#inspiring stories of success after failure

[velvetures]

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

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[ambrosiagourmet]

In chapter 28, Marcille lays out why the journey she's been on has been worth the pain: because they were able to bring Falin back. The injuries, the indignity, and the mess of it all - they are tolerable primarily in context of destination she believes she's reached at this point.

In truth, of course, the story is far from finished. In fact, I would argue that this is actually where hers really starts. This scene holds the seed of the very thing the Winged Lion will exploit to lead Marcille to become the Lord of the Dungeon. After all, with a desire as far reaching and deeply held as Marcille's, if the only acceptable outcome is success, what other choice does she have but to bargain with the infinite?

So let's talk about this idea - where it leads her, how Laios' path intersects with it, and how they both help each other move forward in the face of failure.

First though, I want to step back and talk about something else: the shapeshifter chapters.

With these chapters recently covered by the anime, there has, of course, come plenty of fun discussions about which version of each character belongs which other character's perceptions, and what that means.

One thing I've seen pointed out a few times is the fact that both Laios and Marcille's impressions of each other are based around Falin. Marcille's version of Laios is larger and more masculine, because those are the traits that stuck out to her in contrast to Falin. Laios' version of Marcille was directly inspired by her appearance and demeanor when resurrecting Falin.

So why is this important to a discussion about Marcille being focused on success? Well, it shows us where Laios and Marcille's relationship starts: built primarily around their shared love for Falin. It's from that shared beginning that they begin to learn about each other on their own terms.

And this is true for the whole group, to be clear. They are united by circumstance - love for a lost companion, a sense of responsibility, a desire for freedom - but they all grow and help each other beyond that circumstance. They help Senshi bury the ghosts of his past and eat some Hippogriff stew. They help Izutsumi open up to mutual love and friendship. And they learn so much about each other: about Chilchuck's family and Laios' love of monsters and Marcille's desires to live life alongside others.

In the particular case of Marcille and Laios, understanding each other is what lets them save each other. It is not through Falin that Laios talks Marcille down from the edge the Lion has brought her to, nor is it through her that Marcille comforts Laios after the demon is defeated, when it is still unclear how everything will work out.

In fact, it is very specifically the unknown fate of Falin that Marcille comforts him about.

She is willing to accept the outcome - willing, now, to embrace the journey itself, rather than only accepting it as a means to an end.

This is a lesson she learns from Laios, and it's a lesson we watch Laios learn, too.

Just before making her deal with the Lion, Marcille recalls everything that led her to that moment. She lingers on the pain, recalling the worst of their journey:

She only pushes through by remembering her goals: saving Falin, and equalizing the lifespans of her friends to match her own.

And yet, 10 chapters later, when reflecting on why she actually wants to see her goals through, it is the good parts of that very same journey that shine through.

There's an inherent contradiction here, one which Marcille doesn't know how to face. How can the suffering that she tolerates also be the love that drives her forward? How can the loss that she's worked so hard to reverse also be the very circumstance that created a world she, now, cannot stand to give up?

And Laios confronts her with the truth. Because it just is.

Losing Falin forced him to open up to others in a way he never had. It forced him to choose what he cares about, and in making that choice, it gave him the opportunity to be seen. To connect with others.

He has already had to come to terms with the fact that Falin's death has given him something - he would not have been able to kill her again if he hadn't.

There is something here that is fundamental to Dungeon Meshi's understanding of what life even is. Like, I don't think it's a coincidence that part of Laios' speech to Marcille in chapter 85 is actually first seen in the chapter where they fight off ghosts.

In 'Sorbet,' while possessed , Laios thinks that it would have been better if the dragon had eaten him, instead of Falin. The ghosts make people lose their will to live - they are dragged away from life.

When he's pulled back from that brink, Laios realizes that he can't move forward without accepting that she is gone. He even compares the way he was holding on to her to being possessed: it pulled him away from life, from the present moment.

To carry on, he must accept what has been lost, and focus on protecting the life that they still have.

Like Marcille, he has to accept the contradictions of their journey. That life means eating, and eating requires death. That sometimes one must be selfish in order to be kind, and that selflessness can easily be twisted into to cruelty.

That loss will, inevitably, lead you to find happiness that you may not have found otherwise.

This is how he gets through to Marcille. And I think part of the reason he reaches her with these specific ideas is because those contradictions are baked so thoroughly into their relationship.

Marcille only met Falin after she had been left behind by Laios. Laios was able to reconnect with Falin because she left Marcille. They both met each other through Falin, and yet they only really got to know and care for one another after she died.

And of course, that's why Marcille uses the same ideas to comfort Laios, in the final chapter. It is because of Laios that she is able to accept the journey for itself, and not need the happy ending to justify its meaning to her.

Together, they help each other move forward, and accept that they may not be able to bring Falin back.

Which, if I'm being honest... I think this is the reason Falin can come back, narratively speaking, without the resurrection feeling like it takes away from the themes of the story.

After all, she doesn't do it for Marcille or Laios - she does it for her own sake. Her own hunger and her own desire to eat are the things that lead her back to life.

All three of them, together, end the story like this: not clinging to the things they are afraid to lose, but knowing they can choose to move forward together.

And, importantly, this happy ending is no longer the thing that gives the journey meaning. Rather, it is the privilege of the journey itself that is her happy ending: the chance to walk alongside others in the time they have, to get to know each other, and to eat well.

[synchodai]

HBO's Continued Insistence on Dumbing Down Westerosi Politics

So there have been countless thinkpieces already on how GOT simplified the feudalist politics of Westeros (by giving a lowborn sellsword lordship over The Reach, by having no consequences for destroying the Sept of Baelor, etc.), but I haven't seen a lot of people talking about that for House of the Dragon.

The worst being that the show presupposes that Rhaenyra is the lawful heir when the books showed there are plenty of lawful arguments why she wouldn't be.

Mind you that I've been enjoying the show a lot so far. This is just to vent out my frustration with the writers' failure to fully engage with the values and protocols of the Middle Age-inspired setting. The show seems uninterested in laws of the Realm in a story ostensibly about politics, save for when they're using it as an excuse to amplify depictions of sex and violence.

Blacks vs Greens wasn't a matter of misunderstanding of who each side thought Viserys wanted on the throne. It was the Targaryens' belief of their absolute authority clashing with the Realm's established traditions. Everyone always knew who Viserys chose as heir. In Fire and Blood, Grand Maester Orwyle said as much when he was parleying with Rhaenyra on behalf of the Greens.

Rhaenyra heard his terms in stony silence, then asked Orwyle if he remembered her father, King Viserys. "Of course, Your Grace," the maester answered. "Perhaps you can tell us who he named as his heir and successor," the queen said, her crown upon her head. "You, Your Grace," Orwyle replied. And Rhaenyra nodded and said, "With your own tongue you admit I am your lawful queen. Why do you serve my half-brother, the pretender?" Munkun tells us that Orwyle gave a long and erudite reply, citing the Andal law and the Great Council of 101. Mushroom claims he stammered and voided his bladder. Whichever is true, his answer did not satisfy Princess Rhaenyra.

(For non-F&B readers: Munkun is the Grand Maester who served Aegon III, the king who came after this civil war. Munkun's book, The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling, is one of Fire and Blood's source texts. Mushroom is the King Landing court jester from Viserys I to Aegon III's reign. One is a source written with academic rigor but is secondhand at best. The other is a firsthand eyewitness account but is from a literal fool who will take every chance to make things more scandalous and sexual to please the crowd.)

In House of the Dragon, they replaced Orwyle with Otto and Orwyle's discussion of legal precedent with Otto handing Rhaenyra a book page from Alicent. It's quite evident here that the writers, much like Mushroom, thought a discussion on the actual laws of the Realm were negligible in this story about a succession war.

Even Alicent made no pretense that Viserys chose Rhaenyra over her children and I have no idea why the HBO writers decided to make her mistakenly think otherwise. Maybe they thought a queen regent pushing her son to take the throne over another woman made her appear unsympathetic as a character, but if anything, this only makes show!Alicent less politically savvy and more delusional than her book counterpart, fully believing an addled king's vague muttering on his deathbed was sufficient grounds to change heirs last minute.

Book!Alicent following Andal laws instead of her husband's wishes makes sense given her Andal upbringing, her devotion to the Faith of the Seven which enforces said laws, and her desire to protect her children from Rhaenyra given that Rhaenyra has shown she's not above murdering family (see: Laenor).

In the books, there was a long discussion between the former king's council on who should succeed Viserys.

Here are the arguments for Rhaenyra:

Rhaenyra was older than her brothers and had more Targaryen blood

the late king had chosen her as his successor, that he had repeatedly refused to alter the succession despite the pleadings of Queen Alicent and her greens

hundreds of lords and landed knights had done obeisance to the princess in 105 AC, and sworn solemn oaths to defend her rights.

Here are the arguments for Aegon II:

many of the lords who had sworn to defend the succession of Princess Rhaenyra were long dead [...]

Ironrod, the master of laws, cited the Great Council of 101 and the Old King’s choice of Baelon rather than Rhaenys in 92

the hallowed Andal tradition wherein the rights of a trueborn son always came before the rights of a mere daughter

Ser Otto reminded them that Rhaenyra’s husband was none other than Prince Daemon, and “we all know that one’s nature. Make no mistake, should Rhaenyra ever sit the Iron Throne, it will be Lord Flea Bottom who rules us, a king consort as cruel and unforgiving as Maegor ever was [...]”

Should the princess reign [...] Jacaerys Velaryon would rule after her. “Seven save this realm if we seat a bastard on the Iron Throne.”

Once again, the show chose to cut out this long political discussion. Instead, the council had already made up their mind and decided to stage a coup (when in their perspectives from the books, it would definitely not be a coup).

For all their marketing how two sides are equally grey, HotD is actively delegitimizing Aegon II. The strongest argument for him is how his claim follows the laws of the Realm, but the show doesn't seem to care about the laws of the Realm or the political need to maintain a more predictable/tested transfer of power.

Instead, the show focuses on Viserys's relationship with his daughter and the mysticism of the Targaryen bloodline. In doing so, they emphasize Rhaenyra's strongest arguments for succession — that she's more of a Targaryen than her half-brother and that her father prefered her.

And what for? Because in our modern-day, we don't have male-prefered inheritance and people can only imagine misogyny as the only injustice here? What about the injustice of a monarch exercising absolute control, thinking that his "superior" heritage makes him above the established laws of the native people?

This is not to say Aegon II is unquestionably the heir. But this is to say that the show removed the political nuance of why people are questioning in the first place. Precedence isn't the end-all-be-all of succession, but neither is "because daddy said so".

[novlr]

Hi, how do you write a healthy sibling relationship?

I have a really bad one and I want my characters to get along, but still fight sometimes

Any help would be great

Sibling relationships are the first and often the most enduring bonds we form in life. They shape our identities, define our roles in the family, and teach us how to love, fight, forgive, and grow alongside another person.

For writers, capturing the intricacies of sibling dynamics can infuse stories with authenticity, depth, and emotional resonance that keeps readers turning pages. Here are some tips for how to write healthy sibling relationships:

Make them unique characters

Establish each sibling’s unique personality and role.

Give each sibling their own distinct personality, interests, strengths, and flaws.

Show how their personalities complement and contrast with each other.

Establish the roles and dynamics between the siblings (leader, peacemaker, rebel, etc.).

Avoid stereotypes and allow the siblings’ personalities to evolve over time.

Develop each sibling’s unique voice and communication style.

Give them contrasting but complementary skills and strengths.

Develop their relationship over time

Show how the siblings’ relationship strengthens as they grow up and go through life changes. Maybe they grow apart for a while but then reconnect later in life.

Give their relationship a story arc, showing how their bond matures and changes over the course of the story.

Explore how the siblings navigate major life events together, like the birth of a new sibling, a family move, losing a loved one, or a parent’s divorce.

Depict milestones and rites of passage where the siblings support or challenge each other, like learning to drive, graduating high school, starting college or a career.

Show how the siblings’ communication and conflict resolution skills improve (or deteriorate) over time. Perhaps they learn to express their feelings more openly, fight more fairly, or establish healthier boundaries as they mature.

Give them shared history and inside jokes

Build strong backstories into their characters with shared childhood experiences.

Show them laughing over inside jokes and funny memories only they understand.

Use shared history to show their bond, even when they’re fighting.

Have the siblings reference shared childhood possessions or special objects like a beloved stuffed animal they both cherished or a secret hideout only they knew about.

Show the siblings using a private language, code words, or shared vocabulary that only they understand.

Have them reminisce about funny or embarrassing childhood stories.

Let them learn from each other

Show the siblings teaching each other important life lessons.

Have them learn from each other’s mistakes and successes.

Show how the siblings challenge each other to step outside their comfort zones and try new things.

Depict moments where the siblings offer each other wise advice or a fresh perspective on a problem, demonstrating how well they understand and support one another.

Show how the siblings inspire each other to pursue their passions and dreams.

Depict the siblings’ learning to appreciate their differences and see them as strengths

Show unwavering loyalty and love

Depict the siblings standing up for each other in the face of adversity or conflict. They have each other’s backs, no matter what.

Portray the siblings making sacrifices for each other’s happiness or well-being.

Show the siblings being there for each other during tough times, like heartbreak, illness, or failure. Highlight how they offer comfort, encouragement, and unconditional support.

Illustrate the siblings’ fierce protectiveness of each other. Show them defending each other against bullies, naysayers, or anyone who threatens their bond.

Depict the siblings forgiving each other after arguments or misunderstandings. Show how their love helps them overcome hurt feelings and find understanding.

Portray the siblings expressing their love and appreciation for each other through both big gestures and small, everyday acts of kindness.

[pjsk-writin]

hshfkcoeb REQUESTD OPEN okay so hear me out (may or may not have stolen this from my self insert) but like what if reader has their own sekai but is in another units group LIKE ITS A BIT ANGSTY LIKE “oh they found their true feelings to their own sekai within like 2-3 weeks and i havent found mine after like 2-3 years” so reader pulls a mafuyu main story and disappears into their own sekai for a few days with no warning (no one else is aware of their own sekai) and like one char gets access to it probably by snooping in their computer and just sees the sight of reader breaking down in said sekai $&2@9&/$; THE SEKAIS THEME CAN BE HOWEVER U CHOOSE BTW :3

can i request smth like that but with prsk boys (separately) + kanade? IDK I SEE IT JUST WORKING could be like where chars crushing on reader too… help is this complicated IF YOU DONT GET IT FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS thank you take care of yourself <3

OKAYAYAYYA SO . I LOVE THIS REQ SM BUT IF I DONT DO IT JUSTICE PLS LET ME KNOW </3 i just left readers sekai up to the readers choice lol <3 take care of urself too, i hope u like this !! <3

♡ MISSING TRUE FEELINGS - Akito Shinonome, Toya Aoyagi, Tsukasa Tenma, Rui Kamishiro and Kanade Yoisaki x Reader

Akito:

The concepts of the Sekai and true feelings were honestly still very confusing to Akito, but he's happy that him and VBS are all working and growing together

The concept of true feelings was confusing to him, but he always liked to discuss the topic with you. You seemed to know a lot more than he did, for whatever reason

What you never revealed was that you've been searching for your true feelings for years now, and finding someone who has so soon was...more than disheartening

You disappeared for a few days, and Akito grows immensely worried. Sure, he had a crush on you, but he really was worried for your well-being

He went over to your house, having been there multiple times, and called your name. When he got no answer, he went to your room, and his heart sunk

He could see you, on your computer, breaking down in your Sekai. He was panicking, immediately looking for a way in to reach you

The moment he reaches you in your Sekai, he pulls you into a hug. You're obviously startled, but he doesn't care, simply holding you close

"Look, I don't know what's happening, but I'm here for you, alright?" He looks you in the eyes, his hands resting on your shoulders, "I'm here through it all for you." And even if you still didn't know your true feelings, his support got you through <3

Toya:

When it comes Sekais, Toya doesn't really think hard about how they work. He mostly just goes there with his group, and works with them all through their true feelings

He's proud of VBS and himself for working through their true feelings, and he likes to talk about them with you. You were nice company, and you never seemed to mind

You did mind though, because you were someone who had been trying to figure your true feelings out for years. His success helped to highlight your own failure

You had disappeared for a few days, and Toya was more than concerned about it. He knew that he had to go see you, he didn't know what could've happened to you

He texted to let you know he was coming over, but you didn't even see the text by the time he got there. He looked around, immediately going to your room

The sight of you on your laptop, presumably in your Sekai breaking down, broke his heart. He looked around for a way to get to you before it was too late

The moment he entered your Sekai, he called your name to get your attention. He knew you were shocked, but he stood before you, itching to reach out for you

"You don't have to go through this alone." His voice was quiet, a new noise among your Sekai, "I found my true feelings, right? I'll try my best to help you find yours." His determination helped to inspire you. Maybe you really could find them after all <3

Tsukasa:

Considering that the Wonderland Sekai was made from his own true feelings, Tsukasa has learned quite a bit about true feelings and Sekais

Besides the other members of Wonderlanders, he really enjoys your company! He rambles about finding his true feelings to you because he's proud

Although you're also proud of him, you've been hiding the fact that you've been looking for your true feelings for years. You felt like you would never find them

Tsukasa notices your disappearance almost immediately, and rushes to ask around about you. You were his close friend, his crush, he was so worried about you

He loudly announced his presence when he entered your home, but when he received no answer, he went to your room. He was in for a shock, to say the least.

There you were, in your own Sekai, breaking down. He could see you through the screen, and immediately moved to find a way to get to you

When he reaches your Sekai, he immediately calls your name in the most worried tone, sitting in front of you and grabbing your hands tightly

"My co-star, what happened?" He listens if you tell him, he leaves you alone if you don't. Either way, he squeezes your hands in his, smiling at you, "You should know that I'm always here for you! I always will be." He's determined to be the star you need <3

Rui:

Rui is a curious soul, so he's always trying to find out as much as he can about Sekais and true feelings. He always craves to learn more and more

You were someone who always allowed him to indulge in his curiosities on Sekais and true feelings, but whenever he asked you on why you know so much, you dodged it

Truth was, you had been searching for your true feelings for years. While you liked being able to talk him through his, you felt very upset that you hadn't found yours

As someone who's pulled the disappearance act before, Rui knows to immediately be worried and look for you. He's been there for sure, he'll help you out

He goes over to your house, and immediately notices the absence of your presence. He goes to your room, looking around for any signs of you

He finds you then on your computer screen, breaking down all by yourself in your Sekai. It reminds him of himself, and he knows he has to reach you soon

"I can't say I know why you haven't found your true feelings yet, but I know what it's like to be alone." He looks you straight in the eyes, "You won't be alone through this anymore." He's so certain in his resolve that it helps you to believe him <3

He manages to get into your Sekai, and he doesn't say a word, sitting by your side and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He leads you to rest your head on him

Kanade:

Seeing as Niigo's Sekai is made from Mafuyu's feelings, Kanade is more than used to the concept of helping someone find their true feelings.

She's always looking for people to save, people to help, and she met you through these searches. She always had the feeling that you were hiding something from her...

And hiding you were, because you had been searching for your true feelings for years, by this point. You had felt like Mafuyu was closer to finding them than you'd ever been

You disappeared for a couple days, and Kanade was already getting deja vu. She went through the same with Mafuyu, and she already knew she needed to save you

For once, she left her house in favor of going to yours, unable to shake off the feelings of uneasiness as she entered your room

Her gaze went to your computer, and she felt her need to save you grow more intense as she saw you in the middle of your Sekai, crying your heart out

She knew the ways to enter the Sekai, and she was quick to make her way to you, sitting just across from you. She didn't touch you, not yet anyway

"...I'll save you too." You looked up at her in confusion, only to meet her determined gaze, "You haven't found your true feelings, right?...I'll help you. I promise I will." You're another person that Kanade wishes to help save, and she'll do everything she can <3

[torchship-rpg]

Dev Diary 17 - Complex Dice Tests

We lied! Today was going to be about the meta-campaign mechanics, but we did a really cool system overhaul instead and we simply have to tell you about it.

Basically, we overhauled a part of our dice system in a pretty major way. It’s involved some fairly dramatic changes to how rolls are done, though all the other systems we’ve created plug pretty seamlessly into it (and as we’ve integrated it, it’s actually let us effectively cut systems now that they’re covered automatically by the new system). It’s one of the deftest bits of game design we’ve ever done and we gotta brag about it.

Development of the Previous System

One of the things that has been a problem for Torchship for a long while is that it wanted to be a dice pool system (roll X dice, looking for Y amount of Z+ results), which doesn’t just have binary pass-failure outcomes. We wanted players to feel competent in their fields, but we also needed there to be interesting difficulties and complications so that stories aren’t just a stateful progression of experts effortlessly performing the tasks they’re experts in.

This is surprisingly difficult!

Nailing down exactly how it would work has gone through about a half-a-dozen iterations, all of which always felt like hacky temporary solutions. The version we came up with before this, which the game has been using for about a year, involved two thresholds on each roll; a “Difficulty” to do the thing, and a “Complexity” tacked onto it that you had to reach to do it without any extra problems.

This served the purpose, but its various incarnations slowed the game down a lot more than it should have, and put too much stress on the GM to work out what these two targets would be and how complications would emerge from it. It was a clunky solution which required a lot of experience to use properly, functioning just well enough to build systems around without ever being stellar on its own.

It Must be Tuesday

While working on Must be Tuesday: Revived Edition, which uses a similar dice pool system, my wonderful editor Lexie came up with a really clever system while we were working out the dice odds. In that game, you have a “Skill” target from 6+ to 3+ with a variable dice pool and a number of Successes needed. 

Our partial successes there comes from a concept of ‘Scrapes’; dice which are 4+, but don’t meet your Skill target. If you reach the number of Successes you need when you add your Scrapes to your rolls meeting your Skill, you get a partial success! Brilliant, isn’t it? That means everyone has a chance to get by on even hard checks using their worst skills, but it’s never easy.

When we poked at Torchship stuff after testing that system out, we found ourselves wondering if something similar wouldn’t fit here as well. It wouldn’t translate 1-1; Must be Tuesday is about teenagers fighting monsters in a horror/comedy setup, where nobody is doing anything really complicated, and even the people who are the best at things are still only as good at it as, you know, teenagers. It’s not a good tone fit, but it inspired the system we used.

Complexity Certs & Complications

The solution we came up with, which we are so proud of we bumped a whole dev diary for it, is the idea of Complexity Certs.

Basically, we’ve ditched the previous Complexity target from before. Your dice Test just has a single, easily determined Difficulty. In ideal circumstances, you roll a number of dice determined by the tool you’re using, needing to get results over your Cert target. Get as many of those as the Difficulty, you succeed, otherwise you fail. Simple binary outcome to a simple problem.

But you’re playing cosmonauts. You know, you boldly go places you probably shouldn’t. You don’t face simple problems.

When the GM calls for a roll, they can tack on Complexity Certs in accordance to the situation you’re facing. Essentially, they’re saying this roll is a test not just of the ‘Primary Cert’ that determines if you pass or fail, but it’s also a test of some extra skills that have come up because of the number of moving parts involved in the situation.

So while you still only have one Difficulty, you need to meet that difficulty using multiple dice targets to succeed without qualifiers. If you just meet the difficulty on your Primary Cert, but not the Complexity Certs, then the GM can hit you with a Complication that can emerge naturally from the Cert in question. Conversely, you could end up in a situation where you have a better value on your Complexity Cert than the primary, so you could fail, but avert other disasters.

Or you could fail at both, and now you have two problems!

This system elegantly compresses a bunch of things the system needed to do into one quick judgement call by the GM in the moment. We don’t need to have specific penalties for working remotely through a robot, working in a spacesuit, or doing things in low gravity; the GM can just add the Drone Operator, EVA, or Cosmonaut Certs to the Test as Complexity Certs. There’s no limit to the number of Complexity Certs that can get added either, so you can sum up really complex situations with a single roll.

It also made the game’s group test mechanics much simpler and more impactful. Helping can be a complex game design challenge; you want people to be able to give each other a hand, but you need to make sure people can’t simply do it on every single roll to avoid slowdown and the trivialization of gameplay challenges. The way Help works now is allowing you to lend a friend one of your Certs to take on a Complexity Cert, basically monitoring a potential problem for them while they focus on the main task. 

As you get XP for Helping or being Helped on Checks where somebody is rolling with a higher Cert than you, you might want to point out potential problems with people’s plans that relate to your expertise as they come up so you can be the one to solve them. It also means that the presence of a Complexity Cert acts as a prompt for characters to step in and help one another out, and rewards a properly multi-disciplinary crew working together to tackle complex problems. 

You know. Like… like a Star Trek.

Examples

The example we use in the game rules is as follows.

Let’s say you are at a shooting range with your laser pistol, and you want to shoot a target. That’s a straightforward Sharpshooter Cert test. You either hit the target or you don’t. Easy!

But let’s say you’re doing the same thing but in a combat situation where you might get hit in return. The GM can (and is encouraged to) add the Soldier Cert as a Complexity Cert to the roll; Soldier is the Cert that covers tactics, movements, and the use of cover, so if your dice meet the difficulty using your Sharpshooter target, but don’t from your Soldier target, then you probably hit the target but exposed yourself to danger in the process.

Suddenly, we can see the difference between an Olympic target shooter and an infantryman.

Or let’s say you’re a guard posted in a reactor room; if you are doing some shooting there, the GM could throw in Damage Controller as a Complexity Cert to represent the chances of you breaking something vital in the antimatter reactor by throwing lasers everywhere. Suddenly, you have a really good reason to cross-train your guards in engineering skills, at least enough that they know not to shoot the matter/antimatter exchangers.

Or maybe you’re trying to incapacitate an unfamiliar alien creature without killing it; the GM could add Life Scientist. What if you’re doing it in a spacesuit? Add EVA. Knocking out a piece of machinery? Add Technician. Aiming a remote turret instead of doing it yourself? Drone Operator.

Which means you could, conceivably, be in a spacesuit operating a tablet controlling a gun drone non-lethally shooting a strange device on a strange alien in a combat situation inside an engine room… and it all happens with one roll and no need for infinitely stacking penalties.

Knock-On Changes

The biggest knock-on change this has caused is a need for finer gradation between Certs so that the differences come up more often and are less severe. For that reason, we moved the game to d10 pools from d6s; yes, this was an enormously annoying change to make through our draft, and we’re still working out how to rebalance advancement through it. It also means we have to do yet another pass through the Traits, which we were midway through… oh well! 

(We have a cool new lever that’s come out of, actually; we can have Traits just make Complexity Certs just not count in appropriate circumstances. Freefaller characters get to ignore 0g penalties, for example, which includes adding Cosmonaut as a Complexity Cert to a lot of rolls). 

I’ve submitted Torchship to Metatopia again this year, and I’m really looking forward to running it on the other side of a year of rewrites and de-heartbreakerification. I’m confident it’ll go much better this time around. 

Anyway, next Dev Diary will be about the Zinovians, and then we’ll do the meta-campaign mechanics. Unless something even cooler comes up.

[activesplooger]

Radioapple Oneshot: A genuine moment <3

Okay so this was supposed to be a little short thing but it ended up being a little mini story so enjoy! I'm actually rlly happy w how this turned out it's so sweet ahhhh! Masterpost!

Setting + Background: The Hotel hosts a black-tie gala to celebrate its newfound success! The venue is packed with residents and staff (as well as a few overlords and sins, courtesy of Lucifer and Alastor).

Lucifer sits at an empty table, sipping on his champagne as he watches his daughter manage everything and talk with the guests. Her bright genuine smile never faltering. He smiles softly, beaming with pride at his daughter’s determination finally paying off after years of struggling.

“Is anyone sitting here?” Alastor says, gesturing to the empty chair next to Lucifer. Snapping out of his trance, Lucifer looks up at the tall deer demon standing before him. “O-Oh! Yeah yeah of course, sit.”. Alastor takes a seat next to the blonde and sips his whiskey. Theres a long silence, Lucifer’s fixated on Charlie and not paying attention to The Radio Demon staring at him with a wide toothy grin.

”She takes after you, you know.”

Lucifer turns to face Alastor “Pardon?”

Alastor tilts his head slightly, his smile only growing “She takes after you. You have that same… look… in your eyes.” Surprised at the usually hostile demon, Lucifer furrows his eyebrows and gestures his cane toward him "Is this some kind of joke?" The Radio Demon waves a dismissive hand and chuckles, "Heavens no! Perish the thought, what would give you that idea?" Lucifer deadpans at Alastor and looks at him, a look that seems to say 'Get real'. Alastor takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes playfully, "Fine fine, I'll admit I haven't been the kindest-" Lucifer smirks and softly chuckles "That's an understatment" "Oh fuck you" "Hah, that's more like it!" The two demons share a laugh together, a raw moment between the two that was pretty uncommon. But, when moments like this did happen, it was everything. Typically, they would either argue or just not talk at all. Every once in a while though, they’d set aside their pride and have a decent chat. Alastor sips his whiskey, looking back at the crowd of people fraternizing and dancing as he speaks. "But, seriously, as much as we don't necessarily get along... I do admire your ambition... More so how your ambition inspired your daughter and brought us, well, here." Lucifer was about to retort with something snarky but, he saw the authentic look in his eyes... He wasn't smirking like a smartass, or having that strained smile on his face that he usually does... His ears weren't twitching, they were relaxed against his head... He almost looked... pure, and happy... Lucifer can't help the smile that starts to creep out from his teeth. "Thanks Al... That means a lot... Sometimes I feel so wrapped up in my own failure that I forget that it doesn't always turn out that way." Alastor looks back at him, the cocky grin returning "What? Afraid she was gonna follow in the footsteps of your short-comings?" "Well yeah I-" The comment processes in Lucifer's head, noticing the emphasis on the 'short'. The blonde looks back at The Radio Demon who was now stifling a laugh at his own joke. "Oh haha! Very funny! Asshole!" "HAHAHAA!" Alastor cackled while Lucifer pretended to be annoyed, eventually giving up and joining him in the laughter. The two engaged in playful banter, it wasn't hostile or a facade for Charlie to think they were fine... It was a nice conversation, nicer than the two would ever admit to others or themselves. As the night goes on, they talk until they're the last people in the venue. The only sounds being the two chatting and the soft, slow, music playing over the speakers.

For the first time in the night, there's a pause in the conversation... It wasn't uncomfortable, nor was it awkward, but it was there. Maybe it was time to end the night, despite the fact neither of them wanted to... Lucifer opens his mouth, but before he could speak Alastor interupts him. He was afraid Lucifer was going to leave, he couldn't allow that to happen. Alastor get's up from his seat abruptly and exclaims, a hint of desperation in his eyes "No!" Lucifer cocks his head to the side and furrows his eyebrows in confusion "Wha-?” "A-Ah, what I mean is..." The demon’s eyes dart around the room, searching for an excuse when his eyes flicker to the large, empty dance floor. He takes a breath, his compsure coming back in full force. Alastor leans down a bit and extends a hand to Lucifer "Care to dance?"

"O-Oh! Yes! I-I mean sure, why not!" The blonde tries (and fails) to remain casual in his response, but Alastor could tell by the light blush that dusted his cheeks that he was anything but casual about this. A shakey hand takes Alastors and they walk to the dance floor, swaying softly to the music... Nothing too fancy, Alastor would spin Lucifer here and there but it was mainly swaying. Occasionally, they would lock eyes before they darted their eyes elsewhere and blushed furiously. 'Its just a dance between friends', a statement the two repeated furiously in their heads in an attempt to avoid the obvious tension between them. Song after song, they continued to dance and grew more comfortable with eachother. Lucifer pressed against Alastors chest and held his hand loosely as they swayed. Alastor hummed along to the song, relaxing Lucifer as he felt the vibrations from his chest against his head. "Enjoying youself, your higness?" "..." "Hm?" The tall demon feels Lucifer go limp against him, he had fallen asleep. Alastor chuckled softly and picked him up bridal style, going up the stairwell to Lucifer's room to ensure nobody saw him in such a compromising state. He walked into Lucifer's room. Rubber ducks were pilied into large bins around the room and the lavish furniture had a circus theme to it. 'So tacky...' Alastor thought to himself. He layed Lucifer down on his bed and tucked him in. Alastor took a moment, just staring at him as he slept. Not in a creepy way, but in a loving and affectionate way... He exhales softly and kisses Lucifer's forehead. "Goodnight, Luci" Alastor warps out of the room in a black shadow. After he left, Lucifer smiled to himself. He felt and heard the whole thing, the cheeky blonde just wanted to see what Alastor would do if he faked sleeping. He hugged his duck plushly tightly and fell asleep with a content smile.

The End! <3

Okay i actually ended up loving this lmk what you guys think i love radioapple its so cuteee kajfckaslnjlaf Masterpost!

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Right, so, I've been seeing some persistent misconceptions in fanfiction where a character has ADHD. I'm a man of color with ADHD and I want to clear some things up. This is specifically about how people tend to write Ed Teach, but it can apply to other characters you're writing with ADHD. And I'd love if other people with ADHD, especially other people of color with ADHD, have any additions to tack on!

These things are NOT what ADHD is.

ADHD does not make you "stupid." This whole thing was inspired because I just read a fic where Ed cites his ADHD as evidence he's "dumber" than the other characters (and this was supported by the writing in the story). There is no correlation between ADHD and intelligence, and we know that Ed is a genius!

ADHD does not automatically mean that someone can't finish school or can't succeed in demanding academic fields. I'm working on my PhD. It just means your character needs coping skills.

ADHD does not mean that someone will "hyperfixate" on or suddenly lose interest in relationships, whether romantic or platonic.

ADHD doesn't mean your character struggles with personal hygeine or keeping their home clean. Please stop making me read fics that characterize a man of color as dirty or incapable of keeping his home clean and excusing it because "he has ADHD!"

ADHD doesn't mean that your character will need someone to look after or supervise everything they do. Ed does not need a White man to take care of him or make sure his work gets done.

ADHD doesn't mean a character will be unable to sit still, focus, stay on-task, or sit in silence 100% of the time. We all have different tolerance levels and those can change depending on current circumstances.

Here are some more realistic, interesting ways ADHD can impact successful, smart characters of color, like Ed.

He might feel the need to be hypercompetent, all the time.

He might get frustrated with himself. ADHD can be frustrating! You can be on top of things 99% of the time at work and school, and have people look up to you, and then you'll realize that you've been forgetting to book that doctor's appointment for six months straight now and you'll feel like a failure.

He might overcorrect symptoms. For example, he might have trouble keeping a neat, organized space and know that messes stress him out, so he overcorrects by being a bit of a neat freak and avoiding mess wherever possible so his space never becomes unmanageable.

He might struggle with The Evil Boredom. That's when you feel super understimulated and nothing is enough to help.

He might have trouble sitting still or saying quiet when he's nervous, feeling strong emotions, or in a boring environment or trying to do a boring task (the scene where Ed struggled with being still and quiet while fishing, while also feeling strong emotions of guilt, was super relatable).

I like to write AuDHD characters (with both autism and ADHD), and it can add a fun new dimension! I personally headcanon Ed as AuDHD. When you have both, symptoms can be frustrating because they can feel contradictory (for example, my autism demands I keep a neat, tidy space and I like routines, but my ADHD means I have trouble keeping things tidy to my standards and routines are super boring).

And finally but crucially: it's obviously okay to headcanon a character as ADHD or with any other neurodivergence when you're White. However, it's important to remember that the experience of neurodivergence looks different for people of color. Boys of color with ADHD, for example, are often overdiagnosed with ODD and labelled as "defiant" or "uncooperative." I often avoid telling White friends and coworkers that I'm AuDHD because it tends to make them infantalize me, as if I haven't already proven to them I'm a capable adult. People of color often have to go undiagnosed or without appropriate medications (if needed) and/or are misdiagnosed. If you're writing about a chracter of color with ADHD, I really recommend finding a sensitivity reader.

[looneyleyle]

the self-destructive habits of a hopeless romantic ~ j. hughes

synopsis: monetizing one's self-sabotaging habits, surprisingly, has its downfalls. one of them being leaving that one attractive hockey player that is an absolute gentleman who loves you with his whole entire heart.

warnings: self-sabotage, self-deprecation, angsty (but with happy ending)

word count: 3425 words

note: once again unedited but i wanted to get this one out there

???'s pov

time and time again, the world has seen the self destructive habits of humans. well, that makes it seem serious. the world has seen the countless missed opportunities due to a fear of another's reaction. the world has seen the blunders due to saving face. the world has seen the heartbreaks due to miscommunication. time and time again, the world has seen how people sabotage their own lives for the dumbest reasons.

esther graham was no different.

in fact, she capitalized on her ability to put herself into the worst emotional distress possible. every heartbreak produced a great work of literature that would nearly sell out in bookstores all over the northeast. she wasn't a new york times best seller by any means, but she was a small town writer from mont vernon, new hampshire. she made a name for herself during her time at hamilton college in their creative writing program. in her junior year of college, she published her first book, woes of a teenage failure, a novel following what could have been for a young college drop out named sophia. the book was a hit amongst her peers and professors, and by word of mouth, ended up selling 200 copies. the book, as ms. graham remarked, was her own "what-if" story, as she almost dropped out of college the beginning of her sophomore year.

and how do i know so much about ms. graham?

well, because i am ms. esther graham.

and i'm here to tell you all about the biggest blunder of my life.

after my first book, i hit major writing block. i would stare at my computer screen for hours just to delete the only three words that i could come up with. i would sit in coffee shops, pen in hand, ready for inspiration to strike, and yet, nothing. i was nearing the end of my college career, riding on the coattails of my first and only book's success, and couldn't figure out how to continue. my professors taught me plenty of ways to try and combat writer's block, but nothing worked.

until i met ryan. a devilishly handsome man all the way from the cheese state of wisconsin, who was meeting up with some college friends for the annual boston beanpot. we had our meet cute at a nearby pizza joint, in which i sat down and started chatting with him, thinking he was a publisher that i was supposed to meet with. after realizing my blunder when he had absolutely no idea what an anthology was, he asked if i wanted to join him and his friends at the beanpot, as one of their friends had cancelled, leaving them with an extra ticket.

ryan and i dated for four months. we would take turns traveling between my college in new york and his in wisconsin until eventually it became too much, or should i say, too little for him, and he broke it off. in my rage and complete depression from the breakup, i wrote my next hit, until the sun sets, a 142-page anthology of gut-wrenching poems, which was eventually integrated into hamilton college's curriculum for their young adult modern literature class. i was quite proud of that.

after that, i found myself yet again staring at blanks screens and empty notepads.

that is, until chloe. a beautiful new york native whom i had actually met while dating ryan. she was a hostess at a restaurant ryan and i would always go to. she was pursuing her masters in psychology, which gave me fascinating insights and tactics to use in my books. we were never officially together, but we had something for almost three months before she was whisked off by some californian named ella. i never saw her again, which prompted my next book, the ninth floor, a murder mystery following a closeted lesbian couple in 1940's hollywood (it was one of the girlfriends the whole time).

at this point, when i hit a creative block for the third time, i realized that i needed my heart or brain to be in absolute shambles in order to produce my best work. i needed to be at some sort of life crisis, and the easiest way to do so was to love another and let that love be ripped out of your life.

so, i began dating for the sake of my career. it was like i sought out the most manipulative, scummy people in the world who were able to get away with it just because they were attractive. over the course of a year, my first year out of college, i dated a total of three men and one woman, and poured my emotions out into a collection of short stories titled lavender.

and that was when i met jack.

i was in new jersey for a book signing at this little bookstore which, as it turns out, was right by the prudential center. as i left the bookstore, i was nearly run over by an overly excited man-child with a giant bag slung upon his shoulder.

"luke, watch out, you nearly killed that woman!" a voice yelled from where the man came from.

"i'm so sorry about that miss, my brother can get a bit overexcited sometimes." looking at the person talking to me, i found a young, very attractive brunet with the most adorable smile. i straightened myself up instinctively, wanting to appear presentable.

"no worries. if you don't mind me asking, what got him so riled up that he almost trampled me?" the man let out a laugh at my statement.

"of course, we owe you at least that much for your near-death experience. he just got nominated for the calder trophy." he explained, as if those words meant anything to me. seeing my blank stare, he clarified. "a rookie of the year award. we play for the new jersey devils." the boy in question came up and joined us, grinning ear to ear.

"ahhh, i see. i'm not a big hockey watcher, which i know is absolute blasphemy for someone who grew up in new hampshire." his jaw nearly dropped.

"you're from up here and don't like hockey? we have to change that." he exclaimed. in my peripheral vision, i could see his brother trying to hide his laughter at his brother's forwardness.

"ill have to come and watch a game sometime." i mused.

"we have a game coming up next week against the blue jackets. i could maybe snatch you a seat in exchange for your number." he proposed. his brother snorted at that, having to turn around to hide his obvious laughter. the man paid his brother no mind, just looking at me with a big smile on his face.

"trying to bribe me mister?"

"is it working?" i put my hand out and he immediately put his phone in my hand, adding my information into his contacts.

"esther? that's nice, you look like a esther." i quirked an eyebrow at him, but continued on anyways.

"and you? what should i call you?"

"call me yours. or jack, either works." the brother was doubled over on the floor at this point, jack finally acknowledging him by kicking him slightly, making him fall over.

"anyways, ms. esther, we have to get going, but ill see you next week at our game." he put out his hand for me to shake.

"you've got yourself a deal jack."

and just like that, jack and i started talking. his eagerness was cute, he texted me no more than ten minutes after meeting me. we talked every day, mainly on calls, asking each other questions and such to get to know each other.

and sure enough, the next week, i found myself back in new jersey watching the brothers play. i assumed jack was going to be some sort of benchwarmer or something, but that didn't seem to be the case. despite my lack of hockey knowledge, i could tell the boy was good, and he had quite a fan base if the amount of women wearing his jersey meant anything. and i felt severely out of place, simply wearing a grey sweater and jeans, unlike everyone else in the stands, decked out in red.

after that, i found myself going to a couple more hockey games, for no particular reason. jack would try to explain the game over video calls and our occasional coffee meet ups, but i couldn't for the life of me wrap my head around it. why do they all get off the ice every five seconds? and what the hell is offsides?? jack always laughed at my confusion, telling me that i'd get it one day.

we spent a couple months thriving off of video chats and once-in-a-blue-moon hangouts, until i got a job as an editor for a local paper. i was good at editing, always having good grammar and an eye for design, but it wasn't my dream. despite it not being my dream, i needed a stable income, and fast. my mind was devoid of ideas, and it didn't seem like that would change any time soon.

plus, it helped that this stable income happened to be in new york city, putting me a lot closer to a certain someone. and, with me being closer, that certain someone would pop on by a lot more than before. and eventually, chinese takeout dinners turned into staying the night, which turned into coming up for the weekend, which turned into the line of friendship being crossed into something more.

and then, i made the dumbest mistake of my life.

i let him go.

now, i know what you must be thinking. he must have done something wrong, he must have cheated or neglected me or done something so completely unforgivable that i would just throw away the most amazing thing in my life. and i wish i was here to tell you that was the truth.

but it wasn't.

jack was nothing but a gentleman, and i was just a broken girl doing the only thing i knew how to do: leave. i like to tell myself that it was for my career, that i needed to write another book, that i wasn't fulfilled in my job and that i was putting myself first by doing this, but i was perfectly content with my life. i was an editor for a major publishing company, i started writing little happy poems about my mundane life with jack, and wanted nothing more. i had no reason to run away. i just woke up in his bed one day and realized that i wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, and i couldn't accept that. i had gotten so used to leaving people that i assumed that they would leave me if i hadn't done so first, and i couldn't lose the one real thing i ever had.

so naturally, my self-destructive, self-sabotaging self let him go, the exact opposite of what i wanted.

and when i got back to my apartment after writing jack a confusing and half-assed letter, i cried. i cried and cried and cried, and i always wrote about characters crying until they couldn't anymore, but that day, i couldn't find the end to my tears. for hours tears would either slowly leak or violently pour from my eyes, and they never did end, not even when i passed out on my couch from exhaustion.

and after a week, i was expecting to pick myself up and start writing my next best seller, coping with my writing. but i sat there, and my florescent computer screen simply sat there, staring back at me. and when i left my apartment for a change of scenery, the blank pages of my notebook mocked me. i flipped through past works, all of them being little poems about jack, and the waterworks continued, right in the middle of a starbucks.

after a week and four days, i couldn't take it. i had to make things right, i had to at least see him. it always worked in the books, right? someone makes a huge mistake, they break up, they see each other again and realize they're both miserable without each other and then get back together and live happily ever after.

when i knocked on the door to jack's apartment, i was met with an unimpressed looking luke. at the sight of him, the waterworks started up again.

"you're an idiot, you know that?" i nodded furiously at this, sobs wrecking through my body. i couldn't see through the tears in my eyes, but i could tell the luke hadn't moved a muscle.

"he deserved better and you know that." i felt my soul being crushed. "i mean, a letter? seriously esther? and a half-assed one at that. i know damn well you don't have a degree in creative writing for that bullshit."

i opened my mouth to explain, but nothing came up. what would i say, that i was a broken person? cop out. that i did it to everyone? not much better. that i got scared? fucking coward.

"if you think that you deserve to see my brother, then i'll let you in." he told me, moving out of the way, door open wide. i just stood there, staring at him through teary eyes. my brain cheered, finally able to go in, but my feet wouldn't move.

my heart still clenched and ached, and with every thought of moving forward, into that apartment, it hurt more. jack didn't deserve this. after all the nights of him reading my poems about him and praising my work, after all the sweet things he'd say when i was down, after all the little acts of kindness he showed me, after all the love he poured into us, he didn't deserve to be broken by me. hurt people hurt people, the scholars had that right. he didn't deserve to be broken.

and so, i got ready to leave, again.

"i'm sorry." was all i said, turning around with heavy legs and a heavy heart. i heard luke let out a sigh as i walked away, closing the door behind him.

a couple of days went by and i found myself back at their apartment. i knew they wouldn't be there, they had an away game in anaheim the night before, and i knew from my time with jack that they would always spend the night in the city before coming back, especially after a win, a 5-0 win no less.

i stood there in front of their door, a small box in my hands, contemplating. jack didn't deserve this, but a selfish part of me needed this. i placed the box gingerly outside of their door and left the building. if the box was taken by some nosy neighbor, or thrown in the trash by some janitor, then it would be fate. it would be a sign to move on. but, there was a chance that jack and luke would come back to their apartment, and would pick up the box, and jack would recognize my handwriting. and, instead of throwing the box in the trash like any normal self-respecting person receiving a box from their shitty ex, he would take it to his room, and open it up to see my notebook, with a bookmark starting at the pages when i first started seeing him. and he would read the poems and maybe, just maybe, he'd see the note written on the bookmark to meet me at the park near his apartment, and maybe, just maybe, he'd be willing to hear me out.

i went to that park every single day for exactly one month and six days, always arriving by 1 pm, never late. and i would stay there until 4 pm, waiting.

on the 37th day, i was sitting there, editing, funnily enough, a sports column about the recent devils and islanders game. i watched it, absolutely terrible game it was, the islanders beating the devils for the first time in the season. our sports journalist, while passionate and very knowledgeable about seemingly every sport out there, had a knack for writing long, run-on sentences that reflected his rambling nature. as i sat there on the same park bench i had been sitting on for the previous 36 days, a figure stopped in front of me. i finished up the sentence i was working on before looking up.

and while i hate cliches, the wind was absolutely knocked out of my lungs.

"h-hey jack." i started, immediately putting away my work, giving him my full attention.

"hey esther." a shiver ran down my spine from him just saying my name. it had been so long, and while it lost its loving tone, i welcomed it with open arms. jack moved, taking the spot next to me, looking out at the trees in front of us. when it became apparent he wasn't going to say anything, i started the conversation.

"i see you read the notebook."

"i finished it three weeks ago." he replied, voice lacking its usual emotion. tears welled up in my eyes. three weeks.

"oh."

"i came here immediately after finishing it." i felt my eyes bulge out of their sockets at that. he continued, "i went to that bench over there and watched as you fidgeted in your spot, looking frantically at everyone who passed by. i watched the next day as you sat in the pouring rain with no umbrella. i sat over on that bench every day that i was here since reading your notebook."

a silence fell upon us, my mind reeling, trying to figure out what he was trying to say, from his emotionless face to the fact that he came.

"do you know how much it hurt? waking up to empty sheets and some half-assed note with the lamest excuses on earth?" i hadn't really paid mind to the tears rolling down my cheeks until he brought that up, sending me back to that morning, quickly scribbling out some gibberish before leaving the best part of my life behind.

"i was going to wait another month, y'know. to see if you were still gonna come here every day."

"so why didn't you?" i asked, sniffling intensely, trying to calm down my sobs.

"luke said i was absolutely miserable without you. coach told me i wasn't focused. my teammates pointed out that i barely left my apartment. the icing on the cake was when my mom started asking if you would be coming over to the lakehouse this summer. i realized, as pathetic as it seems, that i can't live without you."

my attempts at stopping my crying were thrown out the window at that. i could probably fill the hudson river with the amount of tears i had shed over the past two months.

"how can i make it up to you. please, please let me make it up to you." i begged, fully facing him, my hands angrily playing with the sleeves of my shirt because if i didn't, i would be reaching out to the man in front of me.

"never pull that shit again." he bargained, looking me dead in the eyes for the first time in months. and in that moment, i saw just how bad he was doing. sunken eyes with heavy bags, his skin dull, hair slightly unkempt under his hat.

"never again." i promised, putting out my pinky to him, something he would always do when he promised me to not get hurt in games. he let out a hoarse laugh, looking away from me, and when he looked back, i saw the tears brewing in his eyes. he took my pinky in his and held it there, between us.

"now, i'm not gonna just take you right back after all that. that was really shitty and i need some time to get over that. but, as i've found out, i can't really function without you. so maybe you could start with coming to my games again, and i could take you out for coffee next week."

"sounds perfect."

i accepted my life as an editor for the local newspaper, accepted that i probably wouldn't write another page-turning sell-out book, accepted that i was completely content with whatever happened to me, so long as jack was there with me.

and with that, my self-destructive, soul-crushing, heart-breaking tendencies reached their end.

[weirdworldofwinnie]

A Darling Distraction

Cillian Murphy as J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Wife Reader NSFW 18+ only Oneshot

(Mood board by Selene Shelby @forgottenpeakywriter, this fic is especially for you, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks for the initial idea and support💕)

Summary: Robert's been married to you for a while and now in Los Alamos, after the last few years of hard work and a 'successful' Trinity Test, he desperately needs something he won't admit: his wife in pink satin lingerie and sexual stress relief.

Word Count: ~3,703

Warnings: Smut, unprotected and oral sex both ways, light daddy kink + breeding kink, some angst, mention of infidelity, period stereotypical gender roles, unspecified age gap (less than 10 years)

Disclaimer: Obviously NOT historically accurate to real life and is inspired by Cillian Murphy's portrayal of Oppenheimer in the film. It isn't supposed to be in total support and a complete reflection of the man's character, only my interpretation. Scroll away and DNI if you are uncomfortable or take issue with this; it is primarily for entertainment purposes only and it is just fantasy/fiction!

This is strictly a one shot story, no more will be added to it. If you want to read other Cillian!Oppenheimer fanfiction, check out my Masterlist

Tags: @happysparklingshadows (@forgottenpeakywriter wanted me to tag you), @frozenhuntress67, @immyowndefender, @szde8-blog, @bypurple, @irenethewoman, @noirrose21-blog, @gridmouse86

It had been less than 24 hours since the denotation of the gadget and Dr. Robert Oppenheimer's eyes had been engulfed in fire; the aftermath of a hot white flash as bright as a hundred suns blowing out his pupils, followed by a colorful mushrooming cloud that was somehow simultaneously beautiful and horrific. Between the hours before and after Trinity, he had thought of Jean and her influential poetry, and you of course, but now the bomb had become him and only that one vision filled his mind, haunting him.

All day he had been at the lab and offices, but mostly at the main mess hall celebrations that flowed with chatter and too many drinks shared amongst the military and scientists alike whom many believed had been witness to a great success, a miracle, but also the worst of humanity had just been born into creation. Oppenheimer had become what he supposed he had been destined to be all along: Prometheus, doomed to bring great power and advancement to humanity at a steep cost. He was the destroyer of worlds, but not technically yet, and that was the worst of it. The early morning test was exactly that; a trial, a preview of what was to manifest, and very soon would the world get to see such power he had helped birth. He desired peace, but the trick was he was only attaining that through warfare like never before. The stress was far from over and he was afraid to become a nervous wreck by the end of the decade with all these dark pervasive thoughts and doubts. Depression was nigh on the back of pressuring anxiety and there was no way anything would ever be the same again. He had changed, the world had changed, seamlessly overnight.

As he clumsily unlocked the front door to his home with slightly shaking fingers and stumbled inside, reaching up to remove his porkpie hat and hang it up on the coatrack, he called out your name hoarsely. After a beat of listening and there was no response, he sighed... Maybe you'd already gone to bed or were tucking in the children, whatever it was he didn't know and didn't care because he was too wrapped up in his own emotions. He felt ecstatic that all the hard work had come to fruition and they cemented history, but he was also at a paradoxical point of great accomplishment and great moral failure; the duality of man. But most importantly: it worked. Now what they would do with it was another matter he couldn't quit thinking about.

He reflexively twitched for a cigarette in his shirt pocket, but he was empty, so he walked to the bedroom single mindedly and fumbled for a box in the side table, yanking out the drawer and shifting through to pick up a pack of Chesterfield's.

"Darling?"

He jumped, spinning around with a huff and hand on his hip to see you standing in the shadows of the entryway and draped in a pink robe snug around your frame and he noticed your feet were bare as if you'd just been dressing.

"Y/N, I thought you were... Are the children in bed?"

"An hour ago, they were fussy and very insistent with missing Daddy, but once I read to them they finally settled down. You've been absent all day because of the test, what made you actually come home?"

He shook his head, finding relief and refuge in taking a long drag on the cigarette and blowing the smoke out, gesturing at you with the butt of it.

"You brought in the sheets like I told you to?"

"Of course, I knew."

"Good."

He moved to the edge of the bed and sat down heavily, rubbing his forehead and you noticed the tiredness he exuded for a man who usually was so attentive with higher energy levels, and how sunken in and sad his wide ocean eyes were. These past few years had taken a tremendous toll on his wellbeing more than ever... His jutting cheekbones and general gauntness were more pronounced with the unhealthy loss of weight and crinkles of wrinkles were all he truly kept gaining in eventual amounts; crow's feet, forehead lines, nasolabial folds, and etches under his eyes. His dark hair, kept meticulously cut short, was greying at the sides. Even his teeth, if inspected closely, were on a fast track to faintly showing signs of aging decay from all the smoking and drinking he did on a daily basis.

Robert was not the picture, nor rarely the temperament, of boyish youth you remembered from Berkeley.

Truthfully, you and him hadn't had proper sex in many months; it just wasn't very desirable or convenient between his never ending work that created distance between him and anyone who wasn't a scientist, the continuing socializing and parties with many other faces in town, and you personally spending days cleaning up and minding after little (often crying) children who did not have a clue of what their parents were doing out in the middle of the New Mexico desert surrounded by barbed wire fencing and uniformed men always patrolling. Life here was anything but boring, but the bedroom sure had become so. More often than not, Robert couldn't sleep soundly while you kept to your designated side of the bed and tried to ignore his tossing and turnings until eventually he doped himself up on sleeping pills to cope. He also hadn't been the same since the news of Jean Tatlock's passing and you highly suspected - no, knew - he had an affair during his trip to California once he had his security clearance approved. Of course it upset you he could be so idiotic and unfaithful, yet it wasn't shocking given his womanizing track record, but what made you more concerned was knowing how psychologically troubled Jean had been and if Robert thought he could offer her some consolation, he may have just made it worse and partly done her in. If he blamed himself for her death, you couldn't imagine carrying around that kind of guilt in addition to what he spent his time creating to end the war.

He stood now, restless, and began to pace an invisible groove into the flooring as he continually smoked and muttered to himself. You drifted away into the bathroom and shut the door, shrugging off your robe to the floor. You were completely nude underneath, coming off of a fresh bath and you had spritzed yourself with the best perfume you owned, hoping to surprise Robert, but something was clearly missing here.

Yes, and you know obviously what it is. It's his happiness, the spontaneousness that he has lost ever since he ran those calculations and went to Albert Einstein about a chain reaction igniting the atmosphere and blowing us all to bits. It was less than 0.1% chance, but it reminded him of the bigger issue... creating such a weapon with the power to destroy oneself was mighty weighty on any half decent man's conscience and even a rotten one's, for he too would be annihilated in the process if ever taken far enough. Everything these days was pure existential dread, no doubt about that, and no wonder Robert wasn't in the mood for love. His heart was being drained of it daily and you wanted to help, to fill him again even if just for once. It was difficult to watch him continually self-destruct and negatively affect those around him.

So you plucked up the ready matching pink folded satin lingerie he'd gifted you for the fifth wedding anniversary off the countertop and slipped into it, banking on the fact that it made you look sexually irresistible... And oh, it certainly did dial the appeal up to ten. You sauntered out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom where Robert was now seated on the bed, nose deep in a book and paperwork, clearly engrossed and a permanent frown was driven into his skin between his sculpted eyebrows.

"I have something for you, love," you announced softly as you leaned in the doorway, letting your body be on full display in such a loose, risqué little number.

"Hmm?" he murmured distractedly, haphazardly fluttering pages.

"Are you even reading any of that?" you asked flatly and he accidentally dropped it to the floor, hands still quivering and he tried to get up, wavering on his feet as you watched him in a strange state of both nerves cracking and drunkenness. You ached to make him better and by golly, tonight you would even if you had to throw yourself at him.

"Robert, don't you want to look at me? I have a surprise on..."

"I should pick this up and go to bed with a pill," he said to only himself, bending over and scooping the paperwork and book into his arms before standing unsteadily and he turned his back, carelessly dumping the materials onto the side table. You quickly strode up behind him and slid an arm around his waist, fingers drumming on his metal belt buckle splashed with a tinge of turquoise design.

He froze as you wound a bare leg around one of his and he reached behind his back, brushing your scantily clad silky bottom, fingers gliding over the fabric and making you moisten.

"The lingerie, you're wearing it," he stated and you couldn't quite tell if he was delighted by this or not.

"So I am, I know it's been a while since you gifted me with it, so tonight I thought I'd finally return the favor after the amount of stress we've been under, especially you."

"You-you're proposing I need... oh no. No, I don't know if I'm, uh, ready-no, I don't know if I-I can, I mean do-handle it-" he stuttered out and you fought a laugh. Oppie the great improviser, the genius, the man always in control of the proverbial cockpit was ironically clearly not thinking all that straight tonight and for once in his life, absolutely tongue-tied. You may not have much power as a housewife (that earned psychology degree had been so far deemed useless once you moved with him and had children) in this godforsaken place, but you had this way of melting your husband to molten lava that no one else was capable of. His mouth utterly agape, you ran your hands around the leather of the belt and snaked another leg around his, squeezing gently into his side as you put your lips close to his ear, murmuring.

"You know that we both need it, so just let me work my magic like a good old fashioned whore..."

He bristled, catching your hand still fondling his belt and pushing away lightly.

"I would never refer to you as that," he said, completely unamused and perhaps with a veil of disgust too that you thought seemed unnecessary.

"What am I, then, just the stoic scientific director's wife who will be at your side when you receive a Nobel for your work in stopping the world from global conflict with explosions and implosions?"

His sharp jaw clenched and in one swift motion, he abruptly fell over sideways onto the bed and you startled, leaning over and gripping at his shoulder, worried.

"Oh, Robert, are you sick? I was just being a bit sarcastic."

He closed his eyes, obviously in some sort of internal turmoil that didn't merit sharing fully.

"No, I just... We don't need to do this, not now, not when I'm having a pretty bad time. I'm fatigued, probably drunk, and I should talk to the General tomorrow about the schedule. I'll be wanting to fly to Washington soon; the President will be expecting a briefing and they need to determine the exact target and then once it's all over we'll need to settle somewhere else and..."

He began to murmur anxiously about all the engagements he was expecting (postwar and not) and you shook your head, pushing down on his chest.

"But don't you want a distraction, a temporary all consuming joy for one night?" you pressed and he finally looked up at you, really gazed at you, and a genuine buttery smile spread across his mouth.

"Come here, my love," he whispered while tugging at the lingerie panty bow unsuccessfully and you clamored onto the bed beside him. He paused, licking his lips, and then spoke too briskly.

"We'll get straight to it and once I finish, it should help me sleep naturally better than those prescriptions."

You sat up, shoving him playfully and scowling.

"That has to be the least sexist statement you've ever said to me in the bedroom. Don't you want a marathon, not a sprint? Enjoy me, Robert. That's what I'm really here for anyhow, your darling distraction."

He took this in, then rolled over on top of you, his hot alcohol and nicotine infused breath on your cheeks as he breathed heavily, and you made a cringing face.

"How many drinks have you had today? You smell of a bar and I'm thinking you should rinse your mouth out before you get the luxury of having me."

"You do, hm? I guess that's a command, Mrs. Oppenheimer," he smirked and sat up, shoving off to the bathroom and you went to go put on a record on the turntable in the living room. The classical music crackled through and you walked back to the bedroom, laying into a seductive position onto the bed, one leg propped up with a bent knee and your arm draped across the headboard.

When he came back, his eyes widened at the sight of you as though it was finally registering and he wet his lips again, unapologetically hungry. He moved to the bed, shrugging his suit jacket off to drop to the floor, taking off his black tie, and mindlessly undoing the buttons on his white shirt. That was quickly discarded as you waited for him to remove his socks and shoes, pretending to be impatient by switching position to cross your legs and checking your manicure.

"Hurry up, Oppie, I have a time limit here."

He shook his head disapprovingly, kicking the shoes under the bed and whipping off his belt, tossing it to the floor with a clunk before wrestling out of his trousers and you stared at his boxer clad skinny frame, the cock not even engaged yet... Looks like he's making you do all the work again. A petulant sigh escaped when you rolled your eyes and he pointed a finger, chastising.

"Patience, my love. Hasn't Daddy taught you anything at this point?"

You bit your lip as he leaned over and his bare chest collided with yours... You pulled him into an antsy kiss, mouths crushing each other needily and he tasted of tobacco and toothpaste, a strange combination, but better than before. You felt the slight sheen of cold water he had splashed on his skin transferring to yours and you gripped his neck, fingers splaying across the back of his head.

His own hands went to fondle your covered breasts and you pulled away from his kiss for a moment.

"You are divinely doll like in this, I love such feminine expression," he murmured in a kind of rapture.

"Shame it has to be stripped of me," you whispered with raised eyebrows.

"It's only garments, what really counts is here..." He suddenly squeezed both your breasts and you let out a spurt of high pitched noise, allowing him to remove the top, shimming it off your body in one motion and tossing it over his shoulder where the strap caught on the bedpost.

He thumbed over one nipple and then transferred to the other, teasing you to rock hard nubs. He moved to your panty, slipping it down and off to expose you, and you kicked it to the end of the bed. Then, in turn, you yanked down his underwear and his cock sprung out into your ready grip. You began to pump on it and getting him to a more erect state, rising up. He groaned lightly and you pulled the oozing tip to your mouth, parting lips and flicking your tongue out to carefully lick a strip along the length before taking head, making him grow stiffer and wetter by the minute. Your mouth popped of his length, swallowing, and he gripped your waist as he focused hard on you over his throbbing member.

"What do you want, my love? Do you want me?" he whispered huskily and you shivered in anticipated arousal.

"Yes, darling, I want you... I need you, you own me and I own you."

"Sounds like a fair arrangement," he breathed before crushing into you and began to rub, purely animalistic, all over your smooth body. His head burrowed down into your freshly shaved pussy just like how you and him liked it clean, licking at your folds and massaging your lower abdomen in a desperate frenzy. You dug nails into his hair, curling, and bucked your hips to meet his appetite when he slowly slithered on top. You groaned as you took him, all of him, and let his penis expand and stretch out your core to the fullest extent, clenching instinctively around the shaft as he thrust repeatedly until you were sent easily right over the edge in freefall.

"Mmm, Robert!" you squealed in ecstasy and he muffled you, hand slapping down over your mouth and shushing insistently.

"Shh, don't need to wake the children now. God knows they'll find Mommy and Daddy intimately together one of these days and be scarred for life at the sight." He chuckled as you whined behind his palm and grooved further at a pace you both knew very well. After years of marriage and sensual exploration, he knew all your sweet spots and sensitivities, when was too much, and yet it was taking all his self control not to completely plow you apart right now. His skin smacked against yours as he ground into you, hands everywhere at once and he peppered wet kisses all along your jaw to nape.

When his warm cum finally jetted into you, flooding in your cervix fully, you were unable to constrain a loud moan and he growled primally, his whole small frame shuddered through his own climax as you gripped his back, using his boney spine as placeholders for your fingers as he rocked further at a steady pace, not going to come out right away.

More orgasms came fast and one after the other, especially as you rolled over and he took his place beneath and you rode his cock in a fervor, letting the peak hit all over again and he watched in a dazed nirvana as you pleasured. When he finally pulled out from your used leaking hole, you could tell how satisfied he was having been able to hopefully successfully seed you and that signature smugness was so evident.

You laid panting at his side as he took up another smoke, struggling to keep his eyelids from closing and drifting off to sleep. You interweaved legs, soaking wet with combined fluids dripping onto the sheets, and he flit a free finger down to your soaked pussy, groping and nearly overstimulating you with another orgasm you didn't think could be as strong as the first. He grinned at the effect and cupped your mound with his palm, dominant of it as he spoke softly.

"Groves pointed out that I have no knowledge of birth control, which is true. By this rate, you'll be having yet another baby in nine months and I can only hope we are far from this current landscape and political climate then, never to return. You know, I'm hoping for another boy this time."

You sighed with a smile, rubbing your belly and his hand joined yours, rubbing circles over your navel.

"You make a wonderful mother," he commented in praise and you laughed lightly, bitterly, and glanced at him.

"I'm not perfect, I can barely hold it together these days when they're hungry, tired, and upset for no reason I can physically see at all... Sometimes I wish to wring their necks quite honestly. And you're very hardly the model father yourself when you are always away and hardly take care of them. I know the work is everything, but they need genuine paternal love more than your science to save them."

He shrugged, nonplussed, and then set his wispy cigarette to the ashtray before leaning his head against yours.

"We are probably horrible people, but I wouldn't have it any another way. To create life with you is more than I could selfishly do alone, for obvious reasons untold."

You laughed again at his dry humor and intertwined your body with his own, wishing you could crawl inside his skin and live in his bone structure. He was absolutely everything to you, even on bad days, and maybe his prestige and stability contributed to that, but there was real love underneath his flaws.

"Whatever you face, I'll be here to try to mitigate it," you whispered seriously and he nodded, appreciative.

"I trust you and I love you, Y/N. It won't get easier for me, for us, and I'm afraid the future may be as horrifying as I imagine it."

"That's why we have sex, to stave off the inevitable for a little while," you told him, tears pushing out and slipping down your cheeks. He caught one with his finger and wiped it clean off, staring at the translucent wet spot at the tip of his fingernail sadly. It wasn't unusual for you to weep after sex, but this felt different.

"Kiss me," he murmured and you leaned forward as he grabbed the back of your head and smooshed in, tongues writhing together for a few seconds before you both pulled away, breathing in the same air together.

"Tonight is good enough for me," he decided and you snuggled into his neck, closing your eyes to succumbing exhaustion.

In an uncertain frightening world full of variables, you vowed to be his one constant for life.

Thanks for reading 🖤

[worrywrite]

So, in Guards! Guards! one of my favorite sequences of events is the watch waiting on the roof so Colon can shoot the dragon with a bow and arrow.

And while this scene is great for the twisted humor of self awareness that these characters have, it's actually a really good deconstruction of stakes in writing.

Not only is this a fairly tense moment for the book, right in the height of the dragon's plans to enact ritual human sacrifice, but the watch almost dies in their attempt. One might think it's the comedy aspect of the story that keeps them alive (or Carrot being built like a brick house), because people of importance seldom die in comedies, but it really isn't. It's the stakes that keep them alive.

Raising the stakes in a story changes the likelihood of character death. Colon, by all accounts, could have died, as could Nobby, and debatably Carrot if you look at G!G! in isolation. None of them have the narrative weight of Vimes or Sybil in this book, and they could all be considered expendable (though Carrot to a lesser degree, as he was specifically introduced by the narrative to be a "hero"). When the stakes are highest, someone is the most likely to die doing something good. But the watch also knows that when the stakes are high and the odds are against someone doing a noble thing, that action has the highest narrative likelihood of success. The phrase "it'd never work, it's a million-to-one chance" being their goalpost inspires them to artificially lower the odds of their success when the stakes are high. But in so doing, they lower the stakes by acknowledging that it's entirely possible that Colon could kill the dragon, even if it's unlikely, and his odds of him certainly killing the dragon are higher if his odds of maybe killing the dragon are lower (if that makes sense; granted, if you've read the book you probably get it).

Anyway, this adjustment of odds to make the chances of success higher (by making them lower) lowers the stakes of the book when it is at its most tense and signals what I call a "descent into absurdity." And while that may sound like a bad thing, it is one of my favorite parts of Discworld. Things are rectified in absurdity, because functioning is absurd, and the goal in most of these books is to be "functional". E.g., Vetinari's whole goal is to keep Ankh-Morpork functional, and he does so by being the most absurd sort of untouchable dictator possible. The man pays people to try and kill him, spreads rumors about himself, builds a prison only he knows how it really works, governs intelligent rat societies, and is perhaps the only character in the whole book that doesn't fear the most fearsome creature there is. He functions and the city functions because they are absurd.

Absurdity lowers stakes, while increasing chances of character success. It is how comedy almost always resolves. But absurdity only begins to descend upon narrative after the failure of the logical. Logical solutions will always fail when the illogical and comical is fated to happen. And a city built on absurdity will always be fated to be saved in the most illogical ways possible. And that is a wonderful thing.

Of course the watch would never be able to shoot down a draco nobilis, even in the most absurd way possible. Especially not when the stakes are as high as they are. But you think, for a moment, as they embrace absurdity and twist this logical attempt into an illogical one, that they might actually do something helpful. It just turns out that that something helpful is to begin the descent. And they survive this otherwise incredibly dangerous scenario because they embraced the absurd and lowered the stakes.

[psychhound]

ttrpgs in the classroom (part 4)

howdy!! back again after,, a time away (grad school is insane <33 save me <33) for a long overdue classroom post!!

so this one is about our first big essay assignment, the personal narrative essay! we'll actually be going over a number of games for this one!!

the assignment:

write a 900-1200 word personal narrative essay by playing a solo journaling ttrpg and reflecting on the experience using the prompts provided

the prompts:

What memory surfaced while you were playing the game, and why do you think that is?

What was your main emotion while playing, and where do you think that emotion came from?

What story from your childhood did your playthrough remind you of, and how did you come to know that story?

How did playing through the game inspire you? Is there a change you want to make in your life because of this experience?

Did playing through the game remind you of a success or failure from your real life, and if so, how did playing help you reflect on this?

the games: (as presented on the assignment sheet)

The Lighthouse at the Edge of the Universe by @lostwaysclub

You are a lighthouse keeper in the far reaches of space. Every day, there is work to be done to maintain your lighthouse, safeguarding passing ships from the edge of the universe. Log your observations, maintenance, and events while facing threats like emotion-driven weather.

Yourself

You have just discovered that you are a changeling: something between human and fey. Over five acts, you will reckon with this new discovery, and let your feelings shift and grow.

Snow

There’s something on your mind. There’s snow in the driveway. As you take the time to shovel it out, you think through and process your situation, whether mundane or life-altering.

Long Haul 1983 by @seanpatrickcain

You are a long-haul truck driver making a journey through an empty but dangerous world. Each day, you face a long, lonely highway filled with threats—whether mechanical, supernatural, or psychological. Each night, you make a payphone call to your most important person and leave them a message, though they never pick up.

Last Tea Shop (CW: death)

You own a tea shop on the border between the worlds of the living and the dead. As people pass from the first to the last, they stop into your teashop to have a drink and talk with you.

&

village witch - which was not on the assignment sheet but one student asked special permission to play this one after we listened to an actual play podcast that played this game (alone at the table by @ladytabletop) and the themes of the game really spoke to her

(if folks know other tumblrs for the creators feel free to tag them!!)

the results:

i was really really happy with these essays overall. the students wrote about some very impactful memories and emotions, and all seemed to get a lot out of playing

i had a lot of essays that came back and said "i never thought i'd be a gamer but i really enjoyed this" or "i didn't think i would get anything out of this experience but it really moved me". i was particularly happy with the essay from the business major that said "this was way better than being on my phone" considering these are 18 year olds still adjusting after years of the pandemic and leaving home for the first time and also this was homework

the most popular game played was last tea shop, and i had a mix of responses of "this made me realize how much i value my friends" to "i really need to value my friends and memories with them more" to "i really want to make more friends". i also had students who said this game helped them process grief over losing loved ones

long haul was also a popular one, and i got my most descriptive writing out of this game. it was interesting who the students chose to make their calls to, as well as what they chose the threats to be. one student got a bad ending and decided to play the whole thing again so he could make it home

the students who played lighthouse found it really soothing, as the game intends, and said it was a good way to process things that were on their mind after some of them had rough days leading up to playing (one student said he had to start over because he almost fell asleep on his desk after the game was too relaxing)

and with snow, none of the students chose to meditate on things directly from their lives, but all ended up finding that they had unconsciously put things they needed to process into the game and found new perspectives on them from playing. the kids who chose this one were the most surprised at what they got out of the experience

no one ended up choosing to play yourself, so i may switch this one out for future classes

the reason i chose these games in particular is that they all have an element of choice, and they all deal with emotions in some way. i thought this was a really successful first assignment and was glad the students all seemed invested and excited to play more after this

[chris-continues]

Unconventional, Unusual, and Unapologetically Yours

Inspired by this text post I made!

In which you enter a relationship with an unfamiliar creature.. yet he’s the sweetest person you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

TAGS: @beanibon @vashfantasy @h4venpha @lune010

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

Available on ao3!

NOTES: I cranked this out in like less than an hour I think. Uncanny Vash makes my fingers type like the fucking wind LMAO- ALSO I MIGHT DO PT2 <33 ^^lmk if you don’t want to be tagged! Some people asked and I know others like uncanny Vash a lot, so I thought you’d enjoy. I tried to add a bit of creature Vash as well, please feel free to comment/reblog if you enjoyed! And lmk any ideas you have :D

Your boyfriend deviated from what one would call the standard partner. 

Well, not that such a thing was negative. He was by far one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen, that much you noted from your first encounter. An abandoned warehouse, where you’d been forced to do an odd job when tight for cash. “Get a photo of the infamous Humanoid Typhoon!”, they said, giving you directions out of town. The warehouse then had appeared nothing short of shady, with its shabby walls, unfamiliar state, and a slight mildewy smell you weren’t too fond of. 

That would soon change, becoming your safe haven, as you recalled how you’d met. 

Your tentative steps inside, phone flashlight beaming as you explored for a good few minutes before- “Ah!” You jolted, the wide smile of a tall man, startling you. He apologetically waved his hands before you, attempting to reassure you, “Aw god, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you!” 

“It’s uh, fine, yeah.” You cleared your throat, turning your flashlight down slightly, “Who are you?” “Vash.” He chirped, quite literally. “And you?”, he offered his hand, ever so charming. If you recalled correctly, his pupils dilated a bit too much at the touch of your hand against his.

Humanoid. Not human.

It took you an embarrassingly long time to connect the dots, your attempt to search for the man of the hour futile (or successful, depending on how you viewed it). Searching for any extending corridors, or perhaps a hidden room. His company was originally slightly unsettling, as he was a stranger just tagging along for the ride, but he had no ill intent and with each sweet remark you found your night to not be a complete failure, swearing you’d return next weekend, same time to find the Humanoid Typhoon together. 

It turned into a game of stalling. 

Searching the same wall as last week, fingers tapping at the eroding wood of the building. His fingertips had brushed yours a handful of times as he blamed it on the darkness, a slight squeak leaving him each time, and maybe it was your fatigue riddled mind but you almost swore a slight glow emanated from him each time. 

After the 3rd week of searching you really didn’t care about finding this Typhoon guy anymore, figuring he was just some urban legend. Why did you keep going? For Vash, of course. He was a great listener, funny, and seemed to enjoy your company, and you really enjoyed his, and by god were you absolutely horrendous when it came to romance. So continued your pining of poking and prodding at an abandoned warehouse at the late hours of night. Too nervous to ask for his number (you found out later he didn’t have a phone), too shy to initiate anything further. 

Aha, until one night. 

Your searching had become less investigative of the building and moreso of each other, legs crossed and sitting in the middle of the warehouse with music playing from your phone on occasion. Discussions ranging from god knows what, each interesting in their own right. What confused you was that something as mundane as you telling a story in which you got your neighbors mail left him at the edge of his seat, but you simply chalked it up as him being a good listener and eager to engage in conversation, (that being partially true). Exhaustion creeped at you one night though, your horrendous sleeping habits having caught up with you as you rested your head against the derelict floorboards and gazed up at the ceilings. 

Vash had a habit of humming to fill in silences, and much like the rest of him you found yourself inexplicably drawn to it.. So sue you for being soothed to sleep by such a thing.

He didn’t tell you until much later, but that night he’d let his hand graze the back of yours, feathers peeking from beneath his jacket with the slight bumps ever so comforting against your skin. You let out the cutest hums, rolling just a bit closer to him.

His breath caught in his throat, as he let himself touch your hand just a bit more. His long, inhuman tongue laved over his several rows of sharp, unnatural teeth in a fidgeting motion. His pupils expanded, admiring you. You always appeared a bit nervous or tense around him- of course that diminished over time, he noted, but why were you so nervous? God, he hated being like this sometimes. To be.. A normal human companion of yours was something he found he craved. Every week, waiting for you in this dingy, subpar hiding place..

You were the highlight of his week. 

He had to hold himself back from instinctively curling into your side, wrapping his lanky limbs around you and allowing his vertebrae to extend to his full height.. Several feet taller than you. He wants to engulf you whole, keep you forever close and cherish you with chirps you couldn’t possibly understand. 

When you awake, he lays beside you. His body is as stiff as the wooden planks lining the warehouse floors, glancing at you as you finally make a move.

You scoot an inch closer.

His breath hitches in his throat. 

He can feel a draft making its way through the building,your body shivering as you shift just a bit closer.

“You.. are you cold?” He hesitates, arm stiffening as the fabric of his jacket meets the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Yeah, kinda..” You murmur, eyes darting away from him then back to him- god, you could stare at him and never tire of it. 

Your arms are pressed against one another, his fingers- wait, they’re uncharacteristically smooth, toying with the end of your sleeve. Oh god. The cutest guy you’ve ever met and he’s- oh god- you’ve dreamt of this more than you’d care to admit, hugging a pillow to sleep most nights, mind drifting to the cute guy you meet every weekend outside of town. 

Your fingers graze his once more, breathing pausing once more.

He intertwines his fingers with yours.

You think you’re going to die.

He chirps happily, and with your curiosity getting the better of you, you can’t help but ask, “What’s that noise mean?”

He blinks owlishly, sheepish smile crossing his face, “Oh uh, I don’t know really. It just.. happens?”  

“Ah, mhm. That’s fair.”

You peek down to your intertwined hands, only to see-

“Vash?”

His mouth gapes open to speak, and you get another peek of his- oh god, now that it’s morning you can see better.

Rows upon rows of his sharp teeth. His mouth forcibly staying together in one piece rather than three. Unnaturally long limbs. Feathers sprouting from him. 

“You.. you’re not human, are you?”

Oh god. He scared you. He’s so ugly, and you’re frozen, backing away slightly- “Oh my god you’re not- are you?”

The Humanoid Typhoon.

“Yeah. I.. I am.”

It takes you a moment to collect your bearings, mouth agape. “You.. you  never planned to hurt me, right?” Your eyes are wide, hands in your lap as you now sit up, legs criss crossed. 

“God no! Never! Oh god, I'm so sorry.” He buried his face in his hands, hiding it from the peeking rays of sunlight peering through the wood of the warehouse. “I don’t try to hurt anyone really, it just.. happens.” He swallowed thickly, “You can leave, if you’d like. I won’t hold it against you.”

You shake your head adamantly, “No, no I trust you. Just surprised me is all. I’ve never seen anything like it, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Vash.” Your hands fidget within your lap, “I enjoy your company and you not being human won’t change that.”

He peeked at you from his fingers, pupils dilated. “..really?”

You nodded. 

He certainly didn’t appear very convinced, but as you offered one of your previously fidgeting hands out to him.. he took it. Hand much larger in yours, inhumanly smooth- you found upon closer inspection he had no fingerprints. 

You stayed like that for god knows how long, until you checked your phone, “Shit! I’m sorry Vash, I’ve got to-” Aw god, his face, he was so cute..

“I’ll return soon.”

He walked you to your car parked outside. 

Your next few visits were a lot more different. He never directly said it, but before long you started staying the night, pressed close to one another, easing closer and closer to one another with hesitant touches. His eyes pleaded for your company each time you left, a small pout forming on his lips. 

You hated leaving him each time. 

Your first kiss was sweet, clumsy, and absolutely adorable. Just like him. 

He laid atop you, the world’s best weighted blanket, wrapping his unproportionate, lanky limbs around you to pull you flush against him. “I like you Vash. A lot.” You admitted into his hair quietly, shyly kissing the crown of his head. He chirped excitedly, a few clicks escaping him as he shifted to have your eyes meet, lips peppering pecks on your cheeks, jaw, and the corners of your lips. 

You both were too nervous to initially confess, just basking in one another’s company. 

“Like you too.” A series of inhuman noises escaped him, elated by your flustered giggles. 

He almost felt bad for temporarily silencing you with a shy and quick peck to your lips. His eyes widened, before going in for another. 

Another, another, another, purring contentedly as he pressed closer to you in hopes to mold you both into one. 

Your hands tentatively reached to cradle his face, grinning into the dorky kiss you two shared. 

Now though? You glance at him, wrapped in a mini nest you two share atop your bed. He nuzzles into your neck, teeth gently nibbling at the flesh as the rays of morning peek through your bedroom window. His legs hang off the bed with how tall he is, but he couldn’t care less.

Is it unconventional? Sure. Unusual? Most definitely.

But you’ve never been more happy than you have with him.

[graysoncritic]

A (Negative) Review of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - What Went Wrong? Villains

Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography

During a discussion, Dick Grayson Fan C explained the importance of a balanced hero and villain dynamic by describing their relationship as inherently “symbiotic.”  The two, after all, are interlinked, and the success and failures of one affects the way the audience perceives the other. When the audience knows that the hero will win the final confrontation, the questions surrounding how they will do so and what price they’ll pay to achieve said victory is what creates tension. In other words, the way in which a struggle unfolds is just as, if not sometimes more, important than its outcome. 

Note that this symbiotic antagonistic dynamic is not limited to physical confrontations. A good hero-and-villain relationship is also an exploration of the protagonist’s psychology, their motivations, and the thematic questions of a story. A well-crafted villain should not only be providing a challenge to the hero in the battlefield, but also call into question the truths — or lies — that the hero believes in. 

Taylor’s antagonists fail to provide Dick with any such challenges. And, as such, they fail to provide Dick with the opportunity to truly demonstrate who he is and what values Nightwing embodies

To prove my point, I wish to compare Taylor’s handling of Blockbuster with that of Chuck Dixon and Devin Grayson. While I considered also analyzing Heartless in detail as well, because the main Heartless confrontation is currently unfolding as time of writing, and because my main gripes with how Heartless was handled during the beginning of the run have already been addressed in other parts of this essay, I opted instead to keep my mentions of him brief. Furthermore, not only does Taylor’s parroting of Dixon’s and Grayson’s runs makes the comparisons between their Blockbusters unavoidable, but his take on Roland Desmond perfectly demonstrates how his simplistic morality contradicts the nuanced themes of social justice that seem to interest him. 

(Similar to an earlier disclaimer I made on Dixon, I want to make it clear that just because I am comparing Grayson’s run favorably to Taylor’s, it does not mean that I am unaware of the issues present in her own story, nor that I disagree with much of the criticism directed at it. Despite enjoying much of what she wrote, I also readily concur that there are problematic elements to it, and I often found myself questioning her intentions as I was unable to discern them. But that is something that would deserve its own essay and I do not want to further derail this one by discussing the extensive controversies about Grayson’s run and the way it is often regarded by Dick Grayson fans. Regardless of one's opinion of Grayson’s statements, I believe it is unquestionable that she handled Blockbuster’s ruthlessness and the way he personally terrorized Dick through a form of targeted persecution that was mentally and emotionally torturous was leagues above the generic intimidation tactics employed by Taylor’s Blockbuster.)

When I claim that Taylor’s characterization of Blockbuster reveals his simplistic morality, I do not mean to imply that I wish for Blockbuster (or even Heartless, for that matter) to be sympathetic. I do not believe that they must have redeemable qualities that endear them to the reader in order for them to be interesting. While I enjoy the tragic villain trope, I’m also a big fan of the terrible villain who gets under your skin and inspires such hatred that you cannot wait to see them defeated. I believe that just as a person can enjoy both comedies and dramas without thinking one genre is superior to the other, we can also have all sorts of villains and enjoy them on their own terms. 

That being said, I do expect villains to be interesting. I expect them to be meaningfully contributing to the story not only in terms of narrative conflict, but in challenging the protagonist, in creating stakes, and in being in conversation with the themes explored in a story, whatever those themes may be. 

So know that when I am criticizing Taylor’s villains, I’m not doing so because I wish they were completely different characters from whom they were intended to be. When I critique their simplistic morality, I do so because Taylor invited such criticism when he coated his run in the veneer of social and political justice commentary by alluding to real world problems and trying to show how Dick Grayson would resolve them.

Let’s start by defining who Roland Desmond is, what conflicts his presence generates, and what he is meant to stand for in the narrative. 

When examining Redondo’s design for this character, their intentions come through almost immediately: Blockbuster is meant to be threatening, corrupt, and ruthless. He is meant to be the type of oppressor who enriches himself at the expense of others. He yields his power to remain on top of the food chain, shamelessly bribing politicians and threatening his enemies. He will stop at nothing to retain control, he will not hesitate to destroy those who so much as dare to think about standing in his way. He has no sympathy for others, he does not care about their suffering, and he will gladly sacrifice their lives and the lives of their loved ones to get what he wants. All of these characteristics are physically manifested in his design, in which his oppressive frame demonstrates how he overpowers others and his giant hands are shown to be the type that could crush one’s bones just as his shadowy reign over Bludhaven crushes the city’s soul. 

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. Leaping into the Light Part Two. Nightwing: Rebirth. 79, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 14)

We can see this also through the dialogue of the story. For example, in #81, Melinda gets sworn in as mayor and Blockbuster’s men, in order to demonstrate the power they have over the politicians in the city, give her a suitcase full of money as a representation of the bribes that will be coming Melinda’s way.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Bruno, illustrator. Leaping into the Light Part 4. Nightwing: Rebirth. 81, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 04)

Melinda, in order to continue her work undercover, plays into that by stating in a line that is as devoid of personality as it is of subtlety that, as mayor, she will make them all wealthier.

Similarly, in #83, Blockbuster states (also with little personality and little subtlety) that he owns the courts, that he sees himself as entitled to Bludhaven, and that because of the power he yields, he sees himself as invincible. 

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. Leaping into the Light Part Six. Nightwing: Rebirth. 83, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp. 08)

Nightwing reaffirms this idea in that same issue when he says (also devoid of personality, subtlety, and this time charm or wit) that Blockbuster is “everything wrong with this city in one convenient, oversized package.”

This is what the conflict between Blockbuster and Nightwing is meant to symbolize — a struggle for the city’s future. Will Bludhaven continue to crumble under Blockbuster’s rule, or will Nightwing free it from his corrupt grip so that its citizens can finally have a chance to thrive? Even in the 1996 series, during both Dixon’s and Grayson’s runs, Blockbuster did not pose a threat to Dick’s morals or his world view. He did not make Dick question the way he saw people. Blockbuster’s targeting of Dick Grayson and his loved ones demonstrates how those with privilege go after the people who are fighting for change. Dick’s exhaustion and hopelessness mimics the same sense of helplessness one feels when it seems like the entire world is against you and the consequences for doing what is right can seem too great of a price to pay. 

For this reason, Blockbuster does not need to be complex. He does not need to be sympathetic. But he does need to be powerful, threatening, and ruthless. He must push Dick to the edge, to make it seem like all it is lost, and in turn, when Dick finally pushes through and wins, it is a victory on both a personal and a societal level.

And this is where Taylor fails miserably. 

Now, I have stated previously how, despite Taylor’s attempts, his rendition of Blockbuster comes off as flatly incompetent rather than threatening. I have discussed this under the context of how it influences the way Dick’s and Bludhaven’s portrayal. Now, I wish to dig deeper into this issue. 

We are told of countless attempts on Dick’s life, but the only ones shown are overcome by Dick and his allies with ease. Either that, or the tension is undermined by a one-line joke or a general tone of casualness that fails to properly convey the stakes of the moment. Any threat that could have been created with Haley’s kidnapping or any intimidation tactic is destroyed by the gimmicky nature of the issue. This makes Blockbuster less of a threat. 

And yet, we are told by Wally that Dick is stressed and overworked. But because there is not a lot of tension on screen, that telling rings hollow. The reader is not shown that Dick is overworked, and he is not shown truly struggling alone against the obstacles he does face, so this idea of Dick coming apart at the seams because of Blockbuster is not something the reader gets to truly experience. As a result, it often appears that Dick is coddled by his loved ones as everything always ends up alright with little effort made on their part. Rather than witnessing true danger take a toll on Dick, we are simply told this is something that is happening. 

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. Get Grayson Act Three. Nightwing: Rebirth. 90, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp 16)

By comparison, when Grayson first wrote this same story nearly twenty years ago, she made it carry weight. She made it have consequences. While Dick was already coming apart from a myriad of different stress factors that unfolded on screen (overworking himself as Nightwing, as a police officer, saving Amy from Deathstroke, being fired from his job, Babs breaking up with him, and finally the circus fire), it was the explosion that made Dick fall apart, serving as the catalyst for his downward spiral. As Dick hunts down those Blockbuster employed, the readers get to see Dick’s exhaustion, Dick pushing himself to his limits, sleeping on fire-escapes while wearing his Nightwing uniform because he cannot bring himself to stop.

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Zircher, Patch, illustrator. Rekindle. Nightwing no 91, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2004. pp. 15)

Similarly, when the Judge returned to Bludhaven in The Untouchable, we see Dick keeping count of the bodies he left behind, we see Dick push through a bullet wound and beatings, we see him chase the Judge restlessly while neglecting his personal life. In both cases, we see the consequences of what Dick’s failure means, we see him struggle with those outcomes, we see what is at stake if Dick loses. And that, in turn, makes us not only care, but become invested in his success. 

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator The Untouchable: Chapter Four: Infiltration. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 38, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 19)

By contrast, in Taylor’s run we never see any of that danger, and the few times we are presented with some threat, the conflict is handled with laughable ease. Blockbuster’s plots are foiled without Dick ever needing to do much of anything as he mostly relies on others to come to his aid. In this Nightwing solo series, the Titans, Batman, Robin, and Batgirl often do much of the hero-ing. Rather than putting the spotlight on Dick as a hero, Taylor lets others take the center stage, making this into an almost ensemble book. Because of this, the idea of Dick being near a breaking point, exhausted, and feeling unsafe wherever he goes is not supported by the narrative. By not giving Blockbuster a win, Taylor undermines the story he is attempting to tell. 

This continues on through Nightwing #91. While Wally and Dick’s friendship were portrayed rather nicely, the villain that Taylor so ominously built up is taken down with an ease that is devoid of tension. The villain who is supposedly so good they’ve kept their existence a secret from Batman himself is quickly undermined by Taylor’s unwillingness to have his characters struggle. 

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. Get Grayson Act Three. Nightwing: Rebirth. 91, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp 16-17)

Besides the poor execution of his plans, however, it must be stated that Blockbuster’s plans and his motivations are poorly developed. Again, I’m not saying that Blockbuster needs to have a single sympathetic aspect to his character, but he does need to be threatening, and he must have some internal logic. Looking at the story Taylor has created, I wonder… Why does Blockbuster care that Dick Grayson created the Alfred Pennyworth Foundation? Why does he care about the creation of Haven? I understand that Blockbuster is meant to be a corrupt crime boss who wants to retain control of the city, but how does Dick building Haven interfere with his plans? Why was one billionaire throwing his money around to help homeless youths a bleep in his radar? Blockbuster already has politicians and the police force in his pocket while Bludhaven’s systems were constructed to benefit him and those who endear themselves to him. So why is he so focused on destroying Dick Grayson and not Nightwing?

I am trying to restrict my comparisons to DC Comics media, but in this, I cannot help but think of President Snow’s portrayal in the Hunger Games movie adaptations. In a movie-only scene, President Snow tells Seneca Crane about the importance of having a winner in the games. He explains how it is about letting the people have hope. As he put “A little hope is effective, a lot of hope is dangerous. A spark is fine, as long as it's contained.” 

In other words, giving the people a spark of hope to keep them distracted can help prevent mass mobilization required to disrupt the system. Give them a goal to focus on, and you can redirect their attention. It would, then, be far more sinister and make far more sense from a narrative standpoint if Blockbuster allowed Dick to focus on his one project so that instead he would not turn his attention to Blockbuster. Perhaps he could have attempted to manipulate the project from within, folding it into Bludhaven’s corrupt social systems. Dick would have been that little spark that Blockbuster could have cultivated, giving the people of Bludhaven "hope" so that they would focus on that and not on what is going on behind the scenes. The narrative arc, then, would focus on Blockbuster failing to contain the spark as Dick became the flame that breathed true systematic change.

I do not want to dwell too much into fixes, as I merely wished to analyze Taylor’s run and not to go full on script-doctor and rewrite the entirety of his story. Rather, I just wished to use that as an example of how Blockbuster does not have sound plans or internal logic, and that, too, contributes to how his character comes across as incompetent and nonthreatening, and as a result, even his supposed ruthlessness is undercut.

Taylor’s Blockbuster does not have a concrete goal. He wants power and money, yes, but for what purposes? And how does he acquire said power and money? Why is he threatened by Dick Grayson’s personal project? How are his intimidation tactics challenging Dick in an interesting way? How are Blockbuster and Nightwing meant to narratively play off each other? How are Taylor’s Blockbuster tactics any different from a generic villain with any other name?

To be fair to Taylor, I do not believe Dixon managed to fully nail this part of Blockbuster’s character. I did not find Dixon’s writing of Blockbuster to be a particularly compelling part of his run. However, Dixon countered this lack of substance by leaning into what Blockbuster was meant to represent — the system inside the machine that allowed evil to flourish. Blockbuster’s influence may have been everywhere, but Blockbuster himself was hardly ever confronting Nightwing directly. Dick was fighting a war on multiple fronts, and while he could stop an enemy on his right, two more appeared on his left. The way the struggle between Blockbuster and Nightwing played out during Dixon’s run emphasized why protecting Bludhaven was so difficult — because there were so many immediate crises that needed to be dealt with on the surface, it was difficult to get to the root of the problem.

This was why, during Dixon’s run, Blockbuster could remain a threat even if he would remain unseen for long stretches of time. And this was why when Dick stopped one of the underlings, Blockbuster himself could remain an intimidating force. Blockbuster’s machinations were varied — some of his plans targeted Nightwing directly; others Dick only stumbled upon when investigating a matter he believed to be unrelated. Furthermore, the limited number of allies and the prospect that Blockbuster could only be taken down for good once his grip on other institutions of power and influence were weakened emphasized just how this was no ordinary fight, but rather a mission requiring Dick to operate on multiple fronts and strategize on a long-term basis. 

Taking down Blockbuster was a multi-step process. Each of said steps offered their own challenges and opportunity for storytelling, for fleshing out Bludhaven, and for allowing Dick to grow as the protagonist of the story.

Dixon’s approach to Blockbuster requires Blockbuster to stay in the background, looming over the city as Dick fights his way forward. It’s why he remains present for all 70 issues of Dixon’s run without undermining Dick’s competence or his dedication to his city — as a stand-in for corrupt power, Blockbuster himself is not an immediate threat even if he is the powerful underlining one. Dick must constantly fight others in order to eventually be able to fight Blockbuster. To borrow video-game terminology, Blockbuster is the final boss, and Dick must first go through a myriad of levels and smaller enemies before he gets to finally take down Blockbuster for good. 

It was Grayson who made the conflict between Dick and Blockbuster personal and, as a result, far more sinister. After the death of his mother in a car pile up caused by Nightwing’s activities, Blockbuster was determined to get his revenge on Nightwing. After finding out Nightwing’s civilian identity, Blockbuster came up with a chilling plan that was specifically made to destroy Dick from the inside out. Blockbuster understood that Dick did not value his own life, but rather, those of the people around him. And so, he decided that rather than killing Nightwing, he would instead kill everyone around Dick, tormenting and terrorizing him until he felt as if he were poisonous. What was so poetic about this strategy was that it mirrored what, in Blockbuster’s eyes, was Nightwing’s biggest sin: the danger he imposed on others through his actions which resulted in the death of Blockbuster’s mother. 

As you can see, in this scenario, Blockbuster has become more of a proper character rather than just a stand in for corruption. That is not to say that wielding power for self-serving purposes at the expense of others isn’t a factor in his character during Grayson’s run, but rather that while Dixon’s Blockbuster was more of an embodiment of an idea, Grayson’s was more human, with more personal motivations. One approach is not inherently better than the other, they simply lean towards opposing sides of the spectrum, and that affected the type of story told and the type of confrontation Dick and Blockbuster had during their runs. 

Because Grayson took a more personal approach towards Dick and Blockbuster’s dynamic, she also fleshed out their relationship to the point that it was not generic. Blockbuster’s campaign of terror against Dick was intimate, for it was something that could only have played out between these two characters. And while Dixon laid out the groundwork to build Blockbuster into a threatening figure by the time Grayson took over the title, Grayson’s strategy to have Blockbuster go after those around Dick allowed her to have Dick win and lose simultaneously. 

Blockbuster starts his campaign of terror slowly. First, getting Tarantula to contribute to Dick and Babs’ breakup. While she is not the sole reason why they break apart — they are shown to have had some tension long beforehand that comes from incompatible personalities and desires — she does become a factor in their falling out. This ends up isolating Dick even further, who was already stressed due to the fact he lost his job once his boss and superior Amy discovered he was Nightwing.

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Zircher, Patch Snowball. Nightwing. 87, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2003. pp 17 - 18)

Then, Blockbuster strikes closer to home by hiring Firefly to set fire to the circus Dick grew up in. While Dick was able to save many people who were inside the tent (and had his own life saved by Zitka), over twenty people lost their lives in this incident. 

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Davis, Shane, illustrator. Flurry. Nightwing no 88, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2003. pp. 16)

While that certainly worked in breaking Dick’s spirit, it wasn’t until Dick’s building exploded that he realized this was a targeted attempt to get to him. All of those innocent people died not because Blockbuster was trying to kill Dick, but rather, because Blockbuster knew that their deaths would destroy him.

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Zircher, Patch, illustrator Avalanche. Nightwing no 89, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2004. pp. 12)

What follows is a downward spiral that demonstrates just how thoroughly Blockbuster is able to break Dick. Even as Dick gains new ground by taking out some of Blockbuster’s hired assassins, the threat still looms over him. And even when it seemed like Dick finally found a way to take down Blockbuster for good, that hope is snatched from him. The anger and helplessness Dick experiences in this moment truly speaks to the same feeling many of those who stand up against their oppressors feel whenever they are faced with setbacks in their constant battle. 

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Garcia, Manuel, illustrator Flashpoint. Nightwing no 92, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2004. pp. 21)

The carnage continues. The reporter who had uncovered Nightwing’s identity and just so happened to be standing next to Dick is mercilessly shot dead in front of Dick’s eyes. 

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Zircher, Patch, illustrator. Slowburn. Nightwing no 93, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2004. pp. 07)

And as Blockbuster chases Dick down, putting others in harm, we can see as Dick tries to protect innocent people around them that Blockbuster will not stop. He will not rest.

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Zircher, Patch, illustrator. Slow Burn. Nightwing no 93, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2004. pp. 10-11)

Blockbuster says it himself in a speech where he lays out exactly what his plans for Dick are. Dick is at a breaking point. The enemy, huge and impossible to overcome, towers over him. As the climax reaches its crescendo, Blockbuster asserts his power by mocking Dick and laying out a future in which Dick can never escape this hopeless terror. This city belongs to Blockbuster. Dick is powerless. There is no winning.

(Grayson, Devin, writer. Zircher, Patch, illustrator. Slow Burn. Nightwing no 93, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2004. pp. 13 - 15)

This speech is visceral. Personal. Evocative and filled with character and emotion. These words could not have been uttered by anyone else but Grayson’s version of Blockbuster. And they could have not been directed at anyone but Dick at this very moment. This speech has specificity that was purposefully crafted to raise the tension of this moment to its fullest potential.

By comparison, Taylor’s “I am this city” line is generic. Like much of his dialogue, it lacks character — nothing about what Blockbuster says feels distinctive to him. Nothing sets it apart from how other characters speak in Taylor’s world, and nothing about it is unique to this particular confrontation. Even the way he bangs his hands on the ground like a toddler throwing a tantrum (and resulting in Dick’s second unmasking in this run) is childish and undermines the tension of what is meant to be a climatic moment.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. The Battle for Bludhaven’s Heart Part Four. Nightwing: Rebirth. 95, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp 20)

The themes in Grayson’s run are not the same as the themes in Taylor’s run. However, Blockbuster still invokes the threat of an oppressor. By isolating Dick from his support system, his terror and the helplessness it generates are intensified. Rather than making Dick question his own morality, he makes Dick doubt his abilities to be a hero.

While Dixon used Blockbuster’s intimidating build and power to explore the ways in which systematic corruption is responsible for the immediate evils we encounter in everyday life, Grayson used those very same characteristics to explore how one copes with being oppressed on a personal scale. Grayson’s Blockbuster pushes Dick to the darkest place he’s ever been, and the aim of her run was to see how he would be able to put himself back together again after he lost faith in his ability to make a difference.  

Those two runs demonstrate how Blockbuster’s grip on power can be used to oppose Nightwing in two very different ways. Dixon’s approach requires Blockbuster to stand at a distance, the unseen machine that Dick will have to eventually destroy. This allowed Blockbuster to remain Nightwing’s main opponent for all 70 issues of Dixon’s run without ever calling into question Dick’s competence or his dedication to his mission as Blockbuster, the themes he embodied, and the struggle Dixon built clearly signaled that, no matter how great Nightwing was or how much he might wish to do so, the circumstances were not at a point where Dick could take on Blockbuster and succeed. By contrast, Grayson shifted Blockbuster from a long term, simmering threat to an immediate and personal one. This, though, also meant that the conflicts in Grayson’s run were more internal than those of Dixon’s. While Blockbuster was the enemy, the true antagonistic force that Dick would be forced to battle throughout Grayson’s run was Dick’s depression, his self-loathing, and his self-doubt. For this reason, rather than standing in the background while others did his bidding, Grayson’s run pushed Blockbuster to center stage. As he became an urgent threat who was costing people their lives every minute he roamed around free, apprehending him was no longer something Dick could afford to create a strategy around — it was something that demanded prioritization. 

Nearly twenty years later, Taylor’s attempts to merge these two approaches only serves to lessen Dick’s competence and Blockbuster’s threat. Like Dixon, Taylor uses  Blockbuster to represent, as it was plainly stated in his run, everything that is wrong with Bludhaven – the men in power who “have everything and still want to take more.”

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. Battle for Bludhaven’s Heart Finale. Nightwing: Rebirth. 96, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022 pp. 08)

And yet, it is Grayson’s plot beats that he copies by having Blockbuster personally target Dick in a myriad of unsuccessful ways. 

While Grayson’s Blockbuster targets Haly’s Circus, Taylor’s Blockbuster targets Dick’s dog, Haly. While Grayson’s Blockbuster successfully kills Dick’s neighbors, Taylor’s Blockbuster fails to kill Dick’s neighbors thanks to Melinda and Wally’s intervention. 

Because of this personal persecution, Blockbuster becomes Dick and his allies’ priority. However, because Taylor’s Blockbuster’s actions never have any negative consequences; because the humorous tone is always undermining the tension; and because the reader does not get see Dick struggle or fail against Blockbuster’s attempts the way he does in Grayson’s run, Blockbuster’s does not come across as the larger than life villain he is meant to be. Rather, his constant failures, his generic dialogue and unclear motivations, and his straightforward intimidation tactics make him more into a fumbling fool whose powerful position is incidental rather than the result of merciless oppression. 

And yet, he becomes Nightwing’s priority. Thematically, Taylor’s Blockbuster is meant to imitate Dixon’s, but the narratively he acts like Grayson’s Blockbuster. This makes it so he is more of an immediate threat than Dixon’s villain, but less effective in his terror tactics than Grayson’s. 

With the consequences of Blockbuster’s crimes being non-existent plot-wise, the stakes of the plot are never elevated. Blockbuster’s threat remains abstract because in Taylor’s run, everyone who is not an explicit bad guy has plot armor so thick that they cannot be forced into an uncomfortable on-screen situation for more than two or three pages at a time.

The clashing of theme and plot create enough of a dissonance as it is, but the presence of Heartless, who is actively and brutally murdering people and leaving children orphan, only deepens the problem. Heartless’ gory crimes not only overshadow Blockbuster’s failed assassination attempts, but the sheer amount of people who have fallen victim to his deeds creates an urgency and a tension that demands to be resolved. 

Though Dick is aware of Heartless' existence, he does not make the serial killer his priority. When Grayson made Blockbuster’s threat more immediate and Dick became aware of the rising body count, stopping Blockbuster became his sole focus, to the detriment of his own health. Dick’s obsession with catching Blockbuster at all costs helped add to that intimidating aura around him. 

Humphries understood this when crafting the dynamic between Dick and the Judge in The Untouchable. Heroes and their villains have a symbiotic relationship. When the Judge kills people in brutal ways, Dick jumps into action and stops at nothing until he catches him. This shows the audience that the Judge is a threat to be taken seriously, and it shows Dick to be a hero who will always put others first. When Dick fails to take the same approach with Heartless and instead focuses on Blockbuster, Dick comes across as an incompetent and self-centered. 

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter One: Hunter. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 35, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018 pp. 20)

At this point, one might be wondering why high stake conflicts and ruthless villains are even needed in a Nightwing comic. I have seen many people defend Taylor’s writing by claiming that they enjoy the fact that it has no tension. They like the easiness of it, the slice-of-life nature of his storytelling. And while even his slice-of-life writing is not really my cup-of-tea, I can understand this sentiment. Taylor seems to truly enjoy writing the more sitcom-aspects of Dick and Babs’ life together. It is not the fights, the mystery, the intrigues, the nuances of living a double life that interest him — it’s the taking care of the rescue puppy, the sharing of a pizza in the park, the two childhood friends finally getting to live an idealistic millennial adult life together without having to worry about everyday problems like work, rent, family troubles, or disagreements. He thrives when writing stories that remain static, with simple episodic plots that never truly lead to character development or a change in the status-quo. He excels in quippy yet straight-forward dialogue where things don’t need to be taken seriously.  

And to be clear, I don’t think that is a bad thing. I don’t think slice-of-life or sitcoms are a lesser art form than dramas or action series. Like many people, I too, have been comforted by that type of entertainment. I, too, find escape in those sorts of stories. I daydreamed about a life where I could just enjoy time with my friends without thinking about work, where the worst problem I face is how to avoid going to a party without appearing rude. Those stories have value, they have their place in our culture… But Nightwing's solo series is not that place. 

Now, this will probably be the one of the most controversial things I will say in this entire essay, but despite my love for Nightwing, I do not believe that the Nightwing mantle is Dick’s ultimate true form. 

In DC Secret Files: Nightwing Secret Files #1, Dixon explores the aftermath of Dick being fired as Robin by having Dick confess, with a certain amount of shame, that he always thought that he would eventually become Batman. Bruce understood that and he was preparing Dick to be his successor. Losing Robin, then, means losing any certainty Dick has for his future. Suddenly, he is adrift, not only having lost Robin, but also Batman. And that’s when Clark tells him the story of Nightwing. 

(Dixon, Chuck; Grayson, Devin; Peterson, Scott; writers. Ha, Gene; Scott, Damion; Land, Greg; Stelfreeze, Brian; Guice, Jackson; Eaglesham, Dale; Floyd, John; Jimenez, Phil; Brown, Eliot R.; McDaniel, Scott; Nolan, Graham; Rosado, William; Kuhn, Andy, illustrators. DC Secret Files: Nightwing Secret Files #1. DC Secret Files: Nightwing Secret Files #1 no. 01, e-book ed. DC Comics, 1999. pp 15)

Personally, I think there’s something really special about that idea. The Nightwing story grounded Dick during one of the most uncertain times in his life. Dick wanted Robin and Batman, but once both were taken from him, he created Nightwing as a way of coping with the trauma of having his identity, future, and certainty taken from him.

Braxi concludes his essay On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes by saying that “I don’t need Batman to end homelessness. I need Batman and Superman to provide moral and spiritual guidance to show us a better world is possible. I read Batman to transform trauma into will power.” (Braxi, Steve, “On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes” Comics Bookcase, September 2021)

The same, I believe, is true for Dick. As the character created to accompany Bruce and mirror him in as many regards as he foils him, Dick transforms trauma into power. He makes his own suffering a source of good.

As I said, I do not believe Nightwing to be Dick’s ultimate, truest form. I believe that to claim that Dick’s only happy ending is to have him be Nightwing not only diminishes the importance that Robin and Batman played in his life, but it also undermines what is so unique about Nightwing as a mantle. 

Dick loves being Nightwing. Nightwing is an extension of who he is. But Nightwing is not the only happy ending Dick could have had, and to treat Nightwing as inevitable is to ignore the fact that Nightwing was born out of a trauma and a loss that could have been prevented had the circumstances that led to Dick losing Robin been different. Nightwing means transformation. He means change. Nightwing is a phoenix-like Kryptonian myth, raising himself from the ashes. But for the ashes to exist, a deadly fire must first occur. Nightwing, this great hero of light, can only be born out of pain. He can only arise from conflict.

This is one of the things that makes Dick so special. When he is overpowered, he does not give up. When he is hurt, he transforms that pain into power. No matter how many times he loses, no matter how many times he is lost, he always rises again, with a beautiful smile and an unwavering kindness that inspires others — including Superman, especially Batman — to do the same.

That is why a Nightwing story needs conflict. This is why he needs ruthless villains. That’s why a Nightwing story needs the occasional failure. Because it is only when we see Dick at his lowest that we also get to see him overcoming darkness, showing why he is the best of the best and why we love him so much.

[another-whump-enjoyer-blog]

Analysis of a Whump Awakening in a great movie

So I’ve seen some posts about whump awakenings, some of them mentioning Disney movies, but not a single one points this movie (well, this one is Pixar’s, but owned by Disney) I really wanna point it out, because I spent some time searching in the tags, as many ways I could think of, and got no success.

After seeing this movie again after so many years, I got this exact feeling:

I remember watching it over and over again in VHS, because I really liked it and I enjoyed one scene even though I didn't knew exactly why.

Now I know why and I’ll point it out. So please, bear with me cause it's a long post. (I swear I tried to be as brief as possible but there are just so many things I needed to point out cause this movie is so good, this character is so badass and this scene is so intense I've just find myself obsessed with it once again)

The movie is A Bug’s Life and I seriously can’t believe how underrated it is. Yes, I know the animation seems outdated, but come on, it’s Pixar’s second film, from 1998. The story is simple but executed in a such a GENIUS way it stands above the recent soulless movies Disney has made.

Now, if you enjoy whump and have seen this movie, you know exactly which scene I’m gonna mention.

Yes, I'm referring to this one.

But first, I just got to admire Flik’s development on this scene.

The first time there’s a confrontation with Hopper, he is totally terrified, hiding behind other ants when Atta tries to point him as the responsible for losing the offering, which he totally is. (But come on, why did they put it at the edge of the cliff?)

And then, when he stands up for Dot, he immediately regrets drawing Hopper’s attention. Just look how scared he is.

He breaks eye contact and steps back as Hopper commands him to do.

And now, back to THE SCENE

This time is different, he has changed since the last encounter. But also it’s not the same Hopper, he’s angrier and determined to regain control. Flik is fully aware he is intending to squish the queen just to set an example.

And now he just tried to trick him with the fake bird, which make things so much worse. Once again, everyone is in danger because of him (The bird fail was not his fault, but he already is stigmatized for being a constant failure)

So there he is. Standing up for Dot and Atta, taking full responsibility for his idea so he can stop Hopper from hurting anyone, proving the last thing he is thinking about is himself. He knows whom he’s talking to and knows there will be consequences.

"Leave her alone Hopper! The bird was my idea! I'm the one you want" (This line and the way he delivers it 👌)

And this is what he gets.

Not only does he gets brutally beaten, but also it must have been humiliating to be put as an example to all of those who felt disdain at him.

It's not too graphic but everyone’s reaction to it and the sounds he makes are enough to know how bad it is. Also the poor ant is left all bruised.

Look at him!

Come on, is there any other Pixar's movie in which a character gets hurt like this? Yes, there are other characters getting hurt. But none as viciously as him. Holy shit, they went too hard on him!

Now Hopper is using him to set the example for everyone, to keep them in line.

But Flik is not having it and somehow gathers the strength to get up.

(The sounds he makes and the effort it takes him to stand up 👌)

It took just a look from Hopper to intimidate him before, but now even when he is menacingly approaching him, Flik doesn't stop talking back. He's so defiant right now and doesn’t break eye contact. Not until Hopper hits him, confirming what he just said.

Hopper looks so terrifying with that raged expression and the fire behind him. He's such a vicious villain and it’s so well established I really thought at this part: Oh, no! He is so screwed!

Filk was so badass with his speech, even though he is visibly in pain. He didn’t know he would inspire everyone and get saved from a certain doom. They never believed in him, so why would they now?

They all knew how screwed they were, they didn’t meet the quota and it was impossible to do so. The bird was the only hope and they we’re so eager to do it but they dropped the plan so easily as soon as they knew it was his idea. That’s the faith they had in him.

Still he didn’t show Hopper any fear. Damn he was so fucking brave!

Just look at this sadistic smile when he is about to squish him. Flik is so weak he can’t do anything about it.

But then Atta stands up for him.

(I love the parallels, first she is so terrified she is about to throw him under the bus, but now she doesn't hesitate to put herself in front of Hopper to protect him. Also I love how she mimics Hopper’s circle of life thing he told her first)

Flik looks so vulnerable, poor ant. I love that Atta tells him she’s proud of him.

And then all the ants finally attack the grasshoppers, making them fly for their lives. Leaving Hopper behind.

But it isn’t enough to stop him.

Now that he completely lost control over the ants and his gang abandoned him, all because of Flik, he only has one thing in mind: revenge.

(The way he targets Flik 👌)

I love how Atta is now so protective towards him.

(The way he snatches and takes him away 👌)

It was short, but still a great and intense chase scene.

I love the way the gang grows to respect him. When he is gonna tell them his idea to make a bird they don’t wanna listen, until they get their egos inflated by getting asked for autographs. But in the scene were they’re celebrating and Flik approaches them to set them free, cause he is not going to put them in a position in which they have to fight, they take some steps closer to him and pay full attention, they genuinely care to listen to whatever he has to say.

And now they get into action so fast, as soon as they see he is in danger they turn themselves into the warriors they were reluctant to be, motivated for his sake. That’s so heartwarming.

Flik is at Hopper’s mercy now. It is now when he’s seen truly terrified. He screams for help, hoping for his friends to rescue him. He knows how screwed he'll be if Hopper succeeds in taking him away.

For a moment it seems like Hopper is gonna get away with him. Where is he taking him to? What is he gonna do to him? It’s clear he wants him dead, but seriously, HOW was he intending to do it?

(Pay attention to Flik's free leg, he's trying to kick Hopper's hand but it's useless. There's nothing he can do.)

But fortunately Atta comes to the rescue again.

Then, it comes this moment.

(The way Hopper lands cutting his path and towers over him👌)

It's also admirable how Flik doesn't get blinded by fear and remembers the real bird they encounter before. (That scene is such a key moment, not only foreshadowing Hopper’s doom but Fliks wit. While the circus gang is panicking, he quickly comes up with a plan)

Flik knows they can’t escape from Hopper nor fight him, they have no chance with him. So he hides Atta and tells her “No matter what happens, stay down”, knowing exactly what he’s getting into and being willing to take it.

Look how terrified Flik is. Yes, he knows what he is doing but it doesn't seem like he's fully acting it. Even though he’s begging, giving Hopper what he wants so he thinks he won and puts his guard down, he does seems scared. There’s no guarantee he’ll be okay.

This poor ant has been put in distress three times in a row now.

(The way he grabs him by his neck and strangles him. Again, the sounds he makes 👌)

The way he strangles him is so brutal.

"I'll get more grasshoppers and be back next season. But you won't!" Damn the way he says the last part.

Hopper has such a murder face, he is so vicious. The way he effortlessly grabs him and the violent movement of his hands is terrifying.

Flik's expression as he gasps and reaches Hopper's hands shows how hard he's squeezing. If the bird had taken a few more seconds he would be dead.

And thankfully the bird comes out, being this his third rescue.

Just look how tiny and fragile Flik looks in Hopper's hands. He just lolls along with his movements, totally helpless 👌

I just love how relieved and proud of himself he looks as he says “Yep!” when Hopper ask’s if it’s another fake bird.

Just look at him, this poor ant has had enough.

And then the scene ends in the most satisfying and gruesome way.

The way Flik gets to defeat Hopper is genius. It is clear how dangerous he is and how helpless Flik is against him, so he outsmarts him and the fact he is able to do so under so much distress is just badass.

Everyone acknowledges how Hopper’s death is one of the most gruesome and horrible from any other Disney and Pixar villain to have, and it's true. But not so many mentions the fact that Flik is put through so much distress, poor ant shouldn’t be able to get up so easily after that.

I would've liked to watch some aftermath involving a lot of comfort, because he really deserves it, along with a HUGE apology from the colony. Except from Dot, of course. Also I think Atta does redeem herself by saving him twice.

The Queen is the one that owes him the biggest apology for accusing him of putting himself before the others. Yes, he made a lot of mistakes cause he is clumsy, and the miscommunication with the circus bugs wasn’t entirely his fault (The fact he did take the time to explain but talked to the rollie pollies was hilarious)

They lied to him first. But I liked that detail when everyone cheers for his departure and he thinks they’re supporting him, that was so cruel but anticipated how gullible he is. Of course he was gonna believe the circus bugs were warriors that easily.

He was in no good position to just tell the truth even if he wanted to, so he had to work with what he had, pleasing the colony and pleasing the circus bugs. That was a shit ton of pressure over him and he was doing it so well. His plan was good, he gave hope to the colony for the first time ever and gave all the credit to the “warriors” since no one believed in him. He was always thinking of ways to make things easier for everyone. And he further proves that by putting his life at risk for them.

He deserves more praise, the colony should've received him back like: "Hey, we're really sorry for judging you and also, take this: 👑 you dropped it king"

Taking such a brutal beating, getting so violently taken away and getting so viciously strangled isn't something someone just can go about as if nothing happened. I really wish for an aftermath scene full of comfort.

I know, I know, they have to stick to a running time and for the sake of the plot and the tone of the movie it has to skip the aftermath and that’s okay. I just I like to imagine how it might went between that scene and the next one. There’s definitely a time skip cause Flik isn’t bruised anymore, and Heimlich got time to grew wings

Overall, I think it’s a great movie (my Pixar’s favorite, if it isn’t obvious already) and a great scene that concludes with the message put through the movie, by Flik and Hopper, about a seed becoming something bigger. (It's a great thing they both have opposing speeches about a seed, Flik meaning inspiration and Hopper meaning a warning) I can’t emphasize enough how this movie deserves more praise!

I really miss the evil and merciless villains that were evil for the sake of being evil and intimidating we don't get to see anymore in modern movies.

But anyway, because of all the things that happen in the scene and because there's that trope of a Whumpee sacrifying for others, using a phrase such as: "I'm the one you want" the whumperflies this scene gives me are just...

So tell me fellow whump enjoyers. What do you think about this?

[lunastrophe]

Drow Lore 🕷️ Sorn and Nadal, Drider Brothers (part 1)

Yet another deep dive into drow / drider lore - this time inspired by two drider characters from Icewind Dale 2: Sorn and Nadal, formerly sons of a noble house from drow city Rilauven.

As driders, they guard the entrance to one of the Underdark locations and they can be talked to. In fact, Sorn does practically all the talking, often showing wry, somewhat bitter sense of humour. Nadal's change, on the other hand, left him a little less drow than most - he has trouble with articulated speech, as well as with controlling his thirst for blood.

Sorn, when asked about his past, can share his and his brother's story. Scraps of information about their fate can be also picked up from other sources in game, giving them an interesting background - here is my attempt to reconstruct it.

So, if you like (sad) stories about driders... here is the first part:

🕷️ Before Transformation - Sorn and Nadal are brothers and former members of a noble drow house ...which shall remain nameless. They were both sons of the Matron Mother of their family, so their social status was probably quite high, and they had at least two sisters.

They lived in Rilauven. It is a drow city located in the Northdark, below the region of Icewind Dale, somewhere under Dorn’s Deep – the ancient dwarven stronghold.

Rilauven is neither as big, nor as old as Menzoberranzan, but still, it seems to be quite prominent. It has the academy of magic (Sorcere), the academy of martial arts (Melee-Quartha), the society of merchants (Belaessar) and at least several old noble houses, collectively known as Ultrinnan Qu'ellar.

To 1282 DR, Rilauven was a typical Lolth-sworn drow city with matriarchal society. Then the local followers of Vhaeraun conducted a successful and relatively bloodless coup, overthrowing Lolth's matriarchy and altering the local power balance.

The brothers did not participate in these events, though.

🕷️ Wizard and Warrior - Sorn and Nadal - given their station and the abilities they managed to retain after transformation - probably graduated respectively from Rilauvenian Sorcere and Melee-Quartha.

Sorn was most likely a wizard since even as a drider, he is an arcane spellcaster. His name means literally "enchanted" or "spell". Nadal was likely a warrior. His name, possibly reflecting his character, is assembled from prefix Nad- ("cunning", "genius", "mind", "thought") and suffix -al ("lunatic", "maniac", "manic", "rage").

Their mother and sisters apparently deemed them competent enough to entrust them with executing their plans - at least until...

🕷️ Scapegoats - sometime before 1282 DR, the noble house Sorn and Nadal belonged to became ...involved in a botched attack on a rival house. The house they attacked could not identify theirs to retaliate, which was a small mercy, but still, the whole operation was considered a fiasco.

According to Sorn: To cover up their poor tactics, our sisters blamed their failure on the execution of their plans. Naturally, we were responsible for that. Our beloved Matron Mother did not question their judgement and promptly had us transformed.

🕷️ Among Lolth-sworn drow, transformation into a drider is associated with failure and punishment - but apparently, it is also possible to be changed into a drider because of someone else's incompetence and intrigue... especially when you are a male 😔

For more of my drow lore ramblings, feel free to check my pinned post 🕷️