#despite being small all the characters in the game are complex

[soluversworld]

MISTER x SHOUJO - Subaru Oogami x G.N Reader part 1!

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!

Words: 16000

Genre: G.N Reader (Fluff, Angst!)

Summary: You and Geo navigate an unconventional relationship built on misunderstanding, tension, and unexpected moments of connection. After a lie spirals out of control, rumors spread that Geo is your boyfriend, much to the confusion of everyone around you—including Geo himself. Despite his cold and hostile demeanor, Geo reluctantly agrees to play along, but only for his own peace and solitude.

Geo’s sharp, broody personality often leaves you feeling uncertain and overwhelmed. He doesn’t hesitate to criticize you, flick your forehead when you talk back, or scold you for minor mistakes. Yet, he also protects you, whether from prying classmates or persistent admirers, and even takes your hand to make a show of your “relationship” when his friends are watching.

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of

Tension-filled dynamics with elements of power imbalance and verbal hostility’s

Rumors and social pressures leading to feelings of alienation and discomfort.

Physical gestures of dominance (e.g., flicking foreheads, pinching).

Underlying themes of unresolved trauma and complex family dynamics

Solivan Brugmanisa

Violence, Blood

EXTRA: He’s a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, Been reading a lot of Shoujo mangas why not! Make Geo and reader in such a simple plot!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO SUBARU OOGAMI!! 15K SPECIAL FOR MY BOY

In the daytime, you’re Y/n Brugmansia.

Just a normal person living an ordinary life—or so everyone thinks. Because there’s something about you that no one knows yet.

You have a secret.

Your brother is a stalker.

Yes, your brother. Your blood, your family, the one person who’s supposed to have your back. Instead, he’s an emo, obsessive creep with a fixation that makes your skin crawl. The kind of guy who lurks in the shadows, watching, scheming.

But this isn’t just about him. No, your life was thrown into chaos the moment you set foot in that school.

The Hierarchy.

You weren’t supposed to be there. It was a place for the elite, for the kids whose families could pay their way to success. For you, though? It was your scholarship that got you in—a ticket earned with late nights and relentless effort. While others coasted on their wealth, you clawed your way up with sheer determination.

But this place? It doesn’t care about how hard you worked. They only value your worth—the kind that comes with a price tag. If you can’t keep up, you’ll be discarded, just like the others before you.

You’ve heard the stories.

Students who didn’t meet the school’s impossible standards, quietly shuffled to the “other building.” The one for failures. The ones who didn’t fit the image of perfection. A few were expelled altogether, their names erased from the records like they’d never existed.

The students here don’t like you either. You’re an outsider, after all. Not one of them. Surviving without being bullied or set up for things you didn’t do? That’s a challenge in itself. And every misstep feels like a calculated attempt to push you out.

Then there’s your brother.

You don’t live with him anymore—you couldn’t bear it. Not after what he’s become. He’s obsessed, twisted, a shell of the person you once knew. The kind of person who might even hurt you if it came down to it.

And yet, a small part of you wonders: does he care?

The thought of it makes you feel… something. Hope? Comfort? You’re not sure if it’s worth the cost.

But it’s not just him.

You still have Hyugo. Your childhood friend. And Subaru—though you hesitate to call him that anymore. You three used to be close, inseparable even. But that closeness shattered the day something happened.

Subaru changed.

He stopped talking to you, his warmth replaced with an icy indifference. The sweet, playful boy you knew became someone cold, sharp, and unrecognizable.

You don’t know if you’ll ever fix what’s broken.

And honestly, you’re not sure if this place will let you try.

It has been years since you seen him…

You’ve tried to explain it once.

The exhaustion, the loneliness, the way it eats away at you day by day. How studying and living alone isn’t glamorous or freeing—it’s a slow grind, a life that wears you down until you’re nothing but raw nerves and a hollowed-out shell.

But no one really gets it.

They see your grades, your hard-earned scholarship, and think you’ve got it all together. They don’t see the hours you spend hunched over textbooks, eyes burning under the dim glow of your desk lamp. They don’t see the pile of instant noodle cups next to your trash can because cooking is too much work when you’ve been running on fumes for days.

You’ve told yourself it’s fine. That it’s temporary. That sacrificing your health, your happiness, is just part of the process. But some nights, when the silence of your apartment becomes unbearable, you wonder if this is all life will ever be.

Unhealthy. Unhappy. Alone.

It wasn’t always like this. You remember what it was like to have a family. A real family. Before things fell apart. Before your brother became… well, him.

But now, it’s just you.

You wake up every morning in the same cramped room, surrounded by the same cheap furniture you’ve been dragging from one place to the next. You work hard. You study harder. But no matter how much effort you put in, it never feels like enough.

There’s always another exam to ace, another essay to write, another hurdle to jump over just to prove you belong.

Belong where, though?

This school? These people? The ones who sneer at you in the hallways and whisper behind your back? The ones who’ll never see you as one of them because you don’t come from money, because you don’t have their polished, picture-perfect lives?

You’re surviving on scraps. Scraps of energy, scraps of time, scraps of whatever you can salvage from the wreckage of your days. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to sit down and eat a proper meal. To relax without guilt clawing at the back of your mind.

Even sleep feels like a luxury now.

Some nights, you lie awake staring at the ceiling, your chest tight with thoughts you can’t shake off. You wonder what your life would be like if you weren’t so alone.

If you had someone—anyone—to share the burden with.

But then you remind yourself why you’ve done this. Why you left. Why you worked so hard to distance yourself from your brother, from everything he’s become.

You hated what he turned into.

The obsession, the darkness, the way he seemed to spiral further and further into madness with every passing day. You told yourself you couldn’t live like that. That you wouldn’t let him drag you down with him.

But even now, you can’t stop thinking about him.

Because no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, he’s still your brother. The same boy who used to pull you out of bad dreams and promise to protect you from everything scary in the world.

What changed? When did everything fall apart?

You hate him. You miss him. You hate that you miss him.

And then there’s Subaru.

Once upon a time, you thought you understood him. Thought the two of you were inseparable, that nothing could ever come between you.

But now, every interaction with him feels like walking on shards of glass. He’s distant, cold, like he doesn’t care anymore. Like you’re just another face in the crowd.

And maybe that’s what you are now.

Just another face, another name, another person struggling to stay afloat in a world that doesn’t care if you sink.

But even as these thoughts weigh on you, you refuse to give up.

Because giving up isn’t an option.

Not for you.

You’ve worked too hard, sacrificed too much to let it all go to waste now. Even if it means eating nothing but instant noodles for another month. Even if it means enduring the whispers and the stares, the isolation and the exhaustion.

You’ll keep going.

Because at the end of the day, this is all you have.

Your work. Your drive. The dream of something better waiting for you on the other side of all this.

And if you have to face it alone?

So be it.

You’ve been alone before. You’ll survive. You always do.

That day came.

The day when you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

You’d had enough. The isolation. The pressure. The constant fight to keep up with everything and everyone. It was suffocating, like you were being dragged under by a tide you couldn’t control. And in the midst of it all, there he was.

Hyugo.

You hadn’t seen him in so long, but there he was, standing before you on the crowded street, his gaze soft as he noticed you.

“Y/n… is that you?” His voice was gentle, as if he’d just stepped out of a dream.

You froze, your chest tightening. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to run, to pretend like everything was fine, but you couldn’t. Not anymore.

Before you even realized what was happening, the dam broke.

You nearly crumpled right in front of him. Your throat burned with the emotion you’d kept bottled up for so long—anger, sadness, frustration—and it all poured out at once. You didn’t want him to see you like this, to witness your weakness. But it was too late. The tears came anyway.

Hyugo must’ve seen the pain in your eyes, because without a word, he pulled you gently into a nearby cafe.

The warmth of the room felt almost suffocating, but the air was filled with the rich scent of coffee, a distraction from the storm inside you. You sat down across from him, your hands trembling as you gripped the coffee cup, trying to steady yourself.

Before you could say anything, Hyugo spoke, his voice calm but observant. “Your eyes… they’re almost like Sol’s.”

The mention of Sol’s name struck you like a lightning bolt, but instead of reacting, you clung to the cup harder. You didn’t want to hear his name. You didn’t want to think about him.

“I… I hate him,” you managed to choke out, voice breaking. “I hate what he’s become.”

Hyugo watched you carefully, as if weighing his next words, before asking softly, “What about your studies? How’s everything going?”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the question almost unbearable. You had been running from the truth for so long, but you couldn’t lie to him. Not anymore.

“It’s fine,” you said, though the words felt like they were scraping against your throat.

Hyugo didn’t believe you. You could see it in the way his brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing with concern. “No, it’s not. You almost broke the glass just holding that cup. Y/n, what’s going on?”

The words were like a trigger, and suddenly you couldn’t hold back. The tears spilled over as you let out a shaky breath. “They’re tormenting me, Hyugo. They blame me for things I didn’t do. They keep talking… rubbish, nonsense, and I just—I just want it to stop!” Your voice cracked with the weight of everything you’d been bottling up. “I wish they’d all just… die!”

The anger surged inside you, but it was swallowed by the crushing despair. You gripped the cup even harder, your knuckles white, trying to contain the flood of emotion that threatened to tear you apart.

“Why… why do you even support him? Why do you care about my brother? He’s insane, Hyugo! He’s delusional!” The words came out like a scream, as if you were pleading for him to understand. “Why do you support him like a… like a mother?! Why do you even put up with his bullshit?”

Hyugo’s face softened, and he leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “Even if he does… things… even if he’s lost himself, I still care about him. And you, Y/n. I care about you, too.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at him, your chest tight, unable to comprehend what he was saying.

“I need to go,” you muttered, standing abruptly from the table, your chair screeching against the floor. Hyugo looked at you with concern, his hand twitching as if to stop you, but he didn’t.

“Go where?” he asked, his voice steady but questioning.

“Home,” you replied, your tone clipped. “The goons… they’ll be waiting. Around 7 p.m., maybe earlier if I’m unlucky. I need to escape before they find me. I can’t—” Your words were sharp, urgent, spilling out faster than you intended.

Hyugo’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Y/n, you can’t keep running like this.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. There was no point in explaining further. You grabbed your bag and left the cafe without another word, your mind racing as you hurried down the street. The world outside was darker than you expected, the evening chill cutting through your jacket as you quickened your pace.

Every shadow felt alive, every movement in your peripheral vision like a threat waiting to pounce.

The next day came like a blur.

You didn’t get much sleep—if any at all—but you forced yourself to get up and go to class. As you walked into the building, something felt… off. The air was heavier, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You pushed open the classroom door, and that’s when you noticed it.

Everyone was looking at you.

Not the usual stares of indifference or mild disdain. These looks were different—wide eyes, hushed whispers, the faint rustle of papers as students leaned toward each other to mutter under their breath.

Disgusted. Scared.

The rich kids, the goons who never paid you any mind, suddenly couldn’t seem to look away. Their sneers were gone, replaced by something that almost resembled unease.

You froze for a moment, the weight of their gazes pressing down on you like a physical force. Then, forcing yourself to keep moving, you headed toward your usual seat at the back of the class.

The kid who usually sat there, slouched and half-asleep, glanced at you briefly before muttering something under his breath and moving to another seat.

Fine. You didn’t care.

You sat down, pulling out your books and pretending to read. But you could feel it—their eyes on you. Every single one of them.

Your throat tightened as you flipped through the pages, the words blurring together into meaningless lines. You couldn’t focus. You couldn’t think.

What the hell was going on?

You stayed quiet, trying to shrink into yourself, but it didn’t help. The whispers grew louder, the stares more pointed. Some students didn’t even bother to hide it, their eyes burning holes into you as if you were something they couldn’t comprehend.

It didn’t make sense. Yesterday, they hated you because you were poor, because you didn’t belong here. But now?

Now, they looked at you like you were something to be afraid of.

You gripped the edge of your desk, your knuckles turning white as you fought the urge to scream. To demand an explanation. To tell them to stop.

But you didn’t.

You sat there in silence, the noise around you growing louder and louder until it was all you could hear.

And you didn’t u

The tension in the room reached its peak when the teacher walked in. You were too distracted by the whispers, the stares, and the suffocating atmosphere to notice her at first. But her sudden gasp caught your attention.

She froze, staring at you as if she’d seen a ghost. Her face paled, and for a moment, she didn’t speak, her lips parting and closing as though she was struggling to find words.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “They didn’t inform you?”

You blinked, confused. “Inform me about what?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she moved quickly toward you, grabbing your arm—not harshly, but urgently. Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled you out of your seat. “Come with me. Now.”

The whispers grew louder as she dragged you through the room, her pace brisk, her movements almost frantic. You looked back at the other students, their eyes glued to you, their hushed voices cutting through the silence like knives.

And then you heard it.

“…their brother hurt them so much…”

Your breath hitched. Your brother? What were they talking about?

“What do you mean?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “What’s going on?”

But the teacher didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at you as she led you through the hallway, her grip on your arm tightening.

Your heart raced. The whispers, the stares, the fear—it all felt like it was closing in on you.

She stopped abruptly in front of the principal’s office, knocking quickly before opening the door and ushering you inside.

The principal was seated at his desk, his face pale, his hands clasped together tightly as if trying to steady himself. When he saw you, his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of fear crossing his features before he masked it with a forced calm.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of him.

You sat down, your mind racing, your hands trembling slightly as you gripped the edges of the chair.

The principal took a deep breath, leaning forward slightly. “Y/n… have you been having trouble with goons recently?”

You blinked, startled by the question. “Yes,” you replied cautiously. “But… what does that have to do with anything? What’s going on?”

The principal hesitated, his gaze darting to the teacher, who stood by the door, wringing her hands nervously. He looked back at you, his voice low, almost trembling.

“If you knew someone with… powerful connections, you should have told us. Things like this could’ve been avoided.”

“What things?” you snapped, frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface. “What happened?”

The principal’s eyes widened slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of his desk.

“You don’t know?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No!” you shouted, your voice cracking. “I don’t know anything! What is going on?”

He stared at you, his expression a mix of fear and disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend how you were so unaware of whatever had happened.

The principal’s voice was sharp, accusatory, as if every word he spat at you was a bullet meant to tear you down.

“That family’s worker—their enforcer or bodyguard, whatever they are—beat up the goons who were after you. The students too, the ones who even stood nearby! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Your breath hitched. “What—what did I do?”

“What did you do?!” he repeated, his face twisting with rage. “You ruined their lives, that’s what! Those students? Their limbs are broken, their reputations in tatters! Why didn’t you just keep quiet?!”

“I didn’t—” you stammered, your voice shaking. “I didn’t do anything! I didn’t ask for—”

“Quiet!” he roared, slamming his hand on the desk, making you flinch. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused? The parents of those students—they’ve stopped funding the school! Their kids are worth more than you will ever be!”

The words stung, each one sharper than the last, but your mind was too clouded to process them fully. The room felt like it was spinning, your heart pounding in your chest as his words echoed around you.

“Those broken limbs…” he continued, his voice lower now, dripping with venom. “Someone from that family family—took it upon themselves to send a message. You should have kept your head down. Instead, this happened.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Broken limbs.

You didn’t need to hear more. Your mind raced, and for a moment, everything around you faded into the background.

The image came to you unbidden.

The night before. The goons—waiting in the alleyways, lurking in the shadows. And then… him.

A man, cloaked in a dark hoodie, his face obscured by a mask but his presence unmistakable. His crimson eyes gleamed like blood in the dim light, his black hair catching the faint glow of the streetlamps.

The goons, cocky and loud, sneered at him.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of them snarled, stepping forward.

The man didn’t answer. He simply tilted his head slightly, his crimson gaze locking onto the speaker.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” the goon barked, stepping closer, his hand reaching for the weapon at his side.

That’s when one of them recognized him.

“Wait… isn’t that—”

But it was too late.

The man moved with inhuman speed, his strikes precise and brutal. The first goon went down before he even had a chance to react, his weapon clattering to the ground as he crumpled, clutching his shattered arm.

The others charged at him, shouting obscenities, but it was futile. The man was a whirlwind of destruction, his movements fluid and calculated. Each punch, each kick, was delivered with devastating accuracy, bones cracking under his blows.

It wasn’t a fight—it was a massacre.

And when it was over, the goons lay sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles.

The man stood over them, his breathing steady, his crimson eyes cold and unfeeling. Without a word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind only chaos and broken bodies.

Your stomach twisted as the scene played out in your mind.

It wasn’t the family’s worker.

It was him.

Your brother.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you stared at the principal, who was still fuming, his voice rising once again.

“And now—now you’re telling me you didn’t know? You didn’t think this would happen?! You’re a liability! We can’t have you here anymore. You’re being moved to the other building—”

“What?!” you cut him off, your voice rising with panic. “No! I worked hard to get here! You can’t just—”

“I can and I will!” he snapped, slamming his hand on the desk again. “If you’d kept your mouth shut, none of this would’ve happened. But no, you just had to—”

“Had to what?” you interrupted, your voice cold now, cutting through his tirade. “Had to exist? Had to study hard and not depend on anyone? Is that it?”

The principal glared at you, his face twisted with frustration and fear.

“You should’ve been quiet!” he spat, his voice trembling with anger. “Because of you, because of your connections, those students—those valuable students—are ruined! Their parents have pulled their funding! They’re worth more to this school than your… your—”

“Garbage,” you said, cutting him off again, your voice steady and ice-cold. “No matter how much garbage you collect, it’s still garbage. Just like those idiots who got beat up.”

The principal’s face turned an alarming shade of red, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled for a response. But you didn’t wait for him to find his words.

The principal’s voice boomed, his face a mix of frustration and fear.

“You’re expelled from this building! Effective immediately, you’ll be transferred to the other one!”

You blinked, the words hanging in the air. For a second, your chest tightened, and you almost felt like crying—but then, inexplicably, a smile stretched across your lips. It wasn’t happiness, not really. It was a strange mix of bitterness, relief, and vindication, all bundled into one small, defiant smirk.

“Maybe this isn’t the place for me,” you said softly, your voice steady but laced with a subtle edge. “Maybe it never was.”

The principal’s face turned red with rage, but you didn’t stick around to hear whatever rant he had brewing. You turned on your heel and walked out of the office, your head held high.

Whispers erupted around you the moment you stepped into the hallway. You didn’t bother looking at the students lining the lockers, their wide eyes and hushed voices buzzing like bees in your ears. You were done with their judgment. Done with their stares. Done with this.

Two days. That was how long you had before your official transfer to the other building.

Your locker greeted you with its usual dull metallic clang as you opened it, shoving your books into your bag with slow, deliberate movements. The weight of your situation pressed down on you, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely powerless.

Why?

Your mind flashed back to the incident—the broken limbs, the terrified whispers, the way the principal’s voice shook when he accused you of “ruining” those students’ lives. It wasn’t fear that gave you confidence. No. It was something else.

Was it him?

The thought of your brother filled you with conflicting emotions. Rage. Confusion. Maybe even the faintest trace of… gratitude?

You laughed quietly to yourself, the sound sharp and bitter. “Why the hell would that idiot’s actions make me feel safe?” you muttered, slamming your locker shut.

Still, deep down, you knew the truth. For all his faults—and there were plenty—he had your back.

Later that evening, you returned to your tiny apartment, hoping for a moment of peace to sort through your chaotic thoughts. But instead, you found your belongings scattered across the pavement outside.

“What the hell…?”

Your landlord stood in the doorway, arms crossed and glaring at you with pure disdain.

“You’re out,” he said bluntly.

“What?!” you snapped, storming up to him. “What are you talking about? I’ve always paid my rent on time—”

“Don’t care!” he barked, stepping forward and shoving you back before you could argue further. “You and your connections aren’t welcome here anymore. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble?!” Your voice cracked with anger and disbelief. “What trouble?! I don’t even have connections!”

But he slammed the door in your face, leaving you standing there, stunned and furious.

You stared at your scattered belongings, your chest heaving with frustration. The weight of everything—the expulsion, the stares, the whispers, and now this—felt like it was crushing you. Your vision blurred as tears threatened to spill, but you refused to let them fall.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You looked up to see Hyugo and Sol standing a few feet away.

Hyugo looked at you with an apologetic frown, his hands shoved into his pockets. Sol, on the other hand, was a mess. His hoodie was torn, his knuckles were bandaged, and bruises bloomed across his face. His crimson eyes were sharp and piercing, but there was something in them—something tired.

“Hyugo,” you muttered, your voice shaking.

Hyugo crouched down beside you, his expression soft and filled with regret. “I didn’t think it would go this far. I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, your emotions swirling. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For helping with the goons.”

Hyugo shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Thank Sol.”

Your gaze flicked to your brother, who stood silently, his crimson eyes boring into you.

“There’s no need for thanks,” Sol said, his voice flat and cold.

You didn’t know what to say.

But before you could think of a response, Sol broke the silence. “You have nowhere to go now.”

Your stomach dropped.

“So move in with me,” he said.

You blinked, stunned. “What? No! Absolutely not!”

Sol raised an eyebrow, his expression completely unimpressed. “You don’t really have a choice.”

“I do have a choice,” you snapped, standing up to face him. “And I’d rather be homeless than live with you!”

Sol didn’t respond. He simply crouched down and started gathering your belongings, completely ignoring your protests.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” you demanded, panic rising in your voice.

“Taking your things home,” he said calmly, not even looking at you.

“Home?!”

“Yes. Home. My apartment. Two rooms. Small but functional.”

You clenched your fists, your frustration bubbling over. “I don’t need your help!”

“Too bad,” he replied bluntly, standing up with your bag slung over his shoulder.

You glared at him, your voice trembling with anger. “I don’t even have anything worth taking! Just clothes and—”

“And cheap junk?” Sol cut in, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly.

Your face burned with embarrassment as you looked away. “Don’t judge me. I’m broke.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then, to your surprise, his voice softened—just barely.

“I’m not judging you,” he said, his tone unreadable.

You stared at him, taken aback. Sol was always cold, distant, impossible to read. But now, for the first time, you saw something in his eyes—something faint and fleeting, but undeniably there.

Understanding.

You threw your hands in the air, frustration bubbling over as you glared at Sol. “What the hell even are you?!” Your voice cracked, half from anger, half from the strain of everything that had happened. “I’ll never talk to you again. Not after this. Not after—whatever the fuck this is!”

Sol stood still, his crimson eyes fixed on you. For a moment, you thought he might lash out or bark back, but instead, his gaze softened.

“I regret a lot of things in life,” he said quietly, his voice steady but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “But this… what I am, what I’ve done—it is what it is.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. There was no malice in his tone, no defiance. Just a quiet, resigned sadness.

Sol turned his gaze to the ground, his expression distant. “After this year, you can move out. You don’t have to stay with me any longer than that. This is just for now—for you to stay safe. It’s the least I can do.”

His words hung in the air like a weight you couldn’t shake.

“And after that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at you, his crimson eyes duller than you’d ever seen them. “After that,” he said softly, “I’ll disappear. I’ll stay in the shadows, far away from you. You can hate me all you want. I’ll carry that, too.”

For a moment, you were frozen. You wanted to scream, to demand answers, to break down and cry all at once—but you didn’t.

Instead, you stood there, silent and broken, unable to find the words.

It took time—time you didn’t want to admit you needed—but eventually, you moved in with him.

The apartment was small, just like Sol had said. Two rooms, clean, minimalistic. It was nothing like the chaotic mess of your old place, where everything was a constant reminder of your struggles. Here, it felt… oddly peaceful.

Sol didn’t talk much, and you didn’t ask questions. It was easier that way. The tension between you was always there, simmering under the surface, but he never pushed.

What surprised you the most, though, was how much he did for you.

Every morning, without fail, there was a freshly prepared bento waiting on the kitchen counter. Carefully packed rice, vegetables, protein—a far cry from the instant noodles and junk food you’d lived on before.

At first, you wanted to refuse, to push it all away out of spite. But your stomach betrayed you, and after the first bite, you couldn’t stop. It was so much better than anything you’d had in ages.

You hated how much you appreciated it.

Still, you didn’t say thank you. You couldn’t.

Life slowly began to find its rhythm. The new building accepted you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could study without constant fear or harassment. The weight of the goons, the whispers, and the stares had lifted.

You focused on your classes, determined to finish your degree and leave everything behind.

Sol stayed out of your way for the most part, true to his word. He didn’t ask about your day or pry into your life. He just… existed in the background. A quiet presence that you couldn’t quite ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

One evening, as you sat at the small dining table, absently picking at your food, you overheard something that caught you off guard.

It was a phone call—Sol’s voice, low and muffled through the thin walls of the apartment.

“She’s fine,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft. “No, I don’t need anything. Just take care of yourself, alright?”

You froze, your chopsticks hovering mid-air.

A few minutes later, Sol walked out of his room, his expression unreadable as always.

“You…” You hesitated, unsure if you even wanted to know. “You’ve been seeing someone?”

He stopped, blinking at you in surprise. For the first time in a while, you caught a glimpse of something almost human in his crimson eyes—something vulnerable.

“It’s not important,” he said curtly, brushing past you and heading to the kitchen.

You didn’t press. If he wanted to keep his secrets, that was fine. It wasn’t your business anyway.

You still weren’t sure how you felt about living with Sol. Sometimes, the weight of his presence was suffocating. Other times, it was strangely comforting.

What you did know was that, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

The new building was peaceful. Your studies were going well. And for all the chaos and pain that had led you here, you were starting to believe that maybe—just maybe—you could finish your degree and move on with your life.

For now, that was enough.

The students, for the most part, weren’t as cruel as those from the first one. There were no constant whispers or mocking glances. No one actively sought to tear you down. In fact, for the first time in a while, you felt like you were fitting in.

It didn’t hurt that you made a couple of friends, too.

Crowe, a student council member, was probably the most surprising of them all. At first, you thought he was just another stuck-up overachiever, someone who only cared about his grades and keeping up appearances. But to your shock, Crowe was kind, understanding, and remarkably down-to-earth. He made an effort to include you in group activities, always looking out for you when you felt like you were on the edge.

Then there was Brittney, a gyaru girl with blonde hair and a look that screamed “don’t mess with me” in the best way possible. You’d seen her walking around with her friends, looking like she owned the world, but once you got to know her, she was actually one of the nicest people you’d met in a long time.

Life wasn’t perfect, but it was better. You could breathe easier here.

Until, of course, some shitheads from the other building decided to ruin it all.

You had heard the rumors. The students from the first building still had their eyes on you, and not in a good way. They’d been whispering behind your back, mocking you, probably spreading lies about you. You’d thought you could leave all that behind when you transferred, but it seemed that the hatred for your last name followed you wherever you went.

One afternoon, while you were walking to class, a group of them cornered you in the hallway. They wore smug smiles, leaning in closer as you tried to brush past them.

“Well, well, if it isn’t her,” one of them sneered, a girl with jet-black hair and a silver stud in her nose. “How’s life in the new building? Not as glamorous as you thought, huh?”

You kept your head down, walking faster, but they followed you.

Another student, a lanky guy with glasses, laughed loudly. “What’s the matter? Afraid to talk to us? Or are you just embarrassed to be here?”

The insults kept coming, each one cutting deeper than the last.

You could feel your patience slipping away. They thought they had power over you. They thought they could just keep pushing you around because of your name, your past, your connection to your brother.

But no more.

You turned to face them, your voice low and controlled but full of authority. “Enough,” you snapped, eyes flashing with a fire that even you hadn’t realized was there.

One of the girls laughed, clearly trying to push your buttons. “What’s the matter, princess? Can’t handle the truth?”

You stood up straighter, meeting her gaze with cold, unflinching eyes. “You want to know the truth?” you said, your voice dripping with disdain. “My boyfriend won’t tolerate this. He’s not going to let you get away with this. He’s already made it clear he doesn’t like people messing with me.”

The group of them paused for a moment, clearly surprised by your sudden shift in demeanor. Then, one of the guys—a taller, muscular dude with a tattoo on his neck—sneered at you. “Oh, you’ve got a boyfriend? Who would want someone like you?”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you gave them a sharp smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “He’s busy. But if you really want to meet him, I can show you a picture.”

The group of them exchanged glances, clearly amused by the idea that someone like you could have a boyfriend.

“Well, then,” the girl with the silver nose stud said with a smirk, “show us. I dare you.”

You kept your gaze steady, knowing exactly what you were doing. You pulled out your phone, holding it up in front of you like a weapon. “Fine. Two days,” you said, your voice cool and confident. “I’ll show you a picture. You’ve got two days to get off my back, or I’ll make sure he pays a visit here. You won’t like it if you push him too far.”

The group laughed, thinking it was all a joke, but you could see the doubt creeping into their eyes. They hadn’t expected you to fight back.

“Alright, we’ll give you two days,” the guy said, clearly eager to get away. “But don’t try to back out. We’ll be expecting that photo.”

With that, they all dispersed, leaving you standing in the hallway, your heart racing but your face betraying no emotion.

You let out a sigh, leaning against the wall. You hadn’t expected to be so forceful, but it felt good to finally stand up for yourself. Even if it was a lie.

But now, you had a problem. You didn’t have a boyfriend. And if you didn’t show them a photo in two days, they’d be all over you like a swarm of angry bees.

You cursed under your breath, pulling your phone back into your pocket. What had you gotten yourself into?

You sat in the back of the classroom the next day, trying to focus on the lecture, but your mind was elsewhere. You could feel the eyes of the other students on you, some out of curiosity, others out of contempt. It was no different than before—except now, it wasn’t just because of your last name.

You were being mocked,

You tried to ignore the whispers, you glanced over at Crowe, who was sitting a few seats away, scribbling notes in his notebook. Brittney was next to him, chatting quietly with some other students, her usual carefree attitude making you feel slightly more at ease.

But the peace didn’t last long. The students who had mocked you the day before were back at it, making sure to keep their voices loud enough for you to hear.

You tried to block them out, but it was impossible.

And then, a strange thing happened.

Brittney turned to you, her face unreadable. “Don’t let them get to you,” she whispered, her eyes serious. “You’re not alone.”

It felt like a small comfort, and for the first time, you felt like maybe you could make it through this.

Two days.

You could figure something out in two days. You had to.

The door clicked shut behind you, the familiar sound echoing through the small apartment. You sighed, your shoulders sinking in relief, glad to be home after another exhausting day of pretending everything was fine.

But, of course, it wasn’t.

Sol was already there when you walked in, sitting on the couch with his phone in his hands. His voice was light, like he was chatting with someone and clearly enjoying himself. It was almost sickening, how happy he sounded.

You stared at him for a moment, your gaze narrowing. What was it that had him so cheerful today? You’d never seen him like this, not even when he got good grades or when he finally kicked his bad habits. He wasn’t even looking at you; his attention was fixed entirely on the screen, his voice soft and relaxed.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual as you dropped your bag by the door, “who are you talking to?”

He glanced up at you, his smile widening just a little, before turning his attention back to the phone. “Oh, just my lover,” he said with a weirdly creepy grin plastered on his face.

Your eyebrows shot up. Lover? What the hell? He was still going on about it, his voice practically dripping with giddiness. He’s like a puppy “I can’t get enough of them. we’re meant to be together.”

You froze, your eyes going wide. What the actual fuck? He wasn’t just casually talking to someone—he was head over heels. And you had to sit there and listen to it? You couldn’t believe it.

Meanwhile, you had been completely oblivious. All this time, you’d been drowning in your studies and dealing with the goons and everything else that kept you on edge. You hadn’t even thought about relationships, hadn’t even considered love as part of your life. It was just… forgotten. You had nothing.

And now, Sol—Sol—had someone.

A sick feeling twisted in your stomach, and you couldn’t hold back the bitterness that bubbled up. You stared at him like he was the world’s biggest idiot, feeling your jaw clench. What the hell was wrong with you?

You didn’t even know why it stung so much. Maybe it was because you had never realized how important love was until now. Maybe it was because, for once, you wanted to experience that kind of happiness, that kind of connection with someone. Maybe it was because the one person who you thought was stuck in the same mess as you was already way ahead of you.

Shit.

“How was your day?” Sol asked, his voice almost too soft as he glanced up from his phone for a moment.

For a split second, you wanted to tell him everything, to unload your frustrations, your anger at the goons, the way they tormented you, how you were faking everything just to get through the day. You could have told him about the lies, about how you had to lie about having a boyfriend to shut them up. You could have shared all of it.

But no.

You couldn’t let him know. You wouldn’t. Not after seeing how genuinely happy he was. You couldn’t let your mess affect his life.

So you smiled, fake as it was, and answered. “I spent time with my boyfriend.”

Sol blinked, looking confused for a second. He raised an eyebrow. “Your boyfriend?”

You instantly regretted saying it. You weren’t sure why you said it, but you couldn’t take it back now. “Yeah,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “My boyfriend. I just… I spent time with him. That’s it.”

There was a beat of silence as Sol stared at you. His eyes seemed darker now, suspicious even. You could see the gears turning in his mind. “Wait, what?” He put his phone down slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Who is this guy? How long have you been together?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Why was he asking so many questions? Why did it matter to him?

You felt your pride kick in. You had to keep up the act. You had to show him that you weren’t some loser, stuck in a miserable existence. “It’s none of your business, Sol,” you snapped, irritation creeping into your voice. “Just drop it.”

But he wasn’t letting it go. He tilted his head slightly, eyes still locked on you with an intensity you hadn’t seen before. “I’m just trying to be a good brother here,” he said quietly, but the words were heavy. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying!” you shot back, then immediately regretted it. Your words came out too sharp, too defensive.

He sighed, rubbing his temples, clearly frustrated. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything. But if you need someone to talk to—”

“No!” you cut him off, more forcefully this time. “Just… just leave me alone, alright?”

Sol blinked at you, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you thought you saw something soft in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just nodded slowly before picking up his phone again, his voice more distant than before. “Fine. then.”

You shot him a glare, already heading toward your room. “Whatever.”

But as you reached the door, he called out to you again. “Hey.”

You didn’t turn around.

“I know you think you have to keep things from me,” he said quietly. “But I’m still your brother, okay? Even if you hate me.”

You didn’t respond, just stepped into your room and slammed the door behind you.

But as the silence settled, your mind wandered back to the lie you told. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, about the emptiness that still lingered in your chest. Your life had become so focused on surviving, on studying, on dealing with the shit that kept piling on top of you, that you forgot about the things that truly mattered.

You’d built walls so high around yourself that even the smallest glimpse of happiness felt out of reach.

You sat down on the bed, head in your hands, overwhelmed by it all. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just be normal?

The night passed quietly, the silence of the apartment settling heavily around you as you drifted to sleep. Your thoughts were a swirling mess of frustration, loneliness, and regret. You tossed and turned, unable to quiet the storm in your head.

The scene shifted.

At the same time, across town, the conversation was unfolding in a cozy corner of a cafe where you wouldn’t be, but where the people you’d come to know were. The three of them sat together, sipping their drinks, their chatter light despite the weighty topics that had been hanging around you.

Brittney, Jess, and Crowe were in the midst of a rare quiet moment, their usual teasing and laughter taking a backseat to something more serious.

“I just don’t get it,” Crowe was saying, his voice low, almost like he was trying to make sense of something he couldn’t fully comprehend. “You know, they’ve been through so much. It’s like… their whole life’s been one disaster after another.”

Jess nodded, her face thoughtful. “I feel it too,” she said softly, her voice tinged with empathy. “They’re like a walking storm cloud, always pushing people away without meaning to. It’s hard to watch someone live like that.”

Brittney, who had always been more outspoken, tilted her head, frowning. “They’re just so… nice, y’know? They’re really relatable in a way. Like, it’s easy to see why they’ve been through so much. But they hide it so well. I respect that.”

Crowe smiled at Brittney’s words, his gaze softening. “You’ve made a new friend, huh?” he teased, leaning back in his chair.

Brittney shot him an unimpressed look, her eyes rolling. “Don’t act like it’s hard for me to make friends, Crowe. I’m not that bad,” she said, a half-smirk on her face.

Jess chuckled at the playful exchange but then grew serious again. “But, seriously, you guys think they’ll ever fit in here? I mean, meeting Deryl is one thing, but how will Geo feel about them joining the group? You know how he is with… new people.”

Crowe’s expression hardened slightly, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Geo’s a problem. If they can’t handle him, this whole thing’s gonna blow up. But… I think he’d accept them, eventually. I hope.”

Brittney leaned back, her lips curling slightly as she pondered the idea. “Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t scare them off,” she muttered. “Because with the way they’ve been acting, I don’t think they’re in the mood for more drama.”

There was a heavy silence between them, the weight of the conversation pressing down on all of them. They had seen glimpses of the life you led—your struggles, your isolation, and the way you tried to hide it behind a wall of sarcasm and forced smiles. And despite their differences, despite their own challenges, they understood you in a way most didn’t.

And just as the silence grew uncomfortable, Crowe broke it again, his voice quieter this time, a little more thoughtful. “We’ll see. I think, in their own way, they’re starting to open up. But… we all need to be patient with them.”

They all exchanged glances, unsure of where this new chapter would lead. Would you really fit in with them, or would the weight of your past hold you back from finally connecting with people who genuinely wanted to be your friends?

Only time would tell.

You woke up on Sunday feeling oddly restless, your thoughts swirling. You needed to do something about that “boyfriend” situation. You could ask Hyugo for help, but a tiny voice in your head told you that would be a huge mistake. You didn’t need his involvement—not now. What you really needed was someone like Sol, someone intimidating and powerful who could send a message. Someone who made others back off without lifting a finger. But finding someone like that wasn’t going to be easy.

You walked, your mind raced through all the possibilities. Could you find someone who matched that terrifying energy? Who could fill the role without looking like a total joke?

Suddenly, a murmur caught your attention. A group of girls were talking excitedly, their words a mixture of awe and admiration. You glanced in their direction, curiosity piqued, and your gaze fell upon the source of their chatter.

There, walking casually down the street, was a man who commanded attention. His pale complexion stood out against the dull backdrop of the city, his aquamarine eyes seemingly piercing through everything in his path. His lips were fuller than usual, giving him a strikingly handsome appearance. But it wasn’t just his looks that made him stand out—it was the energy he exuded. Something about him screamed power, something that made you feel a strange flutter in your chest.

He had dark bluish-purple hair, the type that could easily be called stylish but still slightly intimidating with its bowl-cut shape. His low ponytail was tied neatly, as though he didn’t even need to try. His clothing matched his entire vibe: a dark, bluish-purple hoodie with a white turtleneck peeking out, paired with black ripped jeans that added an edge to his appearance. And the accessories—those long, rectangular block earrings in teal and white, not to mention the septum piercing—made him look like someone who didn’t care what anyone thought.

He was, in a word, perfect. He looked like the kind of guy who would make a fantastic, terrifying boyfriend. You could feel the pull, the certainty that he would be just as frightening as Sol. You took a step forward, feeling that strange urge to get closer to him, to make him yours somehow.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, your heart racing slightly. This was it. You didn’t need to talk to him, you just needed a photo, something to show the goons who had mocked you. Something to prove you had a boyfriend—someone they’d never dare question. You lined up the shot, focusing on his face, waiting for the perfect moment.

And just as you were about to snap the photo, you saw him look up. His gaze locked on yours. Time seemed to freeze for a second.

“Did you take my photo?” he asked, his voice cold, his expression unreadable.

Your heart nearly stopped. His tone was sharp, almost predatory. The way he asked it… it wasn’t just a simple question—it was a warning. His cold stare sent a shiver down your spine.

Oh no. You felt your face flush, and before you could react, he looked away. But then, just as quickly, his eyes returned to you, piercing through you with a chilling gaze.

“Did you take my photo?” he repeated, the question more threatening now.

Your mind went blank. You were trapped. You realized, in that moment, that you’d made a huge mistake. You’d done the exact thing your brother would’ve done. You’d stalked someone. You’d taken their picture without permission, without any regard for boundaries. You’d become that person—the one who couldn’t control their obsession.

Your body froze as the realization hit. “Congrats,” you thought bitterly to yourself, “You’ve just become like your brother. It’s a crime, you idiot.”

Panicking, your hands shook. The girls who’d been chatting earlier noticed the scene and started laughing. “Aww, look at there, an idiot!” one of them teased, her voice ringing out like a bell. The sting of their mockery made you want to disappear.

Your heart pounded. What had you done? This guy was terrifying. He was exactly the kind of person who could ruin your life with a single word. You stood there, paralyzed, as he looked at you with disdain, clearly not impressed by your actions.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his eyes narrowing at you. It felt like time was moving in slow motion. He took a single step toward you, and you couldn’t stand it anymore. You turned on your heel and bolted, running as fast as you could, your heart in your throat.

Your mind was a whirlwind. What the hell had just happened? You had crossed a line, and you knew it. The anxiety in your chest grew heavier with each step you took, and it wasn’t just because you had taken his photo—it was because, in some messed-up way, you kind of wanted him to catch you. But now you were scared of what might happen next.

You kept running, never looking back, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just made a terrifying mistake.

You slowed down, your feet dragging slightly as you tried to catch your breath. The adrenaline was wearing off, but your mind was still racing. You pulled your phone from your pocket, your fingers trembling as you looked at the picture you’d taken of him. The shot was perfect. He looked so intense, like a figure from your twisted fantasies. Your heart was pounding, but there was a strange sense of satisfaction building within you.

Your life won’t be hell anymore. The thought rang in your mind, though you weren’t entirely sure if you believed it. Was this really the answer? You’d gone this far, taken this huge leap, and now you couldn’t back down. You had something on them, something that would protect you, wouldn’t it?

But as you walked, you heard the unmistakable voices of the goons. You froze, the panic starting to rise again. There was no escape. No more hiding. They had found you.

“Hey,” one of the guys sneered, his eyes locking onto you. “What’s that you got there?”

You didn’t even get a chance to react before the other guy grabbed your phone from your hand, swiping it with ease. You tried to fight back, but they were too fast, too strong. Your pulse quickened, your breath shallow.

“What is this?” The first goon asked as he stared at the screen. He glanced at the picture you’d taken. “Looks like someone we know…”

The tension in the air thickened, and before you could do anything, they grabbed you. One of the goons sneered down at you. “You’ve really crossed the line this time, haven’t you?”

A rush of cold terror washed over you, and before you could get a word out, a fist collided with your face. The world spun as you crumpled to the ground, everything going black for a moment. A sharp pain shot through your skull as your vision blurred.

But then, you heard something. Voices. A scuffle. Another punch. And then, to your surprise, two men came into view, swinging at the goons who had been tormenting you. The sound of fists hitting flesh was almost deafening, but you barely registered it. Your head was still spinning from the punch. One of the goons was knocked to the side, groaning. The other barely managed to stand before another punch sent him to the ground.

The man who had delivered the blows stood tall, a dark presence looming over you. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw his face. You blinked through the fog in your vision, trying to make sense of what was happening. The man who had just taken down the goons looked familiar, his features hauntingly similar to the guy you’d just photographed.

Your breath hitched. The connection was clear now. This was him.

You had taken a picture of his face. You had made a move, and now, here he was, standing over you like some kind of dark savior, though it didn’t feel like you were in safe hands at all.

A voice cut through the haze. It was the other man— you thought his name was—asking the man if you were okay. The other voice was tentative, almost kind, though there was a nervous laugh in it.

“Don’t touch ‘em,” Geo" muttered, his voice cold and detached, though there was something else there too. “Why even bother with someone like them?”

You blinked, struggling to stay conscious. Your vision blurred again as your body betrayed you, and you nearly passed out. But not before you heard Deryl’s voice again, this time more insistent.

“Buddy,” Deryl said, trying to lighten the mood. “You should help people in need. Even if they photographed you.”

Geo shot him a look, his eyes deadly serious, but there was a flicker of something—something darker—in them when he looked down at you. His gaze was hard, calculating. It was like he was piecing something together in his mind. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke.

“I’m not touching them,” he muttered again, but it was clear that wasn’t the case anymore. He was trying to pretend he didn’t care, but his eyes told a different story.

You could barely focus, your eyelids growing heavier as your body refused to stay awake. Geo’s voice cut through the fog once more, and you caught a few words before everything went blank.

“Deryl, you carry them. I’m not touching that.”

Deryl adjusted his grip on you as he walked, muttering softly to himself. “Man, you’re heavier than you look…” He chuckled nervously, more to ease his own discomfort than to make a joke. You were completely unconscious, head lolling slightly, and he glanced back at Geo, who followed a few steps behind with his usual brooding expression.

Geo’s aquamarine eyes lingered on your face, his sharp gaze narrowing. Something about the way you looked stirred a memory, one he wasn’t prepared to confront. His steps faltered for just a moment before he hissed, “Wait.”

Deryl stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow. “Huh? What is it?”

Geo’s eyes widened slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grimace. Without explaining himself, he stepped forward, his presence looming over both you and Deryl. “Give them to me.”

“What?” Deryl asked, startled. “You just said—”

“I said give them to me,” Geo snapped, his voice low and cold, cutting through Deryl’s hesitation. He reached out, his movements sharp but deliberate, and took you from Deryl’s arms without waiting for an argument.

Deryl blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. “You’ve been all high and mighty about not helping, and now you’re—”

“Shut up,” Geo hissed, his tone dangerous. He adjusted his grip on you with a surprising gentleness that contradicted the hostility in his voice. He glanced down at your face again, his expression hardening. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Deryl stared at him for a moment before sighing and scratching the back of his head. “Alright, fine, Pal! . Lead the way, I guess.”

Geo didn’t reply. He simply started walking, his strides long and purposeful. Deryl followed behind, shooting the occasional curious glance at Geo, who carried you as if it were both a burden and something he couldn’t let go of.

When they reached the nearest bus stand, Geo stopped. He looked around briefly before stepping toward the bench. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as he carefully set you down, leaning you against the metal backrest. His hands lingered for a moment, his fingers curling slightly as if he were resisting the urge to do more.

Deryl, watching the scene unfold, crossed his arms and tilted his head. “So, uh… what now? We just leave them here?”

Geo straightened up, his face as unreadable as ever. “Yes.”

“Seriously?” Deryl’s voice rose in disbelief. “You’re just gonna walk away and leave them like this? What if something happens?”

“They’ll survive.” Geo’s tone was clipped, final.

Deryl took a step closer, trying to catch Geo’s eye. “How do you even know that? You’re acting like you know them or something.”

Geo froze, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Slowly, he turned his head to glare at Deryl, his aquamarine gaze sharp enough to cut. “I said shut up.”

Deryl raised his hands in mock surrender, though his grin didn’t quite mask his curiosity. “Alright, alright, no need to get all hissy about it. Just saying, you’re acting weird.”

Geo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he cast one last glance at you. His expression remained cold, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, perhaps? He pressed his lips into a thin line, his jaw tightening as if he were swallowing words he didn’t want to speak.

“Annoying,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. He turned on his heel and started walking away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Deryl jogged after him, falling into step beside him.

“Okay, but seriously,” Deryl said, his tone lighter now but still probing. “You’re acting like this is personal. Do you know them?”

Geo didn’t slow down, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “No.”

Deryl snorted. “You’re a terrible liar, buddy.”

“Shut up,” Geo snapped again, his voice lower this time, almost a growl. His pace quickened, but Deryl kept up, undeterred.

“Come on, man,” Deryl pressed. “If you don’t know them, why’d you suddenly change your mind? You went from ‘leave them to rot’ to ‘I’ll carry them myself’ in, like, two seconds. What gives?”

Geo’s teeth clenched, the muscles in his jaw tightening. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t answer, but then he let out a sharp exhale through his nose. “They’re too familiar.”

Deryl blinked, taken aback. “Familiar? Like how?”

Geo’s lips curled into a sneer, though it seemed more directed at himself than at Deryl. “I said, shut up.”

Deryl held up his hands again, though his grin widened. “Alright, alright. But you’re really bad at keeping secrets, you know that?”

Geo ignored him, his strides long and purposeful as he walked away from the bus stand. His mind, however, wasn’t as composed as his outward demeanor suggested. Memories he’d buried long ago were clawing their way to the surface, and no matter how much he tried to suppress them, they wouldn’t stay hidden.

“Still look the same…” he muttered under his breath, barely audible even to himself. His aquamarine eyes flicked toward the ground as he walked, his expression darkening. The weight of recognition was heavy on his shoulders, though he refused to let it show.

Deryl, walking beside him, noticed the change in Geo’s demeanor but chose not to press further. Instead, he settled for a quieter approach, matching Geo’s pace without saying a word. He could tell Geo was lost in his thoughts, and though Deryl was naturally nosy, he knew better than to push too hard when Geo was in one of his moods.

Geo’s mind raced as he replayed the events of the past hour. Your face, your fainted form, the way you’d looked so vulnerable—it all felt too close to something he couldn’t quite place. Or maybe he could, but he didn’t want to admit it.

“You’re too into my memories,” he muttered again, his voice barely more than a whisper. His fists clenched in his pockets as he walked, his gaze fixed ahead.

But despite his outward hostility, a part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that this encounter wasn’t over. And that thought, as much as he hated to admit it, unsettled him more than anything else.

You jolted awake as a high-pitched wail pierced your groggy mind. A child, no older than five, stood in front of you, tugging at her mother’s sleeve. “I want to sit!” she cried, her tiny voice laced with impatience.

The mother gave you an apologetic smile, gently shaking your shoulder. “Excuse me, but could you let her sit?”

Blinking rapidly, you straightened up, your head still spinning. “Oh, uh, sorry! My bad!” You quickly stood, brushing yourself off as you apologized again.

The little girl climbed up onto the bench, beaming as she claimed her throne. The mother gave you a curt nod of thanks, and you stepped back, trying to collect your thoughts.

Your heart was still racing as you walked away, your legs shaky but functional. A strange heaviness settled in your chest as you tried to piece together what had happened. Then, with a sudden jolt of panic, you patted your pockets. Your phone. Relief flooded through you as you pulled it out, still intact.

Your thumb hovered over the screen as you unlocked it. The first thing you saw was the photo. The guy. His face stared back at you, aquamarine eyes cold and piercing even in stillness. You stared at it, holding your phone closer for a better look. He looked familiar somehow, but you couldn’t place why. Then again, did it matter?

You sighed, switching off your phone. At least you had something to show those goons. Even if they were terrifying, this picture might just save you from whatever chaos they had planned. You tried to convince yourself that was enough.

Your thoughts drifted back to the encounter. You couldn’t quite recall how you’d escaped, but you decided it wasn’t worth overthinking. You’d survived, right? That was all that mattered.

Later at Home

The familiar scent of food hit you as you walked through the door. Your stomach growled in response, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since morning. Sol was in the kitchen, idly humming as he set down a plate on the counter. He didn’t look at you, his attention focused elsewhere.

“Food’s ready,” he said simply, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing the plate without much thought. You caught a glimpse of him as you headed toward your room—he was hunched over the table, sketching something in his notebook. The silence between you was heavy, but you didn’t feel like breaking it.

Once inside your room, you locked the door behind you and plopped down on your bed. The plate balanced precariously on your lap as you mindlessly ate, your thoughts still scattered from the day’s events. Sol’s unusual quietness lingered in the back of your mind, but you brushed it off. He’s probably just sulking about something, like always.

You finished eating and set the empty plate on your bedside table. Lying back, you pulled out your phone again. The photo of the guy stared back at you, his aquamarine eyes boring into yours. You couldn’t help but shiver slightly.

“Guess I’ve got my ‘boyfriend,’” you muttered to yourself with a wry smile. The girls were going to love this.

The next day, you strutted into the campus with a newfound sense of pride, your phone clutched tightly in your hand. The image of the man’s piercing aquamarine eyes had become your badge of defiance against the girls who had bullied you. As they approached, the usual smug grins plastered on their faces, you decided it was time to strike.

“So, where’s your boyfriend’s picture?” one of them sneered, arms crossed.

“Oh, you mean this?” you said with a dramatic flourish, pulling out your phone and showing them the picture. Geo’s cold, intimidating gaze stared back at them. You almost felt sorry for them—almost.

Their smirks instantly dropped. One of the girls snatched the phone from your hand, staring at the screen in disbelief. “Wait… he’s your boyfriend?” she stammered, her voice laced with uncertainty.

“Yes,” you said smugly, crossing your arms. “He is. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like my phone back.”

They handed it over quickly, their attitudes doing a complete 180. “We didn’t know he was your boyfriend! We won’t bother you anymore!” one of them said, her tone almost apologetic.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, an exaggerated, evil laugh escaping your lips. “Hehehehehehe!” You turned and walked away, feeling like you’d just conquered the world. Metaphorically, your nose was growing like Pinocchio’s, but who cared? You’d earned this victory.

Later, at lunch, you bumped into Brittney, who waved you over enthusiastically. “Hey, you coming to the cafeteria today?” she asked, her usual sunny demeanor infectious.

“Why not?” you replied, shrugging. It would be nice to eat with someone who wasn’t Sol for a change.

You all sat down to eat, Brittney turned to you, a sly smile playing on her lips. “So… I’ve been hearing some rumors.”

You blinked at her. “Rumors?”

“Yeah, you know, about a certain someone being your boyfriend,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Before you could answer, Crowe chimed in, “Speaking of someone, it’s been a while since Deryl and Geo hung out. Wonder what they’re up to?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Deryl and Geo? who are they?”

“Deryl’s great—kind as ever,” Crowe said with a grin. “Geo, though… well, he’s a piece of work. But don’t worry! He’s not as bad as he seems.”

You smiled faintly, unsure if you should feel reassured or not. Brittney, however, wasn’t letting the conversation shift away from the topic of your so-called boyfriend. “So, spill! Who is he?” she pressed.

With a dramatic flourish, you pulled out your phone and turned the screen toward her. The picture of the man filled the display, and you couldn’t help but add a smug, “Hehehehe!”

Brittney’s reaction was immediate. Her face fell, her cheerful expression replaced by something darker. “Wait… is this…?”

“What?” Jess leaned over to look, and her eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god.”

Crowe, curious about the fuss, leaned in as well. His usually calm demeanor cracked as his blue eyes sparkled with surprise. “You’re dating… him?”

All three of them screamed in unison, “YOU’RE DATING OUR GEO?!”

The cafeteria went silent, all eyes turning toward your table. You froze, your face flushing as you tried to stammer out a response.

Before you could say anything, two familiar figures entered the cafeteria: Deryl and Geo. Deryl looked as cheerful as ever, while Geo’s usual broody expression darkened as soon as his eyes landed on you.

“Geo!” Brittney yelled, pointing at him like he’d committed a crime. “You’re dating them?!”

The entire cafeteria erupted into whispers and murmurs, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Geo’s aquamarine eyes flicked between you and the others, his expression unreadable.

You panicked. Before he could say a word, you grabbed his hand and bolted, dragging him out of the cafeteria as fast as your legs could carry you. Geo barely resisted, following behind with a mixture of shock and annoyance etched on his face.

“Wait—what the hell are you doing?” he hissed as you shoved open the door and pushed him outside.

“Just—just go with it!” you snapped, your voice a mix of desperation and embarrassment.

You stopped a few paces away from the building, finally letting go of his hand. Geo crossed his arms, his piercing gaze locked on you. “Care to explain what that was all about?”

You gulped, feeling the weight of his stare. “Um… it’s kind of a long story.”

“You-!“ he said coldly, his tone daring you to try lying again.

The moment you finished explaining, you felt your heart pounding as Geo stared at you, his expression cold and unreadable. You swallowed hard, your nerves threatening to snap under his piercing aquamarine gaze. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand. I won’t tell anyone else. Just… please don’t expose me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Geo crossed his arms, his tall figure looming over you. His silence was more intimidating than any verbal berating. Finally, he let out a sharp sigh, the faintest trace of irritation flickering across his face. “You really are the most idiotic piece of shit,” he hissed, his voice low but cutting. “Photographing me, spreading rumors, telling people I’m your boyfriend—do you even think before you act?”

You flinched, clutching your phone tightly. “I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” he cut you off, his tone icy. “Just stay out of my business from now on.” He turned as if to leave but paused, glancing back at you with narrowed eyes. “But… where did you even get that picture?”

Your mouth opened to respond, but suddenly, a memory bubbled to the surface. The sight of him standing there, broody and imposing, triggered something deep in your mind. “Wait…” you murmured, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I’ve seen you before. I know you from somewhere.”

Geo’s eyes narrowed further, his body tensing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s you,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Subaru-kun… it’s really you, isn’t it?”

The name hit him like a bolt of lightning. Geo’s face shifted from annoyance to pure panic, his aquamarine eyes widening as he looked around. A few girls nearby, overhearing the conversation, started whispering.

“Subaru?” one of them muttered. “Isn’t his name Geo?”

Geo clicked his tongue, his sharp jaw tightening as he grabbed your wrist. “You,” he hissed under his breath, “shut up.” Without another word, he dragged you away, ignoring your protests as you stumbled after him.

“Wait! What are you—Geo, I mean Subaru, I—”

“Stop talking,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. His grip on your wrist wasn’t painful, but it was firm enough to keep you moving. He navigated through the campus like a man on a mission, his long legs making it hard for you to keep up.

When you finally reached a secluded area behind one of the buildings, he released your wrist and spun to face you. “Don’t ever call me that name again,” he said, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“But why—”

“Because that’s not who I am anymore,” he interrupted, his tone softer but still guarded. He raked a hand through his dark bluish-purple hair, his earrings catching the light as he turned his gaze away from you. “Got it?”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. The Subaru you remembered—kind, soft-spoken, always smiling—was so different from the man standing in front of you now. But even in his hostility, you could see fragments of the boy you used to play with, buried beneath layers of coldness and resentment. “It really is you,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Geo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re so damn persistent,” he muttered, his tone laced with exasperation. “Why couldn’t you just leave things alone?”

“I didn’t know it was you!” you defended, your voice rising slightly. “I just… I thought you looked familiar, and now I know why. We used to play together, remember? You and Hyugo and—”

“Enough.” His voice was sharp, but his aquamarine eyes betrayed a flicker of something—pain, maybe? “The past doesn’t matter. Not to me, and it shouldn’t to you, either.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. The tension between you hung heavy in the air, the weight of unspoken memories and unresolved emotions pressing down on both of you. Finally, Geo straightened, his usual cold demeanor sliding back into place.

“Just… forget this happened,” he said, his tone more resigned than angry. “And stop dragging me into your messes.”

Before you could respond, he turned and started walking away, his long strides carrying him further and further from you. For a moment, you considered chasing after him, but something in his posture—rigid and unyielding—stopped you. Instead, you watched him disappear around the corner, the name “Subaru” lingering on the tip of your tongue like a forbidden word.

Your heart ached as you stood there, alone in the silence. It wasn’t just Geo who had changed—you realized, with a pang, that you had, too. And somehow, in the midst of all this chaos, you had stumbled back into each other’s lives. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, you weren’t sure yet.

Geo’s aquamarine eyes narrowed, frustration evident on his sharp, pale face. He crossed his arms and stared down at you as if you were the most infuriating puzzle he’d ever encountered. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” he said, his tone icy and cutting. “First, you drag me into this whole boyfriend nonsense, and now I’m stuck dealing with your idiotic face. You’re just like Hyugo—always causing problems I never asked for.”

His words hit like a slap. You blinked, trying to keep your composure, but the sting of his insult made your chest tighten. “I didn’t mean to,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “I’m sorry.”

Geo scoffed, clicking his tongue in irritation. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything,” he snapped. He stepped closer, his tall frame looming over you, and tilted your chin up with a surprisingly firm yet gentle hand, forcing you to look into his aquamarine eyes. “You’re the one who got us into this mess,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “And the only reason I’m even this nice to you is because, unfortunately, you’re someone I used to know. You haven’t done anything wrong—yet. But keep pushing, and we’ll see.”

His sharp words were laced with venom, but there was something else in his gaze—a flicker of restraint, as though he were holding back more than just his temper. Your breath hitched under the intensity of his stare, and you bit your lip, looking away. “It’s fine,” you said quietly. “I’ll fix it. I’ll tell everyone it was a lie. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

You turned to leave, your head low, but Geo’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “Wait.”

You froze, glancing back at him hesitantly. His expression was still hard, but his aquamarine eyes had softened, just a fraction. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his bluish-purple hair, his earrings swaying slightly with the movement. “There’s no point in fixing it now,” he muttered, almost to himself. “The damage is done. And if I’m being honest, it might actually work in my favor.”

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Geo’s lips pressed into a thin line, as though he hated every word he was about to say. “This school is full of shitty people,” he began, his voice laced with irritation. “Love letters piling up at the end of the year, girls stalking me, and way too much work to deal with. If pretending to be your boyfriend gets them off my back, I’ll do it.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right?”

He fixed you with a deadpan stare. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

You blinked, your mind racing. Geo—cold, broody, terrifying Geo—was offering to pretend to be your boyfriend. “I don’t understand,” you said slowly. “You hate me, and now you’re offering to help?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, though his tone wasn’t exactly reassuring. “I hate the situation you dragged me into. But if it gives me some damn solitude, it’s worth it.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. This didn’t feel real—Geo, the guy who seemed to hate everyone and everything, willingly offering to go along with your mess? It was the last thing you expected.

“Don’t overthink it,” he said, his tone sharp, as if reading your mind. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me, and keeping people away from me. Got it?”

You nodded slowly, still trying to process everything. “Got it.”

“Good.” He stepped back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “But don’t push your luck. If you do anything stupid, this deal’s off.”

“I won’t,” you said quickly. “I promise.”

Geo rolled his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Whatever. Just try not to embarrass me more than you already have.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, his long strides carrying him out of sight.

You stood there for a moment, replaying the conversation in your mind. Geo, of all people, pretending to be your boyfriend? It was so absurd you almost laughed. Almost.

But as you thought about his offer, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of hope. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The weight of everything from the day was making your head spin. You had barely registered the final bell ringing, signaling the end of classes, before you packed your things in a rush. There was so much pressure on you, too much. You wanted to thank Geo for the ridiculous arrangement, but the reality of it was starting to sink in, and it was suffocating. You just needed to escape, get away from everyone, clear your head.

But as you stuffed your notebook into your bag, you heard Crowe’s voice behind you. “Hey, can we talk for a second?”

You paused, turning to look at him, a little surprised by his sudden approach. “What’s up?” you asked, trying to mask the anxiety twisting in your stomach.

Crowe shifted on his feet, his expression a little more serious than usual. “It’s about you and Geo…”

Before he could go any further, someone at the door interrupted, their voice cutting through the air. “He’s waiting for you.”

You froze. He? You glanced towards the classroom door, and there, standing in the hallway, was Geo. His aquamarine eyes were focused somewhere off in the distance, looking as uninterested as ever, yet there he was—waiting.

A strange feeling tugged at your chest. Was this really happening? You’d expected him to be cold, but to actually see him waiting for you like this was a different kind of surreal.

Crowe raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he looked at you. “Looks like someone’s waiting, huh?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. You nodded, but your voice barely escaped. “Yeah, I guess so…”

With that, you made your way to the door, feeling your feet move like they were carrying you toward your fate. As you approached Geo, you couldn’t help but wonder: Was he really waiting for you, or was this some sort of joke? You were bracing yourself for his usual stony indifference.

“Geo?” you asked hesitantly. “Are you… waiting for me?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you, his face expressionless, his stance relaxed but distant. For a split second, you thought maybe this was a chance for him to act sweeter, to at least pretend to play along with the whole boyfriend act. You almost expected him to give you a teasing smile, some playful banter. But then, everything changed in a flash.

Without warning, he reached out and pinched your side, hard. A sharp pain shot through you, and you gasped, immediately feeling the sting of his fingers digging into your skin.

“You should’ve waited for me,” he scolded, his voice low and cold, but with a noticeable edge of annoyance.

You winced, holding your side where he pinched you, and instinctively, you apologized. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Geo’s eyes narrowed, his face still unreadable. “Tch. Whatever. Let’s go.”

He didn’t even wait for you to respond, immediately turning and walking toward the exit. You stood there, momentarily stunned, before scrambling to catch up to him. The moment the words left his mouth, you realized just how much control he had in this situation.

You hurriedly walked behind him, your heart pounding as you struggled to keep up with his brisk pace. The silence between you both was almost unbearable, the weight of the earlier events and his cold reaction weighing heavily on you. You had expected something—anything—that resembled affection, but instead, all you were left with was his cold indifference.

Geo walked ahead, you felt something stirring deep within you—a mix of frustration, confusion, and a strange pull toward him. You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were both stuck in this weird dance together.

Brittney and Jess were sitting together, the usual buzz of the cafeteria surrounding them as they spoke in hushed tones, exchanging glances. They couldn’t believe it—Geo, Geo, of all people, was actually dating someone. It was almost surreal.

“I just… I don’t get it,” Jess murmured, her voice still tinged with disbelief. “How can someone as… scary as him be in a relationship? Like, who could handle that? He’s so intimidating.”

Brittney glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “You really think he doesn’t care? Maybe he’s just… hard to read? I don’t know, maybe someone’s actually getting through to him.”

“Who knows? Someone has to be changing him,” said with a small frown. “I just… I can’t see him acting this way for no reason. There’s no way someone could stay that icy without something or someone… breaking through.”

Before they could dive deeper into their thoughts, Deryl walked into the cafeteria with his usual carefree stride, scanning the room for his friends. As soon as he spotted them, he made his way over, looking a little too smug for anyone’s liking.

“Hey, where’s Geo?” Deryl asked, looking around as though Geo had just disappeared off the face of the Earth.

“Ah, Geo?” Brittney started, her voice flat and disinterested, though her mind was still buzzing. “He went with his… partner.”

Deryl blinked, the news landing on him like a slap to the face. “Partner?” he echoed, eyes wide with shock. “He actually has a partner?”

Brittney nodded curtly. “Yeah. I’m guessing that’s what’s happening. Can’t say I expected it.”

Deryl’s jaw nearly dropped. “Wait, wait, wait—hold on. Geo? Dating someone? But… he’s the I’m happy for my pal!”

Jess looked a little uncomfortable at Deryl’s outburst, glancing at Brittney for reassurance. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I guess if someone’s able to get through to him, that’s… impressive?”

Deryl was still in shock. “But—who could handle him?” His eyes widened as if the very idea of someone taming the chaos that was Geo was too much to fathom. “He’s… so unpredictable, so intense. Who even—”

Brittney, sensing Deryl’s struggle to process, gave him a knowing smirk. “Maybe Geo does have a heart, after all. Strange, right?”

Deryl’s response was instant, his face lighting up with a smirk of his own. “Pfft, Geo having a heart? Nah, he’s a cat. Cats are stubborn and difficult to deal with, but deep down, they’ve got their moments. They can be soft when they want to be, but don’t expect them to show it all the time.”

The idea of Geo being a “cat” seemed to hit a nerve with the group, causing them to laugh despite themselves. Deryl’s tone had been teasing, but there was a strange sense of truth to it. Geo, with all his aloofness and cold demeanor, was a little like a cat—moody, hard to figure out, but once he trusted someone, he was loyal in his own way.

Brittney nodded slowly, her lips curling into a half-smile. “I guess… but a cat? You’ve got a point. He’s certainly got his claws out all the time.”

Jess, who had been quiet up until now, shrugged. “I don’t know. I just… can’t picture it. I mean, it’s hard to imagine him with someone. But hey, maybe that’s the thing. Maybe he’s just… waiting for the right person to bring him out of his shell.”

Deryl leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, still processing everything. “I guess. If someone can get him to soften up, then maybe he’s not as messed up as he looks. Who knows? He’s got a reputation, but… maybe it’s not all bad.”

The group fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment. Geo was a mystery to everyone, but now that he was involved with someone—someone—it added another layer to his already complex persona. The idea of him being soft or affectionate in any way still seemed so foreign, but with everything they’d learned about him, it was becoming increasingly clear that there was more to Geo than met the eye.

They continued to ponder Geo’s strange relationship status, the sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupted their thoughts. It was a loud thud followed by a voice calling out, and before they knew it, Deryl turned his head toward the door.

Geo, the ever-distant, ever-aloof figure, walked in with that same cool, expressionless demeanor. His eyes scanned the room before locking onto you. And despite everything he had said, despite his cold exterior, there was something about the way he carried himself that made it clear—he wasn’t going to let anyone push him around. He was here to stay, and no matter what anyone thought, you were with him now.

Brittney and Jess exchanged glances as they watched him approach, and even though they had their reservations about Geo, they couldn’t help but wonder—was this the side of him they had yet to see?

The questions and the mysteries about Geo only seemed to multiply, but one thing was certain—he wasn’t just a “cat” or an intimidating figure anymore. He was someone with more layers, and those who cared to look close enough were going to see them, one way or another.

Next day

Lunchtime came, and as expected, you found yourself seated next to Geo at the lunch table, a situation you never could have imagined. His friends had planned it—no doubt to make things even more awkward for you. There you were, sitting beside him, unsure of what to even say or do. It was supposed to be a casual lunch, right? But it was far from it.

You had brought a soda with you, offering it to Geo in a small, kind gesture, hoping that maybe it’d be a step toward a more comfortable moment between you two. But instead of accepting it, Geo looked at you—dead in the eyes—and gave you his water bottle without saying a word.

“W-What?” You blinked, unsure of what just happened. Was he messing with you? You looked at the water bottle in your hand, feeling an awkward lump form in your throat. What was this? Why was he acting like this?

You took a sip, trying not to feel too frustrated. There was nothing to do but follow the silent pattern of your lunch together. You ate your food slowly, almost like a dog eating scraps, feeling small in your chair. The taste of the food was bland, but you didn’t mind. It didn’t matter much anymore, did it?

You ate, your gaze wandered around, and then you noticed it—most of the girls in the cafeteria had their eyes on you. You felt an uncomfortable shiver crawl up your spine as you tried not to look up, not wanting to attract more attention. Why were they staring? What was going on?

Before you could figure it out, two girls suddenly came and sat next to you. Their eyes were full of curiosity, and they wasted no time in asking, “So, how’s Geo doing?”

Geo remained silent, not even looking at them, his face as impassive as ever. Then, without warning, he took your hand—his fingers lightly curling around yours—and stood up. You froze for a second, not sure if you were imagining this. Was he really doing this?

His hand in yours felt warm, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort wash over you. “What?” you asked, almost whispering in disbelief, your eyes locking with his. “Your hand…”

He barely glanced at you before answering in his usual cold tone, “Let’s stay like this for a while.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You felt… happy. It was unexpected, sure, but there was something about the closeness that made you forget about the strange situation. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as cold as he always appeared. Or maybe you were just imagining things, holding on to a fleeting hope.

But then, his next words crushed that tiny bit of hope you had managed to build. “My friends are watching,” he said coldly, his voice cutting through the moment like ice.

You looked behind you instinctively, and there they were—the familiar heads of his friends, staring at the two of you with intense curiosity. Your heart sank, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back at your intertwined hands. There it was again, that feeling from childhood, that strange sense of familiarity, the way you and Geo used to be when you were younger.

It was unnatural to let go now, wasn’t it? You couldn’t bring yourself to pull your hand away. Maybe it was that part of you that longed for something—anything—that felt real and lasting, even if it was tied to a lie. But looking back at the stares, you felt uneasy. Geo’s friends watching, the girls eyeing you, the weight of the lie hanging over you like a cloud.

In that moment, you realized that this… whatever it was between you and Geo, wasn’t real. Not in the way you wanted it to be. It was a performance, a farce, an act for everyone else. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were just as much a part of it as he was.

But the strange feeling still lingered. The warmth of his hand, the memories from when you were younger, the sudden pull toward him despite everything. It was like your childhood self had never really let go, and now, you had no choice but to face the consequences of holding on to something that could never be.

Geo dragged you into a quiet corner of the school building, away from the prying eyes of his friends and the girls who seemed to be watching your every move. The hallway was eerily silent, the distant murmur of voices from the cafeteria fading into the background. He finally let go of your hand, and you flexed your fingers, still feeling the lingering warmth from his grip.

“It should be safe now,” he muttered, his voice low and cold.

You looked at him, feeling awkward as you rubbed the back of your neck. “Geo, I—”

“Shut up,” he snapped, cutting you off sharply. His aquamarine eyes glared at you, and you froze on the spot.

“But—”

Before you could finish, he flicked his finger against your forehead with surprising force. “Ow!” you yelped, covering the sore spot with your hand, your eyes wide with disbelief. “What was that for?”

He crossed his arms, his expression unamused. “I told you to shut up. You’re part of this mess now, so just deal with it.”

You blinked, staring at him. “But—”

“If you disobey me and try to make excuses again,” he interrupted, his tone sharper than before, “I’m not tolerating it. Do you understand me?” His gaze was intense, pinning you to the spot.

You hesitated, fidgeting under his scrutiny. He was so harsh, but… it wasn’t just anger, was it? There was something else in the way he spoke, a strange sort of protectiveness, even if it was buried under layers of frustration. “Geo…” you murmured softly, trying to find the right words. “You… you’ve done so much for me. Even though all those rumors say you’re dangerous and scary, you’re…”

He raised an eyebrow, looking almost annoyed. “What?”

You swallowed nervously, barely managing a smile as you finished, “You’re just… a moody little neko…”

There was a pause—a heavy, awkward silence—as Geo processed what you’d just said. His expression shifted from confusion to utter disbelief, and then his usual scowl returned in full force.

“A what?” he growled, leaning closer to you, his intimidating presence making you shrink back slightly.

“I-I mean, it’s kind of cute how you care in your own way!” you stammered, waving your hands defensively. “Not that I’m saying you’re actually a neko or anything! Just that—”

“Shut. Up.” He snapped his fingers in front of your face again, and you flinched. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a nervous laugh. He was so serious, so moody, and yet… you couldn’t help but find it endearing. Maybe it was foolish, but despite his sharp words and cold demeanor, you felt oddly safe with him. Like, under all that hostility, there was someone who actually cared, even if he’d rather flick your forehead than admit it.

THIS ISN’T WORKING! MAYBE YOU SHOULD FIND A REAL BOYFRIEND SO- HAHAHAHHA, MAYBE HE WILL NOT GET HIT!

[coconutcows]

Regardless of your thoughts, feelings, or opinions, Curly very much is also a victim of Jimmy’s.

Curly is a victim of Jimmy’s.

Curly being a victim of Jimmy does not however make Anya any less of a victim. They were both different types of Victims, Anya being sexually assaulted and having her sense of safety, personhood, and autonomy violated. Curly was manipulated and belittled by Jimmy pre crash several times, Jimmy also completely twisted what Curly said a few times to warp it to his own perception. They did not have a healthy friendship.

Everyone on the Tulpar was a victim of Jimmy’s by the end.

- Curly in an unhealthy and unbalanced friendship

- Daisuke a victim of Jimmy’s Manipulation

- Swansea became a murder victim

- and of course Anya was a victim of rape and misogyny

But again, other characters being victimized by Jimmy do not detract from what happened to Anya or her Victimhood

[eglerieth]

Some of y’all are not appreciating Bilbo Baggins enough. I am here to remedy that. This guy has:

• somehow managed to establish himself as a respectable, staid hobbit by the time he was fifty, despite being both a grandson of Bullroarer Took and the Shire champion of pretty much every aiming-game known to hobbitkind

• had an in-depth debate on pleasantries with a random guy passing by in the street, who turned out to be GANDALF

• collapsed in front of his own fire shaking and muttering “struck by lightning” over and over again in response to hearing about dragons and danger

• mind you, this was after he screamed loud enough to startle a roomful of Dwarves

• signed up for a dangerous quest completely outside of his league out of spite

• when told to scout out a mysterious light, saw some trolls, and instead of reporting back with the information, decided to PICK THE TROLLS POCKET

• arrived in Rivendell for the first time and said it “smelled like elves”

• upon meeting a strange creature that visibly wanted to eat him, he decided to play a riddle game with him- and guessed pretty much every one, and made up his own riddles, afraid and alone, that not only were good and full of linguistic puns, but actually stumped the other guy- AND THEN CHEATED AND WON WITH A QUESTION

• showed mercy to said strange creature who wanted to kill him, and was now standing between him and freedom

• eavesdropped on the dwarves arguing over whether to try to save him, then popped up casually smack in the middle of them just as they were debating

• somehow managed to sleep like a log at the really really high eyrie full of wild predators

• found himself in a bad situation, said eff it, and turned around and antagonized and fought off an insane amount of man eating spiders, like enough of them that fifty was a small portion, by singing at them with incredibly complex and punny insulting songs composed on the spot, while simultaneously slaying them in multitudes despite having zero combat training. Seriously, we don’t discuss enough how epic the spider scene is.

• broke a company of dwarves out of the very secure prison of the Elvenking by inventing white water rafting with barrels

• charmed his way out of being eaten by a dragon

• stole the frickin Arkenstone from the guys who employed him, one of whom was a king

• took part in an epic battle, only to be knocked out in the first ten minutes and miss the entire thing

• was named elf-friend by the guy who’s prisoners he sprung

• wrote his own autobiography, complete with all the narrative recognition of his own heroics

• spent 60 years writing said autobiography

• taught his lower class neighbor’s kid how to read

• taught his nephew Elvish- not only Sindarin, but Quenya too

• spent decades telling his cousins his own story as fairy tales, complete with character impressions accurate enough that one of them was able to fool a servant of the Enemy with a second hand impression

• used the One Ring of Power to hide from his neighbors

• planned an elaborate feast with multiple social faux pas to mess with his neighbors, complete with a purposefully bewildering speech and culminating in him vanishing into thin air in front of everyone

• left his cousins and neighbors very unsubtle passive aggressive gifts in his will

• settled into Rivendell, randomly befriended the heir to the throne of like half of Middle Earth, and apparently spent his time writing very personal poems about his hosts and reciting them to crowds of elves

• after being invited to a Council of basically every major kingdom in the continent, spent a quarter of the time reciting vague poems about his friends, a quarter of the time telling anyone who would listen about his heroic past, and half the time interrupting to ask when lunch would be

• volunteered to bring the ring to Mordor

• became one of only four or five mortals in history to live in Valinor

Seriously, Bilbo Baggins may well be the most chaotic, insane person in the entire legendarium, and that includes the likes of people like Finrod “bit a werewolf to death to save the life of guy who he just met and gave up his kingdom for” Felagund.

[mischiefmagpie]

Veilguard doesn't feel like a Dragon Age game for a multitude of reasons:

It doesn't allow you to butt heads with your companions over *anything*. It doesn't allow you to even converse with your companions outside of scripted scenes — you can't just approach them and open a dialogue wheel until they want to talk to Rook; you'll just get one-liners Rook can't respond to and passive NPC-exclusive interactions that Rook happens to overhear.

It doesn't allow you to ask about/discuss the world, culture, organizations, or its history (i.e. any previous installments, or your character's selected backstory). It never references any game outside of Inquisition, and barely references Inquisition despite being a direct sequel to it. None of your previous games decisions are imported or considered. There isn't even a proper "canon" they present, the past is just a void.

There's no small side stories, barely any ambient/passing npc talk, nor many side quests, (let alone complex or fulfilling ones just filler for large scale plot), there are companion Loyalty Quests that all converge to the main story that ends in a Suicide Mission.

Veilguard doesn't feel like a Dragon Age game, because it plays like a Mass Effect game.

[directdogman]

What kind of class would the cast of Dialtown be in DnD? (Ie, Druid, Rouge, Paladin… etc)

Oh, I did a whole DnD Dialtown thing ages ago that conveniently mentions some classes in it with some rewritten backstories for the characters in this new universe. I'll paste it below (preamble is important for the character descriptions, so sorry for the lore:)

The story is set in a fictional landmass, with parts of it based on a fucked up Alaska, parts resembling the Swiss Alps, a desert zone and nuked carnival wastes. In the present era, an evil empire rules over the whole map, ran by an evil necromancer, Callum Crown. Him and his partner, Milton, took over the entire continent in a bloody conquest together that ended with Crown dropping an arcane nuke on the clown territory, ending the war, but turning Milt against him, leading to a civil war, in which Crown destroyed Milt.

Crown has a phone head made from scraps of the metals of the heroes who've failed to vanquish him, and has a lich body, which he reinforces with the same metal he used to build his head, gaining a gradual suit of armor in order to stop himself from physically falling apart. He has a powerful arcane gauntlet which he uses to cast devastating spells. His undead empire sells death to people with a snazzy sales pitch. Basically, you sign a waiver that gives you benefits within his empire while you're alive, but once you die, your corpse is resurrected to serve Crown until your remains degrade beyond use.

The plot of the game is that Crown is trying to unravel reality to remove an ancient arcane law of magic from the fabric of reality as old as life itself: necromancy cannot resurrect a life that has taken itself. Crown, despite presiding over the whole world and everything in it, cannot bear the loss of his friend, Milt, who he beat in the civil war, which ended with Milt drinking poison before Crown could reach his throne room in the final assault of milt's base.

Crown would tell you that he wishes to resurrect Milt so he can finally have Milt answer for his betrayal, but in reality, he just really misses Milt. To revive Milt, because he specifically took his own life, would require the fabric of reality be altered... something that could potentially end the world. Gingi is a non-human monster (not considered a person, starts the game as a low level enemy) who gets caught up in a complex socioeconomic conflict/conspiracy by being in the wrong place at the wrong time and has to travel with a band of companions in order to resolve the conflict and eventually, once powerful entities begin to take notice of you, in order to survive.

The plot involves Crown's pursuit of the final piece of the puzzle: gaining the ability to rewrite universal law, and eventually, Gingi either has to choose to help him achieve this power, prevent the power from being accessed by anyone, or taking it and using it however they decide to. Basically, Crown wants to rewrite universal law because he can't accept that he owns everything, is all powerful, but cannot revive one specific person.

Now onto the companions with classes mentioned:

Randy Jade: You meet him in one of the cities in Crown's empire. He approaches you to ask you for a cigarette, and if you give him one, he then asks you for a lighter too. He explains that he had a string of jobs in Crown's empire, but kept screwing them up and getting fired, and at this point, he's stealing to eat.

If you recruit him, Randy will fight for you. Randy's a rogue, uses small blades (starting item are some house keys he found poking out through his knuckle), he's a glass cannon (good DPS, low health) and is politically neutral.

Oliver Swift: He's a traveling bard/performer who's going on a journey to raise enough money so his old mentor, Mr Dickens, can gift a sword to a young hero in his village and order him to go forth and vanquish Callum Crown (a yearly tradition for the village that always ends with crown getting another scrap of metal for his head/armor)

If you agree to give him a share of the loot to send home, he will join the party. He attacks with blunt weapons (metal lute, wrench). Ironically, despite Randy being the rogue, Oliver has the better lockpicking skill. Politically, he dislikes Crown, and without a high speech skill, will leave the party if you align with Crown.

Karen Dunn: A bureaucrat in Crown's empire. A talented mage, she works in Crown's deathdealers headquarters. She's the person at the line for mages looking to sell their souls to Crown. She really doesn't care for this job, allowing the player to convince her to ditch it + join the party. Karen uses fire magic offensively but starts with a few healing spells too.

Karen is politically neutral, though she has a personal distaste for Crown's empire as an employer.

Bigfoot: Can be admitted into the party. He's a melee tank, but has a few forest magic spells that buff himself and other party members, giving him support capabilities. Bigfoot will become frightened and leave the party during some cutscenes when loud noises/conflict occurs, if you do not equip earmuffs onto him.

Norm Allen: A former sheriff (now fugitive) in the annexed desert territory. Formerly an avid supporter of the order that Crown brought, and one of Crown's enforcers in his home town of [desert zone], Norm is hellbent on putting a bullet in Crown's head and dismantling his empire.

If you become friendly with Norm, you find out that the thing that Norm specifically bolted from Crown over... was the overreach of justice, and selling tyranny to his people as justice. Norm's a tank. His defense stat is middling, but his attack accuracy is locked at 100%, which is valuable in bad weather conditions or if the team gets blinded.

Norm will turn on the player if they do anything BUT prevent universal power from entering anyone's hands.

Mingus: Mingus is Crown's key enforcer/assassin. At the start of the game, she's trying to track down and execute Norm for betraying Crown, and as the plot progresses, eventually targets the player.

A stealthy cat woman, she strikes from the shadows, always, and usually after wetting the tips of her claws with a devastating poison. The poison she uses has no known antidote.

Politically, she's a fanatic, found abandoned as a kitten by Callum Crown many cycles ago. While Crown is cold with her, speaking to her like a tool, he keeps her in his service with his false promise to rewrite reality so other people like Mingus and to erase her abandonment from the timeline. Mingus secretly pines for his approval/kindness above all else, believing that helping Crown achieve her goals is the only way she'll ever feel loved. She's a potential late-game companion, being recruitable during the lategame, if you're doing Crown's ending.

There's more, but that's the gist of it. Hope this was interesting!

[rainandandy]

Bigger than the whole sky

Pairings: Rain Carradine X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Contains graphic depictions of violence, including public beatings and injuries that lead to death, themes of loss and grief, and the depiction of a harsh, dystopian environment with elements of oppression and cruelty. It also includes scenes of emotional distress, as characters witness the death of a loved one. Please read with caution.

Word Count:4209

Note: Kinda just went on with this one..... it hurt to write this and I based it off of the Gale beating scene in Hunger Games Catching Fire. Hope you enjoy (cry your heart out) with this

Life on Jackson's Star was steeped in bleakness, each day unfolding under the shadow of Weyland-Yutani's relentless control. The air was thick with dust and despair, the sky a perpetual overcast of smog that blurred the line between day and night. You, along with Rain and her brother Andy, had adapted to this harsh reality with a resilience born of necessity. Navigating through the oppressive regime required a careful balance of caution and subtle rebellion, as the omnipresent surveillance drones buzzed overhead like carrion birds waiting for a misstep.

The colony itself was a sprawling network of industrial complexes and cramped living quarters, all constructed with the cold functionality of corporate efficiency. The metallic clang of machinery and the hiss of steam were the constant backdrop to your lives, reminding you that the colony's primary function was to serve the company's interests, not the welfare of its inhabitants.

Despite the ever-present danger of being singled out by the guards for any perceived infraction, you three maintained a semblance of hope. In whispered conversations as you worked the barren fields or scavenged for parts among the debris, you shared dreams of a life beyond the company's grasp. These dreams were defiant sparks in the oppressive gloom of Jackson's Star, small but bright enough to keep the darkness at bay.

That day, as you toiled in the fields of Jackson's Star, the atmosphere was unusually tense, the air heavy with more than just the usual burdens. The rich, damp scent of freshly turned earth mingled oddly with the sharp, acrid tang of industrial exertion—a stark reminder of the unnatural union of nature and machine that characterized your existence. Clouds hung low, a somber gray canopy that seemed to press down on the landscape, intensifying the oppressive feel of the day.

The guards patrolled with heightened vigilance, their movements sharp and deliberate. Their fingers rested uneasily on the handles of their batons, twitching occasionally with a nervous energy that mirrored the electric charge of the air. Every step they took sent small shivers of apprehension through the ranks of laborers, their boots leaving deep, menacing imprints in the muddy ground.

Rain, ever the embodiment of resilience and quiet rebellion, had momentarily paused her labor. Leaning heavily on her shovel, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her mud-streaked hand. Her chest heaved from the exertion, breaths coming in short, labored gasps that she tried to quiet, knowing all too well the dangers of displaying fatigue.

It was this moment of vulnerability, however fleeting, that drew the attention of a particularly ruthless officer. Known among the workers for his harsh discipline and cold demeanor, his eyes locked onto Rain with predatory precision. The badge on his chest seemed to gleam more fiercely under the overcast sky, a symbol of the unchecked authority he wielded. His approach was deliberate, each step measured to instill fear, his shadow falling ominously across the rows of bent backs and bowed heads.

As he drew closer, the underlying threat in his posture was unmistakable, his baton now an extension of his arm, raised not just as a tool but as a weapon of control. His presence loomed over Rain, a dark cloud in a field already devoid of sunlight, ready to burst at the slightest provocation.

The overseer's voice sliced through the humid air, a harsh interruption to the muffled cacophony of clanking tools and muted conversations of the weary workers. "Hey! No resting!" His tone was sharp, the authority in his command unwavering as his eyes fixed on Rain. With a menacing flourish, he raised his baton, the metal gleaming ominously under the harsh artificial lights of the work fields.

Rain looked up slowly, her expression unflinching, molded into a mask of steely resolve that seemed to stiffen her spine. Her hands, calloused and stained from the day's labor, clenched into fists at her sides. She met the overseer's gaze with a defiant fire burning in her eyes, her jaw set, bracing for the confrontation she knew was coming.

From just a few feet away, you witnessed the standoff, and a fierce, protective rage surged within you. The overseer’s blatant aggression, the threat looming so palpably in the air, sparked a primal defiance in your chest. Your muscles tensed, coiled springs ready to release. Without a moment’s hesitation, your feet moved of their own accord, carrying you forward.

"Leave her alone!" Your voice, loud and clear, cut through the tension like a knife. Every eye in the vicinity snapped towards you, including Rain's, which flickered briefly with something akin to worry and gratitude. The overseer turned his glare towards you, baton still raised, his expression twisting into one of surprise and then anger at your challenge.

"This doesn’t concern you," he spat, his words dripping with venom. But standing there, facing down the threat to someone you cared deeply about, you felt a steadfast resolve take root. This was your battle too, and you wouldn't back down. "She’s just catching her breath, sir," you said, your voice a calm contrast to the growing tension, trying to diffuse the situation. "We’ll get back to work right now."

The officer halted, mere inches from you, his shadow looming over you like a dark cloud. His face twisted into a sneer of outrage at your audacity to challenge him. "Double shift for you, then," he hissed venomously, his baton now lifted to emphasize his authority. The electronic hum of the baton was a clear threat as it activated, crackling with energy. "Think you can undermine me? You'll regret it."

Your heart raced as you maintained eye contact, refusing to show the fear that skittered down your spine. As the officer turned away, his message clear, you felt Rain’s hand reached out, touching your arm lightly, her expression tormented. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words seemed to catch in her throat, stifled by the oppressive atmosphere.

Seeing her distress, you turned to her, your eyes locking. It was a silent communication, filled with years of shared hardships and understanding. You shook your head slightly, a clear signal. "You’re finished for the day. Go home, I’ll manage," you murmured quietly, pushing her gently toward Andy, who stood a few steps behind, his synthetic eyes wide with a programmed concern that mirrored human fear.

"But I can help—" Rain started to argue, her voice low and urgent.

You cut her off, your tone soft but firm, "No, Rain. It’s better if you're not involved. Please, for me, just go back with Andy. Stay safe." The plea in your voice was evident, each word laced with your concern not just for your own welfare but profoundly for hers.

Rain's eyes searched yours, a storm of emotions passing through them—fear, frustration, helplessness. Finally, with a weighty exhale, Rain gave a reluctant nod. Her fingers tightened around yours, conveying a silent vow to return. "Be careful," she murmured, her words nearly whisked away by the brisk wind. She hesitated, her gaze lingering on you with a mixture of fear and resolve, before Andy gently guided her away. Even as they retreated, her eyes kept darting back to you, etching every detail into her memory, laden with palpable concern.

Rain and Andy hurried back to the sanctuary of your shared quarters, the familiarity of the space a stark contrast to the chaos of the fields. The safety of these walls, peppered with personal touches and memories of quieter times, stood as a silent testament to the life you had built together amid the harsh realities of Jackson’s Star. As the hours ticked by, Rains worry only grew.

The fleeting sense of relief vanished as the harsh chirp of the communicator shattered the tense silence. Rain's heart skipped as Tyler's voice, laden with unmistakable dread, crackled through the speaker. "Get to the square—now! They have her." The urgency in his tone sent a chill down her spine, each word heavy with a grim portent that sent them rushing into the cold, unforgiving night of Jackson's Star.

Rain and Andy raced through the oppressively dim corridors of Jackson’s Star, their boots pounding against the cold metal floor, the sound reverberating off the narrow walls, amplifying their urgency and dread. The dim lighting flickered overhead, casting ghostly shadows that danced along the walls, mimicking their frantic pace. As they emerged into the open expanse of the square, their breaths were ragged, steam rising in the chilled air, mingling with the low murmur of the gathered crowd.

The scene that unfolded before them was one of stark terror and injustice, staged in the heart of the colony under the harsh glare of floodlights. The square, usually a place of communal gathering, had transformed into a chilling tableau of authoritarian display. At its center, raised above the muttering crowd on a grim platform, stood you—your figure stark and diminished, bound tightly with rough cords that cut into your skin. The fabric of your work clothes was stained dark with blood, stark against the pale severity of your skin, lending a macabre tone to the scene.

Rain’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs, a stark contrast to the numbing coldness spreading through her veins as she caught sight of you. The captain of the patrol was there, his voice booming unnaturally loud through the speakers, reciting a list of crimes so absurd and fabricated that they would have been laughable under any other circumstance. His words sliced through the murmurs of the crowd, each one landing like a physical blow against Rain's consciousness.

"They’re going to kill her," Rain murmured, the realization slicing through her like a cold blade. Her words were barely audible, lost beneath the cacophony of the square, yet they carried the weight of an unbearable foreboding. Andy, standing steadfast by her side, reached out a hand to steady her, his own expression one of muted horror, unable to fully simulate human emotion but clearly programmed to respond with empathy.

Rain's face was ashen, the color drained as if she herself had been bled of life. Her eyes, wide and filled with a palpable terror, were fixed unblinkingly on you, witnessing the grim spectacle of the guards preparing their instruments of torture. The sight of the metallic electronic batons, glinting ominously under the artificial lights, sent a shiver of dread down her spine.

In that moment, the square felt colder than ever, the usual hum of colony life drowned out by the grave proceedings of this cruel justice. The crowd around them seemed to fade into a blur, their faces either grim or impassively curious, none daring to intervene. Rain felt a surge of helpless rage mixed with her fear, a tumultuous storm that threatened to overwhelm her senses.

The scene at the square was charged with tension and dread. The crowd that had gathered murmured and shifted on their feet, their discomfort palpable in the heavy air as the officers prepared for the beating. You stood defiantly, your back straight, jaw clenched, bracing yourself against the rough wood of the beam to which you were tied. The first blow came down hard, the sound of the baton striking you echoed through the square, a harsh clack that seemed to resonate in the chests of all who heard it.

You didn't give them the satisfaction of hearing you scream. Your teeth were gritted, each breath through them a hiss of pain and defiance. The guards, emboldened by your silence, continued with increased ferocity, each strike aimed to break your resolve.

At the edge of the crowd, Rain's face was a mask of agony. "Stop it! Just stop, please!" Her voice broke through the murmurs, shrill with fear and desperation. Her hands were balled into tight fists at her sides, her fingernails digging into her palms, drawing blood that dripped unnoticed to the ground. She made a move to break through the crowd, to run to you, but Tyler and Bjorn caught her by the arms, pulling her back.

"Rain, no! You can't—you’ll only get yourself killed!" Tyler hissed, trying to anchor her back with his strength.

Bjorn added in a low, urgent tone, "Look at me, Rain! We can't help her by getting ourselves killed. We have to think this through."

Rain struggled against their grip, her eyes never leaving you, witnessing each brutal blow. "They're killing her!" she screamed, her voice hoarse with terror. "We can’t just stand here and watch this happen!"

As the beating continued, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through your frame, the reality of your situation sank in deeply for everyone present. This wasn’t merely a punishment; it was a spectacle designed to quell any thoughts of defiance among the workers. Your suffering was meant to remind them of their place under the oppressive heel of Weyland-Yutani.

Bjorn's grip on Rain’s arm was iron-tight, his voice a harsh whisper in her ear, cutting through the chaos with desperate urgency. "It’s a setup," he growled, his words laced with a bitter edge of realism. "They’re pinning all types of lies on her.”

Rain's face crumpled, tears carving clean paths down her dirt-streaked cheeks. She tried to move forward, to reach you, to scream out against the monstrous injustice, but her friends held her back, knowing any further action would only lead to more tragedy. "Please," she choked out, her voice strained to breaking. "They can't do this. Not to her."

The crowd around you swelled, a collective beast of spectators who watched as the guards, satisfied with their grim work, finally stepped back. Your body, so full of fight and spirit, now hung limp and defeated. The sight was a brutal blow to Rain, her knees buckling under the weight of despair. "No, no, no," she sobbed, her hands reaching out futilely as if she could somehow bridge the distance and bring you back to her.

As the guards finally ceased their brutal assault, wiping the dark smears from their metallic batons with nonchalance, one of them looked over to Tyler and the rest of your friends with a nod that bore the weight of finality. “They’re done,” Tyler muttered, his voice ringing hollow in the charged atmosphere, betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. "We need to get her out of here." Kay, with her medical kit clutched tightly in her hands, was already bulldozing her way through the stunned onlookers. Her voice cut sharply through the tension, "Move!" she commanded, her tone brooking no argument. The guards, taken aback by her audacity, stepped aside, allowing her access to the platform.

Reaching you, Kay dropped to her knees, her hands moving quickly and efficiently as she checked for any sign of life. Her face was set in a mask of concentration, the lines around her mouth taut with concern. She pressed two fingers against your neck, searching for a pulse. After a tense moment, she looked up, her expression grim but relieved, "She’s alive. Just barely. Help me get her back."

Rain, who had been frozen by fear and grief, sprang into action at Kay's words. Her eyes, red-rimmed and haunted, met Kay's as she helped lift your limp body. "Be careful with her," Rain whispered, her voice trembling as she and Kay maneuvered you down from the platform.

As they carried you through the crowd, which parted silently to let them pass, Rain’s mind raced with panic and fear, each step towards their compound

Back at the small, dimly lit compound that you, Rain, and Andy called home, the air was thick with tension and the lingering scent of blood. The cramped quarters, usually filled with quiet conversation and the occasional joke, now felt suffocating under the weight of the night’s events.

As you were laid gently on the makeshift table, Rain hovered over you, her hands trembling as they brushed the hair from your bloodied face. "Please, stay with me," she whispered, her voice breaking, barely more than a desperate plea.

Navarro, who had always been calm in a crisis, took charge immediately. "Clear the table," she ordered, her voice steady. She moved quickly, removing the few items that cluttered the surface. "We need space to work."

Kay, who had been training as a medic before Weyland-Yutani’s brutal regime took hold, was already digging through her kit. "We need clean water, towels—anything we can use to stop the bleeding," she instructed, her hands shaking as she unpacked bandages and antiseptic.

Andy shuffled awkwardly by the door, his eyes flickering with distress. "I-I’ll get the w-water," he stuttered, his synthetic voice faltering as he rushed to the small sink in the corner, fumbling with the handle before managing to fill a bowl.

The first thing Kay did was assess your wounds, her expression growing more grim by the second. "This is bad," she muttered under her breath, though Rain caught the words and felt her heart clench in response.

"Just tell me what to do," Rain said, her voice thick with fear but laced with determination. "Tell me how I can help."

"Keep pressure here," Kay instructed, guiding Rain’s hands to a deep gash on your side. The wound bled sluggishly, staining Rain’s fingers a dark crimson. "Navarro, I need more gauze, and a needle and thread. We have to stop the bleeding before anything else."

As Rain pressed down, she leaned close to you, her breath warm against your ear. "You’re going to be okay," she whispered, though her voice trembled. "I’m right here, baby. We’re going to get you through this."

You stirred slightly, your eyes fluttering open just enough to focus on her. "Rain..." your voice was weak, barely more than a rasp. "I’m... sorry."

"Don’t," Rain choked out, tears welling in her eyes. "Don’t apologize. Just hold on, okay? Just hold on."

The room was silent save for the occasional clink of metal instruments and the sound of your labored breathing. The bowls of water that Andy brought over quickly turned pink, then a deep red as Kay and Navarro worked to clean your wounds. The table beneath you was soon stained with blood, the scent of iron heavy in the air.

Kay’s hands moved quickly, stitching up the worst of the gashes, her face set in concentration. "We need to get her stable," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "She’s lost too much blood."

Andy hovered nearby, clutching a clean towel he had found, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and helplessness. "W-will she be okay?" he asked, his voice small and hesitant.

"We’re doing everything we can," Navarro replied, her tone a blend of reassurance and reality. She exchanged a look with Kay, who only shook her head slightly.

Rain noticed the exchange, her heart sinking further. "She has to be okay," Rain whispered, her voice cracking. "She has to."

Hours passed, and the night deepened, the oppressive silence of the compound only broken by the sound of your shallow breaths and Rain’s quiet murmurs. She held your hand tightly, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in a rhythm meant to comfort both you and herself.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the words she was afraid she’d never get to say again. "Please don’t leave me. Not like this."

You managed a weak smile, though it took all the strength you had left. "Love you... too," you whispered back, your voice barely audible. "Always."

Rain leaned down, pressing her lips to your forehead, her tears mingling with the blood and sweat that covered your skin. "Always," she echoed, her heart breaking with every passing second.

As dawn approached, your breath became more labored, the fight slipping from your body. Rain felt the shift, her entire world narrowing down to the weakening pulse beneath her fingertips. "No, no, no," she whispered frantically, her grip tightening as if she could somehow keep you anchored to life. "Please, don’t go."

You looked up at her, your eyes filled with a mixture of pain and peace. "It’s okay," you whispered, though it cost you everything to say it. "I’ll... always... be with you."

Rain’s sobs filled the room as your eyes slowly closed, your hand slipping from hers as your body went still. The silence that followed was deafening, a hollow void where your heartbeat had once been.

"She’s gone," Kay said quietly, her voice steady but carrying the unmistakable edge of sorrow. Her words cut through the room like a blade, the finality of it crashing down on Rain like a tidal wave. The compound, already dim and cold, seemed to grow even darker.

Rain didn’t respond immediately. Her body began to tremble, first just a slight shiver in her shoulders, then growing into a full, uncontrollable shaking as the reality of your loss settled in. She leaned over your still form, her tears falling in relentless streams, splashing against your skin. "No... please, no," she sobbed, her voice breaking, clutching at you as if holding you tighter could somehow pull you back from the abyss.

Andy, who had been standing nearby, approached hesitantly. His synthetic form seemed to sag under the weight of the moment, his usually bright eyes dimmed with a sorrow that was unnatural for a machine. "R-Rain," he stuttered, his voice halting and filled with a strange echo of human grief. "She... she loved you so much."

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with despair. Tyler stood off to the side, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. He stared at the floor, unable to look at you, unable to reconcile the brutal end you had met with the strong, vibrant person he had known. His chest heaved with the effort to keep his own emotions in check, but the tear that slid down his cheek betrayed his inner turmoil.

Bjorn, always the stoic, had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression unreadable. But his eyes were fixed on Rain and your body, the usual hardness in his gaze softened by a quiet, painful understanding. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. For all his gruff exterior, the sight of Rain breaking down over your body pierced through his defenses.

Navarro, who had been helping Kay moments earlier, stepped back, her hands shaking. The blood that had stained her fingers felt like it was burning into her skin, a reminder of how close they had all come to saving you—and how far they had failed. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob that threatened to break free, her eyes brimming with tears.

As Rain's sobs grew louder, more desperate, the room's silence was broken only by the sound of her heartbreak. "Please, don’t leave me," she whispered through her tears, her voice small, broken. She pressed her forehead against yours, her fingers tangled in your hair as she pleaded with you, as if willing you to open your eyes, to take just one more breath.

Andy knelt beside her, his mechanical hand resting gently on her shoulder, though his touch was cold. "I’m s-sorry," he managed to say, his voice almost robotic but laden with the echoes of human grief. "She was b-brave."

Tyler finally moved, crossing the short distance between him and Rain. He placed a hand on her back, his own tears now falling freely. "She saved you, Rain," he said softly, his voice strained with the effort to keep it steady. "She saved us all."

Rain didn’t respond, her world having collapsed to just you and the unbearable loss that consumed her. She clung to you, pressing her face into your neck, her sobs muffled against your skin. "I can’t... I can’t do this without you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please, wake up. Please."

But the silence that followed was deafening, the finality of your death sinking into the hearts of everyone present. Kay moved around the table, gently covering your body with a blanket, her movements slow and reverent, as if any sudden action might shatter the fragile hold they all had on their emotions.

As the hours passed, the reality of the situation set in. Rain never left your side, her fingers still entwined with yours, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Andy remained close, his presence a silent vigil, his circuits whirring quietly in the background.

Bjorn and Tyler took turns keeping watch at the door, their usual banter replaced by a heavy silence. Navarro sat in a corner, her knees drawn to her chest, staring at the floor as she tried to process the loss.

Rain’s heart ached with a pain so deep it felt like it would consume her whole. But through her grief, she knew one thing with absolute certainty: you had saved her, sacrificed everything for her, and that knowledge, though it brought her no comfort, would be the anchor that kept her from completely drowning in her sorrow.

She leaned over, pressing one last kiss to your forehead, her tears mixing with the blood still staining your skin. "I’ll never forget you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I’ll never stop loving you."

[drenched-in-sunlight]

Can I just say how in love I am with the way you draw Marika? Like every art you post of her has my jaw dropping…you add such a beautiful layer of humanity to her with her dynamic expressions and poses—it’s so refreshing to see especially when so many fan arts of her needlessly sexualize her or dial her down to a one-dimensional stone-faced villain (which a villain she is—but she is still complex)

And I adore how you draw her partial nudity as something natural, meaning that you don’t draw her without a top for the sake of objectifying her,

Your art is overall so pleasant and colourful and fun to look at, and your takes of Marika’s character in your fanart is literally what made me more interested in who she is in-game.

Thank you for drawing her the way you do! (And for drawing Elden Ring fanart in general💕)

i've been letting this ask stewing in my inbox for a while because it makes me so emotional 🥲

if you look at how i drew Marika before anything in the DLC was announced, it did fall into the two categories you were talking about, because despite having a little more positive view on her than the rest of the fandom at the time, i still had no idea who she was as a person. and by that time i were more interested in Malenia, so even though i did try to envision how Marika was, it's a very distant and vague image. which is what i love about Elden Ring lore in general: we see Marika via how her children see her.

it was easy back then to conclude we'd never get her, and "mother" is a distant term that will always be overshadowed by "God", so i just went along with the general haha evil sexy girlboss thing that the fandom was doing. but then the DLC teaser dropped the another elusive (possibly firstborn) child of her, with a statue of her holding a baby in his boss room, she started to get more little quirks that's so human in my work (the small smile, the little lock of hair that curls gently) because for the first time, we see her through the eye of a son that evidently adores her, so she gets a bit more human, because someone views her with emotions that are not fear nor distance.

then the DLC drops, and it's not just through Messmer's eye (or the entirety of his being that carry so much of her love it weighs him down and twist into the most horrible curse in the end), it's through the eyes of her family that were no longer there at all. it's the jar innard enemy that huddled in a jar and clutched at a piece of raw meat, it's the Grandmother's gentle smile as she rest among a sea of flowers, it's the solitary minor erdtree that bathed the whole place in the kindness of gold, it's the Fire Knights and soldiers that clearly viewed her as Mother as much as she was God, it's Miquella throwing away his love and doubt because he didn't know how to deal with the revelation that his mother was once a fallible human just like the rest of them, it's Trina's entreaty that Godhood was just a cage that would kill him slowly, it's the final boss music with the female voice belting "Hail, Marika the Eternal" - in the place where she had to wade through a sea of flesh and blood, her family included, to ascend to Godhood. it's finally understanding that to her, Eternity is to live for all her loved ones that have fallen down.

and somehow, it all comes back to this portrait at the base game, right at the Roundtable Hold, of a woman with permanently lowered eyes.

yeah i know after the DLC i've put on such a Messmer-style protective glasses for her, it shows very clearly in my art. now she could cry, looks sad, small smile, big smile, looks silly, looks cute, looks serious, her hair is pulled up in twenty different ways, she jokes and talks to animals and goes back to be just a simple young girl rolling around in the grass, blah blah... im drawing all these with eyes wide open. and i have no intention of stopping lol.

sometimes, things that already come alive will never go back to be a cardboard cutout anymore. if ppl don't like it, block me or whatever, in my space, i'll do that makes me happy. and im very glad that other ppl could find their own happiness and solace with my work too :) thank you for such a thoughtful and kind messages!

[michanvalentine]

I was asked if I had any thoughts on Astarion's character development in terms of taking responsibility and making choices. And him coming to terms with that part of his past he's ashamed of. In the past I didn't dwell on it in detail, normally I write down on the keyboard what spontaneously passes through my brain. But I think they are excellent food for thought, so I will try to express what I think about it.

Here’s a little ramble, just because I love psychology and think it’s something to always keep in mind when discussing Astarion. If you’re not interested, feel free to skip ahead!

(Let’s talk a bit about the self.

The self is quite a complex concept with many facets. Briefly put, it’s shaped by various internal and external factors and reflects a conscious image of "me." In psychology, it’s key to building the Ego of an individual—the capacity to act, understand, organize, and interpret experiences. The Ego provides a sense of uniqueness, coherence, and personal continuity since the self encompasses many "faces." All this forms the personality of an individual, which naturally develops (and changes) throughout life.

Particular attention in the formation of the self is given to sensitive periods, such as early childhood. The self determines the level of self-esteem based on an individual’s assessment of their worth and competence in the characteristics they attribute to themselves (Real Self), their future aspirations (Ideal Self), and what they want to avoid (Feared Selves). The greater the discrepancy between these aspects, the lower the level of self-esteem. Social support and approval, as well as competence in domains deemed important to the self, obviously contribute to perceiving oneself as a person of value.

I’ll stop here, or this will turn into a full-blown psychology lecture, diving into every possible personality disorder! xD)

Astarion, as we know, has had his sense of self fundamentally undermined. For him, the world is divided between those who have power and those who don’t, with the former always being the "winners" in his eyes. The magistrate he once was is long dead, along with his moral compass and the life he used to live—especially after 200 years of servitude to Cazador.

As vampire spawn, akin to a newborn in some respects, Astarion learned to exist solely within Cazador’s world, revolving around Cazador, for Cazador. He was the domineering father figure, and vampire society functions under strict rules handed down by vampire lords. In this hostile context, without any room for self-expression or choice, Astarion developed a fragmented and damaged self-image. Constantly belittled by Cazador as an individual (small, weak, useless, incapable, all words he uses in the game), always pitted against his brothers and sisters, and degraded from a magistrate to a prostitute (this is important because it’s the only skill—or "talent," as he calls it himself—that Astarion believes gives him any value or power, forming the basis for his self-image). It’s easy to imagine just how high his self-esteem must be, right? Most importantly, he never developed the skills to navigate life as a free individual—at least not in a healthy way.

This is why, even if reluctantly (and despite his fear), he ends up leaning on Tav/Durge. Astarion is a follower, not a leader—not yet, at least. He needs a guiding figure to help him figure out what to do because making decisions and acting independently don’t come naturally to him; they terrify him. Especially outside of his talents, sex and survival. He needs to be rehabilitated, re-educated, and to achieve this, he requires a safe and healthy environment where he can experiment and grow, perhaps developing other faces of the self on which to base a new evaluation. Like, I'm not just a slave or a whore: but I'm also a companion, a friend, a lover, a hero and I'm able to listen, to help, to learn, to collaborate, etc. For instance, I think his lack of attention to detail reflects this to some extent—not just his tendency to be dismissive or distracted. In fact, Astarion isn’t stupid at all; his intelligence and wisdom stats in D&D terms are above average. He knows how to move in the shadows, remain unnoticed, and is highly skilled with his hands. Additionally, we shouldn’t forget that Astarion is an excellent observer of bodies, particularly body language. This is especially common when someone has lived in a stressful environment with abusive parents or partners. Recognizing the early signs of what they fear most—abuse—is crucial for trying to avoid getting hurt. The inflection of a tone, the light in someone’s eyes, the posture of their shoulders, arms, torso, etc. Body language is the most direct and primal form of communication and reveals intentions.

This is a skill Astarion has naturally refined, not only through survival but also by interacting with countless partners. It inevitably helps him sense certain things before others do, often saving him from trouble. So, he’s far from just some clueless fool, no matter how frivolous he might seem at times.

Sure, stress kills neurons, but the issue is deeper than intellect. To execute a plan, one needs to make decisions and lead a group—something he simply isn’t equipped to do yet. This also ties to accountability, an inherent part of decision-making—especially when others are involved.

Throughout the game, Astarion grows and begins to reclaim his rights as an individual. He realizes he’s more than an object to be used (he is no longer small, weak, useless, incapable), and he starts to establish boundaries and discover what he truly wants or doesn’t want to do, always alongside Tav/Durge. By the good ending, he even states that with Cazador gone, he can finally find out who he really is and what he wants from the life he’s regained. He’s still afraid—the road to healing is long, and the trauma is deep—but he’s willing to work on himself, which he couldn’t or wouldn’t do before.

A significant part of Astarion’s defense mechanism is dissociation, the ability to separate himself from the terrible things that have happened to him—or that he has done.

This, in my opinion, is how he managed to survive without completely losing his mind. In the game, there’s even a dialogue choice that highlights how Astarion simply repressed everything inside and kept going—a deeply unhealthy way of coping. And rightly so, the vampiric spawn retorts that it’s easy to judge when you haven’t lived through such a situation.

However, when Astarion comes face to face with his victims, that mechanism begins to falter. This time, he’s forced to confront what he has done directly, with all the consequences it entails. He has to look them in the eye, listen to their harsh words, and endure both their pain and his own—without filters, without excuses. The sequence is heart-wrenching, as we all know, but what I particularly love is Astarion’s comment about the Gur children and how, when he delivered them to Cazador, he felt nothing. I love it because it’s followed by an “oh” that speaks volumes more than all the discussions about ascension up until that moment. That “oh” seems to say, “How the hell is that even possible?!”

Astarion is surprised, first and foremost, because what he felt then isn’t what he’s feeling now. Before, he was numb, alienated—a ghost wandering the streets. But now, he’s not. He’s more awake and lucid than he’s been in the last 200 years. This concept is crystal clear when, upon setting foot inside Cazador’s palace, the vampiric spawn states that everything feels different, even though the place hasn’t changed. It’s not the palace that’s different; it’s Astarion!

And at this point, after speaking with Sebastian and Chessa, Astarion is torn.

On one side, there’s ascension, with all the rational explanations—or justifications for Tav/Durge and himself—about why it must be done. The vampire spawn are too many and too hungry; they’ll cause a massacre, etc., etc. On another side, there’s the need to erase the evidence of what he was, of what Astarion endured, and what he inflicted upon others—what these wretches represent as a mirror reflecting his own helplessness and pathetic state. A victim, essentially. And that, for him, is humiliating because he was, in fact, humiliated for 200 years. He’s deeply ashamed of it.

But yet another part of him holds the desire to do the right thing.

In fact, if asked about the prisoners and what he intends to do, Astarion will say he’s weighing his options. Not only that, but Astarion also gives his approval when Tav/Durge tells Sebastian that their freedom depends on whether or not they know how to control hunger. Adding immediately after that they can succeed. Anyway, at this moment, for the first time, the choice and the responsibility are entirely on Astarion's shoulders—and on his conscience. There are no orders from Cazador to carry out, no Tav/Durge acting on his behalf. The most Tav/Durge can do is help him think clearly in a moment when, between fear, the scent of blood in the air, and power within reach, Astarion might not be the most clear-headed being on the planet. But ultimately, the decision is his to make. The first of many more to come.

However, I believe Astarion truly takes responsibility for his actions when, after freeing the vampire spawn, he becomes the leader of the coven in the Underdark in the ending. In this particular case, the transformation is complete—Astarion is a leader who plans, makes tough decisions every day, manages resources, takes care of his people (his old victims, let's not forget), and continually grows in his independence.

Naturally, returning to the concept of the self, each of the endings—whether he travels across Faerûn with Tav/Durge, becomes a nocturnal vigilante in Baldur’s Gate, or even ascends—offers a perspective on how Astarion has changed and how new experiences have added positive aspects to his self-concept. These enable him to increasingly perceive himself as competent and valuable. At this point, I’m afraid I might have gotten lost in the flood of words, and I’m not sure if I’ve managed to address the proposed topics thoroughly. My apologies—I tend to lose myself in my thoughts and ramble on freely! If needed, feel free to let me know, and I’ll add a follow-up! xD Anyone who made it this far is a true hero, just so you know!

[buglism]

Any chance we can get a sfw alphabet for Vere from Touchstarved?

(I like to put characters who probably aren't familiar too with non-sexual intimacy into situations where they get to experience non-sexual intimacy lol)

SFW abcs (A-C) with Vere from touchstarved!

A/N: the ABCs for both SFW and NSFT (not featured in this work) are made by me! Please credit me if you use them! Also! I love vere, I love complex characters with gray or dark morals who have their moments of humanity so much <3 this can be read as either romantic or platonic!

Feel free to request the rest of the SFW alphabet, this was just super long as is! Lmk what you think <3

Warnings: canon typical CWs apply, vere being…vere. Possibly ooc as this is my interpretation based on the two routes I’ve played so far (need to do the last one), nongendered reader, ‘friends’ to friends to possible lovers implications, platonic intimacy with implications of possible romantic feelings, but keeping with the macabre theme of the game.

A = Affection (how do they show affection/ / prefer to receive affection?)

Give:

Vere shows his affection in blunt ways, threatening you, flirts, empty promises of truth hidden under his silken tongue. We all know and have experienced Veres light switch tendencies with MC so while threatening you initially was for fun, sick thrill of the hunt, after a while you notice a change, he hopes you don’t focus on the way he gifts you long sleeve gloves that fit unsettlingly well to your cursed black flesh (of course and very in fashion) as the sun rises on your birthday, he disappears into the small crowd starting that surrounds the alley near the wet wick before you can register what’s happening, eyes tired as you resist the urge to smile, maybe being awoken so early wasn’t so bad.

Or the way your cape, which has been frayed and torn in multiple spots, truly almost strings in a certain someone’s opinion, is suddenly replaced one day after a heavy night of drinks and laughs at the wet wick, you don’t remember losing your original cape.

Thinking through the fog and hangover you remember wearing it at the bar, chatting away with someone, and then suddenly you were being guided to your room; slightly (extremely) drunk. Your brows furrow as your covered hands rub the new cape, thick outer layer feels breathable and expensive fur lines the entire inside, a heavy thick wool coat a dark gray is soft to the touch and feels warm, the hood has a fabric mask that feels like satin and covers everything from your nose down.

As you fiddle with it, lost in thought, you find clasps; the inner fur can be removed for warmer weather. Suddenly as you swear your face grew warm you remembered the smell of..something sweet and spiced.. you shake your head, pain settles into your skull and you decide it best left for another time. You don’t question as you inspect the jacket (can never truly fully trust the damn man, with how black and white he seems to be at every turn) the way he, somehow or by choice, left his initials in pink thread on the inside of the heavy fabric, either.

Receive:

he adores gifts, but of course he does, less work and hassle for him to do and who can so no to free stuff? Banter and borderline threats as well, the way your eyes went pinprick when his teeth grazed your throat sent primal shivers down his spine, the night you met.

Sex? Of course, with not much else to do what’s a guy to do? He would probably be surprised (and depending on how close you are) slightly annoyed if you refused. He wouldn’t kill you, not now at least, but it would set him on edge, if you don’t want sex and you don’t want his money what else are you after?

But something he will never admit is quality time, pebbling and loyalty really sink their claws into his (hopefully not three times too small) heart.

The way you often join him at the bar despite his insistence he hates the alcohol, but booze is booze he says and you notice how his posture slowly sinks as the nought goes on, his ears; while still alert, no longer stand like daggers listening intently. It’s not the alcohol, at least you think, that makes him seem so … human in the wet wicks dim light, when he laughs and hiccups or nearly falls off the barstool (again.)

Or how he refuses to acknowledge the way his eyes watched your figure swim through the crowd before declining to his hand, where a bag of assorted flora and fauna was held. ‘I accidentally took too much’ you said, fighting back an awkward chuckle ‘I figured out of everyone you’d enjoy having some’ your voice lingered in his brain as his ear twitches in annoyance, trying to stuff the disgusting and .. human emotions building in his chest.

Maybe you do finally acknowledge it, in a way, one night and after way too many glasses of wine and champagne you’re one of the only one willing to walk him ‘home’. if you could call the tall spire with secrets buried under mystery and danger a home to anything.

He leans into your frame, and somehow you hold as he giggles drunkenly into your ear, eyes trained on your reaction with almost feverish intent. His lips meet your skin and for a moment you feel the familiar strike of fear down your spine, he almost looks like he’s ready to strike before he sighs deeply, something strange flutters through his eyes and he settles into your side. His hair uncharacteristically a mess and the collar softly clanked in the darkening sunlight and abandoned street, he’s lost in thought as you two walk.

Just as you made it to the bridge and further from lowtown you felt his breath on your ear as he stops walking, his hands resting on your hips, turning you to face him as he leans forward and presses his forehead into your shoulder, shocked and afraid you’re stiff in his hold before you hear faintly “if you ever betray me, I’ll fucking kill you.” and before you know it he’s walking up the bridge, seeming more sober than before, almost at his usual confidant stride.

You stand there for ages it seems, deciding however it’s better to retreat into familiar territory lest a soulless find you yet again, you walk home. A strange sense of trust and something new bubbling in your chest.

Should it be fear? Or something somehow darker?

B = Best Friend (how are they around people they are close with? How would you know?)

There’s evidence vere can become close with someone, or at least was able to, given how much he seems to know about Ais in a .. . Definitely normal way. As well as a few others. You’ll know when his advice becomes less and less harsh jabs with intent to kill with harsh realities and slowly he begins dripping ways he may be able to relate to you.

Example:

You: “kauras is driving me nuts-“ (his care and lack of seeming any leeway into becoming closer than arms length are overwhelmingly frustrating sometimes)

Vere: “. . . Have you been deaf the entire time? Or are you too stupid to comprehension any of what I’ve been telling you?”

To

You: “why are we walking in circles?” (You’d become overwhelmed inside the crowded bar, bloodhounds being loud was enough let alone how humid the damn place got)

Vere: “25 minutes.” (As smug as can be, looking for any sort of reaction out of you)

You: “what? . . “ (confused as ever, passing the wet wick for what seems like the fourth time)

Vere, slightly annoyed: “25 minutes it took for you to notice. Besides, it smelt like dog shit, figured you wouldn’t mind some fresh air away from. . That.” (That’s all, he tells himself, however truthfully Leander was annoying him with more of his ‘drinks’ and you were the only one within arms reach that wouldn’t annoy the fuck out of him.)

C = cuddles (how are they when physically affectionate? Are they at all?)

Vere when physical intimacy is involved it’s usually to get a reaction, or gain something in return. And who can blame him? He’s been property for as long as god knows. He’s learned his skill set for a reason, and in his own words ‘ I’m very good at what I do ’

That’s all, that’s all it would ever be. But again, he hopes you don’t notice his leniency for you. You push a lot of buttons, and sometimes you push them well. But in some fittingly dark way..

As a totally yk hypothetically made up situation:

you’re at the wet wick one night, at the bar talking (being annoyed by) Ais when vere arrives, instantly vere with a confident stride heads to the bar. And let’s say some time later, and several drinking games, you’re shitfaced. But, the wet wick is slightly tamer now, the crowed settling for the evening once again. You and vere sit in a booth (having moved away from the bar at vere’s request when Leander wanted him to try a new shot called ‘the guzzler’ that had pink chunks of . . Something in it.) and the silence is enjoyable, vere is mid sip of his glass when he feels you suddenly lean into his side. At the contact he stiffens for a moment, observing you as you cuddle into him for warmth. Somehow, seeming to have lost your cape.

Something in his brain struggles for a moment, here he has the perfect opening to see what’s underneath your bandages, to figure out what the fucking fuss is about.

But another part speaks a little louder he finds, despite how tight his clenched jaw is as he chugs the rest of his wine and thinks about asking for another bottle.

As you settle against him he sighs, lifts you up slightly and encourages you to lean on him. Seeing this as an ample moment for more heat to your somehow cold body you wrap your arms around his midsection, even in this state careful not to disrupt your coverings, no longer bandages, but gloves. You sigh with a giggle as he grabs something, possibly his own jacket off the back of the booth as you leave, heading back to your loggings in the wet wick.

He doesn’t say anything, neither do you, but you notice he stands closer now, and once; when a little tipsy you leaned against him, and despite realizing and trying to move he leans into the touch.

It’s a mutual agreement then, more a challenge.

How far are you both willing to let the other go?

[thankskenpenders]

IDW's Fang the Hunter miniseries! All four issues are out now! I don't have as much to say about it as I did with the Knuckles show, but I do have some thoughts.

So! This is a pretty fun miniseries. I liked it.

It's fun to see Ian get to write a four-issue arc starring the Hooligans, his precious boys, with a B-plot showing Sonic and Tails' perspective on this little adventure. As always, Ian captures the characters' voices well. In particular, I really liked Bean in this, who despite being a slapstick screwball is actually a pretty perceptive guy. He often acts as sort of a voice of reason for Fang, seeing right through his sweet talking and pointing out how badly all of their schemes go but sticking around nonetheless just for funsies. And the art (illustrated this time by Mauro Fonseca for the first issue and Thomas Rothlisberger for the rest) is as good as we've come to expect from IDW's Classic Sonic output. Overall, this is a fun little romp that captures the vibes of the Classic era very well.

...But...

Well, as I've said before with the Amy and Tails anniversary specials, I feel like we're kind of seeing diminishing returns with these Classic spinoffs. They're fun, sure, and very nice to look at, but their writing always leave me wanting more.

A big part of this is just that there's just less to work with compared to the Modern universe. The Classic cast is much smaller, and within that cast there are a bunch of characters currently going unused, some of which are currently off-limits. Aside from the appearance of the Witchcarters in Tails' special, we've pretty much just stuck with the cast of Sonic Mania and the Hooligans, as established in the first special. No Chaotix, no Battle Bird Armada, barely any Honey. (Classic Vector was able to get a tiny cameo in the Amy special only because he was so obscured that it gave the IDW team plausible deniability to say it was actually a different character if Sega complained.) It's a very small box, and Ian's recent Classic comics haven't particularly expanded the boundaries of that box. They're just excuses to play the hits for old times' sake. And that was a lot of fun the first time around, but the novelty is starting to wear off for me.

I will admit, sure, the tighter focus on a specific set of characters from the games is a big part of the appeal of these Classic comics. They're simpler. They're nostalgic. They're shining the spotlight on characters that can't be used in the main series. They're the slavishly faithful old school Sonic comics that we could never get in the '90s, because the comics we did get diverged into their own continuities with tons of new characters. I get all that.

But the thing is, the Sonic comics have always added all those new characters because you can just do so much more with them. The game cast is great! But they're corporate mascots Sega keeps on a tight leash. You can do so much with a character like Sally or Surge that you could never do with any of the game characters, and by pushing into new territory with these new characters you can also bring out interesting new sides of the game cast. Maybe Sonic himself can't have some crazy complex character arc, but you can see how he'll respond to the things going on with these other characters, and how these other characters' arcs are informed by their relationships with Sonic.

So I look at the Fang miniseries, and I'm like. This was pretty fun. But by the end, what was the point of the story? What did we learn about the Hooligans as characters that we didn't already know? Is the point just to depict an adventure where things go off the rails a little and Bean and Bark end up a little miffed, explaining why they weren't with Fang in Superstars? There's potential for an arc there about the dissolution of the group, but it really does come off more as the type of spat these three probably get into all the time before coming back together for the next job. It's neither super dramatic nor super funny, feeling more like it ends on a fairly matter-of-fact note where Fang's like "welp, time to go do the events of Sonic Superstars" at the end, not particularly plussed by anything that happened in this arc. What we're left with is four issues of the Hooligans encountering recognizable characters and visiting recognizable locations from the Classic games, with little that really feels new or fresh here.

Ironically, the most interesting story element to me here (aside from Bean's characterization) is its tie to the main comics, something previous specials couldn't do since Sega had yet to reunify the Classic and Modern timelines. The plot of this comic revolves around Fang following the myth of the "eighth Chaos Emerald," riffing on both old playground rumors and Sonic the Fighters. What they actually end up finding isn't an extra Emerald, but rather the Warp Topaz that would eventually end up in Starline's possession in the Modern era, having apparently been found by the Hard-Boiled Heavies in the cave seen in the 900th Adventure special.

That's kinda neat, and the abilities of the Warp Topaz are used in fun ways. But this isn't exactly something to write home about for people who aren't lore nerds like me. There isn't a particularly meaningful connection between Fang and Starline's arcs here due to the presence of the Warp Topaz, it's just a thing for the wiki. Again, Ian's in his connect the dots mode a little more than I'd like here.

(...So wait, if Starline didn't find the Warp Topaz himself, did he track down the cave where the Heavies found it to leave that "greatness began here" graffiti? Eh, I guess that sounds like something he'd do. He's known for nothing if not his obsessiveness.)

So, again. This was a pretty good miniseries. This all makes it sound like I hated it, but I did like it overall. I particularly liked seeing the Hooligans fight the Hard-Boiled Heavies. But it leaves me feeling less fulfilled than something like Scrapnik Island or Tangle & Whisper or Imposter Syndrome. I get that, by the very definition of the word, Classic Sonic is always going to remain trapped in amber to some extent. This isn't the version of the franchise that's supposed to grow and change. That's what Modern Sonic does. Classic Sonic will always be trapped in the early '90s. I'm not asking for them to add a dozen new characters with complex dramatic arcs to the Classic comics, since that's not what Classic Sonic is about. But I think the other Classic Sonic stories not written by Ian - i.e. the driving school story by the McElroys and the two stories about Amy by Gale Galligan - show that you can tell fresh new Classic Sonic stories that aren't just about remixing the hits from the games.

If we're going to continue getting Classic Sonic comics from Ian (and I hope we do!), then I just hope he's able to find a better balance between familiar and new ideas, like he and Evan do so consistently with their Modern Sonic output.

[thesunshinecourts]

five curiosities for the next book, after reading the sunshine court

a non-exhaustive list, but five things i'm curious to (hopefully) find out more about in TSC2, or that i have questions about still:

what happened at the trojans' fall banquet (presumably jeremy's first year)? it's a Scandal, and jeremy cannot stand to be around bryson, and annalise has never forgiven him for sticking with exy after that, despite having attended all his games in high school. given the allusions to his stepfather, and also his step-grandfather being a congressman, i can see how jeremy's sexuality might be relevant to the situation—especially if we read into lucas' stiff apology and shame at his implication about jeremy and jean as being born from more than just common decency, but rather knowledge of this being a previous sticking point in terms of jeremy's scandals—but i also keep thinking about what cat said. jeremy has—three. two brothers, one sister. the way she says it, how it sticks out to jean as an odd switch, and the fact that we've only met two siblings – it makes me wonder what happened to the third. or if that's even the right question to ask, regarding jeremy's siblings.

elodie. i'm curious if we learn anything about what happened—by and large, i kinda hope not, if only because then jean has to too, unless it turns out stuart is lying, but that's a very different kind of fallout. (i don't actively theorise he is—at some point, these kids will run out of tolerance for ghost stories coming back to life—but i think its possibility ought to be considered, at least). i think we'll get more flashes of her from jean's thoughts, though, and i anticipate lots of heartbreak lmao

lucas. assuming stuart's contact comes through, and neil's hit goes ahead, we've got lucas in the aftermath of finding out his brother is a monster, and jean saying not to call the police, and then possibly his brother being dead. if it happens any other day—if it happens in west virginia, especially—i suspect lucas might be able to look at it like another domino in the ravens machine falling down, or even that something horrible happened to him when he returned home, but if it's still in LA, after what he did to jean, after jean said no cops-------i can see how that might twist into something more suspicious. who knows! i'm curious to see what happens there. grayson is a monster, but he is still lucas' brother. aaron and kevin still have complicated grief about tilda and riko, and they were their direct, constant abusers; cass never learned until after the fact, and lucas is in a complex space between the two parts of that spectrum. if grayson dies, i think the fallout will be unavoidable for exploration

this is a small one but man, i just want to keep seeing jean's list grow. it tears something out of me every time, and stitches me back together, and i want to go through that over and over, because i want to see a jean who not only hears that his life is his and worth living, but a jean who learns to believe it too

i'm just kinda assuming we see the foxes again, because i remember nora's character list having new details about characters who didn't show up in this one, but i'm also quietly hoping for more thea. their scene made me ache, and he'd never had good defenses against thea, and kevin knew that. jean would kill him for bringing her here made my heart do the !! double-tap. i'm extremely invested in jean, thea and kevin as a unit, and it would be so incredibly wonderful to see more

[diamondwerewolf]

A Quick Chat About AZ

Which won't be quick at all.

I've talked for a little about coming to understand Lysandre, and now I'd like to talk about AZ, who is still somewhat of a mystery to me. We know of his backstory, but what I'm missing is what defines his personality. We don't speak with him enough in game to know it, so I had to do some digging around so I can form some assumptions. Most of this post will be me using Canon and Non-Canon [But still official] sources to get a grasp on what kind of man AZ is, just in case we don't get more information about him in Legends ZA.

-I want to know what he's like, because I want to make more artwork with him. ^^'-

Before I get into what I've found, I want to first talk about a character who I think is clearly defined, by his sheer simplicity. That's right,

It's Larry.

Larry, for example, has very clear likes and dislikes. He's an overworked, professional, brooding, middle aged man, who has respect for rules and simplicity. He dresses plainly, and uses relatively ordinary or normal type pokemon. He's vocal and assertive of his preferred lifestyle, to the point of stubbornness [ of which is only thwarted by his desire for his paycheck]. He also loves food and the pursuit of an extraordinary meal. Despite his introvert-like demeanor, he's shown to be friendly, deeply contemplative, and hiding a quirky, dad joke-like sense of humor.

With all of this, I can extrapolate what kind of decisions Larry would make if I were to put him in a new non-canonical situation. And, I can also define where I'd like to bend or add on to his personality in my own form of fandom play.

--

Now, back to the main topic. All of this to digest with a grain of salt. I also apologize in advance if I hop around a little between sources.

AZ, I can only assume is underutilized because of his grand age. 3,000 years old, means 3,000 years of knowledge or a direct eye witness of history. He wondered in search of his best friend, gradually witnessing the world transition from ancient to modern. Chances are, he can answer regional mysteries that gamefreak wouldn't want to touch upon. So, he's here one moment, and then gone the next after serving his key purpose in the game narrative.

Which brings me to all of the other official items I looked into and some thoughts on his intelligence. I watched his appearance in the Pokemon Generations Episode 18: The Redemption. [ no one asked but i think i prefer the japanese voice much more ] And I also was given a data bank to look through Pokemon XY game script.

AZ build the ultimate weapon. Though, if he had any assistance with it, it's unspecified. IF I RECALL CORRECTLY, in the recent XY development leaks, Sycamore, Lysandre, and AZ were all the same character, before the role was properly divided into three. Still, I'm under the impression, that AZ wasn't just a king, but a well respected researcher.

There’s research material on the bookshelf [In Lysandre Labs] “The king was proud of the technology he had used to bring Kalos prosperity, but he couldn’t help but use it in a way that had never been intended... AZ, the man who was king, disappeared.”

I think, AZ being keenly intelligent, is an easy assertion to make. He could build and operate complicated machinery, and probably still can. There are even more side notes I can make about his more complex understanding of pokemon. I don't think I have the clarity of mind to pull out even more examples, so I'll use just this one:

AZ does have a Golurk of unspecified age on his small team. I wonder...is it possible he built his Golurk himself? There are many pokadex entries stating the creation of, and ancient use of pokemon in these old cities. AZ appears to understand the infinite energy that dwells within pokemon well enough to contribute to the society he ruled over. I don't think 'artificial' pokemon construction is beyond his understanding, if he knew well enough that he could bring one back to life.

---

Moving along.

After building the weapon to revive his friend:

"...his rage still had not subsided."

I absolutely love this flashback sequence. I love how they portrayed the rawness of AZ's emotions. The unnerving look in his eye as his horrific choice forms. You get the sense that he truly did just...snap.

Which Makes Me Wonder: How tethered is AZ to his emotions? Is he like Lysandre, who appears to allow himself to freely feel his own anger and frustration, letting it drive him to obssession. Does he have a slight sense of entitlement, too? Entitled to take the world's problems and other lives in his hands. If so, did he leave that wicked part of himself behind?

AZ is royalty. He's a former -literal- king during a time of war, unlike Lysandre who's a more metaphorical king during a time of general peace. That may be an excuse for him easily taking on, beyond important, harrowing decisions. I wonder if this was the most difficult point in his reign. That aside, AZ doesn't seem to be concerned with that title living in modern day.

He doesn't demand that he should be treated like his former title. I'm going to make another assumption that he has let that go a long time ago. He struggles with being forgiven, maybe even struggles with caring about himself. He's traded his old royal regalia, a robe, golden arm cuffs, and golden neck piece, for old, worn, patchy clothes. He doesn't care about his royalty, or his clothes, and AZ never makes any mention that I can remember about his own height.

None of it appears to matter to him. Only "where is she?"

---

Speaking of.

AZ's ability to hold on to hope is...something.

When yeh know for certain sure yeh ain’t never gonna meet again... Well, yeh can give in and accept it. But if yeh think there might be a chance, and yeh wander the world for 3,000 years tortured by that flicker of hope... I tell yeh, sprout. I couldn’t have stood it.

I don't think I could have stood it either. To not give up on his Floette for 3,000 years, to muscle through that torture until finally you meet again. What would you call the kind of 'grit' that would make you endure something like this? In the XY manga, he's plagued by nightmares of his past. He described his ordeal officially in the game as 'endless suffering'. Is it a certain kind of stubbornness? A kind of unconditional love? I'm not sure... AZ, in another one of my opinions, has got to be one of the series' most strong willed characters. You can't survive 3,000 years with weak resolve. He can't die of old age, but..well...

...

Despite the horrors he's capable of, he's got a gentle quality to him. I like the contrast, between a giant and a pokemon so delicate and tiny. I'm sure the juxtaposition of AZ and his Floette is purposeful, and in itself helps inform of his character.

This is from the Pokemon Adventure XY Manga, and isn't canonical, but...look at him. I found him greeting Trevor's Flabebe so sweet. He's respectful to the children also, and doesn't belittle them in the slightest.

His smile. He calls her beautiful, and she is! He has some stony expressions, but also some very softened ones in Anime, Game, and Manga. He hasn't lost his ability to smile after all this time. Which is nice...

OOF, I've been writing this for a long while, so I'll wrap things up. I can't trust myself to write a comprehensive summary, like Larry, at this time, but I hope to have one later. Again, I'm hoping Legends ZA will provide more before I start my true 'blorbo madness'.

Here are all of my assumptions in a list AZ is:

Extraordinarily Intelligent, capable of making and operating dangerous technology. I believe he wasn't just a King, but a contributing engineer/ researcher.

Deeply emotional, allowing himself to openly cry, feel anger, and sorrow. Despite his intelligence, his emotions can cloud his judgement. THOUGH, he may have much more emotional maturity now. [ i find it interesting both he and lysandre are allowed to shed tears ]

Strong of will, or is a person of unwavering conviction.

Stern, somewhat of a languisher, but gentle.

That's all I have for now. Let me know if anyone else has thoughts!

[yesbothways]

Any decent reads floating around where the Arcane creators themselves talk about their ideas for Caitlyn's story arc? Some of these reads here on tumblr are missing most of what happened, maybe on purpose, maybe not. I thought it was pretty clear that in season 1, Caitlyn was a class traitor and also Vi's OTP. She breaks the law to continue to investigate and uncover the corruption of Silco and Marcus and to let Vi out of prison, risks her life while sustaining injuries yet endures on, brings Vi and speaks before the Council in a way (along with Jayce and some other players aligning with her) that leads to the vote for Zaun's independence. There are multiple moments where we see Vi look at her in genuine surprise, and I think it's clear that solidarity and vision is why Vi is falling in love with her. The show is primarily interested in complexity and how small characters are compared with what's happening, especially cycles of violence. So there was about zero chance that Caitlyn's story would go that one way the entire time. The way they carefully crafted the set up of Caitlyn's mom voting for Zaun's independence at the moment of being murdered by Jinx, Caitlyn talking to Jayce about trying to integrate the complexity and loss of what happened and hold on to her core ethic, her fixating on her chance to have prevented her mother's murder with a little more willingness to use force and violence with her confessing to her grieving father, "I had the shot," and repeating to Vi, "I had the shot, and you stopped me," and the way she snapped when Vi compared her to her mother's murderer all maintained the integrity of her character for me while pushing her past an extreme. Which is what this show does to characters.

And I thought how young and naive she was in season 1 despite being intensely perceptive set us up to see how without her alliance with Vi she would reasonably get played by someone brilliant and experienced like Ambessa in collusion with people like Maddie who present a facade of something she believes in. Caitlyn's power suddenly rises when she inherits her suddenly lost mother's power, and she essentially stands in the hole Marcus left as the only person who knows what's going on who isn't also a part of it. Ambessa then drastically accelerates that consolidation of power around her by getting the city leaders to collectively declare martial law and appointing her the commander. Caitlyn's character was set up to reject that foray into unchecked use of power, and the theme that it's love that causes the sort of confusion she had during that whole era gets laid out in words as a theme in the show.

They also had Vi say openly to Cait that she would do anything to bring her mother back if she could, and when Cait then got the completely unprecedented chance to bring Vi's father back, she completely flipped and tried as hard as she could to help make that happen. She nearly dies multiple times for those choices, not even going into all the details they put into the final duel with Ambessa. She even says aloud to Jinx, "In hating you, I've hated myself," and then lets Vi let Jinx completely free before the final battle. Caitlyn is a game-changing character, because of the choices she makes. And I think she makes sense as an OTP for Vi specifically. That's even with the pivot to seeing how wrong it could go instead in S2 during the time when Caitlyn starts making the choices people with power tend to make. I feel like it's a real thing that right now some people just cannot do both the lived experiences with the realities of police violence and rise of fascism in the USA and themes in a fantasy show that evoke those. And that is honestly totally fair to me. But I'm seeing folks saying that Caitlyn and Vi going down with the strike team and destroying shimmer while fighting the gangs that were fighting each other for Silco's organized crime operation was Caitlyn ruining Vi's character. Vi was literally going to go do that by herself and probably die, and the Enforcers before Caitlyn got involved were definitely not going to do any of that. They have a shared mission and vision, and that is the crazy, unprecedented thing their love forms around. I think all of the stuff that happens is extremely complex on purpose. I have never loved villains more than I did Silco and Jinx. And Viktor. My God, Viktor. Seeing Zaun thriving in a world without hextech while in our main world also seeing how Jayce responded to causing the death of one boy and how Viktor reacted to the death of Skye when they are essentially responsible for a drastic deepening of inequality and crimes against humanity was a total mind-trip. At one point, Viktor's human face split in half and another non-human face emerged... like I genuinely don't know if it is actually possible for this show to be more complex. And I do think Caitlyn and the love story between Caitlyn and Vi is as rich and complex as anything else, and it really works for me on those terms.

[amerricanartwork]

Hi! I just wondered if you've played Hollow Knight based off how much you like Rain World. I'd be interested in any thoughts you had on it. :)

Thanks for the ask! No, I have not yet played Hollow Knight, BUT my interest in the game has been piqued! However I still have to see if the gameplay itself seems up my alley, or get invested enough in the characters that I want to discover more than I've already found out (and I have spoiled quite a lot for myself) before I actually decide to buy the game.

Regardless, from what I do know it does seem like an interesting story, albeit one far more tragic than Rain World's in my opinion. The characters I've seen are also pretty cool, both in design and personality. In fact, it was some ship fanart I found a few weeks ago that got me interested in diving deeper into the game once I realized it was where the featured characters were from, especially since one of the characters I had remembered hearing about before.

Here's a little sketch of some characters I was thinking about and whom I've been meaning to draw for a bit! Hornet because she's very Shaped™, Quirrel because from what I've seen he's quite wholesome, and Tiso because he was the first character I heard about and I think he's kinda silly!

Also, some more comparing/contrasting thoughts about the game below:

Firstly, I like how the premise of Kollow Knight involves anthropomorphic insects! It's something I never realized until recently despite being aware of HK for at least a few years, but I usually tend to take interest in stories starring non-humanoid creatures, so it's a plus! I also enjoy the more gothic/Victorian-looking magical high fantasy aesthetic, though it's pretty different from Rain World, which I'd consider far more sci-fi and specbio-esque in its aesthetic.

Now to get into themes, so far Hollow Knight seems to share Rain World's theme of lost/dead civilizations, which is also a very interesting premise to me! However, HK seems to have a greater focus on interacting with the people of its dying civilization and as such you get far more definitive knowledge about what happened to cause it to collapse. The player character seems to take on more of a classic epic hero role, because from what I've heard about the lore and endings, they end up directly influencing the fate of Hallownest, even potentially destroying or defeating the force that caused its ruin. The visuals have this very dark, cool tint overall to sell that gloomy, mournful vibe, and the structures, while presumably old, are still mostly smooth, ornate, and not super deteriorated, with these castle or manor-like appearances more similar to real-life buildings or things in other high fantasy works. Then, the orchestral music I've heard alongside all of these elements really creates this impression in me that it's aesthetic and overall concept is more akin to a high fantasy epic tale, albeit a rather tragic one.

Meanwhile, Rain World seem to have the player take more of an anthropologist role, observing and trying to piece together the story of vast remnants of its dead civilization, which seem alien and impossibly complex because so much of the history they're from has been lost to time. One of the core themes is being very small compared to these long abandoned structures, to really sell the idea that this history is so much older and more intricate than you'll ever know. The colors of Rain World are often warmer, which can be associated with old things, and the structures are far more weathered and broken down, with the only living survivors of the people who made them being the iterators, whom we only get to hear directly from two of. Combined with the focus on simulating an ecosystem, the more directly religious ideas within, the themes of natural cycles and an entire civilization evolving, changing, and ultimately disappearing over deep time, and the overall alien, sci-fi industrial designs of the architexture and strange creature designs that look like things out of "Of Rust and Humus" or some other alien speculative biology worldbuilding project make RW fit well in with that genre of fiction in my opinion.

Sorry if I seem like I kinda took a sudden shift there, but I wanted to talk about this contrast in artistic aesthetics and story genres for a moment because the "lasting impression" an art piece creates something I've recently concluded is pretty important overall in works of art, at least for mine!

But anyway, I hope these thoughts were satisfying for now! Thanks again for the ask!

[starlightshadowsworld]

For the character ask game, what are your thoughts on Chuuya?

…Ima say it now this one’s gonna be long.

Favourite thing: The way Chuuya knows how people perceive him and uses it to his advantage.

In Fifteen he knew that Dazai saw him as a loud brainless teen so he played on that to hide Arahabaki while actively helping to search for him.

And it’s in that same way that he tricks Fyodor.

Least Favourite thing: He does leap before he looks at times. Truly the world’s worst interrogator.

Favourite line:

“You’ve fucked up Detective Agency”

What can I say? It’s Iconic.

Also not a spoken line but when he’s being interrogated in Stormbringer and when it seems like he’s gonna confess. He just calmly hands over a note that just says “eat shit.”

BrOTP:

Chuuya and Kouyou because they are siblings to me. He looks up to her and she threatened to tear Verlaine limb from limb for trying to take him away.

Chuuya and Kenji because I’ve seen the I believe wan panels of them hanging out and it’s adorable and I love them being friends.

Chuuya and Akutugawa because Chuuya referring to him as “our boy” warms my heart. Akutugawa respects him and there little moment at the end of Dead Apple is so sweet.

Chuuya and Rimbaud because he did make an impression on him and despite it all Chuuya still wears his hat.

Chuuya and Adam are everything to me. Their whole relationship and how Adam cares so much for him so openly and how Chuuya’s terrible at showing he cares for him too.

Chuuya and the Flags. He’s like a really pissed off stray cat that they’ve all just adopted. I love his relationship with them all and how much they care about him and accepted him as one of them.

Chuuya and Dazai. Platonic or romantic (tho I prefer platonic) whatever they are, they are fundamentally intertwined and mean a lot to each other (begrundingly) and I love them being the smartest and dumbest people in the room together.

OTP:

Chuuya and Kunikida. Similar personalities and roles in their organisations. I feel they’d both respect each other and they’d find common ground and be very cute.

Also bitch about Dazai and gang up on him but that’s just a small part of all of this.

Chuuya and Atsushi. Similar backgrounds and abilities. Chuuya’s part of the reason Atsushi proposed an alliance to begin with. They both struggle with their humanity and I feel would reaffirm it in each other and be very cute.

NOTP: I don’t really have any.

Random headcanon: Because the Sheep were technically banned from Yokohama (being PM terrority) Chuuya knows multiple routes into the city that they aren’t aware if.

Along with secret passages into the PM building.

Unpopular opinion: Chuuya is a character that exists outside of Dazai. He is an incredibly complex and smart character and more than just the “brawn” of their duo.

Song I associate with him: What’s up Danger by Blackway and Black Caviar.

Favourite picture:

The unimpressed low-key ethereal look of a man that is so earning every single yen of his paycheck.

[nthspecialll]

Going to ramble a little bit here and I’m curious to hear your thoughts. Bill is one of my favourite characters in rdr2, which is a statement people often validly criticise because of Bill’s racism, aggression, general bigotry, and of course the monster he grows into in rdr1. But to me Bill is such a heartbreaking character because I truly believe he could have been so easily swayed down a better path if someone had have just tried to help him.

Bill was a very insecure and repressed man and throughout the entirety of the second game he is constantly seeking appraisal from the gang, you see it in the random camp interaction where he makes a show of bringing fish to Pearson, desperate for any kind of acknowledgment for his hard work and he only gets a small thank you from Pearson and Arthur in return. You see it in the sentiment that Bill repeats a few times when talking about his jealousy of Arthur, how he feels like he’s not allowed to make the same mistakes Arthur would be given a slap on the wrist for. You see it when he asks Kieran to have drink with him and then becomes upset and defensive when his genuine vulnerable attempt at connection is rejected.

A lot of people can’t see past Bill’s racism, which is fair, but I also see it as another really tragic and realistic part of his character. In his racist interactions with Charles, Lenny and Javier I think he’s acting out for attention because he doesn’t know any other way to get it and I don’t believe he actually holds real hatred for any of them because of their race, I think Bill deeply loves and respects them as his brothers despite his mistreatment of them. I see this as different to someone like Micah who is just genuinely hateful in his black little heart. Bill was taken into the army as a young man and spoon fed racist rhetoric by the people he respected and looked up to, his superiors, his brothers in arms. They’d share boogeyman stories about how bloodthirsty the natives were and fill his impressionable mind hatred, and then he had all those racist horror stories reaffirmed when they’d send him out to watch the men he considered brothers be slaughtered in battle by said boogeymen. I think it’s clear Bill has PTSD from his army days which warps the way he sees the world around him, I think Dutch (despite the can of worms that is his own racism) says it best when he says “I don’t doubt you saw things Bill but your tiny little mind was too small to comprehend what you saw. What you saw was people who lost everything to savagery.” I believe that Dutch especially, considering the idol he is to Bill, had the opportunity to educate him and help him be a kinder man and yet he chose not to despite his Evelyn Miller fuelled white-saviour-complex. Bill’s trauma obviously doesn’t excuse any of his actions, but I think it is evidence that he had the capacity to learn and be helped if someone had just believed in his intelligence enough to try.

Also lastly a big part of Bill’s insecurity can be attributed to his repressed sexuality, people talk about it a lot so I won’t say much but the part of it that hurts me the most is that Bill lost EVERYTHING for being gay. When he was discharged from the army he lost his job, his home, his food, his friends and his dignity. He was left homeless on the streets, turning to alcohol and becoming the man his father was, and robbing people just to get by. Dutch saved him and became his messiah, he gave him purpose again and then intentionally left him uneducated and pining for his approval to use him as a tool the same way the army did. Taking advantage of all the good parts of Bill Williamson and leaving them to rot and fester under the filth.

What are your thoughts on how Bill was treated and what could have changed for him had he been treated differently? RIP Bill Williamson I could have taken better care of you <3

Well you touched on a lot of subjects that I have already touched on in my other Bill posts, so I guess I won't need to go into background details LMFAO.

Bill was treated like a fool by everyone for every small mistake he has every made no matter how small it is, because most are small, and he is also blamed for things that aren't really his fault, like Sean's death. He is pretty much that one person you use as the butt of a joke, and a lot of characters don't really give him a fair chance.

John actually seems to be his best friend though, they are both kind of labeled as lazy, they are both drunks and they both know it is a problem. The issue is that John is given a lot more freedoms than Bill is and that leads to him becoming very jealous very easily, John to some extent seems to notice it but it doesn't seem to bother him.

Bill really seems to like Lenny, taking him out to drink and out to rob and calling him his son, however Lenny doesn't really seem to be that enthusiastic. It seems that Lenny goes with Bill when Bill asks, but he doesn't seem to be the one to take initiative to do something with him.

Now Hosea, he is absolutely not giving Bill a fair chance, he is going after him constantly and literally setting Bill up for failure. Hosea really seems to be using his senority against Bill and being a dick to him. Micah does the same, except he seems to hide it a little better because he feels they are on the same side.

Dutch is treating Bill like he is a child and a fool, even thoguh everything Bill does it to please Dutch.

As for what could have changed, I think a lot, like a lot. Steve said that if just someone had told Bill "hey we appriciate you" he would have sided with Arthur, and that is a massive thing because it means betraying Dutch whom he is otherwise so loyal to. So I think you can change pretty much anything about Bill if you just treat him nicely, it might take some time and a few reminders, but yeah his racism, his sour comments, his drinking could likely be changed if just effort was put into it, if someone encouraged him and stood by him.