#and love his motivation for doing the fight

[lyricthecat-12]

I urgently needed to talk about the last scene between Sonic and Shadow in the third movie, because I think what they did is simply beautiful. 🥹💙❤️🖤

Before Sonic 3 came out, there was debate over who would be the one to change Shadow's mind since at that point, there was no solid indication that Amy or Rouge would appear. I was a fan of the idea that maybe they'd have Jojo be the one to remind Shadow of Maria's wish, since she was an established character from the start and fits the profile like a cheerful, caring, and optimistic girl.

However, seeing that in the end they made it so that Sonic was the one who talked to Shadow and convinced him to fight to save the world, surprised me and at the same time fascinated me infinitely more. Because they managed to make the change organic by connecting it with narrative elements that were also raised and developed from the beginning; Sonic's grief over losing Longclaw and his paternal relationship with Tom, making this moment something special and significant for both of them:

It is a moment of connection and understanding between two people who have lost the person who was once the most important in their lives, who loved them when no one else did and gave them a home,

That for a long time they had to deal alone with the pain and guilt of having been the trigger for their deaths but, as they emphasize in the film, While Sonic was able to find a family that would love him and help him get better and cope with that pain, Shadow was alone and the only person he interacted with after awakening, only manipulated him in order to fulfill his revenge.

Until this moment, where Shadow finally meets someone who not only knows his pain perfectly but has also learned to move forward and not let it corrupt him even in the most difficult moments, and who in turn motivates him to do the same.

All of this contributes fantastically to their connection, as it is no longer just that their personalities and ways of acting are opposite, but also the way in which their stories correlate and at the same time distinguish each other, creating a new and emotional parallelism between them: They are two sides of the same coin, two extremes that ultimately come together to bring out the best in each other.

Which is beautifully reflected throughout the final battle. Sonic and Shadow display effortless synergy, supporting each other, backing each other up, and even casually joking around.

A good reminder of the great chemistry and dynamism they used to have years ago. Unlike now that they make it seem like Shadow barely tolerates Sonic, before they both had a friendly rivalry where they respected each other, valued each other and helped each other without problem. And I'm really glad the movie brought back some of that dynamic and reflected it in such a natural and fun way, and I hope that continues for future SCU projects instead of sticking to the current direction.

And I'm not just saying this because I'm a fan of Sonadow, but because I genuinely believe that this is the most natural direction for their relationship after all this time.

[couch-house]

If you've been following me for a while you already know I'm going to tell you to vote for @themetalvirus's Egghog AU in @sonic-au-collision. You know I love drawing those funny little guys. But I think it might be a good idea to actually get into why I find them so compelling! I think any good AU is in conversation with canon,and egghogs is a certified Yapper.

Let's start with our hero, Amy!

Our canon Amy can be characterized by her deep compassion and optimism. As well as how Sonic has inspired her hero crush and motivated her to go out and put that compassion to work herself!* Egghog Amy has that same compassion, but what if she had no choice in being the hero? She had no one to look up to and inspire her, just the crushing weight of necessity. An Amy put in canon Sonic's position, who relies on unceasing and perhaps inappropriate optimism, but is still worn down by the weight of the world. I like this take on her, an exploration of where "toxic positivity" can get you.

*I think the classic IDW Amy characterization is a good example of this. As well as Fleetway Amys origin story heehee

Despite the stress of it all, she still has the optimism to see the best in people and believe they can change for the better. Like, for example, her crush: Egghog Sonic.

Just like canon Sonic, Eggy is a headstrong hedgehog defined by his own moral compass and his need to have a pretty good time. But while canon Sonic is defined by his love of freedom, independence, and by his "coolness," Egghog Sonic has been raised in Eggman's trap of control. He's just as headstrong, but in the opposite direction. His adoptive family is just as important to him as canon Sonic's friends, but in opposition to the good of the world. Where canon Sonic is personally reckless to protect others, Eggy is careless with the safety of others in service to his and his family's needs. Canon Sonic is capricious and relaxed, even in the face of danger, while Eggy is restrained, emotionally stunted, and stressed at all times.

Personally, I think that Egghog Sonic's fighting style being based in ballet--associated with control, restraint, and exclusivity by wealth--opposed to canon Sonic's fighting evoking breakdancing--a sport associated with creativity, play, and its origins as an urban art--does a great job on its own of juxtaposing the two Sonics.

But as I mentioned, even with his morals and freedom in opposition to canon, Egghog Sonic still has that essential connection to the people he cares about: his close-knit (read: highly controlled) family.

Egghog Sonic's younger brother Silver has all of canon Silver's accidental dickishness and ruthlessness, but without the humbling experience of surviving in a ruined future to keep him in check. Born and raised with a silver (ha) spoon in his mouth, Eggy Silver would be killed instantly by canon Silver's upbringing. All his worst qualities have been encouraged (as opposed to canon silver facing consequences for and learning from his flaws) and Eggy Silver is a huge fucking bitch. You know when Silver mugged Tails in Rivals? Okay now imagine if he was raised to do that as a child soldier. Now imagine he gets anything he wants whenever he asks. Thats Egghog Silver. When Silver defects from the Eggpire, we see that appreciation for the world and its history grow back where it belongs. It gives a better appreciation to what motivates canon Silver's view of the world, and recreates it in a new way.

Also the irony of Mr. I Must Fight For The Future's fucked up AU version of himself being part of the cause of the ruined future.... its delicious.

Finally, the oldest brother (by like a couple months...). We all know canon Shadow's had a rough time of it RE: mind control, manipulation, having a whole game where he is asked to be everyones gofer... This is Egghog Shadow's life for a full 15 years. Gerald doesn't finish cooking Egghog, and Eggman is the one to dump him out of the tube and raise him to be the perfect chaos-weilding soldier. He makes liberal use of his ability to physically manipulate Shadow's artificial mind to keep him in line as an endlessly obedient servant. Of course, any Shadow meaningfully based in canon won't stay that way. Just as his canon counterpart breaks free from the demands of those around him to forge his own path, so does Eggy Shadow. Even in the fucking miseries, even without a Maria, Shadow is still will make the choice to walk his own path.

Well, not just his own path. Because while Shadow (esp post-06 Shadow) can be uncompromisingly independent at times, he is still often defined by his friendships. Specifically, his relationship to Rouge is given focus in this AU, being his one reprieve from the empire and ultimately his way out. Canon Shadow had Rouge and Omega by his side during some of his darkest moments and arguably that made all the difference to his arc. Their presence (yes, Omega is here too) during Eggy Shadow's suffering is all the more essential and highlights their roles in canon.

But of course, with greater miseries comes greater struggle to heal. Canon Shadow's neat freak nature gets reinterpreted as a trauma response--maladaptive perfectionism and OCD. (tbc, in the same way fan works often recognize that canon Shadow likely lives with PTSD as a result of his experiences, Egghog Shadow's OCD is presented as an appropriate consequence of the stressful environment he's been raised in.) I like this as an exploration of how Shadow handles stress and trauma, how it might change in different circumstances.

All that to say, Egghog AU is just done in such a compelling way that really grabs me and facilitates Rambling about The Parallels and such. And that I think makes for a GREAT AU. The exploration of Sonic's strong personal morals and headstrong...ness, the benefits and flaws of Amy's intense optimism and compassion, Silver's ruthlessness and meaner side, and Shadow's tendency to introspection and overcorrection... Again I say, a good AU is one that is in conversation with canon, and Egghogs is constantly talking about the fascinating conflicts created by these characters. And thats why you should vote #Egghogs4Eggver

[cybrasigilism]

NSFW ALPHABET with Player 333 (Lee Myung-gi)

warnings: smut and all things of the like, you know the drill! | not proofread | lowercase intended | these are my headcanons for this character, please be respectful even if my opinions for the character differ from your own

character: lee myung-gi (player 333)

A/N: my notifications have spoken, and i really wanted to write another NSFW alphabet so it works out perfectly, i apologize for the missing letters but i genuinely couldn’t think of anything for him relating to them, so for now they’re absent! i think people need to go a little easier on player 333 especially since all the players in squid game are far from perfect! like yes he’s a pathetic little loser but he’s our pathetic little loser. anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

MDNI! 18+ content under the cut, readers discretion is advised

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A= Aftercare what they’re like after sex

↳ he’s no god at aftercare, but he’ll definitely talk with you about the experience or even just anything you want afterwards. he does enjoy a good cuddle, especially if its following a particularly possessive round of fucking

B= Body part their favourite body part of theirs and of their partner’s

↳ for himself, he really likes his eyes, mainly because it was the first thing you complimented him on. and for his partner? he’ll come right out and say it, he loves your tits

C= Cum anything to do with cum, basically

↳ really into cum eating, not gonna elaborate

D= Dirty secret a dirty secret of theirs

↳ cries during sex, particularly after being overstimulated

E= Experience how much experience do they have? do they know what their doing?

↳ he’s only slept with 1 or 2 people before you, and your first time together he definitely did need some guidance but neither of you minded really. he likes when you tell him how to please you

F= Favourite Position this one speaks for itself

↳ because he’s totally possessive of you, any position that he can be in charge is one that myung-gi can get behind. really likes when he can put your legs over his shoulders, or when he can hold your thighs apart in a straddle as he fucks into you. trust that he’s going all the way in

I= Intimacy how are they in the moment, the romantic aspect?

↳ he definitely strikes me as the type who would lowkey be awkward about intimacy at first, but when you guys get into it and he gets more comfortable i really do feel like he gets super affectionate with you in bed

J= Jack off masturbation headcanons

↳ don’t ask, but he 100% uses audio porn to get off

K= Kink one or more of their kinks

↳ possessive sex, spanking, choking (esp if he’s the one being choked), dacryphilia

L= Location their favourite place to do the do

↳ dk if this counts as a location but he’d be down for mirror sex

M= Motivation what turns them on? what gets them going?

↳ lowkey getting jealous turns him on. if he feels like he’s gotta prove that you’re “his” to another person, he’ll be fighting off a killer boner

N= No something they won’t do

↳ threesomes, again with the possessiveness, that would really stop him from keeping his cool at the idea of having to “share”

O= Oral their preference on giving or receiving, how skilled are they etc.

↳ he prefers to get head; absolutely drives him insane when you gag on his cock and when you look up at him with mascara running down your face

P= Pace are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?

↳ if he’s feeling more intimate, expect a slow, gentle + sensual pace. its completely different when he’s feeling jealous, he’ll be merciless as he pounds into you

Q= Quickie their opinions on quickies

↳ um, yes he would love a quickie, what a question.

S= Stamina how many rounds can they go for? how long can they last?

↳ his stamina really fluctuates, but not in the way you’re expecting. he can actually go a bit longer after each orgasm, but only for a few rounds. expect him to cum within 3 minutes of the first round

T= Toys do they have toys? do they use them on themselves? on their partner?

↳ dude’s totally a freak, he’s got quite a few toys that he can use on his partner, the most notable being a paddle (gee, i didnt know we were canoeing), and of course he’s got a fleshlight for himself

U= Unfair how much they like being teased

↳ he acts like he hates it when you tease him, but in actuality it gets him really horny

V= Volume how loud are they? what sounds do they make?

↳ he gets pretty vocal, especially when getting head or when he’s feeling jealous. will often refer to you as being his, and how “no one else can make you feel as good as this, you’re mine.”

W= Wildcard a random headcanon for them

↳ lowkey has a daddy thing

X= X-ray what’s going on under those clothes?

↳ he’s got a pretty slim build. for size he’s fairly decent, around 5 1/2 - 6” when hard

Y= Yearning how high is their sex drive?

↳ don’t kid yourself, he’s got a pretty wicked sex drive. maybe it’s all that jealousy 🤔

Z= Zzz how quickly do they fall asleep after?

↳ at the end of the day, it all depends on how tired he is afterwards, but if he sees that you’re still awake he’ll try to stay up for you

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thanks so much for reading! as always, any advice or constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested! have a beautiful day/night :)

tags: @agornotsworld @kvstjwonnie @marymustdie

[kirammanswifey]

how arcane characters would deal with mental disorders x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: writing this felt like giving myself a warm hug, a comfort that i needed. if anyone reading this is going through or has gone through any of these disorders, i want to tell you that you are very brave because it is not an easy thing, so feel proud of yourself. i hope you liked this as much as i did. as i'm a psychology student, i felt very motivated and i hope that it was quite understandable and enjoyable. as you already know request are open ;)

P.S. i know the other option won in the poll on my profile, but i need more time to refine the ideas and make something high quality that everyone will love, which i’ll be posting tomorrow ;)

Viktor Depression

The world around you feels like a constant weight, a heavy blanket that wraps around you, not letting you breathe. You wake up each day with a sense of emptiness in your chest, as if a black hole is absorbing all your energy, your motivation, your ability to feel anything other than sadness and apathy.

It’s not that you don’t want to get out of bed; it’s that the simple act of moving a finger feels like a titanic task. Fatigue is your constant companion, a shadow that never leaves you. Things that once filled you with joy now seem distant, irrelevant, as if they belonged to a life that is no longer yours.

The dark thoughts are your constant whispers, reminding you that you’re not enough, that it’s all pointless, that there’s no way out. Sometimes, you cry without knowing why; other times, you want to cry, but even that you can’t do. You feel trapped in an invisible prison, with no strength to fight your way out.

Viktor watches you from the doorway of your room, his gaze soft and full of concern. He knows the weight of shadows well, although his are different. Silently, he approaches and sits on the edge of the bed, not invading your space, but close enough for you to feel his presence.

“I have a new project I’m working on,” he says in a quiet voice, trying not to break the fragile bubble of your world. “I thought maybe you could join me today. You don’t have to do anything, just be there. Your company always helps me think.”

He doesn’t pressure you. Viktor understands that words can be hard to find when your mind is clouded by depression. He knows that the solution isn’t to force you to feel better, but to be with you, to offer you a hand, a small step forward.

He gently rises and offers his hand, not expecting you to take it, but hoping that you’ll know he’s there, ready to support you when you’re ready. “The world can wait,” he murmurs. “But I’m here, whenever you want to come back.”

His patience is infinite, his understanding deep. Viktor doesn’t try to fix you, because he doesn’t see you as broken. He knows that depression is a battle you fight every day, and he’s willing to walk alongside you, every small step, every shared silence.

You look at his hand, then his face; he’s concerned even though he tries to hide it. You make a huge effort to get out of bed, and even though your body doesn’t cooperate at first, you manage. You take his hand and gently squeeze it; that’s the most affection you can give him right now, you’re exhausted.

“Let’s go,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and broken; it’s the first time you’ve spoken all day.

You’re sitting next to Viktor in his small workshop, surrounded by pieces of metal and unfinished prototypes. He’s explaining his latest invention, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up his eyes. You feel a little better, enough to enjoy his company, and for a moment, a laugh escapes your lips when you hear one of his stories.

“Did you really say that to Heimerdinger?” you laugh, your eyes shining with a spark of life. It’s a small moment, but for Viktor, it’s like seeing the sun rise after a storm.

He smiles, pleased to have made you laugh. “Yes, and his face... It was certainly indescribable,” he replies with a softness that reflects his pleasure at seeing you enjoy yourself, even if just for an instant.

But suddenly, without warning, the laughter turns into a lump in your throat. The spark of joy fades as quickly as it came, and you find yourself trapped in a wave of overwhelming sadness. The tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you can’t stop them. The confusion in your eyes is evident, as if your body has betrayed the fleeting happiness you just felt.

Viktor notices immediately. He leans toward you, his expression turning serious, but his eyes remain warm and full of understanding. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t seek explanations that may be impossible to give. Instead, he moves a little closer, offering you his silent presence.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, his voice an anchor amidst your internal storm. “You don’t have to explain it. Just breathe.”

He offers you his hand, this time with more intent. You take it, feeling the warmth and firmness in his grip, a reminder that you’re not alone in this moment. You needed that contact. You needed to know that you could feel something other than sadness right now. Viktor doesn’t pull away, doesn’t feel uncomfortable. He knows that depression doesn’t follow rules, that it can strike at any moment, and he’s willing to stay with you, no matter how long it lasts.

“Do you want us to stay here?” he asks, his tone delicate. “Or we can walk a little, if that helps.”

His willingness to adapt to your needs wraps you in a sense of safety. Even though the tears keep falling, Viktor’s presence is a balm, a reminder that, even in the darkest moments, there’s someone who sees you, who understands you, and who’s willing to stay by your side.

“Just... stay here with me,” you say, letting yourself fall against his body, exhausted.

He caught you and wrapped you with care, it was a hug with the right amount of strength.

“Take your time, darling. I won’t go anywhere,” Viktor promised in a whisper, never stopping the caresses on your back.

And that was enough to make you feel less miserable.

Jinx Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

The echo of the explosions still resonates in your mind, even though years have passed since that day when your world crumbled. The night everything you loved was consumed by flames in an attack on the Undercity. The night you lost your family and were left alone, with the screams and the smell of smoke forever etched in your memory.

As you walk beside Jinx through the bustling streets of Zaun, everything seems normal, almost calm, until an explosion in the distance makes your heart stop. It’s a dry, loud sound, far too similar to the one you heard that night. Without warning, your breath becomes shallow, your lungs struggle to take in air, and an overwhelming sense of absolute panic takes hold of you.

Your body freezes, and it feels as if the world around you disappears. The crowd, the lights, even Jinx—all fade away, leaving you alone in that dark place where time doesn’t move. The ground beneath your feet seems to give way, and you feel yourself falling again into that abyss of the past.

"Hey, hey!" Jinx’s voice cuts through the fog in your mind. Her hands grip your shoulders, and her gaze searches for yours with desperation. "You’re not there, do you hear me? You’re here, with me."

Her words feel distant, but the warmth of her hands somehow anchors you, reminding you that you’re not alone. "But... the sound..." you murmur, barely audible, as tears start to fall down your cheeks. "It was the same... the same as that night."

Jinx guides you to a quieter corner, away from the noise, holding your hand firmly. "Breathe, hon, like we always do," she says softly, her voice tinged with controlled urgency. "Fill up those lungs, okay? Like we’re balloons."

You try to follow her instructions, but every time you close your eyes to concentrate, the images of that night hit you with renewed force. "It’s not working," you whisper, trembling. "It’s always there. No matter how much I try, it doesn’t go away. It doesn’t go away!" You scream in panic, the fingers of your hands stiffening, making them immobile.

The worry in Jinx’s eyes softens a little, but there’s something else there, something you can only describe as recognition. "That explosion... it reminded me of something too," she says after a moment, her voice quieter, almost a whisper. "I’ve been there, in that fucked-up place, where the ghosts never stop screaming."

Her words are like a key that opens the door to a deeper understanding.

She falls silent for a moment, gazing into the distance before refocusing her attention on you. "When I have my attacks, you’re always there for me, and I remember I’m not alone. That helps me a lot," she admits, a small, almost sad smile curving her lips. "And you’re not alone either, hon. We’re not broken, just a little bent. And here we are, bent together."

The hug she offers you is warm and firm, a tangible reminder that you’re not alone. You feel her strength, her determination, and something else: her own fear, her own struggle. "You don’t have to fight alone," she whispers, her voice a promise. "If you ever feel like you’re going to fall, we’ll fall together. And then, we’ll rise. Always."

You cling to her like a lifeline, letting her warmth and her words anchor you to the present, if only for a moment. "Thank you, sweets," you whisper, allowing yourself, for the first time in a long time, to feel that it’s okay not to be okay.

Vi Anxiety Disorder

The night drags you into the abyss of your mind, but you find no respite. Instead of waking softly to the day, you're trapped in pure panic. Your chest burns, each breath a lost battle. Your heart gallops wildly, as if trying to escape your chest. You are drenched in sweat, the sheets sticking to your skin, becoming yet another prison.

Your eyes snap open, the darkness of the room seems to close in on you, and the silence is deafening. The sensation of suffocation consumes you. You try to gulp down air, but it's as though your lungs have forgotten how to function. Your hands search for something, anything, to anchor you to reality, but all they find is emptiness.

The door swings open abruptly, and Vi stands there, alert, her eyes filled with concern. She doesn't need to ask what’s wrong; she knows instantly. She moves swiftly but carefully, approaching you without frightening you further.

"Breathe with me," she says gently, her hands finding yours, steady yet comforting. "Inhale through your nose... like this... and exhale through your mouth."

You try to follow her, but your body won’t cooperate. Your breath is shallow, frantic, as though every breath disintegrates before it even reaches your lungs. Tears begin to streak down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat.

"Vi... I can’t... I can't... I’m scared," you stammer, your words broken by sobs. Your mind is caught in a loop of terror, every thought spiraling downward, taking you further away from calm.

Vi sits beside you on the bed, her voice low and constant. "Don’t be afraid. Listen to my voice. I’m here with you, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you." Her tone is firm, anchoring you in the present, pulling you out of the tide of your own fear.

"But it hurts... my chest... I can't breathe..." Your body trembles, and your hands clutch desperately at her grasp. The feeling of control slipping away is overwhelming, leaving you feeling helpless.

Vi pulls you into an embrace, holding you close, offering her calm, her strength. "This is temporary. It won’t last forever," she whispers in your ear. "Trust me. Focus on me."

Slowly, very slowly, her voice cuts through the fog of your mind. You begin to breathe more deeply, following her rhythm, feeling how her presence stabilizes you, like a lighthouse in the storm. The pain in your chest begins to lessen, the pressure relents just a little, and your body starts to remember how to breathe without fighting.

Vi continues to speak, her voice a soft murmur, calming you with every word. "You’re strong. You have control, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now."

The tears still flow, but now they are tears of relief, not fear. "Don’t leave... don’t leave. I need you here," you whisper, your voice broken but sincere.

Vi strokes your hair, her other hand gently squeezing yours. "I’m not going anywhere, little doe," she says affectionately, kissing your forehead, tasting the salty remnants of your sweat.

You remain in her arms a moment longer, allowing yourself to rest, letting her strength hold you as you regain your own. Gradually, the panic fades, leaving only exhaustion and the certainty that Vi will always be by your side, no matter how dark the nights may get.

Caitlyn Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

The silence in the apartment is deafening. The only sound that breaks the stillness is the relentless ticking of the wall clock, its rhythm echoing in your ears like a hammer. You’re in the kitchen, eyes fixed on the glasses you’ve meticulously arranged in the cupboard. Each glass must be perfectly spaced, each one aligned to the exact same level. Symmetry isn’t just a preference—it’s a necessity. If something is out of place, you feel as though the whole world could collapse.

Your breathing is uneven, your chest rising and falling in quick succession. "One, two, three..." you murmur to yourself, counting each movement. Your hands tremble, but you can’t stop. You can’t stop. If you do, something terrible will happen. You don’t know what, but the certainty that it will be catastrophic clings to you like a shadow.

Caitlyn enters the apartment after a long day at work. Her expression shifts instantly when she sees you in the kitchen, trapped in your own ritual. She stops in the doorway, watching you with a mix of concern and sadness. It’s not the first time she’s found you like this, but each time, it hurts her as though it were.

"Darling?" Her voice is soft, as if afraid to shatter you. She steps closer, carefully setting her hat down on the table. "What are you doing?"

You don’t answer at first, your eyes still fixed on the glasses. "Almost done... just a few more minutes," you whisper, your voice trembling. You can’t stop. Every glass moved, every small adjustment is a battle between reason and irrational fear.

Caitlyn stops beside you, her eyes scanning the scene, seeing the perfect pattern you’ve created. "You don’t have to do this," she says gently, yet firmly.

Your hands freeze for a moment, but the urge to continue is too strong. "You don’t understand... if I don’t do it right, if they’re not perfectly aligned, something bad is going to happen." Tears begin to well up in your eyes, the pressure in your chest intensifying. "I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, but it’s like my mind... it can’t stop."

Caitlyn takes a deep breath, her hand reaching out to touch your shoulder delicately. "You’re not crazy," she says, locking eyes with you. "I know this is hard, that your mind doesn’t give you peace. But you don’t have to face it alone. Let me help you."

You turn to look at her, your eyes filled with desperation. "I can’t stop, Cait. If I do, I feel like everything will fall apart. I can’t control what’s happening inside my head."

Caitlyn nods slowly, her gaze unwavering from yours. "I know, darling. And I know this won’t be fixed in a day. But I’m here, and I’m going to stay by your side. We’ll face it together."

Her words anchor you, a beacon in the storm that is your mind. Slowly, almost against your will, your hands begin to lower, moving away from the glasses. The fear is still there, a current running just beneath the surface, threatening to overwhelm you, but Caitlyn is beside you, her presence a reminder that you’re not alone.

"Breathe with me," she says, her voice soft and steady. "Inhale... exhale... together."

You follow her instructions, though your lungs seem to resist, full of anxiety. Caitlyn guides you, her hand never leaving your shoulder. "See? We’re doing it! You’re doing it!" She encourages, kissing your neck when she notices you’ve looked away from the glasses for five seconds. It was only five seconds, but Caitlyn knew it was a huge accomplishment, and she celebrated it.

You let out a small sigh, the tension in your muscles easing slightly. Your hands travel to Caitlyn’s waist, moving her so the glasses are no longer in your line of sight. You let your head fall against her chest, breathing in her scent. It’s so much better, especially when you start counting the beats of her heart.

"How brave my wonderful and glorious girlfriend is. I’m so proud of you," she whispered, her fingers weaving through your hair as she praised you.

"Cait, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me," you whisper against her warm chest, unwilling to leave that comforting refuge.

Caitlyn chuckles softly, and it feels like music to your ears.

"I feel the same way, darling," Caitlyn replied, gently swaying your bodies from side to side in a small rhythm.

You know that your compulsions won’t disappear, that the need for control will remain, but with Caitlyn, you feel like you can face it one day at a time.

Jayce Narcissistic Personality Disorder

The mirror in your room is your judge, jury, and executioner. Every imperfection is a sentence, every flaw a conviction. You spend hours in front of it, adjusting, retouching, trying to reach a perfection that always seems to slip through your fingers. Your heart beats fast, not from excitement, but from the constant fear that the world will see the cracks beneath your flawless facade.

Jayce enters quietly, his presence comforting and, at the same time, a threat. What will he think? Does he notice the imperfections you see? He steps closer, his gaze soft, but you feel the weight of his eyes as if he's scrutinizing every flaw.

"Love, it's late. Come to bed," he says in a calm voice, trying to distract you from your self-destructive spiral.

"Just one more moment," you reply without looking at him, your focus still on the mirror, searching for symmetry in your features, perfection in the unattainable.

Jayce sits on the edge of the bed, watching you. "You've been here for hours. You don't have to do this. You're beautiful just as you are."

His statement, though well-intentioned, feels like a white lie. "You don’t understand, Jayce," you murmur, your voice trembling with suppressed frustration. "If I’m not perfect, I’m nobody. I can’t let them see my flaws. I can't let… you see them."

Jayce stands, walking toward you carefully, as if approaching a flickering flame. "You don’t have to be perfect to be loved," he says, his words a whisper in the storm raging in your mind. "You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all to me."

Your gaze finally meets his through the reflection. Tears fight their way out, but you can't allow such weakness. "It's not that simple," you whisper. "Every day, every look, every word, it’s all a test. And if I fail…"

Jayce places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes filled with compassion and infinite patience. "If you fail, I’ll be here to lift you up."

"And what if I’m not enough?" The question slips out before you can stop it, the insecurity behind your narcissism showing in all its rawness. "What if one day you realize you deserve something better?"

Jayce leans in, his forehead touching yours, a gesture so intimate it almost breaks you. "I deserve someone who loves me for who I am, not for what I pretend to be. And that’s exactly what you are to me. I don’t have impossible expectations of you. I just want you to be happy, to find peace in who you are."

The internal struggle within you is fierce. The fear of rejection, the desire for perfection, the need to be seen and admired, all mix together in a whirlwind that consumes you. But in Jayce's arms, for a moment, the noise silences. His love is not a chain, but a refuge, one that offers rest if only you can let yourself fall into it.

"How can you be so sure?" you ask, your voice broken but curious.

"Because I love you," he answers without hesitation. "And love isn’t about waiting for perfection. It’s about accepting every part of you, even the ones you think are flaws."

The tears finally make their way out, releasing something within you that has been held back for so long. Jayce holds you as you cry, whispering words of comfort, letting all the pressure, fear, and anguish flow out of you.

"You’re perfect," you whisper, your voice cracked but full of sincerity. In your mind, Jayce is the epitome of everything you don’t believe you are: strong, confident, unshakable.

Jayce smiles softly, his hand caressing your cheek, wiping away the tears still falling. "No, I’m just a man in love. A man who loves you madly." His voice is warm, filled with a tenderness that disarms you. "Why don’t you show me that precious smile of yours? Please, it would make me so happy."

His sweet words touch your heart, and the corners of your lips stretch on their own, forming a sad smile.

"Gorgeous," Jayce murmured, caressing your lips with his strong, calloused fingers.

"Flatterer," you reply with a more elaborate smile, your eyes still wet, but now with a different shine, one that reflects the spark of hope he’s ignited in you.

"I’m just stating facts. I’m a scientist, honey, so I can tell you that, from my perspective, it’s scientifically proven that you’re gorgeous," he commented wryly, a wit that made you laugh.

Jayce smiled and kissed your forehead, holding you firmly in his arms. Finally, you feel like you can breathe, like air is filling your lungs again without that constant weight on your chest.

Ekko Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)

The room is silent except for the soft hum of music playing in the background, but your mind cannot stop racing. Your thoughts scatter like arrows shot in every direction. You try to focus on something, anything, but it feels as though your brain is in a constant battle between the ideas that come and go. The light from the lamp flickers irregularly, and for a moment, you wonder if the bulb is about to explode. This makes no sense, you know that, but the unease lingers.

You quickly get up from the bed, taking a misstep, tripping over a chair you hadn’t seen, barely avoiding it. Your heart races. Everything is a series of chaotic jumps in your head, an endless torrent of thoughts that can’t follow a single path. You look at the desk, with papers scattered about—unfinished projects, ideas you can’t ground. Everything calls to you, but you can’t focus on anything.

Your hands tremble slightly as you grab the pen and begin to write down an idea that came to you, but before you finish the sentence, a new image flashes in your mind. You stop, leaving the pen on the desk and staring out the window. Something about the glow of the stars makes you think of something else. You can’t concentrate. Everything distracts you, even the small noises you used to never notice. It’s so annoying.

Suddenly, you feel the stress begin to accumulate in your shoulders. It’s not just the lack of concentration; it’s the sense of constantly running toward something without ever arriving. You try to finish a task, but more and more thoughts pile up, projects, things that need doing. Everything seems urgent, and nothing seems possible to complete. Anxiety settles in your chest.

You’re about to get up again when you hear the sound of the door opening behind you. Ekko enters the room, his calming presence is the only thing that makes you stop for a moment. He watches you in silence for a few seconds, noticing the frenzy of your movements. You hadn’t realized, but your breathing is irregular, and you’ve gotten up twice without purpose. Something isn’t right.

He watches you quietly, understanding the internal struggle you’re facing. He knows what this means, what it costs you every day.

“What’s going on? Why are you so worked up?” he asks, his voice soft but with enough authority to make you stop and listen.

Your eyes focus on a fixed point, but you can’t find the words to explain what you’re feeling. You don’t know how to put into words what’s happening. It’s like you’re trapped in a cycle of thoughts that never stop.

“My mind... it doesn’t stop moving,” you finally manage to say, almost in a whisper. “Every time I try to do something, it’s like something else distracts me. Nothing stays. Everything slips away.”

Ekko watches you silently for a moment, understanding the fight you’re facing. He knows exactly what this feels like.

“I get it, babe,” he responds, his tone firm but gentle. “I know your mind’s all over the place right now, but I promise we can do this one step at a time. We’ll focus on one thing at a time, no pressure. Sound good?”

The fact that Ekko is offering to be there, without judgment, brings you relief. You know that the impulsiveness you feel, the urge to move without a plan, is something that consumes you. Your mind jumps from one thought to another, and each of those thoughts feels like an urgent need, an immediate necessity. But at the same time, nothing makes sense. Everything is scattered and out of control.

“It’s just that...” your words fade into the air, unable to be completed. You feel trapped in your own body, in your own brain. You can’t stop, but you can’t move forward either.

Ekko gently places a hand on your shoulder, his touch calming. “How can we start?” he asks sincerely, not rushing you. “Tell me what you need.”

For a moment, everything seems to stop. The flood of thoughts quiets down, and for the first time in a long while, you can think clearly, even if it’s just for an instant. It’s not about having everything figured out right away; it’s about feeling that someone is there, willing to stand by you while you navigate through the mental whirlwind.

“I just... I don’t know how to do it without jumping from one thing to another,” you murmur, frustration and shame creeping into your voice. “I feel like everything’s overwhelming, and I can’t focus on anything.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Ekko replies, his tone calm and direct. “First, breathe. The first step is to breathe, and then we can start with just one thing. The rest can wait.”

You close your eyes for a moment and follow his words. You breathe deeply, slowly, trying to find the balance that always seems so hard to reach. Ekko is there, not rushing you, waiting for your mind to settle. With his help, little by little, you manage to focus on one small task, one that’s manageable enough not to overwhelm you. It’s just one step, but it’s a step toward calm.

“You don’t have to do it all right now,” Ekko says softly. “What matters is that you’re not alone in this. We’ll go step by step.”

You feel the knot in your stomach loosening, even though there’s still much to do. But at this moment, with him by your side, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you can find a way toward a little peace.

After hours of work and soft laughter, you’re sitting on the floor, with Ekko beside you, both looking at the pieces left to place in a puzzle. It’s almost complete, the pieces fitting perfectly, and though the hours have flown by, you feel lighter, the atmosphere quieter.

“One more,” Ekko says with a smile, holding up a piece in the air. He passes it to you, and together, you place it in its spot, completing the picture. The puzzle is done, and though it’s a small accomplishment, it feels more meaningful than it seems. Not just because of what you’ve completed, but because you’ve managed to feel centered, accompanied.

When you look at the drawing you had left unfinished, now finally complete, you feel a deep sense of satisfaction. Ekko helped bring to life the image that only existed in your mind, his hands working alongside yours, following every line with care.

“You did it,” Ekko says, his eyes shining with pride. “My girl is incredible.” He pulled you into his lap and kissed your forehead.

You look at him, your heart beating a little faster. The fatigue of the afternoon washes over you, but you don’t care. All that matters is that he’s here, by your side, and that, for once, you feel at peace. The air feels lighter, as if the space between you two has been reduced, softened by the stillness of the moment.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your words barely a whisper, but full of gratitude.

Ekko turns toward you, his expression softening. “Don’t thank me. Thank yourself. You’re the one who made it happen, not me.”

The way he looks at you, the way his presence has become part of your space, makes you smile. And, in a moment of impulse, without thinking too much about it, you move a little closer. He seems to understand it instantly, and before you can second-guess yourself, his lips brush against yours. It’s a soft kiss, no rush, no urgency, just a moment where words aren’t needed.

When you pull away, both of you stay there, looking at each other, the air between you charged with something that doesn’t need to be named. Ekko smiles, his eyes sparkling with that glint that makes you feel as though everything is right, as if the world, for a moment, is in its place.

“Everything’s okay now,” Ekko says softly, filling you with calm.

And in that instant, you believe him.

Silco Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)

The air in Silco's office is thick with tension, as always. The sound of the bustling city echoes through the glass windows, but inside, everything is still, almost as rigid as the gaze Silco fixes on you. You're sitting across from him, feeling a familiar dizziness, as if everything is out of control and, at the same time, you're trapped in an empty space. A mix of confusion and anxiety courses through every fiber of your being.

Your hands tremble slightly, and although you try to control your breathing, each inhalation seems to sink you further into the internal chaos. The voices in your head blend together, demanding answers, claiming something you can't give. Silco watches you calmly, but it's a cold, calculated calm, as if everything that's going on inside you is a game he knows how to play.

You feel the emptiness consuming you, and yet an unbearable pressure weighs on your chest. Your mind betrays you, throwing destructive thoughts at you, telling you you're worthless, that everything you do is doomed to fail. The contradiction is overwhelming: on one hand, you feel lost, and on the other, you refuse to give in to the feeling of helplessness.

"Are you alright?" Silco asks, his voice low and steady, but there's a slight intensity in his tone. He doesn't break eye contact, as if he's evaluating every micro-expression on your face, every movement. He knows you're not, but still, he asks. Is it a test? A need to know how far you can go? The silence stretches on, and your thoughts only intensify.

The urge to stand up and run from it all is strong. Everything in you screams to follow your impulses, to escape, to flee from the overwhelming weight of it all. But you stay there, because something in you knows that running will only plunge you deeper into the darkness you're feeling inside. You see yourself fighting, trying to maintain control, but every second makes you feel more lost.

"I'm sorry... I don't know what's happening to me," you whisper, your voice broken, struggling against the avalanche of emotions threatening to drown you. You feel the tears pressing behind your eyes, but you force yourself to keep composure. "It's just... it's all so intense. So confusing."

Silco keeps watching you in silence. There's no judgment in his gaze, only a calculated assessment, as if he's reading between the lines of your suffering. After a long moment, he sighs and stands up from his chair, approaching you slowly. It's not a sudden gesture, but calm, as if he's used to dealing with people who struggle with their own minds. He says nothing, but his presence is the only thing anchoring you in this moment.

With one hand, he takes yours. The contact is firm, but not aggressive, as if he's giving you space to breathe, but also space to not escape. In his eyes, something changes. There's an understanding that you can't fully decipher, but it fills you with a strange sensation, like, for the first time in a long time, you're not alone in the storm raging inside you.

"Your mind is betraying you," Silco says calmly, his voice soft but full of an authority that makes you feel that everything happening has a purpose. "It's an enemy that everyone must face at some point. But you don't have to face it alone."

The words fall on you like a stone, but strangely, they allow you to relax, even if only for a moment. The internal chaos you've always felt halts for an instant. And in that silence, you're finally able to breathe.

"All of this... this emptiness, the feeling that nothing matters, it's not your fault," Silco continues, his tone firm, though not without a strange gentleness. "It's just a phase, a moment that will pass. But you need to control it. Not let it take over you."

You feel vulnerable, but at the same time, a part of you relaxes in his closeness. Silco doesn't tell you that it's okay, nor does he promise easy solutions. He speaks to you with reality, with that harshness that you know comes from someone who understands suffering, but who doesn't have time to sugarcoat the truth.

"What you're feeling is real, but it's also transient. Not everything is as final as you think," he adds, his gaze fixed on yours with intensity. "You can be stronger than this."

The words resonate in your mind as you take a deep breath. You don't know if you fully believe them, but for some reason, in this moment, the darkness feels less imposing. You're not completely free of it, but at least you feel you're not entirely alone. Silco is here, firm and without judgment, waiting for you to take control of your own mind, without expecting you to do it immediately, but giving you the possibility to believe that you'll manage.

The pressure in your chest doesn't disappear completely, but a small crack of calm starts to open within you. And though you know your inner struggles won't end immediately, for the first time in a long while, you don't feel as lost. Silco looks at you one last time, without haste, but with a silent certainty.

"When you're ready, you can get out of this. I'll be here."

You're surprised by how firm his voice sounds, as if, by saying it, he's committed to being a constant presence. And although you don't fully understand how he does it, you realize that, in this moment, his steadiness helps you more than any empty words of comfort.

The world continues around you, but somehow, Silco has given you the strength to face it.

The silence between you and Silco lingers for a moment, but it's no longer the same silence as before. There's a strange peace, almost comforting, in the way he holds you, in the closeness you now feel between you both. The contact of his hand, firm and steady, gives you an anchor amidst the storm that still rages inside you.

A sigh escapes your lips without you noticing, and for a moment, it's not one of despair, but of relief. Silco, still keeping his gaze fixed on you, takes one more step closer. It's not a quick or rushed step, but a calculated one, as if he's sure that, in this moment, the only thing you need is that closeness, that calm presence.

Without saying anything, his fingers gently caress your cheek, a soft gesture that cuts through you. There's a tenderness in his movements that you hadn't anticipated, something that seems in complete contradiction with the person you know, but that, in this moment, comforts you more than any words. You feel vulnerable, but you don't fear it, not now.

Your breathing gradually calms, and Silco, silently, moves a little closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body. The space between you is almost nonexistent now, and you can feel his breath in rhythm with yours. There's something in his presence that soothes you, that gives you the feeling that everything will be okay, even though it still feels hard to believe.

Finally, his lips come close to yours with an unexpected softness. It's not a hasty or desperate kiss, but something slower, more measured. The brush of his lips against yours is so gentle that it surprises you, as if he's waiting for you to accept it, for you to be ready. And you are. Though your mind is still filled with doubts and fears, something inside you tells you that this is the moment you can allow yourself to be vulnerable, that you can receive something that won't hurt you.

The kiss deepens slowly, and in that instant, the world seems to fade away around you. All that remains is the warmth of his body, the firmness of his arms around you, and the gentle contact of his lips, like a silent promise that, even though the future is uncertain, for a moment, everything is alright.

When you finally pull away, no words are needed. Silco looks at you with an intensity you've never seen before, but in his eyes, there's something more, something you can't describe, something that makes you feel that, despite everything you've been through, you're not alone.

"I told you you were strong," he whispers, his voice deep and soft at the same time.

And for a moment, everything seems enough.

Mel Chronic Stress Disorder

The atmosphere is thick with tension, but it's a different kind of tension. It's a quiet calm, yet at the same time, it is filled with the constant threat of what could happen. You’re there, in one of the rooms of the mansion, sitting on a chair by the window, gazing out at the illuminated city, but unable to really see anything. The world around you seems to blur, as if a layer of fog has settled over your senses, blurring every detail and leaving only the emptiness of your thoughts.

Mel, who has been watching your behavior for the past few minutes, approaches with a palpable gentleness in her movements. Her presence is firm, but not intrusive. From a distance, she’s observed how the symptoms of your chronic stress have taken over you, how anxiety and mental exhaustion have combined to make you feel beyond your limits.

She crouches slightly to be at your level, her eyes fixed on yours, searching for your attention. “I notice you’re not yourself, and I know it’s because the weight of everything has piled up,” she says in a low voice, her tone soft yet firm. “But I want you to listen. You have the right to rest. You don’t have to carry the world, not all the time.”

Despite her words, you feel a pressure in your chest that won’t ease. Everything feels too big, too heavy. Chronic stress consumes you, leaving your thoughts tangled while your body responds with a deep exhaustion that doesn’t seem to go away no matter what you do.

Mel, noticing the internal struggle that consumes you, steps closer and, without warning, places a firm hand on your shoulder. It’s not a gesture of force, but of support. A sign that she’s here, silently, but available to help you find the balance you need.

“Your body is telling you it needs to stop,” she continues, with a softness that’s hard to deny. “Those moments of despair, of exhaustion... they’re real. But you don’t have to go through it alone, no matter how much you think you can.”

The contact of her hand on you, her quiet strength, begins to offer some relief. Even though the weight still lingers, something in you relaxes. It’s as if her words offer you a rope to hold onto, something tangible in the fog that seems to surround your mind.

You lean forward, your fingers briefly touching your forehead as you try to calm the agitation still coursing through you. The stress, that constant pressure in your life, seems unwilling to let go of you, but at least in this moment, with Mel by your side, you can breathe a little more deeply.

“I’ll be here,” Mel whispers, like an unbreakable promise. “If you need to rest, I’ll help you find peace. You don’t have to go on alone.”

For the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to think that, maybe, it’s possible to let go of some of that burden. Mel’s voice, soft yet full of certainty, is a refuge in the midst of the chaos in your mind.

Mel doesn’t expect you to feel guilty for your exhaustion. She doesn’t demand that you change or “overcome” your chronic stress overnight. She only gives you space to feel what you need to feel and to acknowledge that, even though the road may be long, you don’t have to walk it alone.

When your eyes lift and meet hers, there’s something in your gaze that softens. The stress doesn’t vanish immediately, but the simple fact that someone understands you, that someone is staying with you without judging, gives you something you didn’t have before: the possibility of healing.

The silence between you both is comfortable. It’s a silence of acceptance and understanding. And as Mel remains by your side, her presence becomes something that offers comfort, not an immediate solution, but a step toward the calm you so desperately need.

After a long silence, Mel slowly approaches you, and her eyes, filled with softness and understanding, capture you. She takes your hand, with a delicacy that makes you feel lighter, as if the weight of your mind could lessen just with that contact.

“You know, right?” she whispers, her voice gentle but firm. “I’ve seen you fight, and still, you’re here, being so incredible. And to me, that’s what really matters. Not everything you’ve been through, but who you are now.”

The sparkle in her eyes makes you blush slightly, and your heart beats a little faster.

“Mel...” you whisper, barely able to find the words, feeling your nerves breaking. “I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

She smiles, moving closer. “I’m here, for whatever you need, for anything, always.”

Without saying another word, Mel gently caresses your cheek, as if every movement is a silent promise. Then, you see her lean in toward you, her face so close to yours that you can feel the brush of her breath.

“You’re my refuge, you know that, right?” Mel says, with sincerity that runs deep within you.

And without another word, her lips find yours, in a tender, almost urgent kiss, as if she wanted to convey everything she couldn’t with words. When she pulls away, her eyes shine with an unmistakable softness.

“I love you, with all my being. And that won’t change.”

You shiver slightly at her words, but instead of insecurity, you find comfort. Her eyes transmit calm to you, and for the first time, you realize that she’s willing to be the peace you so need.

Sevika Bipolar Disorder

The darkness surrounds you, but it’s not physical darkness; it’s something denser, creeping through every corner of your mind. It’s one of those days. You don’t know for sure, but you feel it deep in your gut: something has changed. There’s a void in your chest that you don’t know how to fill, and a sensation in your stomach that twists you up. You’ve been through this before. The bipolar disorder drags you, takes you as its own without warning, pushing you from one extreme to the other in a matter of hours, minutes.

You wake up feeling the weight of sadness, a sadness that feels physical, sinking you into the mattress as if the sheets were lead. You don’t want to move, think, or do anything. You just feel empty, as if all your strength has evaporated. The room seems smaller, the walls pressing in on you. Your legs don’t respond when you try to get up. A knot forms in your throat, but the tears won’t come. There’s no energy for that, just the weight of despair.

You don’t see her enter. Her presence is silent, but solid. Sevika knows something is wrong, she feels it even before you tell her. When you look at her, her expression doesn’t change, but there’s something in her eyes that makes you feel that the situation is serious. There’s no surprise, no fear, just a cold, calculating understanding. Sevika isn’t one to lose her calm easily. And that makes you even more confused, making you feel like you don’t belong in that moment, like you’re not the person she expects to see.

“What’s going on?” she asks, not softening anything. The question isn’t condescending, nor filled with concern. It’s direct, almost harsh, she doesn’t beat around the bush. She knows that, when you’re like this, empty words don’t help.

You struggle to form a response. You can’t, really. Your thoughts are tangled in an incomprehensible chaos. But she doesn’t expect you to explain anything. Sevika approaches, sits on the edge of the bed. Her gaze never leaves you, as if she’s evaluating your soul, searching for a point of vulnerability, a sign of what to do next. She has the ability to see beyond your emotions, beyond the depression that consumes you and the anxiety that makes you tremble. She knows that right now there’s nothing rational in your mind, but understanding is her only response. Patience mixes with a slight touch of toughness, as she always does with things she can’t control.

“You’re staying here. You’re not going to do anything impulsive. You’re not going to try to run out of here or make this worse,” she says with a calm coldness that leaves no room for objection. You know that, in this moment, she’s the only voice of reason you can hear.

You’re aware that Sevika is used to dealing with extreme situations, but this one is different. She watches you closely, but from a distance, as if she’s weighing the damage, calculating what she can do to keep you safe. You don’t see fear in her, but you see resolve. She doesn’t switch into “rescuer mode,” she doesn’t try to hug you or tell you that everything will be fine. What she says, she says with authority because she knows that if she gives in, chaos will take control, and everything she’s worked to keep stable will fall apart.

In the internal struggle between your broken mind and the anger that begins to build up inside of you, Sevika is the rock that keeps you from diving into the void. But she also knows she can’t ignore your emotions. Her expression hardens slightly when she realizes there’s something more going on. “I’m telling you this because you know it, not because I need to explain it to you,” she whispers, making it clear that there’s no room for games.

When you finally speak, it’s in whispers, as if your words have weight and could break you. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m... I’m so tired of this constant back and forth. I can’t handle it.”

Sevika doesn’t change her posture. She doesn’t tell you that she’s going to “fix” you, nor does she try to cure you. She knows that what you have doesn’t have an easy fix, but she does have tools to deal with the situation. “You don’t need to fix anything right now. You need to rest. Let what’s going to happen, happen, but don’t make decisions you’ll regret later. Do you understand me?” her voice is firm, but underneath there’s something else, a touch of softness she rarely shows.

The air in the room is heavy, laden with the weight of your thoughts, like a fog that prevents you from seeing beyond. Sevika is there, watching you with the same intensity as always, but with an odd calm, a calm that scares you because it makes you feel like she sees it all: the chaos consuming you, the internal battle between despair and rage.

“I don’t want this to control me. I don’t want to be like this,” you murmur, the words coming out broken. You know you’re saying it more to yourself than to her, but still, the guilt pierces your chest like invisible needles. You feel like you’re not being who she expects.

Sevika stays silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on you. There’s something in her face, a line of tension in her jaw, as if she’s weighing every word before speaking. Finally, she gets a little closer, breaking the distance between your bodies.

“It’s not about what you expect from yourself. It’s about what you need right now. And what you need right now is rest, stop fighting against something you can’t control.”

Your eyes search hers, those eyes that always seem to understand more than you can verbalize. And, somehow, you feel that there’s no judgment in them, just a silent acceptance of what you’re going through. It’s strange. In the middle of the storm in your mind, Sevika gives you the feeling of being the only anchor left in your world.

Suddenly, she stretches out a hand toward you, not rushing, not in a hurry, but with the firmness that characterizes her. You take it without thinking, as if it’s the only thing that can stop the flood of erratic thoughts flooding your mind. Her touch is warm, comforting. There’s a strength in that simple gesture, something that allows you to relax, even if just for a second.

“I’m going to take care of you, understand?” she whispers, her voice low, barely a breath. There are no empty promises in her words, just a statement of fact. But in her tone, you find a softness that she rarely shows. It’s like, for a brief moment, her heart opens a little more, even if she doesn’t fully recognize it.

The moment stretches on, and even though the storm in your mind hasn’t ceased, there’s something in you that feels a little lighter. Sevika doesn’t have the solution to your pain, but her presence, her closeness, gives you a peace you never even imagined.

Without thinking, you move a little closer to her, seeking that warmth. Her fingers interlace with yours, and for the first time all day, you don’t feel completely broken. Sevika has never promised you a happy ending, but in this moment, you don’t need one. The simple fact of being here, of having her close, gives you a reason to keep going, even if just for a little while longer.

“I love you,” you say without thinking, and the words come out with a clarity that surprises you. It’s not a grand declaration, it’s not a promise that everything will be okay, but it’s something real, something you never thought you could say to anyone before.

“I love you too, doll,” she responds with a half-smile, though her eyes seem softer than ever. And, for a second, the world seems to stop. The anxiety, the disorder in your head, dissipate, if only for a brief moment.

She leans in a little toward you, and in that instant, all that matters is the touch of her lips on your forehead, a simple gesture but filled with affection. The silence between you both is comfortable, no pressure, just the comfort of being together, knowing that, even if the world around you falls apart, Sevika will be the one to keep you steady.

[1296-very-good-year]

Thank you! I've been waiting for dissent on this. And I won't even call you stupid :)

My opinion here was not kneejerk. This season has gotten more rotten the more I think about it (which has been A LOT)

No I think Season 2 did a lot of needless backflipping to avoid discussing class conflict - that was the heart of Season 1 - in exchange for magic is bad, and forgiveness... or whatever.

That Piltover's request for help was lopsided is not the problem. The problem was the onus to do the right thing was put on Zaun. NOT Piltover. There were zero apologies or repercussions for the martial law and oppression.

Viktor used the Hexcore to cure his terminal disease that was killing him. Not some nebulous "weakness" in himself or humanity.

Jayce's actions were either all part of a master plan he concocted offscreen with future Viktor, or a series of dumbass decisions that led directly to everything he was trying to prevent, and only Ekko coming in last second saved the day. There is no inbetween here. Whatever you want to think is right, is right, because the show works overtime to hide his thoughts from the audience for that nonsense mageViktor twist at the end.

I think you need to reread my point about Viktor saving baby Jayce. It is an UN ambiguous RETCON.

You can read a million other posts about Vi's lack of character arc. Who does she choose, between Cait and Jinx, by the way? Because the show takes that choice away from her by removing Jinx.

Vander's first death had infinitely more meaning than him coming back to life over and over.

Isha was not a character foil to Jinx. She had no character at all, aside from wanting Jinx to be a rebel. Why did she want Jinx to rebel? Who was she? Did she have a deep hatred for Piltover's oppression? Who knows.

Love you assuming that because I wanted Jinx to have an interesting, morally dubious character arc, that I hate mentally ill people recovering.

Caitlyn literally became leader under martial law. She was a dictator. That is not an interpretation. She lost an eye in a fight with Ambessa, not as a consequence for oppressing Zaun.

Viktor didn't need to tell Ambessa his plan. It was OBVIOUS. He was speaking through the voice boxes of all of his collapsed robot followers, saying they were "all one". Would YOU give someone like that everything they wanted? Hypocrisy is fine in a character, but did anyone call her out on it? Make her defend herself? Nah. If we don't bring it up, maybe the audience won't think about it.

Turning Silco and Vander's decisions to adopt Vi and Powder from previously clear, ideological CHARACTER DEFINING choices into them just fulfilling a promise to their dead mom, is lame as hell and not needed. Full stop disagree with you that Silco knew Vi in Season 1. He literally says he regrets that they "never had a chance to speak".

Explaining Mel's motivation does not address the criticism that it was rushed as hell, or that her magic is - for some reason - the only example of good, safe magic. Meanwhile Viktor and Jayce have to kill themselves to make up for inventing and using Hextech. Because they weren't BORN with it, so it's naturally bad.

Ekko didn't actually make up with Jinx in episode 7. He met Powder from an alternate universe. If the showrunners thought that would be a redundant, then maybe they shouldn't have wasted so much of Ekko's time in an alternate universe with a brand new character.

For ppl who liked Arcane season 2, is the honeymoon over yet?

Can we agree that S1 and S2 are completely different shows?

That none of the themes carried over between them?

That Piltover did nothing to earn Zaun coming to their rescue in the final battle?

That Viktor's "cure all weakness" shit came out of nowhere?

That understanding any of Jayce's actions post-talking to mageViktor requires a PhD in eyebrow twitches and nonsense?

That Viktor saving baby Jayce was an unambiguous retcon?

That Vi was just a cardboard cutout that Jinx and Caitlyn wrestled over?

That Vander lived and died at least 2 times too many?

That Isha was just a cute pet for Jinx to monologue at?

That Jinx turned from unhinged terrorist to a defanged, quirky jokester?

That Caitlyn's blink and you'll miss it dictator arc changed nothing and there were zero repercussions for it?

That Ambessa became a hypocritical moron whose anti-mage sentiment ate shit and died when she teamed up with robot mage Viktor, who didn't even PRETEND he wasnt going to hivemind her along with everyone else?

That Silco being close to Powder and Vi's mom, knowing them since they were born, only serves to weaken his relationship with Jinx?

That Mel went from a morally complex, savvy politician into a heroic battle mage, (in like 5 mins of screentime) while all other kinds of magic + Hextech were evil and corrupting and had to be destroyed?

That Ekko convinces Jinx that he went to an alternate reality and fell in love with her and she shouldnt kill herself and to become a revolutionary hero(?) OFF SCREEN?

IS THE HONEYMOON OVER YET?

[baneonono]

There are a lot of people talking about Penelope’s pov in the last song. People will discuss how she is hyper intelligent, what is means that she’s Spartan, how patient she’s been, what her final test for Odysseus was and what it means that she gave it to him. And there was definitely consent discord of people noticing that Odysseus asked Penelope if she would love him. And while all of this is great, it’s all been kind of bothering me because of the treatment of Penelope. 

One thing we haven’t been discussing is how Penelope has changed. Look there are two things that I think necessarily had to happen when Odysseus went away. Firstly Odysseus needed someone to fight for, someone to get home to. And this person was Penelope, and while I’m sure his understanding of her was good, it became stagnant because he was away from her without any contact. He was working very hard on getting back to an image, a representation of Penelope. There was this version of Penelope, that may very well have been perfectly similar to Penelope twenty years ago, but nonetheless was still a freeze frame, that he put on a pedestal. He needed to do this so he could get home. He needed to imagine his perfect wife, frozen in time, waiting for him, so that he could get home. 

But I also can assure you that Penelope was not frozen in time. She was left with a very young son and an entire kingdom to rule, however she handled it, she is not the same person she was twenty years ago. She has changed. That is inevitable. She has become a different person just like Odysseus has become a different person. Maybe she didn’t become a monster(I like to believe she did for parallel reasons but she doesn’t have to have) but she is not the same person. 

Now in all reality, they both went through the same thing, Penelope changed and was motivated to keep waiting by a freeze frame of her husband. Odysseus changed and was motivated to keep going by a freeze frame of his wife. Both are true because they both were separated from each other. But the reason I emphasize Penelope’s change is because everyone mostly seems to be ignoring it. And I think the reason Penelope is mad at the final song is because Odysseus is ignoring it. He hasn’t seen her for her yet. He’s still thinking about this conception of her in his head from twenty years ago when he asks her “would you fall in love with me again”. He’s not seeing her. He’s going on and on about how he’s done so many awful things and he’s become this monster that she won’t even recognize and he’s ignoring the person actually in front of him for this picture of her on a pedestal. And Penelope has to stand there and watch her husband grovel at her feet, not understanding that she has been changed, not allowing that her feelings for him would’ve changed her just as much, not seeing that the separation impacted her just as much as it impacted him. And she’s angry. Because she’s been waiting, she’s been fighting every single day for her husband, she’s watched herself become a person that her twenty years ago wouldn’t even recognize for this man and he sits at her feet discrediting all of the work she’s done to be here when he got home. She’s raised their son on her own, she’s fought off suitors, she’s ruled a kingdom, and so much more for this man at her feet and he won’t even look at her. 

She’s angry and she needs to make him see her. And my girl Penelope, is such an icon, that she does three things at once in an attempt to make him see her. She makes him feel how she’s feeling, she reminds him of what they both worship, and she utilizes her change to do this so that he understands what he’s dealing with now. The olive tree task does all of those. Let’s start with the last one. I know that people like to think of this trial as something Penelope always would’ve done, she would’ve always been a little tricky and manipulative but I think this is something she picked up in her twenty years. I think she was always intelligent but I don’t think she would’ve hidden her intentions before. I think this makes sense in a few different ways. Firstly, Odysseus interprets it literally when she asks him to move the bed. Remember this is the Odysseus who has a frozen image of Penelope from the years before and he thinks that what she’s insinuating here is that she wants him to move the bed and destroy a symbol of their love, he takes it literally. So I think that before, Penelope would’ve been intelligent but not manipulative and I think that shows in Odysseus reaction. Where when he realizes what she’s done, he’s surprised, too stunned to speak(he’s also into it but that’s unimportant for now). I also think that Penelope would’ve had to become more manipulative given her situation. The suitors, her kingdom, all of them that have different goals than her, she would have to seem like she’s appeasing them while not appeasing them. All this to say, I think the olive tree trial is a thing she wouldn’t have done before, I interpret it as a result of the twenty years and not something Odysseus would recognize. Which brings me to the other two things she did with the task. She made Odysseus see her and understand what she’s feeling and she reminded him of what they both worship. It’s no mystery that Odysseus was angry at this attack to the foundation of their relationship, which is exactly what Penelope was feeling. Odysseus came into their room and treated her as stagnant, refused to see her, and this was an attack at the very foundation of their relationship, which is everlasting love. He insinuates that she won’t love him despite everything in his question and that is just like Penelope telling him to move the bed. And he responds with the same anger that she feels. And when he realizes this, she’s accomplished the goal of reframing his vision of her. He sees that she’s changed, he sees that she was angry, he sees that they both did everything for that love, he sees her. And, importantly, it’s only after he sees her that she answers his question. Once he understands what he’s come back, then she will answer the question. Because she’s glad he asked, and it’s definitely the right way to go, making sure you both still want this, but it’s a useless question if he doesn’t know who he’s asking it to. So after she makes him understand, then she answers. “I will fall in love with you over and over again, I don’t care how where or when, not matter how long it’s been you’re mine”. And that is my girl, that is a person who’s been changed by her experiences, but still is very much in love with her husband, that is a three dimensional person with emotions and nuance. 

And for the record, this is not to say that Odysseus was ever in the wrong here. Not at all, what Odysseus did makes complete sense. He was caught up in his journessey. He was looking at the situation through the eyes of I have become this monster and my wife has been waiting. He, very validly, was still lost at sea. And Penelope brought him home. And just one more little detail that I love is the usage of “new” and “old” king. Before he goes to see Penelope, everyone is referring to him as “old king”. When Penelope puts forth the challenge she says “will be the new king”. Which just makes me think that Odysseus went from being the old king to the new king in the course of wyfilwma. But he’s always Penelope’s husband because Penelope refers to the bow as “my husband’s old bow”. Which just gets to the idea that he’s changed but he’s always her husband. 

Anyway this is just the way I love this musical. Gonna over analyze it immensely

[tactical-jellyfish]

Watcher 1-1

Part Five!!!

Warnings!: The 141 will be criminally stupid, fumblers, all of them. Death (canon-typical), Violence (canon-typical), loss of limb (no, I won't tell you who yet >:), but I will cover the symptoms as well as possible) They do get kissy, but no smut (that I'm writing, but it's very much implied).

Warnings for this specific chapter: (technically) main character death, written descriptions of injury, gore and blood talk

Good luck, soldiers.

The early morning sun streaming into your room is a lovely little bit of accoutrement to getting ready for another mission, even if you're trying to persuade the prettiest man you know from sticking to your back like moss.

"Kyle, I'll be back by dinner, I swear to you-"

Your plea gets nowhere, as a light nibbling at your neck drives a squeal between your lips and a chuckle from the man behind you, a tender squeeze from the thick arms wrapped about your body as you try to squirm out of the warm, tempting hold.

"But I'll miss you, Firecracker, you can't just go out without me an' Soap like this..."

The whine is muffled on your skin, spoken through lovely, soft lips, still warm and a little swollen. You puff up a bit in pride, know that's your work, but mentally force yourself back to focus.

"C'mon, Ky. Just twelve hours or so."

He huffs in response, leaves one more kiss on your skin for good luck.

"Fine, but don't expect me to save a spot for you in the shower if you take any longer 'n' that."

You grin at the tease, and gently tug Kyle in by the shoulder for another little kiss, affectionate, before pulling back.

"See? That ain't too hard, is it?"

He swats your shoulder as he walks out. You chuckle.

There isn't much time to give Johnny a goodbye, but he manages to steal a short, teasing peck in the hallway, and he playfully smacks your ass in a way that just tells you he wants you in his room tonight before walking off with his usual swagger, outwardly unbothered.

"Prick!"

You call out after him, cheeks flooded with a familiar, pleasant heat.

"Arsehole!"

Is his response.

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

During the mission, your steps feel lighter, like you're somehow floating ever so slightly above the ground beneath you. You deem it adrenaline, and push forward.

"Still got my six, Ghost?"

"Affirmative. Keep goin'."

The thick, Mancunian brogue is what motivates you now, pushing further into the compound silently, trying to locate the objective as you listen for anything, even another footstep.

The tense silence is all you have, other than the beat of your heart or the way blood rushes too-quickly in your ears. You shouldn't be this nervous, this bad feeling is silly.

You're already here, opening the door to find your objective. It's almost time to go back.

The thumb drive fits neatly into your palm, but almost exactly after you take it, you hear a gunshot.

Fuck. Why did Price take a shot in here?

Every hair on your neck stands up, and they only get taller when you hear your captain in your earpiece.

"Tangos are alerted to our presence, roll-out in two minutes.''

Your blood is icy cold as you hear footsteps flooding into the hall, and you pocket the drive as you pray they'll pass in time.

"Sir, I'm on the third floor, I have the objective but I won't have the time-"

"We roll-out in two. Minutes. If you're there or not."

A hard shudder passes through your spine as you fight for a breath, to rebut this, to tell him that you just need time, you'll get back out. Simon does it for you.

"Thir'y more seconds won't bugger anythin', sir." Simon says that word like it's an insult.

You can hear their voices arguing through your headset as you bolt through the brutalist hallways, narrowly dodging and ducking but not covering enough distance.

An alarm starts to sound, a self-destruction and a warning to get into designated safety bunkers.

But you can't move, not fast enough, you're darting through the halls and you're not going anywhere, you must be going insane.

When you see the doorway out, you wonder if you're in heaven. The chorus of angels is welcoming you, telling you that you're going to make it.

You will.

The door is locked, and it wastes thirty precious seconds to open, slamming the butt of your gun against it as you fight the steel for your life.

When it opens, you can see the helicopter, you can see Nikolai behind the control panel, you can see Price and Simon and you see your lieutenant look at you.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it's all wrong.

Your ears are ringing, and you're on the floor, surrounded by fire and you only know that because you can smell the telltale odor of burning flesh and fabric.

A voice calls to you, but two sets of feet are in front of you, imposing and dark, thick-booted.

"Easy, Firecracker, we're going to get you out."

You can't look up, but when he tries to lift you, your leg feels like it's being pulled right off, like gnarly, twisted claws are digging between muscle and peeling them away from each other, burning and too much. The hot shiver of agony is making your entire calf throb, and you could swear the noise that comes out of you isn't real.

Tears, hot fat and heavy, are rolling down your cheeks like watery marbles, and your vision starts to blacken as a sick gush of blood leaves your damaged limb, making you feel like you might be dying.

You hear a few words exchanged, and there are no hands on your shoulders anymore.

The fall is short. You're out before you hit the ground.

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

(Post-fic note:) Yippee! This chapter was unexpectedly hard to write, but I'm glad it's out. As always, enjoy sillies! New chapter might also take a while because of research, I wanna make it as good as possible :D (just found out I could copy-paste tags, holy shit that's crazy)

[bithcisweartogod]

something something possible symbolism of the characters’ assigned chess pieces

i’m not that big of a chess player though, so if you are and have something to add/correct PLEASE DO 🙏🏻

xia fei - a pawn. most commonly met as a metaphor to a person who’s being used by others. but if we consider the pawn’s importance in the game of chess, they’re far from weak. pawns remind us not to underestimate those who wield less power. after all, if the pawn manages to reach the end of the chess board, it can turn into any chess piece, even a queen. and honestly that really correlates with my perception of him so far. xia fei seems way less threatening than vein and liu xiao, but i think he has his own motivation to be with them, and this image of a nice cool popular guy might be helping him in his pursuit. no one expects anything dangerous from him. maybe they should.

lu guang - the knight. knights are unpredictable. they’re the only chess pieces that move in an L-shape, even the queen can’t do that. because of their small range of movement, they have to be thoughtful and tactical. they are not limited by colour. knights are also the only ones who can pose a threat to the queen without putting themselves at risk. all this adds up with lu guang’s character so perfectly. he’s literally a walking unpredictable mystery. his own power is limited - he can only see 12 hours into a picture. he’s tactical and calculating, he quite literally writes down all his steps. he’s quick to come up with new ideas and thinks several steps ahead, like when he put a phone in cheng xiaoshi’s pocket to make a photo of vivian. [lu guang’s also a convincing actor, as it was noted by cheng xiaoshi, so i’d assume he’s good at lying and (reaching omg) maybe he’d even be able to control his heartbeat 🤭]

cheng xiaoshi and vein - the rooks. brute force. they move in a straight line, forward and backward and are not limited by colour. they are the second strongest piece after the queen, but they are way more predictable than knights and bishops. and yeah, that does sound like cheng xiaoshi. in times of danger he acts really quickly - jumping in front of lu guang to shield him from a bullet, or how he acted in that fight with liu min. he’s quick, and sometimes marches forward without thinking. his power is so influential that it is even desirable by others - remember how li tianchen wanted to “try it” for himself. i’d assume vein to be somewhat the same. we see that he also isn’t the type to try and escape a fight, the exact opposite. and if cheng xiaoshi’s goal seems to be more defensive - protecting those he loves, then vein is (seems to be for now at least) full on offence. bold, brutal, unrelenting, moving forward and getting rid of those who stand on his way. liu xiao - the bishop. they own the diagonal lines. they also have to create strategies and need other chess pieces to protect them. they can only move on one colour though, so in that aspect they’re limited. but as the board gets emptier their power grows - they can move a long distance. that’s also how i see liu xiao so far. “mastermind stays in the dark” and all that, he prefers to have others work for him than perform the actions himself. he’s quite young and i’d think he’s generally weaker than vein and maybe even cheng xiaoshi, but he’s dangerous. he pulls the strings and no matter how strong you are, if you’re not careful - you’ll get roped into his game. one more interesting thing about the bishop is the motif of belief and religion which is, well, in the name - we see it played out in liu xiao’s trailer as well.

but the board isn’t complete. we’re missing the queen and the king. just a theory, but i’d assume the beautiful mystery lady to be the queen. in the ending her eyes SHINE just like lu guang’s, so i think she also is an ability user. and if that’s true then well…her eyes shine yellow…looks familiar…haha..;; the queen is the most powerful chess piece, moving in all directions, on all colours. so i’m really looking forward to seeing her enter the game

and the king - if i continue to theorise, i’d say it would be cheng weimin. the king’s range of movement is small - yet he’s the single most important piece on the board. and i’m sorry but if we look at this official art (oh god tumblr wtf what’s up with the quality) then we can see a black king (and i’d assume it’s a king, they’re characteristic of having a cross on top, right??) lying defeated…i’d guess papa cheng isn’t coming home :(

also while i was reading about chess and stuff, i found that bishops and knights are worth roughly the same, though the bishops are considered more powerful. if that matters at all, i’d interpret that as liu xiao and lu guang both being incredibly smart and good at creating strategies, yet liu xiao’s network of connection and influence outweigh lu guang’s. but maybe that’s also why there are several moments that point out liu xiao’s interest in him - maybe he’d think he met an equal.

[42ap]

In this AU, Ford’s ideal is to save the world, but in practice, he spends a lot of time hunting and killing monsters. He feels rigid and hard when touched, only for it to become clear that he always carries two guns with him. His paranoia can’t entirely be called irrational, since he has indeed made plenty of enemies.

As mentioned before, Ford and Stan have a friends-with-benefits relationship in this AU, but they’ve barely had any sexual encounters. In fact, after Ford came back, they didn’t do anything at all; they only had a few encounters when they were younger, so in total, it amounts to “almost none.”

When they were young, their father would often tell Ford to keep an eye on his brother. Stan, the mad dog who stirred up trouble and picked fights, always had Ford behind him, who came up with plans and fixed problems. The two brothers were inseparable, and this was how people perceived them. But one day, Ford accidentally found out that Stan had feelings for him.

Ford was utterly disgusted and got into a huge fight with Stan. He found Stan repulsive, accused him of being mentally ill, and questioned whether all of Stan’s familial affection was motivated by something impure. Stan couldn’t successfully lie to convince Ford that he didn’t have feelings for him, nor could he make Ford believe that he was capable of restraining himself and maintaining a normal relationship. It was a brutal argument, and by the end of it, Ford suddenly calmed down. He stared at Stan, sneered coldly, and said, “You say you like me? Prove it. Show me how much you like me and how obedient you can be.”

And so they did it. It wasn’t painful, nor was it pleasurable. Stan genuinely liked Ford, but he was just barely transitioning from being straight, and his mind hadn’t fully processed everything yet. But in that moment, it seemed like the only way to gain Ford’s forgiveness or to stop his anger was to prove it to him, so he did it, full of fear and anxiety. He was the one who liked men, so naturally, he should be the one on the bottom. Everything was messy, dragging on, not disastrous, but just a little off in every way. The lube was improvised, the foreplay was half-hearted, and even the climax felt incomplete. It wasn’t good, and it wasn’t something without regret.

In porn, the participants end up sticky, kissing, and hugging, smiling with happiness. But in reality, what Stan remembered most wasn’t Ford’s gasps but the way the evening sunlight shone in through the windows from the street, casting shadows on the dim ceiling as cars occasionally passed by.

After that, they did it once or twice more, but their relationship continued to deteriorate rapidly. Before there could be any opportunity for reconciliation, the science fair incident happened.

Ford hated him because he believed Stan had done it on purpose—Stan wanted him to stay by his side.

Ford hated him deeply because Stan had cost him a normal family. In college, he could never introduce his family or his brother in a normal, happy way when people asked about them.

“Being a twin is a birthright.” Not everyone is born with a sibling alongside them, sharing that special connection. Not everyone gets to have such a unique relationship—biologically, physically, inseparably bound. Ford hated Stan because Stan had ruined that precious privilege for him.

From the age of 20 to 60, Ford lived alone and did well for himself, doing everything he loved without anyone holding him back.

[skywalkr-nberrie]

Crying my eyes out because I won’t find anyone like Anakin who’d trespass the rules and expectations of his career just to save the love of his life and stop anything from possibly harming her like how he does throughout all of AOTC.

OW just straight up telling Padmé they ain’t pulling out all the stops cause they got rules to follow and a job to do, but Anakin out here declaring his pledge to Padmé that he’ll hunt down whoever the sicko that’s hunting her is, and OW has to try and keep him in check by telling him they’re not going out their way to do anything other then their task 😭

Anakin bursting into Padmé’s room, jumps on her bed to slice and dice those nasty worms that would have killed Padmé, boy wasn’t motivated by his dedication to the Jedi is all I’m saying 😗

Then Anakin putting the whole weight of the Force into his interrogation on Zam Wassel, and OW once again noting that this ain’t coming from Anakin’s dedication to his job 😭 (yeah, it’s called wanting to keep the love of your life safe so you become overprotective and possessive.)

And ofc how could I make this post without mentioning one the best scenes in AOTC, aka one of my favourite scenes 🤧 Padmé falls out the ship, and Anakin immediately without a second thought was ready to jump out of a flying ship to save his beloved and once again OW fighting tooth and nail to try and stop his madly in love padawan from ditching his duty in favour of letting his emotions win.

What I love most is how Anakin wasn’t even phased by OW mentioning how he’d be kicked out of the Order if he did this and Anakin straight saying “I can’t leave her!!” So OW’s last resort being to ask him what Padmé herself would want him to do, which is the only thing from out of every consequence he mentions that actually works because Anakin values Padmé’s values, opinions, and beliefs and he never wants to look like a failure in her eyes. (Even though he never would.)

[Anakin Skywalker : A Jedi's Journal]

Anyways, where can I find me someone like this?

[ltadoriyuujl]

your orbit is the best place to be

☆ earth is large and space is infinite and yet you still can never be more than 2 degrees of separation from the boy made of stars that has held your heart in his hands forever.

☆ bakugou katsuki x reader, 7.2k words

☆ no cw, bkg gets jealous, mineta is there as the worlds sleaziest plot device

☆ a/n: wow my first official tumblr fic! a million thank yous to all the oomfs that kept me motivated enough to finish this. @teddybeartoji @ms0milk <3 you guys

“Man, it's been ages since we've been to a station. I don't know about you guys, but I'm so ready to get off the ship.”

“Tell me about it. I'm honestly starting to go a little crazy in here.”

“I'm definitely excited. A buddy of mine told me the, ahem, ‘working girls’ of Iltari-7 can suck the silver off a new cybernetic.”

“Fucking hell, Denki, what kind of degenerates do you hang out with and why are they giving you hooker recommendations?”

Boisterous laughter bounced off the chrome walls of the lounge as your face screwed up in disgust. Most of the crew of the Aldera were scattered around the room, reclining and relaxing in various positions. Kirishima Eijirou, first mate, copilot, and the one who had spoken first, was seated on a stool by the small bar, his muscular back resting against the table so he could face the room. Sero Hanta, the ship's mechanic and gunnery chief, sat cross-legged on the floor, the parts of some new passion project littered around him. And Kaminari Denki, one of the best software engineers this side of the galaxy and the current source of your ire, was sprawled on the old couch positioned directly across from your own chair. 

“C'mon, cut me some slack, Doc. A guy can't get lonely?” Denki’s grin was large and unabashed, even as he tried to feign hurt. The corners of your own mouth started to quirk up. 

“You say that like the rest of us are imaginary or something. I'm touched that you value our friendship so deeply, Denki,” you replied, your tone dry despite the amusement on your face. 

“Love you too, but friendship doesn't get me-”

“And that is my cue to leave.” You swung your legs down from their perch on the center table, a second round of laughter ringing out as you stood. “I'm going to talk to our esteemed captain, see if I can negotiate an extra day in port.” 

Kirishima snorted as you passed him on your way to the door. “Good luck. Cap says 3 days, so really we're looking at 2 and a half. But hey, if anyone could get him to budge it's you, Doc.”

Solidly ignoring the implications of that statement, you pulled open the lounge door, stepped out into the hallway, and slid the door home again with extreme prejudice. The howls of your crewmates were audible from behind the thick steel as your legs began to carry you towards the bridge.

Bakugou Katsuki, captain of the Aldera, was something of an enigma to the larger spacefaring community. Only a handful of people even knew his full name, half of them being the ship's crew and the other half either on Earth or scattered through the far reaches of space. To most, he was the fearsome Dynamight, scourge of the endless night, the man who haunted the nightmares of hardened Federation admirals. The reward for his head was large enough to buy a small moon. He wasn't just a space pirate, he was the space pirate.

He also set the ship's day/night simulation settings to the Tokyo timezone so he could get 8 hours of sleep no matter where he was in the galaxy. He didn't drink, didn't smoke, and his only vice was the adrenaline of a fire fight. You'd been there when his arms were almost blown off, and kept him alive long enough to get them replaced by top of the line implants with veins that carried lighter fluid instead of blood. He'd knocked out one of your front teeth when you were 6 and he was 7, and there was a very faint scar on his left shoulder because you bit him immediately after. When he'd shown up to your dorm in the middle of the night, freshly defected with nothing to his name but a stolen ship and a handful of flight school buddies and asked you to come with him to the stars, you'd been gone before your RA was even awake enough to investigate the racket.

Lost in recollection, you almost ran face-first into the bridge door, catching yourself just in time to avoid being laid out by an inanimate object. Katsuki's first order of business as an outlaw was calling in a couple favors from some below-board mechanics and getting the whole ship remade into the specimen it was today. The Aldera, formerly the S.S. Yuuei, was refitted with brand new guns, shields, and stealth tech. Your captain also had the onboard AI stripped to barely more than glorified autopilot and, despite Denki's grumbles about the boredom of his post, the decision wasn't without merit. It disabled the Federation failsafe of remotely hijacking a vessel through its operating system, but while it was no doubt a great safety measure that had allowed you all to evade capture more times than you could count, even 5 years on the run wasn't enough to erase a lifetime of being used to automatic comforts and there was surely more security footage of you smacking into doors than you'd like. 

You're forced to squint as you step into the navigation room, the sunny “high noon” lighting at stark odds with the inky blackness outside the plexiglass window that dominated the room. Katsuki's form was visible in the captain's chair, right where you suspected he'd be. Vermillion eyes darted to yours as you moved to stand next to him, and with a small huff he dismissed the holopad he was reading and turned his full attention to you. 

“Doc.” Your title rolled off his tongue and fell at your feet, almost slimy with sarcasm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hello to you too, Captain. I'm great, thanks for asking. I love that our first conversation of the day is starting off on such a good note.” Your tone was sickening in its faux sweetness, and the snort you received in return made you roll your eyes good-naturedly. 

“We've known each other way too long to bother with idiotic small talk.”

“Yeah, but you should be nice to the person who keeps you and your crew in fighting shape.”

“That person is me, and I've told you how I feel about your wellness tips.”

You flipped him off, though the grin on your face matched his. Talking with him was always easy.

“Seriously though, did you need something?” Katsuki asked, his hands flitting over the ship's console as he minutely adjusted the course. “We should be docking within the next 4 hours.” 

You let out a hum of acknowledgement, your gaze turning to the multitude of stars twinkling outside. “I told the guys I was going to ask you about getting another day in port, but really I just needed to get out of the conversation. Denki was starting to talk about station whores and that is not a topic I have the energy for right now.” 

Katsuki made a disgusted noise. “If that dumbass catches anything I'm venting him out of the airlock.”

“It honestly might be the best course of action. You abducted me before we got to the ‘alien STI’ section of the curriculum.” You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from doubling over in laughter as he groaned. The glare he fixed you with was venomous, but it'd been a long time since his irritation could get under your skin.

“If I recall correctly, and I'm pretty fucking sure I do, you basically tripped over yourself to come with me. You had a bag packed and everything!” 

“It was my overnight bag. Who knew midnight hookups and spontaneously going off-world required such similar supplies?”

A shadow passed over Katsuki's face, his features clouded by an expression that you almost recognized, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He huffed and started to fidget with the controls again, obviously trying to occupy his hands. 

“Whatever, you were still embarrassingly eager. All ‘Oh ‘Suki, I'd follow you anywhere’.” The pitch of his voice rose mockingly and you gasped in indignation. If he wanted to go low, you'd take it to hell.

Bracing one hand on the back of his chair and the other on the armrest, you leaned as far into his space as you were able without falling into his lap. Katsuki fixed you with a hard stare but, bullheaded man that he was, refused to give any ground. Your faces were inches apart, and you could hear him dragging in each breath with purpose, desperate not to let his pulse quicken in your presence.

“Since your memory is apparently so good, Captain,” your voice was low, bordering on sultry, “remind me, which one of us begged? What was it you said… ‘I don't want to do any of this without you?’ At 3 in the morning no less. If we're going to talk about eagerness and desperation, let's start there.”

Your faces were still close, closer than they really had any right to be. Red began to color Katsuki's ears and cheeks, but his mouth was set in a grim, determined line. You two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, unstoppable force and immovable object. Finally, your captain scowled and turned his head away from you, breaking the deadlock. You bit back a whoop of joy at your victory in whatever odd dominance play you two had been engaged in, settling instead for a satisfied smirk as you straightened up again.

“Doesn’t matter who said what anyway,” he muttered under his breath, and you could almost see the wounded animal that was his pride settling hard in his chest. “We’re both here, aren’t we? Five years and you haven’t jumped ship yet.”

Your expression softened, and you reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. “You’re never, ever getting rid of me, I can promise you that. We’re stuck with each other, ‘Suki.” You felt the tension leak out of his frame and something like longing mixed with affection and took root in your lungs. For all the ways he was different, more grown-up and mature, he was also still the boy that drew his own star maps, the one that sat with you on the roof of his house and taught you how to recognize each constellation until you could point them out blindfolded.

His eyes were on you again and you withdrew your hand, suddenly conscious of the change in atmosphere. Clearing your throat, you took an awkward step back and turned halfway towards the door in an attempt to escape before you said anything you'd regret. “I'm going to double-check the supplies in medical. Make sure my shopping list is complete and all that. I’ll, uh, catch you later, Captain.” Your retreat was hasty, despite your best efforts at keeping calm, and you only allowed yourself to breathe once the cockpit door was shut behind you.

~

“Ah, good old station air!”

The Aldera was nestled comfortably into a dock in the Iltari-7 ship port, a small swarm of mechanics already seeing to any necessary repairs. You'd all wasted no time disembarking and Denki looked about ready to kiss the dubiously clean ground.

“You know, it's weird how every single port manages to smell like the same combination of recycled oxygen, burnt fuel, and piss,” you remarked, stretching your arms languidly above your head. “It’s almost comforting at this point.” The men around you let out various noises of agreement before delving into a conversation about whether or not the smell was natural or purposely manufactured. 

You tuned them out, your eyes glued instead to the distant form of your captain barking instructions at some poor dock aide. You couldn't quite make out the words but you’d be willing to bet it was something about making sure there wasn't a paint chip out of place when he got back. He was clad in his favorite faded leather vest (originally from his days in the Federation Academy, it was now so covered with studs and patches it was barely recognizable as Federation property) and a fitted black shirt and pants combo that showed off his figure in a way that was deeply detrimental to your sanity.

Eventually he finished scaring the piss out of the innocent and stomped over to where your merry band was waiting. He reached into the satchel resting on his hip and dug out 4 cards. 

“The keys to our hotel rooms,” he said as he shared them out. “You lose it, I’ll kick your ass and take the money to replace it out of your next paycheck.” 

Kirishima whistled as he turned the small piece of plastic in his hands. “Damn boss, what kind of place did you find that still uses physical keys?” 

“The kind of place that doesn’t ask about shit like existing criminal records.” You glanced down at your own key card before slipping into the small satchel you kept hidden under your coat. The mild inconvenience of having to worry about a physical object was a small price to pay for peace of mind, especially considering how during a pit stop last year you’d all woken up in the middle of the night to Federation officers in the lobby of the inn you were staying at. Personally, you weren’t eager to experience another mad dash to the hanger in nothing but your nightdress.

Katsuki rolled his neck, a series of pops sounding out as he did. “Alright, housekeeping. We’re here for 72 hours, no more than that. I don’t give a shit what you do with that time as long as you don’t get sick and don’t get arrested. If I call you to check in and you don’t pick up, I’ll hunt you down and you won’t like what happens when I find you. Any questions? No? Great, scatter.”

Sero and Kaminari didn’t need to be told twice, the two of them practically bolting down the street. Kirishima gave an exaggerated salute before heading off as well. You were just about to start making your way to the nearest depot when a large, familiar hand enveloped your elbow. You looked back and cocked a quizzical eyebrow at your captain. “Not you, Doc. You’re coming with me.” You scoffed and tugged your arm out of his grip. 

“I have actual plans, you know. Since when do you have business where my presence is necessary?” The look on his face did little to inspire any measure of confidence in you.

“Word on the net says the guy who's offering to fence our haul has delusions of chivalry, or some shit like that. Apparently he doesn't scam chicks, so if you're at the meeting with me we might actually get a better deal.”

You blinked once, twice, brain desperately trying to interpret the words that had come out of his mouth in a way that didn't make you want to beat him over the head. “You want me,” you began, the words rolling slowly out of your mouth, “to be your date…to a haul negotiation.” 

“Date is a strong word.” The blonde man didn't look nearly bashful or penitent enough for the request he was making, and you felt a muscle twitch in your jaw. “You'd just be there to help smooth things out.”

“Ah, so you want me to be eye candy. That's such an improvement.”

“I'll buy everything on your shopping list.”

“My shopping list is full of medical supplies. For the ship. That we all fucking use.”

“That new headset you've been itching for, then. With the fancy AI and diagnostic capabilities.”

“The one you said was unreasonably expensive?” 

“I won't even bitch about it.”

You crossed your arms and looked away from him, a scowl painted on your features. On one hand, the request was demeaning and just subtly misogynistic enough to really get under your skin. On the other hand, more money was always a good thing, and you were honestly a little curious to meet a man with such an interesting set of principles.

Plus, you really wanted that headset.

“You also owe me a favor that I can cash in at any time.” You fixed Katsuki with your best “dead serious” glare. He threw his hands up in surrender, but his grin could only be described as shit-eating.

“You drive a hard bargain, but we have a deal. Now come on, let’s see how fast we can get this over with.”

~

Whatever you'd expected the mysterious fence to look like, it wasn't anywhere near the reality. The man on the other side of the counter was short, so short he needed a step stool to make eye contact with you. The rest of him looked honestly pretty human, no extra limbs, digits, or facial features. The most bizarre thing about his appearance was the texture of his hair (or whatever it was that was on his head), which resembled large squishy purple balls.

“Well, well, look who it is!” His voice echoed through the space, briefly covering the noises of the small gadgets and trinkets littered around the “pawn shop”. “Dynamight, can I just say what an honor it is to have you in my establishment? I mean, you're something of a legend to us guys on the, ahem, other side of the law.” 

Katsuki grunted in response, his nose twitching like he was trying his damndest not to wrinkle it in distaste. The other man either didn't notice or didn't care, his attention switching immediately to you. 

“And what fine company you've brought as well!” He was still addressing “Dynamight”, but his smile was directed entirely at you. “It's a pleasure to meet you, miss. I'm Mineta, the owner of this here establishment and a professional…well I like to refer to myself as a ‘procurement specialist’ in polite company.”

“You hear that, ‘Suki? We're polite company.” You couldn't keep the smirk out of your voice as you responded. “Is ‘smuggler’ too dirty a word for you, Mineta?”

To his credit, the small salesman didn't rise to your barb, his customer service smile still fixed to his face. “Well no, but it doesn't exactly look great on a business card, does it?” 

You chuckled airily. “Fair enough.”

Your captain, apparently fed up with the back and forth banter, leaned on the countertop with an unimpressed expression. “Are you two going to yap all day or can we talk business?” The words seemed to snap Mineta out of his casual demeanor and into work mode, and he zeroed back in on the outlaw before him. 

“Of course, of course.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a holopad, setting it between all 3 of you. The shopkeep pressed some buttons and a number was projected into the air. “20,000 credits” read the hologram, for sure not an amount to scoff at, but one look in Katsuki's direction showed he was less than enthused. 

“Is this some kind of joke?” The blonde's voice wasn't quite a snarl, but definitely close. “I sent you a scanned content list and you decided 20k was a decent number for a haul that good?” 

Mineta frowned, but his tone was still calm as he replied. “Well, this is a negotiation. If you think I'm lowballing, you're welcome to put out an offer.”

“50.” Your eyes almost bulged out of your head at the number he spat out. The cargo was valuable for sure, but not 50 thousand fucking credits worth, and Katsuki of all people should know that. Then, his eyes met yours, and your role in this particular dance finally clicked into place in your mind. 

You pressed against the counter, arms folded over your ribcage to subtly push your chest up. You gave the blonde your best chastising look and pout combo, setting the stage for your performance. “‘Suki, come on. Aren't you being a little unreasonable?” You paused to shoot Mineta a warm smile. “Ignore him, he's woken up on the wrong side of the bed every day for 5 years.”

Mineta's expression instantly brightened, and you didn't miss the way his eyes darted to your tits and lingered there. Hook, line, and sinker. “I understand,” he began, slightly lifting his heels off the stepstool to lean closer to you. It took all your composure and professionalism not to move away. “It's a grueling line of work you two are in. That said, you seem to bear it with nothing short of the utmost beauty and grace, miss.” Someone was laying it on thick. You forced yourself to giggle and hoped it came out halfway believable. 

Katsuki grimaced at the exchange and moved closer to you, but you paid him no mind. Your eyes were fixed on the prize, now. “How about we try again, hm? I do think 50 is a bit much, so maybe we can try 40?” In truth, you didn't believe the items you brought to the table were worth a dime more than 25k, but if batting your eyelashes and playing ditzy lined your pockets with a little something extra then you were going to milk this, goddammit. 

Mineta still looked unsure, but was obviously more receptive to the high offer than before. “Well, considering it comes with the Dynamight name attached to it, I suppose it is worth a little more, yes. I'd have no trouble reselling…can we compromise at 35?” A good number. A great number, in fact, but you wanted to see how far you could push. 

“37, final offer. We worked awfully hard to keep this raid quiet, you know. The feds don't even know about it, which means they won't be on lookout for the stuff. Don't you think we deserve a little extra for making your job easier?” You kept your tone light and playful, going so far as to reach out and run your index finger under Mineta's chin, tilting his head up slightly to meet your gaze. A full body shudder passed through the man, and again you suppressed the desire to recoil.

“I think,” the salesman's tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I think that's fair.” You retracted your finger as Mineta began to fiddle with the holopad again, the 20 swiftly replaced with a 37. 

You beamed as you retreated from the counter, allowing Katsuki to occupy your spot and handle the specifics of closing out the deal. The smile on your face was the peak of self-satisfaction, and it only grew when you heard the telltale chime of a money transfer. As you made your way out of the shop, you sent a silent prayer of thanks to whichever god was responsible for handing out perfect racks. You also shot a small kudos to the patron saint of sleazy idiots, for good measure. 

As soon as you were both definitely out of hearing range you whirled on Katsuki in delight, but your expression faltered when you caught sight of the storm brewing in his features. He looked irritated, on the edge of downright pissed off, and it effectively dampened your own mood. Tugging on his arm, you steered him into a nearby alleyway in an effort to avoid prying eyes and ears.

“What's up with you?” you asked once you were sure there'd be no unwelcome intrusions to the conversation. “I thought the deal went great.”

He scowled and crossed his arms as he leaned against the rough synthetic brick of the alleway. His face was casted down, very pointedly not looking at you. “‘m not pissed off about the deal,” he mumbled, and your confusion only grew.

“Then why are you pissed off?”

Your captain scoffed. “Maybe because that bastard looked like he wanted to fucking eat you,” he ground out through gritted teeth. 

For the second time today, you contemplated strangling him. You raised a hand and pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to gather your patience. “I thought the whole point was that my job was to be arm décor. Was the end goal not to get him to think with his dick and not his head? I mean, you brought me as a sex object and now you're mad that the guy wanted to have sex with me!”

“I know what the fucking objective was, I just-” His mouth snapped shut, but the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw told you everything you needed to know. He looked the same as he did earlier when you mentioned your past hookups, the same as he always did when he caught you in the hallways of wherever the crew was crashing at, waving goodbye to whoever had warmed your bed the night before. Same dark eyes, same twisted up mouth, same neck twitch. You'd assumed before that he was just being protective, but the truth was glaring in your face brighter than any neon sign.

Bakugou Katsuki was jealous and you were pissed the hell off.

“How long?” you demanded. His expression morphed from petulant to confused as he looked at you. 

“What?”

“How long have you had feelings for me?” You willed your voice not to crack, though the equal parts anger and yearning that bubbled to the front of the emotional storm brewing in your chest made it a herculean task. This wasn't fair. He didn't get to do this to you, not 5 years in, not when you'd finally made your peace and were on your way to killing the pesky adoration you'd spent far too long grappling with.

“I- That's not what this is about-”

“Don't even try to pull that shit. This is my favor, I'm cashing it in right now. Tell me the truth, how long?”

You stared at him. He stared back. The alleyway was silent except for the low whirring of the machinery under Katsuki’s skin. The foot of distance between you felt impossibly charged and volatile, like one false move would trigger a city-leveling explosion. Just as your eyes started to burn from strain and the pressure of the tears behind your eyes, Katsuki ducked his head again, breaking the stalemate. Normally, winning two battles of will against him in the same day would inflate your ego to unmanageable heights, but the moment was too bittersweet to fully appreciate your victory.

“I don't know.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It's the truth.” Crimson eyes met yours, and the naked vulnerability in them almost took your breath away. “I don't remember how long I've wanted you. Feels like forever.”

Your knees felt weak and your mouth was dry and every night you spent staring at the cold chrome ceiling of your ship quarters with longing and want ripping through you came rushing back in cold clarity. The storm in your chest broke, and the roiling waves of emotion threatened to choke you. You needed air, and space, and maybe to slap him then kiss him stupid. 

“Right.” The word felt foreign, almost wrong, on your tongue. It wasn't what you wanted to say, but it was all your traitorous vocal cords would allow you. Katsuki's brow furrowed and his lips parted, and you were far too emotionally fragile to hear whatever he was about to say. 

Beating him to the punch, you blurted out, “I’ll see you back at the hotel,” before spinning on your heel and striding out of the alley as quickly as your legs would carry you. Half expecting him to follow you or call you back, you were filled with both relief and disappointment when he made no move to go after you. His gaze burned against the back of your skull until you disappeared around the nearest corner. 

~

It was well past sunset (or “whatever star this trash heap orbits”-set) when you finally made your way to the hotel. The building itself was nondescript, the paint on the outside was faded, and it was altogether generally unimpressive. Only the flickering sign that matched the stamp on your keycard signified it as the place you were looking for. At least the inside was free of any foul scents or mysterious stains, which automatically put it above at least half of your past accommodations. 

You trudged up the steps to the second floor and prayed on all that was kind and good that this place had hot running water. You'd calmed down significantly since you'd ditched your captain, but a hot shower would give you the chance to sort out the last stubborn remnants of your emotional turmoil. You turned the corner into your hallway and were wholly unsurprised to see the last person you wanted to acknowledge standing right next to your door.

Katsuki had dressed down since you'd last seen him. His worn leather vest and fitted shirt were gone, leaving him in only a white undershirt that was definitely a size too small. Desire flared in your gut, unwelcome, and you forced yourself to suppress a groan. Clearly he had no intentions of making the conversation you two needed to have easy for you.

His head snapped in your direction as you approached, and your heart clenched at the flash of uncertainty that ran across his face before he managed to school it back into careful neutrality. You stopped in front of your door, placing a hand on the handle as you turned to look at him.

“We should talk.” His voice was low, gentle, like he was scared you'd run again if he disturbed the air too much.

“Is that an order, Captain?” you asked in response, fluidly inserting your keycard into its slot until the light on the door turned green. Pushing it open, you looked back over your shoulder, one eyebrow arched. Katsuki’s jaw clenched as he visibly swallowed. 

“No. It's not an order.” You hummed and jerked your head towards the inside of the room, signaling for him to follow, before pushing the door open wider and stepping in.

Flicking on the light, you surveyed the space. It was decently furnished, with a large couch taking up the opposite wall and a loveseat slightly adjacent to it, a hard light projection of a coffee table the centerpiece of the room. There was a small but seemingly functional kitchenette off to the side, and a door set into the wall on your right that you assumed led to the bedroom. 

You moved towards the small table in the kitchen, shucking off your coat and draping it on the back of one of the two dining chairs present. Your satchel followed, tossed carelessly onto the table as you strode towards the couch. The color was likely a rich navy blue once, but time and wear had turned it much lighter in places. It was comfortable, at the very least, and you sprawled over it, head resting on one armrest while your legs were tossed over the other side.

The man you'd known almost all your life slumped into the loveseat, his arm inches from your head. You shifted to be able to see him properly. He was sweating bullets with the harsh blue glow of the coffee table illuminating half his face from below. One of his best looks, in your humble opinion. 

He inhaled, long and deep, before exhaling just as thoroughly. He opened his mouth, glanced at you, glanced away, and closed it again. It struck you that while you were aware of both his feelings and your own, you'd never actually expressed to him that you reciprocated his affection. Come to think of it, fleeing the second he confessed probably hadn't done his confidence any favors. You winced slightly as guilt squeezed your insides, and reached out to drop a (hopefully) comforting hand on his knee. His eyes snapped to the appendage, and his gaze crawled up your arm until he finally managed to settle on your face. You tried your best to project encouragement, and he drew in another deep breath. 

“10 years.” You blinked, your features suddenly clouded with confusion. 

“What?”

Katsuki huffed like you were the one being difficult and adjusted his posture, leaning over the arm of his seat to be closer to you.

“You asked me how long I've had feelings for you, so I did some soul-searching or whatever the fuck and decided 10 years was the answer. Ever since you showed up to my house on my 16th birthday, clutching that crystal telescope lens that I'd been eyeing for ages. I asked you how the hell you afforded something like that, and you told me you'd saved 4 months’ worth of allowance plus walked every dog in the neighborhood 5 times over. You had this big goofy grin on your face like you hadn't dropped a crazy amount of money just so I could have a clearer view of the same star systems I'd already memorized.” He paused, working his jaw as he contemplated whether or not to continue. A squeeze from the hand on his knee seemed to thoroughly convince him. 

“I honestly almost told you to take it back, to return it and get your money back and use it on literally anything else. But you were just…you were so fucking happy about it, going on and on about how I'd finally be able to personally count Jupiter's moons or something like that. I didn't have it in me to reject it, I mean, it was literally the nicest thing anyone ever did for me up to that point. And when we finally got the chance to slip up to the roof and slot the new lens in…the sights were beautiful. Better than I'd imagined, better than the ads. Your shoulder jostled mine when you went in for a look and it was like I'd eaten a whole swarm of butterflies. It was the first time I'd ever felt like that around you, around anyone really. I guess that's when I knew.” 

10 years. You're not quite sure how you expected him to answer, but what you got was certainly more than you anticipated. Every interaction between the two of you in the last decade flitted through your mind, colored by this new information, and your chest tightened almost painfully. 

“Wow,” was all you managed to say when you finally opened your mouth. His whole body tensed, and you blurted out your next words before he could get too deep in his head. “Do you want to know when I came to terms with my feelings?”

He inhaled sharply, his eyes boring into you like twin suns. “Your feelings?” His voice was almost a whisper, and you offered him a gentle smile.

“What, you think you have a monopoly on pining?” He huffed out a laugh as you repositioned yourself, pushing upright and shifting until you were leaning over your own armrest, putting the two of you eye to eye. 

“When we were 17, and I was sitting with you in the nurse's office at school and watching you get your knuckles wrapped because Enzo-”

Katsuki's groan was loud, cutting you off mid-sentence. You snickered, amused that the mention of your first boyfriend was still enough to get him riled up.

“Can I continue, or do you still have curses to pile on him almost a decade later?”

“I definitely do, but you can keep going as long as you don't say that idiot's name.”

“Well, what do you want me to refer to him as?”

“Preferably ‘that worthless bastard’ but you can get creative with it if you want.” You rolled your eyes, but you were fighting a losing battle trying to keep a smile off your face. 

“Fine, whatever, moving on. You were getting your fists taken care of because you'd fucked them up in the process of beating my ex's face to a pulp.” Katsuki tsked in annoyance at your word choice but you forged on. “On account of him cheating on me with one of the student trainers.” 

“And I'd do it again too.” 

“Am I ever going to get to finish my story?”

“Sorry.” The man across from you at least had the good sense to look sheepish at your scolding tone. You shook your head in exaggerated exasperation.

“Like I was saying, you, me, school clinic, split knuckles. The nurse was ripping you a new one while she bandaged you up, and all I could do was sit there and replay the moment in my head. The way we ran into that prick at lunch and I immediately got choked up and hurt all over again. The expression on your face when you looked at me. Next thing I knew there were like 3 people pulling you off him, and he was a sort of groaning person-shaped heap.” Slowly, as if  handling something wild, you moved your hand to settle on top of his. Your thumb brushed gently over the long-healed skin and his breath hitched as a faint shiver ran through him. 

“Even when they threatened you with expulsion, you never looked regretful or remorseful. As far as you knew, the end of your space pilot dream was staring you in the face and you didn't so much as flinch. One look at me and you'd been ready to throw it all away. That's when my crush kicked into full gear, and saying it all out loud is making me feel kinda stupid for not realizing how you felt about me sooner.” 

You chuckled, but the sound turned into a soft gasp as Katsuki flipped his hand up to grip yours, the hold firm but not painful. Your eyes moved from where your palms were connected to his face, and the intensity you found there made your heart beat faster. 

“You wanna know when I knew I loved you?”

For a brief, beautiful moment, every mechanism in the universe ground to a screeching halt. The stars stopped burning, the planets stopped spinning, your breath caught in your throat and your heart paused mid-beat. His words rung in your ears like church bells, deafening in glorious cacophony. Even after the natural order resumed, you still felt nailed to your seat. You nodded mutely, not trusting your voice to be steady enough not to shatter the moment. 

“When I woke up,” he began, his grip on your hand tightening marginally, “in that shady implant center, brain fried from hours of pain and being in and out of consciousness. Everything hurt like hell, and my new arms felt heavy and weird. Then I turned my head to look at the ceiling, and there you were. Your eyebags had eyebags, your hair was a mess, and you had a nasty bruise peeking out from under your collar where a laser blast had hit the protective mesh in your coat. Despite all that, you were beaming like you'd won the lottery. Plus you were directly under one of those old-fashioned fluorescent bulbs and it was casting a flickering halo around your head. I swear I thought you were an angel. Sometimes I still do.”

You made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh as you blinked back the tears gathering at your waterline. Unthinking, you stood from your seat and moved to stand in front of Katsuki. Your hands were still intertwined and he used that connection to tug you forward, his other hand moving to settle on your back as you fell gently into his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs.

“Never took you for a sap, ‘Suki.” Your unoccupied hand drifted to play with the baby hairs at the nape of his neck and you laughed softly at his exaggerated eye roll. You liked this version of him, the type that existed for your eyes only, bathed in artificial light yet deeply human.

“Yeah, whatever.” His hand on your back was big and warm, and you felt almost embarrassed by how much it affected you. The synthetic nerve endings in his arms were bad at detecting heat, a necessary failsafe to facilitate his explosions, but now all you could think about was if he could feel the warmth of you through your shirt.

“You know, it’s sorta funny.” Katsuki’s head tilted slightly, his eyes fixated on you. The center of his attention was both a wonderful and slightly terrifying place to be. “You liked me first but I loved you first.”

“That so?” he asked, a smirk curling his lips as the palm at your back slipped under your shirt to trace patterns over your spine. The feeling of his digits dancing over your bare skin almost robbed you of rational thought entirely, but you pushed through.

 “Call me cliché, but the night you showed up to my dorm and begged me to run away with you was so romantic from my point of view. It’s a miracle I didn’t swoon into your arms like one of those fainting damsels in a shitty romance novel.”

“There you go again, saying I begged. I asked politely.”

“Call it whatever you want, starboy, you were the one who made an objectively unnecessary detour while you were an active fugitive just to fulfill a promise you made when we were kids.” Your expression was as smug as humanly possible, but he seemed wholly unphased. You weren’t sure when in the course of the conversation his attitude had pivoted from nervous wreck to playboy.

“I promised we’d see the galaxy together, and we have. I’m a man of my word.” It was your turn to roll your eyes in an exaggerated arc, tugging lightly on his hair in reproach.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I didn’t clock you earlier. Denial is truly a hell of a drug. You want me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Katsuki scoffed and pushed you even further into him, eliminating almost all space between your bodies. “Don’t throw stones from glass houses, Doc.” 

You huffed and pulled your hand away from his at last, both palms moving to cradle his face. His newly free hand immediately took up a position at your waist, mirroring its twin. “Say my name.”

The first syllable managed to slip past his lips before you crashed into him.

You poured almost half a lifetime of longing into the kiss, and your other half responded in kind. It was deep, desperate, and more than a little messy. His lips molded over yours like they belonged there, like the very notion of parting from you was absurd. Your fingers curled over his jaw and left small crescent indents on his cheeks as his tongue poked at the seam of your mouth, a request that was eagerly granted. His hands tightened on your sides and you were grateful for the sensation, for something to ground you as you dived into him over and over. 

When you finally parted, lungs strained and panting, you were sure there were stars in your eyes. He pressed his forehead against yours, unwilling to let you pull away too much, and you happily obliged him. The two of you spent a minute simply trading breaths, the world outside your intimate bubble entirely unimportant. You turned your head to press a kiss to his cheek, chaste and almost shy. You could feel the muscles in his face moving as he smiled.

“...so about that headset-” He sealed his lips over yours again, and you’d never been happier to shut up in your life.

[the-real-sasuke-uchiha]

It's been, like, a decade since the story has completely ended (... I don't acknowledge that spin off with the kids or the weird novels), but I still don't understand what people mean when they say Sasuke has a lot to apologize/repent for. What exactly does he have to apologize for? The only thing he ever did wrong was attack Karin to get to Danzo, and he already apologized to her for that. His desire for vengeance was completely selfless and motivated by love and respect for his clan. He didn't attack innocents. He didn't involve anyone else in his problems. Yet, so many fans love how Shikamaru got revenge on Hidan when, to me, it just emphasizes how selfless and justified Sasuke is in contrast. Shikamaru wants to avenge Asuma who died fairly in battle on a mission because he wasn't strong enough. He even tells Tsunade he would leave the village regardless of if she allowed it or not. He involved Ino and Chouji, rushed in without knowledge of Kakuzu, and almost got them killed immediately. And Asuma is just a teacher! not even a fmily or clan member! They all would've died if it weren't for Kakashi being there to help them. Whereas Sasuke takes on his burden alone.

And for all that the fandom likes to critique Kishimoto on his writing choices, he's not a horrible writer. This sequence is purposeful. Shikamaru was the one who led the Sasuke retrieval mission. And shortly after Hidan's death, Sasuke kills Itachi. It was a well-structured sequence showing the validity of Sasuke's motivations compared to Shikamaru's whose motives weren't as justified in comparison, despite the validity of his feelings.

So, it's not that no one in the story can understand Sasuke--they can! All the characters just want to project things onto Sasuke. Naruto wants Sasuke to be a surrogate/prerequisite for the village to validate his sense of self and carry the burden of Naruto's loneliness. Sakura wants him to return her empty "love." Kakashi wants to right his wrongs vicariously through Sasuke and making him return Sakura's affection like he wished he could have for Rin, be a present friend for Naruto like he wishes he could have for Obito, not seek revenge because Kakashi is a mediator meant to to maintain the status quo in the village (a guard dog/"Hound" lol). Itachi wants Sasuke to be a blank slate anyone can impress whatever upon: he wants Sasuke to value the village over their clan and family (which itself is incomprehensible with the feudal structure the setting is based on). The village, and Naruto once he becomes Hokage, wants Sasuke to be a tool to use for the village's benefit. Maybe the only thing Sasuke has to apologize for is being a the protagonist of a revenge-based seinen but forced to be the deuteragonist in a battle shounen 🤷🏽‍♀️.

Dear anon, thank you for this gem. I don't know what else to add, because this is so perfect on its own.

For the record, I dislike Shikamaru, but I think he was right to want to avenge his sensei and go after Hidan. What is totally enraging is that he gets sympathy and assistance for doing all the things that Sasuke is trashed for. He is hateful and vengeful, and nobody tells him to just let go and not get consumed by revenge. He risks his friend's lives and gets zero reproaches, while Sasuke gets emotionally blackmailed by Naruto for all the kids that risked his life trying to forcefully bring him back, even when Sasuke had zero control over that. Kakashi goes far and beyond to help him, when he had tied Sasuke to a tree to lecture him about revenge. There is just so much hypocrisy that it hurts.

I am tired of reading all the ridiculously absurd "wrongs" that Sasuke supposedly did. This is a freaking show about murderer ninjas, but nobody seems to have a body count except for Sasuke. Which gets inflated to ridiculous levels, because Sasuke is apparently to blame not only for the crimes he committed, but also for the ones he imagined. He has no right to be angry and upset, he has no right to fight for his justice, because, in a world where the end justify the means and shinobi are meant to behave as tools that sacrifice everything for a mission, Sasuke is the only ninja that is demanded to find his way without even scratching a fly.

Sasuke has nothing to apologise for. He is the one being owned serious apologies and reparations. From everyone. From Sakura, for sexually harassing and trying to murder him. From Kakashi, for being the shittiest and most biased sensei, for being a hypocrite hokage that never attempted to make justice and for never prosecuting the surviving instigators of the Uchiha massacre. And from Naruto, for glorifying Hiruzen and for the same reasons as hokage Kakashi, because he too swept everything under the rug and never even tried to make justice.

Sasuke did nothing wrong. He grew just too magnificent for an antagonist, and they had to murder his character and his soul to make main character shine in his dumbness.

[strtravels]

A SMALL NOD; accepting silently that Gordy would tell Kate at his own time – and there was nothing he could say against that. It wasn’t his story to tell, and he had always left the children the freedom to talk about whatever they wanted to talk about at whatever time they wanted to talk about it. Sometimes it ended in a very long night because the topic, picked surely just as distraction from the bedtime, turned into something actually serious. But he listened. He didn’t discourage the children by telling them to stop, just because it was getting late. TRUST was the keyword, wasn’t it? Sure, he wanted the kids to love him as their father, but wasn’t TRUST an important part of it, too?

“Chloe made the lemonade – I don’t reckon your mum did owt but stand there and keep an eye on things. But it’s sound. I had a glass earlier to get me motivated, y'know…” He nodded towards the abandoned paperwork and the laptop; a smile blooming again on his lips. Always trying to ease the tension – and the situation had brought a lot, making the air thick enough to cut with a knife. And even though it was slowly getting better, they were still a long way away from it being WELL again.

Gordy’s eyes were still red from crying; clearly visible even from the distance that Ed had brought between them, simply to get his son something new to drink. Hard not to sigh at it again. Compassion for his son as well as anger towards the boys who had done this to him, fighting a battle beneath a calm surface, while he had turned around to get a glass out of the cupboard. Another moment later, he took the jug of lemonade from the fridge and filled the glass, before returning the jug to the fridge and moving the glass over to the kitchen table.

He sat down again, just as Gordy tried again. COULDN’T HIDE THE HINT OF HIS SMILE THIS TIME. “ – Gordy, I can’t just keep ya off school. Your mum’s gonna be askin’ questions, an’ I doubt we’ll manage all that paperwork to get ya sorted for a year abroad in the next few hours – especially when we can’t reach anyone at yer school any more. An’ your mum’s clever enough to homeschool ya, but the school you’re at is proper good. You’re a smart lad, learnin’ loads more than I – maybe even your mum – knows. So homeschoolin’ ya's not on, nah.” Placed a hand on Gordy’s shoulder and shook his head gently as his expression turned more serious again.

“I get it. Must feel like I'm askin' you to jump off a cliff tomorrow, right? But I promise ya it won’t be that bad. You’ve got Howie and Josh, and Chloe too. You can ring me anytime, sound? – I could give you a lift to school tomorrow and maybe have a word with your teachers? Part of me thinks that might just make it worse, to be honest, but I’ll do whatever I can to make it easier for ya. But keepin' you home for the rest of the year just ain't on. – An’ now, 'ave a sip of that lemonade. Then we can find summat to take yer mind off things, till I can have a word wit’ yer mum about Howie an’ Josh stayin’ over. Campin' in the garden or in the livin’ room?”

"I will, I promise." There's no reason he won't, just not when he's so emotionally charged. He's a thinker - a planner. Needs time and space to draw up some kind of battle plan rather than just charging right into something like this when he's too ready to break. His friends are a sure way to reset, to put things in perspective a bit. They might be a bit chaotic sometimes, but they're his best friends ( brothers, practically! ) and he knows without a doubt that they'll support him, even if they take the piss a bit first.

Dad's never told him to stop crying or not to cry at all - not like some of the dads of he other boys at his school, who often threaten to give their sons something to really cry about! Gordy's never really been a big crier, though he knows that if he feels the need to, he can --- and he is, right now. It feels like he might never stop, like he can't breathe, he's crying so hard but he doesn't exactly know why. When he does finally run out of steam, he can only really rest tiredly against his dad as he takes his mug back with the sole intention of drinking some cold hot chocolate to soothe the itch in his throat that screams of dehydration.

( And he still feels bad about the jumper, even if his father tells him not to. )

"Chloe and Mum made lemonade?" Man, he loves lemonade. Suddenly there's a brighter side to being so down ( not that today was in any way worth it for a couple of his favourite drinks ), enough so that Gordy offers a small smile, and a "yes, please", but not enough that he feels any better about the prospect of tomorrow. Tomorrow, he's going to have to put on his big boy pants and face up to the same lads who have reduced him to this ( if his parents don't agree to let him stay off ). Tomorrow, he's going to have to pretend as if none of what was said had affected him in any way, if he wants to survive the next year and a bit in peace.

Gordy waits for Dad's answer, fully expecting a straight no; he's not sick, after all - he's not at risk of harm, he's just miserable and his pride's been hurt. "Please!" It's worth a try, anyway. There's nothing left to lose, and his desperation is mounting, and even with his friends potentially coming to sleep over tonight, he doesn't think he can cope with walking through the front doors and listening to whatever whispered rumours people might be spreading about him already. "Can't you just--- I don't know, homeschool me for a year? Swap me for a foreign exchange student for a year?"

[deckof-dragons]

I really, really wish there as a way to save in front of Sisyphus Prime. It took me 40 minutes to get to him because wow, I knew the level had a bunch of enemies but I was not expecting that. And I've been throwing myself at him for an hour straight. I'm tiring and my wrist is starting to hurt a little so this would be where I call for it the day but I feel stuck because I don't want to have to fight my way to him again. But I might have to because it's late and I would like to get some art done today. Ugh!

In other news though, his voice is even sexier than Minos' Prime, which is saying something. Also, I love how small V1 is compared to him. He can step on me any day.

[justsimplypanic]

nobody understands jaskier like joey batey does

we are so fucking lucky

[mariyekos]

I like to imagine Dante's able to use some basic magic beyond just typical demonic stuff. In the opening of DMC1, a magic circle appears below Trish when Dante shoots the motorcycle back at her, so I like to think Dante knows some basic spells, wards, and the like. For the most part he uses it for little things like making a special lock for his Devil Arm vault, maybe heating up soup or a drink that's gone cold, and so on, rather than any combat things. Dante's spells are not at all refined and he doesn't have a natural talent for it, per se, but he has a lot of power he can put into things so he often ends up brute forcing whatever it is. It's not necessarily efficient, but it works, and that's all he cares about. He's not really interested in most precise or specific things.

Vergil on the other hand has a lot more control and a much greater interest in magic in general. A post DMC5 Vergil (and pre DMC3) would use magic a lot more often, and without as much prep. He spent a lot of time learning different charms etc. to use in daily life, and he's a lot more elegant about it. Some he learned when on the run and trying to hide from demons, while others he learned when trying to track down Sparda, and others still he learned for purely convenience reasons. Post DMC5 he gets a lot more into it than he did pre DMC3 when it was more a thing of survival, even if it had the convenience aspect back then too. He's the kind of person who would learn spells for the sake of knowing them, and while he prefers using demonic abilities in combat, he might try to learn a magical combat spell or two just to see what it's like. He mostly sticks to practical things though (which sit on the border of practicality, but he considers them practical, uses them often, and makes Dante's magic look like child's play).

On the magical third (regrown!) hand, Nero's absolutely horrible at magic, to the point of not being able to do basically anything. He's got the magical reserves, but unlike Vergil who can cast precise spells with relatively little effort, or Dante who gets through spells by basically overloading them until they work, Nero just can't get magic to work for him at all. Lessons with Vergil end with him stomping out when he gets fed up with Vergil commenting on how easy it should be, while attempts to get Dante to explain how he casts magic end in frustration when Dante's explanations basically start and end at "I dunno, it, it just works." Sure Nero can memorize and draw a warding sigil perfectly, but any and all attempts to get it to actually do anything end in failure.

Kyrie, in a reveal that surprises everyone, most of all herself, is apparently extremely talented at magic, which she does not know until she sees Nero trying and failing to activate a warding sigil Vergil taught him, puts a finger on it so she can trace over it as she reviews Nero's work in case he messed something up, and inadvertently activates it. After that they end up doing some testing and discover Kyrie is a natural when it comes to magic. The only problem is that while casting spells, activating sigils, and the like come easily to her, her magical reserves are rather small, limiting what she's able to do. When she first activates the sigil Nero had drawn, she ends up unable to get up and Nero has to carry her to bed (which she insists he doesn't have to do, because she just needs a minute to catch her breath, but he insists on)

Nico is stoked to hear about this and ends up figuring out a way to essentially fit Kyrie and Nero with a magic converter that allows Kyrie to draw on the magical reserves Nero can't utilize so that she can use them for whatever she wants to. While Kyrie isn't someone who really cares to use magic for things in her daily life like Dante and Vergil, she does use it to make little charms for the kids, and to establish wards around the house to protect them from demon attacks and other small misfortunes. She and Vergil end up bonding a little bit as he teaches her the spells and other bits of magic Nero was never able to pick up on.

(Vergil himself feels a mixture of pride at how quickly she picks up on things with his instruction, and jealousy when he sees how good she is at things first or second try when he knows it took him a good five or ten attempts to get it down when he was first learning. Kyrie notices and tells him that he's still much better than her in the long run since he's able to use magic without needing a separate "battery" to power him, but Nero absolutely digs into Vergil about it when Kyrie isn't there. Dante meanwhile finds it all hilarious. But he and Nero are pretty proud of Kyrie too.)