#both kinds- the “this doesn't exist” kind and the “this does but you are lying about being/having it” are ridiculous conceptually

[grendil9]

Most of these "artifacts" are fake art projects made by golems to rewrite history and corrupt and destroy humanity. You think this shit doesn't wear on your conscience but it really does, even if you don't remember it all.

Artifacts like these all come with a Christless, vicious, ultraviolent message.

The message here is that white people are cruel and insane, worse than demons, uncaring about all who deviate from our (nonexistent) order. The Skeksis commission these artifacts from their loyal golem craftspeople, because they hate us, and they want us to stop having children and die out. The reason they hate us is that they are cruel and insane, worse than demons, and uncaring about all who deviate from their (all consuming) order. They are Satan's people. Thanks to their rulership, the entire world seems to work off this principle of total inversion.

What they are, they claim that we have always been.

Then they claim that they are simply rebelling against us! After a mythical billion years of Christian rule. And this is the evidence of that rule they provide. They love this sort of shit. "Look at what you used to be." But it's fake. This is a fake artifact. It was made as an art project.

In the pop-history sphere they obfuscate both conflicting "historical truths". Stories of our all-powerful rule, and their somehow also all-powerful rebellion. They obscure it through bullshit. Through gatekeeping, hoaxes, and misinformation. But it's more than just obfuscation, it's rulership, it's domination, and to the white Christians born into their world, it's genocide.

This is their principle of "Chutzpah" or the act of them lying so outrageously that power either flows to them, or it's fight or flight in order to save lives. "Do you agree with Rabbi that a white person could ever put another white person in an ugly monster mask in an act of pure fucking evil? No? You don't agree? You've never met any white person like that ever in your life? Then you're a deviant from the norm. You're obviously racist, or sexist, or xenophobic or something. Definitely violent, because look, you're trying to make excuses for the non-existent people who used this mask. Your people. You should have accepted our Chutzpah-truth about your people, because now you're bad and you will not have friends anymore."

"Fall in line, or be shut out."

You'll never catch a white kid questioning history in school. It was demonstrated to them not to be "that guy" in class, in just about every Hollywood movie and Disney original series. And since nobody questions it, it wears on their subconscious! Many believe in this sort of shit!

In fact everyone who reblogged this probably passively believed it, and will go to their grave believing it. The evil death mask for crazy people! Boy isn't mankind fucking cruel and insane! Aren't you an evil race of monsters, you white Christians? Sure kids will roll their eyes and say "yeah it's all bullshit" but none of them ever get it. It really is ALL bullshit. Completely and aggressively fake and pushed at every opportunity.

Through joyous "Chutzpah" and infiltration, there is now practically nothing left of true, Godly reason or order. Certainly not true history. And the best course of action for anyone with two brain cells is to shut up and wait for the absent Christ. Who is currently fucking somewhere. Like on a beach or something watching us be exterminated by wave after wave of pure overwhelming bullshit like this.

Children born into this shit are led by artifact after hoax after lie after "psychotic Christian" character on TV after fake three paragraphs in their history textbook, into being hopelessly insane. Into believing that what they are, inherently, is cruel beyond measure, and that their own kindness and goodness and Christlike love for what is true and good is somehow unique to them, and that the best course of action is to unalive themselves. So that they don't give birth to any more monsters. That makes them the hero.

If any of the fake stories like the one this mask implies were true, then this would indeed be the right thing to do. But not one of their stories are true. And their stories, their histories, outnumber the real ones. Who fucking knows by what percentage?

But nobody tells white Christian children any of this, so we see so many LGBT people and other such white people being extinguished. Little boys and girls valiantly and righteously ENDING his or her own bloodline through the many available paths to degeneracy and infertility and doom. Estrogen and castration and gooning. Until they are no more. God's creation destroyed.

And all this nonsense they're forced to see by the algorithm and memorize in school, all of it, completely and totally fake. This artifact is FAKE. It, like many others, manufactured by an entire army of golem craftspeople. And distributed by an entire army of golems, in the millions, that only a handful of shadowbanned and gangstalked people believe exists at all.

[tommyssupercoolblog]

to be honest? I've never even understood the rationale for fake-claiming in any context. There are millions of people, more dying and being born every day, and you really think we can invent enough genders, identities, disorders, words and categories to cover every possible type of human that's ever been born or will be born in the future???!! of course not, there's gonna be people who fall outside of the boxes we have because there can never be enough boxes. like there physically cannot be enough boxes.

"but they're weird and cringe that's how i know." buddy. buddy come here lean in close i have a secret for you, crazy girlie.

*whispers* everyone who isn't neurotypical, ablebodied, cishet, and fitting the beauty and societal standards for their culture, is considered weird by default. and EVEN people who ARE fitting of those standards can ALSO be weird in other ways. you can't tell me someone isn't lgbt or isn't plural or isn't autistic because they're "weird" when everyone is constantly being called weird anyway. being plural is weird to people. having NPD is weird to people. having skitzohphrenia is weird to people. Being a boy who likes girly stuff is weird to people. being a lesbian is weird to people. having no legs is weird, being fat is weird, there are always going to be people calling other people weird and cringe. you simply CANNOT use "weird" or "cringe" as a basis to judge validity. you just can't???

I literally do not get it like how does that work how do you like...think that you can tell if someone's faking something. what do we have left here, like, tone of voice and body language? autism is a thing and anxiety disorders are a thing so we already know that can vary and be untrustworthy. you literally can never tell as an outsider looking in??!

[pisceangirl666]

°•𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒/𝐎•°

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒/𝐎 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞. 𝐈𝐌𝐎.

𝑁𝑂𝑇𝐸: 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑠𝑜 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟𝑠!

𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑁𝐼𝑁𝐺𝑆: 𝑁𝑜𝑛𝑒.

  °༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°

  °༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°°༺♡༻°

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬:

Michael has seen plenty of impetuous and neglectful people in his life (One of them being his sister, whom he does not regret stabbing in the slightest) and seeks someone diligent and dutiful. He would be lying if he said he didn't admire those qualities. A person who is well aware of their responsibilities and sincere is something that would make Michael gain respect and a soft spot, even if a little, for them.

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 (𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲/𝐒𝐭𝐮/𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲):

Ghostface has his priorities straight. The man enjoys toying with his victims and catching them off guard, though if he finds someone witty enough to have a comeback for all his taunts and is quick on their toes to keep up with his shenanigans energy, he will be instantly intrigued by them. Initially, his interest would be there just for the fact that he has finally found someone interesting and challenging enough, but later on, he'd be completely whipped. 

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐕𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬:

The only form of love Jason has received in his life is from his mother, Pamela. He is naturally inclined towards people with a gentle demeanor and comforting aura. He requires someone considerate, who doesn't judge him and is able to provide him with the love and care he has always lacked. He doesn't care for anything else as long as they are a kind soul, and needless to say, he will reciprocate their love cordially. 

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐋𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫:

Hannibal has a clear set of requirements that he won't compromise on. You are free to blame it on his nature or age, but that's how he is. Whomsoever catches his attention needs to be smart, not necessarily cunning, but enough to share his tastes and understand him on a mental level. They MUST be respectful and well-mannered. He despises discourteous, ill-mannered, and unthoughtful people; he won't tolerate them. Apart from this, he also expects a certain level of honesty from them. After all, lying can also be considered rude in certain cases, can it not?

𝐁𝐨 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫:

Bo is a sucker for pretty faces, he won't deny the fact, but that doesn't mean having one gives someone the ticket to get away with anything; it's quite the opposite, actually. While Bo may get attracted to someone based on their appearance at first glance, he won't hesitate to hand them to Vincent or take matters into his own hands if they are disrespectful. Looks aside, he prefers someone with a more docile nature, not a pushover, simply calmer and more agreeable to avoid unnecessary clashes given his unstable and domineering personality. 

𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫:

Vincent is not picky when it comes to matters like these. If someone is genuinely nice and willing to accept him for who he is, that's more than enough for this man. Unlike his twin brother, he doesn't care for appearances but rather values the inner skills of an individual. He will be highly supportive of their hobbies, finding ways to incorporate activities that allow both of them to spend time together while doing what they love. 

𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫:

Lester's childhood has been scarce from an attention perspective, not deliberately, but his older brothers had special needs that, by default, took his rightful share. He yearns for someone who listens to him and showers him with the love and attention he has lacked. He's drawn towards someone easygoing with an optimistic outlook and enjoys the little things in life like him. 

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐦𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞:

Brahms' human interaction is non-existent, so he is easily attached to whoever takes care of him (or rather, his doll), but yes, he is very much looking for someone loyal who wouldn't leave him no matter how dire the circumstances become and patient enough to bear his temper tantrums when he has them, which are more frequent that one would like to imagine since he gets grumpy over the most minuscule mistakes. 

𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔, ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑑!

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Hold it.

Pairing: Joel Miller x AFAB!reader

Words count: 1384

Rating: +18, absolutely NSFW and please mind the tags

Warnings/tags: pi$$ kink, masturbation (f receiving), reader has breasts and vagina, no other description of her is given, bad at feelings Joel and kinda soft!dom if you squint, kissing, dirty talk, smut without plot, this is just something entirely written with my cunt so you’re warned lol, it came out totally unplanned, I’m ovulating and I’m feral🔥 and it’s October so I thought it was the right time of the year to experiment a little bit heheheh it’s not heavy but it’s something *cough* I could do it again if it works.

Please just skip it if this is not your kind of thing.

No beta reader, barely edited, English is not my first language so please, be patient with me. I hope it makes sense and that you’ll enjoy, my dirty little friends with similar kinks as mine 😏

Thank you very much to anyone who read this!

You and Joel are lying on the bed kissing. You don't know how much time has passed, it could be an hour or five minutes, when you're with him the clock doesn't exist and besides, you end up feeling like you can't get enough of him. You've been seeing each other casually for a while, no one brings up the question of "what are we" not even you, too scared of losing him.

You just take what he gives, eager and willing to have him rolling in your bed with you.

Tasting his mouth, intertwining your tongue with his, salivas mixing, teeth touching, lips biting and the best sex you've ever had, you don't care about anything else.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell him breathlessly. You start to get up, but he pulls you by the arm. “No, stay.”

“Mmm I have to go to the bathroom.”

“No, you don’t, come back here,” and he wraps his arms around you completely, bringing you back to his chest.

“Joel, I have to pee,” you whine.

“Hold it,” he tells you in a firm voice.

“I can’t! We've been kissing for hours, I need to do it and I’ll be there again in 30 seconds, let me go” you plead, looking at him with the best angelic look you can pull off.

“It could be fun…” he suggests and your jaw instantly drops “What? Wet myself?”

“Uhm…let’s take it one step at a time, miss”

You're surprised that he's engaged you in such an intimate conversation, he usually says a few words, grunts, kisses you like crazy, fucks you like an animal and is out the door before you can ask how his day was.

“Woah, so we’re starting sharing fantasies here?” you smirk “I like that”

He nods “why not” with a slight smile “let's spice it up a bit”

You bury your face in his chest, giggling, “Mmm ok, mister kinky, tell me what you have in mind.”

“Just hold it” he gently orders.

“I’ll try”

“Good girl. So now…are you wet?”

“Yes,” you coo, “Of course.”

You see a spark in his gaze, “Does your clit know how wet you are?”

You laugh, “I think so.”

“I don’t think she knows enough, let me feel her”

He lowers a hand to your panties and you’re grateful that you have nothing on but those and your bra, you couldn't move further to take off more clothes without feeling the urge to pee.

You stay still in his arms as he maneuvers his way past the hem of your panties.

He looks at you ferally, while his fingers get wet “mmm baby, we can do better. Just hold it for me and let me work”

He lies down on the bed, bare chest, in his boxers, and pulls you on top of him “come here”

“Won't I weigh on you?” you ask confused as to what he wants to do.

You've lost both contact with his eyes and fingers and he's holding you on top of him by your hips as if you weigh nothing.

“Don’t be ridiculous” he chuckles “just trust me, I’m sure you’ll like it”

Your bladder is full, it’s starting to bother you, but you can’t say no to him.

However, the situation now intrigues you, you want to try whatever he has in mind.

So you stay there, like a puppet leaning against his body and wait, hungry for him.

He’s big enough to make you feel tiny and it’s such a turn on.

His fingers return inside your panties and you immediately moan at the contact.

They are thick, a little calloused, deliciously scratchy on your clit.

“Here we go, baby, you’re good?” he asks you while caressing you with circular movements and then gathering your cream up to your bundle of nerves.

“Yes” you moan.

He continues this until he feels your clit hardening, then he places two fingers in a V shape resting on your outer lips, just jerking off your clit like that.

“Fuck, it feels so good” you breathe

“Yeah, I know, you’re all nice and drippy now. You’re still holding your pee like a perfect girl for me right?”

You whine, you can’t do anything else.

His lips roam your neck, licking and kissing everything he can.

His other hand kneads your breast, taking a nipple between his fingers and gently tugging. This new stimulation is almost too much to bear.

He dips his fingers between your folds, on either side of your clit, and moves them up and down, wetting them completely with your juices.

He suddenly takes them away and you cry at the loss.

He brings them to your mouth and orders “taste yourself” and you obediently let his fingers enter your mouth up to the knuckles, licking them greedily. “You like it, huh? You taste good, baby, I know”

“Did you leave some for me?” he asks before putting them in his mouth and grunts “just enough” he hum “Now let’s get back to business, I’m not done yet with your pretty cunt”

He starts rubbing your clit in circles again, faster than before, almost frantically and you feel delirious at this point, you’re not sure how much longer you can take his teasing “Fuck- I can’t”

“Yes, you can, baby, keep holding it”

The hand that was on your breasts moves down to your belly, he press there and release “Do you feel it?” A tingling sensation radiates to your pussy, as he repeats again and again, presses and releases.

A gentle, steady strain on your bladder, as he continues to stimulate your clit.

“Answer me, hun, can you feel it?”

You whimper a chocked yes.

“Is it good?” he growls

“FUCK - yes. It’s so good - so good, Joel, please don’t stop”

He presses down a little more and releases, rubbing so hard on your bud you feel like you're losing your mind.

“Yeah, that’s my good girl, just sink in it”

You’re overwhelmed, you hadn’t the slightest idea that it would be so good to let him masturbate you while you hold your pee.

You can't explain exactly in words but the feeling of your bladder full, on the verge of letting go as he touches you like that makes you feel like you've never taken full care of your clit before.

You close your eyes, letting yourself go with that feeling as he urges you with his hoarse voice “yes, my perfect little slut, take some more” and presses even harder and releases, now in small repeated jumps on the bottom of your belly.

It doesn't hurt, it's just too much.

You come, writhing above him, a devastating orgasm taking over every cell of your body.

“Let it go now” and you whine “no, I can’t!”

“Give me something baby, let me feel it. Pee”

“I can’t! I can’t pee on you!” your voice breaks through your peak.

And then he whispers “please”

He never begged for anything before.

He just takes, gropes, licks and bites whatever he wants and you’re fine with that.

But now it’s different. He whimpers another “please” and you just do what he asks.

You pee.

All over him.

The warm liquid slips out of you while he's still rubbing you, wetting your thighs, sliding down his legs, soaking the sheets.

He growls loudly in your ear, breathing heavy, his hard cock pressing into your ass through his boxers and your panties.

You feel empty, physically and mentally, only surrounded by an electrifying warmth.

He pulls you off of him and hugs you, both of you soaked from the waist down.

He kisses your forehead and then your lips “thanks, babe. Did you like it?”

“I- yes.” you pause for a moment, trying to process your thoughts “it was weird. Pleasantly weird though”

“We don't have to do it again if you don’t want to, though.” he murmurs moving his lips to your jaw leaving a trail of kisses there.

It's like a new complicity has been created between you, now that you share this dirty little secret.

The edges of his bad temper seem to have been smoothed out, his voice is kind, almost tender.

You look up, smile mischievously at him and say, “Who says I don’t want more?”

Part 2

[forgettable-au]

WHAT IS THIS AU? HOW DOES IT WORK?

A brief (I'm lying, this is a long post) explanation post for this AU for anyone new <3

As I've mentioned before, this AU is based on the theory that Papyrus is (was) Gaster. I did not create this theory, it has existed for a long time nd I'm also not the first person to do something like this with the concept—I'll touch up on that later.

About the Papyrus is Gaster theory

I've looked up a lot of stuff about it but I don't actually know where it originated. It's not super popular but if you're a Papyrus theorist you might have heard of it before!

It is not a super serious theory, it's more about pointing out the weird connections and similarities between Papyrus and Gaster and giving an explanation to the many weird things about Papyrus and his lack of backstory.

Just to mention some things:

Them both speaking in capital letters, having no asterisks, their weird way of phrasing things, Papyrus being described as forgettable, Papyrus hating hotland, him pretending he doesn't know about a lot of stuff ( The lab for example, he know what a lab is but pretends he doesn't in front of Sans), Gaster being related to hands and Papyrus never taking his gloves off, Papyrus weird connection with phones (his photo-graphic memory for phone calls) and Gaster's weird connection to phones(Fun events related to phones, and getting the garbage noise when using the phone in a darkwolrd), their love for puzzles (The CORE is a giant puzzle), THAT one quote that I still find misterious “beside, it’s rude to talk about people that are listening, right? not everyone is as though as my brother”, Papyrus DOES have Gaster blasters it's pretty much canon even if a lot of people ignore it, Papyrus is very smart—he's knowledgeable on many subjects and knows how to build many things— he's the character with the MOST dialogue in the game yet we don't know a lot of stuff about him OR his past, he breaks the laws of physics and of the game, and he's not yet in deltarune! The heavily Gaster connected game!

That's some of the things I could think about, and look, yeah... I'm probably looking way too much into it and these are all just coincidences! The weird Papyrus things can be related to other stuff! But I still like this theory, not because I think it's real but because I LOVE the possibilities!!!

About how this AU works

This au is basically a

"Pretend this theory is real! How would the Undertale timeline work then?"

We're giving Papyrus his backstory while also making a Gaster-focused story at the same time!

This AU imagines how the Papyrus is Gaster theory situation could play out! (And I'll also add some of my other favorite ut theories as a treat)

Papyrus used to be Wingdings and then Wingdings shattered across time and space, Papyrus and Gaster are different separate people.

Actually I kind of, treat Wingdings before and after the accident as different people also... you change a lot when you become an omnipresent being....Wingdings, Gaster and Papyrus I treat them all as different people.

"How did Gaster become Papyrus?"

He didn't "become" Papyrus just like that. After he shattered, he stopped existing the way he did before, he became a being in another layer of the game! But! physically his body was just there...

This is based on how the Goners and Gaster followers have counterparts that are not, uh, goners. A non-distorted version of them existing separately

Papyrus was just kind an empty shell at first. He still kept parts of Wingdings original personality but his Papyrus personality developed on his own with time!

"How did Gaster shatter across time and space?"

Usually everyone agrees it was because he fell into the CORE

Not here! I don't think the CORE caused his accident, it is a power source not a time and space altering machine. In this story, it was some other thing he was working on....

If you have more questions you can check the frequently asked questions post or send me an ask <3!!

About similar content!

I've seen some people tell me this is a good idea for an AU and I agree!! I love this idea SO much, but as I said before I didn't create this concept or theory I just love it a lot!!

I really thought there would be more people that used this concept before but I couldn't find much... so I'm just making it myself!

One of my goals is to make other people like this idea as well and for them to make their own takes on it!

If you also like this concept as much as I do, here's a section with some inspirations for this AU that are also "Papyrus is Gaster" focused

First, you all should really see "I know that I know nothing" by Linssins

It's because of this comic that I discovered that theory in the first place! And really loved the concept. It's my main inspiration.

Unfortunately the comic is unfinished. If you see it, you will definitely see how I took inspiration... Still, the story in this AU is a very different take on the theory, it goes on a different path

Another inspiration was @askthesciencesquad ! This comic is paused but it's also a Papyrus is Gaster comic!

I was very happy to find it, it is also a very different take on the concept but I liked where it was going.

[orphiclovers]

Okay. Long incoherent rambling theory post ahead. Specifically, I want to talk about how the Han Sooyoung 'split' happened/how Han Sooyoung got the avatar skill, extrapolating from canon where I can and headcanoning the rest.

Let's start from what she herself says on the topic. 3rd rounds Han Sooyoung tells Kim Dokja, in a conversation about how 'Avatar' works, that the very first time she made an avatar, she gave it too many memories and it 'went out of control' and ran off. This was a friendly conversation and hsy brought it up herself, so there's not really a reason for her to lie here - this is probably close to how she actually remembers the situation.

Which is interesting because 1863rd rounds Han Sooyoung denies this fact and says SHE is the main body and that she left an avatar behind to act as her. Now 1863 could be lying here to unbalance kdj, they were having a battle of words at the time with lying being an explicit part of the game, but she could also be telling the truth and maybe 3rd just doesn't know she's an avatar (like 49%). we don't get a comfirmation either way so that is left ambigous. So. That's a dead end.

Then, how does the Avatar skill evolve in general?

Kim Dokja says the requirements to evolve it is that you need to be in a creative field of some kind (so you have an 'Author' attribute) + under enough psychological distress for your mind to 'split' in a way that orv compares to DID (in not the most tactful way). It's a rare skill so I'm guessing it probably requires both of these to be true at the same time. A key hint is that we do actually get one other example of someone evolving the Avatar skill on screen. 1863rd rounds Yoo Joonghyuk. It goes like this:

So...not exactly a fun time. But actually I'm sensing a pattern here. Both Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung, after evolving and using the avatar skill for the first time end up as two sepetate autonomous entities with their own free will - 1863rd!hsy and 3rd!hsy and white and black coat wearing yjh respectively (Kim Dokja too actually - with 49% 51%). So, I think this might be how the skill functions, spontaneously splitting you in half the first time and then both halves of you can make avatars at will after that. Let's assume this is true for the sake of the theory. This conflicts with the way both Han Sooyoungs describe it - they both say they 'created' an avatar the first time BUT I think neither of them were being entirely truthful.

Let's talk about that second parameter. 'Severe psychological distress' in a way similar to that of DID. How I interpret this, based on what we see of 1863rd!yjh, is that there needs to be some fundemental dissonance of core beliefs that cannot exist or be held at the same time, so requires the soul to split in half. For Yoo Joonghyuk it's 'I want to live/I want to die.' (Although Kim Dokja doesnt get the skill in the natural way, I think this concept still holds true. His dissonance is not so explicitly stated but maybe it's something along the lines of 'epilouge/eternity' i.e 'happily ever after OR atonement for his (percieved) sins'.)

But also there's an element of, how do I say this...'purifying self-destruction' to how we see our trio use Avatar. Yoo Joonghyuk takes the blackened and traumatized part of him that wants to die and kills it with a sword, leaving only the part of him that still has hope to regress to the 3rd round, free and unburdened by the weight of bad memories.

You could interpret 51%/49% this way too. The inherent act of Kim Dokja choosing to use this skill to split his soul in half means he did not see another way foward - that psychological distress and belief dissonance is an inherent part of this skill. 49%, the one who get's the 'happily ever after' does not remember needing Ways of Survival, maybe because Kim Dokja couldn't imagine himself having a happy ending with the weight of those specific memories.

But coming back to Han Sooyoung. Just look at the way she uses Avatar in kaizenix. She is a person who does not enjoy being emotionally vulnerable so in any heavy situation she clings to her dry and witty personality like a shield.

Let's just fully realize what she's saying here. When she says she erased the memories of her life deliberately, what she means is that she created an avatar, a sort of 'black coat wearing han sooyoung' and killed it again and again, every year, so she could keep that sarcastic and light hearted attiude. Otherwise she would have become someone like 1863rd rounds Han Sooyoung - hardened and unhappy. And I mean that she literally was on the path of becoming her - she even got 1863rds skill.

She deliberatley brushes off Kim Dokja and doesn't acknowledge the weight of her actions in kaizenix, both waiting for 50 years and killing parts of herself over and over.

And I think this is the sort of mindset she had while telling Kim Dokja about 'creating' an avatar for the first time. She doesn't see the point in potraying herself as vulnerable, so she probably would obscure some details of that story, for example if she was on her knees clutching her head a la 1863rd turns Yoo Joonghyuk at the time. This would seem like a pointless detail to add when the point of the story was that her avatar ran off.

So FINALLY, here's my headcanon on what I think the original belief dissonance was for Han Sooyoung and how she got the Avatar skill.

The split happened very early on in the scenarios. And well, there is one obvious Big Event that might cause someone to have a mental breakdown/identity crisis. The first scenario. I think whoever Han Sooyoung killed, she couldn't deal with the fact she had become a murderer and 'exorcised' those memories - and so 1863 was born, with blood on her hands, in an already destroyed world.

[tokutaiseichan]

I’ve pointed this out before but so far, Hotarubi is the only chapter where a Like Dove never made any appearances. Thanks to Taiga, we know that Like Dove is probably some kind of a spying device and everything points to the possibility that its duty is to monitor missions involving ghouls.

Yet it never made an appearance during the course of Hotarubi’s mission. Why is that? At first, I thought it’s perhaps because Taiga had killed and eaten the one that appeared during the Sinostra chapter. In the first place, we never found out if there are more than one Like Dove. It’s an anomaly—and a rare one at that. It might be the only one or maybe not.

But then I started thinking: what if the reason a Like Dove didn’t appear to monitor the ghouls’ mission this time is because they already have an “Insider” involved in the mission?

Zenji is automatically out. My man’s dead and Darkwick doesn't even know his ghost is still wandering around. Subaru? Makes sense since he has already lied to everyone before. What’s another secret? But after all that happened at the Ultio prison and considering his personality, I feel like what he confessed that time was everything he was involved with. Subaru’s awful at lying and hiding things, if he’s the spy he’d be a bit more obvious and feel even more guilty. So hmm… I wonder who we’re left with……

Remember how during that one time MC was trying to escape again, Haku was the one who just conveniently showed up and successfully convinced her to not defy Darkwick anymore?

Sure, we can see it as simply a considerate gesture of a senior looking after his anxious junior. Especially when it's so blatantly implied later that he had experienced the consequences of going against the rules. Still, the timing is just… too perfect…

MC trying to escape → Bumped into Rui who's about to head to a mission → Haku suddenly appeared (Rui: “But Moby said no one usually rides around this time of the day~”) → Haku scolded both MC & Rui一brought up the clause of disciplinary actions if one were to do anything funny during missions and reminded Rui of his standing (Haku: “You know it's even worse if you're the one she's with, right?”) → Haku got MC away from Rui → Haku reassured MC and convinced her to stay at Darkwick to break her curse first instead of running away (like what he did before?)

It's almost as if he was purposely sent there for damage control.

“I'll keep this incident a secret from the Academy,” when the reason MC can't even escape in the first place is because Darkwick already knows what she's trying to do? Yeah, right. If you have tried to run away before, you'd know Darkwick has eyes everywhere.

I also found his responses from chapter 2 of his Personal Story rather interesting.

If MC thanked him → “…You shouldn't put too much stock in what I said, you know.” (He acts like the ever dependable and reassuring senior to MC but when she expressed genuine gratitude, he immediately backed off. Does he feel guilty because of how MC seems to always trust his words now? Because he’s keeping something from her?)

If MC shook her head → “Looking at you trying so hard made me realize how underhanded I am.” (Now he just sounds so bitter here…)

There's also the bait and switch with Hotarubi.

During Sinostra, MC found out the existence of a spy among the ghouls. And immediately at Hotarubi early chapters, Moby told her that the Hotarubi ghouls are hiding something. This planted seeds of doubt in MC一she thought one of them might be related to the spy. But at the end of the book, it was… in a way, disproven.

The secret they kept was Zenji's existence一for Haku & Zenji一and Subaru's mission regarding Lyca and his true stigma. This, ironically, leads up to MC being much more determined to trust the ghouls and be more wary about the Academy and Institute一even more than she originally did.

The reason I brought this up? Because the narrative has now painted Hotarubi as the “innocent” house. They made us (both MC & the readers) think how the ghouls over there are just trying their damn best to protect their friends… so that you'd suspect it the least for housing any spy (whom, in Taiga's words, is supposedly trying to screw other ghouls over). They made it seem like Hotarubi must've shown all their cards by now and gave us a sense of… relief? In a way.

(Obviously, there's still the mystery of Haku's dorm transfer. But that's for another day…)

Last but not the least, I'll bring you Haku's last words he told MC before jumping into the fire:

EN: Sorry, I guess I couldn't be the guy you wanted me to be. Ha ha… Don't look like that. Never lost faith in me, did you?

JP: ……すまんね。おまえさんの期待に、応えられんかったわ。はは……そんな顔しなさんな。最後におれを信じてくれて、ありがとね (Direct, almost word-to-word tl: ……Sorry. Looks like I couldn't meet your expectations. Haha…… Don't make that face. Thanks, for trusting me even at the bitter end.)

“Thanks for trusting me to the end,” are you Implying MC has reasons to lose her faith in you, Mister Haku Kusanagi? 🤔🤨

This is probably just me reaching but, has anyone noticed how “trust” seems to be a recurring theme with MC and Haku in particular? “Trust me. You'll be fine here,” and “If you need any help, I'm always happy to lend you a hand,” but also, “Don’t take what I said too seriously.” Which is it???

Anway, since Obscuary is just around the corner, I just wanna say that: 

1) If a Love Dove doesn't appear then it means I'm just looking too much into things and that the reason it doesn't appear is simply because Taiga has killed the one during Sinostra. And everything I wrote up to this point are hogwash.

2) If a Love Dove does appear again, I'll add +1 sus point to Haku.

“Why are you so suspicious of Haku anyway?” Years of watching anime and reading manga/visual novels/etc has taught me that you should always be wary of the sawayaka oniisan type. =w=)b

If you read until this point then thank you for giving my 2 a.m. rambles a chance! But please keep in mind that they don't call me Detective Reaching #2 for nothing. 🤧 For now, I'm going to log off so 🫡 Ciao!

[milkycarnations]

HC's for the creeps aftercare after a rough night with their SO?

A rough night or a rough night? ;) Let's do both. Please keep sending stuff to my inbox I'm obsessed. For context, the sfw ones still apply in the nsfw context lol. I wanted the sfw ones to apply even in the context of just going through some tough shit.

Tim

sfw:

Makes you breakfast the next day - let's you pick. Or gets something for you if you prefer something from a cafe/restaurant/fast food chain.

You want a sausage egg McMuffin and breakfast ends in three minutes? He's gonna find a way to get you that sandwich.

He really believes in food as comfort and love, so whatever you prefer he wants to make happen.

nsfw:

Can't stop staring at you. Like, it's almost disturbing how his eyes are on you constantly.

Prefers if you don't get dressed, but if you must, would ask you to wear a long t-shirt or a slip.

In this moment, you could literally ask him to do anything for you - and he would. Use that information however you please. He just wants to pamper you.

Brian

sfw:

Won't let you go until you ask him to, even if he's lying in bed all day.

When you're genuinely bothered or upset by something, he can soften up and be really good support for whatever it is.

If cuddling for very long isn't your thing, then he's content just being near you.

nsfw:

This man is so smug.

Of course, if you're in sub drop or anything, he's going to go easy on you, but the back and forth between you doesn't really stop. He will bring up whatever happened and kind of keep that going - even if you're a bit embarrassed now that you came.

Really - he just wants to work you up all over again and keep the game going for just a little bit longer. I really do believe he's a mean dom and really does get off on humiliating you. He will remind you of everything embarrassing you did for him.

Jack

sfw:

Makes you drink a glass of water - even if you say you aren't thirsty. He knows you're dehydrated.

If you're hungry now, he'll make you a meal, but he's not opposed to waiting. He makes you what you like the most, whether that's from that restaurant you like or just Kraft mac n' cheese.

nsfw:

He knows what he's doing and he already has everything set up. He's cleaning you up with a warm towel before you can even catch your breath. He doesn't want you to get an infection, after all.

Usually spitting praises and compliments to you.

Often suggests a bath together - even though he can't fit in the tub at all.

Toby

sfw

Now is the perfect time for adventure. Wants to go on a night walk.

Just wants to go out and do things with you alone in nature - pretend to not exist to the rest of society with you.

You'll walk down the empty 2 am street and just talk about whatever's on your mind. Sit on the swings at the park and kick rocks enjoying each other's company.

nsfw:

His aftercare is horny.

He'll still be touching you in ways, or still be inside of you.

He's a biter and finds himself still giving little nibbles to your neck, but when he finally stops, he catches himself running his fingers over the love bites.

It's all fervent and reckless, but not neglectful. I don't really know how else to describe it like that. Toby loves like a teenage boy loves his first girl friend - unabashed and adventurous - even though he's an adult now.

Jeff

sfw:

He's a rock. Your rock, but still a rock. I don't imagine it's easy to get him all empathetic, but he's still there for your struggles.

Encourages more of an activity - cooking a meal together, smoking, whatever it may be.

nsfw:

I'll be honest, I think sex with him is very primal and animalistic. He's not too keen on you cleaning yourself up immediately after, so if you're cuddling he'll try to convince you to sit in it.

Obviously he won't force you, he just thinks it's hot when you get physically exerted over something. It plays into this dynamic of sneaky, taboo sex where you get off and then go along with your day pretending nothing happened. Might not be there emotionally, but again - he'll ask if you want to go out and do something.

Liu

sfw:

He definitely feels with you the most. Whatever emotions you're going through, he parrots them very easily.

A back rubber. Just constantly running his fingers over your back in gentle caresses. Wipes your tears gently, if you have any. Pokes your cheeks when you smile.

nsfw:

In regards to sex, Liu always makes you a cup of tea after. He's narrowed down your preferences (but I always like to think he'd give you unsweetened peppermint tea - unless you don't like it).

Prefers silent cuddles after sex. Usually this lasts for about half an hour (unless it's right before bed.)

Nina

sfw:

You probably fell asleep while watching movies or something. The movie is still playing when you wake up.

A moment for self-care and pampering. Pedicures, facials, and backrubs. Real stereotypical "girl" stuff - even if you aren't a girl. She wants the sleepover experience with you.

nsfw:

I imagine her aftercare for sex is very similar.

She doesn't want you to dress, but if you do, she insists you wear a cute matching robe with her and fuzzy slippers.

Lots of pillow talk - she really isn't content with just being quiet and cuddling.

[yuri-is-online]

Ok but how did ace even get a girlfriend in the first place? Did she confess and he just went along with it? Did he think having a girlfriend would make him seem cooler? Was it a dare or something? Cause for someone like ace to just go ghost on her and not have an actual talk, kind of makes me feel like these two were not friends before they were partners.

So then, fast forward to nrc, ace is trying so hard to lose the feelings he has for his best friend. Because that's all they are: friends, homies, if you (duece) will. Yuu has the cream of the crop to pick from, he's kind of at a disadvantage here.

Plus, whose to say their entire dynamic won't change the second they get together? He doesn't want to get bored and start to hate one of his dearest friends by proxy, so might as well just play it safe and suffer a little than take that risk and the both of you suffer a lot 🤷‍♂️.

Meanwhile yuu, who still has their old phone/mp3 player, has been playing Jenny by Studiokillers on repeat. Lying in their bed, just down horrendous for this absolute ball of boyish mischief. How dare he, honestly?

Well. At least he gives them a lot of openings to flirt with him?

*disclaimer, I was home schooled so my actual knowledge about middle school dating is beyond non-existent so take what I say with a grain of salt

The information we get about Ace's girlfriend comes from his suitor suit vignette and he does not mention how they actually got together, just some of the things that they did and how boring Ace thought all of them were. And I agree! The way they broke up does not make it sound like they were friends before dating, though they could have been casual acquaintances. The way Ace likes to goof around makes me think he was probably pretty popular, and had a lot of those types of relationships. His description of the relationship makes me think he probably went out with her because he thought she was cute and that it would be fun to have a girlfriend, but didn't actually stop to think about who she was as a person or what dating actually means. And hey, he was in middle school. He was going to be a bit stupid about those sort of things. The experience seems to have made him think a lot about what he wants in a partner, and we know from Ortho he was telling the truth when he's forced to spell it out:

His voice lines flesh out what he wants a bit more; he says he thinks it's important to find someone you have fun with and that he wants to get married later in life. So Ace knows what he wants... he just gets really embarrassed when called out on it and refuses to talk honestly about his feelings (though he kind of does that in general hehe)

So flashing forward to NRC. Ace knows what he wants and Yuu is such a perfect fit it hurts. Best friends to lovers is a popular trope in fiction sure, but in real life? At a school? Yeah right, Ace still has to see them every day if they break up, and not to mention... I feel like Ace, Deuce, Grim, and Yuu sort of fell into their dynamic almost immediately after the mine adventure and didn't ever stop to think about it because of how natural the friendship felt. And Ace knows if things end badly he's losing the whole squad, so yeah. Better to just swallow this and stay where he is. He's still in school! He doesn't need to think about dating! He's got a housewarden to surpass, upperclassmen he admires, and a bunch of idiots to take care of. He can worry about dating later. Besides, these feelings will go away after graduation he's delusional sure of it!!!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch Ramshackle Yuu is literally in a living hell. Maybe they're a bit more emotionally mature than Ace and they just know this could work out but THEY CAN'T TELL IF HE LIKES THEM BACK BECAUSE HE KEEPS GETTING SHY AND MAKING JOKES FML!!!! But like he also lets them steal his gym shirt :ccc and he gets pouty when someone else makes an offer :ccc and really smug when Yuu says no ccc: so like maaaybe? Or maybe not and this meaningless flirting is all they'll ever have and they just. Try to be ok with it and they sort of hate themselves for it.

until Sebek properly joins the friend group and looses his fucking shit

[rallamajoop]

An absurdly detailed analysis of That One Soldat Photo

Hang around wintersberg fandom long enough, and you'll likely run into a popular crack-theory that, since Heisenberg obviously thinks that building a set of huge, yellow-painted signposts is a good way to point Ethan to the Stronghold, maybe it's Heisenberg who's been leaving all those handy, yellow-painted supply crates all over the place for Ethan to find! It's exactly the kind of fun nonsense I'd enjoy if it didn't feel folks are starting to take it a little too literally (by which I mean I have now read multiple fics in which it's played completely straight ‒ and, like, people do get that it's just a crack theory, right? Like, why would Heisenberg have left so many yellow crates around his own damn factory? Look, you don't have to explain every last game mechanic, not everything is lore!)

But as anyone reading my own fic would know, I'm guilty of echoing the idea that Heisenberg-was-leaving-stuff-for-Ethan myself ‒ just not because of any yellow-striped crates. No, I'm way more interested in this one weird soldat-photo you can find in the village ‒ long hours before you'll ever see your first Soldat in the flesh...

Very creepy. And if you turn it over, you'll find a clue to a puzzle you'll have to solve in order to progress.

(And of course, when you do look out the window, odds are you'll get jump-scared by a lycan just when you're focused on the numbers, because RE8 loves that sort of misdirection ‒ but I digress.)

Anyway, the code you can see out the window will open a safe containing a jack handle you'll need to move a vehicle in the village, as well as the M1911 pistol (which will very likely be your go-to handgun for the rest of the game). The game is full of conveniently-helpful clues like that (heck, most games are), often with no obvious Watsonian justification. And there are other photos around the village ‒ Luiza has a whole photo album ‒ but photos of experiments created by Miranda and her lords don't generally turn up outside their own territory.

For a player exploring the village for the first time, that photo is a lovely little bit of foreshadowing, hinting at monsters and factory stages to come. But on replaying with full knowledge of Heisenberg's later attempts to get Ethan on his side, that Soldat photo is just enough to make you go, huh... did Heisenberg leave that for Ethan? Like, on purpose?

You can find another copy of that photo later, in Heisenberg's factory, along with his notes on his early series Soldat experiments. Which doesn't really prove anything beyond the fact that assets exist to be reused... but it does at least make it pretty canon that Heisenberg has photos of his Soldats sitting around.

Possibly also significant: both the clue photo and the factory documents are tagged 'geekmemo' in the game files. Most everything related to Heisenberg in the files is labeled 'geek'-something ‒ it seems to be an early nickname for his character that lasted well into production. Everything in the factory is geek-something, even the model for the passageway from the altar to the bridge is labeled 'pathtogeek'. Considering that so many soldat-related assets are already labeled 'geek', maybe that 'geekmemo' tag doesn't really tell us anything we don't already know ‒ but it certainly doesn't work against the idea that Heisenberg wrote that 'memo' himself.

Besides, it's not like there isn't precedent for this kind of thing. RE7 had a whole mechanic where you'd have to find 'treasure photos' pointing out the location of a few rare and useful items, all with "I hid something here" written on the back. We're never explicitly told who left those photos lying around, but it's obviously Lucas: he loves playing games, he loves taunting prisoners with the possibility of escape, and who else would it be? The complete population of the Baker mansion is like 6 people and a bunch of semi-sentient mould.

Over in RE8, there are a lot more village resident who might have left that clue lying around. Like it or not though, Heisenberg is very much RE8's equivalent of Lucas: the family's wildcard show-boater who loves making Ethan jump through hoops for his amusement. So how does the game let us know it was Heisenberg who left this particular clue? Well, who else would leave a message on the back of a Soldat photo?

There's may be additional supporting evidence Heisenberg could be involved ‒ most notably the location, being a locked-off cul-de-sac labeled 'Workshop' on signs and maps. The area is full of metal junk very much like you'll later see lying around the factory.

The workshop location does have other relevance ‒ it makes sense that you'd find the jack handle in the village workshop, whether Heisenberg was involved or not. But it also stands to reason that if there's anywhere in the village proper where Heisenberg might hang around and leave clues for Ethan, the workshop is it. And you have to admit that leaving Ethan useful stuff in a safe along with an easy clue that will likely get him jumped by a lycan is 100% more in-character for the guy than just leaving useful stuff out in the open, even if it doesn't really prove anything either.

There's one more weird-little does-this-mean-anything detail: there are three dead crows near the safe too.

It's not the first time in the game you've seen dead crows (there were a bunch outside the village, and I've talked about what that might mean in the context of Miranda's cult before). But I don't remember finding any others around the village itself, other than in this one spot. And instead of being hung from trees like a ritual sacrifice, these ones are just dead ‒ messily, and with blood everywhere.

Now, maybe it doesn't mean anything, but is there anyone in the village more likely to vent his frustrations by violently killing a few of Mother Miranda's avian avatars than Heisenberg? I'd think not.

In conclusion: I still don't think all those yellow crates have anything to do with Heisenberg. And I still don't know for sure whether the RE8 development team wanted me to assume that Heisenberg left Ethan that photo, jack handle and gun. I don't know if we're supposed to read that Heisenberg keeps a workshop in the village and sometimes kills crows out of spite. But the evidence sure does point that way ‒ and it's as valid an interpretation as anything else you might take from this game.

[melbatron5000]

Wild theory, hold on.

(Please do not take any of my theories to Neil himself! Don't do it!)

I've already hypothesized that Crowley and Aziraphale have been working on a plan since Armaggedidn't in season 1. Here's where I go off the rails a little bit. Come along.

Saraqael is part of the plan. She's in on it.

I have only hints and suspicions, not too much for Clues, but hear me out.

In this post, we see a weird movement between buildings behind Shax. Almost like . . . a person in a floating wheelchair coming around the corner? And Crowley is in his spy turtleneck. He's doing something spyish. Meeting an angel he's not supposed to have a connection to, perhaps? About something that maybe interests both of them? Like, not having a second end of the world?

And in this post, we see that Saraqael has opened a spy porthole onto the book shop -- but the picture in the apy porthole is in 2019.

I do not think for a moment that tiny, weenie half-a-miracle-each accidentally blew up into a 25 lazarii miracle. I think someone else at around the same time did a huge miracle, someone powerful, someone who no one is supposed to know about -- or at least, doing something no one is supposed to know about -- and Saraqael hid it the best she could.

Show the arc angels the book shop when Adam reset it. You know, after it burned in 2019. That would be some crazy big miracle energy.

Then go to Earth with the arc angels and nudge Aziraphale into taking responsibility for the miracle. He's good at lying to them, after all, he can come up with something quick. And who is it that says, "Don't tell me you did it?" Why, sarcastic Saraqael. Translation, "tell them you did it, or we're screwed." And Aziraphale jumps right in and says yes, I did that.

Then send someone who won't give back good reports to verify the miracle. Saraqael, why would you send Muriel? Muriel is so sweet and naive, she won't come up with anything she shouldn't.

Then when Crowley is searching around in Heaven, who does he run into but his (doesn't exist) contact? And she tries to give him a reason to recognize her, they worked on the Horsehead nebula together. And he laughs and says, I meet a lot of people. He doesn't need her cover story, he'll just play dumb. She kind of snorts and shakes her head, she tried to give him an out but he took his own way. Headstrong demon.

When the Metatron shows up, who recognizes him? No one but Crowley and Saraqael. Could be because they just watched the trial, could be because they've been actively working together against him for years now. Hard to say. Hard to say. I honestly didn't recognize him in a full human form for a hot minute, it's not like it's impossible to imagine no one would know him. But those two do. Feels important to me.

I don't know if I'm right, but I'm suspicious now. What are they hiding? Who was doing a big miracle that needed covering up? Whatever was the miracle for?

Also, this. More evidence. They are up to something.

[the-ineffable-dance]

A Companion to Owls is my favorite of the minisodes. Possibly my favorite story in the whole show. But more than it being just good fun and visually amazing, (plus, it gives us Bildad the Shuhite, I mean, come on..)

Job's story, really, is the beginning of "our side."

Before the Job story, Aziraphale and Crowley of course know each other, but I think it's still been a bit of feeling each other out. No one has really put themselves out where they could get into trouble. There's the chat on the walls of Eden, and then again at the Flood. In both of those, Crowley does a little pushing of Aziraphale's boundaries, but Aziraphale, regardless of his internal struggle, outwardly toes the party line... Heaven's plans, no matter how they might look, are in fact ineffable.

In Job, we see for the first time that they are beginning to really see each other. Aziraphale knows that Crowley doesn't want to kill off Job's goats or his children.

Though, of course, he's got to be a little smug about it.

And even when Crowley puts that to the test when he's setting the house on fire, Aziraphale remains confident in Crowley's innate goodness. And is again proven right when Crowley miracles them all into the cellar.

Crowley, for his part, knows that Aziraphale is starting to question the ineffable plan. God and Satan making bets, letting Job be tormented by demons, killing children... he sees the questions that Aziraphale is starting to have, and eases the path for him by being receptive to those questions.

Here we also have the start of Aziraphale's hedonism and love of human things. He's not quite ready to take the step of drinking alcohol, but he does accept Crowley's temptation to eating... and realizes that he's starving. It's his first bite in his entire existence, and he eats an entire ox! It's a small step from there to other things that we see him loving in the present... wine, music, books, clothes (I'm looking at you, 1793), all the things the other angels look down on him for, and Crowley probably introduced him to.

In 1941, they have the exchange, "You told me to trust you." "And you did." But I think that we have that here, too... for the very first time. When Sitis and Job are told that their children are dead, Aziraphale and Crowley put on quite the show with their cobbler/midwife and angel straight man performance. It's actually quite impressive... every time one of them leans on the other to keep up the charade, the other obliges...

It's important to remember just how dangerous this dance is for both of them. First of all, Crowley could not be in a worse place. Not only is there a host of angels here, Gabriel the Supreme Archangel is in the lead. To find a demon here, interfering in the ineffable plan, would certainly end in a smiting. His cleverness and the trust of Aziraphale are the only things that keep him one step ahead.

Secondly, Aziraphale himself is in great danger. Not only has he been collaborating with a demon, tempted into eating, and so on, but he is lying to Gabriel's face. We've seen him lie before. Most memorably to God when she asked where his sword went. But those were little white lies, with few ramifications. "These are his new children" is a direct contradiction to what the Plan is. He is for the first time, turning from the Heavenly Plan, and instead throwing in his lot with Crowley.

Which brings me to my final point...

Aziraphale is terrified of falling. But he was willing to do it to save the children. And that is something that means a lot to Crowley. When he realizes that Aziraphale thinks he's already fallen, he does tease him a little bit, but more importantly, he is soft and kind, talking him through this huge change in worldview.

The most touching moment is when Crowley admits that this path he is walking and Aziraphale now finds himself on is lonely. Crowley has been feeling it since the Garden... but now, it will be less lonely. Aziraphale doesn't have to face it alone, because Crowley will be there, too. Now, they have "us."

[lunareiitic]

HSR 2.1 SPOILERS AHEAD BE WARNED.

---

Okay now that everyone who hasn't caught up has left: let's talk framing of the IPC.

When Topaz released, a lot of you were ragebaiting and telling people you hoped their jobs exploited them when people were like "oh I like her as character." Notably, I personally haven't seen that kind of ragebaiting with Aventurine's backstory and the answer isn't just misogyny, but it is related to how little some of you pay attention.

Topaz and Aventurine are peers, and are clearly juxtaposed as two sides of the same coin. While Aventurine was a literal slave, his people wiped out Aventurine eventually gambling his way into the IPC to become a Stoneheart, his backstory doesn't actually differ that much from Topaz's. Remember: both of these characters are antagonists to our Crew when the audience learns their histories.

Topaz lost everything to the IPC. She's a kind of scary career woman nowadays, but you have to remember that her world was on the brink of collapse and her world's leaders sold their entire population to the IPC. While Topaz may come across as more well adjusted than Aventurine is, the IPC's main strategy is putting their victims in a position where they can't reasonably refuse. It's why Aventurine is such a good lapdog of theirs: since he's willing to bet everything in order to win. He's adept at playing desperate and risky. A lot of discussion of Topaz's character misses this coercion aspect of her backstory because of how it's framed.

The Topaz Interlude is less focused on Topaz herself and more on showcasing the dark side of the IPC. Topaz herself is put in a murky light: friend, foe, and unlikely ally all in one. Her arc in that interlude puts the theme in neon lights "IPC bad, they're solutions aren't necessary if people work together" and Topaz as the "villain" is then "Defeated" and she withdraws and takes the L, leading to her arrival in 2.1 alongside Jade for Aventurine's plan.

Arguably, Aventurine is worse than Topaz in a lot of day-to-day regards: he doesn't have Topaz's sense of compassion and desperate desire to do good, he's openly lying to the cast and doesn't care particularly about their safety, and is actively trying to put Penacony back in the hands of the IPC so they can turn it back into an interstellar prison. (We don't have time to explain why Prisons Are Bad. Go listen to Angela Davis and get back here.) His goals don't feel as evil because of several factors: the first being that HSR knows he has a tragic backstory and is milking it for all that it's worth. Dead parents? Dead sister? Dead culture? Enslavement leading to indentured servitude leading to a deathwish? They give him the game's first perspective shift so you're even more willing to empathize and sympathize with him and his plight, something they'd never do for Topaz, a character whose morality is considerably more conflicted and put on the spot.

Penacony is also a much darker locale than Belobog: when Topaz arrives on Jarilo-VI, we've already solved all of their conflicts (theoretically. we're trusting that bronya can fix all of the shit her mother wrecked), so Topaz arriving is a unifying force of characters we already know an like. Penacony is a lot darker, and you're already primed to distrust and dislike them since they're well. The Family. People who might be just as bad as the IPC. This creates a weird moral flip in the eyes of the audience if you're not paying enough attention: the plot isn't "Penacony bad, therefore IPC good now" it's pretty clearly "Penacony bad, IPC possibly even worse" and the fact that Aventurine has set them up to win should send shivers up the spines of the viewers. Does the Dreamscape deserve to exist? If the IPC gets their way, it won't matter what the answer is. And Aventurine has gone all in to make sure it's so.

[lorynna]

i would consider myself a radical feminist also and i agree with the vast majority of your views. honestly i am just curious why you think aromantic/asexual people don't exist or shouldn't be labeled. i don't mean this as hate i'm honestly curious to know if it is part of most radical feminist views

if you can accept someone who is lesbian, and knows for themselves that they aren't at all attracted to men, why would you not accept someone who realizes both that they aren't attracted to men and they aren't attracted to women? (obviously very different identities and experiences i'm just wondering why some people can be trusted to know who they're not attracted to and others can't)

Hello anon, thank you for asking so kindly.

I am going to try and explain what my personal opinion on the topic is, as well as I can, and please keep in mind that I don't speak for the radical feminist community but just for my own views.

First of all, the definitions I have read of both terms (aromantic and asexual) so far aren't really specific, differ from each other at times and leave open room for interpretation. The gendies meanwhile continue to preach "everything means something different to each person" and "it is a broad spectrum" just like they do with gender, which according to them is so complicated and unfathomable that you have to ask each person identifying with it seperately, to know what their gender means to them.

The first thing that comes up when I google the definition of both terms displayed below (just as an example of what I mean):

Like, what do "sexual feelings" all include and to which extent does "little romantic attraction" go?

I do think that people who fit the mainstream criterias for being asexual or aromantic exist, I am not trying to say that it is naturally impossible to experience no sexual or aromantic attraction to anyone. I do think it is really really rare for this to authentically occur though, and that a lot of people identifying with these labels have experienced some kind of trauma or are doing it because it has become a trend.

The thing I most dislike about these labels are not only their inconsistency in definitions but also how much they are starting to get pushed online = trend. In my personal experience I have seen not only online but also offline how younger kids and teens start to pick up on these labels without knowing what they truly mean, because they are "cool" and just like gender it is starting to become a similar trend. Seeing who publicly identifies as those labels, it is again mostly the demographic of teenagers who are going puberty and the several different, crucial developmental phases that come with that.

Since you are asking if this is a common radfem belief, I cannot say. There surely is a variety of opinions, however I have seen some good takes from which I remember being said that a person doesn't need the label of "asexuality" or "aromanticism" as an excuse to not participate in dating culture or to not engage in sexual relations. It should just be common sense to not ask strangers about their dating lives and not ask "why" if they say they are not dating or having sex as if it was something unusual.

Also answering to your last question of "why I don't trust those people to know who they are attracted or not attracted to" is not what I am trying to do insinuate by questioning/criticizing the labels they use to describe said attraction. It is not about me trying to say "I don't believe you, you are lying" it is "why do you need those labels". I just don't think it adds anything valuable to society and it's getting more mainstream each day. Now even with teenagers using those labels when they haven't had the time to figure out themselves as a person yet. It just looses its meaning.

I've seen women going through long periods without having partners (radfems participating in male seperatism for example) being asked "oh, so you're asexual, right?" or "oh, so you're unable to form a romantic connection?" because people start assuming, forgetting that there are so so many reasons why people might not have partners or might not want to.

Again, people who truly are not experiencing any sexual desire or romantic desire are really rare but through so many people mindlessly adopting the label it looses it's meaning because it gets more broad in definition and everyone continues to define it for themselves. "Yeah, I am asexual but sometimes I have sex. Like once a month but that's barely enough so I must be asexual." Like... you might just have a low libido and that's totally okay! Why do you feel the need to label yourself as asexual? Is it easier because of your partner's expectations, maybe? Is a simple no not enough for them?

"I'm 15 and I haven't had a crush on anyone so far. I actually think boys/girls are ew and I can't imagine kissing anyone, like ew saliva. Also the girls/boys in my class are so annoying!!" And no, I've heard statements like this several times before. I mean, give yourself some time you're only 15.

Why do we always have to slap a label on top of everything and why can't we just go through life saying "yeah at the moment I really don't feel like having a partner, I don't want to date or have sex. Maybe that will change someday, maybe not and either way it's okay, I'm open for change. " but we have to say "oh yes, I'm an asexual aromantic without doubt and that won't change, that's my identity" and then when that changes we get an identity crisis realising that oh, maybe that wasn't me? Who am I now?

It all boils down to me not being able to take those labels seriously anymore, which is why I reacted so sarcastically in the post you're probably referring to, where I talked sarcastically about those terms.

"labels are different for anyone"

like no.. to define means to limit, to define means to exclude people who don't meet those criterias and that's okay, that's what makes labels and words meaningful = contributing to a conversation of mutual understanding instead of having to first discuss what each person means by using one and the same word.

Like I can't go outside in a clothing store saying "oh I want a red dress" and when she shows me a red dress I then say "oh that's not red for me, that's yellow by my own definition." How do you expect everyone to effectively communicate by leaving the option open for everyone to seperately define one single term??

But as we know, the gendies aren't fans of definitions.

[maleyanderecafe]

Hi! I love your blog and reading your game recommendations (really grateful to find some hidden treasure!!!) so I want to send you a recommendation as well! Recently the demo for the game "Snow White Ashes" by endysis has been updated, and though yandere elements are so far, quite subtle, the hints are there (esp in bonus scenes). Not to mention the stunning artworks, the original soundtracks, and the lovely writing weaving one gothic horror fairytale-like story. I'd love for you to enjoy it and share with us your analysis of the game! Have a good day and once again thank you for all of your recommendations!

This game really does embody a tragic fairy tale (which, originally a lot of fairy tales were like this) inside of a visual novel. The artwork is beautiful, the story is sad and the soundtrack is very nice to listen to. The yandere actions in this game aren't as prominent on Gabriel's side (and in fact are a bit more so on the female lead's side). There are about three routes that can go about that also unlock three different extra scenes. If you are interested, you can find more at @endys.

The story starts out with a woman walking in the cold forest. She seems to be out luring someone to her to kill them, as evidenced by the knife in her pocket. She decides to either draw blood or sing to lure them out, both of which brings out a man dressed in white to come to her aid. Seeing that the woman is cold, he offers to let her stay at his place as the nearest town is too far away. She graciously accepts his help and she brings her into a cabin in the woods. As they walk, they ask for each others names. The MC's name is Michelle and the man introduces himself as Gabriel. She seems to want to expose Gabriel for the monster he is, though so far he doesn't seem to be at all. The two converse, talking about the Mist Queen, a mystic person who seems to be someone inhumane terrorizing the town. While talking she mentions a family that she was accepted into, though now it no longer is something that exists. We learn that while he is a hunter now, he used to be a doctor and was married happily for a long while until the plague happened or we learn about how he and his wife met, with him tending to her wounds after she fell. Michelle then talks about either her fondness of singing or her fondness of sewing. They end up getting to the cottage after they hear some wolves.

Upon going to the cottage, the two are about to make out when Gabriel ends up pulling out the weapon from Michelle's clothes. He seems to know that she's lying to him about her name and identity. She cannot lie to him and reveals that she is indeed the Mist Queen, aka, Gabriel's former wife. She bites back at him, asking why he was bringing back girls to his cottage, where he retorts that he knew who she was the entire time. Gabriel retorts that she has taken a new body accusing her of murdering a young girl, when Michelle reveals that she only took the body of a girl who was already dead. She continues stating that the girl (and many others) have been found dead, likely because of one of their kind, accusing him of killing them. Gabriel tells her, (Selene is her true name) that he wouldn't do that and that he's been loyal to her for centuries, also revealing that she was the one who made him immortal like her. Gabriel leaves to see if what Selene said is true, which leaves her alone in the cabin. She can either decide to stay or leave, and if she stays, she has the chance to destroy his lyre, which if she does, will cause her to feel immense regret afterwards. Even if she leaves, she will end up being saved by Gabriel after she is almost attacked by wolves. After looking around, she ends up finally resting, which leads to a dream about her past.

She first has nightmare about the two girl's skin that she stole, Myia, and the one where she first met Gabriel and the one she is wearing now, Calliope. We see a flashback of when she first met Gabriel. Having gotten a new body by chance, instead of eating it, she decides to pretend to be her and live in the village. She later attempts to hunt for food, but ends up getting hurt, causing the person she was hunting, Gabriel to help her. Although she is pretty annoyed at his help, she ends up accepting it nevertheless, with Gabriel even carrying her back to the village. As time goes on, the two of them grow fonder of each other, until Gabriel ends up proposing to her. Initially she refuses, afraid that he will eventually find out who she is and will eventually outlive him. However, despite all of this, knowing that she is not actually the girl whos skin she wears, she ends up accepting and living with him as his wife in the village. Later on, Gabriel ends up losing one of his patients during childbirth and the two end up adopting her surviving son. Selene ends up making a doll for her new adopted son, with Gabriel impressed by her needlework. As time goes by and Gabriel ages, Selene's body does not, causing rumors to spread across her village. This leads to a fight with her and Gabriel as she feels incredible guilt that he will eventually die leaving her behind while she lives as essentially a zombie. As they resolve the fight, Gabriel promises to never leave her side until his death. A few years later, a plague starts to form in town. Gabriel tries to make Selene and their son leave so they won't get infected, while he wants to stay behind and do his job as a doctor. However, as she wants to be by his side, she sends her son off to safety while she stays behind with her husband. As time goes by, Gabriel gets sicker and sicker, even losing his arm, having Selene chop it off for him. Slowly he begins to die, and Selene's body also starts to deteriorate, and to keep him alive, Selene finds dead bodies and sews parts of them back onto Gabriel as his body decays. After this, she ends up giving some of her blood to him, causing him to live again. Gabriel initially doesn't recognize her as she's had to change bodies, but also is equally as frightened by his new body. Then afterwards the two live together for a bit before separating for thirty years. After the two of them wander in isolation, Gabriel returns to Selene, devoting himself to her as he cannot bear the isolation any longer, only asking for her to kill him if he goes mad for blood.

Upon waking up, she seems worried that she might have to kill him to keep the promise she made to him. She finds that Gabriel had returned, even making her food in return. Gabriel tells her that he indeed saw the things that she spoke of, and we see that he even kept one of the pieces of clothes she made him. After being fed (or not) the soup that he made. The two argue for a bit about the entire seducing thing in the beginning, with Gabriel being hesitant because she's not in the original body where they first met. They hear a knock at the door and upon opening it, see the body of Myia talking to Gabriel about how he missed her and how she missed him.

There are three extra scenes. I'll go from the first one Lullaby to the last one, Monsters. These are all from Gabriel's point of view, likely something that happens while she sleeps.

In Lullaby, we see that he is surprised to see her wear another skin. He seems to have a bit of body dysmorphia, not even recognizing his new hand despite everything, thus wearing the gloves he always does. He seems to have a lot of self loathing and ends up humming a lullaby to her at the end.

In Suffering, Gabriel wonders about how his wife is feeling, desperately wanting to touch her face but not allowing himself to. He doesn't want leave her side or have anyone take his place. It seems he believes he has to stay by her side no matter what, and that he needs her more than anything. This is probably the extra that encapsulates his more yandere nature in a more clingy manner.

In Monster, Gabriel seems to find it weird that his wife was able to live like this for so long. He is especially angry in this one, wondering if she knows how easy it would be for him to kill her as she sleeps. This extra is the one that is the most possessive.

The story itself is rather melancholy in tone, much like the original Grimms Fairy Tales, with a lot of inspiration seemingly being taken from things like Snow White and the Ice Queen, which you can kind of tell from the title. The artwork is extremely beautiful with moving parts of the backgrounds like leaves and snow, and there is a feeling of bitterness between Selene and Gabriel despite the love they clearly have for each other. The work is written in a more fanciful tone, and has a lot of mourning on Selene's part as she is essentially an immortal zombie/vampire- never really truly quite human and never really comfortable in the skin she's in (quite literally). The music is lovely too, very quiet but impactful which really gives the whole vibe of the game being a more sad retelling of a story.

Both Gabriel and Selene have a sort of attachment with each other and both of them are obsessed/possessive with each other. On Selene's part, while she did try to break away from Gabriel when they first met, she wasn't able to, and when she did get the happy life as a human, she very desperately didn't want to let go of it, claiming Gabriel and their adopted son as hers. In the backstory especially we do see that she internally is very possessive over Gabriel, considering this is the first time she's properly fallen in love with someone and is fully aware that she can't live this life forever. We also see this in the current time with Selene accusing Gabriel of luring other women into his cottage, even though he knew it was her in the first place. Despite this though, we can see where this idea comes from, as Selene is always pretending to be someone else as she's always in someone else's skin, and immortal, meaning that she can never fully enjoy a human life as herself. She knows that Gabriel will likely die one day and she fears being alone again, and losing the person she loves. On both sides there is a strong attachment with each other. Gabriel, even before turned in the creature that Selene was already devoting his life to be with her, loyal to the very end of his life. And even after when Selene turns him, he returns after many years to devote himself once again, wanting to stay by her side forever, much like the knight like family he was raised in. We see this more in the extra stories where we see Gabriel's point of view, seeing that he's obsessed with being with her because he has nothing else and that she is his, though we also see that it is part of a mix of other emotions such as his fear of being lonely and his feelings of dysmorphia due to the body parts stitched onto him. He still maintains his strong loyalty to Selene, but it is also filled with anger as she turned him against his will, even if it was in an attempt to save his life from disease.

I'm not really sure who this new person that comes in at the end is. She very clearly is using the body of when Selene and Gabriel first met and knows about their relationship. It is very likely another one of their species, though why she seems to specifically be targeting these two is still a mystery. We're also not sure who or what is causing the death of the many maidens, so it could actually be her depending on how long this story is. It's a good mystery and cliffhanger that invests you in wanting more.

But overall, a pretty beautiful game. The yandere moments are definitely much more muted and I'd even argue that currently Selene has more yandere moments than Gabriel mostly due to her feelings in the past, but it is nice to see a couple that is loyal to each other, even if they have bitter feelings towards each other. A complicated thing. If you are interested, please try it out.

[kolyasangel]

A FLAME WITHIN ME

synopsis: nikolai can't seem to understand why he can't be apart from you when you stir familiar feelings, as well as not-so-familiar ones in him.

content: ch. 6 of icarus falls - main navi / wc: 9.4k

Consciousness is truly nature's greatest nightmare.

Nothing will ever compare to the sheer horror of being aware of yourself being your own prison.

The coldness of the counter beneath his hands is uncomfortable, the surface biting into his palms. His eyes are tightly closed in frustration while drops of water drip down his face, clinging to damp bangs that stick tackily to his skin.

Nikolai thought he'd changed years ago, that he had shed his former weak self. He hadn't changed at all this whole time. He remained stagnant—a lost and helpless boy driven by one wish, who dared to defy divine beings and went above and beyond extremes all to chase after his dream. Yet, when he looks in the mirror, he doesn't recognize the reflection that stares back. He couldn't stand the sight that was warped by self-loathing, an urge to heave swirling in the pit of his gut every time he caught a glimpse of himself.

He doesn't know who he is anymore. But this is what he wanted, didn't he? To lose himself entirely and irrevocably.

Freedom was the one word that constantly clung to Nikolai's mind like a stubborn shadow. His goal wasn't just a goal, it was his whole existence—the very thing that shaped his foundations as a person, the very thing that defined his essence.

It’s been a week since that night, yet the memories haunt him like restless spirits.

You always find a way to creep into his mind late at night when the world fell silent and the darkness deepened, your presence a ghostly echo in the stillness of his room. There were times when he would stir in bed, wondering if you were in his room, only to pull the covers back and sit up to realize he was alone.

Alone.

Confinement was a torture of its own kind. He couldn't remain cooped up within four walls, suffocating in the stifling air of his own despair. He felt as if the walls were closing in on him, and he feared he might lose his grip on sanity completely if he didn't step outside at least once in a while, even just once to breathe. However, he isn't sure if it helps anymore because he knows who is going to be there outside most of the time, waiting to accompany him.

His cherished daily routine of watching the sunset alone was interrupted, now shared with you, each smear of orange and pink that paints the sky every day now intertwined with the remembrance of you.

And he hates it. He hates the confusion, hates the memories, hates what he's become.

He hates everything.

But he doesn't.

But he does.

He feels like this is almost another punishment for him as if the anguish of having taken the life of his first friend hadn't been enough. This—whatever is happening between you both—is a mockery of his resolve, a cruel trial designed to see if he would truly be able to withstand the pull of desire once more.

The burning sensation in the back of his throat is unbearable as his fingers slip into the depths of his pockets to grasp the deadly item—an object that whispered insidious promises of relief to him when incredible, mind-eating guilt almost pushed him to the edge multiple times. The cold metal grazing against his fingertips is enough to make shivers run down his spine—though it is nothing compared to the thought of you lying in a pool of your own blood.

Would he be content if you were gone? Would he finally have his freedom?

The solution seemed deceptively simple enough, and the answer should be even more so. A near escape wrapped in the finality of a single bullet was all it would take to dissipate his problems, to dissolve the solidifying agony you're putting him through.

Things would go back to the way they were.

But there was one issue.

He doesn't think he'll be able to withstand the heat again. Because then again, there is something about you that simultaneously puts his soul at a strange sense of peace. It infuriates him how your very existence seems to flicker like a soothing flame amidst his tempestuous thoughts, as if you were disguising as light and purposefully luring him into the very fire he feared.

Not to mention, he'd become so unbelievably weak that it made him nauseous to even think about ever in any way hurting you, or anyone for that matter.

He has the blood of hundreds, including innocents, on his hands from his actions. No matter how many times he washed them, he still felt unclean, unable to remove the permanent sense of visceral remorse left on his tainted body and soul, a residue of his blood-stained past from his objections against morality. Those same transgressions against the very morals he sought to oppose were undoubtedly ineffective, still inhabiting and plaguing his mind to this day. He would do anything to escape feeling it—this unbearable guilt that had no place in his mind, yet infiltrating every corner of his mind, claiming far too much space for comfort. Every fiber of his being screamed for release, a clamor of need that churned within him—a lion thrashing against the confines of its cage, desperate for liberation.

But he isn't quite sure why he wanted to change in the first place or why he had pursued the actions that had led him to this state. To prove his free will, of course. Then why does he still feel trapped when he should be free? Ironically, each attempt to assert his proof of free will seemed to tighten the chains around him.

How could he feel this way? Why was he allowing himself to be entangled by these emotions when it brought nothing but delirium?

He wasn't confident that the tolerance was conscience. There was no way it could've been when he was unknowingly digging deeper into his own grave.

Freedom hangs above him, daunting and overwhelming. Each step toward that ethereal light is fraught with risk, that he already knows. Yet, he longed to touch that radiant horizon, to wrap his fingers around its glow. It shimmers just beyond his grasp, but he already feels the burning heat. Perhaps it's the indelible scars of shame that marred his skin and lined his wings, a reminder of the flames of past endeavors that had never truly been extinguished after all this time.

He can't help but be worried this time, hovering in uncertainty when the menacing specter of downfall threatens too large. It feels natural to be after last time, an unsettling reality he still cannot shake off—having soared so close before, only to get sent plummeting down from such dizzying heights so incredibly far up. Somehow, against all odds, he'd managed to pick himself back up after his initial fall, but the ghost of fear still haunts him. What if he fell again—this time, perhaps, into a sea of despair from which there was no return?

Was the light an utter illusion? It seemed frustratingly unattainable.

How come you don't see it like he does?

If he didn't know any better, he'd assume you were also searching for freedom, judging by the way you seemed to agree with his views in some regard. He would've thought there was an understanding between you both, that you both wanted the same thing. But you believe in fate, you believe in purpose, you believe in all these things that he can't begin to grasp the concept of. You are so incredibly brainwashed that it's laughable, bearing more differences than alike to him. Still, a small part of him couldn't help but anticipate the opposite for some reason.

"I find that whenever you have a purpose, life is more bearable."

Purpose. What is his purpose? No, he doesn't need a purpose. The thought of it made him recoil in disgust. That would go against and undermine everything he stands and fights for—a stark contradiction to the threads of independence he had tightly woven together around his existence.

There is no meaning to life, after all.

There is no meaning to this life he has no choice but to live. He deems your need for purpose in existence as nonsensical and would go as far as to say you're delusional for believing in it. He wants to laugh at your utter foolishness and your naivety—so caught up in your own silly beliefs, so thoroughly yet unknowingly trapped in the cage of your own mind. Yet, amid that laughter lay an envious ache for insensibility, a craving for the simplicity of it all. And, amidst this envy, he felt a pang of anger.

How dare you find solace when he felt so frantic to find his?

You must laugh at him in secret when he's not around you—laugh at him for how socially inept he is, at how ridiculous you think he sounds whenever he speaks to you. You must think he's weird and feel pity for him. You make fun of him, don't you? The thought of it fuels him with rage and makes him clench his fists in infuriation.

No, he's the one who's laughing at you! You're the one who's trapped after all. You're the fool!

He wants to laugh, but his throat feels tight, stifling any noise from coming out. He can't even smile at the thought that should be humorous.

Because he knows his suspicions aren't true—your kindness was transparently evident, too potent and telling to hold any ill intent. He can try to convince himself against it all he wants, but pure is the first thing that comes to his mind.

His cheeks feel warm despite the icy water he splashes on his face and his eyes close as a deep sigh escapes his lips.

Why did the mere thought of you make him feel feverish?

You must be lying when you compliment his biggest insecurities—you have to be. It feels impossible that you could mean what you say. But he isn't sure why you would lie to him, nor could he understand why it would matter in the first place.

A fresh wave of frustration washes over him, emotions layering upon emotions. Hatred for himself mixed with these feelings for you, creating a toxic blend that was poisoning his mind. How could he be so weak as to feel like this? Why did the tenderness you elicited make him feel oddly comforted yet utterly enraged?

He feels so much. You make him feel so much. Too much—so intense and so overwhelming to that of a fire that burns too vividly, far beyond what he can contain.

It's your fault. It's all your fault.

These feelings of resentment never leave him, instead, they entwine with these strange new emotions toward you, altogether only seeming to grow more and more and wrap around his heart like wild, invasive vines.

But were you truly the only one to blame?

He himself should be resilient and unshakeable—a bastion of strength that refused to be swayed by the trivialities of emotional entanglements, not permitting such frivolous things to distract him from his goal. Yet, here he was, flinching and breaking beneath the weight of feelings he despised regardless. His refusals to surrender to distractions had become vain, for they never lasted, always returning to bite him in the end. Rage blinded and held him in a fiery grip, and old fear devoured him over and over again.

What was his life before you?

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't seem to remember at all. All he knows is that, with you, he felt a little lighter, which frustrated him to no end. It's a momentary lightness, an escape from the heaviness he carried, the need for closeness clashing with the want to break free from all attachments.

No, wait. He's felt this way before. And it didn't end well for him.

Sinking to the floor, he grasps his hair tighter while his eyes feel heavy with unshed tears, feeling that stifling blend of desire and dread.

Freedom isn't real. Free will isn't real. None of it is real.— is what a voice whispered in the back of his mind whenever despair settled in, twisting his thoughts until they spiraled into chaos.

What even is freedom? Will he ever experience it?

His head pounded from overthinking, each thought hammering all at once against his skull, amplifying his fear of failure.

Loud.

It was all so loud.

— ✦

The sound of loud knocking makes your head jerk up as you're walking up the stairs. You had just made your weekly trip to the dim laundry room downstairs and were returning with a small basket full of fresh laundry in your arms, but your heart rate picks up slightly at the disturbance that echoes in the hall. The noise is sharp and insistent, though it doesn't sound like it's coming from your door.

Your feet quicken, hurried and anxious, and by the time you reach the second floor, you spot your landlord poised outside Nikolai's door.

"Is something wrong?" you ask as you approach your door slowly, concerned to know what's happening while keeping your eyes on him.

He turns to look at you when he hears your voice. "Fool hasn't paid rent yet," he replies with a peeved expression, his voice low and grim before knocking on the door again.

Oh, right—today is the first of the month. You had already taken care of your own rent and paid it beforehand right before it was due at the end of last month, but it seems Nikolai wasn't as punctual.

Nikolai's occupation is still a mystery to you. You remember prodding him about it before, but he remained tight-lipped, making his reluctance to answer your question apparent. The thought of bothering him about it didn't seem too hopeful either and felt sort of daunting in a way, so you didn't after the initial refusal, knowing that it'll most likely provoke an uncomfortable silence more than anything.

"Maybe he forgot?" you suggest, hoping to lend a bit of optimism to the situation.

Your landlord only scoffs, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. "He does this almost every month. I'm this close to evicting him," he responds, his hand gesturing in a cutting motion as if to emphasize his point.

You frown, both empathy and confusion washing over you.

"I'm sure he'll pay it soon enough, he's nice.." you offer tentatively, trying to subtly defend him even though you're hit with the weight of your landlord's skepticism almost immediately.

"Nice?" He laughs again, this time tinged with a hint of scorn at your words. "This guy is anything but nice. He's a fuckin' cocky jackass is what he is, plain and simple," he retorts, his eyes glinting with contempt while he speaks about him.

A heat rises in your chest at his upsetting words, an unexpected surge of protectiveness for Nikolai swelling within you. Is he talking about the same person? You aren't sure. And you aren't sure what sparked an intense reaction, but it twisted uncomfortably in your stomach. You felt the need to say something knowing that Nikolai was likely inside, able to hear everything that was being said about him, every demeaning word being tossed around at the expense of his character.

The idea of someone having such a harsh view of Nikolai seems unheard of, especially when he ever does is keep to himself and mind his own business. Sure, you can understand the frustration that comes from tenants who don't pay their rent on time, but beyond that, Nikolai seems far from deserving of such vitriol. Now that you recall, Nikolai didn't have such high regard for him either. You remember all too well the way he grabbed your wrist and made you lead the stairs, the flash of hurt and frustration that crossed his face when you asked him what his deal was between him and his landlord, who, setting aside money matters, only seemed to belittle him at any given opportunity just because he could.

You didn't know any better at the time, but you still feel regret for evoking a reaction like that from him—for asking about something you knew nothing about. It was the most emotion you've ever seen come out of Nikolai, and you weren't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

You had to wonder why Nikolai didn't file a report or take any action against him either. It was like he'd accepted being treated this way.

The thought of it makes you deeply upset.

And he questions Nikolai's kindness? Maybe he would be if people were kinder to him.

"Don't talk about him like that, please," you interject, your voice rising just above a whisper.

He snorts, still doubtful of your previous statement. "I'm surprised he even talks to you," he tells you, raising an eyebrow.

"Why?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"I've never seen him talk to anyone else ever since he's moved here."

Your eyes widen. You know that Nikolai isn't exactly the best at socializing or just talking—it's painfully clear from your interactions with him on a regular basis. Despite this, it never bothered you at all and actually drew you closer, so to hear it articulated so bluntly leaves you momentarily speechless, grappling with a swirl of emotions you didn't know how to process. It leaves an awkward silence to settle in for a bit, with neither of you saying anything else.

After several moments with no response from the closed door, you hear your landlord click his tongue in irritation before he storms down the stairs, the thud of his footsteps resonating heavily against the walls.

Your body turns with the intent to return to your apartment, you try to, but your eyes can't leave Nikolai's door for some reason.

Just then, the silence is broken. You watch carefully when you hear the sound of a creaking door, and there he is—mismatched, guarded eyes peering cautiously through the narrow crack.

A soft smile spreads across your face. "Nikolai.."

He only responds with a nod, his lips pressed tightly together in a half-hearted smile that barely touches his eyes. His gaze drifts momentarily, landing on the laundry basket you're holding in your arms before they slowly move up to your eyes which are already fixated on him.

What the hell are you looking at?

You're probably silently judging him, thinking about how stupid and disheveled he looks right now, but his thoughts dim down, softening when his eyes trail further down and notice something different about you. Your lips are adorned with a delicate pink tint today, a soft sheen that catches the light with every subtle movement, complementing the sweetness in your eyes—an alluring combination that he thinks is too dangerous and hard for anyone to resist, even for him.

"Nikolai?" you say his name gently again, sensing his mind and attention wandering away elsewhere.

He blinks to snap out of it, abruptly reorienting himself as if shaking free from a web of distracting thoughts. "Yeah?"

"Did you get any sleep last night?" you ask him kindly, studying the obvious tiredness in his eyes and demeanor.

There it is—the question that has slipped from your lips every morning since last week. It annoyed him greatly, yet he never said anything to express his detest for it.

He sweeps his fingers across his messy braid, brushing back the rebellious strands from his forehead. "Yeah.." his reply came quietly, accompanied by a lazy stretch while he raised an arm to rub the back of his neck "What about you?" he asked before opening the door a little wider.

"I did, and I'm glad because otherwise I would've slept right through work," you giggle trying to lighten the mood before you change the topic, your voice lowering into a whisper. "But you didn't pay rent yet? You'll get in tr—"

He immediately moves to shut the door in your face before you can finish, which startles you and makes you take a step back. Your smile falls and you cradle the basket in your arms tighter.

But, just as suddenly, you hear the faint creak of the door opening again, this time with notable heedfulness.

"Listen, you don't need to worry about me, okay? I can take care of myself," he tells you. "He'll get his money soon enough." Irritation threads through his voice as he sneers, eyebrows knitted in frustration, mixed with an unexpected sense of embarrassment presumably due to the fact that you heard everything about his financial troubles and now knew about his inability to pay his rent on time.

"How haven't you gotten evicted yet though?" you ask him with surprise at his ability to dodge your landlord's scrutiny.

"Magic," he replies flatly, stressed by a dramatic roll of his eyes, which makes you laugh.

"You can do magic?" you ask with a sweet smile, taking his seemingly playful response seriously, eager to see how he'll respond to you. "Can you show me?"

The look on his face morphed into one of confusion at your response, like he didn't expect it. Well, by now, he isn't entirely sure what he expects from you anymore anyway.

"No. Go to work," he says and dismisses you with a wave of his hand as if to swat away your curiosity, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly like he's suppressing a small smile before he finally shuts the door, leaving you standing alone to face the wooden barrier between you again.

— ✦

You can't focus at all.

Rich red hues dominate your vision as you deal with the task of arranging the flowers in front of you, absentmindedly doing so more than anything, you have to admit. The delicate petals are soft beneath your fingertips, exuding a fragrant sweetness that mingles in the air—a blend of floral notes that lulls you into a sense of calm.

But calmness never lasts.

Suddenly, you wince from feeling something sharp poke your hand, a sudden sharp sting jolting you from your preoccupied state. You instinctively pull away and drop the flowers somewhere aside in disarray, instead inspecting for what could've hurt you, your eyes landing on one of the roses that bore a thorn someone must've missed removing.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" calls your coworker who was helping you replenish the flowers, an older lady with a warm smile and a gentle demeanor. She moves closer, her concern evident as she observes your discomfort.

"Yeah, it's just a cut. I'll be fine," you reassure with a small forced smile, appreciative of her nurturing nature, though you can feel the sting pulsing slightly.

You turn to head to the employee's room in the back, hoping to find a band-aid. The door creaks open as you push it open, stepping inside and flicking the light switch on before your eyes start scanning the shelves, cluttered with miscellaneous supplies. Reaching up for the first-aid kit and bringing it down to a table, you rummage through it, feeling various items against your fingers until you find a box of band-aids, opening it and pulling one out. The sight of crimson that starts trickling down your finger indicates that this isn't just a cut. Still, you're sure a thorn didn't get stuck beneath your skin, so you figure a bandaid will suffice for now—a temporary solution until you can apply ointment and allow time for healing.

How could you be so careless? You've always been so careful about handling flowers, but you guess your mind isn't in the right place today.

With shaky fingers, you peel the band-aid's adhesive from its glossy wrapper and gently wrap it around your pointer finger, wincing in the process from the slight sting that accompanies the pressure. Confliction washes over you when the thought of leaving early pops into your head alongside the persistent throb in your hand. The idea is undeniably appealing, but you're hesitant, thinking it would be disrespectful to leave early and abandon your coworker to finish the evening alone. So, despite circumstances, it only seems right to push through your discomfort and wait it out until the end of your shift.

Returning to the front, you glance over at the clock and notice its hands inching closer to the closing hour anyway. The shop feels quiet, the gentle hum of the day fading into the evening, though it feels like the day has slipped away quicker than usual, like a blur. You untie your apron, the fabric rustling softly as you take it off when you realize that no more customers are likely to come in, especially with close to only twenty minutes left before closing. Resolute, you decide to count and close the cash drawer, keen to finish the task up beforehand before heading home.

You look out the window and notice the sky start to darken a bit as the sun sinks lower, always serving as a reminder you'll get to go home soon and possibly see Nikolai. Your lips curl into a smile thinking about it—the typical routine that had formed between you and him. In the morning, you'd see him already on the balcony, his figure outlined against the soft glow of dawn, and the two of you would exchange the familiar words of 'good morning' to each other before your day began. By evening, you'd come back after work to see Nikolai perched in the same spot watching the sunset, and you would join him and chat with him, watching as the colors shifted in the sky, sometimes until they melded into deep indigo.

Granted, you did most of the talking, whether it was chattering about your day or sharing mundane random details of your life with him, and at times childhood stories and whatnot while he listened to you. His face always expressed a solemn look, with the exception of a few smiles and laughs here and there caused by you.

You never bothered to ask what he was thinking about. You think that would be a bad idea. Not everything is your business—that you know, but you couldn't help but want to know if he's doing alright. But he always seems reluctant to tell you anything. And that's okay too, you thought. He's not obligated to talk about life if he doesn't want to, though a part of you still wants to pry into those thoughts behind his melancholic eyes.

Nikolai wants to be free from his emotions—you know that now. With how he articulated himself, you found it difficult to not agree with him to some extent when you, yourself did wish that your emotions didn't have so much control over you. But now you find yourself asking what that really means, and what could've pushed him so far to want to rid all of them.

That night, when he opened up to you like he'd never done it before, left you both shocked and touched. Something must've been in the air, something shared, yet something that remained unspoken. You still didn't know what was responsible for making his irises glisten the way they did, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. The way he looked at you, a gaze filled with sincerity that mirrored your own and made you feel like you were floating on the fluffiest of clouds.

Even though he didn't share much of himself with you, you came to terms with it and had even grown comfortable since you could tell he listened to your rambling intently, and putting everything else aside, were just grateful that someone was even there to listen. That's how your days and nights have been for the past week. And ever since you and Nikolai went to the park last week, you've been wanting to ask to spend time like that with him again, but something stopped you every time. You can't fathom why you're so hesitant to ask him when you haven't been so nervous to approach him before.

It felt like all you could think about was Nikolai or relating to him in some way. The images of him laughing and his face reddening had been etched inside your eyelids, uneraseable, that whenever you closed your eyes, it was all you could see. There was no denying how his gaze would soften, how his voice would lose its callousness when caught up in conversations with you.

You didn't realize you were zoning out until your coworker gently interrupted your little reverie, taking the flowers you'd left on the counter, causing you to look up at her in surprise.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of them," she offers, clearly encouraging you to take an early leave so you can tend to your finger. "Go ahead, I'll close up."

"Are you sure? I can wait.." you ask, feeling unsure and guilty about your careless mistake.

"It's alright, go ahead and leave if you want. I'm almost done anyway," she smiles brightly at you, easing your concerns and assuring you that it's okay with her.

So kind. It wasn't often that someone showed you such thoughtfulness, a small gesture that soothed your frazzled nerves.

You exchange a kind smile and reach for your bag before walking away from the counter to the shop's entrance. "Have a good night," you say, glancing over your shoulder just as your hand reaches the door handle.

"You too, honey. I hope your finger feels better soon," she chuckles, her laughter ringing in the air like the door's bell chimes.

On the spur of the moment, as you're leaving the shop, an idea comes to your mind. You thought you would get something for Nikolai to surprise him and maybe brighten his day a little, even if the sun was about to set. The thought makes your heart pound with anticipation, already thinking about the smile that might light up his face when he receives your little gift.

— ✦

A sting of pain courses through your hand as you close your car door.

You notice that Nikolai isn't on the balcony watching the sunset today, and something in you compels you to check on him. Hasty movements make up your walk to the apartment complex, ascending the stairs to reach your door. As you reach the second level, you take a moment to admire the breathtaking hues painting the sky, wishing that someone was here with you to watch the fiery oranges and mild pinks melting into one another. But soon, your eyes avert, and your attention shifts to Nikolai's door.

You take a few steps closer. A hand reaches out to knock but then retracts in nervousness.

What if he's busy? What if you're bothering him? Your anxiety whips these thoughts into your head, nearly immobilizing you. Nonetheless, your hand reaches once again along with a deep breath, and this time, it knocks lightly against the wood.

Silence.

You purse your lips and pull your hand away before looking down at your feet. "Nikolai?" you call out to make yourself known, to let him know that it's you if he's inside.

A few seconds and heartbeats pass before the door creaks open with a slow deliberation, revealing Nikolai. Your face immediately floods with heat as you take in his appearance. He's wearing glasses. You've never seen him wear glasses before, but wow, did he look good in them. It has you wondering if he only reserved this kind of look for indoors, especially when you also notice his pearly hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail instead of the usual braid he wore.

"Hey," he greets you, his voice low. He doesn't say anything else but looks at the steaming cup in your hand, then back to you, his expression curious.

"This is for you!" you exclaim while handing him the cup of tea, your excitement bubbling.

For a fleeting second, you swear you catch a glimmer in his eyes before they turn back to their original state just as quickly.

"Why did you get this for me?" he asks, reaching his hand out. You feel your heart skip a beat when his fingers brush against yours as he grabs the cup, able to feel a heat that isn't coming from the cup of tea. He's warm.

Nikolai feels a strange texture brush against his and that's when he notices your finger is wrapped with a band-aid. His eyebrows knit together at the foreign sight.

"Because I wanted to! It's your favorite, right? Honey lemon tea with ginger?"

Your voice rings with sincerity, a melody that echoes in his mind as the lovely scent of honey-laced lemon permeates the air between you.

"It's your favorite, right?"

Why do you remember that? Why do you take the time and go out of your way to do this for him?

He can try to brush aside the words you just said to him all he wants, but the truth of the matter resonates in the hollow chambers of his heart, reverberating with every pulse of his heartbeat at the fact that you remembered such a small, insignificant detail about him.

"Y-Yeah, it is.." he replies, his voice slightly strained as he tries to tamp down his nervousness with a gentle cough, though he's sure he's failing miserably. "You didn't have to do that."

"Well I already did, so no need to say that," you reply playfully, noting the calmness that settles over his expression. "What are you doing?" you ask with brimming curiousness.

He wants to ignore it. He wants to ignore the way you're standing outside of his door, looking up at him with your doe-like eyes that are so incredibly hard to ignore, drawing him in despite his hesitance when they're practically begging him to ask you to come inside. He wishes he could so badly ignore the warm feeling in his stomach. But he just can't.

"Uh- I was just.." he trails off. Instead, he looks down for a moment before moving aside, creating space for you to enter. "Do you wanna come in?"

He's inviting you inside? You thought that'd never happen.

"Sure!" you happily accept his invitation and step inside his apartment. It doesn't look much different than yours, as the layout of each apartment is identical to one another. You glance around and your eyes first land on the table in his living room, where you notice that there's a whole array of thread and a miscellany of sewing supplies.

The place is clean and orderly, but the air feels thick as if silence itself is holding its breath.

"Did you eat dinner yet?" you ask, your voice sweetly breaking the quiet ambiance as you step further inside. You set your belongings down next to his door before turning to face him.

He nods, his eyes softening as he meets yours. "Yeah, I did," he responds in a voice so faint, you couldn't tell if it was genuine or not.

You pout. "Aw, I could've made you another egg if you hadn't."

"Never again." He laughs when he sees your expression.

With a quiet click, Nikolai closes the door behind you before walking toward the table. He sets his tea down and sits down in the chair where you think he was seated previously, assumably to resume his work. Naturally, you follow suit and pull up a chair next to him.

Nikolai doesn't seem to mind you closely watching him and his hands as he deftly attaches buttons to a soft, cotton shirt. Although if he does, you're not sure you would be able to tell due to how difficult it is not to be captivated by each precise stitch he does and how effortless he makes it look as if he were born for this craft. The cuffs of the sleeves have soft pencil sketches on them that were most likely going to be filled in later with colorful thread, but you couldn’t tell what the abstract drawings were of due to the lines being so faint.

"You like to sew?" you ask, a smile playing on your lips at the idea of someone as intimidating as him having such an innocent hobby.

"Yeah.." he replies, casually tearing off some excess thread with his teeth.

Your heart.

It feels almost wrong to be staring at him like this, but you can't resist doing so, especially when he's so immersed in his task as he is now, the focused look on his face paired with the slight furrow of his brow drawing you in deeper. It feels almost indulgent to be able to look at him. His soft tufts of hair sticking out remind you of dandelion fuzz swaying in a summer breeze. His long eyelashes meticulously framing his eyes looked like they were picked individually and carefully placed on his lids one by one like perfectly arranged petals, noticeable even behind the thin frames of his glasses and enhancing his delicate features.

"Nikolai," you speak his name, each syllable falling from your lips almost unconsciously, the intent behind your words slipping your mind.

He glances at you, curiosity in his gaze. "Hm?"

You're not even doing anything right now, but you feel so incredibly distracted. There are so many words sitting atop your tongue, an amalgamation of things you want to say, yet they don't dare to come out. You shake your head and cast your eyes downward to your hands in your lap, silently conveying to him it was nothing of importance. "When did you learn how to sew?" you ask him instead, tilting your head back up before scooting a little bit closer to him, so subtle that you think he either doesn't notice it or he simply doesn't mind.

"I don't know exactly," he shares with you, a faint smile warming his features like the gentle glow of sunset. "My mom taught me when I was younger."

You smile at his sweet answer. "I've always wanted to learn hand embroidery," you muse to him as you lean your elbow on the table to rest your chin in your hand, eyes sparkling with interest.

He looks at you surprised, taking a moment to pause his actions, needle still clasped between his fingers in one hand, grasping the fabric in the other. "Embroidery?" he repeats, intrigue in his tone discernible as he registers your words.

"Yeah! It looks so cool but seems so hard.." you say, attention riveted toward him. "But maybe I could try it one day."

"Well, you're in luck because I might know how to do a bit of that," he replies with a teasing edge, a sly smile creeping onto his lips.

"Really?" Your excitement ignites anew as your eyes widen. "Do you think you could teach me sometime?" you ask him impulsively, not expecting anything from it.

His laugh echoes in the room, clearly amused as he nods while he's grabbing another button to sew on.

Your admiration brims over as you observe him, unable to contain your amazement. "I didn't know you could do so many things!" you chirped in awe of his talents. "You're so talented."

Nikolai's eyes light up at your sudden compliment, his cheeks taking on a faint pink hue despite his futile attempt to hide it, clearly stunned by the unfiltered praise and astonished by the fact that you're genuinely interested in his hobbies. It feels like ever since he was little, he'd always get picked on for doing things he enjoyed. But now, you're showing him a different kind of attention that he isn't used to.

"Oh.. N-No, I'm not," he stammers with a nervous laugh. He takes a break to sip his tea, not knowing how to respond to your praise without showing too much excitement or sounding like a dork. The tea tastes different today—the sour flavor of the drink overpowers the sweet and leaves a slightly sharper-than-usual bitter taste in his mouth. "You're flattering me too much," he mumbles before setting the cup down.

You smile at how comfortable he looks right now. You think it suits him, so much so that you would do anything to see him like this more often. It feels like you’re being allowed to see a side of him that no one else sees, one that he doesn’t allow anyone else to see. "I'm serious! You said you can do magic tricks too, right?"

He laughs at your enthusiasm. "Who told you that?"

"I don't know, who did?" you respond, your eyebrows raising in response to his playfulness. "Can you juggle?"

"I think you'd be surprised," he smirks, confidence seemingly budding when he hears your interest. "I can do a lot more than that."

"Oh? You have to show me one day," you express earnestly, placing your hand on his arm and squeezing it gently, able to feel his firm muscles that cause your heart to jump a little.

He feels the rough texture of the bandage against his skin again, stirring him from a thoughtful silence. "What happened to your finger?" he asks.

"I accidentally cut it at work.." you explain to him in a murmur, your voice twined with a hint of embarrassment from your confession.

He turns to face you almost immediately when he hears that, almost instinctive. "You hurt yourself?" a tinge of concern laces his voice, and you hardly notice how he inches a bit closer.

Before you can open your mouth to respond, you're caught off guard, slightly startled by a subtle wince and how Nikolai's expression shifts at the sight of his own bleeding finger.

"Shit," Nikolai curses under his breath and clicks his tongue, carefully setting the needle aside using his other hand.

"Now you're the one who hurt yourself," you utter softly, reaching out to gently grab hold of his wrist without a second thought, making Nikolai look at you with widened eyes as if he'd just seen a ghost. For a second, you both are locked in a gaze when your thumb lightly brushes across his wrist. His hand trembles beneath yours before he quickly pulls away, retreating from your touch.

In a rush of motion, he removes the glasses perched on his nose, folding them swiftly before placing them carefully on the table. He leaves his seat after, his movements hurried, but still somehow agile while he strides toward a cabinet in his kitchen. You watch intently as he reaches for something, retrieving a band-aid, the small packaging crinkling quietly in his grasp. He returns to the table and deliberately applies the band-aid to his finger, forming a fist before relaxing his hand again to ease the tension.

"We're matching," you say, giggling at your own comment. Leaning in forward from your chair to get closer to him, you playfully hold your bandaged finger next to his to compare them. "Look, it's even the same finger."

Nikolai's heart is racing. You're so impossibly close to him—he can catch the scent of your shampoo, your perfume, you.

His other hand was right there, hovering nearby indecisively in hesitant temptation. If he possessed the bravery, he could easily place it on the back of your head right now, the impulse that flutters through his mind stirring want and fear in equal measure. However, he tries to deter from that thought and glances back at your hand, still beside his. In comparison, your hand is significantly smaller and more delicate, fingers slim and dainty, looking so soft that he feels almost embarrassed about the texture of his own skin.

So fragile. So cute.

"And to answer your question, it was an accident. I didn't notice that one of the roses I was handling had a thorn, and you can probably guess what came after that," you sigh, a faint frown pulling at your lips as you look down at your bandaged finger, recalling the moment. "It does hurt a little still, but it should go away soon," your voice trails off. "I guess this is what I get for not paying enough attention, though.. I felt so out of it today."

Nikolai doesn't know what compels him to make the next move—but it's a little too late to ponder on that thought now or do anything about it, his hand already on yours. His fingers gently wrap around yours in a tender grip, his thumb providing your bandaged finger extra attention while he lightly rubs it, a complex mix of excitement and fear coursing through his veins as he does so. How he allowed himself to get this close to you is something he isn't sure he wanted to know the answer to, the thrum in his chest drowning out any semblance of restraint or rational reasoning.

Pull away—that should be the obvious move, a natural response, he thinks. But he feels paralyzed, unable to possess control when the shiver of thrill is all he can feel.

You think you could die happy right now.

It feels like you've been waiting your whole life for something like this, and now that you're experiencing it, you can hardly believe it—like a long-suppressed hunger finally being satiated.

You've never been more grateful for a chair in your life, the chair that holds you in place when Nikolai's touch is enough to make your knees buckle. The way your heart is thumping feels almost surreal as if it might burst out of your chest at any moment amidst the dizzying sensation of his skin against yours. You can't bring yourself to look up at him—a timidity numbing you, along with the uncertainty of what he might be looking back at. His grip is strong yet gentle, applying light pressure with each soft stroke of his thumb against your finger that sends electric-like jolts of exhilaration to surge through you, making you want to reach for him, to pull him closer. Your fingers seem to move on their own, inching forward with a haste fueled by ripening desire. You can't help but want to touch him more—and that you do when your finger instinctively curls around his thumb while listening to the soft hitch in his breath, a sound that accelerates your heart rate even more.

You hadn't realized that you'd closed your eyes at some point to savor this heat being shared between the both of you and it's only when you open them again to meet his gaze that the reality of the moment becomes apparent and far too overwhelming—the distance that once separated you has all but evaporated. Your breaths are uneven, trembling on the cusp of anticipation as your lips quiver.

You see it in his eyes—a yearning so delicately veiled that it was hardly noticeable if you weren't looking close enough.

But with all good things, they come to an end. It's a reminder that moments like these are precarious, charged, and so fragile.

"Nikolai?" You tilt your head, confusion clouding your thoughts as you notice how he freezes like he's suddenly caught in a moment of clarity.

Your velvety voice pulls his attention and pulls him back into reality, causing him to realize the situation you both are in. "I'm sorry— I shouldn't have done that." He backs away and withdraws his hand in an instant as if burnt, the sudden absence of contact creating a chill where warmth once lingered.

Don't.

A pout forms on your lips from the release, your hand hopeless for touch as you try to reach for his hand again. "Don't be.. I- I liked it," your voice quavering, betraying your intent to avoid revealing your hidden desperation. But when he pulls his away, it feels like your heart plunges deep into your stomach. You always notice the subtle shifts in his behavior whenever you two have moments when you get close to or look at each other for a second too long as if he doesn't want the moment to prolong, fears it, lest it invite something bad to happen.

Don't leave.

"Nikolai.." you murmur and gently tug on the sleeve of his shirt, causing him to look at you again. The distress on his face is clear as day like he's teetering on the edge of something. You aren't sure what it is, but it startles you. Something bothers him, something doesn't allow him to enjoy these moments, and you fear that if you lose your hold on him now, he will disappear into nothing and only leave you with fading memories.

Don't leave me alone.

His eyes avert quickly. He gets up from his seat and starts cleaning up the table, putting everything away as if restoring order could dispel whatever tension lies between you.

"Nikolai, wait—"

"I'm going to bed soon," he curtly replies before you can finish, warning laced in his voice.

The air turns cold. Yet, you're still determined.

"If you're hurting, I want to make you feel better," you plead, heart aching to reach him someway, somehow, even though he's right beside you. But a dry knot instantly forms in your throat, a tight, anguished grip that makes each breath feel laborious when cold, mean eyes make a return—those same ones you encountered with your first meeting, ones that you haven’t seen since and had hoped were gone forever.

"You make me feel worse."

What?

You aren't sure if you heard him correctly, but with every ragged breath, it becomes clear to you that those words indeed came out of his mouth.

Each second that passed felt like an hour, agonizing and unforgiving.

You can't suppress the small gasp that escapes your lungs, struggling to stabilize your breath when his harsh words wound so deeply, pricking right where you didn't want them to—the tranquility of the moment quickly replaced by a painful reality. You feel unnaturally small and powerless with how you sink into the chair, the weight of his accusation settling over you like a suffocating blanket. It was like the air had been sucked from the room, and you wanted nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow you whole right now in its depths, sparing you from this unbearable heaviness.

The man in front of you feels like a stranger once again.

You knew that Nikolai wasn't exactly the warmest person or anything, but this felt direfully different, like nothing you would ever expect from him—his forwardness felt almost malicious. In an instant, his demeanor shifted, reverting into one as cold as ice. It feels like his warmth diminished in the snap of a finger, any softness replaced with sharp edges as if a mask slipped away to reveal a darker, deeper bitterness that's been hidden from you for who knows how long. The resentment in his voice sounded long-repressed and thick like he’d been waiting to say those words to you for a while.

Does he really think of you that way?

The thought was too tormenting for you to think about. You didn’t think he was capable of such sheer ruthlessness—you don't want to believe it.

Your chest tightens, and you're unable to speak or look at him anymore when a shameful yet painful sting prospers in your eyes. You can feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears, fear gripping you tighter than any physical embrace ever could at the thought of him holding you in such low regard until you're left with nothing but the sickening feeling of worthlessness. It feels like everything good, every joy gets torn away from you, leaving you only with this mortifying realization you've become disturbingly conditioned with, one that overwhelms you with nausea.

Your presence is not wanted.

Never before have you ever felt like more of a burden in your life.

But...

Nothing could hurt more.

I thought...

You don't say anything else, you don't find the words to respond with, because you can't.

What do you even respond to that with?

I thought we were friends.

Your lips part slightly, but nothing spills from your tongue, and your hand drops back down to your side, heavy and defeated, fingers trembling as they brush against the fabric of your jeans. Some strands of your hair fall over the side of your face, thankfully blocking your peripheral vision of the man you're not sure you knew as well as you thought you did. It feels shameful beyond belief—for someone to witness you like this. You don't want him to look at you, as much as you don't want to look at him.

How do you keep finding yourself here? Why is everything your fault?

Silence stretches between you, taut and unyielding, filled with everything you can't even begin to articulate—hurt, humiliation, confusion, a debilitating sense of loneliness that creeps in too quickly for comfort.

Oh, who are you kidding? How irrational to think that, for once, things might turn out differently. The fragile hope you'd built up always collapses inward. You should've expected no different from this. You don't know how many more times it'll take for you to finally realize.

Everyone eventually leaves anyway.

You're never good enough for anyone to stay, and you never will be.

Maybe you were wrong about Nikolai all along. Maybe you should've listened when you were warned not to speak to him the first time. Maybe you were naive to believe that he would even want to be your friend in the first place.

Maybe you should stop trusting everyone so blindly like the idiot you are.

It takes everything, with every ounce of strength fading away, to steady and gather yourself to rise from the chair and make your way toward the door. The distraught thoughts in your mind are too deafening, drowning out any background noise.

Nikolai thinks fear is an understatement.

He wishes he hadn't taken a fleeting glance when he watched you go, so he didn't have to see how you were purposefully hanging your head down to avoid his gaze, so he didn't have to see the hurt in your eyes that weirdly pierces him as well, more than he would ever admit. One look at your face was all he needed to realize he made a huge mistake. The words that had slipped from his lips unbidden were all but partially true, muttered under his breath without warning in a moment of raw frustration—a defensive reaction and a desperate attempt to rebel against these strange, blooming feelings in his chest, to reach light.

Everything falls silent for a moment.

Weak. He's so weak.

As soon as you leave his apartment, he hurriedly closes and locks the door so he won't catch a second glance at you—shutting out the sight of you that makes his heart flutter and hurt all at once. He already feels a familiar heat crawling up his spine with every breath he takes, sweat forming at the nape of his neck, the burn spreading through his skin as if his body was on fire. He wants to crawl out of the flesh that would soon, surely be melted under this unbearable hotness. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs, but nothing escapes him. His hands grip his hair and his eyes squeeze shut in frustration, the quivering of his lip becoming hard to ignore as he bites down hard on it, desperately trying to stifle a sob that was clawing its way up his throat to escape.

He can't begin to comprehend how you managed to pry your way into his life and touch his soul in ways he couldn't understand in such a short duration of time. It deeply terrifies him. Yet, it's not you that he fears. He's scared of how vulnerable and weak he's become, no, how he's always been. He's scared of how vulnerability naturally blossoms around you and the way he crumbles so easily from his own defenselessness. He's scared that your affection will ruin him, and worst of all, he's scared that, deep down, it doesn't bother him if it ends up doing so.

He's scared to fall again.

The scars from his past fall still ache, a painful reminder of everything he's been through. But everything about you is radiant—he can't help but find himself inching closer and closer to the mesmerizing flame that is your presence. He's tasted fire and hesitantly finds himself craving it more and more with each passing minute, no matter how badly the searing heat burns his tongue or until he gets burnt alive.

He's in real trouble.

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