#like even aside from the equal-and-opposite splits

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Actual Ultimate Classpecting Guide

For real this time.

Buckle up, this is a really long one. For everything that's posited, I can provide textual evidence; that being said, I'm not going to be including the textual evidence within the essay itself, because it's already long enough as-is. As such, please feel free to ask for clarification or sources on any assertion, and I'll do my best to provide.

Before we begin, there's some things to discuss about how we're going to be approaching classpect in the following essay. In numbered list form for our short attention spans:

1. There is a concept Hussie talks about multiple times in his book commentary, "personality alchemy" - the idea that there are these "platonic ideals" of certain characters, which can be mixed and matched with others, in order to create new characters. The examples he gives are of how Eridan was a proto-Caliborn, how Kanaya has shades of Jade, how Nepeta was a proto-Calliope, and how Sollux and Eridan have shades of Dave in them. Classpecting is fundamentally a form of this personality alchemy:

2. Class describes the character's arc and emotional hurdles, while Aspect describes the character's base personality traits by which this arc is experienced.

3. For example, all three Seers struggle with hubris: Rose's need to be the smartest person in the room led to her being manipulated by Doc Scratch, Terezi's obsession with meting justice led to her engineering a situation where the only option was to kill Vriska, and Kankri's desire to be seen as a spiritual leader amongst his friends led to him furthering their divisions and harming them.

Then, when their pride is shattered, they cope by inflicting willful self-blindness: Rose turns to drinking herself stupid (the opposite of Light's sway over knowledge), Terezi gets down with the clown (the opposite of meting out Mind's justice, as it's a Gamzee W), Kankri goes celibate (Blood L) despite his clear romantic feelings for certain teammates.

4. As for Aspect: note how all three Life players share the personality traits of optimism, stubbornness, and obstinacy. All three Breath players share an immaturity and naïvety, and are quite frankly irresistible to people for some reason. All three Light players share a need for the spotlight and a tendency toward long-windedness and persnicketiness. So on and so forth.

What's interesting is, if you start analyzing characters that share Classes and Aspects, these specific types of similarity crop up over and over - all our Knights struggle with insecurities and facades, both our Bards have a crisis of faith. All three Breath players have an aspect of immaturity and childishness to their characters, and all three Light players are deeply concerned with appearing intelligent and feeling important.

5. As a result, this guide is NOT intended for classpecting real life people, because we are complicated, we contain multitudes, and we don't have arcs. This is primarily an analysis of what Class and Aspect mean in Homestuck based on textual evidence, because I genuinely believe that you can basically figure it out if you read carefully.

6. Duality, and the idea of "equal and opposite," are major themes within Homestuck - Prospit and Derse, Skaia (described as a crucible of birth and creativity) and the Furthest Ring (the literal afterlife). Which classes are involved in an Active/Passive split, and opposing Aspects, are the same way. This is the primary method I used to determine the Active/Passive pairings and opposing Aspects. After all, as Callie describes, both Thieves and Rogues are classes "who steal" - so, too, do I try to unify Classes by a common theme, even if they diverge wildly in how that theme is expressed (as Thieves and Rogues do). In the same way as the opposite of "up" is not "apple," but "down", because "up" and "down" are both fundamentally concerned with relative vertical position, so too can be defined concepts like Breath and Blood, Hope and Rage, Light and Void - as well as the reasoning behind Class pairings like Heir and Page, Maid and Knight, and Seer and Mage.

7. Descriptions for both Class and Aspect are left deliberately vague and up to interpretation within the comic itself, and this is by design: the actual manifestations of an Aspect can vary wildly given the Class, and even individual person, that it's tied to. Calliope even makes note of the fact that, under the right circumstances, someone can manifest effects that appear to be the opposite of their aspect. She's also careful to couch her language in "may" and "can" - because these concepts are intentionally somewhat nebulous and malleable. As such, while this guide certainly lays down what can be gleaned and inferred from the text, do note that Homestuck runs on a soft magic system, and as such, nothing stated is firm, 100%, must-always-be-this-way - just an overview of what we've seen.

8. There is often great overlap between Aspects, Classes, and Classpects - which Calliope herself notes. Heart and Blood are one of the most salient, as they both have a fixation on relationships, and Calliope mentions that under the right circumstances, a Classpect may even be able to manifest what appears to be the opposite of their Aspect. Again, Homestuck operates on a soft magic system, so this is a feature, not a bug.

ASPECT

There's a little less to say about Aspect, not because it's less complicated, but because "base personality traits" are much more nebulous compared to Class's sway over character arc. Still, Aspect represents the fundamental way a character is, and thus, color every interaction that character has. There's a reason Ultimate Selfhood is sought through Aspect, not Class - Aspect is the core of the character's being, what makes that person that person.

That all being said, Class has major sway over how an Aspect manifests, and certain classes can even invert the Aspect and even the character's role in the party. As such, these descriptions must be parsed carefully in relation to Class. Moreover, due to the soft magic system, there is at times overlap between unrelated Aspects, which can also be exacerbated by Class - Heart and Blood being the most obvious in this regard. Still, overall, you'll find the Aspects to be fairly distinct from one another.

Please also note that every Aspect can deal with its literal counterpart by default - Light players can wield lasers, Breath players can wield the breeze, et cetera. Because this kind of goes without saying, and because the non-literal stuff is more interesting to discuss, I'm not really going to go into too much detail about the literal qualities.

SPACE / TIME

Space and Time are both concerned with physical reality, goals, and the way one approaches them.

Space is associated with "the big picture" - with recycling, reproduction, and the interconnectivity of all things. The aspect also presides over the enjoyment of the journey over the destination - Space players serve as reminders that the present moment is as important as the end goal. Space is often a more passive Aspect, being the stage upon which the story is set. They're the hosts of the party, and the one who marks the ending.

Its players reflect these tendencies, often being feminine, with penchants for life-giving acts such as gardening. Their personalities tend towards frivolity and silliness, finding it difficult to stay on-topic or bring full gravitas to serious situations. Perhaps a better word would be "distractable;" when the aspect is so concerned with all things in connection with each other, it's easy to lose track of details, and it's easy to enjoy things simply as they come. Space players tend to be kind, patient, and forgiving, which is a strength as much as it is a flaw; it's easy for malicious actors to take advantage of this compassion, or for the Space player to find themselves in a poor situation by being overly permissive. They can easily be painted over by stronger personalities, and tend to struggle with romantic relationships, as they attract many with their kind and giving natures, and few are naturally so considerate of the Space player in turn.

A Space player's struggle lies in finding the strength to assert themselves, picking out the good from the bad, weeding the garden so it can flourish and thrive.

Time, in contrast, is associated with "the little things" - with details, minutiae, and processes. Time presides over the struggle toward something greater, the endurance of hardship with an eye on the prize - the destination over the journey. Time players are the ones keeping track of the tasklist, marking off each item as it reaches completion; they are the tireless workers keeping the whole engine running.

Time players, thus, are ones whose lives are marked by struggle. They are highly goal-oriented; in contrast to how Space players can easily move from goal to goal, task to task, Time players feel bound to see things through to the end, finding satisfaction only when they've achieved their desired result - and only until they come across the next goal in their journey. A Time player isn't happy without a goal to work towards, a craft to polish, a prize to win - but this driven nature can easily be its own downfall, as it leaves little room for the player to admit to their own shortcomings, or ask for help from others. Moreover, their focus on minutiae can leave them blinded to the bigger picture, and it's easy for a time player to fall to despair, able to do nothing more but spin their wheels. They're prone to directionless anguish, frustration, and resentment towards the seeming futility of their actions, becoming destructive and defiant even when it doesn't serve them to do so. In the worst case scenario, detach entirely, coming to a standstill.

A Time player's struggle lies in finding peace with themselves, such that they can enjoy the fruits of their own labor - labor whose rewards only multiply when the cause and methodology become clear.

BREATH / BLOOD

Breath and Blood are both concerned with directionality, interpersonal relationships, and autonomy.

Breath is the Aspect governing freedom, liberty, and independence; it is a force that breaks shackles, clears out social norms, and refutes "the rules," whatever those rules may be. Breath players can't be tied down, whether by physical bonds, societal rules, or even the ineffable forces of the narrative itself. They are leaders of example, pioneers, and trailblazers, opening new paths for their teammates to follow.

Breath players are goofy and gullible, often with hearts full of childlike whimsy, naivety, and even immaturity. They are friendly and well-meaning, fond of simpler things, and easily swayed by others. They approach the world with a sincere earnestness, which is not always well-received. Something about this sincerity seems to make Breath players irresistible to others, and they often find themselves the subject of romantic attraction. However, in this childishness is also the great pitfall of many Breath players - their natures are naturally conflict-averse, and egotistical the way a child can be, failing to see beyond themselves. They can be incredibly callous when not considering the consequences of their actions, or the viewpoints of others. Their easy-come, easy-go natures make it difficult to focus them towards a goal, and it's easy for them to simply allow themselves to be tossed around by circumstance and the whims of others, or to simply run away from their problems entirely - never confronting their own responsibility or fault for a situation, passing along the blame.

A Breath player's struggle is letting themselves mature - letting themselves take responsibility, and understand that their actions have consequences for others. Only then can their breeze blow in the party's sails, aiming towards victory, breaking through all obstacles to reach it.

Blood, in sharp contrast, is the aspect that governs bondage, contracts, and interdependence. It is a force that binds. Under Blood's sway are not only romantic entanglements, but familial, friendly, and societal ones as well. This aspect sees overlap with Heart, but the division is this: Heart concerns itself with feelings, and Blood concerns itself with compatibility. Blood players are diplomats, forces that remind us all that we are more similar than we are different, and that that similarity should bring us together when we are on the verge of pulling apart.

Blood players, reflective of their Aspect's association with bonds, tend to be neurotic and obsessive. They have a tendency to over-examine and overthink, constantly fretting over the infinite and infinitesimal variables that influence the shape of society and interpersonal relationships. However, this judgmental nature stems from a deep well of idealism and empathy; Blood players can't help but care about others and wish for the best for them. In a way, this makes them one of the most mature members of the team, capable of cutting through to the core of other peoples' interpersonal issues. Unfortunately, their prowess does not extend inwards, and their assessment of themselves is usually direly incorrect - all the worse because Blood players always feel responsible for those around them. Blood, being the Aspect concerned with interdependence, is the weakest one when all alone. Thus, it's easy for the Blood player to wind up a nag - desperate to make sure everyone is moving according to their vision, they'll fuss and bother and interfere and boss people around until everyone else gets sick of them. It's easy for them to wind up pariahs of their own making, severing their own ties with others by their efforts to establish them.

A Blood player's challenge is of learning how to turn that empathy and honesty inwards, to calm down and let themselves enjoy the presence of others; only then can they come to know how to build something stronger and better.

LIGHT / VOID

Light and Void are both concerned with knowledge, ontology, and "narrative relevance".

Light (as well as its counterpart) are perhaps best understood through the lens of "narrative" - this idea that, of all things that do and don't exist, and all events that do and don't happen, only the ones put to page are "relevant". Thus, Light is associated with knowledge and luck - that is to say, it's associated with the knowable, the objective, and the concrete, and the ability to determine "important" events. Light players have read the book they're participating in, and able to serve as luminary guides from one plot point to another, lighting the lampposts for others to follow.

Light players, naturally, are erudite and educated, possessing keen intellects and cunning minds. They are fond of knowledge itself, of markers of status and prestige - whether that's wealth, the adulation of the masses, or a massive library. They harbor a desire to be important, to be seen, to be acknowledged, and are happiest when they are looked up to. Conversely, they deal poorly with being looked down upon. Their confidence transmutes easily into hubris, and they struggle with having that pride challenged. As such, they tend to be volatile and unpredictable, quick to retaliate against those who threaten their egos, or obsequious to those whose acknowledgement they desire. Their desire for the limelight can quickly spell disaster for those around them, who are reduced to supporting characters in their minds. Craving so much external validation, they're often blind to what would actually make them internally happy.

A Light player's challenge is of coming to terms with their own limited reach, and allowing themselves to shine not for their own desire for importance, but for the betterment of the world in which they live.

Void, in contrast, is the blank spaces between the words. That which is secret, subjective, unknowable - these are Void's domain. It's associated with taboos and hidden things, sexuality and pleasure. It's also associated with the empty canvas - the blank space before creation, and the oblivion to which creation is eventually destined for. Thus, it stands for infinite possibility, though the collapse of those possibilities into a reality removes that reality from Void's domain.

Thus are Void players ever cosigned to the background, though this generally suits them fine. Void players are very self-possessed. Where Light players tend to exaggerate and complicate, Void players are honest and simple, preferring straightforward solutions. They don't tend to think very hard, instead letting intuition and emotion guide them to where they want to be - which makes them one of the more stable and reliable personalities on a team. However, this simplistic, feelings-driven approach often leads to complications and unforeseen consequences, and very easily to irrelevance, with which Void is so closely interlinked. A Void player's reliance on emotion and intuition can result in overindulgence of pleasure, to the active detriment of the party's goals or the Void player's self-improvement, leaving them lost and irrelevant, unable to act.

A Void player's challenge is in resisting the call of the Void's temptations, instead dragging the Void behind them, kicking and screaming, to where it can be of use.

MIND / HEART

Mind and Heart are concerned with what it means to be a sentient being, with identity, and with why we do what we do.

Mind is the Aspect associated with logic, rationality, karma, ethics, and justice. To a Mind player, they "are" because they "think". They are keenly aware of the consequences of every action, and well-versed in cognition and behavior, such to the point of manipulating others with ease. Deeply concerned with the "effect" of cause-and-effect, Mind players are always cognizant of debts and credits, where justice is owed and where it has been over-meted, and their subtle machinations culminate, like well-placed dominoes, in grand finales.

Mind players are schemers - it's in their nature. They have a tendency to view the world as a puzzle or game, with themselves and the people around them as pieces on a board, and set as their standard rules the laws of ethics and karma - owed debts and overhanging credit - guilty and innocent. Mind players are wickedly cunning, and have an high success rate with every scheme they commit themselves to, but the grand downfall of all these tendencies is that they tend to lack in a sense of identity, and have a poor grasp on their own emotions or desires. While they may know how to provoke a desired reaction, they don't know how to change someone's mind. They often find themselves grappling very painfully with their own selfhood, with feelings of emptiness, inadequacy, or uncertainty; this often leads them to seek codependent relationships, hoping somehow that they can find the validation they need externally, not realizing that they're deepening their own fragile self-images.

A Mind player's challenge lies in tempering their natural understanding of karma and justice with kindness and empathy - not just to others, but to themselves, and using that enlightened understanding to lead others forth.

Heart, then, is associated with feelings, motivations, intuition, the soul, and the self. To a Heart player, they "are" because they "feel" like they are - and they're keenly aware of the multitudes that are contained within themselves. Deeply concerned with the "cause" of cause-and-effect, they're drawn to desires, those of themselves and of others, especially where strong feelings are concerned. Heart players are gifted with an intuitive understanding of those around them, both their good and bad qualities, and are tasked with the grand task of bringing out the best.

It stands to reason, then, that Heart players have a firm grasp on who they are and what they want. For the same reasons, it's difficult for a Heart player to truly hate or condemn another person, because they are so adept at understanding them. However, this understanding comes with a price - because the Heart player is so aware of themselves, they can't escape their own worst traits - nobody self-loathes as accurately as a Heart player can. Nor can they ever truly be untruthful with another, making them poor manipulators. Capable of presenting a different facet of themselves as the situation calls for it, certainly, but just as it's impossible to lie to a Heart player, who always knows how someone really feels, it's impossible for a Heart player to lie to themselves. With this sincerity comes vulnerability, and vulnerability often brings with it pain; Heart players have a tendency to withdraw from others after being hurt too often, finding it easier to be alone and silent about their feelings than to deal with the pain of rejection.

A Heart player's challenge is in gaining the confidence to be open with others, to weather the pain of rejection, and let themselves share their gifts, that others may learn to share theirs.

LIFE / DOOM

Life and Doom are concerned with outlook, with journeys, and with trials and tribulations.

Life is an aspect concerned with healing, growing, and improving. It is associated with beginnings, optimism, and positive emotions. The very essence of Life lies in its healing abilities, in this idea of overcoming the odds and triumphing over hardship and difficulty. Life is action, movement, and motion, and its players can scarcely hold still. Life will find a way - and Life players harbor the same immutable belief; they are the most stubborn weeds in the garden, the cockroach that survives the apocalypse, and the beating heart that refuses to stop.

Life players tend to be optimistic and confident. They are self-assured individuals, with a stubborn belief that good things are on their way, and any hardship they face is not only temporary, but something that can be overcome. They can find the silver lining in any cloud, and enjoy themselves under any circumstance. They love to nurture, to care for others, though this love has a tendency to be one-sided. Indeed, Life's stubborn nature is its players' greatest pitfall; their persistence easily becomes obstinacy, and their confidence can become condescension. Their self-assured nature easily becomes egotism, and they can have great difficulty grappling with those who don't share their views - even coming to oppose those who bring emotional pain and suffering that can't be easily fixed. It's very easy for a Life player to decide another person isn't worth their attention, and opt to leave them behind - after all, Life has to move forward, no matter what it tramples in the process.

A Life player's challenge is in accepting the merit in taking a pause to consider unpleasant words and alternative viewpoints, in trying to understand the actual problems instead of imposing their own will onto others, so as to better focus their healing energies.

Doom, then, is the aspect concerned with death, with rest, and with endings. Doom is associated with suffering and with negative emotions, with peace, with sleep, and with dreams. Doom players have a natural penchant for prophecy, and are often dual dreamers, able to take advantage of both Skaia's oracular clouds and the Horrorterrors' voices over Derse. All things must eventually come to an end, and not all times will be good; in these troubling times, Doom players shine, as they are the guides who call the murk home, and know best how to navigate rough waters, course-correcting until the storm passes.

Doom players tend to be deeply pessimistic. They experience, to a much more magnified degree than others, negative feelings and impulses, and it's difficult for them to see the world without seeing its flaws, first and foremost. They are not healers, but commiserators, those who understand greatest that sometimes there's no way to deal with tragedy but to simply sit with it and wait for it to pass. The counterpoint to Life's insistence on breathless positivity, Doom is a reminder that pain, grief, sadness, shame, and guilt are not unnecessary things - in fact, excising them can lead to terrible consequences. Doom players are the universe's martyrs, often taking it upon themselves to course-correct, to sacrifice themselves in order to give others a chance to continue on, to avert a terrible fate. Unfortunately, this tendency also brings with it a tendency for Doom players to wallow in misfortune, or worse, to take themselves out of the picture, giving up entirely on seeing a better ending.

A Doom player's challenge is in rising above the melange of suffering and pain, to grasp personal peace, and to fill their lives, if not with happiness, then with meaning.

HOPE / RAGE

Hope and Rage are concerned with permission, and are the lens by which we define reality.

Hope is described by Hussie in the book commentary as being "framed as the most powerful aspect" because it is, literally, an aspect that defines reality. Its specific ability is lies in reducing the "fakeness attribute" of something, thus making it "real". Hope is associated with convictions, with idealism, with faith, order, holiness, and, of course, with magic - which Hope turns real. Hope is permission itself - a reality-breaking ability to look at the world and decree that it must be another way, a way in which the Hope player believes it ought to be.

Thus, Hope players tend to be hard-headed zealots. Their inclination towards powerful beliefs makes them very difficult to dissuade from a path they've set their minds to, and their specific suite of abilities makes them terrifyingly likely to make their vision come true. Hope players are usually not particularly cunning, nor particularly intelligent, nor even particularly empathetic. Given the Aspect's focus on conviction and faith, it's usually very difficult for Hope players to notice anything occurring beyond their own minds and feelings. Thus are Hope players hopeless optimists, hopeless romantics, and hopeless in general - usually not particularly well-liked, for their inflexibility, for their lack of empathy, and for their dearth of wit. However, their ability to define reality does not leave them when their beliefs are faulty (which they often are, given Hope players are not particularly introspective, either), which is what makes a Hope player so dangerous. Setting them on the wrong path, or breaking their Hope in twain, can result in disastrous consequences, as - one way or another - what a Hope player believes in comes true.

A Hope player's challenge is in seeing beyond themselves, letting others help guide their vision to something newer and more beautiful.

Rage, then, is the power of denial. If Hope reduces the "fakness" of a thing, then Rage reduces its "realness". Rage, too, is a means of defining reality, in this case taking a torch to the aspects of reality that it rejects. In more passive Classes, this works in subtler ways, stoking others towards destructive fury. Rage is associated with anarchy, chaos, revolution, destruction, anger, and nihilism. A Rage player will not suffer a world that does not satisfy them, breaking it to pieces, such that something new can take its place.

Therefore, Rage players are prone to harboring anger and resentment, discontentment with the status quo, and faith only in that what currently exists must somehow be dismantled. However, unlike Hope players, who can't help but be pathetically sincere, Rage players grasp that their natural inclinations are bothersome to others, and often try to mask and hide their embitterment and anger. This, ironically, leads to further ostracization, as others can tell they're being inauthentic. This only further compounds their sense of alienation, and drives them further into smoldering resentment; in the worst-case scenario, the Rage player turns that rage out indiscriminately, deciding that there is nothing worth fighting for - only unpleasant things to be brought to ruin. This makes Rage players sound volatile and dangerous, and they are - but the same fury that moves them is the fury that ignites revolts and tears down oppressive regimes, a necessary and vital well of energy and momentum. It takes careful handling to ensure that the team's Rage player can channel this energy towards righteous causes, rather than marking all as a target for their destructive ire.

A Rage player's challenge is in learning to be authentic and true, and to allow this to release the pressure of their mounting ire, such that it can be converted into productive, rather than destructive, energy.

CLASS

As previously stated, Class governs a character's character arc - the character's starting circumstances, whether their conflict is primarily internal or external, and what major aspect of their Aspect becomes a hurdle for them to overcome.

In the same way an Aspect's sways tie into the character's base personality, the character's Class abilities tie into the kinds of struggles they face, and have great influence on how their Aspects manifest.

That being said, a character - and their Class - are always subject to their Aspect, as their Aspect is tied fundamentally into who they are. Thus, it can be said that a Light player will always have an affinity for knowledge and provide Seer-esque guidance even when not in a Seer role, a Doom player will always have prophetic abilities even with a non-prophetic class (note that Mituna, an Heir, still had prophetic visions, despite those generally being the realm of Mages and Seers), and a Life player will always have a penchant for healing, even paired with a destructive Class like Prince or Thief (the Condesce, after all, could still extend life; a Prince of Life would likely manifest not as one who causes plants to wither and die (this would actually suit a Prince of Doom), but one who destroys in the way of nature overtaking an abandoned shack, or a forest breaking down a body).

This means that when a character's Classpect inverts their Aspect, it doesn't mean that they suddenly become a hero of the opposing Aspect - rather, it means that, at their very worst - at the nadirs of their character arcs - they will lean so much into their Aspect's worst traits that it will superficially appear as the opposite, when all it really is is an absence of themselves. Dave, a Time player, usually so attentive to detail (despite his disaffected facade, he's always paying rapt attention to Karkat's rants, and noticing all the clues pointing to his destiny of defeating LE), at his lowest emotional point (arguing with Grimbark Jade after sobbing about his lost childhood whimsy), states that he doesn't think Lord English is that big a deal, and never even did anything directly bad to him or his friends - when he was literally directly haunted by LE via Cal his entire childhood. Similarly, Rose drinks herself stupid in order to cope with her mother's death.

Note how, superficially, this almost appears to be an invocation of Space's "big picture thinking," its passivity and permissibility, or how Rose's case appears to be Void's tendency to indulge in vices and pleasure - but they're not. Time's worst traits superficially resemble Space, Light's resemble Void, and vice versa - Grimbark Jade is the Condesce's taskmaster, and Porrim at her worst was as much of a nag as Kankri, trying to do a Time player's managerial job. Horuss and Equius at their worst won't shut up and won't stop talking over their partners. So on and so forth.

Finally, Calliope tells us a couple things about Active/Passive pairings. The first is that Calliope introduces the idea of paired classes with the idea that both Rogues and Thieves "steal" (and later, that both Princes and Bards "destroy"). This presents the idea that both classes can be roughly summed up with the idea that every pairing can be summed up with a common theme.

The second is her description of what makes a Class Active versus Passive - that Active Classes move their Aspect to benefit themselves, whereas Passive Classes allow their Aspect to be moved in order for others to benefit. In a way, they're like active and passive voice in grammar (to tie in with the way Classes and Aspects are so tied to ideas of narrative and character arc) - an Active Class performs their Aspect, and a Passive Class allows the Aspect to be performed "by others" (the famous piece of advice regarding telling the two apart being that a sentence written in passive voice can have "by zombies" tacked to the end of it - eg, John is attacked "by zombies", as compared to active voice - John attacks).

Thus, the Class pairings, along with their basic themes, are as follows:

KNIGHT - / MAID +

"One who controls."

Knights and Maids are paired together through two key factors: the first is that they both hold leadership or managerial roles; the second is that both classes carry the connotation of serving a Lord. Fittingly, they are both struggle with the control of malicious forces - Knights with prophecies indicating their role as heroes, Maids with direct usurpation by malicious forces.

PAGE - / HEIR +

"One who inherits."

Pages and Heirs are paired together because they both fundamentally deal with the great inheritances placed before them. Pages can come into incredible, limitless power - but they must struggle and work hard for it; Heirs begin the game in societal comfort and wealth, and must learn to defect from their decadence.

THIEF - / ROGUE +

"One who steals."

Thieves and Rogues are highly adaptable, as Thieves are capable of fantastic on-the-fly adaptation, whereas Rogues have an infinite toolbox at their disposal. They are both provocateurs, shakers of the status quo, though the Thief does so for personal gain, while the Rogue does so to right injustice.

MAGE - / SEER +

"One who guides."

Mages and Seers are tied together by the gift of prophecy and future sight. Seers are privy to the endless branching paths that the future may take, while Mages are gifted with the ability to outright determine a future that will certainly happen, appearing to be prophecy.

WITCH - / SYLPH +

"One who changes."

Witches and Sylphs are individuals blessed with great magic, but poor judgement. Sylphs heal and nurture, but are drawn to those with strong desires, and enable them to cause great harm; Witches, meanwhile, possess strong emotions, which they often use as moral guidance, for better or worse.

PRINCE - / BARD +

"One who destroys."

Princes and Bards are representatives of society - the one who determines its course, and the one who recounts its passing. Princes suffer from a toxic overabundance of Aspect, and are prone to spectacular meltdowns, whereas Bards are always poised for a crisis of faith. Both are responsible for catastrophic failures - but also breathless victories.

INDIVIDUAL CLASSES

KNIGHT

"One who controls [Aspect] or controls using [Aspect]."

Knights are frontline warriors, rallying points behind which the party falls into line. Although they are often leaders, just as often, they are logistical planners, strategists, or simply the team's beating heart. They are almost always thrust into positions of narrative significance, often carrying grand destinies or even outright heroic prophecies on their shoulders. The are the party's rallying force, its center, and a guiding light - the one to lead the charge, behind which the party will follow.

The primary character struggle a Knight will have is with crippling insecurity. Knights are prone to self-loathing and imposter syndrome, and will often adopt a façade in direct opposition to their aspect (ie, their fundamental personality) in order to cope with their feelings of inadequacy. Thus, their relationship with their aspect becomes love/hate - though they're naturally drawn to their aspect, and even naturally skilled at utilizing it, they have a tendency to become their own worst enemy, as their insecurities make them push their façades, and their façades distance them from their aspect.

"Controlling their Aspect" means that the Knight has easy access to their Aspect, wielding it like a tool or weapon - for good or for ill; "controlling using their Aspect" is what grants Knights their leadership abilities, able to dictate how others ought to act in accordance with the Knight's Aspect - whether their understanding of their Aspect is high or low, whether their advice is good or bad.

Therefore, at their worst, a Knight will fall prey to their insecurities, retreating into their facades, rejecting their Aspect, which will allow disharmony or misuse of it to proliferate throughout the team. They may even wind up deliberately twisting their Aspect's presence within the team so that they never have to be confronted by it; these distortions ripple outwards and eventually culminate in major catastrophes, all on account of the Knight's negligence.

But at their best, a Knight is a shining beacon and guiding light; when they come to terms with themselves, and allow themselves to be comfortable in their own skin - when they no longer allow themselves to be ruled by their insecurities and anxieties - they ensure that their aspect is harmonious wherever it appears throughout their party, and can wield it expertly as a weapon, as if it were their own flesh and blood.

MAID

"One who allows control through [Aspect] or allows [Aspect] to be controlled."

Unlike Knights, which take positions of frontline prominence, a Maid is a managerial presence in the backlines, though no less crucial for the smooth functioning of a party. Just as the invisible hands of the hired help keep a household running, the Maid will be called upon to provide vital services to keep the game stable, even if those services are more noticeable by their absence than their presence. Maids are often the party's unsung heroes or even shadow leaders, tugging at invisible strings, fingers on the pulse.

A Maid's primary character struggle will be that of escaping oppression. Maids tend to start the game in positions of subjugation or subservience, especially to malicious forces, and their abilities often end up being exploited to serve their masters' ends. Therefore, one may even have the impression that a Maid is ruled by their aspect, held prisoner and slave - at least until they're able turn the tables.

"Allowing their Aspect to be controlled" means that Maids are capable of directly dispensing their aspect unto others - a Maid of Time can dispense time unto foes, pausing them in their tracks; a Maid of Life can grant so much life that they can revive the dead. Their boons are great and direct, straightforward in a similar manner to Knights. "Allowing control through their Aspect" grants them their uncanny managerial abilities, as their aspect dictates the realm in which nothing occurs without the Maid's knowledge or permission, a realm made available to whomever the Maid's allegiance lies with.

Thus, at their worst, the Maid becomes a saboteur. Exploited by malign forces, their abilities to allow control over others through their aspect, or control of their aspect, makes them perfect vehicles by which their aspect can be hijacked or usurped, and made to turn against the party, and they often find themselves placed into these positions through no fault of their own. It takes the party banding together to shake off the forces that would keep a Maid in bondage.

However, at their best, Maids ensure that the party can never go too far off the rails. There is a place for everything, and everything will be in its place; a Maid is a supply line, a safe haven, and a promise that everything will be neat and tidy when the party returns from war. When the Maid belongs to themselves, their homestead becomes a fortress, and nothing occurs under the Maid's watchful eye without their express permission.

PAGE

"One who works to inherit [Aspect] or inherits [Aspect] for themselves."

Pages are a class defined by promise. As the name suggests, a Page begins weak, but has the great potential to develop into one of the most powerful players in the game. The exact nature of a Page's powers are vague, not because they are insignificant, but because they are so great that it's difficult to encompass them all. At the apex of their arcs, Pages are capable of miraculous feats, overpowering even Lords and Muses - if only they could reach that point and stay there.

A Page begins the game weakest of all, reflective of their long journey of growth. Where most classes only fall into deficit of their Aspect at their lowest emotional points, Pages begin their arcs in deficit - exhibiting character traits opposite to those their Aspect normally encompasses. Moreso than any other class, a Page must learn to grow into their Aspect. Weak-willed, naive, and easily hurt, Pages require careful nurturing if they're to come into their own.

"Working to inherit their Aspect" describes the endless journey of growth the Page must undertake - one with many missteps, backslides, and setbacks along the way. Still, they "inherit their aspect," meaning that their full potential, when realized, is overwhelmingly great - practically becoming their Aspect in humanoid form, capable of utilizing it to its glorious full potential.

However, their nature defeats them, and even if they can attain this state, the Page usually can't stay there for long. At their very worst, the Page's deficit of their Aspect's better qualities can turn the Page into a gravitic well of misfortune - an albatross about the party's neck, the centerpoint, if not inciting incident, of a massive disaster, as their team is sucked in by the Page's natural weakness.

But this is only true as it contrasts to a Page at their best - having grappled and won with the greatest of all weakness, a Page is poised to come into the greatest of all strength. Shown kindness, compassion, and support, a Page at full power reflects a party at their best. A Page at full strength is breathtaking to behold, an unstoppable force of nature, their Aspect made manifest.

HEIR

"One whom [Aspect] grants inheritance or inherits [Aspect] for others."

Heirs, in contrast to Pages, start the game strong. They usually belong to the upper echelons of their respective societies, a position of great wealth, leisure, and comfort, and are set to be inheritors of even greater wealth. Similarly, their Aspect comes to them as if of its own will - it is powerful, but difficult for the Heir to control, reflecting the wealth and status they've enjoyed as birthright.

An Heir's main challenge is that of examining their privilege, and learning where they wish to spread the gift they've been given. Because of their positions of sheltered comfort, Heirs are not particularly world-wise, and often harbor massive blind spots to the suffering of others and the ills of society. As such, they tend to be fairly aimless, given great power but no strong motivations, and have a tendency to simply indulge in their Aspect without contributing great help or hindrance to their team at all.

The Heir's Aspect is practically an independent entity. Being one whom "their Aspect grants them inheritance" refers to how the Heir starts powerful, able to summon their Aspect to perform great, miraculous acts. However, it is highly intuitive and difficult to control. The Heir's challenge lies not in attaining great power, but in attaining control over, and the ability to direct, their existing abilities. Once they do, they can "inherit their Aspect for others" - Heirs become a conduit through which their party can experience their Aspect, making it a usable pool of wealth for them all to draw from. However, because of their comfortable positions, many Heirs end up dallying, finding no pressing need to do so.

But this dallying hides a ticking clock. An Heir's inheritance will come to them, one way or another, and if they aren't ready to receive the great responsibilities that come with such great power, then the power will eventually consume them. An Heir with no clear direction will eventually become lost to their Aspect, entirely removing both from play. Like how wealthy inheritors simply become part of the status quo, so, too, does an Heir disappear into their Aspect, fixing it in place.

Thus, Heirs must learn where they have been blind, where they have been foolish, and what it means to be underprivileged. Then, once they turn their energies towards addressing those injustices - to taking responsibility for building a better future - when their wealth comes to them, they'll be able to distribute it where it's needed most. An Heir, fully-realized, brings their Aspect to heel, and makes it a resource available to their entire team, as if welcoming them all into the family.

THIEF

"One who steals [Aspect] or steals using [Aspect]."

Thieves are, as the name suggests, greedy - much of their arc revolves around a desire to amass wealth, though what's considered "wealth" varies based on the Thief and especially their Aspect. They tend to be callous people by nature, capable of ignoring or trampling over the feelings of others in order to take what they want, in the hopes of filling an emotional void the Thief may not even be fully aware of.

The Thief's playstyle is one of careful resource management. Reflecting a natural tendency to take "wealth" from others, Thieves are unable to use their Aspect without first "stealing" it - a subtractive act which leaves the victim bereft of the Aspect, weakening them in the process. Because of the finicky nature of these abilities, it takes great cunning to be a Thief, and the Class both demands and requires the player to be adaptable, flexible, and quick on their feet, able to effect complicated schemes and engineer the perfect situations for their powers to have the greatest effect. Thieves aren't necessarily strong, but they have a very high victory ratio, because they're experts at turning a situation to their own advantage.

"Stealing their Aspect" refers to the fundamental way in which the Thief class is played, this resource management game; "stealing using their Aspect" reflects how the Thief often becomes a malignant force within the party, viewing their own teammates as caches of wealth to plunder. Thieves are naturally prone to hurting others for their own purposes, craving drama and attention, and being of such callous dispositions that they're able to perform extreme acts of cruelty given the right motivations.

Thieves often become a target of ire within the party, disruptive forces whose quest for personal wealth and fulfillment comes at the cost of those around them. At their worst, they can bring so much heat down upon their own shoulders that the party feels the need to treat them like an enemy, which is disastrous for party harmony. Moreover, it's disastrous for the Thieves themselves, as Thieves seek wealth to compensate for some emotional emptiness, and making enemies of their friends only serves to deepen their ennui.

Thus, a Thief must be taught that true happiness and fulfillment doesn't come from the struggle for wealth, but from the building of something better with those they care about. A Thief, thus turned to heroic purposes, becomes the party's pinch hitter - an adaptable spy, an unpredictable maverick, an element of surprise - and above all, a reliable ally, capable of turning any tide in the party's favor.

ROGUE

"One who steals from [Aspect] or steals [Aspect] for others."

Rogues, on the other hand, call to mind such figures as Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to distribute to the poor. Rogues are at their best when they're agents of a well-planned heist, as they possess an unlimited toolbox - their own Aspect - to play with. Their Aspect is a treasure trove, just waiting for the Rogue to plunder it and share its riches - if only the Rogue can figure out how.

Rogues are forces of revolution. They naturally carry a rebellious spirit, one which bristles at injustice, takes a stand against authority, and questions the status quo. Their ideas are unfocused, however; they know they must rebel, but usually don't start with a clear idea of against who or what. They know that their society is injust, but they don't know how to address that injustice. They know there are villains, and may even know these villains' identity, but they don't know how best to defy them. In a similar way, they're often lost as to how to utilize their Aspect beyond its most basic applications, and usually require external assistance in order to bring out its full potential.

Rogues' true potential lies in "stealing from their Aspect" - an additive act, rather than a subtractive one, as a Thief's stealing is. Rogues are capable of removing their own Aspect's sway over another entity, allowing it to exhibit the characteristics of the opposite Aspect; a Rogue of Void can create things out of nothing, a Rogue of Heart can tease out behaviors and actions. They can also "steal their Aspect for others," allowing them access to their own Aspect's suite of abilities as well. This allows the Rogue incomparable flexibility, their abilities - like their dispositions - rebellious and subversive.

But their rebellious spirit, coupled with their lack of understanding as to who their real enemies are, is dangerous when left unchecked. Rogues often suffer from a failure to start, giving up on trying to understand the deeper implications of their abilities, and of the society they can't seem to find contentment in - but they can also suffer from a worse fate: rebellion without a cause. Rogues' free spirits can lead to them bucking the status quo in ways that actively harm others, performing acts of taboo or poor taste just because that rebellious energy needs to be put to use somewhere. These can have disastrous knock-on consequences, as some things are taboo for good reason.

Thus, Rogues need to be guided - to make connections with others, and come to a greater understanding of the world at large. Once they know their target, and what needs to be done, the Rogue makes sure there are no obstacles along the way - no safe is uncrackable, no prison inescapable, and no problem unsolvable, so long as the Rogue is there to work their magic.

MAGE

"One who guides [Aspect] or guides [Aspect] for themselves."

Mages are prophets, of the "always correct" variety - or so it seems. In actuality, Mages don't "predict" the future, they "choose" it - in a setting where the future is mutable, the Mage's ability is to speak into existence a future they desire, to tip the scales of causality and collapse possibilities into a single definite course. Their Aspect is the lens through which their "prophecy" occurs, a realm in which they command the fabric of reality itself.

As if to karmically balance this incredible power, Mages are afflicted by deep and terrible sadness. They start the game miserable, having been subjected to the greatest injustices their Aspect can offer, tormented by guilt, shame, and self-loathing. Their worldview has been shadowed with a lens of suffering and anguish, and so, too, is their view of the future. Mages usually begin the game having already set several prophecies into motion, and these early prophecies are usually obstacles that the party must overcome.

Mages "guide their Aspect" - this refers to the way their prophecies, that is, their chosen futures, always come true. Their visions may be limited to the sway of their Aspect, but it remains a powerful ability nonetheless. "Guiding their Aspect for themselves," then, outlines the Class's Active nature - the futures the Mage picks must be ones the Mage believes will come to pass.

Unfortunately, Mages have a tendency to pick ugly futures. This isn't out of malice or anger; this is because Mages start the game sad, and without intervention, grow sadder. They're prone to spirals of negativity, self-loathing, and depression, and as their outlook dims, so, too, do their forecasts. Mages suffer, but even suffering can grow familiar - can even appear comfortable or desirable, if the Mage suffers long enough. It's easy for them to grow so accustomed to misery that misery is the only outcome they can see - spelling doom for the rest of the party, one prediction at a time.

But a Mage whose party shows them kindness and forgiveness, compassion and empathy, can pull them out of their misery. How beautiful, then, the future appears! A Mage who believes in a brighter future is a force to be reckoned with. When a Mage can bring themselves to say, "and everyone lived happily ever after," you had better believe they did.

SEER

"One who who is guided by [Aspect] or guides [Aspect] for others."

Seers, meanwhile, are the true future-sighted, able to see the myriad paths the future could take. Like Mages, their Aspect serves as the lens by which their vision is colored; the Seer can sense, with fine accuracy, which paths are closest to the sway of their aspect, and which paths will take them further away. As if gifted with a guide to the game, their intuition is tied directly to the mechanics of SBURB, and they serve as the party's guides, a role indispensable in a game with so many moving parts.

Seers will struggle with blindness, first by hubris and ego, and then by self-harm. Seers begin the game quite full of themselves, proud of their prowess in their Aspect - usually arrogantly so. When this pride is inevitably shattered, Seers have a tendency to deal with their feelings of shame and guilt with willful, self-induced blindness - as if flipping a switch, they become ashamed of the pride they once placed in their Aspect, and seek to place as much distance between it and themselves as possible. There's comfort in ignorance, even if it renders the Seer useless.

Seers are "guided by their Aspect" - able to sense its presence, they gravitate toward it, and towards futures with it in abundance. And, in the same way, they "guide their Aspect for others," lighting the way for others down the path of greatest reward. Seers truly love their Aspect, no matter how much they may misplace their faith in it, and seeking it out is a great joy for them.

This is why a Seer at their worst is so tragic. By inducing intentional blindness within themselves, they are functionally deadening the strongest part of their soul. No matter the temporary relief this brings to the sharp, jagged pain of shame, it invariably deepens the Seer's suffering, as they deny themselves not only their own joy, but their ability to help others - another act which inherently delights them.

Thus, a Seer needs to be made to deal with their shattered ego head-on, to accept their own shortcomings, to become at ease with the idea that they don't have all the answers. Once their vision becomes clear, and their view becomes honest, the party nevermore has to fear becoming lost or straying from the path - the Seer will see to that.

WITCH

"One who changes [Aspect] or changes [Aspect] in others."

Witches are the winds of change, tweaking reality all around them until it suits their desires. A Witch is presence that commands both fear and respect, and their Aspect bows down before them, reduced to a mere minion in the Witch's presence, ready to attend to all their needs. In a way, the Witch's powers are straightforward - they can manipulate their Aspect as they desire, changing its qualities as they see fit. "How they see fit," then, is where the issue lies.

Witches are usually of "outsider" status, never truly being part of the society from which the rest of the party descends. Free from the same rules and common sense that govern the others on their team, Witches instead operate on a value system heavily reliant on their own emotions. What a Witch deems to be correct, to be true, or to be righteous, are often based not in any objective measure, but in subjective, emotional bias - and they're emotional creatures, indeed. Prone to fits of great anger, Witches can be benevolent one second and malicious the next, and their abilities let them imprint, to a greater degree than any other Class, their desires onto the world that comes after them.

Witches "change their Aspect," as in, the crux of their abilities lies in manipulating the qualities of their Aspect in their surroundings - extending, shortening, magnifying, shrinking, growing, removing… so on and so forth. It's a fearsome power. They also "change their Aspect for themselves" - their Aspect is hapless but to obey their desires; Witches change the world to suit themselves, and their feelings of how things "should" be often become how things "are" in short order.

Thus, a Witch who has been swayed toward evil entities and nefarious ends is a truly dangerous opponent - and it is unfortunately easy for this to happen. Witches' social isolation means they tend to trust their emotions, and a force that flatters these emotions can easily win a Witch's trust. By the same token, those that fail to flatter the Witch are often considered enemies, even if they're benevolent forces. A Witch's morality can thus become warped and topsy-turvy, which has grave consequences for the world that the Witch then shapes.

Therefore, a Witch's struggle lies in learning to see beyond their own emotions, to take in the opinions and assistance of others even when it seems superficially unpleasant, to move beyond the childlike rejection of that which is uncomfortable. Once able to see a more nuanced form of right and wrong, once able to tell evil from good, Witches can build even utopia.

SYLPH

"One who allows [Aspect] to change others or changes [Aspect] for others."

Sylphs are nurturers and healers; they bring to mind fey folk whose very footsteps cause plants to grow. Wherever they go, whatever they touch, all becomes suffused with the Sylph's Aspect, which flourishes under their careful cultivation. Sylphs adore their Aspect, and their Aspect adores them; Sylphs generally feel at peace with themselves, surrounding themselves with what they like.

A Sylph's main challenge - or rather, the main challenge that Sylphs wind up posing the rest of the party - is that Sylphs are enablers. They're attracted to those with strong wills and extreme dispositions, amused by the havoc they wreak and pleased by their attention. Sylphs love to pick out favorites and lavish them with care and attention, excusing any wrongdoing on their behalf and shielding them from consequences. At the same time, those who don't strike the Sylph's capricious fancy find themselves discarded in the Sylph's mind, shut out from the boons the Sylph can provide.

A Sylph is "one who allows their Aspect to change others" - this almost always manifests as healing, as it's an additive ability (that is to say, the Sylph can grant more of their Aspect to someone). "Changing their Aspect for others," on the other hand, explains this enabling nature of theirs - the Sylph will intervene to make the world into a playground for their favored individuals, even to the point of turning other, less "interesting" teammates into playthings for the Sylph's beloved.

Thus, while the Sylph themself isn't particularly prone to wild mood swings and acts of malice, their influence can still cause disaster by allowing unscrupulous individuals to flourish - even encouraging their worst tendencies. A Sylph's touch is subtle, but that subtlety only lends it an insidious quality, as the Sylph quietly works against the good of the many for the cruel, selfish pleasures of the few. At their very worst, the Sylph can deem themselves their only favorite, and render everyone else a minor character in their one-man show.

Thus, Sylphs must be challenged. They must be made to reckon with the fact that favorable treatment is not necessarily kindness, and that bias can easily become harm. When a Sylph is able to grasp the difference between bias and doing good, and tune their approach toward that greater good, uncolored by bias and personal preference, then there is no place safer, kinder, and more conducive to growth than the Sylph's embrace.

PRINCE

"One who destroys [Aspect] or destroys using [Aspect]."

Princes are the most anxious, psychologically anguished members of a party. They suffer from a toxic overabundance of their Aspect - its traits are taken to an extreme, and not only the Prince, but those around them, are made to suffer for it. Princes are naturally set on a path of self-destruction, the culmination of their uncontrolled accumulation of their Aspect, and their meltdowns are spectacular, taking their Aspect - and whoever is unlucky enough to be in the same room - with them.

A Prince's challenge, therefore, is as simple to understand as it is difficult to overcome. The Prince needs to learn how to calm down, relax, and find inner peace. Princes are terribly prone to circular thinking and downward spirals. Their natural inclination is to feel anxious and responsible, like they carry the weight of the world, and this causes them to act out in extreme and aggressive ways. Eventually, others pull away, put off by the Prince's intensity. This only deepens the Prince's malaise, and Princes are - pushed by this hovering sense of urgency and catastrophe - willing to employ drastic, desperate measures to enforce compliance with their wills. They wake on their moons early, reflective of their driven natures. They're determined to a frightful degree, and no sacrifice is too great, no work too dirty, if it means achieving what they see as the greater good.

Princes "destroy their Aspect" in this way - by presenting their Aspect at its worst, they make others take distance, ruining it for everyone else. Their hard wills, intense emotions, and unshakeable drive to do what (they feel) needs to be done - at any cost - is their source of power. Thus, Princes "destroy using their Aspect" - their toxic overabundance of Aspect lets them channel it into a pure, annihilatory force; what they lack in the delicate utility of the other classes, they make up for in raw, ruinous power. Princes can easily deal the greatest damage in a combat scenario, their ability to destroy overriding nearly everything that would stand against it.

Thus is the problem with Princes. They're ticking time-bombs of anxiety and frustration; when they finally go off, they carve a path of destruction, before ultimately self-destructing, leaving no trace of their Aspect behind. Not only that, but it's very difficult to defuse the bomb early; Princes have finicky, aggressive, and complicated personalities, and tend to react poorly to straightforward attempts to calm them down and reason with them. They often appear to be their own worst enemies, marching inexorably toward their own destruction.

But Princes not only can be saved, but must be saved. They must be saved because kindness and compassion must exist for their own sake, and a Prince rescued from their own worst tendencies is living proof of the truth of that sentiment. A Prince, given the peace they need to reorient their priorities, will not rest until they see a brighter future realized. They will be the first to rise, and the last man standing, banishing - as if by royal decree - all obstacles, all enemies, all misfortune, and all ills.

BARD

"One who invites destruction through [Aspect] or allows [Aspect] to be destroyed."

Bards are the wild cards of a party, responsible for both improbable victories and catastrophic defeats - sometimes both in a single session. The methods by which a Bard works are a mystery to even the Bard themselves, which make it easy for the party to dismiss their powers - and, by extension, the Bard themselves. After all, who would expect there to be consequences for something so ridiculous as a Bard?

Bards are usually targets of abject ridicule by their teams. They can't help it - they're religious types, or at least types that hold great, lofty, ridiculous beliefs near and dear to their hearts. A Bard's primary struggle invariably winds up being a crisis of faith. Bards begin the game with a positive, "correct" faith in their Aspect; however, something will inevitably occur that shakes the Bard's faith in this viewpoint to its core. In this state, Bards are incredibly fragile, and it's very easy for them to succumb to whispers of cruelty and destruction, for their beliefs to warp, and for the Bard to come to serve the worst aspects of the society they represent.

A Bard "invites destruction through their Aspect" - their powers are subtle, but have catastrophic effects. Bards are instinctively drawn towards causing the first flap of a butterfly's wing, which cascades into a grand, impossible karmic backlash. They "allow their Aspect to be destroyed" by being the conduits for the forces of their faith - whatever faith they hold - to wreak unimaginable consequences across the game.

Thus, a Bard must not be allowed to fall into darkness. The cost is too great. They must be treated with kindness, patience, and sincerity, and given a chance to re-establish their faith in a better, brighter future. If this can be done, then at the party's direst moment - in their darkest hour - they will find that kindness paid back a thousandfold, as an innocuous act by the Bard that no one remembers balloons into a miracle.

[jungwnies]

syn ' how enhypen would comfort you when you're afraid of flying on a plane ✈️ pairing ' bf!enhypen x gn!reader

word count ' 0.8k (almost equally split between members)

requested! hey!! could u make some enhypen headcanons, how the members would comfort their s/o, who is afraid of flying on a plane? btw I really like your writing style<3 (thank you so much!)

이희승 ' lee heeseung

he let's you sit on the outside seat especially because it's closest to the aisle and if you needed to breathe or just walk even to the bathroom you'd be able to easily go

holds your hand the whole time

probably in first class or business to be honest, but still makes sure you're as comfortable as you can possibly be

brings headphones for you and him because you can share audios through bluetooth

puts on something comforting on the little screen, probably asks if they have one of your favorite movies so you can keep your mind off the fact you're thousands of feet in the air flying thousands of miles away from your home

literally holds your hand the whole LIKE FR FR i can't stress this enough

his presence is so calming you probably fall asleep on him feeling safe because no matter what happens he's literally right next you

rest of the members under the cut!

박종성 ' park jay

obviously you both are in first class

holds your hand the whole time

has an arm around you the whole time

when you guys are taking off he distracts you

or whenever there is turbulence he distracts you

and during landing he also distracts you

he makes sure that you're able to sleep if it's a long flight

literally promises to not leave your side

if he has to use the bathroom i guess you're tagging along

makes a playlist for the two of you to listen to and downloads some movie on netflix before boarding so you guys can watch it because airplane mode is a bitch

but again, he's first class so he probably has wi-fi

심재윤 ' sim jake

the way he brings you a support plushie

why is he so sweet

also makes a playlist for the two of you

holds your hand the whole time or keeps an arm locked with yours

leans his head on your shoulder or lets you lean your head on his shoulder

he’s like a human version of a comfort plushy

doesn’t leave your side the whole ride

doesn’t even use the bathroom because he went before the plane ride

always asked if you were hungry or needed anything

if you ever got scared he would always give you his full undivided attention

even if he had to work on something while on the plane to prepare he’d put it aside for you

박성훈 ' park sunghoon

i love sunghoon but he’s the type to just not understand why you’re so scared of planes 😭

obviously he’d comfort you but he’d still be so confused on why

he lets you hold his hand or lean on him

even though he doesn’t understand he still cares and makes sure you’re okay

bro is the definition of “i don’t understand but i love you”

he’s just never sure of how he feels BUT anyways

he promised to be the person you can lean on whenever you’re scared, sad, or even happy

and that’s what he’ll do on the plane

he will stick by your side until it’s over and promise you everything will be alright because he’s right there

김선우 ' kim sunoo

opposite of sunghoon

completely understands your scared

literally comes prepared

brings the most comforting items on his carry on so he can distract you from the fact you guys are hundreds if not thousands of feet in the air

brings face masks and makes tiktok’s with you about the skin care routine for his private LMFAO

will make you smile the whole time

sunoo will literally make you forget you’re on the plane because of how comforting his presence simply is

promises you that everything will be alright

and that it’ll be over soon

as long as you’re on the plane with sunoo everything is aye okay

양정원 ' yang jungwon

i feel like this is starting to get repetitive

but this boy is here for you through thick and thin

he will be your fucking shoulder

your fucking pILLOW on that plane

he will make sure you're okay

he has leader qualities, it would be unlike him to not care for you

he always asks you how your doing

asks if you need anything

he is CONCERNED

he wants you to be calm so he always lets you hold his hand

or grab onto his arm

he doesn't care

as long as you feel safe on that plane he is happy

西村 力 ' nishimura riki

he's low key like sunghoon in this situation

he doesn't understand why you're scared

but he cares so he will do everything to make sure you're safe

he jokes with you a lot on the plane

low key people side-eyed because why are you guys laughing every 5 minutes?

he gets your mind off the plane ride because of how much he makes you laugh tbh

he also lets you sleep on his shoulder if it's a long plane ride

he's not as confused as sunghoon on why you don't like planes

riki is low key really good at comforting you, more than he knows tbh

2022 © jungwnies thank you for reading and the lovely request - reblogs are appreciated

[suntoru]

*BITES YOUR ARM MAJESTICALLY*

summary: exactly what it sounds like (pranking the genshin boys)

feat. scaramouche, al haitham, diluc, itto, kaeya, xiao, venti

a/n: happs late april fools this one was written at like 3 am

warnings: reader being an anklebiter, crackfic (completely utter nonsense), innuendos (not rated for minors), fluff

➵ “…what the fuck?”

─ ✰ SCARAMOUCHE gives you the ultimate look of disgust as soon as he feels something nom his shoulder gently. immediately he pulls back, his face wrinkling in utter confusion. what just bit him? his expression relaxes for a split second when he sees it’s just you, but goes back to repulsion. did you even brush your teeth this morning? do you know where his clothes have been? you start laughing at him because you got his reaction all on camera, but he’ll have the last laugh when he takes the story out of context. oh well, now all the fatui thinks you have an oral kink 💀💀

─ ✰ AL HAITHAM pushes his reading glasses down, slightly lowering his book to see what shenanigans you’re up to now. his eyes raise, seeing you’re now attached to his lower leg, but aside from that, he has no reaction. he saw the camera that is, until he finally turns to you and says, “interesting. according to this book i’m reading, there is more bacteria and fungi living on your shoulder than walking barefoot through the forest.” while you gag and run to wash your mouth, he smirks and continues reading his cheesy romance novel.

➵ genuinely concerned

─ ✰ DILUC, unlike the first two, is genuinely concerned for you. are you feeling alright? did you hit your head somewhere? are you drunk? you do know where his jacket has been… right? is somebody forcing you to do this? he has so many questions, but all your response is in incomprehensible nonsense muffled against his sleeve that he can’t understand. “y/n, darling? are you all right? can you breathe in there? would you like me to call my nurse?”

─ ✰ ITTO is also extremely concerned but for the opposite reason as diluc. in his mind, there is only one reason why you are biting him, and the only one that makes sense. obviously, somehow you have turned into a zombie and are currently trying to infect him. oh, but you’ll have to try harder to defeat the one and oni arataki itto! he heroically grabs a pot from the kitchen and smacks it against your face, smirking proudly. he just saved himself and the rest of teyvat from a possible zombie invasion!

➵ makes a dirty joke out of it

─ ✰ KAEYA is barely even fazed by your antics. you’ve pranked him before, and he knows you’re trying to get a reaction out of him, but he simply won’t just give it to you :( he thinks it’s fun to tease you, and what better punishment than to fluster you himself? he makes it as embarrassing as possible so you just drop it.“oh, y/n, that’s quite a revealing spot for a hickey, shall i give you a matching one?” please smack him in the face because he’s only half joking 😞

─ ✰ CHILDE is far worse than kaeya on this matter, at least he has some common decency. unfortunately for you, childe does not. if you, for some reason, decide to do this around your friends, he can and will fucking moan 💀 if you’re alone, it’s more toned down, but still teasing enough to make you want to really sink your teeth down on him. “babe, this is kind of kinky… if you wanted to initiate something, you could’ve just told me~”

➵ bites you back

─ ✰ XIAO’S first reaction is a mix of ‘wtf’ and flusteredness. to be fair, he’s always flustered with you, but he’s also confused. what do you mean by this? ah, this must be another one of those silly human customs to express love, equivalent to hugging or kissing. he thinks he’s seen a man do this to woman once, and deems it a normal thing to do. so if you ever decide to do this, be warned that you’ll be met back with an equally majestic chomp of your own.

─ ✰ ITTO’S second instinct to that of the first one is that you’re trying to start a friendly competition with him. he assumes that this is a game, and the rules are probably like the punching bag game at the arcade. the harder you hit, the more points you get! while yes, he doesn’t mind losing to you, he’s not purposefully going to lose to you either. where’s the fun in that? while you give him a baby nom, he full on inhales your left shoulder <3

➵ runs away, trips over a rock and farts cutely

─ ✰ VENTI

do i need to elaborate or

©hawkssimpsblog 2023. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[southern-fried-simpin]

Doctor-Patient Confidentiality | BTAA!Scarecrow x fem!reader

A/N: Hey y’all look I’m writing again lol

Warning(s): Implied doctor-patient relationship kinda thing, floof with some suggestive stuff, mentions of implied abusive relationship, therapy stuff, unethical practices technically, this might be a little cheesy 😅

Should you really be wearing a new dress and heels that you bought for “no reason” just to see your doctor? No, probably not. However, he probably shouldn’t be recommending you other doctors “in case you feel like you need a second opinion on…anything” either.

To anyone else, it would sound like he found that you were in need of some sort of specialized treatment he couldn’t provide, however that couldn’t be any farther from the truth. The truth was that Jonathan had slowly taken a liking to you, and unfortunately, you had taken a liking to him too.

When you first started seeing him, you had the run-of-the-mill doctor-patient relationship: he was there to provide counseling and you were his patient. Jonathan was…looser though. More relaxed than other therapists you’d had before. He made you feel comfortable, even when talking about the hard stuff. He made you laugh. He made you smile. He even made you blush sometimes. That isn’t to say he ever said anything lewd, he just gave you a compliment here and there in the beginning.

“Well, don’t you look nice! Doing something fun later?”

Then the compliments became more frequent and more…audacious.

“Ooh, cute little number ya got on! Did you wear that just for little old me?”

You hadn’t that day, but you had started getting dressed up for him after that.

And now here you were: sitting in the lobby reading your book and eagerly waiting for Jonathan to come out and usher you in.

“Good morning, Miss y/n,” you looked up at the sound of his voice as he stood in the doorway grinning, “ready for our session?”

You nodded before standing, at which point his eyes widened for just a split second before they returned back to normal.

Once inside the office, you sat down on the couch while he sat in the matching chair opposite you, pen and clipboard in hand.

“Now I believe last session…” he flipped through some of his notes,”…we ended with your fear of romantic relationships…” Jonathan looked up at you with a warm yet sly smile on his face. “Would you like to pick up from there?”

“Sounds good to me.” You smiled back, watching as he clicked his pen. As happy as you were to see him, you remembered that you were also here to deal with any obstacles that held you back.

Oddly enough, one such obstacle was the subject of romantic relationships with others.

And you were discussing it with your therapist that you had a crush on. God really does have a sick sense of humor, doesn’t he?

“Now you said something last time about not wanting to…’share’ yourself with someone?”

“Share pieces of myself…”, you said quietly.

“Because in your last relationship, you were with someone who wasn’t treating you as an equal, is that right?”

“No he- well it’s not that I wasn’t his equal, it’s that he um…” you struggled to find the words. Meanwhile, Jonathan sat patiently waiting for you to figure out what you were trying to say.

“May I say something here?” His voice broke the silence between you two.

“Sure.”

“You said this person treated you as an equal…” he raised a brow at you, “…yet they didn’t allow you to have the same right they had to things like privacy, free time, ability to make choices…right?” He looked at you knowingly. It was a question you knew the answer to already.

“Right…” you sighed.

Jonathan set aside his clipboard and readjusted himself in his chair before speaking. He leaned in closer towards you.

“So let’s say for example’s sake…” He looked up in thought for a moment then snapped his fingers. “Let’s say you and I are dating…” A toothy smile.

“So let’s say we’re a happy little couple and we’ve been a happy little couple for awhile because we looove each other and we wanna be together forever…” The sentence is punctuated with a sugary sweet tone made to make you laugh, and it did. “So we have a healthy relationship,” he continued, “where, yes, you do share pieces of yourself with me, but I also share pieces of myself with you. We don’t share ourselves just hoping the other will reciprocate, we share because we’re comfortable, because we want to. Are you following?”

“Yes.” You said with an unwittingly dreamy tone to your voice.

Jonathan smiled softly. An oddly warm gesture that differed from his usual calculated yet charismatic demeanor.

“Okay, so in sharing ourselves, we share respect for each other; we communicate, we set boundaries, we build trust. If there’s a problem, we talk about it. I don’t hack into your phone to look at your private messages, I ask you if I have done anything to make you feel like I’m mad at you or neglecting your needs. The same goes for you.” His eyes traveled down to your lap, where your hands were neatly folded, as he carefully took hold of them before looking at you again.

“That’s what a healthy relationship, where two people are equals, is. Does that make sense?”

You nodded and smiled, again dreamily.

“Okay and does that sound anything like your past relationship?”

With a smile still on your face, you shook your head and began to slowly lean in towards him. At this point he had turned slightly to gather some things, you weren’t sure what and didn’t care, honestly. Nonetheless, he kept talking.

“Exactly, and you deserve to have th-“

He fell silent when he turned back to you and noticed your face, now only inches from his. Jonathan looked a bit nervous all of the sudden, his ears and cheeks flushed slightly as he stared at you quietly. He was stuck there, eyes flitting from your eyes then to your lips and back again. The air of haughtiness and charisma he usually had about himself had disappeared.

Or maybe it had just moved in your direction.

As you leaned in closer to Jonathan, he shifted backwards slightly in his chair, a movement so minuscule that you didn’t notice despite your eyes being on him.

Then finally, your lips met his. His heart raced and was beating so loud that you could hear it.

Yet somehow it felt like you were both floating. Time and space didn’t exist

He broke the kiss rather abruptly, and cleared his throat.

“Ah…hm…um…” he blinked rapidly and tapped his fingers on the arm rest.

Oh no. Oh nononononono. You made him uncomfortable.

You watched him expectantly, prepared for the worst and cringing at your impulsivity.

“I think you’ve made a great deal of progress here, however I’m not sure if I can treat you any further…”

There it is, and here it comes to hit you head on.

“The issues you’re facing are…outside of my field of expertise I’m afraid, but uh…” Jonathan quickly took a business card and scribbled something on it. “Why don’t you make an appointment with a colleague of mine, hm?” You nodded with a solemn smile.

He stood up, and smiled somewhat awkwardly at you. You carefully followed suit, the pit in your stomach almost felt so heavy that you would fall right back into the chair if you stood up too fast.

After walking you to the door, he cleared his throat again.

“Oh and uh…,” he swallowed. “If you’d like, I can tell you about more options available over dinner on Saturday?” He gave you a smug grin.

Now there was the Jon you knew.

You grinned back at him before speaking.

“I’d love that, actually…do you maybe want to see that new slasher film afterwards?”

“Holy f- I mean, yes absolutely!”

With that you said your goodbyes to each other and left, giggling on your way out.

Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.

[1starqi]

Not That Bad

genre: fluff, college!au (you briefly fight with your best friend/old roommate)

pairing: bassist!soobin x student!reader

wc: 1.2k

note: I've never moved anywhere don't come at me for how I wrote it, please. YXA is yesterday x alone lol

(Chapter List)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There had been tension all morning in the apartment you shared with your best friend, Lee Soyoon. Something had been off since you two woke up. When she woke up, she deviated from her usual routine and ate breakfast alone and the rest of the time had been lounging in her room, unseen. Finally, she came out of her room and stood in the doorway to the main room.

“I’m moving out.” She said tentatively. You could almost feel your heart stop. You paused rolling your kimbap lunch, resting it on its red cotton napkin.

You tensed your eyebrows as you looked at her, “What?”

“I’m moving out.” She said it with more conviction this time. “I’m moving in with my boyfriend.” She sounded apologetic, but firm in her decision—unfortunately for you.

“What the hell, Soyoon? You know I can’t afford this apartment alone. Do I really have to find a new roommate?” Your apprehensive question was rhetorical.

“He has a roommate too! He needs somewhere to stay. He can split with you, I’m sure of it.” Right, her boyfriend had to kick out his roommate to live with her too. Rooming with someone you didn’t know wasn’t what you expected this year—not at all. You were excited about girls’ nights and spending the year doing everything together, but that all came crumbling down.

“Are you joking? I’ve never talked to him! I don’t even know his name.” You were almost yelling, now. Your chest rose and fell with a deep breath to console yourself. “I know you like him. I’m sorry for yelling, Soyoon. This is just a big change for me. Give me his number, would you?” You told her. You couldn’t afford to be fighting with your lifeline at your university and also struggling to pay your rent, but you were still mad and processing the change your life was about to undergo.

“It’s Choi Soobin. I’ll text you his number.” She knew you were still mad when you closed your eyes and took another deep breath. Even aside from the obvious signs, she can read your usually bubbly personality like a book. “He’s kind of shy but he’s a sweetheart, I swear. If you don’t become friends you don’t even have to talk.” This would’ve been fine if you weren’t so excited to have someone to talk to all the time.

“Fine.” Ding. You got his number. The pads of your fingers grumpily typed out a message. If you had the power of hindsight then, you might’ve cared to reword the text.

That was how you got to where you are now, waiting for Soobin to finish unloading his last pack of things into the middle of your main room. After you sent him the text, he sent an apologetic one back. With rent coming up so soon, and him having nowhere to go, you figured it was best for him to move in. He seemed shy and reserved, the opposite of what you were looking for, but you told yourself it would do. Your new, scarily tall roommate ducked under the main door, carrying the poster child of a moving-in box—brown, cardboard, and full to the brim. He gives you a slight nod as he comes in.

“Want a tour?” You ask him, wishing for some semblance of human connection. He nods again, but it’s a larger motion this time. “That’s the living room,” You point to your left, his right, “that’s the kitchen,” you point to your right, his left.

“Where’s the open bedroom?” He asks in a soft voice. He seems scared to be in your—now equally his—apartment.

“It’s right over here! Mine is on the right, and yours is on the left. They have the same blueprint.” You tell him, guiding him down the short hallway that ends at the door to the bathroom. “What do you like to do?” You attempt to strike up a conversation.

“Not much. I study a lot.” You were wishing for a more in-depth answer other than studying, but you tell yourself you’ll work with it.

“What’s your major?” You ask him, both standing in the same hallway that Soyoon told you she’d be leaving in and it’s an unwelcome realization of cause and effect.

“Pure math.” You purse your lips and nod, silently asking for him to say more, but he doesn’t. “Um, I’ll tell you if I have any questions. I’m going to set up my room.” He flashes a slight smile that creases the edge of his eyes. His tall figure squeezes past you to get the boxes and haul them into Soyoon’s now-empty room. You watch as he picks up the first box, labeled bass before you turn into your room and shut the door behind you. Does he play bass? Does he just really like fish?

For the rest of the day, you don’t interact with each other. He stays in his room while you mill about the rest of the house. When closing the door, he didn’t know you had to really push it hard to close it (Soyoon would know), and his door is cracked open.

Trying not to be a respectful roommate, you try to walk past as fast as possible. But on your fifth round of walking in and out of your room, something catches your eye in his room. He seems to have unpacked nicely. His room is mostly dark, as he has the shades drawn, but you can see a glint of sunlight reflecting off of his dark mahogany bass—a guitar, not a fish. He’s sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor, wearing chunky black headphones and a raspberry jam-colored sweater. He’s hunched over a book, maybe a comic book, and has a quarter-full water glass from your kitchen in his hand. He looks up. He looks up. You’ve been staring for too long. 

He pulls one side of the big black headphones off of his ear. “Are you okay?” He asks, voice gravelly from apparent lack of use.

“I was looking at your bass.” You push the door open a little wider to talk to him, it creaks on its hinges.

“Really? What about it?” He sounds suspicious. The way he says it is way out of character for your current impression of him.

“I play guitar so I just think it’s cool.” You shrug.

“You play!?” His eyes light up. It looks like his interest is piqued.

“You didn’t see? My door’s been open all day!” You tell him. His previously aloof atmosphere is gone. It’s like you broke his shell with one sentence in one day. Maybe you should start rethinking your lucky number.

He starts to defend himself, looking giddy, “I wasn’t looking! What kind of guitar do you play?”

“I started off with acoustic, but I play mostly electric these days. I like playing YXA, what about you?” You cock your head slightly at him.

“Did you say YXA?” He’s so excited he takes his headphones off and places them on the (new) patterned carpet under him.

“Yeah, do you know them?” 

“I play their music all the time! I love their music so much.” He’s almost giggling now. It’s really cute to see him fanboy over something when he was so aloof the rest of the day. Here, you realize he’s not actually aloof—he’s just shy around new people. “Want to do a duet sometime? I’ve been itching for a guitarist to play with.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad living with him after all.

[pumpkinmagekupo]

For the spooky:

Sleep paralysis - Hilda - Trick

Eager to see what you come up with!

Sorry the slow response!!! Thank you for the request!!!!

(´｡• ω •｡`) ♡ I hope you enjoy it!!!

Grave Encounters: Frozen Air

Sleep paralysis - Hilda - Trick

Hilda was furious, she pulled against the knights who dragged her down the corridor. “Unhand me! You pompous-”

”Silence you lowborn dog. Some of us do not blindly follow Ser Aymeric or that fool heir of house Haillenarte.” The knight snarled, the other knights with him joined in his jeering.

They threw her into a cell right at the end of the corridor and locked it. Banging the bars tauntingly “We might come and fetch you once you’ve cooled down a bit.” They laughed loudly and left her alone, the sound of a heavy door sounded in the distance. 

Hilda clenched her fists and kicked the metal bars of her cell.  She had been framed by the knights. Some of the high born didn’t like that everyone was on equal footing now and even more so that they could carry weapons.

But she had the support of several high houses, Ser Aymeric included.

Hilda sat down angrily on the poor excuse of a bed, her breath floated away from her like little clouds. It was cold in the vault but it wasn’t supposed to be an enjoyable experience. She pulled her knees up into her chest.

I just have to wait for word to get to Stephanivien..

She found herself staring off into the distance at the only source of light she had a torch hanging on the wall on the opposite side of the bars.  She saw the flame flicker in a sudden breeze and the temperature dropped sharply.  Hilda went to move but found her body completely unresponsive. The torched flickered again, this time a hand reached around the flame, freezing it solid. That really caught Hilda’s attention.

The clank of armour filled the room, from the corridor a towering knight came into view a thick mist followed it.  Hilda tried to blink but even that was difficult. The knight stopped and slowly turned its head towards her.  Hollow sockets stared at her. Hilda’s body still refused to move.

“You don’t belong here.” The bars didn’t stop it from entering the cell, it fazed through like they weren’t even there. The closer it got, the air got colder and colder.  Hilda felt the burning sensation of the cold spreading across her body. It was already hard to breathe but now it was even worse, like somebody was pressing down on her chest, squeezing all the air out of her lungs.  

It stooped down and Hilda got a good look at its face. Skin barely hanging onto bone, the smell of decaying flesh, filled her nose but her body still refused to move “Such a defiant look in your eyes.” The knight moved even closer “I shall expunge your defiance and your life.”

Opening it’s skeletal jaws and inhaling sharply, it sounded like a tunnel of wind whirling around them. Hilda felt like she was being split in two, she desperately wanted to take a breath but the air was sucked away from her. 

She heard the sound of ice breaking and everything around her went black.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this….

-

Stephanivien almost kicked the door open “she is under the support of house Haillenarte!” 

”You’re not allowed-”

“I suggest you move aside.” Aymeric ordered sternly. The knights quickly parted and nervously followed them down the corridor.

“Hilda!!” Stephanivien called, looking between cells until he reached the last cell. “Hilda-” he didn't hear her snap at him. She didn’t move, just sat against the wall. “Open the cell!” Hurrying over to her, he crouched beside her. She was ice cold and had no sign of life. Frowning, he noticed her shooting arm was missing. It looked like it had been turned into ice and it had shattered.

“Impossible! It has barely been a few bells-” one of the knights argued.

Hilda’s death was ruled as negligence of the knights who unjustly arrested her but rumours floated around about the condition her body was found in: nobody knows for certain what happened in the vault.

[hannahmanderr]

(part 1 of 2)

Newton's third law states for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

The Heart of the Infinite Realms sets out to prove that wrong.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny reeled.

Remnants of fleeting memories that weren’t his own assaulted him like a swarm of angry bees. There was the weight of a pulsating ring lifting from his finger - 

- and the distant thunder of a door slamming open -

- and -

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Star rolled her eyes. “Listen Pauli, if he really thinks he can use you like a plaything and toss you aside the moment he thinks he’s found someone better, then he never even deserved to breathe the same air as you.”

“H-he told me I was special!” Paulina sniffled. “That I-I was the on-”

“Girl, you know I love you, but I told you this when you first started seeing him!” Star interrupted. “He’s a player! Like literally! That boy can’t keep it in -”

“But he ch-cheated on me! No one cheats on me!”

She flicked her eyes both ways as she crossed the street. Paulina’s house wasn’t too far of a walk, but she did have a couple of streets to cross to get there. “Exactly. No one cheats on you and gets away with it. You’re the queen. You’re the one who rules.”

Paulina sighed with a dramatic flair only she could perfect. “I don’t feel like the queen. Not when I can’t have what I want…”

It was a rare show of vulnerability from her. Paulina never showed weakness, not to anyone. The only person she would open up to was Star, and even then she would not do it often. Things usually had to get pretty bad for her to be so blunt. 

Still, Star frowned. “Are you on about Danny Phantom again? Because I thought we -”

“No! I’m keeping my promise! No ghost boy until he realizes I’m right for him!”

“Good girl.” She skipped over a puddle, and a sudden grin blossomed on her face. “Ohhh, wait, I think I know what this is about,” she said with a mischievous air.

“What?”

Star’s grin widened. “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about what you told me at Dale’s party last month. I know what you really want. Or should I say… who you want?”

She could practically hear Paulina’s stunned expression over the phone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said flatly.

“Mhmm. Sure. You were drunk, but you weren’t that wasted.”

“I wasn’t anything because it never happened!”

Star laughed. Paulina’s house was just around the corner and a block down the road now. “Pauli, you can admit it to me. I’m not gonna tell anyone. Besides, I think it’s sweet how you pine after her!”

Paulina groaned, and there was a soft thump as she presumably flopped onto her bed. “It’s not pining! Díos mio, it’s not anything! Like I would fall for a goth geek like her, even if she is pretty!”

Star had to bite her lip to keep from guffawing at her friend’s slip. And to think Paulina was denying this crush so vehemently.

“Well, I -”

The sky exploded around her.

Experience had long since taught her to duck immediately. When you lived in a town plagued by ghosts who could fly, there were only so many reasonable responses to loud noises. Miraculously, she managed to keep the phone pressed to her ear.

She glanced up fearfully. The air hummed with potent energy, the kind that usually heralded a powerful ghost, only this was dialed up to an eleven. A series of chills ran down her spine, and in spite of herself, she shivered.

Above her, the sky keened with an ominous rumble that shook her to the bone. Her heart plummeted when the sharp crackling of lightning pierced her ears and a blinding fork of green light split the sky. 

The edges of the cracks began to try and pull themselves away from each other, revealing even more green light. Just beyond, if she squinted, she could see the black of a pitch dark void trying to creep into the cracks and push them apart even more.

And just as quickly as the lightning and the cracks had appeared, they disappeared with a deafening snap that jolted Star’s gut out of place and sent her falling onto the sidewalk.

For a minute, she couldn’t do anything other than breathe heavily, trying to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. Paulina’s voice was running at a hundred miles per hour in her ear, but she couldn’t find it within herself to even try to pay attention. Something inside her boiled away at her blood, filling her with a kind of dread she’d only felt a handful of times before. 

Very carefully, she propped herself up so she was sitting. She couldn’t find any remnant of what had just happened - only confused neighbors emerging from their homes, peering up and wondering the same thing she was.. 

“... was that? Star! Star, please! I heard a loud noise, are you okay?”

The words slowly started to take form in her brain. “Y-yeah,” she whispered, still watching everyone point up at the sky and talk amongst themselves. “I’m fine… I think… Did you see the sky?”

¿Qué piensas? Of course I saw it! What even happened?”

Star swallowed. “I don’t know…” But whatever it is can’t be good, she finished silently. Not when you lived in a town constantly plagued by the supernatural.

“I-I’ll try to tell you what I can when I get there,” she promised, hoisting herself onto her feet and jogging towards Paulina’s house. It shouldn’t have been more than a block, by that point. 

She didn’t know how on earth she was going to explain it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  He staggered backward, the blinding green light from the split sky still imprinted on the back of his eyelids. His hand hit the stone wall behind him, and if it was the wall of the Keep or Long Now or the Acropolis or his own house, he didn’t know. 

Swooning, he pitched to the side. Fragments of foreign memory still plagued him with the echoes of sounds he didn’t recognize, like the unearthly roar of rage and anguish -

- and the broken cry of a disembodied voice -

- and the sound of -

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sydney yawned noisily as the shade of his trigonometry teacher, Mrs. Rekdal, wrote out another equation on the blackboard. In life, Ms. Rekdal had been a tiny, crotchety Norwegian lady with a distinct distaste for nonsense. Apparently, her shade held similar attitudes.

She whirled around sharply and pointed her chalk at the classroom. “Who said that?” she demanded, beady eyes coming to rest on each and every student in turn. “If this is so boring, perhaps it’s time I assigned you another twenty problems for homework, eh?”

Sydney froze. Granted, he didn’t particularly care if they got another twenty problems (things like homework become meaningless when your entire afterlife is tied to the shadow memory of a high school), and he knew Ms. Rekdal would easily forget about the incident, but even after 50 years of trig lessons from her, incurring her wrath still shook him to the core.

The girl behind him - not one of the ones he’d finally managed to win over, sadly - kicked the bottom of his seat. “It was Poindexter!” she said. Her voice barely concealed her snickers. “He did it!”

Sydney turned to glare at her. “Real chummy of you, Kathy.”

She merely flashed him a cheeky grin.

“A-hem!”

Sydney yelped at the sharp crack of Ms. Rekdal’s ruler slapping against his desk. Sheepishly, trying to keep his shoulders from creeping up towards his ears, he turned back to meet her fiery gaze. She had always been one of those teachers that seemed like they could stare into your soul, and now felt no different. 

“Well, Mr. Poindexter?” she said. She peered over the rims of her tortoise-shell glasses. “Tell me why I shouldn’t send all of you home with an extra hour of homework tonight, since you seem to be the wise guy here!”

He bit back a comment about how it was impossible for her to send them home with extra homework - for all intents and purposes, the echo of Casper High was home - and instead tried for an apologetic smile. “W-well, you see, ma’am, I -”

Ms. Rekdal disappeared.

Sydney blinked. “What the -” He waved a hand around where she’d been standing, but there was no trace of her. “Did you guys -”

He cut himself short when he turned around, only to see the rest of the class had disappeared too. Not even their bags and books and papers remained.

He stood up, and his chair fell to the ground with a clatter. “Alright, if this is someone’s funny idea of a prank, I’ll have ya know this is a lame one, buster!”

Something shifted outside the window.

Something of a girlish scream tore from his throat as he looked out the window only to see a big, gaping rip of pure darkness emerging against the already-dark horizon of the Ghost Zone. Around the edges, ectoplasm warped and wobbled. Neighboring doors and windows were swallowed whole, or disintegrated, or simply glitching. 

Even through the glass, he could hear the distant sounds of a guttural, furious roar. His eyes flew open, and his core shuddered to a halt.

He knew that roar anywhere. 

“I-impossible!” he gasped. He made to run for the door and tripped over his fallen chair. “He can’t be - he’s supposed to be locked away! I-I have to…”

Have to what? If his ears weren’t tricking him, if this truly was him… what could little old him do? He was a wimp! Nothing like the kind of person needed to beat him up! Nowhere near as strong as -

The answer hit him like a brick wall.

“Phantom!” He worked to untangle himself from the chair. “I’ve gotta -”

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Mr. Poindexter?”

Sydney blinked again, and Ms. Rekdal stood over him, arms crossed and eyes as beady as ever.

“What?” His ears fell deaf to the snickers of his classmates around him as he sat up, staring out the window.

The tear of darkness was gone. The roar had died away. The doors had been returned.

As if nothing had ever happened.

“Sit! Up! Poindexter!” Ms. Rekdal snapped at him. “Unless if you don’t think you need history class anymore, in which case I’m more than happy to send you straight to the principal’s office!”

Sydney stopped in the middle of righting his chair. “History class? But this is trig!”

This time, he heard his classmates’ giggles. “Wow, did you really hit your head that hard?” Kathy said, still laughing behind her hand. “Trig class, what a joke!”

“I don’t -”

“Enough!” Ms. Rekdal barked. “There’s been enough interruption to this class for one day! The next person to disrupt class will earn themselves a one way trip to a month’s worth of detention!”

Sydney gazed around the room helplessly. Sure enough, the posters of formulas had disappeared in favor of maps and posters with the presidents. Rather than the math they’d been working on before, the blackboard was covered in notes about the War of 1812. His classmates all sat in the same seats, but they held history textbooks in their hands instead of trigonometry textbooks.

His mouth formed around soundless words. This… it couldn’t be right. The shade never changed. It never changed. It was impossible! It was an echo, it couldn’t change! Everything always remained the same!

Until now. Until that rip in the sky. Until that roar.

Without another word, Sydney turned and fled out the door.

He had to warn someone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He fell into something squishy and warm and loud, something yelling his name into his ear. He flinched away from the sound. It grated too harshly on his ears. It only added to the cacophony of alien memories overwhelming him.

And yet worse than the peppering of unfamiliar memories and the swimming thoughts and the disorientation, was the intense burning that consumed his core and heart, inside and out. Like someone had taken him to the sun and dropped him inside. Or like someone had stabbed it with a knife of fire and blood blossoms.

Like being caught in the crossfire of life and death all over again.

He groaned weakly and drew his knees to his chest. It was too much to bear. Too much. Too hot. Too much like the memory of a razor-sharp sword swinging down into his eye - 

- and the angry flames of a crown trying to reject him - 

- and the -

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Fright Knight sighed as he carefully petted Nightmare’s fiery mane. He did not own much; he was a servant to the throne, and the throne provided for him. He had no need for belongings, not like other ghosts. Even if he’d had belongings, he couldn’t guarantee they would even remain the same with the changing of the throne. Everything, even down to his armor, always changed.

Still though, there were a few things he could always count on having. His sword, for instance, christened as Sāwol Rīpere many centuries before, with the coronation of the most recent king. Of course, its name changed with each coronation of each new king, but the sword remained his. The tool with which to carry out his sacred charge.

And his beautiful mare. Her name too changed along with the sword’s (and his own), but she remained by his side throughout the centuries. His duty to the throne aside, Sāwol Rīpere and Nightmare were the two things he prized most. His two constants amidst an existence of rotating rulers and rotating identities.

Granted his relationship with Sāwol Rīpere, now better known by its more modern translation of Soul Shredder, had been strained over the past few centuries. Even now, sheathed and hanging at his side, he could feel its power itching to be freed, its need to reap souls to the Realm of Eternal Terrors, as it had been commissioned to do with the name it had been granted.

It was a power he despised.

And yet it was a power he couldn’t reject.

Not yet, at least.

He still managed to take comfort in Nightmare. Though her appearance had changed to evoke fear in those who saw her, to him, she was the same magnificent steed she had been millenia ago, back when she’d first been given to him. Their bond was strong, one-of-a-kind. No matter what, he knew he could rely on her to be his faithful companion.

As he stroked her neck and mane, though, he felt her muscles tense beneath his hand. Despite having no visible face, the Fright Knight frowned. “Nightmare? What troubles you?”

As if in response, a crashing force of energy slammed into them both.

The Fright Knight braced himself against the barrage. He’d found himself in the midst of many onslaughts before, but none so strong as this. Nightmare whinnied with anxiety, and he suspected the only reason she did not kick her hoof against the ground was because she too needed to brace herself against the force.

Almost as quickly as it came, it left, and in its wake came a rumble that caused his armor to clink together loudly. Across the sky of the Realms above him, green light flashed and forked, and with a great heave that he could feel in his core, it began to tear itself apart, exposing a darkness like none he had seen before.

At the same time, another sensation grew in his core, one that he’d not felt in many centuries. A certain yearning that strained against himself, one that demanded to be satisfied immediately. As he watched the tear in the sky grow, his eyes widened as the recognition of the yearning dawned on him.

“After all these years,” he whispered. “Could it be…?”

For a moment, he stood there, reveling in the feeling. True, this was not an entirely foreign pull on his core, but there was a distinct… lightness to it. Not heavy or forceful or with the sense of impending doom that had accompanied it the last time it had appeared. No, this one felt promising. 

Like for the first time in hundreds of years, he could allow himself to hope again.

And then the next moment, yet another sensation wrapped its hot grasp around his core. He gasped at the familiar sting, and Nightmare reared with a loud neigh.

Of course she would. He knew she hated the sting as much as she did.

“Calm yourself!” he said, unable to keep the urgency out of his voice. He reached up to stroke her neck again, and she dutifully relaxed into his touch. Still though, she made sure to voice her displeasure through a series of nickers and grunts.

“I know, my mare.” He couldn’t resist how his fingers tightened around the tendrils of flame that formed her mane. “He’s been awakened again. He’s…” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t bring himself to reassure his horse in the face of the revelation.

He swallowed thickly. The hot grip on his core was undeniable. It had held him captive for too long now, ever since a crown of flames was placed upon the new king’s head. He knew it all too well. His core demanded that he follow it, that he fulfill his duty to the throne.

And yet the new sensation, the new tug at his core… it too demanded his attention. Though softer and quieter than the sting, it beckoned to him as well. It told him of a duty that needed equally fulfilled. The same duty demanded by the sting.

He sighed again, shakily, and carefully untangled his fingers from Nightmare’s mane. The feeling of his core at conflict with itself was quickly becoming all too much for him to bear.

He needed to choose. 

And he knew which one would win out in his core, regardless of his own desires.

Slowly, he mounted Nightmare. With a cry, he snapped the reins, and his mare took off like a rocket.

Headed straight for Pariah’s Keep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No!”

His cry was strangled; his mouth felt too clumsy around it. The scratchiness in his throat didn’t help matters, and he couldn’t remember if it had been from all the screaming, but had it actually been him doing the screaming? He couldn’t remember, and he had too many memories jumbled around in his head.

And he had priorities. Like the last memory of the Fright Knight. And his panging, burning core. 

His core, burning with the same hot grasp that had taken the hold of the Fright Knight.

Trembling, he blindly attempted to push himself away from whatever warm, soft thing he’d fallen on. “He’s -” he gasped, unable to catch his breath. “Pa- he’s…”

Voices around him drowned his own feeble voice out. They shouted, only adding to the overstimulation. Were they talking to him? Yelling at him? He couldn’t tell. It was like trying to listen underwater.

With another gurgle, his arms gave out from under him, and -

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He fell face first onto the stone floor. The dome of the Ecto-Skeleton shielded his face from most of the damage, but the force of the blow still shook his body and caused him to crash painfully against the side. Hopefully that crack in his ribs was more imagined than real.

Ignore it, he repeated to himself. The same mantra he’d been repeating to himself the entire fight. Do what needs to be done.

Still though, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing down at the dashboard.

19%.

18%.

17%.

Not enough.

It wouldn’t be enough.

Gritting his teeth, he summoned a picture of Amity Park to mind. Pushed out the pain. Pushed out the feeling of energy draining from him faster than he could replace it. Pulled in every desperate thought about the city and people he loved so much. His friends. His family.

Do what needs to be done. For them.

As he stumbled to his feet, gasping at how much energy even such a simple movement cost him, Pariah cackled above him, his laugh deep and thunderous. “Surrender, child!” he taunted from his place at the foot of the dais. “You can’t possibly win!”

Danny’s eyes narrowed.

16%.

15%.

Pariah was right. God, the thought made his stomach turn and his heart stutter, but Pariah was right.

There would be no winning here. 

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The sound of Pariah’s maniacal laughter was drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. Each labored breath pushed his overworked lungs closer and closer to the brink of giving out. His heart and core had long since begun to fall out of their carefully maintained rhythm.

The image of Sam and Tucker, of Mom and Dad and Jazz, began to fade from his mind’s eye.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the tears threatening to fall. 

He had to.

He had no choice.

Do what needs to be done.

He inhaled shakily. “I don’t need to win,” he said, making sure to look Pariah dead in the eye. With a heave, he summoned energy to his hands and shot twin blasts of turquoise ectoplasm.

Pariah, of course, ducked, but the blasts soared over his head and into the rubble at the top of the dais. With a deafening crash, the stone was exploded out of the way, revealing an ornate sarcophagus standing alone atop the dais, lid still opened and ready to welcome an occupant.

There would be no winning today.

14%.

13%.

Not for either of them.

Not if he could help it.

“I just need to make sure you lose!” he shouted, lunging forward. Pariah, whose confident aura had faltered at the sight of his old prison, stumbled back, never once averting his gaze from the Sarcophagus to see Danny. 

Just before they collided, Danny made a desperate swipe above the king’s head. His fingers closed around hot metal, and he yanked with a great tug.

The Crown came loose.

If his life hadn’t been at stake, he probably would’ve laughed at the bewildered look on Pariah’s face. Unfortunately…

He looked down at the Crown in his hands. Back up to the Sarcophagus. Over to Pariah.

12%.

“NO!” Pariah’s scream was loud enough to shake bits of rubble from the ceiling. 

Danny looked back down at the Crown. Something about it seemed to pulse in his hands, almost as if it were alive. He could feel the power within it. Even through the metal mecha, he could feel its richness, its fullness, how pure and unfiltered the power within was…

It reached toward him. He could feel it practically knocking at the door to his core, asking to be let in, and his core ached to do so. It was almost frightening how welcoming the power felt, and how much he found himself yearning to welcome it back.

If only…

11%.

Pariah began to recover from his shock, and in that instant, Danny made another split second decision.

He threw the Crown to the side and lunged forward again.

The instant it left his hand, Danny regretted that decision. The sudden absence of that power hit him like a brick wall, and he nearly faltered from the shock. Maybe he should’ve kept it. Maybe the ghosts were wrong about it only working with the Ring. Maybe it could’ve offered him something, anything, just something enough to make sure he lasted long enough to put this guy away for good.

When he came into contact with Pariah, though, those thoughts were thrown aside just as easily as the Crown.

He had a job to do.

Pushing the king up the dais was surprisingly easy, all things considered. Still ate up too much of his precious energy, but had he held onto the Crown any longer, Pariah would’ve had more of a chance to recover and brace himself against the attack. That would’ve cost him even more energy.

And it didn’t mean his heart didn’t tremble in his chest with every pained breath. Or that his ribs didn’t scream in agony. Or that his body felt any less battered and bruised as it probably was.

Just a little further.

Pariah growled, something feral and guttural, and he tried to dig his heels into the ground. 

So close.

Danny pushed harder.

10%.

Something snapped inside him as they reached the top, and with a feral growl of his own, Danny shoved Pariah face-first into the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep and shut the lid with a bang that resounded across the Zone.

For one blessed second, he felt lighter than air. Had he managed to do it? Had he really won? 

And then the full force of Pariah’s power crashed against him.

Danny’s core skipped a beat as he frantically repositioned himself to hold down the lid tight. Pressed tight against the Sarcophagus with his head bent low, he couldn’t see much around him, but he felt it as the atmosphere around him began to shift violently. Ambient ectoplasm manifested into something tangible and swirled around Danny and the Sarcophagus like an angry cyclone.

Angry was definitely the right word for it. He could practically taste it in the air as the energy around him hummed.

(Little did he know that the same angry cyclone surrounded the kidnapped Amity Park.)

Something was on the brink of happening. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something familiar.

He looked down at the dashboard.

9%.

8%.

Pariah roared wordlessly from within his prison, the noise nearly deafening in Danny’s ears. The king gave a particularly strong heave, and Danny gasped as he desperately pushed back.

The energy around them was becoming palpable now. It wanted… something. It wanted… to…

7%.

6%.

5%.

His eyes unfocused for a moment, no thanks to the exertion, and when they came back into focus, albeit somewhat blurry, they landed on the keyhole of the Sarcophagus.

His heart dropped like a stone.

The key. He didn’t have it.

No…

Oh God. Oh God. He…

He really wasn’t going to make it.

He wouldn’t win.

And Pariah would be able to walk free over his dead corpse like a welcome mat.

Oh God.

I’m gonna die.

4%.

And now he knew why the energy buzzing around them felt familiar. He’d experienced this before. The ectoplasm and the hum and the desire and the feeling like something was about to break and everything.

He didn’t have the energy to scream as flashes of blinding white and green light filled his mind. The memory of electricity coursing through his body, burning his insides away and reducing him to dust and rewriting him entirely, was almost enough to make him fall away from the door.

3%.

Almost.

He couldn’t breathe now. Whether it was because he was too weak or because the smell of burning flesh and ozone and ectoplasm haunted him or because of some other third reason, he had no clue. Tears fell freely down his cheeks.

Please, he begged silently. Why was he praying? Did he even believe in God? Was it some fit of desperation of hope of a life beyond this one?

2%.

His core felt ready to give out. His heart fluttered in an irregular beat. He was slumped against the Sarcophagus’ door, nothing more than dead weight against it. He was all too aware of the neural receptors attached to him, sapping away any last bit of life they could. 

I don’t want to die…

The energy around him threatened to rip him open all over again.

I’m too scared…

Distantly, he felt something wrap around his core. 

I’m too weak…

It wasn’t unpleasant, surprisingly enough. If anything it was… comforting?

I can’t do this…

1%.

He began to fall into a lifeless heap. He expected it to hurt as horribly as the rest of him, as badly as everything else had hurt him, but it was strangely soft. In a bizarre turn of events, he was reminded of one of the poems Lancer loved to drone on about. Something about going softly into the night.

Maybe that’s what dying would end up being.

I don’t want to die…

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t hold on.

He dropped.

Something clicked.

(The energy moved.)

The roar in his ears died away. His vision went black.

A voice tried to speak to him. He couldn’t understand it.

His core and heart slowed.

Rest. The thought was fuzzy, unclear, more of a feeling than a word. He couldn’t even tell if it was his own.

But he obeyed.

Maybe dying could be like going to sleep.

Maybe…

And as he lost the last threads of his consciousness, a new voice spoke to him, unfamiliar but clear as day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sweet little Prince…

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He choked back a cry of fear. That voice… Was it the memory, or was it speaking to him now?

With a jolt, he realized it was the same voice that had been giving him those thoughts since he’d entered the Ghost Zone not two hours earlier. Panic gripped his heart, and when the hot hold on his core gave a particularly strong squeeze, he gasped and clawed at his chest.

Leave me alone! He didn’t know if he said it out loud or not; he couldn’t tell. At this point, all he knew was the fear inside of him. Get out of my head!

It was Pariah. It had to be. How he’d gotten inside his head like this, he didn’t know, but it was the only explanation.

Another wave of panic seized him, and he began to claw with more desperation. On some distant, not quite conscious level, he drew on his core, willing the energy into his hands, only for it to respond with another stab of pain. He cried out.

A pair of hands seized his own. He instinctively drew on his core again in an attempt to go intangible and escape, but he was met with the same pain. Instead, he resorted to thrashing about, trying to free himself.

“Par… let go..!” he wheezed.

He couldn’t let Pariah get him again.

He couldn’t go through that again.

He couldn’t.

You won’t have to.

The voice only increased his vigor. 

He jerked away from the hands as hard as he could, and -

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The force of the shudder had been enough to bring everyone in the Ancients’ chamber to their knees.

Save for young Phantom.

For a moment, Kala could only watch from his position pressed into the table as the child hung in the air, wrapped in a warped glow. The deathmark on his arm grew brighter and brighter, and frost began to spread on the floor and walls. Power tinged the room, a power that felt as light as a refreshing summer breeze and as strong as a mountain.

In that moment, Kala could believe that this child was truly the next High King, every bit deserving of the title of Pariah’s Bane.

And then Phantom fell and the illusion shattered.

The shudder was almost forgotten as the power and frost dissipated. The child landed on his feet but quickly fell first into the wall behind him, then into one of his human friends, the boy. The boy yelped Phantom’s name, and the other one, the girl, was quick to kneel at his side as well.

If the image of the child floating in the air, surrounded by power, had been kingly, the image of him writhing pathetically on the ground and whimpering nonsense was anything but. Kala found himself at a loss.

He’d never seen anything like this.

Frostbite and Pandora’s attendant reacted immediately, rushing to help ease Phantom off of the human boy. “He’s burning up,” Frostbite murmured. In his arms, the child looked small, weak. He pressed two claws to Phantom’s chest, and Pandora’s attendant took Phantom’s hands in hers to keep him from flailing too much. “His core is overheating.”

“It was that - that earthquake, or whatever you call it!” The human girl sprang to her feet and looked helplessly at the other Ancients. “It’s been doing that all day, that’s what we were trying to say before!”

Zunje grabbed the tablet that had been thrown from her hands. “It’s done this each time?” She began to scroll furiously. “But why would it overheat? Why would it respond so poorly? If it’s the Heart at the root of all this, it shouldn’t…” She trailed off, muttering to herself.

Phantom cried out unintelligibly, trying to shake off the attendant’s grasp, but she held tight, singing something quietly in ancient Greek. 

Kala’s frown deepened. Something was not right. 

“No king before has ever had such a… violent reaction to being told of their ascension,” he remarked.

The human girl’s eyes flashed his way, and to his surprise, he found himself mildly impressed by the fierce, determined shine in them. “It’s not that! He wouldn’t… It’s gotta be something else! This doesn’t just happen!”

“Precisely,” Kala agreed with a nod. “Perhaps this truly is the work of the Heart. Perhaps it is attempting to reject him.” The idea made sense to him. In spite of whatever image he’d been presented with earlier, he couldn’t accept the notion that Kilaris would choose a half-breed child of all possible candidates. He simply couldn’t! It violated every unspoken law that had already been established!

… Right?

“But the Heart’s rejected folks before,” Babel said. “It’s never done anything like this before. I mean, even if he ain’t the guy…”

“... Kilaris would never inflict harm like this upon one of its own,” Pandora finished. 

Kala hummed. “Then it must be someone else’s doing.”

“What?” The human boy glanced at him. “I thought Vlad said that was impossible. Like, someone would have to actually be here to hurt him that way.”

“No, yeah, that’s about right,” Zunje said. She did not look up from her tablet. “Core interference has gotta be a direct thing. Only a strong magic can do anything from a distance.”

“So then it is the Heart,” Pele said with a grunt. 

Zunje bit her lip. “I… I don’t know? It’s… I can’t tell?” She stabbed a finger at the tablet. “I’m trying to, but it’s not…”

Phantom rolled in Frostbite’s arms. “P… pah…” he gasped, as though his mouth struggled to form around the sound.

Frostbite himself rumbled. “He needs to cool down. I’d offer to maintain his core temperature myself, but…” His eyes flickered in Pandora’s direction. “I… worry about the practicalities. I may have something that can help, though.”

“Here.” Pandora’s attendant shifted to sit on her ankles. “Go. I will keep him as stable as I can.”

Frostbite seemed hesitant, but after a brief moment of indecision, he carefully lowered the child into the attendant’s lap. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” he promised, and Kala couldn’t quite decide if it had been directed more towards the attendant or Phantom himself.

As Frostbite disappeared through the door of thick ice, Kala turned his attention back to Zunje. “Can you not give us any report?” he asked.

“Believe me, I’m trying. My sensors are going nuts. Things are just so inconsistent…”

There was a loud crack, and suddenly, Babel stood on Zunje’s shoulder. “Lemme see!” They made a grab for the tablet. “Inconsistent is my middle name.”

“You don’t have a middle name.”

“Well, if I did, it would be inconsistent.”

Phantom began trying to speak again. Pandora’s attendant leaned in closer. “Say that again,” she whispered.

Still, the child’s mumbles seemed unintelligible to him.

The human girl had gone back to staring at her friend, picking blindly at her fingers. “So… you were being serious about Danny being a - a king?” she asked quietly.

Pandora nodded. “Very much so. I’ve admittedly had my suspicions for a while now…” She trailed off, glancing at Kala. “But it’s been speculation at best. I’d hoped for his sake that I was wrong, but…”

“Wait, what? Why? Is it dangerous or something?”

Pele snorted. “Danger lies in all things. It is never a question of if. It’s a question of how much.”

“The throne is not inherently a dangerous office,” Pandora said quickly, having seen the way both humans paled considerably. “My concern was… mainly in terms of his age. Even by your human standards, he is young.” Her gaze softened as it came to rest on the delirious Phantom. “It is an incredible burden to ask of anyone, especially for someone as young as he.”

“Right. Yeah.” The human boy licked his lips. “Definitely not dangerous to put a teenager in charge of an entire dimension. Nope.”

“Do not get me wrong. I firmly believe he’ll make a great king, given time.”

“If he is to be king,” Kala said before he could stop himself. “I am still not certain that he is the Heart’s chosen. Especially given these… troubles.”

“You can’t deny that he has some connection to Kilaris,” Pandora protested. She gestured to her attendant, still holding the child in her lap and leaned in close. “How else can you explain a reaction such as this?”

Kala opened his mouth to answer before realizing he didn’t have one. How could he explain it? As much as he loathed to admit, the evidence did seem to point to the boy as the next king. He would, as always, wait to finish gathering all evidence before making a decision, but he couldn’t deny the signs.

He also couldn’t deny the doubt that refused to be satisfied, deep in his core.

The door of ice opened again, and Frostbite re-entered the chamber, holding a bundle of fabric in one of his paws. He wasted no time returning to young Phantom’s side.

“Here.” Gently, he lifted the child’s shoulders and secured the fabric around his neck. “I was saving this as a gift, but… he needs it now.”

Kala watched with attentive eyes as Frostbite carefully wrapped the outer folds of the cloak around Phantom, effectively cocooning him. 

His eyes opened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Clockwork hummed a little tune to himself as he spun the dial on his staff. In front of him, a time window showed the image of young Danny, emerging from a portal.

A black, frosted crown sat on Danny’s head.

Clockwork would’ve liked to watch the boy in real time. Sadly, the Observants had made sure to block his view into the Ancients’ chamber long ago.

He’d have to settle for offering a tiny bit of assistance from afar. 

Hopefully Frostbite wouldn’t be too upset with him for adding his own little touch to Danny’s gift.

[aeoki]

SS Finals - Melee: Chapter 3

Location: Inside Bus Characters: Tomoya, Hokuto, Keito, Eichi, Chiaki & Natsume

Eichi: If we were to use “L$” from the very beginning, then we would have too much of an advantage seeing how affluent we are.

The usage of “SSL$” only during the Qualifying Rounds allowed for a fair competition of skill between the idols.

We all started off on the same foot, at the same place, at the same time to see who could run the furthest – to see who could earn the most “SSL$” in that set period of time.

“SSL$” was a rule and a stage device to measure that.

In other words, the “SS” Administration Committee was measuring an idol’s worth based on ”how much they could earn”.

The more you can earn, the better the idol you are. Well, I suppose that is one truth behind our society that advocates for capitalism.

Keito: You look like you have the exact opposite opinion, Eichi.

Eichi: I understand the logic behind it. I think it’s easy to understand. Everyone has a different perception of how an idol’s worth should be measured, after all.

ES is a corporation that seeks profit and it’s much easier to understand than the other ambiguous concepts like money.

Much clearer to comprehend than love, beauty, dreams or splendour.

Keito: Hmph. We once simplified the worth of multicoloured idols and stated that those who won dreamfests were superior…

We don’t have the right to criticise them as we were the ones who created that violent system. Seeing myself being tied down by a similar system feels surprisingly unpleasant. I’ll reflect on that.

Eichi: What goes around comes around… Well, putting that aside.

The ES higher-ups might see the system in a simple-minded manner as something that judges the quality of idols fairly.

But it’s not like that in reality. The large sum of “SSL$” we worked hard to earn during the Qualifying Rounds…

Did not disappear like a mythical object the moment the Qualifying Rounds ended.

They were taken by the management and stashed away.

And it’s an astronomical amount that will make someone normal and sensible like Mashiro-kun dizzy.

Tomoya: …Is there something wrong with being normal?

Eichi: It’s a compliment. We tend to forget those sorts of general sensations, after all.

Commoners know the importance of money.

The business world is different, though – Celebrities were folding the excess amount of money they had into paper planes during the bubble economy.

Even one of those bank notes could help a starving orphan from somewhere in the world survive.

It’s a tragedy that money falls into the hands of those who don’t understand its worth.

Natsume: I’m pretty sure the rest of the world sees you as someone similAR, seeing as you built that ridiculously large building for idols using your own private funDS.

Eichi: How harsh. The historians of the future will decide whether or not I’m on the same level as the nouveau riche who burn stacks of banknotes to light their steps.

In any case, the large sum of money earned during the Qualifying Rounds will not simply fall into ES’ pocket.

Personally, I’d like to use it for ES’ future activities.

But that money will actually be split fairly as a reward for winning the “SS” Finals.

By fair I don’t mean every idol will get an equal amount, but it’ll be distributed based on the votes they get. Ten thousand yen for one vote, for example.

Tomoya: Uhh… winners will be decided based on the citizen’s votes, so the most votes a unit can get per round is about a hundred million.

And if one vote equals one thousand yen, then a hundred million votes would be…

Huh? It’ll basically be on the same level as the national budget!

Is it really okay for us to get that money?

Eichi: Hehe. You can also “save” those votes, remember? So it may be far-fetched, but it might even be possible to get more than a hundred million votes.

Hokuto: It’s not one vote per person, after all. Becoming a member of the support group will also allow them to have a hundred votes per round instead of one.

They’ll make a profit by probably making them pay a membership fee too. It’s just like a cult.

Keito: …I’ll say this as someone who is religious, but don’t make it sound like religion is innately bad. Many companies out there work based on a membership-based system.

It’s no different than paying a fee and being able to read as many books as you like. Fundamentally, anyway.

Tomoya: (Hasumi-senpai’s metaphors are ordinary and easy to understand.)

Eichi: Hehe. Ten thousand yen per vote is just an example, though. Well, the more votes you gain, the more money you’ll get in the end.

Hokuto: For the final winning team, that is.

Eichi: Yeah. Losing would mean you did all that work for nothing, so everyone would want to win, right?

Win and you’ll be in paradise. Lose and everything would be a waste of effort – that’s how the “SS” Finals work. If you stand on the side of the winners and receive that large sum of money then…

In terms of ES, who can arrange everything you’ll need for your idol activities with “L$”, your future activities will be much easier.

And you’ll leave a mark on history as a winner of “SS”.

You might even have enough power to go against the ES higher-ups or the management if you win “SS”.

Having both the funds and power is usually more than enough to make something a reality. I think that should be fairly easy to understand just by looking at me, though.

Tomoya: Yeah, I guess… That’s all you go on about, huh.

Natsume: Tomoya-kUN, is it just me or have you started sounding less and less impressed with the “EmperOR?

Welcome to our siDE! Let’s team up with Hokke-kun and create the “We Hate Eichi Tenshouin and His Guts AllianCE” ♪

Tomoya: Huh? If Hokuto-senpai’s in it, then count me in too!

Hokuto: Don’t just drag me into this out of nowhere.

Eichi: Right. If you make full use of your money, then it’ll also be a piece of cake to banish the people you hate from your life.

If you don’t like how ES does things, then you can buy their stocks and disband the current management. Shouting that you hate them and that you want them to disappear would do nothing.

If you have a large sum of money and the title of “SS” winners, then you might have your way.

Then all you have to do is to create an environment that will allow you to conduct your idol activities in your ideal manner.

Win “SS” and any wish of yours can come true.

…I might be exaggerating, but with money and power, it’s definitely possible to change the world – even if that change is slight.

I’m sure no one is young and foolish enough to think that the world can change if you pray strongly for it. “That” only works in children’s fairy tales.

Natsume: I think you’re looking down on human emotions, thouGH. WeLL, I know what you’re trying to sAY.

In order to make our dream a realiTY, we must obtain the Power that controls this realiTY.

That would be money and authoriTY. Win “SS” and you’ll gain both of those things, rigHT?

Eichi: Yeah. Well, that would be the case under normal circumstances.

Hokuto: ? What do you mean by that?

Eichi: I had no choice but to word it that way – There’s someone who’s trying to take the money with the power to change the world that we idols worked hard to get with our blood, sweat and tears.

A villain who is trying to make everything go down the drain.

Chiaki: …”Gatekeeper”, huh.

Eichi: As expected, your instincts are strong when it comes to things like this, “Ally of Justice”.

Chiaki: Don’t make fun of me. I don’t have the right to call myself that anymore… Anyway, I feel like everything has finally made sense.

You’re all probably aware as well, but there is a man called  “Gatekeeper”.

He climbed up to the leader position in the “SS” Administration Committee unnoticed and tied us down by giving us those “secret orders”.

No, he threatened us. I don’t know what “secret orders” the others had but…

They were punishments that specifically targeted our weaknesses.

Tenshouin, Hasumi, Sakuma, Mikejima-san and also Amagi-senpai too… They certainly weren’t people who would follow orders willingly, but it seems even they were tied down by those “secret orders”.

It’s obvious a despicable punishment that they could never go against was given to them.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[howmcnythings]

When Elsa made her way out to the car after an appointment, she was surprised when the car was unlocked. Had she forgotten to lock it in the first place? It was possible. Pregnancy brain was no joke. Not thinking much of it, she climbed into the drivers side, and grabbed her seatbelt. Numerous attempts later, and she still couldn't get it to click in. She couldn't get the buckle all the way in no matter what she did. Strange, as it had been working fine on the way there. There wasn't a lot she could do. She was only around ten minutes away from home. Even though she knew better than this, she chose to drive home anyway without a seatbelt on. What option did she have other than have it towed? She didn't want to do that. Aside from her sickness lasting longer than it should, she was enjoying every moment of being pregnant. Knowing that she was carrying a baby that was going to be equal parts fairy and werewolf was exciting. Werefairies aren’t typically seen in Northknot. Bringing one into the fold would be special, especially with Orlaith being an alpha. She knew that this was big for her, and their family, and even for Orlaith's pack to have their alpha expanding her bloodline, even if the baby was a hybrid. As she made her way down the road, there was very little traffic. On the four lane road, two were going one way, and the other two went the opposite way. There was only one other car in the lane beside her, and one trailing far behind them. She was sort of surprised, but instead of questioning it, she just continued to drive. She was tired, she wanted to go home and take a small nap before her wife got home so they could spend the rest of the day together. While she continued her drive home, she noticed that the pickup truck in the lane next to her kept inching closer and closer to the line, even drifting into her lane a few times. What was wrong with this driver? She had a little bit of wiggle room with her speed. Elsa was always one to follow the limit, but she just wanted to get past this person, terrified that she was going to get run off the road. The only thing on the right of her was a small barrier in front of a rocky ledge, with a drop that didn't know the height of. Getting knocked into that because someone was trying to screw with her was not ideal. However, no sooner did she speed up, did two people appear in the lane in front of her, several feet away. They weren't moving, and in the split second she had to make a decision, she swore she could see a smirk in their eyes. Her choices were swerve into the left lane, or hit them. The latter seemed like the worst option, so in a kneejerk reaction, she turned the wheel to swerve around them. She was so sure that she'd gotten enough distance between herself and the truck. What she hadn't realized in the moment of panic was that the truck had sped up as well, turning to try and push her off the road once more. In doing so, The truck collided with her car. The truck's front end was crumpled in, and the impact sent Elsa's car rolling over a few times on the road before stopping, with her bloodied body ejected through the windshield onto the hood of her car.

[denimbex1986]

'When Christopher Nolan's historical epic "Oppenheimer" made its way into theaters, it did so fronting serious A-list energy in stars Cillian Murphy, Emily Blunt, Matt Damon, Robert Downey Jr., and Florence Pugh. Impressive as those names are, "Oppenheimer"'s extended cast of supporting players whom Nolan assembled is truly jaw-dropping, with names like Casey Affleck, Gary Oldman, Kenneth Branagh, Jack Quaid, and Rami Malek topping the list. If you scroll far enough down the "Oppenheimer" IMDb page, you'll even see the name of Mr. James Remar, who played U.S. Secretary of War Henry Stimson in the film.

If you've seen "Oppenheimer," you know Remar's character doesn't garner a ton of screen time. Like most of the film's supporting team, however, the actor more than made the most of his moments. He even added to one of the film's most powerful scenes, reportedly improvising the line of dialogue where Stimson removes Kyoto from the list of possible bombing sites in Japan in part because he and his wife honeymooned there. It's a powerful moment, to be certain. And it's just one of many Remar has delivered over the years. 

Fans of 1997's "Mortal Kombat: Annihilation" hardly need a reminder of Remar's skill, as the actor put just as much energy into playing super-powered kung fu fighter Raiden in the film. Of course, given the video game adaptation's critical and commercial shortcomings, "MK: Annihilation" hardly ranks among the actor's biggest hits. And yes, Remar has contributed to quite a few hits in his decades-long career.

Mortal Kombat is but one of many intriguing entries on James Remar's resume

To be fair, the general shortcomings of "Mortal Kombat: Annihilation" hardly rest on the shoulders of James Remar, with producer Lawrence Kasanoff claiming in the 2017 book "Lights, Camera, Game Over!" that studio bosses forced the filmmakers to release the movie before it was actually finished. Lack of polish aside, "MK: Annihilation" has become a low-key cult hit over the years, with certain fans now embracing its schlocky, B-movie energy.

As it happens, that cult status is sort of fitting since one of Remar's first big roles came in Walter Hill's 1979 cult hit crime thriller "The Warriors." Remar was quick to capitalize on that early success, scooping up roles in hit '80s TV shows like "Hill Street Blues," "Miami Vice," and "The Equalizer." He'd also appear in celebrated films like William Friedkin's "Cruising" (opposite Al Pacino), Hill's Eddie Murphy vehicle "48 Hrs.," Francis Ford Coppola's "The Cotton Club," and Gus Van Sant's landmark indie "Drugstore Cowboy."

Remar has continued to split time between the film and television realms over the years, making notable big-screen appearances in "Pineapple Express," "The Blackcoat's Daughter," "RED," "Django Unchained," and "Once Upon a Time in Hollywood," as well as contributing to the "X-Men," "Transformers," and "Fast & Furious" franchises. On television, Remar has turned up for roles on "Sex and the City," "The Vampire Diaries," "Gotham," "Animal Kingdom," "Yellowstone," "The Rookie," and the recent Arrowverse hit "Black Lightning." Still, Remar is perhaps best known to modern TV viewers for his series-long stint on "Dexter," where he portrayed the title character's murderous adoptive papa, Harry Morgan.'

[icecoldwilliams]

Voluble, verbose little Lion. Trading one tongue lashing for another far less pleasurable. With nowhere near enough vulgarity. – Each word and thrust a knife taken to her usually limitless patience.

As if the months apart wasn't torture enough, Dio with his equal skill in the practice had to show off. Wielding seconds, fantasies and charm within his arsenal on a whim, and his Lioness responded in kind with it's kryptonite:

Silence. Sheer, exciting, chilling bumps along his undead skin as cyan's like cyanide again ensnared her adoring fool. – Again she stood up straight, one hand pinching his chin so he couldn't look away, thumb stroking and breaching his lips. Even brushing against one of his fangs..

No escape. He would have to witness those eyes he loved in all their glory. Waves within gleaming and shimmering underneath his ironic sunlight. The heat in the air it brings. All the way up until the tides turned ; a split second flash wicked and playful... Defiance painted in seductive blue. Quickly set aside with a low whisper.

❝ All talk, no action.... ❞

And again their lips clashed. This time rougher. Near suffocating as her control and hand slipped away, and the Queen he worshipped mercilessly stole every hint of oxygen from his lungs... Blissfully. Lusciously.

...The exact opposite of the sudden tinge of pain inflicted upon his cheek from her palm once they finally dared to break.

Yet somehow so much kinder than his vixens cold smile amid heated attempts to catch her own breath. ; Than the dormant sadistic nature he nurtured observing his reaction like a cobra coiling around it's prey.

By mere millimeters, that’s how close he was to just sliding right in when she put her leg around him like that, he moaned into the kiss, felt his excitement grow even more to levels only she could take him to and then the kiss broke and he just stared into her eyes in awe of her beauty. “Yeah your right…but that doesn’t mean I’m not saying the truth~” more moans escape his lips as she kissed his skin and then gets dangerously close to the scar on his neck, his weak point.

“Dream of me simply dominating you? None…dream of you willingly allowing me to dominate you…a number far to large for me to mention mo chroí~” as he spoke he moved his hips slowly, trying to get in just the right position. “Is that what you want now? For your lion to unleash all of his pent up desire on you? Can you handle it?~” he made sure that last line came out as a tease, he knew very well she could handle anything he threw at her, she was just that special.

“Maybe I should tell you more about what I’m thinking…about how I want to just push it in right now and make you moan at the top of your lungs, so loud that this sound proof room can barely contain it. I want to make you feel heaven and flood you with so much pleasure that all you can think is me and just how much you love me…and of course you already know how much I adore you my queen~”

[mochikeiji]

Exact Replica

Request: "Hi! I really love you're writing and was wondering if you could do prompt 25+29 for Kuroo Tetsuro from Haikyuu? And could it be angst to fluff? (Maybe Kuroo was ignoring the reader due to lots of work/stress so reader feels neglected?) It's totally up to you tho! Ty so much!!"

25. "Would you notice if I was gone?"

29. "I didn't mean it."

↠ Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x F!Reader

↠ Warning: angst to fluff, mentions of pregnancy and kuroo's sad childhood

↬ Word Count: 3.7k

↠ a/n: okay this is my longest one yet. I swear the prompt screams angst to fluff so much that I go into it.

↳ from Go! Go! Gogatsu Event

Kuroo Tetsuro achieved many great things in life after graduating from his university, with multiple acknowledgements and honors. Landed a position as a young CEO from a sports association at the age of 24, he had enough money in his pocket and bank to stable both of you financially. Life was good to him after having to build from the roots  of his ruined childhood; the only years of defeat Kuroo doesn't ever want to repeat. His father and mother were in the same position as you both are; owning your own shared house, good working environment, investments and stability, married.

Up until this day Kuroo questions why his parents split. They were fortunate that they had every thing completed, sadly it was the family and love that wasn't taken care of. You could be the happiest person, yet the void inside would still be there, Kuroo thought. Foolish people were to neglect something more valuable than any object that is given. Whether it was his father or his mother that stopped nurturing what they both bonded for the longest time, they were both fools to let each other go over something simple. He vows to never let history repeat itself.

But now the tables seemed to have flipped for the both of you. Your lives not far from what he had ran away from. If Kuroo could eat his words back, he would've now that he was running late yet again to coming home, forgetting about the promise he swore to about joining you after a full month of being occupied in his office. Coming home to have you already tucked in bed, but suffering in silence.

Most days he didn't bother greeting you in the morning and night. As a good wife, you understand. He was a busy man with an important position to maintain.

There were times where you'd be tapping your foot down on the floor as the clock strikes at an ungodly hour with your messages still not bothered to be replied to or even read. But you understand. He's working! Always doing what he can for the both of you like the good husband he wanted to be.

Even if sometimes he'd come home without a kiss or a simple, "I missed you." you understand. He's drained. No time for silly, endearing affections. You've done them a lot before back when you were younger. You're adults! Married! A married partner shouldn't be feeling so needy when the other was only doing their part.

Even when sometimes your insecurities would kick in whenever you'd visit your husband to drop his forgotten lunch again, only to see him flocked by different women; probably secretaries, interns, and assistance.

You understand. You always did took such good care of what you two have.

Well had.

His home office door slams shut, awakening you from your nap on the couch. Didn't Kuroo notice you when he walked in? Looking at the clock you noticed it was near 11:30 PM since he's arrived. Late again, maybe he hasn't eaten anything? No worries, you thought sadly. Stretching your aching muscles, you made your way to the dining area. So far dinner was left untouched once more. Just how many times has it gone to waste because you continued on cooking for two?

Or rather, three.

You beam at the sudden reminder while preparing your husband's plate. You'd always miss him whenever he'd come home, never had the chance to surprise him at the right time of your little discovery about a week ago. Fear did struck you because of the possible reactions he'd give, but you were so excited in sharing the news that a couple would share the equal happiness from, you couldn't contain it any longer.

Maybe you should've chosen another time unbeknownst to you how your husband was hunched over his desk, clearly in displease of the previous events that had occurred during the meeting back in his office. Hence why his work stack added more piles of predicaments, only fueling his headaches more wishing he could just lay down peace and quiet without disturbance.

He grumbles at the knock on his door, only typing furiously with emphasized taps on the keyboard. You, not sensing the emitting aura from the room took it as a response for you to enter. It surprised you a bit on how disordered his home office had become. It was obvious his coat had been thrown carelessly as it lays on the floor, wrinkled. Carefully placing the plate full of food on the small coffee table at the side, you gingerly picked up the article of clothing. Lightly trying to smoothen out the lines before hanging it behind his door and turning back to your husband.

"Tetsu?" cautiously calling out his name, you were kind of wary at the fact he didn't turn to see you unlike he does before whenever you'd enter the room. "I brought you your dinner. You came home pretty late." you tried to maintain the light hearted tone of your voice to hide how nervous you were in telling him the big news.

The atmosphere was kind of eerie when all he did was hum meekly from your words. Feeling a bit disheartened from his lack of attentiveness, still forcing a smile, you padded a little closer behind him with your hands clasps together. "I also wanted— well needed to tell you something." averting your eyes away from him as you prepared in your head. With a small hope he'd turn around for once after a long time.

"Can it be another time? I'm in the middle of stuff here."

Another time.

Why is it always next time? It's frustrating enough to not see him or have him speak to you even for a moment, but this made your stomach churn in an unpleasant way. Frowning at his poor reply, you gulped a few of your sentence back. Not fully trusting your emotions getting in the way, "You never really talked to me before, Tetsu.. I get that you're busy, but it wouldn't hurt for you to give a little minute for me."

Even just a second as long as he'd finally notice you.

"(Y/n) if you understand then why bother? You can clearly see I'm busy." chest huffing out a harsh sigh, still not bothering to turn around. Gripping your hands tightly, your patience were starting to snap. "You're always busy, Tetsu! I never had a proper conversation with you again." raising the volume of your voice a little made his actions come to a halt. Chair revolving around to face you. His appearance made it obvious how exhausted he has been; tousled hair that he usually takes longer to style, the light forming bags underneath his eyes from the screen and lack of sleep. The visible annoyance marked in his expression. But couldn't he say the same for you?

"Fine. Here, you have my attention now. Are we talking properly now?" his way of provoking you wasn't in the right place. It only made you look at him in disbelief because you've grown to never meet such side of your husband before. The news you had originally planned to share vanished from your head, replaced with the restrained emotions that has been building up inside your heart, tipping over.

"Tetsu, what is wrong with you?" looking at him now seemed like you were talking to someone else. His words were curt and short with no intention of prolonging the conversation, itching to get back to work so he could be done with it. "I already you I'm just busy. I would be done by now if you didn't want to talk properly with me." he says as if he's the one in distraught. "Seriously, nothing's wrong but I think you aren't. You're never like this."

"That's because you never cared to noticed in the first place!" wailing out the collapsed emotions that has weighed you heavily. It was too late to stop yourself from voicing out the things your husband left aside. A full month of being a good, understanding image of a wife thrown away to the rubbles without even appreciating the the long nights of you waiting up for him, cooking meals even though the next day they'd end up being in the trash, tolerating the coldness of the used to be warm sheets, putting up with the insecurities you took upon yourself to hide to avoid troubling your husband further when all you wanted was for him to assure you that he still loves you and only you.

The fascade you put up just for him crumbles. And it infuriates you more of how he still doesn't notice.

"(Y/n), you know I've been working! There's so much stuff that needs to be attended for just so you and I could live normally!"

"Tetsuro, we are stabled, it's okay to slow down a bit. How is this any normal to you when you don't even realize how this affects me?!"

The chair slides back roughly against the floor with a loud creak as he towers over you. Glowering eyes with a dark expression looming over his face, clearly now enraged. "You're being selfish right now. I'm here doing what I can to support us and all you could think of was you, you, you. Can't you see I'm doing this for you as well? God what else do you want from me, the world?"

"I only wanted you to give me your time and attention even just for a second, Tetsuro! I've been doing my best for you all this month and I never said anything to trouble you!"

It hurts when he said how you were being the selfish one when it was the opposite. It dawned to you that all those days of giving your all for him wasn't once noticed. "Will you ever grow up already? Attention? Really? We're adults, (Y/n) not teenagers for fucks sake. My time is just wasted because of you!" he doesn't stop there even if you've had your mouth already shut from how he portrayed you as. His words were beginning to leave a deep scar in you as you quiet down to the next line.

"If you think that nothing is troubling me, there is! And you just happen to add in for crying out loud!"

There were no words exchanged after his meltdown. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looks away from you— who's eyes were already watery. Unable to even tell your side anymore at the ache of your heart. "So..I'm just troubling you then?" quivering out your words, Kuroo clenches his jaw as the bubbling frustration was being held back with the last bit of restrain he had.

"Would you notice if I was gone, Tetsu?"

Instead of being alarmed by your chosen form of sentence, you watched with sad eyes as your husband pulled back his chair and faced his workload. He didn't even noticed you're already crying silently, "Not now, (Y/n). We'll talk later."

He doesn't even noticed how you walked out sobbing with a shattered heart nor the door in the living room closing. Leaving him alone for the next few hours in peace like he wanted.

Time went on quickly when one doesn't take their eyes off from their consecutive workaholic state. With a groan, he almost slams his laptop shut before stretching his bones, slowly relaxing the tense muscles. It's up to his co workers and assistance to deal with the load he's prepared to dump onto them after they threw all theirs to him. Hoping to freshen up his face, Kuroo tidies his desk up before making his way to the door. Stopping in realization of the now cold dinner that was left on the coffee table.

His stomach growled loudly at the lack of food it's digested in the longest run. It was still good if he heats it up, he does miss eating home made meals than his stale ones back in the cafeteria of his workplace. Grabbing the plate carefully he first made a short journey to the kitchen to heat up his food. Unusual it was to have all the lights out in the house. You'd always leave some opened when he was awake. Then again the guilt started to crawl up to his chest knowing he's the cause of why you'd forgotten.

Now entering the bathroom with water running down his face, he plans ahead the apology he owes you when he wakes up tomorrow morning. He could reschedule his own time since he is the boss. He closes the faucet right after he was done rinsing. Looking around for the towel his eyes caught something below the small organizer you put up next to the sink. Grabbing the towel above the first part of the organizer, bending down slowly to avoid getting cramps, his actions were quick to grab the object that caught his attention the moment it seemed so familiar and surprising.

Pregnancy test. Two lines for positive.

Having a child with you was the last thing he's yet to accomplish from his list, and here it was. As much as he wanted to be in denial, it all felt like surge of contentment drowns him in because he was going to be a dad. However his body began to tremble whilst still holding the test and staring intently at it. The previous guilt that was crawling beneath his bones became a dark, desolated hole of anxiety and fear that ate him whole. The things he's said and done will never be taken back no matter how he apologizes to the past events a few hours ago.

Hours ago. It was already 2:25 when the fight had ceased. Deep down he knows he couldn't wait until the next day to plead for forgiveness. After all, he did vow to never leave you both a day feeling heavy alone. Kuroo felt nauseous of how much of an asshole he had treated you. Like starting a game of volleyball once more, he was beyond nervous when he approached your shared bedroom. There was no excuse of his actions indeed as he solemnly enters the dimmed room. He sighs a little shaky when he closes in your bed, "Baby?" he starts, "Baby, are you awake?" it was one of the little things he's memorized that you'd do when you both aren't in good terms. You never really slept, just pretended because you always had the heart to wait up for him.

When he gets no response he reaches out to pat you, only coming to the sense that the sheets were left untouched; no warmth traced behind. You weren't there, any where. His blood runs cold and immediately fishes out for his phone in his pocket, speed dialing your number while he circles the entire area of the house in case you'd be there. Now he was more terrified when he hears the familiar voice mail from the living room couch where you had slept while waiting for him.

You left your phone. His wife wasn't home— his pregnant wife.

"Fuck." running a rough hand through his tangled hair. The lump on his throat grows but he refuses to let out a string of sobs. It was his fault you were gone at such an ungodly hour. Kuroo felt more than a bigger asshole than before he's made you come to the point of leaving home. Just as his mother did and never returned. The one thing he swore you two would never be the same came to life, only thought now is Kuroo doesn't know whether you've left him for good after being a neglectful husband and to have dishearten his own beloved wife like that.

"Would you notice if I was gone?"

Rang in his head as he stood outside the neighborhood, running. Chasing after a hallucinated image of you any place he tried to remember you'd be in. A fool he has been to have left you in a loveless marriage. He loves you, he really does. He can't imagine a life without you in it. Just as it was about to become the happiest he's wanted, he pushed it all too soon. A bad husband, he cries. "(Y/n), please come home." legs aching and panting from having to study all areas. It was pitch black; there were no opened spots for you to even go at an hour of slumber and chaos. The only convenient store did not even have you in it. You were no where to be seen and Kuroo breaks.

Of course he'd notice when it was all too late. The past he's ran away from was still the place he's returned now that the house was only occupied by nothing but rotten memories of the love he didn't took care of. The exact replica of a married life he desperately tried to dodge. "I'm so sorry." for the lonely nights he's left you to sleep, over thinking of what may have been your fault and always figuring him out tirelessly. For the small efforts of adoration he didn't took a glance at and gone to waste. For the words that were never even meant for you to ever feel. For being a neglectful husband. He was sorry he noticed too late how he ruined his precious wife.

Now he's left you on your own out in the dangers outside. If anything horrible happened to you he will forever be crushed. But the world thinks that second chances are given to those who truly deserve them after you came in quietly, slipping off your sandals and waving back to your friend who had dropped you off home. Your short break to the convenient store changed when you met up with her and drove back to her place to rant about what happened. Being the sluggish person you are whenever sadness hits, you never noticed how long you've over stayed. It wasn't like your husband was going to know if he still was working.

Much to your surprise that he wasn't, you stifled a gasp to find him with his hands holding his head that was leaned down on the table. His shoulders were lightly jolting with escapes of audible sniffles, indicating that he was in fact crying. If he looked exhausted before, it wasn't enough to describe his current state; as if he was a man who'd lost every thing as he sat there with all hope lost. Your foot padded on the creaky part of the floor in attempt to tiptoe over his hunched back to comfort him. Squeaking in the awkward situation you've put the room in when Kuroo turns his head behind to see you standing there a bit frightened, but concerned when you saw how disheveled his face looks.

"Tetsu—" his name got cut off short from when you almost tripped over your balance at the sudden impact of Kuroo throwing himself into your arms with his weight. You couldn't make out what he was mumbling on about, but you melt to his embrace even if he squeezes the living day lights from you, afraid that he was going crazy and you weren't real. "Thank God," litters of kisses were placed on your clavicle, "You're back."

He repeats, slowly convincing himself that you are indeed home in his arms, safe, no harm detected. Just home. "I'm so sorry.."

"I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of what I said, I-I'm so sorry." your bodies swayed gently to the sound of your hushes and his cries of apologies. "Please don't leave me like that again. I was so scared."

"Shhh, it's okay, Tetsu. I'm sorry. I'm okay— we're okay." leading him to sit down at the couch, you placed the bag of different brands of sweets and junk on the table before facing your husband. You had to stifle in a laugh watching him wipe his nose, you couldn't help but be reminded of a mini Tetsuro by looking at him. The argument that stung you faded when he took a hold of your hands and mumbled another apology.

"You shouldn't be sorry for anything. I should be.." flickering his eyes from your belly to your bloodshot eyes from your own fiasco back in your friend's place, he slides in closer next to you where your shoulders touched. "I haven't been a good husband lately, have I?" he looks at you expectantly. Frowning, you still nodded. Tired of hiding your own feelings from him.

"I know you're busy most of the time, Tetsu. But I just wanted you to recognize me as your wife." thumbs quick to swipe away the tear that had shed from your eye, "We're in this together, remember?" he pulls you right from the arm, shoving your face to his chest in need to hold you for all the times he should've. Ignoring the dampness of his white long-sleeved polo, breathing in the scent of your sweet shampoo. You were still so forgiving and understanding despite on how equally tired as he was you are.

"I'm so sorry I've made you feel as if I never cared anymore. You never deserved that." his lips found it's way to the crown of your head. "I don't deserve you, and I really don't want to lose you after me being stupid." giggling through tears, fist connecting a soft punch on his chest, bubbling a chuckle to the surface as he lightly pulls you away from hiding.

"I really didn't mean all of those things I've said, baby. I love you and only you." stroking ever so lovingly your cheek, you don't catch on to the fact that his other hand was placed over your stomach protectively. Making a silent promise to not only you, but the soon to be new addition to the family that he will never again neglect what he should've cherished more and looked after than the constant worries at the back of his head.

Because he will never again repeat the replica of a broken family he once was born in.

© all content belongs to mochikeiji. Please do not repost or copy, ありがとうございました!! (=^･^=)

[yeojaa]

feed me, fight me.

pairing.  boxer!jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  relationship issues, baby angst, comfort, unprotected sex (please be responsible!).  wc. 3.5k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​, always.  💖  author note.  i’m really into comfort fics rn so... 

What do you get when you mix a pissed off girlfriend with a neglectful boyfriend?  (Aside from trouble, that is.)

The answer is you - throwing punches far harder than you should be, completely disregarding the fact that you’re meant to be playing the part of perfect partner, meeting pads in the sequence he’s laid out.  It’s you throwing a hook when you should be swinging an uppercut.  It’s you, snapping your leg out with a satisfying thunk! of your shin when you should only be thip kicking.  It’s you, not giving a single damn as you take out all your frustrations on someone who’s growing increasingly more irritated by your childishness.  It’s you, blatantly disrespecting him in his ring - sending a reminder that there’s more to life than the four corners of this space. 

How can he blame you though, when he’s the reason?  When you’ve voiced your annoyance more than once - more than twice, more times than you care to count - and each time it’s met with a half-hearted apology (if you could even call it that)?  How can he hold it against you when you’ve asked, demanded, pleaded for more? 

“Cut it out,”  he seethes, quiet, under his breath, irritation igniting his expression, something hot and angry burning in the dark of his stare.  A withering wildfire in an empty field, smoldering coals flickering bright.  It presents itself in how his mouth curls, the hard line of his jaw as bone threatens to snap in half from the tension. 

“Cut what out?”  Your retort is punctuated by the smack of leather on leather, the worn edge of your boxing glove meeting the pad that Jungkook raises just in time to avoid a black eye. 

“What’s your problem?”  How he manages to snipe back - somehow sounding disgruntled by your behaviour - you’re not sure.  All you know is it boils your blood, searing heat within your veins when he effortlessly blocks your next jab.  He knows you well and knows the sport better, predicting each movement as if you’re telegraphing it all with a giant neon sign on your forehead. 

(You probably are.  You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, pinning your heart on your sleeve, your sadness heavy in your mouth.  They wear you, rather than you it.  A weakness of yours.)

“You’re my problem.” 

“Shut up.”  It’s not the usual exasperated annoyance he levels you with, meaner and paired with a swat of your gloved hand.  He’s not supposed to be countering you, instead only blocking the punches you throw his way. 

(But then again - when did he ever listen to you?  When did he ever do what he was supposed to?)

(It’s not a fair assertion.  You’re just mad.  Livid beyond belief, standing atop this hill that you’ll happily die on.)

“Fuck you,”  you snap, offering the petulant comeback in the same instance you surge forward.  He blocks your jab - sees it coming from a mile away - and goes to block your hook. 

Except it never comes, your knee straightening out instead, hard edge of your shin slamming right into the side of his leg. 

He crumples more out of surprise than anything, eyes wide, all the anger swept away by something closer to astonishment.  It shines impossibly bright in his eyes, turning his entire expression upside down when his knee hits the ground.  By how he falls, you’re sure you’ve hit just the right spot, left his nerve endings buzzing uncomfortably as the feeling leaves the limb. 

“Are you serious?”  You know he’s genuinely baffled then, voice slipping, cracking in a way you’d normally find adorable.  (It goes to show how upset you are, the awkward split of his words doing nothing to soothe your temper.)  “What’s your issue?”  He’s still seated on the floor, rocking back on his heels, brow knit in consternation.  It’d take him seconds to jump up - to put you on your ass - but he chooses to remain where he is, staring up at you with that look on his face.

(That look you love.  That you hate.  That makes your insides turn to goo on his best days and misery on your worst.  That you’ve seen every single day for the last three years, as the first thing upon waking up and the last thing before passing out.  That makes you hesitate now, peering down into it.)

(Were you being unnecessary?  Unbearable?  Was this on you?)

“I’m going home.”  It’d be nice to tear your gloves off, throw them in his face and storm off in a huff.  It’d cause the scene you’re hoping for, push him to where you need.  (Because that’s the thing about Jungkook - he doesn’t react otherwise and you’re sick of it.)  Instead, you turn on your heel and slink away, silent as a mouse.  

You’re tired.  Too tired.  Why had you started something you couldn’t finish?

It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re home alone for hours that night, curled up in bed and half-asleep when light from the hallway spills into your bedroom.  It comes with hardly any noise, a tell-tale sign he’s trying not to wake you (or disturb you or get caught).  You almost let it slide when his figure appears in the doorway, broad frame swallowed up by the oversized sweater he wears.

He’s moving near silently, having already deposited his gym bag in the laundry room.  He doesn’t even switch the light on, moving around in the muted glow of the hallway, fumbling as he strips his clothes off and tosses them into the hamper against the wall. 

You expect him to head directly into the en suite, wash away whatever grime he’s accumulated throughout the day.  He’s always been this way, far too concerned with dragging in odour and dirt into your bed to do otherwise.

Except tonight, he doesn’t follow his usual routine.  Tonight, he makes a detour.

The bed dips before you realise what’s happening, grip on the pillow under your head tightening.  Words fit between your teeth, ready to spill out, lash out, tear out like a bullet deadset on landing a bullseye. 

“I’m sorry.”  Two words you’ve been waiting to hear, that startle you enough to throw your anger out the window, tossing them out with the wash.  “I don’t know why you’re upset but I’m sorry for whatever it is.”  He’s speaking into the quiet of your bedroom.  You can feel his hand settled on the bed, wrist somewhere over the line of your spine.  

Oh - he thinks you’re asleep.

“Things have been crazy.  I’ve been stressed.”  Here, under cover of night, he’s vulnerable, explanation tumbling forth uncertainly.  You can hear it in the way the words form, syllables slipping into each other - a sure sign of his exhaustion.  “I know that’s not an excuse, so I’ll be better.”  Though he readjusts, weight distributing differently over the bed, he isn’t touching you.  You can only imagine how he looks, the posture he’s taken on, arms leant over knees, hands twisting together in that way of his that begs a silent help me.  A version of him you’ve seen only a handful of times.  

(Jeon Jungkook does not let things get to him.  Never has, likely never will.  He’s immaculately put together, strung tight by years of growing up too fast, wanting too much and fearing it’ll slip away.  He goes and goes until he can’t any more and only then does he still, crashing headlong over a cliff of his own creation.)

It’s then that you realise while you’ve grown irritated with his preoccupation, coming second to the man you’ve only ever put first, he’s been suffering right alongside you.  Differently, certainly, but suffering nonetheless.  Holding his cards close as he’s always done, shouldering all the things on his own and hoping for the best.

Irritation flares first.  Anger at the fact that he hadn’t confided in you.  It burns bright, erodes everything else in its path.

And then it dims almost immediately, overshadowed by a tenderness that blooms in the small of your chest.  Rosebuds that fill the cavity and swath affection in broad strokes, colouring everything purple - a pretty mosaic made up of equal parts love and sadness.

“You should’ve said something.”  

Bambi-eyed baby is your nickname for your boyfriend - one he reluctantly wears, scowls at when you use it in public - and yet you’re still blown away by the glossiness of his stare, how wide it goes when you roll to face him, simultaneously flicking your bedside light on.  There’s embarrassment crowding his expression, lighting up every handsome facet of his features in technicolour.  He works to hide it almost immediately, moves back on the bed as if he might find himself a home in the shadows.

“I thought you were sleeping,”  he mumbles, not quite looking at you, stare focused on your pillow case, the white linen that you’d bought when you’d moved in together.  “Did I wake you up?”

Though his concern is real, you know it’s a distraction too.  His way of deflecting, shifting the focus back to you.  

(Jeon Jungkook doesn’t live in the spotlight.  Hates it, in fact.  It’s a curious combination - wanting to be praised, to show off, and yet fearing failure so strongly.  A worrying mix when he’s down and an endearing one when he’s up.)

You’re still cocooned, still held far enough away that he hasn’t run for the hills, locking himself in the bathroom to put a further physical barrier between you.  Should you move too fast, you know he’ll spook.  Push too hard, he’ll leave.  

“Couldn’t sleep without you.”  It’s true enough.  Dreams had evaded you for the better part of the evening, held somewhere by hands inked like his, blemished by scars and calluses like his. They’d been kept in his coat pocket, tucked behind his ear.  (So maybe it’d been anger, too, that’d kept you up.  That doesn’t matter now.)

The disbelief is evident, both in his words and the quirk of his mouth, bathed in dim light.  “Really?”

(You sometimes wonder how different the two of you see things.  What a day looks like from his point of view - whether he reads all of your interactions in the same way.  You’ve always been terribly incompatible in that way, opposites in so many respects that it’d frankly baffled your friends when you’d started dating.

You were intent - sometimes too intent - on resolving problems, never letting up.  Forcing conversations you felt you needed to have, demanding answers even before there was one.  He, on the other hand, was uncomfortable with conflict, choosing to ignore the things that bothered him until they went away.  It’d driven you absolutely insane at first, made you worry that it was you that was the issue, simply being too much.  

But over time - three long years, to be exact - you’d found a common ground.  Or so you’d thought.)

“Why are you so surprised?”  

“You were pissed earlier.”  There’s a lightness to his tone, careful consideration poured into each word he offers, as if he’s navigating a minefield.  You’ve had these kinds of disagreements too many times for him to believe otherwise, as if his caution is a part of him, stitched lovingly - forcefully - by your hand.  “Thought you wouldn’t wait up for me.”  

“I shouldn’t have,”  you retort before you can help it, still just a little childish, a little hurt.  “But you know I hate going to bed angry.”  Of course he knows.  He’s lost hours of sleep due to your insistence that everything be talked out. 

He hums a noncommittal sound - more of a grunt - and you know your window is closing.  Now that you’re not out for blood, he’s retreating as he always does.  Readying himself to rise from the bed, close this half-read chapter and move onto the next. 

You beat him before he can, curling your fingers around his wrist, over the dangling silver chain.  (His birthday gift this year, heavy metal that’s cold under your touch.)  

“Don’t.”

One blink.  Another.  Slow and confused - deliberately so.  Then he’s looking away, staring down at the ground as if you haven’t just read his next move.  The ring might be his domain but home is yours;  it’s the one place you hold the upper hand.  “What?”  

“Don’t leave.”  It’s easy to read the meaning in between your words, the unspoken request that might as well be brilliant red ink.  It’s far kinder than your usual demands, more pleading than begrudging, more need than want.  

“I need to shower.”  

It’s not a no - which you suppose is a win. 

“Just wait.”  Your request comes with an adjustment, whole tired frame rising from the bed only to sink back down - this time against your partner, your other half, your infuriating love.  He accepts you readily, dropping his ink-strewn hand over your covered thigh.  The weight is comforting over the warmth of the duvet, grounding you in the quiet of your home.

“I’m gross,”  he complains, though he doesn’t make to move away.  Stays right by your side when you drop your head against his bare shoulder.  “Now you’re gross.”

“We can be gross together.”  Because you’re not ready for him to leave you, to close the door as he so often does.  (And, for once, you’re not quite as angry, not seeking an argument that’ll give you the resolution you hope for.  You want communication, open and honest.  You want him, vulnerable and soft.)

A little sigh comes, a puff of breath that expands his doughy cheeks and sends wayward strands fluttering.  It’s less resigned and more endeared - you know how much it means when his acquiesces like this.  

Maybe he wants those same things, you think.  

“Do you wanna shower?”  You ask in perfect tandem, words folding together.  You nod in the same way.

Encased in the small space - it’s different.  He’s preoccupied, back turned to you, shielding you from the slow-heating stream.  It’s as if his mind is a thousand lightyears away, trapped somewhere with the stars as the water rains down around the two of you, fogging the glass and wetting his hair. 

“Babe?”  

There’s a delay before he reacts, peering over his shoulder at you, a faraway look in his eyes.  You wonder what he’d been thinking of, whether he’s still on the same page as you or if he’s skipped ahead as he tends to do.  When he speaks, you have your answer, his words flicking through paper to bring you two where you need to be.  

“Can you wash my hair?”  An indulgent treat he rarely requests, one he seldom allows.  He’s far too on the go, jumping from this to that to spend much time like this with you. 

It’s a sign if there ever was one. 

You reach for your shampoo bottle wordlessly, popping the cap and depositing sweet peach-scented liquid into your hands.  They fold into his strands carefully, tips of your fingers pressing into his scalp, delightful bubbles accumulating between your digits.  He doesn’t make a sound but you feel the way he relaxes, practically melting into your touch as you work the cleanser through his roots, careful to keep the suds from descending into his eyes. 

When was the last time you’d done this?  Weeks ago?  Months, maybe?  You honestly can’t recall.  (Not that it matters now.  You’ve found yourselves back here, terribly tender and intimate in the dead of night.  Almost as if no time has passed at all.)

Silence stretches between the two of you.  You don’t even need to instruct him to rinse, running seamlessly through the routine without hesitation. 

Conditioner replaces shampoo, deft fingers combing through the few knots in his feather soft strands.  Though there are hardly any, you know he loves when you take extra care, treating him in ways he’d never ask for otherwise.  He savours these quiet moments of almost-solitude, spoiled rotten by your familiar touch and comforting affection.  

You’d give it every single day if you could.  Had, in fact. 

That’s what’d brought you here, after all. 

“‘m sorry,”  he says - mumbles really - surprising you as you’re working your fingers into the nape of his neck, concentrating on the tension that’s carved out a home beneath muscle and sinew, turned bone iron-clad. 

“For what?” 

Any other time, it might’ve come across demanding, needing an answer that would soothe whatever inadequacy he’d somehow strung your heart up with.  Now, it’s genuine, asked more for him than you.  

You want to be let in.  Need it. 

“Being out of it, I guess.”  It’s a lot for him - admitting this.  “I’ve just been busy and I guess I kind of just—“  The imposing line of his shoulders rise and fall, a mountain range disturbed by the uncertainty in his voice.  

“Forgot about me?”  You don’t mean it meanly.  It’s a simple statement of fact, one the both of you have to face. 

“Yeah.  Something like that.”

You deliberate accepting the apology and moving on, sweeping it under the rug because he’s already come so much further than you’d thought he would.  But that’s not the kind of person you are, so you press just a little more, stand just a little taller. 

“I don’t think I ask for the world, Kook.”  Maybe more than some people.  Maybe less than others.  “If I’m being too much, I’d rather you let me know than shut me out.”

A sigh comes, so heavy you wonder whether he might be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.  

“No, I know.”  

“Do you?”

(At some point you’d stopped massaging the conditioner in, opting to crowd your hands over his back, working into the knots that run beneath his skin.  He hadn’t been lying - he’s stiff as a board, entire broad form twitching any time you press the pads of your thumbs into a particularly sensitive spot.)

“I thought I’d figure it out myself,”  he reasons, in that oh-so impossible Jeon Jungkook way of his.  “Didn't realise it was taking a toll on you.” 

“On us,”  you correct, not at all tactful.  

“On us,”  he agrees with another sigh, smaller this time, tinged blue with something that feels like guilt and fills up the glass space. 

“We’re a team, you know.” 

(You know he knows.  You just have to remind him sometimes, anchor him with the knowledge that it’s not him against the world.  That you’re in his corner - always.)

“I know.” 

When he turns to look at you - doesn’t even flinch when the sudden movement has you wobbling on your feet, catches you when you stumble - you don’t doubt that.  He loves you just as much as you love him, sees the whole world in the small of your stare.  

“I’m sorry,”  he says again, two hands coming to cradle your face, palms warm over each cheek.  “Just give me some time.”  For what, you’re not sure.  You don’t mind waiting to find out though - willing to weather the storm just to see him happy.  

Jungkook holds you close, threads his fingers through yours and peppers love into the silk of your hair.  Dresses your skin in the heat of his affection and sears his signature into the velvet of your skin, teeth dragging, tongue gliding.  

“Is this better?”  He means how he holds you, how he treats you like porcelain as he fucks you slow and tender, keeps one leg hooked back over his own. 

It’s not that this is the kind of lovemaking you prefer but rather the one you need, with him consuming you wholly, sweetly, filling you with each fluid roll of his hips and nothing else.  No elaborate dirty talk, no overzealous bouncing, just the two of you together, curled against each other like you might not survive otherwise.  

He’s not pushing you to your finish with deft fingers over your clit, not taking his fill with greedy hands.  He’s simply there, with you, feeling every curve of your body as he sinks into your aching cunt and sighs as if he’s in heaven.  (And maybe he is - because where he is could only ever be where you are and you feel like you’re floating, weightless and lovestruck, anchored only to your bed by the hand that squeezes yours and the mouth that purrs your name.) 

“Yes,”  you breathe, exhale in a breath that seems to take all of your effort.  It’s hard to focus when he splits you open so well, fills your pussy and your heart and makes your chest erupt with a kaleidoscope of butterflies. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

When he says it like that - folds it like a promise and tucks it into the spot behind your ear - you know it’s true.  Even if you don’t always feel it, even if he doesn’t always show it, there’s not a doubt in your mind. 

In all the ways he can, he loves you.  And whether that means enough from one day to the next, you don’t mind sticking around to find out.  Not if it means more of this. 

(Of him, of you, of your life together.)

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

[strawwritesfic]

Thor Odinson x One Sided!Female!Asgardian!Reader: Taken

Summary: Stepping aside may be the most difficult challenge a warrior such as you will face.

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: All (Thor/Jane; childhood friendship; I Want My Beloved to Be Happy; referenced Darcy/Ian)

Challenge: "120 Bits of Random" by SugarLandBabyGirl

Taken

Thor disappeared again, and no one knew where he had gone–or rather why he had gone. The crown prince was forever visiting Midgard and his friends there. Normally he gave some warning and explanation, though. At least he would usually make sure to tell his father about his plans. With Heimdall as a babysitter, it was not likely Thor could keep his whereabouts a secret long either way, but that week he simply didn’t come to breakfast one morning. No one could find him afterward. No one could figure out what was going on.

They could have asked you, but you had disappeared as well. Most would chalk your absence up as related to Thor’s. The two of you had been practically inseparable since you’d learned to walk…until Jane Foster, that was. And this disappearance had everything to do with Jane Foster.

You removed yourself from the realm-wide speculation only as far as one of the distant training pitches. Work, struggle, and sweat were all that could distract you from your best friend’s doings several realms away.

Unfortunately, that meant that you were sweating and struggling when Thor himself found you slicing and thrashing at the illusion of a giant ice beast. A great arc of dark blood disappeared as it splattered against your skin. The smears of dirt from your efforts stayed.

Thor waited only as long as it took for you to register his hand on your shoulder, then stepped away, beaming. You knew right then and there, but something stayed your tongue from asking. Maybe, you thought, just maybe, things had gone wrong.

“She said yes!” he cried.

Your brain froze, as did your heart. A half smile that felt more like a grimace remained stuck to your face. You needed to say something. Thor would expect you to. But your tongue remained glued to the roof your mouth. To play for time, you peeled a sweat-stiff lock of hair off your forehead.

His smile fell two notches.

“Jane said she will marry me,” he said, slowly, as though he thought you had not understood his first attempt at communicating the news.

It took a great deal of effort to force both ends of your lips up, but at last you managed. “Congratulations!” Quickly, you spun around to gather up your things. Hopefully Thor could not read you as well as he once could. Hopefully he did not note the higher pitch your voice hit when you added, “And her Selvig?”

“It took some convincing, but he agreed. Darcy and Ian were much more eager to give their blessing.”

One deep breath, and you thought you could look at him without giving your feelings away. You turned, feeling that your smile was a bit more typical of you now. “Asked her whole family, did you?”

“I wanted to do things right in the ways of Midgard.”

“Jane was never going to say no, Thor.”

A moment’s pause followed in which both of you grinned at each other. It almost felt like old times, before Thor met Jane, before all your chances had been washed away.

At that thought, something in you snapped. “I should go clean up. Your parents will want to throw a party to celebrate.”

You meant that as farewell, but Thor fell easily into step next to you. “I have something to ask you as well,” he said, looking serious.

“You have my permission to marry Jane,” you assured him, even though you didn’t want to give it.

Once the wedding happened, your girlhood fantasy would die entirely. You knew how loyal Thor was. Jane would pass on in short time, that was true, but his feelings for her would not pass on with her. She would be his only wife. He would want you no more after her death than he did now in the months before their marriage. His talking brought you back to the equally painful present:

“The wedding will be done in the Midgardian style,” he was saying. “The bride and groom each have a guard. Would you consent to being in Jane’s?”

For the first time, you allowed your hurt to surface via your expression. Was Thor already trying to distance himself from you? “Why not yours? I am your friend. Jane hardly knows me.”

“The guards are split by gender customarily.” He paused, then took your hands in his. “I want you there with me, [Name].”

You couldn’t refuse him when he said something like that. You wanted to, but you could not. It might be the last time you could stand beside him.

Still you did not answer. Something in you wanted to try one last, desperate thing. Thor was so close, closer than he had been in ages. Your eyes fell on his lips. Knowing that it was foolish all the while, you moved closer until your lips were on his. The kiss lasted only two heartbeats, but it was enough to tell you what you wanted to know. He did not let go of you, and when you pulled away, he only looked bemused.

“What was that for?” he asked.

Your heart gave a terrible squeeze. Your kiss meant nothing. It was not even that you’d missed your chance. Thor didn’t love you. He never had. Again, you forced a smile as you disentangled your hands from his.

“For being my friend,” you said hoarsely. “I will be in Jane’s bridesguard. It would be my honor to stand with both of you as you…” You searched for the term Jane had used during her brief conversation with you during her last visit to Asgard, “…tie the knot?”

“I thought Midgardians used rings, not ropes.”

You laughed, and Thor followed suit. Another pause, another shared smile. If you stayed much longer in his company, you thought you might burst.

“I should go,” you said for a second time, “before your betrothed finds me covered in grime. If I remember correctly, members of the bridesguard are supposed to be dewy and beautiful. I would hate for your future wife to kick me out for failing to live up to standards.”

He chuckled at that as well, but did not follow when you took a wide step in the direction of your quarters. “I should go as well. My parents will be eager to know of my doings.”

“You told me first?”

“You are my best friend, [Name],” Thor said solemnly. “You kept my plans a secret from everyone else, just as I asked. It only makes sense that you should receive the news first.”

You managed a watery smile. Even with Jane in the picture, Thor cherished your relationship. He met your smile before striding off in the opposite direction.

Staring after him, you did not cry. You had known for years that Thor did not feel the same for you as you did for him. His friendship was enough. You would learn to adjust to the sight of Jane at his side. Who knew? Maybe you would find someone just as good as him, and then Thor could stand in his groomsguard. Nothing had to change except your attitude–and that you could manage easily enough.

[starstruck-shima]

❄️Kaeya meets a Bunny Girl Senpai❄️

Notes: Kinda crack, references to Kaeya’s backstory, fem reader, heavily based off of/inspired by Bunny Girl Senpai.

“In which Kaeya questions his sanity over a wild bunny girl that only he could see.”

Sometimes, he wonders if he’s finally lost it. After all those years of working in the knights, experiencing the shithole that was his early childhood, and the split that happened between him and the man he still saw as his sworn brother, you’d be pleasantly surprised to see how Kaeya still persevered and became the infamous cavalry captain we all know and love today.

And yet there he was, taking a double take on the sight before him during his rounds around the city. More specifically, the sight in question was that of a girl, just around his age--yet unlike him, who at least considered donning on some type of protective wear (wether it was for the weather or public decency, perhaps both), she opted for a less... conventional outfit. It was the bunny ears that really caught his attention though. 

He’s less intrigued by the black leotard, tights, and heels and more interested on who you are and why are you doing this. A wild bunny girl, with a vision strapped onto your collar too... you were most certainly a big deal. Yet why did no one bat an eye at you, or at least your appearance? 

“You’re staring.” Those were the first words you said to him, and Kaeya blinks--seeing bunny ears nearly obstruct his vision. You could talk. He’s either imagining things even more or it was a sign that you had a mind of your own. Either way, he’s still a bit taken aback. “Huh, you can still see me.”

“Forgive me, I just couldn’t help but notice you. What brings you to Mondstadt?” He tries to carry on a conversation--a surmise way for him to ease someone into at least spilling a bit of info on them.

Your next answer caught him off guard. “I live here.” That certainly raised his suspicions. He’s been patrolling around Mondstadt for years, to the point where he knows the familiar faces of regulars at the Angel’s Share bar, and even the names and schedules of the knights who guard the city walls. Who exactly were you? Perhaps you were new? But you didn’t look like an outsider either... you felt right at home in Mondstadt.

“I’m (Y/n) (L/n), part of the Knights of Favonius.” His eyes widened a bit at the revelation. You were part of the knights? “Forget what you saw today. Farewell.” Before he could inquire further, you had disappeared right there and then.

Kaeya takes it upon himself to immediately read up on you. Records, testimonies from fellow knights, checking your rank, asking Lisa, he did it all. His findings surprised him even more--not much was known about you, and from what he heard, you’ve barely even showed your face--or rather, not much have actually seen you around. Some can’t even recall your appearance. Yet the records state otherwise. You definitely existed. 

And so, Kaeya’s trip down down the rabbit hole had begun. After all, someone had to get to the bottom of this, and frankly, he was pretty much the only one who could, considering the circumstances.

It wasn’t long until you noticed his behavior, and it led to another chance encounter. This time, in front of your house. You knew he would’ve eventually found out in the records, yet you were surprised at his perseverance nonetheless. What was his deal? “Cavalry captain, why are you so persistent?”

He chuckles. “So you do know me.”You roll your eyes a bit. It was nothing, really. He was a huge a name here after all. 

When you ask him why he cared for your case so much, he simply responds like it was common sense. You still don’t understand why. ”It’d be bad for me to let you run off on your own, you know? Especially in that.” His eyes gesture onto your clothing. Right, you almost forgot. “Consider it a favor.”

And thus, began your strange friendship with Kaeya.

It started a bit rocky, but as time passed, the two of you started to see past your differences. Petty remarks turned into playful banter, and suspicions were cast aside into genuine fondness--though none of you openly admitted to that.

Kaeya soon learns more of your predicament, after patiently waiting for you to be ready to open up. It started with an incident in your lab--you were testing the limits of elemental reactions, which led to an explosion. 

At first, you thought there wouldn’t be any side effects, however, you quickly learned that the opposite was true, when Sucrose came to check up on the noise... yet didn’t notice you in the room. It only got worse from there.

So, you tried to test another theory. People were sure to notice and have a bigger impression of you in their memory if you caught their attention, right? Perhaps by making a huge impression, it’ll trigger a memory--hence causing them to remember. So, you opted for something that would definitely be a sight worth seeing (and remembering, to an extent). That was how you ended up as Mondstadt’s wild bunny girl, hopping around the city as a phenomenon waiting to be seen.

Yet somehow, only one man did. And amidst the time you had to bond, wether it was during a quiet meal in your abode after he helped you in getting groceries, or looking through the library for hints to solve your predicament, Kaeya and you proved to be quite the close pair.

Time was ticking however, and you knew that if Kaeya and you couldn’t find a solution, then sooner or later, you’d be gone for good. Left to be forgotten. A failed experiment.

It was something you never told Kaeya--something you kept hidden in your many papers dedicated in solving your predicament. You kept convincing yourself that it was better this way. He could go back to his knightly duties and continue protecting Mondstadt without an extra burden.

But what you didn’t know was that he found out. It was all adding up, really--the way you started to distance yourself from him, how you began stocking up on food, and the notes he read behind your back when you were away. 

...Which meant he also read about the details of your planned experiment to make him lose his memory. And he didn’t like the idea one bit. He’d never abandon you after all you’ve been through. He hates the very idea of such.

So one day, when you asked him to meet you in front of the gates, wearing that same old bunny girl suit for shits and giggles, he knew what he was getting into. He calculated the time you’d finish prepping your little memory loss experiment, and today was the day.

You thought everything was going as planned. Kaeya didn’t once suspect the drink you gave him. Your first mistake. Your second was letting your guard down... as Kaeya had immediately chucked the drink into your lips, forcing you to gulp it down, choking in disbelief. Wait... did you see him spit it out right as he did that?!

“You--” coughing, you look at Kaeya in distraught. “YOU KNEW?!”

But the man merely chuckles, quoting a friend that helped him solve the mystery. Of course, in return, he had to submit a full, detailed report on your entire predicament, but he could care less. Thank you Albedo.“With equal force comes equal reaction.” 

“I still don’t get what you mean--” you stiffen, suddenly feeling eyes on you, several people saying your name. Wait... if they remembered your name, could they see you?

“So that was where you ran off to,” You almost cry tears of joy when Albedo actually talks to you, walking alongside Sucrose to where you were situated. “I expect a huge explanation on how all of this happened--” he briefly turns to Kaeya. “--And everything in between.”

Still in the high of euphoria, you don’t notice the cold night air until Sucrose brings you back to reality. “Um... Ms. (Y/n), not to be rude, but... aren’t you cold in that?”

You stiffen, your mind wanting you to slap the blue haired man behind you for laughing hysterically in response. Right, almost forgot about that.

[daisiesonafield-blog]

That Vogue article is so over the top. Look I liked Booksmart, I’ve seen it several times but I’d hardly call it a total triumph. It did well critically, but it was definitely a box office dud. I think Olivia picks a lot of really cool projects and How It Ends looks interesting too. I like Zoe Lister Jones & its smart for Olivia to be working with other female writer/directors, so I am still just struggling to understand why this stunt seemed like the only way to go. It just seems like the complete opposite vibe of the serious indie filmaker she seems to want no matter how dire the situation the industry is in.

I haven’t seen Booksmart, and I honestly didn’t even know she had switched to directing until DWD came into the fandom’s radar. But yeah, I’ve read Booksmart was well received but didn’t do that well $$ wise:

Nonetheless I think the thing to get from Booksmart is that she was able to establish herself as a filmmaker and director.

And as for Olivia trying to establish herself as an indie filmmaker - I disagree. She only had 1 project under her directing belt, and Don’t Worry Darling doesn’t strike me as an indie film. It very much strikes me as a blockbuster psychological thriller, similar to Gone Girl or The Girl on the Train or Get Out. 

All those movies had a comparatively small budget but did very well in the box office, and were very well received by critics (though ‘The girl on the train’ got some mixed reviews).

Gone Girl:

The girl on the train:

Get Out:

Don’t Worry Darling was a coveted project, and they got a “small budget” compared to two of the above, but they are definitely hoping for a similar return. Their budget is ~$20 million dollars. This isn’t indie film realm. This is Blockbuster realm.

What is more: Olivia and the producers stand to get 50% of the movie profits after it breaks even:

The movie has 5 producers, so assuming those are all the people in the back-end deal, 50% of the money after the first $20M earned goes to them.

So taking ‘The girl in the train’ as an example since it got the lowest box office of the 3:

They got ~$173M in the box office, take the $20M investment off, then 50% of the remainder is $76.5M. Split equally between the 5 producers, it’s $15.3 MILLION DOLLARS. That’s how much Olivia would earn from the movie taking ‘The girl in the train’ as an example.

That’s a shit ton of money. For comparison, Olivia’s current net worth is estimated to be around $20M. And net worth is not the same as the money in her bank/at her disposal. So she stands to earn just as much as she is currently worth, potentially ‘doubling her wealth’ in one paycheck. 

If the movie does even better, they all stand to earn even more millions of dollars.

And money aside, this is their careers too. Booksmart was a relatively small project, but it got Olivia on the map with acclaim. Don’t Worry Darling is the project she hopes will launch her directing career into ‘stardom’ if you will, and place her alongside big directing names. She has a lot invested in this project too.

And all of this doesn’t even account for the studio yet. They have A LOT riding on this movie. They NEED it to do well, so they will make sure it does. They invested $20M, so they need a good profit from it. And since the film industry is suffering right now, they will do anything and everything to ensure they maximize their profit.

Hollywood has lost BILLIONS of dollars. BILLIONS, so they’re scrambling to make sure they start making a real profit off of upcoming movies. 

[2020 had] the lowest showing since the early 1980s, if not the late 1970s, and that's before adjusting for inflation:

In the grand scheme of things this movie and its promotion don’t hurt Olivia and her brand or career. Her brand is bold, independent, adventurous and, as she put it, “bad ass woman”. And with her move toward directing, she set out as someone wanting to put women on the same table as the big Hollywood directors and players, as someone paving the way for women in that area. So this movie doing well will only help her get there. So she will make sure the movie does well for this reason too.

And even with all the hype and anticipation this movie was getting, with Olivia carrying the woman-director torch, the praise about the script, the unheard of deal DWD got - breaking records, and the cast with great recognizable names, THEY STILL NEED TO GET THE PUBLIC INVESTED AND PROMO THE SHIT OUT OF THIS MOVIE.

PROMO IS NECESSARY. It’s standard. They aren’t reinventing the wheel with this stunt. This is the big guns here. There’s no half-assing the potential success of this film. And promo like this is publicity gold. And that’s what Hollywood needs right now.