#so nobody knows what the hell the game's plot is supposed to be because how can you just go back to back with

[vellichorom]

HIS ACTIONS CAN BE PERCEIVED BY THE PLAYER, TO AN EXTENT.... OH YOU NEED TO TELL ME MORE ABOUT THAT.

some players of the stanley parable report strange findings that other players don't have attached to their games....

for instance; some players have noticed in their games that the carpets & walls look... far redder than they should,

some players have noticed the stanley model being replaced with an uncontrollable female lead, leaving them to simply watch as she roams the office - until at some point she's inevitably joined by this mysterious older man who carries the narrator's voice; most agree that this is, in fact, the narrator - taken form. there have even been reports of others seeing the narrator attack this woman, or vice versa.

others report bugs, glitches, jumpscares, strange supplementary stuck deep in the files, & questionable imagery throughout, such & such.

players can't quite agree as to what the plot entails, & " The Narrator " refuses to address anything on either of his accounts, leaving them to their own devices to figure it out & leaving the anonymous TSP-obsessed twitterite to FERVENTLY deny that there's anything so horrific in the game & that everyone else is making up stories.

but that account actually went dark years ago, & " The Narrator's " accounts aren't too active where it counts, with the TSP twitter's last update having been to give a minute hurrah to the 10th anniversary of the game.

nothing satisfactory to the concerns of the public, though. but who cares, TSP isn't THAT popular a game anyway, not helped by it's utterly confusing plot. the circle of fans will remain perplexed & eventually move on, there's nothing else to see if you've already played UD.

[fushisagi]

miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease

୨୧ ━━ ❛ what am i to you, atsumu? ❜

word count ⋆ 12.6k (12,607) genre ⋆ fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, college au ━ gn!reader

the question comes to him one autumn night, surrounded by his friends and the chilly november breeze, asked by, who he assumes to be, just another nobody looking for money: what is it that you desire most, boy? the psychic asks, her saccharine smile forgotten when he looks into the crystal ball and all he ends up seeing is you. alternatively: miya atsumu is not in love. what the hell? who would ever suggest something like that?

warnings ⋆ alcohol consumption, mutual pining, denial of feelings!!! lots of it!! and with this denial comes some stupid decisions!!! author’s note ⋆ ive actually like never been to the psychic before so if its inaccurate im so sorry ..... it’s not really a big part of the plot though so hopefully u can overlook it 😭

o. Desire

This is a scam, is Atsumu’s first thought when he takes a seat inside the tent and finds himself face-to-face with a crystal ball.

People like this are dangerous — his twin brother never lets anyone forget it. They take advantage of an individual’s fear of the unknown and they make money off it. It’s genius, because even the strongest people can become weak to something as mundane as self-proclaimed clairvoyants setting base near a college campus.

Atsumu supposes he’s no exception. Even if Bokuto was the one who forced him to do this in the first place.

“Hello,” the woman greets, her hair pinned into a tight bun. “You’re here for a reading?”

“Sure,” Atsumu huffs, shivering when the cold breeze sneaks into the tent. He really should’ve worn a thicker jacket.

When he looks up from the table, the woman gives him a smile. It’s analytical, as if all he needed to do was sit down for her to know everything about him. He fidgets in his seat, growing more uncomfortable under her gaze.

“So,” she says, clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “What is it that you desire most, boy?”

 “I’m sorry?”

“Your greatest desire,” she repeats patiently.

Atsumu blinks before tilting his head. “Um, I’m not—”

“I’m sure you know,” she says. “Is it strength? Power? Love?”

All colour drains from Atsumu’s face. The psychic smiles wickedly.

Atsumu thinks this may be the end of him. He never liked it when people acted like they knew more about his intentions than he did, and it only took mere minutes before the woman figured him out.

His hand twitches. He would feel a lot better if you were here—

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue, “bingo.”

i. Strength

After a borderline homicidal game of rock, paper, scissors, Sakusa lands himself a new roommate.

Move-in day comes two weeks later and Atsumu sits in the lobby of the building, waiting for your car to pull into the parking lot.

He notes the time — it’s five minutes past 8:30, making you more than half an hour late — before grumbling under his breath and continuing to scroll through his feed. When Instagram notifies him that he’s all caught up, he exits the app and opens Twitter in hopes that something will be able to entertain him until you show up. He likes some tweets, retweets a few more, and terrorizes Suna before he grows bored at the lack of anything interesting on his timeline.

Another glance at the time. He scowls. It’s only been two minutes.

Atsumu debates asking Sakusa if he knows what’s happened to you. When he opens their message thread, he raises an eyebrow at how unbelievably one-sided their conversations are, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. Your absence is more important to Atsumu than Sakusa’s terrible conversational skills ever will be.

(He’ll bother Sakusa about it later).

He’s about to send a long string of emojis when an incredulous voice reaches his ears.

“Tsumu?”

He looks up and immediately pockets his phone with a grin. “You’re late.”

You adjust the box of donuts in your hands and squint at him as if his smile is as blinding as the sun. “I slept through my alarm. What the hell are you doing here?”

Atsumu gestures to his outfit. “What does it look like?”

You stare blankly.

“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I told you last night I’d help you move in. How’d you forget? Am I that forgettable? You wound me, I—”

“Shut up,” you say, shifting your weight. Atsumu’s eyes flicker to the sticker on the box, and he tries his best not to frown when he notices you’ve written Sakusa’s name in calligraphy with a heart at the end. “Of course I remember you offering to help because I spent my entire night telling you it was fine.”

“You expect me to believe that you can bring all your shit in by yourself? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Thank you, Tsumu, I can always count on you to make me feel like I’ve been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” you quip, brushing past him to get to the elevator, and as if it’s second nature, he follows. “I can’t believe people walk around campus calling you sweet.”

“I never said you looked bad,” he says. “I think the dried drool on your chin is pretty cute, actually.”

“Whatever,” you hurriedly wipe your face. “Speaking of bad, what on Earth are you wearing?”

Atsumu knows full well you’re not complimenting him, but he decides to treat your comment as if you have. He beams, picking at the sweatpants you eye with disgust before walking into the elevator with you.

“It’s my mover outfit!”

“Your mover outfit,” you deadpan. “Disregarding whatever that means — those sweatpants are baggier than Kenma’s eyebags. And they do nothing for your ass.”

He smirks. “You were checking out my ass?”

You avoid eye contact, feigning indifference, but Atsumu’s known you for too long and immediately recognizes your fluster by the way you tug at the hem of your clothing.

“No,” you deny curtly, straightening your posture when the elevator doors open to show Sakusa’s floor. “It’s just hard not to notice when those sweats are ridiculously baggy. Seriously, are you trying to put something in there? I could fit a month’s worth of groceries in those.”

You’re walking swiftly, eager to get to your new apartment and end the conversation. The both of you are well aware that Atsumu’s more than capable of catching up with you, but he hangs back, preferring to watch you babble while he trails behind.

You clutch the donuts closer to your body as words tumble out of your mouth — a list of things that could fit in his sweats, including two jugs of milk and a family size pack of chips — and Atsumu can’t stop the lopsided smile from appearing on his face.

“Maybe a carton of eggs, too,” he suggests.

“Oh, I wouldn’t trust you with eggs,” you say sharply.

“Why not?”

“Are you really asking me that? Last month I lent you my blanket and you gave it back to me with a hole in it.”

“For the last time,” Atsumu begins, quickening so he’s side-by-side with you, “that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“…Alright.”

“Y/N,” he whines. “I’m serious! None of that was on me — I even bought you a new blanket! Would Samu have done that? I don’t think so—”

“Actually—”

“The point is,” Atsumu interrupts, throwing you a glare before continuing, “blame Samu. Whenever something bad happens, blame him. That’s what I always do.”

“Spoken like a true, responsible individual.”

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m responsible!”

You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the pout he plasters over his face is enough for you to give in. Too tired to give him something as golden as a verbal agreement, you opt for changing the subject. “Do you think Sakusa will like the donuts?”

Atsumu frowns. “Why does it matter? They’re donuts.”

You grow annoyed at his impertinence. “I want him to like me, you moron.”

His expression sours further. “He’s your friend.”

“And I won a game of rock, paper, scissors, so now I’m his roommate,” you remark. “There’s a difference between being friends with someone and living with them. I mean, would you want to live with Bokuto?”

Atsumu’s answer is swift. “Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you say, “I need us to get along.”

You stop in front of a door and begin searching your pockets for your key. There’s a pinch between your eyebrows, the box trembles as you struggle to balance it with one hand, and your clothes are a mess, but underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, Atsumu can’t help but think you almost look angelic.

He shakes the thought away, squashes it beneath his foot until the remnants of it have been absorbed by the carpet.

“The last time I saw you this nervous was when you asked out that barista,” he muses.

You dig your hand into the breast pocket of your shirt and huff when you find nothing. “What are you implying?”

Atsumu stares pointedly at the sticker on the box. Your face morphs into one of horror.

“Are you dense?”

“Calligraphy, Y/N. I’ve never seen you write calligraphy in my entire life.”

“I was trying something out!”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

You smack him on the shoulder. “I was being thoughtful,” you grunt, softening when Atsumu winces and rubs the spot where you hit him. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Your eyes leave him for a millisecond, flickering to somewhere else on his face before returning his gaze once more. “Of course,” you say softly, “Besides, I—”

The door swings open.

“You’re loud,” Sakusa deadpans in the doorway. His eyes travel down to the donuts. “Are those for me?”

You hand them over to him. “Yeah, I didn’t know what you liked, so they’re all assorted.”

Sakusa hums in thanks before tilting his head at Atsumu. “Why’re you here?”

“To help them move in,” Atsumu grins, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “I know you’re going to the drycleaners, and I couldn’t let Y/N do this all by themselves.”

Sakusa shrugs and turns to go further into the apartment. “Sounds good to me. I’d rather not have to press those nasty elevator buttons multiple times just so I can come down and get your stuff,” he gives you the best apologetic look he can muster. “Have fun, though.”

Before you can go on a tangent about how Sakusa should be more welcoming, Atsumu pipes up, “Yeah, don’t worry! ‘S all in good hands,” he nudges you with his elbow. “Right? Your stuff can’t be that heavy.”

Atsumu, not for the first time and certainly not the last, stands corrected.

Not only is your stuff heavy, but there’s much more than he expected.

With each trip down to the parking lot, his muscles grow strained, and he feels the fatigue threaten to droop his eyelids shut. But, in the corner of his eyes, he sees your persistence to get this over and done with, and Atsumu decides it won’t hurt to push through.

His complaining and wailing can wait until later.

After you place the last box into your new bedroom, you turn to him while wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Thank you,” you say breathlessly.

He goes to tease you, to say that you owe him now, that you’ll be indebted to him for life.

But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “‘Course. Call me whenever you want, and I’ll be there.”

Atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. Sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it.

It referring to the group of boys gathered in the living room — your friends on good days, the bane of your existence on all the others — with their limbs strewn about and their soda cans sitting too close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s an odd sight for Sakusa to have this many people over on a Thursday night, but Atsumu insisted, and he caught Sakusa on a good day when he asked if he could hold a movie night at the apartment to celebrate your new accommodations.

You’re sure Sakusa regrets it now. He sits in his armchair with a permanent scowl, swatting Hinata away when the boy reaches to fix the crease between Sakusa’s brows. If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.

He covers his fear with a grin, but out of the corner of his mouth, he says to you, “Help me.”

You snicker. “You’re on your own, dude.”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What? But Bokuto calls you that, too!”

“Yeah, but it’s Bokuto.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that.”

Atsumu only tsks, forcibly ending the conversation by suggesting to the room that they should all play a game to decide who’ll prepare all the popcorn. A chorus of agreements is what he gets in response, along with someone complaining about how he should be spared due to his gruelling volleyball practice, and another person expressing his sympathies for the future loser.

Atsumu prepares the ladder game, and after he’s done, he looks at everyone with fiery hot intensity, an expression similar to one he wears during a match. “Remember,” he declares, “whoever loses can’t complain.”

Luck isn’t on his side tonight.

“What the hell!” he screeches once the reality of his defeat settles in.

Osamu, far too smug for Atsumu’s liking, quips, “I thought you said no complaining.”

The noise that leaves Atsumu’s mouth is something akin to a pathetic but animalistic growl. He goes to protest, even raising his hand to list off reasons why he’s been wronged — someone must’ve cheated, or maybe everyone in this room has a ruthless vendetta against him — but just as the words are about to leave his lips, his eyes land on you.

You challenge him to complain with a look, and he suddenly gets a much better idea.

“Y/N,” he says sweetly, growing pleased at your uneasiness. “As the host of this housewarming party, it’s only fair that you help me, too.”

“What?” you squawk, leaning forward as if you’ve misheard him. “But you were the one who suggested doing all of this! How is it now on me to help—”

“Well, he wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you,” Sakusa muses.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you taking his side? What happened to roommate solidarity?”

“You just made that up,” Sakusa replies. “Besides, this thing will go by faster if two people prepare the popcorn, and I don’t think Miya wants anyone else other than you.”

Atsumu shifts uncomfortably at the implication, and he involuntarily commits your surprised expression to memory.

(When he goes to sleep later that night, your surprise is all he sees against the darkness of his eyelids).

“Other than me—?”

“To make the popcorn,” Sakusa drawls matter-of-factly.

You blink. “Right.” You look at Atsumu, and he shrugs dumbly, unsure of how else to react to your sudden change in behaviour.

To him, you have always been easy to read, but right now, he’s not entirely sure if there’s a word for the expression on your face. He yearns to press a hand to your cheek to melt the malaise away, to be rid of it forever so he can see you smiling again.

Something in his chest twists.

“Right!” you repeat, more loudly this time, and startling the rest of your friends. You slap your hands on your lap before standing and grabbing Atsumu’s wrist to pull him away. “I guess I’m helping you make popcorn. You owe me one, Miya.”

Your skin is warmer than usual, threatening to burn him until your fingerprints are marked onto his skin.

(Behind him, Suna stage-whispers, “You are so whipped, Y/N.”)

Your touch disappears the moment you’ve both crossed the threshold into the kitchenette. Atsumu flexes his hand, trying to get rid of an urge in his veins he can’t quite explain.

“Hey,” you say casually, back turned to him as you dig through the cabinets for the popcorn packets. “Did you finish that essay for literature class?”

Atsumu awkwardly clears his throat and begins playing with the settings on the microwave. “The paper?”

“Yes, the paper,” you say. “The one I told you to start two weeks ago so you wouldn’t end up sending a half-assed essay two minutes before the deadline?”

“Why are you talking like you think I didn’t start it yet?”

“Because I know you, Tsumu,” you reply, shutting the cabinet with your elbow and ungracefully dropping the packets onto the counter beside him. “And I lost faith in your ability to listen to me a long time ago.”

“How rude. I always listen to you,” he sticks his nose in the air like a scorned, evil, cartoon antagonist, “I just don’t take all your suggestions. There’s a difference.”

“You make my life so much harder,” you huff, inputting a minute-thirty into the microwave. “I honestly think I lose ten years of my lifespan whenever you tell me you’ve gotten yourself into another dilemma.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you only lose, like, three at most.”

“No, it’s definitely ten,” you say. “You worry me too much, Miya.”

The smile on Atsumu’s face, previously smug and confident, softens.

“Seriously, though,” you continue, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “The paper? It’s due tonight.”

He flicks your nose, snorting when you pull a face. “I sent it in this morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Don’t act so shocked!”

“Well, this is, like, the first time you’ve ever done something even remotely responsible, so—”

“I thought we both agreed I’m a generally responsible person.”

Your silence is enough of a response.

Atsumu gasps just as the microwave beeps, allowing you to ignore his stunned expression in order to begin preparing another bag of kernels.

“Give me one reason—”

“The blanket—”

“—that isn’t the blanket,” he says sourly. “That doesn’t count. I told you that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“Do you want a list? Because I have one.”

“Are you serious or are you just fucking with me?”

“Osamu and I have a Google Doc.”

Another gasp. You roll your eyes.

“Now you’re in kahoots with my brother? What’s next? Planning my downfall with Suna?”

“I’m sure he’s fine doing that himself without my help.”

He whines, stomping his foot when you only stare back in amusement. “Don’t be so unrepentant, Y/N!”

You dump the contents of the hot popcorn bags into a large bowl for everyone to share. “Unrepentant? Was that the word on your word-of-the-day calendar?”

“Shut up. You know only Kuroo has lame stuff like that,” Atsumu grumbles, throwing the last popcorn packet into the faulty brick of power you and Sakusa call a microwave. “I used it in my essay. Thesauruses are a godsend. It really came in handy when I was writing about the flower symbolism in the book. Y’know what’s even better, though? SparkNotes.”

You tilt your head, studying Atsumu with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh.”

“What d’you mean huh?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “I just didn’t think you’d choose that essay topic, that’s all.”

“It was the easiest one,” he states. You hum in agreement, but he can sense you falling into a state of pondering before it even happens, so he lightly pokes your shoulder in hopes it’ll be enough to keep you from drifting too far from his reach. “Why, what did you think I picked?”

He can tell you’re debating what to tell him, letting a few seconds pass before you give in. “I thought you’d do the one that centred more around…” you trail off, clenching and unclenching your jaw, “the love aspect of it all.”

He blinks. “Why?”

Childishly, you retort, “Why not?”

Atsumu licks his lips. “Well, you’re always telling me to write what I know. And I may not know a whole lot about flowers, but I know more about those than, y’know, love.”

Something passes over your face, the same thing he saw when Sakusa said something — implied something — in the living room. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve had relationships, sure, but none that made me feel anything like— like that.”

You drum your fingers against the bowl. “None at all?”

“None at all.”

You click your tongue and stare at the microwave. Its buzz has become more prominent in your silence, a mocking hum hanging over the air as you contemplate and Atsumu stares, waiting impatiently for a word to slip past your lips.

But there’s nothing. Instead, the microwave beeps again, indicating that the last of the popcorn is ready.

“That’s good to know,” you say lightly. At least, that’s what you attempt, but you sound different, like a parasite has found solace in your vocal cords and fiddled with everything Atsumu’s familiar with.

“It is?”

“Yeah,” you nod, handing the bowl over to him. Popcorn threatens to spill but Atsumu can’t bring himself to care. “Hey, be careful. What, is it too heavy? Are you too weak to carry it?”

“It’s popcorn,” Atsumu rasps.

You eye him oddly, as if he’s the one whose behaviour should be examined under a microscope. “Don’t spill it everywhere. Sakusa’ll get pissed, and we’re already pushing it with this movie night thing.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course,” you agree. “But if you need me—”

“I know,” he interjects.

Simple promises are often uttered during private moments between you and Atsumu — an oath to be there for the other, to stand by their side no matter what. The words soothe him when they’re said aloud; he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.

And despite the voice in his head taunting him about a secret he’s unaware of, he allows the promise to enchant him.

I’ll be there for you.

“Do you need help?”

Atsumu grunts, adjusting your arm around his neck as he opens the car door. “No, I’m fine.”

“Thanks for picking them up,” Aran says, voice loud above the frat house’s music, “I know you were tired from practice, but—”

“It’s fine. I probably would’ve killed you if you didn’t call me, anyway.”

“Osamu said you’d say that.”

Atsumu expertly brushes off the statement, gently ushering you into the passenger’s seat and putting your seatbelt on with gentle fingers. Behind him, Aran watches the movements with thoughtful eyes and a quirk of his eyebrows.

“The last time they got this drunk was at the fall festival last year,” he muses. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hm?”

“For your sake,” Atsumu echoes, turning to face Aran once the door’s been shut and he’s made sure you’re sleeping soundlessly with your head resting against the cold window. Atsumu stands pin-straight, his posture contrasting the way Aran stands opposite him, relaxed with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s that mean?”

Aran laughs, like he’s unsure if this is a serious question. “Well, I mean… they’re always asking for you whenever they get drunk like this.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s why you got here in record time, right?” Off Atsumu’s questioning gaze, Aran continues, “I called you five minutes ago, and your place is a fifteen-minute drive away. And you’re not in your pajamas, even though you said you’d change into them the moment you got home.”

“I was in the area,” Atsumu says weakly.

“Doing what?”

“Getting dinner.”

“Why didn’t you just get something delivered to your apartment?”

“Is it illegal to want to pick up the food myself?”

Aran raises his hands up in defence. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not illegal to say you knew this would happen,” he shrugs. “You knew they’d need you Atsumu, so you came. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Before Atsumu can force a response from his throat, Aran has already slipped back into the party, leaving Atsumu alone on the street. With an annoyed huff, he stomps to the driver’s side, muttering irked questions under his breath about what Aran could possibly mean. He opens the door with more aggression than necessary, only softening when he sees you stir underneath the jacket he’s draped over you to keep you warm.

He unlocks his phone when he feels a buzz in his pocket.

[00:30] Atsumu: are you still awake?

[00:48] Sakusa: Yes. Why?

Atsumu knows that your apartment’s farther from here than his, and he’s sure that by the time he arrives, Sakusa won’t answer the door because he’ll grow tired of Atsumu’s lack of response and go to bed.

The decision is made when he takes a right instead of a left, when he pulls into a parking lot that isn’t yours, when he carries your body up the stairwell and into his bed with ease.

Everything else comes as routine. He tucks the blanket under your chin, moves the glass of water so it’s too far for you to accidentally knock over in the morning, and leaves a change of clothes at the foot of the bed.

Atsumu likes routine. He likes the predictability of it all.

A groggy voice stops him from leaving the room.

“Tsumu?”

“Hey,” he whispers, crouching so he’s eye-level with you. “I hope you don’t mind I brought you back here.”

You blink sleepily at him, too inebriated and fatigued to acknowledge his words. “You’re a really good person, y’know,” you say languidly.

He smiles, amused. “Really?”

“Yeah. Thank you for picking me up.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

“It’s not.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without me. Omi could’ve picked you up, couldn’t he? Samu could’ve, too.”

“I know, but you’re the one who always does,” you respond, nuzzling further into the pillow. “You’ve—you’ve helped me a lot.”

You shakily reach a hand to his face, playing with the strands of hair that fall to his forehead. He relaxes, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of your featherlike touch against his cool skin.

“You’ve brightened up my life, I think,” your voice is muffled, but it rings in Atsumu’s ears clear as day, almost as loud as his quickening heart rate. “I appreciate you a lot more than you know.”

ii. Power

He watches with bated breath as the ball cuts through the air while gravity begins to pull Hinata back to Earth. Everything unfolds in slow motion; everything has faded into white noise.

With a slam, the volleyball connects with the ground, and it’s only when he’s pulled into a hug does the reverie shatter. Like being hauled out from underwater, the roars of the crowd flood his ears as Bokuto begins jumping on the balls of his feet and Hinata comes rushing over to them with a triumphant shout.

On the other side of Bokuto, Sakusa smiles, rolling his eyes fondly when Hinata and Bokuto begin making post-game plans to celebrate their victory. Atsumu, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically silent as he searches the bleachers with a cloudy look in his eyes.

He’s snapped out of it once again when Bokuto tugs on his wrist so they can go and listen to what their coach has to say.

Atsumu isn’t a stranger to winning — he used to get drunk on this sort of stuff, the exhilarating rush that shot through his veins after every successful game. He basks in the crowd’s excitement and admiration, because to be fawned over is the closest to love he’s ever been (if he could even call it that), but once the adrenaline cuts him off and he’s left alone in the locker room, it all fizzles out.

Something’s missing at the end of all this. Usually, the void in his chest is insignificant enough for him to brush off. However, today is different.

It’s abnormal for the power of the win to dwindle into nothingness only minutes after the game ends, but the blue moon has risen tonight, and now everything feels weird. The cheers aren’t enough to keep him from searching the gymnasium for a familiar face, and he itches to get to his phone in the locker room when he can’t find who he’s looking for.

“Why do you look like we’ve lost?” Bokuto asks. “C’mon, man! Smile! We just won! Aren’t you happy?”

“Of course I am,” Atsumu grunts.

(But…)

But.

The adrenaline shoots through him again when a voice he knows all too well catches his attention over the noise.

“Hey!” you rush towards them, dishevelled. “Before you get mad, I know I missed the game, I took a nap and slept through it, fuck, I am never going to stay up late playing Fortnite with you again, Tsumu, you’ve ruined my sleep schedule, but—” you huff, trying to catch your breath as you hand Atsumu a bag, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come. Congrats on winning, I heard the shouts from down the street.”

Atsumu smiles and peers into the bag. “What is this?”

“Mochi,” you answer. “A celebratory gift for my favourite setter.”

“I’m the only setter you know.”

“Which is why you’re my favourite.”

Atsumu snorts but hugs the bag to his chest, like it’s his most prized possession and he’d drag it along to the grave with him. “Thank you.”

If someone were to ask Atsumu if he liked the pedestal he’s put on after a match, he’d say yes. Of course he does. He quite likes it on top of the world.

But you match his joyful smile with one of your own and Atsumu finds himself rethinking his answer. “Anytime.”

The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.

“You know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Would you relax?” Sakusa snarls. “You’re in charge of us for a day. Get your head out of your ass.”

On the floor, Hinata lays like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling, cheeks tainted a bright pink hue. “I think power’s gotten to your head.”

Atsumu waves him off. “I think this is the best practice we’ve ever had.”

Their captain had to run out five minutes into practice — relationship problems is what he grumbled to Atsumu before leaving him in charge without a second thought, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.

“I hope you’re never put it in charge again,” Bokuto complains before downing the rest of his water.

“Don’t be dramatic—”

“Do you know how gruelling this practice must be for Hinata to be tired?”

“Give us a break,” Hinata pleads, shifting his position so he’s on his knees. “Please. I’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the month if you end our suffering.”

Atsumu pretends to ponder the offer and grows more amused as Hinata begins to twitch nervously. “Okay, fine,” he relents.

Hinata cries with glee, hugging Atsumu’s legs before pushing himself off the floor and rushing out of the gymnasium — whether it’s to refill his water bottle or hide until he’s found, Atsumu may never know. With a snort, Atsumu grabs his own bottle amongst the rest on the bench, promising Bokuto absentmindedly that he’ll go easy on them for the rest of the day.

“I want to have at least a little energy left for the party at Kuroo’s tonight,” Bokuto adds, his smile widening when Atsumu nods in agreement. “See, I knew you’d get it!”

Sakusa takes a seat on the bench. “Are you going to the party, Miya?”

“Yeah, Y/N’s forcing me to come with,” Atsumu says. “How about you?”

Bokuto answers for him. “I’m making him come!” he exclaims. “You’ll have so much fun, Omi, you don’t have to worry.”

Sakusa deadpans, “I’m only staying for five minutes.”

Bokuto waves off his iciness with a flippant hand. “I’ll convince you to stay longer.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Don’t underestimate me!” Bokuto huffs. He turns away from Sakusa before he can continue to argue and focusses on Atsumu. “It’s good that you’re coming too, Tsum-Tsum! Maybe you can finally meet the guy Y/N’s going on a date with.”

Atsumu halts, hand tightening around his bottle. “What?”

“Some guy from their Psychology class asked them out a few days ago,” Bokuto says obliviously. “I think it was the night you picked them up? I don’t know. I think he was nice, though. Y/N probably already told you about it.”

You didn’t.

Atsumu forces a grin on his face. “Right, they did.”

Sakusa studies his expression with pinched eyebrows.

Atsumu’s cheeks hurt for the rest of practice, a consequence of the cheerful façade he’s plastered, but the pain subsides — if only for a moment — when he sees you outside the gymnasium, carrying your favourite boba drink in one hand, and his favourite in the other.

“Hey!” you greet, handing him the drink. “How was practice?”

“Awful,” Hinata mopes with a pout. “Your boyfriend here was running it like the navy.”

You frown. Atsumu blanches. “My boyfriend…?”

“Yeah!” Hinata slaps Atsumu on the back. “Him.”

All colour drains from your face. Your grip on your cup loosens for a split second before tightening it again in panic. You look from Hinata, the picture of innocence, to Atsumu, who only stares back, just as bewildered.

Hinata seems to take the hint as his eyes flicker between the two of you in confusion. “Sorry, I… I overheard Bokuto saying you were going on a date with someone, so I assumed—”

“Date?” you interrupt frantically, arms flapping to deny the words that have recklessly tumbled from Hinata’s mouth. “With who— with Atsumu? He’s not— we’re not— I’m not— we’re—”

“We’re friends,” Atsumu finishes, saving you from your stammering. You look at him gratefully, and he can only offer a weak smile in return. “I don’t know why you’d think we’re dating, Shoyo.”

“Sorry—”

“They’re going on a date with someone else.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you—?”

“Oh, hey,” Sakusa says as he walks out of the doors. He tugs on the string of his mask to make sure it’s secure before nodding at you. “Did you stop by the grocery store yet?”

Atsumu’s words are long forgotten when realization engulfs your figure at the speed of light. “Oh, no! I took a nap and—”

“You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll have you know I slept four hours last night.”

“…That’s not a good thing.”

“It’s an hour more than usual.”

The genuine concern is evident in Sakusa’s eyes before he rubs his temples with a sigh. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go to the store before we head home, I need to buy more protein powder.”

“Ay, ay, captain.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You snicker then turn to Atsumu with a smile he’d move mountains for. “I’ll see you later, Tsumu?”

“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, patting his cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me there and back.”

He finds himself involuntarily leaning into your touch. “Don’t mention it.”

Your touch lingers for a second too long before you salute him in goodbye and rush to follow Sakusa to your car. Atsumu watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder and stick your tongue out when you catch him staring.

He flips you off and makes sure to stick his tongue out, too, in hopes that it’ll make you laugh loud enough for him to hear.

(He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Sakusa’s eyes, nor does he catch his name slipping past Sakusa’s lips).

(But he does notice you tilt your head, lost in thought, before you look at him again, attempting to figure him out despite the distance.

He thinks nothing of it).

Just after his 9am lecture, someone asks Atsumu out on a date.

She’s nice and easy on the eyes; a little timid, but he supposes that’s just the affect he has on people. Big man on campus is what he’s always referred to as, until they realize that he’s nothing if not a goofball off-court. Still, the girl — Miwa is what she said her name was — doesn’t know that yet, so Atsumu gives her the benefit of the doubt.

And he says yes.

At 11:00, the whole team has caught wind of his evening plans, and Sakusa texts him to tell him he’s an idiot. Atsumu frowns, asks why, but Sakusa doesn’t reply.

At 6:00, an hour before his date, he shows up on your doorstep with a bag of clothes and a tie loose around his neck. His left pant leg is tucked into his sock and the other is haphazardly cuffed; his hair is all over the place, sticking up at the back as the result of a hair-gel disaster.

You stare at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you need?”

“I’ve got a date,” he explains frantically. “I need your help.”

You hesitantly let him in.

At 6:15 is when the argument occurs. The reason why is something Atsumu can’t recall, only that it was something so small and insignificant that the argument shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. He thinks you may have been in a bad mood before he even arrived, but that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t talked to him in the past five hours.

Oh, right. And the power goes out at 6:45.

He texts Miwa to cancel, promising to reschedule on a day where they won’t be talking to each other in the dark, but his phone dies before he gets a response. With a shrug, he tosses it onto the coffee table and makes a mental note to charge it as soon as the power comes back on, knowing full well that he’ll forget the reminder the second he makes it.

He should feel more guilty about the fact that he cares more about your absence than his postponed date.

Atsumu stares at your door for far too long before deciding that he’ll apologize to you — for what, he doesn’t know, but apologize first, ask questions later is his motto — once you’ve left your room. He’ll grovel and get on his knees and even humiliate himself if he has to, as long as it gets you to talk to him again, because God knows he’ll never survive this outage by himself.

(Also, you’re his best friend, and — Atsumu has never told anybody this — the last time you gave him the silent treatment, his chest physically hurt from not speaking to you that he vowed to never anger you again).

It’s 11:35, and you still haven’t left your room.

For the past few hours, you’ve been watching Netflix without headphones to torture a bored Atsumu, but the noises stopped about ten minutes ago, meaning your phone must’ve died too, so it’s only a matter of time before you leave your room in hopes of finding something to do.

Atsumu’s almost giddy at the thought.

At 11:50, he makes his move.

He hears the creaking of your door and your socked feet softly padding in the hallway. Atsumu’s always tried going to sleep early so he can hit the gym before it gets too busy the next morning, so you must’ve waited the latest you could bear with the assumption that he had fallen asleep on the couch.

Atsumu tiptoes to the end of the hallway, teeth bright compared to the darkness of the apartment, and his grin only widens when you finally see him.

You blink before scoffing, brushing past him to enter the kitchenette.

“Y/N,” he says, attempting to be stern but it comes off as a whine in his desperation. “Look at me.” You spare him a glance. Atsumu deems that’s good enough. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

He watches you open a cupboard and fill your glass with water. The seconds that pass by are agonizingly slow and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably when the silence drags on.

Finally, you look at him, unamused, and say, “What exactly are you sorry for?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Uh…”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to make your way back to your room.

“Wait! Wait,” Atsumu shouts, rushing over to block the exit. His eyes dart all over the kitchen in hopes the walls will have the answer to your question. You tap your foot impatiently, and it’s only when you go to open your mouth to tell him to move that he blurts out, “I’m sorry for eating the rest of your chocolate cake.”

You look at him incredulously. “That was you?”

“Yeah, I— wait, you’re not mad about that?”

“I am now!” you huff, using an arm to try and shove him out of the way, but he catches your wrist.

“Then I don’t get it!” he groans. “What did I do?”

You give him a once-over. “Well, what didn’t you do?”

“This is about the outfit?”

“You’ve cuffed your slacks, Tsumu. They’re cuffed. No sane person cuffs their slacks.”

He struggles to wrap his head around your response. “You’re mad,” he repeats, then gestures to his outfit confusedly, “about what I’m wearing.”

You seem to realize just how ridiculous it sounds uttered out loud, because you pout. “Not just that.”

“Then what else?”

You stumble over your words before you coherently state, “You’re going on a date.”

He frowns. “Yes.”

“You’re going on a date,” you say again when it’s obvious he’s not catching on to what you mean. When all Atsumu can manage is a perplexed sound, you add frustratedly, “You’re going on a date, which I don’t understand, since Sakusa told me that I didn’t need to worry anymore, but I guess he’s wrong because you came here asking for my help with looking nice on your night out with Miwa and—”

“Wait,” Atsumu interrupts, still puzzled. “What did Sakusa tell you?”

“He told me not to worry.”

“Worry about what?”

That snaps you out of it.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. Then, you cross your arms over your chest, muttering out a response with feigned nonchalance, “Whatever.”

Atsumu protests, “Hey, I—”

“Where were you even going to take her?” you swiftly change the subject, and Atsumu decides that he’ll let it go — that’s what he’s been doing for a while, anyway, and another day really couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Dancing,” he says.

“Dancing?”

“Yes,” he responds, relaxing at the sight of your amusement. “I searched up unique date ideas and Google told me to take her dancing.”

“You should’ve just taken her to dinner,” you say. “Because you can’t dance.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“You were born with two left feet.”

“Quit lying, you’re only saying that because you’re mad at me.”

“I’m only telling you the truth!”

“I’m a good dancer!”

“You really aren’t. I thought that was established two weeks ago when we were playing Just Dance and you knocked over Aran’s vase.”

“That says nothing about my ability to—”

“Yes, it does.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his hand out for you to take.

You look at his palm and back up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Not in any way, shape, or form.”

“We don’t even have music—”

“I’ll sing,” he shakes his hand. “C’mon, hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”

Without a second thought, you interlace your fingers with his as he whisks you around the kitchen, his laugh loud when you yelp at his fast movements. He places his other hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping on the tile as he leans to whisper into your ear.

“Any song requests?”

“None. You’re an awful singer,” you retort, bristling at the warmth of his breath.

“So, what are you saying? You’d rather waltz in silence?”

“Yes. And I wouldn’t even call this waltzing. We’re just sliding around the kitchen.”

“We’re waltzing,” Atsumu says firmly, daring you to argue. You only sigh, letting him pull you closer as you two clumsily move around the room. He sings your favourite song despite your insistence for him not to, humming the parts he doesn’t know and doing his best to hit every note.

You laugh into his chest, and he makes sure the sound is trapped in his ribcage so he’ll never have to go a day without it.

When the song reaches its end, you place your head on his shoulder, your breath piercing through his blazer and skin. “I’m sorry that I got mad at you,” you whisper despite the quiet, as if making your voice any louder will shatter the atmosphere. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

“It’s not, but thanks for trying to make me feel better,” you say timidly. “I guess I just got my hopes up.”

Atsumu tries to get the information out of you again, the very thing that’s been bothering you — and, as a result, him — for weeks. “About what?”

Your fingers tighten around his. “Nothing,” you answer, and if you notice just how much his posture deflates then you say nothing of it. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want.”

iii. Love

“You’re gonna get it in my eye!”

“Then stay still!”

“Just promise not to poke me.”

“I’ve already promised five times.”

“Then promise again!”

“Tsumu—” you sigh, slumping your shoulders as you meet his defiant gaze. “I promise I won’t get anything into your eyes or your mouth or your nostrils. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

You groan. “We’ve been over this millions of times—”

“Sue me for thinking you’re still mad at me.”

“I told you—”

“Sakusa got into my head,” he explains for the umpteenth time that evening, “he keeps on saying I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what, and he keeps looking at me as if I’ve committed a felony. His face keeps me up at night, it’s the reason why I’ve had so many nightmares recently—”

“Sakusa’s being a nuisance. Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you assure, your voice echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom. “You have nothing to worry about, so stop acting like I’m trying to kill you with this face mask.”

He stares pointedly at the tub sitting next to you on the sink. “It’s scarily green,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Like, it’s Hulk-green. Nothing should be that green.”

“If you’re implying it’s poisonous, it’s not.”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you grumble, spreading the mask across his cheeks, ignoring his murmured whines about how cold it feels on his skin. “You weren’t acting like this last time.”

“You were using a different face mask last time,” he rebuts. “I liked the other one better than this one.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go to the store,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll even take you with me, so you can choose the face mask. It’ll save me from your complaining in the future.”

“You love my complaining,” he replies quickly. “But I really should. I’d make your grocery trips so much more fun.”

“You’d get us kick out.”

“Would not!” Atsumu scoffs when you don’t even bother to hide your unconvinced mien and places his hands on either side of the marble countertop, trapping you against him and the sink. “I’ll prove it this weekend.”

You shake your head. “I’m not going this weekend. The fall festival is on Saturday, remember? I’m holding off spending money this week so I can buy a ton of cotton candy without feeling guilty.”

“Really?” he snorts. “You’re not gonna get wasted this year?”

“Definitely not. Last year was a nightmare.”

“You don’t even remember what happened.”

“Exactly,” you say, smoothing out the mask. “And you’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk, it makes me feel bad.”

Despite his proximity, you don’t seem to feel the intensity of his stare. His demeanour has softened in the past five minutes, smiling warmly at the pinch between your brows and the way your lips have twisted into a focussed frown.

This has happened countless times before — on all the other self-care nights, Atsumu finds himself in the four walls of your bathroom, free to admire you all he wants without the company of his friends and their teasing remarks. Though he’d never admit it, he prefers the quiet, because here, the both of you aren’t brushing off comments made about your relationship; here, it’s just you and him, pressed against the bathroom sink, worries left behind on the other side of the door.

Here, it’s so peaceful that Atsumu believes, for a few short moments, that everything will be okay.

“Don’t feel bad,” he says breathily, dreading the moment when you finish and he’s forced to pull away. “I like taking care of you.”

“You’re required to do it because we’re friends.”

“No, I like doing it,” he says again, ingraining the statement into your brain so it’ll stay there forever. “You don’t see me letting Bokuto or Hinata — hell, even Suna, stay over at my apartment and sleep in my bed.”

You pause your movements, eyes flickering to his. “What does that make me then?”

“Huh?”

“Bokuto, Hinata, and Suna are your friends, but you don’t pick them up from parties and let them say the night at your place.”

“Well, that’s cause I can’t be bothered most of the time, since they’re usually going to on-campus parties and my place is so far from—”

“But you picked me up a few nights ago,” you interrupt, and Atsumu is drawn to the determination in your irises more than he wants to admit. “And a couple weeks ago too, I think. You’ve been picking me up before I even moved in with Sakusa, and my old place was thirty minutes away.”

“What are you saying, Y/N?”

“What am I to you, Atsumu?”

He grips the countertop so tightly his knuckles are as white as the marble. His heart drums against his ribcage, so loud in the cavity of his chest that he wonders if you can hear it too.

“You’re my friend.”

“Like Bokuto? Or Hinata, or Su—?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffs. Comparing yourself to them is absurd. “It’s diff— you’re different.”

“Different how?”

Suddenly, everything feels stuffy. Tension floods the room until he’s neck-deep in it and drowning, all while you stare up at him, awaiting an answer.

“I—”

Someone knocks loudly on the door.

“Hey!” Bokuto. “Is someone in here?”

You don’t answer. The ball is in Atsumu’s court.

There’s an answer that lingers in his mind, one that he wants to give you despite the risk that it could destroy everything he’s ever known. But as his hesitation grows, the ring buoy that is Bokuto’s voice becomes more tempting — something to save him from this situation where he’s flailing in hope and what-ifs. Something to save him from your want and his dread and all the other sharp objects that could slice your friendship in two.

(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible?

Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)

“We’ll be right out,” he responds, and just as he replies, you pull away from him in defeat.

Everything in his body tightens.

You turn to wash your hands. Through the mirror, he can see you blink rapidly and clench your jaw.

When he finally goes to exit, Bokuto stands impatiently on the other side. His eyebrows rise when he spots the hairband keeping Atsumu’s blond strands out of his face.

“That’s cute,” Bokuto coos, poking at the heart that sticks out from the material.

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, adjusting the band and letting his fingers brush against the plush heart. “It’s Y/N’s.”

The sun had set a long time ago.

In its absence is the moon, its light barely sufficient to lead you and Atsumu home — home being his apartment, but you’ve been there so much it might as well be your own. It’s alright, though, he thinks; your arm is interlinked with his, and that’s all he’ll ever need to guide him.

Your hips bump his as you both walk down the sidewalk, the air a melody of your laughs as he retells a childhood story about him and Osamu. You fail to refrain the teasing comments that fall from your lips about how he’s always been a troublemaker, long before you ever met him.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he’d said a couple minutes ago. “Since I’m your favourite and everything.”

You smile, and every time you do so, the more he believes that the bathroom incident has been forgotten.

But Atsumu’s not stupid. He senses your discomfort — it’s miniscule, but it’s there, and deep down he knows it’s all because of what happened last night.

Every Tuesday, you wait for his evening lecture to finish before you both walk back to his place to watch a movie. Some nights you leave before the clock strikes ten, most nights you stay over. It’s a routine that’s been implemented since he first met you, and never once has it ever felt tense.

Atsumu itches to fix it.

“Hey,” he pipes up, hoping to avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation. “You never told me how your date went.”

“My date?”

“Yeah. Bokuto says some guy from your Psychology class asked you out.”

“What?”

“At the party.”

You crinkle your nose in thought before a light bulb goes off in your head. “Are you talking about Kuroo?”

Atsumu’s eyes may as well bulge out of the sockets with how much they’ve widened. “Kuroo asked you out?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Well, yes. But he didn’t mean it. He only did it to get someone to stop bothering him.”

Atsumu frowns. “Then why did Bokuto say—?”

“Bokuto was drunk,” you snicker. “Plus, you know how much of a lightweight he is, and Hinata just kept on giving him drinks, so you can imagine how that went.”

“Not good, probably.”

“Nope,” you say. “Just imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong then double it.”

“Did he puke on Akaashi?”

“Yeah, and on Kuroo too.”

“See, that’s why I never let him stay the night.”

Your smile wavers and he pinches himself for saying anything in the first place.

“That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had,” you eventually say, but your voice is weaker than you intend it to be.

Atsumu can’t find the energy to argue.

He allows himself to be pulled down the street, your footsteps hasty compared to how he tries to drag his feet along the cement. Atsumu assumes you want to get this night over with, to spend only an hour — maybe two — with him before bidding goodbye, and the thought causes an ugly feeling to root itself into the pit of his stomach.

The wind whistles in warning. He should’ve expected something like this.

All good things come to an end is something he’s heard far too many times to count, but Atsumu is nothing if not an optimist, and even so, he never thought a saying such as that could ever apply to his friendship with you. Despite the hardships, the two of you have always pulled through.

But the clouds begin to drift over the moon, hindering its light, and his stomach churns at what’s to come.

Your voice, disguised as a remedy to soothe his unease, carries him forward. “Listen, I think I’ll head home after the movie.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight, y’know?”

“You can sleep in mine,” he suggests, his tone bordering on a plea. You always sleep in mine. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“It’s okay, Tsumu,” you reply. “You’re probably tired of seeing me all the time, anyway.”

“I’m not,” he insists.

You give him a tight smile in response.

Atsumu’s always believed he was good with words. His voice has failed him before, sure, and it’s not like it’s a secret that sometimes his carelessness lands him in undesirable situations, but he’s usually so quick on his feet. He knows what to say, and if he doesn’t, he can crank up the charm until everyone in the vicinity begins to suffocate on his charisma.

Miya Atsumu is rarely ever speechless.

But then you started acting different, and suddenly he couldn’t decipher your expressions or predict your every move. You would dance with him in the kitchen and tenderly apply skincare products on his face, but no matter how much he pulled you close, you would drift further away. You’d open up before brushing everything off as if he had nothing to worry about.

It's like you haven’t been paying attention at all. If it involved you, Atsumu would always worry.

The question slips out of his mouth too quickly for him to control. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“What?”

He stops walking, and as a result, so do you. “Something’s been bothering you,” he says hoarsely. “And I was waiting it out because I thought you’d tell me, but… I feel like you never will.”

You lick your lips — to stall, he thinks, but doing so only spares you a second. “Do you have any guesses?”

“Huh?”

“You’re not an idiot,” you sigh. “You must have some idea.”

(And, perhaps, maybe a small part of him does. You’re his best friend, and he is yours, and you each earned that title by knowing the other like the moon knows the stars, like the stars know the sky, like the sky knows the sun.

He knows, you know he does. But this is irresponsible. It threatens everything).

“I don’t,” he lies.

“Atsumu,” you exhale, as if he’s entangled in your system, “do you really need me to say it?”

He doesn’t answer. You continue, anyway.

Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.

This was never part of the routine.

“Maybe I should just go home,” you murmur when he doesn’t speak. His fingers twitch, screaming at him to reach out for you as soon as you pull away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Y/N—”

“Just let me go,” you say — you beg. “Please.”

His body screams, his nerves flare, but the messenger between his spinal cord and his brain fails to relay the message that he should do everything in his power to prevent you from leaving.

“Okay,” he responds. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been in use for years, tainted with defeat.

You turn to leave, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Atsumu doesn’t follow.

Atsumu’s moody, he has been for a while, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to realize it’s because of you.

Or, more specifically, the absence of you.

You’ve been spending more time by yourself than you have been with anyone else, cooped up in the safety of your bedroom and listening to — according to Sakusa — music that ranges from soft, heartbroken ballads, to hardcore fuck-you anthems. The lack of your presence is strange; you’ve always been a constant in Atsumu’s life, and to live without it leaves a lingering emptiness in his chest.

He'll catch glimpses of you sometimes on campus, and he feels, what he assumes to be, the same emotion people feel when they claim they’ve spotted Bigfoot.

For a moment, everything feels a little more bearable.

But then you disappear, leaving sorrow in your wake, and reality washes over him like an ice-cold bucket of water.

His moping is how he ends up tagging along with Bokuto and Hinata at the fall festival, trailing after them like an upset puppy while they frolic down the streets, gawking at all the stands and taste-testing every snack they come across. The plan was to have them cheer him up, to make him smile even if it’s only for a second, because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.

Hinata offers him some funnel cake and Atsumu absentmindedly murmurs about how it’s your favourite. They all buy friendship bracelets and Atsumu buys one for you too because he knows how much you’d want one. They all clamber onto the carousel and Atsumu wonders if you’d fall off if you rode the horse.

Bokuto and Hinata get tired of it all eventually.

“He’s hopeless,” Bokuto cries when they reunite with Suna and Osamu. “He won’t stop whining.”

Atsumu opts for standing on his toes to look over the crowd in hopes of finding you instead of replying to his friend. His eyes drift first to the ring toss, then to the man selling cotton candy, then to the spinning teacups.

Nothing.

Osamu says something that finally catches his brother’s attention. “Well, Y/N’s not coming,” he waves his phone in the air, which is open on his message thread with you. “Said they were busy.”

Hinata huffs. “They’re only saying that cause Tsumu’s here.”

Bokuto slaps his arm. “Shoyo!”

“What? It’s true!” he exclaims defensively. “You know how they’re always on top of their assignments, I doubt they’re doing anything but watching TV and—”

“Yeah, but still, don’t say that! Isn’t Tsum-Tsum heartbroken enough?”

“I am not heartbroken,” Atsumu snarls.

Suna gives him a look. “Well…”

“I’m not!” he flails, frantically gesturing to himself to show that he’s perfectly fine. “I mean, yeah, am I a little upset? Yes. But heartbroken? You guys are just saying anything at this point, like—”

Osamu interrupts him before he can continue rambling and digging himself into a bigger hole. “What did you even do, anyway?”

The Miya twins are notorious on campus for their bickering, but Atsumu thought that in this situation, at least his own brother would be on his side. “What makes you think this is all my fault?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow, mocking and patronizing. “Well, for one—”

“If anything,” Atsumu continues, hurriedly cutting him off, “I should be the one avoiding them. Not that I’d want to, I’d never want to, obviously, but if we were getting technical then they should be the one worrying about me and not the other way around.”

Hinata speaks, mouth full of the last of his funnel cake. “Who says they don’t worry about you?”

“I— wait, what?”

“They’re always asking me and Shoyo about how you’re doing,” Bokuto chirps. “How screwed up could things be that you won’t talk to each other?”

Atsumu inhales, and he feels the world begin to collapse into him. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to think, unsure if it’s fair of him to reach for his phone and hope you’ll answer his calls. He knows why the two of you have found yourselves here, standing on opposite sides of a field of regret and hurt. He knows, that in his attempt to dodge change, he blew something up in the process.

Suna tilts his head in question. “Atsumu. What happened?”

Atsumu exhales. “They told me that—” the words lodge themselves in his throat, unwilling to leave.

But they all understand.

“Huh,” Suna hums. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”

“What did you reply with?” Osamu asks.

Atsumu prepares himself for their rage. “Nothing.”

He’s met with silence. Then, incredulously, Suna asks, “Are you stupid?”

Osamu answers for him. “Chronically so.”

Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to respond to the jab, and the severity of the situation significantly increases.

Hinata bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “I think he’s broken.”

Bokuto leans forward to study Atsumu’s expression as much as he can before the latter waves him off. With a frown, Bokuto steps back and looks around the grounds, hoping to find something that’ll cheer Atsumu up and make tonight not a complete bust.

A tent, flashy and sparkly and enchanting, lures him in.

Osamu looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Bokuto tugs on Atsumu’s sleeve and drags him to the tent, ignoring his protests. “I have an idea,” he says reassuringly, but it does nothing to calm his friend. “Trust me on this.”

Atsumu snatches his arm back and rubs it as if Bokuto’s harmed him. He cranes his neck around to look at the sign just outside the tent, and scowls at the pink and yellow doodles on the chalkboard.

“This is a psychic.”

Bokuto nods vigorously. “Yes.”

“Your idea of cheering me up is having me scammed?”

Bokuto pouts. “You love stuff like this.”

He’s not wrong. If it were any other day, this place would be Atsumu’s first stop. He’d be the one begging people to join him despite the fact that he knows the consequences involve a dent in his bank account, but today, predictions of his future are the last thing on his mind. Today, convincing people to get their fortune read is the least of his desires, because you aren’t trying to convince people with him.

There’s no point being here without you.

Atsumu moves to get out of line.

“Hey, dude,” Bokuto whines and holds onto his arm to keep him in place. “Just give it a try. It can’t hurt, can it?”

“Boku—”

“It’ll be fun!” he says cheerily. “Maybe it’ll give you some insight on how to apologize to Y/N.”

Atsumu wants nothing more than to move — to leave — but Bokuto mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes long before he could talk, and the moment he flashes them Atsumu realizes he has no other choice but to stay.

When he steps into the tent, the atmosphere changes.

He tugs on the sleeves of his windbreaker when the autumn air threatens to pierce his skin, and reluctantly sits down on the chair across from the psychic. She eyes his every move, trying to figure out what type of customer he might be — someone who’s just doing this for fun, or someone who’s going through a rough patch, or someone who needs a stranger to light the path they need to walk down.

Atsumu fidgets in his seat.

“You’re here for a reading?”

A shrug and feigned indifference are what she receives as an answer. “Sure.”

His mask of nonchalance begins to slip when the reading starts, growing restless as he checks the time on his watch and calculating the probability of you still being awake. He glances over his shoulder, praying to whichever deity who’ll listen that Bokuto will come in and drag him out once he’s realized that this is the last thing Atsumu wants.

You are not here, and his body stings whenever the reminder worms its way into his mind.

His uneasiness must amuse the psychic, because when he finally looks back at her, she’s grinning, knotting his stomach in worry.

She asks him a dreadful question, made of nuts and bolts and things that rub salt in the wound of his heart.

What is it that you desire most, boy?

Atsumu freezes, plastering a confused smile on his face. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m sure you know. Is it strength?”

Definitely not, Atsumu wants to say. He’s more than capable enough to lift heavy boxes, he doesn’t have to take multiple trips to move things from point A to point B, he doesn’t struggle carrying his friends’ slump and inebriated bodies into a bed.

Atsumu is strong. He’s proved it during his frequent trips to the gym and by winning arm-wrestling contests. He wears the trait like a badge of honour, a reminder.

He does not need any more physical strength.

He checks his watch and wonders if you’ve brushed your teeth and dragged yourself to bed.

The psychic pushes. “Power?”

Atsumu briefly shakes his head, a movement so miniscule it’s a surprise the woman catches it.

It used to be such a thrill, the popularity that came with his volleyball reign. He used to ride that horse and sit in that throne with pride, he let the excitement course through him and, for a while, let himself believe the squeals that came with victory was interchangeable with love.

But power does not compare. He was foolish to believe nothing could beat the rush that came with the admiration — the shouts of his name in the bleachers, the ever-growing follower count, the people confessing their infatuation whenever they caught him alone.

They do not know who he is underneath the volleyball uniform. They don’t know that he likes to go to the diner after games and order a strawberry milkshake, or that his bottom drawer is filled to the brim with spare clothes for you, or that his favourite nights are spent with you applying a face mask to his skin.

They will never know him as much as you do.

The psychic leans forward. “Love?”

Atsumu clenches his jaw. Yes, would be the short answer, but to say that without an explanation would mean to lie, and he’s never been a good liar. Because Atsumu’s always been loved — not by the crowds or the student body — but by his friends, his family, you.

You gave your heart to him, and he noticed too late that the bleeding organ resided in the palm of his hand, cracked and yearning and brave. And after he realized this, he selfishly craved for more, even though he knew it scared him. He has been in relationships before, but none of them crossed the threshold of what truly mattered — the intimate conversations, the dances in the kitchen at midnight, the confessions murmured under the duvet.

So, perhaps, yes, Atsumu desires love, but the one thing he supposes he wants more is courage.

The psychic smiles. “Ah. Bingo. So—”

“Miya.”

Atsumu whips his head around to find Sakusa standing at the entrance, skillfully ignoring the protests behind him to get in line and wait his turn. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at the situation Atsumu’s found himself in, but saves him from his judgement to state, “Bokuto told me you were in here.”

“Excuse me,” the woman chirps. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“If you think a scam is what’ll solve your problems, then you’re stupider than I thought,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu sighs. “You came here just to tell me that?”

“Well, yeah,” Sakusa shrugs. “There’s a simpler solution to all of this.”

“Okay, well—”

“Talk to them,” Sakusa interrupts, exhausted. “Before they give up.”

Atsumu kisses his teeth, changing his position in his chair so he’s fully facing Sakusa. “Since when were you the type to give advice?”

Sakusa ignores his retort with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.

“I have never seen you cower before, Miya,” Sakusa says, and the words are like needles on his skin. “Don’t let the first time you do so be now.”

Atsumu inhales shakily. “I don’t—”

“They got Hinge a few days ago,” Sakusa deadpans. Atsumu stiffens. “Don’t lose to some hack they found on a dating app.”

Atsumu looks from his friend to the clairvoyant before flashing her a sheepish smile and shooting clumsily out of his chair. The words that tumble from his mouth are barely coherent, and the last thing he hears before he exits the tent is Sakusa mumbling moron under his breath.

The journey from the festival to your apartment is a blur. He vaguely recalls running past his friends and returning their questioning shouts with a wave of his hand and getting angry at least two cars who cut him on the road, before he ends up in front of your door, nose tinged red from the cold.

His knocks are insistent.

“I’m coming, God, be patient,” he hears you say before you open the door to see him, and your annoyance is wiped away in seconds.

“Hi,” he says, out of breath from running up three flights of stairs after he got impatient waiting for the elevator. His eyes land on the blanket you’ve wrapped over your shoulders, and his lips quirk up at the familiar pattern. “Didn’t I get you that?”

You tug on the material defensively. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you not look at the weather before you left the house? It’s freezing outside, you idiot, you should be wearing a thicker jacket. And your face is so red! And your hands! They’re gonna get all dry if you don’t wear gloves! How many times do I have to tell you to dress for the weather otherwise you’ll get sick and…”

Atsumu rasps, “And?”

You gulp, taking a step back to distance yourself. “And you shouldn’t be here,” you say, sending a knife to his chest. “I thought you were at the festival.”

“That’s why you didn’t come,” he concludes. “Because I was there.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” you snap. “I told you I loved you and you looked at me like I was crazy.”

“I didn’t.”

“Whatever,” you bark. “My point still stands. You shouldn’t be here.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Eight letters are whispered into the darkness of the entryway, and the world is thrown off-balance.

“I love you,” he says, surprising himself with just how easy the words escape after he lets them, “and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your lips part in surprise. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “And I should’ve told you sooner, but I— I was scared—”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Love conquers all, I guess. My fear included.”

“You came all the way here to tell me that?”

He risks a step towards you and his heart flutters when you don’t move away. “I ran out of a psychic’s tent, too.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs. “That’s not important right now.”

“It sounds pretty important, I mean, you mentioned it and everything.”

“It’s not.”

“What exactly is more important than that?”

“Your forgiveness, actually.”

You huff. “Believe it or not, forgiveness doesn’t come so easily, Atsumu.”

“Can I kiss you, then?” he questions innocently, placing a hand against your cheek. “Will you take that as an apology?”

You still, licking your lips as you try to maintain your defiant stance. “…That won’t work every time you make me mad, you know.”

He tries his best not to smirk. “Is that a yes?”

“I hate you.”

He lets his lips hover over yours, and he’s not sure if the loud heartbeat ringing in his ears is his or yours (or maybe a mixture of both). “Is that yes?” he asks again, searching your eyes for any signs of discomfort.

Your eyes flicker to his mouth and then you mumble, “Yes.”

Atsumu pinches himself before capturing his lips with yours, eager and desperate, to kiss you with enough pent-up want and need to cause you to stumble. He’s gentle in the way he cradles your face, as if the world has found itself in his hands, still beautiful despite how much he’s hurt it.

He’ll make up for hurting you later, but for now he’ll allow himself to be selfish.

I love you, he whispers into your mouth, and you capture the confession with your own and let it live in your beating heart.

I love you, he whispers into your neck as you both stumble into the kitchen, making sure to tattoo the words into your skin so you’ll never forget.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time as the blanket covers you both and he’s sure you’ve lulled to sleep with your ear against his chest and his thumb drawing hearts on your shoulder, “so, so much.”

Slumber takes over you both, blanketing your smiling figures with hope and love.

© fushisagi, 2023. do not translate or plagiarize my works.

[the-chessboard-is-personal]

ii s3 liveblog

I'm a bit sad rn so sorry if my reactions are bad this time

1 - I'm not supposed to relate to Balloon am I. y'know. the guy that did something bad in the recent past and now everyone hates them even though they're trying to change.. sigh. wHAT? h. how is he here?? HOW IS SHE HERE??? ...does MePhone look different from how he was in the first half of s2? it's been a bit since I watched that but I swear there's something different about him. oh, new intrthe island is alive. warp pipe.

2 - yup sure :) 👍 right okay BOW is glitching now. something to do with chairs and maybe she lost her memories? she was obsessed with chairs before she died, so..oh fuck I'm taking as many notes as Cabby huh

3 - oh I thought I had something to say about this one. sorry

4 - if the floor gets eliminated, how will that work? .yo WHAT is going on with candleMUMBO JUMBO CATCHPHRASE ... I. I don't think that's what polishing a screen does.?

5 - what if Box wins lol ..oh. wait there was no formal elimination, I guess that got replaced with Box being pulled this episode

6 - them ,,,,,they,both of them,, the cool(s) -> ☯

7 - well call me a camera because [screenshots the auras file]. . . . . . . . . . a. ..nobody knows about this joke yet but if I had a- uh. nickel. for every time a series I know about had a character named Bow with trigger words, I would have two nickels. which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice what is going on with Bow and chairs. HEY MARSHMALLOW TOO?? yes I will keep doing this strikethrough bit

8 - oh fuck I just realized. "iii" as in Inanimate Insanity Invitational but also as in 3 (roman numeral) because it's season 3. also just based on the title I have a bad feeling about this episode (<-half-right??) wait WHAT. MePhone what the fuck does that rnean. whhaaAAAA- oh. agdjhk s ghdclod damn it the commercial is pLOT RELEVANT. hhhhey quick question. how uh. how do we know that everyone's back in the right body..? like. there were some characters who weren't onscreen after they all died again. uhh

9 - th. this episode is probably not like. actually worse than the other ones or anything. but, with the bias I had already formed because I distrust people with the name of the one this episode is a collab with, some stress I was already feeling today before even starting this liveblog, something Balloon said at around 9:14, said pre-liveblog stress making me associate the whole "animation machine" thing (which is seen as bad) with something I like but everyone else hates, I personally have nothing good to say about it.

10 - why is Cabby gold. oh it's whoever has the Immunity Cookie. wait did Cabby forget about TBD because her file was burned??

11 - bat? pokemon. the game you're thinking of is pokemon. wait did he say backstab HOW DOES HE KNOW CANDLE SAW BETRAYAL?? ..yeah I was wondering how that would work

12 - I knew it. I knew Cabby would forget stuff that isn't in a file! urghhh can they Please vote out silver spoon already. he's not gonna WIN, right?? sorry. but I don't like him.

13 - oh the intro reflected Bot's change in appearance. neat! nononoononoNONOONNO GAUhokay. listen I know it's probably not going to happen but I really want YinYang to win. and holy shit that "for the rest of your life" was foreshadowing.

14 - okay off to a start that makes me want to punch something. okay. okay. it's not a real ad. good. HUH HE GLITCHED holy shit, damn uzumaki lookin rooms what is this /positive(?) ☯ 👈 GRIAN INSTINCT (which. to be fair, mood). p u r p l e . PURPLE ACKNOWLEDGED. WHAT WAS THAT! ohhh what the hell. you fuck off this INSTANT you silver shitface. ohh I hate him. I hate him more than I hate Cobs. ..does Cabby not have parents? SPLRINGY IS FAKE. SPRINGY IS A ROBOT OR SOMETHING MADE BY COBS I'M CALLING IT NOW. please please please kill the spoon kill the spoon plEASE- ARRGHHH

15 - seeing as the next episode has Blueberry in the thumbnail and is called The Great Bluish Bake Off, I have a slight prediction on who will win the rejoin. wait what. yeah I'm gonna be honest I don't think it was murder. NO NONONOONO DON'T NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WAUGHHH,,,,,

16 - why....why am I finding Nickel so relatable. w h a t . now I've never had oatmeal raisin cookies, but I don't think they're the Number One Cause of global warming. I know it's a cartoon and awHAT THE HELL HE JUST DIED

(between 16 and 17) m. MePhone knows. MePhone knows what's going to happen when the season ends, doesn't he? that's why he doesn't want it to. that's why he's desperate. but the question remains, what does he know that the viewers don't?

17 - wait this episode is from 10 months ago. is- is the series not over? damn it! I prefer to binge watch stuff so I don't forget while waiting for new episodes. oh don't even fucking go there. 14:01 FUCK OFF.

(between 17 and 18) y'know I was trying to watch this to ESCAPE all the drama and discourse everyone hates me for. this just feels personal at this point. but hey, who cares about me, right? onto the next damn episode!

18 - there's another 4 under that 4. are they all 4s. ohhh noooo, what an inteeense moooooment. wow it's really fucking difficult to care right now.

19 - again final episode so I'll break this into sections. kinda

..,.Cabby..I think I understand a bit more about my own..situation because of Cabby. wait wait. "built" to? BUILT to?? HMMMMMM 4S is still here?? what ??? ? well at least the one that YinYang wanted to win won..!

and that's season 3 huh.

well. that was kinda filler? tbh?

and the message in episode 17 sucked- ..eh. hold on. I'm getting too angry over some discourse. I need a break from typing this.

okay after like half an hour I realized something. they were trying to win an award. I like AI art, but I don't think it should ever win any awards in competition with human art. the two are fundamentally different. I don't think there should be any competitions that have both, especially high prestige ones. that line at 14:0whatever was too far though.

my opinion is that human art and AI art are both art. but they're VERY different forms of art, and should probably be kept that way.

overall I liked the season. sure, YinYang didn't win and episodes 9 and 17 are...like that. but it's not that bad tbh.

probably gonna watch the rest of s2 tomorrow, but for now I just want to play minecraft.

[inconspicious-random-thoughts]

Alastor wound

I doubt this be done in canon, and not really a theory. More of an idea. A story prompt I suppose?

So we know Alastor go injured by a holy weapon. The fanbase assuming this will disrupt Alastor power greatly. He be weaken significantly and suspected that the wound struggle to heal my normal means.

So here's my thought. What is the wound react by the virtues/morals of the injured. For example Alastor wound struggling to heal, but it gets worse. Every little deception and sin he takes part off, more of the wound inflicts a burn into him. Which, with Alastor, his him basically breathing. The man playing 4d chess and working with 3 agendas that work aside with each other. Trying to fulfill his roles and gain Charlies Trust, His master agenda, and his own to break his contract. So as he trying to plot, this wound is just getting worse and he doesn't know why. So he has another agenda and try to plot and extract favors to learn why.

Eventually, the wound he trying to keep a secret got revealed. Because he plotted something behind Charlies back and it nearly ended him while standing by the Hotel front desk. Lucifer drops the bombshell of why it not getting better. Because the holy magic is trying to burn away the wickedness of the wretched thing its inflicted on. The rest of hotel realized when he nearly died again in front of them that whatever he try to manipulate just then is now revealed Alastor as the manipulator that he is. Hurt and betrayal throughout the whole hotel as Alastor is struggling to stay conscious at this point as Lucifer performs a emergency spot heal. Vaggie and Lucifer pulled the "I told you so!" even though they JUST started to trust Alastor. That heal took a lot of argument amongst the hotel if he should receive, but Charlie being Charlie, wanted him save despite how utterly hurt and betrayed she felt.

Alastor, temporary mended and severely weaken to the point its basically a death sentence if anyone else in hell that the overlord is weak, and he is s forced to reveal some truths he kept hidden to the hotel.

So here's the twist, the only thing that can save Alastor from dying from the wound, is he has to actively try to redeem himself. Something he never believed the hotel could fulfill and he definitely knew his own soul is beyond redemption. All his careful plotting and careful control in his 4 D chess, the game board has been flipped over. He has to pick up the mess of pieces it left. He lost it all. HIs first priority is he need to find redemption to survive then he can try to find a way to free from his contract any anything other plan that salvageable to the back burner.

Alastor only way to survival is to try to redeem his unredeemable soul in a place where he betrayed everyone and nobody likes him. They all reluctantly help Alastor but because of Charlie (her belief now shaken because of Alastor) that everyone deserve a second chance and its the right thing to do. Beside, they needed Alastor knowledge of the oncoming big bad thing that was coming he was involved in that he can't really help in when it comes because of his contract. So While he a "guest" at the hotel now, he also a prisoner. They know when he being deceitful if his wound flares up.

Alastor redemption was basically him trying to earn everyone forgiveness. He was fond of the hotel crew before but they weren't friends. But throughout his healing arc he missed their warmth from their friendship to him.. He only receive cold glares from everyone now...which is deserved. When trying to earn their forgiveness and trust he actually developed (slowly!) a genuine friendship with each member of the hotel.

ttldr: Alastor would never go through redemption arc unless he needed to do ti save himself from the brink of death.

[shirolian]

Star Crossed Myth - Review of Zyglavis, Hue and Scorpio

My current Star Crossed Myth career is at its peak - I wholly finished three routes (yes, that much, envious?) and now I need to unleash my brainrot. The finished routes: Zyglavis, Hue, Scorpio - in this order. 2:1 for Punishments but I suppose that is not surprise given that this game subverts the expectations of how gods should be and Punishments gods are mostly mewling kittens.

Zyglavis route as whole was, how to put it, felt like I dated a man who is older than me by 20 years. Comforting, reliable but also very lonesome and sometimes distant experience. His later parts of story were frustrating but this time the meme "my life is living hell and I have nobody but myself to blame" applies. The King shockingly is not the antagonist in this route, Zyglavis rigidity is. As much as I love strict meganes who are kind souls inside, I couldn't feel the real love and connection between him and his MC. Favorite scene in his route: The realization in his main story, where he finally acknowledged that he loves MC. The tenderness was palapable as he wiped her tears and whispered "you cry for others?" - it was very defining moment that rekindled his faith in humanity Favorite scene with Zyglavis overall: His infamous arrival in Hue's route where he breaks through window 😂 Route rating: 7,5/10

Hue... I kind of regret that I did his second. I should definitely do him last. So if you plan to play, don't do the same stupid mistake like I did. His route is full of lore and background about MC. The background especially will cause you LOTS of pain if you do his route early and then proceed to other gods. Relationship with Hue felt just right. Like two halves of one soul united and in a sense, it's true. Two halves of stars reunited 😭 I mean how much more of "their love is destiny" vibes can this get? Their banter was entertaining and witty, ocassionaly MC really flipped the tables back on Hue and it was amusing to see his reaction. Hue is definitely the brain in this relationship but his MC is not stupid either - rather, she is jealous and insecure. If you read my previous post where I ranted about this, you will understand what I mean. The ending of whole route was very unsatisfactory and the jelaousy plot of MC's was dominant arc, which annoyed the hell out of me. You know what would be absolutely perfect ending for Hue? If he got Scorpio's ending. Here, I said it. Favorite scene in his route: When MC travels back in time and is Clotho. Then she dies and we can see the aftermath - Hue, standing in the darkness of his room and MC clinging to his lifeless, breathing body. He just pulled out his eye for her, effectively crippling himself in the name of love even if the result was uncertain. The sheer rawness of the moment, the despair and mourning - it all deeply resonated with me. Favorite scene with Hue overall: The sequel (?) ending where Hue and MC talk their feelings and MC admits that she thought the source of Hue's uneasiness was his dissatisfaction with their lovemaking. Hue is literally speechless for a moment because it would never ever occur to him that THIS was one of MC's concerns. The aftermath to this scene is 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Rating: 9,5/10 - I blame overused jelaousy plot. Once, it was nice. Using it all the time was rather tiresome.

Scorpio, the local tsundere god from Wish- ahem, Heavens. He definitely is the most rude LI that I had the honor to date 😂 I don't really like tsundere types and at first, I really couldn't warm up to Scorpio. But his scene with train tickets won me over - man was extremely cute 😂 However, in terms of relationship, his and MC's reminds me of italian couple - they argue, loudly and violently, and then they probably hate-fuck or make up. Not the most healthy dynamic on the market but hey, it's otome, red flags are welcome. Needless to say, that Scorpio became green flag in disguise. His explosive vocabulary and prickliness won't go ever away but he softens significantly and opens up to MC. It was very heartwarming to see the progress fromt he begining, where he couldn't read MC's emotions at all to the end, where one look at her face was enough for him to deduce what she is thinking. The constant source of comedy in this route was Scorpio's mind reading ability and his open defiance to the King. Yes, the King. If I thought that the King was extremely tame in Hue's route, in Scorpio's the King is main antagonist and the biggest dick in universe. "Sparkly bastard. Sorry excuse for a king. That bitch." - Scorpio, circa 2015 This route had absolutely the best ending of all three - literally the ideal outcome that I wished would happen in Hue's. The real promise of Infinity together. I don't know what I expected but it really was not the most romantic rendition of Sleeping Beauty. Favorite scene in this route: Rabbit. Apples. The first time when they come up, the scene is SO darn cute. Then the apples become the staple of the route and source of comfort between MC and Scorpio. CUTE. Favorite scene with Scorpio overall: My knees went weak from that CG and moment where Scorpio and MC couldn't touch each other. They were in MC's apartment and Scorpio was about to leave. The longing, the love, the passion when they touched and kissed as the glass window separated them... *slaps seal of forbbiden longing* This is how it should be done. Rating: 10/10, no regrets. They said fuck the King and really did it.

[junegirl06]

A more literal interpretation of Jevil's "freedom" (also some rambling)

The last post I did on Jevil- I talked about how his "freedom" could be like a sort of "inner freedom." He is trapped physically, but free from the contraints of responsibility, society, morality, etc. Now, I think that mindset is exactly the thing that led him to do whatever he did to get imprisoned, but the freedom he talks about in game might be a different thing entirely.

The thing that got me thinking about that is a video by halfbreadchaos. (I forgot the specific video but check them out- they make great stuff) They led me to notice the fact that Jevils prison is very oddly positioned, and the entire "???" floor area as a whole is really strange as well.

The room itself looks eerily similar to that first area we wake up in on chapter 1. The creepy atmosphere, the color of the floors (kinda), and the torches are literally the same as the ones found in that pre-castle town area. The entire place looks so incredibly different from the rest of the card castle. The walls and surrounding area don't even seem to be like... there. Like it's some sort of abyss. Like the entire room is out of bounds of something.

Jevil's cell/room shares a very similar vibe in that aspect as well. On the outside, the bars just seem to lead into nothing. And even on the inside, It just looks... wrong. The spinning carousel thing is so different from anything else in the game. I mean, toby said it's made out of 2D parts, but it's obviously supposed to look kinda 3D. The characters aren't even standing on the thing properly. Even behind the carousel, it's just more nothingness.

____

Now, let's look at Jevils dialogue directly.

"BUT I'M FAST, FAST, CLEVER, CLEVER." "THEY LOST THE CHASE, AND LOCKED UP THEIR ENTIRE RACE." "BUILDING A PRISON AROUND THE WHOLE WORLD. NOW I'M THE ONLY FREE ONE." Ralsei: "But you're clearly the one behind bars..." "THINGS DON'T SEEM SUCH FROM HERE LIGHTNERS!"

Looking at this completely literally, this is what we can gather: The guards and/or Seam chased him around, but he was too fast and clever for them. They somehow decided to build a prison around the dark world and trapped everyone behind bars, making Jevil the only free one. This is obviously not the case. If we try to fit this interpretation into what we know about the dark world and Jevil's situation... it uh, kinda looks like he's joking about how it looks like everybody is trapped because he's looking at them through bars.

But that answer is pretty boring, isn't it? There is obviously a lot more we can read into the dialogue. Jevil is shown to speak with a certain bit of abstractness. This analysis is supposed to be a more literal interpretation, but it's clear we need to look a little more deeper than that.

____

Let's take what I brought up before the dialogue, along with some other points.

Jevil's prison is very clearly separated from the rest of the dark world. Hell, maybe even the rest of the game with how odd it is.

Jevil talks about how everybody else is trapped, and he is the only "free" one.

This freedom doesn't exactly seem to be "inner freedom," as he directly connects his prison with this "freedom" by inviting us "outside" when we use the key on the door.

They way he doesn't elaborate any further when we do enter his room, and because the characters don't seem to have like, any sudden revelations or something inside of the room, leads me to believe that it's that inherent oddness, that separation from the "normal" part of the game that Jevil is finding freedom in.

Nobody in the world of Deltarune technically has automony over their choices. Every single choice, every event, is because of the plot. All of these people are characters in a video game, able to be manipulated by higher forces on a whim. Gaster/the mysterious entity made Jevil realize this and drove him insane with the knowledge.

Now, Jevil doesn't actively dispise that fact like Spamton does. He might almost relish in it- as he did go on that "NOTHING MATTERS EVERYTHING IS A SIMULATION! UEEHEEHEE!!!" rampage that caused so much chaos.

But then he faced the consequences of his actions. His own coworker/quite possibily a good friend locked him up in this dark, creepy place far, far below where the regular prisoners are supposed to go. And it all felt quite... stupid.

"Look at all those little people, obediently following the rules of this worthless world. They don't realize, don't they? They've simply placed another peice in the great game being set up by the higher beings. They're just walking themselves closer and closer into their eventual end. It's almost as if... they're trapping themselves. Building a prison around all of them, allowing themselves to be puppeteered by the people who control the world.

Hah! I'm quite clever, aren't I? Thanks to what I've done, I've been relagated as even lesser than a side character, sitting in a little haven tucked away from the influences of the outside world... No, I'm the one looking from the outside this time. I'm the only one here who truly understands, aren't I? But it's not my job to enlighten such fools. I'll be content watching from the backseat as the chaos unfolds..."

___

I, uh... didn't mean to write a fanfic- but I'm pretty sure that's Jevil's mindset. He fully accepts this messed up world he's inside, but he defnitely wouldn't mind if he was granted a little more freedom. And somehow... that's what he got. As a secret boss, he's... basically fully separated from the main story, but his presence is still enough to make it clear he exists in the world.

He's "free" in a much more literal sense than I intially thought. After all, isn't being that pedestrian on the streets who (hopefully) doesn't get caught in the crossfire of the MC's the best freedom any story could give?

[chaosteddybear]

Philia 4 an Agape 1 for Mix!

Aw thank you! These are great ones for Mix! I juuust answered Agape 1 for him so I hope it's OK I decided to answer it for Hexx here instead?? 🤭

Mix

Philia 4: Is your OC able to build close friendships with people very different from themselves? Perhaps in terms of culture, age or personality?

Absolutely! As a matter of fact, it's even quicker for him than building relationships with people like himself. Culture and age - of course. He really gets to the meat of who someone is, taking these things into account as they affect their perspectives but not much besides that. So focusing on personality -

He really admires the unburdened, for example, and he usually wants to take them under his wing. Study them. Make sure they are able to stay this way and never change or become vulnerable due to their choice (or lack thereof) not to focus on protecting themself. A certain rogue demon. A certain witch. He must protect. And if the world they're in (depending on au) does suggest that they need to learn to protect themselves as well, he will try his absolute best to ensure it's done in a way that he can be proud of.

He is also fascinated by people with obviously inflated egos who brag a lot or talk a big game - which he doesn't do at all - and he will engage in admittedly flirtatiously teasing ways. He will look forward to chatting with them too of course! As annoying as they may be.. And depending who you ask, this may or may not qualify as being "like himself" so maybe it doesn't fit here or maybe it does 😳

He really admires people who are creative and outgoing in ways he never really indulges in. He will want to be around them more..

And one of the things that he admires most is when people want to change the lives of those they don't even know for the better. Mix will roll right over for this. He himself usually just focuses on his own pack, because it's all he can manage. Someone striving for more power, influence, loftier goals than him? Well, if he agrees with those goals, he might get pretty darn weak. Especially mixed with other things he loves.

Wow it was really fun to think of things Mix loves in others that he doesn't possess himself. 😳 I will keep thinking about this too, to be honest! Give him a little therapy session tbh.

Hexx

Agape 1: Does your OC wish to make the world a better place? How far do they see that as being their responsibility? What lengths would they go to in order to help achieve this?

No 😁😈

However, I suppose they do accidentally sometimes? One time they fixed the broken weather in a beach town because nobody would go in the water anymore! Nevermind that their motivation was to bring the food out to them, of course.

They also will support literally only Raphael's and Cian's plots, which may improve the hells, but they're doing it for them, not for the hells 😂 (tag @dmagedgoods for Cian heh)

The ask

[olderthannetfic]

Been thinking about daring to try to get into vidding (but I have zero knowledge about video editing lol) and wondered if there are ship manifestos that are in fanvid-form, so to say. Am shocked that there are only six on AO3. Though I guess it may have to do with videos being taken down because of copyright stuff?

(One of them was by you by the way if I'm not mistaken, ha! And now I want to watch Veritas: The Quest. Your video got me interested.^^)

--

Haha. I was going to say!

Veritas is a fun dumb time. It makes me sad that they never released properly. (And yes, my love of baaaaaad "archaeology" canons full of magical woo and tomb raiding goes way back. Also my love of fake death and fake betrayal plots.)

AO3 is only moderately popular for fanvids, and mostly in a very specific community of people who send vids to the small-scale fancons—the sorts of people who founded OTW and who were vidding on Livejournal. (It won't be because of takedowns. The AO3 work would still be there, just with a dead embed.) That lack of popularity overall is part of why you don't see so many video manifestos, but I think it's more a terminology thing:

I think it's rare for vidders to call their vids "manifestos". I don't think of that one video as a vid that is a manifesto: I think of it as a vid I made to include in a manifesto. Instead, we tend to call them "pimp vids", but you don't tag with that because it's presumptuous. It's something you say retroactively about other people's vids or that you tell a vid beta you're aiming for. You don't get to decide if your vid successfully pimps people in any more than you get a say in whether you go viral, you know?

--

There's a weekly vidders' zoom run by DC Slash (one of the tiny slash cons), and we just had a week where we brought in vids that got us into fandoms. A lot of other people's were ancient, blurry VCR transfers because they've been at this a lot longer than I have, but I can show you some of the vids that have gotten me into fandoms:

Killa's Haven vid Soldier annoyed me so much. What is that one brief flash of a scene? Did that dude die? It's not that sad a vid though? What the hell? So I had to watch just to find out. (Yes, he died. But he got better. Because Haven.)

The fact that I know and like Killa didn't hurt, but it's not like I loved the vid itself: a lot of it was my sheer annoyance at that one shot.

Of course, then, I made my own Haven vid, Captain Kidd, that was supposed to be an angry deep dive into show lore and how the other sanctimonious, fake-moral but actually pretty useless characters were treating my blorbo. (This is a theme with me, it appears.) It was not even 1% supposed to be a pimp vid...

To date, this is by far my most successful pimp vid, luring a whole bunch of people into the show just in time for it to massively jump the shark. (Damn it.) I've never even seen the ending.

More recently, akiv's Beyond Evil vid I'm a Ruler made me fall hard for Beyond Evil. Imagine my shock when what looked like a relatively normal buddy cop series starts with one of them secretly investigating the other as a serial killer. It was so much more intense and fucked up than I realized! Yessss.

After bouncing hard off of DMBJ, it was this Youtube vid Hei Ye falling for the Thorny Flower that got me intrigued again. The tone is so obvious and the dynamic is so clear, which really helped me get interested in a franchise that's often pretty hard to follow plot-wise.

I admit I never actually watched canon, but this Mr. Queen vid by Mozzaphne made me go look up a plot summary so I could read all of the fic. Lots of youtube vidders overuse show dialogue and mix it horribly over songs, but this one was really well done and adds a lot to your understanding of the character dynamics.

I don't think my foray into Detroit: Become Human was entirely because of a single vid, but Figure 8 by Dirty Mind Gene definitely helped. I knew it was a video game with robots. Nobody fucking told me it was a Caves of Steel ripoff with a jaded cop getting his mojo back via getting to know his robot partner.

I of course then went and made one with all of the zillions of deaths in the game because I love that shit. This apparently also got at least one person into the fandom.

Another vid a different person mentioned pimping them into a fandom was Lola's Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty vid ME!

It's a fabulous vid, and it's a fantastic illustration of how the central (canon) ship is supposed to read. Sadly, my personal opinion of the show is that Tang Fan is a perpetual victim and piece of shit who puts his own shallow grasp of morality and his personal feelings over the greater good, often getting characters killed unnecessarily. (I hear this is largely due to some questionable adaptation choices where they swapped who's the hothead and who's the one cleaning up messes.)

I've noticed that fluffy bunnies who watch the show tend to think Tang Fan is ~nice~ because he spouts modern morality instead of a selfish little bitch because he refuses to face the reality of the setting he's in and find the best real world solution instead of holding out for an ideal he'll never attain and thus making everything ten times worse. It reminds me forcibly of tumblr wank where people see themselves as these great moral leaders but lack all grasp of nuance. Their sensitivity extends only to their own feelings.

Yes, Sleuth left me with a lot of rage...

How dare the writing pretend like Tang Fan is the moral arbiter of anything, when my own personal fave, whom half the cast thinks is a villain, is constantly cleaning up after him, trying to keep the body count low, trying to maintain order as everybody else flies out of control...

And then the show made it all better by tormenting Tang Fan in the iddiest way possible. Ohohoho. It's not just that he gets his face rubbed in his own inadequacy and inability to save people. It's the ridiculously over-the-top flashback to "You're my only friend" right in the middle of the death scene. Way to twist the knife!

I, of course, have made my own vid for this fandom, Tiny, Pretty & Angry, and it is absolutely a manifesto, just not a ship one. It's a manifesto about how Wang Zhi is not only the most competent, but also the actual moral center of everything and fuck all of y'all if you don't agree.

In fact, there's probably another reason we don't call them manifestos:

In the oldschool Media Fandom vidding traditions, most vids are video essays and manifestos, really. That's a lot of the point of the aesthetic: making an argument. Partly due to technological limitations and partly due to vidding being innovated by slashers who were constantly challenged about their ships, the pretty visual spectacle styles so common in AMVs and currently on Youtube were largely absent. Meta argument was everything. That's the default.

Here's another one of mine that's pretty explicitly a fuck you to how most people in Untamed fandom see Wen Ning.

[canonically47]

reviewwwwwwwwwwwww

hi anon ur on time as always!!

disventure camp all stars episode 5 spoilers!

(but you knew that)

i was wrong on... so many theories, but that's fine! i actually think this might be my favorite episode of the season so far and i couldn't really tell you why, i think stuff is just finally being put into motion

it's annoying as hell to see my favorite alliance be exposed by one of my favorite characters, WHO AM I SUPPOSED TO ROOT FOR?? jk it's the villains' alliance because three of my favs are on there. miriam is craftyyy though

i audibly giggled at some stuff yul said but "thunder thighs"?? THUNDER THIGHS?????????? oh my god i need this twink obliterated. get in the grinder i will turn you into a burger patty

riya was pretty fun this episode. i have to admit i'm disappointed grett wasn't the one to vote yul but i think it's too early in her arc for her to stand up against him anyways. it's definitely being built up, but it's not the time yet. it's also in-character for riya to do that, and letting connor take the fall instead of herself? god how does connor even stand her? i love evil women i have turned a new leaf i support women's rights AND wrongs riya kiss me let's have a PASSIONATE make out session

tomden friendship has become one of my favorite dynamics, and while i'm still unsure if i like tom, aiden definitely has some good moments in this episode as always

i wonder if tom and jake will EVER make up like this is just so complicated atp.. tom admitting he's been ignoring jake and that hesitation he showed in the confessional - oh my god pleaseee talk to each other pleaseeeee

ellie lying to gabby :( please don't miscommunicate lovelies you're the only good couple left to see on the show

fiore being scared to lose :( my sweet little girl :( she's a manipulative bitch but she's still just an eight-year-old girl :( i love her sooo much :( please go forth baby you can do it :(((

i am so curious as to how ally's arc will play going forward, i wonder if tess will have a role in it too. i'm definitely excited to see the next few episodes

speaking of the next few episodes, EMILY AND YUL??? SNEAKING OUT????? i think a cheating plotline is too far-fetched, going against the chat here lol, but i wonder if emily could be helping yul cheat in the game. she seemed nervous to leave kristal, trevor and derek, i don't think she would've been as nervous to leave for her secret lover rather than a contestant she is secretely helping. then again, since yellow team just lost last episode, i don't know what she could be helping him with. THEN AGAIN, THEN AGAIN, what if yul texted her BECAUSE he was angry with her for not helping? idk man i'm just happy to be here

brushing past the fact that alec barely had any lines, fiore and ellie were in the trenches, aiden did almost nothing, and james still isn't here, even though my top five were pretty useless this episode, i kinda liked it. the plot advances really nicely, paving the way for a grett comeback at yul arc that i am sooo sure will happen, fiore's revenge on her team, ally's comeback and her possibly making merge - though how much plot armor will magenta team get? jake still has to make up with tom, fiore with alec, so only ashley could be voted out, but how? i wonder if they'd want her to make merge this time or not?? - ellie and gabby fighting, tess and ally reuniting, just... a lot of good stuff all around that i am excited to see. i hope the villains can pull through, because if yul and riya could work together, NOBODY would be safe. and i am also curious about grett's fate... she is the lesser evil among every villain, and i am excited for her story!!!

solid episode i'll give it a 9/10 which i think might be the second highest rating i would give an episode (the first episode gets a 10/10 just because it's so fun!!)

[jimintomystery]

Foodfight! (ugh)

I voted for Dex Dogtective in a poll the other day and it reminded me that I never actually watched that shitty Foodfight! movie from 2012. So I did. This was not a good idea.

There isn't a whole lot to say about Foodfight! that hasn't already been said. The project was in development hell for so long that it defaulted on its debt, and investors took over to at least get something out the door. The most obvious issue is the bad animation, though that speaks for itself.

But here's the thing: This movie could've had Pixar-quality animation and it'd still be hot garbage. "What if mascots for popular products lived in your local store?" is a middling idea at best, and the story mishandles it every step of the way.

It would be easy to say this movie needed a lot of popular corporate mascots to really work, and the best they could do was Charlie the Tuna and the Vlasic stork. But I remember thinking the first Toy Story wouldn't work without heavy hitters like Barbie and Lego, and yet they got along fine with just Mr. Potato Head and Etch-a-Sketch. Similarly, Wreck-It Ralph succeeded with a cast of skillful pastiches of familiar video game characters, and mere cameos by the big names. In theory Foodfight! could make up a cereal mascot that reminds you of Tony the Tiger while leaving room for changes to fit the plot. But in execution we get...Dex Dogtective.

Dex is the mascot for Cinnamon Sleuth cereal, and also a detective, and also a dog, and also he dresses like Indiana Jones, and also he likes raisins, and also he runs a nightclub like Rick Blaine in Casablanca. So he has like six different gimmicks, and the cereal mascot part is easily the least important. The only reason you'd even suspect Dex is a character from a box of cereal is because he's in a movie about brand mascots. Indeed, none of the characters created for this movie look like they were designed to sell anything, least of all groceries.

The strongest concept in the movie (which isn't saying much) is that the brands are facing an invasion by the evil Brand X. This makes sense, seeing as Brand X is by definition generic, with no iconic mascot except the pejorative and mysterious implications of that term. Listen, I know this sounds dumb, but you could do something with this. In a world of where brands come to life in the form of their mascots, who or what emerges from a brand without a mascot? How would such a being differ from the likes of, say, Count Chocula? Such a character might reject some fundamental principle that the good guys hold dear.

At this juncture, a sharper "secret lives of things that aren't alive" movie could make some insightful point that ties the story together. Something about how the world needs brand mascots, I suppose. But nobody actually needs brand mascots, for pete's sake, except for the people who came up with this movie. So there's no core idea for Brand X to oppose--the good guys' world exists just to exist, so the bad guys exist just to destroy it. With that baseline laziness established, Brand X paradoxically has lots of mascots, all of whom look like Nazis for some reason.

Well, okay, technically Brand X's leader, Lady X, looks less like a Nazi and more like the Baroness from Cobra. But it figures that she doesn't quite fit in with the rest, since she created Brand X! Yeah, so at the end it's revealed she was a mascot for a poorly-marketed brand of prunes, and when she was discontinued she went to Brazil (???) for plastic surgery (???) to make her all hot. Then she somehow amassed the resources in the real world to create Brand X, complete with a human-sized android (!!!) so she could pass herself off as a real person and sell her wares to stores.

Dex is astonished by this backstory, since the mascots are like three inches tall and can't even leave the store. Lady X explains the plot hole by saying "Humans! When you look like this you can get them to do anything. Size only counts for men."

"Size only counts for men."

"Size only counts for men."

(She's talking about fucking.)

(fucking)

(-ucking -ucking -king)

Anyway, I need a nap now. Please don't watch this movie.

[demonfox38]

Completed - Wild ARMs

Man, it really gives the whole plot away to know that Zepet is supposed to be translated as Geppetto. 😅

I was having another indecisive spat on what to play this June, as I wasn't in the mood to play anything in particular. (Decision fatigue gets real bad when you have literally 281 games left to beat between Steam and physical copies. Shit, that's not even getting into mini consoles…) After tossing up another poll online, the series winner for this month turned out to be "Wild ARMs." Now, I've got one mutual that is pretty sweet on "Wild ARMs 3" in particular, but I didn't want to jump right to that, as I know how it can go when you start a series further down the line, then go back in time. Features get rolled back; content gets rougher. (Well, in a world where things are always improving, that's how it goes, anyway.) So, to get a fresh taste of this series, I started with its primary release.

"Wild ARMs" (not to be confused with "Wild Guns") follows the adventures of three travelers seeking to restore life to their dying world via the help of ancient guardians, magic, and technology—at least, when it isn't trying to actively kill them. Standard RPG plot, right? The major twist here revolves around the use of iconography from the American Old West to create a whole new world and set of combat and exploration systems. Does it work? Well…it's weird to see castles and princesses in a story taking aesthetics from the distinctly anti-monarchical United States, but honestly, we're also responsible for the Disney Princess subculture. So, maybe it's not as weird of a mix as it initially seems.

This game is like every RPG and no RPG at all. Like, if you're long in the tooth with RPGs, you'll get it. Aesthetically, it's on par with contemporary titles like "Tales of Phantasia" and "Xenogears," particularly with the latter's mix of anime cutscenes, 2D sprites, and 3D battle models. ("Golden Sun" also shares a similar pseudo 3D model sprite appearance to this game, if you want some more distant connections.) Dungeon navigation and puzzle manipulation feel very "Sweet Home"/"Tales" RPG/"Paper Mario" adjacent, with each party member acquiring a set of tools to use in their environment to make their way forward. Most surprisingly to me, I kept getting this feeling of nostalgia that I have when I play "Tales of Symphonia." Like, yes, tropes get passed around like hot potatoes in this particular genre of games, but holy shit. When you have:

A boy getting kicked out of the starting village due to violence in which he was involved,

A girl struggling with the veneer and duties of her role,

A man hiding his past struggles with letting an important woman in his life down,

A woman obsessed with the magical technology from ancient ruins,

A collection of supernatural entities fighting alongside humans via summon gauges,

A set of four powerful individuals dictating the fate of the planet,

A subquest involving rebuilding a city through your donations,

A unicorn hidden in a lake that turns out to be a component for healing a serious ailment, and

A goddamn giant ass tower serving as the connective tissue between the planet and the heavens…

Like, I didn't do deep research, but I did give a 10 minute flip through MobyGames to see if there was any staff overlap between "Wild ARMs" and "Tales of Symphonia." Finding nobody crossing the lines there was surprising. Some kind of convergent evolution was going on there, I guess! Hell, maybe the only reason I'm fixating on this is because of how integral "Tales of Symphonia" was to my life, and how this felt more "Symphonia"-esque to me than its literal sequel/predecessor "Tales of Phantasia"…

The big unique feature of this game is its focus on ARMs management. No, that is not a typo! In this universe, ARMs stands for Ancient Relic Machines, which are a variety of firearms both realistic and futuristic in nature. Proper management of your ARM inventory can make or break the toughest of battles, so it's worth investing some serious cash (or Gella; weird name, I know) into your main character's weaponry. Upgradable statistics include the firearm's power, accuracy, and ammo capacity. While a handful stand out as particularly useful (given your progress in the story), it doesn’t hurt to upgrade everything.

Oh. By the way. You can make that very easy to do.

The same mutual that first brought this series to my attention also let me know about a super critical game-breaking bug. (Thanks again, @unwontedfemme!) Ya see, games from this era were mostly written up in a combination of pointer languages (C++, most likely) and assembly code. If you are not used to working with pointers, you can make a significant mistake. When fetching the value of a variable, you can accidentally pass the address of where the variable is instead of the value itself. Given that this is usually a large hex value, you can accidentally max out or overflow a variable. I suspect the following bug is a result of that behavior.

In "Wild ARMs"', you can cause an item count max-out to happen by doing the following:

Secure Nx2 Heal Berries (where N is greater than 1), an item you want to duplicate with a stock of 1, and three active teammates.

Get in a battle.

Have Teammate 1 (Rudy) heal themselves.

Have Teammate 2 (Jack) heal themselves.

Have Teammate 3 (Cecilia) swap the inventory position of the Heal Berry and the item you want to duplicate, then back out of the inventory window and attack an enemy.

If you finish the round without exiting the battle, then the second item will duplicate itself to a maximum inventory value of 255, well exceeding the intended stock limit of 99. Chaining this bug can result not only in a shitton of items (and money, if you sell 254 of them off), but this can also aid the player in maxing out character stats and spell slots, as well as helping one character reduce his skills' MP costs all to 1 a piece. Like, damn, right? It's not as easy to do as, let's say, the card swap trick from "Castlevania: Circle of the Moon." But, damned if that doesn't save time grinding! (Although, honestly, I wouldn't recommend stat boosting too much. Don't want to lock yourself out of this method, do you?)

Like, okay. "Final Fantasy VII" had a similar item duplication bug. However, being able to do this from, like, two hours in gives this cheese some extra flavor.

You might be able to make yourself a walking tank in battle, but handling your characters' toolsets may be the metric that culls the wheat from the chaff. I could see a lot of people giving up before the credits hit due to a surprise stealth section with wonky speed boosts. Additional punishing tasks can include finicky positioning with grappling hooks, false item pickups, environmental damage, hidden insta-ejects from the dungeon, and time countdowns to escape certain doom, sometimes even paired with optional (and possibly missable) content. The most excruciating challenges are definitely in optional dungeons, but it's still irksome enough to mention. I probably would have had far less patience with the game had I not been playing it through a locally burned ISO and SwanStation.

Sometimes, I just don't want to drag my PS1/2 out of the basement.

For me, the most troublesome part of handling "Wild ARMs" was getting a grip on Filgaia itself. It definitely doesn't help that the game is bouncing you around from place to place, throwing in random teleporters before you even get a ship. Good luck navigating after that!

Like, look at this in-game map:

Tell me how this is helping you locate anything.

It should probably be noted that several proper nouns and names aren't translated the best here, either. Like, the game's text didn't fall into major grammatical traps until the end of the game. However, some poor translator was having a hell of a time working katakana into English. Several character and demon names were mangled in translation, including a significant chunk of the main cast. Particular offenses were translating Siegfried into Zeikfried, Vambrace (as in, a character's last name and knight title) into Van Burace, demon Belial into Berial, and critical minor character Geppetto into Zepet. Although, to be honest, I kind of like the last one getting name mashed. It makes a particular plot twist regarding his closest main character acquaintance a little more shadowed…

Also, it's kind of fucked up to name Jewish constructs after demons, isn't it? Oops. At least the people and elements based on generalized Native American culture aren't egregiously executed. There are probably a few more war bonnets than is kosher, but that's about the worst that I (an average white girl) can pick up on. Considering they could have easily all been magical space elves or robot demons with this plot's cast, the citizens of Baskar Village are very tame. They're just practicing their own religion, keeping peace on their own island. Alright! Understandable. Definitely better than whatever the hell's going on in "Wild ARMs 2", from what I've heard…

Look. I'm not the person to come to regarding this subject. I want to come by that honestly. I'm just glad when I get something Western flavored out of Japan and don't have to side-eye J. M. Barrie or Walt Disney. Because, ya know…any misunderstanding there are the fault of people like me. The least I can do is try to keep an open eye/mind/heart and let other people know if/when something comes up.

I'm not responsible for this game ripping off Ennio Morricone's "The Ecstasy of Gold", though!

Jabs aside, this game genuinely does have good music. If you want a place to pick and choose some items, this YouTube playlist should get you on your way. Particular tracks of interest include:

Into the Wilderness (the main theme)

Alone in the World

Town

After the Chaos and Destruction

Kishum Flame (teleporter theme)

Courage (Dungeon)

Critical Hit! (the main battle theme)

Wh-What (Zed's Theme, which sounds a bit like something from a "Ganbare Goemon" game)

Lamenting and a Promes;The Demon Tower that Pierces the Heavens; Return to Ashes (vocal arrangements!)

To the Sea of Stars

Holy Mother of Darkness

Morning of the Journey (orchestra arrangement of the main theme)

Honestly, I'm surprised at how thorough this soundtrack is, plagiarism incident aside. It does a better job than the visuals do at meshing the east-meets-west dynamic "Wild ARMs" has going for it. I can't be as glowing about some of the special effects sounds (especially on some of Jack's skills), but the music is solid.

Also? I found myself stopping to take screenshots of several enemies throughout the game. A lot of the enemies are striking. Like, okay. Sometimes, they're just caterpillars and mushrooms. Other times, they're disembodied heads with jagged fangs, bloated demons, delightful clowns, congealed corpses, decapitated soldiers riding chariots, or even spider-legged centaurs. Weird and gruesome? Sure. But, I always appreciate something weird coming after me, even if it's a unicorn with a dog's jaw and a crow's tail. And hell! They found some way to work in a kitsune into a Yeehaw RPG. That has to be worth something!

"Wild ARMs" is a special kind of game. I knew I was in for something good when the game managed to pull a credit drop in the middle of a goddamn funeral march. It is everything I am familiar with, sure, but the emotional beats worked well for me. Of critical note, I didn't feel the need to rush through the game. I was willing to give this game its time, even if I had 280 other games squirming around in the backlog. I can't say every plot point was executed perfectly, but I was sated by the experience. For 30 hours? That's downright economical, as far as an RPG goes.

I'm a little bit baffled as to why this game doesn't seem to have a lot of online groundswell for it. Like, I'm not completely confused. This poor bastard was a sprite-based RPG released in 1997 on the PlayStation. Guess what other game may have been getting more attention. I wonder if the genre flavor may have been off-putting as well. For a long time, Westerns were very out of style for people my generation. Even now, people are going to gravitate more towards a fast-paced shooter rather than an RPG to treat a cowboy itch. I guess those answers are simple enough. Still, it feels shallow.

Oh, well. At least it got to have five games. And a remake, even! That's at least par to the "Breath of Fire" series. Maybe it’s not the best comparison in the world to make, but I'm assuming people at least remember "Breath of Fire" games. And it ended up on the PlayStation Classic, of all things! I mean, that's about as prestigious as being on a doorstop, but it's some kind of accolade. Not even "Castlevania: Symphony of the Night" is on that, and that's one of the most wonderful, beautiful games to ever exist on any console.

If you are a junky for retro RPGs, this game is certainly worth your time! It's efficient and effective with its runtime, managing to meld new ideas and old tropes into its own stew. I'm honestly surprised with how much I enjoyed it. It could be some "Tales of Symphonia" wires crossing over in my head, but hell. It's nice to know there are still gems buried out there. 

[inspiringraisin]

The Missed Potential of Luka (and why he's the best character in Bayonetta 3)

So I finished playing Bayonetta 3 last night as of writing this post, right? I’m not going to go into specifics about the plot, but I was spoiled early on about Viola. It didn’t ruin the story for me–I actually enjoyed it a lot more knowing who she was. I didn’t really care about Dr. Sigird or Singularity. While they’re not dealbreakers (RIP Jeanne), I was more here for the characters and their emotional journeys. 

This isn’t about Viola. 

This is about Luka.  

Luka is, unironically, my favourite Bayonetta character. I fell in love with him the first time in Bayonetta 1, liked him in Bayonetta 2, and then fell in love again during Bayonetta 3. I was shocked at how much development he got, because he actually felt like a somewhat active participant in that story, rather than a tacked on nobody in the second who is just there because he’s supposed to. 

Luka as a fae king, Lukaron? Love it. Evil Adam? Sure, why not? Big puppy? Instantly love it. Someone please give him some Excedrin wrapped in cheese, please. 

Anyway, to me, it felt like he didn’t do much in Bayonetta 2. Besides giving some lore dumps, the pages scattered about, and dragging Loki up to the mountain, he wasn’t that involved in the overarching story. I can’t say the same for Bayonetta 1, and especially Bayonetta 3. 

In Bayonetta 1, he was trying to find the murderer of his father, and that was resolved in that game. It’s a bit of a shame it never came up again, but it doesn’t really need to. He was someone that knew a few answers to Bayonetta’s questions, but not all of them. I liked them working together. Didn’t love him staring at her boobs near the end, but it never really came up again, so I’m chalking it up as a dubious writing choice before Bayonetta really took off. 

Bayonetta 3, though? He got so much more interesting development and involvement with the plot? I was so on board with his stained-glass-Catholic-beastmode-werewolf worm, Stryder. When we found out about that in the Ancient Egypt level, I was so on board, and it tied into Viola’s pixie powers. Ya’ll, I was screaming, crying, throwing up when he said he’d always love Viola and Bayonetta. It made me hella emotional. 

An aside, but I wished Bayonetta had some Lumen Sage powers from Baldur, so this was the closest thing to that for me. To me it makes sense Viola would have bits of both powers, as she seems she doesn’t have complete Umbra Witch powers, as she can’t summon/doesn’t want to/doesn’t need to summon Cheshire with her hair. 

Relating to Luka’s character development is the discourse surrounding the ending. Comphet was thrown around a lot. Compulsory Heterosexuality, also known as ‘comphet’, is the assumption that everyone is born straight, or should be straight. I can understand being disappointed by the ending, but I didn’t find it to be comphet. 

If you factor in the development Luka and Bayonetta have in Bayonetta 1 and 2 (irregardless if those games actually happened in Bayonetta 3 before the fact), they’ve known each other for a long time and care about each other. I was so into Bayonetta trying to save Luka at the end of Bayonetta 3 and turning him back from Stryder, AND the fact he does help you in the final boss. That is personally how I read Bayonetta 3 because I played the previous 2 games. 

I would consider BayoLuka to be comphet if they had no development or chemistry whats-so–ever. But they do. Luka literally went to hell with Bayonetta at the end of Bayonetta 3 because she died. It wasn’t like they were forced together at the end to make it a happy ending. I thought she was going to be forced into a relationship with him to make sure Viola exists in the future, that’s how bad I assumed the ‘comphet’ to be. It wasn’t. 

THIS IS ALSO IGNORING THE FACT HE LOVES VIOLA! YOU CAN’T TELL ME HE’D LOVE HIS DAUGHTER SO MUCH!!! The fact that he went after Viola first before Bayonetta at the end, possibly at the extent of Bayonetta’s life? Divine. I was hooting and hollering in delight watching him struggle to decide before he made his decision to save Viola. It was delightfully bittersweet and angsty. Incredible. While I’m normally not a fan of hamfisting established characters' children into media, I thought Viola was handled well. I loved her. 

Like, I dunno. You can be disappointed BayoJeanne isn’t canon, but you can’t ignore Bayonetta and Luka have and had have chemistry. No one (at least, recently that I have found) bats an eyelash about Link and Zelda (and Ganon) being linked to each other by fate with the number of people that ship Link and Zelda. It just feels hypocritical in this sense with the themes of family and motherhood/fatherhood in the three Bayonetta games. 

TO BE FAIR, I will admit the sudden development between them was a bit jarring, but I was into it. Again, I somewhat blame him being sidelined a bit in Bayonetta 2 overall, but I enjoyed he and Bayonetta were already familiar with each other in 3. Maybe it would have been better to see more development of them before the story took place, or in a different universe (i.e. Viola’s parents), but it’s not overly relevant. 

I was scrolling the Bayonetta AO3 page and found most people shipped BayoJeanne, but found very few recent fics about Luka. Hell, I made a Luka & Viola tag. There was none! At least, maybe there were so few fics it didn’t add the tag yet. 

Regardless, to me the fandom hates and is scared of Luka for basically no reason. I like Jeanne a lot, too, and she has chemistry, but crying comphet erases bisexual/pansexual people. Let alone the fact Bayonetta has 2 hands, and can love both Jeanne and Luka. I’m not sure fully where it comes from, but I am not going to let my boy be slandered on my watch. You don't think he's eating her out in hell in between being tortured? Please

TDLR: Read my fic about Luka and Viola please

[biotic-major]

When You Realize You’ve Made the Game 1000% Better in Spite of the Dev’s.

So, playing Mass Effect Legendary with the sole intention to avoid Liara in game 1 and 2 makes 3 make NO SENSE whatsoever. So I had it that I played the entire game in Mass Effect 1, grabbing Liara right before the push to Ilos. There is no connection between Liara and Shepard if you do this because they don’t bloody know each other. I didn’t talk to her on the ship, I figured she’s just some civilian currently under protection and does not require the coddling of the commanding officer.

Then in Mass Effect 2 I made the specific choice to not talk to Liara on Illium. I did Miranda’s mission and ran off as fast as possible. Now that did mean that I missed out on recruiting Samara and Thane, but I figured the small sacrifices for the greater good demanded it.

That does mean though – what the heck is Liara’s purpose in 3? Her forced ‘Oh I’ve been here since Eden Prime I MUST go on this mission’ – um…no? Even in a playthrough where I go get you first thing…you still weren’t there for Eden Prime. You are actually the LAST companion to be gotten which means why the hell is 3 telling me you are a required person for this mission? Because you’re an archeologist? I’m sorry, Lara Croft you are not and that makes no bloody sense to bring you. But then to have none of the ‘I gave your body to Cerberus because I JUST COULDN’T LET YOU GO’ (lady, lady, chill out we only knew each other for like a week and I never talked to you.) and her whole ‘Ashley would call it target practice’ uh…nope. Apparently when you forced yourself on Shepard for that ‘mind connection thing’ (which no one will ever convince me wasn’t Liara’s grabby little hands reaching for shit that wasn’t hers to have and that there were hundreds of other ways that Shepard should reasonably have the location of Ilos by that point in the game without relying on some random 3rd party archeologist to just magically recognize some images) you stole information about Ashley and are pretending you knew her because she was already long dead by the time you came aboard.

But also, why the heck are you constantly coming into my quarters? Do I not have a lock? Does the elevator not have a ‘authorized personnel only’ setting? How does she keep getting in? Also – how the hell did she get that equipment onto my ship and why does she have the fancy giant room but everyone else just sleeps on couches basically? Uh, nope. Get out. To the basement with you. No special treatment for a NOBODY on MY SHIP.

Not to mention her whole ‘Shepard that’s my homeworld I have to go!’

No. No you do not. And it actually makes no sense that I would take you if you’re already showing signs of not being rational or ready to do the mission. She’s the most obnoxious person in existence that whole mission. I would have dropped her ass off on the Citadel (if she was even lucky enough to get me to go out of my way and not just drop her off at the nearest taxi station) and not even waved goodbye.

Her little breakdown? Oh my god. I wanted to slap her upside the head. Oh, poor widdle blue baby, your planet has been attacked? Yeah, here’s your tiny little violin on the ship with the people who have all lost their planets before you. I hate how we’re all forced to CODDLE her and for what bloody reason? No reason, absolutely no reason. Forget that, she’d be gone. Can’t suck it up and do what needs to be done? Then get the hell off of a warship that you shouldn’t have been on in the first place.

But let me say – Mass Effect 2 became loads better without the forced Liara scenes. And Mass Effect 1? Nothing is funnier to me than her little temper tantrum that she throws when she gets on the ship.

Do I intentionally not get enough war assets and make sure she’s in the group with EDI with me when I make that final run? …Yup. Almost every. single. time.

Supposed to be a sad moment I think? It’s not. It’s supremely satisfying. It took me 3 games to finally manage it. No more Dev’s Girlfriend Plot Armor protecting her for that scene and it is GLORIOUS.

[jalenh1]

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐲𝐞𝐭? / / 𝘫𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯 & 𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢.

Who: SC & JH ( @brinacarpcnter )

When: December 31st, 2023

Where: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Plot: Sabrina's frustration grows with Jalen, and then the truth comes out.

Triggers: N/A

SABRINA: Sabrina knew he would be upset; and rightfully so. Losing to a 3-12 team was rough, to say the least. But she was starting to become overwhelmed with what to do in these situations. Even when they won, Jalen was still hard on himself. But right now, it was multiplied by ten with them losing. And she really wanted today to be a good day, regardless of the outcome of the game because it was New Year’s Even and she was performing in front of millions for the Rockin’ Eve special in Times Square. And knowing he’d get to be there to see her perform had her incredibly excited all day. But right now? She didn’t even want to be seen in public because of how defeated and frustrated she was. Sabrina was in the middle of packing a small overnight suitcase when she heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. She knew it was Jalen, but she decided to ignore him; continuing the process of throwing stuff into her suitcase. Though while she was doing so, a single tear had managed to escape from her eyes, but she quickly wiped it away with a quiet sniffle. “I don’t know how to help you anymore, Jalen,” she said quietly, finally acknowledging his presence.

JALEN: Jalen had full intention to let him enjoy himself after the game, going to New York City to see Sabrina shine. And while nothing in the world would stop him from going, his mood had quickly soured, putting the same manifestation of learning, growing from the loss, into the air at the after game press conference — yet, truth be told, he wasn’t so sure he believed it himself anymore as a leader. He felt the weight on his shoulders as he strolled into the room Sabrina was in, quiet until she spoke up, and then he exhaled a deep sigh as he ran his hands over his head. “It’s not your job to help me,” he said, not wanting a burden on her before her big night. “But you can’t really expect me to walk around and be happy about that, right? It’s not happening. I failed everyone out there.” He inched forward to initially take a seat, but stood there, eventually beginning to pace. “There’s only so many times I can say the same damn shit before people don’t buy it, before this team gives up on me because I can’t execute. I wanna be locked the fuck in.” He could feel himself getting angry now, heated as he felt every emotion of blowing it. “It was supposed to be our year, and to end it like that? At that rate, ain’t nobody gonna fucking help me.”

SABRINA: Sabrina had never stopped what she was doing and turned around so fast before to face Jalen. “What do you mean it’s not my job? I’m literally your girlfriend, Jay. It is my job to help you through whatever feelings and emotions you’re dealing with. But you’re making it fucking impossible to do it at this point because you don’t want to hear what I have to say,” she argued back. “I’ll never expect you to feel any sort of way about anything. I just feel fucking helpless when you’re like this.” The blonde’s voice softened a bit as she eventually made her way over to Jalen, but still kept a good distance from him. “Saying you failed everyone out there and that they’re all going to give up on you is fucking bullshit and you know it. Those guys would go to hell and back for you, just like you’d do the same for them. Don’t even deny it, because you know I’m right,” Sabrina said with a sigh. The absolute last thing she wanted to be doing was fighting with her boyfriend right now when they literally had to be on a plane in a half hour, but she wasn’t going to leave until things were resolved. “Do you remember when I told you that you don’t always have to be Superman? That applies right now. You are still 11-5 and there’s so much to be proud of. No one is going to hate you for having a rough day. And you definitely don’t have to carry the whole franchise on your back, either. That’s why you’re a fucking team, you’re supposed to lean on each other in times like these. But what do I know, right? Since you don’t like to listen to me,” she spat bitterly and turned back around to pick up where she left off on packing her things into her suitcase.

JALEN: Jalen exhaled a deep sigh as Sabrina turned to face him, making points that made complete sense, but nothing he wanted to admit to. He dropped his arms that were crossed at his chest as her voice softened, his line of sight down on her. He listened as she spoke, not wanting to interrupt, despite the numerous messages that contradicted her speech somewhere deep in his mind. Once she turned on her heels after her last sentence, he couldn’t help but feel like the inferior one, that Sabrina was only trying to lift his spirits and he had always been quick to dodge it and remain stuck in his ways. He had never been great at articulating his feelings, and to have someone like Sabrina willingly listen to them? It was something he wasn’t used to, either. “It’s just.. reading all this shit that I’m no good, a fraud, it gets in your damn head.” His words were soft now, finally making it to the bed and sitting at the edge of it as he looked down at the floor, to his hands, rotating the watch on his wrist absentmindedly. “Like, when the people that once believed in me start to feel that way, kinda makes you think.” He said, a shrug of his shoulders, “I know we still have everything in front of us, we’re the same team that started out strong, just hard to bounce back after losses like that. Even harder when I just want to make you proud, too,” he paused, picking his head up to see Sabrina still working on packing up her bag. “You’ve been coming out to all these games, and fuck, I love the game, but when I started loving you even more, times like this have me thinkin' I don’t want you feeling like you wasted your time on me.”

SABRINA: Honestly, at this point, Sabrina had already started tuning out anything else that Jalen was saying. Why bother listening to him when he never listened to her? That was her current logic. Tears unknowingly welled in her eyes again when she was finally finished with packing, but this time, she didn’t bother to wipe them away because she didn’t care that much anymore. Finally, she pulled her suitcase off of the bed and had started to walk out of the bedroom, Jalen still fully talking to her. But Sabrina swore she had never stopped so fast in her tracks when he so casually mentioned that he started loving her. Of all the things she managed to tune out, that wasn’t one of them. He… Loved her? Did she even hear that right? Time felt like it was frozen when she finally turned around to face him slowly, to make sure that she had heard him right. “Wh… What?” She barely squeaked out, her voice small and nearly inaudible. “You… You love me?” Sabrina asked again, once again needing to make sure she heard Jalen right.

JALEN: At this point, Jalen was speaking without much of a filter, something that was unlike him, but it just went to show how he felt around Sabrina. His heart did the talking for him, leaving his girlfriend puzzled as she made her way to the doorway, ready to leave. He looked up just as she had turned around, looking at her in silence before he got back up on his feet and stepped a bit closer to her, still giving her some space if she needed it. “I love you,” was how he answered, hoping to God it was reciprocated, but nevertheless he wasn’t about to back track. Sabrina wanted Jalen to be truthful with her, to listen to her, and he wasn’t going to take the lead by downplaying how he felt towards her. It was the complete truth, whether he meant to out it or not: he was falling in love. He was in love. Despite things starting slow, Jalen found himself falling fast, and now? He couldn’t let Sabrina leave without knowing it. “I didn’t know I was looking for it, but, it found me and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

SABRINA: When Jalen repeated himself to confirm it, it felt like all of the air had been knocked out of Sabrina's lungs. She didn't care how soon it was, she was one-hundred percent in love with him, too. She was just afraid to admit it out loud to herself, much less, to him, because she wasn't sure if he would reciprocate the feelings. But low and behold, he was the first one to say it, washing away all of her fears. Sabrina let him finish, then all but dropped all of her belongings and practically sprinted for him, throwing herself at him without even thinking twice about it. With her arms secured tightly around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist, she didn't want to let go. She was afraid that this was just a dream and that she'd be woken up anytime soon. But the tighter she held Jalen, the more she realized it wasn't a dream. That this was reality. "I love you, too, Jay," Sabrina finally returned the sentiment, squeezing him a bit tighter. "I wasn't looking for it, either, but I can't help how I feel about you... You're everything I've ever wanted in a person and that made it way too easy for me to fall in love with you."

JALEN: When Sabrina came up to him and into his arms like she belonged there, he knew instantaneously he had nothing to worry over. He tightened his grip on her, as if she were to let go, even if he knew well enough that it was as if she were molded to him. He swayed a bit back and forth with her in his arms, listening to the soothing sound of her voice, how she spoke about having the same feelings that he spoke from his heart. He didn’t want an argument to bring it out of him, but it came naturally, releasing his feelings to her like it was now or never, no turning back, not even a thought that could have prevented him from speaking the truth. To hear he was everything she ever wanted, and everything she didn’t know she was looking for, he knew he was worrying for nothing. No matter how many wins, and no matter how many losses, he would come home to her. And he loved her. He pulled back just enough to kiss her, an apologetic look in his dark eyes. “I’m sorry if you felt as if I didn’t bother listening to you before,” he said, “I’ll be the first to admit I’m stubborn. But for you, I’d do anything.”

SABRINA: When Jalen pulled back to kiss Sabrina, she instantly melted into him and the words he spoke soon after. It felt like a relief that they were on the same page with something for once, and that he was apologizing not really listening to her. The blonde took his face in her small hands, and one of her thumbs absentmindedly caressed over the noticeable stubble along his jawline. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, I just want to be with you right now,” Sabrina said, sealing it with another kiss. And with Jalen in agreement, the couple decided it was to be a conversation for another day. Instead ending the conversation so that they could make love with one another until they eventually had to head out for Sabrina’s New Year’s Eve performance in New York City. She hadn’t expected her day would turn into what it did, but she wouldn’t have had it any other way. They loved each other unconditionally and that was all that mattered to either of them now.

[blookmallow]

recently been looking into poppy playtime (it’s…. ok) and its like. theres some good concepts in here and the designs are pretty good but i feel like the lore falls apart immediately if you look too closely at it and maybe im missing something since i havent actually played it (i watched markiplier play it and then dug through the internet for the rest of the information until i lost interest) but ok

i like the biological elements to the monsters - love something bleeding when it Should Not Have Blood. i really dont think you can fit that many organs in a little dinosaur toy though. the big ones sure but that one guy who got put in a toy size dinosaur? and why did they just leave him in with the other experiments if he was a staff person who Agreed to this

anyway my main question is What Is The Motive Here

- if they’re seeking immortality, that just. feels like a really bizarre plot for a toy company? unless the idea is that the toy company was a front for the real operation all along but if you’re really trying to make bodies for humans to inhabit why not focus on, y’know, humanoid things, rather than whatever the hell huggy wuggy is. nobody wants to be that guy forever. and the monster toys still can die anyway, so

- it seems more likely that the purpose was to build worker/slaves, productivity and marketing over ethics and employee well being (kind of an ironic message coming from a developer who puts so much emphasis on marketing and also, the whole NFT thing, but whatever) we know huggy is intended to be security and mommy is intended to be the host for the games, but if that’s the reason - is it really that beneficial to squish people into monster toys? they already have a foster care system providing them with children they’re using as test subjects. this company clearly doesn’t give a shit about ethics, so why not just take advantage of the child labor they have access to rather than spending ungodly amounts of time and money on all these testing procedures and mutilating children into toy slaves. extremely traumatized workers forced into fucked up toy bodies are not going to be as efficient. they can still be killed and still need to eat (evidently More than a child would normally anyway, ) so what exactly is the benefit here. and like. ok mommy has some clear advantages but huggy’s really floppy. we see kissy flop her noodly arm helplessly trying to pull one lever - as cute and funny as that moment was, its clear this creature would not be a great factory worker

- if the point is that they intend to sell the toy monsters, theres just no benefit there whatsoever, even if the ethics of shoving frightened orphans into toys doesn’t bother you, even if you do fix the extreme aggression problem, you’re still gonna get lawsuits from parents when their kids’ toys start wandering off and crying in the corner. also toys get broken, kids tear things open, modders take things apart, people are going to figure out real fast that there’s, y’know, organs in there

which brings me to my major question of WHY is there a commercial for poppy? it seems like the poppy we find in the case is The Only poppy, she’s the only experiment that worked properly, she’s the ideal “toy that can talk to you like a person! (because she is one)” but they’ve never been able to replicate that success - how were they able to sell these dolls with the promise of the Real Girl Intelligence if they only had one (which clearly wasn’t sold since she’s still there)? or did they film the commercial after their success intending to make more dolls and never released it when things went wrong? poppy’s on a lot of the advertisements and stuff so she seems to be a recognized character in the brand. did they at one time manage to recreate her and just sold a bunch of little orphan girls trapped in dolls? is that what I’m supposed to be taking from this?

[from-dre]

Groundhog Day

She stands at the kitchen sink for a full three minutes before lowering her gaze at the dozen or so dirty dishes. She chooses the first one at random, picks up the sponge, and commences another mundane routine. The coffee slowly drips into its glass pot. The morning show blares on in the background but nobody is paying it any attention.

In the adjacent living-room sits Uninterested Husband who has zero indiction at what she’s feeling or much less will feel once she’s finally left alone for the day. With the children sent to school and the husband off to work, she will inevitably slip deeper down into a depression nobody knows about—, not even her therapist, because after all, she wears one hell of a smile.

When did everything snowball into such a sad truth? The years seemed to pass by so fast when she was younger and loving life, then suddenly, they slowed to a crawl. Thighs grew. Hips got curvier. Husband stopped touching her at night. What is a gal to do but continue onward with the show? She snaps out of her daydreaming and shuts off the sink faucet with force, already plotting out her next post about such trivial tasks like washing dishes first thing in the morning.

The only empowerment she ever feels anymore is through other people’s words, other people’s opinions—, for her own ran out long, long ago. Digital mind games meant for middle schoolers, that yet, seem to fit her like a glove.

Is it any wonder her friends seemed to disappear one by one? Her memories of a happier time, too. What keeps her going nowadays is the mental static she experiences in-between concrete thoughts. Through the wavy and fuzzy lines are shapes of faces she still sees in her dreams. Faces of former friends, lovers, and past reflections of her own self in the mirror; carefree and full of joy.

She begins cutting the potatoes for tonight’s dinner with delicate accuracy as she catches herself staring at the sharp blade longer than she’s supposed to. That… instrument of endless misery but momentary release as well. It seems her anti-depressants aren’t really working today. This is no good. How will the quiet hours ever pass? How will this very moment? With untold regret and nothing else. That’s how.