#i feel like it's all ultimately mediocre

[sunny-daysss]

Ugh, I feel like no matter what I do I’m just not Good At Anything™

[thefirstknife]

also to add on to your "destiny dying long live destiny"

its the Monday after a holiday weekend for the states. people are exhausted and probably going back to work or trying to down tune

also also its the holiday week where a new mainline Pokemon game just released. regardless of your opinions/the quality of it its still a brand new Pokemon game. thats gonna pull ppl from anywhere.

Yep! It's really interesting how November without an expansion in Destiny has been low two years in a row. And incidentally, both Novembers, there's been a Pokemon and Call of Duty release (on top of other major releases).

I know Aztecross said "don't tell me it's because it's Monday, it's Monday for other games too and there's 34 games above Destiny by player count." But it does matter. Those other games also probably have fewer players than they do when it's not post-holiday Monday.

And ofc, not all games are tied to seasonal cycles. People know there's nothing left to wrap up in Destiny so they moved to other games that they may have been neglecting during the Destiny pinnacle grind. I've neglected other games for Destiny this season and I've been catching up with them now that Destiny's season is ending and I have nothing left to do. If I have to choose what to play on a Monday before the new season, it won't be Destiny. Cringefail confession, but I spent this Monday catching up with levelling my battlepass in Overwatch. Yeah it's Monday, but I have things left to do in Overwatch and none in Destiny.

If Destiny is someone's primary game, they'll prioritise it in the first two months because of the pinnacle grind. I have to get my power level up so I can do GMs. I always prioritise Destiny first. So when I'm done, last month of the season, I play less because I have to go back and do stuff I neglected in other games. It's really simple. The fact that it's the final week of the season is crucial context.

And it's really hypocritical of these content creators to do this after they spent months farming negative attention and bad press for the game. Maybe fewer people are playing because you convinced them that the game is shit? They never seem to like taking credit for the negative, just the positive. You influence people's opinions! When you post the newest god tier build, everyone and their grandma copies it. When you shittalk the game for months, your fans listen to you. I don't know why that's difficult to understand.

There's obviously legitimate reasons for everyone to personally dislike the game! I have my gripes too, everyone does. I think we could have really important convos and feedback with Bungie about the issues we have. But this specific way of doing it? Constructing outrage by using "numbers" stripped of all context to "prove" that the game is objectively bad? It's sleazy. And it helps no one. Worst of all, it results in really awful online behaviour under the guise of anonymity and perceived justification: "bad devs ruin the game, we have the right to complain!"

Bungie knows the numbers better than any of us. If they're concerned, they will deal with it. And ofc, we'll see the numbers skyrocket in December. And then drop in January. And then skyrocket in February. And so on.

[6esiree]

Why Alastor Wanted To Adopt Your Daughter…And More Pt.2

“Mmm.”

“Yes, yes, that’s it! Mmm, and then ama.”

“Mm… aa… dada?”

“Yes—wait, no! It’s mm…ama!”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry, but did she just call you… dada? Like, daddy?” Lucifer inquired over a glass of whiskey from the bar, inebriated enough to tolerate the idea of holding a conversation with Alastor. “You, her dad—or a dad in general? That’s… ha!” He continued, a toothy grin overtaking his features as he watched the man’s ears fall back against his head. “That’s hilarious, honestly.”

The sound of your sweet, little 10-month-old daughter calling the Radio Demon her dad between a series of babbles was just… comical, to say the least. Alastor wasn’t her father, and as far as Lucifer could remember, he wasn’t your partner. While he noticed the way the two of you would gaze at each other from across the room when either of you weren’t looking, your eyes full of longing and an unspoken desire to unite as a blended family since he started looking after your baby, you still remained a single mother with a child without a paternal figure.

“My, my, has my memory failed me?” Alastor hummed from the parlor, his knees digging into the plush carpet as he sat in front of your daughter, holding an open canister of baby puffs in his clawed-hand. “Because I don’t recall asking for anybody’s opinion, better yet yours.”

“Mm…dada?” There it was, that term Alastor had come to dread out of guilt; but he couldn’t stay mad at your daughter, his sharp features softening as she scooted closer to him on her bum, her chubby little hands making grabbing motions at the sweet treats in his grasp.

The sight surely made Lucifer’s drunken heart flutter, but he also despised Alastor. He despised him so much that he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he congratulated him for your child’s first words, and how… interesting it would be if you just so happened to step into the room at the same time. That sardonic smile he reserved for him and him only would probably twist, turn, and contort into all of the unique ways he could smile to communicate how he felt before the corners of his lips ultimately fell as you gasped in shock—or worse… horror.

And almost as if Alastor knew that, his head snapped over his shoulder with a dangerous glint behind those red eyes of his that promised to make the fallen angel’s life a living Hell—or more like a living purgatory—so long as he decided to linger in the Hazbin Hotel. He was trying to make things right, fully comprehending the weight of your daughter’s words and how it could hurt you after she brought back a memory nestled in the deepest, darkest crevices of his mind. A memory of the person he cherished the most and missed oh-so terribly: his beloved mother.

The memory was so fleeting, and yet the way her gentle voice echoed in the back of his mind as he walked away from Cannibal Town and down the streets of Hell, your daughter clinging onto the lapels of his coat like a lifeline, had his stomach churning with guilt. He vividly recalled how much it had meant to his mother that his first word as a baby had been mama, especially after life had treated her so unjustly. So, it only made sense that he believed that you’d feel a similar way as a single mother.

“Here, little one, for being able to pronounce the ‘M’ in mama,” Alastor affectionately hummed to your daughter as he gingerly placed a puff in her palm, trying to ignore the ache in his heart. “Now, unless you have something of use to provide me,” He continued, refusing to look at Lucifer, “I suggest that you resume your ritual display of drunken mediocrity and leave me in peace.”

“Excuse me? Oh, you piece of—look, even if you teach her how to say mama,” Lucifer scoffed before bringing the glass of whiskey back to his lips, savoring the sensation of the thick, warm liquid slowly trickling down his throat, “The moment that precious little girl sees you, she’s going to call you…” and he purposely emphasized each vowel with that forked tongue of his, “…da-da.”

Oh, Alastor had had enough, and he made that known as his tendrils materialized underneath Lucifer’s barstool and traveled up and up and up, till they wrapped around the man’s limbs, twisting and turning on the length of his arm and constricting his muscles much like a snake would before forcing his hand closed just enough to shatter the glass in his grip, whiskey trickling down the counter and staining his pristine white pants. That certainly made Alastor feel a bit better. Just a bit. Although the way his eyes squinted in amusement said otherwise.

“I was going to offer you some help, but now that you’ve stained my favorite pants—“

“Oh, you wear those pants all the time! They were due for a good washing.”

“That’s not true! I have others like—you know what? Fuck you!”

“Ha-Ha! I’m beginning to think that’s exactly what you want to do.”

“Oh, I’d apologize to Adam for taking both of his wives first—which I don’t regret at all—before even entertaining the thought of touching you.”

“Every word that’s seeped past those wretched lips of yours have been completely and utterly useless—come now, little one. Let’s get going.”

“Well, what did you expect? I don’t like you, but—hey, hey! You can’t leave! What if her mom hears that she called you dad—“

“Wait, what?”

Your voice suddenly penetrated the room, the silence that immediately settled between the two squabbling men almost deafening, but at least the sound of your daughter munching on her baby puffs made the tension in the room more… palpable. More palpable than the truth both Lucifer and Alastor thought would be difficult to digest, that the life you had created dared to utter the word ‘dada’ instead of ‘mama’ as her first word; and while you had to admit that you were slightly disappointed, it had more to do with the fact that you hadn’t been able to witness such a huge milestone in your daughter’s life.

“Why didn’t you tell me she said her first word?” You asked Alastor as Lucifer practically scampered out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. In his defense, he had to clean himself up, even though he could easily do that with a mere snap of his fingers. “And that it was—“

“Dada!” Your daughter interrupted you, offering the man carrying her a puff. He accepted the puff, but he didn’t eat it because why would he?

He had you standing right there before him, confusion etched onto those soft features of yours that made his stomach churn with something he couldn’t quite put his claw on. And the way you stared up at him in anticipation only exacerbated that foreign feeling, his heart-rate picking up, his adam’s apple bobbing underneath his collar, and his palms turning sweaty. It was all so strange—everything he was feeling at that very moment, to be exact. Perhaps some sort of illness had spontaneously befallen him?

“I hope you are not upset, darling. I allowed her to call me so out of… well, I’m not quite sure why I allowed it, admittedly,” Alastor stiffly spoke, readjusting your daughter on his hip, feeling her slip from his sweaty grip. “But I can assure you that I tried to fix my mistake, the little one is just rather stubborn—“

As Alastor uncharacteristically rambled on about his initial shock over your daughter calling him dada, you couldn’t find it in you to be upset at anybody in the room, not even if you wanted to. Your baby was… well, just a baby, and the man unconsciously bouncing on his heels in front of you as he slowly dissolved into a nervous mess? He obviously cared for her, and if she regarded him as a paternal figure… well, that was just alright with you. And you made that unequivocally clear by bringing him in for an embrace, your daughter squealing in delight.

You rested your cheek on his chest, your hands splayed across his back as you held both of your favorite people in Hell close to you. With your ear right above his heart, you could hear it beating rapidly against his ribcage, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as his body relaxed in your embrace… but not his heart-rate. ‘Babies do what they want, Al,’ You spoke, moving your head up to look at him, his stare already fixated on you, but the best part was when his pupils dilated. ‘I’m not upset… just, tell me next time, okay?’ Of course he nodded, but he still wondered if—

“Oh, and if she calls you daddy, it’s alright with me,” You hummed, balancing yourself on your toes, your plush lips pressing against his chin in a fleeting kiss that had his tail wagging underneath his coat. Fortunately, you couldn’t see. “Her biological father is a deadbeat, anyway.”

“Duly noted,” Alastor chuckled, finally returning the embrace; and despite how much he enjoyed your kiss, it was the way you and your daughter fit so perfectly in his arms that had that foreign feeling in his stomach—that supposed illness—threatening to consume him entirely.

Want to read part 1? Here it is —> 🤍

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 169 }

selfish.

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

alternate title: the five instances where jinwoo’s jealousy got the best of him.

{ so if i get jealous, i can’t help it | i want every bit of you, i guess i’m selfish… }

( 1 ) your introduction

jinwoo sung had been dating you ever since he first started out as a hunter.

being fresh out of high school with zero talent or ambitions, jinwoo figured becoming a hunter was the most natural route for him-

even if his skills and abilities were well below average, he had to try. after all, there were people that depended on him, and he refused to let down his sickly mother and little sister so easily.

he recalls the many failures and each low-level raids that he attends, with his supposed team leaving him behind on more than one occasion.

"fuck man, having sung on this raid is such a burden."

"i feel bad for all the healers; they have to work twice as hard when sung's around!"

hearing such words coming from his fellow hunters made jinwoo want to curl up in a ball and die. jinwoo truly hated being such a burden, but he just couldn't help it! even he was made aware of the sheer mediocrity of his skills, he knew that he could not give up...

even if it took him a great effort to hold back the tears that threatened to stream down his face each time he put his life on the line...

after a particularly grueling raid (for him), he barely manages to escape the gates with his teammates, the pain felt coursing through him being all-encompassing when he was first introduced to the gentle touch of your healing abilities.

he remembers that day with a perfect clarity, meeting your kind eyes as the warmth of your healing aura surrounds him. words of protests were about to fall from his parted lips, but the moment he truly sees your kind smile coupled along with the way your eyes were shining with unbidden mirth-

you had completely stolen his heart.

jinwoo had barely noticed the way his aches, pain, and deeply cut wounds were beginning to heal. it was clear that your high rank had been well deserved since he had never experienced such a potent healing power before. within what felt like mere seconds, he was entirely healed.

"are you alright, hunter sung?" even your voice was filled with an unconditional kindness he had never once heard before. in a way, jinwoo was grateful that the rest of the team left, leaving him alone with you as he didn't need to fear being mocked or judged by anyone else whilst in your presence.

jinwoo looks away from you, trying to hide his blush when he calls out your name in a bit of a stutter, "what's a powerful healer like you doing on such a low-level raid?"

he watches the way you look away from him, a wide grin slowly painting your features as you ran a hand across your hair.

"well... let's just say i wanted to know more about the weakest hunter in the world and decided to join you on one of your raids. it's a bit rare to meet someone that is a true, level-e hunter."

jinwoo could feel the blush of embarrassment dye his cheeks a deep shade of red, and he had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from crying right then and there.

you were mocking him, and he hated it!

he struggles to get back on his feet, but it was your gentle grasp felt on his wrist that ultimately stops him. "wait... i'm sorry, that came out as rude... ruder than what i meant."

you sigh and meet his gaze once more, framing at his face with your hand as you caressed at his cheek, "i meant that i wished to help you, to ease you of any pain that you may have sustained during these raids. i'm sorry for upsetting you, forgive me?"

unable to truly walk away from you, jinwoo remains seated beside you, fighting back tears when he felt you gently brush back his hair. he meets your gaze, feeling his heart began to pound not only due to just a crush and admiration-

but envy as well.

you appeared to be close to his age, barely 18, yet still, you managed to obtain a high rank with the healing powers that were awakened from within you the moment the gates appeared across the world.

and despite how jinwoo knew that he would forever berate himself for standing by your side-

his heart just couldn't take the thought of you belonging to someone else...

( 2 ) during a raid

jinwoo counted all the trials and tribulations he faced during the double dungeons as both a blessing and a curse. and truly, he was glad that you were busy with a high level gate that day and was not assigned as his healer.

when he manages to survive such a grueling experience, being reborn in the process, he made sure to keep you in the dark. you, despite being his girlfriend for close to 6 years now, hadn't the slightest clue about how he had literally died that day-

only to be resurrected as the system's latest player.

throughout the following months, he spent the vast majority of his free time doing odd end dungeons only he had access to all while leveling up each time.

each experience he gained not only helped with him leveling up, but also hardened his resolve to perform dark acts that his usual self would never even consider-

things like...

murdering others for the sake of his own survival,

ingesting copious amounts of various poisons in order to cheat death and develop an immunity to them,

and pushing his body to the limits in hopes of being a man that was more suited to stand by your side.

throughout the months he became a sole player for the system, you were the one who had seen his metamorphosis firsthand, watching him with an almost curious expression that paints your features.

of course, you were happy for him, not minding nor questioning the fact that your boyfriend seemed to be growing stronger with each raid you attended with him. now that jinwoo had become much stronger than before, he was able to join you on various, high level raids that required your abilities as an s-rank healer.

and truly, he was just so happy to be able to remain by your side.

however, there was one major problem that kept bothering him, and that was how strangely... popular you were with hunters of the opposite sex.

perhaps the most obnoxious of the bunch was kim chul of the white tiger guild. each time he would see you on a mutual raid, he would try to flirt with you in an almost shameless manner.

"c'mon, that pipsqueak surely can't satisfy you like i can. why don'tcha leave him and come with me, babygirl?"

jinwoo had simply came back with some coffee in hand when he sees your form being hidden by kim chul's. his fists tighten in response, seeing the way your expression shifts into discomfort and disgust, trying to move away from him, only to be trapped even further against his gaudy heavy armor and the wall.

allowing his anger to push him forward, jinwoo dashes closer to you (his movements as smooth and silent as a shadow's) when he takes a hold of your wrist and manages to successfully pry you away from kim chul.

the tanker's eyes go wide momentarily before narrowing with rage.

"you damn e-rank! you think you're better than me because you're dating her? your scrawny brain cannot even comprehend how she's only with you out of pity!"

admittedly, kim's words struck a nerve within jinwoo, making his entire body stiffen had it not been for you keeping a tight only on his shoulder, preventing him from leaving your side and doing something he was sure to regret-

but he supposes kim chul got what he deserved when he died by igris' hands.

( 3 ) while on a date

wishing to treat you to something nice for your latest anniversary, jinwoo had went all out today.

from taking you to your favorite stores and allowing you to indulge in a café you frequented at for lunch, it truly was the perfect day for you.

and jinwoo made sure that nothing could ruin your anniversary.

from ignoring his so-called fans that tried to stop him for pictures and autographs to putting his phone on airplane mode so that the association wouldn't bother either you or him on this special day... jinwoo was completely serious about giving you his undivided attention on this special day.

yet that all seemed to crash down on him when he takes you out to dinner at a pretty well-known restaurant. jinwoo had made reservations several months in advance, and thanks to his newly attained status as the world's strongest hunter, the restaurant kept his reservation this entire time, never once cancelling it or changing it to a later date.

filled with anticipation for what he believed would be the perfect end for the night, he basks in the way your eyes drink in the gorgeous cityscape of seoul, admiring the lights that seemed to shine like diamonds from beneath the moonlight.

he had a gift hidden for you within the confines of his dress pants; a diamond necklace that he was sure would look perfect against your flawless skin. with every intention to give you such a gift once you were able to enjoy your dessert, jinwoo kept practicing what he was going to say inside of his head.

however, the damn waiter kept distracting him. throughout the entire night, he kept his attention solely on you. not even realizing how the waiter kept flirting with you, you were truly left in the dark.

upon giving you and jinwoo the menu, you had a difficult time determining what to order and asks the waiter for his advice. jinwoo could feel his grip tighten around his wine glass, nearly breaking it within his grasps as the waiter dared to place a hand on your shoulder, leaning in closer to whisper in your ear.

"well, my lovely flower, how about i recommend the following three course meal for you to enjoy..."

your eyes go wide upon feeling his proximity, and you did your best to move away from the waiter as he kept whispering his recommendations to you.

"a-alright, that sounds good to me. i'll take that..." you barely heard what the waiter said, being completely focused on jinwoo's glowing, purple eyes and scowling face.

"perfect." the waiter manages to whisper in your ear (not even looking at jinwoo) before standing back to his full height. clearing his throat, he finally meets jinwoo's gaze, giving him a look of disdain while asking flatly.

"and for you, sir?"

"i'll have whatever she's having." jinwoo tells the waiter swiftly, tone retaining some semblance of tranquility when in all actuality, he was planning that damn waiter's demise.

the waiter nods and takes away both of the menus; and with his back turned was when jinwoo stands from his seat.

"wait, love, where are you going?" ah, you seem to know him all too well, your voice filled with concern when jinwoo stands back to his full height. flashing you a strained smile, he adjusts the collar of his dress shirt, "relax, my love, i just need to head to the men's room real quick."

not waiting for your reply, jinwoo allows his dress shoes to tap loudly against the expensive, marble flooring of the restaurant, eyes never once looking away from the obnoxious waiter.

stalking the waiter, jinwoo reaches out to grab his shoulder with a large hand, pulling him aside, his eyes burning with an unnatural purple glow. the poor man never even stood a chance, practically trembling now as his knees threatened to give way to his weight when he was suddenly subjected to jinwoo's violent gaze.

"if you want to keep your job." jinwoo's whispers harshly against the waiter's ear, "i highly suggest you switch tables with a female coworker."

acting like a guilt-ridden dog with his tail between his legs, the waiter lets out several, apologetic stammers before running back into the kitchen, never once daring to look back at him.

a few minutes later, when jinwoo returned, he was quite pleased to see a young woman serving them their meal. and when you flashed him a look of suspicion, jinwoo merely shrugs innocently while taking sips of his red wine.

( 4 ) when kim chul -iron- reborn as a student first sees you

the war had been won-

but it still wasn't enough for jinwoo.

wishing to save the entirety of the world while placing the burden of the war solely on his shoulders-

jinwoo uses the cup of reincarnation.

he basks in enjoying a few years of his youth before locking himself within the dimensional rift, taking on each and every monarch along with his shadow army. he spends a total of 27 years within those depths, not stopping until all of his enemies were slain.

only when all of the monarchs were annihilated did jinwoo return back home...

grateful that he had been missing for a mere 2 years in the real world, jinwoo was happy that his family were still loving and ecstatic to see him again (even if it meant he would be grounded until further notice).

but truly, jinwoo didn't mind such a minuscule punishment, since this meant he could spend the rest of his life doing what meant the most to him-

with the promises he made to the rulers fulfilled, now, he was able to focus on what he found to be the most vital part of his life-

now, he could find you again,

as if he were further being rewarded for his hard work, you suddenly came to his high school as a new transfer student during his second year of school (while sharing his same class as well!). when he sees the empty seat near the back row, he quickly demands that his peer switch seats with him (using his skills as the shadow monarch to push convince the poor boy away) so that he could spend some time getting to know you once more the moment you take your newly assigned seat.

despite being a normal human in this newly revised timeline, jinwoo could tell that you felt... conflicted when it came to him. you did your best to keep your distance because of how introverted you were, but jinwoo refused to give up on you. his constant presence and persistence in your life manages to win your heart once more.

with you in his arms again, it came as no surprise that jinwoo would wish to show you off, more often than not allowing you to attend his track meetings as he basked in your awed gazes each time he ran (also serving as a reminder to his teammates that you were already taken).

when he told you to accompany him to his first competition, you agreed to watch him without a hint of hesitation. you were truly excited to see all of his practice be put to the test and looked forward to further supporting him.

upon arrival at the place where the competition would take place, jinwoo was struck with an almost nostalgic feeling, seeing iron kim chul standing before him. his eyes go wide as he could hear his soldier's excited whispers of iron's name.

kim chul was doing his stretches, appearing almost bored when he catches sight of you standing next to jinwoo. but kim pays jinwoo no mind to the young monarch, letting out a low whistle as he admires your form settled beside him.

"woowoo, i'll be right back. i need to head to the restrooms real quick."

your words break jinwoo out of his reveries, "oh, i'll go with you..."

before jinwoo could adjust his duffel bag to hold your hand and follow you, you hold out a hand to him, stopping him from coming any closer to you. "i'll be fine, jin. besides, the restroom's are literally right there, and your coach wants to talk to you and your team. i think you should stick around to listen."

a pout paints his features, earning a giggle from you as you lovingly ruffled at his hair.

"be right back!"

"fine..." with an almost lovesick expression, jinwoo watches you walk away from him...

yet all feelings of warmth ceases to exist when the bulky body of kim chul trails close from behind you.

jinwoo's fists were clenched now, with his coach's words going into one ear and out the other. allowing his duffel bag to fall against the ground, he follows kim chul, catching up to him with his abilities as the shadow monarch.

within a blink of an eye, jinwoo stands directly in front of kim, making the brawny young man openly gape at him. "what the... you were all the way over there... how did you-"

he gasps, feeling the effects of jinwoo's telekinetic abilities course through him when he was suddenly slammed against the wall.

"listen closely and listen well; you tried to pick a fight with me because you wanted my girl, and found out that i'm the son of your father's friend's friend's friend. you then chose to forget the negative emotions of jealousy you felt towards me... and now, you'll live more kindly from now on."

with a snap of his fingers, he allows kim chul to slump back to the ground, as if in a sleepy haze as he let out a groan in response. in what seemed like perfect timing, you appear beside him, already placing your hand within his as you looked down at the passed out kim chul.

"huh? what happened, jinwoo?"

"it's nothing." jinwoo takes you away from kim, who was now rousing from his momentary slumber with a look of confusion painted against his features. jinwoo lies tells you that he was simply helping the young man feel better after experiencing a bit of heat stroke by giving him some water and putting him in the shade of the bleachers.

"aw, you're so sweet, woowoo!" hiding back a smirk, jinwoo allows your pretty lips to press several kisses against his features as he made his way back to his teammates and couch, ready to compete.

( 5 ) when you gave birth to his child

"mr. sung jinwoo, you may come and see your wife and son now."

jinwoo had spent the latter part of the night constantly pacing the waiting room. your water had broke in the middle of the night, making jinwoo avoid taking his car in his panic as he carried you, using his shadow exchange ability to warp you to the nearest hospital.

his panicked cries echo throughout the facility, and he could only watch with helpless eyes as you were whisked away into a wheelchair, your cries of pain were all that he could hear as his heart began to sink, filled with anxiety at what was to come.

he lost track of time how long you had been in labor, but it had to have been an arduous process since it was now getting closer to the early hours of the afternoon. with stiff movements, he follows the nurse, hoping and praying that you would be okay.

the moment the nurse takes him to your hospital room, and he could see your fatigued form bathed in the sunlight as you held his son in your gentle embrace, jinwoo nearly fell to the floor just then.

tears of joy kept streaming down his face when he sees your tired expression cooing down at the tiny baby in your arms. your eyes were filled with so much love for your son that it was enough to make jinwoo's heart clench almost painfully in response.

your name comes from his lips in broken syllables, and you smile back at him, scooting over just the tiniest bit so that jinwoo could crawl into the hospital bed with you.

overwhelmed with such emotions of love for you and his son, jinwoo was unable to form coherent words, simply hiding his face against the curve of your neck with his arms loosely wrapped around your frame.

"hehe, what's this? has the almighty shadow monarch been rendered to tears at the sight of his baby boy?"

"s-shut up, so what if he is rendered into the biggest crybaby?" jinwoo couldn't stop a laugh from escaping him despite his tears. he sniffles and leans over to brush back your damp hair, pressing a lingering kiss against your skin before taking this chance to admire his son.

his heart melted upon seeing the mere sight of him. his son was pretty much a mini version of jinwoo, and he could tell that he sported his same head of thick, black hair. and despite how his eyes were closed, all scrunched up while looking ugly and cute at the same time, jinwoo somehow knew that he would have his grey eyes, too.

you take this chance to tease your husband a bit, "i know how jealous you get but... i'm afraid i love this precious baby boy a little bit more than how much i love you. after all, i went through such pains to help bring him safely into this world."

jinwoo simply shakes his head in response, taking a hold of your chin so that he could press a kiss against your parted lips. and while he was kissing you, he couldn't help but bask in the wonderful feeling of his family growing-

now, jinwoo can finally admit (with confidence, too!) that only his son and future children were allowed to freely obtain your love and devotion without eliciting such raw emotions of envy from him.

a.n. - i had been wanting to write a story based on j.t.'s song { selfish } for jinwoo, since the song is soooo jinwoo coded! 🥹 currently unedited, but i hope that you readers enjoy it all the same!

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[amberarmedheart]

In Defense of John Watson and the Importance of the Besotted Narrator

Every couple of years, the world as a collective likes to ruminate and come up with a new adaptation of the stories of Sherlock Holmes, every single new one promising to be either "The Ultimate Adaptation" or "Holmes for the New Era", there is no in-between. And it is understandable, this amazement and awe we hold for the beloved mysteries, they are classics for a reason.

And despite that, time and again I see creators of tv shows, pastiches, and movies, neglect the most important aspect in every single Sherlock Holmes' story: the immovable presence of John Watson. Some even going as far as turning Watson into a villain, a caricature of himself, or even erasing him completely from the narrative. "After all, the important one is Holmes, isn't he? He is the genius, and Watson is there just his biographer."

That is the capital omission to me when it comes to any of the adaptations, because it ignores the vital part that Watson plays in Holmes' life. Watson is the companion, he is the bridge between the "normal" world and the genius that is Holmes' deductive brain. He is, for a lack of a better descriptor, the translator between what jumps in judgement and reasoning Holmes' brilliant mind comes up with, and the layman's language.

There is a reason why we as readers come up with the idea that Holmes is smart beyond his quirks and his drug addiction, beyond his ignorance of anything and everything that in his opinion doesn't help him solve the cases that distract him from the boredom of normal life... and that reason is that John Watson is the person narrating the whole thing. We are not introduced to Holmes through an omnipresent, anonymous narrator which is the case with other books. We are thrown in the middle of a mystery from the start the same way that Watson is unexpectedly thrown in 221b.

What we think of Holmes, what we feel for him, it is all because Watson wishes us to experience. The stories themselves carry with them one of the best storytelling devices graciously blended into the narrative, which is the fact that Watson is an incredibly good writer, so much that the public gazes into the spotlight where Holmes is and in most cases ignores that the one shining it down is Watson himself.

Creators who like to ignore Watson and his function in the narrative tend to see Holmes as their own self-insert: a super smart man whose genius cannot compare with the mediocre world population and who can barely tolerate their stupidity, basically a gift to men from god and who has to be worshipped for it... When the reality is that every single thing we perceive from Holmes is because of how Watson sees him.

Watson is our unreliable narrator, his descriptions and impressions of Holmes are the ones that are weaved into the story; even goes as far as giving us a glimpse of Holmes' opinion about it through the way the consultant detective sometimes accuses Watson of adding too many embellishments to his narrations. If we see Holmes as an incredible genius, as someone whose intelligence is above the rest of the world, it is because Watson says so. With every passing story, we come across different characters that every once in a while whose first impression of Holmes has been influenced by what they themselves read in Watson's stories... All in all, the in-universe characters falling under the same influence we, as readers, are.

John Watson's love for Holmes is one of the main plot points in the story, we see its evolution the same way as one normally goes through different stages of falling in love. We see Watson's first infatuation, his interest in what makes Holmes what he is, first in a superficial way and later on with every new story. We see them have misunderstandings, which most of the time end up in a deeper appreciation of Holmes as a person.

All culminating in the incredible rendition of The Final Problem, which could easily be seen, without little effort, as Holmes' planning his own death. By what means we are never completely sure, to be honest, since we can only see it through Watson's deep grief. It is true that Arthur Conan Doyle's plans were to end Holmes' adventures with the short story, but even with the author's motivations being the main recourse behind its inception, there is no doubt when reading the story that the focus of the narrative is Holmes' spending his last moments with Watson.

The subsequent creation of The Empty House and further adventures after that, diluted partially the importance of the whole ordeal, but gave us a different insight of Holmes and Watson's relationship. Through that lens, we as readers witness the evolution of it, the toll that Holmes' fake death had in both his biographer and his own author, adding depth through the strain put by the facade.

E. W. Hornung made one of my favorite homages to Holmes and Watson through his stories of The Gentleman Thief, and put a greater emphasis on the strained relationship between the two characters after the fake death. He gave his besotted narrator another source of turmoil: the fact that while Raffles (our stand-in Holmes) was away living life and even having a romantic interest, Bunny (his Watson) ends up falling in disgrace after being sent to jail.

A.J. Raffles' stories lean on the importance of the unreliable, uselessly enamored narrator, to the point that Hornung didn't shy away from having Bunny refer to Raffles as handsome and attractive in many different instances. He understood how there is no Holmes without a Watson to appreciate him, how their dynamic is the fuel behind the success of the whole series.

And ultimately, that it is impossible to have a good story without a good storyteller.

[genericpuff]

say sike right now, she's actually going back to The Doctor Pepper Show-

Like, this is just "What if The Doctor Pepper Show and LO had a baby?" Because at this point it's very clear Rachel only knows how to write from inside her own head, which is full of unresolved salt towards her childhood and medical fetish shit. The imagery in the first panel is very LO, and the imagery in the second is literally The Doctor Foxglove Show-

Evidently she's been reskinning the same shit for years-

Listen, I've been, for the most part, keeping my lips sealed on a lot of Rachel's old projects and what I've dug up on her previous works, for a few reasons:

1.) We were all cringe on the Internet at some point in time and a lot of these older works, such as Freak Scene Surgery and The Doctor Pepper Show, would have been from when she was in her late teens / early 20's. I'm not here to judge Rachel's personal preferences or whatever kind of fetishes she's into. It's totally normal, expected even, for a lot of creators to have older works they're trying to bury or disconnect themselves from because it's simply not them anymore.

2.) Ultimately I've been focused on discussion around Lore Olympus and Rachel as she currently operates as a creator, so I don't want to go digging up her old skeletons as any sort of "gotcha" towards LO today. Ultimately a lot of these works don't have anything to really 'do' with LO as it exists today.

That said, the reason I'm bringing it up now is because these new series... are bridging that gap that I've been avoiding for ages now. The gap that's filled with skeletons of Rachel's past that she's trying to both disconnect herself from but now fall back on with LO come and gone. It almost goes to show that her being a one-note pony goes back since far before LO - these are literally the only ideas she's able to come up with at this point, and it's painfully obvious in how both these new "graphic novel pitches" are pretty much the exact same and could apply to the same character, and that character may as well just be Persephone, i.e. Rachel, all over again.

Like, I'm calling it now, Patients in the Dark is just gonna be more "moms are bad" rhetoric, and Eleanor's Deathbed is gonna be Hades and Persephone, but replace Hades with some death god and Persephone with a training mortician, which is basically also still just Foxglove training to be a doctor, and Icy Shaw bragging about fondling corpses.

If anything, now that Webtoons is no longer carrying her around on their shoulders, this is gonna be Rachel's moment of "put up or shut up". She can either actually put in an active effort to write something that's decent, or she can flounder under the weight of her own tired mediocrity that's been knocking at her door for years now. As much as she's using her labels that were bought for her to sell these books which aren't even in real development yet-

-Webtoons isn't gonna be there to buy her Eisners forever. This is entirely on her and the imprint that Webtoons shoved her into. Her process is still the same, she's learned nothing from the experience of making LO, she's just got the money and awards now and is trying to run with it, but all she has are the same tired pitch lines that she's been using for decades now and just so happened to work with LO because LO had both Webtoons and the appeal of it being a Greek myth "retelling" to carry it into fame.

I'm gonna go into a bit of a tangent here, but it's been weighing on my mind since I found out this news and have been discussing it with pals within the ULO circle. Rachel once said in an interview that she wanted to use her platform to raise awareness of issues regarding sexual assault, mental health, and "the patriarchy":

"Who do you know that hasn’t been sexually assaulted? The number is depressingly low, right? Why is that? There is no short answer or an easy fix. I have a platform. I can tell a story that will hopefully educate and help others feel acknowledged and vindicated." - Rachel Smythe, Interview with Gossamer Rainbow

"...obviously I'm very feminist, and that sort of stuff really matters to me, um, the best way to approach this question is… I began, the pilot was written in sort of mid-2017, and I think what I wanted, what I wanted to achieve, and I don't even know… probably in 5 years time I don't know how I'm going to feel about this but I'm taking the risk, I really wanted to write a story where, uh…this female character goes through these things and I think what I wanted to do, what I wanted to achieve, was like a really common, I can't speak for like, men, but I can definitely speak for like, you know, if you're sitting in a group of your female friends and you're like "Hey! Who's been sexually assaulted?" … The response is going to be really depressing… Most female people that you know have probably experienced sexual assault to, on one level or another, and I'm like, for me I'm like "Why is that? Why?" And is it because there is a lack of information, lack of education, like what is it? And I'm lucky enough to have a platform and I'm like, if I could just provide some information in story format, would that help? Is this what I can contribute? So I feel like, especially, when writing sexual assault in media often it's… it's a way for the main male character to be, like, uplifted to hero-ness by, usually like, violence is the way to fix the problem, and that's not the approach that I want to take… um, I think [sighs], oh god, sorry I've lost my train of thought, [sighs], yeah, I think a lot of the time in movies when they, like, show rapists or something it's generally someone who's jumped out from behind the tree at a lady in a park and it's not really how it is like 90% of the time [laughs], so I just wanted to make something realistic where people could at it and be, like, "hey, nagging someone into sex isn't cool" or like removing all of their opportunities to say no isn't cool, or for someone to look at it, and just like feel validation, this is me trying, trying my best to make a difference with the platform that I have, and yeah, this is my roundabout answer for it" - Rachel Smythe, Interview with The Comic Source

And yet not once has Rachel actually used her platform for good outside of herself. She just asks the question, "Sexual assault?" and then writes off the answer "yes, it's bad!" and it especially shows in LO where the resolution to the one plotline she kept around to draw in readers was "assaulters are sent to the timeout corner!" Sure, it works for the readers who are simply seeking validation that their experiences aren't unique to themselves, but is it actually doing any real work to talk about the systems in place that leads to people like Apollo being created? Is it doing anything to address purity culture as it exists and the double standards that exist for women who are navigating sexual relationships? Is it doing anything to take the discussion outside of the narrative and put it into action through support of women's shelters, charities, mental health support for men, etc.? Not really. Like many of Rachel's ideas throughout LO, she simply goes, "Men, amirite?" and the answer is "yeah men suck!" and nothing more. The answer to the entire SA plotline is "rape is bad, don't do it" when anyone who could even relate to that conclusion in the first place already knows that.

Ultimately the activism she claims she's trying to do doesn't actually service the issue at hand - it just services herself and her own insecurities, her own unresolved trauma, her own need for validation through Eisners and merch sales. She asks the question, "Who hasn't been assaulted?" so that when she responds to the women who come forward and relate to Persephone, it's with the intent of getting them to read LO and buy her merchandise. She winds up making herself the center of other people's experiences, even ones that she cannot relate to. At BEST her attempts to "use her platform" as a means of starting discussion around ongoing societal issues like the patriarchy and sexual assault towards women is about as effective as Bell #LetsTalk, it's purely performative, self-profiting, and offers nothing of real tangibility.

If she just wants to write her own self-empowering personal works, that would be fine. Plenty of creators do it. Art is, at its core, self-expression. But it's extremely telling that she's built a platform off her self-expression, and twisted it into what she believes to be "activism" and "feminism", so that she can continue to profit off it in her future works such as this, which, again, are just reskins of her previous projects which were largely centered around the fetishizing of abuse towards women.

I don't want to claim that this is what it is, but... how much of the "feminism" in LO is done purely through the lens of victimizing women? Why is there more effort put into torturing female characters like Hera, and Demeter, and Minthe, and even Persephone to a certain degree, than there is into actually addressing the larger issue that she's claiming she wants to shed light on and resolving her questions with actionable answers?

That is the only question I will leave you all with. I am absolutely 100% not planning on touching these works with a ten foot pole, even if they should come to fruition. With the recent realization that she was into artists like Trevor Brown, alongside the fact that we've known for a long time she's into Lolita and there are very clear parallels to draw between it and LO, I think it's safe to say at this point that Rachel's work is not something I want to continue to support even when it's "hate reading". Again, I'm not going to outright accuse her of anything, but I feel like the writing is clearly on the wall here and I'm taking that writing as my warning to steer clear.

I didn't want to discuss the elephant in the room - her older works as they exist in the distant past of the early 2000's - but she's now riding the elephant.

[fortunxa]

Fourteen days

[sequel to ‘Blue hair, blue eyes, blue lights’]

Jinx x fem!reader / modern AU

summary: They say the longer the wait, the sweeter the kiss. But, darling, I’m starving, so don’t keep me guessing.

cw: around 4k words but could be mediocre, mild nsfw

author’s note: I’m alive! Sorry for the delay in posting, I’ve been hustling :( But here’s the awaited sequel, so buckle up ;)

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“Uno, motherfucker!”

Jinx is… competitive, to say the least. As of right now, we’re lying on my bed, legs tangled, and playing UNO while it’s pouring outside. It’s well past midnight, and I stopped trying to shush her victory cheers after the second round. She has a way of making her presence known and commanding your attention, but truthfully, she isn’t hard to miss anyway. Every aspect of her exudes an unapologetic ‘Look at me!’ aura—from her infectious laughter to her bold fashion sense. Even her braids have a life of their own, swirling and swaying with every step she takes. She’s unforgettable.

But I’ve come to discover a more delicate side of her in her most vulnerable moments. It’s almost like she transforms into a different person, both in terms of her personality and, surprisingly, her appearance. Her features become softer, more child-like, her eyes wide and innocent. The way she effortlessly switches from one persona to the other is impressive to witness. On the flip side, she has a tendency to become obsessive and possessive, which resulted in us spending almost every waking moment together. You may call me crazy, but it makes me feel needed. Ultimately, isn’t that what we all want?

These are just a few of the observations I’ve made about her in the past two weeks. My mind’s file on her is growing exponentially, tucking away every information I learn about her in a safe place—from her preference for orange juice but hate for oranges to her strained relationship with her older sister, which makes my room the designated hangout spot whenever we’re stuck inside. Jinx is a complex person with many layers, and while I can’t claim to know everything about her just yet, I do feel like I have built a stable foundation of understanding what makes her unique. I certainly know enough to start falling for her.

“Alright, alright, you win. Again,” I say with a small smile playing on my lips and twenty cards in my hands. My phone is buzzing beside me—probably another message from my mom asking us to be quieter—and I ignore it. I still remember her face when she asked us how we met, and Jinx jumped up, telling her all about the police chase, earning a nudge in the ribs from me. It’s a miracle she still lets us hang out, but with the number of times the blue-haired girl sneaked in through my window, I don’t think it would’ve changed much if she didn’t.

I feel a yawn building up, but before it reaches the surface, I’m pinned against my bed. “And what do I get for winning?” Jinx teases as she straddles my hips, and I certainly feel awake now. Another thing that I learned about her is how touchy she gets, but it still catches me off-guard at times. My heart rate quickens, and I’m sure she feels it pulsating through my wrists. She smirks at my dumbfounded expression and lowers herself even more, brushing her nose against mine. “Cat got your tongue?”

This proximity between us takes me back to the night we met when we almost shared a kiss. Fucking almost. Although I’m familiar with many aspects of her, I’m still a stranger to the way she tastes. Is it sweet like the Skittles she keeps stealing from me or, on the contrary, sour like the Warheads? Perhaps it carries the freshness of her toothpaste or the fruity allure of her cherry-flavored chapstick. I need an answer to the question that’s been consuming my thoughts as of late, and I need it now.

Just when I’m about to get it, my phone buzzes again, and—you guessed it—Jinx pulls away and casually snatches it off the bed, reading the message. I feel like I’m about to explode.

“Aw, why didn’t you tell me that we woke your mom up?” she innocently asks as I stare at the ceiling with a blank look. I suddenly feel self-conscious. Maybe I was misunderstanding our connection since the beginning. Maybe she never wanted us to take it further. And maybe this is another thing that I need to learn about her—she’s just flirty, and there’s no ulterior motive behind her actions. How fucking stupid was I to think otherwise? I’d be fine if she wanted to stay friends, but this whole teasing is starting to make me feel like a toy. I need clarity.

“I guess I was too focused on our game,” I finally mutter as a reply, putting the UNO deck away before standing up to grab us two fresh pairs of pj’s. When I turn to face her again, she’s already watching me with a worried expression.

“You okay, toots?” I’m not. Jinx walks over, and her bare feet make a thumping sound across my carpet. She positions herself in front of me as her eyes analyze my demeanor, and I feel vulnerable under her scrutinizing gaze. I wonder if now’s the time to be open about my feelings, but as I take in her cerulean eyes—I stopped calling them blue as they’re so, so much more than that—I can’t bring myself to face the rejection.

My cowardice wins.

“I’m fine,” I say with a tight-lipped smile before presenting her with a nightshirt. She opens her mouth, presumably to push her investigation further, but decides against it. Her eyebrows knit together at the newfound awkwardness.

We change into our nightwear, and Jinx snuggles under the comforter while I head to turn off the lights. I remember her fear of the dark, and quickly turn on the nightlight, casting a soft pink glow across the room. I find myself wondering if she cares enough to remember the little things about me, too. I slide into bed alongside her, making sure to maintain a respectful distance between us. The air is filled with an uncharacteristic silence, broken only by the gentle patter of raindrops outside and our quiet breaths.

I flip on my side, my back toward Jinx as I try to fall asleep. I can sense her restless shuffling as she tries to find a comfortable position before she settles by wrapping her arms around my torso. She’s flush against me, and I let out a sigh—screw it. I turn around and face her before pulling her frame into my chest. Her grip tightens, and a shuddering breath escapes past her lips. I’m not a mind reader, but I know that the sudden sour mood brought her feelings of uneasiness, and a plethora of negative thoughts, igniting her own insecurities. I rest my cheek on top of her head and close my eyes. My hand finds its way into her hair, and I start massaging her scalp gently. When she finally relaxes, it doesn’t take long for me to hear her soft snores.

I don’t remember dozing off, but the morning light filtering through my window comes too early as I slowly flutter my eyes open. My eyelids feel heavy, and my bed is unexpectedly empty, fueling my disoriented state. I sit up groggily and rub the sleep from my face before scanning the room in hopes of catching a glimpse of Jinx, but she’s nowhere to be found.

Right as I’m about to sink into self-pity over her Irish goodbye, my bedroom door suddenly bursts open. I jump, and my tired eyes lock with her cheerful ones. I guess she never left after all.

“You’re finally awake! Good morning!” she exclaims with a radiant smile while skipping over to me, her slightly gapped teeth proudly on display. Her braids are tousled from sleep as she settles on the edge of the bed, presenting me with a plate of freshly made chocolate chip pancakes. “Made your favorite. And don’t worry, I already cleaned up,” she adds, and my heart swells as my eyes flicker between her and the breakfast she prepared. She does the same, a giddy smile on her face and her lower lip caught between her teeth. Yet, as I remain silent, her shoulders slump and the sparkle dims, replaced by a nervous fidgeting of her hands. “It’s okay if you don’t like–”

I interrupt her by pulling her into a tight embrace, expressing my gratitude. At first, Jinx is taken aback, but she soon returns the hug, burying her face into my neck. The scent of vanilla extract lingers in her hair—probably from messing with it during her cooking—and her skin radiates an unusual warmth, bringing a small smile to my face.

“Okay, trinket. Dig in and get some energy,” she says, pulling away as she walks over to my vanity mirror and starts unbraiding her hair. Well, don’t mind if I do. “It’s your college move-in day after all!” She giggles happily, and I almost choke at her words. It isn’t just move-in day; it’s my imaginary deadline of making her mine slowly ending. Despite my lack of progress, she has kept her word in showing me fun—however this friendship goes, I will be sure that I’ve felt alive at least once in my life.

“Shit, I forgot! What time is it?” I scramble to find my phone, which has been lost somewhere under the pillows. I leap to my feet, unsure of what to grab first as I start flailing around. “I still need to finish packing and–and load the boxes into the car, and I–”

“Woah, slow down!” Jinx grabs my shoulders and grounds me in the middle of the room. She takes a deep breath and urges me to mirror her actions. “What am I here for?” Her hands trail up my neck and rest on my jawline, leaving me breathless again. “Finish eating first, then we can worry about the rest. Capiche?” I nod, and she pats my cheek with a grin. “Good girl.”

I’m left flustered, and she resumes untangling her hair as if she didn’t just say the hottest shit I have ever heard in my life. I try to keep my cool and finish my breakfast, but my imagination is running wild with all the scenarios I could be a good girl in. I pick out some fresh clothes for the day, trying my best to act casual while my thoughts are anything but.

“I’m just going to freshen up. I’ll be back in a few,” I say and head to the bathroom, hoping that a cold shower would tame my heat. But, on the other hand, there’s a part of me that’s begging for her to join and do it for me.

She never does—obviously—but I come back with a clearer head. Jinx’s hair is now completely down, her vibrant blue waves cascading to the floor. I see her struggle to part it evenly and decide to step up.

“Here, let me help you,” I offer as I gently take the comb from her hands, carefully brushing out any leftover knots before dividing her hair into two even sections. As I work on the base of the first braid, I steal glances at her in the mirror’s reflection. Her eyes are closed, and she occasionally lets out content hums, seemingly lost in thought.

“For the record, toots,” she speaks up as she now deftly weaves the second braid with practiced fingers, “I don’t let just anyone touch my hair.” My brain is slowly putting the meaning behind her words together, and a smile tugs at my lips as realization dawns on me—I’m special. Despite my best efforts, I fail to conceal my grin. Jinx communicates a lot through body language, so when she explicitly says what’s on her mind, it stuns me a bit.

“So, I’m not just anyone, huh?” I tease and concentrate on finishing the braid.

“Clearly you’re my getaway driver,” she retorts with a smirk, and I nudge her shoulder.

Once we’re done working on her hair, we begin filling up the boxes and clearing out most of my room. It’s a mix of emotions knowing that I’m moving away, even if it's only temporary. But what really tugs at the strings of my heart is the thought of not being able to spend as much time with the blue-haired troublemaker. With my upcoming college schedule and her still torn between taking a gap year or not, the idea of our bond weakening is the most difficult part to imagine. If I’m lucky, perhaps life will allow our connection to endure and flourish.

“Sheesh, I don’t remember packing rocks. Did you?” Jinx huffs as she loads the last box into my car. I laugh and shut the trunk.

“It’s my books, dummy,” I reply and get behind the wheel as she takes the passenger seat.

“At least you’ll be too busy reading to hook up with anyone,” she mutters, connecting my phone to the car, and my cheeks flush. Totally normal thing to say to a friend.

The song Jinx chose is blasting through the speakers as I pull off. We fall silent, but I can see her bopping her head to the music through the corner of my eye, lost in her own world with her feet on the dashboard, which she had decorated ‘the Jinx way’ as she called it. Meanwhile, I’m filled with embarrassment as I realize that I haven’t even checked the released college roommate assignments. How awkward will it be if I introduce myself to my bunk buddy after moving in? On a scale of one to ten, I deem it a seven. I don’t even remember filling out the housing application, for fuck’s sake.

We’re halfway there when we decide to take a quick pit stop, and I pull over on a backroad underneath a row of trees. Jinx gets out of the car with an indecipherable expression, and I follow in confusion. I’m no stranger to her mood swings, but I still get concerned. She’s walking around in circles, kicking at the dirt and stray rocks caught in the crossfire of her boots. When I open my mouth to call out for her, she beats me to it.

“Can I talk to you about something, toots?” she asks as she whips around to face me. I simply nod, and she continues, “Somewhere private.” She climbs into the backseat as I look around the empty road. Doesn’t get much more private than this, but I digress. I shut the door behind me and get comfortable.

“So what did you–” I don’t have a chance to finish as she straddles my lap, and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach as I recall what happened the last time she did this—her teasing won’t stop unless I speak up, but when I take notice of the whirlwind of emotions flashing through her eyes, my hands subconsciously fall to her hips, tracing soothing circles on the soft skin. I realize I’d rather be stuck in limbo than lose her altogether.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Her question takes me by surprise, and my eyebrows shoot up. She squeezes my cheeks with one hand, turning my face upwards.

“W–what? Why would you think that?” I stutter as her gaze skims over my features.

“Why won’t you make a move already?” Her voice is wobbly, and I’m left speechless. My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of the water as I rack my brain for the right words.

“I wasn’t–I’m not sure if you want me to,” I finally reply, and she makes a face.

“Look at us, Y/N” –she gestures to our current position– “you’re a smart girl, don’t act clueless now.”

Realization hits me like a train. Jinx needs loyalty and devotion—she needs me to show her how much I want her. She wants to know that despite her complex character, I’ll stick around and fight for her. In retrospect, it all seems so simple and obvious.

“Jinx?” My voice is barely above a whisper as I look into her eyes. She can only hum in response. “I’m going to count to three, and then I’m going to kiss you.” Her grip on me loosens in surprise, and her wide eyes are blinking rapidly. “I’m giving you those three seconds to stop me if you change your mind.” She stays silent, and I begin my countdown.

1…

2…

3.

When I finally taste her, I realize how badly I’ve been starving.

My hands cannot bring her close enough to me as I snake my arm around her waist and rest my free hand on her jawline. I’m not holding back anymore. If she wants devotion, I’ll show her exactly that.

I’m furious—furious that I’d been denied this pleasure for so long, but my lips move against hers as if they’d already danced this way before. It’s effortless, like the gliding of a pen on paper from an inspired writer’s hand, and she’s the muse.

It’s not a gentle kiss, the way first ones usually go. It’s hungry, rough, and precisely what was needed to let out the pent-up tension. It’s swirling tongues, dripping saliva, and smudged lipsticks. Without ever pulling away, I carefully lay her on her back, and my fingers sink into the soft flesh of her thighs. Her colorful nails claw at my back, and I groan into her mouth, digging my hips into hers. We’re both breathing heavily through our noses, and my attention shifts to her neck by biting and sucking on the tender skin, letting my hands roam over her curves freely, mapping out her body.

A trail of hickeys is forming on her collarbone, and she’s a moaning and whimpering mess under my touch; it’s a blissful sight. She locks her slender legs around my hips and pulls me further into her, chasing more friction. Watching her become so needy thrills me even more, and my hand tentatively falls to her clothed crotch. Her jaw slacks in anticipation as my fingers ghost over the area where she needs me most, and her back arches into me in response. I want to watch her unravel beneath me, shaking limbs and sweat dripping from her temples.

But she’d teased me too many times for me to grant her this relief right now.

I relish the feeling of our closeness with one last peck and catch Jinx’s lower lip between my teeth, pulling on it slightly before letting go, earning a faint whine from her.

We’re both panting and trying to catch our breaths as I hover over her, my palms firmly planted on the seat on either side of her face, propping myself up. I can’t help but admire my work. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are puffy, her smudged plum lipstick matching the bruises on her neck—still, she’s absolutely beautiful. She watches me through half-hooded eyes with her pupils dilated, and I smirk at her breathlessness.

“Leaving me high and dry, trinket?” she asks, and her hands fall to my hips, trying to pull me back in.

“Call it payback,” I reply before hoisting her back into my lap, and she yelps in surprise.

Jinx grips my shoulders to steady herself, and I try my best to smooth out her disheveled hair. I start peppering sweet kisses to her bruised skin, and she lets her head fall back with a pleased sigh. I pull her back in so my lips can find hers once again. It’s much slower this time, grounding us in the moment, and there’s that delicate side of her peeking through with each swipe of her tongue. When I pull away and take notice of her peaceful state, I know it was all worth the wait. I caress her cheek with the back of my hand, and she leans into my touch.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve craved this?” I whisper, and an amused glint flashes through her eyes.

“Two weeks isn’t that long.” She’s giggling now, and this sound alone is enough to bring a smile to my face.

“It is when you’re right in front of me, and I’m unable to touch you properly.” My thumb starts working on cleaning up her smudged lipstick, and her features soften as she mirrors my actions.

Sitting in the backseat with her feels like a full-circle moment. This is where it all began—a simple thrill-seeking witness turned getaway driver for a blue-haired menace.

Fourteen days.

It took me two weeks to make her mine.

I can’t help the dumb smile tugging on the corners of my mouth as I start driving again. Jinx’s head is on my lap, the same way it was the night we met, and she’s telling me which houses she’s planning on tagging next. The drive goes by quickly as we exchange our opinions on what the Montana spray paint smells like—I say cotton candy, she’s hellbent on bubblegum—and before we know it, I’m parking outside my future college.

“Oooh, look how fancy,” Jinx speaks up as she analyzes the building, and she’s absolutely right. The size itself is intimidating, and I can already see myself getting lost in the halls. The architecture looks modern with futuristic touches, and the campus is surrounded by grass and cherry blossom trees. If it wasn’t for my scholarship, I wouldn’t even dream of affording to study here. “Is now a good time to tell you that I’m your bunk buddy?”

I turn my head so quickly I almost give myself whiplash, and I stare at her as if she grew a second head in the last thirty seconds.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I grab her arm in disbelief, and she shakes her head with a smile, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

“Surprise!” She laughs while I’m still processing her confession. “My mechanical engineering scholarship got accepted, so I filled out your housing application and requested myself. Then I filled out mine and requested you. I didn’t think it would work, but, holy shit, isn’t that awesome?”

Any sane person would feel violated by this. But me? I’m fucking delighted.

“You’re a gift that keeps on giving.” My hands cup her cheeks as I pull her in for a kiss, the excitement getting the best of me. One kiss turns into two, then three, and before I know it, I’m peppering her whole face in them as she laughs. When she finally settles, there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Wanna test out the beds?”

[madarasgirl]

His Immortal

Permission to use art from the INCREDIBLY talented @vanerchest. Feeling very honoured! I think about this piece often whenever I write Alucard angst.

C/W: Alucard (Ultimate) x senior!Reader, angst, on death and dying, hospital setting, hurt/no comfort, shadow writing. Inspired by the legendary song "My Immortal" by Evanescence Words: 998

You supposed you were the one who was selfish for choosing this mortal fate and leaving your greatest love behind.

Did you regret this path? Sometimes you thought perhaps you did. There would have been tons to gain by becoming an ageless vampire at his side, and on occasion, you used to speculate 'what if?'

It didn't matter. It was far too late to backtrack anyways, and it would be an insult to do so, after living such a beautiful, full lifetime spent with Alucard, teeming with precious memories and magical experiences. He aged with you through the decades –at least he made it so his appearance did.

But as with all mortals who lived long enough, you too eventually grew very old, frail, and sick. Your body betrayed you and no longer belonged to you. It didn't obey when you wanted to walk, speak, eat, or even breathe.

So here you lay in a hospital bed, intubated and sedated, machines replacing the function of vital organs while multiple drugs dripped nonstop to hold you captive in this realm. What a sight you made, with tubes protruding from every corner on your skeletal form.

Your body may have failed, but fortunately you never developed dementia. Your mental faculties were as crisp as the night you met so long ago. A piece of you was still buried within, floating from above and somehow aware of the happenings around you in your comatose state.

The various alarms and buzzing were only background noises by now, and there was little commotion this time as well, but you felt a sense of relief. Sighing inwardly, you wished Alu would leave your side for a moment so you could just die already, though you knew that was an empty hope. The vampire had not parted from the bedside your entire stay.

Was he scaring the nurses by crying again? You hoped he'd remember to make them forget this time. And not to terrorize the staff and force them to do whatever it took anymore. You recalled the time you surfaced with another set of thick tubes in your neck and groin, and how painful they were. How frightening it was.

"You must live," he whispered to you at night at first. For his sake. So you did, trapped in the confines of your weathered shell, you continued to exist for him, slowly spiralling downhill until now.

With any other man, you'd be helpless to communicate in your vegetative state, but Alucard had never been as mediocre as 'normal.' So you begged him through telepathy. After all these years, reaching for his mind was as easy as sifting through your own thoughts, as natural as breathing (well, back when you were still able to do so independently). You implored him again to let you go. You were terminal and old, with no hope for recovery or any good prognosis. Being connected to every form of life support was not life, just a sad fate that prolonged your suffering and delayed your inevitable expiration.

Long ago, he promised not to let you suffer.

Alu, please don't make them bring me back again when my heart stops.

The weary, congested muscle thudded weakly towards failure. You were already dead in every way except you still possessed vital signs. The numbers were just evidence of the drugs, transfusions, and machines at work though.

The irony wasn't lost on you. At the end of the road, after declining his many offers to turn you when you were a maiden, you were finally just like Alucard, the living dead. You'd laugh if you could.

...More than anything, you didn't want him to see you like this, a husk of the vibrant woman you once were when you fell for each other. The unlikely circumstances of your meeting and scenes from your life flashed by in an instant. The vampire would tell you throughout the decades, when he'd get in one of his romantic moods, that you'd always be his sprightly young woman no matter your age. He actually only told you again yesterday. Or was it last week? 

How long have you been laying here?

The mind's eye saw his seated figure clearly and smiled. Actually, your tired mind pondered, you certainly did not regret a moment of your life with Alucard. He was the perfect partner and his unchecked devotion never gave you a reason to regret choosing him. Your lifespan was too short for that, he used to tell you.

But you regretted leaving him behind to be alone once more.

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

Your heart stopped. And he loved you enough to let you go.

You were free.

Your spirit lifted from the prison of your flesh and you soared, wrapping around your love with your incorporeal form, sinking into him and caressing the unbeating heart that had ever belonged to you. This time, you wiped away the blood tears that fell.

You quivered.

Liberated from the pains and illnesses of advanced age, it was as if you'd become new and for the first time ever, like the fog lifted and you could finally see with clarity. Your non-existent chest tightened at the sight of your love crushed by your death, looking utterly devastated and lost. There was no sobbing or outward breakdown, but you knew his expressions well.

Nebulous fingers smoothed over inky black locks while you cradled his cheek. Glistening eyes the colour of polished rubies stared blankly at your lifeless corpse, your chest still rising and falling mechanically before the ventilator was turned off. He could not feel your soothing touch anymore and it broke you.

...

You will watch over your vampire from above and wait for him for the rest of your eternity, until he returned to dust and was no more. Then you'd meet him wherever he ended up. Just as he was, you were bound by the life you left behind.

And even if he was unaware, he still had all of you.

~End~

(For more angsty romance, check out my one-shot “Without You” on AO3. Warning: Smut abounds in that one. It is about the occasion when Reader chooses to remain human for her remaining days with Alucard. You will find similar themes to this short scene)

[sleepynoons]

Unconditional

Were you worthy of someone as irreplaceable as him?

ooc!gojo x f!reader, sfw

word count: ~2,300

cw: explicit language, body image issues + insecurities, anxiety attacks

notes: wrote this before gojo got... uh... :)) i also wrote this last year when i had a very different understanding of gojo's character than i do now (cross-posted from my ao3), which is why i labeled him as ooc. anyway, this is my love letter to those who struggle with feeling mediocre and insignificant and unneeded.

TO BE clear, it wasn’t like Satoru was never explicit in his affections for you. In fact, it was the entire opposite – he would plant a disgustingly wet kiss on your forehead every morning, dog whistle when you changed for work, and treat your body like a temple as soon as dusk hit. He drowned you in praises whenever he could, but perhaps that was the issue.

Were you worthy of someone as irreplaceable as him? Gojo Satoru may stroke his own ego by calling himself “the blessed one,” but it wasn't like he was wrong for it. In the jujutsu world, he was the industry’s ultimate weapon. Outside, he was a very striking and sexy man – tall, lean, born with the bluest eyes –, and while he was annoying, grating, and reckless at times, he had awareness and compassion that made him personable and trustworthy.

As a matter of fact, that’s what made you take the leap to become his. You're no jujutsu sorcerer, and you learned just how dangerous Satoru’s job was before you even began to develop feelings for him. Yet the self-assuredness he radiated when he spoke convinced you to trust him. You wouldn’t be able to lose him, even if you wanted to – he is the strongest, and he will continue to be so until he dies.

On the other hand, you were… well, you were just you. You weren’t ugly, but you weren’t stunning or gorgeous. You were neither thin nor thick, and you weren’t especially gifted in any particular intellectual matter. At times, you think, had you been specially endowed or gifted in one way or another, you wouldn’t have this internal turmoil. But in reality, your mediocrity was all you had to work with, and you’re not sure if Satoru’s love for you will last once he realizes that you have little to offer him.

“Hon, you’ve been in there for a long time! Is everything alright?” Satoru’s voice and his knocks on the fitting room door break you out of your trance.

You’ve been standing in front of the mirror in the same dress for a few minutes now. The way the dress sits on your frame dissatisfies you, and you realize that that was probably what triggered your spiraling in the first place.

You quickly respond. “Sorry for making you wait! Let me get changed.”

Right. There was no need to get into your head. It doesn’t matter if you were dating Satoru or someone else; relationships, even marriages and years-long friendships, are fragile in nature, so the only thing you should focus on is appreciating the present.

You unlock the door and let Satoru help you gather your things.

“Anything catch your eye?” he asks as he slips your bag onto his shoulder.

“Not really,” you say. “Let me return the clothes first. Meet you at the store entrance?”

He pouts and peers at you over his sunglasses. “Not even the dress I picked out for you?”

Ah, there was more to it. It was because Satoru had specifically picked out that dress that made you hope it would suit you. You smile apologetically at him before heading out.

The car ride is quiet, aside from the occasional hum that Satoru lets out as the speakers play your playlist. You would have felt much more relaxed, too, had you not noticed your boyfriend’s intense gaze on you. He has been looking at you since the two of you left the store, and while you know he has no bad intentions, his stare is only getting more pointed by the second. To any onlooker, they would think you're overthinking it – and maybe they’re right. After all, Satoru’s posture is still casual, and it’s not like there’s electrifying tension in the air. But still, you have been with Satoru for two years now, and your gut is telling you that if you looked back at him right now, it would only prompt a conversation that you weren’t ready to have. So you don’t return his gaze and, instead, pretend to be distracted by the streetlights and waning moon.

It isn’t until the two of you return to your shared home that he breaks the silence.

“What’s on your mind, hon?” His voice is gentle, laced with concern, gentleness, and curiosity. His tone is coaxing you to be truthful, but a discomfort sits at the bottom of your stomach that holds you back.

You don’t say anything as you take off your shoes, aligning your heels next to each other on the shoe rack. It’s only when you stand back up that you say, “I… I’m not sure if I want to talk right now, Satoru."

He stills behind you, a second longer to tell you that he’s thinking, before he gives you a brief back hug.

“That’s alright. Take your time,” he whispers. You lean into his touch before he pulls away.

Then, he begins to whistle and muses on about dinner as he strides towards the living room. All you can do is follow as you shake your head and chuckle under your breath.

The evening is spent with warm food and a drama playing in the background. The two of you cackle at the silly antics of the characters (“I could probably bench press the antagonist,” Satoru groans) and talk about how the jujutsu students are doing (“You should find some time to let the first- and second-years actually enjoy the amusement park,” you chide).

However, the insecurities never quite leave you. When your boyfriend moves to wrap his arm around your waist, you immediately lean forward, away to grab the remote control to turn the TV volume up. When he tries again – this time, resting his hand over your knee – you switch your posture and adjust the cushion in your lap. You hear Satoru grumble with displeasure but elect to ignore it.

Eventually, after several more attempts of trying to initiate any semblance of physical affection, Satoru finally groans aloud. He reaches over you to grab the remote, turns the TV off, and takes your face in his hands. Now you’re forced to look at him, and without his sunglasses to mute the blue of his eyes, his stare sends a jolting shock through your body.

“Hon, I know I said I would be patient, but this is getting out of hand.” You squirm a little, but his hands are sturdy in cupping your face in place. Like a child, you simply huff and close your eyes. “Oh, c’mon! At least look at me!”

You huff again. “No, I don’t want to.”

It’s silent.

Another moment passes, and Satoru lets go of your face.

It’s too silent.

You wonder if Satoru has teleported away. You’re sure he’s playing with you, but what if he just… gave up? Just like that? Maybe something just clicked in his brain, and he left because he realized you were too naïve and boring and normal for him?

You’re stubborn, but the urge to know overwhelms you and you open your eyes.

He’s still there. Satoru immediately falls back, laughing and rolling on the floor.

You grimace. “I wish you would be that quiet on a daily basis.”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Satoru’s laughing so hard, he’s beginning to clutch his sides.

You roll your eyes and begin to stand up. You feel a hand clutch at your wrist, and you glare down at the man(child). “I’m going to clean things up here while you waste away on the floor.”

“That was hilarious!”

“The only thing that’s hilarious here is your shit sense of humor.”

You don’t resist as Satoru pulls you down, wrapping you in his arms as you both lie on the floor. He’s still chuckling, but he’s turned his attention towards soothing you, running one of his hands through your hair and fiddling with the hem of your shirt with the other.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s on your mind?”

You hum, your smile melting off. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and mutter, “Why do you love me, Satoru?”

“I don’t know, there’s too much to love.”

“Cheesy. Bad answer. Give me actual reasons.”

“Where’s this coming from?”

You let out a strangled, muffled cry. “I asked first, Satoru.”

“I'll only answer if you give me context.”

You peer at him, and you see a patient and loving look settle on his face. You don’t want his expression to turn into one of hurt.

Finally, you admit, “I don’t know, I just don’t really get why… you’d date someone like me. It’s not like I’m useful in any way.”

Satoru’s hands continue their motions. He’s unfazed, almost as if he expected you to say this.

“Do you think people love others based on their utility?” he asks.

“To a certain degree, yeah.”

“Okay, so you’re saying you don’t add any value to my life?”

“Well, I hope I do. I just… don’t really know what that value is exactly.” Satoru sighs before lifting both of you into a sitting position, though you’re mostly in his lap. “Listen, I can’t speak for others, but I know I don’t love others just because they do things for me. Hell, Megumi was literally a child when I took him in. What could he have possibly done for me?”

“Be an adorable, chubby baby?”

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes. “Not the point.” You acquiesce. “All I’m trying to say is that our relationship isn’t transactional.”

You huff again. You know you’re acting childish. “But that doesn’t explain why you chose me. Like I’m not special, Satoru. I feel so… unworthy.”

Satoru’s face immediately drops, and he’s holding you tightly. “Why do you feel that way, hon? Am I not loving you properly?”

“No, not at all!” you say. “Satoru, no, sweetheart, this has nothing to do with you. You’re just so good to me. I-I don’t know what I did to deserve all of this.”

You sigh and slump into his hold. Tears are prickling in your eyes, and you feel your face heat up as you overwhelm with a discouraging mixture of shame, embarrassment, and guilt. Yet you hold back because this conversation is already as humiliating as it can get.

“But that’s what I’m trying to say, hon.” Satoru is cradling your head as he speaks to you softly. “My love for you is unconditional. I love you because I am in love with you.”

You shake your head and ask, “In love with what? Mediocrity?” Satoru takes a sharp inhale.

You continue, “Satoru, I’m no model. I’m also not a genius. I’m not particularly talented in anything or especially beautiful, and I’m not even a part of your world. Literally, what is there to love –”

“No one else has loved me for who I am until I met you.”

You look up at him quizzically.

“Listen.” Satoru readjusts your position so that the two of you are sitting facing each other. This time, he's not looking at you. Rather, he looks down at where your knees touch and interlaces your hands with his. “To the higher-ups, I am just the pillar that maintains balance. To the kids, I’m their mentor. And to the others, I’m just a colleague. Not a single person in my life has loved me so deeply before.”

“But what if you had met someone before me who could love you just as deeply, if not more?”

“But I didn’t. And that’s all that matters now.” Satoru takes your hands fully into his. Staring straight at you, he says, “You took me in, knowing all the dangers that come with being my partner. Maybe in another timeline, another universe, you aren’t my lover. But in this one, you are, and I have no intention of letting you go.” He pauses for a brief second before muttering, voice cracking, “I can’t lose you.”

The tears you had held back come streaming down, and you have to bite down on your lip to stifle your sobs. You manage to whisper back, “I can’t lose you, either.”

Satoru kisses you once, twice, thrice. Gentle touches on your lips, only filled with adoration and longing. He continues to press his lips around your face, mumbling praises between each of his actions.

“Beautiful.” Kiss on your forehead. “Compassionate.” Kiss on your nose. “Thoughtful.” Kiss on your temple. “Bright.” And his flurry of kisses and compliments don’t stop until you stop crying. Eventually, you start giggling at the light, feathery sensation, and when he is about to mutter something else, you take the chance to kiss him back.

It’s nothing sensual or breathtaking – just your lips slotted firmly and perfectly against his. But you feel so grounded and content, and the insecurities and anxiety that have been bothering you all day finally fade away. When you break away, Satoru gleams at you with pride and admiration, and you beam back at him.

“Feeling better?” he asks. You nod fervently before giving your boyfriend another quick peck.

“Thank you. Always,” you say.

His eyes crinkle at the sight of you happy and energetic again. “Of course, hon. Anything for you.”

It’s difficult to not fluster at his words sometimes, so you turn away and hide your face behind your arm, denying him any satisfaction.

Satoru whines and says, “Hey, lemme see you. I deserve it for being such a good boyfriend.”

You respond cheekily, “I’ll only admit that you’ve been a good boyfriend if you also wash the dishes.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

You giggle as you slide off the couch. “I’ll leave it to you!”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Austin Grossman’s ‘Fight Me’

On July 14, I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! On July 20, I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

In Fight Me, the novelist and game developer Austin Grossman uses aging ex-teen superheroes to weigh the legacy of Generation X, in a work that enrobes its savage critique with sweet melancholia, all under a coating of delicious snark:

http://www.austingrossman.com/fight-me

It is, in other words, a very Gen X kinda novel. Prodigy (AKA Alex Beekman) is a washed-up superhero. As a nerdy high-schooler, he was given super powers by a mysterious wizard (posing as a mediocre teacher), who gave him an amulet and a duty. Whenever Alex touches the amulet and speaks the word of power, reaclun (which he insists is not "nuclear" backwards) he transforms into Prodigy, a nigh-invulnerable, outrageously handsome living god who is impervious to bullets, runs a one-minute mile, and fights like a champ. Prodigy, he is told, has a destiny: to fight the ultimate evil when it emerges and save the world.

Now, Alex is 40, and it's been a decade since he retired both Prodigy and his Alex identity, moving into a kind of witness protection program the federal government set up for him. He poses as a mediocre university professor, living a lonely and unexceptional life.

But then, Alex is summoned back to the superhero lair he shared with his old squad, "The Newcomers," a long-vacant building that is one quarter Eero Saarinen, three quarters Mussolini. There, he is reunited with his estranged fellow ex-Newcomers, and sent on a new quest: to solve the riddle of the murder of the mysterious wizard who gave him his powers, so long ago.

The Newcomers – an amped-up ninja warrior, a supergenius whose future self keeps sending him encouragement and technical schematics backwards through time, and an exiled magical princess turned preppie supermodel – have spent more than a decade scattered to the winds. While some have fared better than Alex/Prodigy, none of them have lived up to their potential or realized the dreams that seemed so inevitable when they were world famous supers with an entourage of fellow powered teens who worshipped them as the planet's greatest heroes.

As they set out to solve the mystery, they are reunited and must take stock of who they are and how they got there (cue Talking Heads' "Once In a Lifetime"). With flashbacks, flashforwards, and often hilarious asides, Prodigy brings us up to speed on how supers fail, and what it's like to live as a failed super.

The publisher's strapline for this book is "The Avengers Meets the Breakfast Club," which is clever, but extremely wrong. The real comp for this book isn't "The Breakfast Club," it's "The Big Chill."

When I realized this, I got briefly mad, because I've only had two good movie high concept pitches in my life and one of them was "Gen X Big Chill." Rather than veterans of the Summer of 68 confronting the Reagan years, you could have veterans of the Battle of Seattle living through the Trump years. One would be on PeEP, one would be an insufferable Andrew Tate-quoting bitcoiner, one would be a redpilled reactionary with a genderqueer teen, one would be a squishy lib, one a firebreathing leftist, etc. The soundtrack would just be top 40 tracks from artists who have songs on "Schoolhouse Rock Rocks":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schoolhouse_Rock!_Rocks

Every generation has some way in which they seek to overthrow the status quo and build a new, allegedly better one, after all. "Big Chill"'s impact comes from its postmortem on a generation where it was easy to feel like you were riding destiny's rails to greatness thanks to the sheer size of the Boomer cohort and the postwar prosperity they lived through. A Gen X Big Chill would be a stocktaking of a generation that defined itself as a lost generation reared in the Boomers' shadows, armored against the looming corpo-climate apocalypse with the sword of irony and the shield of sincerity.

Which is basically what Grossman is doing here. What's more, doing this as a superhero story is a genius move – what could be a better metaphor for a teen's unrealistic certainty of destined greatness than a superhero? Superhero fantasies are irreducibly grandiose and unrealistic, but all the more beautiful and brave and compelling for it.

You know, like teens.

At 52, I'm a middle-aged Gen Xer. I've got two artificial hips and I just scheduled a double cataract surgery. My hairline is receding. I'm an alta kaker. But I wasn't always: I was a bright and promising kid, usually the youngest person in the room where we were planning big protests, ambitious digital art projects, or the future of science fiction. I had amazing friends: creative and funny and sweet, loyal and talented and just fun.

We're mostly doing okay (the ones that lived; fuck cancer and fuck heroin and fuck fentanyl). Some of us are doing pretty good. On a good day, I think I'm doing pretty good. I had a night in 2018 where I got to hang out, as a peer, with my favorite musician and my favorite novelist, both in the same evening. These were artists I'd all but worshipped as a teen. I remember looking at the two selfies I took than night and thinking, Man, if 15 year old me could see these, he'd say that it all worked out.

But you don't get to be 52 without having a long list of regrets and failures that your stupid brain is only too eager to show you a highlight reel from. No one gets to middle age without a haunting loss that is always trying to push its way to the fore in order to incinerate every triumph great and small and leave ashes behind.

That's why there's a "Big Chill" for every generation. Each one has its own specific character and meaning situated in history, but each one has to grapple with the double-edged sword of nostalgia. Not for nothing, John Hodgman (a bona fide Gen X icon) calls nostalgia "a toxic impulse."

Grossman really makes Fight Me work as a Gen X Big Chill. He's a great Gen X writer; his first novel, Soon I Will Be Invincible, was a knockout debut about superheroes and supervillains that had a very "The Boys" vibe, you know, that neat little move where you contend with the banal parts of a super's life and show how super powers don't make you a good person, or even a competent one.

His followup to Invincible came six years later. YOU is a coming-of-age story about the games industry with a second-person narrator (think "Zork"). Grossman is an accomplished game dev (Tomb Raider Legend, Deus X, Dishonored, etc), and he uses YOU to really plumb the depths of what games mean, what fun is, and how working on games isn't just work, it's often really shitty work, the opposite of fun:

https://memex.craphound.com/2013/04/16/austin-grossmans-you-brilliant-novel-plumbs-the-heroic-and-mystical-depths-of-gaming-and-simulation/

Grossman's last novel was Crooked, a very daffy alternate history in which Richard Nixon is a Cthulhoid sorcerer locked in a Lovecraftian battle of good and evil. This is a purely hilarious romp, wildly imaginative and deliciously certain to offend reactionary jerks:

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/08/26/austin-grossmans-crooked-the-awful-cthulhoid-truth-about-richard-nixon/

All those chops are on display in Fight Me: a book that covers its brooding with wisecracks, that spits out ten great gags per page even as it drives a knife into your heart. It's a great novel.

Fight Me doesn't come out in the US and Canada until tomorrow (it's been out in the UK, Australia, NZ, etc for more than a month). Normally, I would hold off on reviewing this until the on-sale date, but this is my last day on the blog for two weeks – I'm leaving on a family vacation early tomorrow morning. I'll see you on July 14!

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/01/the-big-genx-chill/#im-super-thanks-for-asking

[leonardcohenofficial]

hello i would love to hear your general thoughts re: tenmartha if you feel like sharing them

okay so many thoughts about dr. martha jones and the doctor but one of the main ones is that despite popular (misogynoir-driven) belief, martha's character as written is much stronger than people give the series credit for. i think so much of her very strong character development and arc (based in her growing into her self-sufficiency, which was always there from the start and demonstrated in her constant analysis and questioning in the search for the most info to make the right decisions) is overshadowed by fandom racism, too much focus given to the unrequited crush storyline (which is also key to her arc, but is also something that she very distinctly and importantly gets over!), and general "she's not rose" sentiment. i think it's really interesting that unlike rose or donna whose narrative arcs need them to become super-human, martha essentially becomes the doctor's equal by the end of her run, if not surpassing him given the fact that as a human, she doesn't have those same otherworldly powers as him.

while i think the narrative of season three ultimately lets her come out on top, i think there is a big cost to that, for both martha the character and for the viewers. even separate from fandom racism there are so many moments of racism in the series that i don't think actually do anything to further the storytelling (literally fuck the whole human nature/the family of blood storyline) and that puts a damper on much of that whole year for me despite loving the characters. i also understand why the doctor (via the writers) is constantly comparing martha to rose, but the moments where martha calls him out on it—while they are certainly there—aren't always enough. i think that fact that martha also begins as fairly dependent on the doctor's validation (which like. makes total sense, she has no idea how all this works and is getting thrown into insane scenarios with no info from the jump) gets reduced to calling the character "needy" which just simply isn't true. this is also something that i think people focus on a bit too much rather than seeing how that particular character trait shifts throughout her season.

all this to say, when tenmartha is good, it's fantastic. freema agyeman and david tennant's chemistry is so on point, and that saves a lot of otherwise mediocre-to-bad writing. from the jump martha is shown to be so SO fucking smart, self-reliant, willing to take risk, and uninterested in the doctor's bullshit; when the doctor isn't just whining in the post-rose hangover or treating her like crap, he recognizes how powerful she is AND how much potential she has to continue to hone her skills, which is why he trusts her so inherently and ends up leaning on her so much during that season. the fact that he manipulates her emotionally to me is equal parts hard to watch and based writing-wise in a lot of the aforementioned -isms AND interesting character development from him because we haven't really seen that type of messy fucked up (human) behavior from the doctor. and then martha leaves on her own terms, which no other companion has gotten to do (clara's storyline feels different in that regard to me). she realizes she doesn't need him, arguably becomes his equal (or surpasses him) in terms of skill, and makes it out alive. imho that's a pretty big accomplishment.

[before-it-felt-like-a-sin]

Can you write sfw alphabet with nat?

SFW Alphabet with Nat

A/N: I got two of these so I figured I had to do it :). I'm also in the midst of a longer fic but since yall have been starved for like three months I wanted to post something real. (As funny as my little insane posts are I think yall deserve more.)

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A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

She's touchy, but not hella touchy. Just like a tap on the shoulder, or a side hug mostly. But she's mostly a quality time or gifting type. Like she loves just sitting in the same room together, doing your own thing. And for the gifts, she sees literally anything she thinks you'd like or reminds her of you, she's brining it to you.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

She's a great best friend, and your friendship stemmed from you deciding she was going to be your friend one day. You just show up and start talking to her. She's very much confused but ultimately rolls with it because you don't seem to be doing anything as a joke.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

She's cuddly when the two of you are alone, but you're out with friends or at a party, it's more just an arm around the shoulder. But the minute you're home, the two of you can't be close enough. She'd probably crawl straight into your skin if she could.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Depends on how "settled" we're thinking. She's not the white picket fence, married with kids type. But she's very pro-getting a shitty apartment together in a medium-to large city. She definitely works at some shit bar, but that's the closest to settled y'all will get.

Cooking, she's great. An amazing cook. Cleaning? Mediocre, but your apartment is never fully a disaster.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Erm.

She'd definitely do it in the middle of an argument, completely impulsively. She doesn't really mean it, either.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

At first she's very knee deep in the passenger seat about everything (haha casual by Chappell Roan reference), but after a while she realizes she really likes you. I feel like she sees you talking to another girl and gets jealous, and the next day she's ready to commit.

As for marriage, I don't think she really needs that to feel committed to you. She's not opposed if you want to get married, but she's not going to be the one to bring it up.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Physically, middle of the road. Obviously doesn't intentionally hurt you, but she can get kind of rough sometimes. She'll stop the minute you say something about it, though.

Emotionally? When you first meet, not at all. She'll say whatever she's thinking and not even comprehend it might hurt you. I feel like as time goes on, once she realizes you're not gonna leave her, she gets a lot gentler.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

She likes to do the hug from behind and rest her head on your shoulder when you're cooking or something like that. I feel like she's not really into the stereotypical full-body hug. It's mostly side hugs or from behind.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

She doesn't say it for a while, not because she doesn't think it, but because she thinks you won't say it back. When she says it for the first time, she thinks you're asleep and whispers it. You mumble an "I love you too" back and she kind of freezes. But then she realizes that you said it back.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

I don't think she's super jealous, but when she is, it's bad. If someone's flirting with you (or if you're flirting back for attention), she's all over you. Kissing your forehead, running her hands all over you. She makes it very clear that you are taken.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Her kisses are kind of rough. I don't think that girl has ever even seen a chapstick.

Where she likes to kiss you: your mouth, neck, shoulders, and hands.

Where she likes to be kissed: temple, mouth, neck, and her hairline.

If she imitates a kiss, it's generally rough from the start. Like she kisses you like she's starving and needs to taste you. But I think she likes when you're softer about your kisses.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

I know it may be a controversial take, but that girl is amazing with kids. I don't think she wants them for herself, but when your friends have kids or if you have nieces or nephews, she's obsessed. Honestly it gives you baby fever every time.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

She's asleep. It's never a "get up and get going" morning with her. You spend a lot of time just sitting in bed together, especially if you don't have to get going for work. She sleeps very late, so you mostly spend time reading or scrolling waiting for her to get up.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

It's almost the same as the morning. If one of you has to be up the next day (most of the time it's you), you generally stay in and watch a movie together. If it's the weekend, you go out to dinners or bars.

As for actual sleeping arrangements, she's always up really late. She's not even really doing anything, she just doesn't sleep very well. So essentially, instead of you awake like the mornings, she's the one just waiting.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

You know a lot of her past traumas pretty fast, since you were friends first. But you're like three years into your relationship when you realize she's never told you her favorite color. She definitely doesn't reveal everything at once, you kind of have to work for it.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

She's not easily angered in most scenarios, but if you're lot listening to her then she gets pissed off. Or like if you make assumptions about her. She is easily annoyed though. Or at least she pretends to be. But if she's teaching you something she'll make sure you get it no matter how long it takes.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

She remembers literally everything you say, but doesn't show it. For months, you thought she barely listened to you until someone asked your favorite food/color/book/etc, and she answered before you could.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Your first kiss, for sure. It was before you two were together officially. The two of you were friends before, and at one point just ended up kissing, whether out of curiosity or something else. That was when she realized she had feelings for you, and the two of you casually hooked up for a while.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

She's a bit protective, mostly by an arm around your waist if she thinks someone's a little too close to you. She never gets physical with people, but she's often glaring at people when they look at you weird.

When it comes to protecting her, she doesn't really need it. She can hold her own. She more likes the support of knowing you're there for her if she needs it.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Dates: not a ton, but not because she doesn't care, she just doesn't care what y'all do as long as y'all are together. So, she mostly leaves date planning up to you.

Anniversaries: again, she doesn't really care? She gets some flowers or something small, but neither of you really expect anything big.

Gifts: she puts tons of thought into them. She grew up really poor, so once she has means to buy things when she wants them, she's getting you anything you want whenever you want it. And for birthdays/holidays, she spends months saving to get you something big every time.

Everyday tasks: if you remind her, she'll do them, or if she thinks of it. She's not super strong in either direction, but if there's a chore you absolutely despise, she'll do it every time for you without fail.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Cannibalism.

The more obvious choice is her substance abuse issues. I think if this is pre-crash or no crash, she just smokes (both cigarettes and weed) most of the time. She drinks too, but that's not her main choice. Honestly, you find the smoking hot, but you also wish she would stop for her health.

She also definitely bites her fingernails/cuticles. Like her nails are constantly a bleeding mess.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Conventionally, she doesn't care. She doesn't want to feel like she has to appeal to anyone. However, if she doesn't think she looks good in her own way, she's constantly asking if she looks alright.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Not incomplete, but lonely maybe? She doesn't have a ton of friends, and so if you're not dragging her around to talk to people, she really only has Kevyn and Van to talk to.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Okay this is a personal indulgence but as someone who's midsize/plus size I think she'd absolutely buy clothes big enough to fit you so you can wear them. Like she gets t-shirts huge on purpose so you can steal them from her. She pretends she just likes them really baggy, but she goes insane for the way you look in her clothes. You totally know what she's doing too, but it's just so insanely sweet that you don't say anything to her about it.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

I feel like she's a broccoli hater.

In all seriousness though, I feel like the thing she's really vehemently against is PDA. She's fine with like small kisses and holding hands, but beyond that? She's very much against PDA. At home, whatever. But whenever you're out of the apartment, she's not touchy at all.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Babygirl does not sleep right at all. She's going to bed at 3-4 a.m. every morning and then sleeps till two or three in the afternoon. She can and will get up earlier if needed, but never goes to sleep any earlier. It stresses you out, but no matter what you do she's still up until like the crack of dawn.

[pukicho]

Elden ring or God of war for game of the year?

Oh boy, it's a close close call. I’m gonna rant. 

In some ways, Ragnorok is an infallible game, it’s so perfect that poking holes in it seems so nit-picky that you just come off looking like a little jackass creature. I loved every second I played of it and I can't think of a better written, better performed, more charismatic experience. I've seen morons complain that the game has too many cutscenes, as if they didn't know what type of game they were buying into. I would whine about the cutscenes more if they sucked or if the game lacked actual gameplay but it most certainly does not. This game is CHOCK FULL of things to see and do, and all the flavor-text and optional dialogue is insane, on top of that, the game feels amazing to play and the move-set is sexy. When everything is going crazy, there are few games as exciting as this one. At the end of the day I can't think of a more satisfying experience, with one of the most thematically satisfying endings ever in a game.

Elden Ring on the other hand has its problems. It has a difficulty-scaling issue, it's buggy on every platform, it most certainly looks worse than Ragnorok, it has less endearing characters, and what little dialogue it has is pretty mediocre. That being said, Elden Ring is my GOTY. This game is kinda like my dream-game made real, an open world souls-like made by Hidetaka Miyazaki the legend himself - a game with the mystique of Breath of the wild without the shortcomings of content and variety. This game, in my eyes, is the single best example as to why a game should be open-world. So often in games I feel like an open world is a crutch. -- In ghost of Tsushima the open world disconnected me from the pacing and character-growth of our MC, the objectives felt so systematic and ubisoft-esque that it 'gamified' itself as you played, removing the atmosphere and experiential qualities of the experience over time - this effect can also be seen in Horizon Forbidden West, and Dying light 2. Elden Ring uses the open-world to surprise you, you learn so much, you need to be aware of your surroundings, understand the lay of the land, and find things without guidance. It does what Dark Souls did to adventure games and it removes the handrails from the experience, in this case, Elden Ring unlocks the open-world experience. As a result, there aren't many games that evoke such a CANDID experience in me. I've never had so much fun exploring a world, and I've never been so surprised by a game's sheer amount of content. I could go on and on but ultimately it removes the burdensome systems that typically plague games of this scale. I think the game has the best reward-feedback-loop ever, where every item is invaluable, versus the generic inundation of materials in other games, etc etc etc... At the end of the day, Elden Ring just another valuable lesson for the gaming industry; I feel like Fromsoft pops up and teaches the whole industry a new lesson every once in a while - like they know what people want at a fundamental level.

On paper, Ragnorok could be seen as the better overall package but as a result of it being linear, it lacks the candid experience that Elden Ring delivers in spades and I think, despite Ragnorok being one of the best-ever narratives put into a game of this caliber, Elden Ring captures what it means to be a video game better.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Cold War

The receiving room was beautifully furnished. Neither overly ostentatious nor fussy in design. But it had a... coldness to it. This entire god forsaken building was, artfully hidden fireplaces be damned.

And it wasn't just the temperature.

The North may be a cold place, but the people there had always been a hardy one. Kind, if stoic. Not the sort for empty words and flamboyant gestures. So to see a building like this? One so very, very COLD? It spoke of something rotten. Something gone terribly wrong and far beyond control, hidden away out in the countryside where no one could stop it in time.

And it had.

And it DID.

And oh, how we SUFFERED for it, didn't we?

I didn't understand what went wrong. I knew, KNEW, because I was no fool, that the Story would change. Since I was remove a load bearing antagonist, how could it NOT? But... well, I did not wish to die. Certainly not for some other girl's love story. I refused to suffer. To be humiliated. To lead a life of pain and degradation. Just so she might frolic about with men, only to ultimately end up on the throne.

She would either have to find her way to greatness on her own merit, or settle of mediocrity. But it would NOT be built upon the back of my suffering. I gracefully bowed out. Took leave of the stage. And? Comported myself as befit a daughter of my house.

They were not... the most open. In fact, they struggled to connect. To offer or even receive comforts of any kind. But my family LOVED with a fierceness that would lead armies and burn nations. We were ABSOLUTE. And we? Stand TOGETHER. Always.

I would never forget. No matter how many days pass by. WHO I first saw when I opened my eyes. Clustered around my tiny form, rumbled and undignified in a way I would never see them again, with eyes that shone with such RELIEF. I never saw my mother's make run like that again. I half believe she hopes I do not remember.

But I DO.

And I always will.

In the Story, my character was a terror. Haughty and cruel. Sadistic. A wealthy brat that played God right up until all her sins came due. She drove a great deal of the early plot. I? Did none of those things. I threw myself into being a good daughter and a shining reflection upon the parents I loved.

I took my etiquette lessons seriously, to the delight of my teachers. My school work was promptly finished and followed by clarifying questions, to the joy of my tutors. I was polite to my peers. Overlooked their embarrassing early fumbles and mistakes. Helped them navigate social disasters with dignity. Promised nothing yet remained approachable.

My prospects had been ABYSMAL in the Story. It was part of the Narrative's punishment, I think. Though in hindsight, it is an ugly thing to do. A wonder I ever found such a story interesting enough to read. I imagine, it is the difference between tales and lived events? Nonetheless. My father was FLOODED with letters.

My poor mother absolutely HARRASED. Not an outing could go by, without SOMEONE mentioning their DEAR, SWEET son or nephew. To maintain proper appearances and neutrality, I was forced to attend more party's and events then I EVER wished to see.

I felt like a slab of meat up for auction. A show pony. But I also knew it was temporary. That I need only keep an eye out for a good, respectful man. Listen to the rumor mills. Discreetly bribe a few servants for information that "everyone knew". It was, after all, the way of things.

Should have been, the way of things.

But trouble started. Strange infighting, that started between boys and escalated to entire households. Tense, unspoken, lines dividing garden parties that only the day before were amicable. The Protagonist and her Harem of powerful players? Were BLIND to it.

Two of them were PRINCE for God sake! How had they been RAISED, that they could not feel the sudden shift in the socio-political landscape of their Father's court? He certainly could. And it clearly unnerved him. Yet? The Harem, each son's, each HEIRS, of some powerful position? Seemed both blind and deaf to all but the painfully obvious.

And even THAT? Was apparently unconnected to each other in their empty little minds. Had they nothing but flowers and glitter between their ears? One had to assume.

People were... accidentally forgotten. When invitations were sent. Then deliberately. Then OPENLY. Then? They were SNUBBED. Events deliberately scheduled on the same day, at the same time, as another. So all of polite society would have to CHOOSE. It was escalation.

And if it had been on or two houses? It would have been scandalous. Depending on the house, perhaps even worrying. A handful of houses? The king might have tried to get involved. Forcefully mediate. But it... it was somehow so much WORSE. Was EVERYWHERE.

Like someone had carefully examined the entirety of the Court for fault lines, then SWUNG. Some silent, careful, machination that left everyone at everyone's throat. Divided. Weak.

Easy to manipulate and control.

I could not for the life of me find the source of it all. My social season becoming swiftly more and more dangerous. Politically charged. People pushing and PUSHING for alliances I could not and WOULD NOT give without consulting my family. The capital was no longer safe. So... I quietly left.

Letters of vague excuse. Family matters, cousin so-n-so in their time of need, I'm sure you understand. Too late to stop me and under the cover of darkness.

It... I tell myself it is not my fault. That it would have happened either way. That I could not have known. But... but guilt is a heavy thing. It sits like lead in your gut. Like chains around your soul. They were waiting, I think. More, I suspect. Because...

Because the capital all but EXPLODED.

The carnage was IMMEDIATE. Not even a full day later, at a hunting party, the heir to one house shot the second son to another.

He did not survive.

The powder keg finally sparked and it all went up in flames. Alliances that had stood for centuries, shattered. Brother turned against brother. A wedding turned into a bloodbath, as the bride turned on both her family AND the groom, escaped into the night. Fights broke out everywhere.

The festering tension that had gone for so long unspoken? Could no longer be ignored. Would not, be ignored. The king was helpless to stop it all. The gaurd could only do so much. The fluffy, happy, empty headed little world of comfort the Protagonist knew? Was shredded to pieces.

It became starkly clear that the royal family... couldn't handle it.

That their heirs were... Weak.

Captain of the Gaurd, the Prime Minister, even the King's strongest supporter, the Duke of the East, ALL of them had... weak and ineffectual heirs. One or two could be a failing of parentage, but all together? They had let someone sabotage their sons. Make them puppets to be used and discarded at convenience.

The natural suspicion, of course, fell to the one most benefiting from said son's empty headedness. Much to the Harem's horror. No! Not their beloved shared girlfriend! That the world was burning around them? Of no consequence. But upsetting their darling little mouse? Unforgivable!

It was an act of true, genuine, paternal love; that those fools were banished by the king. They would have been killed horribly had they remained.

My family and I? Retreated to our lands. We had enough to survive. Our House and our People came first. We sent no messages, we received none. I practiced my frankly terrible embroidery. My maids gently CORRECTED my frankly terrible embroidery. The country BURNED.

Powerful people were picked off, one by one.

And wouldn't you know it? A new star was rising from the chaos. A voice of reason. Charismatic. Driven. Handsome and powerful, with the bloodline to match. Conveniently allied already to all those people who had replaced the Old Guard in government! How very serendipitous. That those positions should just... open up, like that. That he just HAPPEN to have such qualified people at the ready.

What ARE the odds?

My House knew our monster know. We watched. Careful. As he smiled and smiled. One hand open in welcome, the other? Holding a knife, hidden just out of sight. The king saw him for what he was. And the monster saw a worthy foe in the king. They were, after all, both very Dangerous men.

It was likely swordsmen duel.

Deadly steel clashing, shining, swift as it dances, from attack to defend to attack again. Experience versus youth. Power against power. The king was an old dragon, stood against a tiger come to see him dead. And though the dance was breathtaking? In the end... the dragon was old. Tired. And not the man he had once been.

The tiger won.

The king died in his sleep. Of... natural causes. No one believed it. No one dared say otherwise. The crown princess ascended the throne. She had played the game well. Taken after her Father. Been neglected in favor of her idiot brothers. In the Story, she was to be married off. A side character never to be heard from again.

It seems she was not content with such a fate.

Now she was Queen.

My family and I applauded. Polite. I hoped it marked the end of the strangeness. So many had died. So much had changed. Surely... surely it was over, wasn't it? But then? In the cold light of the early morning hours? A letter. Pristine and on a fine paper. Sat like a viper upon the table before us. A bomb.

My Father had stared at it, over steepled hands, like if he glared long enough? It would simply catch fire and burn away. The Monster's crest. Pressed lovingly into the wax. What... what did That Man want with us?

I watched him grit him teeth. Run his letter opener through paper like he was imagining jerking it across flesh, slitting the bastards throat for DARING to threaten his family. I held my mother's hand as he read. Watched his grip on the pages go white knuckled.

He didn't even tell a servant to burn it.

He slammed his chair back, in a terrible fury, and marched straight to the nearest fireplace to consign the letter to the flames. Over his dead body. Was his announcement. I... I had a terrible feeling it might be, whatever was on those pages.

The letters kept coming.

My Father burned them all.

Then? Trouble started.

And I did not need to see history twice, to know how it would end. I got up early. Waited near the damn GATES. My Father could not burn the letter before I read it, if I was there first. It... it was a marriage proposal. I... I did not understand. Why? For what POSSIBLE reason would he...?

It did not matter though, ultimately. I would be saying yes.

For my family? Anything.

And so I packed. My Father knew he couldn't stop me. I was entirely too much his daughter. It was why he had burned the letters. I was doing exactly what he would have done. He vowed to kill him. Slowly. Held me a swore. He would make me the loviest widow to ever live. My Mother promised to go look up family recipes for poisons. For rats, of course.

I loved them so, so much.

I LOVE them even now.

It is why I sit, back straight, fragrant tea untouched, in this cold but beautiful receiving room. I wear my best dress. The one that makes me look coldly beautiful. Elegant but untouchable. I feel like a winter spirit in it. Something made of ice and bone. I wear it when I want to feel stronger. I don't know if it's helping.

If I hold myself still. Count my breathing and do not think. I can almost... ALMOST? Slip into a trance, I think. Let my mind unfocus. They are keeping me waiting. It's a power play. So be it. You will find me unaffected. Bored even, by your petty displays. I stare peacefully into nothing. A statue in a silent room.

I hope I fucking unnerve them.

Confident footsteps. How quite has it become, that I can hear them, even through the door? I do not turn my head. Note absent-mindedly that the tea before me has long grown cold. This whole damn place is cold. I dispise it. The door is opened for the master of this house. I pointedly do not greet him.

"Aaah~, So COLD" He sing song's, almost chiding, it'd be nearly playful if not for the hint of something darker threaded through his voice. He has an almost victorious little bounce to his step as he approaches. "But then again, I already knew that, didn't I? Frigid, untouchable, and unfeeling~ Now? Now you're MINE~"

He laughs. There is something half disbelieving, half euphoric in the noise. Like he's finally gotten everything he's ever wanted and doesn't know what to DO with himself. He invades my space. Looms. Eyes a touch too wide as he stares. Drinking in the sight of me sitting before him, like he can't believe it's real.

"Do you know, snowdrop? How long it TOOK? What I had to DO to achieve this? Ha ha!" The grin that spills across his feature is unhinged. All I can do is sit, tense and frozen before a madman, as he speaks. "The WHINING, the COMPLAINING, the 'what about meeeee'~! They never shut UP! Wretched and pathetic to the last, they panted after you like DOGS."

Hands slid from his pockets, to come to rest on either side of me on the arm rests, bracing and caging me in. Trapping me as he leaned down. Entirely too close. He smelled like winter air, sharp but clean. His eyes were a blue grey so hauntingly pale, they seemed to bore straight into the soul.

"But they were so GREEDY. So DESPERATE for power. It was EASY, to play them like fools against each other. Make them DANCE. And worth it. Because I get what I wanted~ The brat get her silly little throne, and you?" His grin was all teeth. One hand coming up to rest on my head. "Now you can NEVER escape me."

The hand slid, slow and fingers splayed, downwards. Possessive as each finger brushed, stroked, the side of my face. My jaw. My neck. His eyes following it down with something that could only be blatant lust. His grip tightened around my neck. Not enough to choke. Just, it seemed, to prove to himself that he COULD.

His thumb rest again my pulse, facinated.

Sliding back up to cup my chin, gently forcing my head up, so I had no choice but to meet his eyes. His eyes were dilated. I glared.

"I am going to RUIN you." He whispered, sounding entirely too reverent. As though it were some act of worship he had planned. "Take you apart at the seams. Pretty, pretty little thing. Mine, all mine~"

"I saw you first, you know. You couldn't even be bothered to look at me. I tried all night. That's when I KNEW. I was going to hunt you down. MAKE you mine. Marry you and destroy anyone and anything that stood in my way. And I DID~♡"

"I'm going to have each and every part of you, Darling. Love you and love you until you can't HELP but love me back. We are going to be BEAUTIFUL together. You don't have a choice~♡"

[ratgrinders]

the rat grinders and the ring of brass and their separate relationships to hubris and how it dooms them are fascinating to me, like at first glance theyre so different but there's some interesting similarities there

you have the ring of brass that represent the height of wizard hubris, a group of mostly extremely skilled magic users defined by their dominance in their particular sphere (commerce, knowledge, the arcane) and who are all of the higher echelon of society. these guys are the top dogs, the guys who run everything, and they know it, and ultimately its this belief in their superiority that dooms them

then you have the rat grinders, defined by their mediocrity. unremarkable, grasping for any sort of underhanded way to reach the top because they feel victimized by how they are forgotten by the narrative. the ring of brass may have been doomed, but at least they were the main characters. the rat grinders don't even have that.

and yet, both groups are defined by their constant want of more. More of this, more of that, I deserve this, why is this being withheld from me when it is rightfully mine?? doing everything they can to attain that which they deserve, even to the detriment of not only themselves, but the death of those close to them. lucy and evandrin, the simultaneous sacrificial lambs and the canaries in the coal mine, members of the group that died so their ambitions could live.

[mrgriffiths]

A request for what would it be like for a fem reader to be stalked by Terry Silver.

Thankyou.

I'm so sorry for taking this long! Only a month late O_O

𝕾𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝕾𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯

<<𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜>>

- Mr. Silver had been associated with all kinds of people throughout the decades. He's seen the good, the bad, and the in-between. Ultimately, everyone just became a means to an end. So, for a lady to catch his attention? It would have to be someone who is different than what he's used to... even in the slightest way.

- In the 80s, he's a playboy. Always seen with models or with women who have a million dollars to their name or two in the upper crust society. The kind that he'd flaunt around with the intention of showing off his status. These conquests wouldn't last more than a few weeks. He gets a rush out of just seeing the paparazzi in a craze to get the latest scoop on him all while he is fully in control about what gets let out to the eye of the public, even the 'leaked photos'. Everyone is merely a puppet in his world, and it gets him cackling at the very thought of it.

- But that's not all. Hell, it's the tip of the iceberg for Terry. He'd indulge in the mediocre bar dancers and hookers from the dingy parts of LA and likely all over the world too, the man's got to travel for business and he's got to keep himself entertained while he's at it! Women would practically fall at his feet just for a chance, a billionaire with looks and charm that could put the best models and actors to shame.

- So I'd imagine that the kind of lady that would catch the eye of Terry Silver would be someone who he'd seen whilst pretending to be a commoner, a broke karate instructor who's got a blue pick up truck that isn't in good shape. A random woman who works or lives in the area, just a few blocks away from the dojo. Probably isn't one to be seen as a fast or pretentious like himself. One who would generally be described as sweet and humble but would stand her ground if she's pushed too far. I think he'd like the challenge of molding someone to his liking while they have a fighting spirit in them. Makes things a whole lot more interesting.

- It would start off small. Him keeping an eye on you every day, memorizing your daily times of leaving for work in the morning and returning home. The route that you take, whether you walk, take the bus, or travel using your own vehicle, that would most likely be of the same value of his blue pick-up truck. The people that you interact with on the way.

- He'd hire a team of private investigators to get every bit of information about you after you seem to be stuck in his head even while he's coked out in the sauna. 'Nothings for free' there's a price that you will have to pay for occupying the thoughts of Terry Silver, borderline obsession sinking in.Your past, your family heritage, everything right down to your passport and social security number. Any past lovers and their history, too. If you happened to have a lover at the time, they'd swiftly be removed from the picture. He's all about the extremes, and no one will get in the way of him getting what belongs to him.

- Whilst you're away from home, he'd enter with the spare key that he'd seen you put under the small pot plant near the door although a mere door lock isn't something that would be hard for him to pick. Your apartment is small but clearly lived in. He'd have a look at everything you keep around, your drawers and shelves memorizing your interests. Your wardrobe and accessories will definitely get an upgrade in his home. He probably keeps something of yours for himself as a momento of you, your scent lingering on it. You seem to have not found one of your underwear in your laundry this week. That's strange...

- He'd come by and hide in the dead of the night to watch you in your natural state. Your mannerisms and what makes you feel relaxed. The type of shows you watch, the food you cook and whatever else you like to do in your spare time, your hobbies. He'd provide you with it all and more when the time comes. You'd get the weird feeling of having eyes on you, yet everything seems to be normal, and everything around is still in place. Nothing out of the ordinary. He'd even follow you to work and at the spots you chose to spend your leisure time at. Watching who you confide in and who you wouldn't associate with.

- After days, maybe even weeks of stalking his prey, Terry might come over and introduce himself to you. Just taking a walk on the street and offers to help you with the groceries one day. "Hey, need a hand with that?" All smiles and very friendly. He'd pick up the conversation easily with you coming off as innocent as possible. "Terry Silver, nice to meet you! I actually run the dojo a few blocks ahead." He'd tell you whilst offering a handshake after setting your groceries on the kitchen counter..

- That night whilst getting a good soak in the tub, he'd be on a call with John absolutely cackling about it all and going over the details of his plans for you. "Oh yeah! I'm just getting started, John!"

- Present day Terry Silver has a much different style and approach to this kind of situation. His playboy reputation all cleaned up, and the CEO of Dynatox Industries, who used to illegally dump nuclear waste, is now seen as someone who is an environmentalist more than anything. He's sober, has been to therapy, and is now associated with 'like-minded 'people. Yet everyone is still a means to an end, and he's just wearing a mask in front of these people. They don't know him the way they think they do, nothing of his time in 'Nam and certainly nothing about his old-time friend Captain John Kreese..

- It isn't likely that a woman from the upper crust would get his attention this time around either. All of these people are around him because of his money and reputation anyway.. if anything, they would end up just like Cheyenne Hamidi. In this case, it's likely that the woman who catches his eye would be someone who works for him or maybe comes around to one of his dojos. After observing you for a while during the class and afterward in his office through the many cameras installed in the dojo, he'd come to the decision that you are going to be his. There's definitely a fire in you if you have the guts to try out something like martial arts even if you don't know what it is that you're getting yourself into..

- He'd take full advantage of the presence of technology these days and find out everything he needs to know about you. Stalking your social media accounts and using all means possible to get information on you. Again, he'd have everything on you down to the very last detail. No lover or potential lovers will get in the way either. All of that will be taken care of.

- He's more direct in his approach this time, he'd come off as the sensei who's intimidating during training with the most piercing eyes in the room, but the most humble and understanding man outside of it all. He'd make you feel like you could trust him and confide in him whenever you needed to. He'd easily gaslight you into the entire situation, making it seem like it was you the whole time, and he'd be downright successful.

- He'd talk you into telling him everything about you in the shortest amount of time and have you invite him over to your home with ease. He's an old man, he doesn't have all the time in the world to play these games like back in the 80s as much as he liked the chase he would likely speed up the process tenfold. He'd have a look around your home whilst you're in the kitchen or bathroom, and he'd memorize it all. Not a sound would be heard from him. For a man as big as him, he's the quietest. You'd often get spooked by his sudden presence around you.

- You'd find yourself running into him a lot these days, but you couldn't put anything past a coincidence. After all, he's the nicest person you've come across. He's probably got your phone taped while you were non the wiser. Everything you do would ultimately be in his control without him even moving past the facade of friendship with you. Your friends and family start to get distant, but Terry is always there whenever you need it... Once a snake has you secure in its coil, there's no escape other than that of death..