#I want to make a whole dissertation about it

[dartalias]

Hey so randon question

Why do y'all think Yun didnt kissed Kyoshi in the fire Lilies scene?? Or make any real move about his crush on her?

Because in Kyoshi pov she say that both had their dutys and she as a maid and the he as the avatar it wouldn't end well to nether of them and bla bla bla

But i dont buy that this is Yun's reason why

Like this dude make a way for her to go to the south pole, in a conference with a bunch of pirates just because he wanted her there

I dont think its necessarily a big secret thing, but its so strange to his character and im just curious

(Not a ship post btw im just wondering)

[croquettish]

Claustrophobia as a Metaphor for Hans' Feelings for Henry

All right. I'm ready to go full tinfoil hat here but I have a theory, y'all. And there is a lot of evidence to back it up even if you decide I'm off my rocker for most of it:

I think Hans' claustrophobia exists in parallel to his feelings and, more importantly, how Hans feels about his feelings for Henry.

We first get the hint that Hans is claustrophobic when he and Henry get tossed into the dungeon at Trosky:

This is immediately post-divorce era. The boys haven't quite yet made up and Hans has gotten his first taste of what life is like without Henry. He did not care for it, and that realization comes alongside an incredibly unexpected vulnerability that Hans is not used to and has not had to deal with before.

The threat of losing Henry before was of course something he could conceive of before, most recently following Henry's ~terrible fall, but that would have been losing him in the abstract. If he lost Henry because of their fight, that would be (at least in his eyes), 100% his fault, at least in part because-- as you'll recall-- Henry was ready to make up literally the next morning. Earlier, even, if you watch the way he tries to look at Hans while Hans is stubbornly staring away as if to keep from being persuaded by Henry's puppy dog eyes.

The divorce era presented a different sort of loss, namely losing Henry not because of God's will, but because of his own stubborn pride. He got Henry back after, but the risk was there and it's only after getting him back that the full weight of what he almost lost hits him. At the beginning, when he's still panicking in the cell, he's still in what he perceives to be the proverbial doghouse, and he promptly follows this up by eating crow and apologizing to Henry for being an asshole.

Panic abated.

Until Henry is taken away from him, of course, and the walls truly start closing in. I have to really commend the creative direction of this scene in particular because that zoom out + transition to a Dutch angle is so fucking haunting in this scene while we watch Hans clearly trying not to have a full breakdown. It really induces the feeling of claustrophobia even if a person doesn't suffer from it themselves.

Henry was taken away from him, and as far as he knows, he might never see him again. No wonder the walls start closing in on him.

After that, things return to normal. No bad claustrophobia concerns for some time, incidentally. Henry is there, and his feelings regarding Henry are completely logical and rational. What a good friend Henry is!

The next time we see Hans' claustrophobia flare up is after Nebakov is hit by the Finger of God/bombard. Hans is trapped under a beam and is (understandably) freaking the fuck out. We also know from his dialogue later on that this scene magnified his claustrophobia even more than it was before.

What's notable, however, is that Henry at this point is barely conscious and isn't responding to Hans. As far as he knows, Henry isn't alive. That bombard could have easily killed any/all of them and tbh it's kind of a miracle that it didn't. Never mind that after his brief foray into consciousness, Henry is promptly hit by a full-length ceiling beam and (presumably, logically) knocked the fuck out. Meanwhile Hans is being crushed by his own fear of his feelings.

We obviously don't know what happens between the time of the tower's destruction and the scene in the cart after, but we do know that Henry was woken up at dawn to the commotion and by the time they get done being tortured, it's very late at night. So presumably Henry was out cold for a while there. Not only are the walls closing in on Hans here, they're literally crushing him. The fear of losing Henry is more present than ever.

And to make matters worse, he has no idea when or even if he's ever going to see Henry again. Henry has no value as a hostage. He could easily be simply disposed of without a second thought.

Henry could die, and it would, in Hans' eyes, be all his fault. At this point his feelings on the matter are guilt and a tremendous amount of self-pity (as we later learn from Brabant). As if to coincide with Hans being confronted with his feelings regarding Henry and the loss of him at this point and time, he ends up stuck in his gilded cage at Maleshov.

Once again, the walls are closing in.

We learn about how he felt about this only later when we chat with him at the Devil's Den:

The big problem with the room, Hans explains, was simply that he couldn't leave.

If we bear in mind the claustrophobia : confrontation of feelings metaphor here, this makes sense. Henry could be dead. He could have been tortured. He could still be in captivity. Hell, depending on how you play Henry being tortured, he even tells the torturer to just go ahead and fucking kill him because he's not talking. Henry was ready to die.

Hans knows Henry. Extremely well. He knows that Henry has some truly insane principles that he will stick to no matter what. There's no doubt in my mind that Hans probably knows there is a good chance that Henry doesn't make it through this. And he's confronted with all of these feelings over an extended period of time where he gets to sit and spin.

In light of that, I think it's interesting that he calls it a hole, because I would never use a word like that to describe what is effectively a fancy hotel room. But figuratively speaking, of course it's a hole for him. He's despairing. He needs Henry in his life and there's nothing he can do to get to him or to save him. He can't leave.

And then, of course, Henry shows up after all. No wonder Hans looks so unbelievably elated to see him. Of course, this is when Henry brings up the secret passageway. Hans is told that he can leave this enclosed space for another, even tighter enclosed space!

Now, if you pick the correct dialogue option here and tell him that you'll make it through, together, Hans of course discloses that the shit about how it's not ~chivalrous was bullshit and that it's because he might endanger him:

He just spent the last x amount of time (depending on how long you had Henry dilly-dallying around Kuttenberg and its environs) trapped here and steeped in his feelings regarding Henry. The fear of losing him is at the top of this list. To Hans, going into that passageway could also make him lose Henry. And it would be his fault. Again.

There's also something to be said here about close quarters. If we're to return here to the metaphors, then those close quarters force Hans to confront his feelings for Henry. Henry even says it himself back when they're in the Trosky dungeon together:

From there, it's on to Raborsch. Which is where things get very interesting.

Hans is told that he's going to be getting married. Much like in the Trosky dungeon, we get that zoom (albeit in the other direction this time) and then his POV. The way time seems to slow, the wobble of the camera... being something of a panic attack haver myself, this is exactly what it feels like. It is honestly impressive how well they mimic the feeling of it. And the way it's executed almost makes it look as though the room is shrinking.

This is my own personal headcanon that will probably not be shared by most people, but I think this is the moment that Hans realizes that he's in love with Henry. It would make sense for him to feel faint and like the walls are closing in on him in that moment.

It's also the worst possible moment for him to realize.

And then he proceeds to try and shove those feelings aside and repress them as best as possible. Nevermind that yet again Henry isn't there to help support him.

There was a wonderful post going around the other day about why Hans' responses to the romantic dialogue options Henry chooses sound so platonic. Because... yeah. He's holding that shit in TIGHT. He is on LOCKDOWN.

And we see that reflected in where he chooses to place himself physically after that point!!!!

After the announcement, Godwin can find him outside on the balcony getting absolutely hammered and talking to Rabbi Jehuda.

Even at the Devil's Den, where he's objectively free, he feels... crowded. Like the walls are closing in on him:

No fucking wonder. If he just realized that he's in love with Henry, then at this point in the story he's still trying real hard to repress that shit. Hans is erecting these walls himself as if he's trying to choke these feelings out of him. It also makes sense why he's constantly going out to get away from this confrontation of feelings as much as possible, riding out whenever he can:

Even in the group meeting with the Devil's gang, he says this:

Now it's the whole tavern! Anywhere that has walls and a roof is choking the life out of him! And of course here Henry is suddenly fucking everywhere.

When talking to him about the rides he goes on in the surrounding areas, this line of inquiry leads him to ask if he's fucking poaching again, and Hans comes back by saying this:

Allow me to just say.

And I cannot stress this enough.

He did not need to tell Henry that.

Henry tells him as much, but it feels fairly obvious that this was said with intent. It's like he's trying to reinforce his own heterosexuality to both him and Henry.

I would also like to highlight here that to Hans, it's always outside that this heterosexuality occurs. Even at the baths those hookups are merely in tents. The girl from Bohunowitz he found in (or near) a hunter's camp in the forest.

So we see a pretty direct correlation here. The inside of pretty much any building (or passageway) that also contains Henry or the Absence of Henry (in the abstract) is profoundly unsafe. This is the space where feelings always seem to happen and where Realizations™️ occur.

So! The outside is safe! Nothing can get him there, not even his feelings for Henry!

It's interesting, then, that Hans decides to invite Henry into that very space not long after:

Even in the space Hans uses as an escape (including as an escape from Henry), he still wants Henry there. Much as I discussed in this post, Hans views hunting with Henry in this scene as an escape into the past. Pre-betrothal, pre-feelings. A simpler time and a return to normalcy.

Naturally, he has to counteract Henry's presence in the Comphet space by bringing up as much heterosexuality as possible:

He brings this up regardless of how you respond.

Depending on your dialogue choices, you then learn that the girl from Bohunowitz is named Karolina. (Tbh if I didn't know better, I'd assume she was fucking made up seeing as she shares a name with the same girl he was running after in The Amorous Adventures of Bold Sir Hans Capon and there is no such girl to be found in Bohunowitz.)

Regardless of whether you chose to tease him or grumble about his womanizing, Henry makes it pretty clear that he doesn't want to hear about it. He says something similar as well earlier, when Hans says that the girl from Bohunowitz (who may or may not be made up) gave him a ~ride:

Hans quickly changes the subject, but Henry keeps them on topic and brings it up again, effectively asking him if these wenches are more important to him than he is:

(Tbh it's pretty fucking obvious from these interactions that Henry is already feeling quite a lot here and is looking for validation from Hans... which Hans then, perhaps unwittingly, provides. Maybe he just can't help himself. The truth slips through the cracks.)

Hans immediately reassures him, of course:

At which point it's Henry's turn to brush him off and put some distance between them again.

Distance which Hans immediately closes up again...

... only to freak out and instantly backpedal.

The assault on Maleshov really hammers this connection home, where even outside, he can't run from his fear.

In this case, because the Finger of God fires and hits the fortress walls.

Hans falls back and just... stares.

And just stays there for a while. For long enough, in fact, that Henry and Godwin have to come help him up.

Henry, in this instance, is both the problem and the solution: all Hans has to do is accept the fact that he's in love with him—with a little help from Henry.

And then we get to the Italian Job. Hooo boy.

It does not escape my attention that these two dialogue options come up in the same conversation, one of which of course leads to a romance choice:

Henry tries to insist on how much he enjoys Hans' company only for Hans to brush him off. Quite substantially. Like if I was Henry I'd be fucking gutted or at the very least baffled that my friend could be that obtuse when I'm over here dropping all these hints.

And then, of course, Hans promptly panics again when Henry brings up the underground passage and asks if he's joining him in going through it (almost as if those two bits of panic are related).

He even brings up societal judgment! But I think it's that last one that carries by far the most weight. He's still looking for any possible way out that he can find and asking for validation from Henry while he's doing it. Which is asking quite a lot of Henry imo.

Of course, then he suddenly doesn't have a choice anymore. Which is also where Hans actually comes to terms with his feelings. He has to go through the passageway. There's no choice. The walls are closing in and he has to accept it or he'll go insane if he keeps repressing any of this any longer. The narrative is practically telling him: you can't run from this anymore. His feelings for Henry are real and they're right in front of him and they're not this terrifying thing that he's been running from all this time.

Katherine tells Henry that Hans was trailing behind Godwin and her "like a dazed sheep" and that she hopes he didn't get lost.

The good news is that he didn't. Instead, quite the opposite happened: he finally found his way to accepting how he feels.

And when he does, he finds that he's no longer afraid of them. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, confronting his fears meant that they're not nearly as terrifying anymore.

Again, Henry asks if he's really all right, and Hans insists that he's never been better. No fucking wonder. This was a come-to-Jesus moment if ever I saw one.

And then he checks on Henry. All this time, he's been looking at his own fear, stuck in this, quite frankly, closet, and not thinking about how Henry has been feeling.

Even so, Henry is worried. At which point Hans gets to reassure him that, no, he's all right. In fact, the one holding him back and hurting him most in all of this has been none other than himself. If anything, Henry has been encouraging all this time. He does his job well. And that includes loving Hans.

Henry suggests that he overcame his fear, and Hans insists that no, that's not quite it.

Which makes sense. You don't just overcome your fears by facing them. Certainly not something like claustrophobia. It's also unlikely that an actual miracle occurred here. If you listen for his idle talk before or after this conversation, even Hans is absolutely baffled that he just... overcame his fear. Just like that.

To me, that suggests that this is about something else entirely, and not tight, enclosed spaces at all. He's always been afraid to face this part of himself.

In fact, if we recall what happened during their successful siege on Maleshov, Hans fell and couldn't recover without aid. Here, he fell and got himself up again because... it didn't kill him. It's okay to have—wait for it—fallen in love with Henry.

Is this a stretch? Maybe. But the fact that it happens twice makes me think that it was done with intent.

(If I wanted to bring in a real stretch here, I'd suggest that there's meaning behind the fact that Hans helps Henry up to his feet several times, first after his terrible fall at the beginning, while they're walking to Bozhena's, and again after he's on the floor getting kicked at the Semine wedding. If this was meant to be a hint as to where Henry realized that he was in love with Hans, having lost him first almost to death and then again to the divorce arc, it wouldn't surprise me tbh. He fell, and Hans was there to be his solution—the only difference is that Henry wouldn't have had a problem accepting it the way that Hans did. But, like I said, this one is a stretch.)

All of which brings us to the second confession.

Henry tried telling him this same exact thing before, after nearly losing him to the noose and their temporary split. Now he's saying this exact same thing again. Which feels... pointed and frankly intentional.

And this time, Hans responds in kind. He also cares about Henry. He's just really bad at showing it sometimes.

Because of course he's bad at it. He's spent the whole game thus far stuck in a closet of claustrophobia battling against his own internally homophobic demons.

But his success in a) escaping that closet and b) battling those demons brings us to the promised land.

Where they fuck in a (relatively, considering Hans' fear from before) small room and with Hans underneath Henry, the safest ceiling to come (down) on him of them all ♥

[thisantithesis]

klance fic that focuses on the time keith spent on the space whale and the horrors that he went through and then learning how to reintegrate with the team again after being gone for two years when for them it was only a couple months pls save meeeeeee

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

Feeling the need to chart out my worries again and write through God's answers to all of them and wow it's been over a year since I did that

[ahalliance]

how do i turn qantoine’s spontaneous marriage proposal to qetoiles into evidence of his early-days fear of qfrench drifing away and keeping secrets from one another

[inkskinned]

it's easier to apply for jobs than ever! so what if you lost your insurance, anyone can get a job these days, even without meds. everyone is hiring! there's a "good employee" shortage!

well you just need to revamp your resume, here's a paid app subscription that can read it for you. rewrite the cover letter they won't read. google jobs in my area and then scrawl through Monster/Indeed/worbly. did you want to save the search? this was posted 98 days ago. over 1 billion applicants! this position is trending.

jobs i actively like doing and get paid for. your search returned no results. easy-apply with HireSpin! easy apply with SparkFire! easy apply with PenisFlash! with a few short clicks, get your information stolen.

watch out! the first 98 links on google are actually scams! they're false postings. oopsie. that business isn't even hiring. that other one is closed permanently. find one that looks halfway legit, google the company and the word "careers". go to their page. scroll past brightly-lit diversity stock photo JOIN US white sans serif. we are a unique, fresh, client-focused stock value capitalism. we are committed to excellence and selling your soul on ebay. we are DRIVEN with POWER to INNOVATE our greed. yippee! our company has big values of divisive decision making, sucking our dicks, and hating work-life balances. our values are to piss in your mouth. sign here and tell us if you have gender issues so we can get ahead of the sexual harassment claim. are you hispanic although let's be real we threw out the resume when we saw your last name.

sign up to LinkHub to access updates from this company. make a HirePlus account to apply. download the PoundLink app. your account has been created, click the link we sent you in 15 minutes. upload that resume. we didn't read the resume, manually fill in the lines now. what is your expected pay grade. oh actually we want hungry people, not people driven by a salary. cut a zero off that number, buddy, this is about opportunity, and we need to be thrifty. highest level of education. autofill is glitching. here is an AI generated set of questions. what is your favorite part of our sexy, sexy company. how do you resolve conflict. will you get our company logo tattooed on your person. warning: while our CEO is guilty of wage theft, we will absolutely refuse to hire a nonviolent felon.

thank you for your interest at WEEBLIX. we actually already filled this position internally. we actually never had that posting. we actually needed you to have 9 years of experience and since you have 10 years we think it might be too many? we'll be texting you. we'll email you. we'll keep your resume. definitely absolutely we won't just completely ignore you. look at your phone, there's already a spam text from Bethany@stealyouridentity. they're hiring!

wait, did you get an interview? well that's special, aren't you lucky. out of 910 jobs you applied to, one answered, finally. and funny story! actually the position isn't exactly as advertised, we are looking for someone curious and dedicated. it's sort of more managerial. no, the pay doesn't change - you won't have any leadership title. now take this 90 minute assessment. in order to be a dog groomer, we need you to explain cell biology. in order to be a copyeditor, write a tiny dissertation about the dwindling supply of helium on the planet. answer our riddles three. great job! we just need to push this up to Tracy in HR who will send it to Rodney who is actually in charge. and then of course it's jay's decision and then greg will need to see you naked and if you survive you'll be given a drug test and a full anal examination.

and of course you'll be hungry this whole time, aren't you, months and months of the same shit. months of no insurance, no meds, no funding, barely able to afford the internet and the phone and the rent - all things you need in order to even apply for our thing. but do it again! do it again and again and again, until you flip inside out and turn into a being of pure dread!

you're not hired yet because you're lazy. there's over one million AI-generated hallucinated jobs in your area. don't worry. with zipruiter, hiring and firing is easier than ever. sign up. stay on-call.

in the meantime, little peon - why don't you just fucking suffer.

[cornerihaunt]

sent the first chapter to the co-supervisor. technically the outright writing of this wretched thing is done. i just have a shit ton of comments from my main supervisor to go through (and look at whatever my cosupervisor tells me) before submitting. you guys we might be so back.

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

Do you have any tips on doing accurate research for people without access to formal education

Sure! This can't be one size fits all for every field, but I can give some starting points for history.

If you're reading a book, here's what to consider:

1. Are there footnotes or endnotes? In academia this is our way of being transparent with each other about where you got information. If a book doesn't have them, they're more interested in telling a good story than being accountable to their peers. That's a red flag.

2. Don't trust claims that seem very specific but don't have a source. Broad claims can be the author's analysis. But specific things "so and so said this" "there was a rumor that (x)" should be coming from somewhere and it is the author's job to tell you where.

3. Look out for choppy quoting. Even if someone has a source, they may not be using it well. If someone is paraphrasing a lot and only uses bits and pieces of the text while also using a lot of ellipses, you will want to try to find the whole text to make sure it's being quoted fairly.

4. Look at the publication date. Knowledge changes with time and old books tend to be outdated. You don't have to stick to the academic rule of thumb of "25 years is the threshold for new scholarship" but do be aware that if something is over 50 years old, many many people have likely revisited and revised what it's saying. Not that new books can't also be bad and incorrect, but they tend to be working with better tools generally.

5. Look up the author. I cannot stress this one enough. The author's background and political convictions can matter a lot to how they interpret things. For example, one of the biographies people tend to pick up about my dissertation topic is from the late 1920s by a man who later applied to join the NSDAP. That fact really can't be separated from his interpretations no matter how hard people try.

6. Stop reading if someone is making a lot of moral or personal judgements on a historical figure. I'm talking about the "Elizabeth I was a frigid hag and men found her ugly"-esque takes, not things like calling historical atrocities morally bad. Does it feel like bitchy gossip? That sort of thing is unprofessional, uninformative, and means someone has an axe to grind. Spite can be motivation for research, but axe grinding shouldn't show up clearly in published work.

These are things to keep in mind to make sure you're getting better information. Others are free to add on for their field or if there's something I forgot.

One very important thing to add: professors and academics like people emailing them about their research. You can do that! You can ask for copies of pay walled articles. You just have to go through the mortifying ordeal of expressing interest in an email.

[selfconsumerofmywoes]

me applying to do a dissertation on literature like: no i have not read an entire book since starting here, no i am in fact extremely bad at analysis, yes i have only ever done one literature module, no i do not know if i have actually passed it yet

[kxsagi]

hihii can i req reader that is like academically smart but is also very naive at the same time?? reader would probably fall for the most obvious clickbait or something feel free to do with any bllk characters (especially sae 💋💋) thank youu but also feel free to ignore this if you don't want it

“𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦”

a/n: i read rage bait instead of click bait after writing everything, but decided to keep it since it’s still fitting 😭

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

“you’re literally smarter than me, so why are you fighting with an anime profile picture?” 

you’re writing a full essay in the comments under a rage bait post that says “math is fake and only lazy people like numbers.” 

“love. they want you to argue. that’s the whole point. it’s bait.” 

you, while typing aggressively: “it’s the principle.” 

isagi literally has to pry the phone out of your hands. 

“they’re trolling. why are you citing academic sources in a thread about flat earth?” 

alternates between being impressed and deeply concerned. 

“you’re so smart it’s scary. and yet, you just fell for a post that said ‘gravity is a scam made by the big ladder.’” 

will still throw slurs under his fake account at anyone that tries to come after you. 

itoshi rin

“get off the internet. log off. i’m blocking you from twitter.” 

you: reading a post that says “the mitochondria isn’t real.” 

also you: seeing red. 

he watches you scroll past rage bait like, “no... don't take the bait... dammit.” 

“you know better. you literally know better.” 

gets mad with you but refuses to engage. 

he’s just staring at you spiraling over a troll who said “logic is fake” and muttering, “wtf is wrong with this generation.” 

turns off your wifi like a concerned parent. 

“you’re not arguing with someone named @cattboysupreme69. go read a book.” 

kaiser michael

“you’re falling for rage bait again, huh? i love this dumb little hobby of yours.” 

finds it hilarious that you get so fired up over random garbage takes. 

literally records you pacing and ranting about how “emotions are valid sources of decision making, actually.” 

“schatz, you’re a valedictorian. why are you beefing with someone who said ‘plants don’t have feelings so vegans are evil’?” 

fully encourages it for fun. 

“no, no, quote them. let’s go viral.” 

brags to his teammates like, “my girl’s a genius and also beefing with half of conspiracy tik tok. goals.” 

secretly reports every troll you argue with behind the scenes. he’s protective in a petty, passive-aggressive way. 

itoshi sae

“this is why i hate people. and also why you shouldn’t be online unsupervised.” 

you fell into a rage trap that said “women don’t belong in STEM.” 

sae, watching you rage-type a dissertation just said, “block them and move on.” 

you: “no. they need to be educated.” 

he takes your phone. 

“they don’t. they have 12 followers and use comic sans unironically.” 

quietly annoyed but impressed that you always come with facts. 

lowkey reads your arguments later and thinks, “damn. my girl snapped.” 

would absolutely start threatening people if they get too bold with you. 

“she might be arguing like it’s a thesis defense, but if any of you make her cry, i’m breaking your nose.” 

shidou ryusei

“babe, you’re smart as hell, but you’re also fighting with rage bait like it personally insulted your dog.” 

thinks it’s hilarious. 

“they said books are just dead trees. you really gonna let that slide?” 

you: frothing with rage “i will not let that slide.” 

shidou: eating popcorn and hyping you up “go off, professor! educate their ass!” 

he will 100% jump in and start trolling with you. 

“yo, babe, say something about their spelling. that always pisses ‘em off.” 

gives you an award when you get someone to delete their comment. 

“queen behavior. love that for you.” 

nagi seishiro

“can we not. like ever. please.” 

the most done every time you scream: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE SUN ISN’T A STAR AND IT’S A PLANET?!” 

he just wants to play games, not watch you get into a 14-comment back-and-forth with a dude named @trumpfan420. 

“you’re literally a genius. why are you arguing with people who think australia doesn’t exist?” 

lies on your lap and sighs dramatically. 

“you’re lucky you’re cute when you’re mad.” 

secretly proud of how well you school people, though. 

once tried to help you argue but got bored after one sentence. 

“i told them ‘L’ and left.” 

mikage reo

“you’re academically brilliant. and also very online. it’s like watching an intellectual gladiator fight trolls.” 

every time he hears “REO. THEY SAID SHAKESPEARE WAS MID.” he already knows what’s happening. 

you’re pacing around the house, typing furiously, quoting sonnets and throwing in stats. 

“you’re smarter than the entire room but still letting a 14-year-old with a controversial hot take ruin your night.” 

he makes tea and sits beside you while you rage. 

“need a bibliography link, baby?” 

lowkey brags to others: “yeah my girl just flamed a whole subreddit with APA formatting.” 

you’re his little chaos genius and he loves it. 

“you’re going to be a nobel prize winner and twitter’s most feared debater at the same time.” 

karasu tabito

“you’re out here fighting for your life against rage bait and i’m living for it.” 

watches you with popcorn like it’s live TV. 

“ohhh here they go. someone said philosophy is just overpriced poetry. let’s gooo.” 

he fully instigates sometimes. 

“babe, someone said gravity isn’t real. thoughts?” 

you start ranting, and he just grins like an agent of chaos. 

“why are you like this?” 

“why are you like this?” 

says he’ll block the trolls for you. ends up ratioing them with memes instead. 

y’all are the duo that trolls the trolls and then drops a full essay for fun. 

if anyone dares say “women can’t argue,” karasu just goes, “you sure about that?” and lets you annihilate them in 5k characters. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[oc-brainstorms]

My strange addiction 18+

Perv!Dom!Voyeur!Kang Dae-ho x Sex addict!Fem!reader/Thanos x Reader(kinda)

This is part 1, part 2 is here!

Synopsis: SMUT! Sex addict reader finds Dae-ho jerking off to her and Thanos having sex, she makes it her mission to try him out next and Dae-ho treats her exactly how she wants to be treated wink wink

warnings: Kinda dark/swearing/mentions of death/murder/ kinda cheating?/Mentions god(in a bad way)/Voyeurism/bathroom sex/public sex/mentions of anal/smut/reader uses thanos/Dae-ho is kinda pervy/rough/non-con?dub-con?ish/unprotected sex/p in v/Oral (M receiving)/daddy kink/reader is a sex addict/horny af/reader is fucking feral/overall filth/aftercare/angst/fluff/reader has some major issues (I haven't slept so if I've forgotten anything let me know) READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Words: 4.5K (it’s a long one)/

Unedited! there's gotta be a few mistakes in it but I wrote this instead of my dissertation and sleeping so take it for what it is I guess.

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I was never one to drink, do drugs or jump off tall things all for a little adrenaline rush-No, I was particular in my chosen addiction. Sex was always my vice. I tasted it one and couldn't get enough. It’s never really mattered to me what they look like or how good at it they were, if the thought pops into my head then it’s all I crave, like an itch that demands to be scratched. Sometimes I don’t even want it, like when a smoker who's trying to quit doesn't even think about lighting the cigarette in their mouth, it's basically a habbit.

Many interactions with vile, disgusting men and bad life choices led me right here, surrounded by people in green sweatsuits playing deadly children’s games for money. It’s not exactly where I thought I'd end up, I always thought I’d die in a ditch somewhere-discarded and used without a care in the world.

Salty sweat drops fall on my forehead from the purple-haired man thrusting to his hearts content in an out of me, grunting in my ear like he's on a mission. He’s not bad, a little too desperate and loud for my liking but hey, a fuck is a fuck. Plus he was pretty good-looking under the whole wannabe-bad-boy-rapper persona.

“You like that? hmph-So good-so so good.” He grumbles, his voice mere groans of hot breath in my ear.

“Feels so good daddy-please keep going please!” My voice was no higher than a pathetic whisper in return, becoming conscious of the creaks the bed was emitting, echoing in the empty space of the room. Thankfully many people this side had died in the previous game.

My hips were beginning to ache from the angle I’m spread to- My jaw clenching as I feel him wrap his hands behind my knees and shove them up until they hit my shoulders. The pain was easing from my hips but it did nothing for the lack of excitement I was feeling. It was a little mundane for me, stuck in missionary while he has the time of his life-but it will satisfy my needs nonetheless.

I can’t help but let my thoughts wander, craning my neck to glance over his shoulder as his pounding continued, just listening the the sounds of our skin slapping and the weak sounds of the bed frame holding us up.

My attention is suddenly drawn to a rusting from a bed on the other side of the room. Under the glow of the obnoxiously large piggy bank I can just make out a large figure, laid in bed with the covers just covering his hip. Squinting into the darkness I make out rapid movements under the covers.

Is this perv getting off to us?

I let my eyes linger for a while, feeling myself getting wetter from the idea of this stranger pleasuring himself to the sounds of us fucking. Trailing my eyes up I can just about make out his number, 388. Taking a mental note, I try to peak at his face through the darkness.

A gasp gets caught in my throat as I make eye contact with dark eyes that stare back at me. His whole face wasn't clear but I could sense his eyes burning into mine as he welcomed himself to the free porn he was witnessing.

‘So fucking wet for me.’ Thanos panted out, snapping me back to his attention. Thankfully his head was buried in my neck and he was too busy chasing his own high to notice my distraction.

Maybe I should give him a show.

I took my hands and placed them firmly on Thanos’ chest.

“Stop.” I manage to gasp out, pushing him back enough to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are crazy, Purple strands sticking to his forehead. His thrusts stagger a little before coming to a stop.

“What the fuck is wrong girl, why are you stopping me when I'm about to fill you up?” The tone of his voice is slightly erratic, and a little too loud-but I had new priorities than everyone else's sleep.

“I just wanna ride you Daddy, please?” Fluttering my eyelashes up at him, I knew he couldn't disagree with me, especially as I clenched myself around him.

“Fuck okay-okay.” He talks over himself, gripping at my sides to manoeuvre me on top of him.

I knock my head on the metallic grate on underneath the bunk on top of us, but don’t even stop to acknowledge the pain, I've got a new task to complete. I can’t let poor 388 go to bed unsatisfied now can I?

I reposition myself straddling him, letting my hands rest on his chest while he sinks his dick into my hole. I’m already pretty raw so it stings from the stretch, feeling him throb inside me from the sensation, a small gasp erupts from my throat.

Rocking my hips back and forth, I feel him glide in and out of me, making sure to arch my back and stick my ass out to give the best possible view to my new friend.

“Just like tha-fuck just like that.” he mutters through staggered breaths. I can feel him getting close so I need to do my best with the time I have.

In a brave move, I move my hands up from his chest and glide them up my body, stopping to grip onto my breasts and squeeze, Hard. I moan louder than necessary, but not loud enough to cause a scene.

Bouncing hard on his dick, I bring my hand to my throat and start to lightly choke myself, throwing my head back and feel my hair hit my back.

“Fuck this pussy, oh god, oh my fucking god-so good, so tight oh fuck.” I hear him groan, reaching his climax as hot spurts of cum squirt inside of me, filling me up.

I lean forward, laying my chest back down and craning my neck to glance over my shoulder. I watch how 388’s covers slowly come to a halt, a subtle shake as he finally finishes. I wish I could hear him trying to catch his breath over the snoring of the rest of the room, but ill sleep happy with the knowledge I've done my job-for now.

“You finished right, girl?” My attention is drawn back to the heavy breathing of the purple haired asshole under me, his hands still feeling up my hips and ass as I catch my breath.

“Yeah sure.” I nod, through gritted teeth, slipping him out of me and laying beside him.

“Good, gotta take care of my girl, especially when she’s being so damn good for me!” He ruffles my hair before turning over, falling asleep almost instantly.

God he has so much faith in me not to kill him in his sleep.

My mind didn't relax enough to sleep, too focused on all the ideas I had to get my way, I will seduce this man, I don’t even care if he’s ugly or horrible. Anyone that desperate to cum clearly needs my help, maybe he’ll actually make me cum.

My lord isn’t it bad I'm more focused on this than the games? well I guess it is a game of sorts… wtf is wrong with me, anyways.

I roll my eyes and try to push my thoughts away. Ignoring the sweaty body next to me, I pull my crumped clothes back onto my body and lay back down, fading off to a dreamless sleep.

----

The most irritating and mind-numbing sickly song wakes me up in the morning. That along with the bright lights is enough to make me kill someone-even outside of the game.

I’ve never been a morning person, nighttime is where all the fun happens-hell I don't even wake up till gone 2pm most days. However, this morning I have a task-find this mystery man.

I sit up in bed-taking no notice of the absence of the man next to me, and try to brush my fingers through my knotted hair, pinching my cheeks and lips to look more alive.

God did they have to give us these ugly ass outfits.

Doing the best with what I have, I tie up the top into an extreme crop and pull the joggers down lower on my hip, lazily throwing the sweatshirt on.

It'll do.

I scan my eyes around the room like a predator hunting its prey, reading everyone’s number until my eyes land on the one I'm looking for.

Bingo.

He’s tall, good looking-man bun be damned, chuckling along with something an older man is saying and a-is that bitch pregnant? Damn. He stretches, his muscles flexing as he does, almost having me salivate on myself. He doesn't even glance over here before waltzing over to to the breakfast queue.

My footsteps are fast but inconspicuous, anyone else probably would’ve thought I was just hungry- and I guess they'd be right, but not for food.

I manage to squeeze in behind him, shuffling my feet closer to his.

“You’re pretty cute for a perv.” His shoulders stiffened, glancing at me over his shoulder.

‘What?” He mutters back to me, his eyes raking over my body before returning his eyes forward.

“I thought guys who liked to watch people fuck without them knowing were balding and lived in their parents basement with food stuck to their face and a box of tissues next to them.” Ok, that was a weird thing to say- but am I wrong?

His breathing takes a sharp incline as he shuffles forward with everyone else in the line.

“I wasn't watching you.”

“It’s okay baby I'm not mad a you, was I good for you?” my voice is confident but low, closer to his ear than before because of the people joining the queue behind me. Not sure if he's really as in to public humiliation as he is into public masturbation.

“I'm sorry, okay?” he whispers, without glancing back. More of a whimper really, slut.

“I just told you I'm not mad.” Im more short in my answers-im starting to get bored from this restrictive situation. I do get bored easily.

My lips almost touch his ear as I lean in, playing dangerous.

“Should've let me know you needed it daddy, this pussy has your name all over it.” I stroke over his back as I come down, tits grazing his back.

He chuckled darkly, looking down at his shoes, before turning his body to to me, a slick smirk playing on his mouth as he leant down and met my eyes.

“Really? Because to me it looks like it has that guy’s cum all over it.”

He blinked, before turning back and continuing to follow the queue.

I don’t have an answer for that, he really got me there to be fair.

My lips form a sharp line and I feel a heat rush to my cheeks, I kept my eyes down and stayed silent. I didn't know I could still feel embarrassed by anything-but here we are. I also tried to ignore the wetness growing between my thighs at the situation, the degrading really does it for me I guess.

He grabbed breakfast from the guard before sauntering off, out of the corner of my eye I saw him silently giggling to himself as he walked away, asshole.

I picked up my pathetic little apple and grumbled, taking a harsh bite out of it. If he's playing hard to get then I guess I'm just gonna have to play harder.

----

After the games, the vibes really sucked. Thanos was loud and annoying as usual but at least he didn't let me die. That was kinda nice of him, or maybe it was the fact I promised him anal if he got me through it-but nevertheless, it good to be alive.

I spent a long time in the bathroom, making sure I looked perfect after that mess. I also scrubbed myself raw, feeling dirty after the game, and the fuck and especially after 388’s comment. The 5 minute shower I somehow convinced the guard to let me have did wonders. He did watch me the entire time-but at least I'm clean!

After we once again got voted to stay, I got bored of the repetitive conversation and laid on my bed, staring at nothing in particular.

I glanced down over my feet at the door to the bathrooms, taking notice of the tall pretty boy leaving.

I didn't think twice about it, my feet moving on their own. I had to have it out with this man- he acts like a disgusting pervert watching me fuck and suddenly he's all cocky? I don't think so.

Thankfully the guards really don't give a fuck about who goes into what bathroom. I stand outside waiting, watching for the door to open. I didn't want to enter the bathroom and catch him pooping- I may be deranged but I'm not a total freak.

He wasn't in there long, and nobody had come in or out since him. Hearing footsteps approaching the door I give a quick wink to one of the guards, Showtime.

He barely opened the door before I pushed him back inside, closing us in the empty bathroom.

“Woah.” He managed, jumping on the defence and getting ready to attack before his eyes locked on me.

“Oh its you.” he relaxed, sighing.

“You miss me?” I asked sweetly, leaning back against the door with my hand resting on the metal handle.

“It's hard to miss you when you keep showing up,” his hands moved to his hips and his face bore an amused smirk, playful.

“You upset me earlier, thought you'd wanna make it up to me.”

“By telling you the truth? if that upsets you darling then you put have a real hard time with everything else in here.”

“Listen, you-”

“No you listen,” He steps towards me, a strange dominance lurking under his voice.

“I have enough going on here without some needly little whore deciding she's important enough to start bratting out because I used her pathetic show of attention-seeking to get myself off.”

My breathing increases as he steps closer, I was not expecting that to come out of his mouth, I’m not often too stunned to speak but somehow he's done it in the two conversations I've had with him.

I stare up at him through my lashes, my mouth dropping open a little as I pant through it. God is this turning me on?

“You gonna do something about it, tough guy?” Is all I manage to conjure, coming out in a stupidly quiet voice.

“Since you seem so desperate for me I'll do you a favour and put that dirty little mouth to use shall I?” He suddenly reaches forwards and grips my hair in his hand, a sound between a moan and a sob exiting my mouth as he does.

He shoves me across the room and into a stall, pushing us both in before slamming and locking it shut behind us. His grip stayed strong in my hair.

I don't know what I thought this guy would be like, I thought he would be a sweet little perv who helps pregnant girls and laughs along with old men’s jokes and then rubs one out while watching two people fuck like animals.

“Kneel.” He demands, his grip one my hair beginning to give me a headache. I don’t move, sure I've had men be rough before but this really took me by surprise.

“You want me don't you?” He spits out, but something in his eyes seemed softer, like a shimmer of guilt washed over them.

“Yes sir.”

“Then be a good girl and show me how much you want it, down on your knees.”

My knees buckled by themselves, gripping his thigh for support I hit the dirty bathroom floor and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“You know what to do slut, I'm sure you've had enough practice.” His eyes were back to being hard now, whether it was all the emotions during the games or something else had hardened him, and he desperately needed release, and Im more than happy to help with that.

I bring my hands up to his waistband, dragging down the green joggers and his boxers down together, watching as his hard cock flung free.

“Spit on it.”

I swirled my tongue around my mouth and tried to muster all the saliva I could, bringing my lips to the tip of his dick and letting my spit slowly drip onto it.

His eyes glaze over and he leans his head back, a groan slipping through his lips.

Taking my chance, I grab his throbbing cock with my hand and slowly pump my spit all over his shaft.

“I-is that good daddy?” I manage to stutter out, hand moving up and down as I slowly trail my tongue up his tip, tasting the pre cum that's already leaking out.

What the fuck is wrong with you, get your shit together.

“You know that's good slut, you're just begging for my validation aren't you?” He chuckled again, that deep chuckle he keeps doing that sounds like he's just been told a dirty joke, amused but interested.

I ignored the degrading tone and looked back down to his cock, its big and throbbing-a lot bigger than what I'm used to, or at least than what I've had in a long time.

Nervousness seeps into my brain but I push it back, taking him into my mouth and guiding him to the back of my throat.

As my nose hits his clothe stomach, my head is whipped back by his grip on my hair, a sudden flash of pain strikes my cheek and I feel tears welling up in my eyes from the sting.

“I asked you a question slut, or are you too stupid to use your words?” The look in his eyes flashed with amusement, like he was speaking to a cute puppy who just learnt a new trick.

“Yes sir.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir, I want your validation.” It hurt to spit the words out, but as soon as I did my head was thrusted back onto him.

He doesn't speak for a while, just grunting softly and leaning his head back against the cubicle wall with his eyes shut, fucking his dick right to the back of my throat like I'm nothing but a fleshlight he's using. All I can do is stifle my gags and take him, my face wet with my tears and the saliva dripping down my chin.

“So.Fucking.Good.” He chokes out between thrusts.

My mind goes black with everything else other than pleasing him, nothing but the pain in my throat and the blurry vision of his body above me.

His breathing quickens and I'm sure he's about to cum, my hair now fully being ripped out by the strength of his hands tangled in it.

“What should I do?”

I look up at him and try to muster up the most confused face I can under the circumstances, managing to furrow my eyebrows.

“Should I cum…down your throat?” His thrusts begin to slow slightly as he drags out his question.

“Or on this pretty little face?” His finger drops down and traces my jaw.

“Or should I have you lift up your shirt so I can cum on those perfect tits of yours, baby?” His questions receive no answer considering my mouth was still bing invaded by his thick cock.

“No, No, I know the perfect place.” His voice is dominant and looms over me.

With a swift movement he pulls me off of him, one arm under my armpit while the other stays in its place in my hair. They glide down to my own joggers, ripping them down to the floor along with my underwear, leaving me exposed and shaking from all the sensations of my body.

His large hands find my thighs and grips onto the backs of them.

“Jump.” He orders, and of course I follow through. Before I know it I’m pinned up against the cold wall, and being forced to bounce on his solid dick that's thrusting in and out of me at a rapid pace.

My arms find his shoulders and I cling on, hiding my whimpers in the Crook of his neck as I let him use my cunt for his pleasure.

“You want me to make you cum don't you doll?” He teases.

“Ye-Yes s-sir, please sir, yes, yes, yes!” I hate how the pathetic yelps come out of my mouth but the pleasure rocking through me takes my mind away from any embarrassment.

“That other little boy couldn't do it for you could he? You need a man to make you cum don't you huh?”

“Please make me cum Daddy, I'll do anything.” my voice sounded more like broken sobs coming through my lazily parted lips, already cock drunk from this humiliating situation.

He grips my wrist tightly and drags it between my legs.

“Rub yourself, c’mon princess I know you can do it,” His sweet words hit my ears and I immediately obey, becoming a gasping, moaning mess as I rub rapid circles around my sensitive clit.

Almost immediately after I feel myself reaching my climax, my head throwing itself back as he lunges for my throat, leaving sharp hickeys down my neck.

His breathing changes and soon after he's open-mouthed kissing my neck as I feel him pump his cum up into me, the grip he has on me weakening with every moan he produces.

As he lets go of the hold he has on me I drop to the floor, knees weak after the use he put them through. Im tired, and sore and sticky, I can feel him dripping out of me and onto the disgusting toilet floor. My eyes are heavy and my face flushed, with chapped lips and baby hairs sticking with sweat to my forehead and a tangled mess behind.

As the glow of my orgasm fades I get the same sinking feeling I always get when I finish, the feeling where Im immediately disgusted and ashamed and just want to cry and try and forget that I've just made a fool out of myself for a strange man.

I bring my hands to my face and sigh deeply, still trying to catch my breath. I forget the man*-whose name I still don't know* is there. Im sure he’ll see himself out eventually.

My unravelling show of self-pity is interrupted as I feel the man crouch down next to me, silently watching me cry into my hands.

Awkward, I bet he's regretting even meeting me now.

“Hey,hey.” He coos, his voice softer than soft. He seems afraid to touch me as his fingers ghost over my arm.

I bet he's so fucking irritated god I would be.

Imagine you've just fucked someone out of pity and they start crying on the fucking floor.

“I’m just gonna clean you up okay angel?” I sniffle and stop in confused awe. Moving my hands away from my face I wipe the tears off and pull them down until my eyes are peaking through.

He keeps eye contact for a moment before reaching over and grabbing toilet paper from behind him, ripping some off he starts to clean up the mess between my legs, uttering small apologies as I hiss from the contact.

“Shh..it's okay baby, you're okay.” His words are soft and comforting as he manoeuvres my clothes back on me. His hands stop at my waist as he tries to catch my eyes, but I'm looking everywhere but his face with my half-lidded gaze.

“Can I see that pretty face again? Please baby, let me clean you up.” I nod, eyebrows still subtly furrowed in suspicion.

With the softest touch he moves my hands away from my face, taking them in one of his and using the other to gently wipe off any moisture that remained. His touch felt like a feather grazing my skin, it was nice, I've never been treated so nicely before.

He fucking hates me doesn't he, oh well what do I care, I don't care anyways.

He places a hand on my knee, not in a way that's sexual but more of a calming gesture, probably to help stop the shaking by body has absentmindedly started doing.

Everything inside me is telling me to run, push him away and go find my bed to rock myself to sleep in, but something about the kind care in his eyes and the gentle touches he's gracing me with is making me want to stay here for as long as I can.

His other hand comes up to my hair, his fingers attempting to gently remove the knots that had built up from his harsh tugs.

‘Did I hurt you, go too far?”

I shook my head.

“Why are you doing this?” I broke my silence, voice barely audible.

“Doing what, sweetness?” He glanced down at my face, his voice soft and caring with a glance of concern.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” The words left my lips with a short chuckle, not an amused, joking chuckle, but more of disbelief and confusion-like when you hear something so ridiculous you can't help but let a chuckle slip out.

I sound so fucking pathetic.

“I’m taking care of you, you deserve it.” His confusion grew, his eyebrows getting more furrowed together the more he took in the disbelief on my face.

“You don't even know me, I don't even know your name, you don't know mine.”

“I would like to.” I stopped, staring blankly at him.

“My name Is Y/N.” I mustered up, I'm sure he doesn't really care-but it would be nice to be on a first name basis with this man, at least he's being helpful.

“Beautiful name, it suits you.” He spoke without moving his head away from the focus he had on my hair.

“What's your name?”

“Dae-Ho” His fingers freed themselves and he leant forwards, placing a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” he whispered against the skin of my forehead, the coolness of his breath causing a shiver to sneak down my spine.

“For telling me your name.”

Thank you for being nice, for holding me softly, for being so sweet and kind and affectionate to someone you don't care about.

“Angel I will tell you every single thing I know if it makes you happy.” My breath hitched and all wordings fell short in my throat. His eyes were light and kind, he didn't seem at all to mind easing me through this mini meltdown.

“Why?”

“I told you, i’d like to get to know you.’ He paused, his mind seemingly somewhere else, thinking deeply about his next words.

“Would you like to sleep in my bed with me tonight? i’d like to be able to hold you now, it feels wrong to part ways after this, unless you have plans with the crayon you were sleeping with before.” The sarcasm in his voice seeps through when he speaks about Thanos, a subtle spit of jealousy perhaps mixed in with his words.

Interesting development.

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A/N: Lit havent slept and wrote this with no editing so if its ass lmk lol- also my first piece of writing on tumblr! exciting times-many ideas ahead.

[cookiieduh]

wake up from him .ᐟ

.shame that it took your crappy ex cheating on you to let you finally see what’s been in front of you the entire time..

pairing.ᐟ shoko x reader.

.cont.ᐟ SFW, fem!reader, mentions of cheating, best friends to lovers (?), wlw (duh), hurt/comfort, possibly a little angsty, fluff, the faintest whiff of crack perhaps (?), massaging, mutual pining, WILL be proofread in the morning, lmk if i missed anything :3

extra.ᐟ wc,, 2k,, for the wlw shoko enjoyers <3 once again sleep deprived, on the verge of passing away

“guys suck.”

shoko definitely wasn’t expecting that to be the first thing she hears from your lips the second she answers your sudden call at 8:34pm. a little disoriented, she doesn’t even register how blubbery your voice is, or the little sniffles that sound through the speaker.

“yeah, tell me about it.” she finally snorts. oblivious. setting her phone down as she continues fixing up another weird, late-night craving: salt and peppered apples. “we’re friends with the biggest dipshits ever.” she continues, voice lowered with the soft rumble of laughter.

but this wasn’t about geto, not even gojo. this was about your boyfriend. ex-boyfriend.

“no. shoko.” the sadness in your voice carries through her end of the line, making her pause the unconventional seasoning and sharply turn as if you were about to supernaturally materialise in front of her very eyes. “he cheated.” she can hear the shaky exhale, then dry sob before you promptly mute. 

and shoko’s confused by her reaction. of course there’s that immediate burst of anger. forget an inkling, she had a whole dissertation on why this guy was bad news. like how he took you to a hockey game with his brother, leaving without you because he ‘forgot you tagged along’, or how he always talked about future plans that somehow always excluded you.

but what surprises her is the little spark of relief, maybe satisfaction, that follows. was she a bad person? no. well, maybe. anyone would be happy if their longtime best friend got out of a toxic relationship, definitely a little forlorn at the prospect of the wakeup call being infidelity, but she was smiling. smiling. as if she had some kind of master plan that was falling into place.

but that can’t be right. you. her best friend. is understandably upset, torn by that scumbag leech’s betrayal. now is not the time to be cheesing. and you’re still on mute, probably halfway through the amount of tears one can cry in a lifetime, while she chomps on a pepped up apple-stick.

“want me to come over?” she asks, mouth full and voice muffled by the half-chewed fruit snack, but sympathetic all the same.

-

“just wasn’t expecting it, y’know?” your sobs have mostly slowed, but there’s still those uncontrollable little hic!’s that make you squeak as you rest your head on her chest. would it be skeevy of her to say she did? that she could smell the mess he was going to make from a mile away?

“i know.” she murmurs anyway, lidded tawny eyes dropping to your flushed profile as nimble fingers rake through your hair in a gesture that’s almost pacifying. “ugly men get a gorgeous girlfriend and don’t know how to act. he’s the only one to blame.” her voice trickles into something soft as she tries to comfort you.

she keeps combing through your hair with gentle hands, ignoring the snot she can feel bleeding through her shirt as your glossy eyes absently drift over the cheesy sitcom playing on the tv. she barely catches the canned laughter of the programme, eyes too busy trailing the occasional tear that slips from your red-rimmed depths.

there’s a blanketed silence between you, the kind of contentment that doesn’t need words. shoko’s heart beats steadily beneath your cheek. grounding. her lissom palms slide from your crown to your nape. fingers trace light stripes down to your shoulder, trailing soothing circles over the thick material of your sweatshirt. a barrier.

“you got anything to drink here?” she hums, gaze breaking from your profile to follow your vacant stare at the too-bright screen. “might help you feel better.” she feels selfish for suggesting alcohol, but she needs a smile from you tonight. at least one. and she has a knack for cracking better jokes when she’s just a little tipsy.

“yeah. got some open sake in the fridge.” you mutter after a beat, shakily sniffling against her one last time before raising your head. she pats you once before getting up, sauntering off in a way that almost catches your exhausted attention. you watch the subtle sway of her hips as she walks with something you chalk up as being passive interest. not because she has a nice butt.

you’re tired. overtired. fresh out of a maelstrom of a relationship, and in need of comfort, your brain is rousing with less than appropriate thoughts of a girl who’s closer than family. but that’s wrong. shoko is your ride or die, your best friend. you don’t even want to entertain thoughts of messing things up because of some unchecked sentiments.

before you can dwell in those unsolicited fantasies any longer, shoko returns. two full glasses in one hand, a substantially emptier bottle in the other. “mmh. this should do the trick.” she sighs with a grin, setting the dwindling rice wine down on the coffee table before slumping beside you. graceful enough to avoid any spillage.

“thanks.” you mumble as she hands you a glass, taking a steady sip before leaning back against the plush pillows lining the couch. “i needed this.” no more hiccups, but your cheeks are still flushed. lashes clumped with drying tears. puffy eyes, and a voice that still sounds too wet. but when you turn to shoko, she’s already watching you. eyes darting around your face like you’re something she needs to explore.

“c’mon.” she abruptly pats her thighs with a free hand. “put your feet up.” she smiles, bringing the glass to her lips as she waits for you to make a move. you’re friends. it’s normal. so you swivel around on the couch, doing as you’re told, calves coming to rest on her lap.

her eyes are drawn back to the poor acting on screen while her palm warmly splays over the bridge of your foot, lightly working up your shin. you’re left dazedly considering her, observing every micro expression that plays on her pretty face as she pretends to not notice you staring

“you’re so soft.” shoko muses quietly, caramel hues flitting down to the skin bared by your sleep shorts. and she knows exactly what she’s doing when she decides to trail her fingers across the smooth surface in a way that’s ticklish enough to make you squirm and almost spit the sake out.

“shoko—!” you hiss, throat burning from the sudden rush of your gulp. “don’t do that.” you continue, coughing. but it’s a struggle to take you seriously when you're still so nasally and swollen. despite the coy smirk on her face, she concedes, stroking you with a firmer touch. you melt.

“no, seriously.” she turns to you, taking another swig of rice wine before leaning back further against the couch, pulling you against her in a way that makes you yelp. “what moisturiser do you use?” she grins, rubbing over your legs with a comically exaggerated fervency that draws a giggle from your lips. perfect.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” you sass back, feeling a lot lighter than before as you playfully kick your legs up, making her laugh softly in response. you both settle, placid in the quiet joy of each other's company. and then you feel it. filthy and hot and burning, clawing up your throat, making spent tears sting your eyes again. for a totally different reason.

you like her. you really like her. more than a friend should.

maybe it’s the cruel realisation of those unwarranted feelings, or the way she just looks at you too warmly, but you down the almost full glass in one go. the taste does little to push away the scorch of guilt rising up your throat like bile. before she can lower her hand and continue touching, you swing your feet off her lap. 

“you okay?” she turns to you suddenly, a little startled in the way her sleepy eyes widen just a fraction. you set the glass down with a clink! before rising to your feet. she follows you with her eyes, confused by you pulling away so suddenly. she thought you were finally cheering up. this sudden distress doesn’t look good on you.

“yeah. fine.”

harsh. clipped. not fine. it brings a furrow to her brows and a pang of hurt to her chest. you make a quick escape to the kitchen, only bewildering her more as she mentally checks off all the things she could have done to upset you. was asking for the moisturiser too much? she sure hopes it wasn’t. 

“you’re saying that.” she mutters dryly, half expecting you to ignore her, let alone respond. so she has a final gulp of the sake before following after you. spotting you hunched by the sink, face held in your hands. she steps beside you, palm hovering over your shoulder as if evaluating the risk of you smacking her hand away.

“still thinking about it?” she asks as if she’s on thin ice. and you hate the pity in her voice. yes, your heart’s still sore from the pain of betrayal, but it’s simultaneously breaking for a whole other reason. nothing to do with him. everything to do with her.

you respond with a nod that’s barely any movement, feeling your palms grow wet with a fresh line of tears you didn’t even realise had begun to slip. she sighs and pulls you into a side hug, lips pressing against the top of your head in something that’s not quite a kiss, but just as comforting. just as affectionate.

“it’s okay. you’ll be okay.” she murmurs, soothing. and you really want to believe her when she handles you like you’re delicate china, gently manoeuvring you to rest your chin against the crook of her neck because you might just shatter if she’s too quick.

and then it comes. messy and tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop it.

“i think i like you.”

voice muffled against her shoulder, heart pounding in your lungs. and she stills for a moment, arms stiff around you as if she’s considering. you hold your breath like you’re waiting for the sting of rejection, for her to pull away. you don’t expect her to play dumb.

“we wouldn’t be friends if we didn't like each other. would we?” but you can feel the sapped bob of her throat as she swallows a little thicker, struggling to keep the tilt of nerves out of her voice as she bluffs naïveté. she keeps you close. maybe she pulls you closer. you’re too dizzy to decide.

and maybe you can just play the fool and blow it off, blame it on the headache of heartache and the just chugged sake storming through your system. but that feels like a cop out. a cheap excuse. more lies, more secrets. it’s not what you need. and it might be a mistake, it might ruin everything you’ve built with her over the years, but you need acknowledgement. closure.

“you know what i meant.” you huff, pulling back to look up at her in all your snotty glory, a muted sliver of the sass shining through the cracks, even in your sadness. she holds your gaze. and it’s there. that tenderness that brings warmth to her wearied eyes.

“i know.” she whispers, eyes closing for a moment and a small smile curls her lips. she takes one of your hands, tepidly lacing your fingers with her own before wrapping you in an embrace you immediately reciprocate. in relief, hugging her back just as tight.

“i think i like you, too.”

a/n: i wish shoko was real

[marauroon]

hiii i saw that u were asking for reqs and i loved reading ur best frenemies fic with remus, i was wondering if you would be open to writing about that dynamic more. like maybe they're in the same friend group so they're in close proximity but they can't stand one each other and maybe the reader got stood up or something and remus is there or really whatever you want. Anyways thank you for your work, i really enjoy it

── .⏾ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐫.𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧)

you didn’t even really invite him, but the fact he didn’t show up still put a damper on your mood. remus thinks it’s killing the whole room’s vibe.

remus lupin x frenemy!reader | 1.2k | h/c? | masterlist.

a/n | went back to the og og ship for this one, shout out to blackinnon

There’s something aggravating about someone who’s simultaneously the smartest in the room and also the most infuriating. Sure, maybe he’s handsome in a very I-read-sad-poetry-by-lantern-light way, but that only really makes it worse.

And, unfortunately, thanks to Marlene’s thing with Sirius (on again, off again, like the world’s most emotionally exhausting lumos charm), you are now in proximity to said infuriating boy far more often than you’d like to be.

It’s become a balancing act, really—sitting at the Three Broomsticks with your best friends on one side and the Marauders on the other, trying not to glare directly at Remus every time he says something clever. You think you’ve managed rather well. Mostly. Until now.

Because today, of all days, your maybe-date didn’t show.

You’re not even sure you’d call it a date. You’ve been talking with Michael Rossiter in Herbology for a couple of weeks, mostly about plants but sometimes—when he was feeling cheeky—about music or Quidditch or the way you looked when you were annoyed with your mandrake.

He wasn’t brilliant, but he had nice eyes and a decent laugh and said, when you told him you were going to Hogsmeade with your friends, “Maybe I’ll see you there then.”

You'd smiled. Told yourself not to get too giddy. And yet, here you are. Giddy, then deflated.

The booth you’re all crammed into is loud—Marlene is practically on Sirius’s lap, Mary and Dorcas are exchanging knowing looks, and James is loudly arguing with Peter over the latest Wimbourne Wasps game. And Remus—Remus is directly opposite you, because of course he is, because of course Sirius just had to say, “Oi, Moony, let the ladies have the bench side, be a gentleman,” and Remus just smirked and obliged, sliding in across you like he belonged there.

You’ve been waiting. Watching the door. Laughing too loudly at Mary’s jokes. Pretending to sip butterbeer just to keep your hands busy. And when Michael doesn’t show—when it becomes obvious he’s not going to—you shrink a bit. Quiet. Withdrawn.

And Remus notices.

Of course he does.

"You know, for someone who supposedly convinced a boy to change his Hogsmeade plans just for her,” he drawls, not even looking up from his drink, “you’re doing a marvellous impression of someone who’s just been stood up.”

You don’t answer. You don’t even look at him. You just keep your eyes fixed on the window, watching the steam fog up the panes.

Remus pauses.

Usually, this is the part where you snap something back—about his sad little jumpers or the way he chews the ends of quills like a stressed-out academic or how he’s basically a walking dissertation on how not to relax. But you don’t. You sit still, hands clenched in your lap.

The silence between you grows taut.

Remus frowns. He nudges you with his foot under the table—annoying. Like a brother, if your brother was your intellectual rival and also kind of handsome in a way you wish you didn’t notice.

“Oi,” he says, quieter now. “What’s wrong?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, still not looking at him. “You wouldn’t get it. And I don’t want you to.”

That gives him pause. He turns toward you fully now, leaning on one elbow. “Alright, that’s a bit harsh.”

You shrug.

Then he sighs, long-suffering and dramatic. “Who was it? The boy. No, don’t tell me— Rossiter?”

You glance at him, surprised. “How did you—?”

“Everyone saw you flirting over flobberworms in class last week,” he says, deadpan. “He told Sirius he was thinking about asking you out. Got all red-faced about it, too. It was tragic.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “Merlin.”

“He’s a right sod, you know.”

You lift your head just enough to glare. “That your professional opinion?”

Remus shrugs, grinning slightly. “My personal one. But it’s backed by a great deal of observational research.”

You huff. “You don’t even know him.”

“I know him better than you do,” Remus says, slumping back into the booth. “Do you know his mum still buys his underwear?”

You blink.

“I’m serious. Thomas the Tank Engine ones. We saw them last year when someone hit him with a jelly-legs jinx and his trousers fell down on the Quidditch pitch. Looked ridiculous.”

You can’t help it—you snort. It’s brief, but it’s real.

Remus perks up like a cat that’s just caught movement under a curtain. “And I once caught him picking his nose.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re making this up.”

“I wish,” he says, grimacing. “We were in the library and he was just mining. Like he thought no one could see him. It was vile.”

You giggle. You actually giggle.

Remus looks triumphant. “And they say I’m the wild animal.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re awful.”

“Only to those who deserve it.” He pauses, then adds, more gently, “You really thought he was coming?”

You nod, shoulders drooping. “I mean… he said maybe. He was sort of flirty about it. I thought—” You cut yourself off. “Doesn’t matter.”

Remus doesn’t say anything at first. He leans his head back against the booth, watching you. “I hate that you’re sad,” he says eventually. “You’re annoying when you’re sad. It’s harder to make fun of you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile’s still there. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” He nudges your arm again. “Still sucks, though.”

The warmth in your chest surprises you. You look at him again, properly this time, and there’s a softness in his eyes that doesn’t match the usual sardonic glint.

It’s disarming.

You blink, glance away. “Thanks, I guess.”

He grins. “Don’t get all emotional on me. I might have to start being nice to you regularly and that’s not good for my image.”

“Oh, the tragedy,” you say dryly.

“Unimaginable.”

Sirius leans over suddenly, draping an arm across Remus’s shoulders and nearly spilling his drink. “Oi, Moony, you pulling or pining?”

Remus doesn’t even flinch. “Trying to comfort someone after being disappointed by the tragic shallowness of her romantic prospects, actually. Something you’d know nothing about.”

Sirius pouts. “Rude.”

Marlene snorts. “Let her be. She got stood up, she’s rightfully upset,”

Sirius frowns. “Who stands you up?”

You wave him off. “Doesn’t matter.”

But Remus answers anyway. “Michael Rossiter.”

Sirius sits back like he’s been slapped. “Rossiter? No. That absolute knob?”

“You see?” Remus says, gesturing. “It’s not just me.”

“Bloody hell,” Sirius mutters. “Should’ve hexed him when I had the chance.”

“You did hex him,” Remus points out.

“Not enough, apparently.”

[qqueenofhades]

do you have any advice for those in the very early stages of thesis-writing? currently desperately clinging to the mantra of "shitty first drafts," et al

Unfortunately, there is no place where you will more whole-assedly have to embrace the "shitty first draft" mantra than in academic writing, especially in thesis writing, especially if this is your first-ish crack at an advanced and major piece of original research. I'm not sure if this is for an undergraduate senior thesis, a MA-level thesis, or (my true and heartfelt sympathies) a PhD dissertation, but the basic principles of it will remain the same. So there is that, at least. This means that yes, you will write something, you may even feel slightly proud of it, and then you will hand it into your supervisor and they will more or less kindly dismantle it. You have to train yourself to have a thick skin about this and not take it as a personal insult, and if your supervisor is remotely good at their job (not all of them are, alas) they will know how to be tactful about it and not make it feel like a direct and extensive commentary on your private worth as a person. But you will have to swallow it and do what you can, which can include -- if you're the one who has done the research and know that's how you want to present it and/or you are correct about it -- pushing back and having a conversation with them about how you think your original approach does work best. But that will come later. The first step is, yes, to mentally gird yourself to receive critical feedback on something that you have worked hard on, and to understand that no matter how much you grump and grumble and deservedly vent to your friends and so on, implementing the feedback will usually make your piece better and stronger. That is the benefit of working with a trained expert who knows what makes a good piece of research in your particular academic field, and while it doesn't get easier, per se, at least it gets familiar. Be not afraid, etc.

If you're in the writing stage, I assume that you've moved past the topic-selection and general-research stage, but allow me to plump once more the services of your friendly local university library. You can (or at least you can at mine and probably in any decently well-equipped research university) schedule a personal consultation with an expert librarian, who can give you tips on how to find relevant subject databases, create individual research guides (these might already be available on the university library website for classes/general topics), and otherwise level you up to Shockingly Competent Research Superhero. So if you're still looking for a few extra sources, or for someone else who might be reading this and is still in the "how the heck do I find appropriate and extensive scholarly literature for my thesis??" stage, please. Go become a Research Ninja. It's much easier when you have a minion doing half the work for you, but please do appreciate and make use of your university librarian. It's much more effective than haphazard Google Scholar or JSTOR searches hoping to turn up something vaguely relevant (though to be fair, we all do that too), and it's what your tuition dollars are paying for.

Next, please do remind yourself that you are not writing the whole thesis in one go, and to break it down into manageable chunks. It usually does make sense to write the whole thing semi-chronologically (i.e. introduction, lit review, chapter 1, chapter 2/3/4 etc, conclusion), because that allows you to develop your thoughts and make logical connections, and to build on one piece to develop the next. If you're constantly scrambling between chapters and zig-zagging back and forth as things occur to you, it will be harder to focus on any one thought or thread of research, and while you might get more raw output, it will not be as good and will require more correction and revision, so you're not actually hacking yourself into increased productivity. You should also internally structure your chapters in addition to organizing your overall thesis, so it makes sense to draw up a rough outline for section A, section B, section C within the body of a single chapter. This will make you think about why the segues are going in that order and what a reasonably intelligent reader, who nonetheless may not have the specialized knowledge that you are demonstrating for them, needs to move understandably from one section to the next.

Some academics I know like to do an extensive outline, dumping all their material into separate documents for each chapter/paper and kneading and massaging and poking it into a more refined shape, and if that works for you -- great! I'm more of the type that doesn't bother with a ton of secondary outlines or non-writing activity, since that can lead you away from actually writing, but if you need to see the fruit of your research all together in one place before you can start thinking about how it goes together, that is also absolutely the way that some people do it. Either way, to be a successful academic writer, you have to train yourself to approach academic writing in a very different way from fun writing. You do fun writing when you have free time and feel inspired and can glop a lot of words down at once, or at least some words. You do it electively and for distraction and when you want to, not to a set timeline or schedule, and alas, you can't do this for academic writing. You will have to sit your ass down and write even when you do not feel like writing, do not feel Magically Inspired, don't even want to look at the fucking thing, etc. I have had enough practice that I can turn on Academic Writing Brain, sit down, bang something out, sit down the next day and turn on Academic Editing Brain, go over it again, and send it off, but I have been in academia for uh, quite a while. The good news is that you can also automate yourself to be the same way, but the bad news is that it will take practice and genuine time invested in it.

As such, this means developing a writing schedule and sticking to it, and figuring out whether you work best going for several hours without an interruption, or if you set a timer, write for a certain time, then allow yourself to look at the internet/answer texts/fuck around on Tumblr, and then make yourself put down the distraction and go back to work for another set period of time. (I am admittedly horrible at putting my phone away when I should be doing something else, but learn ye from your wizened elders, etc.) You will have to figure out in which physical space you work best, which may not be a public coffee shop where you can likewise get distracted with doing other things/chatting to friends/screwing around on the internet/doomscrolling/peeking at AO3, and to try to be there as often as possible. It might be your carrel in the library, it might be your desk at home, it might be somewhere else on campus, but if you can place yourself in a setting that tells your brain it's time to work and not look at WhatsApp for the 1000th time in a row, that is also beneficial.

Finally, remember that you do not have to produce an absolutely world-beating, stunningly original, totally flawless and perfect piece, even in its final form. Lots of us write very shitty things when we're starting out (and some of us, uh, still write very shitty things as established academics), and you do not have to totally redefine your entire field of study or propose a groundbreaking theory that nobody has heard of or anything like that. A lot of academic work is small-scale and nuanced, filling in spaces on the margins of other things or responding or offering a new perspective on existing work, and it's best to think of it as a conversation between yourself and other scholars. They have said something and now you're saying something back. You don't need to be so brilliant that everyone goes ZOMGZ I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF THAT BEFORE; by its nature that happens very rarely and is usually way out on a limb (extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, etc); you just need to continue the dialogue with a reasonably well-constructed and internally plausible piece. So if you think of it that way, and understand that a shitty first draft will usually develop into something that is good and valuable but not SHOCKING NEW REVELATION clickbait hype, you will take some of the pressure off yourself and be more able to shut up that perfectionist voice in your head. However, all of us have some degree of imposter syndrome and it never entirely goes away, so you'll have to manage that too. Etc etc as before, it doesn't vanish altogether, but it gets easier.

And last but not least, though I'm sure I don't have to say this: for the love of fuckin' god, do not use ChatGPT. Even the genuinely shittiest paper in the world that you still worked on researching, organizing, and writing with your own brain is better than that. Trust me.

[oceansoul001]

After 170 hours I've finished Kingdom Come Deliverance 2 and I cannot even start to describe this emptiness I'm feeling now, knowing that there is no more of this great story waiting for me to experience (at least for now). What a wild ride it was and what a surprisingly amazing game, with all the twists and turns of the plot, all the memorable characters that I deeply cared about and rooted for, all the emotions of Henry's journey and all the thoughts about war, revenge, duty, and finally making peace with the past and moving on. The emotional spectrum of the game is astounding - it can so flawlessly switch between being extremely funny or delightfully absurd to being heartbreaking or devastating in the heaviest moments. But as the game’s content is so dense and rich, that writing down all my thoughts would require a whole book, or at least a dissertation, I would like to specifically touch upon one, nomen omen touchy subject. The Henry-Hans romance.

I'm not sure if it is possible yet, but I would also like to skip over all the controversy-driven discussions regarding this romantic subplot, clearly lead in bad faith and mostly by people not even engaging with the game, and be able to talk about this topic and analyze it as it is, without questioning its right to even exist in the game. Why do I focus on this quite small and optional aspect of the game at all? Well, I’m not gonna lie – I always find the RPGs with possible romances more engaging and captivating, as love – as a general emotion, with different shades of it – is in my eyes one of the crucial aspect of any hero. So if we are already talking about the love towards parents or other family members, patriotic love for your country, or king, platonic love between friends and comrades, and then all of a sudden omit only the romantic love, something is not adding up for me. If you want to give me a rich RPG experience, give me at least one good romance option, and I’m sold. But it is not easy at all, especially the “good” part.

But as KCD2 is a very unique game when it comes to its different aspects – like the demanding, slow-paced gameplay, or the unique blend of open-world with more contained main plot missions – it is also very unique when it comes to the romance options, or, let me say it aloud – when it comes to THE main romance option, the most integral romance option, the most naturally developing romance option in the game. The Henry-Hans (optional) romance that we can observe growing very slowly throughout this 100+ hours, is for me one of the best and most meaningful depictions of love in any RPG with player's agency. This relation, even if you opt out of romance, simply has it all - is intertwined with the plot, is rooted in character development and has the possibility to depict characters together during many different situations throughout the whole game. And this is how a good romanceable character should be written in a video game – as an independent character first and foremost, NOT as a character that was created with a sole purpose to serve as said romance option. In this case Hans ALWAYS plays a meaningful part in the story, and ALWAYS shares an important bond with your Henry, regardless of player's decision whether to engage with the romance or not. But many other games seem to forget about that, or don’t manage to create the bond between characters first, before the option to romance them appears.

And then comes the hard to describe aspect of THE FEELS. The slow development of this relation, the steady growth of feelings, up to the point, when you cannot deny it any longer, and when you cannot allow yourself to not act upon them - because of the circumstances, because of this sense of impending doom, that makes all the risks worth taking, as any of you might anyway be dead the next day. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat, remember? The risk that Hans takes in the decisive moment of this relation is THE epitome of his saying, and I don’t believe it is a coincidence when it suits so perfectly to the whole theme of the game and to Hans as a character in general. And this bold risk taking is so gut-clenching and heartbreaking, but also heartwarming in this one stolen moment of happiness that seems unreal. Say what you want, but you simply cannot tell this kind of story, invoke this kind of feelings - without first having two equally developed characters, that the player equally cares for and have cared for before any romance possibility was on the horizon. Add to the mix very real external hardships (all good romances need a hardship to overcome!), that due to the time and place make this relation tragically doomed before it even has begun, and there you have it - one of the most compelling romantic stories I have experienced in a video game, hands down.

And please don’t start with medieval this, medieval that, before you stop and think about greatest medieval love stories (that we know of) – these are always stories of impossible love, of doomed love, of forbidden love. Of two people, that cannot and should not be together because of the class they belong to, because of the promises made, because of duty, because of sin and religion dogma. Don’t tell me you cannot see the comparison between Henry and Hans, and, say, Tristan and Isolde, THE number one medieval chivalric romance couple, where they commit sin against God and betray their King at the same time, every time they are together. Don’t tell me that Henry, who clearly aspires to all the ideals that we associate with knighthood – chivalry, protection of the weak, devotion to land and rightful king, and generally noble idealism, let’s call it – is not the perfect hero of chivalric romance, with Hans being of course his damsel-princess, way above his league, already promised to another and soon to be in a loveless, political marriage, spending parts of the game either captured in some tower or stuck in some castle, having to wait for his knight to safely return to him. It is all there, I am sure not accidentally, and it fits all the themes and motifs known from both actual medieval literature and their pop culture representation SO WELL if you think about it for a second.

And there's one more component that elevates this particular relation to S-tier for me. You can have superb writing, you can direct the most impressive cutscene, you can have the build-up ready - all of these won't matter and won't work if the actors don't sell you the romantic feelings in the key moment. Which I assume is not easy, when for the most part you play other aspects of these characters and probably were not cast with this specific plot point in mind. But here comes Luke Dale, showing us the side of Hans Capon that we have not seen before, with the most heart-wrenching expression of his fears, with voice breaking at the exactly right moment, the trembling, the anger, the despair, but also the tiniest bit of hope - and in just two broken sentences he conveys it all, and it's all so bloody real. It's a masterwork, and I'm so happy that I could witness it in game, even more - become part of this relationship as the playable character himself.

I sincerely hope that the end of the main game is not the end of this subplot, as there is still so, so, so much more to explore with these characters in these circumstances. And their relation is so unique, comparing to popular fiction in general, but even more so in video games, that it would be a great loss to just leave them be as they are at the end of the game. I cannot wait for the possibility to go through more emotional turmoil with Henry and Hans, probably because I cannot even remember when was the last time I’ve fallen in love with fictional characters so much and so fast, as with these two. And as already said, love is the key. 

[gublernatural]

Hiii! I absolutely love your writing and I was wondering if you could write something about Spencer reid and reader who have just started dating and they get into their first ever argument and it’s a bit angsty but cute(?) cause he gets all worried while reader is more experienced in the relationship department so she (or gn!reader, your choice) doesn’t worry as much cause she knows it doesn’t mean they’re over? And then he gets all pouty and clingy when they make up cause he hated being far from her sm🫶 I know its very specific and idk weird so its totally okay if you don’t wanna write it but I’d really appreciate it!!!

as an insecure certified lover girl i love this request and i am so sorry it took me so long to get to <3

spencer was not expecting you to leave. to argue, to complain, even to berate, but to leave? the thought the didn’t even cross his mind.

the argument had started over something stupid, probably like a teasing remark that had gone too far, or the fact that he had been nagging you about doing the dishes. he wasn’t sure. all that filled his mind now was the fact that you walked out the door and slammed it behind you. he wasn’t sure where you went to, or if you were coming back.

yet, he was frozen in place. his knees had begun to shake as tears started to well up in his eyes. for a genius, you are really fucking stupid, he thought. he couldn’t believe he blew things with you, already.

you two hadn’t officially been together long. only around 3 months, but had spent much more time together prior to that. he was truly falling for you, something he wasn’t expecting to do. he loved the way you laughed and the way you listened to him. he loved that you were always there to greet him with a wide smile and a tight hug when you he came back from cases. he loved being around you and he loved the positive energy you put out.

and he just ruined all of that over some stupid argument.

spencer was rarely one to be unsure. after all, he is a genius, so there wasn’t many things he didn’t know. but, standing alone in front of his apartment door, he was clueless. should he run after you? should he wait it out? should he start packing up all of the things you’ve left at his apartment over these three months? he didn’t know.

so, like with most things he didn’t know, he was going to research. sure, to the common person googling “what to do after a fight with your girlfriend” would be corny, maybe even a little dumb, but not to spencer. when he couldn’t figure stuff out, he found other sources that could. so that’s what he was trying to do now.

much to spencer’s dismay, he was met with a whole bunch of editorials. not a single academic paper, dissertation, or research project had been conducted on the topic. so, he took what he could get and began reading over the newest People Magazine article titled “steps to making your girlfriend happy after being a bad boyfriend”.

he wasn’t sure how long he’d been reading, or how many different pop culture magazine websites he’d accidentally signed up for on his old desktop by the time his phone rang. it startled him, but he moved quickly to get it, assuming it was hotch calling him to come in for a case.

his heart sped up but his stomach dropped when he saw your first name, with the little otter emoji next to it. you had picked it, spencer didn’t even know there was an otter emoji.

his thumb slid over the answer button as quickly as he could move it, but once he brought the phone up to his ear, spencer couldn’t find any words.

the line was silent for a minute. you weren’t sure if he was even breathing on the other side. you wanted to give yourself time to cool off, separate from spencer. his little remark about your poor cooking skills had gotten to you, and you didn’t want it to become a massive argument. you didn’t know that spencer had spiraled after you left.

“are you going to come over or what?” you couldn’t help but let the residual anger you were holding slip out. despite this, spencer’s breath caught in his throat. you heard him take a deep exhale before saying, “you want me to come over?”

the desperation in his voice was so apparent, it broke your heart. any anger you were holding onto, or any bitterness about the comment he made completely wiped away when you heard spencer’s voice. you guessed that he had probably been crying. you softened your tone, and spoke slowly as you answered him, “of course i want you to come over, spence. we don’t get to have two sleepovers in a row very often.”

spencer’s hand was shaking as he listened to your words. he thought for sure you were going to break up with him. all he said was, “i’m on my way.” before hanging up.

you shouldn’t have been surprised at spencer throwing himself in your arms when you opened the door for him. he always craved physical touch, despite his fear of germs. he knew you and he cherished you, and all he wanted was to be close to you.

your hand snaked around his back as he buried his head in your shoulder. you tried to pretend you couldn’t feel the tears escaping from him. he wasn’t sobbing, there was just other way for him to have the emotional release he needed than to allow his tears to fall. your hand rubbed lovingly over his back, letting him adjust to being back with you.

“i’m so sorry,” he muttered against you. his hands were balled up between you two and you could feel him nervously squeezing his fists tighter. “spencer, it’s okay,” you assured.

you pulled away from him, only to wipe his tears away and move his hair out of his face. despite his height, he looked so tiny and vulnerable. “i didn’t mean to upset you,” he whined. “it’s okay,” you repeated, grabbing his hand to move him to the sofa.

you sat across from him, but he stared at the floor. “i thought you were breaking up with me,” he muttered. his voice was quiet and gentle. you couldn’t help but laugh at his statement. “why would i do that?” you moved closer to him, tucking his hair behind his ear to get him to look at you. “i-i don’t know! you just left and you were angry and i thought you weren’t coming back,” tears were filling up his eyes again as he finally met your gaze.

“spence,” you cooed, “couples fight and sometimes they need space. a little argument like that is nothing. we’re okay,” you promised him. he nodded, then reached out to pull you into his chest. “i don’t like when you storm out like that,” he said. “‘m sorry,” you mumbled against him. he just nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.