#i am nothing like any of these people and i don't mean that pretentiously

[black-cigs]

.

[etherealily]

𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙃 // Nate Jacobs.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Dark. SFW, but discretion advised.

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 4 : Shards

Part 5 : Eighteen

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc.: You're needed. Now.

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It's not like you even knew Nate.

You knew of him, sure, quarterback and shit, but still, it was unlikely your paths would ever cross.

Until they did.

Until he started following you on Instagram.

That shit... was so unbelievably odd that you almost blocked him because you thought it was a fake account. But then you saw the mutuals. Holy shit. This was legit.

The fact that his account was private didn't surprise you. Yours was public because you had nothing to post and his was private because he had everything to hide.

You sent him a request. No biggie. I mean, he had to accept, right? He was the one who followed you first - it was only fair. And if it took too long, then you could always unsend it, yeah? Yeah.

It didn't take too long. It barely took three minutes.

Okay. Cool. Weird but cool.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you. An average social media interaction. Good.

--------

Come Friday evening, you decided that watching Maddy cheer was a little less important than your deadline and building your portfolio.

She absolutely supported you (rolled her eyes and said 'whatever, nerd. You still love me, right?') but was a little upset about it (pouted and called you a cunt).

Three hours went by, and you surprised yourself with the amount of work you were getting done. This is great. Friday evening well spent. Work a bit more, and then-

Nate Jacobs tagged you in a Close Friends story.

Close Friends? Tagged? NATE JACOBS?

Okay, one : no fucking way were you on his Close Friends.

Two : there were virtually zero pictures of the two of you, so tagging you was moot.

Three : there was supposed to be a game starting about fifteen minutes from now, Blackhawks versus whatever pretentious team they were going to beat, so why the fuck was he even online?

(Oh, yeah, the Blackhawks were absolutely fucking awesome.)

The story was only text. Text and nothing more.

Y/N, accept my message request. Now. I am not fucking around.

What message request? WHAT the fuck was going on?

You frowned, immediately scrolling over to messages. Shit. There was a request.

A picture, along with six other messages.

This was so strange. It was especially strange that he found the time to text you, when he was supposed to be practicing throwing the old pigskin around for the victory of his school. But text you he did. As if him following you wasn't enough to give you whiplash. "Yo."

"You're not here." No shit, Sherlock.

"You should be."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? This was the most excruciatingly awkward interaction you'd ever had.

"You should be here. Come."

Did he think he was super macho with all this mysterious, vague, one-word bullshit he was spewing? You know what, you'd actually bet your entire school tuition he did. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking why.

"U don't just send requests to random people. Don't act like you don't know me. Don't ignore my texts."

"I'm fucking losing it. Come now or else."

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

This was the most random thing to ever happen to you. Nate Jacobs, some random jock you never even said one word to, was texting you as if you had been best friends since two years old and you had always been all rah-rah-go-team for him.

You were almost scared to open the picture. Instagram asked you if you were sure. Once, twice. You should have listened. But you didn't, and you were about to face the consequences.

Red. That was the first thing you saw, and the first thing that had ever grossed you out enough to physically throw your phone away.

So much red.

Above the red, concealed almost cruelly, was a black box with white text in it. For a moment, your eyes were overwhelmed, so overwhelmed with the monstrosity in front of you that you couldn't even begin to comprehend what the words meant. You picked your phone back up, squinting your eyes and blocking out the rest.

He must have noticed you accepted his request, because you saw 'Typing...' pop up way too fast for him not to have been waiting.

"I'll cut deeper if you don't show up."

Nate Jacobs was a cruel and manipulative bastard of a man who you would happily let die.

But not like this.

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You glanced at the screen and then back at the road, from time to time. There was no indication that he was typing. The 'online' sign still stayed. Okay. So he either just threw his phone away while still on your chat or he was about to-

Nate Jacobs started an audio call.

Clearly tonight wasn't going to be the night you stayed in and finished all your assignments, like you'd decided.

"Pick up or I'll fucking kill you."

Yup, that sounded about right.

You laughed, incredulously. The genuine threat wasn't lost on you, but what else does one do in this situation besides laugh at the absurdity of it all?

Better safe than sorry. You swiped up.

"Y/N, please just come."

It felt so weird to hear him say your name. It felt even weirder to hear him say 'please'.

"Why?"

"You need to be here." His voice was unwavering.

"Look, Jacobs, I'm sorry, but I have projects and assignments to work on. Not to mention, my portfolio-"

You wanted to see how far you could take it. He couldn't hear your car's sounds, and he couldn't possibly track your location, so according to him, you were still sitting at home, petulantly.

If he was joking, he'd just cuss you out drunkenly. If he wasn't, he'd... keep begging.

"Jesus fuck, Y/N, just come!"

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Keeping your calm was the best thing you'd ever done for yourself, the greatest form of self-care you could give yourself, because Nate Jacobs sensing nervousness was like sharks smelling blood in the water. Quick and bad.

"I have important shit, too, you know? Scouts are here, Y/N, please!"

"Look-"

"Coach, I know, just five more minutes - FUCK, Y/N, you gotta come.", he pleaded, his tone becoming far too pathetic to brush off.

"Why?"

"Why? Whaddayamean why?", he huffed out, frustrated, as if you were supposed to know this already.

2 + 2. What galaxy we live in. The colour of the sky. Why you were needed at the game. According to this asshole, all these things were common knowledge.

"I will cut deeper."

"Stop bullshitting, Jacobs."

You hoped to god that your voice didn't betray your bewilderment. This better be a sick fucking joke.

"I'm cutting."

"Stop."

"Coach says the five minutes are up, but I won't play without you here."

A video. SHIT. FUCK.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

Actually, no. This better not just be a joke, because if the entire school was in on this shit, you would end up cutting him.

The grunts of pain and sharp inhales from his side of the call got more and more grotesque as you pulled into the school parking lot.

The school had an unsettling vibrancy to it after hours, and this was only exacerbated by the fact that you were supposedly the cause for a boy to slice through his own skin. It shouldn't have seemed this vibrant, this overwhelming, this vivid, this.... bright, but it did. The world moved at an eerily quick pace, like a carnival ride on LSD.

As you ran across the parking lot and gripped the gate to the stadium and basically swung right past it, you finally realized how fucking loud a crowd could be.

It was like they knew that their QB might be bleeding out because of you, because they seemed to scream loud enough to torture you for eternity.

Immediately manhandled by Chris McKay -another jock you had absolutely no connection to, but who seemed to have a very personal grudge against you-, you were pushed out of the locker rooms as quickly as you came in. Fuck's sake.

"Let me go , McKay!"

"Coach is trying to calm him down, and if he sees you, we got no idea what he might do, okay? OKAY?", he ordered, sternly, through clenched teeth as he shook your shoulders.

He was earnestly trying to be calm and gentle, but his fingers gripping harder and harder into your arms did jackshit to help his case.

"Okay."

He nodded, sighing in some emotion that seemed oddly like relief.

What, did he expect more of a fight? Did he expect you to be all 'no, I gotta see him now?'

You had no clue who the hell this bastard was, let alone what he wanted. No way were you going to kick and shout for him.

"What the fuck is his problem?", you asked, sighing against McKay's chest, exhausted.

He shrugged, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "He's stressed about the game."

"So he cuts himself in my name? We don't even know each other, dude!"

"Okay, he isn't exactly the one you go to for rationality, alright?"

"Yo, the fuck's going on, man? The game was supposed to start-"

The other team's captain.

"Yeah, we're just, uh, dealing with a situation over here.", assured McKay, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from going ballistic at Nate. Or you. Most likely Nate. But even more likely you. "Tell your coach we're so sorry, and we'll be out in a minute, tops."

The other guy scoffed, grumbling as he stomped away, glaring more at you than McKay. What, did everyone know now?

"He thinks we're trying to hook up before the game.", explained McKay, patiently, almost embarrassed. "It's a thing some athletes do, 'for luck'."

Jocks were the weirdest fucking aliens to ever exist.

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Crimson traced paths through the blinding white of the bandages wrapped tightly like dependent vines around his palm. Noticing the lack of uniformity of white, Coach tsked. "We need more. McKay!"

"Yes, Coach?"

"One more, then you can send her in."

"She came?" Nate's voice, though feeble and exhausted - and now, hopeful - was heard through the tiny gap in the door that McKay made sure would remain tiny as he passed the last bandage to him, and you didn't want to admit it, but it broke your heart.

Ew. Nate Jacobs was breaking your heart?

Coach finished wrapping Nate up, and McKay guided you in, with both measured aggression and protectiveness.

Nate's eyes lifted and brightened up immensely, a feat you'd only thought possible by a lone spark igniting and breaching every inch of a dry leaf.

"You came."

"Son, I don't know what the hell you were thinking-"

"No, no, Coach, she's here, we can play."

Everyone stopped breathing at that moment. What the hell did the self-wounding quarterback asshole just say?

"What'd you just say, Jacobs?"

"We can play. Y/N's here. This isn't my good palm, anyway, so it's fine. Let's go."

And just like that, Nate was back. The amount of theses that could be written on this sheer anomaly of a man, the amount of studies that could be conducted, the amount of shock anyone else in this situation would go through- all unheard of.

No one else could handle it, though, besides all the people right there in the room. The best friend : self-taught and well-versed in handling him, the Coach : the authority figure that could calm him down with a bunch of fatherly words and....

And you : no one knew what the fuck you brought to the table. But something told you no one else would have survived in your shoes.

"Alright... then...?" Even Coach was absolutely speechless.

Nate nodded briskly, shooting up with a sudden burst of energy as he smiled at you.

Smiled.

Ladies and gentlemen : Nate Jacobs was on crack, confirmed.

He drew you in against his chest with an extremely unprecedented jerk, and you locked eyes with McKay behind him as he did so.

Not crack. Probably fent.

Your questioning gaze- which obviously said 'what in the everloving fuck is he doing?' - was met with a shrug and a look which suggested he barely even recognized his best friend right now.

"Okay, let's go WIN this motherfucker!", shouted Nate, patting your shoulder and loudly clapping his hands together before sprinting out of the locker rooms into the cheering football field.

It was dressed entirely in Blackhawk colours and bathed in a fluorescent, sickeningly pale light that you had to now spend an hour and a half in. Ugh.

Whiplash or not, you were about to throw up.

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You know those moments after a surreal event? When you just... sit. Stare into space and... ruminate.

You were having one of those in your car. The game had ended, really well, too, with the Blackhawks winning by a landslide. Your windshield had never held such secrets before. You stared through it.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bang.

You turned. Nate Jacobs' fist fell on your window more times than you thought was necessary. 'Unlock the door, Y/N.'

You shook your head. Not a fucking chance in hell.

"'Y/N, don't be difficult, unlock the fucking door."

Something in you told you that that would be the worst mistake of your entire life.

"I'm sorry, I just want to talk, yeah?"

You had no idea if he deliberately made it a point to rest his bandaged palm on the window in full display to manipulate you, or if it was just a coincidence.

Just a coincidence, right?

You sighed, nodding your head in the direction of the passenger's seat as you unlocked it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He slid in, grinning as he shut the door.

"You catch the touchdown?"

"Yeah. I did."

"What'd you think? Smoothest match yet?"

"Sure."

His grin gave way to a lour as he scoffed. "Why are you so cold? Our school won."

"Why am I so cold? Why am I so cold? You asshole, you just cut yourself to make me show up!"

"Because you didn't show up when I asked nicely!"

"You're a psychopath." The effect of this word on him was oddly intriguing. He seemed to both be offended by it and seemed to get off on it.

"Can I just explain?", he sighed, sucking on his teeth for a moment as he watched other students, cheering, whistling, hooting and drinking, through your windshield.

You gestured at him to continue. He wasn't worthy enough of your words.

"You know athletes have...", he trailed off, searching desperately for the right word of vindication.

"Small dicks?"

"Okay, deserved.", he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Look, we have, like... superstitions, sometimes. For luck."

"Like the hooking up thing."

"How do you know about that?"

"McKay told me."

He scoffed, shaking his head as if his friend had divulged the biggest secret, as if he had broken some moral code.

"Alright, fine, whatever. But, uh, I pretend like it's not something I do, but I kinda have them too."

If he was about to say what you thought he was going to, you were about to press into the wound just to watch him bleed again. How dare he.

"My, um, my first game, I bumped into you on my way to the locker rooms.", he admitted, clearing his throat as if to clear space for whatever he was going to say - because it was so obviously the solution to String Theory, like he was making it out to be.

But oh, shit. He actually was going to say it.

"And we won. The next game, I did the same again, by accident. Y'know, just, this time, I fist-bumped you."

"When the fuck did you-"

"You were drunk, and you were cheering all of us on with your friends. You went for McKay's fist, but I did it instead. Uh, yeah, anyway. So, from the... maybe fourth? Yeah, the fourth game, I made it a point to at least brush my arm past you. Haven't lost a game since."

Your touch was his good luck charm? Was he clinically insane? Or was he just a massive loser?

"What's next? Our rising signs are aligned?"

"It's not a fucking joke, Y/N!", he snapped, his fist clenching.

"Really? Because it's pretty fucking hilarious."

"You know how hard it was for me to even admit I had superstitions, let alone about some random nobody girl I've never even talked to?"

No, no, he was not trying to make you feel bad, no goddamn way.

"You know how hard it was for me to see some random nobody guy bleeding out because of me?"

"It wasn't that deep." The pun was intended. It was so evidently intended that you wanted to slap the smirk off his lips.

"Yeah, okay, get out."

"Okay. You better show up to the next one, babygirl, or I'll have to take more drastic measures."

The audacious son of a bitch ruffled your hair and winked before he left.

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"C'mon, Y/N, don't be a cunt. Just do it. High five me. Fist bump me. Hug me. Whatever. Just do it, I've got a game to get to. And... everyone's watching."

The very next weekend, there was another game. Last game of the season. And you were supposed to be there, of course, because Nate's 'entire life depended on it.' And what's worse? He'd dragged you there, from your internship.

That's right. He'd basically come to your place of work, interrupted a conversation with your boss, and tugged you along with him because of his borderline insane obsession with having to touch you for luck.

He could have gotten away with it, too, if his 'good luck charm' theory hadn't involved you having to make contact with him right before the game.

And now you were out there on the field. Backing away from him. Refusing.

"Y/N, please."

"Fine."

You slapped him across the face, as hard as you possibly could.

The entire football field gasped.

He'd fucked up your week with the picture of the blade carving into his skin, and now, he was fucking up your career by costing you your internship. And what's worse, he didn't even care.

"Go. Play now."

He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes to suppress his rage before he opened them again. "That's not how it works. It has to be mutual. Like a fist bump. Or bumping into each other."

"Oh, okay.", you shrugged, grabbing his wrist before using it to uppercut him. "NOW go. PLAY."

You didn't know if you were being 'whoo'd or 'boo'd by the crowd, but at this point, the only thing you could hear was the red hot fury in your boiling blood.

He bit his lip as you let go of his hand, and before he jogged out onto the field, you could have sworn he said something that, if you'd heard it right, could cut through your entire soul and ruin your self-perception for years - something absolutely, shatteringly degrading.

You hoped you'd heard wrong.

Taking your seat in the stands, you scrolled on your phone, ignoring the entire fucking game. As expected, text from your team leader.

Gone. Internship gone. LoR gone. Nate Jacobs? About to be gone.

-------

He won.

He. Fucking. Won.

And that smirk that he gave you before blowing you a kiss that immediately morphed into flipping you the bird made you want to genuinely ask him to recreate that video once again.

You hated yourself for it, but yes.

You wanted him dead.

All the trauma he'd given you the past week couldn't be left unpunished.

Oh, to knock him off his pedestal. OH, to be the one to make him scream in pain instead of arrogant mirth.

"Whoo! Nate FUCKING Jacobs, baby!", he cheered in your ear as you gritted your teeth, walking back to your car. "And, of course, you."

You threw your bags into your car, ignoring him as you get in, starting the engine. He thumped on the hood of the car. "Come on, you can't still be mad! Your boss was looking down your shirt, anyway!"

"Oh, and I'm supposed to believe you did this out of the goodness of your heart?", you scoffed.

"That's right, baby, chivalry ain't dead."

"No, but you're about to be. Get the fuck out of my way."

"Hey, I need a ride. Gimme a lift."

"No chance in hell, Jacobs."

"Stop wounding me. Let me in."

"Or what?"

"I'll break your window.", he shrugged, casually. Normal things. The sun will rise tomorrow. Seasons will change. He'll break your window.

"I wouldn't be letting you in if I didn't think you were psychotic enough to actually do that."

He chuckled, sitting as he rested his duffle bag on his lap. A couple moments later, he looked up at you. "What? What are you waiting for?"

"Tell me where to go."

"You don't know where I live?"

"Okay, let me explain this to you, slowly. I didn't know jackshit about you till, like, a week ago. I didn't know your age or what kind of car you drove, or even what classes we shared, much less where the hell you live!"

"All this shit just proves that you don't observe people around you. You only care about yourself."

"If I only cared about myself, you'd have bled out last week."

He sighed playfully, resting his feet on your dashboard because he very evidently knew you would have a neurotic breakdown. "I, for one, know your age, the kind of car you drive, all the classes you have, plus your favourite colour and food."

"The first two are moot.", you replied, ignoring his silent mockery of the word 'moot'. "Next, you know I'm in all of Maddy's classes. And the rest you can find on my account. Account stalker."

"Account stalker. God, sweetheart, you're such a child. You don't want your account stalked, don't have a public one."

"I barely even post anything!"

"Oh, yeah, what about last month?"

He was looking at your profile last month? "I'd gone to France. It was a photo dump."

"It was unnecessary."

"Okay, you know what this is?"

He raised a brow.

"This is post-game audacity, is what I call it. You won. You're Mr. Big Shot, so you think you can just-"

And that's when Nate Jacobs kissed you.

To call it the worst fucking moment of your life would be a massive understatement. "Drive."

"You did not just fucking kiss me."

"You want me to do it again?"

"NO."

"Then drive."

This motherfucking bastard of a man!

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"You wanna come in?"

No way in hell were you going into Nate Jacobs' house. Especially when there was a party going strong.

"I'm good."

He rolled his eyes, his arm leaning on the top of the window as he leaned in. "I don't bite. Initially."

"Ooh, you don't bite initially, oh, please let me come in right now! Shut up and get in, Jacobs."

"You've earned the right to call me Nate. Congrats. Begin using it."

"Why? We're never talking after this."

He scoff-snickered. "Oh. OH, so that's how it is.", he nodded, amused.

"Yeah, yeah, that's how it is."

He guffawed, banging on the hood of your car. "This ain't funny anymore. Come in."

"What? No."

"Is there really only one way to ask you to do something?"

"No, Jacobs, don't you dar-"

But he didn't listen. When did he ever? His fingers emerged from his pocket with his knife in tow. NOT AGAIN. This was the most cunning, calculating, manipulative, Machiavellian-

"I'm cutting. This time, my wrist."

"You're so fucking dumb, y'know that? You're psychopathic."

The grin on his face showed that you were wrong. He wasn't offended. He was 100% getting off on it.

Drops of blood reached the floor, and you realized you couldn't just drive off and leave this guy here - he'd probably still be cutting just to prove a point.

"I hope you die.", you mumbled, getting out of your car and slamming the door.

"I'm trying, dude!", he laughed, pointing at his wrist. Oh, this sick bastard.

"Not dressing that wound?"

"C'mon, blood is sexy. Badass."

Nate Jacobs was about to see how 'badass' blood could really get.

And when you were done beating the everloving shit out of him, you kissed him. Because he deserved to know how infuriating that shit was, too.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you.He didn't seem to care about the fact that you hit him so hard he almost had a concussion. An average social media interaction. Good.

How it should be.

But then he texted you.

Fuck.

[leo-muscle]

I’ve heard a little bit about this King Leon guy. Who does he think he is to call himself a king? Seems far to pretentious if you ask me. I wouldn’t be caught dead bowing to someone like that. Not in a million years.

Sure I’m the most basic looking white dude on the planet. My face gets lost in the crowd and my body is light enough to be blown by a breeze. But a king can’t change that, and I would like to see him or any of his subjects try to.

"Are you sure about that?" The bartender told you. You had just arrived on your vacation in Haiti, and the resort's bartender had decided to strike up a conversation with you over drinks. He was enormous, seven feet of pure surfer boy muscle, with a thick gut that was the very picture of strength. He would have been the most beautiful man you had ever seen, if you weren't in the middle of a massive rant.

"Oh, absolutely." You continued. "Whoever these 'kings' are, I don't want anything to do with 'em. Who are they to declare rule over the entire world, and who are we to listen to them?"

It was true, of course. Much of Africa, the British Isles, Central America, and even the islands you were now in had been united under the rule of these Kings. While many praised them for their novel social reforms and exponential increase to quality of life in their domains, many others, yourself included, remained attached to the old ways. Even this vacation was a scouting trip, to see if whatever propaganda these Kings were putting out was true.

"On the contrary, my friend, I am perfectly happy to listen to the rule of my King. You should have seen this island before King Kai came here. Homelessness, poverty... it's all been amended since he arrived."

"Really?" You asked, taking a big swig of your drink, savoring its tingle on your lips. "And NO one's uncomfortable being ruled by just one person?"

"People love King Kai. He is kind and just, like any good king should be. You'll see that soon enough." The bartender said.

"What do you mean by that?" You asked, your heart racing.

"Oh, nothing much. Just give it a few seconds."

"What are you-- UGH!" You doubled over, your skin on fire with a sensation entirely alien to you.

The bartender walked out from behind the bar, and soon, his magical hands went to work. With his kingly essence in your system, you could be molded into a respectable citizen of the world.

He started with your pecs, cupping them from behind as they burst through your tropical shirt with new strength. They were enormous, voluptuous pillows, jiggling with muscle and a thin layer of fat.

He then moved his hands along your shoulders, pumping them into cannonballs of strength. The moment his hands reached your arms, they pulled and pushed, leaving your twiggy biceps and forearms as but a fleeting memory, replacing them with pulsing, powerful cannons of strength. In awe, you flexed your right arm, forming a mound easily as big as a baseball if not more.

You moaned softly as King Kai's beautiful hands lightly traced a six-pack onto your stomach, each ab popping into existence, forming an impenetrable wall of strength.

Soon, his hands navigated south, one massive hand palming your flat ass, while the other grabbed your tiny three-inch cock. You moaned, long, low, and hard as both of his hands began to move out from your body, pulling your cock and ass with them. Your cheeks rounded out into a big, bouncy bubble butt, bigger than most women's. It shook with strength and sexuality with every slight movement you made, much like your cock, which had grown so big with the King's touch that no pair of pants could conceal your enormous bulge. His touch was electric on your shaft, causing you to pre almost endlessly.

Your mind was in heaven as he continued to your legs. Your cock was at full mast at its enormous eleven inches as he took his hands to your legs, and blew them up into corded steel pillars as big as any christmas ham. You moaned, your cock firing blanks as he looked you deep into your eyes, placing one hand to completely cover your currently-unchanged face.

"As much as I love my people, we cannot be a global community if all my citizens are homogenous." King Kai said. "Hmm, where should I send you..."

Your skin flickered through thousands of shades in a single moment, before settling on a tone a few shades darker than your original. Your hair darkened to black, and you instantly sprouted a thick dark mustache, and a chinstrap beard to match. Your eyes became narrower and monolid, your stare intensifying into a sexy smolder. As King Kai leaned in and kissed you, your bulk increased, and your muscle became padded with a thin sexy layer of fat.

"Cum." King Kai commanded you, his voice sexy enough to send you over the edge.

You had been reborn, a Vietnamese stud in the Carribean. Your brain was aflame with new neurons, making connections faster and better than ever before. You knew you had been improved, in every conceivable way. You were stronger, smarter, wiser, and you had no one but your new king to thank.

[sgiandubh]

Alternatives

We just spent an hour on the phone, Someone and I, trying to think of alternatives to the PR catastrophe I analyzed at length. We almost ended up shouting at each other, too (never mind, the silly cow/pretentious twat is part of the charm & dynamic). I wanted a male POV. A witty (you think I am intelligent? thank you, but meet Someone), sophisticated male tells us (in italics, I took notes, because I am an idiot, of course):

Savile Row. Not Patagonia ('he ain't no Ranulph Fiennes'). 'If he needs to get an Italian refresh: Rubinacci, in Milan'.

Aspen (US winter)/Cortina d'Ampezzo/Zermatt/Courchevel (European winter) or Positano/Biarritz/Costa Navarino (European summer). Not Mexico (tacky past choices), nor Hawaii (proven multiple jinx).

'What do you mean, shirtless pics on the beach?'

'Nevis? Huh? Nevis? Pfff. If it's about rum, Martinique and Guadeloupe, all the way.'

The Independent/The Times. Not Scottish Daily Express, or any other dignified clickbait. It should not be that difficult, he already made it to NYT. 'He'll never please The Guardian, whatever he might do'.

Monocle/The New Yorker. Not Departures and if, for some obscure contractual reason, it has to be Departures -' please, for the love of all that's holy, not that woman'!

No international politics. If he absolutely must, he should limit himself to the human rights/humanitarian side of things and to big NGOs / UN / UNICEF endorsed messages. 'Better be politically vanilla than risk another major blunder' (neither Someone, nor I are politically vanilla - but then, we are not people constantly living under the rabid scrutiny of a thirsty fanbase).

A real one-person, bigger format travel show, SRH does.... [insert whatever you want in here, I and many like me, will watch]. No coat-tailing, dagger winding partner. More content and less silliness, please. He's 43. 'Ours is a very adventurous generation, we practically invented flashpacking'. And I have to agree: the best way to travel is, IMHO, to have it rough at the Breeze Guest House in Moulmein and then soothe yourself at Rangoon's Strand. For example.

No more silly lies. 'I bet the farm and the horses there is no house in LAX'. And I, for one, can even understand if he still needs to do it for a while. But please, don't overdo it. There's nothing worse than to watch a genuinely good guy desperately trying to lie and gloriously failing at it.

Oh, well. We did not spend an hour on the phone just to offer this kind of unsolicited advice. It just goes to prove how easily you can switch narratives and mend it all. All it takes is a first step. And some drastic changes. The sooner, the better.

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

oh, there could be some interesting combinations with Elayne and one of Robella’s kids?

Yesss, throw her at those Tyrells!

I think she'd really get on with The Rose Twins/Aerea & Adrienne, particularly Adrienne, but she's a package deal with her sister so they're both there. Adrienne is very "no nonsense" on the surface & takes herself seriously, she wants to be super dutiful & important & just kind of live up to what Elayne projects, but the whimsy has too much of a hold on her. She would try very hard to push that side of herself down to try to impress Elayne, but honestly I see her telling her that she doesn't have to try so hard. It's very "little sister who wants to be like her big sister" energy to me. Catch them hanging out in the library saying they're going to read stuff they're supposed to for their lessons, & then indulging in the story of Jonquil & Florian & giggling about it. The serious girlies are bringing the "but I do love romance & fanciful stories" out in each other.

Aerea, on the other hand, simply does not care. We're starting out a weird horse girl telling Elayne about our riding off into the sunset on a grand adventure fantasy on day fucking one, brother (gender neutral). If you don't love her at her "neurodovergent info-dump," you don't deserve her at her "I care so deeply & support so strongly & take such an altruistic interest in your interests that it might make me throw up." She's definitely more talkative & a little less vague than Helaena, but they're weird girling at similar frequencies & Elayne already knows how that works & is at least prepared for Aerea on that front. She's one of the few people Adrienne doesn't put airs on around (she stays pretentious, but that's just how she is), & for how busy she is, Aerea is kind of a relaxing presence to be around & it's easy to give yourself some breathing room & get caught up in her "I don't have to always think about social cues & opinions" thing when you're spending time with her & actually engaging with her, & that's a thing that I think could be at least a brief benefit to Elayne. A tiny break from any pressure she might put on herself due to her position & it's expectations, just a few minutes while she hangs out with the younger teen girls that think she's cool & glamorous.

Griffith "Pretty Boy" Tyrell would flirt with her. That's just how he is. "If I am completely covered up/leave things to the imagination, & turn on the charm do you think I'll get some puss?" He won't because even if she is charmed Elayne is way too mindful to put out, but he'd leave it be at that & then kind of mentally categorize her into the same place he's put his sisters & cousins. He is capable of being platonic with women, lmao. He'd respect Elayne as someone who's smart & kind & is very much falling into the Courtly Ideals of Chivalry (which is a thing he enjoys. Like, its not a requirement for him respecting you, it's just an added buff because he's Reach-pilled & knightmaxxing--I apologize for nothing), & he'd probably see her as at least casually a friend. He is close with the Targtowers & Aegon is his boy, after all. If someone is important to them he'll make an effort. His "oh fuck, I have to protect women!!!! *runs into oncoming traffic*" includes Elayne, he will kick someone's ass for her honor if need be. Just because he was having sex doesn't mean he was neglecting to study the blade, & anyone who would besmirch Elayne's character or be a creep towards her will feel his wrath. All women are queens, & if she breathes he's a thot.

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/21/2024: BURIAL GROUND

You wouldn't know it from my pathologically compulsive habits, but I am sometimes conflicted about the whole horror studies situation. I mean I'm glad more and more people are enjoying horror and I wouldn't want to tell anyone what to do, but sometimes I judge people who I perceive as trying too hard to be too serious about something that doesn't necessarily ask for it. Probably I'm often reacting (unfairly) to younger people who are just now imprinting on academia, and they are picking up certain thought patterns and rhetorical patterns and just...like...patterns, that they enjoy repeating. I'll hear somebody proudly announcing their 101-level application of feminism or psychoanalysis or social history to (...whatever, SCREAM sequels come to mind, but it could be anything reasonably accessible), and I have this internal reaction like, "Do you really think that? Or did you hear someone else say something like that, and you liked it so much that you want to say it too?" I'm remembering a conversation I had with a friend who had been to see HAIL CAESAR!; I said, "Is it good?" and she said, "It's a love letter to the golden age of Hollywood," and I said, "....is it good?" I just knew she had heard that phrase somewhere, and it felt smart to say it, and her desire to repeat a piece of analysis that she liked had overridden her ability to just answer my question.

...And again, like, this isn't a crime, and everybody has to start somewhere, and you don't need to be a genius to have permission to do something that is fun for you. But it does make me check my own responses to things. I've certainly been accused of pretentiousness by people who object to any kind of intellectualization at all of certain topics, but at this point I like to think that my writing is fairly considered. And I try to be conscious of when something really deserves consideration, and when it is more appropriate to just do blogger shit if I feel like it. But like, here's some of the kind of thing that makes me nervous:

I mean...I agree with SOME OF this. But some of it I find very alarming. BURIAL GROUND is a fucking mess! It's the kind of mess you have to see to believe. I remember when I was getting into horror in a serious way in 10,000 BC, this was one of the movies that people told each other they must see--largely because of the casting of an adult little person as the small child of a woman whose titty he bites off. That's the big scene. I forgot that it's kind of the ONLY scene! In film criticism, there are certain words that get tossed around like "incoherent" and "plotless", usually used by people who aren't used to deliberately dreamy or unstructured movies, or who can't get past the amateurishness of something to see if it has more unusual pleasures to offer...and then once in a great while you see something that is really genuinely plotless, like BURIAL GROUND, and you're like HOLY SHIT it's true, you can actually fully make a movie with almost no plot whatsoever! It barely even has EVENTS!

I don't really know how to describe what happens in this movie. At the beginning you're introduced to a scholarly guy who accidentally activates a curse or whatever, but if you think that you're going to find out more about him or how the curse works or what the point of it is or anything, you're dead wrong. Soon a bunch of people turn up at a mansion, and then a bunch of zombies come out of the ground, and they besiege the mansion so slowly that it's like nothing you've ever seen in your life. The actors are obliged to stand very close to windows and doors and wait politely for a long time the zombies to get close enough to threaten them. There's a particular moment where a guy is grappling with a zombie and it's supposed to be exciting and suspenseful, like the zombie is about to get him, but the zombie isn't far enough away so he just swirls his hands around the victim's face in kind of an "I'M NOT TOUCHING YOU, I'M NOT TOUCHING YOU" way and you just have to play along that the zombie almost has him, but not quite! Other than the thing I already said about the "child", there's really not a lot more I can do with this.

Actually I have to admit that I do kind of enjoy the zombie heads. I mean the movie is extraordinarily cheap, all the zombies have like smocks or nightgowns or something on so they don't have to have real costumes, they're like depressingly cheap dolls. But they have these heads that are sort of expressionistic, they sometimes look like the slightly-abstract, spooky watercolor covers of pulp novels if you know what I mean; they look like they might be fun to draw or paint. I *think* the person I want to credit for these is Rosario Prestopino, although Gino di Rossi also has a makeup credit. This movie has some credits I've never seen before though, at some point they're literally like "Curtains by," "Furniture by," and I thought huh I didn't know you had to do that!

Anyway, I just have to think that people are either being sarcastic or kidding themselves when they are painfully verbose and elaborate about e.g. BURIAL GROUND. The first guy from my Wikipedia screenshot turns out to be a professor of folklore, and I will say that sometimes I encounter niche specialists who draw on movies for some of their material, and because they're not native movie people, they have astoundingly bad taste. You just want to tell them "Dude, [movie X, I have examples but don't wanna accuse real people] is actually not a good movie, I know it's like the first movie you saw that aligns with your main interests, but there's lots of other movies that could be relevant to you if you want...oh never mind." Sometimes it's a matter of the movie saying something they want to hear, something they already think is true and expect to see, and then they just don't feel like looking for another movie that might be more provocative or experimental on the same topic. I mean, I'm just spitballing here, I can't imagine what a folklorist would see in BURIAL GROUND since it doesn't explain itself at all or add much to the zombie conversation; I don't know what the fuck I would do if one of my college professors told me I had to see BURIAL GROUND because it was amazing. I would be so shocked when I saw it. But I guess the only thing that's really important is, that guy is having fun.

The last thing I have to say about this is, as per the little person/child bit, director Andrea Bianchi seems to be a pretty fucked up individual. He's probably best known, if not for BURIAL GROUND, than for the notoriously depraved STRIP NUDE FOR YOUR KILLER, and then he also made a movie called MALABIMBA - THE MALICIOUS WHORE, and you can imagine what that's probably like. Then he made this movie I was previously curious about, CRY OF A PROSTITUTE; Henry Silva is interviewed about it in that EUROCRIME! documentary, and he sounded completely traumatized about what he had to do to Barbara Bouchet in it. Creepy. Anyway, Andrea Bianchi also made THREE NINJAS: KNUCKLE UP, and I guess that's the last comment I'll make on the matter.

[corkinavoid]

*deep breath in*

Hi, I'm Cork, and today I got an eye injury, so I am now, officially, a pirate. Albeit temporarily. Got the eyepatch and all that crap. More on that later.

Info post

about all my writing progress for anyone wondering and for myself to keep track of stuff. Also, some rambling.

Fiance to a Star - ⅘ done with translating second chapter, also doing moodboards and soundtracks for all of the chapters currently because visuals. Gotta find the right library music. Fuck, translating is hard, why did I write it in Russian, I'm so stupid.

Married to Winter - 8.5 chapters written, editing for the second chapter will be done on Thursday, and I'm posting it on Friday. Need to rewrite chapter 9 probably, it's not working the way I want it to. Currently inspired, so maybe will write more chapters for it. Do I want to add soundtracks? I mean, I do, but do I have the brain capacity and mental strength to do so?

Multiverse Police - on hold, out of ideas, nothing is working. Will come back to it later.

Changeling AU - also on hold, but it's mostly done in my opinion, so any additions will be sporadic.

You Should Ask Danny - editing chapters 6 and 7, chapter 8 is written, but I really don't like it. Might put this on hold after posting chapter 7, but I have a whole list of ideas for it. Maybe I should just delete chapter 8 completely and write something else? I mean, why not, but then I feel like the idea is good, I just can't write it the way I want it.

Mercenary Danny - ugh, I want to write the Christmas date so bad, but it requires writing a scene with so many characters! Fenton family is big, and I want Vlad to be there, which is another can of worms because I suck at writing middle-aged men. Can I just write him as a pretentious vampire wannabe and be done with it? But no, that will ruin his characterization.

Haunted Family - done, fuck it, I lost all the motivation for it.

Demon Babysitter - still on hold, but probably also done.

Now, to the unposted wips that are sitting in my googledocs:

One Night Stand Gone Wrong - 10 fucking chapters written and I- fuck I just wanted some simple short DarkHumor (Dick/Dan) one-shot, how did it come to this, honestly. But guess what, I'm writing chapter 11 even if it kills me, I have an idea for Tim/Danny in there. I'll be posting that, um, later. One day. I still need to reread it and maybe rewrite some stuff, it's just a bunch of word vomiting right now.

Road Trip - 4.5 chapters written, and it's going literally nowhere. Is this a pun? Maybe. Should I just post 4 chapters of it and be done with it? The story is done, more or less. Or, I could just fit all 4 chapters into one, make it a one-shot, and call it a day, what a good idea!

Bad GIW - ugh, I can't. 3.5 chapters written and I stopped liking the idea completely. It will never be finished. Should I post works that I don't plan on finishing ever?

Living Weapon Danny - same thing as Bad GIW, I wrote 2 chapters and abandoned it. Fuck I'm bad at writing angst, I just- can't. I want to. But I can't.

Masters Gala - I still love the idea, but damn, writing Vlad is hard. Also, writing galas is hard. Also, writing kids is hard! Maybe I should rethink it and make them not kids but teens? But I still need plot for it, holy fuck, how do you write plot for a gala? Should I just, I dunno, put a heist in there? A haunted mansion horror story? A murder mystery? I'm still debating on whether to put Al Ghul Twins or Dead Serious in there because I can't do both for ethical reasons. I mean, I can, but I bet a lot of people will find it messed up. It's not even incest if they are not related neither biologically nor legally nor by their upbringing. Is it? Fuck, I don't know.

Lastly, about being a pirate. TW: eye injury, a lot of cursing included because I'm m a d

So a fucking mad girl hit me in the eye with one of those wooden stir sticks. Because her coffee was too hot. Bitch you ordered a hot fucking drink what did you expect? Mind you it was not burning hot, I held the cup before she did, it was alright, and okay, I get that people can have different perceptions of temperature and heat tolerance, maybe it was too hot for her but who in their right mind stabs people in the face for their drink being too hot, what the fuck

Anyway, I've got the eye checked out - and it's not covered by insurance which is another reason I'm mad as fuck - and it's okay. Mostly. I can't open my eye because it hurts like hell, and i have to do eyedrops and wear an eyepatch for a while, but it's gonna be alright in a few days, so I'm fine.

Is the fact I can only see with one eye gonna stop me from writing? Fat chance.

[ask-shane]

this has already probably been asked, but what's yor opinion on the other bachelors and bachelorettes in town? (you don't have to do ALL of them! just do a few if you want!!)

i'm not one to usually talk aloud about my neighbors, but let's give this a shot. for all intents and purposes.

might as well go through the whole list while we're at it. and hey, just a fair warning: my opinion is always subject to change. i'm just speaking based on what i know for now.

alright. prepare for some blabbing. if you're not interested, there's your cue to bounce.

alex: alex is complicated. he's a little self-absorbed. and arrogant. but he's also not as mean as he seems. he just has this whole "bad boy" image he likes to put on for whatever reason. at his core, i think he's actually a pretty nice guy. we both like gridball and can chat over that so i can't really complain too much. sebastian: i hardly see this guy around. maybe during town festivals or at the saloon playing pool, yeah, but i can count on my fingers the amount of times we've talked one on one. it's possible he's just not much of a talker. i can't figure out if he's reserved or just doesn't have a lot to say. dude's doing his own thing most of the time and that's fine by me. elliott: his speech and outlook on life can come off as kinda pretentious or egotistical, though to be fair... if i were him, i'd be the same way. he's done well for himself. he's a little hard to catch since he never leaves the house, but if you get him talking about books, his passion is pretty admirable. it's just hard to connect with him because he always seems to have this "mysterious elusive writer" image up.

sam: i don't mind this guy, actually. he's my co-worker too which i guess is a good thing. he's laid-back and doesn't sweat the little stuff. super easy going, just wants to chill out and have a good time... we're not close buddies or anything, but from our short break room chats, it's clear he's pretty passionate about music. almost reminds me of myself when i was younger. he's got a good head on his shoulders. harvey: what can i say? he saved my life when i was at my lowest. i've got a lot of respect for the work he does and for taking me in that night. sure, he's dorky, but he's way smarter than i could ever dream of being, so who am i to judge? he's like the dream kid every parent wishes theirs could be. hope the guy's not overworking himself. knowing him though, he probably is... emily: she's one of the closer friends i have in this shitty town. she's been incredibly optimistic for as long as i've known her and normally that'd piss me off, but i actually find her tolerable. maybe it's the way she accepted me and stayed kind even when i was being a piece of shit. i gotta appreciate her for that.

abigail: i know she's pierre's daughter and that's about where my knowledge stops. like sebastian, i hardly ever see her, let alone find a reason to chat. she's a mystery to me. i do wonder if she has any hard feeling towards me, considering my job at joja right across from her dad's store. knowing the trouble that corporation's caused them, i'm not sure i'd forgive me either. hopefully she gets that it's not my call though.

haley: i never thought i'd say this out loud, but she's kind of the stereotype for spoiled city girl. she thinks she's all that and you just get the sense that she thinks she's better than you. she probably sees me as nothing more than dirt beneath her shoes for all i know. although honestly, i think it's just a defense mechanism for some deeper insecurity. i can see right through that.

penny: she's jas's teacher and also the only teacher for the kids in town. that's gotta be a handful. thankfully it seems like she really loves what she does. i have a feeling she just wants to do the right thing, which is hard to find in people these days. she also has to deal with pam's alcoholic instability at home but never gives up or lets herself become hopeless and i admire her for that. good for her.

maru: while i don't know her personally, i know she's accomplished. from what i've seen and heard from her proud dad, they work together on science research projects and whatnot. with a strong support system like hers she's set up for a future making headlines as an astronomer or something like that. she strikes me as someone who struggles to take things easy but that's pretty normal for goal-oriented people. i don't have much to say about her aside from that. leah: she's my neighbor, if you can even call it that. every time i see her art in the town square, i've gotta admit, it gets a nod of approval from me. i try not to knock other people's art, but every now and then i see these abstract pieces going for a million g that make me think i could've made them at home for a buck or two. so i gotta hand it to her. her craft is impressive.

[liquidstar]

🔥🔥🔥🔥

For drinks, fandom, character design, and uh free choice for whatever you feel like bestie

Ok for drinks, I've actually been thinking about this all day- I saw a poll that said something like “have you ever been to a house party (with alcohol; no family parties)” and, well, maybe op meant it as two separate points of clarity but… it's normal to drink at family parties? Right? Ik it's totally not the point of the poll, but I've never been to a family party where there weren't drinks. Why would there not be drinks???? There should be drinks. Those don't have to be mutually exclusive.

I realize that you were probably asking me about drink preference opinions. I don't have any strong unpopular ones. My grandpa makes a mean moonshine though. We have it at family parties, you see.

TBH whenever I’m at parties, family or otherwise, or just at the club or a restaurant, my drink of choice is usually just “bring me something with 2 or 3 shots of vodka idk im just trying to get drunk.” im going somewhere this week that has once rejected my id bc i look young, so this time i’m bringing my whole passport. I think it’s at my parents house but i will get it. And so help me god i am going to drink this time. Thats not even an unpopular opinion just a personal grievance lol

-

For fandom…. My unpopular opinion is that actually it’s best to just get into stuff a couple years after the peak popularity. I know some ppl feel like they missed out, but I think it’s better. You don’t have to deal with The Fandom People, but theres still stuff to engage with, and still a following of fewer dedicated ppl who weren’t just riding a fandom hypetrain. It’s more chill. Like, I am so sorry, but rn it’s dungeon meshi. I was really enjoying it at first, but the fandom made me wanna stop, at least for now. Mostly because I dislike the way people in it seem to look down on other works within the same medium, and that also does the work itself a discredit. But yeah, I wanna try to get back into it, but I need people to, like, relax first. Thats also why im able to peacefully enjoy rezero on tumblr, where theres like 12 ppl into it, so i dont have to deal w the annoying nerdboy fans who just talk abt "waifus" (its funny that my issues are "too pretentious" and "not pretentious enough" lol)

-

My 3rd unpopular opinion is that fart jokes can be kinda funny but they have to be done well. im fresh off the heels of watching a movie with the kids, so thats why im thinking abt this. You can't just throw it in randomly it's about timing. And it has to know it's stupid. I think the key is it has to know it's stupid. BUT NOT GROSS. gross on its own its nothing. Adventure Time and Regular Show understand. Very deep opinions only here

[miralyk]

wait, even though you draw yourself, you don't want to associate yourself with f/o or selfshipping communities? genuinely curious, and want to be respectful of boundaries drawing gift art for you

had to look up what "f/o" means but yeah i think i get an idea of what you're asking... i have a bit of a nuanced and long-winded answer wrt the Topic, which will be under the cut for convenience, but to start for for Fanart, i'm still very conflicted about my appearance both irl and in art, so i'm cool w something like drawing something like my trainersona or my pokesona/foxsona, but not art Directly Of Me, My IRL Self Showing My Bare Face, hope that makes sense!

(full long-winded answer to this question and broad topic:)

i don't have a problem with selfshipping or self-inserts; any criticisms i have are just core "fandom issues" (out of character writing/art, ignoring serious themes/topics in the source material to flanderize or sanitize fanworks, excessive spam in tags, especially unrelated to the post and/or without proper blockable tagging, etc) that selfshipping/self-inserts can perpetuate like any other fanfics or fanart mediums.

for me personally, i technically do have "self-insert" stuff like trainersona/pokesona art and lore to even a selfship with riley called brilliantaurashipping, but i just try to keep it quiet and not bother anyone tbh. i don't have much confidence with my appearance or overall qualities as a person and the last thing i want to do is be ignorant and pretentious, which i feel like would be hypocritical just. constantly drawing myself. especially in a rose-tinted goggles and mary-sue "oh i'm perfect and nothing's wrong with me i have all the superpowers and plot armor in the world and i'm besties with EVERYONEEEEE" shticks,, it makes me wince for canon-compliance and "oh god i don't want to be someone shitty and ignorant like j*lloapocalypse" reasons.

i also don't want to risk annoying or bothering people... if you're autistic and/or a person of color too you may understand this struggle better, but i've had a lot of ""friendships"" where it turned out people who i thought mutually considered friends actually hated me the whole time and only held their tongue out of societal obligations, laugh behind my back as the "mean girl's autistic pet" thing, fail to communicate properly because of various social cues i couldn't process, and so on. i'd rather have up front, honest communication that doesn't sugarcoat anything or beat around the bush, so here i am doing the same with elaborating my thoughts and hope i'm not misinterpreted or have people make assumptions making things up based on lack of information too. this got a bit long but... yeah, overall i do like drawing, even of "silly" stuff like this, but there's a reason why the word guilty is in "guilty pleasure"

[critterfloozy]

Critter Gen Week Day 3 - Cross Campaign

For Cross Campaign, I'm posting the first part of my upcoming Delilah Briarwood and Delrta Thelyss work! Unbetad, also don't have a name yet. But will be posting this on AO3 by the end of the week!

(I also had things for day one and two, but I'll post them on day seven - life kinda got in the way)

785 PD.

Delilah Briarwood first arrived in Rosohna as a newly minted member of the Cerberus Assembly with little fanfare. Archmage of Antiquity was neither a role with potential trade implications like the Archmage of Industry or Diplomatic Union, nor to be watched the way the Archmages of Civil Influence, Dysology, or Domestic Protection. There was always the chance that some Luxon historical artifact might be found within Dwendalian space, but barring the unearthing of some new great fallen city in the next few short decades, Deirta had little hope.

Still, respect must be paid, if only to keep the other Western wizards in line. And thus, a grand tour for the little mage.

Deirta, as a point of fact, thought little of most wizards. She’d fought wizards, a near millennium ago, and still remembered all the ways to get around their little tricks. She recognized Da’leth as a dangerous and pretentious fool of the old sort, and could only hope that his bizarre machinations brought him down sooner rather than later. In the meantime, he was a pretentious fool with an army, and they were aiming for peace.

The newest archmage looked painfully young, wide eyes taking in the Lucid Bastion and a precision in her step that seemed artfully designed to hide any sort of nervousness. Everything looked to be exactly put into place, just so, standing as if her spine had been put into a vise.

Perhaps one day she’ll learn that the best way to show power is to appear to relinquish some of that control. Or rather, to make it seem effortless, just so. Perhaps she wouldn’t.

“Is Leylas Kryn a title, also? Or an honorary name?” Archmage Briarwood asked.

“How do you mean?”

“Forgive me for being blunt - but while I realize that I am new, and young by your standards, we do have recorded history. I made a point of studying all of them, and have found most- if not all - mention that the ruler’s name is Leylas Kryn. She is a drow in the most recent accounts, but the first encounters between our Empire and yours mention a tiefling.” She smiled. “We may be short lived, but we do jot such things down.”

Archmage Briarwood looked smug behind her polite facade, as if she had caught the Kryn out on some sort of grand lie. She had no idea that she’d just revealed her complete ignorance to the entire group. How little they had to fear from Dwendalian spies, if they did not even know the secrets of consecution?

Part of Deirta pitied her, maybe. Or maybe it was to gloat. Or maybe it was that the Umavi Mirimm was in hospice and not around to stop her. In any case, she said, plainly. “Leylas Kryn has undergone the right of consecution and has been reborn.”

“Ah, how interesting! It’s always a pleasure to learn about other people’s beliefs!” Archmage Briarwood said, though her fellow Archmage and diplomats shot her quelling looks. Perhaps she had not been properly briefed. Deirta focused more on the others, who seemed more worth her time. She’d done her part to be polite to the ignorant condescending mayfly.

In that moment, Briarwood showed no more interest in prolonging life. But she had been so young at that time, and youth always confers the illusion of immortality. Deirta shouldn’t have expected her to stay dismissive.

799 PD.

Deirta received a sending from the Archmage Briarwood a few days before the Dwendalian delegation was supposed to arrive. A somewhat covert meeting request - slip away for a few minutes. The stated purpose of this trip was renewing discussions of trade routes over the Ashkeeper Peaks - nothing the Archmage of Antiquity should have been needed for.

The new northern discoveries had already some intriguing results, perhaps they’d found something they think Leylas Kryn would be willing to negotiate for.

Deirta decided to take the meeting. Leylas seemed less patient these days, less willing to think of the long term consequences, and Abrianna wasn’t around to stop her. It wouldn’t do to bargain away half of western Xhorhas on the promise of some Dunamantic scraps.

And she’d remembered stories of Aeor from her childhood. Yes, they had a duty to spread word of the Light as far as possible and to see if there was any knowledge to be scraped away from the wreckage, but it seemed opportune to her to let their rivals take all of the risk first.

“That’s the story we’re going to go with, yes - I’ll try to sweet talk you into some baubles, you’ll call my bluff and shout a little bit, and nobody will think anything more about me going on this trade talk,” Delilah said breezily, in one of the small suites created for semi-private dalliances in the Lucid Bastion.

“You know this isn’t actually private, yes? The Lens monitor each room in this building. It would be very inconvenient to me if you caused a diplomatic incident.”

“Not a worry,” Delilah tapped an anti-scrying amulet around her neck. Typical wizard - overlooking the nonmagical means of achieving a goal. “But also, your side is not the one I’m worried about. I fully expect that you’ll need to discuss this with your Queen.”

Oh, well, that was intriguing. Deirta chose to let that show. “Why are you here, really?”

“Consecution,” Delilah said, and then stared up at Deirta. She truly was short for a human. “I need to know how it works.”

Deirta kept her voice steady, doing her best not to betray any irritation. “The mysteries of the Luxon….”

“Are saved for the most devout, or richest, or specialist, I’m sure.” Delilah cut her off with a wave of her hand. “I only wish to know how it works.”

“I see. And what will you give us in return?”

“Full access to the Aeorian ruins. I’ll find a reason to step back. Ludinus wouldn’t be happy, but he’ll live.” She took a deep breath. “My husband is dying. We think it may have come from the north - it appears incurable.”

Deirta made a show of considering Delilah for a few seconds, gauging how desperate she was.

“I’ll discuss this with the Bright Queen when she is next able to grant me private audience,” Deirta said, and then respectfully bowed before leaving the room.

Deirta met Leylas for brunch the next day.

“Do you think they’ll truly cede the ruins over to us?” Leylas said, sipping her drink.

Deirta snorted. “Almost certainly not. Or at least not for long - Ludinus would find a way to dispose of her, and anything she said would be erased.”

And, again, she didn’t really mind the Dwendalians spending their soldiers and agents getting destroyed in the ruins.

“But you still think it’s a good idea.”

“I think she doesn’t realize the true asset being offered, and that makes it a fabulous idea.” A thankful Archmage, one asking to to be indoctrinated - one who knows the secret workings of the Dwendals and of Da’Leth - would be a significant catch indeed. Even if she’s resistant at first, there’s always the husband. Or simply waiting for their next life - a childhood growing up in the light of the Luxon has a way of changing loyalties.

Leylas sighed. “You still haven’t forgiven House Dwendalos, have you?”

“We could have had it all! They were in line for the throne! All they had to do was stay quiet, maybe murder a few choice people -“

“- Their siblings in that cycle -“

“-Or simply give us the information that could have helped us!”

“They chose to not commit treason and betray their birth family,” Leylas said a little playfully. “Most would say that it would be a good thing.”

“A little treason would have been nice,” Deirta muttered, but it was mostly for show.

Leylas gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “So what is your plan with your new Archmage?”

“I’ll let her know that you have agreed that we might share information, so long as we start seeing the retreat of Dwendalian agents away from Aeor. But - you will also not blaspheme, and one must be a true believer to be Consecuted. The Archmage Briarwood and her husband would be expected to go through the entire catechism before Consecution.”

Leylas waved one of the servants over to take their dishes away. “I do think Abrianna would keep us from proceeding if she were around.”

“Well, that just means we would have to succeed before she comes back.”

[welivetodream]

Crippling loneliness in the age of the internet:

"Why do people have to be this lonely? What's the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?"

~Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart (1999)

Let me set the scene:

In a dark room, the only light is coming from the phone of a girl laying on the bed, as she mindlessly scrolls for hours on end. She is typing fast, she is running multiple apps in the background, she is listening to the latest hits while doing all of this, her earphones never leave her ears; even when she closes her eyes, she is still listening to a podcast. Despite all these activities happening around her. The girl looks bored and apathetic, her eyes are blank, no emotions, no thoughts. And for hours to come she stays in that state, waiting for something to happen, even if it doesn't, she doesn't care.

This could be the opening lines of a sci-fi novel but this is actually how I act when I am alone. This is how my life has become. And while people like to blame this on the internet that has made Gen Z mindless zombies; I think the only reason I haven't died is because of the internet. To normal people it's a curse that makes humanity fall to its lowest. To me it gave a purpose, a want and a direction to live for.

The Internet isn't the evil mastermind to me, it's a necessity that has kept me alive and not succumbing to the fact I have no one to talk with.

Internet to me isn't Instagram, Snapchat, Discord,Twi--X (someone stop Elon Musk from cooking), it's the "quirky" apps like Pinterest, Tumblr and Reddit as well as the depths of content that is YouTube. It's the places where I found "my" people who understood me, who accepted me, who appreciated me. Growing up I had no one to talk with, even my own family wasn't understanding, let alone my friends.

During my school life I had always been surrounded by friends or as I like to put it, people I can talk to and have lunch with during school hours. That's what it was, nothing more than that. My idea of friends was just different from others, I didn't want emotional connection or people to hang out with. I wanted friends who would listen to my ramblings and be able to debate and discuss things with.

I don't want to seem pretentious or snobbish and definitely not above others in any way. But....when I am surrounded by so many frustratingly stupid people, I don't have any other words to describe them than "not good enough for me". They may be wonderful people, who are warm and lively. I do not care about being around such people. I am someone that watches video essays on morality, ethics, philosophy and analysis of movies and TV, in comparison to the people I know I am just more perceptive and thoughtful and that alone makes me seem like a stranger to them (INTPs are weird in short form). My dad told me smart people have it hard to make friends because of this exact nature, I wouldn't call myself incredibly intelligent but I know I am far more capable in thinking than my classmates who watch reality TV shows and Tiktok dances. Sometimes I cannot even comprehend how people can even get satisfaction and happiness from something as simple as that and that's when I understand: it's okay to be different than that and it's okay that they are "normal".

I feel like I am Lain from "Serial Experiments Lain", as if my existence is given meaning by the internet and I was born from it. My lack of social interactions in person can be explained by that, but it's the thought of talking with other people that often scares me. I am used to being silent, so much so that even on the internet, I remain quiet, not interacting with people who might understand me. Being afraid of not being understood has stopped me from even trying to make connections when there's people ready to do that.

I don't even reply to comments on my posts, unless I have to and I don't talk with anyone on the internet itself. I just watch and be happy at other people's interactions and feel a sense of belonging.

For some days I decided to stop doing that, to stop the vow of silence. To let people approach me and approach others myself. I want to be friends and it's the only thing that I have ever considered as something I couldn't achieve.

Loneliness isn't as pretty as the movies and books tell you. It's more of a psychological thriller than a show like Euphoria and Skins where these stylised depictions make my depression and loneliness appear cool. It's cool to be alone, to have my own space and not cross boundaries but it's not cool to let the loneliness that shields me, devour me.

[scoupsahoy]

people keep asking why people are mad at buddie shippers but did they miss the one/ones who spammed ao3 with fic where tommy sexually abused kids or was violently murdered by eddie? or the entire blog dedicated to wanting him to be murdered or subjected to prison rape? or the queer men in this fandom being called predators or slurs for relating to a canon gay character? the tweet with more than 1.2k likes that uses a homophobic slur to describe eddie in the context of buddie, written by a cis lesbian? people saying there would be no point in gay eddie or there is no point in bi buck if they don't get together? the buddie shippers spamming the official accounts and the cast and crew with hate comments on instagram? like damn i love buddie and bucktommy but i wouldn't admit that i like buddie at this point.

yeah i mean there are points that i agree with you here and also points where i disagree with you BUT i'm really not here for that reason at all. like. i'm afraid the discussion is becoming "and well this side is also doing bad shit" and i'm like

i have less than 200 followers. i have probably less than 25 followers who even know what this is about. i don't get asks like EVER and no one is going to be checking my account for follow ups because i truly do not matter in this fandom. and the reason i don't even try is BECAUSE there is a lack of meaningful discourse that i actually care about. a lot of the discourse is a competition to see who is the most evil side of the fandom

my entire point is that it is a catch 22. if you ship buddie you are homophobic and you harass the cast and crew. if you ship bucktommy you are racist and harass the showrunners. there is no room for multishipping there is no room for any kind of meaningful discussion as to whether or not tommy kinard has even made a single decision in the entire show. there is no room for people to explore his character in any meaningful way

i appreciate this ask and i appreciate your perspective but everything you're saying in this ask is exactly what i'm talking about. there are people who like this tv show or who like a certain ship who are doing some heinous shit and it is effecting not only people's opinions on the ships, but if it effecting people's opinions on the people who ship it.

you do not need to justify disliking something by proving that it is problematic!! you do not need to justify liking something by proving that it is morally upright!! i'm serious!! release yourself from that shit!! whether or not YOU are a good or bad person actually has nothing to do with your interests!! you seem like a perfectly fine good person who is hurt by this shit just as much as i am and that SUCKS

my post wasn't aimed at buddie fans because i think they are all evil horrible people, or even most of them. i was complaining because of general fandom attitudes that i KNOW no one wants to be a part of are being upheld anyway and it is discouraging meaningful discourse of any kind. and honestly this was mainly aimed at like 5 pretentious condescending big name fans on tiktok who feel the need to morally justify never shutting the fuck up about tommy kinard when no one who watches their videos even fucking likes him anyway

[xxmothangelxx]

Shady Rambles Dislyte Part 6: A Written Movie Sequal

So, I made this post yesterday, and after I was able to make a reddit post that I feel better summarized my point! It may be a tad pretentious in its writing and I do apologize for that, but still, I hope you enjoy!

As a lover of writing and Dislyte, I've always been unnecessarily invested in the story. Funnily enough, unlike most people the story and characters are really my main reason for not giving up on the game – in spite of all the less than favorable updates – so although many argue the story is sub-par, I quite enjoy it. This love of characters and story has made it so I try to keep up with most events. I'll be honest, I stopped playing the game after Valeria's event (and I have yet to read through the ones that I've missed) but I have since completed Cellblock Chaos so I'm making my way back into the game!

Needless context aside, I wanted to discuss the concept of grey morality and why it always bothered me when it was mentioned in reference to the Shadow Decree, it took me a while to figure out why but I feel that I can now put it into words. It is because the Shadow Decree are objectively an irredeemable terrorist organization that have committed human rights violations so extreme, that in a more realistic world Hyde would have been sentenced to death by firing squad upon arrest.

The issue with grey morality and the concept of an anti-hero is a lot of consumers and fans have the false mindset that if a villain has a 'point' then the villain is any less evil. Now, the issue with that therein lies with the fact that morality is less based on thought and more based on action, it doesn't matter if you have a "moral" way of thinking if your actions don't reflect that. This issue can be seen within the Shadow Decree in abundance, many of the characters have seemingly understandable reasons for being members, but their actions within the group contradict their so-called moral standpoint.

For example, many argue that the reason Hyde isn't a villain is because his research is all for the "greater good", he is an ends justify the means sort of person. However, you then have to take into account that Hyde actively partakes in and encourages human trafficking and non-consensual human experimentation. Does it really matter if it is "for the greater good" if you are actively allowing hundreds of innocents to die for experiments that lead to nothing at all?

I am brought back to two events in particular: Brewster and Yun Chuan's. In both events, it is revealed that the Shadow Decree's crimes run deeper than just bothering the Union and stealing their members.

With Brewster, we find out that Shadow Decree actively buys trafficking victims off what can only be described as a black market and experiments on them in an attempt to turn them into espers. These people do not consent, and are nothing more than cattle to them. Few are "successful" like Brewster, with a majority of them dying from the strain placed upon their bodies. Brewster himself was sold by his abusive father and still suffers immense trauma from his time under Kara.

Yun Chuan's hits closer to home however; as someone with many criticisms of the prison industrial complex – more specifically how inmates are treated – to hear that the Shadow Decree makes deals with prisons to experiment on inmates was incredibly chilling. It was one of the most true to life, realistic portrayals of how deep systemic corruption truly is, especially in how it mirrors the real life abuse of incarcerated people globally.

I simply do not see these as the actions of a "morally grey" group of people that only "want the best". I feel that the reason many are quick to slap the morally grey label onto the Shadow Decree is character bounties, most bounties are slice of life stories that show the characters going about their daily business, of course Ophelia and Catherine seem nicer and more likable. Though you then remember that they bombed an orphanage for virtually no reason and suddenly they seem less like good people.

Now, this isn't me saying that you cannot like them or that liking them reflect poorly on you as a person! I for one am definitely a Shadow Decree apologist haha, my top favorite espers are majority Shadow Decree, and I find them to be an interesting group of people with the potential for great storytelling. With that being said, I feel we as media consumers have a habit of becoming so attached to certain characters that we forget that their actions do indeed play a role in who they are.

To be a part of the Shadow Decree is to say that you are okay with human trafficking, human experimentation, terrorism, weapons smuggling, political corruption, prison industrial system corruption, child murder (remember the orphanage bombing that killed Stewart's lover and also a bunch of children?). The Union is certainly not free of skeletons, their rampant negligence shows this, however I cannot feel comfortable saying that they are in any way just as bad or worse than the Shadow Decree based on everything the Dislyte lore has told us.

TLDR: I believe the reason many argue that the Shadow Decree are morally grey, or that they're even a well-meaning group, is because many of the characters have sad backstories, attractive designs, and cute personalities. Though I cannot agree, because I feel that it disregards all the genuinely horrific (and mostly unnecessary) actions of the group; I don't see how people that bomb orphanages and experiment on trafficking victims can be any less than evil.

With all of that being said I would give my left kidney and run over a baby kitten if it meant that Catherine would blink in my direction.

[specialagentartemis]

I am taking the opportunity to tell you how much I fucking hate The Secret History. It's themes can be best summed up with a Kanye West quote: "No one knows what it means, but it's provocative! Gets the people going!"

It's a pretentious, fake-deep mess with paper thin, overly precious characters and a tendency towards imitating the Classics for the ~aesthetic of it without understanding them.

People will tell you that it's a critique of how people romanticize academia, except it's not, because this book still romanticizes the HELL out of its subject matter, and so do all of its fans. The book clearly adores its characters and thinks they're so cool and interesting but tbh the only interesting parts were when really any other character appeared.

There's a murder the protagonist participates in that the author is obviously trying to create some Crime and Punishment-esque conflict around, except there's no conflict because the protagonists are as deep as a puddle and feel no conflict about what they did.

It's supposed to be a critique of classism but literally Gossip Girl does it better than this book does.

There's an off-brand Dorian Grey subplot about espousing edgy beliefs vs. acting on them that goes nowhere and takes up like five pages and impacts nothing at all.

Mostly because it's really unclear what those beliefs ARE. They're supposed to be deep thinkers engaging with the classics, but they're engaging in them like edgy 12-year-olds and not like intelligent pretentious humanities students, because they take everything they read very VERY literally and divorce it from its cultural context and meaning. And you don't even get much of these topics that they're supposedly so fixated on and defined by, just edgy cool soundbitey quotes.

I hate this book mostly because I hear a bunch of people going NO YOU DON'T GET IT IT'S SO DEEP IT'S A MODERN CLASSIC. Motherfucker, show me how and where it's deep in any way and not just a weird infantile mashup of Dorian Grey, Crime and Punishment, The Sound and the Fury (incest vibes!!), The Great Gatsby and a John le Carré novel that completely fails to understand why ANY of those books are good and is as flat and as shallow as, like, a Cassandra Claire book.

The Secret History is SO polarizing… (I have never read it but I sure know the Pretentious Dark Academia Book type)

[piermanwalter]

The Collectors Weekly antique enthusiast website got a sleek modern new update. In the process, all old comments on articles were deleted. Although this is another ember in the ever-burning library, I think at least a few good things came out of it because old Collectors Weekly comment sections were among the most viciously toxic places on the internet.

The background miasma of classist elitism combined with what seemed like at least 20% of users solely there for Nazi memorabilia needs no elaboration, but there were two specific comment section arguments that were so bad I still remember them.

There was an article by a man who travelled the world to collect gorgeously ornate opium smoking paraphernalia who became so dedicated to recreating the long-forgotten uses of his cryptic intricate little devices that he became addicted to opium and destroyed his health. In the comments, someone said something along the lines of, "You ruined your life for nothing. You have done no original research. You have contributed nothing to collective human knowledge. There is extensive research already being done on the pharmacological effects of specific opiates on receptors. It is insulting that you believe your research is at all worth reading." And then people started dogpiling this person like, "You missed the entire point of the article. It's not just about the medical effects of opium, it's about the emotional addiction of smoking surrounded by beautiful objects in a luxurious lounge and the feeling of uncovering something old and forgotten. It's funny how you say the author contributed no knowledge, but I learned a lot about history and culture from this article, things it seems you have no concept of." And then the first person was like, "I am a licensed pharmacologist currently doing PhD research on antibody binding patterns. The state of knowledge here is so tragic that you don't know how much you don't know." And then people were like, "What do antibodies have to do with anything in the article? It sounds like you're just here to brag about your degree. It doesn't matter how much you know about medicine. This article isn't about that." It went on for hundreds of comments with the first poster flatly refusing to accept that any non-medical-researcher had anything to contribute, or that cultural studies had any worth to human society. I think I stopped reading when someone said the first poster deserved to get murdered by an opiate addict robbing their pharmacy. There was an article featuring an interview with a lady who had a website where she experimentally recreated those insanely shitass 50s recipes created by advertisers to sell as much mayo and shortening as humanly possible. The entire comments section was filled with, "You mean like Lileks Gallery of Regrettable Food?" "James Lileks did it first." "Lileks ripoff. Read the original" with the occasional "All Lileks does is curate and commentate ads. She actually makes and eats these recipes." Apparently a vast majority of this article's audience read the title and first few words and then the compulsion to castigate a stupid, lazy, lying, pretentious, self-aggrandising, unskilled, over-praised WOMAN was so powerful that all their brains shut down before they could visually parse the modern real life photos of these foods and realise James Lileks doesn't have a full monopoly on discussing this era of American history online. Some commenters went on her website, where you'd think seeing actual step-by-step photos of these recipes and taste tester reactions would get it through their heads that she and Lileks were in fact doing very different things, but they continued calling her a lazy ripoff on her own site.