#there are also clear preferences for what kind of puzzle someone likes

[bolcseszgoblin]

would be a couple days with a couple of friends

[s4nguiine]

"don't call me that ever again."

» summary: your little quarrel with sunday leaves you up at night. but then you hear the piano.

» rating: sfw

» notes: this was not supposed to be 1k words

you toss and turn in the discomfort of your bed. you feel too hot, your legs too jittery, and your blanket feels like it’s suffocating you. that, and your thoughts run rampant, carrying a deep set shame with them. you’ve always been an overthinker. this is worse. this is eating you alive.

sunday joined the express just three days ago, and you’ve noticed how uncomfortable he seems around the other nameless. reasonably so, given the events that unfolded in penacony. they may have said that they’re willing to give him a chance, but that doesn’t mean they are immediately going to be relaxed around him. you, however, have something wrong going on with you. because you do not feel threatened by his presence. you feel that he’s changed. and you’re dead set on making everyone get along.

so, in an attempt to make sunday feel welcome, you decided to give him a nickname, and in your proactiveness you completely forgot to account for the type of person sunday is. of course he wouldn’t like being called sunny. it’s sunday. and it took him chewing you out to realize the mistake you’ve made.

you’re an idiot.

there’s no use trying to sleep. you tell yourself this as you lift the pillow off your head and push yourself up with the intention to get yourself a glass of water. it is when your bare feet make contact with the floor that you pause. you swear you just heard something, and as you stop moving and focus really hard, you realize that someone in the party car below is playing music. not just any music… it’s the piano.

you make your way to the door and when you open it and enter the stairway leading down, the sound grows less muffled, until the somber tune is clear in your ears. a couple more steps down and you pause. there, not too far from the stairs, sits sunday at the piano, seemingly absorbed in playing music.

not wanting to disturb him, you take a seat on one of the steps, leaning against the railing and watching him play. though you only get a view of his back, you can clearly imagine the kind of face he’s making right now. his entire body, from his fingertips to his head and his feet, moves with confidence you haven’t seen him display in a while. genuine confidence. and as you continue to listen and your eyelids grow heavy, you think how lovely it would be to listen to this forever.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

you wake up back in your bed. puzzled, you stand up and stretch, then look around yourself. strange. if you’re not on the stairs… was it a dream? were you dreaming of sunday? the thought makes your cheeks turn pink. no, this is to be expected. you were thinking of him while falling asleep, so of course you would also dream of him.

you make your way downstairs once you are dressed, joining the rest of the trailblazers for breakfast. the rest of your day goes as normal, and as you’re not currently on a mission, it is filled with the usual chores around the express. you skillfully avoid sunday, figuring that he probably doesn’t wanna see you anyway. as you complete your chores, however, you can’t not notice the fact that you feel like you’re being watched. every time you take a look around however, everyone seems preoccupied with their own things… including sunday, who’s always nose deep in one of his books.

you decide not to think too much of it.

nighttime arrives and you’re back in your room, back in your bed. sleep escapes you once more, and you find yourself wanting it to. you’re still unsure whether what happened last night was a dream. you’d prefer it not to be. and as you rack your brain for an answer, it comes from outside your door. you sit up and pinch yourself as hard as you can.

not a dream. you’re awake! it really happened! but then - who carried you back?

your hand hovers above the doorknob. what if it was sunday? could you face him right now if you knew it was him? sighing, you finally open the door and step out. it’s not like you’ll join him downstairs. you’ll just listen from high up on the round staircase where he won’t see you.

and that’s what you do. you take a few steps down, then sit down and lean against the cold railing. it’s the same tune as yesterday… melancholic but calming, with a hint of yearning. what does sunday yearn for, you wonder. must be a lot of things now.

you wish to get to know him.

“i was wondering if you would show up,” suddenly comes his voice, piano music uninterrupted.

you flinch, almost hitting your head in the process. “how did you know?”

“the stairs must be uncomfortable. why don’t you get down?” sunday doesn’t answer your question.

you’re petrified. did he notice you last night, too? slowly you get up, making your way downstairs with a racing heart. why do you feel like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar?

sunday’s eyes remain on the piano’s keys, even when you’re standing next to him fiddling with your thumbs. he then lets out an amused huff, and you feel even more like a deer in the headlights. at last, his fingers leave the keys to rest in his lap and his golden eyes find yours.

“i’m sorry,” you suddenly blurt out. “i didn’t mean to intrude.”

sunday raises his eyebrows. “actually, i was going to apologize too. for keeping you up.”

“you didn’t keep me up. well - well, technically you did. but not with the piano…” oh aeons, you’re digging your own grave. your words visibly confuse him. “look, i’m sorry. for calling you that nickname. i didn’t mean it out of malice, quite the opposite actually. but i should have thought about it more.”

sunday’s eyes seem to search every single pore on your face, to the point it’s starting to make you feel very exposed and very embarrassed. then, he turns to the piano once more, fingers stroking the white keys idly.

“is that why you avoided me?”

“m..maybe.”

a small smile graces his features. “you’re overthinking it.”

those words feel like a punch to the face.

he continues, “i don’t hate you for it, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

you perk up. “so can i call you sunny?”

“don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

“of course.” and you wilt again.

uncomfortable silence follows. something hangs in the air between you two, despite the cleared up misunderstanding.

so you ask, “what were you playing?”

“claire de lune, by johann debussy. i don’t suppose you know it,” he answers.

“i don’t, but ouch.”

he smiles, again, and you wonder if he enjoys watching people squirm. you chase these thoughts away. then, sunday shifts on the chair and pats down the empty space next to him. you take the cue and sit down.

“do you always follow directions like an excited puppy?” he asks, and before you can answer, his hands assume position and start playing again.

you sit next to him, and the soothing melody does nothing to slow your quickly beating heart. and when you glance next to you, you find sunday, unbearably close. so close, in fact, that you notice his long eyelashes, his unusually relaxed face, and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

it is then that it dawns on you: you are impossibly attracted to this man.

[trippinsorrows]

trials of love + two

authors note: friendly, gentle reminder that while drunk hookups are popular in today's culture, inebriation prohibits consent as someone cannot legally consent when intoxicated.

also.....this shit about to be messy as hell.

one

warnings: angst, inebriation, slight spice, and intoxication impairing judgment/consent

words: 3.7k

****gif credit goes to my chica @dejameflorecer

song inspo: evermore by josh groban

“She’s missing.” 

It’s the first thing Roman hears when he walks into the sanctuary. Nervous, frantic, rapid voices exchanging dialogue in hushed tones, some not so hushed. And because he’s him, it’s not difficult for Roman to catch onto what has everyone so worked up, his mother looking irritated and his father pissed. 

Not that he gives a shit about that.

He partially, however, gives a shit that she is, in fact, missing.

Solana.

His wife-to-be.

Apparently, she’s nowhere to be found on the property, an unfortunate and stressful thing for almost everyone it seems, sans one person.

She sits calmly in one of the pews, a crossword puzzle across her lap, the most relaxed expression on her face. It’s a stark contrast to the pandemonium surrounding them, which also includes Jey and Nicki on the other side of the church arguing, and Jimmy trying to get the caterers to let him “sample” the food. 

Roman shakes his head. 

Some things never change.

Strolling over to the older woman, Roman moves to sit in front of her, angling her body so he’s facing her, forearm across the top of the pew. 

She looks up, and it’s only then he realizes Solana inherited her eyes from her grandmother. 

“Roman,” she says it so formally, so casually, an introduction of sorts that’s followed by her refocusing back on the task at hand.

He chuckles. She reminds him a lot of Fetu.

They’ll either get along great, or it’s going to be clash of the fucking titans. 

“You know where she is, don’t you?” It’s not a question. Just a statement he’s waiting for her to confirm or deny.

Light brown eyes briefly dart up only to return back down under. “I know my granddaughter has always loved the ocean and often goes to the beach when she needs to think or clear her head.”

Roman offers a small smile. 

Yeah, a lot like Fetu.

“Thank you,” he says with a small nod.

She lifts her brow and shrugs once more. “I didn’t say anything.”

Roman doesn’t say anything either and manages to walk out of the chaos without anyone stopping him, not that he really cares. 

He just needs to find his bride, or rather, he’d prefer to be the one to find her for reasons he can’t quite explain or provide.

Just knows that it would make him feel better, or something, to bring her back.

Whatever that means.

He locates her exactly where her grandma “told” him she would be. On the beach, standing close enough to the tide where the water brushes against her bare feet. Her back toward him, arms crossed over her body, Roman approaches her, only inches away when she finally notices him.

Gasping, she jumps back a bit, eyes focused on him. It’s only then Roman can see it. See that she’s crying.

He frowns.

There’s something….something off about that that he doesn’t like. 

That doesn’t sit well with him.

“Roman….” Her voice is so soft and soothing, but there’s a sadness about it that also bothers him. “I’m—I’m sorry.” She wipes at her eyes and shakes her head. “I just—I wasn’t leaving. I just—”

“Solana,” he interrupts in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. “It’s fine.” Because if he wasn’t in a foreign country, he’d have probably done the same. Her…..dissatisfaction with this union is a mutually shared thing. “I know you weren’t.”

She nods, something like appreciation flashing across her pretty face. He’s briefly taken back. While marriage is the last thing Roman wants, to be married to someone like Solana isn’t a hard sell. Not only does she have the kind of body he could spend an eternity studying and worshipping, she’s absolutely breathtaking in every sense of the word.

Has a kind, caring spirit about her that's unlike anything he's used to.

But, it's something he feels like he could most definitely get used to.

Feeling himself staring, Roman motions to the ocean. He needs a distraction. “It’s beautiful.”

She follows his line of vision, smile growing. “It is.” Solana sighs, obviously taking it all in. “I’m—I’m gonna miss it.”

Roman’s expression shifts into something almost regretful.

Like, he regrets even putting her in this situation.

"Solana...." He strokes his beard, navigating how to explain himself. “For you to return back home so soon after the wedding would…..it wouldn’t be a good look.” He’s careful in the way he approaches this, a caution that’s a bit unfamiliar. Roman has never been one to choose his words carefully, unless in life or death situations. “But, after a few months pass, you can visit whenever you want.”

She turns toward him, eyes wide and hopeful. “R—really?”

Roman nods. “Yes.” 

Because while Roman can count on one hand how many family members he’d miss if separated from them for some reason, he can see that’s not the case for her. Solana seems deeply attached and close with all of her family, especially her sisters, Isabella and Zuri, connected with her home. 

And it’s that separation that she’s clearly struggling with the most, so the least he can do is provide her some assurance that being apart isn’t a forever thing.

He’d probably prefer for her to come visit more often than not. Gives him some much needed alone time. Roman has never lived with another person before as an adult. Let alone a woman. Let alone a woman who’s his wife, so that might take….an adjustment, to say the least.

He'd bet the watering of her eyes is for an entirely different reason now. “Thank you.” She sounds so grateful, so appreciative, so relieved. 

It’s hard for him to not be moved by it, even if it is completely unlike him to be move.

To feel. 

It’s uncomfortable as shit too, prompting him to clear his throat and gesture toward the opposite side of the ocean. “You ready?”

She nods, taking one last look at the water before turning to walk, clearly tripping over something in the sand. One minute, she’s about to fall, the next, Roman is in front of her, shielding said fall.

They stare at each other, her head lifted, gaze on him, hands on his chest, his on her waist, holding her up.

“S–sorry,” she apologizes in that same small voice, but for some reason, he can only focus on the aroma of her sweet perfume, the feel of her body so close to his, the alluring hue of her pretty brown eyes.

“It’s fine,” he says, distractedly. He’s still staring at her the same way she’s staring at him. One of them, he doesn't know who, finally breaks it, moving so that they can walk off.  He’s also unsure just who reaches for whose hand. Just knows that their hands are interlocked as they walk away from the present and prepare to head into the future.

Their future. 

-----------

Solana has always been a dreamer. Always lived with her “head in the clouds.” Something told to her from practically every family member, starting with her abuela, all the way to her adorable five year-old niece, Sophia. 

It’s something she’s never really denied, either. She knows she’s always been one to hope and aspire for the most, the best, even when told it might never happen. But, it’s never bothered her. Not really. Not when her life has always been filled with so much love, happiness, and fulfillment.

A wonderful family. Great friends. The honor of taking over her abuela’s bakery. An establishment that’s been in her family for generations.

The only thing missing has been love. 

Not familial. Not platonic. Romantic.

She’s dated, had relationships, and all of the above. And nothing ever moved her, ever left her feel the beautiful love she’s always witnessed with her parents. And her oldest sister, Zuri, has always advised her that her expectations are too high, too aligned with “Disney shit." Isabella has always told her to never settle. Her parents have always said she’ll know when she’s found the one. And Solana has always taken a bit of all of their advice, never once giving up her dream of finding “true love.” Of finding the man who would, maybe even literally, swipe her off her feet. 

The dreamlike courting, romantic proposal, perfect wedding, intimate wedding night where she’d finally lose her virginity to the man who’d one day be the father of her children. The perfect ending to a wonderful life.

A fucking lie.

Solana stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, a reflection she once appreciated, maybe not always loved, but liked well enough. Now though, now, she doesn’t even recognize what she sees. Who she sees.

She’s always been happy and joyful, but there’s nothing happy about the puffiness and redness around her eyes. The way her lips are in a permanent frown that’s been present for the past few days. She looks every bit as sad and miserable as she feels.

And, it’s all because of one man. 

Roman Reigns.

Her husband.

The man she hates more than she’s ever hated anyone before in her life.

She’d never heard anything nice about him, heard that he was a heartless bastard. But, in meeting him shortly before their wedding, in interacting with him on a few occasions, he’d been…..okay. Not overtly nice but nothing like the asshole he’s been since….since that night.

The night…..

Solana sniffles, feeling and seeing the watering of her eyes. That’s got her more fucked up than anything else. She always dreamed her wedding night, her first time, would be a beautiful thing. And, it was. Roman was…...he was kind to her, gentle with her, good to her.

And, then she woke up.

Because everything since that night has been nothing short of a nightmare.

Roman isn’t her knight in shining armor. 

He’s the demon in her dreams.

A demon she can’t escape.

Dulce’s quiet snoring in her room, a random room she’s commandeered and made her own, moving all of her stuff into it from Roman’s the second day of his MIA episode. Solana smiles. Seeing and having her sweet dog with her was definitely something she could have never guessed happening.

Could have never anticipated waking up and finding her baby girl in a crate being held by Roman's Wise Man, Dulce nearly losing her shit, same with Solana, in seeing her mother for the first time in too long.

Solana can still recall the physical pain she felt when she was informed Roman doesn't like pets, and that she had to leave Dulce home in Mexico with her family. It practically killed her. Made this whole thing so much worse. 

Dulce, a tiny little thing, is hands down Solana’s best friend. They’ve been connected since the moment Solana held the Pomeranian four years prior. She’s been there for her during the best and worst of times, so not having her for, inarguably, the worst thing she’s ever been through in life has been torture. 

Truth be told, Solana hasn’t the slightest clue why Roman changed his mind, what made him make arrangements to have Dulce brought to her, and while she’s beyond grateful to have at least someone in that house, she couldn’t bring herself to thank him.

For what?

What has he done to deserve thanks? Letting her have her pet is only a common decency. The latter word being something foreign to him, clearly.

Because Roman is every bit the bastard she heard about. She only wishes she wasn’t stupid enough before to believe he could be anything different. 

But, she’s learned her lesson.

Learned to heed to his words.

This isn’t a real marriage. It doesn't mean anything to him. She doesn’t mean anything to him. 

So, he doesn't mean anything to her.

And, he never will. 

He isn’t home, but that’s not surprising. He’s never home. Her now preference.

As much space away from him that she can manage is for the best. 

Not to mention, it allows her to prepare for her night without his intrusions or thoughts of how he’d respond or even feel. A stupid thing, really. Especially considering he made it painfully clear that he doesn’t care what or who she does. 

Bet.

Solana takes the red lipstick, applying it to her lips, the last and final step of a makeup routine that took much longer than what was probably necessary. But, the end product seems worth it. Dark, sultry eyes, highlighted and blushed cheeks, with blood red lipstick to match her red dress that shows more of her breast than most of her bikini tops. Her ass is only one bend away from being exposed, the body of it nice and tight, hugging all her generous curves.. It’s a look she’d not even wear in her dreams, far too risque and revealing, but it’s exactly what she’s wearing tonight. 

Because she just doesn’t care anymore. 

If Roman can do whatever he wants, then so can she. 

Spraying perfume on her pulse points and on her dress, Solana takes a final look at herself in the mirror before hitting the lights and grabbing her small Gucci bag off the counter. 

Walking in heels has always been a bit difficult for her, but the heels complete the look, so it’s one of many sacrifices she’s willing to make tonight. 

Solana cuddles with Dulce for a few minutes, making sure she’s straight and instructing the security that patrol the house to check on her baby every so often.

She’s not certain she’ll make it home tonight.

And speaking of home, Solana turns the hall and meets Dre’s always watchful gaze. She doesn’t miss the way he gives her a double take. The same way she gives him one.

Her head of security isn’t ugly by any means. Tall with a nice, lean but muscular build, pretty light eyes and almost model-like facial features. He looks more like the type to be in Vogue versus being assigned the head of her security detail. On the quiet side, too, only having only said a few words to her.

But, the way he’s looking at her now suggests she might be able to evoke a couple more words out of him. At least, for tonight.

“I want to go out,” she informs, crossing her arms over her body.  “A nightclub. Whatever is most popular in this town.”

Dre lifts a brow. “Mrs. Reigns—”

“Solana,” she corrects. “My name is Solana.” 

“Solana.” There’s almost something suggestive about the way he says it. A way she both likes and dislikes. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.” Solana scowls, already knowing she’s not going to like what he says. “With The Tribal Chief being out of town—”

“I said—” Solana steps forward, head tilted, again not missing how Dre’s eyes drop to her chest. “I want to go out.” Mustering a small smile and batted eyelashes, she tilts her head and innocently places her hands on his chest. “Now, let’s go.”

—--------

It’s all so loud and borderline suffocating. The music booms, the people move and grind together with a familiarity that contrasts the fact that most of them only met just this night. A situation she too, ironically, finds herself in, because Solana hasn’t the slightest clue who she’s dancing with. Just knows that he’s only a couple inches taller than her, even in her heels, and he can’t seem to keep his hands off her ass.

And if not for the liquor coursing through her body, it’s something she’d be uncomfortable with. She partially is but not enough to stop, to tell him to leave her alone. This is what she needs. To let loose, to not give a fuck. 

To be less like herself and more like him.

Because being Solana, being kind and sweet and understanding, got her nowhere but broken heart city, and she’s tired of feeling so hurt and broken. She needs to feel something, anything else, and this is the perfect way. 

The song comes to an end, random man whispering something in her ear about being right back. She jumps when he squeezes her ass and slithers away. Solana feels a bit silly just standing there, so she makes her way back over to the bar.

A small, inebriated smile on her face, she’s pleased to see the same bartender. 

“Another shot, p–please.”

The woman, tall and dark in every aspect outside of her almost pale complexion, with tattoos covering her body gives her an almost hesitant look. “You sure about that, babe? You’ve had quite a bit to drink already.”

Solana rolls her eyes. “I’m not a child." Gesturing to her outfit, her nipples milliseconds from popping out, prompting her to adjust her top, she repeats her request. “A shot, please.”

Striking blue eyes gleam with continued reticence as the tall woman turns away to fulfil the order. 

Solana leans back against the bar, closing her eyes and taking in the environment. She feels so free, so liberated from the shackles of hurt, pain, and betrayal that have consumed her since she was ripped away from her home and life and everything she loves only to be dumped into this shitshow of a storm.

It’s unfair. All of it, but she’s done letting it drown her.

She can’t.

“Well damn.” Her head snaps up to the sound of the voice that’s much closer than what’s necessary. “You sure look like you know how to have a good time.”

Solana studies the man before her, his complexion a few shades darker than her own. His brown eyes are warm but intense and contrast his short, onyx hair and thick brows that have cutouts on the end. His build is more on the stocky side but still muscular.

A small smile falls on her face. “Something like that.” Taking him in one time, she offers her name. “I’m Solana.”

“Zilla,” he answers with a confident smirk. “You not from around here.”

She nods, recognizing it’s more of a statement than anything. “I’m….new to town.”

Unfortunately.

He makes a sound, eyes focusing on her breast. “Lucky us, huh?”

Giggling, she teases, largely fueled by the liquor, “maybe.”

“Zilla.” Another voice sounds, not as deep, but still smooth. Accented. Solana turns to see another man with a similar complexion, lithe yet muscular build and almost angular features. He's older than the shorter man, clearly. Not that that really matters to her.

His gaze quickly settles on her, revealing a gleam of lust. “Who is this?”

“S–solana,” she answers matter-of-factly. “W–who are you?”

He smirks. “Tama.”

Solana snorts and rolls her eyes. “I—interesting.” It’s not missed on her how the both of them continue to focus on everything but her face, namely her chest. “Let’s just s–skip to the good part boys, why don’t we?” They both look curious as she asks with batted eyelashes. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s a statement that, in actuality, surprises all three of them. Solana knows what she’s saying, knows what she’s asking, but there’s still something about it that feels….non-autonomous. Like she’s in control, but she’s not actually in control. 

Something she should probably think more about, but thinking and feeling have done her no good these past few weeks, so fuck it.

“Which one of us?” Zilla is the one to ask, licking his lips, hand reaching out and brushing his fingers over her forearm. Tama remains watchful and attentive but keeping his hands to himself.

For now.

And with a wry smile, glazed eyes, and fiery, drunken determination, she answers boldly, “both.”

—--------

Solana moans at the set of lips that suck on her neck and the set of hands—she’s not sure whose—that squeeze at her breast.

Lips parted, eyes closed, she’s fully immersed in this moment, solely focused on the hands that touch and grab all over her body.

“Shit,” she hisses when someone moves their hand in between her thighs, nudging them open and feeling at her thong.

Zilla smirks and teases his finger in a circle against the inside of her thigh. “That pussy nice and wet for us already, man.”

Tama makes a sound, moving his hand to Solana’s hair, yanking her head back and forcing her eyes open. “You’re a good,submissive little bitch, aren’t you?”

There’s something both erotic and disrespectful about it, about his statement, about his delivery, about the way he tightens his grip in her hair. But, she doesn’t care, she’s too caught in the moment, too consumed by the alcohol. 

“Take that shit off her,” Zilla directs Tama, the older man easily guiding her onto her knees on the bed. His hands go to the bottom of her dress, pulling it up and off her, leaving her in just a thong.

Something strange washes over her, Solana naturally moving her hands across her chest, suddenly feeling a sense of unease and discomfort. Like something is…..off. 

Like she shouldn’t have told Dre to mind his business and wait outside in the SUV as she prepares to engage in the unthinkable. 

“Wait…..” She murmurs, maybe to them, maybe to herself. She’s not entirely sure. 

Tama, however, ushers her arms down and guides her to lay down. Solana readies to protest again when he latches his mouth onto her nipple, evoking a moan from her, the pleasure easily overpowering the logic. 

Her hand moves to the back of his short hair, her body writhing underneath him as he slides his hand down her belly and slips it into her thong. She whimpers when he teases his fingers against her wet, velvety opening.

“Goddamn, you got some big ass titties,” Zilla makes a sound from where he stands at the foot of the bed, Solana briefly opening her eyes to see he’s messing with something, something she can’t seem to make out, just that he’s situating it on the dresser in front of the bed. A perfect view of what’s about to transpire. 

For a second, the slightest second, she’s reluctant.

“What—what are you doing?” Furrowed brows as Tama sits up and also goes to remove his shirt, Solana leaning up on her elbows. 

“Nothing, baby,” Zilla answers, standing directly in front of her. He goes to undo his belt when he pauses to look at her, asking, “you sure you wanna do this?”

Solana stills, noticing how Tama is also looking at her with an expectant expression.

No. She’s not sure, but yet she is. She wants to, but she’s also nervous. She’s only had sex once, but it’s that one time, albeit amazing and wonderful, that led to this emotional spiral she’s been on. It’s what led her to stepping away from the good, innocent path she’s always been on and entered her onto whatever this is. 

So, not, she’s absolutely not sure.

But, what she is sure of is that she’s tired of crying all the time, tired of thinking of Roman, of trying to figure out how he went from being almost kind to her to basically telling her she means nothing to him. That the night they spent together, her first time, him taking her virginity, something she always imagined giving to the one, meant nothing. 

Roman can’t be her one and only anymore. 

Especially when she was never and will never be his. 

Solana moves her fingers to her thong, sliding them down and off her body, laying on the bed and giggling while throwing them toward the two men.

“Let’s do it.”

[elicypher]

Hey Vin, what’s up?

I hope that you are doing well. Anyway I wanted to share an idea that got into my head.

Imagine a situation where William somehow ends up in the modern times and meeting you. And like, you introduce him to everything in our times and at some point you end up introducing him to video games (mostly because he caught you playing a video game and ended up getting curious about what that is, lol)

But anyway, I found the idea of introducing him to video games and teaching him about how to play them and even letting him try to play really adorable.

Now, I don’t really see him as someone who would be much of a gamer but I do see him play video games from time to time. I see him being more into board games to be honest.

Ah btw, this isn’t a request (which you definitely can tell I guess. But I thought it would still be good to make it clear.) I just thought I could share my idea cause I found it really cute

Anyway, have nice day/night ✨

AUDJDJ i'm sorry that this is rather later, i was planning on answering it but i forgot. anyway, i can imagine the culture shock he'd experience. but he's someone that can adapt to situations, that's practically all he's done throughout his life 🗣�� you have a great mind

one day, william notices you engrossed in something. something fast paced, or a story driven game with deep strategy? (idk, whatever type of game you like playing) either way, his curiosity would get the better of him.

william's interest piqued when he heard the clicking of the controller in your hands. he silently approaches, standing close behind you, breath warm against your neck as he leans in —ncasting a shadow over your screen.

"what is this?" william asks, voice low. you can feel him studying not just the game, but also you.

ever the observant mind.

"it's a video game," you try to explain. "you can control characters, go on adventures, solve puzzles... people play them for fun." it'd take some time explaining how a glowing screen could take you on adventures and whatnot.

he'd watch you curiously, like a child mesmerized when going to an aquarium for the first time. it's new to him.

"fascinating," he whispers softly. "may i try?"

as you hand him the controller, your fingers brush against his in the exchange and you watch as he attempts to navigate the game. william's deliberate — calculating in his every move, but there’s something endearing in his concentration. he's so bewitched by it, trying to take all of the information in, flinching when a jump scare appears.

it's cute.

"i'm not sure this is my kind of challenge," he admits after a while, lips curving into a small smile. he places the controller aside, turning to face you. and his gaze softens.

“but i can see why you enjoy it, (name). i, however, prefer strategy with a bit more… direct engagement. perhaps a more traditional game would suit me better," he continues. "chess, for instance. do you still have that in this time?"

"yes, they're on here, too." you nod, tapping the screen. "but i could always pull out the board game from my.." you trail off. "i think i kept it in the closet? i can try finding it."

"really?" william blinks. he's surprised. perhaps it's because so many things have changed, but he's not sure why he thought chess was no longer available during this time. "oh, no, please. i wouldn't want to bother you. we could try the...'video game' version of chess, as you call it."

"i could teach you." unable to help yourself, you smile. there's a childish excitement in him that you're finding adorable. "… or challenge you.”

william's smile changes to something deeper, and there’s a flicker of something more in his eyes, "a challenge, then."

no matter how much time has passed, william is still, at his core, the same william. though he sometimes struggles to adapt quickly to the modern world we live in due to the drastic changes, his sharp mind remains as keen as ever.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Finn, James(/Holden); private number

For the prompt: Please, we need Finn’s POV of James and Holden!

This is 99% a loving but honest treatise about Finn's Bestest Friend, because Finn Schneider, everybody.

James has always been someone who keeps things close to the vest. Some of their teammates have referred to James as secretive, and every time Finn’s overheard them he’s corrected them.

Private, he says. James is private.

But honestly, Finn doesn’t actually disagree with them.

James is private, Finn means that, but it isn’t just privacy. Privacy is a preference. Secrecy is something else. Finn doesn’t know how to explain the difference, but he thinks most people would agree there is one, and most people who’ve met James would agree that James is the latter.

Finn is private. James is something else entirely.

Finn had known James for almost a year before he learned he had a brother. Even though James had met all his siblings by that point, Finn had only heard about Chelsea, and he probably only knew about her because, besides his parents, she was the only person who ever called James. Or, Finn supposes, not necessarily the only ones who called, but they were the only ones whose calls James actually picked up.

It took Finn five years, give or take, before he knew, really knew, that James was gay, and even then, it wasn’t because James told him. And maybe he isn��t gay, maybe he’d prefer Finn use another word entirely, but it’s not like Finn can ask him, considering if James does know Finn’s aware, he’s doing a very good job of pretending not to. Or maybe he’s just trying not to think about it. He does that sometimes.

Five years. Finn’s not saying that he didn’t suspect before that, but —

He doesn’t like that word, ‘suspect’. It makes it sound like James has done something unethical, illegal. Or alternately, that Finn spends all his time gathering intel about people, putting together data like pieces of a puzzle — adding up a glance, an awkward pause, a smirk, forming a clear picture out of signals that most people don’t even know they’ve been making.

Maybe the second one’s a little too close to the truth for his liking. It’s not that he does it on purpose, exactly — he doesn’t want to be nosy, or overstep, and he thinks he mostly manages to avoid that.

But he can’t keep his brain from cataloguing all those pieces of information, can’t keep it from noticing which ones might fit together, even if he never confronts someone with the information, never mentions it to anyone else, never lets it change the way he treats them.

Giving someone clues, often unknowingly, isn’t the same as telling them something, and in his experience, people don’t appreciate you knowing things they haven’t told you. They certainly don’t like knowing you can predict their behaviour — people really hate thinking they're predictable — so Finn’s learned to keep his mouth shut, let them think that they aren’t.

But he still knows all those things about them. He can't help that.

Five years, it took. At least four of them as James’ best friend. Because that's what he is, he knows that even though James doesn't say it. He’s the only person James can still tolerate by the end of a long road trip, the first person James would call if he needed a hand, an ear, a guide. On most things, at least, and he’s thankful James can go to his sister or his mom for all the stuff Finn's just as hopeless with. The first person James would call in an emergency — after 911, obviously, if it was that kind.

It’s not like that doesn’t go both ways — he’s Finn’s best friend too. Finn probably wouldn’t call him in an emergency, but that’s because James usually has his phone on silent, and he probably wouldn’t pick up. Also, Finn loves him, but with the exception of a couple very specific scenarios Finn can see James being extremely helpful for, most of them hockey related, his particular skillset doesn’t exactly match the ones needed during most emergencies.

Finn had a flat last month. Not a real emergency, honestly, but close enough for the purposes of illustration. The first call he made was to AAA, and the second one was to Georgie, who lived nearby, and came to pick him up so he didn’t have to catch a ride with the tow truck.

If Georgie hadn’t answered Finn probably would have called Logan, though he’s almost as bad at picking up as James is, then maybe Greg, who also lived around there, or his right-side neighbours, who are the genuinely neighbourly kind, and wouldn’t be going out of their way on the ride back home, at least.

He texted James while he waited for G, though. James replied three hours later with You have AAA right?

Finn doesn’t mean to make James sound like a bad friend, because he isn’t one. He’s kind, and hard-working, and brilliant about the game. He has high standards, but he holds himself to even higher ones. He can miss the obvious sometimes, but he's uncannily observant about other things — he probably knows more about Finn's preferences than he does, and notices before anyone, even the coaching staff, what isn't working with a drill.

He makes Finn laugh too — sometimes it's unintentional, but it usually isn't. James is funny, though Finn knows nobody believes him, because James doesn't tell jokes, he mumbles them, and he only does it with a few select people, Finn luckily among them. And the comments he mutters to Finn under his breath are usually snarky enough to make Finn struggle to keep a straight face, things that Finn would never say, or even mutter, but does sometimes find himself thinking.

And he’s — he’s comfortable. Or more, Finn’s comfortable around him, the way he hasn’t felt with anyone but family before, not even G.

Around James, everything is just a little bit easier. It’s easier to step up, easier to speak out, easier to know what to do, to trust the decisions he makes.

It probably helps that James always looks like Finn’s saved his ass by ordering his drink while he’s in the bathroom, grabbing him OJ across the street because the hotel ran out and James isn’t nearly awake enough yet to go himself, checking in after James notices a call-up has been putting it back after games. Like Finn’s some kind of really boring superhero. Super Schneids, saving the day one glass of orange juice and possible intervention at a time.

Finn didn’t tell James, because it wouldn’t have helped anything, but he wasn’t any more enthusiastic about Holden joining the team than James was. It’s taken years for their team to grow up, grow closer, for the room to gel. It's their team — all of theirs, of course, but it’s James' and Finn’s and G’s. Like some sort of Charlie’s Angels, where G’s got the good looks and charm, James is the strategic genius, and Finn’s — well, Finn knows how to talk to people.

Adding anyone to the room can change the dynamic, no matter who they are, and Holden Chase wasn’t just anyone. He had a history with half the roster, some of it pretty ugly, and James didn’t hide the fact he detested him. Detested him a way Finn hadn’t seen him act with any other opponent before, though James has nursed more than a few quiet vendettas, ones Finn’s probably the only one aware of, because, well, James is private. But everybody on the roster knew how he felt about Holden Chase well before he got here.

It makes Finn wonder if this was something — inevitable, maybe. That line about a thin line between love and hate. James doesn’t pay much attention to anyone unless they impress him, but he paid a lot of attention to Holden, even as he claimed he wasn’t impressed at all.

Inevitable, though Finn doesn’t know what started it, can’t quite peg the moment, though he bets it wasn't when James was clenching his jaw the second Chaser walked in the room, certainly after he lost his composure in practice for only the second time Finn’s ever seen, and more...spectacularly than anyone would have expected, Finn included, and Finn’s pretty sure he knows James better than anyone.

But still not well enough, apparently. Not well enough to know what changed, or more, how it did — when it was, who made the first move — though he assumes it had to have been Holden. He knows James at least that well.

But he doesn't know exactly what it is, or more, how James would describe it. Beyond ‘someone special’, at least, though those are the words from Finn’s mom, not him, he just acknowledged there was someone. The first time he said it, Finn assumes to anyone.

A confession he followed up with an uncomfortable, roundabout series of questions that Finn was pretty sure boiled down to ‘do you know it’s Chase? Please don’t actually confirm that, I’ve already dealt with enough tonight’, judging by his visible relief when the subject was dropped. Right before he lit up at the suggestion of going to meet up with the team, even though a year ago he would have made a face at Finn for the question, like ‘obviously not, who do you think I am?’.

But then, a year ago, Finn wouldn’t have asked him that question, because he does know James. Not perfectly, or even as well as he wants to, because James shrinks back from interest like a turtle hiding in its shell, but as well as James allows.

And, as well as he knows James, he still finds it all a little — inexplicable, maybe. Or not, maybe it isn’t, but nobody’s explaining it, certainly not to him. But Finn keeps his mouth shut, keeps his eyes forward, the first rules of the locker room, probably even more important than ‘don’t suck’. If James wants to explain it, Finn’s happy to listen, but in the meantime, he picks up the pieces, fits them together the best he can, and hopes like hell this all won’t blow up.

[heartofbusan]

My advice to JJK

Trying to describe Jeon Jungkook is like trying to grab sunlight. It's intagible, unattainable yet ever present. Slipping through your fingers while warming you up. He might actually be so EXTREMELY simple to figure out that people get lost, expecting a greater mystery. How do you solve a problem like Jungkook?

It requires patience.

His true character will reveal itself if you take the time to listen and observe instead of wanting him to fulfill your expectations of him.

He's very much of his time. He's willing to be vulnerable when most people would prefer to hide behind a facade of calm, cool, and collected. He's someone who has put his heart out there for us to see. Not just for us, but for himself, because he prioritises honesty and authenticity. He's not into bapid or superficial. He's actually not that deep. He's sensitive and a deep thinker, but hes not someone who needs words to express his feelings because his feelings are just there for tue taking. He's been showing and telling us who he is, yet people are unwilling to listen. Isn't that kind of tragic?

It's no surprise that he likes to work with non-verbal art mediums. Using words in a superficial way, mostly constructing a puzzle through layering rather than through concepts. He's got a great eye for color and timing, rhythm, and he loves humor that can handle a dark turn! That might be the most mysterious thing about him, his love for drama and his playful side. Pretending to be a different character, shed his mask by donning a far more 'interesting' one. Because he's that simple. He either likes something or he doesn't. His belly is connected to his heart. His gut is his guide. Never falter. It will always lead me home. If it feels good, if I trust it, then It can't be wrong.

Yet words like Simple. Easy. Clear. Those sound too plain for a man like Jungkook, who is kindhearted, grounded, and precise. He lives in the now.

I hope age brings him closer to expressing himself through words. I'd really love to see him try to articulate his brain. It is a worthy challenge, but one he need only take for his own satisfaction. I'm glad that, at times, he seems less harsh or self-critical than he used to be. That is also a working of time and age.

On his birthday, I hope he feels a sense of satisfaction on a day well lived. It's that simple joy that might bring him a sense of peace. And of course, knowing that he has a person in this life who can handle him just fine. That, too. Mostly that. Because that person SEES HIM. And isn't that what life is all about? A person who accepts you for who you are, not who they need you to be for them. That is a person worth fighting for.

[lurkingshan]

I've been in multiple tumblr fandoms over the years and the same shit comes up over and over again wrt arguments about how we all engage with our chosen media on here, so here are a few things to keep in mind that have helped me along the way:

Not everyone is going to engage in the same way as you, and that's good, actually. Some people are purely here to gush over the things they like. Some people are here to do deep analytical breakdowns which will include criticism. Some people are cheerleaders. Some people are haters. A lot of people are a mix of both depending on what they're talking about on any given day. It's all good and valid, and it's what gives this space variety, allows us to learn from each other, and keeps it interesting.

The filter, unfollow, and block functions are your friend. If you love a mutual but hate the volume or the way they talk about a certain thing, just add it to your filtered tags (relatedly: tag your shit so people can filter you when needed!). If you consistently don't vibe with the way a person chooses to engage on here, just unfollow them. If you find them actively offensive or detrimental to your mental health, hit that block button, baby. We are all anonymous internet strangers and no one will die.

Someone expressing a different opinion from yours is not a personal attack on you. If someone hates a thing you like, they are not calling you stupid for liking it. If they love a thing you hate, there's nothing wrong with them, they are just taking something different from it than you are. That shit is all about you and your own insecurities, don't try to put it on them.

Vague posting is rude. If you want to directly respond to something someone said to get better clarity about what they meant, reply to their post or shoot them an ask or DM and talk to them about it. If you simply want to express a counterpoint without directly engaging them, just post your own take without vaguely alluding to them and building what is almost certainly a strawman of their original point. People you're vaguing can see you on here, folks. Don't be a dick.

Credit and reblog other people's ideas when you are building on them, and be kind to the creators who provide the artwork that make this place so special and unique. Reblogging is the lifeblood of this website. It's the only way people get to see content that is by anyone they don't follow, and the gifmakers on here in particular put in so much time and effort to give us beautiful images--share their work and tell them you appreciate it! You also don't have to agree with every single word of a meta post to reblog it (why would you expect to, it comes from a different brain than yours), and you absolutely should be crediting people and sharing their words when they sparked something that inspired your own thoughts. This is just being a good community member.

Embrace the difference between meta and fanwanking. Meta writing is analysis of the actual media content as it is presented, with arguments based in the canon text. Fanwanking is doing your own work to fill in gaps or create headcanons to supplement the canon text. Some people prefer content that leaves a lot of gaps because they love to creatively fanwank; some people prefer to be told complete stories without having to do all that extra work to make them make sense. These are both very cool and fun ways to engage, but when you're fanwanking be aware that those ideas are all coming from you, not the actual media being discussed, so others might not vibe with your interpretation.

When posting your own opinions, try to be clear about where you're coming from and why. If you have a personal experience or bias that is affecting your read, own it. If you're looking at a piece of media from a specific angle related to your own interests and learning, say that. It helps other people to know where you're coming from and why you're thinking about something in a certain way that can then help them puzzle out why they feel differently.

You don't owe anyone your presence here, and you don't have to express opinions on everything or respond to tags or asks if you don't have anything to say. Sometimes you might just want to take a break from posting, some things in the discourse might just flow right on by you, sometimes you will not have a firm opinion on a debate. You can post as much or as little as you want. You can suddenly decide you don't want to talk about a show anymore. You can not log into your tumblr for days or weeks at a time. Do you, boo!

Most people come to tumblr because they do want to engage with others, and this place can be a lot of fun if you just take what you need from it and let things that aren't serving you go.

[xomaleyaxo]

Stolen Hearts → Blackpink 5th Member

Synopsis: As time passes and their hearts are forever stolen, they’re drawn deeper into an unbreakable love.

Part 2 to Stolen Glances

Wc: 2.3k

They say you have three loves in your life: the first love, which is intense and exciting, full of passion and youthful energy; the second love, which teaches you about heartbreak and the complexities of relationships; and the third love, which arrives unexpectedly, steady and enduring, and is said to be your true, lasting love. For Mirae, Mingyu was her third love, and everything she had heard about this kind of love was starting to ring true.

With Mingyu around, life seemed brighter, as if she had spent years in the shadows and now the sun had finally broken through. He was the kind of man she had been waiting for her entire life, someone she felt her father, if he were still here, would have loved for her. Deep down, she believed he was watching over her and had sent Mingyu her way. He was almost too good to be true, yet here he was, making her world feel complete.

Mirae had always longed for someone like her father, a kind soul, a musician, someone who gave everything for the people he loved. In Mingyu, she saw all those traits. She admired how he could connect with anyone instantly, forming a sense of comfort effortlessly. He was the kind of person who made everything better just by being there.

Initially, Mirae felt so different from him, her introverted nature clashing with his extroverted energy. However, over time, Mingyu’s openness began to rub off on her. He helped her break out of her shell and see life in a new light, while she grounded him, showing him the beauty of quiet, intimate moments. It felt as though they were puzzle pieces finally coming together, perfectly fitting for the first time.

Despite their differences, their similarities deepened their understanding of each other. Both had spent their youth chasing dreams, and now they were living them. They understood the devotion required to achieve their goals and how to support each other through their demanding careers. They knew when to prioritize their groups and fans but also when to remind each other to take a break and relax, finding balance in both their work and relationship.

As they spent more time together, Mirae realized she had never felt such ease before. It was as if they had been together for years, even though it had only been a short time. Mingyu saw her, truly saw her. Normally, this might have frightened her, but instead, he embraced every flaw and imperfection. He never made her feel like there was anything wrong with her, which made her feel validated.

Despite her efforts to seek help, Mirae carried a lot of baggage. These issues affected her daily life, accompanied by a nagging voice that told her no one deserved to deal with her struggles. She preferred to write out her feelings and leave them behind, a habit that negatively impacted her relationships since she struggled to express her emotions directly. Though she was working on it, Mingyu’s open expression of his feelings made her worry about her own inability to do the same.

Being an idol, she had an unrelenting drive for perfection. She pushed herself hard, always striving to meet impossible standards, as if achieving excellence could somehow make up for the absence of her father. The immense pressure she placed on herself stemmed from a desire to make him proud and live up to an ideal she had constructed.

She hated being vulnerable and crying in front of others, yet she was someone who cried easily, whether it was from seeing someone else in distress, frustration, or being yelled at. Her mind urged her to maintain a tough exterior, but her heart remained vulnerable, causing her eyes to betray her emotions.

One night after a cozy café date, she opened up to Mingyu about her fears and insecurities. He listened silently, deeply understanding the weight of what she was revealing. It was clear that opening up was a challenge for her, but he felt a profound sense of gratitude that she was willing to be vulnerable with him.

Mingyu didn’t care about her flaws; in fact, her imperfections only made him like her more. To him, her struggles were not obstacles but parts of her that he wanted to embrace completely. He was determined to support her through them, and when he conveyed this to her, it brought her a deep sense of safety and the realization that he was the one who could truly make her feel safe.

As summer was ending, their relationship grew serious very rapidly. Mirae, usually cautious about moving too quickly, felt herself drawing closer to the idea of love with Mingyu.

Their first kiss happened after their fourth date, inside his car as he dropped her off. The dim lighting, soft music from the radio, and the lingering warmth of their date created the perfect setting. As they sat there, sad their evening was ending, Mingyu leaned in slowly, his gaze locked with hers, asking a silent question. Mirae gave a gentle nod, and they shared a soft, sweet kiss.

When they pulled away, both were blushing, their smiles widening as they made eye contact and said goodbye. Mirae hadn’t expected to feel like a blushing teenager again, but the kiss with Mingyu reminded her of the excitement and giddiness of kissing someone for the first time. It was a small kiss, yet it left her yearning for more. As the days passed, they grew more comfortable with each other, and soon, they were in a committed relationship.

The changes in Mirae were noticeable to those closest to her. She seemed happier and brighter, a stark contrast to her past relationships where she kept everything private. Mingyu was different. She couldn’t stop talking about him, whether it was a sweet gesture he made or a funny moment they shared. He was a constant presence in her mind and conversations. Her friends and family often teased her about it, but they were genuinely happy for her. It was clear to everyone that she was smitten, and it was a rare and wonderful sight.

Mingyu was equally smitten, and his members playfully teased him about it. They’d play Blackpink songs, dance along, and sing her parts, which always made him blush and smile. He was thrilled to be with her after admiring her from afar for so long. Now that she was his, he took every opportunity to brag about her and praise her. While his members sometimes found his constant adoration a bit much, they were mainly just happy to see him so content.

Mirae wasn’t sure when she realized she loved Mingyu; it just happened naturally. She never pinpointed the exact moment, but somehow, she was the first to say “I love you.” One cozy night, she invited him over for dinner. As they sat quietly watching a movie, she felt an overwhelming sense of contentment and looked over at him.

He was gently petting her dog Luna, who had adored him from their very first meeting. Luna rested comfortably in his lap, while Mingyu’s arm stroked the dog, and his other arm was wrapped around Mirae’s waist, giving her soft circles.

Noticing her gaze, Mingyu looked back and smiled, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. She returned his smile and leaned in to kiss him softly, making him giggle.

“What's up?” he asked.

“Mhmmm, nothing,” she replied softly, leaning her head into his neck and letting it rest there.

“Now you have to tell me,” he said, giggling as he gently pulled her away so he could see her face.

“Mhm,” she whined, trying to nestle back into his neck to feel his warmth.

“Stoppp,” he said, softly grabbing her face with his hands. “Tell me.”

She looked up at him, and he leaned closer to her lips. “I love you,” she whispered.

Mingyu paused for a moment, his eyes widening before breaking into a grin. Luna, sensing the shift, hopped off his lap as he moved.

“You love me?” Mingyu asked, still holding her face with one hand and giggling.

She nodded, her cheeks puffing out as she waited for him to say it back.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Uh!” she said, playfully pushing his arm away and giggling as he grabbed her back, laughing.

“You didn’t say it back, wowww,” she said sarcastically, pretending to move his arms away and leave.

“I’m kidding,” he joked, pulling her close again.

As they settled down, she looked at him once more. He pushed her hair behind her ears and said, “I love you too,” before kissing her deeply.

After their first “I love you,” their lives sped up. Weeks turned into months, and despite their busy schedules, they made time for each other. Mingyu flew out to see her during her tour and supported her at Coachella. Mirae used her limited free days to visit him. Their efforts to stay connected despite their hectic lives demonstrated their commitment and reassured them both that their relationship was serious and worth every effort.

Their first anniversary fell on one of her concert days in Australia, and Mirae was saddened by their inability to celebrate together. Both were very busy, but Mingyu reassured her that they could celebrate another day. True to his word, they found a weekend when they were both free and spent it away in Paris, the city of love.

Their first actual vacation together was both extravagant and wonderful. Mingyu, being the romantic he is, ensured every detail was perfect, and his efforts made Mirae swoon. She didn’t care about the expense; she just wanted to be with him and relax. Yet, seeing him put in so much effort to make everything special made her feel truly loved.

The trip felt like a scene from a movie, a story she would one day share with her future children. They went sightseeing, explored various bars, and connected with locals. They slow-danced to street musicians at night, spent their days wrapped up in bed, and cherished every moment together.

As her tour came to an end and she returned to Korea, Mirae found herself increasingly immersed in Mingyu’s world. His members became her friends, and she enjoyed joining in on the playful teasing of Mingyu. Wonwoo, who lived with him, became a big brother figure to her. She often saw him during her visits, often cooking for him, and would invite him to join them for shows and games.

Mingyu also became more involved in Mirae’s life, growing close to her siblings and mother, as well as their significant others. She loved watching him laugh with her brother and sister and help her mother with cooking. His presence was refreshing, and her mother often praised him to Mirae, appreciating how he seamlessly fit into their family.

Their circles began to intertwine effortlessly, and both of them loved how seamless the transition had been. Her friends adored him, and his friends embraced her, all recognizing how well they complemented each other. It was clear to everyone around them that they were truly good for one another.

However, their growing closeness did not go unnoticed online. Observant fans and followers began to remark on how Mirae seemed particularly close with some of Mingyu's band members at various events. Speculation and curiosity about their interactions sparked discussions, with many wondering about the nature of their relationship.

Additionally, fans noticed how Mirae and Mingyu often wore similar clothing and posted similar styles, which fueled more speculation about their connection. While she tried not to let it bother her, the constant scrutiny and unfounded rumors occasionally made her resent her life as an idol.

At times, She longed for the freedom to stroll down the street with Mingyu without worrying about paparazzi. The only moments they could truly roam freely were when they were out of the country.

Though they loved each other deeply, the fear of their relationship being discovered loomed over them. She wished it didn’t have to be this way, but the reality was harsh, male idols who sought happiness and the women they chose to be with often faced judgment and scrutiny.

It wasn’t everyone, but even small rumors and fan ships had brought unwarranted hate her way in the past, simply for being close to someone. Despite her efforts to stay unaffected, seeing such negativity was disheartening. While she was content within her private bubble with Mingyu, the constant fear of their relationship being exposed weighed heavily on her.

Both of them worried about the potential exposure of their relationship, but they knew that if it ever came to that, they would never let others’ opinions force them to break up. They were deeply happy and in love, and they both had a strong sense that this was it, that they had found their forever person. Their hearts were irrevocably intertwined, and they knew they would never let go.

This was the love she had waited for, a love that had not only lifted her off her feet but had also left her heart soaring in a way she had never imagined. It was the kind of love that felt both exhilarating and comforting, the kind that made every moment with him feel like a dream come true. He was her forever boy, the one who had come into her life and made her believe in the magic of true love. With him, every day felt brighter, every challenge seemed manageable, and every moment was filled with a sense of deep, unshakeable happiness. This was the love she had always yearned for, and now that she had found it, she knew it was worth every wait, every tear, and every heartache she had ever experienced.

Mingyu was hers, and she was his. This was it. And she couldn’t wait to see what the future held for them together.

[rederiswrites]

The beginning

What Varric needed was a dark horse. Someone good–really good–that no one had heard of. It was an inherently difficult thing to find, but Varric was a patient man. Over the years, his web of contacts had spread throughout Thedas. He just had to hope that his eyes and ears saw something–someone–that Solas hadn’t.

They were on the road west of Tantervale when the dog-eared letter reached him. Sealed with a sigil which was in no way attached to House Pavus, and which carried a very unpleasant sting if you broke it without the right knife.

“I may just have what you’ve been looking for. Rebellious military brat–Legatus Mercar’s adoptive son. He’s been in the city for a few years, working with your cousin’s friends. Fast, smart, and leads a good deal better than he follows. He’s raised a stink here, leading a mission that upset some people who entirely deserved to be upset, and needs to be somewhere else for a while. Seems to be a bit of a hothead, but weren’t we all, once? Give the rest my best. Ta ta! D”

Varric let out a satisfied grunt. "Hey Lace. Looks like Sparkler might've found us just the ticket."

“Mercar–

I realize this exile must feel like a punishment, but banish the idea. Varric Tethras will have you thinking he’s a harmless old storyteller, but he has killed more Venatori and slavers than I could count. Working with him will give you a chance to show your true worth, and fight for a better Tevinter on a larger scale than Minrathous offers. Listen closely to what he does, above what he says, and it will be well worth your time.

A friend in the Shadows”

Sweat and handling had made the creases in the letter soft and feathery. Arden had read it many times, trying to guess who had written it. Not the Viper, whose handwriting and style were clear and distinct in the letter this one had been attached to. Not Tarquin, who’s writing he had seen. This hand was cultured, neat and precise. The writing of a scholar, Arden thought. But beyond that, he had no idea. The Viper had considered it worthy of inclusion with his own letter, and that would have to be enough for now.

It wasn’t as if Arden had much choice. He was a danger to the others now, if he stayed in Minrathous. So instead, here he was in an inn of no particular note or elegance, a few miles from the border with Nevarra, waiting to meet with some Marcher noble.

He’d never been this far south. There was less magic in evidence–signs tended to be plain wood and stone, lights were mostly simple flames or dwarven lanterns. He’d never thought much about the presence of magic in his everyday life, but its absence did feel strange. The word "provincial" kept bobbing up in his head, and he detested his own snobbery.

The food was different. There was none of the seafood he was so used to, and dishes were less heavily spiced. He’d been raised to be grateful for whatever nourished him, but it was interesting to note. You think of yourself as so cosmopolitan, then get surprised by your own countrymen.

This Varric Tethras was supposed to have arrived two days prior, and hadn’t showed yet. It had given Arden some time to ask questions. Apparently, the man was a fairly popular novelist. In the north, Tevinter generally preferred its own authors, and Arden didn’t read much anyway. But down here, nearer to the Free Marches, it turned out Varric Tethras was kind of a big deal. A puzzling man–famous author, populist Viscount, and also an agent for the Inquisition. Which by all accounts didn’t exist any more.

Reports about the Inquisition in the north had been wild and sometimes mutually contradictory, but generally agreed that the Inquisition had disbanded years ago. And yet Varric Tethras had been clear that he was coming as an agent of that Inquisition.

Why such a bemusing person had taken an interest in him, Arden had no idea. He figured finding out would, at least, be interesting.

_____

Varric smiled easily, leaning back as he looked at the man across the table. Charter’s information said he was twenty eight, but he looked younger. Broad shouldered, but not bulky. A patchy burn scar traced across his right cheek, and traces of another scar peeked out at the neckline. Handsome, bordering on pretty. The green eyes were watchful, but the body language was confident. This was a man who was sure he could deal with whatever Varric was about to throw at him. 

Good. He was gonna need that.

Varric put down his tankard with a thunk. 

“So here’s the job–”

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

If the M6 had any mental disabilities (OCD, Autism, ADHD...) What do you think they would have?

Brainrot's Arcana Essays: M6's mental health conditions

@hewwo-its-floof .... this probably isn't where your ask was heading, but here's an essay! XD I've actually been turning this concept over in my head for several months now, so you'll see what I could see each of them having but you'll also see why I haven't unpacked it much ^.^

(cropped because this is long and addresses each character)

I'm going to be totally honest and say that I'm extremely hesitant to focus on diagnosing fictional characters beyond lighthearted headcanons. From my own experience of having multiple diagnoses at different times, people and characters tend to be fairly complex in the way their nature, nurture, and mental health interact with each other. So while it's really fun and in many ways healing and validating to see our experiences and habits reflected in a loveable character, it's easy to fall into a trap of confining ourselves or a character to the diagnoses we're focusing on.

Asra, Julian, Muriel, and Lucio, for example, all have the kind of lived experiences that you could fully expect would result in CPTSD. Asra's parents disappeared while they were a young child and they experienced the extended trauma of growing up homeless on the streets. Muriel experienced that same abandonment and homelessness, and then that gets layered with his experience in the Coliseum. Julian has clear memories of the trauma of being shipwrecked, losing his parents, and trying to care for his sister as a young boy, plus the apprenticing he did as a teen treating soldiers on active battlefields. Lucio has a similar traumatic background with the amount of time he's spent in combat and the kill-or-be-killed world he grew up in. Portia doesn't have any memories before the grandmothers at Nevivon, but that doesn't erase her body's memory or the chances of second hand trauma from her closeness to her brother. Nadia didn't exactly have an easy childhood, but we aren't aware of any traumatic incidents before adulthood.

All that to say, there's multiple ways to interpret behavior that reflects a mental condition that doesn't match what's considered "normal." Asra can seem ADHD coded - we've seen them fixate on curious puzzles, completely zone out and forget what they're doing, and turn their living space into a cozy state of chaos. That looks a lot like ADHD! But, that could also be the trauma coping mechanisms of someone who likes to live with the luxury of having a space covered in their things without fear of them being removed, or focusing solely on things that make their brain happy in an unpredictable world. Or maybe Asra's just a naturally curious person who finds chaos comforting and spends a lot of time in their own head. Maybe it's a combination of all of the above feeding into each other in different ways!

The same goes for the other three - does Muriel like a more isolated lifestyle because of the trauma from crowds in the Coliseum? Does he like to keep his own heavily guarded space and set routines from living on the streets? Or are those autistic traits, seeking out a space that isn't overstimulating and doesn't require masking? How much of that is natural introversion and a general preference for calm, ordered spaces? He could be a combination of some or all of those things, but he's still himself regardless. If we were to focus on just one, we'd risk leaving the rest to fade into the background.

Julian has one of the stories in which MC plays a very direct role in addressing his mental health. He depends on them heavily to help him find new purpose and a new way to live. You could almost say that MC helps "fix" him, but this doesn't involve losing a lot of the things that make him so messy - it mostly involves helping him dial it back enough so that it's no longer unhealthy. (for example - he drinks as a coping mechanism, but the solution isn't for him to never touch alcohol again. he still drinks and has a fun time, it's his need to self-isolate and self-destruct that really needed to be addressed) He can still be loud and flamboyant and entertaining without having to pin his worth on how much validation he gets from it. Could those super high highs and low lows be signs of bipolar disorder? Maybe, but whether it is or not, Julian's wide range of emotional expression is core to who he is.

Lucio is his own special case (I mean, the story starts out with him as the villain). The plot of his route is his transformation. It could be easy to read narcissism into a lot of his behavior, and if that's a diagnosis his character was built around, it would make sense! It could also be easy to argue that his tendency to idolize himself is a response to growing up in a world where he had no control and felt constantly unsupported and ignored. But the focus isn't on bashing how he sees himself as much as it is on teaching him accountability around what he does with that. Lucio at the end of his story still has a sizeable ego, still sees himself as a protagonist, and has no qualms about being good enough for MC. However, he's gained experience acknowledging his own flaws and mistakes and it's enabled him to seek out a fresh start.

We could unpack Portia and Nadia too - is Portia's super competence and hard working nature born out of the pressure to be strong and steady for her traumatized older brother? Did that cause the hyper responsibility that kept her adventurous spirit in Nevivon way past her childhood? Does her annoyance with her older brother's struggles come out of frustration at never being able to process her own difficulties in favor of playing therapist for everyone else? Are her loudly cheerful attitude, tendency to fill her day with work, and love of escaping into books all masking techniques for chronic depression? Maybe all of that is true, but it's accompanied by a conscious decision to be optimistic and a genuine love of caring for other people.

We could speculate about the source of Nadia's insecurities for hours - what did her old dynamic with Lucio look like? Where did her hesitance to get involved and try to fix a broken system come from? What caused someone with such a focused personality to make firm decisions and express deep doubts at the same time? Does her quest for influence come from a desire to implement improvements or a need for control? Maybe her love of precision, good omens, and controlled environments are a result of OCD, or maybe she's just discovered what it's like to have her confidence shaken and this is what it looks like to move forward.

I've processed my own share of eating and mental disorders, dysphoria, neurodivergence, disability, and trauma. Some of my diagnoses only lasted several months, others took decades to work past, and a few of them I know will be with me for the rest of my life. They help explain a lot of how I function, experience the world, and interact with others as a person. But those conditions and experiences are only part of the amalgamation that makes me who I am, who I've been, and who I'm becoming. I don't care to completely define myself by certain parts when the sum of who I am is what's going to decide my story, and I like extending that mindset to the stories, people, and characters I interact with as well.

I hope that makes sense, and sorry for the unexpected essay!!

Cheers, friend -

brainrot

[lilmeowzsworld]

Fading Secrets

Chapter One

Cold Truth Revised

pairing: min yoongi x reader

summary: You wake up in an unfamiliar place with a man threatening your life for something your father did. But you know your father and you're certain he didn't do it. The man's son, Yoongi is the only one who shows you kindness and with his help, you decide to prove your father innocent.

content warnings: kidnapping, mention of death

a/n: Previously known as 'Cold Truth', this is the revised version. I hope it doesn't disappoint this time. Also I suck at summaries, so it is what it is lol

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When you opened your eyes, bright light enveloped your vision. Your head was killing you and there was an aftertaste of something funny smelling carved into your memory. You couldn't have drunk that much, could you? When your eyes adjusted to the outside world and you glanced around the surrounding area, your blood ran cold. While you believed that you weren't intoxicated enough to provoke anyone's anger at the club you were partying at with your friends the night before, the man currently sitting across from you was undoubtedly seething with anger.

The memories of the night before were hazy and like a puzzle, so you tried putting the pieces together to try and figure out how you were sitting in front of an unfamiliar man, seemingly in his mid-forties at least. You remember drinking with your friends, then informing them of your early departure back to your apartment. On your way back, someone had put a cloth with an old scent across your face until unconsciousness took over. And now, you woke up, with your hands bound behind the chair you were sat at, barefoot and in the dress from last night.

The silence was loud as the man stared at you, not even uttering a word. The chair you were sitting at was causing you discomfort, together with the headache that was already forming. The man's gaze bore into you, a disdainful expression etched on his face. You wondered if he looked at you with such disgust because of your appearance. You knew the dress was slightly shorter that you would have preferred usually, but it was your friend's birthday celebration and she insisted for you two to wear matching dresses, only in different color. The man staring at you in that moment wasn't the first one who was disgusted at the way younger generations were dressed today.

Maybe you would regret it, but you weren't the one to keep your mouth shut when you were nervous. „Okay, if no one is going to talk, I will, “ Your voice was hoarse so you had to take a second to clear your throat. „Who are you, and why am I here? It would be appreciated if you could untie me. I have no idea what you want from me and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to help you either no matter-"

A laugh echoed from somewhere behind you and you turned your head, looking over your shoulder to see a figure standing at the doorway. It was a boy your age, give or take a year or two. His hair was light and fell over his eyes. He wore a loose-fitting black T-shirt, complemented by faded blue jeans. A silver chain hung around his neck, and on his feet, he sported a pair of worn-in sneakers. He seemed quite laid-back and chill, for a guy who kidnapped you.

You could assume his voice was deep from the laugh you've heard, but you didn't have a chance to find out because the older man spoke. „Such a mouthful on an early morning,“ He laughed. „I'm Kim Taeyong, and that is my son, Yoongi,“ Shifting your head back as much as your body allowed, you caught another glimpse of the blonde boy. He leaned against a wall, arms folded across his chest and offered a subtle wave in acknowledgment. You rolled your eyes and redirected your attention back to his father. „You, sweetheart,“ Mr. Kim leaned forward, a luxury table presenting as the only barrier between you two. „Are here to pay for your father's mistake.“

It felt as if all the air was sucked out of your lungs at once, but you tried to control yourself and not show them that you were scared out of your mind. You had watched a lot of movies and it pays off for the main character to act confident. Maybe you would even be able to throw some punches and kicks like in the movies if you tried and then escape. But maybe you were being too confident even thinking of it. So, you opted to simply glare at the older man in front of you, despite the alcohol you consumed threatening to find its way back. „My father's mistake? What are you talking about? My father would never do anything wrong, he's innocent.“

Mr. Kim's eyes turned cold; it made you even more nervous. It was as if you could feel your body freezing just from his look. This was a dangerous man sitting in front of you. „Innocence is subjective, my dear. I'll enlighten you; I owe you that much. Your father ruined my life, destroyed the one thing I held dear the most. And now, I'll destroy everything he holds dear, starting with you.“

His words sent shivers down your spine and your lip quivered. Stay strong, Y/N! No matter how much you said those words to yourself, your mind decided not to listen. And you cursed whoever tied your hands behind your back, because you couldn't wipe away the tears that began falling from your eyes. Now they will know just how scared you were.

„You can't just blame someone else for your problems! Kidnapping me won't fix whatever issues you have with my father!“ You felt a surge of anger wash over you, and you were desperate. Although, if the movies thought you right, there was no compromising with people like Mr. Kim. „Just let me go, I won't tell anyone, I promise.“ You whined.

Mr. Kim leaned back in his chair. No matter what you said, his resolve was unyielding and the coldness in his eyes did not disappear. „Let you go? If only it were that simple,“ He stood, walking to your side of the table. Your body began shivering against your own will. Is he going to hurt you right now? To your relief, Mr. Kim sat on the edge of the table and stared down at you. „Your father must understand the consequences of his actions, and you're the perfect pawn in this little game.“

Your pleas for your life fell on deaf ears. The weight of the situation was suddenly too much to bear, it pressed down on you, cutting the air from your lungs. And silent tears still streamed down your face. You felt helpless, you were at mercy of a man thirsty for vengeance and there was nothing you could do to change his mind about hurting you.

What you didn't see, was the blonde boy, Yoongi, watching the conversation between you and his father with an unreadable expression. His father was ruthless, and Yoongi was the complete opposite, but he wouldn't go against his own father. As Mr. Kim spoke, Yoongi's eyes lingered on you, and for an instant, his facade cracked. He felt bad for you, especially since you were nothing but collateral damage in this whole situation. You were young and had your whole life ahead of you. You studied medicine and would become a doctor some day and save lives. And yet, here they were, about to take that away from you.

"Please," you begged, your voice breaking, "I don't want any part in whatever revenge you're seeking. I just want to go home. I won't say anything; I'll disappear, and you'll never have to see me again."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound being your sniffles and the ominous ticking of a clock in the background. Mr. Kim finally spoke, his tone unwavering. "Disappearing won't bring back my dead wife. You're here to make sure your father understands that." Mr. Kim stood up again, and you flinched, thinking he would hurt you. But he walked past you, toward the door. „Yoongi, take our guest to a room for the night.“

Yoongi obeyed, approaching you. He untied your hands and the ropes fell away, allowing you a temporary feeling of relief. Yoongi didn't make eye contact with you as he grabbed you by your arm and led you out of the room. His touch was surprisingly gentle, which only confused you further. Shouldn't he be rough, pulling you by your hair or leading you on gunpoint? He led you through a corridor, down to another one with doors on each side. He opened the door on your right and ushered you inside.

The room you were brought to was surprisingly ordinary, contrast to the ominous atmosphere of the Kim manor. In one corner was a simple bed, neatly made and a small window with the curtains open, letting in rays of sunshine. On the other side, a work desk and a closet, made of fine wood with beautiful carved designs. Yoongi released your arm and turned to leave, but you stopped him before he could close the door.

„Please wait!“ To your surprise, he really did stop. However, he kept his back turned to you. „Can I, at least, have a change of clothes?“ He hesitated for a moment before he turned to you. He looked you up and down and the gesture made you want to crawl into a hole and never crawl back out.

„Fine,“ He mumbled and left, closing the door with a soft click, leaving you alone in the room. He didn't return for a few minutes and his absence made you question whether or not he was returning. You opted to sit on the bed and wait for his return, if he does. Lucky for you, the door opened again soon, and Yoongi returned with a bundle of clothes in his hands. He wordlessly tossed them onto the bed next to you. „There. Change and don't bother making a big deal. There is no one else in the house except for me right now,“ he said. Without waiting for your response, he turned to leave again, the door closing behind him. This time, you could hear the click of the lock, meaning that he locked you inside.

You sighed and decided to try and sleep off the hangover. Now that your life wasn't in any immediate danger, you were aware of the growing nausea and hoped that sleep would push it away. You put on the sweatpants and the dark, oversized t-shirt Yoongi had brought to you, with the addition of simple, black ankle socks. The clothing was for a male and it left you wondering who it belonged to. But you didn't want to tire your mind with questions like that for now. Covering your, previously freezing, body with the blanket, you fell asleep almost immediately. You needed to be in your best form if you were to escape anyway, so an hour or two of sleep wouldn't hurt.

[average-dragon-enjoyer64]

honestly, props to Asagiri and the anime directors. I have pretty bad empathy deficiency bc of the ‘tism, and I find it hard to feel emotions for fictional characters. I’ve only ever felt sad about the dog dying in fiction.

This is the first time I have genuinely been prompted to be sad because of a story. Anything else I’ve felt towards other medias could be shut off easily and was often confused with already existing depressive episodes, but if chapter 110 didn’t hurt me enough, the season 5 episode 10 did.

It goes to show how much meticulousness and raw passion Asagiri and Harukawa put into the story, and the individual developments of each and every character, as well as interweaving their respective identities, both fictional and real, into beautifully crafted relationships between one another. It’s the kind of story that I feel safe to hyperfixate on: an abundance of content, and the little easily missable details that often actually mean something.

While I’m no fan of sadness (as no one is, I should believe), the emotions that I have felt for each character have puzzled even myself - someone who is honest with themselves about their feelings due to it being a matter of safety and necessity rather than preference. Spending hours thinking about not only my current conundrum with the story, but also the way that it makes me feel, are some of the most valuable and precious times in my mind. I have had the privilege of watching characters grow through their trauma and flourish, and they have unwittingly triggered my own personal growth through the smallest of questions, like: Why do I dislike Dazai if he is a fan favourite? Why is he a fan favourite? What led to Kouyou being so sure that darkness can never be cured? Specifically, in that one flashback scene? Why does everyone dismiss Dazai’s suicidal tendencies so easily? Why don’t I like Kunikida? Who is Sigma, really? Nikolai knows much more than he actually expresses; what is he hiding? Literally everything about Fyodor…

While I’ve often seen my own feelings as more of a restriction - a burden that holds myself and others back, this story (and therapy) has brought so much clarity to my struggles. Even hearing some characters say things that have struck a chord with me because I had the same thoughts many years ago, and sometimes I still do.

The sadness that this brought me was a delicate blend of a burning passion and the end of a piano piece - nostalgic, and yet wishing that, hoping that, believing that, it’s still there. A small flicker persistent through thick and thin as the walls around it were burnt and discarded. So small that it is clear that there are only two possibilities: to relight it and allow it to rage as a forest fire, or to quietly quell it, and think of it every now and then, wondering if it was the right decision. Whether the flame will be revived of drenched, one thing is certain; this is a turning point, and the decision must be made immediately. That sense of urgency coupled with wishing one didn’t have to choose brings such a soft and calm ache in the heart. Tired, exhausted even, but still there is the last spark that will surely be extinguished if not supported immediately. A spark of longing, hoping, and dawning understanding.

I can’t even figure out what other people are feeling, let alone a fictional character, especially one as cryptic as Dazai. Still, there is no doubt in my mind that this is definitely his worst case scenario, the last outcome, the result that existed only in his ignored and downtrodden nightmares.

The elaborateness of his emotions are so clearly and yet fully portrayed that I can’t help but admire it, especially because I have so much trouble expressing emotions myself. Whether or not Dazai survives will not hinder the effect that Bungou Stray Dogs has had on me, and I will continue to support it in the future. After all, while I do like Dazai as a character, there is still much more I wish to learn about in more detail. I want to know more about Kouyou, Gin, Verlaine, Tecchou, Teruko, Yosano, Jouno, and the others.

It is cruelly ironic to me, that a series about dead authors with superpowers could comfort me and help me more than anyone around me ever did when I was in my fundamental growing years. Very few characters in Bungou Stray Dogs have confirmed disabilities (aside from some form of trauma), and yet I have been able to grow and understand them, and see them in myself in a way that no one ever could ever do to me thus far in real life.

Also it stopped me from keeping attempting suicide because Dazai did it as well and I did not want to associate myself with him in any way, shape or form. Hey, whatever works.

[bazyboo13]

Smiling Critters: New Family Part 1 chapter 1 segment 4 : WHAT ELSE CAN YOU DO

TW: SLIGHT DESCRIPTIONS OF BODY HORROR

*later that night*

"hey guys"

"hm?"

"I want to know more about you guys, if that's ok with y'all"

"sure, you already know about us being humans before. I'll start, my old name was Edgar- do you need to know my last name?"

"I don't need to know it"

"ok. I'd prefer you call me by human name. Thomas?"

"yeah my name is Thomas, what do you want"

*he's joking and almost laughing*

"My name is Ella. I'm not going to lie, you could call me by either name"

"I already know Theodore's name. Is there anything else, like power?"

"where is that the first thing that comes to mind-"

"we can change size"

"it's the first thing that comes to mind because you guys were experimented on"

"I can breathe out red smoke that puts you to sleep"

"we can also do it"

*Theodore looks very shocked*

"wait you do?!"

"I actually want to know, when you change sizes what does it look like?"

"our bones sort of deform, it doesn't hurt though"

"can I see?"

"sure!"

(this is where the trigger warning applies)

*Thomas starts to grow, It's ever so slightly clear that his bones are sort of spreading apart. When he's done he's around the same size as Baz with a bit more human proportions.*

"AWWWW! YOU LOOK SO CUTE!"

*Baz cups Thomas' face with his hands*

"we can grow a lot bigger than that, but I don't think we'd be able to fit in the room"

*Baz looks at Theodore with a surprised expression*

"DAMN!"

"since you're on summer break can we stay up?"

"sure! Wanna play some video games?"

"sure"

*Baz opens up steam*

"What game do you want to play?"

"Potion Craft seems fun"

"it is a really fun game, but it's also fairly difficult at times"

"how so?"

"it's a puzzle game, it's also kind of like an exploration game, but not"

"all right then open it I want to play it"

*Baz Thomas to sit in his chair. When he wasn't looking the others also decided to take the chance and grow in size*

"I almost forgot what it feels like to be big again"

*Theodore was clearly the shortest of the four, followed by Edgar, Thomas, and Ella. Baz attempts to explain the game to Thomas, however Thomas is still having a bit of difficulty. Then Edgar tries to explain, it makes a bit more sense to Thomas but he's still not grasping it completely*

"I'll show you"

*Baz shows Thomas how to make a potion of healing*

"different ingredients will cause different paths, you also don't have to fully follow through with an ingredient if you don't crush it all the way"

"that seems very complicated"

"some of the mid game too late game potions are extremely difficult, and eat up resources. Then you have the alchemy machine."

"-the what."

"it allows you to make salts which can manipulate different aspects of your potion making, but I usually tend to save it. You also have different bases and rotated potion icons."

(I cannot go explaining this entire game! I would recommend playing it though it's a really fun game!!!)

*after a lot more in-depth explanations and showing Thomas he seems to finally get a grip on the game but only mostly*

"why are you playing with that tiny tape measure like that?"

*Theodore is swinging the tiny tape measure from the end of the tape measure front and back*

"bored"

*after a couple hours*

"my God I'm spent"

"we should sleep"

"Theodore is already out on the floor"

"can someone help me pick him up"

"sure"

*the three Critters currently wake changed back into their smaller forms and laid on the bed as Theodore, still big, is out like a light*

"Good night everyone!"

"good night!"

*they all close their eyes and go to sleep*

(this is yet again another Sweet slice of Life segment, don't worry it's going to start getting serious again soon.)

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[inkwell-intermission]

slick x pickle ship dynamic possibilities. it's my rare pair and in my mind it works.

This is an interesting one because I think there are some ways they would work as a pairing, but I don't personally find them compelling or uniquely compatible

One thing about ddpi and ssps that relates to this is that I think Slick would have very little patience for PI- Pickle is very polite, a bit eccentric and cerebral, tends towards whimsical tangents if given the chance to ramble, and has little ability in hand to hand combat (with a gun is another story, but I think Slick vastly prefers a stabbing or beating, it's more intimate). Slick solves most of his problems with violence and I think he would find a nuanced and deep conversation about the nature of imagination, alcoholic effects and philosophy tedious, and I don't think he tolerates things he genuinely finds boring, because he can afford not to.

In a romantic or sexual relationship I also think Slick thrives on combat and conflict, pitchiness is second nature and first instinct to him, and what Sleuth offers him is physical resistance. He won't be easy to stab and get away with, he fights back, he offers conversation through action and quips that just make him more stabbable and a bigger target, and that kind of physicality and heat-butting is Slick's comfort zone and happy place. Bashing someone against a wall and having that person spit blood in his face and grin is like a marriage proposal to him

I can imagine Pickle having a fascination with Slick to an extent, but it would be very clear that his skittishness and verbose conversation above bravado and combativeness is something Slick likely would find annoying, and annoying Slick is a health risk that I don't think Pickle would want to take lightly

I think there's a way to approach them that could work, where Pickle essentially forces Slick to be gentle and patient and he needs to chill the hell out to spend time with him at all. Creating a soft side to him and so on? In the end I personally find Slick so self destructive and combative that he would much prefer to get into a knife fight with Sleuth in an alley and end up bandaging each other up exhausted afterwards that creates a moment of softness, care and intimacy than a relationship where he has to completely or mostly temper his preferred methods of expression, rather than indulge them vicariously and find moments between fights that make him realizes redrom might not be beyond his abilities.

TLDR; Anything I personally would get out of a sspi relationship I get from other ships I prefer along with much more, so while I think they have selective potential I don't find them as compelling as the Hannibal Lecter ass psychosexual dance ddpi or the playing "gay chicken" with your stupid sexy nemesis vibes ssps serves up. Not a bad ship, but not for me really.

HOWEVER. I can see Ms!sspi. that works. Innovator would put Scout's scrappy ass in a saw trap and be very intrigued by his puzzle solving skills when he gets out, and smitten when Scout slugs him in the eye before he escapes <3 mobswitch version is really fun and I think has a lot more potential thanks to the innovator personality difference and weird riddler energy

[orange-peel-candy]

This is highly speculative, and is more like puzzle-solving than making inferences based on evidence that is actually there, but. Reading your analysis really got me thinking...

In one of your screencaps, Tokinaga says that what he hates most about Allula (AKA what he's attracted to) is she hates him. That is actually a fascinating departure from what—based on everything we know about him so far—one would think he would hate the most. It's not "a person who lacks morals," but "a person that hates me." I'm sure there's a large overlap between "people who hate Tokinaga" and "people who lack morals," but... the phrasing is very telling.

This distinction is probably why Orokappi isn't a potential suitor for the role of Tokinaga's murderer. Although Orokappi lacks (or rather, lacked) morals, he has always been fond of Tokinaga. Tokinaga finds that preferable... maybe even preferable to a good person who hates him.

A lot of the chapter title pages depict Tokinaga at around middle school age, instead of as an adult. He seems morose (nothing new there) and a little lost. Allula, during one of their private conversations, also accuses him of being a toy, who only does what "mommy" and "daddy" want him to do. To me, what this implies is that Tokinaga is actually quite childish—or, to be more specific: insecure—in spite of his usually confident attitude. I don't know how much of Allula's guess is right, seeing as she didn't know some crucial facts about Tokinaga at the time and she was just trying to hit him where it hurt, but... Tokinaga's internal image of himself is likely someone who is desperate of the approval of others.

As you pointed out with the black-and-white morality Tokinaga imposes on himself versus the gray morality he applies to everyone else, he's his own harshest critic. "Hates me and insults me with every fiber of their being" is something he does to himself already. I would say... it's a defensive strategy. He's hard on himself, so that there's less things "wrong" with him for other people to notice and/or so that other people's criticisms will feel softer in comparison.

It kinda... explains a lot. If Tokinaga is so adverse to being hated, then he sculpts his personality around what other people will like. First, his family. Then, the rest of the world. We're introduced to him from Waka's perspective, where he enters her life as the reliable adult figure she never had—and she gets attached to him almost immediately. Allula portrays all of this as a clever manipulation tactic. Tokinaga has identified what Waka needs, and uses it to control her. Tokinaga maintains that his presence as an adult is beneficial to Waka, but it's also clear that he feels a ton of guilt over deceiving her.

Ethics are defined by what the majority of the population believes is "right," yes? By striving to respond "correctly" to every situation, Tokinaga is avoiding the hatred or judgement of others. In this way, he's probably deluded himself into thinking that his outward kindness is just a show he puts on to protect himself, and that he's not a good person at all.

You noted in your previous analysis, the two characters who see Tokinaga the most objectively are Allula and Orokappi. Allula is everything Tokinaga hates/wants because her reaction to his "true self" is what he believes he deserves. Orokappi, on the other hand... doesn't fall into any of the categories Tokinaga separates the world into. He sees Tokinaga for who he really is, but he doesn't reject him—instead, he continues to treat him like normal. If it's like I think and Tokinaga's fixation on morality is born of a fear of being hated, then Orokappi is out here casually blowing a hole in his entire worldview. If, deep down, he's really such a revolting person, then why would Orokappi want to be friends with someone like that?

时鞭自我弊不轻，永宽他人宜为重

//The Intrigue Of Tokinaga Sachiyuki

In the first essay, I speculated about Ahu’az, Furuya Rin (a.k.a. Yako), and Chapter 58.

This one, meanwhile, is a character analysis of Tokinaga. It is the second of my After God essay series. Beware; it's a long read.

You don’t always get one of your favorite characters gone through my Lyndisian treatment, @orange-peel-candy, so I hope this has been a good way for you to pass the time.

Oh, you’re curious about what the Chinese title says?

“Always punishing himself for his profound sins; always forgiving others and prioritizing their virtues.”

It’s my crappy attempt at making a 对联, “duilian poetry.”

There are rules in making one. The same number of characters are used in both lines to form a couplet. There have to be counterpoints in tonal pattern between two lines, such that if they “counter” each other. Words from both lines have to be within the same category, and the meaning of the first line must correspond to the second line's meaning.

I did break one rule though: the first line’s last character has to be of an “oblique” tone while the second line’s last character has to be of a “leveled” tone. In my duilian title, the opposite is true.

There’s also just how lacking in beauty my poetry is. Not much can be done about my genuine absence of literary competency, I’m afraid!

Yes. You might also have noticed it. The first character of both lines makes up the word “时永/ 時永,” which is... “Tokinaga.”

---------------------------------------

Super Good Guy; Very Moral

The first time I read this manga, the one thing that stood out a lot to me, especially against the backdrop of After God’s society and every other character in this series—is how unambiguously moral Tokinaga is.

This is how Nayuu described the Bio-Tech department:

Chapter 4

Not even a minute passed and we got this scene:

Chapter 4

Tokinaga stood out a lot because he was the only one who opposed the unethical treatment of  “a child,” even though such a thing was standard of his colleagues. These people were known for being unscrupulous, yet Tokinaga was calling people out like he was a YouTuber dropping some bombs about his fellow creators.

There are many, many moments like these. In a world full of characters with grey morality, he stood out like a sore thumb just on the virtue of his unyielding, monkish self-discipline.

Chapter 4. Dude was seriously against this when no one else commented on it.

Chapter 9

One might, because of this, pass him over as uninteresting (at least, before the reveal of who he is). He’s straight-laced! He’s nice! He’s the good guy. He will do what’s ethically right; there’s no ambivalence. And yet, I’ve always found his strange fixation with ethics fascinating.

Yes, there’s a personal angle to this—a very close acquaintance (to my chagrin) is incredibly interested in ethics and often ponders about them, even if that situation or thought experiment is pragmatically insignificant. Another dear friend of mine also adheres to ethical principles with the same level of monkish discipline. In both cases, there are deeper reasons for their fixations.

Even before the reveal of Tokinaga’s other identity, this quality of him was already grounds for curiosity. With the benefit of hindsight, I’ll even argue that the mangaka has been teasing us about the full scope of his character with little psychological breadcrumbs.

There is a startling lack of flexibility in Tokinaga’s frame of ethics.

Tokinaga seemed dangerously close to holding a black-and-white morality. But there’s more to it.  

He’s perfectly capable of allocating leeway to most people whose ethics and morals are less than exemplary. After all, the department he cooperates with—due to Waka—is deadass staffed with moral-is-optional weirdos. Their amorality doesn’t make him see them as less, though. He values every single one of them—their safety sent him into a self-sacrificial panic, while their lost lives crushed him straight into depression.

It seems to me that, in Tokinaga’s mind, the only person who should adhere to this black-and-white morality is himself. He needs to be. He has to be.

-----

“Apologize! Apologize! Apologize!”

Chapter 33 is one of my favorite chapters in the manga so far. It’s raw as fuck and a great character study—and it features a very intriguing facet of Tokinaga’s psychology.

Now, dude had just experienced a heart-wrenching betrayal from a dear friend. Losing control of his emotions was only expected of anyone. But he had a very peculiar fixation. Despite the weight of Orokapi’s crimes (including the many people he had murdered as the Snake God), Tokinaga was hyper-focus on only two things: the injustice Orokapi had done to him—and the act of apology.

Previously, he spelled out why he didn’t believe Orokapi could apologize: “You can’t apologize, feel remorse, have a change of heart, or comprehend sadness.” And yet, subsequently, “apologize to me” was what he fixated on. He discarded the commands from his superior and colleague and went berserk in his personal demand for that apology:

Why is an apology somehow enough to forgive the things Orokapi has done? Lives were lost. Damages were done. Orokapi, as Tokinaga’s mentor had said, doesn’t live by human ethics and acts like an animal. And even Tokinaga himself had called Orokapi’s capacity for remorse into question.

So why the fixation with apology? Because, I’d argue, to Tokinaga, it’s the “right” ritual to do. Tokinaga’s stringent, black-and-white ethics demand a ritual.

It demands something that needs to be performed after crossing ethical wrongs, even if it no longer makes sense. Here, an apology is a ritual of absolution, even if it’s technically useless after all that had happened.

Tokinaga clings to it. Why?

Could it be because it’s a ritual Tokinaga himself undertakes?

As you continue the chapter, you might notice—with the benefit of hindsight—that the things Tokinaga was screaming almost sounded like things he would say to himself.

At some point, it could seem like he was projecting himself onto Orokapi—who, by being such a dear friend to him, who learned to be an ethical human from him—was like an extension of himself.

“Don’t run away, dumbass.” “Doesn’t it suck being scolded right now?” “Who would want to be friends with someone like that?”

—all of these could apply to Orokapi, but they can also be applied to Tokinaga himself. For example, Allula called him out on one specific accusation Tokinaga leveled at Orokapi: running away.

Chapter 55

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Quite the Literal Hate Boner

We later know one(there are plenty) of the biggest reasons Tokinaga hates himself: he gets aroused and hard from nothing but violence and hate. The more vile and violent, the harder his hormones run. And all this happens contrary to what his higher-ordered thinking believes and thinks.

Chapter 54

Side note: remember how Tokinaga shouted at Orokapi with “Doesn’t it suck being scolded right now?”  Yet, here, he was admitting to his body getting hard from being insulted. The one that felt pained when being scolded was his mind. The part of Tokinaga he believes is him, “the ethical, pure one.” The one he’s constantly reinforcing and tormenting, over and over, as his fitful penance.

Now, contrary to what Tokinaga believed, this isn’t as black-and-white as his thought process made it out to be. You can also just accept that this is who you are, and mitigate what you don’t like reasonably. You’re living in a crappy nigh-post-apocalyptic society with a bunch of amoral people who regularly skirt the edge of ethics, goddamn it. You’re hardly the only one with questionable morality.

In fact, it’s fine. You never act out on these desires. You don’t harbor the thought of wanting to kickstart a violent rampage to pleasure yourself. Tokinaga’s (literal) hate boner can even be safely relegated to the realm of kinks. There are plenty of doms who will happily take him as their cute puppy-dog sub.

But Tokinaga cannot accept it. He is determined to maintain his sense of purity. Even in the face of his sexual desire. Or the decisions he had made using his time-loop powers to ensure his “perfect death.”

He wants to believe he is “clean.” And that he can keep himself that way.

If you were a certain kind of person with a similar thought process as Tokinaga, you might go to punishing lengths to hold onto this quixotic sense of purity, while simultaneously tormented by the anxiety of it slipping away from you.

You might, perhaps, cling to every ritual of purification you can to scrub yourself clean of this constant onslaught of contamination. Apology is one of them. Eviscerating yourself and other forms of mental flagellation is another.

He even mentioned the latter. He described how much his heart ached and trembled at the sight of brutality while his body went ahead and got excited. And then, hinting at punishment, he admitted to torturing his mind with intense mental castigation every night.

Chapter 54

This matches the experience of my aforementioned friend and acquaintance—who, last I checked, are not godkillers who can turn back time (aww man).

Nonetheless, they suffer from a specific mental disorder that I find to be an interesting comparison to Tokinaga’s psychology.

---

Tokinaga Sachiyuki:  An Allegory of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder

Chapter 50

Hey! If you’re like my acquaintance, who freezes up at OCD mentions sometimes, take care when reading this part!

Now, I’m not too terribly interested in headcanons. The mangaka has made no such proclamation, either, and so my personal principles come into play. I won’t claim he definitely has OCD.

What I would like to put forward, though, is that Tokinaga’s psychology mirrors much of a person suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder. What he has isn’t an exact match to the real-world experience because, again, he’s a fictional character who can loop time and might be a dragon (oops, did I just drop a teaser for my next essay? Hmmmmmm).

---

“This isn’t what I want! This isn’t who I am!”

What separates OCD and Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder is that thoughts and compulsions in the former are egodystonic, while the latter is egosyntonic [1][2].

Egosyntonic: thoughts, behaviors, and feelings that are perceived by the self to be in harmony with their self-image, as well as their goals and needs. “There is nothing maladjusted with my behavior; this is  who I ‘really’ am.”

Egodystonic: thoughts, behaviors, desires, compulsions etc. that go against one’s perception of their self-image, “who they are,” and are dissonant to the needs and the goals of the ego. “There is something seriously fucked-up with my thoughts/behaviors.”

Chapter 55

Tokinaga exhibits egodystonic agony in droves. His sexual desire insults the self-image he holds about himself—the “Tokinaga” who’s disgusted by carnage, unforgivingly repulsed by brutality, as well as terrified of the frequency of such violence occurring in life. He hated all of it with his soul, and yet his penis is getting so fucking hard by seeing it.

---

Intrusive Thoughts and The Behaviors/Rituals To Fight Them

His sexual desire, as well as any thoughts of him being possibly unethical or immoral, are his version of intrusive thoughts. They aren’t just “negative thoughts” he can swat away without them corroding his sense of self. They are his obsessions[3][4]. He had managed to keep them at bay for the first bulk of the story—unless, of course, you notice his compulsive adherence to ethics and his overall behavior from Chapter 30 onward. The façade cracked as the story progressed to Orokapi’s betrayal; it dealt a blow to his mental stability. In Chapter 55, Allula even wonders if Tokinaga is suffering from a mental decline.

All of these distressing obsessions compelled Tokinaga to follow a very stringent set of ethics—which he mostly applies only to himself. To me, his rigid ritual of an apology is as good an allegorical insight as any. His nightly mental castigation, where he fervently visualizes himself dying with all the sins of the world on his shoulder, is an even wider window to such a psyche.

What sets him as a great allegory of OCD while distinguishing himself from OCPD is that he’s not doing this because he believes he’s a good, sinless person.

He’s doing it because he believes he’s the worst.

So shitty, in fact, that he thinks being killed by Allula—whose abuses would put him through the most excruciating, pleasureless pain while his body experiences blissful, painless pleasure—is the only fitting end he deserves and therefore works toward that goal. Before he gets there, though, he’d have to endure his many intrusive obsessions... and hopefully, along the way, eradicate the embodiments of violence the masses had called “gods.”

-----

Conclusion

Chapter 20. This expression tells you a lot about what Orokapi genuinely sees in his friend. One of my favorite faces yet.

Again, lemme reiterate: there is no canonical word on Tokinaga being a sufferer of OCD. I mean, if he were to perform compulsive behaviors, such as skin-peeling or hair-pulling, it might become more canonically implicative.

What I’m going off from here is his actions and psyche so far, as well as the empirical recognition—by my friend and acquaintance—of his experience. To me, OCD has become a fascinating and fitting framework for understanding some of the complexities of this character.

It speaks to the strength of After God’s character writing when Tokinaga turns out to be a great allegorical presentation for OCD in media.

Side note: I’m personally a big fan of writing about atypical experiences in an organic, humanizing way however possible, because it helps readers understand the experience without too much focus on “therapy speaks” and the rules in the DSM-V. Yes, I say this as someone who studies cognitive science, is familiar with that manual, and advocates more rigor and replicability in the fields of psychology.

In case the length of this essay did not show it clearly enough: I adore Tokinaga. As of now, I sincerely believe him when he says he’s genuinely a good person... because, as I witnessed from my friend, it takes a certain kind of good person to be able to get this tormented in the first place. More importantly, Tokinaga may have clung to a stringent sense of morality out of compulsion, but it still makes him a good person in action.

If you feel similarly to him—OCD or not—remember that one’s mind could often distort one’s vice into virtue, and virtue into vice.

Maybe you’re moral because you’re compelled to do so to battle your intrusive thoughts, and so it feels less “authentic" than being "genuinely moral."

But I disagree. As is the spirit of Buddhist Philosophy (which I personally adhere to; also lowkey study), I think you’re already pragmatically good, and through those actions, you already position yourself in an advantageous spot for moral progress. And that will always be a cause for optimism.

Thank you for reading my ramble—despite the length! I hope you've enjoyed it.

----

Citations:

“Egosyntonic and egodystonic” In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Egosyntonic_and_egodystonic

“Obsessive–compulsive personality disorder. In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obsessive%E2%80%93compulsive_personality_disorder

“Obsessive-compulsive disorder” In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obsessive%E2%80%93compulsive_disorder

“Intrusive thought.” In Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intrusive_thought

[judethejudas]

How they would react to you being trans— MW2 Headcanons

This includes all types of trans— so trans women, men, non binary (which would require much more explaining to the boys). Also it’s okay to not want to take hormones or do surgeries, it does not make you less of who you are. It’s just for the headcanons, my loves.

Ghost:

- He’s silent the whole time you’re coming out to him

- He just stares at you, with so many thoughts in his mind.

- Of course he knew trans people existed but he never figured you’d be one of them.

- You were already on hormones but not the surgeries, which made sense to him now because you always avoided the showers with everybody and preferred covering up.

- Ghost covered up quite a bit too so he felt closer to you in that way. That you both valued your privacy.

- He realized now it was because you didn’t have much of a choice. Even though he couldn’t have known, he felt guilty for it.

- He caught onto the pain in your eyes as you explained that your transition wasn’t easy. You lost friends, family, people you really cared about.

- “All because you were trans?” He couldn’t believe it honestly. That someone would break a bond because you wanted to be yourself.

- He put a hand on your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “This doesn’t change anything between us and if anyone has a problem with it, you come to me. Is that clear?”

- You brushed the tears off your cheeks and nodded, before Ghost sent you off to do something productive.

Soap:

- He’s quite shocked when you tell him and he doesn’t make much of an effort to hide it.

- You’re transgender? How? How does that work? Do you mean you’re going to transition into the opposite gender?

- He’s not stupid but he’s confused. Our confused ally.

- You had to explain to him that you already did years ago but didn’t have the surgeries, which is why you covered up a lot.

- “I thought you and ghost were just starting a little club getting all cozied up like that.” He’s so puzzled and asking a lot of questions, like how your voice sounds like that and how this happened.

- The only letters this man knew of the lgbtq2s+ community is gay and lesbian.

- You explained hormones to him and he was just blown away.

- Then you started talking about how unsupportive people have been to you and he felt terrible.

- “I’m not like that, am I?” You reassured him immediately that he was not and he was relieved. He had grown to like you on his team, how you two bickered and joked with each other on missions— especially when you two ganged up on Ghost.

- “You’re definitely gonna have to run it by me a few times but I got your back, (y/n).”

Captain Price:

- I ain’t gonna lie to you, this man?? Is all kinds of phobic. He’s old, he can’t help it.

- He had taken a liking to you as time went on and you proved yourself to be a valuable member of the team.

- So when you came out to him, it was just pure shock. He didn’t know what to do or say. Suddenly everything had changed. About you.

- He was taught not to respect members of the lgbtq2s+ by his family and grew up with that mindset. He knew every slur in the book.

- But you being one of them? He couldn’t fathom it. But he also couldn’t bring himself to hate you.

- You explained to him how you were alienated and hated ever since you came out, so you found a family when you joined task 141.

- He felt horrible now.

- To anyone else, he could be bitter about it and he wouldn’t feel one ounce of guilt. But not to you. This was you.

- “Alright look, I can’t say I understand.. this. I’ll need time to process it since I was raised differently, but I’m not gonna throw ya out..”

- You were happy he was willing to put aside his prejudice for you, but you did need to correct him on a few terms that weren’t horrifically transphobic or homophobic.

- You, Ghost, and Soap end up giving him the nickname of Captain Pride, absolutely bombarding this old man until he’s had enough and making you all scrub toilets.

_______

I seriously doubt Ghost and Soap would be assholes about reader being trans. I just don’t see them caring that much other than asking a few questions, but Price? 😭