#theme: betrayal

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Vis-à-Vis-à-Vis by Vukovich Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: E Word Count: 49k Harry's assignment was simple. Close out Draco Malfoy's missing persons case so he can be declared dead. But who's making withdrawals from Malfoy's vaults? How is a death omen-turned-Unspeakable involved? Is an organization known as the Moirai to blame? Harry brushes it off until he can't. Until The Prophet is flooded with sightings of dead people. Until Robards throws himself on his sword. Until Ron turns on his own family. Until Harry scarcely trusts his own reflection in the mirror and trusts the stranger in his bed even less. Until all that stands between war and peace is Harry, a name plate, a stadium of murderers, and Draco Malfoy. God save the Ministry.

[likeaahostage]

sitting at the bus stop

and i'm thinking of you

as always

–as if you were ever really mine

–as if any of it was real

–as if you think of me

but hey, maybe you do

i don't know, how could i?

i can't read your mind,

and you made that clear

on that cold october evening

you told me it was a date.

it wasn't.

it was a way of twisting the knife

oh, stop it.

don't try to lie.

we both know you stabbed me long ago

you pretended to cry

pretended that it affected you

pretended that you hadn't already moved on

i suppose i had my suspicions

but of course i brushed them under the rug,

i know now that i was naive

but i didn't want to be clingy,

you're allowed to have friends just like i am.

but were differeces between my friends and yours,

because yours weren't really friends,

were they?

just like i wasn't really the love of your life

and now i'm in the bus,

there's two old ladies holding hands and laughing about something no one else understands

and maybe,

if you had meant it,

that could've been us.

but I don't think i'll ever have that life

because i can't trust like i used to,

and who's fault is that?

i think we both know the answer

[expiravitae]

Bring Me The Horizon, True friends

E. Pauline Johnson / Tekahionwake, Ojistoh

[nellasbookplanet]

Just started watching ep. 118 (yes I know I'm behind, I've been busy playing Prey and writing essays on Octavia Butler with life) and in listening to Ludinus' monologue I had a thought about a specific disconnect that cause many, in universe as well of out of it, to view the gods as tyrants. Imogen points it out when Ludinus laments about his family being collateral damage in the battle between the Lawbearer and the Crawling King: would he rather the Crawling King have been unleashed on the world to wreak havoc uncontested? (to which his response was a long silence and glaring at her)

It’s an inability to understand and accept the true scale and nuance the gods operate on, and in doing so choosing to place individual suffering and slights over ultimate consequences that may, and often do, affect the entire world. Yes it’s horrible that the gods struck down Aeor - but they were defending themselves against a weapon of mass destruction, and any other action would have been akin to lining themselves up to be shot. Yes it sucks that the Titans, who were there first, were killed - but they were trying to exterminate all mortals. Yes the deaths during the Calamity were unforgivable - but the alternative would've been to let the Betrayers kill everyone. Yes it’s horrible that the primes wouldn’t let their champions oppose Lolth in taking Opal - but they are in the middle of a battle for the world in which all hands are needed, and losing champions to a minor skirmish when they want the same thing would be pointless. Yes it’s unfair that the gods won’t personally step in and help every little person suffering, such as Ashton and Laudna - but they're literally gods responsible for the lives and afterlives of millions, and also separated by the Divine Gate, which was literally erected to protect mortals from the fallout of too much divine meddling.

When pressed, Ludinus switches to saying that it isn't the collateral itself that is the problem, but that the gods won’t personally remember and beg forgiveness for every single life lost. In saying this, he also claims that he is different - but is he? Does he honor the lives of Orym's family? The children tortured under Trent and other suffering caused by the Cerberus Assembly? The thousands lost in the war between the Empire and the Dynasty because he wanted his own beacon? The entire city of Molaesmyr? Does he even remember the many individuals indoctrinated into his cult and lost in the ensuing battle?

In the end, it isn't about collateral, or honoring those sacrificed. It's that he finds his suffering uniquely bad, and his goals uniquely warranted. Only HE (and people who want the same exact thing as him) has the right to make desicions that affect all of Exandria.

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

Thunder saga? More like Betrayal saga, am I right?

[aventurineswife]

Okay skibidi hear me out, Penacony men with a s/o who was originally in a planet similar to alien stage.

I’ve been imaging random scenarios in my head and it WONT LEAVE ME ALONEEEEEE. How would the react learning that their s/o was artificially made with a older sibling? Or how they were actually naive as a child because how shielding they were by their older sibling only to find out the truth after preforming agaisnt them?

Reader joins the rebellion is just… hhshshshshdjdc I NEEDDDDD

The Cost of Freedom

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Gallagher x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dystopian Themes, Found Family, Betrayal, Loss, Post-Rebellion, Grief, Existentialism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Political Intrigue, Introspection, Trauma Recovery, Redemption Arc, Ambiguous Morality.

Warnings: Death of a Family Member (sibling), Themes of Guilt and Self-blame, Descriptions of Emotional Turmoil and Grief, Systemic Oppression and Rebellion, Brief Mentions of Violence and War, Ethical Dilemmas involving Loyalty and Survival, Existential Crises related to Purpose and Creation.

Aventurine’s eyes narrowed as you recounted your origins—a distant planet where you and your sibling were engineered to be perfect instruments of a system you barely understood. Your older sibling had shielded you from the harsh truth, ensuring your life felt whole and untainted. They had been your protector, your guide, until you uncovered their compliance with the oppressive regime you eventually came to hate.

When you told Aventurine how you performed against your sibling during the rebellion, how their face had twisted in a mixture of heartbreak and betrayal as you dealt the final blow, his constant smile faltered for the briefest moment.

“I see,” he said, voice smooth but quieter than usual. “So, you won the bet, didn’t you? Sacrificed the thing you loved for the chance to topple the system.”

He knew the cost of winning far too well.

You nodded, the weight of that victory still pressing against your chest. "But it didn’t bring me peace. It broke me. I killed the only family I ever had."

Aventurine stepped closer, his fingers brushing against your trembling hand. "Family," he murmured, "is a luxury for people who play safe. You and I? We take risks. We burn bridges because standing still is a death sentence."

Though his words carried a glimmer of understanding, you could see it in his eyes: the gamble of loving you was one even he might not win.

And yet, in the quiet moments when you were plagued by memories of your sibling’s dying expression, Aventurine stayed by your side, speaking of strategies and victories you’d never dare chase. Because Aventurine, for all his charm and cunning, understood what it meant to run from the ghosts of the past.

Even if neither of you could outrun them forever.

Ratio gazed at you, his expression unreadable as you revealed the truth of your existence: you were a creation, not born but made, shaped to fit a purpose beyond your control. Your sibling had shielded you, nurturing your innocence and curiosity while silently shouldering the burden of knowing the truth.

“I learned,” you said, voice trembling, “the truth during the rebellion. I had to… to confront them. To stop them from silencing me—us.”

The rebellion had been chaos, a crucible of innovation and destruction, and in the end, your sibling had fallen at your hands. They had looked at you, not with anger, but with pride and a heartbreaking sorrow.

Ratio leaned forward, his hair falling over his eyes. "You see it as a betrayal. But tell me—did they have a choice? They protected you because they believed you deserved better, even if it cost them everything. Including you."

His words stung because they rang true.

“Is that supposed to help me?” you snapped, tears threatening to spill.

“No,” he admitted, his tone unapologetic. "But it should make you see the brilliance in their actions. They didn’t protect you out of weakness but out of brilliance, out of love."

He reached out, his hand hesitating before brushing against your cheek. "Knowledge is cruel, my dear. It’s a weapon, and it cuts us as deeply as it cuts others. But you—" His gaze softened. "You must decide whether their sacrifice will shackle you or set you free."

Ratio would never admit it, but he saw echoes of himself in your story—an intellect burdened by loss, trying desperately to find meaning in a world that seemed too cruel to deserve it.

The dim lighting of Gallagher's bar cast long shadows over his scarred face as you finally shared your story. You told him of your artificial origin, of how your sibling had raised you in a cocoon of safety, only for you to shatter it when you learned the truth.

“I didn’t mean to fight them,” you whispered, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “But they wouldn’t stop. They believed in the system, even when it was killing us.”

Gallagher’s eyes flickered with a rare hint of emotion. "And so, you ended it. You chose freedom over them."

"I didn’t choose," you said, voice cracking. “I survived. That’s all it was. I survived, and they didn’t.”

He said nothing for a moment, only pouring another drink. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough. "Surviving doesn’t feel like winning, does it?"

You looked up at him, surprised.

"I’ve been there," he continued, his hand unconsciously brushing the scar on his face. "Fighting for something you believe in, only to lose the people you care about most. The world doesn’t stop turning, but you carry them with you. Every step, every breath, they’re there."

“Does it ever stop hurting?” you asked, the weight of your grief pressing down on your chest.

Gallagher shook his head. "No. But you learn to live with it. And maybe… you find someone who makes the weight a little easier to bear."

For the first time, you saw the man beneath the stoic facade—a kindred spirit who knew the ache of loss and the struggle of moving forward.

Sunday listened in silence as you recounted your origins, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. When you spoke of your sibling’s betrayal—how they shielded you from the truth of your existence and the oppressive system that controlled your lives—his gaze softened, though his expression remained inscrutable.

“You killed them,” he said, his voice quiet. “The one who protected you. Loved you.”

“I had no choice,” you said, guilt choking your words. "They stood in my way. I—"

Sunday raised a hand, silencing you. "You don’t need to explain. I understand."

You stared at him, disbelief flickering in your eyes. "How could you possibly understand? They were my family, and I destroyed them."

He stood, his regal presence imposing yet strangely comforting. "Do you think I haven’t made sacrifices? That I haven’t hurt the ones I loved in the name of peace?"

You faltered, unsure of how to respond.

“My Sweetdream Paradise,” he continued, his tone heavy with conviction, "was born from the same pain you carry now. A dream of mercy, built on the ruins of lives I once cherished."

“But at what cost?” you asked, tears streaming down your face.

Sunday stepped closer, his gloved hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "That is the question we must all face, isn’t it? The cost of peace. The cost of freedom. It’s a burden you and I will carry for the rest of our lives."

His words resonated with a truth you couldn’t deny. Sunday, for all his composure and grace, was a man shaped by loss—just like you. And though his dream of a perfect world seemed impossible, you couldn’t help but wonder if, in his own way, he was trying to atone for the same sins that haunted you.

[painfully-unoriginal]

it's like burning...

[evergreen-endo]

WE PLAY THE SAME KEYS AT DIFFERENT TIMES — r. kaji.

cw: 18+ mdni, f! reader, car sex, spit. wc: 0.8k a/n: unedited. thought about him on my drive home. enjoy. 

You and Kaji can’t ever just listen to music in the car together.

He really never intended for it to be like this at first— but once it happened the first time, it’s all he could think of the next time he got in his car. It’s the same every time; inviting you for a ride to listen to a tune that’s stuck in his head, one he claims he can’t get rid of until he hears it again. But with him, it can never just be one song. There are too many that make him think of you these days, despite his best efforts to press skip on those in particular. 

He drives around until night falls, and you’ve both shared everything you’ve had on repeat this week. As he pulls onto the highway, the low vibration of his car picking up speed thrums against your thighs, much like the guitar blaring through his speakers. The low light of the city falls on his hands as he steers with practiced motion, heel of his palm flat against the leather. Warm yellow light trails along the veins on his arms, dragging your gaze wherever it touches. It highlights the rim of his features for a split second, long enough to see the way he side eyes you.

He lets out a huff, leaning back against the headrest to hide in the dark, though it’s futile. As he whirrs past the overheads, the light guides your gaze to his thighs, spread lazily even with one foot on the gas, and up, up, up to…oh. It’s only a second that you see it before light rushes past, and you wait on the next street light to illuminate him. It takes its time, stretching slowly over the same path, fingertips to forearms to biceps. A flit of your eyes down, and the car leers onto the exit ramp, light changing its course and missing the bulge of his cock entirely. 

The both of you huff for different reasons, you in disappointment, and him in relief. Not that you can hear each other over the music, anyway.

You spend the rest of the ride bopping your head along and picking up your phone to add songs you like to your own playlist. He’s grateful that there aren’t as many street lamps on the route to your place, so you miss the poorly hidden smirk that plays on his lips. 

Pulling into your driveway, he thumbs at his wheel to turn the music down just as that one song comes on. The one you fucked to the first time he did this; the reason he keeps inviting you to do this. He pauses, sighing, and turns it back up again. You tense, thighs crossing as you hear the click of his seatbelt and squeak of the leather as he reaches over to click yours, too.

Kaji’s breath always comes out ragged— grits his teeth and hisses through them even as his chest heaves for more oxygen. He’s got you bouncing on his cock in his backseat, guiding you to some extent, rough grip on your hips because he really can’t find it in himself to be gentle. Not when you move so perfectly you hit every goddamn beat. 

You’re the perfect melody to him— he has half a mind to lean forward and turn the music down in favor of the sound of you. Ass clapping against his thighs, wet squelching from between yours, breathy moans and gasps and keens. He wishes he could isolate every salacious layer of sound— to savor it, ingrain it into his memory to replay over and over.

The beat of the song slows, just before he knows it’ll build up again. He takes the break to wrap an arm around your waist, effectively slowing the motion of your hips. You whine as he forces you to grind your clit against him, and he hums, captivated.

Using his free hand, he twirls his fingers through your hair, wrapping the strands around to get enough hold to pull you forward, the abruptness ripping a gasp from you. Perfect. Twisting his lips up, he tilts his head forward, letting a glob of spit travel past his lips and drip down onto your awaiting tongue as he plants his feet firm on the ground. With all the leverage in the world, he bucks his hips up into you as the beat picks up again, the heavy weight of his thrusts knocking the air from your lungs. 

It gets hard to move when you squeeze around him, ticks him off that you’re slowing down his rhythm. He just wants to give you what you deserve and you’re always holding him back with that fucking grip of yours. At least, he thinks, you’re giving him a chance to readjust his hips, so he can hit that spongey spot inside you until the song closes out, until all that’s left is the sound of your shared panting.

[stardvstbby]

in my opinion, Yona of the Dawn is about love in its many forms; the love Yona has for her father and how that colors her perception of him as well as the world around her (familial), the love she has for Soowon and how she moves on from betrayal (crush), the love she has for Hak which provides a steady reassurance that encourages her to find herself (romantic), the love she has for the friends she makes throughout her journey and ‬how it gives her a reason to push forward even in the face of struggle (platonic), the love she has for not just the people of Kouka but humanity as a whole that inspires her to change so that she can be relied upon (community)

love is the dawn that brightens even the darkest of nights

[wardensantoineandevka]

holding Illario & Lucanis, Cyrian & Bellara, Johanna & Emmrich, Isseya & Davrin, and Solas & Felassan all next to each other in my mind

[benevadeca]

Favorite thing abt SJ are how his only canon appearances are getting betrayed (ratted out into getting sold to a guy he helped save), betrayed except haha jk... unless (YQY reunion where he thinks hes betrayed but isnt but isnt told and is thus betrayed in a different way than he thinks), and then uno reverse un-betrayed (YQY getting himself killed for him when his expectation was for him to not do that)

[wyrdle]

Deceiver - "Why do you waste your time searching for a reason to live in this broken world? There's no point to it at all!"

Quick shuji ikutsuki doodle

[jessieren]

Wednesday Hot Shots

In the spirit of New Year New Theme and prompted by @gwyn73 and @season-77 commenting on their favourite shots of Evans, I'm proposing today's theme is

Wednesday Hot Shots

which is basically an excuse to post favourite shots/gifs of Evans (AKA when you're this hot do you even need to be half naked)*

This coat... this look... the hair... S9 glow-up Evans

2. Sweaty, snarky... do I need to say more?? (also, bonus sexy points allocated to any man who really likes dogs)

3. BSOL (no explanation required)

4. Catstretch Evans... and catstretch Evans II and III (especially for @librawritesstuff who, as we know is rather partial to cat stretches of the Evans kind...)

This fucker knows what he's doing...

5. Still fascinated by how he writes with his pencil so upright (still not a euphemism) plus the hair

6. Two finger glass hold... the hair.. the blue blue eyes... that smile... Venice (not actually Venice...)

7. HOT DAMN

*ummm... obviously the answer to that is yes - it ALWAYS helps to be half naked...

[bikananjarrus]

if yord had lived he'd be leading the hunt for qimir and osha and we would've gotten the most delicious tension between him and qimir. qimir would start out frustrated that yord got away, intent on finishing what he started. and yord, once hunted, now hunter, once an exemplary jedi, and now solely focused on revenge disguised as righteous justice (which it is also a bit of that). and qimir starts to enjoy the game, the chase. and in this timeline, sol still dies, osha still goes with qimir, but yord was unconscious, recovering in a bacta tank, so all he knows when he wakes up is that qimir is out there and took osha, his friend, away. so then you also have the tension of that confrontation, the realization that osha has willingly turned, and that maybe yord can't blame her for that, because what has he been doing these past many months, years, maybe, but give in to the selfish desire to finish what he started too?

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

I read GRRM’s interview regarding book vs show canon and I thought the way he was approaching an adaptation of his own story, and fiction as a whole, was very interesting. I do wonder though - does the concept of having a separate show canon kind of become like a cop-out? Because in that case, any TV/film adaptation can just decide to change the plot as they see fit and go “oh, well, that’s our canon, the book is a different canon.” Doesn’t it cease to be an adaptation after a point, or at least become a loose one? In the HotD context, a lot of the changes being made I actually quite like because I can see them fitting in the canon, because there’s nothing suggesting otherwise.

But say, Sansa marrying Ramsay (or, alternatively, the moment that show was dead to me) we can say with absolute certainty did not take place and will almost definitely never take place. D&D knew that too but they went ahead with it anyway; it’s not quite like the Scarlett example where it makes no difference to the story because this change does. I feel like the whole point of adapting written words into something visual loses some of its sanctity if we just accept TV changes a whole separate canon, as opposed to simply a change made by the writers (good change or bad change is up to personal opinion).

I have followed your blog for almost a decade so I’m really curious to hear your thoughts on the subject.

GRRM's "Scarlett example" -- his question of "how many children did Scarlett O'Hara have?", because in the book Gone With the Wind she had three, one with each of her three husbands, whereas in the movie she only had one -- has been his go-to when asked about the difference between book and show canon since at least 2012. Or to quote him from 2015,

How many children did Scarlett O’Hara have? Three, in the novel. One, in the movie. None, in real life: she was a fictional character, she never existed. The show is the show, the books are the books; two different tellings of the same story.

This is IMO one of the most sensible ways for an author to look at adaptations of their work (even if I have gotten rather tired of GRRM using the Scarlett example specifically, pick something different George, we've seen it before lol). There is book canon and there is show canon. They are different parallel universes. They're separate canons because they contain changes made by the writers, and also because the very process of moving from the written word to visual media must involve some kind of change.

And this applies to all adaptations. That's why I brought up X-Men comics vs the Fox X-Men movies vs the X-Men cartoon (original 90s and 2024's '97). For example, there's 4 different versions of the Dark Phoenix Saga between those canons, at the very least. Wait, sorry lol, I forgot the Ultimate canon version. And the various in-comics alternate universe versions. And god knows when they finally bring the X-Men into the MCU they'll probably do yet another DPS there too. And that's only one of many storylines that are radically different between the various canons.

Or look at the various Interviews with the Vampire. Is the new tv show "not an adaptation" because its Claudia is a teenager rather than 5 years old as in the book or portrayed by an 11 year old as in the movie, thus resulting in extremely different relationships and a reshaped plot? (Among many other changes?) No. IWTV has book canon, movie canon, and show canon.

And I can't speak that well about Transformers since it's not a major fandom of mine, but go take a look at their various continuities if you want some more perspective about just how very far the meaning of "adaptation" can stretch.

Or hell, look at Stephen King, where among his many many many adaptations, some of which just barely resemble the original text, the only one he sued to have his name removed from was The Lawnmower Man, because they literally used an entirely different story and just slapped his title on it.

And then there's the movie Adaptation, which is a wildly meta-adaptation of the non-fiction book The Orchard Thief (it's a story about the process of adapting that book and involves a fictional version of the writer, the screenplay writer, and an entirely invented screenplay writer's twin brother)... and it was nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay for multiple film awards (and won a few times), and the original writer even said it kept to the book's themes.

Suffice it to say, HOTD has a long, long, long way to go before it could ever "cease to be an adaptation after a point". Changing the timeline to make Alicent and Rhaenyra the same age, or doing Blood & Cheese differently, do not even compare to what some book-to-visual media "loose adaptations" have done. Even GOT, as wildly terrible as their non-book storylines could be, both their changes to the text and after they had no actual text to work with, never became a "loose adaptation". Certainly it became a less than faithful adaptation -- and let's be real, it always was unfaithful for both themes and the essential elements of so many characters -- but it also always was a remarkably accurate adaptation of the whole span of Westeros (in geography and breadth of characters) and the general (not specific) book plot. (Consider previous attempts at adaptation that GRRM rejected, such as a single 2 hour movie, or eliminating Jon and Dany for being "irrelevant", or only making a Jon movie with none of the other storylines, etc.) Which is why, when GOT was different (and awful) it was such a betrayal, like a zombie or evil alien wearing the skin of your best friend or beloved child, and worse, that this twisted lookalike was the only version millions and millions of viewers ever saw and believed to be true.

But again, this just underlines what GRRM has said. "The show is the show, the books are the books." There is book canon and there is show canon. They are separate things. Parallel universes -- very close parallels, often touching in many places, but sometimes they're quite different. Sometimes the differences in adaptation enhance the themes of the original canon; sometimes the author may even consider certain adapted characters (Shae, King Viserys, Helaena) to be better than his original canon; sometimes you know there's only those tricky NDAs (and payments of lots of money) that prevent him from expressing his disappointment in more ways than dropping the Sansa TWOW preview chapter only days before the release of GOT S5. But perhaps if we're lucky, maybe one day we'll have yet another parallel canon to compare to the others.

[aventurineswife]

So, reader decided to play mouthwashing due to its positive reviews and how it became popular enough to gain fandom. Maybe Ratio, Aventurine, Kafka, Blade, Silver Wolf, Jing Yuan and Jade decided to watch reader as they play? How would they react to this game's plot, it's characters and opinions?

HSR Characters Reaction On Mouthwashing

Tags: Kafka x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Blade X Reader, Psychological Horror(not the actual fic but the game), Character Study, Game Reactions, Manipulation, Redemption, Survival, Dark Themes, Self-Destruction, Fractured Minds, Immortality.

Warnings: Strong Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Mentions of Mental Health Issues, Psychological and Emotional Distress, Dark Themes of Suffering and Redemption, Self-Harm (Implied, Related to Destruction and Pain), Death and Death Imagery.

A/N: I haven't fully watched the whole gameplay, so this might a bit ooc but I do know some basics of what happened and all I gotta say is: I hate Jimbo‼️🧍‍♀️ also shortened this to three characters because tags won't take the others and I probably would've to write each characters individually for their reactions on each characters so sorry if this disappoints you :')

Kafka lounged gracefully on a velvet chair, her fingers tracing the rim of a crystal goblet filled with a dark, undisturbed liquid. The soft glow of the screen reflected off her red wine-colored hair as she observed the game unfolding before her. Mouthwashing, a psychological horror game that had garnered significant attention, was the latest entertainment distraction.

The game's plot piqued her interest immediately—stranded in space with dwindling supplies, a mutilated captain, and a fractured crew. Kafka found the dynamics between the characters fascinating. The tension, the fractured relationships, and the slow unraveling of sanity… it was like watching a perfectly woven web fall apart. She couldn’t help but admire how the developers had manipulated the player into becoming complicit in the escalating violence.

Her eyes narrowed at the unraveling storylines. "So, it’s a game of power and survival," she mused, sipping from her glass. "But with a touch of madness, I wonder if the creators intended to turn the player into the true villain. The emotions on display—guilt, betrayal, desperation—can only lead to one outcome: unraveling."

Kafka's attention shifted to the player’s choices. The tension between the crew members, the twisted relationships, and the manipulation—it felt familiar. She was a master of persuasion, a manipulator of emotions, but this game was something different. It made her wonder how the player would handle the sense of culpability for the crew’s inevitable downfall.

"I suppose," she mused, "this is what makes games like this addictive—the slow collapse, the control one has over others... It’s almost poetic, in a sense." She couldn't tear her eyes away from the screen as the final moments played out. Jimmy’s tragic end, believing he had redeemed himself by placing Curly in the cryopod, was something Kafka could relate to—a misguided belief in redemption after irreversible actions.

Turning her attention back to her glass, she smiled softly. "I would have handled it differently, of course. But I suppose that’s the beauty of these games—they allow us to explore paths we’d never dare take in reality."

Silver Wolf sat cross-legged on a low sofa, her sharp gaze fixed on the screen as the game's opening scene began. Her fingers twitched in a restless, almost instinctive motion—an impulse to hack, to break the system and rewrite the story as she often did. But she forced herself to focus, her curiosity about the game's mechanics outweighing her usual inclination to manipulate.

The dark and gritty atmosphere of Mouthwashing quickly drew her in. The world-building was minimal, but what Silver Wolf found compelling was how the game subtly forced players into moral corners with each choice. The crew’s personalities were rich with flaws, and the tension between them was palpable. Her fingers flexed, itching to dive deeper into the psychological undercurrents, analyzing each interaction like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

"Not bad," Silver Wolf muttered, studying the way the plot twisted and turned with each new revelation. The complexity of the relationships, particularly Jimmy's unraveling sanity, fascinated her. "It’s like hacking a system, but instead of codes, it’s the characters' minds. The more you understand them, the more control you have over the outcome."

She watched intently as the player made choices, her eyes narrowing when the characters’ fates grew darker. “Hmph, some people just can't handle the game. They don’t see the bigger picture. It’s all about the challenge, about beating the odds. It’s not just survival—it’s about making it through with your mind intact. The chaos is part of the fun.”

Silver Wolf tilted her head as she saw Jimmy make his fatal choices, his mental state breaking down under the weight of guilt and fear. "That's one way to go out," she muttered. "Pathetic, really. I would’ve used that moment to break free, to rewrite the whole scenario. But I suppose that's why it's not me playing."

She smirked, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Still, I can appreciate the game's challenge. It's not about winning, it's about seeing just how far you can push the boundaries before it all collapses. Just like the game of life." Her fingers idly tapped against her knee. "Maybe I’ll try a new strategy next time."

Blade stood motionless in the shadows, his piercing eyes fixed on the screen as Mouthwashing unfolded before him. The plot resonated in ways that few things did—survival at any cost, fractured relationships, and a constant drive toward self-destruction. His cracked sword, an eternal symbol of his fractured existence, almost felt lighter as he watched the characters’ struggles.

The captain, Curly, with his tragic fate, reminded Blade of his own cursed immortality. Mutilated, unable to speak or act, yet still alive—trapped in a state of perpetual suffering. Blade’s gaze lingered on the screen, his mind replaying his own endless cycle of death and rebirth. He saw in Curly a reflection of his own fate: an unending existence that could only end in violence and ruin.

"What a pitiful display," Blade muttered, his voice low and cold. "Surviving only to slowly lose everything—your sanity, your humanity… That’s what this game is, isn’t it? A slow descent into madness, with no way out."

He watched as the crew's relationships deteriorated, one by one. Jimmy’s spiral into madness, his attempts at redemption, and the eventual tragic end... it all felt too familiar to Blade. "How weak," he whispered, his fingers twitching at his side. "No honor, no purpose. Just mindless survival."

Yet, there was something in Jimmy's desperate final act that resonated with Blade. The desire to find release, to end it all after causing so much destruction. It was the same goal Blade had sought for so long: an end to the suffering, an escape from the endless pain of immortality.

As the game neared its conclusion, Blade’s eyes narrowed. "They think they can redeem themselves," he mused. "But redemption is a lie. There is only the inevitable conclusion—endless destruction." His hand brushed the hilt of his broken sword. "This is the true path. There is no escaping it."

The game ended, and Blade remained silent, his expression unreadable. "A fitting end," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But not my end."