#prompt: Titled After the Protagonist

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

The Prodigy - Smack My Bitch Up 1997

"Smack My Bitch Up" is a song by English electronic dance music band The Prodigy. It was released in November 1997 as the third and final single from their third album, The Fat of the Land (1997). In 2013, Mixmag readers voted it the third greatest dance track of all time. The song caused considerable controversy because of its suggestive title and explicit music video. The video, directed by Jonas Åkerlund, was rarely seen on television due to its controversial subject matter. It was filmed entirely in first-person perspective and depicts a drug-and-alcohol-fueled night out through the eyes of a mostly-unseen character, and utilises different camera movements corresponding with the protagonist's altered state of mind. Despite the controversy, the video was nominated for four awards in the 1998 MTV Video Music Awards, and eventually won Best Dance Video and Breakthrough Video. In 2010, the song was voted as the most controversial song of all time in a survey conducted by PRS for Music.

The lyrics "Change my pitch up/Smack my bitch up" are sampled and altered from the song "Give the Drummer Some" by the Ultramagnetic MCs. The female vocals were performed by Shahin Badar. Her vocals and harmonies are based on "Nana (The Dreaming)" performed by Sheila Chandra. Initially Liam Howlett used a direct sample of Chandra's song, but later had the vocal resung after sample clearance issues. The track also contains samples from "Funky Man" by Kool & the Gang, "In Memory Of" by Randy Weston, "House of Rising Funk" by Afrique, "Like This" by Mixmaster Gee and the Turntable Orchestra and "Bulls on Parade" by Rage Against the Machine.

In the UK the song peaked at number 8, ultimately spending 16 weeks in the top 100, despite limited air time. The song reached the top 15 in several countries, such as Canada, New Zealand, Norway, and Sweden. The song performed best in Finland, securing the band their third Finnish number 1 hit alongside "Firestarter" and "Breathe" (poll #112). It peaked at number 22 in the Netherlands, 41 in Australia, and 89 in the US. The single also returned to the Billboard charts after Keith Flint's death, entering number 23 on its Dance/Electronic Digital Songs Sales chart in March 2019.

The song appeared in a fight scene in the 2000 film Charlie's Angels. In 2020, a cutscene in the game Cyberpunk 2077 had a corresponding song on the soundtrack titled "Smack My Chip Up". Released the same year, Assassin's Creed Valhalla includes a sidequest called "The Prodigy", where the player character boxes a clergyman, prompting a character named Keith to sing "Smack my bishop!"

"Smack My Bitch Up" received a total of 57,2% yes votes! Previous Prodigy polls: #8 "No Good (Start the Dance)", #112 "Breathe". (Maxim & Skin: #245 "Carmen Queasy")

[snowfieldstories]

beyond the screen.

kim dokja x fem. writer!reader no scenarios - au

warnings: none, just candy floss fluff <3

w.c: 4.8k

a.n: I made you the writer of a web novel similar to TWSA, because it was difficult for me to imagine Kim Dokja following and cherishing a book in any other genre for that long. Your surname is "Cha," but your first name remains your own ◡̈

continued from this prequel ask + hcs

[AUTUMN]

houji-cha -- how does 3pm sound? that cafe u told me about Sent 09:21

Your fingers tap along the keyboard, drumming the keys without pressing down, in an effort to expel the anxious energy balled up within.

He still hasn't replied. Your reader, that is.

The sole reader of your silly little (little was an understatement...your work was a certified beast of a book) web novel that you had penned for years now. Thirteen, long years. It started as a passion project, a fun and creative outlet to help you successfully procrastinate on your homework back in middle school, and quickly snowballed into an outlet for the angsty drama of adolescence.

That falling out with your old best friend? She became a conniving witch of a woman that backstabbed the main hero. The pack of wannabe-chaebol kids that terrorized your early years of high school, before you transferred and made new friends? They were hybrid beast-demons that tried to destroy the hero and his companions, but failed, and died horrible and gruesome deaths. Your first boyfriend, first love, first everything? He, too, made it into the story—a love interest for the protagonist that, when your real-life relationship soured, kick-started the hero's endless series of regressions to have the plausibility to write distance between those two. (He even prompted a title change, which was a huge pain to do but totally worth it in the end, because you were quite satisfied with the new, current title.)

Every bitter moment, every spark of joy and achievement, every fear, doubt, hope, and all the other feelings that were much too much for your heart to handle, were poured into this story.

An Endless Dream is your diary; but it's also your baby, the love-child of your creativity and turbulent emotions.

It's your soul.

Somehow, it isn't all that scary to bare your soul on the open internet like it should be. Maybe because there is only one person to bear witness.

Your loyal reader.

── .✦

endlessdreamer -- Sounds good. See you saturday at 3 PM. Sent 20:08

Kim Dokja presses a palm to his rapidly beating heart. There. It was done.

The cup ramen sits cold beside the keyboard as he leans back in his chair. Today is Thursday, which means he has less than forty-eight hours to mentally prepare for a meeting with the author of his favorite, most-cherished web novel. A novel no one else dared to continue after the first 100 chapters—

And Kim Dokja likes it that way.

It was as if the novel were made for him, written just for its one reader, and allowing him to escape within the story in a sanctuary of words from the grenades that life enjoyed frequently lobbing at his face.

His eyes slide across the line of text he'd just sent. In two days, he would meet you, the author; the idea makes him equally exhilarated and sick to his stomach.

Your response had popped up while he was at work, and his mind was scrambled for the rest of the day. Once home, he let an hour slip by to continue agonizing over the perfect response. "Sounds good" is casual, right? Not too eager, not too cold...

Fear grips him once more.

Kim Dokja is used to this fear. This time it made itself known the moment you asked to meet over coffee.

What if...you were disappointed by him?

Their sole reader, a man nearing his thirties, working a lackluster job at a gaming company. Friendless, really, unless you count the author themselves. Which he wants to, but he knows better.

It isn't friendship without real reciprocation.

Maybe he can't be the author's friend, but he does have a friend in the novel you wrote.

So Kim Dokja tosses the cold ramen, strips away his work clothes, and huddles under the covers of his bed, the only light being the white-glow of his phone as he reads your story.

His author would be wearing a red scarf.

It's a rather feminine thing to wear—but Kim Dokja doesn't let that thought linger, because if you were a woman he might actually lose his nerve.

Kim Dokja's hand hovers over the white, wool coat. He told you he would wear it, the only piece of clothing he owned that stood out enough, but regret has him hesitating.

It isn't often that Kim Dokja spends his hard-earned cash on luxuries. This coat, he had spotted in the window of a store the day after landing his current job (months of searching, more months of rejections), and, still high off of the rare win, he bought it on a whim. Now he kept it stuffed in the back of the closet where it couldn't mock him for wasting money on a lavish purchase, on a job that he hated.

But he told you he would wear it.

And so Kim Dokja slides his arms through the sleeves and adjusts the collar in the mirror. While he's at it, he pushes his hair away from his forehead. Then he ruffles it back—it's not like he was going on a date or anything.

The day Kim Dokja had a date would be the day an apocalypse threw the world into ruin. "Kim Dokja" and "romance" did not go hand in hand; they didn't even cross the same plane of existence.

He arrives at the café thirty-two minutes early.

Nerves quickened his pace there, and they leave his feet restless now as he shuffles in line to order. He gets to the front and orders two hot drinks for this chilly, autumn afternoon.

Kim Dokja knows you like tea, specifically houjicha, like your user-namesake, but doubt has seized him.

Kim Dokja berates himself for not asking for your order, because what if you don't actually drink houjicha often or what if you prefer it iced over hot, or as a latte, or an iced latte...? And then: I'm here too early and the drink will go cold anyways.

As the thoughts grow thick in his mind, he scans the room.

In the corner booth, staring out the window, is a woman in a fluffy, red scarf.

Kim Dokja flinches in alarm, his toes point towards the door, ready to make his escape, when your eyes suddenly meet his. And you smile.

You are beautiful.

He can't hold your gaze for long, so he purses his lips in what he hopes resembles a smile, and gathers the two drinks to join you. He places the tea in the empty space in front of you, but he doesn't sit.

"Author."

"...Reader."

You both stare for much too long. Then you jump in your seat and gesture across from you. "Please, sit."

Kim Dokja sits. He fidgets with his plain coffee. And, shockingly, he is the first to break the silence. "It's a hot houjicha. Sorry if you don't like that, I didn't know what...I just thought with your username—I can get you something else?"

Your eyes—far too pretty, and much too real, thinks Kim Dokja—gleam as you lean forwards. "It's my favorite. Exactly hot, too."

His heart stutters in his ribcage in a delightful way, but also terrifying.

"I was going to order one eventually." You grow bashful as you speak. "But I came early. I, ah, wanted to drink it with you here..."

Kim Dokja finds it easier to breathe when he realizes you are nervous like him. You stick out a hand.

"I'm Cha—"

You tell him your name, and he repeats it, rolling the syllables around his tongue like a sweet candy. He now has a name for his author, "houji-cha." He also likes the play on your name and favorite drink together, it's cute and snappy, just the way a writer would do it. His hand meets yours awkwardly. "Kim Dokja."

Kim Dokja waits for the usual reaction. It never comes.

Your head cocks to the side as you smile. "Kim Dokja. Pretty...and accurate. A true reader's name."

Pretty snaps him out of the daze of hearing your tongue click over his name, a sound that seems to fall naturally from your lips, and sends a heat up his neck to the top of his ears.

"You're pretty, too." It takes two full seconds for the horror to settle in. "Your name—your name is pretty. Too."

Now you both sport matching blushes.

You unwind the scarf from your neck, a murmur of they cranked up the heat awfully high in here under your breath.

"I wanted to meet you," you say. Then you take a deep breath. Kim Dokja readies himself for rejection. "You're my most loyal and dedicated reader, after all. I wish I had something worthy to give you, for all of your support, but I'm...rather selfish. I actually wanted to talk to you."

"Oh," says Kim Dokja in awe, his eyes widening. Of course, he hadn't been expecting to receive anything. You didn't seem to understand that speaking with you was a gift all on its own.

At his lack of hostility, you appear to reignite with a determined energy. "What do you think of the latest chapters? The direction things are headed? I feel like there's something stale between the main characters. Oh, but I'm curious which characters are your favorite? And what do you think of the apprentice, you know, the character you suggested I add? I tried to get her just right, from the way you described, but I..."

As you prattle on, Kim Dokja, your sole reader, falls deeply and solidly in love. Even if he doesn't yet realize it himself.

Just like that, romance has crossed into his plane and dropped right in his lap as the genre of his life tilts towards this new, budding relationship with his very own author.

── .✦

You chickened out.

You had met with the intention of hearing about his bad day, to provide a source of comfort or a shoulder to lean on, but then you went and blabbed about your own stupid novel for the full three hours.

Yes—three. Hours.

It wasn't entirely your fault, I mean, how were you to know that your reader would steal your breath away with his handsome face?

He had seemed nervous at first, too, but it didn't take him long to grow comfortable once you started talking about the book. But not you. Even now, after multiple meetings—each hang out becoming more relaxed than the last—you are still shy around him.

Kim Dokja.

His name always sends giddy flutters throughout your chest.

You like him. Really, really like him.

You like Kim Dokja's playful humor, and you like his subtle intelligence. You like the sound of his laugh when you say something clever, and his kind and earnest conversation. You especially like his face, not only the beauty of it, but also the way he expresses himself, in little quirks of his mouth when he was pleased, or the wrinkle in his brow as he considered something, and the enchanting sparkle in his eyes when he looked at you. You didn't even know that real-life humans could have sparkling eyes.

All this to say—you are perfectly in love with Kim Dokja. Certifiably so.

And it was becoming more obvious by the day that your reader-protagonist character is entirely based on him.

The protagonist has always been based off of your loyal reader. It was partly a way to thank him for supporting your novel since day one, and partly because you had always found him interesting, especially once you two began messaging often in private, beyond the comments.

You wonder why he never says anything about it. But perhaps...perhaps he doesn't know?

"Why do you continue to read An Endless Dream?" you ask as you sip your tea.

The café is bustling today. Kim Dokja watches a chatting group for a moment before he responds. "It's a story with life that supports my own."

It's a startlingly honest statement. You have learned a tiny bit about Kim Dokja's past, and this only further intrigues you. But from the way his eyes latch on to his resting hands, you know that it is not yet the time nor place to discuss such things.

"Hmm," you murmur without thinking. "That story is my life."

It slipped out, and you don't mean it negatively. You hope he doesn't take it the wrong way. But when Kim Dokja looks up at you, eyes soft, you are left breathless.

Kim Dokja looks at you so completely, that you feel like he has read and understood every crevice of your soul. And, in a way, he has.

He knows you. He has taken the time (thirteen years, time) to learn you intimately, and you realize that no one has ever gone to such lengths. No one had ever bothered to try. Except him.

Something delirious rushes to your head as you realize this.

Even if Kim Dokja wasn't reading to read you, per se, he must have since come to realize that you pour so much of yourself into your novel, that reading it was akin to reading you.

You're still swimming with warm, bubbly feelings when you part ways a few hours later.

[WINTER]

A funny recollection occurs to you one day.

"You know, I was a bit afraid you would be an old ahjussi." You giggle at the affront on Kim Dokja's face.

"Huh? Why?"

You shrug. "The way you type. It's like an old man."

"Aren't you older than me?"

"That's true." A mischievous grin spreads across your lips. "Hey, you should call me noona, then."

Kim Dokja's ears are a delightful shade of red as he turns his head away. "N—noona. Right."

"I was only teasing," you say, poking his cheek. His head whips back towards you at the contact. "Unless you like that sort of thing."

Kim Dokja's hands flail for a moment, before he grabs his cooled coffee and drinks. Your laughter rings out freely at his disgusted grimace from the now-stale liquid.

"You should switch to tea. It still tastes good after it's gone cold."

He surprises you by swiping your drink. Your eyes are stuck fast on the way his plush lip hits the lid, his throat bobbing as he takes a sip from the very hole you had been drinking from. It makes your gut curl with something hot and pleasant.

"Mm...it is good," he says.

"Good. Then we can share." You reclaim your tea, your fingers brushing his own, and take a sip.

Back and forth, you share the tea until it is gone. The heat in your gut has mellowed into a steady warmth, a warmth that gives you the confidence to stand up abruptly.

"Let's go for a walk." At Kim Dokja's silent gape, your confidence dwindles, so you add, "If you want...that is? Um, if you're not busy..."

"I want to."

Kim Dokja springs to his feet, tugging on his white coat, and only pausing a moment before he's wrapping your red scarf around your neck and knotting it with his slender fingers.

Then he's pressing against the small of your back as he holds the door open for you. Rubbing your knuckles after catching you blowing hot air onto your frozen fingers. Enveloping you in his comforting heat as he leans into your side while you walk and talk.

Perhaps he hardly even notices that he does these things. But you do.

You're savoring each of these touches, squirreling them away in your mind to recover later and write as little details in your novel. It's to have a record of them for yourself, and it's your own subtle way of telling your reader that you notice. That you care.

"Dokja-ya," you test out before you part ways. You relish in the flush you've brought to his cheeks with just his name. "Are you free tomorrow to visit the Han River illuminations with me?"

It's bold of you to suggest bumping your next biweekly meeting to this very same weekend for the first time. But you ache with the need to see Kim Dokja more often. You crave more of him, his presence and his mind. Your fingers tap nervously at your side as you wait.

"I'd love to," he says warmly, and his smile makes you melt in the frigid, winter air. "M—maybe we could get dinner before?"

"Yes!"

You cringe inside at your quick over-enthusiasm, but he doesn't seem to mind. You make arrangements for where and when, and then you're both bidding farewell.

You make sure Kim Dokja is far, far away before you start skipping home.

── .✦

Kim Dokja has a date. Maybe.

No, it's definitely a date. He's going to take you to dinner and walk along the Han River to view winter illuminations—everyone knows that the Han River is Korea's number one date spot. And your plan this evening is probably what every couple in the city is doing this time of year.

It certainly sounds like a date.

But Kim Dokja allows that insecurity to take hold of him; he won't let himself believe it until he hears that word fall from your lips. (He would like to do a great, many things with your lips besides listening to the interesting things that come out of it...)

This time when he slips on his white coat, it's easy. You complimented the way it looks on him once, and Kim Dokja has never been more eager to wear a piece of clothing ever since. He's lowered the cost-per-wear rapidly in a short amount of time.

He goes to meet you outside the train station, and when you come up the stairs his breathing stops.

Breathtaking.

Every time Kim Dokja sees you, he thinks that, but tonight you seem to glow from within—glimmering eyes that feel like they see no-one but him, warm cheeks that apple with your smile as you spot him, lips that curl...

Damn. He's thinking of your lips again.

Kim Dokja shakes off these unruly thoughts and greets you. It doesn't take long for you to reach the restaurant.

"Soondubu jjigae, please," you say and close your menu neatly.

He orders his own soup dish and frowns. If this was a date—not that he's saying it is—then perhaps he should have taken you to something more romantic, like an Italian restaurant.

You misinterpret this conflicted expression. "Ah, it's a little basic, I know, but I just can't help but love the silken tofu."

"No!" he blurts out. "I didn't mean—it's not basic—I like soondubu jjigae, too!"

Kim Dokja knocks his chopsticks off the table in his panic.

You stare at him. And giggle. "It is a very good soup."

"Yes..." Kim Dokja feels embarrassed now.

"Dokja-ya." Your voice is sensually sweet as you call his name, and all that blood flushed in his face rushes south. "I'm really glad we did this."

Kim Dokja just might combust before the maybe-not-date is completed.

"Me too," he says faintly.

Then the server brings him a new set of chopsticks, and you tease him with a joke that he can't help but return, prompting you two to slide back into your usual, easy conversation for the rest of the meal.

(And Kim Dokja's...lower problem resolves itself by the time you two stand up, thankfully.)

It isn't until three-fourths of the way into the illuminations path that this natural rhythm is broken.

Kim Dokja had been agonizing over your hand for most of the walk. It is close, brushing his with air every so often, and gloveless—he knows you must be cold, but for some reason you stubbornly resist pocketing your hand to warm it back up.

You shiver out a cloud of breath and your hand clenches.

He's going to do it, he's going to hold your hand, and his pinky just barely taps yours—

"Kim Dokja-ssi!"

You both turn. "Yoo Sangah?"

Kim Dokja doesn't catch the way you freeze as his coworker bounds up the path to greet him. He misses the way your eyes widen in pain upon seeing the warm, sincere smile this gorgeous woman is sending his way. He certainly doesn't notice that you've slipped your shaking hand into your pocket at last, its tremble not from any seasonal chill.

"It really is you! Oh—who is this?"

Kim Dokja snaps out of his confusion in time to exchange your names. He is entirely unaware that both women are still left wondering: who are you to him? One, in excited and good-natured interest, and the other, fueled by a bitter distress.

Yoo Sangah takes it upon herself to determine the answer.

"It's nice to meet you. I haven't heard about you yet...that is, Kim Dokja-ssi doesn't really talk about himself much."

"Ah, doesn't he?" you respond stiffly, feeling worse than before.

Something in your tone makes Kim Dokja refocus on you. He doesn't like the way your body has turned slightly away from him, your jaw uncharacteristically tense. Are you too cold? he stresses. Or perhaps you were uncomfortable meeting new people...this was sprung on you, after all.

Yoo Sangah speaks up again. Her sharp, observant gaze lands back on Kim Dokja. He feels something ominous in the air.

"Pardon my interruption, you must get so little time with your girlfriend already, what with our terrible work hours. My own girlfriend begs me to quit every day."

Kim Dokja frightens at the word. "N—no—that's not, um—"

"We aren't—sorry, did you say 'girlfriend'?" your inner turmoil comes to a halt.

Yoo Sangah's smile is closed, eyes bright with mirth, like she's trying to suppress something, as she nods. "She's over there."

You both follow her finger to a short, black-haired woman who scowls upon gaining the attention of your group. She absolutely, without a doubt, does not look like someone who begs for anything from anyone. "Hurry up!" the woman yells.

"She's not exactly fond of social interactions," Yoo Sangah says diplomatically.

Kim Dokja is glad that the previous challenge has passed, but he still senses a threat looming over him.

"Maybe you can encourage Kim Dokja-ssi to speak up more in the office," Yoo Sangah says to you, suspiciously teasing. "He often has good ideas, but he can be so shy—"

"Right! We'll be going now," says Kim Dokja loudly. "Enjoy your date!"

Kim Dokja is nervous, so nervous, because he realizes that Yoo Sangah has spotted something of his feelings for you. His mind is frazzled enough that he doesn't think twice when he reaches for your wrist, poking delicately out of your coat pocket, and tugs you away from his coworker who now wears a devious smile.

"Enjoy yours!" Yoo Sangah calls out in one final, devastating point of attack.

Kim Dokja's frayed nerves are shot. Man down, he despairs. He can only manage a weird grunting noise in acknowledgement.

He remembers to slow down when he hears you puffing. You stop in front of a tangle of lights forming a snowman in a bright pink, green, and neon blue abomination.

"Yoo Sangah is a coworker of mine. We don't really talk often." Kim Dokja feels compelled to make that expressly clear to you.

"Perhaps you should," you say, thoughtful. "She seems genuinely kind."

"She is," replies Kim Dokja, distracted by the feel of your skin under his fingers where he grabbed your wrist.

Now that he's touched you, the overwhelming desire to hold your hand returns with a vengeance. As if possessed, he tugs your wrist free of the pocket—and for some crazy reason, you let him.

His hand slides easily into yours, like it was meant to be there all along.

"My hand was cold," Kim Dokja says foolishly. His thumb rubs circles around your knuckles.

Your smile is soft. "Then allow me to warm it up for you."

The rest of your walk is spent hand in hand, accompanied by blushing cheeks and frequent glances. Neither of you have much to say. Instead you two let the enjoyment of each other's presence wash over you, and there is a warm emotion brimming in the space between.

Truly, Kim Dokja has never been happier.

[SPRING]

"I'm thinking of ending the novel."

"What?" The word comes out too fast, and Kim Dokja jostles the still-full cup of earl grey. His face is pink as he uses his shirt to dab at the spill on his hand; you both had already traveled too far into the park to turn back for napkins. "I mean—do you not like writing it anymore? Or there aren't enough readers..."

You hum in thought. "It's true, I do only have one reader. But he's the most important one."

You enjoy the awestruck smile that settles on Kim Dokja's face at that. Then you take a few more moments to hide in the silence, both of you continuing your slow amble down the path, before you steel yourself to risk confessing something.

"I started An Endless Dream because I held too much of myself inside. It was starting to fester, it was wearing me down, and I needed a way to vent. I was never very good a keeping a journal, so I began to write," you muse. "I kept writing. And as I wrote, I went from searching inwards to searching for something outside myself—A dream. To find someone that wanted to learn about me the way I had used the story to learn about myself...I—I suppose I longed for a dedicated reader to the story of me."

Kim Dokja is locked in on you, enraptured by your words and the way you duck your head, shy.

"Well, I'd like to think I've found that. But, um, actually I have a final plot arc in mind, too; I want to write a happy end for those two."

"The two life and death companions?" It surprises Kim Dokja. There is nothing wrong with the two male protagonists ending up together, but he had never picked up on any romantic subtext. Maybe he is too inexperienced with love to recognize that sort of thing.

You shake your head, feeling a restlessness creep up. "Actually, not them. I've always thought the reader-protagonist and...the writer...that is, the writer will confess her love for him. And they'll end up together?"

"Oh," he says. Your cheeks are practically steaming by now.

There is a long moment where you are unable to look at Kim Dokja, and Kim Dokja is too stunned and uncertain to speak to you. He withdraws out of his own head long enough to spot the tremble in your body and blush on your skin.

Writer. And reader. The writer and reader, together. Confessing love.

Then understanding snaps into place.

"OH." The to-go cup tumbles out of his hands as Kim Dokja slides them around your shoulders to stop you in your tracks. "Me? Do you really mean—us—?"

Your own hope is reflected in his face as you peer up at him with wide eyes, smile soft with pure adoration. "Of course I do."

The smile Kim Dokja wears is as sweet and radiant as only someone with a reciprocated love could have. A pure, unbridled joy that you swear then and there you'll protect for the rest of your days.

A spring breeze sweeps past, and no writer could have orchestrated a better scene as cherry blossom petals dance around your heads the very moment Kim Dokja leans down to kiss you.

It's a bit clumsy, a touch unsure, but then he's cupping your jaw and your arms are winding around his neck to press up against him. Your lips slot together, two puzzle pieces fitting just right at last.

Kim Dokja breaks away. Your protest is quickly dampened as he connects your foreheads, whispering, "I love you, writer of mine."

Your heart thrums, singing back to him. "And I love you, my reader."

It is an ending more satisfying than either of you could have written, or read, about. An ending just for you two.

a/n: writing in present tense is hard and i never want to do it again (pls slap my fingers if i do, ok?)

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Omg congratulations on 700! 🎉 It is so so we’ll deserved. I must admit that I reread your work a lot because it is just so good and some of my favorites! 🥰

For the prompt, as always I am a SUCKER for the one bed trope, but I’d like to add another fun element so….

Blue + Lion + Hummingbird perhaps? 😈

Okay this one was a request by many, including my cutie pal @thirstydiglett and @truebluesanji and HOT DOG is it a good one!

Just One Bottle (+18)

Pairing: Sanji x Strawhat Fem!Reader

Prompt: Only One Bed x Aphrodisiac

WC: 2000 lol

Warnings: Open for interpretation on how the pals ended up ingesting the aphrodisiac, forced closeness, unprotected sex, p in v sex, morning after pill discussion, drug use, creampie, Sanji being a gentleman!

— — 

You strolled the aisles of the bookstore as you waited for Sanji to finish up his snail call outside. You ran your fingers across the labels gently as you passed by each shelf. You glanced towards the shop windows and saw that Sanji was outside giving some choice words to whoever was on the end of his transponder snail. The sun was setting and you found yourself captivated by the way the low light reflected off his blonde hair. He looked handsome. 

But he wasn’t your type. He was always fawning over you, even more obnoxiously so than for Nami and Robin. You never gave him half a thought in terms of a choice as a romantic partner, he was just a crew mate that you cared for deeply… as a friend. You turned down another aisle of bookshelves as you could clearly tell that Sanji wasn’t finishing his conversation any time soon. 

You found yourself stopped at the romance section and pulled a bright purple tome off the shelf. “Part Time Human, Full Time Lover…” You read the title to yourself before flipping it open. You find yourself reading a rather graphic passage describing an intimate encounter between the human protagonist and her well-endowed centaur lover. “Goodness…” You whisper to yourself as you find yourself flipping the page in interest. 

“Y/n!” You snap the book closed instinctively as you hear your name called. Sanji was rounding the corner of the aisle and came up to you. 

“Sanji! Hi!” You hurriedly put the book back on the shelf. “Any news?” 

“Well, the sun is going down fast and the moss head idiot got his group lost so we have to stay on the island for the night. We’re all too far apart to get back to the Sunny. We can find an inn around here and get some rooms.” Sanji explains to you. 

“Fine, hopefully somewhere with a restaurant. I’m starving.” You smile. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a night off from cooking?” You raise an eyebrow at the tall blonde. 

“I guess. Don’t expect the same quality of food that you’d get back on the ship. Shall we?” Sanji remarks as he gestures to the door of the bookstore, letting you go first. 

— —

After wandering the small village for awhile, the two of you find a small inn that had a tavern on the first floor. You ducked in, trying not to draw attention seeing as the two of you were highly wanted pirates. 

Sanji strode confidently to the front desk. 

“We require two rooms for the night. Money is no issue.” Sanji stoically demands of the innkeeper. 

“Sir I’m sorry… but we only have one room left tonight… I’d be happy to give you a discounted rate…” The mousey old man behind the counter said as his voice trembled. 

“This kind of dump has no vacancy? You’re telling me that this hole in the wall has only one room available-“

“We’ll take it.” You pushed past Sanji’s shoulder and placed your stack of Beri on the counter. 

The innkeeper’s eyes danced from your smile to Sanji’s scowl. 

“We’ll take it.” Sanji echoed, lowering his voice. 

“E-e-excellent news! I will issue you your keys now. Would the couple like one set or two?” The old man sputters out. 

“Two.” “One.”

You say two and Sanji replies with one. He clears his throat. 

“Two, please sir.” Sanji changes his response. 

The old man issues you two sets of keys and hands you your change after you pay for the room. 

“Please, enjoy our restaurant. You may find that sharing a room is not uncommon among couples at this hotel.” The innkeeper mentions. 

You look up at Sanji. 

“I am kind of hungry, Sanji. Shall we?” You question. 

“Can’t go to bed with any empty stomach, can we?” Sanji shrugs. 

Sanji put his hand on the small of your back and led you in the direction of the small restaurant. 

“Two of you?” The stout hostess asked and you nodded. She led you and Sanji to a candlelit table in the back of the pub. Of course, Sanji pulled your chair out for you. Once seated across from one another, you picked up the drink menu. 

“The room was so cheap… should we get the champagne?” You smirk over the menu across the table at Sanji. 

“Nami would kill us… what’s the label?” Sanji gestures to grab the drink menu from you and you hand it to him. His brows furrow. “I actually haven’t heard of this brand before… but it’s expensive… must be from the South Blue…” Sanji quirks a curled eyebrow up at you. “Should we?”

The sides of your mouth curl up. 

“Yes.” 

Sanji breaks into a grin as the waitress arrived at your table. 

“Anything I can get you two tonight?” The cute redheaded waitress asked you both. 

“We’ll start with a bottle of the champagne.” Sanji says to the waitress. “And for food… anything your recommend for a night on the town?” He says with a smirk. 

“Oh, I think our chef can do something for you.” The waitress says with a smile. 

“Perfect.” Sanji says as he snaps his menu closed and hands it to the waitress. 

— — 

The two of you had finished your bottle of champagne and dinner and were waiting around for the waitress to bring you your bill. 

“No no, it really was lovely. I just have never had a champagne like this…” Sanji says as the two of you discuss dinner. 

“The oysters were a nice touch, I thought.” You remark. 

“Mr BlackLeg sir thank you…” The waitress interrupts as he places a large stack of Beri on the tray containing your bill. 

“That was a nice tip you left…” You say as Sanji ushers you softly out of your seat, covering your back with his suit jacket. “Far more than most would.” You didn’t feel drunk, but you felt some strange warmth growing in your lower half. It started building when you drank that damned champagne. 

“It’s nothing for someone who used to work in hospitality. Their service is worth far more than the champagne.” Sanji says as he guides you to the stairs, leading you up to your room on the third floor. 

You reach your room and Sanji fumbles with the keys before getting the lock open. The door opens to reveal a small room with a queen size bed and an ensuite bathroom. 

“I-I can sleep on the floor.” Sanji says immediately. You turned and saw that his cheeks were bright pink. Was it from the alcohol?

“It’s fine, we’re adults. Let’s just get to bed.” You respond and begin stripping off your pants. You then unstrap your bra and take it off through the front of your shirt. Sanji hesitates for a second before stripping down to just his boxers. 

“I’ll take this side.” You said awkwardly as you slide into the bed. 

“Right. Goodnight then.” Sanji shuts off the lights and hops into bed on the side opposite you. 

“Yep. Night.” You curl up into your side, so that you wouldn’t encroach on your crew mates sleeping space. 

All you can hear is labored breathing. 

Was it your own?

Was it Sanji’s?

Something was off. You couldn’t sleep. 

Why was your pulse thrumming in your privates? Why was there slick gushing out of your slit to soak your underwear? Nothing even remotely sexual has happened tonight and yet your levels of arousal were off the charts. You tossed and turned for several minutes trying to ignore it, having the ache between your legs only grow more intense. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Sanji?” You whisper out into the darkness. 

“Gods, Y/N, tell me you feel like I do right now.” Sanji responds in between pants. 

“What the fuck happened to us?” You breath out to the dark ceiling above you. 

“Something in that drink…” Sanji breathes out. “It fucking hurts…” 

You peer over to your left and see Sanji grabbing at his crotch beneath the sheets. 

“They drugged us.” You pant out, right hand delving into your panties and rubbing at your clit, trying to get some relief from the burn this mysterious wine was causing you. 

“I-I don’t know how to say this, mon cherie… But what if we… helped each other…" Sanji said as he saw you pleasuring yourself beneath the bed covers. 

“Right… it’s just helping a friend…” You say softly as you touch your sex further, reaching your left hand out under the sheets to wrap around Sanji’s erect penis. 

“YES- I mean, yes-“ Sanji jerks at your touch. “It’s just relieving each other…”

“Okay… fine…” You relent. 

Sanji jumps up and positions himself above you in a nanosecond. You take this time to push your panties down and your t-shirt over your head.

“Spread your legs for me, my love…” Sanji whispers as he hovers over you. “Show me what you need…” 

“Sanji please, I need you inside of me.” You pleaded as you brought your hand down to spread your pussy lips. “Sanji why does it hurt?! Please help me!” You bucked your hips in his direction. You were desperate. 

“I’m gonna fix it, okay? I’m gonna stop it from hurting. Do you want that, y/n?” Sanji asked. 

“Yes! Please help me!” You cried out again as you saw Sanji pull himself fully from his boxers. 

Sanji dances the head of his dick across you clit as you whimpered. 

“I’ve got you, mon amour…” Sanji assures you as he leans down and pushes his cock into your trembling hole. 

“OH-!” The moan is ripped from your lungs as you feel the throbbing head of Sanji’s member push past your g-spot to fill you completely. “Fucking finally-“ You groan as your eyes roll to the back of your head, the fullness you’ve been craving in your bones finally being fulfilled. 

“More, more, more….” You chant as Sanji bucks his hips into yours with a fervent pace. Whatever aphrodisiac was in that wine had fully engulfed your brain and all you wanted was a thick cock inside of you stretching you out. The only thing you could focus on was the wet glide of Sanji’s heavy dick in and out of your hole. “Please, more!” You cried. 

“My love, I’ll give you everything you want…” Sanji’s eagerness to please came through as he pushed your thighs up towards your chest, allowing him further access to your favorite spot. “Need you to cum on me… please..” He begged. 

“M-More.. want more..." You whimper out. 

Sanji takes one of his hands from the crook of your knee and places it around your neck gently. He leans in and places a tender kiss on your lips. He moves his other hand to the top of your sex. Sanji slips two fingers inside of you next to his own cock, assuring you're full to the brim and your favorite spot is being stroked with every thrust.

"San-ji! So- Fuckin- Full!" You cried out in the throws of pleasure, finally feeling exactly what you wanted.

“I can’t do this much longer, mon cherie, so wet and so tight…” Sanji groans into your lips as he ruts into you like an animal. “Need you to cum…” 

“I’m…cumming… fuck!” You scrunch your eyes shut and scratch at Sanji’s naked back. 

“So perfect….” Sanji whimpers into your sweaty neck as he shoots his load into you. You stroked his neck all the way down to the base of his spine. 

“Aaah- Fuck- Ah!” You hear the cook grunt into your flesh as he digs his hips into yours further. 

“A-are you cumming again?” You ask with a heavy sigh, coming down from your own orgasm. 

“Sh-shiiiit….” Sanji groans. Tears prick at your eyes as overstimulation sets in. “M-my love…” 

You feel Sanji’s hips drive further into yours, impossibly deep. He was emptying yet another massive load in you in less than a few minutes, it was spilling filthily out of your hole around his cock. Sanji collapsed almost immediately on top of you without pulling out. 

Sanji wrapped his arms around your torso and settled in.

“You know you’re going to have to ask Chopper about a ‘morning after’ situation, right?” You muse as you stroke Sanji’s lower back. 

“I think the embarrassment is worth it.” Sanji smirks as he nuzzles into your breast. 

You smile and pull your love-cook close to fall asleep.

— —

Hope you ALL enjoyed!

xx

Mo 

[mikerickson]

I started Kingdom Come: Deliverance last night and it already feels like an old school RPG à la Morrowind. My blacksmith father asked me to buy some coal for his furnace, but I was flat broke so I went to collect a debt from the town drunkard. Failed my conversation checks with him so I started swinging and promptly got my ass handed to me. Still broke, I snuck into his house anyway, found his lockbox, and couldn't open it without a lockpick. I spend fifteen minutes roaming around this tiny-ass medieval village looking for my friend to bum a lockpick off of after he got mad at me because I didn't wanna throw literal horse shit at some dude's house. I get the lockpick, sneak back into the drunk's house, and immediately break the lockpick on my first try. The dude hears me futzing around inside and calls a guard to arrest me. There was a prompt on how to surrender, but I misread it and accidentally punched the guard in the face, who then proceeded to hack me to death with a sword, Game Over. This is like the first thing you do in the game, before the title credits even roll.

I don't know, there's just something really endearing to me when a protagonist is allowed to be a pathetic failboy right out of the gate.

[lemon-etiquette]

CW: Mentions of a hatefic containing a possibly bad-faith and variously setting rule breaking depiction of the Affini, real-world atrocities and imperialism, and how it relates to a wider problem in the hdg community (racism). I also wrote it while angry, not at the author of the hatefic, but at a tendency I see within the community. I think HDG fans should read this little rant I wrote if they're in the headspace to do so, and if you're unconvinced by it, go read the hatefic itself.

The Affini are not imperialist. Florets are not a means of production, they are not bought and sold, and they are not commodities.

Florets are some combination of a petplay and a CG/L dynamic. Florets are also the people who need help. Florets are a metaphor for disability. Florets are people recieving truly benevolent, unconditional help. Florets are what all of us are in the end, because florets are people who rely on others.

Today, I read the first chapter of a beautifully written anti-HDG hatefic. I went looking for an HDG fic with a Black protagonist as I realised I had never read one before, and found this. I use the term "anti-HDG" to denote how truly anathema to everything HDG is this fic is. However, I believe it (perhaps accidentally) has a good point to make.

With that out of the way, the fic is titled Drapetomania. For those familiar with the history of that word, its use here should already ring alarm bells. For those who are somehow still unfamiliar with that word (I'll get to that later), it is a proposed mental illness that white slaveowners proposed that would give themselves a casus belli to further dehumanise the captives under their control. It would pathologise slaves wanting to escape from their slavers. Succintly, it is a conjectural mental illness related to scientific racism.

Now that we are all on the same page regarding the title, anyone who has read this far should be immediately, painfully aware of how that word applied to this setting would be a poignant criticism of the culture around the setting.

The anti-HDG fic is a bleak, harrowing, suffocating experience, pointing fun at white authors flippantly proclaiming, "Yes, the affini are imperialist, and we're kinking off of it!". It is essentially a story of "Rhodesia" (notably the Terran settlement's name is New Salisbury), of apartheid South Africa, of the Zionist entity, of any settler-colonial state that raped and mutilated and dehumanised and murdered the indigenous nations, just with the white coloniser-slavers given a green "Affini" coat of paint and hyper-advanced technology. To reiterate, it is not an HDG story.

It also contains a rape scene. Oh, well, you might be thinking, that's extremely common to the setting - it's non-con after all. No, that isn't what this is. In those scenes, the action taking place between the characters exists for kink purposes in a kink setting. The character being raped is described as barely 18, bleeding down her legs and screaming and biting and thrashing and urinating on herself. Fittingly to the general themes, she is a Black girl experiencing colonial violence on her body. The author steps even further into this metaphor by having the Affini give the character artificial, piercing blue eyes and a biomod monkey's tail.

Now perhaps you are starting to understand why, while I had been contemplating making a post like this beforehand, this hatefic prompted me into action. This is in no way an endorsement of the hatefic itself; to reiterate I believe its whole existence is mean-spirited and the practice of hatefics targeted at the HDG community is an ugly one. However I cannot condemn the author themself for the point they are trying to make, as for all its flaws, they are correct about this: HDG is a very white community. I am writing this post as a white trans woman, as the vast majority of the community is, and as the vast majority of HDG protagonists are.

The hatefic attempts to insert itself into the continuity of the canon by simply claiming that the white populations were favoured for more closely fitting an Affini idea of civilisation, which while textually absurd if you attempt to apply it to the actual setting, is metatextually an incredibly pointed critique. Of course white people are kinking off of imperialism, they've done nothing but benefit from it, including in terms of sexual pleasure. It's entitlement to indigenous peoples' bodies.

What the HDG community has not written is an empire of slavers like those of Earth. The HDG community have written a benevolent race of liberators who bring equality, liberation and borderline supernatural abilities, wherewithal and willingness to take care of people. If the (again, predominantly white) HDG community is going to write a society like that and compare it to the actual empires of Earth who used that very rhetoric to justify their colonisation of other territories, then we deserve to be ruthlessly and mercilessly criticised as the hatefic does.

Do I commend the author for writing it? I wouldn't be so quick to, no. I believe the motivation behind making it may have been (at most partially) transmisogyny. It targets a community of predominantly transfems, and would not look out of place in a full-blown TERF's arsenal of bad faith criticisms of transfems, if it weren't for the fact that it's such a poignant criticism of racism, imperialism and colonialism which I have yet to see a TERF produce.

Does it succeed in what it intends to do? Also not entirely. While I believe it had the intended effect on me - getting white people to engage in self-criticism by making us uncomfortable - the comments are people again missing the point: "I love HDG, but it's important to remember that the Affini would be bad in real life.". No, they would not, and on some level you know that.

I won't attempt to psychoanalyse the urge to distance oneself from the utopian fiction we as a community share, but it seems to lie somewhere between ironic detachment and just pure cope. More to the point of this little rant I decided to go on for no good reason, about a topic I don't even really have the right to speak on except as a member of the community being criticised, these people are still openly admitting that they think a benevolent, sexy, kinky, fun transfem utopia run by hot alien plant mommies is comparable to real-world empires and imperialism. Why? Because they expand? Or is it because you believe on some level that that's what empires are like? Or do you just not care? Has the thought ever fucking crossed your mind? I'll be the first to admit it didn't seem like a pressing issue until the hatefic brought it to the forefront of my mind. Don't get me wrong, I identified the problem but have kept mostly quiet about it until now. This has devolved a little but hopefully I'm still getting the point across.

A friend of mine who isn't on tumblr pointed out this issue too but she's also a white transfem. I guess this hatefic or something like it was inevitable given the festering issue in the community. Material conditions and all that. I'm going to bed. Enjoy this unedited stream of consciousness mess where I change my opinion halfway through.

[justsalpals]

After everything is over and they settled into their new mortal lives, the protagonist asks the princess about her name again. If it felt odd to not have one, or if she wanted to make one for herself now or just be The Princess.

To which she points out that not only does he not have a name either, but not even a title or anything he's mentioned going by!

Which prompts him to stare blankly at the wall for like a solid hour while the voices run amuck in his head, because how did he never realize he didn't have a fucking name??

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

Ideas for subverting popular character tropes? I've started a story and am having difficulty making my cast of characters unique. I'd love it if you had any fresh takes on tropes like the mentor, the sidekick, etc...

POPULAR CHARACTER TROPES AND PROMPTS TO SUBVERT THEM

A character trope, sometimes called a character archetype, is a “recognizable element within a story or plot that defines or conveys information about a character. Character tropes can either define a character's entire role in a plot or the character's personality or motivations.” (source: arcstudiopro).

Many people bash “tropes,” but what you have to remember is that there is no such thing as a unique idea; everything has been done before, and the reason why tropes are so popular is because (a lot of time) they work!

It is totally possible to have a "normal" trope in your story without making it a cliché. However, if you’re looking to subvert these expectations, here’s a list of ideas I’ve come up with!

(This is me brainstorming on the fly to help get your gears turning, so I apologize if these aren’t fully fleshed out or if they’ve already been done before!)

1. THE CHOSEN ONE

The “Chosen One” is a trope where “one character is framed as the inevitable hero or antihero of the story, as a result of destiny, unique gifts, and/or special lineage” (source: Wikipedia). The Chosen One is often depicted as naive or unwilling at the beginning, and has a progression of growth through the narrative when they “accept their destiny.”

Examples:

Luke Skywalker (Star Wars)

Harry Potter (Harry Potter)

Frodo (The Lord of the Rings)

Neo (The Matrix)

Subversions:

1. The protagonist who was believed to be the chosen one from the very beginning discovers that it was actually someone else the whole time and must come to terms with the realization that they no longer have this title that they’ve based their entire life (and perhaps personality) around. (Bonus points if the new Chosen One is someone they’re close to).

2. Every solstice, the “Holy Order” sends a Chosen One to defeat the monster that has been ravaging their town. None ever return. The protagonist is selected as the next Chosen One, only to find that being Chosen does not mean “Chosen to defeat the monster” but rather “Chosen as the sacrifice to appease the monster.” (Bonus points if the reason the Chosen Ones always die is because the “Holy Order” misguides them (gives them broken weapons/drugged food/faulty armor/directs them into traps/etc.)).

3. Having the Chosen Power comes with a price. After someone is Chosen, it is a death sentence. The protagonist must find a way to defeat the villain AND purge themself of the Chosen Power before it’s too late (Bonus points if the villain helps them purge the Chosen Power).

2. THE SIDEKICK

The sidekick is a friend and helper of the main protagonist. They are often depicted as a loyal comic relief character made to emphasize the hero’s greatness, and may be killed off to advance the hero’s journey.

Examples:

Robin (Batman)

Samwise Gamgee (The Lord of the Rings)

Chewbacca (Star Wars)

Pan (His Dark Materials)

Subversions:

1. The “sidekick” is actually the hero of the story; the narrator just has an inflated ego and believes themself to be the hero. Meanwhile, their “sidekick” is the one saving the world.

2. Sidekicks are often depicted as younger than the hero. Perhaps an older sidekick might do good to spice things up (Bonus points if it’s without turning them into the mentor trope).

3. The sidekick is a former hero who had to watch their own sidekick sacrifice themself, and was convinced to leave hiding by the current hero. (Bonus points if the sidekick dies in a poetic way that is a narrative foil to the way his own sidekick died, perhaps in a “I didn’t understand why they would sacrifice themself for me but now I get it”).

4. A ridiculously strong/powerful Mary Sue type character is the sidekick to a Normal Guy™ (Bonus points if they are incredibly content in this position).

5. The sidekick is not a willing sidekick; they were kidnapped by the hero because they have an object/bloodline/power/etc. that is essential to defeating the villain.

3. THE MENTOR

The Mentor is the protagonist’s teacher, who helps them transition from a “normal” person into a hero. The Mentor is often depicted as wise and virtuous, teaching the protagonist not only the ways of fighting or magic, but also the ways of good and evil. The mentor is often killed off to advance the hero’s character arc, due to the fact that they are sometimes seen as a parental figure.

Examples:

Dumbledore (Harry Potter)

Yoda (Star Wars)

Uncle Iroh (Avatar the Last Airbender)

Mr. Miyagi (Karate Kid)

Subversions:

1. The mentor is the narrator. After spending so much time training the Chosen One and raising them like their own child, they must hear news that they have been killed by the villain. While still grieving (or perhaps fueled by revenge), the mentor must venture out and defeat the villain themself.

2. Have the mentor be a woman! You would be shocked at how overwhelmingly male-dominated the “mentor” archetype is!

3. The mentor turns on the protagonist that they trained…not because the mentor has turned evil, but because the mentor believes that the protagonist has become a monster (à la Kung Fu Panda). (Bonus points if the mentor is actually right and the protagonist really has become a monster).

4. The bright-eyed Chosen One thinks the world of their mentor, only to realize through experiences with others that the mentor trained them horribly, and that the mentor only used their training to boost their renown—without expecting them to survive their fight with the villain. (Bonus points if the protagonist is an unreliable narrator, and we as the readers feel just as betrayed by the mentor because we, too, thought they were a great person).

5. The mentor is the former Chosen One, desperate for the current Chosen One to not make the same mistakes. The current Chosen One resents the mentor for pushing them so hard and treating them so cruelly, but in reality the mentor is just overprotective (Bonus points if it’s not revealed that they were the legendary “Defeated Chosen One” until later).

4. THE DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

Although a Damsel in Distress is often associated with female characters, any character is capable of falling into this archetype; mostly known for being a passive figure who exists mostly as an object for the hero to save.

This is one of the few character tropes that is difficult to break the negative stigma, due to its root in misogyny and the disadvantages that come along with having a character without personal goals or motivations. In my opinion, if you have a character that follows this archetype to the T, perhaps you should consider some revising.

Examples:

Lois Lane (Superman)

Princess Buttercup (The Princess Bride)

Mary Jane Watson (Spiderman)

Ann Darrow (King Kong)

Subversions:

1. The passive, meek damsel in distress whom the hero has been working relentlessly to save actually turns out to be a villain! Their supposed rescue efforts were used as a distraction while the evil plot unfolds, and ends with a fight to the death!

2. The damsel in distress gets in a huge fight with the protagonist when they come to the rescue; they were undercover the entire time, and the protagonist has ruined their plans!

5. THE FEMME FATALE

The femme fatale is usually characterized as a mysterious woman who seduces and entraps men with her body. This doesn’t necessarily have to be a gendered archetype, but often errs into sexualization and misogyny (especially in works written by men).

Examples:

Jane Smith (Mr. & Mrs. Smith)

Nikita (La Femme Nikita)

Catwoman (Batman)

Catherine Tramell (Basic Instinct)

Subversions:

1. The Femme Fatale doesn’t know they’re a femme fatale. They are a master of seduction and gaining valuable information through licentious wiles, but it’s all an accident; they just-so-happen to sleep with rivals and they just-so-happen to say important information. The femme fatale casually brings this information up in conversation, rendering the team awed by their “impressive skill set.”

2. The Femme Fatale is male or nonbinary (Bonus points if they will seduce any gender).

3. There is a Femme Fatale team; an icy power couple dedicated to killing through threesomes.

6. THE GEEK (OR MAD SCIENTIST OR NERD OR KNOW-IT-ALL ETC.)

The Geek, or the Mad Scientist, is the character known for knowing everything. They often have a lack of social skills, and their vast knowledge of random things helps the characters when they’ve been backed into a corner…though they sometimes tend to be a quick fix for writers who’ve written their characters into a corner and need an easy solution.

Examples:

Sheldon (The Big Bang Theory)

Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)

Spock (Star Trek)

L (Death Note)

Subversions:

1. The Geek has leadership skills and ability to inspire others. Awkward is not the complete opposite of charismatic; just because someone may have trouble talking to people doesn’t mean they can’t foster intense loyalty from their comrades. (Think along the lines of L from Death Note. Bonus if they’re the leader of their organization, and their subordinates would face God and walk backwards into Hell for them).

2. Combine the Geek with another archetype, perhaps an antithesis archetype like the Dumb Jock. For example, a Geek that enjoys the outdoors and extreme sports like rock climbing (but rather than to get buff, they just want to look at the fantastic granite deposits on the side of the mountain they’re climbing). Or perhaps a Geek Femme Fatale, whose “special interest” is the psychology of seduction.

3. The Geek hates what they do. The “passion” that Geeks usually have for machines/non-humans/their chosen expertise is forced upon them because they’re super smart. In reality, they’d wanted to take it easy going to business school but nooooo the world was at stake so they had to become an expert in the intergalactic space-time continuum.

4. The Geek is useless. Their musings are more mania than genius, their explanations and ideas incomprehensible to a normal human being, and the group only keeps them around with the hopes that one day they’ll come up with an idea that actually makes sense. (Bonus if that idea comes at the climax of the story).

8. THE DUMB JOCK (OR HIMBO)

The dumb jock, also known as “the brawn,” is an archetype that is often categorized by being all buff and no brains. They often are, or at least begin as, the antagonist of the story, and if they aren’t, they’re considered the “Himbo” character (with character traits being buff, dumb, and respectful to women), who are often reduced merely to their attractiveness and stupidity, without much depth.

Examples:

Jason Carver (Stranger Things)

Mitch Downe (ParaNorman)

Kronk (The Emperor’s New Groove)

Bolin (The Legend of Korra)

Subversions:

1. The himbo and/or jock is frustrated with the way that their comrades always reduce them to the brawn. They feel left out and isolated because they can’t understand the lofty conversations of their peers, and know that they, in a way, look down on them for not being as smart (Bonus if this becomes a major plot point in the character’s arc, causing a huge blowout fight that fissures the group because of it).

2. The himbo/jock’s stupidity does not reduce them to comic relief. The himbo/jock is well-respected and has incredible emotional intelligence and charisma/street smarts, but merely lacks in textbook intelligence.

3. The himbo/jock is a woman! Break through the stereotype of dumb strong people being men and put some herbos in your story (Bonus if you don’t sexualize her and just let her be herself).

4. An idea from the jock/himbo becomes an integral part of the plan to save the world!

9. THE ANTIHERO

The antihero archetype is categorized by their lack of conventional heroic attributes, their execution of their goals through morally gray means, and their frequent reluctance to be the one saving the world. Their motivations may be vengeance, hatred, or any other less-than heroic inspiration besides “the greater good.” In fact, the antihero is sometimes the antagonist of the story, but due to the fact that the audience is seeing things from their perspective, they often tend to root for them.

The antihero used to be its own subversion of the “Chosen One” archetype, but became so widespread that it itself became its own archetype. That’s why antiheroes are so varied, to the point where you may not even need a subversion due to how many possible ideas there are to choose from. (This was the hardest list to make!)

Examples:

Barry Berkman (Barry)

Harley Quinn (DC)

Cassie Thomas (Promising Young Woman)

Deadpool (Deadpool)

Subversions:

1. The antihero feels guilt. Oftentimes, an antihero is depicted as stone-cold and dead-set on their actions (and sometimes they’re right! If someone killed my family, I wouldn’t care about “being the bigger person”). However, an interesting subversion may be guilt or self-awareness surrounding their actions playing a large role in the execution of their goals.

2. The antihero is not a lone wolf, and develops meaningful and positive relationships with others rather than having it be 90% snarky banter. Sometimes, antiheroes suffer from a lack of three-dimensionality due to most of their dialogue being cheeky one-liners. Anchor them solidly into the story by building a web of relationships to support them! (They don’t have to all be lovey-dovey, either! Even enemy relationships can be more than snark).

3. An honor code. Giving an antihero with an interesting honor code regarding killing, stealing, or any of their other morally gray deeds could be an excellent subversion! Having characters who are stone-cold killers but draw the line (perhaps in an odd way, such as refusing to steal cars or kill pets), somewhere can be a great way to develop their personality and show the readers their motivations.

Hope these all helped, and happy writing!

[berryispunk]

Demo Tapes

Day fourteen of @thedrabblecollective's challenge !! In case you missed it catch up with the AU created for this here (necessary) and meet the protagonists here.

Because I’m that extra, each drabble comes with its own song—featuring the word of the day in either the lyrics or the song title, listen and save here

todays prompt: Saccharine

The song had cracked open something he couldn’t close. Every time it played—on the radio, backstage, in the crowd's chant—it echoed like a confession he hadn't meant for anyone but her.

The fame tasted saccharine, all sugar and sting. People called it a masterpiece. Said his voice had soul, ache, truth. He smiled, nodded, thanked them.

But every cheer reminded him of the silence after that night at The Shack. He’d bled into a melody, hoping she might hear it. Hoping she'd know. But success wasn’t healing. It only made the absence louder.

What’s a hit if she’s not here?

thanks for reading 💌

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[animefeminist]

Aiba Kyoko at Otakon 2024: Reverse Villainess Isekai, Social Issues, and the Manga-Making Process

Aiba Kyoko has been working as a manga artist since the 2000s, developing a signature style that spotlights familiar tropes and turns them on their head. While best known for her BL work (especially, in English, the stunning Derail), Aiba’s most recent series targets a different genre: the wish-fulfillment isekai.

“In a typical isekai, you become a pretty woman, or a cool guy. It’s always these positive transformations, and I just didn’t like that. So I decided to do something the exact opposite,” Aiba explained during our interview, comparing the experience of an isekai protagonist to her own convention visit. “Me traveling to America is already this much of an ordeal, so how can someone going to an unknown land have such a great experience?”

That “opposite,” upside down and reversed isekai is Oji Tensei: The Villainess’s Days of Aging Gracefully, the story of a haughty villainess who awakens from execution to find she’s been reborn in modern Japan…as a middle-aged man. Originally a one-shot, the title was greenlit for serialization after it broke its platform’s record for most comments on a one-short work. It’s now a monthly series with five chapters available at time of writing.

While the premise of the series involves playing with gender, Aiba noted that her impulse in creating the series was more about that upending of expectations than telling a trans narrative. The chapters of Oji Tensei so far focus more on villainess Chloe learning life skills she was ignorant of in her former life and coming to terms with living in an aging, unglamorous body. Aging gracefully, in other words.

That isn’t to say that Aiba is uninterested in social issues—in fact, she emphasized the subject in her Otakon biography. The story that prompted her changing interest was Young Carer: Invisible Me, which she wrote last year. “I t actually started with a conversation with my editor when we got to talking about what my background is like [as a former young carer], and we thought it was an interesting topic so I was asked to write it. It was happenstance. It became a more socially conscious piece, but I didn’t think I would do that when I was working on it.”

Read it at Anime Feminist!

[gerbfukc]

An isekai au with Kazula

Prompt: After passing out from submitting an essay she procrastinated on, Katara wakes up in one of those stereotypical harem fantasy worlds. In this world, she is apparently the protagonist who is set to lead the villainess, Azula, to her demise.

It should have been easy to let everything play out the way it seemingly should have. One swoosh of her sword, and Azula's life would have been forfeit.

So there's no one to really blame except for herself when Katara decides to run away with the villainess instead.

(Extra note: the title of course would be either "Help! The Heroine Won't Stop Flirting with the Villainess!" OR "The Absurd Heroine has Kidnapped the Shockingly Calm Villainess?!")

[elliot]

I played the alleged anti-rpg, moon (1997) approximately 2 years ago; it was a game that took my mind by a storm and inspired a well of creativity unlike any other. After years upon years of being incapable of original work due to a deep rooted dry spell, it was moon that opened the floodgates of my brain back up and enabled me to start making things directly from the heart again.

I’ve played a lot of games, and moon is both a cult classic and one of the most fascinating for a good reason. In the 6~ ish hours you get with it, it communicates such a wealth of abstract thematics that have managed to create a ripple effect present with games we love even today. This post examines the core of the game: the metanarrative relationship that exists between The Hero and The Invisible Boy.

There are major spoilers for the game in this post. Please read at your discretion! 

When moon posits itself as an anti-rpg, what does that term entail?

At a glance– the player assumes it’s a reference to the gameplay system which is structured around “saving” animals/monsters as opposed to fighting them. 

However, what makes the game an anti-rpg in actuality has little to do with this feel good, heartening mechanic: because the very end of the game tells you distinctly that this mechanic will not truly save anything or anyone. Whether you’re killing or saving these monsters, animals, characters, etc. you are still viewing them as metrics, objects of your affection/destruction, numbers and things and targets for your own amusement. The Invisible Boy still has a leveling system, just like The Hero. To allow these creatures and characters to flourish, you ultimately must leave them behind. The game is an anti-rpg, not because you harness the power of pacifism over violence, but because the ultimate act of love for this game, for its characters, for its messaging is to step away from it and internalize what it’s communicated to you in your real life. That’s the only way you can “beat” it.

But to deconstruct this further: the game itself deconstructs the notion of “roleplaying” ala using the protagonist as a self insert through The Invisible Boy. Who is The Invisible Boy, and who is The Hero?

When introduced to the game, you are playing as a young boy who is subsequently also playing as a character: The Hero, who serves as his initial avatar. The first thing the game prompts you to do is enter a name. The title track of the song that plays during this sequence is Entry Song, a seemingly basic reference to “name entry” that doubles as an allusion to the fact that this is the exact moment where both the Invisible Boy and The Hero “enter” the world. The name you enter applies to both characters, a reveal that’s delivered to you at the very end of the game – The Invisible Boy has this name in lower case, while The Hero has it in upper case. Fundamentally the same name but mirrored to each other. The young boy is thrust into the world through the TV screen, losing his corporeal form and therefore becoming The Invisible Boy. His existence is a strange, undefinable thing; for a reason never made known or explicit, The Invisible Boy is capable of seeing dead animals felled by The Hero. This may be due to the metanarrative divide he exists within as a “real” boy who has entered the two dimensional world of the game, but his ability to communicate with the dead transcends his interactions with the slain animals. In the sequence with Tanaka, it’s noted that the Invisible Boy has the capacity for contact with spirits and that “regular people” cannot enter the liminal space that exists between the living and the dead. What does this imply regarding the Invisible Boy? I’ll circle back to this after establishing what we know about The Hero.

The Hero, when you are first introduced to him, only exists at the mercy and control of the boy controlling him; once that boy enters the universe, he seems to act in accordance to his mission regardless and is preoccupied with the notion of leveling up and defeating the Dragon no matter the cost. Of course, easter eggs and lore within the game go on to reveal that The Hero is actually Gramby’s dead grandson, pierced by the White Feathered Arrow and trapped within the cursed armor, which effectively brainwashed him into becoming a bloodthirsty warrior with no real cognizance of what’s going on. The rainbow generator may seem inconsequential, but rainbows often symbolize the bridgeway between life and death.

So what does that have to do with the Invisible Boy?

The simplest way of communicating it is that the Invisible Boy and The Hero quite literally cannot exist without one another. The prologue featuring The Hero (called FAKE MOON) that you go through foreshadows the game’s central plot events but through the lens of The Hero, which are then experienced through the lens of The Invisible Boy. From chasing around the “crazed dog?”, to the fight with Perogon, to boarding the airship, to the mass slaughter of the animals on the moon – the story of the game, whether it’s as The Hero or The Invisible Boy, has already been written into existence. Much of moon is storytelling in reverse, wherein the further you progress, the more you come to understand The Hero’s “reality” during FAKE MOON. The songs that play during FAKE MOON are songs that reappear during REAL MOON with different instrumentals to denote them (1, 2, 3, 4, 5). Same melody and yet it evokes a completely different feeling.

The Invisible Boy follows the same road as The Hero; everywhere The Invisible Boy goes, The Hero is shortly up ahead of him. They take the same steps, meet the same people, activate all of the same plot points. The Hero’s world is rigid and unyielding, limited to an 8 bit soundtrack with environments and people rendered to their simplest forms. The Invisible Boy’s world is a subversion of this, with no soundtrack to guide him – instead you’re given a variety of genre breaking tracks to play of your own accord, with only the sound of your own footsteps to accompany you (The Hero and The Invisible Boy’s footsteps are both used to characterize their presences). The Invisible Boy’s leveling system demands that he talks to and understands other characters, but there’s still a pervasive sense of loneliness that colors his gameplay, a feeling that never quite leaves; much like The Hero’s journey. When Gramby sees The Invisible Boy, she recognizes him as her grandson and uses the inverse of his name, the version of it that exists in all caps. 

Is this to say that on some level, The Invisible Boy and The Hero exist as the same entity in dual points and egos? Possibly. The Invisible Boy is a real person, and The Hero comes into existence because of him. At the end of the game, when The Invisible Boy is slain by The Hero, The Hero dies immediately: because The Hero cannot exist without the Invisible Boy. When The Hero’s armor falls away, you do not see a child.

You see nothing. You see an invisible boy.

Florence speaks often of a recurring motif in this game: rebirth, the bridge between realities, life and death. Dying and being born again. The Hero gets his second chance – as the Invisible Boy. Because the Invisible Boy and The Hero are still a product of their design (the role of the protagonist), they condemn the cast and world to the same fate regardless of the means they take. Shedding their role within the game is the only way they can save anyone. Florence proposes that the dreamscape, the subconscious, is a gateway to another reality – The Invisible Boy’s “promises” to the Moon Queen take place in the dreamscape, where he retains his form as a human child as opposed to The Invisible Boy. The Invisible Boy and The Hero are both bound by their promise to save Love-De-Gard no matter the cost and no matter the sacrifice. On the moon, when you see the Moon Queen in person, she is physically attached to the Dragon The Hero fights: they exist as a dual ego, as two sides of the same coin. The Hero has been following the trail of the Dragon, while the The Invisible Boy has been following the guidance of The Moon Queen. They are one and the same. 

Fiction, stories, games, are escapes to other realities that exist to us and us alone. We, as the player, make out its meaning. Is that meaning steeped in blood? Is it dehumanization? Is it gratification?

While many use the scrapped “ending” as a frame of reference for The Hero’s fate or what he truly is, that’s simply inaccurate; Kimura has talked about this “ending” quite a bit. Here is an interview where he states that not only was this not an “ending” but rather a part of a scenario that you’d clear in order to eventually attain an ending that resolved the scenario in question, but also that it was scrapped early into development because it was not the direction they had wanted to take the game in. Thematically, it’s incongruent with what we’re presented. Here’s another interview where Kimura discusses it, once again stating that it would clash with what the story was presenting as is.

Conversely, there is a vocal theater that was released where you follow along with The Hero, aka the young boy that exists inside of him. Near the end of this theater, you get to hear The Hero actively make the choice to exit the game and open the door; perhaps cementing the idea that The Hero and The Invisible Boy exist as dual egos, hence why neither are shown in the ending credits.

The Invisible Boy and The Hero could be viewed as an elaborate metaphor for our relationship to gaming and art. They could be viewed as a metaphor for how young boys are socialized into violence through gaming. They could be viewed as a literal story of rebirth. They could be viewed as a young boy, learning to navigate the world and himself, at odds with these two facets of himself. They could be viewed as a young boy wanting to learn how to do right by the world, and the creatures he’s come to love. They could be viewed as something so abstract, or something so literal, that the possibilities are endless – but their identities and roles are inextricably linked and form the heart of moon. After finishing, I dug through the game in a relentless pursuit in some attempt to understand what happened to The Hero, how his narrative could be read more mercifully, what the point of this child’s alleged suffering was–

In the end, the answer is simple. You are him and he is you, just as the Invisible Boy is.

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter seventy // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 5k warnings for this chapter: light fingering?

banners by @cafekitsune

MASTERLIST

Chapter Seventy:

January brings in a bitter cold front.

I show Thomus the Muggle magic of indoor heating known as the radiator. The sturdy metal contraptions try their best, but I still find myself layering my clothes and keeping the fire roaring in the living room anyway. My ass has been parked on the couch with the softest blankets in the house piled on top of me.

Thomus usually joins me in the evenings, and we'll either read together or put a movie on. During the day Thomus is in the office, typing away or dulling his quills for The Daily Prophet.

I don't really go out of my way to read any editions he leaves laying around. The few I flipped through had fun, exciting headlines like ZÜRICH UNDER SIEGE! and EXECUTIONS IN ZÜRICH: DARK LORD WELCOMES SWITZERLAND TO GREAT ORDER! Several articles spewed hateful rhetoric about Muggleborns and there was even an ad featuring Muggleborn repellent.

And so… yeah, I don't really need to consume so much negativity on a daily basis. It honestly would send me spiraling with that being my only access to the outside world.

I'm content staying in my own little delusion. Where I'm still in the dark about the details of the war raging around us, but I'm okay with that. The less I know, the less I'll stress. I can watch my silly little movies, make a never ending pot of leek and potato soup, and spend time with Thomus, who's the perfect distraction.

One morning during breakfast with Thomus, I realize it already has to be late January. Did he ever have that meeting with Voldemort?

I glance at him in time to see him scoop up the last bite of his oatmeal. I guess I could just ask him, right?

"Did you ever… have that meeting?" I ask, prompting his eyes to find mine. There are times where he's left the cottage, but it was usually to 'follow a lead', or so I was told. "With… "

He tilts his head, giving me a patient look.

"Um, the one that Yaxley mentioned the… Dark Lord would summon you for?" I finally get out. "From the New Years party."

"Right," he says, like he's expected this question somehow, and continues casually, "and you want to know what was said about you."

My face heats and my jaw drops, but I recover the reaction by immediately saying, "Yes." Then give him a sheepish smile. "Wouldn't you?"

He smiles in return, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "What do you want to know?"

I start with a question not totally unrelated to the meeting, but something I've been dying to ask. "Why are there so many articles written about me?"

Thomus raises his eyebrows and smirks. "I was wondering when you were going to ask about them," he says, then crosses his arms and shifts down in his seat. "And to answer your question, it's not exactly a secret that you, an American Muggleborn back to back Wandless Magic Tournament Champion, are the property of a Death Eater."

I roll my eyes. "That's quite the mouthful, isn't it?"

He narrows his own. "Are you trying to under value yourself?"

"No," I scoff, shrugging. "I'm just saying the title doesn't really matter."

"Of course your achievements matter -"

"Not really."

His eyebrows raise again, seeming in utter disbelief. "Darling, your achievements are utterly remarkable for a mudblood. You should be proud."

For a few long moments, there's only silence that follows his statement as I let the hurt of his words sink into my chest.

"My achievements don't matter when I'm being held prisoner for the crime of my blood," I say quietly. "If you take my 'remarkable' abilities out of the recipe, what's left? My worth is no greater or less than the other… mudbloods."

His eyebrows and mouth are pinched inward as he stares at me before slowly nodding. "I shouldn't have called you that and I apologize. I wasn't thinking."

I'm taken aback by his quick apology and I just nod. Somehow it feels reassuring.

"With or without magic," he says quietly. "You're still dangerous."

I know he doesn't mean it as a compliment, but I decide to treat it like one. Straightening my back and squaring my shoulders, I give him a false bravado smile. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

He gives a wry chuckle, glancing away and bouncing his leg.

"So what was it?" I press. "Either you bought me because you knew who I am and what I can do, or because you…" I trail off. My thought process had been confident, now I'm not so sure.

But he's looking at me, waiting for the rest. My eyes go to the table, how my fork sits on my plate.

"… just because you wanted to own me, and I don't think that makes very much sense." I peek at him to see he's looking out the frosted window.

"I haven't lied to you," he says pensively. "Yes, I knew who you were when I bought you, but it had little to do with my motivation."

He's definitely holding something back, especially because he's given me that answer before.

"And these articles about me warranted a summons from the Dark Lord?" I prod. "Why now? It's not like he didn't know I could do wandless magic. He saw it in my own head."

"I'm not sure he knew to what extent," he says slowly. "He doesn't take seriously Muggleborn achievements. But a few months ago someone leaked the status of your citizenship to the wizard news outlets in the states."

My expression slips to confusion. "But what about the one Skeeter wrote in May? Yeah, it's vague, but wouldn't that have told people where I was months ago? It's old news."

"Around here, yes, but remember in the states, The Daily Prophet isn't as popular," he says, and then mutters, "Especially now."

"Well, that's your own fault, isn't it?" I say. "You've even admitted to me it's straight up propaganda."

He lets out a long, heavy sigh and gives me a look that says he's well aware.

"Can you tell me a bit more about Skeeter's one?" I ask.

Thomus sits up, putting his crossed arms on the edge of the table. "Actually, I'd like you to tell me a bit more about it."

My eyebrows rise. "Why? I didn't write it."

"Neither did I."

"But you were quoted in it."

He rolls his eyes. "I gave her what she wanted to hear and, shockingly, she twisted my words." He tilts his head, looking me dead in the eyes now. "And what's your excuse?"

"For what?"

"Are you guilty of the crimes she accuses you of?" he asks.

I press my lips together, smiling as I shrug. "I want a lawyer."

He barks out a laugh. "What?"

"I will not perjure myself. I've seen how your courts work, I'd probably be sentenced to death just because of my blood status." I'm making light of it now, but when the mudblood hunt was sweeping through the Ministry, I was terrified.

He doesn't seem to find that as funny as I do. "Who did you impersonate?" he asks seriously, but there's an eagerness to his tone. Which to me says he's been wanting to ask this for a while.

I still smile at him. "Isn't it obvious?"

His eyes narrow. "Rita?" he says, incredulous.

I nod. "Yup."

"Why did you need to get into the Ministry that badly?" he asks.

"Had my reasons," I shrug.

He lets out a long frustrated breath as he sits back, dropping his arms. "I'm assuming one of those reasons has to do with why you were hiding out with Potter?"

I take a deep, slow breath, nervous to tell the simple truth. "Yes."

"… and with how Samantha died," he states. "The plaque."

I feel my pulse jumping wildly in my throat as I reply with the same answer. "Yes."

None of this information is really new, unless he's only now putting all the pieces together. But we're getting side-tracked.

"So Voldemort's concerned about me after all?" I press after he'd gone pensive again.

He tsks, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. "That's not how this works."

"Oh, come on," I whine, tilting my head and puckering my brows. "Are you really not gonna tell me what you talked about?" I might've even subconsciously pouted my lower lip.

From how he's gazing at me, for a moment I think he's finally going to open up… until he smirks.

"Do you really think batting your lashes and looking adorable will work?" he asks, thankfully amused and not insulted.

I press my lips together and sigh heavily through my nose, trying to smother my embarrassment. "Sorry," I sigh. "I think just being on his radar makes me really nervous."

"You don't have to be," he says, measuring his words for emphasis.

I give him a look. "Let me guess, it's because you've gone to 'great personal lengths' to ensure I'm not a threat to him?"

Thomus doesn't answer me immediately, slowly crossing his arms over his chest again without looking away. "What is it about that phrase that troubles you? Have I not gone to great lengths to protect you? To ensure your safety and well-being?"

My eyebrows push together slightly, meeting his guarded eyes. "But that's not what you said though. Ensuring that I'm not a threat doesn't mean keeping me safe. It doesn't mean protection."

"Is there something specific you're trying to get me to admit?" he asks hesitantly. I desperately hope it's because I've been vague and not because I keep pushing for answers he doesn't want to give.

I pinch my wrist in my lap, trying to dampen the anxiety painfully spreading through my chest. A deep breath kicks in my occlumency and I can bring forth rational thoughts, even if they stumble out of my mouth instead of gracefully stepping down.

"I - I guess I just want to know if you've been bullshitting me this entire time." Oh god, my voice cracked already. I just take another deep breath and keep going, looking out the window. Well, the cracks in the paint on the wooden frame. "With how you make me um… feel, and telling me that I'm important to you - and, and making me believe that I'd still be worth something to you if I wasn't…" I pause, taking a deep breath in through my nose. "If I wasn't a threat that needed to be dealt with." Another, shakier breath and my voice comes out as a whisper. "Is this real? Do you really care about me?"

I finally bring my eyes back to him, so terrified of his reaction. So afraid to be disappointed. To be utterly heartbroken.

I'm not quite sure how to read the face he's making. His eyes are so serious, not in a hard, scary way, but heavy and emotional. His mouth is soft, the right corner tugging upward. My heart pounds in my chest as hope springs forth, so desperate for good news.

"I think I got you for a steal," he admits softly, continuing to gaze at me. "If I cared about you then the way I do now… I would've paid anything, anything…You're worth more than gold to me."

The sincerity in his voice and his face and the tenderness in his eyes makes my lower lip tremble. I can't bare to look away from him even as my vision gets blurry from my tears. His thumb comes up to brush away an escaped tear and I grab his hand and hold it between mine.

I sniffle and clear my throat, but still whisper. "Thank you for defending me at the meeting on New Years. It meant a lot, especially because you didn't know I was there."

He leans forward, twisting in his chair to get as close to me as possible. Thighs and knees pressing together, his other hand slides around my tummy.

"I'm sorry I didn't start doing it sooner," he says. "Especially when I knew you were there."

I shrug a little and give him a small smile. "I understand it's complicated."

"But it's real," he murmurs. "I can't lie about that anymore."

"Well good. I don't want to lie to you either." I say this, knowing full well I'm going to have to lie to him in the near future. I keep a teasing smile on my face even as I feel my heart breaking while thinking about the inevitable doom. At least I'm not lying about this. "Because it's real for me too."

His head tilts and his smile mirrors my own. He pulls my hands toward him to press his lips to the back of them, meeting my eyes.

I go for a shot at levity, needing to forget that we won't get a happy ending. "Since we're being honest," I say, sitting back and looking him up and down. "Wanna fuck?"

He starts laughing and coughing all the while his face turns a super adorable pink.

"Oh, I'll do more than fuck you," he swears hotly.

I pull my hands out of his and stand, failing to keep the grin off my face. "Promises, promises," I tease.

His hands are on me in an instant, one arm securing me by the fupa as his other smacks down hard on my ass cheek. I cry out in surprise at the sting and then moan as that hand slips down to rub over my pussy between my thighs.

The way his lips are all over me, it's a miracle we make it to the bedroom before we're naked.

~*~

I don't get much sleep that night. Our confessions over breakfast left us insatiable in a way I hadn't experienced before. Even now, lying in bed wrapped in his arms, I'm unwilling to peel myself away. Despite getting several rounds of orgasms and enough cum fucked into me today that I wouldn't be surprised if my pH balance is off, I'm not tired of it, of him. It feels like a dream.

We still have the lamp on, casting it's muted yellow glow across his room. He's lying on his back, though his hips twist toward me, our legs intertwined. His arm is my pillow and I have the perfect view of his profile from where I'm tucked into his side.

He's just so handsome and how could someone like him ever feel something real for someone like me? It's superficial, yeah, I know. But he's meant to be with some blond bombshell like Diana, not… me. I can't even imagine what we look like side by side.

I don't know where we're supposed to go from here. How can I have the man of my dreams in a living nightmare? I want to believe he's been slowly changing. I want to believe he's not secretly worse than I fear.

Would he run away with me if I asked? We'd probably have to seek asylum with M.A.C.U.S.A…. Maybe pretend to be No-Majes for a while. Oh god, he'd have to meet my parents.

All terrible ideas, but it means we'd be out of danger, and we'd be together. It means we'd choose each other.

But… I really just can't see that happening. I can't see beyond this. His name is tattooed on my arm as a mark of ownership and I still refuse to ask for freedom.

Yes, he's confessed feelings, but are they strong enough to completely abandon all of this? Turn his back on his family? And what about… what about Bellatrix? He's a man with conviction. Of course those ties of loyalty would be impossible to sever.

Time to overthink and re-evaluate everything. Could I really just… go home? Have I really tried hard enough? Sacrificed enough? I've only destroyed one of his Horcruxes and he's still kicking and Sam is still dead. And fuck… he's only getting stronger. Kyle's plan feels weak in the eyes of the bigger picture. I've already tried so hard and yet the nightmare isn't even close to being over.

I don't know what makes me sadder. Not being able to be with him, or knowing he wouldn't chose me.

The pain of that knowledge consumes my chest until it hurts to breathe. It hurts to think that I was never an option in the first place just because of my blood and I ache for what could be.

As I gaze at his face, trying to commit it to memory, I come to the grim conclusion I have to know what was said between Voldemort and Thomus. If I'm going to come face to face with him one day without anyone there on my side, I need to be ready.

The easiest way I figure to do that is to just go into Thomus' memories. Since he's already asleep and obviously unprepared, I can get in pretty easily.

Before I completely submerge myself in his head, it dawns on me that I'm just another person who's taking advantage of his trust. The shame and regret burns under my skin and it's suddenly too painful to look at his face. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold him tighter to me, my fingers nearly digging into his ribs.

He deserves so much better than me. Someone he won't be bullied for liking, and more importantly, someone who won't betray his trust for their own selfish needs.

Upon swearing no malicious intent, I cross the threshold of his Occlumency walls. He's currently dreaming, which is good because then he's not paying attention when I slip to his memories, searching until Voldemort's face becomes center focus.

We're in what looks like an office in a castle, my best guess would be Hogwarts. The portraits and grandeur signal it could be the headmaster's, though I guess in this case, it's Voldemort's. Since Thomus' consciousness isn't present at the moment, I slow the memory down a bit, and step outside of Thomus' perspective. Standing next to him, I see his beard is about the length it was two weeks ago.

In the focal point of the room, Voldemort sits on a raised dais in a massive chair behind a massive desk. He looks just as creepy and alien-like as the last time I saw him. To Thomus' credit, he doesn't seem nervous at all. I wonder how many times he's had to stare that monster in the face.

"Do you know why, exactly, they're demanding her release?" Voldemort asks.

"Yes, my Lord," Thomus replies smoothly. "They believe that since she's not a citizen of the British Wizarding Ministry, then she should be released to her country of origin."

"Why is this filth of such significance? Because she can do a few tricks without a wand?"

Thomus pauses only briefly. "She is a Wandless Magic Tournament Champion, sir. Two years in a row."

At this news, Voldemort sits up. "That is who your Lot is?"

"I apologize, sir," Thomus says. "I thought you were aware."

"I've heard she cheated," the Dark Lord sniffs. He stands, his long black robes slithering along the floor. Except it's not just his robes slithering about, it's also that giant fucking snake glued to his side.

Thomus chuckles. "Yes, I've heard that theory floating about as well. However, I can assue you she's no different than any of the rest," Thomus says, much to my surprise. Voldemort raises an eyebrow at him, despite not having any. "That scheme is quite advanced for her, I'm afraid."

He says this so easily, so casually, and it's so convincing that I actually take a step back from him.

"Ah," Voldemort hums, circling the room, gazing at the different portraits. Most of them sit empty. Except for Dumbledore's. Dumbledore stares Voldemort head on from his chair, looking seriously unimpressed at the Dark Lord below him. "And what of her abilities? Has she given you any trouble?"

"She has only needed a stronger suppression potion," Thomus replies. "With it, her magic isn't a threat and neither is she. When not suppressed, the abilities she does have are unremarkable. Best not forget she's only a mudblood after all."

Voldemort turns on his heel at that. "Are you quite sure you feel that way, Thomus?" he hisses, starting toward him. "I've recently been made aware that your behavior has been quite unbefitting of a Death Eater of your blood status."

There's a heavy silence and his next words sink me all the way to rock bottom.

"You, of all people, should know better than anyone," Voldemort chides. "It would be a shame to lose you to the same fate."

Thomus swallows. "Yes, sir."

Voldemort sighs, his hand coming down onto Thomus' shoulder. "You are, and have proven yourself to be valuable to me, young man. I will not forget all that you have done in my service. You deserve your pet." His other hand comes to grasp his other shoulder. "But do not let that dirty blooded whore fill your mind with romantic notions. If you must, use it to your advantage. Play into it. Let her believe you care for her. Her loyalty and obedience will be a powerful tool."

Voldemort releases Thomus after a moment and dismisses him with a wave of his arm. "That will be all."

"Of course, sir."

I keep to Thomus' back as he seamlessly turns and leaves the room to descend a spiral staircase. Dazed, I follow Thomus as my head swells with doubt. Is he still pretending? What if he's been fucking with me this whole time? Just like last time.

I'm not sure when I go from following Thomus on the stairs, to trailing behind him in what looks like the Forbidden Forest. The large mossy trees feel both far away and crowded so close an unsettling, panicked feeling creeps across the back of my neck. I can't see my way out of here through the blue mist. All I can do is follow Thomus' ever shrinking form, anxiety spurring my feet faster after him.

My heart pulses in my throat and the moment I lose sight of him, I stupidly call out his name. My voice echoes and he's suddenly in front of me, halting within arm's reach, freezing me entirely. He's breathing heavily, eyes scanning his surroundings.

I open my mouth to say his name again, but another voice beats me to it. It calls for him - sweet, melodic, and eerily familiar. When his name is said again, the voice shocks me to my core… because it sounds like my voice.

My jaw stays dropped as his head snaps in the direction the voice came from. It calls for him again and this time he doesn't hesitate, spinning on his heel and launching into the trees in search of its source.

I follow him through the brush, quickly losing sight of him, but still picking up the sound of his hurried steps. When I emerge into a clearing, I see he's stopped and I have to step around him to find out what he's staring at.

It's a mossy, Roman style gazebo. It's white marble shines like a pearl, giving it an ancient ethereal look, and right in the center, draped on a chaise covered in flowers, is a goddess of some kind.

"Thomus!" the goddess calls, spotting him.

After the encouragement, Thomus' feet carry him across the small clearing in three long strides. He immediately kneels at her feel, burying his face in her lap, hands tightly gripping her hips. My approach is much slower, totally disbelieving what I'm seeing.

The goddess is… me. Well, she certainly looks like me with her bright pink hair curled in abundance around her. She's definitely me at first glance, but the closer I look at her face, the more uncanny it seems. My guess it's probably because it's a dream.

He got the body right though. There's absolutely no hiding it's shape in the dress she's wearing. The dress is white, long, and so sheer every curve is on full display, even the ones that I try not to remember exist. God, even the pink of my nipples is clearly visible.

The goddess runs her fingers through his hair and gazes lovingly down at him. He nestles in closer, rubbing his face up over her fupa and stomach. He says something, but it's too muffled for me to hear. She responds anyway.

"Yes, my love?"

My love?

I once again stare at them in shock as he takes her hands in his and raises his head back to her eye level. Thomus brings his lips to her fingers before he murmurs, "You are my sun, my moon, my star-lit sky." Then one of his hands dips down to her ankle, slipping fingers beneath the hazy hem to glide slowly up her calf. "Without you, I dwell in darkness."

I'm trying so hard to control my breathing as if it alone can stop this avalanche of emotions. His hand disappears between her thighs and her smile grows as his words continue.

"Your power has enchanted me," he declares sincerely, "and I am helpless against it." When his voice drops in tone she gasps, her full pouted lips parting slowly, in sync with her knees. His arm moves between them and wet noises drift out into the silence around us.

I've never had a more strange out of body experience as this one. And I thought the time-travel was weird enough.

His other hand releases hers, moving to her shoulder where he guides her to lie back along the chaise. Settled, he buries his fingers into her plush form, molding her to his touch.

Her arms reach out for him, able to cup his face and grab his shoulder. "Come to me now," she begs breathlessly. "Let me worship you in my arms."

The rhythm of his arm suddenly intensifies and her back arches in ecstasy as she cries out. His free hand pushes back the flowing dress over her knees so she's suddenly exposed before him.

"I can't stop," he gasps, his lustful gaze jumping from her face to her puss - oh, my god. "The beating of my heart - it pounds like never before."

There's something else the goddess has that I don't. Pubic hair.

And it's bright, fucking, pink.

My hand shoots up to cover my mouth before I spew out a cackle that could possibly wake him up. I silently shake with laughter as the steamy dream continues.

"Death makes the lover's a trivial thing," he whispers as he lowers his face closer between her thighs and to the glistening pussy he's still fingering. He gazes reverently at her body as a hand runs down her inner thigh, and he gives the most malleable bit of flesh near her pussy an appreciateive squeeze.

Before he can dive for her, she cradles his face once more. He fully leans into it, sighing heavily. "Your touch is worth a thousand deaths," he murmurs.

The hand over my mouth goes from holding back laughter, to holding back a pathetic whimper. His declaration has tears flooding my eyes and the air disappearing from my lungs.

I'm not crazy? Of course this is a dream, but this is literally a peek into his sub-conscious. It's proof that he's been telling the truth.

The tidalwave of emotions that come with that realization are far too overwhelming to experience while in someone else's head. So I back out, opening my eyes to shift back to reality. In it, tears have already escaped and pool by my cheek on his shoulder.

I shift onto my elbow, blinking and wiping away any remaining tears. Anxious to know if I've woken him, I stare at his face while my eyes readjust to the lighting. When it seems like I haven't, I slowly roll over until my feet touch the floor. Snatching my hoodie from the foot of the bed, I shrug it on and leave through the bathroom.

Internally I'm already chastising myself for even getting out of bed as my toes nearly freeze before I manage to pull on socks and a pair of undies from my wardrobe.

He loves me and the first thing I do is run from him? What am I doing?

I know I have a clean pair of sweatpants in the dryer, so I grab a laundry basket and silently tip toe downstairs. Setting the basket on the floor, I use Accio to quickly locate my pants. While I shrug them on, I cast a house keeping spell that has my laundry folding itself.

As I sort through the folded clothes, I think I hear a faint meow, so I pause, and when I hear it again I'm already turning towards the kitchen. Peeking out the back door window, I see Caelan staring up at me from the patio.

Why wouldn't he just use the cat door? I tap it with my foot to find it won't budge. Either way, I open the door and he quickly glides past my ankles. By the time I turn around, he's shifted to his less feline self.

He looks exhausted. Dark shadows form around his eyes and look stark compared to his alabaster complexion.

Caelan gives me a half-smile and looks sheepish. "Got time for a Floo call?"

"Yeah, sure," I nod. "With who? Thomus is asleep upstairs."

"Kyle. There's been some news."

I push my eyebrows together. "I'm guessing bad news?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure, really."

We quietly step into the livingroom. Caelan sets up the fire while I start up the TV and cast Muffliato, hoping both will mask any talking. By the time I'm kneeling next to Caelan, Kyle's face flickers in the green fire.

"Look, I'll just cut to the chase," he starts. "Eric Roosevelt's dead."

"Oh my god, that's awful," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."

"Aye, same here mate. How long ago?"

Kyle takes a deep breath. It's hard to read his expression when it's only peaking through the flames, but it looks like he's pretty shaken up. "A few days. Alder, we found the recipe you wrote him at the Christmas party among his notes."

"Yeah?" I ask. "Why's that important?"

He pauses a moment before saying, "We need you to continue his work."

[welcometowriteblr]

WTW PRESENTS OUR 34TH EVENT!

In preparation for NaNoWriMo next month, WelcomeToWriteblr invites you to join our Ghost Gala! For each day in October, we have chosen themes and prompts designed to help you flesh out your WIP. The calendar can be completed in any order and you’re free to do as much or as little as you want. This event will run for the ENTIRETY OF OCTOBER. 

HOW TO PARTICIPATE

Tag your posts as #WTWEVENT and #WTWCOMMUNITY

Format your posts with the heading: WTW GHOST GALA - DAY #: THEME

Wait for your post to be added to the queue. 

NSFW content will not be posted to the blog. 

OPTIONAL: Join our discord server if you would like to ensure your post makes it onto the blog! Tumblr’s tagging system can be unreliable and we want to make sure everyone’s creations are shared! Please note, you must be 15 OR OLDER to enter our server! 

PROMPT LIST

Pumpkin Carving - You have to kill off a character: Who do you choose?

Raven - Create a tagline for your WIP

Crystal Ball - Outline a scene, act, or your entire WIP

Fallen Leaves - Create a playlist for your WIP

Jack O' Lantern - Share an interesting fact you found while doing research for your WIP

Vampire - Tell us where you find motivation and inspiration

Skeleton - Have a favorite plot structure? If not, share how you plot!

Trick or Treat - Set some writing goals and milestones for your WIP

Candy Corn - Tell us how you chose the title for your WIP

Witch - Write or brainstorm the opening paragraph

Bats - How would your WIP change if a minor character became the protagonist?

Candles - After naming all of your characters: Tell us the meaning behind their names

Coffin - Where's your favorite place to write?

Haunted Mansion - Describe a setting in your WIP

Black Cat - Flesh out your antagonist: Who are they? What are they? What do they want?

Pumpkin Spice Latte - Write a basic plot synopsis for your WIP

Zombie - Who is your supporting cast and what are their roles?

Spiders - Outline a scene or chapter from the middle of your WIP

Snakes - Plan the plot twist

Apple Cider - What's an old tradition from the world of your WIP?

Werewolf - What was the most important day of your protagonist's life?

Corn Maze - What is a common misconception about one of your characters?

The Woods - Outline your protagonist's development: How do they compare from the start vs the end?

Owl - What are your characters' thoughts on the setting of your WIP?

Graveyard - Which character has a secret they'd take to the grave?

Harvest Moon - Create a timeline for your protagonist

Grimoire - Create comps for your WIP

Hayride - Describe your protagonist's fatal flaw: How will it play out in your WIP?

Final Girl - Write or plan the final scene of your WIP

Bonfire - What changes the status quo in your WIP?

Ghost Gala - Take the day off, tomorrow starts NaNoWriMo!

CALL THE SPIRITS, JOIN OUR SERVER HERE! (discord.gg/earlgrey)

[llostwriter]

The Husky And The White Cat Shizun With Their Baobei

Chapter 17(checked the revised version of chapter 1,2,and 5 as well)

It has been three months, and you still have not finished copying the Dynasty Time Flowing Rong as punishment. Other disciples give you pitiful looks when they see you walk out of the library. You’re hardly one-tenth of the way through after several hundred pages. Luckily, Chu Wanning didn't set a deadline for this task. The book is filled with many names, but the only ones that caught your attention were the two generals of the Northern Frontier Army. One is known as the Beast of the Altar, and the other has the title of Xihe-Jun.

Each of these individuals held the top position of Chonghua's commanders before the enduring Peace Era. They all bravely gave their lives for the country. Initially, they didn't stand out much, except for one with a noteworthy nickname, as it was common for generals to sacrifice themselves for the nation. However, after perusing and transcribing the subsequent pages, it became evident that Xihe-Jun and the Beast of the Altar had a deeply intricate connection. Even though there was no explicit mention of romantic involvement, there's an unmistakable sense that their relationship is more complex than it appears. Subsequently, an increasing number of school names began to emerge.

—-

The four disciples were summoned to the Red Lotus Pavilion by their Shizun, Chu Wanning, also known as Yuheng Elder. Chu Wanning confirmed the stability of all four spiritual cores and their upcoming trip to Xuying Peak.

Xuying Peak, the holy mountain of the upper cultivation realm, stands thousands of feet high and is home to spiritual weapons awaiting their future masters. According to legend, it is where the God of Weapons, Gouchen the Exalted, forged his swords. The peak was also the foundation of heavenly demon eliminations, with the lake and sea serving as its pools, and the divine blood of the god used to forge the first real ‘sword'.

The Jincheng Pool on Xuying Peak, where divine blood has never dried up despite centuries, is the main attraction for cultivators seeking high divine weapons. Though frozen all year round, only a limited number of Daoists with the ability within their spiritual core can temporarily melt the ice in the pool.

Xue Meng eagerly questioned Chu Wanning about obtaining his own weapon and inquired about the ancient beast associated with Chu Wanning's Divine Martial Weapon. Chu Wanning revealed that the ancient beast that appeared in front of him was a Kun Peng.

Kun Pengs are massive creatures with fish-like bodies, bird-like wings, and beaks. They are considered great ancient divine creatures originating from China. Chu Wanning's revelation about his ancient beast and spiritual energy surpassed that of regular cultivators and even some sect leaders.

Xue Meng, inspired by Chu Wanning, expressed enthusiasm about the prospect of having the same ancient beast. However, Mo Ran reminded Xue Meng that he needed to melt the lake water first. Chu Wanning then explained the process of bonding with the spiritual animal to obtain a spiritual weapon.

Xue Meng, curious about the process, asked Chu Wanning about the request made by Kun Peng.

Chu Wanning never felt embarrassed sharing the ridiculous requests made by spiritual creatures. Kun Peng once asked for meat buns, prompting three disciples to chuckle while you stood unamused. Chu Wanning possesses three holy weapons: Tianwen, a golden willow vine whip; Huaisha, a golden sword and his most powerful holy weapon; and Jiuge, a guqin believed to be his fated weapon.

This temporary stroke of luck for the protagonist is nothing compared to what's coming in the future.

In your previous life, Shi Mei gave up the chance to go to Xuying Peak, perhaps due to low self-esteem or knowing the truth about the immortals beneath there and avoiding the problem. When Shi Mei gave up his chance, Mo Ran tried to convince him, irritating Chu Wanning, who later left both Mo Ran and Shi Mei.

This time, Shi Mei suggested staying in the sect, but Chu Wanning chose not to leave. Despite his cold demeanor, his indifferent words were his silent attempt to change Shi Mei's mind, and Shi Mei eventually agreed with hesitation.

Mo Ran reassured Shi Mei: "Shi Mei, don’t be afraid. I’m here."

The trip to the Upper Cultivation World was long, taking more than ten days to arrive in Dai City, next to Xuying Peak. The city was more luxurious than the richest people in the Lower Cultivation World, thriving with rich merchants and noblewomen.

There were so many problems that could have been easily solved if only the Upper Cultivation World had assisted. However, as expected, those greedy rich folks hid behind their wealth and ignored the poor. Rich and powerful they may be, but their greed only served to breed corruption and injustice. They had the means to help those in need, yet they often prioritized their own desires over the well-being of the common people.

As a result, Xue Meng's perspective regarding the Upper Cultivation Realm was not good. Despite being spoiled by both his mother and father, Xue Meng knew that the Upper Cultivation World wasn't as good as it seemed. It was extremely lazy when it came to selecting missions, only picking ones that brought fame and increased their reputation. When all the good-quality missions were taken by the Upper Cultivation World, the Lower Cultivation World was left with the unwanted missions. Some sects from the Lower Cultivation World complained about it, but they could do nothing against the other side.

It was almost irritating to see Lower Cultivation World disciples complaining that their monthly salary from their missions wasn't even half of the salaries of the disciples from the Upper Cultivation World. Later, their seniors, or sometimes even the elders, scolded them. Xue Meng isn't one to care much about wealth and riches; after all, he's the son of a sect leader. But after hearing so many complaints from the disciples, his perspective regarding the Upper Cultivation Realm grew worse.

So it wasn't much of a surprise to see him mutter, "Those bastards in the Upper Cultivation World. They're really a bunch of rich people. Wine and meat stink, and bones freeze to death on the road," upon seeing the women and men in the bustling rich city wearing luxurious robes that even the people in the Lower Cultivation World would dream to have.

Mo Ran and Xue Meng, the peacock and dog duo, have finally found common ground after a long time. However, it seems like it's only a matter of time before they return to their original chaotic selves.

—-

Chu Wanning appears even more captivating in his silver mask, giving him an air of mystery. He elegantly and swiftly steps out of the carriage, greeted by you and his three other disciples. His disciples follow him closely as they enter the inn. Xue Meng boldly asks the inn owner for five rooms but is informed that only two rooms are available, and the five of them need to find a way to share. Chu Wanning pays for the two rooms, while Mo Ran and Xue Meng make some noise in the background. Mo Ran would never lend his Shi Mei to anyone and immediately claims that he and Shi Mei will share a room. While you don't care much, you feel a distance growing between you and Mo Ran. Mo Ran then surprises everyone by announcing that you will also be staying with him and Shi Mei. This causes a confrontation between Mo Ran and Xue Meng. Chu Wanning manages to silence them with one phrase, although they continue to glare at each other. With Mo Ran's mixed signals, you're not sure if he still despises you.

—-

There was no way Mo Ran would allow the negative influence of Chu Wanning to reach you. He wouldn't allow you to be manipulated by Chu Wanning this time!

[papaya2000s]

The Crossroads of Youth

It is important to recognize that "The Crossroads of Youth" and "Turning Point of the Youngsters" are two translations of the same Korean title, "청춘의 십자로." For clarity, this post will consistently refer to the film as "The Crossroads of Youth." Enjoy.

"The Crossroads of Youth" (청춘의 십자로; 靑春의 十字路) is a melodrama film from 1934, produced during the Japanese colonial era in Korea. Directed and written by Ahn Jong-hwa, the film features performances by Lee Won-yong, Shin Il-sun, Kim Yeon-sil, and Park Yeon. Notably, it predates Korea's first sound film, "The Story of Chunhyang," and is recognized as the sole surviving silent film from this period, classified as National Registered Cultural Property No. 488. The narrative follows the experiences of a protagonist who migrates from the countryside to the capital. Initially considered a lost film, its original version was rediscovered in 2007 and subsequently released in 2008, albeit with some unrestored segments.

A scene from the 1934 film Crossroads of Youth silent film

Directed by Lee Gyu-seol (이규설) Cinematography by Lee Myeong-woo

Supervision, Script and Editing by Jong-Hwa Ahn (안정화)

Production Company - Geumgang Cinema (금강키네마)

Opening Date - September 21, 1934 at the Chosun Theatre (조선극장)

Movie Duration - 73 - 80 Minutes

Nation - Japanese colonial period Joseon during the Japanese colonial period.

Language - Silent Film/ Korean Commentary

Cast:

Lee Won-yong (이원용) – played Yeong-bok (영복)

Shin Il-seon (신일선) – played Yeong-ok (영옥)

Park Yeon (박연) – played Jang Gae-cheol (장개철)

Kim Yeon-sil (김연실) – played Young-hee (영희) (Some say it is Gye-sun, not Yeong-hee)

Yang cheol (양철) – played Ju Myeong-gu (주명구)

Moon Kyung-shim (문경심) – played Bong-seon (봉선)

Lee Bog bon (이복본) – played Baggage Carrier Friend (수화물 운반부 친구)

Choi Myung-hwa (최명화) – played Baggage Carrier Friend (수화물 운반부 친구)

Plot

The film opens with the sight of a train passing, setting the stage for Young-bok's journey. Having left his mother and younger sister, Young-ok, in their hometown, he arrives in Seoul to work as a porter at Gyeongseong Station. Previously, Young-bok spent seven years as a son-in-law at Bong-seon's household, but he relocated to the city after Bong-seon was taken by Ju Myeong-gu. In his new role, he encounters Young-hee, a gas station attendant who struggles to support her ailing father and younger sibling.

In the meantime, Young-ok, having lost her mother, travels to Gyeongseong in search of her brother. Unable to locate him, she secures a position as a waitress at a café. During her employment, she meets Gae-cheol, a wealthy associate of Ju Myeong-gu, who exploits her vulnerability, leading to a traumatic encounter. Concurrently, Young-hee, who has also lost her job, becomes ensnared in Gae-cheol's predatory circle.

After fleeing her home, Young-hee confides in Young-bok about the harrowing events. Upon learning the truth, Young-bok confronts Gae-cheol at his residence, where he reunites with Young-ok. She recounts her ordeal, prompting Young-bok to seek vengeance against Gae-cheol. In a climactic confrontation, he and his fellow porters launch an attack on Gae-cheol and Ju Myeong-gu's gang. Ultimately, with the conflict resolved, Young-bok receives Young-ok's blessing and vows to start anew alongside Young-hee.

Production

"Crossroads of Youth" marked the inaugural production of Geumgang Cinema, a film production entity. Initially conceived as a sound film, the decision was made to transition to a silent format due to certain deficiencies identified in the original footage. Producer Park Chang-soo, who adopted the stage name Park Yeon for his role as Jang Gae-cheol, financed the project himself after experiencing setbacks in his acting career, including an unsuccessful audition for actor recruitment.

The filming took place across various locations in Gyeongseong. The narrative commences at Gyeongseong Station, where the character Yeongbok serves as a porter, while scenes featuring Yeonghee as a gas station employee were captured in the vicinity of Gyeongseong Station Square. Additionally, a pivotal fight sequence between the characters Banbu and Gookilgwan was filmed in one of Seoul's numerous restaurants.

Screening

"Crossroads of Youth" premiered at the Joseon Theatre on April 21, 1934. On September 26 of the same year, an incident occurred involving an actor from the film who was stabbed. Um Dong-ok (엄동옥; 嚴東鈺), a boxer and gangster known as Shinmajeok, confronted Lee Won-yong and Park Yeon after viewing the film. During this encounter, Um Dong-ok requested a drink, citing the movie's commercial success, and subsequently demanded payment for his suit. When Lee Won-yong refused to comply, Um Dong-ok attacked him with a dagger. The weapon penetrated Lee Won-yong's left abdomen, cutting through his suit jacket and pants, yet fortunately did not injure his flesh.

Excavation and Re-examination

Following the discovery of "Sweet Dream" in 1936, a private collector reached out to the Korean Film Archive, claiming possession of nine rolls of vintage film. The collector explained that his father had operated a cinema named Dansungsa until shortly after the Korean War began, and the films were preserved when the theater ceased operations during the conflict. Upon examination by the Korean Film Archive, it was confirmed that these rolls contained the original negative of "Crossroads of Youth," which premiered in 1934. Notably, the discovered material was a negative rather than a positive print, consisting of nitrate film, with eight rolls representing the main content and one roll dedicated to the ending credits. Regrettably, one of the eight main rolls exhibited a whitening effect, rendering it irreparable.

The discovery of this film marked it as the oldest surviving Korean cinematic work, leading to occasional screenings organized by local authorities and film archives. Given its silent film status, many of these screenings featured a narrator to provide context and commentary. In 2007, the Korean Film Archive was approached by another private collector who provided nine nitrate negative rolls from the 1930s. Among these, one roll included the film's concluding titles, while another was too deteriorated to undergo restoration. The collector's father had retained these films from his time managing Dansungsa until the onset of the Korean War.

During the restoration efforts, the film research team initially identified the work as "Passion Flowing Through the Galaxy," directed by Ahn Jong-hwa. However, further investigation clarified that the film was indeed "Crossroads of Youth." This process underscores the challenges associated with preserving nitrate film, which is susceptible to oxidation and poses significant fire hazards, as evidenced by historical incidents even in well-organized archival environments like the United States. The fortunate survival of these films, despite their precarious conditions, is a remarkable achievement in film preservation.

Evaluation

In 1938, the Chosun Ilbo Film Festival recognized "Crossroads of Youth" as the sixth best entry in its list of the "Top 10 Silent Films."

Show

At the time of its debut, "Crossroads of Youth" achieved significant commercial success. Baek Ya-saeng, in his article "15 Years of Joseon Cinema" published in the Chosun Ilbo, remarked that "Mr. Ahn Jong-hwa produced ‘Crossroads of Youth,’ and the audience, eager for Joseon cinema, responded with applause reminiscent of raindrops at a festival." He further noted that during its screening in Daejeon on Chuseok in 1937, three years post-release, the venue was filled to capacity.

Director Ahn Jong-hwa later reflected on the film's box office performance, attributing its success partly to the return of actors Lee Won-yong and Shin Il-sun to the screen after a lengthy absence, which provided the film with a competitive edge at the box office.

Impact and Value

“Crossroads of Youth” predates the first sound film, “Chunhyangjeon,” released in 1935, and stands as the sole silent film produced during the Japanese colonial era. Its historical significance is underscored by its designation as National Registered Cultural Property No. 488 in South Korea, reflecting its cultural and artistic value.

Film historian Kim Jong-won highlights several aspects of “Crossroads of Youth” that contribute to its importance in Korean cinema. It provides insight into the state of filmmaking at the conclusion of the silent film era under Japanese rule, showcases the talents of early silent film actors like Shin Il-sun, Lee Won-yong, and Kim Yeon-sil, and offers a glimpse into the early works of Ahn Jong-hwa, whose contributions remain largely unexamined due to the loss of his films. Notably, the film's discovery occurred within South Korea, further enhancing its cultural relevance.

Anseong Art Hall to hold performance of historical drama 'Crossroads of Youth'

Anseong Art Hall in Anseong City set to showcase the historical drama 'Crossroads of Youth' at 7:30 PM on July 28, 2021, in the Small Theatre. This event was part of the hall's programming for Culture Day in July and represents a reinterpretation of the 1934 Korean silent film 'Crossroads of Youth' by Jong-hwa Ahn, presented in a new format known as bensa drama. The performance aimed to evoke the atmosphere of the Gyeongseong theatre district during the 1930s, as articulated through the bensa's dialogue in the original film.

Anseong Art Hall in Anseong City will present the historical drama 'Crossroads of Youth' at 7:30 PM on the 28th as part of the July Culture Day planned performance at the Anseong Art Hall Small Theater. (Photo = Anseong City).

The significance of 'Crossroads of Youth' lies not only in its status as a landmark Korean film but also in its aesthetic and historical value. The film has garnered acclaim for its visual artistry and has been featured in prestigious film festivals, including the Seoul Chungmuro International Film Festival and the Busan International Film Festival in 2008, as well as international events such as the 47th New York Film Festival in 2009 and the Guanajuato International Film Festival in 2011. These accolades have played a crucial role in promoting the global recognition of Korean cinema and its performances.

This production is under the direction of Kim Tae-yong, known for his work on "The Birth of a Family" and "Manchu." Jo Hee-bong, recognized for his roles in "Chuno" and "My Love from the Star," served as the narrator, showcasing his abilities and artistry throughout the performance.

The silent film play "Crossroads of Youth" creatively fills the voids of silent cinema with a blend of humour and wit. Tickets were available for 5,000 won with a 'Culture Day Discount,' and Anseong Art Hall implemented safety measures by limiting attendance to 143 seats, which was under 50% of the venue's small theatre capacity, to mitigate the risk of COVID-19 transmission.

[celestialastronmy]

I wanted to talk about more characters. One such character is Nikolina Pavlova, whose involvement in the incident aboard the SS Burya serves as a focal point for ethical contemplation.(She's the youngest culprit on record in Ace Attorney's universe, and her story is sticky, to say the least)

Her involvement in the incident aboard the SS Burya further complicates her character. When a fellow passenger, Kazuma Asogi, discovers her, she accidentally knocks him out in a panic. This act, driven by fear, results in tragic consequences as Asogi is found dead the next morning. Here, the game delves into the realm of moral responsibility. Can Nikolina be held morally responsible for a death she didn't intend?

Moreover, after Asogi's death, Nikolina makes the decision to hide the truth, further entangling herself in the web of deceit. Her actions lead to the protagonist, Ryunosuke Naruhodo, being accused of murder. This decision clearly crosses a moral line. She knowingly lets an innocent man take the fall for a crime he didn't commit to protect herself.

As we delve deeper into Nikolina's character, it's worth noting that The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles makes a conscious effort to humanize her instead of relegating her to the role of a mere antagonist. Her backstory, revealed in snippets throughout the game, paints a picture of a young girl trapped in a life she didn't choose and yearning for freedom. This narrative choice encourages the player to empathize with her, adding another layer of complexity to the moral questions her actions raise.

The game also explores the ethical implications of her decision to smuggle her pet kitten, Darka, aboard the SS Burya. The kitten's presence on the ship is against the rules, but Nikolina's decision to risk her own safety for Darka's reflects her compassionate nature. This seemingly innocuous act carries significant ethical weight. It prompts us to consider the lengths we might go to protect those we care about and whether such actions can be justified even when they break the rules.

In retrospect, Nikolina's actions also raise moral questions about the societal conditions that forced her into her predicament. The game subtly critiques the rigid structures and norms that stifle individual freedom, leading individuals like Nikolina to take drastic, ethically ambiguous actions. This critique compels us to consider our role in upholding or challenging these structures in our own societies.

Moreover, the game doesn't let Nikolina off the hook for her actions. Her actions have dire consequences, and she's eventually forced to confront the truth. This narrative decision underscores the game's commitment to grappling with the consequences of our actions, a cornerstone of ethical consideration.

The game's treatment of Nikolina's actions also highlights the importance of context in ethical decision-making. While her actions might seem clearly wrong in isolation, understanding her motivations and circumstances complicates our moral judgments. This nuanced approach to morality reflects real-world ethical dilemmas, where context often blurs the lines between right and wrong.

In conclusion, the exploration of Nikolina Pavlova's actions within The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles serves as a compelling study of the ethical and moral complexities inherent in our decisions. The game skillfully uses its narrative to provoke thoughtful consideration of these dilemmas, challenging players to question their own understanding of ethics and morality. Despite her flawed decisions, Nikolina remains a deeply human character, a testament to the game's nuanced storytelling. This depth of character exploration, coupled with the challenging moral questions it raises, makes The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles a standout title in the realm of narrative-driven games.