#i'd write but what are words

[lizzybeeee]

DATV explaining the 'Regret Prison'

A REGRET PRISON IS STUPID AND I'M TIRED OF PRETENDING THAT ITS NOT

TL;DR: a prison can serve as a metaphor but it shouldn't be entirely comprised of a metaphor.

From what I understood from what the game gave us: Solas has made a new prison to move the God's too - since bringing down the veil would free them from the Black City. This new prison is separate(?) from the fade or so far removed/contained that bringing down the veil would not compromise it...apparently. We interrupt his ritual, Solas gets sucked into the new prison he made, and the elven gods are free.

When Rook gets kicked into the fade they're physically there - which means it's a physical place in the fade, like how it was a mixture of physical/thought when we entered it in DAI. Which makes sense - the gods are real and living beings, they need to be in a place, there must be some aspect of physicality to it.

Alright, cool, it's a Black City 2.0 - I assume it's better defended to prevent people breaking in/out again?

NOPE.

We get there and it's a 'regret prison'?? It's tied to the regrets of those within it? Composed of regrets??? Solas had to wait for the right moment for Rook to be sufficiently 'full of regret' that they could switch places?

So is the prison tied to Solas's regrets? If so, how can Rook escape? The prison seems to work around the idea that it relies on the regrets of the person it's holding to work - which is how/why Rook was able to be trapped and later free themselves (along with whatever remains of the team apparently being able to do something on their end, not that we hear about it).

WHICH IS STUPID!

Are you telling me the prison intended to hold to megalomaniac elven gods was going to imprison them based on their own regrets? Is Solas assuming that Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are as self-pitying as he is? They'd break out quicker than Rook did! He made a time out corner for the elven gods to sit in and gave them an out if they reflected on their emotions/regrets or decided that they don't regret what they did. Elgar'nan, a spirit of tyranny, is not going to 'regret' his actions - he is going to justify them by telling himself and others that he knows what's best.

We can come across some of Solas's regrets in the prison if you run around a bit and explore:

Remnant of Failure - talking about the orb from Inquisition.

Remnant of Parting - talking about Mythal

Remnant of Reflection - more vague, talking about the Titans I believe.

So maybe he altered it - maybe he intended the prison to be 'locked' with his own regrets because after a millennia of having a pity party he still can't bring himself to self-reflect and look to the future. But what if Solas died? Or if his guilt lessened - would it diminish the strength of the regret prison?

We already have pre-established lore (though DATV has shown they don't really give a crap tbh) that once the being that has claimed/altered an area of the fade is slain, it's influence diminishes both in and outside of the fade. So if the prison was tied to his regrets then it would require Solas to basically live forever to keep it stable - especially if he brought down the veil and removed the one barrier that kept the world and the fade apart.

Rook and Solas needed some assistance to exit - but it doesn't seem like it was much! Solas used his dagger and Rook just...got out through a fade tear? This is Solas's 'more secure' second prison? It has a worse track record than the Black City! If Rook - who is not an elven god - managed to escape the regret prison what is to stop anyone else from breaking in and out of the prison?

And what did Solas intend to do with the blight - the bulk of which is apparently in the black city?? If bringing down the Veil would free the gods in the black city doesn't that mean that the blight would also be released?! Did he have a plan? Why does he go fully ahead with bringing down the veil at the end if the black city is still there and filled with blight?!

I get it: the 'regret prison' is a metaphor for how Solas holds onto the past and how Rook can move past their regrets and grow. He's trapped by the past - it's a prison. Cool. But this prison is supposed to by a physical place to contain the gods - not just to solely contain Solas. The mission is literally called 'A Cage for Gods'.

The Black City is an actual place that's so far out of reach of anywhere else in the fade that no mage can ever reach it while in dreams - let alone physically, which was only done once and took tremendous effort/blood sacrifices. It made sense - it was cool to see floating in the sky in DAO!

Though it's not said specifically, it's strongly implied that Arlathan is the Black City. You can see in the concept art that floating elven city is exactly the same as the black city in DAO! It's this foreboding thing just lurking in the sky - a constant reminder of the sin that led to the horrors of the blights and darkspawn. A real place with lore and history that also serves as a metaphor for the hubris and destruction of those who call themselves gods and act as tyrants -> for both the evanuris and the magisters.

I WANT TO UNDERSTAND THIS BIOWARE!

WHAT IS THIS KINGDOM HEARTS NONSENSE???!!

[leashybebes]

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

tommy must live in a perpetual state of confusion over buck

do you think the longer buck allies the more tommy realises that "oh, he really is like this but he's definitely some flavor of queer"? because i see tommy maybe gently testing buck's jealousy to see what it'll take to make him break

oooookay once again this is not a snippet (sorryyyyy) but is more me attempting to understand wtf is going on in tommy's head throughout all this that he keeps "sure, okay"-ing himself into ridiculous situations with buck, so apologies for just unloading the contents of my brain on you

there are a few things i've been chewing on in terms of figuring out how tommy reacts to the buck of it all, which i hope will make it make sense that i actually don't think tommy pushing or testing for jealousy is on the cards in this fic (although i do love the idea!)

so first of all, this is a younger tommy than we've seen interact with buck in canon (of course), so whatever happened to make him Like That in the breakup hasn't happened yet (and won't, because i am a slut for a HEA). he's newly out and in my experience, a lot of newly out people, particularly people who are a bit older have something of a second adolescence. so yeah while this means he's incredibly horny (horny enough to let a self-proclaimed straight guy give him the absolute best sex of his life) it also means he just wants to have fun!! and buck is SO. MUCH. FUN. he's spent so long so tightly controlled that he's trying really hard to just go with the flow.

second, when i say newly out tommy, i mean newly out. like, it's one thing to "stop lying about who i am" - to me, there's a non-zero chance that just means "stop making up girlfriends" rather than "actually grapple with the life-long process of coming out (again and again and again)". so in my head (and it might come up in the fic, idk yet) the scene early on where he tells buck he doesn't want the cute girl's number because he's gay is probably one of the first times he actually said the words out loud. which ties into...

third, we know tommy was work friends with sal (at least and again, don't know that it'll come up in the fic but for the record, he 100% had a monstrous crush on him, like it made him ILL how much he wanted sal, i will hear no arguments), and that he developed good - again, work-based - friendships with hen and chim, but i feel like for a deeply closeted guy under dadt with a shitty childhood buck might be his first actual friend who knows all of him and likes him. spends time with him. doesn't care that he's gay. actively supports his gayness. doesn't recoil and in fact actively encourages tommy to talk about it. so i think tommy is just...deeply, deeply grateful for this confusing train wreck of a man

fourth, while i think there are definitely times that tommy thinks "he...he's flirting with me, right? is something gonna happen here?" this is a guy who has spent his entire adult life not looking at that kinda thing. not letting himself wonder if a guy (particularly a friend) is into him. or really, even if he's into them. he's really, really good at compartmentalising, and buck's pretty insistent that he's straight, so tommy's taking that at face value. hey, buck makes compelling arguments ("tommy, straight men have prostates too!")

aaaaand there we have the contents of my brain as it relates to one tommy kinard. even in my own incredibly stupid AUs, i am frankly obsessed. i want to gnaw on him. i'll settle for having buck do it instead.

[generic-sonic-fan]

Hi!

When I read your fics I was amazed how you write team dark and their dynamic. I was wondering, since I would like to write about them as well, but am struggling with really getting them to feel like actual people.

Do you have any tricks or things you keep in mind when writing Omega? And on top of that, what do you keep in mind when writing Rouge or Shadow? How do you make these three fit so well? Like three puzzle pieces that kind of have the right shape but still don’t quite align.

I’m sorry if this is a big ask, I’m just quite curious, you have written them so well in Mirror Verse and other one shots like CTRL + ALT + DELETE. Can’t help but ask for the secrets of the master :)

I am so honored by this question and you've also activated my trap card. I LOVE talking about how I see these guys and the vibes I keep in mind for each of them while writing.

The TL;DR:

Team Dark are a group of three mutually beneficial friends who regard each other as equals, even if they occasionally disagree/fight. In my opinion, if this is missing, you're no longer writing Team Dark, but "Rouge and her two dogs" or "IDW Shadow and his no good very bad mandates" or whatever. This is my most controversial opinion.

For Omega, he's the boisterous rebel of the group. He helps keep their momentum going at all times, and tends to be a driving force in conversations and the instigator of new actions.

For Shadow, he's the serious anchor of the team. He helps keep Team Dark together, tending to be the one most willing to let his true emotions show, whether that be his attachment to them or his real opinions on a situation.

For Rouge, she's the charismatic tactician of the team. She helps point Team Dark in a direction, tending to outline the circumstances and situations they find themselves in to help the other two understand better.

To use tropes, they're all Lancers for each other. Ideally, each one of them can be compared and contrasted against each other- not just Shadow and Rouge vs Omega or Shadow and Omega vs Rouge.

To move onto individual breakdowns of how I see each of them and how they fit together- LONG post beneath the cut! You have been warned! Oh, and the actual writing advice is at the bottom because I got carried away, oops.

Omega:

The basis-

The very core of my writing for Omega comes down to three points, which I will reiterate here for convenience. Omega:

Hates Eggman

Will do ANYTHING to avoid being ignored and overlooked again

uses the first point to cover up the second point and would sooner deactivate than admit it

This is, in my humble opinion, what motivates Omega in almost everything he does. He's loud and boisterous. Why? Because he hates being silenced! He's violent and dangerous. Why? Because the idea of being (and being seen) as powerless makes him furious.

Omega's greatest desires, outwardly manifested by his drive to kill his creator, are about choice and freedom for himself. If he wants to do something, he does it. Flat out. Or in the very rare cases of his restraint, he will make it explicitly clear that he is choosing not to for a reason that still benefits him in the long run. This robot has a pathological need for control over his life, and god help anyone who dares threaten that.

That control includes control over his image- he's a deeply prideful individual. Getting him to admit a mistake is like pulling (metaphorical) teeth. Shadow and Rouge are more likely to apologize than he ever will be. He can't stand being perceived as weak, inconsistent, or incompetent.

He's much more of a liar than Shadow ever could be. I've heard the phrase "still waters run deep", and I think that describes Omega perfectly. Like all the other members of Team Dark, he is extremely guarded with his more vulnerable emotions. Whereas Rouge's cover emotion is a flirty suaveness, and Shadow's cover emotion is aloof determination, Omega's cover emotion is a sort of joyous rage. He wants to be seen either as A. Angry or B. Having the time of his life. Good luck getting him to express anything else. (Even in front of Shadow and Rouge!)

But the important part is that he does feel the full range of emotions. And he accepts that he feels all those things, even if you couldn't get him to confess it out loud. I myself tend to accidentally write Omega as more philosophical than I think he needs to be, but that doesn't negate the fact that he does care about things that he pretends not to! How people treat him vs how they treat his organic teammates, his role as the (not quite) only friendly robot in his universe, so on. He has a curiosity about the world around him that someone who was isolated from it might have. And yes, there's actual canon evidence for this now- he spends all of Shadow's campaign in Sonic x Shadow generations making remarks and generating conclusions about the world around him, not just about Eggman robots.

Omega has such a zeal for life that he's not himself without it. He cares. He cares. He cares. Make him have strong opinions on everything.

Fitting into Team Dark:

Omega fits into Team Dark as their catalyst. The definition of "catalyst" is "a substance that increases the rate of a chemical reaction without itself undergoing any permanent chemical change".

Omega is the one always spurring Shadow and Rouge into motion, and he's the one that forces them into conflict- not against each other, but against the world, and their preconceptions of just about everything. He's the one asking "WHY NOT?" whenever they say they can't do something, "WHO CARES?" whenever they worry too much about anything. He's got too much drive to ever sit idly by, and being friends with him requires at least some level of reciprocation of that energy.

The biggest way Omega shows that he cares is simply by his presence. Shadow and Rouge understand that if Omega did not want to be here, he wouldn't be. Tolerating their own problems and eccentricities is their biggest ask from him. Given that "their problems" usually tend to be far outside his skill range, he's always a bit unsure of how to solve them. And of course, as we covered previously, he hates feeling or seeming unsure.

. . . but he does want to solve them. Because he cares.

He's the most classically tsundere out of all of them. It took him the longest out of all of them to figure out that he did genuinely care about them, but now that he does. . . he's not quite sure how to navigate it? Relationships are still new to him, give him time. The line where "WANTING TO MAINTAIN TEAMMATE EFFECTIVENESS" separates from "SEEING MY TEAMMATE IN DISTRESS MAKES ME DISTRESSED" is really fuzzy for him.

So he tries. He's one to face their problems like he does every other problem- head on. It's moments like this where his own clarity and certainty of character can cut through the fog of a problem that the other two are overcomplicating.

---

He's most similar to Shadow in their shared bluntness and need to feel like they're accomplishing their goals. They're both impulsive. They're both guys who ask "well why don't we just do X" and then they go run off to do X, even if it's already been tried and found to not work by someone before them. They share a mistrust of the competency of others.

He's most unlike Shadow in the fact that Shadow masks, heavily, while he does not. Shadow keeps quiet and tries to blend in with "normal" people. Omega does not, from his appearance to the way he acts. He embraces his differences while Shadow struggles with them. Omega is much more certain in his identity than Shadow will ever be.

---

He's most similar to Rouge in their shared nonchalance for consequences. Rouge is barely, barely governed by the idea that it would be harder to do what she wants if the cops are after her. Omega has come to agree with this philosophy. I've always headcanoned them as being far more morally questionable than Shadow would ever let himself be. They're also both go-getters. When they see something they want, they get it, even if the methods they employ to do so differ.

He's most unlike Rouge in that Rouge loves to play the "game" of society. She gets joy out of playing the fool sometimes and allowing people to underestimate her, something Omega would never tolerate even if he did see the value of such a play. This extends to her proclivity for stealth and anonymity- she doesn't mind having the last laugh over someone in private, whereas for Omega, what's the point if nobody knows that you won?

Shadow:

The basis:

Shadow is a character that I have the most difficulty describing how I write. Probably because, for fuck's sake, he's Shadow the Hedgehog. Everybody knows Shadow. Everybody writes about Shadow. And everybody writes about Shadow differently yet they all feel like the same guy. He is "all of him", and in a manner almost similar to Metal Sonic, there's so many different ways you can portray him yet still have it feel right.

Here is just about the only post I've made about how I write Shadow. It's a bit rambly, but I still stand by it. My favorite paragraph from it is probably this one-

At his best, Shadow is thoughtful, neutral, and surprisingly level-headed. Impulse only gets the best of him when he perceives himself as being the only one who can act competently- if a situation "needs" an Ultimate Lifeform, he's the first to run in and try to solve it. Otherwise, he's much more methodical than the likes of Sonic, Amy, Omega, etc. He values efficiency over fun or flashiness. He's not very good at putting himself in other people's shoes, but if you want an objective opinion on a situation at hand he's one of your best bets to ask.

For me, Shadow is someone who values being stoic and being there for the people who need him. One of his innate desires, one that he consistently struggles with, is to be the perfect tool for the people he cares about. He wants to solve their problems. Ease their pain. Fulfill their wishes about the world. I always thought that his very first line in SA2 to Eggman, about "granting his wish" was very resonant to him both pre- and post-Maria.

Shadow knows that he has the tendency to follow the directions of others, and it's something he fights within himself. He pushes himself to be independent to the point of overcorrecting and putting everyone off. He also has a tendency to form attachments, deeply, and this too is something that he tries to suppress and avoid showing (for Maria-related reasons).

Ultimately, Shadow is the most honest character of Team Dark. His struggles with who he is and his own mental health are too big for him to fight alone- as a result, he's forced to share them. He tries so hard to deny parts of him to himself that he ends up spilling everything everywhere. Shadow tries, and does a decent job in front of strangers, but among friends he just can't hide. He is all of him.

(This ironically results in him being the 'token mentally ill one' of Team Dark when I write him, lol! He's the one who's had to put the work in because of his PTSD, and it shows! He's got more emotional maturity than either Omega or Rouge because he's had to develop it to keep moving forward with his life.)

Fitting into Team Dark:

Shadow is the anchor of Team Dark. He helps ground Omega and Rouge to the world. He's by far the most philosophical and spiritual of the three- he's the only one thinking about stuff like his purpose, his future, his role in life, what he's meant to be, etc. He's a thinker, and sometimes Omega and Rouge need that sort of anchor to the bigger picture to stay themselves.

He is honest and he is earnest. He says what he means, and means what he says. He provides the best evaluations of the current situation. He's almost like the "canary in the coal mine"- if something is going wrong, if the Team or anybody in it starts to lose their way, Shadow is the first to speak up.

He might not be the one to start the conversation, but he is the first one to really talk, and this helps the others open up. The most important thing is that he doesn't even realize he's doing it. He's not self-aware enough to be a facilitator or mediator in any capacity, but he is the stabilizer of the three regardless.

. . . which some might call ironic, given the fact that it's Rouge and Omega helping him stay level when it comes to his erratic mental health. He does lean on them when he gets triggered. He needs to. And sometimes he needs someone to talk him out of his own spiral when he thinks too much. Omega and Rouge help him to unwind from the tight little knots he binds himself in trying to sort out himself.

Saying that Shadow cares about them is like saying that Shadow cares about breathing. It's effortless. Natural. He couldn't stop caring about them now if he tried. It's just the way he's wired. The biggest way that he shows this is by doing things for them and worrying about them. Both in silence, of course.

---

He's most similar to Omega in his potential for ruthlessness and a stubbornness when they've made up their minds. They also relate through their shared otherness to the majority, being manufactured beings who have difficulty discerning the intentions and reasoning of others.

He's most unlike Omega in that he has a firm moral compass and a deep consideration for what is "intended" for him. Furthermore, conflict isn't something Shadow enjoys. Destruction? Sure. Conflict? Not really, so he avoids it for things he doesn't deem important. Omega finds disagreements refreshing, whereas for Shadow they make him feel trapped.

---

He's most similar to Rouge in that they both don't mind slowing down. They both take pleasure in the little things in life, from soft blankets to good fur care products and the like. Though Shadow is more duty-driven than her, they prefer having lives outside of their work. They both need to have periods alone to gather themselves again.

He's most unlike Rouge in that he's selfless while she's selfish. It's not even just that he's got a more heroic moral compass than her- he just fundamentally values other things more highly than he does himself. Of the entire team he's the most likely to step up to "do what's required" or "do what's right". Oh, and he's self-sacrificial to a fault, something Rouge just can't fathom.

Rouge:

Rouge is the hardest for me to write because she's the opposite of Omega in a lot of ways.

This is a bat who puts on a front for everything.

Including in her own narration.

I think my strongest POV character work for her that shows this is chapters 2 and 6 of my 2024 Team Dark Week one-shots. Both of which allude to things about her that she won't even tell the audience, as well as plenty of emotions that she kicks down so that nobody sees them.

Whereas Omega desires physical control, Rouge desires control over information. She's a string-puller, a manipulator, a planner. She's the ultimate tactician, and she will do everything in her power to ensure that she ends up on top and her enemies end up on the bottom, crushed by her own heel if she's lucky, but she'll also settle for their destruction by anyone or anything else.

She's invested most heavily into her social skillset. She always knows the right thing to say. Conversations are if-then equations for her; if she says this, then the other person will feel that. She uses this on enemies and friends alike, and furthermore, regardless of what she might actually want to say or do in the moment.

A friend might be sad, and if she needs them to be happy, she'll console them, even if she would rather grab their shoulders and scream her frustration at them. An enemy might ask her to do something that she hates, but if it means accomplishing her goals, she'll shove that down and do it with a smile. She's flexible, adaptable, mutable, and she can track her status with each individual with ease. . .

. . . except with herself. Not to say that she isn't incredibly prideful, and that she won't stick up for herself, but sometimes the gap between what she needs to be to get the result she wants and what she's actually feeling in the moment can grow so large she disconnects them entirely. She won't just hide her emotions- she will feel ashamed of them and try to force herself not to feel them.

She's the most 'herself' when she's 'off shift', so to speak. She relaxes significantly when she's alone or with the two people on this planet that she trusts enough to do so. She actually becomes less opinionated when she's at her most casual. She can get catty or annoyed by things in this state but she much more go-with-the-flow. While she gets the most pleasure from intensive gem heists, it doesn't take much to just make her happy. A good TV show? She's happy. A fun chat with a friend? She's happy. Painted nails and a good outfit? Happy.

The catch is having the stability to stay that way, hence the impressive tangle of machinations she concocts to keep her little corner of the world totally within her control.

Fitting into Team Dark:

Most people probably were surprised by my previous section stating that Shadow was the emotional anchor of the team. Most people see Rouge that way- and that's a valid interpretation, but I prefer a different take.

Rouge is the team leader. Period. I stand by the majority of this post I made about Rouge's dynamic as the team leader. The TL;DR is that she's the planner and tactician, the expert at cognitively thinking through the best way to aim the two living weapons at her disposal. This also, however, comes with resolving the differences between them when things get heated.

She often finds herself as the one resolving conflict, not because she's the "mom friend", but that she needs these two to get along (and some external parties to get along with them!) or else a lot of her plans could fall apart, and she cannot have that. Being a part of Team Dark is one hell of a vulnerable position for her, and there's some days where she wonders if it's worth it. Being dependent on others like this freaks her out in a way that Shadow and Omega can't conceptualize.

She's always had a soft spot for Shadow and Omega given the circumstances. That much is true. But I think it's only a significant ways into her friendship with them that she resolves to stick by Shadow and Omega's sides should the world turn against them. Choosing to have someone's back instead of distancing herself the moment things become dicey is a huge sign that she genuinely cares. I believe her confession in Sonic 06, and again in SxS Gens, to be the most honest and heartfelt she's ever going to be with them. Shadow and Omega might not understand the full depth of what those moments meant for her.

---

She's most similar to Shadow in that they're both pretty grounded. A lot of the basic assumptions they make about the world and scripts for how to behave are similar between them. They feel their emotions similarly and in response to similar situations, even if Rouge tends to hide them better. They're both just. . . pretty relaxed people outside of extraordinary circumstances. Not to say they don't have moments where they get passionate and excited on their own though.

She's most unlike Shadow in that she doesn't think anything is wrong with her. For all her knowledge on people and emotions and conversation, she doesn't understand that the way she operates is pretty mentally ill, folks! She thinks that she doesn't have any trauma, anything to cry about or angst over, and nothing is further than the truth. Her struggles were 'ordinary', distant from alien bioweapons or growing up on a space station or being freshly created then locked in a basement forever. But they were still struggles, struggles that shape how she sees the world and not in a good way.

---

She's the most similar to Omega in their shared pathological need for control, lol. They're both control freaks, even if said control freaking can occur in opposite directions from each other. It's where they chafe the most and it's because they're so similar. They're also both prideful and care deeply about keeping their reputations consistent. They're both liars in contrast to Shadow's honesty.

She's the most unlike Omega in that she's willing to mute herself to get what she wants. Sometimes she wishes she could scream "why can't you just pretend to be normal?!?!?!" at him when he's stirring up trouble and forcing her to alter her plans. She's calculated. He's rash. Fundamental mismatch of vibes sometimes.

Conclusion

It's been so fun to type out the culmination of almost my two years writing for these characters and how they weave in and out of each other.

In a not-at-all-concise way, I've tried to describe how they fit together and how they all have different sides to them.

I think the most important thing I've practiced to make them feel "real" when you're writing them is to hint, but not outright state, that there's something they're not saying that differs or is deeper than their surface-level conversation. For example, Rouge would never ever EVER say "I'm manipulating people to protect myself." Omega would never ever ever say "I care but I have no idea how to show it." Shadow could maybe possibly say "I'm trying to find myself and resist being the obedient tool I was made to be," but holy shit is he going to have to be going through it to even consider saying that.

You have to hint at it. Dance around the topic. Delight in withholding the information from the readers. Have Rouge sweet-talk someone to do something only for her smile to fade into something anxious and tired the moment their back is turned. Have Omega shoplift something small for Rouge from the supermarket and have him questioning the entire time whether it was even worth the effort, only to be relieved when Rouge squeals in delight. Have Shadow give an abrupt "no" to a seemingly benign request for a favor from Rouge and write him clamming up about why he did so afterwards.

It's blending these deeper facets of their characters into their current dialogue and actions that's my favorite thing to do in my writing. Even better if an outside character witnesses that little glimpse of the interior world and goes "huh, I wasn't expecting that."

Oh, and all the above paragraphs I've typed in this post to perfectly describe each character? Remember that they don't know all that about themselves.

They might be just as surprised as the outside characters are about how they've acted. They might not realize that something was bothering them, or that there was something they feel strongly about, until it surfaces unexpectedly! This can result in fights, or big dramatic moments.

All of THAT dives into the whole "avoiding therapy-speak" discussion currently happening in the greater writing community, one that would require me to write an entirely different post to explain. Here's my favorite primer on the subject if you'd like, but this post is already long enough, so I'll leave off here.

Thank you so much for this ask. You gave my autistic ass the best evening of my life typing this all out.

[gossippool]

just reread my first poolverine fic that i wrote before even creating this tumblr or knowing jackshit about logan and let's just say. it is not great. but it did spawn one of the funniest metaphors i've ever written

[narcissarina]

𝔊𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔫 ℭ𝔞𝔤𝔢, 𝔅𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔅𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔰

જ⁀➴Previous chapter

Pairings: bodyguard!Leon × college billionaire!reader

Word count: 2,260

Tw: This chapter is just all smut🧍‍♂️ (hardcore, daddy kink, safe word but never used, call while fucking, crying, dom!leon, crying reader, pulling out method, creampie on the stomach—not inside, cry about it/j. imagine writing 2.2k words with only smut lmfao)

Summary: After the training, Leon made his moves and manhandles you in bed while in a call with your father. Be sure not to make any noises. 🧍‍♂️

𝚅.

You squirm to his touch, his weight on you as you whine for him to get off. “Leon…” his name left from your pretty little lips, “I’m here…” he spoke softly, his breath tickling against your skin. He place soft kisses from your neck, nibbling then biting hard.

You jolt, like the electricity went through your body. Soft choked moans got out, he growls—sucking your skin, his hands travel down to the curve of your waist, holding your hips down and drawing circle. He sharply inhales and switch to the right side of your neck, placing gentle kisses then to your jaw.

Arousal pool in your underwear, you try to squeeze your legs together but it’s his hips that’s been keeping them apart. His cock screaming from the confinement of his pants, his shirt and jeans felt a little too tight as he use one hand to unbutton two more of his polo and remove the belt from his jeans.

You could feel him as hard as a metal, you grind against his hardness to get some friction. “Please…” you choke, “hm, please what?” he teases, leaning back and pulling your legs to him, “come on, your daddy taught you words, no? Use them, baby.” He coos, leaning down again as his hands found its way to the hem of your sweater and lifts it slowly, finding consent if you wanted this. He easily took it off, you’re wearing lace blue bra, it matches the color of his eyes.

He chuckle at the color and grab your right left tits, “cute.” He mutter, you mewl and support yourself up by your elbow but quickly got pushed down by Leon. “Stay down, princess.” He warns.

He massage and circle around to your perked up nipple, “you like this?” he asked, his tone low and seducing as you desperately nod in response, he grins as he remove the strap and toss the fabric of your chests confinement somewhere in the room as he leans and kisses it first then suck on it.

You jolt and arch your back, softly moaning as you lift your hand and caress the back of his hair. He grins against your chest and gently nibble on your sensitive nipple, making you gasp and choke on your moan, “you still haven’t answer my question, sweetheart.” He hums against your chest, he looks up to see your lewd and pleasing expression.

You nodded but too embarrassed to say the exact words, “come on, baby. Use your fucking words.” He said and gave your ass a slap, then squeezing it. You yelp, “y-yes!” you stammer, he hums as he retreat his mouth from your chest—bruise and red.

He made his way, kissing down from your chest, stomach to your abdomen and your clothed cunt. He brought down your pants that’s been restricting your poor numb, he saw glints of your underwear.

You look down to see what is he eyeing and you feel more arouse when he’s admiring your soaked cunt, “Leon… Stop staring.” He chuckle at your remark, he hums and wrap his finger around the waistband and pulled it down, “hope you don’t mind.” You feel a cold air hit your naked cunt, your legs closing as Leon held it and keep them open.

“Don’t close,” he said, burying his face to your cunt without warning, you groan and let out a pornographic moan as he started to lick your sensitive bud and finger your hole. “oh, god, Leon!” you scream, his nose breathing against your clit, shaking his head lightly so he could give it some friction. Letting your arousal pool down as he tongue fuck and finger fuck you, he could feel you pulse around his tongue.

You grind against his face, chasing your high as you feel a warm and hot feeling from your abdomen—his strong hands keeping your legs apart as much as you want to close it as you come undone, he pulls his face and kept his fingers inside you—working his magic.

You spoke nonsense, a mix of curses and please, “you like that, hm? Naughty princess.” He chuckle and plunge his fingers knuckle deep inside, “fuck!” you curse as you grab a hold of his wrist, trying to push it away but you couldn’t. His hold is too strong and you felt too weak and aroused to even fight it.

“You close, sweetheart?” he asked, you nodded, desperately wanting to come to his fingers coated with your white stickiness. “Such a fucking good girl, you wouldn’t want your father to think that you’re such a whore hm? Panting on my fingers, fucking your bodyguard…” he teased, you feel so hot and bothered, tears starts flowing and coming down your cheeks.

Even if it’s just his fingers, it felt too much and how much you desperately want to finish on his fingers—the sound it makes is so loud as you finally felt near, “yes!” you yelp, but felt the sudden emptiness when Leon pulled his fingers out. “Fuck!” you choke and whined.

You sob at the lost of your release as you watch Leon unzip his pants, pulled it down just to his hip and release the built up frustration of his dick, painfully throbbing as if it was showing its gratitude to be freed from it’s tight confinement.

Your guess was fucking right, he is well-endowed. Fuck, you don’t think it’ll fit.

Leon pumps himself, his head back and softly moaning—gripping to his cock tightly and his hand moving with urgency, he place the tip to your slit. Teasing as he move his hips up and down, bumping to your clit—making you shudder and mewl. He fist his cock again, slap his dick and prepare to force it in, but you quickly grab a hold of his wrist. Swallowing your saliva and your breathing became heavy, you could almost hear your heart pounding.

“Scared?” he asked, you nodded, “I don’t think it’ll fi—” you shudder and screamed when Leon got his tip in and plunged deep into your cunt. Tears flow and drag down to your cheeks, your legs trembling and your insides pulsing and gripping to his cock.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.” He tease, you spout random gibberish words—trying to take his cock in. Your cunt adjusting to his size, like it’s molding to his shape. “Fuck, so tight. Tight as a fucking virgin.” He hiss, “this your first time?” he raised a brow which you obviously nodded quickly in response.

“don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you got the best cock of your life.” He remarks and slowly retreat, leaving his tip only inside. Then plunging it right in, you hiss with pain and pleasure as his tip is fucking kissing your cervix.

“Fuck, Leon!”

“That’s right, baby. Scream my name, you don’t know how long I wanted to do this so I could fuck the bratness out of you from a few days ago.” He grunts, snapping his hips against yours—knowing completely that it’s your first time and he’s being rough, “I forgot,” grin is spreading from his lips, “what’s your safe word, baby? Tell me…” he asked, you just moaned—too full of his cock hammering your insides.

You asked yourself where the fuck did he get a third leg, “r-r-r…!” you stammer your words, his dick obviously hitting you so good, “speak up!” he plunges deep, making you scream. Grabbing both of your legs and placing them of his shoulders—his hands pulling your wrist, he manhandles you like your pussy is some fleshlight.

Your eyes widens, back arch and toe curling—your gummy walls gripping to his length as you made out a word, “red!” you finally said, Leon hums and pulls to thrust back in gently. “Wasn’t so bad, hm?” he coos, he leans with your legs over his shoulder—your position in a mating press which got you choke and moan loudly, making his length reach deep inside you that you never knew.

“T-Too much…” you sob, “I know, but you can take it.” He encourage—his lips kissing your jaw, softly letting a groan slip from his lips as he thrust inside you, you think he’s giving you a breather after getting fucked like there’s no tomorrow. You close your eyes and mewl at each of his thrust.

His hips angle to certain direction to make you have a reaction, you feel that familiar release again. But he’s moving too slow that it pains you.

“L-Leon…”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“M-Move… please.” He grins to your words, “good girl.” He pulls, his hands at the back of your thigh. Your knees reach at each side of your cheeks as Leon starts to snap his hips against you, his balls hitting your anal hole and he’s deep inside. Making you mewl and cry, choking on your moans and sobbing to the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Been such a good girl for me…” he praises, “don’t be a brat again, hm?” he leans and kisses your lashes, you nod, “oh, god yes… Oh, daddy.” Your words made Leon stop, you just pant with sweat rolling down your forehead and how you whine at the sudden stop, “daddy?” he repeat.

“I never knew you’re into that, but I’ll play along.” He chuckles and flop down one of your leg while the other is still almost reaching your ear, “scream for daddy, doll.” He said and resume his brutal pace.

“you”—thrust— “hear”—thrust— “ that?”—thrust—

He asked while thrusting hard each and every word, you feel so sore and a white ring starts to draw from Leon’s length. You cry at the overstimulation that you’re starting to feel, “come on, baby. Come on my fucking dick.” He grit between his teeth, he feel your walls clamp into him tight, he let out a shudder and a soft curse, “oh, fuck…”

You came undone, but Leon is nowhere but finish.

Vrooo—

The sound of Leon’s phone vibrating, a call incoming. Leon took his phone and look at the number, you thought he’ll drop the call but he didn’t. He picked it up and put it beside his ear and resume drilling his length inside of you, making you gasp and choke back a moan. Refraining one word to come out from your lips.

The voice from the other side of the line was familiar since Leon put it on speaker, your heart drop when you learn that the voice is from your father.

“Yes, sir.” Leon hisses, groaning. “It’s nothing, I just bruised myself.” He made up an excuse, but he really is just drilling another hole inside your hole. You covered your mouth with both of your hands, muffling moans every hard thrust Leon makes.

“Your daughter?” Leon turn to you, “yeah, she’s with me.” He grins, you shake your head and begged him to not make you say something to your father, “oh, no. She’s sounds asleep, can’t wake her up or else she’ll kick me out.” He joke with your father, his pace slowing down as his free hand capture two of your wrist. Pulling you close and fucking you to oblivion with nothing to cover your mouth with.

You bit your lower lip, threw your head back and hope for the best that you wouldn’t moan a single thing—just tiny little grunts and sobs, Leon could hear it but it wasn’t loud enough to hear.

Leon put himself to mute and lean down to capture your lips, pulling you in a fiercely kiss. Desperation and lust as he devours your lips whole, you could hear your father venting.

“B-But what about…” Leon hushes you before you could continue, “don’t worry, I made sure to put myself in mute.” He assured and got back to making you come your orgasm the second time, you heard what your father is saying.

“She’s my only child, you know? I am so glad that she’s warming up to you, Leon.”

You moaned loudly when Leon flip you over and plunge deep.

“I know I did something that I shouldn’t have done that made her resent me, I know. I’m a bad husband, but I’m trying to be a better father.”

Your eyes rolling up, too much pleasure that Leon is giving you—you sob and whine at him to slow down and be gentle but he didn’t, he was addicted to what sound your cunt is making when getting fucked by his dick.

“I’m trying to be better… for her.”

There was a long pause, Leon listen to his words but very much focus on pushing you to your limit. “fuck, baby. Daddy’s near.” He hiss, he buried himself to the crook of your neck, making small but fast thrust, making your legs give out and numb. Your tears dry and your voice hoarse from all the screaming.

“Thank you for listening to me talk, Leon. Please, look after my little girl.”

The call ended.

Leon pulled out from your puffy red cunt and fist himself and release himself to your stomach, both covered in sweat and panting for air.

Your eyelids were heavy and you become sleepy, your whole body trembling from the pleasure and your hole clenching to over nothing—but you sure did heard what your father just confessed in a call.

“Sleep well, princess. I’ll take care of you.” Leon assured and kissed your temple.

You close your eyes and nod at Leon’s words, but you do know one thing before diving into your slumber.

That your father is a bad husband, but tries to be a good father.

Next Chapter>>>

[twisting-in-wonderland]

if there was an autobiography based on any of the twst characters lives, which one would you be the most interested in hearing?

I'm torn between two--

but in the end. DEFINITELY Rook's--

He'd write so much irrelevant detail, and in the end you'd know so much, yet so little about his life,,

plus- hear me out-

there's 70 parts in total

(second place was Lilia, since that guy's been through a LOT ( i mainly want to hear about the places he's been to and the food he's had tbh--- (if lilia did try and release his autobiography, it'd probably be a multi-part too- most people would think it was a fantasy story instead of an actual autobiography though lol--))

tied third was crowley and Grim as a joke, because 99% of it would be exaggerated and full of lies, i would read either one's to make fun of it-)

transcript under read more-- (since my hand writing is rough sry--)

image 1 :

Rook - 'Roi du poison! I have finished my Autobiography!'

image 2:

Vil - 'It's very well written, Rook.'

Rook - 'Oh! Bon! I am over-joyed to hear that! So you like it, Roi du poison?'

Vil - 'Of course.'

Rook - 'Bien! I shall fetch part two for you both!'

(on the side-

Epel - 'Why are there two pages describing us...?'

Image 3:

Vil and Epel - '...Part two?'

[roomba-mangga]

thoughts on thistle and yaad's dynamic that i vomited in the tags of another post but will now try to articulate here: they're not actually family, or at least they shouldn't be. not in a conventional sense anyway. framing them as uncle and nephew (even in a non-literal, silly fantasy world way) rides more on technicality than anything concrete.

what i mean by this is yaad calls thistle by name and says he and delgal were raised "like" brothers. he talks about thistle like he's an outsider imposing himself into the melinis' space, and it's clear that thistle was never legitimized as a member of the family. for thistle's part, though we don't know how he would treat yaad pre-demon brainrot, it's safe to assume based on the way he punishes him—turning him into a doll—and how little is shown in the way of any sort of relationship between them that thistle only cares* about yaad as an extension of delgal (otherwise i'd expect something like kabru and milsiril, because it's not like another complicated interspecies family dynamic would be out of place, yet there's next to nothing on them even in bonus content, just their scant interactions in the main story).

in essence, they're strangers to one another. thistle's desperation to preserve the illusion of a family, a model where he doesn't even fit, was the snare they were caught in for the past thousand years of stasis. yaad-as-nephew is a prop to uphold that illusion, and thistle is playing a role he's unfit to play. in the context of post-canon interactions, attempting to reconstruct that facade would only be a reenactment of trauma for them both (in a deeply compelling way i'd love to watch unfold, tbh), as that "uncle and nephew" framing places thistle in an implicit position of power over someone he's already traumatized through misuse of authority in the past, a role which also perpetuates his adultification and yaad's infantilization in turn. it'd mostly be an obstacle to any real connection.

best to burn the melini family bridge, i think, and if there's still anything salvageable left in the rubble, let something different supplant it.

[cum-a-calla]

you ever buy weed from a hot, deranged, psychopathic cult leader? no? well, sugar, do ya want to?

under the cut: Kappa/“reader”. coercion/dubcon/noncon. drugs. drugged fuck. knifeplay and blood kink. religious/cultlike ideologies. possessive Kappa. a general air of manipulation and abuse. wet, absolutely unhinged, hard fucking.

“Well, well - what brings you here?”

Kappa hangs in the doorway, resting his head on the frame as he peeks out from behind the door. He’s in the same thing he wore the last time you saw him, some flowy, open-necked bohemian top, so threadbare and worn that there are patches you can see through. He smiles his lopsided little smile and opens the door further, eyes dark and bloodshot. Trying to guess what Kappa might be fucked up on at this very moment is just as fruitless as buying a lottery ticket - the chance of getting it right is comically low.

“I need to… you know, pick up. And my usual guy is out of town, so… I know sometimes you have stuff,” she says, glancing around as if they aren’t on his wide, dusty property. Somewhere off in the yard, one of his strange friends plays fetch with a very filthy, very enthusiastic dog, tongue lolling from its grinning muzzle as it chases a frisbee and proceeds to shake it from side to side.

“Gunna have to be more specific than that, my dear. Kappa has it all.”

God, right - she’d forgotten about the third-person bullshit. She smiles flatly at him and mimes smoking a bowl, to which he laughs a little and moves to the side.

“Well, who doesn’t have that, right? Nature’s medicine. Come on in, don’t wanna let all the cool air out.”

She follows him into the dim, ramshackle home. Random furniture and cluttered countertops, sinks full of dishes with a couple flies buzzing lazily around them, hoping for lunch. The house is dark; most of the light comes in through the crooked slats of the blinds, drawn shut but damaged enough that the sunlight filters through in blazing shafts, illuminating all the dust in the air. Two woman doze off on each other, half naked and intertwined on the couch. One opens her eyes, takes in their guest, and allows them to flutter back shut in her lack of any real interest.

“This is Theta, Sigma… I think you remember them? We’ve met a few times. Girls, why don’t you go lie in the back room so that my… new friend, here… can have a seat.”

Theta and Sigma stir, but mumble and whine about Kappa’s request. He raises his eyebrows and purses his lips for a moment, hands on his hips.

“… are you going to make Kappa ask again?”

He looks like a parent preparing to lay down a punishment. His voice is even and low, something about its quality shifting the air in the room. Their eyes pop open and it’s like neither of them had been sleeping at all. Alert and obedient, they rise up while holding each others’ hands and scurry past him, squeaking apologies. Kappa watches until they’re out of sight, the sound of a door shutting breaking him of his sternness. He smiles again and everything feels even more disturbing, somehow. The switch. He holds a hand out to her and takes it gingerly into his own. He brushes his lips against her knuckles in a chaste kiss, watching her with his deep-set eyes.

“Sorry about that. They got a little fucked up and forgot their manners, it seems.”

“It’s… fine, it’s fine. No big deal.”

“Go on. Sit with me.”

Lowering to the couch feels like a death sentence in some unexplainable way. It’s not unlike any other experience buying weed from the various small-time dealers in the area - dirty house, wasted buddies sleeping off a hangover, weird dudes that just want to have a chat while they sell their goods. Despite this, there’s a vibe here she can’t place. Something that makes the tiny hairs on her arms stand up, something off. She’s already anxious to leave, watching Kappa lift the top to the coffee table to reveal a hidden compartment inside. It reminds her of a much nicer version her grandparents have. She guesses confidently that their isn’t stuffed with different sized bags of weed and little jars full of dried mushrooms, of various pressed pills and powders.

Beside these goodies is a handgun and a hunting knife.

“So - what will do ya? A dub, a quarter? An ounce? We’ve got some serious couch-lock shit all the way from the U-Dub, uh… we’ve got a great Californian purp. Sort of a mid strain from Maine; yeah, real gentle stuff, in case you have a hard time handling yourself.” He smiles and leans back, reaching an arm behind her shoulders as he settles in. He offers her a little wink. “I’ll take care’a ya.”

“I mean… I’m don’t need a ton, it’s just for me. Maybe the Cali stuff, just, like… an eighth is fine.”

“You wanna try before you buy?”

Textbook pickup manners dictate the sharing of the weed, so share she does. His ensuing grin shows his teeth, eagerly packing a scratched-up metal pipe with a frosty, dark bowl. He’s not kidding about quality; his home may not be kept neat, but she has zero doubts about his ability to afford the property. He must make bank. She wonders idly about his roommates and friends as she allows him to push the pipe to her lips, lighting the bowl for her. A true gentleman.

“They say weed’s a doorway; that may be true, but not in the way I see it. Smoking weed didn’t lead me to, say, coke - I tried coke before ever smoking, actually. Smoking, and surrendering to something that’s been around as long as man has walked the earth, I mean… it’s meant for us to consume. You know?”

She nods as he takes his pause, hitting the pipe himself until his chest is puffed out and he’s snorting back the urge to cough.

“Yeah, man. I agree.” Placid, easy. “Weed’s rad.”

Kappa exhales through his nostrils, thick streams of it curling to frame his face, tendrils of it sneaking from between his lips as he smiles in agreement.

“It is rad,” he amends with amusement.

It’s hard to look away from his mouth. His mannerisms and friends are off-putting, and she hasn’t made any significant effort to be around any of them in any given social situation outside of attending the same parties, once or twice on this very property. A polite greeting, a loose comment here or there. All of this to say that she had never noticed just how shapely his lips are, how the way he smirks ignites a curious little spark in her guts.

“You want more?”

“Yes,” she says quickly, and she has no choice but to suffer that knowing smirk as he once again lights her up. It’s already taking effect and doing its intended job - she feels that she could relax back into the couch and let Kappa gaze at her for longer than she’d ever wanted him to, suddenly open to this experience. His hair hangs around his face, tangled and wild and wavy. His knuckles are chapped, fingers slim as they bring the little pipe back to his own lips. He is unblinking as he watches her over the flame, over the burning little leaves.

“You seem a little more relaxed. Seemed a little off just a few minutes ago. Nerves? Are you… you wouldn’t be scared of your buddy Kappa, would you, sweetheart?”

“Not scared,” she says carefully. She shifts a little in her seat and bites the inside of her cheek. “How would you know what I’m like, anyway?”

“Human interaction is a wonderful, complex thing. The energy we give off, the smells, the sounds, the animal magnetism. Animals - that is to say, living, natural beings, blood in veins and flesh on our bones - they can sense these things naturally. I’m very intuitive. Very sensitive. It’s my gift. It’s why I feel so strongly about experiencing new things, about… sometimes teaching other people the beauty of life, of living, of taking back what’s ours. Owning what’s ours.”

“You’re losing me, Kappa,” she teases. “I might need to smoke a little more before I’m on your level.”

“You understand my basic point. I know you’re a smart girl. Open-hearted. You know, you’d really get along with us - Sigma, Theta, Epsilon. That’s who you saw outside, with the pup - Epsilon.”

“What’s with the names?”

“Mmm.” He takes another hit and finally gives her a reprieve from his intensive gaze, eyes practically burning through her flesh. Deep-set eyes. Bedroom eyes. Smoke streaming from his lungs, he nods at himself. “Well. There’s a power in identity. I, as a living being, have the inherent right to choose my path. I give and take and protect the sanctity of natural life and the furthering of that natural life. Part of my process is choosing my own name. I was given my birth-name, and eventually took a new name for myself. Nature is fickle, breakable. Give. Take. Like life. Life is given, life is taken.”

“Getting pretty deep in here.”

“That’s my pleasure as well as my duty as a man,” he muses, licking his lips. “Getting really deep. Planting seeds.”

The urge to scoff, to laugh and look away, to haul her way into a distraction, another conversation, something, knocks her on her proverbial ass. It’s all she can do to pretend she isn’t turning red. It would be easy to blame the heat, to blame the smoke… but he’d see right through that. For all of Kappa’s philosophical ranting, he’s right about his perception of others. She can feel him reading her, studying her like she’s a specimen in some laboratory.

He follows her movement as she ducks her head down, leaning forward to force her eye contact. His lips purse a little and he licks them again, his fingers crawling over her thigh to squeeze. Again, the urge to brush or even slap his hand away is at the forefront, but she doesn’t. She sheepishly meets his eye, ashamed of her own discomfort, her own utter excitement.

“Darlin’ - there is nothing wrong or immoral about these… urges, our collective responsibility as a species. Animals are meant to breed. It’s all in the blood. We’re not - we’re not machines, we’re not meant to be cold, lifeless. Purposeless. The whole fucking thing - the entire idea of these replicants, of playing God and mocking mother nature, it’s… it’s disgusting. But this - us? This is the most natural thing there is.”

In his impassioned speech, Kappa leans closer and closer, hand creeping higher on her thigh. The graceful, long line of his nose is so close she could lick the tip of it. He tilts his head and only then does he break eye contact, watching her lips. His eyes flicker between them and her eyes, pupils wide. It’s hypnotizing, the low purr of his voice floating over the warm afternoon air to caress her ears.

“Kappa…” she can barely breathe. “I - I should… this is -”

“Hey.” Kappa is murmuring, voice soft, but the underlying authority shuts her up. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches with dread as he casually takes the hunting knife into his hand. “Listen, sugar. You have a choice to make. In a second, I could get Epsilon in here and he would be more than happy to hold you down while I show you the meaning of life firsthand. I can make it very, very unforgettable for you… and you have to choose whether that’s gunna be a good thing or a bad thing. If I have to interrupt Epsilon’s time with this task, I’m afraid that’s going to make everyone upset, and that would be very bad for you. Are you hearing me, sweetheart?”

“Yes…yeah, I hear you.”

“What I really think is that you’re tethered by the morals of society. You’re stuck in a prison of the mind, you’ve been poisoned. ‘Sex is evil, trust in technology, evolve, evolve, evolve’. There’s nothing wrong with the way things have been for thousands upon thousands of years; villages of people looking out for each other and keeping the natural balance and order. It’s up to us to restore that order.”

He slowly moves in, attention flickering between her lips and her eyes. Her heart beats so hard she can feel each thump in her ears, in the tip of her nose… between her thighs. It throbs secret and hot there, his hand inching closer by the second. He’s captivating - batshit crazy, but charming in a strange way that keeps her rooted to the spot despite the alarm going off in her brain. She should leave. She should just back away and get to the door - her car’s right outside.

… but she doesn’t. She drinks in his mean little self-satisfied smirk just before he kisses her. His lips are surprisingly soft, his kiss gentle and slow. It almost makes her forget about the knife in his hand. He snakes his hand around the back of her neck and holds her firmly there, knotting those slim fingers into her hair. It hurts as he curls them into a fist. He swallows the surprised little whimper she makes, moaning in return as he becomes more aggressive, her lip between his teeth.

“Now - I’m not in the business of indecency with non-human entities. I’m sure you’re a natural being, but… my convictions are strong, and I need to be a hundred percent sure. Okay?”

“Wait, Kappa… wait. What do you mean?”

“Gotta make sure you’re not one of them. I need you to be real good for me and take off your pants.”

Kappa runs the tip of his knife lightly up her thigh, tickling her with it. He traces it up the seam, breath picking up the closer he gets to her cunt. His lips are plush, kiss-bruised and parted as he stares down at the knife. His excitement permeates everything around them, the air thick with it, his eyes wide and bright and his chest practically heaving. She should have run. She should have run before he had his hand in her hair, a knife tracing her inner thighs. He looks absolutely hungry. He looks up from under those lashes and searches her expression, taking in every detail as though memorizing her terror, tattooing it permanently into his mind for later use.

“I don’t wanna hurt you more than I already have to. And I can’t have you running,” he murmurs. His voice so low, wavering a little as adrenaline rushes through his veins. They cord his forearms, his strong hands. She can see his rapid butterfly pulse in his throat. “Make this easy on yourself, darlin’. Faster you listen, the faster I can make you feel good.”

He uncurls his fingers, allowing her space to do as he asks. Still he hovers, knife ever present and threatening. His eyes are manic, sliding over each new inch of exposed flesh as she unbuttons and pushes her pants, her panties down her hips, off her legs in a few clumsy kicks. With the knife, he motions at her shirt - up, up.

“Kappa…”

“I could do it for you, if you like. But what I’m not gunna do is ask twice… this is your last warning.”

In contrast to his soft, smooth voice is the undercurrent of malice. Self-assured. Not a hint of doubt in his mind, focused on his intentions and making zero room for failure or disobedience. There’s a sense of authority, of somebody well accustomed to being followed without question. He reaches into the table to fish a small glass vial out, flicking the cork loose with his thumb before he sprinkles a generous line on the dull edge of his knife. He snorts it off and gasps a little, shaking his head, wiping the white off his nostril. He hums with pleasure and does another, much smaller line, before offering her one of her own.

“I’ve never done anything like that,” she says quietly.

“I look forward to the pleasure of opening you up to all kinds of new things.”

He nods encouragingly, as if to say, bottoms up. Like feeding a child medicine, like convincing somebody to drink poison. She pleads with him for a moment with her eyes and he pets her thigh, squeezes softly. He sets his jaw and waits, unwavering. She does as asked - what choice does she have with a knife in her face? - and snorts the baby line, wincing at the way it burns fire up into her sinuses. She paws at her nose like an animal, rubbing it, wiping it to relieve the discomfort.

“It fucking burns, fuck.”

“Yeah, that will happen. You get used to it with time. Now - come on, let’s… get this…”

Trailing off, he guides her to straighten up so he can peel the shirt off her body. Defeated, she raises her arms and allows him to pull it over her head, immediately crossing them over her body once liberated of her top. He clucks his tongue and pries her arms open, taking all of her in. Every curve, every dimple, every freckle, every detail. He wastes no time in pulling her bra off the same way, and her face burns with shame as she squeezes her eyes shut.

He angles her chin with his fingers, cooing down at her to look at him, open her eyes. She does as requested and he smiles tenderly down at her.

“I promise this will only hurt a little bit. But I have to do it. It’s my will and duty to do it,” he says, and there’s a feeling in the back of her mind that he’s convincing the both of them. The thing she can’t deny about his manic, lidded eyes, the way his mouth is set in a triumphant smirk, is that it’s utterly intoxicating. He’s beautiful in some strange way. The tension in the air is thick and palpable. Suffocating.

He turns his attentions to her thighs and draws in a shaky little breath. Without ceremony, without warning or preparation, he turns the knife and draws it efficiently in a line on her inner thigh. Blood beads up almost immediately and the skin splits open as though blooming, a red, dripping little mouth. The pain is immediate and she cries out, afraid to move but unable to recoil from it. He holds her thigh down, making a sound that could have been him clearing his throat or a grunt of pleasure.

“Oh, there you are. There you are. Natural as ever.” His voice goes low, hoarse, and he presses the heel of his palm against his hardening cock. “A real woman, flesh and blood and sinew. A real woman for a real man.”

He does it again, draws the knife in a quick, shallow slash, and then again, again. Most of them aren’t as deep as the first - most of them don’t yawn open and reveal the layer of flesh underneath, but they all run blood down her inner thighs, soaking dark little spots into the cushion of his old couch. He pants until he’s practically hyperventilating, and brings the blade up to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he savors licking it clean, moaning, pulling at his shirt until he tosses the weapon back into the table’s compartment and yanks it off. The body underneath is long, milky pale.

“The taste of you - I need more of you.” He hooks his hands underneath her knees and yanks, pulling her down and spreading her legs open. He kisses her abused inner thighs, ignoring her fingers tugging into his hair as she pleads softly for him to stop, to be gentle. He runs his tongue over them, pushes inside of the deepest wound just a little, just enough for her to grit her teeth against a scream, to trap it back in her throat. “That’s it. There’s a good girl. You let Kappa take care of you, let me show you - fuck, I want all of you. Every single bit, mine.”

His flushed face is smeared with red, lips wet with it as he licks them. Her blood is on his teeth as he grins, wolfish, kissing up and up and up until he presses a soft kiss against the lips of her cunt. He drags his tongue between them, slow. Calculated.

“Kappa.”

“Tell me how much you want it. Tell me you want me to taste your blood, your cum. Tell me you’ll give me everything.”

He goes back to work, awaiting her response with all the patience of somebody used to a little insolence. It takes time to break a new one in, right? And she’s so very shiny and new, a challenge. A territory to conquer and claim, all this soft, generous flesh, all this clean mind to furrow into and spread like a disease.

“I… I want… you, I want you.”

Kappa moans and the vibrations against her send her into a new realm of pleasure. Something rhythmic, quick, powerful - whatever he gave her is slowly worming its way into her bloodstream, into her brain, making everything soft and hard all at once. Electric. Vibrant. Time both stops and speeds by, sweat beading at her hairline as she writhes under his mouth, under the sensation of his fingernails catching into a fresh wound. It all boils down to some horrible base sensation. All of it has her grimacing in pleasure - there are a hundred reasons she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this, the bright red alarms in her body screaming for her to GET UP, LEAVE, RUN, STOP, STOP, ESCAPE ESCAPEESCAPEESCAPE—

And she lay anyway, the circle of her overstimulated thoughts coming back again to Kappa’s mouth, his tongue and lips and fingers and teeth, his body the color of moonlight even though she knows the sun is blazing hot and sticky outside. Girls trapped in a room. Her trapped on the couch. Kappa trained expertly on her clit, lapping, moaning, drooling. Something about all this must make sense, it all comes together, somehow - but exactly how eludes her. She’ll remember later, maybe. She’s responsible, dependable. Smart. Maybe this is why Kappa likes her so much. Maybe he has something to share, maybe what he’s saying makes a little sense. Maybe. Maybe, maybe. The only truth is the way he eats her alive, the way he clings to her thighs and moans into her cunt like he can’t live without tasting her another second.

“Kappa,” she gasps. “I’m gunna cum.”

Kappa lifts his face and wipes this chin on the back of his hand, pupils eating into the ocean of his bright irises. It’s like a perfect eclipse. There’s something there, something in the meaning of it all; she feels on the cusp on something important, life-changing. Kappa stares so deeply into her that she can feel him reaching down into her heart, into her fucking guts, into the core of her. Squeezing. Knowing. Exploring. Everything is heightened, everything feels like some kind of milestone; how could she have missed any of this before? How did she never notice the way his hair falls into his eyes? How did she miss the exact curve of his cupid’s bow, of the way his throat curves into the cradle of his collarbones?

“I know,” he says softly. He breaks his gaze to pull his trousers down - they’re so thin, the material. He unties the front and pulls them down his slim hips, cock bouncing out, and she has to hold her breath. He’s thicker than expected. He gives her a knowing look, again, constantly - he seems to pick up so much. Doesn’t he? Is this - is this her own mind? How did she not see how he sparkled before, how smooth his skin is? How good he feels even breathing against her?

What did he make her take? And how can she feel so much, and can she feel more, can she do this more often?

Kappa smiles, and it’s so kind. He strokes her cheek with his thumb like he hasn’t drugged her, cut her open, forced her into her current position. He smiles like he’s proud, like he’s glowing and the only thing in the world, and he is. He is the only thing in the world. She marvels up at him and waits for him to speak. He must be accustomed to this. He takes his cock into his own hand and strokes lazily, rubbing himself against her, up, down.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. He lines himself up to plunge into her, and she can’t help but match his breath - panting, desperate. Sweating. He licks whatever tears remain on her face - she’d forgotten they were there. Tears, sweat, blood, cum - what’s the difference? “Oh, little lamb. Don’t worry. Kappa will take care of you.”

He thrusts into her with all the softness of a battering ram. He’s balls-deep before she can even utter the first shriek, high-pitched and whining. He breathes it in, leans down to seal his lips against hers again before they’re both taking in each other’s moans, melting together with each vicious thrust. He pounds into her, hands unable to decide what to do - to grab her by the face, to dig his fingers into her plush, aching thighs, to run them up over her chest to fondle her there. He slows his pace only to lean down and pay attention to her nipples, his tongue and lips and the threat of his teeth.

“Touch yourself.”

There’s no argument - there are barely any coherent words left inside of her. Everything is pushed out and filled by Kappa, his cock, his words. His drugs.

She reaches between her thighs and he slows his pace, the roll of his hips delicious. His hair hangs down and tickles her face. She can do nothing but rub at her clit and stare up at him, and he beams down at her, smirking. The sharp angles of his face, the traces of her own blood still present on his lips. Sweat, pulse, flesh, blood.

“You gunna cum for me, sugar? Can feel it - can feel your tight little cunt squeezing against me. Is - oh, is that the spot?” He settles into a new rhythm, the head of his cock dragging over and over the same hyper-sensitive nerves inside of her. Her breath hitches and she’s practically sobbing, begging him, nodding when words fail. Her fingers are so wet. The sounds their bodies make together seems deafening - her fingers making hurried circles around her clit, his cock relentless in filling her slippery pussy. Her whining, his soothing voice as he builds her closer and closer. It’s painful, it’s passionate. She could die right here. He could plunge that knife into her throat and she’d still cum for him.

“Kappa. Kappa, I’m so close, I’m sooo close.” Pathetic. Mewling. She hyperventilates and her body shakes underneath him, like she might come apart. His eyes are so bright. He’s so focused.

“I know. I know,” he says. “Tell Kappa what you need.”

“I - I need - I need you, I need you. Please.”

“I’m right here. You’re doing so well, look at you - trembling. Gunna cry for me? Go on - cry for me. I want all of you.”

She hadn’t realized the tears building until he brought it to her attention. As if on cue, as though her body has decided that Kappa’s word is as good as truth, they spill over her lashes and track down her cheekbones, and she’s sniffling, soft little gasps and whines as he leans down to trace those tracks with his tongue. He moans, breath hot against her face. He kisses her wet eyelids before kissing her mouth, and the feeling of those shapely lips pushes her past the edge. Every muscle in her body tightens to its limit and she’s cumming for him, finding her voice after all that pitiful whining as she moans and sinks her nails into his back.

“There. There you go, good girl, good girl, fuck! You’re so good for me.”

His pace picks up and loses its poetic, slow grind, and he’s grunting and growling like a beast, like he aims to fuck her in half. Their bodies slap together and she’s seeing stars behind her eyes, crying out when he bites at her throat and sucks her flesh between his teeth. An animal playing with its dinner. In a matter of minutes, he’s stiffening up, pace stuttering to a few deep, mean thrusts as he empties into her. There’s a part of her that thinks she can feel it, his seed hitting the tender curve of her cervix and coating her from the inside.

There’s a shared pause in which they catch their breath. He idly fondles her tits as he comes down from the thrill, careful with her. The mischievous spark is still in his eyes, but they’re softer, too. Subdued.

They re-dress in silence. She catches him staring at the cuts on her thighs as she grabs her pants, her shirt.

“I should - I should probably get these fixed up,” she mumbles. In the comedown of their act, the fear returns in a cold trickle down her spine. Her heart never slowed down - where it was hammering in the cage of her chest for what he was doing to her moments before, it now beats for what he might still do to her if she remains. She feels like an alien, realizing for the first time that she’s done something she cannot undo in a territory that isn’t her own. Unsafe. Targeted. She’s a fucking idiot - how did this happen? Her mind races with trepidation, with the drugs still coursing through her heart in the thick, viscous blood there. There’s a thought, a mental picture of him with his hands buried elbow-deep beneath her ribs, naked body smeared with blood as he prizes his fingers around her heart to pull it out. The things he would do.

“Don’t,” he says simply. He pulls his trousers up and ties them. “I want to see them next time. Want ‘em to scar up nice. No ointment, no bandages.”

“What? Wait - next time?”

Kappa flashes a grin as he straightens up, shirtless and flushed. There are red marks where she’d dug her fingers into him, on his chest, on his back.

“You don’t think you can stay away from Kappa, do you?” He narrows his eyes and shakes his head a little, wagging his finger at her like a bad pet. “You know better than that, my dear.”

The fabric of her pants scrapes against her wounds and she has to wince. The sharp, prickling pain of them is intense, throbbing. Kappa’s territory. She almost forgets to grab her bag as she fishes some bills from her purse, tucking the weed into a pocket and tossing the money to the table.

“Thanks for the… uh. Thanks. It was…” she struggles to find the words. He stalks slowly up to her, and she wants to both back away and kiss him all at once. “It was - enlightening.”

“Right. Very,” he agrees, clearly amused.

“Well, I - I’ll see you around, Kappa.”

He leads her to the door and winks at her, like sharing a secret. Across the yard, Epsilon has stopped playing with the dog. He sits in a patch of dry yellow grass and smokes a cigarette, eyeing them from a distance with interest. Kappa glances at him and back at her, taking all of her in as his eyes trace the line of her body, lewd, hungry again. He tongues the edge of a tooth and watches her fixate on his tongue, clearly pleased with himself.

“You certainly will.”

[chayatorns]

The way Thame is healing Po is so beautiful to watch intentionally or not. Po got used, ignored, hurt and left alone in the end after all he's done for his ex which left scars on him... Po helped create the logo for his ex, he got ignored and betrayed by his ex and after he pushed his ex's career he got abandoned which made him really insecure and overthink a lot of things. the way he got called being useless. and my boy here thame which is not a green flag he's the whole green forest is healing him in a way and doing things what his ex made wrong. Thame asked Po to help him get his members back and yes he's doing it in every way he can. when thame made up with jun and didn’t contact po while po overthought and wanted to write him again and again only for thame to show up at his workplace to remember EVERY SINGLE DIGIT in order not to forget the phone number again. when thame asked for the sandwich and asked again if po could bring some because it was delicious while he brought lunch to his ex and the sandwitches got left on the table. the recent episode when po glued the paper with the lyrics together which costs him probably a lot of time to actually find it.

Jun's words made him insecure that he indeed would be abandoned again yet he still showed up at the rap bar only to see how good thame is with his members one by one. which played a lot to his more existing insecurity. that the whole trauma he went through would replay again... the overthinking at home why thame didn't called or responded. but then thame called to apologize because he knows how po overthinks everything and wants to clear all the doubts and misunderstanding as why he didn't respond or wasn't there for po. he made it specifically clear that po is not an outsider and that he cares about him. Thame makes it clear that he's indeed important and that he will be not ignored or used ever again especially not from him. and the way thame asked how to make it up for ignoring him only to have a 9 h conversation on the phone (including the sleeping hours) but the way thame played po's favorite song when he said he never actually figured out the chords to this song only to play it for him as soon as po wakes up.

[sorrinslays]

Would anyone be interested in a rewriting of the Shield Hero where Naofumi is an immortal guy who has lived for millennia (think a mix of Zhongli and Alhaitham from Genshin)?

I've been entertaining the idea for quite a while in my head but I'd like to know the thoughts of others on the matter as well, which is why I'm sharing the idea.

I've been thinking that it would be really interesting to do a re-write/fix-up of the anime/manga/light novel where there's:

No underlining pedophilia because that's just disgusting and creepy

Naofumi acts a lot like a miserable mentor figure who just wishes for the sweet embrace of death

The other heroes actually develop and their beliefs and morals are challenged

MOTOYASU IS NOT A CREEPY GUY LUSTING OVER A MONSTER CHILD

Myne and The King face actual consequences for their actions appropriate for the setting and time period

It's more of a dark fantasy/ subversion of the isekai trope (how it was supposed to be from the start in my opinion)

Explores such things as growing too fast and becoming a child soldier, immortality and how it affects someone, keeping promises to the dead, accepting your death as well as obsessing over the idea of death and similar topics

If anyone has any questions/suggestions feel free to ask me!

[gomzdrawfr]

right i rmb now why I abandoned royal au bcuz of armours

[one big ramble about royal au - angst - non-angsty alternate ending]

So I wrote instead, did one doodle though but its shiet HAHA

for extra sadness, please feel free to listen along with this song

They were back in the attic—the one place that had brought them together for the first time. They swore the previous visit would be the last, yet here they were again, a day before the wedding.

His wedding.

"Maybe in another life..." "I'll look for you in every single one of them." "Yeah...you'd do that for me, Birdie?" "Mhm." "Just remember...I love owls." "Pretty vague if you ask me." "You'll know when you see me." "...That, I can guarantee."

It had been a bittersweet departure. But tonight was different.

Price leaned heavily against a dusty crate, his knuckles white as they gripped the edge. Across from him stood Raven, adorned in her new uniform—the new Commander of his knights.

And the keeper of his heart.

The air between them was thick with tension, the night before Price would forever belong to someone else, their emotions barely contained.

“Say the word, Raven.” His voice was low, gravelly, tainted with desperation he couldn’t quite hide—not from her. “Say the word, and I’ll call it all off.”

Raven’s heart wrenched at the raw emotion in his voice. It wasn’t fair. She had carefully buried everything about him, about them, sealed it away and sworn never to look back. She had resolved to see the King as only His Majesty—not as John.

But here he was, undoing it all with a few words.

She had to be strong—for both of them.

“You know I can’t do that, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, you can,” he replied harshly. “Damn the court, damn the alliances, and damn the throne if I must. I’ll take you- us—over all of it.” His blue eyes blazed with a fire that both entranced and terrified her.

John Price was a man driven by what he cared for most. She had seen that drive on the battlefield, and it had almost cost him his life more times than she could count.

Now, she had no doubt it could cost him his crown—or worse.

Her jaw tightened as she forced her tears to stay put.

“And what happens after that, Jo—Your Majesty? Do you think they’ll let you marry a knight? A commander masquerading as a man, as your queen?”

“I’ll fight them.”

“You’ll die.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t deny it—he knew.

“You’re not just a man anymore,” she continued. “You’re their King. Your life isn’t yours to throw away—”

“I don’t care.”

And she knew he meant it. She knew that if she gave even the faintest hint that she would join him, he would burn down the court, the alliances, the crown—everything, for her.

That knowledge was her undoing.

“I cannot let you do this.” Her voice was firmer, even though her chest ached, even though she wanted to be selfish, she couldn’t.

She had always been the pragmatic one, the voice of reason to his passion.

Her curse.

“You’re a King, Your Majesty. Must I remind you that you have a duty—to your people, to your kingdom, to your bloodline. Would you let your people suffer, just because you couldn’t let me go? And I—” Her voice cracked as she swallowed hard.

“I am but your sword. That’s all I’ve ever been, and that’s all I ever will be.”

They both knew how it would end.

“That’s not true,” he growled, pushing off the table. The crate shaking as he closed the distance in two strides, capturing her hands in his. His touch burned like fire.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of. You’re my heart—you know that. Don’t tell me this is what you want.”

Her composure shattered. Tears spilled as her voice broke.

“It’s not about what I want.”

She whispered, voice uncharacteristically small and quiet.

“It’s about what’s right. And this—” She gestured between them. “This isn’t right. Not for them. Not for you.”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing her tears away. “To hell with what’s right, Eira.”

She pulled away as she moved toward the door.

Price reached out, his voice thick and pleading. “Eira—don’t give up on us—”

“Do you think I don’t want to stay?” She paused, her back to him.

She had fought for them. Harder than she’d ever fought anything—even in battle. And she had lost.

“You think this doesn’t kill me too? That I don’t want to tear the crown from your head and run away with you? But I can’t, John. Because if I do—” Her voice faltered, and she inhaled sharply, wiping her face harshly, ignoring the searing burn at the corner of her eyes.

“Because if I do, it won’t just destroy the kingdom. It’ll destroy us.”

The door closed behind her. Price slumped against the wall, rubbing his face as the weight of her answers sank in.

This wasn’t how he had imagined the night before his wedding would be.

===================

The wedding was a spectacle. Rows of gold and silver lined the aisle, white lilies and roses decorating every corner. Raven had overheard the guards mention the princess had wanted sunflowers—but the King had opposed, despite the protest from the council.

Her heart twisted, and her grip tightened on her sword.

The princess from the neighbouring realm was the picture of perfection, her gown shimmering like spun silver. Her sweet smile was radiant and warm, the perfect candidate for the King, one that would bring stability and peace to the kingdom.

But none of that warmth reached him.

When the heavy cathedral doors creaked open slowly, King Price stood at the entrance. Dressed in ceremonial finery of deep navy and gold, his white royal gown adorned with intricately woven tigers and deer horns, he wore the pride of his kingdom—his bloodline—like a crown. he commanded attention like the King he was.

But there was no joy in his eyes. His smile was polite—forced.

As he walked down the aisle, his eyes swept the crowd until they found her.

And in that moment, he said everything he couldn’t speak aloud.

It should have been you.

She turned away, staring at the stone floor.

===================

“Do you, King Price, take this woman to be your lawful wife, to honor and cherish her, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

The silence stretched unbearably long. Raven’s heart pounded as she watched him hesitate. His lips parted—and for a moment, she thought he might refuse.

The thought terrified her.

And yet, a desperate spark of hope burned in her chest.

But then he spoke.

“I do.”

===================

Raven was a disciplined knight through and through, with perseverance and patiences that revelled the King himself. But at this moment, when the rings were slipped into the King and the soon-to-be Queen’s fingers—she had never wanted to run away this badly.

To tear off her helm, to scream and yell the room full of nobles and courtiers and advisor that none of this right.

But she didn’t.

It hurt more when John glanced at her again, the faintest flicker of hesitations. The look in his eyes was unbearable–pleading, desperate, a silent cry for her top stop him.

Give me a reason to break this vow, Eira.

But neither of them moved.

He was a King now, bound to his new responsibilities. And she was a Commander, sworn to the crown. No longer the girl who had once shared stolen kisses with the boy destined to become King.

===================

Outside the cathedral, far from the cheers and bells, Raven stumbled into the shadows. Her helmet clattered to the ground, the loud sound harsh against the stillness as she leaned against the cool stone wall, the air biting against her flushed skin.

Somewhere inside, King Price was a husband now. He belonged to another in name—even if she knew his heart would always be hers.

We were meant to be, she thought, her chest heaving as she fought to contain her composure. But her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, she knew she could never be herself anymore.

Meant to be, but not meant to last.

The tears came rolling, burning and harsh, and her broken sobs that broke free, buried against her trembling hands, trying to forget the last of their conversations.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly, not turning to face him. She didn’t need to. She knew he would follow her. He always did.

Everywhere and whenever.

“Neither should you,” he replied, his voice rough with restrain, barely able to keep his voice steady. He stepped closer, his boots scuffing against the stone.

“Why did you come, Eira? Why did you put yourself through that?” She finally turned, and the raw pain in her eyes took his breath away. “Because I had to,” she said, her voice trembling. “I had to see it, to know it was real. To remind myself of what we gave up.”

John clenched his fists, his jaw tight. Don’t blame this on us, we tried our damn hardest.

He stood still, staring at her with agony, his wrinkles and skin folds heavier than ever.

How did it come to this? And so quickly, too? Hadn’t they just been stealing apples from the market yesterday, when they were simply John and Eira—unbound by titles, untouched by the crushing weight of their duties and responsibilities?

His voice barely above a whisper,

“Do you regret it?”

Her silence was uncomfortably long, long enough that he thought she wouldn't answer. And yet–

“I regret that we couldn’t have more time. But I don’t regret us.”

The words struck like a spear to their chest, sharp, carving a permanent hole between them.

She reached out, her gloved hand brushing his, and for a moment, it was just the two of them again—

John and Eira.

Before the crown. Before the court. Before the world tore them apart.

“Farewell, my king,” she whispered, pulling her hand away, and John watched her walk away, leaving him behind. Leaving them behind. =================

Okay! Enough of this sadness! Time for some alternative ending, slightly suggestive! Just ramblings tho, heavily inspired by this post (and also rambles with @ghostmoon1 thank you for the brainworms LMFAO)

In an event if Price decides to fuck it and marry Raven anyways, the kingdom will fall, and Raven would be carrying Price away from the rumble and chaos, taking temporary refuge in an abandon hut.

Something something, in this new life, Price was no longer bound by his royal title. Technically, he was overthrown. And though the world was falling apart around him, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement. A fresh start. Freedom.

All with his girl too *wink wink*

Meanwhile, Raven's having existental crisis KAJSHDKHAK Being a knight, serving the kingdom, had been everything she knew. It had defined her. Now, with the collapse of everything she understood, she had no fucking clue what to do with herself. But one thing was certain—she would serve Price, no matter the title whether he is king or not.

Something something they have to get warm, Price is naked under the blanket that was barely thick enough to give some warm, staring at Raven who pace back and forth near the bed, her mind racing, panicked at their new predicament. Every time Price pat the bed to ask her to come join him she just go "you are a King, it is imperative that remain as one, and I shan’t not engage in such behaviour with your majesty—“ and Price just yanks her in, smooshing her face into his hairy, warm chest.

“Eira,” he murmured, his tone teasing. “This ‘Your Majesty’ stuff is getting old. I’m not a king anymore. My crown’s back in the hall, in a broken castle that’s already fallen.”

Queue Raven internally screaming then melt to goo the more Price shush and coodle her.

[smile-files]

one of my favorite kinds of doodle: take the letters that spell out the name of a thing and use them to create the shape of that thing!!! (if you can't read any of these, they will be written out below <3)

going top down, left to right:

bone; butterfly; bee; joy; moth

kitty cat; snail; love; spongebob squarepants

eye; puppy dog; candy; wally darling; dolphin

hand; the element of kindness; lollypop; pencil

[fightwing]

bruce immediately asking if he hurt dick after days spent infected yeah okay dc i see this and i raise you: 😭😭😭

[hephaestuscrew]

"Minkowski's been talking about Sondheim again…": Minkowski's love of musical theatre and what it reveals about her characterisation and her relationships

TL;DR: Renée Minkowski's love of musicals, while it might seem just like a mundane character detail, is used to give depth to her character because it contrasts with expectations of her from both the listening audience and the other characters. Her willingness or unwillingness to share this interest in different circumstances reveals her relationships with other characters at various points. Since this is a long one, if you'd rather read it as a document, you can view it here: Google Doc version.

"She actually really cares about these talent shows": Episode 8 (Box 953)

In the early episodes of Season 1, Minkowski is presented (largely through Eiffel's unreliable perspective) purely as a strict no-nonsense authority figure without much emotional depth, the kind of person who only likes things that are useful, purposeful, or mandated by Command. In contrast, musical theatre is a creative pursuit that has nothing to do with the mission of the Hephaestus and is viewed by many people as fairly frivolous or silly. The gradual exploration of Minkowski's passion for musicals is one of the many ways that the show expands and challenges our understanding of her as a character. 

The first indication that we get of her interest in musicals is through her entry into the infamous talent show, something that is required as part of the mission. Minkowski really cares about 'crew morale' activities in general, even when they actually have a negative effect on morale and even before she's friends with any of her crew (for example, the Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners in the earlier stage of the mission), perhaps partly because doing things in the "right way" is important to her. 

But Eiffel senses that the talent shows aren't just about rules for her: "it’s bad enough when she makes us do something just because it’s military protocol, but I think that she actually really cares about these talent shows". This might be the first indication that we get of Minkowski caring deeply about anything that isn't inherently part of her role as a Commander. Moments like this are part of the gradual process of giving us insight into her character beyond the Commander archetype that she tries to embody. And yet, she only indulges her theatrical passion because something mandatory gives her permission, or an excuse, to let another part of herself out.

Of course, to satisfy the needs of a talent show, she'd only need to provide a performance of a few minutes. But Eiffel mentions "the second act of the play" - which along with Hera's comment that "Isabel isn't the biggest role in the play" - implies that Minkowski was intending to put on the whole of Pirates of Penzance as her talent show act, rather than a few of the songs or some kind of medley. (I suppose that Eiffel could be exaggerating or Minkowski might have been planning to do extracts from different parts of the play, but I prefer the interpretation in which Minkowski gets to be more ridiculous.) 

Even though no one else would be willing to be in her production of Pirates of Penzance, Minkowski casts Hera as Isabel, a role with two lines and no solo singing. I found some audition notes for this play which said "The traditional staging gives [Isabel] more prominence than the solo opportunities of the part suggest, so she must be a good actress" which does make me sad in relation to Hera's inability to have a more significant role by being physically present on stage. 

It’s sweet that Hera still wants to take part though. She tells Eiffel "Pirates of Penzance is a classic of 19th century comic opera", so either she’s absorbed what Minkowski has told her about the show, or she’s done her own research and formed her own opinions. I enjoy the fact that Hera is the one Hephaestus crew member who shows potential to share Minkowski's musical theatre appreciation; I like to think that this is something they could explore together post-canon.

Anyway, I'm obsessed with the idea that Minkowski was planning to play every character except one in Pirates of Penzance, a show which is designed to have 10 principal characters and a chorus of 14 men. It seems that her contribution to the talent show was supposed to be an entire two-hour two-act musical, with costumes and props, in which she would play almost all of the parts. This is very funny to me as the perhaps predictable consequence of giving an ambitious and frustrated grown-up theatre kid a position of authority and asking them to arrange a talent show. Minkowski knows that the audience will be made up of her subordinates who are theoretically obliged by the chain of command to watch and listen, so she absolutely tries to make the most of that opportunity. There's probably also a degree to which she limits other people's involvement in her musical because - as with her other endeavors - she wants the outcome to be almost entirely within her control (something that is usually pretty much impossible in as collaborative a medium as musical theatre).

Of course, Minkowski's behaviour in most of the talent show episode is affected by her being drugged by Hilbert. This creates an exaggerated situation which is the first real opportunity for Minkowski to be something other than the strict sensible authoritarian Commander and the foil to Eiffel's jokey laid-back attitude. I don't agree with ideas that being intoxicated brings out anyone's true self (especially in the absence of consent for the intoxication), but it seems pretty clear that being under the influence of whatever was in Hilbert's concoction caused Minkowski to fully commit to a level of manic enthusiasm for her musical production that might have otherwise been obscured by her professionalism. It's a particular kind of person who belts showtunes when drunk, and Minkowski is that kind of person, even if that's not how she wants to present herself. (As a sidenote, I seem to remember that they took Emma Sherr-Ziarko's script off her to help her sound more drunk. It's an excellent performance.)

Minkowski wants interval ice cream. She wants "pirate costumes" (and she'll threaten to shoot a man to get them). She wants "swashes and buckles". She wants whatever props she can get her hands on (including a real cannon). This show is important to her, even though only three other people will witness it and two of them actively don't want to be there. It’s important to her for its own sake.

Eiffel says Minkowski wants "a second pair of eyes to tell her if the prop sabre for her Major-General costume was a bit much…"  While I certainly wouldn't put it past Goddard Futuristics to have a prop sabre on the station for no apparent reason, it feels more likely that she might have made it or adapted some existing item. Which suggests that maybe she was that passionate about the props even before Hilbert drugged her. 

Even so, it does feel significant that Minkowski's love of musicals is only revealed in the episode in which she is drugged, exhibiting lowered inhibitions, exaggerated behaviour, and an "impaired euphoric effect". Her love of musical theatre is initially revealed through a professional structure that provides permission, and then further emphasised by a forced intoxication that exaggerates some impulses that perhaps she already had.

"Some hobbies other than making trains run on time": Episode 17 (Bach to the Future)

After Eiffel tells to find Minkowski to find something else to do while her work duties have quietened down, they have the following exchange:

EIFFEL: You must have some hobbies other than making trains run on time. Something to do with friends? Boyfriends? MINKOWSKI: Of course I do, but, well, there aren't really a lot of opportunities for rock climbing or trail hiking in the immediate vicinity. 

Even though this quote doesn't mention musicals, I've included it here for two reasons. Firstly, it's very funny to me that, even after the talent show debacle, Eiffel acts like he's never had any evidence of Minkowski's hobbies. She tried to perform a whole play almost single-handedly and it didn't occur to him that this might indicate an interest of hers outside of work. I think this reflects the fairly two-dimensional view that Eiffel has previously had of Minkowski, which her interest in musical theatre didn't fit into. 

Secondly, it feels notable that Minkowski doesn't mention musical theatre here. She wants to show that she has non-work interests, but without undermining her own authoritative image. Her interest in rock climbing and trail hiking - while it may be genuine - fits with how she wants to be seen as a Commander. These are hobbies which portray her as physically capable, with a high degree of stamina and a willingness to adapt to perhaps less hospitable surroundings. Of course, Minkowski does have these traits and they serve her well on the Hephaestus. But there's not really anything particularly surprising about her expressing these interests. The surprise in this scene comes from the reveal that she has a husband, a character detail which - like her love of musicals - isn't something we'd necessarily expect from the archetype-based view of her we are initially presented with. 

Her interest in rock climbing and trail hiking never come up again, because these details don't really deepen her characterisation (or at least, they aren't really used to deepen her characterisation beyond proving that she isn't entirely all-work-and-no-play). In contrast, Minkowski's love of musicals is brought up over and over because it shows another side of her that she struggles to reveal on the Hephaestus, and that allows more interesting things to be done with her characterisation.

"You wanted to write showtunes": Episode 35 (Need to Know)

Alongside the more high stakes discoveries prompted by the leak from Kepler's files, we also learn that Minkowski applied to - and was rejected from - the Tisch Graduate Musical Theater Writing Program.

Up until this point, we've only had evidence that Minkowski enjoys performing in musicals. But here we learn that Minkowski doesn't just love watching or performing in musicals - she wanted to write them too. This suggests a creative side to her that we never see her fully express.

The course

The Tisch Graduate Musical Theatre Writing Program claims to be the only course of its kind in the world and it accepts just 30 students each year. The current application process requires applicants to: upload play scripts or recordings of songs they've written; answer a large number of extended response questions about their creative process and views on musical theatre; write a 'statement of purpose' which has to talk about why they are applying and include 3 original ideas for musicals; provide a professional resume and a digital portfolio; complete an exercise of writing in response to a prompt; and undergo an interview. The process might have changed somewhat since Minkowski would have been applying (which, if it was soon after she finished college, might have been around the early 2000s) or it might be different in Wolf 359's alternate universe, but I think we can safely assume that applying to this course was a serious undertaking that required an intense amount of commitment and work. 

Applying to a course like that isn't something you do half-heartedly or on a whim. You couldn't apply to this course if you hadn't done a fair amount of musical theatre writing already. (The course requires applicants to choose to apply as bookwriters, lyricists, or composers, but I'm not going to make a guess here as to which of these Minkowski went for.) The fact that Minkowski wanted to study this course suggests that she was seriously considering trying to make a career out of musical theatre writing. In Once In A Lifetime, she tells Cutter that commanding a space station has always been her dream job, but we've got evidence here that it wasn't her only dream job. There's something kind of funny and kind of sad about the idea that writing musicals was her back-up / fall-back career path. She does not like to make life easy for herself.

The revelation 

This information is revealed against Minkowski's will. It's not something she wanted people to find out, and she isn't happy about them knowing:

JACOBI: "Dear Renée, thank you for your interest in the Tisch Graduate Musical Theater Writing Program..." MINKOWSKI: Oh, come on!  JACOBI: (pressing on) "We are sorry to say, we will not be able to offer you a spot in this year's blah blah blah." Oh this is too good. You wanted to write showtunes?  MINKOWSKI: Number one? Shut up. Number two, why are my personal records on there?! [...] How is it in any way relevant?! JACOBI: Oh, I think it's very relevant. I mean, if you're sending someone to pilot ships in deep space, you want to make sure that they can, you know... paint with all the colors of the wind.  Jacobi CRACKS UP - and, although to a lesser degree, so does Lovelace. Minkowski looks at her: really?  LOVELACE: Sorry, Minkowski. It's... it's a little funny.  MINKOWKSI: No, it isn't!

Minkowski seems defensive and embarrassed here. She obviously doesn't trust everyone there with this revelation (Jacobi, Maxwell, Lovelace, and Hera are all present). She considers this information to be "personal" and irrelevant and not even "a little funny". She's used to reactions like Jacobi's (and to a lesser extent Lovelace's); in Ep41 Memoria, she says "most people think it's hilarious that I like musicals" (see below for more thoughts about this quote). But the fact that these mocking reactions are expected doesn't mean that they don't bother her. She wants so badly to be taken seriously and, in this scene, her interest in musical theatre seems to be incompatible with that. Jacobi reacts the way that he does because of the idea that I've already expressed, that a passion for musical theatre does not fit with the serious authoritative image that Minkowski has often presented. It's not the typical hobby of a soldier, especially not a Commander.

To me, the way Lovelace laughs suggests that she might not have previously known about Minkowski's love of musicals, or at least perhaps not the full extent of it. At any rate, it's definitely news to Jacobi. And Minkowski clearly hasn't talked about it enough for it not to feel like a big reveal for her.

The rejection 

It's notable that this reveal is not just that she wanted to write for the stage, but also that she failed to get into a course that might have helped her work towards that goal. This of course compounds Minkowski's discomfort at having this information revealed. Not only did she want to write showtunes, but she encountered rejection in her attempts to do so. This detail implies that perhaps it wasn't just the appeal of her spacefaring dream that stopped her going down a theatrical career path. 

I'm about to move more into headcanon territory rather than just straightforward analysis, but I personally believe that, while Minkowski auditioned for a lot of musicals (particularly as a child / young person), she was never cast as the main role. She seems embarrassed about her interest in musical theatre in a way that (at least judging by people I've encountered) people who were always the lead in their school / college productions don't tend to be. 

We don't have much evidence about her actual level of singing/acting ability, given that she is inebriated during the only time we hear her sing in the podcast. However, it resonates with other aspects of her characterisation to imagine that Minkowski was generally good enough to get an ensemble part but never quite good enough to be cast as a main part. I think she might see only ever being cast as part of the ensemble, and failing to get into the Tisch Musical Theatre Writing programme, as slightly more down-to-earth examples of the same pattern as her repeated rejections from NASA. She is desperate to prove herself. She is "someone who very much wants to matter. To do something important." When she casts herself as almost every part in Pirates of Penzance, she is finally taking the opportunity to be a main character, an opportunity which I imagine had been denied to her over and over in both a literal and metaphorical sense.

"It's just from a play I saw once": Episode 41 (Memoria)

The next scene I want to talk about is from a memory of Hera's, which took place on Day 57 of the Hephaestus mission and in which Minkowski appears to be talking about the Stephen Sondheim musical Sunday in the Park with George:

MINKOWSKI: Oh, it's just from a play I saw once. It doesn't matter. (BEAT) The guy who sings it is this famous French painter. And his entire life is kinda falling apart. But he can always turn what's happening around him into these beautiful paintings.  HERA: And? MINKOWSKI: And... That's, I don't know. Reassuring, maybe? (BEAT) I don't know why I'm going on about this. You don't care.  HERA: I think it's interesting.  MINKOWSKI: Yeah? Most people think it's hilarious that I like musicals.  HERA: I don't see what's funny about it.  MINKOWSKI: Well, thank you Hera, but you're not exactly... you know.  HERA: I'm not... what? 

There's a couple of different things I want to pick out from this exchange. Firstly, the line "Most people think it's hilarious that I like musicals" makes me sad. I don't think she's talking about people on the Hephaestus there. Judging by the quote I talked about from Bach to the Future, Eiffel definitely wouldn't have registered Minkowski's love of musicals at this stage, and I doubt Hilbert cares at all about the hobbies of his fellow crew members. So Minkowski is talking about experiences that she's had on Earth, of people mocking her interest in musicals and thinking it doesn't fit with who she is. You can hear the impact of those experiences in Minkowski's reluctance to elaborate, in the way she says that something she obviously cares about doesn't matter, in her assumption that Hera doesn't care.

Secondly, this scene is a complicated one for Minkowski and Hera's relationship. On the one hand, Minkowski freely talks to Hera about something she's passionate about, and Hera listens and expresses interest. Hera validates Minkowski's interest in musical theatre without making a thing of it being weird and Minkowski thanks her. Again, it’s shown as an interest they could could potentially share.

But on the other hand, it seems like part of the reason Minkowski feels able to open up to Hera is because at this point Minkowski doesn't see opening up to Hera as fully equivalent to opening up to a fellow human. She doesn't just accept Hera not making fun of her interest; instead it seems Minkowski is about to imply that this lack of judgment indicates Hera's difference from humans (although she does have the decency not to say it outright). Minkowski's expectation of judgment from others contributes to her saying something very hurtful to Hera here. (This kind of potential consequence of negative self-attitude is explored a lot with Eiffel, so it's interesting that Minkowski can sometimes have a similar issue.)

Minkowski and Hera's conversation is interrupted when:

The DOOR OPENS.  EIFFEL: Hey, Minkowski, we've - What are you guys talking about?  MINKOWSKI: We were just discussing how I'm going to take away your hot water privileges if you don't reset the long-range scan.

Eiffel can obviously tell that he's walked in on a conversation that is about something other than work, or he wouldn't have asked. But Minkowski actively chooses not to tell him that she was talking to Hera about musicals. Perhaps she doesn't know how to open up to a human subordinate about it. Perhaps she doesn't trust him not to make fun of her. Perhaps she just doesn't have any impulse to talk about her interests with him. Either way, if Minkowski's love of musicals is something which reflects a side of her personality outside of her Commander role, this is a moment where she chooses not to take an opportunity to share that side of herself with Eiffel. This reflects the emotional distance between them three months into the mission, which forms a nice contrast with the next couple of quotes I'm going to talk about.

"Composition. Balance. Harmony.": Episode 54 (The Watchtower)

When Eiffel comes directly face to face with alien life, he discovers that music is the human invention that fascinates the Dear Listeners:

EIFFEL: You haven't figured out music?  BOB: ORDER. DESIGN. TENSION. COMPOSITION. BALANCE. HARMONY.  EIFFEL: (low, to himself) Minkowski's been talking about Sondheim again…

I only learned in the course of writing this post that in this moment the Dear Listeners are almost exactly quoting a repeated phrase used throughout Sunday in the Park with George. The titular protagonist lists various combinations of these qualities in multiple songs in reference to his art. In the closing song, the lyrics are "Order. Design. Tension. Composition. Balance. Light. [...] Harmony." It's not only Eiffel's references that the Dear Listeners are incorporating into their speech - they've picked this one up from Minkowski. This also suggests that some element of her appreciation for musicals and the way she talks about them has fed into the Dear Listeners' understanding of the human phenomenon of music. The Dear Listeners aren't just parroting - they understood the quote enough that they left out the word "light", arguably the only quality in that phrase which isn't a big part of music as well as visual art. Eiffel likes music too, but I don't think that this is how he'd talk about his favourite songs.

This is a refrain about finding order and beauty out of the chaos and uncertainty of life, which was also the aspect of Sunday in the Park with George that Minkowski focused on when talking about it in Memoria. It suggests that art/music could be something governed by rules and principles, which is potentially something that appeals both to Minkowski and to the Dear Listeners.

Eiffel's response to this reference is one of those little hints that reminds us that Eiffel and Minkowski have spent a lot of time together and that not all of that time has involved them being at each others' throats or actively in a life-or-death situation. Some of it has just been Minkowski going on about a musical she loves and Eiffel (willingly or not) paying enough attention that he recognises this phrase as a Sondheim quote that Minkowski has talked about. I suppose that this quote might have been in Eiffel's pop-culture-brain anyway, but judging from Eiffel's general tastes and the fact that I don't think Sunday in the Park with George is one of the more commonly known Sondheim musicals among non-musical fans, it seems more likely that this quote is something he only knows because Minkowski has talked about it. 

Eiffel sounds exasperated at the mention, like he's heard Minkowski talk about Sondheim far too much. But I'd argue that this still says something positive about their relationship, when we contrast it with a couple of other moments I've already mentioned. Firstly, when her previous musical theatre ambitions are revealed to Jacobi, Maxwell, and Lovelace in Need to Know, Minkowski seems embarrassed and defensive. Secondly, in the memory from Memoria, she avoids telling Eiffel that she was talking about this same musical. Yet, by the time The Watchtower takes place, Eiffel is sick of hearing Minkowski talk about Sondheim. She doesn't have the same barriers up in sharing her interests with him, even though he doesn't have the same interests. I think this is a demonstration of how comfortable she feels with him. It's a hint at the kind of easy downtime that they've sometimes shared.

"One day more": Episode 61 (Brave New World)

Eiffel recognises another musical reference of Minkowski’s in the finale. As the crew are preparing for their final confrontation with Cutter and co., Minkowski quotes Les Misérables, mostly to herself - but Eiffel recognises the lyrics and joins in:

EIFFEL: Hey - chin up, soldier. We're almost through. Just one more day, and then we're done.  MINKOWSKI: Yeah, one more day. (more to herself) The time is now, the place is here - one day more.  EIFFEL: - one day more.  They both stop, dead in their tracks. MINKOWSKI: Did you just - ?  EIFFEL: Was that what I - ?  They look at each other: No way. And BURST INTO LAUGHTER.  EIFFEL: Man... this is really it, huh? The end of everything. 

It feels really important that Minkowski and Eiffel share this moment of togetherness before she tries to send him back to Earth and before the rest of the action goes down. I think there’s some nice symbolism about them finding a way to communicate that they both understand. Making references is Eiffel's thing, and musicals are Minkowski's thing, so this is a synthesis of their two approaches. Again, there's a contrast with Minkowski's previous unwillingness to share her musical theatre passions with Eiffel (at least without the mitigating circumstances of a mandatory talent show and some kind of intoxicating substance).

I talked about the significance of the fact that they reference this particular musical in this post from ages ago. I don't think it's too much of a spoiler for Les Misérables to say that the revolution that the song One Day More is building up to does not end well for the revolutionaries. When Eiffel says "Just one more day, and then we're done", it encompasses both the possibility that the crew will escape to travel back to Earth and the possibility that they will all die. Minkowski's reference to a famously tragic musical suggests that it's the latter possibility that's at the forefront of her mind (right before she tries to send Eiffel away from the danger). But Les Misérables is also a story about people standing together in solidarity against powerful oppressive forces, which gives particular resonance to the way that this reference brings Eiffel and Minkowski together in a moment of being completely on the same wavelength as they prepare to fight Cutter and Pryce's plan.

When they laugh here, it's not about the 'hilariousness' of Minkowski's interest in musicals, it's about their unexpected unison - Eiffel's recognition of Minkowski's reference and Minkowski's surprise at the fact he joined in. It's a laugh of togetherness, of shared understanding, of friendship. It's a moment of lightness in dark times. And that moment is provided by Minkowski's pop culture interests, not Eiffel's. In spite of all they've been through, she's not lost that part of herself, and in fact, she's more open about it, at least to Eiffel.

I'll finish by highlighting what Eiffel says when he's trying to get into character to impersonate Minkowski so he can turn the Sol around:

EIFFEL: Umm... yes, this is Lieutenant Commander Renée Minkowski. I'm... uh... well I sure love schedules, and, uh, musicals. And that man, who I married…

I just think this is a nice example of Eiffel not defining Minkowski solely by her professional Commander role. Sure, she likes schedules (probably in a personal as well a professional capacity to be fair), but she also loves musicals, and her husband. It is a fairly reductive overview of her as a person, but it feels reductive in a fond way, like these things are part of Minkowski's brand to Eiffel in a way that he might affectionately tease her about. (Credit to @commsroom for this thought.) His view of Minkowski has come a long way from "our resident Statsi agent" or even just "you must have some hobbies other than making trains run on time." He doesn't see any contradiction or inherent humour in Lieutenant Commander Renée Minkowski's appreciation of musicals.

Conclusion

Minkowski's love of musical theatre is used to deepen her characterisation and is one of the ways in which we gradually begin to see her complexity beyond the strict Commander archetype. The degree to which she is prepared to share this interest at various points is used to illustrate the nature of her relationships with other characters: a general unwillingness to show a less serious side of herself; a complicated potential shared interest with Hera; and the growing understanding between her and Eiffel.

If you read this whole thing, well done / thank you 😄 It wasn't meant to be this long - it just happened… Feel free to share your thoughts!

[quaranmine]

On Wednesday before I gave my presentation I confessed to a new employee that I was worried it would be too long and she brightly told me her life hack was to just let AI rewrite things for her. She said I should put in all my talking points and ask ChatGPT to give me a five minute exactly presentation. I was like....how is the most polite possible way (since this is a new colleague I shouldn't get off on the wrong foot with) that I can express that I will Not be taking this advice. Ever. I told her that I didn't think we were allowed to use ChatGPT at this job (we most certainly are not, it is a nightmare for any type of protected information) and also that I prefer to write all of my own work. Despite my best efforts the last part of that was still passive aggressive, lol.

Something about being a writer makes it so that it's almost offensive to me for someone to suggest I use AI to do my work instead? Like, the day I reach the point where I let AI write something for me is the day y'all need to be checking me for brain damage because clearly I'm losing it

[gu6chan]

work related question does anyone have any fun anime for likely 12-14 year olds that to their ulta-conservative conspiracy theory parents would have no objectionable content whatsoever that's not like . pokemon. i live in the most conservative area in michigan btw /hj