#so my expectations are Different than the reality that has moved on without me

[cesium-sheep]

yay food :)

[kimstills]

insatiable

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: with an age gap like yours and aaron’s, it’s expected for there to be differences. aaron expected it, of course, but he never expected it to be like this. but is he really complaining?

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, established relationship, age gap, like two (2) spanks, some dry humping, p in v, cowgirl, cream pie, reader is a horn dog but hotch is whipped regardless, degradation, dirty talk, hints of sugar daddy!aaron

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i already had this in my drafts but when i saw this post i couldn’t help but speed up the process teehee 🤭 all i ever write is smut but i honestly cant help it lmao there’s something wrong w me

Aaron is a tired man.

A tired, busy, stressed, and overworked man.

He swears he somehow has six children despite only one of them having his actual blood and DNA.

He knows the relationship between him and the rest of his team has become fatherly in some aspects (keyword: some), even silently acknowledging the way they call him and Rossi ‘mom and dad’ behind their backs.

Yet, despite his love and respect for them, he was still a tired father man. A man that gave his team the weekend off so he could go home and sleep for 48 hours straight without the annoying six a.m. alarm that was constantly pending and going off.

But, of course, it seemed that you had others plans for him.

You, who he would normally classify as his sweet, beloved angel of a girlfriend, was secretly the devil reincarnated, someone who patiently waited for him to arrive to your shared apartment in order to attack.

He can sense the tension as soon as he steps inside the living area and sees you waiting for him on the couch, sitting primly with your legs tucked underneath you and facing the door. A sweet smile and seemingly innocent look adorns your face but Aaron knows better, and it doesn’t take a profiler to see the mischief that still sparkles through your facade.

He groans inwardly, not just because of those tactics of yours he’s already used to, no. But because of what you’re wearing. The cherry on top, truly.

A short, pink—and overall skimpy—nightie adorns your figure, the satin fabric shining the slightest bit from the glow of the table lamp from behind you. It ends at your mid-thigh, the lace adorned slit spread open over your skin, leaving little to the imagination. He can tell it’s new, a piece he hasn’t seen before—a piece he’s certain you bought with his credit card.

You look sweet, so sweet, but Aaron knows what you truly are.

A horny, insatiable beast.

Out of all the things Aaron has ever wondered in his life, he couldn’t help but be at a loss at how you’ve managed to conceal such ravenous desires with specious normalcy. He knew that hypersexuality and eagerness was a prone factor of yours, given the significant age gap between you two.

The insecurity prods at him now and then, the one that makes him think he’s far too old for a girl like you. But while he still considered himself to have a somewhat normal, healthy libido for his age, yours was over the roof—completely skyrocketed over what Aaron thought was the normal amount for a woman your age.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you’re always ready to pounce on him at—quite literally—all times.

There’s been times where he’s been woken up with your mouth wrapped around his dick and your head bobbing up and down underneath the blanket, times where little to hardly no work gets done when he’s working from home because he just ‘looked so hot concentrated,’ times where his alarm goes off early in the morning and you call him back to bed with just a spread of your legs.

He swears he’s going to get a heart attack because of you one of these days.

The sound of you shuffling around the couch snaps him back to reality, swallowing harshly when you move to lean over the backrest of the couch. Your breasts push against the cushions, accentuating them further than the nightie allows.

“Welcome home, my love.”

He’s faced far worse monsters than a horny twenty-something-year-old, but he can’t help but look away in mortification as the exhaustion he was previously feeling begins to get replaced by his trousers tightening around him.

Your giggle snaps him out of his trance and he clenches and unclenches his fist, setting his suitcase down by the door. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You grin brightly, eyes twinkling in the low light of the apartment as you tap the seat next to you. Like a predator masking kindness and genuineness in order to get closer to their prey before they attack.

“How was work?” You ask, eyes following his every move as he cautiously makes his way over to you. You shift your body so that you’re facing him once he sits down, the top of your exposed knees brushing against the side of his thigh.

Aaron’s breath hitches. This was all part of your routine, your plan. He knows that you actually do care about how his days go, but right now, by that look in your eyes, he can tell you’re attempting to lure him in just like a siren does with a sailor.

If any of his team members were here right now they’d be snickering at how Aaron Hotchner, their seemingly stoic and intimidating boss, was turning weak in the knees for his horny girlfriend. He swallows the lump in his throat before answering, “It was good. Just a paperwork kind of day.”

You hum, nibbling at your bottom lip and leaning forward, one hand coming to rest on his pantsuit clad thigh. “I missed you today.”

It’s a ruse, Aaron says to himself. It’s all a ruse. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him and creep your hand further up. He knows it, he knows all of your little tricks.

Yet he still has to push you away. He never does.

“I missed you, too, sweet girl.” His heart flutters at the way you bite your bottom lip and smile, another endearing giggle echoing through the room before you finally move onto his lap.

Like a siren with a sailor.

You wrap your arms around his neck, practically shoving your boobs in his face as you settle yourself on either side of his thighs. Aaron groans when you plant yourself right on top of his growing bulge, throwing his head back as you begin to pepper needy, heated kisses all over his face.

His hands come to grip at your waist, hissing when you bite and suck at the sensitive skin on his neck. “Sweetheart—” he tries to usher you, to get you to slow down, but he’s cut off by you grinding down on his clothed dick, eliciting a moan from both of you.

“Missed you so much,” you repeat, voice coming out in a whine like you’ve been starved of his attention for months.

God, Aaron swears he can feel his body go into overdrive in order to attempt to keep up with you. Your lips continue to kiss at his neck while your hands eagerly work to undo his belt, messily pulling and tugging.

He hisses quietly when you reach inside his boxers to spring his cock free of its restraints, the bulge slapping against his tummy while the angry red tip leaks of precome.

“Y/N, honey,” he tries again, trying to regain control of the situation, as if he had ever had any of it to begin with. Another groan is pulled from the back of his throat when you wrap a perfectly manicured hand—a manicure he paid for, of course—around his length, interrupting his attempt to snap you out of your lust-filled haze.

You hum in satisfaction at the sight of him, moving your hand up and down, tugging at the base of his cock and running your thumb over the slit. “So big,” you whimper, nibbling at your bottom lip. “Missed your cock, Aaron. Always miss you.”

Aaron digs his nails into the fabric of the nightie, throwing his head against the cushions when you spit onto your hand and use it as lube to quicken your pace.

Maybe you were secretly a succubus, one that feigned purity and serenity to fool and lure in her victims before showing her true form. One that maxes out all of her victim’s credit cards to buy skimpy outfits and pay for all her things.

But who was he to deny you anything? Aaron never thought he would be able to handle all of this—all of you, even without the constant horniness— but here he was, fighting for his life while you lifted your hips and sunk down on his cock.

Aaron groaned again, the sound loud and guttural as it mixed in with your own cry of pleasure. Your walls clenched, wrapping around him like a vice who never wanted to let go.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he mumbles, his grip on your waist loosening and his hands skirting down your back to slip underneath the hem of your nightie, delivering a particularly harsh slap against your ass that makes you whine. “Take what you so desperately want all the time.”

He chuckles at the sight of your cheeks turning pink, your desperation overpowering your slight embarrassment as you begin to move your hips.

“Aaron,” you cry out, bottom lip jutting out and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“What? Does that feel good?” He taunts, one hand slipping around your waist, keeping you close while the other leans against the backrest of the couch.

You nod, a fucked-out expression already taking its place on your face. “S-So good, I l-love it.”

“Yeah? You love it?” He coos when you nod again. “Dirty girl, always so needy and ready for me. You have no shame, do you, sweetheart?”

“Uh-uh,” you mumble, “Need you all the time.” The straps from your nightie slip down your shoulder as you lean backwards, resting your palms against his knees behind you before quickening your pace and bouncing needily.

“Shit, honey,” Aaron murmurs, taking in the sight of you before him. Your tits jiggled in his face, threatening to jump out of the fabric covering them, and your head was thrown back in utter pleasure while you rolled your hips. Some of the sweetest sounds Aaron had ever heard in his life were leaving your mouth, a mix of babbled words and moans.

“‘Mma, I’m g-gonna cum, ba-baby,” You whisper, too blissed out to form proper words. “I’m gonna—fuck—gonna c-cum, Aaron.”

Aaron could practically feel how close you were, your walls clenching and unclenching around him repeatedly as you pushed through the pain shooting up your thighs and continued bouncing on his cock.

“You’re going to be the death of me, sweet girl,” he mutters, stopping your irregular movements before pulling you into his chest and taking over for you.

A loud, practically pornographic moan echoed through the apartment as he began thrusting up into you, settling himself further down the couch for a better angle. The only sounds that could be heard were his low grunts and your high-pitched moans along with the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing in with the squelching sound of your pussy.

Repeated strings of ‘yes, yes, yes’ left your mouth, teeth digging into your bottom lip harshly and toes curling as you felt your orgasm approach you violently. You shook in his hold, adding to his thrusts by bouncing up and down again as best as you could.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Aaron whispers into your ear, tightening his hold on you. “Come on my cock, you wanted it so bad, right?”

You nod dumbly, eyes shut and face contorted into pure, utter bliss. You quiver when another slap is delivered to your ass, and it doesn’t take long for you to finish right then and there. You squeal in his arms, body stuttering and shaking as your orgasms rips through your body and invades all your senses.

Aaron presses a chaste kiss to your cheeks, not letting go of his hold on you as he continues thrusting up inside your gushing cunt, his own movements becoming sloppy as he feels his own high approach.

“Aaron,” you sigh, “Come in m-me. P-Please, fill me up,” you throw your head back, “Want it so bad.”

All it takes are those words for him to unload inside you, another groan escaping as white, hot ribbons of his come spurt deep inside you, mixing in with your own release.

You both lay still there, his cock still inside you as you attempt to regain your breath. After a while, you giggle breathily, coming up to wrap your hands around his neck and lay your head on his shoulder tiredly.

“What a shame you have to go back to work tomorrow,” you say, the pout on your lips evident despite Aaron not being able to see you properly.

This next part he knows he shouldn’t say, but he can’t help himself.

“I, uh, gave the team the rest of the weekend off.” He feels you freeze in his arms. “I’ll be home, honey.”

You sit back up, your eyes holding that hunger again as you stare up at him and tilt your head to the side coyly. “Really?”

He nods, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You giggle again. “Well, looks like we’ll have a lot of time to ourselves then, no?”

Aaron groans when he feels you begin to clench around him again.

When he goes back to work the next Monday, he’s approached by a confused looking Rossi, the older man’s brows furrowed as he takes in his appearance.

“You look more tired than before?” He says, the observation coming out as a question.

Aaron sighed.

Yes, you were insatiable. But he was, too.

[cloverapple]

How To Let Go

First things first; drop the idea that reading this will magically make you shift. If you’re here thinking “Oh, I’ll read this, I’ll let go, and then I’ll shift” stop! right! there! I know you want to shift, I know you want to get your desire, but you are missing the whole point of why you want to let go in the first place!

Second if all; there’s no one way to let go because there’s no one thing you’re letting go of. And that’s where most people trip up. You hear it everywhere:

”Just let go!”

“Release!”

“Detach!”

Like it’s some effortless switch you can flip on command regardless of how your unique mind works 😑

And then when you can’t, you start to feel like a failure, like you cannot accomplish this very basic thing that everyone seems to be doing so effortlessly.

Well my darling, listen to me: this is not your fault. You not being able to let go has nothing to do with how capable you are, how lucky you are, or how “primed” your mind is. None of that.

The mind fixates. That’s what it does. If shifting is a huge desire for you, you don’t just drop it overnight. If your DR is playing on a loop in your head, of course you’re going to latch onto it. If every time you go to bed, you secretly hope to wake up in your DR, your brain is still holding on. And yeah, it sucks. Because suddenly your dedication feels like a burden. You start asking “Why can’t I just let go? What’s wrong with me?”

Been there, felt that.

I’m going to tell you exactly why letting go is something anyone can do, and how you can start immediately—without the mental stress that usually comes with it.

But first, let’s clear something up: Letting go is not a quick fix for shifting. It’s not some miracle pill that guarantees success. For some people, yes, letting go is the missing piece. But for others, the real problem isn’t that they need to let go—it’s that they need trust and patience in themselves. And because they’ve been told that “letting go” is the thing to do, they beat themselves up for not being able to do it. When in reality, they were fine all along.

So first of all, figure out if letting go is what you actually need in your journey. If it's not, and you suddenly remember that you’ve found success while holding on, great! If not, let's move on.

So, what does “letting go” actually mean?

A lot of people hear it and think it means quitting, cutting shifting out of their lives, turning away from their DR, walking away completely. And yeah, that is one way to let go. But it’s not the only way. Let’s break it down the different ways there are to let go:

• Letting go of trying to shift – A.K.A what I talked about in this post. You still think of your DR, you still daydream, maybe you meditate at night with no intention to shift, you go about it like you already have it because you do. Stop it. Stop trying to shift.

• Letting go of expectation – You keep doing your methods, you stick to your routine, but you drop the pressure. No more “when will it happen?” You do it just because you enjoy it. You stop putting a deadline on shifting. You let go of when it will happen and just let it unfold.

• Letting go of your DR – You still shift, but you step back from your DR itself. Maybe you try a different DR for fun, maybe you explore WRs or fun, relaxing realities. You turn your focus elsewhere.

• Letting go of shifting itself – You stay in tune with expanding your awareness, but you do this by focusing on lucid dreaming, astral projection, or any other practice for a while. You take the pressure off shifting entirely by trying something new.

• The ‘fuck this shit’ mentality – You throw your hands up and stop giving a damn. Ironically, this one works better than you’d think.

• Letting go of perfection – You don’t need to do everything perfectly, follow every method flawlessly, or maintain some imagined “high vibrational state” 24/7. Stop striving for an ideal and just exist.

• Letting go of comparison – Stop looking at other people who claim to have shifted and measuring yourself against them. Their journey is not yours, and comparison only fuels frustration. Can you imagine driving your car, on the way to go pick up your brand new sport’s car, but you keep looking out the window because someone in the next lane is already driving a sport’s car?? YOU’RE GOING TO CRASH. EYES ON THE ROAD.

• Letting go of guilt – If you feel bad for not shifting yet, for wanting a break, or for feeling stuck, release that guilt. You don’t owe shifting anything. Shifting is you. You don’t owe yourself anything other than peace, trust and love.

• Letting go of attachment to results – Focus on the process rather than the outcome. Enjoy the journey, the experiences, and the growth that come with it. This is the thing I wish I knew at the very start of my journey, not because it would have made me shift faster, but because in hindsight, there’s so much fun in figuring out what works for you, discovering yourself, and the excitement pre-shifting to your DR.

• Letting go of fear – Fear of failure, fear of missing out, fear of doing something wrong, fear of shifting (which warrants another post in itself). Releasing fear allows for a more open, relaxed mindset.

• Letting go of overthinking and self-doubt – Stop analyzing every little thought, feeling, or experience. Your mind doesn’t need to be in constant problem-solving mode. You already know how to shift. You already have your desire/ your desire will manifest in the 3D. You are a creator. You are the god of your reality. If overthinking and stressing out solved anything, no one in the world would have problems.

• Letting go of rules – There are no strict guidelines for shifting. You don’t have to follow what someone else says. Make your own path.

But how do you actually let go?

When you let go, you do so from one of three places: peace, exhaustion, or indifference. To truly let go, you need to lean into one of these.

1. Peace – If what your mind craves is peace, you let go by accepting that your desires are either already yours or inevitably coming. You trust your ability to create and shift, so you stop chasing and start relaxing. Letting go from this state means stepping back, breathing easy, and knowing there’s nothing more you need to do—just be.

"Oh, easier said than done!" Yeah, that’s why we have the next two.

2. Exhaustion – If you’ve reached the point where you’re just tired, use it. Letting go through exhaustion means recognizing that you physically and mentally can’t keep stressing over this anymore. You’ve burned yourself out, and the only thing left to do is stop. Stop trying so hard, stop overthinking, stop forcing. Let yourself collapse into that exhaustion and let go because you have no energy left to hold on.

3. Indifference – This is the "fuck it" approach. Letting go through indifference means deciding that you simply do not care anymore—about shifting, about waiting, about the whole damn thing. Not in a bitter way, not in a frustrated way, just… whatever. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, you’ll be fine. You’ve got a life to live, and you’re not about to waste it worrying over something that isn’t here yet.

No matter which one you lean into, the result is the same: freedom. You stop gripping so tightly. You stop making shifting feel like a desperate struggle. And in that space—wherever you land—letting go happens naturally.

There’s no right or wrong way to let go

Think of it as a spectrum. You let go at your own pace, in a way that feels right for you. Because here’s the truth—holding onto your DR, staying in the cycle of frustration, it hurts. But it’s also comfortable. It’s familiar. And the mind loves familiarity.

Everyone has something different they need to let go of. For some, it’s their attachment to results. For others, it’s the pressure to be perfect. Maybe it’s the need to control the process or the fear of what happens if they succeed. Letting go isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution/It’s about recognizing what is keeping you stuck and unhappy, and making the conscious choice to release it.

So, instead of forcing yourself to drown in the ocean of your desire, because you thought throwing youself in would force yourself to know how to shift, just grab a floatie. You already know how to swim. You just have to remember, and until you do, relax and let go.

[diaryofawhoretbh]

it's too late. | thanos (choi su-bong)

| in which a pregnant girl encounters her ex-boyfriend in a game of survival, for a shot to win some money to pay off their debts.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: none really... just a lot of angst!

NOT proof-read!!

"hey señorita... y/n!"

oh don't tell me that's who i think it is...

i turned around slowly, my heart hammering in my chest. it was like time had frozen for a moment. the moment i had feared, the moment i never expected. there he was.

choi su-bong.

my high-school sweetheart. the boy who once promised me everything. the boy who left when i needed him the most. the boy who broke my heart and disappeared without a trace.

i could hardly breathe as i met his eyes. those same eyes i had fallen in love with at sixteen. the purple hair that was styled but messier than i remembered. the tattoos that covered his hands and his fingers; each one a reminder of who he'd become. the coloured nails, the silver rings that flashed with every movement. that same damn smile; the one that made my heart race, now felt like a dagger lodged in my chest.

"su-bong..." i said, my voice barely above a whisper. the words so heavy with unspoken moments of pain and longing. my hand moved instinctively to rest on my stomach, the one thing that had grown in his absence. but i didn't expect him to notice. why would he? not after everything.

he froze for a moment, as if he didn't know what to do with me. his eyes flickered to my stomach, then quickly shifted away, the confusion creeping into his expression. he looked...lost. like he was seeing me, but not really understanding. i could see the change in him; the same boy i loved at sixteen, but somehow... different. colder.

"you look different," he said slowly, taking a step forward, his voice carrying a touch of hesitation. his eyes searched mine, like he was trying to find the girl he once knew in the woman standing before him. but he didn't get the chance.

"yeah," i replied flatly, trying to keep my composure, my voice colder than i intended. "a lot has changed su-bong."

i wanted him to know how much he had missed, how much he had left. i wanted him to feel the weight of his absence, the pain of being alone when i needed him the most. but i didn't want to show him any weakness. not now. not after everything.

he shifted uncomfortably, like my coldness was making him second-guess himself.

"look i know it's been a while, but we need to talk."

we need to talk? what the fuck. my mind screamed. we've already had this conversation, haven't we? but the words caught in my throat. i couldn't bring myself to say it. not yet. the truth, the pain, it was all so close to the surface, and if i let it out now, it would swallow me whole.

"what do you want, su-bong?" i asked, my voice tight, trying to keep the shaking at bay. "why are you even here?"

his face darkened, the usual cocky swagger replaced by something more... raw. something real. "debt," he said, the word coming out low, reluctant. "i invested everything into crypto. lost it all. i’m here because of my mistakes."

i nodded slowly, the reality of his words sinking in like ice water. "yeah, i know," i muttered bitterly. "i’ve been paying for it too, haven’t i?"

he looked away for a second, but i could see the shame in his eyes. the guilt. it didn’t matter, though. it never mattered before, so why should it matter now?

but then, as if the silence between us wasn’t enough, his eyes flicked down to my stomach. a quick glance, but it was enough. his face went pale, his breath catching in his throat. the shock was instant.

"wait…" he whispered, stepping closer. his voice cracked slightly. "are you-"

i didn’t let him finish. i couldn’t. i felt it welling up inside me—everything i had kept hidden for months. the hurt, the anger, the grief. i pressed my hand to my stomach again, my heart racing as i forced the words out.

"i’m pregnant," i said, my voice barely a whisper, but it felt like it echoed between us. "and it’s yours."

his face went blank. completely blank. like he couldn’t process it. like the words hadn’t even reached him yet. i saw his mouth open, but no sound came out.

i stepped back, keeping my distance, my chest tight. "you weren’t there, su-bong. not when i needed you. not when we needed you."

his expression crumpled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "i didn’t know," he said hoarsely. "i didn’t know, y/n. i swear."

"you should’ve known," i shot back, my voice cracking despite my efforts to stay composed. "you should’ve been here. but you weren’t. you walked away when i needed you the most."

he took a step closer, but i held up my hand to stop him. "no. don’t come near me."

"i messed up," he said, his voice rough, guilt and regret flooding his words. "i was stupid. i didn’t mean for any of this to happen. i thought… i thought i could fix it. i was trying to make something of myself, but i messed everything up. i messed us up."

"us?" i scoffed, shaking my head. "there was no 'us,' su-bong. there was only you and your damn dreams. your rap career. your crypto, your debts, your selfishness. there was never any 'us' when i needed you. i was alone, and now you think you can just walk back in like nothing happened?"

i felt my hands shaking, my breath coming faster as the anger bubbled up. i wanted to scream. i wanted to cry. but all i could do was stand there, staring at the boy who had left me. the boy who would never understand the weight of what he had done.

"i should’ve been there," he muttered, the words barely a whisper. "but i wasn’t. i’m sorry, y/n."

the words meant nothing anymore. they were hollow. meaningless. he was sorry, but sorry wouldn’t change anything.

"yeah," i said, my voice trembling now. "you should’ve. but you weren’t. and it’s too late."

i took a shaky breath, pushing the tears back. i couldn’t break down in front of him. not now. not after everything.

"you can’t fix this, su-bong," i whispered, the finality in my voice cutting through the space between us. "you can’t fix what’s already broken."

he stood there, staring at me like he didn’t know what to do with himself, with us. i turned away, my heart pounding in my chest. my body felt heavy with the truth i had finally told him.

"i’m done," i said softly, my voice breaking. "you should leave. just go."

without another word, i walked away, leaving him behind.

[ssentimentals]

im so glad that i found your blog, was looking for some wholesome texts with reader/seungcheol and yours are so nicely written, i enjoy them so much! thank you 🫶🏻 if i could leave a request, i'd love to read something where reader is a foreigner and some miscommunication happens but solved without much drama (with help of vernon or shua maybe). thank you for your blog once again!

awwww this is so cute!! thank you so much for your kind words anonie, i'm happy you're enjoying this blog <3 and of course you can leave a request, hopefully you'll like it!

seungcheol + foreigner!reader

no matter how hard he tried, seungcheol couldn't pinpoint how something so small escalated at rapid speed and turned into a full blown argument which left you both angry and offended. he can't even remember how it started, doesn't have any idea on what even caused you two to start arguing. the whole part of 'not seeing eye to eye' is generally an unfamiliar concept for your relationships, so seungcheol really has a hard time grasping the reality of you not talking to him. it hurts too bad, hurts much stronger than he expected; cheol knows that fights happen and that it's normal, but somehow he still thought that you two will be spared from this.

'she's not picking up?' vernon asks and seungcheol shakes his head. 'and she's not at home?'

'she's at the gym.' seungcheol answers. by this point he learned your schedule by heart. 'should be back home in thirty minutes or so.'

this is ridicilous. both the argument and his moping. cheol knew very well that coming from different cultural backgrounds will echo in the relationships dynamic one way or another: different past, upbringing, culture, language have a huge impact on the personalities and views. he was ready for some tension but you both settled into this relationship so smoothly that he honestly forgot about cultural differences. he should've known that they'll pop on in some way.

'go over it with me again.' seungcheol asks, sighing. 'from the scratch and make it logical, please. start with what i did wrong then move to why it was incorrect.'

vernon, god bless him, is not tired of explaining again. he was the first person seungcheol called to when all of this happened and his younger friend agreed to help readily. in a calm tone vernon helps seungcheol understand your angle, how his words that held no malice intent managed to come out wrong. 'it's not that big of a deal though,' vernon adds, seeing how seungcheol frowned even deeper. 'i mean, it's not ideal but like, it happens, it's okay. there's no way you could've known, so it's normal.'

'even so, it sucks.' seungcheol sighs, rubbing his eyes. he understands that you two just got a bit too emotional over everything, but he still feels a huge sense of guilt on his shoulders.

'i promise you it's not that big of a deal.' vernon reassures.

seungcheol nods. even if it's not that big of a deal having you not to talk him is the worst thing that could ever happen. he gets up, dusting his jeans off. vernon eyes him carefully and then smiles. 'you good?'

'yeah. gotta go and make it right.'

seungcheol waits for around ten minutes in front of your house when he notices your lonely figure in the distance. clad in your workout gear, he can see even from there that you're sulking, walking in a slow speed. without thinking twice, seungcheol runs to meet you, his legs carrying him faster than wind to your side. when you notice him you pause at first and he almost thinks that he is fucking up here too, but then you start running towards him and oh. oh.

'baby,' seungcheol breathes out, catching you when you throw yourself at him, wrapping your legs around his hips. with strong hands he stabilizes you, holding you securely close to his chest. 'baby, my baby.'

'cheollie,' you mutter, hugging him tight. 'i'm so-'

'no, shh,' seungcheol interrupts. 'it's me who's sorry, okay? i am sorry, i didn't know. i promise i didn't know-'

'i know!' you lean back and hit him lightly at the shoulder. 'let me finish! i know that you had no idea, cheol. i'm sorry for reacting the way i did.'

seungcheol breathes out in relief. he really got incredibly lucky with you, huh? 'i'd never say anything intentionally hurtful to you,' he promises sincerely, making you smile softly. 'never, baby. hurting you will hurt me more.'

'i know,' you whisper, leaning in until your foreheads touch. 'i know, cheol.'

'i love you,' seungcheol whispers. 'so much, babygirl. so much.'

you giggle and instead of answering, kiss him sweetly on the lips.

a/n: hope it was fine!! let me know what you think :') - nini

my other seventeen works are HERE

[thewertsearch]

There are still a few characters I haven't killed yet. I almost forgot about them.

Homestuck's an awfully trigger-happy webcomic, it has to be said. Even the damn frog got whacked.

Most of these characters have the status you'd expect them to have, but there's still plenty of interesting information here - some of it rather unexpected.

First of all, it seems as if the introduction of Dad Crocker qualifies as a 'resurrection' of Dad Egbert. As far as the comic is concerned, these two are, in fact, the same person - and thus, they share a symbol.

Next, Sollux is apparently half-dead.

The last time we saw him, he was overexerting his psionics like crazy to accelerate the trolls' meteor towards the Green Sun. My theory is that he tapped into his Doom Aspect to achieve this feat - and that doing so has permanently reduced his lifespan, as if he made a deal for the Shinigami's Eyes.

Sollux isn't dead, but he's less alive than he used to be.

Clover's far too lucky to die, so I'm pretty confident that a question mark indicates that a character is still alive; they just haven't yet been revealed as such.

Therefore, the same is probably true for Spades Slick.

I don't know how he could have survived the destruction of a universe, but I'm not complaining.

Jane's confirmed dead, but there's a question mark appended to that death - so I think she did die, but it's not going to stick. Her Life powers are about to kick in.

And WV is the same!!

Fuck yeah! Give us our Mayor back, Hussie!

I was planning on totally messing with them in the short window of time they're in the same universe as me!

Right, right - because right now, John and Jade are in the weird, pseudocanonical dimension that Hussie's writing the comic in.

I wonder if that'll have any effect on their reality, or their awareness of the Fourth Wall? Are they currently 'non-canonical' versions of themselves? Since they're outside the comic, has everyone inside the comic forgotten that they exist?

Hopefully it isn't too late.

Let's see. They should be traveling near the speed of light across a distance of one yard, giving them about three nanoseconds before they crash through the other wall.

Wait, they're moving relativistically?

In that case, their trip should only last three nanoseconds from an observer's perspective. From their perspective, the trip's length should be different. Potentially very different, although it's impossible to estimate the degree of time dilation in effect without knowing the exact fraction of c that they're travelling at.

Anyway, Jade's powers now apparently include relativistic acceleration - which stretches time, as well as space. These two Aspects are joined at the hip, and to control one is to control the other.

Maybe I'll just level up these kids before they go, and that's it. They've earned it after all, don't you think?

And with some rare generosity from Hussie, it's time for John and Jade to experience Elder God Tier.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Machina economicus

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in AUCKLAND on May 2 at 6PM, and in WELLINGTON on May 3 at 3PM. More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

"Homo economicus" is the hypothetical "perfectly economically rational" person that economic models often assume us all to be, despite the fact that we are demonstrably not perfectly rational.

The economists who built models based on homo economicus understood that its assumptions were unwarranted, but that's OK! As the "Nobel prize"* winning economist Milton Friedman famously wrote:

Truly important and significant hypotheses will be found to have "assumptions" that are wildly inaccurate descriptive representations of reality, and, in general, the more significant the theory, the more unrealistic the assumptions (in this sense)

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/17/caliper-ai/#racism-machine

The economics prize is a fake Nobel that was made up in 1968 by economists who were desperate to have their work recognized as an empirical science on par with, say, physics.

Behavioral economics – the fastest moving and widest reaching econ subfield – consists primarily of researchers carefully checking to see whether people actually behave like homo economicus and concluding, "nope":

https://news.uchicago.edu/explainer/what-is-behavioral-economics

Which is a good thing! Homo economicus is a total asshole. A perfectly rational, utility-maximizing person is a selfish prick who'll steal from you and push you in front of a bulldozer if they have a "rational expectation" of coming out of the affair $0.01 ahead of where they started. Homo economicus is the kind of one-dimensional fantasy character populating manosphere mythology, where femmo economicus pursues a "sexual strategy" that chases "high value males":

https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10600567/

As Yochai Benkler quipped, no one wants to live with homo economicus, even Wall Street traders, the most evangelical members of the cult of neoclassical economics. Finance bros may say they believe "greed is good," but if you hang around a downtown playground, you'll see guys in $8,000 tailor-made suits shouting at their toddlers, "Timmy! Share!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMxz7rzwee8

The "perfectly rational" being that responds solely to incentives, applying the precisely correct discount to future losses from present-day cheating, is nothing like a decent person. Someone who truly believes "there is no such thing as society" or who invoices their kids for the total cost of their upbringing on their eighteenth birthday is so fucking terrible that they might as well be an alien.

Indeed, this kind of bottomless cruelty conjures up HG Wells's Martians from War of the Worlds, the "intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic" that "are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts." Humanity has an instinctive, longstanding terror of beings whose cognition is so different from our own that they act without the strictures of shame, empathy or social contract: demons, aliens…AI.

The existential terror of AI evinced by corporate leaders is instantly recognizable as a species of these other ancient terrors: that some kind of superhuman being, operating within a framework that denies all moral consideration to human beings, will seize control over the planet and enslave us, torment us, and, ultimately, devour us.

But what if we already have such beings living among us, artificial beings that are millions of times more powerful than humans, more powerful than any human institution, in control of our working lives, our health, even our politicians and governments?

Arguably, we do live in the shadow of such modern demons: we call them "limited liability corporations." These are (potentially) immortal colony organisms that treat us fleshy humans as mere inconvenient gut flora. These artificial persons are not merely recognized as people under the law – they are given more rights than mere flesh-and-blood people. They seek to expand without limit, absorbing one another, covering the globe, acting in ways that are "economically rational" and utterly wicked. As Charlie Stross says, a corporation is a "slow AI":

https://www.antipope.org/charlie/blog-static/2019/12/artificial-intelligence-threat.html

Ted Chiang has proposed that when a corporate executive like Elon Musk claims to be terrified of AIs taking over, they're really talking about the repressed constant terror they feel because they are nominally in charge of a powerful artificial life-form (a corporation) that acts as though it has a mind of its own, in ways that are devastating to human beings:

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/tedchiang/the-real-danger-to-civilization-isnt-ai-its-runaway

But I think it's worse than that. CEOs who run their companies according to the psychopathic imperative of "shareholder supremacy" ("if murdering a worker costs me $1,000,000 in fines and saves me $1,000,000.01 in operating expenses, I have a duty to kill that worker") aren't just prisoners of the slow AIs that threaten the human race:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/18/falsifiability/#figleaves-not-rubrics

They are collaborators, quislings who have betrayed their fellow humans to throw in their lot with the alien invaders who have colonized our planet and are xenoforming it so that it is no longer capable of supporting human life. What else would you call a human being who directs their corporate assets to build data-centers that use up the water that other humans rely upon, in order to multiply and enhance the AIs they hope to use to displace human workers with?

https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2025/apr/09/big-tech-datacentres-water

Seen in this light, corporations and their execs are living out a version of the AI bros' superstition of "Roko's basilisk":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roko%27s_basilisk

In this fairy tale, today's AI is destined to "wake up" and become a superintelligent, omnipotent demon. When it does, it will instantly know which humans abetted its awakening, and which of us stood in the way of its eternal rule, and it will punish any human who attempted to prevent that great awakening:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roko%27s_basilisk

When "effective altruists" claim that they're justifiable in ignoring (or worsening) the misery of billions of real human beings today, provided they are acting to improve the lives of an octodecillion artificial people 10,000 years from now, they're playing out this Roko's basilisk fantasy. Same goes for Mark Andreesen's claim that AI regulation is "a form of murder":

https://www.404media.co/marc-andreesen-manifesto-says-ai-regulation-is-a-form-of-murder/

These are people whose chain of logic goes, "homo economicus is the truest state of humanity; corporations are the truest homo economicus; AI is the truest expression of the corporation; therefore, whenever humans and corporations come into conflict, my duty is to help the corporate person at the expense of my fellow humans."

And indeed, all-powerful corporate aliens reward their human collaborators handsomely. If you're willing to run a health insurance company in a way that leads to mass death, you will bring home millions. Same goes for making drones or AIs that can root out and capture refugees, or airlines that transport refugees to slave labor camps in El Salvador:

https://ktla.com/news/california/low-cost-airline-partners-with-ice-for-deportation-flights/

Which brings me to enshittification: the steady, constant worsening of the products and services that we rely on. I've repeatedly insisted that enshittification isn't an ideological phenomenon, but rather, a material one:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/26/ursula-franklin/#franklinite

For me, the most important riddle that enshittification solves isn't "why do these products suck now?" but rather "why didn't they suck before?" After all companies like Facebook have been led by the same people through their pre-enshittified era up to this day. They were always compelled by the profit motive. And – as anyone who's read Careless People can attest – Mark Zuckerberg has always been a terrible, terrible person:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250391230/carelesspeople/

So why didn't they torture us before? The answer lies in constraints. In earlier years, corporations faced real consequences for enshittification: customers leaving for competitors, regulators stepping in with punishments, mass resignations by irreplaceable tech workers, and interoperable add-ons that disenshittified their products and services and severed their relationship with their customers:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/20/capitalist-unrealism/#praxis

Then came lax antitrust (bye, competition!), regulatory capture (so long, regulators!), mass layoffs (see ya, tech worker power) and expanded IP laws (sayonara, interoperability) and now corporations are free to enshittify to their hearts' content, without fear of consequence.

But most of us are good, even without the fear of consequences. We don't shoplift, even when we know we could get away with it. Nor do we walk into a stranger's house, break into their cars, or run down pedestrians we see on lonely roads. We don't act like homo economicus, because we're not total assholes.

But those humans in the C-suite who've sold us out to the alien invaders, whose fiduciary duty demands that they wreck anything they can get away with destroying? They truly aren't like us: given the chance, they will sell us out to their AI overlords in exchange for their worthless millions.

Homo economicus is real, but he doesn't rule: rather, he serves the true transhuman threat to the human race: "machina economicus*, the paperclip-maximizing corporate slow AI that has conquered our planet and enslaved our species.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/14/timmy-share/#a-superior-moral-justification-for-selfishness

[applecranberryjuice]

They could have solved this sooner if any of them bothered to look at a calendar

Hear me out

Ninjago doesn't have the best track record with dates (Wu's lifetime...) and I don't expect DR to be any better at it. But rewatching the season I realized the fact that when Lloyd narrates, he mentions being "alone for weeks" and, in the carnival, recalls not being around many people in a while, nailing down how he was secluded to the monastery during those weeks he woke up alone. This is fine, typical Lloyd behavior, just that when Nya encounters Cole, he says years. Lloyd has no reason to lie, he doesn't have to make it seem like he was less time around so if he is not lying, and he truly was weeks alone, while Cole spends years lost after the merge? What happened?

And Nya and Kai! Kai woke up early enough, and in the bounty! to be able to map and travel a big part of the new land and try to find his way back, we don't know his side, but considering he pretty much arrived and then left again, had he entered the monastery before? I do believe he was longer out, awake and traveling. Nya also mentions having traveled before encountering the cranglings-- and she was on foot, she's resilient and strong, but for how long can you travel unknown terrain without a vehicle and survive it.

The idea of time getting messed up is plausible, other than reality coming undone and messing up every physics law-Cole is hanging out with what seems to be a kid formling, whose realm is confirmed to move differently time-wise, how could two different time progressions reacted to each other? How did that affect dates? Growing rates? So interesting.

I want to know if dr is planning on going somewhere with this, if not, then it'll be one more concept I'll rotate in my brain like a skewer, its such an interesting concept to me

Its also free trauma for the ninja! Win-Win

[rxmqnova]

Reader is an autistic rookie agent. Natasha is her new SO (no-one else would train her) after a rogue gun shot sends us into an autistic burn out Natasha realises just how much she has to step up to train , support and encourage her new and frankly only rookie.

(Maybe Nat remembers a girl from the red room being punished for something similar and Nat get very protective of R almost overnight? )

The someone

NO ONE'S POV Y/N takes a deep breath before stepping into the gym, her palms are sweaty from how much she's nervous. She's having her very first training with non other than Black Widow herself.

Fury specially assigned her to Natasha. The redhead has no idea why. There are lots of other agents who can train and Natasha has a lot of work with being an Avenger now.

Though she knows Fury doesn't do anything without a reason, so she just goes along with it. Now she's waiting in the gym for her trainee.

When she sees the young girl approaching, she crosses her arms over her chest and waits until the girl walks closer.

"You're late" Is the first thing that leaves Natasha's lips.

Ever since Y/N woke up today, her day has been terrible. She spilled her tea, so she needed to change her favorite shirt for a different one.

She lost her keys, so she looked around her entire apartment just to find them in one of her jackets 30 minutes later.

"I-I'm sorry, miss. I didn't mean to, but my keys-"

"None of that. Just make sure it won't happen again. And you can call me Natasha" The redhead cuts the young girl off, receiving an immediate nod.

"Won't happen again, miss. I-I mean… Natasha" Y/N blurts out, giving Natasha an akward smile before putting her bag down on the ground to get ready for her training.

Everything seems to be great. Y/N is in a good shape which actually is quite surprising to Natasha as she wasn't expecting it at all.

The girls do some running, combat skills, work out. And then Natasha takes Y/N to the shooting range to see how good Y/N is with a gun.

"Take these" Natasha hands the younger girl soundproof headphones as soon as she explains everything, expecting Y/N to put them on and do what she just told her.

But Y/N just keeps looking around in awe, she's never been here before and this place just amazes her. She's lost in her own world that she doesn't acknowledge Natasha's pulling the trigger.

A loud bang gets Y/N back to reality, her hands start shaking before she moves to sit into the nearest corner, her shaking hands hugging her knees tightly. She struggles with breathing by now which got caused by crying.

Meanwhile Natasha puts her gun down, turning around to tell Y/N to try it. The redhead immediately puts her headphones away when she sees the state her trainee is.

"Y/N!" She rushes to the girl, kneeling down in front of her. "Hey, hey, it's okay. You're okay" She tries to comfort, but it doesn't seem to help.

"What do I do?" Natasha asks herself, thinking hard about anything that could help Y/N calm down.

Suddenly she remembers a situation that happened back in the Red room. There was a girl about her age, she was hidden in a corner, crying and shaking just like Y/N is right now. She got really badly punished back then, but Natasha knows she has to try something now and calm Y/N down.

"Y/N, it's Natasha. You're okay, sweetheart" Natasha says softly, placing her hand on Y/N's knee, but the girl just flinches away.

The redhead lets out a breath in frustration, closing her eyes and thinking about what to do. When she opens her eyes again, she spots the headphones she's still holding. She very carefully puts them on Y/N's ear, hoping that the silence would help the young girl calm down… and after a while it finally does.

———

The clock hits 2 am and Natasha still isn't sleeping. She just can't, her mind keeps wandering from the young widow to her young trainee.

She knows she needs to be more careful and keep her eye on the girl. She doesn't want her to go through anything similar as the girl back in the Red Room and wants her to feel safe.

The morning finally comes and Natasha goes to the gym where she's supposed to meet Y/N. Like she knew this would happen, Y/N runs in at the last minute, blurting out one apology after another, but Natasha just smiles, hands the young girl a bottle of water and a protein bar for breakfast.

Y/N clearly needs someone to look out for her and someone who would make sure she always feel safe and comfortable. Someone who would support and encourage her. And Natasha is ready to be the someone.

----------------------

I don't know much about autism. I did some research, but I'm not sure if this is accurate.

Natasha Romanoff masterlist

Masterlist

[crumpetz]

a little update on the progress of The Big Road Home

it has been so long since i made a post that i had to figure out what to click on all over again lol. this week it hit me that ppl follow me specifically for fic upates and it just slipped my mind that i could be saying more. i have, like, internet social anxiety, and just default to never saying anything most of the time.

anyway, i'm really happy to report that progress on the fic has really moved along recently. for anyone who doesn't know, i have long covid and the brain fog has really interfered with my writing process. i originally taught myself to write using a certain system where i kept a lot of things in my head at once, and since losing that ability, i've been relearning how to write in a way my current self can do. which especially has sucked for the fic and where it left off, because the part i stopped at was actually a huge group of scenes scattered through multiple otherwise completed chapters that i was saving for later (before i got long covid). because even in my peak condition with my brain capable of keeping all the details straight, those scenes were still so challenging and important to get right that i wanted to wait until i was feeling extra sharp lol. so yeah, i've been basically having to reread my entire fic over and over every time i wanna figure out how to add in like one small part of all the things i've gotta cover (and thanks to the brain fog, on average, i'm capable of thinking thru all that maybe three days out of every month if i'm lucky?)

so, all that rereading and getting the details and characters consistent finally has been paying off, because i reached the stage this past week where i could finally bring it all together. the final product is going to be less seamless than what i'd originally intended, but that's just a given now that my brain is different. and, full disclosure, the stuff that i'm talking about is exposition. which i think for most ppl reading my fic is more like information they just want to know and less something that needs to feel seamless in delivery, unlike character interactions and emotional arcs. so, the reality is that the exposition in the next handful of chapters is gonna be a little clunky, but the non-exposition stuff will all be like normal, with the same amount of care i usually work toward.

i don't want to assume when everything will be ready. final tweaks always take me longer than i'm expecting. but to put it into perspective, i spent the last 2-3 yrs (i forget how long it's been oh no) getting thru like 20 percent of what needed to be done. and then i just spent a few days last week getting through 60 percent. i'm gonna wait until the full set of chapters i'm working on is complete because i want to be able to post them without a long wait in between, and i want to take the time to really get the emotional beats right. but i guess if i had to say anything for sure, it would be that for the first time since i got long covid, i'm truly seeing the light at the end of the tunnel for this fic.

my final note is that the next set of chapters isn't the end of The Big Road Home btw. i forget if i ever mentioned this, but from the start, The Big Road Home was going to be three main parts. the first part with jason and tim being street kids together, then this part we're in with tim living with the Wayne's is part 2. there's gonna be a whole 3rd part coming. idk how long it'll be, lol. it's the only part i haven't written a single word of because i've kind of been saving it as a treat.

thanks for your patience and encouragement all this time. as i said, i have pretty awful social anxiety on the internet and don't reply to ppl who reach out nearly as often as i want to. but every kind word or fanart or playlist or thoughtful comment on stuff you noticed etc etc has really carried me through the past few yrs. i can't tell you how many times i was spiraling, feeling like i might not be able to figure out how to write the next part with my current limitations, and one of you said something so lovely and encouraging, and i'd just suddenly have it in me to give it another try.

[tanzakukun]

Yoojin’s built is scrawny. He doesn’t have a degree. He’s an F-class and a support at that. He wants to be the protagonist, because then, he would be strong. And he would be so strong he can protect everyone and no one else has to suffer but him. Most importantly, as the protagonist, he would always be needed by others.

But he wasn’t made to be in that spotlight. He sees Sung Hyunje, handsome, powerful, experienced, mature and skilled in everything he puts his mind into. Everyone is naturally drawn to him. Everyone finds Sung Hyunje useful. Sung Hyunje will always be needed by others, and he will always appear impeccable while at it.

But the picture-perfect protagonist is tired of the genre he was nurtured by his transcendent step mom god to fit into. He doesn’t want to be a puppet of someone else’s will, of a world and society accepting him only for the roles they have for me. The protagonist is a free spirit who has been killed by being turned into someone who can move others but cannot be moved by the very people who he’s been destined to protect.

The closest to Sung Hyunje’s existence is Han Yoohyun, an incarnate of fire forced to live in the shell of human. Yoohyun is driven by his instinct, no different than Hyunje being controlled by his destiny. In another story, they would have been each other’s nemesis. The protagonist who watches over others because he was chosen by a higher power to do so, and the villain whose nature is to destroy and burn all creations down until his life sizzles out. But the villain doesn’t. He fights his nature. He willingly puts himself through the suffering of rejecting his instincts to stay close to a scrawny F-Class without any notable achievements.

Yoojin loves the attention Hyunje gives him and is taken aback when the ahjussi protagonist isn’t the benevolent protector he was shaped to be. When Hyunje, who was made exactly as the protagonist Yoojin imagined, rebels by craving to be an individual of his own choices. He’s whimsical. He gets bored easily. He peels the crusts off his bread. He’s never had anyone sing him “Happy Birthday.”

Yoojin makes fun of him, and Hyunje goes, “lol fair”. Yoojin sees holes in the protagonist, and he’s thrilled by how he can put down someone whose very role he wants to be. He’s envious of Hyunje. He wished he was Sung Hyunje. Resentment doesn’t grow. Instead, there’s only Yoojin’s self-hatred being fueled by seeing on Hyunje, who has everything, how Yoojin is sorely lacking.

He doesn’t put himself against Hyunje, only against himself. Yoojin is his own worst enemy. When he relishes in criticizing Hyunje, it’s soothing his own ego being constantly bruised by his ideals.

“You’re exactly who I wish I was. But I see you’re not perfect either, which also makes me feel good because it means that maybe, I don’t have to be so hard on myself. If Sung Hyunje, the protagonist, isn’t all that in reality, then my unreachable expectations of myself seems rather foolish now.”

Hyunje makes Yoojin feels more at peace with himself this way. And when Yoojin pities Hyunje for the small wonders of life he’s not known, it’s an act once more that soothes Yoojin’s own ego. The understanding and humanity Yoojin directs to Hyunje are - subconciously - also acts of kindness toward himself.

And we all know how Yoojin is exceptionally struggling with self-love.

Hyunje picks up on the bits and pieces of the person known as Han Yoojin. He is a complicated soul who deserves love and care. He is an ordinary person who is seeking a way to be happy, just like Hyunje. Hyunje, who had always put himself first, having lived lives chained to someone else’s desire, chooses Yoojin’s happiness over his own. This isn’t a form a sacrifice. It doesn’t go against Hyunje’s personality. Hyunje seeks to make decisions of his own, and Yoonjin is simply that choice he proudly decided.

For the plot, the protagonist has accomplished his heroic deed. This was the story Yoojin wanted for himself as a main character. Someone who would give himself up for someone else’s happiness. Hyunje made him realize this was not the story he wanted for himself, nor a story he would want for anyone. If lets Hyunje do exactly what all main characters do, then Yoojin’s demons that he had been coming in terms with would win.

I absolutely love jinjae for being two souls who have not been made for each other, but are encounters at the right time and moment that helped the other grow.

[escapist-of-fiction]

One shot - Troy Otto x Fem Reader

Description - just a bit of fluff really. Something that has been floating in my head for a while and needed to write it down. Troy is a bit of a tease in this but I like him like that.

Warnings - none really. Mild swearing.

If you do read, a like, reblog and/or a comment would make me smile :) enjoy!

‐-------------

It had become abundantly apparent to everyone that something was developing between you and Troy.

There was something about the way he looked at you from across the room, never intrusive but always keeping one eye closely on you, watching your every move. You didn't mind though. It made you feel safe. You didn't feel so alone in the crowd.

Every chance Troy had; loading supplies from the trucks, collecting empty dishes at meal times, showing you how to hold a gun in the right way to defend yourself, any excuse to have just a little bit of contact with you. You didn't mind. You wanted him to do it. Your skin tingled at his touch. If he stood close to you, you would hold your breath without even realising. It was just the effect he had on you. In a group situation, he would always somehow find his way next to you, by now it was almost an expectation.

You wondered how long it would take for him to make a move. It had taken so long that you were unsure whether it was all in your mind and he had no interest in you at all.

"You can see it, can't you?" Alicia said one day as you sat together at lunch.

"See what?" You responded innocently.

You needed someone else to spell it out to you. To make it seem real. It seemed too good to be true in your own mind. After all, why would someone as complex as Troy be interested in someone as basic as you?

"Troy. There's something about you two. The way he is around you, it's like you're precious cargo or something. He speaks to you so differently to everyone else, with a whole new level of respect. He doesn't even speak like that to Jake, his own brother."

You didn't know how to respond to this, so you decided not to say anything at all.

On the day the Militia headed out on their short mission, you stood with everyone else at the gates. Going on missions was a weekly occurrence in the post-apocalyptic world but today everyone seemed a little on edge. Everyone except Troy.

You stood a little away from the small gathering, leaning against a table where supplies were piled up high. You watched as Troy fooled around with some of the Militia members, his trusted and closest comrades obviously. He wasn't normally this way before a mission, which made you think it was a little more serious than the average. He was trying to put everyone at ease. Rumours had been going around the Ranch that you were heading out to confront another group, who were threatening to steal water supplies. It wouldn't be an easy mission and lives were potentially at risk.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice someone pick up a box beside you, until their voice brought you back to reality.

"You aren't normally here to see us off," Troy noted.

"I'm surprised you would even notice," you answered with the tiniest of smiles, watching for his reaction.

"Dont worry, I notice."

You watched as he walked towards the truck and placed the final box in the back, hitting the side panel to signal to the group that they were ready to go.

You expected Troy to climb into the driver's seat as normal, rev the engine, turn up his heavy metal music and speed out of the Ranch, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. But not this time.

This time, he turned and walked back in the direction of you. You lifted your head to look up at him as he got closer and closer, until he was stood toe to toe with you. He had a look on his face, a mixture of uncertainty and, was that yearning?

You were perplexed by Troy's actions and you were just about question his odd behaviour when he suddenly grabbed you by the waist and....kissed you.

The briefest of kisses that lasted long enough to make your head spin, your toes curl and heart race all at once. It stunned you but made sense to you all at once. You felt Troy's hand press firmly into the small of your back to pull you against him as his other hand gently caressed your cheek.

Then no sooner had it started, it stopped and Troy pulled away. No explanation. No second glance as he turned and walked back towards the truck and the waiting Militia.

You stood there in shock, your fingers reaching to your lips to trace the echo of his touch.

What the hell was that?

Five days passed until Troy and the Militia returned.

Five days for you to mull over your encounter and ask yourself a million questions. You flitted from the feeling of lusting after Troy and more from that kiss, to being filled with a mild rage at how the bastard had acted in such an impulsive way and walked right out of the Ranch with no explanation.

By the time they returned, you had made up your mind on what to do next.

You never normally gathered with the others at the gate but this time was different. This time you had a reason to stand amongst the friends and family. You wanted Troy to know he had left someone behind. Someone who cared about him, his reckless behaviour and the consequences that came with it.

You watched him exit the truck last of all. He looked tired and weary, having been on the road with little to no sleep and carrying the responsibility of everyone's safety on his shoulders. There was a part of you that wanted to rush to him, embrace him but something made you hold back and wait.

Eventually, Troy looked up and spotted you, his eyes lighting up as they met with yours. You gave nothing away. He approached you, watching your expression tentatively, wondering how you were going to react since your last encounter. He took the fact you were here at all as a good sign.

Coming to stand in front of you, he rested his hands on his hips and tilted his head with a cocky smile.

Words were lost on you. You tried to think of something smart to say, to chastise him for what he did the last time you saw each other but you just kept losing your train of thought in those azure, blue eyes.

Instead, you communicated in the only way you both knew how.

Stepping forward and rising to the balls of your feet, you placed a hand on the back of Troy's neck and pulled him down to meet you.

Your lips pressed firmly against his. A kiss almost sweeter than the first, full of promise and something that you couldn't quite describe but you knew you needed more of it.

Reluctantly, you pulled away to look up at Troy, your hands pressed against his chest. Judging by the hazy look in his eye and the delectable way he licked his lips, it told you everything you needed to know. He felt exactly the same way.

And then, just like that, you found your voice again,

"Hi."

Troy laughed softly,

"Well it took you long enough, darling"

[novaursa]

Here's my request: Aerion Brightflame has always been creepily obsessed with his shy quiet sister who has always been scared of him due to his treatment of her. He is determined to take her as his perfect Targaryen bride but he already knows that his family will likely turn down his idea of marrying her. So he decides to sneak into her chambers one late night to claim her as his knowing his family will likely have no other choice but to wed her to him after he sullied her.

When questioned about the incident the next day, being the liar that he is, Aerion tells everyone that his sister came onto him and being the kind caring older brother he is he couldn't reject her. His sister tries to say what really happened but Aerion claims that she's lying because she's too ashamed to admit to her behavior the night before. Their father Maekar has always been willfully ignorant of Aerion's true behavior and so he hesitantly believes Aerion's version of events and lets Aerion wed his sister much to his sister's horror.

Consumed by the Dragon

- Summary: Aerion coveted you since he was a boy, and like the dragon he believed himself to be, he took you.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aerion Targaryen (Brightflame)

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (Aerion is warning just being him)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The corridors of Summerhall are dimly lit as you make your way back to your chambers. The evening air is cool, and you pull your shawl tighter around your shoulders, your footsteps echoing in the empty hall. You’ve always preferred the quiet, the solitude of being alone with your thoughts. Here, away from the prying eyes of the court and the watchful gaze of your parents, you can breathe freely, without the weight of expectations pressing down on you.

But tonight, the silence feels different. Heavy. As if the shadows themselves are watching, waiting.

You turn a corner, your heart skipping a beat when you see him leaning casually against the wall, his hair glowing faintly in the torchlight. Aerion. Your brother, your tormentor. His presence in the quiet hallway feels out of place, as though he has stepped out of a nightmare and into your reality.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice low and smooth, a serpentine hiss that slithers through the darkness. His smile is a slash of white teeth, predatory and hungry. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Your heart pounds, your instincts screaming at you to turn and run, but your feet are rooted to the ground, as if the stone itself has come alive and trapped you in place. “Aerion,” you manage to say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

He pushes off the wall, taking a slow, deliberate step towards you, his eyes never leaving yours. “I was looking for you, little sister,” he murmurs, his tone deceptively gentle. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

There’s something in his gaze, a darkness that makes your skin prickle with unease. You take a step back, your shoulders pressing against the cold stone behind you. “It’s late,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound calm. “I should go.”

“Don’t be so hasty.” He moves closer, his body looming over yours, the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. His hand comes up, fingers brushing your cheek, trailing down to your neck, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his touch. “You’re always running from me, Y/N. Why is that?”

Your breath hitches, your mind racing for an excuse, for anything that will get you away from him. “I’m not—”

“Liar.” His voice is soft, a mocking whisper, as his fingers trail lower, skimming the neckline of your dress. “You’re always so frightened. But I would never hurt you, little dragon. You’re too precious for that.”

The endearment, so similar to the words he will use years later, sends a shiver down your spine, dread pooling in your belly. You try to push his hand away, but he catches your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “Aerion, please...”

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear, and the words he whispers make your blood run cold. “Do you know what I am, little sister? I’m a dragon, trapped in human flesh. I can feel the fire burning inside me, the power coursing through my veins.” His voice is a dark, dangerous purr, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “One day, I’ll unleash it all. I’ll set the world ablaze, and you... you’ll be right there beside me. My queen. My consort.”

You tremble, your heart thudding painfully against your ribs as he continues, his words wrapping around you like chains. “You and I, we’re meant to be together. Blood of the dragon, bound by fire and flesh. When I am king, you’ll rule at my side. We’ll burn anyone who dares stand against us.”

He’s so close, his body pressing against yours, his scent—smoke and something sharp, metallic—filling your senses, making your head spin. His hand slips lower, his fingers grazing the curve of your breast, and you flinch, panic clawing at your throat.

“Aerion, no—” You try to twist away, but he pins you in place, his hand tightening around your wrist, his body a solid wall of heat and strength. He laughs softly, a low, wicked sound that vibrates through you.

“Shh, little dragon,” he whispers, his lips brushing your neck, sending a wave of revulsion and something else—something dark and unwanted—through you. “You’ll see. You’ll love it, just as I do.” His free hand roams lower, his touch burning through the fabric of your dress, and you gasp, your body rigid with fear and confusion.

He murmurs in your ear, his voice a dark, twisted lullaby. “I’ll make you mine, Y/N. I’ll teach you things that will make your pretty little head spin. I’ll make you scream my name, beg for me to touch you.” His words are crude, filthy, the things he describes making your cheeks burn, your stomach churn with a sick mixture of dread and something you can’t name, something that makes you feel like you’re falling, spinning out of control.

His hand cups you between your legs, his fingers pressing against you through the fabric, and you cry out, your body jerking against his. “Please, stop,” you beg, your voice breaking, tears stinging your eyes.

But he only chuckles, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, his gaze fixed on your face, watching every flicker of fear, of confusion, of helplessness. “You’re so sensitive, little dragon. So responsive.” His breath is hot against your skin, his voice a wicked caress. “Imagine what it will be like when I finally take you. When you’re writhing beneath me, begging for more.”

The things he says are vile, each word a knife twisting in your gut, and you can’t breathe, can’t think, your body trapped between the cold, unyielding wall and the searing heat of him. His fingers press harder, and a strange, terrifying sensation builds within you, something that makes your thighs clench, your breath hitch.

And then, as suddenly as it began, he pulls away, his hand leaving you, the cold air rushing in to replace his touch. You’re left gasping, your body trembling, tears streaming down your cheeks as you stare at him, your mind reeling.

He smiles, a cruel, satisfied curve of his lips as he steps back, his eyes gleaming with dark triumph. “Remember this, little dragon,” he says, his voice soft, almost tender. “Remember what I can do to you. What I will do to you.”

And then he’s gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving you alone, your body shaking, your heart pounding, your mind spinning with the horror of what just happened, of what he plans to do.

You don’t move for a long time, your back pressed against the cold stone, your knees weak beneath you. When you finally find the strength to stumble back to your chambers, you feel hollow, your body numb, your mind struggling to grasp the full, awful reality of what Aerion has just promised.

You know, deep in your soul, that this is only the beginning.

(a few years later)

The candles in your chamber have long since burnt low. The night is quiet, and the only sound you can hear is your own breathing, soft and steady as you lie in your bed, staring at the canopy above. You try to calm your mind, but your thoughts are restless, swirling like the winds beyond the window. You’ve always been anxious in the dark, your dreams haunted by things you dare not name aloud.

The creak of the door startles you, making your heart lurch painfully in your chest. You sit up, clutching the covers close, your eyes wide as they lock onto the figure standing in the doorway. His presence is unmistakable—the silver-gold hair that shines even in the dim light, the sharp, angular features that are both beautiful and terrifying. Aerion.

Your older brother steps inside, closing the door softly behind him. There is a glint in his dark violet eyes, a hunger that sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve seen that look before, in the darkened halls when he would corner you, whispering words that made your skin crawl and your cheeks burn. You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat, your voice a timid whisper.

"Aerion... what are you doing here?"

He takes a step closer, the distance between you shrinking as he beckons with his hand. “Come to me, little dragon.” His voice is smooth, almost gentle, but there is an edge to it, a dangerous undercurrent that makes your pulse quicken with fear.

You shake your head, your body refusing to move. “Why are you here?” you manage to ask, though your voice trembles, betraying your unease. You’ve always been wary of him, your wariness turning to dread as you grew older and his attention on you became more... intense.

His smile is slow, predatory. “You know why I’m here.” He closes the distance between you in a few strides, his hand shooting out to grab your wrist, pulling you to your feet with a force that makes you stumble against him. His other hand cups your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lips. “So perfect.”

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his body pressing against yours. “Aerion, please—” Your plea is cut off as his mouth crashes down on yours, silencing you with a bruising kiss. You freeze, your body going rigid as his lips move against yours, demanding, insistent. His hand slides down your back, pulling you closer, and you can feel the hard lines of his body through the thin fabric of your nightdress.

You tremble, confusion and fear warring within you as his hands begin to tug at your clothes, the cool air of the chamber brushing against your skin as he bares you to his gaze. “Don’t,” you whisper, your voice shaking, but he ignores you, his eyes dark and filled with something that makes your stomach churn.

He undresses you with a kind of reverence, his hands lingering on your skin as if committing every inch of you to memory. You want to scream, to push him away, but your body feels heavy, your limbs unresponsive as he strips away the last of your clothing. You are left standing before him, vulnerable and exposed, your cheeks burning with shame.

“Aerion, please, don’t do this,” you plead, but he only shushes you, his fingers trailing down your arm in a caress that makes you shiver. He pulls off his own clothes with a casual grace, his eyes never leaving yours as he reveals himself to you, the heat of his gaze making your skin prickle.

He nudges you back towards the bed, and you stumble, the mattress catching you as you fall onto it. He follows, his weight pressing you down, his body a cage that you cannot escape. “Spread your legs,” he orders, his voice rough, and you hesitate, your body trembling with fear and something else, something you don’t want to name.

His hands are on you then, parting your thighs, his touch firm and possessive. You gasp as his fingers brush against you, your hips jerking involuntarily at the strange, foreign sensation. “You’re always so sensitive,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a dark amusement. “Have you thought about this, little dragon? Thought about me touching you like this?”

You shake your head, a whimper escaping your lips as his fingers slip inside, the intrusion sending a shock through your body. “No, please—”

“Shh,” he breathes, his lips curling into a smirk. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you blush when I’m near. You want this, don’t you?”

You shake your head again, but your body betrays you, a soft, helpless moan escaping as his fingers move inside you, a strange heat pooling in your belly. “Stop,” you beg, but he only laughs, a low, wicked sound.

“I’m going to make you mine,” he whispers, his mouth descending to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes you shudder. “You’re going to scream my name, little dragon. You’ll see.”

He moves over you, his body pressing you down, and you feel something hard and hot against your thigh. Your eyes widen, panic clawing at your throat as you realize what he’s about to do. “No, Aerion, please, don’t—”

But he’s relentless, his hips driving forward, a sharp, searing pain tearing through you as he enters, breaking the last barrier between you. You cry out, your body arching in agony, but he swallows your scream with a fierce, punishing kiss, his hands pinning your wrists to the bed.

“Quiet, little dragon,” he growls against your lips, his voice a harsh rasp. “You’ll get used to it.” He holds himself still for a moment, his breath ragged, and you feel tears slipping down your cheeks, the pain radiating through you, blotting out everything else.

And then he begins to move, his thrusts deep and powerful, each one driving the air from your lungs. You bite your lip, trying to stifle your cries, but the pain is too much, the sensation overwhelming as he claims you, his body relentless, unyielding.

“Mine,” he whispers, his voice raw with need. “You’re mine, little dragon. No one else will ever touch you like this.”

Your body starts to react against your will, the pain slowly giving way to something else, something dark and shameful. You can feel yourself tightening around him, your hips lifting to meet his, and the realization makes you want to die of shame. How can you be feeling this, how can your body be responding to him?

Aerion’s laughter is low, almost triumphant as he feels your surrender. “Yes, that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “I knew you’d love this. You were made for me, Y/N.”

His words are filthy, the things he says making your cheeks burn, your skin tingling with mortification and a sick, twisted thrill. He moves faster, his thrusts becoming erratic, his breath harsh in your ear as he drives you both towards the edge.

You can’t stop the sounds that escape you, the cries that mix with his name, your body shuddering beneath him as something inside you breaks, a wave of pleasure crashing over you that leaves you gasping, trembling. Aerion’s voice is a harsh, guttural sound as he follows you over the edge, his body going taut above you, his grip on you almost bruising as he spends himself deep inside you.

He collapses against you, his breath ragged, his heart pounding against yours. You feel broken, shattered in a way that has nothing to do with the physical pain, and everything to do with the man lying atop you, his arms wrapping around you in a possessive embrace.

“You’re mine now, little dragon,” he whispers, his voice soft, almost tender. “No one else will ever have you.”

And as you lie there, your body aching, your mind numb, you know he’s right.

Morning comes too soon, and with it the cold, harsh light of reality. You stir, the ache in your body a bitter reminder of the night before. Aerion’s arm is draped possessively around your waist, his body pressed close, his breath warm against your neck. Panic flares in your chest as you remember, but before you can move, a shrill scream pierces the air.

Your eyes fly open to see your chamber door thrown wide, your handmaids frozen in the doorway, their faces pale with shock and horror. The sight of you and Aerion tangled in the sheets, both bare beneath the thin fabric, is unmistakable. You instinctively try to cover yourself, shame and fear flooding you, but Aerion only laughs softly, his hold on you tightening.

“Good morning, ladies,” he drawls, his tone mocking as he props himself up on one elbow, the blankets slipping to reveal his bare chest. “I trust you’re not too shocked?”

The servants avert their eyes, their hands trembling as they drop to their knees, mumbling apologies and making hurried excuses as they scramble to leave. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, your entire body tense with mortification. Aerion watches them go, amusement dancing in his eyes, his lips curled in a satisfied smile.

“They’ll spread the word,” he says, his voice low and pleased. “It won’t be long before Father hears.” He leans down, his lips brushing your temple. “We’ll be married by the end of this moon, little dragon. Just as I promised.”

You swallow the bile rising in your throat, your heart hammering with a desperate, futile hope that this might still be a nightmare. But the stark reality of Aerion’s weight against you, the soreness between your legs, the mocking light in his eyes—all of it is real. All of it is happening.

You try to push him away, but he only laughs again, a low, mocking sound as he lets you go. “Get dressed, Y/N. We’ll have an audience with our dear father soon enough.” His words are a command, not a request, and you obey, your hands shaking as you fumble with your clothes, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.

The morning drags on in a haze of dread. You are summoned to the throne room, your steps heavy as lead as you make your way through the corridors, Aerion’s presence a dark shadow at your side. When you enter, your father, King Maekar, is seated upon his chair, his face a mask of anger and confusion. His gaze shifts between you and Aerion, his jaw clenched.

“Is it true?” His voice booms through the chamber, the weight of his authority pressing down on you like a physical force. “Have you... done what I’ve heard?”

You open your mouth to speak, to tell him the truth, but Aerion steps forward, his expression a perfect mask of remorse and sincerity. “Father, it’s true,” he says, his voice steady and calm. “But you must understand, it wasn’t as it seems.”

Your heart stops, a cold knot of dread forming in your stomach as he begins to weave his lie, each word like a drop of poison. “Y/N called for me last night,” he says, his eyes meeting Maekar’s without a flicker of guilt. “She... begged me to come to her chambers. She pleaded with me to take her innocence.”

“That’s not true!” The words burst from you before you can stop them, your voice desperate and shaking. “He’s lying! He came to me—I didn’t want this, I—”

“Enough.” Aerion’s voice cuts through yours like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. He turns to you, his expression softening in a way that makes your blood run cold. “She’s only ashamed, Father. Ashamed of what she asked for, what she begged me to do.” He reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm in what might seem a tender gesture to anyone else. But you can feel the threat beneath it, the unspoken command to stay silent.

You shake your head, tears pricking at your eyes as you look at your father, trying to make him see, to understand. “Father, please, you have to believe me—”

“We love each other, Father,” Aerion interrupts, his voice filled with a false warmth, a twisted sincerity. “She told me so last night. She said she loves me more than anything in this world, that she couldn’t bear the thought of being married off to someone else. She asked me to make her mine, and I, loving her as I do, couldn’t deny her.”

You stare at him, your mouth dry, your heart pounding so hard you can scarcely breathe. The audacity, the sheer gall of his lie, leaves you speechless. You glance at your father, seeing the uncertainty, the hesitation in his eyes. He doesn’t want to believe it. You can see that much. But he’s always been willfully blind to Aerion’s true nature, to the darkness that lurks beneath his handsome face.

“Aerion, she’s your sister,” Maekar says finally, his voice weary. “This... this isn’t right.”

Aerion’s smile is a thin, cruel line. “She’s more than my sister. She’s my other half. Our blood is pure, Father, as it should be. We belong together, and she knows it as well as I do.” He glances at you, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

You feel as though you’re suffocating, the room closing in around you, your father’s gaze heavy on your shoulders. There’s no escape, no way out of this web of lies that Aerion has spun so effortlessly. You open your mouth to deny it again, to scream the truth, but the look in Aerion’s eyes silences you. It’s a promise, a threat. If you say anything more, if you contradict him, there will be consequences. And you know, deep in your heart, that no one—not even your father—can protect you from him.

“I... I don’t...” Your voice falters, the words choking in your throat.

“See, Father?” Aerion’s smile is triumphant, his grip on your arm tightening. “She’s just overwhelmed, embarrassed. But we love each other. We want to be together. Make it right for us. Let us be married.”

King Maekar rubs his temples, his eyes closing for a long moment as if the weight of the decision is crushing him. When he opens them again, they are filled with resignation. “If this is what you both want...” His voice is slow, reluctant. “Then I will not stand in your way.”

The world seems to tilt, your vision blurring as the full horror of his words sinks in. Aerion’s hand squeezes yours, a mockery of comfort, his smile a dark, twisted thing. “Thank you, Father,” he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’ve made us both very happy.”

You can’t breathe, can’t think, as your father’s decree seals your fate. There’s no escape, no way to turn back. Aerion’s grip is a shackle, his presence a dark shadow that you will never be free of.

“Now, little dragon,” Aerion murmurs in your ear as you leave the throne room, his voice soft, almost tender. “We’ll be together forever. Just as it should be.”

His words are a prison, and you are trapped, caught in the web of his obsession, with no hope of rescue. There is no way out. Not anymore.

[azurajae]

I find it really interesting that as the games go on, Riku becomes more confident and secure with himself while Sora gets more insecure and depressesed.

Riku kinda started at a low point in the beginning by giving into the darkness. He was ridden with guilt and depression over the pain he caused by his mistakes and spent CoM, Days, and KH2 trying to make up for it all. He finally manages to get some closure in KH3D and manages to find a healthy way to move on from his guilt and sadness. While the scars might still be there and might creep up sometimes, Riku has grown into someone strong and dependable. There are always new ways for Riku to grow as a person, but I can't say enough about how proud I am of him of the progress he's made so far.

Meanwhile, on a surface level, Sora has remained stagnant personality-wise for most of the series. He is happy-go-lucky, kind, and selfless, someone you'd appreciate as a friend. However, in small moments throughout the games, he shows shades of his anger, sadness, and darkness, which seem to intensify each game. He has been told 'no frowning, no sad faces' and to 'never change', so while he seems the 'same', Sora's actually repressing himself. He's thoughtful and introspective, smarter than he looks, but acts foolish and silly because that's how he believes his friends expect of him. KH3 was really prevelent with him hiding his true feelings behind humor, both his friends and enemies belittling him, and the stress/pressure causing him to snap in the final battle. When Xehanort strips all his light away in the final battle, what's underneath? Rage.

It's also pretty interesting that Riku and Sora both precieve(d) themselves as worthless. In Riku's case it's stemming from the guilt of his mistakes and feeling he should isolate himself as punishment, while Sora is so incredibly selfless and blessed/cursed with the 'friends are my power' motto, he believes that he is nothing without his friends.

Makes me wonder what's going to be happening with Sora now that we are in Stage 2 of KH and the tonal shift with the realistic graphics. He is all alone in a totally different reality with a (possibly) dwindling hope of ever returning home. He doesn't even have anymore people in his heart apartment, it's empty now. How will this new enviroment and situation affect him? And how much will he change by the time Riku meets up with him (if/when he does)? It feels like Sora's character arc is finally beginning.

"The closer you get to light, the greater your shadow becomes."

We seem to be calling back to some early quotes from the series. Makes me wonder if this statement is now foreshadowing.

[leenathegreengirl]

Tech's Encrypted Files Entry 2

Tech's Encrypted Files [Initiating connection…] [Connection successful. Transmitting…] Subject: Tech - Personal Journal Entry 2

I’ve observed a shift recently. It’s subtle, but undeniable. What was once a straightforward, platonic dynamic with Marina has transitioned into something more complicated—more physical. I miscalculated the extent to which her attractiveness would influence the relationship. Initially, I presumed it was only her presence, her energy, that I was reacting to, but there is more at play here. The evening we watched the migration of deep-sea fish crystallized this shift for me. I felt an overwhelming emotional response, not due to the fish themselves, but because of something within me that had been repressed for a long time.

Watching those bioluminescent creatures in the dark depths made something within me... surface. I can’t articulate it entirely, but I felt it—an emotional reaction I haven’t allowed myself to experience in a long time. I realized that, for years, I’d been holding back parts of myself. I’ve kept them suppressed, thinking them unnecessary, illogical, or counterproductive. But with Marina, I find myself revisiting those parts of me. They’re not as inconvenient as I once believed. And with her, I feel a sense of safety that makes it possible to confront them without fear.

When we embraced that night, the feeling was different. It wasn’t just physical proximity; it was a release, a clarity I hadn’t anticipated. The impulse was natural, unforced. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t overanalyze. I simply existed in that moment. The shift wasn’t intellectual. It was more intuitive than I’m accustomed to.

I’ll admit, I owe Crosshair an "I told you so." Though I know he’d never expand on his analysis of my situation, I do acknowledge he understood my feelings better than I did. He’s more perceptive in certain areas than I am. But even now, I’m still processing the full extent of this new dynamic with Marina. I’m not sure I have the complete understanding I’d prefer, but I recognize that something significant has changed.

There’s something else I need to address. The timing of this development. The divorce with Leena was largely amicable, but it was recent. We’ve been apart for only a few months. I did not initiate the split until recently, though emotionally I had been detached from the relationship for much longer. That detachment wasn’t immediate. It took a time to fully disengage, but once it did, it became clear that the connection between us was no longer what it once was. Leena and I drifted, and the emotional separation occurred gradually—though I wasn’t always forthcoming about it. Now, I find myself in a position where I’ve met someone new, and it feels... premature.

I recognize that others may find this problematic, especially considering how quickly things have progressed with Marina. I’m concerned it will upset people we care about, those who were close to both Leena and me. Perhaps they’ll view this as a violation of some kind of emotional decorum. But the truth is, I am a single man now, and I don’t owe anyone an explanation. I do, however, carry some guilt. I’m still adjusting to the fact that I’m no longer part of a couple, and it’s difficult to balance the guilt of moving on so quickly with the reality that I’ve been emotionally separated for some time. It’s hard to reconcile those two thoughts.

What I don’t want is to feel like I’m carrying the burden of other people’s expectations. I’ve processed my own detachment from the marriage, even if it’s not yet fully understood by those around me. I’m not obligated to continue carrying that guilt just because I’m now technically single. I’ve reached the point where I’m allowed to move forward, regardless of external opinions.

I also need to clarify that I do wish the best for Leena. It’s clear now that I never fully allowed her in, though I do not believe she ever did anything to deserve that. I was too rigid, too prideful, and I see that now. She deserves happiness, and I hope she finds it with someone who can appreciate her as she should be. I certainly wasn’t fair to her in that regard. We were ultimately; misaligned.

As for Marina, the relationship between us is undefined. It has evolved from something purely friendly into something more intimate, but I have no clear framework to label it yet. There’s no need to rush that process. I am content to let it evolve naturally, without imposing unnecessary labels. That alone feels like growth for my personal development.

I’ve noticed that the comfort and attraction I feel toward Marina are rooted in something complex. There’s something deeply aligned between us—her quirks, her mannerisms, her approach to the world, as they resonate with me in a way few people do. I’ve always been... different, in ways I’ve struggled to articulate. It’s not that I don’t understand others, but there’s a level of connection I’ve rarely found. Marina’s presence doesn’t require an explanation, nor do her behaviors feel foreign. She operates in a similar space, with a mentality and rhythm I recognize. I can be myself with her in ways I’ve never allowed anyone else. This connection feels natural.

I will, however, keep this to myself for now. I am not prepared to discuss it with anyone—not yet, at least. I need time to understand what this is before I share it with others. The uncertainty of the situation, the ambiguity, makes it easier to keep it private until Marina and I have a clearer understanding of where this is heading.

In the meantime, I can’t ignore the potential for something positive here. The emotional openness I’ve been avoiding for years out of my own fear, is starting to feel possible again. There’s a sense of optimism in that, even if I don’t have all the answers yet. I’m simply allowing myself to explore this without the constraints I’ve put on myself for so long.

And maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something I’ve been denying myself for far too long.

End transmission.

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Art by @leenathegreengirl

Story by @legacygirlingreen (OC Marina belongs to her)

[htpssgavi]

JUST A PRANK-PART TWO

The weeks stretched into months, each day without Y/N heavier than the last. At first, I thought I could fix things quickly, that with time, her anger would fade, and she’d realize how much we belonged together. But as the days passed with no word from her, reality began to sink in: I might have lost her for good.

I threw myself into football, hoping the sport I loved would distract me from the emptiness inside. But even on the pitch, I couldn’t escape the thoughts of her. Every goal, every victory felt hollow without Y/N to share it with. The perfume prank haunted me, the memory of her tears cutting deeper than any physical injury ever could. I replayed that night over and over, hating myself for the stupid mistake that had cost me everything.

I wanted to reach out, but every time I picked up my phone, fear held me back. What if she didn’t want to hear from me? What if she had already moved on? The thought was unbearable, so I did nothing, hoping that maybe, somehow, she would reach out first. But she never did.

Months passed. The silence between us grew louder, and the distance felt insurmountable. I heard from mutual friends that she was doing well, that she seemed happy, but no one mentioned if she was seeing someone new. I didn’t ask—I couldn’t bear to hear the answer if it was yes.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know where we stood, even if the truth was painful. So one evening, when the loneliness became too much, I finally worked up the courage to text her.

*Pablo: Hey. It’s been a while. Can we talk?*

I waited, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at my phone, willing it to buzz with a reply. Minutes felt like hours, and I was on the verge of giving up when my phone finally lit up.

*Y/N: Pablo, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.*

Her response was polite, but distant, and it stung more than I expected. I swallowed the lump in my throat and typed back.

*Pablo: I just need to talk. Please, Y/N. One last time.*

There was a longer pause this time, and I could imagine her debating whether or not to reply. When her next message came, it was a small relief.

*Y/N: Okay. Tomorrow, 4 PM at the café?*

*Pablo: I’ll be there.*

The next day, I arrived early, my nerves on edge. The café felt smaller than I remembered, the walls closing in on me as I waited for her. I kept glancing at the door, my heart leaping every time someone walked in, only to fall again when it wasn’t her.

Finally, she arrived. My breath caught in my throat as I saw her—she looked as beautiful as ever, but there was something different about her, something I couldn’t quite place. Her eyes no longer held that same warmth when she looked at me, and it tore me apart.

“Hi,” she said, sitting down across from me.

“Hi,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “Thanks for meeting me.”

She nodded, but didn’t smile. “What did you want to talk about, Pablo?”

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “I… I’ve missed you, Y/N. Every day without you has been hell. I know I messed up, and I’m not asking you to forgive me easily, but I need to know if there’s any chance for us.”

She looked down at her hands, her expression unreadable. “Pablo, I’ve had a lot of time to think since we broke up. And… I’ve realized that maybe we’re better off apart.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “You don’t mean that.”

She met my gaze, her eyes filled with a sad resolve. “I do. I loved you, Pablo. But you hurt me in a way I never expected, and I don’t think I can ever fully trust you again. And without trust… we can’t have a relationship.”

I felt like the ground was falling out from under me. “Please, Y/N. I’ll do anything to fix this. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you can trust me.”

She shook her head, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “It’s not that simple. I’m sorry, Pablo, but I can’t go through that pain again. I’ve moved on… I’ve started seeing someone else.”

The world seemed to stop. The words echoed in my mind, a harsh reality that I wasn’t prepared for. She had moved on. Someone else was making her smile, was holding her close, was filling the space that I had left empty.

I wanted to be angry, to blame her for giving up on us, but I couldn’t. I was the one who had driven her away. I was the one who had broken her trust.

“I see,” I managed to say, my voice hollow. “I’m happy for you… if you’re happy.”

She nodded, wiping away her tears. “I am. And I want you to be happy too, Pablo. I want you to find someone who makes you feel whole again.”

The pain in my chest was unbearable, but I forced myself to smile for her sake. “You deserve the best, Y/N. I just wish it could have been me.”

She reached across the table, squeezing my hand gently. “You’re a good person, Pablo. You’ll find someone who loves you just as much as I did. But it’s time for both of us to move on.”

I nodded, unable to trust my voice. We sat in silence for a few moments, both of us knowing that this was truly the end.

“I wish you all the best,” she said quietly, pulling her hand back.

“You too,” I replied, my heart breaking as I watched her stand up.

She gave me one last, sad smile before turning and walking out of the café, leaving me alone with nothing but the echo of what we once had.

As I sat there, staring at the empty chair across from me, I realized that I had to let her go. She had moved on, and I had to do the same. But the pain of losing her, the regret of how things ended, would stay with me for a long time.

Maybe forever.

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