#not quite entirely defined but all the more reason to just feel like me

[karlobears]

Self Portraits

karlos - he/him - canine like therian

#therian #otherkin #caninekin #hey its me #not quite entirely defined but all the more reason to just feel like me #my art #vague at best because I’m not defined as a single shape I’m just fur and teeth #fur teeth and occasional presence of wings that mostly exist when it’s cooler #feathers in summer suck you know?

[copperbadge]

Feeling a little overly perceived by Dr. Dodson right now, not gonna lie.

I'll throw a transcript under the cut, but both reading the transcript and listening to the video can be difficult as it's quite long, so here's some highlights. As always, these are the opinions of a specialist but only one specialist, so take with a grain of salt, and if you have research to add to this, please feel free to comment or reblog with it. I believe this presentation is from sometime in 2022.

ADHD appears to derive from issues in the corpus striatum in the brain. In most people, the corpus striatum filters out all but the most important input AND output; with ADHD, the things normally handled "outside of awareness" must be handled consciously.

People with ADHD don't see their emotions coming. Emotion is immediate, intense, and unfiltered, making therapies like CBT or ACT difficult, because you can learn the technique but you won't have time to employ it. Because people with ADHD have impulse control issues, expressing emotions "inappropriately" is common, leading people with ADHD to believe they can't trust themselves.

One function of ADHD-typical dysregulation is Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, which nobody understands even a little. People who have it can't even adequately describe it to people who want to study it. It is intense, painful, and apparently impossible to control. Prevention is based in maladaptive behaviors designed to avoid it entirely (perfectionism, people pleasing, generalized withdrawal). The only currently known treatment is alpha agonist medication.

Lastly, by the age of twelve, a child with ADHD has likely received twenty thousand more "negative or corrective" messages than their neurotypical peers. (This isn't relevant to the rest, I just found it sufficiently horrifying to warrant inclusion. Fortunately for me, if I got 20,000 negative or corrective messages, I wasn't paying attention for most of them.)

Anyway, here's the transcript of the first half. I did this by copying and cleaning up the auto-transcript on YouTube, but I stopped at Question Time, so this is only the first half (the presentation). Transcription of the second half is available at YouTube.

There is suddenly a very large interest in the whole subject of emotional dysregulation and ADHD. That has been driven oddly enough by the Food and Drug Administration, which has just opened up several pathways that drug companies can study emotional dysregulation and whether or not their medications can get an FDA indication for emotional dysregulation. So it's sort of follow the money. Up until then, there was not a great deal of interest for ADHD emotional dysregulation.

We have to understand that the ADHD diagnostic criteria were not made for people like you and me, either practitioners or people who have ADHD or their families. They were designed for and made by people who do research and pretty much that's it. People who do research have to have criteria that they can physically see and count. "Little Johnny was up and out of his chair three times in the last hour," and you can write a three on your clipboard. Things which are invisible, not always there, hard to count, or even hidden by the patient, don't lend themselves to research very easily and so tend to be ignored. And so consequently this is one of the main reasons why emotional dysregulation -- until there was some other motive provided -- was pretty much ignored and disregarded.

Consequently ADHD right now, if you look at the 18 diagnostic criteria, are almost entirely behavioral criteria. What is the person doing? Not how is the person thinking, what is the patient feeling, how are they controlling their emotions, how are they sleeping. Things that are all very, very important to the person who has ADHD but which is essentially ignored by the diagnostic criteria.

Why should you care? Who really cares about this? Well, the definition of what ADHD is and isn't defines who and what will be studied. It defines who will actually get into a study and what questions will be asked. It defines who will be diagnosed with ADHD and who will not. One of the most common problems I get is with a secondary referral to me -- somebody clearly has ADHD but they're not pinging off the walls, they can sit and do their work, especially when they get into a hyperfocus, and so they're told they couldn't possibly have ADHD. When really they just have the inattentive subtype and they're not being driven by their behavior, their overt behavior. Therefore it defines who will get treatment, who will get insurance coverage for that treatment, and who will get accommodations in school when they're young and at the workplace when they're older.

Consequently we should also care because the other major components of ADHD get ignored. These are the ones that if you really stand back and look at it cause the greatest amount of impairment, the greatest amount of embarrassment, the greatest amount of just…problems in general. We're talking about cognition and thinking, that people with ADHD fundamentally think in a different way than do neurotypical people. They are able to engage with the tasks of their lives in a totally different way. Their ability to control their emotions and their behavior, control their emotional responses, tremendously affects their self-esteem and their self-definition. Who am I? What am I worth? What am I valued? Why am I valued in a certain way? What do other people think of me?

It affects tremendously the nature and healthiness of relationships. How you respond emotionally to the people in your realm makes a great deal of difference about the healthiness and gratification you get from your relationships. Being highly dysregulated in terms of your energy and emotions also affects deeply how well you sleep, how easy it is to fall asleep and awake refreshed, and of course it affects emotional dysregulation.

And this is probably, when you look at it in the long term and especially with adults, probably the most impairing part of the ADHD syndrome. The vast majority of people with ADHD have found ways around their academic and work performance, but they haven't found their way around their emotional reactions to the people and events of their lives.

At all points in the life cycle -- child, adolescent, adult, and elderly -- people who have ADHD nervous systems lead intense, passionate lives. Their highs are higher, their lows are lower, all of their emotions are much more intense. And that really is what we're talking about: not really the quality of the emotions -- people who have ADHD have the same types of emotions for the same reasons that everybody else does. What we're talking here, in terms of dysregulation, is two things: one, the expression of emotions, being able to choose whether or not you let an emotion out. And then, when you do decide to express it, how intensely that emotion is experienced and expressed by you as a unique individual.

Consequently just about everybody with ADHD, but especially little children, are always at some sort of risk of being overwhelmed by their own emotions from within themselves. This is something that needs to be really emphasized: a lot of people with ADHD grow up not being able to trust themselves.

So why is this happening, especially to people with ADHD? I think that just about everybody now would agree that ADHD is primarily a problem of insufficient inhibition, being able to slow down and keep things from happening. If you look at the mass of the human brain, 85% of all the nerves in your brain and out in your nervous system are inhibitory in function. We happen to be aware of the other 15% because we can see what happens when those nerves are used: they create movement, they create emotions, they create our experience and memory. We have to remember they are a minority of the actual mass of the human brain.

Most of what happens inside the brain occurs outside of awareness. What happens is the brain starts something, it gets it moving, and then uses inhibition to guide that toward the destination it wants. It's like shooting off a rocket -- shooting it off is the easy part, guiding it to where you want it to go is the hard part.

When you look at where stimulant class medications work, they work solely in the deep areas of the brain down in the basal ganglia, and especially in an area called the corpus striatum, which is just Latin for a "striped body". That's how it looks when you look at it -- it's got many very fine stripes in it. This area, the corpus striatum, is almost entirely inhibitory in function. What it does is that it inhibits neurological input and output to just the one piece of information or one action that happens to be most important at that time. Everything else gets handled, but it gets handled out of awareness.

Probably the easiest place to see this in action is when we're driving a car. Driving a car is the most difficult thing that the average human being ever has to learn how to do. It's a very difficult process, if anybody has ever had an adolescent learning to drive. But once we learn how to drive a car we do it largely outside of our own conscious awareness. We can drive along, talk to the person on the seat next to us, think about what we're going to have for dinner, sing along to the radio, and not really pay attention, conscious attention, to what's going on around us. But if suddenly something is out in front of the car, even before our conscious brain can process what that thing is, our corpus striatum has already handled it. Slam on the brakes, swerve to miss it, start to question that person's parentage, in the twinkling of an eye. The corpus striatum has been scanning everything, handling everything.

So basically what ADHD is, is that relative lack of inhibition that should be there. Inattention, which is a cardinal feature of ADHD, is the relative lack of the inhibition of other inputs or distractions. When we look at physiologically what's happening, we don't actually pay attention to one thing. Neurologically, we suppress every other thing we might engage with except the one thing that we want. It is maximally inefficient in that way.

Impulsivity is a relative lack of inhibition, of the expression of actions and emotions before you can think about them and make decisions about that expression. Hyperactivity is the relative lack of inhibition of physical and mental activity. When the physical activity of the hyperactive little boy who's pinging off a wall goes away in adolescence, they're still very much mentally active in their own brains.

So what? The “so what” for most of us is that when this area of the brain is not working as it should, people cannot regulate the experience and expression of their emotions. Emotions are experienced as completely unmodified and unscreened. The word that most people use is that they are raw. They come out without any modification at all, they go in without any modification at all. People can see this in hyperacusis, where somebody chewing or the conversation across the restaurant comes in loud and clear because it can't be screened out.

All this is tremendously overwhelming. We get overwhelmed by entirely too much input, and the impulse to have entirely too much output. It's exhausting, and when it does get inappropriately expressed it's embarrassing, so consequently people with ADHD must always be vigilant of themselves.

Now, when we look at the traditional therapies that have been used, or tried to be used, with ADHD, they have had very very poor track records. They're largely ineffective in helping people control the expression of what they think and feel. The reason for this is that people with ADHD don't see their own emotions, their own actions, coming. They find out about their emotions and actions the same way everybody else does: it's already out there before they even know that it's coming. Consequently they don't have the time and the warning to use the techniques and new skills that they may have learned in behavior modification therapy, or in cognitive therapy. They learned them, learned them perfectly well, but the cat’s out of the bag before they can make use of them.

Right now, as we sit here today, medications are the only thing we have to offer that have a proven track record, because they're there all the time. We have two basic groups: we have the stimulant class medications which are amphetamine, methylphenidate, et cetera, which help directly with inhibition. They help slow things down, they help inhibit both input that would distract us and output. It gives you the same two seconds that everybody else has, to see an emotion or an action coming up, to play it out in your mind. “If this happens then this will happen, then that'll happen. Oh, I don't want that to happen, I'll redirect it.”

The alpha agonist, of which we have two -- guanfacine and clonidine -- inhibit the energy driving the speed and intensity of response. Interesting enough, when we look at just clean effectiveness, when we measure how effective is this treatment, the alpha agonists are significantly more effective than are the stimulants. Usually that's kind of a false choice, because most people end up taking both classes of medication.

A very special type, I think, of emotional dysregulation is -- again a terrible technical term -- what's called Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. We actually don't know what it is. It's much too early to tell. But it does seem to be a thing with which many people with ADHD identify. There was a brief article from ADDitude that got posted on Reddit, on their subreddit on ADHD; that particular posting got twice as many responses, in less than a month, than any other posting that had ever been put on that subreddit. It really touched a lot of people in a strong way.

In my own checklist, when I'm asking about Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, the question I have is: “For your entire life, in other words going all the way back into childhood, have you always been much more sensitive than other people you know to rejection, teasing, criticism, or your own perception that you’ve failed or fallen short?” This is directly from a psychiatric textbook, an old one, and it's the definition of a technical term, for psychiatrists called Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria.

It's important to note, this is all a matter of degree. No one likes being rejected or criticized. Everybody hates it when we fail, we fall short, especially in front of other people. Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria is much more intense, and is much more than this universal discomfort.

When they were originally doing the research on this particular idea, 45 years ago, they wanted to get that intensity right up there in the name, and so they chose the word dysphoria -- which unfortunately happens to be Greek -- but it means “unbearable”. Because that was the description they were getting from people over and over and over again. Again, for reasons unknown, people with rejection sensitivity have trouble describing what the intense emotion is all about. They can describe its intensity -- “it's awful, it's terrible, it's catastrophic,” -- but not the quality of the mood. And so, over and over again, these research subjects would finally just tell the researcher, “Look, man, back off. I can't find words to tell you what this awful feeling feels like, but I want you to know I can hardly stand it.” And so that's where the word dysphoria came from. A researcher at Harvard who decided to put it into Greek, but that unbearable quality is very much a part of what's going on, a part of the experience of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria.

It's extremely common in people with ADHD; my guess is that about 95% of my patients report it as a significant impairment, and about a third of my patients say that it is by far the most impairing part of their ADHD. For the majority of people, and most occurrences, it is not that particularly disruptive, but when it hits, it turns your life upside down.

So how is rejection sensitivity experienced? There's no warning. It hits out of the blue; there's no way to protect yourself from it. It happens all at once, it goes from zero to a hundred percent instantaneously. It is commonly experienced as being physically painful, as if someone just punched you in the chest or punched you in the stomach -- there's an aching in the core of your being.

Once it gets started it seems to be largely uncontrollable until it's run its course, whatever it is. The quality of the mood is indescribable. Most people struggle to find any words at all to describe this feeling, even though it's massively intense. The duration can be a few minutes to several months. It's a very potent experience and can make it very difficult to risk ever being rejected or criticized again.

If this very intense emotional reaction is internalized, it looks for all the world like an instantaneous major depression, complete with suicidal thinking. And so a lot of times people do get a diagnosis of major depression, because the clinician they're working with fails to pick up the triggered, instantaneous nature of the onset of that depressive-looking syndrome. If it's externalized, it presents as a rage that is directed at the person or situation that wounded them so terribly. In fact, being “wounded” is is a very common description. This sort of sudden trigger change, with an intense emotional response, not uncommonly leads to a misdiagnosis of borderline character organization.

So if you can't see it coming, and you can't do anything once it's happened, how do people try and protect themselves from episodes of rejection sensitivity happening in the first place? Some people use perfectionism; they try to be above reproach. They feel driven to be the very best at everything they do. These are the penultimate overachievers. It works, but it's also an absolutely terrible, driven way in which to live.

By far the most common response is that people become people pleasers. They are constantly scanning everybody around them and trying to figure out what that person wants or would approve of, and that's what they give them, so much so that it is the to the exclusion of what they want for their own lives. These are people who take care of others, please others, to the exclusion of any sort of gratification in their own lives.

Another very common way that people try to deal with this is that they give up trying anything new, giving up anything in which they might fail or be embarrassed. I have hundreds of patients who have never been able to apply for a job or ask someone of the opposite sex out for a date. Just the imagination of being told no is so frightening, so devastating, that they just say, “No, I'm not going there. I'll sit this one out.”

One of the most effective ways of dealing with this are the alpha agonist medications, and when they work they can be almost completely effective. Alpha agonist again is a tongue twisting name, but it's not as tongue-twisting as the full name, which is alpha-2 selective adrenergic agonists. So you can see why we shorten it a bit. They were originally blood pressure medications that came on the market in the early 1980s. They worked very poorly -- when they did work, at most they lowered blood pressure about 10%, which was measurable but it still required other things that needed to be done in order to get most people's blood pressure down into a therapeutic range.

We have two of them, guanfacine which was marketed both as immediate release and extended release under the name of Intuniv, and clonidine, which was marketed under the trade name of Kapvay, both as an immediate release product and as a delayed release product. They have been used as a treatment of the hyperactive component of ADHD for more than 30 years, so these are not new medications for the field of ADHD. They're very much the treatment of choice for the “hyperactive, disruptive, and obnoxious little boy” that is what most people have in their minds when they consider the notion of “What does a person with ADHD look like?”

The exact mechanism of action of these medications both in ADHD and especially in rejection sensitivity is highly unclear. We really don't know -- we have a couple of ideas but they are very definitely theoretical. The only thing that we know for sure is that the stimulants don't work by stimulating anything, and that the alpha agonists don't work by being alpha agonists. How they do work is completely unknown.

We have two medications, they seem to work equally well, so there's nothing that would lead you to choose one over the other. The problem is that the robust response that we're looking for that really changes people's lives, is disappointingly low -- at about 30% to either molecule. Luckily that 30% is a different 30% of people, so that 30% of people get a good response to guanfacine but it's largely a different 30% that get a response to clonidine. So if the first medication tried does not work, it makes good clinical sense that that one should be stopped and the other one tried. There was an unfortunately worded sentence in an article I wrote for ADDitude several years ago that gave the impression that you could use the two medications together; they should not be used together. You try one, if that doesn't work you try the other.

The typical dose of either one is in the range of three milligrams of guanfacine per day or about three tenths of a milligram of clonidine per day. If you take all the people who get a good robust response to either one of these medications, about 80% are going to end up at these doses, so it's by far the most common dose.

There are of course side effects. Anything that's going to adjust the adrenaline system of the body is going to have the potential for sedation as a side effect, and this does occur for about 25% of people. It's usually mild and it does go away -- over a period of several months. So a person has to be fairly patient with that. It can cause dry mouth, and it's by a different mechanism then the stimulants can cause dry mouth, so the two of them together can really make your mouth cottony dry. And the third one is an accentuation of a universal experience we've all had, when we stand up quickly and suddenly and we get dizzy, get kind of a head rush, vision goes a bit gray. The technical term for it is orthostasis. And this can happen more frequently when you take the alpha agonist medications.

The benefits of the alpha agonist medications take a while to develop. When you change the dose it takes five days for the benefits to develop, so once again they're not like the stimulants where what you see is what you get at one hour. It takes a while for these medications to work and to see all that they can do.

Now just as a side note, Strattera has been looked at in two studies for emotional dysregulation and the results have been what they call mixed. If they did work it was only to a very minimal degree, almost undetectable, so Strattera does not seem to be a medication one could use and expect to have it help with emotional dysregulation.

So in summary, emotional dysregulation is a basic feature of ADHD, is almost universal in ADHD, and it should be considered as a core symptom of ADHD that ought to be evaluated in every initial evaluation. Rejection sensitivity…it's unclear yet -- this is an old concept that has only been brought up in the last couple of years. Its exact nature is still unclear. It does seem to be a specific form of emotional dysregulation, especially in regard that it does respond very well to medication. But again, how it fits into emotional dysregulation is completely unclear at this point. It does seem to be something that's really important, though. It is a thing that resonates with a large number of people with ADHD.

#adhd #sam has adhd #rejection sensitive dysphoria #RSD #emotional dysregulation #Youtube

[bogleech]

Guess I have to make a main thread about this. Someone decided to fight with me in the notes on this post just yesterday about Gaza and made select responses of mine into a callout thread here, where they say my anger towards the IDF is all a cover for antisemitism. This didn't make any sense, because they said they were also against the IDF killing civilians, and I repeatedly said that Jewish people aren't to blame for the IDF or represented by the IDF in any way, putting us supposedly both on the exact same page. What gerry leaves out of their own screenshots, and I'd actually forgotten, is that at first they came at me from an angle that I was disrespecting the victims in Gaza.

So this implies they feel gaza is being subjected to a genocide, and a pretty big one, since they're upset my language made it sound "smaller and tamer." When it becomes obvious that I do in fact consider it a serious genocide, that's when they switch over to saying that my criticism of Netanyahu or the IDF is inherently an attack on Jewish people.

Notice I never actually said "zionists" in this screenshot, even, but that I defined "regular humans" as humans who don't want to kill innocent families. That would automatically include Jewish people since they overall do not wish to kill anyone, but have in fact spent quite a lot more time trying not to get killed. I believe there may be entire books about this fact! I think there's even whole museums about it, if I'm not mistaken?!

So then they pivot to saying I'm an antisemite because I said the IDF and its supporters can "burn in hell," and they say "invoking hell" is an antisemitic dogwhistle, which is definitely news to me?!

So I tried to clarify, again, that I'm only angry at the people who are themselves killing civilians and the "pro-genocide maniacs" who defend the killing of civilians, which they responded to as if I had "lumped them in" with those. You can just see right there that I didn't make any assumption that they were a part of that at all. Thanks to their earlier comments I still thought I was speaking to someone 100% against the IDF's actions, but every time I said that the killers and their advocates alone are bad, they've framed it in some new way as me just not liking anyone Jewish. So now that you have that context:

...In a response to an ask, they finally just say they hated me to begin with and set out with the intention to "bait and sealion" me (their own words!!) into saying something they hoped would be antisemitic, which they believe was successful despite me never saying anything about Jews other than "this isn't their fault." They saw what they admittedly wanted to, so strongly, that they show me saying "this isn't the fault of Jews" as evidence that I blame Jews. But speaking of people "going mask off"

In multiple more recent posts and asks, this person appears to say that they simply do not believe the IDF is really targeting children or ambulances or relief aid, that "none of those are true," and the deliberate targeting of any children is supposedly just a conspiracy theory??? So I guess they did successfully troll me and I feel like a real gullible dumbass, because the only reason I continued responding to this person in the first place was that they said they were in fact against the ongoing massacre. Instead, these comments sound like they think the IDF is being unfairly vilified by dishonest propagandists, and that's why they hated me enough to try and fish for callout fuel. That's the nastiest fucking thing anyone's yet pulled on me about this and it's not one that I'm just going to ignore. I should have smelled a troll early on and just blocked them, but it's SO hard for me to suspect ulterior motives. I always go in thinking people mean well, and that there's just a miscommunication we can work out. I almost feel like this individual noticed that and tried to exploit it?!? Unfortunately I'm sure this kind of thing will happen again simply because I don't intend to obediently shut up about what's being done to Gaza. It's not logistically possible for the death and destruction to all just be accidental collateral damage. Don't let anybody ever fool you into thinking the IDF is the face of the Jewish community or vice-versa, just as you can't let anyone fool you into thinking Hamas represents all Palestinians. Especially don't engage this person, stop doing so if you have been, and block them.

#free palestine #gaza #idf #genocide #psa

[obeymematches]

MC acting oblivious!

since you're accepting hcs now, how about an mc whos a big tease/bully (aka mammons worst nightmare lol)? im quick to realize when someone has a crush on me and when i like them back i turn into the biggest tease on earth until the other person confesses. im good at acting oblivious so its always "wait, they cant possibly know i like them, right??" poor, poor souls lmao. so im wondering how the brothers+undateables would handle an mc like that! keep up the great work! 💕

Hi, good to see you again !!! <3 

okay i love this so much lets go ! 

Lucifer: 

Okay so in his case it’s mentioned several times that he is in love with the MC so this ain’t just some crush he’s being teased about but that’s one of the reasons why he loves you so much.  

He is rather guarded emotianlly as his pride isn’t going to let him just fall for anyone. But once he does he is not going to deny it!  

Lucifer is someone who will ask you out on a date without a warning. The only thing you might notice beforehead is that he spends suspiciously lots of his time with you. (by a lot in his case I mean something in between 30 and 60 mins every second day. he’s a busy man) 

Him: My schedule is tight today but I would like to spend time with you, MC, would you care to join me at a confectionary?  MC: sounds like you’re very busy, are you sure about that? 🥺 Him,  slightly offended but still lovingly: Yes, MC. Let me express myself better... would you please have a date with me today? MC: oh....um-

Mammon:

● oh god, oh jesus, oh no

● We all know The Great Mammon has a hard time admitting his feelings out loud, with words, bluntly.

● So the way I see it, the situation is about to be Awkward As Hell.

● Mammon is clearly sweating, butterflies occupying his entire stomach, he fiddles with his nails.

● Him: So MC, I was thinking- I mean I'm thinking- wanna go skating with me tonight?

MC: Oh that's a very romantic idea- but I think friends don't just go skating, you know.

Him: Friends??! I don't wanna be just your friend MC-

You: Then? Then what?

Him: Goddamn I- I just want to be yours- Jesus ya are makin' it so difficult MC, it is not easy as is!!

Leviathan:

● ahh the frustrated face he makes through this conversation isn't just a facade. He really is stressing right now.

● Him: MC.... there is something I must tell you. And you only. Please listen and don't tell anyone!

MC: Don't worry Levi, I too hate people who gossip-

Him: No it's not like that. I have a desire in my heart that I must share with you as you are the most special person I ever met and I can only hope you feel the same way for me and- I feel so embarassed but I've been meaning to ask you this- would you be my partner? My player 2?

MC: well if you wanted me to play you could have just said so like you always do-

Levi: What?? Is that what you understood? No MC you don't get it! Ahhh I knew I shouldn't have asked you my chances with you are close to zero-

MC: Wait Levi I'm so sorry-

Satan:

● You could tell he was acting different these past couple of days. He was texting you more, he offered to spend more time with you- it was obvious he likes you.

● He knocked on your bedroom door and as you liked him just as much as he liked you, of course you let him in.

● I think you acting like you don't know what's going on turns him on? Like he know you ain't stupid. He knows you like him at least a little bit too, otherwise he wouldn't be here talking with you.

● Him: So MC, are you free now?

MC: Well, it depends on how you define "free" I think.

Him: Oh quit it please.

MC: I would if I knew what you were up to right now-

Him: Alright. You are going to make it more complicated, I see. In this case, meet me at 4PM at the common room. Please. I'd like to take you on a date if you're free.

MC: Inside the house? Weird if you ask me-

Him: ...... you are right actually. Let's meet at the park then. Don't be late.

Asmo:

● Again he would absolutely love you acting like you noticed nothing when he couldn't be more clear about what he wants.

● He knows this game though & he is quicker than you are.

● Him, cuddling you: So MC I have been thinking about us....what are we?

● MC: We are.... the best. Me, a human, and you, a demon.

Him: Nooooo, you know that's not what I meant!!!

MC: Well I don't know what you mean Asmo. Aren't we though?

Him: Aren't we what? A human and a demon?? Ahhhhg stop playing with me MC!

Beelzebub:

● Ohh babe is going to believe you actually don't know what' going on-

● I think he'd find it funny when he realizes you were just acting like such-

Him: MC. I like you.

MC: Okay, I like you too. That's why I'm your friend.

Him: Yes we are friends I know... but to me you are the first person I want to talk to if anything happens, good or bad... you are on my mind all the time, no matter what- I haven't felt like this in my entire life- you are the most special person to me, MC.

MC: Ohhh... I didn't realize-

Him: I only went out with Mammon yesterday because I thought... I was hoping you'd be there to, that you'd join... I just wanted to spend more time with you. But you weren't there. Let's go somewhere together today- I mean, if you want to-

Belphegor:

● MC you are about to annoy him to deatg to be fair.

● Depending on his mood he might join you though!!!

Him: So human- I mean MC. Let's hang out today.

MC: We already do.

Him: I meant as a date, stop playing stupid.

MC: I don't like being called stupid. Is this how you are asking me out on a date??

Him: See I knew you knew what I meant!

MC: Why would you ask me on a date though, aren't we just friends?

Him: .....

Him: We could change that- I want to be your one and only.

MC: Well if you are my one and only friend I might get lonely when you're too busy for me though-

Him: Stop it don't say another word. Are you coming today or not? MC? You listening?

MC: you just asked me to shut up-

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me satan #swd obey me #obey me! #obey me swd #obey me luci #obey me lucifer #obey me luci x reader #obey me luci x mc #obey me x you #obey me x reader #obey me satan x mc #mammon x mc #mammon x reader #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo x reader #obey me asmo x mc #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me levi #obey me x mc #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x y/n #omswd

[fumifooms]

Laios Touden and autism; admiring the non-human

Do you think people exaggerate when they scream about Laios being autistic? Do you feel like it’s weird that so many people including autistics are so set on Laios, the problematic (but incredible and kind) king TM, being the most autistic that has ever autisticed? Why do we cheer on autistic people wanting to be monsters?? Isn’t that weird?

Well, of course it depends on the way it’s done, it can be done quite offensively, but long story short Kui blew it out of the park. The thing is, autistic people really do like monsters and animals and robots. Nonhuman does not mean subhuman, it just means Other. Feeling a connection with them has been shown to be an extremely common autistic experience for that very reason.

Because some people don’t understand why we autistic Tumblr Laios stans cheer “autism! Autism!” whenever he talks about monsters and feeling alienated to humans so! Here’s a post about how yes even research papers are analyzing the special connection we form with animals. I’m not even joking but Laios Touden & the mass cries of relatability with autistic people he gets and all the love for him could be used as study material and evidence for future papers because the link is that strong. Oh also I think it’s notable that being autistic and undiagnosed vs diagnosed makes a huge difference. In my experience as someone who was undiagnosed up until 18, it’s even more alienating to not know that there’s a reason why you’re different, being gaslit that you’re ‘normal’ and you just need to try harder and get with the program, etc. Personally when getting diagnosed I went through the 5 stages of grief because the thought of having been fundamentally different all your life (a difference which you will never be able to change) and mistreated for it when you weren’t “wrong” all along makes you unload all the anger and sadness and loneliness and sheer trauma you’ve built up over time. Like it’s world shattering.

So! Back to seeing dogs as family. Also I implore you to value experiential evidence when it comes to autism and other neurodivergences because brains are complicated and neurotypicals not being able to understand us well even with scientific research is like, a whole thing even though we’re right there speaking about how we feel and being right every time because the topic is literally us and how we experience the world. 

Disclaimer for this whole post that, of course, no group is a monolith and everyone has different experiences or can diverge from the norm of the group, and that doesn’t diminish the validity of either side! Like, I know autistic people who have trauma with dogs and hate them. But, trends do happen, and in this case... Autism is very “My experiences with humans make me feel dehumanized in a bad and lonely way so instead I’ll dehumanize myself in a good and inspiring way”.

“I was treated like a failed human my entire life and you’re surprised that my response was to become a dog.” -Patricia Taxxon

It’s literally well recorded that autistic people relate to animals more than humans globally. With this post, besides spreading autistic Laios truthism and explaining why the portrayal hits so deep for so many,  I want to show in what way this is a very specific experience and not looking at his character through an autistic lense really misses a lot of why he’s everything that he is. (Tacking allegedly onto here for legal reasons, different interpretations are valid etc etc /gen). This honestly isn’t super long though.

To define an important term, anthropomorphism in the studies and in this post means to attribute human traits to the nonhuman, which not only includes anthro furry designs but also animals irl, inanimate objects, and animated media as opposed to live action, to humanize them and empathize with them.

Paper: https://www.liebertpub.com/doi/10.1089/aut.2019.0027 

“Dogs taught me how to hunt and socialize and work in groups”, Laios having internalized body language... So real so real. I, too, make a great dog impression. And I want to emphase the part that it helps greatly develop a sense of emotions and relationships! For Laios, he didn’t get along with kids his age, it was him, Falin and the dogs against the world. Since it’s a group of dogs too, it taught him group dynamics and social hierarchies (like with Falin being considered as being below the dogs in authority according to the dogs rip), and the importance of group coordination when hunting.

For me, I cannot like, concisely explain just how much animals were important to me developmentally. I also grew up with dogs, but like I vividly remember encounters with like hamsters as well just radically shaping my understanding of boundaries, the importance of giving something space and the way you interact with them and respect their side of it. Unlike humans they don’t really mask how they feel, it’s direct cause-effect reaction and data gathering. There are no words involved, so the focus on having a perfect phrasing and tone is gone, leaving just pure interactions. 

There’s also no reason to mask how you feel either, and you don’t have to feel silly over wanting to form a connection and it showing, what, is the dog gonna laugh at you because you obviously want to make friends with it? Toshiro or Kabru might, but dogs and cats will just tell you to fuck off and leave it there worst case scenario. I often say that I think one reason Marcille is special to Laios and he feels comfortable around her is because she emotes INTENSELY, she gestures, she puts her whole body into it, her facial expressions are pretty exaggerated and her ears even emote too- like with a dog’s ears!

I think there’s def also things to be said about how he gravitated towards Izutsumi at first, all excited, was eager to sleep in the same bed as her, but in the Izutsumi sleep rating chart we see they really just casual and chill so it’s not a Laios talking to Shuro deep into the night situation just a “I like sleeping besides animals” situation and that is enough to hype him up. I love how he pet her in the extra about why Chil let her sleep with him too. He’s just so transparently eager to befriend her, even if in the end they weren’t all that compatible and he accepted that.

There are honestly so many examples I could give for this. Like Grandin the famous cow lady.

More about autism & empathy:

https://www.spectrumnews.org/news/double-empathy-explained/ (Also mentions a study in which groups of autistic, allistic then a mixed group played a game of telephone and both singular groups had similar levels of information retention, but the mixed group was significantly worse. As an autistic person yeah duh, obviously autistic people are different from one another and can have plenty of interpersonal issues, but communicating with other neurodivergent people feels pretty intuitive and straightforward and comfortable. One of the reasons why neurodivergent people tend to naturally gravitate towards each other I suppose.) 

^ Paper: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5932358/  For good, extensive summary of why we relate to animals so much you can go to the “anthromorphizing and asd” section of the paper. This paper extends to our widespread liking of cartoons and robots as well. Ok so this is a whole thing I won’t get into here but this is a big reason why a lot of autistic people are agender leaning as well. Genders and queerness in general is a lot about social constructs, and being queer is being marginal to these, not fitting into boxes or challenging those social norms and conventions. Queerplatonic relationships are a great example of this, where the framework of the relationship is platonic but the intangible nature of what it is exactly is the point, not familial not anything but everything at once too, just adoration, I like to say having pets is a bit like it as well, bc obvi it’s not romantic and often not fully familial, very platonic but also sooo much cuddling and adoration and kissing and whatnot that you wouldn’t typically do with a friend or family member. I’ll talk about qpr and labels another day though.

I got carried away but queerness in Dunmeshi is something I 100% want to make a big post on one day. Experiencing the world with different guidelines and not registering things to have the same boxes, sigh. Personally I also relate to Laios on a gender level, “cis by default because I don’t care all that much but if I were to dig deeper I’m probably otherkin and I want to be socially associated with traits of monsters and animalistic rather than man/woman” sighh hard to be a cryptid in this day and age. I wish we had a term like furry but for monsters, I want to be in the fantasy or folk tale genre ty, like changelings. Goshh changelings... You know, the irl myth where people said their neurodivergent kids were fairies’ children instead of human. Diminished physical sense of self means I see myself as some unknowable black  void aesthetic wise, but like in a way that simultaneously makes me feel seen. Like becoming a monster, losing your sense of self but also somehow just being simplified and seen for what you are, it’s weird to try and explain. This post is more about relating to the nonhuman than about seeing yourself as such, but like connect the dots right, that IS an important point of Laios’ character. It’s because our brains literally work different than allistics which makes us feel as other, but also because of social ostracization and functioning in a different way than society at large, living in the margin of society, being weird and non-conforming.

Meanwhile, animals and social norms... Like ok, showing your neck and rolling on the ground to show that you’re friendly and harmless and play biting might not be proper. But have you considered that it’s also fun and feels very intuitive. Play with a dog in the dog’s way I promise it is so nice and freeing. Play tug of war and growl back when they growl. Hiss at your cat to tell them they do something wrong, engage with them on their level.

Autism made social life hard, but it made animals easy. Do you have anyyy idea how good it feels to mask all day every day and feel constantly misunderstood or like you’re doing a performance but then you can just, drop all of that in the company of animals and they understand you. They understand you. You form an understanding and rapport so easily.

And this whole thing with Laios is so explicit too, with the Winged Lion saying “You’re sick and tired of the human world”. Notice the choice of words. Sick and tired of the human world. Exhausted from the constraints, sick of the mind games. It really isn’t as much about loving monsters as it is about loving the nonhuman. Relating to them because you feel that you can actually understand how they work and think, and feeling like they could understand you back as well. Animals are safe.

Like I could go on about how Laios admiring even just demi-humans like orcs is because they’re socially seen as non-humans more than any true physical thing, that they’re not bound by human society and its rules and live with their own lifestyle. But it would deal myself 1000 points of psychic damage and I am not ready to cry today. It’s idealization 100%, and like, Laios DOES want to be treated as human, to be valued, but it feels like an unreachable thing meanwhile becoming a monster is instant gratification and freedom and a sense that now no one will be able to hurt you in a way that reaches you, never again shall you be defenseless, and then if people dehumanize you then that only strengthens your sense of identity as a monster and UGHH ugh ugh.

And like. This post is a mess at this point but if you want to kinda delve into the more “why” then I recommend this Patricia Taxxon video essay. It starts out on a very different topic, but it’s all about autism and finding comfort in the inhuman. Long story short is othering made us like this also animals are just simpler to intuitively get along with.

So when I post this

I mean it. I really mean it when I say he’s me. I have never felt so seen. So many conflicting emotions all wrapped so concisely yet so intangibly woven into the whole storyline so subtly. 

Not being depicted as a monster of an human being for feeling/having felt that way?? The manga understands you. The world can understand you. Other humans can understand you. You can bond with them. You can. And I think that’s a big part of Dungeon Meshi too- Laios opening up to others about how he really is and his interests, and all the bumps on the way but how it was the only way to truly get to know each other and bond. With the climax being Laios confronting head on his complex with monsters and humans, and his monster-loving side and animalistic side being exactly what saves the whole world, what saves humanity. Because Laios does value his friends, does think humanity has beautiful sides to it, he wants to help it thrive and eat and become more accepting, carving out a kingdom for misfits and demi-humans. At the end of it, transforming into a monster and being free is a daydream fantasy, and the reality of it is that Laios does belong in the world as he is, and does receive and give out love.

If you enjoyed this you’ll probably like some of my other Laios analysis!  Here’s an analysis of his succubus and what it says about his relationships with other humans. And here’s an analysis about his relationship with Shuro from his perspective.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #laios touden #character analysis #i guess #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #spoilers #autistic laios touden #asd #autism representation #meta #draft so old it uses the old Tumblr post editor #it would be much better if i could put them side to side rip #i also wanna do an analysis trying to pin down his level of social awareness #i love that the monster story epic saga about misfits and your place in the world on an ecosystem level is just sooo autistic so perfect #this post has a weird structure but hopefully it can showcase some things and make ppl understand and others relate! I know we're out there #hiii therians how we feeling today. Brain chemistry is weird but ours is just wired different not broken #feeling self-conscious bc even with studies this is the equivalent of going 'trust me bro I get it' which usually doesn't go well with us #Humanity is beautiful <3333 Humans are social animals broski love yourself!!!

[subskz]

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 03

note: this is part 3 of a series (part 1, part 2, part 4, part 5)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, slight jealousy, brief mentions of alcohol, sickness, academic stress, angst, hurt/comfort, crying, chan has a bit of a breakdown, bathing scene, nsfw scenes

18+ content: sub chan, dom reader, praise, possessiveness, biting/marking, the slightest hint of exhibitionism, chan is very needy, stopping in the middle of a scene, oral (reader receiving), lots of begging, crying during and after sex, nursing, handjob, aftercare

word count: 22.6k

There were parts of Chan in everything you did now.

It took a while, but eventually, it dawned on you with a strange sort of delight that you’d subconsciously taken on his habit of pressing his lips together into a thin line—when giving a quick smile, when lost in thought, and, most importantly, when silently dissatisfied. For such a subtle movement, you found that, at times, it expressed your frustration better than voicing it ever could. A Chan-like quality, through and through.

Likewise, he’d adopted your habit of reaching up to brush the tip of your nose whenever you felt self-conscious. Of all the quirks he could’ve picked up on, naturally, it had to be one he could make ample use of. Now, any time your gaze lingered on him for a bit longer than necessary (which admittedly, was often) his thumb would swipe over the adorable apex of his nose, a shy half-smile following the action like clockwork. It took some audacity, really, for him to steal a mannerism of yours and make it infinitely more endearing.

Even less obvious details were fair game for the two of you to snatch up, from mirroring each other’s walks, to parroting certain words and phrases. You’d melded into one another, so much that, in some cases, you weren’t quite sure which traits he’d gotten from you, and which traits you’d gotten from him.

You wondered if the marks you’d left on each other were what had landed you in the situation you found yourself in now.

“Betrayal! That’s what this is! A Sanrio pencil stabbed straight through my giant, loving heart!”

It had been a good five minutes of this. Changbin was back from summer break—skin tanned, hair fluffy, muscles somehow more defined than ever—and with the way his voice echoed shamelessly throughout the cafe, he was making sure everyone knew it. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to greet him properly before the one-man show (which you’d prepared for, but clearly not enough) began; starring none other than Seo Changbin himself, of course.

“Please calm down before you get us kicked out.”

“Calm down, she says!” he cried. “You’re a real scary person, y’know that? Hiding this from me, your good friend, Changbin—your best friend, Changbin—all this time!”

You felt a tinge of guilt for what wasn’t the first time. Despite the melodrama of it all, you knew that he had a point. There was no reason for you to have kept something like this from him for so long, especially when it involved not only one, but two of his closest friends.

“I’m sorry, Bin,” you sighed. “I really did wanna tell you. I was just worried it’d make everything so awkward.”

“Well, of course it’s awkward,” he agreed. “But I still want to know! At least that way, we can feel awkward together!”

Something about his reasoning made you soften. It was just like him, to be more concerned that he’d missed out on the chance of being a supportive friend rather than the potential mess that could stem from your involvement with Chan. You would probably do well to have a little more faith in people—a message the universe seemed to have been hammering into your brain a great deal lately.

“Maybe I would’ve told you if you’d talked to me more than once over your entire vacation,” you teased.

Changbin’s mouth fell open in protest, suddenly finding himself playing defense. “Twice!” he corrected indignantly. “And don't try to spin this on me! What about when you called me, huh? That was the perfect opportunity!”

“The perfect opportunity?” you echoed in disbelief. “In that case, I’ll be sure to follow up your birthday wishes next year with news that I’m dating your best friend.”

“Scary, scary person,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m almost afraid to ask for a hug—you’re not gonna put a knife in my back are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “What’s in the air back home that makes you act like this?”

Still, you felt nothing but fondness as you leaned fully into him, letting it sink in for the first time just how happy you were to see him again. With the way his big arms squeezed around you, you knew he wasn’t truly upset either—even if, quite frankly, he had a right to be.

“I missed you, though,” you patted his back. “You and all your drama.”

“Well, I missed you too,” he huffed. Just when you thought he might be ready to drop the theatrics and move on, he pulled away from the hug, a horrified look forming on his face.

“Oh my God…have I been third wheeling this entire time?”

“Get in line, Seo Changbin.”

His nagging and whining eventually died down, morphing into more playful jabs as the two of you ordered your drinks and found a table to sit at. Exactly as you’d predicted, once he’d recovered from the initial shock, he was all proud grins and smug righteousness, preaching on and on about how he’d told you so from day one and how you should never doubt him or his genius intuition ever again.

“I was mostly joking when I said all that stuff about you falling in love with him, y’know,” he clicked his tongue. “Didn’t think you’d actually go and do it.”

“I’m not in love with him,” you tried to retort, but much to your dismay, your voice cracked right as you uttered the dreaded word.

“No way,” Changbin broke out into cackles of pure glee. “Don’t tell me you went and had a secret wedding without me, too?”

You shoved your straw into your iced coffee with a bit too much force, face heating up. “The more you laugh, the more you sound like someone who isn’t getting his belated birthday present.”

At that, he clamped his jaws shut, giggles halting with a speed that was almost impressive. “Sorry, sorry,” he gave you a sheepish grin. “Behaving, now.”

“How’d you find out, anyway? Did Chan tell you?”

“Nah. Though, I should’ve guessed just from the way he gets whenever you’re brought up. All shy and smiley, it’s honestly kinda nauseating.”

He scrunched his nose up in distaste, but the words had no real edge to them. In fact, there was nothing but affection there. It made your heart skip a beat, embarrassingly enough, to know that just the mention of you was all it took to have that kind of effect on Chan. Every time you thought you couldn’t possibly be more taken by him, he proved you wrong.

“If not Chan, then who?” you hesitated before asking. “Minho?”

“Hey,” the whine was back in his voice. “Why’s it so hard for you to believe I figured it out myself?”

You said nothing, smiling around your straw and sipping contently away at your coffee.

“Yes, it was Minho,” he grumbled.

Though you’d been expecting it, the confirmation still made your skin crawl, overtaking Chan’s warmth with a cold discomfort. You hadn’t seen or heard from Minho since your encounter in the convenience store a few weeks ago, and each time you thought back to him, the pit of unease in your stomach grew stronger. You wondered just how much he’d told Changbin. Judging by his behavior that day, he seemed to be aware of everything—whether he was the type to mince his words, or to expose it all without a care in the world, you weren’t quite sure. Even if you’d spent more time around the guy before he’d decided to switch up on you, you got the feeling that you still wouldn’t have any clearer insight into how his mind worked.

“Speaking of Minho,” you began slowly. “Has he…said anything lately?”

Changbin snorted. “He’s said a lot of things.”

“Sorry. I mean, like, about me.”

“I don’t think so,” he squinted, eyeing you up and down. “Why? Are you planning on picking off my friends one by one?”

It was lighthearted, just a joke, but it nearly made you grimace. You’d be glad to never even cross paths with Minho again if it meant avoiding that harsh, accusatory glare that had yet to fade from your mind. Experiencing it once was more than enough.

“C’mon, Bin. It’s nothing like that.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what you said last time.”

You gave a half-hearted chuckle in response, only noticing a moment too late how unconvincing it’d come out. It caught his attention, and he glanced up from his drink to give you a curious look.

“Everything alright?”

You were reluctant to confide in Changbin about the matter, both to avoid burdening him with something so silly, and because of the very unavoidable fact that Minho was just as dear a friend to him as Chan. He’d only just found out about your relationship; immediately piling its potential problems on him was the last thing you wanted to do. At the same time, however, you figured it was better to ask someone who knew Minho well before you jumped to conclusions. Not to mention, Changbin might genuinely believe you were interested in rounding up all his friends if you didn’t clarify why you’d brought up the subject of Minho in the first place.

“I saw him a few weeks ago, and he was being kinda weird.”

“No issues there.”

“Not in his usual way, though—at least, I don’t think so?” you tried to be careful with your words, acutely aware of how sensitive you may come off if you chose the wrong ones. “I just got the feeling that he doesn’t really like me all that much. So, I was wondering if he’s brought it up with you.”

Changbin frowned, taking a moment to mull over what you’d said.

“You think Minho doesn’t like you?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. “What’d he say to you?”

“Just some weird things about me and Chan,” you shrugged. “It almost felt like he was trying to intimidate me, or something. Like, he thinks I have bad intentions.”

A troubled look crossed his face—brief, but just long enough to foster your unease. He went quiet for a few moments, nibbling thoughtfully on his bottom lip, then, at last, gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Nah, that can’t be it.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Minho knows you’re not like that,” he said simply. “And he wouldn’t just hate you for no reason, either. Definitely not it.”

You made a small noise of acknowledgement, pretending to understand what he meant, but Changbin still seemed to sense that he hadn’t gotten through to you.

“You’ve seen the way he acts around us, right? He’s probably just messing with you now that he feels more comfortable,” his voice mellowed. “He might seem difficult, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s a pretty great guy, actually. Soft at heart.”

“I believe you,” you murmured. You didn’t doubt for a second that he was a good friend to Changbin and Chan; you’d witnessed it firsthand in the time you’d spent around them. The problem was, you seemed to have done something to land yourself as the target of his inexplicable wrath, and you weren’t sure how to get yourself out of the line of aim before his eyes pierced an arrow straight through you.

“Maybe you’re right. I must’ve just misunderstood him.”

“He’s easy to misunderstand,” Changbin reassured you. An unpleasant thought appeared to cross his mind, twisting the small smile tugging at his lips right back into a frown. “Just…don’t tell him I said any of that. He didn’t put you up to this, did he?”

“Of course not,” you grinned. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Though you weren’t entirely sold on Changbin’s reasoning, it was at least worth a shot to reconcile with Minho before completely giving up on a positive relationship with him. It wasn’t even so much that you were hurt by his unexpected hostility, you just wanted to know what had caused it. You wanted to fix it.

In fact, you were determined to fix it. For both your sakes, and—most importantly—for Chan’s, you were going to make it right.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

College parties, as it turned out, were still very plainly, very aggressively, not your scene. Even with Chan and Changbin there, even with some of the most talented students on campus putting on performances that were, unsurprisingly, really, really good, even with the three-month long promise of getting to see 3RACHA live finally coming to fruition, you were having a hard time enjoying yourself.

You didn’t think it was possible to be experiencing this many different emotions at once. Every one of your senses was suffocated with something. The stinging smell of alcohol, the uncomfortable sheen of sweat on your skin, the perpetual ringing in your ears, the swarming mass of people, and the residual taste of artificial strawberry—the only refreshment you’d managed to take a few sips of before being swept away into the crowd over an hour ago. You were overwhelmed, you were exhilarated, you were anxious, you were impatient. You appeared completely calm amidst the chaos ensuing all around you, yet somehow, were more of a mess internally than even the most intoxicated of attendees.

You’d spent a majority of your time scattered, tossed amongst your friends at random intervals throughout the night. Fifteen minutes with Changbin before he and Jisung had retreated to the bathroom to practice their lyrics, twenty minutes with Iseul before she and her boyfriend had gotten into a heated argument about him not matching the energy of her dancing (something you were sure to get earful of later), thirty minutes with various friends from class before realizing in dismay that they consisted almost exclusively of touchy and crybaby drunks, and a mere five minutes with Chan.

Shortly after the party had begun, you’d arrived to find him already looking cheerfully exhausted. He’d been there for hours already, having offered to help the committee with all the setup and decorations for the event. Even once the festivities were in full swing, he was still dashing around the venue left and right, assisting with soundchecks and the transfer of equipment with hardly any time to prepare for his own performance, let alone to socialize. It warmed your heart as much as it tugged at it. Even on a night where he should be his own top priority, he was still bending over backwards to help everyone else but himself.  

It lasted until he was all but forced to stop, dragged away by Changbin and Jisung to set up for 3RACHA’s showcase. The moment you’d been anticipating all night—all summer, really—the sole reason you were even putting up with an environment so out of your wheelhouse to begin with, came at last. The three men shuffled on to the makeshift stage with an awkward sort of swagger that you only ever saw in them when they were together. It was like each one of them needed the other two with him to lock properly into place, to align their energies and bring out the best in each other like a finely-tuned machine. In a way, that in itself was a testament to the song they’d be performing.

The familiar sirens you’d heard countless times before, pumping through your phone speakers in a personal concert, now blared through the hall for everyone to hear. Chan’s eyes fell from the screen of his laptop where he’d been getting things situated, landing directly on you without even having to search the crowd. He gave you a grin, dimples flashing, and that was the last you saw of it for the next three minutes and thirty seconds.

You’d already had an idea of what Jisung was capable of based on the handful of 3RACHA songs you’d heard, but to see it unfold in person was something entirely different. The goofy, scatterbrained junior that always looked a bit on-edge every time you spotted him, now rapping at the speed of light with each word flowing like torrents in a stream. Something about the way he read the lyrics directly off his phone, even for a performance like this, made it all the more mesmerizing to watch. He was the kind of person you could tell was a hidden genius.

Changbin became every bit as fierce and intimidating as you’d initially believed him to be the first day you’d met. Voice raspy and eyes dark, looking straight into the crowd almost like he was challenging them with each effortless line he spit out. It served as a reminder that all his drama and flair wasn't just something you could tease him for; it was something he could own the stage with, as well. His pride radiated off of him in waves; not only in himself, but in them as a unit, and every ounce of it was justified in your eyes.

Undoubtedly the most drastic transformation, however, was Chan. From the moment Zone began, the boy you’d come to know seemed to go dormant for a while, replaced with something you’d never quite seen in him before—something approaching confidence. You thought back to that day in the library, where you’d tried to imagine in amusement how someone like him, who could hardly look you in the eye while playing snippets of his Placebo instrumental, could be the one behind such powerful lines. You didn’t have to imagine it now. He had the least parts out of the trio—you were certain he’d chosen Zone as a way to give Jisung and Changbin more time to shine—but he made just as great of an impact. You could feel the effects of it, on you and everyone else around you. There was no question about it; he belonged there.

By the time the performance was over, you could add a few new emotions to the ones swirling inside you: happiness, pride, and something else you couldn’t quite place. You found Changbin amidst the sea of people first, weaving and dodging through the crowd until you reached him, or, rather, crashed directly into him. His face broke out into a wide smile as soon as he realized it was you, barely getting the chance to say anything before you pulled him into a hug.

“So?” you could hear the giddiness in his voice as he gave you a tight squeeze.

“You killed it, Bin! That’s gotta be the best you've ever sounded,” you hoped he could hear your praises over the pandemonium. “You gonna remember me when you’re famous?”

He pulled away with a laugh, lifting his chin in—mostly—feigned bravado. “I’ll consider it,” his eyes sparkled. “Did you notice the new move I did?”

“Obviously,” you imitated his stylish salute with two fingers, and his smile grew even wider. “And what’s with that sound you made at the start of your verse?”

“It’s my new signature!” he declared.

“So cool! You’re so cool, Seo Changbin!” You threw a hand over your heart with a giggle, and he bumped his shoulder against yours, suddenly embarrassed.

If he said something in response, you didn’t quite catch it, effectively losing all focus the instant your eyes caught sight of a group of people gathered nearby. Chan was at its center, grinning from ear to ear as he tried to keep up with everyone’s chattering all at once. A visual of him you’d pictured so many times before, now right before your eyes—a charming, social butterfly who made befriending others look as simple as breathing. It truly sank in at that moment, that the boy who’d come to mean so much to you in so little time, had a whole other side to his world that you didn’t even know of. The view of his thousand-watt smile wasn’t for your eyes alone, the pieces of himself that he put into his music weren’t solely for your ears.

It made your heart sing; he should be adored. But at the same time, that sensation from earlier made its presence known once again. The girl next to him, the head organizer for the event, if you remembered correctly, reached out to touch his arm as she laughed. Her hand lingered for a moment too long, a look you knew all too well swimming in her eyes.

Oh. Suddenly, the mystery feeling wasn’t so much of a mystery anymore.

Something ignited deep within you, completely different from the familiar heat Chan set off in your skin. It was immediately followed by a wave of embarrassment. You weren’t the type to bristle over something so small—at least, you’d never thought you were. You wanted to blame it on something; the fact that you hadn’t seen Chan for most of the night, the fact that it felt a bit too reminiscent of what he used to do whenever you’d dared to take your attention off of him for even a moment. But Chan would never even think to pull anything like that, it went against his nature. His nature just so happened to entail being adored wherever he went.

You knew it was nothing more than that same selfishness that had reared its head the night you’d first slept together. Not quite insecurity, and not quite jealousy. It was rooted in something much simpler: a matter of what felt right, and what didn’t. You’d wanted to be done with the troublesome feeling from the moment you’d first encountered it—to nip it in the bud before it sprouted into something uglier—but just like everything about your relationship with Chan, it was out of your hands. It was inevitable. With the wholeness that came with his presence, an emptiness was left in his absence.

“Oh my God,” Changbin’s exasperated voice cut through the music, and, in turn, the thoughts swarming your head. “Stare any harder and he might just burst into flames.”

You blinked, embarrassment increasing tenfold. “Sorry, Binnie,” you muttered. “What were you saying?”

He gave you a knowing nudge. “Just go talk to him so I don’t have to look at your lovesick face anymore.”

“Not lovesick,” you protested, but the way your eyes darted right back to Chan did nothing to help your case. You found him staring at you this time, his overwhelmed beam shifting into something softer, sweeter—a look of relief. He dismissed himself from the group just as your feet were preparing, almost reflexively, to pull you in his direction. You turned to give Changbin another apologetic glance, only for him to roll his eyes and gesture for you to leave.

“I need to find Jisung, anyway,” he told you. “Talking to more than one stranger at a time probably has him looking for an escape route.”

Promising to meet up with him again later, you parted ways, a strange sense of calm washing over you as you came face to face with Chan at last. The pungent smell in the air was replaced with his fresh citrus, the clamoring sounds around you suddenly much quieter in your ears, as if waiting with bated breath to hear what he had to say.

“Hey, you,” he grinned.

“Hi, Channie,” you held out your hands, skin tingling when he rested his palms against yours. Slightly clammy from the adrenaline rush of the performance, but soft to the touch. Warm as ever.

“So, were you ever planning on telling me that you’re a shapeshifter?”

“A shapeshifter?” he giggled, more melodic than any of the music you’d heard that night.

“Those moves? The growling?” you marveled. “Even the way you carried yourself; you really know how to put on a show.”

Chan’s fingers—topped off with black nail polish, you noticed for the first time—twitched in your hands, resisting the urge to reach up and adjust his cap, tug at his ear, swipe over his nose, do something to try and alleviate his embarrassment.

“Did you like it? Or was it too much? I know this one’s your favorite, so…”

…I hope I didn’t mess it up. You could hear the words on the tip of his tongue without him even finishing. They were clear in every nervous flicker in his expression, every awkward shift in his feet.

“Are you kidding?” you rubbed your thumb along the back of his hand. “You were made for this.”

The flashing lights around you illuminated his face just in time for you to see his eyes widen. It almost made you sad—the genuine shock etched into his features.

“Ah…” he ducked his head, speechless. Suddenly, you completely understood why he’d been reluctant to ask you to attend the showcase. You should’ve known by now; Chan didn’t have to play coy to endear you, he accomplished that just fine by simply being himself.

“You really think so?” He kept his stare glued to the floor.

“Of course. Everyone else can see it, too,” you added. “I’m really proud of you, Channie.”

His cap hid his expression from your view, but you were certain that his brilliant smile was there—the one you loved so much, the one so wide that it couldn’t be contained, swelling his cheeks and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Thank you,” it was meek, barely audible above the roar of the crowd. “That means a lot.”

You wanted to dip your head under the brim of his hat and meet his gaze, to let him know just how much you meant it. You wanted to kiss him, unconcerned with the people around you who might see—in fact, it only strengthened the desire, the chance to witness his cute, flustered reaction to a public display like that.

Your hesitation lasted a split second too long, however, as you spotted a fresh group of people approaching the two of you; some faces recognizable, some entirely new. You kept your smile as they made their way over with shouts and cheers, but your hand gripped Chan’s just a bit tighter.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Tonight was full of firsts for you, it seemed.

Attending a university party without leaving within the first hour, mingling with more people than you’d ever thought existed on campus, and now, as you currently were, lacking so much in self-control that you were pressed up against Chan in the venue bathroom.

You weren’t quite sure how you’d ended up there, the only thing you were sure of was the slew of emotions leading into it. Chan could tell that you were antsy, and, maybe, he was feeling antsy too. The number of times you’d been separated throughout the night only to drift right back to each other was too many to count. It got to the point where the final time it happened, you’d opted for linking arms to avoid getting lost again.

You wanted to go home—you’d been more than ready to from the moment 3RACHA had finished performing—and you would’ve gladly left Chan to enjoy the rest of the event with his endless rotation of friends if it weren’t for the fact that every time you were apart for too long, he’d go looking for you. At first, you’d tried to tell him not to worry himself over whether or not you were having fun, but eventually, you realized with a flutter in your chest that it wasn’t just his usual attentiveness at play; he wanted you next to him.

When he’d asked if you wanted to retreat somewhere quieter for a bit, it had been innocent enough. You didn’t think he’d expected things to head in this direction—you certainly hadn’t. With your vigilance and his shyness, neither of you were exactly the type.

“This okay?”

“Mhm,” he breathed against your lips. The faint pounding of the bass outside could still be heard through the bathroom door, but you were much more fixated on Chan’s racing heartbeat.

“You look—mmph—so pretty tonight,” he slurred. “Been wanting to kiss you.”

His voice still had the faintest rasp to it after the strain of performing, exciting you more than it probably should’ve. “You’re so sweet,” you cooed, pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth. “How do you think I felt seeing you up on that stage?”

He made a soft noise, unable to protest when you took his bottom lip into your mouth, sucking delicately and making him melt into you. His mouth fell open for you to devour freely. His hands, which had been hovering uncertainly over your hips, rested on them at last. From the way his fingers constricted around your clothes, you knew he was itching to bring you closer; he always was. 

“You don’t believe me?” You pulled back just slightly, tugging at his plush skin between your teeth as you did.  He tasted sweet, even sweeter than usual. The same artificial strawberry you’d tried earlier in the night. Gently, you used your hold on his cheeks to turn his head in the direction of the mirror.

Chan’s eyes fell instantly, avoiding his reflection like second nature.

“Look at yourself, Channie,” you encouraged. “I want you to see what I see.”

A quiet whine built in his throat, but he complied nonetheless, meeting his own, timid gaze in the mirror. You let your hands slip from his cheeks to give him a clear view of his face, shifting your position so that you stood behind him, admiring the view together.

“Pretty boy,” you drawled, running your hands along his shoulders. “For someone who’s so good at reading people, you’re clueless about how bad they really want you.”

He tensed up, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “What?”

“You didn’t notice?” You tilted your head. “That's okay. It’s cute, actually.”

Your lips found his neck, breath fanning over his warm skin in a way that made goosebumps rise to the surface. Keeping your eyes locked on his reflection, you pressed a trail of kisses down his throat, doing little to hide how high your emotions were running.

“D-did something bother you?” he stuttered out, and if you hadn’t known him any better, you might’ve thought he was trying to tease you. Hearing him say it out loud nearly made you cringe at yourself. It was so trivial, so ridiculous. You didn’t want him to see that side of you—a side you’d hardly even known you had before tonight. Still, the burning sensation had grown too strong for you to ignore anymore, with each suggestive touch or longing glance thrown Chan's way serving as fuel to the fire.

“Why would I be bothered?” you said at last. “They don’t get to see you like this.” His breath hitched as you grazed your teeth along his skin. “Or hear you like this. Do they?”

“N-no,” he agreed. “Just you.”

Just you. You wondered if he’d said it knowing full well the kind of effect it would have on you.

“Do you like all the attention?”

He pressed his lips together, averting his eyes from the mirror again. It was subtle, but you could’ve sworn his hips jutted forward just a bit.

“I like your attention,” he said softly.

Another perfect answer from a perfect boy. Your hands fell from his shoulders, sliding down his body to give his waist a squeeze through the thin material of his shirt. “You deserve it,” you licked a stripe up his neck. “All of it. Who wouldn’t go crazy over you when you look like this?”

“I…” He bit his lip, no doubt to hold back what he really wanted to say. “Please, ‘m getting shy.”

You were almost tempted to grab hold of his chin and tilt his head up, giving him no choice other than to take in the breathtaking sight of himself. But judging by his bright red ears and restless squirming under your palms, he was flustered enough already—so much that you worried it may actually mortify him to face his appearance on top of your praises reverberating in his mind. Instead, you pressed more wet kisses to his neck, hands roaming further down his body and feeling up the expanse of his stomach, right above the waistband of his pants. He whimpered, pushing his hips forward much more noticeably this time.

“It’ll be bad if we get caught,” you hummed. “Keep quiet, Channie.”

Chan sucked in a sharp breath as you ran your tongue along his ear. You took his hoop piercing between your teeth, tugging at it in a gentle, but deliberate taunt.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “You know I can't.”

You smiled deviously around the silver. “I know.”

The sound of your voice was nothing short of intoxicating, smooth and sultry and pooling heat in his abdomen at an alarmingly quick rate. Your fingers traced over the buttons of his jeans, playing with them in a tortuous dance, but not quite popping them open. The material was already starting to feel tight around him, and when you fully cupped the area without warning, his mouth fell open to spill out a shaky moan.

Your heart jumped; he was so sensitive, reduced to the flushed, noisy mess you saw before you with just a few touches and kisses. You thought back to what he’d said that night—about how it’d been a while—a small part of you wondering if that was the real reason, or if he was just always this reactive. It thrilled you like nothing else, the prospect of him being so vocal, so vulnerable to every bit of stimulation no matter how many times he’d felt it before.

“Maybe that’s what you want? For everyone to hear all these pretty sounds you make for me.”

You dragged your tongue up from his lobe, swirling it around the shell of his ear and practically tasting the heat radiating off the reddened skin. Frantically, Chan tried to mask another moan, hands gripping the sink for support.

“No—ah—just you. Only for you.”

“Only me?” You gave him a squeeze, curling your fingers around his growing bulge and making him shudder against you. “Should I make sure they know that?”

He peeked up at last from under the brim of his cap, eyes already so foggy, lips already puffed. Your mouth traveled down from his ear, pressing a kiss right to the junction of his shoulder and neck. A light hiccup escaped him when your front teeth tickled the flesh, threatening to bite down in full.

“Can I?” you checked.

Chan leaned in further so that nearly all his weight was resting against the sink, knees weakening at the mere thought of what you were going to do. “Yeah,” he gasped. “Please.”

“It’ll show,” you warned, basking in the feel of his pulse beneath your lips.

“Please,” he repeated. “I want it to.”

Any composure you had left was no match for the desperation in his voice. He always knew exactly what to say—or, rather, anything he said was exactly what you wanted to hear, solely because it came from him. Without wasting another moment, you sank your teeth into his neck, wrapping your lips around the patch of skin to create a hot, delicious suction that nearly made Chan fold in half.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a sharp cry escaping him despite his best efforts. You tightened your grasp on him in an attempt to keep him steady, but the added pressure to his length only seemed to make things worse. He whimpered something incoherent, hips rolling forward to grind into your palm—uncharacteristically shameless of him.

You sucked to your heart’s content, nibbling and running your tongue along the sensitive area until you were certain a mark would be left behind for days to come. When you finally released his flesh from between your teeth, Chan was all but panting, face scrunched up with pleasure and bulge twitching in your hand. You gave the mark a delicate lick, soothing the flared skin while he caught his breath.

“Mine.”

It sent a shiver down his spine. Just as you were preparing to sully a new spot on his neck, a sudden knock on the bathroom door made you both freeze in place. His body stiffened against yours, head shooting up in a panic.

“Is anyone in here?” a girl’s voice came muffled through the distant rumble of the music.

The doorknob wobbled, and you steeled yourself to respond, knowing that Chan was in absolutely no state to.

“Yeah, just a minute!” you called, throwing out the first excuse you could conjure. “My friend’s feeling a bit sick.”

Carefully, to avoid drawing out any more questionable noises from the boy, you pulled your hand away from his crotch and peeled yourself off of him. He straightened up as best he could, blinking rapidly to clear the haze from his eyes. Guilt pricked at you, among other things, for allowing the situation to get to this point, but even as Chan urgently tried to adjust himself so the hardness in his pants would be less obvious, he didn’t look upset—not in the slightest. He gave you a sheepish half-smile when he met your gaze, eyes gleaming with pure, unfettered adoration.

You smoothed out your clothes, trying to ignore the very prominent ache between your legs.

“Sorry, Channie,” you murmured. “I guess I got carried away.”

His fingers brushed tentatively over the mark you’d left, cheeks matching the shade of his ears. “S’alright,” he licked his lips. “I like it.”

He had to stop saying that—for the sake of your sanity, if nothing else. You cleared your throat, reminding yourself that there was, in fact, some poor soul out there waiting impatiently for the restroom.

“And all the…possessive stuff I—” you paused. “I hope it wasn’t too much.”

“Too much?” he cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t notice?”

A repeat of your question from earlier. You went quiet for a moment, trying to decode the meaning behind it. Everything that had transpired throughout the course of the evening flooded your thoughts at once: the fixed stares from across the room, the hand-holding, the arm-linking, the search for you every time you strayed too far. Butterflies fluttered to life your stomach the instant you wrapped your head around it.

“Oh.”

His giggles mixed with yours, light and timid. How very like him, to admit so openly to the exact feeling you’d been hoping to hide. Hiding with him was a fruitless endeavor, anyway.  

You rested your hand on his lower back, reaching for the handle with your other. “Look sick,” you whispered.

Chan leaned over slightly, masking both the lingering flush on his cheeks and the blossoming lovebite on his neck. On the opposite side of the door, you found none other than the event organizer standing there, watching the two of you inquisitively as you shuffled out of the bathroom. You gave her a polite dip of your head, and Chan offered a quick greeting as you ushered him along. You weren’t proud of it, but any self-consciousness you’d felt before was instantly overtaken by that selfish satisfaction.

As the two of you re-entered the fray, your hand slid down from Chan’s back, allowing him to walk normally again—or, as normally as he could when he was still very much trying to ebb the arousal you’d set off in him. He flexed his fingers as they brushed against yours, lacing them together before you could even think to pull away.

By some miracle, you managed to locate the other two thirds of 3RACHA with just a bit of sifting through the crowd. The relief was short-lived, however, alarm gripping you in its place when you noticed who was standing with them. Lee Minho.

It was no surprise that he was there, but you’d somehow managed to go the entire night without catching so much as a single glimpse of him. A part of you had been grateful for it, but the other part was also itching to see him. Ever since your conversation with Changbin, you’d become more and more ashamed about the way you’d acted with Minho in the convenience store. He’d rubbed you the wrong way, sure, but you were certain that your reaction had only made the situation worse. This was your chance to fix it, to dodge the arrow before he could finish drawing back his string.

“It’s completely different,” you heard him insist as you and Chan approached the group. He was engaged in what appeared to be a very serious debate with a very confused Jisung. “It’s like iced coffee versus hot coffee that’s been out for too long; they’re both cold, but one’s supposed to be, the other isn’t.”

Jisung blinked, lips parting and closing several times over the next few seconds. You’d never quite witnessed someone’s thought process unfolding in real time like that before. Even if you’d caught the full discussion between the two, the look on his face told you that you still wouldn’t have the slightest clue as to what was going on.

“I’ll be honest, man, you lost me three analogies ago.”

Minho clicked his tongue, looking ready to drop another equally convoluted explanation. Instead, he fell silent when he spotted you, the delighted smirk of someone who knew he was being difficult transforming into something much harsher, much less natural. It nearly made you wince. You’d never been particularly close with the guy, but you’d thought you were at least reaching a point where he’d grown comfortable enough to approach you with the same casualness he did with the rest of his friends. It bothered you more than you wanted to admit, that the first sign of friendship sprouting between you had been trampled on for reasons that you didn’t even know, nor comprehend.

His stare flickered between you and Chan, and you prayed desperately that the dim lighting of the hall would be enough for the fresh mark you’d left on Chan’s neck to escape Minho’s scrutiny. He narrowed his eyes, and your heartbeat picked up. So far, not off to a great start.

Still, you swallowed—your misgivings, and your pride—and flashed him a quick smile.

“Hi, Minho.”

No response, just a nod. Something told you that you were lucky to get even that out of him. He turned his head, planning to continue his debate with Jisung without addressing you any further, but the other boy had already been sucked into a high-energy conversation with Chan and Changbin about ways they could improve future performances.

“Can we talk?” you tried to keep your volume low, just enough for him to hear without catching the attention of the others.

He studied you with an impressive lack of interest, and for a moment, you thought he might really go the rest of the night without uttering a word around you.

“Why?”

“I just want to clear the air. I feel like we kinda had a misunderstanding the other day.”

“Maybe on your end,” he said curtly. “I understand what’s going on just fine.”

You took a breath, forcing yourself to remain open-minded. “Maybe,” you agreed. “So, could you tell me what I’m missing about all this?”

Wordlessly, he brought his cup to his lips, fixing you with unblinking eyes the entire time he drank, like you might lash out and attack him if he let his guard down for even a second. You managed to hold his gaze, but that same chill from before began to creep up your spine. It was so intense—and for what? Anyone who saw the way he was looking at you might think the two of you were involved in some kind of centuries-long blood feud between your families.

Even after he’d swallowed, he said nothing, and you felt your patience slip just a bit.

“If I’ve done something wrong, or if I’ve upset you somehow, please let me know,” you added.

“Upset me?” he hummed. “Yeah, actually, you did.”

You tensed.

“When you said I wasn’t funny, it really hurt my feelings,” he announced. “Apologize with flowers and tears, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

It almost sounded like his usual manner of joking around, but your glimmer of hope was put out by that same, cold expression. You tried not to lose sight of your goal, clinging to what Changbin had told you in the cafe. He’s easy to misunderstand.

“Minho,” you began lightly. “I’m being serious here.”

His eyes glinted under the flashing lights. “So am I.”

You allowed your face to drop at last, realizing right then and there that he had no intention of even telling you what you’d done wrong—let alone giving you the chance to make amends with him.

“What, you don’t like that idea?” he feigned hurt. “Maybe you’d rather get on your hands and knees and ask for forgiveness?”

You bristled. “That’s enough.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. A look almost akin to gratification crossed his features, like a crack in your demeanor was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

“Hm. Guess you’re not really sorry, after all.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, okay? Even as a joke.”

“I’d be glad not to talk to you at all,” he shot back. “But it seems you have nothing better to do than pick fights with me.”

Unbelievable. You had to stop yourself from clenching your fists, solely because of the fact your hand was still loosely clasped with Chan’s.

“Pick fights?” you repeated. “I’m trying to fix things between us!”

“There’s nothing between us to fix.”

The way he said it was strange, pointed. You were positive there was a deeper meaning to it, almost like he was implying that there was something for you to fix, just not with him. It planted an unpleasant thought in your mind—or, rather, watered the seed of an idea that was already rooted deep within it.

You’d managed to keep your voice hushed thus far to avoid causing a scene, but the building tension finally seemed to reach a tipping point, enough to catch Chan’s attention. He put his chatter with Jisung and Changbin on hold to give you a curious glance, and, as irritated as you were with Minho’s provocation, you smiled back at him.

“You alright?” he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, eyes darting momentarily in Minho’s direction. He’d turned away from you as soon as the opportunity had presented itself, going right back to talking with Jisung as if your conversation had never even happened. At least one part of what he’d said had been straightforward—he clearly wanted nothing to do with you.

“You’re friends with some pretty weird people, y’know that?”

Chan grinned. “Birds of a feather.”

Your spirits lifted a bit, taking comfort in the fact that he at least seemed oblivious to the altercation that had just taken place. Still, it was a shallow relief. You knew now, with complete certainty, that Minho wasn’t going to make things easy for you.

Of course he wouldn’t. Nothing was ever that easy.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

One month into the fall semester of your senior year, the academic distractions that you’d been longing for all summer were now upon you. Perhaps, even, a bit more intensely than you’d have liked.

Your classes were manageable enough—a significant improvement over the hellscape that was Thermodynamics and Statistical Mechanics—but the amount of time and effort your research lab demanded more than made up for what might’ve been an easy final term. When you weren’t attending your lectures or completing assignments, you were practically living in the astrophysics lab; analyzing spectroscopic measurements, reconstructing images from interferometric data, observing optical maps of the interstellar medium, and, on top of all that, sitting through countless meetings with your team.

It was as fulfilling as it was exhausting, and though you were more than happy to finally get some hands-on experience in your field of study, you couldn’t help but feel a bit wistful about this new routine as well. Your Experimental Physics II section with Changbin only took place once a week as opposed to the biweekly Thermodynamics lectures, and that, coupled with the lack of study sessions and your limited free time meant you were seeing him much less often than before. It was even worse in the cases of Chan and Iseul, both of which you rarely saw on campus to begin with. Even with Iseul more or less still treating your apartment as her second home, and Chan being his usual, relentlessly considerate self—never going too long without checking in on you—they were both busy with their respective capstone projects as well, leaving your interactions fewer and further between in comparison to the spring.

You knew it wasn’t rational, but it almost frightened you how such minor shifts in your daily life could feel so jarring, especially when graduation, the greatest shift of all, was looming on the horizon. The sands of time were trickling along without a care in the world, changing things little by little until they were unrecognizable. Some for the better, some for worse.

You’d thought you were handling the gaps in your time spent with Chan fairly well; that was, until it dawned on you halfway through September just how often your mind would drift to him while working on your research. Every new set of spectral line data or roAp star photometric variations had you visualizing what his reactions might be—his gleaming eyes that captivated you more than any of the stars you were observing, his voice growing shaky with excitement as he tried to discuss your observations without pausing every few seconds just to gush about how cool it all was.

You weren’t pleased with the number of instances your lab partners had caught you grinning to yourself in the middle of running tests and collecting data, giddy over the mere thought of his presence. As it turned out, Changbin hadn’t been too far off when he’d labeled you as lovesick.

Summoned by your thoughts, your phone vibrated against your desk to signal a text from none other than Changbin. You placed down your pencil in defeat, accepting the fact that you weren’t going to be getting any work done at this rate—daydreaming about how often you were daydreaming about Chan should’ve been indication enough.

bin 😑 (2:03 p.m.) number 5???

You blinked at your screen, dumbfounded.

bin 😑 (2:04 p.m.) number 5 pls pretty pls

you (2:04 p.m.) i sent you number 5 yesterday?

bin 😑 (2:06 p.m.) oh ;;; number 6 pls~~~

you (2:06 p.m.) i think i deserve an honorable mention on ur diploma

bin 😑 (2:07 p.m.) get me thru this hmwk and i’ll make it happen one for you and one for chan ><

The thought of it nearly made you laugh out loud: Changbin, trying to charm his way through the dean’s office to make a proposal as ridiculous as that. You didn’t doubt that he might try it, or that he might actually succeed in doing so.

Shuffling through your papers, you snapped a picture of your assignment, barely managing to fit the entirety of the required work in one shot.

bin 😑 (2:10 p.m.) thank uuu oh speaking of chan lol u know he’s sick?

you (2:10 p.m.) what???

bin 😑 (2:10 p.m.) i knew it he didn’t tell you -_-

You felt a pang of worry, countless questions filling your head at once. It’d been a day or two since you’d contacted Chan, even longer since you’d seen him in person—definitely over a week by now. The last time you’d talked hadn’t been over a phone call like usual; you’d texted him just to see how he was doing, and after a short chat he’d promised to meet up with you sometime the next week. It had been unusual, but not unusual enough for you to overthink it, especially considering how swamped the both of you were.

you (2:12 p.m.) how long has he been sick for?

bin 😑 (2:13 p.m.) couple days? actually more like a week now

Worry twisted into a sense of dread. Why hadn’t he told you?

You didn’t have to question it for long. You knew why—anyone who knew Chan well enough could piece it together with ease.

bin 😑 (2:14 p.m.) he hasn’t gone to class for a few days ㅜ you should visit him if you can

you (2:14 p.m.) yeah, i definitely will thanks for letting me know binnie

If your homework had been an afterthought before, it was long forgotten now. You didn’t bother to clean up your workspace before rising from your chair, leaving the scattered notes and eraser shavings for you to deal with later.

You weren’t sure what you were experiencing as you made your way over to your kitchen, digging around for ginger and garlic and praying that you’d have enough. It was an overreaction, probably, but you berated yourself regardless; for not noticing that something was wrong, for not pressing harder when asking how he’d been, for not questioning the longer periods of time you’d gone without talking. You’d wanted to give him his space, but for it to go as far as him thinking he shouldn’t tell you that he was sick—sick to the point where he couldn’t attend class, stirred something awful in you.

The pot nearly slipped from your hands in all your haste to prepare your materials, and you took a breath, forcing yourself to relax before you set fire to your apartment. Still, the concern, the guilt, didn’t die down. You were so accustomed to being in-tune with every aspect of your relationships, be it friends, family, or romantic partners, making note of every little detail, every subtle shift; sometimes before they themselves could even realize it. But for what was neither the first nor the last time, you had to remind yourself that this was Chan you were dealing with. Of course he wouldn’t tell you—he wouldn’t tell you anything that he believed might cause you even the slightest inconvenience. He would do whatever it took, go to any lengths imaginable, just to avoid committing the unforgivable sin of letting you care about him. It was the complete opposite of everything you'd come to understand about the world, the people around you, and it put you in a position that you weren’t sure you wanted to be in.

You weren’t going to stand idly by, watching him board his openings shut before anyone could catch a glimpse of what was inside, watching him burden himself with the fear of burdening others. Whatever had happened in the past for him to reach that point, you wanted to suck it out like poison until there wasn’t a single drop left in his system. You were going to be there for him, whether he liked it or not.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

His face was the last thing you’d expected to see when the door to unit 8-325 swung open.

Realistically, it shouldn’t have been. He did live there, after all. Like the annoying troll under the bridge that wouldn’t let you pass unless you answered his riddles three. It took everything in you not to make a face as you were met with Minho standing in the doorframe. He, of course, didn’t extend that same courtesy to you, eyes narrowing into an unmistakable grimace when he laid them on you.

“What do you want?”

“Hi to you, too,” you muttered.

His expression didn’t change, and, much to your disdain, you once again found yourself mesmerized by that gaze of his. You hated how effective it was; unreadable, yet communicating a thousand things all at once. Even if he really was as harmless as Changbin claimed, even if his cold glares and cutting comments were the extent of what he could do to you, your skin crawled all the same.

When you saw that he wasn’t planning on dignifying you with a response, you inched forward, expecting to be let inside. That would simply be too easy, though. Minho shifted so that his body blocked your path, pulling the door closer to him for good measure.

“Chan’s sick,” he deadpanned.

You paused, blown away for a moment by his audacity. “I know he’s sick,” you gritted your teeth. “I’m here to check on him.”

You might’ve sworn you saw the corner of his lips start to twitch, but you tore your eyes away too quickly to be certain. The last thing this man needed was whatever kind of ego boost he’d get from you paying a little too much attention to his features.

“Not much you can do,” he dismissed, voice light and airy as ever. “Unless you think gracing him with your presence is gonna make him all better.”

It was your turn to shoot Minho a glare, foot darting out just in time to prevent him from shutting the door in your face. Wordlessly, you lifted the container of galbitang into his view.

He raised an eyebrow, the closest thing to a genuine reaction you could get from him. “Changed your major to the medical route?”

“I don’t see you doing anything to help him,” you snapped.

Your patience was already minimal when it came to this guy, but ever since you’d confronted him at the event in August, it seemed like he’d made it his personal mission to run it as thin as possible every time you interacted with him. It was kind of impressive, really, the way he knew exactly how to push every last one of your buttons with ease.

Fresh out of half-assed excuses, Minho shrugged, as if he’d never even cared in the first place. He let go of the door handle, and you took that as a sign to push past him and slip inside.

You removed your shoes as quickly as you could, not wanting to spend another second around him if you could help it. Knowing that Changbin wasn’t home, you stalked past the kitchen and through the living room, the soothing scent of freshly-brewed yuja tea flooding your nostrils as you did. It almost made you feel bad about what you’d said to Minho, but you knew better than to apologize for it now—if you’d come to learn anything, it was that your peace offerings would be met with even more hostility than your provocation. Instead, you padded down the hallway, heading straight for Chan’s room.

Careful not to lose your grip on the container in your hands, you managed to give his door a light knock. A few seconds passed before you heard a faint “come in”, muffled by the sound of what was sure to be a pile of blankets. You braced yourself, recovering from your Minho-induced rise in blood pressure, then slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind you.

Chan blinked his eyes open just in time to see you approaching his bed. They were foggy, even more exhausted than usual, and they widened slightly when he registered who was standing before him.

“Hi, Channie,” you whispered. “Were you sleeping?”

“N-no, I—” his voice came strained and hoarse, so different from his pleasant, melodic lilt that you had trouble believing it was really him speaking for a second. “I was already awake.”

You rolled his desk chair over to the side of the bed, placing your container of galbitang on his nightstand next to the half-finished cup of tea and army of empty water bottles. He watched, stunned, as you sat down next to him, still trying to process what was going on.

“Um…how did you—?”

“Seo Changbin,” you hummed.

A weak smile formed on his face. “Bin…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright,” he croaked, not sounding alright at all. “Guess when you told me to look sick I took it a little too seriously, yeah?”

You let out a light giggle, and he tried to join you, only to spiral right into a violent coughing fit instead. It made your heart twist with sympathy, and you reached out to brush back his messy curls, resting your palm on his forehead. His skin was burning, and not in its normal way—if you could even call the amount of body heat he carried with him normal. It was heavy and sticky and pulsing, like you could physically feel the ache plaguing his head.

“Ah, wait,” he warned. “You shouldn’t touch me, you’ll catch it.”

I don’t care. You almost wanted to say it without restraint, but you settled for something more tactful, something less pointlessly dramatic. “You wouldn’t get me sick, would you?”

He flashed you another feeble smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry you have to see me like this,” he rasped, shrinking into the covers so that his face was only half visible.

“Please don’t apologize, Channie,” you ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I just wish you’d told me. How long have you been sick?”

The feeling seemed to relax him, weary eyes drooping just a bit as your nails grazed his scalp. “It’s only been like this for a few days,” he hesitated. “But I first started feeling it last week. Minho thinks it’s the flu.”

You stopped combing through his hair, letting your hand simply rest atop his head. He seemed to sense your disapproval, eyes peeking up at you from beneath the comforter to meet your frowning face.

“It’s not that bad, though,” he tried to assure you. “Just a cough and some headaches.”

“Bin said you haven’t been able to go to class.”

Chan sucked in through his teeth; caught. You sent out a silent apology to Changbin, realizing a split second too late that you’d probably set him up for a scolding as soon as Chan could speak without sounding like he had gravel in his throat.

“I just didn’t want you to worry,” he explained sheepishly. “Especially when you’ve been so busy.”

“I’m always thinking of you, anyway,” you countered, only half-joking. “So, please don’t hide stuff like this from me, okay? That’ll only make me worry more.”

For a moment, he stayed silent, and you got the feeling that your words hadn’t quite gotten through to him. Regardless, he eventually gave you a tiny nod.

“Promise?” you pressed.

“Promise.”

He didn’t hold out his pinky this time to seal the deal, but you chose not to dwell on it considering the fact that his hands were buried under layers upon layers of blankets. Instead, you gave his head one last pat and reached for the thermos on the nightstand.

“Can you eat?”

His face lit up at the sight of the galbitang. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I haven’t eaten yet today, actually.”

You frowned, biting back an exasperated comment. Even if his horribly skewed priorities frustrated you more than anything else—touching a part of you buried so deep within that you yourself couldn’t fully grasp it—you’d visited Chan with the intent of helping him, not lecturing him. There was no changing the outcome now, anyway. All you could do was try and make things a little easier for him, to balance out his determination to create new obstacles for himself as quickly as you could break them down.

“It should still be warm, but I can go heat it up if you’d like?” you were reluctant to ask, not keen on the possibility of seeing Minho again.

“No, no, s’alright,” he shuffled around in the sheets, trying to sit himself upright against the pillows. “I’ll eat it like this.”

As soon as his protective pile of covers slipped down his torso, he was shuddering. Even with the hoodie he was wearing, chills passed through his entire body, so strong that you could visibly see how his shoulders shook.

“Oh my God, Channie,” your voice softened to a tone that he’d only ever heard you use with him, one that soothed his pounding head. “You’re really sick, aren’t you?”

He attempted to say something in response—to deny it despite every cell in his body screaming otherwise—but between his sniffles and chattering teeth, it was hard to make out. You reached out with your free hand and pulled the covers back up his chest, draping them over his shoulders so that just his head and neck were exposed. Chan blinked at you, the confusion on his face morphing into subtle panic when he understood what you were planning.

“Ah…you don’t,” he coughed. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” You unscrewed the lid and unlatched the spoon from its side. “I want to, actually. If it’s okay with you.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you—the flush that crept up on his cheeks, even more visible than usual with how little color there was to his sickly complexion.

“Okay,” he averted his eyes. “Yeah, thank you.”

You scooped up a portion of the soup, making sure to gather a good mix of ingredients for him, then brought it up to his lips. He blew out puffs of air a few times before taking the spoon into his mouth, still refusing to meet your gaze.

Despite his awkwardness, a cute hum followed. “This is really good.”

“That’s how I know you’re sick.”

He giggled gently, careful not to set off another coughing fit. “No, I mean it,” he licked his lips. “I can taste the flavor, even though my nose is all stuffy.”

“I’m glad you like it,” you smiled, dipping the spoon back into the container. “I kinda made it in a rush, so I hoped it’d at least be edible.”

Chan finally looked up, fixing you with a guilt-ridden gaze. “I’m really sorry,” he mumbled, just as you brought another portion up to his lips.

“The only person you should be apologizing to is yourself,” you said firmly.

A comfortable silence filled the room, with nothing but the sound of Chan’s slurping and wheezy breaths breaking it. Though the bashfulness was still there—it always was—he gradually came to relax the more you fed him, slumping his shoulders and letting out those content, satisfied noises that you’d come to love so much after each hot spoonful. The sight of him, disheveled as he was, made your heart feel strangely full, the ripples of worry fading out until it was calm and clear. He was being cared for, looked after; even if for just a moment. You decided right then and there that it was the only thing you’d ever ask of him—to dare to let you treat him with an ounce of the kindness he showed everyone but himself.

The steam, garlic, and ginger seemed to do their job in clearing up his sinuses a bit, as his sniffling grew more and more frequent until it was obvious he was having a hard time containing it. He had to refrain from ducking his head, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over him as you plucked a tissue from the nightstand and wiped his nose clean. Still, he thanked you quietly, sinking further into the pillows.

“Is there anything else I can do?” you sealed the now-empty container shut. “I can pick up any missing work for you tomorrow, if that helps.”

Chan’s eyes were half-lidded now, his weariness finally starting to catch up to him. “Nah, don’t trouble yourself. Most of my stuff is on my laptop, anyway.”

For the first time, you noticed the device amidst the blankets and sheets, teetering on the edge of his mattress in a way that made your adrenaline spike considering it was the precious amalgamation of all his blood, sweat, and tears since he’d entered university.

“Have you been working, even now?”

“I wanted to,” he admitted. “But I think staring at a screen just made my head feel worse. Gonna try again later.”

Before you could say anything else, he changed the subject, like he knew you’d advise against it the instant the words left his mouth.

“But how’s your work? Is the lab going okay?”

Despite yourself, a smile tugged at your lips. You might not have let him get away with it if he hadn’t asked about the exact thing you’d been dying to share with him since the last time you’d met up. Maybe that was what he needed, anyway—something to cheer him up and take his mind off the perpetual ache consuming his body.

“I’m observing a pair of binary stars right now.”

He perked up against the pillows, lifting his head so quickly that it actually earned a light hiss of pain. Still, his face broke out into a smile, exactly the way you’d dreamed of when you’d first analyzed the spectral lines.

“What kind?”

“Spectroscopic.”

His dimples appeared for the first time that day. “The closest pair!” he chirped. “That’s amazing, I wish I could see it.”

“I can show you their Doppler shifts as the next best thing,” you offered. “They’re so close even the telescopes can’t separate them. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Super romantic,” he beamed, eyes twinkling through the glaze of illness. That familiar warmth spread through your skin—just by looking at him, you could tell he was thinking the same thing as you. “Orbiting so close and so fast…you think they’ll change each other’s evolution?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I do.”

Like in the case of most binary pairs, one star burned brighter than the other—just the slightest bit. Even if the difference in them was miniscule, you had no doubt in your mind which of the two was Chan.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Space talk could only mitigate the effects of the flu for so long. Chan’s half-lidded eyes eventually drooped all the way shut, his raspy but enthusiastic chatter dying down into barely-responsive mumbles, then, finally, soft, steady snores. It took everything in you not to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, already accumulating beads of sweat as his fever began to break. Even after all your recklessness in getting so close to him while he was sick, you figured that would be pushing your luck a bit too far. Instead, you ensured he had enough water for when he’d inevitably wake up parched, adjusted his pillows so that his head was properly elevated, and tidied up the mess on his nightstand as best you could.

Carefully, you tiptoed out of his room, taking one last look at his sleeping face before shutting the door.

As you entered the living room from the hall, you found Minho seated on the couch; presumably hard at work, judging by the way he was hunched over his laptop, typing up a storm with computer glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He didn’t even spare you a glance when you passed him to toss the empty bottles in the recycling bin. You’d long learned to keep quiet around him to avoid setting off yet another tirade of petty insults and icy scowls, and you would’ve gladly gone without a word if the memory of your earlier accusation wasn’t nagging away at you. That, and, maybe the affection that had bubbled up inside you upon seeing Chan had let down your guard a bit.

Against your better judgment, you mustered up the will to say it. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Minho’s eyes stayed glued to his screen. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“Obviously,” you replied evenly. “I just mean I’m glad he has you.”

You were prepared to leave it at that, both to let him resume his work, and avoid the claws that were sure to come out if you kept pressing the matter. To your surprise, however, he piped up again just as you began making your way over to the door.

“If you’re expecting me to say the same about you, don’t hold your breath.”

You told yourself to ignore it, but with just a few words, he’d effectively frosted over all the warmth that Chan had kindled in your chest. Something snapped in you, making you spin on your heels before you could stop yourself.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Minho’s eyes flickered up at last, widening for only a split second before they narrowed again.

“That’s no way to talk to someone in their home,” he clicked his tongue. “If I wasn’t such a gentleman, I’d kick you out.”

You held your ground, refusing to feel embarrassed about your outburst no matter how much he provoked you.

“Answer me.”

Minho rose from the couch with a sigh, making it no secret what an inconvenience he found you to be, what an utter waste of his time it was to even address you.

“What makes you think I have a problem?”

You let out a bitter laugh. The absolute gall of this man.

“Don’t play dumb with me, okay? Changbin told me this is just what you’re like, but I haven't seen you treat anyone else the way you treat me.”

Minho was closer now, still a few feet away, but near enough to put you on high alert. He looked so unrecognizable these days, you’d forgotten what it’d ever felt like to be comfortable around him, to be in the same room without that unease spreading through your skin.

“You think you’re special?” he sneered. “Do your ego a favor and listen to Changbin.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he carried on, still managing to sound so carefree despite the venom in his words.

“Unless, of course, you’re the only one allowed to give orders here.”

You froze.

“What?”

“Hit a nerve?”

“What are you talking about?” You had to contain yourself, solely for the meager hope that maybe, just maybe, you might get a clear answer from him for once.

“I’ve seen your type before, too many times,” he spat. “Chan just can’t seem to break that ugly habit—falling for people who only know how to take advantage of him.”

You bristled, so enraged that you couldn’t even think to answer. All that filled your head was red, hot anger, defiance, and, buried beneath all that, fear.

Anger that he had the audacity to speak to you that way. That he’d passed such a cruel and absurd judgment without so much as bothering to get to know you first. Defiance that he thought he had you all figured out when he didn’t even know the half of it—of what Chan meant to you, of what you’d been through, of the people who had chewed you up and spit you out just like he was implying you liked to do.

Fear that he was right. Fear that someone else was capable of having those thoughts about you, that they weren’t just your own baseless inhibitions. The lingering effects of what he had planted in your mind, never quite uprooted.

“My type,” you tried to keep your voice steady. “Is just as capable of being taken advantage of.”

Minho crossed his arms, stare unbreaking as if inviting you to continue—to prove yourself to him. The thought alone made your stomach churn.

“You’re not as smart as you think,” you hissed. “You don’t know the first thing about me, and whatever happens between Chan and I is none of your business.”

He sniffed, unimpressed. “When you hurt him, it will be.”

He said it with so much certainty, so much confidence, you nearly believed it yourself. You clenched your fists, mustering all your strength to control the irrational amounts of rage bubbling up inside you. You thought of Chan, asleep in the other room amidst his nest of sweaty blankets and tissues, fighting off the flu on top of everything else he had resting on his shoulders. You thought of his exhausted face, paler than usual, and his cracked voice, still trying to reassure you even when he was in such a miserable state.

You took a deep breath, and you softened.

“I’m not going to hurt him.”

Minho said nothing. Maybe he thought it was too easy to counter, maybe he thought it wasn’t even worth acknowledging. Either way, you were done trying to make sense of him—done trying to defend yourself in front of someone who had long decided you were guilty.

So, he hated you. You could probably live with that. You didn’t exactly have a glowing opinion of him either.

You turned around, making a beeline for the door and slipping your shoes back on as calmly as you could. But, of course, it wasn’t over quite yet. Ending things on your terms, where you got the last say, wasn’t an option when it came to Minho.

“Running away from the fight you started again?” he called lazily. “This is getting boring.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Iseul’s sigh rang out through your apartment, so loud and so exaggerated this time that you couldn’t in good conscience brush it off. Half-amused by her transparency, you paused the show on your television, turning to give her a questioning look.

“Something wrong?”

“Look at that!” She gestured aggressively at the screen, where the male lead, soaked and forlorn with a bouquet of flowers in hand, was waiting in the pouring rain outside of his love interest’s home. “Where do I find someone like that, huh?”

You giggled, only to realize with a start that she was being dead serious. She pouted at you, and you cleared your throat, rushing to correct yourself.

“Are you still having problems wi—?”

“Yes,” she interjected, as if exasperated that it’d taken you this long to notice. “We had an argument earlier today. He called me needy, can you fucking believe that?”

You let out a hum of disapproval; you’d never really gotten a good vibe from this guy from the start, especially as Iseul’s boyfriend. He was far too emotionally unavailable for someone as expressive and sensitive as her.

“Why would he say that?”

“He’s just a dick. All I did was ask him to help me practice my marketing presentation—y’know, since you didn’t have the time to,” she added. You guessed it was probably just her frustration speaking, but something about the way she said it seemed off, like you were partially at fault for not being there to help her in the first place. “Then, after like two tries, he gets all annoyed with me saying I’m being way too nitpicky and wasting his time.”

You knew better than anyone how high-strung Iseul could be when it came to academics; it was the trait in her that had initially sparked your friendship, after all. She could be demanding, sure, but it was only because she cared so much about performing well. Being there for her any chance you got wasn’t even a matter of debate for you—it was the bare minimum, whether for a friend, or a significant other.

“Anyway, I’m still waiting on him to apologize,” she huffed. “I’m not the crazy one here, right? Like, do you think he has a point?”

“You’re not crazy.” You pressed your lips together, trying to approach the matter with caution. “I think you just have high expectations for people.”

“But that’s not a bad thing!”

“Of course not,” you agreed. “As long as you treat them with the same consideration.”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed. “I could literally be the best girlfriend ever if he’d just let me. He literally never appreciates the things I do for him.”

“Maybe you just have different ways of showing your care for each other?” you suggested. “You can try bringing it up next time you talk.”

Iseul groaned, dragging her hands down her face, as if the thought of urging him to have a mature, emotionally open conversation with her caused physical pain. “I guess. If he ever even bothers to text me again.”

“How long has it been?”

She looked away, uncharacteristically meek. “A few hours.”

“He usually takes that long anyway, right?” you reasoned. “He’ll definitely come around, try not to stress too much about it.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled. “I’m sick of thinking about it. How are things with Chan?”

It was the only detail of your life she ever really asked you about lately. You didn’t mind most of the time—you were more than happy to talk about him over other, significantly less pleasant things, but in this case, you felt a twinge of discomfort. You hated that the first thing that came to mind wasn’t Chan’s crinkled eye smile, but rather, Minho’s relentless death glare. The thought was unnerving enough for you to consider bringing it up with Iseul, just as a way to get an outside opinion from someone who wasn’t Changbin or Chan. Unlike them, Iseul didn’t know Minho at all, and you liked to think she was blunt enough to tell you objectively if you were in the wrong.  

“Pretty good,” you hesitated. “Well, there is something—”

“I’m sure they’re more than just good,” she interrupted again. “All you ever do is hang out with him these days.”

You flashed her a grin. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Someone to entertain myself with once you’ve settled down?”

You were met with another huff. She crossed her arms, eyebrows furrowing in a way that immediately told you she wasn’t in the mood to joke.

“Doesn’t mean you have to ditch me now that you’ve got yourself a boytoy.”

“C’mon, Iseul,” you tried to keep your tone light. “You practically live here.”

She picked at her fingernails in silence, and you felt yourself start to panic a bit, suddenly taking the implication that you’d been neglecting your friendship much more seriously. You hadn’t noticed a difference, save for how much busier your schedules were this semester—but that was inevitable given how hectic senior year was for everyone. As much as Chan consumed your thoughts (something Iseul was better off not knowing) you barely saw him more often than her; in fact, given everything he was constantly juggling at once, you probably saw him less.

“What are you always so busy with, then?” she questioned at last, the slightest bit accusatory.

“The same as you. Classes and my senior research.”

You couldn’t decipher why she looked so unconvinced by the explanation, like the idea of you being preoccupied with your own personal matters was somehow incomprehensible to her. She shifted around in her spot, clearly set on the idea that there had to be more to it than that.

“Fine,” she turned her head back to the television, still frozen on that same, pitiful frame from the drama. “I still need someone to help me practice though, and I’m definitely not asking him again. So, it’s gotta be you.”

“Sure,” you replied. “I can definitely find time.”

You wanted to believe that she was just in a foul mood because of the fight with her boyfriend—and maybe that really was the whole of it. Surely, she wouldn’t dismiss the past two years you’d spent helping and supporting her the very instant you had to focus on yourself for a bit.

Even as you told yourself that, you couldn’t help but wonder for the first time if the scale between you and her was more out of balance than you thought.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

October had arrived at last, bringing with it a pleasant chill in the air, early tints of orange on the trees, and a fresh wave of midterm exams. Most importantly, it brought Chan’s birthday. He’d recovered from the flu a mere few days before the third of the month, and you’d never been more grateful for the sight of his radiant smile and rosy cheeks, full of so much life that he energized not just himself, but everyone around him as well.

His birthday fell on a Tuesday, not exactly the most ideal time for a celebration between Experimental Physics II and The Life and Death of Stars, but you’d been determined to make it work. You would’ve made anything work if it meant getting to spend even an hour with him on the day where he was, for once, the center of the universe. A small get-together had been planned later in the evening at his apartment—actually a small get-together this time, as promised so seriously by Changbin—but you’d come up with an excuse to skip out on it. No matter how hard you wished it didn’t bother you, the idea of being under the same roof as Minho again had been all the reason you needed to keep away. You had no doubt in your mind that he’d do everything in his power to make you feel unwelcome, and you didn’t trust yourself to remain collected around the guy after he’d proven time and time again how talented he was when it came to riling you up.

The last thing you’d wanted was to cause a scene on Chan’s birthday; it wasn’t even worth risking. If you put a damper on his happiness simply because you couldn’t stop yourself from fighting with his best friend like two feral street cats each time you crossed paths, you’d never forgive yourself. Instead, you’d met up with him for lunch and pastries earlier in the day, with the perfect excuse to cover all the expenses for it—much to your delight, and much to his dismay. Even if you were a bit wistful about missing out on the real celebration later, Chan’s beaming face when he’d opened your gift, the best external hard drive you could afford, had more than made up for it.

It’d been a week since then, another week where you and Chan barely found the chance to lift your heads from the sea of work to check in on each other. You knew that he was especially overwhelmed. His sickness couldn’t have come at a worse time, leaving him playing catch up with all his missed assignments and lectures on top of the stress of midterms.

Your thumbs hovered over your phone screen, tapping against each other as you debated whether or not to send him a message. As if on cue, it lit up with a notification that made your breath catch.

channie 🐺 (1:03 a.m.) you awake?

you (1:03 a.m.) yeah hi channie

There was a delay before he texted again, three little dots appearing and disappearing below your chat bubble more than once, like he was repeatedly typing and deleting what he wanted to say.

channie 🐺 (1:07 a.m.) can i call you?

The question felt strange, unlike him. You’d grown accustomed to expecting his calls the very instant he’d find out you were available—more often than not, without any warning at all.

you (1:07 a.m.) do you even have to ask?

channie 🐺 (1:09 a.m.) i should probably start haha sorry

You frowned. Something was definitely off.

you (1:09 a.m.) nooo that’s not what i meant  ur calls are the best surprise

Another minute passed without a response, and you began to worry that you’d actually upset him. Then, your screen lit up again, this time to signal his incoming call.

He didn’t greet you immediately after you picked up like he typically did. You registered the subtle sound of whirring on the other end of the line, like a breeze was billowing through his phone speaker.

“Chan?”

“Hi,” he sounded out of breath. “What’s up?”

“I was about to check on you, actually,” you confessed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

Your heart fluttered, but it didn’t fully ebb the worry piling up inside you. “I missed you,” you murmured. “Starting to think dropping out isn’t such a bad idea.”

He chuckled—light, barely there. It was gone as soon as it came, as if not to overstay its welcome. The distant sound of a car engine met your ears, distracting you from what you’d planned to say next.

“Are you on your balcony?”

“Taking a walk,” he replied.

You blinked. “At this hour?”

“Yeah, couldn’t really sleep.”

For some reason, you felt a pang in your chest. You’d never heard him sound like this before. Blunt, sullen, defeated. A part of you, the hypervigilant part, wondered if he simply wasn’t in the mood to talk—but then, why would he have even asked to call you?

“Oh no,” you made a soft noise of sympathy. There was a pause as you mulled over how to approach it; whether to nag him not to get his adrenaline rushing so late, to offer words of comfort for whatever seemed to be bothering him, or to pretend like everything was okay, just to take his mind off of it. You didn’t want to keep pressing after you’d already asked once, but something was very clearly wrong; so wrong that Chan himself was making little effort to hide it.

“Do you want to look at the moon?”

A deep inhale. “Yeah.”

Wedging your phone between your ear and shoulder, you pulled up the blinds of your bedroom window and pushed it open, allowing the cool, October air to waft through your senses and drift over your skin. The moon was in its Waning Crescent phase, a thin, delicate slice of light illuminating the clear sky. You tried to picture Chan on the other end, the wonder in his tired eyes, the slope of his nose tilted upwards as he admired it like it was the first time it’d ever graced the night.

“Are you looking?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “It’ll be a new moon soon.”

“Yeah,” he said again.

A silence stretched across the call, not quite uncomfortable, but not quite serene, either. Even from afar, you could feel the thoughts buzzing in his head like they were your own, disturbing any peace the view might usually wash over him. His breathing, at least, steadied, and you guessed he’d stopped walking to get a proper look at the sky.

The two of you stayed that way for some time, long enough for you to start filling the gaps with his absentminded humming and sweet vocalizations. There was none of that today; just silence.

Then, you heard it. Faint, muffled, like he’d turned away from his phone to avoid letting you catch it: a sniffle.

“Channie,” you whispered. “Are you really okay?”

“Just my leftover cold, don’t worry.”

You kept quiet. You both knew he’d fully recovered well over a week ago.

“Sorry,” he said weakly. “Can I come over?”

“Right now?” You glanced at the time. It was already nearing 2:00 a.m., you didn’t want him to make such a long walk this late, especially not in his current condition. “Why don’t I come meet you?”

“No, no, ‘s alright.”

“Well, of course you can come. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you.”

The call ended. It left you feeling heavy with unease, an emotion you’d never once associated with Chan. As foreign as it was, it made you all the more determined to be there for him, to take on some of the weight he carried everywhere he went before his knees completely buckled underneath him. In your eyes, he was just like the moon he loved so much—always shining down on you with the brightest side of him, and never allowing you to see the other. You wanted to break the tidal lock and see the dark side of the moon. To uncover all the hidden craters and basins and accept them as a part of him.

Not even ten minutes had passed before you heard a knock at your door, far too soon for him to have arrived by foot. It made you realize, with another tug at your heart, that he must’ve already been on his way to your apartment when he’d first called.

When you swung open the door, there was a short lapse before his smile came, strained, but relieved. His hair was tousled from the wind, eyes outlined with dark circles, and black jacket unzipped. It hung loosely off his shoulder, and when you pulled him into a hug, you could feel the chill from the outside air lingering on his skin. Even so, his persistent warmth still seeped through; it always did.

Neither of you said anything as you took his hand in yours, guiding him to the other room. You settled down next to him on the edge of your bed, facing the window where the moon was still watching over you. Chan kept his eyes firmly locked on it, but his fingers brushed tentatively against yours, tracing the lines of your fingerprints and palms as if to commit them to memory.

“Sorry for bothering you so late.”

“You could never bother me,” you said simply.

It was so immediate, so natural, it had him taken aback for a moment. He sucked in through his teeth, well aware of your gaze studying his side profile with growing concern.

“At the showcase,” he mumbled. “Did you really mean what you said?”

The question could’ve been in reference to anything, but somehow, that was all he needed to ask for you to know exactly what he was talking about.

“Of course.”

Memories of him up on that stage flooded your mind. His charisma, his passion, his belief in Changbin and Jisung and, for a fleeting moment, himself. Just thinking about it was enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin.

“When I saw you performing, all I could think about was how much you belonged up there.”

Chan’s breath hitched. At last, he turned his head to face you, that same look from the night of the party—the one that troubled you for reasons you couldn’t explain—crossing his features again. Hopeful eyes searched for any hint of insincerity, any shadow of a doubt, only to find nothing but raw affection.

He leaned in suddenly, brushing his nose against yours in a wordless plea, and you closed the space between you. His lips were the slightest bit chapped from the crisp autumn air, but their plushness was never lost, consuming your senses with that soft, irresistible quality you could never get enough of. He melded seamlessly into you, filling every gap and crevice, pulling you further in like waves lapping at a shore.

Chan turned slightly on the bed, angling his body to bring himself closer to you and pressing his thigh against yours. For such a simple touch, it made him sigh sweetly into you, lips parting to add a new degree of heat to it all. His fingers flexed in your hand, and you used the other to cup his face, holding him steady as he moved his mouth with increasing urgency. Cute, tiny sounds built up in his throat each time your tongue slid against his, growing louder and louder until he was all but whimpering into your mouth.

His desire, normally thinly-veiled by a layer of timidity, was on full display tonight—not quite pushy, rather, begging with every pucker of his lips and graze of his teeth for you to take things a step further, to let him fall completely into you. It was a lack of restraint you often had to build into, to guide him there yourself. You kept telling yourself to get a grip, to break the kiss and check on the boy who, just minutes ago, appeared to be on the verge of falling apart; but it was fruitless to even think about ridding yourself of a sensation so addictive. His free hand reached for your waist, hesitant as ever to grab on as tight as he needed to. Instead, he took your shirt between his fingers, playing with the fabric in a way that, strangely enough, was even more exhilarating.

The sounds spilling out of Chan became muddled together, and it took you a few seconds to realize that he was trying to say something to you.

“Please,” he whined. “Please, please.”

You ran your thumb along his cheek, unlocking your lips from his at last. “What is it, baby?”

“Need you,” his breath was shaky, lungs aching from the intensity of the kiss. “Can I make you feel good? Please, let me this time.”

You paused, pulling away to get a proper look at him. “Are you sure?” you frowned. “You don’t look well, Channie. Why don’t we talk?”

“N-no, ‘m okay. Just really need you right now.”

His gaze flickered down to the spot between your thighs, and he swallowed. It affected you more than you wanted to admit—the pure want in his eyes for something so selfless.

“I’ll be good,” he promised. “However you want it, I’ll do it. Please.”

You scanned his face a few moments longer, trying to put aside the arousal spreading through you at an alarming rate, just long enough to get a read on him. Your concerns were still very much there, but the look on his face told you that he wanted—needed this even more than you did.

Gently, you squeezed his hand one last time before unlacing your fingers. “Alright...if that’s what you want.”

Chan watched, mesmerized, as you repositioned yourself on the bed, resting your back against your pillows and slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts to tug them off.

“Th-thank you,” he breathed. “I’ll do well. Promise.”

It nearly made you coo out loud. All this just to please you, just to satisfy desires that, unbeknownst to him, were already fulfilled just by being with him. Still, you knew Chan well enough to understand that it wouldn’t sit right in his mind until he gave you everything he had to offer. He’d give you his all if only you would let him.

Even as you slipped off your underwear, he stayed put, unmoving until you gestured for him to come over. He licked his lips, eyes shining in the low light when you spread your legs at last. Your heartbeat picked up as he settled between them, suddenly so close that you could feel each shaky breath of his tickling your sensitive skin. Tentatively, he placed his hands on your thighs, glancing up at you to ensure that it was really okay. You gave him an encouraging nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak when the only thing you could focus on was how dangerously close his mouth—his perfect mouth—was to your most intimate spot.

With your permission granted, he began pressing kisses to your inner thigh. They started off with that same shyness you knew, careful and reserved, but quickly became less and less controlled the more his mouth roamed. His lips were smoother now, wet and glossy, and they sent tiny jolts through your senses each time they came in contact with your skin. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought he was purposely trying to tease you, giving hints of what he could make you feel without diving in fully just yet. But the way he kneaded your flesh with the pads of his fingers, a low, desperate noise bubbling up inside him, said otherwise. He was appreciating every bit of you, basking in the moment, as if he may never get the chance to have his head between your legs again.

His sloppy kisses drew closer and closer to your heat, and when his lips came to hover over it at last, you had to stop yourself from pushing against his face right then and there. Delicately, his tongue slid out to glide from your entrance right up to your clit, ending it with a gentle flick that sent a shiver down your spine. He repeated the action almost immediately, a sweet hum escaping him as your arousal flooded his tastebuds.

Your hand fell down to his head, gripping his curls in a way that made his own pleasure spike, if the sudden whine he let out was any indication. He continued licking away, each intoxicating lap of his tongue growing more confident and making you ask yourself just why on earth you’d ever deprived yourself of such a feeling. It satiated a need that you hadn’t even known was there to begin with, twisted the muscles in your core with both tension and relief. If it’d been a while since he’d used his mouth like this, it certainly didn’t show.

“Am I…” he slurred. “Am I doing okay?”

“You’re doing so well, Channie,” you assured him. “My sweet boy, using that pretty mouth for me. Making me feel so good.”

Your praises earned a moan from him, so loud you’d think he was the one experiencing the hot, delicious rhythm of his tongue. The sound vibrated against your folds, making your toes curl and your nails dig further into his scalp.

“You really like this, don’t you?” you giggled breathlessly.

“Mm. Just wanna—mmph—please you,” he managed between licks. “Wanna be a good boy for you.”

Before you could respond, heart-shaped lips wrapped unexpectedly around your clit, engulfing it with his plush, wet warmth and sending shockwaves all throughout your body. Despite your best efforts, you gasped, barely able to stop yourself from squeezing your thighs around his head. He sucked eagerly, adding just the right amount of pressure that, if kept up, was sure to draw you to a climax faster than you’d ever experienced before.

“Just like that.” You let your eyes flutter shut. “Good boy. You were made for this.”

Chan dragged his upper lip along the sensitive bud, the tip of his nose brushing against it in a way that threatened to snap the tightening coil in your abdomen all at once.

“Made f-for you,” he stuttered out. “Please, tell me I’m good for you. Tell me ‘m okay.”

You weren’t sure if it was his own arousal becoming too much for him to bear, but his voice had become near-frantic, as did the strokes of his tongue. His movements grew sloppier and sloppier, drool mixing with your essence and nose dragging along your folds almost obsessively.

You ran your fingers through his curls, hoping to keep him grounded. “More than okay. You’re perfect for me, baby boy.” 

A broken whimper met your ears, driving you closer to the edge. “Yeah? ‘M doing well? Please, tell me I’m good,” he begged. “P-please, wanna be good enough.”

Amidst all his pleading and babbling, the words caught you off guard, pulling you out of your blissful haze all at once. Something wet dripped against your skin, warmer and thinner than any of the other fluids pooling at your core, and it made your eyes snap open in alarm.

“Channie?”

“I’ll do it right.” He didn’t look up, still working his mouth despite the choked noises building up in his throat. His hands pawed at your thighs, gripping and squeezing with so much urgency that you’d think he was terrified you might disappear. Another hot droplet ran down your skin, and as you blinked to refocus your vision, you finally noticed it—the trembling of his shoulders. “Just please, l-let me show you ‘m worth something.”

“Chan.” Panic gripped you, and you used your clutch on his hair to catch his attention. “Chan, stop for me, baby.”

Every one of your nerve-endings screamed out in protest as he obediently unlatched himself from you, releasing the mind-numbing suction of his lips. But your worry quickly overtook any of the remaining lust in your body. Chan sucked in a sharp breath, refusing to lift his head, and you slid your hand down to his dripping chin, tilting it up into view.

He was crying; tears trickling down his cheeks with fresh ones brimming in his clouded eyes. He squeezed them shut, unable to meet your stare, and your heart may as well have snapped in two.

“Oh, Channie,” you whispered. “Why are you crying?”

“I…” his voice failed him, anything he’d been planning to say fading out into a sob. “S-sorry, ‘m sorry.”

A lump rose in your throat, guilt flooding your chest. You’d known he was off from the beginning—you should’ve done something, you shouldn't have let things get to this point. This was Chan, after all. Of course he’d pretend that he was fine for you, of course he’d try to make himself useful to you instead. You should’ve known better.

Still, you kept calm, even if it was surface-level, you steadied your volume and relaxed your expression; something to ground him amidst it all. “Don’t be sorry. Come see.”

He blinked the tears out of his eyes, only for them to immediately glaze over again. The skin around them had turned red and puffy, and coupled with the exhaustion written all over his face, he looked positively broken. “Sorry, ‘m okay, really,” he tried to insist. “I just…”

One look at your outstretched arms was all it took for him to lose his last shred of composure. He surged forward with a hiccup, falling into you and burying his face in your neck. You wrapped your arms securely around him, the tear in your heart growing as you felt him shake against you with each gasp and sob that racked his body. His flow of tears didn’t stop, in fact, it only seemed to come stronger in your hold, warm droplets streaming freely and seeping through the fabric of your shirt. You stayed quiet for a bit, just allowing him to release as you ran your hand up and down his back in an attempt to soothe him.

“Why are you crying, baby?” you murmured again. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I c-can’t fail,” he managed at last, barely coherent through the slur of his speech. “N-not again. I can’t.”

“Fail? Why would you fail?”

He didn’t answer right away—or, rather, he couldn’t, another feeble gasp effectively cutting off any response he’d mustered up. Despite the slew of questions his words unleashed in you, you remained patient, cradling his head with your free hand while the other continued to rub his back. For all its strength and broadness, it was more fragile than ever shuddering under your palm.

“It’s my last chance. C-can’t mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess anything up,” you said firmly. Even without any idea as to what he was talking about, you knew that much was true. “What makes you think that?”

Another minute or so passed of him trying to gain control over his hiccups, just long enough to get a proper sentence out. “My mentor,” he took a deep breath. “My mentor rejected my project. S-said it needs a complete rework.”

Your stomach flipped. “What? Why?”

You winced at how loud it’d come out, but the utter disbelief in your tone at least seemed to encourage Chan to keep going. He sniffled, still refusing to lift his head from the comfort of your shoulder.

“Just wasn’t good enough.”

“Don’t say that.” The possibility wasn’t even worth considering to you. There had to be more to it; you refused to accept otherwise, not when you’d witnessed firsthand how earnestly Chan poured his heart and soul into every piece of music he’d ever created. “I know that can’t be it.”

A thought flickered to life in your head, one so obvious that you scolded yourself for not realizing it sooner. “Did you have enough time to work on it?”

“I…” he began weakly. “I t-tried.”

“You were sick for over two weeks, Channie. Does your mentor know that?”

His breath caught in his throat, telling you all that you needed to know. “Don’t...wanna make excuses.”

“But it’s not an excuse, is it? It’s just the truth,” you reasoned. “You couldn’t even get out of bed. There’s no way you could do your best under those conditions.”

“I...I sh-should’ve—”

“You should’ve been getting enough rest. You should’ve told him what was going on.”

Your words seemed to reach him at last, cutting carefully through the thick fog of self-deprecation and sabotage consuming his mind just enough for him to really mull it over. He inhaled again, slower and deeper this time, but still not free of that painful tremor.

“M-maybe,” he rasped. “Maybe I did need more time.”

“There we go.” You combed through his hair. “Your best is more than good enough, Channie. Your mentor wouldn’t have done this study with you otherwise.”

You wanted, more than anything, to see his face as you spoke, to look directly into his red, watery eyes and let him know exactly how much you meant it. But you knew how vulnerable he must be feeling for you to even see him like this, so you let him be, hoping the message would get through to him nonetheless. “I’m sure if you explain it to him, he’ll understand. He knows what you’re capable of, and so do I. So please, don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?”

Chan’s shoulders relaxed just barely in your arms. He nuzzled further into you, and little by little, the trembling under your palms came to a stop. Given how hard he’d been crying—even now, with new ripples of tears still trickling onto your clothes—you were certain there was something else brewing deep within him. This was only the tip of the iceberg, the breaking point. Even so, you didn’t press the matter just yet, instead choosing to nurture the hint of calm that had begun to creep up on him.

“Do you really think I can do this?”

Your hand slid down to the nape of his neck, playing gently with the wisps of curls that swooped out. “I know you can,” you murmured. “And even if I didn’t, you’d do it anyway. You were made for this.”

A sweet sound, something between a sigh and whine, spilled out of him. Under any other circumstances, you knew he wouldn’t accept it without a protest or two, but in that moment, he absorbed it wholly—clung to it, even. His head finally lifted from the mess of tears and sweat that had formed in the crook of your neck, only to fall right into your chest instead, not quite ready to face you.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and he scooted impossibly closer to you, his thigh brushing between your legs in a way that you willed yourself to ignore. “Why don’t we go wash up?”

He tightened his grip on you, another soft noise gracing your ears. “Can we stay like this, please? Just a little longer.”

You softened. “Of course. Anything you want.”

He slumped fully against you as you rested your hand on the small of his back, the last of his reservations effectively washing away. You played loosely with the hem of his hoodie, listening to the sound of his breathing and taking comfort in the fact that it was finally beginning to even out.

The two of you stayed peacefully like that for several minutes, that was, until something warm and damp spread through your shirt, immediately catching your attention. Not tears this time, rather, the feeling of Chan’s mouth pressing against your chest.

Your heart skipped a beat. His lips puckered faintly, forming a moist ring over the material, right around your nipple. Just as you were about to pass it off as an accident, it happened again.

“Is there something you need, Channie?”

“You,” it came muffled. He parted his lips, wider this time, nibbling delicately on the fabric. “Can I? Please?”

It didn’t take much thought for you to understand what he was implying. An uncharacteristically self-indulgent request, one that filled you with affection and pooled heat in your stomach all over again.

“You’re so cute.” You couldn’t help yourself, his transparency made you melt like nothing else—you only wished that it would extend to other aspects of his life, ones that you were equally as hungry for.

Careful not to disturb him too much, you slipped your hands under your shirt and wiggled out of it. Chan lifted his head, albeit briefly, to make it easier for you to unclasp your bra. The instant your skin was bared to him, he nestled right back into your chest, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sending a spark of electricity through your body. He sucked gently at the bud, taking in your scent through his nose and exhaling contently. His hand, covered by the sleeve of his jacket, reached up for your other breast, pawing at it with timid fingertips before squeezing the soft flesh at last.

“My sweet boy,” you cooed. “My baby boy who works so hard he forgets to care for himself.”

He whimpered, puckering and unpuckering his plump lips in a way that would’ve made you rub your thighs together had he not been settled between them. You cupped the back of his head, and his eyes fluttered shut, a look of pure bliss crossing his face. The red, hot flush from all his crying was replaced with something softer now, a rosy shade dusting his puffed cheeks.

“You’re doing so well, Channie,” you continued. “I hope you’ll see it one day. I’m so proud of you.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrowed, an especially high-pitched whine escaping him. For a moment, you worried that he may begin to cry again, then, you felt it—his bulge brushing against your leg. His hips rocked forward so subtly, you weren’t even sure if he himself was aware of it, but once you’d noticed, it became hard to ignore the spike in your adrenaline.

Driven on by the feeling of his tongue swirling hungrily around your nipple, you let your hand drift down to the waistband of his pants. His mouth fell open as you traced over his bulge, all but jolting against you. “A-ah, yes. Touch me,” he pleaded.

“My baby’s so needy today,” you teased, dipping your fingers into his underwear and wrapping them around his half-hard length. He tightened his hold on your chest, his low, drawn-out moan sending a delicious vibration through your skin. “But good boys like you get whatever they want.”

Chan unlatched his lips from your nipple, only for any attempt at a reply to be cut off as you began pumping your hand along his dick. The cool night air drifting through your window was no match for the heat building between your bodies; that same, inexplicable heat that always drew you back to him. His fingers flexed around the softness of your breast, and you realized with a soft giggle that he was subconsciously mirroring the pace of your strokes.

You stopped to roll your palm over the head of his cock, smearing the droplets of precum around to add a layer of slickness to your movements. The cry it earned was nothing short of heavenly, ringing out shamelessly through your bedroom and making your core clench. Chan’s hip shot up into your grasp, so overtaken by the pleasure that he forgot to keep sucking for a moment, instead letting his mouth hang as drool began to dribble from its corner.

“Does that feel good?” you asked sweetly.

“Mmph, yes,” he slurred. “Please, don’t stop.”

“You deserve it,” you guided his head closer to your chest, allowing him to take your nipple between his swollen lips again. “You deserve to feel so good, angel.”

A wet, sticky sound, mixing with Chan’s pleas, began building as you glided your hand up and down his cock more steadily. Despite everything, it flustered him the moment he registered it, legs squeezing together with a broken whine.

“You hear that? Even the sounds your body makes are cute,” you hummed. His eyes, already shut tight, scrunched up even further to form an adorable look of embarrassment. “My pretty boy. You don’t even know how perfect you are for me.”

“Please,” he mewled, almost unintelligible through the skin and drool occupying his mouth. “Please, ‘m getting close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, baby?”

He could only whimper in response, cock twitching in your hand as you added a delicious pressure to your strokes. He kneaded your chest with more vigor, leaning in to suck on your other nipple and sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. His mouth was like wet, warm velvet encasing the sensitive bud; you found it hard to believe that those same lips had been between your legs earlier, drawing you to a climax with a purpose that you could only describe as raw devotion.

“Gonna—!” Chan’s hips bucked up, his whole body tensing. “A-ah, please, can I?”

You swiped your thumb playfully over his slit, and he practically keened. It was cruel, probably, but his unrelenting need to please you, even amidst all the desperation clouding his judgment, only made you want to toy with him more. Still, you knew that given the state he was in, teasing was out of the question. He needed comfort, pleasure, relief—and all of it rested in the palm of your hands.

“Let me see you cum like a good boy.” You gave one final jerk of your wrist, sending him over the edge at last. His thighs clenched, voice catching in his throat for a moment before breaking out into a gasp. Even so, he kept sucking to the best of his ability, babbles of your name dying down into soft mewls as the last few spurts of his seed coated your palm. You held still to avoid overstimulating him, curling his hair absentmindedly around your index finger until his cock finished throbbing in your grasp. Chan blinked his eyes open, still hazy and puffy, just in time to see you remove your hand from his pants and spread your fingers, connected by thick strings of his release.

“Look at all that,” you marveled. “You really needed this, huh?”

A low whine built in his throat. He pressed his cheek into your chest, shying away from the messy view.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Mhm,” he managed a chuckle—quiet, still missing the jovial, melodic quality of his laughter, but even a trace of it was all it took to lift your spirits. Other than that, he said nothing, and you guessed he wasn’t entirely grounded just yet. You reached for a tissue from your nightstand, making a light grunt of effort with Chan’s full weight resting against you, and wiped down your hand to the best of your ability. As you leaned back against the pillows, your stare flickered down to the boy in your arms. He was an absolute wreck now; a sweaty, flushed, beautiful wreck of dried tears and drool gazing back up at you like he would do anything you so much as suggested in that moment.

“You did so well for me, Channie,” you praised. “Such a good boy.”

Pressing a quick kiss to his ruffled curls, you shifted beneath him, wordlessly urging him to let you wiggle off the bed. His reaction was immediate, sweater paws gripping your waist with an unexpected intensity.

“W-wait,” it was tinged with panic. “Don’t go, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” you assured him, tapping the tip of his nose. “But we need to get you cleaned up, don’t we?”

He blinked a few times before the words seemed to get through to him. Then, with a slow nod, he hoisted himself off of you. It came as a surprise—though it shouldn’t have—how your body instantly longed for his warmth again. You took both of his hands into yours, almost tempted to push his sleeves back to properly lace your fingers together. But he seemed content with his palms covered like that, safe and secure in a way you didn’t dare to disrupt. With care, you tugged him up by his arms, letting him lean against you as you guided him to the bathroom. He didn’t let go of either of your hands the entire time, and, as awkward as the intimate gesture made it to walk, your heart fluttered.

You set the water to a warm temperature, watching Chan sway back and forth on his feet as you filled up the tub. His eyes were a bit more alert now, breaking the glaze that had encased them all throughout the night, like the reality of what had taken place was beginning to set in his mind.

“Wanna get undressed for me, Channie?”

There was a delay before he responded, long enough for you to give his hand a squeeze.

“Oh…yeah.”

Reluctantly, he released his hold on you, clumsy fingers fiddling with his hoodie in an attempt to shrug it off. With a fond smile, you reached out to help slide it down his shoulder. His arms fell limply to his sides, and you took it as a sign to keep going, slipping your fingers under the hem of his shirt and tugging it off, his pants and underwear following soon after. Even now, he ducked his head, unable to look you in the eye as you shut off the stream of water and ushered him into the tub.

As he sank into the warm pool, a sigh escaped him, so soft and relieved that you could practically feel the bliss rippling through his body. You sat yourself down on the edge of the tub, taking a moment to soak your washcloth before drizzling it with body wash—vanilla and cherry blossom, a blend of scents you’d quickly come to learn was Chan’s favorite. He loosened up the instant you came in contact with his skin, leaning into your touch. Gently, you began to scrub, lathering his broad back and shoulders with the sweet, flowery smell and admiring every curve and muscle in the process.

The rhythmic drag of the loofah and the gentle lap of the water had him reduced to putty in your hands in no time. He didn’t bother to resist the way his eyes drooped shut, each tranquil rock earning a small hum from him.

“Does that feel nice?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Channie. Your muscles are so tense,” you added. “I hope this helps a bit.”

He hummed again, tilting his head to the side as you moved up to the junction of his shoulder and neck, the comforting scent of your soap fully flooding his nostrils. Knowing how sensitive his neck was, you were careful not to press too hard around the area. It was horribly timed, but your skin tingled as you passed over the spot where you’d previously marked him—long faded by now, but you remembered the visual clear as day.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “About all of this.”

“Don’t apologize,” you ran the cloth along the slope of his shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I don’t want you to hide stuff like this from me—isn’t that what we promised?”

He hesitated. “I…yeah.”

“Even big, strong shoulders like yours can’t carry everything by themselves,” you scolded lightly. It earned a puff of laughter, and even with his eyes still closed tight, he lowered his head sheepishly.

The question that had been lingering in the back of your mind all night—the question that had been eating away at you since you’d first met him, really, made its presence known once again. The missing piece of the puzzle, the hidden crater yet to be illuminated. You knew by now that Chan wouldn’t reveal it without a strong enough nudge, no matter how badly he wanted to. Even if it was threatening to burst out of his chest, just aching for a pin to come along, he’d use all his strength to keep in until you punctured it yourself.

“Chan,” you pressed your lips together. “When you said ‘not again’…can I ask what you meant by that?”

He stiffened under your palms, features darkening to form that same expression as all those months ago, when you’d first asked why he’d changed majors. You repressed the urge to take it back this time—you needed to hear it as much as he needed to say it.

“Spring semester of my senior year,” he mumbled. “I failed most of my classes.”

Something awful gripped you, so intensely that you stopped scrubbing for a moment. Failed. It felt so wrong coming out of his mouth, a word you couldn’t comprehend ever applying to him.

“I…I decided to change from astrophysics and try music. It was something I always kinda wanted to do, anyway.” He sounded so nervous—terrified, even—shrinking into himself as he spoke as if each sentence made him more and more vulnerable to some hidden assailant waiting to attack. You continued your ministrations with the hopes of easing his fears a bit, wringing out the washcloth before adding more soap and running it along his chest. Even through the rough material, you could feel how fast his heart was beating.

“My parents, they…I've never really disappointed them like that before,” his voice cracked on the word “disappointed”, like it physically pained him to say. “I still don’t think they’ve really accepted it. They still look at me like…like I'm…”

He trailed off. He didn’t have to say it for your gut to wrench.

“Maybe once I graduate, they’ll think I'm worth something again.”

“Please, don’t talk like that,” you couldn’t hide your own distress. “You’re worth something as you are. It’s your future, Chan, not theirs.”

“But what if I can’t do it?” he whispered. “What if I just fail again? I’m so…so scared that I’m making the wrong decision.”

“It must be scary,” you agreed, gliding the washcloth along the tense curves of his arms. “Really hard, too. But that’s because you’re carving out your own path. No one else has walked it before you to clear out the way.”

He went quiet, and you took it as a sign to continue, a chance to keep swinging at the seemingly indestructible wall of self-doubt he’d so carefully crafted for years.

“You’re not alone, either,” you encouraged. “Think of Bin and Jisung and all that faith you have in them. Think of how much faith they must have in you to follow you down that path without question.”

If only he knew—if only he saw the admiration for him written all over their faces, oozing from every word they spoke. If only he knew the admiration you’d felt for him as early as when Changbin had first told you about him choosing music composition. Daring to take a route that, in many ways, was more challenging than even the most horrific of astrophysics courses. Not only that, but daring to flourish, leaving room for flowers to grow along the way wherever he roamed.

When Chan replied, you could've sworn you heard the faintest glimmer of hope in it. “I guess I never really thought of it that way.”

“Well, start thinking of it that way,” you chided softly. “I know you can do it. Just because others want you to do something, doesn’t mean it’s right. What’s right is what makes you happy.”

He loosened up further, welcoming your cleansing touch and your words of compassion more and more openly. You washed him in silence for another few minutes, debating in your head whether or not to keep pursuing the matter, to peel back another layer of him and get to his core.

“Were you…unhappy doing astrophysics?”

“Not exactly.” You got the feeling he could tell what you were really attempting to ask him. “I meant it when I said I liked it. That’s…not why I failed.”

You made a noise of understanding that masked the countless other things you wanted to say. He jolted just barely as you ventured down to clean his stomach, approaching his most sensitive area with a touch as gentle as it was deliberate. Care with a purpose.

“The…the person I was with, at the time,” he paused—whether to gather his thoughts, or to gauge your reaction, you weren’t entirely sure. Your eyes widened just a bit, but you kept your hand stubbornly occupied, scrubbing over his sore thighs. Like clockwork, they nearly closed in on each other. “She had a lot going on. Her mother was really sick; in and out of the hospital a lot.”

Even as dread stirred within you, like you knew exactly where this story was going, you left him space to continue.

“She just needed some help with everything she was dealing with in her life, y’know? I wanted to help.”

“I know you did,” you murmured. It was a given, one of the few certainties in life. Chan would always help, for no reason other than the fact that he could.

“I t-tried to be there for her. Took her wherever she needed to go, helped with her classes, visited her mother, looked after her little sister when she couldn’t,” he swallowed. “Then, around May, things got really bad. Her mom needed treatment for a few weeks, so I spent most of my time at the hospital or taking care of her sister.”

Something about the way he phrased it made you feel compelled to ask, “Where was she during that time?”

“Dunno,” he chuckled, humorless. “But I can probably guess.”

You stole a glance at his face. His eyes were open now, locked on the bubbly water and refusing to meet yours, like he might break all over again if he did. “In the end, I guess I didn't prepare well enough for my finals. Didn’t pass most of them. So I figured, if I was gonna be taking more semesters, anyway…i-if it wasn’t going to be perfect, I might as well start from scratch, y’know? Do it right this time.”

“Oh, Channie,” you rested your hand on his head. “That’s too much. That’s way too much.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t h—”

“No, no,” you didn’t even want to give him the chance to second-guess himself. “Please, don’t hold back. I’m listening.”

He was sugarcoating it, you knew he was. Even now, two years into the aftermath and still suffering the effects of it, he was trying to dismiss it all as something casual.

“What about her? What happened?”

Chan shrugged, reaching up for his ear. You didn’t push him as he fiddled with the silver hoop, instead taking the opportunity to grab your bottle of shampoo and squeeze some of the substance into your palm while he found the will to answer.

“When she found out I wasn’t graduating, she ended it,” he said at last. “Think it was already over, anyway. She was with someone else a few weeks later.”

“Oh my God.”

Through the haze that had been filling his head the entire night, your emotions still reached him with ease. “I brought it on myself, though,” he added quickly, as if the excuse—had it been even remotely correct—would’ve made it any better. “It was all just my own stupid choices. I can’t really say it’s her fault.”

Yes, you can. It took every ounce of self-control to stop yourself from pressing your nails into his head, just to avoid hurting him. You weren’t sure what drove the urge most: sympathy, protectiveness, fury. You couldn’t even begin to fathom it—you didn’t want to fathom it. To be presented with a heart as pure and honest as Chan’s, a love so selfless and sincere, only to trample all over it like it was worthless.

Despite the whirlwind that had spiraled to life inside you, you settled for something softer, a tenderness that, clearly, had been missing from his life thus far. You rubbed the shampoo delicately into his hair, swirling the dark curls around in a way that sent pleasurable ripples down his spine.

“It’s not your fault,” your tone left no room for debate. “Someone took advantage of your kindness. But showing that kindness? How could that possibly be your fault, Channie?”

He sucked in a sharp breath. You wondered if it was the first time he’d been told anything like that—whether by himself, or anyone else.

“I never do things for people to gain anything from it,” Chan began, and you knew, more than anything, that he meant it. “But…”

He hesitated, giving a quick shake of his head, as if to compose himself.

“But it hurts to be used.”

“Yeah. I understand.” You understood more than he could know, more than you could say in that moment. Tears had begun to well up in his eyes again, and for his own sake, you scooped up a portion of water in your hands and began to cleanse his head of the shampoo, letting the streams mask any fresh droplets that may trickle out.

“She never really did anything like this,” he said softly. “Most of the time, she’d just leave.”

Everything clicked into place. All the missing pieces of the puzzle, all at once, with each realization serving as another pang in your chest.

“Chan. I need you to know, right now, that this is what you deserve. All of this, and more.”

Faint sniffles and dripping water echoed throughout the bathroom. In this case, you welcomed it over his usual protests.

“I see everything you do, for me, and everyone else. You never give up on people, even with more than enough reason to,” you ran your hand through his hair, watching the wet ringlets slip through your fingers. “I admire that so much about you, but you still need to think of yourself once in a while. It’s not worth it—it’s never worth it to give your all to someone who will only see the empty husk left behind.”

Vaguely, you saw it, the slow nod of his head. It filled you with hope, the possibility that he might start to see himself the way you saw him, even if just a glimpse. Just a glimpse of him was bright enough to pierce through any darkness.

“One day, all that kindness you put out into the world is gonna find you again. I promise.”

He turned his head to look up at you for the first time, eyes gleaming with something other than tears.

“I think it already has.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Neither of you said much as you continued bathing him, a quiet spell—comfortable, once more—passing between you and allowing everything that had been said to settle in your minds. You took your time conditioning Chan’s hair, giving each lush, beautiful curl the proper attention it deserved until you were fully satisfied. By the time you had finished rinsing him off, your legs were aching from sitting in the same, uncomfortable position for so long, and you were certain his were too. You helped him rise from the tub to the best of your ability, taking a moment to admire the streams of water traveling down his body before you passed him a towel.

As you re-entered your bedroom together, you immediately went to shut your window, not keen on creating even the slightest opportunity for Chan to catch another sickness. He was rocking on his heels again, looking seconds away from collapsing into your bed; he likely already would have if it weren’t for the fact that he was clad with nothing but a damp towel.

You dug around for a bit before locating a fresh pair of sweatpants he’d previously left at your place. When you presented them to him, he grinned for the first time that night.

“Been looking for these,” he commented. “They’re my favorite.”

“Well, they’re mine, now,” you teased. “But I can let you borrow them, I guess.”

To your surprise, he brought the garment up to his nose, and it took you a moment to register that he was breathing in the scent of your laundry detergent. It was almost ridiculous, how such a small action made you feel like your heart was going to erupt out of your chest.

The two of you settled into bed once he’d changed, and the exhaustion that had been gradually seeping down into Chan’s bones throughout the entire course of the night—even before that, probably—took over at last. You pulled the covers over your bodies, and he nestled into you before your head had even hit the pillow, his misgivings from your first night together nowhere to be found.

You prayed that he’d be able to sleep soundly tonight. His warmth washed over you, lulling you into dreams of your own. As you opened your mouth to wish him goodnight before your consciousness escaped you, you heard it. A mumble, just audible enough for you not to pass off as your own imagination.

“Think I love you.”

He was so drowsy that he may not have even noticed if you chose not to respond—you weren’t even sure if he noticed that he’d said it in the first place.

You rested your hand on the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“I love you, too.”

Something twisted deep within you as you returned his words. Not because you didn’t mean them, but because you did.

#bang chan x reader #skz fanfic #bang chan fanfic #bang chan smut #skz smut #sub!skz #sub!bang chan #sub!chan #dom!reader #skz x reader #skz angst #skz imagines #bang chan imagines

[artificial-transmutations]

Visiting the dentist

Rodrigo was really not looking forward to this day. He had a dentist appointment today and really didn't want to go - but his tooth ache was getting worse every day.

He hated going to the dentist with a passion. Everything about it was just painful or disturbing. No one should be allowed to operate a fricking drill inside his mouth! Even imagining the noise, it would produce made the hairs on his neck stand up in terror.

Standing in the cold winter air in front of the dentist's office made the pain in his mouth even worse, but he struggled whether to enter or just screw it and drive home immediately.

It was no use - on a rational level he knew the pain would only get worse. He sighed and entered the dental office. It was warmer in there, which was good. After hanging up his coat, he didn't actually have to wait long. There were no other patients in the waiting area, which was probably because of the time of day. Rodrigo was an author, so he had the luxury of being able to make appointments like this when other people were at work.

He was a little surprised though, as the person who entered the room after him was not the old woman who was torturing his teeth the last time, but a young and reasonably attractive man, who immediately shook his hand. Rodrigo could very much imagine that man not in a doctors coat but on a beach somewhere, just standing and looking good.

"Hi! I'm Garret, how are you feeling today?"

"Fine", Rodrigo lied, and added: "What happened to Dr. Shaffer?"

"Oh, she retired - actually two years ago! You haven't been here for a while?" Garret answered with a warm smile.

Rodrigo shook his head. "No. To be quite honest I don't like the dentist very much. Not you in particular Dr..."

"Just Garret is fine", Garret said.

"Dr. Garret.", Rodrigo continued, "But the whole place just gives me the creeps."

"No worries!" Garret laughed. "I don't know too many people who actually enjoy visiting the dentist. So, Rodrigo, what brings you to us today?"

Rodrigo didn't know if he was comfortable with the doctor being so first-name-basis with him but went along with it anyway. "Right, so, my teeth are aching, and it's really painful by now. I probably should have come sooner, but,..."

Garret interrupted him. "No worries. Let's just have a look and fix you up. Please get on the chair and open your mouth."

Rodrigo gulped and sat on the clean black faux leather dentist chair. This is where the hell began.

Garret carefully probed around in Rodrigos mouth, using his gloved hand to do so. After a while, he sighed and said:

"Well, there's a whole lot of caries in there I'm afraid. I can start to remove it right away, but it won't be pleasant."

"Ugh." Was all that Rodrigo was able to get out.

"There is another alternative, though. It's a bit more costly but it comes with additional perks. We can fix your teeth entirely painlessly by a new procedure. You will be better than new!"

"Painless sounds good. Okay, I'll take it. What do I have to do?"

"Great choice, Rodrigo. This procedure is really quick. Please take off your shirt."

That struck Rodrigo as a strange request, but everything was better than the drill. So, he exposed his unimpressive white chest, while Garret entered a few commands into his computer.

"Alright, this will only take a few moments. Have fun!" Garret smiled. Rodrigo couldn't help but notice the tent in the doctors trousers. Did he get a boner for some reason?

Suddenly, Rodrigo felt warm. The pulsating pain in his mouth ebbed almost instantly, but the changes did not stop there! His skin cleared up and his face grew a tiny bit squarer than before. Then, the changes continued from his face downward. Suddenly, his arms inflated with muscles, as well as his chest. His shoulders widened and his frame became way more masculine. It didn't expand to bodybuilder-like proportions, but he became way beefier than before. His abs became more defined as well. On his chest, a slight coating of hair grew in, and his skin tone became a healthy shade of tanned pink. Inside his pants, he could feel his pelvis growing wider and packing on meat, as well as his legs, which became stronger and fitter as well. Even his feet expanded a good one or two shoe sizes!

Last, but finally not least, Rodrigo felt his cock increase in size as well. It felt like getting hard, and he probably also was - but the final size of his stiff cock was considerably larger than what he measured before.

In just a few minutes, Rodrigo had been improved all over - including, but certainly not limited to, a whole new set of teeth, which were new and healthy as they could be. Full of wonder, he looked up to Garret, only to find that the other man had gotten rid of his own shirt as well and bent down to him, smiling and asking:

"Care to try out the full package before you leave?"

#male transformation #muscle transformation

[inbarfink]

The thing that I’ve been thinking of is… so one of Dib’s most defining traits and flaws is supposed to be his desire for fame and emotional validation. You know he is fighting to protect the earth, but he’s also fighting for the sake of his own ego

It’s got a lot of fun potential because it’s both extremely understandable - he’s been bullied and emotionally neglected for his entire life, it’s no wonder his biggest fantasy is just to be loved - but it can also motivate some really selfish acts. Not to mention how much it acts as a mirror to Zim’s own desire for respect and prestige among his own people.

And because of that, I guess it actually kinda surprises me that they never tried to have Dib pull a… reverse Planet Jackers moment? Like, just as Zim will protect the Earth from outside threats because he wants the credit for destroying it - will Dib help Zim if his ability to get credit for defeating him is threatened?

Like, I imagine a story where maybe Dib meets a rival paranormal investigator, and the guy’s like a Super Mega Asshole to Dib and also thinks he’s crazy. And then this guy manages to capture Zim and it seems like he’s going to be the one to expose him to the world and get all the credit for foiling his infiltration scheme. The credit that Dib feels he rightly deserves. Or he simply get a chance to defeat Zim, but there are no witnesses and no evidence and no chance anyone will ever believe him. 

For Dib, stopping Zim and proving to the world that he’s been right all along have always been interwoven goals. He has always taken it for granted that doing the former will naturally lead to the latter… So how will he deal with a situation where Zim can be stopped for good, but his situation will not change. No one will know or believe what he just did, he would just be the same ridiculed social pariah - the only thing he actually accomplished is that he has gotten rid of his best chance to change that permanently.

And you know, he doesn’t necessarily have to take that chance to help Zim or let him go - even just having Dib struggle with the idea momentarily could be a very strong character moment for him. I think it’s a shamefully underutilized aspect of his canon characterization and I do hope we’d get to see it played with more one of these days. 

But you know which piece of canon really came closest to tackling this aspect?

Dib’s little plan for Zim in ETF is not quite exactly what I was talking about above - but there are some similarities.

I’ve seen some people talk about Dib’s ETF plan like it was meant to be a favor to Zim or some sort of attempt at redemption for him or like… a thing that Zim benefit from in any sort of way? Like, I've seen some people describe the plot of ETF like Zim's manipulation of Dib’s plan was him using Dib’s kindness and empathy against him? And that’s not exactly what’s happening here.

To recap, Dib tries to stage yet another confrontation between himself and Zim (to let off steam from his Daddy Issues) only to find Zim a total emotional wreck, depressed to the point of total apathy. His first instinct is to drag him away to ‘lock him up’ but... he’s not really feeling it.

Something’s not quite right about winning like this. And then, he shifts to empathy 

But then, he shifts again, when he realizes the ‘real’ thing he’s been missing - a crowd.

The real reason this victory was feeling hollow is because he hasn’t made it public enough! If he's going to use Zim's emotional rock-bottom as a way to finally defeat him and condemn him into a life of painful experiments.... he wants to do it in front of a cheering crowd!

And while Zim’s scheme seems to have started once he first laid eyes on the Membracelet 

That plan couldn’t have worked without Dib’s own scheme to exploit Zim’s suicidal depression to get him in front as many people as possible so that Dib can get worldwide fame and Daddy’s approval and Zim can get... experimented on for the rest of his life. 

There was no kindness here to exploit, only a desperate desire for emotional validation.

The big mistake Dib did that allowed Zim the window of opportunity he needed to take over Membrane Labs was not doing the Kind Thing when he should’ve done the Practical Thing - and it was not doing the Cruel Thing when he should’ve done the Kind Thing. Dib had his chance to do the Practical Thing right there and then - kill or capture Zim while he’s not fighting back. He considered doing the Kind Thing (empathizing with Zim) and he decided to abandon both of them in favor of… the thing that will get him the most fame and attention.

And that’s the weakness of Dib that Zim exploited in his scheme. And that’s the thing that almost doomed planet Earth. Quite ironically, it’s literally a flaw Zim himself possesses quite strongly.

If Dib was willing to think purely in terms of what’s safest for Earth he would’ve taken out Zim right there and then and Earth would be safe forever - but for the sake of his own ego he took a risk that the planet almost paid very dearly for. 

(And if he was willing to resist the temptation of fame and continue with the thread of empathy he showed Zim? Well, we can only speculate of what would've happened then...)

It’s not quite what I was talking about above; Dib would’ve probably gotten some of the fame and validation he wanted if he just stomped Zim’s head right there and dragged his corpse out - he just wanted as much attention as possible. And he didn’t knowingly help Zim or even seriously considered it as much as he was just tricked into a situation of Mutually Assured Bastardness. But I think it is the closest we’ve come so far, and I think it’s interesting.

#invader zim #iz #iz analysis #dib membrane #iz dib #zim #dib iz #dib invader zim #iz dib membrane #invader zim dib #zim iz #iz zim #zim invader zim #invader zim zim #invader zim iz #enter the florpus #etf #invader zim etf #iz etf #invader zim enter the florpus

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

ICYMI: There are so many Japanese qls airing weekly, so I’m going to start posting this little round up at the end of each week. Most of these shows are on Gaga and I highly recommend watching!

Chaser Game W

We've reached the stage with this one where I'm just gonna say we should keep watching for the ratings and enjoy the pretty gifs.

Tsukuritai Onna to Tabetai Onna 2

I got to watch episodes 5-8 of the new season this week, and I promptly lost my mind over how good this show is. It somehow got even better between seasons; the creators have some things to say about the experiences of women under heterosexual patriarchy. I already wrote about Kasuga's family trauma storyline and how much it meant to me, but these episodes also gave us Nomoto's ongoing queer awakening and journey to define her sexuality, the introduction of a new queer bestie in Yako, a better understanding of Nagumo and the careful and steady deepening of her relationship with the gals, a new confidant for Kasgua in Fujita, and Nomoto and Kasuga inching ever closer to defining what they are to each other. The world of the show and the support network around our leads continues to expand, and I am loving every moment. This drama is excellent and I cannot implore you enough to go to @furritsubs and catch up.

My Strawberry Film

Kicking off the last Drama Shower show of the season! This is a high school story featuring a classic trio—the Pining Gay, the Chaos Bisexual, and the Budding Lesbian. Obviously, I love them. I like the mood of this one—it's quite a tonal shift from the last show in this series—and the color grading is blue, blue, blue. And there's a mystery afoot as they try to track down the beautiful girl captured on film. Looking forward to more!

Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka

I continue to love this show, though I am not entirely sure how I feel about the turn things took with Mizuki this week. I did not really want this to go the full blown love triangle route; I am more interested in a version of this story where Sakae and Soga try to figure out these adult complications from the foundation of being in a relationship, not with the constant interference of a third party. So few dramas are willing to get the couple together early and let them face things together rather than constantly playing the will they, won't they game, and I was hoping Sukidoya was going to be one of them. That said, I like that Mizuki is sticking around in the story because he's an interesting character, and I like the conflict with Soga's job (we have a preponderance of Japanese shows about unreasonable work conditions airing atm) and the temporary nature of his time in Osaka. That he's worried about eventually leaving tells you all you need to know about how much he likes and respects Sakae. If he felt casual about him he would not be worried about complications that far down the timeline. Let's see where they take this love triangle thing next week; I'm hoping it will be brief.

Perfect Propose

Great episode this week, and I love the way they continue to deepen the backstory for these two. Hiro being the first person to need Kai rather than pity him makes so much sense for their dynamic and why Kai would be so attached to him. And of course, when Kai returns the situation is the same; Hiro definitely still needs him. I love that they took a source of shame for Hiro and turned it into a reason why he and Kai are so compatible. Kai wants to take care of him—and he's not the only one! Loved seeing Hiro's coworkers express concern for his well-being and recognize how this job is grinding him down and breaking his spirit. It was so validating to hear from another high performer that the job is miserable and he should quit. It has nothing to do with failure; as Kaneko said, it's about seeking the life he truly wants. He sees Hiro's talent and knows he will not be able to flourish in this hellish work environment, and I thought it was so kind and compassionate of him to try to help Hiro see that. Also shoutout to Hiyori for sitting her ass back down and missing the last train when she realized prime gossip was about to arrive to her table, she's just like me fr.

Ossan's Love Returns

We are clearly in the drama spiral for the season now, and this show seems to be coming for my beloved Kurosawa. Thanks, I hate it! But the show found its humor again this week even as the sad plotlines for the side characters continued, and I was very happy to see it back in top form. I loved this story with Maki and Haruta caring for Goro for the week, and how it affirmed for them that they are actually not interested in having children. I told @bengiyo and @twig-tea when we saw last week's preview that Maki seemed like the type who wouldn't like children, and I was glad to see that affirmed by the show, and crucially, that he didn't change his mind via the power of Goro's cuteness. Not all people want to be parents, and it's so nice and refreshing to see a loving couple decide they just want to focus on each other, and that you can like kids and spend time with them without needing to have one of your own. I loved, too, that we got some focus on Chizu's struggles as a single mom, and her family rallied around her and made it clear she has support. Takegawa's sudden not-at-all-selfishly-motivated interest in polyamory was hilarious, as was Chief's journey to figure out what was causing his stress—until it wasn't, of course. I was glad Chuoko was with him when he got the news. And I am really hoping that rooftop kiss was Kiku's goodbye, and we will be seeing him move on from Izumi soon.

Bonus: Kimi no Koto Dake Mite Itai 

Shoutout to @my-rose-tinted-glasses for giffing this show and reminding me I still hadn't seen it! It was not accessible to me back when it came out and it fell off my radar for awhile. I watched today and thought it was just delightful. A short, sweet, warm hug of a friends to lovers high school bl with two very lovable leads. I highly recommend checking it out.

#japanese ql corner #chaser game w #tsukuritai onna to tabetai onna #she loves to cook and she loves to eat #my strawberry film #sukiyanen kedo do yaro ka #perfect propose #ossan's love returns #kimi no koto dake mite itai #i want to see only you #japanese bl #japanese gl #shan shouts into the void

[thevirtualvalentine]

000. NARUTO, OBITO UCHIHA.

content warnings: (rough) face fucking, tobi who uses his madara impression on you, afab / femme reader, tbh he’s kinda mean, reader wants this guy bad, fatdicked!obito (real),

plot: you fuck around and find out with Tobi, they say curiosity killed the cat.

Can you imagine hanging around the akatsuki, for some reason you’re like .. really attached (attracted) to the goofy guy in the mask that’s just so silly and kinda a joy to be around. He’s real sweet to you and overall a lot different than the other cloaked members you’d met, he talks a bunch too! It helps to fill the more quiet spaces in your life.

You start trying to hold his hand, he’s pretty skittish at first. Pulling away and retracting before he’s the one initiating the touch with you in full force. Grabbing onto you or jumping into your arms when mean n’ grumpy Deidara yells at him for being a shitty partner and a sasori replacement. “Y/n!! Save me! Deidara-senpai is being a big ole meanie. Tobi doesn’t deserve this inhumane treatment! I’ll be calling HR on you.” Always dramatic and so whiny.

Then you keep seeing him, spending time with him alone in remote hideouts. He never takes off that mask of his, but you can clearly see his deep dark eye that stares into you. Even if your conversation isn’t ever breaching bellow surface level, you know he’s listening intently. He may be unserious and full of quirks, but he really does have his own sense of charm. You’ve always felt there was more to this guy than what he’s showing, maybe if you got to know him a bit more .. personally you’d figure it out.

One day you honestly just can’t take it anymore. “Tobi have you ever .. uhhh , you know.” You’re playing with your hands because you feel entirely ridiculous asking this masked entity such a lewd question. You’re starting to think it’s because of that same damn mask that you’re where you are now.

“Have I ever what y/n! You can tell me, Tobi’s a great listener~” he goads you, completely unaware of the whorish request you have in store for him. That same cheerful voice that makes you feel so comforted is asking you to be honest with him, your legs touching as you sit together on the floor.

“Y’know, you ever do it with anyone?” You’re gesturing with your hands nervously as he tilts his head in confusion.

“Do it? Do what! Tobi doesn’t quite understand what pretty miss y/n is asking for.” He places his hands together while leaning his head to the side, playing such an innocent role in all this.

“Has anyone ever sucked your dick?” You can’t even bother to face his masked appearance as it finally tumbled forth from your lips, the question you’ve been itching to ask. “Like, touched you in a way you liked or that felt really good?” He can’t be that unadulterated can he? If so this was going to be a very awkward conversation.

“Ooooo, does y/n wanna make Tobi feel good? Naughty girl asking such questions.” He waggles his finger at you as if to insinuate you were a pervert for asking him anything like that. He doesn’t answer your question but he doesn’t deny it either, pulling the tide of control back into his own hands.

“Eugh not when you put it like that” you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, heat rising throughout your body wishing you could take back what you just asked.

“Tobi doesn’t mind, m’not stoppin you.” A schoolgirl like giggle escapes him as he stands up, shedding the ostentatiously long coat. Oh wow, you didn’t expect this guy to be so built, what the hell was he hiding under that cloak? An all black ensemble that covers him from head to toe but defines all of his muscle groups with a pair of black gloves. Still, the omnipresent mask doesn’t move.

You’re stuck peering up at him from your knees as he slides his fingers beneath your chin, angling your head to face him as he’s shrouded in light. “Still wanna suck my cock? Or did you change your mind.” When he speaks this time he doesn’t sound like Tobi, his eye flickers to life in dark red hues through the hole of his mask. The deep tone makes your jaw drop as you stare at him dumbly, grabbing his wrist as you scramble to make sense of what just happened. His entire being just changed in front of you, not even his chakra feels the same as it did before. They say curiosity killed the cat.

“Tobi?” You ask, almost afraid of what his answer could be. His chakra is dark and ominous, cool and uninviting as it swallows you whole. If Tobi had left and been replaced with another person in the blink of an eye, you’d believe them.

“No.” It’s simple, but you’ll take it. “Go on.”

You meekly nod your head while obeying his command, that voice of his is making your underwear drenched. That same red eye watches your nimble hands shake as you pull his cock out, “I’ll take care of you, good care.” The unnamed man pats your head in an effort to calm you but you just keep getting wetter and wetter each time he speaks. Something in his mannerism compels you to listen as if you’re in a trance.

“So obedient, what a good girl.” He’s not unaware of what his voice is doing to you, sharingan abilities and all. He just finds it cute, been waiting for this day for months. The day you stop beating around the bush and ask him for what he wants.

He’s thick, much thicker and longer than what you thought a man like Tob— no, whoever this man is, would be. You lick your lips at the sight of his angry brown tip that’s leaking thick globs of pre cum, begging for you to lick it up. He’s so hard it’s slapping against his own abdomen. What kind of expression must be on his face beneath that mask to be this stiff right in front of you.

He revels in the way you size him up, unabashed staring at the monster hidden beneath his pants. He thanks his Uchiha genes for such a pretty cock, it’s truly a masterpiece. “Don’t be shy when you were so eager earlier, I don’t bite.” A heavy chuckle leaves him as you start to work his pre up and down his shaft, spitting in your hands as it requires both appendages to fully jerk him off.

Once you find a rhythm with your hands that satisfies the man before you enough to elicit a grunt, you pop his head between your lips, suckling on the slit hoping to make him moan out. “Just like that, what a smart girl you are. You really know how to suck dick, hm?” But again, it’s him making you gush and clench your thighs as you sit up on your knees to suck him off. If you knew it was gonna be like this you would have asked Tobi to fuck eons ago, what the hell???

You start to take more of him in your mouth inch by inch, using a hand to brace yourself against his toned thigh. Your wrist twists in atune with each bob of your head along his girth as your cheeks hollow in. You try breathing through your nose so you won’t ruin the mood by gagging, but he’s just too thick. “What? Too big for you? Thought you wanted to suck my dick.”

You pull off of him trying to explain yourself but he doesn’t care, grabbing you by the curls as his red eye lowers in disappointment. “Less talking, ore sucking.” You’re shoved back on his fat cock while it jabs the back of your throat, effectively face fucking you.

“Your throat’s so warm, mhhm, and tight. Can you breathe down there?” Drool dribbles down his balls as your throat constricts around his cock. Tears forming in your waterline from the assault on your throat. You want to touch yourself to relieve the unbearable ache in your cunny from being used as a hole to fuck but the lack of oxygen makes you dumb, compliant in whatever way he holds your head still with his big hands. His heavy balls slap your chin with each thrust into your face.

It’s exhilarating and you almost wish you could thank him for using you so well, it’s exactly what you’ve been craving. You gurgle around his shaft with each drag of his hips, he doesn’t moan but groans when your tongue laps the underside of his cock. “Such a cute little thing, kept following me around. Wanted to fuck this throat so bad. Kept teasing me too, bet you were fantasizing about it.”

To say this is what you were expecting is far from the truth, you thought you’d have Tobi crying and whimpering while giving him the sloppiest top of his life, but here you are; having your throat bruised by a man you never truly knew. Shouldn’t you be scared? Alarmed?

Your cunt betrays you, oozing at the thought of what his heavy dick could do to your insides. You’d go slack from the intrusion alone, would it even all fit inside you?

Your jaw feels like it’s going to break off it’s hinges if he isn’t more careful with you, but it’s addicting with each revolution of his hips. The black fabric of his shirt riding up to expose scarred skin. Your hands trail up to his v-line and he shudders, “ahh— fuck, don’t do that.” He grabs a fist full of your hair before shoving you down further, not caring if you choke or not. “Make yourself useful, will you?”

His strong hands grip the side of your head, continuously fucking your throat raw in a way that you won’t be able to speak tomorrow. Each thrust of his hips lets the tip of his fat dick kiss the back of your throat and it makes your eyes roll back into your skull. You’re moaning, crying, drooling all from one man and it’s making you stupid.

“Fuck, swallow it. All of it, or there’ll be trouble to pay later.” The playfulness of his voice reminds you of Tobi, but the underlying threat awards you a pang of pleasure in your cunt. Moaning around him sends vibrations that rattle his being, at least you’re listening. “Be good and I may just keep you around.”

He throws his head back with a long groan as he keeps you pinned to his pelvis, you can only take it as his warm seed spills down your throat. You didn’t even have a choice to swallow it or not. Shallow strokes accompany soft curses as he grips your hair for purchase, orgasm causing him to shudder above you. He stumbles back a bit, letting you take care of his after shocks. You slowly pump him as you recover your breath, “you taste good.”

Voice already hoarse but you felt he deserved a compliment for fucking your throat raw. He simply laughs, tucking himself back in his pants. The discarded cloak on the ground resumes being draped back over his shoulders. “And don’t forget~ whatever you saw here you don’t speak about!” He’s back to to twirling around in that idiotic high pitched voice you love so much, a stark contrast to what just happened here. He grabs your hand to pull you up from the floor, wiping your knees of any debris in an animated fashion.

“It’s a Tobi and y/n secret, right y/n?” He extends his pinky to you while you stare at him incredulously trying to figure out which one is the real him.

You’ll later come to find out that it was neither.

#obito #tobi? #Tobi who is acting like Madara but is actually just obito #obito smut #Tobi smut #is that a tag — do people wanna fuck tobi? #obito x reader #tobi x reader #obito x you #obito x y/n #naruto smut #naruto x reader

[nyaagolor]

Merry DL6mas!

I wrote an inordinate amnt of words about Edgeworth and MVK and dynamics and meta and w/e, stuck it below the cut so I don't obliterate ur dashes

So originally I wanted to make a relationship flowchart for all the characters and then realized that the amnt of caveats would make the image entirely text so I’m just forgoing the image altogether and doing this group by group starting with the VKs bc DL6mas and whatnot. It’s an essay and also unorganized so um. Have fun or apologies in advance? 

Anyway. I think AA1 intending to be standalone and then getting these additional games does some fun things to the characters but especially for Manfred. I’m of the opinion that he was not created or written to be deep or nuanced or anything. He’s the final boss, we weren’t supposed to get more on him, he’s honestly just a symbolic representation of the forces Phoenix works against rather than a character in his own right (in AA1 at least). He’s cartoonishly evil and that was supposed to be it— and then we get JFA and Franziska and suddenly Manfred gets all this retroactive characterization as the story is built beyond its initial parameters. That’s part of the reason why I’m so interested in him— all this new information comes exclusively through other characters and insinuations rather than him actually being on screen up until Investigations and even then it’s like 4 lines. We get more on Manfred, yes, but it’s a shadow on the wall. I’m sorry to bring up allegory of the cave about the gay lawyer simulator but w/e I’m a melodramatist, it’s an allegory of the cave situation. The reason I bring that up is because I don’t really think about Manfred in the same way as other characters; I piece together how I think of him though his relationships and impact on others rather than as an independent dude. His past is inconsequential to me and the ppl who flesh him out are the real troopers but he matters to me more as a vessel for narrative themes than anything. This is all to say that everything I’m doing is conjecture and just kind of filling in the gaps based on my current understanding of the text. Headcanons for the broad and far-reaching audience of me, myself, and I. 

That being said. The whole spiel I just went on about “Manfred as defined by his relation to others” works quite nicely as tie-in to how he feels about Edgeworth, because I think Edgeworth occupies this symbolic space in MVK’s mind. Yes, Edgeworth is a kid he mentors and who lives in his house and who he is legally responsible for, but Edgeworth is also this physical manifestation of his failures. Edgeworth is a child, yes, but to MVK he’s a ghost, a consequence, a punishment. He may not be a VK, but he IS karma (sound the turnabout melody I am kissing you on the lips for this line btw). 

This also means that the way MVK views Edgeworth as an extension of his own thoughts about the DL6 incident rather than solely as his own person, which is something that changes pretty drastically over time. The way he talks about and to Edgeworth goes beyond who and what Edgeworth is as a person because for MVK, there was always an aspect of the self in there, and MVK interacting with Edgeworth is as much a reflection of his own identity as it is how he feels about Miles. 

If there is one thing the entire VK family does extraordinarily well it's projection, and I think MVK has been doing this since he brought Edgeworth into the picture (and before that, but it’s only relevant to me now). This is personally how I rationalize how absolutely batshit half of MVK’s actions are. I know the actual reason is “we expanded the characters around him which necessitates certain actions to drive the plot and inconsistency results from this expansion” blah blah blah paratext more or less confirms this, but we are going full Watsonian in this bitch. 

I have talked at length about the actual medical stuff around gunshots and how bullets are typically removed from joints specifically because of how badly they damage the surrounding tissues over time, I’ll link the post if anyone is curious, but tldr bullet wound symbolism. I bring this up now because I think the bullet acts as a physical representation for DL6, it literally and metaphorically tears him up inside. No one else knows about this murder, most people have forgotten the penalty, but he never did, because he can’t. For someone who has structured his entire self on the idea of perfection, this is an event of unprecedented magnitude, and the living proof of it is eating dinner at his table every night. MVK sits with the weight of what he’s done, and whether or not he feels justified or guilty or w/e doesn’t even matter because it’s making him lose his goddamn mind. His behavior gets more intense, more irrational, because before he was just a massive, scheming, paragon of perfection (and corruption but shh) but now he is in this inescapable cycle as the result of his choices and his choices exclusively. I don’t propose to know nor care about how he felt about it or what the specific emotions he felt were because they’re not particularly important in my mind, only that the lingering ghost of DL6 is driving MVK kinda bonkers and that drastically alters how he interacts with Edgeworth and Franziska. 

I’ve seen a lot of debate about why MVK took in Edgeworth, but my hot take is that he actually doesn’t know. I don’t think MVK ever processed DL6, I think he is filled with contradictory feelings (how ironic) and that this is what eats at him through all those years. Why did he take in Edgeworth? Because he felt guilty? Because he wanted to train him into everything his father hated as a twisted kind of revenge? Because he wanted a prodigy and saw himself in Edgeworth? It’s all of them, it’s none of them, it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t know. Why did he prosecute Edgeworth right before the statute of limitations ended? Was it revenge? Hatred? A way to test his prodigy? To project his own gnawing nest of emotions onto the person he felt embodied the incident? Same deal. (the real answer is that it doesn’t really matter bc we were not supposed to think about it this hard but. Shh. dw about it.)

I don’t take much interest into Manfred’s inner world because I ultimately think that a lot of his actions, while completely under his control, are him acting on impulse, on him doing irrational things because DL6, in a sense, killed him too. He comes out of that elevator a different person (not worse (can’t go down from rock bottom), not better, just a different kind of asshole), but destroyed from the inside out by a murder he committed. He’s so arrogant, so entitled, that he could never let this go, and I think that drives so much of the insane shit he tries to pull. He has centered his life around the axis of DL6 and he will always be pulled back into its orbit. The further we get from DL6 the more time he has to think, the more it tears him apart, the more the contradictory feelings about it rear their heads in turn and create this guy who is just desperate and angry. And when it’s days before the statute of limitations he just becomes completely subsumed by it all. He was always cruel, but now he’s cruel and desperate and completely willing to drag everyone down with him. The desperation is the important part. 

I will say though that he is, irrefutably, his own downfall. He molded Edgeworth in his own image, he created Phoenix Wright the defense attorney as a consequence, and it is the two of them who send him to his death. He is the one who planned the murder of Turnabout Goodbyes. From beginning to end, it’s his own hand. Manfred is one of the only characters in this series whose actions are not precedented by extenuating circumstances. It’s allllll him. He’s the bitch. He has been and will always be a selfish prick and for as much as he is lashing out because of DL6 he does so by dragging others in. 

Extremely long prelude to say that I think how he treats edgeworth varies so wildly over time and is so irrational in its presentation because of everything I mentioned before. He is Edgeworth’s greatest kindness and his worst nightmare— at the same time!! Multitasking king. He takes in Edgeworth as a snap decision for reasons he doesn’t entirely understand, and I think because of that he never quite views Edgeworth as a son (at least in the traditional sense). Edgeworth is not his child in the same way that Franziska is his child (and we will get to her in a different post I promise), but he’s not just some random kid either. Manfred is emotionally tied to him through DL6, and I think the fact colors the way that Manfred treats him. It’s a dynamic that I can’t really put a label on, because it’s mentor/student with so much extra baggage that it feels different than that. There is an emotional connection between them, a sense of atonement and revenge, and I don’t think either of them will ever be able to articulate what that means. Manfred does not address Edgeworth as his child, and I think there is an attempt in his language to distance himself from Edgeworth, but he finds himself drawn to Edgeworth all the same (bc Edgeworth is DL6 etc etc). He did not ask for a child, he does not WANT a child, but he has one! Get fucked!

MVK is obsessed with his own image, with this idea of perfection, and insofar as Edgeworth is DL6, Edgeworth is an extension of MVK. He pushes his ideals and tactics onto Edgeworth the second Edgeworth decides he wants to be a prosecutor, because even more than Franziska, Edgeworth is MVK’s living legacy. He is quite literally Manfred’s midlife crisis and I think Edgeworth wanting to be like him and becoming this Demon Prosecutor is this insanely fucked up kind of catharsis in MVK’s mind. And as Edgeworth becomes more like him, as he takes up MVK’s mantle, he becomes a mirror— that is where shit gets fun. I don’t think I need to spell out the ways in which MVK was simultaneously caring and cruel to his kids— you’ve seen Sound the Turnabout Melody, you’re seen Turnabout Goodbyes, we know this song and dance. 

The more time Edgeworth spends around him, as Edgeworth reflects more of Manfred back at himself, MVK simultaneously becomes proud and revolted. Edgeworth is growing beyond the consequences of DL6 and into a mirror of his adopted father figure mentor person. He is, from the ashes of DL6, becoming Manfred von Karma, and I think that drives MVK insane. He is becoming firmly entrenched in MVK’s life at this point. For as much as Edgeworth is DL6, he is now MVK himself. He becomes a walking contradiction, and Manfred’s projection then manifests as this rapidly oscillating clusterfuck of reactions. Edgeworth is out of his control but he’s super important to MVK— recipe for disaster. 

He builds Edgeworth up, teaches him everything he knows, starts to treat him like a son while at the same time irrevocably traumatizing for the rest of his life. He loves who Edgeworth is becoming while hating everything he stands for, and I think this absolute garbage pile of a child-rearing philosophy is as much a projection of himself as anything. It was never about Edgeworth the person. At first, MVK does not care in the slightest about Miles Edgeworth and it is only when he does, even a little bit, that shit hits the fan in my mind. Edgeworth the physical manifestation of DL6 is being overtaken by Edgeworth the Demon Prosecutor, and MVK starts to be proud of him— but this is an eventuality he did not plan for and cannot do anything about. For both of them, it’s personal now, and no amount of pushing each other away is really going to fix that. 

Anyway I don’t think literally any of this was intended. Manfred is not this deep, I am making literally all of this up, but it’s fine. If you got this far I salute you. Miles time. To pivot to Edgeworth’s POV for a while, I think that from the very beginning, Edgeworth looked up to MVK. It’s not the same idolization that Franziska does, but it’s up there. Obviously he idolized his father, but DL6 not only served as a complete evisceration of his family but also his ideals. Gregory the man was dead, but if criminals can kill his father and get away with it, that collapses the foundation on which Miles built his understanding of justice. Gregory the defense attorney– his ideals, his legacy, his philosophy– he died in that elevator too. Edgeworth pivots, completely independently, from a man who wants to protect to a man who wants to punish (and I firmly believe that this was his own decision and not Manfred pushing him into it, if MVK had not adopted him he still would have become a prosecutor just not so much of a dick). 

But so Manfred takes him in, and was spectacularly ill-equipped to handle this. I always saw Manfred as emotionally distant on the best of days (he’s born in the 50s what did u expect) but for Miles, who he barely considers a son at all, he isn’t capable of being the emotional support he needs. He never would be and never wanted to be. That’s layer one of baggage. What MVK does provide for Miles, though, is a purpose. Miles does not wallow in his father’s death, because he is taken in by someone who acts as a paragon of Miles’ new worldview. Manfred never lets a criminal get away. He is perfect in that way, and it gives Miles a tangible (albeit impossible) goal to strive for. MVK mentors him in this worldview and gives him the tools to outlet his grief and rage into something productive— fucked up and wrong, maybe, but productive. That’s layer two of baggage. 

For as complicated and twisted and contradictory as MVK’s feelings towards Edgeworth are, Edgeworth for most of his childhood sees MVK as this pillar of everything that is good and treats him with intense amounts of respect. He accepts any cruelty as tough love, he adopts his ideals and his tactics and his suit. Edgeworth needed *something* after the grief of DL6 and MVK is what he got, so Miles latches on and never lets go, for better or for worse. Miles Edgeworth is not Manfred von Karma but he actively tries to take his shape because whether or not it’s reciprocated, Edgeworth loves him and everything that he stands for. Manfred cares about him in that respect at the very least. And ultimately, this is my big take on Edgeworth: I think Edgeworth actively chased MVK. He became MVK on purpose. It’s a result of trauma and built entirely on false pretenses, but Miles is the one who takes the initiative and Manfred indulges him— And then Turnabout Goodbyes happens. 

Everything Edgeworth is, everything he made himself become, is wrong. Edgeworth has molded himself into a person he does not recognize and that person turned out to be a monster. The person Edgeworth idolized, respected, and maybe even loved is the very person who destroyed his life. He is wearing the skin of the monster he wanted to destroy, and he did it on purpose (in his mind). This is not to say he had much if any agency in this situation— this is not a path he would naturally take, this is structured entirely under false pretenses, and he was clouded by grief, traumatized, and most importantly nine, but what matters here is that Edgeworth FEELS like it’s his fault, and the complete collapse of his worldview AGAIN is what drives all the bullshit of RFTA. Edgeworth is not MVK (and you can tell because he is capable of self-reflection which MVK is ostensibly not (or at least unwilling to)), but it still drives him to this complete and utter devastation. He sees Manfred in himself and it isn’t until AAI1/2 that he’s able to see Gregory as well. MVK filled a need for Edgeworth at the lowest point in his life (and absolutely made him worse but that’s not the point). Edgeworth respected and loved Manfred’s ideals, STILL chases the idea of the man, and because of that still cares about him. He becomes aware of who the monster he loved is, and how has to reconcile with what it means to be that person’s reflection and legacy despite knowing— and feeling, and BEING— all the harm he caused.

Those contradictory feelings that I talked about earlier? Love and hatred all mixed together— questions that cannot be answered and actions taken without knowing why? That’s Edgeworth’s final gift from Manfred: he inherits the bullet and the legacy he carries forward. Unlike Manfred, though, Edgeworth takes that pain and shares it, lets other people in, scoffs at the veneer of perfection and allows himself to be hurt and vulnerable and it is only in that way that Edgeworth can break out of VK’s shadow and break the cycle. He holds onto the ideals that he learned from Manfred, separates them from the nastiness and acknowledges the place they came from. It’s obvious in the way that Edgeworth carries aspects of that legacy forward that he’s capable of disseminating everything that Manfred is, acknowledging the way he’s been influenced by him and what he still respects about the man despite it all, and make peace with the rest of it. The cycle of violence and corruption started with Manfred and Edgeworth makes sure that it ends with him too. 

I have a ton more to talk about with respect to his teaching methods and the nitty gritty of how he interacts with his kids but that’s for the Fran post. This is more of the “whys” than the “hows” but I’ll get there :)

Anyway, I think that’s it. I’m sure there’s more that I’m missing but my head is beyond empty rn and I can’t think of anything else I wanna talk about with respect to these two. I know I literally just spewed 3k words about into this textpost but I do love chatting about them (total shock I know) so if u also have thoughts or ideas abt anything related to them lmk :3

#ace attorney #miles edgeworth #manfred von karma #mod vex #long post #meta

[supremechancellorrex]

I was mulling over Harry Potter recently and I think one of the reasons it doesn't really appeal that much to me is the worldbuilding is not my cup of tea. In the context we are given wizards and witches are far too powerful to be hiding from Muggle nations. Wizards have the capability to mind control, memory wipe, easily create Muggle-repelling charms over entire locations that confuse and disorientate, as well as have teleportation, portkeys, Floo powder, spatial magic, invisibility, etc. Wizards sharing a planet with Muggles is positively Lovecraftian, like Cthulhu being just next door and closer.

With basic evolutionary patterns, Darwinism, the fact wizards can be disappointingly human and their leanings to fascist elements in their history (so many Anti-Muggle Dark Lords), they'd have wiped Muggles out by the BCE period, or at least not be hiding from them in a way that's the equivalent of the United States hiding from Monaco. It wouldn't take that many wizards, and in the book we are provided no evidence of our Muggle tech being able to withstand something as dynamic, tricky and reality warping as magic.

Power Dynamics

"They can strike anywhere at any time before anyone knows it."

The power dynamic from what we are shown in the books are very wonky and infinitesimally so unequal one begins to wonder if owls hide from slugs. Perhaps if JK Rowling had depowered wizards more by incorporating clearer weakness and faults in the magic system, such as perhaps no apparition (I mean, they already have portkeys, Floo powder, brooms, greedy wizards), more limits to the mind control like showing Muggles can fight it off, made wards and Muggle-repelling charms more fragile (maybe have that they can only be set up in certain geographical places either choking with magic or idk related to runic stuff and ley lines), as well as perhaps indicate that the average shielding charms can't withstand heavy kinetic onslaught from a heavy duty weapon like an AK-47, etc., it might have felt more understandable why the Muggle World and Wizarding World have the relationship they do.

Because, in the canon, we are given no concrete reasons why the wizarding world chooses to hide other than Muggles being a bother, probably asking for cures to cancer or something. In the canon, we are never presented with any Muggle technology that justifies the Wizarding World being under threat if the Statute of Secrecy breaks. We can speculated, but we can speculate either way depending on our mood. You'd think this would be more defined since the conflict centralises on Wizards and Muggles (including their offspring) existing.

Ethical Concerns For Mugs

"With this rep, I guess we deserve to be mindwiped whatever our consent."

Regarding certain implications in the books, there are a number of ethical concerns that don't feel they're given the weight and attention they deserve considering the themes. One is the overuse of memory charms, a mental violation which are hinted to cause brain damage. Considering how much wizards obliviate and violate Muggles' minds as well as cover up their deaths, that's practically fridge horror. Wizards, both good and bad, also often subvert Muggle democracy and freedom of information, and are quite authoritarian and devil-may-care about this. The Harry Potter narrative never really fully tackles this or shows any real critiques or changes in regards to the Statute of Secrecy and Muggles.

Considering the over all message of the books is anti-authoritarianism, anti-fascism, freedom and even saying Muggles aren't 'lesser' beings, these actions contradicts the themes and kind of makes all the wizards look pretty morally bankrupt when they continue to do this even after the 17 Years Later epilogue. In all honesty, this actually impacts the characterisation of our protagonists in a way I don't particularly like, especially since Hermione is Minister For Magic for a period of time.

Muggles & It's Just Fantasy

"Hi boring people we're fighting an entire conflict over, just passing through."

Suspension of disbelief is a tricky thing and so is the way a writer earns it. I think it would be more okay if Harry Potter was a purely separate fantasy world similar to Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones, but the author has Muggle society (aka our 'logical' world) develop the exact same way despite sharing the planet with the logic-breaking magical world since the dawn of time and evolution. With all the factors shown in HP, these powerful, reality-warping wizards would fuck up our history and society so much we Muggles would either be dead or coughing out live elephants every time we ate a salad on a regular basis.

Over all, I feel the Muggles need to be more of a threat and have more going for them to explain why the wizards are hiding from them. Otherwise a wizard could teleport around the land of Muggles and just put Muggle-repelling charms on the British Parliament, all the nation's hospitals, police stations, banks, etc. and just watch the chaos. Okay, next stop, the Nuclear power stations and missile silos. By the Muggle world existing it intrinsically forces reality into a fantasy that doesn't want it.

#anti harry potter #harry potter critical #muggles #muggles are written as inferior #read the books but they ain't for me #will we ever learn hermione's parents' first names? #can muggle technology do anything? #can a shielding charm protect against radioactive particles and an atomic blast? #major canon gaps #anti hp #worldbuilding #bad writing #too many unanswered questions about the fucking conflict

[psxchxxx]

✮⋆ ˚。𖦹 deep breaths and breaking tides 𖦹⋆。°✩

summary: in which the anemo archon’s feelings are worn on his sleeve, billowing in the wind for everyone to see, yet the subject of his desire is a dumb fuck.  notes: 800 words, hurt/comfort (??), venti overthinks things

The sky is overcast as Venti rushes down the street to your apartment, dodging people who are similarly in a hurry to escape the rain. Tucked under an arm is a bouquet, a white-and-green arrangement of freshly cut flowers and foliage. He shifts the flowers to his other arm, worried that he’s going to crush the lilies-of-the-valley spilling over the edges of the brown paper.

He’s finally reached your run down apartment building, but instead of heading toward the old elevators at the front, he nods at the bored landlord at the desk and shoulders his way into the dusty mail room.

There’s a small desk in the corner with some cheap stationary. He writes a short note to you:

Hey. How are you doing? I know you might not be feeling up to it, but I brought you a little something! Please call me once you see this. I miss you.

He hesitates. How should he sign off? Love, Venti was what he usually ended with, but for some reason it didn’t seem right in this case.

He sighs to himself and quickly scrawls a simple hyphen before his name, and then tucks the note into the bouquet before dropping it into the cubby labeled with your last name.

He lingers, his fingers tracing the cold metal lettering. Venti tries to think back to when he first met you.

Ever since you first entered his life, he’d forgotten what it had been like before. The countless high school projects, late-night calls to work on assignments (but more often, for prolonged gossip sessions), sleepovers, prom, and graduation. You’d been by his side the entire time, at arms length.

And now you weren’t.

He’d probably never tell you how he felt about you, but mainly because he didn’t want to change any part of the relationship he had with you. He’s completely content with just being your friend.

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself, when he sits through your spiels about college crushes. But recently, doubts have been brewing in his mind.

The feeling of yearning wasn’t all together familiar, but not quite foreign either. He supposes he’s always felt something for you. He couldn’t define it- something more than a friendship, but also something more than a romantic relationship?

Venti shakes his head quickly, as if that will clear his head of the thoughts that have been plaguing his mind for oh so long.

It’s been a week since you’d broken up with your most recent boyfriend. And considering it had been a relationship of nearly 7 months, which that prick had very graciously ended by cheating on you, it made sense that you were devastated.

Venti was sure you’d get out of it eventually. But he also understood just how hard it was to love someone who didn’t reciprocate it. You needed time to process everything, and he’d wait for you.

He’s about to walk to the door, when it creaks open and you walk into the mail room.

Venti’s eyes widen, the shock mirrored on your face.

He’s suddenly very embarrassed of the bouquet and note. Maybe it’s too much? Too sudden? He notices how tired you look, eyes smudged with redness and concerningly-prominent dark circles.

He opens his mouth to start explaining himself.

But then you crack a weary smile, and nudge him with your toe.

“Couldn’t keep yourself away from me for a week, huh?”

Venti forgets about the anxiety he had about seeing you just a minute ago, and flicks your forehead. And then the lecture starts.

“You weren’t answering any of my calls or texts! You had me so worried. You look like you haven’t eaten in days and don’t even get me started on the bags under your eyes. You-“

You chuckle apologetically and hold up your hands in surrender.

“I wasn’t trying to avoid you, I swear! There’s no one I wanted to talk to more this last week than you. You’re my best friend, Venti, but I was too embarrassed to have you see me-“

You gesture down at your faded tank top and sweatpants.

“-like this.”

You’re about to say more but you’re interrupted by Venti pulling you into a hug.

“You don’t need to apologize, I just wanted to know if you were okay,” he whispers.

He can feel your gentle smile against his shoulder.

“Will you stop being clingy for a second so I can check my mail?”

Venti shakes his head, refusing to let go, like a child.

And then he remembers the flowers he left in your cubby and abruptly releasees you out of embarrassment.

He raises a hand to the back of his neck, red and fidgety as you open your mail box.

He watches your expression melt into a soft smile, and can’t help but smile himself.

You’ll be okay, and that’s all that matters to him.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin fic #genshin impact fic #genshin venti #genshin impact venti #venti x reader #genshin impact x reader

[wifeswarmacademy]

I'm finally joining a lancer game, and I have a lot of thoughts about the system. I gotta say, I feel like the way Ive seen others on here talk about it as a system seems very different from how it appears based on reading the core rulebook (and stats for the free stuff on comp/con). It seems quite limited in terms of what sort of mechs you can create within the system, various prebuilt frames with little room for customization. There are some fun combinations, but its not really building your own guy. (I planning to get an empakaai, grab an impact lance, and get external batteries from tokugawa, so i can melee everyone in a 5 hex line and grapple everyone) In particular im kinda dissapointed that there isnt much interesting for movement. you can run on the ground, with great difficulty you can fly, and you can teleport. Some get some more advanced stuff like blackbeard moving with grappling hooks or deaths head letting you run on walls. As far as I can tell, there is no mechanical support for a mech that moves around as thought they were on rollerskates. Im not joking that this was a major let down when people were talking about being able to recreate their favorite things in mech media, and realizing there wasnt support for this. I understand the lack of rules support is because the way they move with all the different body shapes of the mech is ill defined, but to me it just feels like moving around game pieces when the pegasus in an identical fashion to a raleigh. I just dont get the sensation that my guy is crawling around on the floor in a fucked up way.

I am extremely impressed by how the game handles NHPs. Its rare for a game to get players so excited about the prospect of losing control over something. The mix of mechanical effects and stellar writing makes it just seem really cool to lose control, but I recognize how effective this is is entirely reliant on how good your DM is. The setting is fantastic, and I think there is good reason why when i see people talk about lancer, its so often about the lore. The history of the Union is just great, with everyone ive talked to about it seeming to take different things away from how it operates. In particular, the setup of the game seems to enable just about any type of character people want to play. My friends that made characters vary from over the top and edgy, rogue illegally cloned super soldiers; ironic and amusing, forum lurker turned amateur pilot perpetually hooked into the omninet spewing whatever memes that may or may not be linked to something horrible clawing through to reality; or grounded, a maintenance worker who helped defend a trade ship against pirates and then decided to change profession and receive formal combat training. I would say it is a well done simple RPG with limited options and a phenomenal setting. Simple systems without a lot of numbers are not my bread and butter, but I have to appreciate the style in it.

#lancer rpg

[swallowerofdharma]

The language of that fall from grace won’t get us home*

I really love manga as a visual language and its various possibilities of storytelling. Among the vocabulary that can be oh so cleverly used, there is the juxtaposition of images or scenes to show similarities or contrast between concepts in the arc of a single chapter. In chapter 2 Yashiro and Doumeki have the first serious talk between them. This time deflection is out of the question and Doumeki has to give up his background and family history, since his sister Aoi has been loitering outside of the office. Yashiro is surprised to learn that Doumeki was in the police and, even if he lost his job and served a prison sentence, his motives and actions were far from the common acts of violence committed by petty criminals who become yakuza. “There is one thing I want to ask you though. How did a former police officer end up in a place like this? Why didn’t you leave when you were told to work for me?” Yashiro asks. And the answer probably doesn’t make a lot of sense to Yashiro. Because Doumeki saw him and thought he was beautiful and a beautiful person in the yakuza meant that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get involved? Without beating around the bush, Yashiro asks directly if Doumeki is gay. Maybe he discovered it in prison? So here there are probably some nuances that need a little bit of attention and some flexibility. I don’t really know who is going to read my analysis but surely enjoying this manga are people from different backgrounds and cultural contexts. Are you gay? Is this character gay? What definitions are we using? Let’s be clear then first, this is just an attempt to analyze what Yashiro and Doumeki talk about, not general statements or definitions. So let’s stay in the text, with these characters and their particular experiences and thoughts and hang-ups and their critical vocabulary. After all shouldn’t understanding come before agreement or disagreement? So let’s suspend our beliefs for a moment while reading the chapter.

“Are you a homo? Did you learn the pleasures of anal while you were in prison?”

“I don’t think I’m homosexual. I never was. But since I can’t get it up right now, I can’t say for sure”.

First of all, for these men to define their sexuality the body seems like the place to look, physical responses are less vague than just thinking someone is attractive. Finding anal sex pleasurable or getting an erection, being able to perform, as in maintaining an erection, and reaching an orgasm, these are observable facts, these are things very basic and easy to understand. And even when this is putting it simply, the reasoning around defining sexual orientation for men comes back to the physical reality often in the common language, in the crass language and in practice. Having become impotent and never having experienced anal sex from the receiving end, from the body’s standpoint Doumeki can’t know more than two things: he wasn’t gay before, we will learn more later about his experiences with women, but he knows that he rejected sexual advances in prison or didn’t feel anything about the guy who gave him a blowjob, while with Yashiro something is different. Yashiro inquires further, after all a young man having an infatuation with an older man can be quite common, but often it’s just admiration and the desire for mentorship, guidance and recognition, rather then being something sexual in nature. If Doumeki can’t be sure because he doesn’t get hard, then maybe he can admit that he felt some form of repulsion towards Yashiro when he gave him a blowjob or when he had gay sex in front of him. I think this is the direction of the dialogue until Doumeki says something unexpected: “I’m not sure. I’ve never met anyone like you in my entire life so…”. Suddenly Yashiro is the one who deflects from the conversation, although he can’t help a gesture of affection for this man who doesn’t express disgust towards his behavior.

Little digression here, but following the logic of physical response and physical pleasure only, Yashiro saying that he is bisexual makes a lot of sense since he feels arousal and gets hard with women too, although he prefers the pleasure he gets from being on the receiving end with men. Matters of consent don’t seem to count in this reasoning, although Yashiro gets angry when Doumeki cosplaying as a cop says that if someone doesn’t object or is into it then that can’t be considered rape, at the beginning of chapter 4. I believe there is something inside Yashiro that knows how wrong that idea actually is, that sometimes you are unable to voice your dissent out loud or your body doesn’t fight it but instinctively retreats into what it learned from experience and worked before, even fabricating pleasure from pain. And that maybe physical responses aren’t reliable enough to make sense of our feelings. But there is another experience that Yashiro knows, and that is that his feelings for Kageyama are independent from what little physical touch passed between them, he knows and can say out loud that he fell in love with a man. That is confirmation enough that Yashiro is queer, something outside of the logic of physical pleasure, something that Yashiro still doesn’t find easier to accept than his sexual preferences and desires. On the contrary, Doumeki as he is at the moment, can only rely on his feelings, since his body is dormant, and those feelings become impossible to ignore or discard because they are calling him and awakening him, giving him hope and direction when he had felt like he had lost everything. So why did I start this analysis announcing a juxtaposition?

The rain keeps falling as we transition into another day when Aoi is back, this time under her own umbrella. Yashiro manages to get her in a caffè to talk alone, without Doumeki knowing, and even tells her about his own experience, because having someone else who knows what that’s like is more than just a generic expression of sympathy. Yashiro can’t help but be self deprecating and stating how different he actually is from her - we will learn how he convinced himself that rape is harder on women or that he somehow doesn’t deserve to be treated with any sort of care. But Aoi, although she is surprised, doesn’t judge him harder than she judges herself as well, for putting Doumeki and her family in an awful situation. Not a lot a pages, not a lot of words, but there are so many things being said or implied, so much complexity and an instant connection. When she confesses her feelings for her brother and she shows how confused and conflicted she is and she cries because her love was not only unrequited but also unnatural, since she is sure she would have loved him even if there was a blood relation, Yashiro recognizes the same type of pain he felt when he recognized his feelings for Kageyama. Stripped down to his own honest responses and after all his stepfather did to him, he still couldn’t help but love a man and one who rejected him. Love came to both Yashiro and Aoi regardless their impossible circumstances and felt wrong and painful and unacceptable to the ones they directed their feelings to. For a moment, we don’t know how long, Yashiro can only watch Aoi cry silently, while his cigarette turns into ashes. And looking out at the window, at the light coming through after the rain, he makes a decision, he won’t fire Doumeki unless he asks to leave himself. Notice how these types of decisions come and how things can change, how these characters are following their hopes or intuition until the next moment they are confronted with another decision to make, another circumstance, and how the storytelling is based on the characters’ little weaknesses and on serendipity, so much so that if we don’t pay enough attention we can miss these delicate threads. This is Yoneda-Sensei’s storytelling. And the composition of the chapter works around these images and these three people trying to make sense of falling in love in ways that defy common beliefs or expectations, ever their own. How they are getting caught in a love that feels distinct and not subject to some type of physical response or banal logic or law or rationale. How useless is fighting against it sometimes, or how love can feel like pain and feel like hope at the same time.

*frase is from a review written by Kevin Brazil about a book called An Apartment on Uranus by Paul B. Preciado and published in ArtReview on March 1st, 2020.

#saezuru tori wa habatakanai #saezuru analysis #yoneda kou #manga analysis #eri reads saezuru #trying to convey my thoughts and impressions but feeling like I didn’t particularly succeed

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #13 – Victory City by Salman Rushdie

One of my goals for the year is to read more proper literature (here defined as fiction I can mention reading to my mother without getting judged for it). I’ve never read anything of Rushdie’s before, but I did remember his name in the news recently due to the whole attempted-murder thing and, happily, my library actually had a copy of his newest work. So, picked this up and read it sight unseen!

The book follows one Pampa Kampana – a nine-year-old girl who, in the 14th century, witnesses her city destroyed, and her mother burning herself alive. She is then inhabited and blessed by a goddess, blessed/cursed with a lifespan measured in centuries and the destiny of raising an empire up and seeing it fall before she dies.

The narrative is framed as a modern adaptation/summary of the epic poem recounting her life Pampa completes before finally dying, finally discovered and translated after being forgotten in the ruins of te imperial capital for centuries. The story is largely a story of this miraculous, semi-utopian empire, as told Pampa’s eyes (and with a lengthy digression during the years she spends in exile).

This is a story that exists somewhere in the muddy middle ground between historical low fantasy and magical realism – it’s in some sense an alternate history of the Vijayanagara Empire, and replete with historical trivia and references, but is quite clear from the outset that accuracy is not really something the book cares about. Instead, the book’s Vijayanagara – always written as Bisnaga, as it was translated by a historical Portuguese chronicler whose also a minor character in the story, to prevent confusion – is basically allegory and morality tale with a light coating of history for flavour.

Not that I can really begrudge Rushdie for his strident politics (as far as I can tell I basically agree with him on all of it), but this really does feel like one of those old fantastical utopias, or a political treatise that gets past the censors by pretending to be the history of a foreign country, more than it does a novel. Which could definitely work! But in this case really didn’t, at least for me. There’s enough time spent on characterization and character drama to eat up pages, but not enough for it to ever feel like they’re people and not just marionettes acting out a show. I suppose the best way to get across the reading experience is that I was reading a proper 500 page history book at the same time as I read this, and this felt like the bigger slog by far.

Though part of that might just be disappointed expectations that I really had no right to have in the first place? As I said, I had Rushdie slotted in my head as a literary author, but really I don’t know nearly enough about him or his work to justify that. So I came to this expecting to be at least a bit wowed and bedazzled by the artistry and beautiful prose on display – and like, eh? Not bad, to be sure, the narrative voice and the framing device are both fun and fairly well done. But having read it there’s really not a single passage or sequence I can say has stuck with me.

The comparison that comes to mind is Kalpa Imperial by Angélica Gorodischer, which is also a book-length epic history of a fantastical empire that never was which laughs at all conventional wisdom about pacing, characterization and plot (and which also has been shelved as magical realism for what are basically reasons genre snobbery imo). It’s been a few years since I read it, but from what I recall that agreed with me far more. Maybe just because it abandoned the conceit of a single protagonist and family melodrama entirely, or maybe because it had a bit more subtle in its social commentary (or maybe it was just better written on a sentence-to-sentence level).

Though I should say, there’s every possibility I’m being a bit harsher on this than it entirely deserves – it’s an entirely competent book! The politics are blatant but like a) they’re politics I agree with and b) they’re nowhere near the most blatant or forced-feeling inclusion of progressive politics in fiction I’ve seen recently. However, this is also a piece of writing that’s among other things very clearly and directly about how important and sublime and world-changing the art of writing is. Which is like a movie about making it in showbuisness, or a musical about how great singing is. Automatic deduction of a full letter grade.

#book review #victory city #salman rushdie #literature