#and as always people are allowed to like the game but. use some critical thinking

[churchydragon]

I already knew I had no interest in Palworld when they showed the guns and slavery of the Pals in the first trailer but hearing that not only has the company dabbled in NFTs and AI but there's also HUMAN slavery AND the farms are called plantations has just totally turned me off. why did the devs think that was even slightly appropriate in this fucking day and age?

like I DO think we need an open world survival Pokemon-esq game, we really do. but not Palworld. hopefully Kindred Fates will fill that void properly, in a responsible, not overly and poorly thought out edgy way.

[angelwonie]

X + Y = YOU AND I || jeon wonwoo

PAIRING: academic rival!wonwoo x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 8.6k

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, rivals to lovers, college au

SUMMARY: you wish jeon wonwoo would sometimes act like an insufferable prick instead of the perfect guy, because then you wouldn't have to feel your head spinning each time he looks at you.

WARNINGS: SMUT [unprotected sex, fingering, use of petnames (baby, good girl), praise, some degradation, sex in an empty classroom] wonwoo is so in love

Class discussions where both Wonwoo and you are involved never end well. 

Partly, it’s because none of you possess the ability of backing down from a fight, but mostly it’s because of Wonwoo’s annoying tendencies of having read all the books in the world, which allows him to criticize every word that comes out of your mouth. 

Which again leaves you with no choice but to get angry and argue even more vividly — though Soonyoung claims that’s just your own stubbornness making matters worse. 

He doesn’t get it, though. The desire to beat Wonwoo at his own game each time he opens his mouth. It’s something you can’t entirely explain, but it keeps you grounded, and so you don’t question it too much. The adrenaline that comes along with it is enough for you. 

And that’s exactly what keeps you going today — Wonwoo’s annoying takes on social anthropology.

“I just don’t think cultural differences are the root of conflicts.”

He says this and shrugs, eyes subconsciously drifting to the side to look at you. As expected, you’re already raising your hand to comment on his statement and he has to fight the urge to smile. Despite coming in tired, eyes drooping, you���re eager to partake in a discussion with him. Always. It’s a little too reassuring to think about, so he stops, and instead focuses on what you’re saying. 

“That’s a baseless claim to make,” you scoff, and again, he feels his lip twitch, almost forming a smile. “Of course they are. No differences means nothing to fight about.”

“Yes, in theory,” he says, and his eyes crinkle with the smile he offers you. A smile you can’t seem to tell if is cocky or genuine. “But cultural differences aren't everything. If we don’t have culture, people will still form opinions. And those opinions will still become the roots of conflicts.”

With those words, he crosses his arms over his chest, his elbow bumping into you. 

You’re not sure who came up with the idea of the two of you sitting together in the classroom, but moments like these make you want to find that person and rip their hair out. Because in what universe should you have to argue with Jeon Wonwoo while his shoulder is literally touching yours? 

It’s stupid, unethical, and every other derogatory term you can come up with, but most of all, it’s making it hard to focus. Obviously, it’s not about him, it’s about the closeness itself. You think. Probably. 

You lean a bit to your left so you can actually think of a response, but end up sighing and asking a question instead. 

“So you’re saying conflicts are inevitable?”

He tongues his cheek – a sign that he’s in deep thought – and bumps his elbow into you again. An accident, probably, but it catches your attention nevertheless. 

“I’m saying disagreements become conflicts because we can’t handle our emotions. It’s not differences that are the problem, it’s our way of handling them.”

And there it is — that twinkle in his eyes that signalizes he knows he’s won. You know it, too, from the way he leans back into his chair and your words die down in your throat and the professor nods his head approvingly. Still, you wish he wouldn’t be so fucking happy about it.

“Asshole,” you mumble only loud enough for him to hear as you sink back into the chair. 

He chuckles and you feel your insides turn. God, he’s annoying. Super annoying. 

Especially when he leans a bit to your side of the desk, face a lot closer to yours than it needs to be when he whispers, “Good job.” 

You glare at his soft expression, your own face heating up in something resembling embarrassment. 

“No need to gloat about your success, dickhead.”

“I’m not gloating,” he frowns, the smile slowly fading from his face.

“Sure you aren’t. You’re just kindly reminding me that you’re better than me.”

“That’s not what– That’s not true.”

His voice falters, and he leans back in his chair and taps his pen against the desk. You scoff at him, but it’s nowhere as threatening as you’d like it to be — thrown off by the quiver in his tone. 

“It is true,” you whisper, more to yourself, and avert your gaze from him. 

The professor picks up where he left off, and you let your thoughts scatter and eyes drift closed. It’s been a long day, you think. Thankfully, the professor’s got you and Wonwoo placed in the back, and so he doesn’t notice it when you manage to fall asleep in your chair, head falling to the side. 

Wonwoo notices, though. Your cheek squished against your shoulder, hair in your face. It’s not the first time you’ve fallen asleep in class, and he should probably start scolding you for it, but seeing your under eye bags and hearing your tired voice makes something turn unpleasantly in his stomach. And so he lets you sleep. 

(It’s all because of his perceptiveness.

You know about this trait of his, and it’s awful. How he hands you a pen when you’ve forgotten your own without you having to ask for it. How he knows when to shut up during an argument, because your face tells him he’s won. How he never feels the need to embarrass you, or anyone, for that matter.

He’s a good person in and out, and you hate him for it.) 

It’s not before the class is nearing its end that Wonwoo decides to wake you. 

“Y/N,” you feel a hand on your shoulder, shaking you awake, and then a deep voice hits your ears. Wonwoo’s voice, you realize instantly, and then criticize your heart for jumping at the thought. “You might wanna wake up for this.”

“Huh?” 

Wonwoo’s smiling at you softly, and you sit up straight, confused. At least until you see your professor clutching his phone against his ear, muttering aggressively.

“His wife called,” Wonwoo explains in a hushed tone, leaning towards you so you hear him better. “I feel kinda bad for the guy. She doesn’t seem to like him very much.”

You rub your eyes and yawn, then realize Wonwoo is sitting right there, and clear your throat. 

“Maybe he’s an asshole.”

“Maybe,” he turns to look at you. “Girls like assholes, though, don’t they? 

Your breath hitches in your throat involuntarily. You’re not sure whether it’s from the question or from the way he’s looking at you – like he’s already got you all figured out – but it’s making you nervous. All of it, him. And now that you’re discussing a topic you’re not certain about, it shows. 

You chuckle nervously, “Where’d you get that from?”

“You, mostly.”

“Excuse me?”

He offers you a smile, one that you subconsciously accept by feeling your insides turn to mush. This has got to be the longest you’ve spoken to him without mutual friends around, and without arguing. Truthfully, you don’t hate it. You’d never have thought that this would be the topic of your first ever civil conversation, though. 

“Minghao? Seungkwan? Your type’s pretty obvious.”

“Do you spy on me or something?” you ask, a little baffled he knows the names of your previous boyfriends. You weren’t hiding it or anything, but Wonwoo’s never shown much interest in you outside of class. “Plus, that was months ago.” 

He fixes his glasses and tilts his head to the side.

“Yeah? And what type of guys do you like now?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the words die down in your throat. Not assholes, you could say. He’s sparked your curiosity, though — what type of guys do you like now? Because you know for a fact that you’re done with assholes, which is why you’ve been trying your hardest to classify Wonwoo as one up until now. 

“I–”

You’re saved from answering his question by your professor, who’s successfully hung up on his wife and is now announcing that class is over. 

A sigh of relief escapes past your lips — another thing that doesn’t go unnoticed by Wonwoo, but he doesn’t push. He simply gathers his stuff, his pen that you borrowed included, and slings his bag over his shoulder. You smile at him, softly, a little hesitantly, because it feels right to do so.

His glasses rest at the tip of his nose as he stands up and says, “See you around, Y/N.”

Then, he walks off and you no longer fight the smile that makes its way to your face. 

—

“Okay, so I think we all know why this meeting is being held.”

This is the first thing Soonyoung says as he sits down by the round table in the cafeteria, latte almost spilling out of his cup. You and Minjeong perch up in curiosity, and she puts her phone away in favor of commenting Soonyoung’s poor word choices. 

“Meeting? It’s our lunch break, dude.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes at Minjeong who snickers. “This lunch break is being held because–”

“–Because we need to eat?” you raise a brow. 

“Y/N, you are literally in no position to act all smart right now. It’s you that we need to talk about.”

“Me?”

You look to Minjeong, but she only shrugs, meaning that this is a Soonyoung thing. You try racking your brain to find what the hell he might want to discuss, but nothing comes to you. Not even when Soonyoung offers you one of his signature smirks that signalize he’s up to no good. 

“You, and hot nerd Jeon Wonwoo.”

Your mouth falls open in genuine shock. “Wonwoo?”

“Did you just call him ‘hot nerd’?” Minjeong slaps her hand over her mouth as she laughs, but stops when she sees you glaring at her. “Damn, okay, someone’s defensive.”

“Yes, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung leans over the table, hands together on the table like some sort of Hollywood detective. “What’s the deal with you and him?”

“What deal?” you look to the side for some help, but all Minjeong offers you is a smirk. She’s enjoying this a little too much for your liking. “Why are you looking at me like that? There’s no deal. We don’t get along, that’s all.”

“You sure looked like you got along yesterday,” Soonyoung giggles like a little schoolgirl, and you feel your face heating up. Of course he noticed, even though you barely talked with Wonwoo for three minutes. “Also, have you seen how he looks at you?”

“Like he wants to kill me?”

“Like he wants to kiss you. You’re mistaking passion for hate, babe. Or maybe you’re just pretending, because there’s no way you’re not seeing how cute you are together.”

“Me and Wonwoo?” you ask again, incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding. There’s no way.”

“You have to admit, he’s pretty hot,” Minjeong cuts in. “Plus, you guys have, like, undeniable chemistry.”

“The only chemistry me and him share is the class. Which already sucks enough.”

“You know what they say, denial is a river in egypt.” 

“Nobody says that, Minjeong,” you glare at her, deciding that it’s better to get out of here before you start doubting yourself. “Anyway, I gotta go to class, so get those Wonwoo delusions out of your heads, okay? Because that’s what this is — delusion.”

“Funny you had to clarify that.”

“Just because you’re insufferable,” you send them a painfully fake smile and grab your things so you can walk away, almost missing the words Soonyoung mutters under his breath. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

—

Usually, you can’t be found in the university’s backyard ripping your hair, but usually, you also don’t fail your chemistry exams. 

You might be acting a tad bit dramatic, running out of class and sitting down on the grass with your back pressed against the stone cold wall to cool off, but that’s something to worry about later. Right now you’re just focused on feeling sorry for yourself. Which you are. To a very high degree. 

“Are you okay?”

You jump at the sudden intrusion to your self-wallowing, turning around only to be met with a familiar face. His glasses are high up on his nose and his hair is neat, smile lines nowhere to be seen.

“Wonwoo?” you ask, a bit embarrassed that he’s seeing you in this state, especially when he looks so put together. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I read here every free period,” he says, frowning. “It’s you that should be in class right now.”

“Do you have my schedule memorized or something?” you look at him accusingly, pulling your legs closer to your chest for comfort. “Anyway, I’m just sitting here.”

Wonwoo’s silent for a moment, pondering on what to do, and then he takes a step in your direction. You don’t run away or protest, so he takes another one and another one until he’s close enough to sink down on the grass next to you. 

“You look more like you’re drowning in sadness.”

“Yeah, well, I failed an exam, so,” you say and hand him the paper your hands gripped just a moment ago — your test with every mistake highlighted in red. The whole sheet might’ve just been red at this point, you think. 

He examines it, brows furrowed, then hands it back. “Chemistry? I thought you were good at that, though.”

Your heart falters in embarrassment.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. That’s why I’m fucking sad.”

You don’t mean for it to sound so angry, but it comes out harsh and bitter. It’s nothing like Wonwoo’s used to hearing you speak. And what comes after shocks him even more — the tears that well up in your eyes and then fall, he can see them even as you turn away from him, perhaps in fear of judgement. 

“Wait,” he says, a little dumbfounded. “Are you crying?”

It’s a stupid question, but his tone isn’t judging. Still, it doesn't ease anything — you feel like you’re about to explode. And what’s worse is that he’s here, Jeon Wonwoo, of all people, watching you cry over something so miniscule that he probably can’t even relate to. You’re not sure why it bothers you so much that he’s seeing you in this state, but it does, it really does bother you, so much you feel like you might die. 

“Yes, I’m crying, Wonwoo,” you say, wiping your cheeks to your best ability. “Jesus christ. I did badly on a test, so I already feel like shit, and then you always have to come up to me with those stupid comments of yours.”

He blinks in surprise from behind his glasses, and even through your bitterness, you think to yourself that he looks cute like that — confused, for the very first time. At least it’s the very first time you are seeing him like this. But, to be fair, this is his very first time seeing you like this, too. 

“I thought you liked it when I'm mean to you, though,” he says finally, and you look at him in disbelief.

“Wonwoo, are you seriously just here to imply I have a degradation kink?” 

He remains silent for a minute, hesitating.

“Great.” 

You laugh through the tears that have now stopped falling, and Wonwoo exhales in something that resembles relief. His gaze is still set on you, unrelenting, like he’s still trying to put together the puzzle. Does he want to leave? 

A part of you hopes he won’t. Because despite that it’s a bit embarrassing, you could use someone to talk to right now. Even if it’s just so you can get your frustration out somehow. 

“What I’m trying to say is,” he starts, choosing his words carefully. “I didn't mean it like that. I never do.”

You meet his gaze – soft eyes that remain otherwise unreadable – and let out a breathy chuckle. 

“Yeah, whatever.”

You kick one of the stones in front of you, and watch it bounce a couple of times before it settles a little further away. Wonwoo doesn’t leave, even though you’re giving no signs of continuing the conversation. He just sits there, shoulder a centimeter or two from yours, and listens to both your breaths. Both uneven — his is nervous, while yours is upset. 

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he says finally, catching you off guard just enough for you to turn in his direction again. “If I ever cross the line, tell me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He bites his lip awkwardly as you feel your heart dropping to your stomach. It’s silent for a while, the back of your throat burning — threatening that you might start crying again if you say something now. 

He pushes his glasses further up his nose, and that’s when you decide to take the leap. Leap meaning that you lean forward to engulf him in a hug, your head coming to rest on his shoulder. 

It catches him off guard, you can tell. His muscles tense, breath caught up in his throat and your own heart beats so fast you think you might die. But it feels nice, hugging him. And it feels even nicer when he wraps his arms around you, too, albeit hesitantly. 

You stay like that, bathing in his scent – peach and jasmine with a hint of something you can’t quite identify – and somehow, you feel at peace. The test is still at the back of your head, obviously, bugging you, but it’s faint compared to Wonwoo and his hand that begins to slowly stroke your hair. 

“Thank you.”

The words are whispered into the crook of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. 

They’re so quiet he barely hears them, might’ve mistaken them for a hiccup hadn’t he paid complete attention, but he is. He is paying attention. To how your muscles loosen up in his arms and there are no longer tears soaking through his shirt; how his own heart beats a little faster than usual; how he’s so painfully aware of the fact that talking to you only makes him like you more.

More meaning that he’s afraid he might be advancing from the useless crush he’d developed watching you argue with him during class. Advancing into uncharted territory that he’s never even intended exploring. Though he supposes he sabotaged himself by approaching you today. 

“It’s nothing.”

But it’s a lie. It is something — the butterflies in your stomach or the warmth spreading across Wonwoo’s chest. Whatever you want to regard it as, it is something. 

And that something settles in the very depths of your mind and his mind alike. 

—

When Soonyoung announces that he’s bringing Wonwoo to come study with you and Minjeong in the library, your first instinct is to tell him you’re not coming. 

Obviously, you’re embarrassed. And scared. And a million other things you can’t even begin to describe with words. He saw you crying, after all. Jeon Wonwoo, top of the class, saw you crying over a bad grade. It really doesn’t get much worse than that. 

Still, you go. Mostly because you know staying at the dorm would spark questions from your nosy friends, but also because you don’t want Wonwoo thinking you’re avoiding him. Or else he’s going to think you care — which, essentially, you do. But he doesn’t have to know that. 

“Do you think Wonwoo will laugh at me if I get the questions wrong?” Minjeong asks as you stand outside the door to the library, her hand on the handle.

“No,” you say. “He’s not like that.”

She opens the door, and you walk inside, met with the smell of books. Soonyoung and Wonwoo are sitting by the chess boards, talking, and you feel something turn in your stomach. Is it too late to leave now? Judging by Minjeong’s worried face, she isn’t so keen on being here either. Maybe you could both just go home.

Yet when she bites her lip and asks, “Are you sure?”, you can’t bring yourself to lie just so you won’t have to face him.

“Yeah. You should ask him to teach you if you don’t understand something, you know. Better to feel a little embarrassed than to fail an exam.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Just as she says this, Soonyoung catches your gaze and waves eagerly, urging you and Minjeong to come closer. He whispers something to Wonwoo, and he, too, turns to smile in your direction.

“Guess there’s no backing out now,” Minjeong giggles and you nod your head. There really isn’t. 

The two of you make your way to the table where the boys are sitting and pick your chairs. Minjeong’s quick to sit next to Soonyoung, so you’re left with no other option but to plop down on the chair closest to Wonwoo. Normally, that would’ve only mildly annoyed you, but now, three days after he saw you bawling your eyes out, you can feel your heartbeat speed up vastly.

“Hey,” Wonwoo says and you almost jump. You’re not sure why, but you hadn’t expected him to speak to you first. 

“Hi,” you reply and try smiling at him. Thankfully, he smiles, too. “What are you guys studying?”

“Chemistry,” he says, and upon seeing you wince, he’s quick to add, “‘Cause Soonyoung’s struggling with it. He asked me to teach him.”

You have to bite back a smile at his worried tone. “Ah, I see.”

He fixes his glasses, and clears his throat.

“It’s a really tricky subject, though, so I understand why you– uh, he, finds it troublesome.”

“Right,” you nod your head with a giggle, and you can almost feel Soonyoung’s stare burning into your side. It’s fine, though, because now, Wonwoo looks the slightest bit more relaxed. 

You pull out your notebooks and textbook along with a coffee you’d made earlier, and when Wonwoo says your notes look pretty, you can’t help but grin. You kind of wish he weren’t so nice to you, but it doesn’t make you feel awkward, so you suppose you don’t have much room to complain. 

It’s probably just reality catching up to you that’s making you nervous — the fact that he’s not so argumentative outside of class, and that you definitely felt something pull at the very bottom of your heart that day you failed the exam. That, and how the feeling isn’t giving any signs of leaving soon.

You let those thoughts wander as you start making notes, and soon enough, even Soonyoung goes quiet, occupied by his own stuff. It stays like that for a while, and at some point, Wonwoo’s knee bumps into yours. Warmth spreads all across you and you look at him. 

“Sorry,” he whispers apologetically, retracting his leg, and the warmth subsides. In return you send him a smile in which you hope he can’t glimpse your slight – and unsettling – disappointment. 

“It’s okay.”

And then it’s silent again, your body painfully aware of the fact that if you lean your leg a bit to the right you’ll touch Wonwoo. It’s not like you want to touch him, at least you don’t think you do, but the awareness is slightly nerve-wracking for some unknown reason. Everything about him is.  

“Wonwoo,” Minjeong says, breaking the silence, making both his and your heads shoot up to look at her. “Y/N told me you could help me if I asked, so… I was wondering if you could explain biomolecules to me.”

“Of course.”

A quick smile flashes in your direction and then he’s leaning over the table to help Minjeong. His fingers follow the illustrations in her textbook and he starts talking — something about structure, you think. You listen intently, and it makes sense even though you’ve barely started the chapter, but you can’t bring yourself to take notes of what he’s saying. Can’t bring yourself to take your eyes off of him.

You wonder silently if he always was this handsome. You try to think of the times you spoke to him in class before, but it’s hard to recall his face in any other form than what your eyes meet now — focused gaze, lips moving to the rhythm of his voice. His glasses are slowly sliding down his nose, and you feel an immeasurable urge to push them up, but he beats you to it. 

“Basically, they’re essential for cell division to happen,” he says, and you lean forward to look at the picture he’s pointing to.

Your shoulder bumps into his and he turns to the side. You notice, but don’t react in fear that you’ll just end up giggling like a schoolgirl. Instead, you pretend to read some of the text in the book. 

Wonwoo picks up where he left off, voice a little hoarser than before, but you don’t move. Neither does he.

“Can you say that again?” you ask after he says something you don’t understand. 

He repeats with his head turned in your direction, and your eyes drift down to his lips. You don’t want them to, it just happens, your stomach tying into a tight knot. You’re almost entirely sure nobody is supposed to look this hot while talking about biomolecules. Or was it morphogenesis? You honestly don’t know. 

You don’t know why you feel like this with him of all people. Truly, there could be a lot of factors playing into it. The fact that he’s a smooth talker; the fact that he’s both intelligent and knowledgeable; the fact that you’ve grown to know him — what makes his blood boil and what makes him chuckle; the fact that he’s a constant in a sea of variables. 

Maybe that last point especially. That even when everything else goes to hell, the moment you step into social anthropology class, he’s always there. Always willing to entertain you with, albeit sometimes pointless, banter. 

You don’t even know what this is, though. Feeling your head spin when you look at him, having mini heart attacks when he says your name — are these the signs of you going insane? It could very well be that, you think. Insanity feels like the right word to explain your state right now. 

“Y/N,” he says, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You listening?”

Your eyes drift back to his own, and you swear you see a glimpse of amusement playing in his gaze when you mumble a quiet “Yeah.”

Suddenly very aware of Soonyoung and Minjeong’s presence, as well as Wonwoo’s burning stare, you stand up, dusting off your clothes.

“I just need some fresh air,” you offer as an explanation. 

“Mind if I join?”

You look at Wonwoo in disbelief as he asks the question. What the fuck? You don’t mind – at least in the sense that implies you don’t like his company – but it’s the same issue again; he makes you nervous. Goodbye to going for a relaxing walk, you suppose. And goodbye to whatever left there is of your sanity. 

After what seems like hours of overthinking, you decide to get your shit together and send him a smile paired with a nod. Minjeong raises a brow in your direction, but doesn’t inquire further and internally you thank her for that. You’re not sure what you would’ve told her if she asked. 

You and Wonwoo leave the library together, shoulders close together just like when you were sitting, and you swallow the lump in your throat. 

“Everything okay?” he asks as you leave the building. “You seem a little dazed.”

The air is still cold, though winter is nearing its end and spring is slipping through the cracks. You pull your jacket closer to your body in hopes of both warming yourself up and slowing down your heartbeat, but it only fulfills one of those wishes, leaving you to deal with the latter yourself. 

“I’m alright,” you respond with a soft smile. “Thank you for helping Minjeong, by the way. You’re a great teacher.”

Wonwoo’s smile lines shyly make an appearance. “Thanks. I’ve been thinking about becoming a real one, actually.”

You stop walking and turn your head in disbelief. Somehow, you didn’t expect that answer. Wonwoo was always a diligent student, but now that you come to think of it, he never really talked about his plans for the future, or what he wanted to do with his degree in chemical engineering. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah,” his cheeks redden ever so slightly. “Teaching chemistry honestly doesn’t sound that bad.”

You take a moment to think it through — him, in a suit and those glasses that fall down his nose, teaching kids about biomolecules. The idea is foreign, and yet, it fits just right. 

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Professor Jeon, huh? It would suit you.”

He lets out a snort of laughter that sounds nothing like the small chuckles you’d hear from him during class. But it sounds nice, this loud laughter and you bathe in it for as long as it lasts. You’re starting to enjoy this whole ‘being kind to each other’ thing. Suits you better than yelling about something stupid in class. It suits him better, too. 

Content with everything, you begin walking again and he follows suit. The grass is a little wet from yesterday’s rain and outgrown as it is, it tickles your ankles. It might’ve been mildly annoying if you weren’t so stupidly happy for whatever reason.  

Whatever reason being Wonwoo, of course. You might be bad at chemistry, but you like to think you’re not dumb — at least not in an oblivious way. It’s become quite obvious, you think, that you like him. 

The thought partly makes you want to kick your feet in the air and partly, it makes you want to rip your hair out. You like Wonwoo. It’s something so unexpected it makes you feel very bare as you stand there on the grass outside of your university, with your cold hands buried in the pockets of your jacket and Wonwoo’s eyes glimmering in the faint sunlight. 

You like him. God, it feels weird to admit. 

“About that day…” Wonwoo’s voice brings you back to reality, and you take a second to register what he’s saying.

“I freaked you out, didn’t I?” you ask. 

“No, no, it’s not that,” he looks away and sighs softly, only to look directly at you the next second. “I just wanted to make sure you remember that one mistake doesn’t make you a failure. I should’ve said it earlier, but that day I was a bit… taken aback, I suppose. Not by the crying, obviously, but by the whole situation. And you.” 

“Me,” you repeat, tasting the word on your tongue. Your heart starts beating a little faster, despite your best efforts at staying calm. He’s just talking after all; it’s not like this is some sort of love confession.

“Not in a bad way. Just in a new way,” he’s quick to assure you and you feel your heart swell in your chest. 

“New. You make it sound so pretty.”

You laugh a bit, looking down on your hands. It. Does he even know what you mean? Does he know you’re talking about the fact that you’re slowly but surely starting to fall in love with him? Or is he just talking about seeing you vulnerable the other day? 

“What would you call it?” he asks and you can’t stop your gaze from drifting back to him.

“I don’t know, confusing? And kind of insane.”

You swear his eyes drop to your lips for a mere second at that. He doesn’t say anything, just walks by you in silence, and it drives you crazy. You wish he’d say something – anything – just so you’d know if you’re even on the same page, but you don’t rush him. 

Finally, he smiles at you. 

“If insanity is losing control, then yes, I suppose I’m going insane. But it doesn’t feel all that insane to me.”

His eyes crinkle, soft streaks of sun painted across his face and you almost sigh. In delight, relief, or maybe fear, you’re not sure, but it’s those words, you think, that will linger. Those are the types of words to never abandon your mind, you’re sure of it. 

“Did you rehearse this in front of the mirror or something?” you scoff at him, heart heavy in your chest. 

He only laughs, and the sound stays in the air for a long time after you’ve left. 

—

To say you were shocked to see Jeon Wonwoo sitting outside of his dorm with his head in his hands would be a major understatement. 

You had grown closer to him in the past weeks — walking shoulder to shoulder around campus; him helping you with your homework — it all would’ve seemed unlikely had someone proposed the idea to you a month prior, but now, you had grown to truly enjoy his company. And he enjoyed yours, too. 

In some ways, it stayed normal. 

Comments and half-mean, half-endearing remarks remained untouched; what didn’t was your heart. It seems to be working against you at all times, beating too quickly when Wonwoo unexpectedly smiled in your direction, and dropping down to your stomach in fear whenever you saw him tippling over in emotion, only for the feeling to fade to the sound of his laugh.

This time, though, it doesn’t fade, only intensifies as you hear him curse under his breath. 

“Wonwoo?” you try, and his shoulders tense ever so slightly. 

You watch as he sighs, rubbing his eyes, then sits up straight, back against the wall. He doesn’t respond, even as his eyes, frail as ever, look into yours. They’re a bit darker than usual, and his lashes flutter as he blinks up at you. 

There’s no one in the hallway, as if this part of the school emptied just to grant you a moment of privacy; a deciding moment, something in your stomach tells you. 

“What’s happened?” you ask softly, quietly, unsure of what else to do with this obviously unhappy Jeon Wonwoo that’s sitting on the ground in front of you. 

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles in response, leaning on his arms to stand up. “Just some school stuff.”

The corners of his mouth lift in a small smile, but you call his bullshit. You don’t necessarily doubt the genuinity of his smile, but the way he said it makes you think there is something that happened. 

Taking a step in his direction, you nudge him with your elbow. 

“What, the golden boy failed a test for the first time in his life?”

His eyes change at that — soft crinkles appearing at the very edges of them. His shoulders relax, too, and though it’s barely visible, you see it clearly. The air feels a lot lighter when he tongues his cheek and nudges you back. 

“You sure run your mouth a lot, Y/N,” he grins and you feel butterflies flapping around in the very pits of your stomach. Then the smile fades to be replaced with a faux scolding look as he says, “I suggest you stop.” 

You move to stand right in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. He’s taller, and you have to tilt your chin to look him right in the eyes as you giggle with a hint of playfulness in your gaze. 

“Or what?”

He sees the smile playing on your face, the giddiness in your tone, and his heart bangs loudly against his chest. You look gorgeous today — well, that’s nothing new but it never ceases to amaze him how you can look prettier for each day that goes by.

Is this it? Is this when he’s supposed to make a move, like Soonyoung told him to? What does even ‘make a move’ mean, exactly? 

He supposes it varies — just like the value of variables in the equations he solves so often. 

Then how come he can’t solve this one?

You’re still standing there, looking at him without a care in the world, and he thinks that he’d never forgive himself if he screwed this up. At the same time, it doesn’t seem like you’re ready to run away from him, and so perhaps making a move doesn’t sound so stupid right now. 

“Or,” he starts, and lets his eyes glide down to your lips for a moment to test the waters. You don’t scream in fear, and he takes it as a good sign. “I’m gonna have to make you.”

You giggle. “Yeah? And how exactly are you gonna do that, big boy?” 

He feels his stomach turning upside down, squeezed by some invisible force and he has to remind himself to breathe. Is he really going through with this? Don’t start something you can’t end, Soonyoung would probably tell him. For once listening to his advice seems reasonable. 

“Like this.”

And before he can even think of backing out, he brings the palms of his hands to cup your face and leans down, placing his lips against yours. 

Taken aback, you let out a startled noise, eyes growing wide. He hesitates upon seeing your reaction, about to pull away when you finally kiss him back, tongue swiping over his lower lip ever so slightly. 

A groan. Then, he’s bringing his hand to the back of your head and pulling you towards him, kissing you until your head starts to spin, and kissing you through that, too. 

Your arms hold onto his shoulders for support, cheek leaning into his touch. Your noses touch clumsily; teeth clash when you open your mouth to let him explore it. Still, it feels like heaven and you can’t bring yourself to pull away for a breath. 

Wonwoo, though, the more sensible one of you two, pulls back after a while, a smile on his lips and breath ragged.  

You look at him — waiting for him to pick up where he left off, but he doesn’t move.

“That’s it?” you ask, and for a brief moment, all color drains from Wonwoo’s face. Did you not like it? Did he do something wrong?

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just going to leave me hanging like that?”

Your lip pulled between your teeth, you look at home expectantly, heart still hammering against your ribs. Truly, it’s not just about wanting more – though that plays a part in it, too – it’s also about whether this was a one-time-thing.

“Was it not enough for you?” he asks, tilting his head to the side after he’s calmed his racing heart. 

“Considering I’ve been waiting for this, like, a month,” you say. “not really, no.”

He smiles down on you — that same smile that makes you weak in the knees, and you know there’s no turning back now. Not that there ever was. 

“I think you’re a bit greedy,” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you shiver in anticipation. “I’ve been waiting for half a year, and yet, I still have some self control left.”

“I never had any in the first place.”

And with that, you pull him close for another kiss. 

He doesn’t protest, opening his mouth and sucking on your tongue. His hands move down to your waist this time, pulling your body flush against his. You’ve never experienced being in such close proximity with him, and yet, you don’t feel all that nervous. It all slips away with his soft touches. 

Your hands in his hair — it feels foreign, but he likes that feeling, gets drunk on it. But it’s some kind of reversed intoxication; he doesn’t feel faint; if anything, he’s feeling more sober than ever before as he bathes in your taste, your scent, you. This must be what love feels like, he thinks. This must be it, or else he’s certain he’ll never know love. If this isn’t it, he doesn’t want to know love. 

He hopes you’re at least feeling a fraction of what he’s feeling as he pushes you gently against the wall, hands roaming your body. You do the same, holding onto him like he’s your lifeline, tugging at the strands of hair available to you. 

So caught up in this feeling of bliss, you don’t even notice how you’re not alone with Wonwoo anymore until you hear laughter from a group of bypassing students. 

“Get a room,” someone says and you pull away from Wonwoo immediately, face hot with embarrassment.

He doesn’t appear shaken, though — rather, you glimpse the shadow of a smile playing on his lips as he urges the students to leave. Just as you’re about to ask what he’s smiling about, his fingers close around your wrist and he pulls you along the hallway. He’s all rushed steps until you reach the nearest classroom that turns out to be empty, and he walks inside, dragging you with him. 

Upon closing the door behind him, Wonwoo drags you into his chest. You look up at him, his inquiring gaze that asks for permission, and smile.

“Are you sure?” he asks and your grin turns teasing. 

“Sure about what, Woo?” 

He tongues his cheek, unsure of what to say. You’re just plain teasing him – that much is obvious – so he supposes he can give the same energy back. 

“Sure that you want me to fuck you.”

You’re taken aback, though perhaps you shouldn’t be, considering how you set yourself up for this with your question. Still, your breath catches in your throat and your hand holds onto one of the nearby desks for stability as you face him. Wonwoo looks different now, to some extent; maybe it’s the lighting that gives his eyes a different glow, or maybe it’s how the air has suddenly become swollen with tension. 

Whatever the cause, it excites you to no end, the way he’s looking at you when you take his hand in yours. Like you’re the only thing that matters. 

“Yeah,” you say finally. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

At that, he pulls you impossibly closer. He takes off his glasses in a manner that you in a drunken state would’ve most likely called seductive, and throws them away somewhere you can’t see, too busy kissing him back when his lips crash into yours for the nth time today. He kisses you so hard it knocks the breath out of your lungs, and all thoughts out of your brain. 

Mouth open, you let his tongue explore it and simultaneously, you allow him to walk you further into the classroom, until the back of your thighs hit one of the desks. Standing between your legs, he pushes your shirt up so his fingers can graze the bare skin underneath, and you sigh in content. 

Before you know it, he’s pulling away to peel off your shirt and bra, leaving you bare in front of him.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to yours again.

You smile into the kiss, goosebumps spreading over your skin with the touches of his fingers that glide further up your thigh, until they slip under your skirt. Knuckles running over your soaked panties, he bites your lip and you let out a delighted moan. 

“You’re so wet,” he comments as he slips a finger under your panties, running it through your folds. You can already feel another flood of arousal approaching just because of his words. “Won’t even need to prep you, huh?”

You desperately shake your head no, and he chuckles.

He lays his palm flat against your clit and you squirm until he retracts it. Playfulness in his gaze, he smears your arousal all over your cunt, ignoring your whines. This takes him at least half a minute before he finally – upon hearing you whimper his name in a way that makes his pants a whole lot tighter all of a sudden – gives in and slides one of his fingers into your pussy. 

You throw your head back with a whimper, holding onto his shoulder as he starts pumping it in and out of you, noises caused by the movement filling the air. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe as he adds another one, your cunt tightening around his digits endlessly. 

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder which is an immense contrast to how he curls his fingers inside of you, hitting that one spot that makes your toes curl. He plunges his digits in and out of your hole as his thumb circles your clit, until you’re moaning loudly — despite how little time has really passed. 

It’s in utter shock that you watch him retract his hand completely, sucking the arousal from his fingers with a smile. 

“Wha–” is all you manage to say before he flips you over, bending you over the desk. 

You’re painfully aware of how bare you are in front of him — your naked cunt on display, because your skirt doesn’t do much to cover anything at all, and your tits pressed against the wood of the desk. Plus the fact that the locked door won’t do much good if someone is to have class in this room next period. Which would be in about thirty minutes. 

Not that you care. Or, essentially, you do care, but now it doesn’t really matter — besides, you’re certain that Wonwoo would’ve managed to come up with some sort of excuse had you been forced to open the door for some frustrated professor. 

Amidst your thoughts, you almost fail to hear the sound of Wonwoo unclasping his belt. Almost. But when you do hear it, something turns pleasantly in your stomach. 

“You gonna be good for me and stay quiet?” Wonwoo asks and you feel his hands move to hold your hips, cock positioned at your entrance. 

You mumble something in affirmation, something you’re not even sure you can hear yourself, and spread your legs to urge him on. You feel his cock prod at your soaked cunt, run through your folds languidly; again and again, until you’re whining his name in protest. 

He only chuckles at your behavior, and asks, albeit teasingly, “What did you say?”

Gathering your thoughts, you try your best to ignore the way he’s dragging his dick over your pussy, occasionally rubbing over your clit. 

“Yes, I’ll be good for you, Wonwoo.”

Pleased with this response, he finally enters you — cock stretching you open and making you cry out, holding onto the desk for support. He’s big, you realize, tears prodding at your eyes as he bottoms out. 

“Yeah? Gonna be my good girl?” 

You nod and nod, fingers turning white from how you’re gripping the wooden desk once he starts moving — in languid strokes, he manages to turn your moans louder and louder. 

His hands hold onto your hips, pushing them against him so you’re further impaled on his cock with each thrust, and you swear you feel him all the way in your stomach. It’s a good feeling, one you can barely register fully with the way your mind’s gone hazy. 

You hardly notice it when one of his hands lets go of your hips and comes up to your lips, fingers tapping at your chin as a signal to open your mouth. When you do, he slips two digits inside and you suck on them obediently, tightening around his cock. 

Wonwoo smiles.

“Thought I told you to be quiet, baby.”

In all honesty, he loves the nosies you’re making, but he can’t risk someone starting to bang on the door before he’s got you falling apart completely. Besides, the sight of you sucking on his fingers is just as pleasing; just as effective in making his cock twitch in your cunt. 

Your walls suck him in perfectly, the sound of him gliding in and out of your pussy loud in the empty classroom. His thrusts grow gradually harder; the desk starts moving in rhythm with them, and you can’t help letting out moans and whimpers that his digits in your mouth do a poor job of concealing. 

He realizes this, and decides on removing his fingers so they can grab at your hair instead, pulling your back closer to his chest. Your tits bounce with his movements, and he plays with them briefly, groaning as your pussy clamps down on him especially hard at that, but then his hand moves between your legs to tend to your clit. 

He rubs it in circles, granting you an occasional pinch or slap that makes you cry out, and you feel the knot in your stomach grow tighter and tighter. 

“Feels so good, Wonwoo,” you sob, tears streaming down your cheeks as his fingers abuse your swollen clit. 

“I know, baby.”

Barely coherent, you beg him not to stop, and he wonders whatever even prompted you to think that he might want to stop. He only fucks into you harder, hand on your hips to steady the thrusts that bring you closer and closer to coming. 

“Wonwoo,” you say. “So close.”

“Yeah? Gonna come for me, baby? Gonna come all over my cock like a slut?”

You nod, though he probably doesn't see, and he pulls you even closer, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sight in front of him. And to think he could’ve had this earlier had he taken the chance. You in the shortest skirt he’s ever seen, moaning his name like you don’t care if anyone hears — he honestly thinks he might be in heaven. 

“Good girl,” he groans, and that’s what sends you over the edge, your pussy clamping down on his cock as you reach your orgasm. “Good fucking girl.”

He comes less than five seconds later, buried deep inside of you as his cum coats your walls. You whimper at the overstimulation of his last thrusts, collapsing on top of the desk when he pulls out. 

He’s careful not to hurt you, but you still wince slightly, which prompts him to ask you if you’re okay.

“Never better,” you reply, and as soon as you say it, you realize it’s true. 

Wonwoo smiles. He helps you clean up – repeatedly apologizing that he’s wiping you clean with the paper by the classroom sink, even though you tell him it’s fine – and puts his glasses on again. It kind of makes you wish he’d never taken them off, but there’s no way you’re telling him that. Your opinion about his beauty is something you’ll keep to yourself for now. 

You get ready to leave just as someone knocks on the door, and Wonwoo opens it for a very flustered professor that tells you he’s sorry for interrupting. Wonwoo tries telling him it’s not like that – though it definitely is like that, and the blush coating his cheeks does nothing to hide it – and finally, you’re in the hallway, free. 

“Poor guy,” you comment, a smile playing on your lips.

Wonwoo sighs. “Tell me about it. And here I was, thinking we’d gotten lucky.”

“I think we did get lucky, though.”

You say this without thinking it through, but from the way Wonwoo’s eyes light up, you’re glad you didn’t. 

Suddenly, the doors to all classrooms in the hallway open and out come tired students, marking the start of the next period. Which you’re supposed to spend in biology.

You sigh, and Wonwoo seems to get it, because he tells you to leave for class. 

“By the way, Y/N,” Wonwoo says just as you’re about to leave. Something in his gaze tells you this isn’t just a ‘by the way’ thing. “In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m really in love with you. And I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”

“Well, you’re in luck, mister,” you kiss his jaw with a grin. “Because it so happens that I’m in love with you, too. And I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

TAGLIST: @just-here-to-read-01 @syn-hhj @nikkell @dollyji

[merakiui]

long-distance love.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, phone sex, obsession, power imbalance, kidnapping, implied (cyber)stalking, non-con touching, characters written as 18+ note - sea witch, the magicord mod you've had intimate online relations with, is closer than you thought.

Sea Witch is a busy man.

His weekly schedules are almost always packed to bursting, each event meticulously arranged into open slots as if aiming to form a perfect puzzle. Times never conflict; he’s particular about how he spends his hours, and very rarely does he allow himself a break. It has always been work, work, work. He’s one of the city’s most affluent, eligible bachelors and yet he’s married to his business. Those who lust after him think it’s a wasteful shame. Azul finds it to be a relief far greater than any he’s ever known. He will never compromise the enterprise he’s built from the ground up just because of some flimsy, fickle feelings.

Originally, he had no interest in Magicord, a messaging platform that grants people from all over the world the chance to congregate on specific servers for mutual interests like anime and gaming. He only downloaded it because Idia Shroud, a fellow friend and business partner, lived and breathed the app, his online presence so profound it was almost like a second home. He’d swipe away notifications from his actual messaging app, too busy in a voice call with his group of dungeon raiders to bother answering important calls.

So he resolved to get on Idia’s level in hopes of improving communication. Although Idia’s level, as Azul often noted, was not exactly a place he wanted to be. While Magicord could be used for business purposes, that wasn’t what drew people in. Azul of all people knew very well which target audiences were being reached with apps like Magicord, and he was not one of them.

“To think I’d stoop as low as this,” Azul had once groused over a phone call with Idia, who was giving him quite a lengthy, not-very-needed-but-also-very-much-needed rundown on Magicord’s inner workings. “I hardly have time to play games, let alone socialize on this…app.”

“Aren’t you always going on about how adaptable you are?” Idia sniped back, not in the mood for normie criticism. The sound of clacking keys could be heard on his end. “And you’re the one who asked. Kinda defeats the purpose of learning if you’re just gonna complain.”

Azul rolled his eyes. “I fail to see the logic in downloading another app just to ensure my messages reach you. Honestly, you ought to start checking your email. Or, at the very least, go through your missed call and text logs.”

Alas, Idia had been stubbornly adamant about his preferences and so, much to his displeasure, Azul was forced to undergo something of a Magicord Training Camp until he emerged a pro. And being a pro meant knowing how to navigate his own profile and toggle between that and Idia’s, which was really the only tip he needed because that was all he’d use the app for.

But Azul has always had an innate itch for wanting to know something from top to bottom, inside-out, and the idea of not knowing every little detail about Magicord drove him insane. If there was an opportunity he could capitalize on, why should he risk squandering it with his elementary-level knowledge? So he spent his rare slivers of free time playing around in there, creating a server and wondering who could ever become so attached to an app when the world beyond the screen was filled with just as many, if not more, social encounters.

His introverted side understood the appeal. In fact, he loved the idea of hiding behind a manufactured persona online. He didn’t have to be Azul Ashengrotto on Magicord. Rather, he could rid himself of his dislikable traits and become an entity—an idea or a concept—rather than a flawed man who others might scrutinize ruthlessly.

So he became Sea Witch, and within just a week he’d constructed quite the comfortable server. The invite link was spread throughout the various branches of Mostro. It would provide employees with an online sanctuary, where they could easily connect should doing so in person prove complicated (as had been the case regarding Idia, which was the sole reason he’d even poured so much time into this effort). Most of all, it gave Azul the chance to keep watch from afar, silently sitting in wait and curating a collection of mostly unimportant intel. Mere gossip, if anything.

But gossip is just as good as the next scandal. He likes to be prepared, a razored edge on all sides.

As far as the company was concerned, no one knew who this Sea Witch character was and no one knew who spread the link. And as far as individual employees knew, this was likely just some overworked intern’s labor of love—a well-crafted server intended to function as a digital gathering place for those exhausted after a long day. And that was mostly true, but all of the potential blackmail he could gather, the information he could glean, and even the people he could keep a closer eye on in an online setting—all of that paled in comparison to the real prize he’d attained. This was of great importance. It was something that altered the course of his life, opened his eyes to the brilliant beauty of a first love.

It was there in that undersea-themed haven where he met you, the one who would add flavorful spice to the once bland, boring meal that was his life. And just after a few weeks of simple, cordial conversation, he realized a single taste of your kind companionship wouldn’t be enough to sate him.

Greedy to a fault, Azul wanted you in your entirety.

Which brings him to the present, where he’s currently leaning back into the expensive leather of his driver’s seat. He’s parked on a silent strip of road, in a more residential part of the city. It’s not very busy here, and his windows are tinted to avoid immediate recognition. Rush hour won’t hit until later, and he’s not due for any conferences. He has time. Plenty of it to spare on this little excursion.

“I wanna meet you, Sea Witch,” you admit, nearly whining through the phone. “Where’re you from? Maybe we’re in the same area.”

Azul smiles at your impatience. You just can’t get enough of him, can you?

Every weekend, you hop into a VC with him and chat for hours on end. At first he simply provided a listening ear when you wished to rant through text or call. You’d voice all sorts of complaints. Azul filed them away in the event that they might be useful in the future, initially intending to use such information to ruin you should you prove to be someone worth ruining. But the more he spent listening and scrawling notes on blank paper, the more he realized you were just overworked and struggling financially.

Upon making these connections and learning all sorts of facts from you regarding your life beyond Magicord, he felt compelled to help. Out of the goodness of his heart, of course, ever the benevolent saint. And you weren’t complaining when he offered to pay you for your time. In exchange for two hours of conversation, he’d provide you with the funds you needed to afford your necessities.

Somehow, throughout many months of give and take—with his giving being on the jaw-droppingly exorbitant side, always one to top his own ludicrous generosity—your hours-long conversations would sink beneath the surface of mere companionship. It was one-sided intimacy. Azul was careful with what he shared, building a mostly secretive profile for himself. He didn’t want to risk tarnishing your fondness for Sea Witch by sharing details that felt more like Azul and less like the effortlessly funny, charming, and eloquent Magicord mod you’d originally made contact with.

You didn’t seem to worry about compromising your own privacy, easily divulging a variety of fun tidbits about your life. You’d share the tiniest of details and he’d eat it up every time, hungering for more than just crumbs. That time you sent him a photo of the octopus macarons you’d bought from a local bakery because you were thinking of him? He remembers it well, and he’s constantly reminded of it when you text him about things you did over the weekend or hobbies you basked in. Sending photos of your houseplants, asking him for his opinion on clothes you were hoping to buy (which he was always more than willing to sponsor; all you needed to do was send the link and he’d purchase it), and even trusting him enough to fall asleep in the VC with him (arguably one of his favorite things about your unique relationship).

And he called it unique not because it was a bad sort of strange. Rather, it was unique in the refreshing sense. He’d never had an online friend before, let alone someone who would so willingly and readily indulge him. Granted, this willingness stemmed from the deal he’d cut with you and so you were really only doing these things for your own gain. But then so was he. It was a relationship built upon necessity. You needed money to survive, and he needed you.

So it was okay to fall into sleazy fantasies. It was all an act anyway, and it wasn’t like you judged him or his preferences. At least, not outright. If you did, it was silent. You were considerate and sweet; and you really did consider him a friend. Or so he hoped. If your casual conversations were any proof, it was obvious there was some sort of enjoyment and trust there.

Friendship or something more, he would have you. Whether that meant in the safety of his pocket, enclosed within his mobile phone forever, or in his penthouse, tucked away in his bedroom—he’d have you.

“I’m from a city, yes,” he answers, purposely cryptic.

“Obviously. Come onnn, Witchy. Don’t you wanna meet me, too?”

“I do, and one day we’ll meet. I promise.”

He listens to your irritated groan and his cock twitches in his slacks. Good god, your voice is a blessing—more heavenly than a cherubic choir.

“One day isn’t today, though.”

“Perhaps not.” He speaks to distract you from the rustling fabric of his pressed suit as his hand strays further. He spies his reflection in the rearview mirror, notes the flash in his irises. If only you were here, sitting beside him in the passenger seat. If only he could slide his own seat as far back as it would go, lie still and serene, and let you climb into his lap to spear yourself on his erection. Genuine leather be damned. He wanted your scent, your essence, your everything engraved into the very interior. “Humor me—if we were to meet right now, what would you like to do?”

“Mm, I’d want to get a good look at the man I’ve been talking to for nine months now.”

“Oh, you’ve kept track?”

“You haven’t?” Your laughter is fluffy and light—authentic amusement. “And I’d want to memorize your face so that I’ll never forget it.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I’m so curious! You know what I look like—”

“Not entirely,” he interjects, sly and silver-tongued. “You’re a portrait half-finished in my mind. Not yet sketched to completion.”

And it’s true. From your shoulders down, you are a faceless beauty. He’s seen you nearly naked and fully clothed, in frills and lace, in latex and ribbons, in satin and chiffon. And yet, for all of the skin you’ve shown, he can’t place a face (or a real name, for that matter) to your body.

“Okay, poet,” you tease, and he’s already palming himself through the fine fabric of his trousers. “But I’ve still never seen an inch of you. You’ve never even sent a dick pic.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Can I have one now?”

“Nice try.”

“Asshole!” you gripe, clicking your tongue in disappointment. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“I’m aware,” he hums, squeezing himself, his breath coming out faint and haggard.

Yeah, he’s the worst. But then you’re the best at eliciting these sorts of reactions from him. The effect you have on him is utterly enthralling. Your ability to reduce him to a pliable puddle in just a few words—a mere few lighthearted, hollow insults—is truly impressive. He’d feel ashamed of himself if it wasn’t so good.

“You’re probably not even that big.”

“Would you like an exact measurement?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to measure it in person? See how many inches I could fit inside. I’ve been practicing with that dildo you sent me—the one shaped like a tentacle,” you purr, frustratingly coy. He wants your sinful lips wrapped around his dick right now—wants to fuck your throat sore and raw. Wants nothing more than to spill heavy and hot on your tongue so you’ll taste him for days. “If we met up, we could make that happen. Sooo, where’s my Sea Witch from? What part of the world?”

“Patience, angelfish.”

Even though he says so, he’s practically vibrating with excitement as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Soon. So soon. Very, very soon.

And then…

He imagines you rolling your eyes with your next words. “Fine, fine. I’ll be patient. But that’s not gonna stop me from fantasizing.”

“Well, what do you think I look like?”

“Now isn’t that a fun question?” You mull it over. He can tell because you mutter a variety of ums and hmms in that soft, sweet voice of yours. “I think you’re tall and you have a handsome face that matches your equally handsome voice.”

“Yeah?” he encourages, undoing the belt, button, and zip on his pants one-handed. “What else?”

Your giggles filter into his ears, seeming closer than they actually are due to the wireless earbuds he’s wearing. “From what I’ve gathered, you seem to have expensive tastes.”

Sitting in his lavish, one-of-a-kind, custom-made sports car, Azul thinks you would be correct.

“I wonder what gave it away…” he drawls, his voice creeping an octave lower.

He places his phone in the cup holder, reaching to open the glove compartment and retrieving a tiny bottle of lube. Squirting a scant amount on his palm, he fishes himself, throbbing and pathetically hard, out of his boxers. His slick hand is a warm, welcome embrace around his silky-smooth shaft. He sucks in a breath through grit teeth, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Mhm, I wonder. It’s not the fact that you told me I should just buy a designer bag for work when I asked for recommendations. And it’s certainly not your ability to get me lots of nice gifts as if it’s nothing. So maybe it’s just your excessive generosity that makes you seem so rich?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“Speaking of that, what do you do for a living?”

“Guess.”

“Okay, Mr. Mysterious… Um… Hm. I think you’re a pilot.”

The whiplash that assumption brings is so seismically jarring he thinks he might go flaccid. Gripping himself with renewed vigor, he slides his fist along his length, slow and perfunctory, picturing you under his desk, your mouth open wide to receive him…

“A pilot… Mm, no, not quite.”

“Aw. My second guess was gonna be a contract killer. They make lots of money.”

“You have quite the wild imagination, angelfish. Even if I was one, do you think I’d admit that to you?”

“Maybe,” you tease. He pictures your smirk as it twists your perfect, pretty lips into something wicked. “For the right price, yeah?”

“Oh? Do elaborate.”

Please. Please keep going. Don’t stop talking. I need to hear you, closer, louder, clearer… More.

“What sort of price would I have to pay to get Sea Witch to spill his secrets?” you muse, your voice a tantalizing curl of syllables, but he suspects you already know the answer to your hypothetical. “I can’t offer you money, so you’d have to settle for something a little more…physical.”

He shivers, nodding his agreement even though you can’t see it. “Physical’s good,” he mumbles, foregoing eloquence in favor of filth. “Much better than—mm—than money…”

“Yeah? All right. Let’s see… You’re well-off and you might or might not be a contract killer. Do you wear suits?”

“I do.”

“Ooh, so you’re one of those contract killers.”

Azul can’t help it; he laughs, the sound tumbling out in a breathy gasp. “I prefer looking nice at all times.”

Languidly, his hand continues its idle pumping. He cracks his eyes open to peer at the pre-cum beading at the tip.

“Even if you’re just going to get messy?”

“Explicate the situation that’s leading me to soil my clothes. Details, angelfish.”

“Well, if you’re a killer who wears suits, you wouldn’t like even the smallest stain. It ruins your image, but if it was me…” You pause, probably for effect, and it works. His back arches with anticipation, fingers closing tighter. “You’d make an exception.”

“I would,” he admits far too quickly. “Always.”

“So you really would out yourself as a killer if I spread my legs for you?”

“No, but I’d let you dirty my suits.”

“Good. They’ll look better on the floor anyway.”

His breath hitches. Fuck, your every word is a siren’s song, leading him deeper into mist-clouded waters. He’d keep you pinned on his cock all day if he could. Why should you continue to work your mundane job when you could spend your precious hours with him instead? He’ll be your job. Seven days a week, during each of the breaks he’ll pencil into his schedules, you can visit him and he can empty all of his stress into you. And you’ll take it because you’re such an obedient sweetheart for him, always so ready to please your master.

He prays you can’t hear the salacious squelch of skin on skin as he works himself towards the edge, but a nastier part of him wants you to listen in so you’ll be reminded that this is your fault. No one else can possibly make him this messy. No one else is capable of rendering him a clumsy, lovestruck fool. You’re probably well aware of these facts, having brought him to this same edge numerous times in the past. Sometimes you would reach that tipping point alongside him, your gasps and groans joining his in an obscene duet.

Neither of you decided upon today’s development, but he thinks—knows—you’re intentionally stringing him along. You want this as much as he does.

“So was I right? You’re totally a contract killer?”

“I’m a businessman, angelfish,” he corrects, a silly, drunken smile softening his jaw. You make him feel so stupid, so warm and fond.

“So basically the same thing. Just as ruthless, no?”

“Please, you wound me. I’m always kind.”

“Ah, so there are others who get this treatment? And I thought I was the only one…”

“You are. No one could ever compare to you.”

He intends to tack my love onto the sentence’s end, but he stops himself. You’re not his love. Not really. You’re his angelfish, sure, but that’s different. That’s just a pet name befitting the aquatic theme he masquerades behind. And you’re not really Azul’s. You’re Sea Witch’s.

It’s Sea Witch you know and love. Beyond that, Azul is just Azul. And he’s nothing like the ideal he’s cultivated on Magicord.

He sighs and forces himself out of the turbulent trenches of his withering self-esteem. Now is not the time to contemplate which version of himself you’d be more preferential to.

You’ll have no choice but to love the real him. Soon.

“Really? I feel so special.” Impressed, you whistle and add, “I’ve gotta make you feel special, too.”

“You already have—”

“Not inside the VC. Come on, Sea Witch, don’t you wanna meet me?”

“I do. I really do,” he babbles dumbly, grinding his thumb into his slit and smearing pre-cum. He grits his teeth and tamps down a colorful word. How he yearns for this to be your hand wrapped around his length, tugging him to that far-off finish line. “I want nothing more than to—t-than to see you, all of you, in person…”

“So what’s stopping you? I could do a lot more in person than I can over the phone.” He has a smart reply for that, but it sticks in his throat. Pitifully, like the rightful debauched mess he is, he groans, low and guttural. “Let me turn the question on you, Sea Witch. If we were to meet today, what would you like to do to me?”

So many things, he thinks, a litany of smutty imagery flickering through his head.

But Sea Witch is classy (most days) and today is one of those instances. Or at least he’s going to make an attempt, however weak it may be.

“Take you to dinner,” he mumbles, executing jerky, quick motions in a daze, his cock weeping for release. He throws his head back, peers up at the interior roof of his car, and inhales sharply. “Take you all over the city if it pleases… I’d spoil you with so much finery—dress you up and then tear every article off…”

“And then?”

“And—god, fuck—wanna be inside you, angelfish… So badly—need you so badly. I wanna feel you and kiss you and hold you.”

He’s unraveling, strings pulled taut and fraying to extremity. Azul bucks into his hand and imagines it’s you, tight and warm, a sweet, snug embrace. He opens and closes his mouth, intending to beg you for more, but all that slips out are the tiniest huffs and grunts. He’s so wrapped up in his own ardor that he almost misses your quiet pants, every breath squeezed out of you as if you’re struggling to withhold your gratuitous moans. And it’s deplorable, really, the way his ears prick at these muffled sounds, the way his cock stands rigidly at attention, the way he’s falling through fragments of filthy fantasies, each one so close and yet impossibly far.

“I want you, too,” you mewl, tone wavering between shameless thrill and some sort of seventh heaven.

He wonders what you’re using to pleasure yourself. Are your fingers, slick and curled, rubbing up against those perfect, pretty spots that have you seeing stars? Or are you using the toys he purchased for your enjoyment? Maybe you’re lowering yourself onto the dildo right now, gummy walls clenching around girthy silicone. And maybe you’re tugging at your nipples, massaging them between the pads of your fingers, or maybe you’ve swapped skin-to-skin for a bullet vibrator instead.

Maybe—just maybe—it’s the mere thought of him that sets your flesh aflame with an intoxicating desire.

“And I want you—” you gasp, and his mind travels to all of the risqué photos you’ve sent, each one saved in a password-protected album on his phone— “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. I want you to show me that no one else can compare to you. I want you to—mmh, hah—to hold me down in bed and fuck me until my legs are sore and I can’t walk.”

I will, he thinks, lashes fluttering on his cheekbones. He strokes himself quickly, chest heaving, tongue near-lolling out of his mouth as he pants like a hound in heat. I’ll do all of that and so much more. I’ll fuck every coherent thought out of your pretty head, keep you just smart enough to rely on me, turn you into the prettiest sea flower who’ll only blossom for me.

“I promise, angelfish. I promise I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted,” he vows, his nerves alight with lustful delight, “and you’ll never know misfortune again.”

“I—oh! I’m close, so close! Please, Sea Witch! Please don’t stop. Please fill me up and make me yours!”

The sheer vulgarity twined through amatory vehemence, coupled with his own hurried pace, has him tumbling down the slope, arousal peaking and spilling over in thick, creamy spurts. He has half a mind to catch his spend before it can ruin the pristine interior of his car, and he blinks down at the semen sullying his palm. Idly, he rubs his fingers together to test the viscosity, wondering how his fluids would look on your face, your stomach, your ass—or even pooling out of your hole in plentiful amounts.

That fantasy is enough to send blood rushing right back to his softening cock, and he wills those thoughts away with logic—complex calculations and the financial forecast for Mostro. There will be plenty of time to indulge in sexual cravings later. He reminds himself of this while he tamps down his zeal, his heart relaxing in his ribs as he sits with the slowly ebbing aftershocks of orgasm.

You seem to be doing much the same, for you’ve gone perfectly quiet.

“Everything all right, angelfish?” he whispers after a few minutes, his breath now evened out.

“Mm, yeah. All good over here. Messy, but good.”

“I’m comforted knowing we’re in the same boat.” He chuckles while fumbling to dig a cotton handkerchief from the depths of his suit jacket. He cleans the cum and residual lube from off his hands and dick before neatly tucking himself away. Soon, there will be no need for this charade. Soon, he can adore all of you from beyond the screen. “Angelfish, there’s something I’d like to tell you.”

“What’s up?” you murmur, your own voice settling into its usual cheery cadence. He suspects you’re just putting on an act to sound happier. That will change when you’re reunited in person because it will be real. Because there will be no point in pretending through the phone.

“Well…” Azul smiles, folds and unfolds the sodden handkerchief, and then straightens his posture. He should be on his way now. “Ah, it’s nothing. Never mind it. I’ll tell you later.”

“Whaaat? But you’ve made me so curious now. Don’t just leave me in suspense!”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to remain in that suspense indefinitely.”

“Ugh. You’re so annoying sometimes.”

He knows you don’t mean that.

“I’ll tell you soon, angelfish. Exercise a little patience. There’s no rush.”

“Easy for you to say. You know what it is.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, considering his next words. “Would it help if I left you with a word of advice?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.”

“Um. Okay, sure. Hit me. What’s your advice?”

Azul buckles himself in, starting his car via push button. It rumbles to life, smooth and steady. “Don’t fight so much, my dear.”

“Don’t what? Sea Witch, what are you talking—”

Your words are interrupted with a startled yelp. Azul listens to the struggle as if it’s a podcast enjoyed at sunrise. Things are toppled in the chaos; something shatters. He catches the beginnings of a blood-curdling shriek before it’s swiftly silenced. There’s more muffled scuffling before, eventually, absolute peace.

It’s broken by Floyd’s petulant whine. “Maaan, Shrimpy was so difficult. Thought you said they were easy, Azul.”

“Understandably so,” comes Jade’s astute reply. “We did catch them when they were most vulnerable.”

Floyd hums his agreement. “Y’know, Jade, Shrimpy’s kinda cute…”

“They are, aren’t they, Floyd?”

“Whatever you’re thinking, perish it right now,” Azul hisses, features twisting into something dark. “Keep your slimy mitts off of my angelfish.”

There’s an unsettling silence. Azul rolls his eyes. They’re fishing for a reaction he refuses to give.

“Clean up whatever mess you’ve made.” He takes his car out of park and eases into drive. “And don’t let anyone see you. It’ll be a hell of a pain if neighbors make unnecessary reports.”

“Yeah, yeah. Heard ya loud and clear.”

“Very well. Farewell for now.”

The call is cut. Azul grips the steering wheel, smug.

Soon waits for him on the horizon. He will not be a minute late.

You wake on a bed, in a spacious bedroom with exquisite floor-to-ceiling windows, many stories up in the clouds. A brightly lit cityscape sprawls beyond the confines of this room, illuminated with the deceptive shine of promise and success. At first it looks foreign. But then you recognize notable buildings, each standing tall and proud amidst the rest, and it occurs to you that you’re in a stranger’s home, in the heart of the big city.

The room itself is plainly colored; it reminds you of a hotel or a room you might find in a real estate catalogue. Perplexed, you sit up and take pause as your unfamiliar surroundings prove to be more frightful than your own confusion.

Pasted to the walls are various printed screenshots from Magicord, each one detailing a conversation of sorts. You stare at the wall behind you, the one in which the bed is currently pushed against, and peer closer at the contents of these messages.

They’re all from you.

Endearing terms you’ve called him in passing. Gentle insults. Lewd flirts. Vents and rants. Photos you’ve sent of very insignificant things—houseplants, meals, clothes. And then there are the photos of your body in skimpy lingerie and cosplay, all taped to the wall like this is some abstract museum of the digital you. The you who, despite being honest most of the time, took solace in the world of Magicord. The you who’d grown close with the mod from that whimsical ocean-themed server. The you who is now trapped, your ankle enclosed in a cuff. There’s a lead that only allows you to meander into the attached bathroom if you so please, and you suspect it’ll pull taut if you try to leave the room.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, your stomach twisting with disgust.

You look down at your clothes—you’re in someone’s collared shirt, intentionally designed to be oversized so that it drapes like a nightgown—and horror prickles your skin.

And then he arrives.

He’s dressed casually in black slacks and a simple white dress shirt, primly tucked in with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. You stare for a long moment, studying his features as his familiarity dawns. Your mouth falls open in a muted scream.

He smiles sweetly, stepping further into the amber glow from the bedside lamps. “It’s nice to formally meet you. I’m Sea Witch.”

But that’s not what’s shocking about this. The real shock—the thing that has your brain stumbling in an effort to put the pieces together before the picture can crumble—is far more jarring than the kidnapping and the captivity. You find your voice then, and before you can stop yourself the words are falling out in a hurry.

“CEO Ashengrotto?!”

Sea Witch—CEO Ashengrotto—stiffens, his brows furrowing immediately. He gives you a sharp, dangerous look. A look that seems to radiate one unspoken question: Where did you hear that name?

“You… You’re A-Azul Ashengrotto,” you continue, swallowing thick trepidation. “CEO of Mostro. You opened a new restaurant last year—Crave, right? And the menu features celebrity favorites—celebrities like Vil Schoenheit and Neige LeBlanche.”

He laughs his disbelief, carding a hand through soft, silvery locks. “How…do you know this?”

“I work there. You visited once with your secretary for quality checks. We even crossed paths.”

Azul gawks, realizes he’s gawking, and clears his throat. “I… I see. Well.” He inhales, holds his breath for three seconds, and exhales. “This makes things rather…awkward.”

“When you said businessman, I didn’t think… I mean, how was I supposed to know? Your voice sounds so different over call than it does in interviews.”

“Of course it does! I never use the same inflection for those things.”

This cannot be real, you think, watching him flounder anxiously. Azul Ashengrotto is Sea Witch. This whole time… Nine entire months… I was talking to the CEO—to the city’s most popular bachelor—and I didn’t even know it. They write articles about this guy! He’s all over the TV! How did I never realize?

And then a very mortifying thought worms its way in: Oh my God. We both know each other’s preferences. He saw so much of me—more than I’d ever want him to see—and I heard too many private things during our calls…

“Let’s just…” You rub circles into your temples to quell the incoming migraine. “Let’s never talk about this again. You can buy my silence and I’ll move on with my life. I’ll even forget all of…” You glance at the Magicord conversations stuck to the wall and then the chain binding your ankle. “All of this…stuff. We’ll agree to call it a misunderstanding and life will be good, yeah?”

The bargain doesn’t seem to reach him. He continues to stare at you, his eyes glazed with an emotion you can’t place. Whatever it is, it’s stormy and dark. You don’t like it, and you shrink away when he steps closer.

“All this time you were right under my nose…”

Azul climbs onto the bed with you, the mattress depressing under the additional weight. Framed by the hypnotic radiance of the skyscrapers climbing heavenward, he’s certainly earned his place in every celebrity gossip magazine you’ve ever read. Articles debating whether he’s secretly committed to a relationship. Articles theorizing what his life plans may have in store for him. Articles discussing whether he’ll ever get married, if he’ll remain single for the rest of his life, if he’ll ever open his heart to the many people who hope to earn his romantic affections.

No one knows it—how could they when he’s so tight-lipped with the paparazzi?—but you are the secret variable the articles have yet to discover. You are the covert partner, the one who has won his heart, the one who now sits shackled on his bed.

What sort of tabloid journalist could ever spin this story?

You scoot further up the bed, your back pressing against the ornately extravagant headboard. Your knees are pulled into your chest, a futile attempt at protection.

“All this time you were so close to me…” He marvels at this, his baby blue hues locked permanently on you. “And neither of us knew. I could’ve had you much sooner had I just realized…”

You blink at him, your heart sinking with every passing second. “Mr. Ashengrotto, what do you mean by that?”

A pout tugs at perfect, pretty lips. “Why so formal, angelfish? We’re much closer than that, surely.” His hands settle upon your knees, gently pulling them apart. Your blood curdles with fear. “There’s no need to be so tense. It’s only me.”

“No… Please wait. Hold on!”

“Hm? If I’m not mistaken, this is what you want. You were rather vocal about your desires. You’ve always been. So why are you looking at me like that? I’m not scary, am I?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Please let me go…”

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, his tone patient despite the subject. “You know I can’t do that.”

“But you… You kidnapped me! Y-You had those guys hiding in my home and they…” You shake your head, unable to describe the sheer terror that had overwhelmed you when those creepy twins descended. Hopeless, you open your eyes to give him your most despairing look. Tears brim in your eyes, threatening to fall at the slightest prodding.

“Oh, my dear, did they scare you? They’re brutes who know nothing of how to treat a person with adequate care. You needn’t worry anymore. I’m here for you.” He cups your face in a fond hold, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. “Don’t cry, angelfish. You’re in good hands—my hands. And have they not been the most generous?”

“You’re crazy. Obsessed! How can you think any of this is okay? Look around at the walls! You’ve pasted our conversations everywhere—they’re practically the wallpaper!”

“What of it?” His hand slides down to grip your chin, forcing you to meet him at eye level. “I love you. I have for months now. And if those are the ways you choose to classify my care, so be it.”

Tear trails trace down your face. He leans in to kiss the rivers away, but they morph into the saltiest of seas.

“You may not approve of my affections right this very moment. You may hate me, think I’m monstrous, a culmination of all things foul, but you will love me. In due time, my dear. And when you do, the world will open and the chain will come off and you will know freedom under my roof.”

He has the gall to worship you with a loving smile. It poisons you with newly brewing abhorrence.

“So cry your heart out. Scream and kick up a fit. Do what you must. And when the floods subside, we can learn to love one another. Both at our best and our worst, within and beyond Magicord.”

[avelera]

Headcanon: ADHD Hob and Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria

So I went down the rabbithole on ADHD and rejection sensitivity dysphoria (and found this lecture that legit made me tear up if you have or think you have ADHD, go listen to it here) and it got me thinking, as everything is wont to do, about Hob Gadling and how if he had ADHD, which I think there's lots of fun in-text hints at that at least allow that interpretation, what are some other ways that could manifest besides his ebullient and never-ending love of life in all its endless variety?

So as sufferers of ADHD know, it's not all fun and games. The flip side of living with a dopamine-starved brain that's always seeking out new experiences and seeing the world through that lens is that other emotions slam us hard too, like rejection sensitivity dysphoria aka, "the most minor criticism can feel like an actual knife in the chest, no I don't mean mildly bummed out, I mean full on fight-or-flight brain meltdown because someone told you a comma is in the wrong place in your manuscript (not that I'm speaking from personal experience yes it's that dumb)".

ANYWAY, so I'm thinking about Hob and RSD and specifically 1789.

Specifically the line, "It's just how it's done," referring to horrific practice of human trafficking and how Hob basically shrugs while, to his minor credit, looking suddenly uncomfortable and guilty, about the fact he actively profits from this industry, and the way he cringes in on himself when called out kinda seems to indicate that he knows it's a vile practice and isn't super comfortable with being reminded of his fact by someone he respects, like Dream.

A couple notes on that little exchange between Hob and Dream:

1 ) The face Ferdinand Kingsley-as-Hob makes in that moment is absolute textbook adult ADHD rejection sensitivity dysphoria. Namely, the point where you know criticism hits you like a knife in the heart, particularly from people you respect, and you just have to cover that flinch of literal physical pain with a careful poker face.

The way Hob's tone suddenly goes cold and with his very genteel, received-pronunciation manners he levels Dream with perhaps the closest he's ever come at this point to lashing out, "You're giving me advice...?"

I'm not saying that canonically it's RSD, or that neurotypical people don't suffer pain and disappointment when receiving disapproval, but to my eyes at least, Ferdie Hob takes Dream's comment very seriously, much more so than the comic counterpart did (who needed multiple nudges before he even realized what Dream was trying to tell him about getting out of the shipping business and still seemed a bit clueless about why Dream would want that or care by the end).

2 ) Going into proper headcanon territory, I personally chart Hob's journey from destitute to wealthy slave trader as the product of someone who stopped giving a shit about others after everything he suffered in the 1600s. To be perfectly clear, this is not a fucking excuse for it, it's an examination of motives.

Because technically, after everything Hob suffered in the 1600s, he could have emerged with more empathy for the plight of others. But clearly that didn't happen. From an entirely human motivation level, that leads me personally to the conclusion that since no one helped Hob when he was at his lowest (not even Dream, though I dearly wish it was otherwise and wrote extensively on what would have happened if he had) that led him to the belief, put simply, that fuck the world so long as he got his. Why should he care about anyone else if no one cared about him?

But to go back to the topic of this essay, RSD, there's an additional element to that theory on why and how Hob leaned into not giving a shit about others, and that missing factor from what's described above is the element of everyone is doing it. Specifically worded as, "It's just how it's done."

Another really fascinating lecture I listened to on ADHD talked about how the most common trauma reaction ADHDers have to their sense of rejection, shame, and guilt that comes the way our brains react to the world is by hiding. And that also got me thinking about 1789 Hob in this context.

Because Hob as we see him in 1589 is loud in his happiness. He's sitting there, bold as brass in the middle of the White Horse, showing off his wealth with a banquet, loudly declaiming about how he pretended to be his own son twice, worked in the Tudor shipyards (what would have been 50+ years before) and just how he spent the last 100 years working his way up to his knighthood. The man does not have an ounce of caution in him. But, he is also by far the happiest we ever see Hob (up until Dream ditches him in the middle of their date).

This is important because to my eyes, Hob is living openly and unashamed and with only the barest hint of caution typified by pretending to be his own son every couple decades. The way he describes his last 100 years sounds like an ADHD dream, basically getting a boat load of money from Caxton's printing press (basically the first tech startup unicorn of the modern era) and then running around wherever his interests took him where he also made money hand over fist, kept climbing, and eventually reached the point where he could purchase the acclaim and regard of a member of the (albeit minor) nobility. All of this after being born a peasant. That's just validation and money and prestige and getting to pursue your special interest and live as your authentic self all over the place. And I do mean authentic, Hob doesn't even seem particularly worried about talking openly in the White Horse about being 200+ years old, a strong case could be made that he's not that careful in his personal life either.

So anyway, Hob has this amazing century literally followed by the worst century imaginable, filled with the sort of horrors that can tear a man's soul asunder. Losing his family, his beloved wife in childbirth with their new baby, his adult son, his home, his money, everything he spent a century building. His title and name are gone too because of the nature of how he lost it with the accusation of witch craft, which also means he can't just fake being his own son again to get it all back because they're explicitly going to notice that this time.

And how did this all happen? Because Hob got noticed. He lived there 40 years, overconfident is his own words. Which is a wild thing to say about a bunch of witch hunters showing up at his door! He blames himself for being drowned as a witch. On the one hand, I imagine he has to think that way because otherwise he has to admit to the sheer brutal randomness of life, so in a way he's trying to take control of the narrative by blaming himself.

But it also smacks of ADHD again because ADHDers very commonly shift the blame onto themselves after years of their unique nervous system response making them a round peg in a square hole of wider society. We learn over and over that the mistakes we make are our fault, because of "laziness" or "apathy" which isn't apathy at all but deep agony over our inability to accomplish tasks in a neurotypical way without the support we need, but I digress. But it sure sounds like Hob may have been paralyzed by grief for literal decades and then blamed himself for not getting the mental spoons together in that context to move on and reinvent his life after losing his wife and child. Which would be a very ADHD thing to do.

So after this absolutely brutal smackdown by reality for living too openly, too loud, too ADHD, getting paralyzed by the powerful emotions he felt (if we follow the headcanon) over the grief and loss in his life, what is Hob's next step?

Hiding.

Blending in.

Not rocking the boat.

And again, not excusing it, there's plenty of other industries he could have gone into to blend in that didn't involve human trafficking. That said, if he went to sea, which we know Hob did on many occasions from the comic, it would be seen by his peers there at sea as a normal way to make one's fortune, and then.... well, we have as evidence that this is his current peer-group the sort-of pride with which Hob announces how he's making his fortune these days in the "shipping business", as if he's expecting Dream's approval.

That to me, reads a bit like the people pleaser/social chameleon aspect of ADHD. Hob is expecting to be praised for being successful by Dream the way he would likely be praised by his peers in the shipping business or among the wealthy privileged men of England. He's so steeped in that world now that he's clearly taken aback when Dream takes the (at the time more radical but not uncommon) stance of, "This is wrong."

And Hob knew it. But he was blending in. He was going along with how things are done. He wasn't rocking the boat. He has other hints at trauma responses too, "salting money around the world" in case there's political upheaval, for example. This is not the loud, boisterous Sir Robert Gadlen untouched by loss or trauma. He has been humbled and tempered and, indeed, made afraid by what happened to him.

This sort of wild swing towards protectiveness? Again, also ADHD. As the lecturer I linked first noted, ADHDers are textbook defenders. They are always defending themselves from the world that can suddenly, unexpectedly, plant a knife in their heart because of a perceived rejection. From a world that wants their brain to work in a way it doesn't, so they have to come up with myriad painful coping mechanisms to fit in, blend in, mask, and function. Hob was forced to protect himself after the 1600s, so he did, with money, and with not caring about other people, and with insulating himself from privilege, and becoming a social chameleon.

1589 Hob tries to earn back Dream's interest, but he doesn't fawn. Dream shows interest in Shaxberd and Hob, already starting to get irritated, tells him no, Shaxberd is crap.

And you can tell in 1789 that Hob is thinking about that day again when he gets Dream's disapproval, because who does he reference? That lad, Will Shaxberd. He's fearing rejection and abandonment again, or at least it's crossed his mind after Dream's admonishment. But this time, Hob is fawning more, very nearly flirting. He's trying to play the game better this time, trying to keep Dream's interest, social chameleoning the subject onto safer topics, things he thinks will interest Dream, as Shaxberd so clearly did, so let's talk about him if that's what you care about. Again, another ADHD social chameleon, people pleaser aspect. We are nervous empaths, we are constantly picking up a bazillion signals both real and imagined. And we're so fucking terrified of that RSD knife in the heart, we become people pleasers to avoid it. After the shipping business brag fell through, Hob pivots to talking about Dream and what, in his experience, Dream seems to like and talk about favorably.

So anyway, many many ADHD-esque rambling words later, there's a few more little details I'd add to the list of "possible ADHD behavior, not just the fun parts" for Hob Gadling. Is it canon? Maybe not. But it does make for a great headcanon, in my opinion.

[kestalsblog]

Thoughts on "Loser, Baby" Song

From what I’ve seen, viewers are extremely divided on the impact of the song “Loser, Baby” in the fourth episode of Hazbin Hotel. I’ve decided to share my own thoughts on the sequence below. Warning that this is a long post, and if you are triggered and upset by the song and/or episode, I encourage you not to read. I understand and respect any individual analysis, and if you were hurt by the song in any way, you are 100% valid. Others who feel differently are also valid. All I ask for is that same respect.

I don’t believe the only people qualified to speak on media are those who can relate to it, but I feel, given the conversation surrounding the episode, I should briefly mention my own background, so people don’t assume I am trying to speak on behalf of other survivors here. As a preface, I was in a severely abusive long-term relationship, so I can understand multiple perspectives here.

First, since Husk is a gambler, it’s safe to read the song as an extended metaphor for gambling too, in which case “loser” takes on the literal meaning– someone who has lost the game. Husk reminds Angel that many of us are dealt the shitty hand in life, and that the best way to get through the game is simply to go together. That’s probably the simplest positive analysis, but I think it's important to keep in mind throughout the whole song so that we don't read "loser" only as "failure" or "scum of society."

The most understandable criticism, though, is that the piece is blaming victims by attacking them and trivializing their experiences. I’m the most on the side of this argument at the words “whiny bitch,” which feel like an odd choice considering Husk has been nudging Angel to open up throughout the entire episode. It’s not my favorite line, but I can handle it only if we read the song as Husk actually singing to himself and calling himself these names as a means for Angel to see that he feels the same.

I do have some fondness for the song’s language as it continues, though. Excuse me for referencing my own personal experience here, but it’s relevant to my understanding.

Eventually in my healing journey, I realized writing and speaking affirmations to myself like “you’ll get better soon!” and “time heals everything!” were making me feel worse and frustrated. I felt like I was just waiting around for this magical deadline when I would “improve” or “recover,” and when that didn’t happen, I felt terrible about myself because I felt like a failure on top of damaged goods. I was letting myself down.

I reached a cathartic moment one day when I admitted to myself, “Maybe things are never going to get better, and I am always going to feel ruined by this.” Confessing this possibility allowed me to realize that, despite the fact that I am a “loser” in that I lost time, innocence, my old sense of security, and my carefree nature from before, I can still experience meaningful and even joyful moments in this new, altered condition.

At one point in the sequence, lots of flashing signs point terrible, degrading names at Husk and Angel. I can see why this might be upsetting to some viewers who are adamant that the characters do NOT represent those labels, but there is an obvious alternate reading that these are just the names both have assigned themselves over the years. By putting them bright and on display, they can face their self-hatred directly and reclaim their honest selves. (Let me pause here to say it's also crucial to remember Husk is not directly calling Angel any of these names). The solo lights then disappear and are replaced first with the soft blue raindrops moment where Husk shields Angel with the umbrella, and finally with the single LOSER where they both can dance together.

Most importantly, the lyrics gesture toward surprisingly affirmative by the song’s conclusion: “Eat shit together, things will turn out differently / It’s time to lose your self-loathing / Excuse yourself, let hope in, baby / Play your card, be who you are.”

Husk isn’t disregarding the possibility of hope, even in the gutter for the losers. In fact, he directly welcomes the possibility that the game can change with company, and self-hatred won’t be beneficial toward supporting that change. Even if we are dealt the losing hand, he reminds us the game is still worth playing. He reminds Angel again and again that it's okay to be who he is. And now "loser" assumes a new connotation - losing the negativity, the hatred, the things that are holding them back.

Significantly, after this point, no more self-negatives are even spoken, not even "loser" again because Husk and Angel are interrupted before the crucial word “me” when they sing that final line “loser just like—” Any connection to the self now has been effectively erased, reminding us that Angel and Husk may have made poor choices, may have been given crappy cards, but they are not losers in the sense that they are not less of people.

Last, it’s important to remember that the song is not meant to speak for everyone. It can't. If we’re going to be strict about it, it’s not for any survivors except Angel, and as we can see by his shifting mood, it certainly helps him feel better in the moment. The whole episode has been about Husk trying to encourage him to “break down his walls” and stop feigning the super inflated ego act he typically puts on, so, in one way, it becomes a “let’s get Angel past the self-loathing that’s preventing him from being his real self so we can move on to something more genuine and happier together" tactic.

I know it’s hard to separate our lived experiences from media. Judging from the disparity in opinions I’ve read from survivors on the song, I’d say it’s been therapeutic for just as many as it’s been damaging.

Before I conclude, it's worth mentioning I also have my own critiques of the song. I mentioned one with the word “whiny.” Another potential issue is the difference between Angel and Husk’s problems. I’m not trying to minimize gambling addictions by any means, but I know many of us feel that Husk’s loss of a cushy social position because of gambling pales against the extreme bodily violence Angel faces. I think it would be odd for Husk not to attempt to comfort Angel in some way, and trying to relate is one of the most common ways of doing so, but I admit that the discrepancy in their situations bugged me throughout the number. Husk reminds Angel he's "not unique" in his problems, which is important for survivors to remember (to know they are not alone), but it might mean a little more coming from someone on a similar playing field. The one redemptive thing I can say here though is that both characters sold their souls to someone with a tyrannical hold over them, and even though we know Alastor isn’t abusing Husk in the same way Val hurts Angel, we have yet to see the connotations of his power within that specific dynamic.

When push comes to shove, the song overall works for me, and I admit I felt seen while watching/listening, which isn't even something I really care about in media, but it was an interesting experience nonetheless. If you felt otherwise, I am sorry, and I encourage you to do your best to separate yourself from the media you consume and remember that every story, every song, is written by flawed people for flawed people. I mean it as fondly as possible, but we're all just losers "living in the same shit sandwich." Nothing will ever perfectly represent or encompass your own experience and healing. Analyze art respectfully for what it is, what it isn't, and what it can be.

What else can you do?

[salmalin]

Final Fantasy XII, Ashe, Vayne, "Us V.S. Them" Mentality, and What Makes a Hero

Something I really love about FF12 is that beyond the whole "free will" plotline that underscores basically every FF game, it actually has something else to say. And it gets pretty specific with it in a way that not many other media I've seen is willing to properly explore: the extremely thin line between hero and villain.

Possibly due to the disaster that was its development, Final Fantasy 12 was able to get extremely specific with its themes and messages, and the rush that occurred when a second team came in to finish for an entirely different team may have allowed for most of this to make it to the final game. It's also ridiculously topical and hits a modern problem on the nose—"Us Vs Them" Mentality, and the oversimplification that follows. This is something that I've only ever seen Terry Pratchett attack so violently.

The villains are not villains. They are people, like us. But more than this, they are only villains because of how they do things. But more than that...

The heroes are not heroes. They are people, like us. But more than this, they are only heroes because of how they do things.

In the eyes of a wider plotline, Vayne might have been the hero if not for his methods. This is made clear from the get-go. He's freeing man from the control of the Occuria, after all. He's fighting God—something you always do in the Final Fantasy games. What's worse, he was raised in a situation where his ruthlessness was not just an asset, but a necessity. He'd disposed of his elder brothers, and endeavored to build a world where Gods and Emperors did not dictate the movement of man—only him. It is, in my humble opinion, a response to excessive trauma from a young age. He is a brilliant character, beloved and loathed for his ability, and he is not arrogant about it.

Meanwhile Ashe is the last remaining descendant of Raithwall and seeks her country's freedom. Her characterization could have ended there and the audience would have been satisfied. Except it didn't.

She was angry. Arrogant. Uptight. She made rude assumptions about the people around her. And then...

Then Ashe decided to use the Nethicite.

And after her declaration, the first person to speak is the lowliest in standing of all in the room—a boy who'd seemed unimportant from the very start, who she'd degraded practically on sight. He'd been the most impacted by the war out of all of them; a boy who has had little to say up until this point besides seemingly shallow statements about theft, independence, and revenge.

"You even know how to use it?"

Vaan's words cut through the moment, changing the vibe instantly before Fran can take the scene. It's a good point, and highlighted a critical flaw in Ashe's thinking until that moment.

She doesn't. In a literal and figurative sense, this is the core of the entire story of Final Fantasy XII—Ashe does not know how to wield Nethicite. Not just as a weapon, but as a weapon.

There is rebellion. There is freedom-fighting. Then...

Then there's mass murder of civilians.

One of these things is not like the other.

But Ashe doesn't even see civilians. She's angry at Archadia as a whole for some reason—likely because they were "complicit" during the war. She sees them as all the same, and doesn't even think of them before suggesting using the uncontrollable Nethicite. She's convinced that her people will never get along with Archadians to the point where it's a plot point. She thinks they all want revenge. And seeing what we have until that point in the story... Yeah, that makes sense.

Until it doesn't. Until Vaan—the "unimportant" character mentioned before, the one who spoke, the main character everyone seems to overlook—actively does what she needs to do before it's even spoken aloud.

He trusts an Archadian.

He makes friends.

He puts aside his rage in favor of cooperation.

And he does this so casually that it's in the background when it happens. Until Basch brings it to her attention, Ashe didn't even notice. She was so fixed in her idea of what her people would want that it never occurred to her that yeah, maybe they do want this... in a moment of rage. A moment that would pass.

A moment that would pass in favor of guilt, horror, and disgust if she used the Nethicite.

We get to see Ashe's bloodthirsty nature before any of her other traits, but for Vayne we are shown he is charismatic, intelligent, and thoughtful.

It is Ashe who is the hero.

It is Ashe who is the hero because she does not fight with blinders on. Instead, she loses those blinders in no small part due to Basch, who points things out to her, and Vaan, who literally shows her the way. Vaan loses his rage first. Vaan moves on first. There's dialog around this a few times, and plot movements as well, and it's made pretty clear that every emotional development Ashe is going through, Vaan is going through directly in front of her and without the support that she had for so long. Vaan and Ashe are so acutely similar that it's almost alarming.

Vaan hates Archadians and then he changes his mind. Vaan hates Archadia until he changes his mind. Vaan hates soldiers until he changes his mind.

Vaan hates until he realizes that hate is a symptom, and to cure the symptom you can't just repeat the circumstances that led to the problem in the first place.

The main characters—the "heroes"—very nearly become the villains of a whole other country until they decide... no. No, we're not going to do this. No, we're not going to use this. Instead, we're just going to get rid of it. We're going to get rid of the chance of anyone using this great power again. This power would end the war in a split second before it could even begin. We've got so much of it, we could rule the world.

And then they don't rule the world. They destroy the ability to rule the world, and take that power out of the puppetmasters' hands.

You don't kill the occuria.

Heck, the only person they really kill is Vayne.

There is no "us".

There is no "them".

There are just people—people like us. And we are just as capable of being those people. One wrong step, and we become the people we hate most in the world.

There is no "us" and "them". You have no way of telling if a person is a monster on the inside. There's no way to look at them and know, or talk to them and know, or work with them and know. Vayne is charming and kind and gentle when he wishes to be, yet we only see Ashe's "undesireable" qualities.

She is the hero.

Ashe is the hero because where Vayne was prepared to burn everything and everyone to the ground for the promise of a day that might not come, she was not. Vayne was a battering ram where they needed a scalpel, and her team—six people with questions and some luck—was that scalpel.

Being a hero is not about being nice. It's not about being able to make connections or read a room. It's not even about how kind you are to others with your words. It's about what power we have, and how we are willing to use it. That is what makes a hero.

[sylvaridreams]

I Get not vibing with or liking a character for WHATEVER reason, I don't feel like anyone needs to police which characters you're allowed to dislike or whatever. And it's often simply not that deep. But I do find it frustrating and uncomfortable, trying to... idk. Engage with people who are So vocal about viscerally hating a character who we meet when he's a teenager, who watches his mother die just as he's getting her back in his life, who struggles and fights to take the reins of his own destiny, who has the gall to criticize The Hero, BASICALLY. I think that's what it largely boils down to for a lot of people is that there's little separation for them between The Commander and themselves as a person, i.e. heroics as wish fulfillment, and so being snapped at by an angry, grieving young man who looked up to us, who blames us for his loss (is the anger unfounded? Much to discuss) feels to some like a personal attack on their own actions. In other words sometimes playing the hero means that you do or don't make a call and bad things happen and whether it's truly your fault or not you may take the blame for the death and destruction, you may be hated by people you tried to help, you may be shoved away by a friend when you try to reach out. And I love this about this game. That you can do the right thing and make the right call and have the least losses and turn around and find that people still suffered in agony as a result. You flipped the switch on the trolley tracks and only killed one person rather than 4 but that one person had a life and a family and a dream or two that you chose to crush. I like that. There's not always a right answer that fixes it all. Anyway I think in my mind at least, that's why so many people dislike Braham. Because for some period of time during his mourning he pokes at the edges of the Commander’s conscience and says what about the people you chose to die. What about the trolley switches you flipped. What about the death and destruction you leave behind, the people left to grieve their loved ones. People hate having that mirror held up to themselves... That's too bad. It's a fascinating avenue to explore, and Braham is a fantastic character, and it sucks that I see so much criticism targeted at him for taking us down that path. The dude calls us his best friend. He tells us he loves us. We should be allowed to equip a legendary BFF heart necklace that Braham has the other half of to be honest.

[shuttershocky]

Who do you think would appear in the new R6 collab with AK? Fuze was confirmed to appear, I wanna know who do you think will appear in this one

Now that Fuze is in, it means anyone's fair game no matter how unlikely, so here are some guesses. I tried to pick Operators that wouldn't directly compete with who's already in the game (so no Thorn, Kapkan, or Lesion to compete with Frost since they'd all be Trapmasters) and who would be fun picks to interact with Rhodes Island.

___

Solis - Look, we're not going to get Sam Fisher from Splinter Cell (unless Lowlight pulls a miracle), so we might as well get his star student. Solis' job in Siege is using her visor to detect enemy gadgets through walls (therefore allowing her to retrace enemy movements as well as identify their strategies and identities), so I can kind of see her being a Hexer that removes invisibility and silences enemies, maybe even applying a disarm or equipped with a massive range so she'd be viable compared to the other (very strong) Hexers.

She's also a linguist just like Blitz, so she'd acclimate to Terra's alien world just as easily. While she's noted to be something of a genius, being an intelligent computer programmer and hacker and while still being surprisingly proficient in close quarters combat, she's often agitated and anxious, her self-worth hinging on her success as an Operator and being deathly afraid of failure. She would do great with a certain Blacksteel member. Plus she already kind of looks like an Arknights operator with those antenna.

Wamai - One of my personal favorite Defenders to play in Siege. This guy's gimmick is he throws magnetic frisbees that attract enemy projectiles towards them, allowing him to redirect gadgets and grenades towards different areas (or even back at the attackers if they're not paying attention). This sounds a lot like Nightingale's Cages, which we could use an alternate pick for. Maybe instead of simply tanking shots, Wamai's magnets explode after attracting ranged attacks, allowing him to make the enemy bomb themselves.

Wamai's... Well he's a bit of a weird one. He's friendly, talented, and emotionally intelligent, aware that people can kind of get lost when talking to him because of how he freely flows between wildly different and abstract topics and able to ground himself right before it happens, but also... The dude believes he's an alien because he can hold his breath underwater for unnaturally long. That makes him PERFECT for going into an actual alien world where he can test if he really fits in. Plus he's Nighthaven, not Rainbow, meaning his inclusion will make for good Rainbow vs Nighthaven drama.

Osa - Osa's incredibly funny as an operator because she's this sci-fi obsessed supergenius inventor who's the reason why Nighthaven has tech that rivals the coalition of the world's strongest militaries, but also her personal gadget of choice is a simple shield made of bulletproof glass, letting her watch the enemy from almost complete safety (almost, because the enemy can always bring out explosives). She could easily be a new Arts Protector or an Artificer.

I've talked before about how Osa and Kali could be critical to the story for a second R6 event, but Osa in general would make a great fit. Things like mobile cities or Rhine labs' power armor would be things she would study for days with the intent to bring the tech back with her to Nighthaven's labs. Everything from Glaucus' EMP gun to Mayer's Meebos will become a source of endless fascination and inspiration. Don't let her meet Blemishine, you will never see the two of them again. Her backstory is also about how her inventive talent (and being trans) led to her isolation from her peers, which is why she's so fiercely loyal to Kali, who both supported her transition and gave her a whole lab to make her wildest inventions come true. She'd be SO fun with the Rhine Lab members.

Flores - Flores' Siege gimmick is simple, but effective — It's an RC toy car, but it's got a bomb attached to it. A master at dismantling enemy defenses from a safe distance and at creating very loud and highly destructive distractions, I see Flores being a specialist with a deployable not unlike the ones from Stulifera Navis that can run over enemies or attack them. He should be able to put down his summon, swipe in a direction, and send it running forward to explode on the first set of enemies it hits, allowing him to deal good if not constant AOE damage from anywhere on the map.

Unlike the rest of Rainbow who have long careers in police, military, or espionage, Flores was just a regular guy in Argentina whose mother fell ill, and so he turned to burglary to keep her alive. However, he was so good at it that he began targeting the rich and corrupt in order to help all the poor of Buenos Aires, until he became an infamous Robin Hood figure. Eventually he got cornered and had to be rescued by Rainbow, who offered him a job when they realized holy shit this dude is incredible at stealing shit from heavily fortified buildings. I feel like Flores is the exact sort of character who would most sympathize with the plight of the poor throughout AK, and he wouldn't judge anyone for turning to banditry either, as he once had to just to survive. If there's anyone who would understand the state of Terra the quickest, it would be Flores.

[the-final-sif]

Honestly, I think this past week with Elon Musk just kinda goes to show how much better Tumblr's longer, slower game is.

Like, take revenue sources. Hosting is expensive and those bills do need to get paid to have a functional website. So how do you go about earning money as a website in an ethical manner without locking out users that can't pay?

It's true that tumblr struggles a lot with advertisers, it has for a long time. Ads are the number one way that most websites earn money from their users, so that's a big problem.

So what did tumblr do? Tumblr made a really smart pivot when it realized that it's userbase wasn't a good market for ads. It looked to establish a more direct payment model and look to it's users as consumers rather than products.

The ad-free for 5$ a month is honestly a sound model. Sure, you can always use ad-block, but you can also chose to offer payment to the site directly if you have the ability to do so. Allowing users to blaze posts is also a really good choice because it removes the part of advertisements that is the real problem (the ad targeting and privacy invasion). Allowing users to operate patron like blogs or tip bloggers is also a great secondary revenue source that works well for both the site and the bloggers.

Tumblr "gifts" are one of the best ideas they've had. 3$ to send your friend some crabs for 24 hours? Hell yeah. It's tiny little bonuses that you absolutely don't need, but you can use to provide a little bit of joy to someone else for a small price. By and large, these features are all reasonably priced, and allow tumblr to get revenue without locking their users out of important features or selling user data. This is honestly one of the ways that I can see the internet moving forward in a much healthier direction.

Compare the reaction to tumblr's "ad-free for 5$" model to the reaction to Elon Musk's "checkmark for 8$" model. While your mileage may vary, my experience with the ad-free offer was a generally positive reaction from the userbase. Some people were neutral or dismissive, but there certainly wasn't outrage.

Meanwhile, Elon's dumbass idea has drawn massive outrage, and had to be delayed because it was a legitimate threat to US elections. Because Elon isn't selling an ad free optional experience, he's selling the ability to participate on the platform, impersonate other people, and effectively cutting off a huge amount of the userbase. That's a big part of why there's been so much outrage and such a mass exodus.

Since Automattic took over, they've been slowly working to make genuinely good changes that both maintain what makes tumblr work, while improving existing issues with the site and opening up better options in the future. While I certainly have criticism of them, it's a hell of a better path to go down then whatever the hell's been going on at Twitter and Facebook's dumb choices.

We'll see how all of this plays out, but I've got a feeling that tumblr's dedication to maintaining functionality & working on repairing it's relationship to it's userbase will play out better in the long term. Who knows though.

[aloyxtilda]

I need to say something. The saltiness I have seen against Seyka. The negativity to Aloy and Seyka's relationship even. It's hurtful and sad. I am so sad to see this from such an amazing community that I love very much. A lot of us LOVE Seyka. Attacking her character, claiming she is written badly etc. Please stop. All that is a salty opinion that some people may agree with but doesn't mean it's true for the rest of us. And it's hurtful to see everyone attacking each other over it. You are allowed to be critical of the story. But attacking each other, lashing out, being mean is wrong. I love all the characters in Horizon. All of them! And it's fine if you don't. But be polite and respectful.

Aloy is confirmed bi/lesbian. Can't we all be happy for her at least? Your fantasy still continues on with whomever character you ship her with. It doesn't need to be canon. That's not what this story is about. It's not about your fantasy. It's about Aloy's growth and her learning about love. It was beautifully and respectfully told too. So relatable as a lesbian for me. Everything. And in my opinion, It wasn't rushed at all. It felt natural. Realistic. 🌹💞

Then you got the saltiest ones saying. "But Aloy has built up all these other characters who mean something to her and putting Seyka with her as her lover is like tossing the rest of the characters under the bus." 😒 Really? So That's like me saying. I got all these people who are into me sexually and friends in my life who I made deep connections with. That means I should and must date them?? 😬 Red flag alert! No!

Sorry kids but that's not how it works. Seyka just happens to be what Aloy wants and opens her heart at the right time. It's realistic, natural and her own decision. I feel like Tilda and Lis' tragic love story helped to make Aloy realize something deeper in herself. It's Guerrilla's story and they are telling it beautifully. Not some cheap dating sim. Look, I ship Tilda with Aloy. I get it. But I am not upset that Aloy never got with her. Specially since it was canon that Tilda was totally obsessively in love with Aloy and Lis. Then she went and died. (Left up to speculation of course. 😌) Spite whoever Aloy is with romantically, I just want Tilda to be in the 3rd game.

It's fiction and supposed to be fun. But people are legit shitting on Seyka and each other! I find Seyka is an amazingly well written character. People are more upset that Aloy didn't get forced into being with their favorite character. I understand we love our favorite characters but the negativity saltiness around it is toxic. Aloy can be with whoever she wants and Seyka is her girl she chose. Seyka also represents girls out there who look like her for once. Another plus. And if you chose for her not to be with Seyka...it doesn't change her sexuality or who Aloy is and what she likes. Sorry if that upsets you but not sorry. She's B/L and we should really be happy about this. Sometimes it's our own community that can stop more industries from making games for us. Since it's always easier to go the straight route. Then it's typical and the drama stays out of it. Is that what you want?

I am so happy for Aloy and her story. I am proud of Guerrilla for telling the story they want. (Spite all the backlash now from all sides.) And not listening to any particular group who think they deserve the favoritism. Instead they gave us something new and fresh. A new character who vibes with Aloy and gives her confidence who she feels equal to but also only knows her as the girl who fell to earth. Not the savior. Not the outcast and I prefer that. I just see it as the more the merrier. Seyka is just another beautiful character we can ship Aloy with in fanart/fics. But some people rather be angry about it all and cause drama, even use it to hate on other shippers. Like fine, do that if it makes you feel better. But it looks salty and really raised a red flag for me.

Also as a middle aged elder gay who works in the gaming industry and sees so much bigotry, this behavior doesn't help and looks bad on the lgbtq+. I've seen some amazing devs already be talked badly about because of their decision. We really need to be more supportive of each other and characters that represent us and companies who risk a lot to tell stories made for smaller minority groups. The game industry is still far from being a healthy environment for women, PoC and LGBTQ+. Let's not make it worse. ❤👏 Thank you.

[lily-orchard]

Since this appears to be the topic this month, what do you think about topics that artists should be allowed to cover? I see this a lot in how people should be allowed to write whatever they want, often bringing up Lolita as an example.

As one of my favourite creators once said: There is no right to be heard.

One problem with this kind of discourse is that regardless of whether you think they should or not, people are free to have whatever opinion about you that they like. More often than not discussions about what is wise to create or what is responsible to create gets twisted by some truly awful people into conversations about what is "allowed."

It's like how criticism gets rebuked with "let people enjoy things." We're not stopping you.

Someone saying "You writing about this is an endorsement of it" is not actually infringing on your rights in any way. You have the right to yell "Ban this sick filth" as much as you fucking please.

That having been said, it's always interesting when Lolita gets brought up in these arguments because Lolita is usually brought up to defend brazenly pornographic Lolicon shit, when it's a completely irrelevant comparison.

Lolita is not a love story. Lolita is a psychological examination of a self-pitying criminal and the consequences and human costs of his heinous crimes.

This isn't something you could stick beside AO3 fetish porn because the authors of AO3 fetish porn are the SUBJECT and VILLAIN of the book. It's like trying to put "Riding in Cars with Boys" next to a Republican propaganda film about the righteousness of teen mothers and shotgun weddings.

If it were released today it'd be branded by the people using it as a cudgel as 'hateful propaganda for the antis.'

You already have the right to write whatever you please, and I or any other critical voice can't take that from you no matter how much or little any of us might want to. So bear that in mind as I make my next point:

Dark material only works if you have something to say. You have to do something with it. You could do something with it and fail, but failure is something the rest of us learn from. Even bad art has a place in history, if only to serve as some 'how not to do it' guide.

But there's this recent trend that, as an artist myself, has always fucking irked me. And that's "let's watch them get worse." Where you take the darkest material that you can possibly think of ("you" being a white suburban woman whose idea of getting freaky involves fuzzy handcuffs you got at Dollar Tree) and then you just sit there with it and do nothing. You just watch things get worse and worse and the thing we're supposed to take away from it is... nothing. Because it was made to shock the normies.

I played a game like this for the upcoming video and the only thing about it that was actually shocking was the disparity between how it was marketed and sold vs the actual product. It was utterly artless from start to finish, with only one or two moments that provided anything more thought provoking than "Wow what a whack-a-doodle." But even with that 'refuge in audacity' it was still weirdly afraid of itself to the point that it would pass the Hayes Code if it were released 70 years ago.

I think in the script I actually describe the writing as the living embodiement of "Ha ha just kidding unless."

It establishes that its protagonist is not a good person, and then all but one of the people they kill also had it coming. For something that billed itself as 'edgy' that was just fucking sad.

But that's really where we're at. We have a large group of people who want edgy, taboo-defying media, but they also want that media to comfortably fit into the fandom cycle. And really edgy material doesn't do that because part of being edgy is having a point to make. And if your story has a theme, it doesn't fit into the fandom cycle.

This has always been the contradiction between people who want "serious art" and the reality of how those same people consume art in the first place. They want serious art, but the characters still have to be malleable for headcanons and shipping. The characters still have to be pristine and sexy for the simps. So any theme the work has will be blunted so hard that it suits the censorship standards of almost a century ago.

And that section of art, that I used to call "Adventure Fantasy" when it was just limited to animation but now I need to find a new name for it, is one I truly believe has no right to exist.

[neolxzr]

imo there’s a difference between “queer coding” and very specifically playing to both sides whether or not the writers/artists/directors intended to make a character queer or not. I think that for enstars specifically, with the new valkyrie event, while people are happy that some characters such as shu and mika in the new event are being shown expressing their love for each other and their views on their sexuality and expression, people are frustrated that it is not explicitly said because of the company’s need to not confirm a character as queer in order to not alienate (homophobic!) fans. Because at the end of the day in happyele’s eyes, if that homophobic fan spends a lot of money on the game then they’re worth pandering to (shrug emoji) And I mean some people also just don’t like shumika

anon i understand where you're coming from but i think you are wildly missing the point in my original post

my point is EXACTLY that if you need the characters to walk up to the screen and say "i'm gay" or "i'm [insert some 21st century-friendly label]" or "this is my boyfriend" for it to count as queer media in your eyes than i think you need to do some reexamining about what exactly your views on queer media as a whole are

plus, they DO do this. they explicitly talk about queer themes out loud many many times in enstars. shu says to mika that they should, together, create the happiness that his grandfather was never allowed to have, after they spent the entire story detailing shu's grandfather's queer romance story. they probably kissed in hermitage, and the lyrics to acanthe talk about them kissing. rinne proposes to niki in every other story they appear in together. he told him to do a striptease during nightclub. tori has very explicitly gay feelings for eichi. arashi narukami exists. eichi, while talking to arashi in pretty mission, says "people like us," confirming himself to also be some form of queer. kuro calls keito an old word for spouse or husband. and SO many more examples. this is not "queer coding" or subtext, its just text.

in any case, authorial intent is generally of no interest when it comes to examining media. the conversation of what the author could have meant by something is wildly less interesting than the conversation about the ways in which the audience can interpret it. what the writers intended should have little to no place in the discussion. what we should be talking about is what the thing itself is saying, both implicitly and explicitly.

expanding your view on what exactly can be seen as "queer media" can only do you good. and it would do so much good to not give a shit about the possibility that homophobic people will also like the thing and interpret it as not queer. that is literally not my problem whatsoever, and it shouldn't be yours either.

what it seems like to me is that no matter what pieces of queer media will always be criticized in some capacity. if they're not explicitly queer enough, they're just bait and have no merit. if they are explicit, then they're promoting stereotypes, or its rainbow capitalism, or it's fetishization. there is no winning. the standards for queer media are absolutely absurd, but they don't HAVE to be. you don't have to look at a piece of media through this kind of silly cynical lens if you don't want to.

the discussion about a work loses so much interesting and important nuance when you try to shove it into a box of "good representation" or "bad evil queerbait." thats just really really boring way to view stories

[spacevixenmusic]

Unfairly Maligned Games, Vol. 3

Games I loved that got low scores, review bombed, or have some other weird negative stigma attached to them that I think is unfairly earned.

NOTE: I don't believe in giving games a number score or a letter grade. Maybe I'm just bad at criticism or very easy to please, whatever.

Indivisible [2019]

Mostly only known as the "from the makers of Skullgirls" game, Indivisible is another prime example of a game that was crowdfunded as one thing but turned into another, and gets a bad rap for its association with the ever-present controversiality of Skullgirls' creators. That said, I still think - as always - that it's crucial to view a game for what it is, not what it isn't. And what it IS is an extremely engaging mish-mash of genres and endearing characters, oozing with style and appeal, that fills a very particular void left behind by some of the most classic RPGs of a bygone era.

At its core, Indivisible is a 2D Metroidvania/RPG hybrid with an unusual battle system that plays similarly to an old PSX game series called Valkyrie Profile. During combat, each character's gauge will fill up, allowing them to take action(s). Your four party members are each assigned to one of the four face buttons on a controller (e.g. A, B, X, Y), and pressing that button will - in real-time - execute an attack on the enemy. Using it in combination the D-Pad allows for several different types of attack. All party members' attacks can overlap simultaneously, allowing you to string together combos to really rack up the damage, or juggle enemies to prevent counterattacks and break their defenses. The Metroidvania and platforming portion comprises the rest of the game, with a heavy focus on using those same action skills to scale massive environments, solve platforming puzzles, and dodge spikes. Typical Metroidvania stuff.

Story-wise, in our modern world of RPGs that is dominated almost exclusively by Japanese and Scandinavian narratives, Indivisible is breath of fresh air that focuses heavily on South and East Asian mythology and themes. Heavy inspiration is taken from the cultures of India, Tibet, Mongolia, and the South Pacific. This is reflected not only in the characters and their various ethnicities, but in the game's approach to spirituality, reincarnation, second chances, and being a teenager hellbent on destroying god. Our main protagonist Ajna is a teenager studying martial arts who isn't quite as in touch with her spirituality as her mentor would like her to be. When war strikes the land and burns her home to the ground, she gets pissed and sets out on a quest for retribution, discovering in the process that she actually does possess certain godlike powers of destruction, and also that she can absorb certain people into her head, which is just a cute way of lampshading having a Party System.

I've seen Reviewers and big Opinion-Havers on the internet criticize the game's writing for having a bull-headed protagonist who boldly rushes into confrontation, unleashing her wanton destruction without first considering the catastrophic consequences for civilians. It's almost like they've forgotten what being a teenager and making poor choices is like. But I say fuck 'em. I say we need MORE stories about uninformed teenagers with immense godlike powers and no sense of nuance making rash decisions and fucking up royally. That alone is crucial to understanding the rest of the game's themes about atonement, reincarnation, and understanding why you believe what you believe in. That's what Indivisible is all about. In many ways, I feel like Ajna shares a common story arc with Korra from the Avatar series, and it's very cool to see how she learns to deal with the damage she's caused and what insight that gives her when facing down the Big Bad.

Of course, what is a good story without characters to flesh it out? The characters in this game are absolutely charming and multifaceted, coming from a wide array of different cultures and personalities, many of which are vastly underrepresented in not only RPGs but video games in general. Personal favorites include, but are not limited to, big booba water mom Thorani (based on a buddhist deity of the same name), Leilani the Hawaiian sharknado (spins around in a cyclone attack using a leiomano, a Hawaiian shark-tooth sword), lesbian pirate mom Baozhai (based on the famous Chinese pirate Ching Shih), and of course, local nihilistic swamp witch Razmi (a loose mishmash of Korean and Persian Zoroastrian shamans). The full cast of characters is enormous (well over 20 playable ones alone), and each one comes with a unique moveset and playstyle that not only keeps gameplay interesting, but matches their personality and the role they play in the story.

But if there's one thing I truly want to focus on when I gush about this game, it's this. Indivisible has one thing over most other games of its genre, something that modern RPGs in particular suffer heavily from a severe lack of, and that's its strong commitment to multiculturalism. Indivisible made a clear decision to not only feature characters from around the globe, but to blend their cultures together in interesting and exciting ways that don't diminish or water them down. Every character is allowed to shine in their own way without diluting what makes them stand out in the first place, which is why you can have a game that features a gunblade-wielding cowboy, a Namibian songstress, an armless Chinese dancer, a Kamen Rider knock-off, and a Mongolian archer who people keep mistaking for Pearl from Steven Universe. This sort of melting-pot cultural stew used to be common in classic anime and 90s RPGs, but kind of fell out of fashion with the rise of gacha waifu games and Elder Scrolls derivatives. Now more than ever, I feel like Indivisible is exactly the sort of injection the gaming world needs to rekindle those flames of pure imagination that the old classic era brought us.

All that said, one of the biggest reasons Indivisible will always have a dark mark next to its name is of course due to the fact that its lead designer (the studio head) was involved in a sexual harassment case that resulted in everyone on the team either quitting or being laid off, and the rights to the work and characters getting lost in the shuffle. Additionally, the game was still finished and released as intended, but did not feature any of the guest star characters that were promised during crowdfunding, most of whom were indie darlings of the time (Shovel Knight, Hyper Light Drifter, and Super Time Force to name a few). Naturally, this has left a sour taste in many folks' mouths, so it is somewhat understandable why the game would have a negative stigma attached. There are also a few bizarre and possibly off-putting cameos hidden among the NPCs (a few outdated meme references and Zone-tan, of all people), but these are entirely skippable and serve only as background extras.

Sour grapes aside though, I wholeheartedly recommend Indivisible for anyone looking for a fresh take on action RPGs. The neat hybridization of Metroidvania and real-time RPG with fighting game mechanics gives it a very unique identity, and if the compelling spirituality of the story doesn't grab you, the charm of the characters absolutely will. It certainly took me for a ride. My only word of caution is to follow the game's own suggestion and get good at Blocking in combat as early as you can!

[vshthestmpede]

Hi there! So...I wanted to make a request about an Imagine about Vash x Reader. The Reader is a like Bayonetta, a witch who has lived so many years (same as Vash). A great fighter with guns on her heels and also very flirty and sexy with him (even gave him the nickname "puppy" 'cause she thinks he's such a cutie). They're already in a relationship but Vash sometimes blushes so bad when she makes a compliment to him. On the morning, she even wears his jacket trying to be seductive to him...with a compliment like "You're a clumsy fool...but you never fail to impress. My clumsy, lovely fool"

the plant & the witch

word count; 1,159

warnings; guns, canon violence

note; today's ep made me so sad ;-; ty so much for your patience with this one!! i was so excited to write this one, i really took my time with it haha <3 i think i took a bit of both vash's personalities here, not just stampede lol i wanted some ballsy out of him but i can't help it our timid 2023 vash is so sweet. i also never touched a bayonetta game in my life, so i do apologize if i didnt write this to standards! i will always take criticism!! :)

cross-posted to ao3

the air was still hanging heavy as the group departed from the windmill village, vash walking considerably quicker than the rest.

meryl sidled up to wolfwood, nudging him with her elbow to catch his attention. he attempted to ignore her but caved as she switched from elbowing him to outright poking him in the arm and face.

"stop that, jeez. what could you possibly want?" wolfwood smacked her hand away, grumbling as he adjusted the cross on his back.

"you should go and apologize to him," meryl offered, nodding towards vash. "he's like, the ray of sunshine outta all of us and it's super depressing to watch him sulk like that."

wolfwood looked to vash then back at meryl, who raised her eyebrows in a way that said go on, test me. sighing in defeat, wolfwood picked up his pace until he caught up to vash.

"oi, needle nog-"

wolfwood stopped short at the sight of a figure suddenly appearing at the top of the dune right in front of them. immediately getting a very odd feeling, a feeling that what was looming over them wasn't human.

"stay back." wolfwood put one arm out to stop the group from advancing, his other hand ready to unsheathe the cross on his back at any moment. the figure began to descend the dune in a very graceful manner and wolfwood pulled vash behind him. "keep moving and i'll shoot!"

the figure stopped short just a bit of a ways away from the group, allowing wolfwood to realize they looked human but he was still apprehensive. he took one step forward, still ready to pull his weapon out and blow this person away, but faltered when they disappeared and suddenly reappeared right behind him.

"wha- !"

"oh, my love, how i've missed you." the figure had scooped vash up in their arms, holding him tight and kissing all over his face. "i'm so glad i found you."

vash, both thoroughly embarrassed and elated to see you again, buried his face in your neck and allowed you to carry him as you looked over the rest of the group.

"who're all these people, pup?" you asked as they all stared at you with wide eyes. "are they being mean to you?"

"pup?" wolfwood echoed as vash shook his head quickly. "what the hell is this?"

vash climbed out of your arms but stayed at your side, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke up, "(name), this is wolfwood, meryl, and roberto. guys this is (name), my. . .partner."

you poked at his reddened cheek, cooing over him as the other three shared a look amongst themselves.

"how did you find us?" meryl asked, breaking their stunned silence.

"well, after vash and i got separated, i made my way to jeneorah." you started to walk again, looping your arm through vash's to pull him along. "they, um, told me everything about what happened. i wasn't all too welcome there myself so i gave what i could and went on my way."

"gave what you could means what, exactly?" roberto inquired, taking a long swig from his flask.

"didn't want anything to do with my magic so i gave them the rest of my rations," you responded casually. "like i said, i wasn't too welcome given my relationship. left as quickly as i arrived, then made my way to yet another place i know he needed closure from."

"wait, did you just say magic?" wolfwood pressed, jogging in front of you and turning to force you to stop. "what are you, exactly?"

you chuckled and patted his shoulder, brushing by him. "one fine ass witch. at least, that's what he calls me in bed."

vash didn't say another word until you all reached the car, only speaking to bid the rest a good night as he climbed into the car's backseat to curl up. you decided to stick with the rest, joining them at the makeshift fire.

"how long have you known vash?" meryl asked, the journalist in her poking through as she wanted to know everything she could about a witch.

you tapped your chin in faux thought, enjoying the curiosity of this human. "about a hundred years now, give or take."

meryl's eyes widened as she leaned towards you, starstruck. "you don't look a day over twenty-five!"

"oh, dear, aren't you a sweetheart," you cooed. "is there anything else you wish to know?"

"yeah, what's this whole thing about magic and witches and all?" wolfwood interjected, clearly still perturbed about being brushed off so casually earlier.

"well, mister undertaker, i told you already. i'm a witch, i can do magic, what else do you want from me?" you stood, hands on your hips as you looked him up and down.

instead of looking directly at you, he was looking behind you and you felt the muzzle of a gun being pressed into your back.

"give us everything y'all got," a voice demanded, "or they're toast."

your eyes darted from wolfwood to the two other bandits who came around from behind you, eyeing the car. as soon as one reached for the door handle you whirled on the bandit behind you and kicked him in the chest, knocking him over. before anyone could react, you hastily summoned malphas and his wings sprouted from your back. you took the bandits' shock to your advantage and took to the skies, avoiding their shots when they turned their attention fully to you.

"they're toying with these bandits," roberto murmured as he and meryl took shelter behind a nearby boulder. "magic, huh. never thought i'd see anything like this."

you laughed as the bandits fruitlessly shot at you, watching as they drained themselves of their ammo. within the second they ran out, you were on top of them, the guns on your heels dealing with the trio as you effortlessly glided through the air. as the sand settled you landed next to wolfwood and rolled your shoulders, the wings disappearing.

"is that enough for you?' you asked, yawning. "man, i am tired. good night, everyone!"

you made your way to the car, stopping short as a clearly startled-from-his-sleep vash barreled out with his gun at the ready.

"wha- what happened?" he asked as he lowered his gun and you chuckled, climbing into the car with him and closing the door.

"you're such a fool, my love," you murmured, pushing him to lay back as you climbed on top of him. "a clumsy fool, yet you never fail to impress me with your antics."

he watched, red-faced, as you shed your cloak and replaced it with his signature jacket that he had set aside when he first laid down. you leaned forward, one hand on his chest and the other cradling his face, basking in the view of your red-faced boyfriend as he grinned up at you like the lovestruck dork he was.

"my wonderful, clumsy, lovely fool."

[leonsliga]

Leon Goretzka for Sports Illustrated Deutschland

-> In this Sports Illustrated interview, Leon discusses not being called up to the national team, his character, and handling high pressure situations. The new Adidas Bodycare brand ambassador also discusses his hopes for the future.

On the pitch you show strength, off the pitch you are known for your social commitment. How is it that you are so present and outspoken?

That has envolved over the course of my life, but the sense of justice has always been within me. The only thing that has changed over the course of my career is that I now have a much greater reach and more people hear my opinions.

How difficult is it to fight against adversity? Can something like this be trained or is it something you’re born with?

You have to learn to deal with it. Then you can take a clear stance—or you can just leave it be. Everyone has to decide that for themselves. But I can cope with resistance, even though some of the things that come at me these days are extreme.

How do you deal with pressure and disappointment?

Pressure is something very positive for me. I really like it. It probably helps me in my job too. When it mattered most, I was able to deliver top performances. I like a bit of pre-match jitters. That's why I'm not afraid of pressure. Disappointments are also part of it. You learn that very early on, especially in football. Losing games starts in training. But that’s why you play in a team; that's the beauty of team sports—that you can support each other. Like at FC Bayern this season, which wasn't quite as successful as we had expected and were used to. These are experiences that you can take with you and mature from.

Did it hurt you a lot not to be called up for the national team?

It was an extreme disappointment for me because I didn’t expect it. Afterwards, I gave myself a day to come to terms with the situation. The day after that, I looked at how I could rectify it. The best way to do that is to perform at your best and accept this new role.

How hopeful are you that you will be at Euro 2024?

Very.

What is your emotional world like? Do you always allow all feelings—even the negative ones?

Everyone has to find out for themselves how they deal with feelings. My recommendation would be to talk about them, but I don't always manage that either. I like to work things out on my own and let the process mature within me. I can draw strength from that.

How do you strike a balance between self-criticism and self-confidence?

Self-criticism and self-confidence are mutually dependent. Telling yourself that you are the best has nothing to do with self-confidence. You are strongest when you also know your weaknesses.

As a leader, do you always have to live up to the sometimes very high expectations?

Yes, that's the job of a footballer. We live in a fast-paced, day-to-day business. You're only ever as good as you were in the last game. In my career in club football, I've won all the major titles that you can win with a big club like FC Bayern. Nevertheless, this season I have experienced what it means to be criticized as a leader. It reminds you that you are obliged to perform week in, week out.

How do you build yourself back up again when things aren't going your way? Do you train even more then?

I don't make my training dependent on situations that I experience week after week. I have long-term training plans. But of course, the motivation to correct things when they go poorly is always there.

What role do negative fan opinions play? Should they be ignored?

You have to accept these things. Everyone has their own opinion. Of course, it would be nice if things were a bit more civilized, but unfortunately that's not the case. This doesn't just apply to football; it can happen to anyone on social media. It's extremely disappointing. We should think about how this can be regulated. I'm lucky that things don't bother me too much. But there are certainly many users who unfortunately don't get on so well with it.

The football business can be very tough. What do you wish for the future of football, especially for the players?

I don't know if I should give an honest answer to that.

We’re asking for one.

If I'm completely honest, we should stop trying to generate clicks at the expense of the players—both on social media and in reports.

Can football help people and society feel more positive?

The 2006 World Cup showed how football can galvanize our country. Germany's enthusiasm and interest in football are certainly back. As players, we can influence this huge potential if the German national team performs well.

You are an ambassador for Adidas Bodycare. What does "well-being" mean to you?

For me, "well-being" means that I have an awareness of my body. For the balance between strain and relief, but also for regeneration. Ultimately, it’s also about work-life balance.

[bunting27]

hey I would love a Trevor Zegras blurb/imagine with this prompt I shouldn’t allow myself to get this close to you. I’m thinking some friends to lovers and he’s holding himself back. Maybe she’s in his group of friends but they aren’t close and she’s questioning why. It can get pretty smutty but not all the way? Thank you!

critical thinking ✏︎ t. zegras

bunting27's 100 follower celly !

a/n: i do not actually know anything about the summer house situation but it was too convenient not to use. another blurb is coming tonight for bunts !!

prompts: "i shouldn't allow myself to get this close to you"

warnings: language, suggestive content

wc: 0.9k

taglist: @sidcrosbyspuck

✏︎

she could see the look of horror on trevor’s face the second he pulled her name from the baseball cap in the middle of the living room of the hughes’ summer house.

while the group of them had a few weeks to be here without the supervision of jack, quinn, and luke’s mom and dad, they decided to throw a party. 

y/n had been close with the brothers her entire life, originally having been given quinn as her ‘guardian angel’ in elementary school, a program where kids in the third to sixth grade would be given the responsibility of sitting with the kindergarteners on the bus since they lived nearby.

that tradition stuck with them, having sat together in the years they went to school with each other up until quinn got to highschool. being luke’s age, she was over at the hughes’ home a lot, and their parents almost saw her as a daughter. she always went to the lake with them in the summer.

when each of the boys were in their respective years of world juniors contention, the friend circle just kept growing and growing, and now there had been a hoard of them taking a trip down to michigan every summer for a bit of free time before the new seasons started.

this had been the first year the party had gone from just people in the group to the house and backyard being almost completely packed, courtesy of raya and each of the boys telling everyone to bring their friends.

in the living room, a couple dozen people were playing spin the bottle, but instead of a bottle was a hat full of everyone’s names. 

trevor was greatly regretting that suggestion, originally having thought it would stop people from cheating and would cause more drama. boy was he right, in the worst of ways.

none of the hughes brothers were playing the game, but he could still almost feel three pairs of eyes boring into his soul from wherever they were in the house as he nodded to her and they made their way to the designated room for the game.

“you look like you’re about to cry, z” he looked up from his lap and scanned her, shaking his head.

trevor had always kept his distance from her, usually opting to pair with someone else during party games or go for the option that she hadn’t been part of entirely.

they hardly ever spoke, but she wasn’t stupid. all he would do was stare, aggressively, right at her until she caught him and then he’d pretend like it never happened. she felt like she was harbouring a middle school hallway crush again.

“no, it’s just i don’t want to fuck up our friendship, and there’s quinn and luke. probably jack, too. they’d murder me, and-” she chuckled, ruffling his hair and sitting down on the bed next to him

“you don’t need to make excuses, trev. if you don’t want to do anything that’s fine” he looked at her with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing like a fish while he tried to string together what he wanted to say in his head 

“no, no. oh god, thats not- i do want to, y/n/n, that’s the issue,” he stopped talking, feeling like he was just gonna upset the both of them if he continued, and she raised an eyebrow.

“i get it, trev,” they sat in silence for the next five or six minutes until someone came to let them out of the room, disappointed to see the two of them were just sitting around. after all, that wasn’t the point of drunk party games.

the next morning was even worse for trevor, because not only was he rethinking the entire conversation in his head way too hard for way too long, he was also nursing one of the most powerful hangover’s in his lifetime.

everyone was kicking out people who had fallen asleep on furniture or around the yard while also trying to clean, and he was being uncharacteristically quiet and helpful.

“trevor. do we need to talk?” she wasn’t expecting to have to talk to him about anything that happened last night, he was drunk and she figured she handled it maturely enough while it was happening, but she immediately noticed he was off.

“please,” she nodded, pulling him over into the same empty room as the night before and looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to talk first.

when he didn’t, she rolled her eyes and gave him a kiss, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and looking up at him so maybe he’d just say something.

“I shouldn’t allow myself to get this close to you” was all he said, the only thing going through his brain is how colossally screwed everyone would be if he fucked it all up.

“oh my god, trevor. who gives a shit what quinn wants, or what could happen. if you want me, just say it” he finally looked her in the eyes and nodded slightly, wrapping his own arms around her the way she had.

“you think more critically than i thought you would,” she mumbled, connecting their lips again and feeling him smile against her, turning to face the bed and backing her against it til she fell onto her back.

his hands slid under her shirt, lips moving to her neck and she smiled.

“you gonna fuck me like you should’ve last night?” 

“would be stupid not to, huh?” she laughed, nodding and pulling his lips back down towards hers.