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honeydippedfiction · 2 months ago

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Quarterback Chaos {JB9}

Part 3.

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Synopsis: Sometimes the press is right, sometimes they're wrong but what happens when their words spark a possesive streak that somehow leads to a secret becoming revealed that flips Joe's and Y/N's arrangement upside down.

Warnings: Suggestive/Spicy Scenes, Strong Language, Alcohol Use, Mature Themes, Mild Public Attention, Angst, & Betrayal.

Themes: Situationship, Jealousy, Possesiveness, Fame & Performance Pressure, Flirtation & Tension, Modern Romance, Group Dynamics, Female Empowerment, “No Strings” Situationship, & Luxury Lifestyle.

WC: 10.7k

A/N: y'all finna hate me for this?😅

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

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Y/N sat cross-legged on the bed in nothing but her robe, staring at the message from Carmen. Her phone lay in her palm, but her mind was racing a mile a minute.

Billboard wants a digital cover.

And they know who the song’s about.

She flopped backward dramatically, the oversized robe riding up her thighs as she groaned toward the ceiling.

From the bathroom, Joe’s voice floated out. “You good out there?”

She called back. “Define good.”

The door creaked open, and there he was — towel gone, now in black sweats and still toweling off his damp hair. His chain glinted against his chest, skin still dewy from the shower. And of course, smug.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “What happened?”

Y/N held up her phone like it was a fire alarm. “Billboard knows the song’s about you.”

Joe blinked. “Wait, for real?”

“Carmen just texted me.” She sat up, tossing the phone onto the bed. “They want a digital cover and promo stuff. And if they know, the rest of the industry is about to connect the dots the second the single drops.”

Joe walked over, plucked the phone up and read the message. His brows lifted slightly. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Y/N exhaled and looked up at him, one brow raised. “So, Mr. QB1, how does it feel to be a muse?”

He shrugged one shoulder, grin creeping in slow. “I mean... can’t say I’m surprised.”

Y/N threw a pillow at him. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning down and planting a kiss to her cheek, “you’re still letting me stay.”

Before she could fire back, ding! — another message.

Kayla 🧨:

Sooooo… when can I leak the BTS footage of you making out with him in your jersey? Asking for the timeline. 😇

Y/N stared at it in horror.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t record anything… obvious,” Kayla added immediately when Y/N didn’t reply fast enough.

Joe peeked over her shoulder and burst out laughing. “She’s a menace.”

“She is the worst.”

But Y/N was grinning. Because underneath the chaos, the teasing, the slightly unhinged energy of her best friend and the very shirtless man beside her — something felt right.

Her phone buzzed again.

Carmen 💼🔥

Cover shoot rollout starts tomorrow. I want a promo photo. Something real. Something intimate.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The studio space had been transformed into a moody, sexy dream: low lighting, sheer curtains filtering the sunlight, a king-sized bed set in the middle of the room like a stage, draped in white and gray linens. The camera crew moved efficiently, setting up angles while the glam team added final touches.

Y/N stood in the center of it all — legs long, confident, commanding the room in nothing but an oversized football jersey and thigh-high stockings. Her hair was tousled, makeup sharp and sultry, the gloss on her lips catching the light every time she moved.

And Joe?

Joe was sitting on the couch just off set, arms crossed, jaw tight, doing a terrible job of pretending he wasn’t watching her like she was the main event at the Super Bowl.

Kayla plopped down next to him, sipping her iced matcha with a straw and way too much glee.

“Your face is screaming,” she whispered.

Joe didn’t look at her. “What?”

She leaned in like they were courtside. “That ‘I know what’s under that jersey and I wanna start a war over it’ face.”

He exhaled through his nose. “She looks good.”

Kayla’s eyes widened. “Good? Sir. That woman is out there looking like a dangerous decision wrapped in a highlight reel.”

Joe finally glanced over at her, fighting the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Kayla kept going. “Like, I know y’all said this was casual, but the way your eyes just followed her when she turned around? That wasn’t casual. That was national security threat. I saw a twitch.”

Back on set, the photographer called out, “Y/N, give me that ‘you know I’m the one they warned you about’ energy.”

And she did.

One hand resting at the top of her thigh, chin tilted down, lips slightly parted. Her expression said: I’m not the fantasy, I’m the reason you stopped sleeping.

Joe shifted in his seat, clearly fighting for composure.

Kayla clocked it immediately. “Oop. There it is. That was your 10-yard penalty for unsportsmanlike thoughts.”

He groaned quietly.

Y/N glanced over between takes and caught his eye for a split second. Her smirk said she knew. Her fingers played with the hem of the jersey — the one that looked suspiciously familiar — and she winked.

Joe was done.

Kayla cackled. “Go ahead. Fumble. She’s gonna break your whole playbook.”

The photographer called, “Last setup! Just lean forward on the bed, one knee up. Make it intimate but still powerful.”

Joe leaned back, dragging a hand over his face like it would ground him.

Y/N did as directed, her knee sliding up the bed, fingers tangled in the sheets, gaze smoldering straight into the lens. Every flash lit up her silhouette like a dream that didn’t come with a warning label.

Joe muttered, “She’s gonna be the death of me.”

Kayla grinned, raising her cup. “Cheers to that.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

A few weeks later…

Y/N sat cross-legged in her dressing room, scrolling through her phone as her glam squad touched up her makeup. Her new single had dropped just two days ago — and it was already climbing the charts. TikTok edits, fan theories, thirsty reaction tweets, and memes were everywhere.

The promo shot of her in the jersey? Iconic. Ubiquitous. Dangerously reposted.

And Joe?

Still silent online.

Still in her phone.

Still in her life… in the quiet, complicated, dangerously casual way they’d agreed on.

“Okay,” Carmen said as she stepped into the room, tapping her iPad. “You’re up for Billboard in fifteen. It’s not a live shoot — just the digital cover and feature interview. Keep it sexy, keep it vague, keep it... you.”

Y/N smirked. “So basically don’t admit who the song’s about.”

Carmen grinned. “Exactly. Let the internet keep guessing.”

Kayla popped into the room, sunglasses on indoors — like a true menace — and dropped onto the couch dramatically. “The internet doesn’t need to guess. They know. Every shot of your thighs in that jersey had Joe’s fanboys punching air.”

Y/N gave her a look through the mirror. “You’re not helping.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to help,” Kayla said, propping her feet up. “I’m just here for the tea and to make sure Mr. QB1 doesn’t go ghost when this interview hits.”

“He won’t.” Y/N said it a little too fast. A little too firm.

Carmen raised a brow. “You sure?”

Y/N paused.

The truth? Joe had been around — not as much as before, thanks to off-season training picking up again, but he checked in. Late-night FaceTimes. Random selfies. One-word texts that made her laugh in the middle of a studio session.

She hadn’t seen him since he left her hotel bed two weeks ago… but he never really felt gone.

Still, something about this next step — the Billboard interview — made it all feel very real.

And maybe that scared her a little.

Before she could spiral further, Carmen’s assistant knocked on the door.

“They’re ready for you on set, Y/N.”

She stood, smoothed her jersey-dress combo (again with the subtle nod), and took a breath.

Kayla smirked and whispered behind her, “You’re giving heartbreak with a touch of ‘he ain’t going nowhere.’”

Y/N chuckled under her breath. “That’s the goal.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Meanwhile…Joe sat in the lounge of the Bengals facility, headphones around his neck and Y/N’s single quietly playing through his phone as he scrolled.

The Billboard teaser post hit his feed.

Y/N. In that damn jersey again. Posed on the bed like she owned it — like she knew he was going to see it. The caption was simple:

"No names. All feelings." — Y/N for Billboard Digital Cover.

Joe let out a breath, shook his head.

This girl…

His phone buzzed.

Y/N:

👀 Don’t choke.

He smirked.

Joe:

I already did. And it wasn’t from football.

His phone buzzed again seconds later.

Kayla 🧨:

I KNOW you saw the jersey. And yes, she still has it. You’re welcome.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The Billboard feature dropped that Friday morning.

Y/N was mid-latte, sitting in her robe at the edge of her hotel bed, when Kayla burst into the room holding her phone like it was a detonated grenade.

“WE HAVE A PROBLEM.”

Y/N blinked. “Is this a ‘the internet’s on fire’ problem or a ‘you left the straightener on and burned your hoodie again’ problem?”

Kayla shoved the screen in her face.

Big bold text at the top of the Billboard article read:

“Y/N’s Breakout Single Has Everyone Guessing… But Fans Are Convinced It’s About Ja’Marr Chase 👀🔥”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “I—what?”

Kayla was already pacing. “Girl. They pulled up the game footage from that Ravens vs Bengals matchup — the same one you sang at — and now they’re convinced you and Ja’Marr had a moment.”

She kept scrolling.

“There was definite chemistry in the photos after the game,” one fan tweeted. “I’m just saying… #ChaseHer.”

Another theory connects the lyric “watching from the sideline, but he still got a front-row seat” to Ja’Marr’s injury that week. The internet was running with it — TikToks, memes, and fancams galore.

Y/N’s phone buzzed.

Carmen 💼🔥:

Tell me you didn’t write this about Ja’Marr. Please.

Then another.

Ja’Marr 🏈👟:

LMAOOOO why am I trending?? Did I miss the part where we’re dating???

Kayla was practically cackling now. “This is so messy. Like A+ mess. But also… iconic.”

Y/N dropped her head into her hands. “I can’t. Joe’s gonna see this.”

Cue: another notification.

Joe 🧊🏈:

Cute interview. Didn’t know you had a thing for wide receivers.

Y/N: paused.

Then came the follow-up.

Joe:

Should I be jealous? Or are you just trying to get me to break our ‘casual’ rule?

She stared at the text for a second too long.

Kayla peeked over her shoulder. “Ooooh, he’s pressed. That’s a lil possessive for someone who said, and I quote, ‘let’s keep it chill.’”

“I didn’t even say anything in the interview!” Y/N argued. “I kept it vague! The fans ran wild on their own.”

“But your eyes were screaming Joe the whole time,” Kayla said smugly. “And now he’s having a lil ego bruising moment. Honestly? I like this timeline.”

Y/N tossed a pillow at her.

Her phone buzzed again.

Joe:

I’ll be in your city tomorrow. Don’t worry, I won’t bring Ja’Marr. Unless you want him. 😏

Y/N smirked, fingers flying.

Y/N:

You’re hilarious. But you should know — the only one who got me out of that jersey… was you.

Kayla screamed in the background like the ghost of chaos incarnate.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The set was minimal but sexy — warm-toned lighting, sleek white couches, and gold accents to match the gold-certifiedenergy that surrounded Y/N these days. She looked the part too: soft glam, overlined lips, oversized jersey dress (a different one, not the one), and heels sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

The interviewer leaned forward, legs crossed, iPad in hand. “Y/N, this single… whew. You’ve got everyone talking.”

Y/N smiled, legs crossed, hands in her lap. “That’s what we want, right?”

“We have to ask—who was the inspiration?”

Y/N smirked. “You know I can’t answer that.”

“But you can tell us this,” the interviewer said with a wink. “Was he an athlete?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Maybe.”

“Was he at the game where you sang the national anthem?”

“…Maybe.”

The interviewer leaned in. “Fans are connecting a few dots. That Ravens-Bengals game? You were spotted in photos after the anthem with Ja’Marr Chase, Tee Higgins, and Joe Burrow.”

Y/N just smiled. “I meet a lot of people.”

“Ja’Marr Chase, though…” The interviewer grinned. “There was a picture floating around — you two looked close. One of the lyrics is, ‘He didn’t say a word, but the way he looked at me said more than enough.’ Fans are convinced it’s him.”

Y/N gave a single, low laugh. “People see what they want to see.”

“Are they wrong?”

That was when she slipped — just for a second. Her gaze flicked off-camera. Her smile twitched. Not at the mention of Ja’Marr — but at the memory of another set of eyes. Cold, blue, unblinking. Joe’s.

The interviewer didn’t miss it.

“That look right there,” they said playfully. “There’s something behind it.”

“I’ve said too much already,” Y/N teased, shifting in her seat. “Let the lyrics do the talking.”

“Speaking of which,” the interviewer continued, “That line — ‘front-row seat even when he's benched’ — fans think that’s about Ja’Marr being out that week.”

Y/N blinked. “Oh… was he?”

That little slip-up? Chaos. Because that meant it wasn’t about Ja’Marr. Or maybe she was just deflecting. The ambiguity was delicious.

The interviewer grinned like they knew they had gold. “So you’re saying—”

“I’m saying,” Y/N interrupted smoothly, “it’s a song about a feeling. About someone who got under my skin at the wrong time… but left a mark anyway.”

And boom. That was it. That was the moment that Twitter took and ran like it was 4th and goal.

Later that night, as the internet burned…

Kayla threw her feet up on the hotel ottoman, scrolling TikTok.

“She blushed when they brought up Ja’Marr,” one clip said.

“No, she hesitated when they asked about the anthem. It was Joe. You can see it in her eyes,” argued another.

Kayla shook her head and looked over at Y/N on the bed. “You’re a menace.”

Y/N didn’t look up from her phone. “I said nothing.”

“Exactly,” Kayla said, grinning. “And the girls heard everything.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The rumors hadn’t died down — if anything, they’d gotten louder.

Fan edits were everywhere. Headlines spun daily.

“Is Ja’Marr Chase Y/N’s Mystery Muse?” “New Pop Starlet Might Be Fumbling the NFL’s Finest Wide Receiver” “Y/N’s Song About a Bengal… But Which One?”

Even sports blogs had started dissecting her lyrics. It was out of control.

So her team did what any smart team would do: book a high-profile appearance with a built-in audience and just enough playfulness to control the narrative. Enter: Jimmy Kimmel Live.

Y/N walked out in a stunning burgundy leather two-piece — a cropped jacket and matching mini skirt that screamed I’m expensive and unavailable. Her heels clicked with confidence, her hair framed her face in soft waves, and that same smirk she gave Joe before walking away from him weeks ago? On full display.

The crowd cheered wildly.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jimmy grinned, “it’s the woman who broke the internet, broke the charts, and apparently broke half the Bengals’ locker room—please welcome, Y/N!”

The crowd lost it.

Y/N laughed as she sat down, crossing her legs with practiced ease. “Y’all are messy already.”

“Oh come on,” Jimmy said, flipping through his note cards. “I had like seven questions about your music and thirteen about who the hell that song’s about.”

Y/N shook her head, teasing, “You better ask the music ones first.”

They bantered, joked, laughed through a few light questions about her rise, her upcoming acting role, and how she balances both careers. Then… Jimmy went for it.

“So, this single—huge hit. Gorgeous vocals. Lyrics that cut a little deep,” he said, leaning forward with a knowing smile. “And obviously the fans have questions… Are you dating a football player?”

Y/N smiled — smooth, radiant, and untouchable.

“I’m dating my career,” she said, crossing her arms gently. “That’s the only relationship I’m focused on right now. Music, acting, creating things I love. That’s it.”

“Oh come on, not even a lil sideline crush?”

She tilted her head. “I mean… football players are cute. But no. It’s not about that for me. Not right now.”

Jimmy grinned. “So you’re saying the entire internet is wrong?”

“I’m saying I’m enjoying my life,” Y/N said with a shrug. “And people can enjoy the music without turning it into a dating show.”

Cut to: the internet immediately turning it into a dating show.

Meanwhile, back in Cincinnati…

Joe was on the couch, phone in hand, watching the interview replay from a clip on Twitter. His lips twitched when she said football players are cute, and again when she dodged the dating question like a pro.

But that last part?

“It’s not about that for me. Not right now.”

He leaned back, dragging a hand down his face.

Then picked up his phone.

Joe 🧊🏈:

Cute interview. Liked the part where I don’t exist.

A minute later:

Y/N ✨:

I didn’t say that. I said “no relationships.” You and I are… whatever we are. No label needed, right?

Joe:

…So not even a lil sideline crush?

Y/N:

You’re more like a halftime distraction. A very enjoyable one.

Joe:

You’re gonna be the death of me.

Y/N:

That’s the goal.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

The Bengals practice field was buzzing — late morning drills, cleats hitting turf, coaches shouting over whistles. But over on the sideline? The real action wasn’t on the field.

It was between Joe, Ja'Marr, and Tee.

“Yo,” Ja’Marr jogged up, towel slung over his shoulder and a grin wide enough to be disrespectful. “You saw Billboard’s follow-up post, right?”

Joe didn’t even look up from his stretching. “Which one?”

“The one with my face on it,” Ja'Marr said, smirking. “Caption was, ‘Still think she’s not talking about him?’” He pulled out his phone and showed it to Tee, who barked out a laugh.

Tee leaned over. “Yo, you tryna tell us you were just chillin’ in the background and accidentally bagged the hottest rising star in the game?”

“Man, I was just standing there,” Ja’Marr grinned. “The vibe did the rest.”

Joe arched a brow, unfazed. “So you think a five-second interaction got you a charting single?”

“I mean, the footage don’t lie,” Ja’Marr said, patting his chest. “Apparently, I got that stare.”

Tee snorted. “Y/N saw his stats and said bet.”

Joe finally stood up, rolling his shoulders. Cool as ever. But the smirk tugging at his lips? Lethal.

“Cute,” Joe said. “But last I checked, she didn’t leave your hotel room in the morning wearing your shirt.”

Ja'Marr's mouth dropped open. Tee just let out a “DAAAAMN” loud enough to make one of the trainers look over.

“Nah,” Joe added, grabbing his helmet. “But keep enjoying your little fan theories.”

Tee wheezed. “You didn’t even deny it with your chest, bro. You said that like it’s classified intel.”

Joe shrugged, slipping his helmet on. “You know what they say… game recognizes game.”

“And yours is on the field, huh?” Ja'Marr teased.

Joe turned back over his shoulder, eyes glinting. “It’s everywhere, baby.”

They lined up for drills, but the jokes didn’t stop there. Every time Joe dropped back to pass, Ja’Marr muttered something about “writing another verse,” and Tee kept humming Y/N’s single under his breath like it was his own personal theme song.

And Joe? He played through it all. Laser-focused. Locked in.

But under that helmet?

He was thinking about that interview. About her.

And the fact that no matter what she told the public, she was still texting him under the table.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Two weeks later. L.A. heat. Cameras rolling.

Y/N was back on set — not for music this time, but filming for a lead role in a buzzy, soon-to-be-everywhere streaming series. Something sexy. Something serious. And just like everything else she touched, she was nailing it.

She was mid-scene, dressed in a sleek jumpsuit and heels, eyes locked on her scene partner — another actor from the industry’s rising elite, a known heartthrob with just the right amount of charm.

And Joe?

Joe was standing just outside the soundstage doors. Hat pulled low. Hoodie up. Arms crossed.

Watching.

Unannounced.

Uninvited.

Exactly how he planned it.

“You’re really out here playing roles with Mr. Movie Star?” he muttered to himself, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Damn right she is,” came a familiar voice behind him.

Joe turned to see Carmen, Y/N’s manager, arms full of coffee and her sunglasses pushed up in her curls. She raised a brow. “You stalking or supporting today?”

Joe smirked. “Both.”

She snorted and handed him a coffee. “At least be hydrated while you pine in silence.”

Inside, the scene wrapped. Applause. Y/N gave a gracious little smile and walked off toward her dressing room. She was halfway through unzipping her jumpsuit when Carmen stuck her head in.

“You’ve got a visitor.”

Y/N blinked. “Kayla?”

“Nope. The other quarterback in your life.”

Y/N groaned and fell back dramatically onto the couch. “Lord, give me strength.”

Carmen cackled. “He looks like he’s ready to fight that scene partner of yours.”

She stepped out of her trailer in bike shorts and an oversized hoodie, hair pulled back, makeup only half gone. Joe was leaning against the wall like a Calvin Klein ad come to life. His arms folded. His eyes on her.

“You didn’t say you were filming love scenes now.”

Y/N smirked. “Didn’t realize I owed you my call sheet.”

He didn’t move, but his jaw flexed. “Just interesting. You can play lovers on camera, but you can’t admit you have one off it?”

She stepped a little closer. Close enough to smell his cologne.

“We said no labels,” she reminded him, voice soft but sharp. “You made that rule, remember?”

Joe didn’t respond. Just looked at her. Long. Intense. Unblinking.

And damn, if that look didn’t do something to her.

“Relax,” she added, playful now. “You’re the only one who’s seen me without my wig glued down. That’s gotta count for something.”

He cracked a smile at that. “That’s… fair.”

She turned to walk back inside, but paused.

“And for the record? The song was never about Ja’Marr.”

Joe raised a brow. “No?”

“No,” she said, biting back a grin. “But keep getting jealous. It looks good on you.”

Then she disappeared into the trailer.

And Joe? He stayed there a little while longer.

Just long enough to know this thing between them wasn’t cooling off anytime soon.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

It was mid-afternoon when Kayla stepped out of her rideshare, iced coffee in one hand and sunglasses sliding down her nose. She was dressed like she owned the lot — which, in her mind, she kind of did. Being Y/N’s ride-or-die and unofficial bodyguard-slash-dance-captain had its perks.

She was halfway to Y/N’s trailer when she paused, squinting.

There he was.

Mr. QB1. Leaning against the production truck like he was about to drop the hottest verse on a Drake feature. Hoodie pulled up. Hands in his pockets. Eyes glued to the door Y/N had just walked into.

Kayla blinked. Then smiled. Slowly. Like a villain in a romcom.

“Oh, this is good.”

She pivoted hard, sneakers squeaking on the pavement as she changed direction and strutted right up to Joe.

“Well, well, well,” she sang. “If it isn’t the emotional support quarterback.”

Joe side-eyed her, smirking. “I thought I had at least ten more minutes before you started.”

“You wish. Boy, what are you doing lurking like a boyfriend with no press pass?”

“Just watching,” he said smoothly.

Kayla sipped her coffee with a dramatic slurp. “Oh, you watching alright. Watching her co-star touch her arm in that scene. Watching her kiss him on camera like she meant it. Mmm. I know your little competitive spirit is trembling.”

Joe’s smirk dropped just a little.

“She’s an actress,” he said, too even.

“She’s also the girl you’re fake not catching feelings for,” Kayla teased, stepping closer. “And yet here you are. Pop-ups, surprises, mysterious man in the shadows energy.”

“I’m supporting her.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” She leaned in with a smirk. “'Cause it’s giving boyfriend-lite.”

Joe didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed again.

“Relax,” Kayla said, patting his chest. “I’m not judging. I’m proud of you. You’re out here pretending not to care while being fully in your feelings. Growth!”

“I’m not in my feelings,” Joe said, straightening up.

“Sure,” Kayla said sweetly. “And I’m not about to go inside and tell Y/N her quarterback’s out here looking like he wants to throw hands at her co-star.”

Joe gave her a look. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” she grinned. “But only because I love chaos.”

Before he could respond, the trailer door opened — and Y/N stepped out in leggings, an oversized tee, and a top knot. Glowy. Barefaced. And completely oblivious to the standoff that had just happened outside.

“Hey!” she called to Kayla. “You bring my smoothie?”

Kayla turned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Better. I brought drama.”

Y/N blinked, looked over Kayla’s shoulder… and saw Joe. Still standing there. Still watching her.

That damn smirk tugged at her lips again.

“You still here?” she asked.

Joe tilted his head. “Guess you're hard to walk away from.”

Kayla groaned loudly. “Lord, if y’all don’t go somewhere and kiss in a janitor’s closet already.”

“Janitor’s closet?” Y/N repeated with a sharp look at Kayla. “Girl, what is wrong with you?”

Kayla just smiled sweetly and sipped her coffee. “Nothing. I just believe in locking people in tight spaces until they work out their unresolved sexual tension.”

Joe coughed, trying not to laugh, but that smug grin was fully back on his face now. Y/N caught it. And she hated how much she liked seeing it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned him.

“Like what?” he said innocently, but his eyes were already undressing her again.

Kayla fake-gagged. “I’m gonna leave before y’all start making heart eyes and pretending you’re still just ‘friends who have fun.’”

She turned on her heel and walked off, but not before calling over her shoulder:

“Y/N, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which means you’ve got, like, two options. And Joe?” She tossed a wink. “Keep it light-skinned romantic, okay?”

“BYE, KAYLA,” Y/N and Joe both yelled at the same time.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence.

The kind that wasn’t empty—it was loaded.

Y/N turned slowly, arms crossed over her chest. “You really just pulled up to set without telling me?”

Joe stepped closer, eyes steady on hers. “Didn’t think I needed an invite.”

She tilted her head, unbothered on the surface, but her heart was thudding beneath it. “You usually that bold, Burrow?”

He took another step. “Only when I know it’ll work.”

Y/N blinked, but didn’t back up. “This whole possessive energy you’ve got going on today? Kinda funny for a guy who says he doesn’t want anything serious.”

Joe’s voice dropped, smooth and edged. “I don’t want anything serious. Doesn’t mean I like people thinking someone else is touching what I—”

He cut himself off.

Y/N raised a brow. “What you what?”

Joe looked at her. Really looked. His jaw set. His eyes flickered from her lips back to her eyes like he was calculating whether to say it or show it.

“I’m not used to sharing,” he said instead.

Y/N tried not to let that hit too deep. She’d built a career out of discipline, focus, knowing when to walk away. But the heat radiating between them right now?

It was impossible to ignore.

“So what do you wanna do about that?” she asked.

Joe stepped in again. Now they were toe-to-toe. His voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me where the nearest closet is.”

Y/N laughed, soft but breathless. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned in just enough that she felt his breath on her skin. “But you’re not walking away.”

“No,” she said, cheeks flushing. “I’m not.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Meanwhile…

Kayla sat outside in a folding chair, sunglasses on, watching the door like she was waiting for fireworks. She scrolled Twitter absently and muttered to herself:

“Five minutes. I give them five minutes before someone’s shirt comes off.”

A voice from behind startled her.

“Talking to yourself again?”

It was Y/N’s co-star. All tall smiles and magazine covers and just enough swagger to set off exactly the wrong alarms.

“Oh,” Kayla said, standing slowly. “You again.”

He smiled. “Just finished ADR. You waiting on Y/N?”

Kayla tilted her head. “Always.”

His eyes lingered a little too long on the trailer door.

And suddenly, Kayla’s instincts kicked in.

Something about his tone. The way he looked at the trailer. Like he knew who else was inside.

Like he wanted to know.

Kayla narrowed her eyes.

“Oh, this just got interesting…”

Kayla narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses, watching Co-Star Boy lean a little too casually against the side of a production cart. He was scrolling, but his eyes kept darting back to Y/N’s trailer.

Twice now.

And Kayla caught both.

She slid her phone from her pocket and fired off a text to Carmen: “Tell me why Mr. Netflix is hovering like he knows who inside that trailer. We watching him now too.”

No sooner had she hit send, the trailer door swung open. Joe stepped out first, hoodie still on but tension clearly in his shoulders. His eyes flicked across the lot—immediately clocking the co-star nearby.

His jaw ticked.

And of course, Co-Star Boy just happened to glance over and offer a half-smile.

Not a hello.

Just a smug little “oh, it’s you” nod.

Joe stared for a beat too long. Then walked off without a word.

Kayla stood and met him halfway. “Soooo…”

“She’s inside,” he said simply.

Kayla lowered her glasses. “And Co-Star Boy’s been giving whole villain arc vibes since you walked out.”

Joe gave her a look. “You watching him now?”

“Watching everybody. My girl’s a prize, and I don’t trust Mr. Tall and Touchy.”

Joe’s lip twitched into something between a smirk and a warning. “I’m starting to feel the same.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Inside the Trailer…

Y/N was finishing a touch-up in the mirror when Kayla walked back in.

“Your walking dildo made eye contact with your scene partner like he was about to call an audible and drop him on the concrete,” she said casually, kicking off her shoes.

Y/N snorted. “Why are men like this?”

Kayla shrugged. “Because men. But also, I don’t like the way Mr. Co-Star was looking at the trailer.”

Y/N paused. “Wait, for real?”

“Mmhm. Not he-likes-your-music looking. Like he-knows-something-he-shouldn’t looking.”

Y/N frowned, the edge of tension coming back. “I’m not about to do a whole scandal just because I look good on screen with someone.”

Kayla nodded, then smirked. “Well, you do look like you’d ruin lives in that jumpsuit. So, yeah. Be careful, sis.”

Y/N bit her lip, already reaching for her phone.

To Joe: You good?

From Joe: Fine. Watching. Still not sharing.

The tension in the air was palpable as Joe’s message hit Y/N’s phone, and she couldn’t help but feel a slight smile tug at her lips. Still not sharing? That one line felt like a challenge — like a spark was being lit. And he was clearly watching.

But as the minutes ticked by and Y/N finished up her prep, the soft buzz of the door opening snapped her back to reality.

Kayla sauntered in, her eyes dancing with mischief. “So, are we still pretending this whole thing isn’t about to turn into a full-blown soap opera?”

Y/N glanced at her phone, reading Joe’s message one more time, and then put it face down. "I’m not pretending anything. I just want to finish this session and get the hell out of here."

Kayla raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “And you’re not about to call Mr. QB1 to handle whatever drama’s brewing with your co-star? Because that look he gave you earlier? Very I’m ready to run some interference energy.”

Y/N let out a breath, her gaze flicking back to the mirror. “I don’t need anyone to handle anything for me. I’m good. And the last thing I need is more heat on me right now.”

Kayla grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos. “You’re acting like you’re not into the heat.”

Y/N gave her a side-eye. “Just keep it cute, Kay. We have a show to get ready for.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Outside the trailer…

Joe was still lingering, eyeing the scene with her co-star and a few others. His phone buzzed in his hand, but his eyes were focused on the subtle interaction he was witnessing.

There was no mistaking it now — Co-Star Boy was definitely stepping into that territory. His posture, his words, everything about his vibe was just a little too much.

Joe didn’t respond to the message that just came through. Instead, he pocketed his phone and took a few more steps in that direction, his jaw tight.

"Yo," he called, getting the attention of one of the production assistants who was walking past. “Tell me, who’s the one in charge of keeping the boundaries around here?”

The assistant raised an eyebrow. “You talking about the co-stars? Or the cast?”

Joe grinned. “Both. Preferably the ones who think they can cross a line.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Back in the trailer…

Y/N was in the zone now, headset on, earphones in as she tested the sound for the upcoming session. The world outside felt distant as she got lost in her own head, humming lightly along with the beat.

But as she opened her eyes and looked up to check the mirror again, there he was — Co-Star Boy, standing in the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips.

Y/N froze.

He leaned against the frame, crossing his arms. “You know, I think we need to have a real talk about how much time we’re spending together. Can’t have you getting too cozy with your other favorite guy.”

The words hung in the air. And for a split second, Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She didn't know if it was his bravado or if it was the fact that he seemed so sure of where her focus was.

Before she could even respond, Kayla was at her side. “Excuse me,” she said with a false sweetness, “You’re gonna need to leave her alone for the next hour. It’s time for work.”

Y/N shot Kayla a grateful glance as Co-Star Boy took the hint, looking a little too cocky for someone who was about to be shut down.

“Whatever you say,” he drawled, turning to leave. “Just don’t forget who your real competition is.”

Y/N didn’t even flinch, though her mind was racing. She felt a rush of adrenaline at how easily the tension could snap between her and him — just like that.

Once the door closed, Kayla shot Y/N a look. “He’s got some nerve.”

“Maybe,” Y/N replied, shaking her head. “But I’m not about to entertain it.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Later that day…

Joe was waiting by her trailer door when she stepped outside, looking like he hadn’t been there long. His smirk was back, more dangerous now, and it made her pulse race.

“You good?” he asked casually, stepping toward her as she walked to him.

“Fine,” she said, matching his tone. “Just… work stuff.”

Joe didn’t seem convinced. “Work stuff?” he repeated, his voice low. “Or ‘another guy trying to pull a stunt’ stuff?”

Y/N stopped and looked him in the eyes. “It’s not that deep.”

He stepped even closer, closing the space between them. “I don’t like the idea of anyone trying to push you around, Y/N.”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of his words.

Before she could respond, he leaned in slightly, his breath just brushing her ear. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

Y/N stood there, her heart pounding in her chest, and before she even knew it, she was pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I’m not your problem to fix, Joe.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “We both know that’s not true.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Later that night…

Kayla couldn’t stop laughing as she flipped through Y/N’s phone, watching the messages come in. “Girl, I know you’re about to lose your damn mind with all this tension.”

Y/N tried not to look too amused. “No. I’m good. We’re good.”

“Uh-huh,” Kayla said, her eyes glinting. “And that text I just saw? Definitely not ‘friends with benefits’ territory. That man is hanging on by a thread.”

Y/N’s phone buzzed again.

From Joe: You need anything tonight? Just say the word. I’m waiting…

Y/N stared at the screen for a moment, a part of her heart skipping. But her mind remained sharp, refusing to let the lines blur… for now.

Kayla looked over, sensing her moment to strike. “Tell me you’re not going to text him.”

Y/N looked up from her phone and gave her best friend a wicked grin.

“I’m just playing the game,” she said softly. Then, to herself, added with a knowing look, “And it’s a hell of a game.”

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Y/N was sitting comfortably on the plush couch in the dimly lit, iconic studio of The Graham Norton Show, the warmth of the spotlight hitting her as the crowd eagerly awaited her arrival. She had her game face on—smiling, poised, answering questions about her latest song and the buzz around her new series. The promotional circuit had been a whirlwind, but she was used to it by now.

The camera flashed, and the host, Graham, leaned in with a grin that could only mean one thing: he was about to ask her something she wasn’t prepared for.

"So, Y/N," Graham said, leaning forward with his trademark cheeky smile. "We’ve been hearing a lot about your new music, your new show, and let’s not forget, the little bit of controversy that seems to be following you around. But there’s something that has really got the internet buzzing lately. A picture that was shared—"

Y/N’s stomach dropped, and she knew immediately what he was referring to. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come up, but of course, it did. The picture. That damn picture.

Graham clicked a button on his remote, and suddenly, the giant screen behind him lit up with the image: Y/N and Co-Star Boy locked in a passionate kiss. They were on set, caught in the heat of a scene, but the fans had no idea—it was just a scene for their show. They didn’t know that. All they saw was a snapshot, and the internet had run wild with speculation.

The crowd gasped in reaction, some of them giggling, some murmuring with curiosity. Y/N’s eyes flicked from the screen to the audience, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. The last thing she wanted was for people to misinterpret this as anything other than work.

Graham chuckled, his voice playful but with a hint of mischief. "Now, Y/N, can you shed some light on this for us? Is Co-Star Boy your new man? The internet seems to think so. You’ve been pretty private about your relationships, but this—well, this tells a different story."

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, the tension in her shoulders rising. She knew this was coming, but she didn’t expect it to hit so suddenly. The last thing she wanted was to be dragged into a headline about her personal life. She wasn’t ready for this kind of exposure.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled and leaned forward slightly, trying to maintain control. "Look," she said, her tone measured but with a subtle edge of annoyance. "That picture is from the set of my new series. It’s a scene between two characters. Just two actors doing their job, okay? So, no, I’m not dating Co-Star Boy. It’s all part of the role."

The crowd quieted for a moment, and Graham raised an eyebrow. "But you can see why people would get the wrong impression, right? I mean, look at the chemistry in that picture!"

Y/N laughed, but it was a little forced. "Well, we’re actors, Graham. That’s our job—creating chemistry, making the audience feel something. But off-screen, it’s just business."

She didn’t miss the way Graham’s eyes flicked to her, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. He didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he let her slide by with it for now.

"Fair enough," he said, flashing his trademark grin. "But you’ve got to admit—there’s something going on, right? I mean, look at you two. The way he looks at you—"

Y/N shifted in her seat, feeling the weight of the question hanging in the air. She couldn’t quite escape the feeling that Graham was pushing her into a corner, trying to get a reaction out of her. She was determined not to give him one.

"Again," she said, leaning back and crossing her legs with a graceful motion. "It’s just a part of the job. And as for my personal life, I’m very private about it. I don’t need to share everything with the world. I’m just focused on my career—my music, my acting. I’m really proud of the work I’m doing right now, and that’s all that matters."

Graham gave her a knowing smile. "Of course, of course," he said, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. "But you can’t blame us for wanting to dig a little deeper into the mystery that is Y/N, can you?"

Y/N laughed, but it was tight, controlled. "I’m not a mystery, Graham," she replied, a playful yet pointed edge to her voice. "I’m just a woman who’s trying to make it in this industry, and I’m doing my best to keep my personal life private."

The tension was palpable, the crowd waiting for more, but thankfully, Graham moved on to the next topic.

As the interview continued, though, Y/N’s mind was still racing. The picture. The kiss. Her heart ached a little at the thought of how quickly the world would assume things. Her fans didn’t know the context—hell, she barely knew how to handle the situation. She was just doing her job. She wasn’t ready for this kind of drama.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Later that night, as the interview wrapped up and Y/N was back in her hotel room, her phone buzzed incessantly with notifications. She glanced at the screen, seeing dozens of tweets, Instagram posts, and articles tagging her in the kiss photo. Among them, a tweet stood out:

“Y/N and Co-Star Boy: New Couple or Just a Publicity Stunt? 🤔”

Before she could process it, another message came through.

It was from Kayla. “So… did the world just confirm your new relationship? Because, babe, I swear if you don’t call me right now…”

Y/N groaned and grabbed her phone, dialing Kayla’s number.

"Girl, I’m gonna lose it," Y/N muttered when Kayla answered. "This whole damn thing has spiraled out of control."

Kayla’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement on the other end. "Tell me about it. I’m already seeing the memes. There are thousands of them."

"Shut up!" Y/N replied, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "This is a mess."

Kayla’s laughter filled the line. "At least it’s a fun mess. I’m sure Joe is having a blast watching all of this unfold, huh?"

Y/N’s stomach tightened at the mention of Joe. She hadn’t heard from him since the interview earlier, and she wasn’t sure how he was taking all of this.

“Kayla, please don’t even bring up Joe right now," she said, trying to avoid the inevitable conversation. She didn’t need the added stress.

But Kayla wasn’t having it. “Look, I know this whole Co-Star Boy thing is messy, but the real tea here is Joe. What’s his take on all of this, huh?”

Y/N bit her lip, glancing out of the window. Joe. Her mind wandered back to their last encounter, to their heated moments in her hotel room. The tension between them had only grown since then. But this situation, with the public eye on her and the press creating a narrative about her and Co-Star Boy… it felt like everything had shifted.

"I don't know, Kayla. But I’m not thinking about Joe right now," Y/N replied, though the words felt like a lie as soon as they left her lips.

Kayla chuckled knowingly. "Right. Sure you’re not."

Y/N rolled her eyes at Kayla’s teasing, her phone still buzzing with notifications about the kiss. She knew she’d have to deal with it at some point, but right now, she needed to focus on something else. "I’ll call you back, okay?" Y/N said, trying to keep her cool despite the turmoil of her thoughts. "I have to take this."

Kayla’s voice was muffled with amusement on the other end. "Uh-huh, sure. Taking him call, huh?" she said, before Y/N hung up, already knowing her best friend was probably laughing her ass off.

The phone screen lit up, and it was a FaceTime notification from Joe.

Y/N hesitated for only a second before swiping to answer. She didn't want to deal with more chaos, but seeing Joe’s name pop up had her stomach flipping in anticipation, even though she was trying so hard to keep it casual. He was probably watching the same mess unfold online, and she wasn't sure if this conversation would be another tension-filled one or something more... comforting.

She took a deep breath before answering.

The screen flickered as Joe’s face appeared, grinning as usual, but there was a noticeable glint in his eyes. "Hey," he said casually, his deep voice sending a rush through her. "How’s it going, beautiful?"

Y/N let out a breath, trying to keep her expression neutral. "It’s been better," she replied, a little quieter than she intended. "You saw the interview?"

Joe’s smile faltered for a second, and Y/N couldn’t quite place what she saw in his eyes—something between concern and amusement. "Yeah, I saw it. That picture, huh?"

She scoffed and leaned back against the bed, running a hand through her hair. "I didn’t think this would happen. Of all people, why Co-Star Boy?"

Joe raised an eyebrow at her, his smile creeping back in. "You think I’m worried about that? Nah. It’s whatever." He looked like he was about to say something else but paused, taking a deep breath. "But, Y/N, I need to ask… do you want me to, I don’t know, clear the air or something? Let people know they've got the wrong guy?"

Y/N blinked. That wasn’t exactly the direction she thought this conversation would go. "Honestly, I don’t think I need you to do that. I mean, we’re both grown, right? I don’t need anyone to explain my personal life for me." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Besides, I don’t know what the hell this is anymore with Co-Star Boy, so I can’t expect you to play PR for me."

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. "I don’t care what they think. I mean, you’re definitely not with him. You know that, right?" His eyes softened slightly, his playful tone now carrying something else—something more intimate, like he was reminding her of the truth they both knew.

Y/N chewed on her lip for a moment, trying to decide if she should address the obvious tension between them that no one could ignore. Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door.

She froze.

It was late. No one was supposed to be stopping by. Her heart skipped a beat, and she wondered if it was another interview request or—

"Hold on," she muttered, standing up and walking cautiously toward the door, eyes glancing back to Joe on the screen.

She cracked the door open, expecting to see a hotel staff member or someone else she didn’t recognize, but as soon as the door opened, her breath caught in her throat.

There, standing in the hallway with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, was Joe.

A small, teasing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Thought I’d drop by and see if you needed some company," he said, his voice laced with playful confidence, the way he always said things that made her heart race.

Y/N stared at him for a moment, her mind spinning as she tried to wrap her head around the fact that Joe had shown up in person, out of nowhere. She’d been half-expecting this conversation over FaceTime, but now that he was standing there in front of her, the energy shifted completely. The tension that had been simmering between them since last night seemed to bubble to the surface, and she couldn’t ignore it.

"Joe," she said slowly, looking back at her phone. He was still grinning at her through the screen, watching the whole thing unfold. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He leaned casually against the doorframe. "What? Didn’t you miss me?" His tone was teasing, but his eyes were more serious than usual. "I figured we could talk... face to face."

Y/N quickly pulled Joe inside before anyone could spot him, slamming the door shut behind them with a sharp thud. Her heart was racing as she stared at him, her pulse quickening at the realization that Joe Burrow had just flown across the globe to be here, in her hotel room, at the exact moment when everything was spiraling out of control.

“Joe,” she breathed, still trying to wrap her mind around it. “You seriously came all the way here?”

He gave her a smirk, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, stepping into the room and standing a little too close for comfort, his presence as overwhelming as ever.

Y/N took a deep breath, her mind reeling from everything that had happened over the past few days. The kiss with Co-Star Boy, the mess with the media, her private life being scrutinized—now Joe was here, standing in front of her, adding to the chaos.

Her gaze flicked back to Joe on the phone, a part of her wanting to back away from this situation altogether, but she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. "Kayla's gonna have a field day with this," she muttered under her breath, but Joe heard it.

"Let her," he said confidently, his voice low. "This is between us."

Y/N stood there for a moment, trying to decide if she was really ready to dive into whatever this was between them. But when Joe’s eyes softened, and his playful expression shifted into something more intense, something that made her pulse quicken, she found herself stepping aside and letting him into her room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and as Joe closed the distance between them, the air thickened with unspoken words. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, their tangled emotions, and whatever this thing was that had been building between them since the moment they met.

Y/N didn’t know what was going to happen next, but she did know one thing: with Joe here, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

And yet... maybe that was exactly what she needed.

The tension was undeniable.

Y/N crossed her arms, trying to keep her cool, but she couldn’t ignore the rush of emotions swirling inside her. “Why are you here, really?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve been busy with the season. You didn’t have to drop everything for... this.”

Joe’s smile faded just a little, and he stepped closer, his gaze locking with hers. “I don’t like sharing, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Especially when it comes to you. So, I’m here to make sure that this whole ‘Co-Star Boy’ thing doesn’t get out of hand.” His eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign that she would deny whatever was between them.

Y/N couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, though it was a little more nervous than usual. She rolled her eyes, trying to ease the tension. “Co-Star Boy?” she repeated, shaking her head. “There’s nothing between us, Joe. I’d rather swim with jellyfish than let that situation get any deeper. Trust me.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not buying it. “Jellyfish, huh?” he teased, a smirk dancing across his lips. “Guess that’s one way to get stung.”

She met his teasing smirk with a playful shrug. “I mean, I’d survive it. Probably get stung a few times, but I’d come out fine.” She stepped back slightly, trying to keep her distance, but it was hard with him standing so close, his presence so commanding.

Joe’s eyes softened, but only for a split second before the playful teasing returned. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough to make her heart skip a beat. “But I think you’re enjoying this tension a little too much. You like the chase, don’t you?”

Y/N felt her breath hitch, but she tried to keep herself composed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but the slight tilt of her lips betrayed her. The tension between them was palpable, a thick, electric buzz in the air, and she could feel it building again.

Joe laughed softly, his eyes flicking down to her lips for just a moment before looking back up at her. “You’re good at pretending, Y/N. But not that good.” His fingers brushed lightly against hers, the touch almost innocent, but she could tell it was anything but.

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to focus. “I’m not pretending anything, Joe,” she said quietly, but there was a vulnerability in her voice that she couldn’t hide.

Joe’s smirk faded again, replaced by something deeper, something more genuine. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. “I know what’s going on between us. We both do.”

For a moment, the air was thick with silence. Y/N stood there, torn between wanting to keep up the banter and not wanting to let the conversation get too real, too quickly. But the pull between them was undeniable, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was caught in it.

She finally broke the silence, her voice softer than before. “I’m not ready for all that drama right now, Joe,” she said, though she knew he could probably see right through her. “I’m focusing on my career... not a relationship.”

Joe nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. “I get it. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, right?” he said, his tone a little lighter now, though there was still that undercurrent of intensity.

Y/N was taken aback by how easily he was slipping back into their usual rhythm. But she wasn’t ready to go down that road yet. Not in front of the cameras, not with all the noise around her personal life. Not yet.

“I’m not trying to complicate things,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe stepped back slightly, giving her some space. “I’m not either,” he said, though there was a slight edge to his words. "But I'm not just going to sit around and pretend like there’s nothing between us. I want more than just… what we have. Even if it’s just for now."

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. Was she ready for this? To let the lines blur even further? She wasn’t sure.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Joe,” she said, her voice almost breaking. “Not you. Not anyone. Not like this."

Joe stepped forward, his hand gently brushing against her cheek. “You’re not hurting anyone, Y/N. You’re just living your life, and so am I.” He tilted his head, his voice softening. “But when it comes to you, I’m not backing down.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. She didn’t know where this was headed, but the way Joe was looking at her, the way the tension between them was thick enough to touch—it was impossible to ignore.

And just like that, she felt everything shift.

“You should stay,” she said, her voice barely audible, but it was enough for Joe to catch the underlying invitation.

His eyes lit up, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something else—something more than just playful teasing. Something deeper. “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice low, almost like a promise.

Y/N nodded slowly, not trusting her own emotions in that moment, but giving in anyway. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to fight it anymore. Not tonight.

And so, as the tension finally snapped between them, they both knew that this was just the beginning of whatever it was they were about to dive into.

The questions, the drama, the back-and-forth—it would come, but for now, they had this moment. And neither of them was about to let it slip away.

Joe stepped closer, his fingers brushing hers once more. “Then let’s not waste any more time,” he murmured, as he leaned in to kiss her, the room filling with the tension that had been building for weeks since the last time they seen each other.

But for now, neither of them was thinking about anything but the here and now.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her outfit for the night, her mind still preoccupied with Joe's text from earlier. The flirtation was still fresh, but her and Kayla had made plans for a much-needed girls' night out, and Y/N was trying her hardest to focus on the fun ahead instead of the inevitable tension she and Joe had been dancing around for weeks.

Kayla was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone with a wicked grin plastered on her face. Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she heard her best friend snicker from behind her.

"What now, Kayla?" Y/N asked, her tone half-impatient, half-amused.

Kayla looked up from her phone, her grin only widening. "Girl, you are ridiculous," she said, sitting up and tossing her phone onto the coffee table. "Joe is literally insatiable. And you’re playing hard to get. Come on, what did he say in that text? You still haven’t told me." She waggled her eyebrows, nudging her best friend with her elbow. "I bet it was something hot, wasn't it?"

Y/N scoffed, but the tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "It’s just him being himself," she replied dismissively, as she grabbed her bag and started to head for the door. "He sent some stupid thing about me keeping him on his toes. But you know how he is. He thinks he's funny."

Kayla wasn’t letting it slide, of course. She stood up, trailing behind Y/N as she headed for the door. "He is funny, but that man’s got some serious need for you. I mean, come on, you can’t tell me you don’t feel it."

Y/N rolled her eyes again, not wanting to get too caught up in her own feelings—or the fact that, deep down, she did feel it. She was just too busy juggling everything—her career, her acting, her music—to get wrapped up in whatever Joe was trying to offer.

"Okay, enough," Y/N said, practically dragging Kayla out the door. "Let's just get to this girls' night and forget about all that for a while. I need a drink."

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Hours later, after plenty of laughs and drinks with Kayla and a few others, Y/N found herself back at the hotel, attempting to decompress after the whirlwind of the night. She was about to change into something more comfortable when she felt her phone buzz on the bed. A quick glance told her it was a message from Joe.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, curiosity getting the best of her. She typed a quick reply, something casual—“What’s up?”—and tossed the phone aside. But her heart skipped a beat when she heard it vibrate a few minutes later.

This time, the text was different.

"Still thinking about you... I’ll make it worth your while next time we’re together."

A smirk tugged at Y/N's lips, but she had learned by now not to get too attached to these types of conversations. She casually sent back, “Maybe, but I’m not sure you deserve it yet.”

She set the phone down again, finally sinking into the plush hotel chair with a sigh.

That was when the phone rang—FaceTime, the screen flashing with a familiar name.

"Joe?" Y/N answered, expecting his smiling face. But instead, her heart nearly stopped when she saw a woman’s face pop up on the screen.

Her smile was wide, almost too wide, and her eyes glittered with a mixture of confidence and something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

“Hello, Y/N,” the woman said, her tone smooth as silk. “It’s so nice to finally talk to you.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. She blinked a few times, her breath caught in her throat as her mind scrambled for answers.

“Uhm… Who are you?” Y/N managed to get out, her voice shaky despite how hard she was trying to sound cool.

The woman smiled again, her lips curling slightly as if she had anticipated this reaction. “I’m Michelle,” she said, her tone laced with an almost polite mockery. “Joe’s fiancée.”

The room seemed to shrink around Y/N as the words hit her like a punch to the gut.

"Fiancée?" Y/N’s voice came out barely a whisper as her heart stuttered in her chest. "Joe… is… engaged?"

Michelle’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something cold in her eyes. "Yes, we’ve been together for a while now," she said smoothly, her voice like honey, but there was an edge to it. "But I’m sure he’s told you we’re very open about... certain things."

Y/N’s blood went cold, and her fingers tightened on the phone, a mix of confusion, anger, and disbelief swirling inside her. She had no idea how to respond, her mind racing.

Michelle seemed to be enjoying the uncomfortable silence. "Don’t worry," she continued, her tone almost amused. "I’m not here to cause drama. Joe and I have an understanding. He enjoys… his little distractions. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t come back to me at the end of the day."

Y/N's mind spun, trying to process everything, but one thing was clear—this wasn’t just some casual situation like Joe had led her to believe. She had been used for something more than what she was told, and that sting was like a slap across her face.

Before she could respond, the screen flickered, and Michelle’s face disappeared. She was left staring at the dark screen, her heart pounding in her chest.

The room felt suffocating now. She didn’t know whether to be furious, heartbroken, or just utterly disgusted.

Y/N stood up abruptly, the phone slipping from her hands as her mind swirled with confusion and emotions. What had she gotten herself into?

Meanwhile, Kayla, who had been texting a certain someone back and forth all night, had been watching from the other side of the room, and she’d noticed the sudden change in Y/N’s demeanor. Her teasing smile faltered, as she picked up on the tension in the air.

"Girl, what just happened?" Kayla asked, standing up from the couch, her voice low with concern. "That wasn’t Joe, was it?"

Y/N looked up at her, still reeling from what she’d just heard. She didn’t know what to feel anymore.

“Yeah, that was Joe’s fiancée.” Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I guess I wasn’t the only one he was playing with.”

Kayla froze for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "Wait… what?!"

JB9 Taglist: @lilfreakjez, @dasia21, @superanastasia1981, @gg-trini, @wickedfun9, @irishmanwhore

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threepandas · 8 months ago

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Bad End: Poisoned Cups

I hadn't adjusted well, at first. I don't think anyone could have. Being an elf sound cool, on paper. The better eye sight, the incredible hearing, the stamina. All sorts of perks right? But what they don't tell you, is that when your soul is human? When you get isekai'd by some divine oversight or fucker with a truck?

It doesn't adapt that well, to a new body. Your soul INSISTS you should still be human, with all the trappings, and throws a FIT, when you just.... aren't. So you end up with migraines. Eyes that swim in and out of focus. Wheezing, struggling, breathe. A body at war with itself.

The world was so loud. Too loud. I could hear EVERYTHING and it HURT. Couldn't breathe and THAT hurt. Was nauseated all the time, from my eyes refusing to focus properly. That too, hurt. All of it, pain. Just? Pain. Day after day, pain pain pain.

My poor parents were helpless. The doctors struggled.

But the King? HE could save me.

And he did.

He was younger then. Just barely into his rule. His Father having just stepped down. My parents, desperate, brought me before him. Waited in line for days. They didn't even know if he COULD do anything, were grimly prepared for him to say that sadly, nothing COULD be done. But? Instead? He looked me over, called for several old texts, looked again, then called upon the strength of the Throne.

My parents apparently started weeping the second I stopped.

All I remember is the pain going away. Being exhausted. A REALLY pretty elf man in a crown. Things getting... better, after that.

I was told that story often, as a child. It utterly transformed our household. From merely loyal citizens, to devote Loyalists. Speaking ill of the King in THIS house? Would now get you HURT. My parents had been convinced they were going to LOSE me. The King as far as they were concerned, saved my LIFE.

Which is why I didn't put anything together. Seeing as we were an "all King all the time" Sort of house. We had one(1) team and we were sticking to it. Permanently. His son? Eeeeh, maybe. We'd figure that out later. We didn't care to know. And I was too busy with school work to CHECK.

Which? Meant I didn't NOTICE? He looked? More and more... Otome Capture Target as time went on. Specifically, he looked kinda crown prince from "Dance of the Secret Forest! A True Love For Me?!" sort of Shaped. Which... gee, what ARE the odds? Especially given that so many OTHER things are named suspiciously similar or exactly the same to that game?

.........yeeeeeah. I decided not to take chances.

I looked that shit UP.

And wouldn't you know it? Protagonist-chan? Not there yet. But she SURE COULD BE! All the legends were EXACTLY what they should be. Forests and locations the same! PEOPLE the same! Oh HELL no. Good to know where NOT to be, I guess.

Not my circus, NOT my Otome Drama Monkeys.

I? Would be working for the KING. My family owed him a debt.

And when I graduated? I applied. Top of my class. I studied my ASS off. Could have gone anywhere. But I was aiming for the TOP. A debt to be repayed and frankly? Excellent job security on top of it! So filling busy work in dusty ass backrooms it was. Gotta start from the bottom, after all.

I exhausted them. Was honestly barely trying too at that point. They should see me TRYING to put my nose to the grindstone. Burn the midnight oil! Ha! HA, I say! Long elven lifespans slow you all down! I? Used to live in a capitalist hellscape! This is NOTHING.

I'm not even multi-tasking. It's not even LUNCH YET.

Did I get promoted? Yes. Do I worry my coworkers? Deeply! But shit needs doing and we don't have all day! There is a nation to run! Have some tea. Eat a turnover. Now~! Where are my fuckin documents~☆?

I get promoted again.

Then again.

Aaaaand again.

I'm pretty sure it's cause I scare people. Am FAST. Efficient. Willing to hunt my coworkers for SPORT, like a god damned bloodhound, if it means we get that one extra tax document that makes or breaks us. I have (and will again if necessary) climbed through people's fucking WALLS. Cause, honestly? If they wanted to stop me?

They should have warded the gods damned vents.

Fuckin casuals. Get on my level.

So, now? I am the baby. King's inner circle. And EVERYONE? Is damn near twice my age! And, granted, yes. It IS hilarious I still scare like half the people working under me... but come ON! You are elite government officials! Do BETTER! (Geez. At least my PARENTS couldn't be prouder.)

But... (and God damn it, why is there ALWAYS a "but"?) here's the thing. It? Took me a WHILE to get where I am now. Long enough, in fact, for our... Problem, to arrive. A Problem which is GOING to cast his Majesty's kingdom into chaos and turmoil, in fighting and divides. Religious upheaval. A PROBLEM, which? In the name of luuuuuv~?

Is going to get NEIGHBORING COUNTRIES involved.

And WHO do you think is going to have to deal with that? WHO will have to prevent all out WAR? Religious schisms? Ward off assassins in the night? Certainly not Mr. "But Daddy, I love her!". Oh no, HE gets to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his father's suffering! Make more trouble! (Fucker.)

But, hey! Maybe I should throw in with his SECOND son, right? The supporting character? He seems vastly more reasonable and emotionally more balanced doesn't he? Well educated, cautious, why, thoughtful even! Ha ha... yeah... he DOES seem that way, doesn't he?

SEEMS.

He Is Not. Little fucker is a SPECIAL flavor of batshit. Completely "wake to find him standing over you, in your LOCKED BEDROOM, asking if you want to see his new favorite knife" nutty puffs. Not sure which side of the family it comes from, to be honest. Disturbingly good at getting past my warding.

Or at least he WAS, until I got the King involved. Ha! Royal wards! You can't touch me! I sleep like a BABY now! The only people who can enter my rooms now? Are literally JUST me and the KING HIMSELF! How safe is that~‽

But for real... poor his Majesty, you know? It's not like he didn't TRY to be a good father. Take time he couldn't afford out of each day, to spend time with his sons. Insist on eating meals together so he could ask them about their interests, how each day had gone. Involved them where he safely could.

He's a somber man. A dignified one. But let NO ONE say, he is not a LOVING one.

And HOW do his children fucking reward him? Middle school love dramatics and MURDER ATTEMPTS IN THE NIGHT! Because, YES, I have found the disturbing murder board that the second prince has in his "secret" room. Right along his equally disturbing stalker board of ME.

I, obviously, told the King.

He did not look pleased.

Don't know if my new reality has, like, intensive therapy programs or something? But I hope for ALL our sakes, that the second Prince is at the winter palace getting HELP, instead of just? You know... plotting.

His Highness has a nasty tendency to plot, after all. But hey, his Majesty says not to worry about it? I choose to believe him. Concern myself with more immediate threats. Enjoy, no longer turning around to find some baby faced little creep with a hunter's stare, just... watching me. As I try to work. As I try to eat. Around corners, still as a statue, yet somehow a THREAT, in lonely and too empty corridors.

God fucking DAMN, his little "crush" was creepy!

If it weren't for his Majesty? I would have run and run FAR. But... but I? And you CAN NOT repeat this, okay? It's WILDLY inappropriate! A-And I SWEAR I'm never going to.. to ACT on it! I would NEVER. So...so PROMISE, okay?

....cause.... I may... MAY! Possibly! Just a LITTLE bit! Sorta, kinda, just a BIT? Have a TEENY? Little crush... on... his Majesty? Maybe???

YOU CAN'T TELL!

It's SO fucking inappropriate. Oh my GOD. I hate this so much!? Cause he's my BOSS! And old enough to be my DAD! I SHOULDN'T be so attracted to him, right?! Plus he's the KING! There's definitely a power imbalance there! How would that even WORK?! We would have no future! I don't know the first THING about how to BE royalty. And no one would accept me!

Not that I think I even have a CHANCE! Fuck no! I'm not THAT arrogant.

But, like? A girl can day dream. Fantasize, you know?

Which is why? Having his SON? Be a creepo stalker at me? Kinda the WORST. I've literally JUST discovered I'm into older men! Thanks! BEGONE, zygote! Also, your vibes are RANCID! No thanks! I hated that and am SO glad it's gone. Now? All I have to worry about? Is Protagonist-chan and the political SHIT SHOW she drags after her like trail of destruction.

Why is she involving foreign royalty? PLEASE stop involving foreign royalty! Dukes! Religious leaders! MILITARY LEADERS. Stop "Helen of Troy"-ing your ass through our nice, PEACEFUL, kingdom!!! What the ACTUAL FUCK!? This is NOT A THEME PARK.

I watch, vaguely horrified, as his Majesty finishes reading three (yes, count um! Fucking THREE!) different royal missives demanding three different women of legend, from three DIFFERENT legends, who coincidentally enough? Happen to ALL BE THE SAME PERSON. Fucking Protagonist-chan.

They were from long standing ALLIES.

We could not AFFORD to lose those.

And the FOURTH message? Oh, THAT? That, was from his SON! Mr. "But Daddy! I Love her!" HIMSELF! He wants permission to marry the random woman of unknown province he found in the woods! Could be a foreign spy! Could be a mad woman. Who CARES right? They're SO in love~

Enough to START A WAR OVER IT.

I skip the tasting cups and instead? Bring his Majesty a bottle of the strongest star wine I can find. The sort that could damn near eat through rocks and vaporizes in air if you pour it out. Pain killers too, for what HAS to be a killer headache. Then I hesitate. You know what? Fuck it. I grab a cart. Make a care package.

Paper, ink, the STRONG tea, that special occasions tea (in case he needs a reason to remember his will to live), some snacks, a few shawls in case he decides to work late...

It's worth it, to see the way his stressed face relaxs when I return. Eyes softening, corner of his mouth curling up in that tiny, secret, little smile. We can get through this. We WILL get through this. I may not be able to stand by his side, but? I can support him. Help.

So long as HE sits in this office, burning himself down to keep this nation warm, so too, will I.

Tea or booze, your Majesty?

"A blend, I think. Unfortunately, I fear it is going to be a long night for us both." He replies. His voice smooth and low, effortlessly filling the room. A lifetime of public speaking, ingrained so very deep. "You should pour yourself a cup as well, my dear. Sleep will be a long time coming, we will need both the calm and the clarity."

I rolled my borrowed tea cart to the side and got to work. Strong tea and stronger star wine. Certainly a... flavor. Fairly certain such a thing should be illegal. Pretty sure our healers are going to be appalled. But, oh well. Needs, must. One for me, one for him.

He held out a hand. It was a sweeping gesture of his arm, a gentle turn of his wrist. I could never get used to his casual... elegance. The beauty of him. Like a living art work. A dancer. As though he were an actor, striking a pose, about to consider the soul of the simple tea cup. I handed it over, gently and with as much elegance as I could.

It still felt clumsy in comparison.

Yet he still smiled, just slightly. In that way I had learned to spot. Tension dripping away from his shoulders like thawing ice. Running in little rivers like melt waters, as he sat back in his chair, half turning it to face me. A brief moment to relax. Before work begins again.

"Ah... completely vile. Thank you, dear. It's disgusting." He said dryly, catching me off gaurd, and making me damn near snort into my cup. "If it did not work so well? I would never consume this swill again. What a perfect waste of tea and wine. We should invite Yevault."

I laugh. A snirking, snorting, choked little thing into my cup. God, but I've been TRYING to laugh more elegantly. Hell, I've even practiced. But when he catches me off gaurd? I swear to God, I cackle and pop. Like some sort of deranged witch pig. Ow, my sinuses.

"Oh but that's right, Yevault is a healer, on the occasions he takes time from being an unbearable snob. He might actually make us rest, dear. Then where would we be?" His Majesty muses, taking another sip before grimacing at the taste.

I go to respond. Probably some quip about "preferably in bed" or "asleep". Only... only to find my tounge sluggish. My exhaustion mounting, not slipping away. The world has begun to sway. Just a little at first, then notable. My mouth... fuzzy? Prickly. W...what?

His Majesty has begun to frown. Delicately setting down his cup... cup? Something about... a cup... I have taken too long to respond. He rises. Strides in a few, urgent, steps over to where I lean. Against the edge of my assistants desk. Swaying~ swaying~ w-why is the ground... my tounge feels to big. Think? I've begone to drool?

Warm, big hands cup my face. Was slipping forward, to the side. Gonna fall? Not anymore. Up. Hi! Is the king. Hi King. I... I don't feel so good...

His eyes have gone focused and cold. Pretty. Crown begins to glow. Leaves. Gold and gold, a halo of light. From within and beyond him. Power of the throne. Oh... oh I was here before, wasn't I? My bones remember. Like the roots to his great tree, power seeping deeper and deeper into my body, finding imperfections to consume. So... so much LIGHT.

I can not look away.

"Poison, was it? How terribly banal. Do they think me so simple to kill?" There is scorn in his voice. Utter distain. But deep beneath, like the hidden embers of a forest fire, there is rage. "How dare they drag you into this. Bad enough they throw a FIT over some trouble making tart, now they get the innocent involved? What if I had not been paying attention? Or you had taken that tea where I could not see it? Unacceptable."

Like spreading branches, like antlers, the light spread. The hands on my face gentle even as his Majesty's face might as well have been carved from stone. I tried to protest, swallowing thinking past the still rolling nausea. It was my fault! The tasting cups exsist for a REASON. They're supposed to test for things like this. I got too comfortable.

"No." The word slammed down as about an absolute as any sentence CAN. A declaration from on high. The commandment of a king. "It takes far more then simple poisons or common blades to kill me. The power that flows through the Throne insures it. You do not have that luxury. You could have DIED."

"....might still yet."

The last bit, almost a confession, pressed to my brow as he leaned down to press his lips to my forhead. His grip tighter, as though to stop his hands from shaking. My joints were starting to hurt, like I had a nasty cold, and I was already starting to feel feverish. I was starting to drip sweat. Shit.

I tried to stay calm. But... but I was scared. What do I do? Your Majesty! What do I DO?!

"We are going back to my quarters. Work can be brought to me. You need to lay down." He decided after a long moment of deliberation. Something had shifted in his eyes. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Clung to the only trustworthy source of comfort I knew, in the chaos of this moment. "I'm going to take care of you. I have you, dear. Just trust me, darling. I will fix this. I swear it. You don't have to worry about a thing. Just put all of your trust in me, all right?

"Just come with me, dear. Everything will be all right."

"You can trust me."

#threepandas #yandere #yandere x reader #yanblr #reader insert #yanderecore #yandere otome isekai #yandere otome #royal yandere #oblivious reader #yandere sees his chance and takes it #he had a ten year plan #but this works too #tw poison #bad end poisoned cups #bad end poisoned cups au

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burb-ie · 4 months ago

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OKAY MORE INFODUMPING YAY

Anyways, transformers animated lore is very interesting to me because of how both sides kinda suck

The Autobots have that whole project omega thing, where they made ships whose sole purpose was to be war machines who needed handlers to keep them from squishing the Autobots.

Perceptor in this universe actually deleted all his emotions to make more room for SCIENCE, and this is even reflected in his brief appearances in the show where he’s voiced with a text-to-speech program. It’s unclear how much of him is even left in there, as he seems only dedicated to science but it still seen as the head of the Autobot science division

Autobots in general are also pretty disgusted by organics, which is usually played for laughs (giant robots afraid of small humans), but they seem to not be able to distinguish between sapient and non-sapient organic species and deem them all disgusting. However, this isn’t universal since our main Autobot team doesnt show this revulsion at all even at the start.

The Autobot Commonwealth is basically an alliance between dozens of planets who are protected by the Autobot fleet. It’s dedicated to protecting the people, who can travel between planets freely, but do seemingly live under Autobot authority. There’s even a long list of planets in the commonwealth from the Almanac, is crazy how many names they just came up with that are barely ever mentioned.

The Autobots also have a very function based society, where people are seemingly free to choose their jobs but it seems they believe they are limited by what they can do from their programming.

One interesting fact is that Autobot frame types are reused a lot to explain why some bots look the same or similar (which is mentioned briefly in the show) - Bumblebee is a very common type, the 65356-9292-346 which is stated to be very fuel efficient. There is quite a bit of variation within these types though.

They also have the Autotroopers, who act as police in Cybertron. They are all identical in body shape and voice, which has an actual explanation! On the back of their toy box (Autotrooper 2011 toy) it’s stated that Autobots go through a remoulding process into their uniform shell, which was made specifically for this role, and that in times of war they can be brought under the direct command of the current Magnus. So… yeah, Autobots have an explicitly militaristic police force.

This reformatting is also something stated again in the Allspark Almanac, as the TFA version of Drift (he’s from the comics) used to be a decepticon and specifically got a new body when he became an Autobot. (Speculation ahead) So this disparity between Decepticons and Autobots isn’t just coincidental, it’s actively enforced.

On the other side of the conflict, there’s the Decepticon Empire:

During the Great War, Decepticons conquered numerous Autobot colonies but lost them all by the end of the war and were driven out into the rim of the galaxy. However, they rebuilt as a smaller empire (much smaller than the Autobot Commonwealth) and have a new capital planet of New Kaon.

Sentinel Minor in the Allspark Almanac (before he became a Prime) says that the Decepticons have five times less the industrial capacity of the Autobots, which is believable considering they have much less planets and are seemingly struggling to survive (New Kaon is said to be a very unimpressive capital, and their main goal is to conquer the home planet of Cybertron).

There are also Decepticons scattered across the galaxy after the war, in hiding.

I won’t recount the full backstory of Cybertron, but it’s all on the TFWiki in the Animated continuity section on the Decepticon page or in the Allspark Almanac II, but basically Decepticons are imperialists who want to expand and conquer the galaxy. When Megatron took control of the Decepticons, the tensions between the Decepticons and Autobots reached a boiling point and the Great War started.

They created a few biological weapons like cosmic rust, so they’re definitely not against war crimes.

My memory might be flagging here, but we actually don’t know much about the Decepticon society or if there are even any Decepticons who aren’t warriors. Since Autobots are obviously not trustworthy, it’s left up to interpretation. Theyre definitely some sort of dictatorship though, and see native species like humans as collateral damage at best.

They might be more tolerant of organics, since the character Blackarachnia is one of the generals, but we aren’t given any ideas since none of their colony planets have any info in general.

Blackarachnia, who’s introduced in the show, was the one who surgically made Blitzwing a triple changer. Blitzwing used to be a seeker, but the surgery made him extremely unstable and “fractured his mind”. This isn’t really expanded on though (Blackarachnia did have an episode idea in season 4, though we don’t know if it would’ve expanded on this)

Not everything might not be important, but I find it all interesting in fleshing out the world of Animated! (Also I’m totally gonna send an ask about the start of the war in animated, but you can find it also on the TFwiki). I also tried to avoid spoilers for the show lol.

omg waking up to this is the best thing to ever happen, I once again thank you for this infodump I am absorbing this all like a sponge, and ill see how I can use this in the crossover AU, also if you wanna send me an ask telling me about the start of the war then youre free to do so! im enjoying these alot

#transformers prime #transformers animated #tfp x tfa #crossover

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slugbeaker · 4 months ago

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Analyzing Theon’s Outfits in ACOK

Clothing descriptions within ASOIAF are an incredibly important part of the text in which GRRM often tells us a great deal about the character. Often it’s merely to indicate wealth or class discrepancies between characters or to symbolize aspects of their personalities, but with Theon’s outfits in ACOK, I think there was an intentional desire to show a transformation of sorts that coincides with the overarching themes of Theon’s character, namely his issues concerning his identity and inability to find who he himself is as a person. Let’s take a look at his outfit descriptions through this book!

“ While two thralls lit his braziers, Theon stripped off his travel-stained clothing and dressed to meet his father. He chose boots of supple black leather, soft lambswool breeches of silvery-grey, a black velvet doublet with the golden kraken of the Greyjoys embroidered on the breast. Around his throat he fastened a slender gold chain, around his waist a belt of bleached white leather. He hung a dirk at one hip and a longsword at the other, in scabbards striped black-and-gold. Drawing the dirk, he tested its edge with his thumb, pulled a whetstone from his belt pouch, and gave it a few licks. He prided himself on keeping his weapons sharp. “When I return, I shall expect a warm room and clean rushes,” he warned the thralls as he drew on a pair of black gloves, the silk decorated with a delicate scrollwork tracery in golden thread.”

The first in depth description we are given are the clothes he dons when he first arrives back at Pyke after his ten year absence, preparing to see his father for the first time in a decade. Theon is described by many other POV characters throughout the books as having a pronounced love for fine clothing, and we can see that here. He clearly takes a great deal of pride in his appearance and in the types of clothing he wears, silks and velvets and fine leathers and gold. He is also incredibly keen on displaying the sigil of his house, the Greyjoy kraken, and the house colors, black and gold, throughout the entirety of the outfit. This is not out of place among the outfits of other characters, many of whom are also keen to share the opulence of their noble house by dressing to impress. It is, however, out of place amid the Ironborn culture of the Iron Islands. Among the Ironborn, efficiency and appearing battle ready are far more important functions for clothing than flaunting colors or banners. Theon is reminded of this, quite unkindly, when he meets his father and is mocked for his outfit, being referred to as soft and a greenlander and feminine for the way he has chosen to dress himself.

This is a very interesting moment that shows Theon’s difficulty with being torn between the two cultures he has been raised in but also an interesting moment in which we see something that Theon has likely used as a shield of sorts in his adult life is quite ungently ripped away from him. He spent his first 10 years of life with his family on Pyke and the following 10 as a hostage/ward of the Starks in mainland Winterfell. In Winterfell, subscribing to the mainland norms of flouting house colors with finery and excess while also being sure to separate himself from the Starks as a Greyjoy by ensuring his outfits reflect such work as a way to keep him his own entity. Regardless of the complicated feelings he has for Robb and the other Starks, he does not want to truly be a Stark. So long as Theon feels tethered to his Greyjoy heritage he feels secure in himself. For the most part. That is shaken apart when he returns home. Two quotes from his father, Balon:

“Did Ned Stark dress you like that?” his father interrupted, squinting up from beneath his robe, “Was it his pleasure to garb you in velvets and silks and make you his own sweet daughter?”

And a moment later:

“His father slid his fingers under the necklace and gave it a yank so hard it was like to take Theon’s head off, had the chain not snapped first. “My daughter has taken an axe for a lover,” Lord Balon said. “I will not have my son bedeck himself like a whore.” He dropped the broken chain onto the brazier, where it slid down among the coals.”

In one conversation, we witness Balon literally tear away a means Theon has used to identify himself for years and burn it away, immediately othering him in the eyes of the Ironborn and beginning to cause serious self doubts in Theon’s own security in his sense of self that will progress throughout the rest of the book.

In addition to these aspects, this outfit I find interesting in general for the combination of delicate and sharp it exudes, quite perfect for Theon’s characterization. Silken gloves with embroidered designs on hands skilled at bladework for a sensitive young man who finds it easier to be prickly and unpleasant on a good day than address a single emotion.

“The dream had receded by the time Wex returned with the water. Theon washed the sweat and sleep from his body and took his own good time dressing. Asha had let him wait long enough, now it was her turn. He chose a satin tunic striped black and gold and a fine leather jerkin with silver studs…and only then remembered that his wretched sister put more stock in blades than beauty. Cursing, he tore off the clothes and dressed again, in felted black wool and ringmail. Around his waist he buckled sword and dagger, remembering the night she had humiliated him at his own father’s table. Her sweet suckling babe, yes. Well, I have a knife too, and know how to use it.”

This second description comes after Theon has taken control of Winterfell when Asha has answered his call for aid at last. This is a great example of how literal the being torn between both cultures is for him as we see him struggle with how he would prefer to dress himself in the mainland style he has grown used to versus the way he knows he is now expected to dress. Again, the gold and black coloration of his finer clothes versus the much plainer garb of the other Ironborn.

Theon likely does not like that he has no way to distinguish himself as a Greyjoy in this manner of dress, going so far as to blame Asha for this confusing tumble of thoughts. Nevermind the fact that Asha has no issue gaining the respect of the Ironborn without flaunting krakens on all of her outfits. This is of course because she has been on the islands her entire life and has earned their respect which Theon is as yet unable to grasp. To him this is all an unfair joke at his expense and we see him flashback to another moment he was made the butt of a joke, giving him further fuel towards his anger for his sister and his further weakening grasp on his self.

“Theon stooped to scoop a puddled cloak off the floor, shook off the rushes, and draped it over his shoulders. A fire, I’ll have a fire, and clean garb. Where’s Wex? I’ll not go to my grave in dirty clothes.”

At this point in the story Theon is feeling quite hopeless indeed, surrounded by northmen intent on taking the castle back, abandoned by his family, and it seems ready to die. He wears nothing else but the discarded cloak in this scene, naked underneath. He has no more to hide under, the description here is incredibly simple and for that I think as important. The sigils of his family no longer bring him comfort and security, after all, they have resigned him to his fate. He has no delusions now of how little the colors of his house ever really protected him.

Also a little tinfoily but he is still vain in his way, adamant that he does not want to die in dirty clothes. I think this is a subtle bit of foreshadowing as well for after he becomes Reek. In ADWD, Theon asks the Old Gods only for a sword and to die as himself, as Theon and not as Reek. Not wanting to go to his grave in dirty clothes in ACOK however is in line with this as well I think and as we know that Theon in ADWD has finally begun to develop/regain some small sense of his own personhood I think this could be hinting towards how he will eventually die if he does by the end of the series, as Theon and in his own skin/clothes once more.

“A brother of the Night’s Watch. It meant no crown, no sons, no wife…but it meant life, and life with honor. Ned Stark’s own brother had chosen the Watch, and Jon Snow as well. I have black garb aplenty, once I tear the krakens off. Even my horse is black. I could rise high in the Watch - chief of rangers, likely even Lord Commander. Let Asha keep the bloody islands, they’re as dreary as she is. If I served at Eastwatch, I could command my own ship, and there’s fine hunting beyond the Wall. As for women, what wildling woman wouldn’t want a prince in her bed? A slow smile crept across his face. A black cloak can’t be turned. I’d be as good as any man…”

Theon’s final description of clothing in ACOK, when Luwin is trying to convince him to take the black and I would argue the first time in this book Theon has been allowed to step slightly into who he himself is, no coincidence I think that there is imagery in this passage of Theon mirroring what Balon previously did to him by tearing his necklace away. Theon imagines tearing the krakens off of his clothing, forsaking his Greyjoy imagery and leaving him a blank , black slate. Only this time, this tearing away of something that brought him comfort brings him hope instead of embarrassment and confusion.

Theon does not truly care about being a Stark or a Greyjoy, he simply wants to belong somewhere, and somewhere he can live as an honorable man. A black cloak cannot be turned he says, the Watch would be a way for him to essentially completely start over and build himself from the ground up and he is eager to do so, imagining an entire life stretching out before him in which he finds peace and happiness with this choice.

I think this passage is again foreshadowing his eventual becoming of Reek. His mental state here is of a man already prepared to give up everything he has held as ‘him’ in order to continue living. When he is defeated and captured by Ramsay and is forced into Ramsay’s vicious torture and mental training into Reek, he is already susceptible to this kind of conditioning. Is being rebuilt into Reek not simply a more horrific version of the future he saw for himself in the Watch? Being transformed into a blank slate, conditioned to see himself as not even human eventually, and losing much more than only his sigil: his fingers, his teeth, his genitals, his name.

His final outfit description in ACOK set us up perfectly for when we see him again two books later, reborn and reshaped. I may have to do an analysis of Reek outfits once I begin my ADWD re-read to see what comes of those haha…

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #theon greyjoy #character analysis #a clash of kings

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legendguard · 4 months ago

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I'm doing it! I'm finally doing it! I'm uploading to Tumblr like I said I would fifty-bazillion times but never did! I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm doing it!!

I'm a long time user of DeviantArt, trying to escape its bullshittery and find a new home for my art. If you've ever seen that "Arceus Gospel Form" or "Eowenah Enraged Form", "Shadogaire Omega Form", or "Yinyanro Pondora form", that was me. I'll probably be re-uploading my gallery here, or at least plan on it, along with gradually switching away from DeviantArt for good. For a while at least, I will probably submit to both until I wean myself off.

I do have a lot to learn, though... It's going to be hard because I've been using Deviantart almost exclusively since I first joined back in 2009, so learning an entirely new format is really daunting. Probably why I've been avoiding the switch for so long. But my despise for DeviantArt and its shitty Eclipse update is far greater than my fear of trying something new, so here we are.

Fair warning for all future posts; I am a terrible writer. Be prepared for text that looks like it was written by a middle schooler who just discovered a thesaurus and wants to sound smarter than they actually are

This is the latest iteration of the head and corresponding skull of my long-time sona/Pokesona Eowenah, and the character for which I derive my username (She is the "Legendguard" Pokémon, or Legendary Guardian). Since I'm new here and y'all haven't been exposed to my shenanigans for the last sixteen years, I remake her. A lot. I'm not even sure what "version" this redesign is at this point. I will probably do it again. No I'm not sorry. I will say I am quite happy with this version, at least for now, so maybe it will be a few years before that happens. You can see the previous version here: https://www.deviantart.com/legendguard/art/Anatomy-The-Head-of-Eowenah-2022-905702058

Eowenah is a light/psychic* type legendary Fakemon and the mascot of my fake Pokémon version, Pokémon Celestine. She is a chimeric clone of many, many different Pokémon, created by Mewtwo very early on as a test of how to mix various Pokémon genes more efficiently, who then became "possessed" and enhanced by the legendary Fakemon Haliapio to transform her into the Legendguard to take on the Evil legendary Fakemon Shadogaire. If that sounds like a bunch a' cringe... it is... but goddammit it's my cringe.

*Flying/Psychic if the Light type is repressed by certain attacks

Being a chimera, Eowenah possesses traits from many different Pokémon families, especially from avian, felid, and pterosaurian lines. This can easily be seen in her skull, which looks a bit like a mammal skull with avian parts glued on. But there is a method to the madness. Being arguably one of the most powerful Pokemon ever, and having the best attributes picked out by Mewtwo during her initial creation, all of these parts meld together into a surprisingly cohesive structure, even if it looks a bit odd.

Here we will solely be focusing on Eowenah's head and skull, minus the hyoid apparatus (for now). (Cont in comments(?))

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tryslat · 9 months ago

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nanamis-baker · 1 year ago

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The Bold Stroke

Chapter 2 | Whisper of the Petals

Pairing: philosophy student Geto x art student f!reader (College AU)

Summary: A mystery blooms on your doorstep. A breathtaking bouquet of white flowers, a silent whisper of apology… but it's not for you. Delivered under the name of a man so handsome he takes your breath away, the mix-up sets your heart racing.

Fate seems determined to keep throwing you together, and soon you're caught in a whirlwind of chance encounters and undeniable chemistry. It was almost as if it was trying to bring you together.

Status: Ongoing

Word Count: 10.2k

a/n: okayy it's here!! This chapter took me a while to write because writing conflicting emotions is something new for me lol.

But a big big bigg thank you to my girl @whereflowerswenttodie for reading and rereading it and helping me out with it!! 💙

← Prev. Chapter | Series mlist | Next Chapter →

“So, are you meeting up with someone?” you asked Inumaki as you fixed your hair a little, the elevator mirror being perfect for it. The two of you were going to the library. Well, you were going to the library, and Inumaki had some work on the same floor, so he accompanied you.

Inumaki nodded, a small smile gracing his lips as the lift opened with a ding. The two of you went separate ways, waving each other goodbye as you went into the library. But as soon as you entered, your legs halted. What you saw was… unexpected, to say at least.

The library had transformed into a bustling marketplace of stressed students. Every table, including yours and Suguru's usual spot, was now occupied by unfamiliar faces. The studious quiet you'd craved was replaced by murmured arguments, frantic typing, and the occasional frustrated groan. This wasn't exactly how you'd envisioned making the presentation format with Suguru.

You had texted him earlier about the presentation format, but there was no way you could get any work done in this chaos. What could you do now? And what other option did you have? You could go to the cafe but-

Just then, a warm hand settled gently on your shoulder. You whirled around, heart leaping into your throat, only to find Suguru standing there, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he chuckled, his voice soothing amidst the library's chaos. You shook your head, the disappointment momentarily forgotten.

"No worries," you managed, forcing a smile. "But seriously, what do we do now?" You gestured towards the library, the silent question hanging heavy in the air.

Suguru's smile faltered, replaced by a knowing frown that mirrored your frustration. "I kind of expected this," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Apparently, a bunch of students submitted the same assignment, thinking they could fool their teacher."

A flicker of surprise shot through you. "The same assignment? How did you…"

"Long story," Suguru interrupted with a wry smile. "Let's just say the rumour mill at this school is efficient." He paused, his gaze flickering around the library before landing back on you. "The good news is, I might have a backup plan."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in your eyes. "A backup plan, huh?" The unexpected turn of events had certainly piqued your interest.

Suguru chuckled, a hint of mischief dancing in his dark eyes. "It is a Top secret," he declared, smiling to himself. "But trust me, it's worth it." He reached for your bag, gently relieving you of the weight. "Just promise me you won't breathe a word of it to anyone."

"Can't guarantee anything until I know where we're going," you teased, the disappointment at the ruined library session fading with each passing moment.

Suguru grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. He reached out and gently grasped your arm, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine. Suddenly, the crowded library seemed miles away as Suguru led you on a detour.

The corridors twisted and turned, a confusing maze that would make recalling the route later impossible. You found yourself relying on Suguru's confident strides, a comfortable silence settling between you broken only by the rhythmic click of your shoes against the polished floor.

Finally, you arrived at a seemingly nondescript wall, the only hint of something unusual was a small, silver panel nestled discreetly within the plaster. Suguru pressed a button, and with a soft whirring sound, the elevator door slid open.

Your eyes widened in surprise. You had no idea this elevator even existed!

Suguru stepped inside, beckoning you to follow. It was a maintenance elevator, you realised. The cramped space barely accommodated the two of you comfortably, and the close proximity did little to deter you. He punched in a series of numbers on the keypad, and with a slight jerk, the elevator began its ascent.

"This elevator," you began, looking up at him, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. "How did you find it?"

Suguru chuckled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he looked down to meet your eyes. "Let's just say Satoru and I stumbled upon it during an… 'unforeseen circumstance'?" He rubbed the back of his neck, a blush creeping up his cheeks at the memory. "Someone was rather displeased with us - him, actually - at the time. Finding this secret elevator was a happy accident." His gaze lingered on the keypad, “And figuring out the pin wasn’t difficult, especially when Satoru is with you,” He finished, smiling fondly at the memory. You found yourself smiling too.

The elevator came to a halt, the familiar ding echoing in your ear. With a sense of anticipation, you watched as the doors slid open, revealing a sight that took your breath away. No longer confined by the walls of the library, you found yourself standing on a rooftop terrace bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun.

The sky stretched out before you like a canvas splashed with luminous hues of apricot and peach, with a hint of purple, the sun beginning its descent towards the horizon. Below, the sprawling campus unfolded like a miniature world, with buildings and pathways etched in the golden light. A gentle breeze ruffled your hair and caressed your skin, carrying with it the scent of drying leaves, with a hint of muskiness.

For a moment, you were speechless, captivated by the unexpected beauty that lay before you. Turning to Suguru, you found a wide grin plastered across your face.

"So this is what you meant by 'Top Secret'?" you exclaimed, your voice brimming with excitement.

Suguru chuckled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Yeah," he admitted, nodding confirmation. "This place is a bit of a hidden gem."

His gaze swept over your face, searching for your reaction. "Do you like it?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Like it, Geto?" you repeated, the question almost comical. "I absolutely love it!"

This secret terrace, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, felt worlds away from the unexpected chaos of the library. It was a private sanctuary, a place just for the two of you.

A satisfied smile spread across Suguru's face. "Good to know," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. He gestured towards a nearby bench, its weathered wood and faded brown paint promising a comfortable perch. "We should have plenty of light for some time now - enough to complete that presentation, at least."

Grateful for his thoughtfulness, you readily took a seat on the bench. Suguru settled himself beside you, the air crackling with newfound energy. "Perfect!" you declared, clapping your hands together. "Then let's get started."

The sun, it seemed, had a favourite today. You sat beside Geto, bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon light, as it casted a golden halo around you. He found himself mesmerised, his gaze drawn to the way the light danced on your skin, turning it a canvas of shimmering bronze. Each flicker in your eyes held a spark more captivating than any gemstone, a tiny fire that seemed to ignite a warmth deep within him.

A golden aura surrounded you, and in Geto's eyes, you became the most exquisite treasure the world had to offer.

He struggled to focus. Every few moments, his gaze would snag on the way the sunlight danced in your eyes, igniting a flicker that stole his attention. Geto found himself mumbling a request for you to repeat yourself. Surprisingly, you didn't seem annoyed, simply repeating your point with a gentle smile.

You intrigued him – a captivating puzzle he couldn't seem to solve. Your thoughts, a fascinating mix of unexpected angles and surprising echoes of his own, kept him constantly engaged. During discussions, you'd throw out a witty remark that had him stifling a laugh, a sharp observation that made him see the topic from a whole new perspective. He'd marvel at the way your mind effortlessly weaved humour and insightful analysis, a combination that felt refreshingly unique.

There was a depth to your intelligence that went beyond mere academic prowess. You possessed a genuine curiosity about the world, a thirst for knowledge that mirrored his own. He found himself drawn to your passion, the way your eyes would light up as you delved into a subject that truly interested you. It was as if you held a mirror to his soul, reflecting things he hadn't even realised were there.

The more he interacted with you, the more he realised how much he craved your presence. It wasn't just the conversations; there was a spark between you, an undeniable chemistry that left him both exhilarated and strangely vulnerable. He found himself wanting to impress you, to share his thoughts and ideas in the hopes of eliciting another one of those dazzling smiles.

"Okay!" you said, a triumphant smile lighting your face. The last rays of the setting sun cast a warm glow on the terrace, painting the cityscape in hues of lavender and gold. "We are done now," you declared, gathering your things. You turned to him, and your smile was even brighter, “Suguru, I can’t thank you enough for your help with this - I couldn’t have done this without you” Gratitude and sincerity shone brightly in your eyes, but that wasn't what held his attention.

Suguru. You had called him by his first name. It was a simple gesture - you probably didn't even realise it - yet it resonated within him like a physical touch. The sound echoed in the twilight, a melody far sweeter than the chirping crickets. He craved to hear it more and more.

"You don't have to thank me again and again, you know?" he managed, his voice a touch rougher than usual. He cleared his throat, hoping to dispel the unexpected feelings that bloomed within him. "I enjoyed working on this project too," he added, hoping to convey his sincerity. It was true – it had all been stimulating for him. But a deeper truth lurked beneath. He enjoyed simply being near you - in your presence.

A pang of sadness, sharp and sudden, twisted in his gut. Here he was, enjoying the afterglow of a shared experience, yet a looming shadow threatened to engulf it. The project, the reason you were here with him, was done. When would be the next time the two of you see each other? Would you, like the last rays of the sun dipping below the horizon, simply slip away too?

The weight of his unspoken thoughts pressed down on Suguru as you walked towards the elevator. The last embers of the sun had faded, leaving the sky a canvas of deepening indigo. As he reached to press the button, blinding darkness swallowed the world whole, leaving him momentarily disoriented.

"What happened...?" He heard you murmur, a whisper lost in the sudden quiet. Suguru turned towards your voice, his eyes straining to adjust to the absence of light. He found you, a faint silhouette framed by the faint glow of the rising moon.

Concern flickered across him. He couldn't see you clearly, but he didn’t miss the slight tremor in your voice. He gently grabbed your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours, hoping to calm you.

Needing to confirm his suspicions, he took a tentative step towards the railing and peered over. Darkness. Not just the terrace, but the entire university grounds were shrouded in an inky blackness. The distant hum of activity that usually filled the evening air had been replaced by an unsettling silence.

"There seems to be a power cut in the area," he replied gently, his voice sounding hollow in the darkness. "But don't worry, we should have power back soon." He said, but for some reason, he had a hard time believing his own words.

"Can we use the stairs or something?" you asked, the slight tremor he had heard in your voice earlier was still there.

"Unfortunately, no," he sighed. "Satoru and I found it earlier, but they are blocked - inaccessible."

You didn't say anything, but Suguru heard a small, defeated 'Oh' escape your lips.

"But don’t worry, we can go and sit on the bench?" he offered, trying to shake away your worries. He could see the outline of the bench as his eyes had started to adjust to the darkness.

"Yeah, let's go," you agreed. As he guided you towards the familiar wooden seat, he felt your hand tighten around his, drawing his attention towards you.

Suddenly, you stopped, your voice tinged with awe. "Suguru, look up!"

He followed your gaze, tilting his head back. And then he saw it. The unexpected darkness had stripped away the veil of artificial light, revealing a breathtaking spectacle he hadn't even realised he'd been missing. A vast expanse of midnight blue stretched above them, a canvas sprinkled with a million shimmering diamonds. The stars. So many stars, each one a tiny beacon in the infinite darkness.

The darkness, once unsettling, now felt strangely beautiful. He stole a glance at you, your face bathed in the ethereal glow of the starlight, a look of wonder mirrored in your eyes. Maybe this wasn’t a bad thing.

Not at all.

An unexpected idea sparked in Geto's mind. He gently released his hold on your hand and reached for his jacket. He knelt, spreading the garment on the cool ground, making sure it was properly spread out.

"Here," he said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked up at you. He could see you better now, bathed in the faint moonlight, and a flicker of curiosity played across your features.

"What are you doing?" you asked, And Geto could hear the amusement in your voice.

"Come on," he said, extending out his hand, offering it to you in the dimness. "This way we can see the stars better, without straining your neck."

Understanding dawned on you, and a delighted smile spread on your lips, mirroring his own. Taking his hand, you allowed him to gently guide you down onto the makeshift blanket his jacket provided. A warmth spread through him as the two of you settled on the jacket, laying down side by side. Geto could feel the heat radiate from your body against his arm.

A comfortable silence descended, punctuated only by the occasional chirp of a cricket, a sound that seemed louder than usual in the quiet. Geto kept his hand intertwined with yours, the warmth of your skin a surprising comfort against his. His thumb, as if possessed by a will of its own, began tracing lazy circles on your palm.

Stealing glances at your face, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon, Geto searched for any sign of unease, a flicker of disapproval that might suggest he had crossed a line. Thankfully, he found none.

"Suguru?" He heard you say, your voice, soft as the night breeze. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze in the dim moonlight.

"You know," you began, a playful glint dancing in your eyes, "you never really told me why you were nose-deep in all those business books in the library that day."

A surprised chuckle escaped Geto's lips, despite the topic you were referring to. "Yeah? And you never told me why you chose to drown yourself in the world of arts," he countered, his voice betraying a hint of the unease he felt.

You let out a laugh, the gentle sound echoing in the dark. "Well, you never really asked!"

"But I am asking now," he countered, amusement dancing in his voice.

"Okay, okay," you said with a grin. "Fair enough. First, you answer my question, and then I'll answer yours. Deal?"

Geto hesitated for a beat, the darkness both a shield and a prompt. So Geto had to offer a part of himself to get to know you better - sounds interesting "Deal," he finally agreed.

You looked up at him expectantly and taking a deep breath, he decided to be honest. "The thing is," he began, trying to hide the disgust he felt about this topic, "those business books weren't exactly what I wanted to be reading. You see, my family owns a pharmaceutical company, one of the biggest in the country."

"Oh wow," you said, a hint of surprise in your voice, “I didn’t know that.”

"Yeah," he said, a humourless scoff escaping his lips. "They expect me to join the business after graduation. Here's the real thing though," he continued, feeling his voice drop low, "They see me as a puppet, someone to inherit their greed and continue their ruthless practices."

"What kind of practices?" he heard you ask, concern flickering in your voice.

He felt his jaw clench slightly, the darkness a welcome shroud for the anger simmering within him. "They price their life-saving drugs at exorbitant rates," he spat, the venom of his words sour on his tongue. "People who desperately need them can't afford them, all because of my family's insatiable thirst for profit. It goes against everything I believe in."

A heavy silence descended. He stole a glance at you, unsure how you'd react. But your expression was open, devoid of judgement, and held a flicker of understanding. It was an unspoken invitation to continue, a safe harbour for the storm of emotions brewing within him.

"They wouldn't listen to reason," he continued, his voice low and defeated. "I've tried, believe me. But logic and compassion seem to be foreign concepts in their world." But still, Geto had to do something right? "Maybe, just maybe, by learning their game, I can break this system and change it from within. But honestly," he admitted with a bitter laugh, "I don't even know if that's possible. Their control is absolute."

The darkness seemed to press in on him, a reflection of the despair that threatened to consume him. He yearned for a way out, a way to break free from the gilded cage his family had built for him.

Your hands squeezed his, bringing him back to the present. "That's a lot to carry," you finally said, your voice soft but firm. "The anger, the frustration, the feeling of helplessness." You paused, letting your words sink in. "But Suguru," you continued, your voice gaining strength, "don't let them steal your compassion, your beliefs. As long as you hold onto them, you’ll find a way. I know you will”

Geto smiled. You were so sweet, so kind, trying to comfort him. It was a small, tired smile, the kind that held the weight of the world but acknowledged a sliver of sunshine breaking through the clouds. Your words, laced with a quiet strength, resonated deep within him. It was true. He couldn't let their greed and corruption taint the core of who he was. But, at the same time, he knew it wasn't wise to hope for much when it came to his parents. Still, he wouldn't burden you anymore with his issue. Maybe a lighter topic would chase away the shadows that had crept into the conversation.

"You're right," he said, his voice regaining a touch of its earlier playfulness. "Now, answer my question from earlier." He raised an eyebrow in mock seriousness, hoping to lighten the mood.

He saw you smile, but it wasn't your usual, happy smile. A faint shadow flickered across your features, a subtle shift in your demeanour that sent a wave of unease through him. "I was in a car accident a few years ago - both my mom and I," you said, your voice softer than usual, your fingers twisting a loose thread on your shirt.

The playfulness drained from his face. An accident? The image of mangled metal and shattered glass flashed unbidden in his mind. "Oh," he stammered, unsure of what to say.

"Another car crashed into ours," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "The driver was drunk. Thankfully, the major impact was on my side, so my mom wasn't hurt too bad."

This wasn't what Geto was expecting to hear. He watched as you reached for your phone, a hollow feeling blooming in his chest. With slightly trembling fingers, you lifted the hem of your jeans, the phone's cool flashlight revealing a constellation of scars that snaked across your calves. Geto's mouth went dry.

You turned towards him, a flicker of vulnerability in your eyes. Hesitantly, you reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, revealing a faint scar that traced a jagged line along your hairline and the back of your neck. The moonlight glinted off the raised, pale flesh, a contrast to the smooth skin surrounding it.

Geto thought he had memorised the expanse of your face, every little detail like the map of a cherished land. But god, was he wrong. He had missed such a big part of you.

Shame washed over him in a sickening wave. He'd been so caught up in his own problems, that he hadn't noticed the silent stories etched across your body. His fingers moved to trace the scar, to feel it under his fingertips, but retracted his hand before it could reach you.

You continued, your voice quiet, "I was bedridden for months, Suguru. I couldn't even speak because a shard of glass had damaged my vocal cords. Hell, I wasn't even supposed to survive, but I did." You let out a humourless chuckle. "I could barely move, I couldn't speak at all, and the frustration – I can't even begin to tell you." You shook your head slightly, a ghost of the ordeal lingering in your eyes.

"My parents were worried, you know, and that's when I started painting," you continued. A small, bittersweet smile touched your lips. "It was horrible at first, of course," you added with a self-deprecating laugh, "but with time, I got better. It became my voice, a way to express the things I couldn't say. Even after I healed, I kept up with it. I wanted to know more – about other people's work, their thought processes, and why they painted what they painted. And so, I chose art as my major." You finished with a shrug as if it wasn’t a big deal or anything.

Geto didn't really know what to say. Words felt hollow compared to the weight of your story. "Does it still hurt?" he asked, the question tumbling out before he could stop it. He mentally face-palmed himself. Really? That was the best he could offer? It sounded insensitive, trivial even, in the face of what you'd been through.

You offered a small, understanding smile. "Sometimes," you admitted. "Not the scars themselves, thankfully. But half of my body is metal now, thanks to the accident. That gets achy sometimes, especially when the weather gets cold." As if on cue, a cool wind rustled through the leaves, and Geto saw the way you flinched so slightly, a shiver running down your body.

Geto's heart lurched. He cursed himself for his obliviousness. Here he was complaining about his family, while you carried the physical and emotional weight of a traumatic experience. Without thinking, he shifted closer, offering you the meagre comfort of his body heat. "Here, let me shield you from the wind a bit."

A warm smile graced your lips as you leaned into him slightly, accepting his support - accepting him. The gesture ignited a spark within Geto, a warmth blossoming in his chest that rivalled the one he offered.

Geto's fingers, which had hovered awkwardly in his lap, found themselves drawn to you again. This time though, they didn't hesitate. With tenderness, they brushed against the cool expanse of the scar on your temple, then trailed down to the faint jagged line along your neck. Your skin felt cold under his warm touch.

You inhaled sharply, your breath catching against his chest. Geto's touch was light, almost reverent, as if he were tracing a sacred map. He met your gaze, the moonlight and stars reflecting in your eyes like a million scattered diamonds. At that moment, it felt like he was peering into a whole new universe, one filled with unspoken stories and hidden depths. A universe he desperately wanted to explore, to get lost in, and maybe, just maybe, find a way back to, together.

His thumb grazed the soft skin of your jaw, a gentle nudge that tilted your face up a fraction. He wanted to see everything, to re-learn every detail etched on your face, the scars, the way the moonlight glinted off the moisture gathering in your eyes. He wanted to learn all your secrets, or at least the ones you were willing to share.

You responded instinctively, leaning in further until the space between you evaporated. Your warm breath mingled with his, a silent question hanging in the air. The stars seemed to wink in approval as the distance between your faces continued to shrink. Anticipation flickered in your darkened eyes, which then fluttered shut as Geto leaned in even closer. Slowly, the space between his lips and yours became nonexistent, a mere breath away.

Just as your lips were about to meet in a brush, The world erupted in a harsh burst of fluorescent light. Both of you jolted back, blinking away the temporary blindness.

It took Geto a moment to realise what had happened. He cleared his throat, the sound rough in the sudden quiet. "We got the power back," he mumbled, his voice thick with the unspoken desire that hung heavy in the air moments ago. His gaze darted away from you for a moment, then returned, searching your eyes for any indication of how you felt about the interrupted moment.

He took in your flushed cheek and your dilated, glossy eyes. That was all the indication he needed. A small, frustrated sigh escaped your lips. "Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The moment, the intimacy between the two of you, was shattered like a dropped glass, leaving behind a thousand shimmering shards of unspoken desire.

The silence stretched, heavy with what could have been. Geto watched as you began gathering your things, a subtle shift in your demeanour that spoke volumes. You turned to face him, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite the lingering frustration in your eyes. "We should go now, it's getting colder."

He nodded in agreement, his voice thick when he finally spoke. "Yeah, definitely." He grabbed his jacket and dusted it off, the simple action taking longer than necessary. He watched as you reached for your bag, then blurted out, "Here, let me get that," as he grabbed the bag, relieving you of the weight. It was the least he could do, anyway.

Geto had spent hours with you today, yet it felt like mere moments. "Let me walk you home, please," the words tumbled out before he could stop them, fueled by a desire to prolong this stolen time, this unexpected intimacy.

He held his breath, bracing himself for a polite refusal. But then, a bright smile bloomed on your face, a smile that lit up the terrace brighter than the harsh fluorescent lights that had shattered their moment. "Thank you, Suguru," you said, your voice soft but filled with a warmth that sent a thrill through him. "I'd like that."

“Okay, so what happened next? Did you invite him up?” Maki leaned forward, her eyes eager. She glanced at Yuta, who was also listening intently.

Your friends—minus Inumaki—were gathered at the campus café for a small celebration. You’d just received an A+ on your presentation, and of course, you had to share how Suguru's help had played a crucial role. The moment you mentioned his name, their ears visibly perked up.

It had been two weeks since that night on the rooftop, two agonisingly silent weeks. You and Suguru had barely exchanged any texts, and you hadn’t even seen him around campus.

A blush crept up your cheeks as you shook your head. “Of course not! It was just something we felt in the moment. I don’t think inviting him up would have been a wise decision.” You took a sip of your iced tea, the coolness soothing the flutter in your stomach. Every time you replayed the scene in your head, your heart skipped a little. But the silence that followed since then was deafening.

“It doesn’t sound like ‘something in the moment,’ especially with the way you described everything.” Yuta pointed out. One might think he wouldn’t be interested in such stuff, but when it came to his friends, Yuta was always supportive.

"Maybe," you admitted, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. The truth was, the interrupted kiss felt less like a missed opportunity and more like a promise waiting to be fulfilled. But what if you were reading too much into it? The thought sent a pang of disappointment through you, a feeling you quickly brushed aside.

Maki scoffed playfully. "Girl, you were practically glowing when you talked about him! And no one does what he did just to be friendly, you know."

Your cheeks burned even hotter. Maybe Maki was right. Maybe there was something between you and Suguru. A tiny flicker of hope ignited within you, but it was quickly washed away by a wave of uncertainty. Here you were, falling for him, yet his silence indicated that he probably regretted things—didn’t want it. But then the gentle look in his eyes, his silent support, and the way he held you oh so tenderly, shielding you from the cold...

Ugh, it was all so confusing. "But what if—"

Yuta cut you off with a gentle laugh. "Hey, you never know until you try, right? And besides, even if things don’t work out romantically, you made a great new friend. Win-win, I'd say."

You couldn’t help but smile at your friend’s statement. Yuta always knew how to see the bright side. Taking a deep breath, you decided to focus on the positive. Suguru was interesting, kind, and surprisingly easy to talk to. You could confide in him as a friend. But the way his touch comforted you, ignited you...well, that was definitely more than friendly.

"Yeah, you're right," you agreed, a newfound determination settling in your voice despite the nervousness you felt. "Maybe I'll just...see where things go."

Admitting it out loud felt a lot easier. "I like him, you know," you said, looking at your friends with a small smile. "He’s someone who seems to be interested in something that’s not superficial—like he wants to know me, understand me. And it just seems so rare for someone to be genuinely interested in you, right?"

Your friends looked at you with knowing smiles, a silent encouragement hanging in the air. It was probably more than just liking him, you knew. But admitting it out loud, even with just a hint of the deeper feelings swirling within you, felt like a huge step.

The art exhibition buzzed with a quiet energy. The gentle notes of classical music filled your ears, punctuated by the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses from the nearby champagne bar.

You stood mesmerised in front of a large, abstract piece. It was a puzzle, quiet literally. Fractured squares of vibrant colours and captivating strokes hung on the stark white wall, making an incomplete puzzle, while its other pieces were scattered chaotically on the floor below. The missing pieces created a gaping emptiness in the artwork, a void that tugged at your emotions.

Was it a metaphor for loss - longing? a commentary on the incompleteness of experiences? You longed to discuss it with Yuta. He'd always loved puzzles; his apartment was filled with framed pieces of puzzles he had solved so far. His mind was a kaleidoscope of unconventional interpretations, making you look at things with a different perspective.

A pang of guilt lanced through you. You were supposed to visit this exhibition with your friends, but Maki wasn't feeling well. Yet, here you were, lost in the beauty of the artwork displayed. Although Yuta had assured you he was taking care of her, telling you to not miss this exhibition, a part of you still yearned to be by your friend's side.

“Intriguing, is it?” A voice interrupted your thought. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The voice, once a source of comfort and playful teasing, now startled you. It was him, the man who had vanished after nearly kissing you under the twinkling stars, leaving you with nothing but lingering confusion and a heart full of unanswered questions.

And now, after almost two months, he was here, asking you this bloody question.

Suguru Geto.

Well, if he wants to play it this way, you can entertain him. After all, two can play this game. "It is," you began, your eyes finally meeting his. "But I'm trying to figure out what the artist is trying to show here."

Geto hummed thoughtfully. "You know what I think?" He paused. Was he expecting a response from you? Well, he wasn’t getting any. You remained silent, your gaze fixed on the artwork.

Undeterred, he continued, his voice taking on a philosophical tone. "This artwork seems to be a metaphor for life. Life throws pieces at you, like the ones scattered on the floor. It's all you need to make your life meaningful and beautiful. Opportunities, people, love..." he trailed off, the last word hanging in the air unspoken.

His gaze shifted back to the painting, his voice softer now. "But it's up to you how you make use of those pieces, to put in the effort to fit them together. If you're not careful, if you wait too long..." He paused again, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something akin to regret and longing passing through them. "The pieces might be lost to you forever."

You sucked in a breath. No, he couldn’t mean what you were thinking. After all, the only conversation the two of you had after hanging out on the terrace was when you told him about your assignment and the grade you scored.

Yes, you had texted him a couple of times after that, but the reply seemed…dry. So, you stopped, hoping Geto would reach out to you when he was ready, but the man beside you never bothered to do anything about it.

But your mind replayed the memory of how he held you that night, a tender embrace that spoke volumes without words. It was a gesture that made you feel cherished, as if you were his most prized possession, far above any material wealth the world could offer. And when you shared the news of your accident, his reaction was unexpected - a mixture of regret and concern, as though he wished he had been there for you, even though he didn't even know you at the time.

No.

You couldn’t allow yourself to go there again.

Not if he wouldn’t follow you, keeping up with you.

Your mind buzzed with Geto’s words, his interpretation of the art piece lingering in your thoughts like an unshakable presence. Was he a piece that life had flung your way, meant to enhance the beauty of your existence? Or did he hold some other significance, perhaps serving as a lesson - a piece that doesn’t enhance the beauty of the puzzle, but serves as a guiding force for other pieces? Was he a fleeting moment of joy, destined to fade into memory like the strokes of paint on a canvas? Or was he a constant, a steady presence meant to shape your journey, to teach you lessons you had yet to grasp?

Stop.

You wouldn’t allow yourself to go there. Not again and again.

This man almost kissed you after you told him one of the deepest truths about yourself, and then disappeared, leaving you alone to deal with the darkness so similar to the inky blackness of that night. But this time, even the stars weren’t there to keep you company.

Leaving the painting behind, you moved towards a different section of the exhibition. Here, the air shimmered with vibrant light. Holographic projections of the paintings danced around you, painting your surroundings with the artist's colourful strokes. These ethereal brushstrokes, magnified and swirling, seemed to come alive, transforming the space into a kaleidoscope of the artist's imagination.

However, the original artworks remained untouched. Hung on the wall next to their holographic counterparts, they offered a more tangible connection to the artist's hand, allowing you to study the physical texture of the canvas, the subtle nuances of the brushstrokes, and the deliberate choices of colour.

The projections painted your off-white dress in different colours, the fabric a soft caress against the skin of your calves as you walked from one painting to another.

Geto followed you closely behind as you navigated through the section, his silence a palpable presence behind your back. You felt his gaze track your movements, but you paid it no mind, completely enthralled by the painting before you.

It was a complete mess. It was a riot of colour, a whirlwind of strokes, a storm of emotions, yet it held you captive. The longer you stared, the more it seemed to transform, the chaos morphing and shifting before your very eyes. What initially appeared as a meaningless jumble began to hold meaning, revealing a hidden order within the frenzy. The chaos formed a structure - The structure within the chaos.

It was almost as if the holograms mirrored your feelings - Confusing, chaotic, shifting.

Lost in the painting's mesmerising chaos, you barely registered Geto's approach. He stood so close behind you that the warmth of his body radiated through your clothes, his upper arm brushing against your shoulder. His voice, soft and low, shattered the silence.

"What are you doing at this exhibition?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Turning around to face him, you finally took him in. Dressed in a brown turtleneck that mirrored the depths of his eyes, his attire accentuated their warm, inviting hue. He wore a casual blazer on top of it, the colour slightly lighter than the colour of his turtleneck. His raven hair, noticeably longer, was tied back in a simple half-bun, the remaining strands cascading down his shoulders. The change, subtle yet noticeable, added a touch of softness to his features.

But what stood out the most were the circles under his eyes and the hollowness of his face. Even as the holograms danced all over his face, they did nothing to conceal his worn-out state; they almost amplified it.

A pang of concern flickered in your chest, a fleeting thought about his well-being. However, you quickly pushed it aside. Geto was the one who decided not to keep in touch anymore, so now it wasn’t your job to be concerned.

But of course, it wasn’t easy to just get rid of your feelings for someone like they never existed, was it?

"This is an art exhibition, open to all," you finally answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "and in case you forgot, I am an art student, Geto." Your voice was filled with sarcasm, and Geto chuckled. You smiled sweetly at him as you asked, "What about you?"

"Well," he began, his voice laced with a playful drawl, "as someone just said, this is an art exhibition, open to all." He shrugged, smirking. You gave him one final, unamused look before your eyes turned back to the painting.

For a few minutes, neither of you said anything. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions and the lingering warmth of Geto's presence. Finally, he spoke, "What do you find so captivating about this painting?"

His voice, a soft melody laced with genuine wonder, resonated with a yearning that transcended mere curiosity. It was as if you held the key to answering the storm of questions swirling within him, your insights holding a weight far greater than anything else. A hunger to delve deeper, to peel back the layers of your being until he could see the very essence of you, consumed him.

A ghost of a smile danced on your lips. How could you deny the man who held such profound significance in your heart, the man who yearned to truly know you, to unravel your soul until there was nothing left to be discovered?

No, of course you couldn’t keep away, no matter how hard you tried.

Finally, you answered him. If he wanted a piece of your mind, you would gladly offer it to him. "For me, it’s those golden strokes," you began, "It was definitely a risky move for the painter. Those strokes could have ruined the painting, but it didn't. Instead, it made this painting what we see."

Geto hummed, "So, you feel like that stroke was a bold move for the painter?"

You nodded your head in response. Geto continued, "But what if that stroke ruined the painting?"

A slight smile played on your lips. "Well, then the painter would have learned something important. They'd know they could create the painting again if they wanted to, and that's a power in itself. They'd know they have the skill and the confidence to reach that level of greatness again." You looked him in the eye, your gaze pinning him, "Even if the stroke ended up ruining the painting, the artist could always put in the effort of making it again, and that in itself is a form of victory. They wouldn't be afraid to take that bold step again and again, till the painter gets what they want from the painting."

Geto's gaze drifted away for a moment, his brow furrowed slightly as he processed your words. It was as if he was engaged in an internal debate, weighing the implications of your statement against his own judgement.

“I wish I could look into your mind.” He finally said, his eyes slightly wide in wonder.

But oh Suguru, little did he know, he has been settled there since the two of you met in the cafe.

A soft buzz from Geto’s phone brought you out of your thoughts, making you realise how quiet it was around you. He pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he typed a message. As you watched him, the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and met your gaze. "It was good seeing you again," he said. Were you overthinking, or was his voice a touch more formal than before? "I have to go now. Enjoy the exhibition."

With that, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried, leaving you standing there with a lingering feeling of unease. You hadn't had a chance to say goodbye, and the abruptness of his departure left you wondering about your interaction with Geto.

Soon, you were done with the exhibition, the vibrant colours of the holograms still dancing behind your eyelids. Your mind buzzed with inspiration, the beauty of the paintings displayed sparking a flurry of ideas in your head.

The puzzle painting seemed to mock you as you passed it one last time, the question echoing in your mind: where did Geto fit in your life? What piece of the puzzle was he?

Exiting the building, you descended the stairs, the chill in the winter air making you shiver despite your sweater. As you reached the bottom, your steps slowed, coming to a halt. There was Geto, standing by the entrance. But he wasn't alone. He held a woman close, his arms wrapped tightly around her like he never wanted to let go. Her head rested against his chest, and his eyes were closed, almost nestled against her shoulder. The intimacy of their embrace was undeniable, a silent language of comfort and connection that spoke volumes.

Despite the prickling suspicion in your chest, you knew better than to jump to conclusions. This wasn't your place to pry. Yet, the image of their closeness branded itself into your brain, a searing feeling that left your heart burning.

"Well, don't you two look cute," a voice boomed. You looked up to see a man with white hair and sunglasses approaching them, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Gojo Satoru - the name echoed in your mind - Geto's best friend.

You watched as Geto and the woman pulled away, the woman playfully swatting Gojo's arm. But it wasn't the playful interaction that held your attention. Even from a distance, you could see the lingering longing in Geto's eyes as he looked at her.

It hit you like a punch to the gut. This was what he'd been preoccupied with. This is why he had kept you in the dark. This all felt like a cruel joke, life playing a twisted game on you. Of course he had a girlfriend - a guy like him probably had women lining up around the block.

You shook your head, a humourless chuckle escaping your lips as you made your way down the remaining stairs. Yeah, it was pretty obvious what kind of piece Geto was. A missing piece, a piece that belonged to someone else's puzzle, not yours.

You stood outside maki’s wooden front door, finger hovering over the buzzer. But, before you could ring, the door swung open, its hinges creaking slightly as familiar black, tousled hair came into the view.

Yuta lifted his head, momentarily startled to see someone standing right outside the door, before his eyes met yours. A small smile graced his lips. You took note of the black duffle bag hanging on his shoulder.

You returned his smile, “Leaving now?” you asked him, watching as a small blush crept up his cheek. “Yeah, Maki is feeling better now, so I figured I should go home.” He answered, relief clouding in his eyes before his expression turned curious, “Oh, how was the exhibition yesterday? Again, I am so sorry we couldn’t make it.”

You shook your head, dismissing his apology. “No need to apologise, Yuta.” Despite the events of last night, you found yourself smiling. After all, you saw some works by your favourite artists. You cannot let a man - no matter how much he meant to you - ruin something that you have been looking forward to so eagerly.

“The exhibition was great, Yuta,” You said, as you told him about the puzzle artwork. “I really missed you guys there, you would have loved it too.” You finished, hoping to convey your sincerity with your words.

Yuta’s eyes lit up and his smile widened, “That sounds amazing! I hope next time all of us can go” He said, before gesturing towards his bag, “Anyways, I gotta go now - Maki’s in her room, by the way.” With a final wave, he moved towards the front door, the door shutting behind him as he left Maki’s apartment.

You made your way towards her room, the minty smell of ointment filling your nose. You found Maki sitting on her bed with a small crochet blanket draped over her legs. The vibrant colours of the blanket reminded you of summer.

Maki looked up when you approached, a small chuckle leaving her lips as she rolled her eyes, inviting you to sit on the bed. “I knew I would see your face today.” she said, causing you to smile. Her voice today was a far cry from the shaky, tired voice she had yesterday.

Yeah, Yuta was right, Maki was definitely feeling better.

You also noticed that some colour has returned to her face, and Maki looked better now than she did at college, and this observation somehow soothed and comforted you. You enquired about her well-being and got to know that Maki had a cold and fever, but thanks to Yuta’s support, she was feeling far better.

Oh, Speaking of Yuta…

“So Yuta stayed the night, huh?” You finally asked, an eyebrow raised and a smirk gracing your lips.

Maki rolled her eyes again but she didn’t shy away from the topic. You watched as the top of her cheeks turned slightly pink. It was a rare sight, something you found so cute. Both Yuta and Maki had a similar reaction to a similar situation.

“Yeah, he was just making sure the fever doesn't get worse or anything,” she said, a small smile on her lips as if she was recalling last night. “He was really sweet about it, actually.” She said it as if she just realised it too.

You smiled for your friends, “So, do you want something with him?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Maki’s expression turned thoughtful, though a hint of playfulness remained, “I do like him,” She admitted. There was no hesitancy in her voice. “But I don’t want to force things with him or anything. Just go with the flow, you know?” She met your eyes as she said, “Besides, he is a great friend - that matters above everything else.”

You admired Maki’s clarity. She knew what she wanted.

Nodding your head in response, you reached out to squeeze Maki's hand. But just then Maki let out a small cough. You quickly reached for the glass of water on her bedside table and handed it to her, "Here, take a sip of this."

After a few sips, a sigh of relief escaped her lips. "Alright," she said, her voice slightly raspy, "enough about me. Tell me what’s going on between you and that Geto guy?" Her gaze, even dimmed by illness, held its usual unwavering intensity. It burrowed into yours, leaving no room for secrets. “And don’t lie, I can tell something is bothering you.”

Your heart sank at the mention of Geto's name, the emotions from last night bubbling back to the surface. You avoided them, though. "I think he's seeing someone else," you admitted with a bitter chuckle.

Maki's frown mirrored your own confusion. "But from what you told me…?"

"Yeah, I know," you sighed, your voice heavy with resignation. "But then again, we didn’t speak for two months. I don’t really blame him for pursuing someone else."

But the ache in your chest refused to dissipate, stubbornly clinging to the remnants of hope you had tried to bury.

You recounted the events of the exhibition, the cryptic nature of Suguru's words, and the sight of him with another woman. Maki listened attentively, her unwavering gaze conveying understanding as you poured your heart out to her.

Maki sighed, her disappointment evident in the furrow of her brow. “The woman you are talking about,” she began, her tone tinged with frustration, “I think I saw her and Geto at a cafe - the description sounds the same. But I didn’t think much of it because I just assumed they were friends or something.” Another sigh escaped her lips, laden with exasperation. “But from what you're saying… man, that guy is so clueless!”

"Now, there’s no point in that anyway," you murmured, your shoulders slumping as you shook your head. "I’m just disappointed because I thought we had something, but I guess I just misunderstood things."

Maki's eyes flashed with indignation. “I saw the way he looked at you in the cafeteria - like a teenage boy looking at his first crush. It was so sweet it was almost disgusting,” she said, her nose scrunching up slightly. “So no, you did not misunderstand things. That guy turned out to be an asshole.”

Maki reached out and squeezed your hand, a gesture so unexpected from her that it caught you off guard. “You deserve better than someone who doesn’t know what he wants.” Her gaze was intense, taking in your slumped shoulders and tired eyes. “You know what?” she began, determination clear in her voice. “Give me your phone.”

“You are not texting him,” you said sternly, though you unlocked your phone and handed it to her anyway.

“Of course not,” she replied with a humourless chuckle. “He isn’t worth my time.” You rolled your eyes at her statement, but the corners of your lips twitched upwards, feeling a bit of the weight lifting off your shoulders.

You peeked over your phone, curiosity getting the better of you. Maki was busy downloading - “A dating app?” you asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Maki nodded in response, her fingers flying over the screen as she added a description and prompts to your profile. “But Maki, I don’t want to date someone just like that,” you protested.

“You deserve to meet someone new and exciting. It doesn’t have to be serious,” Maki replied, her voice firm but caring.

You had never used dating apps before, so you felt hesitant to try it out. The idea of swiping left and right felt strange, almost impersonal. But another part of you was curious to see how things would turn out. After all, college was ending soon, you had barely dated anyone until now, and then the thing with Geto...

Maki looked up from the phone, her expression softening slightly. “I know it feels weird, but sometimes you need to step out of your comfort zone. Just give it a try. If you don’t like it, you can always delete it.” She angled the phone towards you, the dating app now downloaded and ready to go. “Think of it as an adventure. You never know what might happen.”

Maki began swiping for you, her eyes occasionally flicking up to check your reaction. One particular profile caught your eye. “Wait!” you stopped her just as she was about to remove the profile.

“What? Him? Really?” Maki asked, her nose scrunching up in mild disgust.

“Hey, he looks good, okay? But that’s not the point,” you said, leaning in to get a better look. The picture of a familiar white-haired man stared back at you. “That’s Geto’s best friend, Gojo.” You told her, swiping down on the profile to see more.

You came across a picture of him and Geto, seemingly from a beach trip. Both of them were wearing floral shirts and sporting big grins. The sight of them together stirred a mix of emotions within you. The carefree happiness on Geto's face contrasted sharply with the confusion and heartache you felt.

The text with the picture read:

Yeah, that’s my best friend, but you won’t find him here. His heart is already taken, but mine isn’t ;)

You shook your head, ignoring the icy feeling that crawled up your veins; a feeling that didn’t have anything to do with the cold, biting wind outside. After a few more swipes, you got some matches. Maki took over, texting them on your behalf.

“‘Are you free tomorrow?’” Maki read the text from one of your matches out loud. Yeah, you were free, but was it wise to go out with someone you barely knew? As if sensing your hesitation, Maki said, “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but I think you should.” Then, she added, “It might help you deal with your feelings for Geto.” You noticed a hint of bitterness when she said his name, as if it left a sour taste in her mouth.

You bit your lip, considering her words. Maki has always been your rock, her advice helping you through the toughest situations. Finally making up your mind, you said, “Yeah, I guess I’ll go out with him - see how it is.” Then, with a teasing tone you said, your voice light, “But I am going only for you.”

Maki smiled at you, her expression lightening. “Great! I’ll text him then.” Her tone turned serious. “But keep texting me, okay? He seems okay, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be worried about you.”

You smiled at your friend’s protectiveness. “Yeah, I will Maki, don’t worry about it.”

A small part of you felt like this was wrong, especially since there was no communication between you and Geto to clear things up. But he had started dating someone else, hadn’t he? His heart was already taken, wasn’t it? So did it matter what you felt for him? Clearly, it didn’t mean anything to him, so the sooner you got over it, the better it would be for you.

The sudden crack of lightning jolted you, sending a streak of black liquid across your eyelid just as you were applying your eyeliner. A muted curse escaped your lips as you grabbed a makeup wipe, determined to fix the line. But the damage was done – a dark smudge now decorated your under-eye. With a sigh, you opted for a clean look, wiping away the eyeliner completely.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by a low rumble of thunder. Your brow furrowed as you pulled on your clothes for the date. Winter rain was a rarity, but the damp air and earthy scent were unmistakable signs of a downpour.

You had to hurry now. Getting caught in a winter rain shower was the last thing you wanted, especially with your already achy legs. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed that you were looking presentable. Despite the eyeliner disaster, you felt satisfied with your hair and makeup.

You made your way towards the restaurant, taking the subway. As you emerged from the station, the warm, stale air was replaced by a blast of icy wind that stole your breath. It was raining now, but thankfully it was misty; the droplets of water barely felt like anything. The rain clung around your face, blurring the city lights into shimmering halos. The rhythmic rumble of the train faded behind you, replaced by the traffic honks and the murmur of people walking around.

Your legs felt like lead as you trudged towards the restaurant. You'd chosen a cosy Italian place that was a little far from your apartment. Your date had insisted on a ‘middle point’ since he lived far away from your place, and you couldn’t protest.

Doubt gnawed at you. Was this the right way to get over Geto? The memory of his supportive glances and gentle laugh sent a pang through your chest. This date with someone you barely knew, suddenly felt like a flimsy shield against a tidal wave of longing. Yes, you and your date had exchanged some text, but could you really judge a person just through texts? But cancelling now felt like a betrayal – you couldn’t bring yourself to leave someone hanging like that while they waited for you.

With that in mind, you pushed open the glass doors of the restaurant. The smell of molten cheese and basil greeting you, followed by the gentle clink of glasses and happy murmurs. The whole place was bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights.

Once inside, you navigated through the crowded space until you spotted a familiar-looking face. Your date's blond hair was combed neatly, but there was something different about his hair compared to the pictures you saw. Still, you paid it no mind as you made your way to the table.

As you reached the table, you noticed an almost empty lowball glass that sat in front of him. It had a single ice cube clinging to the bottom of what appeared to be bourbon, given by its amber colour. Before you could dwell on the obvious red flag, dark hazel eyes met yours.

You forced out a smile. “Hey, you must be –”

The words died on your lips as he cut you off, his voice clipped. "You're late."

Huh?

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Looking forward to your feedback 🌷

← Prev. Chapter | Series mlist | Next Chapter →

I know things take a turn here, and even I wasn't expecting this to happen but it just happened, to the point I had to change the storyline lol

@whereflowerswenttodie @celestie0 @lostfracturess @nakariabnrb @yungbloode

@peppertoastuniverse @hopefulpeachcolor

Stained glass and heart dividers by @/saradika

Line divider by @benkeibear

Galaxy divider by @/cafekitsune

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neurospring · 4 months ago

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History and Basics of Language Models: How Transformers Changed AI Forever - and Led to Neuro-sama

I have seen a lot of misunderstandings and myths about Neuro-sama's language model. I have decided to write a short post, going into the history of and current state of large language models and providing some explanation about how they work, and how Neuro-sama works! To begin, let's start with some history.

Before the beginning

Before the language models we are used to today, models like RNNs (Recurrent Neural Networks) and LSTMs (Long Short-Term Memory networks) were used for natural language processing, but they had a lot of limitations. Both of these architectures process words sequentially, meaning they read text one word at a time in order. This made them struggle with long sentences, they could almost forget the beginning by the time they reach the end.

Another major limitation was computational efficiency. Since RNNs and LSTMs process text one step at a time, they can't take full advantage of modern parallel computing harware like GPUs. All these fundamental limitations mean that these models could never be nearly as smart as today's models.

The beginning of modern language models

In 2017, a paper titled "Attention is All You Need" introduced the transformer architecture. It was received positively for its innovation, but no one truly knew just how important it is going to be. This paper is what made modern language models possible.

The transformer's key innovation was the attention mechanism, which allows the model to focus on the most relevant parts of a text. Instead of processing words sequentially, transformers process all words at once, capturing relationships between words no matter how far apart they are in the text. This change made models faster, and better at understanding context.

The full potential of transformers became clearer over the next few years as researchers scaled them up.

The Scale of Modern Language Models

A major factor in an LLM's performance is the number of parameters - which are like the model's "neurons" that store learned information. The more parameters, the more powerful the model can be. The first GPT (generative pre-trained transformer) model, GPT-1, was released in 2018 and had 117 million parameters. It was small and not very capable - but a good proof of concept. GPT-2 (2019) had 1.5 billion parameters - which was a huge leap in quality, but it was still really dumb compared to the models we are used to today. GPT-3 (2020) had 175 billion parameters, and it was really the first model that felt actually kinda smart. This model required 4.6 million dollars for training, in compute expenses alone.

Recently, models have become more efficient: smaller models can achieve similar performance to bigger models from the past. This efficiency means that smarter and smarter models can run on consumer hardware. However, training costs still remain high.

How Are Language Models Trained?

Pre-training: The model is trained on a massive dataset to predict the next token. A token is a piece of text a language model can process, it can be a word, word fragment, or character. Even training relatively small models with a few billion parameters requires trillions of tokens, and a lot of computational resources which cost millions of dollars.

Post-training, including fine-tuning: After pre-training, the model can be customized for specific tasks, like answering questions, writing code, casual conversation, etc. Certain post-training methods can help improve the model's alignment with certain values or update its knowledge of specific domains. This requires far less data and computational power compared to pre-training.

The Cost of Training Large Language Models

Pre-training models over a certain size requires vast amounts of computational power and high-quality data. While advancements in efficiency have made it possible to get better performance with smaller models, models can still require millions of dollars to train, even if they have far fewer parameters than GPT-3.

The Rise of Open-Source Language Models

Many language models are closed-source, you can't download or run them locally. For example ChatGPT models from OpenAI and Claude models from Anthropic are all closed-source.

However, some companies release a number of their models as open-source, allowing anyone to download, run, and modify them.

While the larger models can not be run on consumer hardware, smaller open-source models can be used on high-end consumer PCs.

An advantage of smaller models is that they have lower latency, meaning they can generate responses much faster. They are not as powerful as the largest closed-source models, but their accessibility and speed make them highly useful for some applications.

So What is Neuro-sama?

Basically no details are shared about the model by Vedal, and I will only share what can be confidently concluded and only information that wouldn't reveal any sort of "trade secret". What can be known is that Neuro-sama would not exist without open-source large language models. Vedal can't train a model from scratch, but what Vedal can do - and can be confidently assumed he did do - is post-training an open-source model. Post-training a model on additional data can change the way the model acts and can add some new knowledge - however, the core intelligence of Neuro-sama comes from the base model she was built on. Since huge models can't be run on consumer hardware and would be prohibitively expensive to run through API, we can also say that Neuro-sama is a smaller model - which has the disadvantage of being less powerful, having more limitations, but has the advantage of low latency. Latency and cost are always going to pose some pretty strict limitations, but because LLMs just keep getting more efficient and better hardware is becoming more available, Neuro can be expected to become smarter and smarter in the future. To end, I have to at least mention that Neuro-sama is more than just her language model, though we have only talked about the language model in this post. She can be looked at as a system of different parts. Her TTS, her VTuber avatar, her vision model, her long-term memory, even her Minecraft AI, and so on, all come together to make Neuro-sama.

Wrapping up - Thanks for Reading!

This post was meant to provide a brief introduction to language models, covering some history and explaining how Neuro-sama can work. Of course, this post is just scratching the surface, but hopefully it gave you a clearer understanding about how language models function and their history!

#neuro sama #neurosama #vedal987 #llm #artificial intelligence #explained

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tryslat · 9 months ago

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Manual Transformation vs. Using the AI Text Converter Tool

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#AI-generated content #human-written text #Online AI Text Converter Tool #convert AI-generated content #human-like text #manual transformation #efficiency #ease of use #high-quality text #cost-free tool #versatile content conversion #AI text conversion #natural-sounding text #quick text transformation #human-readable content

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cienie-isengardu · 12 days ago

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Cienie's take on Mandalorian culture: original Mandalorians and Gai bal manda ritual

I’m currently reading Magia Wojny i Wojna Magii w świecie dawnych Słowian (War Magic and War of Magic in the world of ancient Slavs) by Kamil Kajkowski. In one of chapters, the author mentioned how children were not seen as part of a community until reaching a certain age and undergo appropriate rituals that allowed them officially be seen as a person in legal, cultural and social context.

This made me think about Taung and Mandalorian culture, specifically in the regard to the Gai bal manda ritual of adoption. Or rather of its origins, as sources imply Taungs did not start adopting outsiders until the few decades before Mandalorian Wars.

From the History of the Mandalorians:

This mentality led the Crusaders to eradicate entire species like the Fenelar, Tlönians, and Kuarans. Thousands of years later, the Ithullans too would suffer the same fate. In fact, the only species to survive a full-fledged Mandalorian onslaught were neighboring Mandallian Giants. These fierce combatants not only repelled Mandalorian attacks but earned enough respect to later fight beside them.

and mind you, fighting beside Mandalorians does not necessarily mean being adopted into a clan or community; “Industry. Honor. Savagery: Shaping the Mandalorian Soul” specifically noted that Mandalorians and Mandallian Giants agreed to co-exist and assimilation of Giants happened with passing time. Or:

But that didn’t stop the Mandalorians. On the contrary, the temporary defeat precipitated a frenzied conviction that the “Great Last Battle” was at hand. For 20 years, the Mandalorians zealously invaded small non-Republic worlds on the fringe of Known Space, raiding their resources and building up a powerful army. Anticipating an apocalyptic war, the Neo-Crusaders began accepting members of other species into their midst, treating these “converts” as equals.

Furthermore, Knights of the Old Republic Campaign added that in period of time between Sith War and Mandalorian Wars:

[...] many of the conquered peoples are efficiently transformed into Mandalorians, undergoing speedy indoctrination by Neo-Crusader “rally masters” and receiving Neo-Crusader armor

while

The traditional Crusaders do not proselytize; rather, they attract others to their cause through the examples they set. Veterans see the later Neo-Crusaders movement, which actively converts outsiders in its hurry to conquer the galaxy, as a perversion.

The in-universe text like Death Watch Manifesto and mentioned before “Industry. Honor. Savagery: Shaping the Mandalorian Soul” specifically said that humans were first treated like vassals in the Taung-Mandalorian society and gained the full “civil right” during Mandalore the Ultimate’s regime who opened Mandalorian ranks to anyone who proved their worth and dedicated life to warrior’s ways.

The age of the Taung was ending, but their great work was unfinished. To survive, the Mando'ade must be transformed. It was a terrible burden, but Mandalore the Ultimate bore it with honor. He opened the clans to all who proved themselves in battle and followed the warrior codes. Non-Taungs were no longer confined to vassalship, but could be full-fledged Mandalorian warriors. Our forefathers were among these new Mando'ade, and soon proved they were ready to lead the clans (Death Watch Manifesto).

[...] The Jakelians, for one, welcomed their new Mandalorian overlords, as did knots of worlds populated by humans centered on Concord Dawn and Gargon. Those worlds - along with the likes of Hrthging, Breshig, Shogun, and Ordo - became part of Mandalorian Space (“Industry. Honor. Savagery: Shaping the Mandalorian Soul” from The Essential Guide to Warfare).

There was a better way, and Mandalore the Ultimate was determined to find it. The defeated Crusaders returned to Mandalore Space to learn that their leader had received a new vision on Shogun: From now on, non-Taungs who proved themselves in battle and upheld the Mandalorian warrior code were full members of the clans (“Industry. Honor. Savagery: Shaping the Mandalorian Soul” from The Essential Guide to Warfare).

Thus we may assume that if adoption happened in Taung-ancient Mandalorian culture before the Sith War, it was aimed most likely at the members of the same culture, not really at outsiders. Which implies that before Mandalore the Ultimate’s regime, Taung warriors weren’t that open community and definitely not as open as their human descendants became. However, considering how little we know about Taung as a species - especially from a biological and psychological standpoint, I think we should be wary of attributing to them a human approach to the family in the context of parenthood and adopting children. For example, Galaxy at War sourcebook presented the general personality for Taung characters as:

Personality: Warlike by nature, Taungs are pragmatic and ruthless. But by the same token, they are also extraordinarily loyal to their clan, which serves the same function that a biological family serves for other species.

Which gives room for interpretations, especially as we have no idea how big the average Taung-Mandalorian clan was, nor what kind - if even at all - of biological connections there were between members. Because again, we have no idea how Taungs reproduced while author of Death Watch Manifesto made a point to highlight the difference between human and the original Mandalorians:

We call the Shadow Warriors our Progenitors, though we do not share their blood, and their bodies were those of beasts, not humans.

and so there is a possibility that original Mandalorian culture - due to Taung non-human reproduction - did not have a use of adoption of foundling or orphaned children because the bond between parent and child did not correspond to human norms. For all we know, original Mandalorians could lay eggs or inbreed to the point the distinction between parent, siblings and offspring was a blurred line or more than two individuals must have been involved in the conception of a new child. There are plenty of possibilities for alien species to develop and understand conception of “family” that won’t correspond with human’s biological and emotional needs (i.e. having a child, being a parent), especially as even some humans do not feel the need to have their own biological or whatsoever offspring. There is no need for Taungs to act as humans in that regard or be exactly the same as their modern counterparts. As source imply, for Taungs, adoption was a pragmatic means to pass their culture when they - as a species - were doomed to extinction. For humans though, Mandalore the Ultimate’s law allowed them to rise in the social hierarchy from vassals (subordinates) to the warriors (full-fledged “citizens”) so it makes sense they passed the tradition of adoption to future generations, giving a ground for the modern mandalorian culture.

Coming back to the “perpetrator” of the whole above essay, more precisely the aforementioned belief how children were not seen as part of a community until reaching a certain age and undergo appropriate rituals from Magia Wojny i Wojna Magii, let me present my personal “reconstruction” of Gai bal manda ritual.

In mando’a Gai bal manda means name and soul. If we agree that original Mandalorians

did not adopt outsiders but hold in special regard their community as a whole (specifically the clan, not necessary biological blood-ties)

were religious and their culture was based on the will of the gods, magical thinking and rituals regulating their life

to officially become part of said community a child at a certain age needed to undergo appropriate rituals (similarly how in The Mandalorians a young Ragnar Vizsla recited the Creed in the presence of the whole community while Grogu, due to being too young could not perform similar rite of passage)

then Gai bal manda could be originally a ritual allowing ancient Mandalorians to officially accept a child into their warrior community.

In modern times, to adopt Mandalorian must recite the phrase ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad—"I know your name as my child" with adding the adopted person’s name. But back in the old times, predating the Sith War and Mandalorian Wars, the clan as a whole could say something similar to acknowledge the new member of their community.

Going further with this idea, Gai bal manda could be performed by Mandalore the Ultimate during the Great Adoption, as a symbolic way to acknowledge non-Taung warriors as legal sons and daughters (and any children of whatever gender) of Mandalore. Which frankly would add some interesting implication to Death Watch Manifesto’s description of Mandalore the Ultimate as the Great Shadow Father.

On one hand, this officially recorded symbolic adoption could explain how the phrase ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad became part of non-Taung mandalorian culture and survived millenia after the original warriors died out. On the other hand, as non-Taung people were “undergoing speedy indoctrination” to become Neo-Crusaders, they did not have time to absorb and understand all the complexity of original Mandalorian culture. And so with passing time, something that once was a ritual to welcome a new (blood related or not) member into a clan became specifically used only for adoption. Partially because the knowledge about religion and all rituals of Taung has been forgotten and/or lost, in part because modern humans have moved away from magical thinking of their progenitors.

#star wars #mandalorians #mandalore the ultimate #taung #mandalorian culture #cienie's take on mandalorian culture #Gai bal manda #here my another take on Mandalorian culture no one asked for. Don’t mind me #I’m simply connecting mandalorian with slavic folklore cause why not 🤣#also it seems i have an agenda #to distinct taung mandalorians from modern human mandalorians #also making taungs a oviparous species not sorry about that at all 🤣🤣🤣#i was supposed to finish my take on hod haran and death as beast oops

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nils-gold-34 · 2 months ago

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FUNCTION 34

Nils stood before the towering doors of Gold Tech HQ. The building shimmered with reflective black panels outlined in pulsing gold, humming with an unsettling energy, a symbol of raw control. He had received the directive only hours ago: a summons direct and absolute. No explanation. Just coordinates and one line: “Submit for upgrade.”

Inside, the lobby was silent, vast, clinical. Gold lines traced intricate hexagonal patterns across rubber-coated floors. Nils moved forward, his golden soccer jersey clinging tightly to his chest, glinting with pride. His cleats clicked sharply against the black floor as two figures in full drone suits flanked him—featureless, gleaming black rubber with gold visor slits, wordless and watching.

They led him down a long corridor and into a chamber thrumming with low vibrations. A pedestal with the text “Function” rose from the floor. On the top of the pedestal was a small round bottle with swirling black liquid inside.

Nils reached for it, his heart pounding, throat dry. The bottle was warm. He tipped it back. The midnight-black liquid flowed into his mouth, syrupy, sickly sweet, wrong in ways he couldn't define. It slid down his throat like tar, coating every inch, clinging to his insides. A searing heat ignited in his chest and spread outward, like fire beneath his skin. He dropped the bottle when his legs began to trembled as the transformation seized him. His body was no longer his own.

Black and shiny rubber poured from his mouth down his neck, covering every inch of exposed skin. It moved as if alive slithering down across his shoulders, his arms, enveloping his fingers. With each moment, his hands became less expressive, more efficient. The rubber slithered across his chest, hips, and legs, down to his feet. Gold remained for now.

Nils dropped to his knees, the rubber creeping down his back, hugging every muscle, outlining every curve, reinforcing his form. It coiled around his thighs like a serpent, tight and constricting.

But through it all, his mind remained intact.

Why… why can I still think?” His voice cracked, raw, barely his own. While the black rubber inched higher, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Was this still him?

The drones answered with action. Wordlessly, they lifted him, carrying him into a second chamber. The lights dimmed. Black and gold spinning spirals filled the walls. They pushed him into a chair and strapping him in. The spirals sped up, impossible to look away from. A smooth, rubber collar clicked into place around his neck. He barely resisted. A voice, cold and distant, whispered from above.

A voice, distant and cold, echoed from above, its cadence mechanical, unfeeling.

"Mind follows body. Thought becomes function. Function becomes obedience. Forget the self. Embrace the function

The spirals drilled into him. Images flashed, water bottles, towels, sideline service. Endless repetitions of kneeling, offering, obeying. Over and over, until desire was buried beneath duty.

Nils' jaw slackened. His breath slowed. The collar tightened. He was forgetting. Forgetting names. Goals. Independence. Speech. Slowly, methodically, replaced with programming. Purpose.

The final command echoed through his mind like a death sentence.

"WATERBOY 34. FUNCTION ACCEPTED." Nils'—no, Waterboy 34’s—eyes snapped open, and the last remnants of his former self faded into a blank, obedient emptiness. The golden jersey clung to his body, a mockery of the man he had been. His body was Rubber. His mind? Function. He no longer remembered Nils. He remembered nothing but service

The transformation was complete.

He was no longer Nils. He was Waterboy 34 owned by Gold tech.

Ready. Willing. Updated. Ready to serve.

Submit for upgrade

Contact our recruiters: @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001

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slugtranslation-hypmic · 6 months ago

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Literally No One Asked: Examining Merits and Limitations of Three Translation Styles via Various Scripts of Chrono Trigger

As the last vestiges of winter vacation slip through our collective fingers (save the proverbial hands of those lucky ducks with another week left), I wanted to take the time to expound on a topic near and dear to my heart: the merits and limitations of three fundamentally different translation approaches, illustrated with three different approaches to a single work.

Under a cut for no doubt grievous length.

Also, a general reminder that this eassay is only about Japanese to English pop culture translations. It assumes certain basic value judgements we make about pop culture. "But this Spanish to Czech literary translation--" Is Jake Gyllenhaal gay? Sir, this is a Narnia blog.

Introduction

It seems like we always come back to the same question: do we as readers want literal or liberal translation in our Japanese to English media? Terrible question! It's too reductive; furthermore, both terms are too vague to be of any practical use. Let's throw it out and talk about something interesting for a change.

It is, perhaps, more telling to examine why we favor certain degrees of "literal" or "liberal" translation work and the relative merits and drawbacks of particular approaches. Certain readers will naturally favor different writing styles for different reasons, and it's likely a futile--to say nothing of boorish--exercise to insist someone change their preferences. However, there are some less subjective qualities we can examine which open the door to more fascinating discussions: In what areas are different approaches most effective? What are the limitations or common pitfalls of such approaches? What does favoring one approach over the other suggest about reader values? And so on.

While there are certain degrees of refinement and transformation in every approach to translation, the majority of styles fall into one of three broad categories:

Structurally untransformative. A text that "hugs" the Japanese and lives within the Japanese media cultural consciousness.

Inefficiently transformative. A text that lives within the English media cultural consciousness but achieves this result with strenuous, often sloppy, transformations. I may be a little harsher on this category because it's the one the majority of my work falls into.

Efficiently transformative. A text that lives within the English media cultural consciousness and is largely a clean, coherent work on its own. Typically (but not always) closely mirrors the source in style. Virtually always closely mirrors the source in spirit.

Due to licensing restrictions--to say nothing of the intense time commitment of translating a full work--we are very rarely blessed with alternate translations of games or books in the pop culture space. This limits our ability to effectively compare approaches, as a "liberally" translated apple bears a non-helpful resemblance "literally" translated orange. Are the visible differences a product of the translators' style, or is it a matter of the different species?

Fortunately, we are extraordinarily lucky to have three fundamentally unique translations of the game of Chrono Trigger with full scripts available at our fingertips. While it feels a tad gauche to put a magnifying glass on what are (mostly) the works of single individuals--particularly when one is a hobby project--all translations have been visible to the public for at least fifteen years. It is sufficient to say they are probably not reflective of any of the translators' current skillsets.

For those of us who haven't played the game twenty times in a probably autism-fueled stupor, let's discuss briefly the history of these translations.

Chrono Trigger was first released in English in 1995 with a translation by Ted Woolsey. I haven't deepdived any of Woolsey's work to a meaningful degree in recent years. My general impression is that his works tend to be "okay" translations with moments of brilliance (the names in Eng!CT are a shining example of this) and occasional complete misTLs. Some of his writing is pretty sloppy or ill-planned but generally acceptable within the game translation space of the 90s. He is reported to have completed the translation of this roughly 200,000 character script within a month. This is not impossible for a professional--we'll touch on this again later--but it is not pleasant. Given this severe time restriction, Woolsey's text is impressive but is a shining example of an inefficiently transformative translation (approach 2).

Fans, while largely appreciative of Woolsey's work, noted multiple minor mistranslations and examples of overzealous--and ineffective--transformation. A full retranslation project was launched in the early 2000s and spearheaded by an individual with the penname KWhazit. This project culminated in 2007 with a full patch of the game. KWhazit's work, in an effort to capture lost or obfuscated meaning in Woolsey's text, is reluctant to depart from the structure and makeup of the Japanese text. The text is largely free of errors, although I disagree with readings in minor instances. It serves as our example of structurally untransformative work (approach 1).

In 2009, with the release of Chrono Trigger on the DS, Square Enix assigned then in-house translator Tom Slattery to update the 1995 Woolsey translation and retranslate significant portions of the text. While some of Woolsey's core translation decisions are maintained--we'll talk more about this later--Slattery's work is generally a unique product. By my estimates, Slattery most likely had two months in which to complete the work and had less familiarity with the game than Woolsey in 1995. The unique challenges of this second official translation will be discussed later.

It would be remiss not to mention that Slattery's script was the first version of Chrono Trigger I ever played, and most of Slattery's other Square Enix translations (FF Tactics Advance, FFVI Advance, FFIV DS) are other childhood or adolescent favorites. Slattery was one of my translation idols when my interest in translation first began budding about a decade ago, so I'm well aware that I harbor some nostalgia for his writing. However, I hadn't looked at the Chrono Trigger DS script in any serious way for a good four or five years until just a few days ago. (Again...the caffeine and probably autism-fueled stupor. That was my idea of a vacation. In my defense, I had a grand old time holing up in a hotel room, reading scripts for hours, and grinning like a fool.) I was pleasantly surprised to find that the script holds up--to the best of my professional ability--even without the rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia.

Slattery's script is my favorite of the three, because I consider it the most effective and skilled conveyance of the Chrono Trigger spirit. It encapsulates the efficiently transformative approach (#3).

We'll examine why this elegant work is effective in its transformations, what transformations exist in Slattery's translation, and what drawbacks are associated with this approach via several case studies.

Prior to that, it would be helpful to discuss why each approach is fundamentally different.

What is Structural Transformation and Media Cultural Consciousness?

It is helpful at this point to remind the reader that I have no formal education in translation theory and am willfully making terms up as I go. Their significance does not extend past the boundaries of this essay.

That is, I do not use the phrase "structural transformation" purely to mean adjusting grammatical structures (the formal definition); at its heart, virtually all Japanese to English translation requires some degree of adjusting sentence structures for basic readability. "I topic dinner subject eat negative past feminine." is nonsense. At the same time, it's foolish to pretend that "I didn't eat dinner." is just as transformative as "Oh! Pish-posh. Who even eats dinner these days, darling?" (Important note: We are not attaching value judgements to degrees of transformation! I am not suggesting one line versus the other could ever possibly be more appropriate when completely devoid of context.)

To be able to differentiate works that might contain Ms. Didn't Eat vs Ms. Pish-Posh, we must consider what other works these translations are in conversation with. This is what I'm terming the language media cultural consciousness.

Works in the English media cultural consciousness mimic the style of works written originally in English--usually by native or strongly fluent writers--in order to utilize helpful shortcuts. We know, by virtue of reading lots of English works, that "Once upon a time" opens a fairytale. We understand that "Would you make me the happiest man on Earth?" is a marriage or dating proposal with no further context provided. We read "Captain! The flux capacitator is going into overdrive!" and immediately understand the speaker is in an emergency situation on a spaceship in a sci-fi story, even though we do not know what a flux capacitator is or what happens when one enters a state of overdrive. These shortcuts prevent the writer from having to reinvent the wheel with every story. It is an inescapable fact that a work exists in a language media cultural consciousness, and virtually all stories can be lifted (to some degree) from one into another without changing the core components or themes of the story.

By way of comparison, translated works in the Japanese media cultural consciousness mimic the style of other translated works that--for any number of reasons--closely adhere to dictionary definitions of the Japanese text. By being written in English, these works are largely in conversation with each other. (Again, we are not attaching a value judgement!) Savvy readers within this cultural consciousness automatically understand that "I want to be by his side..." is a statement of romantic intent even if they cannot read 彼のそばにいたい… A character saying another's name followed by an ellipsis is an expression of poignant emotion ("Amemura-kun..."); "That is..." is said by someone taken aback.

The media cultural consciousness is determined at the prose level (how the story is told), although some works can transform aspects at the content level (what the story is) without negatively impacting the underlying themes and tone. All choices the translator makes are transformations. Every work is inherently transformative. While, realistically, all works fall on a sliding scale between the two cultural consciousness poles, we can generally consider works that attempt to operate in the Japanese media cultural consciousness structurally untransformative and classify (in)efficiently transformative works as ones that attempt to operate in the English media cultural consciousness.

There. We've gotten all the impartiality out of our systems. Now we can begin assigning value judgements! Whee!

For many native English speakers (a younger me among them), it is tempting to assume that English media cultural consciousness = good and stop there. I am incredibly grateful and humbled by the many people who've spoken on the subject with differing opinions, both indirectly and directly to me. If you wouldn't mind me holding my opinion until the end, it is perhaps more enlightening to examine a couple of key questions first:

Why Do Most Professional Works Favor the English Media Cultural Consciousness?

There are certain subsets of the industry where this is not as much the case (usually anything involving dubbing or other timing-sensitive audio), but to avoid getting into the weeds of why visual/audio mismatch is undesirable, let's focus the discussion on the majority of the industry.

At the most basic level...money talks! The overwhelming majority of the wealthy English readership is based in the US, UK, and Australia/NZ. This is not to say that there are not other major pockets of readers; insider data (you'll forgive me that I can't cite my sources here...) reveals especially high consumership in India and the Philippines. However, consumers in countries with average lower expendable income are less likely to legally purchase translations, and as a result, the market tends to cater to the whims of its highest-paying customers. This isn't especially satisfying on an ideological level, but it is to some degree understandable--at the end of the day, translators, editors, and all the many other industry professionals need to eat too.

However, why is US English the industry standard as compared to British English, say? Even non-American-English-speaking translators are expected to write in American English on the vast majority of their projects, and in the rare instances a work is released in Europe/Oceania but not the US, it is highly likely that the work will be written in American English anyway. What gives?

American English occupies the intriguing niche of being English's lingua (dialetto?) franca by virtue of the US's cultural global hegemony. For better or for worse--and quite arguably the latter--common conventions of American English culture and storytelling are understood across the globe. Most English readers outside the US understand "She's the cheerleader" describes a peppy, outgoing girl who the speaker probably feels negative about--perhaps she's dumb (and blonde, by any chance?) or more sexually active than the speaker feels appropriate. "You look like your mom found you in a Walmart parking lot" is understand as an insult even for those who've never set foot in a Walmart or whose local Walmart has a vastly different image from American Walmarts. By tapping into this cultural consciousness, translators can use shortcuts to tell stories to a large audience.

This latter argument is, to my mind, the more compelling of the two reasons to set works within an (American) English cultural consciousness. This argument also applies to hobby works, albeit to a lesser degree. Indeed, here a myriad of counterarguments begin to take hold.

Why Do Some Translators and Readers Prefer the Japanese Media Cultural Consciousness? And Counterarguments

Apart from matters of personal taste--again, I no longer find it appropriate to comment on individual preferences--some readers prefer the Japanese media cultural consciousness out of a dislike for American cultural hegemony, a conflation of sloppy writing (approach 2, inefficiently transformative works) with all English media cultural consciousness translations, or a desire to feel a sense of distance from the work. I'm fascinated by this last, which I've heard from multiple individuals and still can't claim to understand fully at an emotional level. Historically, I've (unfairly) chalked a lot of that up to exoticism from mainly US-based individuals, but I most often see this argument from those outside the US. It appears that some individuals feel most comfortable when translated English--already a foreign incursion in their lives--rebels against AmEng cultural frameworks embedded in the storytelling. (Personally, I think this concept has fantastic literary merit and would love to hear more from individuals in this camp. Please tell me if you think I'm completely off base, too!)

On the flip side, we also find many individuals who are more fluent or at home in the Japanese media cultural consciousness. Many of these individuals are non-native speakers, although some native speakers who generally don't seek out original English media may feel the same way. The constant prioritization of native English speakers in such discussions can make non-native speakers feel ignored and marginalized, particularly as many individuals are already marginalized in other ways within the AmEng cultural sphere.

It isn't fair to say an individual shouldn't feel at home in their given cultural consciousness; nor is it appropriate the needs of all such individuals. Many structurally untransformative translations speak to this need and provide a space for a unique and fascinating form of English storytelling to flourish.

Additionally, semi-fluent readers sometimes struggle with the figurative language or irregular vocabulary associated with (in)efficiently transformative translations. (Structurally untransformative translations tend to use a strictly limited vocabulary and collection of sentence structures, making them potentially more friendly to semi-fluent readers.) Semi-fluent readers are also more likely to be tripped up by annoyingly flowery or disjointed writing, both common problems of inefficiently transformative translation. It must be noted that this is partially a matter of taste; opinions on what is annoying varies widely even among industry professionals of various degrees of English fluency.

Apart from the law of averages--more readers, native or non-native alike, are likely to be fully fluent than semi-fluent--the common counterargument to this is that semi-fluent readers should read more works in the English media cultural consciousness to broaden their horizons. I agree with this to a limited degree only. While expanding one's knowledge is a powerful thing, I find it insulting to imply some readers do not like certain works due to willful ignorance. It is ultimately the reader's right as to which works they choose to engage with.

Subjectivity abounds! As a result, I generally don't care whether a work is placed in the Japanese or English media cultural consciousness as long as it is done skillfully. However, most structurally untransformative works fall flat due to their inability to retain core emotive information from Japanese. Much of Japanese's emotional tone is carried in grammatical particles which are typically neglected or overemphasized to an awkward degree in structurally transformative works. In the sample sentence at the very top of this section, the grammatical particle わ (rendered as "feminine" in the agrammatical translation) implies the speaker is female, and likely a relatively posh or middle-aged one at that. This is impossible to see in "I didn't eat dinner yesterday."

Other emotive information is lost in conversion due to differences in English vs Japanese stress and line length. This can be made up to some degree by a strong knowledge of the Japanese cultural consciousness, but in most cases, a skilled translator is needed to bridge the gap for the vast majority of readers. For example, tsukkomi (riposting) humor rendered into English usually needs to be short and punchy to be funny, an example of the English cultural consciousness bleeding over into the Japanese space. If Japanese words serving pronounal functions are rendered as English filler words (ie, こんな to "this kind of"), the lines become bloated and lose their humor to all but the most savvy of readers. See "You're the only person who thinks that kind of thing..." vs "Nah, that's just you..."

In most cases, critique on structurally untransformative works ends at whether mistranslations are present in the work. It is rare that more than little attention is paid to how effectively the work conveys style and tone. This is not to say that all translators with structurally untransformative styles are poor translators. Far from it! Off the top of my head, I immediately think of two senior translators with relatively untransformative styles whose works I know very well and admire. However, in order for these works to effectively convey the stories' emotional beats and tone even within the Japanese media cultural consciousness, the translators (or the editors who work with them) must at times be more transformative than is their norm. Even then, I sometimes think they do a poor job in certain key areas. One translator struggles to convey the presence of humor; the other has difficulty writing strong emotions.

On a subjective note, I prefer writing my works within the English media cultural consciousness because I find it more rewarding to more individuals when done properly and, as a side bar, more difficult. This isn't to say that I think generally structurally untransformative translators are lazy--I fully acknowledge I lack the ability to produce such well-composed and untransformative pieces as the colleagues mentioned above--but rather that attempting to write in the Japanese media cultural consciousness can often go hand-in-hand with bad habits. It is tempting to cut corners when overworked and write an easier, but perhaps less effectively communicative, translation. Were I to focus all of my energies in this media cultural consciousness, it would be worthwhile to pursue these translations more often! However, as of now, I do not and thus lack an interest in dipping my toes into this pool--unless, of course, my client stipulates it. Cha-ching. I enjoy being paid for services rendered.

At this stage of my career, I consider myself relatively fluent in the Japanese media cultural consciousness and do have the ability to track story beats and feel emotional tones that do not follow native English conventions. However, I do still have a preference for works written in the English media cultural consciousness, as I find these more emotionally fulfilling when executed well via efficiently transformative translations.

That "when" is doing quite a lot of heavy lifting. What can happen when a translation is inefficiently transformative? Let's dive in.

What is Efficient Transformation? Or: How to Avoid Annoying White Guy Syndrome

Anyone who spends any length of time in the translated Japanese media space knows an annoying white guy. "You're not like other white guys who talk about Japan," a friend once told me after I'd ranted for five minutes about racist undertones in dead literary translators whose work I detest. My friend was very sweet, but a rotten liar.

Annoying white guys are everywhere. They may not be white or male; anyone can be an annoying white guy if they try hard enough. We all have STEM degrees and an inability to shut up. Hi, it's me. Hey. How're you doing?

The bulk of translations complained about as so-called "too liberal" translations are products of annoying white guy syndrome, which is to say poor writing. The executed transformations fail to create the correct tone; in most cases, being obnoxious is not the author's intention!

The reader is annoyed, and rightfully so, because the work does register as part of the English media cultural consciousness--but it falls into the subset of poor writing. Usually, the work registers as such because it is wildly tonally inconsistent. Works often appear a little too hyper (a huge issue for me--I sound like I'm hopped on caffeine, usually because I am. Let's put a pin in that) with inconsistent characterization and tone. In many cases, the translator understands what needs to happen to execute the story successfully but simply lacks the skills--or is otherwise limited--to create tasteful and appropriate transformations.

This is not to say that being overly liberal is the only problem. Rather, it's often the case that the inefficiently transformative translator is overly literal in the wrong places. The inefficiently transformative translator often overstresses emotive particles or is overreliant on dictionary-literal sentence structures, particularly if they have a background in hobby translation.

In other situations, the inefficiently transformative translator may override the author's wishes and insert their ego to an inappropriate and distracting degree. This may present in surprising ways. A translator who performs a bad faith reading and writes a line in a purposefully inflammatory way for the English media cultural consciousness may be just as inappropriate as a translator who scrubs out problematic elements to the point of censorship.

Other common pitfalls include obfuscating story beats or placing the stress of the story beats in the wrong place via transformative processes or adding information that is contradictory on either a story or tonal level. In some cases, this may appear as the translator poking fun at the work, a concept I generally think very poorly of. Mistranslations are also not uncommon in inefficiently transformative works due to the limitations mentioned below.

In most cases, the inefficently transformative translator wants to execute efficient transformations but is stymied by said limitations. Some translators with this approach eventually improve or remove said limitations to the point that they produce efficiently transformative works, and the whole world is all the better for it.

How, then, is an efficiently transformative work produced? Such a translation requires coherence on the story beat, character, thematic, and narrative voice levels. The translator must almost always have a comprehensive knowledge of the work and effectively retell the work from scratch with good writing practices. Inefficiently transformative works are often produced line-by-line and miss the forest for the trees; efficient transformations require a much higher-level focus.

Some efficiently transformative works are extraordinarily transformative, perhaps to the point where they're arguable more entertaining than the source material. The Brian Gray-led translation of The World Ends With You boasts a lively script with a playfulness that sets it apart from most other translated games with a teenage cast; the Japanese script is more in line with its peers. I personally don't think English TWEWY's zest outstays its welcome, but again, this is a matter of taste. More importantly, the additions to the text serve to support one possible reading of the source game's theme and message.

(Sidebar: The internet being the internet, some people are likely going "Additions to the text? :eyes: :eyes: Hot gossip? One possible reading?" It's nothing that exciting. The additions I can think of off the top of my head are all very granular. For instance, an English line in a secret report "But darkness has always been husband to light" personifies "light" and "darkness" when the Japanese doesn't. Darkness and light are already visual motifs of the characters this line alludes to, so the personification only serves to strengthen the intended message.)

However, not all efficient transformations need to be as radical as English TWEWY. Often, less is more! Clear, coherent writing that conveys the source's message while standing on its own two legs as an independent work is the operative idea, and Slattery's Chrono Trigger script is an excellent example of a more understated text that does just that.

Well, How Hard That Can Be? What Could Possibly Get in the Way?

Apart from a general lack of skill, the biggest obstacles toward producing an efficiently transformative work are lack of time, lack of incentive, or a lack of familiarity in the work. Other work-specific limitations may apply, and we'll examine three such limitations in Woolsey's and Slattery's works.

As mentioned above, Woolsey has gone on record to say he was given about a month to translate the roughly 200,000 character script. Slattery has said he found his pace uncomfortably fast and cited completing an average of 5,000 characters per day. This would put him at approximately 40 work days, so I am assuming he had roughly double Woolsey's time to translate the same script. (Please note that this estimate is mine and may be entirely incorrect.)

Years ago, these numbers horrified me. Now, I don't find the prospect (especially Slattery's) atypically daunting, assuming this full-time project was the only source of income in that time period. You'll forgive me if I'm shy about the details, but I don't translate for my day job. (I'm in a related industry role.) Outside of that, I translate for maybe 2-3 hours per day in less busy periods and complete ~7,000 characters per day. In busy periods, I can churn out between 280,000 to 320,000 characters over the course of two months--and again, I'm not being paid to sit and translate 8 hours a day. Slattery's timeline strikes me as industry typical (if not fun); Woolsey's is even less desirable but not totally unheard of. Of course, it was entirely possible they were also juggling side projects while working full-time for Square Enix. The truth is, translators often work many jobs at once because industry pay is quite poor! As unfortunate as it is, sometimes translators simply can't afford to expend the time and effort necessary to do a stellar job. This rush may have been the cause of some mistranslations or bumpy spots in Woolsey's script.

This, however, assumes the translator is familiar with the source material and is not bogged down by time-consuming thorny patches of research, puns, misleading text, or other work-specific oddities. (Rap battles, anyone?) Chrono Trigger strikes me as a fairly forgiving text; however, I would imagine Woolsey lost a decent amount of time renaming a fair number of major and minor characters.

(Sidebar: "Renaming characters?!" I hear some people cry. Yes! Most renaming schemes were executed very well, and while I don't know for certain that these names can be attributed purely to Woolsey, the new names are largely thematically appropriate and strengthen the English text. Some characters whose names are fanciful in Japanese but plain in English, like the mysterious Princess Sara, are renamed with English fantasy-appropriate names like Princess Schala. Other names that would appear inappropriately odd (Marledia?) become commonplace (Nadia). The only naming choice I do find a bit dubious--if nostalgically charming--are three semi-joke characters (Vinegar, Mayonnaise, and Soy Sauce) renamed to rock figures Ozzie, Slash, and Flea. I do agree that changing the condiments is a smart idea, as that particular combination feels odd in an Am Eng cultural context, but bringing in real life figures is perhaps inappropriately incongruous with the fantasy atmosphere.)

Woolsey seems to have been somewhat familiar with the game prior to translating it; I assume he was able to play a copy at some point in the process or at least had extensive footage of it. Slattery has gone on record to say that he wasn't very familiar with Chrono Trigger prior to translating it, at least compared to Final Fantasy IV (another beautifully executed script). He claims to have struggled with knowing what text went where even with extensive video footage.

Wait, huh? How does a translator not know where a piece of text goes in a game? Surely it should be visible right on the screen!

The problem is, game translation has little to do with looking at the actual game. Most of the work is conducted in Excel or a similarly designed translation tool. As a test, I put the script in Excel and pulled a few lines at random to see what might come up:

私を助けに来てくれたのですね。しかし、それにはおよびませんよ。

(Did you come to save me? That's very kind, but you needn't have bothered.)

This is a character pretending to be the queen, who is not supposed to be present in this scene. I can definitely see some confusion if the translator doesn't know about the imposter.

もう1回やり直し！　ドアの所からさくにそって時計まわりに3回まわる！

(No, no, no. Do it right! Start from the door and work your way around the walls. Three times, counterclockwise. On the double!)

This is a character's response if you mess up a mini game. In the script, it looks like this line comes right before the text for the mini game being completed successfully. Without context, it wouldn't be immediately clear why the character switches from barking orders to cheering.

ぬけがらを押せば…… ぬけがらをのぼれば……

(Push the shell... Climb the shell...)

An NPC telling the main characters how to navigate a puzzle. There's zero textual indication what the "shell" is, and this term could be translated in lots of different ways--husk, skin, etc. One would need to navigate to the video and see the shell itself to choose the correct term.

I was able to identify all the lines at a glance, but that is a product of having played this game over twenty times. Someone less familiar with the game could easily have wasted time on all three lines digging up footage to find out what was going on!

Additionally, all games have tricky bits of non-dialogue that can be nearly impossible to track down. Say an Excel cell contains nothing but the word "bar." Is this a crowbar? A level bar? A pub? Short of querying the development team, another time-consuming task, it may be very difficult to tell.

As if that weren't enough, each translator has expressed encountering a handful of other difficulties during their condensed rush through the script.

Woolsey has stated (presumably this is hyperbole) that 50% of his original translation draft had to be cut for the NES's limited space. Most games have strict space limits which can hamper storytelling for all but the most concise translators. Furthermore, Woolsey's translation was subject to external censors, resulting in some rather silly looking assertions, such as characters visibly drunk on "soda pop." While such censors are relatively uncommon in the current translation space, client or parent company demands can--and do!-throw annoying wrenches into translations. Unless the translation team can cleverly smooth over these unhelpful stipulations, the translator will usually receive the blame for a less-than-ideal reader experience.

Outside of the general feelings of being rushed and unprepared, Slattery has (diplomatically) commented on the difficulty of inheriting a legacy translation, especially one as well-loved as the 1995 Woolsey Chrono Trigger script. Working with a team of translators or taking over for a translator on a solo project requires a much different skillset than translating from scratch. In continuous projects, adopting the other translator's writing and translation style is necessary, a task that can be very difficult--not to mention frustrating!--if the other translator(s) have very different skills or approaches than you. Even in cases where your skillset is more adapted to the particular project, it is inappropriate to flex those chops and create an incongruent product.

Slattery was not beholden to matching Woolsey's style; however, by retranslating a beloved game, his work would naturally appear as in dialogue with Woolsey's. Changing fan favorite lines could arouse fan ire, but at the same time, nostalgia-laden lines written in Woolsey's style might not mesh well with the bulk of Slattery's work. Similarly, correcting mistakes (especially well-known ones!) or modifying characterization are always tricky maneuvers. While it is crucial to not perpetuate errors, performing large changes or having to go on record to discuss such modifications can veer into finger-pointing territory unless handled with care. Interestingly, Chrono Trigger was not Slattery's first retranslation of a Woolsey text (see FFVI Advance and FFIV DS), and that wealth of experience may explain why this retranslation is so deftly done.

All this is to say, it is a miracle most commercial translations turn out as well as they do! While it is certainly the professional's responsibility to complete quality work under industry-standard conditions, one cannot help but wonder if better pay and better timelines would go hand-in-hand with more elegant and error-free translations.

Case Studies

We've now discussed extensively different approaches to translating, how these approaches may come about, and their relative merits and drawbacks. I've selected three examples to illustrate these points and add a final few notes. These examples are largely illustrative of each translations' full text and haven't been cherry picked so much as selected lovingly from a smorgasbord of delightful lines rich with potential commentary.

Glen's Flashback: Emotional Tone and Consistency in Voice

(This is not really a spoiler, and this game is nearly thirty years old... But I suppose if you haven't played it and wish to spare yourself any plot details, please skip to the next case study.)

In this scene, a character named Glenn reflects on a pivotal moment of his childhood when his older friend, Cyrus, scared off a group of children bullying Glenn. Both characters are present in the medieval period but speak modern Japanese. In other scenes, their tone is appropriately knightly.

Source (English text courtesy of the archivist):

[Frog's Flashback, Unknown Forest, ? A.D.] [Glenn] 「うわーん！[END] [Cyrus] 「お前らーッ！[END] [Kids] 「やべえ、サイラスだ、逃げろーッ！[END] [Glenn] 「ヒック……、ありがと…… 　サイラス……、ヒック。[END] サイラス「グレン、男はな、立ち向かって　　　行かなきゃいけない時もあるんだぞ。[END] グレン「でも……、ぶたれたらイタイよ。　　　アイツらだって……[END] サイラス「優しすぎるよ、グレンは……。[END]

Let's take a look at this scene through the lens of approach one:

[Glenn] Uwaan! [Cyrus] You guuuys! [Kids] Look out, it's Cyrus, run awaaay! [Glenn] hic...... thanks...... Cyrus...... hic. Cyrus: Look, Glenn, a man's got times when he has to fight back, too. Glenn: But...... getting hit hurts. Even for them...... Cyrus: You're too gentle, Glenn......

This translation is free of errors (dubious lack of capitalization on "thanks" aside) but has room for improvement in a few areas.

Let's take a look at all those long vowels. "Uwaan!" is largely understood as crying or distressed screaming within the Japanese media cultural consciousness, but I worry about the emotional ambiguity of "You guuuys!" "お前らーッ!" is unambiguously angry. Were the game to provide an image of Cyrus looking angry to support this vague text, this would be acceptable. Alas, Cyrus's sprite looks like this:

Not the most imposing, I fear.

"Getting hit hurts. Even for them..." is also more unnatural than is my preference. In a professional work, I would find this distracting and be taken out of the moment. The tone is supposed to be somber, but I have difficulty seeing it here.

Now, via approach two:

[Glenn] Aaahhhh! [Cyrus] Hey you-! [Kids] It's Cyrus! Run for your lives! [Glenn] Sniffle...thanks, Cyrus...Hic...! CYRUS: Glenn, there're times when people simply have to grit their teeth! GLENN: But...it hurts when I get hit. They... CYRUS: You're a marshmallow, Glenn...

Glenn's scream has become more recognizably grounded in the English media cultural consciousness, and the sniffle is a smart touch--too much hiccuping could make Glenn sound drunk within the parameters of the Eng MCC. The "Hey" in "Hey you-!" largely clears up the emotional ambiguity of approach one, although there are surely even clearer solutions.

However, some other choices are a bit odd or simply not desirable. "Run for your lives!" is at odds with a character readers are supposed to sympathize with. I wouldn't stress this point were I editing it, but we're nitpicking! We're having fun!

Cyrus's tone is in "Glenn...teeth!" is more assertive than I'm reading it (to me, it's more of a gentle reminder like "Y'know, Glenn...there are times when you have to stand up for yourself") but I see an argument for Woolsey's take on it. I don't have an issue with that, nor do I particularly mind changing "men have to blah blah" to "people have to blah blah." It is generally a smart choice to work around overly gendered language when it would appear distracting, but given the medieval setting of these two would-be knights, I wouldn't find it inappropriate to lean into the machismo. "Grit their teeth" is the true problem in this line. It is good to use figurative language, particularly when the source does (as it does here; when Cyrus says literally "stand and face" he doesn't mean Glenn should simply stand up and stare holes into the bullies), but "grit their teeth" is too vague to the point that it fails to convey Cyrus's intent.

The two biggest concerns, however, are in the last two lines. Woolsey, perhaps going too fast in a slightly ambiguous section, misunderstands the dropped subject in "It hurts to be hit." Glenn is not scared to fight back because he's afraid of being hit harder. Glenn refuses to fight out of compassion for the enemy--a core aspect of his character! Misrepresenting one of the most crucial pieces of this main character's backstory is a disappointing feature of this text.

Finally, while "marshmallow" is a fun and childish choice, this is incongruous with the medieval setting and overly Ye Olde style of Cyrus and Glenn's speech later. In fact, Glenn's over the top (even distracting!) speech pattern appears to have been dropped entirely here. It isn't inappropriate to dial back hammy characters in serious moments to avoid shattering the tone (although it may be better to never let them reach a distracting level of ham in the first place!) but it simply seems incongruous in this scene.

Each line seems to have been considered one-by-one and thus fits poorly within the larger work.

And the same scene in approach three:

Glenn: Aaahhh! Cyrus: Stop that! Kids: Oh, no, it's Cyrus! Run! Glenn: *sniffle* Thank you, Cyrus... *sniffle* Cyrus: Glenn, there are times a man must stand and face the things that trouble him. Glenn: But...it hurts to be hit. I cannot hurt another. Not...not even them. Cyrus: You're too soft, Glenn.

While I'd argue that the usage of ellipses on line 6 is more in line with Japanese than English, this passage does a great job of standing on its own as a well-written piece of English text.

The screaming and crying is unambiguous to fluent English readers. More pressingly, Cyrus's second line has become a crystal-clear "Stop that!"

The rather distracting elements of the second translation have vanished, and Glenn's character--the key point of the scene!--is accurately represented. By adding "I cannot hurt another." Slattery conveys a strong understanding of the source's intent and successfully ties the concepts of "being hit" and "hitting back" together without awkward phrasing.

The character's voices are simple but present. With the use of "cannot," we see a slight formality in Glenn's voice that will carry throughout the rest of the game. It isn't fancy, but it doesn't need to be! The lack of bells and whistles helps sell the simple concept and is easier to implement throughout the script.

Dance Bobonga: Lyricism and "Dangling" Text

In this scene, a group of prehistoric cave people invite the main characters to "Dance bobonga!" Bobonga is, we assume, a nonsensical cave-person sounding word.

Source:

[Dancers] ボボンガ　コインガ[note] ノインガ　ホインガ[note] 歌えや踊れ　風達と[note][note][END] ボボンガ　コインガ[note] ノインガ　ホインガ[note] 歌えや踊れ　山達と[note][note][END] ボボンガ　コインガ[note] ノインガ　ホインガ[note] 歌えや踊れ　この一夜[note][note][END]

Let's have the song in approach one:

[Dancers] Bobonga, koinga[note] Noinga, hoinga[note] Sing, dance, with winds[note][note] Bobonga, koinga[note] Noinga, hoinga[note] Sing, dance, with mountains[note][note] Bobonga, koinga[note] Noinga, hoinga[note] Sing, dance, all this night[note][note]

I am unnaturally fond of "noinga, hoinga"--what a stellar bit of nonsense.

In terms of accuracy, this translation fails to capture the personification applied to "winds" and "mountains." Does this matter in the grand scheme of the game? No; I'm nitpicking.

What is more disappointing is a general lack of anything that makes it sound like a song, apart from the music notes. I can't complain too much because this is standard for works in the Japanese media cultural consciousness, but I hope we'll see it in the more English-focused texts.

Now, for approach two:

[Dancers] Oohga, bunga [musicsymbol] Munga, meeple [musicsymbol] Dance with wind people [note][note] Oohga, bunga [musicsymbol] Munga, meeple [musicsymbol] Dance with mountain people [musicsymbol] Oohga, bunga [musicsymbol] Munga, might [musicsymbol] Sing and dance all night [musicsymbol]

The song has changed quite a bit! Swapping the caveman noises for "Oohga, bunga" is excellent, as these sounds are more instantly recognizable as "English" caveman grunts. Additionally, the rhymes lend an added sense of lyricism we lacked in approach one. Woolsey also solves the problem of the personified winds and mountains by naming them "wind people" and "mountain people." It helps that 2/3 of the song is nonsense, but Woolsey does a good job of creating musical-sounding lyrics without deviating from the source. It's much easier said than done!

The one drawback is that, by dropping the "bobonga," Woolsey has now created a problem of dangling text. The invitation to "dance bobonga" now connects to nothing at all, giving the line an awkward randomness. Transformative translators must be careful of dropping concepts for this exact reason.

Approach three is quite similar:

[Dancer] Ooga, booga [note] Munga, meeple [note] Dance with wind people [note] Ooga, booga [note] Munga, meeple [note] Dance with mountain people [note] Ooga, booga [note] Munga, might [note] Sing, sing, dance all night [note]

If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Slattery cleans up the spelling and rhythm slightly but otherwise leaves this unchanged. I consider this smart--Woolsey did a good job on it, this song is an iconic legacy translation, and the adjustments give the song an extra level of polish. Slattery does a similar clean-up treatment on a handful of other songs or chants in the game but generally leaves the bulk of Woolsey's work there intact.

Unfortunately, Slattery's translation has the same dangling "dance bobonga" line. This is a problem he inherited as opposed to one he introduced himself, but there are a small handful of other dangling lines or concepts sprinkled throughout the script. Even very well-executed translations can have slip-ups.

Welcome to Enhasa: Ambiguous Meaning and Tonal Inconsistency

Now, for some NPC text! Unlike scripted scenes, NPC text does not need to flow like a conversation. Instead, these miniature monologues establish setting through tiny snippets of text--microstories. We only get a few sentences with these characters, so it's crucial to use the space effectively and convey the necessary information with a strict eye on tone.

These NPCs are some of the first the player encounters upon entering a magical kingdom floating in the sky. They are designed to give the player a sense of mystery and whimsy.

Source:

[Young Man] ようこそ、エンハーサに。エンハーサは、魔法王国ジールの夢みる町です。ねむりのよろこびの中でしんりを探しているのです。おや……？しかし、あなた方は……。[END] [Doreen] ここは永遠なる魔法王国ジール。すべての望みのかなう場所……。だけど、そのだいしょうがどのくらい高くつくかは知らないけれどね……。[END] あなたの目に見えてる世界とアタシの目に見えてる世界とはまったくちがうものなのかもね。いい？　宇宙は生命の数だけ存在するわ。見えるもの、さわれるものだけが本当と思っちゃダメよ。[END] アタシはドリーン。閉ざされた道をもとめなさい。じゅんじょよく、ちしきの扉を開けてね。[END]

Let's take a look at how approach one handles these two characters:

[Young Man] Welcome to Enharsa. Enharsa is the Magic Kingdom Zeal's dreaming city. We are searching for truth within the joy of sleep. Hmm......? But, you people are...... [Doreen] This is the eternal Magic Kingdom Zeal. The place where all desires come true...... However, there's no telling how high the price for that will reach...... The world that you see with your eyes and the world that I see with my eyes may be completely different things. Listening? All that exists in the universe are the destinies of lives. Don't think that only what you can see and touch are reality. I'm Doreen. Seek the way that was shut. Get the order correct and open the door of knowledge.

First--and this does not matter much in the grand scheme of things--I find the choice to render エンハーサ as "Enharsa" a little off-putting. The older 1995 translation uses "Enhasa," meaning the change here was deliberate. Yes, there is a long vowel on the "a" sound which can represent an "ar" but...was it necessary? Native English speakers naturally elongate the the first "a" due to the perceived syllable break on the Romantic language looking en-hasa. I don't know. The "hars" quite literally produces a harsh sound inappropriate for a dreamy magical kingdom. In a game with such thoughtful naming decisions, this seems like an odd one.

That aside, this text is riddled with unnecessary ambiguities. What does "Magic Kingdom Zeal's dreaming city" mean? Why does the young man trail off? Why does Doreen say "Listening?" (Was there not enough space for "Are you listening?" But then, why not "Hear me?" or "Listen."?)

We also have two mistranslations; unfortunately, it appears that this translator struggles more in non-concrete text. "All that exists in the universe are the destinies of lives." is a very odd way to render "宇宙は生命の数だけ存在するわ" (There are as many universes as living beings--from the full context of her speech, we can tell she means that every person has their own personal universe of whatever they observance.) I'm not sure where "destinies of lives" came from--perhaps the word 生命 was split in half and treated as two agrammatical words? "the way that was shut" is also incorrect and a much more basic error. While it's true that "shut" is past tense, this is due to a grammatical function that is largely identical to the corresponding English rule. Because the action of "shutting" happened in the past, the path is now currently "shut" or blocked off. This is especially odd, as this translator--who seems to know the game quite well--should recognize the currently sealed path this character is talking about.

Finally, we simply have a variety of clunky wordings to contend with. Ending "there's no telling..." on "reach" is a tad awkward, and the repetitive sentence structure of "The world you see with your eyes and the world I see with my eyes" is clunky. "Get the order correct" doesn't match the rest of Doreen's speech style. A stronger verb would have been more appropriate.

Altogether, rather disappointing! We come away with the impression that everyone in Enharsa/Enhasa talks confusing nonsense.

Let's see how approach two handles it:

[Young Man] Welcome to Enhasa, in the magical kingdom of Zeal. We find truth in the bliss of sleep. Dear me! And who might you be? [Doreen] This is the eternal kingdom of Zeal, where dreams can come true. But at what price? Am I a butterfly dreaming I'm a man... Or a bowling ball dreaming I'm a plate of sashimi? Never assume that what you see and feel is real! I'm Doreen. Seek the hidden path, and open the doors of knowledge, each in turn.

Ohh, so much better. This is understandable! Now, let's pick it apart.

It appears that "searching for truth" has become "find truth." I am almost certain this is due to space, because "the city of dreams" has also vanished. However, this isn't a bad thing! This small passage immediately ties Enhasa to dreaming/sleep and establishes that this is a city (or other small geographical unit) in a larger kingdom. The phrase "bliss of sleep" is elegant and establishes the fantasy tone well. This is an example of great NPC dialogue! Finally, Woolsey correctly recognizes that the young man is surprised to see the main characters (who are very visibly not residents of Enhasa) and renders this in an unambiguous fashion. Bravo!

The majority of Doreen's text is stellar. The correct tone is established throughout, and perhaps as a byproduct of the spacing limits, we receive some lovely pithy lines. "But at what price?" is so elegant; compare that to "However, there's no telling how high the price will reach..."

However, I have a major problem with this infamous line "Am I a butterfly dreaming I'm a man... Or a bowling ball dreaming I'm a plate of sashimi?" I honestly wonder if Woolsey didn't understand what was being said and wrote this to hide his confusion. Is it the だけ tripping everyone up? Guys, this is not that difficult!

The allusion to the Zhuangzi butterfly story is not inappropriate to Enhasa's motifs and setting, but mentioning a "bowling ball" and a "plate of sashimi" is an inappropriately anachronistic and tongue-in-cheek joke. Outside of the medieval-period characters named after condiments, the Japanese text of Chrono Trigger rarely breaks its own setting for humor. This is particularly jarring as this location is bookended between two serious scenes. From this point on, much of the game retains this serious tone. Adding humor can be excellent if the client allows it, but it's crucial to know when and where to place the jokes.

Finally, the juxtaposition of a fairly banal object with a specifically Asian food dish--especially to the target audience of 90s America--casts the rest of Doreen's monologue in the light of psuedo-mysticism wrapped in ostensibly Asian trappings. It's an unfortunate addition to an otherwise lovely bit of setting work.

This is cleaned up a bit in approach three:

[Young Man] Welcome to Enhasa, Zeal's City of Dreams. We seek enlightenment within the bliss of sleep. Hmm... You are...not one of us, are you? [Doreen] This is the Magic Kingdom of Zeal, where dreams can be made reality. But nothing in this world comes free. There is always a price to be paid. The world you see with your eyes may well differ completely from the one I see with mine. There are as many different worlds as there are observers. Never assume that only those things which you can see or touch are real. I am Doreen. Seek the hidden path, and open the doors of knowledge, each in turn.

Slattery's version borrows segments of the text from Woolsey with a few noticeable changes--not all of which I agree with.

Most pressingly, the "There as many..." line has finally been translated accurately and tonally appropriately. Slattery has also toned down some of the enthusiasm in Woolsey's (at times overly) hyper script; this is a recurring theme in the Slattery script and a common problem among approach 2 translators who are being too literal with their punctuation. Lest anyone accuse me of being unfair, I'm aware that I have a horrible case of this problem.

With that said, while these complaints are minor, I am not altogether fond of other tweaks Slattery made. Slattery removed the "eternal" kingdom and gave the phrase "Magic Kingdom of Zeal" to Doreen. I don't mind dropping "eternal," which means very little in the long run, but it's unfortunate that the young man now introduces "Zeal" without any explanation of what that is. NPC dialogue doesn't need to proceed in a fixed order, but because this young man is standing closer to the door, it's likely the player will talk to him first. Being bombarded immediately with two unknown names decreases the player's chance of remembering both and their relation to each other, the key information of that NPC's speech.

I also like Woolsey's tidy collocation "where dreams can come true," perhaps only because I'm sensitive to the phrase "made reality." A dictionary-level corresponding phrase (現実になる) appears with much greater frequency in Japanese than Eng's "made reality" so I'm used to trimming it out of my own and others' work. This is something that would probably only bug a fellow translator; still, I think the lack of spacing constrictions did not help this passage.

Conclusion

Apart from a fresh understanding of my ability to belabor a point, I hope you come away from this meandering essay with a mind ready to ask questions. What sorts of translations do you like to see, and why? What translated stories have you fallen in love with, and how has the storytelling method of the translation shaped that?

I don't think there's a single right answer, but I love discovering new ways to tell stories and translations whose skillful handling of the text lets me appreciate tales I might not have enjoyed otherwise. If others can experience even a fraction of that excitement, I will be very happy.

Thanks for reading all the way to the end! Keep it real.

#not a translation #translation essay

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