#how are we feeling about the characters so far

[dcxdpdabbles]

I am feral for fake dating au and alley boyfriends goes so hard, I am on my hands and knees begging for a part 3

Tim's afternoon meeting gets canceled due to three of the members coming down with the flu. Usually, he would have just sent them a recording of what they missed, but since the three were presenting and the meeting was meant to be with the five department heads, he feels it would be best to reschedule.

There was only so much HR could report to him, after all. This meant he had the entire afternoon off.

Tim usually uses the free time he finds himself with to get a head start on other work. Maybe even some crake some cases. But today, he knew Danny was off from his job. His roommate was likely at home watching that new show he really got into.

Last night, he explained the entire plot over their dinner- Danny came from one of those families that always ate dinner at the same time- and went as far as to reveal fun facts he learned about the production team in charge of his show.

Tim didn't understand why Danny was so excited to know the lighting effects used only for a particular character. Nor did he find it as fascinating.

However, watching him get excitable was endearing enough that he listened to the whole thing. Then, he sat down to watch the show, finding it adorable that Danny couldn't stop speaking to the screen as if the characters could hear him.

Tim stares at his computer screen, trying his best to get himself to focus. The data sheets needed some work, but he had two weeks to complete it, and he really wasn't in the mood to verify so much work if he wasn't completely focused.

He glances at the clock, watching the little red hand tick. He insisted on having a face clock in his office instead of just having an electrical one because he found the ticking sound comforting.

Now, it merely annoyed him. That only happens when he's been trapped inside the office for too long or gone out as Red Robin so much he neglected his Tim Drake side. He could take the afternoon off, but what fun would that be?

He had also been trapped at home for a long time, working remotely whenever he could. Tim wanted to go out, but he didn't want to do that alone.

It would be so dull to just go to the same places on his lonesome as it would be sitting in his office or in his room. He could play video games or watch a movie with his roommate, but it wasn't the same of getting outside for a little while

His eyes landed on his cell phone. He could call Danny and ask if he wanted to go out today, but he had no idea what to do. He could take Danny shopping again- apparently, his roommate had no actual use for suits at his barista job, so the two had gone to the mall and gotten him some jeans and t-shirts, but the other seemed tired of that the last time.

Tim didn't want to spend money at the movies either because he wanted to do something active. The problem was that Danny hated spots with a passion and wasn't one for hiking or walking. They could go to a place to eat, but going out just for food wasn't something they could fill a whole afternoon with, not to mention Gotham's cold wave had most of the hang-out places closed until summer.

How hard was it to think of something to do in a city this big?

His eyes shift over to his computer before he caves. He quickly changes the docking station on his work computer to his personal laptop, eyes dancing between his two monitors.

He types into the search engine Where to take your roommate in Gotham City.. The first result is a list of locations, but Tim finds that they are all well-known tourist places, which is something he would rather avoid. He's just not up for a big crowd.

The following result is restaurants to try, which again isn't enough to fill the entire afternoon with- he notes to visit the ramen place because Danny mentioned he wanted to have some three days ago. He grows irritated with the similar lists he clicks until he stumbles across a new store that opened only a week ago.

It's new enough that most people don't know about it, which means they could enjoy a fun new activity since it is a random Tuesday.

Tim checks the store times, confirms that they could be there for a few hours and then reaches for his phone. Three taps later, a dull ringing sounds in his ear as he waits for Danny to answer.

Initially, he didn't want to go shopping, but he thought Danny would enjoy this shop more than any clothes store.

"Yellow?" Danny chirps in his ear, warm and bright. His voice reminds him of the comfortable nights when he's brewing Tim a lovely London Fog Late.

At once, Tim feels himself relaxed. "Hey, Danny. I have the afternoon off. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out?"

"Oh, sure! What do you want to do?"

Tim looks up at the screen. "How would you like to go to a place that lets you design your own succulent and offers an entire room filled with decorations to personalize it?

"I'll be ready in fifteen minutes!" Danny shouts the sound of crashes accompanying his voice as he likely leaps from the couch. "How expensive is it?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll pay for everything." Tim tells Danny just as Tam and three interns wander into his office. He holds up a finger at them, listening to Danny loudly proclaim he wants to be the one to treat Tim.

It's sweet, but Tim had so much money he didn't know what to do. Danny was saving up to buy his own car- and the last time Tim offered to buy him one, his roommate had refused to make him the Red Robin Rush for a week.

"Don't worry about money, Danny. Just get dressed, and tonight, you can make it up to me the usual way." He says, feeling a slow, smug smile spread across his face as Danny rushes to the coffee station to check through the tea they had.

"I'll do something even better. It's a new trick I picked up, but it's guaranteed to keep you up all night." Danny tells him as he fumbles with his clothes- likely changing- which is loud enough to echo from his phone speakers. An intern shifts, uncomfortable on his feet.

Tam raises an impressed eyebrow, which, for some reason, makes Tim slightly embarrassed. His face turns a bit red as he hastily tells his roommate. "I should be picking you up in an hour."

"Wait, what do I wear for this? I will not repeat O'malley's."

Tim's face turns redder at the reminder of last week's blunder. It wasn't his fault that what he considered casual clothes were what Danny thought were formal. He told the man to meet him at the restaurant after work, not considering it upscale since it was only served dinner, and once again, Danny's outfit had him stopped at the door by a worker who didn't think he was dressed the part.

"Just wear that outfit I like. The blue one." He tells him about the black sweatshirt with blue stripes and a fluffy black and blue sweater. It was the warmest, most stylish thing Danny women meant for streetwear, and he knew it would be a bit chilly in the evening.

"Alright. See you soon. Text me when you are outside. Byeeeee"

"Bye," Tim hangs up and offers the three interns and impressed secretary a sheepish look. "Sorry about that. How can I help you?"

Tam steps forward, waving a hand at the two young men and single women older than him by a few years. They straighten up as his PA speaks. "I just wanted to introduce the interns that start tomorrow; it won't take more than five minutes if you have to be somewhere soon."

"It's lovely to meet you all. " Tim smiles, ignoring the wide-eyed stare the one on the left is giving him. The introductions don't take long at all, but Tim still feels restless when he grabs his coat and rushes past Tam's empty desk. He leaves a note on her desk telling her he took the afternoon off and practically skips down to the parking garage.

He is unaware of the rumors circulating among his employees after a particular intern on the left let it slip he overheard Mr. Drake talking to his lover like their relationship was....like that. He is even more unaware that the second he picks up Danny from the front of their building, five shadows break into his penthouse and search the place for any drugs.

He is too busy picking out crystals with his roommate, who babbles about their effects on ghosts, memorized by his silly random knowledge again.

Meanwhile, Bruce is horrified to find some green liquid in the second bedroom. He's not sure why Tim or Danny have to separate rooms if they truly are lovers, but the fact this was hidden in the room by the other boy gives Jason's idea of Tim living with his dealer aan uncomfortable amount of credit.

He returned a sample to the Cave when his other children reported nothing. They refrained from planting any bugs just because Tim would find them, and it would stop him from trusting them should they have to give him a proper introduction.

Upon conducting some tests, despite the similar appearance to the Lazarus pits, results showed it's closer to the formula of Mr. Freeze's ice ray but in liquid form.

Why would Fenton hide this? What was he up to? Did Tim know that Fenton had cut an entire part of the wall to hide jars and jars of this goo?

[chobunz]

── midnight snack. ( psh ) ּ 𓂅 ⋆ 🥣

๑ When your boyfriend wakes up to the sound of rustling in the kitchen and an empty bed, he goes downstairs to investigate…

pair: bf!sunghoon ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: pure fluff, lots and lots of fluff, touchy touchyy, back hugging, yn trying to be sneaky (spoiler: it doesn’t work), teasing, act of persuasion, hoon’s everlasting love for you <3, slightly suggestive towards the end (maybe ??) | words: 672

a/n. these pics of hoon were too cutesy not to use so i had to make a little smth for him >.<

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

10 minutes ago, you woke up in the middle of the night with a paining feeling in your stomach. it was more like a ‘please give me food or i’ll eat your insides’ kind of pain.

you found yourself downstairs, wrapped up in a cozy bathrobe rummaging through the pantry, fridge, and anything else you knew contained food. you were hungry.

your boyfriend on the other hand, found himself not so far away from your figure. he’d woken up to the sound of something dropping.. okay, maybe a ton of stuff dropping, and once he felt the empty space beside him, he’d already caught on to where you’d gone off to.

“you can’t be clumsy and trying to be sneaky.” he shoots as he takes his last step on the staircase. evolving in laughter once catching sight of your spooked character.

“not funny ! you scared the shit out of me..” you took a spoonful of cold cereal to your mouth. a pout lacing your lips as you chewed the crunchy bits.

“poptarts, cereal, and i’m guessing it’s pizza i’m smelling from the oven ?..” he caged you in from behind; eyes trailing your variety of foods. “odd mix.” he chuckled, pressing kisses on your shoulder.

“odd, and none of your business.” you add bringing the bowl up to your mouth to drink the leftover milk.

“anything that happens in this house is my business. go to yours and we can find out otherwise.” he watched your figure turn around to face him, a smile breaking into him once his eyes met yours.

he absolutely loved your eyes, he would say they were your charming point, that other than your pretty lips. the lips he found himself kissing once your face met his.

“is this you kicking me out ?” you raised your brows.

“it was simply a suggestion.” he smothered kisses along your jaw through his words.

“and if i took your suggestion ?”

“i’d cry,” the male laughed against your skin, you do so the same.

you’d both been in the kitchen for a while, waiting on your pizza to get nice and melty. sunghoon’s constant whining about how the both of you should just go to sleep stopped when he realized something.

“baby,” he yawned. “were you even gonna wake me up to get any of this..” he span around in the high chair he found himself sitting in once his legs started paining.

“of course..” you awkwardly laughed, taking peeks at him.

“doesn’t sound like it, why’d your voice sound so high just now ?” before you knew it he found himself dragging you towards him.

“you weren’t gonna give me any ?” he cocked his head at you once you shook your head at him trying to hold in your throat full of laughter. “really ?! you were just gonna leave me all by myself in bed and enjoy yourself ?”

“that was the point of sneaking ! i didn’t wanna wake you up..” you caressed his arms seeing his pouted lips.

“you’re a meanie.” he scolded you.

“i love you,” scattered kisses made it’s way onto his cheeks.

“even more than your smelly food ?”

“uhmm , definitely not silly.” you nonchalantly spat.

“what !” he whined, smacking his teeth. “you’re really something.” he pushed your figure away slightly, diverting his gaze to the floor.

“i was just kidding, hoon.” you giggled at his sulking persona.

“yeah ? stop laughing.” he pulled you back towards him puckering at your lips. “also, why couldn’t we just microwave the pizza ..?”

“pizza is better when it’s melty, and it should be done by now !”

you danced your way to the oven, your affectionate lover trailing behind you, handing you your oven mittens.

“thank you, assistant.” you joked, making him roll his eyes. “it’s all done !” you exclaimed, placing the hot pan on the stove.

sunghoon would love to eat the oily treat ahead of him, even devour it, it looked more than good. but as of now, he had other plans.

“looks yummy..”

“i’m not so sure i want pizza anymore though..”

(〃ﾉωﾉ)ﾟ+°

i js wanted to post a cute fluffy fic for a change lol, after this i will post my longer heeseung fic next ! :3

question: should i write/post more stuff like this tho ?? i’m js seeing if anyone’s interested in these types of drabbles instead of what i usually write all the time, so i’d rlly appreciate anyone’s input as well <3

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

· ─────── ⋆⋅🝣⋅⋆ ─────── · 

I drew inspiration from the TikTok lipstick challenge, which, to be honest, left me feeling incredibly lonely. The whole experience stirred something in me, prompting me to write about it.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Additionally, I was influenced by @fraternum-momentum and their OC, Sol, which added another layer to the idea. As for whether this should be marked NSFW or SWF, I'm torn—it's really more of a playful game involving lipstick, with a soft, romantic vibe and a lot of playful banter and chemistry between the characters. 

It's meant to be lighthearted and playful, with a bit of flirtation thrown in, but definitely nothing explicit! Also, I think I might've missed the birthday of a certain character in the game… I wonder who that could be?

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The student council room was eerily quiet after hours, lit only by the warm glow of a desk lamp on the far end. The usual hustle and bustle of meetings, debates, and planning sessions had faded, leaving the space unusually still. 

Except for him.  

Crowe was seated at the large oak table, his posture impeccable as he reviewed a stack of neatly organized papers. His sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows. His black bottom-up shirt was loosened but still perfectly modest, and his purple vest hung from the back of his chair. He looked, as always, impossibly put-together.

And that’s exactly why you’d decided to stop by tonight, coming from a late night studying at the library, you could help to pay him a visit, after all, you have the key. He was too perfect, too composed. It was high time someone tested just how unshakeable Crowe’s gentlemanly façade was.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him briefly before clearing your throat. "Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Crowe glanced up, his brows lifting in surprise at first, but his expression quickly softened into a familiar, warm smile. “You have a habit of sneaking up on people, you know that?”

“It’s one of my better skills,” you replied, stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind you. “What are you doing here so late, anyway? Don’t tell me it’s another mountain of paperwork.”

“Would you believe me if I said it was?” he asked, motioning to the neatly stacked papers in front of him. “Someone has to make sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”

“Ever the responsible one,” you teased, crossing the room toward him. “But don’t you ever get tired of being so... predictable?”

Crowe raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Predictable? That’s a new one. Care to elaborate?”

You grinned, circling the table to stand behind his chair. “You’re always so composed, so polite, so... gentlemanly. Doesn’t it get boring playing the role of the perfect man?”

“Not particularly,” he replied smoothly, though his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “Someone has to keep things in order.”

“Mm, but what if someone didn’t?” you murmured, leaning down until your lips were close to his ear. “What if someone decided to mess with that perfect little image of yours?”

Crowe turned his head slightly, his deep blue eyes meeting yours with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Is that what you’re here to do?”

“Maybe,” you said innocently, stepping around to face him. Without giving him a chance to respond, you perched yourself on the edge of the table, just close enough to be in his space without overstepping.

Crowe tilted his head slightly, his deep blue eyes fixed on you with a spark of intrigue. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”  

You didn’t answer right away. 

Instead, a sly smirk played on your lips as you slid off the table in one smooth, deliberate motion, closing the small distance between you and him. Without hesitation, you eased yourself into his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs.  

Crowe stiffened immediately, his posture going rigid as his hands hovered uncertainly in the air, unsure where to land. His usually composed demeanor faltered, and the faintest trace of a blush began creeping up his neck. It was subtle, but on his warm, light brown skin, it was enough for you to notice—and grin.  

“Well,” you started, looping your arms lazily around his neck, your fingers toying with the ends of his braided brown hair. “I thought I’d start by seeing how much it takes to make you blush.”  

Crowe’s breath hitched as you leaned in, your lips brushing his cheek in a featherlight kiss. “That’s one,” you murmured, your tone playful, your lips curling into a mischievous smile.  

His jaw tensed, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Are you keeping score?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with a nervous edge.  

“Maybe,” you teased, planting a second kiss on his other cheek. “Two.”  

Your hand moved to the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his single braid as you tilted his head slightly to the side. The motion exposed the line of his jaw, and you didn’t hesitate, pressing soft kisses along the sharp angles, your lips tracing the warm expanse of his skin.  

“Three, four…” you counted softly, letting your lips linger just a moment longer with each touch.  

Crowe swallowed hard, the tension in his body melting just enough for his hands to find a place—tentatively settling on your waist. His grip was light as if he were still unsure if this was something he should allow himself to enjoy. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, though the corners of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Playing such a dangerous game.”  

“Am I?” you asked, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still idly twirling single braid. Your voice took on a mockingly innocent tone. “Or are you just afraid I might win?”  

He looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled faintly. "I suppose that depends on what you’re trying to win."

You smirked, reaching into your bag and pulling out a tube of lipstick. Crowe’s brow furrowed in confusion as you uncapped it, applying the deep crimson shade with practiced ease. 

"And what’s this for?" he asked, his voice carrying the slightest hint of wariness.

You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over his skin, lips hovering near his cheek. “Call it an experiment,” you murmured, your voice soft and teasing. Without waiting for a reply, you pressed a deliberate kiss just below his cheekbone.

The faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air as you pulled back, a perfect lipstick mark standing out against his warm, light brown skin. You tilted your head slightly, inspecting your handwork with a mischievous smile. “Not bad,” you said lightly, as if critiquing a painting.

Crowe blinked, visibly stunned, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours. He didn’t move, his breath caught as if trying to process what just happened.

But you weren’t finished.

Tilting his chin slightly with a gentle finger, you leaned in again, this time brushing your lips along the edge of his jawline. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the tension in his shoulders betraying his carefully composed demeanor. Another kiss followed, slower this time, leaving a bold imprint just below his jaw.

Crowe’s lips parted, his breathing uneven now, though he still didn’t stop you.

“Hmm,” you mused, leaning back slightly, only to trail your gaze down to the column of his neck. “This feels incomplete.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat when your lips found the curve of his neck. A soft gasp escaped him as you pressed another kiss there, then another, just above his collarbone. His hand twitched as though he might reach for you, but he held back, his restraint only making the moment more electric.

When you finally leaned back, Crowe’s usual polished, gentlemanly demeanor was in tatters. His skin was a masterpiece of faint crimson marks—his cheeks, jawline, and neck all kissed and claimed. He reached up hesitantly, brushing his fingers over one of the marks on his jaw, his touch lingering there as if he were trying to memorize the feeling of your lips.

“You—” he started, his voice rough, but you cut him off with a soft laugh.

“Speechless?” you teased, recapping your lipstick and slipping it back into your bag with an air of nonchalance. “I must’ve done something right.”

Crowe’s jaw worked, his lips pressing together as he struggled to find his composure. His usual confidence had been thoroughly dismantled, leaving him looking uncharacteristically vulnerable yet… yearning. The once-pristine picture of composure—the meticulous student apart of the council—now looked delightfully disheveled, his face, jawline, and even his neck adorned with vivid, unmistakable stains.

“There,” you said, stepping back and tilting your head as if you were admiring a masterpiece. “Not so perfect now, are you?”  

“You’ve officially ruined my ‘gentlemanly’ image,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. His fingers hesitantly brushed over the fresh stain near his jawline, his expression equal parts baffled and amused. “I can’t believe you just did that.”  

“Oh, believe it,” you teased, crossing your arms and giving him a satisfied grin. “Honestly, I think it suits you. Adds a little color. You’re welcome.”  

Crowe let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. How am I supposed to explain this?”  

“Explain it?” you said, feigning shock. “You mean you’re not just going to own it? What happened to that legendary confidence of yours?”  

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off by leaning in again, adding a quick kiss to his forehead. “Now you’ve got the full set,” you said with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Face, neck, and...” You trailed off meaningfully, letting the pause hang in the air.  

Crowe raised an eyebrow, his composure slipping as he caught the implication. “You wouldn’t—”  

You didn’t let him finish. Before he could say another word, you planted a deliberate kiss at the corner of his mouth, then slowly worked your way to the center, leaving faint marks in your wake.  

When you pulled back, your face was the picture of triumph. “Now you’re officially branded. Guess that gentleman thing has its limits, huh?”  

Crowe’s deep blue eyes narrowed slightly, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”  

“Absolutely,” you replied without hesitation. “And admit it—you are too.”  

He exhaled, his hands resting lightly on your waist as if he wasn’t sure whether to steady you or himself. “You like testing me,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, tinged with both amusement and something deeper.  

“And you like failing,” you shot back, leaning in so your faces were barely an inch apart. “Don’t worry, though—I think you wear it well. Lipstick suits you.”  

Crowe’s lips quirked into a smirk, his usually poised demeanor finally cracking under your relentless teasing. “You’re not making this easy,” he murmured, his voice low but laced with a playful challenge.  

“And why should I?” you quipped, settling more comfortably on his lap and letting your arms drape lazily around his neck. You leaned back just enough to take in your handiwork. The soft smudges of lipstick painted a trail of your victory across his cheeks, jaw, and now his neck. A particularly bold kiss near his collarbone had left a bright red mark against his brown skin.  

Crowe raised an eyebrow at you, his deep blue eyes flickering between exasperation and amusement. “I look like I lost a fight with a makeup counter.”  

“Correction: you lost to me,” you replied with a smug grin, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. Your voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “And you didn’t exactly stop me.”  

Crowe huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and rich despite the predicament. “Oh, I’m fully aware,” he said, his tone dry but edged with amusement. “Do you make a habit of ambushing people with lipstick, or am I just special?”  

“You’re special,” you teased, drawing the word out in a sing-song tone as your eyes narrowed, fingers slowly unbutton his shirt. “But don’t get too excited—I just thought someone as put-together as you needed a little... color.”  Your eyes looks up at him with a playful charm.

His breath hitched, and for the briefest moment, his usual restraint faltered. His hands slid up to your waist, his fingers curling slightly as if to anchor himself. “And here I thought you were here to apologize for interrupting my work,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, his eyes darker as they locked onto yours.  

“Apologize?” you repeated, feigning innocence. “For what? For making you look even more pretty? For proving you’re not as unshakeable as you pretend to be?”  

Crowe chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.  

“Impossible?” you echoed, shifting slightly in his lap, your fingers lightly tracing upper chest. You leaned in closer, your nose just brushing against his, and your voice dropped to a low, teasing whisper. “That’s funny, coming from someone who’s supposed to be a gentleman. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know... stopping me? Resisting temptation?”  

Crowe’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, though not quickly enough to mask the flicker of uncertainty that crossed his face. His gaze dropped, lingering on your lips for a heartbeat too long before meeting your eyes again. His hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist, his grip firm but still careful, as though he were holding himself back.  

“And why,” he murmured, his voice lower now, the usual steadiness giving way to something rougher, more deliberate, “would I want to stop you?”  

Your smirk widened, victory already bubbling in your chest. “That’s a good question,” you mused, leaning in until your lips brushed his, the contact feather-light and achingly slow. His breath caught, and you could feel the tension in his frame, the way he held himself still, like he was caught between giving in and holding on.  

“Good answer,” you whispered against his lips before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so composed and guarded, were darker now, his composure visibly slipping. You caught the faint flush rising along his neck, creeping just beneath his jawline, and you couldn’t help but grin.  

Crowe exhaled sharply, breaking the silence as he leaned his head back against the chair, a wry, unsteady chuckle slipping past his lips. “You’re trouble,” he said, though his voice betrayed him—uneven and laced with something softer.  

“And yet,” you replied, hopping off his lap with a triumphant flourish, smoothing the hem of your clothing as if nothing had happened, “you haven’t asked me to leave.”  

Crowe tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as that familiar glint of mischief returned to his expression. He looked at you now with the kind of calm that was just daring you to keep pushing. “Maybe,” he said slowly, his voice steadying again, “I like a little trouble.”  

You laughed softly, stepping back to admire your handiwork. His shirt was slightly wrinkled from where your hands had rested, and his face was a mess of lipstick smudges—on his cheeks, along his jaw, and the faintest stain at the corner of his lips.  

“Good,” you said with a mischievous grin, nodding toward the streak of lipstick on his neck. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Crowe’s eyebrow arched, his lips curling into a small, amused smile as he leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady and teasing. “Then I’ll be sure to prepare myself,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“Oh, you’d better be,” you shot back, taking a step back from his lap with deliberate slowness, your eyes lingering on him for just a moment longer. “Because next time, I might not be so... gentle.”

Turning on your heel, you strode to the door, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet room. Just before you left, you glanced over your shoulder, your grin still firmly in place. “Try not to miss me too much.”

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Crowe alone in the dim light of the student council room. He let out a quiet breath, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the mark you’d left on his neck. 

A faint chuckle escaped him as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the closed door with a small shake of his head. “You really are something else,” he muttered to himself, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. 

Trouble, yes—but perhaps the kind of trouble he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The living room was a cozy chaos, with warm fairy lights casting a golden glow over the dark walls and mismatched furniture. The lights draped lazily over the curtain rods, twinkling faintly as if encouraging the quiet mischief brewing within. The couch—a beloved relic, its cushions sagging in all the right ways—sat at the center of it all, surrounded by a battlefield of cosmetics.  

The coffee table groaned under the weight of lipstick tubes in every shade imaginable, from muted nudes to shocking neons. Tissue papers lay crumpled beside an array of smudged hand mirrors, and the faint scent of vanilla and wax lingered in the air. The room was comfortably warm, the heater humming faintly in the corner, adding to the intimate atmosphere.  

You perched on the couch's edge, your legs tucked beneath you, wearing an oversized hoodie that dwarfed your frame but left your enthusiasm unrestrained. A wicked grin played on your lips as you reached for the next weapon in your arsenal—a vibrant crimson lipstick labeled *Scarlet Desire.*  

Sol sat beside you, a reluctant participant in your glamorous experiment. His dark, disheveled hair framed his pale face, strands occasionally falling into his reddish-orange eyes that seemed to glow like dying embers in the dim light. He slouched dramatically, his arms crossed as if that might shield him from the barrage of attention you had planned.  

"All right, Sol," you announced with mock seriousness, brandishing the tube like a wand. "You’ve been chosen as tonight’s test dummy. Congratulations on your moment of fame."  

Sol let out a groan that was half dramatic and half genuine, tipping his head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling as if it might offer an escape. "Why do I feel like I’m about to star in a weird beauty guru horror story?"  

"Because you are," you replied with a smirk, twisting the lipstick open to reveal its bold crimson shade. The color gleamed under the fairy lights, a promise of chaos to come. "Now, sit still and quit whining. Let’s see if ‘Scarlet Desire’ lives up to its name."  

Before he could muster another complaint, you leaned in, one hand gently cupping his jaw to steady him. His breath hitched, his body freezing under the unexpected closeness. The faint scent of your perfume—something floral and sweet—floated between you, making his pulse quicken.  

You applied the lipstick to your lips with precision, pausing briefly to inspect the smoothness in the hand mirror. Satisfied, you leaned closer again, your face just inches from his.  

"Ready?" you teased, your voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper, your grin turning impish.  

Sol’s eyes widened slightly, their reddish hue glinting with a mix of trepidation and something else he couldn’t quite place. "Do I have a choice?" he muttered, his voice quieter than usual.  

"Not at all," you replied cheerfully, brushing aside his weak protests.  

Without hesitation, you pressed your lips to his cheek, the cool touch of lipstick contrasting with the warmth of his skin. The kiss was quick but deliberate, leaving behind a perfectly shaped crimson stain against his pale complexion.  

Sol blinked, his mouth parting slightly as he tried to process what had just happened. His usual indifferent mask cracked the faintest hint of pink creeping up his ears. The lipstick stain on his cheek seemed to burn hotter than the room’s heater, a brand he couldn’t ignore.  

You leaned back, tilting the hand mirror to inspect your handiwork. "Still intact," you mused, tapping your lips thoughtfully. "That’s a point for ‘Scarlet Desire.’"  

Sol finally found his voice, though it came out uneven. “Is… is this going to take all night?”  

“Probably,” you replied, lips curling into a mischievous smile as you reached for another tube. You held it up to the light, inspecting the label. “‘Forbidden Plum.’ Sounds dramatic enough, don’t you think?”  

The deep purple shade gleamed as you twisted the tube, the realization dawning on Sol that this was far from over. He groaned again, though the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed the fact that he wasn’t entirely upset about the situation.  

“Relax,” you teased, leaning in close, your warm breath brushing his ear. “I’ll be gentle.”  

Before he could respond, your lips pressed softly to his jawline, leaving a perfect, dark imprint just below the curve of his cheekbone. You lingered for a moment, letting the heat of the kiss sink in before pulling back to inspect the mark.  

“Not bad,” you murmured, tilting your head and running your thumb over the stain as if appraising your work. “But I think this color needs a little more flair.”  

Without waiting for his approval, you leaned in again, this time brushing your lips against his neck. The touch was softer, teasing, and you felt the slight hitch in his breathing as your lipstick left another vivid mark just above his collarbone.  

Sol swallowed hard, his face now a canvas of warmth and embarrassment. This wasn’t just a lipstick test anymore—it was a battle to maintain his composure against your relentless, flirtatious charm.  

“Hm,” you mused again, holding up the mirror to check your lips, then twisting open another tube. “Alright, next contender: ‘Midnight Rose.’ Let’s see if it’s as dramatic as it sounds.”  

His reddish orange eyes tracked your every move, flickering between the lipstick in your hand and the playful glint in your eyes. As you leaned in to kiss his other cheek, the cool press of your lips sent a jolt down his spine, and his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the couch cushion.  

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered, voice low and unsteady.  

“You say that like you’re not,” you shot back, your tone as playful as the smile that followed.  

This time, you kissed along his jawline again, dragging your lips lightly over his skin before pulling back with a smirk. The fairy lights cast a warm glow over the room, adding to the intimacy of the moment as your laughter filled the space.  

By the fourth or seventh kiss, Sol was no longer slouched but sitting ramrod straight, his breath uneven, and his lips parted in a dazed expression. The air between you felt charged, and every teasing glance you shot his way only added to his visible fluster.  

“Now how… how many more of these are there?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You tilted your head, pretending to count the remaining tubes. “Oh, only about five or six. Maybe seven. You’re handling this so well, Sol, I might just have to make you my permanent lipstick tester.”  

He groaned, a hand flying to his forehead in mock defeat, but his reddish-orange eyes lingered on you longer than they should have.  

“You must be getting bored with this experiment by now,” he mumbled, though his tone lacked conviction.  

“Bored? Not a chance,” you quipped, leaning in one more time, this time planting a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Though I think you might be getting dazed from all the attention.”  

Sol’s breath caught, and his cheeks flamed brighter than before. He could only sit there, speechless and utterly smitten, as you reached for yet another lipstick tube.  

“This one’s called ‘Velvet Sin,’” you announced, holding it up with a playful wink. “Let’s see if it’s worth the hype.”  

For a moment, he thought about protesting, but then he realized—what was the point?

He was already lost in the haze of your laughter, your teasing touches, and the warm, lingering impressions of your kisses. The pink, purple, and red smudges peppered across Sol's pale skin. He sat stiffly, his black and green streaks bangs veiling his burning cheeks as he avoided your amused gaze.  

You held up the mirror again, turning your head to inspect your lips carefully. "Still nothing, maybe I should just stick to clear gloss,” you said, a triumphant edge in your tone. "It’s like these lipsticks were forged in a lab to smudge. Great…."  

Then you turned the mirror toward Sol, revealing his reflection. His reddish-orange eyes widened as he stared, dumbfounded, at the chaotic array of lipstick marks scattered across his face—his jaw, cheeks, and even a faint smear near his collarbone from when you leaned in a little too close earlier.  

You burst out laughing, breaking the silence. "You look like a really sad art project," you teased, clutching the mirror with one hand and your stomach with the other as you doubled over in laughter.  

He huffed, clearly trying to mask his growing embarrassment, but the corner of his lips twitched upward in a sheepish smile. "You’re enjoying this way too much."  

Sol, typically composed in his aloofness, looked anything but indifferent as you leaned in, armed with yet another lipstick in your collection. His usual mask of stoicism had cracked, replaced by a look of pure, unguarded vulnerability.

“And you’re taking it way too seriously,” you teased, your voice low and dripping with mischief.

Before Sol could respond, you closed the gap between you, planting a kiss squarely on the tip of his nose. The kiss was playful, a soft smooch that left behind a faint, heart-shaped lipstick mark. The vibrant maroon stood out against his pale skin, and you pulled back, your lips curving into a satisfied smirk.

"Perfect," you murmured, tilting your head to inspect the tiny flourish you’d left behind.

Sol sat there, motionless, his lips slightly parted as if he’d forgotten how to form words. His reddish orange eyes were wide, darting to your lips and then back to your eyes. He looked completely out of his depth, his usual brooding demeanor utterly replaced by something unsteady and raw.

You didn’t stop. You leaned in again, closer this time, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Sol’s breath hitched audibly as your lips ghosted over his cheek.

“Let’s try something more daring,” you whispered, the heat of your breath brushing against his skin before you pressed a deliberate kiss just beside the corner of his mouth.

His entire body stiffened, his hand gripping the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. The lipstick left a bold mark just shy of his lips, teasingly close. You pulled back ever so slightly, your gaze lingering on the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.

“Hmm, maybe I should try it here next,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers gently brushing his chin to tilt his face toward you.

Sol’s eyes widened, his lips trembling slightly as you leaned in further. This time, you kissed him squarely on the mouth, a soft, deliberate press of your lips against his. The kiss was slow, your lips brushing his with just enough pressure to leave a faint imprint of the maroon shade.

When you pulled away, his lips glistened faintly, the color smudged ever so slightly. His cheeks were burning red now, the flush spreading up to the tips of his ears. Sol’s expression was a mix of stunned disbelief and something else—something heavier, like a quiet yearning he couldn’t contain.

"Oops," you said with a playful grin, holding up the mirror to show him the faint but unmistakable lipstick mark lingering on his lips. "Looks like you’re officially part of the experiment now."

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. His gaze dropped to your lips again, lingering there a moment too long before darting back to your eyes. "You... you’re really not holding back," he mumbled, his voice cracking slightly.

"Should I?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached for another lipstick. "I think you’re holding up pretty well, Sol. You’re a surprisingly good test dummy."

Sol didn’t respond. He just stared, his lips still tingling from the kiss, his mind racing in directions he wasn’t ready to admit. His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. You reached for the next tube—deep plum, almost black, its sleek metallic casing glinting under the dim fairy lights.  

"All right, final test," you declared, twisting the lipstick open with a satisfying click. The color was rich and bold, a shade that dared anyone to look away. You leaned in, closer than before, your breath brushing against Sol’s cheek.  

He stiffened, his head tilting slightly as though torn between leaning away and leaning in. "You’re relentless, you know that?" he muttered, his voice low and strained.  

"Let’s see how kiss-proof this one really is," you whispered, your lips curling into a playful grin.  

Before he could protest, you kissed him, deliberately slower this time. The plush warmth of your lips pressed deeper against his lips, lingering longer than any of the others. Sol’s breath hitched audibly, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as his tension melted into something softer. When you pulled back, you admired your work: a perfect, bold imprint on his pale red lips, perfect and center.  

You shifted slightly, cupping his chin with your hand to turn his face toward you. His eyes were half-lidded, his dark lashes casting shadows against his flushed cheeks. He looked wrecked in the most endearing way.  

"Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already," you teased, your thumb brushing the edge of his jaw.  

Sol didn’t answer. He seemed dazed, his lips slightly parted as though the words had escaped him entirely. Undeterred, you leaned in again, pressing a kiss to his temple this time, your lips lingering against the curve of his hairline.  

"Still intact," you murmured, half to yourself as you pulled back and inspected your own lips in the mirror.  

Sol blinked, his lips twitching like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite manage it. The next kiss landed on the bridge of his nose, soft and playful, and the one after that trailed down to the corner of his mouth.  

"Okay, this one’s holding up really well," you remarked, leaning back to evaluate the results. You laughed softly at the kaleidoscope of lipstick stains that now adorned his face—a collection of reds, pinks, and purples, each mark a testament to your experiment.  

"Sol?" you prompted, tilting your head as you noticed his unusually quiet demeanor.  

He blinked again, his gaze focused on you but far away.  

"Hello? Earth to Sol—" You waved a hand in front of his face, but before you could finish the thought, his hand shot up, gently catching yours mid-wave.  

You froze, startled by the suddenness of the movement and the look in his eyes—smoldering and uncharacteristically intense.  

"Huh…" you trailed off as he guided your hand down, his fingers curling over yours in a firm but careful grip.  

"Enough," Sol murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.  

Before you could process the shift, he moved. In one smooth, almost predatory motion, he pressed you back into the couch, his weight pinning you against the cushions. Your back hit the fabric with a soft thud, and his hands found your wrists, holding them gently but securely above your head.  

"Sol—"  

"You're impossible," he said softly, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His dark hair fell messily into his eyes, and his gaze burned with something raw, something that made your chest tighten.  

You stared up at him, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts as he leaned closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. The space between you felt impossibly small, the room charged with a quiet intensity that neither of you dared to break.  

"All those kisses," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your cheek as his lips curved into a teasing smirk. "And you still act like you’re in control."  

Your heart raced, the world outside the living room forgotten entirely. "Sol, I—"  

But his expression softened, his grip on your wrists loosening slightly. "I think," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "it’s my turn to test your limits, pumpkin."  

Oh shit.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

It’s one of those crisp afternoons, the air just cool enough to send a slight shiver down your spine as you sit on a bench by the archery range. The college campus is quiet, with students scattered here and there, but your attention is entirely on him—Geo. 

The archery field is his domain. He doesn’t know it yet, but you’ve got a plan that will catch him off guard.

Geo stands tall at the center of the field, adjusting his posture with precision, his focus entirely on the target in front of him. The sun casts a soft, golden light across his pale skin, making his aquamarine eyes seem even sharper. He’s dressed in a simple, black, form-fitting athletic shirt, paired with tight-fitting cargo pants that hug his long legs. 

His boots are rugged, the kind that make him look even more intimidating as he stands tall and composed. His hair, dark bluish-purple, is tied back neatly in a low ponytail, the bowl cut framing his face in a way that makes his expression appear even more brooding.

Despite his best efforts to look aloof, there’s something about him that calls for attention. His movements are deliberate, almost as if he knows he’s being watched. You lean back slightly, pretending to be absorbed in the scene but really just observing him, thinking about the plan you’ve hatched.

Geo pulls his bowstring back with precision, his aquamarine eyes narrowing as he takes aim. Everything about him is calculated, a display of discipline honed through years of practice. You bite your lip in anticipation, then grab the lipstick from your bag, uncapping it with a soft click. The color is a deep red, the kind that will stand out against his pale skin. You’ve decided: it’s time to throw him off just a little.

You stand up quietly, making your way to where Geo is, and as you approach, your heart beats a little faster. The air around you feels charged with the quiet energy he exudes. Geo is too focused on the target, his fingers inching toward the release. You take a deep breath, then step forward just as he releases the arrow.

Before he can even blink, you lean forward and plant a bold, quick kiss to his cheek, the lipstick leaving a bright red mark against his pale skin. The sound of the arrow shooting through the air fills the silence as you pull back, watching the surprise flash across his face.

Geo’s eyes widen for the briefest moment. He freezes for a split second, just enough for you to see his cheeks flush under his usual stoic exterior, the pale hue quickly warming to something deeper. The arrow he released flies off course, landing just beside the target rather than hitting the bullseye as it usually does.

He’s caught off guard.

You step back slightly, a mischievous grin on your face. “Missed it,” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

Geo’s gaze shifts to you, his expression darkening. His lips part, and for a moment, it’s like the weight of the world shifts. "What the hell?" His voice is low, his tone not entirely angry, but certainly perplexed.

For someone who’s always so controlled, so composed, you’ve definitely managed to make him lose that edge. He quickly recovers, wiping his cheek with his sleeve, and for a second, you wonder if you pushed him too far. But then you see the slightest tug of a smirk on his lips.

“Don’t do that again,” he warns, but there’s no heat in his words—just that familiar sharpness that seems to be his natural state. It’s clear he’s still processing, but you can tell this little moment has left its mark on him.

You smile back, not backing down. "I thought I’d get your attention. Looks like I did."

Geo shakes his head, his smirk growing as he nocks another arrow. "You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into," he mutters under his breath, but you can hear the playful challenge behind it.

Despite his usual brooding demeanor, you can’t help but notice the slight curve of his lips as he prepares to take another shot. It seems that, for once, he’s not quite as untouchable as he wants everyone to think. You can feel the tension in the air as Geo reaches for another arrow, but you’re already plotting your next move. The excitement bubbling inside you is hard to contain—this is more fun than you thought it would be.

Geo draws his bow back again, taking aim with the kind of precision only someone like him could master. But before he can release it, you lean forward just enough to interrupt his concentration, tapping his shoulder lightly with a teasing smile. 

“What now?” he asks, his voice as gruff as always, though you can detect a hint of amusement hiding in his eyes. “You want me to miss again?”

You shrug innocently. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see if I could make you blush again." You let the words hang in the air, watching as his expression shifts. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, and for a moment, you're convinced he’s actually considering the idea of doing something more than just shooting arrows.

Geo takes a deep breath, clearly trying to regain his focus, but before he can, you lean in—this time, a little bolder. You press another quick kiss to his neck line, leaving a fresh red mark on his pale skin. And just like last time, he freezes—eyes wide, jaw slightly ajar.

The arrow that should’ve been heading for the bullseye instead veers wildly off course, missing the target completely and burying itself in the grass.

You burst out laughing. "Not so precise anymore, huh?"

Geo whips his head toward you, eyes narrowed in something between surprise and irritation. “Are you trying to sabotage me?” he growls, though you can see the amusement hiding behind his scowl.

You’re still laughing, clearly enjoying yourself far too much, and that’s when Geo decides to do something about it.

With a swift motion, he reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can step back, his fingers tightening around it just enough to stop you from making any more cheeky moves. You stare at him, caught off guard for a moment—he’s not known for being touchy, but here he is, holding you in place.

"Alright, enough of this," he says, his voice suddenly less gruff and more playful, though his eyes still carry that glint of challenge. "If you think you can distract me with kisses, you’re mistaken."

You grin up at him, unfazed by his grip on your wrist. "Oh? Then you should’ve seen what happened when you missed your shot," you tease. “I think the whole campus heard your arrow crash into the grass.”

Geo rolls his eyes, but the faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Don’t think this is over,” he warns, his grip on your wrist tightening a little more, though it’s more playful than threatening. "You’re gonna regret this, trust me."

“You sure about that?” you quip back, your voice filled with playful defiance.

Geo raises an eyebrow at your defiant tone, clearly weighing his options. For a second, you swear there’s a flicker of something almost... fond? It vanishes just as quickly, replaced by his usual broody persona. “I could have you running laps around this field by the end of the day,” he threatens, though his eyes are twinkling with the unmistakable sign of a challenge.

“Make me,” you shoot back, tugging your wrist free from his grasp just enough to push your luck a little further. 

Geo chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. "You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

“Yeah, all for you~” you tease, throwing him a wink.

Geo doesn’t acknowledge the comment, but the corner of his mouth lifts just a little higher this time. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Despite the gruff exterior, you’ve managed to ruffle his feathers just enough to see a side of him that’s not all business. 

And honestly? 

You kind of like it.

As you step away, pretending to give him space, you can feel his eyes on you. You’re not sure if he’s still trying to figure out what the hell just happened or if he’s plotting his revenge. 

Either way, you’re all in for whatever comes next.

Geo steadies himself, the bow string pulled taut as he lines up another shot. But the second you lean in, it’s like the world goes into slow motion. You can see his shoulders tense, his jaw clenching slightly as you get closer. He knows exactly what you're doing. His grip tightens on the bow, and for a split second, you think he might just let the arrow fly—into the target this time.

But before he can fully focus, you press a soft, teasing kiss to his bottom jaw again, the lipstick leaving a fresh red print. 

Geo’s eyes snap wide open in surprise, his finger twitching against the bowstring. “You—” He cuts himself off, trying to maintain his composure, but the blush on his cheeks betrays him, his pale skin turning a shade darker. The arrow in his hand nearly slips from his grasp as he blinks in confusion. 

You pull back just enough to see his expression, a mix of shock and that brooding intensity you’re so used to. His lips twitch, a barely-there smirk playing at the corners, more like disbelief?

However there’s something else in his eyes now—something... tempting.

"Alright," he growls lowly, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice now, "You want to play that game, huh?"

Before you can even react, he’s closing the space between you, his hands gripping your wrists with surprising tenderness, pulling you in with a quick, deliberate motion. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s more intense than anything you expected. The rush of warmth from his lips against yours sends a little shock of electricity through you, and your breath catches.

Geo’s kiss isn’t soft or tentative. No, it’s like he’s trying to make a statement—daring you to say something, to break the moment. You feel the pressure of his lips, firm and demanding, and you can tell he’s not just kissing you for fun anymore. There’s something deeper in it now. The playfulness has shifted into something a little more heated.

You’re breathless when he pulls away just enough to speak, his voice husky, dark with amusement. “Now you’ve really done it.”

You blink up at him, dazed from the sudden shift in his demeanor. “I didn’t think you’d actually kiss me back, especially on the lips” you tease, a smile tugging at your lips despite the heat crawling up your neck.

Geo doesn’t smile—he just stares at you, eyes dark with the challenge of it all. His hands still rest lightly on your wrists, but now they feel heavier, almost like he’s holding you in place. “You should’ve known better.”

Before you can reply, he gently lets go of your wrists, his gaze lingering just a little longer than you’d like. The air between you two is thick now—charged with the energy of the moment, and there’s a sense that things are about to get even more complicated. You’ve managed to crack his icy exterior, but you’re not entirely sure what that means for either of you.

Geo turns back to the target without another word, grabbing another arrow. His focus is entirely back on the bullseye, but there’s an undeniable smirk on his lips now. And the way his fingers curl around the bow, steady and sure, tells you that this game is far from over. 

“You missed your shot earlier,” you say playfully, “Think you’ll actually hit the target this time?”

Geo shoots you a look over his shoulder, a glint in his aquamarine eyes. "Watch me," he mutters, before losing the arrow. 

It’s a perfect shot—dead center. He doesn’t even flinch as the arrow hits the target. 

“Well, damn,” you say, impressed. “I guess I’ll just have to distract you more often.”

Geo doesn't respond at first, but the smirk that pulls at his lips says it all. "Keep trying me, and you’ll see," he murmurs a warning, almost to himself. 

And just like that, you realize—he enjoys this more than he lets on.

· ─────── ⋆⋅🝣⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[mimipolo]

i am begging

the «reuniting with your ex in the games» BUT it’s Nam-gyu falling for Thanos’ ex😭😭

Nam-gyu x reader

|This was fun to write but I'm not totally sure I did the idea justice

|Also guys when I finish all the requests I DO write for other Squid Game characters especially if they're underrated 🤞

It was easy to want to find a distraction during the games, the pressure of just wanting to survive and leave with a pretty amount of cash being the only thing pushing him forward.

But conventionally that's when he noticed you. It was during the 6-legged race, you had already formed a reliable looking group and were encouraging a frantic looking man. He didn't understand how he had missed you throughout the other games but now his eyes always drew back to you like a magnet.

You weren't even doing anything that special, just talking to that bastard's chic that left him broke. It was your soft look of concern for her that had him falter slightly, he was holding his food as he stared in your direction.

He wanted to talk to you, badly.

As he's biting the inside of his lip, considering whether or not you'll ignore him a familiar cheerful voice comes up from behind. Thanos lazily swinging an arm around his shoulder.

"Whatcha looking at ma boy?" He asked in a playful tone, grinning dopily as he follows Nam-gyu's line of sight, only to land on. You.

His face screws up dramatically as he looks between the stricken look on his friends face and then back to you. Nam-gyu's about to speak up and ask Thanos to hype him up to go talk to you but he's not given a chance when he's suddenly being dragged towards him by both shoulders.

Thanos leans in to whisper, but he's still comically loud. "Nah man, that's my ex, total priss. Trust me you don't want that." But thing is he wanted it, and bad.

He's momentarily speechless as he glances between you and Thanos, torn between his loyalty and this new warm feeling you're giving him. "Yeah...uh huh." He doesn't mean a word of it, you're definitely going to remain on his mind until he can find another way to get to you. He's brought out his thoughts by a clap to his back. "Right idea man." He says nodding his head with a furrowed lip before spinning on his heel to bother someone else, most likely Se-mi.

He couldn't care less what he was on about, your smile was sweet and he felt eager to get your care and attention on him instead. Nodding to himself with a new found resolution as we walked to his bunk to eat his food.

It was honestly unbearable trying to ignore your prescence, he's high off his rockets but he's still looking up at the ceiling stupidly as he tried not to make it obvious he was actually looking at your way and you're only standing in front of him amongst a vast crowd.

Everyone was on their way to the next game, though the colours seemed to blur and blend together he could make out a stage which everyone instinctively stepped on. What kinda game is this supposed to be? His mind is too jumbled to decipher everything like he usually would and he finds himself easily joining in on Thanos' antics.

Blood smeared the doors and floors, the mocking song that blared from above ringing in his ears. All he really had to do was get into a group with the right number, that's all, if he could understand that at least he'd be just fine.

"Two!"

The child like voice sung out and for the last time chaos erupted. His gaze immediately moves to locate Thanos, they had been in every room together so far so he didn't think this time would be any different.

Apparently he judged wrong.

The purple head of hair making some unexplainable noise before grabbing Min-su by the shoulder and skipping off.

What. The hell.

He wanted to kill him, wrap his fingers around his neck and wring him to death, taking his cross as a reward. But now wasn't the time to fantasize. He was quickly growing irritated, cursing under his breath as he looked for anyone he could easily grab.

And that's when his eyes locked with yours.

You look as frantic as he is, and he's genuinely disturbed to realise that all he's thinking about is that you noticed him in this bloody situation. He's stopped in his tracks but you're rapidly advancing towards him, grabbing his arm roughly and tugging him towards a door, not even bothering to give him the chance to accept. He wouldn't have said no way.

When another desperate player tries to grab you to join their room he quickly comes back to reality, swaggerdly pushing the man away from you and rushing to close the door behind the two of you and locking it.

You're panting. Hair falling out your hairband which you briefly grab and retie. Finally your face rises to meet his eye, finally. His back is pressed to the door still, content on watching you do the simple action of tieing your hair back. Noticing your now slightly relieved gaze on him a helplessly boyish grin forms on his face as he swallows shallowly.

"Hey."

"Hi..."

His minds scattered and he's looking for words to say to you but he's cut off by the announcement that it was safe to leave the rooms. Seeing you lean off the wall to leave he steps aside, if he was sober he would've cringed at how you didn't even have to say a word to him to get him to move. He doesn't care right now, pleased to watch your retreating back profile.

His heart stutters slightly when you turn back to look at him with tired yet considerate eyes.

"Think the game is over, you coming?"

He breathes out deeply through his nostrils as he tucks his hair behind his ears as he speeds up to walk beside you. He was doing a terrible job of trying to suppress the smug grin threatening to reveal itself but you didn't seem to notice and if you did you were mostly unbothered. Instead prioritising looking around to see the remaining surviving players.

When your eyes meet with a certain someone. Sensing the shift in your mood he doesn't know why he's surprised to see a still cheerful Thanos leaving a room with Min-su meekly following behind. His mood clearly shifts when he catches sight of you, quickly approaching the two of you, shooting Nam-gyu a judging look.

"You bitch... who woulda thought you'd end up here when you left ya boy when he was at his worst."

"We're not doing this right now, I'm tired man." He scoffs and crosses his arms at your words, rolling his eyes as he rocks from side to side.

"Convenient of you to leave after the fuck up at the competition."

"Well yeah, you managed to find a new hobby I wasn't a fan of."

You spat the words out bitterly, only getting another tsk from Thanos as he tongued his teeth. Nam-gyu could feel himself sobering up and he was able to recognise he was getting to see you up close, how grateful he was. Even if you were scolding his best friend, that scowl on your face making his heart race.

Unexpectedly those pretty eyes turn to look at him questioningly, looking him over carefully.

"You close with him?"

God knew how badly he wanted to say no to have a chance of gaining your favour but an alliance with Thanos had still done him good until now, even when he ditched him. He bit his inner cheek as he looked anywhere but your eyes.

"Yeah..."

"I see."

Thanos honestly felt offended seeing how reluctant Nam-gyu looked to admit he knew him but before he could throw any sort of tantrum he's being ushered away from you and towards the crowd of disheartened people heading for the exit. A small laugh leaves you as you watch the two, stuffing your hands in your pockets as you watched them. That guy, he didn't seem the type to be around someone like your ex, at least from what you saw today.

Everyone's currently catching their breaths and mourning those they lost. Thanos was occupied with rapping random lyrics at Se-mi and Min-su, meaning a great opportunity to potentially sneak off and see you. He wouldn't ask for anymore of those pills, he needed full focus right now, and this time analyse every curve of your face to the t.

Se-mi spares him a mean side glance as she notices him slipping away, only sighing and leaning her cheek on her palm. She couldn't care less for where he was going but she wouldn't lie and say she wasn't slightly surprised to see the man leave his dictator's side without an announcement.

You're sitting on the edge of one of the bunks, mindlessly staring towards the floor, the small group of friends you had made had been illuminated in the last game and it had left your last source of community disjointed and broken.

Your head perks up at the sound of someone clearing their throat, your brows raising slightly when you find it's the guy from before. You smile lightly at him and he swears he's found the meaning of life.

"We were a pretty good duo in that last game huh?"

"Guess you could say that."

"I was uh thinking. I could try and convince Thanos to let you in our group. I know he's-"

"I'm good."

Your blatant rejection stung more than it should, instinctively tucking his hair behind his ears.

"Thanks though, I appreciate the thought."

"Oh, course."

Immediately he forgets about all the ways he could try and convince you. Spacing out at your oddly gentle sounding words that had him strung on each syllable. He's dumbly nodding as he looks up at you with his hands peaking out his tracksuit.

"You're not as bad as him."

You say honestly, you knew of your ex's right hand but he had never particularly stood out to you until now, and at his luck in a generally good light. Tilting your head at him at his silence you sigh and lean back on your hands.

"You shouldn't listen to him too much."

"Right, yeah."

"What's your name by the way, mines [Name]."

He hadn't realised that you didn't know he already knew your name. It took several on the low eavesdropping sessions but it was a prize he proudly acquired himself. Chuckling sarcastically at himself he realised you had also asked him his.

"Nam-gyu. I know Thanos is a dick and all but you can come to me... If you want."

He had an easy going expression on but his heart was racing and he genuinely feared it might stop right in front of you, he's convinced he's pushed this too far already, obviously you'd want nothing to do with him when he's literally best friends with your ex. Yet you chuckle slightly and give a soft nod in return, a knowing smile he felt he'd been waiting ages to be directed at him.

"I'll keep that in mind, Nam-gyu."

Fucking jackpot.

[stitchwitchsapprentice]

Wow. There so much to unpack here, and as a HS teacher, I feel like I need to.

First of all, comparing pre-1970 English literature to German is ridiculous. Simply put, The Outsiders is not written in a different language. Neither are I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, The Autobiography of Malcom X, or The Lord of the Rings. Also according to this claim, we should translate Fahrenheit 451, "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?", and the entire Beatles canon.

But if your point is actually about Shakespeare (which it seems to be), then let's talk about Shakespeare.

While technically considered modern English, Shakespeare and his contemporaries are difficult to read because English has changed a lot since the seventeenth century, and we no longer have the context to understand all these words. For example, Shakespeare wrote a lot of dick jokes which are often lost on a contemporary audience that doesn't understand seventeenth century English slang.

But Shakespeare also used a lot of words and phrases that we use today. In fact, Shakespeare invented a lot of words and phrases that we use today. So being exposed to the original text not only helps students to better understand the language they are using, it shows them just how fluid language is--and always has been! Shakespeare coined new words all the time. You can too. The works of Shakespeare are a great example of linguistic productivity.

All this being said, we do translate Shakespeare. Sparknotes' No Fear Shakespeare editions are very popular in schools because they show the original text and a modern version side by side. So the students are exposed to the original text, but they're also not bogged down in it. When I was in school, I also had multiple teachers give us the assignment to make our own translations, either independently or in groups, depending the play and student skill level. And it's pretty easy to access hi-lo versions for struggling readers (some of which are just very very abridged) as well as graphic novel editions. There are options, and we use them.

But the age of a text isn't the only thing that makes it difficult to understand. Jane Eyre is a far easier read than Heart of Darkness, despite being published about 50 years earlier (which also happens to be about the same distance between today and 1970). Personally, I think Jane Eyre is also an easier read than No-No Boy, which came out in the 1950s.

Shakespeare uses a lot of poetry and uses figurative language. But half the English language is figurative language. Which is why exposure to Shakespeare is good for students--it can help them to understand idioms and metaphors, which we use all the time, many of which, as previously stated, originated with Shakespeare.

Finally, Shakespeare is difficult to read because, well... it's not meant to be read. It's meant to be performed. Which is why good English teachers do things like bringing in a box of props for students to incorporate into readers' theater and design costumes for the characters. Because studying a Shakespeare play by reading it is a little like studying Van Gogh through only written descriptions of his paintings.

Students don't hate literature because it's hard to read. They hate it because it's not salient. Therefore, we need to present texts in a relatable way, which can, but does not have to, include translation. For example:

--a college theater program presents "Shakespeare on the Rails" because when the characters are commuters on the train with you, the language is surprisingly easier to understand.

--A high school in the Marshall Islands puts on a production of A Midsummer Nights Dream, changing the setting and some of the charcters to fit Marshallese mythology, and translating the mechanicals' lines into Marshallese while keeping the nobles' lines in the original Shakespeare

--An HS teacher in the rural US uses the No Fear Shakespeare editions in her class and frontloads Romeo and Juliet with the knowledge that the characters are teenagers.

This last one was one of my co-workers and resulted in half a dozen ninth graders, in my classroom, complaining not about reading Romeo and Juliet, but about how immature and stupid the characters are. Does he really think he's in love? He thought he was in love with Rosalind yesterday! And the Friar told them they shouldn't rush to get married. They should have taken his advice. They're so stupid! (I had a similar event this year with eleventh graders complaining about what a b**** Abigail Williams is, even though The Crucible was not translated for them.)

Yes, translation is one tool we can use to make a text more accessible, which is why it's already actively being used in classrooms. But to assume it the either the only tool or the best tool (or that it's always necessary for something more then 50 years old) is both an insult to the intelligence of our students and an excuse for educators to be lazy.

We need to stop blaming the texts and start blaming the curricula, which, more often than not, use a read-the-text-answer-the-question method which is liable to bore anyone to tears. I didn't fall in love with Shakespeare in high school because I answered dozens of comprehension questions. I fell in love with Shakespeare in second grade. Watching Wishbone (which uses the original language).

Our school curricula are not designed in such a way as to make the texts relevent, nor do they invite students to engage with them on their own terms. Likewise, many teachers are never given the toolkit to do this (I know I wasn't!). But if we take the time to make the characters real and relevent, students buy into it. Sure, use the translation. But also show clips from The Complete Works of Shakespeare abridged or other adaptations. Invite students to create their own adaptations. And definitely, definitely, teach the dick jokes. Contrary to popular belief, teenagers like learning. They just don't like being talked down to.

(On that note, this is the same problem with the math curriculum. Students don't hate math because they "want to play with blocks." They hate math because abstract equations are not salient information. And quite frankly, playing with blocks sounds like a great way to teach geometry in a salient way. Blocks are, in fact, geometry.)

Novosad is an econ professor at Dartmouth btw

[naughtyjjk]

just a massage (pt. 3)

characters: nanami x fem reader warnings: 18+, smut, massage, teasing, sexual tension, dirty talk, grinding, fingering, edging, creampie notes: this is the final part of the massage series! thank you everyone for your patience with me and i hope it's worth the wait. you can read part 1 and part 2 as well!

you watch with great satisfaction as nanami takes in the sight of you. it’s almost comical how he’s stunned to silence, and you feel your confidence surging as you stand there in front of him.

if anyone happens to open the door right now, you’re sure that you’d be accused of public indecency, given what you’re wearing. you’d no doubt be banned from the massage parlor forever. but you’ve gotten more daring with each session that you attend—more daring, and more sexually frustrated with how nanami insists on continuously teasing you. so, you figure that it’s about time to take matters into your own hands.

“you—” nanami swallows. his voice is strained, and he seems to struggle with deciding on what to say. “you’re… supposed to take off all your clothes before we start.”

smirking, you feign innocence. of course you know by now. it’s far from the first time you’ve been here, after all.

“well…” you drawl, “i was hoping you could help me undress.”

you’re wearing the most scandalous clothing pieces you own today, a matching lingerie set, and there’s no way that you were going to let nanawi start the massage before showing it off. the outer layer, which has already been discarded, consists of your usual work attire. from the perspective of the general public, it’d be impossible to guess that you have something like this hidden underneath.

“fuck,” you hear nanami mutter as he closes the distance between you. he reaches out, slightly hesitant, running his hands over the strap of your bra, tracing it down to where it cups your breasts. the fabric is thin, practically see-through, your nipples visibly hard.

for a moment, he’s entirely captivated by your breasts and the way your bra emphasizes your curves. his fingers slide along the exposed skin, up and down the sides, dipping into the valley between your breasts and continuing further past your stomach. his touch is electrifying. every inch of your body that he explores makes you shiver and when he finally reaches your panties, he follows the thin strap of it along your pelvic bone. stopping right before he brushes a hand against your pussy.

“did you have this under your clothes all day?” nanami asks, arousal evident in his voice, in the way he’s devouring you with his eyes. he’s hard in his pants, so obviously turned on by your lingerie, and he doesn’t even bother to hide it. not that he could even if he wanted to—the bulge between his legs is unmistakable.

you nod and look at him suggestively. “mm, and i was thinking of you the whole time,” you say. “want to see the back?”

you don’t wait for nanami to answer, turning around to show off your outfit—or lack of, because what you’re wearing is effectively a thong, with a single strap that goes down the middle of your ass and just barely manages to cover your pussy. everything else is fully on display, the thin fabric complimenting your body perfectly, making you an irresistible sight. taking it a step further, you bend forward, shaking your ass a bit so that nanami can really see what you have to offer.

it’s clearly working because nanami sucks in a sharp breath. “god…” he seems to be fighting his desires, holding himself back, but eventually reaches out with both hands to slide them down the plane of your back, past your hips, until they’re pressed against your ass, squeezing. then, nanami retreats and clears his throat. “is this something that you wear… often?”

turning back to look at him, you say, “not anymore. it’s been a while.” you lick your lips. “i only put them on for special occasions.”

and with that, your gaze drops to the tent between nanami’s legs, satisfied at the fact that you’ve managed to make him so hard already. leaning back, you press your ass right on his growing erection and grind against it filthily.

immediately, nanami curses, taken by surprise. “fuck, you’re—okay, okay. that’s enough. let’s get you out of these.”

straightening, you mentally congratulate yourself for being able to have such an effect on him simply by wearing a few pieces of suggestive clothing and showing some skin. of course, if he hadn’t pushed you to this point, you would’ve never thought to do this. it almost makes you grateful for all the teasing during your previous sessions. almost.

for a long while, nanami doesn’t speak as he admires your body using both his sense of sight and touch. the silence only makes the tension between you more palpable. you didn’t think you could get more aroused just from the process of removing your clothes, but nanami once again proves you wrong.

a single finger trails down your back, along your spine, and you shudder, embarrassingly close to letting out a moan. your breath comes out shaky, nerves tingling. the delicate touch, the feeling of nanami’s hand on your skin, the sensuality of it all—it’s almost too much for you to handle. but you’re even less prepared for when nanami steps forward and hugs you from behind, both hands slipping under your bra easily and sliding up to squeeze your breasts.

he pushes them together, then apart, rubbing them in circles. he plays with your nipples expertly, knowing exactly what you like by now. grasping the hardened nubs between two fingers, nanami pinches and twists, rolls his palms over them, and earns a soft groan from you in response.

“you have no idea how erotic you look in this,” nanami whispers in your ear, and you could melt right there. his hands roam over your chest and stomach, back and forth, like he can’t get enough. “so fucking hot. so sexy. all for me.”

“k-kento,” you start, but you don’t know exactly what you’re asking for. it’s suddenly too warm in this room, your body heating up from nanami’s proximity.

“lift your arms a bit,” nanami tells you as he undoes the hook and slides your bra off your shoulders, discarding it on the ground. with your top fully exposed now, nanami deliberately avoids touching you and turns his attention to your pussy.

you feel yourself getting wetter once his gaze is fixated on your panties, and again when he traces along the strap of your thong that circles around your hips. it doesn’t go unnoticed how you try to squeeze your thighs together. hooking a finger under the strap on both sides, nanami pulls it down slowly and watches as your pussy is finally exposed.

nanami makes an appreciative sound at the back of his throat, but still, he doesn’t touch you anymore. “you planned this, didn’t you? got all dressed up to seduce me as soon as you walked in…”

you can’t deny it, so you only stand there while nanami drinks in the sight of your fully naked body. there’s hunger in the way he looks at you. there’s lust and desire, too. it feels like he’s spent so long on this—the foreplay, the slow unraveling of your body—but he’s hardly even done anything yet. it leaves you fucking horny, unbearably so, and your dripping pussy is proof of that.

“if you wanted to get me all hot and bothered, i’ll admit that it worked. i’m beyond turned on right now,” nanami says. “but i won’t give you what you want so easily just because you showed up in some lingerie.”

“why not?” you meant for it to sound like a challenge, but it comes out more as a whine, almost pouting as you try to hide your disappointment. “i’m already offering my body to you. don’t you want to take me right here?”

“oh, i will,” nanami says, a promise. his gaze darkens, clearly more affected by all this than he’s willing to admit. “but you booked for a massage, and i’m still a professional. so, get on the bed. now.”

the demanding tone and the way he’s visibly holding himself back makes your pussy throb. you go to lie down as instructed and watch as nanami hovers over you, hands finally returning to caress your body. they move down your sides, tickling your ribs. tracing the v-line of your crotch, starting at both sides of the hips and moving closer together, down toward your pussy.

you struggle to refrain from squirming on the spot, waiting in anticipation of a touch that never comes. “kento, please,” you say. “i’ve been wet for hours thinking about you…”

“god.” nanami swallows. “i can’t get over the fact that anyone could’ve seen how naughty you are. is that something you’re into? did it turn you on walking around like this all day?”

“maybe. would it bother you if someone else noticed before i got here?” you grin, mischievous. “i might’ve even let them fuck me, too, if i was horny enough.”

eyes narrowing, nanami exhales. “how about you show me what that dirty mouth of yours can do instead of trying to make me jealous. come on, we both know you want my cock more than anything. it never takes long for you to start begging for it.”

nanami stands himself next to you. with how the bed is raised, in this position, his erection is right there by your face; if you move even a little bit, you’ll be able to make contact with it. and to your surprise, nanami uses a hand to guide your head in his direction, until you’re pressed right up against the straining tent of his cock.

in this situation, there’s only one thing for you to do: you more than willingly mouth at his cock over the fabric, outlining the bulge with your lips, hot breath traveling up and down the shaft. he moans when you open your mouth, taking in the tip as if to swallow him down, licking all over. you wish that you could remove the barrier, actually see and taste the hardening cock in front of you.

something must snap inside nanami because not a minute later, he’s shoving down his pants and pulling out his cock from the restraints. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him fully exposed like this, and it’s glorious, instantly reigniting your arousal. he’s only half hard, but his cock is long, and thick, and you’re already imagining what it would look like when it’s curved up toward his abdomen, flushed and glistening with precum.

“this is going inside you later,” nanami says, more of a declaration, a fact, than anything else. he holds his cock so that the tip of it is angled toward your mouth, just close enough to brush against your lips. “be a good girl now and make it nice and hard for me.”

eager, you immediately get to work. you start off by licking his cock, flattening your tongue and sliding up the length of his shaft, swirling around the tip. the taste of precum spurs you on and you trace along the bulging vein on the underside again and again, until nanami has become noticeably more breathless. a low, filthy moan is drawn out of him when you flick your tongue just beneath the cockhead, knowing how sensitive it is there. in turn, your pussy aches, begging for some attention.

but what turns you on the most is swallowing down nanami’s full erection and physically feeling him grow harder in your mouth. the minute you begin to move, bobbing your head and sucking him off with determination, he voices his appreciation in low, strained grunts.

“fuck, yeah, just like that.” he’s panting, struggling to hold himself back from thrusting into your mouth. “oh—oh fuck—you can’t get enough of my cock, can you? look at how well you’re taking it.”

that makes you moan because it’s true. you both know that you’ve wanted nanami’s cock since your very first massage session. you continue to suck him off until you can’t anymore and have to pull away for a moment, but not before giving him a final lick, leaving his cock standing tall in the space between you, spilling precum down the shaft.

“hah—you’re really tempting me today,” nanami says. his gaze flickers down to your breasts, you pussy. “you’re getting off on this too, aren’t you?”

grinning, you lick your lips, still tasting him on your tongue. “can you blame me when i know what’s going to happen next?”

nanami’s eyes darken. “getting cocky, aren’t you? we can’t have that.” he steps away for a second and you almost call after him, but you still have some sense of dignity remaining. nanami returns a while later with a new towel in his hands and places it over your eyes, effectively blindfolding you. leaning in, he licks the shell of your ear and whispers, “don’t forget who’s in charge here.”

shuddering, you have to stifle a moan. the world has turned dark with the towel blocking your eyes and you can hear nanami shuffling beside you, but there’s no way for you to figure out exactly what he’s doing. a part of you knows that you could easily remove the towel if you wanted to—though, if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you find this new predicament fucking hot. you can’t see, you don’t know what nanami will do next or where he will touch. you’re completely at his mercy.

“this is turning you on, isn’t it? naughty girl.” nanami pours oil all over you and spreads it out evenly. he then rubs his hands along your thighs and already, you can feel yourself getting wetter as he spreads your legs apart. “fuck, you should see the state you’re in right now. pussy begging for my attention…”

you whine. “touch me… come on, kento. i wanna—wanna feel you—”

“mm, of course you do,” nanami murmurs but he continues focusing on your thighs and only your thighs. “have some patience, darling. let me take care of you.”

as he says that, the surface beneath you dips, an additional weight added like nanami has climbed on the bed with you. this suspicion is confirmed when you hear his voice next to your ear, “you can’t see me right now, but i want you to imagine that i’m on top of you, my hips hovering just above yours.”

“fuck.” your pussy throbs with desire, and the two of you are so close that you can feel nanami’s cock brushing against your skin when it twitches. it takes all of your willpower to resist bucking up, searching for more of that delicious friction.

both hands reaching down to cup your breasts, massaging them, nanami says, “your nipples are so hard.” squeezing, he fondles them appreciatively, flicking them and making you gasp. “that’s it, let yourself feel good.”

you moan at that. it’s euphoric when nanami finally lines your hips up together and grinds down, an instant rush of arousal concentrated on your pussy. it feels so fucking good. the pleasure continues as he slides his cock back and forth, effectively rutting against you, humping you on the bed with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips. in response, you lift your hips instinctively, no longer in control of your actions as your mind turns into a haze.

but when you do this, every time, nanami always makes sure to pull away so that he’s just out of reach. you figure out the pattern fairly quickly, but you can’t help yourself, thrusting up involuntarily despite knowing that you won’t find any relief. you whimper, wanting more. but nanami is determined to go at his own pace, and it only serves to make you increasingly frustrated.

“just look at you,” nanami says, hips digging into yours, cock pressed against your pussy. meanwhile, his mouth is by your ear and trailing down your neck. “you’re so fucking wet already.”

there’s no hiding just how turned on he you are, not when your legs are spread wide open for nanami to see. you want him inside already. “kento, please…”

nanami shifts a little and positions himself so that his cock rubs against your clit every time he grinds on your pussy, making you curse and cry out at the sudden spike in pleasure. your wetness, mixed with his leaking precum, makes the slide feel that much better.

all of a sudden, nanami grunts, and that’s the only warning you get before the pace picks up, rocking his hips twice as fast. It’s like the last of his self-control has snapped. you’re thrown off guard and the increased stimulation is overwhelming, making you squirm on the spot, back arching. “k-kento—! shit, that’s—yes, yes, keep going—hng—oh fuck, i’m—”

“you’re getting close, aren’t you?” nanami asks. even though you still can’t see him, you can feel the weight of his stare, watching your body closely for any signs that you’ll tip over the edge. it’s like he’s somehow able to read you perfectly even though this is only the first time you’ve properly fucked. “how are you feeling? think you’ll come soon?”

“h-hah—fuck—feels good, feels so good—” you moan brokenly, losing yourself in the sensations. “c-close—I’m close—”

“i know.” nanami is equally breathless, even if he tries not to show it. “you have two options: i could make you come now and give you the release you want right here, or…” he purposely grinds hard against you and you have no doubt that he could follow through on his words, “if you can hold it, i’ll put my cock in you and fuck you hard like the naughty little girl you are.”

shuddering, you don’t even have to think, not with the way you’re throbbing between your legs. you’ve only wanted one thing ever since he saw nanami at your first massage session. “y-your cock—ah, please—want your cock—”

nanami smirks. “yeah? think you can hold back from coming, then?”

“i-i can,” you say, even though you let out a groan immediately after. It’s a gamble, really; you don’t know how much your body can take, but there’s nothing you want more than to have his cock inside you.

“that’s what i like to hear,” nanami praises. “you better not come yet.”

moaning, your entire body is tense from struggling not to let yourself feel too good. the problem is that nanami doesn’t stop; he continues grinding on you, maintaining the brutal speed that has you throwing back your head, trembling with every thrust.

the delicious slide of his cock has you coming undone, and your pussy, your clit, throbs in warning of your release that seems inevitable now. it’s bad because nanami is throbbing too, both of you pulsing against each other, which only makes you more turned on, every instinct in your body telling you to give in.

“no, no—k-kento, stop—ah—hah—fuck, i can’t—i don’t wanna come yet—”

you don’t expect nanami to pull away entirely. it’s frustrating and a relief all at once. the loss of stimulation is abrupt, and you body doesn’t fully manage to catch up until a second later, a wave of heat rushing through you, chest heaving, pussy aching to be touched again. you know that nanami must be getting off on this, sitting back in cruel satisfaction to watch you desperately try to fight off your orgasm.

you arch off the bed, still bucking your hips forward a few times. you just can’t help it. your pussy is dripping with your desire, helplessly horny and so damn turned on. fuck. the denial of your orgasm burns through you, even though it’s exactly what you asked for.

“yeah, that’s it. ride the edge for me. such a good girl,” nanami murmurs, tracing a finger gently along your opening—the opening where his fingers could penetrate you, where his cock could penetrate you. the unexpected contact makes you gasp now that you’re more sensitive than ever. “you like being denied, don’t you? you like being told when you’re allowed to come.”

you moan weakly in confirmation. you don’t want to admit it—that you like the torture, the cruel denial, the drawn-out pleasure that makes you break down. you like being kept on the edge, so close but forbidden from coming. being completely at nanami’s mercy. you want to prove that you can be good, even if your body begs and pleads for release, so that you can eventually earn the reward of his thick, hard cock.

“open your eyes. look at how filthy you are.” nanami reaches over to remove the towel covering your eyes. “look at the mess you’ve made.”

blinking, you adjust to the brightness of the room and glance down as you’re told, seeing yourself for the first time in a while. nanami is right; it’s an absolutely filthy sight, and you would be embarrassed if you weren’t so fucking turned on, judgement clouded by lust.

between your legs, your pussy is swollen and aching, the bed soaked with your arousal. nanami, with his cock absolutely rigid, standing tall and curving up to his abdomen, kneels before you. he’s flushed a dark, hungry red. the veins bulge out along the shaft of his cock, still throbbing and twitching occasionally. His cock weeps, precum glistens down his entire length. his balls are heavy and full and he seems like he’s at his limit, like he’s going to burst with a single touch.

god, you think, this might just be the hottest sight you’ve ever seen. nanami runs a hand through his hair, loose strands falling in front of his face, and his toned muscles shift with the movement, arms flexing. he looks at you like he wants you, like he’s barely managing to hold himself back. he’s not nearly as composed as he pretends to be, considering the fact that his other hand has been stroking himself this whole time.

you watch, mesmerized for a moment, as that hard cock disappears and reappears in his fist. nanami moans, head falling back as he circles around the tip. his breath stutters. then, he looks at you, eyes filled with pure lust and desire. “still want my cock?”

you swallow, mouth dry. “please.”

letting go of himself, nanami licks his lips. “turn around, then. get on your knees.” when you instantly obey, he hums, satisfied. “now raise your ass—yeah, that’s it, show me that pretty pussy of yours.”

a finger reaches out to trace the outer area of your opening and nanami pours more oil, using it to ease his finger inside. he pumps the digit back and forth, slowly at first to allow you to adjust to the sensation. but all you’re thinking about is his cock replacing his finger, his cock stretching you wide, reaching far deeper than—

you gasp when a second finger enters without warning. choking out a moan, you feel yourself loosening to accommodate the extra width, hips beginning to push back and move on their own.

“let’s see,” nanami murmurs. “if i remember, your spot was somewhere here…”

the next few thrusts are done in search of your g-spot, aimed at different angles to draw out that particular reaction nanami is looking for. at some point, you feel a brush against the sensitive nerves, not quite hitting it directly, but it’s enough to make you whine. if you turned around at that moment, you’re sure that nanami would be smiling wickedly.

“found it,” he whispers, a hot breath right by your ear.

you shudder from those words alone. then, you feel his fingers curling just slightly, pressing into that area with the perfect amount of pressure, and your entire body jolts. the pleasure is blinding, so intense that it leaves you trembling in the aftershocks. your mind goes blank, and you can’t stop the moans and whimpers that escape you. “hah—hah—oh my god—f-fuck—please, there—there—”

your pussy throbs, squeezing around nanami’s fingers with every single thrust that follows. as soon as the familiar buildup to your orgasm starts to accumulate, nanami suddenly decides to pull out.

whimpering, your thighs tremble; your body is on fire. you don’t know how to tame the arousal that sears through you or how to handle being this fucking turned on. you just want to be filled again, want to be fucked hard enough that it makes you scream.

“i think you’re ready for me now,” nanami says, and you almost sob in relief. he rubs the head of his cock against your entrance, almost pushing in, before retreating completely. “but first, i want you shaking and begging for this to be inside you.”

nanami lets his cock slide between your thighs, practically fucking you there, brushing against your desperate pussy with every thrust. it’s deliberate, the way he applies pressure, tormenting you with his cock. never giving you what you want. and you can’t take it anymore; you can’t.

“fuck—a-ah—fuck, kento—stop teasing already—” you whine as nanami taunts you with only the tip, not allowing you nearly enough stimulation to get off. it leaves you frustrated, so fucking aroused and riled up beyond return. you’ve been reduced to an embarrassing state, moaning over and over, feeling his cockhead stretching you open only to withdraw, until—

“ah—oops,” he says far too innocently as he plunges the full length of his hard, throbbing cock inside you without any warning. as quickly as it goes in, he pulls out all the way, leaving you desperately empty again before you’re even able to process what happened. “my apologies. it slipped in by accident.”

you cry out, panting, nails digging into the bed. a low, guttural moan spills from your lips and you sound so wrecked, so broken, that you hardly even recognize your own voice. you body is burning and your pussy clenches around nothing. there’s only one thing on your mind, hazy and clouded with lust, pure arousal coursing through your veins: he want nanami inside you, want nanami to fuck you so badly—hard and fast and deep enough that you feel it for days after. you want to fucking come on nanami’s cock.

but nanami has gone back to rubbing the head of his cock by your entrance, denying you of anything more. occasionally, he’ll put in just the tip, just enough to give you a taste of what you could be getting, before leaving you empty once more, whimpering helplessly on the bed.

you’re not expecting it when it happens again—nanami slipping inside you all the way, completely unannounced. this time, you both moan when he bottoms out, balls slapping against your ass. he stays there for a few seconds, circling his hips, cock twitching and throbbing as it hits your inner walls at every angle. as soon as you start to feel good, clamping down around him, he pulls out again, cruelly.

“ngh—p-please, kento—your cock—want your cock—” you beg, and your pussy is so wet for him. so horny for him. “fuck me—fuck me already—please—”

“sh-shit—” nanami’s voice is the only thing that gives away just how much he wants it, too. finally, god finally, he penetrates you, stretching open your pussy and pushing in. inch… by inch… by inch. achingly slow. still managing to tease you on purpose, without mercy, testing your limits in self-control.

you moan loud when nanami buries himself deep, feeling the entire length of his thick cock inside you. he stays there like that for a while, hips moving so minutely that you sometimes think you imagined it. but it’s always just enough for you to feel it; never enough for it to be satisfying.

“hah—feel that?” nanami whispers, voice strained and breathless. “feel my hard cock throbbing inside you?”

moaning brokenly, you do feel it—the way it’s pushing against your walls, pulsing in waves, making your head spin. this has to be the sweetest torture that you’ve ever experienced, only serving to make you more frustrated. you feel nanami’s erection shifting inside you, and just when you manage to adjust to the sensation, he begins pulling out fully—still going slow, letting his cock drag and drag and drag until only the tip remains inside.

fuck. fuck, it’s only been one thrust. the single most agonizing and dreadful thrust that you’ve ever had to endure. nanami is taking you apart piece by piece, so skillfully that it would almost be embarrassing if you were any less aroused. nanami’s sense of restraint is definitely commendable, but god, you wish that he’d just get on with it.

trying to swivel your hips and take matters into your own hands, you desperately try to seek more of the delicious friction. meanwhile, nanami is still rocking into you languidly but only with the head of his cock now, teasing and stretching your pussy over and over.

“i can—i can tell that you want it so bad,” he says, watching the way your body aches for it. “why don’t you use your words, sweetheart. be a good girl and let me hear how well you can beg.”

“kento—” you break off, whining. you yearn for it, need to be filled, need to have all of nanami inside you again. “p-please—hng—you—your cock—please!”

“yeah? and where do you want my cock?”

“i-inside.” you’re trembling, desperate. “in my pussy. wanna—wanna be fucked by your cock—hard and deep—ngh, kento—please just—p-put it in already—”

nanami sucks in a breath, groaning as his self-control withers away upon hearing those words. he looks at you, with your face down and ass up, pussy dripping as evidence of your desire, and finds himself at his limit, too. he’s made you wait long enough. he’s made himself wait long enough.

sinking inside, you both moan as nanami buries himself into you, starting with shallow thrusts that get deeper and deeper as time goes on. each roll of the hips is deliberate, his cock searching for the place that will make you fall apart.

“yes, yes—a-ah!” the stimulation on your g-spot has you shaking, arousal peaking. “right there—fuck, that’s—ngh, so good—feels so good—”

once nanami gets going, he really doesn’t hold back. he pounds into you at a brutal pace, making sure to aim deep inside you every time. clawing at the bed, you try to pull yourself away, just a little bit, but he only drags you back and holds you down in place, forcing you to take it.

“t-too much—hah—it’s too much—shit, kento—kento—i’m about to—”

you hardly even realize that you’re moaning again and again, so consumed by the pleasure, until nanami reminds you, “shh, not so loud. unless you want everyone to hear just how fucking naughty you are.”

heat rushes over you, body burning at the implications, and just the thought alone is enough to almost make you come. it must be obvious that you’re nearing your limit because nanami growls and says, “don’t come. don’t you fucking dare come. i’m not done with you yet.”

those words almost push you right over the edge and all you can do is moan and whimper, helpless to take nanami’s cock over and over, steadily building you up to your climax. “hah—hah—fuck, i-i can’t—can’t hold—” you’re shaking, begging; there’s no relief, just a constant assault targeted at g-spot as you try desperately to stave off your inevitable orgasm. “o-oh my god, i—i’m gonna—i’m gonna come—”

immediately, nanami stops. the whole world seems to freeze.

the only sounds in the room are your ragged, panting breaths. your arms give out and you collapse forward on the bed, ass still raised from where you’re connected with nanami. a wave of the most intense heat you’ve ever felt scorches through your body, and your mind is still a haze, struggling to comprehend what just happened.

“fuck!” you can’t help crying out, desperate for nanami to keep moving. to keep doing—something. anything. “n-no, fuck, please—i-i need—”

but of course, it never comes. nanami made sure of that.

you had been so close; god, you had been so fucking close. between your legs, your pussy throbs in protest. you feel it like a cruel reminder of your almost-orgasm every time it pulses, pulses, pulses, even long after you’ve been denied of any further stimulation. you were so ready for release, so sure that you’d get it despite nanami’s words because of how quickly you had been hurtling toward the edge, mere seconds from tipping over.

“good girl, so good for me,” nanami murmurs, the praise reigniting your arousal. he nods at your dripping pussy. “fuck, i bet you’re just aching for it, aren’t you? i’ve never seen such a desperate, horny pussy before.”

and you’re all too aware of his hands which are circling around your hips, inching toward your clit, which has been neglected since earlier. tingles shoot up your spine as he brushes a finger against it, and you’re still hanging dangerously on the edge, right at the brink.

“p-please…” you say, willing to accept anything at this point. anything that nanami can give you. “i’m so close…”

nanami hums. “how much more do you think it’ll take for you to come?” he asks, fingers hovering right above your clit while you’re still very much aware that his cock is buried inside you. “two strokes on this sensitive clit? a single thrust in your pussy?”

whimpering, you throb under his touch. “i-i don’t—i can’t—”

“let’s find out, hm?” nanami doesn’t allow you any more time to think. his cock, deep in your pussy, begins to move at the same time as his hand, circling your clit while thrusting deep as he rolls his hips. groaning, he begins to count, “one.”

the build-up this time is alarmingly fast, hitting you as soon as you feel him pounding into you, aiming deliberately for your g-spot again. it’s instantly overwhelming, the way his hand makes tight, rapid circles around your clit while he’s simultaneously stuffing you with his cock. the assault is merciless, and you’re far too close to the edge to even try and hold back. “c-coming—ah, fuck—fuck, i’m—”

nanami doesn’t even get to count to two before you’re clenching around his cock and moaning loud and coming so hard that you don’t think you’ve ever felt pleasure like this. nanami’s cock pulses inside you and your mind blanks. you don’t stop coming until he’s finally pushed to his limit, too.

“shit, shit—” nanami moans, low and guttural. he fucks you through it, not stopping until he’s reached his climax, too. “so fucking tight—you’re—ngh, fuck, you’re gonna make me come—”

a moment later, warmth erupts inside you, making you whine softly. nanami’s hips stutter as he throws his head back, panting and moaning through his orgasm. he throbs inside you, continues throbbing until he’s emptied all of his release, filling you up in the best way.

as he pulls out, you can feel his come trickling out of your pussy, so filthy, so fucking hot. you’re sure that the sight of it is erotic, too—thick, white sperm dripping out of you as evidence of nanami’s cock claiming you. breathing heavily on top of you, nanami shuts his eyes to reorient himself from the high of his orgasm.

mind still hazy, you glance at the ceiling, then around at your surroundings. you remember where you are: the massage parlor. right. you can’t believe you really just had sex here; can’t believe it took this long for nanami to finally fuck you without getting interrupted or stopping abruptly due to time constraints.

when nanami opens his eyes again, he looks at you and runs a hand through his hair. the action shouldn’t look so hot—he shouldn’t look so hot after giving you the best fucking of your life. he says, voice low, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

you grin at him. “you can’t deny that it was good, though.”

“i’ve never come so hard before,” nanami admits.

two sessions of teasing each other. weeks of holding back, masturbating to the thought of each other. your attraction to each other, all the sexual tension, everything built up to this moment. you can still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm, the pleasure spreading throughout your body in waves. it's the same for nanami.

neither of you are pretending that this is a massage anymore. truthfully, it hasn’t been for a long time.

“think i can come see you again sometime?” you ask.

“well, i work here,” he says. “and you’re welcome to visit any time you need stress relief, of course.”

of course, you think. you're absolutely going to take him up on that offer.

.

tag list: @megumisdivinedogs @urlilwhore @l0rdgeosupport3rr @purple-obsidian @l0rdgeosupport3rr @minni-creations @fos-tis-zois @the-reas0n-is-y0u @cantfeelherface @rxmbzzz @lysaray @zelzablues @str4wbrrycandy @that-goth-bisexual @simping4u @iminlovewqr0w @sharks31 @pseudowho @jisoonunn @outkasti @anathemaspeaks @fushigur0slut4 @barryatsumu @d0nk3y-k0ng @shasaaa15 @wil10wthetree @maskedpacific @genshingeeksworld @itsnotmelo @goddexxluv @jaeminsmilk @eggphobic @thejujvtsupost @sadcabbage @magicalgirlb @therealisttheillest @fushigur0slut4 @nanamiswifeyy

(comment to be added for future works)

[ave-cave]

In Defense of Mahiru's Last Words

An aspect of 2-2 that I think a lot of fans get wrong is Mahiru’s last words to Fuyuhiko. I’d go so far as to call them the most misunderstood in the series.

Her role in the second case is often overlooked in favor of Peko and Fuyuhiko's, and this line encapsulates said role, so I figured I'd try to dispel the misconceptions that surround it. Cool? Cool.

---

First thing’s first, my thesis statement (lol): in response to the well-worn criticism that Mahiru’s last words to Fuyuhiko were hypocritical, I’ll grant fans this much: her words were shortsighted and poorly-timed. They weren’t, however, hypocritical.

More often than not when I see people refer to Mahiru’s last words as hypocritical, they mean that she's condemning Fuyuhiko for avenging his sister, meanwhile her friend who committed an act of revenge received her protection. My issue with this? Sato’s murder of Natsumi wasn’t revenge. The fourth and final day of Twilight Syndrome (which Mahiru played) has Sato explain in depth why she did what she did. She didn’t confront Natsumi with the intent to kill her; she only wanted to talk at first. But when Natsumi began making threats, she saw red and accidentally knocked her out. Knowing how dire the consequences would be if Natsumi woke up and tattled to her family, Sato killed her and pinned the crime on a rumored pervert. This is further highlighted in the trial. Now, don’t get me wrong, Sato is still to blame here. No matter how much shit Natsumi was talking, she shouldn’t have responded with violence, and she found herself in that situation through every fault of her own. But the key thing is that it wasn’t revenge; it was desperation. By the time Natsumi fell unconscious, it was Sato who was trying to avoid becoming the victim of yakuza “justice.”

Recall that the incriminating evidence Mahiru got rid of was a picture of a broken vase. To anyone who wasn’t there the day of the incident, a photo of this nature would prove basically nothing. Sure, one could surmise it means the killer didn’t actually escape through the window, but figuring out what they did do, and by extension who they are, would require having run into Sato in the hall (given it isn’t brought up at any point, it’s unlikely there was security footage.) The only people to whom it would mean anything – and the only ones with any incentive to uncover the truth – were the police and the yakuza.

Mahiru protecting Sato from the police wouldn't make much sense at all. Blind loyalty toward her friends – to the point of helping them escape consequences for their actions – isn’t a trait she showcases in the main game. Sure, there are a few classmates she shows extra care toward (she’s particularly concerned for Mikan, and she offers to help Hiyoko when the latter is struggling with her kimono), but unraveling the mysteries of the killing game takes first priority for her at the end of the day. Moreover, in Twilight Syndrome, before she realizes that Sato is the killer, she takes pictures of Natsumi's body in the hopes that they'll be useful to the police (this obviously isn't the smartest move, but it's in-character: Mahiru is someone who's always trying to do the right thing despite her lack of self-confidence. She feels guilty about not reporting Natsumi’s body, and so she figures that utilizing her talent is the next best thing. We see her do something similar in 2-1.) Going from “I need to help the police find the culprit” to “my friend is the culprit; time to destroy the evidence” is a dramatic shift – one that doesn't line up with anything else we know about Mahiru.

What's a trait she does showcase in the main game? Distaste for cruel and unusual punishment. She sympathizes with Teruteru’s motive, denouncing Monokuma for tempting him, and she criticizes Nekomaru and Kazuichi for hogtying and isolating Nagito, before eventually bringing him food. The second example is especially noteworthy. Nagito got both Imposter and Teruteru killed – he's an unstable individual, no doubt about it. Mahiru doesn't object to his being restrained; she objects to the over-the-top, vigilante-style methods used by Nekomaru and Kazuichi to do so. There's clearly a parallel to be drawn between this and Twilight Syndrome. If she's so against Nagito – a murderer who isn't her friend – receiving inhumane treatment, then there's no question she'd be against it for Sato, a murderer who is.

It's reasonable to assume that, when Mahiru realized the truth of the incident, she destroyed the evidence for the same reason Sato committed murder in the first place: she knew that, if it got into yakuza hands, there would be hell to pay. She wasn’t too far off the mark, either. There were already rumors going around that Sato was with Natsumi the day of the latter’s murder, and so all it took for Fuyuhiko to connect the dots was finding the sole intact copy of the photo that Sato left behind (Mahiru needed at least one if she wanted to corner Sato and coax a confession from her; she obviously couldn't have anticipated that it would be absconded with.) All things considered, Sato was lucky to have only been killed, as the yakuza are capable of much, much worse.

Mahiru didn’t think what Sato did was right. Far from it; she was shocked and horrified when her suspicions turned out to be true. Furthermore, even outside of the TSMC, she believes her covering for Sato is something to atone for, which automatically requires thinking Sato was wrong. But if it was within her power to throw the mafia off Sato’s trail, she absolutely would, including by decidedly immoral means. You don’t have to condone murder to not want your friend to be kidnapped and tortured.

When Mahiru asserts during her final confrontation with Fuyuhiko that “no one has the right to judge others for their crimes,” “judge” is another way of saying “take revenge on.” Think the phrase “playing judge, jury and executioner.” Fuyuhiko judged Sato as deserving of death for her crime and carried out that judgment by murdering her. That’s what Mahiru is condemning. She’s not dismissing his loss – she acknowledges that his sister’s murder was terrible. She’s saying that it didn’t give him the right to become a murderer as well. This isn’t hypocritical; it’s perfectly consistent with her actions in the TSMC. She never took revenge on anyone, nor did she protect another’s act of revenge. She was trying to prevent revenge from the start.

That said, Mahiru isn’t above reproach (if she were, none of this would be happening to begin with.) Though I stand firm that she had every right to be angry here, I can appreciate that Fuyuhiko did, too.

Mahiru went into the beach house intending to figure out how to atone for a sin she couldn’t remember committing. Fuyuhiko went into the beach house intending to kill Mahiru as further revenge for Natsumi. Thing is, Fuyuhiko isn’t a cold-blooded killer. He thinks he's supposed to be, but deep down he’s conflicted. And so, to cope, he has an out: if Mahiru denies the game's reality, he'll call off the plan. He’ll spare her. More than anything, he just wants to believe that none of it happened; his sister isn't dead and Mahiru didn't cover for her killer. But it's too late to hope for denial. He'd already accused Mahiru of the cover-up and sent her the photos as proof, and she’d been taking it very seriously ever since. The letter he left her, combined with her knowledge of the game’s true ending, would have been more than enough to convince the others to apprehend Fuyuhiko like Kazuichi wanted – not to mention the most obvious thing to do for her own protection. And yet from the moment she received the letter, the only thing on her mind was making amends. There was no going back.

These conflicting goals are a recipe for disaster. Fuyuhiko, who had initially compelled Mahiru to face her sin, is now wanting her to deny that the events of the game ever took place. Mahiru, who came for help collecting her thoughts, is now face-to-face with the very person she needed to prepare to talk to. Keyword: prepare. Again, the important thing to understand about Mahiru is that, despite her headstrong attitude and emphasis on “doing the right thing,” she doesn’t always know what the right thing is. She lacks the confidence necessary to support her levelheadedness, and so she agonizes and deliberates. Instances of this include:

When she stays quiet as Hiyoko berates Teruteru, claiming he deserved to die, only to come to terms with the issue later (main game).

When she’s implied to spend the night awake pondering what to do about the Twilight Syndrome motive (main game).

When she waits several days before getting rid of the vase picture, showing that she didn't take the decision lightly (TSMC).

When she ruminates over how best to make amends with Fuyuhiko, leading him to think she’s avoiding him (main game).

The fact that, in the TSMC, Mahiru finds herself in a situation that tests her moral compass is what makes her involvement in the case compelling. She’s not someone who believes the ends justify the means, and yet all of a sudden she’s thrust into a scenario where they have to – where “the right thing” (not destroying the evidence) and “the wrong thing” (letting Sato suffer and/or die) intersect. No wonder she handles the entire thing so clumsily; it’s completely foreign to her.

Said interaction starts when Mahiru, treating the game as though it were real, asks if Fuyuhiko killed Girl E. At this, Fuyuhiko is furious. But wait… this whole thing started because Fuyuhiko accused her of being an accomplice to his sister's murder, and yet now, when she's asking about what he did in the game, he says he doesn't want to hear it? When she says he shouldn’t have killed Girl E, he replies that nobody cares? How does this sound to Mahiru? A man who doesn't think he did anything wrong, refusing to accept responsibility? Only at this point does she get angry.

Now consider this situation. Mahiru has been lured to a secluded area. She never got the chance to talk things through with the other girls and hasn’t the first clue about how to make amends. Fuyuhiko has proven that he isn’t all bark and no bite and could actually hurt her if provoked. Hiyoko is nowhere to be found; who’s to say Fuyuhiko hasn’t killed or severely harmed her? It’s a perfect storm of stress. Needless to say, the interaction is already doomed.

On the other hand, from Fuyuhiko's perspective, Mahiru had been avoiding him ever since he left her that letter, and so the fact that she isn't answering his questions is insulting. Even though he had already decided on revenge, he’s giving her a chance to avoid the fate he had planned for her altogether, simply by saying she doesn’t remember or believe any of it. Yet not only is she doing the opposite of that, the girl who supposedly tried to protect his sister's killer is claiming that he was also wrong. His anger skyrockets.

All in all, it’s pretty easy to understand where both of them were coming from. In Mahiru’s efforts to protect her friend from revenge, she prevented Fuyuhiko from getting justice for Natsumi in any capacity. There was no way the authorities would believe him, a member of the criminal underworld, over a seemingly normal high school girl – not without evidence. Sure, a picture of a vase wasn’t substantial, but it was something, and she got rid of it. Meanwhile, if Fuyuhiko hadn’t been out for blood, Mahiru wouldn’t have felt the need to destroy the evidence to begin with. In other words, they both believed they had no choice but to do what they did – Mahiru to cover things up, Fuyuhiko to kill. Their goals clashed at nearly every turn.

Mahiru messed up – that I won’t deny. She lost her cool and chastised Fuyuhiko while he was in the middle of interrogating her about his sister. She shouldn't have done that – not because she didn't have a point, but because it wasn't the right time. Chances are if she’d kept treating the game as real, she still would have angered him enough to convince Peko it was necessary to step in, but straight-up condemning his actions more or less sealed her fate. It’s almost ironic how her go-to method of yelling at people to do better led to her death in this instance. Keep in mind, though, it was Fuyuhiko who put her in that position to begin with. He backed her into a corner, deprived her of the chance to think things through and expected her to simply… read his mind and say what he wanted her to say so that he could find an excuse not to kill her. That’s why I don’t think it’s fair to claim she brought her death entirely on herself.

Moreover, her last words in and of themselves weren’t off-target. Fuyuhiko spends nearly the rest of the game trying to atone for rushing into revenge. He realizes that Mahiru was right; “an eye for an eye” is a flawed credo, and it’s through this that he manages to earn the forgiveness of all of his classmates, even Hiyoko. Losing Peko might have been what ultimately springboarded his development, but Mahiru’s contribution shouldn’t be understated. Hell, the scenario of Mahiru's death echoes some of Goodbye Despair’s most important themes, namely restoration over retribution and being punished for a forgotten sin. The mindset that certain people deserve to die for their crimes is what leads to much of the DR2 cast’s misery, and ultimately the opposite philosophy is what saves them.

Thanks for reading. :)

[revelboo]

Do you ever plan to write for EarthSpark Starscream? There's a strange lack of him. No pressure to, of course haha just thought I'd ask.

I like how he was portrayed in the first season before they nuked his character 😭 (and how you write the bots from ES ❤️)

Yeah, I was so hopeful with the first season that we were going to get some character development and growth and then… yeah. Nope.

I just updated the Masterlist and just realized I’m up to 94 links there and I’m only allowed 100, so you may see me making sub-masterlists for each continuity. This one makes 95 🥲

Disaster Hearts

Earthspark Starscream x Reader

• Venting softly, his face tips up toward the night sky outside the cave he’s been using as shelter to avoid tipping off Ghost. Unable to recharge for the nightmares. In his dreams, no matter how fast or how high he flies, that massive hand reaches after him. Those brutal servos always snaring him. And what was it all for? Everything he’s suffered only for Megatron to swap sides and betray them all. To be accepted by the Autobots with open arms even though Cybertron is a burned out husk because of Megatron’s actions. The future he’d believed in, had been promised just thrown away. Where is he now, he wonders? Playing house with those human pets of his?

• Can’t stay here as his anxiety begins to crank and his wings flare slightly before he throws himself off the cliff. Thrusters igniting as he launches himself skyward. He’d convinced his other Seekers to help in his vendetta against Megatron, but then it hadn’t taken much to gain their cooperation. They’d lost as much as he had. Betrayed just like he was. Rolling lazily in the air, he thinks of that human of Megatron’s. The soldier he’d thrown them all away for. That human too closely guarded by the Autobots to get at. And he can’t understand choosing a human over his own. Hates that soldier, because really, this is her fault isn’t it? They’re all much the same, though. Little insects waiting to be crushed under his ped.

• Exhausted, your fingers flex against the steering wheel. Telling yourself that it’s only for a bit longer. Only need to work two jobs for another year or so. That’s not so long. A bit longer to squirrel away enough to escape. Get as far as possible. Maybe try for the East Coast. You’re day dreaming about that as you drive. How the salty breeze off the ocean would taste. Would the sea spray be warm or cold? Salt drying on your skin and your hair and not caring. Finally free.

• Drifting through the cloudy night sky, he spots the headlights below on the empty road. And he normally ignores the humans. They’re beneath him, but right now? Angry and unsettled? Unable to take his frustration out on Megatron or his pet, he wants to lash out at someone. Punish someone for everything that’s been done to him. It’s what makes him drop from the sky and land in front of the little car. Hears the tires scream as the car brakes sharply and he lifts a ped and slams it down on the hood before the human can hit reverse. Watches the back of the car go airborne before slamming back down. Optics narrowing when the door is thrown open and a human throws themself out, running away.

• Decepticon. Heart racing, you run for the trees hoping the massive alien can’t follow you there. Screaming as the trees just explode, shards of wood and branches raining down on you as you fall on your hip. All the fight draining out of you to leave fear. Your head turns as you struggle to breathe, feeling those heavy peds hitting the road as he approaches you. And all you can think is it’s not fair. You’ve worked so hard to escape and it’s not even your tormentor that’s going to be the death of you, but one of the alien monsters.

• Baring his denta, he looms over the small form. One human is as good as another, aren’t they? He can’t get to Megatron’s human, but if he loves them so much, sacrificed his own kind for them, throwing another one’s broken body at his peds should be just as satisfying. Servos flexing, he bends to grab you and you don’t try to run again. Don’t scream or cry. Just stare at him, eyes closing as he curls his servos around you, unresisting. Just giving up as he frowns at your almost nonexistent weight in his palm. Why aren’t you begging for your life? “Just get it over with,” you whisper so softly he almost misses it.

• And the silence stretches out, takes on a weight. Flinching when a servo nudges your head his way. You open your eyes and stare up at that frowning, serious face. Those pretty, blue optics. “It’s not that I care at all,” he says, voice little more than a growl. “But do you want to talk about it?” What? Eyes drifting to that Decepticon badging on his wings, to his too human face, and you can’t even begin to respond.

[animorphsficcommenter]

I want to preface my reply here with the understanding that I agree with you on how a lot of these *are* double standards. But at the same time… I think there is a *legitimate* criticism laid against Cassie that I feel is being brushed off here. And when I say “criticism” I mean “character flaw she has”, in the same way that one could criticize Visser Three for being evil; it makes her character more complex, makes the book better, and it’s not bad to have!

But her decision to put Aftran in her head, to let Tom escape with the morphing cube, genuinely do put the whole world at risk. More than anyone else on the team, she struggles to set aside the close-to-her people instead of the world. In Percy Jackson, his fatal flaw was supposedly “loyalty”- he’d let the world burn for his friends. I don’t think that flaw was managed well there, but it reminds me of Cassie in theory.

Putting Aftran in her head to save Karen was a bad decision. It worked out really well, and I understood why she did it, and I don’t think that it makes her a Mary Sue that it worked out. That’s one of my utterly favorite books in the series. I love its message. *And* I think it was a bad decision. I think it put everyone else at risk, and the correct thing to do with the information she had at the time would have been to let Karen die rather than become a controller herself, and I think Cassie is the only one of the Animorphs who would have made that decision at that point in the war. Brushing this off as “The alternative was killing a 6-year old girl, and that tells us more about you than it does about her” is disingenuous, I think. Killing Karen *would* have been deeply deeply unpleasant, I’d have hated it, all of them would have hated it. But between “killing a six year old girl” and “exposing my entire team so that the whole planet falls to a life in slavery”, I know which one I’d pick, even if I *really wish a third option existed*. It’s a very legitimate thing to be upset with a character about, *even if* it’s incredibly realistic and very hard for anyone to do.

Similarly, the decision in book 50 to let Tom get away with the morphing cube- it worked out well, but it put the whole war at risk, and with the information she had it was the wrong decision. I think she is a *better character* for it; I think the story is better for it; I love Cassie. But I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say that at that point in the war, no other Animorph would have taken that risk, and I don’t think it’s sexism to say “I think that that was a bad decision and this is my least favorite character as a result.” (And side note, she isn’t my least favorite character.)

They need her. They need someone to stand up for what’s right, to keep them from going too far. But she is *more likely* to go too far in the opposite direction than any of them. And that’s not a double standard; I’d be upset with any of them who knowingly took an action of that magnitude of risk. The others didn’t- except Jake, who gave up on the war in MM4, and I’m upset with him for doing that for exactly the same reasons. (With the exception of Nice Rachel in book 32 and Marco in book 42, both of which get passes for being literally brain damaged at the time.)

A similar thing goes for Rachel too, but a more interesting one here. Ax absolutely is bloodthirsty, and I’d even say *more* bloodthirsty than her. But the *narration* calls out Rachel as being the bloodthirsty one, over and over again. “Ax, get Rachel”, not “Rachel, get Ax”. Book 48 (which I love as a character study) is all about how Rachel reacts to the constant way the others treat her as bloodthirsty; we don’t get a similar book for Ax because they *don’t* treat him that way despite him being the one to suggest, e.g., flushing the Yeerks in 53, letting them starve in 7 without concern for the hosts.

So I think there absolutely is a sexism of sorts going on here, but I think it’s happening *in-universe too*, and I think a lot of people *out-of-universe* form their opinions based off of what the characters themselves think without doing deeper analysis to see what biases the characters have. And so I don’t think a discussion about this is complete without mentioning that aspect too.

So I'm putting together an In Defence of Cassie PowerPoint for a PowerPoint night with friends. Do you have any arguments for or against her? I trust your opinion and am curious.

Let's see.

"She's too powerful, too unique, too far-seeing, and not good enough for Jake! What a Mary Sue!"

Counterpoint: May I introduce you to the reigning champion fan favorite, Sad White Boy Tobias?

Only nothlit ever to regain the ability to morph

Only known human-andalite hybrid ever to exist

Regarded as savior by entire hork-bajir species

Entire existence is a time paradox the war hinges upon

Pulls the canonically "most beautiful girl in our grade", who turns down 6 or 7 other offers in favor of Bird Boy

Correctly predicted planetary ecology 65 million years in advance

Believed to be immune to 2-hour limit

In conclusion: y'all wouldn't be crying "Mary Sue" if Cassie was a sad white boy, and I can prove it.

"She's too weak and hand-wringing, and she never helps the war effort!"

Counterpoint: First of all, the fact that the same people say this in the same breath as "she's too powerful" is... telling. Secondly:

She saved the entire team's lives in #24, in #29, in #44, and in MM1, among others.

Specifically calling out #44 — that ending shows she is willing and able to be ruthless when her friends are in need. She doesn't like slaughtering human-controllers, but if the alternative is everyone she loves dying, then she'll fucking well do it.

Much like Jake (see: Sad White Boy), she's more willing to risk herself than her friends, hence the end of MM1

Her medical knowledge saves Marco from rabies, Ax from brain!appendicitis, and Tobias from bird flu.

Her survivalist knowledge saves everyone in #25 (the Arctic), MM2 (Cretaceous Era), #11 (rainforest), and #14 (desert).

In conclusion: Cassie's only idealistic-looking by the standards of this extremely morally gray team.

"She's so unfair to Jake!"

Counterpoint: Jake? The Jake who refused to speak with her for weeks? Jake who proposes marriage while they're still broken up? Jake who announces he'll never trust Cassie again because she [checks notes] saved his brother's life? That Jake?

Also:

She gives him tons of emotional support in #16, #21, #47, and other times he's feeling low.

They have a healthy argument where they air differences and come to an understanding in #9.

Did I mention he doesn't just dump her but ghosts her in the middle of the war's endgame?

They're teenagers. Their relationship isn't perfect, but it is built on open communication and mutual respect which is more than Rachel and Tobias can say

She's fighting a war, and PTSD for that matter. No, she doesn't have infinite emotional bandwidth.

In conclusion: Their relationship is fine, their breakup is mutual, and her behavior only looks bad if, once again, you're holding Cassie to a different standard than you are Jake.

"She shouldn't have trusted Aftran!"

Counterpoint: friendly reminder that the alternative was killing a 6-year-old for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If that's what you think Cassie should've done, that tells us more about you than about her.

"She spends too much time moralizing!"

Counterpoint: this is a book series about war, not a friggin' video game. If you want moral pornography, go play Call of Duty. If you want sci fi realism, then you're going to have to accept that a majority of humans prefer not to kill their fellow humans if at all possible.

"She's a ripoff of [insert character here]!"

Counterpoint: literally every single one of these says more about the commenter than about the source work. "Every dystopia is set in the U.S." is the kind of thing only people who only read books by American authors would think. "All epic fantasy is Eurocentric" => tell me you only read books by white people without telling me. I'm glad you think Cassie is too similar to Willow Rosenberg, but there are at least 6 other stories in the known world, and I hear some of them even feature sweet/dorky/caring characters who are secretly ultra-powerful.

In conclusion: You don't have to like Cassie as a (fictional) person, but 85% of criticisms directed at her are bad-faith attacks on one of the 1990s' only fat Black female gnc ultra-powerful superheroes.

[crushpunky]

actress!reader’s obx character, caroline [SEASON 1]

masterlist | caroline masterlist

the much requested exploration of actress!reader's obx character, caroline :)

Caroline is introduced as a sort of background Kook, seen at parties and get-togethers, usually with Sarah and her friends. Her family are friends of the Camerons and the two families spend a lot of time together. Because of this, Caroline sees the way Ward treats his children, especially Rafe. She’s one of the few Kooks who sees through Ward and the Cameron’s facade and tends to be quite sympathetic to the children, particularly Wheezie and Rafe.

Personality wise, she is presented as being more shy than most, usually keeping to herself at parties. This shyness is something Rafe likes to tease her about, trying to get her out of her shell or to smile. However, she isn’t naive or especially innocent, being quite intelligent and in tune with her surroundings.

Sarah and Caroline’s relationship is presented as “friends”, but that's not entirely true. This is where we see Sarah's more stereotypically Kook side. We see her taking jabs at Caroline, teasing her about her interests or the "mysterious boy" she has a crush on and won’t tell anyone about

However, we get more insight into her character, as well as Rafe’s character and their relationship, when Rafe comes home one time to find Caroline in the kitchen of Tanneyhill. Initially he approaches her with his trademark cockiness and teasing attitude, but switches his tune when he finds her crying. Very much unlike what viewers had seen thus far, Rafe approaches her with a kindness and softness he reserves only for her.

Caroline tries to tell him it’s nothing, but eventually admits that Sarah often makes her feel worthless and like her only purpose was to make the “much prettier Sarah feel better about herself”. Rafe is mad and immediately moves to yell at Sarah, but Caroline begs him not to and he surprisingly listens. She’s the first and so far only person to really make him back down from a situation like this

There’s a brief scene at Midsummers where Caroline's parents are seen badgering her, telling her to find someone to dance with, hang out with her friends, etc. She ignores them, instead opting to drink at the bar by herself. Eventually, JJ starts flirting with the lonely girl and Rafe confronts him before the two of them get into a fight

Caroline witnesses Rafe and Topper beating up Pope, who Caroline has a soft spot for because of his kindness, and tries to help him afterward. Pope tells her he doesn't want help from a Kook before running off. Caroline scolds the boys, the two of them trying to defend themselves, calling it "payback" and making Caroline leave, frustrated.

As the season progresses, we see Caroline sort of floating around in the background until Rafe gets kicked out of Taneyhill. Unsure of where to go, Rafe finds himself on Caroline’s doorstep. In a vulnerable moment, he tells her he is sorry for hurting Pope (more so because he felt bad about how mad/hurt she was)

When Sarah finds out, she is mad and confronts Caroline for “stabbing her in the back”. Caroline, for the first time, snaps back and tells Sarah about all the mean things she’d done to her and how awful she always made her feel while simultaneously calling her her friend. Sarah apologizes, but it’s not entirely sincere, as she throws in a jab about Caroline being “obsessed and in love” with Rafe ever since they’d met. Caroline had hoped Sarah didn’t know the "mysterious boy" was in fact her brother, and runs away before she has to confront it

Following the murder of Peterkin, and Ward ignoring Rafe’s pleading for attention, Rafe sneaks out and goes to see Caroline despite his dad’s orders. He confesses to her that he killed Peterkin in self defense and didn’t have a choice. Caroline is scared, but also knows Rafe’s fragile mental state and fight for his dad’s attention, and tries to hide it. Rafe starts crying and eventually hugs her. Caroline is hesitant, but hugs him back and attempts to console him

[no1onepiecefan]

sometimes i sit and wish zoro had a ‘hat moment,’ like nami’s in arlong park, usually just as an extension of me wanting zoro content. but i’ve been thinking about it, zoro and luffy’s straw hat, and realised just how many times he has either caught it or been trusted to hold it.

zoro doesn’t need a shifting character moment that impacts his relationship with the crew because he doesn’t have anything in his backstory that hinders his openness with them. as far as we can tell, there is nothing subdued and hurting in his past that needs addressing. if any of the strawhats asked, i think he would easily tell them about kuina, his parents, the dojo, if they don’t know already.

zoro being trusted to hold luffy’s hat, to catch it over open waters when it’s dangerous for luffy to, etc, it speaks so hugely about zoro and luffy. zoro doesn’t need the anchoring support it has, instead he acts as a person luffy trusts to protect it.

in a lot of ways, luffy’s strawhat is an extension of himself, his strawhat is him. it’s what makes the moment in arlong park so special, it makes every moment it’s in danger so terrifying. he’s straw hat luffy. in fact, many enemies, friends and acquaintances refer to him as just that- straw hat.

luffy’s trust in zoro to hold his treasure, a piece of himself, is so special. it perfectly sums up their relationship, their trust and their willingness for vulnerability with each other. luffy allows zoro to protect him, and zoro would catch him every time.

zoro not having a ‘hat moment,’ instead having multiple where he holds it in tricky situations instead, it makes sense. luffy leans on zoro, he allows himself to be supported. though not shown, i am sure zoro would be equally comfortable for luffy to hold onto wado if he couldn’t.

luffy physically handing over a part of himself to zoro, a part that i am sure he values over a limb if need be, it’s so telling. he repeatedly trusts zoro with his life many times, yet somehow giving him his straw hat feels just as special.

zoro doesn’t need the comfort of the hat, he’s able to offer the opposite instead. luffy is comforted with the knowledge it’s in his hands.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hello hello! I was just reading through your account and saw the ask of some hsr characters being the big spoon, so I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing hsr characters being the little spoon? I was thinking characters like, Silver Wolf, Asta, Acheron and Firefly, if that's ok with you.

Have a good one!

(H:SR) Silver Wolf, Asta, Acheron, Firefly, Feixiao, Qingque, Serval, and Tingyun being asked to be the small spoon

(Silver Wolf) "'Kay."

Silver Wolf doesn't get flustered nor does she really hesitate to let S/O hold her.

As long as they don't block her arms and hands from moving and to keep playing her game, it's good.

It's a nice feeling, sure, but she's too busy grinding.

For in the grim darkness of the far future, there is only material grinding.

(Silver Wolf) "...What? Turn down the brightness? Hang on, just need to see in this cave for a second-"

(Asta) "A-Alright, go ahead!"

Asta feels honestly a little giddy being held by her S/O.

She isn't particularly shy with her affection, but to be in such an intimate space never failed to get her heart beating faster.

Asta takes a deep breath before exhaling, snuggling into S/O's chest and hugging them back.

For now, she doesn't have to worry about work, she can just decompress with their arms around her.

(Asta) "...Do you think we need to buy a new blanket? This one feels a little too thin-...N-No need? Hm. True, this would be our third blanket.-"

(Acheron) "...You may hold me if you wish."

Acheron takes a second to adjust in their hold. Normally, she was the one holding S/O.

She wasn't entirely 100% positive at first if she liked it, but with how quickly her body relaxed she figured she could learn to.

Regardless, it's something she will start to treasure, any time spent with her beloved is time well spent.

Acheron's face is unmoving until S/O's hand brushes the back of her head, holding her gently yet firmly.

(Acheron) "Is your hand stroking my hair?...No, it is not unpleasant, it's quite nice, actually..."

(Firefly) "If you don't mind...!"

Well, Firefly doesn't really need sleep that much, but she'll never pass an up an opportunity to snuggle!

As much as she enjoyed being the big spoon for S/O sometimes, she could not deny how nice it felt for someone to care for her like this.

Even if it was something small like cuddling, it still meant a lot to Firefly.

Firefly's smile is ear to ear, accompanied by a light blush as she holds S/O back, her head underneath their chin.

(Firefly) "Dream well, S/O..."

(Feixiao) "Hm, alright, guess I could!"

Feixiao as the little spoon? Now that was a novel experience!

It felt absolutely divine to her to be held by S/O like this, as well as very strange.

Usually her strong arms would be holding S/O, sober or otherwise but she could get used to this!...Probably!

Her Foxian ears droop ever so slightly as she smiles, leaning into S/O's touch as their hand caressed her face.

(Feixiao) "Just don't blame me if you wake up when I do! With your arms around me it'll be kinda hard to get out."

(Qingque) "...Is that some kind of joke, S/O?!"

As if Qingque wasn't always the little spoon anyway!

Pouting, she'll just sigh before letting S/O hold her tightly, blushing.

It takes only a few seconds for her attitude to soften, simply yawning and ready to fall asleep.

Even if the hardest thing she did today was play a few games at work.

(Qingque) "...Why am I yawning? I'll have you know I do work from time to time you know!...STOP LAUGHING!"

(Serval) "Change of pace, huh? Sure!"

Serval doesn't hesitate, at least not until S/O holds her closer, making her blush.

She fiddles with her fingers for a brief moment before shifting their arms around her stomach, allowing her to move her head backwards into them.

Serval closes her eyes with a wide smile, already feeling comfortable.

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

(Serval) "Hm, you're really comfy too, S/O..."

(Tingyun) "Mind the tail!"

Tingyun giggles at their request, but promptly settles in after doing the proper care for her tail, making sure that S/O can't mess with it during their sleep.

But afterwards, Tingyun happily lets herself be held by S/O.

After a long day, nothing is better than being held coming home. Well, maybe that and a promotion.

But she probably shouldn't complain.

(Tingyun) "Good night, S/O!~...Hm? What about my ears?...Alright, a little touching is fine, but don't mess it up too bad!"

[the-grey-hunt]

#yea#when they announced that c3 wil be set in marquet I was excited because what we've seen in c1 was promising and I like non western settings#(I never forget that wonderful white girl moment kiki had when she asked for *exotic* fruit and got handed an apple <3)

#like. I get being hesitant to play poc characters in asian inspired setting white being group of white usamericans in popular game show#but uhm. I'm still disapointed#but even tho we got quite a lot of details about politics and society in the beginning#it just. never become relevant?#nonoe of the characters are in any way connected to it

#most of them arent from there and those ho are doesn show it at all?#how is imogen even from there. everything about her feels like generic western setting#she's walking around looking like a cowgirl with a name of someone who should be wearing drindl at local oktoberfest#she could've essily came from taldorei with laudna (it would actually be kinda cool if she'd came so far in her search for answers?)

#and ashton? why in a world that was not colonized lower class style of dress in not western place is so western#it should utilize local fashion that's *we know* from meeting npcs in early campaign is asian inspired#it could be better even with the same characters if there was consistently more attention to details. like type of street food or smth#details that would make this setting a little more tangible#because the way it went it could've been anywhere else#white c1 and c2 wwre much more connected to the settings

it's always darkly funny to me when people go on at length about how C3 is the most complex and nuanced campaign that the rest of us are simply Not Getting because it hurts our feelings or sensibilities or whatever and one of the bullet points is that it is "challenging the history and tradition of imperialism in D&D and fantasy" and I'm like in a campaign that does not engage with its Asian-inspired continent as a place instead of merely as set dressing after the prior campaign very much engaged with ITS largely European-inspired continental setting as a place?

[thesiltverses]

I wanted to start off by thanking all of you for this most wonderful crustacean filled story! Having grown up in Maryland (a little US state so defined by its relationship to a giant estuary that the state college gives new students a crab mallet and some Old Bay seasoning), I loved seeing crustaceans get the proper reverence (and dread) they deserve.

My question is in regards to Val and The Last Word (who I love, love, love!!):

In the story, it seems to be implied that The Last Word is not only a newly created god, but also may be mixed up with Val in a way unusual for most god-saint cases (or maybe I’m misreading it, and the only weird one here is Val)

In that case, when Val died, did The Last Word also die with them? Or is it still out there, limping along without any worshippers? Considering its need for an audience to warp realities, would it even be possible for it to influence the world now that Val isn’t around to speak for it anymore?

Part of me thinks that if it survived it might end up a stray god in a similar way to The Watcher In The Wings, laying dormant until some hapless soul manages to draw its prayer marks (would there even be any records for how to summon this highly illegal and secret god?) I feel like the only living person who might be directly aware of it would be Chuck Harm (and now I’m imagining Chuck living his best life with the dogs while The Last Word futilely tries to tempt him into going back to newscasting to spread the word, like a puppy begging for human food)

TLDR, did our beloved walking war-crime take her beloathed god down with her?

Thank you for listening! I adore your thoughts on the Last Word and your story about the Maryland crab mallets is bizarre and horrible in all the best ways.

Personally, I don't see the Last Word as necessarily having an existence outside of Val (and as you mention, we see throughout the season that increasingly Val can lie without calling upon it at all). Which could be either:

1) because Val is right and she has lied her way into being a walking, talking god of lies

2) because a god of lies is necessarily insubstantial and evasive

3) because the Last Word does exist in some form, but it has no need for attention or communication as it's being worshipped far more meaningfully and effectively by characters like Carson and Chuck without even using its name. In this reading, Val is effectively a god-hacker tapping into its usage without having its attention.

[lesbianherald]

Hi! Just curious. What exactly is that you didn't like about Viktor's arc? I've seen a few people saying the same thing and idk if I'm missing something or I'm just too over the moon about him that my brain has gone smooth haha.

oh no oh no i'm probably going to write like a whole dissertation about this I am so sorry I'm literally cracking my knuckles I have so many thoughts and not all of them I'll even get to articulate here.

Saying this upfront: you aren't smooth-brained for disagreeing with me or liking it. I want to say that outright as I'm a very opinionated person and I am going to state my very strong opinions very plainly.

That being said : I genuinely feel like season 2 needed like... character writing 101 for a lot of these characters, especially the two characters whose names start with a 'V'. I'm so serious if one of my students brought in a story like this, I would (gently) take it apart.

If you don't want to read the whole thing I'm about to unleash, the crux of it is this for me:

Throughout the course of the season, it's very hard to discern how many of Viktor's decisions are his own. He lacks the baseline autonomy that's necessary for satisfying development. The magic of the hexcore becomes a shiny distraction that makes meaningful development impossible. Additionally, season 2 forgets so many of the themes and threads they explored with Viktor in season one explicitly in terms of class and his position on war and weapons manufacturing.

And, like almost everything in season 2, these issues are compounded because his story is done at a pace that's completely lightning-fast and prioritizes the wrong things.

Here's my thesis:

How Does a Man Like Viktor Become the Machine Herald? Arcane's Answer: Magic orb or vague sadness or something idk.

Harry Lloyd said in a season 1 commentary somewhere that one of the main appeals for Viktor is knowing who he is in the game and wondering how you take a man like him, who is so kind and has people's best interests at heart, and see him slowly become the machine herald.

I agree 100% that this is part of the story's appeal for players. And it would be a delight and surprise for non-players.

We... get that very juicy premise ripped from us. We don't see him making decisions grounded in the character they set up in season 1 at all, really. And its very unsatisfying seeing him be rendered a mere victim of circumstance with vague attachments to his past self.

This is not necessarily a complaint about arcane herald vs machine herald (I did not play league and am not attached to the lore) but a complaint that a lot of what happens with Viktor in season 2 seems very unattached to his psychology.

Christian Linke himself said (and I forget where, so I am sorry if I'm paraphrasing terribly) that part of the question he wanted the audience to ask with Viktor is how much of this is really him? Bluntly. That is incredibly silly. It's such an important question that it makes all other interesting questions one might have about him really hard to parse.

That's not compelling. That's a mistake. That's not rooted in character anymore but a vague magical orb.

Here are some questions that would have been more interesting for us to ask, Christian.

How does his desire to tamper out human emotion prompt him to do the unspeakable? What leads him there?

How far is he willing to go to take away human pain and suffering?

Is his version of pacifism really, in actuality, a form of violence?

Will his connection with others be enough to bring him back to his humanity? (this is a question we were not prompted to ask, and if we were, it would have made the final scene (which I love regardless) a lot more satisfying.

What is the root of his hunger for power? How much of his quest is a hunger for power and control over others (rooted in a fractured and tragic sense of self)? and how much is it rooted in his desire to help? Where is that line?

Any of these questions or any other questions we could enjoy exploring with Viktor become tampered with and weakened by the fact that a vague magical entity is controlling him in a vague and unrelatable way.

In short, 'How much of Viktor is still Viktor?' is a far less interesting question than. 'how is Viktor going to act, change, and learn? ' We are forced to ask the first at the cost of the second. He clearly is not fully himself this season.

The Dropping of Themes and Traits

Season 1's exploration of Viktor was multi-layered and fascinating. I feel like we got to see the establishment of a kind-hearted, sometimes awkward yet quite funny, passionate scientist.

I don't feel we see much of any of this in season 2. The stupid fucking orb overrides a lot of the traits we've come to know and love. This would have been cool if done with an ounce of care, understanding, or autonomy.

In season 1, we see Viktor in a position of powerlessness over and over. We see Viktor ignored and looked down upon by those in power both for his disability and, crucially, for his status as a Zaunite.

We're introduced to him as someone who is desperate to prove himself and carve a place for himself. He knows he's brilliant. And he knows he can help people with that big brain of his. That's all he wants. And he wants to make his mark (something I theorize is rooted in his loneliness as well as his ambition)

(Side note: I find a lot of the debate on whether or not Viktor is insecure a little silly because you can be both confident and insecure. He's incredibly secure in his abilities as a scientist, but I fully do believe he places all his worth on his work because he's not as confident in other places - represented visually by him trying to point out his boat when Sky is looking at him in the flashback. A 'don't look at me look at what I've made' type thing.)

Anyways. Viktor is willing to risk his position as an assistant and, honestly, his position at the academy and in Piltover as a whole to help Jayce. This is not just because he's 'lol so chaotic' or whatever. This is actually quite calculated. He knows he will get nowhere in Piltovian society without bending rules, because Piltover was not built for people like him.

"Do you think it was my life's ambition to be an assistant?"

But even in taking that huge step for himself, his new role is complicated.

We see him sit through meetings where his people are talked about like burdens. We see his closest (and honestly only) ally and partner speak over him in meetings and overrule his desires and wants when it comes to the future of hextech in massive ways. We see Jayce call all Zaunites 'dangerous' (I love jayce... don't shoot me please. But we do often forget that this does canonically happen and what makes Jayce so incredible is that he grows from this point)

The moment on the bridge directly causes him not to tell Jayce about what he's doing to himself. Jayce apologizing right after doesn't matter so much as it reinforces one of Viktor's fears: he is alone.

We see his illness, !!!!caused by Piltover's oppression!!!!, take over. We see him and Jayce grow apart. We see the way his loneliness impacts his desperation and the way his desperation impacts his loneliness and we see the way he's so damn afraid and just wants to live. We see how much he wants to help people, and how even though he's tried so hard he never got to achieve that because the limits of this society just don't allow for it.

Season 1 Act one is Viktor taking action for himself. season 1 Acts 2 and 3 are a brutal reminder that no matter how hard he works. No matter how hard he claws. He will always be who he is. And that makes him Powerless in this society. I honestly find it a really compelling storyline in terms of the 'bootstrap theory' and debunking that - but a different topic for a different time!

At the end of the season, he's able to gain a huge amount of power - speaking at the council about freeing his city - through Jayce's platforming and allyship. But at the end of the day it doesn't matter, because what the council is doing is too little too late - people in Zaun are too tired and too hurt - and he gets caught in the crossfire.

Despite all this, Season 2 does not engage with Viktor's being a Zaunite outside of the fact that he returns to Zaun first. But the themes explored related to class and power are gone - as they are with everyone else really.

It makes sense to me that one of the first things Viktor would do when granted a new body and new power would be to go and try to help people in Zaun, but the ambiguous mechanisms of the magic inside him, the immediate divorce with Jayce, and the bizarre way he goes about it don't make this land.

And even the return is rendered sort of meaningless. Where is the personal connection to this place? Why are we given no details related to his past here? Why doesn't he return to somewhere more personal for him?

He speaks in this cold, unaffected monotone. This healing ability seems to be the 'recursive impulse' - so him finally getting to help people just like he wanted feels rooted so much in the arcane influence it becomes murky and strange.

This is more nitpicky, and I'd be okay with it being ignored in the right context - but another aspect of his character that gets dropped is his work as a scientist. His desire to help people not through magic, but through invention. This would have been fascinating. (They try to keep this alive through vague allusions to 'look at what I've created' blah blah but again, so much of it is all ORB)

What inventions would a fully autonomous Viktor who decided to leave Jayce and return to Zaun of his own fruition create? Would they toe the line between inventions of progress and inventions of destruction?

Guess we'll never know!

Speaking of weapons. Let's talk about weapons. Let's talk about Viktor's vehement opposition to weapons not being explored within the context of his relationship with Jayce or outside of the rule that there are none allowed in the commune - which becomes quite meaningless when he agrees to work with Ambessa. Yes - he saw those blueprints on the table. But that's all we get.

Also, the fact that Jayce just unquestionably builds hextech weapons in the finale, and they're used as a good thing and a way to fight off Noxus, makes me want to claw my own hair out. Like - my themes ! Not my precious themes !

Let's also talk about him working with Ambessa. There's no build-up to that decision, not near enough character work to make that believable and considering the way the plot is written elsewhere, I fully believe this is a huge part of the problem of the writer's room dropping the issue of class. The idea that Viktor, the character that they set up, would ever willingly work with Ambessa is laughable. There are so many other ways he could have gotten to the hexcore in his fully evolved form, easily bested Jayce, and evolved. And they did absolutely nothing in the writing of season 2 to make that an interesting or satisfying choice.

An arc is only an arc if there is substance between point a and b. There's no substance here. There's vague orb. There are little glimpses of the pain he's in because of his separation from Jayce. Teeny tiny allusions to him trying to shut down his emotions. That's simply not enough.

You cannot bring a character who values choice and autonomy, whose been made to feel so powerless and is empathetic, to "choice is meaningless" without a deep study of his psychology and pain. Viktor taking away the autonomy of others, inhabiting their bodies. Being super chill with it. Okay. Coo.

Where does his desire for evolution even come from? For real? Because they seem to mistake Viktor's ambition with his desire for perfection, which is something that was never really... brought up? It could be believable that he felt this way. But where were the signs of this? Not just in season 1 but in season 2. He always wanted to help, not make humanity perfect. Because this is grounded in so little emotional logic I assume we're supposed to be satisfied with the idea that magic orb + machine herald form = ??? this ??? like ??? why???

If he wants to create a world where nobody can feel pain or complex emotions of any sort anymore, which is not psychologically where he was at the end of season 1 at all despite all he went through, you have to give us an event (ideally multiple) in season 2 that could break his mind this badly. Jayce killing him could have been this, but it happened so fast and was executed so impersonally that it doesn't work. He doesn't really acknowledge it happened the next time they see each other. Which... would probably be important to do... again emotional logic where?

His entire speech about humanity at the end of episode 6 feels like it's trying to be a catalyst. But it also feels... incredibly generic and impersonal. It felt written to play over a flashy montage of all the other characters fighting. Not for Viktor. If this was Viktor's moment where he finally snaps, we should probably focus on Viktor. And, of course, it doesn't help that he has this odd monotone this whole time, as if he's not fully in control of himself (this is not a rip on Harry Lloyd at all. He did what he was told and did it very, very well.)

Because remember. They wanted us to ask this. They wanted us to ask how much of this was orb. I think because they knew on some level they could not create a compelling enough story to get viktor where they wanted him to be for some reason without orb. That none of this would make sense without the vague spice of the arcane. And guess what it still doesn't.

Becuase people will not relate to a vague arcane influence. Connect to it. We would want to see what actually in his life made him become this. What in his psychology outside of magic orb made him do this? They provide vague tastes of this in the same way La Croix flavors its drinks.

Brought Back Wrong Can Work: Here's Why This One Didn't

I also really hate the trope of killing off characters only to bring them back. And back again. And... again. Because guess what. It takes one of the core elements of the human experience - death- and cheapens it. This for sure happens with Viktor the second time he dies.

But what i do like about bringing someone back from the dead is when you consider how doing so can bring someone back wrong. Or changed.

But because the orb is so impersonal. So bland. Such a vague sinister force that has very little to do with character, it doesn't... work. It doesn't hit. Viktor doesn't really grapple with being brought back from the dead against his will in a meaningful way.

Timing

You can see concepts of a plan, if you will, within this story. I can see how Viktor would naturally go to the undercity after waking up changed with new healing powers. But it happens way to fast. So bizarrely. I can see how he would build a society like this (of course, the power of that is dulled because orb and by the fact that we don't see it happen). I can see how the pain of being rejected and left behind by the only person who made him feel like he wasn't alone (Jayce) could have lead to a category 5 'make me evil' sort of meltdown.

Becoming the Herald, asking Singed to begin the transformation, is the only true time in this show in act 2 (before his final moments) where it feels like he's making a choice for himself. But again, we get so little time with him. To see his emotions. To elegantly point from that moment with Jayce to Viktor's need to transform and in doing so rid himself of emotion (something that they did not expand on enough ) Like oh my god, how much more satisfying would it have been to see Viktor torn apart by his own emotions - in his own viktor way - and to have singed offer him a way out of his pain - and then have viktor take it. There are certain things that should be obvious.

But It's both the timing of and the structure of the story - how quickly we cut between plotlines - that makes this really hard to follow. That makes moments that could be something feel rushed and sloppy.

Let's Talk about Sky

Viktor's guilt over sky was absolutely reasonable to explore, but it was not.... all that haunted him. To make Sky the sole guide/companion to him in the astral/arcane headspace I found to be a bizarre and honestly kind of offensive choice.

Amanda overton said she was used as a "Jayce substitute" essentially. And... why? Literally why. Why would you write a character whose sole deal is having an unrequited crush on a man only to bring her back to be 'the embodiment of his guilt and loneliness' as well as a 'substitute' - it feels... icky to me? Just in a writing women and especially women of color point of view? And it didn't feel true to Viktor's character either.

I think if we actually got to know sky better in season 1, this would have worked because it would have been obvious how different she was, how she was a product of his mind or the hexcore or whatever (the lore being vague here doesn't help...)

Plot Twist because I keep hating on Orb: They Could Have Made The Orb Really Cool

Here's the thing. Magic influence on its own can be used to write extremely compelling plots. Walk with me.

Imagine Viktor wakes up. Immediately knows something's wrong with him. That something inside him is toying with him. Making him see things (visions of not only sky, but maybe his parents, Jayce, Heimer). He wakes up earlier in act 1. Despite his anger, he stays with jayce in order to better understand himself and his powers. All the while, he is haunted by whispers and visions of the hexcore. What if it whispers to him of his own insecurities and failures?

What if Things with Jayce are tense. Jayce has to admit to making weapons again, in an argument leading to more haunting visions from the hexcore offering him an out: emotional numbness. You would never have to feel again Viktor. If you let me in fully, you would never have to be alone again. You'd be more powerful, Viktor.

Imagine Viktor is there during that attack ambessa orchestrated. That he has the horror of witnessing Jayce wield his hammer in a genuine attempt to defend himself and the people he loves. He sees first hand how hextech is being used for destruction in a way that horrifies him.

Imagine him being accused of being a part of it because he's a Zaunite - humiliated in some way. Publicly. Imagine the emotional trauma of this resulting in a falling out so devastating he embraces his visions of the hexcore - gives into the numbness. And only then leaves. With the hexcore... he feels better than he has in years. He hopes he can give the gift of this to others. Now he is under orb influence, but now the way he's gotten there is more satisfying to me at least.

Now imagine him fighting the orb influence in key moments. Imagine the color in his eyes coming back. Imagine Viktor's relationship with the arcane being more of a dance than a vague entanglement. Imagine its influence haunting him in the same way Jinx's visions haunt her. Imagine it being personal rooted in his character.

Old Man Viktor

Listen. I am the old man Viktor connoisseur. I love him. I love the idea of him. I wrote a whole fic about him, during which I had to spend a lot of time with the story. It's sort of... very much impossible to make much sense of?

I'm not mad at the fact that it's an obvious retcon. Honestly, because I think from a storytelling perspective, it worked a lot better than most of the decisions they made this season.

But I'm not a fan of (shocking) how little time we spend with him. How little chance we get to understand his motivatons. And also. What the fuck he said to Jayce to make Jayce's first line of action killing him? In my fic, I made it that Jayce needed to shoot Viktor to get the hexcore out, so he could communicate to viktor without influence. But that felt like heavy lifting I shouldn't necessarily have to do for something so important. It also doesn't feel like a compelling or satisfying question to make your audience have to wrestle with.

The Final Scene

Want to say upfront I am not one of the people who did not like Jayce's speech.

I was quite moved by it. And aside from the perhaps out of place mention of the illness brought on by Piltover which I can understand the criticism for, I felt it was beautiful. (I am disabled btw)

That being said. I think i'd be a sobbing mess on the floor if the themes Jayce is presenting in his speech were more present throughout season 2. Because we really don't see this enough - the desire for perfection.

I'm also not one of those people who thinks Viktor's insecurities weren't present in season 1. To me, they were and were obvious, but not enough in his motivations and actions in season 2 to make Jayce's speech land like it could.

I really loved Jayce's arc in season 2. Him immediately embracing Viktor after he woke from the goo was surprising but felt right. But I wish they had more genuine conflict rooted in their conflict in season 1 that would allow their final moment to land even harder.

I really liked the final scene, and it made me an emotional mess. But weirdly, I'd almost like it as a short film removed from the context of the season two, which says just how little Viktor's arc this season contributed to the moment.

Final Thoughts

I'm so sorry I went so in-depth. I just love him as a character and feel he was very much not done justice.

We can attribute some of this to the lack of time. But when you know you have a lack of time, you need to write with that in mind instead of trying to do it all. And ultimately, I found a lot of scenes this season a waste of precious time. They had so many characters alone contemplating something intangible or alone and trapped for episodes. They didn't plan this with the care and precision needed to pull it off.

I also want to note that I know I say here a lot that there's a lot they needed to make "more obvious". This is not because I'm stupid. But when you're a writer, you need to know what to highlight and what you can leave vague so you leave your audience exploring the right nuances and asking the satisfying questions.

Anyways umm. The end. Holy shit, I'm so sorry I wrote so much.

[avelera]

I'm curious about your interpretation for post-hexcored viktor left jayce, and what you think he was planning on doing there before he was lead towards forming a cult. The first bit may sound weird, seeing as it seems obvious that it was, because it seems obvious to most that it's because he felt betrayed by Jayce after being revived with the hexcore after he'd been promised it would be destroyed. (thus all the divorce paper jokes, which are admittedly very funny) But... that doesn't seen entirely accurate to me. Or at least not the the only part of it, in part because he later invites Jayce down to the commune to see it and we never get an explanation as to how and why that changed - what happened that lead. And in the poke-wakeup conversation with Jayce, it seems important to me that the first thing he brought up was "what am i?", not "what happened?", or "are you okay?" In my take, there's context clues and backstory stuff that can help us infer the dots he's philosophically connecting and recontextualization he's going through in those moments (that then leads to a *further* recontextualization, and then one after that. SO much of this season on viktor's side is him internally going "hmm. apparently my entire thesis statement On How People and The World work was wrong. allow me to amend that and then act accordingly", is2g) of course, I'm not sure my take on How Deeply He's Thinking About This completely gels with your take on all his altruism is a subconscious excuse and front he made to justify his selfishness, so I'm just really curious to hear your thoughts on the subject!

I need to be clear: I do not think ALL of Viktor’s selflessness is a front!

Dear lord, he’s one of the most pacifistic, kind, generous, good-hearted people in the whole show. I do not want to imply at all that Viktor doesn’t actually care about other people!

If anything, my argument is that he cares SO MUCH about other people that when HE as an individual person needs something, like his partner to BE there for him when he’s feeling scared and alone and he wants HELP finding a way to save his own life, Viktor is literally so selfless and kind and altruistic he DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO ASK. He can’t forgive himself for prioritizing himself as an individual even when he has maybe weeks left to live, when by any measure he’d be a higher priority of urgency than the big systemic issues he’s hoping to address.

When I say Viktor is lying to himself it’s because he’s truly desperate and has spent so long thinking of others that he can’t conceptualize of how to focus on his own urgent needs. And then, when he does fully commit to saving himself, Sky dies horrifically, and it spirals Viktor into even deeper despair. He’s literally suicidal when he asks Jayce to destroy the Hexcore. It’s kind of no wonder Jayce ignores him on that front, he saw Viktor about to jump and then ask him to destroy the Hexcore, which is the same thing as jumping as far as Jayce knows (since he doesn’t know about Sky). Honestly, in most circumstances, Jayce would be unequivocally doing the right thing by saving Viktor’s life and refusing to indulge his suicide ideation by destroying his one hope in the first place.

I know you mostly asked about other stuff but honestly, it’s super up to interpretation. Fortiche is very good at offering multiple reasons for anything that we see. Maybe Viktor left because the Hexcore is controlling him, maybe he saw the weapons blueprints and gave up on Jayce, maybe he’s trying to protect Jayce by getting away, maybe he is just that fed up about the broken promise. Something weird and fucky is definitely going on IMO which is why I personally don’t buy that Viktor is totally in control there and there’s some level of Hexcore influence or mind control.

But since this isn’t prose and we’re not inside the character’s head, it’s all up to an individual viewers interpretation what’s going on and how much is Viktor. I’ve done numerous posts on how influenced I think Viktor is, why I think he left, etc and I can link those here in a bit but the newer and more pressing thing for me was clarifying: I don’t think Viktor is selfish. I think he’s so selfless he struggles to voice and frame his own dire selfish needs in a way he finds forgivable even to himself which unfortunately obfuscates their urgency to others, for example, framing his urgent person needs to Jayce as big systemic issues that will take years if not decades to address. I think Jayce in that instance could be forgiven for not seeing a couple days or weeks of detour as a big deal in the face of gigantic societal issues like how better mining equipment in the Undercity could help them, because he didn’t grasp that Viktor was talking about his own urgent needs.

Anyway I might add some links to this soon but I hope this helps for now.