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nilboxes · 11 months ago

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The Philosophy of Dr Ratio (Existentialism) and Aventurine (Absurdism)

Philosophy is a highly broad and complicated topic, these are just my interpretations, and I tried my best to make it as clear and concise as possible and to string them back into how it relates to the characters/events of the games.

Dr Ratio, Nihilism, Abandonment by God, Burden of Freedom (Heidegger, Sartre)

I imagine Ratio’s homeworld prizes knowledge/learning a lot, and naturally because of his intelligence, he was expected to join the ranks of the genius society. Except despite all his achievements even as a young man, Ratio has not earned the gaze.

When he was not acknowledged even at the height of his supposed success in his erudition and instead was handed a letter from the IPC, it is safe to say Ratio then felt “abandoned” by his purpose (in and relating to Nous) and despite seeking them and their favor. This feeling of abandonment (Heidegger, Existential Abandonment) goes hand in hand with the sudden and unwanted freedom from purpose (Sartre).

Suddenly without purpose, one is shoved into a state of pure freedom. This state of super freedom could be very daunting as the individual who is burdened by this freedom *must* carve a path of their own, or face meaninglessness (Sartre). And as a person who is condemned to this freedom, they must choose for themselves, be responsible for themselves and even the act of not choosing is a choice.

“God is dead” for Ratio, whose purpose (the path of Erudition) has refused him. Not dead in a literal sense, but the relevance of the god and the path that god treads is no longer relevant to Ratio.

Those old beliefs of scholarly pursuits above all ultimately no longer hold significance to Ratio. He is thus bereft of a predetermined, outlined purpose (Nous’ brand of scholarship) and has to define for himself now what his purpose/existence/meaning must be (again, burden of freedom as outlined by Sartre).

During this, he also realizes how this path does not serve others either and that the Genius’ Societies pursuits are inherently self-serving rather than providing betterment for humanity. Thus again “God is dead”— the established “morality” is not relevant to the reality of the world at present, the “God” is not serving the needs of the world at large (Nietzche).

This is undoubtedly a difficult process. To spend one’s life devoted to a particular framework of belief and to be snubbed by it. So then what happens next, and where does one go from here?

Dr Ratio, the Ubermench and the Will to Power (Nietzche) but Tempered by Universality (Kant)

To be without “God” (ie, higher purpose, predetermined meaning) is to be left with an inexplicably wide freedom that is more terrifying than comforting (Sarte). Without the anchor of acknowledgement and assurance that one’s path is “correct” one now must define for themselves what is the optimal path, and what they define on their own as the greatest good (one’s own morality as defined by Nietzche).

Finding enlightenment (realizing/acknowledging his own potential outside of the gaze of god and adopting the mindset of the ubermench), Ratio doubles down on his humanitarian beliefs that knowledge must serve the betterment of individuals (Kant). To be equipped to think for themselves and be responsible for themselves as they go through life’s challenges and seizes control of their own destinies rather than go along with them (as he did himself). Ultimately, they strive and become the best version of themselves (to become the ubermench).

Dr Ratio asserts “the will to power” (Nietzche) exists in every individual, recognizing potential and capability residing in every person. Hence he is an educator, he believes he can help people reach this potential. One does not need to be a “genius” in order to excel and in order to create good and meaning in the world. One simply has to be equipped with the knowledge and have that will to apply that knowledge and themselves (ie, not being ‘stupid’) for their betterment and then the betterment of all.

Dr Ratio and Universality, Humanity as an End (Kant)

Dr Ratio believes first and foremost in helping others help themselves more than uncovering knowledge for its sake alone, therefore he believes that the knowledge uncovered must serve a purpose for good rather than be uncovered simply because, thereby adhering to the concept of Humanity as an “End” or rather the goal, rather than knowledge being the end/goal. This key difference is what sets him apart from the geniuses in the Genius Society, who mostly view knowledge as the end all and be all of their pursuits, Ratio asks what and who it can be for.

This idea is what tempers all of Ratio’s beliefs. Undoubtedly the concept of an ubermench may veer towards seeing one’s self as the shepherd of the weak, being domineering and assertive, Ratio instead asserts that one should strive to better themselves than wait around to be saved or to be ruled by their betters—the geniuses, or others. He genuinely believes in the individual’s capability to think for themselves, to contribute good into the world and thus guide themselves into each individual’s ideal/their potential.

Aventurine and Absurdism (Camus)

Aventurine struggles for meaning in his life, marked by seemingly random and senseless wins because of his “luck” he surely struggles with finding any sort of rationale for his own continued survival—but there is none to be had. This is the core of the absurdism in Aventurine, the senselessness and the indifference of the universe to his feelings and his desires, to use his luck for the benefit of his loved ones, as opposed to the reality of it as his luck merely served himself, sometimes dubiously, to propel him to heights of success that has no meaning because those he strove for this purpose is gone. This is the core of the idea of the absurd, the purposelessness of his circumstances.

To further demonstrate the absurd Philosopher Albert Camus presents to “The Myth of Sisyphus” a man who is condemned by the gods to push a boulder up a hill, and when he almost reaches the top, the boulder returns to the bottom and Sisyphus must roll it all back up again. There is no purpose to this act other than it is done, like Aventurine’s endeavors in the IPC, there is no purpose to his victories, save that he has done it at all. There is no inherent meaning, and this is how he further contemplates the absurd.

To face the absurd/the meaninglessness, Aventurine first arrives at the answer of self-deletion. He does not succeed due to his luck however. And, when he arrives at the crossroads to be able to fulfill this wish or not, Aventurine evidently realizes that exiting from the world does not answer the questions presented by absurdism (as he doesn't choose this in the end) because it is merely a “give up” state, to end one’s meaningless life is not the answer to its emptiness at all. If there is no destination to be had in one’s journey, stopping the journey may be one of the solutions, but it doesn’t lend it an answer, it is not anything but an end.

Therefore as Sisyphus is condemned to push the boulder up and down again, a task that does not contribute anything to greater causes or anything but instead of despairing and/or creating one’s meaning, the story asks readers to imagine Sisyphus happy, to revel in the meaninglessness and eschew having to have meaning in order to be fulfilled altogether, effectively walking towards and embracing the meaninglessness.

The game never fully explores what conclusion Aventurine arrives at, yet at the end of 2.2 he decides to go on (with a little nudge here and there) even without getting the answers he seeks. He asks “Are we living just to die?” and perhaps through his journey arrives at a little conclusion that one lives to live, and to simply go on is enough and thus begins a bit of his philosophical indifference—that nothing ultimately matters and that is beginning to be just sufficient enough of an answer.

Aventio as Philosophical Parallels

Ratio’s philosophy is all about discipline and creativity, shaping one’s own values and living a fulfilled life through them. There is a rigidity in this way of thinking that meaning must be made and pursued because it is out there. And he can take away meaning from it with as much as he wants, because he is actively shaping this meaning. It fits his character as someone who always stands apart and walks a lonely path.

Aventurine’s extrapolated path in the absurd on the other hand ultimately frees him from any shackles to meaning that he so desperately wants and thus the concept of values will also be thrown away. A person who embraces this supreme indifference is also inextricably free from anything and thus exists in a state of chaos, living for the moment and living simply for living. Fitting for a man who sees himself in a gilded cage.

Each individual character represents an answer to difficult questions about existence itself, and there is no real right or wrong way to go about it.

I doubt the intricacies of their situations with their aligned philosophies will be fully explored in the game itself so I like to think despite Ratio being a teacher, and thus would pull Aventurine into his brand of dealing with existential crisis, he also recognizes that students must come to a conclusion on their own and when he realizes which conclusion Aventurine has come to, would be approving, but also somehow reel him back in from exercising too much of the value-lessness of the absurd. (In 2.3 he is shown expressing some concern about Aventurine being on this path, to be so free and so uncaring as to begin to be not exactly a conscious being any longer)

While in Aventurine’s case, he can also be the teacher in this regard and open a new path to Ratio where he can appreciate the vastness of the freedom he has, and imagine himself happy to be in this position, ultimately purposeless and futile as it is in the grander scheme of things, but meaningful to himself.

This has been very long, but I just wanted to outline and share a little about the many ways Aventurine and Dr Ratio are built and written to complement each other in the ways their characters were built up at least in a philosophical sense. I really may have missed a bunch of stuff, but I hope the gist is there!

These videos helped me a lot regarding Camus—

Why shouldn't we commit suicide? - 8bit Philosophy

How to live in a meaningless world - Unsolicited advice

#voidmancer writes #an essay #hsr dr ratio #dr ratio hsr #dr ratio #aventurine hsr #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventio #honkai star rail #aventurine x dr ratio

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weepinwriter · 1 year ago

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Road to Heaven is an 18+ Dystopian fic which takes inspiration from popular media like the “Shatter Me” series and “Hunger Games”. It may contain distressing content like major injury to the characters, character deaths, blood, gore, body horror, amnesia and optional sexual content. More specific warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter.

You are inmate No. 1441, incarcerated in Tartarus, the most notorious prison on the continent. You find yourself imprisoned for a crime that you do not remember committing, leaving you in a state of uncertainty about your own identity and purpose. The first memory you have is awakening to the sensation of a gun being shoved into your mouth.

Within the grim confines of Tartarus, you have been branded as the most dangerous criminal, feared yet hated by both fellow inmates and prison authorities alike. It becomes clear to you that in order to survive and unravel the enigma of your past, escape from this formidable penitentiary is imperative. However, achieving freedom will not be an easy feat, as you must navigate treacherous encounters with some of the most malevolent criminals known to humanity. In your quest for freedom, you find yourself entangled in complex relationships with three significant individuals. Firstly, your cellmate, whose icy demeanor suggests a deep-seated disdain for your very existence. Secondly, your best friend within the prison walls, whose seemingly excessive friendliness may harbor ulterior motives. Lastly, there is the warden, whose overtly amicable nature masks a peculiar familiarity with your past. As you navigate the perilous labyrinth of Tartarus, your ultimate objective is twofold: to survive amidst the most notorious criminals and uncover the truth about your forgotten past. In a world where danger lurks at every corner, you must tread carefully, for the path to redemption and self-discovery is riddled with uncertainty and perilous choices.

Fully customize your MC. Choose your pronouns, sexuality, appearance and more. Take control of your interactions with the characters and experience the world of Elysium City through a personalized scope.

Romance one of the 7 RO’s, and if you are charming enough, fall in love with any two of them. The four possible poly routes available are: The Cellmate and The Friend, The Warden and The Master, The Protector and The Master, The Cellmate and The Rebel

Struggle against the evil that wants you dead and uncover secrets about yourself

Accept your identity as an Esper and rediscover your powers, or completely reject them

Master your ability of Conscious Manipulation and perhaps learn a few things about yourself unexpectedly

Choose to make allies within Tartarus or antagonize them. Your choices have consequences

Lead a dying rebellion against the Hightable or join them as an equal

There are a total 7 romance options, each with their own personality and a story along with dark secrets for you to uncover

Survive

1. The Cellmate [f/m] | Enemies to Lovers

Subject Name : Twenty

A palpable enigma surrounds the inexplicable disdain they harbor towards you, leaving you to ponder if your past misdeeds have sowed the seeds of their ire. Your questions remain unanswered, rarely do they grace you with a response, and when they do, it arrives veiled in hateful glares and a tapestry of venomous words. The origins of their animosity remain shrouded in silence, with fellow inmates mirroring their reticence. Only when they are complaining about the prison's wretched conditions and the Warden's despotic rule do they momentarily shed their icy facade, revealing hints of vulnerability and human emotion. When they do smile, albeit rarely, it is a fleeting moment of breathtaking beauty. If only you could find the courage to tell them that.

[ Number 1579 is an S rank Arcane Tendency Esper with the Cryokinesis ability. They are under Libra’s Jurisdiction, and thus only follow orders coming directly from them. ]

Other Tropes : Emotional Scars, Nobody thinks it’ll actually work, Hate Sex

2. The Warden? [m] | ???

Subject Name : Nikita

There is an uncanny familiarity surrounding him, leaving you torn between the unsettling grip of dread and the elusive allure of desire. He claims to know you personally. Apparently the two of you were close friends before The Incident. Yet, when you press for details, he skillfully redirects the conversation before your emotions can catch up. "The past is but a fleeting shadow," he says, "no need to talk about something that can't be changed. Besides, you wouldn't remember anything." Evidently your memories had been erased. The question of who hangs heavy in the air, but his response remains enigmatic, offering only a mirthless smile.

[ Nikita is the Warden of Tartarus, the Reformation Asylum in Sector 10, 8th District. He is under Scorpio's jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Slowburn, Betrayal, Puppy play

3. The Friend [f/m] | Friends to Lovers

Subject Name : Victor (m.) | Vanessa (f.)

A compassionate and devoted companion, V. shines as a beacon of light in the desolate depths of this grim abyss that became your world. From the moment you opened your eyes, they extended a helping hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine complexities of Tartarus and easing your transition into this unfamiliar realm. Unfazed by the venomous whispers that tarnish your reputation, they remain steadfastly by your side, unwavering in their loyalty. Their warm smiles and whimsical wordplay serve as a balm, mending your wounded spirit after every bitter clash with Twenty. How fortunate you are to be blessed with such an illuminating presence, brightening the shadows that consume your existence.

[ Number 1339 is an A rank Catalyst Tendency Esper with the Illusion Manipulation ability. They are under Scorpio’s Jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Partners in crime, First Love, Good people get good sex, Slight yandere

4. The Count/Countless [f/m] | Forbidden Romance (relationship history can be friends with benefits)

Subject Name : Emir (m.) | Evara(f.)

A remarkable visionary and an exceptional entrepreneur, E. stands as an unrivaled figure in the illustrious realm of Elysium City. Holding the distinction of being the youngest Grandmaster in history and amassing unparalleled wealth, they reign as the CEO of the renowned Quinn Industries. E. is adorned with numerous titles within the esteemed echelons of society, serving as an icon of inspiration and a beacon of hope, while simultaneously arousing envy in the hearts of many. An arrogant and proud individual, their ugliness is conveniently covered by their astonishing fortune, combined with innate brilliance, seems almost mystical, as if destined for greatness from their very birth. Within Elysium City's grand social tapestry, few possess the persuasive prowess to sway the decisions of the Hightable itself, yet E. stands tall even among this select few. As an eligible bachelor, their daily inundation of love letters and marriage proposals is a testament to their allure. And yet, amidst all this splendor, it is you who has found a place of interest in their extraordinary life.

[ E. is a part of The Senate and thus does not fall under any District's jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Belated love epiphany, Billionaire, Power play, Daddy/Mommy kink

5. The Master [f] | Forbidden Romance

Subject Name : Leo

In her calculated pursuit, you find yourself ensnared. Your allure captivates her discerning gaze, for you possess what she desires most. You are the coveted object of her desires. In this strategic game, you are but a pawn, a possession within her calculated grasp. Yet, curiously she maintains a measured distance. Her reason? She eloquently articulates, “Witnessing the growth of one's possession is a fascinating phenomenon.”

[ Leo is the Master of {DATA REDACTED}. They are the Ruler of the 5th District. ]

Other Tropes : Secret Identity, Second Chance, Blood play, Begging

6. The Protector [m] | Bodyguard Romance

Subject Name : Caesar

A battle-hardened soldier, Caesar bears the scars of a lifetime spent serving the FAE and the city. With an intimacy unparalleled, he has danced with mortality on numerous occasions, making death a companion rather than an adversary. Yet, behind that facade of strength, Caesar is a fractured soul, haunted by insecurities and a self-destructive nature. His journey, filled with shattered dreams and the weight of his daughter's aspirations, has brought him to the edge of despair. The immortality he once embraced now feels like a curse, a harbinger of misfortune that has become synonymous with his presence. In his eyes, he sees himself as not a protector but a bearer of ill fate. However, the stars, in an unexpected alignment, have granted him a final purpose: to protect you. Beneath the intimidating exterior lies a gentle giant, yet one plagued by a profound sense of self-loathing. He grapples with the belief that his very existence is a catalyst for tragedy, a vortex that draws calamity toward him and those he holds dear. Intrigued by this complex guardian, you see the duality within Caesar — an attentive and understanding individual burdened by the weight of his own perceived malevolence. As you navigate through the intricate layers of his psyche, perhaps you could help him ease his suffering, even by a little.

[ Caesar is a registered S rank Endura Tendency Esper with the Regeneration ability. He comes under Leo’s jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Beauty and the Beast, Single parent, Stop calling me daddy

7. The Rebel [f/m] | Enemies to Lovers

Subject Name : Gael (m.) | Gwendolyn (f.)

You betrayed them. Or perhaps it's the other way around? You do not remember. The trust you once held dear has been shattered, and now you must face the price for your misguided beliefs. Like a fool enchanted by deceit, you must bear the weight of your choices. Remember this lesson, for betrayal's toll is a heavy one to pay. Proceed with caution, lest you become ensnared in the web of your own treachery.

[ There is no known information on this individual. Extreme caution is recommended. ]

Other Tropes : Amnesia, Revenge, Redemption, Breathe play

Links

[ DEMO ]

[ PINTEREST ]

[ THE DISTRICTS ]

[ THE HIGHTABLE ]

All asks and reposts are welcome 😁!

#current wip #interactive fiction #if game #interactive game #hosted games #twine game #interactive novel #dystopia #if intro #thriller #road to heaven if #upcoming if #twine wip #no demo

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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“Brand safety” killed Jezebel

I'll be at the Studio City branch of the LA Public Library this Monday, November 13 at 1830hPT to launch my new novel, The Lost Cause. There'll be a reading, a talk, a surprise guest (!!) and a signing, with books on sale. Tell your friends! Come on down!

Progressives: if you want to lose to conservatives, all you need to do is reflexively praise and support everything conservatives turn into a culture-war issue, without considering whether they might be right. Because sometimes…they're right.

Remember early in the Trump presidency, when conservatives all woke up and discovered that America's spy agencies – excuse me, "the intelligence community" – were dirty-tricking psychos who run amok, lawlessly sabotaging democracy? Progressives have been shouting this ever since Hoover's FBI tried to blackmail MLK into killing himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FBI%E2%80%93King_suicide_letter

But millions of progressives forgot about COINTELPRO, CIA dirty tricks and CIA mass spying when this "intelligence community" temporarily set out to wrong-foot Trump. Remember James Comey votive candles?

https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2019/08/30/james-comey-fbi-memo-leaks-trump-inspector-general-report-column/2157705001/

Anthropologists have a name for this phenomenon, in which one side reverses its positions because their sworn enemies have done so. It's called schizmogenesis, and it goes like this: "If they hate it, we love it":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/18/schizmogenesis/

Schizmogenesis is an equal-opportunity delusion. Within living memory, white evangelicals supported abortion, because their sworn enemies – Catholics – opposed it. Some of those white Boomer women who voted Trump because abortion was literally the only issue they cared about held the opposite position on abortion not so long ago – and completely forgot about it:

https://text.npr.org/734303135

The main purpose of the culture war isn't immiserating marginalized people – that's its effect, but its purpose is to distract low-information turkeys (working people) so they'll vote for Christmas (the ongoing seizure of power by American oligarchs). For the funders of conservative movement politics, the cruelty isn't the point, it's merely the tactic. The point is power:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/09/turkeys-voting-for-christmas/#culture-wars

Which brings me to "woke capitalism." Conservative string-pullers have whipped up their base about the threat of companies embracing social causes. They (erroneously) claim that corporations have progressive values, and that big business is thumbing the scales for causes they despise. The purpose here isn't to sow distrust of capitalism per se. Rather, it's to stampede talk-radio-addled supporters into backing the oligarchy's agenda. Remember when culture war leaders told their base to support being gouged on credit-card junk fees "to own the libs?"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

That's schizmogenesis working against the conservative rank-and-file, tricking them into taking the side of a cartel of wildly profitable payment processors who are making billions by picking their pockets (credit card fees are up 40% since the covid lockdowns), because (checks notes), Target pays these profiteers a lot to process its payments, and Target sells Pride merch (no, really):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

It's easy to point and laugh at conservative dopes when they're tricked into shooting themselves in the balls to own the libs. This is not a hypothetical example:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/28/holographic-nano-layer-catalyser/#musketfuckers

But progressives do it, too, particularly when they embrace monopolies as a force for positive social change. Remember 2019, when people got excited about playing loud pop music at Nazi rallies in the hopes that the monopoly video platforms' copyright filters would make any video from that rally impossible to post?

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/07/23/clever-hack-that-will-end-badly-playing-copyrighted-music-during-nazis-rallies-so-they-cant-be-posted-to-youtube/

I warned then that if this tactic worked, it would be used by cops to prevent you from recording them when they're macing you or splitting your skull with a billyclub, and yup, within a couple years, cops were blaring Taylor Swift music in hopes of preventing the public from posting videos of their illegal conduct:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/07/moral-hazard-of-filternets/#dmas

Conservatives are (partially) right about woke capitalism. It is a threat to democracy. Concentrating the power to decide who gets to speak and what they get to say into the hands of five or six corporations, mostly run by mediocre billionaires, is bad for society. The moderation decisions of giant platforms are a form of (commercial) censorship, even these don't violate the First Amendment:

https://locusmag.com/2020/01/cory-doctorow-inaction-is-a-form-of-action/

(The progressive delusion that censorship only occurs when the First Amendment is violated is a wild own-goal, one that excuses, for example, the decision by school book-fair monopolist Scholastic to remove books about queers and Black and brown people from its offerings as a purely private matter without consequences for free speech):

https://www.themarysue.com/scholastic-response-to-authors-and-illustrators-on-diverse-books/

Conservatives are only partially right about woke capitalism, though. Here's what they're wrong about: corporations don't have values. Target isn't selling Pride tees because they support progressive causes, they're selling them because it seems like a good way to increase returns to their shareholders. Individuals – even top executives – at Target might endorse the cause, but the company will only durably support the cause if that endorsement is profitable, which means that when it stops being profitable, the company will stop supporting the cause:

https://www.cnn.com/2023/05/23/business/target-lgbtq-merchandise/index.html

The idea that corporations have values isn't merely stupid, it's very dangerous. The Hobby Lobby decision – which allows corporations to deny basic health-care expenses for women on the basis that a Bronze Age mystic wouldn't approve of an IUD – rests on the ideological foundation that corporate personhood includes corporate values:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burwell_v._Hobby_Lobby_Stores,_Inc.

Citizens United – the idea that corporations should be allowed to funnel unlimited funds to politicians who'll sell out the public good in favor of investor profits – also depends on a form of corporate personhood that includes values:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Citizens_United_v._FEC

There are undeniably instances in which corporate monopoly power benefits progressive causes, but these are side-effects of corporate power's main purpose, namely: taking money and power away from working people and giving it to rich people. That is what monopoly power is for.

Which brings me to ad-tech, "brand safety," and the demise of Jezebel, the 16 year old feminist website whose shuttering was just announced by its latest owner, G/O Media:

https://www.metafilter.com/201349/This-is-the-end-of-Jezebel-and-that-feels-really-really-bad

Jezebel's demise is the direct result of monopoly power. Jezebel writes about current affairs – sex, politics, abortion, and other important issues of great moment and significance. When we talk about journalism as a public good, necessary for a healthy civic life, this is what we mean. But unfortunately for Jezebel – and any other news outlet covering current events – there are vast, invisible forces that exist solely to starve this kind of coverage of advertising revenue.

Writing for the independent news site 404 Media, reporter Emanuel Maiberg and former Motherboard editor-in-chief Jason Koebler go deep on the "brand safety" industry, whose mission is to assist corporations in blocking their ads from showing up alongside real news:

https://www.404media.co/advertisers-dont-want-sites-like-jezebel-to-exist/

Maiberg and Koebler explain how industry associations like the World Federation of Marketers' Global Alliance for Responsible Media (GARM) promulgate "frameworks" to help advertisers automatically detect and exclude real news from consideration when their ads are placed:

https://www.peer39.com/blog/garm-standards

This boycott makes use of scammy "AI" technology like "sentiment and emotional analysis" to determine whether an article is suitable for monetization. These parameters are then fed to the ad-tech duopoly's ad auction system, so Google and Meta (who control the vast majority of online advertising) can ensure that real news is starved of cash.

But reality is not brand-safe, and high quality, reputable journalistic outlets are concerned with reality, which means that the "brand safe" outlets that attract the most revenue are garbage websites that haven't yet been blacklisted by the ad-safety cartel, leading to major brands' ads showing up alongside notorious internet gross-out images like "goatse":

https://www.404media.co/sqword-game-dev-sneaks-goatse-onto-a-dozen-sites-that-stole-his-game/

More than a fifth of "brand safe" ad placements end up on "made for advertising" sites, which 404 Media describe as "trash websites that plagiarize content, are literally spam, pay for fake traffic, or are autogenerated websites that serve no other purpose than capturing ad dollars":

https://www.ana.net/miccontent/show/id/rr-2023-06-ana-programmatic-transparency-first-look

Despite all this, many progressives have become cheerleaders for "brand safety," as a countervailing force to the drawdown of trust and safety at online platforms, which led to the re-platforming of Nazis, QAnon conspiratorialists, TERFs, and other overt elements of the reactionary movement's vanguard on Twitter and Facebook. Articles about ads for major brands showing up alongside Nazi content on Twitter are now a staple of progressive reporting, presented as evidence of Elon Musk's lack of business acumen. The message of these stories is "Musk is bad at business because he's allowing Nazis on his platform, which will send advertisers bolting for the exits to avoid brand-safety crises."

This isn't wrong. Musk is a bad businessman (he's a good scam artist, though). Twitter is hemorrhaging advertisers, notwithstanding the desperate (and easily debunked) stats-juking its "CEO," Linda Yaccarino, floats onstage at tech conferences:

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/10/11/math-problem-for-linda-yaccarino-if-90-of-the-top-advertisers-have-come-back-but-are-only-spending-10-of-what-they-used-to-how-screwed-are-you/

But progressives are out of their minds if they think the primary effect of the brand safety industry is punishing Elon Musk for secretly loving Nazis. The primary effect of brand safety is killing reality-based coverage of the news of the day, and since reality has a well-known anti-conservative bias, anything that works against the reality-based community is ultimately good for oligarchy:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reality-based_community

We can't afford to let schizmogenesis stampede us into loving things just because conservative culture warriors have been momentarily tricked into hating them as part of oligarchs' turkeys-voting-for-Christmas project. "Swivel-eyed loons hate it, so it must be good," is a worse-than-useless heuristic for navigating complex issues:

https://locusmag.com/2023/05/commentary-cory-doctorow-the-swivel-eyed-loons-have-a-point/

A much better rule of thumb is "If oligarchs love something, it's probably bad." Almost without exception, things that are good for oligarchs are bad for the rest of us. I mean, this whole shuttering of Jezebel starts with an oligarch imposing his will on millions of other people. Jezebel began life as a Gawker Media site, beloved of millions of readers, destroyed when FBI informant Peter Thiel secretly funded Hulk Hogan's lawsuit against the publisher in a successful bid to put them out of business to retaliate for their unfavorable coverage of Thiel:

https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2018/02/hogan-thiel-gawker-trial/554132/

This, in turn, put Jezebel under the ownership of G/O Media, who are unwilling to pay for a human salesforce that would – for example – sell advertising space on Jezebel to sex-toy companies or pro-abortion groups. G/O has been on a killing spree, shuttering beloved news outlets like Deadspin:

https://deadspin.com/this-is-how-things-work-now-at-g-o-media-1836908201

G/O's top exec, an oligarch named Jim Spanfeller who answers to the private equity looters at Great Hill Partners, is bent on ending reality-based coverage in favor of "letting robots shit out brand safe AI-assisted articles about generic topics":

https://www.msnbc.com/opinion/msnbc-opinion/ai-articles-disinformation-future-g-o-media-rcna95944

Three quarters of a century ago, Orwell coined a term to describe this kind of news: duckspeak,

It was not the man’s brain that was speaking it was his larynx. The stuff that was coming out of him consisted of words but it was not speech in true sense: it was a noise uttered in unconsciousness like the quacking of a duck.

When investors and analysts speak of "content" (rather than, say, "journalism"), this is what they mean – a warm slurry of platitudes, purged of any jagged-edged fragments to render it a perfectly suitable carrier for commercial messages targeted based on surveillance data about the "consumer" whose eyeballs are upon it.

This aversion to reality has been present among corporate decisionmakers since the earliest days, but the consolidation of power among large firms – ad-tech firms, online platforms, and "brands" themselves – makes corporate realityphobia much easier to turn into, well, reality, giving advertisers the fine-grained power to put Jezebel and every site like it out of business.

As Koebler and Maiberg's headliine so aptly puts it, "Advertisers Don’t Want Sites Like Jezebel to Exist."

The reason to deplore Nazis on Twitter is because they are Nazis, not because their content isn't brand-safe. The short-term wins progressives gain by legitimizing a corporate veto over what we see online are vastly overshadowed by the most important consequence of brand safety: the mass extinction of reality-based reporting. Reality isn't brand safe. If you're in the reality based community, brand safety should be your sworn enemy, even if they help you temporarily get a couple of Nazis kicked off Twitter.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/11/ad-jacency/#brand-safety

#pluralistic #jezebel #publishing #brand safety #adjacency #adtech #media theory #censorship #surveillance advertising #dynamic ad placement #quackspeak #Global Alliance for Responsible Media #garm #debated sensitive social issue #Third Party Safety and suitability #schizmogenesis #woke capitalism #duckspeak

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cheriewoo · 6 months ago

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Who’s The Boss, Babe ? | Jeong Yunho,Choi San,Jung Wooyoung ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 27 : Power Play

↬ [ Synopsis ] : In the boardroom, you are the BOSS fighting to secure the best deals for your beloved idols. But behind closed doors, in the comfort of your bed when your three dashingly handsome and irresistibly sexy lovers San, Yunho, and Wooyoung shower you with all their love. Then, the tables turn. They become the BOSSES, and you’re their BABE.

☆Word Count : 3.7k ☆Genre : Smut, Idol Au ☆Pairing : Idol! YunWooSan x Brand Manager! F.Reader

☆☆☆ WARNINGS : Pure smut (18+), formal company setting, heated arguments with authorities, praise, suggestive, power play kink, reader is at manager position in KQ, making out (in the meeting room), unprotected sex (be safe lil bunnies), foursome, edging, overstimulation, safe word, mild choking, fingering (fem recieving), dom/sub undertones, oral (both recieving), breast play, nipple play, pet names, slight degradation.

NOTE : Yes… I’m going to continue and complete Kinktober, even though we’re past the 31st. I really want to finish this challenge and not leave it incomplete, so I hope you all enjoy the story, ma chéries!

Your journey in marketing had begun with these San, wooyoung adn Yunho by your side and as your responsibility, before you climbed the ranks to become Ateez’s brand manager now representing the entire group.

If hiding secrets and carrying out sneaky acts was a game, you four were the masters, the top scorers on the scoreboard and the MVPs of the game.

Today was no different as you prepped yourself for an important meeting on which Ateez’s this comebacks sponsorship deals depended.

The meeting room was tense, filled with the rustling of papers and muted conversations as sponsors from various brands settled into their seats. As ATEEZ's brand manager, you had one goal today - secure the best deals possible for the group. Seated at the head of the table, you exuded calm authority, watching the faces of the sponsors gathered to discuss their partnerships with ATEEZ. Representing KQ Entertainment and the group, who observed quietly across the table, you were ready to protect their interests.

You exchanged a knowing glance with Hongjoong, ATEEZ’s leader, who gave you a reassuring nod, his expression silently conveying his trust in you to do your best for them. Seonghwa and Mingi, seated to his right, were calm, soft smiles on their faces, while Yeosang’s gaze drifted to the window, as if in his own world. Across from them, Jongho’s fingers turned the pages of the deal summaries in front of him, fully focused.

And then, finally, your eyes landed on the three little but somehow big at the same time devils — Yunho, Wooyoung, and San. All three wore confident smiles, but you could easily see the flickers of hidden desire beneath their innocent expressions. Yunho’s intense gaze lingered on you with a smirk, Wooyoung winked, offering a playful grin, and San gave a tiny thumbs-up, all gracefully hidden from the watchful eyes of the other meeting attendees.

As the clock struck 11:00 a.m., you took a steadying breath, ready to kick off the meeting. An executive from a high-profile tech company leaned forward, confidence in his posture and a slightly dismissive air in his tone. “We’re proposing a multi-platform campaign for six months, but naturally, the investment would need to be balanced with additional content requirements. We’d need access to their tour schedules, exclusive interviews, and regular social media engagement.”

You didn’t let his patronizing tone faze you. Instead, you replied with clear authority, “Your interest is noted, but ATEEZ’s social reach and engagement already deliver more value than most of your current brand ambassadors. If we’re extending access to exclusive content, the investment needs to reflect that value.” Your gaze was steady, voice unwavering. “The current proposal doesn’t align with the brand’s worth or the level of exposure you’re asking for.”

The executive raised an eyebrow, clearly not used to being pushed back on in negotiations. “With all due respect, we’ve worked with similar acts at the same price point,” he responded, his tone challenging.

Leaning forward slightly, you replied with a cool but assertive tone. “Then you’d know that ATEEZ isn’t a ‘similar act.’ They’re rising globally, setting records, and have a devoted fan base that’s growing by the day. The right deal here benefits both your brand and ours, and I won’t settle for anything less than a fair agreement.”

San, sitting across from you, concealed a small smile behind his hand, clearly entertained by your handling of the situation. Wooyoung exchanged a look with Yunho, admiration glinting in his eyes. They knew you were fighting for them, working to secure a partnership that valued them for who they truly were.

“Did she just say ‘won’t settle for anything less than a fair agreement’?” Wooyoung leaned over to Yunho with a smirk, feigning awe. “I think that’s the classiest way anyone’s ever told a sponsor to pay up or walk out.” He shot you a wink when your eyes briefly flicked his way, then leaned back as if he’d said nothing at all.

Yunho, seated next to him, chuckled under his breath, casting you an admiring glance as he whispered, “She’s really in her zone today. Almost scary how cool she is.” He nudged Wooyoung with a grin, shaking his head. “Guess we know why they call her ‘the ice queen of negotiations.’”

San joined in, his tone playful yet respectful. “It’s not just the sponsors who have high standards, you know,” he murmured, his gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to Wooyoung and Yunho. “She’s setting the bar for all of us. Makes me want to up my game just listening to her.”

Pretending not to notice their comments, you kept your focus on the sponsor conversation, yet their support echoed in your mind. Each subtle remark strengthened your resolve, reinforcing that they trusted you completely to handle the situation with poise and confidence.

The executive across the table looked taken aback but didn’t press further. Another sponsor took the opportunity to chime in, softening the conversation. “We absolutely see the potential here and understand the importance of aligning on fair terms. Perhaps we can look at additional options for exposure ? A dedicated photo shoot or a feature at one of our flagship events?”

You nodded, acknowledging the shift in tone. “That’s a step in the right direction, but I’d need a clearer outline of the expected deliverables and a budget adjustment to match,” you replied, your voice firm yet with a touch of negotiation. “We’re open to expanding opportunities, but it needs to reflect ATEEZ’s current standing and future potential.”

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Wooyoung giving you an approving nod, his lips curving into that characteristic smirk, silently applauding your persistence. Yunho’s gaze lingered as well, respectful yet subtly challenging, as though he was testing just how far you’d go to secure the deal they all wanted.

Leaning over to his friends once again, Wooyoung added in a low, playful tone, “I’m convinced she could get the CEO himself to sign on without even breaking a sweat,” earning a laugh from San and Yunho.

But as the meeting wore on, you couldn’t shake the subtle intensity in the room. Each time you made a point, your eyes would meet one of the boys’, and there’d be a flicker of something unspoken, a quiet admiration mixed with a tension simmering just beneath the surface. You were their representative, yes, but there was an understanding between you that extended beyond the business formalities of the room.

As everyone left the meeting room, Wooyoung, San and Yunho stayed back as you have asked them to fill in them with a few of their solo shoots and works for the comeback.

With the last person leaving the meeting room, the door clicked shut, leaving only the four of you in the silence. The air was thick, charged with something unspoken. Holding onto your notebook, you felt their gazes—intense and unwavering, zeroed in on you. Wooyoung, San, and Yunho were watching you, and the usual professionalism had melted away, replaced by lust.

“Come here,” you breathed, motioning for them to gather closer. They moved in, but as you began to discuss the final points about the comeback, you felt their attention slipping from business to something more personal. Yunho, close enough to feel his heat, leaned in, his dark eyes admiring your face. “You were incredible back there,” he murmured, his voice low, a smirk curling at his lips as his gaze dropped to your mouth.

San stepped forward with a mischevious grin. “Yeah, you really put them in their place,” he murmured, leaning in until there was no space between you. “But now, it’s our turn, isn’t it ?”

Wooyoung’s soft laugh sent a thrill through you. He leaned close, his breath warm against your ear. “The ice queen of negotiations,” he teased. “Let’s see how long the ice takes to melt.” His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your jawline in a slow, purposeful stroke, sending electricity down your spine.

San’s lips grazed your ear, his fingers tracing the curve of your shoulder. The touch alone made your legs weak, sending shivers down your spine as you held onto him for support.

Yunho’s fingers slid down your arm, intertwining with yours, his intense gaze holding yours as he tilted your chin up. His breath was hot on your skin, his lips brushing against yours before trailing slowly along your jaw, igniting a spark deep within you.

Wooyoung’s hands found your waist, pulling you to him, his mouth claiming yours in a slow, deep kiss that left you breathless. San’s hands were there too, holding you as his lips brushed your skin. “Guess we’re the bosses now, aren’t we babe ?” he murmured, his voice both challenge and a sweet declaration.

Surrounded by them, every touch, every look, every kiss pulled you deeper. The intensity was dizzying and consuming. Just as you were about to surrender, breaking every office relationships policy, the ring of your phone shattered the moment. You answered the call, barely processing the voice on the other end, your mind still clouded by the steamy kiss. Gathering your things, you glanced back, meeting their eyes still dark, intense and wanting.

You leaned close, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks, your voice soft with promise. “Come to my place tonight,” you whispered, your eyes flicking between them. “You’re mine tonight.” Then, with a final look, you turned and left, leaving the anticipation hanging in the air.

As promised, San, Wooyoung and Yunho were at your house in the evening as you all planned to relax in your living room watching a movie. You were perched up the coach with your head resting on Yunho’s shoulder who was on your right while San rested his head on your left shoulder. Wooyoung made himself comfortable on the floor while his head rested back on your thighs.

The horror movie was at its climax, you and Yunho’s gazes refused to leave the tv screen while you could hear San making scared noises while covering his eyes whenever a jumpscare happened but still his curiousity peeked and he would sneak small glances while Wooyoung fully hugged you leg, refusing to watch the movie anymore but also asking you if the scary scene was over or not. It was endearing and funny at the same time as the boys clung on to you.

“Scrady cats” Yunho muttered as you chuckled nuzzling deeper into Yunho neck as the movie for you wasn’t even that scary and at this point you were feeling more bored.

“Wanna do something more interesting babe ?” Yunho asked, his voice was low but loud enough to reach your ears, as you jolted up to meet his gaze. His playful puppy eyes and sweet smile heightened up your excitement as you call for Woo and San.

“Guys, still wanna watch the movie, or should we…” You barely finished the sentence before Wooyoung quickly turned off the TV, meeting your gaze with a glint of mischief. He shifted on the floor, fully facing you, and smirked, “The movie was boring anyway. I’d rather finish you than finish it.” His words drew chuckles from all of you as he gently rubbed your thighs, his warm touch sending a thrill through you. Meanwhile, San left delicate kisses on your shoulder, adding to the tingling sensation dancing across your skin.

Your tiny tank top and mini shorts provided them more than enough to touch, admire, and savor. Yunho slowly turned you toward him, his large hand holding the back of your head as he pulled you closer. His lips captured yours, while Wooyoung settled between your legs and San held your waist, bringing you even closer. Sandwiched between Yunho and San, you felt Wooyoung’s sneaky hands slide down to remove your shorts, his fingers working with surprising deftness.

“Remember, kitten, whenever it gets too much, use our safe word,” San murmured into your ear, his breath warm as you hummed in acknowledgment, all while sharing a deep kiss with Yunho. San’s mouth latched onto your shoulder, his lips caressing the butterfly tattoo on your back. His hands roamed up your sides, his gentle rubs slowly inching your tank top higher and higher.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung’s mouth left soft kisses on your thighs, his hands caressing your legs as he worked his way up, inching closer to where you ached for attention the most, already dripped wet with arousal.

Yunho deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth and sucking on your toongue, and you let out a soft moan that gradually turned louder as Wooyoung and San each focused on your most sensitive spots in unison.

Wooyoung’s mouth took you by surprise, his lips and tongue tasting you, indulging with eager slurps. “Mmm,” he murmured against you, seemingly satisfied with every lick he took of your wet core. San’s large hands found your breasts, and with your tank top discarded somewhere on the floor, he kneaded them with care, his fingers pinching and teasing your nipples until they perked, each touch sending pulses of pleasure through you.

Yunho bit your bottom lip, adding a sharp but delicious sting that made you gasp. Just then, Wooyoung slid one of his thick fingers inside you, the unexpected sensation causing you to gasp again. San’s movements on your breasts quickened, his skilled fingers squeezing and pinching, sending electric jolts down your spine.

Wooyoung added another finger, the stretch making you tense momentarily, but soon, it melted into something beautifully pleasurable as Yunho broke the kiss. He took in the sight of you, eyes half-closed, dazed with pleasure, and smiled as he rubbed your clit while Wooyoung continued to pump, his pace picking up, pushing you closer to release.

“Still holding up, kitten ?” San whispered in your ear. You nodded, and a loud moan escaped your lips as you felt yourself clench around Wooyoung’s fingers. The tension built rapidly, your body trembling on the edge of something big. With one last, perfectly timed pinch on your sensitive clit, you finally came undone, your release spilling over Wooyoung’s fingers as your body quivered. Wooyoung pulled his fingers out and, without missing a beat, slipped them into his mouth, tasting every bit of you like it was his favorite flavor.

A knowing glance passed between Wooyoung and Yunho, and they swapped positions with ease. Wooyoung moved to the couch while Yunho settled between your legs, his mouth eager to taste every last drop of you. His hungry lips latched onto you, licking and sucking, not letting a single trace escape. As you moaned, your voice filled the room, each sound encouraging them on. Wooyoung brought his fingers to San’s mouth, and San took them in, savoring your taste with a low hum that turned you on even more.

Your mind drifted back to the first time with all three of them. It had been overwhelming, so intense that you’d had to use the safe word, the overstimulation and all three of them at the same time was too much for your body to handle. Since then, it had happened twice more before your body finally adjusted to them. Their frequent visits had helped you get used to both the stretch and the intensity, the pain gradually shifting into pure pleasure each time. And now, it was all too easy to surrender completely to the sensations they gave you.

You were pulled out of your deep thoughts as San’s lifted you, holding you securely in his arms as he stood. Yunho was already settled comfortably on the couch, leaning back as his eyes turned dark filled with lust. Once Yunho was ready, San lowered you onto him, positioning you so that your back pressed against Yunho’s chest, bringing a rush of warmth from his steady breathing behind you. Wooyoung, meanwhile, stood near your head, his eyes shining with excitement. You tried to piece together their intentions, your pulse quickening as you wondered what new position they had in store for you this time.

The boys were full of surprises, each encounter introducing another thrilling variation. You remembered your first foursome with them, bodies pressed together under the steamy flow of the shower, where you first caught a glimpse of just how intense their fantasies could be. Now, each time you were with them, you were left guessing, an excitement that never tappered off.

As you settled, Yunho’s large hands wrapped around your throat from behind, his grip firm yet gentle, just enough to make you feel his presence without restricting your breath heightening the intensity of the dellicious moment. San’s hands found your waist, holding you in place, his fingers pressing into your skin as they grounded you. The three of them exchanged nods before finally meeting your gaze, a silent question in their eyes asking for your permission.

“Are you ready for us, babygirl?” Wooyoung’s voice was low and eager, each word laced with anticipation that sent a thrilling shiver down your spine. His gaze roamed over you, making your heart pound as you gave a playful nod. Without another word, San positioned himself at your wet core, pressing into you slowly, stretching you as he filled you completely. Yunho, right behind you, followed with his own hard length, pushing inside, making you gasp at the fullness of both of them, leaving your mind spinning.

San’s hands tightened on your waist, grounding you as he met your gaze, a spark passing between you before he started moving, each stroke deliberate and intense, reaching depths that made you shudder. Behind you, Yunho’s hands held you steady, mirroring San’s movements to create a steady, intoxicating rhythm that had you breathless with every second.

As San thrust forward, Yunho matched his pace, their synchronized rhythm sending waves of pleasure through you, filling you from both sides. Each movement was perfectly timed, their bodies working in unison, creating an overwhelming sensation that left you lost in the moment.

Wooyoung, standing near your head, leaned down and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You look incredible like this,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. He guided himself to your lips, filling your mouth slowly, letting you adjust to his taste and warmth as he moved in sync with San and Yunho’s rhythm.

Their thrusts were perfectly in sync, and your body responded helplessly, completely lost to the rhythm they’d created. San’s grip tightened on your waist, his pace quickening as he drove into you harder, leaving you gasping. Behind you, Yunho’s hands shifted to your hips, pulling you back to meet his deep, powerful thrusts, amplifying every sensation.

Wooyoung’s hand cradled your jaw, his thumb tracing over your cheek as he encouraged you to take him deeper. His satisfied groans reverberated through you, his hips matching the rhythm San and Yunho had set, heightening the intensity surrounding you from every side.

San’s hand slid down to your sensitive spot, his thumb moving in firm circles that sent shocks of pleasure through you. Your body reacted instantly, arching as a wave of pleasure washed over you. Yunho slowed for a brief moment, letting you catch your breath before resuming, each thrust more intense, pushing you closer to release.

“Just like that, keep going,” Wooyoung whispered, his hand shifting to the back of your head. His voice was soothing, a contrast to their increasingly urgent rhythm. His hips moved steadily, his heavy breaths syncing with the sounds escaping you. Together, the three of them created a rhythm that left you gasping, with no choice but to surrender.

With each thrust, the tension in your core grew tighter, the pleasure coiling to an almost unbearable peak. Finally, as San’s thumb pressed harder and Yunho’s grip tightened, the release overtook you. Heat rushed through you in waves, leaving you breathless and shaking as you came undone.

San groaned deeply, his pace slowing briefly as he felt you tighten around him. With a final shared glance, the three of them pulled out together, each one spilling over your stomach, warmth pooling across your skin as they let out satisfied, heavy breaths.

They steadied you in the aftermath, soft touches grounding you as they ran their hands along your skin. Wooyoung leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his smile gentle and content. You lay there, basking in the warmth of their presence, a shared moment of closeness and quiet satisfaction.

As the aftershocks pulsed through you, their touches softened, turning from intense to gentle, grounding you in the moment. Heavy breaths filled the room as their hands traced light patterns along your skin, enveloping you in warmth and closeness.

San brushed a hand through your hair, murmuring, “You did so well… perfect for us.” He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his touch warm and steady. Yunho’s hands squeezed your hips gently as he whispered, “You’re incredible, so beautiful.” His lips brushed your neck in soft kisses, his voice soothing and tender.

Wooyoung cradled your face, his gaze warm. “Amazing, babygirl,” he praised, while cleaning you off as you still recovered from the intense high.

Their words and touches surrounded you, filling the afterglow with soft praise and affection, a moment of perfect connection between you all.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

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lady-arcane · 2 months ago

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—The Strongest Sweet Tooth—

Gojo Satoru believes in a lot of things.

He believes in power—his own, mostly, because there’s no one else on his level.

He believes in choices—the ones that shape people, the ones he never really got to make.

He believes in change—though he’s never quite sure if he’s the one causing it or just watching from the sidelines.

And above all, he believes in sweets.

Not just as food, but as a philosophy. A worldview. A moral compass.

"Everything you need to know about a person," he tells you one afternoon, legs stretched across your lap, "can be determined by how they rank their desserts."

You raise an eyebrow. "You have an actual ranking system, don’t you?"

"Of course I do!" He looks almost offended that you’d doubt it. "Do you think I just eat sweets randomly, like some kind of amateur?"

You do think that. Because Gojo has never exactly struck you as the kind of man who puts deep thought into anything besides fighting and annoying people.

But the way he says it—the sheer conviction—makes you pause.

Because he isn’t joking.

Not even a little.

Satoru’s Official, Undisputed, Completely Scientific Ranking of Sweets is as follows:

S-Tier (Divine, Transcendent, Life-Changing):

Anything made with yuzu. "The perfect balance of tart and sweet," he sighs, as if discussing fine art.

Hokkaido milk soft-serve. "The texture, the purity—it’s poetry in frozen form."

Mochi. But only when it’s fresh, hand-made, and "the exact right level of squishy."

A-Tier (Excellent, but Not Godly):

Dark chocolate. "Because I have class, obviously."

Honey-drizzled pancakes. "Good enough to die for, but I’d prefer to live and eat more."

Dorayaki. "Childhood nostalgia and deliciousness? Unbeatable combo."

B-Tier (Enjoyable, But Flawed):

Pocky. "Overrated, but respectable."

Strawberry shortcake. "Soft, fluffy, sweet—but lacks the complexity of superior desserts."

Dango. "A little too dense sometimes, but still solid."

C-Tier (Edible, But Only If There’s Nothing Else):

Cotton candy. "Pure sugar, no depth."

White chocolate. "A coward’s chocolate."

Anything overly artificial. "If it doesn’t melt on my tongue like a love confession, I don’t want it."

F-Tier (Crimes Against Humanity):

Licorice. "If you like this, I don’t trust you."

That one brand of cheap convenience store cakes that always taste vaguely of regret.

"Diet" versions of anything. "Why even bother?"

-----

"You thought about this," you say, stunned.

Satoru nods sagely, like a monk revealing the secrets of the universe. "Of course. You can tell everything about a society by its desserts."

You snort. "Enlighten me, then, Oh wise one."

"Gladly," he grins.

And then he launches into a full-blown dissertation on the philosophy of sweets.

How dark chocolate is for people who like complexity, who appreciate depth, who understand that sweetness is best when paired with bitterness.

How mochi is the ultimate symbol of comfort—soft, nostalgic, always better when shared.

How artificial sweets are like artificial people, all flash and no substance, messing into nothing the moment you try to hold onto them.

He talks, and talks, and talks—gesturing wildly, hands moving as if he’s sculpting his thoughts into the air.

And you watch.

Because for all his ridiculousness, there’s something fascinating about him when he’s like this.

So alive.

So present.

So real.

People forget, sometimes, that Gojo Satoru isn’t just a force of nature, isn’t just a god wrapped in human skin.

He’s a person.

A person who finds meaning in small, silly things.

A person who cares—even if it’s about something as absurd as a ranking system for sweets.

And isn’t that what makes him human?

-----

Of course, the problem with having such a strong opinion on sweets is that Satoru will fight to the death over it.

Metaphorically. (Mostly.)

The first time you mention liking white chocolate, he gasps so dramatically you think he might actually pass out.

"Are you saying," he demands, "that you willingly consume LIES?"

"It’s not that bad—"

"It’s sugar pretending to be chocolate! A fraud! A scam!"

You roll your eyes. "Oh please, mister ‘pocky is respectable.’"

"Pocky is respectable," he says solemnly. "It is an experience. A ritual. A sacred bond between snackers."

You don’t even know what that means.

And yet, an hour later, you find yourself in a heated debate over whether yuzu or matcha is the superior flavor.

(For the record, you argue for matcha. He calls you a heretic. You tell him to go to hell. He tells you they don’t serve sweets there, so he’s not interested.)

-----

It’s stupid.

It’s so stupid.

But it’s also… something else.

Something warm.

Something easy.

Something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t fully understand.

Because for all his strength, for all his burdens, Gojo Satoru is still this.

Still a man who will fight over desserts like it’s a matter of national importance.

Still a man who will wax poetic about the spiritual significance of mochi.

Still a man who will argue for hours, just to make you smile, just to keep the conversation going, just to have something—anything—that isn’t war, or loss, or the weight of being him.

And somehow, impossibly, you are the one he’s chosen to do this with.

Not the world.

Not the students.

Not the endless cycle of duty and expectation.

Just you.

Over something as ridiculous as sweets.

And isn’t that, in its own strange way, the most intimate thing of all?

-----

At the end of the day, it’s not really about the ranking system.

(Not really.)

It’s about the fact that Satoru chooses to care about something so small, so human, so pointless and beautiful.

Because if he can care about this, if he can make room in his world for something as silly as a favorite flavor, then maybe—just maybe—he can make room for other things, too.

For laughter.

For lightness.

For the quiet, simple joy of being here, being alive, being with you.

And that—more than any ranking, more than any argument, more than any philosophy—

is what really matters.

-----

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taro-bae · 6 months ago

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TWST Rant (!Spoilers!)

I was wondering about the cast of twisted wonderland in regards to their wealth and status. The majority of the twst boys are well off and of high status, but the whole wealth system of twst varies. I was trying to place the cast in order of who might actually be the wealthiest, so this is a little analysis rant!

Wealth and status obviously vary, Royal wealth would obviously be considered more valuable, so I would say Malleus and Leona would be presumably the richest since they are direct decendants of royal families. Malleus considerably ranking 1st, in my opinion, since he is to inherit the throne as first prince, while Leona is the second prince and holds just slightly less power in terms of a hypothetical hierarchy.

We all know from book 6 that Idia (and ortho) is from the Shroud family and will inherit the household and STYX. His grandmother was the original director of STYX that was later passed down to Idia's father. The organisation is highly influential and it is speculated for the Shroud family to be as rich if not more than the Asim family.

After Idia, I would put Kalim. We aren't exactly sure who is actually wealthier between the two but I would say the Shroud family directing STYX would be more influential on a larger scale. Kalim is born to a merchant family, I feel like some of the fandom collectively considers him a prince, but that is simply not true. Kalim is from a very wealthy family of merchants with some royal relatives, but he himself, if not royal in any ways. Kalim himself states "the Asims aren’t royalty, and I’m not a prince. I’ve got some relatives in the royal family, though.” The Asims are clearly very well off with many connections (even how kalim was accepted in NRC through his place being payed for presumably, most likely for connection since the family are merchants).

The following is more tricky for me to place. Vil is a different kind of rich, scaling more of fame and popularity. He's a world-known model with a famous actor father. He is from a privileged status in the show bizz and made a name for himself. We know that he's well travelled and known, from a young age his father always took him all over the world to establish connections and so on. However, I also see Rook being not that far off him in terms of wealth. Rook doesn't exactly have the same level of fame as the other characters, but the Hunt family has Villas in EVERY country within TWST. In Book 6, Rook suggested to MC and Epel to use warp pads or transporters from one of the villas to a closer destination. The transporter situation, according to Epel, is a big deal that requires permission to even have, let alone in every country. So Rook is of very high wealth and has direct ties to the government but is less talked about in that regard compared to other characters. So I don't know if he would be higher than Vil? It's possible.

Riddle is from a noble family with parents who are doctors. I would say they are rich. It is speculated by some that Riddle could somehow be tied to the Queen of Hearts, but it's not specified that he's royalty anywhere. Azul, in my opinion, would follow after. His family does make money, his mother owning a restaurant and stepfather being a lawyer. Azul himself runs Montre Lounge on campus as well as his shady deals. Azul is more bussiness wealthy out of the boys. I would asign Floyd and Jade alongside him. Even running of the fact that Floyd legit has top branded shoes in his vignette. I speculate that Floyd and Jade might actually be wealthier than that (I love the Mafia headcanons), and Jade is able to get expensive gifts and stuff. I wouldn't go as far to say that the Leech family is totally loaded, but they are definelty powerful within the Coral Sea.

The rest of the list is hard to place and up for debate.

Lilia has the advantage of being the oldest of the cast living for over 700 years and being a general to the royals. He has direct ties to Malleus, but I can't exactly place where he would be. In terms of hierarchy, he's a bat type of fae, which we're considered lower class in the fae community at the time, so he would have been seen as less by other members of his society. But he most likely has connections and ties. Dare I say if he wanted to sell his artifacts, he'll definelty be hella rich, lmao.

Clover family, I think they are a typical working class family. They have their own bakery bussiness but work constantly according to Trey, so that must mean they have income but one that you have to keep working for. Trey talks about that when they were busy, he would cook or get his younger brother tickets to spelldrive on allowance money and that parents would stock up on ingredients. Based on that, I would say Trey is off on a more "enough" to live a sustained lifestyle type of money. Like a more casual type of family with a few children (again, children need more money to be sustained)

Next, I would place all the connected working characters like Sebek, Silver, and Jamil. This seems considerably low, but hear me out. They are not exactly poor characters. They are very directly connected to noble people, though. Sebek has a military connected family right under Draconias' command as well puts both silver and him fairly high up. They are not independently wealthy but can experience more luxury lifestyles because of who they serve. Their status consists of being guards of a royal persona. Therefore, they hold a portion of recognition. Jamils case is complicated. The Viper family is born into servitude and are highly dependent on them in that manner. In a way, they could be counted as "working class," but I beg to differ in a way. Working for the Asim does benefit living standards and experiences, for example, even with being able to access better quality foods, living style, etc. It obviously comes with the downside like jamil risking his life for kalims safety (e.g., being a posion tester and constantly doing labour). In a way, despite not having personal property like Kalim, Jamil is still exposed to more luxurious items, products, etc. And it's hard to judge where he is on the richest ranking because he's directly bound to Kalim, almost like a hypothetical "contract" he's born into. More of being born into a rich environment but not being wealthy himself.

Lastly, poor baby Ruggie. Ruggie, being born in poverty, in the slums is the only character in NRC who is specified to be poor. Being born in poverty with his parents both dying early on, he was surrounded by other slum children who he considers siblings and often had to fight for food.He survived through hustling different jobs later on to work his way up. We know he hustles at Montre Lounge and for Leona to make any money and does try to make a bargain for any opportunity. Out of the entire cast, Ruggie is canonically poor.

Epel,Jack, Ace, Cater, and Deuce are ones who are a bit more confusing because they have less information on them. I've been thinking about Jack. His status is not exactly clear, and I can't find any evidence to pinpoint his social standing much. I would place him above Ace. In my analysis, I considered that Jack met vil when they were children, and i think Jack could even be higher on the list. i just can't find anything to clarify that. I would assume vil would have lived in a fairly well-off environment since he was a kid, so the neighbourhood must have been at least middle class or something. Just running off that, I would say Jack might be more middle class to average. He does have multiple siblings that need money to sustain. Ace states before to azul in a luxe couture vingette that he can't "afford the high-brand clothes." So I would say he's off a more average family type of income. With in this rank, I would also place Epel. He did mislead his dormates into believing that he's a noble and Vil suggesting epel to not use his dialect to not give away his actual position. His family aren't mages, which maybe within twisted wonderland would be lower class. But they are farmers from Harveston. Harveston isn't well known but does produce apples that does provide them with some form of trade and income for sure. Cater talks of not having enough money sometimes, but he's a very dual type of character that tends to mask things a lot. I think he's maybe just above average, actually. He claims to occasionally not have money. Someone let me know his father is a banker, but it's unclear how much the Diamond family actually owns or makes, but I think he hides his true position. We know Deuce has a mother who works with the White Rabbit logo trade chain. There's no indication to pinpoint where the Spade family is at, so I would also say around average. We know Deuces father walked out on them so Dylla is the working mother, I'm assuming the family is also a type to have enough money to live but no extra to spend (on stuff like luxury items). Deuce definitely got his wallet up after fixing Malleus's tamagochi and getting some pricey gems from him.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

If you know any information on some characters, feel free to share!

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fabuloustrash05 · 3 months ago

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I had someone try to argue with me when I said that I think Bulma is a powerful character in Dragon Ball. They tried to argue and say she’s not a fighter, has weak chi, etc. so therefore she’s not powerful. And I was just thinking; are they not aware that power comes in many different forms?

Power isn’t just based by one’s strength, it can also be determined by the person’s intelligence/knowledge, mastery in certain skills, influence, wealth, social status/ranking, connections, position in politics, etc. and Bulma has many of these characteristics:

Bulma is INFLUENTIAL

She is apart of a very influential family, the Capsule Corporation family! She’s the heiress of her father’s business, a business that creates a device that can shrink any object into small capsules. A device we see EVERYONE in the series use.

Not to mention her own existence influencing the story. If it wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t have Dragon Ball. She’s the one who built the dragon radar, she’s the one who found Goku and convinced him to join her on her adventure. Without her, Goku wouldn’t have left his house and met characters like Roshi, Krillin and his own wife, Chichi.

And of course, her influence on Vegeta. Bulma played a big part in Vegeta’s character development in DBZ, with him starting as a villainous irredeemable planet destroyer, and turning him into a hero/protector of earth and a loving husband/father. She took one good look at him, thought “I can fix him” AND DID. Her influence and even love for him made him a better person.

I can go on and on about how big of a role Bulma plays in Vegeta’s arc but I assume yall already know the story.

Bulma is RICH

First off, look how freaking huge her house is! Capsule Corp is a multi milllion (possibly billion) dollar company.

She’s so rich she has used her own money to fulfill her friends wishes that it got Shenron himself sweating. When promised prize money for everyone if they win the Tournament of Power, it was Bulma that provided the cash to anyone who wants it.

For her birthday party she took everyone her own cruise ship and hosted a Bingo game where the prizes consisted of: a brand new car, a jet, a giant diamond and a literal castle.

AND THOSE WERE JUST 2ND AND 3RD PLACE PRIZES!!!

Bulma has CONNECTIONS

She has frequent lunches with Whis who’s a literal Angel, made Beerus the God of Destruction her FREE babysitter and she’s close friends with Jaco the Galactic Patrolmen thanks to her sister, Tights.

And not to mention the that she’s married to the Vegeta the Saiyan Prince, giving her a royal status, and is also childhood friends with Goku, another Saiyan. And her two children are also Half Saiyans!

Bulma is SMART

I’m just going to go over a list of things she’s invented/done throughout the series:

- The Dragon Radar and the Super Dragon Radar

- A device that can make herself shrink and grow at her own will

- She fixed Radtiz’s scouter, and even rewired it to be in a non alien language so she can properly read it

- Helped her dad rebuild the Namekien space ship that got her, Krillin and Gohan to Namek

- An translator for Ginyu when he was trapped in a Namekian frog body (an animal that she did not know the biology of mind you)

- Helped her dad fix Android 16’s damages

- Saiyan armor, she was able to find a way to perfectly duplicate the material that Saiyans/the Frieza force use. Reminder that all armor Vegeta wears from Android saga and onward was made by her.

- A freaking Time Machine!! (Yes I know that was her future self who built it but it still says so much as to what Bulma is capable of creating)

In conclusion, Bulma may not be a fighter like the others, but she has so many other qualities that make her powerful. She’s strong willed character, a helpful ally to Goku and friends, and an important member of the team thanks to her influence, connections, wealth and intelligence.

Bulma is POWERFUL because of who she is and what she does!

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iznsfw · 1 year ago

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Manic Robotic Dream Girl

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 4 - Choi Yena

IZ*ONE's Choi Yena x Male Reader Smut

8,311 words

Neon lights dance like flames around you. There’s no need to touch them when you’re already burning. Burning with something that’s not a fever but a kind of pain that never goes away.

Sweat pricks the sides of your face and you’re aware of the blots of perspiration running down your jawline. Nights at the Rogue are often hot, but then they surprise you with a sudden burst of windiness, so you never bother to take your coat off. Whatever and wherever, you’ll always be here yet you’ve not once been able to predict the temperature.

That’s what happened when WAKE12 took over.

Apparently, they decide if people are under the weather by controlling it by them-fucking-selves. Kwon feeling shitty? Looks like rain then. Maybe she’s feeling happy? Alright, let the clouds find balance. Angry? Take a fucking hailstorm. What a privilege, one bigger than the lives of the rich men in the North. But everyone forgets about that fact after she sends out minimal alms—canned goods, a Bible, something. Then it’s back to President Kwon is the best! President Kwon can never fail us! President—

“Vodka.”

“Same as yesterday?” asks Yuri, smiling a little bit.

“Same as yesterday.” For a hologram, Yuri can be quite the social butterfly.

Online wallets are all the rage nowadays. The AI voice in your head offers you said option to pay, and you can hear your balance privately spoken. Somehow your brow prevents from creasing as you hear it. You lack funds but somehow have a few extra bucks to drink.

Choose that. You want to save your Wizes for other things. Lock eyes with Yuri and your balance goes down. You’ve paid.

Online and digital wallets modified with embedded signals and readers were in use before you were even born. Of course, there were already such payment options in the twenty-first century, but how WAKE12 changed everything, not just ordering options with telepathic payment, can easily be read in a sixth grade history textbook.

In October of the year 2918, Kwon Eunbi rose in the ranks as a scientist and soldier for Kang Hyewon, former president, and ended up working her way into dictatorship. The textbooks and classrooms teach that she proposed a law to the court and got herself a position for her wit and intelligence. But early first accounts challenge that, saying that she caught the eye of Kang and had a sexual relationship with her. WAKE12 branded this as propaganda that sullies the name of not only the dictator but the one of the late president, who died mysteriously before Kwon rose to power.

Massive backstory for cashless payment, but you know there’s more to it than the government would like to let on. What happened to Kang? What made Kwon so evil the moment she sat in her presidential throne?

“Thank you, sir.” Holograms all have different voices; Yuri’s sounds like she’s singing. At least the bartender slash boss hired her instead of those with monotone, emotionless ones. It’s cheaper to have hologram workers than humans anyway. Less money, less emotional labor, less of feeling like a normal person.

A beggar curled up below the counter holds his hand out. Not an uncommon sight in the Auster, but it’s a pity to see. The world has advanced with its telepathic wallets and 3D holograms yet there will always be individuals who haven’t caught up with time. While the North Rogue leads worldly lifetimes, the Auster is a home for the rejects. The poorest of the poor. The somewhere-in-the-middles. It can never be truly a perfect world if advancement doesn’t include everyone.

Give him a Wize. Back then, that would have been worth a hundred or so dollars, a currency long gone. Not that you’d know of it; WAKE12 claimed leadership way before you were born so the cheap value of the coin studded with the bust of Kwon Eunbi is all you’re accustomed to.

Take your drink and thank Yuri.

The cobblestone is rough beneath your feet. You take your seat at your usual table. Float your fingers around your shotglass. Pour the contents down your chapped mouth almost all in one go. Anything to feel something. Anything to feel anything.

You’re not an alcoholic by any means, though that’s certainly up for debate. But there’s a need for the liquid that rages more than the need for oxygen (the fucking shortage of it) or food (the fucking expense of it). How else could you be less numb? You’re welcome to every feeling at this stage, just not this empty neutrality that slumbers your senses.

Pain? Your throat seizes up when you drink and brings tears to your eyes, so there's that.

Happiness? Hm, none. You’re barely smiling. You’ve no family, little friends, and no partner for the last few years. There’s nothing to be happy about.

Anger? The displays of people fined harshly for their crimes on the big as life advertising screens stir some defiance in you. WAKE12 doesn’t take kindly to hacktivists and young coders dabbling in creating their own AIs. You have your own anti-government opinions, but what’s a human mind against an artificial one? Plus, and probably a less serious reason (tell that to the thousands who flock to the hospitals because of asthma), the air is almost always polluted here in the Rogue. It’s dirtied by car smoke and factory remains. You’d think that robots taking over the labs would improve it. Perhaps they weren’t programmed that way.

Loneliness?

You look around. See the glitching phantoms of new world technology make the drinks breezily. Watch the light-studded train filled with commuters from the Auster. Kwon Eunbi managed to build an underside track for additional trains to run and still the commuters—young students, old grandparents, not young but not old workers whose jobs belong to WAKE12—wear the same tired look you saw yesterday. All you could hear are buzzes and uncanny valley voices from holograms.

The second chair paired with your table is empty. You’re suddenly lucid to the fact that it’ll always be like this. These nights of drinking and walking in the Auster Rogue will be endless, and just the same, you’ll be endlessly alone.

Sometimes mortality could be so depressing.

So depressing that it makes it all so meaningless.

A man stumbles over to the outside bar, breaking your thoughtless reverie. His clothes are as black as the night you spend but you can see blood on the fabric. The skyscrapers provide enough light for you to see his red face from anxious internal and worrying external blood. The pleading look grips his expression like a malfunctioning robot’s limb.

He’s looking back as if afraid of what might be there. The rain-soaked road is tread on roughly by his shaking knees as he crawls his way to the bar. “Please, help me!”

“Warning,” comes the voice in your head, and you know the other visitors hear it, too, “a criminal of the state is in your proximity. Proceed with caution.”

WAKE12 always keeps an eye on those who threaten them. They have goons everywhere. The kindly grandfather down the street could be a veteran waiting for the chance of a medal. They have ears everywhere as well. Undercover cops stay in both crowded and clear spaces to identify possible threats. When it all comes down to it, you’re not safe in your own head at all. The implants can detect when you dream up something terrible. That’s how millions lose their reputation. Their jobs. Their families.

Their lives.

He staggers to the counter, crashing glass that shards his palms, and lets out this wail you’d hear from an abused pup. “Please,” he croaks. “Don’t listen to them. I just need somewhere to hide. I did nothing wrong, nothing!”

The implanted voice in your brain says otherwise. Everyone was given one when the Cyber Age came. That’s what makes a tiny difference in seeing who’s human and who’s not: the tiny, diamond scar below their hairline from the operation. Close inspection can’t always be done, however. Nowadays, too many of these robots and holograms pass the Turing test. You can never truly trust someone.

“Offenses include: playing the role of an accomplice in theft of government data, distribution of terrorist propaganda—”

“Get the fuck out!” says the bartender, having burst out from the back. As a longtime visitor, you haven’t seen him this angry, but you know it stems from fear. No one wants to associate with a criminal. No one wants the association to lead to arrest and the arrest lead to god knows what. Hundreds of people go missing after they’re taken under custody. What Kwon does to them, you don’t know. “Leave or I’ll call the cops!”

Like you said, they lurk everywhere. You’re surprised they haven’t caught up to him.

The bloodied man shakes his head, like please, please, someone believe me. “No, I’m not a criminal! Listen to me, please, I don’t have enough time! They just wanna—cut down”

Rapid footsteps. Sigh and put your glass down. There they are.

The man reaches for him, but the bartender shoves the whole table into his face. He falls back on the ground and cries out for help that never comes. Men and women wearing tight black uniforms and vests pull him up. Their lit helmets that opposingly disallow a view of their faces make them look emotionless. Like robots.

Huh.

While resting your head against the metal chair, you listen to the struggling shuffles of the police and criminal, and see the glitching robots walking down the road. No real emotion, no real living.

He scratches and screams and sobs, but that doesn’t matter to them. They pull him along the rocky cement and recite his nonexistent rights to him. There’s the right to remain silent (he’s screaming), the right to an attorney (nobody in the Auster can afford a good lawyer much less an honest one), and the right to live freely if found innocent of the crime (someone getting convicted happens more often than being released).

Besides, it can’t be called living when it’s in a place so completely devoid of any humanity.

“In more ways than one,” you say. Fuck it, you’ll drink to that.

Like always, you take more than you should. You believe by now you’ve built some kind of immunity. That’s what they all think, you remind yourself, before an inevitable death that buries them in the ground one bricked shot at a time. You swear you’re not dizzy at all or feeling the acid build to your throat, so the sight gathering just a little away from you is real.

Stare at your glass. Space out if not for what you see: behind it, a shapely form of a woman in purple. The blue and violet lights make it difficult for you to distinguish it from her clothes so she actually looks naked. That shocks you more than the arrest. You’re sure she’s got a little modesty in her because why else is she making her way to a table?

Your table?

It’s like she teleported when she’s suddenly seated before you, filling the chair that’s been empty for the last more or so years. You don’t even get the chance to look up at the right time, but the moment you do, you think keeping your eyes on your glass would’ve been better for the sake of your heart.

YENA.

Her name appears in your mind and she hasn’t even introduced herself. But it’s right there, emblazoned in lights in all capitalized four letters: YENA. This girl is Yena. And this girl—this fucking guilty pleasure of a girl—is gorgeous.

The ends of her hair are tinged with blonde, and it’s hard not to give attention to that with how her locks are gathered into twin tails. She smoothes them before looking at you quite seriously, like she’s about to propose a challenge you’d lose.

Blue shining eyes. There’s something odd about the way they twinkle below her bangs—almost like something not human.

Yena dances her fingers around her jawline, elbow resting on the table, and tilts her pretty face. Lets her fingers play with her lips that are made for things the Auster’s known for providing (she can’t be from here though; those crocheted coordinates look costly). That’s how you notice that fine feature. Naturally thick and casually jutted out in a distinctive pout, your eyes are glued to them. Can’t take your prolonged stare away if someone helped you.

“Are you waiting for me to start talking?” Yena asks. She’s not angry, just amused—her voice is smooth and clear, with a tiny pitch that makes her all the more cute.

You shake your head. “Was just trying to figure something out.”

“And that is?”

“A lot of things,” you state. Things you’d keep a secret forever, lest you spill them out to a girl all for the payment of being beautiful. “But I’m not sure pretty girls like you would want to know.”

You try to keep your curious peering at her normal, but it’s difficult when she just attracts attention. She’s a glowing lightbulb in a flutter of moths. Yena doesn’t flicker weakly; she shines, and it’s honestly why everyone else is “subtly” looking at her, this gorgeous stranger who came in and somehow chose the alcoholic who came from places more rock bottom than the Auster.

She laughs. It’s sobering—you think you’ll get drunk on her rather than the cheap alcohol. “Is that what you think of me? Too beautiful to think too much?”

Look her up and down. Yeah, you want to say, that’s about it. It’s not out of offense but rather the instinct in you that wants to tell her you don’t want to put her in a worried state. She’s too… ah, she doesn’t know what you’d do for a girl like her—someone too unreal to be human but too genuine to be the “living” dolls lonely men purchase. Someone who can keep a conversation going without fearing a low blow. Someone who’s out of your league in the Rogue’s mixed pool but chooses you anyway.

“I’m just saying you might not want to hear a stranger boring you with his hard problems.”

“Oh please,” she says, waving it off with a flick of a pointed wrist. “You know my name. I know yours. We’re not strangers anymore.”

How did you—how did she—

Her eyes twinkle again. They’re… violet? You could have bet they were blue. But then you see the suspiciously smooth and clear skin, with the perfect lines of her eyelids, which curve as if manufactured in. She’s definitely not human.

“Besides,” adds Yena sweetly, “you’re really underestimating how good I can take certain hard things.”

Swallow. You opened the door, now you’re locked in.

Yena catches the bob of your Adam’s apple and smirks. Traces her fingers over yours. She can’t be human for sure yet you feel the softness of her hand, the only thing giving you doubt being how chilled her touch is. It's humid here, so where did that come from? Goosebumps pop up in masses across your skin—note how nothing shows up on hers.

Maybe she’s just a confident woman.

“Come on, I dare you.”

“Only if you go first.”

“Yes, sir,” she says. A cutesy saluted hand positions itself before her temple. Her hands are tiny, could be dainty, while her cheeks lift to support an adorable smile.

Your knees tremble. You don’t know where that came from either. Yena just knows what to say to get to a guy. Almost like she was made for it. There’s that question again, resurfacing in your altered brain: is she human or not?

You lean back. Cross your arms. Here you go, on your way to find out. “What’s your story?”

Yena shrugs, her shoulders bare and smooth. And you’re thinking of how you’d like to see the rest of them, the rest of her body naked by pulling down the crocheted strap of the purple coordinates. How you’d like to touch those puffed up cheeks and not care if they’re real or not when you pull her close to kiss her. How those lips—

“Don’t have one.”

“Sorry?”

She laughs. Even the way she giggles is attractive. “No, seriously,” she replies, licking her lips. “There’s nothing interesting about me. I’m the most normal girl there is.”

There is nothing normal about her. Everything she says is too prepared. The largeness of her eyes gives everything away. Her hair is combed too finely that you’re not unconvinced that it isn't human hair at all, though you can see them connect at the roots. It’s like someone drew a cute animated girl on a notepad one lonely night, sent the idea to a rich bastard, and brought her to life.

So no, you’re not buying it.

“So you’re saying you’re just a blank canvas.”

“If you put it like that, I guess.” Yena rolls her eyes. You’re a bit obsessed. “Guys want that, right? A blank piece of a girl they could shoot more than a shot at? Maybe paint her white?”

You’re thankful you didn’t continue drinking. Otherwise, your surprise would be visible and audible with the lodge of your throat as you wineboard yourself.

The side of her mouth raises. A soft dimple exceeding cuteness—it’s deeper, brighter, shinier. You imagine her as a college student, charming boys into submission just with a wink and a smile that can melt hearts and bring guilt to lust-addled minds.

That’s what she’s doing: Yena is melting you because of how adorable she is, but then you take a look at her body, note the fine curves it boasts, and feel the need to go to a confessional pastor. You’re not supposed to repeats in your mind, but you’re you—if you aren’t supposed to do it, then of course you’ll do it anyway.

“Woah,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Woah.”

“Look.” She rests her forearm on the table and talks so casually one would think she weren’t just talking about getting cumshots. “I‘m not taking that back, so do with that what you will.”

Under the table, behind the scenes, her leg is curled around one of yours. Her ankle glides along your skin teasingly. Not a speck of hair on all of those flawless legs, but you’re shivering anyway from the contact. Hence, make a show of closing your coat around yourself. You can’t fool her when it’s not even chilly.

Recover, piecing together the brokenness of your confidence she tore apart.

“My story is, uh, weird.”

“Tell me.”

“This might be too personal but—” You lift your shoulders awkwardly. “I used to date a girl who looks exactly like you.”

Kim Chaewon—short auburn hair, soft cheeks, and a tiny figure. She’s a memory you didn’t think of returning to today, but then Yena came here, and now you’re back to your youth.

“She was a cop. Cutest officer I’ve ever seen, but a real bitch, for the lack of a better word. Then she left me.”

“You broke her heart, didn’t you?”

Sputter. “No!” you immediately deny, shaking your head. “I—I didn’t hurt her, she was—”

A filthy lie. You became nonchalant, undeserving of a sweet woman who’d do anything for you, even give up her well-paying job. Again and again, Chaewon expressed her concerns: why were you talking to Minju? Where have you been? Why are you so mean? You disregarded them all the same. She deserved the ignorance; she was too fucking controlling, too fucking jealous.

Yena knows you’re lying. It’s like you’re a wound she can peel back to see all the ugliness, all the damage underneath. Her smile tells you everything.

“Oh, come on. I don’t care. Except for this.” Yena intertwines her fingers. Rests her chin on top of the formed platform. “Was she a good fuck?”

Your laugh is forced, trying to make a good deal out of this situation. A girl is flirting with you right after you saw someone disappear. Now you’re wondering if she’s a robot. Now, through some way, she knows you’re lying about your ex. Coincidences meet yet you refuse to connect them—parallel lines they shall stay, forever.

“Yena, what exactly is up with you?” you ask. “You just met me. And come on now, why me?”

It’s begun to be hotter in this space. Loosen your coat. Perspiration isn’t because of the atmosphere, so you find out (and what a surprise). It’s because of the woman across you, a midnight sun. If the painful sun was actually a symbol of good in the Rogue, Yena would play its role perfectly. She’d scorch through you and you’ll enjoy every second. Yeah, you’d get all sorts of tans and burns and cancers if you bask in her without protection, but my god, are you willing to take the risk.

“I just don’t like seeing pretty boys have problems,” she replies easily. “If they want, (and I know they do), I’ll take them all away. Soon, all you'll think of is me. Like I’m the sun peeking in your room and you just can’t get enough sleep because of it.”

You tense up. Millions of questions, a void empty of answers. Once again, how was she so spot on? You’re not breathing quite well, and your clothes are tighter tonight. “Yena, look, I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Don’t be, not because you aren't, but because she said so.

She pouts. “You’re not gonna buy me a drink?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Nope. Remember what I said? I’m a blank canvas. So do whatever you want with me. Buy me a drink. Or not. Tell me to fuck off. Or not. Force me on my knees.”

Yena kneels.

There’s no mantle on the table to cover up what she’s about to do. You gasp, then try to mask it as a poor cough, but you’re distracted by how she pulls your pants down effortlessly. The button sealing your coat is busted open and gone.

So is your dignity.

Yena’s tongue sticks out at the side of her mouth as she looks up at you with excitement and mischief in her eyes.

“Or let me do the job. I’m a big girl after all.”

She seals her teeth around your zipper and tugs down. It’s embarrassing how hard you are for her. But Yena doesn’t care. Adoration is clear on her face as she stares at your shaft, the worshipful energy in her eyes so overwhelming that she has to do something about it.

“Yena—” What a way to go out: screaming a stranger’s name.

You knew those lips were up to no good the moment you saw them. She’s provided evidence, too. Her soft lips embrace your boner and suckle fervently while dragging themselves upwards. It’s a caress that tenses you up rather than comforts you. It works you up, tying you down with the little weight Yena has. You could kick her away right now and tell her to go away. File a case against her.

You don’t.

The joined duo of careful teeth and wild tongue gets you whimpering. Shivering. Begging. How is she so good at this?

Her mouth is perfectly wet. It’s not copiously soaked to have you cringing but the perfect balance of wet and ready, coating your rod again and again. She gives you too much and just right. It would be a cruel violation if you were asked to choose one and only one.

“Baby, what the fuck—” you stammer.

Her throat’s an expert in taking you because one push of her lips to your base welcomes you in its tight hole. Your knees shake; Yena places her hands on it, not to stop their trembles but for leverage during the dip of her head.

Close your eyes, look up, and stare at skies that provide no reprieving stars. Think of how she’s infinitely bett—

“Better than any pussy, huh?” Yena asks. The third time is no coincidence, so you’ve heard. “And it’s just my throat.”

At this stage, you don’t care if she’s a robot or not, because either way, that mouth is a fucking treasure.

You lift your hips and start slowly working yourself in Yena’s face. Her lips pucker and pout to allow you inside with pleasurable friction. Those eyes—there aren’t any planets in the sky because of the pollution but you think you can see their sparkle in them.

The amazing part is that Yena doesn’t choke. She endlessly takes you in, receiving every inch like a blessed gift, but you don’t hear her wheeze. No sounds of complaints escape her. You have a feeling it’s not because of your cock sliding in and out of it. She only gags on occasion, and those already sound fake. It’s like she’s doing it just so you can get worked up hearing her moans.

While others might be impressed, you’re dumbfounded. She tightens and loosens and pushes and pulls just for your pleasure.

“Yena, I– you’re doing so good,” you compliment her in gasped breaths.

Her cheeks hollow. The suction strengthens and it now feels like your soul’s being swallowed down her neck. She knows how to tease you with light pandering from her teeth, generous licking, and strengthened swallowing. Her mouth is warm but you are more so. She’s making you feel hot in all these layers, an additional one played by her perfect lips.

Perfect hair, too, you note.

Hungry impulses take over your body and now you’re pumping your core into the girl’s face with the help of her pigtails. Yena’s hair is thick and silky, and it’s another enjoyable factor: feeling how it slips between your fingers and how each pull directs her lips to press firmly to your crotch.

She doesn’t gag with that either. She must have had a lot of experience; she did say she can take hard things fine. That is, if she were human. If not, whoever built her had dirty ideas: the lack of gag reflex surely brings in the five star ratings.

Bright star-like eyes, cute ruinable face, mouth that can take the largest.

Yep, perfect.

“Good—fucking—girl.”

Your cock weeps white. Yena feels the first drop and immediately pulls away. She pumps your shaft with a strong, urgent fist. As she hinted, you blast all over her face. Your orgasm grips you and shakes you like never before, and of course, the little brat enjoys it. She’s nearly laughing.

“There,” says Yena after she drains you. Her duck-like lips are sticky with cum. “Canvas painted.”

What a pretty painting you’ve made. Here, shown to the public, is the manic pixie dream girl, semen on her chin to symbolize how each word she utters has you climaxing; hair disheveled to show your subtle but messy rule over her, because you own her although you weren’t there when her mechanical limbs were assembled and her face drawn; and a smile on her face to show that despite all this: she likes it.

You laugh, short blunt breaths wisping in the air. “There really is something wrong with you, Yena,” you say.

She’s a girl who’s extremely pretty, good at blowjobs, and likes public sex and oral. She can also read minds. Oh, and she might not be real.

“You could say that again.” She wipes her mouth. “Though I do think I could use a little fixing from you.”

You take her home. Your mother would have been disappointed in you if she knew you violated the first law you were ever taught: don’t talk to strangers. Most of all, don’t ever let them in. But Yena is no stranger—like she said, she knows your name and for some reason, you know her own. You’re not strangers. And your mother isn’t around to command you not to kneel for a pretty girl.

This home of yours isn’t fancy, but if people from 2024 saw it, they’d be mesmerized. You’re not rich enough to afford the penthouses the North offers; this one is alright for you. The stories of the building aren’t aligned with each other, separating a few yards with floating floors that defy gravity. That’s right; WAKE12 somehow found a way to disobey the rules of physics. The ends are lit up with bright lights that blind you from miles away. Wide windows encircle the areas along with al frescos and convenient malls. Back then, this would have been classified as the house of the wealthy—you can’t say you agree with the sentiment when you’re not at all rich.

“Hi,” says Yena brightly at the front desk. She’s so smiley, always grinning like she’s just told a really clever joke. “Where’s the elevator?”

“I, uh…”

The manager looks at her oddly. Your ears redden; she still hasn’t cleaned her face up. Evidence of your deed lies there on her nose and chin and cheeks, even in her perfect hair.

“Well?”

The manager lifts the phone immediately. Before he could dial a number, Yena sighs loudly.

“Look.” She silences the telephone with a slam of the device down on the keypad. The man’s hand cringes. “I’m about to fuck this guy’s brains out and I promise your little backup bosses can’t do anything about it.”

He stares at her.

“I’m gonna use his dick until it’s limp as a balloon, then ride him in bed, then bend over on the kitchen table so he could breed me like a common whore.”

You lift an index finger to apologize, but put it back down. Did she just say you can breed her?

His jaw tenses. The teeth behind those unsmiling thin lips grit, not in annoyance but in fear. Yena’s bouncy and sweet, but apparently she’s excluding people who cockblock from her cute attitude.

“So,” finishes Yena, lowering her gaze, “where is the fucking elevator?”

The elevator has no pulley or doors. It sits at the side of the uneven floors and rises with nothing but a sizable pod. You’ve had to watch your weight to be able to enjoy the freedom from staircases.

Yena steps on it with no worry. As you look at her, you realize how positively tiny she is. That’s why she isn’t doubtful about fitting in the claustrophobic space. Her violet clothes can slip off at any time at her pull of a waist and slim thighs. All the fullness goes to her cheeks, painted with fake tattooed stars and minimal doodles.

She’s the kind of girl you could just pick up and do whatever to. You’re the kind of guy who really, really likes the idea.

Holding your hand is a thing of the past. Yena clutches your cock over your jeans as the elevator lifts the two of you up.

The first thing she does the moment you enter your home is not kiss you, or slam you to the door, or whisper dirty nothings in the hollow of your ear. Yena looks around and says, simply, “Doable.”

You chuckle. You’re not offended. It’s a tidy, minimal apartment with glass that spans a viewing pleasure of the artificial forest and the hills. Glass lost its value but skyrocketed in purchases when Jo Yuri, first activist recorded in the history of WAKE12’s domination, was imprisoned. People compared her name to glass (yuri was 유리 and 유리 meant glass) and since then, it has been used everywhere. High demand, low price. Her symbol and namesake is used the way the public wants her to be used: cheap thing convenient only to the eye. They always said she was too pretty to talk too much.

“Here, doable is the best compliment,” you reply. You go to your bedroom to clean the place. If you want to fuck a rich girl, make sure the bedroom is at least up to her standards. “You have personal maids there in the North?”

Yena continues looking around. She’s mildly fascinated by everything, especially in the big window placed on the ceiling that lets stars peer down at you. For some reason, all the ejaculation on her face is gone. You don’t remember her bringing a washcloth.

“I’m not from the North, you know.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. I don’t come from anywhere.”

You come out, having cleared your bed from clothes and the floors of trash. You fed the trash to the connected chute that all apartments have, which leads down to the Southern Auster. The word may be Latin and is already defined as south, but there’s places poorer than the part you live in. You’re lucky to be here. The Southern Auster’s where it’s much more dangerous. The people there scavenge for food and money, and their cries go unheard in the night. It’s the biggest criminal capital of the Rogue.

You come out and Yena’s sitting on the kitchen table with a knife.

Stop in your tracks.

See the blood running down her arm.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt.”

You still don’t know what to say. The wound on her skin’s dissolved to a scar that looks more like a scratch on metal. Why would she do that? Why would that do that?

“In fact, I think it’s kind of cool.” Yena slides the blade on the strap of her top. It falls apart, right down to her braless chest. A pink, perky nipple is clear in the moonlight shining from above. “When people see me, they usually want to hurt me, so I might as well do it myself, right? They want to slap me, pull my hair, choke me. They say that and figure I’m totally flattered.”

You want to say that you couldn’t blame them. Yena’s got this innocent but naughty aura about her that you want to completely ruin. There’s her hair, all dolled up and her quirky makeup that brings attention that eventually switches down to the body she doesn’t bother hiding.

But it looks like she’s doing the ruining. Aren’t those the best stories? Boy corrupts girl when it’s the other way around in reality?

To use the word “reality” when you’re with Yena is laughable. She can read your mind like a Rogue Times newspaper. You get that things you thought were impossible have a chance of happening in these days, but you don’t remember wounds healing that fast. The knife slices right through the fabric, revealing swoon-worthy curves of her waist and hips, making her bleed only not for too long. Who would want a scar-ridden skinny girl anyway?

“Well,” you say after a dutiful swallow, “are you?”

Yena examines the knife. Her crimson blood dripping from its edge is a worthwhile watch while she considers this.

She finally puts down the knife, much to your relief. “I don’t know. What about you, handsome? Do you want to hurt me or fuck me?”

“I… I’m not like them. I don’t wanna hit you or make you cry or anything. I want to fuck you, that’s completely different.”

First confession of the night that didn’t need saying when it’s clear. You let her blow you in public. You took her home. The intention is staring you in the face: you want to have sex with a girl you just met.

Yena smiles. “You’d be surprised how blurred the lines are.”

Yena‘s hands fall on your shoulders and make you fall to the kitchen chair and make your pants fall on the floor. Falling, falling, falling for her—it’s all you’re able to do provided that she’s stunning. She’s tiny with her thin arms and legs but her breasts are surprisingly supple. The cleavage her top subtly shows off hinted to that and you’re still shocked.

She’s a hot desert, and the only source you can drink of is her core. Her pussy is slick, making her thighs glue together only for them to part as she sits on your lap.

The first grind has you both breathless. The second renders a duet of moans. She’s so wet that it’s excessive enough for her to drip down your cock and completely cover it with her. Yena’s pussy lips splay and clasp your shaft with slippery friction.

She curses. “You’re so hard. Big, t-too.” She aims your cockhead at her clit and sighs at the toe-curling pleasure. “You think you can fit in me?”

“I guess we’ll have to see.”

Yena smirks. She continues soaking you with her wetness. Her juices pour from your head to your balls. Then, without warning, she sheathes your rod inside her.

You gasp. It’s so easy to slip yourself in and all too difficult to cope with how tight she is. Her walls, perfectly textured and sloppy, trap you and let you out, giving you false hope of escaping, only to imprison you again. It’s the best punishment you ever had.

Her throat was already better than the other cunts you’ve spent yourself in, so what does that make her pussy?

The best. Her overflowing waterfall lets her ride you easily. It seems like there’s a million spots inside her you can target for she quivers and cries with each bounce. Her hair flows photogenically while her chest does the same erotic motion.

“So fucking good, fuck,” Yena groans. Her round butt lands on your lap and you think you’d like it to stay there forever. Curl your hands around her cheeks. Draw a healthy moan from the throat you used.

Yena’s pussy curves and opens in every best way. She makes it so easy to mold her into the shape of your cock, to rearrange her insides. Was she made for dick? She’s so wet that you’d think she’s a nymphomaniac who won’t let you go, the same way her vagina won’t let you go as its grip curls around you and threatens to milk you to your wits’ end.

You wouldn’t mind that.

Her riding accelerates to an unbearable point the moment you start to spank her. She’s right about hurting and having sex being almost the same—you want to leave red handprints all over her jiggling ass. You want to pull her hair until she screams. You want to fuck this perfect cunt of hers right up to when she’s creaming all over you, flooding your sexes with her naturla nectar.

And the crazy thing is: she’ll actually let you.

“Fucking brat,” you say, hitting her butt again. She yelps coquettishly. “Are you really this thirsty for cock?”

“God, yes…” Her head throws back. Yena’s eyes shut and although her vision is blocked she sees stars. “Wanted to know how your dick would split me open. Fuck, keep doing that!”

Her core tightens with each blow you expel on her bouncing ass. Her hole’s already so enclosed so when she squeezes more, it’s close to having your cock tortured. You’re suffocating inside her. You’re waterboarded again and again with her waterfall of wetness.

You guide Yena’s motions with your hands on her behind. She’s so light that you’re practically using her as a doll, fucking her on your erection and letting yourself enjoy how her tits recoil. Her moans turn on a part of your brain that you don’t know, but it transmits to you these thoughts: fuck her senseless.

You raise her as high as you can, her weight nothing even to your long-untrained muscles, then slam her down. She sinks deeper into your lap and takes longer inches. Yena’s screams bounce off the soundproof walls that ensure only you can hear them. Those walls were fucking expensive, so of course you gotta let them have purpose. Slap Yena’s thighs down on yours and let her pussy envelop you right up to the point of bruises appearing on your skin.

How does she not sweat? Your hands wander all over her tight body and still you don’t find a drop of sweat. Her pigtails are still secured. You guess she was just made to be eternally pretty.

She is pretty, under any circumstance—her smooth skin possesses zero blemishes and her winged eyes remain lamp-bright. She’s pretty, even when she lets out the pitchiest sounds, even when Yena’s lips rise into a devilish smile before sealing on your neck. She nibbles on your skin and rakes up your sensitivity.

“Holy shit, Yena…”

“Yeah, that’s right.” She licks behind your ear and you nearly lose it. Maybe you already did. “Say my name. Because I’m all yours. This pussy is yours to use and abuse, so do it.”

Rub her tiny pulsing clit. Yena’s cries deafen you. If that’s not enough, she drowns you with her cum. There’s no raft to save you. You’re all alone. You’ll drown here and never see the light of day again.

Electricity runs through her body as the pleasure ramps up. Her fingers weaken on your shoulders. Her gasps are split off by larger, more surprised evolutions. Yena’s close.

“Fuck, no, I can’t!” Yena’s riding is furious and borderline abusive. The noises between your two crotches are louder than before.

“You can,” you insist. You throb inside her while her pussy becomes smaller despite the many thrusts you perform. “Take it like a good girl, Yena.”

“Fuck me, use me, I’m just your cute little helpless girl, fuck me!”

She couldn’t be more correct. She’s just a useless doll, thin and adorable and tight—so why not use her like one?

You’re surprised your limbs have any power in them, but they impress as you lift Yena up. During your walk to the counter, you don’t stop thrusting in her. She’s wet and ready, just waiting and begging for it to happen. Her pretty face is smudged with tears. There’s sick satisfaction in you from seeing how the confident girl at the bar is now just a fuckhole to use.

“Oh, oh, ah!” Cute little whines come out from those lips. Her mouth used its power to pick you up, make you cum, make you scared. In this second, all that is gone: she’ll only ever use it to wail in pleasure.

Knock her against the kitchen counter. Her thighs press to the curve. You spread them open and continue spending yourself to death in her. Her sides that slant to make the physique you love are perfect handles to thrust.

You’re completely soaked, but she’s completely defiled. The dream girl is not just any dream but a wet dream. She’s the fantasy you never had but will constantly think of now. And you don’t care if WAKE12 knows you’re fucking her. They can read all the thoughts you have about Yena as much as they like, and you wouldn’t care.

Instead of giving a fuck, you twist her around, her smooth back in front of you, and fuck her harder while you’re at it. Admire the way your hips slap her ass and give her the spanking she deserves. One spank, that’s for being so tempting. Another for the price of her promiscuity. Three one-after-the-other’s because she’s too wild, too free for a girl with that face.

“God, please, harder!” Yena cries. “Make me your little cocksleeve cumslut!”

She does not take pain to heart, physically and mentally. In spite of your rapid pumps and the slap of your stomach to her bent and ready ass, no bruises or scratches appear on her skin. You say all these degrading words and rather than mope about it, she gets more turned on. She forces you to give all your might in railing her in this apartment where the open windows give you away rather than the sounds. And you’re nodding along, saying:

“Of course.”

Of course you’ll grab her tits and pinch their nipples as hard as you can. Yena’s skin might not be humanly warm but these boobs are real. They’re soft in your palms and plentiful. Is she a masochist? You tweak and slap and squeeze; in response, she’s… smiling?

Of course you’ll slip your touch all over her body. Appreciate every perfect curve, every fine fullness. After fondling her tits, you slide your hands over her smooth pits, then to her arms that struggle to remain stable. She’s sensitive all over; it’s evident in the way she babbles each time you caress her.

Of course you’ll take her hair and pull as hard as you can. She won’t get mad. Nothing ever gets to the cool girl.

“Oh my god!” Yena shouts.

Those pigtails are there for a reason. Thrusts become easier to do with her hair curled in between your digits. Her ass meets your crotch easily and you find yourself excavating her cavern, hitting her in all the good places. Yena hums and screeches and sobs.

“Bad girl.” Her hair plays the role of your reins. They’re convenient in spreading Yena apart with your shaft, tearing at her tightness. “You’re nothing but a filthy cocksucking slut.”

“M-mhm, yes, just for you, just for this perfect dick, ahh! I’m cumming!”

Yena’s core flexes and contracts. It holds you like it never wants you to go but you let go anyway. You can do nothing besides that especially if it’s her, someone who’s so cute but so seductive, so challenging but submissive. Each part of her—those blowjob lips, her blooming face, her cockiness—makes you wish this could never end.

The first sign of the end of this pornographic one-reeler is your semen raining inside her, setting a storm in her guts. You pant, legs weak, while Yena’s seem to go on forever although she’s smaller than you.

The second sign is the mess she made. Those aforementioned desirable legs are painted by obscenity. She squirted all over your floor and herself. Your cum coats her vulva plus spills down freely.

Yena looking back at you with a tired smile is the last one, along with her asking, through shattered breaths, “Better than your whore ex?”

Because that’s the thing about girls like Yena. They’ll do everything to please you. Perhaps she’s a good dresser, but really, this is your style, not hers. This type of fashion is what you like on women: modestly revealing. Girls like Yena will give you everything, make you discover yourself, and when all this happens, she’ll remain the thoughtless, forgiving girl. She won’t complain about things that will set you off and say coy, clever things, the kind men like to hear.

All just to be better.

She is.

“Yeah.”

Yena chuckles. For a moment, she looks like the sweetest girl in the world. The happiness overtakes her face and makes her smile reach her ears.

It disappears as fast as it arrived.

“Wrong fucking answer.”

Alarm sounds of every kind—natural disaster, fire, robbery, whistles—blare in your head. You can’t hear anything except the thin screeches of emergency. But for what?

Yena loses her brightness. Everything that made her shine shuts down. She smiles, that same one full of mischief, before she breaks, too. Her eyes turn pitch black, the ones you see in crows, the sign of bad luck. She disassembles part by part before you. The light girl is suddenly so heavy that she forces you down. Suddenly, her torso above yours feels colder than before.

What the fuck?

Escape is your first instinct. You push the remains of the girl away. Your feet kick the broken parts as if you’d break, too. You brush past the fringe of her bangs. Below it, no diamond scar rests on her forehead.

Stare down at her. Yena truly is not real. Your manic robotic dream girl is dead. She was never alive.

“You have been found guilty,” says the implant. You used to hear it when WAKE12 arrested people and now it talks to arrest you. The alarms are loud but you understand every fragment.

The implant’s emotionless voice now sounds a lot like—

“Chaewon?”

Bad luck comes just like the consequences of the law, personified by stilettos clicking on your floor, a shadow in the moonlight, and the face of the woman you swear you never wanted to see again.

And yet here she is.

Chaewon looks so much like Yena. Yena looks so much like Chaewon. Their chins, their eyes, their bangs—who is who? Their faces mingle and mix in your vision. You think you’re going crazy.

She puts away a remote control and places her hands on her hips. Her black bodysuit is all you see as she approaches. Her smiling lips don’t utter a word. You hear her voice, all in your head.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything and everything you do shall be punished by WAKE12 accordingly. This is the price you pay for your crime.”

There’s a gun in front of you. It’s aimed at your chest, determined to crush what keeps it beating. Raise your hands, but not in surrender. You’ll die before you try to be Chaewon’s toy again.

“What crime? Being your ex-boyfriend?” you spit. This has got to be a joke. “Chaewon, I said, what crime?”

She can’t abuse her authority. She couldn’t have done all that just to get back at you. And for what? Being a bad boyfriend when you were younger and dumber?

You hear her speak. That striking smile looks more terrifying than beautiful. It dissolves into darkness to pronounce your wrongdoing.

“For the crime of fucking existing,” she snarls.

You hate Chaewon. You swore you never did yet now you do wholeheartedly. You tried to love her and reciprocate her efforts. She’s a busy woman so she should have understood you had other commitments.

This is the last time you ever want to hear from her.

A bullet you don’t see coming. It soars in the wind and finds its home sweet home in your skull.

She’s the last thing you ever heard.

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a-aexotic · 1 year ago

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𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, chapter 1

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ! 3.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ! familial issues, underage drinking, tension (between literally every LOL), blair/serena hating each other, you/blair and you/serena being besties lol, a lotta winfrey lore

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ! ahhhh im super excited, as always please lmk your thoughts !!

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PRESENT DAY.

Hey, Upper East Siders, Gossip Girl here, and I have the most surprising news ever. Y/N Winfrey spotted back in town after she disappeared for almost 6 months. But where has she been all this time? Sources tell me she's been living it up in the City of Love, Paris. Oh la la! But what brings our darling Y/N back to the Big Apple after all this time? Could it be a scandalous affair, a family feud, or perhaps a fashionable rendezvous with the elite of Parisian society?

Rumors are swirling as to the reason behind Y/N's sudden return. Some say she's back to reclaim her rightful place among Manhattan's elite, while others speculate that she's returned to stir up trouble in the already turbulent waters of Upper East Side.

But what of Y/N's infamous entourage? Will her loyal subjects, Nate, Isabell, Kati and Blair, welcome her back with open arms, or will there be whispers of betrayal and backstabbing among the ranks of Manhattan's elite?

Will she pick up right where she left off, ruling the social scene with her signature grace? Or has her time away changed her in ways we can't even imagine? So grab your designer handbags and your most scandalous gossip, Upper East Siders, because things are about to heat up in the city that never sleeps. XOXO, Gossip Girl.

As the sleek black limousine rolled to a stop in front of the towering building, the door swung open with a soft whoosh, revealing the figure of Y/N Winfrey stepping out into the cool Manhattan air.

With a flick of your hair, you cast a cool gaze towards your old home, a grand penthouse that stood as a testament to the wealth and power of the Winfrey family. The familiar sight of the elegant facade stirred a flurry of emotions within you, memories both bitter and sweet flooding your mind as you took in your old home.

You were too focused on the old home to hear your mother come up from behind you, putting a hand on her shoulder as she examined the home as well. She hadn't been there since the divorce, which was almost a decade ago.

"I know you're nervous, Y/N. But don't let any of them get to you, okay?" Her voice rang in your ears as you nodded slowly. You weren't sure who she was referring to; your father's new family or your old friends. Or maybe, all of the above.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I won't."

With a reassuring squeeze of your mother's hand, you gathered your resolve and stepped forward, ready to face whatever awaited you within the walls of your old home.

Your new family met you with open arms and it felt strange to be back home, the same home you'd left; except, everything inside had changed. There were no more pictures of you anywhere, they were all replaced with wedding photos or pictures of your new stepsister, Charlene. It made your stomach twist in disgust, you couldn't believe your father had a brand-new, shiny family. The perfect family he'd prayed for, you were almost happy for him. Almost.

"So how was Paris, Y/N? Did you like it?" Josie's voice brought you back to real life. You turned your gaze up to meet hers, a tight smile on your lips. You were sat in the living room of the penthouse, alongside your mother and stepmother.

"It was... fun," you reply carefully, your tone neutral. You couldn't bring yourself to admit just how much you missed Paris, how it had felt more like home than this place ever did. Instead, you plastered on a facade of indifference, hoping to shield yourself. "It's too bad that we left."

Your mother let out a light laugh as she glanced back at you. "We'll be back as soon as we can. I just missed New York so much and I'm so happy to be back." What she didn't mention was that the only reason she was back was for her business, she wanted to open more shops in Manhattan.

"Yeah, it's nice to be back," you replied, forcing a smile. Despite your mother's attempt to lighten the mood, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of your stomach.

Josie, your stepmother, chimed in, her voice cheerful. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm sure you'll adjust to being back in no time. Especially with Eleanor's party tonight, you'll be attending that... right?"

"Yes, yes she will." Your mother answered for you. You knew that your mother wanted to reintroduce you back into Manhattan society but you didn't even have time to adjust back into New York time, you were jetlagged.

You didn't want to even think about why you even left in the first place. When you decided to leave, you promised that when you'd come back, you'd leave it in the past. You'd leave him in the past.

Nate. The mere thought of him sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the heartache you had endured before leaving for Paris. You had promised yourself that you would never allow him back into your life, that you would move on and leave the past where it belonged.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed as your mother and stepmother continued to discuss the details of the upcoming event, their voices fading into the background as your mind wandered back to memories you had long tried to forget.

──౨ৎ──

"And if they ask you about the business, what do you say?" Your mother quizzed you as she put on lipgloss, looking into the mirror of the hallway of the building that Blair's penthouse resided in.

You tore your gaze away from your own reflection to meet your mother's eyes, a sense of unease creeping into your stomach. "I'll say that things are going well," you replied, your tone carefully neutral. "That we're expanding and looking for new opportunities in Manhattan."

Your mother nodded in approval, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Good," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Just remember to keep it vague. We're a family, and we need to show the world that we're strong, no matter what."

You forced a smile, though the weight of your mother's words hung heavy in the air. The facade of unity was fragile, and you knew that beneath the surface, tensions simmered, threatening to boil over at any moment.

Your mother finally finished her lip gloss, focusing now solely on you. "Remember, confidence is key. You're representing not just yourself, but our entire family."

"Got it." You answered, the words coming out as more of a reassurance to yourself than to her.

Her words echoed in your mind as you followed her towards Blair's penthouse, the anticipation of Eleanor's party looming ever closer. The elevator dinged and the door opened, revealing the glamorous penthouse of the Waldorf's. Your mother's hand found yours as she squeezed it, reassuring as you two walked back into Manhattan's elite society.

"Priscilla Winfrey! You made it!"

Your mother's head turned to meet Eleanor, a charming smile enveloping her lips as she walked toward her.

"Oh, and is that Y/N?" Eleanor gasped as she studied you, taking every little detail in. "You look absolutely stunning, sweetheart. You're starting to look more and more like your mother every passing day."

"Thank you, Ms. Waldorf," you replied graciously, offering her a polite smile. Despite the compliment, you couldn't shake the sense of unease that gnawed at you.

Eleanor's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she turned her attention back to your mother, engaging her in conversation. Left momentarily alone, you scanned the room, taking in the familiar faces that surrounded you.

Your eyes landed on your old friend group, all seated on the couch. A sense of nostalgia hit you as you examined their faces, all the nights you'd spent partying with them playing in your head. Isabell, Kati and Chuck sat as they spoke, talking about God knows what.

You couldn't help but wonder where Blair was, it was her party and she wasn't with her friends. And of course, Nate.

Chuck's eyes finally met yours, a wide smirk on his lips as his eyes fell on your body before back to your eyes. But before you could go up to them, you heard an excited squeal behind you.

"Y/N!"

You recognize that voice anywhere; it was Blair. She enveloped you in a tight hug, her excitement palpable as she pulled back to study your face. "Oh my God, it's been too long." she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling but there was something you couldn't quite place. "You look amazing, as always."

You were nervous, it had been so long since you'd seen your old best friend. Your stomach twisted in guilt as you gave her a tight smile, her hands squeezing yours. "Thank you, Blair. You looked stunning but I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that."

Blair's smile faltered for just a moment before she regained her composure, a flash of something unreadable passing through her eyes. "Thank you, Y/N," she replied, her tone warm but tinged with an undercurrent of tension. "I'm just glad you're here. Like, really here."

You and Blair had been close since you were kids, your families being close since the beginning of time, basically. Your mothers were best friends in school and now, you are too. Before you left Paris, you told Blair and Serena and made sure to give them calls whenever you could. But soon, Serena stopped answering your calls and according to Blair, she just disappeared to a boarding school in Connecticut.

Blair still didn't know the real reason you fled to Paris and that gulit chipped at you everyday, even more now as you saw her lips curve into a rare genuine smile.

"I've missed you, Blair," you replied, your voice tinged with sincerity. "It's good to be back."

"It's good to have you back, Y/N." Blair gave your hand a squeeze before she spoke again. "Excuse me for two seconds, I have to go to the bathroom."

"Of course, Blair," you replied, offering her a reassuring smile as she excused herself.

You let out a sigh before turning your focus back to your mom, who was now in a conversation with a person you weren't sure you knew the name of. You knew you couldn't bother her right now, she was networking.

With a resigned sigh, you resigned yourself to the role of observer, content to blend into the background as your mother worked her magic in the world of Manhattan's elite. It wasn't the first time you had found yourself sidelined in favor of your mother's professional pursuits, and you knew it wouldn't be the last.

You couldn't blame her, though. After the divorce, her career had become more than just a family business—it had become her lifeline, it was the only thing she still had.

You remembered the days that followed your parents' separation, the way your mother had thrown herself into her work with a fervor bordering on obsession. It had been her way of coping, her way of escaping the pain and heartache that had threatened to consume her. You didn't blame her, her high school sweetheart had left her for a woman almost half her age, closer in age with her daughter than her.

You found the drinks table quickly, grabbing a glass of champagne and taking a sip of it. As you lifted the glass to your lips, the cool and crisp taste of the champagne washed over your tongue, distracting you from the emotions swirling within you. With a sigh of contentment, you leaned against the table, letting the hum of conversation and laughter wash over you.

As you scanned the room, your eyes fell on a familiar brunette. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized who it was; the person you'd been wanting to escape since you left for Paris. His bright blue eyes met yours and you felt a rush of conflicting emotions flood through you. It was Nate, your once-close friend, the one person who had been a constant presence in your life before everything changed.

His gaze held surprise as he caught sight of you across the room, and for a moment, you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him. You were frozen, unable to move as he approached you.

You couldn't escape him now.

Nate's lips curved into a smile as he took you in, with all your glory. "Y/N, you're back. It's, uh... good to see you."

"Yeah, you too." You responded, giving him a short answer.

Nate's smile faltered slightly at your response, a flicker of disappointment flashing across his features before he quickly masked it. "So, uh... how have you been?" he asked, his tone cautious as though treading on uncertain ground.

"I've been good. And you?"

"Me too. I'm happy you're back." He looked down at the glass of champagne as he let out a chuckle. "I'm glad you still have that taste of champagne, some things just never change."

You couldn't help but smile at Nate's attempt to lighten the mood, the tension between you easing ever so slightly. "Yeah, some things never change," you agreed, a hint of warmth creeping into your voice.

"Nate!" Blair's voice echoed as she came up to the two of you, grabbing his arm. "You don't mind if I steal him for a second, Y/N."

You and Nate exchanged looks before you tore your eyes from him and back to Blair, a forced smile playing on your lips. "Of course not, he's all yours." In more ways than one, you thought to yourself as the two walked away, leaving you alone once again.

Before you could relish in being alone again, your mother's voice rang behind you. "Y/N! Blair! Look who's back."

You turned to meet the blonde you'd once called your best friend. Serena. Her gaze held excitement as she found yours, you began walking toward and engulfing her in a big embrace.

You didn't know why she left for Connecticut but you knew she would tell you and Blair eventually. You, Serena and Blair had always been close and tight-knit, no matter the circumstances.

Serena pulled out of the hug and put her hands on your shoulders as she studied your face, a grin on her face. "You're glowing, Y/N."

"Says you. How did you get even more blonde since I've seen you?" You teased as she let out a laugh.

Serena's laughter echoed through the hallway, a sound that filled you with a sense of warmth and familiarity. Despite the time that had passed since you had last seen each other, it felt as though no time had passed at all.

"I've been spending way too much time in the sun," Serena admitted with a playful grin, her blue eyes sparkling. "But enough about me, tell me everything. How was Paris? Did you meet any cute French boys?"

You chuckled at Serena's teasing. "Paris was amazing," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you recalled your time. "And as for French boys, well, let's just say they definitely live up to the hype."

Serena laughed, nudging you playfully with her elbow. "I knew it!"

"Serena?"

You both turned to face Blair, a unreadable expression on her face before she quickly masked it with excitement. She pulled her into a tight hug but you could feel the tension, what the hell did you miss when you were Paris?

"So good to see you, how are you?" Blair pulled out of the hug as she looked in between you.

"Oh, look! The girls are back together, my heart is gonna burst." Eleanor gasped as she observed the scene in front of her, oblivious to the tension in the room. "Are you staying for dinner, I'll set a place next to Y/N and Blair!"

"Yeah, um, there's somewhere I have to go." Serena looked in between you, a guilty expression on her face.

"You're leaving?" Blair's voice sounded hurt as she looked back at Serena.

"Yeah... I don't feel well, I-I just wanted to come and say hi. I'll see you guys at school tomorrow." Serena responded as she slowly began to back up, before she turned away.

Blair's expression dropped immediately back to a bitter expression, looking back to you. "At least you're staying. Who needs Serena anyway?" She whispered the last part as she turned away and began walking away.

You began following behind her, "What did I miss?"

"What do you mean?"

You caught up to Blair and you two began walking toward the couch. "I mean... with you and S?"

"Serena." She corrected. "And nothing except all you know. She left without saying a word, to none of us." Blair sounded bitter but you knew deep down, she was just hurt.

"Well, maybe something happened."

"With what?" Chuck joined the conversation as Blair glared at him. You could feel Chuck's gaze on your dress as he smirked.

"Mind your business, Chuck." Blair spoke as she rolled her eyes.

You caught Chuck's gaze, his smirk igniting a spark of annoyance within you. "Chuck, it's not polite to stare," you retorted, your tone sharp as you shot him a pointed look. Some things never do change, you thought.

Chuck's smirk widened at your words, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Forgive me, I couldn't help but admire the view," he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You did some growing up in Paris, I could tell." His eyes were focused on your dress as you scoffed.

"Paris does wonders for a person," you replied dryly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

──౨ৎ──

"I'm pregnant! Surprise, Y/N!" Josie shouted as your father pulled her in closer, your jaw slowly falling. She's... what? Your fork clattered against the plate, the sound echoing in the tense silence that followed Josie's announcement. Pregnant? The word echoed in your mind, disbelief and shock washing over you in waves.

Your head was pounding, you got home around 12:30 last night because the party lasted a little longer than expected. You were just trying to enjoy your breakfast before school, but then they drop this bombshell on you.

"Wh-what?" You finally managed to stammer out, your eyes wide with disbelief as you looked at Josie. "How does, uh, Charlene feel about it?"

Charlene was Josie's daughter from her previous relationship, she was about two years younger than you and... well, you couldn't stand her.

"You can ask her yourself!" Josie's gaze moved behind you and you turned to face Charlene. Speak of the devil.

Charlene's lips curved into a smile, though there was a flicker of something else in her eyes. "Super excited. I mean, I can't wait to be an older sister."

There was awkward silence before you got up from the dining table, clearing your throat. "Well... I have to get ready for school. This was really nice."

You got up and began walking up the stairs, ignoring their stares. You wanted to stay with your mom but she was staying at The Palace and your father insisted you stayed with them and his shiny new family.

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