?

Cuz I’m not 😆

[moonydustx]

Can I be your favorite?

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

Summary: In search of information, Law meets an archaeologist who brings all his insecurities and jealousies to the surface. Warnings: porn with practically no plot, explicit content, smut, jealousy, possessiveness, almost declarations of love. Law and F!Reader already have a "relationship" (depending on your point of view, it could even be part of A not so funny story). Despite bringing some canonical details, it diverges a little from the story. A/N: a few days ago an edit with this song appeared on my fy and it just stuck in my head and this idea came to me. Minors do not interact | +18 only

Requests open | one piece masterlist

Law seemed increasingly interested in the search for the Poneglyphs. It was the third island you visited that he knew where to find certain information. This time, only you and him disembarked from Polar Tang, the justification was that it would be something quick, just finding an informant.

You just didn't expect such information to be with an archaeologist. A beautiful, blonde and hot archaeologist. Law had already told you about her and how fame preceded her, how she liked to use men to her advantage and pleasure. That immediately set off an alert in your mind.

"What is she doing here?" was the first thing the woman said when she saw you entering the bar, which was the meeting point. "From what I remember, I said I would exchange the information in exchange for you coming alone, Mr. Surgeon of Death."

"You'd trade the information for money, Arine." he corrected her. "She's the strategist of my crew, I need her in these types of meetings."

The woman turned her nose in your direction and took Law by one of her arms, leading him into the bar. Just by the atmosphere of the place you knew that the woman had a certain influence there. Glances – both drawn and protective – danced around Arine. In a way, it made you feel out of place, it was as if you had the wrong clothes, the wrong hair, everything wrong, just a mere figure following the two of them.

At one of the tables further back, the woman sat down, almost merging her body with Law's, forcing you to sit on the opposite side. You even tried to avoid it, but her meek tone of voice and the hands that made a point of touching Law in every gap made a gray cloud of jealousy appear in you. As much as you ended your nights in the captain's room and were woken up by his kisses, you knew that nothing had been established. He was free to even be with the disgusting blonde in front of you.

Law, on the other hand, noticed the ignorance of the woman in your direction. The unwanted touches on him, Arine's provocative voice, but the information she brought matched what he was looking for, besides the fact that if he disagreed with the woman and ended up getting into an argument he would be putting both of you at risk.

"So..." the blonde's voice sounded more irritating than usual. "I don't believe you came just looking for information. The island is huge, I believe there is a favorite thing for you to do." even from across the table, you could see her throw her legs over Law's. "Or someone's favorite."

"My favorite thing here is you and the information you can give." he spoke harshly, immediately noticing the unfortunate choice of words.

That was the limit for you. Okay, there was no way she could know the history between the two of you, but you weren't obligated to watch Law make the slightest effort to get out of that situation. Your hands slammed harder than you expected against the table as soon as you stood up, attracting both of their attention.

"I'm going to get a drink." your eyes remained fixed on Law's and soon you turned your back to both of them.

Law could read the jealousy in your eyes as soon as you walked away, he knew he would need to invest his time in correcting it. He watched Arine get up and call you. He could have sworn you would kill the woman right then and there.

"You there." Arine poked your shoulder. "Get a drink..." she started, speaking louder so everyone would think everything was okay. "And get out of here. I believe that my Law is not very comfortable in the presence of his employees. You are hindering my efforts to taste him."

"What?" your voice came from your lips in disbelief. It wasn't possible that you were listening to that, as much as you wanted to finish her off, your priority was to help Law with the Poneglyphs. "Yes ma'am."

You turned your back on her and went to the bar, ordering a dose of whatever strong shit they could offer you. You wanted to disappear, just erase your mere and insignificant existence at that moment. A hand touched your waist and you looked hopeless. Just another asshole in that place.

Law watched Arine return, with a malicious smile on her lips and throw her body on top of him again. His body tensed with hatred at each touch from the woman. You wouldn't touch him like that in public, why would she have any right?

"Where do we stop?" she asked and before Law could respond, he watched a man approach you and touch your waist.

"I need to go." Law started to get up, but was stopped by the woman.

"Don't worry about your pet, my man will take good care of her. Even simple little things like her deserve a good night." Arine said close to his ear. "I have a hotel a few meters away, we can have our good night there."

Law only lasted a few seconds of the woman speaking, while the scene unfolded in front of him. The man remained glued to you, his hand remained on your waist but the disgust was clear in your eyes. Law was tired of it. He turned towards Arine and, pretending to fall for her charms, he ran his hand down the woman's leg.

"Is he your trusted man?"

"The best I have." she replied, proud of finally making Law give in. "Your little pet will like it." His hands went down to Arine's calves and as soon as he reached the small dagger he had seen hidden in her boot, he pulled it out and stuck it on the table. Soon after, Law allowed his powers to create a blue beam on his hand and the sharp object.

"Get him away from her now." Law snapped. Anyone watching from afar would never have imagined that he was about to kill a man. "I'd hate to have this show up instead of his necklace."

The woman whistled and snapped her finger twice and the man released you immediately, to Law's relief. Maybe you weren't the only person who let yourself be consumed by jealousy.

"You value your pet too much."

Law took the knife from the table and brought it to the girl's throat, noticing that the bar immediately stopped to watch them.

"Keep her out of your damn mouth." Law threw the dagger on the table and took out a small bag of berris from his pocket. "Our treaty ends here."

"It is a shame." the woman handed him a small card. By damn irony, it was the same hotel you two were at. "Come see me if you change your mind."

Law left the woman talking to herself and looked around the bar. You were gone. He considered returning the dagger to the woman's throat and asking if she had anything to do with it, but something told him no. The only answer he had was that you had gone to your base point, the hotel.

After flirting, asking you to go somewhere else and even threatening you because the man had a "job to do", just like that the man let you go. Trying not to understand the situation and moving away from that madhouse that was the bar, Arine and all the idiots involved, you returned to the hotel.

The first thing you did was take off your shoes. Why get ready for a damn meeting? Just Arine's presence made it clear that you were no match. You couldn't stop thinking about where Law could be, what the two of them could be doing. "My only favorite thing here is you" Law's words were still echoing in your mind when you heard a few knocks on the door.

Without bothering to think, you opened it, finding Law apparently without much patience.

"Are you ok?" he asked, entering the room.

The hurt consumed you and seemed to suffocate the angry words that surfaced and died in your lack of courage. But despite everything, he was still there and not with her.

"May I ask why you're pouting?" Law closed the door behind him, watching you cross the room and sit on the bed.

The sight of you with your arms crossed and a pout - just like a tantruming child - was cute but it was clear that something was bothering you and Law knew exactly what it was. He just wanted to press your buttons and see how far your hatred for Arine would go or if something had actually happened and he would need to start a hunt.

"I'm not pouting." As much as you wanted to go on a silence strike, you knew it would be immature - and maybe even wrong.

"Now you're doing even more." a barely audible laugh left his lips. The man placed Kikoku against the door and started to watch you. "I think I have a hunch what this is about."

"Of course, dear Arine must have told you." the venom in your voice gave away everything Law needed to know.

"Why did you disappear? Did that idiot do something?"

"I hated that place." you just responded, finding Law looking at you in a worried way.

"Not what I asked."

"Long story short, he wanted to fuck me, but I'm not that good."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Captain, I don't want to talk about it." You stood up, heading towards the door but a hand stopped you from continuing. "Besides, you should be wasting time with Arine."

"Are you really going to fall for her conversation?"

"I heard you." you just said. "Your favorite girl, in fact, she's the one who asked me to leave. You wouldn't feel comfortable with her "tasting" you in front of your employees." you imitated her tone of voice.

The cynicism in your voice as well as the bright line in the waterline of your eyes created an alert in the doctor's mind. Perhaps Arine's manipulation had gone too far, Law was beginning to consider it a bad idea to have given in - or at least pretended - that the woman's charms didn't even come close to what you did to him. His hand let go of yours, only to let you reach the door. Before your hand touched the doorknob, it was covered by Law's, which locked the door. He needed to make it up to you and he didn't want to be interrupted by it.

"Please don't do that. I hated her as much as you did." he turned you around, coming face to face with you. "There's no need to be jealous. What can I do to make it up to you?"

"I don't know." you let your face fall to the side his hand touched you, appreciating the small gesture. Law could manipulate you however he wanted, you would gladly accept it. "I just wanted to be pretty like her. You know, be your favorite."

Law could have replied that you were the most beautiful woman there - and for him, in all the seas, but he preferred other methods to convince you. Not allowing much time for you to continue mumbling, his body pressed against yours, his hand cupped your face and his lips collided with yours. His tongue passed under your lips, causing you to open them and give Law space to take you. It was like a fight for air and to ward off all those bad feelings that night had brought you. Impetuously Law invaded your mouth, purred against your lips, finally after that horrible night he could take you.

Your hands reached his shirt and unbuttoned it button by button, throwing it to some deserted corner of the small room. Wetness accumulated in your intimacy as you allowed your hands to pass over Law's abdomen, going down until you found a hard volume. Your fingers began to press against him, drawing small patterns on the tip of his dick.

"Do you want to taste it? You know, only you can." he whispered, hearing a please escape your lips. "Get on your knees."

You promptly followed his orders. Feeling your hands itch, you placed them on his thighs and allowed your lips to run along the coarse fabric of his jeans. In your field of vision you can see two tattooed hands unbuttoning the piece without any rush. Law watched your lips change the fabric of your jeans for the black underwear that covered them.

"Are you that eager?" again, the same low tone, the same teasing behind his voice.

His cock appeared in your field of vision and in a slow counterpoint to your anxiety, your tongue just slowly slid along its entire length, from base to tip. One of your hands reached the base, giving you space to cup his balls in your lips. Law's hand that was holding him against the door went down to his cock, taking it from your lips.

"Don't be mean." He pointed the tip at you, sliding it over your lips. "Do you remember how to ask it to stop?" He took one of your hands and placed it on his leg again. Two beats: a pause for breath, three beats: stop immediately.

You just nodded, opening your mouth and batting your eyelashes in Law's direction. The innocent look, the anxiety that was clear in you, the invasion was sudden, Law had already put up with too much of your provocation. His hand joined your hair, pushing you against the wall as he thrust deep into your throat, starting slowly and quickly increasing the speed.

"Is that what you want?" the tattooed fingers got even more tangled in your hair "It's only yours, take it all in"

The air seemed increasingly rarefied and your eyes stung with some involuntary tears at the same time you could feel your panties getting even wetter and your voice producing involuntary moans, your body reacted to the grunts coming from the man above you. Your eyes met Law's and you found one of the most beautiful scenes you had ever seen. A little sweat accumulated on his face, his chest rose and fell euphorically and his eyes focused on you. As if it were still possible, Law, noticing your gaze lost in theirs, stuck his dick even deeper into your throat.

"Fucking beautiful." he murmured, taking his dick out of you and watching you catch your lost breath. With his hands still stuck in your hair, he pulled you to your feet again. "The most beautiful woman, all mine."

One of the few remaining tears ran down your face and you felt it burn even more when Law slid his tongue over your cheek, licking it and erasing it from existence. All mine his voice whispered again. Leaving his clothes - and consequently you - behind, Law walked to the bed, sitting down and looking at you from afar. Even with the distance you could still see Law lost after you sucked him. His eyes danced over your body.

"Come here, take off your clothes for me, please." damn it. Hearing Law ask you for something silly, eyes still shining from watching you suck him was a little too much for you. You walked over to him, stopping between the man's legs. The first thing you took off was your blouse, followed shortly by the skirt and panties you were wearing.

"And you still ask if you're my favorite." Law murmured something that you suspected was just his thought, still trapped in a trance.

"Am I?" you used the same teasing tone he usually used, as he had just a few minutes ago. Your legs passed through Law's body, wrapping around his waist. Using equal strength for both of you, Law pulled you and lay down on the bed. “Law…” your warning tone appeared as you saw him pull you away from his dick, towards his face.

"My favorite, my only, the most beautiful..." he listed unpretentiously "What do you need to understand?" He started kissing your thighs, which were already around his cheeks. "Let me prove it to you."

Law pulled your hips down, your pussy falling over his lips. You had to suppress a scream when you felt his tongue travel all over your vulva, stopping at your clit. His hands settled on your thighs as you tried to roll against him, looking for more friction. The suppressed screams soon began to escape your lips in low moans every time you felt him slide his tongue inside you.

Law was usually methodical, he took as long as he needed to make you cum but now it was different. You could feel your even wetter pussy while Law grunting beneath you as squeezed you even tighter and sucked your clit without worrying about the mess made on his face. The precipice seemed just seconds away when he stopped, taking you off of him and placing you back on his hips. His lips were dripping with your honey as was his chin and your legs were still shaking from the orgasm that was behind you. Law's hand went up to his hair and took off the last piece of clothing on his body: the hat, placing it on your head.

"You know you are mine, just mine, just as I am yours." his hands slid over your breasts, going down and pulling your hips, fitting your entrance to his cock. "Ride me, take what's yours."

"Fuck Law." you moaned softly, feeling every inch of him fill you.

You could feel wet, but it was never enough when Law entered you. When you reach the base of his dick, you can feel him grunting along with you, his hands tightening the skin of your ass even more as his hips press into you.

You started slowly, your hands resting on Law's chest while your hips rose and fell millimeters, not wanting to move away from the feeling of being filled by him, of having every inch of your pussy filled. As the speed increased, your moans began to echo throughout the room and one of your hands involuntarily went up to your mouth, covering it.

"No, babe." Law pulled your hand and, with the other, held your two arms behind your back. "We're not in Polar Tang, I want to be able to hear you scream, at least today."

His feet planted themselves on the bed and Law began to move his hips against yours. He thrust hard, the noise of bodies coming together was as loud as your moans and you could also hear the words coming out louder and louder from his lips.

"Your little pussy is squeezing me so much, so good." He used one of his hands to find your breast, squeezing the nipple between his fingers and hearing you scream.

"Harder, please love." the word that escaped your lips worked as fuel for Law.

The hand holding your hands let go and your body fell against his chest. One of Law's tattooed hands got tangled in your hair while the other circled your back and attached itself to your waist. Sweet whispered nothings and screams of pure pleasure echoed throughout the room, leaving your lips and falling into Law's ears like pure delight.

"Fuck, cum for me babe" Law's lips found the sensitive spot below your ear. "I want to see my girl soak me."

The words were enough for you to feel your vision turn white and your body soften in Law's arms, while you used his name as a mantra. Without waiting for you to recover, Law held you on his lap, still inside you and took you to the nearest wall, starting to thrust into you mercilessly again.

"It's too much, please."

"Just a little more." Law murmured, his face stuck in the back of your neck, biting every piece of exposed skin. "Just give me one more."

"Damn, right there." Your voice was thin and broken, almost inaudible. Law hit the right spot inside you and in your limited field of vision, you could see the red tone on Law's skin just below your nails. "L-Law! I'm feeling something... Damn Law!"

Law could feel his dick getting wet as he watched you having a squirt that from your reaction he believed was the first time. His name sounded like the hottest thing he had ever heard and when he saw your pussy gushing he couldn't control himself and came, filling you with his seed, that would be a worry for later.

"I-I..." you started to speak to even that seemed too much for you, and you just let your head fall on his shoulder.

Feeling your body weak, Law guided you back to the bed, allowing you to lie against his body. The tattooed hands drew something invisible on your skin and your breathing was labored. "The wall... the neighbors..." you tried to list, still feeling weak. When you looked up to see if Law was listening to you, you found him smiling mischievously. "What are you thinking?"

"I heard we have an interesting neighbor here at the hotel." the pieces fell into place, making your face burn in embarrassment.

"She's going to hate me, even more."

"If it helps you, she already hated you." Law explained, caressing your cheek. "In the bar, she was the one who told that guy to talk to you."

"Ah, that doesn't make me feel any better. You mean a guy only hit on me because she asked?"

"What does that mean?" He seemed indignant and you quickly tried to correct yourself.

"I was already feeling ugly, that didn't make it much better."

"Do you need one more to understand how beautiful you are?" you knew exactly what Law was telling you about and you felt your face burn with shyness. "She's just a frustrated person, don't worry about anything she told you."

"Sour, damn blonde." you mumbled, earning a laugh from Law, who whispered your name softly, catching your attention.

"You know you're the only one, right?" he asked and you nodded. "And that you are amazing and beautiful."

"You're also the only one." his eyes followed your smile, as you snuggled into him. "And incredible, beautiful, strong. If I keep listing them, I'll end up putting you to sleep." you laughed, seeing Law acquire a more serious expression. "A coin for your thought"

"I-I... I lo..." he could remember what you had called him, he knew very well the feelings he had for you, but it seemed so difficult to bring them to the surface.

He still remembered when he allowed himself to actually feel that way for someone and watch those people leave him. Law knew he couldn't bear to see you go through the same thing. Taking him out of his daydreams and the speech stuck on his lips, you reached out to reach Law's forehead and place a small kiss, before then cuddling up to him again.

"I know. And so do I." you had your own fears, your own traumas and fears, you understood his fear.

For now it would be better this way, if your love remained between the two of you.

[askoverkill]

entirely unrelated to this but i was going to run my own AU thing in a similar style to yours, with asks giving input, but my AU actually has... combat. and i was wondering if you would have any suggestion as to how i would handle that to be the right balance of not-tedious (actually a little tedious it IS isat) but also not-nonexistent

// awesome! I love to hear people are making more projects. We need more works in the world. I hope you have fun 💖

// firstly, I want to talk about interaction. Using online feedback as a feature in the story has its ups and downs. The best advice I can give is tell the story YOU want to tell first most.

// If you need to send your own asks or post as a post instead, do so! It's super cool to get people to be creative and push the story in ways you'd never expect, it's rewarding and creative for both sides in the collaboration BUT ultimately, you are the director of the story.

// try to give every post a purpose. If you can fit more than one, the better. Does the post have a joke? Is it progressing the plot? Is there a fun character interaction? If it doesn't have anything, rethink your approach to it. Sometimes a post HAS to be set up for a later scene, but try to make it entertaining or introspective or something in addition.

(I'm struggling with this as we repeat plot beats. As a timeloop story, repetition is necessary to give what DOES change have importance. I'm still figuring out what's the best approach and how much to change each loop.)

Formatting: find a work flow that works best for you! I'm used to boring repetition and edits so Im fine making my blog so image heavy like this. Text works fine!!!! What matters the most is readability and your convince! Stories are already a LOT of work, don't give yourself anything more than necessary!

// PACE yourself. It's not a contest and you are doing this for free and for fun. If you're not feeling up to it, don't make anything. Breaks are a part of the process. I'm mega ADHD hyperfixating distraction coping and I AM NOT a good example of productivity. Don't judge yourself for your output. Focus on having fun and interacting with others.

// OK General askblog advice aside, now to focus on your actual question. It'd really depend on what you're comfortable with and the level of interaction you want for the story.

// it's important to remember this is a completely different format and medium than a video game. If you tried to make it into a video game you're going to fail. A fight in-game will have a hundred little inputs within minutes while an askblog takes IRL time between posts and asks.

// Polls have a minimum of 24 hours so they're a bit inconvenient for quick engagement like with askblogs let alone fights! If you really need fights, then simplify a single turn into an ask? A whole fight? Maybe spin a wheel or flip a coin? Maybe, since it's an ask format, have fans suggest outcomes and pick what's the most entertaining?

// alternatively, skip combat and just have it happen between posts. You've got a ton of options, and I'm sure there's way more I hadn't considered.

// work with what you've got and don't be afraid to simplify or ask for more advice. If anyone else has suggestions, feel free to shoot some here! Best wishes! 👌