#like i just feel genuinely unliked and unlikable.

[sofavoritepuppy]

secrets out- schlatt

fluff, references to smut, mostly just pure fluff tho :)

You blink your eyes slowly as you wake up. You hear the soft chirping of birds outside, and the sun casts your bedroom in an almost angelic glow. You stretch a little bit, but come to find there’s no resistance. You realize that, unlike most mornings when you wake, Schlatt’s arms aren’t around your waist. You groan, coming to the conclusion you should probably go and look for him. You decided he’s most likely in the kitchen making coffee, probably on his second pot as well. A small grin spreads across your face as you think fondly of him and his crippling caffeine addiction. You’ve had to hide the grounds from him multiple times, tough love as you say.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed as you try to sit up. “Fuck!” You mutter under your breath, soreness seeping into your entire lower body. 

Speaking of tough love, last night was a lot of fun. You slide out from under the comforter and steal one of Schlatt’s shirts. You grab a pair of panties too, but it hardly matters due to the length of the shirt. “Jay?” You call out meekly, wincing with every step to the door. You sneak out of the bedroom and out into the hall. Voices float from the kitchen and you smile. You imagined your boyfriend listening to a podcast, or watching COD videos like he usually does when making the two of you food. You run your fingers through your hair as you slowly make your way to his kitchen. “Jay,” you call out again. 

“I am genuinely struggling to walk right now, thank you for that. If you aren’t making me breakfast right now after last night, I might actually kill you.” You complain as you step into the kitchen. 

However, as soon as you lay eyes on the scene in front of you, you feel your heart drop.

Ted, Eddie, and Charlie are all sitting at your kitchen table with Schlatt, a look of pure shock on their face. Hand still in your hair and eyes wide, you survey everyone whose eyes are currently on you. Eddie is staring at you wide eyed, brows furrowed together. Charlie is blinking, mouth agape, and rubbing his eyes every few seconds like he expects you to disappear. You snap your eyes up to Schlatt, giving him a panicked look as you tug on the hem of your shirt, attempting to cover yourself further.  “So…” You mumble, red flushing your cheeks. “I didn’t know that you guys were coming today.”

“We thought uh, we thought we’d surprise Schlatt for his birthday, but it looks like he surprised us.” Ted says. “We were going to invite you to this, but you said you’d be busy this week with that secret boyfriend of yours- oh. Oh.”

“Yeah…” You mumble as you look at Schlatt helplessly. 

“So.” Schlatt says and pushes up from his seat. “It appears the secret’s out.”  

He walks over to you and slings an arm over your shoulder. The group’s eye’s follow him do this usually platonic action, something Schlatt has done to them many times, but it has an awfully intimate sort of feel to it this time around. “I cannot believe you two are fucking.” Charlie says.

“We aren’t fucking dude, we’re dating.” You say, punctuating the sentence with an eye roll. 

“For how long?” Ted asks.

You look up at Schlatt and he lets out a chuckle. “Uh, for about a year and a half now.” He says.

The shock on everyone's face returns, and Ted looks aghast.  “A year?” He says, astounded. “She's been on Chuckle Sandwich since then! You guys have visited me in LA since then! You- you- you probably fucked after seeing me!” 

You and Schlatt share a look. “Well yes, but also-” Schlatt starts to say before you smack your hand over his mouth.

“Nope. We are not sharing this fun fact right now, big guy.” You say, knowing exactly what story he was about to share. 

“Why? What did you do?” Ted exclaims. 

Schlatt muffles against your hand but it stays firmly pressed against his mouth. “Ted, I really don’t think this is the time to share.” You say, sickly false sweetness dripping from your voice.

Ted opens his mouth to say something but is quickly stopped when you yelp. Schlatt bit you. You yank your hand away immediately. “Jesus Jay!”

“Had to have you bring your arm back down. Your shirt was too far up, you were flashing everyone.”

You turn a deep red yet again and say, “I’m going to go change.”

You look up at Schlatt pointedly. “Be good.”

He holds up his hands in mock-surrender. “What have I ever done? You’re the one who gave me the world's most graphic good morning!”

You roll your eyes as you walk out. You rush back to Schlatt’s room and pull on a pair of his sweatpants. They were massively oversized on you, you had to roll the waistband at least four times. “WHEN I WAS IN THE SHOWER? ON THE COUCH?” You hear Ted yell through the wall. Schlatt apparently could not listen to simple instructions. You rush back to the kitchen to see Charlie and Eddie cackling at Ted and Schlatt are arguing. “No dude!” Schlatt yells. “Do you remember what she was wearing that day? You wouldn’t be able to resist either dumbass!” 

He points at you like you were an example. “Schlatt.” You said, voice hard.

He knew what you meant immediately. He knows thats your you-need-to-shut-the-fuck-up-before-I beat-your-ass voice. “Sorry doll.” He mumbles, looking at the floor.

Charlie’s jaw falls back open. “Did- did I just hear JSchlatt use- use a- use a pet name? And apologize?”

Schlatt scowls at Charlie as he wraps his arms around your waist. “The fuck about it you fucking bimbo? Do you only call your girlfriend by her name?”

“No but like, I’m not you. I’m not a big ass tough guy.” 

“Aw Schlatt’s not that tough, are you love?” You say, and boop Schlatt on the nose for added emphasis.

“Dude you’re fucking embaressing me,” He replies and buries his face into your neck.

Ted, Eddie and Charlie look aghast. This is not the man they know. Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but is shut down by a loud ringing from Schlatt’s phone. He pulls it out, looks at it and sighs. “I have to take this,” He says, annoyed. 

He then shoots a pointed look at you. “Be good.” He says, copying you.

You dramatically nod and bat your eyelashes at him as he walks out. You turn back the group, and all of them open their mouths at once to start asking questions.

“So you woke up here?”

“Yup.”

“How often do you sleepover here?”

“Never.”

“The fuck you mean by that?”

“I live here.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

“Mhm.”

You point at a door across the living room. “That's where I stream from. Schlatt streams in the other spare bedroom upstairs.”

“You two live together?”

“Yup. Coming up on four months of living here.”

“You’re kidding right? There’s no way Schlatt can’t be heard screaming in the back of your streams?”

“He’s actually super quiet domestically.”

“Domestically?!? Sorry, are you guys like, in love?”

“Nope. Hate that guy.”

---

first schlatt fic ever yayy (i didn't want to post this to ao3 lol) tell if u guys like it and any requests or anything!!

[iiannabxth]

Something I think is neat about Eden’s Garden is that everyone has an animal that represents them.

For example, Wolfgang’s animal motif is a sheep, therefore, sheep are associated with his character. (Ex: his blackmail is a play on “a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”) That being said, I don’t think Wolfgang is a sheep, rather, he is a shepherd. Wolfgang is quickly established as the “leader” of the group. As a lawyer, he’s used to defending the helpless, so he steps in to protect a group of people who he thinks need his guidance.

I’ve seen people debate about the motivations behind Wolfgang’s optimistic approach to the killing game, but I believe they were entirely wholehearted. Something I’ve seen a lot is the idea that “Wolfgang was blindly leading the group because he didn’t even seem to believe what he was saying.” While it’s true that Wolfgang didn’t entirely believe that no one in the group would possibly kill another person, I think he wanted the others to believe that.

Going back to the shepherd metaphor, Wolfgang was trying to convince the group— his “flock”— that everything would be alright. He knows that they are in a dangerous situation, but he wants the group to believe that they can trust each other, which allows them to make bonds and friendships. He also tries to eliminate any feeling of inferiority between the ultimates, as he insists that everyone’s ultimate is important and can possibly benefit humanity. Through all of this, the creation of relationships would hypothetically prevent a murder from occurring because there would be a feeling of harmony among them.

This mentality is why characters like Eva and Damon quickly get singled out. The majority of the group is receptive to Wolfgang’s encouragement because they want to believe him. However, Eva and Damon immediately dispute this and blatantly state what everyone is secretly thinking: that they really can’t trust each other. They also think that some ultimates, such as their own, are more valuable than others. (Ex: Damon thinks his talent as the Ultimate Debater is more important than Diana’s or Cassidy’s.) Because they disagree with the group and are disrupting Wolfgang’s attempt to cultivate peace, he allows them to be ostracized by the others. Even though it creates discourse, it protects the rest of the group.

However, there’s a difference between Eva and Damon. While both Damon and Eva are initially singled out from the group, Damon manages to reintegrate. Unlike Eva, Damon works to form relationships with the other ultimates and proves that while he doesn’t entirely agree with Wolfgang, he’s not a threat to the harmony that Wolfgang is trying to create. Eva, on the other hand, maintains her beliefs that she does not trust the others and isn’t going to play nice with them. (Ironically, she proves Wolfgang’s philosophy by trusting Damon, but that’s a whole other rant lol.)

I disagree heavily with the idea that Wolfgang is egotistical and is leading the group solely because he wants their praise/admiration. I think that he genuinely wants to protect people he views as his “friends.” He gives them the benefit of the doubt when he logically shouldn’t. This is why he goes to meet the person who wrote the letter, but he brings a weapon just in case. Wolfgang is not naïve and he knows that every single person in their class has the potential to harm another, but by placing trust in them and setting the expectation that they won’t harm anyone, he helps them to believe in each other.

— Side note: I think that his tendency to believe in others comes from something to do with his past/his father. (His hallucinations/delusions when talking to Diana suggest that he is actively trying to rise above someone else’s shadow and break a harmful cycle, likely to do with his parents.) I believe his blackmail is a dig at him, as he is possibly trying not to be like his father by attempting to be a good person?

Anyway, I think that Wolfgang’s sheep motif is incredibly important to his character and I think it really reflects his personality and philosophy ^^

[fictionadventurer]

Genuinely think the only way to approach art is to like the things you like instead of tearing down what other people like.

"You should read classics because those are real literature unlike that TikTok garbage." Bad. Turns people away from reading the classics because it makes them sound stuffy and boring and makes you sound like a snob.

"You should read classics because this book is amazing! I love the characters and the story, and it's so cool to read a story that uses different techniques than modern fiction does." Good. Makes people want to read the classic. Suggests there's something good in this story instead of just suggesting that other stuff is worse.

"You don't like the modern art? That's because you're an unwashed plebeian who only likes what's pretty." Bad. Puts down the person and makes them even less likely to be interested in this type of art.

"Wow, I love this painting! Look at the technique! I love the message behind it!" Good. Helps the person to appreciate what might not be obvious at first glance, instead of shaming them for not automatically knowing this.

"You should watch this show because it's so much better than that other garbage show." Antagonizes people who like the garbage show and makes them less likely to feel positively toward the show you like.

"You should watch this show because it has great writing/characters/plot etc." Good! Tells people what makes this show appealing and makes them want to try it.

"I listen to this music because it's real art and not that manufactured pop garbage." Bad. Makes your genre seem like an exclusive club of snobs that I don't want to join.

"I listen to this music because I like the sound. Here, listen to this song." Good! Shows me something good within the genre and may encourage me to explore further.

There's a place for criticism. You don't have to like or approve of everything. But it's not a great technique for getting people to like art. Hating on the things that are bad just drives people away. If you want to draw people toward something, you have to help them to appreciate what's good.

[aishangotome]

Luke & Gilbert's Story of Reminiscence [The Day We Became a Fake Family] - Part 1

Luke: Hey, Emma. There's a new shop in town, wanna go with me?

Emma: Sure, but it's rare for you to invite me somewhere.

Luke: It's a shop for women. I'm interested in their limited-edition honey candy, but I'd stand out going alone, wouldn't I?

Emma: Hehe... In that case, I'd be happy to.

Lately, with Prince Gilbert of Obsidian staying at the Rhodolite castle, there's been a constant tension, and it often feels suffocating.

So when he invited me to town, I immediately accepted, but—

Gilbert: Oh, are you two going out?

Just as we were about to reach the exit, where a clear blue sky spread out before us, we bumped into Prince Gilbert.

Luke: Yeah, it's a date, so don't get in the way.

Gilbert: Oh? Sounds interesting. Makes me want to play a game of follow the leader.

Luke: Are you a man of leisure or something?

(I've been thinking this for a while, but Luke is amazing because he doesn't change his attitude at all, even with Prince Gilbert.)

Unlike me, with my body stiffening with nervousness, or the servants who hurried past, Luke is a valuable presence who can face Prince Gilbert and exchange words with him confidently.

Wanting to learn from him, I mentally chided my unconsciously fearful heart.

Gilbert: If you're going to town, I'd like a souvenir, okay?

Luke: What? No way.

Gilbert: I'm a state guest. ...Right, little rabbit?

Emma: What kind of souvenir would you like?

Gilbert: Hmm...

Luke: If you're going to think about it that hard, don't ask.

Gilbert: Rhodolite is a country of gourmet food, so it can't be helped, can it?

Gilbert: Ah, that's right. I'd like a sandwich from the bakery that little rabbit always goes to.

Emma: ...How did you know that I frequent the bakery...?

Gilbert: Want to know?

(No way... he's not saying I have a spy on me, is he...?)

(...That's plausible and scary.)

Luke: Don't bully her.

Gilbert: Bully? That's harsh. I actually like little rabbit, you know?

Luke: That's what bullying is.

Gilbert: Ahaha, that's true. But I'm genuinely interested in the sandwich.

Gilbert: Is that a no?

Emma: ...I'll do my best.

Gilbert: Thank you.

Luke: You really only bring trouble, don't you?

Luke: Emma, let's go.

Perhaps noticing my stiff expression, Luke took my hand and started walking.

His large, dependable hand brought a sense of relief before any embarrassment.

Gilbert: See you later, you two.

Luke: ––...!

At his casual words, Luke, who hadn't reacted to anything until then, slightly trembled his fingers.

(...Is it my imagination?)

Luke didn't say anything, and just pulled my hand to led me into town.

-

---...Ten years ago, in Obsidian.

Gilbert: Luke, how do you feel about starting military school today?

Luke: Huh? I don't really feel... anything.

Gilbert: You can't be feeling "nothing." An exciting youth awaits you!

Luke: There's no such thing at a military training facility.

Gilbert: Aww.

Luke: But hey, thanks. ...For arranging for me to attend.

Gilbert: You're welcome. I hope you can learn what you desire...

Luke: .............

Gilbert: But before that, let's make one promise.

Luke: A promise?

Gilbert: As long as you keep this promise, I'll always be on your side.

Luke: ...Is it that important of a promise?

Gilbert: Yes. Precisely because you'll have more opportunities to go out, it's a promise you must never break.

Luke: What is it?

Gilbert: When I send you off with "see you later," you must always come back and say "I'm home."

Luke: Huh?

Gilbert: If you don't say "I'm home," I'll consider it a betrayal and kill you.

Luke: The price is too high.

Gilbert: That's how important it is. Conversely, if I don't welcome you with "welcome home," you can kill me.

Luke: ...That's stupid.

Gilbert: But I'm serious.

Gilbert: Well then, Luke. See you later.

-

Gilbert: Ah, there you are. Welcome home, Luke.

Luke: You... were you waiting here the whole time for me to come back?

Gilbert: We made a promise, didn't we?

Luke: ...Even though you're not a man of leisure.

Gilbert: Being busy isn't an excuse to break a promise. ...Here.

Luke: What are you doing with your arms? Absolutely not.

Gilbert: Oh, have you already forgotten?

Gilbert: When you break the promise—

Luke: We didn't make a promise to hug.

Gilbert: You're so shy, Luke.

Luke: ...Anyone would hate that.

Gilbert: So, come on?

Luke: ...Something about...

Luke: It's hard to say when you're being rushed.

Gilbert: Are you sure? It's a choice between life and death.

Luke: Why do I have to risk my life for something so stupid?

Gilbert: It's not stupid. It's just that there was someone who didn't keep this promise once.

Gilbert: It was very unpleasant. So unpleasant that I almost killed everyone in the castle.

Luke: ..............

Gilbert: You won't betray me, will you, Luke...?

Luke: Alright, alright. I understand there are circumstances.

Luke: Fine, I'll say it.

Luke: .............

Gilbert: To think you'd be so shy about something like this, how youthful.

Luke: Shut up—it's a phrase I rarely say!

Luke: ……………… I'm home.

*back to present day*

Emma: Mmm, that was fun! I was worried when Prince Gilbert found us, but...

Emma: Luke, you're a genius at entertaining people.

Luke: Really?

Eating delicious food with Luke in town, going around shops, buying souvenirs, the casual time we spent together after so long had lifted the suffocating feeling from my chest.

(Luke is so considerate, he really spoiled me.)

Luke: Well, I'm glad you haven't forgotten how to smile.

Emma: Huh?

Luke: Lately, you've been pretty stressed because of him, right?

Luke: Let's ditch him again and go on a date.

(...He did it for me. Luke is really kind.)

Emma: Thank you. I'm looking forward to it.

???: But it's not good to come home so late.

(Oh...)

Luke: Ugh, were you waiting for us?

With the distinct sound of his cane, Prince Gilbert emerged from the darkness.

Gilbert: I have to receive my souvenir, don't I?

Gilbert: Besides, promises must be kept.

(Promises?)

Gilbert: Welcome home.

Luke: ...............

Luke, with a bitter look on his face, suddenly turned away from Prince Gilbert.

Gilbert: Huh? That's strange. Did you not hear me?

Luke: ...Are you still doing that?

Gilbert: Ahaha, complaining to a state guest?

Gilbert: Little rabbit, what do you say when someone says "welcome home"?

Emma: I... I'm home... I've returned?

Gilbert: Yes, you're a good girl.

(Is that something to be so happy about...?)

Gilbert: Little rabbit can do it, but Luke can't? You wouldn't say that, would you?

(Luke... he looks embarrassed when you look closely.)

(Maybe he's not used to saying it.)

Luke: ––...Home.

Gilbert: Oh dear, the Rhodolite castle might be stained with blood.

Luke: ...I said "I'm home," okay!

Luke: Emma, let's just ignore him. He's annoying.

Emma: That's a bit—wait, Luke, I haven't given Prince Gilbert his souvenir yet...!

Before I could hand over the sandwich, Luke, just like in the morning, pulled my hand and started walking.

I turned around anxiously towards Prince Gilbert, and contrary to my expectations, he was waving with a cheerful smile.

Gilbert: Hehe, well done.

.

.

.

Part 2

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[firefly--bright]

This is a personal headcanon and you can expand on it if you want but I 1,000% believe that Jean would be the person on New Years to go to bed at 11 and be perfectly happy with that

oh my god yes.

i talked about this to @ppushable a little bit, but GOD YES. the more I think about it the more it makes sense

jean would be the type of person who genuinely wants to stay awake till after 12, Connie's always telling him about how he's "missing out, man, the best shit happens AFTER new years," and he believes him, genuinely

he tries to stay up. he really, REALLY does. especially after you promised him a kiss at midnight, he has even more of a motivation to do it. but as soon as the clock strikes 11, he's out. honk mimimid out of there.

he's somewhere on the couch with his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle, arms folded over eachother, and he'd texted you a couple times, tipsily, asking where you were in yeagers giant house. you'd replied saying you'd be there in a bit, and it took you maybe two minutes to get to him, MAX. and his ass is dead asleep

and another hc I think that goes hand in hand with this is that he's a heavy sleeper and he falls asleep ANYWHERE. just like sasha. but unlike sasha, who's currently concocting a weird drink/potion/poison of alcohol and mixers in a large pot in the kitchen, he's PASSED OUT. dead, almost. the only thing that indicated life is his pulse and the gentle, slow pattern of his lungs.

impossible to wake him up after that so you settle with a kiss to his cheek come midnight :')

he's a morning person, most definitely, and will get soooo grumpy if he has to stay awake past 11. he had a really strict sleep schedule growing up and he followed that all through college. he'd sleep early and get up early rather than vice versa even though he hates getting up in the mornings.

he's a morning person but he hates waking up

he wakes up after the party fully rested and with almost no hangover with a lazy smile on his face when he feels your arms on him, fallen asleep on the couch and with Connie in the corner of the room, passed out with his stomach pressed to the floor. all of your friends are in different positions on the floors of the living room, some of them on cushions and some (bert) hogging the armchair and some (Reiner) squished in the little space you and jean had left on the couch unconsciously.

his new years resolution is to stay awake so he can kiss you next year :')

[morchilluv]

Ghosts From the Past - Cho Hyun-Ju x Kim Young-Mi

Warnings: Angst, hints of drug use, smut!!! pre full transition, blow-job, throat-fucking hehe, cunnilingus

Synopsis: Cho Hyun-Ju and Kim Young-Mi met during the games. After getting out, they both lost touch with each other. But soon found each other once again through a support group for the survivors.

A/N: This was a request that I genuinely enjoyed writing. I wasn’t sure whether to do a pre or post full transition, so I might do both;) but it’s not for sure. Let me know if you would like that!

P.S: Sorry if the beginning seems like a lot.. I got too into it. But I added a line where things start to heat up if you would like to just jump right into it! I tried to make the smut equally as long:)

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Cho Hyun-Ju and Kim Young-Mi hadn’t known the other existed until the games. In the midst of that brutal, unforgiving world, they’d formed a bond—stronger than either of them had expected. But once the chaos was over, they lost touch. It wasn’t because they wanted to, but because they needed to, for their own sanity. In the aftermath, each had chosen to think with their heads instead of their hearts.

Hyun-Ju buried the memories of the games, and above all, she pushed Young-Mi to the back of her mind. There were too many things left unsaid between them, too many words and actions she regretted. Every time the urge to reach out flickered, the weight of their shared past held her back—the lies, the betrayals, the moments they’d never been able to confront. How could she face Young-Mi, knowing everything they had been through, without it all coming crashing down?

Young-Mi had waited. And waited. Weeks passed, but Hyun-Ju’s silence never broke. In the stillness, she began to wonder if maybe she had just been a ghost in Hyun-Ju’s life. Perhaps the other woman had found a way to move on without her, had found peace in leaving the past behind. After all, wasn’t Hyun-Ju always the stronger one? The one who had it together, the one who didn’t need anyone else to survive?

The circle of chairs was small but comforting. Hyun-Ju settled into her seat, forcing herself to focus on the facilitator. She tried to avoid looking around, though she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. The others were speaking—some sharing their feelings, others recounting their daily struggles since they’d escaped the games. But her mind was elsewhere.

The door opened softly, and the quiet shuffle of footsteps cut through her concentration. Hyun-Ju froze, instinctively turning her head. And there, standing in the doorway, was Kim Young-Mi.

Their eyes met for a split second. It was as if time stopped—an overwhelming mixture of surprise, confusion, and the faintest hint of relief washed over Hyun-Ju. Young-Mi looked just as startled, her gaze flicking briefly to the floor before she took a seat across from Hyun-Ju. Neither of them spoke. The room felt smaller.

The facilitator, a woman in her forties with soft eyes and a soothing voice, smiled warmly, her expression not unlike that of a mother. "I know it's hard, but welcome. This is a safe space. We’re all here to listen and support one another. Who would like to share first today?"

Hyun-Ju tried to focus on the group—on the faces of strangers who, like her, had lived through the hell of the games. But her mind kept drifting back to Young-Mi. Back to when she had tried—tried so hard—to help her, only to be pushed away.

After a moment, the facilitator turned to Hyun-Ju, her eyes gentle. "How about you, Cho Hyun-Ju? Would you like to share anything today?"

Hyun-Ju’s throat tightened. It had been so long since she had let herself speak about what had happened. She looked at Young-Mi for a moment, but quickly turned her gaze back down to her lap.

"I’m… I’m still trying to figure out what to say," she said, her voice low and hoarse. "Some days, I feel like I’m drowning in the past. I know I shouldn’t, but I keep thinking about what happened… What we went through. And I feel like I failed. Like I failed to help someone who needed me." She paused, swallowing back the bitterness that surged in her throat. "I tried, you know? I tried so hard to help someone I thought I could save. But they didn’t want my help. And maybe… maybe I should have seen that sooner."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward Young-Mi, who was staring down at the floor, her fingers clenched tightly around the edge of her chair. The silence that followed was deafening.

The facilitator nodded gently, recognizing the unspoken pain. “Sometimes, when we try to help someone, it feels like they don’t want us, or like they’re pushing us away. But the truth is, sometimes it’s not about us. It’s about them, and what they’re going through. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Finally, it was Young-Mi’s turn. Her voice was calm when she spoke, but there was a tremor beneath it, like she was struggling to keep it together.

"I’m… Kim Young-Mi," she began, her gaze flickering to Hyun-Ju for just a moment, before looking down. "I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say. It’s hard for me to talk about the things I’ve done. The choices I made just to stay alive… and the people I left behind. I thought about reaching out after we got out, but I was afraid I’d just make things worse. And I guess… I guess I didn’t want to admit that I still needed help."

The vulnerability in Young-Mi’s voice made Hyun-Ju’s heart ache. She wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—to make her feel less alone. But her throat closed up again, the words stuck inside. The facilitator offered a soft nod. "Thank you, Young-Mi. That’s a powerful admission. It’s not easy to acknowledge how much we need help, even when we think we’re doing okay."

As the meeting came to a close, the facilitator asked everyone to stay if they wanted to talk more, or just to hang around for support. Hyun-Ju stayed seated for a long moment, unsure of whether she was ready to face the ghosts of the past—especially the ones standing so close.

Young-Mi was motionless near the door, her posture stiff as though she were fighting some internal battle of her own. Hyun-Ju could tell she was waiting for something—for Hyun-Ju to leave, for her to approach, or maybe for the world to give them both some space. But whatever it was, Hyun-Ju wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

Hyun-Ju looked up, finding Young-Mi’s gaze for the briefest of moments. That look, that flicker of recognition, was enough to make her blood run cold. But something in it stopped her from leaving. Neither of them were walking away this time.

For a long moment, Hyun-Ju hesitated, torn between walking out and facing what had always been left unsaid. Then, almost reluctantly, she rose to her feet, her movements stiff and careful as if she were preparing for a battle she wasn’t sure she’d win.

The air felt different now, charged and thick with old wounds.

“You wanted to talk?” Hyun-Ju’s voice was raw, quieter than she intended, her breath catching as she spoke. She couldn’t quite look her in the eye just yet, but she knew Young-Mi heard her. There was no hiding anymore.

Young-Mi didn’t answer immediately, but after a long moment of hesitation, she stepped forward, closing the gap between them. “I—" Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat. She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes flitting nervously around the room as if she could find some escape.

Hyun-Ju's patience was wearing thin. I’m not running from this, she thought, trying to steady herself. “What’s the point of standing here if you don’t even have the words?” she asked, her tone harder now.

Young-Mi flinched at the bite in Hyun-Ju’s voice but didn’t back away. She looked up, meeting Hyun-Ju’s gaze this time, though her eyes were filled with something she couldn’t quite place—regret? Guilt? Fear? It made Young Mi’s chest ache all over again.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Young-Mi whispered, her voice small, vulnerable in a way that felt unfamiliar. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.”

The words stung, and Hyun-Ju clenched her jaw. Of course she didn’t want to talk to her. She hadn’t wanted to. But she couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t still hurting.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Hyun-Ju shot back, her voice trembling despite herself. “Because you couldn’t even be honest with me?” The sharpness of her words felt almost like a relief, like the anger and hurt had finally found an outlet. “You pushed me away. Every time I tried to reach out, you were gone. And I—" Her voice cracked, and for a second, she couldn’t continue. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the old pain or because of the truth she hadn’t dared to speak before.

Young-Mi stepped closer, her expression softening slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she reached out, her hand trembling as if she wasn’t sure if she had the right to touch. The gap between them was barely an inch now, but the silence felt like an ocean.

“Hyun-Ju…” Her voice was broken, as though the walls she had built around herself were starting to crumble, piece by piece. “I didn’t… I didn’t know how to let you in. I was too scared of… of everything I was and everything I wasn’t. After we lost touch, I got sober. I didn't want to lose anyone how I lost you. I didn’t deserve you,” Young-Mi whispered, her words so soft it felt like a confession.

Hyun-Ju closed her eyes for a moment, the flood of emotions too much to bear. She wanted to scream, to push her away, but a deeper part of her, one that was still fighting for something she couldn’t quite name, kept her still. “And I didn’t deserve to be lied to, Young-Mi,” she whispered back, her voice cracking. “I wanted to help you. I tried to. But you wouldn’t let me.”

The words hung in the air between them, a bridge to everything unsaid. Hyun-Ju’s heart was racing. There was no going back now.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

As the room cleared out, the silence between them stretched, like they were caught in some invisible web. Hyun-Ju didn't know if it was the vulnerability in Young-Mi's eyes or the depth of the silence between them, but suddenly, she wasn't sure she could stand back anymore.

Without thinking, her hands reached for Young-Mi, pulling her into a kiss—slow at first, hesitant, as they were both afraid that the other might pull away. But it didn't last. Young-Mi's lips moved against hers, deepening the kiss, and at that exact moment, the world around them disappeared.

Hyun-Ju pulled back for a split second, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. Hyun-Ju didn’t want to freak her out or make her uncomfortable. "Are you sure?"

Young-Mi's eyes were wild with desire. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sure."

The kiss grew harder, fiercer, as Hyun-Ju slid her hands up to grip the back of Young-Mi's neck, pulling her deeper.

"God..." Hyun-Ju muttered, her voice thick with desire. "I've missed you."

Young-Mi didn't reply. Instead, she kissed her with more fierceness that left no room for doubt. She needed her. Young-Mi pulled away for a split second to remove both her and Hyun-Ju's shirt. Quickly pulling back to kiss her once again.

Hyun-Ju's hand wasted no time in unclasping Young-Mi's bra. Her hands massaged Young-Mi's breasts. Pinching and playing with her nipples. Young-Mi's soft moans could be heard throughout the small room.

Young-Mi started trailing kisses down Hyun-Ju's neck. Unclasping her bra as well. Making sure to pay attention to both her breasts as she started trailing down further. Softly leaving kisses all over Hyun-Ju's stomach and stopping right above her pubic bone. Young-Mi looked up at her, silently asking for permission. Hyun-Ju—entranced by the girl kneeling before her—immediately nodded.

Young-Mi quickly unbuttoned Hyun-Ju's jeans and pulled them down along with her undergarments. Her hand flew to the base of her cock, while the other played with her balls. Young-Mi licked a long stripe of Hyun-Ju's cock. Leaving Hyun-Ju with goosebumps and even more desire. Young-Mi sucked on her tip and slowly made her way lower, taking all of Hyun-Ju's dick in her mouth. As she started bobbing her head, Hyun-Ju tangled her hands in Young-Mi's hair and started thrusting into her mouth.

She tried her hardest not to gag as she let Hyun-Ju fuck her throat.

"You look so pretty taking my dick, Yeobo." Hyun-Ju's moans bounced off the walls. She was close to her climax but swiftly pulled Young-Mi away from her and stood her up.

"What are y—," Hyun-Ju cut Young-Mi off with a kiss. Switching roles, Hyun-Ju left trails of small kisses on Young-Mi's body. The only difference was that Hyun-Ju seemed more desperate and was faster to get to the area where Young-Mi wanted her most.

"Can I?" Hyun-Ju questioned. Though she had known the answer by now, she still needed the consent. Young-Mi nodded softly. "Use your words, Young-Mi. Or did I fuck your throat too hard?" Her voice had a darker, cockier tone.

Young-Mi couldn't help but feel nervous at her sudden change in tone. "Yeah," She breathed. "I mean— yeah, you can."

Hyun-Ju smirked as she undressed Young-Mi. After getting her completely naked, Hyun-Ju lifted Young-Mi’s right leg and rested it on her left shoulder, getting a perfect view of her cunt. Young-Min looked down at her, mesmerized.

None of them ever thought they’d be in this position. They’d unquestionably daydreamed about it before, but never truly expected their fantasies to become real. Frankly, it was a dream come true.

Hyun-Ju’s hands gripped Young-Mi’s thighs tightly as she looked at her with an intense, hungry gaze. Without a word, she buried her face between her legs, her tongue delving deep into her pussy, eating her out with a fervor that leaves her gasping and trembling. She continued to devour her pussy. Hyun-Ju’s tongue swirled around her clit as she sucked and licked, driving Young-Mi wild with pleasure.

She pulled her closer to her face as she ate her out even more aggressively. She can feel Young-Mi getting close, so she stops briefly, looking up at her with her face dripping with Young-Mi’s juices.

She lifted Young-Mi up and laid her on a random table, spreading her legs wide as Hyun-Ju stands between them. Her face delved back in between Young-Mi’s legs. Her tongue thrusted deep inside Young-Mi as she sucked hard on her clit. She continued eating her out mercilessly, not stopping until she screamed in ecstasy, her whole body shaking as she came hard on Hyun-Ju’s face.

Hyun Ju stands up. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked down at Young-Mi with a smug grin. Hyun-Ju takes ahold of her red throbbing cock and strokes it a few times before rubbing it up and down her pussy.

“Are you sure?” Hyun-Ju asked one last time. The question didn’t linger in the air for too long before Young-Mi consented.

“I’m sure. But… Can you be gentle at first? Please?” Young-Mi’s soft voice warmed Hyun-Ju’s heart.

Hyun-Ju slowly lowered herself onto Young-Mi, filling her up inch by inch as she looked into her eyes. She started to move gently, her hips rolling into Young-Mi’s as she kissed her softly. "Like this?" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Am I being gentle enough?"

Young-Mi only being able to hum and softly moan Hyun-Ju’s name.

Hyun-Ju continued to kiss her softly as she started to pick up pace, her gentle thrusts turning into a slow and sensual rhythm. She pulled out almost completely before pushing back in, stretching Young-Mi and filling her up in the most delicious way.

"Your pussy feels so good wrapped around my cock.”

Young-Mi was never exactly good at dirty talk. Though she always loved it, she was never able to say the right things. So at this moment, all she was able to do was whimper, moan and squirm beneath Hyun-Ju.

Hyun-Ju’s hands moved to Young-Mi’s breasts, squeezing them gently as she continued her slow pace.

"Your tits feel amazing in my hands...” She kissed her neck softly. "Can you feel how deep I am inside you?” Hyun-Ju whispered against her ear "Your pussy is gripping me so perfectly..."

She started to play with her nipples, rolling them between her fingers as she thrusts into her. "I love how responsive your body is...” She kissed Young-Mi’s collarbone. "The way your tits bounce with each gentle thrust, the way your pussy squeezes my cock... it's all so fucking perfect.” Hyun Ju couldn’t help but let out quiet moans. A sound that was like music to Young-Mi’s ear.

“Your dick feels so good, Hyun-Ju.” Young-Mi said lowly. “Harder. Please, Hyun-Ju. Harder.”

“Goddamn...” Hyun-Ju began moving in controlled, powerful strokes, the desk creaking slightly underneath them.

“Oh fuck.” Young-Mi moaned. “Oh my God.” She gasped. Hyun-Ju’s cock felt so good inside her. Is this what they’ve been missing the whole time?

Hyun-Ju’s eyes rolled back in her head as she fucked her mercilessly, her balls slapping against Young-Mi’s ass with each powerful thrust. She reached between Young-Mi’s legs, her fingers finding her clit once more, rubbing it in fast, rough circles.

Young-Mi’s body arched as the pleasure was starting to become too much for her. Her head was spinning and she was suddenly very desperate for her release.

Feeling her walls tighten around her cock, Hyun-Ju knows Young-Mi’s close. She bites down on her shoulder, sucking hard to leave a mark as she fucked her even harder, her movements becoming erratic and desperate. “Come on, baby. Squeeze my fucking cock.”

Both of them were now a hot moaning mess, desperately chasing the high that had become a long, distant friend.

With one final, brutal thrust, Hyun-Ju buries herself inside Young-Mi, her cock pulsing as she unloads a massive load deep within her pussy.

As soon as Hyun-Ju cums, Young-Mi does as well. Whimpering loudly, she sat up to lean her body against Hyun Ju’s. Hyun-Ju held her in place, her arms wrapped around Young-Mi’s waist as she rode out her orgasm, filling Young-Mi to the brim with her hot seed.

Young-Mi breathed loudly. Her body solemnly rested on Hyun-Ju’s body, as if it completely relied on her for support.

Hyun-Ju stayed buried inside her, her cock twitching with the last few spurts of cum. She peppers soft kisses along Young-Mi’s neck and shoulder, a stark contrast to the rough fucking mere moments ago. Pulling back slightly, she meets Young-Mi’s gaze, her eyes still dark with lingering desire.

Hyun-Ju pulls out slowly, her cum dripping out of Young-Mi’s well-fucked pussy.

“You’re so beautiful. You’re everything to me. I don’t want to lose you again, Hyun-Ju. Please promise me you’ll never leave,” Young-Mi rested her hands on Hyun-Ju’s cheeks, tears starting to form in her eyes.

“I promise, Young-Mi. I’ll never leave you. I wouldn’t want to lose you all over again,” Hyun-Ju’s voice was soft and delicate. It comforted Young-Mi. It made her feel safe. “Let’s get cleaned up,” She smiled.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

[themindcastlesystem]

Beyond the Veil of Hypocrisy... lies chapter 2 (theory)

(Sunny, they/she) okay so this might be my first proper post on this site but we all gotta start somewhere lol

BACKGROUND

In the book of Genesis, Eve was tempted by the serpent (Satan) into committing the first sin. Adam followed suit, and God punished both of them by expelling them from the Garden of Eden and revoking their immortality.

In Project: Eden's Garden, Eva was tempted by her distrust of others (encouraged by Damon, who wears a tie with a snake on it), and she committed the first murder. She was executed - leaving Eden's Garden Academy, so to speak.

So... what happens next?

THE KILLER

Well, Eve convinced Adam to join her in committing sin, right? She took the forbidden fruit from the serpent, ate it, and gave it to Adam. So Adam committed the second sin. But Adam - Damon - is our protagonist here. That can't be quite right.

But I don't think he's going to stay the protagonist much longer. He experienced a much more condensed version of the type of development arc experienced by a protagonist like Shuichi Saihara [v3] - and he rejected it at the end of the chapter. While it is possible that he might continue to resist his primal urges to distrust others, I don't think it's likely - he already had to be pushed out of his comfort zone so much just to consider that Diana might not be the killer in chapter 1, and now his only confidant - Eva - is dead, and on top of that, Diana is still trying to emulate Wolfgang, who both he and Eva firmly believe was leading the class to destruction. "I couldn't hold back my true feelings anymore"; "it pissed me off".

Unless a miracle happens in the midst of this murder game and Damon manages to find other people to trust (not excluding Diana, though it's not likely), I don't think he's going to keep going down the path he started on in chapter 1. The first murder happening means that the chapter 1 festivities (game tournament, co-op laundry, bunk buddies) won't happen in the same manner, and if they do, it'll be through bated breath. If he already had to be pushed so hard just to play some games with the group before anyone died, it'll be ten times harder afterwards. (Naturally, this isn't to say that I think Damon is incapable of trust or kindness - giving or receiving - and in fact, I heavily empathize with him in some ways. But old habits absolutely die hard.)

In essence: Damon is my prime suspect for the chapter 2 blackened, and I don't think he will be the protagonist any further.

THE DETECTIVE

What then? Well, we just heard a very protag-y speech from someone at the end of the chapter, didn't we? It's what pissed Damon off: Diana's "like a chameleon, I will adapt!"

Diana has already had a great spotlight within chapter 1, and she has shown the makings of a leader. She's bright, kind, and energetic; people tend to like her; she adapts to the various situations that come her way. She is trusting of others, arguably too much so, but yet she comes across as mostly level-headed. Her youth hinders her, as she struggles to read the room and is reprimanded for this, but she tries to show the same compassion than Wolfgang - much more organically than he did, in multiple situations. She is emotionally intelligent, able to perceive when others are unwell and offer them genuine care.

Yet, she isn't a natural in her role. When she was forced to bear witness to her friend's death, and everyone and the evidence are against her... much like any normal person, but unlike a protagonist, she breaks. She is traumatized, barely able to speak and holding back tears. She struggles to tell the others what happened to her, even as they seem ready to unanimously send her to her death. It is the kind deed of the actual protagonist that snaps her out of her catatonia enough to tell her side of the story and help lead everyone to the truth.

But I believe Diana has still yet to shine.

BIBLICAL CANON...

Diana is specifically very reminiscent of a Danganronpa protagonist, too. She has one of the most classic DR-esque designs of the cast with her school uniform, her faith in others resembles that of Makoto Naegi [THH], and her personality is reminiscent of Kaede Akamatsu [v3]. While the team behind Project: Eden's Garden has been clear that players should not expect DR tropes to take place in the game, and it can be argued that an early-game protagonist switch would essentially be a parallel to v3, I argue that it's more of a subversion of expectations.

In v3, we start off playing as a lively girl with a kind spirit and a good head on her shoulders, who becomes a natural leader for the cast. She resorts to murder to try and stop the mastermind, completely unexpectedly to everyone around her (including the player, if they don't pick up on the hints that she's up to something). Her death is treated as honorable by the rest of the cast, and she is replaced by more of a typical DR protagonist: a sullen boy with heavy emotions on his heart and a tendency to distance himself from others. His attachment to her helps him carry on her legacy by learning to believe in himself, working with others, and surviving the killing game.

...VS. INTERPRETATION

In my prediction of P:EG chapters 1-2, we start off playing as a sullen boy with distrust on his heart and a tendency to distance himself from others. He is pushed out of his comfort zone quite a lot by the rest of the cast, and he ends up exploring, doing chores, and playing games together with the rest of them... but someone is killed anyway. Then, when another student he doesn't care for comes under fire for the murder, he challenges his base instinct to assume her guilt, instead figuring out an argument that there's more to the story and it can't be her. (Whether it's a logical or emotional argument doesn't matter as much as it seems, as he initially doesn't realize the logical issue and just feels something is wrong; that said, I do like the pathos route much more for this reason.) He is beginning to learn to trust people... until it turns out that his only friend was the killer, and she not only took advantage of him and emotionally manipulated him, but ends up trying to frame him and get him killed. All the while, the person who she initially framed was a lively girl with a kind spirit and a good head on her shoulders, trying to be a leader for her classmates in spite of everything, but being completely shut down by everyone else.

I think that unlike Shuichi, Damon's development is temporary and about to fully regress, and Diana may be a very good friend, but she isn't a universally loved natural leader like Kaede. So, similarly, I think their character arcs will be reversed entirely: Damon will stop trying to trust people and resort to murder, and Diana will have to prove herself as a leader and source of encouragement over an extended period of time. At the same time, where Shuichi retained his affection for Kaede after her death, even knowing she had killed someone, Diana will have to let go of her feelings of affection for Damon to see that he has given up on her (and the others) and become a killer. And yet, she will have to fight on - she has no choice but to live. She won't give up on her friends like Damon and Eva did, and she won't excommunicate them like Wolfgang did. And, even after realizing that her friend not only never trusted her but is a murderer, she will reconcile that with her positive memories of him - accepting that Damon was a complex human being that was put in a despicable situation... and, much like Eva before him, even though he committed one of the worst sins imaginable, he didn't deserve to die at the hands of this killing game's "God".

MARGINALIA

Imagine how much of an uphill battle Diana would be up against Damon if she had to prove he was the killer. He's hand-cranked to be good at debating people, even if he doesn't have the upper hand logically. While Damon has been rigidly logical so far, as is typical of a murder mystery detective, debaters also have tactics like "spreading" - talking so fast the opponent can't process their argument or get a word in - up their sleeves. This tactic is especially useful when the facts aren't on your side and you need to regain control of the room without resorting to obvious ad-hominem and losing favor. (Like Eva did when cornered in chapter 1: "he does want bloodshed!")

Also, this has nothing to do with the theory proper, but I want to give an honorable mention to Grace Madison for making for a good chapter 2 suspect as well. She became friends with Wolfgang, slept with him, and then he fucking died the next morning and she had to guard his dorm room so no one would disturb his belongings. God forbid Tozu cleans out his dorm in chapter 2 to boot. Girl is GRIEVING, and I think people will suspect her out of pure emotion even if she ends up nowhere near the next crime scene.

Anyway, who knows if I'm ever gonna post again on this site. But to anyone reading, I hope you enjoyed this theory, and give me your brain thoughts! Hyperfixation go brrrr

[thelostgirl21]

Okay, now that video makes me feel even more uncomfortable with his silence on those issues.

Because, by contrast, I remember this interview:

GAY TIMES: There will be a few homophobic haters out there, people who think a queer storyline is outlandish in a world of basilisks, dopplers and chernobogs. We saw this recently with The Last of Us. Is this something you’re anticipating or are you not entertaining all of that anti-LGBTQ+ tomfoolery?

Joey: In this fandom, there is a very vocal negative space. That vocal negative space is actually the minority, I think. The thing that I’m most concerned about and will do my best to counteract is when discourse becomes bigotry. Then, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. I think I’d log onto Twitter and battle them all off myself. There is going to be inevitable backlash but what we’re doing is worth it.

https://www.gaytimes.com/originals/the-witcher-joey-batey-hugh-skinner-queer-interview/

So, it's unlikely that he's unaware of the presence of those toxic fans, when other co-stars are very aware of it, and ready to state that bigotry directed at others is never okay.

Although, I should mention that this interview (the video you showed) seems to have been done in Season 1 (if we look at the clips they are playing).

And Cavill seems to have understood the question as meaning how does he feel about people seeing his own interpretation of the character in a negative light.

I'd be curious about how he'd answer if someone asked him about it today; while being explicit about them specifically referring to the toxic hatred that has been directed towards the way the female characters have been put front and center on the show, the diversity of the casting choices, and the decision that was made for Jaskier to be portrayed as a "personizer" rather than a "womanizer", so to speak.

Would he still attempt to go "well, you know, people are just passionate about it", or admit that "regardless of how passionate some of those fans may be, bigotry directed at specific groups of people, the cast, etc. like that is never okay."

Because I've met quite a few of those actually passionate fans he's referring to. People that genuinely love and prefer the game - as is their right - and might be sad and upset that Netflix chose to give priority to the books and their own vision / adaptation of the books rather than integrate more lore from the games into it.

They aren't toxic, and they aren't the ones going around bashing minorities and making it some huge morality issue about how the show is not respecting the BOOKS' integrity, and SAPKOWSKI's vision, while clearly defending elements only found in the games (falsely claiming that it belongs to the book), and holding sexist, racist, queerphobic and even ableist remarks.

When we are talking about toxic fans, we are talking about toxic fans. Not passionate and disappointed ones!

Those are two very different categories!

Do toxic fans still have the right to their sexist, racist queerphobic and ableist opinions? Yes. But people that stand against those harmful views have a certain responsibility to clearly state "treating others the way you do is wrong, I don't agree with it, and I'm opposed to it."

And this is where having an influential actor - whose voice is constantly being misused by those toxic fans - remaining silent about it, gets very close to endorsing those views, especially if in the past Cavill has basically said that "it's not toxic, it's just passionate".

Like okay, maybe in Season 1 most were still "just passionate" for the most part, as it hadn't yet been made entirely clear what the direction of the show was going to be (and how much importance Ciri, Yennefer, Francesca, etc. would have in it).

But you've still got that very vocal negative space that has since grown, and that now see Cavill as their "champion of the manosphere", that are absolutely awful online, and feel validated by their Geralt of Rivia's silence.

If you look at 1:28:15, Henry does show support for his main co-star's performances, but he does so by suggesting that their characters tend to be oversimplified. Which is technically okay, because he's entitled to be dissatisfied with the show's writers interpretation of certain characters.

But again, that dissatisfaction is still indirectly suggested rather than stated.

But suggested in such a way where he has the "courtesy" of making his co-stars appear like victims/hostages of a show that is "oversimplifying characters" (a.k.a. failing the source material™), so they can almost be seen like THEY are too afraid to speak out against the "big bads" because they need the money and the job.

So it does sadly make that very vocal negative minority feel validated in their interpretation of Cavill having left because the show was "becoming too woke", etc.

He did also wish Liam Hemsworth well, and the little of what he's ever clearly stated has always praised his co-stars (the main ones, at least).

But, at some point if you've been made aware that you've got the freaking manosphere worshipping you, where does it become your responsibility to say "I know these men interpret my behavior as saying I support their bigoted views and frustrations with the diversity of the cast and the place given to women on the show, but I don't."

The thing also is that, even if he was to say something now , would these people then invent some story about him having been threatened by Netflix with legal actions for standing for his beliefs, etc.?

They've created such a persona for him, that would they even be willing to believe that he's not the alpha male anti-woke dudebro they believe him to be?

But, at the very least, he'd be standing for what's right, rather than looking like he's willing to sell his soul to the devil if that means staying on top.

So, my own personal perception of him?

Somewhere between A and B.

I don't blame him. I don't hate him.

Self-preservation is human.

He's not publicly nor explicitly endorsing those toxic views.

But I can't help but feel like he lacks the courage to do anything against it, because he'd rather prioritize his own popularity and safety above doing the right thing.

Taking a stand against bullies means risking having them turn against you.

And Cavill has often spoken about having been bullied and called "fat Cavill" as a child.

What is sad about that tale, is that the way he says it, you get the sense that instead of having learned to be proud of being fat as a child, and realised that those people were just assholes, he "won" and "showed them" by working and training hard to achieve the standards of physical beauty that those bullies likely held in high regards.

And some people do protect themselves from bullies by allowing them to think that they are on their side (even if they aren't).

As much as he wants to be Superman in real life, I still see him as a child that never outgrew being a victim in a sense, and that will still want to protect himself by avoiding to provoke aggression from bullies directed towards him.

He might secretly agree with certain sexist views of society (A), but I've a feeling that a huge chunk of the issue is closer to (B).

Not because he's got a narcissistic personality disorder per se (he hasn't raised any clear enough red flags for me to diagnose something like that from him), but he would rather have the monsters "on his side", than become the target of their ire, and continue to reap the benefits in terms of them supporting his career.

He's human, not Superman. Humans are messy and scared and sometimes self-serving in the choices they make.

I don't blame him, but I'm not comfortable with the way he's chosen to handle those toxic fans, and I don't support his methods, either.

And even there, all I know from him is the little I've heard and seen in interviews. It's highly likely that his motivations for not saying anything are even more complex than I can imagine.

I've been thinking about The Witcher books and tv show recently. Because half of the things that make Geralt seem cool and edgy in the show just don't exist in the books.

In the show he's always so stoic. Most of his exposition has to be told by side characters implying things and you just have to gage his reaction to decide if it's true or not. In the books however, he gives a full lore dump to anyone who's remotely nice to him.

Random Character: So how've you been?

Show Geralt: Hmmmm.... 😒 😔 😒...

Book Geralt: Terrible actually, thank you for asking. Monster hunting is dying out and I have zero transferable skills. Yennifer's left me again and Jaskier's off god knows where. Overall I suppose it could be worse, but that's the life or a Witcher. Also, my perfectly good leather jacket got ruined in a fight the day after I bought it :(

[niallerspayno]

Fire and Ice - Part 1

Masterlist

Being One Direction’s opening act is the opportunity of a lifetime, and you step into it with your signature confidence and charm. Bold, flirty, and unapologetically fiery, you’re everything Zayn Malik isn’t—and he can’t stand you for it. But as the tour rolls on and the sparks of your heated clashes fly, the line between animosity and something more begins to blur. Will you stay locked in your battle of wills, or will your fiery feud ignite a very different kind of flame?

Tags: Zayn x reader, enemies to lovers

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

…

You stride into the rehearsal space with purpose, your heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. It’s a sound that commands attention, and sure enough, the noise and laughter inside the room fade as five pairs of eyes turn to you.

This is it. The moment. You’ve worked too hard to let nerves creep in now. You square your shoulders, letting your trademark confidence take center stage, and offer a slow, deliberate smile.

The band—One Direction—is sitting in a loose circle, mid-conversation. They look every bit like the superstars you’ve seen plastered across billboards and magazine covers, yet something about them feels real. Maybe it’s the way Harry’s lounging with his feet propped on a chair, or the fact that Niall has a guitar resting on his lap, strumming absentmindedly.

You take a second to collect your thoughts, reminding yourself of why you’re here. You’re not just some filler act plucked from obscurity; you’re a breakout indie artist who’s spent the last year grinding her way onto the charts. Critics love your raw, unapologetic sound. Fans love your fiery stage presence. And now, they—the biggest boyband in the world—have decided to bring you along for the ride.

Paul, the tour manager, steps forward, opening his mouth to make introductions, but you beat him to it. “I think the heels said hello first,” you quip, your voice carrying just the right mix of humor and bravado.

Louis is the first to react, his head tilting as a sly grin spreads across his face. “Oh, she’s got jokes,” he says, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated air of approval. “I think I’m gonna like this one.”

You flash him a grin. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

Niall chuckles, his accent soft but unmistakable. “You’re off to a good start. Welcome to the madhouse.” He gestures broadly at the room, his easygoing warmth making you feel instantly at ease.

“I thrive in chaos,” you reply, locking eyes with him. There’s something about his boyish grin that tells you you’ll get along just fine.

Harry is next, standing to offer a handshake. His smile is wide and disarming, dimples flashing as he says, “It’s great to have you on board. Your stuff is brilliant, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you say, a flicker of genuine gratitude breaking through your polished exterior. You’ve been praised before, but hearing it from someone as massive as Harry Styles feels different.

Liam steps up beside Harry, his handshake firm but his expression soft. “If there’s anything you need, just let us know. We’re all here to make this easy for you.”

“Appreciate that,” you say, and you mean it. His sincerity is grounding in the best way.

It’s all so smooth, so effortless—until your eyes land on Zayn.

He’s leaning against the wall at the back of the room, arms crossed, his sharp features set in an unreadable expression. Unlike the others, he hasn’t moved an inch since you walked in. His dark eyes meet yours briefly, then flick away like he’s already decided you’re not worth his time.

It’s a blow, but you recover quickly, masking the sting with a playful smirk. You stride closer, letting your heels announce your approach, and stop just short of his bubble. “Not a fan of introductions?”

For a moment, you think he’s not going to respond. Then he shrugs, his voice low and uninterested. “Not really.”

The dismissal is obvious, but it doesn’t faze you. If anything, it makes your smile sharpen. “Good thing I’ve never needed anyone to roll out the red carpet for me.”

Louis snorts a laugh, and even Niall seems amused. But Zayn doesn’t react, his expression remaining impassive. It’s infuriating, really. Most people crack under your boldness, or at least engage with it. But he just… doesn’t.

Fine, you think, stepping back and turning your attention to the others. If he wants to be the stoic, brooding type, so be it. You’re here to perform, not win him over.

Still, as you settle into the room and the conversation picks back up, you can’t help but steal a glance in Zayn’s direction. He’s quiet, observing, his demeanor so completely opposite to your own. And yet, there’s something about his silence that feels louder than the rest of the room.

Trouble, you think to yourself. Zayn Malik is going to be trouble.

And you already know you’ll rise to the challenge.

…

Soundcheck hums with anticipation as the crew adjusts levels and instruments. You’ve already watched the boys go first, their harmonies and banter effortlessly charming. But now it’s your turn, and you’re ready to remind everyone why you’ve been picked to open for the biggest band in the world.

You sling your custom Fender over your shoulder, fingers brushing the strings like it’s second nature. Niall’s eyes light up immediately, his appreciation as obvious as the grin spreading across his face. “That’s gorgeous,” he says, gesturing at the guitar. “Custom build?”

You nod, offering a small smirk. “Had it made last year. She’s a beauty, huh?”

“More than a beauty,” Niall says, stepping closer to admire it. “Bet she’s got a wicked sound.”

“Want me to prove it?” you tease, and Niall laughs, backing off with his hands raised.

You step to the mic, letting the confidence you wear so well radiate from your stance. “Alright, let’s do ‘Reckless Hearts,’” you tell the sound engineer, a familiar flicker of adrenaline sparking in your veins.

The first chords roar through the speakers, the sound loud and untamed. It’s the kind of music that fills a space completely, demanding attention. Your voice cuts through it all—raw, vibrant, unapologetically you. It’s bold, brash, and maybe even a little showy, but that’s always been your style. You own every second of it.

When the final chord fades, there’s a stunned silence, broken first by Niall. “Bloody hell, that was unreal!” he says, clapping loudly. His grin is infectious, his excitement genuine.

“Thanks,” you say, flashing him a grin before glancing at the others. Louis looks impressed, Harry nods with an approving smile, and Liam gives you a quick thumbs-up. It’s all so validating—until you catch Zayn out of the corner of your eye.

He’s standing off to the side, arms crossed, his head tilted just enough to make his disinterest clear. You think you hear him mutter something under his breath, and though you can’t catch the exact words, the flicker of amusement on his face is unmistakable.

You narrow your eyes, turning to face him fully. “Something you want to share with the class?”

The air shifts, the casual camaraderie evaporating as everyone looks between you and Zayn. His gaze meets yours, calm and steady, but there’s something sharp beneath the surface.

“Not really,” he says smoothly, his voice carrying just enough edge to make your pulse quicken. “Just thinking loud doesn’t always mean good.”

The jab lands, but instead of faltering, you step closer, your smile sharpening. “Oh, so we’re music critics now? I didn’t realize brooding came with a degree in sound engineering.”

Niall lets out a low whistle, and Louis mutters, “Oh, this is gonna be fun,” under his breath.

Zayn raises an eyebrow, his cool demeanor unwavering. “I’m just saying, sometimes it’s better to focus on what’s underneath all the noise.”

Your heart races, but you refuse to back down. “And sometimes,” you shoot back, tilting your head, “the noise is the point. You’d know that if you didn’t spend so much time trying to fade into the background.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Liam says, stepping between you with a mixture of calm authority and awkwardness. “Let’s keep it civil, yeah?”

You take a step back, but your gaze doesn’t leave Zayn’s. The room feels electric, like a storm is brewing, and you can’t tell if you’re irritated or intrigued by the way he looks so unimpressed.

Harry, ever the diplomat, gives a small laugh, his dimples flashing. “Reckless Hearts, huh? Fitting title.”

You finally tear your eyes away from Zayn to look at Harry. “What can I say? I live up to it.” You wink at him, your flirty tone breaking some of the tension in the room.

Liam sighs, shooting you both a pointed look. “Let’s try not to kill each other before the first show, yeah?”

You shrug, tossing your guitar pick onto a nearby amp with a casual flick. “No promises,” you say, but there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes as you glance at Zayn one last time.

He doesn’t say anything, but the faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, like he knows you’re not done sparring yet.

And he’s absolutely right.

…

The hotel roof is quieter than you expect, the city humming far below, distant enough to feel like another world. After the chaos of the first concert, you need this—space to breathe, to let the adrenaline settle before it drags you into insomnia.

You push the heavy door open, the cool night air brushing against your flushed skin. But before you can enjoy the solitude, the faint glow of a cigarette catches your eye.

Zayn is leaning against the wall, hoodie up, smoke curling lazily around him. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence, but the slight shift of his shoulders says he’s aware of you.

“Figures,” you mutter, stepping onto the rooftop. “Of all the places to find you.”

He exhales a slow stream of smoke, still not looking your way. “And yet you’re here anyway.”

The irritation in his voice only fuels your boldness. “Didn’t realize the rooftop was part of your brooding territory.”

He finally turns his head, dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Didn’t realize you’d follow me everywhere.”

You laugh, sharp and unapologetic. “Oh, trust me, Malik. If I wanted company, I’d pick literally anyone else.”

“Good,” he says flatly, turning back toward the skyline.

The tension crackles, thick and tangible, but you refuse to let him freeze you out. You walk closer, leaning against the wall beside him, and the faint scent of his cologne mixes with the sharp tang of smoke.

“Got a spare?” you ask, nodding at the cigarette in his hand.

“No,” he says without looking at you.

You tilt your head, feigning disappointment. “Shame. Guess I’ll have to improvise.”

Before he can react, you snatch the cigarette right out of his fingers, holding it to your lips with a cheeky grin. His head snaps toward you, his expression caught between disbelief and annoyance.

“Are you serious?” he snaps, straightening slightly.

You take a slow, deliberate drag, the burn of the smoke familiar and comforting. Exhaling, you meet his glare head-on. “Deadly.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s going to grab it back. Instead, he crosses his arms, watching you like he’s deciding whether you’re worth the effort. “You’ve got a real habit of being a pain in the ass, you know that?”

You grin, flicking the ash to the side. “Aw, I didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on me, Malik. I’m flattered.”

He huffs a humorless laugh, finally snatching the cigarette back. His fingers brush yours, but the contact is as fleeting as it is charged. “Trust me, you’re hard to miss. You make sure of that.”

You lean back against the wall, arms crossed, letting his words roll off you. “And you make sure no one notices you, huh? Is that the whole vibe? Silent and brooding, too cool for the rest of us?”

His eyes narrow, and for the first time tonight, there’s fire behind them. “At least I don’t need to scream to be heard.”

The comment hits like a punch, but you refuse to let him see it land. Instead, you smirk, tilting your head. “Says the guy who barely says two words to anyone. Tell me, Zayn, what do you do to make an impression? Besides sulk in corners and chain-smoke your feelings?”

His lips press into a thin line, and for a second, you think you might’ve actually gone too far. But instead of snapping back, he takes another drag, his gaze locking on yours.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he says, voice low and almost amused.

“Not when I’m right,” you counter, your smirk unwavering.

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that you can’t catch, and it only makes you grin wider.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unresolved tension, until he flicks the cigarette over the edge of the roof and pushes off the wall.

“Good talk,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he walks past you toward the door.

You don’t move, letting him pass, but your voice follows him, playful and cutting. “Anytime, Malik. Let me know if you want another lesson in how to have a personality.”

He pauses for half a second, and you swear you catch the faintest twitch of a smile before he disappears through the door, leaving you alone with the city lights and the lingering smell of smoke.

…

The next day the arena is buzzing with activity as the crew preps for the second show. The boys are scattered across the stage, instruments and mics in hand, while you sit on one of the amp cases, tuning your guitar. The energy is lighter today, everyone still riding the high from last night’s show, but you can feel the shift whenever Zayn is within ten feet of you.

“Alright, let’s run it again,” Liam calls out, adjusting the mic stand in front of him.

The band launches into the first few bars of their opener, and you hum along absentmindedly as you tighten your strings. You’re so focused on your guitar that you almost don’t notice Louis plopping down beside you.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” he says, elbowing you lightly.

You glance at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “What can I say? I’m a ray of sunshine.”

Louis snorts, shaking his head. “Sunshine, sure. With a side of fire and chaos.”

Before you can fire back, Niall wanders over, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “She’s just excited to see Zayn, aren’t you?” he teases, his grin wicked.

You laugh, loud and unapologetic, and lean into the joke without hesitation. “Oh, you caught me,” you say dramatically, clutching your chest like you’re confessing a deep secret. “I can’t stop thinking about him. I’m absolutely swooning over the way he glares at me from across the room.”

The boys burst out laughing, even Harry letting out a chuckle as he adjusts his in-ear monitors. But Zayn, standing by his mic stand, freezes. His head snaps toward you, his expression stormy.

“You wish,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

The comment only fuels you further. You grin, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you stand up. “Don’t deny it, Malik. I see the way you look at me.”

“Yeah, Zayn,” Louis chimes in, grinning as he leans into his own mic. “You’re not exactly subtle, mate.”

“I’m not—” Zayn cuts himself off, exhaling sharply as he glares at Louis. “Give it a rest.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Niall says, his grin widening. “We’ve all seen it. Sparks flying, the bickering, the tension.”

“Tension?” Zayn scoffs, crossing his arms. “You’re imagining things.”

You step closer, your guitar still slung over your shoulder, and tilt your head at him. “Am I?” you ask, your voice dripping with faux innocence. “Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been thinking about me a lot.”

His jaw tightens, and you swear you see the faintest flush creeping up his neck. “In your dreams,” he says flatly, his tone colder than usual.

You bite back a laugh, sensing you’ve hit a nerve. “Oh, Malik,” you say, your voice dropping just enough to make it sound suggestive. “If you keep denying it so much, people are going to think you’re overcompensating.”

The rest of the boys are practically howling now, and you can’t help but smile as Harry claps Zayn on the shoulder, grinning. “She’s got a point, mate.”

Zayn shrugs Harry’s hand off, his glare cutting across the stage to you. “You’re all ridiculous,” he snaps, his voice tight with frustration.

You shrug, unfazed, and strum a quick chord on your guitar. “If by ridiculous you mean charming and irresistible, then yes, I agree.”

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use,” Zayn mutters, turning back to his mic as the sound engineer waves for another run-through.

“Careful, Zayn,” you call after him, grinning. “If you keep being this grumpy, I might think you’re trying to hide your feelings.”

He doesn’t respond, but the way his shoulders tense as he adjusts his mic says enough.

“Alright, let’s focus,” Liam says, stepping in like the unofficial dad of the group. “Soundcheck’s not going to run itself.”

The teasing dies down as everyone shifts back into work mode, but you don’t miss the way Zayn pointedly avoids looking at you for the rest of the session.

And honestly? That only makes it more fun.

…

After the concert, the green room buzzes with energy. The adrenaline from the show still hangs in the air, and you can’t wipe the grin off your face. Tonight went perfectly, and you know it. The crowd loved you. Hell, you loved the crowd. You’re laughing with Niall, still riding the high of the performance, when you catch Zayn across the room. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the scene with a look on his face that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is, it’s not approval.

Louis gives you a knowing look, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Zayn’s been sulking ever since the set,” he says quietly, but with a teasing undertone. “You might’ve actually stolen the show tonight.”

You can’t help but grin. You know exactly where this is going.

“Oh, please,” you reply, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “If he wasn’t so busy glaring at me, maybe he’d have time to enjoy the crowd, too.”

Louis laughs, but before you can say anything else, Zayn’s voice cuts through the conversation like a sharp blade.

“You’re getting a little too comfortable with that spotlight, don’t you think?”

You look up to find him standing in the doorway, his posture rigid, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that almost feels like a challenge. The playful mood in the room shifts immediately. The others stop talking, sensing the tension between you two.

You don’t flinch. Instead, you push off the wall and saunter toward him, your steps deliberate, your confidence unwavering. You know exactly how to provoke him.

“What’s the matter, Zayn?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “You mad that people actually want to see the opening act?”

His eyes narrow, and he steps forward, his tone colder now, each word cutting through the space between you like a knife.

“You’re not the star here. You’re the opening act.”

You don’t back down, leaning in just a little, showing him you’re not afraid. If anything, you want him to escalate it.

“I know my place,” you shoot back, your voice sharp. “Do you?”

Zayn’s jaw clenches as he takes a step closer. You can feel the anger radiating off him, but you stand your ground, not a hint of fear in your posture.

“If you want to keep this up,” he says, his words low and dangerous, “I’ll remind you just how out of place you are.”

Your heart races, but you don’t break eye contact. You smirk, daring him to push further.

“Go ahead,” you reply coolly. “I’m not afraid of you. Or your attitude.”

Zayn’s lip curls into a sneer, but it’s mixed with frustration. The room is silent now, all eyes on you both, the band waiting to see who will snap first. Harry exchanges a glance with Liam, who looks more amused than concerned.

“I don’t need your advice,” Zayn mutters, the words tight, almost like he’s forcing them out.

Before you can respond, Liam steps in, trying to smooth things over.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “We get it, you two don’t like each other. Can we just—”

You cut him off with a dismissive wave, still not looking away from Zayn.

“No, let him speak,” you say, your voice laced with sarcasm. “He’s been dying to get this off his chest for days.”

Zayn’s eyes flash, his temper starting to show. He moves a little closer, his body language saying everything you need to know. He’s pissed. But you don’t back down. You lean in a little, enough to make him uncomfortable, enough to show you won’t be intimidated.

“You think being loud and brash is going to get you anywhere?” he asks, his tone venomous. “People won’t remember you for that.”

You let out a short laugh, as if the idea is laughable.

“Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

There’s a moment of tense silence. The rest of the band watches, the air thick with anticipation. It feels like the whole room is holding its breath. Zayn, his jaw tight, looks like he’s about to say something else, but before he can, Niall pipes up from the back, grinning.

“Well, if you’re gonna keep fighting like this, might as well get a room,” he says, half-joking. “We could all use some entertainment!”

Zayn shoots Niall a glare, but Niall’s not backing down. Louis chuckles, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding before him.

Zayn looks back at you, his eyes burning with frustration. Without another word, he turns and storms out of the room, leaving the others in a mix of quiet amusement and uncomfortable tension.

Louis, still grinning, shakes his head. “Well, that was fun. At least we know he’s definitely paying attention.”

Niall, ever the jokester, leans back and smirks. “And you two have a lot of unresolved tension. Gonna be interesting to see where that goes.”

You chuckle darkly, watching the door where Zayn just left. You know this isn’t over, not by a long shot.

“I’m just getting started,” you say, your voice low and full of something much darker than before.

…

Back at the hotel, the band lingers in the lobby, still buzzing from the show. Your muscles ache, but it’s a good ache, a reminder of the energy you poured into your set. The boys are joking around, their laughter bouncing off the polished floors, when Paul walks over, clipboard in hand.

“Alright,” he says, his voice clipped. “We’ve got a bit of a room situation tonight. They overbooked us, so you’ll have to pair up.”

Before Paul even finishes, Louis slings an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Harry’s with me,” he says, grinning.

“I’ve got Nialler!” Liam declares, pointing at Niall.

Niall laughs, shooting you a look as if he’s already guessed what’s coming.

You glance around, your stomach sinking when you realize there’s only one person left. Your gaze meets Zayn’s, and his expression is unreadable—dark eyes fixed on you like he’s already annoyed.

“Guess that leaves you two,” Niall pipes up, smirking. “Told you to get a room, didn’t I?”

Louis snickers. “This is fate. Meant to be, clearly.”

Zayn mutters something under his breath, his jaw tightening, and you roll your eyes. “Relax,” you say, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.”

The boys howl with laughter, and Paul sighs, rubbing his temples. “Just… try not to kill each other. Please.”

The elevator ride up is tense, the space between you and Zayn feeling impossibly small. He doesn’t look at you, and you’re not about to break the silence. When you finally reach your floor, you march to the room, shoving the keycard into the lock with a little more force than necessary.

The door swings open, and your stomach drops.

There’s one bed.

You both stand there for a moment, staring at it like it’s some cruel joke. The air grows thick with tension, and you can feel Zayn’s frustration radiating off him.

“Perfect,” you mutter sarcastically, stepping into the room and tossing your bag onto the single mattress.

“What are you doing?” Zayn’s voice is sharp, his eyes narrowing.

“Claiming my spot,” you say, not bothering to look at him as you start unpacking.

“Like hell you are,” he snaps. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

You turn to face him, crossing your arms. “Neither am I.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might actually explode. “Then figure something else out, because I’m not giving up the bed.”

You take a step closer, refusing to back down. “Why don’t you figure something else out? Maybe you can charm the concierge into giving you a better room.”

His lips twitch like he’s about to say something cutting, but he holds back, instead running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I’m not arguing about this,” he mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed like he’s staking his claim.

You laugh bitterly, walking over to the other side. “Good. Then move over, because we’re sharing.”

His head snaps up, eyes narrowing. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” you shoot back. “I’m not sleeping on the floor, and neither are you. So unless you’ve got a better idea, this is happening.”

He stares at you for a long moment, like he’s weighing his options, but ultimately, he doesn’t move.

“This is going to be a disaster,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You smirk, climbing onto your side of the bed with deliberate ease. “Only if you make it one.”

The silence stretches as you both stay rooted in place, backs turned to each other. But eventually, the practicality of the situation forces you to move. You push off the bed with a sigh, grabbing your bag and heading into the bathroom to change.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you pull out your silk pyjamas—a matching set of shorts and a delicate camisole, the fabric whispering over your skin as you slip them on. You don’t usually put this much thought into what you wear to bed, but knowing Zayn will see you like this? Well, it’s impossible not to enjoy the idea of throwing him off balance.

When you step back into the room, he’s rummaging through his own bag. He’s changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, his dark hair messier than usual as he sits on the edge of the bed. The moment he looks up, his gaze snags on you.

You don’t miss it—the way his eyes trail over your legs, lingering on the hem of your shorts before quickly flicking back to your face. His jaw tightens, and when he speaks, his voice is low and bitter.

“Trying to make this even worse, are you?”

You arch a brow, crossing your arms casually, which only draws more attention to the soft sheen of the silk against your skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, leaning back on his hands as his eyes flicker over you one more time. “Nothing. Just figured you’d try to tone it down. Guess I was wrong.”

A shiver runs through you—not from his words, but from the heat in his stare, however fleeting it was. You force yourself to roll your eyes, brushing past him to your side of the bed.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Zayn,” you say, tossing your bag onto the chair. “I’m not dressing for you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters, but you ignore him, slipping beneath the covers.

He turns off the lamp on his side, plunging the room into darkness except for the faint glow of the streetlights outside. The bed dips as he climbs in, and for a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of shuffling blankets and quiet breathing.

But then his foot brushes against your calf.

“Seriously?” you snap, shifting away from him.

“You’re on my side,” he bites back, his voice sharp in the dark.

“Your side? It’s one bed, Zayn. There are no sides.”

“Then stop taking up the whole thing.”

You can’t help the grin that pulls at your lips, even as you scoot closer to the edge. “Stop being so dramatic.”

He grumbles something under his breath, and you hear the faint rustle of him turning over. But not even a minute later, his arm brushes yours, sending a jolt through you.

You bite back a laugh, enjoying the way his frustration simmers in the quiet. “This is kind of fun,” you tease softly.

“Yeah, for you,” he mutters, voice dripping with annoyance.

The tension is thick, the small bed forcing you closer than either of you wants to admit. Every shift, every brush of skin feels intentional, even when it’s not. And you? You’re savoring every second of it, relishing the fact that it’s driving him crazy.

Eventually, you let your eyes drift shut, the faint warmth of his body next to yours lulling you toward sleep. His scent—faintly smoky, with a hint of cologne—fills your senses, and it’s oddly comforting.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

Because as you start to drift off, the feel of him—so close, so warm—no longer feels irritating. It feels safe.

And that scares you more than anything else.

...

The soft, golden light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting long, hazy streaks across the room. You’re warm—too warm—and there’s a solid weight pressed against your back, a steady heat seeping through the thin silk of your pajamas.

For a moment, you think you’re still dreaming, caught in some cruel twist of your subconscious. But then you feel it: the slow rise and fall of someone’s chest against your shoulder blades, the gentle drag of their breath across the back of your neck.

Your eyes snap open.

Zayn.

His arm is heavy around your waist, his palm resting against your hip like it belongs there. His legs are tangled with yours, his knee brushing against bare skin, the scratch of his stubble faint but tantalizing where it ghosts near your neck.

A rush of panic and something else—something you refuse to name—shoots through you.

He shifts slightly, his fingers flexing against your hip as his breathing changes. He’s waking up.

Before he can move, you twist under his arm, turning to face him with a slow, wicked grin. “Well, good morning to you, cuddlebug.”

His lashes flutter, dark eyes blinking open in confusion before realization dawns. He freezes, his gaze flicking down to where his arm still rests against you, his entire body going rigid.

“What the—” he starts, jerking away like he’s been burned.

You burst into laughter, propping yourself up on one elbow as you watch him scramble to sit upright, his disheveled hair sticking out in every direction. He’s flushed, his ears tinged red, and you can’t help but enjoy the sight.

“You’re cuddly in your sleep,” you tease, tilting your head. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Shut up,” he growls, his voice rough with sleep, but you notice the way his hand lingers at the back of his neck, rubbing it like he’s trying to shake off the embarrassment.

“Oh, come on, Zayn,” you press, your voice sweet but sharp. “Didn’t know you were such a softie. Should I tell the others?”

His jaw tightens, and the frustration in his expression sends a thrill down your spine. But then, in one swift movement, he’s on you.

He rolls over, pinning you to the mattress, his weight pressing you down. His hands capture your wrists, pinning them above your head, the heat of his palms burning against your skin.

Your breath catches, your heart hammering in your chest as he leans in, his face so close that you can see the faint gold flecks in his dark eyes. His scent surrounds you—smoky and musky, with the faintest hint of cologne—and it’s intoxicating, no matter how much you want to hate it.

“Why are you always like this?” he growls, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine.

“Like what?” you breathe, your voice unsteady despite the smirk tugging at your lips.

“Flirty,” he spits, his eyes burning into yours. “Always pushing, always trying to get under my skin.”

You tilt your chin up, refusing to back down even as his grip tightens slightly around your wrists. “Because it works.”

His nostrils flare, his gaze flicking down to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up. You feel the warmth radiating off him, the tension crackling like a live wire between you.

“Do you think this is a game?” he demands, his voice rough, his frustration rolling off him in waves.

You hesitate, the teasing remark on the tip of your tongue faltering. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as you search his face, and for just a second, the anger in his eyes softens into something else—something raw and unfamiliar.

The air feels heavy, and every nerve in your body is hyper-aware of his closeness: the way his thumb brushes against the inside of your wrist, the way his knee presses into your thigh.

“Maybe,” you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. “Or maybe you just make it too easy.”

His grip on your wrists falters slightly, his brows furrowing as if your words hit harder than they should. For a moment, neither of you moves, the tension between you thick enough to choke on.

And then he pulls back abruptly, rolling off you and sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. His breathing is uneven, his shoulders tense as he mutters something under his breath.

You sit up slowly, watching him with a mix of amusement and something more complicated—something you’d rather not think about.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Zayn?” you ask, your voice light and teasing, though your heart is still pounding. “Did I strike a nerve?”

He stands suddenly, his movements sharp and agitated as he grabs his bag. “Get dressed,” he snaps, not meeting your eyes. “We’re leaving soon.”

You watch him go, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence.

You lean back against the headboard, your fingers brushing your wrist where his touch still lingers, your heart refusing to slow.

This thing between you—it’s dangerous. And the worst part? You don’t hate it as much as you should.

...

Part 2

[lamentedwaters]

Y’know, despite my many grievances with watching helluva boss, there are still a bunch of positives I have about the show.

I think the main one has to be the relationship with Fizz and Ozzie. Unlike most relationships in the show, this one displays genuine love between the two sides without any unneeded drama or tension. Both Fizz and Ozzie love each other for who the other is as a person. And they’re there to support one another. I mean Ozzie loved Fizz that much he risked it all and revealed his secret that he was in love with Fizz, despite being the Sin of Lust. This relationship is just wholesome, and it’s strange because in a sense it feels like they’re from a different show entirely, but in a good way. Plus, one of them is voiced by Alex Brightman, the man carrying this show, so I have to point that out.

But overall, this isn’t a rant, I just wanted to give positive opinions on this show for a change.

[stupidlittlespirit]

Can you give me more examples of Alex disliking Ford? I’ve always kinda felt it, but I never really had much of a real grasp on it.

Okay so this is the part where I look crazy because I can't give you specific examples LMAO but I'll try to explain what I mean. It's more in what he doesn't say than what he does.

Alex doesn't ever come right out and state 'I hate Ford', but he implies his distaste for him through his treatment of him. The way he hasn't gone harder/more explicit on drawing lines about Ford's abuse, or talking about how Ford suffered terribly during the time he was alone, for example. The way he blames Ford inherently for a lot of stuff that Ford, while not blameless, isn't fully at fault for. It's little things, and I'll detail them below.

TW below: Abuse, discussions of victimhood and irl consequences.

He extends more sympathy to other characters whereas Ford is sort of an afterthought. I don't actually think Alex has fleshed Ford out very well in his own head. Remember when he said that he didn't even know that Bill was going to be the main villain? They were flying by the seat of their pants for a lot of the series and it's quite clear in some elements. Obviously, the series is wonderful, I love it, it's one of my favourite shows of all time and Alex is a true talent, but it's obvious which characters are more important to him. He favours Bill a lot, too, so when his disliking of Ford/being ambivalent about him meets his enjoyment of Bill, only one of those dogs is coming out of the fight alive and it ain't Ford.

I think Alex is a genuine talent, I admire his work and his writing. He seems lovely. But I do also think he lacks in skill when it comes to complex abuse depictions.

I see a running theme that he isn't very good at portraying it specifically via 'unlikeable' characters. I mentioned on a previous post that he did this with Pacifica until people expressed empathy with her, and then he decided to round her out. He stated that himself during an old interview; I can't source it but I remember it vividly because it flagged red in my head that he couldn't see she was just a product of her environment. She's a twelve year old girl, for god's sake, she isn't 'just a horrible person', it makes a person sound like Bill when they beef with kids like that lol.

Another thing is in TBoB, there's a really horrendous page where Ford is tortured. It is visceral and awful, and tbh I wish I'd have been able to ask Alex what his top 5 horror movies were when I saw his talk because the scene is very reminiscent of a lot of my fav horrors.

But anyway, it is literal torture and it is also communicating about how helpless Ford is. He's a victim and a 'weak one' at that. Nothing he can do will stop Bill's abuse, he's stupid for trying, he's pathetic, he deserves it.

Now, that is a take I see with Ford a lot. He deserves it. He's asking for it. And it's a really upsetting one. It's also a common narrative told by people who blame victims for the abuse they suffered.

Not once have I ever seen Alex defend Ford. Not once have I ever heard him say 'Ford didn't deserve this', 'Ford suffered as much as Stan'. Not once.

Considering that he said he took 'inspiration' from his friend's 'toxic' relationships (I also think this is a strange and slightly perverse thing to do btw), I would have thought he might feel more strongly about pushing away this narrative about victims deserving their treatment.

I, obviously, also don't know for sure that he did take inspo from friends; he could well be describing his own experiences and just not feel comfortable saying so because men do suffer a different kind of stigma around being abused. That's fine, he doesn't have to out himself or anything, that would be horrible. But it's just the way he reacts to fans and speaks about the victim (Ford) that makes me think he's a bit more removed from this specific experience than it being personal.

There are many types of abuse. Ford's experience is familial, relationship-wise (platonic, because nothing about his relationship with Bill is romantic in the most basic sense of the term, if anything you can liken that side of things to sexual abuse) and personal. Ford then abuses himself as a reaction to outside abuse. Not his fault, again, but it does happen and it's a common thing for victims to do. I did.

Ford does nothing but suffer.

I truly don't believe that if you loved and cared for your character, you would be willing to watch your audience tear them apart like that after they had already been through so much and were not actually a villain themselves.

Especially if you had, or knew other people who had, experience with that kind of abuse. He doesn't let it happen to Stan, he came down hard on people when they did it to Dipper, and to Mabel, too.

It would kill me to let my OCs be bastardised like that by an audience and I'd be damned if I did a disservice to victims everywhere over something like this.

I think his lack of care is displayed in his treatment of Ford, as opposed to him outright saying he doesn't like him.

I also understand that this analysis also comes from a deeply personal point of view and my own experience with this topic, too.

This is a TV show, it isn't real and I don't need to take it so seriously, but what I do take seriously is seeing the real world reactions of other people. That does hurt. It hurts to see someone who is (very inelegantly and heavy-handedly, btw) depicted as a victim of abuse be laughed at and made into a joke, or flipped on their head and made to be romanticised with their abuser just to make a ship happen.

Fiction doesn't need to be taken seriously except when the lines begin to blur over into real life. We know people are cruel to irl victims and we can see where these lines blur quite obviously.

I think abuse and uncomfortable topics should be depicted, but I also think that as a creator, if you use them, you have a HUGE responsibility to teach and guide your audience into understanding why these things are bad/what makes them so. You shouldn't make jokes about the topic or encourage other people to go off the rails with it.

You can't control people, of course you can't, but you can hold their hand a bit and show them towards the light. If they choose not to follow it then they're probably not bright enough to pick up what you're putting down and that's on them, but you have to try.

Maybe if I hadn't (and my friends and other victims hadn't) been subjected to exactly the same reaction, we wouldn't feel so strongly about this, but it really does feel like a kick in the teeth to see a large number of people behave so grotesquely about abuse.

And just as an aside: I am a victim, I have been/am an unlikeable one, but it does not mean that I deserved what I got and that goes the same for every other 'unlikeable' victim out there.

*deep breath* but other than that I'm totally normal about Ford and not at all mentally ill :)

[livvyofthelake]

ok sorry for getting depressing last night life is literally horrible and unlivable and the lowest it's ever been without dipping into active suicide risk territory. but we move i suppose

[meracyn]

Fairy Whispers ༄

a/n ; first ever fic ! apologies in advance if it isnt too good 😭 thank you for requesting anon <3 this fic is meant to be platonic, but read it either way you’d like + tomorrow ill probs post some shuichi content, n e ways i hope you enjoy !!

Fairy Tail.

The world where magic and adventure intertwine at every corner; where many are given the gift of bearing a sort of power, yet not everyone uses it to help and save others.

There’s corruption. Murder. Bloodshed caused by those consumed by the desire of gaining more power.

But of course, there are always ones with a good heart.

It was a sunny day today; and a day where everyone at the Fairy Tail guild could relax. Everyone was mostly off doing their own thing. Some drinking, reading quietly, chatting or hanging out with others.

It was supposed to be a chill day today, but definitely wasn’t for Lucy.

“Stop! Please, don’t hurt them!”

Lucy was sent on a mission — having to catch some robbers on a small village. It was pretty simple, so she took her time walking around, enjoying her alone time, or was, until she heard faint cries of distress. Following the sound, she came upon a scene that caught her off guard; it was a group of fairy poachers, trapping innocent fairies in nets, crushing or squeezing them in dirty bags. Lucy felt anger, and knew she had to act fast. Summoning her celestial spirits, she began to attack them, using her quick wit and power.

After sending them all flying off, Lucy quickly freed all the fairies, who hid or flew off as well, except for one. Stuck between a net, Lucy picked up the fairy out of the strings. The fairy, with sparkly wings and tear-filled eyes, looked up at Lucy, admiration, yet a hint of sadness mixing in her expression. “Thank you so much for saving me and my friends..” Slightly trembling, she continued. “I thought I was going to be their next experiment..”

Lucy smiled a little, lifting her finger to pat the fairy’s head. “It’s okay now, I’m here to protect you.” She said, hoping to provide her some comfort. However, as they both turned around, Lucy realized the amount of damage that was done. The poachers had destroyed the fairy’s home in the chaos, leaving her with no place to return to. “Where will I go to now?” the fairy whispered in worry.

Though dwelling in sadness, the fairy was admired by Lucy’s quickness to get involved and save her. “Thank you for saving me,” she said, voice slightly shaky. In a moment of thankfulness, she leaned in and gave Lucy a gentle kiss on the nose.

To their surprise, Lucy’s nose began to grow—two feet long, just like Pinocchio — Lucy was stunned — poked her nose, felt embarrassed and shocked. She did not expect that to happen by one small kiss. “Well, at least no one will see me like this! I hope...” she tried to joke, chuckling awkwardly.

The fairy gasped at the sight of Lucy, wondering how the kiss caused that strange effect. “Oh no..I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that would happen, but I’m sure it will wear off in a day.. I’m so sorry..” She cried out, frantically flying around while apologizing profusely.

Lucy only chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “It’s fine! It isn’t your fault, I know you have good intentions. But I guess I can smell trouble from a mile away now!” she exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood. The fairy, though still blaming herself, ended up smiling a little at Lucy’s attempt to make her feel better about the situation.

As they walked together, the fairy got an idea. “What if your nose becomes my new home in the meantime?” Lucy looked at her with an expression that said ‘That is the most wild idea I’ve ever heard.’ At the same time, she did understand how the little creature must be feeling, – losing the only place you call home is devastating.

“Does that mean you’ll decorate my nose and cut some parts to resemble it as a house?” Lucy teased. The fairy let out a short giggle while nodding, going along with Lucy’s jokes. “Now that you said it, maybe I should.” The celestial wizard feigned a look of horror before the two burst into laughter. Lucy promised to help her find a new home, and to find her whenever she needed help in the future.

The rest of the day was spent with them both picking up flowers, grass and small sticks. Using her magic, the fairy transformed the objects into a cloud seat, a small bed, table and chairs, filled with laughter along the way. Despite Lucy’s strange nose, she wasn’t too worried about it – at least it wasn’t permanent. Although it did feel really weird, she never would’ve expected to feel her nose heavy. Is this how Pinocchio felt? The blonde wondered. “I’ll definitely never forget this day.” she chuckled.

As the sun began to set, Lucy decided to lay down on the grass, humming contently as the cool breeze brushed against her skin. This experience was definitely strange but ending up being a lot of fun in the end.

It was quiet for a while, before she spoke up. “Like I said, whenever you need help, come find me at fairy tail. I’m Lucy Heartfilia, and I promise to always protect you.” Turning her head slightly, Lucy raised her hand, holding her pinky finger out. The fairy smiled, giving a nod. “I’m Y/N, and I promise you will always have the protection of the fairies from now on.”

They linked pinkies, under the starry night sky.

[kuruk]

genuinely sort of obsessed with suicide and killing yourself and dying lately. main character in a manhwa I was reading tried killing herself kind of late into the story coincidentally at a time where I was already starting to become very obsessed with death wnd now I'm having so much fun finding more killing yourself stories like yes let's all kill ourselves no more I think that'squite enough.. like 8ts really the only thing I look forward to thinking about lately I wake up disappointed that there's nothing to look forward to for the day or life but remember I have time to think about killing myself and I'm like Yay and hurray and such. I've felt this way like twice and it's a comparatively higher risk level of being suicidal for me since I kindof dont care about anything but this focus and I feel almost genuine excitement and anticipation about death and for hours a day I'm just fantasizing about being able to give up or start over, which is worse than having severely sad angry emotional issues kind of depressed where things do matter and they're just not good but in this case nothing matters or excites me except this. it's worse as in like it doesn't feel as impossible to happen but it does feel way better like well at least I still have killing myself and dying we wlways have killing ourselves and dying

[langernameohnebedeutung]

.