#it's such a complicated situation and we have to look at it realistically

[alicentflorent]

I feel like Alicent “realizing she’s in a patriarchy” council scene isn’t bad like you’re saying. Alicent knows she’s in a patriarchy, yes, but like Rhaenys said in s1- Alicent is trying to carve out a small window in her prison, she frankly doesn’t have much of an opportunity to break out of her prison, but if she had never put Aegon on the throne then life under Rhaenyra’s rule WITH her friendship would have put Alicent in a better position. Alicent knows it’s a patriarchy, but she realized that small window she made (when she ruled in Viserys’ place, when her sons listened to her) is now completely closed.

"I sent an ask about Alicent and the patriarchy and I want to add that I don’t think it’s alicent’s fault that Rhaenyra got supplanted, alicent’s support might not have mattered much since they were scheming against Rhaenyra without her, but Alicent herself probably feels like if she had at least not aided in her own destruction it would be better. But bc Alicent herself supported Aegon, she now sees that she has no place anywhere with no one listening to her, I mean Aegon would listen to her but she has grown distant from him for many reasons"

I think the idea that Alicent would have a better life under Rhaenyra's rule with her friendship isn't as likely as we would like to think. She might be trying to carve a window in her prison but unfortunately this is a reality for most westerosi women. All they can do is hope that they are able to make their lives better, hope that their fathers. husbands and sons allow them a certain level of privilege and power which they can just as easily take away and this is what happened to Alicent. Rhaenys herself spent her life only having power because of her Targaryen blood and because Corlys allowed her to have a voice.

Alicent is in a very complicated position. She could have stayed loyal to Rhaenyra but what happens if they have a falling out again? Alicent can't lose Rhaenyra's loyalty because she would need Rhaenyra to protect her children. Otto wasn't wrong when he told her she could remain loyal to Rhaenyra and beg for her to have mercy on her children when/if the time comes. Is that really a better life? Alicent would still fear for her children's lives and have to always stay on Rhaenyra's good side. Rhaenyra also had no bond with her half siblings even before Alicent turned on her.

This is how I think it likely would have went: Alicent stays loyal to Rhaenyra for the duration of the ten year time jump then the whispers of Rhaenyra's childre's parentage get louder. They are protected by Viserys and Rhaenyra of course but this gives people who plan to overthrow Rhaenyra another reason why Aegon is the better choice. Westeros would never accept a bastard being passed off as legitimate on the throne. Rebellions throughout history break out over the littlest things so it would be easy for rebels to push the misogynistic idea that Rhaenyra is unfit as woman and that she is a whore who bore bastards while Viserys has three legitimate sons. What if Aemond, for example still wanted the throne? Sure he may have turned out differently but Viserys had no interest in preparing him for any kind of future and if he had bonded with any other men who put ideas into his head he could end up rebelling. Then there is the issue of Daemon - he was always the real threat to Alicent's children because he hates them and Alicent, Rhaenyra marrying Daemon after Laenor's mysterious death might also cause a rift between them because Alicent might fear what daemon will do. The best scenario might have been sending Aemond and Aegon to the wall and Daeron to be a Septon or Maester but that doesn't protect them from scheming politicians or rebels who will push their claims regardless. If not during Rhaenyra's reign, it could happen during Jace's.

Basically, there was no good outcome in Alicent's situation and in an ideal world as someone who shipped young rhaenicent I would like to them presenting as united front as a family but unfortunately that isn't how life in Westeros works. In every scenario, Viserys dies leaving a succession crisis in his wake because he decided to remarry and have more children without considering the potential problems all because he was weak and attracted to a teenager. There was no stopping the Dance, All Alicent could do was try to make the best of an impossible situation. She was thrown into the lions den by Otto, and birthed four children who were a threat to Rhaenyra simply by existing. .

[cherry-treelane]

everytime i feel bad and stressed about my life i remember that i might be in a troubling situation and having a bad time but im not season 4 fiona gallagher in the clink after leaving crack on the counter which my 3 year old baby brother happened to ingest resulting in a fatal near-death experience thats wracked me with never-ending guilt and forever altered my life

[moe-broey]

Also @ my it takes Sharena to break free from the "Gustav was a good man/Father" Askr family unreliable narrator hivemind. That the Main Reason she can't/doesn't is because it's the One Thing that's protecting her. That's stopping her from having a catastrophic world/life fucking breakdown about it. Heavily influenced by her brother and mother's feelings about it.

There's something else, I think Sharena is specifically protecting herself from too. She was Triandra's sister, too.

[starpros-sunshine]

You know. I'm part of the fraction "to each their own and let people handle their lives however they see best fit". But I do feel the need to say that I have seldom seen such an idiotic assumption as that breaking up with someone four days before someone's birthday when you also want that someone to do something for their birthday even though you know you and your soon-to-be-ex will both have to be there won't end with that person just not doing anything with anyone for their birthday. Partially because nobody wants that kind of awkwardness after a fresh breakup and also because the soon-to-be-ex has the lovely habit of wallowing in self pity and making everything about how they have it so bad. You know I just think in such cases you should've waited a week with the breakup. I don't care how much you want to fuck that other guy but I really think you should've waited a week.

[thehmn]

I wanted to make this post because we don’t see a lot of asexual characters in western media and despite him being from a hugely popular show (Seaside Hotel) you’re unlikely to know of his existence if you’re not from Denmark.

His name is Hjalmar Aurland and he’s one of the more sympathetic and realistic asexual characters I’ve seen. He lives in a time and place where asexuality as a concept doesn’t exist yet so he’s never labeled as such but rewatching the show made me realize that he acts exactly like the asexual people I personally know. Asexuality can mean a lot of things but his specific brand isn’t naive to sex nor is he repulsed by sex, sexual desire or thoughts simply doesn’t come naturally to him.

He can be convinced to have sex with his wife Helene but only if she appeals to their emotional bond. Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, he’s not being forced or emotionally blackmailed to sleep with her. It’s simply that he understands sex is a way to show emotional love too and he wants to express that love for Helene when it’s important to her, and seeing as sex isn’t unpleasant to him, just kinda boring, he’s willing to do that for her.

Unfortunately that isn’t enough for Helene and despite her love for Hjalmar she starts an affair with the dramatic and emotional actor Edward Weyse. He has a string of relationships, marriages and divorces behind him because despite what it may look like from the outside Edward doesn’t really want shallow sexual relationships. He just can’t help himself and keep falling in love with women left and right, fully and wholeheartedly, only to be dumped or dump them once the initial excitement has passed.

So Helene and Edward’s affair that was only meant to satisfy their carnal desires quickly becomes romantic. Helene feels torn between him and Hjalmar who she still loves and Edward understands the difficult situation they’re both in while also feeling jealous of Hjalmar. And Hjalmar? He doesn’t catch on for years. He’s not stupid but his brain just doesn’t jump to sex. He just assumes they’re good friends and why shouldn’t his wife be allowed to have friends, even male ones? Things get really complicated when Helene gets pregnant and she has to have sex with Hjalmar so he won’t wonder how it happened. Edward even has to join in on the seduction, reminding Hjalmar how much Helene loves him, even though it breaks Edward’s heart to do so.

But like I’ve said Hjalmar isn’t stupid. He saw the signs but chose to ignore them until one night when Helene accidentally says Edward’s name. It breaks the dam in Hjalmar’s denial and he has to face that deep down he always knew. Overcome by sadness and betrayal he wanders off into the night in nothing but his nightgown and gets a room at a different hotel where he can think in peace. Eventually he agrees to return to the first hotel with Helene and Edward and decides to take control of the situation.

He sits them both down and tells them that he understands that the three of them share a bond and that there are things he can’t really do for Helene so from now on he wants their relationship to be open and honest. He wants Helene and Edward to keep seeing each other and Edward is welcome in their house, but Hjalmar wants to be allowed to call Edward by his first name and makes it very clear that Helene and Edward’s children “belong to him” because he still thinks of himself as their dad and loves them as his own children. Both Helene and Edward agrees to it, though the emotional Edward is very flustered and confused by the acceptance and love he’s being shown by Hjalmar.

This is obviously a very tv drama situation but I was so stuck by how much Hjalmar acts like my asexual friends. Having a lover for your partner isn’t the most common solution but it’s an idea I’ve heard a lot of asexual people be open to under the right circumstances and of course that’s the most dramatic solution for a romantic tv drama.

Hjalmar is defined by so much more than his sexuality though. His main characteristic is his passion for social justice and equality, and other than some early show weirdness before they really cemented the characters, Hjamler is the only character who floats freely between the men and women. He’s just as likely to sit with the men as he is the women, often appearing in otherwise entirely female spaces. It’s never questioned or even brought up, not because he’s a “safe asexual” but because he cares and think their worries are as important as the men’s. He’s often called a pessimist by the other men when in reality he is determined to be hopeful and compassionate and spread the love he feels the world is lacking as WWII draws closer.

So yeah, I just wanted to share this sweet ace guy with you because you probably wouldn’t have known about him otherwise.

[maxiemumdamage]

See, I know people like the idea of Loona giving Octavia a gentle talking to about how her father does care and she hasn’t been abandoned and she needs to give him the chance…

…but I would be just as happy, and I think it might be more realistic, if instead Loona went off on Octavia.

Because realistically? I think if Octavia were asked what Stolas should have done instead in that situation — whether he should’ve instead stayed quiet and not taken the blame and let Blitzø die?

She’d say yes, he should have.

Octavia doesn’t like Blitzø. Of course she doesn’t, her dad acts like a horny weirdo around him, this random Imp doesn’t actually seem to respect or like Stolas to begin with, and she definitely at least partially blames him for her parents divorce.

(Of course she does, she’s not even wrong to — even if their marriage was miserable and abusive before that, Stolas only had the nerve and hope to leave it because of Blitzø.)

But the minute she voices any of that sentiment, I think Loona — who already has a temper, who came so fucking close to watching her own dad die right in front of her, specifically to watching him be executed by a court full of snotty nobles like Octavia, for a crime he didn’t commit that Octavia’s mother and uncle framed him for (which their noble status enabled them to do) — would snap. Rightly so.

Because it really doesn’t seem like Octavia has thought very deeply about…any of the stuff between Stolas and Blitzø and Stella. Of course she hasn’t, she’s a teenager and it’s much easier to pretend her family was perfect until an outsider (Blitzø) screwed everything up.

And now? Now it will be very easy to blame Stolas, say he doesn’t care about her and never did. We know from the season 2 trailer that Octavia will say this!

But Loona has. Uh. Not to compare traumas, but she’s been through way worse. When it comes to parental abandonment and messy family, just the tiny snippet of her life before being adopted was pretty awful. And she’s had plenty of misery with the whole Stolitz drama, too.

I don’t think Sinsmas will be the end of the Octavia plot line, but the beginning of it. It will establish how poorly she currently thinks of everyone involved…

…and then hearing some judgment from Loona, who was previously pretty sympathetic to her familial plight, will make her wake up to how much more complicated the situation actually is. And Octavia will start to actually think about her parents, about Stolas and Stella’s treatment of her.

It’s a good place to set up some flashbacks for season 3 — showing what Stolas’s section of the Goetia family actually looked like, some of the good things that he’s lost with the end of Mastermind. Plus…

Then, just as season 2 opened with the Circus and a flashback to Blitzø and Stolas as kids, season 3 can then give us backstory on Octavia (and by extension Stella) and Loona during their childhoods.

[copperbadge]

https://www.wired.com/story/therapy-broken-mental-health-challenges/

I came across this (old) article and it made me think of what you shared about your therapy experience. Would you say your therapy experience worked? It almost feels like you were telling us about how you were A/B testing your way through it.

Yeah, I remember reading that article at some point either before therapy or early on. I don't remember what I thought overall but I do remember being astonished that people expected therapy to help them in six sessions, and that most people report improvement in only 15-20. Not because I think either of those things are unrealistic based on any kind of evidence, but because that's not the expectation I was ever handed when I was in therapy. I was in therapy for nine years as a kid, until I turned eighteen and could legally refuse to go. Not for anything I did, like it wasn't a court order, I was simply put into therapy and wasn't allowed to leave by the adults in my life.

The thing is, because it was mandatory, because at least one of those therapists broke ethical constraints, and because across nine years and three separate therapists nobody caught my ADHD, I have a more complicated relationship to therapy than a lot of people. I still catch myself thinking of things I can't tell my therapist because then she'll have leverage on me. Which is absurd, but it took me a long time to start saying those things to her. I am difficult and private and smart enough to make that a real problem, so it's been a slow process for me.

I also think that article is complicated, because it makes a lot of good points but it also seems at times to confuse therapy itself with the abusive nature of the American healthcare system. So while it's a useful article particularly when it speaks to marginalized peoples' experiences, it may discourage people who could benefit from therapy from doing the work to find a therapist. It's a good article to learn from, but I wouldn't advise people to decide for or against therapy based on it.

(My thoughts on my own therapy under the cut)

I'm still in therapy. It's difficult to measure results. I think I handle interpersonal stress better than I used to, but I haven't been able to find much to help with some of the emotional volatility I experience, and while I've set some good boundaries with family, the process of doing that was and continues to be stressful and upsetting, in some ways harder than simply not having them, so I'm still assessing that. Part of the problem for me is that I don't find cognitive-behavioral therapy useful for what I need, and while I understand there are differences, like 90% of all therapeutic systems boil back down to those techniques. Reality checking, visualizing, physical stimulus responses, mindfulness, as I said once to Therapist, "It's CBT all the way down." I don't respond to many of them and others I was already doing, so *shrug emoji*

At that point, when I realized there was no system that was going to help with my specific problems -- in part because the problems are ADHD related in a way that you can't train your way out of -- we also agreed it was time to try medication. Which felt like a failure, but I know that realistically I looked at the situation as it is, assessed my options, and made an appropriate choice, which is after all what therapy is often about.

So I've been on Clonidine for a couple of weeks. And it's doing fuck-all so far, but it's the lowest dose and there are other options too, so it's an ongoing process.

Outside of frustration with trying to fix problems that I honestly don't think anything but medication will fix, therapy's ok. If nothing else the expectation of it helps me identify actual problems in my life. And like most people I enjoy talking about myself but I also have a lot of struggle around asking for that kind of indulgence from friends, so doing that for an hour in a structured transactional kind of way is easier for me.

Ultimately, there's no real one-size solution that's called "Therapy", so whether or not I have found it useful isn't really material to whether someone else would. Some people use it as maintenance stress-relief, some people need to do deep emotional work, some people are in crisis and need an objective commentator. Sometimes you move from one need to another. Right now I'm in a liminal space because we're trying something new, so it's tough to say. But I'm finding it worth the cost in time, energy, and money, so I'll keep on until I don't anymore.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Yo. Been really getting interested in Eureka recently, cause it looks cool as hell from what I've read, and also I ran a police procedural campaign a few years back that I'd like to bring back, but my choice of system back then for the type of game was bad (Savage Worlds). Likely gonna give Eureka a shot with it anyway, but does the game separate out the urban fantasy elements from the more realistic/mundane elements by how much? Like, do traits have seperate sections for non/fantasy and fantasy traits, or is it all just together? Is there anything else in the game that complicates running a campaign with no fantasy elements?

You can download Eureka from this link for free (we’d really appreciate it if you paid but payment is optional) and check it out for yourself, just in case you didn’t know!

But to answer your question, the urban fantasy stuff and the mundane stuff actually are quite separate in the book. You’ll find a few references to the existence of vampires and stuff in the mundane rules, but all of the rules for supernatural characters are found in the very back of the book, not mixed in with the other character creation stuff.

As for other complications, this isn’t exactly a complication with running a fully mundane no-fantasy game, but there might be a few small complications with running a police procedural game. Don’t get me wrong, I actually still think that Eureka is probably your best option for a police investigation campaign, but there will need to be a little tinkering. But that’s what I’m here for.

By default, Eureka assumes that the PCs are not cops, so it assumes that they don’t have access to all of the resources cops have when investigating crimes. Eureka assumes that the PCs don’t have the institutional power to make an arrest, to take someone in for official interrogation, to call for backup if they get into a bad situation, or to send forensic evidence back to the lab for analysis.

Now, the only one of these that I can think of actually causing any friction with the game itself is the part about sending forensic evidence back to the lab.

Making an arrest and interrogating someone would be easily handled by the rules as they are with no changes. For calling for backup, you could take a look at the “Heat” section in Chapter 7. That section is normally used for what happens if the cops get called *on* the PCs, but since it has mechanics to tell you how long it takes the cops to show up, you could just use those same rules to determine how long it takes for backup to arrive.

Sending forensic evidence back to the lab, well, we don’t have anything for that. If I had to make something up on the fly, realistically it would probably be like, the PCs bag the evidence and send it to the lab and then in 1D6 days they get the information back.

Of course if I were writing this into the rules for real, I’d probably spend hours or days on it coming up with some kind of system that determines the reliability of that evidence and how likely it is to be a false positive or false negative (because IRL forensic evidence is not nearly as reliable as cop shows make it look or as reliable as police would like you to believe), but i have Silk&Dagger to write right now.

And here's another link

[judesmoonbeauty]

Black Wedding: The True Vow For A Jet-Black Bride - Jude Jazza

This is a repost. Due to the original being deleted, CGs will not be uploaded per my announcement. This is a fan translation only, so please expect grammatical errors and lack of nuance. While I appreciate your support and welcome re-blogs, please do not repost my translations elsewhere. Thank you for you support! ☾.

Jude: ….A woman with bad taste.

Flash of light

As I was taking deep breaths, I suddenly remembered the dream I had this morning.

(I dreamed that someone with a grudge against Jude came to my wedding….)

It seemed terribly realistic because he was always incurring grudges wherever he went.

(The only reason I think it might really happen is because of this situation….)

Standing in the deserted hallway, I exhale again and remember how it all began.

It was only a week ago that he suddenly decided to hold a wedding ceremony.

Flashback -

Jude: Oi, We’re gettin’ hitched.

Kate: What?

Jude: A weddin’. Want one dontcha.

Kate: We’re having……a wedding?!

I can’t help but raise my voice in at the unexpected statement.

(I had always dreamed of a wedding, but I thought Jude wouldn’t like it.)

Jude: What, don’t want it?

Kate: …….If I could, I would like to.

He raised his finger as he spoke.

Jude: In a week, no attendees, ‘n I bought a few dresses, so pick whatever ya like.

Kate: …..In a week?!

Flashback Ends -

(I know it’s nighttime and he said no attendees, but Crown wasn’t even present…..)

(I wonder why he suddenly said he was going to have a ceremony.)

I open the heavy door with my hands.

Kate: Ah…..

Through the veil I see him in an unusual outfit.

Jude’s eyes widened when he saw me.

Jude: Suits ya.

He takes my hand and the corners of his mouth soften slightly.

Kate: Um, Jude…..you look good too.

Old Pastor: Then we will begin the ceremony.

As the pastor was speaking, Jude muttered under his breath.

Jude: You’re goin’ to hell, too.

I was elated to see the somewhat complicated expression on his face.

Kate: Bring it on.

Jude: …..Ha.

Old Pastor: Now let’s exchange the rings…

I feel a sense of tension as I look at two boxes held out in front of me.

(As it goes, I put the ring onto Jude’s finger first…..)

The shiny silver was small but had a strong presence, and seemed to speak to the weight of the promise.

Jude: What a nervous look. Ya scared now?

Kate: You’re wrong! It just, feels very heavy and….

With trembling fingertips, I put the vow on his left ring finger, and for some reason Ellis appeared….

Kate: Huh?

Jude: Enough, just take him with ya.

Ellis: Kate, your dress is lovely. I was just telling everyone how nice it looks on you.

Jude: ….Don’t say anythin' unnecessary ‘n just go.

He walked out of the church with the pastor, who was confused as to what was happening.

Kate: Is everyone…..from Crown here!?

I instinctively grabbed him by the arm, and he gave me a nasty look.

Jude: …..They’re guardin' the venue.

Kate: Why is there security at the venue?

Suddenly remembering this morning’s dream, I choked on my words.

(Maybe they’re standing guard to ensure no one tries to attack Jude?)

Jude: ……Heard ya told Ellis ya wanted a weddin’ ceremony.

Kate: How did you know that….

I didn’t think that my honest feelings I’d blurted out would reach him.

Jude: Seems like ya didn’t say anything ‘bout it ‘cuz you thought I wasn’t interested, but that doesn’t mean I’m not interested.

Jude: I just didn’t do it ‘cuz I knew those idiots would sniff out the ceremony and cause trouble.

Kate: …..My wish, you made it come true.

He burst out laughing, took a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on the altar.

Jude: I’m sure ya understand, this kind of thing happens everyday.

Jude: I can’t have a normal life, and I can’t have the married life you’re thinkin’ of.

Jude: If ya wanna turn back - do it now.

On the altar, was an open box and a quill.

— And one contract.

Jude: If the pastor was here then we couldn’t do this.

Kate: 1) I don’t object to this marriage. 2) Infidelity is strictly forbidden. 3) The transfer of money…

Kate: Did you make this, Jude?

Jude: Got complaints?

Kate: It’s not like that…..

(A contract for an occasion like this is so typical of you, Jude.)

I already know that he will not break his promise.

(And how much this marriage means to Jude.)

He was probably the person who tried to bring me back to my normal world the most when I came to Crown.

(He’s got a foul mouth, but he’s kind and compassionate…….)

(That’s the kind of person I fell in love with.)

He was taken aback when I signed it so easily.

Jude: …..Don’tcha want time to think about it’?

Kate: No. Isn’t this for you Jude?

Jude: ….hopeless.

The signed contract was placed from the altar into his pocket.

Jude: It’s lifetime employment.

Jude: Even if you cry or runaway, I’ll never let you go.

What awaits us ahead will be thorny, the destination to the deepest hell.

(But you’d laugh if I told you that my joy outweighed that.)

Kate: Even if hell awaits me, I won’t run away.

Kate: Even if I go to the end of the sky……as long as you’re there, that’s all I need.

He bit my finger sweetly and laughed as my nose grew stuffy and I felt like I was about to cry.

Kate: What are you doing….?

His expression was somewhat tender, and tears of joy flowed from my eyes.

Jude: Whatta ya mean, if ya look you’ll see. I put a curse on your ring finger.

Jude: Ha, whatcha cry even when you’re happy? I learned somethin’ good.

When the veil was lifted and I closed my eyes to his approaching lips, I thought I heard gentle laughter and tears started flowing again.

I’m sure that when the last day of my life comes, I will be happy that the curse on my ring finger was not broken.

[Master List] Dividers: @.natimiles

[starry-nights-garden]

K ✧ Too Tall

✧ &Team K x gn!reader ✧ words: ~900 ✧ genre: fluff, humor (reader is a bit shy, reader is significantly shorter than him) ✧ warnings: none

Desc.: You're mad at your boyfriend for being too tall to give him surprise kisses.

"You're too tall."

"Huh?" Your boyfriend, caught completely off guard by your comment, turns around to give you a highly confused look. And then as soon as he sees your offended expression, a soft laugh escapes him. With a jerk of his eyebrow he walks over to you from the other side of the living room, fists placed on his sides, and as he puffs out his chest he asks, "Why? Cause you can't reach me?"

"Yeah..." you grumble a response, slightly annoyed with his demeanor, but when he shows you a boyish grin next second, you just don't find it in you to stay upset.

"That's too bad..." Yudai says, now capturing his own chin between his thumb and index finger of one hand, as if he was seriously pondering on the matter. You know he's not. You know he's messing with you like he so often does, and you know it's no more than playful banter. Still, as you glance up at his face that's just out of reach, you feel frustrated again.

"Forget it..." you mutter eventually, turning on your heels in order to walk away. "This is stupid anyway."

"What is?" Your boyfriend is quick to respond, and when you've taken a few steps in the opposite direction you bite your lip, deciding to gather the courage to say it anyway.

"Just... you're tall so it's... complicated..."

"What?" you hear Yudai snort behind you, not quite following you.

"Your height!" 

"I got that, yeah."

"Like..." You turn back around, the flustered expression on your face making him raise his eyebrows. It's clear he can't accurately estimate the seriousness of the situation, and as he tenses up slightly, straightening his back you remind yourself to relax. "Like... you know... when you just steal a kiss from me or stuff like that..."

"Yeah?" Another short laugh escapes him, and he raises the corners of his mouth into a lopsided grin.

"I can't do that to you whenever I want... and that's..."

"Too bad?" he finishes your sentence.

"Annoying," you correct him. 

"...that's it?" he then asks. "That's what you got so worked up over?"

"Yeah..." you quietly respond, avoiding to look him in the eye because you find that you are highly embarrassed over being upset because of such an insignificant thing after all. However, Yudai walks over to you, and when he's standing right in front of you he leans down so he's now on eye level with you. Hands in the pockets of his jeans, he starts talking again.

"Then we're just gonna have to make up some sort of signal for when you need me to lean in real quick so you can kiss me." Your face heating up at his ridiculous suggestion, you stutter an answer,

"Th-that's stupid!" And while keeping your voice down, you add, somewhat shyly, "Also it's not gonna be a surprise like that..."

"I'll act surprised?" he retorts.

"That's not the same!"

"Try it! I can make it seem very realistic - I'm a good actor!" Yudai insists.

"But-"

"Are you trying to tell me you're questioning my acting skills?"

"It's not satisfying if you're acting! Forget it..."

"Y/N..." he calls out your name as he's standing up straight again. "I think you're failing to consider one option here..."

"Wh-what?" you stammer, your embarrassment about to take you out right then and there. "Can we just end this already? I know it's stupid..."

"It's not stupid... come here." You watch as your boyfriends pulls over one of the chairs by the dinner table, patting it once to signal to you what he wants. Slightly confused, you take a step towards him, and with him holding your hand for support, he assists you in stepping up onto the chair. Once you're in position, now significantly taller than your boyfriend, he places his other hand onto your waist so as to steady you.

"So...?" you ask, still not being able to connect the dots and figure out what the point of all this is. And then, catching you completely off guard, Yudai lets go of your hand, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt instead and pulling you down towards him, his lips smashing against yours somewhat ungently. Your heart skips a beat at his action, and you grab onto his wrist instinctively as he kisses you. Quite in contrast to the initial impact, his lips are moving against yours at a slow pace. There's the faint taste of vanilla from the chapstick he uses these days, mixed in with the sweetness of his warm kiss, and when he finally releases you, you both have to catch your breath for a few moments.

"This," he says, barely an inch apart from you. "You can always do that when you wanna surprise me with a kiss."

"Right..." You words are merely coming out as a whisper. "I didn't... think of that..."

"And besides..." your boyfriend adds, "that's gonna make my heart race like crazy." You nod, telling yourself to remember that piece of information properly, but when he closes the distance between you two again your train of thought is cut off instantly. His lips melting against yours leaves you unable to think, and so you simply wrap your arms around his shoulders, fingers of one hand combing through the short hair at the back of his neck as he continues kissing you.

[cripplecharacters]

hi, i want to write about/draw/generally create post-canon content for a character. specifically, a character who survived being lit on fire right before the end of the book (as in, we dont see how the fire effected him in the longterm, as the story is cut off pretty much as soon as it is put out). however, of note is that hes the main antagonist of the story (a spree killer to be specific). ive seen a lot of discussion from burn survivors and other people with fds that you shouldnt be writing evil characters with burn scars or other fds due to the harmful messages that perpetuates, and i want to know if that applies here as well? should i not portray him with scars from the fire, since he is never portrayed with them in the original material? or should i give him scars, as it is the very likely result of him surviving the fire (although not explicitly stated, the way hes described immediately after the fire is put out indicates that he probably has 3rd degree burns over most of his body)? thank you for your time

Hello,

in this situation you have essentially 4 options;

Don't portray him with the scars. Yes, realistically speaking, he would have scars. Obviously. But 95% of action characters should also have some sort of permanent disability from getting hit on the head over and over, and yet they don't. Characters will get brought back from the dead after getting crushed to pieces and still be able-bodied, I really wouldn't get hanged up on whether an injury's outcome is realistic.

He initially has scars but they heal up. Again, realism doesn't really matter. Just throw some first degrees on him and call it a day.

Give him the scars and have the only burn survivor be the most offensive stereotype that's out there. It is what it is, you can't write your way out of a burned spree killer.

Give him scars and introduce another character who's not a murderer (or other big stereotype). If the character survives his burns, he's visiting a burn unit (burns are a life-threatening injury, he's not going to just go home after this). That's where new burn survivors are stored and 99.9% of them are normal people. I don't know whether you will be adding new characters, but even just adding a regular ass person who happens to be a burn survivor would make it better. If you don't want to add anything then I guess it's more complicated, maybe the (presumably good/less evil?) canon character who lit him on fire/put out the fire also got caught in it and got burnt too?

As you can guess, option three is the worst. If you decide to do that one, I'd consider not acknowledging the character as a burn survivor in the meta context. I wouldn't go anywhere near something tagged as "#burn survivor rep" if I saw a spree killer mention anywhere. It's just not what anyone is looking for when trying to find stuff featuring burn survivors. Spare us.

There's no one good convenient way out of this I think, you have to sacrifice something to make it work - either realism, potential disabled readers, or plan for the story. The advice above is just my take on what you could do here.

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[ceasarslegion]

By the wishes of a few people, here's my advice post about living alone. Keep in mind I'm speaking from the perspective of a canadian urbanite, so this will not apply to absolutely everybody in every kind of culture, economy, living situation, those in rural areas, etc. This also is not assuming wealth disparities are a matter of personal attitude, i KNOW it's complicated. Get back with that shit right now, you know damn well this advice assumes you are able to achieve the financial means to live on your own and is not disparaging anyone who legitimately can't.

Let's cover the basics first.

Source of income:

This seems rather obvious, but your income should be regular and reliably the same or similar on a monthly basis. The most obvious way to achieve this is with a job, and I'm sorry but minimum wage is not going to cut it on your own anymore, which means you're going to have to swallow your pride and accept that you'll likely have to work for some industry or corporation with a dodgy moral record. Get used to it. There is no point in self-flagellation, the world is complicated, just take the 50-60k a year office job, no one actually expects you not to and nobody will hold it against you when the "moral" option is soul-crushing retail. The real world really doesn't give a shit what you have to do to afford a comfortable lifestyle as long as you do what good you can within your abilities, no one in the real world expects you to sacrifice your own wellbeing for a cause.

Salaried positions are your most reliable because you'll always pull the same amount, while hourly pay comes with the ability to pull overtime pay in exchange for more shifts, but if you run out of sick days you'll have to spend the rest of the year taking unpaid time off when you need to call in. Whichever one you choose depends on what's available to you and what's right for you physically and mentally, I can't make that call for you.

You also need a credit card. That is non-negotiable. If you don't have a credit score, you can't sign a lease. Bad credit is better than no credit. We can argue until the cows come home whether or not credit scores are good or bad, but it's just reality that you're going to need one. The good news is it's fairly easy to build credit from no credit: you just have to pay off your credit card in full on time every time. The bad news is it's equally as easy to tank your credit score, you just have to miss one or pay it too late, and it's very hard to build good credit back from bad credit. So don't see it as free money, only spend as much as you can pay back, and if you don't have credit right now, start with small things like lunch and little treats that you immediately pay off.

Looking for a place to live:

Once you have your regular and reliable source of income, you can start looking for your place. There's a few things you should keep in mind:

-Draw up a budget for how much you can spend on rent and bills. That includes all basic living expenses: rent, utilities, food, internet, phone, hygiene. Compare how much you make per month to what you can spend. 1/3 to 1/2 of your salary is a bit more realistic to expect to spend on rent alone nowadays, so work within that range when you apartment hunt. Think of everything when you're budgeting, like how much do you spend on haircuts per month? You probably didn't think of that, because I didn't either at first.

-Apartment buildings with some/all utilities included often have higher base rents. You have to keep in mind that this is so the landlord can balance out the utility bills of the whole building, which are unpredictable expenses and on them to pay every month. If you don't know how to budget yet or don't know how to do so with unpredictable bills, I highly recommend trying to find a place with utilities included so you know EXACTLY how much you'll need to pay every month and can plan in advance

-Older buildings tend to be both cheaper and more likely to have centralized utility systems, which means they have to include it in the price of rent because there's no way to tell who used how much of something. If it's your first place alone, you'll probably be tempted to get the brand new, expensive building down the road, but it won't actually make much of a difference when you move in. You will love it regardless.

-Never ever sign a lease until you've either seen THE unit you're considering, or one of the show units that is exactly the same layout. The last thing you want is to go off online photos only to move in and find out the building has a mold problem. You can arrange personal tours by contacting the building manager or the landlord directly. Phone calls are the best way to do this.

-If you want the unit after seeing it, you know you can afford it, there's nothing funny about the place, apply IMMEDIATELY. Places are usually on the market for a few days before they're snapped up by a new tenant, you have to strike while the iron's hot.

-If you've decided on the place you want and had your application accepted, read the lease carefully before you sign. Many places require tenant insurance that meet specific policy requirements, have registration rules about long-term guests, outline how the parking works, quiet hours, smoking rules, mail, laundry, all the way down to what kind of barbecues are allowed on your deck in the case of mine (I am in a wildfire danger zone, so any types that produce embers are strictly prohibited for fire safety reasons). Ask any question that comes to mind about the lease. Not everything in a lease is some human rights violation just because you don't like landlords, keep in mind you're living in the same building as dozens of other people, so there has to be ground rules established for everyone's sanity.

-Internet is often not considered a utility so you'll have a hard time finding any place that includes it. You can arrange to have your wifi set up in advance of a moving date on a specific time and date, do this right after you sign a lease so you don't forget. They won't charge you until you're actually hooked up to the network.

-If your utilities are NOT included, get those set up in advance too. The main ones are HVAC, water, and electricity. The companies that do this vary depending on where you live and what's available, so shop around online once you've signed your lease and sign up as soon as possible. The last thing you want is to forget this and then move into a dark freezing apartment with no water.

Budgeting:

After your living expenses are covered, you should have a comfortable amount of financial wiggle room leftover. If you wouldn't, the place you're looking at is either too expensive, or you're being overcharged elsewhere. It's completely normal for living expenses to take up most of your budget these days, you're doing just fine in the same boat as everybody else if that's the case, so don't panic yet. If you have absolutely NOTHING leftover though, then you're out of your price range.

You also need to set money aside for fun and saving. Do not forego fun money, your brain will try to kill you with hammers and knives if you never get or do things for yourself. And if you're on your own, you're the only one providing that for yourself now. And a solid building base of savings will only help you in the future, whether you lose your job, have an emergency, or even need a down payment on a house later in life. Don't be a doomer about your circumstances or the socioeconomic and generational cards that were dealt to you, chip away at it a little at a time. And don't fall for social media's insistence that anybody with anything at all is some bourgeois degenerate or that being fortunate enough to be able to have upward mobility makes you some ultra wealthy shithead, working towards a comfortable standard of living for yourself does not make you a rich elite or a bad person. You're working towards the standard we should all live as, not exploiting the poor or being a class traitor. I feel the need to add that last part since we're on the website of "struggling art students in NYC are bourgeois that are just bad with money and having a gaming computer makes you upper middle class." Don't listen to a word any of those people say, I know it comes from a place of very real hurt and pain for them but that doesn't make it grounded in absolute reality for absolutely everybody.

Social needs:

If you're by yourself, there's gonna be a lot more work you have to put in for your social and entertainment needs. I can not stress enough how important it is to give this the time and work it needs, do not neglect this.

Lots of libraries have clubs you can join that will get you out of the house and meeting new people regularly. They're either free or very inexpensive. This is a great place to start.

Take advantage of technology we have now. Hop on discord calls more frequently, make sure you're talking to your friends on the regular and try to make plans as much as you can.

Also, I advise finding lots of things you can do by yourself. You will be spending way more time alone than you ever have before, so find single-person hobbies. Go thrifting, get into knitting, go explore the city, read lots of books, do puzzles, just don't lock yourself inside all day in your free time. Even if you're doing it alone, going out and seeing that the world is bigger than your apartment and your workplace is very good for you.

Misc advice:

You don't need a conventional coffee pot maker. Single serving will suit you just fine.

Cleaning is easier when you have a routine. It doesn't all have to be done on the same day of the week, but having a regular schedule of what gets cleaned when for non-daily chores will help you keep on top of it. And please, god, don't neglect your cleaning and hygiene just because no one lives with you to see it. On that note, spray bottle all purpose cleaners are your best friend for daily spot cleaning and you should deep clean your washroom around every 2 weeks in my experience since that's where you'll be doing most of your personal hygiene. Also make your damn bed, yes you'll just get back into it at the end of the day but having a major part of your space neat and tidy will do wonders for your mental health.

Don't buy the cheap garbage bags. Some things you really do want the expensive shit for.

If you don't have a car, delivery service/rideshare subscriptions ARE worth it and legitimately economical in the long run. I do wanna circle back to square one and say that yes, most of them like prime and uber do have dodgy moral records, but sometimes you just gotta swallow your pride and accept that. Once again, no one in the real world expects you to spend your entire day on public transit looking for toilet paper that isnt 30 dollars a pack or lugging 50 pounds of groceries back on a bus just for a cause. It's not the fault of someone who needs these services for their quality of life that they do the things they do, don't put that responsibility on your or other's shoulders when the fault lies at the top of the corporate ladder.

When you're budgeting for living expenses, expect your income to be at the lowest and your expenses to be at the highest. I expect 2 call ins per month and to need to spend the max amount i have on groceries every time, that way I never fall short and never have to cut into my savings that I've dubbed my "oh shit, I'm broke" money. Your emergency reserve may look tempting to you, but as someone who has been in a position where they had to drain it to nothing in the past because of an unforeseen financial emergency, you REALLY are gonna want that untouched if and when shit hits the fan. Life is unpredictable, prepare to roll with the punches so they don't knock you out.

A few people wanted to be tagged in this, so here you go @lilsnatch and @kisstheashes <3

[morlao]

Manipulation

Fem!reader x Isaac Garcia

Summary:

You're struggeling to find a date for the summer ball

♡ ♡ ♡

When the teachers first announced the summer ball, you didn’t think it would be such a big deal to you.

School dances are never really that cool after all.

Especially with the teachers around who always find a way to destroy the mood: Either by constantly keeping an eye on the drinks to make sure nobody manages to slip some alcohol in, or by trying to make (really awkward) conversations with their students.

At least, that were your experiences in your former high school.

Maybe here in Colorado things are different, because somehow all of your friends are super excited.

And it´s really contagious!

To your own surprise - a few days later you are pretty excited, too.

One of the major topics among the students (other than which dress would be the perfect fit) is, of course, who will go together.

There are quite a few cute boys in your school and some of them are also very popular among the girls.

Of course most of the girls are all over Cole Walter, the cool guy, the bad boy.

This is going to be really interesting, especially because of the tension between him and Jackie. You can almost bet that he'll ask her, not caring if this will break both Erin's and Alex' heart.

In the meantime, you are secretly hoping for being asked by Isaac.

In school the both of you don't really cross paths, but whenever you visit Jackie, you always end up playing at least one video game with him. He just always seems to be there, whether you and Jackie hang out in the living room or grab some snacks from the kitchen. He appears out of nowhere and always jokes around with you.

While Jackie reacts really annoyed most of the times, you enjoy his company.

"Why is he always there? Katherine promised that we can have the living room this afternoon!"

Most of the time you just shrug. "I don't mind him staying. Maybe our movie choice will scare him away anyways."

Well, most of the time it didn't. No matter what kind of film you chose, Isaac stayed. To your surprise he didn't even play games on his smartphone but actually paid attention.

"That's the kind of films you like?" He asked you once after you and Jackie watched a sappy love story.

"Among other things, yes."

He seemed surprised but didn't say anything about it.

 

♡ ♡ ♡

The weeks pass by pretty fast and most of the handsome boys are already taken.

As far as you heard, Isaac doesn't have a date yet but with his good looks it's only a matter of time until he is taken, too.

You start to get really nervous, as you don't know what to do. Should you wait until he makes the first move - if he even plans on asking you - or should you take action yourself?

Do you even have the courage to ask someone out?

God, why does it have to be so complicated?

You think about asking your friends for their opinion, but first of all this would mean admitting your crush on Isaac to Jackie - and since she basically lives with him this would be very weird.

Second, all your friends were busy preparing their own dates. All they talk about are dresses, high heels and how their perfect evening at the ball would look like.

To be honest, they had pretty high expectations, but for them it was at least realistic.

Unlike you, Jackie doesn't give up that easily when it comes to your date.

"Someone will ask you, you'll see!", she smiles at you as you and your friends enter the ball gown shop. “You´ll regret it when someone asks you and you don´t have a dress. Trust me, the best ones will be taken in a few days.”

Damn, she can be really convincing and she knows it!

♡ ♡ ♡

Three days until the ball and still nobody even seems to think about asking you out.

Slowly you start to get really nervous.

Why does no one ask you?

You have never been insecure about your looks but this situation really makes you doubt. Are you that unattractive? Or is it your personality? Do you annoy people?

Your excitement for buying a beautiful dress and having a wonderful night slowly fades and turns into anxiety.

Why did you even buy a dress… was is arrogant to buy one without having a date, because you thought of course someone would ask you?

Jackie really tries her best to cheer you up, but nothing she says makes you feel better.

You curl up in her bed, hugging her pillow tight to your chest. “I´m not going to the ball… it´s embarrassing to show up alone…”

“I´m sure somebody will ask you. Maybe he´s just nervous.”

"Don't be ridiculous! There are only three days left. All the guys who don't have a date yet, are not going."

"Don't lose hope! Somebody will ask you for sure!"

Jackie and your other friends have been telling you the exact same thing for almost two weeks now.

In the beginning you were very confident and believed them, but with every day and as everyone else in your friend group got a date, you slowly start to lose hope.

And now you are convinced that nobody is gonna ask you.

“Maybe I´m just ugly.”

Jackie lies down next to you and pulls you into a comforting hug. “Y/N L/N, don´t you dare to even think that!”

For a while you stay quiet, trying to find comfort in Jackys words… until your thoughts mess with your head again.

But what if it´s true? What if you´re really ugly?

“I know it´s stupid”, you start again, repeating what you already said several times, “It´s just a ball, maybe I shouldn´t make such a big deal out of it.”

Jackie hugs you a little tighter, her chin resting on your shoulder. “It´s not stupid… I totally understand how you feel.”

Does she really? From what you know, Alex and Cole almost started a fight about who´s going to be her date. You can´t help but feel jealous off her. She has boys fighting over her and no one even thinks about asking you. It is like you are invisible.

Damn, seems like all your favorite high school movies lied! Just because you moved here at the beginning of the school year, it doesn´t make you more interesting among the boys.

But on the other hand… for Jacky the new girl fantasy is true.

“Hey, we can go together if you want”, Jacky starts another attempt and grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet.

A broad smile spreads across her face as she intertwines your fingers and whirls you around, pretending to be on the dance floor already. “We would definitely make the prettiest couple!”

You can´t help but laugh as you pretend to bow and place a quick kiss on her hand. “Mylady!”

This is again one of those moments, in which you realize how much you love Jackie. She is an amazing friend and probably the only one who always knows how to cheer you up.

With a grin she rises an eyebrow. “So we have a date?”

The smile disappears from your face as you sit back down on her bed. “No, I don´t want to crash your date with Alex.”

“Don´t worry about him, I´m sure, he´ll understand. I can go out with him another time.”

“No, it´s… it´s fine. Maybe I don´t even have time to go to the ball…”

Lies and excuses. You don´t really think about your words as you babble on about what you plan to do instead. Maybe you could call your old friends from your hometown. Maybe you could watch a movie with your siblings. Maybe… you stop mid thought.

Are you trying to convince Jacky that you´ll be just fine or are you trying to convince yourself?

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

Quickly you jump to your feet again. The last thing you want is to cry in front of Jacky. It would make her feel even worse. Besides, you really hated crying in front of others.

Murmuring something about having to go to the bathroom, you rush out of her room and almost bump into Lee.

“Y/N!” He sounds surprised but happy to see you. The two of you aren´t close enough that you would call him your friend, but you always enjoy talking to him whenever you see him in school or at the Walters´ house.

“Hi, Lee”, you murmur, your voice sounding way too high and on the edge of breaking. Quickly you turn away from him, trying to hide your tears, but he still seems to notice.

His smile fades. “Hey, what´s wrong?”

“It´s nothing…” You try to walk past him, but he blocks your way.

“It´s not nothing! You can tell me, you know?”

“It´s stupid… it´s just…” You sigh heavily. “It´s about the ball… nobody has asked me yet and that really messes with my head. I just don´t understand it. Do boys really hate me that much?”

You do not really expect an answer, but then you see Lee´s face. His eyes widen, as if he just came to a realization. “Em… I don´t…”

“You know what´s up!” You stare at him in disbelief. “Tell me!”

“I´m not sure if I…”

“TELL ME!”

Lee sighs heavily. “Okay, maybe I know something…”

You cross your arms in front of your chest and give him a suspicious look. “What is it? Oh come one, spit it out!”

His hesitation annoys you deeply, as you were never the calm and patient type.

Lee avoids to look you in the eye and stares at his shoes instead. “Maybe it´s just a rumor but… I heard that Isaac tells boys to not ask you to the ball.”

Your jaw drops. “He what?”

Lee couldn´t look more uncomfortable. “Well… I heard Dylan telling his friends, that he wants to ask you to the ball and... when Isaac heard that, he told him that you definitely didn´t want to go with him. He said that you were really picky when it came to boys and… that you always made fun of the boys that you rejected… saying how pathetic they are and that you are totally out of their league.”

Your heart clenches inside your chest and the feeling of betrayal rises inside you. It hurts to hear how Isaac talks about you behind your back.

You´ve always thought he was cool and the two of you always got along well, damn it, you even have a crush on him.

“Thank you, Lee, and if you excuse me now, I have to talk to your brother!” Your voice trembles with anger.

Before Lee can stop you or talk you out of it – which he desperately tries – you stomp down the stairs. “ISAAC GARCIA!”

Damn, you didn´t know you could sound so scary.

Isaac hesitantly comes out of the living room and as he sees you he immediately runs a hand through his hair. He always does that when you´re around, but you never really paid much attention to it until today.

His face freezes as he sees you angrily making your way towards him. “Y/N, what´s up?”

This question finally breaks the camel´s back.

He knows exactly what´s up! Why is he acting so innocent?

Without even considering to greet him or to answer his question, you glare at him. “I hate you!”

He looks at you in shock, his coolness falling off him like a mask. You´ve never seen him this flabbergasted before. With a deep frown, he opens his mouth, about to say something, but you don´t plan to give him the opportunity for questions and excuses.

You turn around and storm out of the room.

“Y/N!” He rushes after you and before you can reach the stairs, he grabs your wrist and forces you to turn towards him. “What´s wrong? What did I do?”

“What you did?!” You break free from his grip and step back, away from him. “You told guys not to ask me to the ball! Can you even imagine how that made me feel? What the hell is wrong with you?”

You try not to shout but the pent-up-anger makes that impossible. If his cousins are home, they definitely heard that. You also wouldn't be surprised if Jackie came downstairs to check on you. Luckily, in that moment you couldn´t care less.

Isaac clearly looks caught. He rises his hands in a defensive gesture. “Okay, you can hate me but please let me explain.”

Does he really think there was a good explanation for this messed up stuff he did? You never thought he could be so manipulative.

“I already know the reason! You´re an idiot!”

“Yes…” He avoids looking at you and stares at the floor instead. “But there´s also another reason.” Again, he runs a hand through his hair and you are surprised to see his fingers trembling. “I told the boys not to ask you, because… I wanted to ask you.”

You feel like you´ve just been hit by a train. Before you realize it, an incredulous laugh escapes your lips.

What did he just say?

You wait for him to laugh too and say it was just a joke – a mean one, but after what Lee just told you, exactly the type of joke you´d expect from him – but instead he lowers his gaze to the ground, clearly hurt by your reaction.

You freeze in your spot, anger slowly turning into confusion. “Why didn´t you just ask me then?”

Your voice sounds much softer now, almost like a whisper, but Isaac still can´t look at you.

“I wanted to but… I got nervous and…” He sighs deeply as he runs out of words to say. “I heard Steve say that he wanted to ask you and I panicked so… I told him not to do it.”

“You´re such an idiot” You barely realize the words that escape your lips.

It just doesn´t make sense! Isaac is not someone who gets nervous or jealous – at least that´s what you always thought. He is way too cool for that – or is that just him pretending?

“Yeah, because I´m in love with you.”

It takes you a few seconds to realize what he just said.

Isaac Garcia confessing his feelings for you had been your dream for almost a year now. A few weeks ago you would have been floating on clouds, but now you don't know what to answer.

Isaac steps closer, looking at you desperately. "I know I messed up but I'm really really sorry. If you want, I can talk to the boys again and tell them the truth."

"You're in love with me?" You repeat his words, still not being able to believe it.

He looks taken aback, clearly not expecting this to be your focus. "Yes, I am."

Slowly you step closer and grab his hand. "Ever since the teachers announced the ball, I was hoping you'd ask me to go with you."

His eyes widen in surprise. "Really?"

Another laugh escapes your mouth. Was he really that oblivious? "Yes! To be honest, I was pretty sure you knew about my crush on you."

"You have a crush on me?" He can't help it, his face lights up like a Christmas tree.

"Wasn't that obvious?"

"No! Damn, if I knew, I would have asked you to be my date for the ball on the very first day."

"You can ask me now." You lift your chin and look at him with a playful smile.

He clears his throat, trying to be formal and keep a straight face. "Y/N L/N, do you want to be my date for the ball?"

"I'd love to."

A huge smile on his face, he steps closer, placing his hands on your hips as he pulls you in for a kiss.

You've been waiting for this moment for so long, you can't wait to feel his lips against yours. And when your lips finally meet, it feels like a fairy tale come true.

His kiss is soft but passionate, sending a pleasant tingling sensation through your body.

His grip gets more firm, almost as if he is afraid you'd change your mind and back away.

To reassure him, you wrap your arms around him, one of your hands softly stroking his hair.

Time stands still. You don't know for sure how long the kiss lasts, but finally you let go of him slowly and look at him, shaking your head with a smile. "I love you, Isaac Garcia, but you're still an idiot!"

"I'm your idiot"

[novlr]

okay, this is complicated, but I'm trying to write a scene that features two characters that have the same gender but neither of their names are revealed yet. so it's getting really weird. do you have any advice on how to possibly do this?

There are definitely ways to describe unrevealed characters (or a character without the use of their names). You’ll find it among classic literature, poetry, and even shorter fiction–all dependent on the author.

What makes your character notable?

When thinking about how to describe and/or narrate your character without using their name, ask yourself what makes them stand out the most. This isn’t just asking “who” your character is; this is asking what makes them who they are. And there are multiple ways to do this.

Personality

To start, maybe your character has a very distinctive personality. Are they extra grumpy or happy? Usually, that’s one of the first things we notice when interacting with other people. We notice first if our family member seems grouchy one particular morning or if a friend looks like they’re about to share the best news of the world during lunch hour.

When telling a story, narrating about a woman being mean to another can be as simple as dubbing her “the mean woman” or “the mean lady.” That’s just as we would start describing someone in real life without knowing who they are. The same can be said about “a nice man” who enters the story and tries to calmly interact with the mean woman who’s making a fuss.

Narrate a character without using their name, but use their personality, mannerisms, or even mood. And this works with using different pronouns, genders, and/or identities; as well as whether the POV of your character (or narrator) knows the other character in question or not.

Appearance

Something else we notice as people while first interacting with others is their appearance. And this involves more than simply what they’re wearing. Again, it must be notable enough as a feature.

Rather than writing a laundry list of what a character is wearing in prose, focus on what pieces of their attire make them stand out in a scene or situation. Take, for example, someone wearing winter layers in the middle of summer and vice versa. Or someone with neon pink hair. Or a really tall person among the crowd.

If you have two characters speaking with each other, such as two women, it can be as simple as a difference in hair color. “The blonde spoke to the brunette.” Yet there are ways to be more creative with your descriptors. Maybe one of them is “the lady in pink” (or “pink lady” for easier word flow) because their entire outfit is pink from head to toe. Sit down and truly consider all attributes of your character(s).

Utilizing appearance and personality to form monikers also works in a setting where all characters dress the same. In The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane, the story takes place during the U.S. Civil War and follows the main character on his journey of being a soldier. Therefore, he and the other characters are all in uniform. Per Crane’s writing style, their names are only utilized in dialogue.

Henry, the main character, is dubbed as “the youth.” Then, other characters are further named as the tall soldier, the loud soldier, the blatant soldier, the sergeant, and even the fat soldier.

Profession/Activity

Consider what your character does, or is currently doing, in your scene. Addressing them as part of their profession is another option for creating a moniker.

Here's an example for a more realistic setting: You have a character walking inside a big corporate building for a job interview–maybe the CEO themself. If the CEO’s name isn’t revealed yet for any reason, or you prefer not to use their name in narrative at a particular moment, referring to the person as “the CEO” is still a way to give them a moniker in narrative.

Or, perhaps you have a character meeting an artist, such as a painter, to collect a piece for their home. In this case, “the painter” or “the artist” also works in prose.

Use other senses

You may have noticed that we discussed a lot of visual attributes of a character that would make great monikers in narration. But don’t forget about the other senses! It is just as efficient to come across a smelly boy or a loud girl and dub them as such. For touch, perhaps a character emerged from a sewer covered in grime, and they feel extra slimy!

Once again, think about how you notice and interact with others during day-to-day life. We may first notice things about other people like “messy hair,” “dressed formally,” or “weirdest outfit ever,” but all your senses are put to work when you are present in any situation. A girl sings off-key in the distance, or the new date your character meets smells like they haven’t showered in a week. These are all great descriptors to use in creating monikers!

Consider point of view and narrator

By now, you should have ideas on how to tackle narrating your characters without using their names, but I do want to add a final note! Keep in mind your character’s POV (or narrator) when writing about another character. Does your character/narrator know this person? Monikers like “the stranger” work just as well in prose, and even add some mystery or tension to the mix!

First person can make it simple with prose like, “I stared at the tall stranger. I never met him before, but this is now the second time he’s shown up. Just who is he? Will I ever find out?”

Third person could be, “The figure standing before the boy turned to face him, a complete stranger. Yet the boy did notice the colors on the figure’s uniform–a captain. He stiffened to attention.”

This accomplishes a fun way to introduce characters, where the reader is meeting a new character at the same time the character POV/narrator is. This also allows you to control the pace of bringing in new characters to your story too, versus dumping a list of names and descriptions all at once to overwhelm your reader. From a total stranger in one chapter to realizing a military uniform in another, and eventually learning the new character’s name via dialogue later.

You can read the full post with additional examples at the link below!

[tanobatcher]

mingle

TCW SQUID GAME AU

commander fox (▵ guard) x fem (player) reader

summary: assigned as player 066, you’ve entered the squid games and made it through the first two days. under the assumption everyone around you is a complete stranger, you’re surprised when you discover that one of the guards is an old flame who disappeared on you a few years ago without explanation. warnings: violence and explicit content (oral + vaginal sex) .. also this is kind of toxic so pls don't mistake this for what a relationship should look like ig idk...it's complicated :) a/n: this one shot is inspired by the squid game universe with s2 currently trending rn. there is def canon divergence for there to be more realistic interactions (😏) between the guards and the players (each player has a room with a bathroom instead of the big common room. like what the guards have in the show. hygiene is very important guys!!) tbh this is a crossover i never expected to do but the idea randomly came to me as i was watching and i thought fox fit the guard persona super well. here we are!! if you’re not familiar with squid game, it’s basically a kdrama where people compete against each other in a series of survival games to win a LOT of money. most of them are in crippling debts or need the money for a bad situation. elimination during a game = death so there's a huge morality aspect to participation and just the overall idea. triangle guards like fox are responsible for eliminating losing players, among other things like maintaining order and making sure people follow the rules.

Blood is strangely dark after it’s been spilled for some time. The color only deepens with despair, staining flesh and fabric like a reminder of every choice that has brought you here.

“The lights are out, 66. You’re not permitted to leave your room at this time.”

Exhaling slowly, you look up at the guard standing before you as the door to your private room swings shut with an echoing bang. Unfortunately, you can hardly consider it up to standard with what a room should be. It’s a sanitary little space, but there’s only a cot barely elevated on a rickety bed frame for rest. You’re more grateful for the bathroom attached, given the amount of other players who wound up in these games. Sharing is not caring anymore. It never was.

“I was just wondering if you had an extra change of clothes,” you explain to the guard, “I…couldn’t get all of the blood off.”

Your fingers find the hem of your sweater as you stretch the fabric out to show him some of the lingering stains from a few hours ago. Getting through a series of childhood games thus far didn’t seem so difficult until bullets started raining from the sky. One by one, you had to watch the people around you drop like flies as their blood splattered across your body. It felt like a warning at the time. You’re next.

“The lights,” the guard replies tersely, “Are out. Return to your room.”

A frown tinges your expression as you register this dismissal. It’s hard to read what this guard is thinking—what any of them are thinking, for that matter—because everything about them is kept hidden. Their bodies are completely covered in their pink uniforms. Their voices are altered through a grainy modulator that leaves zero room for vulnerability. It’s as if they’re robots. Finally, to top it all off, their faces are left to question under their masks. This one in particular has a triangle on his. What’s more striking to you, though, is the firearm in his hands. It’s not pointed at you, but you imagine that it could be. Sooner or later.

“This place doesn’t have terrible hospitality…” you begin while thinking about all that’s been provided already. Food. Water. A bed. A bathroom. And clothes, which you’re really hoping to get a new pair of. Showering feels ridiculous if you’re just going to wear the same, dirty thing every day you spend here.

“…So, I’m surprised you’re not able to give us a fresh set of these upon request,” you continue, tugging at your sweater before letting your hands fall to your sides.

“We’re not. I suggest you comply with the rules,” the guard tells you in a monotone. You don’t miss that he’s taken one step forward, too. Just as his fingers tighten around his firearm, you instinctively shift backward and feel your heartbeat quicken.

“Or what?” You retort despite the goosebumps rising across your skin, “You’ll shoot me?”

He’s now right in front of you, still not pointing the muzzle at you even though you know he’s more than willing to do so. Just before, you and your fellow players voted on whether or not to continue the games. Stopping here would have meant walking away with an equal cut of what’s already been collected from the first couple of rounds. But, just as money makes the world go round, it’s also starved most of the people here. Everyone, including you, is hungry for a chance to collect as much as possible from this opportunity.

But the question of whether or not it’s worth all of this bloodshed lingers in your mind. Hence why you keep voting for termination after each game thus far, earning a red patch on your sweater that indicates your unchanging decision. There were many like-minded individuals who felt disappointed upon seeing that the majority consistently chose continuation. Arguments arose, brawls festered here and there, but the triangle guards hardly tolerated such behavior. A simple threat from someone carrying a weapon was enough to silence the crowd. You know better than to test the patience of this one.

So, you don’t wait for his response. Turning around, your hand latches around the cold doorknob that is just about to turn when he speaks from behind you. His voice is cold, unfeeling. Stern and unflinching. Just as someone like him should be.

“Don’t waste your time asking for favors around here.”

“Got it,” you breathe, ignoring the chill running down your spine, “Thanks.”

You steal a glance at him over your shoulder before heading inside your dark room. Expecting the door to close behind you, you’re startled when it’s pushed back open a little aggressively. The action is unpredictable, like the sudden presence of the guard standing in your door frame. Your eyes go wide as he just stands there, heaving a ragged breath. But right when you open your mouth to ask what you’ve done wrong this time, he leaves. The door finally slams shut, and all is quiet except for the question of why he nearly followed you into your room. It’s unclear what his intentions were at that moment, but your thoughts don’t keep you awake. Only your memories do, as you try to sleep away the screams that will haunt you for the rest of this shortening lifetime.

Eventually, your body slips into a half-assed slumber that is quickly interrupted when you hear thuds and curses in the distance. These sounds are muffled through the walls, but there’s no doubt about their existence. You flinch when someone shrieks in pain, sending all sorts of questions about what’s going on tonight. For the past few days, the lights-out period has been your only time of relaxation. But with the growing hunger among your fellow players, it’s hard to determine if you’re still safe without any immediate allies. There have been some groups banding together, some of which cause more trouble than others. The worst ones are always provocative, looking for a fight. Has it arrived tonight? Or have they brought it themselves?

Your doorknob suddenly rattles, startling you out of bed. The sound is quickly paired with banging amid a pleading cry that causes you to stand and move forward.

“Help!” The person on the other side says, “Please, help me—they’re trying to kill me—Open the fucking door!”

Pressing your ear against the cool, metal door, you reply, “Who’s there?”

“Does it matter? Hurry—Please—“

The desperation in his voice wracks your body with a brief shiver. Noticing that the hallway outside has gone quiet all of a sudden, you crack your door open just a tiny bit to catch a glimpse of what’s going on. You’re not even able to blink before you regret this. Having been under the impression that this was just one person seeking solace in your room from whatever threat was nearing, you’re surprised when a rowdy group infiltrates your space as if it means nothing to them. Their faces are shadowed by the lack of lighting, but you don’t need to recognize them to know you just made a mistake when you should’ve minded your own business.

One of them reaches forward to grab you by the front of your sweater while the others circle your position like hawks stalking their prey. They’re definitely all men, bloodthirsty at that. Are they hoping to raise their chances of winning by morning? Collect more money from the silent deaths to occur tonight? This seems to be the only feasible explanation for why they suddenly have you pinned to the floor on your stomach with a switchblade to your neck.

“Told you this one would fall for it,” an unfamiliar voice snickers, “I think we’re getting lucky tonight.”

Despite the voice in your head telling you to fight back—even while the odds are against your favor—your body is locked and frozen. A bead of sweat drops from your forehead onto the floor as you inhale shaky breaths that can’t be controlled no matter how hard you try to remain calm. The blade presses into your neck harder, almost teasingly like the chatter going on around you. At this point, you’d rather these assholes just get it over with and kill you. That would save you from the panic crushing your insides so painfully that you almost can’t breathe.

“Aw, don’t cry…I think we’re scaring her…” The blade is now tracing a line down your cheek, still not digging past your skin. You didn’t even register your own tears until your assailant pointed them out.

“Fuck you,” is all you spit out in return.

“Careful. You’re not really in a position to get rude with me.”

You scoff at this, ensuring the tone is more mocking than meek. “Kill me, then. I hope it’s fucking worth it.”

The blade moves lower, and you fully expect this player to slit your throat right then and there. Biting your tongue, you internally curse yourself for not even trying to bargain or beg your way out of this situation. But it would have been useless. Throughout the past few days, you’ve witnessed the animalistic nature of greed firsthand. Even felt it yourself, at times. There’s no eventual escape in these games. Vote after vote, you now know the only way you’ll ever return home is if you die and search for that peace someplace else. You’re a victim to nostalgia as your final thoughts swarm your mind, but all of that subsides when the door suddenly swings wide open. Your eyes, still blurry from your tears, widen as a shower of bullets pelts across the room like a rainstorm. It’s ear-shattering, causing you to cover your head with your arms as soon as they’re freed from your attackers’ grip. Everything smells like blood and sweat. These two scents only heighten when some bodies, now dead, fall on top of you after hardly putting up a fight. They’re limp but heavy, suffocating you as you try to push them away and sit up.

Through your dizzy and darkened vision, you can see a guard standing in your doorframe, kind of like the one from a few hours ago. This could be a completely different person, though, given how many triangle guards you’ve seen over the past few days. His gun lowers, and he seems to take a step toward you until new orders sound from his radio device. You’re not sure what he’s told to do by whoever is talking to him on the comms, but you do hear his response. “Understood.” It’s one word, clear and firm as he leaves you behind with more blood splattered across your clothes. And now, your floor and walls. Your face. Your hair. Your hands. Everywhere.

The gravity of the situation sinks in as your eyes dart around the bodies strewn across the room with their eyes still open. It’s horrific, just like the oozing bullet wounds gaping through their chests and stomachs. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to make your way to the bathroom, simply feeling your way around with your hand braced against the nearest wall. This is where you remain for the next couple of hours, still stripped naked even after your second shower of the night. Standing over your sink that’s more of a bowl because of its meager size, you plunge your blood-stained clothes under warm water and much more soap than you can spare. Your ears are still ringing, distracting you from the fact that a few guards had come into your room and taken away the bodies at one point in the night. It isn’t until there’s a knock against your bathroom door that you realize someone is still here, inside.

“Yes?” You ask, clearing your throat when you hear how quiet you sound, “Yes?”

There’s no response at first, but you’re not planning to open the door with your current state of decency. Hoping whoever is there can just say their piece and go, you brace your hands against both sides of the sink and wait.

“Are you hurt?”

You straighten your posture, surprised by this question. Judging from the sound of this person’s voice, it’s another guard. Or maybe the same one as before—you don’t even know at this point. It hardly matters, though. They all look the same, talk the same, and kill the same.

“No,” you answer, confused as to why this person seems to be displaying compassionate curiosity toward your well-being, “But…I’d appreciate another set of clothes. I asked someone before, but he was a bit of an ass about it, and—”

“Open the door.”

“No!” You immediately react, surging forward to press your body against the door, “I mean, no. I can’t really do that right now.”

Another silent pause lingers until you hear some keys jingling on the other side of the door. Quickly realizing what’s about to happen, you snatch up your towel and wrap it around your body as tightly as possible. Once the bathroom door opens at the hand of another triangle guard, you furrow your eyebrows into a scowl that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a red, blushing mess.

“Having a master key doesn’t mean you can just invade my personal space like this, you know—”

Your mouth snaps shut when the guard grabs your chin, turning your face from side to side so he can examine your lack of wounds for himself. Keeping one hand on your chest, you press it into your towel as the other pushes his arm away.

“Don’t touch me,” you tell him while taking a step back.

He crosses his arms over his chest and replies, “Full offense, but I really don’t know how you’ve made it this far.”

Your face burns hotter as you copy his movements, but it’s more to cover your chest than anything else. “You don’t even know me.”

His head tilts to the side a bit, and you’re not sure why you suspect that he’s smiling behind his mask. It’s almost ironic how you’re borderline naked while he hasn’t even bared a single inch of flesh to your perception. You can’t confirm this for certain, but you feel his eyes on you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glance behind him and notice that his firearm is rested against your wall beside your bed. The room looks a lot cleaner from here already. You’re about to ask about that when his figure suddenly moves, occupying your peripheral so that all you’re seeing is him.

“That won’t dry by the morning,” he nods toward the sink where your bloody clothes swim in soapy bubbles.

“I don’t care. I just…” You inhale a deep breath, not to break in front of him, “I’m just trying to wash off the blood.”

“It’s only going to come back.”

“That doesn’t really make a difference to me. I know I’m not making it out of here alive.”

He’s quiet at this, casting his head down a little. You assume he’s looking at the floor, but there’s no telling where his eyes are fixated. Just like there’s no explaining the reason for his presence—whoever he is. You want to tell him to leave before this interaction becomes more awkward than it already is, but he lifts his head again and seems to stare right at you.

“You shouldn’t even be here.”

It’s a claim, or maybe an observation, but it sounds demanding. Even through his voice modulator, you pick up on a familiar type of tone you shouldn’t be thinking about at this moment. It’s long been forgotten, only because it left you behind first.

“I don’t think any of us should be here,” you reply before pointing out, “But you work here. Don’t know how you sleep at night.”

“Not very well, actually.”

“Oh. Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

He chuckles softly, and an odd feeling clenches your stomach as you watch his shoulders shift before relaxing. It’s not that you recognize this specific reaction, but it feels too distinct to let go. Maybe it’s just your nostalgia kicking in, though. Teetering on the edge of death every day has left you reflecting on your life thus far, including what you’ve lost. What you never expect to gain back, even if you survive this place.

“You never go easy on me,” he murmurs, slightly exhaling with his words.

Your lips part in disbelief once this sentence sticks in your mind. Instinct takes over as old memories resurface. Someone has said this to you before, not once or twice, but numerous times during arguments that went in circles until nobody really won. You’ve tried to forget about the yelling, the laughing, and all of the affection he threw away for a reason you will never know. He’s not here to provide that closure. Or so you initially believed, until hearing this timeless phrase for yourself.

“Take off your mask,” you whisper.

The guard leans forward and tells you, “I can’t do that.”

Despite this, he doesn’t move away when you step forward until you’re directly in front of him. You’re so close that your feet slide between his boots, and his face tilts to accommodate your proximity. Fear tingles your fingertips as you push his hood back before pausing in expectance of some sort of resistance. An order to stop. But nothing comes, so you reach for his mask while holding your breath. It doesn’t take long for you to unlatch the covering, but you wait a few seconds to pull it completely away. He’s so still that part of you thinks this is all a joke or a dream.

“Fox?”

The hand holding his mask drops to your side when you don’t receive a response, revealing the face that’s been hidden all this time. Not the complete picture, though. Just the eyes. But that’s enough for you to know that your memory hasn’t failed you when fate certainly has. You let his mask clatter to the ground when he pulls the remainder of his face covering away, never taking his gaze away from yours. He looks…the same. Just more tired and sunken from the lack of sleep he mentioned before, but otherwise…that’s Fox. You can’t deny it. Blinding, hot rage seizes your chest automatically, sending your next actions into an overdrive with no brakes.

“You. Fucking. Asshole!” You punctuate each word with a fist to his chest, “This is where you’ve been? I thought you were dead! Or…you found someone else, and…“

He takes both of your wrists in one hand to stop you from hitting him again. “Are you done?”

You stare at him, breathing hard and heavy from the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through your blood. He tightens his grip around your wrists before you can respond or pull away, bearing down on you with a hardening glare you find utterly ridiculous. He has no right to be angry at you. Not after he disappeared from the face of this Earth without so much as a simple text explaining himself.

“Let go of me,” you snap, trying to twist yourself out of his hand.

He only tugs you forward at this, causing your frontside to collide with his. “Tell me why you’re here.”

You scoff, meeting his eyes that are suddenly a lot closer than before. There’s barely any breathing room between your faces now, which is both frightening and exhilarating. The sudden rush of emotions accelerating your heartbeat isn’t easy to take in all at once, distracting you from what’s important right now: your survival. Anguish, sorrow, relief, and desire all cloud together in your mind before you blink away the tears that have begun welling in your eyelids. He doesn’t get to see you cry.

“Not unless you tell me tomorrow’s game,” you bargain, purposefully drying your tone of any vulnerability.

You realize this response disappoints him when he clenches his jaw and averts his gaze from yours. “I can’t—“

“You can’t do that,” you admonish sarcastically, “Figures. Let go of me.”

But he ignores this, lulling your conversation into a silence that allows you to register his other hand fisting your towel just along the dip of your waist. He could pull it away if he wanted to. If you wanted him to. The truth of this matter stings your cheeks as you frown at him, unable to mask the pain he caused throughout the past few years. All that you buried for the sake of moving on is now erupting once again, manifesting into pure hatred. It’s hot, and it burns. You feel it everywhere, just as you feel his eyes tracing over you with an uncharacteristic desperation. He looks apologetic—you can see it in his expression—but he hasn’t said the words yet. You’re not sure if you would even accept them, which is probably the reason for their absence. Because you hate him. You hate him so much that you feel the need to prove it just so he can experience an ounce of what he put you through after leaving without a trace.

“I hate you,” you whisper, “And I’m not telling you anything.”

“Is it your parents?” He squeezes his fist around your towel, “Did they—”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You’re an idiot for coming here. So, you better have a good fucking reason—”

“How long have you known?” You interrupt, pushing your bound wrists into his chest as your eyes widen with your question, “When did you recognize me? Was it tonight?”

A subtle flicker of guilt shadows his expression, so you press harder. It’s not enough to hurt him, not even close, but he looks as if he’s in pain. Good, you think to yourself.

“Since the first day,” he eventually answers, “I thought I was imagining it when I saw you, but…I wasn’t. Clearly.”

“And you didn’t think to help me?” You breathe harshly, knowing he doesn’t owe you that support even though it would’ve been nice, “Did that just not cross your mind once? I can’t even count the number of times I’ve almost gotten killed here, and it’s only been two days. Two fucking days, and you’ve been acting like I don’t exist.”

His scowl deepens, reminding you of the time when such an expression used to upset you. Not anymore, though. There are much scarier things in here than him. He lets go of you just to grab both of your shoulders, meeting your eye level to ensure you’re hearing him loud and clear.

“What do you think I could’ve done?” He replies just as venomously, “Break the rules? For you?”

You betray your resolve when you flinch, but he keeps going. “You’re not even supposed to be here. But you are, and there’s nothing I can do about that. I have a job to do, and—”

“I don’t give a shit about your job. You think I want to be here?” You shove at his chest before fisting his jumpsuit and pulling him closer, “I’m stuck here because everyone else keeps insisting on one more game, but I’m the idiot, right? I’m trying to walk away even though I won’t have nearly as much as I need to survive out there. But you don’t care. You’re just an errand boy carrying a big gun as if that makes you half of the man you wish you were.”

His hands leave your shoulders to wrap around your forearms as they stay rested against his chest. “How much do you need?”

“Why?” You scoff, “Are you going to give me the money yourself?”

“Are you going to answer any of my questions?”

“Seeing as you’re not going to help me, no, not really—“

“I want to help you,” he brushes his thumb against your skin, and it feels warm despite the gloved barrier, “But you don’t understand the nature of this place. I don’t have a choice when it comes to the players.”

“You’re wrong, Fox. You do have a choice—you’re just not choosing me. That’s nothing new.”

He looks at you warily before sighing and shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to leave like that. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not.”

His hands slide back to your shoulders to pull you even closer. “I am.”

Your stomach dips when you realize how little distance is between your faces now, with your noses touching and your lips sharing the same breath. His eyes are on yours until they’re not, lowering inch by inch across your mouth. Then your neck. Then your chest, which is still rimmed with the towel that remains wrapped around your body. You wonder how long that will last. The urge to let go of him screams in the back of your mind as your fists tremble around the fabric of his uniform, but you’re frozen in the past. Right when you expect him to close the distance and kiss you—or for you to do that first—he repeats, “I am.” His voice is hushed but not quiet enough for you to miss its warmth. An irritated muscle jumps in your jaw because you don’t want that gentle apology—it’s a facade, transparent like ice. You’re angry, so you want anger.

“Fuck you,” you hiss before yanking him forward, colliding his lips with yours with all the anger you can muster. His posture stiffens in surprise for a second that’s gone as soon as his arms wrap around your body. One hand fists your hair while the other grabs your towel from the back, tugging but not drawing it away just yet. He meets you halfway in the kiss, forcing your lips to part wider under his so he can take your mouth deeper. The intensity sends a rush of energy through your chest to your stomach, pooling into an ache that heightens when you feel his tongue slide over yours. It’s all so familiar. Recognizing his every move is what grows your annoyance but also your desire.

So, you bite his bottom lip hard, smiling when he grunts into another kiss. Your mouths meet, this time rougher like a test of who’s in control. At this moment, it’s him as he grips your jaw with the hand that was in your hair just before, tilting your face the way he wants every time his lips open and close over yours. Your breath hitches when he slows down and sucks on your bottom lip before soothing your swollen flesh with his tongue. And when he kisses you again, it’s soft—not the way you want it. You push at his chest until his back is against the bathroom wall, neither of you caring about the harsh impact. He exhales a low, disapproving sound before shifting your body so that it’s you pinned to this cold surface now, desperately kissing him in proof of how much you really do hate him.

“Is this why you’re here?” You whisper against his lips, “To fuck me and then leave again?”

He shakes his head and kisses you harder, nearly shoving you into the wall with his entire weight. “I thought those fuckers might’ve hurt you.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” you squeeze his shoulders, “Just take what you came for and leave.”

He leans back just slightly so you can see his face with more clarity. Glaring at you, he replies, “What did I say about asking for favors?”

You glare back at him, well accustomed to his intolerable arrogance. “I think I’d be doing you the favor.”

“Yeah?” He scoffs, “I doubt that.”

Grabbing him by the chin, you pull his face closer so your lips are just barely grazing each other. He can definitely feel every word you reply instead of merely hearing them.

“Prove it, then.” Your tone is soft but taunting, pressing right where it hurts: his ego.

He narrows his dark and glassy eyes at you, but you can still catch a glimpse of your own reflection in them. Instead of seeing the man you were once blissfully in love with, you try to recognize him for who he is now: a merciless killer, also probably victim to his manipulated greed. There’s no room for any remorse for whatever situation might’ve brought him here, though. All you can think about are the players who have already lost their lives to those wearing the same uniform. Perhaps tomorrow, it’ll be you in front of his trigger. Whoever’s arms you’re in now can’t be considered the Fox you’ve tried to forget but failed. He’s not your Fox anymore. And if it’s that easy for him to turn a blind eye to your current situation just to follow orders, then maybe he never was.

He seems to notice the growing hatred in your expression, dropping his gaze from your face to look someplace else. Your lips part in surprise when his hands find the knot of your towel, pausing as he just holds onto it for a moment. He glances up at you with a question brewing beneath his silence, to which you also respond nonverbally. All it takes is your raised eyebrows that ask, “What are you waiting for?” for him to undo the knot and let the towel drop to the floor. It lands at your feet, hardly making a sound, but a sharp exhale escapes your lips once the cold bathroom air hits your skin. Goosebumps rise all over your body that his eyes rake over, shamelessly taking the image for himself.

“Don’t just stand there,” you huff as you reach forward with the intention of undressing him, too.

He ignores this and pushes your hands away before taking off his gloves—the second part of his uniform he’s shed tonight. His hands are still large but also slightly scarred now, which must be why they feel rougher when he grabs your hips and pulls you away from the wall. You don’t get very far because he’s quickly kissing you again, touching you everywhere he can reach as if he can’t decide where to keep his hands. He doesn’t settle anywhere, groaning quietly into your mouth the more he feels his way around your body. You can’t decide what’s the most undoing—his hand around your neck, squeezing your breasts, holding your torso, cupping your ass, or caressing your face. It’s all feverishly desperate, warming your cold skin as the time passes with every kiss exchanged.

“What are you doing—“ you gasp when he suddenly pulls away and drops to his knees.

If he responds, you don’t hear it. A breathy moan sounds from the back of your throat as he drops a kiss against your inner thigh before parting your legs wider with an impatient hand. Closing your eyes, you lean back against the wall and tilt your head back for a surface that might ground you to this quickly escalating moment. You moan again, this time louder and more startled when he sinks his teeth into your skin—dangerously close to where you’re wet and waiting for him.

“Look at me,” he demands, “Or I stop.”

Your eyes are still closed as you push your hips into his face, clearly ignoring his command on purpose. “Fuck you.”

“You will if you’re lucky.”

You laugh at this mockingly, taking his words from before. “I doubt that.”

His lips immediately find your clit as he sucks, just once. You gasp and arch your back, widening your eyes at the sudden sensation that tugs on the growing knot in your stomach. A pulse begins to beat at the center of your body, beginning with that slow and anticipatory rhythm you’re used to. You don’t even realize that you’ve obeyed his command to look at him until you catch his smirk that’s partially masked, given that his face is buried between your legs. But you can see the amused arrogance in his eyes—it’s sickeningly triumphant. He hasn’t even won anything yet. And you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of any prize. This proves more difficult than expected when his mouth meets your pussy again, not even pausing to tell you what to do. Your chest rises and falls at the bottom of your vision as you stare down at him, watching him taste you with every stroke of his tongue. Everything goes spotty once his fingers find your clit, rolling it slowly for more stimulation. You curse under your breath, unsurprised he knows exactly what to do because this dance is just as familiar to him as it is to you.

The knot in your lower stomach only tightens, threatening to snap the faster his tongue pushes and swirls in and out of you with your clit pulsing and swelling in size. You try to control it, desperately writhing against the wall while a series of gasps and moans trap themselves within these four walls. It’s a miracle if your neighbors next door haven’t figured out what’s going on by now. He seems to know you’re about to come when he squeezes your thigh with his free hand before smoothing a caress across this specific area. It’s coaxing you into the release you realize you can’t prevent no matter how hard you try. It’s also soothing, unlike his rough devouring that drops your mouth open in a struggling cry as your body jerks and trembles after this game you feel like you lost. He’s still licking and sucking on you through your orgasm, savoring your taste for as long as possible. You rest your head back against the wall and take a few heavy breaths of air, closing your eyes to avoid looking at anything—not just him. The sudden urge to be alone while also fearing loneliness overwhelms this aftermath like the conflicting forces of your emotions tonight.

His arms quickly find yours, holding you upright before you can begin to slide down the wall. Your knees would have buckled if he didn’t do this, but you don’t tell him that. Opening your eyes, you look up at him and wonder why his expression is so unreadable at the moment.

“Do you have a condom?” You mumble, swiping some hair out of your face.

He snickers under his breath at this while bending down to lift you up in his arms. You’re about to protest when you notice that he’s bringing you to your bed, which is clean of any blood from before like the rest of the room. He’s silent as he lays you down and stands over you, just watching you catch your breath as the two of you hold eye contact. It would have been eerie if not for the noticeable softening of his expression that hardens when you speak again.

“Guess you’re just all talk now,” you hum, shifting under the covers a bit to keep warm.

“I don’t have a condom,” he answers, “And I’m going to guess you got off the pill.”

“Says who? Maybe I’m seeing someone. It’s been years, you know.”

His eyebrows draw together for a fleeting second. “I know.”

Your stomach twists when you hear how quiet his response sounded. It’s not the volume that provokes this reaction, though—it’s the weakness. You don’t want to feel guilty or sympathetic, but old habits are hard to kick. A small part of you wonders if he’s missed you after all this time, too. If he’s thought about you—if the mere suggestion of you finding someone else bothers him because he still…

“You’re right. I’m not on the pill,” you admit, hoping he catches the implication of this.

He runs a hand over his jaw. “Honestly, that makes me feel worse.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You should’ve just moved on.”

The blunt honesty is expected, but you can’t help how your mouth snaps shut at this comment. A lump forms in your throat as you look away from him, already feeling the bubbling return of your anger.

“I tried,” you close your eyes and press your tongue to the roof of your mouth to stop any tears from escaping, “You don’t even know.”

“It wasn’t easy for me, either. It still isn’t.”

“Then why haven’t you left this place yet?”

“This is my job now. I swore my loyalty to the Captain.”

The answer sends a chill down your spine because of how recited it feels. Fox has always been the most conscientious person you know, but to think that he’d ignore all the wrongdoing occurring around here just to be a good employee is almost…terrifying. No, not almost. It is.

“You sound brainwashed,” you tell him while sitting up and staring at his dark figure that’s now rested on the edge of your bed.

He turns his head to meet your eyes, clearly taking offense to this observation. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Yeah, I don’t. I don’t understand how you can go through with this—how many people have you killed here?”

“Players choose to participate in the games. And players who lose get eliminated. It’s the rules.”

“So, tomorrow,” you say, “If I lose tomorrow’s game. You’d kill me?”

His expression hardly wavers at this question, so you don’t notice the flicker of pain that crosses his shadowed eyes. “That’s a hypothetical.”

You lean forward and jab your finger into his shoulder. “Answer it.”

“I don’t know,” he snaps, “But I know what I’m supposed to do. I know my orders.”

You press your lips together and shake your head, not even trying to argue about this. At this point, you’ve accepted he’s not going to help you going forward. It’s been everyone for themselves since you got here, so you hold onto some hope that you can keep going without anyone else. You’ve made it this far, after all. Still, his words from just before echo in your mind like a torturous reminder of the person he’s become now. I swore my loyalty to the Captain. Whoever the fuck that is.

“You were loyal to me,” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly, “And I was loyal to you. Wasn’t that enough?”

You know he hears the vulnerable sorrow in your tone because he lifts his head and stares at you so deeply that you’re scared he can see right through you. Trying to act like these games—this entire situation—doesn’t bother you isn’t easy, but it’s necessary to push forward. With him in the picture now, it’s hard to keep putting up this front even though you don’t want him to know just how badly he hurt you. And just how desperately you want to return to the old days when nothing was wrong, and everything was perfect. That’s all gone now.

“Forget it,” you inhale shakily, not even letting him form a response, “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about anything right now.”

“What do you want?” He asks sternly.

You shift closer, smiling even though the expression doesn’t meet your eyes. Cupping the side of his face with a trembling hand, you whisper, “I just want to forget about everything. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

He closes his eyes, no doubt feeling your fingers caress his cheek before trailing down his neck. “We shouldn’t…”

You lean forward and drop a kiss right below his jawline. “I know.”

He curses under his breath before yanking you closer by the waist. You think he’s about to say something, but no words form as your faces gravitate toward each other until there’s no more distance. The collision of the kiss is soft and slow this time around. When he lifts you into his lap, though, the pace of your lips intensifies and quickens with breathy sighs that sound from both of you. Your hands find his face, squeezing a bit when his arms ravel around your body like he’s trying to seal this embrace into permanence. But everything about this moment is temporary. Both of you know this, which is why neither of you speaks. His increasingly heavy breathing is all you can hear over your soft gasps as he lays you back down on the bed before standing to undress himself. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch each piece of his uniform fall away. That’s more like it, you think to yourself.

“You can still back out, you know,” he tells you as he pulls his undershirt over his head, “You should.”

“Would it kill you to stop telling me what to do for once?”

He tilts his head to the side a bit and smirks before pulling you toward the end of the bed by your ankles. “It might.”

You watch him reach for the waistband of his underwear while trying to ignore the sight of his broad shoulders silhouetted in the dark lighting of this room. Among all the things that have changed since you last saw him, you can certainly say his physique is one of them. Not that he’s never looked like this before, though. Before you can satisfy your urge to reach forward and touch him, starting with the hard plane of his chest before moving lower to his narrowing torso, you lift your hand to pause this moment. It’s not a good idea to be looking at him if you’re really going through with this.

“Wait,” you say before turning your body over so that you’re facing away from him on all fours.

You glance at him over your shoulder when his hands find your hips, curious as to why he looks more irritated all of a sudden. From the squeezing pressure of his grip, you suspect he’s about to turn you over, so you shake your head.

“Fuck me like this,” you tell him, “And pull out before you come.”

He briefly narrows his eyes at you. “When’d you become so bossy?”

Rolling your eyes, you face forward again to stare at the wall. “Shouldn’t be too difficult. You’re good at following orders.”

You hear an exhale and some rustling in the background before feeling his hands return to your hips, also palming your ass a bit from the size. You’re pulled toward him just a bit more, so slowly that you grit your teeth in anticipation of his next move. Arching your back, you press your face into the mattress until one of his hands fists your hair, and that’s when you know he wants to hear you like the smug bastard he is. All that escapes your lips is a startled, “Fuck,” before he suddenly slams into you from behind. There’s no warning, no patience. No inch-by-inch slowness that relaxes and stretches you out sweetly. You see stars as he buries his length inside of you all the way, unable to hear yourself moan loudly over the abrupt sensation. He’s thick and throbbing, just like you remember, but you hardly have the time to ruminate over what’s stayed the same. He doesn’t let you collect your thoughts, quickly sliding out of your wet folds just to push back in even harder than the first time. You gasp as he fucks you angrily, and the sound is sharp, unlike the sloppy noises that come from the joining and releasing of your bodies. It’s filthy and disrespectful, animated by the bed frame that’s banging against the wall with each thrust.

“Make it hurt,” you whimper, “Make it hurt, Fox.”

He sucks his teeth and groans, fisting your hair tighter as he doesn’t slow nor speed up. “I’ll fuck you how I want.”

You laugh through a breathy moan and steal a glare at him over your shoulder. “You’re hardly fucking me at all.”

“Yeah?” He pushes your face into the mattress right when he begins to pick up the pace, “What about now? Am I fucking you now?”

You fist the bedsheet as you muffle your cries in the thin fabric that hardly keeps you warm every night. Any control or precision he might’ve been displaying before is now gone. He’s completely lost in your grasp even though he’s the one driving you into the bed with every rough snap of his hips. Your skin collides loudly, leaving both of you raw and sensitive like your pulsing center that’s soaking his length so embarrassingly desperate. You’re so wet for him that there’s barely any resistance as he slips into you swiftly, hitting you deeper and wider the further you collapse with your ass in the air and your legs spread apart. His taunting question is now forgotten but definitely answered through the incoherent mess of your moans and curses, no doubt another win in his books. But feeling him inside of you like this can’t be considered a loss for you, either. You almost forget that you’re now on opposing sides.

“Close,” you moan, turning your face to the side so he can hear you, “I’m close, Fox.”

Your eyes crack open just in time for you to see him clench his jaw. A split second of decision-making crosses his expression before he pulls out of you completely and turns you over. About to protest and shift back to your original position, you gasp when he pins your arms down on either side of your head with his rough hands and leans over you. His stare is molten like his touch, both of which you can’t ignore. He enters you again just as his forehead comes down on yours in expectance of a kiss, but neither of you closes the distance. Your lips simply brush over each other with heavy pants that make it difficult for you to hold his eye contact. For some reason, though, you can’t look away. It almost doesn't occur to you that he’s changed his pacing despite your impending orgasm, slowing down when you’d rather he speed up.

“You don’t,” you gasp, “Fucking listen to me. Ever.”

His responding chuckle is ragged as he dips his head to suck on your neck. You instinctively tilt your face away to give him more access, closing your eyes as his mouth ravishes your sweet spot just above your collarbone. He grunts into your skin when your legs lock around his waist, hiking higher and higher to fold your bodies closer. This low sound only grows louder when you squeeze around him, almost pulling him inside of you every time you feel him pulse against your walls.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck before lifting his face to be directly over yours again, “I’m sorry.”

You lean forward to take his bottom lip between your teeth. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he breathes, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t care,” you reply before kissing him. He moans and parts his lips over yours, not saying anything further. There’s no more conversation as his slow fucking returns to its normal, faster state that leaves you struggling to kiss him back through the whines and cries he swallows for himself. You arch your back when you feel the tightening knot return, now pulsing wildly in anticipation of your second orgasm for the night. He comes soon after you, pulling out as his cock jerks and releases over your stomach. It’s warm and wet like the last kiss he drops to your mouth once you’re both finished. His lips linger against yours almost innocently, without tongue or any harsh movements that implicate a step further. Your eyes flutter shut as his hands leave your forearms to cup your face, sealing this kiss into his final attempt at apologizing. You don’t say you forgive him, but you do wrap your arms around his neck now that they’re free of his grip.

But when it’s over, the room turns cold again. He pulls back, heaving a few breaths before stalking toward the bathroom where you hear him take your clothes out of the sink. He’s in there for some time, probably handling your forgotten mess, all while you simply stare up at the ceiling not thinking about anything in particular. You know you should probably clean yourself up, but that expectation is solved when he returns with a towel. He pushes your hand away when you try to grab it from him, wiping the sore flesh between your legs before your stomach.

“I’m surprised this shitty thing is still standing,” you remark when he stands again, pushing at the creaky bed frame.

“Are you disappointed?” He asks, taking his underwear from the floor to put it back on.

“No,” you yawn, “I’m tired.”

“You have a long day tomorrow.”

You ignore this, just as you ignore his presence for the next few minutes to use the bathroom and finish cleaning yourself up. There’s not much to wear, given your sopping clothes that Fox seemed to have hung to dry in your tiny shower. Staring at the wet fabric, you feel sick when you see that some blood still hasn’t come off, making your efforts useless. Once you step back into your bedroom area in nothing but your satisfactorily dried underwear, you notice that he’s not completely dressed yet. You look at his gun, which is still leaning against the wall beside him, and you remember all that occurred before he turned your night upside down.

“Will there be more fighting tonight?” You bring up casually so as not to appear scared, “Like the guys from before, I mean.”

He reaches for the outer layer of his uniform while replying, “I don’t know. We’re not supposed to prevent them from happening.”

“But you interfered,” you remember aloud, “That was you, right?”

No answer.

“Fox.”

“Does it matter?” He snaps, “You’re alive. Just keep it that way for as long as possible.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand as he crosses the room with his mask in one hand and his firearm slung around his shoulder. He looks so different all of a sudden, but he doesn’t feel different anymore. You swallow the lump in your throat and approach him cautiously, reaching for his free hand. He lets you hold it, but he doesn’t look pleased when he meets your eyes. That doesn’t faze you, though. He never looks pleased.

“I might not have many options left,” you tell him quietly, “But you always have a choice. Please don’t forget that.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“What about you?”

A half-hearted smile ghosts his expression before he pulls his mask over his head. Then, the final piece that covers his entire face with that lone triangle. When he speaks again, it’s through the unmistakable modulator that sends goosebumps across your bare skin. But you’re not afraid of him.

“Don’t worry about me,” he answers, “You’ll only waste your breath.”

With that, he drops your hand and leaves your room. You hear the definitive click of a lock before the doorknob rattles like a test of whether or not someone can still enter. When the door remains closed, his footsteps depart into the distant hallway as quietly as they came. All is silent now, including your mind which is devoid of any knowledge of what tomorrow is going to look like for you. So, you sleep on your fears until morning, which is only a few hours away. The classical music that’s woken you up throughout your stay here thus far plays in every room once the clock reaches the hour of your destiny. Rubbing your eyes and pushing your covers away from your body, you catch sight of something at your entrance just resting on the floor. It’s a fresh set of your uniform—Player 066—folded neatly without any blood stains. But that’s not the most surprising part about this gift. A small piece of paper rests on top of the clothes, also folded until you spread it open in your palm. Only one word is written, so only one word is read.

Mingle.

[bubbipond]

OK but why am I seeing on Twitter and Tumblr people saying that Tonkla did not love Korn as much as Korn loved him?? Did we watch the same show? Let’s not act like Korn was boyfriend of the year. Tonkla didn’t just wake up one morning and decided to be a murderer. He also didn’t force Korn to also cheat on him??? Korn was choosing his family and the life he lived his whole life over love the entire time. You can argue that love wasn’t more important than revenge to Kla but you can’t argue that he didn’t love and care about Korn or vice versa.

He literally took a bullet for him. He did not have to do that. He knew his time was running out. You don’t do things that Tonkla did in this show and expect to live happily ever after. In my opinion, they had the most realistic end to a dark series. You can love someone and want to be with them, but fate not be in your corner. They were both in retrospect too deep into their individual lives to not die and I find that extremely heartbreaking. To be honest if two people deserve a happy ending it was probably them because their issues were not entirely made by them. Their situations were directly influenced by other people (technically so was Greats but he ended up happy so).

But I feel like deducing everything between Korn and Kla to just a revenge plot is a lack of critical thinking. I know that’s a buzz word and I’m not just saying that because throughout the airing of the series I have been like, “I support Kla’s wrongs and his rights”. But instead, I am saying this because he and Korn are not their actions. They are who they are because of other peoples actions. Kla couldn’t move on with his life after his brother died because there was no justice. He definitely needed therapy and he should not have been going around murdering people or attempting to. But that was a direct Issue stemming from his brother’s death. Korn didn’t want to be the head of the family. He didn’t want to be a crappy brother or a crappy boyfriend. He didn’t want to marry that girl whose name escapes me.

And at the end of it, they were both willing to look at each other and be like you know what!? We are Thelma and Louise, we are Bonnie and Clyde. In the most tragic ways possible. I think that’s the reason they kind of stole the last episode. All of their shit was out there. Neither one of them were cowards and neither one of them were good people. Maybe they were at one time but life and the choices they made changed that. I think their end was perfect because they both succeeded and failed at their motives at the end of the day. Neither one was where they were in the beginning at the end of it all.

Marrying that woman wasn’t going to miraculously make Korns life easier. In the end, she cut her losses anyway. The marriage didn’t help her at that point. So where did he have to go? The revelation that Kla was the one to shoot Great and that Great was part of his brother’s murder didn’t diminish how they felt about each other. It just complicated everything. Attempting to murder the people responsible for his brother’s death didn’t bring Kla solace. It didn’t bring his brother back and if anything it just made life shittier. At the end of the day, there was no out for either of them. They would both still have to pay for things they did and did not do. So even though their story ended, they still had a better ending. They still love each other despite the tough situation they were in.

My favorite part of that last scene is Bas’ facial expressions when he hears everything from Kla. He’s not heartbroken, or angry, he’s not bewildered, Or jealous. He’s all of the above and you can see it written on his face so perfectly. Bas really knows how to show emotion on his face and I love him for that; especially the mix of feelings between the revelation and him pointing that gun. He wasn’t questioning whether or not Kla loved him because what did Kla have to gain from keeping him around at the point of him running? This man was exhausted. He was tired of everything and everyone he was tired of the cards that they all have been dealt up until that point. He knew pointing that gun was a bad idea. But their backs were against the wall and there was nothing left to lose. Until there was. He had to watch the love of his life take a bullet for him. So I will not sit here and let people act like Kla was this master manipulator who only wanted revenge.

Because the saddest part about all of this is, it was just a very unfortunate circumstance that intertwined Great and Dome.