#anyway time to actually post this I guess

[bumblebeem]

But he didn’t recognise Elita-1 when he met her....? “Who is that bot, are they crazy?” or something similar is what he says about her when they meet on the train. I don’t have the movie itself or a script to hand so I'm going off of my memory, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t say anything to suggest they���ve met before.

This is what he says (again, according to my memory, so apologies for any mistakes) about the new shift manager: "We have limited access to the waste management area but the new shift manager there does NOT like distractions. No... No, they prefer we stay here, on the task at hand."

If he had left his work area recently enough to have "met" Elita (even from afar/without speaking to her), he surely should have recognised her on the train, right...? Elita also does not recognise B-127. I'm positive she would have remembered him if they had met and spoken before that point, considering how overly talkative he is - and the way she dismisses him when he introduces himself. If she'd been through that with him before, she wouldn't have been shy about letting him (and the audience!) know, I'm sure.

Whether the new shift manager is actually Elita-1 or not is unknown because she's reassigned to "waste management" (i.e. managing waste). It doesn't necessarily mean she is a manager there, and we also see her alongside other workers loading crates. Is that manager behaviour...? Besides, it makes sense any shift manager in that place would "not like distractions" because one slip-up could bring the Quintessons down on them. The workers there are unknowingly loading those trains with energon (not toxic waste). Even if the shift manager isn't privy to that information, they're probably under pressure from somewhere above to run a tight ship because it would be disastrous if the wrong crates were loaded onto those trains.

As for B-127, I think it's more likely he has overheard somebody else outside of his work area refer to a new shift manager (and the fact they don't like distractions/prefer bots to stay on the task at hand). That could have been as recently as Elita's demotion, or days or weeks ago. For all we know, the shift management position could have a high turnover rate on account of what is actually going on down there. The less bots who know about the energon/toxic waste switch-up, the better for Sentinel, surely.

Anyway, we know Bee didn't speak to anybody because he is pretty clear about his situation: "I just haven't had a lot of company since they put me down here in sublevel 50...", and he states, "sometime between a long time and forever" when Orion asks him how long he has been down there.

My guess is the most company he gets is leaving his designated work station (taking advantage of the "limited access" he has to the waste management area beyond his post), hoping he'll be able to speak to somebody else, only to be immediately redirected.

His emphasis on the "does NOT like distractions" is what is most interesting to me though. Because best case scenario, he's heard those exact words from a couple of bots he's eavesdropped on (desperate for company, but not actually able to participate in the conversation...) and is just regurgitating them verbatim for D-16 and Orion to make it sound like he's clued-in and knowledgeable, or worst case scenario he's had a bad experience at the hands of the "new" shift manager (one who predates Elita's arrival, whether as a worker or a replacement manager depending on what you believe), so he knows through personal experience just how much they do not like distractions, and this is his subtle, light-hearted way of communicating that...

Or it could just be a writing inconsistency, I guess! Maybe a scene got cut, and Bee had met Elita-1 down in the waste management area in a prior draft but they removed the necessary scene and kept that line about the "new shift manager" in anyway.

Otherwise, “new shift manager” is maybe just meant to tell us bots down there don’t last very long and the last one had to be replaced for some reason... Knowing more than they should, perhaps...?

Transformers One (mostly Bumblebee) things I can't stop thinking about.

During the film's opening when Orion Pax falls into a room and onto a table full of energon, he bundles a load of it into his arms and is eating as much as he can until he drops it all and has to keep fleeing.

He's starving. The miners are being underfed as well as overworked.

Additionally, we see Bumblebee has three rations on his person when he offers one up to wake Alpha Trion. This might suggest he's keeping these rations for when he'll need them rather than being able to comfortably feed himself. For the miners it's a scarce resource they have to be careful with, and yet the transformers on the higher levels are enjoying it in abundance.

Bumblebee urging D-16 to "stay down" during Sentinel's attack.

This is an interesting line - if it was a nothing line meant to reflect compassion/empathy, he could have urged Sentinel to stop, or implored the 'bots next to him to take notice and do something. There were other ways to demonstrate "Bumblebee is kind and doesn't want his friend to get hurt."

But he doesn't look to authority or anyone else around him for help on D-16's behalf.

He instead instructs D-16 on how to behave to get the abuse to stop.

Which suggests to me this is learned behaviour, and he's giving advice based on previous experience. He's learned that taking the punishment and letting it happen gets the perpetrator to eventually stop, but resisting and fighting against them keeps it going.

That he was reassigned continually right down into sub-level 50 would tell me he's had more than his fair share of annoying a bigger 'bot enough to get himself knocked around once or twice. And very likely, nobody witnessing the abuse helped him, and/or the authority in the room was the one perpetrating the abuse anyway, so of course they weren't going to step in and help.

The only way out for him has always been to just take it :( So he assumes this will be the quickest/least painful way out for D-16, too.

Bumblebee is as much of a nerd as Orion is.

He knows about the High Guard (and is very excited to recite what he knows about them), he recognises the Primes as soon as they come across them in the cave, he watches the broadcast Orion locates inside Steve's head with interest... It's very subtly done, but I think this is the main shared trait between Orion and Bee. I wish we had seen more of Bumblebee trying to talk to Orion about this shared interest, but I get the main relationship they wanted to portray was that between Orion and D-16 (and really enjoyed that regardless!)

Bumblebee knows how to leave sub-level 50, yet he still goes back to his post, and doesn't appear to be using this escape-time to socialise with anyone else on the other floors he can access since he is so very clearly starved of social contact.

I'm not crying, okay, I'm just imagining this poor little guy sitting out of view watching the other cogless 'bots come and go, knowing he could get into more trouble and be even more isolated if he announces his presence and gets himself caught.

Also his "limited access" to the waste management area, and that thing he says about the main one in charge there preferring that he stays on task and really not liking any distractions... Ugh.

Bumblebee is purposely isolated in that room and there's apparently enough of a deterrent to keep him in it that he is forced to make imaginary friends out of trash to talk to instead.

I'm gonna go insane with grief and rage.

[bekolxeram]

What's really going on with 911twt, i usually keep up through tumblr, but haven't seen what actually happened, only comments from bts, but understandable if you don't really want to get into it, thanks anyway :)

I'm the last person you should ask. I don't do twitter, and by the time I woke up this morning the drama was well on the way.

But you know those journalists who get screeners in advance for review writing purposes? They have a habit of vague posting about the upcoming episode after watching the screener, but this time they seem eerily silent.

@houseofevanbuckley posted this screenshot of one of the usual suspects liking a tweet guessing the episode is probably awful. And that's it, I haven't seen her posting anything about the show since then, other than a vague tweet beefing with cheese blog.

Another journo posted this, then later clarified that it wasn't about the show, but about someone. It's just a hunch but I feel like this tweet is also about cheese blog. (Also could be about the Richard Siken incident, but I don't know if she's involved) Again, nothing more about the upcoming fall finale other than joking about ABC giving us nothing but stills from the very first scene of the episode.

The weirdest one is from him. He simply announced that he wouldn't be covering this episode at all, and instead opted to follow JLH's new movie. He usually has a lot of thoughts about the upcoming episode and would post his reactions generously, but this time, nothing at all.

This is weird, I've never seen any of them act like that. There's been rumor of screener receivers allegedly leaking major info to some group chats. I don't know if it's true, and I certainly don't know if that side of the fandom know something we don't about this midseason finale, but the general mood there is the most pessimistic I've ever seen. It ranges from "it's that bad huh?" to "we're so over".

The extremely limited amount of stills seems to indicate major plot twist(s) in the episode itself. Adding it to the fact that the usually chatty journalists have decided to beef with cheese blog instead of talking about the show, I think they've probably seen something they really didn't like.

[yaseraphine]

RANT ABOUT THERAPY AND WHY IT'S NOT MY CUP OF TEA 🤡

+ trying to guess the therapist's rising and our synastry and ranting about it cause I am tired man (and too sensitive lol)

Really messy post btw just a disclaimer lol

Just had my first therapist appointment since 2021 and what can I say....it was REALLY awkward. I don't know how people are able to spill their deepest traumas like that bro she just sat down and told me to talk 💀 like what I thought she would interview me or start the first appointment with pre-made questions to make a profile, regarding my background, family relationships,etc .. It was really messy and I was so confused throughout the whole thing.

I understand it's a privilege to afford therapy (it was 60euros for 45 minutes lol of course it is) but it is much more complex than just spilling your guts to a random with a degree.

Something about me is that I always thought i didn't really need therapy, no matter how painful a situation was for me. And it wasn't only therapy, it was also opening up to my own friends 💀 i could take care of myself like i always did anyways so whats the point of paying for it ? I understood people who needed it and felt helped by it. But it just wasn't for me. I have realizations on my own consistantly thanks to my self-awareness and trained and developped intuition.

What pushed me to go back to therapy even though i was , and still am, very skeptical in its effectiveness on me, is that this year, I realized asking for help won't actually kill me and that i have my limits as a human being.

I fear this appointment just unfortunately kind of validated my initial more negative feelings towards therapy and the idea that I don't really need it.

As a really introspective and painfully self-aware person who has a hard time asking for help (but is actively working on it), I really don't know what kind of therapy could help me, really. I know I probably have a few blind spots, but it's so out of my comfort zone to open up like that. I kind of hate it.

I want to keep an open mind, and probably try another therapist but damn if I don't f*ck with any, it just feels forced .. I trust divine timing for that because I don't really want to put myself in such a situation again.

Right now, I feel dirty knowing a random woman knows about my deepest traumas in a really messy and all over the place way. She has fragments of my soul, and despite me having somewhat giving my consent for it, it was too fast. Maybe it's my 8th house moon conjunct Lilith (1181) in Leo that is speaking but I feel literally violated. Strong words but this how uncomfortable it was for me.

Guessing the therapist's rising sign and ranting about 12th house synastry...

Random but I think the therapist in question had a Virgo or Leo rising... I already said it's the most common rising signs (especially virgo) and I am losing patience. We probably had a 12th house synastry that's why our exchange was really weird and scattered. She kept on making weird faces while I was talking telling me she didn't understand what I was trying to say.... I know it all too well because EVERY single person I knew or had interacted with that had a leo rising, my interactions with them were like this. I was saying stuff and it felt like it went in one ear and got out in the other. Like they could hear me but not listen and understand what i was trying to say. This kind of reminds me of Willy Wonka's relationship with Mike TV or wth his name is, in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Tim Burton's movie. Wonka always said stuff to him whenever he opened his mouth like "I cannot hear a single thing you say because you're speaking gibberish"or whatever. (Me being Mike TV and Leo risings being Willy Wonka).

This is how every single one of my interactions with Leo risings went, no matter their gender or age. It was always like that.

[keiksy-cake]

Lunatic Blue Ch 9 (Gore TW || Hetalia Doujinshi)

YEAHHHHH AFTER 4 YEARS. 4 YEARS. 4 YEARS.

木綿ﾄﾞｩﾌ does it again with another very incredible chapter~ I missed this series so much! The wait was definitely worth it, this chapters as great as the others! I wish I could've finished it faster, I even put My Arika on hold lol, but I had assignments and such D;

There's no gore in this chapter but it's still full of horror and suspense!

If you haven't read this series yet, I HIGHLY recommend it, definitely one of my top top favorites, idk if I like any other more than it. Altho, I started doing a lot to "clean" the pages, which I didn't in the beginning. How much I've grown in both cleaning and translating within this 3 year gap is greatly exemplified in this series... Which is great, but in other words, that also means the first chapters are very drastically... I've been saying for a long time I want to re-do them, I started re-doing the first chapter a couple years back but never finished lol but finally the other day I decided to update it, posting what I have at least. Lets hope my renewed motivation is enough to actually finished...

Since it's been so long, I recommend even those who have read this series to re-read it before reading this one. Anyway, sorry for the long intro! Please enjoy! Here's a list of the prev chapters too:

Lunatic Blue 1

Lunatic Blue 2

Lunatic Blue 3

Lunatic Blue 4

Lunatic Blue 5

Lunatic Blue 6

Lunatic Blue 7

Lunatic Blue 8

I was too lazy to actually redraw this last page, sorry >.> Look at him mad broody tho lol

Also, I accidentally made this and thought it looked cool so I thought I'd add it in lol:

Notes:

Rather than "sir", child Alfred calls Arthur "nii-san" which means "older brother", but it's also largely used to refer to any older young man.

Rather than "the excitement" (of space), America says "romance", but I was afraid any young and/or American readers wouldn't get that it's meant in an excitement sense, not like love kind of romance.

I'm still not that great at translating, I had to guess for a lot of the sound effects bc English onomatopoeia sucks D;

The expression I tled to "prideful" literally is "hates to lose"

If anyone wants to make a clean version

I did not make this series, I'm just your friendly neighborhood translator~

[misaerabl]

Feeding The Fire

Academic Rival Abby X F!Reader

MINORS AND MEN DNI / word count : 8k

SUMMARY: In the elite world of Ravenswood Preparatory Academy, your rivalry with Abby Anderson has always been a blaze of ambition and sharp words. Forced to work together on a high-stakes project, the fire between you begins to shift as late-night study sessions and unguarded moments reveal the vulnerabilities behind Abby’s perfectionism. When an argument at her house exposes the weight of her relentless drive, sparks ignite into something far more intimate. What starts as a battle for dominance becomes a journey of understanding—and something else as fiery as your rivalry.

WARNINGS: Plot with smut, eating out (r & a receiving), a riding on r's face, swallowing come, fingering (r receiving)

A/N: Since you guys were looking for something like Off The Ice... found this on my google docs, I decided to finish it and post it now. This is kind of in a different format than how i usually write but here it is cuz I think its good! (this was actually written the same time as Off The Ice)

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

Ravenswood Preparatory Academy wasn’t just a school—it was a battlefield. Not in the way of physical fights or dramatic standoffs in the cafeteria, but in the quiet, cutthroat war of academics. The halls buzzed with the chatter of straight-A students, all vying for valedictorian, internships, or that one golden-lettered acceptance from the Ivy League. You were no stranger to the competition. In fact, you thrived on it.

But then, there was Abby Anderson.

Where you clawed your way to the top with late-night study sessions and sheer determination, Abby seemed to coast through effortlessly. She was the Abby Anderson—student council president, captain of the debate team, and the top of every leaderboard. She didn’t just ace her exams; she annihilated the curve, leaving you—and everyone else—in her wake.

Your rivalry wasn’t personal, at least not at first. It was just a fact of life, like the sun rising in the east or Ms. Callahan assigning an absurd amount of reading. But over time, it evolved into something more. A sideways glance during test results. A clipped comment in class discussions. A subtle smirk when one of you outdid the other.

By senior year, the rivalry had become the stuff of legend. Teachers tried to keep their distance, afraid to spark a wildfire between you. The rest of the school watched with bated breath, waiting to see who would claim the top spot once and for all.

And then, Ms. Callahan dropped the bomb.

“Your final project will be done in pairs.” Her voice carried across the room, calm and steady, as if she didn’t just upend the lives of her most competitive students.

You barely had time to react before she added the kicker: “And the partners… have been assigned.”

The tension in the room was palpable. A few students groaned, others exchanged wary glances. You sat frozen, gripping your pen as Ms. Callahan began listing names.

When she got to yours, you heard it before you saw it: the sharp intake of breath, the audible pause.

“...Anderson.”

Your head whipped around, locking eyes with Abby, whose expression mirrored your own disbelief. It wasn’t anger or annoyance—not yet, anyway. Just pure, unfiltered dread.

Ms. Callahan’s voice pulled you back to reality. “I expect great things from the two of you.”

Of course, she did. Of course, she thought pairing the two fiercest rivals in the school was a brilliant idea.

You didn’t even hear the rest of the assignments. All you could think was: This is going to be a disaster.

The Aftermath

The bell’s shrill ring echoed through the room, but you remained seated, the words “Anderson” still ringing in your ears. Your classmates filed out, some throwing you sympathetic glances, others shooting amused smirks.

“Guess it’s just you and me now,” Abby said, stopping at your desk. Her tone was light, but there was an unmistakable edge to her smirk—one that ignited the familiar spark of irritation deep in your chest.

You forced yourself to look up, meeting her gaze. “Don’t think for a second that I’m going to let you take over this project.”

Her smirk widened, like you’d just issued a challenge. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, I’m sure I’ll need someone to double-check your work.”

Her words hit like a match to kindling, and you felt the fire flare. You opened your mouth to respond, but she was already walking away, her ponytail swaying with each step.

This wasn’t just a project. It was war—or so you thought.

The First Meeting

Monday after school, you found yourself heading to the library with a mix of dread and determination. Abby was already there, seated at a table with her laptop open and a cup of coffee by her side.

“Right on time,” she said, not looking up.

“Let’s skip the small talk,” you said as you sat across from her. “What’s your grand plan for making this work?”

She leaned back in her chair, her arms crossing in a way that seemed both casual and calculated. “I’ve already outlined a few ideas. You can handle the visuals—I’ll take care of the research.”

You snorted. “Of course, you think you get to decide everything.”

Abby tilted her head, her smirk softening into something almost playful. “Do you ever stop arguing?”

“Do you ever stop being insufferable?” you shot back, but there was no real venom in your voice.

For a moment, the fire between you burned differently—still hot, but less about competition and more about the way her eyes lit up when she laughed softly under her breath.

Sparks Beneath the Flames

The first week of working together was a rollercoaster. Arguments about the direction of the project turned into hours-long brainstorming sessions, punctuated by Abby’s dry humor and your exasperated comebacks.

“You’re not bad at this,” she admitted one day, her tone grudging but honest.

“Wow, Abby Anderson complimented me,” you said, feigning shock. “Someone mark the date.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide her smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As the days passed, the rivalry that had defined your relationship began to shift. It wasn’t just about outdoing each other anymore. Somewhere in the late nights at the library and the shared coffee runs, you started noticing things—like how she always brought an extra pen because you’d forgotten yours, or how her confident exterior cracked when she doubted an idea.

And then there was the way her hand brushed yours as you both reached for the same book. It was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you—like a spark catching on dry wood.

Feeding the Fire

By the second week, the lines between rivalry and something more had blurred. Your arguments had turned into playful banter, and your stolen glances lasted just a little too long.

One evening, as you sat across from Abby in the dimly lit library, you found yourself staring at her—not in frustration, but in curiosity. The way her brow furrowed when she was deep in thought, the way her lips pressed together as she scribbled notes... it was mesmerizing in a way you didn’t want to admit.

She looked up suddenly, catching your gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy, charged with something new.

“What?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, looking away, but your cheeks burned like an open flame.

And that was the moment you realized the fire between you wasn’t just about rivalry anymore. It was something deeper—something you weren’t sure you were ready for but couldn’t stop feeding.

The Vulnerable Truth

You didn’t know what to expect when Abby invited you over to her house. The idea of crossing into her personal territory felt... strange, like stepping into the heart of the storm. Her place was just as polished as you’d imagined—pristine furniture, meticulously arranged decor, and an eerie quietness that seemed at odds with Abby's fiery energy.

“I’ll grab us something to drink,” she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

Left alone, you wandered around the living room, your eyes scanning the shelves and walls. Tucked among pristine family portraits and school trophies was a photo of Abby as a little girl. She was holding a medal, grinning wide, her eyes sparkling with pride. Beside her stood a man—her father, judging by the striking resemblance. His hand rested stiffly on her shoulder, his expression as cold and composed as the room itself.

It all clicked.

“Find something interesting?” Abby’s voice broke the silence, sharp and cutting.

You turned to see her standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and a guarded look on her face.

“I wasn’t snooping,” you said quickly, though you couldn’t shake the weight of what you’d just realized. “I just… saw the photo.”

Her jaw tightened. “Congratulations. You’ve cracked the case.”

“Abby, I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” she snapped, stepping closer. “Didn’t mean to dig into things that aren’t your business? To play armchair psychologist?”

You hesitated, then spoke softly. “I just wondered if that’s why you push yourself so hard. Why you have to be the best.”

Her eyes flared, the fire in them unmistakable. “You don’t know anything about me.”

She turned on her heel and stormed down the hall, disappearing into what you assumed was her room.

For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure whether to follow. But then you heard the muffled thud of something hitting a wall, and your feet moved before your brain could catch up.

The Confrontation

You knocked once on her door, but when there was no response, you pushed it open. Abby was standing by her bed, her back to you, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Abby, I—”

“Why are you here?” she interrupted, her voice trembling—not with anger this time, but something far more vulnerable.

“I just wanted to help,” you said, stepping closer.

She spun around, her eyes blazing. “Help? You think you can help me? You don’t know what it’s like to have someone expect perfection from you every single second of every day.”

Her words hit like a punch, raw and unfiltered. You’d seen Abby angry before, but this was different. This was Abby exposed, stripped of the armor she always wore so effortlessly.

“You think I like this? Being the one everyone’s watching, waiting for me to slip up?” She laughed bitterly. “Well, guess what—it’s not about being the best. It’s about not being a disappointment.”

“Abby…”

Your voice was soft, almost pleading, but she was already pacing, her energy frantic. “Do you know what it’s like to see it in their eyes? The second you’re not good enough? I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she stopped, her back to you again.

You didn’t think. You just moved, closing the space between you. “Abby, look at me.”

She turned slowly, her walls cracking further, and for the first time, you saw the weight she carried. Without thinking, you reached out, your hand brushing hers.

“I don’t care if you’re perfect,” you said, your voice steady. “I just care that you’re... you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the air between you felt electric. She looked at you, her guarded expression softening into something you couldn’t quite name.

And then she closed the distance, her lips crashing into yours.

A New Kind of Fire

The kiss was urgent, fueled by all the tension that had built between you—weeks, months, maybe even years of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Her hands gripped your shirt, pulling you closer, as if afraid to let go.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. Abby’s forehead rested against yours, her eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, understanding, maybe both.

“I hate you,” she whispered, but there was no venom in her voice, only a shaky vulnerability that made your heart ache.

You smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “No, you don’t.”

She huffed a laugh, the tension between you easing slightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here we are,” you murmured, your thumb grazing her cheek.

For the first time, the fire between you didn’t burn—it warmed.

The Fire Between You

The air in Abby's room felt heavier, charged with something that neither of you could deny anymore. The soft hum of the outside world seemed miles away, and all that mattered was the space between you and Abby, the heat that radiated from her touch as she pulled you back in.

Her hands gripped your waist with a desperation that matched the fierce hunger in her kiss, her lips pressing against yours with a sense of urgency, as though she was trying to make up for lost time. The tension from earlier—the unspoken words, the anger, the vulnerability—had all bled away, replaced by something far more consuming.

You melted into her, your hands finding their way to her shoulders, to her hair, tugging her closer. There was nothing delicate about this kiss. It was messy, raw, a clash of need and emotion. Abby’s body was warm against yours, her breath shallow as she deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, never letting go.

Her arms wrapped tighter around your waist, her fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt as if she was afraid to lose you in this moment. You could feel her heartbeat, fast and erratic, mirroring your own, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like a battle. The competition, the rivalry—it all faded, and what was left was just the two of you, tangled up in each other.

When she finally broke away, both of you were gasping for air, your lips swollen from the intensity of it. Abby's eyes were wild, her pupils blown wide, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath.

"God," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn’t think… I didn’t think it would be like this."

You could barely form words, your mind racing from everything that just happened. "Neither did I."

But there was no going back now. Not when the fire between you had been lit, not when everything that had once seemed like a fight now felt like something else entirely.

Abby ran her fingers through her hair, her breath shaky. "I—I don’t know how to do this," she admitted, her voice laced with hesitation. "I’ve never... with anyone... not like this."

You reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "You don’t have to have all the answers, Abby. I don’t either."

She met your gaze, the uncertainty still flickering in her eyes, but something else too. "Are we... are we really doing this?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

You leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss across her forehead, a silent answer to her question. "Yeah. I think we are."

And as you held her, her body pressed against yours, you both realized that maybe the fire that had always burned between you wasn't meant to destroy—it was meant to light something new. Something neither of you had expected but both of you desperately needed.

The Fire Ignites 

Abby’s hands slipped underneath your shirt, her touch warm against your skin. A mischievous glint flashed in Abby's eye as her hand slid under your shirt, savoring the feel of your heated skin. She traced her fingertips teasingly along your stomach, feeling them tense under her touch.

Her hands reached around your back, finding the hook of your bra with expert ease. She unhooked it slowly, her eyes locked onto yours, daring you to pull away. As the bra fell open, she slid her hands around to your front, gently pushing the fabric aside to feel your bare skin.

As the bra slipped away, Abby's hands cupped your breasts, her thumbs lightly brushing over your nipples. A soft gasp escaped her lips, feeling them harden beneath her touch. Your body arched instinctively into her hands, craving more contact.

A few moments ago, you had uncovered a vulnerable side of Abby, the reason behind her fierce drive. Now, everything had shifted—she was kissing you with a desperate intensity, her hands pulling you closer, touching you in ways you would've never thought would happen between you two, as if she couldn’t get enough. The heat between you escalated, your bodies pressed together, skin meeting skin, the air thick with desire.

With deft fingers, Abby started unbuttoning your uniform blouse, her knuckles lightly grazing your skin with each button she undid. Your breath caught in your throat as she pushed the blouse off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

You stood before her in just your skirt and underwear, feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable. "You look so pretty in your uniform,”

You blushed deeply at the compliment, your heart racing in your chest. Abby reached out and gently traced a finger along the waistband of your skirt, her touch sending shivers down your spine. "I've always loved this uniform on you," she murmured, her voice low and husky. 

"You do?" Normally, you prided yourself on keeping your cool, always ready with a witty comeback—especially when it came to Abby. But right now, in this heated moment, your usual confidence slipped away. Your mind felt scrambled, and all you could focus on was the sensation of her close to you, leaving you dizzy and lost in the moment.

“You're so beautiful," she whispered, her words. Her voice was a breathy whisper, full of longing. She reached out and gently pulled the skirt aside, revealing your matching panties. Abby's eyes lingered on the delicate fabric before looking back up at your face. "So beautiful” 

Your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, your eyes darting between Abby's face and her hands. You bit your lower lip, your breathing growing faster as she slowly began to trace patterns on your thighs, her touch light and teasing. You squirmed slightly, the anticipation almost too much to bear.

Abby's touch ventured higher, her fingertips brushing against the edge of your underwear. She looked up at you, her blue eyes filled with a fiery intensity. "Can I?" she asked, her voice barely audible. Her fingers hooked into the elastic band of your underwear, waiting for your response.

You nodded almost imperceptibly, your heart pounding in your chest. Abby slowly pulled your underwear down, letting them pool around your ankles. You stepped out of them, feeling completely bare before her. She stood up and gently pushed you onto her bed, kneeling between your legs. "You're so perfect,”

Abby slowly leaned in, pressing her lips to your inner thigh. She kissed and nibbled her way up, her touch gentle yet firm. Your breath hitched, your fingers gripping the bed tightly as anticipation built up inside you. When she finally reached your center, she paused and looked up at you.

With a smoldering gaze fixed upon you, Abby leaned in slowly, her warm breath tickling your most sensitive spot before she finally made contact. A surge of electricity coursed through your body as her tongue found its mark, your hips instinctively lifting off the bed sheets.

Abby wrapped her arms around your thighs to keep you in place, her pace slow and deliberate. She looked up at you again, her eyes filled with desire as she continued to lavish attention on you. Your hands flew to her hair, fingers tangling in the silky strands as your breathing grew heavier.

You couldn't hold back a moan as Abby's tongue danced around your sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your body shook, your legs trembling as she worked her magic. "Abby, oh god, Abby," you whimpered, your voice strained with pleasure. "I'm…”

Her arms tightened around your thighs as she felt you nearing the edge. She quickened her pace, her touch becoming more insistent. Your back arched off the couch, your fingers gripping her hair tightly as you shattered, your voice echoing through the room as you cried out her name. "Abby!”

Abby continued her attentions as you rode out your high, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed back onto the bed, your chest heaving. She placed a final kiss on your sensitive flesh before crawling up your body, a satisfied smirk on her face. 

Still caught in the throes of ecstasy, you could only manage a breathless giggle, your body tingling all over. You reached up, cupping Abby's face in your hands and pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss.

As you kissed her, you gently pushed her back, breaking the kiss. You looked up at her, your eyes shining with desire. "Now it's my turn," you said softly, reaching out to grasp the hem of her shirt. "I want you to strip for me, Abby. Slowly.”

As you broke the kiss, you looked up at Abby and whispered, "Strip for me." Your voice was husky from pleasure, your eyes dark with desire. Abby's smirk grew wider as she stood up, slowly reaching for the hem of her shirt. "With pleasure,”

Abby pulled her shirt up and over her head, revealing her toned midsection and the  bra barely containing her beautiful breasts. She tossed the shirt aside, her eyes never leaving yours. Her hands moved to her pants, unbuttoning them teasingly slow.

Abby shimmied out of her jeans, kicking them away as they pooled around her ankles. She stood before you in just her bra and panties, a sultry smile playing on her lips. Reaching behind her back, she unhooked her bra, letting it fall away to reveal her breasts.

“You look so good Abby…” 

Abby's smile grew wider as she heard your praise, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, slowly sliding them down her legs. As she stepped out of them, she kicked them aside, standing before you completely naked.

With a mischievous grin, you patted your chest and said, "Come here, I want a taste." Abby's eyes glinted with amusement as she climbed back onto the couch, straddling your chest.

Abby slowly positioned herself over your face, her thighs on either side of your head. She lowered herself until her most intimate area was hovering just above your mouth. Your hands instinctively went to her hips as she gazed down at you with a look of pure lust. "Go ahead”

You eagerly buried your face between her thighs, your arms wrapping around her thighs to pull her closer. Your tongue explored her soft, wet folds, tasting her sweet nectar. Abby let out a low moan, her head falling back as she grinded against your face. "That's it…” 

In that moment, all you wanted was to make her feel good—wanted to be the one to lift her up, even if only for a while. As Abby was on top of you, every thought, every worry, faded away. You weren’t thinking about rivalry or perfection anymore. It was just about her—about giving her something real, something she might not have allowed herself to feel in a long time.

Abby's hands gripped the sheets as you worked your magic with your tongue. Her hips undulated in a sensual rhythm, riding your face with increasing urgency. Soft gasps and moans spilled from her lips, her eyes fluttering closed in bliss. "Don't stop…” 

Your dedication to pleasing her was unwavering, and it showed in the way you devoured her pussy. You sucked and licked with reckless abandon, your fingers digging into her thighs as you held her in place. Abby's legs began to shake, her body tensing as she approached her climax.

With a loud cry, Abby's orgasm hit her like a tidal wave. Her back arched, and she ground her pussy against your face, fucking your mouth with wild abandon. Her juices poured into your mouth, and you drank it all in, not stopping until she collapsed forward, her chest heaving.

Abby turned around and reversed her position on you, She shifted, moving to kneel between your spread legs. Her fingers trailed teasingly up your inner thigh before she suddenly plunged two digits deep into your aching core without warning. "You want this?"

You gasped, your hips bucking forward as Abby's fingers filled you. The sudden, intense sensation was both welcome and overwhelming. Your hands gripped the couch cushions, knuckles turning white as you braced yourself. "Yes... please, Abby," you panted, your voice barely a whisper.

Abby grinned mischievously, her eyes locked onto yours as she slowly began to move her hand. Her fingers curved upward, expertly finding that spot inside you that made your vision blur. Your breathing quickened, becoming shallow pants as she steadily increased the pace. "Abby... it's…”

Your words were cut off by a sharp cry as Abby added a third finger, stretching you deliciously. She could feel your walls fluttering around her digits, knowing you were close. "That's it, baby," she cooed, her thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm circles.

You thrashed your head back and forth, your mouth open in a silent 'O' as Abby's fingers worked you into a fever pitch. Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling hard as your hips lifted off the couch, meeting her thrusts. "Abby... I'm... I'm…”

Abby's eyes darkened with triumph as she felt your body tense, your orgasm imminent. She leaned in close, her breath hot against your ear. "Let go. Come for me," she commanded, her fingers plundering your soaked depths with increased fervor.

Your back arched sharply as your climax hit you like a tidal wave. You cried out Abby's name, your voice echoing through the room as your inner muscles clenched rhythmically around her fingers. Abby held you through it, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed back against the cushions, spent and trembling.

Abby's expression softened as she looked down at you, cuddled against her chest. She stroked your hair gently, her voice tender. "That was… You were-" she murmured.

Abby chuckled softly, her fingers trailing down your back. “Incredible. You're incredible.” She pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

Then, the air shifted—suddenly, she grew quiet, her expression turning serious. She held you close, but there was a tension in her grip now, as if she was reminding herself of everything she had tried to guard against. She remembered what had brought you both to this moment, and it hit her all over again—this couldn’t be a sign of weakness, of letting her walls down completely. She didn’t want you to see the side of her that she had fought so hard to keep hidden, especially now that you knew why her drive for perfection had always been so intense.

Her fingers tightened around you, but the tension in her grip was clear—she was holding on, but not entirely letting go. Abby’s gaze flickered to yours, then quickly darted away, like she was trying to avoid something she wasn’t ready to face.

“I don’t... do this,” she murmured, her voice unsteady, the words almost lost in the quiet. “I don’t let people in.”

There was a sharpness in her tone, something defensive, reminding you that this wasn’t the Abby you’d come to know—the confident, determined girl who had always kept a distance. This was someone else, someone raw, someone afraid of being vulnerable.

“I’m not asking you to change,” you said softly, your hand brushing her arm. “I’m not asking you to let your guard down completely.”

Abby looked away again, her breath catching slightly as she shifted, pulling back just enough to create space between you. "You should go," she said, her voice suddenly more distant, the walls rising again. "This... doesn't change anything. You were right about me—about everything. It doesn’t just vanish."

You could feel the shift, the sudden return to the distance she’d always kept. Her walls were back up, thick and impenetrable.

"You don’t have to keep pretending with me," you said, your words barely more than a whisper, but they seemed to hit her harder than you intended.

She stiffened, her jaw tightening. "I’m not pretending," she snapped, her voice sharp. "This is just... it’s not normal for me. I’m not... like you. I can’t just... I can’t just let go. There’s always something to prove. To everyone."

Her words cut deeper than you expected. You knew she was driven, had always been, but hearing her admit it so plainly—how much she’d built her life around that need for control—made you realize how much harder it was for her to let someone in.

"I’m not asking you to," you said quietly, your voice steady. "I’m just here. I’m not going anywhere."

She met your gaze again, but this time there was something different in her eyes—hesitation, doubt, maybe even a little fear. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by the same guarded expression she always wore.

"Don’t say that," she said, almost pleading. "Don’t act like I’m some... I don’t need someone waiting around for me. I don’t need anyone thinking they can fix me."

The words stung, but you knew they weren’t meant to hurt. She was trying to push you away, but this time, it felt different. Her voice, though sharp, wasn’t as certain as it usually was. You could see the cracks, but she wasn’t ready to let them show yet.

"I’m not here to fix you," you said, your voice quiet but firm. "I’m just here. And if you want me to go, I’ll go. But I’m not going to pretend like this didn’t happen."

Her eyes softened for just a moment, but before you could say anything else, she turned away, pulling the blanket around her tightly. "Please. Just go."

You hesitated, but nodded, the weight of the unspoken things between you heavier than the room around you. Without another word, you left, knowing that whatever had happened wasn’t over—not yet. And whether she would admit it or not, neither of you were the same as you were before.

Quiet Before the Storm

The next day, the library felt heavier than usual. There was a thickness in the air that you couldn’t quite shake, as if everything from the night before had followed you here. You'd barely seen Abby throughout the day. When you did, she seemed like she was in a different world, not meeting your gaze, not acknowledging you like she usually did.

You both had agreed to meet in the library to finish up the project, which was nearly done, but somehow it felt impossible to focus now. You were both supposed to be competitive, to push each other to be the best, to always come out on top. That was the deal. But now, after everything that had happened, things were different—this wasn’t just about grades or outshining each other anymore. It was something deeper, something much worse. There were feelings tangled up in it now, things that neither of you knew how to navigate.

You arrived early, trying to settle your nerves as you stared at the empty table. The clock on the wall ticked in time with the erratic beat of your heart. When Abby finally entered, you felt her presence before you saw her. She was just as you remembered—indifferent, guarded—but this time, there was something else in her eyes. A flicker of something unspoken, something that made you pause.

She didn’t acknowledge you, not in the way she usually did. Instead, she just walked past, set her things on the table, and sat down, almost mechanically. The usual fire in her eyes was gone, replaced by a quiet, almost unsettling calm.

"Let’s just finish this," she said, her voice devoid of the usual sharpness, flat and cold.

You nodded, but as the minutes passed, you realized this wasn’t the same. You weren’t just competing to finish a project anymore. This felt like a competition of something deeper, darker—something that neither of you had signed up for. The connection, the tension, everything that had happened between you both, was still hanging there in the space between you. It was worse than before, because now it wasn’t just academic pride or the need to be the best at school. This was about something more fragile, more vulnerable.

The silence between you both grew, and with it, the understanding that something had irrevocably changed. You both could feel it, but neither of you dared to address it. Instead, you kept working, but every movement felt heavier, as if the weight of your own thoughts and the lingering tension between you was suffocating you both.

It wasn’t just about competing for grades anymore. It wasn’t about who could be the smartest, the most driven, or the best in class. This—this was something worse. It was about what happened when all those walls you built around your pride and your achievements crumbled, and what you were left with was something real, something raw, something neither of you were prepared for.

You didn’t know if this was the end or the beginning of something far more complicated. But you did know one thing: it wasn’t going to be easy.

Something Beneath The Surface

The day of the presentation arrived, and despite the lingering tension between you and Abby, you both found yourselves sitting next to each other in class, preparing for what was supposed to be the grand finale of weeks of hard work. The project that had brought you together was almost complete. Almost. The day felt like it was going to be just another day—until it wasn’t.

Before the bell rang, there had been a quiet unease between you two. Abby had barely looked at you since you both walked in, her eyes focused on the project folder in front of her as she nervously fidgeted with a pen. The usual competitive spark in her eyes had dimmed, and she seemed distant—like she was holding herself back. You couldn’t help but notice the way her fingers tightened around the edges of the paper as if trying to keep herself from unraveling.

You sat quietly, your mind running through the final details of the presentation, but no amount of preparation could silence the knot in your stomach. You knew you couldn’t hide what had happened between you both, but now, in front of the entire class, everything was different. You weren’t just presenting to finish a project anymore. You were presenting as something else—something uncertain, tangled between unspoken feelings and unfinished business.

When the class started, you were called to go up first, and the usual nervousness was replaced by a tension that had nothing to do with the project. Abby stood beside you, her expression unreadable. You started presenting your section, your voice steady, but each word felt like it carried more weight than it should have. The class was watching, but it wasn’t the eyes of your classmates that made you feel exposed—it was Abby’s. She stood there next to you, speaking in her usual calm, collected tone, but her gaze never once met yours. She was speaking as if she were still trying to maintain control, as if this whole thing was just another task to cross off her list.

When it was over, the class clapped politely, but you barely heard them. All you could focus on was the space between you and Abby, the silence that lingered like an elephant in the room. You turned to her, hoping for something—some acknowledgment that you hadn’t just been two strangers presenting a project, but two people who had shared something much deeper.

She nodded stiffly, her eyes still avoiding yours. “Good job,” she muttered, but the words felt distant, like they weren’t meant for you at all.'

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class, and Abby didn’t wait a second longer. She gathered her things quickly, her movements sharp, like she was trying to escape something. Before you could say anything, she was out the door, leaving you standing there, unsure of what had just happened.

The rest of the class seemed to blur as you walked out, your thoughts racing, not about the project or the presentation, but about Abby. It wasn’t just the project that mattered anymore—it was the looming presence of Ivy Week, just around the corner. Everyone was preparing, everyone was talking about it. It was more than just a week—it was the culmination of years of hard work, of everything that mattered to Abby. And you? You were caught between that and everything that had happened between you two.

You stood there, thinking of what to do next. Should you follow her? Talk to her? Or should you focus on Ivy Week like everyone else and just let everything go?

But even as the question lingered, the anticipation of Ivy Week hung heavy. You could almost hear the voices of your classmates, already strategizing, preparing for what would come—the pressure, the competition, the stakes. Abby, as driven as she was, wouldn’t let this chance slip away, and neither would you. But with everything that had happened between you two, it felt like the real challenge wasn’t the Ivy Week itself—it was figuring out how to move forward when you both seemed to be walking on different paths, yet so undeniably intertwined.

Tipping Point

Ivy Week had arrived in full force, and with it came the heavy anticipation that hung over every conversation, every glance. You could feel it in the air—the competition, the tension, the pressure that had been building for months. It was everything everyone had been working for, and now, it was all coming to a head.

You barely had a chance to catch your breath before the news broke. Abby was in the hallway, talking to a group of friends when you overheard her name—your stomach dropped as you realized what they were saying. Abby had been accepted into Harvard. Of course, she had. She had everything it took—the perfect grades, the relentless drive, the ambition. It was all there, like a sign that her efforts had paid off. You felt a small sense of relief; you'd heard about your own acceptance into the Ivy League, and even though you had been so focused on the future, part of you had been dreading what it would mean for your relationship with Abby. You knew it had to come sooner or later—the fact that you were both destined for the same future.

As the day dragged on, it was clear that the excitement surrounding Abby’s acceptance was only making everything more complicated. The halls buzzed with congratulations, but to you, it felt almost suffocating. You’d worked just as hard—maybe even harder—to get to this point. But something about Abby's success, the way she held herself with that quiet, smug pride, made you feel like there was more to it than just academic rivalry.

The day ended, but the weight of the news was still hanging between you two, pulling at your every interaction. You couldn’t avoid Abby for long, and as the evening wore on, she showed up at your dorm room, her face unreadable.

“Congratulations,” she said quietly, her voice softer than usual. She hadn’t come to celebrate, not like you’d expected. Instead, there was an emptiness in her words.

“Thanks. Same to you,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. You didn’t know what to say. There was so much tension between you two that you couldn’t even look at her without feeling like you were both trying to hold onto something that was slipping through your fingers.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” she said, a small, almost sad smile flickering on her lips. “But I guess... I guess it was inevitable, huh?”

You could tell she was trying to joke, but the bitterness in her voice was hard to ignore. You stood up, not sure if you wanted to get closer or push her away. "It doesn't feel like a win. Not yet," you said, your voice quiet, unsure if you were talking about Harvard, or about everything between you and her. "You were always going to get in. You always do."

Abby tilted her head, studying you carefully. “And you?” she asked, her tone suddenly more serious. “You think I’ve got it all figured out, don’t you? That this is the end of it for me? Getting into Harvard? It’s all just part of the plan, right?”

You were taken aback by the question. You didn’t know what to say. “It’s not just about that, Abby. We’ve been… we’ve been competing for so long, it feels like this whole thing was a game.”

She laughed, a small, dry sound that didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe it was. But I don’t know if I know how to stop. Even now, even after everything that’s happened between us.”

The words hung in the air between you, thick with meaning. You could feel the tension crackling. “You don’t have to keep proving anything to me, Abby,” you said, voice wavering slightly. “You’ve already done more than enough.”

Her expression softened, but only for a second, before she seemed to close off again. "I don't know how to not keep proving it," she said quietly. "I’ve spent my entire life doing this—focusing on my goals, on everything being perfect. It’s who I am. And maybe, in some twisted way, I wanted you to be a part of that too. But I’m afraid, if I stop now, I might lose everything."

You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “You won’t lose anything,” you whispered, reaching out to touch her arm. "Not if you let yourself live a little. Let yourself have something outside of all this. Something that isn’t about competing. Something real."

Abby met your gaze, her eyes flickering with a mixture of confusion and fear, but also something else—something deeper, something raw. She stepped back, shaking her head. "I don't know if I can," she murmured, voice shaky. "Not after all this time. Not after everything I’ve sacrificed.”

The words stung, but you knew she was still in the process of understanding everything that had happened between you two.

"I get it," you said softly, trying to mask the hurt. "But maybe it’s time to stop pretending everything’s about winning. Or maybe you just don’t want to let go of the fight we’ve been having. Either way, we’ve been running from this for too long."

Abby didn’t answer right away, but the way she avoided looking you in the eyes told you everything you needed to know.

And as the night fell silent, the weight of Ivy Week, the pressure of the competition, and the uncertainty of your future together loomed over both of you. The storm wasn’t over, but it felt like you were both too exhausted to fight it anymore.

In the silence, all you could hear was your own heart beating, wondering what would come next.

After the Storm

It had been a few days since the tension had shifted between you and Abby, and though things had slowly started to feel lighter between you both, there was still a quiet sort of distance. You hadn't heard from her much after your last conversation, and while you didn’t mind the space, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on inside her head.

That’s when the knock on your door came.

You weren’t expecting anyone, especially not Abby, so when you opened the door to find her standing there, looking slightly apprehensive, you blinked in surprise. She was dressed in her usual cool, effortless way—jeans, a hoodie, and her sneakers, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. But her eyes, the ones you had come to know so well, were different this time. Soft. Vulnerable, even.

"Hey," Abby said, her voice a little rough. "Can I come in?"

You stepped aside, heart pounding for reasons you couldn't quite explain. "Of course."

She hesitated for a moment before walking in, her steps slow as she looked around your living room like she was unsure of how to act. The quietness between you two was palpable, but there was something in her expression that told you she was here to say something important.

You offered her a seat on the couch, and she took it without a word. You sat down across from her, crossing your legs, unsure of how to begin.

"So," you said, trying to keep your voice casual. "What’s up? What brings you here?"

Abby ran a hand through her hair, a nervous habit you had come to recognize. She seemed almost distant for a second, like she was debating whether or not she should say what was on her mind. Finally, she sighed.

"I’ve been thinking a lot lately… about everything," she started, her eyes meeting yours with an intensity that caught you off guard. "About the competition, about how everything was always about being the best. About how much I pushed everyone away, including you."

You blinked, taken aback by her honesty. Abby had never been the type to open up about her feelings so easily, especially not with someone she had been so competitive with.

"I get it," you said softly. "You were just doing what you thought you had to do. It wasn’t about me or anyone else, it was about you trying to be perfect in your own way."

Her eyes softened at your words, and for a moment, you both just sat in silence. The weight of everything that had happened—the arguments, the distance, the unspoken feelings—seemed to hang in the air between you, but there was something different now. Something that felt like the storm had passed, even if the aftermath was still lingering.

"I don’t want to keep pretending like I have everything figured out," Abby admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "I don’t want to keep pushing you away. You… you mean more to me than I’ve let myself admit. I’m just scared. I don’t want to mess this up."

You could feel your heart flutter in your chest. She wasn’t the same Abby who had always been so focused on her grades, her goals, her need to win. This was a new Abby—a more open, vulnerable version of herself that she’d kept hidden for so long.

But then, there was the hesitation, the quiet fear that lingered behind her words. "And my parents..." she trailed off, looking away. "They’ve always had these expectations for me—about what I should do, who I should be. They push me so hard, and I always felt like I had to be perfect for them. I didn’t want them to see you as… a distraction. I didn’t want them to think you were just some mistake. I didn’t want to disappoint them."

You listened, your heart sinking as you understood what had been holding her back. The weight of her parents’ expectations had been another chain keeping her from fully embracing what she wanted—what she needed.

You gently reached out, placing a hand on hers, feeling the coolness of her skin as she glanced back at you. "Abby, you don’t have to be perfect for them. You’re allowed to make your own choices. You deserve to be happy, and you deserve to have someone who sees you, not just the version they want you to be."

Abby met your gaze, and you saw something shift in her eyes—something lighter, like a part of her was letting go of the weight she’d carried for so long. "I know," she whispered, her voice quiet but firm. "And for the first time, I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if they disapprove of me being with you. I’m tired of living my life for them. I want to live for me."

The relief in her voice was palpable, and you couldn’t help but smile, your chest swelling with affection for her. You had always seen Abby as someone strong, driven by the need to be the best, but now you saw her in a different light—vulnerable, human, real.

She leaned in then, her hands cupping your face as she kissed you softly, her lips warm and tender against yours. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise, an unspoken vow between the two of you that no matter what happened, you were both going to be okay.

When she pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, and you could feel her breathing even out, the tension from before finally dissolving.

"I don’t want to be scared anymore," she said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I want to see where this goes. I want us to figure it out together, no more fear, no more pressure."

You nodded, your heart full of hope. "We will," you said, voice soft and sure. "Together."

And in that moment, everything felt right. The storm had passed, and what was left in its wake was a new beginning—a chance for both of you to be yourselves, without the weight of the past, without the fear of judgment. You didn’t need to be perfect. You just needed each other.

Together.

[storytowrite]

|You will always be mine ~ Lee Minho series|

PART 15

Paring: Minho x Y/N

Genre: smut, angst, university au

Word count: 2990

Warnings: sex, 18+, Minho is a psycho, dom!Minho, sub!reader, abuse, slight BDSM, kidnapping, violence, age gap, Minho is an university professor, Y/N can be hurt physically (and mentally too I guess).

Synopsis: Who knew that accidental fuck in the club bathroom with a handsome man will bring you to a lot of unexpected events.

Author's note: I kept this series for a really long time not sure if I want to post it or not, but I decided to do it anyway, so I hope you'll like it.

——————————

The trip lasted about two hours. Throughout this time, you were strapped down and immobilized in the passenger seat, while Minho was focused on the road. Although your body felt excitement, you began to have some concerns. You weren't sure what to expect from the man who had actually kidnapped you. And he did it with your consent, after all, you got into his car yourself.

“We've arrived, kitten.” Minho's voice suddenly broke the silence that had prevailed the entire way. 

“Where are we?” You asked, rubbing your wrists as the man untied your hands. You sat up slowly and looked out the window. 

Minho had stopped the car in a nice courtyard right in front of a fairly large wooden house. There was nothing around except the forest that surrounded the whole area. You trembled slightly. You liked it less and less. 

“You'll be safe here.” Minho said and got out of the car, then opened the passenger door and shook your hand.” Come in, I'll show you your new home.” He smiled broadly at you. 

“Wh-what? No, Minho don't joke around like that, okay? It's not much fun... I want to go home.” You said, looking around panicked. 

“As I told you, here is your new home, kitten. With me. Come on. Get out and do what I say before I run out of patience.” He said firmly. 

You obediently got out of the vehicle, trembling slightly in fear. You looked at him uncertainly not knowing what to expect. Minho turned around and started toward the house. You sighed heavily and moved after him. You knew that until you figured out some way to get away from him, you would have to play along as he told you to. 

As you crossed the threshold of the house, you swallowed your saliva loudly. The interior of the house was upholstered in light wood, contrasted by black furniture with gold accessories. It definitely did not look like an ordinary cabin in the woods. Until you were stunned. You stopped in the middle of the spacious living room looking around the room.

“Do you like it?” Minho asked, but didn't expect an answer. “Hungry? I'll make dinner.” 

“Minho... where do you get the money for all this? It's like you're an ordinary lecturer...” You started but he interrupted you in mid-sentence. 

“I invited you to my house, and all you think about is money, kitten?” He asked disapprovingly and stammered. “You shouldn't ask such questions. It's not nice to ask how much or where someone has money, you know?”

“Sorry.” You replied, quickly lowering your head and sticking your gaze into your shoes. 

“But...” He walked over to you and with his index finger lifted your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. “I wouldn't know how to be angry with you, kitten, you know? I'll answer your question. In addition to teaching at the university, I'm involved in, um... how shall I say it? Ah yes! You could say I'm a collector of sorts.” He smiled at you and leaned gently over you. “And I collect not only beautiful objects.” He whispered in your ear, and ran your lips gently over his petal, at which you quietly sighed. “I collect many things. And you, you are my most important trophy.”

“I am not an object.” You said, and your voice trembled softly. You stepped back slightly while watching him. You took a few steps back, but Minho walked slowly toward you, smiling nonchalantly.

Your back encountered an obstacle - a glass door leading to the garden. You felt their coldness on your body and immediately winced. You wanted to take half a step forward, but Minho was already leaning over you. His hands were on both sides of your head. Even though the height difference between you was small, you felt really small.

Minho smiled at you slightly. He knew exactly what you must be feeling. He was enjoying this moment. He liked the emotions he was causing in you. He saw a mixture of excitement and fear in your eyes. And even if you denied it, he was definitely aware of the effect he was having on you.

"What are you going to do with me now?" You asked quietly. You knew there was no chance of escape. You looked into his eyes, which cost you a lot. Fear slowly began to take over your body.

"I'll rape you and kill you." He whispered in your ear and kissed you gently on the cheek, then pulled away with a quiet laugh. “I already told you, kitten, I won’t hurt you. You’re important to me.”

“Important people don’t get taken out into the middle of the forest against their will!” You suddenly shouted in a surge of adrenaline, and your voice was full of conflicting emotions.

“You can scream as much as you want, kitten. No one will hear you here anyway.” Minho shrugged. “You’re safe here… And only with me. Just as it should be. I already told you, you don’t need anyone but me.”

“I’m not your fucking property!” Anger began to take hold of you. “I want to go home! You’re fucked up!”

“Hm…” Minho tilted his head slightly, looking at you. “No.” He replied shortly. “Although you’re right, you’re not a thing. But you belong to me and nothing will change that, kitten. We’ll always be together, you know?” He pushed the unruly locks behind your ear. “And you can resist as much as you want, but it won’t change anything.”

“I want. To. Go. Home.” You insisted, your anger growing weaker and weaker.

“And I want a star from the sky! We all want something Y/N. I already told you, this is your home. Why aren't you even listening to me, huh? You’re mine now. My most important trophy that I have to protect!” His voice was getting more and more nervous.

“Protect? What the fuck are you trying to protect me from, huh? The only person I need protection from is you! You fucking kidnapped me! And you took me to god knows where!” You growled.

“I didn't force you to do anything, kitten. You got in my car of your own free will. I said I'd take you home. I didn't say whose. You didn't ask anyway." He replied calmly and shrugged.

"I didn't even think you wouldn't take me to my apartment Minho! You're some kind of a fucking psychopath!"

"Call me whatever you want kitten, after all you didn't specify what you wanted, not me." He replied nonchalantly. "You're probably hungry, huh? If you weren't you wouldn't be screaming like that. Eh... Sit down in the living room or explore the house. You won't get very far anyway. Oh and one more thing..." He pulled your phone out of your pants pocket. "You won't need this anymore." He winked at you, then broke the device in half, threw it on the floor and stomped on it.

You looked at the remains of your phone. Tears welled up in your eyes. You knelt on the floor and started to pick up what was left of the device. You felt bad. Lee Minho, the man you met a few months ago in the club turned out to be a completely different person than you imagined. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye as he bustled around the kitchen. You were afraid of him and at the same time you felt the hopelessness of the whole situation. Alone with HIM in the forest. Without a phone. Without the possibility of contact with anyone close to you. You didn't know what to do with yourself, or what awaited you. Only Minho knew what he would do to you. And that was what you feared the most.

Minho, on the other hand, was pleased with himself. He knew that you were afraid of him and he understood you to some extent. In your place, he would probably be distrustful too. However, he didn't care that much about what you felt. The only thing that mattered was that you were with him. He wanted to keep you as close to him as possible and forever, and he knew that he would do everything to fulfill that desire.

"Dinner's ready." He said, placing a warm meal on the table. He glanced at you, still kneeling on the floor over the broken phone. “Y/N, come on, it's getting cold.”

But you didn't react to his call. You stared at the shattered device and tried to think of a way to escape.

“Hello, earth to Y/N!” Minho approached you. “I said dinner's ready. Come on in. Before I start getting nasty.”

“I'm not hungry.” You mumbled. “I want to go home, please.”

“I already told you this kitten, why don't you listen to me? You're home. Your home is where I am. Now I invite you politely to the table.” He said in a tone that didn't tolerate any argument, staring at you. You swallowed hard but followed his command. You sat down at the table and took a fork in your hand. “Enjoy.”

You started eating. Although you had no appetite, you ate what Minho gave you because you were afraid of his reaction if you accidentally disobeyed him.

“I'll show you around the house after dinner.” Minho suddenly spoke, breaking the silence.

“Okay…” You nodded. You knew that for now you had no choice and had to do what Minho told you. Otherwise it could end badly for you. You quickly ate your meal. Minho put the dirty dishes in the sink and walked over to you.

“Come on.” He said shortly and headed towards the stairs.

The house you were in had two floors. Downstairs there was a huge kitchen in a modern design, connected to the living room and dining room, all in an open space. In the living room there was a huge, black, leather couch, similar to the one Minho had in his apartment in the city center. There was a large TV hanging on the wall, and right next to it was a door leading to the garden.

The upper floor was decorated in a similar way to the living room. Upstairs there were four bedrooms and a study, which Minho immediately forbade you from entering. Each bedroom had a bathroom with a shower. In the master bedroom, apart from a huge bed with black satin sheets, there was a spacious wardrobe. In the bathroom, apart from the glass shower, there was a deep bathtub in the middle. On the counter against one of the walls were two sinks and a lot of cosmetics.

You hadn't noticed before that both the wardrobe and the bathroom were fully equipped. It looked as if Minho had been planning your move to this house for a long time. However, you didn't dare to ask him about it. You were afraid of what kind of answer you might get.

When you had already walked around the entire apartment, you went back down to the living room, Minho sat down on the leather couch and looked at you. His attitude was extremely nonchalant. Two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned from the top. Even though you were afraid of Minho, you had to admit that his attitude and appearance impressed you.

“Okay, kitten.” He began, looking at you standing in front of him. “We need to establish some rules in this house. First, you have to listen to me. You are not allowed to go into the study upstairs and you are not allowed to leave the house. Besides, even if you tried, you will not succeed. There is nothing around, there is only the forest. Second, you can of course walk around the house and garden, but the garage is off limits to you. And third and most importantly, from today you belong to me. If I decide that you are a good enough girl, I will get you a phone… maybe you will get a computer in some time.”

“And what am I supposed to do here?” You asked, annoyed. “Wait for you like a faithful dog? You are psychotic! I want to go back to my apartment!”

“Kitten, apart from me you have nothing. This is your apartment now, whether you like it or not.” He replied calmly.

“You can't keep me here for the rest of my life. What about my studies? What about my family? And friends? They'll be looking for me!"

"And they'll find a dead body. It will be so massacred that they won't even think it could be anyone else." He replied unfazed, making you shiver. “Kitten, I've already arranged everything. You don't have to worry about anything. Your loved ones, well... they'll forget about you quickly. And as for your studies. What do you need them for when I'm your professor anyway? You're homeschooled."

"That's not how it works, Minho. I need to have contact with others. I can't sit around and do nothing all my life because that's what you want. And what if you get bored with me? Will you get rid of me like you did with Rheena?"

"Rheena, ah yes... Well, luckily you're not Rheena. Your luck, of course." He winked at you. "Rheena deserved what happened to her. But you don't have to worry, kitty, I won't hurt you, which I think I've already mentioned. You have a really bad memory and you don't listen to what I say... I think I'll have to teach you some lessons."

"I don't think I need your lessons. I don't know what sick game you're playing, but that's not right, Minho. Please, let me out and let's forget about this, okay? I won't tell anyone, I promise you." You didn't give up.

"Hm... no. I won't believe any of your promises, kitten. Besides, you already gave me up to the police once, right? I don't want it to happen again. Now, come to me."

You swallowed hard, but approached the man. For now, you decided to follow his orders and in the meantime figure out a way to escape. Minho looked you in the eye and pulled you onto him. You landed on his lap.

"Perfect." He smiled slightly. "Like I said... I have to teach you a lesson." He added and suddenly put you on his lap.

"Minho, what are you doing?" You asked, surprised.

“I’m teaching you how not to behave. Any disobedience will be punished.” His hand landed with a force on your right buttock. You let out a surprised cry. You didn’t have time to say anything when you were hit in the other buttock.

Minho gave five hard slaps on both of your buttocks. With each subsequent one you let out louder and louder cries. You didn't want to admit it, but the man's slaps caused a slight arousal.

Lee Know knew it perfectly well. He knew your body better than his own. He knew what he had to do to arouse you, without too much effort. And that was what he wanted. He gently massaged your buttocks, then moved his hand between your thighs, at which you let out a quiet sigh.

He began to rub your sensitive spot through the material of your shorts. Your breathing quickened, the more pressure he put on. You began to moan quietly. Minho took his time. He relished your voice. He began to gently make circles, then pressed lightly on your shell, making you moan even louder.

He felt the material of your pants getting wetter and wetter. He smiled slightly to himself. He laid you down on the couch and stood over you. He took off your pants and panties, and then looking you straight in the eye, he inserted a finger into you, which he began to gently move. All flushed, you began to writhe under him and sigh louder and louder. Minho watched your reaction carefully. After a moment, he added another finger, and pressed his thumb on your button. In response to the sudden stimulation, you moaned loudly. Minho didn't take his eyes off you.

Your lips were parted and your eyes were half-closed. You were all flushed and you were letting out louder and louder moans of pleasure. Minho was proud of himself, he almost brought you to the peak. However, as soon as he noticed that your orgasm was approaching with great strides, he stopped all movements. He pulled his fingers out of you and licked them, watching with a slightly mocking smile as irritation appeared on your face.

"You're cute, you know that?" He asked, slightly amused.

"Why?" You asked, surprised and irritated. “Minho, I was close.”

“I know, kitty.” He smiled. “But you haven’t been a good kitten lately.”

“But I was close… I can handle it myself.” You were already reaching out to finish what Minho didn’t want.

“Oh, you’re not allowed.” He grabbed your wrist tightly. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself without my permission, is that clear? Be good and you’ll get what you want, okay?” Saying that, he pierced you with his cold gaze that always made goosebumps rise on your body.

“Y-yes…” You agreed and looked away.

“Great, kitten.” Minho smiled widely. “Now, go take a shower. It’s been a long day, don’t you think?”

“O-okay.” You listened to the man and went to the shower, where you were lost in thought.

Maybe it won’t be so bad? You thought, standing under the stream of warm water. You didn't want to admit it to yourself, but you missed his touch, but the thought of it made you very uneasy. Your mind was saying one thing, and your heart was telling you something else. You weren't sure if you really wanted to run away from him. And that was what you feared the most.

——————————

<- Part 14 | Part 16->

-> Series Masterlist

Taglist: @yaorzu-blog, @iovecb97, @hpnsfwaddict, @syedazarintasnim, @palindrome969, @biujulia @inlovewithstraykids

[funarisjournal]

It has arrived!! PART 2!!

Oh would you look at that...it's absolutely gorgeous. And it's mine~...er, ahem! So! Yes, you are looking at the cover to the Season 2 DVD set of "She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat." I actually got it a day early, alongside other pre-orderers...which is amazing because I'm in the Northeast US and most everyone else who has pre-ordered this is probably only in Japan. That's some amazing shipping power, hot dang!

Anyway, below you will find more photos and me gushing about this firsthand~ [for my S1 post, check here]

The power of fandom knows no bounds, sometimes....The only reason this DVD came to be was thanks to the vocal Japanese fanbase begging all the NHK channels to release it on home media after the show ended back in February. They filled out surveys, they would answer the little engagement posts on Twitter and the like. And bam. Suddenly, in August, this just kinda gets announced out of nowhere! That was when I looked into proxy shipping with CDJapan (I definitely recommend them if they can ship to your country!). I have had this pre-ordered since SEPTEMBER. It has been a long, eager wait.

This one has 3 discs (I love the 2nd disc's photo lmao). After all, S2 was 20 episodes long. Needs more room! But this also has a few more extras than last time, video-wise. The booklet is simpler in comparison, but I did appreciate an actual relationship chart with the whole season's cast featured on it (and I mean whole cast. It even has Fujita's coworkers and the folks that Nomoto and Sayama were working with). That one I will attempt to translate for you all, just like I did with that Yuri Yamada foreword in the S1 set.

The other noteworthy thing from the booklet is just the art that's featured in it. I mean the actual photos and art pieces, not just screencaps. The cover alone? A pretty mash-up on that two-photo set from the promo poster shoot. The first page features some art from Yuzaki-sensei. It's some regular illustrations as well as the announcement illustration made that a S2 was happening. Gotta love the pancake motif~

And then I was floored by the end of the booklet. The same photo is used on the back of the DVD, yes, but let me tell you, it looks REALLY AMAZING as a standalone. I mean, look that that. It's so warm, almost ethereal, the two women looking forward into a brighter future, together!

I should totally also scan that when I scan the relationship chart as well. You all deserve this.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish a Good Couples Day illustration and then proceed to enjoy the three different extras featured in this set (a 5-min PR vid, the one 10-min special with Higa, Nishino, and Fujiyoshi, and I guess some social media ads? Something like that, anyway~)

[desmos-calculator]

I was thinking about those posts I sometimes see about dates being an equation (you know the ones), and was thinking, is there a year where that happens the least? maybe even one where it doesn't happen?

Well, I don't think I'd be qualified to cover every function that uses two inputs, and I would assume every function is quite a few and probably would cover every day

So, I'll be sticking to the basic 4,+,-,× and ÷, since that's what I see most common with those posts

First step is to get a list of all the dates (I should clarify, from the Gregorian calendar, since that's the most common dating system I see from those posts), which is pretty easy, just make it yourself! you know how the months work... right?

right?

Anyways, we have a list now! two, in fact, so we can put our days and months separately

Now, we just apply the functions and,

meh, could be prettier, now, we gotta consider that negative years don't exist yet, less so something like XX negative 19, so those extra spots below, gotta go

We also need to consider that years such as XX 100 would theoretically someday exist, but we're just gonna assume you're only looking at the last 2 digits, so, BEGONE!

And don't forget about the year XX 02.75, that was the best year... for all of us that used a different calendar system, so I'm going to need to ask you numbers to LEAVE!

And that should be all the house keeping we need to do, let's collapse em down

woooah, coolio, let's color them based on the group come from

preeeetty, someone should crochet that

Now, you may think "Hey, he left out my favourite day, [February 29th], How could he????!!!!!"

Well, 2+29=31, which can't be a leap year, 2-29 is negative, so no, not possible, 2/29 is a fraction, and 2*29=58, which is NOT a leap year

so, to anyone guessing dates that can never work, congrats, you won!

we can also see what years work with each function

with division ending the lowest, since all it does is decrease, we find the last date to be XX14, on 28th February, ironic. sorry y'all didn't notice it til it was too late.

for subtraction? the last date will be... 30th January 2029! Get your cakes (uh, funeral cakes?) ready for the last date possible for subtraction in.... 4 years time?!?! jesus, time flies, huh?

uhmm, for addition, we find the final day to be 30th December XX42! woa

and the multiplication goes til the end, being the year XX99, dated November 9th...... ANYWAYS

the year of most functional dates will be XX12 with the dates:

11th Jan (11+1=12), 12th Jan(12*1=12), 13th Jan(13-1=12),

6th Feb (6*2=12), 10th Feb (10+2=12), 14th Feb (14-2=12),

24th Feb (24/2=12), 4th March (4*3=12), 9th March (9+3=12),

15th March (15-3=12), 3rd April (3*4=12), 8th April (8+4=12),

16th April (16-4=12), 7th May (7+5=12), 17th May (17-5=12),

2nd June (2*6=12), 6th June (6+6=12), 18th June (18-6=12),

5th July (5+7=12), 19th July (19-7=12), 4th August (4+8=12),

20th August (20-8=12), 3rd September (3+9=12),

21st September (21-9=12), 2nd October (2+10=12),

22nd October (22-10=12), 1st November (1+11=12),

23rd November (23-11=12), 1st December (1*12=12),

and finally... 24th December (24-12=12)

awesome

the years with no days are all primes after XX43, since if it had any factors, it'd work for multiplication

except, I lied, XX58, XX62, XX74, XX82, XX86 and XX94 are all not prime, yet have 0 days, since they're divisible by 2 but the other factor is bigger than 30

except, I lied again, XX58 is actually the only one with a potentially real day, being february 29, as we mentioned earlier.

"BUT WAIT, WHAT ABOUT m/d/y? WHAT ABOUT THE AMERICAN SYSTEM?!?!"

hghhghghg

graaaaah, the division section barely exists

woah, separation, around the x=y line too, with the same shape no less

except, BOOM, i lied to you, AGAIN.

you see, this shape is actually skinner than the original one

you actually only lose potential dates by switching to the other system, and here's how many you lose

The years that lose the most are XX13, XX14, XX15 with 13 missing days, and we'll reach a consensus for amount of days working with math in XX32! the perfect number to end on

but also, this system gives us our earliest year ending with a multiplicative date, being 1st December XX12 (XX12 was a great year for functions, huh)

So, when's the next functional date? well, we missed 13th November, so mark your calendars for 12th December!!

So, what did we learn?

Well, I mean, I guess you can brag about knowing when the next date that's a math equation.

and also the tragedy that is 29th February XX58...

Suggest other calendar systems, and I'll look into them!

[tozettastone]

There are several reasons I shan't continue with this one in particular (narrative reasons that you can probably see if you read it!) but I did say I would post it when I had written anything. Heads up, there's a little violence in this.

-----

Three universes away from the long war, Kurosaki Ichigo is alone.

He's a god now, for all the good that does anyone. The god-king of empty hueco mundo, the last remaining world: immortal, eternal, and all alone.

The wind howls across the stark desert landscape.

(If a man howls along with the wind in the desert, and there's not a single soul to hear anything ever again, does it really make a sound? When there is nothing else, you might as well consider philosophy.)

Tonight he pauses, mid-step, on the side of a sand dune.

He feels something outside himself. It's... pulling at him.

That's novel enough on its own. All he has here is a well of power, achieved too late to save anyone who matters, the endless cold desert, and memories of the lost worlds.

It's all he's had for years now.

He turns towards the tugging, head down, eyes distant.

Something, he thinks, still needs him.

...Someone?

He clenches and unclenches his fists. The idea that there's still someone out there who needs him, who he hasn't totally failed yet — it itches at him like an incubus. It's heady, potent, seductive.

Kurosaki Ichigo whirls, kicking up sand in his haste to answer the call.

For the first time in decades, he tears open a garganta and it actually goes somewhere new.

The feeling pulls him on.

--

Thirty minutes (and also infinity) earlier —

Technically speaking, you can summon stuff from outside the three worlds. Nobody does it, because inviting a horror from outside of spacetime to please come in and make itself at home is considered... er, highly inadvisable. And also, Kisuke guesses — and this is really secondary at this point in his life, given the state of Soul Society — because it's technically punishable in seireitei by summary obliteration from the reincarnation cycle.

But mostly it's that inviting in an alien abomination never improves circumstances.

The current situation has deteriorated so badly that Kisuke is willing to trade his little life, such as it is, for outside assistance. All his reading (of the books that survived, anyway) suggests that not only will outsiders accept sacrifices, but they also understand the concept of a contract.

He's pretty sure — pretty sure — that the design he's writing on the floor of what was once the Central 46 deliberation hall is a coherent contract in this new syllabary. Pretty sure.

Almost definitely.

...Probably.

"You sure about this?" Shinji wonders, from his slouch against the far wall. He's standing on some of the rubble they pushed to its outer walls. His hands are in the pockets of his long black coat, but Sakanade is in easy reach.

"Yes," Kisuke lies with easy confidence. He glances over his shoulder. Shinji's just as scarred as he is now. He's more subdued after the loss of the rest of the Vizards. They've all had their losses. "How long do you think we have?"

He rolls his shoulders. Sighs. "...Minutes, still, at least. Aizen loves messing around with Ichigo."

And, neither of them says, but both of them know, Kurosaki Ichigo is the only one who can still stand up to him for more than a minute at a time. Currently, he's out there backed up by Ishida and Nelliel, but they truly are just backup, there to make barriers and cause a big distraction if Ichigo goes down.

This is not the team Kisuke would have put on barrier duty, once upon a time. Hachi, Tessai, young Orihime even...

But now it's an arrancar and a quincy fighting the shinigami war. And Ichigo. Always Ichigo.

Because... that's who's left.

"You've got no time at all if he figures out your shitty idea is a suicide technique," Shinji reminds him, clicking his tongue.

That's true.

"It might not be a suicide technique," he says lightly. That thought makes his stomach turn, because either way he's giving himself up to whatever outsider can meet his terms. It's probably for the best if it just kills him.

"Uh-huh," says Shinji, like he's thinking exactly what Kisuke is thinking.

Kisuke goes back to his contract. He's pretty sure of it, but there's a lot of his own blood mixed in with the ink, and he's gotten lightheaded now. He compares it to his crumpled diagram carefully.

He's as sure as he can be that he's got it right. They are as ready as they will ever be to beg help off an alien deity.

"It looks right," he says finally.

Shinji straightens up. "Showtime?"

It's hard to read anything from his face, and it's not just the scars. They've all lost a hell of a lot, and Shinji's clearly braced for this one with the kind of grim skill that comes from practice: shut down, stone-faced, dead-eyed.

Kisuke has never been more grateful for how hard his remaining friends have become. Right now he thinks he could do anything, say anything, and it would break upon Shinji like a wave on a cliffside and fall away, leaving him untouched and indifferent.

This is it. Kisuke has risked his life plenty of times, but he's never just ...given it up before. This is the moment at which everything he is, has been, everything he has the potential to ever become, this is what it's worth: just one spell.

It comes down to his pale and trembling hands, smeared with ink and blood, pressed down to the design he's drawn on the floor.

He looks at Shinji and he meets his dark eyes and laughs. It sounds a bit like a broken hinge.

"Showtime," he agrees.

His reiatsu swells. He looks down and pretends he can't see Shinji close his eyes.

Then the design begins to glow, and he throws his call out into the great and terrible emptiness beyond the universe he knows, and then he can't see much of anything at all.

But he sure feels it when someone answers.

--

Now—

Ichigo blinks into being again in the middle of a fight. For a second he's confused, baffled — there has been nobody left to fight in his empty world for decades. Only him, and his hideously advanced regeneration, and the endless, screaming desert wind.

He's standing in a clear blue sky.

In that second of confusion, Aizen — Aizen? — stabs him, straight through the chest, and he can hear someone screaming his name.

It's the scream that gets him, if he's honest. The sword barely registers. But the voice... the voice is sharp and desperate and full of rage and horror and all that emotion is aimed directly at him, at Kurosaki Ichigo, long-abandoned little god. How long has it been, he thinks hazily, since he's heard his own name in someone else's voice? How long has it been since someone who valued him cried out for him?

It resurrects something in him. It's like his heart skips a beat, takes a moment to blink.

(Of course, Ichigo's heartbeat never actually skips. You can keep time by the steady thump of his immortal heart. His pulse is a metronome.)

He needs to do something about that voice. It's upset, so he's upset.

Triage. His brain arranges its priorities.

1. Aizen has stabbed him. He doesn't like this.

2. The voice is upset. This is upsetting him.

3. He doesn't know where he is, but it is not the desert. He likes this.

Ichigo wrenches the sword out of his chest in a spray of blood and pale, bubbling fluids. The wound bubbles white, hideously, and hisses into the cool reishi-rich air as it closes up.

Aizen's dark eyes go wide, but he hasn't got time to react. Ichigo keeps his grip on his blade, lunges forward, and cups the man's head in one hand. The skull disappears in the blast of a cero, and then Ichigo has the seconds he needs to obliterate the rest of him. That's the trick of it, you see: the regeneration offered by the hogyoku works only if there's something from which to regenerate — a charred bone, a lock of hair, a smear of blood.

In seconds all that's left is destruction.

That's point one taken care of.

Ichigo stops hovering in the sky, lands on a half-collapsed roof, and turns towards the echoes of the voice that screamed his name.

It's a tall, pale figure, dark haired and sharp eyed, and —

Ishida? he thinks. His brain stalls out.

"Ish... Ishida?"

"Kurosaki," he says, staring. "...He stabbed you."

Ichigo slides his hands over his own collarbone, his chest — the massive ragged slit in his shihakusho, wet with blood — and opens it, showing off the patched skin beneath. In a few hours, it won't even scar.

"Ishida," he repeats, unable to move past the fact of his being right — right there? Alive? Alive?

He stumbles closer to him, hand outstretched, and Ishida eyes him warily but he doesn't whip out his bow or run away, so Ichigo puts both hands right on his face, one each side of his jaw. He he presses his index fingers to the stems of his glasses feeling the cool metal and warm skin.

He's warm.

Ishida is warm. This is a human body, with a familiar human spirit inside it. They're both battered, but he knows them. He knows Ishida Uryu. He knows...

"Kurosaki," says Ishida, glowering out from between Ichigo's hands. His voice is a little slurred under Ichigo's compressing grip. "What the hell are you doing?"

Ichigo throws caution to the wind and hugs him, which goes about as well as can be expected: Ishida struggles, flopping like a fish on a line to show his displeasure, but he doesn't actually work very hard to dislodge Ichigo. He positively reeks of old sweat, acrid smoke, rust and the ugly meaty smell of healing injuries. Ichigo thinks he probably hasn't washed his hair in weeks.

He crams his face into his neck and breathes in like a crazy person. This is the best thing that's ever happened to him, maybe?

"Kuro — Ichigo! Unhand me!"

"Ishida," he gasps, clutching him. "Ishida, Ishida, Ishida." Like a chant. He might be rocking them a little.

This is when Ishida stops struggling. It's like something flicks on in his head, and the tension in his spine and shoulders changes its quality completely.

"Have you lost your mind?" he demands. He sounds like he's actually considering this possibility. His hands come up under Ichigo's arms, and very stiffly he attempts to hug back. "Kurosaki? Your reiatsu feels... different," Ishida mutters.

There's the world's most awkward squeeze, because apparently killing mass murdering wannabe-gods gets Ichigo enough credit with Ishida to rate physical affection — at least as long as he thinks he's on the edge of having some kind of psychiatric problem about it.

It feels so good. Ichigo might sob a little.

"Kurosaki. Answer me."

Ichigo makes a noise to show he's listening. He does not let go. He thinks about what he wants to say and settles on: "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Where are we? What's going on?"

Ishida makes a much less positive noise in response to these questions.

Hoofbeats sound. That's... out of place.

"Ichigo!" cries a vaguely familiar voice, high and sweet and ringing like a struck bell. "We did it! Group hug!"

"What? No!" yowls Ishida, but of course it's way too late for that.

He can't dodge with Ichigo clinging to him like a limpet, and Ichigo doesn't even try, so Nelliel collides with them both. She is in her resurreccion form, a tall tangle of tumbling green hair and fur and hooves. She sends them both staggering with her mass. But her limbs are strong, and she pulls both of them into her instead of letting them fall.

Ichigo braces himself against Nel's side, shuddering. Ishida is pressed — smushed, really — against his front, and Nel is right there crowding her big warm-furred body into them.

"Stop it! Let — me — go!"

Ishida manages to shove Ichigo away, and then he uses an advanced movement technique to stage an immediate and unnecessarily dramatic tactical retreat.

"Eh? But you let him hug you!"

"He was acting weird!" Ishida accuses, pointing. "I thought he was going to cry!"

I am going to cry, Ichigo thinks. His eyes have been stinging since he first put his face in Ishida's gross sweaty neck. He blinks rapidly.

Nel, who allegedly lacks a heart but who has more emotional range in her right horn than Ishida does in his entire body, coos and encloses him in her arms, effortlessly pulling him off his feet. "You did it, Ichigo! Don't cry! We won!"

She spins around with him clutched to her, goat-antelope hooves clattering deftly over the rubble underfoot. "We won! We won!"

"We won," he repeats.

Yeah, he guesses they did, if she means he killed Aizen in the last five minutes.

But the thing is, for Ichigo... Aizen has been dead for thirty to forty years. Ichigo would know. He killed him.

Nel has been gone for even longer than that. In his memory, Aizen cut her hands off and gave her to one of the other espada to kill, to punish her disloyalty.

And Ishida...

He was Ichigo's cousin. And Ichigo never knew it, not until Aizen had already collapsed Soul Society and destabilised the living world. Not until after he was dead.

(He'll never forget how Ryuken told him. He was wreathed in cigarette smoke and leaning against the wall of the hospital, dry-eyed, icy and vicious in his grief: Your mother, your sisters, and now my son... he was your maternal cousin, did you know? No. I see you did not. It seems you have a rare talent for getting your family killed, Kurosaki.)

Ichigo looks around. They're standing amid the high-reishi rubble of what looks very much like Soul Society. It's a damaged, blown up Soul Society, with its pale towers sagging and broken stone tumbling across the cracked ground, but it's unmistakably Soul Society.

And to add to this mystery, the tugging of something outside of himself is still ongoing, drawing him off to the north. Ichigo looks that way, brows furrowed. He feels almost compelled to get moving in that direction. There's something there that's his.

"They must be finished with their spell by now," Ishida says, adjusting his glasses, which were left askew during the hugs.

Ichigo doesn't want to let go of Nel — he still kind of wants to go and grab Ishida, actually — but he needs to start moving. There's something there. He has to.

As he looks over the broken cityscape, memories come to him like riverbed silt, disturbed, rising to the surface of murky water.

Hey, he thinks suddenly. What's Ichigo doing here?

He squeezes his eyes abruptly shut.

He's here because he was meant to distract Aizen while Kisuke cast some kind of mega-kido, some crazy high-risk summoning, drawn out in blood in the old assembly hall.

And he's just killed Aizen because... the spell worked. And he's here and not over there because this body is an Ichigo body.

Kisuke tried to something and trick it into doing what he wanted, and now he's got... Ichigo?

The memories integrate with a horrific lurch. It's been decades since he last vomited anything, but for a second he feels like he really might. (It's been nine months, here.) Ichigo no longer needs to eat because he's immortal. He's a lowercase-g god. He's alone in Hueco Mundo and if he could die he'd be dead by now. (Ichigo used to be hungry all the time, here, but now they always have enough supplies. They stockpiled for so many more people than they now have.)

"Kurosaki?"

He opens his eyes. Looks at Ishida.

"...Let's go see Kisuke," he says slowly. He starts walking. It satisfies the relentless pull towards that call, at least.

Ichigo is not sure what Shinji and Kisuke were trying to summon, or if he's the really answer they were expecting.

"Do you think we can have a victory party?" Nel asks, tapping her lip.

"With who?" Ishida wonders. "You and Grimmjow? I'd rather get stuck in Kurosaki's octopus arms again."

Nel shoots him a look. "Grimmjow does his part. ... Mostly. He'll be sorry to have missed this, I think."

Grimmjow, Ichigo knows, is recovering from getting run through, with his usual bad grace. Unlike Ichigo, he isn't an immortal with instant regeneration powers.

"Yuzu," Ichigo suggests, in a lightning strike of memory. He's seared by it: Yuzu, beautiful and haunted, alone in the living world with no father and no mother and no twin. Ichigo hasn't been able to see her in a while, because her safety consists in her anonymity, but he can see her now. He can see her today, probably — he can pass through a garganta to the living world and crash her afternoon lectures and smoosh his face into her hair and hug her until her ribs creak.

He has so much living family here — a sister and a cousin he hasn't got killed. It seems like a tremendous wealth of family associations, suddenly.

...They're not really his, exactly. They're... this other Ichigo's. He lost his — Aizen killed Yuzu, eventually.

I am me, dumbass, he thinks to himself, in a confusing series of echoes and ripples.

Well. Fine then. Maybe they are his. No take backs, Local Ichigo.

I'm the same person!

Yeah, he's... giving himself a headache.

He's still integrating, he guesses. But he remembers the important things. Karin is dead. A building got dropped right on her during a hollow attack in Karakura. Horrific, but fast. In his world it was Szayelaporro who took both of them, hell-bent on dissecting his perfect rare quincy specimens.

There's something viscerally satisfying about the way his sister's name makes Ishida brighten. "That would be better."

"Ah, Yuzu-chan," coos Nel. "Your sister, right? She seems sweet."

"Yeah. My sister." He has a sister.

They pick up the pace by mutual consent. There's an equal mix of sonido, shunpo and hirenkyaku between them, but despite the minor differences, they all do pretty much the same thing.

When they get to the assembly hall — a place that no doubt had a real name when Soul Society's government used to gather here, which Ichigo of course cannot remember for love or money — its missing wall is covered by a huge, glittering barrier.

Shinji looks up as they approach, squinting through the barrier. His eyes are hooded beneath his sharp fringe.

His face is not as Ichigo remembers it from decades ago (which is to say he, uh, has a face, and not just a grizzly red topography of valleys and bumps where it got cut off) but also exactly as he remembers it from this morning.

The headache isn't going away.

"You're back early," he draws. It's an understatement. It's strange that they're back at all, probably. Ichigo privately marvels at hearing Shinji's drawling cynical voice and distinctive Kansai dialect again. "What happened?"

"Aizen's dead!" Nel crows, leaping right up to the barrier. "Ichigo killed him. Obliterated his entire body."

She sounds like a proud big sister. Accordingly, she slings one arm around Ichigo's shoulders and draws him in to her side. She's taller than him in her resurreccion. It's easy to fit under her arm, and he really, really likes the solid weight of it over his shoulders.

... He really misses being touched. It's so easy to sink into Nel. Her weird furry goat-ribs rise and fall against his side.

"You were trying to summon something. You got me, I think," Ichigo elaborates, throwing her arm off.

Something unnamable passes behind Shinji's eyes. For a moment they change, distinctly hollow, and then he settles back on his hips, long limbs folded.

"Ichigo, huh?" he asks, voice low and hostile.

"Don't be like that. It's still Ichigo," Nelliel says cheerfully. She pushes him towards Shinji. Ichigo leans back against her just to avoid slamming into the barrier. "Just smell him. It's just... extra Ichigo!"

"Extra Ichigo?" Ishida repeats. "Is that a good thing...?"

"Hey," says Ichigo, mildly.

Shinji eyes her. He declines to 'smell him'. "I'll take your word on it," he decides, finally.

"I need to come in," Ichigo says. Whatever it is he's drawn to, it's in the room with Shinji. He has to get to it. The closer he gets the more he needs it.

Shinji does not look like he wants to relent, but his barrier cracks like glass and falls in a rain of glittering reishi shards anyway.

Ichigo springs forward and past him.

Then he lays eyes on Kisuke and it feels like the whole world takes a breath around him.

He's hunched over his rusty-smelling ink design on the floor, pale-faced and leaking reiatsu. He looks terrible, exhausted and trembling. Ichigo knows in an instant what the design means.

It's god-knowledge, buried in his hindbrain.

He's never thought of himself in these terms before, but it's all here in the ink and blood, laid out before him and sealed with a sacrifice.

Ichigo knows he is is only a little god. But he's one who answers prayers.

"Yo, geta-boshi," he says, and drifts inexorably forward to sit before him.

I've been reading all those early half finished Bleach time travel/alternative universe fics about dimension hopping Ichigo going to a new time or dimension to fix the Aizen problem

I think I will write one, but not like in a way where I'm going to finish it at all; I think I am just going to stick my nose in my phone and write until I run out of steam. It's just, like, enrichment in my enclosure. There are so many possible ways to do it. Maybe I'll write 3. 😤

[fo-enjoyer]

S/I: Are you going to listen to me?

F/O: I won't miss a word.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

what kind of underwear do you think Erik and Charles wear (i'm not asking this to see them half naked) ((please believe me)) (((PLEASE)))

My Personal Belief is charles is a briefs guy while erik's a trunks guy. trunks/briefs kinda couple because i can

and idk just a lil bonus or somethin. as i do.

[dracrownian]

I have been thinking about this singular panel literally since I posted this earlier. Just. Ugh.

This is Viz's translation. Let me repeat: this is the official English translation. And that's how they chose to convey that line. Viz literally out here furthering the bisexual Akai agenda, even unintentionally. (Didn't think it was possible to make Gosho's characters even gayer.)

UGH. I guess I'm a ScotchRye shipper now. Because that's what's been on my mind all day. But to be clear, I'm probably more of a Whiskey Trio shipper because I'm not about to leave Rei out.

Listen I'm just saying. Hiro and Rei loved each other so much. SO MUCH. Hiro literally killed himself at least in part to protect Rei. UGH.

Rye and Scotch as sniper duo pls (yes I see you Iris and I agree). I can see them easily bonding. I can see Rye falling in love with him because he's Hiro (even if it's like. not quite Full Hiro.) and Hiro is so lovable. I can see Hiro seeing Rye's charms even if nobody else (Bourbon) does (or will admit to it).

RyeBourbon is also a yes for me. There's so much potential there. They constantly bicker, and I will not be convinced otherwise, even when it's inconvenient or there's an obvious Right Way Of Doing Things. Because that's how they communicate. Hiro just sort of sighs and shakes his head and humors it because he knows Rei and Rei's stubborn temper. And if this is also foreplay for them? Sure, that's fine, too.

Rei being absolutely devastated by Hiro's death and Rye apparent betrayal of both of them, but especially of Hiro. Because if Hiro has something going on with Rye, Rei knows about it. And that Rye would kill Scotch even despite that? Unforgivable. And then finding out that Rye was a NOC all along and supposedly killed Scotch to further his standing?? All hell breaks loose. Hell hath no fury, and all that.

Akai can't even bring himself to drink scotch anymore after Scotch's death. He "loves scotch as much as bourbon" but it's too painful. The ghost still lingers. His devastation is quieter, of course. And all he can do now to make up for his mistake, for his part in Hiro's death, is do his best to keep Bourbon safe. Even when Bourbon wants him dead.

Could he try to clear the air and tell Bourbon the truth of what happened that night? Yes, yes he could. Is he going to? Absolutely not. Because that might actually kill Rei.

They'll reconcile eventually. It'll be hard, maybe the hardest thing either of them have done, laying Hiro's ghost to rest. Leaning on each other, maybe never quite fully moving on. They both love him, after all. They always will. But they can love each other, too, and hang onto what they still have. Rei can tell Akai stories of when they were kids, have him know more about the man Hiro truly was. Akai can tell Rei about how, even when it was just him and Scotch, Rei was never far from Scotch's mind. Even if he didn't know it at the time, he knows now, how sometimes Scotch would just have the sweetest little smile, and he must have been thinking of Rei.

And if they both silently make promises to Hiro to keep each other safe? Well, that's between them and Hiro.

I'm fine, I promise. I'm not fine, how did I end up here?

Anyway. ScotchRye is fine I guess and I have no feelings on the matter.

Neither of them are handling the divorce well tbh.

[lucabyte]

i'm so curious about your character gender reads now tho 👀👀

(You enter the kitchen and see me, eating shredded cheese out of the fridge by the handful)

(I turn around to face you.)

Hi. Do you want me to sell you on amab NB Siffrin? I'm going to try and sell you on amab NB Siffrin. And maybe even a little bit of tranfem siffrin and/or loop. as a treat. just for you.

So, (I put the cheese back in the fridge.)

This read of mine comes from a number of things, a lot of them to do with the game's themes, and to do with Siffrin being a narrative foil to the other characters. And Vaugarde as a whole.

(READMORE WARNING: THIS IS LIKE 6K WORDS LONG. YOU ALL SHOULD KNOW BY NOW I DON'T MAKE POSTS WITHOUT UNCONSCIOUNABLE AMOUNTS OF EVIDENCE AND EXPLANATION. IF ANYTHING I'M BEING RESTRAINED HERE. THUMBS UP.)

(Pre-readmore note: this is in response to me having given an analysis of how I personally percieve Sifloop in relation to asexuality and shipping. Which you can look at here. (x))

It is however, not what my like, no-holds-barred no-rules just-for-me headcanon for Siffrin would be. (which is intersex 'head empty no thoughts' siffrin, for the record). This is instead my close-reading-of-the-text-and-themes interpretation of Siffrin. This is why I'm gonna be saying Read and not Headcanon, to distinguish the two. (Anything I consider a little bit too much of a stretch vis a vis interpretive hard reads I will call a headcanon. But those are for the last bit of this post.)

Unlike *gestures at mass media* All That… ISAT is already packed to the gills with queer rep, to the point where I feel no need to grasp at straws and make overextended reaches into obviously unintended subtext. Like with, y'know, most media. Since here, the subtext isn't unintended. Like this isn't a Transfem Metal Sonic or Aroace Ash Ketchum situation where I know none of the evidence is on purpose and I'm just having fun making a conspiracy theory pinboard out of it. This is like… There's intentionality there. And I want to engage with it on its level, see what the text itself suggests. It's my personal preferred method of expressing deep respect to a text. (Not that it has to be anyone else's, obviously. This is just my way of showing I love a work.)

So yeah, I am, in general, very interested in hearing hard-fought arguments when it comes to interpreting texts. I'm glad ISAT has a lot to pick at here, and so, I will. (and since not a lot of texts ever have anywhere near this kind of depth in this arena, i don't wanna squander it… i'll try and keep my own biases as in check as i can, and already have done by hashing quite a bit of this interpretation out with two people of very different gender identities to mine. To put it mildly, binary-aligned or transfem I am very squarely Not.)

(Now that the cheese bag has been removed from the equation, I drop this framing device, sit you down at the table and begin to dredge up evidence from below it.)

Okay, so. What are my like… Core reasonings here? I think I can split it into three categories. Broadly, with an amount of overlap, so bear with me…

SIFFRIN AS A FOIL AND CONTRAST TO MIRABELLE, ISABEAU AND THE CHANGE RELIGION AS A WHOLE.

SIFFRIN'S HABITS OF CLINGING TO 'KNOWN QUANTITIES', SCAPEGOATS, AND THEMES OF RACIAL IDENTITY INTERSECTING WITH GENDER IDENTITY.

SIFFRIN, LOOP, DE-PERSONING, DEHUMANISING, APATHY AND SURVIVAL.

Okay so up top I'm going to split my argument for Siffrin's gender identity Present and Future here. This means, for now, I'm arguing for AMAB NB Siffrin alone. The transfem stuff is for later (and more for loop, in my mind, too).

I have a few direct observations of the text here that set things up. Here are the things in-game that make me assume that Siffrin, as of the start of the game, has not yet undergone any radical change to their identity in their life. Not on purpose, at least. These are ordered in a messy but logical flow, so uh, try and keep up. I'll synthesise at the end. I Prommy.

SIFFRIN AS A FOIL AND CONTRAST TO MIRABELLE, ISABEAU AND THE CHANGE RELIGION AS A WHOLE.

CHANGE & THE UNIVERSE: PERCEIVED OPPOSITES

When interacting with most objects in the Changing Room in the house, they express a genuine curiosity toward body craft. It seems they are legitimately unfamiliar with it on a deeper level than having simply heard of it.

Despite this curiosity (explicitly stating they've previously wondered about it), they dismiss it as too much work early on in the game. These points combined seem to suggest to me that they have never previously sought out any kind of real change to their appearance or identity. Either for gender reasons, or other body dysmorphia reasons. (Which, despite the dismissal, they do refer to their body as a 'meat prison', which is not particularly positive) However...

This changes in Act 3. In acts 3 and 4 they flatly state: "You're thinking about crafting your body. You seem to have all the time in the world now." While still never spoken aloud, their declining mental state corrosponds with a worn-down, almost nihilistic reckoning with the feelings they masked with the 'meat prison' joke in act 2.

[Image: Interactions with the change craft textbook in acts 2 and 3/4.]

In talking to Mirabelle, they are very self assured that one can stay the same/be comfortable with their born identity. They also seem a little unsettled by the change religion's flippancy in general, which makes sense, as they have been clinging to the famliar (even when painful) to cope with other traumas. (More on this later, section 2)

The Universe Faith appears to heavily disincentivise Wanting for oneself and other expressions of Free Will due to safeguarding against Wish craft. This seems to have impacted Siffrin's mental state majorly, even if they do not recognise it. The followers of the faith are (if Siffrin is to be believed) incentivised to 'go with the flow' and take paths of least resistance, and those that DO make big decisions will tend to justify things as being The Universe's Will. (See: The King's entire Modus Operandi, and the way Loop (and Siffrin) do the same rote actions, constructing worldviews (the play analogy, the Universe's Will) and justify that as what the Universe Would Want (despite a total lack of evidence to prove as such)) As such, it seems as if a follower of this faith as neurotic as Siffrin would be unlikely to act upon any Wants to Change Themselves without a lot of turmoil and backwards-justification. (Of note, Loop's forcible change coinciding with a dropping of pronoun. But that is again for later, section 3) As of the start of the game, they do not appear to have broached this kind of turmoil directly.

[Image: Act 5 interaction with the star journal, emphasis on it being a cautionary tale against reckless usage of wish craft, instilled so deeply to be a children's bedtime story]

Siffrin, in act 5, grows frustrated with both The Universe and The Change God, feeling abandoned by the former. They struggle with simultaneously anthropomorphising the Universe as a cruel onlooker, while also seemingly acknowledging them as a cold, almost scientific fact of nature. This would heavily imply that the 'blame' put upon the Universe by Siffrin in these moments is known to them, at least a little, to be potentially meaningless. It seems that somewhere in Siffrin's belief system is something, be it the core or merely a creeping worry, that the Universe is not a thinking, feeling, thing. And thus that their invocations of "The Universe's Will" are merely rationalisations of random chance and consequence. This is in DIRECT contrast to the Change God, proven to be an emotive sapient entity, who merely refuses to offer a helping hand. (Similar sentiments are, too, spoken by the Change God itself.)

[Images: Interacting with the window in the observatory in act 5, text from the change god meeting]

So. These are the bulk of my observations when it comes to how Siffrin is positioned in contrast to the Change Belief. It would seem to be that Siffrin, inkeeping with their role as an outsider, is a complete fish out of water in Vaugarde's change-centric world. This makes sense! It makes them a compelling foil to the Vaugardians in our cast, and allows the Vaugardians to challenge Siffrin's worldviews merely by existing. It also, more importantly, makes Siffrin an interesting lens through which to inspect our two most Change-driven characters. Mirabelle and Isabeau.

MIRABELLE.

Mirabelle and Siffrin's differing faiths are put on display the most frequently. Interactions like the circle key and the party's disbelief of Siffrin's facts about the stars make this clear. These interactions other Siffrin from the group further, and are another avenue through which Siffrin can ignore their own needs, not communicating with the party and allowing them to dismiss things he deems important.

Obviously, the friendquest is primarily about Mirabelle's struggle with her aromanticism and asexuality. But there's an implicit undercurrent of gender there too. Mirabelle has never made a big change, not like Isabeau. She has never 'changed completely', by her words. And Siffrin distinctly finds this an odd thing to be worried by. Whatever culture he carries has no pressure to explore these avenues, it seems. Siffrin is able to help her by sharing their honest opinions, that he's never felt the need to change these things, and he's happy (allegedly). Why should she?

[Image: Mirabelle's friendquest text] Siffrin is not thinking particularly hard when he first does the friendquests, they are just being themselves. By positioning Siffrin as this unchanged yet confident object, they are in the perfect position to help Mirabelle by being in her almost exact position, both sexuality and transgender status (albeit, with the caveats of potential alloromanticism, and a they pronoun), that they become her ideal foil. (And in fact, the subtle differences between their positions in canon add to this, showing a display of Perceived Genuine Truth, rather than simple in-group camaraderie)

Whereas…

ISABEAU.

When Mal du pays speaks as Isabeau, it says the following;

"I don't want to know someone who won't even try to change, who luxuriates in things staying the exact same like you do."

I don't want to know someone - Shame of being known, that's Isabeau's insecurity. Reflected back at Siffrin, who has become the worst thing imaginable to each of their friends, in Siffrin's own mind. He absorbs their insecurities like a sponge and incorporates them into himself. Empathy turned ill.

Who luxuriates in things staying the exact same - Now THAT'S interesting. This is not Isabeau's insecurity, it's Siffrin's own. But also, it appears as if, Siffrin, whom to Mirabelle was unflappable in that not changing was alright, has internalised some of her worry. That it is MDP's Isabeau saying this, though, shows this is about Personal Change, perhaps even Specifically Gender and Self Image, rather than Mirabelle's spiritual side.

Isabeau and his distinct change in personality and gender, to become someone who he actually likes… Diametric to Siffrin, who has been stagnant for a long time, presumably as far as they can remember. It would seem to imply they have no recourse against this argument. Siffin becomes, in his mind, the opposite to Isabeau, a man he deeply admires the bravery of when told the story of his Change. These are Siffrin's words against themselves, that they consider themselves to have never even 'tried' whatever it is they think Change to be.

So. These are my main points vis a vis: Siffrin as a foil. This reading would posit that Siffrin's He/They status is, well, almost accidental? Which I would imagine befitting of them. They are, at the start of the game, still the mysterious rogue who never elaborates upon anything. They aren't going to be correcting a they/them from a teammate who is likely far more cautious about assumptions.

Notably, Mirabelle excludes Siffrin from the label "man" in the bathroom monologues… But as does Siffrin when in the prologue poem room. Though one needs remember, Siffrin only expresses these thoughts internally.

[Image: Bathroom conversation featuring Isabeau identified as the party's singular man]

[Image: Prologue!Siffrin expressing that they are not a man in very certain terms.]

While I do wonder what Mirabelle's knowledge (or lack thereof, potentially! Did Siffrin actually divulge this to her, once? Or is she making assumptions again?) is here, this is pretty clear evidence that Siffrin doesn't see themselves As A Man. (that, and Adrienne's word of god "fella" comments). I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this… but.

The thesis here is, that Siffrin may want to explore their gender further; doesn't feel connected to Masculinity, and yet, keeps that He pronoun around? Well, the Universe does not, in Siffrin's mind, really allow for personal wants and desires. If their friends start they/themming them, then cool. They like it, but never requested it, so it's the Universe's will. But, asking? Making decisions and requests and rocking the boat? That seems to scare Siffrin a lot. It seems to scare them so much it causes a lot of, if not all of, the conflict in the game. I feel like it's a fair deduction that this aversion to humour their own desires pervades a lot of their existence.

Plus, I think there's meat there. By only allowing Siffrin to reckon with any potential desires to change only after growing closer with the family, you get to explore things like "How does Mirabelle feel that even the person who said she didn't have to change is changing." and the slightly less potentially harrowing (OR MORE, IF YOU WANT IT TO BE? IDK. I'M NOT YOUR BOSS.) "Isa's continued changing allows Siffrin a space to explore it, maybe even just by proxy, or maybe by joining them."

But mostly, this section is about how Siffrin not having Changed Yet makes them delightfully strong narratively; allowing them to relate to Mirabelle, and get cold feet when comparing themselves to Isabeau. I love this as a narrative strengthener. It's very rare in media that we get to explore a nonbinary character's thoughts and insecurities on whether or not they're "doing enough" to be nonbinary. Even less so Aligned nonbinary people. And reading that alignment and insecurity through the lens of a nonbinary person not fully disconnected from their assigned gender at birth? It's a very compelling exploration of a very common and raw and yet underdiscussed feeling, much like the rest of ISAT. I think this is an extremely potent element should it be read this way, and is only strengthened when taking Siffrin's other themes into account.

Speaking of which.

2. SIFFRIN'S HABITS OF CLINGING TO 'KNOWN QUANTITIES', SCAPEGOATS, AND THEMES OF RACIAL IDENTITY INTERSECTING WITH GENDER IDENTITY.

HOLDING ON TO WHAT YOU KNOW. (OR KNOW THAT YOU DO NOT.)

I explained above many of my thoughts on the Universe Faith, and trying to keep these two sections separate was difficult, but needed to be done for the sake of clarity. But this section and the above are deeply intertwined.

Siffrin… Holds on to the things they know. They do not know much. But man do they fucking hold. And yet, paradoxically, they are also avoidant about it.

It is made clear in the text, to the point where I really don't feel the need to rehash it here, that Siffrin's disconnection from their homeland is incredibly painful, but that they consider that culture utterly and irreplaceably important to them. They cannot face it, it is too painful. They cannot let it go, it is too important.

Knowing what we know of the Island's irl inspirations (though, word of god, the exact location is not supposed to matter, one can infer it from the text (and I did! within reasonable proximity!)), Siffrin is of an indigenous peoples of some description, more than likely. And at the very least, Siffrin carries with them inherent biases and ignorances that show that Vaugarde's conceptions of things don't quite mesh with their own. Bowing to the Vaugardian way of things could very easily be seen as assimilation, in this way.*

And identity? Gender? Presentation? Role? All of that has a cultural element. There's no telling what specifics Siffrin has lost in that arena, and that's the problem. Neither do they. How paralysing, the feeling, to know that should you change yourself you risk unknowingly erasing another piece of home? I wouldn't blame them for locking it off. Keeping their old clothes, keeping what little they can remember of themselves… It doesn't seem to me a conducive or safe mental space to get experimental.

And the Universe makes for a perfect scapegoat. As referenced in the section above, a lot can be justified should you call it "The Universe's Will", because who's there to call you on it? Hardly anyone. Your divine right to Freeze A Place In Time; Your Deserved Punishment for Wanting to be Loved: All of it the Universe-- If you want it to be. And thusly, if the Universe wanted you to be a certain way, wouldn't you already be? Wouldn't it make you so? (Wouldn't it take away your body, that which makes you human? If that is what it thought of you?) So best to put it out of your mind. Wouldn't want to accidentally wish anything.

But as the game itself puts it, personified by The King, you cannot stay mired like this forever. As Loop themselves puts it, they can "get so fixated, sometimes." At some point they need to allow themselves to grow in whatever direction they need, because in the end, they need to live their life. They don't need to abandon their country, their culture, but they can't let it restrain them either.

(* MASSIVE CAVEAT: im white as fuck boyyy. i cant say shit. im like technically Of The Land im like 90% pictish or something ridiculous like that so my particular line has never moved anywhere but. this is notttt something i have input or insight on. this is all gleaned from reading and listening to indiginous perspectives from wherever they may be. i am simply trying to infer from what the game gives us without inserting my own feelings on the matter.)

3. SIFFRIN, LOOP, DE-PERSONING, DEHUMANISING, APATHY AND SURVIVAL.

Alright, here's some less heady and purely-thematic points to round things out. And where we'll also address the fucked up star being in the room; Loop.

My last couple of reading points are the most potentially-transfem to me. Or at least the ones that really hammer home, to me, a seeming lack of want to be masculine-aligned.

ANOTHER NOTE ON THE 'NOT A GUY' THING.

Obviously, there is the aforementioned "Not a man/not that you're a boy" thing. This is rather straightforward, but also still pretty ambiguous. You can be masc-aligned and still Not A Guy. But it does seem to be of note that being a guy very much does not seem to be a goal of Siffrin's. I would posit this in direct contrast to… Isabeau.

But not Isabeau's masculinity. I would instead hold it up against Isa's femininity.

ISAT, as a text, has its characters have genuinely different levels of security in their gender identity, and Isabeau, despite still having insecurities, seems super chill on the gender angle specifically! Their internal strife comes not from their 'not feeling like a man enough' or 'hating being a woman', but instead from their self perception as a friendless nerd! Something that seems to be only tangentially related to Isa's gender, really?

The big dumb bruiser thing is certainly aided by being a dude, but Isa still seems completely comfortable referring to themselves with feminine language, calling himself a "mother hen" (prologue) and having "the heart of a fair maiden" (cookie snack time). (However, they also take being excluded from Mira's girly book club as a surprised compliment, implying they weren't expected to be excluded, and find it affirming.) And even further so, Isa states they want to continue changing further and exploring their identity more, being rather blatant that they might lean back into femininity (and more importantly, let themselves be outwardly smart again), since they're starting to feel hurt by everyone assuming they ARE genuinely stupid.

[Image: Prologue Isa calling himself a mother hen]

And man, this is such a breath of fresh air vis a vis representation. I don't think I really need to explain that. A character who's gender identity is driven by chasing euphoria, even if it started out by trying to drive out misery. Isabeau's character is so damn good. But this essay isn't about him, so get back in the crate, boy.

... So here we have Isa, who is genuinely comfortable reclaiming things about their birth gender, and Mirabelle who loves her traditionally feminine traits to the point where she feels a little guilty that she isn't rejecting them to foster change. And then we have Siffrin… who seems to reject masculine language…? Hrm… (… And then we have The King. A Masculine Title. Someone who Siffrin increasingly sees themselves in and deeply, deeply dislikes this.)

APATHY AND SURVIVAL

It should be clear by now that I see Siffrin's core character as being driven by avoidance and survival. This seems to lead to a lot of apathy, brushing off emotions that are too intense or events and occurences that are too painful. (See: just absolutely everything with Bonnie)

It's all Siffrin really seems to be able to do to Survive. They've travelled, seemingly alone, for what would be around a decade by what the game says about the island's disappearance. They've lived alone on the road as a traveller in a country that so openly welcomes strangers that THE KING and his whole motives can happen. Siffrin is avoidant and refuses to acknowledge problems or strive for help and comfort.

So. That line about the dress. Let's unpack the line(s) about the dress.

THE DRESS LINE, AND THE WAY IT CHANGES BETWEEN PROLOGUE, ACT 2, AND ACT 3.

Good god where to start with this. Full disclosure, the first draft here was way more vague in how I approached this line because I remembered it (and another line, I'll get to it.) way more tame, but going and getting the screenshots..... Siffrin. Buddy. We gotta unpack this.

In act 2, we have "You haven't worn a dress in forever!". This is a neutral, if seemingly a little joyous statement. All we really glean from this is the information that Siffrin at some point, wore 'a' dress. No real inferences there. (Maybe you could say that the singular as opposed to plural makes it more likely that they borrowed/only owned One Dress rather than owned several? But that's a massive stretch...)

Then, act 3/4 shuffles this off into a more general "You wonder if you'll ever wear different clothes again." Which is a more despairing and distant statement. Considering Siffrin seems to travel with only the items they can carry, and owns sleep clothes... It's unclear how many changes of clothing they have. The party seems to consider the cloak a pretty permanent fixture, anyhow. But this line doesn't really say much aside from 'oh god i'm losing myself to the time loop malaise'

NOW THE PROLOGUE. Prologue Sif, buddy, pal, Loop, if I'm allowed to call you that....

Thousands of loops in. We are wistful for specifically dresses. You've forgotten almost everything. You dream about someday seeing the sun again. To be anywhere but here. You want to wear a dress again.

I. Kind of do not know what to do here but point at it. Like I said, my first draft had me half-remembering the progression of this line and as such I was far more vague on what I thought it could imply. Instead this is just straight up yearning.

To, try and segue back to what I had initially written, we'll pick up here...

Siffrin expresses a want to wear other clothes, explore changing their body... But instead, they wear a ratty old form-covering cloak that keeps them warm and safe and is a last reminder of home. They are shapeless, formless, hiding their face under the brim of a wide hat. They do not voice their desire to wear a dress aloud. They once again, keep a desire to themselves, because they do not allow themselves to want publicly. Apathy is safer. Apathy and quiet means you do not risk retribution or hurt.

While I do not think the above is exclusively a transfeminine feeling, it really, really reads like one when taken part and parcel with assuming Siffrin has denied themselves prior exploration.

... And here I have to break my first draft again. I was being, once again, restrained in my reading when writing this. Because I had convinced myself I had maybe straight up imagined one of the lines I was basing my reads on, because I couldn't find it. Because it was a line that read so strikingly desolate to me that my brain had slotted it in during Act Five, meaning when I went looking for it neither me nor my friends could find it.

It's in acts 3 and 4. It's a line I already brought up.

"You're thinking about crafting your body. You seem to have all the time in the world now."

good fucking christ. sorry to break the academic tone but Jimminy Fucking Willikers, Siffrin. What's with that bit. The resignation and despair and guilty comfort we know the timeloop brings them, bleeding into the gender.

This. *taps my finger harshly on my desk* THIS, this feels transfem. this feels so wildly transfem to me. The knowledge that they've never changed before this line lends. The admission that they've been holding back because it's 'too much work'. I spent a lot of time during the game relating Siffrin not to myself but to my friends.

If I'm honest, really, truly, I'm not all too often in Siffrin's shoes. I'm the stable one, of my group. I'm the rock people ground themselves on. And I see so much hesitance, all the time. Denial of joy because what if it's taken away, again? Or futilely out of reach? It hurts more to try, and to fail, than to never try at all.

I wanted to shake Siffrin by the shoulders this whole game. Grit teeth beg them to accept help because for fuck's sake people are clearly offering it get it through your skull--

*coughs* Ah. Ahem. Right. The uh, academic tone.

Right. What I mean to say is, this read as transfem to me because of the way it relates to real-world experiences of denial. And this combo of the Dress line, and the progression of the Meat Prison line, the constant evidence of never having strived for what they want, and that insistance that you're not a man, seem to dislike being percieved as a man, but not being able to shed the outward signifiers?

Individually, yes, these points can be read in different ways. The total opposite ways, even, I'm sure! But as a gestalt it feels really, really transfem. Even if yeah, sure Vaugarde is a magical setting where being transgender is accepted, and this hesitance, specifically, around gender, might not 'make sense' in 'the lore'...

Diegesis isn't everything. Sometimes something that reflects a real-world feeling is important, even if it doesn't 'mesh' with 'the lore' of the world.

TANGENT: DIEGESIS AND READING INTO NON-REAL-WORLD-SETTINGS.

This is a Watsonian vs Doylist spectre that's been haunting this whole argument. In-universe (Watsonian), Vaugarde has seemingly no discrimination between genders, sexualities, and a lackadaisical approach to most things in the arena. Reading our own patriarchal/heterosexual/amanonormative/perisexist society unto it does not make sense, not in this context.

In the real world, however (Doylist), ISAT is a text made in our prejudiced society. A text that is distinctly flavoured by those bigotries which it is kicking back against. Because of this, it is not the whole story to simply read the text while discarding our real-world-informed inferences. Isabeau is a big example of this. While perfectly accepted in Vaugarde, he is very obviously a revolutionary character in our real-world space! He has so much to say, specifically BECAUSE things about him that are not readily accepted here, are accepted there! Same with Mira's struggles, and yes, Siffrin's too.

ISAT was written with the knowledge of how it would play against our real world in mind, we know this, clearly, from many an interview. This is most present in how it engages with asexuality and aromanticism (and immigrant identity), but make no mistake, it influences the Whole Text.

Ergo, just because I view certain writing choices here in the context of Our Real World Perspectives On Gender and not Vaugarde's In-Universe Perspectives, it does not make them an invalid read. They are simply a Doylist read.

There's been an admittedly loosey-goosey lack of delineation here between things I'm reading with either lens, because for the most part all of these points have been a vague synthesis of both that I can't quite decouple. Unprofessional, I know, but I'll admit to not having written my thoughts down like this in a good long while. Usually I just hash this out verbally over discord voice to a small number of weirdo literature and classics student friends who are willing to humour me. I'm an arts student too, but animation hardly required I actually write an essay to a literature degree's standard. Lol.

DE-PERSONING. AND LOOP. OH JESUS . LOOP .

Siffrin de-persons themselves a lot. I say de-person rather than dehumanise because, well, there's a subtle difference there. Siffrin doesn't see themselves as vermin or an animal or an object, but they do seem to see themselves as lesser, not requiring the respect they grant others. They aren't, you know, a 'real person'.

People get to have things like thoughts and wants and identities. Siffrin is, at best, Just Siffrin. They have what they have and they don't ask for more and they don't (CAN'T) feel too strongly on what they do have!

When Loop at first offers their pronouns they offer the Royal 'We'. This is at least a little bit, a joke. A nudge toward their true identity, a potential dig at themselves for becoming so understanding of The King. Mostly though, a joke on the first thing…. and a sign that they do not see themselves as a separate entity to the Siffrin stood before them.

When Siffrin rejects this, they settle for they/them. Loop drops the he/him, presumably partially to cover their tracks, but… They just showed their hand with the 'Royal We', and if you wanted to go even further with this, there's no way for us to know whether Loop is treating this pronoun as singular or not. They presumably are, but it is still a potentially plural pronoun.

Loop… Clearly does not see themselves as a person. It's, I would say, a completely reasonable assumption that the form they have taken reflects implicit feelings toward themselves as less than a person, an actor, a monster, a tool, a means to an end. They are rendered inhuman by The Universe, frivolous distractions removed. No mouth, inventory and clothes confiscated, nothing between the legs. Formed roughly in the shape of a person to allow them to do their only job: Help.

Loop's body does not make logical sense, given their continued ability to sleep, dream and their continued habit of deep breaths to self-soothe. It would seem to me, it was made in the image it was, with only the tools it needed to Help Siffrin. Why obfuscate their identity? Because giving the game away too early would likely make them lose hope. Why so deeply, thoroughly star themed? An instant signal, that even if a stranger, they are an ally. They are home.

[Image: Loop saying that they take naps and dream, and evidence of Loop habitually attempting to breathe in the twohats lose-to-loop ending]

And they… Degender themselves. No longer with any bodily signifiers of masculinity, and cruelly disallowed the ability to hide themselves beneath fabric, they are null. The spoiler Q&A (paratext, as it were) states that:

Q. Is Loop: 1. Actually comfortable with both he and they, but only gave the one pronoun to emphasize the distance? 2. Only using they/them because a large life event led to a shift in identity/ how they’d like to be perceived? or 3. time lops stole he from they they :( A. Mostly that first one. But all three of those reasons have a bit of truth to them.

While the 'mostly the first one' comment does imply that Loop would not baulk at being he/him'd (similar to how Siffrin does not), the other reasons, especially the second, having 'a bit of truth' does lend credence to this reading. That Loop's self-perception has shifted, and what I posit, is that this shift is in tandem with a disconnection with humanity. Due, presumably, to the dehumanising experience of the timeloop.

Loop has no biology to speak of, and yet they remain blind in one eye. I take this as an implication that they considered this so core to themselves, to who they could remember being, that it stayed. Even if they had forgotten their own face, trapped in a part of the house with no mirrors, they knew they couldn't see. They kept this, and yet seemingly they, or The Universe, or both of them in tandem, discarded all else.

This isn't like…. Healthy behaviour. That is for certain. But it is interesting that Siffrin and Loop seem to hold on to their masculinity by a thread, and that Loop, when actually given the excuse to make a choice, chooses the Neutral Option. Siffrin might de-person themselves, but Loop, Loop is absolutely dehumanising themselves. From Loop's own mouth (or lack thereof) do they call themselves a Corpse. That's… pretty damn bad.

TANGENT 2: POTENTIAL IMPLICATIONS OF THE JAPANESE TRANSLATION.

Did somebody say 'distance'? Yeah turns out that has some more potential evidence. In the form of First Person Pronouns. See, English, with its third person only pronouns relies on others to gender you. Japanese, you get to gender yourself. And Siffrin specifically has an interesting discrepancy in the way he refers to himself.

(DISCLAIMER: I . DO NOT KNOW MUCH ABOUT JAPANESE. THIS IS SECOND-HAND KNOWLEDGE. SOURCED FROM THIS TUMBLR POST AND OTHER QUICK SKIMS OF WIKIPEDIA)

Loop and Siffrin use the same, very neutral "mostly male but could go either way" pronoun of 僕 boku. Safe, soft friendly pronoun. Used by people on the younger side of adulthood, not so impolite that you can't use it in a formal setting. Such a neutral all-rounder that female singers in japan tend to use boku in their songs to relate to the audience with quiet confidence.

And in their internal monologue? Siffrin uses a completely different pronoun. In his head, for himself, he uses 自分 jibun. Now, this may be an artefact of the monologue's english second-person "You", since jibun can also be used to mean a very neutral "self". A "myself/herself/himself" type 'self'. But when used as a first person pronoun, it has a connotation of being… distant, introspective. Which is… a fascinating implication, if that was the intent.

But I don't know anything about japanese so ! If I'm off the mark, discard this!

LOOP, PART 2: MAYBE NOT A GREAT STATE TO BE IN.

While Siffrin I can comfortably argue that they can like, keep their current gender presentation, whatever you may perceive it to be, once the game is over, Loop, I cannot.

Siffrin's potential issues with their identity are ones that honestly feel like they would best be explored with gentle refinement and searching. They don't need to violently seperate themselves from what they are now, far from it, in fact. They need to learn to grow comfortable in their own skin, and with the people they love. To become open and trusting, with an open mind to where it may lead.

Loop has already lost this battle. They don't get to refine anymore, just pick up the pieces. While I don't necessarily think radical change is Good for Loop, I think they may Need It. For them, resting will probably become stagnation (see: napping all day under the tree, resigned, really, to the idea they're stuck there forever.), they need a shake-up in order to re-find their feet. Even if they end up right back where they started, they still need to do the actual painful process of soul-searching first.

Problem is, they're still rather avoidant. So it basically becomes a question of getting them into a situation where this exploration is forced upon them. At which point, that's a whole new plotline. This becomes fanfiction. Hence, why while I think Transfem-Egg Loop is a Valid Read when extrapolated from Siffrin… I must concede any actual adventures into them acting upon that as headcanon territory. I just do not know how you would get them there without making a whole new Thing, at which point it stops being Just A Read of the text haha. It doesn't help that Loop and Siffrin (grudgekeepers supreme) both have reason to spite the Change God after who was phone.

As for whether this egg-read reflects directly back on to Siffrin? Maybe! They are the same person. But I think that, especially with Vaugarde's lax views, and their actual differences (Loop's general worse mania // Siffrin's incentive to stay a reminder to themselves and Loop of their country) means they could easily go two different routes, along the road to becoming their own distinct individuals. (And in all honesty, growing into their differences is probably the more healthy option in the long run if you're keeping Loop around? But again, we are going so far into the future here this is no longer a read. And I am not here to dispense baseless headcanons without massive disclaimer, so…)

Tl;Dr:

Siffrin's Survival-Apathy and hesitance to change feels really thematic to their being 'what's left' of their homeland

They seem unsettled by the flippancy of the Change Religion at times, clinging to the familiar to cope with the trauma of displacement.

Mal du pays speaks of them that they have not 'tried' to change, showing an insecurity there, even outside of the literal stagnance of the loops.

They are self assured to Mira that one does not have to change, in a very genuinely personal impulsive statement.

They and others exclude themselves from being "A Man", but Siffrin keeps desires to explore their expression to themselves.

The Universe belief, seemingly in Siffrin's view of it, disincentivises Free Will and Wants very heavily. It is not hard to assume they extend this to all elements of their life.

They have self-admittedly never pursued tangible change, likely due to this aversion to choice. Despite this, they express interest in changing, seeming nonplussed with their body, and house at least some desire for more traditionally feminine expression.

Oh Good God. Loop Sure Does Not Treat Themselves Like A Person. Why Does That Come With A Pronoun Change? What Does That Mean?

But most of all:

It makes them such a fascinating foil and lens to Change and characters who believe in it! It makes them eerily similar to The King! It opens up such fascinating debate between characters like themselves and Mirabelle, Isabeau and Loop, on whether or not they want to change in future, or if it truly is okay to never radically change yourself! What genuinely fertile ground for dialogues. And man if I'm not heavily drawn towards dialogues.

(End of essay! Congratulations for making it the whole way! 🎉 I hope this nightmarish deep dive helps with understanding some of the ways I've been writing Siffrin and Loop too. Since while I've not ever focused on the gender side of it (and probably won't in comic form) this does pervade my view of the two, since it would be impossible for it to Not. As you can see, I do think it is pretty relevant to both their themes.)

(Now for some bonus material)

ADDENDUMS:

PERSONAL BIAS NOTE:

Not included in this analysis since this is more a Pet Theme of my own (usually kept quarantined to the realms of my OCs), but something else I see in Siffrin is a reflection of the Dude Issue(tm) of patriarchal irl society disincentivisng Dudes(tm) from ever fucking introspecting ever.

I'm curious about nonbinary/trans characters who have no idea they’re nonbinary/trans because they’ve been disincentivised from thinking/doubting their identity due to societal power structures or simply tradition. I dig around the themes of “a lot of guys are trapped in a societal prison without ever knowing and it makes them miserable but they can’t escape because they don’t even see the cage” like, a lot, in my personal work. It intrigues me. So bleh, cards on the table there. That mode of interacting with nb/trans characters is one I'm inclined to.

This kinda goes hand in hand with the watsonian vs doylist situation i took an aside to mention. But it is so far along the doylist side that I didn't want to include it, since it is a little too assumptive of the text for my comfort. I don't think the game necessarily has much commentary on this specific Societal Bind. But if it does, then hey, there's my thoughts on it.

STRAY SIDE NOTES AND HEADCANONS ABOUT OTHER CHARACTERS (AS A TREAT FOR GETTING THIS FAR):

MID-GAME OBSERVATION ABOUT BONNIE AND ODILE THAT I NEVER WENT BACK TO VERIFY:

I got the impression that Bonnie heavily favours they/them pronouns for Siffrin, and Odile he/him, as a bit of presumed character voice. I don't know that I am right, literally at all, in that observation, because it very well could've been confirmation bias.

BUT! It did give me the impression that one of the things Bonnie was idolising about Siffrin was a degree of "wow!! older person with my gender!! wow!!", which is just like, cute. I like it even if I don't have any solid evidence.

ODILE, WHAT'S HER DEAL?:

Oh she stays just as mysterious as she intends to be, huh? Even with her comments in the Changing Room alluding to knowing things about underground changing operations, you can't draw much of a conclusion about her. I appreciate verily that she's word-of-god unlabelled and also poly. That shit's great. Woman who has stopped drawing lines or caring what she's up against. Nice characterisation flavour I think.

Anyway, I do think that transfem Odile is a really, really nice take. I have no evidence in either direction for her in either direction, and her being a woman of any description makes her relationship with her absent mother something interesting to chew on, but the idea that she pursued womanhood intentionally lends an interesting texture. I've not much to say, but it's a thread to pull on. Makes you wonder what other female role models she had in her life instead. Anyway she's mysterious as fuck I can't extrapolate Jack nor Squat. Shrug! I'm also made curious by the idea of her potentially moving away from womanhood as she feels the weight of her history lifted. This goes either way, really. Diagnosis: mysterious.

HEADCANON NOTE: INTERSEX SIFFRIN

I don't have any in-text support for this so this entire thing is an unbased headcanon to me. but i DO like it because 1. fun and 2. potential for more thematic exploration

haha gotcha its fuckin themes again. its always themes with me.

But yeah. Not much to say here besides drawing a parallel (that I believe I've seen drawn elsewhere in the fandom already?) between ISAT's comments on how a society that values change would view Aroace identities, and how Mira feels about not wanting to change with the real world experiences of Intersex people having alteration and conformity forced upon them, saying the Change Belief would likely be just as bad for them as it is for aroace people.

So, adding it to Siffrin's situation further drags them into the opposition-to-change foil role. Which like I said, think has a lot to explore.

HEADCANON NOTE: A POTENTIAL METHOD FOR GETTING LOOP OUT OF THEIR GOD DAMNED COMFORT ZONE

I think utilising Loop's contrarianism is an effective and funny way to get them to explore their gender. I personally think running with them trying to hide their identity from the party is a hilarious way to do it. Having them try to position themselves in direct opposition to Siffrin to "throw the party off their trail" (not that i think they really need to?), going full feminine-revealing-clothing because it's NOT what a Siffrin would do and accidentally growing accustomed to it. Funny to me. Especially when the party eventually do find out who they are and go . "????? what was the girl stuff about ??? is that something you wanna do now ???".

[Isabeau] "Ohhhh it was a bit! Haha you really are Sif, still a jokester!" [Loop] "HAHA YEAH . JOKES. LOVE THOSE. LOVE TO MAKE JOKES!" [Isabeau] "Yep! Anyway. Tell me if you need anything!"

Bonus bonus:

[Siffrin] "Okay, so, if you're a girl. Does this reflect on like… me?" [Loop] "No doubles. Get your own gender, parasite~!"

[dailyloopdeloop]

DAY 101 (103): do it for Them

[miutonium]

🏃‍♀️Hi hi I'm reopening my commission again since I am in the middle of my final year project and I needed funds to support my art project _(:'3」∠)_

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[untitled-tmnt-blog]

I absolutely HAD to draw something for @phoebepheebsphibs's DTIYS (based on this pose)! I decided to mix things up a bit by experimenting with a more limited color palette, which was a pretty fun challenge.