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see-arcane · 1 day ago

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You know the one good thing about being a pessimist?

It feels great to be proven wrong.

Bravo, Bobby Egg.

I was so happily surprised by this. This film went through a fantastic puberty between the leaked script and the screen. The main points to note:

-No, Ellen is not hot for Count Orlok. She and Thomas are 110% in love. There are even certain Harker-flavored quotes thrown in to prove as much. (Details under the cut.)

-Count Orlok is a terrifying bastard and a half. Significantly more imposing than classic Orlok’s spindly rigor mortis-stiff figure and only wearing a sliver of Dracula’s performative charm. He is a Devil-Death archetype playing a monster who operates in deceit and contracts to wring out what he wants. That and a lot of corpses.

-This film is so beautiful. No gothic touch is skipped.

In sum, I more than like this film. I love it. It isn’t perfect, because no film can be, but damn. I am so proud of this nightmare you made, Bobby Egg.

SPOILERS FOR Nosferatu (2024) BELOW

-Getting some cons out of the way. There are points where a few of the actors lean maybe a bit too heavy on the ham-and-cheese in their deliveries (I’ll not blame the kids, they’re very young, but yeesh. That’s some cartoon acting.)

Yes, the g-slur is still used; though while I wish it hadn’t appeared in Eggers’ script at all, it does make sense within the context of the setting, i.e. Thomas and the Innkeeper probably only having the one word they know, same as in Dracula. And yes, naked teenage girl-on-a-horse does happen for the vampire hunt scene. Whee.

-Now, an early pro: Eggers nixed the ‘hot teen girl tries to pickpocket Thomas’ bit, and the ‘land of phantoms and thieves’ line never happens. All that happens after Thomas wakes in the inn—post witnessing the vampire slaying in the local graveyard, mud on his shoes to prove it was real—is he discovers himself utterly alone. No people, no horse. Cue the long walk.

-Ellen doing the ‘Come to me,’ bit early on is her in adolescence. It’s revealed that her Weird Girl elements have been turned up to 11, tragic lonely past included (replete with dad threatening to send her to a madhouse), and her prayer was just for company. The psychic ping was picked up by Orlok, who took advantage, turning an isolated and desperate barely-more-than-a-kid’s wish into a ‘covenant.’

-Thomas was met not long after this, cue them being genuinely in love <3

-Knock Does Not Jerk Off On Screen. If he does, his back is to us, and Little Knock is covered with some occult tablet or suchlike while he’s doing his ritual business. Also he kills a guy in his cell. Using his teeth.

-Castle time! Thomas is greeted by a driverless carriage at a crossroads and seems to be hypnotized into stepping in. A lot of things Thomas does once in Orlok’s territory seem to very clearly have psychic puppet strings attached. That and some increasing terror on Thomas’ part. There is no warm Dracula-style welcome from Orlok when he arrives, but a terse and strange leading to the dinner table where paperwork is demanded.

- We get a glimpse of this version of the Count’s ego. Thomas calls him sir. Orlok demands Thomas address him as my lord. And then we get the bread cutting scene. Thomas’ thumb bleeds. Orlok get far too interested. His voice, a very guttural and rasping bass, turns into something closer to an animal trilling and growling. Thomas is paralyzed beside the fire; cut away as Orlok closes in.

-Ellen and Anna Harding have a bit of a Mina and Lucy deal going on at the beach. It’s sweet <3 (Prepare for pain </3)

- Orlok starts getting tricky. He 1) borrows (steals) Ellen’s locket from Thomas and 2) Tricks Thomas into signing a contract to ‘sell’ Ellen/break their marriage via a strange contract in a language Thomas can’t read, with Orlok using the prop of some gold to imply that this is merely a document in ~his native language~ to complete the property sale. Thomas signs, less for the gold than to be gone from the castle and back to Ellen…only for Orlok to insist Thomas is not well. He must stay the night.

- No mind games here. Just Thomas pleading to leave and Orlok’s parting word being that he will stay, and that he will obey his orders.

-Orlok has already chomped Thomas on the tiddy as of last night. Next night, after Thomas almost lands a blow on him in the coffin—Orlok sleeps with his Orcock out in the box, by the way, alongside several rats—Orlok wills Thomas to unlock the door he shut between them. Cue Thomas being tranced onto the bed, pounced on, and basically dry-humped by Orlok as he drinks Thomas all but dry. Thomas is left that way, only to be woken by Orlok’s wolves—he has those too!—and go clambering out the window, dropping to the river below.

-Orlok makes Ellen’s life hell. Holy fuck. The 1838 quality ‘medicine’ definitely doesn’t help—corsets for correcting posture, draining blood because there’s too much in there, binding to the bedposts to stop sleepwalking, general drugging etc etc—but FUCK. Lily-Rose Depp did a great and terrible job of reproducing shaking fits and some of the faces and sounds she made had me thinking I might choke on my own tongue. And for all the sexually provocative poses/noises that happen, every time she comes out of it it’s clear that she hates this. It’s on par with psychic rape.

-The only times we see Ellen respond positively~ to Orlok’s dream-advances is when she’s telling Thomas about the ‘marrying Death’ dream where everyone died and she was deliriously happy and then the infamous trailer line about Thomas not being able to satisfy her as Orlok can~~~

Well guess what.

Guess fucking what.

That was Orlok leaning on her brain. The same way he did to Thomas when, eventually, after the nuns rescue him and pray the plague/vampirism out and he makes it home while half-dead, he lays in bed with Ellen and gets a panic attack combined with Orlok’s image being grafted over Ellen’s face…

…a reverse of the illusion Orlok gave him in the castle, with Thomas imagining it was Ellen on top of him instead. The effect terrifies Thomas all over again and he unwittingly tosses Ellen away, I can't breathe, get off of me, get off!

-Orlok does his murder snacking. Knock, who escaped, offers to find and kill Thomas to please the Count, literally on his hands and knees. Orlok calls him a dog and backhands him, insisting Ellen must be given, not stolen.

-Orlok has already visited Ellen by this time. He presses her to keep her deal with him. She tells him, flat out, I abhor you. In response, Orlok grabs her and chucks her like a ragdoll in a rage. He fumes, telling her he will give her three nights to pledge herself to him, and in the meantime he will start killing. (RIP to Anna and her little girls, the latter of whom ORLOK KILLS IN FRONT OF HER, EATING THEIR THROATS OUT AS SHE ENTERS THEIR ROOM.)

-Before all that, he spins bullshit about Thomas ~selling her to him for mere gold~. A technical truth that Ellen, mid-Orlok spell, spits back at Thomas amid a rage, along with details that are likewise based in only a granule of reality; but which Orlok did not mention in their scene together. Things like Thomas being weak and childish, that he ‘fell into Orlok’s arms like a fainting woman.’ Interesting choice of spin there, Orlok. But whatever.

This all culminates in what is either reality or a dream or a blend of both as Thomas makes sudden desperate love to her, Ellen weirdly heady about it, telling him yes yes yes they will show Orlok their love. Cue her snapping back to full cognizance (awake? dreaming?) as her eyes and mouth spurt blood in a vision. She collapses in fear and tears as Thomas holds her. AND THEN:

-Ellen. Drops. The I am unclean line. She wants Thomas away from her, she is not worthy, she puts him in danger.

-Thomas goes full Jonathan and clings to her. Nonsense. I love you. I love you. I love you.

-V i n d i c a t i o n

-Anyway.

-Dafoe-Von Franz-Van Helsing is a kooky science occultist. Finds a book that Knock had which fills the role of highlighting Orlok as Solomonari (hey, Scholomance shout out!) and Knock as a would-be beneficiary. Also includes the ‘maiden offers her body and blood to the monster to kill it via sunrise’ bit.

-While he reads this, he does NOT actually spell any of these details out to Ellen when they have their secret mini talk about tricking Thomas into hunting for the coffin with him and Sievers. He gives her a big ~you're the only one who can save us magic maiden martyr~ pep talk, but that's it. Meanwhile, Ellen was already preparing to offer herself to save Thomas and whoever’s left in Wisborg. Not the same kind of agency as the original, but still better than I was expecting.

-Harding, Thomas’ rich friend whose wife and children got drinked to death, dies of plague in the family tomb. They burn the bodies.

-In the ruin Orlok bought, cue the iron stake slamming down as they open the coffin..! But whoops. Knock’s in the box, not Orlok. Von Franz says Ellen offering herself is the only way~ Thomas doesn’t waste time throttling him, just makes a run for their home.

-Too late, of course. Orlok is there (with a very cool homage to the original stalking shadow silhouette routine) and Ellen welcomes him. While they are both naked in bed and it’s implied that they are/or intend to have sex, the bulk of the scene centers on Orlok taking Ellen’s blood from her breast. No clear shot of the Orcock on screen for that bit—Bobby Egg saved that pleasure for the Count flashing Thomas at the castle.

-Orlok’s death throes. Are so. Fucking. Cool. Definitely up there with one of the best vampiric demises I’ve ever seen on film. No spoilers there. You’ve got to see it.

-Heartbreak o’ Clock as Thomas bursts in just as Orlok has died and as Ellen is dying under him. There’s time for them to hold hands. And then she’s gone.

-We close on Von Franz popping up with some poetic soliloquy shit and a bunch of lilacs. The final beat is an overhead shot of Ellen, the Maiden, laying under the now-skeletal Orlok, as Death. Looks almost like a painting. Unlike the implication in the leaked script, she does not look happy/at peace. Simply asleep. The End.

-Other important notes:

1) Orlok has a little combover’s worth of hair on top and mighty and powerful ‘stache. Not Dracula-white, but it is there. Finally.

2) The guy who plays Dr. Sievers has Alan Rickman’s voice. If he isn’t in opera, he should be.

3) I was too late to get a popcorn coffin box. I shall be in mourning until the New Year.

4) Bobby Egg if you can give me one more gift, let it be a deleted scene of Thomas beating Von Franz over the head with the iron stake, please and thank you <3

#Merry Christmas to meeeee #nosferatu #nosferatu 2024 #nosferatu spoilers #spoilers #robert eggers #my writing

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kaybug88 · 3 days ago

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Katsuki Bakugo x Wife!Reader

December 23rd:

Katsuki Bakugo x Wife!Reader

Note: Use of (Y/N) + Newly weds

“What if we made our actual house!?” “Hell no, that's stupid.”

TW: Swearing

WC: 1.2k

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

“(Y/N)! Time to go, we're gonna be late!”

Katsuki calls From downstairs. For some context, you're going to Mina and Ejiro's house to hangout before everyone starts going out on missions again. Tonight was, and will be the only night your whole friend group can take off for a while. You're planning to make Gingerbread houses, watch movies, drink hot cocoa, and exchange presents.

“Coming!”

You call from your bedroom before stepping out and closing the door. By the time you're at the front door, he's in his black Ford F150 Raptor with the engine Running and his playlist Blasting out the open windows.

You roll your eyes with a grin before walking over and getting into the passenger seat with a small huff.

“Need a hand, princess?”

Katsuki says with a shit-eating grin while you send him a half-assed glare.

“No, I'm just fine On my own.”

You counter while buckling in and he begins to back out of the driveway, his arm slung over your seat.

Upon arrival, you notice you're not the only couple in matching pajamas. Kyoka and Denki are in pajama pants with polar bears and white hoodies. Eijiro and Mina are in Batman Hello-Kitty pants with pink long sleeve shirts. You and Katsuki are in red and black plaid pants with black shirts.

“Hey y'all!”

You excitedly say while walking towards your bestfriends while Enjiro and Denki start up a conversation with Katsuki.

“So, how're you, Mrs.Bakugo?”

Mina chirps while dragging out your new last name.

“Yeah, how's it feel to finally take the Bakugo name? Feel angry 24/7 yet?”

Jiro chuckles while giving you a hug, Which you happily accept. Mina joins in the hug, which makes you smile.

“No, you absolutely cannot make our house a pile of rubble. It's a Gingerbread house, not Gingerbread house rubble.”

You say, smacking his hand lightly, earning a small scowl. You playfully roll your eyes as you reach for white frosting, in order to decorate the house before putting it together. . . As one would, right? Apparently that's wrong.

“Nope, I'm doing that. Can't trust you to make it not look like shit. Pick out the candy or somethin’.”

Katsuki said, sliding all the Gingerbread house pieces toward him, and away from you; turns out Kirishima’s ‘genius’ idea to make this a competition wasn't so ‘genius’ after all.

“Denks-!”

Jiro panics as Denki’s elbow misses their house by mere inches. Kirishima and Mina are so concentrated they don't even notice what has happened, causing you to snicker to yourself before going back to the candy selection.

“Kats! What if we made our actual house!?”

You suggest excitedly as you show him green gumdrops that could work perfectly as the bushes in your front yard.

“Hell no, that's stupid.”

He protests while carefully putting the Gingerbread walls together with white frosting that looks upsettingly neat.

“Whatever. . .”

You groan, picking out some pretzel sticks to use as a path up to the front door. You stick one in your mouth, leaving the salt treat hanging from between your lips. You set down little piles of candy you could use for decorations, and can't help but notice the way Katsuki Eyes your lips.

You raise a brow at him before he grabs your chin and leans in to take his own bite of the pretzel, his lips brushing against your own for a split second. You sit there wide-eyed as he smirks at you with hidden intent. Nobody else noticed what he had done, but you sure as hell don't regret him doing it.

Hoping that blush isn't too visible on your face, you pass him a small bowl with little red ball sprinkles before glancing at his face. His brows are furrowed in concentration while his tongue is peeking out from between his lips.

Noticing how concentrated he is on the larger details, you secretly grab a few green gumdrops, lining the yard with them. Every few seconds, you glance over at him, trying to hold in the goofy smile hiding behind your lips.

“The hell are you doing? If you want shit lining the house, use those.”

He says while pointing to a bowl of green and red candies that probably taste like diabetes. You bite back a frown at your failed attempt to add secret little details from your own house and try to think of more subtle details. You could casually suggest. Your mailbox would be a good idea, but you would probably need Katsuki to help you, so that’s a no.

Instead, you think of the arches by your doorstep. Katsuki is absolutely loaded with money and refused to, in his words, get some small, shitty house that doesn't have room for future plans.

You reach for a small unopened box of candy canes striped with vibrant greens and reds, pulling out a few and dumping the rest out into an empty bowl. You hold back a giggle as Eijiro sneakily takes one, unwrapping it and sticking it in his mouth. Rolling your eyes at the action, you place two of the candy canes next to Katsuki, clearly suggesting that he use them.

He nods lightly and begins to form icicles along the edge of the roof, which you have to admit is quite a smart idea. Noticing black licorice, you can't help but imagine it as a chimney. You show it to Katsuki with a grin.

“Hey! What If we use this as a chimney?”

You suggest with a cheery tone, holding a few of said licorice and he gives you a smirk.

“Hey, so you do have good ideas in there.”

He teases, flicking your forehead. You know he's teasing you, and completely unaware of the glare he's receiving from Mina.

“What!? She's got great ideas in there!”

Mina says with a bit of sass and lightly hits him on the head, her yellow eyes narrowed into the glare only a mother could muster. Scary.

“Get the hell off me, Raccoon eyes! It was a joke, she knows she's smart and I wouldn't have married some damn idiot!”

You bite back a chuckle at the look Katsuki has on his face. He's clearly not mad, and there's hints of adoration and love sparkled into his dangerous red eyes.You smile when he looks over to you without a hint of Annoyance or anger, and a pinch of wonder of how he landed someone so wonderful.

“Aww, Kats.”

You say, leaning your head on his shoulder. His face flushes as he hunches back over to continue building the house. So adorable. You grab the licorice, arranging it to make a cute little chimney on top of the house.

“Ta-da!”

You nudge Katsuki, gesturing to your little chimney, which sits at an awkward angle. He laughs, a genuine, sweet one, and adjusts it carefully. Now all you two need to add is a door. Easy.

You grab a piece of gingerbread, carefully outlining a door and breaking it out. Handing it to Katsuki, you grab a bunch of mini candies. He carefully frosts the top of it, and sticks it to the front of the house. You lean in, rimming the little door with the candies.

“Alright, we’re finished!”

You say, leaning back and stretching. Katsuki does the same, wrapping one arm around you and pulling you closer.

“Ya’ know what? We rocked this.”

He said with a small chuckle as he presses A kiss to your head. He pulls out his phone and snaps a photo of your house made from pure hard work.

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libraford · 1 day ago

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(Book depicted with editor, Cheddar Bay Biscuits).

So the book has been up for purchase for awhile, but unfortunately December is a terrible time for me to do anything.

Behold!

The third book in the Good Clean Dirt series!

Do you have to read the first and second books to understand what's going on? Probably! I mean, I trust you to pick up some stuff from context.

But just in case, they are available on Amazon.

Do you like weird cult shit? Do you like small towns with dark secrets? Do you like watching the main character get hit in the head a lot?

You're gonna like this series, probably!

A florist who moonlights as a local deity in a small Appalachian town is persuaded into, well... let's just go ahead- bite the bullet and call it 'fraud'- by someone with the worst intentions. And things are going great... at least until those local legends start seeming a little too real.

Trigger warnings under the cut

Mild violence, head trauma, self harm mention, suicide mention, domestic violence

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letsgoletsgetit08 · 2 days ago

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soft hours pt. 2 - christmas

how they would celebrate christmas with you (plus a suprise they have trouble keeping secret)

maknae line

warnings: mdni, christmas fluff, smut

pairings: choi san x f!reader, song mingi x f!reader, jung wooyoung x f!reader, choi jongho x f!reader

word count: 5.8k

author's note: MERRY TEEZMAS! Here's the maknae line, finally! I picture this as slightly aged up members and their significant others, still famous and working in the industry but with solo careers (hence the ability to take actual time off for themselves). But I did try to keep that part vague. I'm not religious but I grew up with Christmas, but feel free to sub in whatever winter holiday tickles your fancy. Once again found myself writing much more for the maknae line but sue me, it's where 2/3 of my bias line lives!

likes, comments, and reblogs always welcome as long as you're not a minor!

Choi San: “Are you sure you want to do this? My family really wouldn’t mind coming to Seoul instead.” San fixed you with a worried look.

“Choi San,” you rolled your eyes, “I promise you, I’m not only happy but excited to see Namhae. It’s where you grew up, it’s important to me. I don’t care if everyone there knows your name, I don’t care if I’ll get dirty glares in the grocery store. As long as you’re with me, everything will be fine. I want to see every part of you and the town you grew up in is part of that.”

San’s troubled expression softened, his lips curling into a small smile, dimples revealing themselves on his cheeks, “I’m the luckiest man on earth.” He picked you up before you could protest, spinning you in a circle before gently letting your feet meet the ground once again, pulling you into a swift, tender kiss, “I’m going to make it worth it for you, I promise.”

“Spending time with you is always worth it, Sannie.” You kissed his left cheek, unable to hold back any longer, his dimples having tempted you for too long.

“Stop being so sweet or we’ll never get on the road.” He teased, planting one last kiss to your forehead before gathering your suitcases into his hands and heading outside towards the Uber. There wasn’t a great way to drive there from the city, so you’d be taking a very quick flight, likely spending just as long in the airport as you would on the plane. At least your days in economy seating were over since having started dating San.

Airports gave you mega anxiety, and you were soon reminded of several reasons you loved your boyfriend so much. The way he could sense your nerves, keeping you close to his side, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, holding onto your ticket and boarding pass for you so you didn’t have to panic every time you thought you misplaced it, speaking softly in your ear to help distract you from your surroundings.

He guided you in front of him through security, knowing you didn’t like feeling left behind. He was caught up with security for a minute as his bag passed through the sensor. You could see him trying to remain calm, speaking to the workers in a rushed but polite tone and wondered what the hold up was, but as soon as you were about to approach to check in, he was being waved through, an understanding seeming to have been reached.

“Everything okay?” You asked as he approached.

“All good,” He smiled at you reassuringly, “Just couldn’t figure out what my razor was I guess.”

“Ah, yes, because you definitely wouldn’t be more dangerous with just your bare hands.” You joked.

“Exactly.” He laughed.

The rest of the flight went off without a hitch, and soon you were waiting on the curb outside of the small airport, excitedly waiting for San’s parents to arrive to take you to their house.

You loved his family, and they were always so warm and welcoming to you. It was so nice to see them in this context, the town they knew so well and loved.

Once at their house, you got to see something you’d been dying to witness since you met the man, “Byeoli!” San squealed as his cat trotted out and began rubbing on his ankles, purring loudly, “Hi, baby! It’s so good to see you.”

You knelt down beside San, and Byeol approached cautiously, sniffing your finger until finally deciding she approved, rubbing her cheek on your hand.

“Look at that. My two girls meeting at last.” San beamed at you, “She likes you. But I always knew she had good taste.”

“He has the best taste, isn’t that right, Byeol?” You addressed the cat rather than San.

After unloading your luggage into San’s childhood bedroom (still decorated the same, much to your amusement), the two of you were sent on a grocery run for some last minute things San’s mom needed for dinner that night.

San had been right to warn you. No less than ten people in the grocery store recognized him, assessing you in varying degrees of approval, ranging from polite acceptance to obvious, poorly hidden distaste and jealousy. But the latter didn’t hurt your feelings as much as you thought it would, easy to ignore with how proud San looked when he introduced you to them.

You adored hearing San wax poetic about his memories of his hometown as you drove around, taking an unnecessarily scenic route back home, how his face lit up when he saw that his favorite old ice cream shop was still open, the billboard with his face on it, which he blushed at the sight of, his high school, the park where he had his first kiss, his dad’s taekwondo studio. All of it was so distinctly him, painting the picture of the man with whom you were so deeply in love with as you put images to places you had only heard described to you before.

“San,” You grabbed his hand as he parked the car back in the driveway, “Thank you for showing me.”

“It’s not much to show,” He shrugged, “But it’s part of me.”

“It means the world to me, baby. You mean the world to me, and this town is part of you. Don’t undersell its value.”

He picked up your hand that was holding his, bringing it to his lips, kissing each knuckle gently, “I don’t think I realized how important it was for you to see it until we were here.” He sighed, “So thank you, jagi.”

“Any time, my love.” You smiled at him, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the look he was giving you, amazed that after all this time, he could still elicit that sensation within you so easily.

You pulled him into a quick, deep kiss, pulling away before the two of you got lost in it, knowing everyone inside was awaiting your return.

San's older sister and brother-in-law arrived shortly after and you couldn't stop smiling at how happy you were with these people. You were all but estranged from your own family and before you met San, the holidays were spent either with friends or alone and it never really bothered you too much, but now, experiencing what this was like, it was making you emotional.

As you sat by San's side on the couch in their living room while everyone got caught up, you felt a tear escape your eye, rolling warm down your cheek.

San caught on immediately as you went to wipe it away, “Hey,” he squeezed your hand, “Everything okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” you sniffled, “Sorry, I just really love your family. You know how mine is…”

“Oh, honey,” San wrapped his arm around you, pulling you securely to his side, “I know. You never had this, huh?”

You shook your head.

“Well they're your family now, too, jagi.” He assured you.

San's sister overheard the last part, “Oh, did you already-”

San cut her off before she could continue, ignoring the confused look on your face, “Let's do gifts!”

Later that night, you had assured San you could be quiet when you couldn't take his teasing any longer, but you were having a hard time keeping that promise as his tongue lavished your core with expert precision, clasping a hand over your mouth as he carried you over the edge, other hand clasped tight in his hair, desperately trying to keep your movements small but unable to control your hips bucking against his face as you reached your peak, waves of pleasure rolling over you.

He pulled back, crawling towards you again, settling in behind you, kissing all over your shoulders and neck, “I will never get tired of that.” He whispered, and you could hear the smile on his voice.

“I hope that's true, because I sure as hell won't.” You turned to catch him in a lopsided kiss, “Let me help you, too, baby.”

“Jagi,” he kissed you sweetly, pulling away to yawn, but lining his cock up to your entrance nonetheless, “How did I get so lucky?”

“If you're too tired-”

“Never.”

He started rolling his hips slowly, knowing the exact motion that drove you crazy. You were still coming down from your last orgasm and he built it back quickly. Soon, you were clenching around him and his hips stilled as he followed. You tried to adjust to pull yourself off of him, but he wrapped an arm around you, stopping you, “Mmh, no, just stay. You're so warm.”

“I-” You chuckled as you heard him already breathing heavy, falling to sleep, “Yeah, okay. Anything for you, baby.”

You awoke a little while later to the feeling of San hard inside you again, unable to stop from clenching at the feeling, realizing he was awake and was obviously trying to stay still.

“Go ahead, baby, use me.” You whispered.

He grunted in acknowledgement, rolling you to your stomach and fucking you slowly and carefully into the mattress, your face graciously buried in the pillow to muffle any noises that may have tried to escape.

Before you knew it, the two of you were falling apart once again. This time, once you had ridden your orgasms out, San pulled out and allowed you to get up and go to the bathroom.

When you returned, he was sitting up in bed, a wild look on his face as you climbed in beside him, “Jagiya, I lied earlier at the airport.”

“You what? When?” You were racking your brain for anything he had said that might have been false.

“It wasn’t my razor that confused security,” he pulled a ring box from under his pillow, “It was this.” He opened it, revealing the ring of your dreams, “I was serious earlier though, when I said you're family now. I already consider myself the luckiest man on earth having you by my side, and I want that to be true. Permanently. Take my name. Join my family. And let's start our own someday. Please, love? Marry me.”

“Choi San.” You felt tears well up again, “Yes, God, yes. Nothing would make me happier.”

“Choi Y/N.” He whispered it like a prayer. You were his family now and he was yours. You could hardly sleep in your excitement afterwards, making out with your fiance into the early hours of the morning.

Song Mingi: The bed dipping with added weight roused you from a deep sleep. Blue early morning light streamed in through the curtains as you blinked open your eyes.

“Mingi?” Your voice cracked as you sat up, bleary eyed and disoriented, reaching for the bottle of water you kept on your bedside table.

“Baby!” Mingi’s deep voice rattled your sleepy brain as he pounced on top of the suitcase he had just hefted onto the bed, “Can you help me out real quick?”

“What time is it?” You groaned.

“7am! Come on, we need to be on the road at 8!”

“Song Mingi. Once upon a time, you and I bonded over the fact that we're not morning people.” You grumbled as you tossed the comforter aside to assist your goofy boyfriend.

“I know, that's why I was very brave and got up early to pack for us. There’s coffee on in the kitchen, cutie.” He kissed your temple hastily as you came around to help hold the pieces of the suitcase together for him to zip.

“Okay, I forgive you- wait, is this all games? Do you really think you can get the guys to play Catan again after what happened last time?” You eyed him skeptically.

“Wooyoung and Jongho made up a week later!” He defended himself, “You know I've gotta at least try.”

“I know, I know.” You rolled your eyes, “It's your favorite.”

“No, baby.” He grunted as the zipper finally closed all the way, “You're my favorite.” He tackled you back onto the bed, peppering your face with kisses, ending with a slow, sweet kiss on your lips, “I love you a whole lot, have I said that recently?”

“Hmm.” You pretended to consider it, “I mean, not in the last business day, probably.”

Mingi gasped, “Inconceivable!” He practically shouted in your ear, resuming his attack.

“You're the silliest goose on the whole pond.” You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics.

“As long as it's your pond.” He replied, hopping to his feet and pulling you up behind him, not awaiting your reply, “C'mon, go get dressed! I'll go pour you some coffee.”

“You're acting more odd than normal and I'm going to figure out why.” You mumbled as you trudged over to your dresser, finding it nearly empty, “Wait, Mingi, did you pack for me, too?” You called to him in the kitchen.

“Yeah! I just grabbed everything!” He called back, “I laid you out an outfit, it's on your desk chair.”

You looked over to find a pair of his sweats and one of his oversized t-shirts with your bra and a pair of underwear laid on top. “These are your clothes!” You yelled through a chuckle.

“You look so cute in my clothes,” He reentered the room, handing you your favorite coffee mug, “Plus, I kinda packed everything I've ever seen you wear.”

You rolled your eyes as you began changing in front of him.

“Ugh, baby. That's no fair.” He whined.

“What?” You asked, confused, as you pulled on clean underwear.

“You're so hot and I don't even have time to have sex with you about it.” Mingi pouted, ogling you from his position on the bed.

You laughed, crossing over to him with only underwear on, “Not with that attitude.”

Half an hour and three orgasms later, Mingi came up for air from in between your legs, licking his lips like he had just eaten the most delicious meal in the world - he probably would argue he had, if you'd asked him.

“Jagi,” You gasped, still breathing hard as he kissed up your torso, “We have to get on the road.”

Mingi pouted but didn't protest too much, letting you up to get dressed and pack your toiletries.

Yunho's lake house had become a yearly tradition for the eight of them, everyone heading there a couple of days after Christmas to stay through New Years. Plus ones were prohibited except for “serious” relationships, which they typically defined as at least engaged. You had thought Mingi might propose on Christmas, but you were even more excited at the thought of it happening on New Years Eve.

Christmas this year had been lovely. He had an uncanny ability for gift giving, you suspected he kept a running list of every thing you mentioned vaguely wanting throughout the year, and this year was no exception. His mom had the two of you over for Christmas, feeding you far too much and giving you knowing glances like she knew what laid ahead for you in the very near future. You were so grateful with how welcoming she had been since you started dating Mingi, knowing how big of a momma's boy he was, her approval meant everything to you. You would have been happy had he proposed at Christmas, and as much as having his mom's approval meant to you, you absolutely adored the seven other members of his group, considering them to already be like brothers to you, and by how they treated you, you figured they considered you similarly. Truth be told though, you would be thrilled no matter where or when he proposed.

Road trips were one of your favorite things to do with Mingi. They were always filled with silly made-up car games and singing along to music at the beginning, turning to comfortable silence with his hand on your thigh as he drove, talking intermittently about anything and everything and nothing at all towards the end. Most of all, you loved the uninterrupted time you got just to simply stare at him and take him in. You thought he was the most beautiful person on the planet, every detail of his face and body a work of art in and of itself.

“...and that's why I don't think you'd ever remember it even if you had been abducted by aliens.” Mingi concluded his thesis as he pulled the car into the driveway of the lake house at last.

“Hmm.” You considered, “I think we'll just have to agree to disagree on this one, my love.”

“I'm taking a vote when we go in.” Mingi shot you a challenging look as he got out of the driver's seat, darting around to your door to open it for you before you could do it yourself.

“Good, I can't wait to win the vote.” You teased him, leaning in for a kiss, gasping as he pulled a fast one on you, leaning in to return it only to turn away and deny you at the last second.

“Song Mingi!” You chastised him, “Fine. No more kisses ever again since you don't want them.”

“What!” He pouted, rushing back over to you with pleading eyes, taking your empty threat seriously, “Baby, no! Please, forgive me, I'm so sorry, don't deprive me!”

You snickered at him, “Aw, princess.” You pulled him close, giving him a chaste peck on his pretty lips, “I would shrivel up and die if l couldn't kiss you.”

“You guys are disgusting, I take it back, no plus ones.” Yunho bullied you from the porch, “Mingi, go ahead and go home.”

“Hey!” Mingi barked, offended by his best friend's words.

“We missed you, too, Yunho.” You rolled your eyes, strolling over to him as he waited with open arms for a hug.

“It’s been too long, noona.” Yunho crushed you to his chest. You weren't exactly petite, squarely on the tall side and you could wear Mingi’s jeans pretty easily, filling them out similarly in the ass and thigh region, but he and Yunho still made you feel small in comparison.

“Thank you for inviting me.” You answered through constricted lungs, “I do have to breathe, though.”

“My bad.” Yunho chuckled as he released you, “I just have to make sure you know you're my favorite. But don't tell anyone.”

You crossed your heart, “It's our secret, Yuyu.” You winked at him.

The rest of the night followed in a similar fashion, ending with all of you in the spacious living room, pleasantly buzzed. Wooyoung sat curled in San's lap, relaying a story you all had heard a thousand times but indulged in letting him tell regardless, mostly due to the entertaining way he reenacted it. Seonghwa sat on the floor in front of Hongjoong, building the Star Wars Lego set the latter had gifted him from Christmas as his husband stared at him with an endless depth of adoration in his eyes. Jongho, who was pretty perpetually single by his own choice, sat in front of the fireplace with his guitar, humming and singing quietly. Yeosang leaned onto Yunho's shoulder, letting his boyfriend play with his hair absentmindedly. You hadn't realized the two of them were dating, but you had to admit, it was rather cute. Roommates to lovers, a tale as old as time. You supposed the “engaged at minimum” rule didn't apply to the host himself.

You felt so at peace, so at home with everyone there, so full of love for all of them. Honored to have been let in to this sacred circle and welcomed with open arms.

The next few days were spent playing games - including, much to your surprise, an oddly civil game of Catan - or with Wooyoung and Mingi in the kitchen, San, Yunho, and Seonghwa fighting like siblings in the snow, Hongjoong and Jongho writing and singing songs together, you and Yeosang watching movies and discussing the quirks - some endearing, some harder to stomach - of your significant others, the two of whom had known one another since middle school. You were so excited for this to be your family, you could hardly wait for New Years.

When the night in question finally came around, though you knew it was coming (Wooyoung had barged in as you were getting dressed earlier, making sure your fingernails were painted), Mingi’s proposal still managed to surprise you.

Right before midnight, champagne flutes passed out, all of you dressed in cocktail formal, excited for an excuse to get dressed up after a week of sweats and pajamas, Mingi tapped his flute with a knife to get everyone's attention, “A toast! To my friends, who have been with me through everything, the ups and downs of being idols and just life in general, and most importantly, who have listened and advised me on my relationship with my beautiful girlfriend. It means the world to me that you all love her so much. I consider us to be family,” he turned to you then, fishing in his pocket, “But I'd really like us to be family officially. If you'll have me, sweetheart. Nothing could make me happier.” He knelt down, opening the ring box with one large hand, showing you the most perfect ring you could have dreamed of.

“Mingi,” you beamed at him, “Yes, of course, baby. You better fucking marry me, you goose.”

“As long as I'm your goose.” He rose, removing the ring and guiding it gently onto your ring finger.

“Always.” You promised.

“Ten!” Wooyoung began the countdown to midnight.

“Nine!” The others joined in, yourself and Mingi included, waiting for the clock to strike twelve before you sealed the moment with a kiss.

“Eight!” You all chanted. “Makes one team!” You added in between, garnering laughter from the group.

“Seven!”

“Six!”

“Five!”

“Four!”

“Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

“Happy New Year!”

It wasn't your first kiss, obviously, but it might as well have been, the way the butterflies in your abdomen danced at the contact, face going warm as several of the boys wolf whistled at the display. It only served to egg Mingi on, and he swung you down into a deep dip, never breaking your kiss.

“Okay, okay, ew. Enough. Save it for the wedding.” Jongho pretended to complain from across the circle.

“Booooo!” Wooyoung shot back at him.

“Be nice, baby.” San half-heartedly scolded him.

“He's being rude!” Wooyoung defended himself.

Mingi brought you back to your feet as the bickering escalated in the background, wiggling his eyebrows at you conspiratorially.

You nodded, grabbing his hand and sneaking away as the other seven continued their nonsense, too absorbed in it to realize the two of you had made like bandits for the bedroom.

Mingi didn't even scold you for getting distracted by your new ring as you straddled him and rode his cock for the first time as an engaged couple. In fact, you're pretty sure he only fucked you harder for it.

The two of you eventually collapsed onto the bed in a pile of tangled, sweaty limbs after round three, completely blissed out on the love you had for one another and excited for the future together that awaited you.

Jung Wooyoung: Sure, introducing your Harry Potter-obsessed boyfriend to the Lord of the Rings trilogy was a calculated risk. They had always been your favorite Christmas break movies and you wanted to share that tradition with Wooyoung. You had predicted he would like them, but what you hadn't been prepared for was just how much he liked them. You would be spending a belated Christmas with his family, postponed a few days due to his older brother's work schedule, so Christmas Eve and Day would be spent just the two of you at your apartment together.

Little did you know, Wooyoung had been planning.

The unmistakable noise of clattering pots and pans in the kitchen served as your alarm that morning, followed by a hushed curse under Wooyoung’s breath. You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you dragged your still sleep-laden body out of bed, donning Wooyoung’s discarded sweatshirt on your way into the kitchen.

“Everything okay, baby?” You asked, your voice still gravelly with sleep.

Wooyoung jumped at the sound of your voice, clearly deeply concentrated as he stirred the pot on the stove, “Ah! Fuck! You scared me!”

You chuckled, coming up behind him, wrapping your arms around his sinfully slutty waist, “Sorry, kitten,” You apologized, “I just heard a noise and wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Dammit.” Wooyoung pouted, ��I wanted to wake you up with breakfast, I’m sorry.”

You kissed his cheek, “There’s nothing to apologize for. Want me to go back to bed so you can do your original plan?”

Wooyoung turned around in your embrace, kissing you on the nose, “No, baby, not unless you want to. It’s almost done and I love your company.”

“Okay, but, um…” You trailed off, hating to ask for something when he was already doing so much, “Nevermind, I’ll do it.”

Wooyoung grabbed your wrist to stop you, “Absolutely not! My baby is not lifting a finger today. What did you need, jagi?”

“I just wanted some coffee.” You smiled at him sheepishly.

“Say less.” Wooyoung beamed at you, planting a swift kiss to your lips before breaking off and moving to make you coffee.

An hour later, three cups of coffee in, Wooyoung was placing the last pastry on the table after putting a different dish he was preparing for later in the oven.

“If you want me to die in a food coma, just say so.” You teased him as you sat down to indulge yourself on his delicious-smelling baked goods.

“No, sweetheart, I just want you to enjoy yourself.” Wooyoung couldn’t contain his smile as he watched your eyes roll back at the first bite of his creation.

“Baby. No offense but I’m breaking up with you for this danish.” You joked.

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped in fake offense, “But wait! That danish can’t get you off!”

You shrugged, “Ah, well. Good thing I have a vibrator.”

Wooyoung stuck his bottom lip out, “You know good and well you like my dick better.”

“Hm…” You pretended to consider his words, “My memory is hazy, maybe I need a refresher before I can answer that completely honestly.”

The Fellowship of the Ring played in the background as Wooyoung fucked you over the back of the couch, but neither of you were paying attention to the movie.

“Admit it.” Wooyoung growled in your ear, “My cock is the only thing that can truly satisfy you.”

“God. Fuck, yes, Youngie. Your cock is the only thing now please fuck me harder.” You begged, sweat dripping down your brow as your boyfriend pounded into you painstakingly slowly, knowing he was driving you crazy.

“Yes, ma’am.” Wooyoung obeyed, picking up his pace until the two of you were panting as you were finally able to release.

The rest of the day passed much the same way, between eating, fucking, watching movies, exchanging gifts, and nodding off in between. Hours past sunset, the two of you were back in the kitchen, lethargic from your day of consuming calories and quickly turning around to burn them in the most hedonistic ways possible, washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. Wooyoung paused after he put away the last plate you handed him, “Oh, wait! I forgot! I have one more gift for you!”

“Wooyoung!” You protested, “You got me more than enough!”

“I really think you’ll want this one, though.” Wooyoung winked at you before darting out of the kitchen only to return a few minutes later, hands behind his back, kneeling down in front of you, revealing the ring box he had grasped in his hands, “Baby, you’ve been nothing but a bright spot since you came into my life. I want to spend the rest of it teasing you, spoiling you, and making you laugh. Will you make me the happiest Hobbit in the whole Shire and please marry me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his silly proposal, “Yes, but try again without the references.”

“Oh, if that was an issue, I’m afraid you’ll hate what I engraved the ring with.” Wooyoung blushed.

“You didn’t.” You buried your face in your hands, “Good Lord. I should have never introduced you to Tolkien. Yes, Jung Wooyoung. Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Yeah?” He stood up quickly, opening the ring box to show you the most intricate, most you ring of all time, sure enough, engraved with “one ring to rule them all” on the inside of the band.

“Yes, honey.” You pulled him in for a kiss before he could fit the ring onto your finger, “I never want anyone else.”

“I’m the happiest man alive.” Wooyoung’s smile reached from ear to ear.

“I’m incredibly happy, too.” You returned his smile, “But we are not having a Lord of the Rings themed wedding.”

“Right. Harry Potter themed.” Wooyoung nodded, like this was the only answer.

“Hell fucking no.” You tickled him, “We can plan later, though. Right now I need to show you my secret cave.”

“Ooh, is Gollum in there?”

“Only if you’ve decided to call your dick ‘Gollum’, then I guess so, yes.”

“I prefer to think of it as more of a Smeagol.” Wooyoung took your hand dragging you to the bedroom.

“Just please don’t try to do the voice.” You pleaded.

He didn't oblige. You were going to marry the fuck out of him anyway.

Choi Jongho: You could always tell when Jongho was up to something, and this week, the week leading up to Christmas, was turning out to fall directly into that category. A mischievous glint sparkled in your boyfriend’s eye all week. The two of you had been dating for a few years now and you suspected he would propose at some point in the near future, but you honestly had no idea when. The man lived to keep you on your toes.

He didn’t do it while the two of you celebrated Christmas with your family.

He didn’t do it while the two of you celebrated Christmas with his family.

He didn’t do it as the two of you opened your gifts to one another late at night on Christmas Day.

No. Why would he? He just spent the entirety of both days tricking you into thinking he might do it. He had handed you a conspicuously sized square box wrapped in paper. Earrings. They were beautiful, of course. He knew your taste well.

He had taken you on a scenic walk, kneeling down at the overlook, only to tie his shoe, laughing at your face, poorly disguised in shock, disappointment, then frustration, all in quick succession.

He had asked to make a toast at your family’s Christmas dinner. Didn’t propose.

Your boyfriend might be a little evil.

Christmas with him had always been somewhat like this, with him feeding you false leads about what gifts he was getting you, especially as it got closer to the actual holiday, only to have gotten you something better than what he was alluding to the whole time. On top of everything, of course he was an annoyingly good gift giver.

It was December 27th and you were nearly at your wit’s end. The two of you were still off work and with everything temporarily back open between holidays, Jongho had planned something incredibly special for the two of you, much to your surprise. You honestly had no clue how he was so damn talented at hiding things from you. Maybe you just weren’t as observant as you thought you were.

Dinner at a nice restaurant turned into a carriage ride around the park, ending with the two of you slow dancing in a gazebo to a song that he had written just for you.

“I mean every word, you know.” Jongho whispered as the gravity of his lyrics rushed over you. For as often as he was impish and playful, he was at other times, equally as genuine, vulnerable, and honest with you. It nearly broke your heart every time he shared that side of himself with you.

“Jongho…” You didn’t know what to say, “You mean so much to me, baby.”

“And you to me.” He answered, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

You waited with bated breath, thinking that this might be it, it might be time for him to finally pop the question, but instead, he simply carried on dancing with you.

You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes, throat constricting with your frustration.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Jongho looked at you, concern evident on his face.

“Nothing.” You lied. “Sorry. Today has been wonderful, I just feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Crazy?” He cocked his eyebrow at you.

“Yes, Jongho.” The tears fell genuinely now, “It’s probably stupid, I don’t even know if it’s where we’re at, I thought I did, but now I’m confused and I feel stupid for ever thinking it-”

“Thinking, what, baby?” Jongho pushed the hair off of your forehead.

“All week you’ve been doing little things that I keep misinterpreting as you being about to propose. It’s stupid. I’m probably just delusional.” You sobbed then, pulling away from him.

“Oh, no, sweetheart.” Jongho pulled you back to his chest, “I’m so sorry. I was just being a problem to mess with you. I never should have gone this far. You’re not crazy, though. I promise.” Jongho kissed your forehead before kneeling in front of you, reaching into his jacket pocket, “I’ve had this for about three months now. It’s just a weird tradition in my group to propose on Christmas so I wanted to make our anniversary different from theirs. I’m so sorry, darling. I want nothing more than to call you my wife. I’ve known I wanted to marry you since our first date. I’ve worked to be the man you deserve every day since then and I never plan on stopping, though I don’t see myself as ever reaching that goal, because you deserve better than I can ever give you. But I never want to stop in my pursuit. If you’re not too terribly mad at me, will you please consider? Marry me, my love.”

The tears streaming down your face took on a whole different meaning at his words, “I feel so silly.” You sobbed, “But yes. Yes, please, Jongho. I’d be so happy to.”

It took the loud clearing of a passer by’s throat to break the two of you out of your public makeout session, both of you agreeing that your activities should move back inside your apartment.

The way he took you apart so devotedly, so lovingly, bringing you wave after wave of pleasure on his mouth, his hands, and his gorgeous cock that night made you more sure than ever of your decision to marry him. He kept you on your toes and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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sillymommy6969 · 2 days ago

Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝕰YES ON THEM

Manon Bannerman x fem!reader

summary: a compilation of bannern/n moments eyekons have turned into a video, katseye’s two visuals as a power couple? who can keep their eyes off them?

warnings: none, just fluffy moments

HYBE PLEASE NEVER PR TRAIN MANON (KATZ CRACK)

*Loud technical difficulty transition* On Manon and Daniela’s Weverse livestream in their bedroom, Daniela was doing dance moves in the background of the video while Manon read the comments and chatted with fans in the front

Manon was the worst at PR training. The woman had lips looser than an unbuckled belt. She was much more tame when they were surrounded by crew members, but when it’s just her and her phone on Weverse, you can expect a lot of slips.

Especially when she’s paired alone with Daniela.

“‘Where are the others?’” Manon read aloud, looking back at Daniela, who was finally settling to sit behind her roommate. “What, you sick of us already?”

Daniela swatted her arm at the tone she used, as if a silent warning as to be careful what people could take out of context. She toyed with her hood, listing what the girls were occupied with. “Well, Sophia’s on a zoom call downstairs with her family. I think Yoonchae went to bed… Lara and Megan went out to get something at the convenience store and Y/N is probably online shopping or something in her room.”

“Yeah, she better be getting me my Christmas gift.”

“Didn’t she already give you like three ‘pre-game’ gifts?” Daniela turned to the camera, “Oh my God, Y/N does this thing where she gets Manon a million things for the week leading up to Christmas. She only does it for Manon and I always feel like choking her out ‘cuz she’s spoiling her rotten.”

Manon rolled her eyes, “They’re gonna know we’re—!”

Daniela widened her eyes, shooting Manon a knowing glare before the older pursed her lips together. The both of them went silent for a moment, scared to look at the influx of questions and comments they were getting for the sudden cutoff, curious to know what the end of Manon’s sentence was.

user01 WE WHAT MANON WE WHAT

user02 Manon almost exposed their relationship

user03 is this what getting edged feels like

user04 WE BEEN KNEW GIRL COME ON OUT

user05 Y/N knows how to spoil her girl

“Anyway,” Daniela said, ignoring the nosh comments. “Yeah, we have the weekend off, so everybody’s just chilling, y’know.”

Manon, with a cheeky smile on her face, tried retieing her hair in attempts to distract the fans from what she had just nearly revealed. But for the next couple minutes, despite Daniela’s efforts to pull everybody’s attention away from that topic, the audience always seemed to circle back to it.

“No, I have to say my favourite hoodie has to be the black Ferrari one.” Manon argued, staring at a suspicious Daniela. “It used to be the one you just said but it’s not anymore.”

“You’re just making stuff up, I swear. You still wear the other one so much more than the Ferrari one.” Daniela scoffed, “You wore the blue one like five times this week, like you literally wore it to dinner yesterday.”

user06 the blue hoodie Y/N just posted on insta in??

user07 They wear each other’s clothes I’m dead

user08 Dani have you seen Y/N’s new bracelet???

Daniela squinted to read the comment when she saw her name was mentioned, “‘Dani, have you seen Y/N’s new bracelet?’ No, I can’t say I have. What is it?”

“Oh, is it this one?” Manon flashed her wrist to the camera, where a couple cuffs and bracelets hung. Her other hand picked out a thin silver chain with a “K” strung at the end of it. “This is the one Megan got us for Katseye’s first birthday.”

She flaunted her hand, fingers waving around as she showed off her accessories.

user09 Y/N’s new necklace looks nice Manon!

user10 oh yeah that would look really good around her neck

Daniela skimmed the comments, suddenly bursting into a fit of high-pitched giggles. Manon, her arm still up, in the middle of her accessory tour, leant back. Surprised by the Latina’s sudden change in attitude, she glanced between the camera and her roommate as if she was an insane person.

“Oh my God, they’re saying your hands would make a really good necklace for Y/N.” Daniela explained, still laughing.

Manon’s eyes widened, heat immediately flushing to her cheeks. She thanked all the Gods her smooth skin tone hid any hint of fluster, or she would have been beer red at the comment. She placed a hand over her eyes, her lips quirking into a small smile as she groaned.

“That’s good, that’s a good one. I like that.” Daniela sighed.

Next door, you could hear the two of them screaming and squabbling on live. You opened a new tab, sick of scrolling through the same catalogues on different websites. You were feeling lazy, didn’t really feel like getting up to join the two nextdoor, so you pulled up Weverse, clicking onto Manon’s live. Right off the bat, you were met with the Ghanaian woman showing off her bracelets and such, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the comments that followed.

Sometimes, this was your favourite part about having fans.

When Daniela’s laugh on the live had synced with the one next door, you couldn’t help but also giggle at Manon’s reaction when she was told what eyekons thought of her tour.

It was enough of a motivator to go nextdoor; to tease her.

“—Anyway! Can we please talk about anything else.”

A knock sounded through the room, both their heads turned to the door, watching Y/N’s head pop through the doorway. Daniela pounced to her feet, jogging over to jump into the older’s arms as Y/N carried her back in front of the camera.

Manon rolled her eyes, her tongue sticking against her inner cheek as she stared at the two goofing around in the back.

user11 Oh someone’s jealous…

used12 if looks could kill they’d be dead by now

“Dani’s so light, I can probably squat heavier than you.” Y/N teased, her arms still wrapped around the Latina’s waist as Daniela clung onto her with her legs. “Anyways, you guys were being so loud, I wanted to see what was up.”

Y/N finally sets Daniela down, who found her spot behind Manon again.

Y/N slung an arm over Manon, poking her head between the roommates. “Heard you have a new necklace for me, Meret. You feeling like letting me try it out?”

user13 the way i’d just moan in response

user14 NOBODY TALK TO ME

user15 Manon I’ll take Y/N if you don’t want her

user16 SHE CALLS HER MERET???

The Ghanaian woman didn’t turn to greet the younger member, instead, with her lips pursed in envy, she deliberately made sure her efforts to ignore Y/N were evident.

Y/N smiled, biting her lip. “Manon, are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Manon huffed, her eyes still trained on the phone. “I’m just tryna talk to eyekons.”

Daniela hissed, making an “Oh, shit” expression and backing away so the other member could slide into where she sat. She eyed the phone from over Y/N’s shoulder, as if telling them she was unaware of what was about to unfold as well.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head at the eldest’s sulking.

She slid an arm under Manon’s legs, the other securely held over her back. Kneeling, Y/N sprung to her feet, lifting Manon from the ground. The Ghanaian woman let out a bloodcurdling shriek, hands clutching onto Y/N’s hoodie for dear life.

“Did you feel left out, Manon? I was just joking around.”

Daniela watched in terror at the younger member flung Manon around the room in her arms. She slid forward to mouth “help me” into the camera, scared Manon’s feet might hit her head by accident.

“Oh my God, you ass—you bully, put me down.”

*Loud technical difficulty transition* Cut to being interviewed as promotion for the release of Touch, Y/N seemed to be the interviewer’s main foci.

“—Yes, thank you. My next question is for Y/N, uh, so we heard you like a tall, dark and handsome type.” The interviewer read off his card, a mic held up to his lips. The question immediately raised some red flags for the group, Sophia and Manon—as the eldest and the leader—shared a knowing look. They were ready for whatever the man had to throw at them. “You’ve posted a couple of instagram photos and been seen out with a certain singer that’s been on Euphoria, is this a new potential partner, or what’s going on there?”

Y/N was slightly taken aback by how blunt the question came out. Usually management did a good job keeping questions about their personal lives out of interviews when they approve them for the video, but this one must’ve snuck past them.

The woman raised her mic, flashing the cameras her signature smile. The other members could only sit and admire how well her composure was, despite being asked such an intrusive query. She chuckled, eyeing Manon, who didn’t bother hiding what she was feeling. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she looked to be ready to pounce out of her chair whenever. Y/N gave her a subtle nod, as if telling her to stand down.

“Well, he and I met through mutual friends in the industry and we all get together to hang out on my day offs.” Y/N explained, “We’re just good buddies, nothing more.”

The interviewer chuckled, naive to the searing glares he was receiving from all the girls.

“Shame, a lot of people think you’d look like a power couple, the both of you being very talented singers and all,” he scanned his card, the only one laughing in the room full of dozens of people. “Is there anybody special in your life then? Or is this a chance for me to shoot my shot.”

Oh, six pairs of eyes glared daggers at him.

[ Love that they all stand up for their girl ]

None of them were smiling anymore, not even out of courtesy. Daniela and Lara in the front had their arms crossed, their legs spread as they sneered at the man. Megan and Yoonchae were the better ones at concealing just how aghast they were at the unprofessionalism, their expressions stoic, but the aura around them growing cold. Sophia sat upright, ready to jump in when the man stopped talking, but Manon—Manon was sitting beside Y/N, and it took one look at the woman’s uncomfortable expression for her to want to break the man’s neck.

“—Actually, we’re all really focused on our journey as Katseye right now, so we don’t really have time for other kinds of commitment just yet. Even then, we try and keep our personal and professional lives separated because a healthy work-life balance is very important.” Manon answered passively, her smile immediately fading when she finished talking.

But by the way the man gulped and stopped chuckling, it was obvious he finally noticed the elephant in the room.

“I understand how people are very intrigued by that aspect of our lives though, it can be hard to know where to draw the line sometimes.” Y/N added in a smoother tone, hoping to soften the blow of loathing this man was hit with. “But, respectfully, we love talking about and sharing our experience with making music more than we do discussing our lives.”

The interviewer nodded, “Of course. We can move on.”

Throughout the rest of the interview, Manon had a hand on the younger member’s thighs. Their fingers laced together as they answered the rest of the questions. Later, Y/N would tease the Ghanaian woman with edits people have made of the moment Manon stood up for her.

A screenshot of a very popular one of those edits would be the wallpaper for the girls’ group chat the next few weeks,

*Loud technical difficulty transition* In Y/N’s Weverse live with Megan for a dance session, the older between the two was obviously distracted by constant chimes coming from her phone. Fans get a nice surprise all on live.

Megan and Y/N swayed their hips to the beat, thrusting in and pulling away as the song played. The comments would flood with praises for their undeniably talented skills, and by the end of their choreography, they were both panting and sweating.

user01 omg omg omg omg my dinner menu

user02 The difference in outfits is taking me out

user03 BOOM SHAKALAKA YES GAWD

Y/N ran a hand through her hair, dapping Megan up before the two of them approached Megan’s phone. It was resting on a chair against the wall, so it would stream everything they did.

In a sports bra and baggy jeans, Y/N had her hair down. She was sporting thick glasses, ones fans pointed out Daniela liked wearing in the series of tiktok’s they filmed last month. Megan on the other hand, had a more Adam Sandler type fit going on. The two of them devoured their individual styles.

[ Oh my god, it’s all over the screen ]

“That’s the choreo Megan and I have done so far.”

Y/N’s phone buzzed. She reached into her pocket, pulling it out to see a text from Manon asking if she was in her room.

Megan’s infectious cackle interrupted before she could reply.

“Someone said we’re not pregnant but we always deliver,” she managed to read out in between gasping for air amidst her fit of amusement. “Oh my God, that’s so iconic.”

Opening her mouth to retaliate, another buzz sounds.

Y/N pulled her phone back out from her pocket, seeing another text from Manon, urging for an answer. She chuckled, shaking her head at the woman’s impatience.

Megan skimmed the comments, before turning back.

“Somebody said, ‘Only one thing could have Y/N smiling at her phone like that’.” The Chinese dancer read out, “Another person added, ‘Manon’s probably missing her boo thang’.”

Y/N shook her head, deciding keeping up appearances with their fans was more important than replying right away.

“It was just our manager, guys. A reminder for what we need to do tomorrow.” Y/N lied, “Anyway, if anybody was wondering, we are working really hard for MAMA. Especially Meggers here.” She grabbed the redhead, yanking her close to knock their heads together. “She’s carrying the dancing with Dani right now.”

peanutbutterlover02 Bad girl

peanutbutterlover02 Y/N’s ignoring my texts :(

peanutbutterlover02 Guysss stop hogging Y/N

Y/N and Megan both silenced at the sudden pop of a verified user commenting, but after reading the handle, both of them shared a moment of faux annoyance.

“Manon, get out of our comment section!” Megan yelled, “Go do something, man!”

The meme reference squeezed a laugh from Y/N, who shook her head. But, still, it’s Katseye. Of course she couldn’t resist joining in on the teasing herself. Her voice dropped low, “News flash, Dwayne’s forehead isn’t real. It’s a prosthetic.”

Both of them giggle at their own joke.

user04 Oop- Manon’s coming to collect fr

user05 can’t even defend them anymore

user06 so we were right Y/N was giggling cuz of manon

user07 BAD GIRL IS CRAZY

“Sorry, Meret, we’re just about to wrap this session up and I’ll text you back immediately after, okay?”

Manon could only suck it up, leaving a couple more disappointed comments on their livestream as Megan and Y/N show eyekons another part of choreography.

peanutbutterlover02 I’m so boreddddddd

peanutbutterlover02 I’m still waiting >:(

peanutbutterlover02 Guys I need my best friend back

[ BEST FRIEND—sure ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* A KATSEYE HOLIDAY STORY | KATSEYE; Secret Santa Portion

Y/N’s wrapping a gift set, a Fenty beauty make-up kit she specially assembled for Manon. She knew the woman had been complaining about her makeup supply running low, so what better chance than to get her what she needed?

“I know, I know, I went a little over budget,” Y/N chuckled, taping the edges of the wrapping paper together. “But Manon’s been really needing new stuff, and I wanted it.”

[ Ofc Y/N would go above and beyond for Manon ]

“Also, let me tell you guys a secret.” Y/N walked offscreen, coming back with a tiny box.

She motioned for the camera to zoom into the box, before popping it open. Inside, there was a gold necklace, a crown charm at the end of it. Y/N tucked it back into the box, holding a finger up to her lips.

“I got Manon an extra gift, but that’s for after work.”

[ That’s so cute I need me a Y/N ]

“Anyway, I’m glad I got Manon. I think either Daniela or Yoonchae might be my secret santa, ‘cuz I’m sure Megan got Lara and Lara got Sophia.” Y/N shrugged, standing in her cream coloured silky pj set. “Guess we’re about to find out.”

Sat around a table on a very festive set, Y/N was instructed to slot in between Megan and Manon.

One by one, the girls presented their gifts to their designated person. When Yoonchae presented Daniela her gift, a neatly wrapped book, it was the Latina’s turn to pull out her gift bag.

“And my secret santa is…” Drumrolls against the table followed, “Y/N!”

Cheers erupted amongst the girls as Daniela slid the bag across the table to Y/N.

“Hope you like it, babe.”

The wrapping paper was still being pulled off as Y/N let out a surprised gasp. Underneath the vibrant wrapping was a vinyl—Rumours, by Fleetwood Mac. Y/N’s eyes lit up instantly. It was one of their favorite albums, something she had been looking for on vinyl forever.

“No way…! Dani, how’d you find this?” Y/N exclaimed, holding it up to the group, her voice practically sparkling.

Dan smiled proudly, her hands still resting on her own wrapped gift. “Well, I know you’re all about that rock life,” she said with a wink, knowing how much this record meant to Y/N. “I had my ways. As long as you’re happy, it was worth it.”

As everyone cheered and clapped, Manon side-eyed the gift.

She had noticed the way Y/N's eyes practically glowed when Daniela handed her the vinyl. It wasn’t just about the gift itself—it was the way Y/N was so genuinely excited. She loved seeing her happy, but Manon herself would have been happier if she had been the reason for such a smile. The way Y/N laughed and praised Daniela, even going as to get out of her chair to tackle the Latina in a hug. The little things that made Manon feel... well, a little left out. She quickly shifted her attention to the other girls, pretending to focus on the conversation, but her mind lingered on the discomfort.

Y/N notices Manon's mood; she smirked.

“Okay, so, it’s my turn.” Y/N turned, grabbing her bag from the floor. The bag had been topped with a cute silver ribbon, the gift itself wrapped with the same paper as the others’ gifts. “And, there’s two people left who hasn’t gotten their secret santa gift yet, so, drumroll, please!”

The table once again rocked as they drummed their hands.

“I have… my favourite drama queen, Manon.”

The Ghanaian woman widened her eyes, hands taking in the present Y/N shimmied over to her. The younger slung her arm over Manon’s shoulders, rubbing it as she watched her open and unwrap the present. A loud yelp rung through the studio, startling the others before Manon fully unwrapped it.

Her face softened when she saw what was inside: a Fenty beauty set—lip glosses, a highlighter, and a few items she had been eyeing for weeks but hadn’t splurged on herself.

“Okay, now I know for a fact this is out of budget.” Lara crossed her arms, her eyebrow raised in question.

“Bro, can we do secret santa without Y/N next year?” Sophia chimed, earning a couple teasing agreements. “You’re making all of us look bad now, N/N.”

“Y/N...” Manon whispered, her heart fluttering. “You really did this for me? This was probably so expensive.”

Y/N waved a hand dismissively. “Best way to spend my money. The holidays are all about love, right? This is how I show you guys I love you.” She pulled Megan and Manon into her arms, squeezing them both as the others joined in for a big hug. “I got you all things you want, don’t worry.”

Manon’s smile returned, brighter than before. She leaned in to hug Y/N individually after, her voice quiet but sincere. “You didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did.”

Their hug lasted a little long, even their editing team seemed to tease them a bit with the excessive exaggeration of how long it was with a time ticking effect over the other girls’ reactions.

The rest of the group watched, their smiles growing as they witnessed the little moment between the two. It was clear, despite the playful teasing and occasional misunderstandings, that Y/N and Manon were closer than anyone could imagine.

Manon held the box up to her chest, beaming.

“Okay, so, Manon, you’re doing yours—!”

[ Y/N really loves spoiling her bandmates, especially Manon… ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* Cut to Lara and Yoonchae’s live. The two were sat on the floor of their hotel room, singing and joking around as Sophia occasionally shushed them to be a bit quieter.

“No, Yoonchae, if we were in the Hunger Games, the order we’d go from dying to surviving would be Manon, Sophia, Me, You, Megan, Dani and then Y/N. I feel like Dani’s like so wild and freaky she’d be able to survive better than you.” Lara argued, earning a loud whine of protest from Sophia across the room. “And Megan would be the type to like survive off the stupidest reason, like she’ll accidentally kill someone.”

Yoonchae pouted, “No, no! It’s you, Dani, me, then Y/N.”

“Yoonchae, I swear to God, I’m telling you.” Lara held a hand up, “It’s me, you, Megan, Dani and then Y/N.”

The youngest huffed, unwilling to argue.

user01 Lara any advice on how to flirt w a girl

Yoonchae pointed at the phone. Lara leant forward to read the comment she was pointing out, her lips curving into a smile immediately. “Oh, wow. That’s a question you should ask Y/N. Or Manon… Only ‘cuz the two of them are such flirty people.”

Lara looked offscreen, a guilty smile on her face as she glanced at Sophia for help.

[ Nice save Lara, definitely super slick ]

“Yes, Manon is very…” Yoonchae does a winky face into the camera, “And Y/N gets flirted with a lot when we go to dinner.”

Lara hummed, drawing attention away from what she almost exposed. “Yes. Y/N has a very fluid appearance, she gets a lot of guys and girls coming up to her in public.”

Sophia, voice faint, chimed, “Yeah, it’s a real problem.”

“So, I feel like that’s a good question to ask Y/N. She has the most aura, most unspoken rizz among all of us.”

user02 does manon get jealous when Y/N’s hit on?

[ Took me a while to find this comment! ]

Lara laughed aloud at a comment, momentarily confusing Yoonchae before the younger caught the statement as well. They shared a knowing look, and when their laughter died down, they just remained silent and moved on.

user03 Who’s the most jealous/possessive as a gf?

“Oh, I’ve been waiting for somebody to ask this.” Lara rubbed her hands together, “Yoonchae and I actually talked about this at some point. Okay, it goes, from least to most, Yoonchae, Y/N, Megan, Sophia, Me, Dani and then Manon.”

user04 match made in heaven

user05 They’re so jealous x comforting duo my heart

“Because Yoonchae, Y/N and Megan are much more relaxed and I feel like Sophia’s jealous, but she can hide it well. Me, Dani and Manon are definitely more fighters, because ain’t nobody coming near my bae if we dating.” Lara squared up to the camera, eyeing it up and down. “Manon is just lowkey a psycho, so she was at the top of the list.”

Yoonchae nodded, “I’m scared of Manon when she’s angry.”

“I’ve seen Manon mad over something, guys. It’s not pretty and I do not recommend.” Sophia yelled.

[ Since Y/N gets flirted with a lot and Sophia’s seen Manon angry… it’s so obvious ya’ll ]

#katseye x reader #katseye #manon bannerman x reader #manon bannerman #daniela avanzini #daniela avanzini x reader #lara raj #lara raj x reader #megan skiendiel #megan skiendiel x reader #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia laforteza #yoonchae

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shitpostingsapphic · 9 hours ago

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Violet, my beloved.

I think there's a high chance you're misinterpreting the core tenants of her character.

"Why didn't Vi play a bigger role in the fight for Zaun's independence?"

Because her goals are different from those like Ekko and Sevika, who were true leaders and caretakers of their city. Who lived and breathed for the wellbeing and betterment of Zaun.

Vi lived and breathed for the wellbeing of her FAMILY.

Any qualms she had in relation to Zaun's oppression were always tied to how they negatively affected the lives of her and her family. She may have made side comments to other characters about how their actions affect the citizens of Zaun. Like Caitlyn, when they first meet. Or Jayce, after the attack they make on Silco's manufacturing facility. But she makes the comment to Caitlyn because that's how she's seen the enforcers treat her in her own life. She makes the comment to Jayce because that's just the context of the conversation they're having. Vi gets wrapped up in the bigger politics because of her pursuit of Silco, which she would have never done if he weren't directly tied to her sister.

Selfish? If you think too hard about it, maybe. But it's an incredibly relatable motivation, and one that a lot of us would adhere to. We would do anything for our loved ones.

"Why does Vi become an enforcer? That seems contradictory to her character."

Why does Vi team up with an enforcer to begin with? Because Caitlyn becomes the conduit in which Vi can get back to her family. To the one person she loves more than anything. And Caitlyn is also the conduit in which Vi can seek out those who have harmed her family--Silco, and in relation, Sevika.

And along the way, she falls in love with Caitlyn, because of the quality of character that Cait shows to her.

So what is Vi to do when she's lost everything? Silco is dead, and Jinx is lost to her. What else would Vi do, but do anything to stay by Caitlyn's side?

"Everyone in my life has changed, promise me you won't change." She is BEGGING Caitlyn to stay, to be with her, to be the one thing she loves that doesn't fade away, and she's also afraid that she's abandoned her origins for nothing.

What else is Vi to do but crash out, lose herself to violence and drinking, when she truly has lost everyone?

When she asks Jinx in act 2 to stay in the commune and help them out, she asks because it's something they can do together. It's the way she can be with those she loves.

Vi just wants to be with those she loves. That's all she's ever wanted. It's what has stayed constant for her character throughout the entirety of the show.

Victims of oppressive systems don't always want to be the hero. Sometimes they just want to survive and be with the people they love.

I think if you gathered anything else from her character, or rather, you interpreted her motivations to be anything else, you got lost along the way with what story you were being told through Vi.

#arcane #vi arcane #vi my beloved #arcane league of legends #arcane discussion #arcane analysis #violyn #caitvi #caitlyn x vi #vi and jinx #jinx arcane

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motziedapul · 5 hours ago

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While I'm not privy to the entirety of the discourse, I'm seeing a lot of people act very smug about other people not knowing what the Odyssey is, which, as stated by the biggest Odyssey fan on social media right now (Wolfythewitch), is a very eurocentric view.

I'm sure there's a reason many liberal Twitter accounts are suddenly posting like their icons are White Greek statue heads and are very concerned that non Westerners don't all know a PILLAR OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION , but ultimately there's no reason most people in the non Western world would have read The Odyssey.

Not because I don't think it's a valuable story to read or know about, mind. But because it's specifically a basis for Western storytelling, and despite what Twitter may think, the West isn't the world.

I learned the Odyssey because I wanted to. Wolfy learned because they wanted to. Most of us Filipinos never learned it at school; for the same reason most Westerners never learned our important cultural texts.

Moreover, there are other stories that are just as valuable, or teach you the same lessons, across cultures.

I'm not saying this to belittle the cultural significance of the Odyssey. I just don't think people understand how this story isn't universal outside of a Western context, even if many of its themes are.

I do think people should at least be aware of it, as well as other classics, but I'm not gonna jump down people's throats for not knowing something I personally had to seek out by myself, that was never presented to me in all my years of being educated. I also think that you can be literate, well rounded, intelligent, and intellectually curious without ever once knowing who Odysseus is.

I also think there are quite a few Asian legends, epics and stories that people don't get angry you don't know about, even if they're about as significant, or more, to more people. I would prefer more Filipinos care about our own stories than I would ever wish them to know about or read The Odyssey, but that's just me.

Odyssey exceptionalism doesn't make sense to me. People should read more but I'll respect someone who's read 10,000 books and somehow never reading The Odyssey, than I will someone who thinks reading the Odyssey makes them better.

I’m living for The Odyssey discourse on Twitter right now because some people are like, “You’ve never heard of the odyssey” and other people are like, “some people don’t speak English and haven’t read your little American book.”

#the odyssey #literacy #Western society #Western exceptionalism

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incognitopolls · 1 day ago

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Whenever anon spends more than an hour in water or on a boat, their inner ear "calibrates" itself to the constant rocking motion of waves. When they're back on solid ground, they'll still feel that rocking/bobbing motion for a few hours, as though their inner ear still thinks they're on the water. They almost never get motion sick from anything (cars, planes, etc). On the other hand, one of their friends experiences motion sickness quite often, and does not experience the same inner ear "calibration," so anon wonders if it's related.

–

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

#polls #incognito polls #anonymous #tumblr polls #tumblr users #questions #polls about brains #submitted july 6 #polls about the body #senses #motion sickness #inner ear

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dr3amfyr-e · 3 days ago

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crybaby - j.v. ( w. 5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. again. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ childhood-friends-to-lovers. someone said idiots in love, and yes! modern au. everyone lives au. liberal usage of the em-dash. foul language. pushing the rhaenicent agenda. an incredible amount of yearning and pining. mention of reader's hair. mentions of anxiety. reader has a breakdown in semi-public. subplot where reader is sick. reader is so down bad its crazy. targ-tower cameo! aemond bitter af and for no reason. wrote a bit of dialogue that is so foul but i only realized it after i typed it and its not being taken out. luke is so little brother coded. i directly quote a serial romance novel thats so cringe. part one here. ⎯ ୧

can be read stand-alone, but theres a lot of context in part one !! thank u all for being patient :3

“It's called Applications of Ancient Politics in Modern Literature.”

Looking up from your twelve-page study guide, you meet Jace’s bright gaze where he sits at the foot of your bed, “That sounds… complicated.”

He shrugs, long fingers brushing up through his thick curls, “I need to take it, it's cross-listed for literature and political science so I’ll get credit for both. I think it’ll be interesting, plus if you take it too…” He leans a little closer, grinning in your face.

“Send it to me,” You reply, highlighting a section in the packet about climate change and its impact on migratory birds in pretty pink ink.

You promise to look it up, to get back to him later, but it's hollow and you know it. He's already given you that pretty smile, flashed his dimples and stared down at you with his dark eyes — your grave has been dug. You will take Applications of Ancient Politics in Modern Literature and read pages of boring political theory because Jace asked and Jace has you wrapped around his finger.

He shifts on the mattress, lying down on his front and scooting decidedly closer to you. His laptop is open in front of him, eyes trained on the screen through his glasses, perusing the course catalogue for the spring semester.

“Isn’t it a bit late to pick classes?” You ask, stretching your legs out in front of you, “It's December, next semester is in, like, four weeks.”

Jace is a perfectionist, a pre-planning freak who has three calendars: a planner that he carries everywhere, a big desk calendar at his apartment for easy access while studying, and his digital calendar. Its colour coded — he has a browser extension that allows him to make events on his Google Calendar any colour. So, it's very unlike Jace, who does his schoolwork the night it's assigned, to pick classes two months after registration opened.

“I just like to look,” He replies, “This class is Wednesday and Friday, from ten to eleven o’clock. Does that work for you?”

You nod, because it will work. You’ll rearrange your schedule if need be. It's pathetic, really, how easily he gets you to do things.

It's quiet for a while, Jace scrolling on his computer while you fill in your study packet.

“When is your last final?” He asks.

“Next Friday.”

“So you’re leaving Friday?”

“No, my train ticket is for Saturday.”

“Damn, I’m leaving Tuesday,” A lull, “When do you come back.”

“The Sunday before classes start. You?”

“That Friday.”

The conversation continues like that, mindless and short but so very comfortable. It's often like that anymore, with little eye contact and no real attention paid to each other besides the brief words — and, not in the way that feels awkward or tense, but in the way that old married couples chat over morning coffee and the paper. Maybe it's the lifetime of friendship that does it, or that you spend more nights in his apartment than your dorm.

You see each other twice more before the holiday.

The Monday that exams start you meet at the coffee shop that became yours in the first two weeks of school. The middle table by the bay window is where you always sit, and the barista has Jace’s order memorised — because he gets the same drink every time you come, a caramel macchiato.

He groans into his hands, ignoring both his coffee and his half of the cheese danish that you’d split, “I feel like I did poorly.”

He’d suffered through days upon days of studying for the political science exam that had plagued him all semester, to be taken today at noon. It was a three-hour exam, mostly multiple choice with two essay questions. You’d been with him through the worst of the studying: in total, forty-seven pages of research papers and scholarly articles printed at the library, and six books varying from fifty to five-hundred pages. He had filled up a plethora of pages in his notebook, and at least three in a word document. There was no study guide, just a list of broad topics. He was facing the consequences of taking a 300-level class in his first semester.

“Jace, darling,” You reply, reaching out to press a reassuring hand to his arm, “You studied for that test more than I think anyone in the history of this school has studied for anything ever. If you didn’t do well, that's a reflection of the professor, not you.”

He doesn’t seem to want much to do with that rationale, sliding his hands down to rest his chin in them. He's pouting, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks at you through his lashes, “What if I failed?”

“Then… I don’t know,” You reach up to pull one of his hands down to the table, twining your fingers, “Then you failed, and that sucks. But you’re sporting a solid one-hundred in the class now, you could get a fifty on that exam and still end with…” Quick mental math. If the exam is weighted at twenty percent, then, “- a ninety percent.”

“An A-minus,” He whines.

“Jace,” You chastise sweetly.

He huffs, his pouty stare turning into a glare with no heat behind it. He wants to whine and mope about exams. What harm does it truly do?

You push his half of the danish towards him, “It's over now. You studied hard, you did your best. There's nothing you can do right now to change your grade. You can’t control it, so there is no point in trying to.”

Jace likes control, he likes to be in control. A psychological idiosyncrasy plaguing many eldest children and children of divorce. The quintessential therapist's advice about what you can control and what you can’t control had been revolutionary for him during one of his bi-weekly appointments — the whole family had them, Rhaenyra and Alicent were big proponents.

Regurgitating that to him, no matter how much it makes you feel like you’re giving unsolicited advice, always works wonders to ground him when he's disproportionately anxious over something out of his control.

He deposits you at your dorm with a kiss on the cheek that evening.

On the Friday you leave school, Jace drives you to the train station. He packs your bags into the backseat of his hoity-toity hybrid Porsche Panamera and lets you play with his radio all the way there.

You’re an hour early to the station — Jace is early everywhere. He sets his paper copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings on his lap in the little lobby, slipping his finger into the book where it is dogeared. Yet, he makes no effort to read, his attention solely on you.

“A month is ages to be apart,” He says, voice soft and thoughtful.

You scoot a little closer, elbows knocking, “It won’t be so bad. We can talk.”

His watch glimmers in the overhead light of the train station when one of his hands settles safely on your knee. Small white face, silver hands and framing, thin black band — it's Gucci, something his mother wore in the nineties. His fingers trace the edge of your skirt, and in the silence begin to smooth down your kneecap to your shin.

“You must be cold,” He murmurs, thumbing the material of your nylons.

“I’m alright.”

Your train is called before he can shed his coat and drape it over your lap, as he so desperately wishes to do.

He hugs you, tightly, before you board. He's so warm, his black jumper is soft against your cheek, and you can smell his cologne where your nose lands in the crook of his neck — patchouli and something earthy and fresh, Brutus Oroto Parisi.

“God, I’ll miss you.”

One morning, a week into the holiday, a letter shows up. It’s written in the black pen he’s so fond of, and you admire his neat penmanship as you read the detailed account of his holiday celebration. You smell the expensive cologne he wears and recognize Helaena’s handmade stationery. He gives you a sheepish smile over a FaceTime call when you bring it up.

When you see him on campus again in January, not much has changed. You're both in your respective majors, he lives in the nicest building on campus, and he hates your roommate. She’s taken to referring to him as your boyfriend; you correct her the first two times and then give up.

Classes are harder with the emotional slump attached to winter. You talk to Jace often, but don’t see much of each other outside of class. And then you get sick.

Banging. Loud banging. It wakes you up from your fever-and-Doxylamine induced sleep. Per college dorms, your first assumption is that it's your loud-ass fucking neighbor! Again! Having bunk-bed-breaking sex like she does every Thursday night with her ugly ass boyfriend who radiates such a strong odor of weed and computer science that you can get a noseful of him a meter down the hall. Doxylamine tends to make people agitated.

Before you can weakly pound on the cinderblock wall, there's a muffled call of your name. It comes from the hallway, and it's followed by another bang — which you begin to realize is knocking.

Crawling out of bed, you blearily pad to the door. You don’t have to peer through the peephole to see who it is. The voice is soft, low, and endearingly posh. Clearly, it’s-

“Jace?” You grumble when you open the door, mind foggy from the cold medicine.

It's early January in London, and the beige cashmere jumper he wears isn’t warm enough — it's a woman’s cut, but it fits him like Loro Piana himself measured the fabric to Jace’s body. The cold weather is visible in the flush of his face, the snowflakes that linger in his hair.

“I’ve been calling you for hours, darling,” He speaks gently, voice heavy with concern.

You blink at him, not responding with anything more than a little, oh.

His hand finds your upper arm, leaning closer to hone your attention, “You look awful,” He guides the both of you back into your dorm room, “Are you unwell?”

You nod, “My roommate brought it back from holiday break.”

Jace huffs sharply, mumbling something to himself, no doubt about your roommate. He walks you back towards your bed, gently pushing you to sit.

“Have you been to the clinic?” He asks, one hand coming to cup your cheek.

“Twice.”

His hand slides up, finers gracing your temple to push some stray hair behind your ear, and then landing upon your brow bone, “You’re burning up.”

It's quiet for a few moments, hands retracing back down to cradle your face as he inspects you. He's focused, calculating and planning in his head — it's an energy you’ve seen him embody countless times, assessing the scraped knees, bruised foreheads, and aching tummies of his younger siblings.

“What time is it?” You ask, after watching him bustle about your room for about thirty minutes. He's such a mother hen: making tea, procuring medication you didn’t know you had, wetting flannels, adjusting your blankets.

“Ten,” He replies, settling into your twin-size bed next to you and pressing a mug of piping hot tea into your waiting hands, “It's peppermint. I wish you kept chamomile, or really anything herbal.”

You disregard his latter comment, resting your head on his shoulder. Soft. As an eighteen-hundred pound jumper should be, “You came here in the dead of night? In the snow?”

He slides his legs under the blankets, sinking down into your pile of pillows and stuffed animals and pulling you closer, “I took the bus part of the way. Plus-” His hand drags across your shoulders, “I needed to see you. You missed class today, and I haven’t heard from you since Monday. I had nearly driven myself to the brink of madness with worry.”

You groan, turning your head to bump your forehead into the jut of his shoulder, “I hadn’t thought about class,” Bump, bump, bump goes your head, “Did I miss anything important?”

He hums, looking down at you, “We had to turn in a paragraph detailing our preliminary ideas for that big Arthashastra comparison essay. Doctor Dunlavey loved your connections to the political system in The Silmarillion.”

What? You lift your head to look up at him, “I didn’t do the assignment.” You had been too sick to think about school-work.

“Well,” He shrugs, lightly enough that it doesn’t disturb you, “Who's to say? He doesn’t have your handwriting memorized, he has hundreds of students.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, “Thank you, Jace.”

He sleeps in your bed that night, insisting that you’re sick enough that someone needs to keep an eye on you. Dressed in a loose pair of your pajamas, he curls around you in the tiny bed. His body spills warmth through both of your sleepwear, and maybe it's the fever or the cold cinderblock of your dorm but there is no physical proximity that quantifies as close enough to him.

He's gone by the time you wake up, late into the morning. Naught of him but a text.

i had to go to class and i didn’t want to wake you up, sorry

be back later x

And true to his word, he arrives that evening with a travel mug of lavender chamomile tea and the cough medicine he makes Luke take when he’s sick. It’s so bad that you nearly choke at the taste, but he leaves the bottle and you’re better by the end of the week.

You’re both more diligent in seeing each other going forwards.

Your phone rings one day in mid-February — a silly picture of Jace in a bright red hat, one of Helaena’s, pops up on your screen, followed by the affectionate nickname he’s saved as in your phone.

You even get a chance to say hello, his voice immediately bursting through the speaker, “Do you have plans for the third weekend of February?”

You think through your mental calendar, “I don’t believe so, nothing that takes priority over you at least. Why do you ask?”

You can hear him fiddling with something on the other line, the clicking of a pen echoing from his bedroom to your ear. Every year his family hosts a gala, raising an ungodly amount of money for their charitable cause by selling high-priced tickets. And everyone comes, because the Targaryens are the royalty of the one percent.

“Come?” He asks, “Please, I think you’ll enjoy it. Plus, it’ll be like a little holiday for us.”

And again — you’re wrapped so tightly around Jace’s finger that you don’t even think before saying yes. You don’t think through many things regarding this, which lands you in a guest bedroom in Rhaenyra and Alicent’s massive London estate.

In truth, it's not a guest bedroom, but rather Daeron’s old room. It is decorated with posters of classical musicians and string instrument charts; vinyls line his bookshelf, alphabetized and all orchestral. Daeron stays with Alicent’s brother in Paris during the academic year, attending a private secondary school with a music-based curriculum. He had been practically a prodigy at the violin.

The room is sandwiched between Luke and Aemond, directly across the hall from Jace. There are a number of guest rooms in the house, but they’re all the next floor up and Jace had insisted that you stay across the hall from him. It does feel a bit odd to change into your pretty black dress while staring down a battalion of Daeron’s music awards and a very large framed photo of Otto Hightower.

“I don’t mean to be judgemental, but who keeps a photo like this of their grandfather in their bedroom?” You ask, adjusting the straps of the dress, “I would understand if he was dead, but Otto is… not.”

Jace laughs from where he lounges on the bed, scrolling through something on his phone. After nearly two decades of friendship, there's little that hasn’t been seen and very lax boundaries. He had watched you change innumerable times before, but today his eyes are decidedly diverted onto his phone.

“Good?” You ask, turning from the mirror, and giving him a spin.

Jace stares, uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes are trained on you, scanning the dress, mouth closed and brows drawn so slightly you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him so well. He's a bit rigid where he’s propped up on the bed, clearly contemplating.

After an unnerving amount of time, really only five seconds, he speaks, “You look nice.”

It's… odd. Measured and closed off, a complex thought that you don’t have the context from his internal monologue to understand. Did he not like it? Or was he stunned into silence by your sheer, Goddess-like beauty?

“We match,” You offer meekly, gesturing between your dress and his black suit jacket and slacks. A lame comparison. Nearly everyone at these events wore black.

But he smiles nonetheless, a genuine smile that shows off his pretty dimples, “We do.”

Jacaerys drives to the event, and you’re squished in the too-small backseat of his car, between Lucerys and Aemond. Aegon is in the passenger seat, talking incessantly, and Jace wishes he would shut up so he can think about the silky material of your dress in peace.

It's a precarious set-up, truly. Jace drives a four-door, but it isn’t meant for six adolescents in formal attire. Aemond is stiff as a rod next to you, pointedly staring out the window and only interacting to bite back at anything Aegon says. Occasionally his bony elbow will bump your side or his knee will knock into yours, and he’ll pull away as if you’re red hot, shooting you a glanced glare.

The radio is its own battle. Upon entering the car it had connected automatically to Jace’s phone, playing a few seconds of the theory podcast he had been listening to and earning a collective groan. Luke was quick to sync his phone instead, the Ramones brash drums blaring from the speakers. Aegon changed it to chav rap. It ensued like that for the whole car ride — punk rock to rap, volume up and down and up and down.

The ballroom is glorious. All high domed ceilings and white crown moulding and gold leaf details. There’s a massive chandelier in the centre of the room that drips with perfect crystals. An astonishing world it was that Jacaerys grew up in. Overwhelming

“Are you alright?” Jace murmurs, hooking his arm into yours as your shoes click against the marble floor. He can sense your unease, feel it in the way your forearm tenses at any particularly fast movement or loud aristocratic laugh.

“Fine,” You assure, shooting him a smile.

Of course, Jace doesn’t buy it. Your pretty smile doesn’t reach your eyes, it's tighter than normal. He knows things like that — he’ll never admit it, but every one of your microexpressions are programmed into his brain.

Arm-in-arm the pair of you reach a semi-circle near the bar. Rhaenyra, Corlys, Luke, and Helaena. The boring financial drivel meets your ears from several paces away, and it's mind-numbing up close.

‘I don’t think you can quantify the inherent need for biodegradable fuel in those metrics.’

‘Well, I would argue that you can. In such a high output industry you have to calculate the necessity for every pence.’

You nod along, putting up a convincing facade of business intellect while Jace adds in expertly to the dull conversation. Helaena, to Rhaenyra’s left, is about as interested as you.

It's only when Otto breaks into the group, and the conversation shifts from the most cost effective biofuel to is shipping on a mass scale a pertinent trade in post-Brexit England that you’re pulled away. Though not by Jace, who has become more engrossed in the conversation than he is in you, but by Luke.

“You seemed to be drowning,” He smiles up at you, offering his arm.

You take it gladly, “Thank you for saving me.”

“Don’t worry, I was drowning too.”

Activity on the balcony is scant; one lady sits in a metal chair sipping a glass of champagne, an elderly man stands at the far end of the railing peering at the London cityscape down below. Luke leans his elbows against the rail, propping his head up in one hand.

“How's college?” He asks, looking up at you.

You hum, leaning down to mimic his posture, “Oh, it's fine. It's a lot of work,” There's a lull in the conversation as the two of you bask in the lack of hustle and bustle, “Have you started thinking about college yet?”

He shrugs noncommittal, picking at the nails of his free hand. He's very quiet for a while, and you allow him that because every life decision feels massive and dire at fifteen. When he does speak, his voice is soft, “Grandfather said that he wanted me to inherit his business after my dad, but now mum is talking about me being her successor.”

“You’d be good at it.”

“Jace doesn’t want to inherit.”

“I know.”

“He wants to be a lawyer, like Alicent. And I don’t blame him, but that puts a lot of pressure on me. Because now it's like I have mum and grandpa expecting me to be great, and I stand in their conversations and I don’t understand half of what they’re saying-”

“Luke,” You softly interject in his rushed rant, running a careful hand down his arm, “No one expects you to be perfect. You’re still a child, you’ve not even taken your A-Levels yet.

He nods solemnly.

“I know that it feels like the weight of your family legacy rests on your shoulders, but if you also defer inheritance it will be just fine. You have, what — like, ten siblings?” He gives a little laugh at your reasoning, “Plus, Laena and Baela, and Rhaena who could take over after your father.”

Luke nods, “I suppose you’re right,” He elbows you gently in the ribs, “You’re pretty wise, you know?”

It's your turn to laugh, nudging him back, “So, what do you want to do after school?”

He traces mindless little stars into the railing, “I’d really like to study music. Some of my friends and I have been playing together, and we’re talking about starting a band.”

“That's really cool, Luke!” You beam.

He smiles sheepishly, “I mean, it's nothing grand yet. We haven’t decided a name, and we’re a bit at odds about a genre.”

“Well,” You smile, “When you lot play, let me know. I’ll be in the front row!”

The calm quiet is broken when the door to the balcony opens, “Luke, darling. Mummy needs you.”

You both turn to see Alicent peering out of the doorway, body still inside the ballroom. Her arm slips around your waist in an endearingly maternal way as the three of you make your way back towards Rhaenyra.

“How are you, lovely?” She asks, rubbing between your shoulder blades. Her pear and saffron perfume, Guidance Amouage, floods your olfactory senses.

“Well!” You reply, leaning into her warm touch, “This is all so wonderful. I’m very glad Jace invited me.”

She smiles back, “Me too.”

Being a guest of the host by extension, you’re required to stay for the duration. So, you watch people dissipate as your energy dwindles. By the end of the night, nearly eleven, your upright position relies heavily on the support of Jace’s arm around your waist as he chats with his grandmother, Rhaenys. Politics, environmentalism, blah blah, drivel, drivel. You might do more to participate if the five hours of nonstop interaction and three glasses of champagne weren’t pulling your body towards the ground, but you settle for little engaged nods.

The car is less crowded on the way back — much to everyone's chagrin, Aegon called an Uber halfway through the gala. You’re allowed the front seat, and spend most of the ride dozing off to the tune of The Velvet Underground & Nico, 1967.

You sleep in Jace’s bed that night, despite your own quarters being directly across the hall.

When Jacaerys realises he’s in love with you, you’re crying in the library stairwell.

“I’m fucked,” You sob into your hands, shoulders shaking with the force of your misery.

You had been studying together, preparing for the rest of your midterms when a notification came through your school email with an updated exam grade.

Sheer terror, cold unyielding panic that starts just below your throat and twists its way down your spine and back into your lower intestine. The grade was a forty-two, which brought your total grade down to a fifty-eight.

In the least melodramatic way possible you’d shut your laptop and told Jace you were going to the bathroom. But the bathroom was at the back of the room, and you had gone to the hallway — plus, he just knew better.

Gentle footsteps, you see his Sambas first and hear the crack of his knees as he sits next to you on the stair step.

“You’re not fucked,” He murmurs back, his voice low and soft. One arm comes around your stooped shoulders, the soft fabric of his cardigan brushing the back of your neck, “It's only midterms, angel. This is nothing that you can’t reverse.”

The first thought in your head is easy for perpetual straight-A student Jacaerys to say, the next thought is much more self-pitying. You don't voice either, head falling to your knees.

You aren’t allowed to stay like that for long, firm hands come to your arms and pull you up. From there, they run slowly up and down — from your scapula to your bicep, over and over. And his chest blooms with warmth when you respond well, calming down. He runs his thumb over the soft skin underneath your eyes — first the left eye, and then the right — brushing away tears.

Jace’s typical form of comfort plays on his lifelong role as eldest sibling; it's usually coddling, while he mothers you and tries to problem solve. This is not that. It's something deeper, more genuinely concerned. He isn’t trying to solve your ailment, he just wants to make you feel better.

“It's just a grade,” He soothes, “It's just an exam, a midterm. This makes up maybe ten percent of your overall grade, and I know that you do well on everything else,” His head is cocked, looking at you so sweetly, “I bet it only looks this bad because it's mid-semester, your score will go up in a few weeks.”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as the last stray tears fall.

“You’re alright,” He whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek, “Hm?”

Jace is alone that night, Montblanc pen held in perfect writing posture as he journals — an exercise recommended by his mother. The highlights include:

It was gutting. I just wanted to make it better & I didn’t know how.

Inappropriate time to kiss her face, I couldn’t think of anything else.

I’m usually so good at comfort and reassurance, I don’t know what's wrong with me.

Fuck, I’m hopeless.

Things feel different to me now. Not in a particularly bad sense, just different. Maybe it's the transition from childhood friendship to adult friendship.

I read that god awful serial romance novel last holiday because grandma left it sitting out – A Wallflower Christmas by Lisa Kelypas. And I remember this passage like ‘I want you under me. I know you deserve more respect than that.’

I found it, “I want you under me. On your back. / I’m sorry. You deserve more respect than that. But I can’t stop thinking of it. Your arms and legs around me. Your mouth, open for my kisses. I need too much of you. A lifetime of nights spent between your thighs wouldn't be enough. / I want to talk with you forever. I remember every word you’ve ever said to me. / If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place. I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you.”

I’ve been thinking of that passage, like it's playing aloud in my head. What does that mean?

I don’t particularly feel that for her.

I get some of it, like ‘I want to talk with you forever, I remember every word you say.’ Anything else though, the romantic bits, I don’t.

Though, the kissing her face was new. It was compulsive almost, like I had to do it.

Need to call mum.

“Is it fair to you?” Rhaenyra asks through the phone. It's late, past the time she puts the little kids to bed, but she's never not answered a phone call from one of her children.

Jace sighs, worrying one of the buttons on his cardigan, “What if it ruins everything?” He asks, “What if I tell her, and she never speaks to me again and then I lose my best friend?”

“But is that fair, Jace?” She reasons, “To go about a lifetime of friendship keeping this massive secret from her? It won’t go away, my love. It will fester and fester and eat at you for as long as you know her.”

He doesn’t have a good reply to that.

“Jacaerys, I spent twenty years pining after my best friend — so long that I had time to marry, have three children, and divorce. I spent years and years suffocating in regret, because I missed my chance to tell her and build a life. I got another chance, which is very rare, and it was no less scary that time. But, I knew that if I didn’t go for it then I would never have the opportunity to live the life I had spent my entire adolescence dreaming of,” Rhaenyra sighs, “My sweet boy, don’t let this slip away because you’re afraid.”

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, he thinks.

When you accompany him home for summer break, hand in hand, it's with a new depth to your relationship. ‘Tis better to have loved.

tags<3 @one-big-fangirl

check out my event ! ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

#𖦹｡⋆ jace #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #prince jacaerys #listened to soooooo much lana del rey writing this

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lunarasphodel · 1 year ago

Text

Since I finally finished my sketchbook here’s some highlights :)

I blame the Crow for my new podcast blorbos…

(The last one is under the cut bc it looks AWESOME but it has a significant amount of blood/gore and self harm imagery)

#YAYYY SKETCHES!!!#I am in fact gonna tag the fandoms lmao #Pyxis DND #hello from the Hallowoods fanart #Malevolent fanart #lil bit of hyacinth disaster #adding the #vent #tag just for that last one. in case #??#I think it looks good and it came to me in a vision right before I fell asleep #there is context. you do not get the context #thank you to mx Corvus specifically for all of my new podcast blorbos #ah there’s also some #fionna and cake fanart #remy rambles #remy doodles #my art

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heavenorhella2001 · 2 days ago

Photo

This had never occurred to me way back when when I first watched playthroughs of the game/played it myself, but;

Seeing this post made me remember Max's nightmare, when she was trapped in her own mind/a broken version of reality.

And seeing this now?

Max definitely has PTSD.

Everyone always primarily discusses/ focuses on Chloe's trauma (which is understandable. I'll always be a Chloe defender and don't want to downplay her trauma by any means.)

But, unfortunately, Max's is overlooked.

Now, a lot of people might view this skeptically, question the idea of Max having PTSD. To many, it might seem like Max doesn't really have any lasting form of major trauma after the events of the game. Maybe she really was content and at peace and happy-go-lucky. (I've always scoffed at that scene at Chloe's funeral, when Max smiles at the butterfly.) And I'll admit, within the context of the story maybe we aren't supposed to think so. But if that's the case I just have to assume that's due to the developing team's lack of knowledge, experience with mental health and how it works, the impact things like this have on someone. Not that they are coming from a malicious place, of course. But very rarely does a person 'get it' unless they've been through it themselves. The average person simply won't understand.

But if you see everything I've described here as it's laid out, it makes total sense;

Let's talk about Jefferson. He is just one of many elements in the game contributing to Max's trauma. He was her teacher, someone she looked up to, respected, and was supposed to be able to trust. She truly felt safe around him. It's implied she had a crush on him. But her image of him completely shattered. After the truth about him was revealed, she was no longer able to trust her own judgement of people, her perception of reality.

He drugged her when she was vulnerable, and she was helpless to watch as he shot and killed the love of her life right in front of her. He kidnapped her, and she was thrown from the frying pan right into the fire. When she woke up she was tied up in a basement, helpless, and he had burned all her photos. Not only precious memories, but also one of her only means of going back and fixing things. He then took photos of her, over and over, this went on for who knows how long, while she was drugged, tied up and helpless, in order to satisfy his own perversions. Throughout, he mocked and tormented her.

Then, let's go into what happened with Chloe. Having to watch her best friend, the girl she loved, die over and over and over again. Max felt responsible for fixing it, preventing it, because she was the only one who possibly could. She would blame herself, think of it as a failure on her part each time Chloe died.

After watching her die in various ways, so many times, I'm sure Max questioned if she really even could save Chloe- or if Chloe was supposed to die from the start, and the universe was determined to restore the balance, no matter what Max did or how hard she tried.

And then there's Kate. This could go one of two ways depending on your choices, one of which is infinitely worse and more traumatizing, but either way it would definitely have haunted Max and left an impact on her.

Imagine how you would feel, knowing one of your closest friends was being bullied. Knowing they have been drunk/drugged and taken advantage of at a party. Yet instead of anyone coming forward, doing the right thing and helping Kate out of that situation, everyone at the party instead weaponized it, used it against her, slut-shamed her even though she wasn't in her right mind, was barely even conscious and was in no way able to consent to anything that was happening. Not that slut-shaming her would have in any way been okay or excusable even if Kate was acting of her own volition. Knowing that, even though you don't agree/don't identify with that, that your friend is deeply religious and clings to faith as a means of comfort. Knowing that she feels like a failure, that she feels like she's betrayed her faith, everything she stands for, and her family, even though she was in fact a victim in her situation. Being able to read letters, watching her family victim-blame her, hide behind their beliefs as a means to tear down someone they should feel obligated to protect, to support. Watching your friend be alienated by everyone around her, including her own family. Watching the school bullies write obscenities about your friend on the walls, and in the bathroom, make jabs at her and taunt her at every possible opportunity. Your friend's light has begun to dim, she starts pulling away from you, begins hiding away in her room more, which now feels like a dark, oppresive void. You know your friend is depressed, and you're trying to be supportive in any way you can, but there's a distance building between you you feel you can't bridge.

Then it happens. She kills herself/tries to kill herself. In front of you, and everyone who tormented her. Even then, the people who hurt her have no shame, laughing and recording her when she's in crisis. You begin to question and blame yourself, blaming youself for not noticing something was severely wrong earlier, not recognizing the impending signs for what they were. You want to help your friend, to save her, but your powers at failing you at the worst possible time. You only get one chance to do this, like everyone else, and you have to do it the right way.

If Max managed to talk Kate down, that's still an instense emotional weight, still a serious event to work through and process.

If Kate jumps…well…

Max feels like a failure. Like she contributed to Kate's death just as much as everyone else. Like she may as well have pushed Kate off that ledge herself. Not only watching your friend die in front of you, but knowing that it was self-inflicted in a moment of desperation, that they chose to do so and your words had no effect…

Now, the end of the game. Depending on what you choose, Max either has to to feel an immeasurable weight on her conscience, the responsibility for the destruction of the town where she was born. Where she grew up. Where she has countless memories, despite its' faults. The deaths of almost everyone there she's ever known.

Including (especially) Joyce.

The guilt of feeling like she took Chloe's mom away from her too, after Chloe had already lost her dad.

Oh. And that reminds me.

It was an incredible miracle, Max discovering her ability to go back through time via photos. Being able to go back 5 years, to when she and Chloe were only 13, before all the horror had happened, and save William. The sense of sheer relief, happiness and accomplishment she felt. She felt like a hero.

Only for it to all blow up in her face in the worst possible way.

Seeing Chloe, now a total shell of her former self. Completely disabled, and paralyzed. Helpless. Unable to live on her own. Seeing firsthand the emotional and financial stress William and Joyce are going through as a result of the accident. Chloe having so little quality of life that she pleads with Max to kill her, because she can't even do it herself.

(This is not my narrative or opinion on Chloe's situation, by the way. This is how it's portrayed. Quality of life, determining whether your life is worth living to due a life-changing accident or consequent disability is the choice of the invidual whom it effects. I'm not saying that anyone in Chloe's situation, who is paralyzed would inherently have no quality of life or no reason to live. That really depends on the invidiual, what that person needs in order to truly live and thrive, whether that person has family and friends and an emotional/practical support system in their life, etc. For Chloe, for me, and for many other people, though not all, living that kind of life would not be worth it.)

Max, depending on your choices, having to kill Chloe, to choose the merciful path, allow Chloe to exercise her autonomy in a world in which she can no longer do so and put her out of her misery. Knowing that she's doing for Chloe what she'd want someone to do for her if she were in that situation, yet still full of pain and regrets.

Max then having to go back and undo it all. Allow William to die again. Watch Chloe experience that horror and trauma again, knowing now she could've prevented it. But at what cost?

Lastly, if you chose to let Chloe go. To let her die.

That makes it immeasurably worse in my opinion.

The week she and Chloe spent together, reconnecting and rebulding their friendship, everything they went through together, would essentially never have happened.

Chloe, in this timeline, died alone in a bathroom. She never recieved any sort of closure, never got to know what happened to Rachel, questioning if Rachel perhaps just abandoned her, similarly to how Max did.

She never got to resolve things with Max, never heard from her again. She never got to know that Max still loved her, still cared about her and thought of her, but was too scared and guilty to reach out.

She never got to patch up things with her mom, or with David.

Everything Max went through. Everything she experienced.

To recap:

Having to watch her best friend, the woman she loves, die over and over again, feeling helpless, trapped in this endless, hellish cycle of death.

Being lulled into a false sense of security, betrayed and abducted by someone she thought she could trust, someone she looked up to.

Witnessing firsthand Kate's suicide/attempt, feeling like she failed her.

Being forced to let William die again, and force Joyce and Chloe to suffer that loss again.

Having to watch Joyce mourn her only daughter, after already losing her husband. Knowing she could've prevented it.

Everything that happened would still exist, but only in Max's mind.

She has no one she could ever confide in, talk to, or open up about it.

Chloe, for her, was that person.

No one would believe her, albeit understandably.

It's implied her powers vanish after she goes back that final time to let Chloe die.

She'd have no way to prove her story was true.

Carrying the weight of that burden, that knowledge and trauma, alone, would drive anyone insane.

Feeling like everything she went through, all the efforts she made to keep Chloe alive, were pointless.

I don't believe there is any way Max could be okay after that.

She'd be a hollow shell, just going through the motions. Totally disconnected from the world and the people around her. (Understandably. Who the hell could she connect to? Who would understand her?) Everyone at Blackwell, and their student lives and petty drama would feel so insignificant. So incredibly stupid and shallow to Max after what she's been through.

In fact, I've always felt - years after the events of the game, were you to choose to let Chloe die - that Max likely killed herself.

Over time, she probably began to question herself, to feel crazy, and begin wondering whether any of what happened, actually did, or if it was just something her mind created.

Max's trauma, her thoughts and emotions in regards to all of this are reflected in this part of the game, her mental breakdown. You can see her self-loathing, the way she blames and criticizes herself, in her interactions with herself and in her distorted journal entries.

Anyway. I never really liked Max all that much as a protagonist.

I thought she was a pushover, a little shallow, cared too much about what people like Victoria thought of her. I thought it was pretty unforgivable the way she ghosted Chloe, at the most traumatic, formative time of Chloe's life, when she had just lost the most important person in her life, besides Max. I understand anxiety, feeling awkward, helpless and flailing in that situation and not knowing what to say or do to make it better, but it just doesn't matter to me. Nothing excuses that.

However…

Max, did ultimately (well, depending on your choice at the ending,) make it right.

This has given me some perspective, and I have a lot more empathy for her now.

you thought you could control everybody and everything, huh? — twist time around your fingers?

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