#no matter how well intentioned the person is

[rose24207]

An angel

Summary: guilt eats Lando alive when he wants to come clean to you after dating you for a bet. What he didn’t expect was that you would be so understanding and calm about it.

Genre: angst, fluff

Lando x f!reader

TW: Carlos and max being assholes (sryy), Lando too

A/N: I genuinely think that I would also react like this and I think that’s pretty much sums up the person I am :(

Masterlist pt. 2

It was supposed to be a joke. That’s what Lando told himself when it all started. A stupid, harmless joke that spiraled so far out of control, he found himself falling in love with you—only to be crushed by the weight of his own lie.

The bet was Carlos’ idea, though Max quickly joined in. They were sitting together at a bar in Monaco after a long day of training, laughing and teasing each other like they always did. That’s when you walked in, a vision of effortless beauty, with a smile so captivating even the loud music seemed to fade into the background.

Carlos noticed the way Lando’s gaze lingered on you. “You’re staring, mate,” he teased, nudging him.

Max smirked. “Bet you couldn’t get her number.”

Lando rolled his eyes, feigning indifference. “Easy.”

But Carlos upped the stakes. “Forget her number—bet you can’t get her to date you. Three months, minimum. Make her fall for you.”

Lando hesitated, but Max chimed in, grinning. “If you win, we’ll cover your next holiday. Private jet, five-star everything.”

Fueled by bravado, ego, and the lingering effects of too many drinks, Lando shook their hands, sealing the deal.

The plan was simple: charm you, date you for a while, and win the bet. But nothing about you was simple.

When he approached you that night, he expected the same predictable reactions he always got—flustered stammering or overly enthusiastic flirting. Instead, you met him with warmth and genuine curiosity, treating him like a regular guy rather than the celebrity everyone else saw.

He was hooked.

Every date with you felt like uncharted territory. You laughed at his dumb jokes, shared your dreams with him, and listened intently as he opened up about his fears and insecurities. For the first time in his life, Lando felt truly seen.

What started as a game quickly became the most important thing in his life. But the secret of how it began loomed over him, a constant reminder of his betrayal. He told himself he’d find the right time to come clean, but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months.

And now, three months in, he was drowning in guilt.

It was a quiet evening in his Monaco apartment. You were curled up on the couch, flipping through a magazine while he paced nervously in the kitchen. He had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head, but every scenario ended with you walking out the door.

“Y/N?” he called softly, his voice trembling.

You looked up, immediately sensing the tension. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we talk?” he asked, his hands fidgeting.

You set the magazine aside, concern etching your features. “Of course. What’s going on?”

He sat down across from you, his heart pounding. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

Your brows furrowed. “Okay…”

Lando took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you remember the night we met? At the bar?”

You nodded. “Of course. Why?”

“There’s… something I didn’t tell you about that night.” He hesitated, his stomach churning. “Carlos and Max… they made a bet with me. They bet I couldn’t get you to date me for three months. And I…” He swallowed hard, his eyes welling up. “I took the bet.”

Your expression froze, the weight of his words sinking in. “A bet?”

He nodded, his voice breaking. “At first, it was just stupid. I didn’t think it would matter. But then I got to know you, and everything changed. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Y/N. I swear, this—us—became real so quickly. But I lied to you, and I hate myself for it.”

Silence filled the room as you processed his confession. He braced himself for the anger, the heartbreak, the inevitable goodbye.

But what came next surprised him.

You reached out, taking his trembling hands in yours. “Lando,” you began gently, your voice calm but steady. “Thank you for telling me.”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re not… angry?”

“I won’t lie,” you admitted. “It hurts to know how it started. But what matters more to me is that you told me the truth. You didn’t let me find out from someone else, and I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he shook his head. “It wasn’t. I’ve been so scared of losing you, Y/N. You’re everything to me. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I had to tell you. You deserve better than this.”

You squeezed his hands, your own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Lando, everyone makes mistakes. What matters is what you do after. You could’ve kept lying, but you didn’t. You chose honesty, even though it scared you. That says a lot.”

“I love you,” he choked out, his voice raw. “I love you so much. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if you’ll let me.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you cupped his cheek, wiping away his tears. “I love you too. And I believe you. I believe in us.”

His breath hitched as he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you like you were his lifeline. “You’re an angel,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re too good for me.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “I’m not an angel, Lando. I’m just someone who loves you enough to see the good in you, even when you make mistakes.”

From that moment on, things changed. Lando became a man on a mission, determined to show you how much he valued you. He went out of his way to make you feel loved and appreciated—surprising you with thoughtful gestures, supporting your dreams, and being more open and vulnerable than ever before.

The guilt still lingered, but your forgiveness gave him the strength to move forward. And as time passed, the scars of the bet faded, replaced by a love that was stronger than ever.

Because at the end of the day, love wasn’t about never making mistakes. It was about owning up to them, learning from them, and choosing each other—no matter what.

And as Lando held you close that night, he silently vowed to never take your love for granted again. You weren’t just the best thing that had ever happened to him—you were his everything.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris

[linkcharacter]

Love the difference from how Jimmy rejects the pills aggressively while it’s implied in canon Curly just tries to keep his mouth closed rather than hurt anyone. I also love how Curly thanks Jimmy for letting him help vs Jimmy complaining that he had to in canon despite never really being an asked more than once and talks down to Curly.

It’s an interesting difference in how they both take the duty from Anya where Curly is def trying to salivate her of having to take care of Jimmy due to every pre-crash and the guilt but also because that is his friend still. Just comparing it to Jimmy who only does it cause he needs to feel useful and asserting himself as more capable than Anya.

I know you likely wanna keep it vague or open to interpretation but since Curly acknowledged the pills aren’t doing much for Jimmy do you think he’s genuinely doing it just cause it does something even if little for Jimmy or to ease his mind? Sort of like how the crew mainly gives Curly his pills to keep him quiet and more so how Jimmy does it cause Curly’s sobs def mess with his crippling repressed feelings of guilt.

Very interesting how it differs. Also love how you still didn’t show the actual feeding of the pill

Oh yes the differences :) The whole time I was making the comic the 2nd audio of Jimmy feeding Curly the pills kept spinning in my brain. And yes, I didn't show the actual pill feeding, the game doesn't show it visually, so I didn't think there was a reason to do it here.

You are correct, I would like to keep it vague. It's interesting how you interpreted Curly's comment on the pills as just him thinking they aren't doing much for Jimmy, and I'm not saying it's wrong, but I see (and put) a couple of different meanings for his thoughts' text, all of which are valid, this one included.

As to why Curly gives him the pills, I'd say it can be both reasons at once. Curly does want to help, but he also wants to feel like he's helping. The thing about Curly is that he prioritizes doing what his own sense of righteousness dictates as doing the right thing, whether or not it's a smart or a helpful decision or not. Like how he decided to tell the crew about them losing their jobs. It wasn't a smart nor a productive decision, all it did was make the crew stressed and brought the morale down for the rest of the 8 months they were supposed to haul. But it was what Curly saw as 'what a good person would do', 'what a friend would do', that he "can't keep this form them all" because it gnawed on his conscience. He didn't consider consequences of telling upsetting news to his crew, or if he did, they didn't outweigh the importance to do right by his crew to Curly. To him it was the 'less scummy' way to go about it, the one that didn't leave Curly feeling like a bad person for "deceiving" his friends. But he means well at the end of the day too, he doesn't want his friends to feel betrayed, feel like they've been kept in the dark. He doesn't want to use his special treatment as a Captain while his subordinates are worse off than him.

And here with Jimmy, Curly wants to do his best to ease whatever pain his friend is in, but he also doesn't want to force him into anything because that would make Curly feel like he's undermining Jimmy's autonomy, whether or not Jimmy by himself would make a decision on medical treatment that was 'best for him', and whether or not the pills do jack shit at all. Curly tries to do good by everyone, because he genuinely wants to help and because he feels that doing a helpful thing is what he 'should' do. Curly's a complicated guy and it all comes down to what you personally consider as 'genuine want to help' and whether or not, to you, the actions a person takes matter more than the intentions behind them.

Thank you for your comments, as always very discussion engaging, I love it!!

[vidavalor]

You never know but I'm pretty sure that there is no Great Plan, other than for all to live freely by making their own plans.

I think that Armageddon is not just the Biblical, end-of-Earth kind but the idea that a person is a planet of their own, too. The big, global/Biblical war types of Armageddon are metaphorical for a person's own mental health struggles-- their own personal Armageddons-- that, if unchecked, could cause the end of their worlds aka themselves and the world they've made out of their life and the people in it.

The Nice & Accurate Prophecies seem to me to really be all just a series of well-observed, realistic, and empathetic life advice and notes on how to unfuck yourself if you get stuck. You can break down the prophecies and apply them to the different plots in the story but you can also just take them as good advice for living your own life, too, as needed.

I think that one of the big messages in the story overall, though, is to always think critically about what messages you internalize. It's to not blindly follow the words of another but to be open to listening to viewpoints, thinking critically about them, and then crafting your own world view.

It's just like the horoscope in The Tadfield Advertiser that The Voice of God brings up. There's nothing wrong with reading a silly horoscope on a bad day and allowing its intentional vagueness to feel applicable to your life in a way that you might need or want in that moment. What would be wrong would be blindly believing it to be some kind of Divine Sign in such a way as to not think critically about the sources and the validity of the advice.

As The Voice of God points out, many things in the horoscope can be correct... but not all of it is always correct. The horoscope in question, for instance, says that you should avoid salads... and we all know that it's not actually healthy to do that. It's showing that if you put blind faith in something without thinking critically about it, you're actually putting yourself on a very unhealthy path.

The Voice of God is talking about a horoscope, yeah, but... she's also not just talking about a horoscope.

She's also talking about the bullshit, manipulative kind of life guidance like that of influencers like Famine, about different forms of propaganda, and, more than anything else, she's talking about all religious texts... especially, The Bible.

It's a warning to people to be open to the ideas of others and curious, always, but to also think critically about the motivations of those behind and pushing those ideas, instead of blindly following them. It's a warning to not blindly follow the words of another but to read and study everything you can get your hands on and then make up your own mind on what you believe is the correct path.

It's perfectly fine to say 'there's some good stuff in here that I needed to hear today but the bit about the salads was totally incorrect' and move on. Whether it's a silly horoscope or any other secular thing or whether it's The Bible that we're talking about doesn't matter. Resist thought control and groupthink through being curious and learning everything you can and thinking critically about everything you take in.

I've got some quibbles with Agnes Nutter's writings, even though I like many of her prophecies quite a lot, and I'm amused by the fact that my main issue with them is the vagueness of what she wrote and how some people might mistake the meaning of it by looking at it too literally and... do I now not actually sound like I might as well be describing The Bible? 😂 Pretty well-played by this religious satire, no? *giggles*

Books Can Go Up Like...

...paper.

The expression is: "[x] can go up like paper."

It's used as a warning to be careful in having certain, highly flammable materials around open flames. The simile is in how, of all materials, one of the easiest to catch fire and go up is paper.

Something on fire is something that is going up or burning up... but what is the end result of that fire?

What goes up in flames is really something that is burning down.

During S2, our visiting angels to the bookshop help to teach us a recurring metaphor: books = people.

When Muriel asks Crowley for a book, they describe books by saying that "books are like people, only portable." For much of the season, Jim works hard to group the books together in a way that is thoroughly illogical when applied to literal books but actually brilliant if applied to those metaphorical books known as people. He's grouping books together by the first letter of the first sentence of each book. By their shared origins and experiences. By the things they have in common so that they feel less alone.

Books, written by people, are a metaphor for people.

So, when Nina says during the bookshop attack where they are trying to keep literal demons at bay as a metaphor for keeping Aziraphale's own inner demons at bay: "Why all the fire extinguishers?", Aziraphale recounts when the literal books went ablaze in S1-- at the same time as when he went Up-- when he explains:

Aziraphale points out that, as is often the case with metaphorical books, there was once a fire that burned down every book in this bookshop. In a moment of Aziraphale's own going Up, so, too, did the thing metaphorical for himself-- his bookshop and all the books in it.

The literal books all went up in flames and then fell down, charred into ash, all around the fallen angel who lights the good kind of fire in the book known as Aziraphale and whose trauma from this particular, literal fire is such that he needs a fire extinguisher within reach in every room, in hopes that that might be enough to keep the bookshop, its books, and the metaphorical book who owns it from ever going up in flames and burning down again.

Fires start, though, and there's another idiomatic expression of note, too: What goes up must come down. It's just gravity.

[unsolicited-opinions]

I'm leaving off the identifying info from this Tumblr post because I want to vehemently disagree with the ideas expressed, not shout at a person.

Even a casual review of history shows that any attempts to accommodate/appease Nazis will not save those who seek to appease them. (If you disagree, please give an example from history where appeasing any authoritarian has worked out well for those who attempted appeasement)

To be clear, I continue to support the ADL. The ADL's work is needed, it matters, and it should not only continue, but radically improve.

The ADL must improve its information gathering methods, improve its reporting methods, develop and commit to a clear set of principles, and find leadership with both a spine and functional knowledge of history.

I can only think of two plausible motivations for Greenblatt's spectacularly bad decision:

1. If Greenblatt was frightened of how a pissed-off Trump administration might attack the ADL and allowed that fear to make this choice for him, he lacks the spine to lead the ADL's mission and should resign. The ADL's job is to oppose Jew hatred. Greenblatt failed to do that.

2. If Greenblatt didn't want to criticize what he saw and recognized as sieg heils (and dogwhistles to the white supremacist base of MAGA) because he feared potentially jeopardizing the Trump administration's support for Israel, he is willing to excuse Jew hatred from Nazis in the *US* half the Jewish world in order to prioritize the *other half in Israel*. The job of the ADL is not to prioritize where to fight Jew hatred based on political convenience, but to oppose Jew hatred everywhere. Greenblatt failed to do this and should resign.

With this one excruciatingly bad decision, Greenblatt has ceded the ADL's position as an authority on Jew hatred and thereby weakened the ADL for at least a generation. The damage to their credibility may never be repaired.

We are living, in many respects, in 1933 Germany, whether or not Jews are the explicitly named targets of this administration. You know it and so does Greenblatt. There's no excuse for his failure to condemn the accelerating US slide into authoritarianism, and no excuse for his failure to condemn Musk's dogwhistle.

You say the ADL was wise to avoid alienating what you and I agree is an antisemitic administration. I believe that the ADL should seek to alienate and aggressively oppose anybody who is threatening the Jewish people.

You say that Greenblatt's lie was a "little white lie" which will make it easier for your children to live here. A white lie is a minor lie which could be considered harmless, or even beneficial. I believe that lies on this scale and on these topics are not little and not harmless. Appeasing antisemites (which is what you admit Greenblatt did) has never in history made Jews safer.

Greenblatt could even have released a statement saying something like:

"While we cannot know what was in Mr. Musk's heart and speak with certainty regarding his intent, we are nonetheless concerned that his behavior will be regarded by hate groups in the US as a dogwhistle and a sign that Musk and the administration he speaks for are (again) expressing solidarity with racist, hateful, anti-democratic organizations. Here are the things we hope Mr. Musk and President Trump will do to alleviate those concerns..."

Counter to what you wrote, the ADL does not need to meet any legal standard or satisfy the requirements of any court to do this.

Instead, Greenblatt saw the sieg heils, recognized them for what they were, then rushed to lie about them in the most public fashion possible, doing enormous damage to the cause he's tasked to lead. He capitulated to an antisemitic administration in advance. How is this a "little white lie?"

Greenblatt should resign in disgrace. I think he won't, though, because disgrace requires having a sense of shame.

I don't know if Greenblatt never had a spine, a brain, or a sense of shame, or if he got rid of them specifically for this occasion - but all three are needed, he doesn't have them, and he should resign.

Lastly, I reject your characterization of all Jewish criticism of Greenblatt's spectacular failure to meet his most basic responsibilities...as "stupid."

By all means, do disagree. There's nothing more Jewish than a good disagreement - but there's also nothing stupid about the countless US Jews who know history, who see clearly what Trump and Musk are, and who are justifiably angry with Greenblatt for spectacularly failing in his most fundamental responsibilities.

[phreakedt]

I was someone once... An adventurer.

(read more for me rambling about the emperor)

theres rarely any particular meaning or intent behind my art but i swear the emperor is literally my muse, so i thought id share my thoughts about what this piece means! i was listening to punish by ethel cain and couldnt get this idea out of my head… i feel like the line "i was an angel, but they made me leave" or the fallen from grace motif pretty well encapsulates the tragedy of balduran and the emperor and why he'll always be such a sympathetic character to me.

ultimately while there are valid reasons to believe the emperor's evil/irredeemable or whatever, its quite literally not his fault he became what he is. he never asked for his ceremorphosis (of course, he came to accept it, but that doesnt make it any less fucked up). its generally considered that mankind is capable of good and evil in equal measure, but if your humanity is literally stripped away from you, what is there to stop your descent? this isnt even to justify his actions but instead about how titles like "angel" and "demon", "good" and "bad" etc etc are so subjective and perception-based. like if it was the human(oid) balduran and not a mind flayer behind all his actions throughout the game, i doubt he'd be so universally hated. i mean, better a bad person than a literal monster, right?

there's also the "only god knows / only god would believe", or to me the idea that no matter how hard the emperor may try to exercise morality, he's so far departed from his former self that people will only ever see him as a villain, not a hero. its truly a damned if you do, damned if you dont situation. and most ironic is the fact that despite everything, he hasnt fully lost his humanity. he genuinely yearns for companionship and mourns what hes lost and who he used to be (to some degree). i think hes so well-written because he is just like you in the sense that hes simply playing the cards he was dealt, right or wrong. i could go on and on about this awesome character and song (especially its themes of perversion, punishment, and love) but that's the gist. thanks for reading ^^

[akookminsupporter]

There’s a photo—or, well, I guess it's a screenshot from this clip—that happens to be one of my absolute favourite pictures of Jimin and Jungkook. This clip itself is one of my favourites of the two of them for two reasons.

The first reason, and probably the most obvious one if you’re someone who pays attention to details, is how perfectly their outfits are coordinated. It’s like they’re matching but not in a way that’s too deliberate or forced. They’re both wearing the same colours, but the way those colours are used or styled is slightly different in each of their outfits. Jimin and Jungkook do this quite often—whether it’s a coincidence or intentional, who knows?

If you think about it, they’ve always had this knack for wearing the same colour palette. Over the last few years, they’ve even started leaning towards a similar overall style of clothing. The main difference is that Jungkook’s outfits tend to be noticeably more oversized, while Jimin’s clothes are oversized as well, just not to the same extreme. But in general, their styles are so alike that it’s hard not to notice. They both gravitate towards neutral tones—white, black, greys, and the occasional earthy tones. Jimin, however, is a bit more adventurous when it comes to colours. He’ll sometimes add a pop of something unexpected, but even then, he stays within a very sophisticated, monochromatic or neutral vibe.

This makes it pretty common to see them with outfits that feel unintentionally coordinated. Sure, other members also dress similarly from time to time—for example, Yoongi often wears neutral tones, too but you wouldn't immediately say he coordinated his outfit with Jimin or Jungkook or both.

Now, the second reason I love this clip has more to do with the phrase written on the back of Jungkook’s bomber jacket. If you take it from the perspective of what we believe their relationship might be, that phrase feels incredibly meaningful. It almost seems to capture how they have to navigate the world they’re in. For people like them—living under constant scrutiny, with so much pressure on their shoulders—it must be incredibly isolating at times. And yet, the phrase on his jacket seems to reflect the idea that, no matter how hard or lonely it gets, they’ve got each other.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I’ve always thought that phrase encapsulates so much about who they are and how they seem to handle things together. From the way I see them, there’s this unspoken connection between them—a sense that they just get each other on a level that’s hard to explain.

This connection goes beyond clothes or coordinated outfits. Jimin and Jungkook seem to share so many things in terms of their personalities, tastes, and even their thought processes. Out of all the members, I feel like this is something almost unique to them. It’s not just fans who notice it, either. The other members have commented on it, sometimes confusing one for the other or saying that either one of them could’ve done or said something because they’re so similar. Even their laughter sounds alike, especially when they’re together. It’s one of those little things that feels so endearing and makes you wonder just how much time they’ve spent together to develop such similarities.

Can you imagine what they’ll be like once they’ve finished their military service? I can’t wait for all the behind-the-scenes content that’s bound to come out when the group starts promoting together again.

At the end of the day, their dynamic feels so special. Whether it’s through their coordinated outfits, shared laughter, or the way they just seem to click, there’s something about them that’s completely unique. It’s one of the reasons why moments like this clip—and even something as simple as a photo from it—stick with me. It’s not just about how they look together but about everything they represent.

[haveihitanerve]

Ze Blackberry Is Here. Back with more commentary. Y'all know the drill, hope you enjoy :)

“Its gonna be OSCAR nominated! BAFTA award winning!” I believe it! (truthfully, i have never seen this skit before, so this will be my first time watching it, I know, I know, shame, i've been a fan for a little under a year and i've never seen Ze Blackberry? But im here to remedy that now, and I believe it'll be beautiful and oscar winning)

Tom making eye contact with AJ and grabbing his chair and AJ just following suit- they communicate without words i love it

Also side note- Aj has hair..... anyway now carry on

“Captured by ze germans!” AJ’s side glance over his shoulder at Luke as he says it- cheeky little shit :)

“Look at ‘em, the Aryan look.” Sam enjoyed that one :) Aj chuckling at his own joke too

“Oh! If he was only a foot and a half taller he’d be a perfect nazi!” Of course we have to go for the cheap shot, love it!!- also- Aj already cracking before he finishes the joke, beautiful, he knew where it was going

Luke’s smile and side eye- gorgeous boy

Tom and Aj cracking when they see Sam- honestly wow, they were much more relaxed with laughing on stage from what i can see lol- Aj literally looks to the heavens like “give me strength!!”

“Oh my god! Its Hanz van Purple Buerer!” stellar joke AJ, really: 10/10

Luke laughing in the corner

The person who screeched with laughter in the audience that it sounded like a door being opened has my heart- so real

“The blackberry himself has come to deal with us.” AJ's snort of laughter, Luke’s slow smile, and Sam’s resigned grin as he looks at his outfit

“JA! Ze Blackberry is here.” Perfect quote. 10/10

“Hello my little pocket sized aryan” i knew he loved the joke- also idk what Luke does just then, but it looks really cool- the little foot tap together of a soldier standing at attention or smth idk

Luke just reciting his NPC German phrases he knows XD (as a german tho, decent accent, pretty good)

Tom and AJ absolutely baffled XD- genuinely asking “did he just sniff his ear?” with such concern- priceless lol- “i think he wants to fuck him” idk why aj emphasized, or rather didn't, fuck, but it really adds something... je ne sais quoi

“Just flying a plane, over berlin-” Aj chuckling because he knows damn well that was a bad excuse wtf Tom’s gonna make it sooo much worse XD “just normally!” there it is!

“During ZE SEKOND VORLD VAR!?!?!” Sam- woah

“I call it a good time to goooo…” Hes really looking for an excuse here- “parachuting” nailed it, perfect delivery- he wont suspect a thing

“Les frere parachutes!” Ok Aj, flaunt that french i see you

Sam smacking Tom(not literally, they havent gotten to that point yet- but just wait until Old Lady Margaery) and Aj also flinching- grinning before Sam even says anything because he knows, he just knows he shouldn't have

“ZHAT IS HOW YOU ZLAP ZE MASTER WAY!!!” The slap was so good Sam had to break the fourth wall lmaooo

“Von ponte!” Idk why thats funny- but AJ laughed immediately after saying it, so its probably a french joke of a location or smth??? Or not at all?? Idk im not french

AJ’s genuine look at concern over to Tom when sam said “staler and harder” 

“Don't- don't let them make me get hard!” AJ has given up and is now just looking down trying not to break- real

“Oh i think he wants- *uncontrollably afraid head nodding* they both want the fucking-” 

“In many ways thats better, its better as a two way street” Tom our consensual king… that sounded wrong- but consent matters!

AJ’s scream of genuine terror XD

“Then maybe you'll have a, you know, you'll come in like 70 years for a bit and it'll be weird and then you'll fuck off again!” Tom getting into actual history, love when they do that, adds intentional and unintentional humor- also love how the girl(sry idk her name) has just decided she does not want to be a part of whatever the fuck this is and is just watching

AJ’s singing!!!!! YAY!!! (actually one of the most compelling reasons why i wanted to watch this lmaoo) also the way he makes eye contact with Luke and immediately breaks mid song

Sam being a random unidentified animal as Tom casually strokes his back- for absolutely no reason but they couldn't let Aj be the only weird one in the scene- solidarity ig??? Whatever the reason its fucking hilarious

“Im- in the wrong place.” yes AJ wtf are you doing XD???

“How are you Sarah?” YES UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN!!! MAKE LUKE FEMALE!!!

The eruption of laughter as Luke contemplates how to handle this new piece of information about himself

“Well he didn't come ‘ome so!” Fair point, fair point

“You're being- ridicule.” the casual slipping in of random french words they picked up from duolingo, or, y'know, AJ ig, is beautiful

“I know of an admirer” Audience member: oooh Luke: *shoots them a glance, eyebrow raised* idk man any interaction with the audience and im a sucker for it-

“Ok Xavier will have to wait until Jean-Luc is “officially dead” then” idk who this girl is but shes funny XD-

“She said i would also meet a man called Javier.” *does quick calculations of how many people are already characters and how many more plots they can afford to fit into the already moving script….* “But I already met him and he was… very ugly.” Luke- lmaoo

Aj- my king i love you

THE WAY THE GIRL LITERALLY HAS TO TURN AWAY WHEN TOM ENTERS

REAL

Can i just mention real fast- when AJ collapses, faints, wtv- Tom tries to catch him before realizing that “oh its part of the bit ok” -like??? His arm swings back because he was trying to be a support for Aj to lean against, not expecting him to completely swoon to the floor- anyway they're cute

“No no no no-” oh here comes the scene *the writer is giddy with excitement* “i will give her, ze kiss of life.” *then genuinely surprises Aj with a kiss because his hand twitches with the movement XD* “I could ‘ave mimed it, but i deed not” Tom you absolute king-

*licks Luke’s hand like a weirdo* like lol Tom what was that???

“I don't know the french word for mice-” *AJ has been summoned* i just love how he spawns in, so ready to share his native language, its too cute 

And Tom promptly picking up on it :)))))) so cute

“To keep me satisfiiiiiiied.” The chair tilt- ughnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn *deceased*

Also- Luke is completely at ease. He’s a bit surprised, sure, but he keeps his legs floating, crossed, has complete faith that Tom will keep him steady and is not worried at all about finding stability himself- they’re so fucking adorable help-

Toms hand on his neck 😭

“Do not be afraid. Xavier is here.” Well i've never felt safer in my life so-

“Im just a bit lonellyyyy” lmao this girl is fun! “Make sure you get the right buttock, its the good one! But the left one is good as well!” Ofc it is Xavier, of course

“III am a man.” thank you for making sure we know that Xavier…

SAM AND AJ!!!! WHAT !!!! XD IM DYING!!! They planned out, and then actually went through with, meeting on opposite sides of the stage, wearing their medieval helmets, and decided to charge at each other, in that exact moment- fuck i love them sm omg- XD

AJ’s little finger flick to indicate Tom to come over 😭 subtle things and i love them so much-

Tom: *casually yeets himself across stage*

“I can feel it in the… breeze.” smooth aj, makes sense, yes yes ofc ofc, very airtight reasoning

“Its- its the- nazi looking guy!” LMAOOO poor luke XD

“FRANCOISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” AJ has a lot of breath support damn

The silence as Sam continues clopping along, debating whether or not to point out that girl- i really should learn her name- just casually jumped onto a moving wagon or smth idk lol

AJ: *just casually starts sobbing* Sams wife: if you’re thirsty you could just drink it!!! LMAOOOOO

“By the way while you were captured,*AJ smiling already because he knows what's coming* the nazis occupied us.” both laugh. cuties

“BIG HANDS! This is big Hans.” Sam not being able to speak in order to not burst out laughing. I know AJ is so glad to have a pumpkin covering his face so he can laugh lmaooo

“Well you could have surrendered better.” Sam having to look down to laugh XD

“No zey, zey really couldn't.” Luke- you're german yeah? Not french…

“We are French, we are very good at surrendering.” poor AJ lmaooo XD

“That joke would be dated, but its 1942 so…” setting a time period, nice work Tom lol

“Les coqs! Hah!” Luke just wants to be French atp lmaooo

Tom walking right through the stagecraft horses. Tsk tsk

“Reach in there, grab a big coq and eat it.” he saw the joke and he took it, golden. 

Luke: *casually stroking AJ’s hair and entire face without any regard* love them so much omg-

I said it once and ill say it again: their slow motion stuff is sooooo good, especially because usually only one person starts it- like AJ- and its subtle at first, but the others pick up on it so fast it quickly becomes noticeable but like they notice it before the audience- anyway…

“Lets go- fuck!” …. “What???” "WHAT???" “It doesn't matter!” No i think it does aj what were you going to say????

*speedy horse noises*

Sam and Aj moving in time together as they transition to the next scene 😭they're always so in sync it hurts

The way the camera angle only sees Luke, and then Tom’s leg just appears. Beautiful cinematography. the cameraman knows what the people want😏

“I am an improvised comedian, it does not pay well *pouts*” I feel like you're bringing a lot of reality into this scene Frankie…

Luke cant even laugh, its true 😭

Damnnnnn. Like i've seen Xavier edits ofc, but now i've seen the play and now i know- gawddddsss

“If you are such a man zen why are u not fighting ‘or francez freedohm?” Oh damn Sarah does not play- yes Jean-Luc your wife still has faith in you… i hope. Pls give me a luke/aj relationship- pls(so far they haven't even been in one scene together as a married couple 😭)

“Chat got your tongue?” … i laughed wayyy too hard at that and Luke looks wayyy to proud of it too…

“Im doing a lovely job ‘ere.” yes you are queen, yes you are

“Thought you said it wasn't dirty- its horrible.” yes queen!!! Tell him!!! “Look at it!” she sounds so genuinely disappointed. “Its dust! You know what dust is? Its skin. Human skin and rat poo.” girl you keep monologuing till your heart is content this is wonderful

Tom and Luke are too stunned to speak :0

“Are you quite finished?” damn Luke… tt. “I mean im not if im honest about it..” yes queen!!!! Don't let him interrupt you XD

“Do you want to know what-” *blinks in trilingual* “am i german am i french?” shakespeare ok

DAMN that slap was perfect! And this is a time when its still fake, i see i see lol

“Viva la france!” Audience member: viva la france! Loving this solidarity lol

“Im off now.” “oh fuck off already!” Sarah is done  lmaooo

Aj coming in with the French… what is it called? Battle cry of France? Slogan? Whatever Fraternity, Egalite and Eternite is for France… i should truly know what its called… slogan… ok whatever i'm digressing-

“That is right. I was tortured by.. *thinks back to very beginning of play* two men… getting... with each other next to me..” *said while looking at one of said men and having just ridden other said man into the scene* also wow- how did, whoever suggested it, suggest that idea???? Anyway-

“They are always doing that the nazis.” Casually Sam and Luke being the ones to say it…

“I just wanted to tease ‘im a little bit. I’m french its in my nature!!!” even Sam is flabbergasted that he said it right to AJ’s face lmaooo

“So where is your kni- awww.” Tom was so ready lol

“When i say knife… I mean HUGE katana.” *laughs* idk why but this sentence just tickles my brain properly for some reason 

“Ye-es?” Sam i cant. Aj struggling not to laugh, Tom questioning how he can hit Sam without messing up the scene, and Luke just going for the joke- “where did you get my dildo?” priceless XD

“Thats a good… whatever you are.” thats what we all want to know too, but its safer not to ask…

Sam singing epic fight song. Glorious

The blood- i cant breathe- XD

This just might be the best possible kiss scene in all of SFTH history omg- the way Luke walks to AJ- cups his cheeks, then wraps his arms around his neck as AJ hugs him completely, turning so that Luke is dipped low, and Luke’s legs go limp, trusting AJ to hold him up without any fear, its so cute and so tender and omg i love them sm-

ANyway that was Oh My God, Is This A Joke? Very glad i finally got around to watching it, absolutely beautiful play as always boys, wow, and AJ still had hair, anyway gorgeous. 

Also i feel the need to point out that in this one every single person was trying to get with Luke at one point or another. Thats all. Byebye now!

@dawn-speckled @snek-of-eden

[buubonita]

What do you think the bad sanses love languages are? Like physical touch, gift giving, etc

Well this is a hard one to define. Mainly because it will be an answer based on what I understand of the characters and not so much if it is canon appropriate or not.

But canon doesn't matter.

BSP displays of affection, do you mean between them or towards each other? I still can't figure out how they work together. So I'll talk in general.

I think Killer has no idea what it is to give affection. And if he does, his ideas must be distorted by his own experiences. The closest thing to a display of affection he could have is to warn others from the knowledge he has about his environment and the people around him if that can avoid an unpleasant moment (I go back to that post where I said he would advise Dust and Horror about Nightmare and when or how to handle him)

I don't see either of them being physically affectionate. Killer touches others as a method of keeping himself grounded rather than with a good intention. I'd say it depends on the state of his soul but I'm not sure either (state 3 and 4 seem to be prone to extreme violence and 1 is the full awareness of guilt eating away at the poor guy)

Killer doesn't have the best references when it comes to giving affection either. If we think of a setup where Murder and Horror are there as "toys" that Nightmare gave to Killer, I can see him translating Nightmare's behaviors to the two of them.

Though who knows, maybe he can learn a thing or two from the right person.

Murder and Horror seem to be the most willing to do something terrible in the name of those they love the most.

Horror doesn't seem like the gushing type at all, Sans didn't usually be either but he showed his affection for his brother in small gestures (reading to him before bed, helping him make costumes for his party, peeling an apple for him) so I think he would follow that same pattern of doing small things, niceties to take care of who he cares about. Maybe he knows Dust has a favorite color and gives him a gift of that color, or maybe he lets Killer name his weapons and addresses them that way.

Small nonsense but it makes it known that he is there.

What I do see as a form of affection, and partly because his memory fails, is that Horror gives nicknames to the people he hangs out with. The more nicknames, the more dear they are to him.

I also don't see him touching anyone so openly. Maybe on rare occasions and they are simple touches like punches or pats.

However, he is not above hurting or simply ignoring their personal desires and convictions. He fed his brother human flesh despite Papyrus telling him he didn't want to, he lied to the entire town about a new policy because he didn't want to take responsibility for things getting screwed up because of him, and he condemned his friends (although he is not the only one to blame) to a screwed up life.

Nightmare.

All of Nightmare's "displays of affection" lead to violence. Nightmare can't feel healthy affection for anyone in his corrupted state. I think even if he wanted to love someone, he'd end up hurting them.

I've said this before, but Nightmare would definitely compliment anyone in the group while they're dying because he finds their pain "too irresistible."

Becoming the object of Nightmare's affection only brings more pain unfortunately.

In a healthy version it's even hard to determine, because the best mercy Nightmare could give the MTT is to let them go. While some like to explore the idea of ​​Nightmare striving to improve, I personally like that but it also depends on how heinous Nightmare's actions have been and trying to determine if it makes sense for the rest of the MTT to trust his promise of wanting to change for the better.

If he did change for the better, their relationship wouldn't stop being complicated. There are no perfect relationships, there will always be instances of tension between parties even in the best of times and it's a matter of everyone involved doing their part to make it work. Relationships are not one-sided and one person cannot and does not have to bear all the responsibility.

It would be nice to see, if Nightmare were to redeem himself, teach others to better manage their "negative" emotions in less destructive and healthier ways. And above all learn to respect everyone's personal boundaries.

Nightmare would be fine with physical contact if he was the one to initiate it, I think. He would have to trust someone a lot to let them touch him and it wouldn't last long.

And lastly there's Dust.

I really like the idea that Dust writes. He doesn't know how to voice his feelings very well so he's better at writing them down. Maybe little notes left in the space of the people he cares about, even if they're just loose sentences, it doesn't take a lot of words to express great things when it comes to feelings.

And sometimes saying I love you feels like an impossible feat or something sacred that not many feel ready for.

Dust and physical contact don't get along very well either, but I like to think that sometimes he would initiate contact, leaning on his companions to make himself noticed and know that he is there.

I hope this satisfies you, anon! Thank you for your ask, i have fun braining all this.

[maxdibert]

I've been watching from the shadows of my sewer about this Severus s/a thing. It feels like this is being taken WAY too seriously, but then again, fiction mirrors the real world, so it is important to be careful of what we say and how we view things.

I am extremely neutral when it comes to any character in Harry Potter. I do not favor one over the other because I don't care about them for anything else other than their lore. I do, however, find Severus's lore very interesting, and I tend to pay attention to him more than other characters in this series.

No back to what I was originally going to say: Pantsing is a weird thing to do, and it's even weirder to excuse it as something casually done between prepubescent, stinky, boisterous boys. I grew up in the States, and unfortunately for me, I still live there. I can't explain how many times I've seen pantsing be done on teenage TV shows as comedy relief, or as a way to make the bully really seem like a bully.

But here's the thing, though. It's always seen as bad, even though it's comedic relief. The person who has been pantsed ends up feeling horrible, embarrassed, or humiliated, and the crowd would feel for that person because they understand how it feels to be in that position. It's assault - sexual? Perhaps. It's still assault, nothing changes that.

And the other thing is, these people aren't saying that James or Sirius aren't bad people - they are well aware that they are, but what they're worried about is how some others with similar experiences label what happened to Snape. My question is: why do they care? Why are they so bothered? Even if either of them went through s/a, which, unfortunately, is a common thing to happen to people these days, of course, they'll have different views on the matter. But to start arguing with people, calling them rude things because of something they don't agree with...it's just tasteless and classless. That's all from me.

- An0n. ps, pantsing is a cowardly trick. One only idiots practice to feel less inferior.

My issue with these people is that they don’t understand that their point of view is irrelevant when it comes to categorizing an offense or a crime. This isn’t about perceptions or morality—it’s about facts.

When I talk about violence or the bullying Severus suffered, especially the pantsing scene, I’m not speaking from the projection of my own traumas (I never experienced bullying, either in school or university) or from things I’ve witnessed in my life (I’m from Spain, and doing something like that is in no way normal here). I’m speaking from my perspective as someone who works in the field of criminal law.

These people have the audacity to claim it wasn’t sexual assault because there wasn’t sexual intent, and that strikes me as extremely dangerous because crimes of a sexual nature are not based on the intent of the aggressor but on the perception of the victim. If the victim feels their privacy has been violated, then it can be reported as a sexual offense. There’s a lot of legislation about this, and a sexual offense doesn’t always have to be rape or an attempted rape. There’s an enormous spectrum of sexual crimes, ranging from being a creep to, yes, forcibly stripping someone in public.

So I don’t care what these people say because facts are facts. If someone grabs my breast, for instance, maybe they didn’t mean to harm me, but I consider it an assault. We don’t care about the aggressor’s intent. Intent and premeditation are factors taken into account to add or reduce weight to a verdict, nothing more. It’s incredibly dangerous to claim something isn’t abuse if the abuser “didn’t mean to,” because how many women report assaults, and no one listens to them because the aggressor is their partner and they were supposedly having an intimate moment? How many abusers or rapists claim they genuinely thought the victim wanted it? Before talking about such serious topics, these people really need to educate themselves, because every time they open their mouths, it’s just absurd.

Then there’s the argument that justifies the act by saying Severus invented the spell. So what? That’s irrelevant. That’s like saying if I get assaulted at night and someone kills me with a knife I was carrying, it’s my fault for carrying the knife. Do these people even hear themselves?

I think their reactions are rooted in the fact that, in their minds, they can justify bullying. They can say, “It’s no big deal; lots of people bully others and then change.” But it’s much harder to confront being a fan of a character who has committed sexual assault, because that’s a very serious and deeply immoral concept. They feel triggered and personally attacked by this. But they’ll have to live with it because it’s a fact. And no matter how many times you repeat a lie, it doesn’t become the truth.

[fairestbeard]

Every song counts on The Bear.

Note: This is adding to what @ambeauty posted about Sydcarmy songs and how music serves as part of the story telling.

We all know that music is a very necessary part of television or any kind of motion picture for that matter, if for nothing else, for its aesthetic value. But many times it goes way beyond the aesthetics- it contributes to the mood, depth and even acts as a narrative device.

The Bear nails down the latter perfectly. Music in The Bear is not to be overlooked at all. It is in itself a conveyor of not just mood, depth and narration – but intention. It lets you know what these mostly quiet (haha) voices are really trying to say. It spells out the between the lines.

Storer establishes this firmly in The Bear’s pilot System. They come out swinging with giving us the music as its own voice.

After Carmy’s very lovely, not at all disturbing dream, we’re plunged right into his immediate, very frantic world at The Beef with “new noise” which later blends in perfectly with “old engine oil” while he tries to innovate in the midst of lack. The music is chaotic, it’s urgent. There’s Carmy running against time contrasted with visuals of old photos- time passed. There are no words but the music tells you that what’s happening here is an attempt to blend new ideas into an old system. The moment he catches a break, everything goes quiet.

After meeting with Syd and receiving some confidence boosting last words, Carmy is back in the kitchen to give some orders and get the day rolling. Don’t Give A Damn by Serengeti starts playing. Here’s part of the lyrics:

I personally view Serengeti’s music as Carmy’s main voice for season 1 (because it reads very stream-of-consciousness, is very attuned with his struggles of the day lyrically and always plays when he needs to be in control of the kitchen). Meanwhile he faces a lot of objections to the changes he’s trying to make but he is standing his ground. You can tell he doesn't have the utmost respect of the people he is dealing with but it’s clear that he’s the one in charge, regardless. The dominant voice. Until Richie appears, that is.

The change in the atmosphere as Richie enters The Beef is so jarring. It is immediately obvious that he's the favorite of the two in that kitchen. A new rock and roll song overpowers Serengeti (I tried to find out what song that was without any success). Notice how when they go into the walk in away from everyone else except Syd, the music goes quiet.

After Carmy takes a good shot at Richie with the subject of inheritance, Serengeti (Don’t Blame Steve) starts playing and a battle of voices and sounds ensue. It’s white millennial rap vs Gen X rock and roll and each song gets louder and dominates when the respective character is making their argument. This time Richie comes out on top, having the last word. Carmy is looking humiliated in front of his girl his new employee while Richie's Gen X rock and roll closes out the scene.

Later, when Carmy taste tests the new sandwich with The Beef staff, the same mix of “new noise” and “old engine oil" plays again in the same mix.

Also we see Tina trying to assert herself as well by putting on her own music on the stereo but Syd shuts it down immediately by manually turning it off, kind of foretelling how their own relationship will go.

The Bear wants you to understand that the music is saying something. It’s a part of the story in such an integral way. So we always have to take into consideration what the music is implying in any given scene. Storer is letting you know there’s nothing wasted, there’s nothing offhand.

Everything is intentional.

[earthlybeam]

The reader (you) , with your bratty personality, loved teasing the elves. You always find ways to get their attention at the most inconvenient times, often by reaching out to touch the elf’s sensitive ears. (For the elves, it was more than just a simple touch—such actions were seen as intimate, a signal of courting, and a serious one at that also incredibly sensitive to pain and pleasure. If the reader (you) didn’t get the response you wanted, you’d torment the elf’s ears further, pinching or tugging until their target finally relented. You knew just how to push their buttons—always with a smile and a glint of mischief in their eyes.)

Gil-Galad, Thranduil, Elrond, Celeborn version below.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad was no stranger to the burdens of leadership. As the High King of the Noldor, the weight of the crown often pressed heavily on his shoulders. He was accustomed to being in control, to having his decisions made with unwavering precision, and his commands followed with absolute loyalty. His days were filled with strategy, diplomacy, and endless matters of state, leaving little room for distractions. But you—you, with that mischievous glint in your eye—seemed determined to be the exception. He was used to the quiet hum of his court, the careful, polite whispers of his council members, the solemn discussions that shaped the fate of Middle-earth. He had learned to maintain a stoic calm in the face of countless pressures. But you—you had a way of unraveling his composure, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but the heat of your teasing touches.

Today was no different. As he stood on the balcony, gazing out over Lindon, deep in thought about the future of his people, he felt it. The familiar sensation—the lightest brush of fingertips against the edge of his ear. His sensitive elven ears twitched involuntarily, a small gasp escaping his lips before he could stop it. The touch was innocent enough, playful even. But he knew what it meant—knew that you had every intention of making a game out of it. Turning his head slowly, Gil-galad’s eyes found you standing just out of reach, feigning innocence. His gaze narrowed, and despite his better judgment, a small, indulgent smile tugged at his lips. “Are you so certain that you want my attention, little one?” His voice was calm, but there was a trace of warning beneath the surface.

You couldn’t help it. There was something so satisfying about making Gil-galad lose that composure of his. For all his wisdom, his age, his power—he was still, in some ways, just like any other Elf, sensitive in ways he didn’t want to admit. And those ears? Oh, you knew exactly what a simple touch could do. You’d watched him closely, noticed how his ear would twitch when you brushed too close. How his expression would falter, just a fraction, when your fingers lingered on that delicate, pointed curve. His stoic façade might fool many, but you had the key to unlocking something deeper, something raw beneath that calm exterior. With a grin that barely restrained your mischievous intent, you took a step closer. He was standing there, too absorbed in his thoughts—so serene, so dignified—and you had no intentions of letting him stay that way. You reached up, pinching one of his ears, the motion quick and sharp, just enough to make his jaw tighten. His immediate reaction was almost imperceptible—a tightening of his lips, the briefest flicker in his eye. But you had felt it. You had seen it. He was trying so hard to remain stoic. “Careful, my King,” you whispered teasingly. “You wouldn’t want to lose that composure, would you?”

The pinch sent a sharp jolt through Gil-galad’s ear, and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a slow breath to steady himself. How bold you were. You knew exactly how to push him, to provoke him, and in such a way that he could hardly stop you. The delicate skin of his ear was more sensitive than most would realize—and you knew that. Too well, he thought. “Enough,” he murmured, though his tone carried a softness that betrayed his usual authority. His eyes softened ever so slightly, but there was an edge to his words, a warning that came with the weight of being a king. “You do not want to test my patience, my little flower.” But, of course, you did not relent. You never did. A second later, his ear was subjected to your playful torment once again—a quick pinch, then a teasing brush that made him flinch. His breath hitched before he could fully mask it. It was maddening how you always seemed to find the perfect moment to push him to the edge. He stood still, his hand clenched by his side in an effort to maintain some semblance of control, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

You were relentless, always just out of reach, always knowing how far you could push him before his control slipped away. His gaze flickered to yours—dark eyes filled with a quiet command, though a trace of something else lingered there, something unspoken. “Do not tempt me,” he growled, his voice low and almost dangerous, the edges of his usual calm fraying as his patience began to thin. The flicker of vulnerability in his voice made you smile. It was too tempting. His authority was always present, a constant weight upon his shoulders, but that look—that brief moment where he faltered—it was priceless. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the strength of his restraint warring with the pull of your teasing.

“Oh? Am I tempting you, my King?” you replied with a soft chuckle, stepping closer, just a whisper of space between you. You didn’t touch him, not yet, but you hovered near him, close enough to make him feel your presence, feel the pull of your proximity. His stoic face remained carefully neutral, but you could hear the slight hitch in his breath as you hovered near his ear. You brushed your fingers lightly along the curve of his ear again, just enough to make him feel it, just enough to make him fight to maintain his composure. Gil-galad’s gaze narrowed, his muscles tensing at your every move. His lips pressed together tightly, and you could see the faintest tremor in his jaw. He was trying so hard to remain composed, to hold onto that elusive control, but you could sense the undercurrent of tension in him, the subtle flicker of his resolve weakening with each passing moment. The smallest of movements—a barely noticeable shift in his posture—betrayed the struggle within him.

“Gil-galad,” you murmured, leaning in a little closer, your breath warm against his ear. “I only want to play. A little teasing never hurt anyone, has it?”His heart beat faster, but Gil-galad didn’t let it show. Damn you, he thought, yet he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching in a near-smile. The battle for composure was growing harder by the second. Every time your fingers brushed against his ear, every light touch, it felt like a thousand whispers all at once. He had lived for centuries—he was a king, an ancient elf, and yet you, with your bratty little games, had a way of unraveling him that no foe ever could. His patience, once as steady as the mountains, was eroding. Slipping away like the sands of time. “Enough,” he repeated, his voice still steady but laced with something far less certain. A soft tremor was hidden beneath the calm façade as his hand reached up, almost involuntarily, brushing the side of his ear where your fingers had just been. The gesture betrayed the subtle storm brewing within him. His body was betraying him, and it irritated him more than he cared to admit. “You test me, little one,” he said, his words thick with something deeper now—something affectionate, despite the strained composure he was desperately trying to cling to.

His eyes found yours, dark and smoldering, eyes that burned with both authority and something much more dangerous—an edge of challenge, of desire, that he hadn’t shown you before. The king was gone for a moment, replaced by something far more personal, far more exposed. And before you could react, his hand moved again, reaching out to cup your chin gently, lifting your face so your eyes could meet his, locking with yours in a way that sent a surge of heat through your body. “If this is how you wish to earn my attention, then so be it,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, a playful thread woven into the depth of his words. “But you must know, I am no stranger to games of my own. And I always play to win.”

You could feel it then—the challenge. You’d pushed him, unraveling his composed façade, and now he had you right where he wanted you. That calm, regal authority was still there, but beneath it, something new simmered—something that you hadn’t seen before. The eyes that once seemed so distant, so distant and cold, were now filled with a raw intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His words, laced with such quiet power, rang in your ears, and you realized with a thrill that the game had changed. Now, you were both players in this dance of seduction and challenge. You met his gaze, daring and unyielding, but there was a hint of uncertainty in you, a slight tremor in your chest that you would not allow him to see. You knew he had been affected, perhaps more than he cared to admit, and that gave you all the power you needed. The satisfaction of knowing you had drawn him in—drawn him to this point—was worth everything.

“Then play, my King,” you whispered, your voice low, with a daring smile tugging at the corners of your lips, letting him decide how the game would unfold from here. You could feel the heat between you, the challenge that stretched like a taut wire between you both, just waiting for one of you to pull. You had drawn him into this dance, and now the steps were his to lead. But deep down, neither of you needed to say it aloud—this was far from over. Neither of you had the intention of stopping. The game had only just begun. Gil-galad’s breath caught at your words. There it was, the challenge that he had been holding back, the undeniable invitation that left him both exhilarated and dangerously intrigued. You had called his bluff, and now there was nothing left to do but follow through with the game. The fire in his chest was growing, stoking his desire to see just how far you would push him—and how much of him you could make him lose control of.

His eyes never left yours as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking in a way that felt inevitable. His body was taut, like a bowstring drawn too tight, and the faintest flicker of something darker lingered in his expression—something raw, something almost primal. “You will learn, little one,” he murmured, his voice now thick with promise. He moved as if the world itself had slowed, every step measured and deliberate. His hand brushed lightly against your cheek before his fingers slid down, grazing the curve of your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. His touch was gentle—deceptively so—but the heat in his gaze was undeniable, a flame that danced behind his cool composure. The moment stretched, taut like a drawn bow, and he leaned in close, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Do you know what you’ve done?” His words were low, hushed, barely a breath against your skin, but they held weight—he was no longer the High King of Lindon, the untouchable ruler. Now, he was something more dangerous, more tangled in this game than you could have imagined. You had pulled him in, and now, in the space between desire and restraint, he wasn’t certain who was winning. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, despite the intensity of the moment. He couldn’t help but admire your audacity, how you still stood your ground even as the storm between you both built. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, his grip not harsh, but enough to keep you where he wanted you. Close. “You’ve awakened something, and now I intend to see it through.”

His lips, hovering just above your own, were a breath away, but he didn’t kiss you. No, he was letting the anticipation stretch, letting the power shift in his favor. His other hand brushed against your ear once more, this time with far more intention, as if to remind you of just how sensitive he was—of just how far he would let you push before he decided to take control. Your teasing had worked, but now, the stakes had changed. There was no going back from this. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warned, his lips curling into a smile that was as much a challenge as it was a promise. “But I warn you, I don’t lose.” It was a statement, but it held something deeper. Something intimate, something that carried the weight of more than just words. Gil-galad leaned back slightly, his hand still resting on your neck, his thumb brushing gently over the curve of your skin. The control was back in his hands, but the tension between you still crackled like an electric charge, both of you knowing that the game was far from finished. The power was shifting, but neither of you was ready to give up just yet. His gaze swept over your features once more, his smile still lingering. “You’ve played your hand, little one,” he said softly. “Now, let’s see how you respond when the game shifts in my favor.” And with that, he moved, a step closer, as if to close the distance between your lips with a kiss that was still just out of reach.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

Thranduil sat at his desk, the dim light of his study flickering softly against the walls, casting long shadows. His fingers moved across ancient maps and scrolls, the weight of centuries of leadership heavy in his thoughts. Mirkwood was calm—too calm. His mind was always occupied with the threats that loomed at the edges of his kingdom, but tonight, he was lost in the minutiae of strategy and diplomacy. The faintest sound of light footfalls reached his ears, but he didn’t lift his gaze from the scroll in front of him. He had learned over the years that Mirkwood was full of intrusions, both from the forest and from within his own halls. Still, something in the air felt different.

You crept into his study with the same mischievous glint in your eyes that had earned you both admiration and frustration from the Elven king. Thranduil hadn’t noticed you approach at first, so focused was he on his work, but that only gave you the advantage. You hovered behind his chair for a moment, taking in the sight of the king as he immersed himself in his responsibilities. His hair, long and flowing like silver threads of moonlight, framed his strong features, his brow furrowed with concentration. The sharpness of his gaze, even when unfocused, was enough to make anyone stand at attention—but you were not just anyone. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his shoulders slightly tensed whenever you were near. And you had a particular fondness for that subtle vulnerability, for the way he resisted, and yet seemed to appreciate your antics.

Reaching forward slowly, your fingers brushed against the tips of his elven ears, and you felt him freeze immediately. The slight tremor of his body was all the confirmation you needed to know that, yes, the rumors were true. The sensitivity of an elf’s ears was nothing to be trifled with. At first, you didn’t press it. You simply caressed the delicate points of his ears with a feather-light touch, the softness of his skin beneath your fingers sending a shiver down your spine. His breath hitched ever so slightly, but his voice remained steady as he continued working, his posture betraying his growing awareness of your presence. “Did you need something?” Thranduil’s voice was quiet, but there was an underlying strain in it, as though he were trying to maintain his composure despite your proximity.

You smiled, a devious twinkle in your eye as you leaned in just a little closer. “Oh, nothing in particular,” you said softly, your breath barely a whisper against his ear. “I was just thinking… how long will it take before you give me your full attention?” You pinched his ear gently, just enough to make the skin flush beneath your fingers. Thranduil’s body tensed almost imperceptibly, and you could see the corner of his lip twitch in irritation. He slowly lowered the scroll in his hand, his gaze sharpening with a mix of wariness and amusement as he looked up at you, finally turning his head. “You have an insufferable way of getting what you want, don’t you?”

The words were tinged with both exasperation and something else—perhaps a touch of fascination, though he would never admit it. You loved how he tried to stay composed, how he fought against your little games, but you knew him well enough by now. Thranduil might be a king, but he was also an elf, and underneath that regal facade, he was not immune to temptation. You didn’t wait for a response, instead choosing to torment him further. You pinched his ear again, this time a little firmer, twisting it with a deliberate movement. His breath faltered, and his hand clenched the arm of his chair. “You’re being quite cruel,” he muttered, but there was a note of frustration creeping into his voice. He didn’t move to stop you, though. Instead, his sharp eyes narrowed as he studied you—waiting, perhaps hoping that you’d stop, but knowing, too, that you wouldn’t.

“Am I?” you teased, pressing your thumb to the edge of his ear and giving it another, more insistent pinch. “You seem to like it, though.” Your fingers danced along the sensitive tip, and you felt him shift beneath your touch, his chest rising and falling slightly faster. Thranduil’s eyes flickered to your hand, and his lip curled ever so slightly. The King of Mirkwood had his pride, and even in this vulnerable moment, he wasn’t one to beg or show weakness. But you could tell his patience was fraying. His grip on the chair tightened, and there was a quiet warning in his voice as he spoke again. “I am not one to be trifled with, little one.” The words were clipped, but there was an undertone of something deeper. Desire, perhaps. Or simply the need to regain control. You leaned in close again, the tip of your nose brushing against the side of his face as you whispered, “We’ll see about that.”

Thranduil’s breath caught in his throat as the sharp, unexpected pinch of his ear jolted him from his thoughts. His eyes, usually steady and calculating, flickered with a moment of vulnerability, and he couldn’t suppress the soft, involuntary hiss that escaped his lips. He had never quite expected this from you—the delicate balance of teasing and torment. You had crossed a line now, and the energy between you crackled with a dangerous tension. His pride, unshakable and centuries-old, flared, and yet, a deeper part of him, something raw and instinctive, stirred to life. It wasn’t pain he felt—not exactly. The sensation was sharp, yes, but something else lingered too: the unsettling pulse of his own body responding to your touch. The way his ears burned under your fingertips, how the very edge of the discomfort had a strange, intoxicating edge to it, unlike anything he had ever allowed to happen. And now, here you were, smirking at him with that unmistakable gleam in your eyes, knowing exactly what you had done.

“You,” he growled, his voice dropping lower, filled with a dangerous calm, a blend of amusement and something darker. “You will regret this, little one.” He didn’t need to see you to know that you were savoring this moment. You always seemed to delight in seeing him on the edge of something he couldn’t quite control. You were like that—a force of nature, wild and mischievous, playing with him like a cat with a mouse. But Thranduil, the King of Mirkwood, never let a game slip from his grasp, and he wasn’t going to start now. Your smirk widened just a fraction, the gleam in your eyes only deepening as you leaned back slightly to admire your work. You had gotten under his skin. You had made him feel something he wasn’t used to feeling, and for a brief moment, it unsettled him. He had never thought his weakness—his ear, his damnable sensitivity—would be exposed like this, let alone by someone who took such delight in tormenting it.

Your gaze didn’t waver from his, the challenge clear in your posture. The tension built as Thranduil’s lips parted, eyes flashing dangerously. This wasn’t a moment of weakness. It wasn’t pain that gripped him, but something else, something far more complicated. His hand rose, almost too quickly, his fingers latching onto your wrist with an unexpected force. He didn’t yank you, but there was no denying the strength in his grip, the way it seemed to hold you in place as his presence towered over you. He could have simply taken your hand away, could have made this interaction nothing more than a swift rebuke, but no—Thranduil wasn’t one to be disrespected without consequence, especially when it came to something as intimate as his ear.

“You think you can play with me like this, little one?” His voice was a low murmur, but it carried a power that made your heart beat a little faster. “Let us see how well you handle my attention.” The words were carefully chosen, as if to remind you that this wasn’t a simple game. He was the king, the one who commanded Mirkwood, who had spent centuries as both a ruler and a protector of his people. But in that moment, you weren’t thinking of any of that. You were thinking of how the game had shifted. How the roles had reversed, and now, Thranduil was the one who had been provoked. You could see it in the way his lips curved slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t just annoyance that flickered in his eyes—it was interest. A challenge.

You didn’t flinch. In fact, your lips curled into a slight smirk of your own as you met his gaze, unflinching and confident, like you were in control of the situation. You had provoked him, and you knew he was no longer the one unaffected. You had caught his attention, and that was a dangerous thing for both of you. His fingers remained tightly wound around your wrist, but his touch was controlled, deliberate, as if marking his territory, asserting his dominance in this little game. And yet, there was a flicker of something else in his expression—a deeper curiosity, even a hunger, that you had never seen in him before. It wasn’t just about punishment anymore. No, this was more complicated. He was intrigued by you. You had made him feel something raw, something old and long buried, and now, you had his full attention. You swallowed, but still, you didn’t break eye contact. The challenge had been issued. It was no longer just about the playful teasing or your little games. Thranduil’s attention was now focused entirely on you, and you had the feeling this would no longer be as easy as you expected. The game had begun, but now, it was a game of give and take. And you? You were ready for whatever came next.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

The tranquil halls of Rivendell hummed with the gentle whispers of flowing water and rustling leaves, a sanctuary of peace and beauty. Yet, in one particular study, serenity was far from the prevailing mood. There, at his grand oak desk, Lord Elrond sat, his elegant quill scratching steadily over a parchment filled with intricate Elven script. The lord of Imladris was the picture of focus, his noble features serene as the golden light of the afternoon filtered through the arched windows. Unfortunately for him, you were also in the room. You were standing not far behind his chair, arms crossed, lips twisted in a playful pout. The stillness of the room was only broken by the soft rustling of parchment as Elrond worked, lost in whatever task had so firmly claimed his attention. The sight of his perfect composure, the calm yet powerful figure of the lord, only fueled your impatience. He had been like this for hours, completely immersed in his work—totally ignoring you.

With a dramatic sigh, you leaned slightly forward, careful not to disturb his quiet routine too much. “Elrond,” you began, dragging his name in a playful sing-song that was sure to catch his attention. You could see his shoulders tense just slightly in acknowledgment. “How long must you sit there ignoring me? You’ve been staring at those scrolls for hours. Do you even know I’m here?” Elrond’s hand paused for a brief moment, his quill hovering just above the parchment. His focus shifted, but only just. Without looking up from the words he was writing, he responded, his voice calm, but laced with that familiar, measured elegance. “I am well aware of your presence, Mellon nín. However, this task demands my attention.” You scoffed lightly, knowing full well that his response was nothing more than an attempt at deflection. His voice was smooth, practiced, but you could feel the tiniest hint of his own frustration under the surface. “More than I do?” you teased, arching an eyebrow, stepping a little closer, your gaze fixated on him with an impish glint. He didn’t look up, but there was the faintest shift in his posture, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips. “Patience is a virtue, my dear,” he replied, a quiet warmth in his voice. You pursed your lips and planted your hands on your hips. “Patience is overrated.” The words slipped out with a confident, almost bratty edge, an open challenge. But as you spoke, your eyes wandered. You watched him, the lord of Rivendell, so poised and composed. And then, there it was—the delicate curve of his ear, just peeking through the dark strands of his silken hair.

It was a sight that you had grown to recognize. His ears, those slender points, were not just a distinguishing feature of his race but something deeply personal. To touch them, especially the sensitive tips, was an intimate gesture for an elf. So many unspoken things were tied to that one action, and you couldn’t help but wonder how far you could push him before his patience gave way. The mischievous spark in your eyes grew as the idea took root. If you won’t give me attention willingly, I’ll just have to take it. Your steps were light, but deliberate as you moved behind his chair. His attention was still on the parchment, but you knew—he knows. His incredible hearing, that gift of Elven sensitivity, had undoubtedly already sensed your movement, the slight shift of your presence. Leaning in just a fraction closer, you reached forward, your fingers brushing against the fine, soft strands of his hair. Elrond did not stir, but you could see his ear twitch slightly, ever so subtly. You smiled inwardly. With a barely audible breath, you pinched the very tip of his ear. Elrond’s response was immediate. His quill stopped mid-motion, hovering above the parchment, and his hand froze. His body stilled for a heartbeat, a slight tremor passing through him. The air between you thickened, and you could feel the weight of his attention slowly shifting from his work to you. His sharp, clear eyes widened in surprise for the briefest of moments, before narrowing with a subtle warning. A soft, almost imperceptible intake of breath left his lips as his gaze flickered to you over his shoulder, catching the playful glint in your eyes.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. You could sense him holding his breath, weighing his options. He was torn between annoyance and amusement—torn between the responsibility he bore as the Lord of Rivendell and his inability to deny his body’s reaction to your touch. Elven ears were a sensitive thing—sensitive to both pleasure and pain—and you had expertly walked the fine line between them. His tone, when it came, was low but edged with a warning. “(Y/N), do you truly wish to test me today?” His voice was calm, measured, but there was a flicker of something deeper in the depths of his gaze, something that made your heart beat a little faster.

Feigning innocence, you took a small step back, holding your hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. “Test you? I’d never,” you replied, your voice dripping with mock sweetness, a layer of innocence laid over your mischievous grin. But your eyes—your eyes betrayed you. The glint in them, the playfulness in the curve of your lips, revealed everything that needed no words. Elrond’s gaze softened, but only briefly. There was a softness in his eyes that spoke of a long history of affection, but beneath that, there was something more—a challenge in his stance, a resolve that only you could bring to the surface. He leaned back slightly in his chair, the corners of his mouth curving up just enough to betray his amusement, though the challenge in his eyes remained unyielding. “You are truly a handful, Mellon nín,” he murmured, and there was something almost affectionate in the way he said it. But the look he gave you was a clear warning. You knew this game wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

Before Elrond could return to his work, you reached out again, this time brushing your fingers along the smooth curve of his ear. The response was immediate—his body stiffened, his back straightened with military precision, and his lips pressed into a thin, controlled line. His elegant features, usually so composed, wavered just for a moment, and the tips of his ears turned a faint shade of pink, a silent admission of how deeply your touch affected him. His sharp eyes darted to you, and for a brief second, you thought you saw a flicker of vulnerability there—something that made the ever-dignified lord seem a touch more… mortal. He caught his breath, as if unsure whether to scold you or indulge your playful torment. “(Y/N),” he said, his voice deeper now, laced with an undeniable warning. “You know how delicate a matter this is. Touching an elf’s ears…” His words trailed off, the weight of his knowledge pressing down. “Oh, I know,” you interrupted, not giving him a chance to finish. A mischievous grin spread across your lips as you leaned in closer. “That’s exactly why it’s so much fun,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper, but laced with just enough intent to make the air between you thick with playful tension.

Elrond’s gaze sharpened, his lips curving into a subtle frown, but there was a spark in his eyes that betrayed a hint of curiosity. “Fun, you say?” His voice held the faintest note of disbelief. “Mm-hmm.” You leaned in even closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re so serious all the time, Elrond. I think you need someone to remind you how to have a little fun now and then.” You saw the slight tension in his jaw as he exhaled softly, resigning himself to the fact that you would not be easily deterred. He set his quill down with exaggerated care, each movement deliberate, as though the moment required his utmost attention. Then, turning in his chair to face you fully, he clasped his hands together, folding them on his lap, his posture one of restrained patience. “And you believe this is the way to achieve that?” he asked, his tone gentle but pointed. You tilted your head, feigning a thoughtful expression. “Well,” you said, drawing out the word, “you leave me no choice. If you won’t look away from your work, I have to get your attention somehow.” Elrond’s lips twitched ever so slightly, and though his gaze remained sharp, there was something in his eyes—something warmer, perhaps even fond—that softened the edges of his irritation. “You are incorrigible,” he muttered with a quiet chuckle, the words losing their sting when paired with the faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe,” you said with a casual shrug, grinning unabashedly. “But you love it.” Before he could offer a retort, you moved again, quicker this time, your fingers catching the soft curve of his ear once more. The moment you made contact, you saw his entire body react—his posture faltered, and his breath hitched sharply, his chest rising and falling just a little faster. His cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, more pronounced now, as though the warmth from your touch had burned straight through his usually composed exterior. With a swift, decisive motion, Elrond reached up to capture your hand in his, his grip firm but not harsh. “That is quite enough,” he said, his voice low and rich, a commanding undertone settling in that was impossible to ignore. There was a promise in his words—something that hinted at retribution, and yet, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder if he enjoyed this little game. “Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning in close enough to see the faintest, barely-contained smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Admit it—you like it when I keep you on your toes.” Elrond’s grey eyes, which usually carried the weight of centuries of wisdom, softened just a fraction, and for a brief moment, he looked younger—almost playful. The flicker of something mischievous sparked in his gaze, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a tender patience. “What I like,” he said softly, his voice taking on a more indulgent tone, though it still held the weight of that quiet exasperation, “is a challenge. And you, Mellon nín, are most certainly that.”

Triumph surged in your chest at his words, and you flashed him a cocky grin. “So I win?” Elrond’s lips curved upward in the barest of smiles, and his gaze held a knowing gleam, one that suggested you may have won this small victory, but the war was far from over. “Hardly,” he said, his tone a blend of fondness and mild reproach. Before you could process his words, Elrond stood up from his chair with fluid grace, his tall, elegant frame towering over you. You didn’t have a chance to react before he leaned down, his face just inches from yours. The sheer closeness of him—the warmth of his breath mingling with yours—was enough to send your pulse racing. His expression was calm, but his eyes glinted with something far more dangerous, something playful. “You forget, my dear,” he said softly, his voice like velvet as it wrapped around you. “An elf always has the upper hand.” The words held a knowing finality, a promise that you weren’t as in control as you thought. And before you could respond, Elrond’s hand moved, swift as a shadow, brushing the side of your neck with a feather-light touch—deliberately echoing the torment you had visited on his ear. The sensation was electric, the light touch sending a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but gasp at the unexpected shock of it.

Elrond’s smile deepened as he straightened, leaving you breathless and momentarily off balance. “You see?” he said, his voice victorious. “Two can play at this game.” You glared at him, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. He had turned the tables, and he knew it. His composure was impeccable once again, his features settling back into the calm, regal manner of the Lord of Rivendell. But you saw the smirk on his face, the faintest spark of amusement in his eyes. “Well played,” you admitted grudgingly, your voice a mix of admiration and frustration. “Indeed,” he replied, his voice rich with approval, as he resumed his seat at the desk. He paused for a moment, allowing the tension between you to linger before he spoke again, his tone no less authoritative. “Now, if you are quite finished with your antics, perhaps I can return to my work?” You crossed your arms, huffing in mock indignation. Yet, the glimmer of affection in his eyes softened the blow of his words. Despite everything, despite his firm stance, you could see how much he cared for you in the small, fleeting expressions that he couldn’t quite mask. You’d let him win this round—but only because you were already planning your next move. And this game, you knew, was far from over.

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

The golden light of Lothlórien filtered softly through the canopy above, dappling Celeborn’s study with patches of warm sunlight. You sat across the room, your chin propped up on your hand as you watched him work. His posture was impeccable as always, back straight, shoulders relaxed, every movement precise as he dipped his quill into the inkpot and scrawled elegant script onto the parchment. His silver hair shimmered like liquid starlight, cascading over his shoulders in waves. At first, the sight was mesmerizing—a portrait of elven grace and focus. But the novelty wore off quickly. The silence stretched on, broken only by the occasional scratch of the quill or the soft rustle of paper. You sighed dramatically, shifting in your seat to make your presence known, but Celeborn remained unbothered, his eyes fixed on his work. The boredom began to creep in, your fingers drumming absently on the armrest of your chair. You studied him closely, your gaze wandering over the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the slight furrow of his brow as he concentrated. Then your eyes settled on his ears—delicate, pointed, and oh-so-tempting.

You knew enough of elven customs to understand the significance of touching them. Their sensitivity was almost legendary, and to an elf, their ears were as intimate as any touch to the heart. It was precisely why you couldn’t resist. The thought of flustering Celeborn—who was always so composed and regal—sent a mischievous thrill through you. Your lips curled into a sly smile as you shifted in your seat, leaning forward slightly. He didn’t notice. The perfect target. The quill moved steadily in his hand, and his focus remained entirely on the parchment in front of him. Oh, you’d fix that. Your hand darted out, your fingers aiming straight for the pointed tip of his ear, unable to resist the challenge of breaking through that impeccable calm. The smirk widened on your face as you anticipated his reaction, and the game began.

The tranquil stillness of Lothlórien was interrupted not by the sound of an intruding force, nor the rustling of the leaves underfoot, but by a soft, unexpected pinch on Celeborn’s ear. The Sindarin lord paused mid-sentence, his voice faltering as he attempted to resume the careful dictation of a letter to one of his allies. His quill hovered over the parchment, ink threatening to drip onto the pristine surface. A faint pink blush dusted his cheeks, but his expression betrayed nothing more than mild annoyance. Slowly, Celeborn turned his head, his silver hair brushing over his shoulders like flowing water, only to find you perched nearby, a smirk playing across your lips. “Must you?” he asked, his voice even but carrying an undertone of exasperation. “I must,” you replied, your fingers reaching out to tweak the delicate tip of his ear again, your grin widening when he flinched. “You’ve been sitting there for hours, Celeborn. Scribbling letters. Talking to yourself. Boring. I’m rescuing you.”

Celeborn let out a long-suffering sigh, the kind that only someone with millennia of patience could muster. “These letters are of grave importance,” he reminded you, shifting slightly to move his ear out of your reach. His tone was measured and calm, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest flicker of amusement. “And I am not so easily distracted.” You raised a brow, your bratty demeanor gleaming with mischief. “Oh, I disagree. I think you’re very easily distracted,” you said, leaning closer until you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Especially when it comes to these.” Your fingers danced toward his ear again, and this time, you lightly traced the pointed tip. Celeborn froze, his body going rigid, the quill slipping from his grasp to land unceremoniously on the desk. His breath hitched, the tiniest sound escaping his lips—a mixture of surprise and irritation, though there was no disguising the faint shiver that coursed through him.

“Stop that,” he said, his voice slightly strained. His usual unflappable composure was beginning to crack, and the sight of it only encouraged you further. “Stop what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side. Your fingers returned, pinching the soft cartilage gently before trailing downward. “This? Or this?” Celeborn’s hand shot up to catch yours, his grip firm but not forceful. His cool gray eyes locked onto yours, the faintest spark of warning in their depths. “You know precisely what you are doing,” he said, his tone low but steady. “And you know precisely what I want,” you countered, not pulling away from his grasp. You leaned in, close enough that your breath tickled his cheek. “A little attention. That’s all. Is it so much to ask?”

“You have my attention,” Celeborn replied, though his voice betrayed just how much effort it took to maintain his calm. “And I would appreciate it if you did not assault my ears in the process.” “Assault?” you repeated with mock outrage, laughing softly. “I think you like it. Your ears don’t lie, Celeborn—they’re turning red.” He let out a slow breath, his grip on your hand loosening just slightly. “My kins ears are sensitive,” he said, his voice dropping to a quieter tone, as if that fact was not already glaringly obvious. “And you are testing my patience.”

“Patience is overrated,” you said breezily, your free hand darting forward to trace the outer curve of his other ear. His reaction was immediate—his shoulders stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Enough,” he said, and this time there was a distinct note of command in his voice. His hand released yours as he turned in his chair to face you fully, his silver hair cascading over his shoulders. Though his expression remained composed, there was a faint intensity in his gaze now, a hint of something sharper beneath his calm exterior. But you were not deterred. If anything, his reaction only fueled your mischief. “Make me stop,” you teased, leaning back just slightly, though your fingers still hovered near his ear, ready to strike again at a moment’s notice.

Celeborn studied you for a long moment, his keen eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing his options. Then, in a move so swift it caught you off guard, he reached out and caught both your wrists in his hands. His grip was gentle but firm, unyielding as he pulled you closer until there was barely any space between you. “You are relentless,” he said, his voice soft but laced with a quiet authority that made your heart skip a beat. “But if you wish for my attention so badly, you need only ask for it. There is no need for this… torment.” Your smirk faltered for a moment, his closeness and the intensity of his gaze sending a thrill down your spine. But you quickly recovered, leaning in with a playful glint in your eye. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Celeborn sighed again, though this time there was a faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You are incorrigible,” he said, releasing your wrists but not leaning back. Instead, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering for just a moment. “Perhaps,” you admitted, your tone softening just slightly. “But you love it.” Celeborn’s gaze softened, his serene composure returning as he regarded you with a mixture of affection and exasperation. “I have endured much in my long years,” he said, a faint smile finally breaking through. “But you, I think, will be the greatest test of my patience yet.” “Good,” you said, your grin returning as you leaned back, victorious. “I’d hate to be boring.” As Celeborn returned to his letters, you couldn’t help but notice the faintest twitch of his ears as he tried—unsuccessfully—to ignore the way your eyes lingered on him. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as unflappable as he liked to pretend.

[freewilllife]

Thank you for sharing your thoughts! So far as my understanding was, Hua Cheng challenged those officials right after he exited Mount Tonglu as a supreme so that would put it a little over a decade, I guess? Additionally, Mu Qing remembers the exact wording Xie Lian asked him that day more than 800 years later (see the scene at the lava before XL rescuing him) so I do think this matters to him a lot. Like what you said about values, I agree he has these values.

That might be, but Hua Cheng was completely unknown to them. What I want to express with it: I doubt that Mu Qing somehow could have even guessed that a guy he had known a couple of hundred years before, was so crazy for Xie Lian that he had followed him for all this time.

At Mount Tounglu, Mu Qing was just as horrified, digusted and flabbergasted that Hua Cheng was that person.

By the way, this phrase was just very important for him and it was traumatic for him as well, so yes, he always remembered, but connect Hua Cheng with it? No chance.

In my opinion, accepting a challenge by a ghost king might not be considered as bullying? Why do you think it is bullying? I mean if they had issued the challenge to HC but that was not the case.

As far as I remember, the book expressed it like this...that those two, Feng Xin and Mu Qing, were not very happy to bully a new ghost, along with the remark, that they just didn´t consider this event as very important.

Also, Hua Cheng´s challenge was quite a thing: If he had been a normal ghost, it had been very likely that he might have lost at one point...with 33 gods. It´s a little bit like 33 people against one...usually, I would consider this unfair.

I did not mean that he knew what Hua Cheng was up to, my conclusion was more like: Mu Qing is still feeling guilty for how he treated Xie Lian, therefore Hua Cheng defeating those 33 officials might feel to him like fate catching up (not as an intentional thing from HC). But in that way Hua Cheng could be a reminder for him of his own guilty conscience. If that makes sense.

You misunderstand Mu Qing. He felt guilty for hurting Xie Lian´s feelings, but he considered his behaviour right. Mu Qing thought that he did not need to forfeit his chance of being a god for Xie Lian. And honestly, Mu Qing is right.

Mu Qing has a right to a life of his own and does not need to sactifice for Xie Lian´s sake.

He was Xie Lian´s servant and not his friend.

If you look back, Mu Qing merely apologized for hurting Xie Lian´s feelings, but never for the deed in and itself.

Simply because of this: Mu Qing would have considered it not justified to lose his godhood, because it was his own capabilities that let him reach this high.

I really do love Mu Qing, I wrote this down to understand him better as character, this was never intended as Mu Qing bashing in anyway! Just laying out my line of thought. I love how everyone finds their own access to the story and characters. And I'm very happy to have found a community who all care so deeply about this story.

I think it is very interesting, how everybody perceives a character like Mu Qing.

At the time Hua Cheng challenged 35 heavenly officials to a duel, did Mu Qing suspect anything? I mean he is the only one who would have been able to know what these people had in common and care about it. As there is no one he could have talked to about – with things being as they were and Mu Qing being Mu Qing – we don’t know if he suspected something. But I do believe he never stopped feeling guilty about that incidence with Xie Lian, right? And he did remember the red coral pearl earring after more than 800 years. Would he really forget about who all the other officials were on that day? Seems unlikely. So maybe he did have a weird feeling about this for a long time before he actually meets Hua Cheng accompanying Xie Lian?

Maybe he did not suspect Hua Cheng targeting them on purpose. But maybe it did feel like fate catching up to him? In that light, maybe his mistrust regarding Hua Cheng was subconsciously fueled by his own guilty conscience? Not that it needed any more fuel I guess.

Does this make sense? Or did I get lost in some weird 2 am line of thought last night?

[alex-just-vibing]

what if i vaguepost (not that vaguely) about a random reddit post i saw about one of my favorite bands. what then

[marypsue]

Man, it's cool and all if you see a metaphor for marginalisation in the monstrous, and if you want the power fantasy of 'what if you could just eat anybody who threatened you/pissed you off'. Me too.

However, as soon as you start saying 'no, these monsters are a 1:1 on Specific Marginalised Group, and you have to treat them in the fiction like they are directly representative of real human members of the marginalised group', BUT you also, in the fiction, make them hurt/kill/eat humans? And then try to shame me, your audience, for noticing or engaging with the bit where they kill people, because you made them directly representative of a real-world marginalised group? You have lost me, and also, I think, the plot.

[cent-scratchnsniff]

something bad did indeed happen to that man. spent abt 25 minutes trying to find a better picture of that one (1) offical piece with his eyes open that wasnt compressed or tiny

[spectrum-core]

Fuck

Well, I saw this coming from miles away becaude of course the gacha game will throw any semblance of artistic integrity through the window if they can make cheap fanservice, hence why I made the og post in advance, I didn't want to elaborate more on it when it happened because whatever, people were already dicks about me making the initial post anyway lol

But a guy began bugging me about how the comparison made sense, actually, and I felt the need to elaborate with a final point about why I feel the comparison absolutely misses the point of what full stop is and represents and everything that made them special to me.

Ok, so this guy has been analyzing limbus ids for a while and trying to figure out common themes among them, his conclusion for sinclair ids was, simply put, these are people who are either extremely good at what they do but cant fully see it or arent proud of it (blade lineage, cinq), or people who are slow and trailing behind compared to their peers while also having the potential to be absurdly good at their line of work if they were given the proper support (molar office).

According to him, stephan would be the second case, a guy who is very bad at what he does but could be amazing at it with the proper motivation. The issue is that… if you look at stephan and i mean you really look at him instead of forcing him in a haha funny meme fandom archetype or mold him into whatever can fit the power fantasy of the month that'd be a limbus character, he's really not that.

That's not to say stephan lacks any talent at all, his pessimist and cautious personality makes me imagine he is probably a great planner, coming up with escape plans or alternatives if the team gets cornered or overwhelmed in any non color-fixer-chasing-them-with-killing-intent situation, his physical strength is also there, and i think he'd be at least half decent at unarmed one on one combat because of it, and i feel he appreciates this and the people around him do as well, he has talents and they are in plain sight, and he makes full use of them when the situation requires him to.

But the thing is… everything from his dice ranges to his card names to his passive name are very clear in one thing: he's fucking terrible at aiming and firing a gun, the very thing he's supposed to do and excel at if he doesn't want to lose money. Maybe he's nearsighted, maybe he has astigmatism, maybe he pulls the trigger too fast before being sure he's even aiming at a target, maybe his anxiety is so bad he's shaking and sweating constantly and his fine motor skills are shit because of that, maybe even all of these at the same time.

And it's not just stephan who has this going on either, liwei's keypage wouldn't be talking about "this is what people normally think and what i know i'm supposed to want but i simply can't see the point of all of it" (<- this is autism coding if you're delusional like me but i digress) if he was a "proper fixer", tamaki wouldn't be losing her cool regularly every time stephan begins to complain if she was a "proper fixer", everyone here is notoriously bad at their job one way or another due to things that are quite directly part of who they are so there's no "actually stephan would be a shi section 1 fixer if he wore glasses" or "liwei could become a color if he got rid of his gun and started fighting with a sword instead" for any of them, not without them losing who they are in the way as opposed to the character growth that represents sinclair.

For me these are average people, with average talents which can only take them so far, in a world where most people in their line of work has superhuman skills, and to make matters worse they're focusing their strengths in the wrong things, these aren't the people who will wake up one day and awaken whatever specialest boy ever superpower project moon comes up with next time and become the strongest people who ever lived in the city. Even if they decided to drop everything suddenly and start with something else, there's absolutely nothing they'd excel at.

And that's precisely the thing, they won't just drop everything and suddenly do something they are better at, because the sunk cost fallacy is a fucking bitch when you're risking bankrupcy with every job you take, and that's why the full stop office is to me, the tragedy of people who invested too much and worked for too long in the wrong thing and now they don't have the resources, time or evergy to reinvent themselves anymore even if it'd be better for them in the long run.

I wanted to write a cool conclusion or something but i dont have the energy so just take this instead

STEPHCLAIR IS BAD AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD

Alternative title: a very angry (and tired) Full Stop fan's thesis.

ok, so me being the stephan/sinclair comparison's strongest hater is a bit i really like to lean into, but for the sake of keeping things semi-serious i will try to keep the actual essay content as free of me ranting my frustrations as humanly possible (which i mean commitement to the bit aside this will be hard bc it is frustrating to see people calling them both the same character, at best it shows a very surface level understanding of either character and at worst it shows just reducing them to cookie cutter meme fandom archetypes neither character actually fits into, so bear with me if i slip up and make unserious comments from time to time)

so before i start the actual essay let me say this: this essay doesnt even scratch the surface of how much i hate this comparison you guys cant even possibly fucking imagine ive been obssessed and i mean OBSSESSED with the full stop office since 2021 and im glad i wasnt in the limbus prerelease fanbase because if i had to see people comparing my beautiful boy and beloved best friend to a guy we had no info about other than "hes based of the guy from demian" i would have turned into the joker this is not even about saving my own mental health this is about sparing the entire pjm fandom of the monster i would have turned into

spoilers for ruina and limbus, universe terminology heavy and surface level references and interpretations of demian by herman hesse because imma keep it real with you guys the first and only time i read that book i was still in high school and i barely remember shit.

Table of contents:

Stephan - a summary

Sinclair - a summary 2.1. Emil Sinclair in Demian (1919) 2.2. Emil Sinclair in Limbus Company (2023)

Addressing common arguments

1.- Stephan - a summary

And of course I will start with Stephan, because I love him very much, just like Liwei he's one of my favorite pjm characters (yeah i like him more than your favorite popular character don't ask) so it's not surprising that i have A Lot to say about him, right?

And of course, I do.

As I said in the serrated duo post, a core part of my perception of the Full Stop office depends on the fact that they are poor. Mentions of money are common all across many factions in the game, yes, but the Full Stops are extremely constant about money, how taking a wrong turn means losing more than they can afford, how they can't afford to drop their weapons because they were too expensive, how even getting the permissions to be able to buy and wield these weapons was ridiculously expensive and so on. Of course, Stephan is the one talking about this the most (something I will elaborate on later), but Liwei and Tamaki also make a few ocassional mentions to it in their dialogue and keypages and considering this is a shared business it just makes sense that this is something that affects all of them.

These are just some few of the callbacks to money that Stephan alone does in his dialogue, without focusing in keypage text or what Liwei and Tamaki have to say about it.

And idk man, at least to me the difference between social classes is an important aspect for their characterization, specially because of how constant the concern with money is for Stephan. From this point alone comparing them feels like erasing a core aspect of Stephan's characterization, a lot about Stephan (and the Full Stop office as a whole, let's be real here) starts making more sense once you read the office as lower-middle class (and I'm saying lower middle class because they can afford some place to live and their weapons, but to me these guys are the types who precisely because of their need to keep bullets at all times can't pay for water or electricity all the time and sometimes they simply can't afford food or if they do they can spend a week straight eating nothing but unsalted pasta).

Now, going back to Stephan being the most outward about his complaints with money, he is in general the most outward about all problems the office is facing, to the point in which he doesn't mind inconveniencing everyone else with his rants, being one of the few guests who interrupt Angela's introductory speech and getting into Tamaki's nerves (something he's well aware he's doing, as these two know each other) at least two times through the course of their pre-battle cutscene, even Roland comments after the reception on how he wishes he would always have been as open about his problems as Stephan was.

However, it's worth nothing that he doesn't spend the entire cutscene crying about his miseries, and he only starts losing hope at three key moments: when they can't kill Eileen inmediately (making them waste more bullets than needed), when Argalia shows up (forcing them to retreat and making them fail their mission, meaning they won't get paid for this after they already lost a ton of money, as well as turning the situation into something much more dangerous than what they had signed up for) and once they enter the Library (an Urban Plague grade threat they have little to no information about, when him and Tamaki are almost out of bullets so Liwei is essentially the only fixer with some chance of putting up a fight and, you know, making it out alive).

Now, while it's true that Stephan is someone who dislikes danger, he isn't someone who isn't used to seeing gruesome events, his instinctive reaction to seeing a guy getting his head put into a meat grinder was cracking jokes and calling the concept of thought gears "a load of horseshit", which is something that falls in line with him being a somewhat experienced Fixer (sure, grade 5 isn't amazing but we can assume it's still either in the higher side of average or barely above average, and for someone specialized in firearms, which are far from the best weapon in the city, getting that high means he must have some experience and skill, right? more so considering he's been at this for 5 years at most) who has seen a fair share of horrid shit and can be unfazed by (most of) it as long as his own safety isn't on the line.

Another point is... he dislikes danger and is always wary about money and expenses, to the point in which he enjoys checking his bank account (or at least he believes so, if we go for the theory of the artbook profiles being more a mix of what the characters perceive themseves as/would describe themselves as to others, which is a theory i go by, I see him as someone who's convinced he does that for fun instead as out of desperation), but this seems to be more a generalized feeling of impending doom at everything rather than something that can be traced back to a particular traumatic event (anything can be dangerous, anything can cost him money), dude's from the backstreets after all, he's seen shit and he's used to assuming the worst. How I see Stephan, he's a guy who already expects bad things to happen but once things go wrong he starts freaking out about how this time They're Screwed For Real, but he never really tricks himself into believing "maybe things will turn out just fine this time?" or who thinks "well, we've done this before, surely we can handle it again."

This is not very related to Stephan as a character in terms of personality but I think it's still an important point to make as it is particularly related to body mods, his physical condition and his body shape.

So we can easily say that Stephan is a strong dude, at least if compared to real world standards without the fancy and insane body mods we see people in the city have access to. He carries that huge rifle around with his bare hands, something that Tamaki doesn't do and that not even Stephan himself in earlier iterations of his dessign did, and his main talent (which based of my theories is something that can be assumed as "something he's proud enough of to consider it the thing he does best") is physical labor.

Pictured, Tamaki's talksprite, carrying a rifle almost as long as she is tall with a strap supporting the weight on her shoulders, like a normal person.

Also pictured, an earlier iteration of Stephan's dessign, carrying the same rifle his current version does, but also holding it with the help of a similar strap supporting the weight on his shoulders.

And finally, Stephan's current dessign, holding that shit with his bare fucking hands in an exhibition of his brute animal strength, what the fuck is wrong with this man (affectionate)

And Stephan's artbook profile, the important part here is his speciality being physical labor, not only he's strong but he aknowledges this.

However, I made a point about the Full Stop office being poor, right? Even Roland says that "giving a whole office augmentation procedures is cheaper than keeping a decent supply of bullets in stock" (not the exact phrasing).

At least personally, I see this as Roland essentially saying "it would be cheaper (and more efficient) to get body mods for everyone in the office and buy another (cheaper) type of weaponry instead", but as things stand, the Full Stops can afford to either buy more ammunition and maintain their weapons, OR to get body mods, and since their whole deal is firearms... well, they can't really Stop investing in them, meaning they have no body mods At All and they got their grades purely out of their own physical strength.

Similarly, Stephan makes a similar point about how body augmentations are required for people to be able to run while carrying their weapons around (specifically talking about the rifles he and Tamaki use).

And... you know, the whole point is that they couldn't run carrying their weapons because they were too heavy, Argalia mocked them for that, Liwei urged them to drop their weapons, something they refused to do because of the prices.

Lastly on this point, while it's true that Ruina talksprites have a very bad case of Long Anime Legs (to the point in which how Roland's legs take about 2/3 of his height is a common joke), if we focus only on his head and torso, Stephan looks pretty Wide, and not only because he's wearing thick, fluffy and multilayered clothing, as other characters wearing similar clothing styles still look thinner than him.

This is all to say: I don't think this guy is a twink, or thin at all. He's a prime example of the strongman build to me and this is yet another hill I'm willing to die on watch project moon turn him into a beanpole once he inevitably shows up in limbus and me turning into the first real world distortion as a consequence.

Finally, Stephan is very notoriously the most informal member of the office, not only being the only one who doesn't wear any sort of formal clothing fully prioritizing comfort and practicality over looks but also completely disregarding formalities with his attitude at work (again, he interrupts Angela's introductory monologue, and again, his first two lines when being introduced are him cracking jokes), being the only member of the office to swear on screen and using several informal expressions and metaphors through both the reception dialogue and his keypage story.

And for good measure, he's a compilation of Stephan being the creature he is.

The literal introduction of the characters, also known as the moment in which Stephan became one of my favorite characters because he's Just Like Me Fr

Very normal behavior for someone who hates blood and violence and isn't used to seeing it. This man is more than capable (and willing, assuming money is involved) to murder kill.

Which, I mean, this attitude is very different from what we see from Sinclair.

2.- Sinclair, a summary

In retrospect I probably should have made this one first because I'm gonna be honest with you, Sinclair is one of the sinners I care about the least (I still like him and think he's pretty cool mind you I just don't vibe too much with most of the tropes making up the character) so what I have to say about him is less me grasping for straws and subtext because I don't care enough about him to be bothered with a super serious and in depth analysis like I did with Stephan and more things we can explicitly see about him in game and things that happen in the novel Demian.

And if I can have a small parenthesis here, people saying that one of my favorite pjm guys Ever is in any way similar to a guy who despite being pretty cool is just Not the type of character I fully vibe with... really, it gets annoying fast. Anyway back to the serious analysis now.

2.1- Emil Sinclair in Demian (1919)

To be able to understand Sinclair as he is depicted in Limbus Company, it is important to first be familiar with the source material of the original iteration of the character, that's it we're doing your high school homework by compiling several literary analysis of a symbolic psychological early 20th century autobiographical novel i hope you guys signed up for this (and if you didn't, though luck! i will do this anyway, I love literary analysis).

In the novel, young Emil finds himself torn between the worlds of light (which can be equated to the Garden of Eden, but it's more tangible meaning for our protagonist is his childhood home and family, a serene and well structure/organized space where he can be innocent, untainted by the evils of the outside world) and darkness (basically all the scary shit that goes on outside, where people do evil things for the sake of it), he finds himself tempted by the violence of the outside world, particularly through the actions of his classmate Franz Kromer, which eventually leads him to consider that due to being exposed to this tainted world of evil he no longer can return to the world of good and innocence.

Here, the character of Demian acts as a guide, someone who helps Sinclair to trascend this binary perception of good vs evil and to see himself as someone worthy of happiness because him witnessing the world of evil didn't taint him as a person but rather merely showed him another face of the world, Demian here mentions the Mark of Cain as a symbol of mental strenght and freedom, considering that bearers of this mark are capable of making their own choices and should be able to go beyond their assigned roles, being able to embody aspects of both worlds. This is to say that Demian's view is less focused on good vs evil, instead taking a more order vs chaos approach (without giving an explicit moral character to either).

In the book, the symbol of a bird breaking out of the egg is frequently used to represent Emil's personal growth, the egg represents safety and innocence, but a bird must eventually leave the egg or it will die, and getting out of the egg is a process than can be seen as violent, as a bird must fight to get out of the egg, and getting out of the egg represents birth but also an irreversible change, it can be seen as breaking out of the world of light and getting permanently in the world of darkness since a broken shell can't be fixed, but it can also mean achieving the enlightment and personal balance to not feel permanently bound to a condition, place or state of being and therefore growing as a person by learning to see himself as a whole human instead of supressing his "evil side" by only forcing the "good side" to surface.

Max Demian is here to show this second meaning of growth/self improvement (while also explaining that Sinclair is permamently growing and must always keep this balance between all the parts conforming the whole being that is himself rather that trying to make parts of himself antagonize each other). This idea of personal growth being one of the core themes of the book.

2.2- Emil Sinclair in Limbus Company (2023)

With Sinclair's source media analyzed (at a very surface level, mind you), we now can start talking about the depiction of Sinclair in Limbus Company, how it parallels the book, why the book symbolism is important for this instance of Sinclair and so on.

When we are first introduced to Sinclair in the game he's clearly nervous, he doesn't know what he's supposed to do as he hasn't worked for a similar company before and he isn't used to the gruesome sight of the bus eating people, this does fit inmediately in the motif of a naive person with limited experience about the world (well, to be fair to him most people won't be seeing man-eating buses at a regular basis, but the average backstreets dweller would be familiar with equally violent situations).

With this said, despite Sinclair's obviously nervous behavior... he isn't really a pessimist like Stephan was, in fact, almost every chapter (counting cantos, intervallos and the short mini chapters such as the Dante's notes update episode) have at least one key moment with him trying to rationalize horrible stuff as something much less violent, or simply going "but I thought this thing didn't work like this..." when confronted with the more horrible realities in the city. He thought the G corp veterans were really going to let them pass without a fight, he thought the people being controlled by headhens were just actors wearing mascot costumes, he thought mermaids were the beautiful half-woman half-fish creatures he heard about in fairy tales, and there's more examples but I don't really feel like looking for The Entire Fucking Plot Because This Guy Is An Actual Protagonist Instead Of A Background Guy Like Stephan Was to make my point clearer than it already is. And it's only when he realizes that the real world doesn't fit his expectations that he panics.

Well, there is one exception to this pattern: his own canto. Here, he panics inmediately as soon as K corp's nest is mentioned and spends the first half of the chapter pleading to turn back while saying that they are going to get killed. So what is different here with the rest of the plot?

Obviously, the fact that is related to his very own very personal very specific trauma. That is to say, unlike Stephan who is wary of anything that can put him on danger or cost him more money than it should, Sinclair has a very specific traumatic event that makes him act Like That (sure, he gets scared and nervous outside that, but these are more normal "I'm unfamiliar with this and I don't fully know how to react, this is normal behavior in a human being" reactions than outright "I am Actually Terrified due to being reminded of an actual traumatic event, this reaction is a textbook definition of post-traumatic stress disorder").

HOWEVER, Sinclair being someone who's deeply traumatized and kind of a scaredy cat when it comes to violence and unfamiliar situations... it doesn't mean that he's incompetent or a bad fighter. Almost all of his identities are terrifyingly good fighters (at least in their lore), Los Mariachis fear jefe Sinclair, Cinq director Sinclair is someone most association members are terrified to duel even during training, Blade Lineage Sinclair is considered a talented killer (it's also worth noting that save maybe for the mariachi one, in none of these mirror worlds Sinclair is precisely happy of being recognized as "the guy who's very scary when he fights people", unlike Stephan who I don't think he particularly likes killing but has a more "as long as I get paid..." mentality about it), the only "not very good at this" Sinclair id I can think of is the molar boatworks id where he's more a mechanic than a fighter so he fears he's lagging behind in that aspect. Hell, even the Canon Timeline so to speak (which is to say: his base identity) has him carrying that huge halberd, going on a frenzy attacking some already mutilated inquisitor's corpse, piercing through Guido's armor and dealing a fatal blow that finally killed him for real. To compare, Stephan is good at physical work, but we don't know about his close combat capacities other than the fact that he dislikes it, for Sinclair however we know he's terrifyingly good at physical combat.

Now, I've seen a lot of people call Sinclair a twink and while it's one of these words that nobody agrees on what it means, let's give it the benefit of doubt and say "alright, for the duration of this analysis let's settle on a twink being a young looking (regardless of actual age), thin man with almost no facial/body hair".

Since Sinclair is a rich guy (not just Any Rich Guy though, we're talking of someone whose family had ties to a Wing, probably not some elite guy like Daniel or Hong Lu, but not a self perceived "mediocre" nest dweller like Samjo either), and pressumably not very experienced in combat in most mirror worlds (we know he has no prior experience in the base one where he joined Limbus, at least), let's say that he has enough body mods for him to be much stronger than he looks like despite being thin, he does look thin and young and much to my dissapointment he also has no facial hair, so yeah, under this very broad definition of the term he is a twink.

However if you start adding personality archetypes to the definition he stops being one almost inmediately, as we've been shown time after time that his "submissive" attitude is mostly a result of him not knowing too well how to impose himself and just going along with what the rest say or do, but he's starting to grow tired of that ever since Hell's Chicken (even if he clearly still isn't great at that), as it should be more than obvious for anyone who even just googled "demian herman hesse literary analysis", Sinclair is undergoing a lot of changes even now, and the game is doing a good job at portraying that.

Honestly I also think he'd be hotter with a sleeper build but really, I don't care enough about him to argue about that.

And for the last point, precisely due to his upbringing as a rich guy AND his traumatic experience with Kromer, Sinclair is not only a very polite and mild mannered guy (again, unlike resident creature Stephan), but also he tries to take as little space as possible, both literally and metaphorically, as Dante notices near the end of canto 3 when they finally comment on how Sinclair never talks about his own problems until it's too late because he doesn't want to bother the others as they probably have it worse (again, unlike Stephan "i don't mind loweing team morale and making everyone in the room uncomfortable as long as i get to vent" Full Stop office).

3.- Adressing common arguments

Alright, now that I talked about each character, let's see some of the most common arguments I've seen people use to compare them.

"They look the same!" No, they don't. The only thing they have in common is being blonde but even their hairstyles are different with Sinclair having a simple bowl-ish cut with slightly wavy hair and Stephan having curlier hair (not to mention the whole point I made about body types because I'm the sort of lunatic who cares about that stuff). I won't even bother with this argument.

"They have the same personalities!" Again, they don't. Stephan is very cynical with a lot of his attitude being clearly derivated from him coming from a poor background and having stayed there his whole life, he also doesn't care about his cynism getting in the way and bothering everyone else. On the other hand, Sinclair is someone who could almost be described as naive due to having lived a sheltered childhood and only having his experiences with Kromer and his time at Limbus as moments of realizing that the rest of the world is Not Like His Childhood House, still believing that the world is a binary of good vs evil and expecting things to turn out fine or be much better than they actually are, just to be hit with the reality of the city Not being a nice place where people are nice and polite and not trying to kill him, this is not to say he doesn't have his own issues but even Dante notices during his Canto that Sinclair makes a point to avoid bothering everyone else with his personal problems, keeping them to himself even if that makes things worse on the long run.

"Both are opposed and harmed by a lunatic!" This is an argument I've seen a lot and is incredibly filmsy at best, half of the city's population are lunatics and the other half are people who got opposed by them some way or another. Will you say that Ishmael and the rest of the Pequod crew can be compared to the Full Stop office (or really, even mention the other Full Stop fixers instead of just focusing on Stephan because he happens to be blonde and can be compared to Sinclair) because of their situations with Ahab? Or the W Corp crew who got their train targetted by Jae-heon and Elena (or, you know, the train passengers who were turned into Love townspeople or puppets)? What about the Vermillion Cross who got killed by the Reverb Ensemble? Or the Cane office fixers? or the Zwei association section 6 who got beaten to death by Gyeong-mi just because he felt like doing so? Or the Liu association section 1 who had to deal with Argalia taking Philip away? Or the Kurokumo clan members when they were attacked by Tanya? You aren't comparing them to either Stephan or Sinclair, right? Not to mention that in her weird and fucked up perception of things, Kromer was less opposed to Sinclair as she was trying to lead him to join her and her cause, even the last things she says before getting killed are her calling him to follow her.

"Both are compared to birds!" Oh, right, because I forgot that a very directed symbolic comparison to a baby bird breaking out of it's shell as a symbol of rebirth, learning about the nuances of the world and self improvement/liberation that is consistently used in the source material Sinclair comes from is exactly the same as one (1) throwaway line the big bad guy uses to mock not only Stephan but the whole Full Stop gang, right. And if you want to say "but Tamaki compares him to a bird once too", yeah she calls him a parrot because he keeps repeating the same complaints over and over, it's still not the same as a consistent metaphor.

"Both are sad blonde twinks! They're essentially the same guy." Sad? Yeah, everyone in the city is sad but their ways to be sad are polar opposites, and neither of them is the pure cinnamon roll uwu crybaby archetype people tend to lump both into, Stephan was merely having a bad day and people decided to make that his whole personality (when honestly we get more insight on his actual personality before Argalia shows up, when he's making sarcastic remarks and getting impatient because they weren't starting killing people fast enough) but he's still perfectly capable (and willing) to murder people, and Sinclair is just... someone who lacks experience about the real world and how it works and has a tendency to get nervous because of this, but he can adapt quickly to situations once he understands them. Blonde? Yeah, but I guess if that's a point to draw a comparison then we should also compare them to Don Quixote, the Tiphereths, Lenny, Yun, Lulu, Olga, every single npc, librarian, and agent who comes with blonde hair from the generator... Twinks? Stephan absolutely isn't one, Sinclair depends on how you define twink as nobody seems to get to an agreement with that, if you define it as merely "young looking thin man with almost no visible body hair" then yeah he is one, but if you go for any more specific definition than that he stops fitting into the definition almost instantly.

In conclusion: if I see anyone else comparing them I'll start blocking people liberally bc I'm sick of seeing that shit (I do that already tbh but just so you know), now scram