#and that’s what makes them so compelling

[emi-matchu]

I think this is super interesting to process because like,

I imagine part of what's happening here is that the people on the way there are being viewed as "they're not people so much as an obstacle on the way to my moral objective"

whereas once you get to the villain, the person you have both a moral and personal objection to,

it's easy to get stuck wondering like "wait, am I just doing this for personal reasons? because it would be cathartic?"

whereas everyone prior, you know it's not for personal reasons, because you don't actually give a shit about them to begin with

Idk I agree also that "wouldn't I be just like them?" is often boring, but in this moment I'm enjoying considering why people so often do find it compelling, and what's going on in the human experience to make that relatable to people

Almost all of the portrays of this fall flat in my experience lol

[qwibkwib]

Promised 9

chapter - 0

Fromis_9 x Male reader Word Count: 4.5k+ Chapters : One

a/n: This is just set up of the story, no smut in this chapter. but this chapter is important, for the story.

The classroom buzzed with the faint whispers of students exchanging notes and furtive glances at their phones. You sat slouched at the back, staring blankly at your open notebook, the pages still pristine except for a single doodle in the corner: a coffee cup. You idly tapped your pen against the desk, your thoughts drifting far from the lecture.

“Mr. Kang Junho!”

The sharp voice of your Professor Min snapped You back to reality. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward you. You straightened, blinking rapidly as the professor leveled a stern gaze at you from the podium.

“Care to join us in this riveting discussion, or are you busy solving life’s great mysteries back there?” Professor Min’s voice was tinged with sarcasm.

“Uh, no, sir. I mean, yes, I’m listening,” You stammered, scratching the back of your neck. A few chuckles rippled through the classroom.

Satisfied, the professor adjusted his glasses and continued, pacing slowly across the front of the room. “As I was saying, today’s topic is about myths and their reflection of humanity. Take, for instance, the legend of the Promised Nine.”

The room quieted, the students now leaning in slightly. Professor Min always had a way of making even the dullest of topics sound compelling.

“Long ago, during a time when humanity was steeped in chaos, war, and unrelenting greed, there was a king—a wise man, yet weary of the barbarism that plagued his people. No matter how many treaties he signed or how many battles he fought, peace was fleeting. He despaired, knowing that humanity’s greatest enemy was not the sword but the emotions that drove men to wield it: pride, envy, wrath, greed, gluttony, sloth, lust, apathy, deceit…”

Junho’s attention perked up. There was something strangely familiar about the words, though you couldn’t place why.

“So the king, in his desperation, climbed the tallest mountain in the land to plead with the deity who ruled the heavens. He begged for salvation, not for himself, but for humanity. The deity listened, moved by the king’s earnestness. But salvation comes with a cost.”

Professor Min paused dramatically, glancing at his captivated audience. “A promise was made—a sacred pact between the king and the deity. Aid would be sent to humanity, not as armies or riches, but as nine beings, each representing the most volatile of human emotions. Their purpose? To keep the balance of these forces, preventing anyone from consuming the world.”

He walked over to the whiteboard and wrote the words The Promised Nine in bold letters.

“But there was a catch,” he continued. “The deity warned the king that these emotions, though tempered, could never truly be eradicated. The Promised Nine would struggle with the very forces they were meant to contain. And should even one of them fall to the temptation of their burden…”

Professor Min trailed off, his gaze sweeping the room.

“What would happen?” a student near the front blurted, unable to resist.

“Should one of the Nine succumb, their emotion would consume them entirely, turning them into a force of destruction. And that destruction could spread unchecked, tipping the scales and plunging the world into chaos once more. To prevent this, the Deity decreed that the Nine would be connected to a chosen mortal—an anchor. This anchor would serve as their confidant, grounding them when the weight of their burden became too great to bear.”

He turned back to the whiteboard, writing in large, bold letters: The Promised Nine.

“The anchor is as important as the Nine themselves,” he said. “Without them, the balance could not be maintained. The king agreed to the Diety’s terms, knowing full well the cost. And thus, the Promised Nine came into being.”

Professor Min stepped back from the board, his expression somber. “But the Diety’s warning still lingers in the echoes of time: no balance lasts forever. The story of the Promised Nine reminds us that humanity’s greatest strength—and its greatest threat—lies within ourselves.”

The shrill ring of the bell echoed through the room, breaking the spell. Students began packing their bags, the hum of chatter returning.

“Read chapters six through eight for next week!” Professor Min called over the noise.

You gathered your things slowly, the tale still turning over in your mind. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and made your way to the door, you muttered to yourself, “Promised Nine, huh? Sounds like something out of a fantasy novel.”

— You exit the lecture hall, slipping into the stream of students flowing out into the bustling campus courtyard. The sun dips low in the sky, casting long shadows and a warm orange glow over everything. You glance at your watch—just enough time to get to your part-time job.

The café isn’t far, a cozy little spot just outside the university gates. Its charming wooden sign, Golden Brew, sways slightly in the breeze. The place is always busy, a favorite among students and faculty alike. But there’s one reason it stands out from the dozens of other coffee shops around: its owner, Gyuri.

You push through the door, greeted by the familiar hum of chatter, clinking cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine. The café smells like roasted beans and freshly baked pastries—a comforting combination that feels like a second home.

“Junho, you’re late!”

The voice is soft yet commanding, and you immediately straighten, turning to the counter. There she is—Gyuri, the radiant owner of Golden Brew. Her beauty is the kind that leaves people momentarily breathless. stood effortlessly graceful in her casual white t-shirt and mint-green cap, her gentle features framed by stray strands of hair and a gaze as warm as the morning sun

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Gyuri,” you stammer, bowing slightly as you head toward the staff room to put your bag away.

“It’s fine, just don’t make a habit of it, okay?” she replies, her voice as warm as the golden light streaming through the café windows.

“Yes, of course!” you reply quickly, though you can’t shake the sense of unease you always feel around her.

It’s not fear, exactly. Gyuri is unfailingly warm and generous. She treats her staff like family, remembers the names of regulars, and always has a smile for everyone who walks through the door. Still, you find yourself hyper-aware of her moods, as though disappointing her might lead to something far worse than a lecture.

When you emerge from the staff room in your apron, Gyuri is already behind the counter, expertly steaming milk for a cappuccino. “Can you handle table seven’s order? They’ve been waiting a bit.”

You grab the tray, carefully balancing two lattes and a slice of cheesecake, weaving your way through the maze of tables. It’s almost automatic at this point—sidestepping bags, dodging half-turned chairs—but when you reach the corner table, you stop.

She’s there.

Seoyeon.

She’s a regular, not a student or faculty, just... always here. You’ve seen her enough times to notice the details: the dark circles under her eyes, natural and striking, framing her otherwise delicate features. She’s beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you—her sleepy, almost lazy demeanor masks something deeper.

She’s hunched over her laptop, typing slowly, as if testing each word before committing to it. The oversized navy shirt drapes over her frame, and her hair carelessly tied, some falls messily around her face. You set the tray down gently, not wanting to disturb whatever she’s working on.

“Thanks,” she mutters without looking up, her voice soft, almost as if she’s halfway to falling asleep.

You nod, even though she doesn’t see it, and glance at her screen. It’s filled with text—lines upon lines of words you can’t make sense of from this angle. Stories, maybe? Essays? You don’t know, and it’s not your place to ask.

As you turn to leave, she stretches, her movements slow and languid, like she has all the time in the world. For a moment, you wonder what keeps her coming back here, day after day, to sit in that same spot, typing away.

But you shake the thought off. You’ve got other tables to serve.

.You make your way back behind the counter, tray in hand. It’s a small relief to retreat to this spot, even if only for a few moments. Manning the cashier is easier—less weaving between tables, fewer chances to trip or spill something. The register beeps softly as you organize receipts and prepare for the next wave of customers.

The door opens, and the atmosphere in the café shifts. It’s subtle, like a faint breeze stirring through a room, but you notice it immediately. Heads turn—students and faculty alike—and conversations falter as if someone hit pause.

You glance up and freeze.

Jiheon.

Her name is spoken in hushed tones across campus, her presence both admired and untouchable. She moves with an effortless grace that feels out of place in the mundane setting of the café, her bright smile commanding attention without even trying. But it’s her eyes that hold you—the way they curve into crescent moons with a hint of something sharper, more mischievous, just beneath the surface.

To your utter disbelief, she walks directly to the counter. Your counter.

“Hi there,” she says, her voice smooth and casual, like she’s greeting an old friend. Her gaze locks onto yours, and her smile widens slightly. “You’re Junho, right?”

You blink, caught so off guard that you almost drop the pen in your hand. “Uh��� yeah?” Your answer comes out as more of a question than a confirmation.

Her smile grows, as if your awkwardness amuses her. “Thought so. I’m Jiheon.” She leans in just slightly, resting one hand on the counter. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your wariness kicks in. Jiheon—the Jiheon—is talking to you? Asking for your name? It feels like the kind of thing that only happens to other people. Your eyes flick briefly to Gyuri at the other end of the counter. She’s busy steaming milk, not even sparing a glance in Jiheon’s direction.

“Nice to meet you,” you manage, your voice steadier this time, though your thoughts are racing. “Uh, caramel macchiato?” You blurt the question out more out of instinct than anything else.

Her laugh is light, lilting, but there’s something playful in it, like she’s already decided you’re her new source of entertainment. “Hmm. Good guess,” she teases, tapping a finger against the counter. “Sure, I’ll have that. But I’m impressed you remembered. I didn’t think I was that predictable.”

You feel your face heat up, fumbling to punch her order into the register. “It’s not that, I just—uh—” You stop, realizing anything you say will just dig you deeper.

She watches you, clearly enjoying the way you stumble over your words. “Relax, Junho,” she says, her tone soft but undeniably amused. “I’m just messing with you.”

Handing her the receipt, you attempt a smile. “Coming right up.”

Instead of moving to find a seat, she lingers by the counter, her eyes drifting lazily around the café before landing back on you. “Nice place. Gyuri’s done a great job here, hasn’t she?”

Your gaze flicks to Gyuri again. Still busy. Still not looking this way. “Yeah, she has,” you reply, keeping your voice neutral.

Jiheon tilts her head, her smile still firmly in place. “You two seem close,” she muses, her tone light but probing. “Gyuri’s lucky to have someone like you helping her out.”

The way she says it makes you feel like she’s toying with you, testing your reaction. “I just do what I can,” you say cautiously.

Her eyes light up, as if you’ve said something particularly amusing. “I bet you do.” She straightens up and takes a step back. “Well, Junho, it’s been… enlightening.” Her smile takes on an almost cat-like quality. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be around.”

As she walks away to find a seat, the tension in your shoulders eases, but her presence lingers like a shadow. You glance at Gyuri one last time, hoping for some kind of reaction, but she’s focused on the drinks in front of her, her usual calm smile in place.

And yet, for just a moment, you swear there’s something almost knowing in the way she glances at Jiheon’s retreating figure..

— The bell above the door jingles as the last customer leaves, and you let out a long breath, leaning against the counter. The café feels different now—quiet, peaceful, but heavy with the lingering scent of coffee and pastries. It’s nighttime, and the warm glow of the overhead lights gives the empty space a cozy but slightly eerie feel.

“Good job today, Junho,” Gyuri says, flashing you one of her signature warm smiles as she locks the cash register.

“Thanks, Ms. Gyuri,” you reply, your voice softer than usual in the now-empty café.

After finishing up your closing duties—wiping down tables, stacking chairs, and sweeping the floors—you grab your jacket and step out into the cool night air. The streets are quieter now, with only a few scattered groups of students heading home. You adjust your backpack, your thoughts already drifting toward the comfort of your cramped boarding room.

As you turn a corner, someone bumps into you.

“Ah, sorry,” you mumble automatically, stepping back.

The girl doesn’t even glance up, her eyes glued to her phone. She’s wearing what looks like an e-sport jersey jacket, its bold colors contrasting with the dark street. Her brown hair catches the ambient glow of the streetlights, faintly shining as she moves past you. For a brief moment, her face is illuminated, and it’s enough to leave an impression.

She’s stunning.

Before you can fully process it, your impulse kicks in. You take a step forward, clearing your throat. “Hey, uh, I’m Junho...”

But she doesn’t respond. Her focus remains solely on the screen of her phone, and she keeps walking, oblivious to your presence.

You stand there for a second, feeling a bit foolish, then shake your head. The image of her lingers in your mind as she disappears into the night, leaving you with nothing but the quiet hum of the street.

When you finally reach your room, you fumble with your keys and push the door open. It’s as small and cramped as ever, but it’s yours. You toss your jacket onto the single chair by the desk, only to realize something’s missing. Your bag. You groan, running a hand through your hair. You must’ve left it at the café in your rush to leave. There’s no helping it—you’ll have to go back.

The walk feels longer this time, the quiet streets amplifying the sound of your footsteps. As you get closer, a strange unease settles in your chest. The air feels heavier, the streetlights casting elongated shadows that seem to move just out of sync with your steps. Your skin prickles, as if something unseen is watching.

When you reach the café, you notice something strange. Cars are parked outside. Not just any cars—luxury vehicles, sleek and expensive, the kind you’d expect to see in a high-end district, not outside a cozy student café. Their polished exteriors gleam under the soft glow of the streetlights, each one a testament to sophistication and taste.

Your gaze drifts across the lineup, catching details that feel oddly personal. A jet-black SUV, imposing and understated. A sapphire blue Porsche, sharp and vibrant, eerily luring you in. Your eyes stop briefly on a compact car that feels out of place among the giants—a Mini Cooper. Its emerald green paint shimmers, the kind of green that feels rich and alive, paired with racing stripes that speak of personality rather than pure extravagance. It’s less ostentatious but undeniably stylish, a subtle standout among its peers.

As you approach, an inexplicable resistance builds inside you, like a pressure against your chest. Your feet feel heavier, your thoughts fuzzier, and for a brief moment, you consider turning around. The café seems distant, almost unreal, like it’s shifting away even as you step closer. But you shake it off, forcing yourself forward.

You head to the backdoor, fishing out the spare key Gyuri gave you for emergencies. Pushing it open, you step into the staff area and spot your bag right where you left it. Relieved, you sling it over your shoulder and turn to leave.

That’s when you hear it.

The faint jingle of the front doorbell breaks the silence, followed by muffled voices.

You freeze. The café should be empty, but there’s a light seeping through the crack of the door leading to the main lobby. Slowly, you step closer, curiosity outweighing caution.

Peeking through the door, you see her.

She steps inside like she owns the air she breathes, her presence commanding yet effortless. Her long, jet-black hair cascades down her back, perfectly straight, with sharp bangs framing her face. Under the glow of the café lights, her striking blue eyes seem almost unnatural, as if they were cut from the sky itself.

For a moment, her gaze sweeps the café, and then it lands directly on you.

Your heart skips a beat. You’re sure you’ve been caught—your face heats up, and you’re ready to stammer some excuse about being here after hours. But her expression doesn’t shift.

Her lips curl into a smile, slow and deliberate, as if she’s been waiting for this very moment. It’s the kind of smile that feels personal, like it holds a secret meant only for you.

But then, as quickly as her eyes found yours, they slid away.

It’s deliberate—you’re certain of that. She must have seen you. And yet, she acts as if you’re invisible, as if your presence is of no consequence. She turns, her hair sweeping behind her like a silk curtain, and addresses the others in the room.

From your hidden vantage point, you take in the scene.

The café, which should have been empty, is instead alive with movement. A group of women fills the space, each one radiating an aura of distinct confidence and beauty. They aren’t just sitting or lounging; they seem to command the room, transforming it into something that feels foreign, almost sacred.

“Chaeyoung,” one of the women calls out, her tone both teasing and sharp, “you’re late.”

Your eyes dart to the source of the voice, and your breath catches—it’s her. The same woman you bumped into earlier, the one engrossed in her phone. She’s still wearing that e-sport jersey jacket, looking as effortlessly confident as she had before.

“And Nagyung? You’re not late?” Chaeyoung fires back, her tone teasing, her smile sharper now.

The casual banter between them feels like watching something private, yet you can’t look away.

Your gaze shifts to the rest of the table. The initial shock of seeing Chaeyoung fades as you take in the others, each of them equally striking in their presence. You almost stumble backward when you spot familiar faces.

Gyuri, whose warmth you’ve come to rely on, sits with an unfamiliar coolness about her. Her brow is furrowed, a faint trace of annoyance crossing her usually gentle features. It sharpens her striking appearance, making her seem like someone you’ve never truly known. There's a tension in her posture that makes you feel like you're seeing a side of her that’s been hidden until now.

Seoyeon leans lazily toward the women beside her, her relaxed posture contrasting the air of composure around the table.

The woman Seoyeon is leaning into feels strangely familiar, as if you should recognize her. She matches the others in beauty, her jet-black hair framing a delicate face. A soft smile plays at her lips, radiating warmth and charm. With luminous skin and deep, expressive eyes, she exudes an effortless elegance that captivates without even trying.

And as if that weren’t enough to leave you reeling, on the other side of the table, you recognize Lee Saerom.

The Saerom. The top celebrity, known for her flawless visuals and commanding performances.

Sitting next to her is Song Hayoung, the famous songwriter and soloist whose music dominates every chart. 

They’re casually leaning into the conversation, as though their combined fame and aura aren’t enough to make this room the most exclusive place in the city.

“Is Jiwon not here yet?” Chaeyoung asks as she slips into a seat, her voice nonchalant, but her eyes scanning the room with interest.

The front doorbell jingles, and the door swings open.

“I’m here!!” a bright, piercing voice calls out.

Your head swivels toward the source, and there she is. Jiwon, bounding through the entrance like a whirlwind of energy, her grin lighting up the room before her words even have a chance.

“Jisun, did you bring food?” Jiwon’s question comes rapid-fire, her tone playful but undeniably demanding.

The woman Seoyeon was leaning into rose. She moves with calm precision, her composure stark against Jiwon’s lively presence.

"Of course, I brought food. Wouldn’t want you to starve." Jisun says, her voice soft but firm, as she produces a stack of containers seemingly out of nowhere. She places them on the table, the gesture practiced, as though she had been anticipating the request long before it was asked.

It hits you then. Roh Jisun. The world-famous chef. Known for her culinary brilliance and beauty. You've seen her multiple times before in magazines, tv, or online articles. You can hardly believe she's here, so close, exuding an effortless elegance.

“Can we finally get started? I still have to clean up after all of you,” Gyuri complained, her annoyance clear.

Now that the group had gathered, all eyes shifted to Saerom, who was waiting for their attention.

“Our youngest is losing control,” Saerom began.

“We all constantly are,” Nagyung shrugged off the concern.

“This isn't the same, you know that,” Saerom replied firmly.

“Don’t try to ignore these meetings, Nagyung. I’m losing millions just being here,” Jiwon said, flaunting her wealth.

“Must be nice having all those millions,” Hayoung remarked. While her gaze focuses on the only fork on the table, in the hands of Chaeyoung.

“You’re a millionaire too. Why are you eyeing my money?” Jiwon shot back defensively.

“Ahem!… Losing control?” Gyuri steered the conversation back on track.

Saerom, now commanding their full attention, spoke with purpose.

“We need to consider finally finding an anchor.”

“Then we’ll get an anchor. Meeting is done,” Soyeon said with a yawn, stretching.

Charyoung, still twirling the fork between her fingers, smirked. “Do we have to? I’ve been liking her attitude recently.”

“It’s time,” Saerom replied, her tone serious. “We can’t risk it. If deceit consumes her…”

“It will consume all of us,” Gyuri finished, her voice dark.

You stay frozen, trying to make sense of the conversation. Consume? Anchor? Deceit? The weight of their words sinks in, and though you know you should leave, something keeps you rooted to the spot. The truth behind their cryptic conversation is just out of reach.

Then, without warning, a soft voice whispered near your ear.

“Curiosity can be dangerous, you know.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, spinning around to find Jiheon standing inches away, her signature eye-smile curved upward in amusement. You’re certain she wasn’t there a second ago. How could she have gotten so close without making a sound?

“Wha—how—?” you stammer, instinctively taking a step back, only to hear the door creak open behind you.

Seoyeon, now fully awake, leans forward slightly, her drowsy facade giving way to genuine surprise. “How did he get here?” she asks, her voice carrying a rare edge of curiosity. Her eyes scan you, but it’s not just scrutiny—it’s disbelief, almost as if you’re some kind of anomaly.

“Who’s this?” Nagyung asks, clearly not remembering you.

“Junho,” Gyuri says softly, her voice now laced with concern and confusion. “How are you here?” Her warm demeanor has returned that almost makes you feel safe. Almost.

Your mind scrambles for an explanation, but Jiheon, ever calm, steps forward, her gaze fixed on you as if she’s reading your very thoughts.

“He overheard,” Jiheon says simply, her tone neither accusatory nor dismissive.

“Clearly” Jiwon crosses her arms, her lively energy dampened by suspicion. “Why did you let him through?” Jiheon doesn’t answer. Instead, she steps forward, closing the already narrow distance between the two of you. Her eyes glint with an eerie amusement, her head tilting slightly as she examines you like a puzzle she’s just begun to piece together.

“Regardless of how,” Saerom says, her voice cutting through the murmurs and drawing every gaze. She rises slowly, her commanding presence quieting the room once more. “What matters is why. What did he hear?”

“I didn’t mean to listen!” you blurt out, your voice shaky as you raise your hands in defense. “I—I just came back for my bag, and then I heard voices, and—”

“And stopped to eavesdrop,” Chaeyoung interrupts, her voice playful but her eyes uncomfortably sharp.

“No! I mean—yes, but not like that!” you stammer, feeling the weight of their collective stares crushing you. “It’s not what you think! I swear I won’t tell anyone!”

Gyuri sighs, stepping closer. “Junho, you don’t understand. This... what you’ve heard... it’s not something you can just walk away from.”

“I don’t know how you got through the mist ” Jisun adds, her tone firm but not unkind. “But this isn’t something just anyone can know.”

“Maybe,” Chaeyoung says, her lips curving into a sly smile, “he’s not ‘just anyone.’”

“Enough.” Saerom’s single word silences the room, her authority undeniable. Her eyes pierce through you, weighing your very existence. “What’s done is done. The question now is what we do with him.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. “Wait!” you cry, your voice desperate. “I swear I won’t say anything! I don’t even understand what I heard! Just let me go, and I’ll forget everything!”

“That’s not how this works,”  Hayoung says from across the room, her voice carrying an edge as she’s now holding the fork she was eyeing earlier.

Jiheon smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she takes another step closer. “Oh, Junho,” she purrs, her voice dripping with playful malice. “It’s not your fault, really. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She tilts her head, her smile widening. “But... well, it’s a little late for regrets, don’t you think?”

Her hand lifts, faint cyan light dancing at her fingertips, and you can’t tear your eyes away. The glow reflects in her eyes, making her look ethereal and otherworldly.

“Jiheon, stop!” Saerom’s voice cuts through, but Jiheon doesn’t even flinch.

“Relax,” Jiheon says lightly, her tone almost soothing as she looks at you. “I’m just helping him... rest a little.”

“Jiheon!” Saerom’s command comes sharper this time, but it’s already too late.

Jiheon’s fingers flick, the cyan light tracing an elegant pattern in the air. “Just a little nap,” she whispers, her voice lilting and playful.

The moment the light touches you, an overwhelming drowsiness washes over your body. Your knees buckle, the edges of your vision darken, and Jiheon’s playful smile is the last thing you see as the world fades to black.

a/n: Before you move one the next chapter, can you guess who's who, with their pairing emotion? (Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, Sloth, Deceit, and Apathy)

[kiragecko]

Authour’s Voices

I read fic for voice before anything else. Plot, tropes, canon compliance – they all pale in comparison to the word crafting. But voice is hard to describe, and referencing certain verbal tics is more likely to make an authour self-conscious than it is to flatter. So, here's my best attempt to describe the voices of some of my favourite fanfic authours – focusing on tone, subject matter, and the feelings they provoke, in a hope that I can get across at least a hint of how they sound.

@suzukiblu / suzukiblu / Rin (I read for DCU, Young Justice TV, Avatar)

REALLY intertwines characters thoughts and feelings in compelling ways. Inner monologues are a particular strength. Digs deep into what motivates characters and then lets them be insecure and angry because of those things. Writes REALLY close third person narration – ie. we are entirely in one person’s head, but the narration is using their name instead of saying ‘me.’ And we are ENTWINED in their head. Deeply. Maybe actually more in their chest -  the emotions are visceral and immediate. Very cathartic angry/overwhelmed ranting is a feature. People learning that they have inherent value. Romance/sex that is based on strong connections, and goes far deeper than hormones. A strong understanding of canon, used to write alternate universes that are much richer for that knowledge. Stories are cathartic, and leave you washed clean and energized.

@whetstonefires / Kieron_ODuibhir (/ Kieron) (I read for DCU, The Untamed/The Other Versions Of This Story)

Thoughtful, empathic stories that feel like they’ve spent months being refined to perfection. Also incredibly strong understanding of canon, with a much higher chance of showing her work on the page. A gift for searching out the nagging, poorly fitting pieces of canon characterization, and integrating them in her fic in ways that makes rereading the original a better experience. Beautiful, haunting, sentences. Feels like poetry makes me feel. A writing style that ALMOST feels intellectual, but is actually incredibly empathic. The knowledge is the vessel that carries the ... love? Respect? Maybe respect, and care, and dignity, that she has for the characters she’s writing about. Stories leave you quiet and satisfied.

@galaxystew / galaxysoup (I read for Avengers/Thor, Supernatural)

Careful, emotional, deep stories. There is a sense of immenseness, that the story can’t go too fast or it would become unstoppable. DEEPLY moving, gut-wrenching, stories told from just enough emotional distance to avoid overwhelming the audience. But they also about taking time to rest, both for the characters and the audience. Focuses on exploring and healing damaged relationships, (and damaged people), and never goes for the easy/trite solutions. Unassuming language and imagery that grounds the sometimes epic elements of her canons. Stories leave you grateful – grateful that the characters have reached that place, and grateful you got to come along.

@teland / Teland / Te (I read for DCU)

Stories have only the vestigial remains of a narrator. Almost everything is verbal or mental dialogue, usually without tags. (Ie. things like ‘Tim said.’) This would be frustrating with most writers, but Te’s character voices are SO strong and distinct that a story can start with an unnamed person talking and you immediately know who it is. She focuses on aspects of characters that many other authours miss (though some of that could be survivorship bias – perhaps she was part of a zeitgeist that hasn’t been preserved). She gets DEEP into the psyches of the characters she’s writing, dissects them, and then has them dryly comment on their displayed innards. Excels at characters that are very disconnected from their emotions, but also at characters who live immediately IN their emotions. Strong themes of identity and found family, though not in the way ‘found family’ is usually used these days. Symbolic, projected family? Stand-in, or sublimated, or substituted family? Something in that area. A lot of sex, which is also standing in for other things. Electric, transformative stories, with extremely long chapters that are hard to escape from when the world tries to call you back. Stories leave you alive to the possibilities, and maybe knowing more about yourself.

@angel-gidget / angel_gidget / Gidge (I read for DCU)

There’s an optimism and joy to Gidge’s writing. A ... cleanness. Hmm, what do I mean? I ... I’m not actually sure? But it feels refreshing and space-making, to read a Gidge story. It feels like they SHOULD be humorous, with the effects they have, but that’s not actually the focus? It feels like they’re light, even when the topic is heavy and treated seriously. It’s a really special gift, what Gidge has. Maybe the correct term is ‘conversational’? Yeah, there’s a matter-of-fact, conversational tone to everything she creates, and it lifts your spirits every time you read it.

@vmohlere / owlet (I read for Avengers/Captain America)

Absolutely brilliant way of using humour to tackle difficult subjects. Stories are so funny and positive, that it’s hard to realize how dark the things referenced are. It helps that they usually don’t become explicit until the characters have mostly processed them, and they’ve been defanged of a lot of their power. I’ve never seen someone else accomplish this, and it blows me away. Incredible OCs. Deep empathy for character’s specific needs, and focusing on what THEY’RE ready to focus on. Boundaries are not only respected, but taught. And all of this is happening behind a wry, clever sense of humour that invites you in to hang out for a while. One of the most joyful reading experiences I’ve ever had. I’ve used scenes to walk myself through bad mental periods. And I still think about their work every time I make a grilled cheese.

[acepalindrome]

Apologies to Spite and Manfred but Cole is still my favorite spirit and I think he should just start popping up around the Lighthouse to say unsettling things and fix people’s emotional problems before making them forget he was there.

Except the forgetting thing doesn’t work on Manfred and Spite.

Emmrich is gushing to Lucanis one day about how Manfred’s imagination is really developing lately. He keeps talking about a nice boy in a hat! I think he has an imaginary friend!

Lucanis freezes with his coffee mug halfway to his mouth. …oh. Spite has…also been talking about a boy in a hat. I thought he was just making things up for attention.

Emmrich can hear Spite start screaming about Lucanis calling him a liar and also why does only the spirit boy get to have a hat? Spite also wants a hat!!

They have to call a group meeting because alright everyone, don’t panic, but we seem to have a spirit roaming around the Lighthouse that no one is able to remember except for Manfred and Spite, so it’s very difficult to tell what its intentions with us are. But I do feel oddly compelled to find a more healthy way of dealing with my trauma, so that’s something. Also Manfred and Spite are demanding hats now.

“Yes. I think more hats would be good,” says a blond boy standing in the corner. He definitely wasn’t there just a minute ago.

[elbiotipo]

The most annoying thing about generic medieval fantasy slop is that most of it has basically nothing to do with real European history. Tolkien's stuff was based on folklore and myth from anglo-saxon England, so the omission of things like religion and social classes makes sense. But most modern DnD-like fantasy stuff is based on worlds that are much less mythical, and yet they're all exactly the same while having not much to do with real europe. There's no notable distinction between the names and languages of people from one country and another, they're all random european names that come from everywhere from Ireland to portugal to greece to Novgorod, with a few made up european-sounding names with no thought behind them. The exact way social stratification varied, like how some serfs from the HRE would be trained as knights and given valued positions as the emperor's Ministeriales; or the difference between serfs, free peasants who rent, free peasants who have common land, and gentry; or the antipathy between HRE Princes and the Free Cities' elites; or that the centralisation of the governments of the iberian crowns that was made possible by an increase in burghers who studied Roman Law and became Civil Servants; or how feudal lords didn't do much administration and were rarely even literate; is all completely ignored in favour of a worldbuilding-wise nonsensical stylistic mish-mash of anglo-saxon England, Arthurian Britain as imagined by the French, ancient-regime france and the late-medieval Hanse. I wanted to ask you something but I got lost in the rant, sorry

Don't matter, you can keep talking to me like that all night if you wish, in fact, feel free to get more comfortable over there

ahem

I'm very tired of the Middle Ages, even with well researched settings, I believe we reached a point of saturation. I do wonder when this omnipresence of the Middle Ages in fantasy came from, because while there are undertones of it in Tolkien for example, it doesn't scream Middle Ages (more of Arthurian and Anglo-Saxon legend though) I have a feeling there is more to this relatively Middle Ages obsession, because it's even widespread in pop-culture in a way that I feel other time periods aren't.

But what bothers me is the same as you Anon, the fact there is a lot of interesting things to explore about the Middle Ages, and instead it's treated as a shallow aesthetic, as a monolith that can be just used as decoration for your story. Because that's in fact my main complaint with worldbuilding, when cultures are treated as interchangeable monoliths, and then every setting is the same; and if your setting is generic and flat, it means that you could switch your characters to any other setting and that makes them generic and flat. And what is interesting about Middle Ages Europe is that people back then, like any past societies, had very different worldviews and very different ways of organizing their lives. You wouldn't just exchange a knight into a modern soldier or cop and it would be the same. The life of people back then was different, and I would expect a fantasy work inspired by that to reflect it.

Many don't seem to want to engage with that though. They want the aesthetics without any thought about the societies, culture, economics, dynamics that were there. And to be honest, at this point, those aesthetics are not even that compelling anymore.

[defectivehero]

Bad things happen bingo enemy turned caretaker (villain if possible 😈) PLEASEEUUUHHH🙏🙏🙏

Okay, so my first instinct for this is to go with a villain caretaker, because duh. Then I thought... let's reverse it. Then I thought... nah. Let's make it a bit... interesting. Heeheehee..... Hee...... Heehee.... It may not be exactly what you expected, but I hope you enjoy!

@badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Enemy Turned Caretaker

The hero's hand blurs as they attempt to reach for the doorbell of the far too familiar building. They completely miss and groan, instead attempting to clench their fist and knock on the door itself. The effort is strangely difficult, but they manage to make it work, because within moments the door swings open.

"Oh, hello." The villain says, blinking at the injured hero on their doorstep. "Fancy seeing you here." They don't sound particularly surprised, only annoyed.

"...Hello." The hero manages to respond through the haze of pain. They blink and the villain's teeth grow long and sharp. Another blink and they're gone. The hero must be losing it. Maybe they have a concussion, on top of everything else.

"I assume you need my help." The villain states dryly, nothing but disinterest present in their voice. They cross their arms over their chest.

The hero doesn't bother sugarcoating it. "Yes." They agree. "Please." They add on, if only to appeal to the villain's somewhat masochistic tendencies. And with perfectly awful timing, the hero lurches on their feet, blindly grasping at the doorframe so they don't face-plant into the ground.

The villain lets out a long-suffering sigh, clearly annoyed. "Fine, fine." They drawl. "Can't have the city's favorite hero dying on my doorstep. It would certainly raise questions." The villain sidles up to the hero and throws the hero's arm around their shoulder, guiding them into the room and onto the nearby sofa. There's already some sort of towel over it, the hero notes dazedly as they're gently guided down to sit. Their enemy must collapse on this piece of furniture, bleeding and exhausted, rather often.

The villain works quietly and methodically. They must be practiced with this sort of thing. After all, the hero has inflicted injuries upon them before.

The hero is silent for a while, before their curiosity gets the best of them. "You know, you're supposed to ask, 'Who did this to you?'" They say with slight amusement. Indeed, the villain has been almost uncharacteristically speechless as they've patched them up.

"Ah, I suppose I should." The villain says with a smile of recognition. They finish with the bandages, a deceptively gentle gesture that leaves the hero almost struggling for breath. "But I already know."

The hero's chest lurches. Something doesn't feel right all of a sudden. The world swirls and blurs around them, and all they can see is their enemy looming over them with that knowing smile on their face. Fuck. Fuck. "You do." They say skeptically. The past hour flies before their eyes in quick glimpses: beaten to a pulp, abandoned in an alleyway, the villain's far too opportune appearance...

"Yes." The villain confirms with a hum, sitting on the opposite arm of the sofa and looking down at them. "I must say, it went rather well. Exceeded my expectations, really." They grin.

"How...?" The hero chokes out, despite already knowing the answer. They're not even bound or restrained, but they feel so incredibly powerless. The fatigue eating at their bones is enough to leave them practically immobile underneath their enemy's gaze. Their wounds still burn, their muscles still aching from the exertion.

"Oh, you know," the villain waves a hand flippantly. "I just got a few of my men—the rather brutish ones—to ambush you. Leave you for dead in an alleyway, conveniently located near my headquarters."

...And the hero fell for it—hook, line, and sinker. They could've gone anywhere else, yet they went right to their enemy. What the hell compelled them to run straight to the villain's doorstep? They've made a grave oversight, assuming the villain's treatment came for free. Their enemy never does anything out of the good of their heart.

"Too easy, really." The villain continues, a smile on their face. "You fell right into my arms, just as I planned." They rest their chin on their hand and stare at them.

The hero feels like they're going to throw up. "...And now?" The hero whispers, their heart racing. They are not safe here—that much is abundantly clear.

"Ah, yes, now." The villain hums. They tap their fingers against their chin, before letting their arms fall to rest on their knees. "Well, there are nearly infinite possibilities."

"As much as I'd hate to destroy all my hard work," the villain trails off, dragging their finger up the hero's bandaged ankle. They suddenly strengthen their grip and the hero hisses at the uncomfortable pressure. "I quite like the idea of cutting you up again."

The hero stares at them with a mix of disbelief, frustration, and horror. Their enemy only laughs.

©2025, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

Bad Things Happen Bingo Masterlist

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[thrashkink-coven]

People ask me all the time why I’m not a Christian. Why would I possibly be pagan? I claim to know all this stuff about the Bible but I somehow don’t subscribe to it? Do I not believe in Jesus’ teachings?

You wanna know the real reason why I personally feel compelled to not be a Christian? It’s not because I disagree with certain laws or think that Jesus didn’t have any valuable teachings. Despite my differences in opinion on morality, things like being lgbtq, the role of a woman, the importance of witchcraft etc, I could get over all that nitpicky stuff if I felt truly inspired by the story.

There are only two real reasons why I don’t subscribe to the Christian doctrine

1. Return to a perfect past

I find it hard to conceptualize a God that refers to his people as his slaves and servants, I have a lot to say about the doctrine that is supremacy, which lays the foundation for Christian theology, but beyond that, this idea of “God is all good and the only reason anything negative ever happens is because Satan brought death and sin into the world” is actually a very interesting idea to me. Like no, evil and death isn’t natural at all you’re just so used to living in an evil world that you can no longer recognize the original creation. God tells us to turn away from the world because the world is no longer his perfect creation but an amalgamation of his creation with the evil of Satan and man.

I like this idea, but I also think it’s incredibly flawed. It’s typical for many religions to glamorize the ancient past, and believe that there is a perfect beginning.

I think about when my bf buys me roses, I immediately hang them out to dry and let them die. Somehow they seem more beautiful to me that way, in an eternal state of dead perfection, wilted and faded, but somehow still alive in some way. Death doesn’t do us part, I can appreciate them forever though death and beyond. I think about moldy bread, how disgusted it makes me, but how fascinating it is to view up close when you actually pay attention.

In a pre-sin/death world, dead, dried roses and moldy bread wouldn’t be a thing. Is a world without death perfect? Is eternal life greater than eternity in death? Is a painless world perfect to a masochist?

I think that ancient peoples romanticized the past for the same reason we do, they weren’t there. Somehow, it’s more comfortable to believe we fucked up somewhere along the way, and if we could just figure out what it was, we could return to that state of perfection.

One of my favourite stories is Paradise Lost. Within it, when Adam and Eve are banished from the garden of eden, there is a very powerful exchange between the two, wherein Adam says to Eve, despite our sins and the wickedness of the world, I will still love you. You are still the queen of eden to me. We still have each other. The true testament of love is being able to love even in the face of adversity.

Although tragic, I believe this is what humanity has always been doing. Perhaps we didn’t come from a perfect beginning, perhaps we crawled our way to the top of the evolutionary ladder with white knuckles. Perhaps the world has always been perfectly imperfect, and we have still managed to find this divine love along the way. I don’t see the point in desperately trying to go backwards, when these experiences have only made us stronger. The tragedy is the acceptance of cause and effect. Is suffering a perfect invention because liberation was born from it? Christianity says it’s not, that the cost of human suffering was not worth whatever we gained, that satan made an unnecessary and frivolous mistake. I struggle to conceptualize world in which the entirety of human history as it has played out has been a cosmological mistake.

I believe that we are children finding our way, slowly, very fucking slowly, but surely.

and this leads into my second reason.

I honestly don’t really have anything against Jesus Christ. In my mind he is an entirely neutral character, not because I don’t believe in his existence, but because if I believe he is real, I pity him more than anything else.

In my opinion, Jesus Christ’s sacrifice, though a very beautiful and interesting philosophical idea, did not save humanity, and did not set us free. It didn’t save the world and it does not provide us with the tools to save the world.

Within the Christian theology, no man can get to God except through Christ. This is because Jesus died for our sins, he payed the price so we could see salvation. God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that all those who believe in him may have eternal life. Christianity fundamentally operates on the idea that the sacrifice of the most pure, most innocent, is the necessary price to pay for the salvation of everyone. To deliver humanity from sin, the most virtuous human had to be sacrificed. Humanity had to essentially spiritually cannibalize itself, eat the body and drink the blood of Jesus to be cleansed. And I honestly, absolutely despise that idea.

I say I pity Jesus, not only because of the way his legacy has been bastardized and fetishized on a global scale, (Jesus was God but he was also a human, at one time he was a child. Imagine being a 10 year old Jesus and knowing the implications of your existence) but also because I don’t think his sacrifice saved the world, I don’t think it saved me. Spiritual salvation is a plan to bail everyone out after they die, after revelations. There is no plan to save this world because at least theologically, God does not have faith in humanity to save this world. Jesus’ plan is an escape plan, one that comes to save all the righteous while the wicked burn for eternity.

I disagree, and maybe it’s my naivety. I believe that we can save this world, not by casting out the wicked, but by collectively doing the basic human fundamental, just loving each other. The key to save the world has always been simple. Love has never been a popular movement. Every conflict in all of humanity would be resolved if we all saw each other as kin. Disentangling the systems of oppression and supremacy that have always rotten the world. That means fighting evil, that means tragedy and violence. But just as we have taught ourselves many doctrines over the centuries, I believe, or hope, with enough time, we can teach ourselves a doctrine of love and empathy. I believe most humans are capable of this. And I believe that we can have extra humanity to handle and disarm those that can’t.

“but Jesus tried to do that and humans killed him!”

They killed Huey P. Newton too. We keep on fighting. Not because we want to be assured in death that we are good people. But because, if there is a chance for a world in which children can sleep on fields of grass and the words “war” and “hunger” are ancient memories, where trees whose names I know can grow as tall as the heavens and water is always clean, then I will fight my hardest to push the world towards that future. And if I die before I see it, then I hope you keep on pushing for me. That is the love that humanity has for itself, and there is no God that can do that for us.

The Bible says that God so loved the world that he gave his only son. I wish that God so loved the world that he came to fight alongside all his children, and didn’t give up until he had finally touched the heart of every human, made them understand the value of this world, the world we have right now, and the life we have right now before it is engulfed in flames. You, all powerful God, could not change the hearts of men? Because they refused you? Because they, in their ignorance, embraced the world that birthed them, and not the stranger that abandoned it? Shook it up and started over, again, because the mess was too ugly to clean up? I don’t believe you.

There are multiple times in the Bible where it says that humans are evil, and I simply don’t believe it. People are born with mental disorders and acclimate to trauma, but I do not believe that people are born evil, and I don’t believe in a God who lets his children burn. Whether that be in a fiery Hell or in the dark separation from light.

It is only through knowledge that we have disabled these beliefs in evil people. You aren���t possessed by demons, you have BPD. You’re not evil, you have autism. We can understand each other if we only take the time to try. And understanding is the one thing that humanity has always craved.

We are children, we are born without understanding and come to know the world as it interacts with us. We have the infinite potential to learn and that’s what makes us so special as a species. Humans, these insatiably curious creatures who will not stop until they have seen every star, turned over every rock, and documented every crevice of the ocean floor. What better creature to inhabit the earth, and who else to save it?

If Jesus died for my sins, thanks. I didn’t ask you to do that, and I’m not going to depend on it. If there truly is a God that is good, then I will prove myself to him though my actions and love towards his creation. And if he deduces that I am evil, I will not use the shedded blood of the innocent to rectify myself. I’m sick in dealing in blood, I don’t have to think in the same terms as a War God.

Idk, maybe that’s just the Luciferian in me.

[asongofmarvelanddc]

I’ve always said Bella turning into a vampire should’ve been explored as a tragedy.

Everything somehow works out for her perfectly:

she doesn’t have an uncontrollable thirst

she learns how to act human in almost no time

she gets to keep her father in her life and the wolves as allies

she keeps jacob’s friendship (and he’s not in love with her anymore so that’s great for her)

her half-vampire baby who’s aging rapidly will coincidentally stop aging at a magically perfect age.

I know it’s ultimately just a romance covered with thin, flimsy supernatural wrapping, but let’s treat twilight as serious fiction for a second.

Imagine if:

after turning, the Cullens now all have to deal with the pack coming after them for turning a human.

on that first hunt, Bella kills someone and has to deal with that grief and guilt.

Charlie is told about her death, and Bella has to deal with the fact that she can never see him again. That she’s broken his heart and he’ll be grieving, probably depressed for the rest of his life.

the Cullens discover that there is no cure to Renesmee’s aging and that it won’t stop. If Bella and Edward had to come to terms with the fact that half-vampire beings were never supposed to exist, so by their very nature they don’t live long.

Of course, in the end Bella and Edward can still find happiness after all the years of grief. It’s not impossible, but the fact that it just all goes right for them after Bella turns just never sat right with me.

Edited to add: Bella not facing any consequences for vampirism also cheapens all the stakes previously set up. Everyone warns her of the bad shit that comes with vampirism and she basically says she’s strong enough to deal with all of it. What’s the point in going through with that choice if that “strength” is never tested?

Bella’s entire post-death arc should’ve been filled with her questioning herself and her decision to turn. It should’ve been “Was this truly worth it?”. Even if in the end Bella’s answer ends up being yes (dk why it would be) the questions and the inner conflict is what makes a compelling story and a narrative pay-off.

I haven’t talked about twilight in a hot minute but can you imagine if smeyer wasn’t such a pussy and had Jacob and Bella like not be cool anymore after she turns into a vampire. Like everything kind of just kind of turns to shit for Bella after she turns. She ends up actually killing that Hunter and her best friend doesn’t want to talk to her anymore because the vampires ARE his enemy which makes her the enemy too. Imagine the angst.

[lizardsfromspace]

It's tempting to call out evangelicals on grounds of hypocrisy - on ignoring the teachings of their own religion - but to them, it all makes sense, because they've developed a framework that basically amounts to Jesus having no real philosophy

They acknowledge the many verses about caring for the poor etc, but take it either as a code or of lesser importance. It's not about changing society, it's about individual charity, but not about compelling people to be charitable, just that it's nice. When Jesus spoke of the "least" of society, that wasn't about helping marginalized people, that was either about Christians, or about what side to take in the war that happens after the rapture. Simple. You may think "wait, but right before that it mentions caring for the poor, sick, and imprisoned" and their answer is, as I understand it, that you can just read every verse of the Bible in isolation from every other verse and it still makes sense on its own, so it doesn't matter (for reference, the New Testament wasn't split into numbered verses until 1551, when they were decided on by a random Frenchman)

This doesn't make sense on many levels. Anyone outside the sphere would point out that, religion aside, it would be really weird to have a story about someone telling a bunch of people to help the poor and then reveal "actually, it was all about events that will happen thousands of years after everyone present was dead! Nothing that was said matters to you or most people reading this!" Like what's the point. But within the sphere they have so many rationalizations, like how it's taken as writ in evangelical circles that it's okay to be rich because the "Eye of the Needle" was a specific gate in Jerusalem that was merely difficult to get through. Meanwhile, outside their culture, no references to that gate exist, because it didn't exist

One fun strain of this thinking is this

The Good Samaritan is a parable that ends with the directive to "go and do likewise". So clearly, the real point of the story is that you can't do anything. Jesus told everyone to go and do likewise to prove that nobody can ever show the impossible love to...help a guy who got robbed? Because Jesus was perfect, all advice from Jesus can be disregarded, because nobody can follow it because they're not Jesus

This idea, that every story Jesus told was just about how nobody can ever be like Jesus, is a thing in those circles and it's such a baffling foundation for a religion. Follow our messiah, who told us to be nice to people, but we know all the secret messages about how all those stories meant we SHOULDN'T be nice to people. Their sacred text is not a guide to living, it's a textbook for the apocalypse and how to go to heaven disguised as a guide to how you should be nice to people and help poor people. But a bunch of well-off white people discovered the secret parts of the Bible absolving them of the responsibility to care about people, so

[tricoloreddango]

Saccharine

Sinbad x female! reader

Summary: You’re tired of Sinbad’s constant advances towards you. Trying to outsmart him, you make a deal with him, thinking he’ll easily lose.

Cw: obsessive, manipulative and possessive Sinbad / story is slightly suggestive / slight gore mention (Sinbad is offering you his eye as a promise though he knows you’d never take it) / I’m not done with manga, so this is based on the anime version and some chapters. Word count: around 6,3k

With another sea creature being caught and slaughtered by Sinbad’s generals, it was time for another Maharagan festival of this year, with this, to feed people of Sindria and reassure them they’re safe—even when surrounded by deadly sea. You had to admit that Sinbad’s idea was genius, even if it was also a show for tourists. Sindria was prosperous under this man’s guidance.

You, a very citizen of Sindria, loved to attend the ceremony and have fun with all the other people, drink, dance and eat to your heart’s content. The only issue was the presence of the king himself—despite your constant rejection towards his advances, Sinbad had never given up. No, your reluctance only drove his motivation, no matter how harassed and annoyed it might have made you feel. It was as if he saw it as a challenge, a game, though you could often notice his frustration as well, compelled by something bigger than lust.

You had him question himself a lot—if every other woman (maybe besides Yamuraiha, but she was his general so it didn’t count) was falling at his feet, blushing and giggling when being flirted with and flattered—how come were you this immune? Was there something wrong with him or you? Was he repulsive to you or was he just not your type? It was a constant dilemma he had, and a source of entertainment and annoyance for his generals, especially Ja’far.

Little did he know, it was simply a matter of having self respect and self awareness. You weren’t stupid, you had eyes and knew Sinbad was extremely handsome, intelligent and fun guy. What truly bothered you were his womanizing behavior. You didn’t want to give a chance to a man who’d only see you as another conquer, another woman on his list, another woman to play… and even if he would ever want to be committed with you, you doubted his ability to be loyal. You’d rather die than see Sinbad flirt with other women while being in relationship with you. You were sure, that he was sitting on his chair as usual, women on each of his legs and on his sides, all fighting who gets to touch their lord.

But Sinbad was so egoistic, he’d probably assume you’re just playing hard to get, or were into women. Because surely you have to be interest in your own gender, instead of simply not interested in him, when every woman was different. Sinbad wouldn’t accept the truth.

The fun you had with Yamuraiha, was quickly cut short, when you heard a voice that you grew to be displeased about, as if pavloved to react negatively. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Having fun, my ladies?” Sinbad’s voice was full of mellow, not at all unmotivated or offended when he saw your smile automatically die, just to be a stone cold face.

With you and Yam sitting by the table, one of many placed in the warm nightly outside, Sinbad seated himself right next to your friend. Of course he could have seated himself right next to you, but then he wouldn’t have such a pleasant view, of you in your pretty and somewhat revealing tunic. It was as if just sleeves’ mesh material was teasing him. Sinbad smiled at you, usual charm on his lips.

“We were, until you came along,” said Yamuraiha with a sigh. Being drunk, she was prone to complain more than usual, but you shared her sentiment. She knew what Sinbad’s presence meant—him trying to win you over again, something she didn’t wish to see. So she was standing up quickly. “I’d rather get refill than see him hit on you again,” she said grumpily and was walking away already, leaving you alone with the king. “Yam, wait—” you clicked your tongue. Leaving you with Sinbad was so cruel of your friend. You looked at Sinbad, making him smile wider when he got your attention. Of course he’d take advantage of her departure.

“What do you want, Sinbad?” you finally asked with exasperation. Anyone else calling him by first name would be deemed as inappropriate, but it was Sinbad himself who told you to call him just that, the first time his female general introduced you to him as her old friend from Magnostadt academy, coming to Sindria to work for its palace. Of course, you refused this the first time, thinking it’s not in your place to speak so openly with a king. Yet with time and frustrations he put you through, you quickly forgot about being polite—give Sinbad an inch and he’ll take a mile.

“So rude, my lady. Can’t a man talk to the most beautiful woman at this festival?” he said with feigned dramatics, putting his hand at chest, before it was grabbing yours across the table. You tried to take it back, but his grip was tight, forcing you to hold his hand for a while until he decides he’s really crossing your boundary.

“I’m sure that’s what you tell every woman, and the logic says only for one it can be true,” you said bluntly, only making him chuckle. If you’d actually know, what he thinks of you, you’d be surprised. Sinbad had misconceptions about you, but it was mutual for both sides.

“Logically, objectively, I’m sure what I’m saying is nothing but true about you.” You noticed a little, pouty frown on his face when you didn’t blush at his honest compliment. Women back at his seat, waiting for him obediently, yet impatiently, would surely eat up his words.

“It doesn’t change the fact you’d call every woman here beautiful,” you rebutted. Were you wrong? Most definitely not, but Sinbad actually loved bantering with you. At least, that’s what he saw your discussion as, if you were not so eager to talk to him. The way you always challenged him, the way you knew how to debunk his words, the way you didn’t give up, the way you said something so witty occasionally… you were very good at stimulating his intellect. You didn’t coddle him, you didn’t please him, you were fair and square. He was a king, he was a conqueror of the seven seas, but in moments like this, you made him feel like just Sinbad.

But he had to win you over eventually. Only then, he’d be able to rest easily. He’d never admit it openly, but Sinbad was honestly obsessed with you. It wasn’t just some passing attraction, just pure lust towards your body. If anything, it was your person that got him this crazy. Sinbad loved all women, but arguably, he’s never met someone on your level, who saw right through him so easily, exposed him and made sure to play smart with him. You didn’t give unless you knew you’ll be rewarded. You were cruel enough to treat him like another person.

And his patience was slowly falling away. Every free time of the day, hell, even during his work, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to hold you, to provoke you, to hear your mind, to make you spill pretty sounds as you’re under him… maybe even on top, if it floats your boat, your another challenge of putting him in his place.

Albeit, he was scared of being in love with you, and baring himself even more for you.

“Y/N,” Sinbad suddenly said, after the uncomfortable silence with your hand in his. Hearing your name, you were about to answer, but your friend came to your rescue, even if it was for her drunk need of dancing with you. No matter how childish it was, you stuck out your tongue at him, especially fueled by alcohol in your bloodstream. Sinbad laughed, but when you were out of his sight, he sighed. He was about to ask you something, and Yamuraiha took you away from him.

“Someone’s being rejected again, it seems,” Ja’far teased from behind, as he found Sinbad in his usual spot whenever the festival happened—right where you were. He sat down right next to his king, and refilled his wine glass without having to be asked. He knew Sinbad better than anyone, even if the knowledge he carried is heavy on his heart sometimes.

“I’m not being rejected, she’s just playing hard to get with me,” Sinbad groaned, before gulping down an entire cup. Alcohol only made him more irritable, it was never good for him either, especially when he ended up in random women’s beds.

“Surely that’s right, Sin,” Ja’far said condescendingly. “Have you ever considered the fact, that y/n is simply not interested in you and you’re only inconveniencing her?” The cold look Sinbad send Ja’far made him somewhat nervous, but he knew he had to push, for both yours and Sinbad’s sake. Even Sindria’s, as Sinbad couldn’t afford any distractions.

“You don’t understand, Ja’far. I won’t be able to rest, until I at least get a kiss from her… this woman is driving me crazy, but I am too deep in this mud to withdraw now,” he whined, and his coldness was now nothing but brattiness, a child who couldn’t get a candy before dinner, when he put his head on the wooden table, looking at Ja’far with lament. It was only so rare, when Sinbad would reveal his true emotions like a moment ago, even more scary.

“What about how she feels?”

“She won’t have to deal with me annoying her anymore, if she just gives in,” Sinbad said as if it was an acceptable solution. “Thats not how it works, Sin. You can’t just wear her down until she says yes.”

Sinbad knew that, somewhat. He was just selfish, not wanting to give up on you. It doesn’t mean he’d mistreat you or anything. At this point, you can even ask to become his wife and queen of Sindria, if it’d mean you’re only his, and actually his. He didn’t want to marry before meeting you, but certain measures were necessary, it seemed to be the case with you. He’d spoil you to your heart’s content, especially when money was no issue for him. The only issue would be making you say yes.

“Then how do I win her over, fairly?” Sinbad asked seriously, knowing Ja’far had no answer. He was met with silence, as shorter man knew you’d rather go to jail than say yes to his king.

“Just let her be, Sin. It’s the time you finally accept your defeat.” His advisor’s words had the opposite effect. The tan man felt only more obliged to win your heart, and his quiet rage was back. “As if I ever could, Ja’far.”

“Sinbad, you seriously need to stop—” he was getting frustrated with his friend’s stubbornness, but then, something was up, when Sinbad was suddenly sitting up and looking into the groups of dancing people.

Sinbad heard your laughter. And as sensitive he became to noticing any changes with you after trying to win your affections for so long, he knew this laughter was worse than usual. It was way too sultry, and if it wasn’t directed towards him, it could have meant only one thing-some man was hitting on you.

His eyes were wide, and he was suddenly very aware of his surroundings, as if on the hunt. “Uh-oh,” Ja’far thought, as he spotted you first and knew what seeing you with another man can mean for Sinbad. No matter how much of a hypocrite it would make his lord, he knew Sinbad wouldn’t accept another man coming onto you. He flirted with other women, but that’s just the way he was, nothing special, so you weren’t allowed to be flirted with—that was Sin’s twisted logic. Ja’far knew you’d probably slap Sinbad if he said this to your face.

“Sinbad, wait—” Ja’far was begging to panic as he saw the king stand up from his seat. He didn’t want him to embarrass himself, to cause you trouble or spread some weird rumors with his behavior, one itd be Ja’Far’s responsibility to clean. But Sinbad was like an animal, walking swiftly towards where you and some disgusting man were dancing, his hand on your waist.

Just a mere moment later, before you’d even notice notice Sinbad’s approach, you were already, suddenly, in his arms and few steps away from the man you were dancing with before. It was now his hand on your waist, other on your shoulder. The man having you before, was confused as you disappeared so quickly, and couldn’t locate you in the storm of dancing couples. All thanks to Sinbad’s swiftness and cunningness, dragging you away from another man without raising up any scene.

“What the hell are you doing, S-” you started angrily, but he cut you off first, bringing you close to him, chest to chest, forcing your chin up. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he asked somewhat angrily, and you have never seen him in this state. You were even more confused. It was as if he thought you’re not allowed to talk to other men, while he can flirt with anything moving, and you weren’t even in relationship with him. You now were angry yourself. What an audacity, to think everything you do is about him, then accuse you!

You were about to slap him in the face, not so proper of you, but you felt somewhat justified after him constantly bothering you and now being controlling. Sinbad’s reflexes stopped you before you cut his cheek with your hand, but hurt and surprise flashed his eyes. Did you really hate him that much, that you’d try to hit him? He could have guessed, despite his big pride, that if you were reaching levels of violence with him, he must have pissed you off greatly. A mean and sharp comment is what he’d get at most normally, maybe you walking away too. But not a slap, especially if he was a king.

Holding your wrist in his hand, you wriggling with madness, Sinbad decided that you’d do better in somewhere more quiet, before you two would start yelling at each other and disturb everyone partying around you. With same wrist in his hand, he was dragging you away to the garden with a fountain of the palace, somewhere where you can have a private conversation. With the emotions coursing through his veins, he had to control his grip to not hurt you. Any protests and curses you were spilling, he was not answering before he’d have you away from this mess.

You were soon seated on the stone bench, surrounded by all kinds of plants covering you two from being caught. Sinbad stood in front of you, his arms, making you feel vulnerable as his tall form towered over you. He was still silent, looking at you with an unclear to you emotion, and gathering his thoughts.

“Who was that?” he finally asked, frowning. Your annoyance grew. “And why would I tell you that? I’m allowed to speak to other men.”

Sinbad squeezed on his biceps. You had no idea how much your words provoked some sense of possessiveness in him. “You are,” he said through his teeth. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to care,” you said bluntly, momentarily making him laugh at your usual talk, though he quickly was heated again. “I don’t like the sight though. You always reject me, but the moment another man flirts with you, you’re in his arms. How is that fair?” he said gruffly. You rolled your eyes.

“Sinbad, it’s not meant to be fair. I don’t owe you any attraction. I can choose who I want. Not to mention what a hypocrite you are,” you said seriously. “How come you can flirt with other women, but say I can’t flirt with others? You’re so disgusting with it too, because at least I don’t flirt with him while flirting with you.” You always hated this. Sinbad chasing you, while flirting with multiple women. He wasn’t taking you seriously or showing you how much he wants you, if you received the same treatment. You weren’t special in any sense, if every woman and you heard same things from him.

You clearly hit the spot with your words. Sinbad was aware, that technically, you were right. But not everything was black and white, so his perception of the situation was warped. Yes, he flirted with other women, but it wasn’t as serious as with you, and it was just an old habit. While you, you flirted with people you actually were interested in; so not just anyone. That man, for all Sinbad knew, could have been your future husband, if everything would go well for you both.

But he noticed how much his hypocrisy displeased you, and if it bothered you so much, perhaps there was some truth to your words. How were you supposed to trust him, if his eyes are everywhere? Which didn’t mean he wasn’t frustrated with you, or tired of the chase. At first it was just some game for him, a challenge to conquer that one elusive, unreachable for him woman. He’d catch you, then release you. But the more he had a chance to know you, it wasn’t a joke anymore. He was caught in your web before you and he knew it, and now every rejection felt like a small loss, not excitement to go further.

So, Sinbad felt resigned. If his usual methods didn’t work, and he was plenty of manipulative and cunning to win against anyone else, he’d reach the begging stage for you, if he had to. With a sigh, he squatted down, staying on one knee, lowering himself to your level. He grabbed your hand, once again not letting you go.

“If nothing I try is successful, then please, just tell me what will. Whatever it is that I need to prove myself worthy of you, I will,” Sinbad said with determination, though what truly throw you off was the sound of desperation in his tone. “Be honest with me.”

You blinked twice, wondering what was going on, and you had to admit, his words worked on you for a moment, even if mere. But then your mind reminded you of the same scene, just with a princess of Kou Empire. Back then, he was trying to manipulate young Kougyoku with same tactic, while never meaning his affection towards her. He was only taking advantage of her young naivety to get deals he wanted, just when you were taking a walk in same garden. The disgust you felt that day…

That’s why you might as well be his next victim. You were about to tell him there’s nothing that could make him a man you’d entrust your feelings and body with, until a sudden idea popped into your mind. You were plenty of smart yourself, and you just found something that could possibly keep Sinbad away from you permanently.

“There’s one thing you could try,” you said with a small smile, enjoying the look of surprise on his face. “Really?” he asked with newfound enthusiasm. “What is it?”

“Prove it to me that you can be loyal. Stop flirting with anyone else than me. Don’t even look at them.”

When Sinbad looked taken back, you felt smug as hell. Surely, you’ve just given him a challenge that he could never win. No way he can let go of his old habits, something that started when he was just a teenager. “In fact, let’s make a deal,” you continued. “If you don’t flirt with anyone else for a month, I’ll give you a chance, we’ll go on a date. If you lose, you’ll never bother me again.”

Sinbad stayed still, his expression clearly troubled, as his head was stormed with thoughts. The question of whether he could do it, the question of how hard it’d be to stop, the question of if he’d even like this… but also, realizing how often he found himself comparing women he met with you, or the odd sense of dissatisfaction.

He had nothing to lose at this point. This was probably his only chance with you, and he couldn’t screw this up. “Deal,” he said seriously.

Hearing his words, you had to bite down a giggle. He’ll lose, and you finally will be free of his unwanted advances. You really had no trust in his self-control when it came to women.

☆

It was a first week of your given challenge that has passed. Of course, you weren’t able to be there all the time to check if Sinbad was either winning or losing, so you asked Ja’far to keep an eye on Sinbad for you. You were ready for his report, confirming that Sinbad indeed had lost.

Approaching Ja’far in his office, you were quick to ask.

“Sinbad? Surprisingly, I haven’t seen him flirt with anyone for past week. Not even when drunk. It seems he’s quite proud to want to win,” Ja’far admitted, leaving you rather shocked. But… what was a week if there were there were three more left? He has to get frustrated and starved enough eventually.

☆

A second week, you’ve heard the same thing from Ja’far. Something you clearly couldn’t believe, starting to question Ja’far’s credibility. You knew he was a good man, but in the end, he would always take Sinbad’s side out of loyalty to him.

“You’re playing with me right now,” you said annoyed.

“I assure you I’m not, miss Y/N. Even if Sinbad would ask me to lie to you, in this case I wouldn’t. It’d be beneficial for his kingdom, if he was to lose this challenge,” Ja’far rebutted with seriousness. “His mind is everywhere these days, and I don’t want Lord Sinbad to stray away from work. Though, it is a pleasant change, to see him keep some decency for once.”

When you left Ja’far’s office, it was Sinbad you happened to run into.

He smiled cockily at you, knowing you couldn’t believe he didn’t lose yet. That he didn’t flirt with any woman. Not giving him a chance to speak, knowing what he wanted to say, you scoffed. “It doesn’t mean anything. I have no guarantee, you wouldn’t go back to your old habit once you win and I give you a chance.”

Of course the challenge you’d given to him, didn’t apply to just that one month. If you were to date him, you wouldn’t be fine with him flirting with other then either. He’d have to stay this loyal, as you had some standards and boundaries. You didn’t want to be hurt because he was attracted to other women while being with you, or have to live in worry he might take it one step further one day.

But hearing your words, his smile died, replaced with solemnity. “You really have no faith in me, huh?”

“Don’t act like a victim, when you built this reputation for yourself,” you said sternly, and you turned around to leave.

You were right, of course. It was years of Sinbad and multiple countries working towards his infamous reputation. As he watched you go, despite your words biting right at his being, he felt even more determined to prove you wrong. He’ll show you, that he’s deadly serious about you, and soon, you’ll be in his arms, somewhere he’d never let you go from. There was no way in hell he’d ruin his only and last chance.

☆

When third week came, you were losing your mind. You couldn’t listen to Ja’far telling you that Sinbad is still not giving up for the third time. It was all suspicious, that someone who could have never controlled himself around women, was now suddenly a proper man, celibate and monogamous. Though his lack of harem always confused you. Any other king or prince had at least concubines. Maybe it was his need for equality within the world.

You weren’t believing Ja’far anymore, nor even your friend Yamuraiha who said she didn’t see anything. You were just paranoid at this point, living in uncertainty, so you had to take matters into your own hands. The plan you came up with, was to send some beautiful woman towards Sinbad, and spy from afar to see what he’ll do. You managed to find one of the female servants, one you knew was notoriously blushing near his presence, and send her to him, telling her Sinbad wanted a massage. The young woman, she was eager to go immediately.

You followed her, and hid behind the wall, as you watched her enter the lounging room, where Sinbad was resting on the pillows, reading some documents. Servant had even lowered the line of her tunic, making sure her cleavage is bigger, before she was kneeling in front of him. “My lord, I’m here to give you a massage,” she said, batting her pretty eyes at him.

Sinbad looked up at her, surprised as he didn’t remember anything about making such request. You saw some eagerness on his face for a second, looking at the woman with intention, but oddly it was quickly replaced with something like a disappointment. You theorized what was going inside his head, to lose interest so easily and even more, why he’d look so beaten up over the flirt… but nothing made sense to you.

“A massage? No, I’m alright. You can finish your work for today, go rest,” he said politely to the girl, and looked back at his document, as if disinterested. He clearly embarrassed the girl, as she quickly left.

You were proven wrong, and it not only frustrated you, but shocked on another level. You barely managed to hide before she’d see you, and kept standing there in shock.

A half a minute later, Sinbad blew up your cover. “Are you going to stand there like a pervert?” he teased, knowing you’re right there behind the entrance in the wall. You revealed yourself, looking at him on the floor in dissatisfaction. “Was she not to your type or something?”

“Hm? No, I’m just not interested. I have all I need right here,” he said playfully, lazily tilting his head with a charming smile. He obviously meant you, and you didn’t like the rare twist of your stomach his words caused. You were also getting worried, as you had only a week left, before Sinbad would win and you’d owe him a date.

A date. Just a date. While you said that you’ll give him a chance, even if he wins this deal, of course he can easily ruin his won chance. As a result, you still will have a chance to reject him fully. Just one flirt with another woman while you’re dating, and you can say he ruined his only chance and leave.

“Don’t get cocky yet, Sinbad,” you said, filled with determination to prove him wrong eventually, and turned around to leave. Just one step into the exit, you were forced back onto his hard chest, and felt his strong arms envelop you like a snake. He moved way too fast. He then leaned into your ear, to whisper, “Soon. Just you wait, my lovely. No need to test me with other women.”

He smiled even more when he saw you storm away after you managed to free yourself from his grip, all annoyed at his physical affection. If only you could know what he thought, when he saw that servant approach him. Yes, the woman was very pretty. But recently, nothing could have compared to you, and he started to think that you massaging him would be much better. Whether there was a more beautiful woman in the world or not, it was a whole lot of different stuff that made him want you. Until he no longer had as much fun flirting with other ladies, as he used to.

You were making this challenge way too easy for him.

☆

You lost. Sinbad won. After a month, there was no documented moments of Sinbad flirting with anyone other than you, even more than before to your dislike, teasing you about your upcoming loss. You played yourself by yourself, falling into the trap of your own game.

In fact, your challenge had caused a chaos in the palace. Servants were wondering why Sinbad wasn’t hitting on them anymore, others were theorizing he must have gained some bodily disfunction, and the rest was conspiring he must have fell in love…the last one, it wasn’t hard to connect to you, considering you were the one he went after much more than once, constantly on the chase. With that, some stupid gossip you’re getting married and Sindria will have a queen or consort too.

You couldn’t have it. You couldn’t even eat that morning when a month has passed. After waking up, Ja’far brought you to Sinbad’s office, as he wanted to talk to you. You expected another one of cocky smiles of his, but instead, were met with joy and excitement when entering his office.

Sinbad stood up immediately, approaching you to pull out a chair for you. “There you are. We have a lot to discuss, don’t we?” he asked positively and sat down back in his seat. And you felt embarrassed to admit you lost, though you were still holding to that chance he’ll lose when dating you. Despite, you felt as if you owed him that date, having some decorum to keep your words. You nodded.

“Great. You know, I’m really happy I won, fair and square,” he started, a proud smile on his face. “No need to worry about your rejections anymore.” Your eye twitched. “You don’t need to worry about anything either, I promise you I won’t ruin this chance I fought for.”

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, killing his excitement a bit. But he was too invested now that he won, that his determination didn’t waver.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, accusingly.

“You might have lasted a month. But can you stay away from other women, for possibly many more?” you said seriously. You had to admit, that he positively surprised you with his win, that he had enough respect for you to restrain himself so much, that perhaps there was some affection for you he had. But you just didn’t want to give up your heart on the platter, for him to crush it like he did with some women.

Your concern didn’t surprise Sinbad. A month away from other women, he was given a lot time to think about you, and try to understand why you’re behaving this way, with some help from Ja’far. You weren’t actually playing hard to get. You were hard to get, because you didn’t want to be played by him. You were smart to be wary, and you saw through his manipulations better than other women, so your reasons for your constant rejections was simply you trying to protect yourself.

But you needed to understand he was serious about you. All these women he flirted with, it was to fill the void he couldn’t fill entirely. Yet you, you were enough to satisfy his emptiness’ hunger, until he now no longer can see a woman without thinking of you or comparing her to you. No one compared, and he was scared no one ever will, that he’ll have to exhaust you with his presence, and himself, with his obsession, for the rest of your lives. He’d never admit this, but one time, he hooked up with a woman that looked a lot like you, just to imagine it was you. Between choosing an ability to continue being a womanizer and having you, he’d choose you.

“I know I will,” he said with all seriousness and stood up from his desk. “For many reasons, but one of them is—I know you wouldn’t hesitate to reject me once more, if I was to flirt or lay with a woman again.”

He could have imagined this in his head, imagining you telling it’s over. He couldn’t have that, especially when he knew you were, unluckily for him, too strong willed to give him second chances or stay upon such disrespect.

And you had to admit he had a point. He got you there. You knew that already, of course, you just didn’t know he’d acknowledge this fact. You thought he’d assume he can make you so obsessed with him, that you’d stay even after hurting you like this.

“Still…” you were running out of excuses, but you held onto the last one in your mind. It was hard to think with him now standing in front of your chair, being oddly vulnerable and honest with you. For once, you knew he wasn’t hiding anything. You gulped. “Yes?” he asked softly. Stupid man, making you feel flustered.

“While it’s true you can stop yourself from flirting with other women… I don’t want you to do this just because it’s convenient. I wanted you to do this, because you wanted to, because you wanted to respect me and wanted me only. I also don’t want you to throw me away once you get bored.

Sinbad suddenly grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest. You were surprised to hear his heart beating so fast, in something else than a lust. With you being a magician, a category of people taught to know a lot about human bodies, you were aware it was more like nervousness and affectionate arousal caused by being near someone you love. “Do you feel my heart beat for you?” You nodded, your hand trembling slightly. “I’ll admit the truth. At first, I was separating myself from my lust only to have you. But now, it only feels right. I don’t want anyone else, but you. I saw it as a game at first. Now I can’t sleep without you.”

His heart was so fast, you had hard time telling if he’s honest or not; albeit you felt as if he was telling the truth, when his eyes were slightly trembling upon new vulnerability, searching for your acceptance everywhere in yours.

Sinbad leaned close to your face, still holding your hand against his chest, his being nothing but determined. “And if you ever see me do otherwise, I’m giving you a permission to gouge my eye out, so I’ll never look at another woman with it again.” To make his point, he lifted your hand up, and placed it right across his left golden eye.

You gasped at his words, quickly snatching your hand back. He actually meant them, and the fact he’d go so far to promise you loyalty, you had no right to have any of your doubts left. He’d never go this far for anyone but you, yet at the same time, something about this scared you. Who would mutilate themselves, just to earn your love? A madman? Or just Sinbad?

“You’re an idiot, don’t you ever think of doing that, even if you end up lying to me!” you exclaimed with some panic, not wanting him to hurt himself over slight infidelity. Yeah, he bothered you in the past, but this would be a punishment too strict, and his people needed him healthy.

“I won’t,” he chuckled, feeling warm at your concern and satisfied by your slip up. You really weren’t taking his words as cautiously as you should this time, because he already knew you’d never take out his eyes, being safe from the start; so making this promise just to make you believe was easy. Yet he didn’t lie—the promise was real, and he really won’t look at other women again. He put your hand up again, right to his lips to kiss it, and this time, it didn’t feel repulsive like it used to be for you. “Since I won’t be breaking that promise.”

“You better be, though I wouldn’t let you do something so stupid,” you said, your voice regularly becoming less harsh with each proof of worth Sinbad had given you. He was winning you over, just like he wanted. Sinbad used to bring you more trouble than it was worth, but no man had ever, and you doubted any would ever come up with this, would go this far to have you. You sighed with feigned resignation. “With that, I owe you a chance, and I’m admitting my defeat. Satisfied?” you teased, and it felt so delightful to see you smile at him.

“Very,” he said with a grin.

When Sinbad pressed his lips onto yours, you first hesitated, used to the unpleasant feeling his advances sometimes brought you, even if he never had crossed any of the bigger boundaries. But him holding your face so softly, after he proved himself for you like some chivalrous knight, bared himself for you, made a pact with you—the moment felt so right, especially when you felt reassured enough to kiss him back.

Yet you couldn’t help a feeling of being swallowed by some part of Sinbad, still alarmed by his weird promise. It’s his eye he promised to give you, but what is it, that you will have to give him too?

With your eyes closed, you didn’t see his eyes darkening. To finally have you, was a win greater than ever. Sinbad wasn’t naive to believe all he had for you was affection. His sense of possessiveness, especially with how greedy he was; lust for you and need to consume you, it all fought against his affection and feelings for you. But those feelings—they were genuine, and once he had you, you’re never leaving his side again, and you will spend your remaining days making his heart tremble like this, over and over.

If he ever has to kill a man, anyone threatening your placement beside his side, he will do so with no hesitation. That darkness he had inside himself, it will always follow both of you. You had every right to be wary of him the entire time, and he almost felt pity for you. Almost, as you were his now.

But he’ll make sure to cherish you regardless, no matter how many times you will get scared of him.

—

I also wrote smut for Sinbad if you’re interested [link]

[plaidos]

so I will say, I started being in the Homestuck fandom around, like, 2010? 2011? and to be honest, after they started getting popular, I was really unimpressed with the transfem Roxy headcanons at the time, mostly because it was all young teens, and most of them were TMEs, and this all led to this nonsense fuckin thing where theyfabs with yaoi addictions would scream about "omgggg she programs!111! and shes a catgirl!!!111 just like TRANS GIRLS xDDD smol cinnamon roll too pure for this world" bullshit, and it really soured me on the whole deal. she got hit with some really disgusting sexualization at the time that was directly the product of TMEs screeching about what a perfect representation of trans women she was, like they could not just be fucking normal about any of it, and I grew to associate transfem Roxy headcanons with the kind of people who'd screech and cry about me getting bottom surgery and not being their perfect programmer dickgirl anymore. that said, I also didn't like the transmasc Roxy confirmation in the Epilogues because, like you said, it felt super transmisogynistic and reactionary toward that (although I didn't know it was actually confirmed a transmisogynist wrote it on purpose to aggress transfem fans, that's nuts??? This fucking comic I swear.) anyway the whole thing kinda makes me wish they just left her as-is and focused the trans lens in tighter on June and Vriska, because like. come on. their stories are way better anyway, having been planned from the beginning.

nah here’s where i’ve gotta disagree with you slightly anon — my (obvious) problems with transmasc Roxy aside, i stand by the fact that the transmasc stpry we got about Roxy in the Epilogues was legitimately compelling, and after the bitterness of a favorite reading of mine being destroyed had passed I really enjoyed the split canon reflection on Roxy’s identity & i think it has some legitimately really interesting things to say; it’s particularly a good usage of classpect in the Epilogues, and i think the stuff they do with Dirk being transphobic is genuinely worth it.

almost every single major character from Homestuck proper who returns significantly in THE/HSBC needed to have their character “wrecked” in comparison to the original; it is fundamentally what the story is about. i think the majority of fans of specific characters were disappointed with where those characters’ stories were taken specifically because they had incredibly fannish understandings of what that might look like in an epilogue, and The Homestuck Epilogues/Beyond Canon are intentionally subverting the dichotomy between the sugary-sweet fannish “candy” interpretations & the gross-n-gritty “meat” interpretations, like that’s The Whole Point.

also, correcting you: all i heard is that somebody who historically had problems with transfem headcanons spearheaded the transmasc Roxy changes. i think it’s a bit of a stretch to say that that person legitimately did that to intentionally hurt transfems, even if we can agree that it was transmisogynistically loaded & eyerolly regardless

[theladyeclectic79]

As much as I agree with what's written above, I have one caveat to add in defense of Solas (if you can really defend his actions post-waking up from his thousand-year slumber). Solas has made the biggest mistakes of his life because he chose NOT to do the thing he was set to do. He allowed Mythal to continue trying to temper the Evanuris, and they killed her; being convinced to take a corporeal body even though he KNEW what that choice did to spirits of Wisdom; and when he DOES take corporeal form, angering the Titans and having to make them tranquil to keep them from destroying his world.

In Solas' eyes, every mistake he's made was because somebody, whether it was Mythal (usually) or circumstance, made him change his mind. So he's very gunshy with people who try to tell him he's wrong, or even just express an opinion opposed to his own. Felassan was the start of his villainy arc IMO, but then he also took out Flemeth to get her power, took the Inquisitor's arm, and ultimately killed Varric. Anyone who got in his way had to be dealt with, because he no longer believes that anyone other than himself could possibly be correct. (Good ol' Pride rearing its ugly head!)

And even though he acknowledges Rook and their team got everything to where they needed to be in order for the final decision of the Veil to occur, he doesn't allow himself to be swayed. Not until the Inquisitor AND Mythal (two versions, including an "original" copy of her) are alongside Rook showing him a different path and releasing him from his bonds.

The man is stuck in a Sunk Cost Fallacy: he can't get past what he's done to get to where he is now and doesn't see any other path forward. He's schemed, killed, destroyed, betrayed, all in the name of a cause that, if it's actually wrong... Well. It's a tragedy all around honestly, but what does one expect from a being of Pride?

So yes. Murdering people is (now) in-character for Solas, but only because he can't allow anyone else to convince him to stray from his path. He's dedicated to doing the right thing, which in his eyes is removing/destroying the Veil; all other paths could only possibly lead to worse destruction and ruin. He's single-mindedly focused on his path and refuses to listen to reason because to do so would, in his mind, be worse than what he's planning now.

I find him to be a compelling villain, one of the better ones I've read or played in media, BECAUSE he knows what he's done is evil but that wasn't his intention.

I find the criticism that Solas killing Varric was included to make you “think solas was bad” and it’s “character assassination” really funny because like

Yes, narratively it WAS included to show you the lengths solas would go to get his way. It WAS included to show you how unwilling he was to listen to any opinion but his own (despite his posturing on the matter, because it’s also meant to show you that that’s a lie). It WAS included to show you that he’s the sort of person who would murder someone who reached out to him in friendship to show him another way without a moments hesitation

Or rather, it was included to REMIND you of this, because this is not character assassination, this is who he’s been since the beginning. As in, literally the first thing he does in this series is murder Felassan for disagreeing with him. And he was friends with Felassan for millennia. They came up with this character and the first thing they wanted to tell the audience about him is that he would murder an ally without hesitation if they so much as disagreed with him.

Murdering Varric is extremely in character. That’s why they wanted to show it. To show you that Solas is the kinda person who does that. To remind those who have read The Masked Empire that yes, that’s a thing he’s willing to do, and no it wasn’t secretly an out of character mistake but was, in fact, one of the core features of this character that they wanted to show you from the very beginning. And to get those who haven’t read The Masked Empire up to speed on the fact that that is the sort of man Solas is

[pricegouge]

nikgaz.. my eyes have been opened. i always love a good “not realizing what you have until it’s to late” type of scenario. but also something about them together is just so.. mm.

need to ruminate on this

- 💫

i don't think price would even necessarily want them even after he realizes what's going on, though i do think he'd get unreasonably jealous anyway. but i like when he's cruel, so.

also. perhaps less compelling but @bloodyknucklesforme and i were discussing being shared by soapnik the other day which makes me more than a little feral just cause i love pairing soap with anyone who can keep him on a leash. then we got into being shared between them, only it's less sharing and more, nik - who isn't even all that close with soap to begin with - meeting his bird for the first time and just being like 'yes i think i will have a turn, thank you, boy' and soap's just like

[panlight]

also continuing off the Informed Traits discussion, just how much of Caslisle's compassion/kindness is informed? Bella and Edward both make it seem like he's this saintly figure and pillar of goodness, but then there's moments where he does things that make you wonder if the view on him is just really rose-tinted.

Again, going back on BD where he invites his friends to witness and doesn't seem to care that they're hunting humans just outside forks/la push and let's them stay even after already knowing what their presence triggers the tribe to phase, the book also reveals that he took Jacob's blood sample to study without his consent?? Like a lab experiment???? (I learned this through a post showcasing that part in the book) Also in a podcast I listen to that discusses the plot of MS, he apparently fakes being Billy's distant relative (impersonating an indigenous person uhhmmm 😬) and, well,,,, lets just say I can see why some people think that entire phone call just gave colonizer vibes. AND!!! didn't he drug a woman to steal their car and kinda doesn't react much when they caused a massive car pileup??

On the one hand i dont mind if it's meant to show us that even Carlisle's sense of morality is flawed, but between Bella's "the Cullens are good to the core" and every time Edward talks about him in MS, it's feels more to me like another unreliable narrator trope.

This one is harder for me because, see, I want the compassion to be real because I think the concept of a vampire blessed/cursed with Super Compassion is legit fascinating! As I've said about 23470234 times, my favorite aspect of vampire stories is how they become a vampire, how you cope, the choices you make, what you accept and what you deny about your new reality. The idea that for this one guy, becoming a vampire made him even more compassionate is just the kind of twist on it that I've never seen anywhere else and I think it's really interesting, actually. A dud of a superpower, sure, but the innate push-pull of vampire instincts vs super compassion compels me, though.

But obviously I can see where it comes from that it could be an unreliable narrator thing or outright lie. Or at least a show vs tell problem where we're told he's compassionate but actions suggests otherwise.

I think it falls apart in two major ways:

The protagonist-centered morality. Everything in the story is about facilitating the E/B romance. Carlisle's alleged compassion can only help that, he can't hinder it. They HAVE to move back to Forks so the story can happen, he can't say "huh maybe it's NOT compassionate to move back to a place where people know what we are and are terrified of us." He can't refuse to drug the soccer mom because they have to save Bella! He can't object to having witnesses gather in Forks and force more teenage boys to phase and put humans at risk of being eaten because we have to save Renesmee! He can compassionately offer Bree surrender, but neither he nor Esme can do any more than that to try and save her, because that would complicate Bella's upcoming wedding. The Bella-centricity of it all sits like a supermassive black hole in the middle of the story, disrupting the orbits and bending the light of the other characters.

Carlisle can't be any more compassionate than his author, and that limits him. We had a fandom discussion about this a few years ago, but basically because SM doesn't see the problems with how the Quileute characters are treated in the story, none of the characters can, either. I remember calling it the moral version of how Alice is supposed to be a fashionista, but because SM doesn't really know anything about high fashion, there's a lot of 'tell' about her being this fashion icon but the actual show of clothes in the story doesn't live up to it. Or Carlisle himself -- he's supposed to be this genius doctor who has studied medicine and science for centuries, but SM isn't a doctor or a scientist, so some of the stuff she makes him say doesn't live up to the idea she planted. SM totally missed the settler-colonial stuff, the dehumanizing language, etc etc, so none of the characters, not even Compassionate Carlisle or Power-of-Heart Esme can.

tl;dr I like to think the compassion is real but hindered by the narrative insisting on prioritizing the love story AND Carlisle being unable to be more compassionate than his author. But that's because I WANT it to be real because I think the concept is really interesting, even if the execution is lacking. I don't need or want him to be Perfect or a Saint, and I'm sure existing as a VAMPIRE of all things would naturally come into conflict with compassion all the time (examples in the book is him not wanting to kill James and it leading to the extended hunt instead; offering surrender to Bree but knowing if he goes against the Volturi they could kill the whole family; telling Sam in BD that this isn't his fight and 'don't get your family slaughtered for pride,' even as Sam insists they have to be there for Jacob and Jacob has to be there for Nessie [blargh].) and that struggle and how he deals with it when he's in a situation with no Compassionate choice is available would be great. Even that car chase in Midnight Sun could maybe work if the story gave Carlisle any room to protest until Alice insists it's the Only Way!!!! or whatever, and some follow up where like oh huh weird some random charity swooped in to pay all the medical bills of everyone involved in the pile-up and bought them all new cars. If Edward, Jasper, etc can't turn off their gifts, Carlisle shouldn't be able to either, even when being forced into uncompassionate actions. But SM doesn't care. She only cares about Carlisle, let alone his compassion, inasmuch as she needed a kindly father figure to set up the vegetarian vampire thing and for Bella to have a convenient doctor.

[rose-and-thorn-fanfics]

A Birthday In Piltover (26 years of not dying). Viktor x Jayce fic

This is for my birthday bestie Felix, who also happens to be the real life Viktor and my sibling! I love you. Thank you for being a part of my life.

Viktor ran his fingers through his unkempt hair. He had spent the night sleeping at the hextech lab worktable, which made him both tired and disheveled in a way he felt made him look like wild ferret.

Jayce paced the room, clipboard in hand, pretending to read the words on the papers in front of him. He glanced over at Viktor when he was certain his boyfriend was looking away, only to be met by a tired and exasperated stare. Viktor knew him too well for Jayce to steal glances unnoticed.

“Are you busy?” Jayce asked, offering a sheepish grin.

“Depends… is this about the hextech development and the concepts I gave you to read?” Viktor asked, blinking with exhaustion but internally glowing from the way Jayce Talis was looking at him.

“Ok, ok. I admit, I got distracted and didn’t get past page four. You DO realize it’s your 26th birthday. Right?” Jayce sputtered, flustered in that cute way Viktor loved.

“Page four out of twelve… well, I guess that’s some progress. Relax, it isn’t like my birthday is a once and a lifetime experience, Jayce. It happens every year! But I do appreciate your enthusiasm.” Viktor commented.

“Viktor, it is a big deal. I take partial credit for keeping you alive the past 5 years we’ve known each other. Every breakfast i reminded you to eat adds up.” Jayce said pointedly.

“Alright, I see. What is it you’re wanting me to do? Cake time?” Viktor asked playfully winking and setting aside his tools and blueprints.

“Actually? I’d like to think I have something a bit more…. Innovative.” Jayce said beaming.

“You mischievous drama king—“ Viktor started as Jayce rolled out a giant hextech contraption that started playing drum roll sounds.

The contraption was composed of a glowing gold and blue box that kept reshaping itself as it floated above a small platform with levers and buttons. Jayce began in a low and heartfelt voice, “Happyyyyy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Viktor. Happy birthday to youuuuu. And many more. We have a date at 4!”

Viktor blushed a deep red as the hextech box orbited the platform and unlocked itself in a complex fashion. “I-I… I don’t know what to say. Your presentation is almost as compelling as your …. song…I-“

The box revealed a hextech tie pin with matching cuff links. “They’re self fastening!” Jayce said, approaching Viktor as he gestured to the present. “I know you struggle to put these particular type of cuff links on so I made them that way!”

Viktor propped himself up on his crutch, making his way towards Jayce and closing the gap between them. “I own you one, Jayce.”

“Nope! Not at all. I owe you! My life… well it’s better with you in it, Viktor. I hope you know that.” Jayce replied, smoothing and readjusting Viktor’s wildly disheveled mop.

“I know.” Viktor said, meeting his boyfriend’s gaze earnestly. “I love you too.”

-The End

(HAPPY BIRTHDAY FELIX! ILY!)

[a-coelacanth-makes-stuff]

(Note that it's about 2 am when I started writing this so I'll probably sound kinda incoherent, sorry-)

Some people just don't get that children are allowed to see blood sometimes, and that blood doesn't mean that a show isn't for kids or it being a kids show means it can have mature themes.

So many kids shows have no proper substance, nothing interesting, nothing kids can learn from. We need more shows with three dimensional characters that are a joy to see and watch grow, that teach us that we can grow.

Some that do that come to mind are(And keep in mind, I've not ever looked into the themes into these shows yet, but I do want to):

The Owl House, I was there when the last season aired, I almost grew with Luz, I have ADHD and (undiagnosed as it's difficult to get that here) autism, so I resonated with the Main character so much. I had an attachment to these characters, so much so that my otherkin self (trying not to curse) was Hunter for a couple hours when the first episode of season 3 aired! This show helped me get through some stuff with characters I related to and helped me grow, to understand I really didn't have to mask as much as I had been.

Amphibia, like Annie I felt out of place, so I latched onto that. She was like me, navigating a world not made for me. That ending was so bittersweet, about moving on in your own way.

Bluey. Have you seen how many people say it's helping them parent better, or heal their inner child, or teaching their kids to communicate better?

My Little Pony did something well, they had a story that compelled people to watch, to learn and understand the world and the characters as they grew. Yes, many points were for money *cough* EQG *cough* Flurry Heart *cough* but the show runners did what they could to make the fun pastel ponies appeal to those who like stories, those who wanted a brain off show, and Hasbro.

No, none were perfect, no show is, but that's the point. No show is perfect but at least they have substance, value, and a proper story that can teach.

I'm not saying put gore in kids shows, I'm saying kids shows with plot, substance, and meaning should be normalized and expected. Shows that tell a story and teach while they do it. The Dragon Prince has blood to show the plain severity of what Aaravos does. It is PG for a reason. It does these things to better tell a story, Aaravos gets trapped in the remains of his own daughter, to the GODS THERE IS A REASON FOR THAT!

The creators give nearly EVERY choice a reason. It pushes the story, it's morals, and/or the show to be better than it was, to teach its audience better, if they even listen in the first place.

Kids shows should be allowed and expected to take risks, tell scarier stories, to show blood either from teaching first aid or showing that a bad guy is bad. They should be expected to show these things where kids can ask their parents about it so they can learn and understand the material and perhaps even look back, remember that time their parent explained how grief can make people do terrible things or that someone you hate has someone who loves them or someone you love has someone who hates them, or that those you love do not do this and to let them know if it happens, then they go back to watch it with a new perspective from life.

Anyway, that's my two cents, but I'm a broke fish. It's 3 am and I need to sleep. Peace!

-=[🐟 ]=-

Recommending The Dragon Prince to people is weird, ‘cause like.

You have to tell them off the bat “there might be some blood. Don’t be surprised if there is.”

“Actually, expect blood. And a lot of it, maybe. Sometimes.”

“You know, the bloodshed is shockingly pretty plot relevant…”

And the thing is, they’re already skeptical of it. Because it’s a kid’s show.

But by telling them the more mature themes of the kid’s show, it just leaves them even more confused and off put by it.

“Wait, are you sure this is a kid’s show?”

“It can’t be. There’s just no way.”

Yes, I’m sure.

I don’t know how they get away with the stuff they can, they just can. I’m just letting you know that there is blood, even though it is a kid’s show, in case it might be upsetting.

And you’re right. Yes. It’s a kid’s show. It’s weird.

But that’s what makes it great and why I’m recommending it to you in the first place.