#like not the fact that the art and animation are flawless

[hide-your-bugs-away]

gOSH I can't stop thinking about how cool it is that my friend is seeing Eric perform today....... GETTING TO SEE ALAN AND ERIC WITHIN SIX MONTHS OF ONE ANOTHER.... agGGghghG gotta add her experience to my essay 🙏 certified price-burdon moment!!!!!!!

[itgirl-111]

OFFENSIVELY ATTRACTIVE VAUNT

Why do I have to be so offensively attractive? Everything about me from top to toe is perfection. You've never seen a face as pretty and flawless as mine. No cause why do I have to look this hot? I'm fr the hottest girl on the planet. Everything about me from top to toe is pure perfection, my individual features are perfect and flawless but when they come together they are so harmonious? Like everything just fits my face so fucking perfectly like it's meant to be there. Every inch of my face and body is gorgeous and flawless. I am a walking masterpiece, I'm a work of art. Everyone is obsessed with me the first time they see me, I am so drop dead gorgeous that people literally double take and gasp once they lay their eyes on me. I mean, I'm always the center of attention because why wouldn't I be? I high key give off real main character vibes, it's like I straight up walked out of an anime. It's near impossible for someone to look this humanely beautiful but I do because I'm just too damn stunning. I literally take everyone's breath away. I am so offensively attractive, people find it difficult to not look at me, I swear all eyes turn only to me because I'm literally the most beautiful ever. It's only once in a blue moon that you'd get a chance to see a person as attractive as I am, Im once in a lifetime afterall. I get complimented every single day, I hear everyone call me beautiful more than my own name. I am too painfully attractive, it's indescribable. I'm the typa girl who you see once and never forget. I literally got everyone feeling some type of way they never felt before. I am literally so utterly mesmerizing. I got everyone simping for me fr. I'd be literally breathing and everyone would be down bad for me, Literally down bad. I got universal sex appeal, meaning everyone regardless of sexuality is down bad for me . I am so sexy people genuinely cannot get over it and everyday I just get 100x trillion times hotter. I am just sooo damn fine like I've got too pretty of a face and even more powerful vibe. I believe in my supremacy fr. Sometimes it's just so hard to grasp the fact that a person as attractive as I, is living on the same planet as everyone else, everyone is damn lucky to be born in the same generation as I am. It's ridiculous how many simps I have, like damn I really got everyone down bad for me huh. I am the pinnacle of God tier beauty and charisma.

There's something about my vibe which is just so uniquely mine, like my vibe and energy is so one of a kind, everyone can feel my vibe even before I walk into the room. I give off an expensive, powerful, hot girl vibe who straight up walked out of an anime I swear lol. My energy is way too magnetic and irresistible, it speaks volumes. My presence is literally out of this world. The way I carry myself, the way I talk, the way I do things, the way I think, the way I look, my energy, my mannerisms, my habits, all of it is way too unique to be replicated. Everyone wanna study me like their favourite subject. It's impossible to mistake me for another one, I stand out and outshine literally everyone with my beauty, charisma, and interesting personality. The fact that it comes to me so naturally and effortlessly? Even better. I've got such amazing wit and humour, I'm so personable that people genuinely love to be around me even though I may seem intimidating at first. I always know how to spark interesting and amazing conversations, I know when to speak and be quiet, I got that perfect balance between loud and quiet confidence. My intelligence and the way I keep learning new things so easily? Even hotter!. I am an ICON. My energy is actually so magnetic, I have that little something, that is just so insanely attractive and captivating that it cannot be described in words, only felt. I truly believe in my own supremacy.

[rayroseu]

5th Anniversary Diasomnia Crumbs!

OKAYY FIRST OFF THE GROOVY 😭😭✨💖💞💖💞 CROWLEY AT THE CENTER YAAAAASSS!!!! YANA TOBOSO IS VERY YASASHI NO DE FOR DRAWING HIM AS THE FOCAL POINT WUAIDYOAHKH🗣️🗣️🗣️☝🏻☝🏻✨💖💞💝🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Also WITH THE RAMSHACKLE GHOSTS... I was prepared that they might not be included in this groovy but they're here!! 😭💝✨ They're here and happy with all the faculty members!! I'm!!! I LOVE THIS ARTSTYLY BECAUSE IT MAKES EVERYONE LOOKS SO SOFT,,, Goodbye,,, Yuu found family group picture finally happened,,, I can die in peace 😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻💖💝💞💝💖

ALSO Vargas trying to strike his best pose that highlights his flexed muscles brilliantly DESPITE being at the corner of the group pic is everything, PEAK CHARACTER COMPOSITION, he looks so content that hes not even aware that Trein is just so done at him, he barely even smiled lol 🤣

Faculty teachers are so silly this is everything I've ever wanted 😭💝💖💖💝💖💝

I'd like to remind that in 4th Anniversary, the feast happened as per Crowley's curtesy 🥺 The fact that the catering of the party is focused on meat and Grim is waving a barbecue is a nod to that 😭🙏🏻✨

Also love how Crowleywas in charge of the 4th Anniversary because the 4th year is the last year you'll get while studying in NRC!! So it feels like he's sending us off to an unknown realm or whatever because we're out of candidates to guess who'll be the groovy for 5th Anniversary XD (plspslpslsmeleanoranddawnandbaulcmoncomnonnnkahs)

Not these bunch having a group pic again halfkwhdkhsj Their poses are so in character XD Of course Vil is still flawless even at the back and Malleus has the most normal pose because he's not accustomed to cameras 🥺✨✨

Hopefully I'm wrong, but I really do hope they do an animated pv for 4th Anniversary as well and not just a call back video for the released cards... 😭😭

EYESHADOW FLAWLESS EYELINER ON FLEEK LIP GLOSS STUNNING THAT CLASSIC SMIRK WITH FURROWED EYEBROWS THAT LOOKS LESS LIKE A SMILE AKDHKSHD He is perfection He does no wrong 😭😭💖💝💖

OKAYY NGLL i missed seeing new art of Malleus... I'm so glad he's back 😭😭 and beautiful than ever 😭🙏🏻🙏🏻

I love how they drew his lips here!! ✨✨💞💞

I'm so excited for this to be translated actually 😭😭🙏🏻✨✨ I love more silly stuff from TWST lol

Laughing at this cover though,,, NOT EVERYONE BEING GIVEN TUNA CANS FROM GRIM,,, OMG

Are we finally having the tuna can lore and why its Grim's favourite food this year?? OMGONGDKS😭😭

theyve been highlighting that nowadays... I feel like tuna cans will never be the same once Book7 or 8 even leaks something about Grim 😭😭

Babes wake up, new diasomnia family photo just dropped ‼️‼️😭😭😭💚💚💚

Lilia is so adorable kahdkhwd Not him holding a can upside down 😭🙏🏻💞💞💞 never stop being silly old man,,, 🥺🥺 💖💖

His :3 is my everything,,, 💞💞🙏🏻🙏🏻💝💝✨✨✨

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

the counterpart

chapter 4 — the day after you stole my heart

rating: explicit. the smut chapter is here. i’m done edging ya’ll. or am i?…

word count: 5,5k

pairing: viktor x fem!reader (no use of y/n, as usual)

cw: smoking, some mild cussing. now to the real shit: did you know you can play chess and fuck simultaneously? well now you know. everybody say thank you sober. brief oral, (fem receiving), unprotected sex. poorly proof-read, i’ll deal with that a bit later.

part 5 —

Every chess player had a favourite vice. That is a proverbial axiom, a mandatory requirement to pursuing a chess career: if one doesn’t have a murderous little something to kill him slowly, but surely — then they shall forever be declared an amateur, a poser, a pathetic excuse of a genius. 

Blackburne loved a good drink. He would chug that scotch down like a thirsty man, but it didn’t stop him from becoming the greatest of his time — he mastered the art of combining poison with flawless skill. Tal, on the other hand, held onto his liquor crutch a bit too tight — it didn’t blunt his sharp mind, yet still made people wonder how he‘d managed not to drink himself into a much earlier grave. Generational differences or the infamous Eastern European relationship with alcohol? The biographers weren’t exactly sure, but one fact still remains a tragic reality: once you touch the piece professionally — you’re doomed, and winning a tournament won’t be the only addictive feeling in your life. 

But what were Viktor’s vices? 

He liked to think he had none. He would politely turn down every temptation, and it made him unique — an outstanding exception, a pleasant anomaly. 

Until he met his undoing. His mess of disheveled hair, mingled scents of thrifted threadbare leather, nail-polish and tobacco, mascara fallouts under each tortured with the lack of sleep eye, his  constant, impeccable taunt — light-hearted, slightly erotic, animate. 

A vice of special danger. A vice much worse than some substance corrupting one's lungs or liver. A vice that went straight for his poor heart. 

A woman. 

A provocation.

You. 

Viktor knew he was a goner the second you challenged him, smartassing your way out of the massacre of pawns — a risky trick not every professional is daring to try, crass and intimidating, and therefore effective. Quite the aggressive nuisance you were — you encroached on his pieces, yet even the possibility of swallowing a delicious knight or two wasn’t tempting enough for you to stoop down to chasing after a man. He really had to lure you into losing that carefulness, boring you out to make you throw yourself at him — but only on the board, of course. Viktor would never indulge more unvarnished fantasies. A bewitched one, yet still a gentleman. 

Although he could picture making a solid threat out of you. After all, you were already threatening his sanity. He wore the afterglow of your touch like a phantom trophy, sweetly picturing how other parts of you would feel at the mercy of his tenderness — if only you’d be willing to allow him near you like that: in ways that involved sacrally holding hands and shyly asking for permission to press a goodbye kiss to the crooked corner of your smirking mouth. A threat like that is more than capable of becoming a chess menace: if that’s what you can do to a delicate man’s mind after just one unfinished match and a few equivocal conversations — then you could easily become a champion.

But was he allowed to become something more than just a counterpart shaping you into a better player? Was he allowed to think of you softly when he laid face up in the dark comfort of his room, silence pulsating rhythmically in each ear, as mind drifted to the sound of your laughter — raspy from all the cigarettes you have for lunch? Was he allowed to stare at your hands as they contemplated their next move? To memorize each crack of the thick red coating your nails? To wonder if you’d be opposed to accepting a soft kiss pressed to the cleft of your knuckles after he’d helped you patch up — if only he was brave enough to offer it?

The desperate need to acquaint himself with you more intimately kept suckling at his usually reserved demeanor, melting it off his secretly passion-starved soul. The whole Saturday was spent in aching anticipation, the board with your by-heart recorded moves spread on his desk, a palm slammed across Viktor’s forehead as he replayed your game over and over again. Jayce peeked from behind the sharp arc of his shoulder, clueless as to what could possibly drive his tactful friend into a distress of that extent. 

Viktor groaned, aggressively pressing his fingers into his hot from the restless thinking temple. The pieces were mocking him from their hopeless positions — at this point they could’ve aligned into the word ‘liar’ and it would still pain him less than their current placement. 

There was no draw. The absence of queen was crucial in your situation — especially considering your previous moves. You really couldn’t get out of this. And he knew it the very instance you’d accidentally caged yourself with that impulsive hunger for his bishop. 

And he lied to you. Willingly. Out of pure, selfish eagerness — just to see your brain come up with a solution, and he was oh so close to witnessing it — if only you didn’t gnaw into your nail halfway through. If only he didn’t have a lecture to get to that Friday. 

But charming women demand academic sacrifices. He’ll do better next time. If next time ever comes. How naїve of him. 

“I don’t get it,” Jayce muttered, throwing another puzzled gaze on Viktor’s dim misery, “why would you lie to her about the draw?” 

Viktor sighed, leaning into his chair, wincing at the heavy moanful creak of it.

“I wanted to see her squirm, I suppose,” he confessed, but the answer didn’t seem to please him. “Scratch that, not squirm. She’s a… strange player, let’s put it that way. I just wanted to see her try to get out of that irreparable quandary. Sheer curiosity, if you will.” 

“Strange player as in… hopeless?” Jayce quiered, carefully hovering about the board, forehead wrinkled into a frown as he desperately tried to understand what ‘quandary’ Viktor was referring to.

“No, not at all,” Viktor objected, defensively. Had Jayce smiling knowingly at the rushed remark, light-hearted mockery spilling out of his friendly grin. “Impulsive, more like. Brilliant, but so impulsive. If that wasn’t the case — I would‘ve offered her a draw. At the very least. She could’ve beat me if she noticed my plans on her queen in time.” 

“Tell her you lied to her.” 

“I’m certain she already noticed that much,” Viktor muttered, tired frustration prominent in each heavy sigh as his fingers found a few pieces, twisted them nervously a few times, then poked the pad of his index sharp and angry — as if trying to pierce right through it, to sober up from the heaving regret. 

Charming women demand honesty. Precision. Utter resentment even towards experimental white lies.

Or do they really? Viktor was about to find out. 

On a Sunday morning he woke up coated in sweat, trembling hand an anxious slam against his wet forehead in a frightened search for signs of fever, followed by a relieved exhale when he didn’t find any. The squealing alarm clock kept persistently reminding him of the tortures he was yet to endure before the revanche — two hours of cramping anticipation: one spent on a rushed meal and a cold shower and the other on an even more hastened trip to the bakery. 

He watched the baker wrap the pastries for him with a meticulous frown — that polite old lady wasn’t aware of the importance of her mission, of the fact that those fluffy buchteln were actually a peace offering. Them, and his decision not to bring the timers with him today. Perhaps keeping you well-fed and unlimited in torturing him on the board for however long you pleased could make up for the silly lie he’d regretted so immensely. 

The walk to your dorm was slow, slothful even — he picked the long picturesque path on purpose: both not to suffer from the still merciless sunlight, and to avoid showing up earlier than you requested. It takes a lot to please a woman, and he was willing to commit to it — but a sweet little something and some punctuality would have to suffice for now. 

So at eleven sharp, with a handful of baked goods wrapped in crispy paper and a nervous grip on the handle of his cane, Viktor was already standing at your door. He sighed, checking the number on it for the umpteenth time — and when that glistening little ‘505’ glared down at him from its honorary position, his hand had finally flexed into a fist and knocked. Politely. 

No response. Only an illegible little something — supposedly, an annoyed groan — audible through the door, and Viktor cocks an eyebrow, knocking again; this time, a little bit more insistently. 

“Fuck’s sake, what part of ‘do not disturb’ you didn’t get?” 

Five angry footsteps. No warning to back off. Five more jarring spins of the clanking keys — and the door flies open, practically disarming Viktor of his cane, forcing him to clumsily step away, going limp and even paler. 

“Oh. It’s you.” So soft. Like that mouth — now stretched into a lovely grin — wasn’t just spewing harsh swears. Like those tangled signs of freshly interrupted slumber weren’t scattered across your hair like a sweet morning torture. Like you were completely oblivious to the slight arc your waist caught as you leaned on the doorframe, thin straps of the see-through shirt hanging loosely off each shoulder.

A dare. To slip even lower, to find that fabric crumpled above your navel and — of course — fully absent around the hips, flowing into just as exposed thighs, then calves, and, finally, a definitely barefoot sight. 

He didn’t make it past your underwear. 

Spellbound, he followed the nod of your head — a few hesitant steps inside, gaze clumsy and inquisitive, already roaming across your room. A humble tremble as it slid over the swell of your backside when you rushed to the lock — to keep him in that cozy cage of yours for today. Eyes rolled, running over the messy bed — no doubt, still warm after you basked in it sweet and half-naked. He spotted the board and lingered there, in a nervous attempt to count every fallen into the folded sheets piece. Anything to find a decent enough distraction while you were struggling to crawl into your jeans — the ones you threw onto your desk the night before, hoping to have them on before he shows up. 

“You really do sleep in on Sundays,” he found his voice, choking on a chuckle and watching you scurry around the place, finally not with your ass out. One hop to the left to grab a brush, one slip to the right to practically knock over an ashtray on the bookshelf — a haphazard thing, chaotic and rhythmless. 

“I went to bed late,” you mumbled a confession apologetically. “Took me a while to analyze our game. Which, mind you, wouldn’t have been the case if someone hadn’t lied to me about the draw.” 

“Is that the reason for your, eh… discontentment?” Viktor quiered, chuckling again. Caught you facing his back with a quizzical frown and met your gaze slyly over his shoulder. Pupils dilated and swiftly followed you to the bathroom, beautifully regretful as he realised that you were about to leave him for a few minutes. 

“No,” you laughed, walking out of the reach of his peripheral vision. “A few neighbors tried to disturb my precious beauty sleep earlier. You just happened to come under the fire.” 

He hummed in silent understanding, accepting the invitation to explore your room with every fiber of his insatiable curiosity — fingers ran over the contents of your bookshelf, stroked the spine of ‘Masters of the Chessboard’ languid and delicate, relishing that delicious dejavu of the library incident in dreamy reminiscence. Had him stiffening as he caught a rhythmic shuffle coming from the bathroom, then smirking awkwardly as he realized you were simply brushing your teeth. Legs were aching for rest, yet he didn’t answer their painful calling, simply hovering above your desk with a heavy gasp — taking in every notebook and unsharpened pencil.  

“Would you take that handsome nose out of my writing?” 

Viktor shuddered, clinging off the crime scene with a dismissive shrug, shoulders arched and tense as you raced past them and whisked an ashtray out of its lonesome spot behind the books. Elbows brushed against each other sharp and brief, causing him to turn around with a guilty giggle. Eyes met yours one more time, then fell to your still tortuously uncovered clavicles. You didn’t change out of that loose shirt. A vengeful move or a generous blessing — Viktor was grateful for it nonetheless. And you kindly let him feast upon you in his respectful rapture, as long as he kept looking at you like that — with the excitement of a medieval man fainting at the sight of an exposed ankle. 

You crossed whatever little distance divided you from the bed in a single step, kicked the muddled blanket off it like a stupid obstacle and slithered straight on the mattress, ordering him to sit down with a muffled tap by your side. Viktor cleared his throat and obeyed, albeit not expecting to get into one bed with you that fast; left his cane by your desk, took his shoes off and joined you on the sheets, stretching a braced leg out with a fleeting wince. Smiles were exchanged again, limbs relaxed and sank into the all-besieging softness, fallen chess pieces found and resurrected from their countless dents in the linens. 

“Did you have any trouble finding me?” you finally interrupted the comfortable silence. He shook his head. 

“No. I’m good at following instructions. Didn’t even have to bother your clientele.” 

“And what’s that?” your finger pointed at the package he held protectively and your stomach suddenly whined for whatever was inside of it, instantly recognising the familiar bakery label on the paper. You spotted an oily stain at the bottom of it. Must be something sweet. Pastries. 

“Oh,” he handed the precious wrap to you. “I’ve brought lunch. Well, breakfast, in your case, I suppose.” 

You abandoned the chess board for him to set and anchored greedily into your bucheln, devouring it in a few excitedly large bites. It made him laugh — low and raspy, head rocked back in a precious quiver as eyes closed shut, tempting you to steal a peek at his contorted with chortling face. Flushed. Pretty. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled through a chew, feeling the treat melt on your tongue deliciously — a freshly baked gift all yours to satiate with. And when you were done with it — all too fast, to be frank — your gaze returned to the board, widening at the sight of patiently waiting at your side white pieces. 

“I thought we’re handling some unfinished business first?” 

“No need. We both know the outcome anyway,” he declined discreetly. “I’d rather watch you take your revenge.” 

You froze above the row of your pawns, considering the offered privilege. They were reflecting the light with hostile glints, ready to attack. Belligerent and nothing like those glimmers in Viktor’s eyes — all humble and endlessly curious. His dark pieces tensed up in quiet obedience, fully anticipating the first blood to be drawn. 

So you indulged him, but not at all mercifully. No pastries can quench the hunger for vengeance. And he understood. He complied. 

You greeted him with the taste of his own venom — pawns met in a good old Sicilian once again, resenting each other obliquely from their standard positions. 

1.e4. The predictable, flavourful treason. A choice made not for the sake of efficiency — you opened like that because it was personal. 

Simply couldn’t resist when it felt so right — to have Viktor completely at your disposal, and, most importantly, out of his own will. He huffed and moved his piece with an unimpressed sigh. Must’ve seen that coming. Of course. 

“Eye for an eye, Viktor.” 

He snickered. “Pawn for a pawn, more like.” A fucking smartass. 

Your knight made an appearance next — you wanted to punch your way through a barricade he was about to build for you, hoping to prevent a possible attack. No need to fight the urge to shift closer, foreheads practically touching as both of you hovered above the board, glances so sharp no blade could ever compete with their inveteracy.

The plan was working. He moved another pawn to d6 for protection, playing into your delusion, and your breath grew hotter before his face in a cheeky laugh. Matched his energy with the same careful move — but not for the sake of creating a shield. It was a calculated preparation for a strike. And as you waited for him to bend to your will, he proved you wrong and took your pawn in two swift motions — one on the board, the other in a small jerk forward, close enough to steal that incredulous gasp of yours into his mouth, if only he was persistent enough. 

Oh the fucking audacity! You pulled away from him to a distance more appropriate for a game of chess: both to bite back and to compensate for the distracting nature of your attire. Amber eyes twitched and descended to the crevice of your cleavage, then sprinted back to the board. Either still not brave enough, or simply reluctant to stare at the cost of a loss. 

But you noticed. Noticed, and took it to your advantage, cruelly destroying the pawn he tricked you with while he was distraught. Weaponized his obvious weakness to whatever was so precious about your chest and bare shoulders, watching him put his knight into action with a now trembling hand. All is fair in love and war. 

The torture was impeccable. It lasted long — diabolically so, extending every time he stepped back to save his pale ass from your aggressive approach. Fingers fiddled with the button of his collar when you almost caged him into a stalemate. Took you a dozen moves, one lost knight and around twenty minutes to do so.

Only twenty minutes. Filled with tension thicker than Bobby Fisher’s book, but that’s besides the point. 

And yet he managed to get out of it — his queen lurched a few squares forward and dissected you from the check, ruining the perfect sight; made you swear angrily in a bitter whisper. Close, but no cigar. And you needed one. Desperately. 

“Do you mind if I smoke?” you queried, watching him frown with a dismissive shrug. 

“It’s your room.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

Viktor sighed. Fingers flew to his shirt again, popping open one more button. Had your gaze nailed to the bulge of his voice box, to the slight tilt of his head when he smiled, tucking a single chestnut strand out of his narrowed eyes. A tease. A fidgety vision. 

“If you please.” 

Good. 

You reached for the thrown somewhere nearby ashtray — as if the version of you from twenty minutes before knew that dealing with this man would be impossible without nicotine. Slipped into your pocket and handed him a pack, offering to share the poison together. He declined with a polite head shake and watched you put the cigarette slowly into your mouth — supposedly jealous of the stupid thing. Your pieces waited all around the place, aching to repeat the maneuver as soon as you were done harassing that poor, rusty lighter. 

He ousted you of some promising options. You let the smoke fill your lungs, overlooking whatever little possibilities he left you to choose from — you could sacrifice one more pawn in exchange for his bishop later: but that won’t work if he notices it in time. Or you could refrain from attacking him just now in order to move closer to that delicious piece you were eyeing — both would result in a little compromise nonetheless. 

You picked the latter. Moved the rook to d6 and exhaled with a wet little pop, catching him drawn to the slowly flowing out of your mouth smoke. Like he cared more about the shape of your lips than a grave you dug for him on the board. If only he slipped up to actually fall in it. 

“You look distracted,” you whispered, going in for another drag. It burned your throat nice and thorough, adding to the kick you were getting out of aiming for his defense. 

“I am distracted,” he confirmed with a hard swallow. “You’re not playing fair.” 

“How so?” 

“There was no need to make this so, eh… intimate.”

“Intimate?” 

“Well, excuse me for the lack of a better vocabulary,” he snapped and abruptly captured your pawn, then threw it off the board with a hopeless huff. “You never claimed to be condescending and I’m aware of that, but please don’t toy with me. That’s beyond cruel.” 

You stirred, letting the cigarette smolder into a thin bridge of ashes. Smiling to the accusation didn’t feel right anymore — his voice, tired of devastation, reduced you to thoughtfulness for a split second. Made you crave to address it softly. 

“Are you questioning my methods?” 

“No,” Viktor sighed. “I’m questioning my ability to resist them.” 

Amber eyes flickered and slid up the curve of your shoulder, hands failed to abide by the stupid restraint and reached for you: one twined around your wrist and squeezed, tight and desperate, the other itched to cup your knee — but still lacked the boldness. Thankfully, you had just enough to flood the whole room. 

“Then don’t resist,” you pleaded, feeling his breath collide with the bitter heat of yours. 

And his hesitation crumbled, spilling clumsily against your bottom lip. Faces crushed together above the board, mouths opened and molded together hastily — a strangling union, full of whimpers and urgent tongue flicks. Made your hand go limp in his possessive clutch, and he used that opportunity to guide it into the ashtray, putting out the cigarette your tongue still tasted of. 

So needy. Like he wanted you to crawl into his throat and slice it tenderly from the inside — if only doing so could guarantee that your kiss will be his undoing. In every single appropriate and inappropriate way. 

Lips felt bruised, fingers used their newfound freedom to dig into his hair and tug him away from you softly, lungs burned from breathing him in sharply but oh so heavenly, and you were back at it again within seconds, though with starvation not nearly as impressive as his. Spine arched for him, tingling sweetly when he nudged you slightly to the left  — away from the ashtray, the board and all the moves you were yet to make. Feral, but so careful — he was so afraid of destroying your work, yet so keen on ruining you. Preferably for any other man. 

Viktor touched like a keeper, like someone others wouldn’t even dare to compete with. Had you shivering in a little convulsion when two undoubtedly talented fingers clung to your lower back and pressed, gliding swiftly into that delicious little dip. Made you wish he could grab more — like a trembling thigh or an ass cheek. You should’ve stayed in your underwear. 

But he yielded so preciously. Didn’t let you near that pulsing spot on his neck when you tried to switch to it from his mouth: lips stayed on lips, and he intended to keep it that way. Hands locked behind your back and forced an attack, pulling you close enough to melt gently into his lap, and you left that vampiric attempt for later, settling for straddling him — tight and selfish. Not without a tiny evil itch to tease him out of that sudden bravery, to remind him that it’s you who plays White today. But judging from every pant Viktor made beneath you, he was pretty much aware of that. 

You heard him gasp when tongues finally unraveled reluctantly, sharp chin still glistened with your spit, breath was a mess subtly tickling your neck. It drew a laugh out of him — that lovely sound of contentment nuzzling your collarbones with a soft shake, grateful for whatever pieces of you he was allowed to feel. Palms kept sweating nervously against the skin he found under your rolled up shirt. 

“Greedy much?” you gave into the soft, tempting mockery. Leaned into his craving mouth and threw your head back, seizing every lick, nip and suck it had to offer. Let him move his palms elsewhere — wherever he pleased, really — and they fell into a cautious squeeze of both breasts, leaving sweet, eager scorches. Scooped your heart race up into a grip and pinched teasingly at one nipple, rolled it hard and stole a choked up moan. Yes. He was greedy. Very much so. 

But the jeans were still there, tangling into the embrace and making it impossibly hard to find where he was hard for you. And you needed to feel him throb, raw and impatient as he was against your own torturous ache. As he would’ve been, to be precise — if not for the thick denim separating you cruelly from this obscenity. 

He wasn’t thrilled to part with you even for a moment, eyes the prettiest begging stunt when you slid out of his lap — and, simultaneously, out of bed, pupils widened when he realized just what kind of honor you were about to do him. Fingers stayed on your hips and held them in place as you rose above him, digging into each shoulder for whatever leverage those trembling things could provide. Letting him help you out of that attire nice and slow — for the sake of savoring the sight Viktor didn’t deem himself worthy of earlier. Catching the bat of his breath when the cloth thumped to the floor, wrapping around your feet creased and forgotten. You stepped out of it in mad haste, felt him admire the softness of thighs with a languid touch as gaze flew back to yours in a shy request for permission. 

And when you nodded, suddenly flushed from having this boy like this — messy-haired, hot and soft spoken, he stilled you securely between his widely parted legs and kissed you softly on the belly — just above that aroused little spot where you needed him most. Had you breaking in half above him, keening raggedly as he hooked his thumb into your pitifully soaked underwear and pulled it tenderly to the side, dark eyes glistening about just as much as the slick of your exposed folds. 

A resolute man —  he knew exactly what he wanted and went for it without hesitation. His tongue darted out to taste you in one long, relishing swipe — from slit to clit, deliciously sour as you were, moaning at his ministration. And that skilfull torture lasted a few pleasantly long minutes — until you were turned into an almost cumming disarray of weak knees and spasming muscles. 

But, strangely enough, you wanted to be even with him. One knee bent and pushed lightly into his crotch, felt him tense up inside the tight cage of pants. He handed you the lead and fell boneless onto the sheets, head a muffled smack against the roughness of your headboard. Had you crawling back to him on all shaky fourth, shirt and ruined undergarments thrown barbarously to the nearest nightstand. 

Impeccable in your naked splendor, you sat atop him again, chest heavy with all the things his spread out form did to your fragile heart. And it failed to resist the flaming urge to kiss him, smiling at the way he absorbed all of you so quickly — tongue caustic with your flavour, chestnut hair smelled of bitter cigarettes. Like he was already yours, ready to be kept in this muggy room for as long as you wished to have him. 

You pulled away to cup him gently through the tortuous obstacle of clothes, palming whatever you could feel through that redundantly thick layer. And, judging from the Czech curse he hissed through his clenched teeth, you managed to feel just enough — made him slam a palm against that debauched little whimper, appalled to his own loss of eloquence. Bit his lip and nodded, weak and wobbly, at that curved throb. 

“Please.” 

And you allowed him that mercy. More so to soothe that painful need of him inside you than to ease his sensitive predicament — but it didn’t matter. Not when you pulled his pants down, brusque and impatient, let them roll clumsily around his lean thighs. Didn’t waste much time on his underwear either — lust came before manners, made you gasp when fingers wrapped around just what you were about to take. Body foretasted a tight, girthy fit. 

It felt heavy in your hand, smacked against his stomach with a lewd sound when you failed to hold it through a shudder. Caught him staring not so placidly when hips arched, making you glide along the inches of him in a smooth little agony. Gaze darkened when you hovered, working him through the warm clench of entrance. He didn’t dare to rush you, to pierce through you to get that over with. Just took you carefully by the wrists and leveled the back of one palm with his swollen lips, softly kissing each knuckle while you stretched around him slow and pliable. Had you swearing when he budged and tip finally slid deep inside with a delicious tingle. 

“Is being defeated the price I must pay for this?” he spoke through a raspy laugh, eyes still nailed to the debauched twine of your bodies. “I’ll gladly start resigning after my very first move if that’s the case.” 

“But I didn’t win,” you breathed out, freeing one hand out of his lovely grasp. “We didn’t get to finish.” 

He stiffened. Fingers unraveled from yours completely, returning to his side. 

“Would you like to finish?” 

You gulped, twitching around him with a strangled whimper. 

“Yes.” 

And he took it for a command. Turned slowly to the board and reached for it not exactly effortlessly, cautious not to knock any pieces over. Brows formed a concentrated frown as he rotated it, attentive and skittish, returning the army of attacking white into your possession. Placed it all softly onto his stomach and held a breath, trying oh so diligently not to ruin a single thing with the slight rise of his inhale. Made you laugh as your thighs parted wider to make more place for the duel, felt him quiver inside you out of sheer, depraved excitement. 

He won’t last long. Not a chance. 

So you decided to rid him of his misery. First rid, then ride, to be precise — but was it really a misery when you were wrapped around him so viciously tight, keeping him so warm through the rough slap of defeat? If anything, a single loss is a steal for that twisted bliss. 

And you could already see the sweet victory. Rook took the bishop you were drooling over the whole time, gave you the cheeky opportunity to switch to a wheezy whisper. 

“Check.” Good god. 

Caught you nearly cumming on his cock — who needs friction when seductive mockery is an option?

His move smelled of retreat — not that he had any other routes. King ran away to h7, hiding behind the pawn, but you were biting right at its shiny crown, destroying his precious shelter with that same acute rook. 

“Check.” Again. Had him twitching into that luscious spot in one sudden hitch, mouth failed to suppress the most pitifully delicious moan. 

So when he attempted to escape for the third time — though rather reluctantly, to be frank — your queen stood right there before him, emitting pure humiliation. And, sure, he could still sweep it off its precious square by a simple f8 move — but it wouldn’t save him from the sly rook, sneakily waiting to put him into a numerous deadlock. A sweet, inescapable doom, leaking all over him. So he picked that poison and surrendered. In an old-fashioned way. Just like you imagined. Left the honors for you to do. 

“Checkmate,” you uttered, and couldn’t take it anymore — foreheads bumped together fervent and sweaty, pieces poked the skin of your stomach, crushing beneath it as you leaned to kiss him rough and desperate. Hips finally made their first buck to help you both pick up where you left off. 

But Viktor yearned to be helpful too. Pieces fell all over the place for you to find them later when long fingers dug into your hips, forcing both you and the board off of him. So pent up, so lovingly untamed — he threw you into the pile of chess, sheets and ashes, and thrusted deeper, had you seeing stars on the blank space of your ceiling. Quarrel died beneath him with whatever little shame you still weren’t disposed of, and your legs wrapped around his waist into a tight lock, pulling him so flush against you that breasts started to hurt from just how hard they were squashed under the pressure of his chest. 

—

That Sunday you received a noise complaint from your neighbors. Lost three pawns, one rook and two bishops somewhere in your sheets. Viktor walked out of your room with a giant scratch across the crook of his sore shoulder and a few buttons of his shirt missing. 

But looking back at it, when you collapsed, breathy and fucked out, onto the destroyed amenity of your bed — the thoughts of your newfound counterpart haunted you until eyes squeezed shut, drifting to slumber with a content smirk.

And it was totally worth it.

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @thehistoriangirl @queen-of-elves @vyshnevska

[anyalovesu]

𝓓id you like her in the morning?

— Wherein you came into the realization that your boyfriend, Jungwon is in love with his bestfriend.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

genre : angst ; hurt no comfort ( lol sry TT )

pairings : jungwon x reader ; sunghoon x reader (platonic)

wc : 3k+ words

cw :

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ an oc is mentioned ( ae-cha )

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ college!au

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ jungwon is slightly an ass

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ae-cha's mother is not very nice

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ not proofread ( yet )

song : did you like her in the morning? - niki ( buzz , 2024 )

part 2 : here

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

It was too early for fall, and most definitely too early for it to be this cold yet the crisp air burned in your airways as if it’s trying to take you right then and there while you wait for Jungwon in your car. He always told you it was nothing more—they grew up together. Same neighborhood, same school, same university—same everything. Certainly, Ae-cha knew Jungwon more than you did and Jungwon would apologize, but he would agree. They are best friends; been there for each other through thick and thin—long before he met you to begin with. 

You know Jungwon will never admit it. Maybe he did love you to some degree because he would rather lie to keep you from hurting than to tell you the truth that he can never love you to the same level as he did for Ae-cha. But here you are anyway, in the parking lot of their University Auditorium waiting for Ae-cha’s pageant to end so Jungwon could come home with you as he promised. Pathetic, to be honest but what could you do? They’re best friends, it shouldn’t be something you should worry about.

It’s not like Ae-cha was a bad person. It would be easier if she was but she wasn’t. Matter of fact, she might be the nicest girl you’ve ever met. She’s well-traveled, well-read, good with kids, loves animals—smart, beautiful—been crowned on every pageant she’s entered, always won prom queen—God. It would be so much easier to hate them both if Ae-cha was a terrible person. But she isn’t. And Jungwon has every reason to look at her and fall in love even by accident. You cannot blame him. You could see why.

“Hi baby,” Jungwon leans on your half open window, hand reaching inside to pinch your cheek like he always does to get your attention. He figured you’ve been so lost in your own thoughts recently that he had to physically distract you nowadays. “Ae-cha just won, she wants you to be in the celebration! She just sent me to ask if that’s okay with you?”

You couldn’t get yourself to look at him. Ae-cha. Again. Dear Lovely Darling Ae-cha, can never have the heart do wrong. You just nodded. It would be unfair to treat her badly when all she’s done was to always make sure you were included despite her and Jungwon being attached to the hip.

“Perfect! I'll go tell her then! Then I'll be back, okay?” He jumped before sprinting back to the auditorium. He's never been like that in any of your competitions. You've been competing in figure skating since you were five.

Some days you wonder how you and Jungwon worked in the first place. Sure you met in the same art history elective class that he was forced to go to because Ae-cha was taking it, but other than that—other than the fact that he thought you were smart and him saying that your brain was beautiful which undoubtedly wooed you over from the start—you guys lived very different lives. Him being in Computer Science and you being in Psychology—you rarely had similar things to talk about about school.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” Ae-cha grins, walking over to greet you as soon as you and Jungwon enter the restaurant that they managed to book entirely for the immediate celebration. She was a beauty, her face was flawless in the pageant makeup that was done on her and the way the tall crown sits atop of her head really just adds to her godly aura. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile at her politely, giving her a light squeeze when she goes in for a hug. “Congratulations on your win!” 

You were happy for Ae-cha. You didn’t have it in you to have ill-feelings for someone’s hard-earned win. You knew what it felt like to work so hard for something, you can’t say you weren’t happy that she won—Jungwon has been tirelessly ranting about her not being able to hang out with you guys as much as before because she has been training non-stop the past months. You knew she worked hard and there couldn’t have been any reason for you to not wish her well.

What you weren’t happy for though, was the way her family looked at you. Sure Ae-cha was an angel—but it didn’t mean that the rest of her family was. It has been made clear from the get go when you were first invited by Ae-cha to her home to celebrate something that her family did not like you. It didn’t matter if Ae-cha considered you as one of her closest friends—or if she saw you as a sister no less—you were Jungwon’s girlfriend and clearly that was a threat to their plans of seeing Ae-cha live their friends-to-lovers trope fantasy with Jungwon. They might have talked to you behind their backs to break up with Jungwon before but you never found it in you to tell Jungwon that it happened. You knew Jungwon, that ensured a confrontation if he found out and the last thing you wanted to happen was to lodge something nasty between his friendship with Ae-cha. 

“Come take a seat next to Jungwon!” She happily chimes as she guides you to an empty seat right next to, what you suppose to be Jungwon’s seat next to her.

While you engaged in conversation with her whenever she initiated it, you could not help but seem lethargic the entire dinner. You just wanted to go home and rest. After all, you had a tiresome training session with your coach all afternoon after your morning classes. If Jungwon hadn’t asked you to come pick him up after Ae-cha’s pageant you would have driven home and gone straight into hibernation. You were tired and your head was starting to hurt from your hair being pulled back by the tight bun that your coach required you to have during your training sessions. It didn’t help that Ae-cha’s mother was draining all your social battery whenever she would ask something out-of-pocket that was passive-aggressive towards you. 

You were itching to go home to say the least. So, when you saw that the clock finally ticked 9, you tugged on to the sleeve of Jungwon’s sweater to go and ask him if you could go home. He seemed understanding of your situation so he politely excuses the both of you out of the dinner. 

“Next time, don’t think about going to a family dinner that you are uninvited to, okay?” You were taken aback by Ae-cha’s mother’s words. So much that you stood there frozen, unknowing of what to reply. 

“Eomma!” Ae-cha argues. “I already told you multiple times that me and Y/N are friends and I invited her!”

That was your last straw. Jungwon just stood there, just as shocked—which hurt you even more. How is it that his best friend was able to stand up for you quicker than he could? He always said something whenever he heard something nasty being said about Ae-cha around the university—why couldn’t he have been that fast for when you needed it?

You glanced at Ae-cha before tears could start falling uncontrollably and gave her a nod before storming out. You were embarrassed—most of all, felt pathetic that Jungwon couldn’t even say something. He just stood there!

You were sobbing in your car, trying to control your breathing when the door opened to reveal Jungwon entering your passenger seat. 

“I- um… I’m sorry for how that went…”

“Do you sometimes think about whether they're right?” you blurted out, sobs escaping every other word that left your mouth. 

“About what baby?”

“That you and Ae-cha are perfect together?” 

Jungwon stood still, just staring at you. At that very moment you already knew the answer to your own question. He looked at you with eyes of guilt. You wanted to vomit, your stomach felt like it was churning, bile rose to your throat as you felt the entire world drop on to you. 

You don’t understand why you were still so shocked—you saw all the signs. You were not stupid! You knew human behavior inside and out, it would be a shame not to and all the signs lead to where you are right now. So why does it still hurt? Why does it still make your heart squeeze too harshly?

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Y/N.

Not baby anymore.

“Why?”

To be honest, it would be easier for the both of you if you just didn’t ask because even Jungwon didn’t know when it started. One day he woke up feeling more for Ae-cha and suddenly felt less for you. It hurt him too to realize that. You’ve always been so kind. You were the moon, so serene and calm and beautiful in the darkest of his days, but he needed the sun more. And Ae-cha was just that. He didn't intend for you to hurt or to feel any less but it's his fault. He knew that for not figuring it out earlier and for dragging you into this firepit with him. The most he could do is shake his head, disappointed in himself for being clueless on what to do—for how things turned out today.

“I'll pack your things in my apartment. I think it'd be best if you stay with Ae-cha tonight,” you tell him. This is what you guys did whenever you fought, you would ask if he could stay with Ae-cha for the night and talk about it in the morning. Only this time, nothing is going to be talked about in the morning. He's made his feelings clear and it definitely wasn't for you anymore.

“Y/N, please don't do this.”

“I'd rather leave it here than cause more pain to the both of us, Jungwon,” you replied, trying to stop yourself from blowing this out of proportion. “I don't want to loathe the memory of us because we blew this out of proportion trying to fix this.”

“I don’t what you to throw this away, Y/N—”

“Throw away what, Jungwon? You’re in love with Ae-cha. How am I going to throw something that isn’t there anymore?” The eeriness in your voice sent chills down Jungwon’s spine, he just sat there, looking at you, like he has been in the past two occasions. “I’m not throwing anything away, Jungwon.”

“Why don’t you sound angry?” It offended you that he sounded appalled that you weren’t furiously reacting to this. Truth is, while it still stung and while it hurts like hell to be in this position, you’ve grieved on this long before.

“Do you want me to be?” 

No. He does not want you to be angry at him. He adores you. He doesn’t want you to loathe him for the rest of your life for doing this to you but at the same time, how? Why are you letting him go so easily? 

“I should get going,” you sniffled, running a hand on your face to wipe the tear stains on your face. “Tell Ae-cha I’m sorry for storming off and congratulations for her win. She deserves it more than anyone else.”

He sat in silence before mumbling another quiet apology and then stepping out of your car. 

You packed everything of Jungwon’s that you could find as soon as you got to your apartment. He didn’t live there but he stayed over often and left his clothes for you to enjoy for when he can’t stay over. His gaming console, his books, his old headset that you managed to replace with a new one when you guys celebrated your 2nd anniversary, his clothes—everything, and probably most of her entire life were packed away in boxes overnight. But with all those gone, the place still smelled like him so you spend the next four hours manically scrubbing your floors and spraying aerosol home fragrances on every room, desperately trying to get rid of anything that reminded you of him. But the bitterness of losing Jungwon still lingered.

You wish you didn’t let yourself sit in denial and faced it head on the moment you saw the signs. But then again, Jungwon and Ae-cha were best friends. If you were wrong, it would be unfair for both of them. It was unfair for the both of them to accuse them of something that didn’t reflect reality at all—until it did reflect reality and now it’s unfair to you.

The morning came around and you were still sitting in your apartment’s window nook, with no more tears left to cry, trying to get yourself to move until your doorbell rang. 

Assuming it was Jungwon, you dreaded walking towards the door, but the sooner his boxes are out, the sooner you will be able to slowly accept that it’s okay that you didn’t turn out to be Ae-cha or at least the person that Jungwon ended up choosing. 

You peaked through the peephole, but instead of seeing your boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend standing there in front of your door to get his belongings, you see your skating partner’s tall figure standing there looking bored as he usually does. Matter of fact, right now he looked absolutely uninterested, as if he did not want to be there in the first place.

“God, you look…” Sunghoon trailed, holding himself back from saying another one of your usual playful insults when he saw how red your eyes were. “...tired. You look tired.”

“Maybe because I am tired?” You deadpanned, stepping aside to let Sunghoon inside your apartment. “What in the sweet baby cheeses brought your ass here?”

“Well, aside from the fact that it’s competition season, you did not bother to show up to your 7AM training. It’s 9:30 already, Y/N, why the fuck are you not scurrying to get in your training clothes?”

“Guess,” she rolled her eyes before throwing herself back into her window nook.

Sunghoon was visibly annoyed at how you were acting. Figure skating was your life! Sunghoon competed with and against you since you guys were kids, what the hell could possibly tipped you over the edge last night to suddenly lose yourself like this! Oh! And to add on top of that, her home smelled like strong lavender, as if a whole can of lavender air freshener was sprayed on her living room, Sunghoon was itching to sneeze and choking on the strong scented air at the same time. Have you gone insane— “Oh shit.” 

It hits him.

The boxes by the foyer, the clean tv rack, your home was spotless for the first time since you began seeing Jungwon 2 years ago. It’s not that your home was untidy, to be honest, Sunghoon found your apartment to be cozy. Bits and pieces of who you and Jungwon were littered around the house, may it be Jungwon’s pokemon figurines lying on the tv rack or your huge heavy Psychology books sitting wherever you left it. Your apartment looks empty now. And by the looks of it, Sunghoon already knew who left.

“Yeah, oh shit,” you sarcastically rolled your eyes before walking to your kitchen. “Do you want anything?”

“Yes, I want something,” Sunghoon leapt to his feet and went to the kitchen, opening her fridge door to grab himself one of your bottled coffees.

“That’s all?”

“And you get your ass to your room and get ready for training. I am not losing my shot at the Olympics this season, Y/N. So get your shit together, please.”

“I can’t go—”

“You can go. What you can’t do is mope around here and wait for your little boyfriend to wrap you around his finger,” he blurted out. “If he’s gonna fall in love with his best friend and leave you like this, so be it. But I will not let you miss a day of practice for your dream just because some boy broke your heart.”

You wanted to argue. but Sunghoon, despite being an arrogant son of a bitch, was right this time. Okay, maybe there’s some personal agenda to his actions but he’s done this for you multiple times, pushing you forward when you could not get yourself to do so. 

“Go on,” he tried pushing you towards your bedroom door, but you were insistent.

“I haven’t slept a wink all night, Park Sunghoon—just tell coach I’m sick today, I’ve be there on the dot tomorrow, I promise–”

“Sleep when you’re dead!”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Days passed after that morning and Jungwon still hasn’t picked up his things. You couldn’t bother to text him, still too hurt to do so, still afraid of seeing him finally being at true peace with Ae-cha. It was something you can never give him.

But just when you thought you made peace with it, the door opens while you are lying on the floor, post-training. Sunghoon has been visiting more often, usually to just steal coffee from your fridge but he did not know your password—only one person did. You shot up the moment you realized who the person and there he was.

He looked so much healthier now. He seemed like he was finally getting some sleep. 

“Oh!” He looked surprised to see you there, still in your insulated clothes, hair disheveled from all the spinning you had to do all day and from all the falls from the new tricks that you and Sunghoon were learning. “I thought you'd still be in the rink.”

“Did you not want to see me?” you wanted to slap yourself for not rethinking it before it escaped her mouth. What happens then if he does not want to see you? How is that going to be for you? You were doing so good! You were okay! 

“It's… It's not that,” he quickly defends himself. “I've been thinking and after all that, I didn't think I still have a face to show you.”

“How have you been?”

You knew you had to stop. It would be easier if you just closed your mouth and let him take away the boxes that collected dust from sitting in your foyer for a month already. You should just stop and everything will go how you wanted it to be.

“The mornings have been good,” he replied shyly. “I'm really sorry again, Y/N.”

“Was she pleasant in the mornings?” 

For the love of god, stop. Please.

Jungwon nodded, guilt forming in his face once again. Which again, you felt like you were being stabbed all over again because you will never be that. Your mornings were always hectic from either college classes or training. Whenever he came over, he usually woke up to an empty bedside. 

Maybe she wasn't like that.

Maybe life is finally slow for Jungwon just like he hoped.

And you could never give him that.

“I know you don’t want me to apologize more,” Jungwon sighed. 

“Good, then don’t.”

“Y/N…”

“I just want to make my peace with this, Jungwon. I would appreciate it if you just leave—”

“Why wouldn’t you just sit down and talk about this with me?” Jungwon sounded frustrated when he asked that. He could not understand why you were just letting him go. Were your 2 years together mean nothing to you? Why are you letting him get his way? He knows any person would be happy that their ex-girlfriend is acting this way but holy shit, he was not like them. While he loved Ae-cha, he would be eaten alive by the guilt that he broke someone else’s heart in the process of realizing that.

“Because I don’t need you to explain why you fell in love with Ae-cha while you were with me!” You finally raised your voice, staring straight into his eyes. “I am not stupid. Everyone saw it before the both of you did! I feel like I’ve been lodged in between you two’s godforsaken slow burn love story and I feel pathetic. I don’t need you to explain that to me, Jungwon. Ae-cha is beautiful and smart and wonderful in almost every way and I don’t fault you for wanting that because that would be amazing to have!”

“God, you look so relaxed whenever you look at her, Jungwon. You look at her like she made the sun and the stars in the sky—and I get why you never look at me that way. I am nothing like Ae-cha. You are never going to treat me like Ae-cha. You are never going to cheer for me as loud as you do whenever Ae-cha competes. You are never going to show that much enthusiasm for my competitions. I’ve accepted that you weren’t just interested in the things that I did and that’s fine. I tried so fucking hard to be someone that you wouldn’t want to leave but here we are, Jungwon.”

Jungwon stood there, heart shattering while he listened to his ex-girlfriend’s outbursts. He has been a terrible boyfriend. The worst one to ever make her experience such a thing. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you felt that way, Y/N?”

“And if I did tell you what happens then? You’d split your usual time with Ae-cha to be with me? You’d talk back to her parents to defend me? You would fall out of love with the obvious love of your life? We both know that you could not do that Jungwon and I did not want to put you in a position that would hurt us both more than it should because I can’t compete with Ae-cha. I don’t stand a chance to ever be against the woman that she is and how significant she is to your life, so I’m stepping back. It’s easier that way.”

“I’m sorry—”

“You would be forgiven the moment you walk out of my apartment with all of your things and never show your face to me again, Jungwon.”

You were cold. Jungwon could recognize you by your ability to still forgive him—the pain changed you a little too much. But he made his bed, he should sleep in it even if it wasn’t in your apartment anymore.

But to answer your question, whether he liked her in the morning—he did. Even in the nighttimes, when he would crash after an argument and her soft hand would hold his while she explains to him what he’s done wrong. He liked waking up next to her in the morning, something he did not experience often with you because you were always up early for your training and he was up late because he pulled an all-nighter coding his projects. He liked having someone to hold whenever it got hard for him—and you couldn’t be that person, Ae-cha did that for him. Maybe in the process of all of that he realized that Ae-cha always had a place in his heart that he failed to notice even in the lonely nights that she would endure with him. Most of all, he could not fault you too for those lonely nights. You were lonely too and now he’s seeing that he has been the one causing those lonely nights for him.

So, yes. 

He did like her in the morning. 

Recently, it has been the first thing that he thinks about and after months of trying to repress it,

It has finally caught up to him.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

masterlist

a/n : okay ik i said i was interested in writing a mafia/mob!au but it took me long enough to realize that i actually have to do some research on how mafias/mobs work , so it's taking me longer than i should be but if you made it this far , thank you so much for being patient with me . ik i kinda ghosted y'all after i finished we're not saints at all hehe i've been so busy with my internship papers recently so i haven't really found the time to research or write . but yeah , niki released buzz and did you like her in the morning completely devasted the living shit out of me so here is the aftermath lol

( leave me a note or send your feedback here, i would appreciate it so much <33 )

thank u !

xo, anya ୨୧

[deconstructthesoup]

Some STP Human Headcanons (Vessels)

-I mentioned this in my last Slay the Princess post, but Prisoner loves to dance. As soon as she's free to walk and move around, she learns how to dance as a way to a) feel like she's in control of her body again, and b) fully explore the freedom she's now offered. The day she learns swing dances is the first day that any of the others have seen her smile.

-Witch has about twenty different kinds of carnivorous plants in her house, and all of them have names. She likes talking to them, because plants don't say that you're dragging on when you complain about your day, or tell you that your outfit looks awful when you're trying something new, or tell you that you're a massive dork when you gush about your favorite graphic novel series.

-Oh, yeah, Witch is a comics/graphic novel nerd. She's a big fan of Alison Bechdel, Vera Brosgol, ND Stevenson, and Elaine Lee, and she loooooooooves Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. She reads DC comics for them and them alone.

-As a way to express some individuality while they're still figuring out what their personality is---and if they even have a cohesive one---Stranger dresses in incredibly elaborate outfits, and the style changes rapidly from day to day. They can go from dressing like a Southern Belle (complete with a parasol) to dressing like a Victorian swashbuckling thief (complete with a cane and masquerade mask) to dressing like they're heading to a 1980's roller rink (surprisingly, they make the skates work) on any given day, and all of the girls place bets on whatever they're going to wear next. Nobody has won.

-It's a terrible pun, but I'm ridiculously attached to the idea of Razor being a metalhead---and if not a metalhead exactly, then a major fan of any and all punk rock music released in the Riot Grrl era. She owns every single Bikini Kill album, every single Raincoats album, and will neither confirm nor deny having a Joan Jett body pillow. If she can sing-scream along to it, she'll listen to it.

-Adversary is the most kickass roller derby player you have ever seen in your life. She's got face-paint, she's got stickers on her helmet, she's got scuffed shoulder and knee pads from bodying the girls on the other team... she's fucking awesome. Razor shows up to every single game with a hand-painted sign for her.

-Damsel is obsessed with video games like Stardew Valley, Animal Crossing, the Sims---basically, anything that's cute and low-stakes, she'll play. She absolutely has a set of pink cat-ear headphones that Witch bought for her. (Prisoner has matching blue ones, but she never wears them.)

-Nightmare is a theater kid. She recites Shakespearean monologues at the drop of a hat, devours occult-themed musicals like her life depends on it, and has a flawless soprano voice that will actually give you chills. Her rendition of "The Ballad of Jane Doe" at a voice recital made several people cry. She relishes in their tears.

-Prisoner and Spectre both love books, but while it's more of an academic thing for Prisoner (she likes history and math, because it's just facts), Spectre is a total fiction reader. Mostly classics like Jane Austen and Agatha Christie, but she's also got a bit of a guilty pleasure for well-written romance novels, and she loves The Locked Tomb series. Even if the Alecto stuff hits a bit too close to home.

-Stranger is really into arts and crafts, to the point where they've pretty much learned everything from crotcheting to making clay earrings. Almost all of their creations end up being gifted to one of the girls, and they're all very much treasured and appreciated.

-Tower has a difficult time really connecting with most of the girls, since she's still trying to get herself to come down from her superiority complex, but she has figured out that they will always like her as long as she brings her credit card with her. No matter the setting, Tower is fucking loaded, and even the more masc girls like Adversary are willing to go on a shopping spree.

-That being said, I think Tower gets along the best with Nightmare, because they're both absolutely self-assured, barely care about other people (except their best girls, of course), and are both intimidating in their own ways. They're absolutely the kind of best friends who bitch about people while doing each other's nails.

-Witch and Spectre both do witchcraft for funzies, but Witch is more about the plants and herbalism, while Spectre's all about the Oujia boards and tarot cards. They're kind of in a two-person coven together---you gotta find something to bond over, and what better way to connect than your shared interest in magic?

-If I'm not just making Beast into a cat, I'm making Beast into a preteen, because just making her a human adult just doesn't... fit her. Besides, it's way more easy---and more fun---to imagine her as that low-key feral kid who's always digging for worms during recess, always gets into fights with bullies and winds up covered in Band-Aids as a result, always wears the same ratty cat-ear beanie every day, and hisses at people who annoy her. She has weird-little-girl energy, I dunno what to tell you. (She still tags along on hangouts when there's no alcohol involved, though---she's either Witch's little sister or her daughter, and Witch is very keen on making sure she's included.)

-Damsel bakes. Every time one or more of the girls comes over, she has something in the oven, something sitting on the kitchen table cooling, and something that's in the middle of being frosted. She likes doing it because while it is something that she largely does for others, it's also something that gives her a sense of pride, and she also just has a lot of fun with it. Even when she has to clean up, she's humming a song from a Barbie movie under her breath. Probably from Princess & The Pauper (the best one, fight me).

-Adversary used to play the violin when she was a kid, but she got bored of it quick, and she switched over to the bass as soon as she could. Spectre is very good at playing the cello---she even does recitals!---and Witch... well, she played the French horn in high school. During marching band. It was the only extracurricular where she could have free reign to be as annoying as possible to the people who said that she had to have one for college credit. (Oh, also, Razor plays electric guitar. She's a really good singer, but she's an even better growler.)

And... I think that's all I got for now.

[fantasticbean]

The Nymph and the Sea I.

Authors note: Okay so… this is my first fanfic for reals reals. Nothing in here is historically accurate, it is just based in greek mythology for funsies and Roman clearly gives off vibes of a powerful entity, so with that said don’t take any of this plot as genuine facts. I enjoyed writing it so I hope you enjoy reading it :) ALSO there will be smut but for now I’m just trying to develop the characters and the plot SO BEAR WITH ME.

Warnings: Minor Character death, animal death, blood, emotional abuse, toxic “mother” and daughter relationships. It is Ancient Greece people, there will be weird things going on. If I missed something let me know :p

Word count: 4,508 (got a little carried away hehe)

Pairing: Roman Reigns as Poseidon x Maleina (OC) Love Nymph

Chapter I. The Creation

Maleina, the tender-eyed nymph with the glowing purple gaze, was no ordinary creation. Crafted by the divine hands of Aphrodite, she was destined to carry the power of love, a living embodiment of the arrows shot by what mortals called Cupid. Her origins were as divine as her purpose, woven together one fateful night beneath the moonlit sky over Corinth. Aphrodite had long shared a passionate bond with Dionysus, the god of wine and revelry, and that evening, their union became the subject of much divine entertainment. The gods of Olympus, known for their indulgent voyeurism, watched eagerly as the pair gave themselves over to love and lust in a display that was meant to captivate them all.

Aphrodite, ever the showwoman, was determined to leave an indelible impression, to give her audience something worthy of their gaze. As she and Dionysus reveled in their moment, a new creation was born—a nymph whose beauty and power would echo through the heavens. The gods, enthralled by the spectacle, knew that Maleina would be no ordinary being.

Her form was an exquisite masterpiece. Apollo, the god of the sun and arts, nearly fell to his knees at the sight of her—so breathtaking was her beauty that he had a statue crafted in her likeness, one so flawless it would become the pinnacle of artistic reverence. Her hair, dark as the midnight sky, cascaded in soft waves, and her lips, full and beguiling, resembled the finest of Dionysus’s wine—sweet, intoxicating, and irresistible. Her skin shone with the glow of the full moon, luminous and ethereal, and her smile revealed teeth so perfect they could only have been sculpted by Poseidon himself, the god of the seas, whose skill in crafting beauty was unmatched. Even Hades, the god of the underworld, known for his usually impassive demeanor, sighed dreamily as she stepped into the room. Maleina’s presence was magnetic, her beauty transcendent, and the gods, one by one, acknowledged her as Aphrodite’s greatest creation.

And as if to crown her perfection, Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and protector of women, bestowed upon Maleina a final, unforgettable gift: a pair of violet eyes—eyes that held the power to awaken deep love and desire in those who gazed into them. The gods, from Zeus to Hecate, each saw something unique in her, something they had never witnessed before. Her eyes were not merely beautiful; they were a force of nature, a weapon of love itself.

It was the gods’ unanimous decision that Maleina would serve her creator’s will, tasked with wielding the power of Aphrodite’s arrows, binding mortals to the whims of love. But more than that, she would stand apart from the other nymphs, her allure unmatched, her powers unparalleled. Maleina was not just a messenger of love—she was its embodiment, the embodiment of divine passion and desire.

“You’re the embodiment of love and desire Dear,” Aphrodite said once Maleina was wrapped in soft silk gowns “With your gift you’ll grant us a future of many mortals to come and populate this earth but you should not indulge yourself with them.”

Those were the first words Maleina had ever heard: Bring love to others, but never to yourself. As the years passed, the weight of that command grew heavier. Maleina carried her quiver of arrows with grace, yet the burden they represented was one she felt deeply. Her existence was defined by bringing love and desire into the lives of mortals while denying herself the same. She could witness love in its purest, most fervent forms, but she was forbidden to partake, her duty bordering on punishment.

Maleina’s first encounter with love—true, unbidden love—was one she would never forget. It happened when she was tasked with a simple mission: to strike a mortal boy with her arrow, binding him to his childhood friend. She had seen him by the riverbank, his brown hair catching the golden light, his pearly blue eyes reflecting the water’s shimmer. He was a warrior, strong and proud, and wholly forbidden.

Curiosity rooted her in place as she watched him strip off his tunic, revealing a sun-kissed body carved by years of labor and training. Though she was a nymph, created from divine hands, she was still a creature of flesh and emotion. A warmth stirred deep within her, a sensation foreign and consuming. Her heart quickened, her body heated as if Hephaestus himself had stoked a flame within her very being.

Maleina hesitated. Her task was clear, her creator’s command absolute: bind him to another, and leave. But her hand faltered, the arrow never released. She fled, overwhelmed and terrified—not just by her feelings but by what Aphrodite’s wrath might bring. Love and chaos were two sides of her maker’s coin, and Maleina dared not challenge her. The consequences for disobedience were severe, and the goddess’s fury was a force even the gods themselves feared.

That night, Maleina returned to the temple in disarray. The image of the warrior haunted her thoughts, his laughter and form etched into her memory. She sat by the fountain, her feet submerged in the cool water, seeking solace in its stillness. Her sister Liv approached, her rosy cheeks tinged with cold and mischief.

“What’s spinning in that pretty head of yours?” Liv teased, her tone playful as always. Liv was unlike Maleina in every way—a vibrant soul full of theatrics and charm, the life of every gathering. She was a favorite at Apollo’s feasts and often found herself entwined in the schemes of Hermes’s sons. Yet, her teasing was tempered by an innate loyalty to her sister.

Maleina hesitated but finally spoke, her voice soft and uncertain. “Something… strange happened to me.” She leaned her head to the side, her gaze fixed on the rippling water. “I think I got too confident in my abilities.”

Liv raised a brow, her grin mischievous. “You mean you fucked someone?”

“No, you moron!” Maleina hissed, kicking water at her sister, her face flushing with embarrassment. “But it crossed my mind.”

Liv laughed, throwing her head back before leaning closer, her expression both amused and serious. “Well, I’ll be damned. The one who can’t fall in love… fell in love.”

Maleina shot her a sharp glare, placing a finger to her lips. “Liv! Someone might hear you.”

“Fine,” Liv said, lowering her voice but frowning deeply. “But did you…?” she asked again, her meaning clear, sex.

Maleina shook her head. The feeling had consumed her, burned through her in a way she had never experienced. And yet, she had resisted. It felt unfair—no, cruel—to be made a vessel of love and desire yet denied the ability to feel it freely.

Liv’s smile faltered as she studied her sister’s conflicted face. Maleina’s thoughts were a storm of lust, shame, and longing, a war between duty and the desires she had been forbidden to explore.

How unfair, she thought bitterly, to give love to others and never receive it for herself.

“I’ll be fine,” Maleina convinced herself “It won’t happen again. First thing tomorrow I will be done with it.”

“You know,” Liv said with a mischievous smirk, her tone dripping with devilish charm, “the instructions are to never fall in love. It doesn’t say entanglement is prohibited.”

Maleina rolled her eyes, the burden of her overthinking clashing with Liv’s careless temptations. “That’s not how it works, Liv,” she replied, though her voice lacked conviction. Her sister’s words lingered in her mind longer than she’d care to admit.

The next morning, Maleina found herself once again at the riverbank, her target in sight. The warrior stood near the water’s edge, cleaning his sword with quiet precision. His soaked tunic clung to his body, every muscle defined by the morning light. Maleina’s fingers tightened on the golden string of her bow, ready to complete her task.

But then, the rustling of leaves drew her attention. Her sharp eyes caught the movement first—a lion, stalking through the brush, its hungry gaze fixed on the man. The predator crept closer, its intent clear. Maleina’s breath hitched. She saw the warrior turn, his body shifting into a defensive stance. He was prepared, but what could a mortal do against an apex predator in its domain? It wasn’t a fair fight.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up. The arrow meant for the man flew through the air, striking the lion directly in the eye. The beast roared in pain and collapsed, its death immediate.

The warrior stood frozen, his sword lowered as he stared at the lifeless lion. Confusion clouded his features, and his sharp blue eyes scanned the surrounding trees. “Who’s there?” he called, his voice steady but wary. “Show yourself.”

Maleina’s heart raced. She hadn’t planned for this. She could have vanished, dissolved back into the safety of the trees, but something held her there. Taking a steadying breath, she stepped out of the shadows.

Her silk gown shimmered as if woven from moonlight, its deep purple hue mirroring the color of her eyes. Golden cuffs adorned her wrists, catching the sunlight, and her presence radiated an ethereal glow. The warrior’s jaw dropped as he took her in.

Surely, he thought, she was no mere woman. The way her beauty defied mortal comprehension, the way her very being seemed to command the air around her—he was convinced he stood before the goddess of beauty herself.

“Who are you?” he whispered, his voice soft, reverent, as if afraid to shatter the illusion.

Maleina’s lips parted, but she hesitated. Her mind raced with excuses, with answers, but none seemed to suffice. Instead, she simply stood there, her amethyst gaze meeting his.

“My name’s Maleina,” she said, her voice soft and low, like the whisper of a breeze through the trees. The sound ignited a flicker of something unnameable in Marcus’s chest, a heat that spread like wildfire.

“Marcus,” he replied, still unable to tear his gaze from her. It was as if his very soul feared she might vanish if he blinked. “Thank you, for, you know…” He motioned awkwardly toward the lifeless lion, the predator that had moments ago been his death sentence.

“You’re welcome,” Maleina replied, her tone measured and distant, uncertain of what else to say. Her gaze lingered for a beat longer than necessary before she turned, her movements graceful yet hurried. “Well, see you around,” she added, her words rushed as though she needed to escape.

“Hey! Wait!” Marcus’s voice rang out, desperation thick in his tone. He couldn’t let her leave—not yet, not so soon. His feet carried him forward instinctively, heart hammering in his chest as he tried to hold on to the moment.

Maleina stopped but didn’t turn immediately. Her shoulders stiffened as the weight of her actions replayed in her mind. She had already gone too far, broken unspoken rules she had followed since her creation. This was bad, worse than she’d anticipated. She needed to leave and never look back.

Still, she turned, her face unreadable, though her violet eyes betrayed the storm of emotions swirling within.

“A-Are you from around here?” Marcus asked, his voice unsteady yet earnest. For the first time in his life, he felt like a boy again���nervous, uncertain, with his heart thundering in his chest.

Maleina hesitated. She could feel the pull, the dangerous thread tying her to this moment. “No,” she finally said, the word clipped but soft. Her mind screamed at her to disappear, to let the forest swallow her whole before things spiraled further out of control.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she let herself linger just a moment longer, watching Marcus as he stood there, looking at her as if she were the most extraordinary thing he had ever seen. And perhaps, in that fleeting moment, she allowed herself to feel extraordinary, too.

And so, the man Maleina once observed from behind the trees became her secret companion—a bond forged in stolen moments and hidden from the eyes of gods and mortals alike. Marcus, the warrior with a chiseled body and a heart softer than he’d admit, became her solace. He was a man of gentle humor and fierce loyalty, his strength honed not for glory but for survival. Every coin he earned went to care for his mother and younger sister, who lived by the coast of Argos.

Through him, Maleina came to know pieces of his world. She learned of Aria, the woman who had once been his promised wife, whose destiny Maleina had quietly shifted with her bow. Instead of binding Marcus and Aria together, the nymph had paired her with an older artisan from the village, a match that had blossomed into a quiet, happy life. Yet, the knowledge weighed heavy on Maleina’s shoulders. She had altered Marcus’s path, stolen his future in the name of her own selfish desires.

Still, guilt melted away each time they met by the small temple near the riverbank—their hidden haven. It was a place untouched by time, where the only witnesses to their stolen moments were the whispering trees and the murmuring water.

Marcus never questioned her origins. He didn’t need to. To him, she was Maleina, the mysterious daughter of a wealthy merchant, a woman of ethereal beauty and elusive grace who allowed him to share her time. She never corrected his assumptions. It was safer that way—for both of them.

But as the months passed, and their connection deepened, Maleina found herself tethered to him in a way that frightened her. Each smile, each lingering touch, each stolen glance was a defiance of her purpose, a rebellion against the rules set by her maker. She knew Aphrodite’s wrath was as swift as it was merciless.

Yet, she couldn’t stop.

In Marcus’s company, Maleina felt something she had never known—a sense of belonging, a warmth that seeped into her very being. He looked at her not as a creation of divine perfection, but as a woman. And for the first time, she allowed herself to believe she was one.

Everything crumbled like a fragile sandcastle swept by a tidal wave. Nia, daughter of Thalassa and one of Poseidon’s loyal creations, had stumbled upon a tragedy at sea—a sight so harrowing it sent ripples of fury through the realms. Aria, a devoted wife and mother, lay lifeless along with her children, their bodies adrift on the salt-laden waves. The crime was heinous, committed by none other than Aria’s husband, whose heart Maleina’s arrow had forcefully turned. A bond meant to bloom with love had ended in bloodshed, a perversion of destiny itself.

This unnatural tragedy ignited chaos in the underworld, shaking its dark foundations and compelling Hades himself to rise from his shadowed throne. His demands for answers echoed through Olympus until they reached Poseidon’s halls. The Sea God, his rage like a brewing storm, dispatched Nia to uncover the source of this upheaval. Her investigation led her to a secluded riverbank where she found the culprit: Maleina, cradled in the arms of Marcus, her forbidden mortal lover.

It was in that moment that the truth struck Maleina with unbearable clarity. This tragedy was her doing, her defiance of her sacred duty unraveling the delicate threads of fate. The illusion she had so recklessly spun was now collapsing around her, its remnants sharp enough to wound not just her heart, but the very order of the divine.

The wrath of Aphrodite was swift and merciless. Her arrival was a storm of beauty and fury, her golden form shimmering with a light so intense it demanded reverence and fear. Her voice, a venomous blend of rage and disappointment, cut through Maleina’s trembling defenses.

“Can’t you see what you’ve done?” Aphrodite’s words dripped with accusation, her gaze like a dagger aimed at the nymph’s soul. “You’ve disrupted nature’s sacred order. And in Poseidon’s domain, of all places.”

Maleina stood frozen, the weight of her actions crushing her spirit. Her voice, when it came, was small and broken. “I just wanted to know what it feels like…”

Aphrodite’s eyes narrowed, her divine temper teetering on the edge of a violent eruption. She stepped closer, her presence a suffocating reminder of Maleina’s failure. “To feel what, Maleina?”

The nymph’s violet eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Her answer was a whisper, fragile yet heavy with the longing that had driven her to defy the gods. “Love.”

The single word hung in the air, a confession that burned through the tension like a stray ember on dry parchment. Maleina’s heart shattered further as she realized that, in her quest to feel love, she had sown only destruction. The silence that followed was unbearable, filled with the unspoken weight of her punishment yet to come.

Aphrodite turned her back on Maleina, her movements elegant yet unnervingly cold as she walked to her gilded throne. The air in the chamber shifted, heavy and foreboding, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. With a simple snap of her fingers, two guards entered the room, dragging a limp and bloodied figure between them.

Maleina's heart dropped, her knees buckling as she recognized him.

"Marcus!" she cried, rushing forward, only to be stopped mid-step by an invisible force. Aphrodite's power pinned her in place, her outstretched hands trembling as she watched the guards drop Marcus to the floor. His body crumpled, legs dragging uselessly, his face battered and bruised beyond recognition. Blood trailed from his lips, his once-bright blue eyes barely open.

"No, no, no, please!" Maleina begged, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Don't hurt him! This isn't his fault!"

Aphrodite turned slowly, her expression devoid of sympathy. "Do you think the gods care about fault, child?" Her voice was sharp, laced with venom. "This was not my choice, but the balance must be restored. I follow orders as you should have."

Maleina fought against the unseen force, desperate to reach Marcus. "I'll fix it! I'll do anything! Please, just let him go!"

Aphrodite's gaze hardened. "You already had your chance. You chose defiance, and now you will learn the cost of disobedience."

At her signal, the guard nearest to Marcus unsheathed a blade, its edge glinting cruelly in the dim light. Maleina's screams pierced the chamber as she fought with every ounce of her strength, but she couldn't move.

"No! Stop!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Please, I love him!"

The words hung in the air like a fragile confession, but they did nothing to soften the goddess's resolve. The blade descended, sinking into Marcus's chest with brutal finality.

The sound of steel meeting flesh seemed to echo endlessly. Maleina's body froze, her mind unable to comprehend the sight of Marcus's blood spilling onto the floor, pooling beneath him. Time slowed as the guard stepped back, leaving the mortal slumped over, his life draining away.

With a snap, Aphrodite released her hold, and Maleina collapsed to the floor beside Marcus. She gathered his broken body in her arms, cradling him as though her touch could keep him tethered to the world.

"Marcus," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Stay with me, please. Don't leave me."

His eyes fluttered open briefly, the light in them dim but still holding her gaze.

"Maleina..." he rasped, his voice barely audible. "I would... do it all again... for you."

Her tears fell freely, mixing with the blood staining his chest. "I'm sorry," she choked out, pressing her forehead to his. "I'm so sorry."

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and then he was gone. His body stilled, the warmth fading from his skin. Maleina clung to him, her sobs racking her body as her world shattered around her.

Aphrodite watched in silence, her expression as cold and unyielding as marble.

When she spoke, her words cut like a blade. "This is the price of your selfishness. Love is not yours to claim, Maleina. It is yours to give, nothing more."

Maleina's grip on Marcus's lifeless form tightened as Aphrodite motioned for the guards. They seized the nymph, pulling her away despite her cries and thrashing.

Her lover's blood stained her hands and gown, a haunting reminder of what she had lost.

The once vibrant and flourishing world of Corinth slowly decayed, the land withered beneath the weight of Maleina’s sorrow. The nymph, the embodiment of love, now imprisoned in her temple by Aphrodite, could no longer summon the power that once made hearts dance with desire. Her soul mourned the loss of Marcus, the mortal whose love she had so fiercely longed to taste, but now, that love was nothing but ashes in the wind.

Years passed in her isolation, a never-ending cycle of grief and longing. The temple walls, once radiant with the energy of her presence, now stood dark and cold, mirroring the void inside her heart. The nymph could no longer perform the duties she was created for, her once-bright purple eyes dull with the weight of despair. Aphrodite, though unforgiving, had left her with one instruction: to heal.

But how could a nymph of love heal when love had been taken from her so cruelly?

Meanwhile, on the shores of Corinth, the consequences of her actions were felt by mortals and gods alike. Without Maleina’s arrows to ignite the fires of passion, the world fell into chaos. Wars erupted over power, hearts grew cold, and the once harmonious relationships between gods and mortals began to fray. Even Poseidon, ruler of the seas, felt the shift—a disturbance in the natural order of things. His domain, once teeming with life and love, now felt eerily empty.

The land that once thrived on the affection and desires of its people now stood as a barren wasteland, much like Maleina’s heart—silent, aching, and devoid of the very essence that kept it alive.

Aphrodite watched from her celestial throne, a quiet anger brewing within her. She had created Maleina to be the ultimate agent of love, but the nymph had betrayed that creation by indulging in emotions she was not meant to experience. Yet, the goddess of love knew that even the gods were not immune to the consequences of love—destruction and creation alike.

The goddess of love and war leaned back in her golden throne, her expression unreadable, as the towering figure of Poseidon entered the temple. His presence was commanding, the air thickening around him as though the very sea followed in his wake. His long, dark hair cascaded like a storm, and his eyes—deep, cold, and endless as the ocean—locked onto hers without hesitation.

The goddess of love had never been one to be shaken, yet she could feel the weight of his arrival, the immense power he exuded.

“Roman,” she said, her voice cool, though the surprise in it was undeniable. “What brings you here?”

Poseidon’s gaze remained impassive, his tone as harsh as a crashing wave. “A proposition,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Aphrodite’s brow arched. “A proposition?” She tilted her head slightly, studying him. Poseidon was a god of the sea, not one to venture far from his domain, and certainly not to the temple of love. His motives were always shrouded in mystery. But today, there was no mirth or intrigue in his eyes, only cold purpose.

He took a single step forward, his tall, broad form filling the space. “The world is drowning in chaos, Aphrodite. The mortal realm is devoid of balance. And your precious creation—Maleina—has strayed too far. Her weakness has infected the world.”

Aphrodite’s eyes narrowed, though she kept her composure. “You speak as if you know what love is. What do you understand of it, Poseidon?”

Poseidon’s eyes flickered with a glint of something fierce—something dangerous, like the deep sea itself. “Love is a force of nature, like the tides. It cannot be controlled, only guided. You have let it run wild, and now the storm you’ve created threatens everything.”

Aphrodite’s lips curled into a thin smile, though there was no amusement in it. “So you’ve come to fix it? Do you think you can restore what I have built?” Her gaze flickered to Maleina’s shadowed figure in the distance, a silent reminder of the chaos that had ensued.

Poseidon’s voice grew colder, his eyes unwavering. “I don’t intend to restore what you’ve built. I intend to erase it. Maleina must return to her original purpose—no more distractions, no more false desires. She will remember who she is. Her love must not be wasted.”

Aphrodite’s breath caught, but she did not flinch. “And what makes you think you can accomplish this?”

“I will take her to my domain,” Poseidon said, his voice devoid of warmth. “I will cleanse her of your influence, restore balance, and let the tides of love once again flood the world. In return, I ask for one thing: permission to wield your power where it has been lost, to guide the broken hearts of mortals back to their true course.”

Aphrodite considered his words, her heart betraying her only for a moment. Poseidon was not here for power or gain; he was here to set things right, in his own ruthless way. He was a god of the sea, and he understood the balance of nature as no one else could.

“Very well,” she said, her voice as cold as the marble beneath her. “But know this, Poseidon: Maleina is no ordinary nymph. She was made for love, but love can break as easily as it can heal. You may find her more dangerous than you realize.”

Poseidon did not flinch. “I am not afraid of what I must do,” he said, his voice firm, unwavering. “You created her to guide love, Aphrodite. I will make her remember her true purpose, even if it means destroying the illusions she clings to.”

Aphrodite’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, her thoughts swirling. She had never seen Poseidon so determined, so utterly cold in his conviction. But in that moment, she realized that he was the only one who could undo the mess she had created.

“Go then,” Aphrodite said, her tone final. “But if you fail, it will be on your head.”

Poseidon’s lips barely twitched in acknowledgment, “I do not fail,” he said, turning away from her, his form already shifting toward the exit.

“Prepare yourself, Aphrodite. The tides are changing.”

And with that, the god of the sea left the temple, his presence like a distant thunderstorm on the horizon. Poseidon was not a god who dealt in mercy or second chances, but perhaps, just perhaps, he was the only one who could right the wrongs of the love she had forged.

As the doors closed behind him, Aphrodite’s gaze turned to where Maleina's last moments were—still broken, still lost in the chaos she had created—and she wondered what would become of the nymph now that Poseidon had entered the picture.

[paschameleon]

Charlotte

Charlotte is the daughter of Cinderella and The Prince. As the eldest sibling in her royal family, Charlotte displays grace and maturity beyond her years. Being the eldest has placed her in the role of the responsible and caring older sister. Growing up in a castle, she developed a deep love for ballroom dancing and all things princess-related. The elegance of her upbringing is evident in every step she takes and every word she speaks.

Despite being graceful and elegant, Charlotte possesses a vibrant and creative spirit. Her true passion lies in the art of sewing, particularly creating dresses. The gown she wears in the picture is one that she made herself.

Bearing a romantic soul, Charlotte believes in the magic of love at first sight. Her dreams are filled with the prospect of finding true love someday. Despite her royal status, she is far from shallow and is accepting of those around her, no matter their position or background, and only judges people on their personalities and overall character.

Charlotte always follows the rules without complaint. Her devotion to rules has earned her the title of the “perfect” child, a title she takes pride in. This pursuit of perfection, however, places a considerable weight on her shoulders. She grapples with the self-imposed pressure to maintain a flawless composure and performance. Cinderella, recognizing this internal struggle, provides reassurance, sharing her own journey of imperfections and growth as a royal. Despite her yearning for flawlessness, Charlotte learns to appreciate the beauty in spontaneity and to loosen her grip on the pursuit of perfection, discovering the joy that comes with embracing life's unpredictability.

Jacob

Jacob is the son of Princess Cinderella and The Prince. He is a witty and sarcastic young man who possesses a sharp sense of humour. He thrives on making people laugh and has a knack for clever remarks that keeps anyone entertained. While he respects the rules of the kingdom, he can't resist the allure of a well-executed prank now and then.

Despite his royal status, Jacob has no feelings of special importance and does not believe that he is better than others. In fact, he does not take himself too seriously and often uses self-deprecating humour. Like his mother, he embraces a strong work ethic and has a particular fondness for animals. His humility and genuine desire to connect with people set him apart from the traditional expectations placed upon royalty.

While the notion of finding "true love" is not lost on Jacob, he refuses to be defined solely by the pursuit of a royal match. He values meaningful connections and friendships, enjoying the simple pleasures of exploring the kingdom and meeting new people. In a world filled with grandeur and tradition, Jacob brings a breath of fresh air with his laughter and a touch of rebellious charm.

[starryoak]

Thoughts on Undertale Yellow

Just wanted to write some thoughts down on this amazing game! Spoilers below, obviously.

I’m going to split my thoughts into the positive and negative, because while it is an amazing game, there were a couple pretty significant flaws that IMO brought down the experience.

THE POSITIVES

This game positively oozes creativity and passion from every pore. The fact that I’m going to be complaining about some things shouldn’t take away from the fact that this is an amazing game that took 7 years to develop, and clearly shows in how polished as a product it is. The criticisms, when they come, should be taken as just a part of life; nothing can be perfect, and I don’t think that pretending that a game is flawless does it any favors. It’s certainly better than I can do, just for releasing a finished product, lmao.

This game is visually gorgeous. Obviously it’s still a pixel art game in the style of the original game, so it keeps itself simplistic, but there are so many little animations throughout that are so smooth and charming that I really was impressed. Genuinely just very pleasing to look at, from the animation to the character designs, which fit perfectly in to Undertale’s universe, which I found very impressive.

The game’s humor is very reminiscent of Undertale, and I was really surprised by how much the incidental dialogue and setpieces felt like they would fit right in with Undertale’s humor, while still being original and clever in its own right.

The game’s worldbuilding was really impressive to me, it felt like the Dunes fit perfectly into the Underground in such a natural way, the lore of the Wild East, I really loved the underlying story of how it used to be the Meadows before the Mines uncovered a massive swelterstone, a giant heat generating gemstone that slowly turned it into the desert it is in the present. It felt very true to the melancholy nature of the Underground and how the Monsters are running out of space, wishing on gemstones in the ceiling because they’ve never seen the stars, it just really clicked.

The story is just. So good. Well, up until a point. I’ll get to that in the negatives, but like. 80-90% of the story is just full of the same infectious fun that Undertale itself had, Starlo’s antics and getting accosted into being his deputy, the rest of his gang, the Wild East in general, game just really gets you to love these characters so much. And in the Neutral Route, killing Starlo and how it leaves his family worried about his sudden disappearance, how nobody really suspects you, it’s a very good gut punch! Starlo is definitely the highlight of the game, but he’s not the only one, just one that really was plain to see.

The ending and final boss of the Neutral Route is just. Very brilliant. Yes, technically a retread of Omega Flowey from canon, but it’s just so good at it that it can really get away with it, it takes it even a little further than canon in very fun ways. The art is just fucking gorgeous in every way, I’m so impressed by what they pulled off with that. Bravo, bravo.

In general, there are so many little details that really shine in the different playthroughs, like El Bailador’s fight in Merciless reverting to the traditional bullet box gameplay instead of the Guitar Hero style it normally takes, stuff like the long final chase in the Steamworks changing from Axis chasing you to you chasing Axis in Merciless, the music in battles being unique for each area and also if you’re in Pacifist/Neutral vs Merciless, it’s incredibly impressive and really helps set the mood.

Most of all, what I found the best part of the game, and really the most interesting and amazing, was the innovation in the battles! Undertale did a lot of fun things, but I felt like this game really pushed the limits of what I was expecting from the bullet box gameplay style. Stuff like aforementioned fight with El Bailador’s Guitar Hero gameplay and the way his fight changes in Genocide, Starlo’s lasso holding you in place and how you have to snap the rope, not just the unique bosses; even the regular enemies have incredibly clever attacks, like Goosic’s attacking in the same side of the bullet box as the music is coming out of your speakers/headphones, genuinely just very interesting and clever. They clearly thought a lot on how to innovate the gameplay of Undertale, and it really worked. Incredible, really, cannot praise the gameplay enough.

THE NEGATIVES

This is most likely going to be an unpopular opinion, but I did not like Martlet, and she’s such a major character that not liking her is a problem when we spend so much of the game with her. For one, the audio clip used for her dialogue was grating, but that’s really a minor quibble. The more important reason I disliked her is that it felt like the game was constantly yelling in my face “LOOK HOW FUN AND QUIRKY THIS CHARACTER IS (: DON’T YOU FIND HER CUTE AND/OR RELATABLE?”. There were times when she was enjoyable, but the overall experience felt like they were trying to recreate Papyrus without really succeeding at making her an interesting or unique character. The fact that she’s the final boss in the Merciless Route feels very… predictable. Like, there wasn’t really a possibility that she wouldn’t be, y’know? They couldn’t avoid it, what with the decision to parallel canon, they were going to have to have someone be Undyne the Undying/Sans. The thing is, the boss itself isn’t bad, because as mentioned above, the actual mechanics of this game are brilliant, but narratively it felt very expected. Plus, I don’t really remember if they ever adequately explain why she has the serum in the first place, it feels like it raises too many questions.

As I said, like 80/90% of the story is really good!… but the thing is that the entire last bit of the Pacifist ending just completely collapses in on itself, and it’s really such a shame, because the rest of the story is dragged down by it. What’s such a shame is how it felt like it was going somewhere, I was incredibly invested right up until the reveal of the tapes, and the somewhere it was going is just. So disappointing. In some ways it was inevitable, what with Clover’s canon fate being what it is, but it felt like, just like with Martlet, they really stumbled over themselves in their desire to parallel canon’s plot beats. It feels like they wanted to copy the original Pacifist ending, with the Amalgamates and all, and it just wasn’t a good fit for the story whatsoever. Part of it, admittedly, is just that I disagree with their take on Boss Monsters not being specifically Asgore and Toriel’s species, but the thing is, it’s not just that. Chujin in general just feels like a massive tumor on the plot once he stops being a robotics engineer and suddenly for some reason is a generic mad scientist who suddenly has the knowledge and ability to be experimenting on Not!Determination and suddenly is a Boss Monster and suddenly we’re supposed to care about him and it just all becomes a muddled mess, built around living up to twists that it can’t successfully emulate because they were a one time success.

Ceroba is just not compelling as a character! The thing is, actually, I’m lying, she’s compelling and fun and interesting as a character right up until they actually reveal what her deal is, and suddenly it’s just, like. Well, suddenly I don’t like her all that much. Her husband specifically asked her not to involve their daughter, and then her daughter asks nicely and she does? Her daughter is like six or something! Why on Earth did Ceroba listen to her? I saw people say that, well, lots of Undertale characters have done bad things, but the thing is that those bad things are either not taken very seriously by the narrative, like how everyone tries to kill Frisk before they make friends and are forgiven, or make logical sense for them to do, like Asgore’s whole deal. Ceroba and Kanako’s story is in a unique cross section of ‘taken seriously by the narrative’ and ‘makes no logical sense to do’, where it completely destroyed my investment in her as a character, where suddenly she’s a woman who killed her daughter through her own stupidity against her husband’s wishes, while claiming she’s fulfilling them. And in another world, that could be compelling, but the game doesn’t seem to recognize that’s what she did, so I’m just left feeling numb to her entire deal, and given she’s the final boss with multiple cutscenes where I’m supposed to be invested in her plight, that’s not a good thing!

This is just a completely unfair nitpick, but what’s up with Ceroba’s name? The rest of her family and her last name follow Japanese style, if not specifically real names, but her first name is just. Gibberish?

This one is more nitpicky, but it ties into the final problem of the game, where felt like the 5 previous children didn’t get mentioned enough for being the entire motivation Clover has for being here. They’re mentioned in passing several times, but it feels like they could have done more with it. This is mostly a minor problem, though, it felt much more like something that needed just a little tweaking, rather than a huge flaw or anything. But the problem is that at the end, it really doesn’t feel like Clover has a compelling reason to give up their SOUL, and I wish there was something more to justify it when they just spent a huge fight to not give up their SOUL to Ceroba, y’know? It just feels like the game falls apart at the end because they couldn’t figure out how to end it while keeping to canon.

The thing is, the complaints I have don’t detract from how fun the game was or how much I loved most of the story, but I just had to share them because they were weighing heavily on my mind. My complaints are so long because it’s easier to put into words what I disliked, when going into every little thing I liked would take much longer and feel more like a liveblog of the game itself.

[moonspirit]

Hello! I'm super late to the aot and aruani train (having just binged the entire show start to finish like 2 months ago over 4 days lmao) but I just gotta say that I really enjoyed your Fort Salta series! Annie and Armin were legit my favourites already during my first watch of the anime, and it really saddened me to know that it seems alot of people online really hate Annie? Like (no hate on any other characters) but Annie is legit best girl how tf can people hate on her ;-; Anyways, I've been ecstatic since I've found your fics and blog along with many others (shoutout to distortedclouds and flailingkittylover too!!) bc it felt like I finally found my people - good to know I'm not the only one brain-rotting from this show and especially over these two xD I've been dying to talk to someone about this recent discovery of mine since I've started reading the manga though...did you know that Armin has been taller than Annie since even before she was crystalized?? In the anime he's like the shortest person pre-timeskip beside Historia, but turns out it's not the case in the manga! In volume 8 when Armin confronts Annie in Stohess, he's clearly drawn to be slightly taller than her in the scene - I thought it was just a perspective error, but it's drawn that way over multiple pages so it's definitely intended! Makes the whole height/size difference thing even more adorable omg ;-;

Ahhh hello there! First off: Welcome, welcome to the Aot fandom, and the AruAni fandom in particular! No time is too late, we're all happy to have one new aruani fan join in haha xD

I agree that while it's very sad seeing the Annie haters, it's best to ignore them. They may have their reasons or not (tho tbh, those of us in the Annie/AruAni fandom would say they just have a very poor or nil understanding of her character). Annie's an extremely well written character honestly; @distortedclouds and I once had this conversation where she was talking about how Isayama managed to give Annie flawless character development in spite of portraying her as the non-typical badass female (in that she doesn't have huge, heroic ambitions and etc) - and I agreed wholeheartedly. Annie's very strong and lethal, but in her vulnerability and desire to be loved and wanted, I think we can all see a bit of ourselves.

Wait I digressed xD My point: Annie's best girl, and we stay away from the haters and stick to worshipping her. Strengthening the Temple of Annie Leonhardt must be our ultimate goal.

I would go on a rant about Armin too being the best, bestest, bestestest boy, and of our other goal of strengthening the Temple of Armin Arlert, but that is for another post, maybe xD

Regarding the height difference! I believe it's an established fact that Armin has always been taller than Annie, right from the beginning. If I remember right, the official Character Guidebook (2014) which was based on the first 11 volumes of the manga, listed Armin as 163cms while Annie was 153. While he's one of the shortest among the boys in general (and post-timeskip he's taller than Levi), he's been at least a whole head taller than Annie ever since they joined the military. Post timeskip, he's 169cms while Annie remains apparently unchanged, so the gap is larger, and likely to grow an inch or two more (since he's only 19). Anyway, yes it's fucking cute, and don't get me started on the size difference 🫠🫠🫠

Once again, welcome to the aruani fandom here, there's lots of lovely people with great blogs writing fics, making art, brainrotting 24/7 and posting about AruAni all the time, and we're very happy to have you be a part of it, here!

And thank you so much for reading the Fort Salta series T/////T I'm very grateful.

[you-can-be-what-you-want-to-be]

just wanted to say that. i saw u from the “who tf is prev” poll & so i clicked on your blog bc i love mp100 & OMNICIENT READER’S AS WELL… I HAVE STRUCK GOLD!!! do you have any thoughts on where the story’s been going :0 (you are right tho mp100 IS life-changing it is so crazy good)

Thank you so much! You seem pretty cool to and I’m glad to hear I have good taste and other people like the things I do!

haha I can’t talk too much on what I think will happen in orv bc I finished the novel so I’m ahead of the webtoon readers although I’m keeping up with at as well… I will say after the current scenario 73rd demon king ends I HIGHLY recommend looking up “unlike Pluto ORV” it will bring up my favorite animatic and introduced me to one of my top ten songs of all time. I am also enjoying the speculation about secretive plotter and it makes me wish I hadn’t gotten spoiled ahead of time on who it is, even if it did make everything funnier. I can’t say much else on orv besides that you are going to be very surprised at the kind of story it turns into (this is a good thing)

mob psycho literally IS life changing. What else gives you such permission to grow and get better by explicitly telling you you can do bad it’s fine? The fact that one is so bad at art helps a lot too bc if it was flawless the message wouldn’t hit as hard but he’s clearly following his own advice and it made something beautiful. Also was my first anime I watched while giving anime a change so it being very “do whatever you want forever” was good timing. I got a tattoo about mob psycho with the “be a good person that is all” and a sunflower.

[friendlyfatbee]

6th Hottest Ghosts: DJ Phantasmagloria and Serpci

Serpci is a one trick pony and DJ Phantasmagloria can kick your butt, I will explain why in the following essay- /hj

Serpci:

Looks: I tried to judge her specifically for beauty standards during the New Kingdom of ancient Egypt, at least thats what her attire suggests. Serpci scores perfectly in this catagory with her body type, hairstyle, longer dress, pectoral (type of necklace here, including the usage of gold and faience, which is a common blue-green material), and her makeup. (Source: Fashion and Beauty in Ancient Egypt by The Not So Innocents Abroad, warning: discussion of female anatomy and nude Egyptian statues.) Serpci also furfilled a lot of catagories in regards to wealthy women during this time period, such as fitted lightweight linen or bead dresses (Source: Ancient Egyptian Clothes by Archeology Now, warning: Nudity in Egyptian art used.) Long story short, this woman is rich and attractive.

Personality: Serpci has a pretty good personality! She exudes power and grace with her movements and body language, a witty leader, and even accepts her defeat with dignity (when she is vacuumed up by Luigi and she lays herself to rest.) A detail I’ve noticed is when Luigi manages to survive all her attacks (giant sand head, small sand vipers that shoot projectiles) she’ll… scream in anger. She isn’t infinitely patient, and tbh I understand completely losing it if your almost flawless attack managed to fail. This girl likes to toy with Luigi, ex. Doing a bunch of showy movements and distracting Luigi before sealing him to the bottom of her pyramid, and choosing to give him chills instead of straight up capturing or killing him when she sneaks up on him. While I wish there was more of some sort of character dynamic like having more apparent flaws, perhaps being furious and immature when things don’t go her way? Because most of the time on screen she does things successfully except for defeating Luigi when he does escape the pyramid. I recommend rewatching her fight and seeing her animation for when Luigi dodges her sand serpents that shoot projectiles! Otherwise she doesn’t exhibit toxic traits and seems interesting enough, but thats about it.

Survival Rate: Surprisingly a medium score. So here’s the think about the whole ‘one trick pony’ thing: she can only control sand. All her strong attacks are sand related, but once that’s taken away from her with a vacuum she is vulnerable and lacks any form of threat. Her floor is full of sand, hence she’s super powerful there (unless, like established, it is taken away like vacuuming.) Throw her into another environment, and she’s a fish out of water.

Niceness Rate: Kind of lower, since she seems to enjoy teasing Luigi and then sending him to his demise.

DJ Phantasmagloria:

Looks: Her beauty standards were based within the 1970s (time of both disco and the origin term of Deejay.) She holds up with a wonderful score, such out having a warm bronze appearance, youthful look, thin eyebrows, cranberry lip stick, and of course the iconic Afro which became incredibly popular in black communities. (Source: Beauty Standards Throughout the Decades: The 1970s by Simone Sydel) (If you want to see more evidence of the Afro being popularized along with confident black women, take a look at the article Rare Photos of ‘70s Black Beauty Pageants Celebrate Women Defying Beauty Standards by Kristina Rodulfo. Warning, photos of women in bikinis.) However a point was deducted for the outfit itself just… not really being interesting? Its almost depressing in appearance compared to what outfits were present during the 1970s (ex. Tie-dye, maxi dresses, wide lapel blazer, and more.)

Personality: Fun fact, I ended up having to rewatch her fight because the first time I was too entranced with watching her and enjoying her that I completely forgot to write notes. She’s just there to have a good time! She’s having the time of her unlife!- she doesn’t even tease Luigi that much an enjoy it, she’s just in a good mood. She’s grooving, and she only looks a bit irritated and distressed once Luigi starts vacuuming one of the dancer goobs. She loses her patience however once Luigi messes up the entire dance routine (I enjoy the touch of the record stop sound effect) and immediately gets on the dance floor, acting like everything’s still good only to give Luigi a threatening look. She still has her spirits up throughout the fight, dancing all the while Luigi is dodging her attacks. She even dances in her defeat animation while Luigi vacuums her up, safe to say at this point she heavily values music and performances. Though, like Serpci there is a lack of flaws (though it can be argued that maybe Gloria tries to minimize problems and make them seem not serious for the sake of keeping the atmosphere lighthearted.)

Survival Rate: Somewhat low because her vinyls are on fire, she can summon these vinyls anytime, and uh… getting sliced/lit on fire at the same time does not sound pleasant.

Niceness Rate: Middle of the road, its hard to tell because of no negative or positive actions toward other goobs or toward Luigi.

Overall, I love these two and have no major complaints! And now I shall rewatch DJ Phantasmagloria’s boss fight because I love her. And again. And again and again and again—

[lunapwrites]

when you get this ask you have to you could perhaps maybe bless us with 5 of ur fav songs (currently or of all time), and then send this ask to 5 of your moots who you think have good taste!

Hi hello yes this is one of my FAVORITE games to play. But please be prepared for some slight genre whiplash haha.

At heart, I am an angsty bitch. This song MOVES me like nothing else in this world, and is one I will absolutely belt out in the car if I'm by myself. But also - this is one of a small handful of songs I have always wanted to animate something for because it gives Remus-post-81 vibes but alas, my brain and hands continue to be on non-speaking terms.

Fun fact about me: I decoded the entire alphabet they'd used in the album art for this, and used to write notes to my ex in them so that teachers couldn't tell what I was writing. (S and R were also the same symbol, reversed, which is really funny in hindsight, even if at the time it fucked with my ADHD lol.) I have also done this with dwarven runes from LoTR, and also the entire Al Bhed language from FFX. Anyway this album saw a lot of play during my sophomore and junior years of high school, specifically, but this song has always been one of my favorites.

Tori my beloved!!!! This song goes so goddamn hard, and I have very strong memories of coming home from school and turning on "we have MTV at home" (which was in fact actually better than MTV bc they were JUST music videos, no fluff), and watching this woman marching barefoot through the woods, blindfolded and bound, and just !!!!! Choirgirl Hotel was one of the first CDs I ever purchased for myself for a reason.

This song has the distinction of inspiring the tone and tenor of my first ever poem when I was 12, which I had to submit as a school assignment, and which my teacher felt compelled to pull me aside and ask if I was okay about. Having to explain to said teacher that I was not in fact being imprisoned in my own home and that the poem was about our new puppy crying in his kennel was... an interesting experience lol. What can I say, angst is in my blood lmfao. Anyway, this is another one I like to sing along to a lot, and holds the distinction of containing both the lowest and highest notes I can reliably hit. (I know that Chris is a Baritone with a roughly 4 octave range, but as for what notes he's hitting in this song in particular? Fuck if I know.)

This song. Has such a GORGEOUS buildup - there's a hypnotic rhythm to it also that is fairly common with Tool songs, but just... really really shines in this one. Also it's a song about his mother dying, and about his complicated relationship with faith (and hers.) Like... my god. I know everyone likes Vicarious and The Pot, and they're great songs, but like....

COME ON.

Anyway, honorable mentions go out to "Orion" by Metallica and "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town" by Pearl Jam and the combination of "Reset" and "Homecoming" by Misery Signals off of their absolutely stunning and literally flawless album Controller, and yes they do need to be in there together. I did also have "5 Dollars" by Christine and the Queens on here originally, but while that song is the epitome of queer joy to me, the impact of it largely comes from the video (being my enby awakening.)

Thanks for the ask! This was really hard to narrow down hahahaha.

[hamuchustartea]

The Guzma fandom is still strong in this platform and also my lengthy thoughts about him

I know Guzma is not as excessively popular comparing to the past 6 years but he still has a solid fanbase and I’m so happy to know this amazing fellow still thrives with lovely fanart, fanfics, gifs and other interesting stuff created by talented artists here in this platform. 

But it saddens me that Guzma got a lot of negativity after he debuted in the anime. The anime had a few number of episodes centered on him, but since he is such an important character, it wasn’t enough to prolong his story and flesh out his character even further. So people, both fans and haters have their own opinions and even headcanons about Guzma’s detailed personality. 

Most of his haters are outside of Tumblr, particularly in Youtube, Twitter and Reddit. The comments of these people are so savage they put Guzma down without even trying to understand who Guzma really is. Comments such as, “Nobody cares about Guzma.” or “Guzma is such a terrible character others deserve better” and etc. I know they are entitled to their opinions but it really hurts me to know that these people are so narrow-minded that they refuse to watch, listen and understand the character better.

Guzma is supposed to be a flawed but relatable character. He may appear cool and badass but deep down he has issues that needs to be overcome. His debut was very timely for young adults as myself during that time (I just turned 25 last May 2016), when we were faced between the bitterness of our shortcomings for not being able to achieve what we wanted during our youth and the aching desire to move on despite the pain. Guzma is a lot like us struggling young adults. He’s not like the easy going Raihan who is insanely popular, successful and almost appears to be flawless. Most people like good looking characters with amazing personalities but tend to be very judgmental to imperfect characters because they project their own insecurities. 

But I’m the person who loves a character who has a lot imperfections and needs to overcome their inner demons because these characters teach me to accept my weaknesses and inspire me to learn and grow. Those who are the most flawed and work out their imperfections come out as a polished diamond, full of wisdom and experience and are able to relate and share to those who are in need of polishing.

I’m glad that Guzma has been redeemed in the games, manga and the anime. Also, the fact that Guzma fans keep creating lovely art of him, whether funny, dark, sad or encouraging, it uplifts my spirit everyday in both good and bad times. Thank you so much Guzma fans and artists out there who continue to create amazing Guzma stuff! Keep on doing what you love, Guzma is happy for all of you too. 

[fredseibertdotcom]

Kevin Kolde.

Kevin Kolde has an incredible history in the cartoon business. In fact, he’s changed cartoons on television and streaming forever. But it’s only been in the last few years he’s stepped out of the shadows with his triumphant production of Castlevania on Netflix. He started several years before at  Frederator Studios, but hey, I’m proud that we’ve worked together for almost two decades.

And before I say anything else let my immense gratitude to Kevin, along with Eric Homan, for running Frederator Studios over the years when I was involved in a series of ventures that may have complemented the studio, but definitely distracted me more than they should have.

Kevin and I first met when he was the VP of sales & marketing of a toy and paint company in his home state of Michigan and he’d licensed some original characters from John Kricfalusi, creator of Ren & Stimpy. Kevin knew great talent when he saw it.

It seemed like minutes later, Kevin moved his family to Burbank and partnered with John to run SPüMCø; he proceeded to learn the cartoon business and became a world class producer. For several years I tried to recruit Kevin over to Frederator, and after overseeing a dozen projects for SPüMCø –including Ren & Stimpy’s Adult Cartoon Party for Spike– he made the move and joined Eric Homan to run our Hollywood office.

There’s too much history with our studio to go into detail, but suffice it to say that Kevin and Eric were an unbeatable combination. Sure Eric ‘developed’ and Kevin ‘produced,’ but honestly, it was a total collaboration. There aren’t many producers that have the creative insight that Kevin has, and putting it together with an almost flawless approach to the actual “making” of cartoons, Kevin managed the deals, the budgets, voice casting and acting, and animation of hundreds of episodes Frederator’s creators brought to life.

I can be a pretty lazy producer, more like Tom Sawyer in many ways. If there’s someone else to paint the fence, I’m all for it. But, working with Kevin, as hard as he managed the thousands of details, legal, creative and otherwise, I couldn’t help but becoming more and more cognizant of what actually went into our films. After all, we basically started in the business about the same time, but he was way smarter than I was.

As soon as Kevin came over to Frederator he told me about his personal creative interests, which weren’t really in the wheelhouse I’d imagined for us. I was primarily interested in, and produced, comedy cartoons. Besides cartoons, Kevin was into video games and told me that he thought games were perfectly adaptable for animation. Like many gaming aficionados his disgust of the live action adaptations of the time was total. He’d optioned a couple of properties, and excitedly told me he wanted to hold them out of our deal, especially since one of them was horror, and pretty violent, and outside the lines of Frederator.

Talent is talent and “producing” talent is as valuable of anything else. Basically, I told Kevin that if he was into it, whether or not I understood video games –I don’t– I believed in him and his judgement. If he saw clear to keeping the projects with Frederator, I was in.

Alongside of producing our first series together, Kevin zeroed in on getting Warren Ellis to write his first, fantastic feature screenplay, got James Jean to create some inspirational art, and started bringing the project to possible partners.

Crickets. To make a long story short, for almost 10 years Kevin got the door slammed in his face. But, as they say, he persisted. No one understood what an American animated horror movie could be, how it could thrive in the marketplace. Still, he persisted. Finally the pieces came together. Kevin connected with the spectacular creative team at Powerhouse Animation in Austin, Texas, who understood anime production better than anyone else in the United States. Netflix, in it’s most experimental moment at the beginning of their streaming adventure, understood Kevin’s adaptation of Warren’s screenplay into a mini-series. The rest is history.

Kevin changed his life based on his passions. He took his production skills and stepped up to becoming a world class showrunner, a rarity for a non-writer. Other people tried to take the credit, but honestly, it was all Kevin all the time. He oversaw every detail of every frame of film for Castlevania. He’s announced a second series in the Castlevania “universe,” set in 1792 France against the backdrop of the French Revolution. Whew.

OK, I’ve completely skipped over Kevin’s critical role in all of our 2000′s shorts shows, and his collaboration with Eric Homan in getting Pendleton Ward’s  Adventure Time/Bravest Warriors and Natasha Allegri’s Bee and PuppyCat (and sure, there are many more) made and placed. But, suffice it to say, it would have been hard to get much done at Frederator without Kevin.

What a star. As ever, how lucky am I to work with someone as wonderful as Kevin Kolde?

I’ve posted often about my mentors, the people I’ve learned the most from. And I’ve noted how often how many of them beg to differ as to whether or not I should credit them as such. So, I’ve calmed down in my titling. But still…

[secretsfromwholecloth]

Tagged by @likeyua​.

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The last song you listened to: Solju - Oabbá

Currently reading: Oof, I don’t think I’d be able to sustain enough concentration to Read Something right now. The last book I took a dip into was a collection of sheet music for songs by Rafael Hernández.

Last Movie: Everything Everywhere All at Once. I think. I neglected to log it at the time, so I have no clue if I watched it before or after the last two movies I did log. Anyway! Good movie, I was happy it won things.

Craving: OK, maybe I will get to have that burger tonight. Very good.

What are you wearing right now? What’s left of my work outfit, navy blue stretch pants and a black T-shirt with vaguely occult-looking art on it. (The dress code at my job, aside from not showing so much skin it makes one’s coworkers uncomfortable, boils down to “I hope you don’t mind potentially getting motor oil on that or worse”, so. I’m the only one in the whole garage not wearing a uniform, too.)

How tall are you: 5′4″/163cm

Piercings: A ring in my left nostril. I finally gave up on keeping any earlobe holes open.

Tattoos: Not that I haven’t thought about it, but nope.

Glasses? Contacts? Glasses, though they’re so heavy and lopsided that I can’t wear them for more than a few hours without a long break.

Last drink: The last of today’s tea ration at work was a nice big travel mug full of peppermint tea.

Last show: How lovely that you’ve caught me at a time when my last movie and TV show are both things I’m willing to admit to in public on this site! Anyway, the last one I finished was The Glory. Not flawless, but I had a lot of fun and came out of it with a few more actors to look into. And I feel like my mother would’ve felt some kinship with the writer, given certain conversations we’ve had (not to mention appreciating the eye candy, which she’s become quite the connoisseur of in her widowhood). I’m currently chipping away at Maestro in Blue, which mom didn’t watch when it aired in Greece (it was airing very late and she keeps early hours) but did hear about, which is something. I’m finding it much more of a slog, as evidenced by the fact that I’m not done with its mere nine episodes after eleven days.

Last thing you ate: Some slightly spicy nachos.

Favorite color: Depends entirely on what application we’re talking about. Can’t go far wrong with a good burgundy, though.

Current obsession: Now that’s not public information right now. Some things are just for me to enjoy inside my own head.

Unrelated obsession: Oh for the times when I have that kind of energy.

Any pets: Nope. Bad idea. I don’t want to think about what would happen, I have enough trouble taking care of myself. What a cruelty to do that to an innocent animal.

Do you have a crush on anyone? Define “crush”, and define “anyone”. Anyway, the answer is closer to “no” than “yes” right now.

Favorite fictional character: I’m honestly too miserable to access that storage right now, and even if I could I’m not sure what I found there would be public information.

The last place you traveled: It’d have to be Philadelphia to visit Girlfriend’s parents for whatever the last family-visiting holiday was. Christmas! That’s the bitch.