#and its more quiet than it is in the game

[livingsurreal]

Thoughts and theories in regards to my favorite senior necromancer

This man swept me of my feet so completely that I am still reeling. He is my new Solavellan and the amount of feels I have about him, its ungodly.

So I present to you my way to long essay about why Emmrich is the saddest and greatest man Bioware ever created, right next to Solas.

Please be aware of spoilers if you have not completed the game yet.

Also, shutout to @jaal-ama-daravv - you were looking for others peoples thoughts and theories. Also, thank you for all your posts and love for Emmrich.

(Edit for typos)

Their whole romance starts with dear Rook trying to flirt with him. And Rook being Rook their flirts are… questionable. I image Rook always doing a facepalm “Oh god, what did I just say?” afterwards. They… are not really that good at flirting. Half the time he doesn’t even seem to get that Rook was flirty with him.

But, oh, he did get it. He just couldn’t really comprehend it. This pretty, young and exciting person, flirting with him?!? Rook can be anything up to their mid-40s according to canon. That is not that much younger than him. But to him, they do SEEM young. Despite them being somewhat younger than Emmrich, I do think though, in quite a few ways, they are more experienced and knowledgeable than him. Emmrich led a pretty sheltered life. His childhood seems to be a happy one, despite them being poor. The loss of his parents had a huge impact on his life. To a degree where it still impacts him in a major way, even now, a lifetime later. But outside of that, I don’t think there was much strife or adventure in his life.

He is a quiet man who loves his books, and his time and work in the necropolis. He rarely even left the Necropolis. He never saw much of the world outside of it. But he always wanted to. Always dreamed of some kind of adventure. I think this is one of the reasons he so readily agreed to help Rook. A chance for adventure (and to help the world).

So here he finds himself in the company of a vibrant adventurous Rook who has seen and experienced so much. I think no matter their age difference, they would seem younger, “fresh faced” and vibrant to him. They are so full of life compared to him, who has not done that much living in recent years. They are less stuck in their ways, are out in the world and not sequestered in a life of routine.

In some ways he seems to be older than he is. That man is in his 50s. That is NOT old. But he seems to have lacked the courage to take life by its horns and just ride it. He is cautious, a coward in many ways. But somehow this dear Rook seems to bring out a different side of him. An almost forgotten yearning for more.

So, Rook awkwardly flirts with him. Bumbles and stumbles over words to flatter him. And he is exhilarated, touched and most of all confused. Why would this beautiful, vibrant person be interested in HIM of all people. There are other people around who should be so much more interesting to them than him. And how could he not be interested in them himself? They are, in a way, what he wants to be. Adventurous. Full of life. Indomitable. No matter what life throws at them, they refuse to yield. They have a courage the lacks, or thinks he lacks.

But that man is so much braver than he thinks. The fact that he is so open with Rook about his thanatophobia, even with a Rook that is not romantically interested in him is so touching. He tells them his most inner fears and all he wishes for it in return is some respect and kindness.

So, after some light and awkward flirting he tells them. If they DO mean it, he is interested. Emmrich is a deeply romantic man. In the dept of his heart he does not want a short-term affair. He wants someone to spend his life with. He wants something real. He wants everything.  It’s what he always wanted, but never found and had completely given up upon.  So he opens up a bit more.

But around that time, he also realizes that he absolutely has to tell them about his plans for lichdom. He tells the Rook on the friendship path why he hopes for their help in regard of Johanna. He explains why it is so important to him to find and stop Johanna.

Same goes for Rook on the romance path. But here comes the other side of the coin. Lichdom puts a possible halt on their fledging romance. He cannot know if Rook would be willing to continue what they’ve barely started.

They may either continue under the understanding that they have just temporary affair. What he never wanted. He always wanted that eternal flame – but by the Maker he wants to be with them, even if it is just a short time. He is still all feely at this point and the whole scope of his emotions have not yet hit him.

Or even, can he dare to dream, beyond that point of no return and stay with him after he becomes a Lich.

But he must put it out there. He cannot go further into their romance pretending his plans do not exist. He thinks Rook has a right to know what they are getting in to, and he is correct (and much respected) for that.

At the end, Rook commits to being with him with the full knowledge that Lichdom will come, sooner or later. If they stay with him from that point on is still undecided, but for now they are his. And how can he say no to that. He certainly did not expect this. I believe he fully expected this to be their end. But his confession ended truly in a night of unexpected splendor.

So, we know he always wanted “enduring affection”, love and commitment. And he had his fair share of lovers, paramours and affairs. I would think that he is someone who, when he does fall in love, loves so deeply and completely that it often scared his lovers away.

Not necessarily in an unhealthy way, but he is, underneath all that poise and manners, a deeply romantic man with strong emotions. I don’t think that Rook is special b/c he loves them more than he could love someone else, but b/c they not only accept all his love, more so, they welcome and return it in equal measure. They accept him and want him, even with all the baggage he comes with.

I think he was burned quite a few times in the past. So, he is trying to hold back, “be normal about it”. It’s just hard when this person he loves so much looks at him like he is their moon and stars and flame eternal. It’s hard when he feels finally and completely seen. He told them about his deepest fears, his plans about lichdom, and they are still here, willing to be on his side all the way. And while they seem to act like teenagers being all over each other, all want and need and stolen kisses, I think what they feel goes way deeper from the start.

At the same time, I also think that is partly at fault for not being able to find a lasting relationship. He had people in his live who did not want to fully commit to him. But I also think, the he never truly committed to anyone. He did, surely, on a more surface level. But a part of him always stayed closed off. He never gave himself completely. His fears made sure of that. What happens with Rook, the wonderful, oh so romantic start of their relationship? Only to end in this uncomfortable limbo because he lacks “the guts to say how he feels”? I think that was not the first time a relationship ended sour this way for him.

Take the amount of his feelings, add to that his thanatophobia, and that poor man becomes more and more a complete mess. What starts out as exciting and new and OMG THEY LIKE ME, becomes soon a new target for his fears. All those feelings inside him warring with each other. He wants to pin them against a wall and declare his undying love and run and hide at the same time.

Then comes Manfreds sacrifice and his big decision. Will he restore Manfred? Will he give up his friend to achieve his dreams?

Since I went with Manfred, I will mainly describe my feelings regarding mortal Emmrich. Though I believe Lich Emmrich suffers from the same base fears, they just find a different target.

Tbh, what Lace says to him certainly would not have helped. Her words feed into his doubts and fears and give them credibility. See, even Lace says this might not be right. Rook is younger. They move too fast. He will die earlier. Rook will be devastated. A whirlwind of emotions and half formed thoughts fueled by fear.

All he ever sees and what is constantly on his mind is not the time they can spend together, but the end of their time together. His death, their death, it does not matter. One of them will be gone and the other will be left with the pain he felt after his parents died. A pain that might even be worse than what he felt back then.

Rook being younger just becomes the vehicle by which he tries to convince himself that this might not be such a good idea after all. But its all his fears speaking.

And fear can be so strong, so overwhelming.

When they had this fight, my read on his words was that he wanted to break up with Rook. His words at that moment are condescending, bordering on mean.  He is lashing out. We know he can be vindictive when he feels wronged, but he is nothing but kind and gentle to those he likes and who treat him with respect. I think, in a way, that it was not necessarily a conscious decision, but more of an instinct to hurt Rook. To make them angry and not love him anymore. To make it easier to end it, spare them the pain of breaking up now and of loosing him to death one day. By protecting himself from the pain of their death should he outlive them.

As if that would work and make any difference to Rook, or him. They are already so madly in love with each other.

And I think, what makes Rook different from his previous partners is that they realized, if they let him finish this sentence, he might break something beyond repair. Even if it was his fear speaking at that moment, not his love. Running away from his feelings is a recurring theme for him. And he does not WANT to break up with them. But his fear tells him its better this way. Fear is a liar, though.

So they speak a harsh truth. It’s his fear, insecurities and cowardice speaking. They do not let him get away with it. It is harsh, yes. But I think it was also necessary. It spells out a truth he did not want to admit to himself. He is afraid, insecure and a coward. And the big question, is that what he wants to be? They are, in sadly not the nicest way, telling him to get hid goddamn shit together. And sometimes that’s needed. Especially for an academic man like Emmrich. No Emmrich, that is not logical. It is pure emotion and fear is running your life, not you.

In a perfect world they would have told him so in a calm and collected manner. Less harsh words and more kindness. But would that have had the same impact on Emmrich? Rook is a person too, with their own fears and hopes and dreams. And Emmrich right now is breaking their heart. I think he needed that. To see the pain and hurt he inflicted on them.

Can you imagine the regret he would feel in the end? If he left Rook? It would leave him a broken shell of a man. His final defeat. Fear had won. Nothing would be better, and no one would have been spared any pain. I would just be a lifetime of regret and what ifs. The one person who accepted him fully, loved him so deeply, and HE threw everything away.

I think, the time Rook was trapped inside the fade prison might have been the best thing that could happen in the long run. It’s all his fears come to reality. Rook is gone. He lost them. And he just wants to curl up and hide. But he can’t. He needs to find them. If he lets fear win now, Rook might be lost forever. He cannot allow himself to be coward now. I think this time was a come-to-Jesus moment for him. It forced him to look at his fears and what they’ve cost him. It’s a moment where he needs to stop letting fear control his life.

The last real private moment they had was a fight, filled with fear and anger. (That short apology in the middle of a battlefield was hardly private and could in no way make up for the words that were said.)

That last evening should have been a time filled with love. A memory to cherish. But now it’s a memory one would want to forget. And that was his own doing. It was not something out of his control, like “death”. It was his words and actions that tainted their time together. And what if that was the last time they’d seen each other, been with each other? What if that is his last real memory of them? The look of anger and pain and hurt on Rooks face, caused by HIM, by what he had actively said and done? I think this might be the first time he realizes that his fears take more from him, than death ever could.

Phobias and anxieties are not cured that easily, of course. I think in a way, they will always stay with him, to a degree. But I do think he had some important realizations that will put him on a path of growing. At least in regards of how he deals with his fears.

And then he found them. He found his Rook. They are back and they are alive. He can hold them in his arms again and how could he ever even think about turning away from them? They are a gift, a miracle, the deepest wish fulfilled. A wish he’d given up upon. Something he thought he would never have.

And then the last scene with the coffin. Okay here I go the Astarion route and I am absolutely convinced that that coffin is his. Of course he had planned all things in regards to his death. He had chosen the crypt he wanted to be buried in. And at that moment he took them there. The place that had been the mark of the final end, now the mark of the rest of his life. And Rook? Rook still wants him, after everything. They still love him.

When they pull him into a kiss? He doesn’t see the end of their time, but the start of the rest of their life together. That look on his face when Rook leads him to that coffin? This look of absolute vulnerability? I think, in a way, this is a first time for him. All open and vulnerable. All he is and feels no longer hidden away but cherished and loved. He will always fear loosing them, them loosing him, how could he not. But they are here and HE is finally able to truly commit. He is finally giving everything. He will always fear, but now love wins. Rook holds his heart in their hands, and he trusts them completely. He gives himself to them. He is theirs, forever.

Hell, that man breaks my heart in so many ways.

So what’s in store for them in the future? Sadly we do not get epilogue sliders for our LIs.

But those two I truly think are in it for the long haul. There will be many good days, filled with happiness and laughter and kisses. They will go on adventures, see the world, experience life together in its fullest.

There will also be bad days, when fear rears its head, and his chest hurts from the sheer pain it inflicts on him. But I hope he comes to a point where he is able to turn to Rook in those times, instead of pushing them away. Where he lets them comfort him, hold him, until this feeling loses its grip on him.

Those bad days will never diminish those wonderful days they have together, though. Just a rain cloud, hiding the sun for a day or two. And it can’t rain forever.

Then, when one of them finally goes on to their last journey, they will wait for their love. And when they are united again, they walk eternity hand in hand.

[fratttymatty]

The Card That Changed Everything

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot Novak had always been the quintessential "nerd" in high school. At 18, he was just a few weeks away from graduating, a proud member of the debate team, the editor of the school newspaper, and a staunch liberal in a town that was a bit more on the conservative side. With thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and a backpack full of books slung over one shoulder, he had always felt a little out of place. His friends, a small but close-knit group of fellow "outsiders," often joked that if the high school hierarchy were a pyramid, he’d be firmly planted at the bottom, right next to the chess club.

Elliot had been expecting a quiet, uneventful Friday night. But when his best friend, Max, invited him over for a game night, he reluctantly agreed. It was nothing too out of the ordinary—just a few games of Uno and maybe some pizza. What he didn’t expect was that this seemingly innocent night would change his life forever.

It started innocently enough. The group—Max, his girlfriend Lily, and Sarah from the drama club—sat around Max’s living room, laughing and talking as they shuffled the colorful cards. The first few rounds of Uno passed without incident. Elliot was his usual self: sarcastic, quick-witted, and, as always, a little too passionate about winning.

Then came the final game of the night. For some reason, the cards seemed to fall differently. He felt a strange energy in the room, a kind of buzz that seemed to hum in his ears. It was Max who had drawn the last card, and as he placed it down, there was a sudden flash of light, so brief that no one noticed—except Elliot.

The world seemed to tilt.

He blinked, disoriented, trying to shake the odd feeling of vertigo. The room appeared the same, but everything felt… different. He looked down at his hands, which were suddenly larger, more muscular, the knuckles rougher. His clothes felt tighter, almost too tight. As if on instinct, he reached up to adjust his glasses, but they weren’t there.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his voice coming out deeper, rougher than usual.

Max, still grinning from winning the last round, glanced over. “You okay, man?”

Elliot’s heart started to race as he realized something was wrong. He glanced at the mirror across the room, and for a moment, he barely recognized the reflection staring back at him. His once lean, skinny body had transformed into something broader, more defined—his arms, his chest, his jawline—all of it seemed so different. His short, curly brown hair was now dark and tousled in thick, messy curls, and his face, still familiar in shape, had lost its nerdy softness, replaced by the sharp angles of a confident, athletic young man.

He was no longer the bookish Elliot Novak. In the mirror, staring back at him, was someone new.

“Max, I don’t… I don’t think I’m okay,” Elliot’s—no, his new voice—sounded unfamiliar, confident in a way it had never been before.

“Dude, you’re acting weird. What’s wrong?” Max asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I… I feel different,” Elliot murmured. But as he spoke, he didn’t feel the anxiety or the usual sense of out-of-place-ness he had grown accustomed to. Instead, there was something else—a surge of confidence, a sense of power. A feeling of certainty.

He was no longer Elliot Novak. He was Ethan Cole.

Ethan ran his fingers through his new head of tousled, dark brown curls, noticing how it felt different, more natural than his old look ever had. He straightened his back, feeling the strength in his spine, the ease of standing tall. He had always been awkward about his body, but now it was as if he had been molded into something new, something purposeful.

Max looked him up and down, his eyes widening. “Holy crap, Elliot, what the hell happened to you?”

The name Elliot felt wrong in Ethan's mouth. "It’s Ethan, man. You know, like… the name that suits me," he said with an easy smirk, not understanding why he was suddenly so at ease with himself. A new sense of self-assurance flooded his veins, and he felt an overwhelming desire to flex his muscles, to show off this newfound strength.

"You're acting weird," Max muttered, unsure what to make of this transformation. But Ethan was already adjusting to his new life.

He looked at the game of Uno, now discarded on the floor, and the realization hit him. It was the game, the card. It had changed everything, even his very identity. But rather than panic, he felt a strange sense of… relief.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn't miss being the old Elliot. Being Ethan felt right. His thoughts began to align with his new persona—no more arguing about social justice issues, no more complicated liberal viewpoints. No, now he saw things clearly. The world was about competition, dominance, and personal achievement. It made sense. Everything made sense.

And the people around him? They weren’t so different from him anymore. He gave Max a friendly clap on the back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro. But we should hit the gym sometime, huh?”

Max blinked in surprise. “Uh… sure, man. That actually sounds good.”

But something in Max had shifted too. His posture straightened, his eyes narrowed with sudden focus, and an unexpected grin spread across his face. “Yeah, you’re right. I could use a solid workout. We should start lifting.”

As if by magic, Max’s transformation mirrored Ethan’s. His body began to tighten and firm up, his once lean frame now more muscular, shoulders broader, chest more defined. His hair, always scruffy, seemed to grow thicker, more styled—almost like it had a purpose now. He gave Ethan a playful shove. “Maybe I’ll even beat you at this gym thing.”

Ethan grinned. “You can try.”

The two exchanged a knowing look, as if they were already bonding over something bigger than just physical strength. It was a new world, one where power and confidence ruled. For Ethan, it felt like a natural fit.

As the evening wore on, Ethan felt something else—something different in the air. Kassie, Max’s girlfriend, had been sitting on the couch, watching their interactions. She was the type of girl who didn’t usually give Ethan much attention. But now, there was something new about him—something magnetic, something that drew her in.

She looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and the way his new curls framed his face. She smiled slowly. “Ethan, right? I’ve gotta say, you’re looking good.”

Ethan felt his chest puff with pride. “Thanks, Kassie. You’re not so bad yourself.”

She laughed lightly, a flirtatious edge to her tone. “How about we grab a coffee sometime? You and me?”

Ethan smirked, feeling the newfound confidence flood his veins. “Sounds like a date.”

By the end of the night, Ethan had fully embraced his new life. He wasn’t just a jock in body; he was a jock in spirit. His new persona felt like home. Kassie was his girlfriend now, Max was a jock too, and together they would rule the school.

The old Elliot, with his liberal ideals, his anxiousness, his nerdy quirks—was nothing more than a distant memory.

Ethan Cole was here to stay.

[mythalism]

another thing i love, but this one is controversial, is the portrayal of the inquisitor. NOT their tiny insignificant role in the game until the 11th hour while they send us weirdly formal and deeply out of character letters but the actual dialogue from my lavellan and the way she carries herself in the scenes we do see of her (though there should have been more, without a doubt) is actually my favorite part of the game probably. i know this is maybe a very solavellan inquisitor exclusive experience and also just dumb luck that the way they wrote her in this game fits my lavellan but holy shit im so obsessed with it. its not even how i imagined how she would behave but its even better? the way they managed to convey her growth and maturity after 10 years literally floored me, and yet she still maintains this wistfulness that feels so incredibly right. the way she speaks with such confidence and conviction in her conversation with rook about her relationship with solas and then suddenly dissolves into pauses and stutters and “i don’t know”s when confronted with the possibility that there might actually be a future for them is INSANE. “or maybe I’m the prideful one, imagining his broken heart so that I don’t have to face my folly. that i loved someone who made such grave mistakes. that I might love him still” IS THE BEST LINE IN THE ENTIRE GAME. TO ME. IM SO SERIOUS. i watched that scene over and over and over and over again. the way she sits rook down and demands they tell her what solas did at the ritual with such authority but also the faintest glimmer of naive, foolish hope in her eyes that he might be salvageable is so sickening, and the way she turns it around on rook in the end to playfully ask about their love life. it’s like watching The Inquisitor switch turn off mid conversation. and there she is!!! that’s her!!!! of course she would ask rook about their lover of course she would she fell in love during the end of the world too!!! the several knowing looks shared between her and morrigan (“speaking from the heart, inquisitor?”) that imply a much deeper friendship has blossomed since we last saw them. her one little line with dorian - “something like that”. even the way she quietly sneaks into the throne room at the end, completely alone, as if she snuck away from the rest holed up below the archons palace. “even if those you have wronged asked you to stop?” the pained look on her face. the way she gets on her knees to look him in the eye. the way she speaks in elvhen, the implication that she has been studying it over the past 10 years. the fact that she does not touch him until after he takes her hands. literally every second of it is so good. it feels so so so right to me. it’s honestly as if, because my inquisitor has grown older than me by almost a decade, it was hard for me to imagine what she’d be like in her mid-30s, after so many hard years of grief and loneliness and the burdens of leadership. and the writers were just like “it’s okay, here, this is what she would be like after all this time”, AND THEY WERE RIGHT!? and it’s so subtle but it’s literally spot-on. it feels like the most natural progression of who she was. a little bit more sad, a bit more quiet, her words are more measured, no more snarky one liners (and maybe that’s why I love it so much- it’s such a refreshing change from listening to rook talk like they’re on Disney channel), there is a weight to her words and her presence that conveys her age and experience so clearly to me. veilguard made me love my inquisitor so much more. it has made me understand her so much more. it has clarified who she was in inquisition in the context of who she becomes later. im so obsessed with it im SO OBSESSED WITH HER!!!

[muffinsin]

Hi. I like your fanfics and I wanted to ask. How did the Dimitrescu sisters react to the reader's fearlessness? Well, like they were constantly trying to scare her but there was no result.

Hi, hon :) absolutely! Haha, I can see Cassandra especially being a huge menace

Let’s get into it🙌

Masterlists

Bela

Often, she doesn’t have the time for playfulness, or tries not to show it to seem more mature than her sisters

She usually sticks to commands, or killing when that’s what’s necessary

That being said, she finds: she likes to tease you

She’s got a history of “sneaking up” on people without meaning to

Multiple times, she is said to appear behind others, her flies a little quieter than the ones of her sisters

That alone means that most jump from this

Even when she doesn’t try

You’re the first to stay calm

You don’t jump. You don’t squeal. You don’t even gasp or flinch

Normally, she wouldn’t bother with such childish games

She thinks; who cares if you don’t get scared?

Well…she cares!

It rubs her the wrong way for some reason

And as such, she begins to put a little more effort in

She makes sure she’s entirely silent when she moves, now

No flies, no footsteps, she even holds her breath!

Then, she steps behind you and just waits for you to turn around, eager to see this fear in your eyes, smirking already at the mere thought as she anticipates this

But when you turn around…

“Oh? I didn’t even hear you enter, Lady Bela! Can I help you?”

Her smirk falters quickly, and if she was a little less mature, she would start growling unhappily

But, no matter! She supposes, she will just try again…!

And so, the next time, she sneaks up to you and suddenly speaks, hoping to make you jump as she has so many others before

And she tries again, and again, and again

And eventually, to her greatest annoyance, you turn around once just when she’s about to scare you again

And, to her greatest surprise, you place a quick kiss to her nose that has her squeak in surprise

Frozen in place and wide eyed, she only watches you walk off

Someday…!

Cassandra

It really is no secret that Cassandra is considered fearsome

Maidens make way for her in the halls, adverting their eyes as if scared to even look at her and possibly draw her attention

Prisoners back up in their cells at the mere sound of her swarm, terrified- with good reason!

Oh, and she loves it!

She loves the thrill

She loves the look of it when eyes widen in fear and hearts begin to race

She loves the quiet whimpers, the ragged breaths

She loves this fear

Oh, and she loves inflicting it!

Here and there, without effort. Her mere presence enough to scare someone, her weapons coming in when that doesn’t work right away

Then, there’s you

The first time she tries to scare you is in the armory, when she sneaks up on you and snatches you, suddenly pushing you up against the stony wall

She awaits your fear, eagerly so, but no such thing comes

No racing heart, not out of fear anyway, no wide eyes, no terror written across your face

She raises her sickle to your face, snarling enough to show off her sharp teeth

This, and the blood on her face, should be enough

But you’re still looking more confused than scared

“Is there something I can do, my Lady?”, you ask, resisting the urge to giggle when she growls and pulls away

She leaves for the moment, but now it’s clear: you’ve challenged her

And from then on, in the following months, she keeps trying to scare you over, and over, and over again

She jumps out of corners, hoping to see you jump in return

But nothing. Not even a flinch, it seems

And still, when you do flinch, its’s out of surprise, not fear

She leaves limbs across your room, arms, legs, skulls, trophies from her hunts, guts

Normally, the maidens would squeal

You don’t. You’re not nearly as phased as you should be!

She doesn’t realize, it’s almost cute to you how she leaves you one “gift” after another

But, she’s determined

One day…one day!

Daniela

Following Cassandra, Daniela scares maidens the most

Sometimes, unintentionally

She’s just very fast, really

And as such, when she darts around corners without looking and nearly runs into a staff member, she often comes to face with wide, terrified eyes as they make way for her

At other times, it’s…less unintentional

She gets a certain thrill out of it, really

Sometimes, it’s for fun

She loves to join her sister in scaring the maidens

Occasionally, they make a game out of it, counting how many they can scare and gaining “bonus points” whenever they scare one into passing out

That, she thinks, is the most fun!

And at other times, she just finds it so…beautiful, almost

To see the vulnerability when one is in a state of fear…

The wide eyes, the fear in them

The trembling hands

The racing heart

She too often confuses the latter with love, really…

And then, there’s you..

When she corners you, you don't flinch away from her

Your eyes widen, yes, and your heart races, but you don't scream

You don't squeal

You don't flinch away

You don't back away

You don't close your eyes, as if she was some devil cast away by not looking at her

She frowns a little, confused. Normally, the maidens squeal a lot more...!

She sticks her tongue out at you, opens her mouth wide to let you see the sharp teeth in her mouth, but you still don't look terrified

Instead, you only tilt your head a little, smiling when she begins to pout at you

And when she swarms off, you think that's it

You push it off as a strange encounter, but think little else of it

That it, until the next day

Again, Daniela attempts to scare you

She suddenly drops down from above the door just when you're about to enter, but you only stop in your tracks to avoid running into her

She pulls a face at you, raising her hands and curling her fingers a little as if to scare you more

You remain unfazed, though a little amused by the display

And again, she frowns, unsatisfied

Later on, she jumps out from above again, fast as lightning

And again, you barely react!

By now, you've caught on and know that she isn't in need of anything, is only hoping to scare you

And a part of you is curious to see her reaction when you fake fear. But still, you hold back, not wanting to offer up a scene

You know, after all:

She will keep trying

[delulustateofmind]

JJK x Reader: Love is a cruel thing, isn't it?

Characters: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Shoko

TW: ANGST, open endings?, Being mean to the people we love, established relationships.

WC: 3.3k

a/n: I started writing, "I bite" annddddd this is what you all got. Heavy angst. Non-yandere for once! A collection of mini-angst fics.

Satoru: Runaway

The traditional bride’s suite of the Gojo estate felt like a prison, the air thick and oppressive despite the delicate floral fragrance drifting in from the gardens outside. You sat alone, knees pulled to your chest on the cool tatami mats, staring at the wedding dress hanging before you.

It was exquisite, almost unreal, with its delicate embroidery shimmering like frost under the soft glow of the lanterns. Diamonds dotted the fabric like stars in an unreachable sky. A dream, or maybe a nightmare.

Your stomach twisted painfully as you stared at it, the weight of expectation pressing down on your shoulders.

You couldn’t do this.

Your eyes flickered between the dress and the pile of old street clothes folded beside your duffle bag. Jeans you’d had for years, worn sneakers that carried the dust of too many steps, and a wrinkled shirt that smelled faintly of detergent and familiarity. They looked so out of place, in this room of silks and luxury. But they were you.

Not this.

The whispers you’d heard in the halls played over and over in your mind, cruel and biting.

“She doesn’t belong here.”

“She can’t even see cursed energy. What was he thinking?”

“She’s an orphan—how disgraceful.”

The elders’ words cut even deeper, spoken directly to you during the endless dinners and meetings. They didn’t even try to hide their disdain. You weren’t a person to them. You were a body, a vessel, someone to carry the next Gojo heir. Nothing more.

Your gaze dropped to the diamond ring on your finger. It sparkled too brightly, almost mocking. It felt heavy. Wrong.

You thought of Satoru then. His smile when he wasn’t performing for the world, when it was just you and him in the quiet moments. The way he’d pull you into his arms without warning, burying his face in your hair as though he could lose himself in you. His infectious laughter when you’d beat him at a game, how he’d sulk for all of two seconds before grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world.

In those moments, he wasn’t Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive. He was just… Satoru. Just yours.

But reality was cruel. Because he was Gojo Satoru. And he didn’t belong to you. He belonged to the world, a man too big, too powerful, to be truly yours.

And you? You didn’t belong here.

The tears came before you could stop them, silent and hot as they slipped down your cheeks. You stood on shaky legs, your heart pounding as you packed your bag, folding your wrinkled clothes with trembling hands. You hesitated only once—your fingers brushing against the engagement ring before you slipped it off. It felt cold as you placed it into a small box, a faint ache spreading through your chest like a crack splitting your heart in two.

The garden was quiet as you slipped outside, the weight of the duffle bag on your shoulder grounding you. The cool night air kissed your skin, carrying with it the faint scent of flowers and the soft rustle of leaves. You kept to the shadows, moving quickly, every step feeling heavier than the last.

The gate was just ahead, the exit you’d memorized. You could picture his face already—Satoru’s shock when he realized you were gone. The way his bright blue eyes would widen, the playful spark in them extinguished by the weight of your absence. You could imagine the crack in his voice as he said your name, his confusion morphing into heartbreak.

Your chest tightened, but you pushed forward. This was better. This was kinder. Staying would destroy you both in the end.

Your hand reached for the gate’s latch, your fingers trembling as they brushed the cold metal.

Then—warmth.

A hand closed around your wrist, firm yet gentle, and your heart plummeted as you froze in place.

“Don't.”

Suguru: Two broken souls. 

The dining room was silent, save for the faint creak of the wooden chair you shifted on. The room felt colder than usual, the morning light filtering through the thin curtains casting long, muted shadows across the table. Your hands were wrapped around the coffee cup, not for the warmth, but for the grounding weight of it. You didn’t dare look at Suguru. Not yet.

He leaned against the windowsill, his profile half-illuminated by the pale light of day. The cigarette in his hand burned lazily, the ash threatening to fall with each shallow exhale. He stared out at the sprawling Tokyo skyline, though you doubted he was really seeing it. His free hand rested in his pocket, his fingers twitching now and then, betraying an agitation he didn’t care to voice.

The words sat heavy in your throat, clinging there like shards of glass. You wanted to swallow them back down, bury them where they couldn’t resurface. But they came anyway, trembling and fractured.

“I’m sorry—” you began, the words barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You hesitated. What could you possibly say to fix this? Could anything even be fixed? “I’m sorry for last night. I didn’t mean it.”

He didn’t move. For a moment, you wondered if he even heard you. But then, he turned his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his expression. His dark eyes were unreadable, heavy with something you couldn’t name—anger, regret, or perhaps just exhaustion.

“You always say that,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse, as if the words were dragged from some deep, painful place. He brought the cigarette to his lips, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl out into the cold November air. “We both do.”

His words hung between you like an accusation, and maybe they were. You weren’t sure if you could argue against it. Last night had been another one of those fights—the kind that left you both gutted, wondering if the love you shared was even still there, or if it had been eroded by the years of unresolved pain and festering wounds.

“You’re right,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “We keep saying things we don’t mean, but... maybe some part of us does.”

That caught his attention. Suguru turned to face you fully, the cigarette forgotten as it smoldered between his fingers. His gaze bore into you, searching for something in your face, your eyes, your slumped posture. He looked tired—not just physically, but soul-deep, like a man who had carried the weight of too many things for far too long.

“That’s what you think?” he asked, his voice soft, almost disbelieving. “That I meant it? That I wanted to hurt you?”

You flinched, the memory of his words from the night before hitting you like a freight train. You’ll never become a mother. You’ll never be a wife. You’ll never be good enough. The bitterness in his voice, the sharp edge of his tone—it had all felt too real in the moment, too pointed to be anything but the truth.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admitted, your fingers tightening around the mug. “Maybe you did. Or maybe I deserved it.”

His brows furrowed, a flicker of frustration passing over his face. He stubbed the cigarette out on the windowsill, the gesture harsh and final. “You didn’t deserve that,” he said firmly, his voice carrying an edge of anger. At himself, or at you, you weren’t sure.

“Then why did you say it?” you shot back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “Why do we keep doing this, Suguru? Hurting each other over and over, like it’s the only thing we know how to do?”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. He looked away, his gaze falling to the floor. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until he finally spoke.

“Because it’s easier than admitting that we’re falling apart,” he said quietly. “That we’ve been falling apart for a long time.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you had to bite down on the sob that threatened to escape. He was right, of course. You both knew it. The love that had once been your sanctuary, your safe harbor, had become something unrecognizable—something jagged and painful, like the shards of that broken picture frame.

“I wanted forever with you,” you said, your voice trembling as tears blurred your vision. “I wanted to build a life with you, Suguru. I wanted to believe we could fix each other, that we could be happy together. But... I don’t know how to reach you anymore.”

His shoulders sagged, and he took a hesitant step toward you, his hand hovering in the air like he wanted to touch you but didn’t know if he was allowed to. “You don’t have to fix me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You never did. And maybe... maybe that’s the problem. We were trying so hard to fix each other that we forgot how to just be together.”

The words cut through you, raw and honest, and you felt your tears spill over. You didn’t know if this was the end for you and Suguru, or if there was still something worth salvaging. But in that moment, as the two of you stood there, broken and bleeding in ways neither of you could fully understand, you realized that love wasn’t always enough. Sometimes, it was the cracks that swallowed everything whole.

Nanami: Somebody always gets hurt.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee teased you awake, mingling with the faint warmth of the sun filtering through the curtains. You stirred, eyes fluttering open as a soft kiss brushed against your lips. His kiss. His scent—clean, comforting—lingered close.

Your gaze landed on the man beside you, golden hair tousled and framing his sharp features. Nanami Kento stood with a tray in hand, your favorite latte and a neatly wrapped pastry perched on it. He noticed your awakening and offered a rare, gentle smile, one that softened the usually stern planes of his face.

“What’s all this?” you murmured with a sleepy laugh, sitting up and pulling the sheets higher around you.

“Just thought you needed a little pick-me-up,” he said, his voice warm and steady as he handed you the coffee. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for just a moment. “Figured I might’ve been a bit rough on you last night.”

That soft smile. That tender tone. You couldn’t look at him for long.

Your own smile faltered, just barely. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

“Ken…” you started, your voice catching on the lump in your throat. You shook your head quickly, forcing yourself to sit straighter, to steel yourself. “I—I can’t do this anymore.”

The words felt heavier than they should have, like they were dragging your chest down with them.

He stilled. His hand, still resting near your cheek, fell away. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly, confusion etched into his expression.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suddenly needing to put space between your body and his. “Whatever this is, it can’t keep happening. I’m not—I can’t be the person you want me to be.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as though trying to decipher the meaning behind them. Then his lips parted, his brows furrowing ever so slightly.

“We’re not seeing other people,” he began, his voice calm but with an edge of urgency. “We spend time together. We go on dates. If it’s about the label—”

“It’s not about a label,” you interrupted, your tone sharper than you meant it to be. You had to stop him. If he kept listing every reason this should work, you’d break. “Kento, you don’t understand. I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

I bite when I get scared. I don't want to get hurt.

The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but it needed to be said. You couldn’t let him in, not when you knew how this would end. People like you didn’t let themselves love, didn’t let themselves be loved.

He blinked, the words hitting him like a physical blow. His face didn’t crumble—it was Nanami Kento, after all—but the subtle cracks in his composure were there: the way his jaw tightened, the slight drop of his gaze, the minute shake of his hand as he set the tray on the nightstand.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You’re scared. I get that. But we can work through this. Together.”

You almost caved. Almost. His sincerity, his steadfastness, his belief in you—it was so achingly, painfully him.

But you couldn’t.

“Kento, I don’t want to be your girlfriend,” you said, the coldness in your tone barely masking the pain simmering underneath. “I don’t love you now, and I never will.”

The air seemed to shift. His expression froze, and for a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

You stood, forcing yourself to act quickly before the weight of your words crushed you. Setting the coffee aside, you began to gather your clothes, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Don’t contact me,” you said, pulling your shirt over your head and turning toward the door.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. Because if you did, you’d see the way his walls had crumbled just slightly, the way he was still standing there, his heart in his hands, waiting for you to take it.

And you didn’t deserve it. Not now.

Shoko: You knew what you were getting

The sound of the rain tapping against the window was what pulled you from sleep. Or maybe it was the muffled shuffle of movement beside you. Your eyes cracked open, adjusting to the dim light of the room, and there she was—Shoko Ieiri, slipping on her coat in the faint glow of a lamp.

She looked up when she noticed you stir, her cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, the faint scent of smoke mingling with the rain outside.

"Morning," she murmured, her voice low and raspy, softened in the way it always was when she thought you were still half-asleep. She exhaled a thin stream of smoke toward the open window.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your voice still groggy as you sat up, clutching the blanket to your chest.

Shoko paused, her fingers brushing against the pack of cigarettes on the windowsill. For a moment, you thought she might ignore the question entirely, but then she sighed, turning to face you.

“Work,” she said simply. It was always work. Or at least, that’s what she told you.

“You’re always working,” you muttered, trying not to sound bitter, but the weight of your words hung in the air nonetheless.

She gave a small shrug, her expression carefully neutral. “Someone’s got to patch up all the idiots out there. Occupational hazard.”

You looked at her—really looked at her. The way her shoulders sagged ever so slightly under the weight she carried, the way the glow of the streetlights outside painted her face in soft gold and shadow. She was always like this: half in, half out. Never letting you get close enough to understand what was really going on behind those sharp eyes and that devil-may-care smirk.

“Shoko,” you said, her name heavier than you intended, and it made her pause, fingers frozen mid-motion as she reached for her bag. “Do you ever think about... slowing down? About... us?”

She froze, and you could see the way her mask faltered for just a moment, her lips parting as though to respond. But instead, she closed her mouth and looked away, tapping ash into the tray by the window.

“Don’t do this now,” she said softly, almost like a plea.

“Why not?” you pressed, unable to stop yourself. “You barely let me in. I feel like I’m fighting for scraps of your time, for a version of you that isn’t always halfway out the door.”

Her eyes darted to yours, sharp and defensive now, but there was a flicker of something else—something you couldn’t quite name. Regret? Sadness? “You knew what this was,” she said, her voice colder than you expected. “I never promised you anything more.”

The words stung, but it wasn’t like you hadn’t expected them. You’d seen the writing on the wall from the beginning, felt it in the way she kept things casual, kept things easy.

“I don’t want promises,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay composed. “I just want to know if this—if we—mean anything to you.”

Shoko’s shoulders stiffened, and she turned fully toward you, cigarette forgotten as it burned out in the ashtray. Her expression was unreadable, a perfect mask of indifference, but her eyes gave her away. There was a crack in her armor, a flash of something raw and unguarded.

“You mean a lot to me,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, almost pained. “But I don’t think I’m the person you’re looking for. I’m not... enough.”

You blinked, the honesty of her words catching you off guard. For a moment, you thought about telling her she was wrong—that she was enough, that you didn’t need anything more than this. But deep down, you knew you’d both just be lying to yourselves.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t keep waiting for you to decide you want me the way I want you.”

Shoko inhaled sharply, and for a second, it looked like she might argue. But then she nodded, almost imperceptibly, and the look in her eyes made your chest ache.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breaking in a way you’d never heard before. “I really am.”

She grabbed her bag and slipped out the door without another word, leaving behind the faint scent of smoke and rain, and the hollow ache in your chest where she used to be.

[01zfan]

good luck charm | l. sh

basketball player!sohee x physical trainer!reader | 7.5k words

finally a happy sohee fic who cheered? anyways every since the we riize basketball episdoe i've been jonesing to write a basketball player sohee fic.

contains: fwb relationship, pining kinda, sex without a condom (don’t be like them)

You were trapped in another period of doom scrolling when you heard the whistle blown in the gym. Instantly you turned your phone off and got down from the table, throwing your backpack over your shoulder before heading to the door. You did a once over of the room, looking to make sure everything was in its place before turning off the lights and locking the door.

You heard the projected voice of the coach in the gym over the music in your earbuds, but you didn’t rush yourself to hear the ending notes of the practice. Each time it was the same—Get rest, Show up on time for the game tomorrow, Don’t embarrass our team—said to a group of sweating boys who wanted nothing more than to leave. 

You put the keys to the examination room in your pocket the same time you used your body to open up the door to the gym. The door never seemed to get lighter or quieter, the sound of it unlocking echoed off the walls. The team barely spared you a glance as you came in, hearing exactly what you thought you would. The janitors were already coming in to clean up the sweat off the floor and prepare for the game tomorrow. The coach insisted on talking even when the buffer machine came in, whirring and loud on the waxed floors of the court. The basketball team tried their best to focus, but you could see so clearly their minds were starting to wander as their bodies became restless. Some of them sat on the court and others stood, some of them still had their jerseys on and some of them were completely shirtless as they waited for their coach to finally be done.

“I’m surprised you’re still here.” 

Giselle, the student manager, whispered into your ear when you went to stand beside her. She was off to the side, putting away the rolling cart filled with basketballs into the supply room when you started making a beeline to her. Standing next to the coach was just asking for him to put you on the spot, telling you to instruct the team on how to properly take care of their bodies. Ever since that incident you settled for standing off to the side towards the bleachers, out of his line of sight and ear shot. 

“Someone has to stay.” You adjusted the strap on your backpack as you both sat down on the bottom row of the bleachers. “I was the only one left.”

“Doctor Kim left early?” Giselle turned to you and you nodded. She scoffed before leaning back to grab her duffle bag, putting it over her shoulder. She smoothed out her hair and continued looking forward, speaking to you quietly. “I can’t blame him. No one had been getting injured lately.” She said.

“It makes my job really boring.” You added honestly.

Sohee was pulled from another tirade from his coach when he heard Giselle’s laugh. A few members on their team faced the two of you on the bleachers before going back to the coach, but Sohee lingered on you. Honestly he never stopped giving you attention, the moment you walked into the gym he watched you in his peripheral, looking at his coach but focusing on you. It was harder to pull away from your face as you smiled proudly at making your friend laugh before telling her to quiet down. He felt himself smile just by looking at you. He absentmindedly played with the lace of his shoe, his coach’s words being banished to the furthest part of his mind.

“We have a game tomorrow, don’t forget to rub your good luck charms and pray to your God’s tonight.” He said.

Sohee’s attention was all focused on you that he noticed how quickly you snapped your head towards the coach. As if good luck charm was your name and he shouted it, your eyes were widen in attention for a split second before you relaxed. After your eyes found the coach it drifted to Sohee, as if you felt him already looking at you. The sudden eye contact caused you to look away and it caused Sohee to look down at the basketball court. He sat right on the half court line, his finger traced over the thick line before leaning back on his hands. 

“I’ll see you boys tomorrow.” The coach said.

Instantly the atmosphere of the gym changed. As if someone let out a pensive exhale everyone relaxed, someone even cheered that practice was finally over. Sohee stood up from the court and his teammates started going through the doors, filtering into the locker rooms to shower and head home. Sohee watched you and Giselle get up from the bleachers, talking to one another as you two headed straight for the exit. He barely moved from his spot on the court before you were out, pushing your body against the door and leaving it opened with one hand so Giselle could follow after you.

When Sohee made it to the locker room, people were already showering. Some of his teammates omitted the shower entirely, just throwing on their sweats before heading back to their dorms. Sohee couldn’t blame them, many of his teammates were actually going home to rest before the game. Sohee on the other hand didn’t have plans to sleep until way later into the night. He was technically only here in the showers buying time, waiting for you to get to your dorm so he could send you the infamous text.

Before pulling his change of clothes from his duffle bag he pulled out his phone, fingers sliding and tapping over the glass screen before pressing send.

Sohee: i have a game tomorrow.

Almost immediately, he saw you typing a response.

i know sohee

His teammate went to a locker beside him, opening it up before closing it loudly. Sohee was sure he said something to him in passing, but he only offered a head nod before going back to the conversation. He was biting his lip to hide his smile as he thought about you texting him while walking with your friend. He’s made tremendous progress, before you used to not bother texting him until you were completely alone. 

Sohee: you know

Sohee: you’re my good luck charm

Sohee: my biggest fan

Sohee: so i should come over

Sohee: so we can win tomorrow.

The trick was to send you a flurry of texts at once. He didn’t know if multiple messages loosened you up but it always worked in his favor. Sohee leaned against the open door of his locker seeing the text bubble appear at the bottom, already knowing what it was going to say. He already had the response locked and loaded, his finger resting over the send button. 

my place is a mess.

Sohee: that’s okay.

alright. 

knock when you get here.

Sohee was giddy as he closed the door to his locker and headed to the showers. He couldn’t get rid of the smile on his face as he showered, he grinned while shampoo ran down his face and smiled like an idiot when he was done. He went over your text messages a million times as he walked across campus. To anyone else the alright was ordinary, maybe even less than that. But to Sohee, being able to see your place in disarray or anything else than perfect was the highest honor.

In the beginning when you first started seeing Sohee, he remembered that you apologized profusely for any semblance of a mess. You apologized for a few dishes in your sink and unfolded hand towels. If you couldn’t drop a quarter on the taut sheets of your bed you equated your place to a pig sty. One time when he came over you forced him to wait outside as you cleaned your place. Sohee remembers waiting in the courtyard of your dormitory building, counting the minutes until you finally sent him the text that he was good to come in. You answered the door disheveled and breathing heavy, and when he tried opening your closet for a spare change of clothes you nearly screamed Wait! so the pile of things you couldn’t put away properly wouldn’t be revealed. 

Sohee couldn’t believe it took him three weeks to finally see a mess in your room. He also couldn’t believe how excited he was to see it. He would’ve never thought seeing clutter on your counter space for the first time would bring a smile to his face, that your unmade bed somehow seemed more comfortable than when the sheets were tucked in neatly at the corners. He liked seeing your open textbooks with your messy notes and a week’s worth of unfolded laundry pushed to the corner of your room. He enjoyed seeing your dirty dishes a little too much and seeing your shy face when you quickly bent over to pick up dirty laundry you forgot was there. 

He blames what Anton dubbed his “mess-kink” on the fact that he spent half of the season trying to see the inside of your room. You guys met in too open of a setting, shoulder to shoulder in the living room of a cramped house party one of his teammates threw. For some reason the team thought that the best way to start the season was to pack everyone like sardines into an off-campus apartment and supply everyone with shitty liquor. There were no snacks, no chasers, just extremely cheap vodka and loud music. It was a perfect storm and it pushed you right into Sohee, or made you fall into him. One second he was talking to his friends and the next he was turned away from them completely, holding onto your forearm to keep you upright.

“You good?” Sohee slurred.

Sohee turned quickly to his friends, but they didn’t notice his absence in the conversation. No one could’ve noticed anything. people were practically stacked on top of eachother in the tiny space, pushing one another as they rocked to the music. Sohee truthfully wasn’t all the way there either. He was never the drinker but he wanted to have a good season, even if it came at the cost of being sick at early morning practice the next day. He was already feeling the effects from the tiny amount he had, and he tried forcing moments of sobriety when he heard the syllables of his words drag. He didn’t know you were even further gone until you were upright but still kept your eyes on the side of his face instead of looking at him in the eyes.

“You good?” He repeated.

“Your moles are pretty.” You said.

Sohee couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Here you were, halfway to the floor but you found more important things on the side of his face, letting your eyes run up and down his cheeks like you were trying to map something. Sohee pulled on your arm but you seemed to be in a trance, only snapping out of it when he spoke to you again.

“Thank you.” Sohee said.

When he lightly pulled on your arm you finally stood up. Sohee looked at your lips, how you chewed on them when you finally started looking at the other parts of his face.

“Are you alright?” Sohee asked you again.

You nodded your head, but Sohee still wasn’t sure if you heard him or not. You had a far off look in your eye, bleary and glassy from all the alcohol. He was sure he matched you, the longer he looked at you the more tipsy he felt. His brief moment of sobriety came and went as you got closer to him, entirely too close for strangers.

“Your moles are really cute.” You said it again, this time right in his ear.

Sohee nodded, and leaned his head closer to yours so he could talk directly in your ear. He focused on the gold jewelry that dangled from your ear and moved each time a swaying body bumped into yours. 

“You told me that already.” He laughed.

You seemed to remember, because you giggled right into Sohee’s ear after a beat of silence. He didn’t know when his hand found the small of your back to hold you close or when your hands went to his shoulder to keep him in place. Both of you were giggling drunk messes, strangers with their cheeks touching in the middle of a house party that was going to get busted by cops any second. 

You pulled away from Sohee first. He didn’t know then that he was hooked on you and that his face felt cold without your warm cheek pressing against his. He felt the heat dust across his face when you looked at him. The same bleary eyes that stared at the side of his face was wide and alert now, staring right through him as you gripped his shoulder a little tighter. You brought another wave of sobriety, and he used his consciousness to let his hand splay even further across your skin. 

You said something, Sohee knew you did. Your bitten lips moved and then they stopped, and when you were done your eyes scanned his face waiting for an answer. He tried focusing his swaying vision on your lips, but he only found himself getting more distracted. Eventually he shook his head and brought his face close to yours again.

“I can’t hear you.” Sohee took his chance to press his cheek against yours more than he needed to. “The music is too loud.” He said gently.

He felt you nod against his head and suddenly the red solo cup that was in your hand was gone as you brought your newly freed hand to his face. You turned his head slightly and came even closer than before. Sohee could feel your lips against the shell of his ear as you spoke.

“I asked if this was your place.” You said.

Sohee felt one of your hands drift to the crook of his neck, resting there heavily as you spoke. In the midst of the party he was able to still focus on your words, even if they registered slowly. He shook his head against your face, and Sohee felt your warm breath fan his ear as you let out a breathy giggle.

“Do you know somewhere we can be alone?” You asked.

Sohee didn’t need anymore hints from you before he was pulling you through the packed crowd by your hand. He told himself he would just have to ask for forgiveness from Anton later when he opened his friends locked bedroom door. 

The door barely closed behind Sohee before you had your hands on him. Within seconds the back of Sohee’s legs bumped against the couch, and you used clumsy drunken force to push him down the rest of the way. The surprise nearly knocked the breath out of him, his hand instinctually went to the armrest of the couch for some stability. 

He watched you walk towards him from your place, something between a lion stalking its prey and a newborn deer taking its first steps. You giggled realizing the sway in your steps and Sohee did the same after readjusting himself in his seat.

He realized quickly that nothing was funny when you put your knees on either side of him to straddle his waist. He took in a breath when your hands clasped together behind his neck. He held you steady despite the thudding in his chest and the look in your eyes that became even more hungry. When you leaned further Sohee took the chance to snake his hand underneath the fabric of your tight shirt, feeling your soft skin the material clung to. 

When Sohee let his hand drift up further and you preened further into his touch he looked up at you fully. When his neck exposed you stared at his bobbing Adam’s apple before licking your lips. Your eyes went even lower, and he settled into the couch to get a better look at you. He held onto this wave of sobriety, trying to not fall back into the drunk haze he was drifting in and out of. But he couldn’t stop the dim light behind your head from swaying. You moved and the light casted a shadow behind you that looked like a crown; Sohee dug his hand deeper into your waist to try and ground himself as he tried remembering what it felt like to be sober. He felt your hand tug at his hair and he started gripping at whatever flesh he could grab.  

Both of you were smiling at eachother like drunk fools, neither of you making a move. When Sohee finally made it to your chest he palmed it, pressing deep over the padding of your bra. You reacted like there was nothing separating the two of you, leaning back so far that Sohee had to wrap his full arm around you to keep you from falling backwards. You leaned into his touch fully, coming so close that his face pressed into your stomach. Sohee placed an experimental sloppy kiss on the exposed skin, patting himself on the back when your breath hitched. You came close and pressed an equally sloppy kiss to his hairline, then to his cheek, then to a mole. You ended at his ear, your hot breath fanning the shell as you poked your tongue out. Sohee shivered underneath you and pulled you closer, widening his legs so you had more space to sit. He waited in anticipation when your face settled into the crook of his neck.

But he felt nothing.

Sohee thought that you were building up tension, or that you had another wave of sobriety that made you realize you were about to have a drunk hookup with an equally drunk basketball player in a not so secluded space at a house party. Sohee was getting ready to pull away from you and ask you if you were okay, but then he heard the unmistakable sound of snoring. Sohee laughed in disbelief on the couch with you snuggling deeper into him and even groaning that he was disturbing your sleep.

Your encounter that night ended then and there, with Sohee delicately taking you off his lap and going back into the crowded house party to find your friends and lead them to you.

He thought that he would never see you again, but he heard from you shortly after. Your first message to him was over Instagram direct messages, apologizing for how you behaved the night prior. After he accepted your apology, he came to the realizationg that you were going to be his teams trainer and he would be seeing you everyday of the season.

From the first day of practice, Sohee could tell you were so put together. Even when put on the spot by his coach you spoke evenly, inviting his team to come to you if they had any questions about keeping their body healthy. You were also so elusive, tucked away in the examination room everyday while practice was happening. The only time Sohee was actually able to see you was during parties when the two of you would sneak off together to secluded rooms.

For a long time Sohee believed that he was destined for a life of fucking you on sofas at crowded college parties. He didn’t know how many That doesn’t look like dried cum’s and No, it doesn’t smell like sex in here’s he had left in him. But as if the God’s shined down on him he got the unmistakable hey, are you up? text right when he needed you the most. Instead of sleeping Sohee threw on a pair of sweats and cleared the campus to get to your place embarrassingly fast. 

You let him in that night without actually letting him in. Sohee was only shown the sparkling bits of your personality, you two truthfully only really spoke when you were having sex. He found himself asking casual questions about your life in between moments of you two making out and grabbing at eachother.

He spent the season chiseling away at you through teasing to try and get you to be comfortable. So coming into your room and seeing the unfolded clothes was arguably more rewarding than a flawless basketball season. 

He had to fight the smile when he made it into your room, his hands running over and screwing with anything he could touch. He always picked up your keys from the dish beside your door and messed with the trinkets you had hanging down. He started locking and unlocking your door repeatedly, just to hear the metal bolt ring through your entryway. 

“The season is almost over.” Sohee walked past you, already putting his hands on your dresser. 

He ran his hands over the top, not caring that he bumped the items that rested in his path. He only turned back to you with a gloating smile. Sohee turned back to continue messing with your things. After he ran his hand over your dresser he went to your desk, passing by you as you stood in front of the door. He got to your desk and started pushed your pens, messing up their order and dragging your papers from one end of your desk to the other.

“I know Sohee.” You said as you started putting everything back in place behind him.

Each time Sohee’s finger pushed a pencil you put it back in its case and when he opened one of your textbooks to a random page you reached across his body to close it. He leaned into your pushes, he even played it up like his body was actually being knocked around by your gently bumping. 

Seeing how far he could push you was always a game to him, he only giggled when you smacked away his hand when he started fiddling with the straps of your backpack that hung off your office chair. 

“We’ve had a nearly perfect season.” He said.

“Congratulations.” You neatly stacked your textbooks back on top of eachother. “I told you that you’d do great this season. Alot of really talented athletes.” You said while fixing the straps of your backpack.

“You know why right?”

Sohee felt the corner of your desk poke into his leg as he leaned against it. He caught your eye for a second before you turned back to your desk, fixing the things he touched.

He was relaxed even from the dull pain of the wood, looking down at the furrow in your eyebrows while you carefully reorganized everything back to its place. He silently watched you go from your desk to the space surrounding your bed, moving things from one side of your room to the other. You had your unfolded clean clothes resting on top of your bed, and Sohee watched you gather the clothes in your arms before walking over to your office chair that he stood next to.

“If you say it’s because of me, I’m going to hit you.” You say.

Sohee eyed you with the large mass of clothes in your hands, the pile obstructing your line of sight. He put his hand on the armrest of your chair, getting ready to push it out of your way right before you dropped the clothes onto the seat. Before he could, he saw a pair of your underwear fall from the large pile of clothes. He took his hands away from the chair and grabbed it, balling it in his hands before showing you what he caught.

“Can I keep these?” When you put the clothes in the chair you narrowed your eyes at Sohee and reached for the pair he quickly pulled it out of your reach. “For good luck?” He added.

You let your pile of clothes fall onto the chair before grabbing your underwear out of Sohee’s hands. You put your underwear on top of the pile of clothes. When Sohee pouts at you you close the distance between the two of you. You don’t hesitate to put your hands on either side of his body, caging him between your desk and you. 

Sohee tries to be all talk. His teammates constantly comment on his attitude and habit of snarky comments. He always blames it on the fact that he is the youngest sibling out of sisters, he basically can’t help it. But when you get too close and are pressed up against him like this, he loses his train of thought. He doesn’t have a comeback when you look down at his lips and stay there, he doesn’t have anything to say when you fake pout before looking back up at him.

“I thought I was your good luck charm?” You say.

Sohee nods his head. You somehow find a way to get even closer to him, despite still feeling so far away. He sees the remnants of your lipstick, he feel the warmth coming off of you in waves. Sohee finds himself inching closer to you, then he feels you finally touch him. Your hands let go of the edges of your desk to go to his forearms, then slowly all the way up to his shoulders. All cockiness Sohee had dissipates from his body when he feels your hands travel the plane of his shoulders, ending right at the base of his neck. His hands instinctively go to your waist, and he fully leans against your desk to slot his leg between yours. Instantly, like Sohee’s thigh is a seat made just for you, you put your weight on his leg. Sohee sighs at the feeling of your warmth against him, and you sigh from the pressure.

You were still feeling Sohee up when you started dragging your hips against his. He wasn’t sure why watching you grind on his thigh was doing so much to him, but he was already feeling the ache. He felt you clutch at him, then he felt your hands leave his body to go back to gripping the edge of the desk. You were clumsy this time, your hands wrinkled papers underneath the pads of your fingers and your dragging thrusts on Sohee’s thigh disrupted the perfect order you had set on your desk. Pens and pencils and journals clattered over the sides and fell to your wooden floor, the wood creaked underneath your shared weight. Sohee watched you press your head into his shirt, he could feel your spit seep through the thin material and your tiny whines fill the air. Sohee was beginning to feel himself need more but you were becoming so reckless that he had to move his hand to grip the edge of your desk too. 

His palm hurt by the time your moans became too whiny. His other hand reached forward to still your hips, and you pulled your face from his chest to look at him. Your eyes were already so wet, your face was already getting the light glow caused by a thin layer of sweat.

“Slow down.” Sohee was just as overwhelmed, each look from you left his dick pressing against the fabric of his sweats. “You don’t wanna cum from just that.” He said.

“I want more.” You said.

Sohee didn’t have a chance to calm you down before your hand reached underneath the waistband of his sweats. He could barely wrap his hand around your wrist before the other was working his pants down his body. Any sounds of shock or teasing was swallowed up by your lips smashing against his again.

When your hands pushed his pants down to his thighs Sohee took the initiative to move them the rest of the way. He stood up from your desk and let you continue devouring his face as his hands greedily pushed down his pants the rest of the way.

He was admittedly wound up by you. Feeling you abandon your inhibitions in your messy room made him reckless. He almost fell when he tried stepping out of his sweats and his imbalance caused you two to stumble through the tiny space in your room. Sohee was only able to regain his balance when he leaned up against the edge of your desk again.

Unfortunately any attempt Sohee was trying to make to get you to slow down was futile. Him leaning against the desk gave you a slight height advantage on him, and you somehow found a way to kiss him even deeper. With your hands on his face moving him the way you wanted to while you were fully clothed and he was pant-less made him red in the face.

“There’s too much shit on my bed.” You said in between kisses.

That wasn’t the first time Sohee has heard those words fall from your lips. Sohee has fucked you on your couch when there were clothes piled from one end to another. He’s fucked you on your desk while you were in the middle of an assignment, papers stacked high and textbooks cracked open as he bent you over the wooden surface. He’s fucked you in the bathroom you shared with the people on the other side of your wall when your room was messy. At this point he was used to the chaos he was starting to think he preferred it. 

But before Sohee could tell you he didn’t care, he felt your hands pull him from the edge of your desk down to the ground. 

This was new. 

“You wanna do it here?” Sohee asked breathlessly.

You nodded in between the kisses your placed on his neck. He couldn’t argue even when the wood floors were already becoming a pain on his bent knee. Sohee couldn’t deny the sureness in your eyes or the way your hands went to the bottom of his shirt before pulling upwards.

By the time Sohee took his shirt off you were already undressing yourself, pants and underwear gone in one go before you took your own shirt off. Sohee took off his boxers and tossed his clothes on the same pile you made, right next to another pile of clothes he assumed to be dirty.

“Right here.” You answered.

When he was unsure what to do next you went ahead and pushed him by his shoulders, leading him down until his beck was flush with your cold hardwood floors. Sohee let out a shiver and a breath.

“You cold?” You asked.

Sohee nodded as you started straddling him. He could feel the warmth from your naked body, warming the areas of him that were cooling from the nervous sweats across his skin. 

Your smile when he nodded was almost sinister. Sohee still couldn’t stop himself from smiling back at you.

Sohee’s cold hands find your thighs as you bring your hips to rest on his. The sudden change in his body temperature causes him to shiver again, the feeling of his dick between your warm cunt causes more precum to leak onto his lower stomach. He doesn’t think he can handle you grinding on him, not if he wants to maintain the last bit of the composed demeanor he tries to present to you. He just grips your thighs harder, and his outstretched leg bumps into the edge of your desk.

He can see you trying to figure out what to do next. If you should draw out this torture or have mercy on him, if you should coo at him affectionately or taunt him some more. Sohee watches your eyes flicker to the top of your dresser, where there was always a pile of condoms stacked on top. Every week you’d snag a handful from the on campus clinic in between your classes. Stuffed in the depths of your backpack just to be carelesslt dumped on your dresser. Preparation for when you’d bless Sohee for his basketball games, preparation you were disregarding now.

For a moment you’re silent. Sohee is too, letting you decide how he gets it tonight. He won’t complain unless you want him too, he won’t beg unless he sees that glimmer in your eyes that eggs him on. Your hips slowly drag forward, and his eyes instantly screw shut. He can feel your slick coat him, and the wet sound causes Sohee’s dick to twitch.

“I’ll warm you up.” You say.

Sohee’s hips lift to follow yours when you raise them off his lap. His dick twitches upwards right into your soft hand. 

“Baby.” Your hand dragged the tip of his dick over your folds. He could feel how wet you were on his sensitive skin, causing his hand to dig deeper into your side. Sohee looked up from where you had your hand wrapped around him to the smile on your face. “You ready?” You purred.

Sohee can no longer speak. His mouth is too dry and his brain is too jumbled to form a coherent thought. He only nods slowly and grips your waist tighter, your skin peeking through the gaps of his fingers as you nod back to him. There's a stillness, where you are moving your body slightly forward to be directly above him. Then, holding intense eye contact, you slowly start sinking your hips down. Sohee can feel your walls wearing on his tip first, tight and constricting before you two let out twin sighs. Then, when you adjust yourself on your knees and place a hand over his you loosen up. The rest of Sohee's dick slips inside of you with ease, and when he is completely inside of you he can feel your walls close around him snug. Being inside of you is the same as a weight getting lifted off his chest, so soothing but titillating it causes him to let out another sigh of relief and cinch his eyebrows together. 

For a split second he lets go of you completely, all of his strength is focused in not embarrassing himself right there on the messy floor of your dorm. He rests his hand in a balled up fist over his thudding heart, eyes still screwed shut as he feels and hears you sink down lower. Your sigh was prolonged and ended with a cry when your hips meld with his. Sohee opens his eyes when he feels your hips grind, he watches you selfishly chase stimulation while he gets used to the raw feeling inside of you. He dares to look down where the two of you meet, and almost instantly the dizzying feeling is back.

“Keep going.” Sohee says in a daze.

You nod your head as you raise your hips again. The second time you sink down is louder than the first, and you lean forward to put your hands on Sohee’s chest to stabilize yourself. Your socks rub on the sides of Sohee’s thighs as you slowly find your rhythm, alternating between bouncing and grinding on his dick. 

After finding a rhythm you get lost in the speed. Sohee watches the momentum you have on your chest and your desperate attempt to keep them in place. When your arm spread across your chest fails to do the trick, Sohee finds himself regaining his sanity to come to your aid. Almost instantly his hand takes your place, holding a handful of your chest in each of his palms. He almost uses the hold to guide you up and down, following your body with each flick of your hip and each bounce.

“So soft.” Sohee says.

“Can you suck on them?” You ask.

With your hands moving to his shoulders and guiding him up it’s easy. Sohees’ core muscles are no longer sore from months of practice when he closes the distance between your chest and his mouth. Your nipple lays on his tongue perfectly, and the arch in your back is made just for his hands as you preen into his mouth.

“Feels good.” You sigh.

He can’t stop his dick from pathetically throbbing inside of you when the praise falls from your lips. He can’t stop himself from sucking harder when he feels your hand go to the top of his head to rub his scalp. Sohee knows that you’re far away from ever calling him your good boy, he’s knew you for the better half of a year before you let him see your inclination for disarray. But he hopes that fucking you raw on the floor of your messy room is helping bridge the gap. Maybe by the end of next season he could get you to say one of the things you so clearly wanted to say during sex. Maybe your room was always so dirty to compensate for the absolute filth you kept suppressed in the depths of your mind.

But that was all just speculation. What Sohee knew for certain was that when you slightly pulled at his hair was when you wanted him to switch sides. So he unlatched from one side of your chest with a soft wet sound to move to the other. He still gave the other side attention, rolling the wet bud between his thumb and index finger. Sohee felt himself lose his bearings when you continued to ride him. With your hands braced on his shoulders he bent forward to follow you, and when you clamped around him his teeth grazed your sensitive nipple. You seized around him again and your hand in his hair pulled at his roots. For a second the sudden pain almost made Sohee’s teeth latch onto you harder, but with his last shred of common sense he detached from your chest entirely. The sound he made the second time was alot less quiet, a lewd sound mixed with your moans and the slick sound of your cunt riding his dick.

He got the courage to look down at where you two met again, with one hand keeping himself propped up Sohee watched you take him again and again.

“My God.” He didn’t hide his amazement. His jaw was slack as you rode him with a vigor he has never seen before. “Keep going, baby. Just like that.” He said quietly.

Sohee watched you pull one of your hands that was shoulder move forward. Before you got the chance to rub tight circles on your clit Sohee reached first, bumping your hand out of his way in the process. Your heavy lidded eyes perked in amusement, right before they screwed shut from Sohee’s ministrations.

“I thought you were going to make me do all the work.” You whined.

The teasing edge to your voice was all the way gone as Sohee continued working his fingers. You missed him shaking his head, you missed him biting his bottom lip in concentration. 

You didn’t open your eyes until Sohee started flicking his hip upwards to meet your dropping hips. He was almost compelled to look away from how intensely you were staring at him. Despite being laid bare he felt naked underneath your gaze, like you stripped him of everything. Sohee suddenly had no other purpose besides fucking you, moving his fingers in a tight circle, and keeping his eyes on you. You abandoned your job of bouncing on him, instead only grinding on his dick and clutching his legs even tighter. 

“Close.” You moaned.

Sohee nodded and told himself a million times to not speed up his fingers. He kept the same pace despite wanting to bring you to the edge as fast as possible. He kept his eyes on you and your body, looking for the signs in your hips that were becoming more erratic and your fingernails that were digging into his skin. In your pursuit of pleasure your guard fell all the way down. You were naked for him too, your hopeless pout and unbounded sounds were winding him up beyond his control.

“I’m close too.” Sohee said quickly.

His fingers didn’t stop and neither did your hips. His mind went to the condoms on your dresser but your eyes stayed on him, big and glossy as his words registered. You licked your bitten lips, opened your mouth just to shut it and then opened it again.

"Inside. Please.” You said.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

Just the invitation made Sohee ready to burst. He spoke fast and in a haste, wanting to give himself enough time to lift you off of his dick in case you changed your mind. But your hips showed no signs of stopping and you lazily pitched your body forward to press your lips to his.

Sohee only felt a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth and his cupid’s bow before you cursed against his lips. He felt your hips freeze and your walls clench around him. He was no match for the sudden flood of wetness from your cunt and the hot pants of air in his open mouth. He felt himself spill inside of you less than a second later. His hands left your clit and inside wrapped around your waist, bringing your chest to his as his back went to the ground.

Both of you desperately rode out your highs chest to chest while Sohee’s back was to the floor. He felt garments of clothing underneath his back as he rutted into you, and your hand reached forward to grab onto the wooden frame of your bed. 

The time it took you two to ground yourselves was embarrassingly long. Your chests were practically glued together from sweat by the time your breath evened, and it happened all over again when you weakly lifted yourself off of Sohee’s dick. His shaking hand on your waist guided you to the ground next to him, and for a minute you two laid together in the mess Sohee was lucky enough to be invited into.

Both of you stared at the same place on the ceiling before Sohee turned to face you.

“You’re gonna be at the game tomorrow, right?” Sohee asks.

“Sohee, I am the trainer. I have to be there.” You answer.

Sohee watches you pull a new sweater back over your head, covering up your bare chest. The sweater has his basketball teams name, it’s the one he gifted you that has his number and name on the back. He can’t hide his smile as you lay back down next to him on the floor.

“Would you still go?” Sohee looks at your fallen pens and notebooks on the floor. “Even if you didn’t have to be there?” He asks.

You think about it for a moment. Sohee looks at the messy pile of clothes that fell from your chair at some point, the untidy stack of books that rest on your dresser. He doesn’t want to leave. He’s too comfortable here, too happy staring at you carefully think of an answer to his question that wouldn’t let him know what you’re thinking.

“I’d still go.” You uselessly kick towards some of your clean clothes that fell from your chair at some point. After you get a sock successfully back on the chair you turn to face him. “I’m your good luck charm. I think you’d lose without me.” You say.

Sohee will take it. He will gladly take him being the one and only person in your life that you bring good luck to. That is something akin to more than friends with benefits, or maybe it’s the purest form of whatever this arrangement is. Whatever the case may be it brings Sohee enough peace to sleep soundly, and he feels like he has enough luck to win the game all by himself. He leans forward to kiss you and you don’t turn away. You let the kiss be planted right on the tip of your nose before he faces the ceiling again, and Sohee ends up having to hide his smile behind his hands the same way you hide it by clearing your throat.

“Maybe if we win.” He goes to his tiptoes before going back to the balls of his feet. “Maybe if we win we could go out somewhere. Like watch a movie or something.” He says.

Instantly you shake your head, reaching to the side to playfully smack his shoulder. Sohee fakes like you hit him roughly, taking a step backwards with a faux pained expression on his face.

“Even if you lose. Which I doubt will happen.” You take a deep breath and turn your head away. “I’ll think about it.” You say quietly.

There is absolutely no way he’s losing his game tomorrow. 

[highrook]

The Two Worlds of Highrook

(part 1 ) Blacksands

There are actually two worlds that collide to create the highrook experience. The first is the town of Blacksands and its surroundings (such as the Highrook estate where the game is based). The second is the shadow cosmic realm of Nibiru. When these two planes are brought into contact, via magics and ritual, the intersection results in horrifying consequences.

Blacksands is a decaying sea-port, settled on the broken coast of the inmost ocean. Its ash colored beaches fold in and out of dank coves and dreary estuaries.  The town itself consists of a handful of shambolic districts, tumbling from the storm battered heights of Highrook down to the rotting docks of Aldwerth. 

Hemmed in by the oily sea to the east and treacherous cliffs to the west, the streets and its inhabitants exhibit a sense of dreamlike stoicism. Trade is sparse but well weathered ships still dock at the moldering port, bringing supplies - both mundane and exotic - into the town. Its isolation has made it a haven for those who do not wish to be found; thieves and heretics alike. And because of this gathering of minds and materials, the shadowed streets of Blacksands harbor wonders both revelatory and horrifying.

Blacksands is an amalgam of the many gothic locations that have inspired me over time. From the narrow streets of Bram Stokers Whitby, through the rotting shanties of Innsmouth and the candle-lit cities of games like Thief and Dishonored. Even though our game takes place on the cliffs overlooking the town, the characters, their background and their personal goals all align with their positions in the town itself. 

Blacksands also diverges from a purely accurate historical representation of similar locations, specifically with the addition of more steampunk and magical elements. This is most obvious with the introduction of the mecanists, a guild of expert engineers and machine workers. Ritualistic practices, backstreet medicine, smuggling and underhand diplomatic espionage are all part of the bustling but covert city scene. Even though Highrook - the game - takes place outside Blacksands  proper there are continual references to the geography, politics and history of the city. 

Influences

Cities have always been a favorite fantasy location for me.  They are usually more grounded in reality than the open world, which suits my tastes more. You don’t tend to get dragons or giants hanging out in cities, they are mostly the domain of human(oid)s. This doesn't mean that fantasy cities are relegated to being historical stage sets  though. Some of my favorite fictional cities; Viriconium, New Crobuzon, Sanctuary, Leá Monde, Gormenghast are far from realistic settings.

The city of Viriconium is the location for several novels and short stories by M. John Harrison. Like much of Harrison's work it merges styles,settings and tone in a way that feels deliberately inconsistent and dreamlike. In one tale it is the site of quiet poetic recollections, in another it becomes a hub for almost sci-fi events. But throughout all the iterations it very definitely seems to have a life of its own, beyond the page.. China Miéville’s New Crobuzon, featured in Perdido Street Station and other novels, is similar in its hybrid mix of sources, but feels less dreamlike and more cinematic. Instead of the blurred edges of dreams Miéville’s city is  described in cinematic clarity, like film sets ready to frame the action of the story.

Thieves' World was an anthology series published throughout the 1980s, it took the city of Sanctuary as its central theme, but allowed various writers to interpret the city as they wished. As a result the sense of place evolved over time through a number of fairly unreliable narrators and different authors interpretations. It wavers from complex tales of diplomacy to page-turning action-adventure. But the city as a container really appealed to me when I first read the series.

Gormenghast illustration by ian miller

Finally the ruined worlds of Gormenghast and  Leá Monde have always been visual touchstones to me. Both places are abandoned crumbling citadels where the remnants of once powerful families still cling on, alongside phantoms and decay.

Leá Monde is the only city listed here that is from a game rather than a book, but that makes it no less inspiring. It's the setting for the  PS1 game Vagrant Story (2000) and like the crumbling towers of The Last Guardian or the derelict districts of the Thief and Dishonored games it offers an incomplete history of a cities past, full of ghosts and half told tales.

In all these examples, and in the case of my own Blacksands, there is an interesting contradiction between people and place. All these cities are clearly a product of their successive inhabitants, yet also seem to have their own identity that persists beyond their population.

Highrook sits at the top of the salt cliffs of Blacksands, overlooking the smog filled port and its ashen coast. But it also sits on top of a gateway to a very different world, the hidden citadel of Nibiru, which I will talk about in another post soon!

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: chapters 9 & 10 are queued for thursday and friday aaaahhhhh

part 8: a talk over whiskey

word count: 2,232

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"I'm gonna fuckin' kill her, Tommy," John grunted with his fist clamped tightly at his side.

Tommy watched as his brother paced around the room. Arthur managed to find something unsettling about you, a night months ago when you reported police movements to a quiet rival that led to John laying bloodied on the street. The moment John learned it was you, his face turned with rage, demanding Tommy speak to you about what else you'd done to damage the Blinders through your dealings.

Tommy remained stoic. Polly sat with her cigarette softly burning between her fingers, unamused and unphased by John's anger. Arthur watched, unwilling to admit he was entertained by the sight.

"Call her in here, and we're going to have a chat—"

"Settle down, John boy." Arthur tried to place his hands on John's shoulders but was pushed away.

"Tommy, those fucks nearly gutted me!" John pushed further, "and I'm going to return the favor."

"We already put an end to those boys, John," Tommy sighed, lighting his cigarette to numb the tension in his head. "Nothing more to be done, so let's move on."

John grabbed a letter opener from a nearby desk and gripped it until his knuckles turned white. "Call her here, Tommy. I swear to God. Just one fucking cut, and I'll avoid her face for your sake."

Tommy blew smoke towards John's face, and it encased him in fog. He grabbed the edge of the opener and pulled John close. "I said, enough. You're not going to touch her. With a dull knife or your cock—no one touches y/n. Am I clear?"

Polly chuckled from her quiet corner. She held her cigarette to her lips with a sigh, entertained yet annoyed with a man's ability to hold a grudge. "Maybe it's time you have a serious talk with your ghost, Tommy."

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The room cleared, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Tommy stood by the window, his silhouette outlined by the soft light of the streetlamp outside. You could feel the tension in the air between you thicken with each passing second. The door clicked shut behind Polly, John, and Arthur, leaving you two alone in the quiet of the room. Tommy turned slowly.

“We need to talk,” Tommy said, his voice measured, though you could hear the edge in it. He wasn’t angry—not yet—but there was something sharp, something raw in the way he spoke. “And if we don't settle this now, then my brothers will resort to much less graceful methods.”

You didn’t respond. You let the silence drag on, allowing the weight of his words to hang in the air.

"We know about Cheltenham. And the blueprints."

Without a single shift in your expression, you spoke, your voice cold and steady, every word calculated.

“Were you expecting an apology or did you want me to skip ahead?” You watched him closely, your gaze unwavering. “Maybe get on my knees and beg for forgiveness?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer. “And we know that you sold out John to a dealer. Not that the aftermath is something you'd care to look into, however,” he muttered, low and dark, like he was trying to find something in you that would make sense of this entire mess. “You need to tell me how many fucking times you've put me in a compromising position.”

You allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to tug at the corner of your lips. “So, I suppose we're past apologies, and we're going straight for the begging.” You took a slow step forward, closing the distance between you both. “Is that what you want?”

Tommy stiffened, his eyes darkening as he leaned in. “This is not about what I want,” he shot back. “I need to know who I let in my fucking house and who I'm trusting with my business. Now, I have kept John at bay. He's ready to jam a knife in that pretty little neck of yours, and if you don't give me an explanation, I might let him.”

You held his gaze, your eyes unflinching.

“Well?” he asked, the single word hanging in the air.

You took another step closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him. The air crackled with tension, the weight of his anger threatening to spill over.

“Yes,” you said, your voice dropping lower, teeming with mild intimidation. “I did sell the blueprints. Yes, I did tell men when not to place their bets. Yes, a man came to me and asked where the police would be that night. And yes, I told him where John Shelby would be. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Tommy thought, at the very least, you'd sound remorseful, but you didn't. You didn't sound scared at all. You were confident in your words, and you didn't grace him with any of the details. He took the folder from his desk and placed it in your hands.

"Only took Arthur a few days to find all of this."

You laughed, a sound that never failed to leave him unnerved. You threw the folder back on his desk, then crossed your arms across your chest with a deep sigh. "Tommy Shelby, you are... Far more predictable than I thought you were.

"I wanted to see how far you’d go to unwind something you couldn’t control. And I wanted to see if you’d ever truly confront me about it. The real question, Tommy, is whether you’re going to let me walk away now or if you’re going to keep pushing—because I’ll give you what you’re looking for, but I need to know how far you’re willing to take it. What are you willing to risk?”

Tommy didn’t answer. His gaze locked with yours, and it was almost as if time slowed, the two of you measuring each other in that space. There was no fear in your eyes—only cold certainty. But there was something else in Tommy’s. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak. His jaw worked for a moment as if he were deciding whether to challenge you, to press further, or to let the conversation drop.

You lifted your heel and pressed down onto the scattered papers, twisting your ankle like you were stomping out a dying cigarette. "Everything in here... Never asked yourself once why it was so easy to find. Didn't consider even for one fucking second that it was left in the open because I put it there for you. Practically handed it to you on a platter with tea."

You held your head high, not once giving him the room to tear his eyes away from yours.

"Sokolov never leaves that office on the edge of Birmingham. Him, yes? And Caddell, the man who bets every Sunday. Probably at the Irish pub because he's there most nights. You wouldn't have found Bedlam, no, because you and Arthur chased him out of town with your razorblades in tow. So, that means, you found his former bookie, Kennedy."

Fuck, he continuously swore under his breath as you used all of your knowledge against him like a pistol slowly pressing into an open wound, ready to fire with the twitch of your finger.

"It is not in my nature to be vengeful. It's the vengeful who come to me if only to ease the burden someone else placed on their heads. They paid. I delivered. You've made a lot of enemies, Tommy, and many of them were willing to pay me to dwindle you down until you were nothing. Now, I gave them what they wanted," you explained with the subtle shake of your head, "and here you stand. Alive. So that means that regardless of what I sold, none of it was enough to take down the great Thomas Shelby."

The faint twitches in Tommy's fingers stayed hidden at his side as he listened to every word, each pushing on the back of his neck with a force only you could remove.

"You are one flame that no amount of truths and lies can snuff out." You let out a slow breath, your posture unchanging. “It was never anything personal. Just business.”

He looked at you for a long, lingering moment. For the first time, he seemed to hesitate. Then, with a slight shift of his expression, he finally answered, voice quiet but firm.

“No more games, y/n.”

You didn’t smile. You didn’t give any hint of satisfaction. You merely gave him a long, knowing look.

“That's not for you to decide.”

You turned to leave without another word, but the weight of Tommy’s gaze followed you as you walked out.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

That evening at the Garrison, the usual bustle settled into a calm that felt almost too peaceful. Following your less-than-pleasant conversation, Tommy left to tend to other business, but Arthur and John were restless, pacing around the bar. Assuming Tommy told them what transpired between the two of you, it seemed as if Arthur was weary, and John was irate, his anger towards you spilling out until you felt it from the other side of the room.

You kept to your own corner, nursing a tepid glass of whiskey while the Blinders jeered over nonsense that you didn't bother to try to understand. The muscle in your neck was tense. It didn't happen often that you felt like you overstepped, but backing Tommy into a corner felt much different than you were used to. He listened without argument, but the twisting of his nerves left you uneasy. Perhaps it was too much.

The other side of your thoughts slowly overshadowed the doubts though, reminding you, once again, that he started this. He looked into you. And while you knew that would happen eventually, the scene was much more poetic when you imagined it in your head.

The undercurrent of eyes watching you attempted to pull you from your moment of solitude, but they knew, underneath the face of indifference, you were studying them, too. For the first time, they could feel it: you weren't just a cold, calculating ally. You were watching over them—closely.

With a heavy sigh, you pulled a cigarette from its box and held the match to its tip. It burned, and within seconds, your lungs filled with the crackling numb sensation you needed.

It happened quickly—the subtle shift.

John stumbled by the bar, his head turned down with drunken laughter as Arthur commanded the room with a story from another night. A stranger approached him slowly, a glass in one hand while the other was pinned to his thigh. You narrowed your eyes, the faint glimmer of silver catching your attention.

In that moment, it wasn't instinct that took over. It was cold, calm, controlled fury.

You pushed your seat back, grabbing the neck of the open bottle of whiskey as your cigarette fell to the floor. With a single swing, the sound of glass shattering broke the noise, and the inevitable silence fell soon after. You barely made a sound as the man's head knocked against the bar. Pieces of glass protruded from his cheek, blood trickling down his neck in a scarlet ribbon.

John and Arthur watched you. Your chest heaved, and your eyes were squared on the man who only moments earlier held a knife at his side. The dagger lay in a pool of whiskey, staring back at you from the floor.

John's eyes narrowed, flickering to you then to the men who arrived at the Garrison with the stranger. He picked up the knife slowly, toying with the tip against his palm with a gentle chuckle.

The men, seeing that you weren't just another patron, hesitated. They looked at each other, then back at you, not knowing who was the bigger threat—John, who played with the knife, and you, silent and still. It wasn't fury, not blind rage. It was control, and somehow, that made you all the more terrifying.

They didn't bother with words as John walked towards them with a face that said he just needed to give the word. One word, and the Blinders would tear them apart. They left quickly, one of them muttering something about this not being worth the fight. Your gaze never wavered from them as they retreated.

John placed the knife on the counter and turned to you, his head tilted like he was processing what you'd just done.

Arthur was the first to speak, his usual cocky demeanor a little more subdued than normal. “That was... Interesting.”

John nodded, suddenly sober and all too aware. “We could’ve handled it.”

You scoffed softly, shaking your head with a low chuckle. "I'll remember that next time."

Arthur and John exchanged glances, both unsure of what to say. Arthur cleared his throat as he pulled a cigarette from behind the bar. He reached forward to give it to you, but John held up his hand. He pulled out his own box of cigarettes from his pocket and held it out.

“I guess, we're even.”

You didn’t respond at first, instead stoically pulling one from its box. John held the match for you, and in the silence as the cigarette burned, his lips turned upward in a smirk. He watched as you blew the smoke into the air.

"Arthur," you sighed, holding up your hand as the whiskey dried against your fingers. "I'm going to need another drink."

[infosphere]

The Silent Guardian - A Bat man story

Gotham City was eerily quiet, an unsettling hush that seemed to wrap around its darkened streets. In the heart of the city, atop Wayne Tower, Bruce Wayne stood, contemplating the latest threat to his beloved Gotham. It was not the typical villain causing mayhem but something far more elusive: an unknown entity referred to only as "The Whisperer."

Reports of criminals disappearing without a trace had started circulating. The city's underworld was abuzz with rumors about a silent guardian who moved like a shadow, leaving nothing but whispers in their wake. Determined to uncover the truth, Batman set out to investigate this new player in Gotham's dangerous game.

One night, as Batman patrolled the city's rooftops, he felt a presence trailing him. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but he knew he wasn't alone. Using his detective skills, he set a trap, luring the elusive figure into the open. To his surprise, it was a woman dressed in a sleek, all-black suit, her face obscured by a mask.

"You've been following me," Batman said, his voice calm yet commanding.

"I am The Whisperer," she replied, her voice barely audible. "I've come to help Gotham."

Skeptical but intrigued, Batman listened as she explained her mission. She had no grand vendetta or tragic backstory; she was simply someone who had lost too many loved ones to crime. The Whisperer had trained in silence and shadows, using her skills to incapacitate criminals and leave them for the authorities without a trace.

Intrigued by her methods and motivated by a shared goal, Batman proposed they work together. Their partnership was tenuous at first, but they quickly realized their combined strengths made them an unstoppable force against the city's criminals.

One night, they received word that the Scarecrow had returned, unleashing his fear toxin on unsuspecting citizens. Batman and The Whisperer split up to cover more ground, each tackling different parts of Scarecrow's operation. As Batman confronted the Scarecrow, he found himself ensnared in a hallucinogenic nightmare, the fear toxin warping his senses.

Struggling to maintain control, Batman fought through the visions of his darkest fears. Just as he began to falter, The Whisperer appeared, her presence a calming influence. She spoke softly, guiding him through the nightmare with her unwavering voice.

"Remember who you are, Bruce," she whispered. "You're stronger than your fears."

With her support, Batman overcame the toxin's effects and together, they apprehended the Scarecrow, dismantling his operation and saving countless lives. As they stood victorious, a mutual respect and trust had formed between them.

"The Whisperer," Batman said, "Gotham needs you. We need you."

She nodded, her eyes reflecting the determination they both shared. "I'll be there, in the shadows, watching over Gotham."

As dawn broke over the city, Batman knew he had found not just an ally but a kindred spirit. Together, they would continue to protect Gotham from the darkness that lurked in its streets, their partnership a testament to the silent guardians who watch over the city.

By InfoSphere

[faithshouseofchaos]

Max' older brother who charles has had a crush on since they first met, where charles figures out that older brother has been holding back in raceing so their dad focuses on him so he doesnt hurt max, and charles is in awe because older brother could have made it into formula 1 a while ago and charles doesnt think hed be able to do something like that if it were him, so charles decides to help male reader as much as he can without being noticed.

I had someone else try and write this to see if theyd been as enthusiastic as you in writing it but no its like they didnt understand the ask @/playinbillie if you want to see what they wrote. Also this was kinda one of the two stories i had for you i didnt actually know the pairing i wanted for this one so i just made it charles, but the other is a oliver x kimi x male reader.

.

Unspoken sacrifice — Charles Leclerc x male!reader

Word count— 1777

Fluff slightly angsty

The sound of the engines roaring around the track echoed through Charles' chest as he sat in the stands, his gaze fixed on the cars speeding past. But his attention wasn’t on the race; it was on him—Y/N.

Max's older brother. The one who could’ve been great.

For years, Charles had watched from the sidelines as Y/N, despite his obvious talent, kept himself from rising through the ranks of racing. Every time they’d go karting, every practice session, Y/N would leave everyone in the dust—except for Max. The family dynamic was always clear. Their dad, a former racer himself, was invested in Max. Obsessed with Max.

But Y/N? He was always the silent presence in the background, holding back in ways that didn’t make sense to Charles at first. There was something about Y/N’s racing that seemed... off. Too controlled, too careful, like he was playing a different game entirely. Charles hadn’t realized why until recently.

It was after one of the practice races, as he sat next to Y/N on the cool metal bleachers, watching Max celebrate his victory with their dad, that it clicked.

“Y/N, why didn’t you go for the win?” Charles had asked, his brow furrowing.

Y/N gave him that knowing smile, one that always seemed to hide more than it let on. “Because he needs to be the one who shines. Max... he’s the one Dad focuses on. You know that.”

Charles stared at him, confused. “But you— you could’ve taken that first place. You’ve always been better than me, better than Max.”

Y/N’s gaze shifted toward the ground, his voice quiet. “Sometimes the best thing you can do is step back.”

Charles frowned, his mind racing. “But why? Why hold back? You could’ve been in Formula 1 by now. Why give that up?”

Y/N was silent for a moment, the weight of the years they’d spent together suddenly sinking in. “Because, Charles, if I push too hard, Dad would want me to push Max harder, too. And Max isn’t ready for that. He’s not me. I’d rather see him succeed than risk seeing him burn out.”

Charles was stunned. He hadn’t realized how much Y/N had sacrificed—not just his dreams, but his entire future—for the sake of his younger brother. It wasn’t just about racing. It was about family, about love, about keeping Max safe.

And it broke Charles’ heart.

The thought of his older brother never having the chance to race for real, to chase that Formula 1 dream, made him feel a sharp ache in his chest.

"That's... that's really something, Y/N," Charles said quietly, feeling an overwhelming surge of admiration for the older brother he'd never truly understood before.

Y/N shrugged, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s what family does, right? You put them first.”

But Charles wasn’t sure if that was enough anymore.

He’d never be able to do what Y/N had done. He would never have the strength to hold back when it mattered, to throw away his own potential for someone else. Y/N had given everything, and Charles had only just realized it.

And now, watching Y/N quietly fade into the background again, Charles made a decision.

“I’m going to help you, Y/N,” Charles said suddenly, surprising even himself. “I don’t know how yet, but I will. I won’t let you fade into the background.”

Y/N looked over at him, a surprised yet knowing look crossing his face. “Charles, you don’t need to—”

“I know,” Charles interrupted, his voice firm. “But I want to.”

Y/N gave a small chuckle, ruffling Charles' hair. “You don’t have to do anything for me, kid. You’ve got your own career to focus on.”

Charles didn’t reply, his mind already planning how he could work in the shadows, how he could help his brother rise again without anyone noticing. Without Max ever knowing.

He wouldn’t let Y/N’s sacrifices be in vain.

And maybe, just maybe, they could still achieve the dream Y/N had set aside for so long.

Over the next few weeks, Charles found himself subtly changing the way he approached his time with Y/N. Every practice session, every karting weekend, he was paying more attention—not just to his own racing, but to his older brother’s every move.

It wasn’t hard to see how much Y/N was holding back. He wasn’t just playing it safe; he was actively limiting his own performance, choosing more cautious lines, braking earlier, and settling for second or third place when he easily could’ve taken the win.

It frustrated Charles more than anything. Watching Y/N squandering his potential, doing exactly what he’d done his entire life: taking a step back for the sake of someone else.

And it made Charles feel helpless. He wanted to shout, to demand that Y/N race to his fullest, that he deserved more than the life of a background player. But he couldn’t. He understood now why Y/N was doing it. He’d made that sacrifice for Max—and maybe even for their father. It wasn’t just about being in the spotlight; it was about keeping the family dynamic intact.

But Charles wasn’t going to let it go on forever.

One night, after a particularly difficult race where Y/N had barely edged out Max for a second-place finish, Charles made up his mind. He needed a plan. He needed to help Y/N, even if he had to do it in secret.

"Y/N," Charles said casually as they were cleaning up their gear, the two of them alone in the garage. Max was off with their dad, discussing strategies for his next race. "Have you ever thought about going to some of those off-season testing events? The ones where they bring in reserve drivers, or... younger talents?”

Y/N gave him a sideways glance, his expression unreadable. “I’ve been to a few. A long time ago. But you know as well as I do, they won’t give me the time of day. Not with Max in the picture.”

“I think you’re wrong.” Charles smiled, trying to hide the excitement bubbling up in him. “What if I can get you into one of those events? Just a test run, no pressure. I’ll set it up.”

Y/N gave him a bemused look. “And how exactly are you going to pull that off? You don’t have the connections—"

Charles leaned in closer, his voice low but confident. "I do now."

For the next few weeks, Charles worked quietly behind the scenes, making calls and sending messages to everyone he knew—engineers, team managers, even his own contacts within the F1 world. It wasn’t easy. Y/N wasn’t exactly a household name, and most people were only interested in the young stars, not a 25-year-old with years of untapped potential. But Charles didn’t care about the odds.

He couldn’t let Y/N’s talent slip away, not when he knew what his brother could truly do.

It was a month later when Charles finally received the response he’d been waiting for—a private testing session for a mid-tier team looking to give fresh talent a shot. It wasn’t Formula 1, not yet, but it was a step in the right direction. A foot in the door.

He waited until the perfect moment, when Y/N wasn’t expecting it, and told him about the opportunity.

“Y/N, I got you a test with an F1 team. You’re going to drive at their private session next week.”

Y/N blinked, looking at him as though Charles had just said something absurd. “What?”

“I did. You’re driving for them next week.”

At first, Y/N didn’t believe it. He laughed, like Charles was making a joke at his expense. But the more Charles pushed, the more he explained how hard he’d worked to arrange it, how he’d bent a few rules and called in a few favors, the more Y/N’s expression shifted from confusion to disbelief to... gratitude.

But even then, Y/N hesitated. "Charles, you know I’m not—"

“You are ready,” Charles cut him off, standing firm. “I know it. I know you could’ve made it into F1 years ago if you’d wanted to. I won’t let you give up on it.”

There was a long silence. Then, slowly, Y/N nodded, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. "Alright. But you better not tell Max about this. He’ll never forgive me if he finds out.”

Charles grinned. “Deal.”

The week of the test, Y/N’s nerves were palpable, though he tried to hide them. As they stood by the track, Charles watched him suit up, a wave of pride crashing over him. His brother was about to show the world what he could really do—and no one would know who had pushed him there.

Charles knew it wasn’t enough just to get Y/N the test. The hard part was making sure Y/N knew he had someone in his corner. Someone who believed in him—not as the background player or the second-best brother, but as the talented, driven racer he’d always been.

The test went better than Charles could have hoped. Y/N drove like he was born for it. Fast, fearless, and precise, he outpaced every expectation. By the end of the session, the team’s engineers were already talking about bringing him back for more testing.

But Charles didn’t want to get ahead of himself. This wasn’t the finish line. This was just the beginning.

As they packed up to leave, Y/N clapped him on the shoulder, a grateful, somewhat overwhelmed look in his eyes.

“Thanks, Charles,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what to say... I didn’t think I’d ever get a shot like this.”

Charles smiled, the weight of the unspoken promise hanging between them. “You don’t have to say anything. Just keep driving. I’ll make sure you get there.”

The next few months passed in a blur. Y/N’s performance in the test had caught the attention of several teams, and before long, he was back on the radar. Charles helped when he could, keeping things quiet and making sure that Y/N’s success stayed under the radar. Max never knew what had really happened. And Y/N, though hesitant, slowly began to believe that maybe—just maybe—he could make it to Formula 1 after all.

But it wasn’t just about racing anymore. It was about a bond between brothers, one that went beyond the track. A bond that said: I’ve got your back, no matter what.

[dangermousie]

Fall 2024 cdramas - my conclusion

Seeing we are on November 22, I can safely make this (even if something drops in the remaining week, it would largely be a winter drama.)

Anyway, here were the big ticket costume dramas and my take from one that I liked the most to least

Fangs of Fortune - no surprise to anyone checking out this tumblr for more than a minute, my favorite fall drama, my favorite 2024 drama (yes, in the year in which amazing Joy of Life 2 aired!) and a new addition to my Top 10 cdramas of all time. If there is such a thing as perfect for me drama, that is it. I expected nothing but gorgeous visuals and got an experience that rewired my DNA.

Snowy Night Timeless Love - a rare case of a drama I anticipated that turned out to be as good as I hoped. A classic-feeling romantic wuxia tragedy, this was impeccable in its quiet devastating way.

The Rise of Ning - the last quarter fell off but it was still not bad and the first 3/4 were a total delight, a drama I'd watch first and that would make me feel happy. Plus, it made me like Zhang Wanyi again.

Kill Me Love Me - first 2/3 were a gonzo delight that had me in its grip. Last 1/3 was a hot mess but still had some vvv entertaining bits (ML lugging FL's seeming corpse all over town!) and there were a lot of hot unhinged people throughout. Plus, a rarity in a cdrama, an ending that fit and made sense (yes tragic but also clearly foreshadowed.)

Love of Nirvana - this was a drama that emotionally left me mostly cold but it was really solidly done and logical from beginning to end.

Love Game in Eastern Fantasy - adored the first third, liked second third, was bored and disliked the last third (and that ending was nonsense.)

The Story of Pearl Girl - reuniting ZLS and LYN and wasting them on this turgid dull mess has got to be a crime. My most anticipated and least enjoyed drama of the year.

[lacystar]

genuinely hilarious to me that no matter how good the graphics, no matter how good the lore, no matter how good the horror, the single BEST backrooms video game we have is the Stanley parable

[amiryllisthorn]

I kinda want to talk about this idiot for a bit. I obviously dont want to talk about Valkyra’s character toooooooooo much since a lot of what is up with her tm is a big part of the game’s narrative, but theres a bit of a different aspect I wanted to talk about.

Valkyra lisiri was a character that was really just an awfully written character. She was this too cool for school didnt need any friends hyper competent soldier who was actually written as a bit of a villain. One who would rather defend the status quo rather than actually try to change anything. It was edgy and over the top and just bleh.

So how did she become the main character in the game I am most focused on? Well what ended up happening is I had a lot of ideas for games at the time, and threw this one together as a bit of a throwaway project with these characters as that I didnt really care for anymore and the idea was to make something short and move on as a bit of a prequel to the thing I actually wanted to work on.

(this sprite is two years old now! but you can see that the general look is still similar)

Well that clearly didnt happen, because the more I worked on this short throw away project the more I thought about what I could actually do with these characters. What I could do to make this setting more mine and not just rip off of sci fi series I liked. And as I wrote more and more the more things changed and were altered  to the point where any of it is barely recognizable anymore-and I love that so MUCH! 

It was no longer a prelude for another game I was working on or this half assed setting but has become something that I am incredibly passionate about! I told my self that I would try to focus on smaller projects but I cant keep myself away from this thing and these characters.

(o7 mech game concept we hardly knew ye-the concept was being on the run as a mech mechanic for a mercenary company where the gameplay revolved around fixing mechs)

While work is going much slower than I would like, due to mostly personal reasons, I really am proud with how things are really starting to come together for this project. I didnt really start focusing actual attention on it till probably the past year or so.

I think part of why this project means so much to me, is that it has taken something from a part of my past self that I dont really like, and made it into I think something far more interesting, far more fun, more technically impressive, and just so much gayer. And these once throwaway characters of little regards, have really become the core focus of the project.

Valkyra  Lisiri went from this heartless action hero who could do anything, to a much more general person, struggling through life and trying her best, and often her best was not enough. Those actions of course having their own painful consequences, that shaped her into the character she now is.

Siane Vokir went from this really bitchy agent of the state to someone who at the drop of a hat gives up everything to fight fascism, someone who now has trouble dealing with her past and people in general, and just so many layers to her character.

The game has been so thoroughly ship of theseus’d that all that really remains of the first like year of work is just some characters  have the same name and maybe a similar appearance, and that is just a fascinating and exciting thing to work with!

(the very first concept drawn up for the game. You can also see the original design for siane)

Anyways this post has gotten a little bit all over the place, but I guess I wanted to share some of this project’s history. I dont talk about the actual details as much as I should whenever I post stuff, because I have a pretty hard time with a lot of this stuff sometimes! I wanted to make posts talking more about the setting and the characters but that kinda got uh forgotten.... well maybe I will get back to that at some point.

if you made it down this far thanks for reading! I really do want to talk about all of these things more, and have been working at it. Maybe ill try to do a weekly post talking about game stuff but no promises, my brain is bad so Ill just leave you with these two nerds.

[qqchurch]

new gundam build divers series set in a vrmmo like re:rise but every player starts out with gwitch exclusive grunt suits like the gundvolva or the lfrith pre-production model that they can upgrade and customize the more wins they have under their belts

every mobile suit shown so far would be gwitch suits, with the rare few "ace" gundams that resemble suits from other AUs but still following design philosophies with gwitch

in-game missions would be either simple swarming on an objective to destroy it or more involved squad-based missions where tactics and communication matter

the protagonist for this would be an antisocial teen girl who'd recently isolated herself after a chain of bad experiences in school and wants nothing but to escape from the world by immersing herself in gaming.

she's played long enough that she managed to upgrade the default gundvolva into something that works for her, a few tweaks to enhance it's performance and a modular load out that she wouldn't miss if her suit is ever destroyed (since you'd have to buy the gear over again if it's lost)

in a squad-based mission with her nextdoor neighbor and childhood friend (also a girl) and a few randos, they run into what the community refers to as the "Game Over Boss": a gundam that randomly appears and uses multiple GundBits to overwhelm any opposition. Let's call this the Aerial Revive

naturally, the party TPKs, but the protag holds her own on enough that the Aerial Revive stands over her fallen mobile suit. the shell units on the Revive turn blue and the protag is suddenly facing a red haired child

it's Eri

surprise, this is a gwitch sequel

[enden-k]

refraining from drawing now to force myself to play through the genshin event until im done, so i can freely browse through my dashboard/tl/ao3/tumblr inbox/my fridge again without untagged spoilers

[meatriarch]

gonna be a random thought to set down but just one thats been bubbling for a couple days so bear with me if you actually read thru this lmao but -

know theres always those posts that go around that say to not be afraid of setting boundaries or curating your space for yourself etc. and while those little reminders are always nice it is always an entirely different thing actually putting that into practice. and especially in cases where theres alot of entanglement with certain aspects of connections made ooc & ic in relation to yknow, rp and everything - makes things difficult to even consider unraveling just bc of how many layers and sometimes people or muses or plots that can be affected by setting & enforcing personal boundaries or looking out for yourself & your own best interests when it comes to how things may be affecting your mood or mental state.

august for me has very much been a sitting myself tf down and re-evaluating some things on a personal level and particularly with what im willing or not to tolerate or look past, and generally just focusing mainly on being at ease and not being so anxious with shit. and part of that is deciding to be actually more firm when it comes to what makes me uncomfortable or that tugs on a trigger etc rather than brushing it off. and for me at least the little stepping stones have been nice to see myself navigate towards in the last couple weeks and im proud of myself for that, considering ive habitually chosen for years to bite my tongue when things boundaries or thoughts/feelings are pushed or disregarded etc.

august ive been mainly focusing on just being a little more at ease & at peace for the most part and, it feels generally not so stifling or uncomfortable being in my little spaces again as it kind of has been for a while. easing back into things slowly so the burnout on a few fronts ive been dealing with dont get overwhelming but its just feeling nicer in my spaces again & rekindling that fun & love with things too.

sometimes things are simply necessary for your own well-being, even if it seems & feels mean or cruel or isolating to do. sometimes you do need to consider yourself first, and thats okay.

anyways.

good morning & have a good day everyone, im sending you all kind vibes & kisses to the sky <3