#THIS PARALLEL HURTS AND STINGS

[catstack17]

SPOILER FOR LOKI EPISODE 6 :

“i could have done it father, for you, for all of us.” - loki in Thor (2011)

“i know what god i have to be for you, for all of us.” loki in Loki S2 (2023)

THIS PARALLEL IS KILLING ME PLEASE- SOBBING CURRENTLY

[sstrwbrryccke]

— bullying him pt.4 | sub soobin

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

tags: loser!nerd!soobin x bully!mean!reader, gn reader, sadistic reader, masochistic soobin, dubcon, hate fingering, sadist x masochistic relationship, mutual pining, mild violence, hurt w comfort, mean dirty talk, reader's genitals are unclear and can be interpreted as either a cock or a strap, misunderstandings, public bathroom indecency, bdsm, happy ending!!!

the long await part 4 is here!! i tagged everyone who wanted a part 4 i hope you aren't too irritated by the tag >.< i did this very tired and sleep deprived so i hope it makes sense HAHAHA

tags: @yaegerphobic @strwbrryjaem @ke4s @sk104kx @bennybenten @queer-n-here @sleeping143 @browni-bin @skinnyzlegendz @roturo @zuzuhasablog

something changed after that date, you could feel it, soobin could feel it and the other classmates felt it too. it was the lingering touches, the maintained gazes during class. the way he dared to stare for just a second longer. you didn't want to admit it, and it was initially easy to ignore the problem. it's not like you weren't used to overlooking soobin. he was simply an accessory in your eyes, what's the use in admiring the shine of a singular gem on a sapphire bracelet?

though, perhaps your dismissiveness was your greatest achilles heel after all. in the end, an undeniable itch would creep up on the back of your neck. like a minuscule mosquito sting that would bloom into large red welts. it started irritating you to a degree. sure you were blatantly ignoring the man, but can a contradiction not be such opposing parallels?

because how dare he, even for a second, ignore you back?

maybe it was the small sigh of relief he let out when you passed by, or the way he kept his head down low when he exited the class. when did it start to bother you so much?

no way. he would come running back. he always did and he always will, you know it in your bones, he will come back he will. what's a victim without a bully? a nerd without a jock??? a locker without a dim-witted loser to push into????????

you will wait it out, wait for him to come out crawling and kneeling, grasping at your leg like a devout to their divine deity— prayers forcing their way frantically out of his mouth.

but seconds tick by, days even, and suddenly it's been two weeks already with no movement. all silent on the battlefront. is this what it's like for drinks to fizzle out at the bottle of a can? when a songbird no longer sings for the morning sun? and the stars no longer shine for the moon? and whatever next poetic quote that rhymes with moon?

damn, what a sad and pathetic way to conclude it. so this is the ending chapter of the depressing story of a mega fluke and his cool fling.

is what you would say if you were the cowardly choi soobin!!!

because you weren't a pussy, and you certainly weren't one to give up on your pride. so be it, if he wants you to come to him, you'll give it to him.

☆★☆

your glare bore holes into the hunched back of choi soobin. now see, normally you wouldn't even gift that loser a glance in his direction, too risky to pay him attention and blow the cover of your unconventional connection after all. but this was a special occasion, and you felt like your nerves were lit on fire, like a hormonal teenager going through puberty again. it was abnormal for everyone else too, many did not even know the unimportant side character soobin was even associated with you, arguably the most interesting (or maybe the right word is known) person in the classroom.

the metal keys weigh heavy in your uniform pants (retrieved from the staffroom after many great excuses to convince your teacher), waiting for the right moment to pounce. come on soobin, you dare him to move. fall right into the metal prongs.

"—dude, hey— HEY!" one of your friends, kiwoo, shook your shoulder, hard enough that you broke your gaze just for a second. you snap your head at him, giving him an irritated look that makes him retreat his hand.

"what's with you?" he says, suspicious, "you've been glaring at soobin ever since he entered the classroom. what? he gave you bad head or something?"

"not funny." you roll your eyes.

"is there something happening between the two of you? it doesn't feel like a simple errand boy situation anymore. you're not nonchalant and mysterious for ignoring the question by the way."

you groan, this really wasn't the time for it. what kind of excuse can you even give him? that the weird situationship you had with soobin backfired and now you're acting like an angsty possessive insecure spouse trying to get him back? tough shit.

"it's not even that deep, kiwoo. he just pissed me off this morning, that's all." you scoff out an excuse, hoping that's enough to deter your nosy friend. you look back at where soobin was seated— shit where did he go?!

"what did he do now?—" "not the time, he's gone, where did he go?" you look around, irritation seeping into your voice.

"chill, he probably just went to the b—"

you stand up, muttering another alibi before dashing out of the classroom. you catch a glimpse of his white shirt turning the corner, bingo, he's headed to the restroom! your heart thumps in your throat as you approach the bathroom, was the dominos actually falling into place? you can't believe your stupid plan was working.

once you reach the entrance, you silently take a breath, getting ready for the confrontation. you step in, closing the restroom door behind you with the keys, and you hear an all too familiar gasp as the lock sets into place.

"oh, you, the door,"

his stupid voice stutters out (you missed hearing it), shaky eyes meeting yours. he was sweating visibly, like this was a horror game and he just came face to face with the final boss.

"so—sorry wrong room!" he turns around like an npc reciting a practised line, only to be met with the tile wall, what a dumb bunny. when he pivots back around, you are already eye-to-eye with him. his voice hitches, a pathetic excuse for a squeal, and the world spins— you pin him into the wall right behind him. he would crumble onto the floor right there if it weren't for your hands holding his wrists up.

there was a moment of silence between you two, his eyes scattering around as if the gum on the floor was suddenly so much more interesting than the person in front. he bites his bottom lip in fear.

"oh stop it i told you before to not bite your chapped lips." the first words exchanged, a command that he obeys immediately like following your words was as natural as breathing. you forgot how satisfying it was to order him around.

"care to explain why you're avoiding me?" your tone sharp and cutting; as if you were physically pressing a knife up against his chest. he tries to talk. lip trembling, eyes closing, but all that comes out is a fearful whimper. you click your tongue in irritation, releasing one of his wrists— which limply drops to his side like a ragdoll. using your free hand you grab his face, forcing him to look at you.

"answer."

he tears up, sniffling as he tries not to sob. "m' sorry... i—i'm sorry for ignoring you."

you felt a pang in your heart, you can't tell if it was guilt or anger. "shit quit apologising and just answer my question. why were you avoiding me."

his shoulders were raised all the way up as if he was expecting you to smack him across the cheek, his whole body was wrecked with trembles and you're impressed he wasn't full-on sobbing yet. his face was red and holy shit no fucking way he was hard. what a strong sense of deja vu, wasn't this exactly how this whole mess started in the first place? you just stare at him for a minute, shaking and quivering with a bulge, no answer on his tongue.

"are you fucking for real? what'd i expect from a masochistic dog. of course, you're getting off from this." you grit your teeth, was he just using you for a quick jerk? that this was his kink this whole time and he only ever saw you as a fuck partner? did he ignore you simply so you would snap and give him exactly what he wants???

and for some reason, you felt betrayed, as if there was actually some relationship between you two. how hypocritical too, did you not also see soobin as sexual relief? wasn't he supposed to be an obedient mouth that opened for your dick? why was your fist clenching and veins pumping as if you caught your long-term partner cheating???

"maybe the only way to get shit through your thick skull is to fuck it out of you huh? bend you over in front of everyone with your ass out as you get fucking drilled by a big fat cock? is that what you want?" your words come out forced and throbbing red with anger.

"i—"

you clasp a rough hand over his throat, though you didn't actually squeeze, he shuts up immediately, eyes wide and fingers quivering. you almost rip his pants down, taking his underwear as well in one swift motion. he snivels pathetically, helplessly being led around as you savagely grasp his hair. you pull him to the sink, forcing him to bend over in front of the mirror. he desperately clutches the edges of the sink with a grunt, otherwise he might be toppled over by your rough handling. his body leaning down with his elbows bent onto the sink edge.

you grip his hair, painfully hard, his scalp must be killing him. you lift his head up until he's staring at his face in the reflection. it was like a brush with scarlet paint used his face as a canvas. his cheeks red and trembling. tears bulge on the edge of his eyes, threatening to slip out any second. his lips long-bitten and bleeding.

"keep staring at your slutty self. watch how pathetic and ugly you're gonna look when you get your organs fucked out. if you break your gaze even for a second i'll fucking kill you."

you cuss with every malevolence in your soul, for a second soobin thinks you might actually kill him. he holds in his breath as if one more sound from him will settle the hatred in your heart and murder him. you spit down onto his ass, watching as it dribbles down, you abruptly prod at his hole. not waiting like you would before. breaking through the rim and forcing your finger in like an intruder.

he loudly groans out in agony, body shuddering and wavering. you smack him over the head. "quit moving so much. shit, i wasted so many stupid gifts on you. and to think i was saving up the actual fucking for something more special. like we were actually a couple or something. but now you're gonna get your organs reorganised in a public bathroom. i guess that's suiting for a whore like you."

he grits his teeth in pain, trying to endure the pain and the humiliation for you. he stares at himself in the mirror in despair, brows furrowed and his vision blurry, his glasses were knocked off his nose from all the movement, but he keeps looking at himself just like you commanded. not trying to disobey you. why did he do that for you? it pissed you to new heights. why was he still acting like he was a goodie two shoes who didn't want to displease you?

you thrust the finger in and out with no care, barely being assisted by your makeshift lube to slide against his walls. his soft whimpers barely slipping out. you press another finger against his hole and this time he does stir, he jerks away. incoherent protests come out when he feels the second finger try to enter.

"break! a break! please give me uh a break b—before the second!" he begs, on the verge of breaking into full sobs.

"what makes you think you can bargain?"

he shivers at your harsh words, head hanging in shame. it was so pathetic, you feel a small semblance of pity, spitting more on his ass to assist the second. but you weren't merciful by any standard and promptly slid the two fingers in.

his shoulders shake, feeling full already with the two fingers. tears finally slip out in both overwhelming pain and pleasure. he hadn't touched himself ever since the last time you two met.

your ruthless fingers pump in and out of his ass like you were digging for his stomach, violently pressing against his prostate. it hurts like crazy. a primal and animalistic type of pain. but oh man, the electricity zipping through his body was hitting all the right places. it felt so wrong yet so right. like he belonged here pressed underneath your feet and hands. this felt like pleasure. his dick was tall and alert, pent up and ready to burst. his body begged for more while his mind was praying for mercy.

he thrashes around with each new thrust, being unable to control his body as a guttural wail forces its way out of his mouth. the slopping of skin slapping skin fills your ears. you grunt as you tighten your hold on his hair, trying to get him to stop moving. the more you ram your fingers into his prostate, the more frantic he becomes, one of his hands coming up to weakly pry at your hand holding his hair. you let go of your grip on his scalp to instead pull his body flush against your chest, hand snaking to the front and onto his throat. your fingers ceasing to stop with its insane momentum.

"please— no more— have me—mercy! i'm so sorry i'm so sorry i'm sorry—" he begs endlessly, sobbing and shaking his head, struggling against your hold.

you ignore his pleas, hand trailing down from his throat to his lower stomach, you can feel the movement of your fingers. suddenly, you push your palm down on his lower abdomen, right above his prostate. just as your two fingers press into the glands. he cries out, head blanking into sparks of light and stars. his cock spasming as he spurts out white stripes, shooting onto the mirror. his hands that were frantically prying at your wrists limps down.

your lips curl into a cruel smile, a sense of satisfaction raking over your body. you slid your two fingers out of his hole. a scoff comes out, naturally.

"hah. you came? i wasn't even trying to pleasure you, and you came like a little..."

your nasty words drift off as you look at him in the mirror. the room is now uncomfortably quiet, only the weeping and sobbing of soobin echoing in the restroom. he looks like a wreck, not in a sexy, sweaty way. but in a heart-hanging, guilt-tripping way. his face was painted with tears, snot and substance. eyes closed and afraid to look up at you. his body exhausted and leaning against you, he didn't even have the energy to quiver.

you did this to him, you absolutely ruined his pretty face and his sweet eyes. you actually deserve hell. what was wrong with you? how could you do this to someone so cute and precious? soobin deserved the world and so much more, he deserved everything good and nice and sweet and right on this earth. but what happened at that moment, how did you get here?

suddenly it was like your throat was constricted and swollen, lips dry with unsaid words. what do you say? apologise? promise to leave him alone forever?

"i..."

"i'm sorry..." he beats you to it with shaky words.

"holy shit no— no no, don't apologise." you quickly mumble, holding him up.

"i— i was scared, i didn't know how you would react. because i think, i think i'm insane, i don't know what's wrong with me. i'm scared you would be disgusted" his words tumble out breathlessly, you just stare silently in shock.

"i'm sorry— i don't get myself either, because everything about you drives me crazy and i can't be around you— i know i'm a masochistic dog but i just can't help it— no matter what you do to me makes me like you more, d—don't hate me please. i'm such a freak—" his words are barely coherent as he sobs.

"shh shhh shh it's okay, calm down soobin, calm down." you try to comfort him, beyond confused and shocked. he's crying so hard he's hiccuping and stammering. you help him lean on a wall and he slides down, you frantically kneel down to try and ground him.

"i— i don't want you to hate me— but your attention just feels so good to me— anything— any attention you give me it just shakes me to my core... i couldn't do it anymore—hic— i had to avoid you hick—" he hides his face in his hands. you try to understand his words, your head spiralling in turmoil. he what? he avoided you because you gave him too much attention? what kind of fucked up logic was that? this was starting to sound like those cliche misunderstanding tropes in romcoms. nevermind that, you had a sexually confused pile of fluff to comfort.

"soobin breathe, hey, come on." you say as softly as you can, like you were trying to approach an injured bunny in the wild. no matter, your heart pangs with guilt as he keeps crying. you pull him into a hug on your lap, wrapping your arms tight around his frame. this seems to make him cry more, but he leans into you, knees bundled tight against his chest as he savours the warmth. you two stay on the floor in this strong embrace. you coo sweet and reassuring words into his ear as you rock him back and forth, doing your best to console him. kissing each tear as it falls.

his sobs quiet down with each passing minute until there was only silence and mute sniffling. it was bizarre to cuddle on the restroom floor, but it was nice, and you have to admit that you do like soobin in your arms. not embracing him in sex, but in comfort and simply to make him feel good. this was crazy hypocritical to say, considering he was partly crying due to your assholery.

after a few more minutes of silence, you glance at soobin, still hidden away by his hands. "soob, come on, look at me." you coo into his ear, and he makes a small noise of acknowledgement. your hands gently pry at his hands and he lets you remove his shield from his face. he looks at you pitifully, eyes red and puffy from the crying, pouting. you kiss his cheek, you don't know why you did it, but it felt right to. "do you want to talk to me now?"

he nods, but hides his face in your shoulder.

"i... i'm crazy and a freak. you hurt me, you humiliate me, you cause me so much pain."

you grimace, stroking his hair. yeah, that sounds about right. if there was one thing consistent about your inconsistent personality, it was how much of an asshole you are. if soobin was your salvation, it was like the angels gave you a second chance at life. but you honestly wouldn't blame them if the ground caved beneath you right now and sent you straight to hell. was it bad to say you enjoyed all the sadistic acts? probably. you can't lie and say you regret being a sadist. but if it makes it better, you do regret the pain soobin is feeling right now.

"but... please don't hate me for this..."

"i won't hate you, soobin." you encourage him to keep talking, shushing his worries away.

"i like all of it, i like it so much it drives me crazy. i'm abnormal, i know. and i get it if you think i'm disgusting. but i'm so obsessed with you. i think about the things you do to me every night, i replay it in my head over and over again until i'm touching myself again. the more you hurt me, the more i like you... but... but you kept avoiding me, and i thought you knew how i felt and you were disgusted... and if that was the case... i didn't want to get hurt anymore..." he confesses fully, face buried deep in your neck and you feel your shirt slowly wet with his tears again.

it was silence, absolute, bewilderment from your side. the quiet seems to gnaw at soobin's heart, because he lifts his head up, gaze lowered as he stutters. "i— i get it if you're disgusted, my feelings are so strang��"

"soobin, you're a proper, proper masochist, wow." you breathe out. lifting his face up gently with two of your hands. wiping away his tears with your sleeve.

"oh..." he just mouths, mind seemingly blank. confused by how mundane your reaction was.

"wait, so how'd you feel about what we did just then? did you like it?"

"i... didn't like you being angry at me..."

"but what about the feeling? the fingering? the rough treatment?"

he blushes. "i liked the rough treatment." he pauses for a moment. "and you paying attention to me again."

the both of you fall quiet and he crumbles at the scrutiny. you knew soobin was masochistic and that he liked you. this was not new information. shit, you knew this from the beginning. so what changed? why did you freak out and go ballistic? why'd you corner him and demand him to tell you why he avoided you? why'd you force him to endure all that pain?

"i... i was so mean to you today... i... because you kept, looking away from me, and, ignoring my gaze and avoiding me. i thought..." the words fall into noiseless void. burning on the tip of your tongue.

"i thought you didn't like me anymore,"

you admit, shame and humiliation weighing down your heart. for a self-proclaimed smartass, you were sure stupid and dense to your own emotions. when did it start? when did you actually start caring about the loser? maybe the answer was simpler than that, you never felt the feelings creeping up to you, because, in truth, you've always been looking at him. maybe that's why you picked on him so easily, always eyeing for his reaction. shit, what a twisted way your heart works. but damn did you have a lifetime of sins to atone for.

soobin was blinking up at you blearily, clearly confused and oblivious to the conclusion in your head. you pick up his cracked glasses from the ground, gently inserting them behind his ears. (you'll buy him another pair later.)

"you don't hate me?" his voice was weak and hopeful. you scoff.

"you're too easy to bully and pick on. it's the complete opposite idiot. i just have a shitty way to show my feelings, and you're unfortunately the victim." it takes a moment for him to process your words, and his face morphs into a cute kind of shock, he is ecstatic, you can tell by the way his dimples deepen. you really didn't deserve this man or any of the feelings he has, for some reason, god was merciful and sent the perfect masochistic man to slot into your sadistic tendencies.

"but... isn't our relationship weird?" he frowns.

"we crossed that line the moment i fingered you dude." he chuckles at this, caught off guard. and you appreciate the clear ringing of his laughter without any more denial.

"honestly, you picked such a shitty person to crush on. i'm the worst, i like being mean to you. i like humiliating you, i like the feeling of having you grovel at my feet."

his face reddens with each word, hiding his face into your shoulder again. you lean into him, appreciating the silky softness of his hair.

"i don't deserve you. i'm an idiot, it took what? months of sexual tension and emotional buildup for me to realise i actually like you instead of hating you?" you ramble, he snorts.

"but i'll make it up to you, i promise." you can tell he was blushing by the heated tips of his ears. this was nice, him in your lap. he's still a loser, but he's your loser. (gross, you reconsider taking everything back with this one thought.)

"let's get out of here first. screw class, we're gonna graduate anyways, what are the teachers gonna do?"

"and i should wear some pants..." he comments.

"that too."

☆★☆

you do a final check over at soobin, ointment applied and bandaged up. he looks out of place in your fancy bedroom and it makes you snicker. once a loser, forever a loser.

"okay, that's it. does it hurt anywhere else?" you ask, setting down the ointment. he's only injured slightly, it was mostly his bitten lip and some bruises from the rough handling.

he nods and you instantly look at him with concern. "where? where and what hurts?"

he exaggeratedly points at his heart and you scoff, rolling your eyes, trying your hardest not to smile at his antics. "what does the big baby want?"

soobin is pensive and shy at first, he wasn't expecting you to take his dramatics seriously. but soon his lips curl into a cheeky grin. "...cuddles, and kisses." you blush at the idea, grimacing. you stand up and walk away from him towards the bed.

soobin panics at your reaction. "s—sorry! i was being stupid, you don't have to take it seriously, don't leave me!"

"shut up, do you want it or not?" you say, sitting on the edge of the bed. arms stretched out. he grins widely, hurrying up to jump into your arms. you two roll over into the bed as you stretch the blanket to cover your bodies. you admire soobin's joyful expression, stroking his hair.

don't get it wrong, you still think such blatant displays of affection were cringe, and soobin was still a loser. but maybe it was never that deep, and you could definitely see yourself get used to this.

you lean down, your lips connecting with his, he feels so plush and soft underneath you. he's still a masochistic dog definitely, and you still think he's a pervert, but he's also so precious and lovable, there was so many things you could list about him.

you two separate. he seems beyond pleased with himself, burying his face into your neck. "i feel like this is all a dream, and i'm going to wake up."

"don't insult me, dream me could never kiss this well." you roll your eyes. he snickers.

"yeah, you're right. no one else could make me feel this way except real you."

you feel yourself grin, really grin. not out of malice, a grin of genuine satisfaction and joy. you feel your eyelids drooping as soobin drifts to sleep in your arms. if you told younger you that this was how things would turn out with soobin, they probably would've cussed and flipped you out.

oh well. they will come to accept it eventually anyways. this wasn't so bad after all.

end.

☆★☆ BONUS SCENE

soobin drools, senses heightened. tied up, gagged, blindfolded and a vibrator pressing at his cock. he wasn't going to last much longer. you were cruel, so fucking cruel. and he had no idea where you even were. did you leave him? how long has it been? minutes? hours? did you leave the room?

he was snapped back to reality by a harsh slap on his thigh. he trembles and sobs, curling into himself. he feels a pressure at the back of his head before the gag loosened up, allowing him to breathe and talk.

"pl—please, can't, can't— gon cum, can't hold it in. mercy, please mercy." he cries out, voice broken. he sobs and thrashes around. hoping he can charm his way out of this. he was going to burst any moment and he was going to be punished harshly for disobeying you.

"colour?" you whisper by his ear, making him jump with a whimper.

"g—green." he sniffles.

"good boy." you coo, stroking his chest, circling around one of his nipples. he cries, nerves jerking all over the place. "beg for it."

"please..." he begins, swallowing down a sob.

"please fuck me... please give me permission to cum— i— i can't last any longer— hic!"

you interrupt him with a large intrusion in his ass, he almost mewls in both pleasure and pain. "a—ah! so big, feeeels good, uhhg feels so good. love you, love you."

you grin cruelly, thrusting into him hard and accurate. the pleasure he was in twists into panic as he realises you hadn't given him permission to cum yet. and if you kept going at this pace, he was surely going to cum before your permission.

"w—wait ple—ease let me cum! i've been good, i've been good! please let me cum, i've been so good for you!" he snivels, were you going to be nice or heartless today? the closer he reaches to his climax, the more he frets. grovelling down at you, begging relentlessly for permission. before long, he feels his limit.

"i'm going to oh god i'm going to! i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm so disobedient i'm going to disobey you! i feel it— hic—" he cries louder, and just before he climaxes, you press down on his lower stomach, whispering in his ear.

"come for me baby."

with that, his body violently convulses, and his back arches as his mouth opens in a silent scream. cum forces its way out of his painfully hard dick, a guttural groan digs its way out as he empties completely onto the bed.

after his ejaculation, he huffs heavily, whines mixed in with his wheezing. you let him ride out his orgasm, pulling out of him. you untie him and take off the blindfold. kissing him sweetly.

"you did so well, you were so cute soob." you cheekily grin. he smiles tiredly up at you. body sore and thoroughly ruined. he stretches his arms out and you take it as a signal to lift him up into your lap.

he settles into your embrace like it is the most natural thing in the world. giggling into your shoulder. "that was amazing, i love you so much."

"i gueesss i love you." you tease.

"hey!"

you chuckle, kissing his cheek. "just kidding, i love you." soobin whispers a quiet 'i know.'

you two enjoy each other's company for a second, only interrupted by soobin's growling stomach. "greedy." you jab at him with a grin and he pouts.

"i'll get you something to eat at the convenience store." you shake your head, getting up to leave but soobin tugs at your sleeve.

"i'm going to be lonely, take me with you!"

you roll your eyes at his dramatic antics, but oblige anyways.

☆★☆

at the convenience store, you buy a simple bread bun for soobin, your hands warming up in your pockets as he enjoys his snack. it was a cold winter, and you wanted to return back to your apartment as soon as possible.

"yo!"

a vaguely familiar voice calls out, you turn around to be met with a recognizable face, a gasp on your lips—

"holy shit, kiwoo! i haven't seen you since graduation." soobin vaguely identify the man as one of your old high school friends.

"it's been quite a few years, hasn't it," he chuckles, though confusion was evident in his eyes as he recognises soobin.

"soobin? what are you doing here?" he pauses, glancing between you, and then soobin, and then you. like the gears of a clock slowly turning.

"you guys are still friends?" he asks.

you and soobin exchange a look. "not really." you chuckle.

he tilts his head and you dutifully wrap an arm around soobin's waist. a cheeky grin on your face as you show off the glinting gem on your finger.

"he's my fiance, obviously."

★★★ end ★★★

an: i hope you guys enjoyed the fic and the ending!!! it took a lot of contemplating on how i was going to end this highly anticipated series... i do have a lot of inbox asks for alternative realities and spin-offs, so i will probably work on them next!!! also so sorry for disappearing for like multiple months... i had been so busy with life help!!!

anyways... reshares and comments are always appreciated! please do let me know how you felt about the fic....

[mrsimpurity]

thinking about letting logan use his claws on you...

cw: nsfw (no smut but suggestive content), mentions of blood, reader’s crazy if you ask me

“logan, i’m sure about this. don’t worry.” you say, looking into logan’s eyes. you’re in your underwear, sitting in a chair in the middle of the living room with your legs spread. 

the space is dimly lit and there’s tangible tension in the air, fear and anticipation emitting from logan’s body. the trust you have when it comes to him is immense, and he can’t quite understand which one of your screws has to be loose for you to let him do this.

logan hovers over you, hands resting on the back of your chair. he lets out a sigh of surrender and leans down to kiss you. you kiss him back hungrily as his tongue enters your mouth. a whimper escapes your throat as he breaks the kiss, getting to work. 

you sit back and watch logan with a smirk as the sound of metal clashing slices the quiet tension in the air. he gives you one last look of reassurance as his hand gets closer and closer to your thigh. his claw pierces your skin in the gentlest way possible. 

logan’s focused, so focused on not hurting you that it has you biting back laughter. the beast of a man you’ve seen slaughter with no remorse now has sweat trickling down his forehead out of fear of pushing his claw in too deep. 

he proceeds to drag the claw down, the red mark on your skin starting to slowly bleed as a tiny trail of blood trickles down. he stops right before the inside of your knee. 

the pain is blunt, but the burn is delicious. despite you being the one to initiate this whole thing, the fact that you’re at this man’s mercy, bare and ready for him to damage you, has your core throbbing. 

logan’s heart feels like it’s breaking, but his cock doesn’t agree. he can feel the heat radiating off you, smell your fear and your arousal. and it takes everything in him not to rip your underwear off and finally claim you as his. 

but he doesn’t. because he’s too patient and loving to ruin your fun. so he’ll clench his teeth and humor you, just this once.

the next mark he leaves on you is a line parallel to his first one. the pain increases slowly, it becomes too much in one place. but the way the first cut stings, the way the blood seeps from the even deeper wound - it has you wanting more.

logan stops at the same place again, the tip of his claw stained by your crimson blood. suddenly overcome by something inexplicable, he drops to his haunches, resting his hands on the outside of your thighs as his face hovers over your fresh wound. he sticks his tongue out and before you know it, he’s licking up your new scars, cleaning up the blood.

the sound of your small gasps, the feeling of your suppressed whimpers as he laps up your blood, soothing the wounds, has his cock twitching in his pants. logan’s tongue runs over the two cuts again, but this time stops right before your underwear as he presses a kiss to your clothed cunt.

you’ve never felt like this before, your eyes filled with lust and desire. logan slowly rises, his gaze focused on yours, need fogging his vision. his lips find yours and you combust as a metal taste fills your mouth, the feeling of logan’s bloody tongue against yours destroying every single ounce of conformity and self-respect you have left. 

you moan into his mouth, hungry for more as the burning sensation of your bloody wounds makes a reappearance. 

logan’s mouth breaks away from yours, a bloody trail of spit connecting your lips as you smile with delight. 

with a burning desire almost as fucked up as yours, logan murmurs. 

“let me take care of you, baby.”

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ vox + marking you

character: vox warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, marking/branding (carving something into the skin), blood, toxic relationship, extreme possessiveness, daddy kink, dacryphilia, fem!reader, minimal/no prep, dubcon if you squint, pet names, painful sex, reader doesn’t get to orgasm words: 1.8k notes: vox likes to mark what belongs to him. permanently. and, as always, that mark must be perfect.

He’s been at it for nearly half an hour now, a slow drag of his index claw downward, pressure concentrated on the very point of the talon, following the line of a perfect slant before sharply pivoting upward, velocity slowing as it works back toward your hips, tracing another slant perfectly parallel to the first. 

V. 

A split second of reprieve, a single instant where the metal leaves your skin only to find the origin of the wound and begin the process all over again. 

“V-Vox—”

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” he warns, his voice low and airy, so close and concentrated on his work that you can feel his breath wafting over the cut, cool and burning. 

Cyan pupils pulse as they expand, desperate to devour as much as they can, scouring every minute detail and honing their focus on the singular letter he’s painstakingly carving into your pubic bone.

He’s meticulous with it, of course, just as he is with everything else, every movement precise and perfect. It has to be done this way, he had told you at the start, when you had whined about the deliberately drawn-out drag of his talon. Slow and steady, so it will heal in sharp, neat lines, all raised and gorgeous. 

A permanent mark of ownership, scarred into your skin for the rest of eternity.

The tapered tip of the V is the worst part, the harsh, quick maneuver of his claw procuring a deep sting, a yelp sticking in your throat as you try to swallow against the sound, Vox’s immediate responding coo, always accompanied by the brush of his thumb over your hip in the gentlest caress, doing little to soothe the pain. 

“But it—it hurts,” you hiccup out, eyes squeezing shut tightly against the prick of tears. “How much longer?” 

“Just a few more times, baby, I promise,” he presses a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, glancing up at you. “You’re doing so well for me, lovebug, so well.”

But a few more times turns into another agonizing fifteen minutes with seemingly no end in sight, Vox lost in the repetitive actions, and the wound is starting to tingle, sticky crimson pooling in the flawlessly carved gouges, staining teal bright red. 

Tears have begun to leak from the corners of your eyes as they finally overflow, spilling past your lash line to stream down the sides of your temples in uneven little trails, vision gone blurry with a thick shield of water.

Your ribs stammer with half-stifled sobs, a soft hush distractedly falling from Vox’s lips with each minuscule jerk of your body, the hand on your hip tightening in warning. 

“Daddy’s almost done, darling,” he pacifies, a gentle threat sewn into his tone—don’t fucking move yet—we’re so close, don’t you dare mess this up. “Just a tiny bit longer, I swear.” 

“I can’t, I can’t, Daddy, it’s—it’s too much!” 

“Hey,” he looks up, a shock of sincerity slapped across his face, his voice ringing with painfully raw compassion. “I know you can handle just a few more for Daddy, can’t you? Don’t you want it to look pretty, too?”

Large eyes search your face with a rabid type of candour, hunting for validity. But your head is already nodding before he’s even finished speaking, motions becoming increasingly vigorous, an instinctual reaction, at this point—obedient as ever, desperate to please.

Of course you do—you want whatever he does, always. 

“Y-Yes,” you manage to sniffle out, the heels of your hands wiping messily at your lashes, smearing tears across your cheeks. “Yes, yes, Daddy.” 

His eyes soften, their usually bold glow dimmed with a sick sort of adoration, but his smile is barbed, stretching with something sinister. 

“There’s my good girl,” Vox purrs, pressing another tender kiss to the junction of your thigh and your hip. “Now, hold still while Daddy finishes.”

Another three traces through the routine—these last three harder and more purposeful than all those that came before them—and finally, he’s done, sitting back on his heels between your spread legs and gazing down at his masterpiece. 

Blood drips down his index finger in a thick dollop, his eyes shifting to watch with morbid fascination, the tip of his claw glazed with shimmering scarlet. Tilting it one way, then the other, he examines how it gleams in the low light of his bedroom—so pretty, he looks so pretty stained with you—then brings the talon to his lips, long tongue snaking from between his teeth to curl around it in a possessive embrace. 

He sucks it into the heat of his mouth, a low groan rumbling deep behind his sternum as his eyes slip shut, taking a moment to savour the taste of you. His lids snap back open a moment later, eyes drifting back to the freshly etched V, his free hand moving to rub at his cock, straining eagerly against his trousers. 

“F-Fuck,” he shudders out, the word soft as he stares at it, wide and unblinking, rolling the impressive bulge in his palm in lopsided little circles, then grinding the heel of his hand into it, his hips twitching up instinctively. “Daddy’s gonna fuck you now, okay, princess?” 

Your head is nodding, but you’re barely able to utter out an affirmative, because then he’s surging forward, a palm cupping your jaw as his fingers hook behind the hinge, pulling your face towards his and smashing your lips together. Bursts of copper explode on your tastebuds as he drags his tongue across yours—the slick muscle stronger, larger, wider as it shoves its way into your mouth, impelling your own tongue further into the hot, wet cavern. 

It’s sloppy and slippery and so, so sexy, his claws piercing your skin with superficial little pricks as he tries to yank you closer, your nose scrunched against his screen. Obscene squelching echoes throughout his bedroom as your lips glide and nip, copious amounts of drool, tinged pink with your blood, oozing from the corners of your conjoined mouths, leaving your chins shining with spit.

He overrides your senses, overwhelms your receptors and infuses your mind with nothing but him—his taste, smoky spice infused with metallic notes; his scent, sharp balsam and expensive cologne; his touch, still burning at the apex of your thighs, a constant reminder, an everlasting claim. 

A sharp gasp breaks the kiss as he forces his cock inside of you, forehead knocking against your own with a dark growl as his hips rock forward, burying himself in your cunt in a single, fluid motion.

Large hands curl around your hips, pinning them in place and keeping you from squirming away as he ruts into you, grinding his cockhead further into your cervix, ensuring he’s buried as deep as he possibly can be.

A singular moment, a breath shared between the two of you, oxygen sparse and dizzying as he takes time to revel in the feeling of filling you to the hilt, your sweet little hole spasming around him as it stretches and splits, eager to accommodate his girth, to gorge on his flesh.

Leaning back on his haunches, he drags your hips along with him, tailbone resting on his folded thighs, your knees thrown over either side of his hips. 

There’s no warning, no slow start or gradual build up, his cock slamming into you searing and sudden, fucking a gorgeous cry of his name from your throat. 

His chest heaves with ragged exhales as his hips pump, hard and fast and rough, voracious gaze swapping between your bouncing tits and the crisply engraved V glittering up at him on your pubic bone, still coloured with blood, drizzling past the scrupulously incised grooves with each vicious ram to stream down your skin, leaving tiny streaks of red.

The gash enchants him, pupils swollen as they soak up the sight, captivated by the way it quivers with every ruthless thrust into you, watching each drive of his cock as he sheathes himself in your cunt. The glistening arousal coating his shaft contrasts the blood so perfectly, the hands on your waist yanking downward with every jackhammer of his hips, forcing you to meet his motions. 

“Mine, mine, mine,” he’s snarling as he fucks you, the word punched from his chest with each plunging thrust. 

“Yours, Daddy,” you sob out with messy little nods, dainty fingers braceletting his wrists, nails sinking into thin skin as you cling to him. “Yours, yours!” 

“No one gets to have you like this,” he gasps out, voice gone hoarse. “No one, tell me.” 

“No one—No one gets to have me like this but you, Da-Daddy,” you nearly wail, staring up at him with such bright devotion it almost hurts, your gaze lacquered with tears. 

“Ah, fuck,” he whimpers, the curse shattering on his tongue, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment before springing back open, gaping and gluttonous. “Yeah, yeah, you’re goddamn right.”

His motions have turned downright brutal now, every pound of his cock more merciless than the last, the strike of his hips jostling your entire body up the mattress, just barely held in place by the grip of his claws, razored points puncturing your flesh and scraping, tiny trickles of blood oozing from the lacerations.

“Your mind, your cunt, your fucking soul—it all belongs to me,” digitized blood drips from the corner of his mouth, the glaring glow of his eyes so brilliant it’s hard to bear, casting a flare of red across your skin.

“Yes, yes, y-yes,” you’re babbling out, gone delirious with the heady intoxication of pain and pleasure, fingers digging into his flesh in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. “You own me, Vox.” 

“Oh, Christ—” 

The confirmation has him cumming quickly, hips pressed flush to your ass as his cock throbs violently, stuffing you full with copious amounts of thick, burning cum. His body stills, keeping his hips shoved up against you, almost as if he’s trying to plug you, to keep his seed inside of you, to claim you from the inside out. 

But it’s so much—too much—and you can feel it exuding past his shaft to dribble down your skin, leaving behind streams of pretty pearlescent strokes.  

Finally, he pulls out of you, another cracked curse falling from his lips as he watches with a sort of sordid obsession, his cock glazed with his cum and your blood, the tops of his thighs smeared with his own essence. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers to himself, claw reaching out to trace the V again, a hiss spit from between your teeth, body trembling with the effort to stay still, to resist flinching away from his stinging touch, to be good for him. “So fucking perfect.” 

Slinking down the bed, he wedges his head between your spread thighs to inspect the wound more thoroughly, teal tongue unfurling from his mouth to lave over the deep cut, mopping up excess blood as he follows the contours carefully once, twice, three times.  

“Mine,” he murmurs, planting a gentle kiss atop the wound, sealing the breathy claim into your flesh. “Mine, forever.”

“Yours,” you whisper, looking down at him as your finger outlines the V affectionately, a loving caress of what he’s gifted you. “Yours, forever.”

[still-a-morosexual-help]

Anyway I think Nightbringer should have that conversation... The brothers have just fallen, they're hurting in a new world, and MC's current situation parallels theirs perfectly.

Just;

"What would you know about missing your home. What would you know about losing everything you knew and loved in but a moment. What would you know about being abandoned alone in a strange new world far from everything you loved, never even knowing if you'll see it all again. What would you know about being surrounded by your family, by the people you love, but being so changed that you don't recognise them anymore, that they don't recognise you. What would you know about any of my pain."

only for him to turn around and realise, by their expression alone, they know exactly how deep that particular pain goes, how severely it stings, the exact flavour of it on their tongue

[limes-sagau]

Hatred of Visage

This is the little angst drabble I posted about doing a while ago. For those who don't want to read about stuff like self hatred, self mutilation/self harm, and character death please don't feel like you need to read this. The next Sagau post I make will have a much more hopeful tone. But for those who are here to cry like I did writing this, have fun!

The feeling of cold water underneath you made you jump as you sat up from the sandy shallow bank of a stream. A dull and throbbing ache permeated from your chest, what number were you on now… it must be in the 10s by now, you didn't care to count. Moving aside your ragged and now wet shirt you inspect your newest addition to your collection of scars. It sat opposite to your heart missing your sternum just barely but it still killed you. Though you couldn't see it you knew Its sister scar laid parallel to it on your back. 

As you looked around you could easily identify the characteristics of Liyue and its geography. You should probably move to a less open area unless you want to be at the end of a Milaleth spear… again.   Moving to stand made your muscles ache and you realized just how sandy you were. Wading into the deeper waters of the stream the sand beneath your feet gave way to rocks which bit into your soles. The stream only came up to about mid torso and as you were about to sink down into the water your gaze caught on the reflection of the water. 

It's you… 

It's your face… 

And. You. Feel. Rage. 

You tear at the reflection in the water every time the water settles you scream and lash out at your reflection again. You begin to alternate between scratching at your own face and attacking your own reflection. Salty tears begin to sting as your skin grows raw from your actions. It doesn't get better, you don't calm down. Your own face has caused you so much pain and suffering. How many times have you bleed to death? How many times have you called out to your loved ones to come save you as you were killed without mercy? You hate your face. 

Eventually you fall over on your hands and knees, submerging most of your body under water. Your knees hurt as they knock up against the rocks underwater and your hand snags and is cut on one of them. Your cut hand wraps around the jagged rock and before you can even contemplate what you were doing you bring it to your face. 

Once 

Twice 

Slashing yourself across the eyes twice the jagged rock digs deep into your skin. Blood covers your face as you try to stand up. You can't see anymore. You manage to get to your feet and begin to try and make your way to shore. You make it two steps before you start feeling light headed. You lay down once again in the shallow water and darkness takes you. 

[guvmy]

one thing abt Keeper that I'm shocked no one rlly talks about is how the Keeper crew and the neverseen main members low-key parallel eachother in different ways,

Like Tam & Linh w/ Ruy. All of them traumatized and hurt from the treatment of Exilium and Elvin Society. The humiliation forming a hard defense that comes when they feel stinging again.

Maruca & Alvar are both motivated by family whether it be love or hatred. Both want to valued more, Maruca wanting to help more, knowing the hurt her family went through & Alvar wanting to destroy more after learning what his family has done.

Brant and Fitz and their unfiltered rage whenever someone hurts someone they love, its blinding. But it comes from the desire to help others, to find a answer thats been prolonged. They both hold this but one manages it and one basks in it.

Biana and Giesla, strong hardworking beautiful, yet majority of their lives were spent overshadowed by the men in their lives. Biana fought to be seen while Gisela stood down to downplayed. being underestimated was a constant for both of them.

Sophie and Trix being torn by the people they love, wanting to let out the frustrations, Their power is what makes people fear them and is prevents most from seeing whats underneath. People not only restrict their power but also their emotions causing them to slowly spiral into insanity and stress.

Fintan and Keefe are both desperate for something to fill the gaping hole in them, Fintan insane from the voices begging him for just one little spark while Keefe is begging for a voice, to guide him to assure him it'll be alright

ill add more later but for now this is good

edit- Y'all can talk you aren't on mute

[linderosse]

With one last herculean effort, Legend pulls himself up across the steep riverbank and over the edge, tumbling over onto the snow.

The blizzard seems to pick up around him, building into a frigid crescendo. His feet and the bottoms of his legs are beginning to go from stinging cold to numb. Still, at least that stupid rubber suit did a pretty good job keeping the rapids from soaking the rest of him.

Four clearly wasn’t so lucky.

Legend clambers to his feet, brushing off as much snow as he can through his shivers. He stumbles over to where Sky holds Four’s unconscious body.

Sky has tucked the smithy’s hands into his tunic and has covered him with the sailcloth, pulled loosely across to keep in what little heat he can. He’s holding Four gently but securely, as close to his chest as possible, heedless of the ice-cold river water that soaks from Four’s tunic jnto the sailcloth and drips into the swirling snow.

Sky looks… disturbingly like he's carrying a child covered in a burial shroud.

A chill runs through Legend that has nothing to do with the weather. He tries to ignore it and get moving.

After all, it shouldn’t be a surprise that the sight of Four’s corpse is familiar to him.

—————

Ch 9 of The Secrets We Keep is out!

This time, we start putting Four through the wringer >:)

(TSWK is an LU hurt/comfort fic about mysteries, misconceptions, and trauma. It runs parallel to the Wielders of Wisdom comics, though you do not need to read one to understand the other.)

Masterpost

[mccromy]

The beauty of QuanYin is that they have all the things that make HuaLian so good, but instead of bringing them together, it teared them appart.

I am talking about faith.

The things is, half of the ship is an autistic guy who's extremely good at one thing (kicking ass) and often gets infantilized by other characters or treated as if he's stupid, just for ignoring social niceties and refusing to entertain the idea that the only person who's shown him kindness is actually an evil lying snake who always secretly hated him.

And the other half of the ship is a guy who's main goal was always to just be a good person AND kick ass, but who's also always been an overachiever, so he wants to be Perfect at being kind and aims to ascend as a Martial God. His standards for himself are so high, he believes that thinking unkind thoughts means he failed (got a bad grade at being good), and doesn't understand why the man who only cares and understand actions, facts, and spoken words would believe him to be a Perfectly Kind person.

Because Yin Yu not only was outwardly kind to Quan Yizhen, but he also always tried to get others to be good to him as well. What's more, he didn't start resenting or thinking badly of Quan Yizhen until their ascension, and even then he never took it out on Quan Yizhen. Until he snapped at the worst possible moment.

Quan Yizhen knows Yin Yu is the sort of person that would always choose to do the right thing, no matter how difficult. So, if Yin Yu ever chose to hurt him, then either it must've been a misunderstanding, or he must have had a good reason. Because for Quan Yizhen, if there was anybody in the world he could trust, it was Yin Yu.

And Yin Yu, who's set unachievable standars for himself, feels that resenting someone who's blameless makes him awful and unworthy, and not merely human and flawed. And having Quan Yizhen see him as the man Yin Yu wants to be, but actually isn't, hurts him deeply, because he's not good or kind, he's petty and jealous. I feel he must have been terrified of disappointing Quan Yizhen, which he probably saw as an unavoidable outcome now that his shidi had the opportunity to truly shine in heavens

And it's not only Quan Yizhen believing Yin Yu to be perfect (which he doesn't, but I'll get to that later) but it's also Yin Yu believing Quan Yizhen is perfect. He's everything he wants to be, a true Martial God. And whatever flaw makes Quan Yizhen so unpalatable to others, Yin Yu sees them as unavoidable of being Quan Yizhen. Not good or bad, but expected, justifiable. (Can you really get angry at the sun if it burns you, how can you blame a bee for stinging you? Did you really expect you wouldn't get wet walking unprotected in the pouring rain.)

If Quan Yizhen is arrogant and tactless it's because he's naturally strong and honest. Quan Yizhen's bluntness means he's not two faced (like Yin Yu), it doesn't matter that Quan Yizhen can't read the room, because Quan Yizhen is above caring how he comes across to others (like Yin Yu does), if you think Quan Yizhen is annoying then that's not his fault, it's yours for not being as good as he is (Yin Yu sometimes finds him annoying).

QuanYin parallels HuaLian not only in the devotion, tirelessly searching, ghost/god relationship, but in the "unconditional belief in the other" more so even, because they had more time spent together getting to know each other. This faith wasn't built on sacrifices, on saving lives, on deeds of decisive righteousness.

This faith was built on years of growing up together.

Quan Yizhen believes in Yin Yu, because he knows Yin Yu will always choose to do the right thing. Yin Yu believes in Quan Yizhen, because he knows Quan Yizhen is as honest as he is loyal. They see the best in the other and know that it's fact (and it is!) but at the same time, that certainty hurt them both in a way it never did hualian. With Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, that unconditional faith meant salvation. To Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu, it led to them falling apart.

Quan Yizhen knows Yin Yu is good, because Yin Yu always chooses to do good things. Yin Yu thinks himself to be a liar and knows Quan Yizhen thinks Yin Yu is good, because Quan Yizhen would never lie. Because Yin Yu will always want to be good, he won't admit to Quan Yizhen his steadfast belief in him hurts him, because it would mean admitting just how small and petty he is, and it could lead to Quan Yizhen seeing Yin Yu's true self, and as Quan Yizhen is frank to a painful degree, he would immediately let him know how disappointed he is. And as Quan Yizhen is so honest, he literally calls it as he sees it. If Quan Yizhen sees Yin Yu as not enough, it means Yin Yu is not enough. Quan Yizhen is not to blame for Yin Yu's flaws, and so the right thing to do (for Quan Yizhen) is to keep being patient and kind, and not take out his own frustrations on a person who would never willingly hurt him. To keep Quan Yizhen seeing Yin Yu as perfect.

Their faith in the other keeps them apart. And this is because unlike with Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, they didn't start as god and believer, but as martial brothers of the same sect, who eventually reached divinity, and held for the other a certainty of righteousness only the most devoted would hold for a god.

And the sad thing is that they were both right. But the things that make someone good for one of them, would not cut it for the other.

Yin Yu thinks, if my actions are good but hide resentment and hate, then they aren't good at all. They're fake, and so, worthless.

Quan Yizhen thinks, if my actions hurt others even when there was only love and good intentions behind them, then what good are they? They're worthless.

Yin Yu ends up hating Quan Yizhen, but not as Jian Yu or the other gods or disciples hated him, just for being as he was. Yin Yu hates Quan Yizhen because Quan Yizhen turned him into the sort of person he never wanted to be. He resents him because Quan Yizhen shone so bright Yin Yu realized he was a candle flame under daylight. Because Quan Yizhen was good in a way Yin Yu would never be, plagued with envy and not a lick of talent.

Yin Yu doesn't actually blame Quan Yizhen for his downfall, he blames Quan Yizhen for leading Yin Yu to cause it. Yin Yu hates Quan Yizhen because he makes Yin Yu hate himself. And, in the end, Yin Yu will always hate himself more than he could ever hate Quan Yizhen. Yin Yu hates himself, because he hates someone he loves. He hated himself because he couldn't understand how someone could ever want to hurt Quan Yizhen, and then Yin Yu hurt him in the worst way possible. The moment Yin Yu lost control, his ugly inner self spilled out. Yin Yu hurt someone good, someone who never deserved to be hurt, and besides that dares resent him for showing Yin Yu how rotten he was inside. Which makes Yin Yu hate himself further, because now he's become the sort of person he always hated the most. And even at the end, as he died for Quan Yizhen, he could not let go of his resentment. He just couldn't let it go.

There's no end to it. It's self fueling and self fulfilling.

On his part, Quan Yizhen would never blame Yin Yu. He would never hate him.

Let's look at this through a more personal lent. I know many people, especially neurodivergent people, struggle with the constant anxiety of your friends and family secretly hating you (I know I do). Finding out that someone you thought was your friend actually couldn't stand you, would make you feel cheated, betrayed. And most likely, it would lead you to believe this was your fault. If your friend hated you, it's because you're unlovable (by the way, that's not how it works, but it is how it makes people feel).

Now, people never cared about Quan Yizhen's feelings. They would talk badly about him with no regard if he was listening, would be hostile if not patronizing. Would openly resent him for things he couldn't understand, blame him for things out of his control (for example, blatant favoritism from his teachers).

But.

There was always someone who cared about Quan Yizhen's feelings. Who never spoke badly of him. Who always admonished the people who patronized him or blamed him, even if Quan Yizhen was not around to hear him defend him. Who actually got into trouble by taking responsibility for Quan Yizhen's actions, repeatedly. Who always took Quan Yizhen's side, who saw talent in him when others only saw a dirty street rat. Someone who patiently reassured him that if others thought Quan Yizhen was annoying, it was their fault for getting annoyed, and not Yizhen's.

Someone who, when given the chance to leave him behind in a way nobody would blink twice at, brought him along and kept him by his side. Someone who chose him time and time again.

Quan Yizhen did have an inkling that he sometimes annoyed Yin Yu, and was fully aware that he got him into trouble (Jian Yu was never shy when it came to shouting just how much Quan Yizhen was dragging Yin Yu down). And despite all of that, Yin Yu stood by him and cared for him.

There was a time he knew Yin Yu loved him, and if Yin Yu didn't love him at least he would never hurt him, he would never let others hurt him.

And then, suddenly, Yin Yu tried to kill him. In strange, extreme circumstances: right after Quan Yizhen had brutally and unwillingly murdered a number of people, as he was wearing a cursed garment that forced him to do anything Yin Yu told him to, he shouted at Quan Yizhen to kill himself.

It was a series of events that made no sense in the eyes of someone who knew Yin Yu as well as Quan Yizhen did.

So it was either a huge misunderstanding, or Quan Yizhen finally fucked up so bad he became unlovable in the eyes of the only person who mattered.

And now everybody in heaven and earth spoke horribly of the only person who ever cared for Quan Yizhen. The people who claimed to follow and worship Quan Yizhen put on plays meant to humiliate Yin Yu. Others expected him to agree that Yin Yu was a liar, a jealous two-faced snake.

To Quan Yizhen, if they were right ( they weren't) and Yin Yu was a liar who always secretly hated him, then that meant nobody had ever loved Quan Yizhen. And if they were wrong (they were) then it meant Quan Yizhen hurt Yin Yu so badly, did something so awful, the only choice Yin Yu had, the only right choice at the moment, was to make Quan Yizhen kill himself.

Or, it was all a big misunderstanding (hopefully).

Quan Yizhen doesn't think Yin Yu is perfect, he doesn't want him to be either. All he wants is to be good for Yin Yu, to Yin Yu. He loves Yin Yu just as he is.

Yin Yu already believes Quan Yizhen is good, and to, and for Yin Yu. Is Yin Yu who is bad. Yin Yu who's unlovable.

Hua Cheng had faith in Xie Lian's inherent goodness. When Xie Lian stopped believing in himself, Hua Cheng's faith and unconditional love saved him.

But Hua Cheng never saw himself as an equal, just as a stepping stone, the incense in Xie Lian's altar. He loved and worshipped him, and he was content to see him safe and happy. And when Xie Lian saw him as someone deserving of love, even if Hua Cheng didn't believe it himself, he believed in Xie Lian

Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu wanted to be equals, they wanted to stand side by side. And to achieve said equality, they set standards to strive for, based on the way they saw the other. But they would never reach their goals together, because they set them in opposite directions.

Had they started as god and devotee, then it would've played similarly as HuaLian did: I am worthy because you believe I'm worthy. I am lovable because you love me. I'm good because you think I'm good. I can do anything because you trust me.

For QuanYin, though, it went: I am unworthy because I'm not like you. I am unlovable because I can't love myself through your eyes. I'm not good because I'm not good the way you are. Please don't trust me, I'll disappoint you. I'll let you down, I'll let you down, I'll let you down.

Yin Yu could not stand the idea of Quan Yizhen secretly hating him, so he hid to never be faced with it. Quan Yizhen would gladly take Yin Yu hating his guts, as long as he hated him within arm's reach.

Miscommunication caused by knowing each other so well, they were convinced they could not miscommunicate.

Self loathing born out of loving the things that made the other hate themselves.

But since their inner turmoil and personal struggles manifest in two clowns running in circles, people tend to, understandably, overlook them in favor of the considerably more dramatic BeefLeaf, or the outwardly antagonistic FengQing —both ships counting with further on-text development, higher stakes, and heavier emotional baggage than our humble, relatable QuanYin.

[squidthoughts]

collected thoughts on the creloise matter (Big And Detailed Spoilers Ahead):

if it’s dual character assassination, it’s dual character assassination and irredeemable and frankly uninteresting and unfortunately the show becomes unwatchable for me personally. if it’s purposeful setup? it’s bloody brilliant. i mean it could actually be bloody brilliant. there are a few lines that feel very purposeful: pen’s “did you ever truly like her?” and the moment with cress and her mother when cress protests being cruel to the btons. both of which come after the creloise breakup and, you know, the uhhhh cessation of scenes together. creloise was dead. there was no reason to continue to examine the corpse. unless it wasn’t truly dead. ok, so there is now incredible potential in the CreloiseSituation(tm).

they hate each other. perfect! cressida was suffering all season and eloise was a truly terrible friend - i mean, comically selfish and villainous - that is to say, cressida’s actions (antagonistic as they were) were explained and justified within the narrative and eloise’s were not. ok! that’s fine. in the past, cress has been the unjustifiably cruel one. if anything, they are now on equal footing in terms of illogically hurting each other. so, they hate each other. which just means their growing back together could be that much more satisfying.

eloise’s choices didn’t make sense. they just…don’t. if her arc this season was to show her growth separate from pen, and it ends with nothing mattering to her but pen, it’s just nonsensical. (dont get me wrong- i’m glad they made up! their friendship is a core pillar of the show! but taking a season of development apart and introducing new dynamics into eloise’s life only to end her precisely where she was in season ONE is just…huh??) that is, unless elosie’s decisions don’t make sense YET. unless the point of her abandonment of a friend IS the abandonment. unless this is precisely the base a following season would need to portray el from a starting position of moral inferiority- a facet of her character not yet explored.

creloise both out of mayfair now. coincidence? well…maybe! i guess! but also, outside the set and setting of society. idk, that just screams landscape of possibility to me.

they’re both on the cusp of substantial development! cressida at rrrrock bottom and eloise striving to find experience and purpose. we’ve never seen cress this low and tortured or el this alone and unsure. idk. parallels.

nothing that made us love them so much in the first place has changed. they’re still mirrors. they’re still unflinchingly honest with each other - often the only ones who are. they’re still (deliciously) (occasionally) mean. the foundations are still there. and tbh, if all of this was purposeful, there is SO much conflict and strife between them that i actually really love it. the angst! the tension! the possible banter! eloise abandoned cress at the worst possible time in her life and cress betrayed eloise (out of desperation but facts are facts) and neither of them got an explanation. and for a summer and a season they were very much alone together and enjoying each other and the betrayals sting because the friendship mattered in the first place. and that broken dynamic is just. so yummy. and the hate is there because the embarrassment is there and the embarrassment is there because….i liked you. and you burned me. and i cant believe i was stupid enough to like you. but i did like you, i did.

also, i’m sure the showrunners were understandably wary about how the audience would react to cressida this season. up until now, she’s been a glorified extra; the personality-less stereotype of the loveless, callous debutante bridgerton’s grand love stories exist to subvert. in s1 she was a joke (daphne and simon laughing about her scripted flirting) and in s2 she was the hopeless and petty mean girl. there was no reason for the audience to like her, because she was hardly a character and certainly not a person. i imagine suddenly linking her to everyone’s fan favorite eloise was seen as a huge risk— in case of a negative reaction, cress could hardly be established as a romantic prospect as well, possibly guaranteeing a large portion of screentime to someone the audiences don’t even like. creators obviously shouldn’t feel the urge to cater to an audience’s whims of how they think a story should go - this would be very bad!! - but i do think the extreme outpouring of appreciation for cress this season might enable the writers to utilize her more in the future. she’s a real character now with depth and her story has established loyalty in fans- narratively there is freedom there for some satisfying payoffs.

all this to say, this season reduced my expectations to not quite zero, but somewhere around one. the finale was crowded and unfocused and more than a few things just did not make sense and the queer rep felt very sudden and trite - for shock value, practically - and we were forced to watch creloise hacked to pieces….but, i maintain, if it was all purposeful….idk. i personally don’t think all hope is lost.

[thisnightissparkling089]

Just a few thoughts today now that I'm seeing things more clearly.

I think what hurts most about all this is Tim making this decision for the both of them without allowing Lucy any input. And I get why he did that, but it still hurts regardless.

Not exactly the greatest parallel, but it reminds me slightly of Cristina and Owen on Grey's Anatomy. Where Owen is struggling with PTSD and keeps trying to walk away from the relationship. Cristina continuously tells him, "I know what I can and cannot handle. I'll decide when it's too much for me."

Tim didn't give Lucy that chance, he decided for them. And I keep hearing Lucy saying, "How did he let go so easily?"

I know nobody wants to think about this. I'm shuddering myself. But...it's reminiscent of Lucy's breakup with Nolan in season 1. And how she thinks he's made this decision so easily.

We saw how upset Lucy was by that, and that was Nolan. This is the love of her life.

This is going to sting and take time to repair. I can just picture Lucy so clearly whispering to Tim, "You left me behind. Like I was nothing, like we were nothing. How do I come back from that?"

Can this be fixed? Yes, absolutely. But pleaseeee give this storyline time to breathe. Build it back up slowly and authentically.

I do kind of wonder if Lucy will go back undercover.

I kind of like the idea of her doing something slightly reckless and Tim trying to talk to her about it and getting a line similar to the one Meredith gave Derek in S2 of Grey's Anatomy.

"I make no apologies for how I choose to repair what you broke!"

Something like, "You don't get to decide how I fix what you broke! You lost that right the moment you left me standing in the parking lot!"

*Sigh* so many damn feelings😭

But i'll end with lyrics to a song that's been on repeat today.

And I'm not supposed to be this way

And I'm not supposed to heal this way

You are not supposed to go

And I'm not supposed to grow

I'm not supposed to be this way

PS: I'd like to think I speak on behalf of all of us when I say that after all this? We deserve a makeup sex scene. I will even settle for a kiss reminiscent of the airplane bathroom kiss. Will we get it? Likely not. Will I continue asking for it? Always.

[c-losur3]

515 words, part 1 here! angst again, but I promise that we’re getting closer to comfort. Stay strong, Logan fans. I believe in you!

>> Warm thank yous for the warm reception 🫶. Ofc, this is all based on @disneyprincemuke ‘s amazing vr!universe.

Before you go, I wrote this fic with these songs in mind; tolerate it and story of us by taylor swift

He takes a brisk walk outside of your shared apartment. You’re behind him, running to catch up.

However, you’re stopped by multiple fans, and he doesn’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.

It’s just another reminder of how different you both are.

Equal halves of the same puzzle, the same puzzle that become unequal, and one continues to grow as the other withers.

Logan doesn’t get stopped by anyone. And he bitterly wonders if it’ll be that way for the rest of time.

The taste of metallic blood tinges as he bites his lip too hard.

Of course, he’s never had a problem being just a planet orbiting around you and your bright stardom, akin to the sun. But, is that really all there is to him? Is that all he’s ever going to be?

He can hear you mingle and brush away fans after a few minutes, yelling at him to stop walking. It chips away at him, hearing your normally confident voice wobbly, but he reminds himself that at the end of the day, you’re going to find someone better.

He manages to avoid you for the next few months. Lovelorn, eyes downcast as he sees you on the news.

That’s all you are to each other now. Strangers passing by.

Intersecting lines are worse than being parallel, after all. You meet once and then it becomes nothing, something, only in the past.

He tells himself that he expected it, it was simply a matter of time.

Time is the cruelest factor. Your original plans to go on a trip together, the Disneyland plans for your anniversary, dashed, and gone.

You’ve always laughed together about the cliches of being a couple, being spotted at places together was something you snorted at. But to him, it was everything.

He was always fine with your level of success and fame versus his. But as time passed, it rusted the shine of young love.

The news articles splash you with stinging headlines and speculation.

They’ve taken one of two sides, either blaming you for changing after your short and seemingly effortless taste of fame. Or, blaming Logan for relying sheerly on your prolonged successes.

It hurt. But imagining him, reading all this, swallowing it whole, vulnerable and essentially left with the worst side of the break-up, hurt more.

That was the first time you’ve fully considered that you two weren’t together anymore.

Twin flames burning too close to the other’s side of the wick.

You see him tomorrow, at a quick press conference that was supposed to be your somewhat victory lap. It’s now seemingly become a celebration of what you’ve lost, you realize, as your eyes meet his.

Practiced speeches splayed on your side of the table from your PR team. They feel empty, without you two sitting beside each other. Each other who used to nudge and use every trick in the book for conferences like this to go off rails.

All traded for a simple and quick end to your long story together. A clean flourish of your shared history.

[k-kay4]

While re-watching LR (as usual), I noticed something; Sun-Jae seems to be wearing the same grey turtleneck sweater in two starkly different scenes:

When he came across a stranded Sol on the bridge after his concert.

When he reunited with Sol after recovering all his memories.

The contrast between these two scenes is a sight to behold; in the first, his eyes are filled with such raw longing, regret and pain. All he can do is watch from afar and make sure Sol reaches home safely, unaware of just how much she means to him.

The sweet girl who'd smiled at him and shown him kindness, the one he'd never forgotten. She'd forgotten him. But she would never know. He would never tell her. How could he? How dare he, after he'd failed to save her?

In the second, his eyes twinkle playfully; his gaze is one of wonder, joy, affection. All for that same sweet girl. The one who loved him, who'd jumped through time and space to save him. Who'd erased herself from his life to protect him. The one he'd never truly forgotten, never stopped loving.

Although he might still remember the pain of the first, darkest timeline, those wounds do not hurt as much now; he has newer, happier memories to ease the sting of the old ones. Intimate, precious memories of being with Sol. She was here, she was safe. They'd never be apart again. They could finally be happy. Together.

Any story that leaves its viewers reflecting about its themes, characters and parallels long after it has concluded is truly special. And 'Lovely Runner' is a genuinely lovely, precious, life-changing one.

I just have a lot of feelings about this show, alright? <3

[smokinsid]

Alright, alright, let's talk about SotO. Keep your chin up. This'll be long, but as fair as I can make it. It's not all negative, but it's not all positive either. My hope is to just be real about it. Feedback welcome. Blast me in reblogs if you don't agree, I'm genuinely eager for the conversation.

The kryptis are emotion. It stands to reason that this would be a story focused on emotion. How the commander feels about this or that. How the world reacts when you put your emotions into it. That's pretty cool, and after a decade of more and more personal-feeling dragonslaying, separating us from our friends in order to deep-dive into our Commander's own heart is a really cool move. I have to give credit to what was intended.

There's a sense the entire time of throttled execution that I want to talk about. The story is, at all times, not bold enough to deliver the emotional payload it wants. It's not big enough, bad enough- and it's not a question of stakes, either. I advocated for a lower-stakes jaunt into exciting but less apocalyptic territories at the end of EoD.

Eparch is not a threatening villain. The reveal that he lied about his army and manipulated the stakes was... contrary to what we saw in the map, in one hand- and in the other hand, a deception that undermined him as a threat right before approaching his throne.

I recall when he was first revealed wishing that he was just, physically bigger. Not like Cerus. Like Primordus. I wanted him to be speaking to us from that precipice at the arena and then suddenly loom into view, towering over the columns, taking up the horizon. If he's so full of the strength of others, let him grow huge from it, so I can feel the scope of what he's taken and feel small in his presence. I play Asura- at no point did I feel like I could not beat his skinny ass to a pulp with my own class abilities and absolutely no help.

His timer in the fight still running while he's in his Dipshit Cowardice Bubble did not impress me, and I still beat the clock with like 60% of the limit to spare.

He's weak, he's anonymous- he's revealed only to immediately clam back up in his tower while everyone else continues to just talk about him- and if I'm being perfectly honest, the best parallel for him is our old pal, Zhaitan.

Zhaitan loved to send bits of itself as far as it could reach, while the dragon itself remained in Arah. In some ways I liked that- it was the traditional dragon that hunted goats in the countryside and hoarded treasure, but with a necromancer's minion-mastery twist.

Now imagine falling short of Zhaitan, that much-reviled old lizard, in terms of story delivery. Sure, we fight Eparch toe to toe, but he's weak. If Lonely Tower had released at the beginning of SotO instead of now as a flashback, it might've helped us better understand and respect him as a threat, much like how we had the entire personal story past Claw Island to understand Zhaitan.

But we didn't. So to continue looking at this parallel, we see a relatively short, strained jaunt to Zhaitan, with a couple of hairpin turn deaths to sting us emotionally (they fall flat, alas), and suddenly a Big, Easy Fight against a Guy Who Sucks.

Do you remember the Asura woman in the personal story- if you let her spouse die, she never speaks to you again, even in later expansions? Remember Tybalt, Cieran, and Forgal? That stuff hurts good. This NPC won't talk to you because you let her down and broke her heart. These characters grew to love you in ways that, especially for the time, were uncommon for characters in MMOs. That's the kind of thing that this truncated expac didn't have time for.

And let's reflect on IBS while we're at it. I'm never going to stop laughing at it sharing an acronym with Irritable Bowel Syndrome, but it genuinely felt like the best they could do working in Bellevue, WA, in the midst of serious covid restrictions. They even went back and re-voiced a chapter that it wasn't safe to voice at the time, remember that? It spoke to an interest in doing their damnedest to deliver the best product they could. And it was good! The final fight couldn't be what they wanted it to be, and I'll always laugh at "so, this is Pact justice?" but it was compelling, at least.

We spend a lot of time in SotO standing still. Selecting a dialogue option and listening to NPCs read their lines. Now, I love Peitha and could listen to her talk all day, but so much of what you should know as the player in position of Wayfinder is stowed away in text-only books and collections. Maybe that's a budgetary constraint. Voice acting is expensive. I don't mind reading, personally- but I didn't, because I was already spending so much time standing around!

I'm not one of those people that thinks of my player character as a killing machine or some kind of mercenary being deployed by the higher echelons to do the practical job of killing a way to the boss. Sid is a radio DJ. Enid is a physicist. Rucks is a troubadour. These are conversational, curious characters who are absolutely invested in what's happening in the world around them.

But my tools as a player for engaging with that world are the ten buttons at the bottom of my screen. You have to challenge me to play the game using those buttons, in order to hook me in and invest me. Kick my ass! Make me fight back! That's part of a great story, and I play all three cruise control classes- Necro, Engi, and Warrior. I want you to make me break bars and use my control effects and feel like I'm under threat so that when I win, it feels like winning!

SotO taught my foul little chain-smoking radio gremlin how to dab. It let me unlock a skyscale the easy way. It made me feel gay things for a twelve foot tall woman made of meat and nightmares. For these things I'll always be grateful.

With strictly tertiary stakes- a secret war on the fringes of reality- expressed through random invasions not much different from the random invasions from Joko's boys, a pinched story with lots of standing around, and a truly pitiful, downright un-respectable asswipe of a villain that makes Zhaitan look like a properly-told story, I have to say that SotO only delivered on its emotional payload in the small places.

The relationships between members of the Ward. The way Peitha grows close to you and comes to rely on you so personally. The banter, more than the beats- and that's as much a problem as it is something to be proud of. Some games don't deliver on character personality. In World of Warcraft: Legion, you got Khadgar being smarmy and Illidan being awful and hilarious- but these are integrated into the most important story moments. When Illidan opens the way to Argus right in the middle of the fucking sky, he has the biggest shit-eating grin you've ever seen on his face, because he knows that it's funny. He knows that he just did the craziest shit that Khadgar's ever seen, and Khadgar's been dealing with demons since the Second War!

So why not have that in our cutscenes? Something as simple as coming to the throne room to threaten Eparch, and seeing Peitha curl her hand around your Wayfinder's shoulder. Isgarren is basically our Khadgar, and he's also a big piece of shit, and he gets some good lines reminiscent of "A Wizard appears exactly when he means to," but we can lean more into that- rather than ask everyone around us if Isgarren is coming, why not... have him fail us? Have him tell us that we can call on him, and then we do, and then have him tell us no.

It's not about how these characters harm and help each other, is what I'm driving at. It's how they harm us, on the other side of the computer screen. You, the player, should be provoked into an emotional response because it's motivating! And if you think being motivated isn't a big deal, I want you to consider that the thing that provokes Kryptis portals to higher intensities are items called motivations.

Arenanet has demonstrated a fluency in the language of emotion, and made a valiant attempt at getting inside our player character's heart. But my take is that in doing so, they left the actual player out of the equation.

I can read to my heart's content, and there's good stuff to read. But I can do that without the game, as everything's transcribed on the wiki. If you want me to be part of your world and tug at my heartstrings, you've gotta provoke me.

And if you can't do that with your main villain, you need a new main villain.

[the-doctor-needs-a-river]

So, going into this tentatively because there are a lot of strong feelings going around.

People are so traumatised (and validly so) about queer/disabled character deaths from shows with horrible representation and queerbaiting that this has become almost the automatic response to the death of any queer/disabled character. In a lot of situations (cough cough spn etc.) this is absolutely the case.

HOWEVER.

What people are missing is that this doesn't apply to a show in the context where multiple characters are (respectfully) represented as disabled (Lucius, Ed, Jackie, Wee John, Prince Ricky) and nearly every single character is queer. The beauty of the intention here is that a queer/disabled character gets to just be a character. There's no tokenisation there. So when a character like this in this kind of context dies, it's just a character death.

Because of good representation, there is no malice in the death.

Add into this the fact that the death makes perfect narrative sense when viewed through the larger narrative lense of the main point of this season being Ed's emotional arc, it's actually very good story telling (can go deeper into this if requested). That's not saying that it doesn't hurt or that it doesn't feel unfair: that's what good story telling is supposed to do.

I think it's easy to, especially after the first 2 episodes of s2, try and villainise Ed, but I think that's a narrow understanding of what was going on. Yes, Ed was physically abusive to Izzy and the crew, but people overlook the fact that Izzy was emotionally abusive to Ed when he was in an incredibly vulnerable state, which was ultimately the catalyst for the events of S2ep1-2. They both did wrong and both deserved/needed to give apologies; there was no innocent party between them, a fact that Izzy acknowledges multiple times. That's why the parallel to S1ep10 ("there he is") was so beautiful and devastating because it was an understanding of wrongdoing on both parts and an acceptance that they no longer fit together.

Like Izzy said, THEY were Blackbeard, and Blackbeard needed to die for Ed to be able to move on and truly be himself - think the shift from ep 2 to 3 where Ed didn't want to die, he just didn't want to live being Blackbeard but had been convinced there wasn't any alternative. That was the overarching theme of Ed's arc and what Izzy was acknowledging in his final moments.

When you think about it this way, Izzy's death has been foreshadowed as a narrative necessity from the very beginning of the series. With this in mind, the journey that he goes on in the meantime goes above and beyond the acceptance of Ed's vulnerability that we needed to see for them to get to this point; we also see Izzy find his own vulnerability and strength within his found family and identity. THEY DIDN'T NEED TO DO THIS. They gave us this because they also love Izzy and wanted to give his character as much love as possible in the time up until his purpose as a device for Ed's character arc came.

And ultimately, this is what separates Izzy from Ed and Stede - his primary purpose has always been as a character based narrative device to challenge Ed. The fact that so many people love him in his own right is amazing but this has always been his main purpose. Of course he has intervals of brilliant character ingenuity and growth of his own, especially in this new series, but this is exactly what I'm talking about when I say we've been gifted this when we didn't need to be. Does that make the loss sting even more now that we've had it? Of course it does but that's the point. They went so above and beyond with him this series because they saw the potential in his character and Con's fantastic performances, and because they love him as much as we do. But the point still stands that he served the purpose of the character and device that he was always set out to be from the very beginning.

We know from dj that this was all very intentional and, although the analogy used can potentially be questioned, he stuck to his intended trope and executed it with dignity and beautiful parallels.

I guess I'm just saying that it makes me sad to see good writing be misinterpreted, but I completely get where the trauma response is coming from. I would hate to see us get into a situation where we lose this kind of amazing representation because writers are too scared of potential backlash to take the chance of including it when what has been interpreted wasn't narratively intended.

As always, this is written with respect, love and no ill intentions and everyone is entitled to their own thoughts ❤️

[mizushidokoro]

Chapter 261 thoughts, sukugo, stsg/sgst, and why this update isn't an L for me actually

I think Yuta means well, and he genuinely cares about Gojo, but to frame his final decisions as becoming something "monstrous," I think is another example of Gojo being misunderstood, or understood for only part of who he is.

"Are you Gojo Satoru because you are the strongest, or are you the strongest because you are Gojo Satoru?" It's both, isn't it? Gojo's strength is as part of his identity, as is his humanity, but the two are opposed. Gojo doesn't have the luxury of being "selfish," to "seek meaning" for himself by carving out his own path the way that Geto does when he leaves, because a single misstep from him could upend the world. A Gojo Satoru who pursues his own truth, the way everyone else in the world does, is monstrous, and he's aware of the fact. That's the contradiction at the heart of his loneliness. He cannot realize himself, as an individual, without giving up on his humanity (meaning, his ability to connect with others as a human). But to preserve his humanity, his sense of belonging in the world, Gojo cannot pursue self-realization as an individual actor.

So Gojo stating he can't avoid becoming a monster and wanting to catch up to Geto who left him behind ... man that hurts me. Push meets shove, and he has to make a sacrifice. And Gojo chooses (or resigns himself, for lack of other options) to strength, the path of loneliness.

In what way does Gojo want to ''catch up''? To finally use his strength to chase after his own ideals, taking action, moral uncertainties & collateral be damned? I think that's the decision he makes when he kills the higher-ups w/o being certain it's the right thing. I think it's also in a very literal gay yearning way -- he wants to chase after Geto, the last person in his memory who could stand at the top with him and that he had a true connection with albeit for a short moment in time, because choice notwithstanding, it still remains that Gojo doesn't want to be alone.

For what it's worth, I don't think that means Gojo doesn't "care" about his students, fellow teachers, or humans in general. But he gives up his sense of "belonging with" -- instead of the form of attachment that is "love," his care takes the form of detached, unilateral "compassion," as a deity feels for its subjects.

So that's Gojo's state of mind when he goes into this fight vs. Sukuna, embracing/giving himself up to the loneliness that comes with unrivalled strength. But in the end he finds in Sukuna a distorted reflection of his own "monstrosity," someone who matches and in fact exceeds him in strength. Gojo finds someone who knows his positionality, who's powerful enough to witness him, give him the chance to just selfishly be, and go all out. Someone with the capacity to understand him, to whom Gojo can show his "love." Which Sukuna doesn't reciprocate of course (if only Geto were there!!! then he couldve had it all!!). But Gojo went out being acknowledged by someone who could finally understand him. He didn’t die alone.

I don't think the fact of Gojo's students using his body is tragic in a new or different way. Gojo's stated himself that he doesn't care what happens after he dies (paralleling what Sukuna tells Yorozu, also, another skg w), and I don't think they have much of a choice given the state of affairs, though of course it always hurts to be reminded of how detached and alone Gojo was. But after sitting on it for a while, personally, I feel like this chapter helps understand what Gojo says in 236, and takes the sting out of his death.