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daryltwdixon · 16 hours ago

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Daryl Dixon x Reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: smut!! not much plot!! kind of emoshie too tho MDNI

notes: fem!reader, no use of y/n. inspired by a scene from part III of ruins of us, so don't come for me when you see this scene in there too lol

I also barely proofread this sorry

In the quiet of Alexandria, the first real quiet you’ve had in what feels like forever, the two of you sit side by side on the porch steps, sharing a silence that says everything and nothing at all. Daryl’s thumb idly brushes the edge of your hand, a rare gesture, but you notice it. He’s tense, uneasy in the stillness of this place where people laugh and gather like the world outside doesn’t still burn.

You take a breath, finally standing, and hold out your hand. “Come on.”

He stares at your hand for a second, something unreadable flickering in his gaze, then he reaches for it. His grip is strong, his skin rough, and as he lets you lead him inside, he’s silent but attentive, like he’s half waiting for the rug to be pulled from under him.

In the bathroom, you glance back at him, feeling something tight and warm in your chest. He’s watching you with that familiar intensity, one that can only be found in the private moments away from everyone, just you two in your own space. You step closer, your fingers reaching up to the collar of his shirt, carefully peeling away the fabric stained with dust, grime, and sweat. His breathing is almost inaudible, but you feel it, each steady exhale brushing against your skin as he watches you work, layer by layer, his guard slipping with every piece.

When you pull off your own clothes, you don’t shy from his eyes. They’re guarded as always, but there’s something else there too, an almost reverent way he lets his gaze roam over you, taking in every part of you that’s been hidden under layers and dirt. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time in weeks—maybe months. The sound of the water brings you back, its steady, warm rush filling the room with steam, curling around you like an invitation.

You step in first, shivering as the hot water cascades down your back. Daryl follows, closing the glass door behind him. As he moves under the spray, the water runs down his face, through his hair, carrying with it the weight of miles, fights, sleepless nights. You take the bar of soap and lather a small rag, moving close to him, feeling the heat of his body beneath your fingertips. He closes his eyes, letting you guide him, trusting you in a way he rarely allows himself to trust anyone.

Your hands work over his shoulders, firm yet gentle, tracing the muscles that have carried him through every hard road and long night. There’s a small tremble as your fingers brush over a scar, a reminder of another life. You let your hand linger there, pausing, pressing just a little, showing him in silence that you remember every bit of what brought you both here. Daryl swallows, and you catch the faintest edge of vulnerability in his eyes as they open, catching yours with a gravity that makes the breath catch in your throat.

You move lower, your fingers sliding down his arms, washing away the grime in gentle strokes, lingering, memorizing the feel of him beneath your touch. When you reach his hands, you lace your fingers with his, feeling the strength there, the familiar roughness that’s so uniquely his. You smile, just a hint, and for a moment, a soft, almost shy smile ghosts over his lips.

As you pull the soap away to wash yourself, his hand stops you. He holds your wrist, his touch firm yet delicate. “My turn,” he says quietly, his voice low, a rasp that holds a world of unsaid things.

His hand moves carefully as he takes the soapy cloth and begins to trace slow, steady circles on your shoulders. The warm cloth glides over your skin, and you feel his fingers linger just a little longer than necessary, like he’s savoring this rare chance to touch you after weeks of only thoughts of survival. His hands move down your arms, so gentle it feels like he’s memorizing you all over again, learning every curve, every line. The heat of the water and his touch seem to blur together, wrapping around you, grounding you in the present.

He moves lower, the cloth brushing over your stomach, his fingers firm yet tender. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, holding you there in his gaze, and it feels like the world has shrunk down to just this moment, just the two of you. There’s a weight to his touch, like he’s saying everything he’s never found the words for.

He softly, slowly, turns you around and you think he’s going to begin scrubbing your back, but he reaches for your waist, and the cloth slows, his hand lingering as he continues making small circles. You exhale, your breath coming shallow as he closes the space between you, pulling you against his chest. You feel his fingers press gently, a question, an offer. The feel his heart, steady and strong against your back, calms you as he feels you with the cloth moving up your stomach, moving in slow, deliberate strokes over your breasts, his breath warm against the side of your neck.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, the warmth of the water, the gentleness of his hands, the way he’s holding you like you’re something fragile and precious. You lean your head back against him, eyes fluttering shut and letting the water hit your face from the shower head. You feel his grip tighten, his breath hitch as his hand moves lower, gliding down your stomach, his fingers trembling slightly as they reach your hips.

And in that moment, you feel him against you, hard and unyielding against your back. Your breath catches, and you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, his face inches from yours. There’s a fire there, barely contained, a want that matches your own. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you closer, his mouth brushing over your neck, his lips ghosting over your skin.

As his hands travel lower, your skin prickles with anticipation, every inch of you attuned to his touch. The air between you is thick with unspoken need, weeks of restrained desire spilling over, saturating the space around you with a quiet intensity. You can feel the tension building as he reaches down, his hand moving carefully, deliberately. The soapy cloth brushes over your thighs, lingering, teasing, before he lets it drop to the floor, forgotten, freeing his fingers to explore you without the barrier.

He leans you back against his chest even closer, solid and warm, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close. You close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of him, your senses sharpening as his hand slips between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find you already wet, warm, and aching for his touch. His breath is a low, throaty murmur against your ear as he feels how ready you are, and you can hear the satisfied growl that rumbles in his chest as he presses his fingers against you, gliding over your softness with a deliberate slowness that makes your knees weak.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he murmurs, his voice rough, each word sending a thrill down your spine. His fingers begin to move in slow, steady circles, each stroke purposeful, as though he’s savoring the way your body responds to his touch. The sensation builds with each movement, his hand creating a rhythm that matches the pulse thrumming through you, leaving you clinging to him, one of your hands gripping his neck for support as he works you closer to the edge. The other rests against your chest, slow and tantalizing against your breasts.

You let out a soft moan, tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder, your breaths coming faster as his fingers explore you, slipping deeper, curling just right, making your whole body tremble. He tightens his hold on you, pressing his mouth to your neck, kissing, nipping, his hot breath delicious against your skin. The friction of his fingers sends waves of pleasure radiating through you, and you arch into him, pressing yourself closer, feeling the solid strength of his body holding you steady, silently begging for more.

“Like that?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and thick with satisfaction as he feels you respond to his touch, your breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. His fingers press deeper, finding that perfect spot that makes you gasp, a soft cry spilling from your lips as he intensifies his rhythm, each movement drawing you closer, building the tension until it’s almost too much.

He doesn’t let up, his hand steady, fingers curling, his thumb tracing gentle circles that make your body tighten, the pressure coiling in your belly. His other arm holds you firm, keeping you steady as he works you over, his mouth moving to your ear, whispering words you can barely make out, each rough syllable sending a fresh shiver through you. The combination of his voice, his touch, the way he’s holding you like he can’t bear to let go—it all drives you higher, until you’re teetering on the edge, every nerve alive, every inch of you aching to fall.

“So fuckin’ perfect for me,” he murmurs in your ear, “pussy always so needy, so ready for me–it’s been too long, baby,”

“Daryl…” His name slips from your lips in a desperate, breathless moan, and he growls in response, his fingers moving faster, more insistent, until finally, the tension shatters, and you’re left clinging to him as waves of pleasure roll over you, your body shuddering against his as he holds you close, his hands never leaving you.

As you come down, your breaths still uneven, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his hand gently stroking over your skin, grounding you, bringing you back from the high. You lean back against him, your head resting against his shoulder, feeling his heart beating steady and strong, a quiet reminder of the connection between you, of the intensity that’s been building for far too long.

You turn in his arms, meeting his gaze, and there’s a gleam in his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you with a satisfaction that leaves your heart racing all over again. He brushes a hand over your cheek, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear. Leaning forward, his lips find yours, tentative at first, then deeper, more fervent as his hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. You melt into him, losing yourself in the taste of his mouth, the familiar scent of him mixing with the steam that’s blanketing the two of you. His kisses grow hungrier, more insistent, the warmth between you intensifying as his hands reach down further, gripping your ass with roughness that makes you squeal. His grip on you tightens, his hands rough and possessive as they knead your skin, pulling you against him with a desperation that makes your heart race. The low growl that escapes him as his hands continue their palming of your cheeks sends a thrill through you, and without thinking, you wrap a leg around his waist, bringing him flush against you.

You both shudder as his hardness presses perfectly between your legs, a friction that ignites every inch of you. His breath catches, mingling with the steam and your own hitched sighs. You feel him slide against your wet, gushing lips, and you press down further, chasing the friction he offers between your legs.

“Goddamn,” he murmurs, voice low and thick as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips and teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His grip on you tightens, pulling you against him with a roughness that makes you gasp, your hands clinging to his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin as he holds you close.

“Daryl, wait,” you whisper into his skin, feeling his breath hot and ragged against your neck as you pull away just slightly. The look in his eyes, dark with blown pupils, makes you hesitate, a storm of longing and vulnerability held there as he tries to read your intentions, unsure if you truly mean to pull away from his warmth, his need, his fervor. A flicker of uncertainty crosses his features, a silent question in the tight set of his jaw, and before he can think anything of it, you slip away, dropping slowly down to your knees before him.

From this vantage, he’s breathtaking. Standing tall above you, his damp hair falls around his face, shadowing his gaze, droplets tracing lines down his jaw and dripping onto your skin, adding to the heat already burning between you. His body glistens with drops of water, the slopes of his chest and stomach mesmerizing as the shower’s spray falls around you both. His broad frame blocks the full force of the water, sheltering you in this intimate space.

“What’re ya—” he starts, but his words cut off with a harsh intake of breath as your hand wraps firmly around the base of him, your fingers barely meeting around his girth. The sound he makes—a strangled, low whimper—reverberates through the steam-filled space, and his hands fly forward to brace himself. One hand anchors in your hair, steadying his weight with a gentle hold, while the other presses against your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin as he watches, chest heaving.

“Baby… you don’t have to…” he rasps, his voice thick and trembling as he struggles to speak. But the low groans he lets slip with every slow, deliberate movement of your hand make it clear he doesn’t want you to stop. You meet his gaze, a teasing glint in your eye as you flatten your tongue against him, trailing slow, languid strokes along his length, savoring every shudder, every soft moan that slips from his lips.

When you take him fully into your mouth, cheeks hollowed with a fierce, focused hunger, his control shatters. His hand tightens in your hair, a mix of gentle guidance and barely-contained restraint, his hips instinctively pressing forward as he lets his head fall back into the cascade of the shower, his breath a rough gasp against the tiled walls.

“Shit,” he whispers, voice ragged, almost reverent, as his other hand finds its place on the back of your head, steady and protective, losing himself in the feel of you. You can sense his restraint, how carefully he holds back, letting you set the pace, his muscles taut as if he’s fighting against every instinct telling him to give in.

You move with a steady rhythm, taking your time, mouth and hands working together to bring him closer and closer to the edge. Every gasp, every groan that spills from his lips fuels the fire between you, each sound a delicious reward as he lets himself unravel in your hands. His moans vibrate through you, making you feel every ounce of his need and raw desire as he allows himself to fall apart under your touch.

But then, suddenly, as if remembering himself, his grip in your hair tightens, and he pulls you away, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as he looks down at you, nearly busting from the sight of you—kneeling, head tilted back, cheeks flushed, lips wet and swollen, parted and ready. From his perspective, you’re utterly captivating, the sexiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Your wet hair sticks to your skin, strands of it catching on the dampness of your face, your neck and the rest down and flowing behind you, soaked and clean. The water beads on your skin, tracing delicate trails down your neck, glistening along the curve of your collarbone and catching on the subtle lines of your muscles, and he’s completely mesmerized.

You catch the intensity in his gaze as he absorbs the sight, his restraint wavering in the face of his raw, undeniable want. He swallows hard, then leans down, his other hand coming to your cheek again, cupping you with a gentleness that feels like a promise, and kisses you deeply, thoroughly, his tongue sweeping inside your mouth to taste himself on you, each movement as consuming as the last.

A soft moan slips from your lips as he kisses you, and he lets out a sound—a low, growling sigh—as he pulls you to stand, holding you close. His hand drops to your waist, fingers sliding down to find your hip and then lower to your thigh, hitching your leg up around him again in one smooth movement. He presses you firmly against the warm tile wall of the shower, his body a solid weight against yours, grounding you in the moment as he leans in close.

The sensation of him, rock-hard and twitching against you, has you quivering, and you can feel the urgency in his touch as he pushes agonizingly slow into your walls, letting you adjust to his girth for a long moment as you suck in deep breaths, holding him close with your hands over his shoulders. “Jesus,” he mutters against your skin, voice low and thick, his breath coming fast as he slowly begins to grind into you, as he feels you pulsing around his cock, the tightness electric as he begins to move in a tantalizing rhythm. You gasp, clinging to him as his hand slides down your thigh, holding you steady as he presses harder, opening you up for him further. His other hand slides between you, fingers teasing over your slick skin, each slow, deliberate circle overstimulating to already your sensitive clit. His thumb grazes over it, and a tremor runs through you, your hips bucking into his hand, uncertain if you want more or if its too much, but you crave the way he pushes you closer to that brink with each stroke.

He lifts his head, his eyes dark and intense as he holds your gaze. “You feel so damn good,” he growls, his eyes flickering from watching himself buried in you to your lips, and he finally pushes his mouth into you for another deep, searing kiss as his hips dig harder against you, the friction a delicious, toe-curling pressure that makes your body tighten with need. His mouth moves over your jaw, down your neck, teeth grazing your skin with a hunger that sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

Without warning, he adjusts his angle, snapping his hips forward with brutal force, finding that perfect spot that makes your head fall back, your eyes fluttering shut again as you gasp his name, the word spilling from your lips in a breathless moan. His hand on your thigh tightens, keeping you open for him, holding you steady as he moves, each thrust deliberate, intense, sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you. The rhythm he sets is deep and powerful, every stroke designed to make you feel every inch of him.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice a low rasp, and when you open your eyes, his gaze is filled with something dark, possessive. There’s a smirk playing at his lips, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he watches you, every moan, every gasp, feeding that hunger in him. The pleasure builds, a coiling tension in your belly that threatens to spill over, and you bite your lip, trying to hold back the cries that rise up in your throat as his pace quickens, the intensity between you burning hotter. His hands grip you harder, pulling you against him as his mouth finds your neck again, nipping and biting, leaving little marks of possession on your skin. He snaps his hips into you with irrevocable need and your breaths come in short, wanting gasps as he presses into you, his thumb still against your clit, while the other stays locked on your thigh, his bruising hold keeping you from falling. His mouth finds yours again, devouring you as if he can’t get enough.

You try to kiss him back, you really do, but its all you can do to not gasp and moan against his lips, the pressure building too recklessly inside of you. The feeling of power in him as he moves, the strength in his body, the way he holds you as if you’re something he can’t bear to let go of, only makes your skin shiver even more.

“Daryl…” you moan again, the sound barely a whisper as you feel yourself hovering on the edge, the pressure coiling tight, ready to explode. It’s like it’s the only thing you can think, only thing that coherently comes out of your mouth. His grip on you tightens, his voice low and hoarse in your ear.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, his words sending a fresh wave of heat through you as his pace intensifies, each thrust more relentless, pushing you closer, until finally, you shudder, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless, your moans filling the shower as you unravel.

Moments later, he lets out a strangled groan, his grip on you fierce as he follows, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his body tense and shuddering as he holds you close, as if he’s letting himself go completely, surrendering to the pleasure that has overtaken you both.

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satori-runa · 1 day ago

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—SOLACE

Summary: Your life with your boyfriend goes into the next level.

Tags: Established Relationship, Female Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst

Words: 8,9k

MDNI IT CONTAINS NSFW ELEMENTS

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

“Guess who.” A familiar, teasing voice whispers close to your ear, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. The words are followed by a warm body pressing into your back, enveloping you in an embrace. Gentle hands cover your eyes, playfully robbing you of your vision as you stand at the counter, finishing the last touches on dinner.

You can already smell the distinct, savory aroma of Sebastian’s favorite meal wafting through the kitchen—a hint of garlic, herbs, and roasted flavors blending into a comforting scent. The anticipation hangs in the air, the food waiting to be served, but now there’s something much more important occupying your attention.

“Hm, perhaps my wonderful boyfriend?” you hum back, leaning into the touch and making no attempt to pull away. There’s a soft giggle from behind you, the kind that melts away any lingering stress from the day. It’s a sound you’ve come to love, filled with genuine affection and a trace of mischief. His hands slide slowly from your eyes, drifting down to rest on your hips. You can feel the way his fingers trace small, lazy circles through the fabric of your clothes, a comforting and familiar touch that sends warmth spreading through your chest. He’s not in a rush, savoring the contact as he pulls you a little closer.

“Right on the first try, good job,” Sebastian murmurs against your ear, his voice low and playful. You can feel his breath ghosting over your skin, and the way he tilts his head, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His hair brushes against your cheek as he lingers there, pressing a gentle kiss just below your ear.

You’d never expected to find yourself in a relationship like this, one that seemed ripped straight from the pages of a corny romance novel or, as you and Sebastian liked to joke, a scene from a Korean drama. It had all started so randomly, in a way that neither of you could have planned even if you tried.

It was a late summer evening, the kind where the air still clung with warmth from the day, and the sky painted itself in deep shades of purple and pink. You were making your way home after a night out with friends, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your veins. The streets were filled with the sounds of distant laughter and cars passing by, but all you could think about was how much your feet hurt and how desperately you needed an Uber to take you home. You fumbled with your phone, trying to order a ride while your vision swam a little from the drinks.

At the same time, nearby, Sebastian was also looking to get home. He’d spent the evening crammed into a quiet coffee shop, buried under textbooks and highlighters, his study session running longer than he’d planned. By the time he packed up and stepped outside, the sky was already dark, and he sighed, knowing the buses had stopped running. He pulled out his phone, searching for a ride back.

Unbeknownst to you both, fate—or maybe just the Uber app—decided to pull you together that night. The two of you ended up standing at the same corner, eyes glued to the little car icon on your screens as it approached. When you noticed him, you raised an eyebrow, confusion muddling your half-drunken state.

“Uh, are you waiting for this one too?” You asked, swaying slightly on your feet. The alcohol made everything a bit fuzzy, your usual filter dulled by the night’s drinks.

Sebastian looked at you, equally confused, but then a smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, I am… seems like we ordered the same ride.”

You blinked, staring at him as if you were processing the situation in slow motion. Then, without much thought, you shrugged. “Well, there’s room for two. You wanna share?”

He chuckled softly, nodding. “Sure, why not? Looks like the universe wanted us to meet tonight.”

You slid into the backseat together, and as the car started moving, you leaned back, letting out a content sigh. The city lights blurred by outside the window, casting a soft glow on Sebastian’s face. He looked relaxed, his hair slightly messy from running his hand through it too many times while studying. You, on the other hand, felt talkative and loose-lipped from the drinks you’d had earlier. Before you knew it, you were rambling about anything and everything—your favorite movies, a funny story from the night out, even some existential musings on the universe that made him stifle a laugh.

“You’re really something.” He said, amused. His eyes sparkled with a kind of genuine interest that you weren’t used to seeing in strangers.

“I’m not something,” you replied, dramatic and slurring your words a bit. “I’m everything.” You pointed at him with a sloppy grin. “And so are you. We’re all stardust, you know?”

Sebastian gave a playful sigh, shaking his head. “Yeah, stardust… sure.” But there was something about the way you spoke, the unabashed honesty in your drunken state, that made an impression on him. You were a mess, but a charming mess, and it was enough to spark something in him.

When the car finally pulled up in front of his place, you were half-asleep, your head lolling to the side. He glanced at you, contemplating whether to wake you or let you rest. In the end, he gently nudged your shoulder. “Hey, this is where I get off. You alright?”

You blinked awake, rubbing your eyes like a sleepy child. “I’m fine,” you mumbled, even though you clearly weren’t. Before he could say anything more, you leaned closer, squinting at him. “You have really nice eyes, did you know that?”

He laughed softly, cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. “You’re definitely not going home like this.”

You didn’t remember much after that. The next thing you knew, you were waking up in an unfamiliar bed, the sunlight streaming in through pale curtains. Your head throbbed, the telltale sign of a hangover, and as you blinked the sleep from your eyes, you realized you were fully dressed, shoes neatly placed by the door. There was a folded note on the bedside table, written in neat, slanted handwriting.

Good morning! You looked too tired (and drunk) to make it home safely, so I brought you here. Don’t worry, you were a perfect angel. There’s water and aspirin on the nightstand. I’ll be back soon with breakfast—Sebastian.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sweetness of the note, even through the pounding in your head. It felt like a scene straight out of a drama—the handsome stranger, the shared ride, the note left behind. When Sebastian returned with a coffee and a bag of pastries, you were sitting up, still clutching the note.

“You’re awake,” he said, smiling as he stepped inside. “Feeling alright?”

You gave him a look, holding up the note like a piece of evidence. “Alright and not drunk, you're really a gentleman for leaving a note.“

He laughed, setting the coffee down in front of you. “What can I say? I aim to impress.”

From that morning on, it became a running joke between the two of you, how you met in such a cliché way. But as weeks turned into months, the jokes turned into real feelings. What started as a funny story to tell your friends became the foundation of something genuine. And now, here you were, dating Sebastian—the boy who shared an Uber with a tipsy, rambling stranger and decided to keep them around.

“Spacing out again?” Sebastian’s voice pulls you back into the present, his nose brushing against your ear as he nudges you gently. He’s still holding you close, his hands tracing idle patterns along your hips, almost as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been standing there, lost in your thoughts and the warmth of his embrace.

“Hmm, maybe.” You reply, leaning back into him with a soft smile. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your back, and you feel the way his chest rises and falls as he breathes. “Lucky, huh? I was about to say the same thing.”

He presses a kiss to your temple before finally releasing you, letting his hands slide away reluctantly. You turn to face him, catching the playful glint in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you, still standing by the stove with a dreamy look on your face.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you say, gesturing toward the simmering pots on the stove. “But if you keep distracting me like that, we’re going to end up with burnt food.”

“Oh no, we can’t let that happen,” he teases, raising his hands in mock surrender. “After all, it’s my favorite. I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

You roll your eyes fondly and turn back to stir the pot, feeling Sebastian’s presence lingering close by. He watches you for a moment, then reaches around you to grab a spoon, sneaking a taste of the sauce simmering in front of you. He hums appreciatively, savoring the flavor.

“Mmm, perfect.” he says with a satisfied smile. “But it needs one more thing.”

Before you can ask what, he’s leaning in again, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, soft and sweet. It’s barely a peck, but it sends a shiver down your spine nonetheless. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you as you swat at him playfully.

“Sebastian!” you scold lightly, trying to hide your smile. “You’re impossible.”

He grins, unrepentant. “Impossible? Or irresistibly charming?”

“A little of both,” you admit, shaking your head as you reach for the plates. “Alright, Mr. Charming, if you’re going to be here, at least help me set the table.”

Sebastian nods, slipping easily into a domestic rhythm that the two of you have fallen into over the past few months. He takes the plates from your hands, setting them down on the small table in the corner of the kitchen. It’s a cozy spot, just big enough for the two of you, illuminated by the warm light of the pendant lamp above. He lights a small candle in the center, the flame flickering softly, casting a golden glow that bathes the room in a romantic light.

You bring over the food, setting the dishes down as Sebastian pulls out a chair for you with a flourish, bowing dramatically. “Your seat, my dear.”

“Why, thank you, good sir,” you reply, playing along with a grin as you take your seat.

He settles down across from you, and for a moment, the two of you just look at each other, a soft silence settling between you. It’s the kind of silence that feels full, not empty—a shared moment where words aren’t necessary.

“You really outdid yourself,” Sebastian says after taking his first bite. His eyes light up with genuine delight, and it makes your heart swell with pride. “This is amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it,” you say, watching him enjoy the meal you prepared. You can’t help but feel a rush of affection for him in this moment—seeing him so relaxed, savoring the food with that boyish smile you love so much.

The two of you fall into an easy conversation, talking about your day and sharing little stories. At one point, Sebastian leans back in his chair, looking at you with an expression so soft it almost takes your breath away.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week since there's barely time with work and studies,” he admits quietly, his voice tinged with a kind of vulnerability he doesn’t show often. “Just… having dinner with you, like this. It feels like home.”

You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours. His fingers curl around yours, warm and secure. “Me too,” you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s the best part of my day.”

For a while, you just hold hands, the candlelight flickering between you as you finish your meal. There’s a sense of contentment that wraps around you both like a blanket—cozy, intimate, and full of love.

After dinner, Sebastian insists on helping with the dishes, despite your protests. You end up standing side by side at the sink, elbows bumping playfully as you wash and dry. He steals kisses every chance he gets, brushing his lips against your cheek, your temple, the tip of your nose, making you laugh.

“You’re going to make me drop a plate,” you warn, though you’re smiling so much it’s hard to sound serious.

“Then I’ll catch it,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your temple.

By the time the kitchen is cleaned up, you’re both a little breathless from laughing, your cheeks warm from the shared closeness.

After the dishes are done, you’re both standing side by side, your hands still damp from the soapy water. The kitchen is quiet now, the only light coming from the small candle still flickering on the table, casting a warm, golden glow that dances across Sebastian’s face.

He turns toward you, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger there, brushing against your skin, and when you meet his gaze, there’s a different kind of warmth in his eyes—something deeper, a tenderness that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You’ve been amazing tonight.” He says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for this.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “You don’t have to thank me, Sebastian. I loved doing this with you.”

There’s a beat of silence, where neither of you moves, just holding each other’s gaze. Then, in a single, smooth motion, he steps closer, his hands sliding to your waist. He pulls you against him, the sudden press of his body igniting a spark of heat between you. You can feel the way his fingers tighten on your hips, firm yet gentle, as if he’s anchoring himself to you.

You tilt your head up, your breath catching in your throat as he leans in, his nose brushing against yours. He’s so close now that you can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips, and when he finally kisses you, it’s slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the taste of you. It starts sweet, almost tentative, but quickly deepens as the hunger between you both grows.

Sebastian’s hands roam up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist before sliding under your shirt. His touch is warm against your skin, sending a shiver through you. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide with a desire that mirrors your own. “Is this okay?” he asks, his voice husky, almost breathless.

You nod, your own hands slipping under the hem of his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his stomach. “More than okay.” you murmur, and that’s all the permission he needs.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue parting your lips as he presses you back against the counter. The edge digs into your hips, but you barely notice, too caught up in the feel of his mouth on yours, the way he’s holding you like you’re the only thing in the world. You gasp against his lips when he grips your thighs, lifting you up onto the counter with surprising ease.

“Sebastian.” You whisper, your voice breaking with a breathy moan as his lips trail down your jaw, nipping gently at the sensitive spot just below your ear. He hums in response, his hands squeezing your thighs as he settles between them, the hard press of his body making your heart race.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans, the sound vibrating against your skin. His kisses grow more heated, almost desperate, as if he can’t get enough of you. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with lust. His forehead rests against yours, and you can feel his breath coming out in short, uneven puffs.

“You drive me crazy,” he admits, his voice rough and raw. His hands slide up your thighs, fingers dipping under your skirt, hooking on the waistband of your underwear. He pauses there, teasing, the pads of his fingers tracing small circles just beneath the fabric. He’s taking his time, savoring the anticipation and the shared intimacy of the moment.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you manage to tease, though your voice is shaky with desire. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he lets out a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“It’s definitely not a bad thing,” he murmurs, capturing your lips again in a kiss that leaves you breathless. He presses himself harder against you, grinding his hips into yours, and the friction sends a wave of heat coursing through your body. You could feel his growing errection between his legs, pressing between your legs and you had to hold back not to rush it. It’s overwhelming in the best way, the feeling of his firm body fitting perfectly against yours.

His other hand slips further under your shirt, fingertips brushing over your bare skin as he tried to unclip your bra under your clothes and he certainly enjoyed it way too much the way he teased you with his slow delicate movements. He then cups the side of your waist, his thumb grazing just beneath your ribs, tracing gentle patterns. When he looks at you, it’s with an intensity that takes your breath away.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his voice filled with a raw, unfiltered honesty that makes your chest ache. He lowers his head, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your throat. His hands move with purpose now, sliding down to push your skirt up. He glances up at you, silently asking for permission, his expression almost reverent.

You nod, your breath hitching as he kneels in front of you. The sight of him on his knees, his hands gently spreading your legs appart, is enough to make your head spin. He takes his time, pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something worshipful in the way he looks at you, like he’s savoring every moment, every inch of your skin. Before you knew it, he took the piece of fabric of your lace panties between his teeth, pulling them down your legs, putting them in his own pockets.

“Sebastian…” Your voice is barely a whisper, your fingers tangling in his hair as he hooks your legs over his shoulders, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. He grins up at you, a teasing, almost playful smile, before lowering his head.

The first touch of his lips against your most sensitive spot makes you gasp, your back arching involuntarily. He’s slow and deliberate, tasting you with gentle licks that have your entire body trembling. It’s a different kind of intimacy—one that’s both intense and tender, filled with an unspoken love that takes your breath away.

He takes his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes, savoring the way your body responds to him. He holds your hips firmly, anchoring you in place as he explores every inch of you, finding the spots that make you shudder and moan his name. You can feel his hot breath against you, the soft hum of pleasure that escapes him as he loses himself in the moment.

Your fingers curl tighter in his hair, tugging him closer as you struggle to keep your voice steady. “Sebastian… please.”

He groans against you, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your core. He pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at you, his lips glistening, eyes heavy with desire. “I love it when you say my name like that,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with need. „Keep your eyes on me, darling.“

You’re panting now, your entire body trembling as he dives back in, his tongue moving faster, more insistently. The pleasure builds steadily, a wave of heat coiling low in your belly, making you feel like you’re on the edge of something wonderful. He watches your face as he works, taking in every gasp, every moan, as if it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

You can’t hold back any longer. Your body tenses, your thighs clamping around his head as you reach your peak, crying out his name. He doesn’t stop, riding out your release, his tongue gentle now, coaxing you through the aftershocks.

When you finally come back down, your chest heaving, he presses one last soft kiss against your thigh before standing up. He looks at you with a boyish grin, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Was that okay?” he asks, though his smirk tells you he knows exactly how good it was.

You let out a breathless laugh, pulling him into a kiss that’s sweet and grateful, tasting yourself on his lips. “More than okay,” you murmur against his mouth. “You’re incredible.”

He wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly, his nose nuzzling into your neck as he plants a soft kiss there. “I love you,” he whispers, the words like a quiet promise against your skin.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his temple, your fingers gently stroking through his hair. “I love you too.”

Without another word, he scoops you up effortlessly, his hands strong and sure as he lifts you off the counter. You let out a surprised laugh, clinging to him, your arms looping around his neck as he cradles you against his chest.

“Taking this somewhere more comfortable,” he murmurs, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to your forehead. The look in his eyes is smoldering, filled with an unspoken promise of what’s to come. He carries you through the dimly lit hallway, each step deliberate, the anticipation building between you both. Your heart races, beating in time with his, the air thick with the shared desire that crackles like electricity.

As you reach the bedroom, he nudges the door open with his foot, the soft light from the hallway spilling in and casting a golden glow over the bed. He sets you down gently, his hands lingering on your hips as he leans down to kiss you again. It’s slower this time, a lazy, lingering kiss that’s filled with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

“You’re too good to me,” you whisper against his lips, your hands already slipping under the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

He chuckles, low and sweet, as he pulls back just enough to tug his shirt over his head. “I’m exactly as good as you deserve,” he replies, his voice husky. He tosses the shirt aside carelessly, and your eyes roam over his exposed chest, the play of light and shadow accentuating the muscles there. He looks at you like he’s drinking you in, savoring every detail, every expression on your face.

Your fingers find the button of his jeans, working it open as he watches you with a hooded gaze. He helps you, shrugging out of his pants and kicking them aside, leaving him in just his boxers. The sight of him—flushed, breathing heavily, and looking at you with a mixture of adoration and want—makes a wave of heat wash over you.

You lean back against the pillows, propping yourself up as he climbs onto the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress. He’s on you in an instant, his hands gently prying your shirt off, his lips trailing soft kisses down your collarbone as he peels the fabric away. When you’re bare before him, he pauses, taking a moment just to look at you. The way his eyes drink you in makes you feel cherished, like you’re the most precious thing in the world to him.

“Perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your sternum, then another lower, right over your heart. You can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, the press of his lips sending shivers through your body.

His hands trail down your sides, fingers close between your legs. He raises his eyes to yours, silently asking for permission once again. When you give a small, eager nod, he pushes them in, toying with you, his gaze never leaving yours.

He presses closer, his bare chest flush against yours now, skin against skin. The warmth of him seeps into you, grounding you even as your heart feels like it might burst from the intensity of the moment. You can feel every hard line of his body, the way he fits so perfectly against you, like you were made for each other.

“Sebastian.” you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. You reach up, cupping his cheek in your hand, and he turns his head to press a kiss to your palm.

“I’ve got you.” He murmurs, his voice filled with love and a gentle promise. He dips his head down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s slow and deep, his hand, pulled out of you, sliding down your side to grip your thigh, pulling you closer. His other hand roams up your body, fingers splaying out on your chest as he squeezed the skin.

You shiver as he shifts, settling between your legs, the press of his body sending a wave of warmth through you. He grinds against you slowly, the friction delicious, and you gasp into his mouth, your nails digging into his back. He groans, a deep, guttural sound that reverberates through his chest, and you can feel the restrained need in the way he moves.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathes against your lips, his forehead resting against yours as he gazes down at you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“You,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper. “I want you.”

He kisses you again, hard and fervent, his hips pressing into yours in a slow, rolling motion that has you arching up against him, seeking more. You can feel his smile against your lips, a soft, tender curve that’s full of love.

“I’m all yours,” he whispers back, his words like a promise. “Tonight and always.”

He moves slowly, unhurried, taking his time to explore every inch of your body with his lips and hands, like he’s memorizing every curve, every shiver. The room is filled with the sound of your shared breaths, the soft sighs and gasps as he touches you, holds you, loves you.

„Promise I always will.“ Those where his last words before you were able to feel him close to your entrance, his tip stroking you gently before he pushed in.

The next morning came in silence, but it wasn’t the kind you loved. It wasn’t the quiet murmur of the world still asleep, or the gentle hum of life waking up slowly. It was the kind of silence that felt heavy, almost suffocating. The kind that made you realize something was missing before you even opened your eyes.

You shifted, reaching out instinctively to the other side of the bed, expecting the familiar warmth of Sebastian’s body curled up against yours. Instead, your fingers met cold, empty sheets. Your heart sank a little, the small knot of disappointment tightening in your chest.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Mornings were your favorite time together, the one part of the day where you could both be unguarded, lazy, and wrapped up in each other without any of life’s distractions pulling you apart. You loved waking up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, the sound of the kettle whistling in the kitchen as Sebastian made you breakfast, or the soft kiss he’d press to your forehead before you were even fully awake. It was the sweetest part of your life—those quiet, precious moments that belonged only to the two of you.

But today, there was none of that. Just an empty bed and a lingering chill where his warmth should have been. You opened your eyes, blinking at the soft light filtering through the curtains, half expecting to see him standing there, smiling at you like he always did. But the room was empty.

You sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around your waist, and glanced around as if he might suddenly appear. The pillow next to you was still dented from where he’d slept, but it was cool to the touch now, the scent of him fading away. You pressed your face into it anyway, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply, trying to hold on to that small piece of him for a moment longer.

„Sebastian?“ You called out, hoping for any kind of reaction, your voice filling the room.

It didn’t make sense. He hadn’t mentioned leaving early. He hadn’t said anything about having plans today. Your mind raced with possibilities, each one leaving a hollow ache in its wake. Maybe he’d just stepped out for a bit, you told yourself. He’d be back any minute, you were sure of it.

But as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor beneath your feet seemed to echo the emptiness inside you. You wrapped the blanket tighter around your shoulders, trying to chase away the chill. It wasn’t just the cold of the room—it was the cold that came from waking up alone when you’d gotten so used to waking up together. This felt oddly strange.

You couldn’t help but remember the way it usually was. How he’d pull you closer, mumbling half-asleep compliments against your neck. How his fingers would trace lazy patterns on your skin, making you feel like you were the only person in the world. How you’d both lie there for as long as you could, wrapped up in the warmth of each other, talking softly or just sharing comfortable silence.

You glanced at the clock on the nightstand, hoping you were wrong. Hoping maybe you’d just woken up before him, and he’d be back any second, slipping into bed beside you with a sheepish smile and a kiss on your cheek. But the clock told a different story. It was already late—later than he’d ever leave without saying something.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stand up, your legs feeling shaky beneath you. The house felt colder without him here, and the empty quiet of it pressed in on you. You padded out into the hallway, calling his name softly once more, half expecting him to pop his head out from the kitchen, teasing you for being so worried.

But there was no answer. No kettle boiling, no clink of mugs, no smell of coffee in the air. Just the empty echo of your voice.

You leaned against the doorframe, closing your eyes and letting the silence wash over you. The ache in your chest felt heavier now, settling like a stone. It was a small thing, really—waking up alone just once—but it felt like a shadow of something bigger. A reminder of how much you needed him, of how much his presence had become a part of your mornings, your days, your everything.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, rubbing your hands over your arms in a vain attempt to warm up. He’d be back soon, you told yourself again. He had to be. He wouldn’t just leave like this, not without a word. He wouldn’t take away the part of the morning you loved the most—the part where you woke up next to him and felt like everything was right in the world.

But as you stood there, staring at the empty hallway, you couldn’t help the small, creeping worry that maybe today was different. Maybe today was the start of a morning you’d have to face alone, a morning without him to hold you and make you feel whole.

And that thought made the quiet feel so much colder.

The quiet stretched longer than it should have, and with each passing second, the doubt in your mind grew. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, but you tried to brush it off. You told yourself it was nothing—Sebastian had probably just gone out to grab breakfast or coffee. It was a Saturday, after all, and the world outside was just starting to wake up. But as you moved through the house, something felt off.

You made your way to the entryway, half-expecting to see him standing there, pulling on his shoes or grabbing his coat. But the spot where his jacket usually hung was empty. The shoes he always left by the door were gone too. You frowned, the empty space making your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe he had left early, maybe to pick up something for breakfast, or maybe to run an errand.

You convinced yourself that’s what had happened. He’d just stepped out. He’d be back soon. You had to believe that. You turned away from the door and walked back through the house, glancing around for any sign of him. The stillness pressed against you like a heavy blanket, and despite your best efforts to remain calm, you couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at you.

As you entered the living room, you caught sight of the bookshelf against the wall. Your eyes narrowed, and your heart began to race. The shelf was slightly askew, the way it was when Sebastian had been messing around with it. But it wasn’t just the shelf that caught your attention—it was the hidden compartment behind it. Your safe. It was slightly open.

You had always hidden it carefully, knowing it was the one place where you kept the money that had become so important to Sebastian and you over the past few months. But now, standing there, you felt a cold shiver race down your spine. You walked over to it, and as you opened the compartment fully, your stomach dropped. The safe was empty. Your heart skipped a beat, and panic surged through you. The money—everything you had been so careful to keep safe—was gone. The only explanation you could think of was that Sebastian had taken it. He had taken everything. Your mind screamed at you, but your body felt frozen, unable to move.

Your breath quickened, and the room around you began to spin. A knot twisted in your chest, suffocating you, and your mind started to race with the worst possible thoughts. Had he really done this? Had he taken everything and left me? Your hands shook as you backed away from the shelf, your mind still desperately trying to make sense of what was happening. You had trusted him, believed in him, and now all you could think of was how everything had felt too perfect—like it had all been a lie. Any kind of trust was lost as you couldn't come up with a single good reason why he should take the money and disappear.

You moved quickly, heart pounding in your chest, darting around the house as if searching for something, anything that would prove you were wrong. You tore through the living room, the kitchen, even the bathroom. But there was nothing—no sign of him, no explanation for what had happened. The silence pressed down harder, and the walls around you seemed to close in, suffocating you with the weight of your thoughts.

Suddenly, the house felt too big, too empty. Every sound, every small creak, seemed amplified in the stillness. You felt like you were drowning in your own panic. Your chest tightened, and your breathing became shallow, erratic. Your vision blurred as the tears began to well up in your eyes. It was all happening too fast, too overwhelming.

You collapsed to your knees on the floor, hands gripping your hair as your mind spiraled. No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. The thought that Sebastian had taken the money, that he had left you with nothing but confusion and betrayal, shattered something inside you. Everything you had shared—the late-night talks, the laughter, the mornings together—it all felt like a cruel joke now.

"Sebastian!" you screamed, the word ripping from your throat, raw and desperate. "Where are you?"

But there was no answer. Just the emptiness, the silence stretching longer and longer, pulling you further into a dark pit of fear and confusion. You curled in on yourself, hands over your face, tears streaming freely as the weight of it all pressed down on you. How could you have been so wrong? How could you have let yourself trust him so completely, only for him to take everything away in one cruel moment?

The house felt like a prison. Every corner, every empty space reminded you of what you had lost, what had been stolen from you. And as the panic surged, all you could think was that he had left, and you were alone, with nothing but the aching hollow in your chest to show for it.

You cried, helplessly, uncontrollably, the sobs shaking your entire body. Nothing made sense. Nothing could bring you the comfort you craved. And all you could do was scream, hoping for some kind of answer that would never come.

Sebastian woke up first, the quiet morning light filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. His gaze immediately landed on you—peacefully asleep beside him. The sight of you, tangled in the sheets with your hair messy from the night, made his heart skip a beat. There was something about you, something that made everything else in the world fade away when he was with you.

He could still feel the warmth of your body against his, the weight of your presence next to him, and the quiet intimacy that seemed to wrap around both of you. The night had been perfect, full of laughter and closeness, but in that moment, as he watched you sleep, something more profound settled in him.

He realized, with a clarity that shocked him, that he didn’t just want this—this closeness, this joy, this love—he wanted all of it. Forever. It was like a light bulb turning on in his head, and it was undeniable. He wanted to spend his life with you. The idea of waking up to this—waking up to *you*—for every day to come filled him with a warmth that he couldn’t ignore.

Sebastian’s chest tightened with a mix of excitement and nerves, the weight of the realization both exhilarating and humbling. He knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just a fleeting thought or a momentary rush of emotion. It was real. He wanted to build a life with you. He wanted to promise you forever, no matter what.

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, trying not to disturb you. The sheets rustled gently as he moved, and he paused, watching you for a moment longer, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He admired how peaceful you looked, how safe and content, lost in dreams. He didn’t want to wake you yet. This moment, this quiet, was just for him.

Sebastian stood, stretching his limbs and glancing around the room. His heart still pounded with the weight of what he was about to do. He knew he had to do it. He had to show you that he wasn’t just saying the words when he said he loved you. He was going to prove it.

Moving quietly to the dresser, he pulled on his clothes, careful not to make any noise. His hands trembled slightly, the excitement of the decision making his heart race. He knew what he had to do, and nothing was going to stop him.

His eyes flicked toward the shelf where you kept your safe, his heart skipping. He had always known about it—he respected it, and he knew it was important to you. But today, today was different. He didn’t hesitate for a second as he opened the shelf, taking out the safe. The contents of the small box—money that had been saved for a future you’d both been dreaming of—meant something far more than just savings now. It was a way for him to take the first step toward that future. The life he wanted to build with you.

Sebastian swallowed hard as he pulled the money out, placing it carefully in his pocket. His chest tightened, but it wasn’t from nerves about what he was doing—it was from the overwhelming realization that he was making the choice to move forward, to ask for forever. He knew he was going to spend the rest of his life with you, and that thought was everything.

He turned, quietly making his way out of the room and into the hallway. The city outside was just beginning to wake up, the soft hum of the early morning a comforting backdrop to his racing thoughts. His mind was focused on one thing now: making sure the ring was perfect, making sure it was everything you deserved. He’d save the money for the rest of your life together later.

But today, today was the start of everything.

Sebastian made his way to the jewelry store, each step feeling more like a confirmation of what he had known all along. He was doing the right thing, and no matter how many details needed to be perfect, all that mattered was the love he felt for you. He had to make sure that the ring was just as unforgettable as the way you made him feel every single day.

As he stepped into the shop, his eyes immediately scanned the selection, his mind fixed solely on one goal. He didn’t need to search for long. The moment his eyes landed on a beautiful, delicate ring, a diamond set against a simple gold band, he knew it was the one. He imagined the way it would look on your finger, how it would symbolize everything he wanted to say but didn’t always have the words for.

With a deep breath, he picked it up, his fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the box. He paid, his hands shaking slightly with anticipation, excitement thrumming through his veins.

All he had to do now was get home to you. To show you how much you meant to him, how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

The entire time he was gone, his mind was consumed with thoughts of you. He knew when he returned, it wouldn’t just be another ordinary morning. It would be the start of a new chapter. A chapter that began with love, and ended with forever.

But he never returned.

The metallic scent of the Hadal Blacksite hung thick in the air, its sterile walls casting a cold, lifeless atmosphere around you. The labyrinth of vents you crawled through felt like a maze, twisting and turning with no end in sight. Your knees scraped against the jagged metal, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Every inch of your body screamed in exhaustion, but your mission kept you moving. The crystal—the one thing you needed to find—was somewhere within this forsaken facility. But you had to survive long enough to retrieve it.

The deeper you went, the darker it became. The vents barely let any light in, and the only sound you could hear was the echo of your own breathing, shallow and frantic. You couldn’t afford to think about how you got here, how everything had spiraled out of control, or the faces you had once known. All you could focus on was the present, the objective. The crystal.

Your life had been shattered after Sebastian’s betrayal. You had fallen so far, so fast, that it felt like the very ground beneath you had disappeared. Now, here you were, crawling through the grim, unforgiving halls of the Blacksite—nothing more than a shadow, a criminal. Desperate. The crushing weight of debt and hunger had driven you beyond what you once thought possible.

Money had been the catalyst for your descent into this hellish place. The lack of it, the constant struggle to survive, had broken you down piece by piece until you were willing to do anything—anything—to escape the suffocating grasp of poverty. Your morals, your dignity, everything you once held dear, faded into the background as you scraped together whatever scraps of hope you could find.

And then you crossed the line.

It was never supposed to come to this. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t risk it all, but desperation had a way of warping your sense of reason. You had stepped into the Blacksite’s underbelly, risking your life, hoping the payoff would be enough to turn everything around. But all you had now were regrets, each one more suffocating than the last.

You had never imagined it would end like this.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed when you finally reached an access hatch, a simple vent. You didn’t hesitate, swinging it open and slipping through into the dimly lit room. Your eyes scanned the space, still disoriented from the crawl, but something stopped you dead in your tracks.

It was a shop.

A small, oddly shop tucked away in the heart of the Blacksite. The walls were lined with shelves—an assortment of strange, vintage devices, dusty trinkets, and knick-knacks. In the corner, a glass display case held a collection of unmarked items, their importance completely unknown to you. It was surreal, this oasis in the middle of a place so cold and hostile.

But what made your breath catch in your throat wasn’t the strange setting or the items on the shelves.

You froze, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes locked onto him. Sebastian. But he wasn’t the man you had once known—he wasn’t even close. His appearance was twisted, distorted, as though the years had been unkind, carving deep lines of pain into his face. His eyes, once warm and familiar, now held a cold emptiness, an unrecognizable void inbetween the fluorescent glow. His skin was pale gray, unnatural, like something out of a nightmare, and his presence felt wrong, as though he had been reshaped by something dark and uncontrollable. The shock hit you like a physical blow, your stomach churning as you tried to pull back, your legs shaking with the instinct to flee. You didn't even dared to comment the rest of his body. This wasn’t the man you loved: this wasn’t even someone you could recognize. A wave of disgust washed over you, mingling with the terror that gripped your throat. You couldn’t even process it—your mind couldn't make sense of the grotesque transformation. All you could do was stumble backward, every inch of your body telling you to get away, to escape this horrible, unrecognizable figure before you.

You took a slow, cautious step backward, your breath shallow and erratic. Every movement felt like an eternity as you tried to distance yourself from the nightmare standing in front of you. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, the twisted version of Sebastian, but at the same time, you couldn’t look at him. The terror in your chest made your limbs heavy, your mind clouded with panic, and your heart ached in a way that made it hard to breathe.

You moved quietly, silently, as though retreating would give you the space to think, to make sense of this madness. Your feet stumbled awkwardly, barely making any sound against the cold floor—until they didn’t. Your foot caught on something—an object, a piece of debris that you hadn’t noticed before—and in a split second, your body was crashing to the ground.

The impact sent a sharp pain through your limbs, and before you could even react, you froze, utterly paralyzed by the noise. The sound of your fall echoed through the room, and in an instant, you felt his presence shift. His breathing grew louder, and then he turned.

For a moment, everything stopped. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. Every muscle in your body locked up as you lay there, immobilized by fear.

And then he saw you.

His eyes, once hollow, suddenly flickered with recognition. His face—so alien just moments before—shifted into something you could hardly process. A look of utter shock and joy crossed his features, his mouth parting in disbelief, displaying his sharp teeth. He moved toward you cautiously, his voice hoarse but filled with an overwhelming sense of relief.

“Y-You...?” His voice trembled, almost in awe. His eyes darted over your face, his expression softening as the pieces of recognition fell into place. “No way… is it really you?”

A rush of emotion flooded through him—something you hadn’t seen in a long time, something raw and vulnerable. His face broke into an unrestrained, radiant smile, and for the first time, you saw the man you once knew beneath all the horror. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered joy that made your stomach twist in confusion and disbelief.

You could barely move, still too stunned to comprehend the sight before you, but his reaction was enough to make your chest tighten, a jolt of emotion hitting you like a wave, not in a good way.

He was happy to see you. And somehow, in this strange, twisted reality, that felt even more terrifying.

Sebastian moved closer, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the pocket of his coat, pulling something out with an eager grin. The object glinted in his hand, and for a moment, the sight of the small box made your heart skip with fear. But you couldn’t process it, couldn’t make sense of the words he was about to speak.

“I—I can’t believe this… I’ve missed you so much,” he rambled, his voice a mix of relief and confusion. His gaze never left you, his eyes soft but filled with an almost frantic urgency, as though he couldn’t believe you were really here. “I thought I’d never see you again, after everything—after how much I messed up. I don’t know how you ended up down here, I don’t understand, but… I don’t care.”

His words poured out, faster than he could catch them, like he had been waiting for this moment, this reunion, for so long. He seemed out of breath, his chest heaving slightly as he spoke, the joy barely contained in his voice. His behaviour felt so off on so many different levels, not lovingly like you knew him back then, but obsessive in the worst way.

“I’ve been waiting for this… for you,” he continued, a wild light in his eyes. “I told myself I’d come back to you, no matter what. No matter what happened or what I had to go through… you were always on my mind. I never stopped thinking about you. I—" His voice caught, almost as if the words were too much to handle.

He paused for a moment, his face suddenly serious, as if weighing something. Then, with a flourish, he opened the small box in his hand, revealing the engagement ring nestled inside, covered in some dry blood and dirt. His smile stretched wide, a mix of pride and happiness in his eyes. “I was going to ask you... I wanted to ask you... I’ve been saving for so long. I—” He glanced at you, his expression filled with an almost childlike excitement. “I wanted to give you this. I wanted to promise you everything. I know things were messed up, but you *are* everything to me. And I—I need you to know that.”

But you couldn’t hear his words anymore. They were distant, muffled, as if the world around you was closing in. Your chest felt hollow, and despite the tears that had begun to fall silently down your face, your body felt numb. The shock of seeing him again, the confusion, the betrayal—it was too much to handle. You didn’t know whether to scream or to run, but your body refused to move.

His words—so full of joy, so hopeful—made everything worse. The engagement ring, the smiles, the words of love—they all felt like knives in your chest. Your throat tightened, and the tears came harder, spilling down your cheeks in a silent torrent as you stared at him, completely incapable of responding.

He kept talking, his words becoming a blur. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care, that you weren’t saying anything back, that you weren’t moving. His smile remained wide and genuine, as if he was living some dream he had longed for. But for you? It was a nightmare that you couldn’t escape, not even if you tried.

You were deadly terrified of him.

You don't know who was standing in front of you anymore.

„GET AWAY FROM ME!“

#⊹₊⟡⋆satori.speaks #⊹₊⟡⋆writings #pressure x reader #roblox pressure x reader #roblox pressure #pressure #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace

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inkedaway · 2 days ago

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What's in a name (Dandadan)

Title: What's in a name?

Notes: People wanted more, so here you go, have more! I'm glad people liked the previous chapter. This one takes Okarun's POV and runs with it. I hope the distinction of thought process makes it through in a coherent manner when he's transformed and you know, not. I'm happy to add more to it, as mentioned - I just need scene ideas to put into chapters. There's no end here, it's just a collection of one shots at this point. If an idea sparks and I wish to explore it, I will gladly add to it. Thanks again guys, feel free to leave ideas if you wish!

Pairing: Momo/Okarun romantic undertones, this is pure fluff

Rating: G (there is one instance of the word Fuck, but... )

Summary: This wasn't to say he didn't appreciate the nickname she had given him, because he did. It was without a doubt, the first thing genuinely given to him by another person, and he treasured it dearly; it had meaning, power behind it, and whenever anyone called him by it now, it reminded him instantly of her.

Ao3 link: Here

Can also be read under the read more here.

Ken hadn't really given his name much thought before. It was just... a thing, a word imposed on him, and it had never held that much importance. That was, until he'd stumbled across someone that, for whatever reason, hadn't wanted to say it. It had bothered him at the time, and even now, something about her not calling him by it rankled in the back of his mind, somewhere deep, deep down, where he threw all thoughts and emotions he didn't want to inspect too closely.

This wasn't to say he didn't appreciate the nickname she had given him, because he did. It was without a doubt, the first thing genuinely given to him by another person, and he treasured it dearly; it had meaning, power behind it, and whenever anyone called him by it now, it reminded him instantly of her. Not that he needed it to be reminded of her though. Momo Ayase was never far from the forefront of his mind now a days, and he often found himself thinking stray thoughts that had never occurred to him before came along and catapulted herself into his life.

Thoughts like, oh, she'd like this, or oh, she'd absolutely despise this other thing. More than once, he'd found himself squirreling away a shiny rock he'd found that reminded him of her earrings, a small piece of candy with an alien themed wrapper, or even entire magazines on the single notion that she'd like them, and he should thus, of course, present them to her. Never once had he actually gone through it; not once had he actually scrunched up the courage to actually give her the thing he'd secreted away for her, much too self conscious to do so when the notion actually caught up with him. He liked to think it was the intention that matter, and that he just needed a push, and maybe some day soon he'd manage.

Despite what some people thought, Ken was not an idiot; far from it, in his personal opinion. It'd taken him his first journey into her room, back when they were still trying to figure out what to do about Turbo Granny that first day, to realize exactly why she hadn't been able to say his name out loud, and he hadn't taken it out on her. Despite being slightly naive about many things, he wasn't exactly slow, and what he lacked in wisdom, he made up for in other ways. He was, perhaps, not as sharp as Ayase herself in the heat of the moment, but he was no slouch.

Still he'd decided to make no comment on the elephant in the room at the time. He'd not brought it up, and had kept his mouth shut. In a way, he'd come to adopt the nickname like it was his first name, and he'd just felt grateful for it. Even so... it still poked at a small, insecure part of him, deep, deep down in his soul, that she wouldn't say it, even when he didn't want to admit to it out loud.

It was perhaps, some small part of those feelings that slipped through when he was transformed. He couldn't really say.

She'd asked him several times what if felt like when he transformed, and he couldn't quite put it into words correctly. Did he go anywhere? Was it still him in there, fully? Did something else take over? And... no, nothing took over. It was just him, but, maybe... more. It was like his feelings were enhanced, not just his senses, but his actual emotions (and God, what did that say about him, that depression was the one in the wheel house? He didn't really want to poke that thought too much, given what it said about him). He'd noticed he was prone to be much more honest with his feelings and surroundings in that form, like there was no filter between brain and his mouth, and what he felt, he just blurted out.

Emotion fueled that form, at the end of the day.

The first few times he'd slipped into that form unbidden, it had been rage fueling it. Rage unlike anything he'd felt before that had sparked change into existence. He'd never been a particularly angry or argumentative kid; he'd never really fought back against bullies. Has never really tried to, never thought it was worth it to do so. Ken figured it had to be something about Ayase that brought it out of him, because he distinctly recalled clapping back at her several times that day, in a way he'd never thought of doing to his bullies. She'd just been worth it, from the very start.

She'd asked him why he called her by her first name in that form, and truth was, he'd wanted to do so since the first day, honestly, but he'd not been able to. He hadn't hadn't found the courage to do so. Afraid of being inadequate, of just not being enough, and in his defense, this was all just new to him. There wasn't a book to drive him through the very real messy process of actually having a friend.

And again, Ken wasn't stupid. He wasn't an idiot. He may have been awkward, and he may have been new at the whole friendship thing, but he smart enough to have realized after a while that some of the thoughts he held for her were not exactly in the friendship department. He hadn't even begun to untangle that mess, and he wasn't ready to poke and prod at it, but he wasn't stupid. He knew himself at least.

Something about that form however, just seemed to destroy most inhibition, and thus, the name just slipped out, time and time again. It wasn't that he didn't want to say it; he very much did. Ken didn't think he could help it, as much as he couldn't help the strangely spindly arms and anatomy he gained, or his hair from changing color.

It was just a thing, and he'd had to get used to it. It was what it was.

Specially because anger wasn't exactly the only emotion that could trigger a transformation. Fear was just as capable of it as well.

He'd found out the hard way, when a particularly loud sound had crashed through her temple one day when she'd gone outside to fetch something. She'd left him in her room, promising she'd be back as soon as possible, and to make himself comfortable. Ken had sat himself on the floor and had been admiring the organized chaos of the room, and the certain lack of posters he could remember from the first day there, when the sound had caught his attention. Metal like, loud and in his fear hazed mind, entirely out of place.

He'd been up on his feet, transformed and zooming outside her room faster than he'd been able to react or even process thought in a coherent manner. The burst of speed enough that he was outside and in front of her before the sound had even stopped reverberating across the premises. The fear that something had happened while he'd been upstairs and she outside had been visceral, and when he found her looking owlishly at him, with pipes around her (clearly the source of the sound), the relief had been just as visceral, "Momo..."

Demonstrating once more that innate sharpness, the girl took one look at him, and somehow managed to read him in the space of time it too him to process that she was fine, and that they were, in fact, not under attack, "Ah," it was a soft sound of understanding as she took her eyes off of him and turned to look at the pipes scattered on the stone floor at her feet, "Sorry. I noticed them over there, and figured I'd get them moved for grandma behind the main shrine before she had to do so later. They're not heavy for me now, given circumstances," as if to emphasize this, she made a small grabby motion with her hands, and the pipes lifted into the air as if by themselves, "But... I got distracted by something and dropped them, my bad," she left the obvious unsaid; she hadn't meant to scare and startle him, and he was grateful to her for not pointing it out.

"Momoooo..." The gratefulness for her continued safety seeped through him like a cold bath, and he found himself taking a step forward and flopping his head in an almost boneless fashion against her shoulder. His forehead was resting against her body, his posture hunched slightly over her, and by the time he'd done so, he couldn't be arsed to move away; she'd push him away anyways, it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered anyways.

To her credit, rather than do that, after a just a moment, Momo's hand went up and patted the top of his head, "There, there, you big idiot, it's fine, see? Everything's fine," he hadn't told her, back when she'd let him use her lap to nap, but that was likely the first time someone not blood related had offered him any sort of physical comfort. He wasn't used to touching. He wasn't used to any of this, which, granted, didn't mean he didn't want it, just... that he was unsure when it was okay to ask for it, or if it was out of the question to do it back. The strange thought processes of his transformation made it very muddy and he seemed to rely on her body language to read what was and wasn't okay to do, "Feeling better?"

Ken took the moment to catalogue his feelings and well, "Still bummed," he said, head remaining pressed against her, and Momo let out a sigh, her hand lowering from his hair to rub his back in a comforting, circular motion.

"Yeah, that about tracks," she said, "I meant more along the lines of if you've calmed down now."

He offered a small nod against her shoulder, his vision entirely blocked by body, what with his forehead pressed against it, allowing at least one sense to be muted.

"Cool, 'kay," after a few more seconds, she lifted her hand and tapped his side slightly in poke poke poke fashion, a movement that seemed to indicate without words or a push that she wanted him to move, and thus he did. Ken lifted his head off her shoulder and watched her through near unblinking eyes, "Help me move these pipes to where I was gonna take them, and then we'll figure out... this" she gestured to him, head to toe, and again, because she asked, he did exactly what she wanted without protest. He scooped up the few pipes she wasn't carrying with her powers and followed her to the back of the main shrine, where he'd spent that first night.

He was quite sure she could have, at this point in time, asked him to fetch her the moon and stars, and despite the impossibility of it, Ken was sure he would have given it his best try regardless.

"Right, okay, lesee," the moment they had gotten rid of the pipes, Momo had turned to gaze at him, looking him up, then down, and then back up again, "You stayin' like that then?" he had no idea what to tell her, and just watched her, which was apparently enough for her to roll her eyes, "Right, always forget you get super weird like this. So... tell me. What do you think would help?"

Well, Ken wasn't exactly sure what would help in this state. Maybe nothing would. Everything felt so... useless when he was like this, like nothing quite mattered either way, and thinking about it was stressing him out further.

Something about his expression, which he hadn't figured had shifted whatsoever, seemed to indicate enough to her that she rolled her eyes, "Stop overthinking everything, dummy. What do you think would help at this precise moment. What do you need?"

Well, need was a strong word. He didn't need anything, but he figured there was something he wanted. The moment the notion flashed through his mind, his mouth opened, and out it came, absolutely no filter, "Can I hold you?" It was immediately clear from the way she looked at him, absolutely flabbergast, that out of all the things she had expected him to say, this one was nowhere on the list. Her mouth opened and closed two times without sound before Ken decided that honestly, nothing mattered anyways. In for a penny, in for a pound, "Just need a moment to calm down, and last time, when we were running, having you close helped."

She blinked owlishly for another two to three seconds, looked away from him in thought and seemed to come to a conclusion. Like with everything Momo did, when she turned back to look at him, she'd planted her feet and looked determined, clearly not about to back down anymore, "Sure, 'kay, let's do that," and she spread her arms in an awkward initiation of a hug.

Having gotten permission, he angled his body not to hug her, but to pick her up off the ground like one would have a small pet animal, eliciting a startled yelp out of the girl. He then allowed himself to flop on the ground, setting her on the ground in front of him and processed to wrap himself in a near boneless fashion around her, his upper hand leaned over her shoulder, legs spread out in front of him, and instantly... things were marginally better.

"Okarun!" Momo had found her voice again, and though she did not squirm out of her position, did reach out to give his head a light smack, eliciting a huff out of him, "A little warning next time!"

"You said I could though."

"I was expecting to be held, not to be picked up swaddled by your limbs!" despite her words, there was no real anger in her voice, and she slowly relaxed her back to lean against his chest, "You're lucky it's hot as fuck out and you're cold," this was said in a murmur, which was dumb, in his opinion. After all, if she didn't want him to hear her, murmuring near his ear was not exactly the best course of action.

Silence fell and for a good amount of time, during which he closed his eyes and took in the signs she was alive (her scent, her heartbeat, the way her chest expanded each time she took in breath), he moved not an inch.

"Better?" it was reminiscent of the question she'd asked him a bit earlier, and he offered, well... not a nod, but a simile of it, his whole cranium flopping over like it was too heavy for his neck to hold. Momo's response was a sigh as she once again patted his head, once twice before her arm fell back upon her lap, "Good."

Ken expected her to poke him, tell him enough was enough, push away even, but the girl did no such thing. He opened an eye to watch her slide hers shut, and thus, following her example, he did so too.

For now, it seemed like she was as content to sit and bask as he was.

#dandadan #momokarun #ken takakura #momo ayase #fanfic #fic

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captainfluffytheragdoll · 20 hours ago

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Helluva Boss: Season two trailer Lvl 2024: Overview

Heya folks! Fluffz here. Today I'd like to give my opinions on the Helluva Boss 2024 Level Up. Before anything else, I'd like to point out that the season two trailer reached peak awareness only recently, or so it seems, after the release of the tenth episode, Ghostfu**kers. With only two of the announced episodes left to be released, everyone is now trying to figure out where the remaining scenes fit in. The two aforementioned episodes, namely "Mastermind" and "Sinsmas" are going to be released soon, with the former being released sometime in November.

Without further ado, let's take a look at the scenes.

First off, we see an army of hooded figures, with someone speaking in the background.

Who are these guys? Are they villains? We don't have much to go with here, not even a simple backdrop which could tell us the setting. Interestingly, the next scene we see shows us the I.M.P "on the run".

Before Blitzø starts the van, Moxxie asks "Where are we going?" And the latter replies "Anywhere but here." It's likely someone is after them, perhaps the hooded figures we previously saw. Maybe this scene could be linked to another one we see afterwards.

Here the I.M.P seem terrified of something, or maybe someone, and the office is oddly hazed red. Maybe this scene takes place before they get into the van to "go anywhere but here.", also considering the backdrop of the previous scene. It looks a lot like the parking lot around their office building. That said, this scene takes place right before we see the hooded figures:

We see the I.M.P office building, and if you look carefully enough, the background looks rather hazy, and red....

From the red city-like backdrop alone, we can infer that these scenes take place in Pride. The other scenes however, are rather different.

The next new scene we see is of Vassago, the rather controversial red owl (parrot?) demon who is a member of the Ars Goetia. He's standing next to a bunch of other demons.

Here, Vassago asks "Where is Stolas anyway?", meaning Stolas was probably the previous topic of the conversation. Vassago and the other demons seem to be standing in a terrace of some sort (probably indoors) and below the railing is a rather... interesting detail. Apples, and a snake. Seem familiar?

Next, Vassago states, "We need to summon him at once." (He's talking about Stolas), to which Andrealphus replies "Okay, Vassago."

This scene probably gives us the most information, if we look carefully. Andrealphus seems to be standing on some sort of... ice platform? There is a crowd in the background, with glass behind. The backdrop is surprisingly similar to a cave. Vassago and Andrealphus, whom who are both members of the Ars Goetia, are present at what looks like a big event or gathering of some sort, and apparently, Stolas is needed there too.

In this scene, we see Mammon flipping someone off. Not important, but look closer... the background is, in fact, the same place Andrealphus and Vassago are standing. In the backdrop, we can see the same railing and the same crowd.

In this scene, we see a large shadowed figure with glaring yellow eyes speaking to someone.

The voice, most likely this figure, says, "You're a disgrace." First off, this demon seems rather similar to a Deadly Sin, with a large form and glowing eyes (not saying all the Sins look like this, just what one would possibly look like). If this demon is a Deadly Sin, this one is most likely the Sin of Wrath (with the theme and all). Next, notice the background again. The pole to the right seems rather similar to the ones in the previous scenes (the ones with Vasago and Andrealphus.) and the glass(?) is a shade of pink also seen in previous scenes. If this demon is really a Sin, and they're at the gathering too, as is Mammon, and Stolas is needed there (and probably the rest of the Ars Goetia, considering how both Vassago and Andrealphus are also present), we'll probably be seeing all the Deadly Sins there, along with other royal and/or important personalities. It's possible that all these high-ranking demons are gathered there to discuss something, maybe a threat of some sort... (Maybe the hooded figures we saw before or the entity who's voice we heard at the start of the trailer.)

Interestingly, the very next scene we see shows us Blitzø protecting Stolas from some unseen danger.

*stops a moment to fangirl* *EEEEEEEEEE STOLITZ* -Ahem. As I was saying, we can see rather odd pointed silverish shapes dashing toward the screen. They look similar to swords or daggers of some sort. Blitzø is holding a knife-like sword(?) which is rather odd, as we have never seen him use this kind of weapon before. Stolas seems scared; who's the unseen threat? Well, if you look carefully at the backdrop, you'll notice that the ground is cobbled. Quite like the cobbled roads around Stolas's palace.

Blitzø and Stolas are most likely to be at the latter's palace grounds, meaning the opposed party here could be someone sent to take him to the gathering, which, for whatever reason, could mean something bad for him. Or maybe the entity after them is an assassin, perhaps Striker (if he's still alive). After all, Stella and Andrealphus were "holding off" killing Stolas, any maybe the needed elements of their plan are now in place, meaning they don't need Stolas any more. Lastly, it could be the threat that all the demons at the gathering are possibly discussing. The same threat that the I.M.P are running away from at the start of the trailer.

All that seems pretty connected, but this scene seems rather different.

The setting is most likely Andrealphus's palace. There's some rather suspicious purple haze in the background, but it's probably not important. We don't have much to inspect here, but this scene could potentially be linked to the previous scene we saw with Andrealphus. Or possibly linked to another scene with the same setting.

This scene is also set at Andrealphus's palace, and with Stella invlolved, it's very likely she and her brother are finishing up their plan. Perhaps Stella will be at the gathering too.

The last scene is quite different from all the others, with no obvious direct links to the rest of the scenes. It shows Octavia, reaching out to hold what looks like a purple flame...?

The setting looks similar to the plant we see in the episode "Seeing stars" as a flashback in Stolas's lullaby. In this scene, we hear Octavia's voice over, "You never loved mother, and you don't love me. You love him." (She's talking to Stolas).

I'm not very sure which episodes these scenes fit into, but be sure to let me know what you think! In conclusion, we'll certainly be meeting some new foes, and I'm really looking forward to more lore. This took me quite a while, so a like, reblog or even just some nice words would really be appriciated. Thanks so much if you read all that, and if you liked, reblogged or left some nice words. Feel free to tell me your thoughts! I can't wait for the episodes to be released, but until then, let's have fun with our conspiracy theories. That's all for today, peace, Fluffz out.

#helluva boss #helluva boss season 2 #helluva boss season two #2024 level up #helluva boss trailer #helluva boss trailer overview #helluva boss blitz #helluva boss stolas #helluva boss moxxie #helluva boss millie #helluva boss loona #helluva boss stella #helluva boss mammon #helluva boss andrealphus #helluva boss vassago #helluva boss octavia

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bookshelfmonkey · 1 day ago

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Ok but imo (as a trans guy) the dress moment could also work very well as an ftm Gender Moment.

I feel like the basis of the dress moment being so significant (or even being included in the show, although god only knows what the creators meant it to show) isn't that he's* considering wearing a dress. We see many other crew members wearing dresses at the party, laughing with everyone else and generally having a good time, and it's never brought up again, because it's a costume worn to a party. To Fitzjames, it seems to be more than a costume, hence his reluctance, hence the significance of the scene.

The common transfemme angle (as I see it, correct me if I'm wrong) is that this represents a moment where Fitzjames confronts the fact that his desire to wear the dress runs deeper than a desire to dress up for a night. This is more than a costume, this is a significant, meaningful expression of a desire that he's hidden for years, a desire that he knows (has been taught) is shameful, and now he has the opportunity to show that part of himself and have no one bat an eye and he just can't do it because it feels too vulnerable.

The transmasc angle is more complicated, so I'm going to explain my own experience real quick. When I was younger, I had to wear dresses and I hated it, but it was what was expected of me, so I didn't feel like I had a choice. Refusing to wear dresses and presenting masc was an act of rebellion for me, a hard won victory. It was also, up until I medically transitioned relatively recently, the only way I could pass. So I have that background: the years of having to wear dresses, and many more years of being pressured to wear them even after I'd repeatedly expressed that I didn't want to. But, now, I am living as a queer man. A lot of the men I surround myself with are more androgynous/feminine than I am, and none of my friends would bat an eye if I wore a dress. I also pass pretty much 100% of the time, and if I went out in public in a dress, I'd just be seen as a man in a dress (which comes with its own issues, but I don't have time to get into that right now). So I could wear a dress, and not massively run the risk of no longer being seen as a man, something that means a lot to me because it took a lot to get to that point. But I still haven't worn a dress since I stopped when I was 7. Look, I've got some internalised shit going on, it's not necessarily healthy, but it does help mimic the kind of shit that would be going on in the mind of someone living in 18th century england. Wearing a dress would-- to put it simply-- make me dysphoric. Not because I see dresses as something only women wear, but because it would remind me of when I had to wear them, and because I'd feel like that would be all people would need to see through me to my past and start seeing me as a woman again. To bring it back to ftm Fitzjames, this could easily apply. He knows that the crew see him as a man, he knows that a cis man in his position could (as many do in the show) wear the dress as a costume, have a good time, and never experience any kind of consequences for it-- he knows that he could do that. But it's more complicated, because, although he knows that it'd be fine, wearing the dress feels too vulnerable, too familiar. It breaks down the performance of the perfect (cis) man that he tries to keep up at all times, and so he doesn't do it.

Or maybe I'm just projecting, idk.

* just gonna use he/him throughout the post for consistency

i don’t think we consider ftm fitzjames enough like yes of course we had the dress scene which was crazy but also have we considered a guy who is So Obsessed with living up to the victorian masculine ideal despite everything going against him from birth. and yet somehow he is able to rise above all of that until they’re stuck in the arctic where society has all but forgotten them. and he can only really accept that it’s okay not to be this perfect heroic guy when he becomes friends (lovers?) with another guy who has long stopped trying to be the perfect victorian man because him being irish and lower birth status means society will never accept him as such. and again i recognize the Gender Moment of the dress but from the ftm angle the whole fucking show is a Gender moment

#i'm working on it i promise #my reblogs #the terror #james fitzjames

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 1 year ago

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I'm so sorry I'm pretty sure your bard au is supposed to be serious but oh my god I couldn't help but get strong Men In Tights and Monty Python and the Holy Grail vibes

Especially bc of Barnaby I would not put it past him to make a "your mom's a hamster" reference

no no it Is very silly. how can it not be when you've got the neighbors as the characters? silly central. ALSO YOU'RE SO RIGHT VERY STRONG MP&HG VIBES I FUCKING LOVE THAT MOVIE HERE'S SOME REFERENCES

but it is also real. when it's silly its silly and when it's serious!

it's serious.

#one of my favorite gags in that movie has always been the coconut halves used to make horse hoof sound effects #since they didnt have horses <3 #and barnaby doesnt have hooves so. they make do!#i also like to imagine that in this au at least barnaby and frank kinda beef sometimes #like barnaby will purposefully rile frank up but then frank will say something that hits a little too close to home #so barnabys like 'ok bet' and puts a little more bite in his bark #and before you know it they have to be separated to cool off!#and also sally still doing plays. gettin artsy with em and sometimes doing puppet shows instead of a live play #a la The Professor's history show but uh. with more budget and production value #paper puppet eddie running across the stage...#scribble salad #rambles from the bog #wh fantasy au #tw blood #just in case! there's a bit there <3 #ahhh warlock wally my beloved....#normally he is so nice and so kind and favors a pacifist route #but sometimes he gets pushed A Little Too Much and then! well! people die!#that scribble is actually from a whole Scene and Plot i have in my mind #where - essentially - he and home get separated by cultists who want to harness home or something #and after a few months of separation they reunite!#and the cult gets their shit absolutely Wrecked! literally none of them escape alive!#wally/home: we're baaaaack! time to die while we feast on your souls!

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80yearoldmanmoodboard · 1 year ago

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Some gems from the Autobiography of Special Agent Dale Cooper: my life in tapes

#Twin Peaks #Dale Cooper #The Autobiography of Special Agent Dale Cooper: My Life In Tapes #Dale Cooper woulda thrives on tumblr I think #Dale Cooper is gay as a maypole #he uses the most gay wording “I’m getting really good at behind thrown against the wall” fuckin bottom bitch #also there was a scene where he was running a ”is too much of a good thing really bad?” experiment in college #In which he had sex with a girl over and over for a whole day and/or night (it wasn’t clear)#and he talks about her pulling out something from her back which we’re left to assume is a sex toy and then he tells us #that he’s may be too sore to check out #so I’m pretty sure they’re implying Dale Cooper got pegged in college #and he enjoyed it #so have fun with that freaks #also the leather shit #if y’all are into writing twin peaks smut Dale Cooper talks about sex all the time in this

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ccbatman · 5 months ago

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actually so evil how much of hal's internal world gets obliterated with the rewriting of his relationships with jessica and martin.

#hal jordan #empyrean posting #ok going in the tags because im not actually v confident in my understanding of his character. i read all of his 80s/90s stuff but forgot #90% of it but ANYWAY.#so much of him just does not make sense with how geoff johns characterises him and his relationships with his parents particularly the #parallax stuff simply because of how much his relationship with the guardians and their apathy/'betrayal' is influenced by hal's original #relationship with his dad. like at its heart it's pretty much the same dynamic in how hal blindly trusts and sort of idolises the guardians #despite their repeated infractions in hope of... something in return just as he had with his father and the abuse he suffered at martin's #hands. that's what makes his anger at the guardians make sense when it does show itself because the relationship parallel didn't stop there.#as with martin hal gets nothing for his devotion. he gets nothing for doing everything that's asked of him and more and it ends the same way #too: with a man in the sky burning like a newborn star. and you lose so much of that nuance and intrigue behind that if you just make #jessica the 'bad one' because!!! you cheapen it!!!!#the whole idea of hal is that he has his father's face but his mother's scars #(to me). in the sense that they both reacted to martin the same way with that cognisance of who he was as a man yet inability to pull away #because... love. both the love they had for him and the conviction that he did or could love them too. and jessica arguably did eventually #but also she didnt did she? because she held onto that notion of love till the very end. the few scraps she had she ballooned outwards until #they became the whole. but hal didnt have even that and he spent his whole life chasing it & running away from wanting it at the same time #like i think there's something so interesting to the fact that he had to be convinced that flying was what he wanted to do. how much of that #was touched by his father? the fear that he was already too much like him than he could bear to be? he already had his face now he had his #dreams and longing for the sky. how much more could he have before he began repeating the cycle?#and at the end he even had his father's death. burning in the clouds. like there's so much there and that's not even touching on how it #impacts his relationships with other heroes. not just in the sense of why did kyle clark and diana get to keep their close yet complex #relationships with their moms when hal had to lose his (although yeah why did they) but also just how he lets himself come across to them.#because it's on purpose right? that he lets them think his reflection of his father is born out of unadulterated love for a man worthy of it #? he has his father's job he wears his father's jacket he smiles his father's smile. what else are they supposed to think.#and isnt that interesting!!! that this man who is so committed to being good & just can lie so casually to people he thinks of as friends!!!#can you see how that might be his mother through and through!!! in how she might have glossed over the abuse to other people and herself!!!#can you see how in spite of it all he might want to be perceived as his father that paragon of masculinity and resent that he is not!!!#do you understand how everything he loves has been poisoned!!! im thinking of that scene where he tells bruce about watching martin die &#wouldnt it have been so much more interesting through this lens. how he is both revealing & obfuscating at once. i hate the change sm

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okitanoniisan · 8 months ago

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new rgg fans will never know what they missed back in ye olden days of the fandom (like, 2019), doubly so now that scott strichart's deleted his twitter and jon riesenbach's privated. twitter was so fucking fun and then whatever-the-hell at sega of america happened and caused a fucking snowball effect and now we have shitass localization and resulting discourse that makes every release nigh unbearable, misinformation, confusion, people complaining about "bad writing/mischaracterization" not realizing it's because of the shitass english loc, i'm sitting here like jesus christ these loc bitches massacred saejima's character voice, people will never see him as he was intended, as original yakuza 5 localization Correctly painted him, and now they're coming for kiryu. god help us. we used to be a proper fandom. before everyone was subjected to the remastered localizations and shaky eng characterization. no one had even played yakuza 3-5, people still called morning glory "sunshine" orphanage, kiryu was our only protagonist and people still called him "boring", it was beautiful...

anyway gaiden uses affective instead of effective because the current localization team is full of careless dumbasses who don't give a fuck about ensuring they're using correct english grammar and this is not an isolated incident

#ada speaks #ive been playing through the series again from 0-5 and. yeesh #it goes from LIFE IS GOOD. LOC IS GOOD. to. oh.#yakuza 5's original localization is near perfect and they couldve made it better but instead #they opted for the cost cutting approach and decided NOT to retranslate and instead #just fucking. re-localized the localization and SO much is wrong. so much.#im playing simultaneously with a friend (myself on ps3 them on pc) and seeing the differences #and it happens in y3r and y4r too where #the original line is localized > the remastered line takes it and runs with it bc they have no original translation context #ie. in 3 rikiya says he likes 'wild' dancers. (re: strip club) it gets localized to be him liking 'aggressive' dancers.#in 3 remastered he says he likes AGGRESSIVE DOMINEERING WOMEN and that gets his Gears Turning #or. in 5 shinada says that uno is 'a little sad up top' re: his hair. and 5 remastered he says 'kinda mopey'#because they misunderstood the original english loc and so. completely fucked up the line to mean something else entirely #its like broken telephone #the same is SOMEHOW also happening in 8... i dont know HOW but somehow it fucking is #meanwhile im revisiting zero and going OH YEAH GOOD CHOICE. THAT MAKES SENSE. GREAT WRITING. WOW THAT'S AN A+ INTERPRETATION OF THAT LINE.#i miss the old loc team so bad. bring me back.#its mostly frustrating because i can see the shitass eng writing and still enjoy the game beneath it (unless it's not voiced.) but #i feel so bad for everyone flying blind and forced to take the loc at face value #its been like this since lost judgment but the main story was Fine (if a bit rushed) because. scott was still doing his thing #the substories in lost judgment also felt like they were of the same calibre (shit.) as remastered and. idk.#it seems like its been a shitshow at SoA behind the scenes for Years #and it shows.

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randomnameless · 3 months ago

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Drankengard done (land 2!)

A lot of nice things in this part, so far it feels like the most FE-like land, and some characters from this land are really interesting!

l firstly love how the plot starts with "we have to rescue this midget prince from 100k soldiers" in one of the few defend maps of this game with various catapults and other engines to attack/defend against a cluster of loldiers coming at you - that was nice compared to the nigh useless ballistas and other engines in FE.

Granted, Gilbert's defining moment after being revealed is basically protecting his vassal from a gotoh-like character who's twice his size and more or less recruiting her for the defend map -

(localisation thingie : no "kisama" for eng/fr script Gilbert, sure it's kind of complicated to put it in words - like an agressive "you" - and yet it gives some nice characterisation, after Amalia rekts Leah and while Gilbert is standing seconds before being surrounded by 100k peons in front of someone who's basically stronger than anyone else around, he is still angry and pissed for his friend's sake) -

Just before being upset at asking our party - aka a foreign nation who was at war with his for the last few decades and revealing that his dad only granted asylum to the princess of said foreign nation to marry her to his heir to conquer it later on - for help.

Hopefully for him his game is no Triangle Strategy, so no one will actually tell him to eat shit because he wasn't the one who liberated the land even if he participed to instead worship the "foreign" person who led the liberation army.

Hell, idk what kind of PR campaign Gilbert and his few loyal soldiers pulled out, but some NPCs are really acting as if he liberated his kingdom single handedly lol

His relationship with his elder brother was sort of developed in the main plot - but more in the equivalent of the support convos - but as I said in another post, I really loved that part where he feels like he's still a second prince, and if his older brother returns, older brother should get the crown even if older brother feels like dirt for failing his country and his father, and became a wandering... mercenary who's busy saving priestresses from jails (and leaving them in the middle of battlefields).

Ultimately, they reunite and more or less solve their issues, and Ludwig manages to tell him that he wouldn't be half the king Gilbert is, because Gilbert is the one who led a rebellion and ultimately led Drakengard free, is loved by this people etc etc.

TBH, while it was short, this was a nice character arc -

(complete with the support/rapport convo just after the final map I unlocked where Gilbert, wanting to know how the common people live in his kingdom, gets plastered with the a random worthless bandit/merc who's freaking out from the entire situation lol)

The other major character from Drakengard is Virginia, the MC's older cousin!

We first see her being kind of pushy and overbearing, sometimes taking the initiative to do rather extreme stuff (wanting to fetch her axe instead of recruiting the earlier worthless bandit/merc), but she's still deferring to the MC, save for a certain mission - because, and kuddos to the game for going there, while Virginia's story is basically a tragic Marth's, aka, when her kingdom was invaded she had to run away to a foreign state for asylum but without any Jeigan, she believed for 10 years and never stopped believing that she was the only one who survived, and thus it was her role and duty to restore the Cornian line on the throne and take back the country from the evil Empire.

And... MC pops up, as the rightful - aka the son of the late queen as opposed to her mere niece - heir thus Virginia's hopes of becoming the Queen and the one to restore her nation vanish.

So kuddos for the game to basically have Virginia tell her cousin that while she was happy to see him and learn he was alive after all those years... she also felt jealous, because the 10 last years she spent having this dream and hope to be the one to restore the country... vanished in 10 minutes lol.

She's not going to challenge Alain's claim to the throne and instead will support him.

Granted, this moment becomes ten times more interesting if you do her own mission before - aka the one where she zerg rushes against the dude who slaughtered her retinue against the advice of Jeigan Joseph and becomes a dreaded green unit (who loses her promotion somehow???), running in a battlefield full of catapults to have her vengeance.

Remember when I said one of her first defining moments is when she asks to be handed her axe to get rid of a worthless merc instead of recruiting him? Well, her words back then were something like "your men died for you, so you can't beg for your life" or something like that, we learn in her own mission that she was basically talking about herself.

Basically, kid!Virginia was supposed to have her Jeigans and Cain/Abel/Draugs and they were supposed to escape and run away together to Drakengard... but they were slaughtered by some general of the evil empire who thought bringing her head would make a good offering to the evil emperor, so the Jeigans, Cains, Abel, Draugs etc etc laid down their lives to allow her to escape - we have a voiced FB with a few images and a battle cinematic, where the knights basically say they will die to make sure she'll be able to escape, and will slow down the evil general with their corpses if needed.

The entire platoon of knights died, and Virginia has been carrying this trauma for ten years, dreaming of having her revenge but never once confiding in anyone from Drakengard about it - not even in her (Gilbert's) vassal Leah who she seemed to be close too earlier.

Short story, the general holds a fort and is supposed to be called back to the evil empire's capital for some reason, and instead of waiting for his departure to recapture the fort, Virginia storms at the general to have her revenge (accompanied by the knights who were just squires when she had to leave, and thus couldn't be there when their senior knights were slaughtered and want revenge as much as she does!).

You have to send Joseph to talk to her to have her turn blue again (and promoted again thank gods) and the re-recruitment scene is cool for 2 things :

1/it's Joseph, not Alain who talks to her because her beef and the one who talked to her and the one whose plan is ignored is Joseph - I love it when the MC isn't at the center of everyone's universe

2/Virginia during this convo notices her friends/knights are injured (they have the injured sprite) and realises she was going to send to their death the last remaining members of that platoon, chastises herself and her next battle lines are something like "I won't let them die/bleed anymore" or something and it's fucking powerful because hey, besides some "vengeance is empty" that she will get later on herself, part of what makes her see reason is the realisation that her allies are injured and were going to die in her quest, and she can't have that anymore (nice ludonarration moment here, Virginia is a tank, if her allies are injured, it's because she wasn't tanking well enough!).

"Vengeance is empty" moment : the evil general who slaughtered her former knights doesn't even remember the people he slaughtered, or the mission where he hunted her, aka, she's been obsessing for 10 years over something her so called "nemesis" forgot.

End of the map, the realisation that her vengeance was nothing + she put her close allies' lives in danger (+ the little bit of salt when she mentions that Alain is the Cornian Royal people should follow because he is royalty) make her want to leave the army as fitting punishment - which, you know, coming from a series where some lord basically goes 1VS1 against the guy who killed his dad and who was followed by his kid sister who put herself in mortal danger but only receives a scold from his not-mom and slap on the wrist just makes me side-eye FE Tellius' writing even more.

Anyways, while I read on redshit that some people were pissed because "wah wah Virginia is a character who does foolish things and there are consequences about it she should be exiled forever or something", she obviously doesn't leave the army because, all of her close allies ask her to stay. Hell, Alain only gives one or two sentences that are dispassionate compared to the other 4 - again to show that MC privileges aren't everything at least plot wise - but the main voice is Leah's - aka her (well) Drakengard retainer!

When earlier Virginia told her that this story and her choice had nothing to do with Drakengard - because it's about Cornian knights who died during her flight from Cornia - Leah now reminds her that she became someone important for Drakengard too, and you know, the 10 years she spent here ? It's not just only background to give some fluff for a teatime line, no, it has more implication, if not only to have this moment where Leah says that Virginia's pride, bravery and hope to restore her country also influenced and inspired people (Gilbert, the second son who had to assume the role of the King when no one else was left!) around her and made the people of Drakengard also hope to liberate their country - if she leaves now, the named character from Cornia will miss her, but also "Drakengard" in general.

To cement her words, after this map we can talk to some Drakengard NPC who's all "wow Princess Virginia is so cool she defeated the bastard in charge of this fortress!" and while idk if Leah's speech + that NPC were added to make the ending where she becomes the queen of Drakengard (save for Alain marrying his cousin) more plausible, but it was a really nice addition.

Adding to that the fact that Virginia is the one who's basically telling Alain (and informing the player) about various map hazards like geysers around the land, giving some backstory about the desert along with Leah and also the one who tells the party about a sort of shortcut/secret passage and yes, we get it that she lived for 10 years in that land and knows it enough to act as a guide, but also that the people around know her.

I mean compare with a game where some dude apparently went to a school in a foreign capital but when he marches on said foreign capital or talks to people who also attended that school he never mentions it - it's like night and day.

Final "daw" moment that is both tied to her character but also, another example that Alain isn't the center of the universe... Virgnia is the one who tells Alain to talk to Aramis (the eldest prince who became a merc!) and ask him to talk to Gilbert to put his worries aside about the throne and the succession and ust, to reunite with his younger brother.

The characters concerned (Gilbert and Aramis) thank Alain for giving them the occasion and push to talk to each other - not knowing this was something Virginia planned, because while hers and Gilbert's issues are sort of similar (the not "legitimate" heir who took the mantle of restoring their country to glory and believed it so for the last decade, only for the legitimate one to return), she has a good enough read on Gilbert to know that he needs to talk to his brother to put his doubts and questions about his legitimacy aside and accept that he is the King.

Coming from a series with "avatar scissors", the bonds and links between the characters was really something I enjoyed, Alain will not pop up and tell Gilbert that he is a good king and should get over/or deal with his doubts about his brother, Alain isn't the one who gives the most meaningful speech about why Virginia is important to Drakengard and hell, we don't even see the exchange we know he had with Aramis to convince him to talk to Gilbert, because the most important scene here isn't the Alain-Aramis dialogue, but the Aramis-Gilbert one. Gilbert doesn't want to free his Kingdom because he envies Alain or Alain told him to do so, it's something he wants to do being inspired by Virginia.

In a nutshell, Drakengard's major characters were a good surprise and their stories and quests were cool.

More minor character wise...

We get the Drakengard version of the same plague we saw in Cornia, but instead of having "clerics" perform experiments on infected people to find a cure, the accent here is put on a wyvern knight who was to enforce a lockdown, to prevent the plague from spreading and well... no fines in this setting, instead she runs them through with her spear.

IDK how that game would have been received just after Covid lol

All jokes asides, just like the Cornian version of this plot heavily suggested, the plague was devised by the evil empire to cut down the forces of the rebellion and make sure this land would be able to be conquered easily.

Why are the imperials killing people? Well, it might have to do something with the fact that the totes-not-gharnef old sorcerer guy is a necromancer...

Leah's quest explored a little more the background info that "Drakengard and Cornia used to be at war" thingie, with random green units also mounting a liberation army but refusing our help, and we know how this ends with green units, we basically have to save them.

Map ends with some Drakengardians - who swore allegeance to the evil Empire? - still willing to fight us, and Alain asking Leah to please ask them, as a Drakengardian (?) to surrender because if someone from Cornia asks them they will refuse.

Also it's a bit of a character exploration, for once the usually demure + always in the back behind Virginia asks the Liberation Army to do something and insists even if people refuse, straight up saying that in that case (if they refuse) she's going to help the green NPCs herself since she's strong enough to do so and it's cool because I think at one moment Virginia sighs/laughs, but not in a derogatory way, but more in some "damn she's becoming like me" way - which is alluded to in ther rapport conversation, Leah seeks to emulate her bold and fearless (being a green unit) behaviour.

I haven't seen a lot of convos with the desert people we recruit - thank goodness we're far from Hyzante's clichés even if the "people in the desert are bandits and former prisoners" trope is still here, but given how the ones who attack us were brainwashed by the evil Empire, it's not as aggravating as, well, Nopes or Hyzante.

Gameplay wise :

Damn if promoting your units cost medals, but it's so worth it to have more than one action (at least) per turn ! It also means we can use entire new strategies because now the turns are at least longer than one round each!

Drakengard fills the Jugdral quota with the group of units coming all at once at you sometimes lol, but I loved the aesthetic difference that ultimately became gameplay difference between this area and Cornia, basically we have more mountains to less space to manoeuver the non flying units, the enemies use AoE engines to ruin you or at times, AoE map abilities from their own units to deal some annoying amount of damage.

The cities are larger so instead of fighting in a meadow with one or two small buildings here and there, at times the fight takes place in an entire city, so again, it means reduced mobility and of course, desert sucks because, just like FE, you can't move well in the sand.

Lolcalisation wise :

Virginia "I have never been fond of court formalities" says a desert full of bandit isn't a place for "royalty like us"? When the "us" is both her and her cousin reknown for their martial abilities?

What the fuck does it mean ?

At least in FR it's "a lot of people avoid this place" and not just "royalty like us" - which doubles as ridiculous because in the "people avoid this place" it's again the trend of Virginia being a tour guide of Drankengard, telling Alain that people from Drakengard think about the desert, eluding this part is also, in part, eluding part of the knowledge Virginia has about Drakengard.

I think the localisation took the "royal pride" that defines her and exaggerated it to "royal arrogance".

IDK if the meaning is the same in english, cretin is an insult like in french, but damn if you say to someone the are a "crétin" they will feel offended and insulted because that's way more rude than calling someone an idiot!

And I also have a bone against whoever thought it was a good idea to throw "pseudo elvish" words in the localised script (sadly we followed this :'() when the japanese audio doesn't use them at all, was it to pretend the evles from Fevrith have a different language because Tolkien shall be universal, or what?

Elf land doesn't see that interesting plot wise compared to Drakengard, and I'm not saying this because of my Alcina bias lol but I'll just have to wait and see!

(poor hodrick is being slaughtered by those pesky pointy ears and their hybrid attacks, tfw armor not withstanding magic is universal, I'll have to promote Miriam asap to protect him or just bench him :/)

#unicorn overlord stuff #i like Alain but seeing other characters run the show is just #super cool after the avatar wanking from the previous FE titles or the general lord wanking #small Gilbert kisama-ing Amalia was hilarious lol #too bad it was localised away #the redshit double standard regarding Virginia though #Alain if he didn't had Joseph could also zerg rush against Galerius and get him and his friends killed because he wants revenge #what not having joseph does to someone lol #alain notices it in their rapport convo #Virginia had no time to play board games like him in those ten years since their country fell she trained and nurtured her vengeance #while also navigating this foreign country on her own and learning a lot about it and its people #no banging swords together with lex on a beach lol #but in general much like BK #I like how background matters for characters and how some of them have a lot of ties thanks to that background #to others it feels natural #and while I know Alain can ultimately use his MC scissors to marry/become BFF with everyone #at least as for the plot mandated interactions people can talk to each other #outside of support convos #can you imagine if we could have a scene post Flayn's kidnapping where we happen on Doro talking to Manu and worrying about her health?#but like a full cutscene and not only two characters being next to each other to have 3 lines on the world map?#I'll miss the bgm for Drakengard the Elfheim one isn't as catchy :(

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