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bunniestial · 2 days ago

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MILKSHAKES & HEARTACHES

L.F x ChildhoodBestFriend!Reader

Summary: You hated Felix. You hated how he was successful and how you weren't. You hated how is voice echoed on every radio. You hated how he forgot about you when he got a taste of fame. When Stray Kids rents out the American themed diner you work at for a music video, repressed feelings bubble back up.

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★ Chapter 2: Ancient History ★

The key felt unusually heavy in your hand as you approached the diner. It was 8:30 a.m., and your to-do list was short, but loaded.

1. Unlock the diner.

2. Clean - extra thoroughly (despite the deep clean you'd done just before closing last night).

3. Turn away any customers who didn’t get the memo that the place was closed for filming.

4. Wait around and try not to throw up all over the freshly polished black-and-white tiles.

Simple enough. In theory.

You moved on autopilot , politely turning away the elderly couple who showed up every morning for pancakes, wiping down every inch of counter space, and dusting under each tacky trinket on display. The cameras wouldn’t catch those details, but cleaning helped keep your spiraling nerves in check.

By 10:24, the first wave of vehicles pulled in — a small entourage, with people spilling out like ants from a kicked nest, all wearing JYP lanyards and name tags.

You stepped outside and propped open the diner's glass door.

“Hi!” you called out, approaching the cluster of crew, trying to keep your voice from trembling.

“Hey there. We’re just gonna set up,” an older man said gruffly, motioning to his team with a few quick gestures. They moved instantly, unloading van after van with clockwork precision.

Lighting rigs.

Makeup chairs.

Mirrors.

Cameras.

Monitors.

And a whole bunch of equipment you couldn’t even name.

As much as you loathed JYP, the company, the chaos, all of it, you had to admit: they were an efficient machine.

“You got a staff room?” the same man asked. “We need somewhere to put the makeup artists.”

Perfect. The one place that had been your safe zone - your only escape from the impending madness- was now being claimed too.

“Yeah... follow me,” you mumbled.

You winced as they flooded in, completely taking over. Your tiny locker, once proudly decorated with stickers a little kid gave you after you made him a cat-shaped waffle, had been shoved aside to make room for coolers packed with water bottles. A wrinkled sign had been taped to the front of the fridge: ARTIST USE ONLY, scrawled across a sheet of printer paper.

Of course it was.

The cooler door slammed shut with a hollow thunk, and someone yelled for a ring light. You barely managed to wedge yourself out of the crowded staff room, murmuring apologies no one really noticed.

Back out front, a sleek black van pulled up to the curb like it was arriving for a royal coronation. Another followed. Then another. Doors swung open and out they came... the artists. Every one of them perfect, polished, radiant in that not-quite-human way that only idols ever managed to be. Even in sweats and bare-faced, they carried a quiet gravity that made the rest of the world tilt slightly around them.

Chan got out of the car first, followed by hyunjin and chnagbin, then Minho, Jisung, Jeongin.

And finally Felix.

You knew it would hurt... Seeing him again. Of course you'd seen him on billboards, on television and on your social medias. He haunted you, for lack of a better word.

He looked ethereal, handsome, his bleach blonde locks tied into a low bun, he had a black face mask on, sunglasses on, as of he wanted to block the world out, he was a true star.

You ducked your head quickly, avoiding eye contact. Not that anyone noticed you, no one ever did anymore.

Sliding your phone from your back pocket, you stepped off to the side, fingers fumbling slightly as you called your manager. You tucked yourself behind a rusted trash can near the edge of the lot, not glamorous, but far enough from the fray.

It rang twice before he picked up.

“Hey,” you said, trying not to sound too on edge. “Just a heads-up: they’re here. Everyone. Crew, equipment, idols... the whole fucking circus.”

A pause. Then: “Already? They weren’t scheduled till eleven.”

“Well,” you sighed, fishing out the crushed pack of cigarettes from your coat, “guess they’re early birds today.”

You lit one with practiced hands, shielding the flame from the breeze, and took a long drag. The smoke hit your lungs like relief. Your manager was saying something, something about waivers or set boundaries or meal delivery times, but his voice blurred under the weight of your thoughts.

The black vans still sat idling by the curb, glossy and smug. You watched as a stylist adjusted one of the idols’ collars, brushing invisible lint from their shoulder while two more followed behind with racks of neatly steamed clothes.

“Are they being nice to you?” your manager asked, his tone shifting a little. “Respectful?”

You hesitated, the cigarette burning gently between your fingers.

“No one’s said a word to me. So... I guess that’s respectful?”

Another pause. “Okay. Text me if anything weird happens. And don’t let them steamroll you.”

You looked over at the sign above the door. Lenny’s Diner — but even the name felt ghostlike today, like it had been temporarily erased and replaced with Set Location: Scene 5

“Sure,” you muttered. “I’ll stand my ground... right after I finish chain-smoking behind the dumpster.”

Your manager laughed, and the sound made something ease a little in your chest.

“You’ll survive,” he said. “You always do.”

The phone call ended with a beep, as you let out a sigh as you did some... Inner reflection.

You used to have potential. You could sing, dance, you stuck to every strict diet, lost weight when you were told to, smiled differently, talked differently. You were the pinnacle of perfection.

Or at least that's what you thought you were, before you were dropped, by not only your company, but your best friend too. Your dreams were crushed with one fell swoop.

You tried to keep your dream alive, you made music, tried to find a record label that would support you. When that ultimately failed you did it yourself, made tiktoks to promote it, downloaded various software apps to make an album cover.

It did okay for a first release, held together with a string and some got glue (symbolically).

But it wasn't sustainable, between working full time at Lenny's diner, trying to save up to move back home and leave Korea, when hiring a studio for a day was $700.

Oh! That was another aspect to the shit show that was your life. You were stuck in Korea, away from family and friends, and you couldn't afford a ticket back home. That was something you wallowed in self pity about for a good while.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" A voice called out. "What are you doing next to a dumpster y/n-ie?"

"Chan?!" Your eyes shot open, and your heart dropped somewhere around your shoes.

There he stood, same warm eyes which used to look at you as you stumbled over Korean words, same lopsided grin, only now framed by expertly tousled hair and the kind of skin that clearly hadn’t seen a cheap diner shift in years. He was dressed in a fitted navy sweater and joggers that probably cost more than your monthly rent, looking every bit like the successful, beloved leader he was.

And yet, he still sounded like the guy who once stayed up with you till 3 a.m. writing songs in a cramped studio closet.

You stubbed the cigarette out on the pavement and tried to collect yourself.

"I could ask you the same thing," you managed, stuffing the half-empty pack back into your pocket. "Didn’t think global idols loitered behind dumpsters for fun."

Chan laughed, that low, familiar chuckle that made something twist in your chest. “What can I say? Old habits die hard. I saw someone sneak back here and wanted to make sure it wasn't a sasaeng- who would've thought it would be an old friend?"

You offered a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"Didn't think you'd recognize me," you said, voice soft. "It’s been a while."

He shrugged, stepping closer, hands tucked into his pockets. "It’s not like I forgot you, Y/N. How could I?"

Your throat tightened.

You could feel your heart thudding against your ribs, but you masked it with a dry laugh. “Well, seems like everyone else managed just fine.”

Chan didn’t answer right away. He looked at you, really looked... taking in the worn-out hoodie you’d thrown on this morning, the faded jeans, the exhaustion etched into your features.

“I heard about what happened,” he said gently. “With your label. With... everything.”

You looked away. "Yeah, well. Ancient history."

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t suck,” he murmured.

The silence between you stretched a little too long.

"Why are you here, Chan?" you finally asked. "Not just here-here, but here. Talking to me like we didn’t just go radio silent for two years."

He winced. You hadn't meant to hit him with that much force, but the words had been building for too long to come out politely.

“I wanted to,” he said. “Reach out. But it felt... complicated. Especially with Felix.”

Ah. There it was.

You sucked in a breath through your nose, grounding yourself.

"He's here too, right?"

Chan nodded. "Yeah. He’s in the makeup chair. I don’t think he knew you’d be here.”

You let out a small, bitter laugh. “No one tells Felix anything until it’s too late.”

Another beat of silence passed, the hum of generators and shouting crew members filling in the gaps.

Chan shifted, then pulled something from his back pocket. A familiar object — black and scuffed around the edges. A USB.

"I found this the other day," he said, holding it out. "You gave it to me once. Said it had demo vocals you didn’t want to lose. I forgot I had it... until we were packing for this shoot."

You took it gingerly, staring at it like it might burn you.

“I was gonna throw it away,” he continued. “But I couldn’t. Felt wrong.”

You didn’t answer, just turned the USB over in your hand. Your voice was on this thing — your younger self, hopeful, raw. That version of you felt like a stranger now.

"I listened to one of the tracks," Chan added softly. “The one called ‘Second Best.’”

You blinked.

“You remember that?” you asked, unable to hide your surprise.

“I remember all your songs.” Your breath hitched.

Before you could think of how to respond, another voice called out sharply from the back door of the diner.

"Chan! We need you on set for lighting tests in ten!"

He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to you.

“I gotta go,” he said. “But... are you staying the whole shoot?”

You shrugged. “I kind of have to. I work here..."

He gave a small smile, that told a different story from the pity in his eyes. “Right. Of course. Look... I know it’s messy. But if you want to talk, really talk, i'd like that.”

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t shut him down either. And maybe that was enough for now.

Chan jogged off, leaving you alone with the USB and the rising churn of nerves in your stomach.

You turned it over again, thumb brushing against the label you’d written in faded Sharpie: “For Safe-Keeping – Y/N.”

As if on cue, the back door creaked open again. You looked up, and your breath caught.

Felix.

No mask, no glasses, just his face, stunning and open and achingly familiar. His eyes found yours almost instantly.

He froze.

You froze.

A thousand memories roared to life all at once. Midnight studio sessions. Street food at 2 a.m. His laugh when he got nervous. His hand in yours.

You swallowed.

He took a slow step forward.

And then another.

"...Y/N?" he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart cracked wide open

--------

A/n this is not proofread ahhh sorry 😖😖

Felix tags: @thatcuntblog @hyunjinsfavwif3 @0325tiny @plus-ultra0 @starrylixq @chasinghxran @iambangchanswife @chaeone1 @peskybirdysya @wilmalovegood @mafiulaputaama @technicallyimportantsweets @beal-o @sweatynightnight @robinnotgood24 @16lotonhermind @pegassus-101 @afararraaaa @jennibahng @jaemdonut @strsforjsb @strwbrryzhra @channiesbighugs

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facts-i-just-made-up · 3 months ago

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Conspiracy Theory Review: Vance vs Pope

With vice president J.D. Vance having met with the Pope briefly before the latter's death, many internet conspiracy theorists are going wild with the idea that Vance, who the Pope had called "a big meanie" in so many words (but in Latin) only a month before his demise, murdered the Pope in revenge. This is of course absurd as the Pope had his own health issues and Vance is so inept as a human being that he likely couldn't kill an ant with a nuclear bomb. But something has been overlooked:

Pope John Paul I was also murdered, and Vance's whereabouts at the time have never been established. Here are the facts:

Fascists shot several children in Rome the night of the Pope's death. J.D. Vance has famously said that he enjoys when fascists shoot several children in Rome.

Pope John Paul I died only 35 days into his papacy. Vance has had several days in his vice-presidency. Both types of days involved have the exact same number of hours in them.

Godfather Part III has a subplot involving the assassination of Pope John Paul I. I+III=IV, V being the last initial of J.D. Vance. Vance has also stated that he considers III to be the best Godfather movie.

John Paul I's death may have been related to a Vatican banking scandal. J.D. Vance has admitted to having used banks in the past to deposit and withdraw money, the same substance the scandal was over. He may even have money in banks to this day.

Vance was born in 1984, only six years after John Paul I's assassination. It takes exactly six years for the Earth to make one rotation around the sun. This means that Vance may have occupied the same place in space as Pope John Paul I, on the same planet- And that planet is in fact Earth, which features in many conspiracy theories including the one about UFOs. And what three letters appear in the name of John Paul I? U, F, and O, with the F being a J.

To conclude: We at FIJMU don't claim that Vance killed Pope John Paul I, but he did unquestionably murder him, and that murder may well have been the cause of his death, if he really is dead, which he is.

Or is he...?

#pope francis #jd vance #conspiracy theory #current events #unreality

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rottingpink · 4 months ago

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dollhouse | the salesman

cw: ceo! salesman, stalking, sadism, naive! reader, heavy manipulation, coercion, dacryphilia, female pronouns used on reader, groping, heavy petting, lying, voyeurism (threat), p in v, fingering, backshots, consensual, MDNI, mature content ahead

synopsis: the salesman, ceo of a multinational corporation and one of the richest men in the country, finds a plaything to occupy himself with

masterlist

He didn't really need to be here. But he wanted to.

His empire ran without his supervision. It was fueled by the greed lurking deep in every human, the desperation for success and wealth. He liked to watch the hope of people- people so unlike him, who sat in his expensive leather chairs, wrung their hands and emptied their pockets- flicker weakly in their eyes.

He liked to watch the way they ached to change their lives by putting their last won in the right investments, but only if they played smart. Listened to the right people.

He walked the upper floor of the building methodically, his hands buried in his pockets as he surveyed the floor below through the glass. From up here, he could see everything. The traders looked like ants, which they were, to him. Ants he could crush beneath the heel of his designer shoes, if he felt like it.

They scrambled at their desk, fingers moving across keyboards, their voices a quiet din of numbers and false promises. At the heart of it all was money. His money.

He had spent years honing his instincts to lie, cheat and steal. He knew which buttons to press, and which words to make people crack under pressure. He built his empire with the same philosophy that had helped him survive back when he worked only for the games. Find the desperate, make them hope, and watch them crash and burn.

And they did burn. Every time. Here, though, he worked on his own terms. He didn't have to slap them around or bait them into playing a ridiculous children's game. Here, they approached him to sign away their savings, future, and dignity.

He leaned against a railing, crossing his arms over each other, his watch glinting and shining from the lighting of the chandelier hanging overhead. He watched a man in a poorly tailored suit wipe sweat from his forehead while speaking to one of his advisors. His hands shook wildly as he signed a contract. Probably the last of the man's money, going straight into one of his accounts.

The salesman smirked, shifting his weight as the smooth fabric of his suit stretched against the muscles of his back. He didn't feel bad. He had worked for all of this luxury.

His gaze smoothed over the floor, over the rows of desks, and the electronic boards displaying market trends and stock markets, his gaze stopping on a woman sitting in the office of one of his best employees.

Hunched in your chair, shoulders curled inward as if trying to take up less space. You sported an old sweatshirt, faded from too many washes, wrinkled jeans, and a baseball cap that tugged low over your face, though it couldn't hide the resignation clouding your delicate features.

You looked young, much too young to be sitting in an office like this, across from one of his employees, listening to the man pitching a high risk, high reward scenario, encouraging you to invest more than you planned. Just a little more, of course. Pushing the idea that this was your big break.

And of course, you were listening. The exhaustion in your eyes was momentarily replaced by a sickeningly impossible chance at making it big. Hence why that was one of the Salesman's favorite employees.

You weren't demanding guarantees or questioning the risk. No, you were nodding along like you were in a trance, your eyes flitting periodically to the numbers on the big screens above you like they held all the answers to your sad little life.

His eyes lit up with a fascination he hadn't felt in a long time.

He had seen plenty of people about to hit the age of a midlife crisis come around here and fall for this trap. But girls like you? Quite rare.

His blood heated ever so slightly. Because you weren't just desperate, you were naive. Easy to influence. He liked that sort.

And yet, despite his growing interest, he wouldn't go down to meet you. Not yet, at least. That wasn't how he operated. The best games required patience for the reward to be more fulfilling.

So, instead of approaching himself or making himself known, he turned away and walked back to the executive wing of his building. The private floors, higher up, where the real power sat.

As he reached his office, he was already undoing the top button on his suit jacket, leaning back into the chair behind his desk. Opening his computer, his monitor flickered to life, casting a pale glow over his face. It held his security system. Hundreds of cameras. Spectating ever floor, ever hallway, every desk.

He leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee as he flicked through the channels using his mouse, finding you quickly.

Still sitting there, still nodding at whatever bullshit his advisor was feeding you. You looked hesitant, gnawing your lower lip before finally reaching for your phone, presumably to check your account.

He tsked. "Tch. Little thing insists on hiding her face under such a filthy hat." He zoomed in, trying to catch a glimpse of your features, while simultaneously turning up the volume of his monitor. He watched you schedule another appointment for next Thursday.

He quickly grabbed his agenda from his desk, flipped to the right page, and noted it down. His gaze returned to the gaze, watching as you stood and made your way towards the exit, he tilted his head, quickly switching his feed to a new angle, one of the cameras near the elevator bank.

He watched as you stepped inside, leaning back against the wall as the doors slid shut.

Before they did, he lifted the walkie from his desk.

"Security, come in," he murmured. A crackle. Then, "Yes, sir?"

"The girl in the baseball cap." His eyes stayed glued to the screen, tracking the floor numbers as the elevator descended. "Follow her. Discreetly. I want to know what car she gets into."

"10-4, boss."

He nodded with satisfaction, now moving through the cameras more rapidly. His fingers twitch over the angles almost like a man possessed. He hadn't had excitement like this in ages. Anticipation curled in his gut as he ignored the ringing of his work phone for a board meeting which was meant to take place tonight, lingering on the outside camera.

The elevator doors slid open, and you stepped out into the dim lighting of the parking structure.

But something made him sit up straight.

Because as you walked, you lifted a hand to the brim of your cap. And then, with a small sigh, you tugged it off. And fuck.

Your hair spilled out, soft and tousled from being pressed beneath the hat, falling in slight curls that brushed your shoulders.

And your face... long lashes with bright eyes that caught in the dull overhead light. You let out a long sigh, perhaps of relief, as you ducked your head once more, continuing towards your car.

He ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek as something swam around in his stomach. It wasn't pleasant for him. He wasn’t sure the last time he’d had a physical reaction to just looking at someone, but now, sitting in his chair, his breath was heavier, slower.

"Boss." His earpiece sounded once more. "She's getting into... some old Honda. License plate..." He read out the numbers and letters, and the Salesman quickly wrote them down, mumbling them to himself.

"Acknowledged." He says sternly to his security guard team. "Thank you for your work."

He leaned back in his chair once more, watching the screen as your taillights disappeared down the ramp, already counting down the days until next Thursday.

Later, in his boardroom, he was hardly listening to the constant droning of men in suits. Some executive from the European division was talking about expansion in Berlin, with another adding in information about the numbers in Munich. Projections for the next quarter that he didn't give a fuck about.

Not when he had a little someone that was invading ever corner of his mind. He was on his phone under the table, deriving information from your license plate. He found your vehicle identification number, a few accidents you'd gotten into years ago that he was thankful you recovered from.

But the jackpot was your home address. He grinned, watching his screen with interest. You lived just where he had expected. In a little apartment far from the city. A low income area with cheap rent and cramped rooms.

He tapped on his maps app and typed in your address nimbly, staring at an overhead view of your apartment. He exhaled deeply, closing his eyes to imagine you making your way to your bedroom to take off your clothes and shower. God, he could imagine how you looked under those old clothes. Probably all soft curves and smooth skin. He felt himself getting too worked up, in the middle of a meeting as well.

He loosened his tie a little to breathe properly, trying to will away the throbbing in his crotch. He wished he could see inside. He wished he could have bugged you slipped a camera into that tiny excuse of a living space and watch you flit around like a mouse.

He swallowed thickly, gnawing on his lower lip. Oh, when he got his hands on you...

"Sir?" He barely glanced up. A man was staring at him expectantly from across the long, polished table. "What." he said coldly, wanting to almost snap at him for interrupting his little fantasy, his eyes still flicking through the images on his screen.

"I was asking if you approve of the updated revenue projections for the Munich division."

"Sure. Do whatever you want, Mr. Park. I trust you know what to do with expansion." he said, not looking at him.

The man hesitated. "Uh, so—that’s a yes?" He sighed through his nose, clicking his phone off and finally lifting his gaze. "Yes," he said flatly. "Good work, Park. Keep it up." The man beamed, nodding furiously before returning to his numbers.

He groaned slowly, his grip tightening around his phone.

The knowledge that you were all alone, desperate, and in a time of need, made him ache. He hoped you were crying. He liked tears, the look of defeat and helplessness in people's eyes, because it made them so easy to control, and if you were crying, he could have his way with you so easily. You'd fall into his hands.

His blood hummed. It was too risky to just show up at your dirty apartment, even with how badly he wanted to break in and pounce on you like an animal without a leash.

Instead, he opted for an alternative. He flicked his hand.

"The meeting is closed. All of you, back to your stations, if you have anything left for the day. If not, go home." He paused, turning his gaze to the advisor who'd spoken to you today. "Mr. Kim. You stay."

Mr. Kim paled slightly, fearing punishment, and the rest of the employees scrambled out of the room, not wanting to face his potential anger.

The man straightened, approaching his boss with careful reverence.

"Sir?"

"You handled the woman today," he said, voice smooth, measured. "The young one. Soft, pretty face, yes?"

Mr. Kim fidgeted slightly, letting out a soft, confused scoff. "Uh… yes, sir. A few actually, but-"

"You know which one I mean."

The man nodded quickly.

"She scheduled another appointment for Thursday," Kim added. "Seemed… hesitant. Didn’t have much to invest with." He already knew that.

"Her bank details."

Mr. Kim blinked. "Sir? Doesn't our policy say-"

"Her. Bank. Details."

Kim nodded quickly, knowing better than to question his boss.

He sat in the office of his luxury apartment, logging into your bank account with ease. He sees your recent transactions, and the pitiful sum of money lingering in your savings. His lip curled, and he transferred out three-quarters of your money, sending it into one of his private accounts, untraceable and easy to plant seeds of doubt in your mind.

Gone. Just like that.

With your money gone right after coming home from his company, you'd either assume your advisor had made the investment without you, or you'd think you'd just been robbed outright. Either way, he knew you'd return. His breath came shallow with excitement of the prospect of seeing you tomorrow.

Like clockwork, you were in the office next morning, early. He spotted you from a few meters away, standing in the middle of Mr. Kim's office, your hands shaking as you gripped the edge of his desk.

Tears streaked your face, and your whole body wracked with panic. God, you were hysterical. Your screams rang throughout the entire lower floor. His breath hitched.

He was already getting hard. You were wearing yoga pants today, something unfit for such a fine establishment. your jacket was faded, and his gaze roamed your body as you began to pace and shake with the sheer desperation clouding your mind.

"I didn't authorize that! What the fuck made you think it was okay to just drain my bank account while I was sleeping? Do you realize how sick that is? I don't even know where it went! You took advantage of me!" your voice broke, hoarse from crying, thick with rage.

Mr. Kim jumped, looking slightly put off. "Miss, I understand, really, but I swear I didn't-"

"Then where the hell is my m-money?" You shriek, your voice breaking on the last word.

The Salesman closed his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose as he felt a sharp coil of pleasure tighten in his gut, like yesterday. You did things to him he couldn't describe.

Your eyes were bloodshot, plump lips wobbling, and you jabbed your finger at Kim's computer in accusation.

The irony of it all was that he was the one who was holding all of it in his account as you took your anger out on his employee. He was enjoying this way more than he had expected. You, this pathetic little thing, sobbing over a couple thousand won, in those tight fucking pants, looking so small...

He wanted more.

You were breaking apart, shaking and crying, your breath coming in shallow, choked little gasps, and Kim was floundering to explain what had happened to your money.

He straightened his tie, adjusted the cuffs of his suit, and walked into the office with a slow, deliberate ease, his expression smooth, unreadable, effortlessly controlled. The moment Kim saw him, his face went pale. He immediately got to his feet, though he didn't even look at him.

He couldn't be bothered by the man right now. He had his focus on you, and my my... you looked so much better up close. Especially because of your tears.

Your eyes widened as your gaze locked with his, confusion crossing your features. You knew him, obviously. Everyone in the city did. His handsome face was everywhere. In ads on TV, on billboards by the highways, in magazines. A figure of power, fortune, and influence.

And yet here he was, right in front of you, involving himself in your mess... why?

It's not like it would be a big deal if you told anyone that you thought his company scammed you. Even suing him wouldn't make a dent in his bank account.

But he liked that you were confused. It gave him control.

"What's the issue here?" He asked smoothly, his voice calm, pleasant, like he didn’t already know exactly what the issue was.

You hiccupped weakly, adjusting your baseball cap. He thought it was cute that you tried to make yourself look more presentable for him.

Your eyes widened a bit as he leaned down to your level when you failed to answer, his lithe body bent forward so that he could get in your face. His hands moved slow enough for it to be unrecognizable, so you didn't flinch away.

He reached up and lifted your cap, brushing his knuckles against your forehead.

Your hair was soft beneath his touch, and he hummed lowly, barely restraining himself from gripping it, from tilting your head back and seeing how pliant you could be. Perhaps kiss your smooth throat. Or crush it under his grip.

Sensing your discomfort, he asks for your name as if he didn't already know all about you. You told him quietly, and he nodded, repeating it back to himself. "Pretty," he cooed softly.

"M-my money." You say finally, as he ran his fingers over your face, gently dabbing your tears away. You stilled completely, barely breathing. You physically felt your face starting to glow pink and warm up.

"Yes, dear? What about it?" He said, moving your hair out of your face so he could continue wiping your face, forcing himself not to look at your lips, which were slightly raw from biting. He could make them more red. He promised himself to bite them until they were cherry red when he finally got you alone.

His cock was nearly fully stiff now, pushing against his slacks. He made sure your face was tilted upwards so you didn't look at it. Though he could keep his composure and his facade, he couldn't control physiological reactions to your proximity. He didn't want you to know that.

"It... o-overnight, I lost most of it... I th-thought it was invested while I was sleeping without my knowledge."

He nodded, pretending to be understanding. Most of your tears were gone now, but he kept running his fingers over your face.

"Is that so?" He hesitated momentarily even though he had this whole conversation planned out. He wanted this to feel real for you. "That's quite a serious issue, my sweet. A circumstance like this would require action from one of the higher ups. Allow me," he paused, offering you a soft smile and bringing the back of your hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips very lightly against your hand.

Your whole face burned, your breath growing shaky as you stared into his eyes, the charming, gentle way he treated you making your heart flutter. "To guide you." He finished.

You blinked, swallowing hard. "I-I just want my money back."

"And I just want to help you," he reassured.

Then, slowly, he straightened, extending a hand toward you.

"Come with me," he said simply. You obliged, trusting him to help you. After all, it was his company. If anyone could help you, it would be him. Slowly, you laced your much smaller fingers through his, letting him take you all the way up to the top floor.

He sits at his desk, reclining comfortably in his chair. You expected to sit across from him, like an equal, but he just scoffed, tilting his head as he spun the monitor slightly to the side, showing you the complex financial data flickering across the screen.

"This is all highly intricate work." He said, tapped his screen like he was lecturing you. "I want you to be able to see everything I do. Full transparency. That way, we can have trust between us, yes?"

You nodded quickly, understanding what he was saying. He pretended to be considering something.

"Although," he continued, his voice soft and gentle. "If you sit across from me, I'll have to continuously turn the screen around, which is inefficient. I want you to be able to follow along."

He leaned back, exhaling as if this was all so frustrating for him, all this work, all this effort he was going through just for you. Then he smiled, warm and reassuring, and patted his lap.

"Why don't you sit here?"

Your ears burned, and you coughed in surprise, looking at him with confusion. "Pardon me? Y-you can't be s-"

"It's for practicality," he interrupted smoothly. He ignored his raging hard on and the desire to put your pretty ass right on his cock and bounce you up and down on it while he worked, trying to focus on getting you to take the bait.

"The monitor is large, the keyboard is here, I want you to see everything in real time. I need you to understand that I’m only trying to help you." He said, looking up at you with dark, piercing eyes.

You felt like he was hypnotizing you. His logic... made sense to you, and you hesitated. He wasn't forcing you, either. Simply a suggestion. And he was just trying to help! He would get you your money back... maybe if you listened and played dumb, you could get him to add a little more to your account than you started with.

"There’s nothing to be shy about," he coaxed, his voice dipping even softer, almost fond. "I'm helping you." He tells you once more, and your ears burned. Slowly, you stepped forward and hesitantly perched yourself on his lap. Because you were facing away from him, you missed the way he grinned happily, feeling his cock press against your smooth, plump pussy. He pulled you in tighter.

If you couldn't feel it now, you had to be clueless. "Good girl." He praises softly, wrapping one arm around you to pull you in tighter as he clicked through your profile, showing you how the money was moved to an untitled account, pretending he had no clue how it happened.

He was using jargon so complex that you couldn't keep up, overexplaining things and saying that your advisor must have been mistaken.

Subtly, he moves your body back and forth against his crotch, gnawing on the inside of his cheek to not groan. You feel a weird flutter in your tummy and heat grow in your core at the feeling of friction against your pussy, the thin fabric of your pants not helping. Here you were, being bounced on the lap of the richest man in the city. You fuss, embarrassed and confused at the direction of events.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your jawline, tilting your chin up to force you to meet his piercing gaze. "Shh, shh... there now, no need for all this commotion," he cooed, his thumb brushing over your trembling lower lip. "I'm sure we can sort this out civilly, can't we, sweetheart?"

Despite your shock, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your body betraying your urge to be soothed, to be told everything would be alright. He smiled, a slow, smug curl of his lips, knowing he had you. His other hand moved to the small of your back, subtly pressing you closer, guiding you to turn towards him.

His actions were nearly unconscious, his focus solely on the rapid beating of your heart, the short puffs...of your quick, aroused breaths. He drank in your scent, the sweet aroma of your perfume.

The hard bulge beneath you throbbed in time with the pulse he could feel fluttering wildly at the base of your throat. He could feel your body tensing, could sense your confusion and mounting distress, but he paid it no mind, too focused on the delicious sensation of having you at his mercy, at the mercy of his whims and desires.

He continued clicking over the computer, his arm around your waist moving up until one hand was splayed over your breast, squeezing and quickly talking over your moans to act like he has no idea what hes doing. "And you're certain the money is gone?" he asked, his voice filled with fake concern. "Well, I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. A clerical error, nothing more."

"W-wait, I...mmh," You manage through moans, your body overstimulated already. You didn't know what was happening.

"Shh, don't worry sweetheart, I can fix all of that," he murmured, his hot breath tickling your ear. "But I'm going to need something from you in return."

Before you could respond, he had already started tugging at your pants, his fingers dragging the fabric down your legs. You squealed in surprise, trying to wriggle away, but his grip held firm, leaving you exposed and vulnerable as cool air hit your heated skin. He groaned lowly, his eyes darkening with lust as he took in the sight of your plump, glistening pussy, now bared completely to his hungry gaze.

He spread your legs, cooing and shushing you softly as he gave your right breast one more squeeze before clicking on your account, scrolling aimlessly to waste time, while his other hand, now off your tits, went between your legs to push a finger into your cunt.

You nearly scream, but he shushes you and tsks. "Careful with your volume, darling." He warns gently. "Wouldn't want everyone to hear how needy you are, hm?" You pant out, his finger pumping in and out of your hole sloppily, your hips bucking instinctively into his touch, seeking more of that delicious pressure.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers finally making contact with your pussy, one long digit delving between your slick folds, stroking teasingly inside you.

He added a second finger, stretching you wider, pumping them in and out of your dripping cunt, the obscene sound of your arousal filling the room. His hips rocked up to meet each thrust, the hard ridge of his cock grinding against your ass, the heat of him searing your skin even through the fabric of his pants.

"See how much better you're listening now?" He praises. "Good girl. I ought to give you a nice tip for good behavior."

"Pl-please," You cry out, "Ngh, w-wait, I c-can't..." You cried out, a strangled moan tearing from your throat, your hips bucking instinctively into his touch, seeking more of that delicious pressure.

Just before you felt pleasure coil in your belly, he shoved you forwards, pressing your front against his desk, his papers scattering.

"You don't get to tell me no." He frowns, perturbed by your constant hesitation. He slaps your ass, watching the fat jiggle with a sick fascination, the plush flesh going red under the impact. You jolt at the sudden pain, a string of arousal dripping embarrassingly down your cunt.

The sound of his zipper lowering seemed deafening in the sudden silence of the room, and you couldn't help but look back over your shoulder to watch as he freed his thick, angry red cock from the confines of his pants.

Your eyes widen with disbelief at the sheer size of him, and you try to scramble, knowing that thing would never fit inside you. You still struggled to grasp the reality of what was happening.

"Ah ah," He scolded gently, tugging you back against him and putting your ass right up against his cock, rubbing his length up and down the curves of your body, from your pussy and up to your ass. "Now as much as I would love to watch you cum before I put my cock inside you," He hums. "I do have business to attend to, besides. Lunch hour will be soon, and everyone will be out of office and able to see you fucking yourself on my cock."

You freeze, looking back at him with terror, but the words about to leave your mouth turn to a moan as he starts to push his fat cock past the ring of your entrance, and your lashes flutter.

"Oh my," He groans, his head thrown back and his tie askew as he slowly pushes forward, nearly bottoming out inside of you. You mewl and cry out at the way you seem so full, tears pooling at your waterline.

He croons, tugging your head back so your neck is forced to crane back and look at him, and he slowly thrusts in and out of you, watching your face scrunch in slight pain and overwhelming pleasure.

He loves tears. He loves your tears. He watches you with delight as you cry out and writhe on his cock, pushing your ass back everytime he pounds into you, wanting to feel every inch of him despite your mind telling you that its too much, that this is going too fast.

You’re soaked from the drool forming at the corner of your mouth and the tears in your eyes. From where his cock slides in and out of your sopping pussy, a thick creamy ring formed at the base.

"Fuck," he breathes out, running his hand through his hair at the slow, but rough strokes. every time he buries himself into you by the hilt, there's a plap of flesh against flesh, and he groans loudly, his breathing heavy. "So goddamn tight, darling, my God."

He grabs your waist and pushes your head back, pushing his cock in and out of you fast, then slowing down abruptly to disorient you. "N-no more, t-too much," You slur, but he doesn't hear you.

He pulled back and slammed into you again. You cried out, loudly, and clapped your hand over your mouth. "That's it beautiful, make a mess." He chuckled and did it again. His wet flesh reverberated against yours. Each time he paused and basked in the sounds you'd make as your body was jolted by his.

He lifted your ass slightly, grabbing onto the hand that was over your mouth and pushed it down so he could push two fingers into your mouth, watching as you sobbed and slobbered around his fingers, moaning as your pussy clenched around him due to the pleasure of being so full. "How's- haah... that, darling?" He questions breathlessly, feeling his orgasm approaching quickly.

He doesn't take your unresponsiveness lightly, slapping your ass oncemore to get you to speak. "Mmm, fuck... c-cumming..." You babble stupidly, and he grins, squeezing your jaw and turning your face upwards so he can lick the tears off your face, relishing in your pleasure.

He groans at your taste, slotting your lips over his as your shared saliva smears over your lips, and that's all it takes for him to spill into you, hot, thick cream filling your womb and stuffing you full. He swallows your moans as your legs twitch and shake, and you cum around his cock, soaking his pelvis with your juices.

Your body convulses and your breathing becomes even more rapid, and you squeeze down on his cock until he groans loudly into your mouth, leaning back as strings of saliva connect your tongues, and he licks his lips, pecking the tip of your nose and wiping sweat off his brow.

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super-ion · 5 months ago

Text

The Engineer

Part 4

(Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3)

I don't know where the pilot is taking me at first.

I am realizing that my life has just been an endless circuit of routine: Quarters. Gym. Cafeteria. Maintenance bay. Cafeteria. Quarters. Repeat. Everything outside of that has become an abstraction to me.

I can't even remember the last time I made my way up to the level. Everything here is shiny and pristine, scrubbed spotless twice a day on the off chance that some senator or general might visit. It's all clean lines, camouflaged access panels, trim little admin offices.

I very nearly have to stop and stare at a potted plant, when was the last time I saw one, verdant and alive?

But the pilot is moving with single minded purpose and I am forced to hurry to catch up.

I imagine her dragging me into the commandant’s office. I imagine her presenting me in formal complaint, the guilt of my sins, my intimacy with her machine, written plainly across my face.

She comes to a stop so suddenly that I almost collide with her. It is not the commandant’s office that we have arrived at.

The gilded signage on the door simply reads: OBSERVATION

She glances at me, briefly hesitating. In this entire encounter, it is the first moment of uncertainty that she has shown.

She swipes her wrist over the access panel, the door whispers open and I understand the hesitation and uncertainty.

Observation delivers exactly what it promises. The far side of the dimly lit room is dominated by floor-to-ceiling plex that overlooks the expanse of the maintenance bay.

My breath catches at the sight of Her.

Morrigan is resting in Her docking harness, Her heat sinks fully spread like the wings of an angel, armor plating unfolded to expose superstructure beneath, countless docking umbilicals arrayed almost organically to connect to the facility's systems.

It has been so long since I've actually seen Her, all of Her at once, that I've forgotten the scale of it all. My entire world has been the cockpit and the docking vestibule and now I can barely comprehend how small the team of techs are next to Her as they scurry along like ants.

Some tension leaves the pilot's shoulders and she strides towards the plex wall. She gazes upon the machine with adoration, the most emotion I have ever seen on her face. I start to imagine that I understand why she brought me here.

I step tentatively into the room. The door shuts behind me and the dim space is suddenly intimate.

Alone with the Pilot, her framed by the vista of Morrigan, the space feels almost holy. A shrine. A Goddess and Her human avatar.

I imagine Morrigan watching us. Maybe She can. Her visual sensors are specially designed to pick out details at a distance. Perhaps the Pilot told Morrigan exactly where and when we would be her.

Almost in answer to my thoughts, Her exposed core pulses, a blue-white flicker of light, and the Pilot places a hand tenderly on the plex.

My stomach lurches. It is no longer me alone with the Pilot in this room. It is all three of us. It is me alone with them. The suffocating sense of being an interloper returns in full force.

“I read all your reports,” the Pilot says without turning, without breaking her gaze from Morrigan. “It's like fucking Christmas for her. She just can't wait to show me what you found in your analysis.”

I stand awkwardly, unsure how to respond, or if I should respond at all.

“It's so fucking hard sometimes,” she continues, “they pull you out and you can't even tell who you are. You leave something behind and you take something with you.”

She turns abruptly, fixing me with the intensity of her gaze.

“What were you doing three nights ago?”

I had been expecting the question, dreading it, but the abruptness of it catches me off guard and fresh panic licks down my spine.

I open my mouth, but I can't bring myself to say anything.

She takes a step towards me. I step back instinctively. My back meets the wall.

“I already know,” she says, her tone unreadable. “I want to hear you say it. Your own words.”

I swallow. My eyes dart back to Morrigan. She is watching us. I know it. I know it from the now blazing light in Her core.

“I…”

I swallow again.

“I had a nightmare,” I admit. “I went to Morrigan.”

She takes another step forward. She's taller than me and I have to tilt my head back just slightly to meet her eyes.

“Why?”

“I didn't… I didn't want to be alone. I didn't know who else to go to. I... I wanted to be with her.”

Another step. She's close now, close enough to touch.

“Whose nightmares?”

Fuck.

“Yours,” I admit. “...and mine.”

“You think a lot about neural bleed.”

It isn't a question. I don't think it's a question. I nod in acknowledgement regardless.

“You think about how the patterns of thought and identity leave marks. Imprints. You're in her head, so you're in mine. The three of us, we're just this fucking tangle, aren't we?”

Fuck. What does she want from me?

I don't know if she expects me to answer that, but there's another moment of uncertainty from her.

“She wanted me to talk to you,” she says. “Or I wanted her to want me to talk to you. I don't even know. I don't fucking know who wants what any more.”

She looks… vexed now. That intense gaze of hers has taken on a slightly different gleam.

My heart is hammering in my chest and my breathing has become ever so slightly ragged.

Neural bleed. Two halves to a whole.

She is Morrigan. The human half. The physical half.

She lifts her hand and I stand motionless as she reaches out to touch my face. Her fingertips meet my cheek and she blinks, almost surprised to discover that I am real.

She takes a breath and the uncertainty is gone, leaving naked desire in its wake.

She shifts her hand, palm sliding along my cheek to the back of my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair. The feel of her skin against mine is enough to make me gasp.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” she tells me in a low whisper.

(Next)

“Please don't stop,” I beg in reply.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #lesbian #mechposting #scifi #science fiction #human x machine #mech pilot x mechanic

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someweirdoreblogger · 9 months ago

Text

Burning Spice Cookie is passion ignited, albeit not in the moral side of the conscious spectrum. He is quite affectionate, actually, more than you may give him credit for.

Do not mistake it as humane, as a blind genosity. It comes not from a moral source of obligation or even gerenal priority.

Once the deranged loin-a Beast amongst monsters-the corrupted Lord himself is invested, your scent guiding freely through the droves, to shake him off your trail will prove diffcult. Burning Spice is not so kind to let prey go by unscathed, untouched by his mighty axe; His shadow stalks the trees, quaking, a deafening roar booms in the distance.

The Hunt begins.

You dare infringe upon his heart, you invade his senses, scrabble his thoughts; you really think you can simply crawl back home unscathed?

What home have you to turn too? Who would even think to take you back with the mark of a Beast weighing down your back?

Luckily, this debt can be paid. Paid solely by your own parry and peril. Burning Spice will remember your tracks better than the back of his own hand.

Once he comes, just an arrogant march away, you will know. The world itself will alert, not you, but itself to his sudden existence.

The birds will cease their music, the ground will shake and stumble; struggling to keep its foundation stable and lively. The lakes, far and wide, the sky, the kisses of clouds and weak leaves rip itself apart, dancing in the reflection below. It ripens in sheer unbalanced tension, seemingly frightened; the water will ripple like static, wavering under a wave of immense, exotic shock, and pressure.

The wind is ecstatic, nature's personal enthusiasm; it moans, groans, and sighs heavy in your ear. Desperate to be heard.

You will taste him in the air, a suffocating sulfur and ghastly spice, it threatens to choke weaker beings. Feel him fester like sparks on your crust, hair standing up stiff, dough throbbing. Tingling and blazing hot, a Beast's presence is a neigh-suffocating weight. You will never know peace until he deems you worthy of such.

Burning Spice roams triumphant, forever hungry. An immovable glare in the sky, a blinding scorch to the people's merger eyes, looking down civilization in cold indifference; The same way a god regurds his subjects. Just ants, peasy insects, building their anthills, simply hoping to piece together a safe haven for themselves in a universe far too large to tackle alone.

The Vitue of Change, The Lord of Destruction, will stand tall alone. Boundless from any chain as mortals rise, spoil and fall. A proud witness to the beginning, present, and the end, the natural tides of history sow in the seeds of devastation he leaves behind. He is a slave to his base desires, as all Cookies are; a chaotic harbinger of endless malice and merciless strife.

But he is still yet a man. A heartless monster in a man's skin. A Cookie baked in the same oven as his fellow kin, a great Beast, seeking to completely deprive himself of sheer boredom and simplicity.

All immortals carry the burden, the smooth erosion of time is not lost even to Beasts, as the ocean inevitably swipes a wet hand over the sand. He lives long and simply withstands, and he stares at the lesser mass in a bubbling, volcanic envy, hanging loose like a knot on his shoulders; the deeper things, the pleasant things. The majority of it stems from an infectious curiosity, aching hunger boiling in the depths of a Beast.

An unstoppable force suspended in a space completely at its mercy.

Burning Spice, gerenally, is an incredibly expressive person; entertainment, living life to the fullest drives his very soul off the edge of madness and carnage. His being is a godly sight to behold, and he wears this infernal arrogance in fine silks and peakish sneers. The weak tremble beneath the heel of their superiors, the Beast of Destruction is bloody pride embodied.

And this God, this Beast will strave for your worship; shall rip it from the dying, rotting hands of the torn world.

Carnal, burnt crimson in abhorrent brutality, Burning Spice is honestly an upfront sort. He won’t shy away from confrontation, solemn. He knows what he needs, what he wants, so he will steal it if one ever dares refuse it from him.

What is inevitable is virtue, Burning Spice knows this in his very jam. He does hold some semblance of responsibility and honor, albeit it won’t make him any less immorally stubborn or hot-headed. He approaches a desired interest alike how a lion stalks his prey; the same way he approaches a potential hunt, with fierce, burning determination and endless persistence.

#mypost #burning spice cookie #burning spice #beast of destruction #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #burning spice cookie x reader #burning spice x reader #crk x reader

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circeyoru · 21 days ago

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Shadow and Void _ Part 12: Death to He who Loved and was Loved

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Enemy Monarch!Reader]

Arc 1: Part 1 ― Part 2 ― Part 3 Arc 2: Part 4 ― Part 5 Arc 3: Part 6 ― Part 7 Arc 4: Part 8 ― Part 9 ― Part 10 ― Part 11 ― Special Arc 5: Part 12 (here) ― Part 13 ― Part 14 ― Part 15

Back in the city, Hunter gathered and crowded the streets after the citizens had been evacuated to the safer regions. Some of the fighter-based Hunters remained on the streets with the Healers in the back surrounded by Tankers and Mages to be protected and continuously provide buffs whenever necessary, while the Rangers and Assassins were stationed within or atop buildings for a perfect ambush or strike if and when an enemy shows up.

A towering and giant figure walked through the crowd of humans, pushing aside any that were in his way. His eyes glowed as his fingers twitched from the excitement of what was to come. All that was needed was a trigger to start the party.

Like a reward to the strong, a prideful Hunter was bumped into by the giant and demanded for an apology. Humans and their feeble pride turned to be their undoing. So started the bloodbath that led to chaos and screams from squeamish humans. Cattle scattered like ants just waiting to be squashed under by the mighty’s feet. These humans were nothing but moving flesh to him.

How you, the Monarch of Void and their greatest tool, managed to live among maggots for so long, he had no idea. Frankly, it irritated how you were spending so much time in the human realm, he understood the need for a catered vessel due to your powers and standards, but the time after its completion should mean you returning to them, among your kind.

“Listen to me, you human bastards! From now on, I will start to hunt you down! My nails will tear your weak skin and rip fresh apart! I am the King of Animals, the Monarch of the Beasts! Try and stop me!”

In a more forestry region of Korea, Jinwoo pulled out your chair before you could sit and pushed it in when you did, then he took his seat opposite to you. The two of you barely needed any time to decide what to eat because the hotel’s restaurant staff had already arranged breakfast platters for the both of you as thanks for catching some unlucky robbers before you two could ask for a hotel suite last night. It was late when the two of you were done with the flight activity and Jinwoo didn’t want the date to end, you didn’t care since sleep wasn’t something you had to mind even in a human body.

Your eyes sparkled at the table full of food and there were more coming by the carts that were being pushed in your table’s direction. Well, Jinwoo, as a famous S-Rank Hunter, sure had its benefits, and you were loving it. There were pancakes, scrambled eggs, noodles, rice, sushi, sashimi, yogurt, cereal, and so much more that only two people could finish!

BUT you were a Monarch. You are the Monarch of Void, the supreme ruler of space itself! Surely you can apply that power to your stomach and eat to your heart’s content! It’s not an abuse of power when you could enjoy all the wonderful delicacies humans have created over the years.

Not waiting for Jinwoo to start you off, your hands picked up the fork and spoon to get whatever you wanted into your drooling mouth. Jinwoo watched wide-eyed as you finished at least two plates of food―without even leaving him any crumbs―within the minute he was scanning through the options.

“You didn’t waste any time.” Jinwoo laughed.

All he had in return was your eyes glowing dangerously at him while the nearby knife pointed at him in a threatening way. Your mouth was still stuffed and he had a bit of issue making out what you said, “This is all mine.”

“Yes, yes.” Jinwoo merely smiled and plopped his chin in his hand, watching you stuff yourself with food. The image of a hamster came to mind, but he wasn’t about to say that to your face when everything had been so peaceful. Though that serenity was cut short with his phone ringing, he picked it up while still staring at you, “Yes, I’m Sung Jinwoo. Did something happen?”

Originally, you would have been concentrated with your wonderful meal, but your gut feeling had told you to listen in on the conversation. Not that you needed to be sneaky about it since the other end of the line, the person―Woo Jinchul―was practically shouting everything into the phone.

“An S-Class monster appeared in the middle of Seoul!”

An ear-piercing ring rang in your ears as you watched Jinwoo’s eyes glow. When it was confirmed to be one enemy, your suspicion was correct―the Monarchs have started to move. Poor timing, you haven’t been able to help Jinwoo familiarize the Monarch’s attacks and strengthen his current army, you couldn’t even force open the Gate for the true army to join the fight as much as you wanted. And he didn’t have the luxury of time on his side.

You could tell by instinct that Jinwoo didn’t believe what was reported to him, even when it was from Jinchul. His Shadows reported nothing back and there will continue to be nothing reported back so long as the Monarchs are there and actively isolating the city. Similar to that incident with former Chairman Go Gunhee, the tactic would be to isolate and strike, like a predator with their prey, only this time…it’s not a hunt but a massacre.

“Don’t waste your energy.” You told him with a serious tone. You stood from your seat and wiped your lips with the back of your hand, “After all, more and more will die by their hands.”

“Their?” Jinwoo’s confusion was valid because only one was reported to be on a rampage and Thomas Andre was facing him head-on right this moment.

“...” Your eyes narrowed with your lips pressed to a thin line, “Monarchs have made their move and they will not patiently wait for yours.” You moved to his side, staring down at him, “Monarchs will bring about destruction, more so the later you delay your confrontation. However…” You placed a hand on his shoulder before he could say anything. “You cannot imagine a victory against them at this stage. Certain death will be yours.” Your eyes glowed as mist clouded and distorted your form, “Sacrifice those humans for your survivability. Grow stronger before doing battle with them.”

“You can’t leave! I forbid it! If you leave… You’ll regret it! It’s all over!”

Jinwoo was reminded of your conversation with Ashborn before his demise. It was a sign that you care, a sign that you prefer his life over the others as you viewed his life more precious than whoever else was living. Truly, he was grateful and he was honoured. This was something that he had been aiming for, but there was that voice in his mind that questioned whether you were doing this for him or Ashborn.

“I’ll do it.”

Your eyes briefly widened and the mist thickened.

“Only if you call me by name.”

“...” Jinwoo didn’t see your expression; he doubted you made any at this point. The answer to his question was heard loud and clear though. “I’ll take you back to Seoul.”

So in the end, he was still seen as Ashborn’s vessel, no, successor. Even after everything he did for you and everything you did for him. Even after the sublime day you two had yesterday… It all meant nothing to you. What was he to do to have your attention solely on him?

“Prepare your mind and soul for a battle unlike any other you have faced before.” You warned as the mist rose to cover the two of you. “I can’t say how much of help I’ll be.”

The scenery of the restaurant changed and soon the wreckage of a city formed around him, while you appeared nowhere in sight. First things first, he blocked off an attack aimed at the disoriented Lennart Niermann and had him take Thomas out of harm’s way.

Rakan, in his giant beastly form, bared his fangs at Jinwoo with a thirst to maul him apart limb from limb. “How is it that you, a mere human, managed to carry the power of a superior being so far?”

Sillad formed from the chilling wind, “The Architect, against the odds, found a way. It’s been a long time since he and the Shadow Monarch have made a deal…”

Behind Jinwoo, the shadows of multilegged insects crawled and crowded to the new figure, Querehsha cooed with a twisted grin, “That means there’s no problem if I eat the human vessel, right? I’m curious to know what a Monarch will taste like.”

The System provided its aid in identifying the two new figures, in addition to the familiar Monarch, with windows for identifying clear enemies.

[THE KING OF THE SONS OF ICE, THE MONARCH OF ICE, HAS RECOGNIZED YOU AS HIS ADVERSARY.]

[THE KING OF THE ANIMALS, THE MONARCH OF THE BEASTS, HAS RECOGNIZED YOU AS HIS ADVERSARY.]

[THE QUEEN OF INSECTS, THE MONARCH OF PLAGUES, HAS RECOGNIZED YOU AS HER ADVERSARY.]

Mist formed around Jinwoo and concentrated on his side, a whip of a darkened mist-like tentacle slashed at Querehsha, but she made it so that her beloved children took the hit and disappeared. Your figure appeared shrouded in mist around your human vessel, “You will do no such thing.”

[THE KING OF THE FORGOTTEN, THE MONARCH OF VOID, HAS RECOGNIZED YOU AS ???.]

“Monarch of Void. Have you betrayed us to side with a mere human?” Querehsha questioned as she reformed in another spot.

“For me to betray you, I have to be your ally to begin with.” You glared at her as you stood your ground, “However, I never recall ever picking your side, vile pest. I belong to no side but my own.”

“You…” Querehsha’s grin turned to a scowl as she clenched her hands into fists. “How dare you…”

“Arise.” Jinwoo called his Shadows out. He made the first move not because it was advantageous to him, but because he couldn’t stand them treating you as if you were theirs. From the beginning, even after meeting you face to face, your iron will to stand for yourself and stay independent drawn him in, your fierce loyalty to those you care for was akin to his own.

His soldiers arose and moved to attack; however, within seconds, they were frozen solid by the Monarch of Frost’s ice. Sillad lamented sarcastically, “You really have a good number of soldiers… But they lack a good organization. Your soldiers will not be able to do anything in this prison of ice.”

You didn’t flinch, you didn’t even need Jinwoo to shield you because nothing was directed in your direction, as he should have realized and seen through. Energy must be calculated and used perfectly in battles that you can’t predict.

“And to think he wanted to use these soldiers to get in our way, how deluded of him…” The two Shadows encased before him were Igris and Iron, Sillad turned in Jinwoo and your direction as he preached, “It was an act of arrogance towards the other Monarchs. And on top of that, I didn’t think that human was capable of absorbing the full power of the Shadow Monarch. Perhaps there was some reasoning behind the Monarch of Void’s interest. Still, although the Shadow Monarch was the greatest, he should not underestimate the power of the other Monarchs.”

“Fall back while you still have the chance. A number of Humans have already fallen, what’s a little more?” You warned once more in a low voice behind Jinwoo, unmoving from your spot as the mist threatened to send him to your realm at the slightest hint of him surrendering. “Humans repopulate every other day. Talented Hunters awaken daily. Sacrifices must be made.”

Jinwoo twirled his dagger, his aura releasing as he pointed the blade’s edge at Sillad, “I will definitely defeat them, and I will at least take your head, Ice Monarch.”

Thus started the battle as Jinwoo lunged at the Monarchs while you stood on the sidelines without helping anyone or hindering anyone. Your mist dissolved all debris that came at you from their powerful attacks, from time to time, you’d glance over to Igris who was still encased in ice, then back at the struggling Jinwoo.

A bold statement.

A weak defense.

For the result was the same as your mind predicted. Because no sooner, the sight you met was one from your nightmares.

“Sung Jinwoo!” You screamed as you watched Rakan impale his long, sharp claws into Jinwoo’s back, you moved. You summoned your scythe and made a clean swipe at the insects around you to clear a path back to him, finally moving from your spot, “You back off, Sillad!”

“How you manage to win over the Herald of Favour, I think I’ll never find out.” Sillad smirked, “I will return your weapon to you.” Without missing a beat, he impaled Jinwoo’s dagger into his chest right in the center, “Alright. Now, can you heal like you did earlier?” While Jinwoo remained in shock, his blood froze over from the Monarch’s chill, “Probably not. No matter how strong you are, you are not a complete Monarch. Even when you have the Monarch of Void on your side. Is this as far as you go, human? If that’s the case, you will not be able to witness it. The moment our armies set foot in this world.”

You were suddenly blocked off when Querehsha appeared with her hideous insect pets, the smirk on her face irritating you to no end. You glared and raised your mist to cloud the area to make your move and obstruct the Monarch.

“When that happens, there will be a mountain of human corpses and their blood will form endless rivers. But this country, which you grew up in, will be different. I shall personally freeze every single human in this country myself, and make them suffer through an eternal agony. They will have to live through an eternity, not being able to die nor live.”

One by one, you struck down the creatures and devoured the bodies with your mist to prevent them from regenerating or healing with her powers. Even so, you were no closer to Jinwoo and it would be impossible to save him in this state alone. You closed your eyes and pleaded to whatever is out there to do something. You lost Ashborn. You can’t lose Jinwoo just as you have accepted him.

“Even your beloved ally, the Monarch of Void, will suffer the wrath of us Monarchs for siding with you.”

As much as Jinwoo glared at Sillad and wanted to fight back, he couldn’t. Sillad took great pleasure in Jinwoo’s struggles and pain. “So show me your endless contempt for me within your death. That will also be part of my joy.”

Still…

A little more…

Just a little more…!

Your eyes watered, Jinwoo’s eyes were bloody and blood were coughed up, no human could survive that. Including Ashborn’s successor. The one you vowed to protect and see that he rose to his place among the best. The prideful and strong-willed human you learned to 𝖑⃦̳̿𝖔⃦̳̿𝖛⃦̳̿𝖊⃦̳̿. “Sung Jinwoo!!”

[PLAYER’S HP HAS REACHED 0.]

[PLAYER HAS DIED.]

Manhwa Chapter: 156, 158, 160 (near end bit), 161 (beginning)

Note: The second-to-last arc is here! The scenes are a bit rushed and a lot is skipped over cause nothing much happens, you can follow the manhwa chapters I listed above to follow the story in this arc. The ones that are written are ones with details added with Reader's presence and/or influence. Hope you'll look forward to this arc. Happy reading!!

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

My Works: MASTERLIST *(regarding requests, check the Masterlist to see if it’s opened or not and other info related before sending one. Thanks.)

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#Circe's Nighty Writings #Solo Leveling #Only I Can Level Up #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo #yandere sung Jin woo #yandere sung jinwoo #yandere jinwoo #Yandere sung jinwoo x reader #yandere sung jin woo x reader #Shadow and Void

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mostlysignssomeportents · 10 months ago

Text

Marshmallow Longtermism

The paperback edition of The Lost Cause, my nationally bestselling, hopeful solarpunk novel is out this week!

My latest column for Locus Magazine is "Marshmallow Longtermism"; it's a reflection on how conservatives self-mythologize as the standards-bearers for deferred gratification and making hard trade-offs, but are utterly lacking in these traits when it comes to climate change and inequality:

https://locusmag.com/2024/09/cory-doctorow-marshmallow-longtermism/

Conservatives often root our societal ills in a childish impatience, and cast themselves as wise adults who understand that "you can't get something for nothing." Think here of the memes about lazy kids who would rather spend on avocado toast and fancy third-wave coffee rather than paying off their student loans. In this framing, poverty is a consequence of immaturity. To be a functional adult is to be sober in all things: not only does a grownup limit their intoxicant intake to head off hangovers, they also go to the gym to prevent future health problems, they save their discretionary income to cover a down-payment and student loans.

This isn't asceticism, though: it's a mature decision to delay gratification. Avocado toast is a reward for a life well-lived: once you've paid off your mortgage and put your kid through college, then you can have that oat-milk latte. This is just "sound reasoning": every day you fail to pay off your student loan represents another day of compounding interest. Pay off the loan first, and you'll save many avo toasts' worth of interest and your net toast consumption can go way, way up.

Cleaving the world into the patient (the mature, the adult, the wise) and the impatient (the childish, the foolish, the feckless) does important political work. It transforms every societal ill into a personal failing: the prisoner in the dock who stole to survive can be recast as a deficient whose partying on study-nights led to their failure to achieve the grades needed for a merit scholarship, a first-class degree, and a high-paying job.

Dividing the human race into "the wise" and "the foolish" forms an ethical basis for hierarchy. If some of us are born (or raised) for wisdom, then naturally those people should be in charge. Moreover, putting the innately foolish in charge is a recipe for disaster. The political scientist Corey Robin identifies this as the unifying belief common to every kind of conservativism: that some are born to rule, others are born to be ruled over:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/01/set-healthy-boundaries/#healthy-populism

This is why conservatives are so affronted by affirmative action, whose premise is that the absence of minorities in the halls of power stems from systemic bias. For conservatives, the fact that people like themselves are running things is evidence of their own virtue and suitability for rule. In conservative canon, the act of shunting aside members of dominant groups to make space for members of disfavored minorities isn't justice, it's dangerous "virtue signaling" that puts the childish and unfit in positions of authority.

Again, this does important political work. If you are ideologically committed to deregulation, and then a giant, deregulated sea-freighter crashes into a bridge, you can avoid any discussion of re-regulating the industry by insisting that we are living in a corrupted age where the unfit are unjustly elevated to positions of authority. That bridge wasn't killed by deregulation – it's demise is the fault of the DEI hire who captained the ship:

https://www.axios.com/local/salt-lake-city/2024/03/26/baltimore-bridge-dei-utah-lawmaker-phil-lyman-misinformation

The idea of a society made up of the patient and wise and the impatient and foolish is as old as Aesop's "The Ant and the Grasshopper," but it acquired a sheen of scientific legitimacy in 1970, with Walter Mischel's legendary "Stanford Marshmallow Experiment":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stanford_marshmallow_experiment

In this experiment, kids were left alone in a locked room with a single marshmallow, after being told that they would get two marshmallows in 15 minutes, but only if they waited until them to eat the marshmallow before them. Mischel followed these kids for decades, finding that the kids who delayed gratification and got that second marshmallow did better on every axis – educational attainment, employment, and income. Adult brain-scans of these subjects revealed structural differences between the patient and the impatient.

For many years, the Stanford Marshmallow experiment has been used to validate the cleavage of humanity in the patient and wise and impatient and foolish. Those brain scans were said to reveal the biological basis for thinking of humanity's innate rulers as a superior subspecies, hidden in plain sight, destined to rule.

Then came the "replication crisis," in which numerous bedrock psychological studies from the mid 20th century were re-run by scientists whose fresh vigor disproved and/or complicated the career-defining findings of the giants of behavioral "science." When researchers re-ran Mischel's tests, they discovered an important gloss to his findings. By questioning the kids who ate the marshmallows right away, rather than waiting to get two marshmallows, they discovered that these kids weren't impatient, they were rational.

The kids who ate the marshmallows were more likely to come from poorer households. These kids had repeatedly been disappointed by the adults in their lives, who routinely broke their promises to the kids. Sometimes, this was well-intentioned, as when an economically precarious parent promised a treat, only to come up short because of an unexpected bill. Sometimes, this was just callousness, as when teachers, social workers or other authority figures fobbed these kids off with promises they knew they couldn't keep.

The marshmallow-eating kids had rationally analyzed their previous experiences and were making a sound bet that a marshmallow on the plate now was worth more than a strange adult's promise of two marshmallows. The "patient" kids who waited for the second marshmallow weren't so much patient as they were trusting: they had grown up with parents who had the kind of financial cushion that let them follow through on their promises, and who had the kind of social power that convinced other adults – teachers, etc – to follow through on their promises to their kids.

Once you understand this, the lesson of the Marshmallow Experiment is inverted. The reason two marshmallow kids thrived is that they came from privileged backgrounds: their high grades were down to private tutors, not the choice to study rather than partying. Their plum jobs and high salaries came from university and family connections, not merit. Their brain differences were the result of a life free from the chronic, extreme stress that comes with poverty.

Post-replication crisis, the moral of the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment is that everyone experiences a mix of patience and impatience, but for the people born to privilege, the consequences of impatience are blunted and the rewards of patience are maximized.

Which explains a lot about how rich people actually behave. Take Charles Koch, who grew his father's coal empire a thousandfold by making long-term investments in automation. Koch is a vocal proponent of patience and long-term thinking, and is openly contemptuous of publicly traded companies because of the pressure from shareholders to give preference to short-term extraction over long-term planning. He's got a point.

Koch isn't just a fossil fuel baron, he's also a wildly successful ideologue. Koch is one of a handful of oligarchs who have transformed American politics by patiently investing in a kraken's worth of think tanks, universities, PACs, astroturf organizations, Star chambers and other world-girding tentacles. After decades of gerrymandering, voter suppression, court-packing and propagandizing, the American billionaire class has seized control of the US and its institutions. Patience pays!

But Koch's longtermism is highly selective. Arguably, Charles Koch bears more personal responsibility for delaying action on the climate emergency than any other person, alive or dead. Addressing greenhouse gasses is the most grasshopper-and-the-ant-ass crisis of all. Every day we delayed doing something about this foreseeable, well-understood climate debt added sky-high compounding interest. In failing to act, we saved billions – but we stuck our future selves with trillions in debt for which no bankruptcy procedure exists.

By convincing us not to invest in retooling for renewables in order to make his billions, Koch was committing the sin of premature avocado toast, times a billion. His inability to defer gratification – which he imposed on the rest of us – means that we are likely to lose much of world's coastal cities (including the state of Florida), and will have to find trillions to cope with wildfires, zoonotic plagues, and hundreds of millions of climate refugees.

Koch isn't a serene Buddha whose ability to surf over his impetuous attachments qualifies him to make decisions for the rest of us. Rather, he – like everyone else – is a flawed vessel whose blind spots are just as stubborn as ours. But unlike a person whose lack of foresight leads to drug addiction and petty crimes to support their habit, Koch's flaws don't just hurt a few people, they hurt our entire species and the only planet that can support it.

The selective marshmallow patience of the rich creates problems beyond climate debt. Koch and his fellow oligarchs are, first and foremost, supporters of oligarchy, an intrinsically destabilizing political arrangement that actually threatens their fortunes. Policies that favor the wealthy are always seeking an equilibrium between instability and inequality: a rich person can either submit to having their money taxed away to build hospitals, roads and schools, or they can invest in building high walls and paying guards to keep the rest of us from building guillotines on their lawns.

Rich people gobble that marshmallow like there's no tomorrow (literally). They always overestimate how much bang they'll get for their guard-labor buck, and underestimate how determined the poors will get after watching their children die of starvation and preventable diseases.

All of us benefit from some kind of cushion from our bad judgment, but not too much. The problem isn't that wealthy people get to make a few poor choices without suffering brutal consequences – it's that they hoard this benefit. Most of us are one missed student debt payment away from penalties and interest that add twenty years to our loan, while Charles Koch can set the planet on fire and continue to act as though he was born with the special judgment that means he knows what's best for us.

On SEPTEMBER 24th, I'll be speaking IN PERSON at the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/04/deferred-gratification/#selective-foresight

Image: Mark S (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/markoz46/4864682934/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic #locus magazine #guillotine watch #eugenics #climate emergency #inequality #replication crisis #marshmallow test #deferred gratification

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