#what if all the life had the same value as all the life that bleeds and empathizes and waits for you to come home each day

[daisies-on-a-cup]

When he lifted the toad out he felt its peculiar coolness; in his hands its body seemed dry and wrinkled — almost flabby — and as cold as if it had taken up residence in a grotto miles under the earth away from the sun. Now the toad squirmed; with its weak hind feet it tried to pry itself from his grip, wanting, instinctively, to go flopping off. A big one, he thought; full-grown and wise. Capable, in its own fashion, of surviving even that which we're not really managing to survive. I wonder where it finds the water for its eggs. So this is what Mercer sees, he thought as he painstakingly tied the cardboard box shut— tied it again and again. Life which we can no longer distinguish; life carefully buried up to its forehead in the carcass of a dead world. In every cinder of the universe Mercer probably perceives inconspicuous life. Now I know, he thought. And once having seen through Mercer's eyes I probably will never stop.

~ Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, by Phillip K. Dick

[miyamiwu]

Why Xiao Yueqing had to die

Apr. 28, 2025: This post has been heavily edited to address stuff brought up in the notes and to expound on the existing points.

Not to excuse Li Haoling’s crimes against women, but after calming down from the episode and sleeping over it, I can now properly think about why Xiao Yueqing had to die.

I mean, I’ve expected her to die since that episode 1 ending. Li Haoling may like misdirecting the audience, but one thing he never betrays us for is following up on cliffhangers. There was no way he’d show us a bleeding Xiao Yueqing in a vision and not have it show up again.

But aside from justifying the episode 1 cliffhanger (and to have her leave an impact on a male character, sigh), Xiao Yueqing’s death also signifies something else—that heroes are forever bound by the Trust system (and the Association that helps enforce it). And the only way to break free from it is to give up that trust completely and openly.

Yingxiong Budao (Firm Man) got to retire from his hero job by kneeling down in public, completely breaking the people’s trust in him to be always standing.

Lin Ling was able to resist his believers’ wish to not respond to God Eye’s trap by going down with the mission to reveal his identity, giving up the Nice persona and forfeiting his trust value.

But Xiao Yueqing? She got her “freedom” by deceiving the public. She betrayed their trust. Something a hero should never do.

Sure, her leaving her teleportation gun behind may have been symbolic of her giving up her hero identity, but it’s not enough. Because the gun still works. The power of trust is still at play.

She used the trust placed on her not for the people but for herself. And look, I get it, the trust were shackles on her, but it doesn’t change the fact that she abused the people’s beliefs for her own desires.

Maybe that’s why E-Soul had to kill her. Maybe E-Soul was sent by the Association to eliminate heroes who abuse trust value for their own wishes.

Like, imagine if after Xiao Yueqing got her freedom, she suddenly turned evil and used that freedom to commit crimes all over the world. The people’s trust value would become her weapon. We know she won’t do this, of course, but I doubt the Association is gonna conduct a personality test on her first to come to that same conclusion.

The Association has three ways to deal with “criminals” like Xiao Yueqing:

Have her openly admit her deception in public and make her lose her trust value

Erase her memories

Or just kill her

Edit: With Lin Ling as the new rising hero, there was no way they’d go for option one. A negative image on Xiao Yueqing would impact Lin Ling, the new cash cow. Remember, those fangirls started paying attention to Lin Ling because they believed he was the one who cried during Xiao Yueqing’s death and because they saw him willing to risk his life for her. If Xiao Yueqing turns out be alive, then they’d start questioning whether his tears and love are real. Lin Ling’s trust value would be shaken.

And to expound on #1, I also mean to say that the Association just won’t do it because it would cost more resources.

Imagine the work it would take: Prepare a press conference for one hero, then damage control for the hit Treeman, Lin Ling, and heroes in general would take. There’s already been two cases of heroes deceiving the public (Blankster and “Nice”), and the recent villain’s entire shtick was uncovering their lies. If the people’s beloved goddess was also such a liar, would the public still want to believe in heroes?

They had to kill Xiao Yueqing not just for Lin Ling, but for the dignity of heroes as a whole. The Association can’t allow the people to be skeptical about heroes because that would impact their powers. This point had also been foreshadowed with the words of Gu Lang (Wolf Girl): “So to protect the egos of these so-called heroes, you’re going to neglect a living, breathing person right in front of you?”

Moreover, I just want to properly respond to what @naisikill brought up in the tags:

#still a little questionable on XYQ admitting to being alive making fans not trust lin ling #since she was already shown to be alive by god eye since he had her captured #(which ended up being fake but no one knew that at the time)

In episode 4, it was the fans’ strong belief that Xiao Yueqing was dead and that God Eye was just using a fake that prevented Lin Ling from going down to save "her." The fans had seen Xiao Yueqing die in front of them, and they had no reason to believe in the villain God Eye who’s had a bad reputation for always trying to defame Nice. And so they wished for Nice to not respond to the threat because they believed it was just a trap. If it was later revealed that what they believed in so strongly turned out to be another lie, then Lin Ling, as Xiao Yueqing’s accomplice, would undoubtedly take a hit.

Moving on to number two, it also can’t be done because Blankster, the one who can erase memories, just conveniently lost his powers early on in the episode.

A writing choice was clearly made here. Li Haoling didn’t want to “absolve” Xiao Yueqing of her “crimes” by simply making her forget. That would be too easy for her, and in a way it might even count as a reward for her to become an ordinary person. A statement had to be made, and that statement is most impactful with a punishment through death—which is option 3.

Xiao Yueqing had already died in the eyes of the public. Killing her would be just fulfilling what the public believes of her, essentially undoing her deception to them.

In short, Xiao Yueqing’s death was to ensure that the trust system remains fair and absolute. She can’t have her cake and eat it too.

Although my mutual @psychopomp-namine argued in the tags that she wasn’t actually eating her cake because she wasn’t happy on the island, I think that’s less the system’s fault and more of Xiao Yueqing’s (and L0’s) naivety. They thought they could easily cheat the system, only to be hit with the painful lesson that nobody is escaping it. Nice even had to commit suicide. They should’ve known better.

The Trust System is fair and absolute. Its drawbacks are mainly brought about by agencies trying to capitalize on it through PR stunts and marketing gimmicks. Juan-jie packaged Nice as the perfect hero, and the public, not knowing any better, just believed in what they were fed, leading to disastrous effects on Nice.

The people want a perfect hero couple? Well then, let’s give them one so we can farm their trust value.

If heroes can just be honest, if they didn’t have to stick to a particular brand… then trust won’t feel like shackles as they did on Xiao Yueqing and Nice.

Lin Ling proved this in episode 4. He came as himself and even got beaten ugly, but the people learned to trust him anyway. They trusted the real him they saw that day, and with the power of trust, he was able to beat God Eye.

[imarson404]

the more I think about Light’s death the more sick I feel actually.

going specifically anime here because the whole ending makes me feel genuinely ill to watch

light is (obviously) a mass murderer, someone with very little regard for human suffering or the value of life outside of whether they follow the law or not (follow him or not). He has killed people in countless ways, accidents, disease, and most prolifically, his classic heart attack. But he always kills from afar. He is detached from the act. He writes their names and a cause and they die. Which makes it all the more brutal that he is killed twice, in practice. When Matsuda shoots him it is personal, it is emotive, it is right in front of him and he can’t deny that someone pulled the trigger with intent and he feels the searing pain a hundred times over. It’s not detached, it’s utterly human. And he hasn’t really experienced that before. He’s only 23, and he’s been doing this since he was 17. No doubt about it, he should die here. but he runs.

and the spirit and the flesh are separate, so Ryuk kills the other half. His Godly side, the part of him that saw himself above humanity, who killed with an instantaneous heart attack. And so he is killed with the same method. And that’s what gets him. Not the bullet wounds, but the same thing that he dished out, hundreds of thousands of times.

and he dies alone. Alone, halfway up the stairs, halfway between immortal and god. But he was killed both ways. And he is alone. Light Yagami, the man who relied on his charm above all else, who had trained detectives wrapped around his finger for years and women throwing themselves all over him died alone, halfway up the stairs and bleeding out. It maybe says something, then, that he saw L.

Something that he looks almost at peace with it, in the end.

[the-winter-spider]

Under Pressure | two

Bucky x reader Modern AU

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: Depression, Angst, mentions of su!cide

Part One

The days after Bucky left blurred together in a suffocating haze. Time had lost all meaning; the hours stretched endlessly, bleeding into each other until they were indistinguishable. Morning, afternoon, evening—it didn’t matter. You existed more than you lived, moving through the motions like a robot.

You told yourself you needed to get up, to move, to do something. So you tried. God, you tried. You Googled solutions like your life depended on it. “How to deal with depression alone,” “How to stop feeling numb,” “Ways to make life better.”

Meditation was the first thing you found, so you gave it a shot. You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, your back straight, your hands resting on your knees. The world around you was quiet—too quiet. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on your breathing, in and out, in and out, just like the video said. But every inhale felt shallow, every exhale jagged. The silence wasn’t calming. It only made the noise in your head louder: This is pointless. You’re pointless. Nothing will ever change.

Next came exercise. You dragged yourself into old workout clothes that felt too loose, the fabric hanging from your frame. You stood in the middle of your apartment, pacing back and forth, trying to summon the energy to do something—anything. You managed a few jumping jacks, then collapsed onto the couch, your chest heaving, not from exertion but from the weight pressing down on you. Your body felt heavy, leaden, like gravity had increased just for you.

You lay there staring at the ceiling, hot tears slipping down your temples and pooling in your ears. You wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but your voice felt stuck somewhere deep inside you.

The darkness, though—that was always there. It wasn’t loud or forceful. It was subtle, enticing, warm in its own terrible way. It wrapped around you like a blanket, whispering promises of relief. Promises of escape. You don’t have to do this. You can stop anytime you want.

You hated it. But at the same time, you couldn’t fight it. You couldn’t resist the way it pulled you under, like quicksand swallowing you whole.

While you fought your battle alone, Bucky fought his own war just outside your door.

He’d lingered there more than once, standing in the hallway of your building with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. The cold, sterile light of the hallway flickered above him, buzzing faintly. He told himself he shouldn’t be there. You’d made it clear that you wanted him to leave you alone. But he couldn’t stay away.

The weight of your words still clung to him, suffocating and relentless. He replayed that night over and over in his head: the way you’d yelled at him to go, the pain and anger in your voice, the way you’d looked so small as you stood there, refusing to let him in.

It broke him in ways he hadn’t expected. Because the last thing he ever wanted was to leave you feeling alone—or to actually leave you alone.

Once, he’d heard movement from inside: the scrape of a chair, the faint hum of a shower running. For a brief moment, relief flooded through him. He’d exhaled shakily, telling himself you were okay. But by the time he got back to his own apartment, doubt had crept in. What if you weren’t okay? What if the sound was just you existing, not living?

He couldn’t stop thinking about the people who were supposed to be there for you. Your parents. The ones who should have loved you unconditionally, who should have made you feel safe and valued. He hated them for failing you so profoundly. For being absent, for neglecting you, for leaving wounds so deep they may never fully heal.

He wanted to march up to them and scream. Tell them how deeply, endlessly wrong they were to let you believe you were anything less than extraordinary. To let you think, even for a moment, that you weren’t enough.

And then there was you. God, he wanted to tell you the same thing. He wanted to hold you, to wrap you in his arms and take all the sadness, all the pain, and carry it himself if it meant you could finally feel free. He wanted to tell you that you were everything. That the world was brighter, warmer, better just because you were in it.

But he didn’t. Because he’d promised to give you space. Because he was afraid that if he came back too soon, he’d only make things worse. And because part of him—an ugly, self-loathing part—felt like he’d already failed you the moment he walked out that door.

Still, staying away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to go back, to fix it, to make you see what he saw. But he lingered outside your door instead, waiting. Hoping.

Bucky clenched his fists, his chest tight as he leaned against the wall outside your apartment. He dared to care. He dared to love. But he wasn’t sure if it would ever be enough.

Cause love's such an old fashioned word

---

The sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the beachside restaurant. The waves lapped gently at the shore, the sound rhythmic and soothing against the soft murmur of conversation. String lights crisscrossed above the outdoor tables, their soft twinkle mirrored by the first stars peeking out of the darkening sky.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, a rare moment of unguarded laughter spilling from her lips as she sipped her drink. The cocktail glass glinted in the light, and her eyes crinkled at the corners—a look of pure, unfiltered joy. She had no idea what was coming, no idea that tonight was about to become one of the most important moments of her life.

Across the table, Steve shifted nervously in his seat, his hand brushing the small velvet box hidden in his pocket. His palms were damp, his throat dry, but when he glanced at Natasha, his nerves melted away. She looked so happy, so carefree, her face glowing in the warm light.

He cleared his throat, his chair scraping slightly against the wooden deck as he stood. The table fell silent, all eyes turning to him. “Natasha,” he began, his voice shaky but filled with determination, “you’ve been my rock since the day I met you. You’ve seen me at my best, my worst, and everything in between. And somehow, you’ve stayed by my side through it all.”

Natasha tilted her head, her brows furrowing in confusion, but a soft smile tugged at her lips as she watched him.

“I never thought I’d get so lucky,” Steve continued, his words steadying as his confidence grew. “Lucky enough to find someone as strong, as smart, as absolutely incredible as you. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”

As he spoke, his hand slipped into his pocket. When he pulled out the small velvet box and opened it, revealing a glittering diamond ring, Natasha’s hand flew to her mouth.

Gasps rippled through the small group seated at the table, and Natasha’s eyes widened, filling with tears as Steve sank to one knee in front of her.

“Natasha Romanoff,” he said, his smile soft and full of love, “will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Natasha’s lips trembled as she tried to speak, her hand still covering her mouth. Tears spilled over her cheeks, and she nodded vigorously, her voice breaking as she finally choked out, “Yes. Yes, of course!”

Cheers erupted from the table, applause filling the air as Steve slid the ring onto her finger and stood, pulling her into his arms. Natasha laughed through her tears, clinging to him like she never wanted to let go.

From behind the bushes near the edge of the patio, Bucky and Sam emerged, grinning like proud parents as they joined the group. They weren’t alone—several of Natasha’s coworkers had been waiting for the signal as well, and together they swarmed the table, their cheers and congratulations echoing under the string lights.

Bucky clapped Steve on the back, his grin wide as he said, “About time, Rogers. Thought you were gonna chicken out.”

Steve chuckled, his arm still firmly around Natasha. “Not a chance.”

Sam raised his glass. “To Steve and Nat—the only two people who could make the rest of us look like amateurs at this whole ‘love’ thing.”

The group laughed and raised their glasses, the sound of clinking glass filling the air.

But amidst the laughter and celebration, Natasha’s happiness faltered. Her eyes scanned the group, her smile fading slightly as she looked around. She was searching for someone. And she didn’t see them.

Her gaze landed on Bucky, and her expression shifted to one of quiet frustration. “She’s not here, is she?” she asked softly.

Bucky’s smile faded, and he shook his head, his shoulders sagging slightly. “No. I haven’t seen her.”

Natasha pressed her lips into a thin line, turning to Steve. “You told her, didn’t you? You texted her?”

Steve’s smile slipped into something more serious. “I texted her,” he said. “Left her a voicemail. Even went to her apartment.” He paused, his tone heavy. “But… nothing. She didn’t respond.”

Sam stepped closer, placing a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “Don’t dwell on it, Nat,” he said gently. “You know how she gets. She just needs time. She’ll be okay. She’s done this before.”

“I know she’s done this before,” Natasha snapped, her voice sharp but tinged with hurt. “I know. But friends are supposed to be happy with you. She should be here.” Her voice cracked, and she looked down at the ring on her finger, her tears threatening to fall again. “If it were her…” She swallowed hard. “If she were getting engaged, I’d drop everything. Just to be there for her.”

Steve stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. “Don’t hold it against her,” he murmured. “You don’t know what’s going on in her head. It’s not about you. It’s about whatever she’s fighting.”

Natasha let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Anyway,” she muttered, her voice clipped as she wiped her tears and forced a smile. “We’re celebrating, right?”

Steve kissed her temple, his smile soft but understanding. “That’s right. Let’s get another round,” he said, raising his glass.

The group cheered again, their voices loud and bright as they toasted the newly engaged couple. But even as Natasha laughed and smiled, her eyes lingered on the horizon, a shadow of worry flickering behind her joy.

Bucky stood nearby, his drink untouched. He caught Natasha’s glance and gave her a small, apologetic nod. He knew what she was feeling—because he felt it too.

As the party carried on around them, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

And love dares you to care for the people at the edge of the night

---

The high school was alive with energy. The halls buzzed with the usual pre-game excitement: students laughing and shouting, their faces painted with team colors, and jerseys swishing as they ran through the corridors. The air was electric, full of youthful adrenaline and anticipation.

But Bucky wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t swept up in the contagious thrill of game day.

He was pacing.

His boots scuffed against the linoleum as he moved back and forth, his jaw tight and his hands shaking slightly. His helmet dangled loosely in one hand, forgotten, while his other raked through his hair for the hundredth time.

“Man, relax,” Sam said, leaning casually against a locker with his arms crossed, his usual grin in place. “Maybe she’s just sick. People miss school all the time.”

Bucky froze mid-step, turning sharply to face Sam. “You don’t understand,” he snapped, his voice low but tense, like a wire about to snap.

Sam’s grin faltered, and he pushed off the locker, his posture straightening. “Then make me understand,” he said, his tone softer now.

Steve, standing nearby, frowned as he adjusted his jersey. “What’s going on, Buck? She’ll be back tomorrow, right?”

Bucky let out a shaky breath, running his hand down his face. His chest felt too tight, like it couldn’t expand fully, like every breath was a struggle. He glanced around the hall, making sure no one was paying attention, before lowering his voice.

“She’s not just sick, okay?” he said, his tone urgent. His eyes darted between Sam and Steve, desperate for them to get it. “She gets… sad. Not normal sad. It’s different. She told me…” His voice caught, his throat tightening. “She told me she has depression. Real, bad depression.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And sometimes it gets so bad…” He paused again, his voice cracking. “She told me she doesn’t wanna be alive anymore.”

The air around them seemed to still. Sam’s eyes widened, his easy going demeanor evaporating in an instant. “Oh, shit,” he muttered, the words barely audible. “She's only 17..”

Steve’s face darkened, his brows furrowing deeply as the weight of Bucky’s words sank in. “How bad, Buck?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted, his voice trembling now. “I haven’t heard from her since Tuesday. That’s three days. She always texts me back, always. Even if it’s just a stupid thumbs-up.” He shook his head, his movements restless. “Something’s wrong. I know it.”

Steve stepped forward, his hand landing firmly on Bucky’s shoulder. “Go,” he said simply.

“What?” Bucky asked, blinking at him in disbelief.

“Go to her,” Steve repeated, his tone steady and commanding. “We’ll cover for you. We can win one game without you. If anyone asks, I’ll say you had to run home for something. Just go. It’s Y/N.”

Bucky hesitated for only a second, his hand tightening around his helmet. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice cracking with uncertainty.

“Of course,” Steve said, his voice softening. “It’s her. Just go.”

Bucky didn’t need to be told again. He ripped off his gear, tossing it onto the bench as he turned and sprinted down the hallway. His heart pounded in his chest as he pushed through the school doors and into the cold evening air, the sounds of cheers and chants fading behind him.

By the time he reached your house, his lungs burned, and his legs ached from running, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even pause to catch his breath as he climbed the porch steps, his hand closing around the doorknob. It turned easily.

Unlocked. Of course.

The house was dark, silent except for the faint hum of the fridge. The emptiness pressed against him like a weight.

“Y/N?” he called, his voice echoing in the stillness.

No response.

“Y/N!” he shouted again, his voice cracking with panic as he moved through the house. He checked your bedroom first, his eyes scanning the unmade bed and the dimly lit corners. Nothing.

He flung open the bathroom door. Empty.

Then he felt it—a faint breeze brushing past him, carrying the smell of the night air. His stomach dropped as he turned toward your parents’ room, the door slightly ajar.

“Shit,” he whispered, his breath catching in his throat as he stepped forward, pushing the door open.

There you were.

Standing on the railing of the balcony, your arms outstretched slightly as the wind whipped around you. The sight hit him like a physical blow, his vision narrowing as fear gripped him.

“Sweet girl,” he said softly, his voice trembling as he stepped onto the balcony.

You didn’t turn around. You let out a sad laugh instead, the sound hollow and brittle. “You always call me the sweetest names, Bucky.”

He swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. “That’s because you’re my best girl,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And you deserve the best. You hear me?”

You tilted your head slightly, your gaze fixed on the horizon. “Why do I feel like this all the time?”

He took another cautious step forward, his hand hovering near your ankle, ready to grab you at the slightest movement. “I don’t know, angel,” he said gently, his voice filled with desperation. “But I’d do anything to help you. Anything. I just need you to get down, okay? Please.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him, your glassy eyes meeting his. “I just don’t wanna feel like this anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the wind.

A sudden gust of wind made you sway, and Bucky’s heart stopped.

“NO!” he shouted, surging forward and grabbing the back of your shirt. He yanked you toward him with all the strength he could muster, pulling you off the railing and onto the balcony floor.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice shaking as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. One hand pressed to the back of your head, the other gripping your shoulder as though letting go wasn’t an option.

You broke down, your sobs wracking your body as you clung to him. His lips pressed against the top of your head over and over, his voice soft and pleading. “Please don’t do that again,” he whispered, his own tears slipping down his cheeks. “Please. I can’t lose you. I never wanna know what it feels like to lose you. Promise me, sweet girl. Promise me you won’t.”

Your voice was muffled against his chest, but you managed to choke out, “Okay.”

“Promise me,” he repeated, pulling back just enough to look into your tear-streaked face.

“I promise,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He nodded, relief flooding his features as he pulled you close again, holding you like you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

Because to him, you were.

And for the rest of the night, he didn’t let go.

And love dares you to change our ways of caring about ourselves

----

The pounding on your door shattered the suffocating silence of your apartment. It echoed like a gunshot, jarring and relentless. Natasha’s voice followed immediately, sharp and furious, cutting through the air like a blade.

“Y/N, open the door!” she demanded, her tone full of anger and something else—hurt. “I know you’re in there. You’re always in there.”

You didn’t move. You stood frozen on the other side, your back pressed against the door, your breath shallow and uneven. Your eyes were glued to the blank, lifeless living room in front of you, the dim light casting long, eerie shadows across the walls.

“Don’t ignore me!” Natasha’s voice rose, her words pounding against your chest like the fists she was slamming against the door. “You don’t get to just hide! Not this time!”

Your fingers clutched the edge of your hoodie, trembling as tears pricked at your eyes. Her words were like bullets, each one hitting harder than the last, shattering the fragile shell you’d built around yourself.

“I can’t believe you,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “I thought we were best friends. I thought we were sisters. I thought I mattered to you.” Her voice wavered, trembling with emotion. “But no—you couldn’t even bother to show up. Not for me. Not for Steve. Not for any of us. Do you even care? Do you even care about anyone but yourself?”

The accusation tore through you like a blade. Your knees buckled slightly, but you didn’t fall. You stayed rooted in place, staring blankly ahead as hot tears began to fall, carving silent trails down your cheeks.

“Friends are supposed to be there for each other!” Natasha continued, her voice raw and desperate. “I would have dropped everything for you. I have dropped everything for you. But when it’s my turn, when I’m happy, you—” She broke off, her breath hitching.

You pressed your forehead against the cold wood of the door, biting your lip so hard it nearly bled. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that you did care, that you cared so much it hurt. But the words wouldn’t come. They were stuck, tangled in the knot in your throat, suffocated by the weight of your guilt.

“Do you even know what that feels like, Y/N?” Natasha’s voice cracked, thick with tears. “To have someone you love not care enough to show up?”

Her words were a dagger, sinking deep into your chest. Your body shook with silent sobs, your hands gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly your knuckles ached.

Finally, her voice softened, the anger giving way to something far worse—disappointment. “You could’ve at least tried,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “I deserved that much.”

Her next words were barely a whisper, but they hit you like a hammer: “I don’t think I can do this anymore….be your friend.”

The silence that followed was deafening, suffocating. You heard her take a shaky breath, and then the sound of her footsteps retreating down the hall.

You stayed there, slumped against the door, the tears flowing freely now. Your body felt heavy, weighed down by the crushing guilt and the emptiness that seemed to expand inside you.

She was right. You should’ve been there. You should’ve tried.

But you didn’t.

The days that followed were a blur of silence and shame. Your phone buzzed constantly, the screen lighting up with messages and missed calls, each one a reminder of how deeply you’d failed them.

Sam: Hey, girl. Haven’t heard from you in a bit. You okay?

Sam: Look, I know you’re going through it, but you’re worrying me. At least text me back, yeah?

Sam: I miss you. We all do. Just… let me know you’re alive, okay?

The voicemails from Steve were harder to stomach.

“Hey, it’s Steve. Just checking in again. I, uh… I don’t know what to say that’ll make you answer me, but I hope you’re okay. Call me when you can.”

And then another, this time quieter, more hesitant. “Y/N. Please. We’re all worried. Just… let me know you’re okay.”

Sam again, his voice more urgent this time. “Y/N. Come on. Just one text. That’s all I’m asking for. We love you, okay? Don’t forget that.”

You listened to each one, your phone clutched tightly in your hands, tears streaming down your face. But you didn’t reply. You couldn’t. You didn’t deserve their worry, their care.

But it was Bucky’s name on your call list that haunted you the most.

Every night, you paced your apartment, your thumb hovering over his name, your chest tight with indecision. His name stared back at you, a lifeline you couldn’t bring yourself to grab.

You thought about his voice, the way he’d say your name like it was the most important thing in the world. You thought about the way he’d looked at you that night, his eyes filled with hurt and confusion as you yelled at him to leave.

You wanted to call him. God, you wanted to call him.

But every time your finger hovered over the call button, your breath hitched, and the doubts crept in. What if he didn’t answer? What if he was still angry? What if you dragged him down with you, and he finally realized you weren’t worth the effort?

So you didn’t.

Every night, you stood there with the phone in your hand, tears streaking your face, your breaths shaky and uneven. Every night, you almost called him.

But every night, you couldn’t.

And the silence grew heavier, the weight of it pressing down on you like it was trying to crush the little life you had left out of you.

This is our last dance

---

Bucky stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt for what felt like the hundredth time. His reflection stared back at him, but the man in the mirror didn’t feel like him. His hands trembled slightly as he fastened the last button, smoothing the fabric over his chest in a futile attempt to steady himself.

This felt wrong. All of it.

He turned to the dresser, where his phone sat just within reach. The screen was dark, but he could still feel the weight of your name sitting in his call list, just waiting. His fingers twitched with the urge to pick it up, to text you, to call you, to say he was sorry for walking out that night.

But he didn’t.

Because you’d been so hostile, so closed off. You’d shouted at him to leave, your voice breaking with pain and anger, and it had cut deeper than he wanted to admit. He knew you were hurting, but so was he. And as much as he hated himself for it, he hadn’t been strong enough to stay.

His thoughts drifted back to Natasha’s visit to your apartment earlier that week. She’d told him about it when they were sitting in Steve’s kitchen, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I gave her an earful through the door,” Natasha had said, her voice tight with a mix of anger and sadness. “I told her I didn’t want to be friends anymore if she couldn’t be there for me during my brightest moments. I know she’s going through it, Buck, but this… this was too much.”

Bucky had sat stiffly in his chair, his jaw clenching as her words sunk in. “And what did she say?” he’d asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Natasha replied, her voice breaking slightly. “She didn’t say anything. Didn’t open the door, didn’t even acknowledge I was there.”

Bucky’s fists had tightened at his sides. He hadn’t said anything, but the anger bubbling beneath the surface wasn’t for you—it was for Natasha, for not understanding, for expecting more from you when you were barely holding yourself together. But he didn’t defend you either. He couldn’t. He didn’t know how.

That night, unable to stop himself, he’d gone to your apartment. He’d leaned against the wall outside your door for forty-five minutes, straining to hear anything—anything at all. When he finally heard the faint sound of footsteps, relief had coursed through him.

But it didn’t last.

The relief was fleeting, overshadowed by the same helplessness that had plagued him since the night he left. He wanted to knock, to call out your name, to beg you to let him in. He wanted to wrap you in his arms and tell you that everything would be okay, even if he wasn’t sure it would be.

But he didn’t. Because you’d shut him out so completely, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

Now, as he stood in his room, the weight of everything pressed down on him like a stone. He shouldn’t be doing this. Not now. Not with everything going on. But he’d already agreed to the date with Olivia, and canceling felt like admitting defeat.

A knock at the door pulled him from his spiraling thoughts.

He opened it to find Olivia standing there, smiling brightly in a simple dress and a leather jacket. Her blonde hair framed her face perfectly, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. She looked beautiful, and Bucky forced a smile in return, even as it felt hollow.

“Hey,” she said, her voice warm and cheerful. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing his jacket and keys. He shut the door behind him, his mind still lingering on you as they walked down the hallway together.

The restaurant was cozy and dimly lit, the air filled with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. Olivia had chosen the place, and it was perfect—intimate without feeling stuffy, charming without trying too hard.

She was kind, funny, and easy to talk to. She laughed at his jokes, asked him questions about his interests, and smiled at him like he was the only person in the room.

But to Bucky, it all felt wrong.

As Olivia talked about her childhood, Bucky’s mind wandered back to you. He thought about the way you’d laugh when you thought no one was listening, how it was soft and genuine and lit up a room in a way no one else’s could. He thought about the late-night conversations you’d shared over takeout, your voice quiet and full of trust as you let him see pieces of yourself that no one else did.

And then he thought about the last time he saw you. The way your voice cracked when you yelled at him to leave, the hurt and anger in your eyes. The way you’d looked so small, so fragile, as you stood there, refusing to let him help you.

“Bucky?”

Olivia’s voice pulled him back to the present. She was looking at him with a mix of curiosity and concern, her smile faltering slightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, forcing a smile. “Sorry. Just… long week.”

She nodded, accepting the answer, but the concern in her eyes didn’t fade entirely.

Bucky felt a pang of guilt. Olivia didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve him sitting across from her, half-present, his heart and mind clearly somewhere else. She deserved someone who could look at her the way Steve looked at Natasha, who could give her all the attention and affection she deserved.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He couldn’t stop worrying about you.

And he couldn’t stop loving you.

As the date went on, he tried—he really did. He asked her questions, made jokes, even managed to laugh at a few of her stories. But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts always circled back to you.

What were you doing right now? Were you okay? Were you eating? Sleeping? Or were you standing on that balcony again, the wind whipping around you like it had that night in high school?

“Bucky?” Olivia said again, pulling him from his thoughts for the second time that night.

He blinked, realizing he’d been staring at his untouched drink for far too long. “Sorry,” he said again, his voice quieter now.

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “It’s okay,” she said softly.

But it wasn’t.

And as much as he hated to admit it, Bucky knew this date wasn’t fair to her—or to himself.

This is our last dance.

---

The weight that had been pressing down on you for weeks finally collapsed in on itself, suffocating you, dragging you deeper into the endless darkness. You couldn’t see a way out, couldn’t imagine a future where you’d feel anything other than this crushing hopelessness. It was all-consuming, a void that devoured every thought, every breath.

Your apartment was cold and silent, the air thick with stillness, broken only by the shaky sound of your breathing. Desperate for something, anything to ground you, you reached for your phone and pressed play on the only song that had ever been able to reach you in moments like this.

The familiar melody of Under Pressure filled the room, echoing off the walls like a lifeline.

“Pressure, pushing down on me…”

You paced back and forth, the phone clutched tightly in your hand, tears streaming freely down your face. The lyrics sliced through you with every word, each note digging deeper into your already raw heart. This song had always made you feel lighter before, always brought a smile to your face when Bucky danced around the room, grabbing your hands and spinning you until you couldn’t help but laugh.

But tonight, it felt different.

You sank to your knees, your sobs growing louder as the music swelled, your chest heaving with the effort to keep breathing. You pressed the phone closer to your ear, as if Freddie Mercury and David Bowie’s voices could somehow pull you back from the edge.

The cold breeze from the balcony seeped through the glass door, brushing against your skin like a whisper. Your gaze drifted toward it, the sheer curtain fluttering softly in the wind.

For a moment, the thought crossed your mind.

It would be so easy.

But then, as if on instinct, you shook your head violently, your hands flying to your temples as if you could physically push the thought away.

No.

That can’t be it. You promised Bucky.

The broken promise hung over you like a specter as you stumbled to the bathroom, your legs shaky and unsteady beneath you. The light flickered when you flipped the switch, casting an eerie glow over the small space.

The broken mirror greeted you, jagged cracks splintering your reflection into a thousand fractured pieces. You stared at it, at the distorted, hollow version of yourself staring back. You didn’t recognize the person in the shards.

You opened the cabinet, your hands trembling as you reached for the bottle of antidepressants tucked away behind an old bottle of painkillers and a nearly empty tube of toothpaste. The bottle felt heavy in your palm, its weight somehow both grounding and terrifying.

You clutched it tightly, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you backed out of the bathroom and began pacing the apartment again.

The music continued to play, Freddie and Bowie’s voices swelling with the crescendo:

“Why can’t we give love, give love, give love…”

You couldn’t stop hearing Bucky’s voice, the way he’d always called you sweet girl, his tone soft and warm, like you were the most important thing in his world. You heard him as clearly as if he were standing beside you, his words from so long ago echoing in your mind:

“Promise me.”

Tears blurred your vision as you collapsed onto the couch, clutching the bottle in one hand and your phone in the other. The weight of the pills was unbearable, as if they were the physical manifestation of everything you couldn’t carry anymore.

Your thumb hovered over Bucky’s name in your call list.

You took a shaky breath, your hand trembling as you opened the pill bottle and poured a handful into your palm. The tiny capsules felt cold and smooth against your skin, the sharp contrast to the heat of your tears that dripped onto your hand. You swallowed.

Your other hand shook as you pressed Bucky’s name on your phone.

The line rang once. Twice. Each ring stretched out into eternity, the sound pounding against your chest like a heartbeat.

Finally, his voice came through, warm and familiar, but tinged with concern.

“Y/N?” he said, his tone rising slightly in alarm. “Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

You tried to speak, but the sobs came first, wracking your body as you pressed the phone to your ear like it was the only thing tethering you to the world.

You tried to speak, but the sobs came first, wracking your body as you held the phone to your ear. “Bucky,” you choked out finally, your voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said quickly, his tone steady but urgent.

You clutched the phone tighter “I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, the words breaking something inside you.

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then his voice came through, strong and determined. “I’m coming over. Right now. Don’t move, okay? Just stay where you are, okay? I’ll be there in ten.”

This is ourselves

-------

Olivia was everything someone could ask for—funny, kind, and effortlessly charming. She told stories with vivid animation, her hands gesturing wildly as she laughed at her own jokes. But no matter how hard Bucky tried to focus, her words barely registered.

The dessert had arrived a few minutes ago, but he hadn’t touched it. His fork lay untouched on the table, his hands clasped in his lap as he forced himself to nod and smile at the right moments. He laughed when he thought he should, added a comment here or there, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Because something felt wrong.

It was a gnawing sensation, deep in his gut, an unease he couldn’t shake. He told himself it was nothing, that he was imagining it, but the weight of it pressed down on him like a stone.

His mind kept drifting back to you. The way you’d looked the last time he saw you—tired, withdrawn, a shell of the vibrant person he knew. The memory clawed at his chest, the guilt twisting tighter with every passing second.

Olivia said something, and he forced a smile, but he was already counting down the minutes until he could leave. He needed to check on you. He didn’t know why, but the thought wouldn’t leave him alone.

Then his phone buzzed on the table.

He barely glanced at the screen before his heart stopped. It was you.

Without thinking, Bucky grabbed his phone so fast that he knocked over his drink, the ice and liquid spilling across the table in a chaotic splash. Olivia gasped, startled by the sudden movement, but he barely noticed.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice rushed, already standing. “I have to take this.”

“Of course,” she said, her eyes wide with concern but understanding.

He didn’t bother stepping away. He answered immediately, pressing the phone to his ear. “Y/N?”

All he could hear was sobbing—raw, broken sobs that sent ice-cold fear coursing through his veins. Then there was the sound of your uneven breathing, as if you were struggling to get air.

“Y/N?” he said again, louder this time, panic tightening his throat. “Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

“Bucky…” Your voice was faint, choked with tears, barely audible over the sound of your crying.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said, his voice trembling now.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered. His mind was racing, every nerve in his body screaming at him to do something, anything.

He fumbled with his phone, his hands shaking as he opened a text to Sam.

Bucky: Call 911. Send them to Y/N’s apartment. NOW.

Sam’s response came almost instantly:

Sam: What’s going on? On it.

“I kept your promise, Buck,” you said suddenly, your voice slurred and distant. “I’m gonna keep it, okay?”

Bucky was already out the door, his feet pounding against the pavement as he ran. “What promise, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice desperate as he weaved through the crowded New York streets. “Talk to me.”

“The one from high school…” Your voice was weaker now, fading. “Senior year.”

Bucky’s chest constricted. His mind flashed back to that night—the balcony, the wind whipping around you, the way he’d grabbed you and pulled you back with trembling hands. The memory hit him like a freight train, knocking the air from his lungs.

“You kept it,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m so proud of you, angel. You hear me? I’m almost there. Stay with me, okay?”

“The pills, Bucky.... getting sleepy,” you murmured, your words dragging, barely coherent. “I’m sorry, Bucky. It’s better this way. For everyone. I just wanted to hear your voice one last time…”

“No,” he said sharply, tears streaming down his face as he sprinted through the crowded streets, dodging pedestrians and ignoring the blaring horns of cars. “No, baby, don’t say that. Don’t say goodbye. Stay awake. You gotta stay awake for me, okay? Please.”

You didn’t respond right away, and the silence on the other end was deafening.

“Sweetheart,” he said desperately, his voice cracking as his legs burned with the effort of running. “I love you. Please. I love you so much. Don’t leave me. Please. It’s all my fault—please, please.”

Finally, your voice came through, soft and faint, barely more than a whisper. “It’s not your fault… Never your… Love you.”

And then silence.

“No, no, no,” he said, his voice frantic, his chest heaving as he pushed himself to run faster. He kept the phone pressed to his ear, listening to the faint sounds of the emergency responders on the other end—the muffled voices, the banging on your door.

Of course now you lock it, he thought bitterly, tears blurring his vision.

When he reached your apartment building, the flashing lights of ambulances and police cars painted the street in harsh red and blue. A small crowd had gathered, their faces etched with curiosity and concern, but Bucky shoved his way through without hesitation, his lungs burning as he sprinted up the stairs two at a time.

“Move!” he shouted, his voice hoarse as he pushed past the officers at your door.

And then he saw you.

You were lying motionless on the floor, your face pale, your body lifeless as the paramedics worked over you. One of them was performing chest compressions, their hands pressing rhythmically into your chest, while another prepared an oxygen mask.

“NO!” Bucky screamed, his voice shattering as he stumbled forward, his knees threatening to give out beneath him.

One of the paramedics muttered, “Come on. Stay with us.”

Bucky’s world narrowed to the sight of you—your still form, the faint beeping of medical equipment, the paramedic’s steady rhythm. His knees buckled, and he grabbed the edge of the couch to steady himself, his vision swimming as the tears fell harder.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking, barely audible over the chaos. “Please, don’t leave me. I love you. I love you so much. Please.”

But you didn’t move.

Under Pressure

[muletia]

𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[tfp] obsessed!ratchet x human!reader

summary: when his emotions turned overwhelming, ratchet tried to hate you instead, to protect both of you. despite his efforts, he cannot stop caring about you

cw: angst, obsessive thoughts, emotional manipulation, mentions of jealousy and possessiveness, ratchet is kinda toxic in this (but he gets better i promise)

word count: 1250

At first, he tried to hate you. To push you away, to make you despise him just as much as he tried to despise you. To turn passion into hatred, to move to the opposite end of the spectrum, yet still burn with the same fervor, the same intensity. Hatred was, after all, easier to manage than love—easier to understand, easier to explain, and easier to back up with facts. Love was an unknown, raising millions of questions he could never answer. Hatred hurt less. And although both passions were fierce in their own right, Ratchet could swear that the first one was far less damaging.

At first, he tried to be cold. Indifferent toward you, mean, and grumpy. He would throw comments at you that he could have easily kept behind his denta because he knew they would hit a nerve and wound you to some extent. He wanted you to leave him alone, to grow disillusioned with him. To stop interacting, to stop looking, to stop being a part of his daily life.

Another warm relationship was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Ratchet was tired. Tired of war, tired of being a medic, tired of patching up his friends only for them to return with fresh, bleeding wounds—or not return at all. Every mech and femme he grew close to either died or suffered, and he had to watch. Watch as the light faded from their optics, as energon poured from their wounds, as they lost limbs. You weren’t a Cybertronian, but would associating with him not weave a similar fate for you? One filled with pain and suffering? If the war didn’t harm you, his feelings surely would—what difference would it make? And your death was something he could not survive.

That’s why he wanted to prevent it. To break the vicious cycle, to stop the machinery of torment. To give himself no hope of a happy ending because he knew it was never meant for him. He couldn’t afford to think of himself. Ratchet was harsh, unfeeling. He made sure that every word he said struck like an icicle, that it hurt. Yet he wasn’t sure who was suffering more. The last thing he wanted was to cause you pain, but in this situation, he saw no other way. In a sense, he was saving you from catastrophe, from a collision that would destroy you both. He preferred to deliver the blow when his feelings were just budding, before his infatuation grew into something unmanageable. At least then, you’d both have a chance to recover.

But he found himself checking on you. Ensuring you were all right, even though he had just done so moments ago. He found himself having needs that terrified him because he was never supposed to feel them. Even with a carefully laid plan, with his rigidly set values, Ratchet’s thoughts circled taboo. He contemplated touch, intimacy. Happiness that wasn’t meant for him.

He often wondered if you understood why he had to be the way he was; what kind of clay the war had molded him from. If he explained the details, would you grasp his intentions? Understand that he couldn’t afford the luxury of love? He only hoped you didn’t think it was your fault, that you had made some mistake, even though he gave you no reason to think otherwise. And that hurt more than any sharp remark he ever hurled your way.

It was a pity that by the time he acted, it was already too late. You had cast your spell, enchanted him and his processor. You haunted him during the day, in dreams, when you visited your alien friends, and when you were at home. You appeared in his thoughts when he least expected it, yet when he needed it most. At first, sporadically—when you hadn’t visited them for a while, when he began to miss the sound of your chatter near his workstation. When the lack of your presence started to bother him. Then, you appeared more frequently, and fleeting memories turned into fantasies and daydreams. He stopped thinking he’d like you to sit with him and started longing. Intensely, fervently.

Still, he believed his plan would work. That he could end the relationship he had nurtured for so many months. But you had entirely different plans. Consciously or not, you dismantled the calculated, artificial hatred, tearing down the walls he had begun to build around himself.

The first time you touched him to draw his attention, Ratchet was convinced his knees would buckle under his weight. Suddenly, new colors entered his field of vision, and where you touched him, an explosion of sparks erupted, an electricity incomparable to merely being in your presence. The touch was more vivid. Raw and intimate, and so incredibly powerful that it broke him. It pierced through his defenses, reached so deep that Ratchet abandoned his plan. He stopped trying to change your relationship at an unnatural pace and in a dishonest way. Oh, what a fool he had been, what a burden to both you and himself.

Mending the fractured relationship didn’t happen quickly, nor was it easy, but it gave him time to loosen the collar and allow himself to enjoy your company. Your presence brought comfort and peace. Even when you disagreed, when arguments grew heated, Ratchet clung to those shared moments. He wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world and would fight to keep them going. He grew jealous when you claimed you wouldn’t speak to him again, though he knew it wasn’t true. He knew, but he couldn’t stop himself from pulling you into his servos whenever you started talking to someone else. He wasn’t proud, but seeing you in your rightful place, close to him, made everything feel right again. Everything returned to normal.

“I owe you my sincerest apologies,” he once said to Optimus, choosing a day when the base was nearly empty, save for him, his friend, and the two humans who had changed their lives. Whether for better or worse was yet to be determined.

“You have done nothing that could cause me harm,” Optimus replied.

“But I did not understand,” he said. “That has changed somewhat recently.”

The medic’s gaze anchored on you, dispelling any doubt in the leader’s mind. Optimus began to pity his friend.

“Will it ever improve? Will this torment ever bear anything good?” Ratchet asked.

Optimus fell silent for a moment. “I am unable to provide an answer to that. However, I am certain that surrender is not the correct course of action, and you must not pursue it, for it would destroy the benevolence you have labored so long to cultivate. [Name] holds you in great regard; I would urge you to keep this in mind.”

For Ratchet, it was already too late for retreat, though he had lost the battle with himself. You had entwined yourself too deeply in his spark, taken a permanent place in his processor. He failed to keep his feelings in check, and they took over, spreading everywhere.

He started with hatred, using it as a familiar form of self-defense. Now, when you come to him with the tiniest scratch on your finger, Ratchet is ready to wage a war for you, blinded by his feelings. Ready to protect you at all costs, dedicating every free moment solely to you. He was finished, undone, but the fact that his demise would likely come through you no longer mattered to him.

[jymwahuwu]

Content warnings: yandere, angst(?), some descriptions of capitalism, you're locked up

Summary: You are a bakery owner and you and your shop are going to be evicted by the IPC. Unfortunately, Aventurine is the one handling the plans.

Note: I suddenly want to write this very much...sorry, I don't know what I am writing...🥹

According to the calendar of your home planet, you spent all your savings and bought a bakery three years ago.

Once upon a time, you had your own ideals, which were woven into unrealistic dreams in your childhood paintings. When you become an adult, you realize that adults use lies to pile up in school and blow up beautiful bubbles. Those lies are probably the beginning of your idealized misfortune. Your dream goes from unrealistic to another. Under consumerism, you want a property of your own, with one room, a large living room, an open kitchen, and a ceiling where you can sleep while looking at the stars. Approximately 8,000,000 credits. You deposit money into the Cosmic Bank. Staring at the rising numbers in the bank account with tired eyes, health has been replaced by some slowly rising numbers and countless nights.

Then, you collapse. Your ideal transforms into a spaceship for 1,200,000 credits. However, classmates and friends of Universe University in the same year shared on social media that they had gotten married step by step, had children, and had a lovely next generation from the artificial womb. The venue for their proposal was on a romantic planet with endless sea, sky and seagulls. A growing sense of comparison creates unnecessary suffering. Others tell you, go ahead, just like others, work, save money, buy a house, buy a car, get married, have children, bring new blessings to the universe, and believe in an Aeon you like.

Best is Qlipoth. They said. Everyone said so.

That's the Aeon that IPC fervently believes in. They may not necessarily know about the walls and protections made by Qlipoth, but people must know that IPC is a huge company involved in the economy of the entire universe. Their golden bodies symbolize enviable wealth in people's eyes.

But spacecraft are out of reach. You figured this out through a cheap and unpalatable 10-credit lunch and a scolding from your boss. You know you should set a more realistic goal.

Then let’s get a car with 30,000 credits. There are also jewelry for 50,000 credits. I'll go shopping after get off work. you said so.

You walked into the store and bought a car that met your expectations despite the salesperson's inner eye rolls and eager sales. Stroking its shell, eager joy surges into your heart, as if your hard work has been transformed into a visible reward. This is valuable. And jewelry, you buy a necklace that sparkles around your neck.

Your face was hot with excitement. There is value in this, keep it to yourself and it will appreciate in value!

Trembling with excitement, there is endless emptiness behind the joyful smile. Cosmic Express is responsible for delivering express delivery to your home. You browse the Internet and buy a list of unnecessary things to fill your misery and pain and stop the bleeding that might come out.

Then one day you quit your job after another scolding, knowing that you are just a cog in the functioning of society. You don't want to live like this anymore, but you don't know how to live without money and without getting married like others. You buy a spaceship ticket and wander off randomly. Romantic, casual and comfortable life. You think idealistically again to cheer yourself up. No matter where you go, you have to start a new life.

You arrive on a new planet, a beautiful and highly developed space society. The dome has a transparent dome woven from Qlipoth that envelopes the entire planet. You have heard that IPC has its headquarters here, but some say it is just one of its branches. Regardless, they obsessively imitated the architecture of Aeon Qlipoth, constructing a towering building with a beautiful transparent glass dome. It is stationed on the planet like a banyan tree, tirelessly absorbing money and energy.

You bought a small, independent bakery on one of the shopping streets, renovated it and prepared it for opening and used up almost all the credit in your bank account. But, you are happy, from the bottom of your heart, practicing your baking recipes and thinking about a bright future. On opening day, you put up a sign with a design on it. And greets all guests warmly. They smell the aroma of bread, follow the traces and step into your store, buying this and that bread and drinks. The aroma of food, warm bread, that is the breath of life.

-

One month after opening, Aventurine stepped into your bakery. When socializing at work, he accompanied his clients to drink and enjoy haute cuisine, with a charming smile. During lunch, he would choose a coffee shop or an elegant restaurant to sit and browse the stock market and invest. Those tens of millions of money came and went, only in exchange for a smile or a sip of coffee from him. Wonderful afternoon. Beautiful gamble. But that day, he smelled a different aroma of bread, and realized that a new store had opened in the commercial street.

He walked into the store and browsed the golden bread. Aventurine spent 2 minutes choosing toast and croissants, listening to the sound of money arriving on his phone. He glanced at you, who was in uniform and busy. It was inevitable that he thought from a professional and utilitarian perspective, wondering how this narrow store did not meet the requirements of modern business. Decoration, bread production, marketing, and store staffing. It would be foolish to hire just one clerk. Hiring just one more clerk can lead to more revenue. You obviously have your hands full.

He spent 2 minutes in line. When it was Aventurine's turn to pay, you gave him a warm smile, as warm as sunshine. These days, you remember some familiar faces of your customers. You're a little surprised by the new-faced customers arriving at the store.

You greet him and ask if he wants a takeout or just enjoy it in the store.

"Right here, thank you." Aventurine replied.

So Aventurine sat down, right in the bakery. He munched his bread and invested his money, living his daily life. Day after day, weeks and months passed. Occasionally, he pays attention to you. You always do all the work in the store, packing the bread, putting it on the shelves, and doing the cashiering. So one day, He asked out of curiosity. “Isn’t the bakery owner going to hire an extra employee?”

You opened your eyes wide and smiled awkwardly. "I-I'm the owner of this bakery."

Ah, so here's the answer. Aventurine nodded, you may not have more funds, but he accidentally started to invest and play, just like the play he had not completed in childhood. He loved investing, which was like finding a pearl in the ocean, playing Monopoly, playing with his assets. A desire arose spontaneously, satisfying his heart. "Have you considered expanding the store and staff? I see your bakery is very popular. I've witnessed many, but none like this, and swear there's some potential here."

"Really?" You were a little shy in the compliment. He was surprised at your naivety. "Thank you, but I have no plans yet."

"Oh, you're eating Brioche today." You looked down at the bread he selected. "You are a familiar face. Let me give you a discount. It only costs 200 credits."

Aventurine was about to refuse, but heard your question. "If you don't mind, could you tell me what you do for a living?"

He didn't understand the specific reason. Aventurine didn't want to reveal his work in front of you, so he muttered vaguely. "I'm in the gambling business."

"You mean the casino?" You blinked.

"Yeah, yes," he replied.

"That must be hard…" You recalled the casino in the drama, where the gamblers seemed likely to fight. He must have been mediating frequently there. After thinking about it, you gave him extra drinks and bread. “Here’s today’s special offer!”

Aventurine held the drink at a loss, feeling that the cold drink was radiating heat.

-

On a rainy and windy afternoon, Aventurine won't sit at your outdoor table. He returned to the IPC with the bread and pressed the button for the lift. One of the members of Ten Stonehearts saw him and asked caringly. "I can't see you eating in the office lately. Can you be full just by eating bread?"

"It's okay. I fill up easily." He smiled politely, even though he had eaten some more bread… He didn't refuse your offer.

He finished chewing the bread while scrolling through your bakery’s social media feeds on his phone. You like to update the bakery's social media and have accumulated about a few hundred likes per post. In the photo, you shared a new type of bread, and your passion for life is reflected in your eyebrows and eyes.

The department meeting is just after lunch. The holographic screen fluttered IPC's business plans and developments. IPC announced that one of its small plans was to acquire a new commercial street and all the businesses would have to move out. His eyes reflected the glowing words- your bakery is on that commercial street.

-

Gradually, that friendly customer who works at the casino becomes too busy to visit your bakery, or he finds a new restaurant. There's something empty inside you, like a piece is missing.

New signs were posted in the neighborhood, and other store owners who often borrowed flour and other supplies from each other knocked on your door and told you that the Interastral Peace Corporation was buying the street and that every store was going to be evicted. This will be the place where a new type of space commercial city will be built. Many companies will settle in and open stores. It will be beautiful and modern, just like other space commercial cities. You'd better discuss a compensation plan with IPC now and strive for better terms.

IPC may compromise, but with other economic systems of the entire planet, not with a small commercial street. They do what they say they will do.

Like a bolt from the blue, you repeatedly confirmed and asked questions. Why does it have to be here? Why? What are their plans? How much will the compensation be? The IPC wants the compensation to be as small as possible, and the shop owners will fight for it, but the court is on their side. So don’t be too tough in your attitude, be more diplomatic, be more worldly, and seek more benefits for you. they said.

Many shop owners have signed up for the compensation plan. You are one of the few shop owners who are too stubborn to embrace the world. Guard this shop like a dragon guarding the last treasure. As the deadline gets closer, you notice more rude customers, the ingredient supplier says they can no longer serve you, and some negative messages and reviews appear to smear you. There are also people in all-black uniforms looking outside your store. That's downright creepy.

But you are not afraid, what you are afraid of is that something will be taken away from you again. Those capitalists are used to taking something from you and then giving you something in compensation. Before it was salary, now it's compensation plans.

Occasionally, you bow to reality and pay attention to some new stores, but those prices cannot be bought with compensation.

One night, before you close the shop, you hear the sound of construction work, destroying the original shops. It's not loud and noisy, it's a new space construction technology, but you're terrified and just want to pack up and go home. You have filed a complaint with the court. Once again, you place your hopes on the ethereal, and then you see a figure appear at the window of the bakery.

Ah, it's that customer. He must be here to support you and buy bread.

You maintained your smile and greeted him, "I haven't seen you recently. Where have you been?"

Aventurine just stared. There was some compassion in his expression, and his features were soft. He knew that the gentlest of measures would not work. “…let me talk to you about the new compensation plan.”

You were stunned for a while. "…What do you mean?"

He hands you a card with neatly printed handwriting and the IPC logo.

“Aventurine, Senior Manager in the IPC Strategic Investment Department”

You held the card and read it for a while before looking up at him. Your throat was dry but tears were streaming down your face. The holographic screen projects a new plan, specially prepared for you stubborn, idealistic people, to provide better compensation.

"…Go away, I don't want to see you!" You paused for half a minute before getting angry and pushing him out of the store. What flows inside is anger at the betrayal, even though you know he doesn't have to support you. Aventurine's arms opened up to embrace you. You were shocked, struggling, and sobbing. "I don't want to see you…you are with them…I have nothing, and you still want to take it away…"

Halted like an emotional kitten, you whimpered, tired from sobbing, sleep overtook you and darkness enveloped you.

You opened your eyes and found yourself in a luxurious room, with stars visible on the ceiling and a soft quilt covering you. Pillow supports your head. You adjusted to the light for a few seconds, frowned, and moved your hands, but the sound of the chain sounded. You looked at the chains on your hands, stunned, shaking and struggling. "What-what's going on?"

"Ah, you're awake." Aventurine opened the door and came in. He touched your forehead, and you realized that the clothes you were wearing had also been changed. They were a set of pajamas. "What happened?" You shook the chain in your hand in confusion. "Someone attacked us last night?" "Um, it's not like that actually."

Aventurine comforted you and shushed you. "You're locked in. Shhh...shhh, don't scream. I know this may be hard to accept at first, but you'll see the benefits."

He explained, to your expression like a frightened little animal. "…For business purposes, I looked into your background. You've been having a hard time, haven't you? Now you finally have time to relax. This is one of my houses, and it's yours, too."

"I didn't ask you..." Tears welled up in your eyes. Are you going to be locked up? "I know." Aventurine stroked your head gently. "I know, now just relax. I'll take care of the bakery. We'll open a new one somewhere with the ocean, you know, new plans."

You noticed that he used the word "we," which made your heart feel strangely warm. You were speechless, closed your eyes, turned around, a tear flowed down your cheek, and the chain creaked.

This is your new reality, but at least you can rest, right?

[sha-lyuzar]

Loghain Mac Tir is my comfort character. It is not often a pleasant thing to admit, and my reasons are complex, and personal, but fundamentally what makes me so attached to him is how human he is. That kind of depth and complexity is what made me fall in love with Dragon Age in the first place. He’s not just a “noble hero” or an “evil villain,” but a fully realized person who embodies good and evil, and everything inbetween, who is shaped by his past and his deeply personal convictions, his flaws, his fears, his fierce love for Ferelden, and, most importantly his tragic mistakes, that lost him everything, and that is what makes him feel so real to me.

He doesn’t have an easy narrative arc. He’s not driven by simple greed, cruelty, or even by misguided idealism. He’s a survivor with wounds that never fully healed, and those wounds shape the way he sees the world and interprets threats. Every heinous decision and tragic mistake is a direct consequence of his loyalty to Ferelden and Maric, and his willingness to bear the burden of horrific choice. He has been bleeding for his cause since he was a child, and it has turned him into the same kind of cruel and cold tyrant He fought against in the first place, and watching him struggle to hold true to his values, and eventually abandon them, as his path grows darker and more isolating, is this profoundly tragic thing that to me is infinitely more compelling than a classic Hero's Journey.

What Loghain did in the Alienage is deeply disturbing and inexcusable. Using Tevinter slavers to control and exploit the elves is one of the darkest points in his character arc. It’s a choice that reveals just how far he’s willing to go to maintain control and secure his idea of Ferelden’s “independence,” even at the cost of his own morality, so He lets in a foreign power to abduct and subjugate the citizens he claims to be protecting. It unveils the extremes of his desperation and paranoia, because in his mind, he’s protecting Ferelden, but in reality, he’s perpetrating the very kind of oppression he once fought against. It is dark, it is horrific, it is unforgiveable, and that is the whole point.

He has to confront the devastation he’s caused, and he can’t simply brush it aside as a “necessary evil.”. If he joins the Grey Wardens, his path involves acknowledging these grave mistakes, taking responsibility, and finding a way to live with the guilt. There is no reconciliation for his actions, his fear and trauma may explain but never excuse what he did. There is no easy way out. Loghain is stained with the blood he shed forever. He has to live with having failed, with the compounded weight of his actions and regrets, and, if he joins the Wardens, he isn't even granted the mercy of a quick and clean death, and instead is exiled from the country he poured everything he had into.

And doesn't this resonate? Does this not perfectly reflect the difficult reality of being human? How people can be fiercely protective, deeply flawed, and driven by complicated motivations, and that these qualities make them more worthy of understanding, not less? Loghain’s arc speaks to me on such a deep and personal level, especially as someone who has been battling the demons of trauma. His story is a vivid reminder that trauma doesn’t always make us better people, but exacerbates our struggles and can lead us down dark paths. i see parts of my own struggles in Loghain, i understand his pain, his fear, the choices his past self would loathe him for, and the gnawing self-hate, regret and grief.

Trauma twists our intentions like that. Instead of guiding us toward empathy and understanding, it clouds our judgment, and pushes us to make decisions we later regret, and become versions of ourselves we hate. My reality of trauma has not been this character building experience, the way it is often depicted in media, but something harrowing and life-altering, that still poisons me, even years later. But seeing a character lose all tether to himself and get lost in his demons is a tale worth telling, and an experience that still grips me, even 15 years after playing DA:O for the first time. Seeing Loghain live through rock bottom in DA:O, and then, ten years later in DA:I find purpose and whatever semblance of peace is possible in his circumstance, is something that gives me comfort. It is deeply personal, and i keep this unforgiveable and irredeemable, this grief-stricken and regret-filled man, this complicated and multifaceted character deep in my heart.

There are spoilers for datv under the cut. Major spoilers about the end of the game. If you have not played through yet, please don't be tempted to look. i thought i would be fine with spoilers, but i am not. You have been warned.

All of this is rendered moot by the ending of datv. By a throwaway line. i have been spoilered by this online, and have not reached this point in the game myself, yet, but it leaves me feeling a lot of ways, and it hits me hard. It feels like everything i found relatable in his struggle, everything that made him so human, is suddenly taken away. If his actions weren’t truly his own, and he was being puppeteered by old gods magic, then what does that mean for the weight of his choices? It feels like a betrayal of everything that made up his character, a character who has grappled with his trauma and made terrible choices, yes, but ones that were driven by his own will and conviction, always.

The complexity of his journey, the depth of his remorse, and the struggle for a new purpose, all become overshadowed by this new twist. It threatens to erase the beautiful, painful, and human truth of what it means to confront one’s demons and seek understanding in the aftermath of suffering, what it means to reassess and take accountability for your actions and do the hard, dirty, and thankless work of bettering the irredeemable, bit by bit, piece by piece, so that one day you may draw a breath and feel just a bit of that weight eased.

But no, he was just a victim all along. He has no agency, his self-actualisation is lost on him, he was never responsible for himself. It feels like one of Dragon Age's most complex characters has been flattened down into cardboard.

[beautifulsnake2162020]

A random sudden insight on why the finishing blow in the final battle was so impactful to the themes of TGCF/Heaven Official's Blessing.

I'm not the only one who has noticed that one of the running themes in TGCF is that even if life is imperfect and it gives you every reason to not continue living, the choice to live in an imperfect world is still the better choice than choosing to kill it because of its imperfections. Xie Lian being the first to save Hua Cheng and to give him a purpose and a reason to continue living is paid back in kind when Hua Cheng continues to live as a ghost because of his love and devotion for Xie Lian.

And maybe I'm not the first user to point this out. But I would like to give my own breakdown on how the finishing blow in the final battle wonderfully defeats the fatalistic perspective of the antagonist. This to me beautifully illustrates how hope, defeats the hopeless.

Book spoilers ahead

In the final battle in Mt. Tonglu, Jun Wu's only real competition is Xie Lian.

Jun Wu represents a fatalistic hopeless perspective. He had tried to save the people of Wuyong from a volcanic eruption that he had forseen and with no one but himself and his four deputies he had failed to do so. And as a result he loses hope in believing in the common people because he did not get their faith and support to be saved. This hopelessness leads him to sacrificing his three deputies who disagreed with him and bleeds out to his obsession to making Xie Lian just like him. If he couldn't rid the world of it's imperfections (or to be realistic - anyone who disagreed with him), he'll kill the entire world because it refuses to change for the better. And by better it means better by confirming his bias that because the common people are unreliable they aren't worth saving. He has lost hope in changing the world for the better so much that instead of people he sees everyone as pawns who either agree with him or who don't. Despite being in a position of power to improve and not repeat the mistakes of the past, he instead uses it to make Xie Lian just like him. The only hope he has is Xie Lian finally seeing his perspective and the loneliness he feels may finally be resolved.

Meanwhile Xie Lian represents hope in living life. Life with all of its hardships, imperfections, and ugliness. Xie Lian continues to do what he believes is right even with and in spite of the cynicism that he has gained over the centuries. He has moments wherein he doubts if life is still worth living and it is precisely because he experiences and values even the smallest acts of kindness that this hope is sustained but never truly dies out. It's why even though things are awkward between him, Feng Xin, Mu Qing, and Lang Qianqiu, he never gives up in believing that things could be better. Would it require work? Yes, everything does and miscommunication needs to be resolved for change to happen. But it is because that hope exists that leads to that change he desires, no matter how imperfect the process or the result is.

So this battle is not only because of skill but also because of the philosophy attached to each of the characters who are present but who couldn't defeat Jun Wu:

1.) Mei Nanqing couldn't defeat him because while he doesn't like to admit it - he himself is hopeless. Not to the same degree as Jun Wu, but he is hopeless in believing that things could change for the better because of things done in the past, because of the signs he sees from the stars, or simply from his own biases and prejudices. And I don't blame him for having this perspective when the person you were close with does something so horrific that it causes you to lose hope because of how he became powerful. So he compensates it by hyperfixating on signs early on to predict the future. He becomes so good at it that ironically it is because he is so good at predictions that causes him to lose hope that the future could change or that there might be a chance that he could be wrong. And because of this he was reluctant in training Mu Qing together with Xie Lian because he didn't believe that anything good would come out of it based on the signs he sees in him. When he reads Hua Cheng's fortune he doesn't believe that there will ever be a chance that it could change and this influences his disapproving opinion of him. This hopeless perspective makes him blind to the changes that he couldn't see such as Mu Qing being loyal to Xie Lian. And speaking of Mu Qing;

2.) Mu Qing couldn't defeat him because he still holds a similar fatalistic hopeless view - believing that despite being loyal to Xie Lian he was hopeless in that Xie Lian wouldn't be able to see it and would only see him as a traitor because he isn't as open about his feelings. Xie Lian managing to find a way to save him is probably one of the biggest acts that shifts this perspective. But because this change had only begun and he still has larger emotional wounds to heal he couldn't defeat Jun Wu because he had only begun to have hope that things could be better. For so long he had only seen the ugliness of life out of a need for survival while having an inner most desire of being actually close to Xie Lian. It is because he had only just begun to feed his own kind of hope through a realistic way that makes him unable to defeat Jun Wu's fatalistic perspective on his own. Feng Xin on the other hand;

3.) Feng Xin couldn't defeat him because of his idealism. More hopeful than Mei Nanqing and Mu Qing but it's also because of his devotion to an idealized view of Xie Lian that his hope is more vulnerable whenever he learns anything about Xie Lian that deviates from this ideal. He freaks out when he learns that Xie Lian attempted to rob in order to survive while Mu Qing isn't surprised and frankly points out that it's not a big deal when it comes to survival. A hope that ignores reality is a very fragile one and some might even consider it to be delusional. It is this kind of view that Xie Lian feared that Honghong'er/Hua Cheng would have as a little boy who he saved from death. When in reality it was the opposite;

4.) Hua Cheng was the one who sought to live. He understands the nuances of living life in an imperfect world and is relentless in his hope to do what he can. He fights with Jun Wu with all he has before Xie Lian steps in. The reason why he couldn't defeat Jun Wu is because of his belief that it is Xie Lian who is the best chance in defeating Jun Wu. He knows his own imperfections and could be harsh on his own self except in what he could do to help Xie Lian defeat Jun Wu. This little bit of hopelessness in one's self fed by self-doubt at never being enough or not good enough to defeat a fatalistic hopeless view is why although Hua Cheng is the closest one to have Xie Lian's perspective, he is still filled with harsh self-doubt on everything about himself EXCEPT for his ability to support and serve his beloved Xie Lian. This is actually something they have in common and their love for reassuring each other that they love the person and not the state of each other is the very thing that leads to Xie Lian breaking out of his cursed shackles and ultimately defeating Jun Wu.

Xie Lian also has had self-doubts and biases too, but to have the unwavering love and support of his partner who helped show him that life is still worth living - especially in it's smaller moments turns the tide of the battle. His cursed shackles weren't removed because of a grand ritual. It was removed because of a kiss of love and devotion. To anyone outside this may seem strange (pretend you don't know it's a bl romance novel) that it is a kiss that gives Xie Lian his powers back. But to Hua Cheng and Xie Lian it is a deeply intimate and meaningful act that helps Xie Lian have an actual fighting chance against Jun Wu. I might be overanalyzing but I like this metaphor that it is the mundane things that could take place in daily life that makes life worth living. A kiss between lovers may not change the world on it's own but it reminds the lovers that life is worth living. This is what fuels Xie Lian into having a more equal fight with Jun Wu.

Now - to the beauty of the finishing blow. Because Jun Wu refuses to change, and to actually live among the common people because he has lost hope with them he exploits his advantage into knowing all of Xie Lian's moves in martial arts. It is Jun Wu's refusal to believe in the worthiness of life amidst hardship that leads to his downfall and eventual surrender. Xie Lian being reminded by Hua Cheng of the non-martial art move of crushing a boulder on his chest which he got during his busking days with Feng Xin is a beautiful metaphor for the struggles of life defeating the hopelesness of Jun Wu's fatalastic perspective. Those days were just about Xie Lian and Feng Xin trying to find a means to earn income so his parents could survive. And yet it is those difficult days of struggling to make ends meet that gives Xie Lian the hidden move to defeat Jun Wu.

Sometimes the struggles, the mundaneity, and the imperfections of life are the very things that could make life worth living. There will always be room for improvement but there can be no change when we simply surrender to defeat and linger in hopelessness.

Which is why Jun Wu is substantially no longer a threat once he is imprisoned in Mt. Tonglu. His hopelessness is his own imprisonment with Mei Nanqing keeping him company.

And this is why Xie Lian's finishing blow hits so hard. It's not a grand martial arts move but a mundane busking move as a result of living life that defeats Jun Wu.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men with a Kaladin Stormblessed Coded Reader

AN: idc I really wanted to write this. And this is not perfect so I will write more. No one hold me back. I fucking love Kaladin Stormblessed.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader (Kaladin coded)

Ingredients: 100% honor, 100% angst.

My Fav: Rafayel. Because I like bitter love interests.

(I do not own any of these characters. Literally nothing. Don't sue me please)

Xavier:

The battle was over. The ground was slick with blood. And you...you stood swaying in the center of it all, torn open, barely breathing, but still shielding the fallen behind you.

You hadn’t fought for yourself. You hadn’t even hesitated.

When Xavier reached you, he didn’t speak. He didn’t scold. He just looked at you, at the jagged wound slicing across your side, at the blood pooling at your feet.

How dare you. How dare you value your life so little. How dare you give yourself away so easily, as if it meant nothing.

He carried you back. His armor stained, his gloves slipping slick with your blood, and still, he never once let you go.

Not when the healers came. Not when the others whispered. Not even when you, half-delirious, tried to push him away.

Later, after the chaos settled, he found you again, stitched, bandaged, asleep and pale in your tent.

And he knelt. Sword drawn, point resting against the ground. Head bowed. An oath. Not for a king. Not for a kingdom. For you.

"Next time," Xavier said, voice low, cracking at the edges, "bleed for yourself first." His hand tightened on the hilt. "I’ll be there to cover the rest."

Rafayel:

"There must be another way," you said, loud enough to halt even the bloodthirstiest of the court. "If we flood the lands of the living, we bury not only our enemies... but ourselves."

A scoff split the air.

Yorrick’s voice thundered across the tent, thick with disdain. "And what would you know of it, General?" He spat your title like it tasted foul. "You, who have never worn chains. You, who speaks of mercy for those who would slay your own kin?"

You should have been afraid. You were not. Instead, your gaze slid past Yorrick, and found him. Rafayel.

High Prince of Lemuria. Silent at the head of the war table. Watching.

"You think blood will cleanse blood?" you said, voice steady. "Who has ever bound the sea? Who has ever forced the tide to obey?" You stepped forward, every word a hammerblow.

"Even water trapped in water skin finds its way back to the ocean. Bodies can be enslaved. Minds…" Your eyes locked with his. "Minds cannot."

A tense silence fell. Yorrick’s hand twitched toward his blade.

Rafayel moved. The sea answered him. A gust of salt wind tore through the war tent as the High Prince rose, the gold of his robes whispering along the floor.

"Enough," he said, voice a low roll of thunder. Yorrick froze. The council froze.

But Rafayel wasn’t looking at them. He was looking only at you.

"You think to lecture me on captivity?" he said, and each word landed like a dagger in the gut. "You think to remind me what it means to have chains set to bone, and salt stuffed in the wounds?"

He descended the steps. Every movement a tide pulling the world with him.

"I was broken," he said, softly now, and somehow that was worse. "And you would have me thank them for it?"

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the sea, restless beyond the walls of the tent.

Then you lowered your gaze, but your voice carried clear and sure: "What better are we than mortals," you said, "if we seek the same ruin in our vengeance, my prince?" You bent your knee. Bowed low before him.

"It is not your nature to destroy," you murmured. "Yours is a soul made for creation."

Zayne:

"Traitor," they called you.

Shunned you from the world of the living. Cast you out into the mist. No longer a person, but a shadow. A sprite.

Your crime: offering mercy to the broken souls of the fallen wanderers. Your sin: seeking redemption for the lost. Bringing back their souls to some peace.

But you became one of them.

Had you been wrong? Had your hands, reaching out in hope, only dragged more souls into ruin?

Zayne saw it all.

Any sane man would have let you fall. Would have watched, silent and grieving, as the world devoured your unyielding heart.

He could have stayed. He was a cardiologist respected, revered. He could have saved hundreds, maybe thousands, safe behind the walls of the world you abandoned.

But he did not. He could not.

When the world turned its back on you. Zayne chose to turn his back on the world. If your fate was to fall, then he would fall with you.

Without hesitation. Without regret. Without ever looking back.

Sylus:

A foot soldier with a rusted spear stood before the dragon. Sent alone to slay the beast that noble knights refused to face. They sent you instead.

Sylus snorted, even in his dragon form, smoke curling from his nostrils. He had enough mind left to know the difference between prey... and bait.

Your death would not glorify him. It would strip him of his title as a noble beast. Seal his mountain in shame. Mark him forever a monster.

So he waited, crouched in the gloom, calculating how best to rid himself of this wretched mortal without bloodshed.

He was still scheming when you moved.

Without hesitation, you stepped forward, and snapped the rusted spear against your own thigh, the brittle wood cracking in two.

Sylus stilled, stunned, as you dropped the broken pieces at his feet like an offering. "I shall not harm you, old dragon of Philos," you said, your voice carrying clean and sure through the cavern's heavy air. "I will return to my world. No harm shall come to yours."

You looked at him eyes steady, unafraid. Clearer than any mortal he had ever seen. Perhaps that was what a foolish, fragile kind of morality did to a mortal body. Made it stubborn. Made it beautiful.

Sylus shifted, his great head lowering, his molten crimson gaze fixing you in place. "They will hunt you instead," he rumbled, the cavern trembling with the force of his voice. "An ineffective bait is a discarded one." There was something like mirth in his tone. A low, curling amusement.

How could he not savor this moment? It was not every day the Creator bestowed upon the world a mortal so foolish, and so brave, that even a dragon found himself... entertained.

Caleb:

You refused to step foot in the town where your failure lay. The charred remains of your once home.

You had failed to save him. Failed to protect him.

The nightmares of the fire still haunted you, licking at the edges of your sleep, dragging you back to that day, again and again.

You had let the fire take Caleb from you. You, who fought for the world, who swore to guard it, had lost the one soul you should have shielded most.

It was always the same. Anyone you sought to protect... was taken from you.

Just like Caleb had been.

You went through the motions of life after. Fighting wanderers. Mining protocores for the Hunter’s Association. A hollow blade wielded by a hollow hand.

But no matter how many beasts you struck down, no matter how deep you buried yourself in work, there was no victory.

Only smoke. Only ashes. And a heart torn apart by its own hand.

"Forgive me," you whisper to the night sky, over and over on lonely nights. "Forgive me, Caleb," you repeat, tears slipping down your cheeks.

"I failed, Grandma. I'm sorry." Your voice cracks as you look up, searching the stars for answers that never come.

[locatebiome]

Hello hello! I'm especially curious on your headcanons of Herobrine as a romantic partner 👀 If you don't mind sharing!

MAKES OUT WITH YOU SLOPPY STYLE FOR SENDING THIS

sorry to keep you waiting anon, it took me a few days to answer because i had a LOT to say!! thank you so much for giving me the chance to ramble about this ahhhh i love him so much <333 everyone reading this you are Encouraged to tell me what you think, i LOVE seeing people's reactions to my guy!!

one MILLION bullet points under the cut because this got LONG. enjoy!!

I see Herobrine as bi/pan, demisexual, and some flavor of aromantic spectrum, though he doesn't know that vocabulary exists and doesn't care to find out. He definitely does experience feelings that could probably be classified as romantic attraction if he wanted to put a label to it (he does not). In fact, he tends to be put off by hard lines drawn between "close friendship" and "romantic relationship", and to a lesser extent, labels in general; he'll happily take you out for dinner and kiss you under the stars, but he can't call it "a date".

As previously mentioned in an ask game, Herobrine is incredibly slow to trust. The first several times someone looks out for him, or tries to include him in something, or is bummed out by his absence, he has no idea how to respond and usually freezes for a few seconds, then tries to joke about it to remove any potential for emotional depth, or just ignores it entirely. As time goes on and that person continues to reach out without leveraging their niceties against him as a bargaining chip, he begins to accept their kindness at face value and responds more genuinely.

He responds similarly to being given gifts. If it's something practical that he'd want more of (example: redstone components), he might fake gratitude at first to encourage more of the same, followed by suspicion when the gifts pass the threshold of "too" nice, and eventually real appreciation. Once you've seen his actual gratitude, the difference between genuine and fake thankfulness is striking; when faking it, he's smooth and articulate, approving but aloof. When actually thankful, he gets excited over the details of the gift for a minute, and only if you're lucky, will he remember to thank you for it afterward. (That's okay, seeing a genuine smile from him is usually thanks enough.)

As you may have gathered, Herobrine isn't big on words of affirmation. He has a reputation to maintain, after all. His affection is better expressed through keeping hostile mobs off your back, bringing you on adventures, giving thoughtful gifts, being a massive fucking annoyance, teasing, physical touch, and setting non-lethal traps.

"aw cute wait what was that last thing" ok in his defense, this one's not entirely his fault. First of all, one of the ways the universe itself shows love is by giving you things to do and explore, challenging you, rewarding you for getting through it, and due to his unique awareness of the universe as a whole, that "love language" bleeds into his mannerisms as well. Secondly, after so long interacting with humanity in the role of the boogeyman, Herobrine kind of... doesn't know anything else. And hey, him putting in the extra effort to make sure his traps can't inflict more than a few bruises or scrapes means he likes you!

The good news is, as long as you're close with him, hostile mobs will never bother you ever again. And if they do, he'll make a show out of intimidating said mobs and getting across the point "they're with me." which some viewers may find attractive. (This will end up teaching Casey some really bad habits later in We Are The Daylight LOL)

That's convenient, because one of his greatest joys in life is savoring the awe on someone's face when confronted with the beauty of the natural world and/or the complexity of his projects; which is easier to achieve without mobs being a distraction. He's always enjoyed exploring weird formations or experimenting with contraptions, but if he enjoys your presence, getting to do that and banter with you at the same time is even better.

One can only hope you feel the same, because you're not getting a choice in the matter. He'll just show up, interrupt whatever you're doing, and goad you into/physically drag you into coming with.

This leads nicely into my next point, which is that Herobrine is really fucking annoying. He'll appear without warning to make you jump, offer unprompted commentary and ominous "advice"(?), and says shit like "dude why'd you do that?" when you make an obviously unintentional mistake. guy who teleports behind you just to say "nothing personnel kid 😎". And as the two of you get closer, this begins to include insufferable play-flirting (until the plausible deniability is no longer plausible and it's clearly just. flirting.)

However, he also quietly looks out for you in his own ways. If you offhandedly mention wanting a specific thing, or if he notices you being inconvenienced by lacking something, he'll either make it himself or keep an eye out for it until he can find one and give it to you. If you get hurt, he'll carry on about how reckless and stupid humans are, and won't let you go anywhere until he's had the chance to look at it and cast a quick healing command. When exploring, you'll often come across small signs of his presence, ranging from strangely symmetrical nooks and crannies in a cave, to lone redstone torches, to flowers that are somehow growing underground. As well as... not so small signs of his presence (i.e. corridors lined with traps).

Herobrine likes to show you jaw-dropping caves and vistas, point out constellations until you're falling asleep under the night sky, explore ancient structures and biomes you've never seen before floating by your side, teach you dances he picked up from illager and piglin culture... If he had to pick just one "love language", ultimately it'd boil down to sharing the universe with you.

For all his teasing and unusual ideas of affection, when you're actually truly upset, he does want to help (much to his own chagrin). His methods can be abrasive, as his go-to strategy is to pester you until you tell him what's bothering you (he's very "do as I say, not as I do" in this regard, I fear). But if you make it clear that talking about it right now wouldn't help, he'll switch to much gentler tactics, and attempt to distract you or just be a quiet, calming presence for once. Surprisingly, he gives really good back rubs, which is his go-to strategy to calm someone down and cheer them up a little.

Especially post-banishment, Herobrine is possibly the most touch-starved individual alive. I don't think he could ever be the first to initiate physical contact in a relationship, but once you've gotten to the point where you can playfully punch his arm or roll your eyes and push him away when he's fucking with you, he's the touchiest mfer on the planet. Constantly leaning on you to be obnoxious, ruffling your hair to say hello or good-bye, grabbing your hand to lead you places, flexing his height by resting his chin on the top of your head (he's 6'0" btw) (if you're taller than him he'll simply float to make up the difference anyway) (says he's 5'10" to make other guys panic about their height). Pulling you closer to wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your shoulder during quiet moments in the morning or at night. Melting into the touch helplessly when you cup his jaw. When in bed together, he's either the big spoon or using your chest as a pillow.

He's especially fixated on heartbeats. When laying around or leaning on each other comfortably, he'll slide his hand up your arm and idly rest his fingertips on your pulse. When his hands are near your hands or wrists for any other reason, before moving away he usually checks your pulse without thinking about it. It's almost like he needs to keep reassuring himself you're still alive. His favorite pulse point is the carotid artery because its beat feels so strong, but grabbing someone's neck isn't really something you can do casually so it's saved for special occasions (emotionally-vulnerable cuddling, after waking up from a nightmare and accidentally waking you in the process, sexual encounters, etc.)

It doesn't come up a lot because he doesn't hang out in populated public spaces a lot, but he has absolutely NO shame around PDA. Herobrine is already used to being stared at wherever he goes anyway; so let 'em stare, fuck are they gonna do about it? Confront him? Yeah, right. The majority of the time he doesn't care either way, but sometimes, if someone's really annoying him, he'll get more physically affectionate just to fuck with them.

Similarly, he wouldn't get the chance very often, but if someone else is talking to you and making you uncomfortable? I think he would fucking relish the opportunity to be all threatening and intimidating until they back off. He likes feeling helpful! (He likes being protective.)

Over time, as he gets more and more comfortable with the relationship dynamic, Herobrine doesn't mind you or outside observers referring to the two of you as the romantic partner of the other. Honestly, he might even like it :] Deep down, he's fond of the idea of you being his human.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Spinning the Block (Prologue)

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Officer Jessica "Jess" Sims

Summary: Terry relives his final moments in Shelby Springs.

"I got no time for compromise

Don't bother me

You're all the same, just a bunch of lies

O can't you see?"

Bad Brains—"Don't Bother Me"

Adrenaline rushing through Terry's body didn't help the bloody shotgun wound in his side from clotting up.

He drove as fast as he could on a blown tire with a wounded officer bleeding out from his femoral artery right next to him. Officer Marston's lips turned blue, and his pale skin looked clammy and cold. Behind Terry's seat, drugged out of her mind, Summer McBride cowered and whimpered. All three knew that an abrupt ending to their lives loomed on the horizon.

He crossed over the grassy highway divider, trying to keep control of the car as the blown tire hindered their progress getting to the hospital. It kept pulling to the left, and he fought with the steering wheel. The flopping sound of the tire remains striking the road and the loud thunk of the rim grinding on pavement reverberated in his teeth. He felt every vibration, bounce, and grind, but he willed the vehicle to hold on a few miles more.

He glanced at the passenger seat. Marston clung to life, riding on the fuel of fear and imminent death. The officer twisted the channel on the police radio. More trouble raced in their direction. Two police vehicles screeched behind him and stayed on his ass.

Chief Burnne's black unmarked police truck blew past him, slowing down Terry's momentum. This was it. He glanced at Summer in the rearview, and her forlorn expression had gone past giving up hope. The thought of losing her daughter shined in tear-streaked eyes.

A familiar Crown Vic zoomed along his left flank. His intense jade eyes locked on Officer Jessica Sims' hardened gaze. They stared at one another for only five seconds, but each second stretched into every minute he interacted with her from the beginning.

At the start of his horrific journey in Shelby Springs, he originally thought Officer Sims was the only bright light of hope to clear up the transgressions against him. Most of his family believed in ACAB all day, but he was a former marine vet who tried to have some understanding of why his own people tried to work within the system. Hell, he once trained marines to uphold American values and protect American citizens. He approached Officer Sims with that energy, a kindred spirit trying to do right by fellow citizens as a Black American.

She played everything by the book from jump, and the way her eyes looked at him with compassion made him think she would do the right thing by him.

Fool him once.

Dassit.

Still, she followed the rules like he did with his former work, believing in a righteous chain of command. Unfortunately, she seemed clueless to what her department had been doing for a few years with all the civil forfeitures. Or maybe she was in on it. Perhaps turned a blind eye to keep her job and not get bullied by all the men on her squad. No matter, in the end, she chose a side.

The wrong one.

His eyes narrowed, and he glared at her with the disappointment of a thousand Black ancestors witnessing yet another betrayal by one of their own. In another time or place, he might've asked her out for drinks and dancing at a zydeco bar he frequented. She was the type of woman he liked, big-boned and plush all over. Not easily pushed around. Built for a large man like him. Yeah buddy, if none of this small town racist bullshit had popped off, Terry would've scooped that pretty woman up and sweet-talked her into letting him drop the hammer on that ass. Alas…

Officer Sims turned her gaze forward. He braced for impact because he knew she was going to jack them up and get them killed. Sometimes Black people were their own oppressors when they believed in the American lie. Justice didn't come to his people, and that Black woman didn't care.

Wayment.

Sims gunned the cruiser ahead of him. The police radio crackled with the voices of the cops behind him.

"Looks like she overshot…we got a ticking clock here… give it another go or I'll do it myself here…" a cop droned with a nasal drawl.

Sims clipped the left side of Chief Burnne's vehicle and he veered off to the left. Her cruiser flew off the road, barely missing a tree.

"Great shot… we're 10-59," the cop behind them said.

"What's a 10-59?" Terry asked.

Marston mustered what energy he had left and said, "That's an escort."

One of the cop cars behind him gassed it to the front of Terry. Protection.

Summer wept behind him and Marston passed out. Terry kept driving and praying it wasn't another trick. He had no patience for fuckery anymore. De-escalation had been his saving grace, but his remaining nerves were frayed and poised to explode. The weight of Mike's death hovered over his spirit.

He drove close to the hospital emergency room doors and leaped out of the police cruiser. The back left tire caught fire from the road friction. He ignored it. Summer opened the back passenger door. He lifted and carried her past the swooshing doors. Placing her on a gurney, he snatched up a fire axe he found inside the hospital and dashed back outside. He hurried to the police cruiser and popped the trunk from the driver's side. Glancing at the setup, he struck the dashcam recorder twice and yanked it out. Rushing back inside the hospital, his mind whirred with all the thoughts of what to do next. He would hold on to that dashcam until he had a lawyer present. All the truth rested within it. If he had to shed blood to keep it away from the Shelby Springs police department goons, he would go fucking Rambo on their asses.

The comedown hit him like a sledgehammer. Tears. Shouts of release. Everything he held inside to keep from snapping poured out. He watched more police arrive. Authorities from a different department bumrushed the hospital emergency entrance.

Chief Burrne's, handcuffed and bleeding through a bandage on his forehead, passed him by with Officer Sims escorting him to treatment. Terry clutched the dashcam to his chest, waiting for his representation to arrive. Several cops observed him from a distance.

He glanced up and Sims latched onto his gaze. Her soft brown eyes seemed full of regret and sympathy for his situation. She may have double-crossed him that one time, but the woman looking at him now simmered with self-doubt at her part in the entire fiasco. In the end, she did the right thing, saving their lives.

"Terry Richmond?"

An older white man in a crisply pressed gray suit approached him with another county deputy.

"I'm Lloyd Webber, your attorney. I've worked with Officer Marston."

Terry nodded, stood, and followed the man outside.

He glanced back at Officer Sims. Other cops surrounded her and asked questions. Terry wanted to wish her well with whatever happened next, but he had to focus on the dashcam evidence and get justice for his cousin, himself, and all those other people unjustly harassed and abused by the Shelby Springs Police Department.

One day, he would spin the block and see Jess again.

He needed answers and closure with her.

Part 1 HERE.

Masterlist

Tag List:

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[sheeezu]

you asked for free labor and i OBLIGE! there’s nothing more i love than hearing people talk about their drs: anything simple from morning routine, to life altering moment, to happiest moment, literally anything you’d like 🎀 lol i’m a sucker for a good story

Oof I completely missed your ask.

Anyways I'm happy to share :)

I'm not sure what I could possibly share in my morning routine, it's the same as any other person's DR. Wake up, get a kiss from my SO, eat breakfast which has always been porridge, i find it more convenient, then I change into my work uniform (yes, I wear a uniform to work) and then go to work.

I think it's just better to just do a random storytime, I have a very mushy brain at the current moment so my mind is replaying a single memory so-

I was in college and my best friend (who's my SO now) forced me to go a concert with him, it was a pretty big celebrity in my reality, and so I knew there was going to be a crowd.

I was too hesitant because I didn't even know a single song from that artist, second, I didn't want to be pushed around, and the main reason was I had dinner with my dad (Btw I love him, best dad ever)

So after adjusting my schedule, I arrived at the concert with my soon-to-be SO.

All I did during the concert was stand stone faced in the middle of the crowd, we were standing pretty close to the stage. Long story short I ended up being pushed by this very eager fangirl into the stage, and ended up getting a small cut on my wrist from the edge of the stage.

I left to hopefully locate a restroom, it was a very local concert literally held at our college. So I entered the washroom and stopped my bleeding cut. After a while I thought there was no better place to find peace away from the crowd than in the restroom, meaning I got distracted and took out my phone and read world affairs for a good 20 minutes.

After a while some guy comes in, so I put the phone back and faced him, he was the singer who was performing, at this point in my life this had been my first time being this close to a celebrity, but did it mean much to me? no.

What I was more confused about what this 2 year post graduate celebrity guy just walked into the college restroom which students use, without a care of security risks.

I asked him what he was doing here, he told me that "What? Even famous people have to go."

I realised this was getting awkward, so I reworded my question, telling him that this is the restroom students use, I tried to prove my point I pointed towards an area of the wall where random swear words and suggestive drawings were made with a sharpie, only to find they had been covered with some sort of weird medical tape.

I cleared my throat, before he tells me that this is the VIP restroom he had been escorted to.

Sure enough, outside there was a paper stuck to the door and a big VIP was written on it.

Basically they converted the restroom on the campus into a VIP restroom only for one day.

And I managed to sneak in, idk there was no one guarding the restroom so that makes it even more funny.

He asked me if i wanted an autograph to which my politics clouded mind responded with a big fat blunt no.

But then I remembered it would give me some brownie points if I bring back an autograph to the guy I was trying to win over, who, at that time was a pretty decent fan of this celebrity (also, there is nothing special to this celebrity just because I haven't mentioned his name, his name was Jimmy, and he looked like jimmy Nuetron) so after a while I told him that, I, infant would like an autograph.

I had nothing on which I could get a signature on, in my pocket was just one blood socked tissue paper.

And so I got it signed.

...

I got out and like a psychopath handed over the bloody signed tissue to my soon to be SO who was more worried since he thought I got lost somewhere, since the concert ended a while ago.

...

He still has that tissue paper. It's has a sentimental value in our relationship.

[jinjojess]

About the まったり編 - I liked how the episodes of trivial bullshit actually seem to relate to the route's themes (the cage one is especially obvious) and would love to hear your opinion about them

Oh, you picked up on the fact that I had a lot more to say, did you?

I didn't think that we could get more obvious about the themes than the first episode with the milk sippy boxes, but then the cage thing happened lol.

As always, spoiler talk ahead.

Personally I think the conflicts in まったり編 (Living to the Fullest route) echo the larger thematic questions of the game as a whole, and let's chat a bit about why.

Trivial Bullshit Episode 1: How Much Milk Would You Sip From a Carton if a Woodchuck Could Chuck Wood?

Given how the opening scene for this replays during the route and it's directly referenced to the ending where you bluepill and keep watching the shadows on the cave wall while irl bleeding out on the school tennis court, I think this one is especially obvious in how it relates to the ultimate dilemma.

Specifically, that tiny bit of milk in the bottom of the carton represents one's awareness of reality vs the dream state, and the poll question is less about milk and more about how inclined one might be to put forth the effort to get everything they possibly can out of something. The entire route poses the question of what exactly まったり means to the individual: can you say that you're fully living if you retreat into the Lotus-Eater Escapist fantasy? Or could you say that you're living fully if your every waking moment is besieged by anxiety and fear regarding your very survival?

Fully drinking or not drinking the milk could be argued to represent either stance: going to the last drop takes effort and "sacrifice" (low stakes, to be sure, but in this context "looking stupid" can be read as sacrifice all the same), but it also posits that you should squeeze meaning from every moment, important or not; leaving a tiny bit of milk behind requires that the drinker makes peace with letting things go if they feel they aren't worth it, and whether reality or the dream "isn't worth it" is a matter of perspective.

What this means ultimately is that the question, while seemingly very telling about someone's outlook on life, doesn't actually give much concrete information at all about their character, since there are other equally valid lines of reasoning they could employ. This is most obvious with Ginzaki subverting Sumino's expectations by empathizing with the leftover milk and seeing drinking it as an act of violence rather than assigning value, but I think it's also relevant to Aotsuki's case. His answer is clearly engineered to help Sumino (presumably for personal gain by invoking gift-giving/favor culture, but we have no confirmation either way), and we have no clue if he's lying through his teeth or not. If I'm remembering correctly, I think he even brings up that someone might not even be consistent in how they drink milk, which throws another possibility into the mix and torpedos the poll premise entirely.

So we've established that the milk drinking could easily represent both choices at the end, regardless of which actual camp one falls into, but what does this say about the entire game?

For me, the rejection of binary choice in favor of a richer, more varied range of possibilities is pretty significant for a very large and labor-intensive Choose Your Own Adventure narrative. I haven't watched the interview from the team yet about their thoughts on how they approached the game's structure and central premise, but clearly Hundred Line was intended to push beyond the usual boundaries of a multi-route, multi-ending game. It feels like they wanted to go beyond just Good End vs. Bad End ideas and roll around in the weeds a bit.

So did they drink every last drop and get everything they possibly could out of this premise? Or did they have to leave a bit behind in the bottom of the carton because of budget or time restraints?

Food Milk for thought.

Trivial Bullshit Episode 2: The Case of the Freaky, Potentially Bisexual Sock Thief

This one is slightly more subtle, though hardly inscrutable. The central premise here is that there's someone stealing socks, there are no leads on who it could be, and Aotsuki tells Sumino that what he sees isn't necessarily what is real.

Of course, the "what you're seeing isn't necessarily what exists" part is overtly addressing the dream state, and you could extrapolate out from there about how the more forceful brainwashing is only a single step beyond the constant, low-level indoctrination going on in the background of the entire Tokyo Danchi culture, rather than a huge leap.

I feel like Aotsuki's intention here with this part is to urge Sumino and the player to look more closely at what is being presented to them, and critically question it. There's a war going on; why are you putzing around, worried about missing socks?

Naturally, the sock thief could only have been Eva, because the supplementary theme of this part (and just as important to the themes of the game overall), is that she is only guilty of trying to adapt to and adopt humanity's culture.

Here it's silly and funny--some people's socks get ruined, and she violates a boundary she wasn't aware existed, but ultimately it was in service of trying to "shit let's be santa" and make everyone happy. Annoying maybe, but ends in a laugh. Representative of the classic culture clash whoopsie that happens often in our world but would be less common in this universe as everyone was raised in a monoculture without any other influences.

However. In the larger narrative, Eva and her fellow Captains aren't doing low stakes stuff like this, they're meeting humanity's violence with similar tactics. Several Captains (Eva included) have expressed frustration over why the humans have started the war, and I still firmly believe that the player's side is the imperial, colonist force in this conflict.

This section of the route isn't just about a silly misunderstanding and confusing regular socks for Christmas stockings, it's about the fact that Veshnis, with all of her selfishly driven, blasphemous actions, could very easily and justifiably point to us and go "I learned it from watching youuuuuuu!"

Trivial Bullshit Episode 3: Cards Can Be Used to Play Many Different Games, Actually

Yakushiji's Rocky-esque poker clash with Omokage is probably the least obvious in how it relates to the themes of まったり編 and Hundora overall, but they're still solidly there.

The core lesson here is that Yakushiji perseveres not by totally changing himself, but by finding unique ways to alter the situation to his benefit. Because Omokage says that they'll settle their bet with cards, and not poker specifically, Yakushiji is able to change the game to Old Maid, where he has a better chance of success.

This is the idea behind guerrilla warfare--when you are outmatched in a head-on battle, you utilize anything you can to your advantage, be it terrain, weather, biological warfare, etc. It still requires some level of skill, which is represented by Yakushiji developing a better pokerface, if not a good one. It also requires some measure of luck, which cannot be downplayed.

We're not going to get too deeply into the role luck plays in the larger Kodaka-verse, because I'm talking too much already, but I will refer to the Magnus Archives episode "Cheating Death", where the statement giver outright says that when playing a game against Death, you should always, always go for games of chance if you intend to win. Even though luck still usually bends in favor of Death, it's more favorable than battling using straight skill.

I think these elements are significant because in most Kodaka-related properties, luck as a concept seems to represent the randomness of the universe: the unpredictable. In a story that's heavily focused on making decisions based on available information, luck is a huge enemy to the protagonist. Look at how unsettled Sumino got when he no longer knew exactly what would happen next, despite these changes being the explicit purpose of returning.

(Am I saying that Sumino is taking a similar position in this narrative as Junko does in DanRon? In a way, I guess. I think there's a few very significant differences between them, chief among them being that I think Junko desperately wants to be on a level playing field with her "inferiors" and therefore embraces the possibility of defeat, while Sumino does Not, but yeah I think you could argue that both Sumino and Junko are similar in that their "plans" can be undone by random chance.)

The fact that luck is bending in Sumino's favor the entire duration of the route is part of what should be giving it away that he's not in reality. I also wouldn't be surprised if chance still persists as a major theme throughout Hundora as a whole, and is key to getting to whatever True Ending there might be. As Veshnis gets stronger, the more important luck becomes.

Anyway, getting back to my original point before you all scream "DIGRESSION!" at me, I think the idea of Yakushiji being able to succeed by cooperating with Eva (the outsider) and thinking beyond the boundaries that are unconsciously put in place is part of the "looking beyond just what you see" motif.

I also think that this ties in with the meta themes about art, and sharing art with others, that the game has going on. Cards are just a tool used for any number of games. The the assumption that the characters would play poker with them is just that: an assumption. The medium should never be the primary dictator of artistic decisions, because you as the artist can lean into those limitations, or break them entirely, and get something much more satisfying and memorable.

(You will never convince me that V3 was not about Kodaka feeling creatively hemmed in, and Hundora is really not helping to dissuade me. I have Thoughts about the fact that he felt hemmed in and then kept making similar decisions, but let's put that aside for now.)

Trivial Bullshit Episode 4: Nelly Furtado and Billy Corgan are Very Disappointed In You

This one is so obvious that I'll hopefully have less to say about it, but no promises lol. Sumino chooses to put himself inside a cage at Aotsuki's suggestion, and then finds that actually, it's not too bad. He doesn't have to think, he doesn't have make decisions, he can just exist. It's surprisingly great, up until he decides he wants to leave and can't.

One key point is the fact that Aotsuki brings up 住めば都, a phrase similar in meaning to this Dostoevsky quote: "Man is a creature who gets used to everything, and that, I think, is the best definition of him." Even under terrible circumstances, if you live in that state long enough, you can find comfort in the situation.

People are scarily good at adjusting to things. We can hunker down and find a way to survive even in the most appalling of conditions, and while in some ways that's admirable, in other ways it can have some questionable side-effects. Think about how hard change is for most people--how difficult is it to let go of what you know even if you also admit that it's not good for you. On a personal level, we see this all the time: people stay in bad relationships; stick it out at deadend jobs; continue to live in cramped, poorly maintained apartments.

Usually they aren't being overtly forced to do this, but the longer you remain in the status quo, the harder it is to break out of it. The more terrifying change becomes. The more effort you'd have to expend. The more small good points you've managed to cling to to keep yourself afloat you'd have to sacrifice.

The cage in the courtyard, aside from representing the dream itself as comfortable and less complicated but a prison regardless, also stands in for the Academy itself and the culture that spawned it. Aotsuki mentions that Sumino is the one who is trapped inside while he's the one who is free, which Sumino interprets as himself being stuck in the dream state and Aotsuki having escaped, but it seems to refer to the deeper way in which Sumino blindly trusts Sirei and the authority he represents, whereas Aotsuki actively fights against it. At no point has Aotsuki ever been on the side of bringing The Plan to fruition, and he claims to know the "truth" of the conflict (which, again, I feel pretty confident in saying is because humans are the invading presence).

In short, Aotsuki is woke in the original sense of the term, and Sumino is still snoozing, being a good little patsy for The Man.

It's less about being imprisoned by external forces, but instead more about the subtle ways in which all of us turn away from the truth to enjoy comfort. We've examined what that can look like on a personal level, but what about on a macro scale?

What does it mean to reside in the Imperial Core, where you can hear Veshnis's threats, but she never harms you directly? Does it mean that you're justified in wanting to ensure the annihilation of everyone on her side? Should you have to see the carnage yourself, or should you be able to handwave the defeat away off-screen and focus on your own happy ending?

As a quick aside, I think it's also significant how Sumino discovers the joy of storytelling while in gay baby colonist invader jail. His conversation with Aotsuki where they have a little playground duel about whose OC is can beat up the other is funny and cute, but their creations are ultimately juvenile and don't express much about either of their thoughts, feelings, or views on the world. (Such is the nature of powerscaling arguments.) One might read this as an indication that putting oneself in this cage of comforts, of embracing blind trust in authority, hampers one's ability to create meaningful art. There's nothing wrong with enjoying creation for its own sake in a shallow way from time to time, but what happens when the alarm goes off and you now want to leave?

In Conclusion

まったり編 (the Living to the Fullest route) introduces a lot of interesting questions for the player to consider not just in the context of the route itself, but about Hundred Line in its entirety.

I keep seeing people joking about not being able to talk succinctly about what Hundora is "about", but I honestly don't think it's that hard? Like, the lyrics of Rumble are largely in English, guys.

There's three core themes:

Think critically about the world and your place in it: don't just trust what those in power tell you at face value; re-examine your beliefs using new information and other perspectives; act after having carefully considered your stances; etc.

Creative expression is essential to humanity: make art you want to make, not just focusing on what will be popular or sell well. Good art isn't always palatable. It takes work and sacrifice, but it's worth it.

The world may be pretty fucked; do something about it.

Am I wrong? Like sure I have a lot more to see in the game, but I feel like these themes have come up and been reinforced consistently the entire time. Maybe people are hearing "what's the game about" and thinking of it as "please give me a succinct plot summary."

Anyway, I'm so sorry, anon. Hopefully my rambling made sense.

P.S. The word まったり often makes me think of the Ojarumaru opening song lol. Pretty sure that's how I learned the word initially.

P.P.S. I'm a "drink to the last drop" type of person, because like 50 ml or however little they give you with school lunch is Not Enough, so when I was still teaching, you know I'd be up there doing janken to win another carton.

[elllisaaa]

skz as love songs

-> pairing : skz x fem!reader

-> words count : 3.1k words

-> genre : fluff, hurt/comfort

-> sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> author's note : i really enjoyed writing this, and i might have some ideas for longer fics based on songs because of this event lmao ! hope you will like this as much as i liked writing it !

-> masterlist | skz masterlist | 1k event masterlist

BANGCHAN

-> All of Me by John Legends  

"love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections"

→ You know that everytime you doubt yourself, you can count on Chan to remind you of your value, of how beautiful you are. In his eyes, you’re the prettiest girl in the world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. So he never understood how you could not see how incredible you were, how you could not see how perfect you were. 

“- But I’m not perfect…”

That’s what you always answer him everytime he tells you that, and everytime, he argues the same thing. 

“- Yes, but even your flaws are perfect, because you work on yourself and try to be a better person every time you make a mistake.”

And what can you say ? If you’re perfect, then Chan always has the perfect word to remind you of that, and the perfect hugs to comfort you. 

"‘cause I give you all of me, and you give me all of you"

→ Because when Chan loves, it’s with his whole heart, his whole soul. When he falls in love, he falls in deep, he falls in forever. Just like he throws himself in work because he’s so passionate about it, he gives his all for his relationship, he does whatever it takes to treat you right. 

“- Channie, you didn’t have to do all that…”

You were surrounded by candles and rose petals as you walked into your kitchen, your favorite meals on the counter, apparently homemade, and Chan standing in a suit in front of you, a warm smile on his face. 

“- Yes, I had to. I had to show you how grateful I am to spend another year with you, because you make me so happy.”

And that’s an understatement. Everytime you kiss him, he feels like the luckiest man on earth. One day, he knows that he’ll marry you. One day, he knows that he’ll have a family with you. One day, you’ll really hold his whole life in your hands, even if you already are with the way you make his heart beat and come alive. 

LEE MINHO

-> Cardigan by Taylor Swift

"you drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding"

→ Minho has always watched you very closely, knows every little shift in your mood just by your body language. He had learned every little part of you like the moves of his favorite choreo, one he’ll never get tired of, one he’ll never forget. He had taken care of you when you were at your lowest, always reminding you that it was okay not to be okay sometimes. 

“- I’m sorry…

- You don’t have to be sorry for that sweetheart, it’s normal to be sad sometimes but just remember that I will always be there to support you.”

It’s like his words were magical, as if without you needing to tell him all about what you had been going through, he already knew it all. Sometimes, you wondered if Minho was an angel, because one touch from him, one word from him, and suddenly it was like you were healed. 

“- Being weak is not a bad thing, it’s what makes you stronger.”

If only he knew how grateful you were to have him, because he was truly helping you become more confident and overcome your past. 

"I knew you’d come back to me"

→ Sometimes, he’d have his bad times too. And even if he encouraged you to open up about it, he couldn’t follow his own advice and distanced himself from you. Minho would not be very talkative, nor would he seek your affection like he normally would. But just as much as he’s patient with you, you are with him and he’s grateful that you understand that he needs time for himself. 

“- Can I be the little spoon tonight ?”

You smile at his question, and that’s all Minho needs to bury his face in your chest, sighing in relief when you hold him tight against you and run your fingers through his hair. 

“- Are you ready to talk about it ?”

Mimicking you, he nodded and took some time to think before telling you what was on his mind these past days. Minho’s love was like a little cocoon, a shelter far away from the world, where you could be honest with each other and spend everyday basking in each other's presence. Sometimes, love doesn’t need words. 

SEO CHANGBIN

-> I Think I’m In Love by Kat Dahlia

"I didn’t think it could be true, let alone that it would be you"

→ It’s not that Changbin doesn’t believe in love, that’s quite the opposite actually, but more so that he doesn’t have the time to think about it because of his job. But the day he met you, it was like fate giving him a sign, telling him that love wasn’t going to stay out of his life anymore. And as much as he tried to contain himself, he came to realize that maybe, he should let you enter in his heart. 

“- Do you feel the same ?”

Your glazed eyes plunged in his, and even if Changbin knew you were a little drunk, he couldn’t help his heartbeat to fasten.

“- I don’t know, what are you talking about ?

- Love.”

You out of all the people he knew was the least he expected to fall for, and even less to feel the same about him. But he wasn’t mad about it. In the end, love was never logical. 

"baby, I’m falling, I hope you catch me when I’ll land"

→ It’s how it felt to be with you : falling. Changbin never thought that the expression falling in love could one day find a literal meaning, but he was wrong. And Changbin also never thought that he would love this sensation, and he was wrong again. 

“- Are you okay Binnie ?”

He lifted his head to look at you, smiling at him so sweetly he felt like a teenager all over again. 

“- Yes… I was just thinking.

- About what ?

- How grateful I am to have you by my side.”

It was Changbin’s turn to smile when he saw your cheeks redden. But he had never been more serious. Because yes, it was a little scary to dive into the unknown like that, but it was also exciting to go for new adventures. Moreover, it was the firm conviction that you would be there with him, that you were falling with him, for him, that made it so beautiful to be in love with you.

HWANG HYUNJIN

-> Infinity by Jaymes Young

"baby this love, I’ll never let it die"

→ Hyunjin had always been a hopeless romantic, dreaming about living a fairytale since he was child. He viewed love as something enchanting, thrilling and ultimately beautiful. Nothing could ever deter him from chasing after you, because he knew for a fact that you were the love of his life, his soulmate. He knew it since the day you met, knew it since the first time your eyes crossed.

“- Don’t cry princess, I will be back in no time.

- I know, but still… I’m gonna miss you like crazy.”

It was the same thing every time he prepared to leave. No matter if it was for several months or just a few days. Everytime, it felt so wrong to be away from him, and he felt exactly the same. It was just another proof that you were made for him.

“- Me too, but we’re stronger than that, you know it. We’ll always figure it out, we’ll always find a way. As long as you’re mine and I’m yours, everything will be alright.”

Loving Hyunjin was like that sometimes, like the feeling of having finally found your home.

"‘cause you’re the reason I believe in fate, you’re my paradise." 

→ As an artist, Hyunjin had tons of sketchbooks filled with drawings of you. He liked to say that you were his muse, because even though he was not representing you, every piece of art he made was ultimately inspired by your person. It could be something you loved, some art style you told him you appreciated. In the end, everything was linked to you. 

“- Thank you for doing this for me princess, it means a lot to me.”

You kissed his cheek with a big smile on your face, admiring the painting of you he just finished and for which you posed for hours, sparkles in your eyes.

“- I’m always happy to help you create, and everytime it turns out amazing. I’m honored to be your inspiration !”

But you were so much more than that. You were his reason to live. You were his other half. You were the reason the colors were so bright in his world. You were the reason he felt everything so hard. 

“- You’re not my inspiration, you’re my muse.”

And he meant even above art. He would do everything in his power to keep you by his side forever. 

HAN JISUNG

-> It’s U by Cavetown

"if you’re hurt, then I’ll fix you, if you’re blind, then I’ll describe the view." 

→ Life has not always been peaceful for Jisung. Sometimes, it was hard to even go out and see other people. Sometimes, it was hard to even talk to someone else. But when it came to you, everything felt so easy, everything felt so natural. You were always willing to help him, to support him through his worst states. 

“- I’m bothering you, you have work to do. 

- Baby, look at me.”

Jisung obeyed and stared at your soft gaze, feeling tears pricking his eyes again. He wanted to stay here in your arms forever and never have to face reality ever again. 

“- You’re more important than everything else. I’ll always be there for you. Whenever you need me, just call, and I’ll be right by your side. You can count on me.”

And you knew you could count on him too. When you were too tired to do the dishes or the laundry, he’ll do it for you. When he was too tired to wash his hair or take off his makeup, you’ll do it for him. Everything you did for him, he’ll do it for you too. 

“- Thank you.”

Jisung often felt the need to tell you how grateful he was to have you in his life. Loving you was like being all cuddled in a warm blanket with a hot chocolate during a cold winter day. Loving you was comfortable. 

"it’s always been you."

→ He always made fun of his friends who loved to watch these silly romantic movies where the main characters fell in love at first sight, believing that it was not real and could never happen, especially to him. But you came into his life like a hurricane, and suddenly, everything turned upside down. 

“- When did you start liking me ?”

You pretended to think about it for several minutes, too long for Jisung who whined at you for being so mean to him, making you giggle so cutely. 

“- I’m joking baby ! I have liked you since Chan introduced you to me. You were very charming, you know… 

- You were more charming, gorgeous, beautiful. I was starstruck.”

Jisung grinned as you blushed from his compliments, but deep down, he felt butterflies erupting in his stomach all over again, just like the first time he saw you. He needed reassurance often, but when you said that type of thing, he was convinced that destiny had plans for the two of you. Even before he had known you, it had always been you. 

LEE FELIX

-> In Luv With U by Finn

"I’m in love with you, more than summer and afternoons."

→ You came into Felix’s life like a sunset on a warm morning, with the sound of waves crashing on the beach echoing in the distance and the scent of the sea. It was like summer love. It was soft, natural, without overcomplication. You didn’t think too much of what was happening between the two of you, and neither Felix did. All he wanted was to make the most of your time together.

“- You can open your eyes.”

As you listened to his whispered command, you discovered that he had laid a blanket on the sand and that a picnic was laying on top of it. You turned around to smile at Felix.

“- You prepared all that just for me ?

- Why wouldn’t I ?”

You only kissed him by way of answer, running excitedly to sit on the blanket while Felix contemplated your figure from where he was standing behind you. Yeah, why wouldn’t he do that for you when you brought sunshine back in his life ? And to say that he didn’t do the same to you would be a lie. You were a perfect match. 

"I don’t know where I belong anymore, I belong to you."

→ There were times during which Felix didn’t know if he made the right choices. He was the most positive person you knew, but sometimes, doubt overcame him anyway. But even when he was lost, Felix knew that he had someone to rely on, someone to talk to, someone to ease all his worries. Everytime, it felt like he was letting you see his raw emotions, but you never made him feel ashamed for that. 

“- It’s okay to feel like that sometimes Lixie, and I know that you’re strong and that you’ll figure it out. You always figure it out.”

Even if he wanted to believe it, you could see that a shadow was still casting the beautiful light of his eyes. 

“- And if I don’t ?

- Then I’ll be there to help you, and we’ll do that together.”

You smiled when you saw his own tugging at his lips. You were always here to remind him that no matter what happened, you would always be there. You were his focal point when he was lost, reaching out a hand for him to take and bring him back home, bring him back to you. 

KIM SEUNGMIN

-> Paris in the Rain by Lauv

"‘cause anywhere with you feels right, anywhere with you feels like Paris in the rain."

→ The first time Seungmin got to Paris, it was because of work, and he knew that you would love it here. So the next time he came to visit the city, it was with you. He spent the whole trip looking at you all excited about all the things you wanted to do, looking at you like you were holding his whole world in your hands. And you kind of were. 

“- Isn’t the view incredible !? I can’t believe some people get to see that everyday…

- You’re more pretty to look at, and I’m so lucky to be the only one seeing you every morning and every night.”

The blush creeping on your cheeks didn’t hold you back from returning the compliment. Seungmin didn’t know if it was the atmosphere, or the fact that it was the first time he had the chance to take you on a trip, but he felt his heart swell just knowing that he had you all for himself, that you were here with him and only him. 

“- You’re so cheesy…

- Yeah, but you love me.”

And neither of you could hold back the smiles stretching out your lips. 

"I look at you now and I want this forever."

→ It wasn’t rare for Seungmin to call you his wife in his head. In fact, he referred to you as that a lot as a joke, even when you were with other people. And everytime, both of you would laugh it off, even if you couldn’t help loving the idea of this silly little antic becoming reality. Because you knew your boyfriend like the back of your hand, you noticed how his ears and cheeks grew red as he introduced you to some of his friends as his wife. You smiled sweetly, not correcting him, but waited until later to talk about it.

“- So… Where’s my ring ?”

Again, Seungmin felt himself blush and whined, burying his head in the crook of your neck to hide his embarrassment. 

“- I’m sorry love, it just slipped from my mouth.”

He knew that he was going to marry you one day, but he didn’t want to rush things and scare you, hell, he didn’t even decide on a ring to buy you. He wanted to wait a little longer to be sure that you weren’t a dream that will soon vanish.

“- Well, I don’t mind it as long as I really become your wife.

- I love the sound of that.”

And you did too. Seungmin couldn’t wait to be yours forever, because that’s all he ever wanted. 

YANG JEONGIN

-> Dancing in a Daydream by Roses & Revolution

"it’s you and me, dancing in a daydream, just you and me, lost in the clouds."

→ Pushing open the door of your apartment, the smell of food hit Jeongin as soon as he stepped a foot inside, a smile spreading on his lips as he heard you greeting him from the kitchen. He quickly discarded his jacket and shoes before joining you, sliding his arms around your waist and spooning you into a back hug as you continued to chop off vegetables. 

“- How was your day baby ?

- Exhausting… All I wanted was to be home with you, couldn’t stop thinking about coming home.”

You nobbed your head along, sliding the vegetables in your pan before turning around and cupping his face.

“- Well, you’re with me now, nothing to worry about anymore.”

Jeongin hummed happily, burying his face in your hair and holding you tight against him. Yes, just you and him, it was all he needed. 

"and if I open my eyes, if I open my eyes, will it all unravel ?"

→ Jeongin tried to be as sneaky as possible in order to not wake you up as he got out of bed and went to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass and filled it up with cold water, hoping that it would help him get over this bad dream. It happened rarely, but when it did, it was always very frightening. He almost didn’t notice when you joined him, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“- What are you doing awake baby ?

- I… I just had a nightmare, don’t worry.

- You want to talk about it ?”

You sat down with him on the couch, straddling his lap and running your hands through his hair to soothe him.

“- It’s stupid really… I was coming home and you were not there, and I searched for you everywhere and couldn’t find you. It was as if you never existed. It was so scary, I felt so lost without you.

- But I’m here, yeah ? I’ll always be there, I promise, I’m not going to disappear.”

Jeongin smiled at you before he kissed you softly. Sometimes, it was hard to believe that you were his, because you were such a dream come true, and he wished to keep you by his side as long as you’ll let him.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

skz taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@binwons @minnies-babie @yoongles2025 @thicccurls @caitlyn98s @hildaortara @sharonxdevi

[jinxedjackie]

Going to ramble for a bit but I hope we’ll get a Sevika backstory in season two or, at least, something about her family or values other than her loyalty to the cause. Arcane is all about family and, if I recall correctly, she’s the only character in Arcane who doesn’t have any familial ties (Viktor sorta has Singed, Heimerdinger sorta has the council and Piltover(??)… but Ig, if you think about it, Sevika has Zaun?) (But maybe later when she starts to mentor Jinx?)

Might go on a tangent here and ramble about some things and head canons but…

It kind of makes me wonder if Sevika wants to have a family of her own? Or, maybe, take the orphans roaming around the streets of Zaun under her wing? Maybe she could train and provide for them in ways her parents and society had failed to do. Zaun is all she has left, her family, and it’s one of the reasons that drives her to fight.

Blinded by her loyalty to Zaun’s liberation and independence, she leaves Vander, and chooses Silco, because Silco isn’t pliant to the enforcers’ whims and isn’t afraid to fight back. He doesn’t leave Zaun to bleed. She knows that sometimes it’s better to back down than fight, but Vander had to know when enough is enough.

She doesn’t let the repercussions of Silco’s actions and the effects of shimmer affect her. Even if guilt incessantly gnawed at her heart. You grow through suffering and sacrifices because it drives progress — that’s what she’s learned all throughout her life, when her father broke her nose and arm for being scared to throw a punch, when her mother taught her to nurse a broken bone and ask her to understand why her father did it, when she had to sacrifice her own youth because she had to fend for herself. This is good for them. The children of Zaun will learn. It’s also why, when she lost her arm, she doesn’t blame Jinx and her very idiotic makeshift monkey bomb. (Even if the little shit annoys the fuck out of her.) Her arm was just a small sacrifice to pay. If she hadn’t protected Silco, Zaun would’ve bled to death, and the topside would’ve never notice, continuing to dance over Zaun’s grave. It’s the least she could do, the least she could offer. She’d give her life, too, if she could. Anything and everything for Zaun.

It’s one step forward to freedom but two steps backward in civilization (because shimmer is shit and eats you from the inside out, but it’s what keeping her and Zaun alive, unfortunately) but it’s still progress and also a big fuck you to Piltover, and that’s what matters. She, Silco, and shimmer are necessarily evils. She starts to understand why her father was rough with her.

Anyway, on a sorta related note, do you ever wonder if Sevika sees herself and her father in Jinx and Silco, has thought of asking Silco to stop whatever mind games he’s doing with Jinx or to be gentle with her, at the very least (because she doesn’t know anything. Because she’s just a kid. A brat. She’s lost) but when she faces Silco all she sees is her father towering over her with the same disapproving and angry look that’s etched forever in her mind since she was five?

Also… what if, after everything has resolved and she’s done all she could for Zaun, she settles down and finally allows herself to prioritize herself and her happiness? She gets a small house, maybe somewhere in the forest. Finds herself a wife and two or three kids to adopt. But then, before she could achieve that she d—

—

It’s kind of all over the place but, um, please don’t mind me. I wanted to ramble about Sevika wanting a family but getting scared of having kids bc she doesn’t want them to go through what she experienced, and then it turned to this. Lol

[inalandofsadclowns]

Aight, who wants to talk about the theoretically most optimal occasion for Merlin to come out about his magic to Arthur?

I'll go first: 1x10, Ealdor.

In the prior episodes Merlin was basically still getting to know Arthur. For eight episodes he was the brave and noble prince that Merlin had grown to respect, because Arthur apparently did not value his own life any higher than that of a servant, but who was also the son of Uther Pendragon. Arthur would save Merlin at any price, he got to learn that multiple times. But would he save a sorcerer? He couldn't know. (This question remained even when Arthur had lifted Merlin's sorcery allegations.)

But in 1x08 Arthur knowingly broke the law saving Mordred, a druid; he was in fact more devoted to the cause than Merlin himself.

For Merlin to reveal his secret he needs three prerequisites to exist:

To trust Arthur

The opportunity

To be prepared to leave Arthur forever

The Moment of Truth might just be the only episode where all these exist?

Let's look through these points one by one.

1.Merlin had been wanting for Arthur to know since forever. There's nothing he wants more desperately than to know if they're really, truly friends. Once he says to Will, he does trust him.

Will: Friends don't lord it over one another.

Merlin: He isn't like that.

Will: Really? Well, let's wait until the fighting begins and see who he sends in to die first. I guarantee you, it won't be him.

Merlin: I trust Arthur with my life.

And this gem here. The first time Merlin doesn't promise Hunith to keep Arthur in the dark.

Hunith: You can't let Arthur know about your gift.

Merlin: Why not? Maybe it's meant to be this way. And if he doesn't accept me for who I really am, then he's not the friend I hoped he was.

2. Opportunity. They have these several times throughout the series: fights for survival, heated arguments, quiet moments of vulnerability. There are several brilliant opportunities in this very episode.

The armor scene:

Merlin: Whatever happens out there today, please don't think any differently of me.

Arthur: I won't. It's alright to be scared, Merlin.

Merlin: That's not what I meant.

Arthur: What is it? If you've got something to say, now's the time to say it.

Oh. He tried. My boy tried, he was so close...My heart bleeds for him here.

Then, obviously, right after the battle.

Arthur: Wind like that doesn't just appear from nowhere. I know magic when I see it. One of you made that happen.

Merlin: Arthur...

Merlin just so manages to exhale Arthur's name with a so-so painful look in his eyes. Arthur knows what Merlin was about to say. Just for a moment, because Will gets shot saving Arthur.

He even tries to stop Will from taking the responsibility on his deathbed, even though Arthur knew, that the windstorm was conjured by one of them; if it wasn't Will, than that leaves only Merlin.

Will: Yeah, it was me. I'm the one that used the magic.

Merlin: Will, don't.

[Arthur looks at Merlin.]

3. The most important part. The greatest issue for Merlin has always been the threat of having to leave Arthur. But in this episode there is a cause just as important to him as Arthur - his village and his mother.

The first Merlin and Arthur exchange of the episode is Merlin saying goodbye to Arthur.

Merlin: It's been an honour serving you.

Arthur: You'll be coming back.

Merlin: Well, she's my mother. I have got to look after her before anyone else. You understand?

Then he was prepared to come clean for Ealdor's sake several times that day. Merlin is going to fight for his village, he's well prepared to use magic if needed - in front of Arthur, if needed, knowing full well that might be the last time they ever speak or meet. Whether Arthur forbids Merlin from returning to Camelot for Camelot's sake or Merlin's own sake, the result would be the same.

At the very end, even with his magic still a secret, he was going to stay in Ealdor with Hunith, had she not sent him after the others, so he really was prepared to part from Arthur.

[Arthur walks over to Morgana and Gwen. Hunith walks over to Merlin.]

Hunith: You better be going.

Merlin: I don't have to go.

Hunith: Yes, you do.

Merlin: If anything were to happen to you...

Hunith: I know where to find you. You have to go, Merlin. You belong at Arthur's side. I've seen how much he needs you. How much you need him. You're like two sides of the same coin.

That whole episode was Merlin attempting and failing to come out to Arthur.

After this, though, Merlin was too close to Arthur to ever consider prerequisite 3., other than in the form of dying for Arthur.