#as in they don't really accept authority of others

[casscainmainly]

As much as I love Duke and Damian being the most adorable brothers ever, the tension between them is way underutilised. They both have very tenuous relationships to the Robin identity, and if you look at their interactions in Robin War, it's shot through with insecurity and dislike:

Specifically, Damian consistently refutes Duke's right to Robin. Robin War is the event that leads Duke to quitting Robin, and arguably he does this mostly because of Damian; Tim and Jason don't really interact with Duke, and Dick essentially endorses him. But the beef is not one-sided, because Duke consistently hits on Damian's insecurities as well:

Damian belittles Duke's friends and entire cause; Duke highlights how unwanted and abandoned Damian is. They are simultaneous Robins with incompatible views of what Robin should be. Damian, fresh from his journey in Robin: Son of Batman, sees Robin as atonement, a link to Batman, and a representation of his personal growth; Duke, in the middle of We Are Robin, sees Robin as power, freedom from adult authority, and a representation of collective community.

The worst thing Damian can say about Duke is that his Robin is meaningless; the worst thing Duke can say about Damian is that his Robin is alone. They both say that to each other. And then, they both give up Robin:

In Duke's case, he precedes saying "I'm not Robin" with "that's the difference between you and me." Their Robins are so wildly different, their ideals so opposed to each other, that they cannot co-exist as Robin. The risk of losing what Robin means to them, especially for Damian, fuels a lot of their early animosity.

This opposition continues in Batman & The Signal #1, where in Duke's dream sequence, there is only one person he imagines wanting to oust him from the family - Damian. But Bruce also pits Damian and Duke against each other in Batman: The Secret Files: The Signal, in Duke's favour:

Bruce drags Damian down ('requires continuous supervision') to uplift Duke ('Gotham's best'). The writing in this comic is very questionable, but this is reminiscent of the way he talked to Cass about Steph in Batgirl (2000). Cass is the acceptable girl vs. Steph's unacceptable femininity; in a similar vein, Duke is the acceptable Batkid of colour, whereas Damian's heritage is 'inconvenient'.

Which is why it's all the more important that, despite everything, Damian and Duke do love each other.

Damian, despite all his (understandable) ambivalence and outward disdain towards Duke, pretty much spends the entire comic trying to save him:

And Duke, when Damian defects to the Owls, staunchly refuses to believe he's gone for good. Tim and Jason also protest, but they get knocked out pretty quickly. It's Duke who refuses to give up on Damian. It's Duke who won't leave Damian alone.

Even though their Robins are complete opposites, Duke and Damian both know how big a deal it is to choose Robin; as the two Robins of colour (besides Dick, whose position is slightly different), they know how easily Robin can be taken away. It's why Duke, a virtual stranger, is the one to break through to Damian when nobody else could.

This panel from the end of Robin War hits so hard in context. Every interaction up until this point is antagonistic, and they have every reason to hate each other - but they don't. They choose not to. They choose to love each other instead.

[hyperions-light]

hey I was planning another post today but instead let’s talk about how much I love that there’s not really a ‘good’ ending to the companion plotlines in Veilguard. It reminds me of Leliana and Alistair’s plotlines in DAO in that what you choose says more about the player/protagonist than anything

I just finished Isana Negat a second time, and I did the other ending and I thought it was just as good. Like, yeah, Harding does deserve to be angry! They did fucking get everything taken away from them! It’s so painful and horrific; yes you can, and should, be mad! But also Harding prioritizing her very real love for and compassion towards other people is not wrong. It’s just different! It’s just Rook’s friend/lover asking them for advice, and Rook giving it! You know, like in real life except with huge magical rock giants

And okay I’m never going to kill Illario because I think it would make Luca really sad and he has enough problems, Whoops I misremembered this, I don’t think you can kill Illario actually. I love that for Luca <3 But yk, I’m probably still not going to imprison him. but I can see it! Because the cycle has to end, right? The violence and infighting of the Crows endlessly attacking each other over power is part of what allowed the Antaam to get a foothold in Antiva, because there was like a double agent or something (if I’m remembering right from Tev Nights). Some kind of ending needs to be made to this endless violence. And I suppose it depends on how retributive Rook is, which is a great question to ask of the player (one that is asked repeatedly throughout the game). It’s not like Illario didn’t do anything, you know! He probably deserves punishment. But Rook, as they always can at various points, can be merciful, can choose absolution. Wow no, I’m glad I was wrong I love it more like this.

And oh boy, I LOVED the ending of Emmrich’s quest, don’t even get me started! Like!! I thought it was going to be ‘well obviously we HAVE to save Manfred’, but how Emmrich talks about accepting his death and his sacrifice convinced me! I was like alright man, this is a real choice! I actually did make him a lich last time (made a lot of sense from a Watcher perspective, imo) and not only was the cutscene sick as hell, but the follow-up was so funny and I got some really sad Spite dialogue which fucking wrecked me. It was great— seriously, his plotline is one of my favorites in the whole game.

And Davrin’s! I’ve already expounded at length about how much I like his quest line and how it ties into the Grey Wardens, but I really think both of his options for the griffons are so workable, because you know the Grey Wardens, especially under Antione and Evka, aren’t going to hurt those little guys again! But also the scenes with Eldrin are so endearing, and Davrin’s hope for a brighter future for them is so sweet and genuine. It’s hard to pick! It’s about Rook's perspective!

Neve's I'll admit I don't vibe with as much just because of the like 'trust the authorities' angle, but i haven't tried saving Minrathous yet and I think it would be sooooo involving as a Shadow Dragon especially. Because that's what they're fighting for, right? That better Minrathous where they CAN be sure that if they send the insane cultist lady to prison she’s going to stay there? But there’s always the practical consideration of people’s lives being at stake NOW, of Neve needing her friends safe NOW. And just killing Aelia ensures she will never be an issue again. So I can see both angles for sure

And Taash ;-; oh, Taash. I haven’t posted about them that much yet because they make me very emotional and it’s hard to organize thoughts like that. But I really love their quest, and their struggle to define themselves. And look, I know people wanted the option to tell them they could be both, but like as a person who has lived a similar experience, it really feels sometimes like the world is making you choose. It can feel like you’re not enough of either thing for anyone. And there are parts of your identity that you will have to make a choice on, and I think it’s trying to speak to that. I did the Rivaini one, and it’s like… well, they’re embracing the culture of Rivain, but it’s not like anyone is ever going to look at them and NOT see a Qunari. You can’t get away from that. What you choose to do in response is a real dilemma and I think that if you engage with the text genuinely you can see what Trick was doing. Also, there is a really great dialogue from Rook that I think gives more context to the discussion; they can say that they have been many things, and it’s important to take what works from each experience and make it part of yourself. So I don’t think Taash’s plot is trying to make them throw away any of themselves, just defining priorities. (Sorry, that got long. Feelings, opinions about that one)

And I don’t think Bellara’s is obvious, either, especially with how they involve the Nadas Dirthalen in her personal plot. This is a thing that is really emotionally and culturally significant to her, but at the same time it is part of what hurt her brother and ultimately took him away from her. She’s really preoccupied with not causing harm by her actions; she spends the whole game worried about it! And even though Rook doesn’t see the dangerous elements of the repository, that doesn’t mean they’re not there. The puzzle quest you can find in Arlathan proves that other people besides Cyrian were taken in by Anaris. And also, there’s the plot thread they briefly touched on in the last game which is that the culture the Dalish have built, that they have RIGHT NOW, is not wrong. But it’s also important to remember history, even if it’s unpleasant or could be dangerous, which is another thing you can discuss with Bellara during the game. So there’s no wrong choice! It’s just about Rook and Bellara and what’s important from their perspectives.

Anyway it was super refreshing to have these kinds of choices! It reminds me of the best character choices in DAI and DAO, especially, and I’m so happy they carried those things forward and improved on them.

[s-exy-sapphillean]

Thinking about isolation in mouthwashing

Of course on the most surface level there is the isolation of being stranded in space but each of the characters have been isolated in their own way.

Anya of course, isolated as the only woman on the crew, isolated as the one who has to listen to everyone else's problems and never having her own mental wellbeing considered, isolated further by the one person who is supposed to hold them all together not taking her assault seriously enough, being made to feel like even under threat to her life the one person who so much as offered to hear her out and help her out would care more about his friend than her

Daisuke as the outsider, the unwanted intern, the new one who doesn't really want to be there and wasn't taken into consideration at all, wasn't planned for at all. Desperately trying to fit in, to be part of it all, to be accepted and recognized receive praise, yet only ever receiving it to be manipulated

Swansea, selfisolated in his misery & selfloathing, unwilling to display care for daisuke, lowkey isolating himself from his own family by staying in this fuckass job spending years at a time in space away from them because he knows they don't make him happy and he feels guilty for it, being the grouchy abrassive old mess he feels like not just because it feels liberating but also to push others away

Curly isolated on a pedestal of authority as captain. Being loaded with responsibility and put under tons of pressure. As anya points out, never truly letting anyone in, never being real and open, for the sake of keeping up appearance and being "responsible". Then having to deal with jimmys projection bullshit framing him as "the one who got away" in the shitty situation of them all being let go. Then losing the ability to talk and act, being treated like an object, a scapegoat and punching bag, completely unable to take any part in the events that transpire.

And finally Jimmy, always the victim but also always placing himself above everyone else. Isolated in his self-imposed victimhood completely constructed of his own actions. Fueling his own inferiority complex purely with his own delusions. Treating everyone around himself like less than human while wallowing in selfpity and how nothing is really his fault and no one else is giving him a chance when he's been given more than he ever deserved.

[ryin-silverfish]

Ping Jinchuan: A 19th century Sci-fi Shenmo Novel

Like all popular novels, when something sets a trend, many imitators follow suit, until the formula becomes its own genre of sorts.

FSYY is one such genre setter. Specifically, the "Battle of Arts" (斗法) formula, where immortals and deities are added into a historical event——usually a war, but it can also be something like Admiral Zheng He's voyage——and proceed to use said setting as an excuse to battle it out using spells, magical treasures, and formations.

It's such an enduring formula, late Qing novels were still following it. And because it's the 19th century, western technology and ideas were entering China and making their way into popular culture.

My first exposure to the results comes from Legends of the Eight Immortal Attaining the Dao (八仙得道传), where the narrator occasionally interrupts the story and goes: "Electricity-based technology is totally the work of Mother Lightning, guys!"

Why am I telling you all these random facts? Because Ping Jinchuan ("Quelling the Golden Stream") is that, but turned up to eleven.

Technically, FSYY is set in Shang dynasty China. Technically, Ping Jinchuan is an obscure 1899 novel about the quelling of rebellions in Qinghai and Tibet during the 18th century by the historical general Nian Gengyao.

However, considering that FSYY has 11th century BCE gunpowder weapons, and...the entirety of Ping Jinchuan, I really doubt the claim of the latter novel's author that the story is based on the eye witness accounts of his ancestor, who worked as an advisor under Nian Gengyao.

But if you insist, here's a rough summary of the historical background: the first war Nian fought in Tibet happened during the reign of Kangxi, because the Dzungar Khanate invaded Tibet.

The second rebellion Nian quelled in Qinghai, during the reign of Yongzheng, was started by  Lobzang Tendzin. He fought against the Dzungar Khanate with the help of Qing army, but rebelled together with local chiefdoms and Mongol leaders when he was not granted the rulership of Tibet afterwards.

(Confusingly enough, during the reign of Qianlong, there were also 2 other rebellions by the chieftains of "Greater and Lesser Jinchuan" in northwestern Sichuan, which might be where the novel's name came from.)

Naturally, the novel proceeds to tell a "Battle of Arts" story, about Tibetan Buddhist monks, Muslims, Daoist sages, and the leaders of the Roman Catholic Church duking it out with typical Shenmo novel treasures...and 19th century magitek.

There is potential for some serious analysis about Qing military expansion, violence on the frontiers, how foreign religions and people are perceived through the framework of popular fiction, etc. But honestly, after seeing the above summary, are you really here for *that*? 

I'm not, because I don't know nearly enough about the historical context, and the entire premise is ridiculous enough to defy any attempt at taking it seriously——unless the attempts are ironic.

Case In Point

The novel starts off pretty tame: Lobzang Tendzin, "King of Jinchuan", wanted to send his own Dalai Lama candidate to Tibet after the previous Dalai's death, as part of a power ploy to make himself the de facto ruler of Tibet.

He allied himself with Galdan, the Dzungar ruler, to force the Tibetans to accept his candidate at gunpoint——literally.

Their firearms and cannons got stopped by a Lama named Ding Chan, who used his meditation power to summon divine warriors and fend off the first wave of attack.

However, his meditation was broken by the plight of Jinchuan soldiers disguised as female refugees, and later, Galdan assassinated him in his sleep with a firing squad during a treaty talk organized by the Qing.

Emperor Yongzheng was not happy and sent Nian Gengyao and Yue Zhongqi to quell the rebellion. Also, Nian is actually the Heavenly Dog Star incarnate, who learned martial arts, classics, war strategy, and all sorts of neat stuff in his youth from a poor Buddhist monk.

Later, said monk and Yue's master sent a bunch of their disciples to Nian and Yue as reinforcement, before the battle began. 

Then, in Chapter 4, Nan Guotai was introduced as the fictional son of the historical Belgian missionary, Ferdinand Verbiest. Nicknamed "Little Lu Ban", he was well-versed in the arts of western machinery and firearms, and the first sign of the story going completely off the rails.

The first "Battle of the Arts" round was pretty standard——Five Phase Formation, magical breaths, treasures. But Nan was ordered to make 15 "mechanical carts" that could produce flames, in conjunction with a field of landmines, to assist in the breaking of the Five Phase Formation. 

Despite the similarity, they aren't tanks, but more like...trapped cargo trailers/RVs. Basically, they had "doors and windows" with built-in mechanisms that only allowed entry into the carts and could not be opened from the inside, and once the enemies were trapped, the carts became giant incinerators.

After losing the first round, the King of Jinchuan put up a recruitment poster for "talented followers of the Three Religions"...except the Three Religions weren't Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism, but Islam, Buddhism, and Daoism, since the story is set in Qinghai, where there was a notable population of Hui people (Chinese Muslims).

After seeing the poster, Galdan's wife decided to seek help from her own master, the Patriarch of the Snowy Mountains. He is a Muslim sage with 12 powerful disciples...who all wielded typical Daoist treasures.

They all got overshadowed by the next round of Steampunk Shenmo Battle, though, when an unrelated Daoist showed up with his trump card: "Strong Water", a.k.a. magical hydrochloric acid.

The magical HCI was then put into giant glass syringes and fired at Nian's troops, resulting in significant casualties. To bypass the HCI syringe cannons, Nan unrevealed his latest invention: the Skysoar Orb, a.k.a. hot air balloon.

The Qing troops then mounted firearms and cannons onto the air balloon, flew it above Galdan's camp to a height where the HCI syringes couldn't reach, and started shooting. However, they were all mortals, and got decimated when the enemy immortals flew up to take control of the balloons, forcing an emergency landing via needles.

After that, the hot air balloon was manned entirely by immortals, until Galdan covered his camp in a mesh of barbed wires, blocking the aerial fire but also making it impossible for him to use his own HCI syringes.

Then a little 13 years old immortal, Gengsheng the Acolyte, joined the Qing army, who's the reincarnation of the Lama executed by Galdan's firing squad. Abandoned at birth and adopted by a Daoist master, he was able to fly on clouds since he was 8-9 years old, which he used to travel to Europe. 

While he was there, a Swedish sage gifted him a powerful treasure——the Electricity Whip, which can be used to electrocute people to death...but also magically heal injuries with its currents.

I have trouble visualizing the thing. Is it a literal whip of lightning arcs (since it's described as being able to turn into a white beam), a taser, an electric cattle prod, a plasma whip, or the unholy lovechild of all the above plus a tesla coil?

Hilariously, the Electricity Whip treasure of the Nikola Tesla Sect (/sarcasm) stopped working when exposed to "dirty stuff" such as a woman's magical handkerchief. Classic folk magic style. 

After a bunch of boring fighting sequences, 6 of the 12 disciples of the Patriarch decided to get the big formations out, which were broken by buckets of pig blood. 

…Yeah, that's pretty much the extent of the author's understanding of Hui customs and Islam. (sigh) The surviving disciples went to get the Patriarch for help, who casted an AOE spell of poisonous smoke, water and fire to block the Qing troops' path...

Annnnnd Nan to the rescue again! With the help of Nian Gengyao's monk master, he built the Earth Travel Cart: a magitek subway train shaped like a pangolin, able to carry a hundred people and move a hundred Li per hour. It didn't need rails, you just dug a hole in the ground, put the train in, and it started tunneling through the earth on its own.

The entire army used 500 of these magical subway trains to bypass the Patriarch's AOE spell coverage, forcing them to retreat to their home base, Tianshan (Heavenly Mountain). Which is a real mountain range in central Asia and Xinjiang province, and going there from Qinghai is plausible. Kinda.

I'm still skeptical about the novel's claim that the path through Tianshan is the only path leading into Jinchuan proper, but whatever.

The Patriarch put his most powerful formation on said mountain pass——the Ice Freeze Formation, which will insta-freeze immortals, mortals, and flying birds alike when they step in range.

Then comes the craziest part of the entire novel. Honestly, everything after this chapter is pretty boring and formulaic, which makes it the perfect note for this article to end on.

Nan suddenly revealed that the current Roman Pope is the grandson of Matteo Ricci, who's the mentor of Nan's dad, and took his hot air balloon to Rome to get reinforcement. To no one's surprise, the Pope's treasure is a cross.

The Pope agreed and took his 12 disciples——supposedly because it's the same as the number of apostles——to the snowy mountain.

He gave a cross and a white candle to each of his disciples; they walked straight into the Ice Formation and broke it by holding the two holy objects up in the air, while loudly chanting (a highly localized translation of) "Hail Mary!"

After making his grand entrance, the Pope neutralized the Patriarch's spell attacks and turned his last disciples' army of soldiers back into their true forms——a bunch of farm animals.

He then told the disciples that as the Roman Pope, he had authority over "Russia, England, France, Netherlands" and all the European nations, and he'd leave the Patriarch to mind his own business if he surrendered and stopped interfering in the war.

Three of the four examples he gave aren't even Catholic, but maybe the Protestant Reformation just never happened in this novel's 18th century world because Pope Magic.

The Patriarch accepted the cease-fire treaty, went back to teach his religion to the population of northwestern China, and that's pretty much it. His last female disciple (Galdan's wife) got her troops' firearms neutralized by the Pope's cross, taken prisoner, and executed by Nian. 

After revealing that the Qing immortals' power also came from the Grace of Our Lord and Savior, and that was why westerners couldn't use spells (but could make electricity-based treasures?), the Pope flew back to Rome on Nan's air balloon, exiting the novel once and for all.

Which is a pity, because in the second half of the novel, one of the defeated foes escaped to (Ottoman?) Turkey to beg their king for reinforcement, and the Russian Tsar agreed to help the Jinchuan troops to make his French wife happy. I want my Papal 13 vs. Russian Orthodox Bishops Shenmo battle, dammit!

Food for thought: if the Pope was Matteo Ricci's grandson, and Matteo Ricci was also a mentor of Ferdinand Verbiest, Nan's dad (historically, Ricci died 13 years before Verbiest was even born)...

...Is this a timeline where the Jesuits won the Rites Controversy, Ricci cultivated himself into the first Catholic immortal, and ushered in the age of Syncretic Daoist-Catholic Steampunk? 

[s4bbatical]

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want | Part 1. (Rivals Declan O'Hara x Reader)

Part 2 here.

Warnings: Profanities, sexual tension, alcohol and cigarette use.

Author's note: I'm not exactly staying on top of the timeline of rivals, bare this in mind as you read. Of course with any self inserts, it's an AU with a bit of tweaking. No smut involved in this chapter, just fluff until I post more parts. AGE GAP (22!Reader). Thanks for reading.

It was your first week at the Corinium. You were a fresh-faced journalist straight out of Washington State University who had accepted an internship at the independent commercial television station in the county of Rutshire, England. Far from home and comfort, you strived to be the best at what you were asked to do. The pay was good, and the idea of being in another continent where anything was possible kept your drive at an all-time high. You were practicing your decorum quietly to yourself at your desk, fiddling with your pen.

"Already going mad, are you?" Your co-worker and new friend Seb asks, grinning as he puts down his homework on your desk.

You laugh awkwardly, crossing your leg over the other as you lean back to look up at the ginger. "If I have to hear Tony Baddingham cuss out another person because Declan O'Hara is too stubborn to take his lead," You quip, closing your own folder of paperwork. "I think I'll start drinking more." You exasperate, recalling the sudden outburst from Tony's office a mere five minutes ago. Seeing Declan O'Hara riled up was never a great sign, but you couldn't help but run your eyes over his sculpted arms when he took off his blazer in frustration.

"I think you need to start drinking more in general, y/n. You're in England now. We all have a problem." Seb comments, half-sitting on your desk. "You should come with us to Bar Sinister. It's owned by Basil, Tony's brother." He says, crossing his arms.

You raise a brow. "I thought we were assigned to get dirt on the next guest on Declan's and have it in by Monday. Wouldn't that cut into our research time?" You query.

Seb laughs. "You Americans are such workaholics." He shakes his head. "Come get a drink with us!" He pleas, hitting your arm lightly. "Those reputations aren't going anywhere. Besides, we're all going, you'll be the odd one out if you don't."

"All of you?" You say, looking across the room at Declan O'Hara. He's speaking to someone on the phone in his office, the blinds open enough to allow you for a peek. God, what a man he was.

"Yes, all of us. I can't speak for Tony or Declan, though." Seb hums, the feeling of disappointment washing over you. "I'd like to see you there, though." He adds, the both of you sharing a lingering gaze before he gets up and walks away.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think your colleague was flirting with you. You didn't mind it, really. Seb was attractive, and only a year younger than you. Unfortunately, you just had a taste something a little more aged. Everyone seemed to want to fuck each other in this office. You barely managed to avoid the claws of some of the older men yourself, not that you were complaining-- besides the fact none of them were Declan O'Hara.

You decide to stand up, grabbing ahold of your folder before boldly heading over to Mr. O'Hara's office. You slowly knock on the ajar door to get his attention before you step in.

"-We'll discuss this later. Goodbye." Declan says into his phone, hanging it up when he notices you. "Y/n, hello. What can I do for you?" He asks, putting his hands behind his back as he leans back in his chair.

Many things. You think to yourself, trying to look away from his stretched out torso before speaking. "I was just wondering if I could help you with anything else before I leave today Mister O'Hara? I just noticed you seem a bit stressed, maybe I could take something off of your plate if possible." You say, smoothing out your skirt.

He chuckles lightly, leaning forward to take a sip of his whiskey on the rocks. "Call me Declan, love. No need for so much professionalism." He sighs, your heart skipping a beat at his words of endearment as he runs a hand through his hair. "I'm 'fraid not. Tony's up my arse, and my wife's trying to throw this ridiculously expensive party for my son's birthday which also happens to be New Year's and..." He notices your glimmer of concern in your eyes, staring into them as if he got distracted. "I uh," He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it." He says, waving it off.

"I'm sorry, that does seem like an awful lot." You say, your cheeks reddening from his stare. "You don't deserve that, you know. The way Mister Baddingham treats you." You mutter, toying with the folder in your arms.

Declan chuckles, pulling out a cigarette and popping it into his mouth. "Try telling him that." He says wryly, lighting up the smoke.

"Well Declan, there's a group of us going to Bar Sinister later, if you'd like to unwind. God knows we both need it." You try to joke, laughing awkwardly as Declan gives you a look. You clear your throat, straighten your spine. "Sorry, just a suggestion." You mumble.

He laughs genuinely this time, inhaling his cigarette again. "You're funny, y/n. I thought it would be intolerable hiring an American journalist-"

"Hey!" You interject, gasping playfully.

"But!" Declan holds a hand up, stopping you from speaking further. "You're quite lovely to have around. I enjoy your presence." He says, smiling at you. "I hope you consider a permanent placement in the future."

Your face lights up, a big smile on your face now. "Thank you Mister- Declan." You correct yourself. He laughs again. "But I would have to become apart of your personal board to get approved for anything like that." You add.

"Well," Declan says, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. "I hope you don't mind if I consider that possibility y/n. You have a lot of potential, and I admire your drive." He admits, clasping his hands together and putting them on his desk.

"I am very flattered, Declan. Thank you." You say, looking down before meeting his gaze again. "It's been a pleasure working for you." The undertone of your words hint at something beyond, causing Declan to tilt his chin up a bit to analyze you.

There was something about you that had caught his attention since you first set foot in Corinium, and he couldn't seem to shake his mind from it. It was like a guilty pleasure he could never acknowledge out loud.

The phone rings. Declan nods towards it, signaling for the conversation to end. "See you tonight, y/n." He finishes, taking the phone off it's mantle as you feel heat beginning to simmer in your abdomen, nodding before leaving his office and closing the door behind you.

You have a wide grin on your face as you make your way back to your desk, hastily returning to your work in order to keep the evening free.

-

Much to your surprise, it was karaoke night at the bar. There was a good mix of random patrons and recognizable faces taking turns singing out ballads.

You and Seb were sat at the bar, him sipping on a Guinness as you had a vodka soda. Classic American, he commented when you ordered it.

“You gonna go up there?” You ask Seb, gesturing towards Freddie Jones who was pouring his heart out on the mic.

“Mm, possibly. What’d you reckon I sing? I’m tone deaf but maybe if everyone gets drunk enough no one will notice.” He jokes, earning a fit of laughter from you both.

“I love The Cure if that’s any help.” You suggest, finishing your vodka soda.

Seb quickly gestures for the bartender to bring over a bottle of wine. He notices your curious expression, shrugging his shoulders. “Company’s paying for this shite, not me." He explains. "Also, The Cure? I like 'em, but they’re not gonna translate with these guys.” He says, drinking his pint. He pours you a glass of wine as you glance around the space, trying to spot Declan anywhere.

“What about Last Christmas? You know, by Wham? It’s almost Christmas after all.” You say, already pouncing on your glass of wine.

“I do like that one, maybe I’ll do it yeah.” Seb says nonchalantly, finishing his Guinness. “I’ll go right now, actually.” He suddenly gets up, walking through the crowd.

You grab the wine bottle itself and take a swig from it, feeling the alcohol flush out your face. You hated how it made your cheeks red like you were ashamed to be plastered.

You finally see the man you were waiting for enter the place, scanning the room before his eyes landed on yours. You give Declan a timid wave, causing him to walk over as Seb began singing on stage. “You made it!” You exclaim, returning to pouring the wine into your glass so you seemed classy in front of your inappropriate work crush.

“Yes, sorry. Had to stay later at the office to do more flawed research.” He jests, nodding towards the bartender who already knew his regular. Declan referred to finding dirt on his guests as flawed research, mainly so it didn’t seem so inane in conversation.

"You're very dedicated to your work, I'm surprised you have time for any of this." You say, allowing yourself to speak more freely now that you were definitely tipsy.

"My wife would say the same." He sighs, taking a sip of his glass of whiskey.

You take another sip of your glass, trying to conceal your distaste at the mention of his wife. "Is she not very pleased with you, Declan?" You ask, causing your boss's face to harden. "I'm sorry," You quickly add. "That's personal I shouldn't have said that, that's so stupid of me-"

"Y/n." Declan says, putting a hand on your arm. You feel your body burn up at his touch. "It's okay, really. It's actually relieving to know you don't know anything about my martial problems. Everyone does." He says dryly, taking another sip of his whiskey. "She's not too keen on me being obsessed with my job. She compares it to cheating on her, which I find rather hypocritical considering..." He trails off, smiling at you. "Forget it." He raises his glass, clinking yours. "To you, for being an amazing intern." He slams back his glass, putting it down and grabbing ahold of the aged bottle of whiskey to pour himself.

You smile awkwardly, raising your glass before taking another sip of your wine. You piece it together in your head, realizing that his wife must've committed adultery; just like almost every other married person you've worked alongside so far. "Jesus, Declan. I'm sorry." You mumble, hearing Seb's singing end in the distance.

"Please, don't apologize. It wasn't your fault." Declan says, a look of yearning in his eyes.

"If I were her, I'd never do anything of the sort. If I was with someone like you I'd cherish it everyday." You say, finishing your glass of wine.

Declan raises a brow, chuckling heartily. "And someone would be very, very lucky to have you y/n." He replies, the two of you locked in a stare.

You were definitely drunk by now, and wine always gave you an edge to flirt with whomever you found most attractive in the room. You place a hand on his arm, finally knowing what it was like to feel his muscles through the thin material of his button up. "You deserve better, Declan." You say, rubbing your thumb along his bicep. You watch as the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile, placing his hand over yours on his arm.

"How'd you think I did?" Seb asks, returning the bar and interrupting the moment between you and Mr. O'Hara. You pull back, turning yourself to face Seb.

"You did great, Seb." You say, pressing a kiss on his cheek, causing his face to go as red as his hair. "I think I'm gonna give it a shot, show the English what talents an American has." You grin, unable to make eye contact with Declan out of embarrassment for trying to flirt with a married man. However, the commonality of cheating on spouses here still gave you a sliver of hope as you walked towards the stage, a mask of confidence due to alcohol consumption.

"What song are you gonna do?" Seb asks, following in suit.

"You'll see." You say. You walk up to the host, whispering a song in their ear. They nod, giving you a thumbs up as you get on the stage.

Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears starts to play, causing the entire place to riot with excitement. You grin madly, grabbing ahold of the microphone as the lyrics begin to play. You watch as Declan makes his way through the crowd, standing between Freddie and Seb to watch you perform.

"I wanted to be with you alone And talk about the weather But traditions I can trace against the child in your face Won't escape my attention."

You dance along to the music, singing freely like no one was watching.

"You keep your distance via the system of touch And gentle persuasion I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much? Oh, you're wasting my time You're just, just, just wasting time..."

You now make eye contact with Declan O'Hara, singing the chorus. Everyone's dancing around, paying no mind to where your attention was.

"Something happens and I'm head over heels I never find out until I'm head over heels Something happens and I'm head over heels Ah, don't take my heart, don't break my heart Don't, don't, don't throw it away..."

Declan watches you in admiration, realizing you're singing directly at him. You look away for the rest of the song, only returning your gaze when the chorus comes up again. When the song ends, you give a little curtesy, putting the mic back on the stand as everyone cheers madly.

"That was brilliant, y/n!" Seb exclaims, holding you in an embrace. You laugh, hugging him back. "Thanks, Seb."

"Seb, can you do one with me?" Daysee asks, causing Seb to pull away from you. "Course, what're you thinking?" The two of them walk away, leaving you be to earn compliments from the rest of your colleagues.

"You have a great voice." Declan says, causing you to turn and face him. "Great song, too." He adds.

"Thanks, it was a personal choice." You say, the next song starting up. Dreams by Fleetwood Mac starts playing, Seb and Daysee's choice. "Fuck, I love this song." You exclaim, looking over at the stage as your friends begin to sing along.

"As do I," Declan says. "Care to dance?" He asks, causing your gaze to return to his outstretched hand.

You smile. "I'd love to." You place one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand as he places a hand on the small of your back. Your breathing becomes more shallow as the two of you rock to the music, staring into each other's eyes.

You didn't know if you were simply too drunk to acknowledge the reality of the situation, but you couldn't help but wonder if Declan was starting to like you a little more than just an intern that was great at her job.

The space between the two of you becomes insignificant, your head slowly leaning onto his chest as his hand moves down to your lower back, staying at the top of your skirt. You close your eyes as the two of you rock in sync, hearing his heart beat rather triumphally. Your stomach is full of butterflies, and the heat between your legs is almost unbearable as he rubs small circles on your lower back.

He smelled like Tom Ford cologne and Marlboro Golds with an undertone of whiskey, the scent of him nearly more intoxicating than the alcohol itself. You feel his chest vibrate as he quietly sings along to the song, causing you to pull your head back to look at him. You both start singing along, your faces merely inches away from each other.

"When the rain washes you clean, you'll know You'll know You will know Oh, you'll know.."

The song ends, everyone erupting into applause as you register the proximity of you and Declan, taking a step back as you notice the stares of your colleagues.

"Thanks for the dance." You mumble, looking down at the ground. "I uh, need to find Seb he's my ride." You say abruptly, leaving Declan stunned on the dancefloor as you hurriedly approach your ginger colleague. "Can you drive me home now?" You ask, putting a hand on his arm.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Do you need a ride too Daysee?" He asks, the blonde shaking her head.

"'M alright. I'll see you lads on Monday." She says, grinning as the two of you grab your coats from the bar stools.

"Goodbye, Declan." You say, making eye contact with the brooding man who simply looks at you.

"Goodnight, y/n." He responds, inhaling his cigarette before looking away.

You feel a pang in your chest as you look at Declan for another moment, expecting more. He says nothing else. Seb leads you away from the bar, allowing you to let go of any longing between you and Mr. O'Hara.

Declan knew it was wrong to think of you in any other light outside of work. Even if Maud had cheated on him before, with the tendency to keep going at it, he still couldn't shake the guilt away just yet. He retreated to disregarding you as a means to hopefully make you both forget about the whole ordeal, as if he wasn't thinking about what it would be like to have his hands underneath that tight pencil skirt of yours.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, lighting another cigarette. The holiday season was about to be a real hassle, and he was afraid of asking Santa for what he really wished for this time around.

-

guys... i finally did it... declan o'hara i want you so bad. i think im just gonna write a part two to this maybe three, and leave it at that. if you have any requests pweaseee leave them for meeee this show has me in a CHOKEHOLD.

much love as always, isabel

[dummiebrat]

𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝗬𝗼𝘂

Dominant!Rio Vidal x Young!Submissive!Agatha Harkness

Word count: 1K

Summary: Rio and Agatha have become lost in a passionate and possessive encounter, their bodies entwined in a dance of desire and dominance.

Notes: Power Play, Possessive! Rio Vidal, Obscenity (or an attempt) and Young! Agatha Harkness.

Author's notes: Sooo, I'm feeling particularly inspired today - or drunk - it doesn't matter, I'm going to risk an obscenity and seriously, I really want your feedback. I'm also accepting ideas, work your magic... Enjoy!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe moon hung heavy over Salem, its silver light spilling through the gnarled branches of ancient oaks. The forest was alive with an unnatural stillness, save for the low murmur of Agatha Harkness's voice weaving a melody of seduction and power. She stood in the clearing, her dark dress brushing the damp earth as her fingers curled into the air, summoning the wayward witches. A soft hum of energy rippled through the space as they arrived, drawn like moths to the irresistible glow of her presence.

Each woman was beautiful in her own way, her features illuminated by the moonlight that framed the clearing. Agatha moved among them with deliberate grace, her smile warm yet wicked, her words a melody that lured their trust. Her silver hair glimmered in the pale light, her sharp eyes flicking to the shadows where Rio Vidal leaned against a tree, arms crossed. Rio watched in stony silence, her jaw clenched, her sharp gaze never leaving Agatha's form.

Agatha's power radiated with every step she took, the witches entranced by her confidence. With the briefest touch-a brush of her hand, a whispered word- she disarmed them, leaving them vulnerable and docile. Then, she turned up the charm, her lips finding theirs in kisses that grew deeper and hungrier with each stolen moment.

The air was electric as each kiss pulled energy into Agatha's being, her body glowing faintly as she drained their strength. She devoured their power with an unrelenting passion, leaving them swaying on their feet, intoxicated and defenseless. Each time her lips left another witch's, her eyes darted back to Rio, seeking approval-or perhaps acknowledgment-but found nothing except the smoldering intensity of Rio's glare.

When the last witch fell to her knees, gasping, Agatha turned fully toward Rio, her expression triumphant but tinged with vulnerability. She spread her arms wide, as though offering herself in the aftermath of her conquest, her voice a sultry whisper.

— Do you see now, Rio? The lengths I'd go to for you? The power I'd wield-

Before she could finish, Rio stepped forward, her boots crunching against the dry leaves with a deliberate slowness that sent a chill down Agatha's spine. Rio's face was a storm of anger and disdain, her sharp cheekbones catching the moonlight as she stopped mere inches from Agatha.

— You think this impresses me? — Rio spat, her voice low and venomous. — Kissing others, whoring your mouth out for their power? Do you think I'd kneel at your feet for this cheap display?

Agatha flinched, her confidence cracking under Rio's scorn. — I-I didn't do it for them. I did it for you. To show-

Rio cut her off with a sharp laugh, cruel and cold. — You think you're in control here? You think you're seducing me? — She grabbed Agatha by the chin, forcing their eyes to meet. — I don't share what's mine, Agatha. If you want to please me, you'll do as I say. And I never said to kiss anyone but me.

Agatha's lips parted, but no words came out. The fire in Rio's eyes was consuming, stripping her of her defenses. Her heart pounded as Rio's fingers tightened, her dominance a tangible force that left Agatha feeling small, powerless, and strangely exhilarated.

— You want power, don't you? — Rio's voice was soft now, dripping with mockery. — You want to prove yourself. But you can't even keep your desires in check. — She released Agatha abruptly, letting her stumble back a step. — You'll learn to obey me, Agatha. To submit. To beg.

Agatha's chest heaved, the fire in her dimming, replaced with something raw and untested. — And if I don't? — she whispered, though her voice trembled.

Rio smirked, a dark, dangerous curve of her lips. — Then I'll break you.

The promise hung heavy in the air as Agatha's knees gave way beneath her, whether from exhaustion or the weight of Rio's presence, she couldn't say. She looked up at Rio, her silver hair falling over her face like a shroud. For the first time, she wasn't the predator. She was prey. And it thrilled her in ways she didn't yet understand.

Rio crouched before her, taking Agatha's chin once more, but this time, her thumb brushed along Agatha's bottom lip. Her tone softened, but the edge of authority remained. — You're mine now, Agatha. Every kiss, every breath, every drop of your power. And you'll prove it to me.

Agatha nodded slowly, her voice barely audible. — Yes, Rio.

A wicked smile curled Rio's lips. — Good girl.

Some obscenity below... Enjoy!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤAs Rio's thumb continued to stroke Agatha's lip, her eyes never left Agatha's, piercing through the veil of submission. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and ozone, the moon above casting an eerie glow on the clearing. The witches, now scattered and forgotten, watched with a mixture of fascination and horror as the dynamic between Rio and Agatha unfolded.

Rio's fingers tightened around Agatha's chin, her grip gentle yet unyielding. She leaned in, her breath whispering against Agatha's ear, sending shivers down her spine. — You'll prove it to me, Agatha. You'll show me you're worthy of my attention.

Agatha's eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting in anticipation. Rio's tongue darted out, tracing the curve of Agatha's ear, leaving a trail of moisture that made Agatha's skin prickle. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, her body responding with a hunger she couldn't contain.

Rio's hands slid down Agatha's arms, her fingers wrapping around Agatha's wrists like manacles. She pulled Agatha closer, their bodies inches apart, the heat between them palpable. Agatha's breasts heaved, her nipples straining against the fabric of her dress as Rio's hot breath danced across her skin.

With a deliberate slowness, Rio's lips brushed against Agatha's, the touch feather-light yet electric. Agatha's mouth opened, inviting Rio's invasion, and Rio obliged, her tongue sweeping in with a possessive intensity. The kiss deepened, their mouths devouring each other, the sound of their ragged breathing and the rustling of leaves the only accompaniment.

As they kissed, Rio's hands roamed Agatha's body, her fingers exploring the curves and contours of Agatha's skin. She tugged at the laces of Agatha's dress, the fabric parting with a soft rustle

to reveal the moon-pale skin beneath. Rio's fingers traced the curves of Agatha's breasts, her thumbs brushing against the nipples, sending a shiver of pleasure through Agatha's entire being.

Agatha's hands, still bound by Rio's grip, flexed in desperation, her fingers curling into Rio's arms as she tried to pull herself closer. Rio's laughter, low and husky, vibrated against Agatha's lips, sending a thrill of excitement through her.

With a sudden jerk, Rio released Agatha's wrists, her hands sliding down to cup Agatha's buttocks. She lifted Agatha off the ground, their bodies pressed together, the heat between them almost unbearable. Agatha's legs wrapped around Rio's waist, her ankles locking behind Rio's back as she devoured Rio's mouth with a hunger she couldn't contain.

The witches, forgotten in the shadows, watched with bated breath as the two women clashed, their bodies entwined in a dance of power and submission. The air was heavy with the scent of sex and magic, the moon above casting an eerie glow on the clearing.

Rio's hands slid down Agatha's thighs, her fingers tracing the curve of Agatha's knees before pushing them apart. Agatha's dress, now torn and rumpled, fell away, revealing the pale skin beneath. Rio's fingers delved into Agatha's core, her touch sending waves of pleasure through Agatha's body.

Agatha's head fell back, her eyes closed, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. Rio's fingers moved with a deliberate slowness, her touch teasing and taunting, building Agatha's desire to a fever pitch.

As Agatha's body began to shudder, Rio's lips closed around her nipple, sucking hard. Agatha's back arched, her body bowing backward as she came, her cry of pleasure echoing through the clearing.

In the aftermath, Rio's arms cradled Agatha's limp body, her fingers still buried deep within Agatha's core. Agatha's eyes, glazed with pleasure, stared up at Rio, her mouth still open in a silent scream.

Rio's gaze, dark and intense, burned into Agatha's, her eyes flashing with a fierce possessiveness. She leaned in, her mouth claiming Agatha's in a brutal, devouring kiss. Agatha's body, still shuddering with aftershocks, responded with a hunger she couldn't contain.

As they kissed, Rio's fingers began to move once more, her touch building Agatha's desire anew. Agatha's body, already sensitized, responded with a fierce intensity, her hips bucking against Rio's hand.

Their bodies, entwined in a dance of power and submission, moved in perfect sync, their hearts pounding in tandem. The witches, forgotten in the shadows, watched with bated breath as the two women clashed, their bodies burning with a hunger that threatened to consume them whole.

The air was heavy with the scent of sex and magic, the moon above casting an eerie glow on the clearing. The trees, their branches creaking in the wind, seemed to lean in, as if to better witness the spectacle unfolding before them.

As Agatha's body began to shudder once more, Rio's lips closed around her nipple, sucking hard. Agatha's back arched, her body bowing backward as she came, her cry of pleasure echoing through the clearing.

In the aftermath, Rio's arms cradled Agatha's limp body, her fingers still buried deep within Agatha's core. Agatha's eyes, glazed with pleasure, stared up at Rio, her mouth still open in a silent scream.

Rio's gaze, dark and intense, burned into Agatha's, her eyes flashing with a fierce possessiveness. She leaned in, her mouth claiming Agatha's in a brutal, devouring kiss.

The witches, forgotten in the shadows, watched with bated breath as the two women clashed, their bodies burning with a hunger that threatened to consume them whole. The air was thick with the scent of desire, the clearing bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon above.

Agatha's hands, no longer bound, roamed Rio's body with a desperate fervor, her fingers tracing the curves and planes of Rio's flesh. She pulled Rio closer, her legs tightening around Rio's waist, her hips grinding against Rio's with a primal need.

Rio's gaze, dark and unyielding, bore into Agatha's. — You're mine, Agatha, — she growled, her voice rough with possession. — No one else will ever have you. You belong to me, and me alone.

Agatha's eyes, half-lidded with pleasure, locked with Rio's. — I'm yours, — she breathed, her words barely more than a whisper. — I'll always be yours, Rio. Forever.

Rio's lips crashed into Agatha's, the kiss bruising and claiming. Agatha surrendered to it, her body molding to Rio's, her heart pounding in time with Rio's.

The witches, transfixed by the display of raw, unbridled passion, dared not to move, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

[alexanderwales]

Save the Cat is a snappy read, and only 8 chapters, so I'm just doing a liveblog of them unless I get bored or distracted.

Chapter one is about the pitch, the logline, the title, what you put on a poster and how you sell it. It doesn't necessarily come first, but I get the sense that for Snyder this would be his preferred way of doing it. (A logline is just the one-sentence "what is it about" that you use to sell people on the idea.)

Snyder says that writing loglines is awful, soul-crushing work, and I agree there. I'm awful at it. But Snyder also says that if you don't have a good logline, maybe there's something wrong with your movie, and that I don't agree with.

I think there's a fairly wide set of stories that have good, snappy, easy loglines, and are also good stories. But I think there are other stories that are good stories and don't have a great way to pitch them. The lack of a good pitch can exist for a lot of reasons, and sometimes it's just that it's more complex than can be summed up in a single sentence, or even a handful of sentences. I think in practice writers will often dumb down the story for the logline, lying about what's contained within, just to make sure that it will sell, that people will want to know what's inside.

One of the other main points of the chapter is that a good logline has irony to it, a twist inherent in the title, some kind of thematic tension, and I disagree with that too, maybe not from the standpoint of selling a script, but from the standpoint of storytelling.

Why does everything have to have an irony to it? Why does everything have to have a twist? Why can't we have stories that are just well-told explorations of conflict and character? It's like at some point people decided that they only wanted Distinct Pieces of Media, so if you wanted to tell a story that's been told before, something with its own unique texture, you're just shit out of luck.

I find this all the more irritating because often the twist/irony/idea/pitch is good, and then the execution is shit, and then people don't want that idea again. It's not like you can say "like that thing that flopped, but good".

Blake Snyder is trying to tell good stories, but he's also trying to sell stories, and this is a good thing for authors to know how to do. I accept this. I just don't like it.

So as a writing exercise, here are some loglines for things I've written, without the amount of care and polish and revision that a good logline needs:

Worth the Candle - A teenaged dungeonmaster gets thrust into the worlds he's created, where his recently deceased friend is a historical figure. (This is bad, not short and snappy enough.)

This Used to be About Dungeons - Five young adults team up to delve dungeons and bake pies. (I don't know man, I said I was bad at this.)

Thresholder - A man travels through portals to different worlds and genres, gathering powers and skills as he fights other people just like him.

Shadows of the Limelight - In a world where fame gives you power, a fanboy saves the life of the world's greatest hero in full view of the public.

The Dark Wizard of Donkerk - An orphan raised by two dark wizards adventures north with a wayward princess.

Millennial Scarlet - A gig-economy demon hunter grapples with the death of his mother and the plans she set up before she passed.

Alright, I found that less soul-sucking than usual, but I don't think that these are the oiled, muscular, perfectly toned and smiling loglines that are necessary to sell, just to be clear. The marketing unit of written fiction is not really the logline, though that helps, it's the blurb, and I am equally awful at writing those. I just don't agree with Blake Snyder that a blurb or logline coming poorly is a sign that you don't know the story.

[ranticore]

I've been wondering, do Harpies that were raised by humans simply not turn into kings? If it happens, what would trigger it? What would they do? How would they feel?

The trigger is usually the lack of a king already in a flock combined with persistent fear spikes as a result of crawling beast attacks. Kind of a "oh fuck we need more protection" stress signal from the body. But sometimes it can seem random, sometimes it can happen from someone just wishing really hard they could fuck a tiercel (that's how cuinn did it).

Among humans the harpies frequently encounter crawling beasts but they are not as stressed about it - because it's a job to them to fly out every night and kill those fuckers. Then the flock flies home to the mews where they get guaranteed food and their nests and babies are never in any real danger. This puts a pretty severe damper on most king transformations because after all, growing a bigger body which consumes way more energy and can't hunt as effectively is kind of silly if there's truly no need for it.

If it DID happen, the trigger would likely be one of the other random reasons. Most commonly (it's rare still) it would be a harpy who starts to view their own human keepers as somewhat like tiercels - which is why it's discouraged for falconers to wear bright flashy styles of clothing btw. The falconer-harpy working relationship relies on the harpy taking a subordinate role and accepting human authority. If they start to test boundaries it's a warning sign of a potential inversion of those subordinate/authoritative roles on the horizon. How the harpy feels depends on the individual but the king transformation can be confusing to them if they don't even know wtf is happening which can lead to becoming aggressive (especially food aggressive), withdrawn, moody, etc basically it's rarely a fun time for them.

At the early stages the transformation can be stopped by reducing the harpy's rations and feeding washed meat (meat that has soaked in water for a period of time to remove nutritional value). nobody can suddenly almost double in size over the course of a few months without proper nutrition. If caught early enough it'll stop the transformation entirely but if it's too late, you're just going to fuck them up. Those ones are isolated from the flock and later passed off to travelling/beginner falconers for cheap, which is a disaster waiting to happen

[thyras]

→ starlight

PAIRING → annatar (sauron) x f!oc!sabina

WORD COUNT → 1.1k words

WARNINGS → soft!sauron, mentions of past trauma, love confessions (if you can even call it that), giving of gifts

SUMMARY → after a life-altering event in sabina's life, she is now free to choose her path with all the knowledge of who she really is.

AUTHORS NOTE → so yes, i have given up writing a coherent story as it was stressing me out and i was pretty bored of writing the same stuff over again. i will just be posting from now on parts of their story because honestly i'm going where the inspiration takes me. i have so much already written for them that i felt was going to waste as it did not fit into a chronological order for the story. so i'm abandoning the chronological story but not the over arching story i have laid out for them. i would rather write what i am inspired to, so don't kill me for not going in order lol

SAURON X F!OC!SABINA MASTERLIST

There was a soft knock on her chamber’s door. She turned as she finished putting her other earring in. Sabina stood, gathered up her skirts, and walked over, opening the door just a crack to see him standing there. She opened the door more as he inclined his head to her softly. A smile touched her lips as she leaned against the door frame.

“Can I help you, my lord?” She said, looking down the corridor to see if someone was there. Ever since the whole ordeal by the river, Sabina had become paranoid that Olavi would appear out of the middle of nowhere and drag her back to him only to cage her once again. She had disappeared for a few days into her chambers, trying to unpack everything: seeing her mother, learning her parentage, and how her fate rested in the hands of the being that now stood at her door. 

It was a lot to take in, and Celebrimbor had been all but accepting of her absence for a couple of days. But she had to appear at the gathering tonight to see how her master’s help had provided a fruitful product. 

“May I come in?” he asked. She nodded, and he walked through, moving to stand by her bed. “Are you well?” Sabina looked at him, puzzled.

“Are you seeing if you need to manipulate me more than usual?” she scoffed. He sat down on the edge of her bed and shook his head.

“Hardly.” The aura coming off him was something she had never seen on him or in Olavi, for that matter. He was nervous about something.

“Are you scared of me?” she asked with a playful smile. He narrowed his gaze at her. 

“No,” he answered tartly. “I must admit I was completely in the dark on this one. He did not share much with me, but I caught glimpses of her when he invaded my mind to torture me.” Sauron looked away from Sabina’s amused gaze. “It was why I became intrigued with you.” Sabina snorted and went back to her vanity.

“Are you getting soft and sentimental with me, my dear Dark Lord?” He stood quickly and moved over to her, grabbing her wrist sharply and turning her to face him as his dark eyes poured into her.

“This poking of fingers is tiresome; I am not trying to deceive you or trick you.” His throat worked, and she watched his eyes soften back into their bluest shade. “I am trying to show you that I wish to right my master’s wrongs. I dare not treat you as Olavi did or how I was treated. With you—” He trailed off as her eyes widened and her throat worked. A lone tear touched his cheeks. “I feel like Mairon again; if I grasp harder onto you, it will right every wrong I have ever done.” Sabina reached up to wipe the tear from his cheek. 

“We both know that could never happen,” she whispered. “You require a peace I could never give you; I am driven by my need to seek power and control.” He moved to rest his head in her palm.

“But why could we not do that together?” he breathed softly against her wrist. “Just you and I healing this world, carving a path for the both of us to live our lives freely.” Sabina rubbed her thumb across his cheekbone as she sighed. 

Her dark desire for him was always deeply rooted, but now that she was completely free of Olavi, it had risen considerably. She could not say she loved him because love was not in her vocabulary after Olavi had forced those feelings onto her, but she could grow to learn the meaning of it—just like how her mother was still so completely infatuated with the man who bore her, even after learning who he was and why he sought her out.

“I cannot love,” Sabina whispered out. A smile touched his lips as he lifted his head to gaze into her sapphire ones.

“Neither can I,” he said softly before fixing a strand of hair that had been loosened by him snatching her arm. The magic of his touch twirling the strand back into its place sent shivers down her spine and caused her to close her eyes. Sauron leaned forward, inches away from her lips, hot breath covering her face as she felt his hand traveling up the fabric of her sleeve, tracing over the ripples of elegant fabric and golden detailing on the crimson fabric.  “But we will have an eternity to learn its meaning.”

Sabina waited for the pressing of lips against hers, but nothing came, and she could not help but feel slightly hurt by the lack of touch. Instead, she opened her eyes and watched as he produced something from underneath his gray robe. He placed the small pendant in his hands. The star-like shape on the golden chain shimmered and shone in the candlelight. “For you,” he held it out to her, and she took in its beauty. The diamonds encrusted in a star-like shape were something out of this world and, indeed, the work of a man so gifted in the art of forging. “A woman that has shown me that even in the darkest of nights, there will always be light to guide me where I need to be, my Silmë,” he breathed, and before she could say what was on her mind, he continued. “No trickery, no deception, no binding element, just a gift for a woman that I shall travel back to even in my darkest of nights.” 

He motioned for her to turn, and she did so, pulling her hair away from her neck so he could lay the necklace around her neck. He clasped it before placing his hands on her shoulders. Sabina ran her fingers across the beautiful jewels and smiled, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt his lips touch the top of her head.

“Thank you,” Sabina breathed while turning to face him. “But we may cause alarm if we are not down there to celebrate with Celebrimbor.” She said, moving away from him towards the door, a smile playing on his lips. “Surely you would want to bask in the glory of satisfaction for creating those rings,” She paused, and her eyes darkened slightly. “And taking what was his at the same time,” Sauron let a chuckle through his lips.

“You know me too well, my lady,” Sabina nodded and made her way out the door. She could not help the youthful maiden smile on her lips. She knew she could never love again, nor did she want to, but he was making it incredibly difficult not to.

Silmë - quenya for starlight

[cienie-isengardu]

Mortal Kombat 1 (2023)

Bi-Han vs Liu Kang

Bi-Han: Earthrealm isn't yours to rule.

Bi-Han vs Geras

Bi-Han: I don't recognize your creator's authority.

Bi-Han vs Kenshi

Kenshi: Why do you resent Liu Kang's authority?

Kenshi: Your Lin Kuei are now outlaws. Bi-Han: We answer to none but our own.

Bi-Han vs Li Mei

Bi-Han: My clan isn't subject to your jurisdiction.

MORTAL KOMBAT 11 (2019)

Kuai Liang vs Raiden

Sub-Zero: You failed to protect Earthrealm. Raiden: Do you question my authority? Sub-Zero: I demand you renounce it.

Kuai Liang vs Cetrion

Kuai Liang: The Lin Kuei do not worship the Elder Gods.

Kuai Liang: Why should I pray to you?

Kuai Liang vs Cassie Cage

Kuai Liang: You do not command the Lin Kuei.

MORTAL KOMBAT X (2015)

Kuai Liang vs Cassie Cage

Cassie: Explain yourself, Sub-Zero. Sub-Zero: I do not answer to you.

Kuai Liang vs Raiden

Raiden: Sub-Zero... Sub-Zero: I fear no gods, Raiden.

Kuai LIang vs Kenshi

Sub-Zero: Kenshi... Kenshi: State your purpose, Kuai Liang. Sub-Zero: I do not answer to you.

+BONUS:

INJUSTICE 2 (2017)

Kuai Liang: The Lin Kuei answer to no one!

MORTAL KOMBAT VS DC (2008)

Kuai Liang: Raiden. I have come seeking assistance. Raiden: Assistance? For what end? Your kind has challenged me before. Kuai Liang: I'm not my brother. Raiden: But you are still Lin Kuei. Fight!

[dykedvonte]

Can you talk about trans!Curly a little bit more? I'm curios if you have any headcanons and the like

-💀

It's just such a thing in my mind because it adds a truthful sadness and differing aspect to mouthwashing.

If Curly was trans it adds the horror of the horribly selfish thought he could have easily been in Anya's situation. It could've been him but it wasn't and he so conflicted on the pit it put in his stomach that brings and the shameful relief it wasn't. In this scenario he is friends with Jimmy for a long time still. Jimmy likely knew him pretransition. Maybe he gave Curly weird looks then, maybe they never stopped after, maybe they seemed meaner. They are guys now, bros, both of them are. He doesn't really have to worry what those looks mean anymore, Jimmy just has that face with him sometimes. It's recontextualizing a lot of things for him that he was in denial about or too ashamed to admit. How naive he was being and how he let that get another person hurt.

Specifically with Anya, it's he knows the dread and fear she's feeling. He can understand it because he had to live with it for a good portion of his life, he knows it cause he still does, just in a slightly different way. It makes him think of all the times he's been alone with Jimmy, all the times he's been way more drunk off his ass and not remember the night, Jimmy was always with him the next day. Makes him think of the comments he would laugh off both because that's what guys do but because that part of being a girl says to laugh so Jimmy doesn't do something. It's the selfish realization that he was never safe and he's uncertain now too. Mad at himself for forgeting that feeling, espcially since for a long time he would've been considered the only woman on a crew (with all that implies) for a long time.

He should've taken those blinders off, step back into that position for just a moment and it's so much more painful that Anya likely came to him because he should've gotten it. Those thoughts don't leave his mind after the crash when he's in an even more vulnerable position than she was...

[nientedal]

On Constructive Criticism.

Hey friends. You ever want to leave a critique on a fic, and the author says they like constructive criticism/"concrit," but then you leave your critique and you try to make it complimentary but the author still seems less than thrilled with you? You may have missed the point of "constructive!" Don't feel bad, you aren't alone. Took me until I started writing and receiving feedback to really figure it out.

The key to remember is, "constructive" doesn't mean "nice." It doesn't mean phrasing gently, or doing a compliment sandwich (although those are fine things to do as well). "Constructive" feedback is feedback that would make the story as the author has already written it stronger.

"The execution of this character's decision to do XYZ felt a little bit out of nowhere, to me. Was that your intent? It didn't seem like it was meant to be a big twist, either. Maybe some extra foreshadowing would make it stronger, or some shock on the part of the other characters." THAT'S constructive criticism.

This is NOT constructive criticism: "This character doing XYZ thing really doesn't make for as strong a story as it could. I think he should have done NQD thing, instead. That would have been better."

The first example offers some ideas on how to help a character's decision land better when the reader couldn't tell what the author's intent was. It's possible the reader didn't like the decision and that's why they noticed - maybe some foreshadowing would have helped them accept it better, or some indication that it was meant to be shocking would have validated the reader's surprise & displeasure. But, crucially, the reader did not suggest anything that would require a massive rewrite. Some tweaking, sure, maybe the addition of a few paragraphs. But not a change to the character's decision as a whole, the way the second example suggested. The second example does describe something the reader thinks would make for a stronger story...but it is not something that would make THIS story stronger. It is describing a different story than the one the author has already written so far, so it's just plain ol' criticism. Constructive criticism makes the existing story stronger.

That's the difference. You aren't workshopping. You are commenting on something that is already being written, that is already planned to the point where someone is already posting it. There is a BIG DIFFERENCE between workshopping a story and simply giving concrit! Unless the author has specifically asked for workshop-style help, offering things to do differently from what was already written is worse than useless. Don't.

Rule of thumb: if what you're saying can be boiled down to "I think this cake would be better if it was pie," say something else. The cake is not pie. It's not GOING to be pie. I didn't ask what you think I should bake, I put cake on the table and asked what you thought of this cake. Tell me what would make THIS cake better. Not the pie you were thinking of, and not a different cake you might have liked better. THIS CAKE.

[lith-myathar]

.

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[rjalker]

"Reverse misogyny" stories are not the progressive, feminist power move you think they are, especially not when you expect your readers to be happy and content with the status quo presented by your story. Biological essentialism and sexism are never going to be progressive even if you try to dress them up like they're feminist. They're just not.

[terpia]

I'm reading Quicksand by Junichiro Tanizaki and god, it's such an interesting reading experience. I don't know what the censorship laws were like in Japan in the 1920s and how they/the culture of the time shaped the portrayal of certain topics in the novel, but reading a book from the 1920s that openly talks about sex, abortion and sexuality (and in my translation at least, straight up uses words like lesbian, homosexual, heterosexual, etc.) is such a novel experience.

Also, and I feel it's worth mentioning, every single character in this novel is fucking insane.