#it will always be worth so much more than the hate

[ariessunsakura]

Disclaimer: I started writing my response to this in 2017 and found it in my drafts. I know the whole post is quite old at this point and I'm truly not interested in arguing with anyone or continuing any discussion here, but I decided I didn't want some of what I wrote back then to go to waste.

Back when I started writing my response to this, I was 21 and angry at the large swaths of the fandom insulting the intelligence of Sakura fans like myself. I still love Sakura and SS, but I don't have an issue now saying that men like Kishimoto writing dynamics like Sasuke and Sakura's is something that should be...looked into, let's put it that way haha. That being said, what I still find disheartening is seeing Sakura, very much torn down by misogynistic fans in a large, primarily male fanbase, also torn down or criticized for supposedly feminist reasons by people who are often just determined to dislike her for whatever reason or somehow clearly miss important details. Sakura was reckless and made mistakes and did questionable things, as did many other characters who for some reason draw less ire. Lots of double standards.

Just to reiterate something that's already been said many times, Naruto proves that pop culture aimed at boys should have carefully written main female characters. There is the blatant misogyny that's happened in this fandom that anyone can see. Meanwhile, certain specific fans in the Naruto fandom that I may or may not need to specify (lol) have acted like the gatekeepers of social justice discourse in the fandom when really they've often just been hypocritical and selective about the type of issues they apparently care about when it comes to how they manifest in pop culture, or at least in this bananas series. They've often been bystanders or apologists or worse to that blatant misogyny. In light of everything that's been going on in the world, I sincerely think we should be more careful about how we talk about female characters. So when people write supposedly feminist posts but say that Sakura is just the "female main character with her legs always wide open and ready with basically no standards or expectations" despite everything the story has shown us, I kinda hate it and don't think that's good or feminist at all. Back in 2017, I wrote: I'm sick of condescending takes about Sakura and her fans as though there's little about Sakura’s character or the end of her story that could or should possibly resonate positively with girls.

Again, I know the original post is old. I know that Kishimoto's writing deserves to be criticized and that Sakura made mistakes and should've been written more carefully and responsibly, but I still want to say my piece.

It's true that Sakura is insecure early on, but her feelings for Sasuke really have nothing to do with that. She doesn’t know that Sasuke is popular when she starts to like him, so her feelings have nothing to do with wanting validation.

She knows her worth as a ninja and among her loved ones by part 2. She confronts Sasuke fiercely many times, even as a genin. She basically spent part 2 trying to save or fight or stop him, going so far as thinking she should kill him to protect the village. That's hardly seeking his validation.

And that's not even mentioning what we're shown rather than told about her feelings for him, which is a theme for them. It's the way they act with each other more than what they say.

Karin with her chakra sensing can tell Sakura's grief is genuine and that she must've known Sasuke well.

“There is nothing different or special about Sakura’s love.”

Kishimoto gives us Karin, whose love for Sasuke is written as different from Sakura’s. Karin enables some of Sasuke's destructive choices and ultimately gives up on him, while Sakura ultimately doesn't do either of those things. And we can hypothesize all we want about Ino or some other girl being no different from Sakura, but who's to say they'd have had the same chemistry with Sasuke personality-wise or otherwise, or mutual understanding? We see from inner Sakura and in other instances that she has parallel elements of Naruto's personality, so...yeah, enough said lol. And who's to say another girl would've known exactly when Sasuke would leave the village, unlike Naruto? I think these speak for themselves:

One of the themes of SS, asserted in Kakashi's 693 quote, is that it’s about Sasuke accepting love without an overt reason so he can heal. Love in real life isn't always rational, it's about passion and attraction and things that are unspoken and can't always be put into words, which I think is what Kishimoto wants to convey with SS. The emotion for Sakura in Sasuke's eyes is concealed from us each time he thanks her for a reason. Sasuke tries to make a show of not caring about any of Team 7 or having a reason to love Sakura, but is still clearly drawn to her despite himself.

He's literally proud of her in the middle of all of the chaos and strife lol. He can't help but react to her.

Another theme for them and for other women in the story is stated by Shikamaru's father: Even the roughest woman is tender to the guy she loves.

"Sasuke has not singled her out. She doesn’t appeal to him or interest him. She doesn’t challenge him in any emotional, mental, or physical way."

I think all of the above indicates otherwise. She does challenge him and changes his behavior, least of all when he has his first taste of intoxicating power.

He says himself that he has to remove himself from her and Naruto's vicinity to accomplish his goals. And still, Kishimoto makes a point to include this theme that can also apply to Sasuke:

"...she doesn’t know him, she’s doesn’t understand him, she doesn’t even have a basic grasp on the concepts that are necessary for those things."

Not true. She works tirelessly to understand and learn everything she can, and it's just not her fault that she doesn't always know everything. It honestly doesn't matter that she doesn't.

Sakura gets a lot of heat for what she says when Sasuke leaves the village, but shows she clearly understands his pain later on when trying to reason with Sai:

Never mind that Sasuke isn't even angry at her for what she said when he left.

“Sakura was just afforded the opportunity of being the closest girl around and female main character with her legs always wide open and ready with basically no standards or expectations. But I think the worse part, the really bad thing about it, is it supports a Sakura never growing up(...)as the blind quest for Sasuke’s dick goes on forevermore. All the pathetic shit will forever be apart of her as she dusts a house for a husband who comes home twice a year, who has a child who feels neglected, and she is happy with her dysfunctional family because Sasuke-kun’s anything is enough.”

Anyways.

As for her family, Sakura is clearly distressed by Sarada's distress. Kishimoto inventing a task apparently only Sasuke can do leading to him being away from his family is questionable to say the least, but it's hardly the first time in the story that normal or expected standards maybe can't or don't apply. Never mind Kishimoto probably projecting his own sentiments about career burnout and sacrifice onto Sasuke and Naruto...lol

Sasuke treasures Sakura, there is no way around it.

I don't think anyone is saying Kishimoto's writing is always the pinnacle of excellence lol, and no one has to like Sakura or SS. But people should at least think a little more about what Sakura has meant to a lot of girls and how the story actually unfolds.

Just a Little Bit on Sakura and Sasusaku

You know what I think about Sakura? This is less about Sasuke and more about herself. See, as person who dislikes Sakura, I actually think that because I’m not biased with fanfiction interpretations that I have a better grasp of Sakura’s character than some people who love her. Sakura, despite her bravado, is not a person of real confidence. She has low self-esteem and very little self-worth. I think that part of the reason she is so hung up on Sasuke is its a sense of validation for herself. She was shy, friendless, unpopular, and overlooked as a child. She liked Sasuke, but even better, to be acknowledged by someone everyone likes, everyone admires, that would make her special. That would make her somebody worthwhile, right? Of course I do believe that Sakura does have feelings for Sasuke, but is she really in love with Sasuke the person, or is it the idea of him? That he doesn’t notice her or pay attention to her only makes this insecurity worse. Sakura is constantly angsting over not doing enough, not fitting in on her team, not belonging or being someone of necessity. As stated (in the only time she ever elaborates on her feelings) she is attracted to Sasuke because he’s attractive, talented, and “cool”. A person who personifies, in essence, everything she believes herself not to be. God, there’s so much to say about this really, but I’ll save it for later. 

It’s part of why Sasusaku is such an out of left field idea to me. Sasusaku shippers portray the ship as the exact same way that leads Sakura’s problematic behavior. They ship it because they love the idea of Sakura being the “special one” who is the exeption to Sasuke’s personality and his greatest weakness and is the “fangirl who’s different from all the other girls”, which is so irritating because she’s not. Sakura is the antithesis of these concepts. There is nothing different or special about Sakura’s love. There is nothing different or special about her as far as relating to Sasuke goes. As I detailed in my previous posts, she doesn’t know him, she’s doesn’t understand him, she doesn’t even have a basic grasp on the concepts that are necessary for those things. Sasuke has not singled her out. She doesn’t appeal to him or interest him. She doesn’t challenge him in any emotional, mental, or physical way. They’re not even close. What does Sasuke even know about Sakura, or understand about her? Sakura, as far as Sasusaku goes, has nothing different or special about their relationship or dynamic that couldn’t be done by any other generic fangirl. Absolutely nothing. Nothing that transpired between them is anything that wouldn’t have happened had any other fangirl been placed on his team. That’s really the only thing Sakura had going for her or that seperates her from, I don’t know, Ino. Do any of you Sasusakus honestly think that if Ino was on his team that he wouldn’t have saved her life? That he wouldn’t have grown to care for her as a teammate? That he wouldn’t have thanked her for caring about him? That he would have left her to die? Or treated her like dirt on the bottom of his shoe? Do you really think that these “Sasusaku proofs of love” aren’t just generic shit that would come with virtually any other teammate, and is actually something unique that would only be there with Sakura?

‘Cause see, that's my whole thing. Can’t say that about Naruto. I can’t say that if Kiba had been his teammate, everything about their relationship would be more or less exactly the same. Or Shikamaru. Or Chouji. Or Neji. 'Cause you see, the manga has shown me this. Its shown me the depth, the reason, the relationship, the uniqueness between the two. In fact, while reading this I bet you were thinking of how different the dynamics would have been between Sasuke and those male characters, because, surprise surprise, there is actually something substantial there that can’t be replicated and receive the same results. Seriously, replace Ino with Sakura and think of what would change in regards to Sasuke. Ino would have cared. Ino would have tried to stop him. Seeing as how there are no substantial moments of bonding or exclusivity between the two, there is nothing that would have happened that Ino couldn’t fill in for. Sasuke waxed lyrical about Naruto and how much he’s always loved him and the ways in which he enriched his life for two straight chapters while Sakura got no mention (except, of course, in the Team 7 picture where he refers to them as such). Sakura was just afforded the opportunity of being the closest girl around and female main character with her legs always wide open and ready with basically no standards or expectations. 

For fucks sake, Sakura literally has nothing to do with Sasuke’s character or story arc. Seriously, delete Sakura from the manga and tell me what about Sasuke’s person or journey as character throughout the story changes. Please. Tell me something that would have affected his plot if some other girl with healing powers were on his team.

I’m just saying, there is nothing inside of Sasusaku. Nothing at all. Kishimoto doesn’t give a fuck about this pairing (lol I don’t know how they got together I don’t want any SS in the pairings movie there wasn’t gonna be any in the Bolt movie either but the SS fans are complaining so I guess I’ll come up with something here have a family pic of Sasuke looking like he’s about to run away as soon as the camera flashes and a Karin lookalike child who feels neglected), and it cannot become more apparent how little actual thought goes into this ship. Its just a vicarious fantasy ship where Sasuke is standard shoujo angsty bad boy bishie and Sakura is “independent, normal girl who’s different from all the rest” which is pretty much the antithesis of these characters. 

But I think the worse part, the really bad thing about it, is it supports a Sakura never growing up. It takes all those things (the potential for self-reflection and learning to be a person who doesn’t need others to feel worth something) and throws it in the garbage as the blind quest for Sasuke’s dick goes on forevermore. All the pathetic shit will forever be apart of her as she dusts a house for a husband who comes home twice a year, who has a child who feels neglected, and she is happy with her dysfunctional family because Sasuke-kun’s anything is enough. I don’t even fucking like Sakura, but that anyone is defending that anything about what her character turned into is satisfactory and good is honestly some disheartening shit. 

[personapeters]

✰ 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭-𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

— frat boyfriend rafe if he turned to college instead of crime (lol)

rating: sfw — cw: a little suggestive, language

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… during the day wears his regular rich boy attire: a polo, fitted shorts, and sneakers worth more than a semesters tuition. after hours, you’ll find him casually dressed in a university branded tee that hugged his biceps oh-so perfectly, gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a backwards snapback that held his long hair out of his face — perfection.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… is supposed to wear glasses but rarely does, saying they make him look like ‘a fucking geek’. eventually, he became comfortable enough to wear them around you and only you in the privacy of your dorm, and you’d tease him about how he’s the hottest ‘geek’ you’ve ever seen.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… never lets you walk back to your dorm alone, no matter the time or circumstance. whether it be broad daylight or the middle of the night, he makes zero exceptions — he’s seen the way some of the guys interacted with the girls on campus and he’ll burn the place down before it happens to you.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… isn’t really fond of coffee unless its fully black, but occasionally brings you your favorite cream filled and sugar loaded latte when you have an early morning class, loving how much sweeter it makes your mouth taste.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… begrudgingly walks (practically drags) your drunk friends back to their dorms whenever you ask him to, though he couldn’t care less how they got home. as terrible as it sounds, he only does it for you.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… enjoys to show you off to his frat brothers but simultaneously hates when they look at you. it didn’t make sense, and he was well aware of that, but it’s true — in a ‘look how hot my girl is’ yet a ‘she’s mine, don’t look at her’ way.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… met you at the campus library, as cliche as it is. he was only there to make quick deal outside, but when he spotted you through a window as your fingers grazed the spines of the books on the shelf, he knew he had to go inside.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… loves when you wear his university branded t-shirts and hoodies, loving how they swallow you whole as your sleeping gowns or when you roll them up, paired with leggings: “fuck, keep that one — looks so fuckin’ good on you.”

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… insists on covering any and every cost that your scholarships don’t and more; books, supplies, dorm furniture, food, clothes, gas, fees, whatever. of course, you were bewildered as to how a college student had enough money to fund someone else’s life, let alone their own, but once you learned the entirety of his lengthy backstory, it all made plenty of sense.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… has gotten into his fair share of fights over you, feeling it’s mandatory that everyone on campus knows who’s girl you are and what happens when they challenge that. let it be a suggestive comment or a lingering touch, rafe’s always quick to set shit straight. typically, that type of behavior would result in expulsion, but with the cameron family’s high status and money, rafe was never actually punished for anything.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… only made it into the same university as you due to his wealth. sure, he was smart but wouldn’t have made it in without his monetary advantage. he’d often get angry and frustrated whenever doing work he simply couldn’t master, but you were like his personal tutor, reassuring him that he can, he just needs to take the time and study (with your help, of course).

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… has your schedule memorized, often casually leaning outside of your classroom with his arms crossed over his chest as he waits for you to emerge so he can shamelessly perform some p.d.a. before escorting you to your next location.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… once brought you to visit his home town on a break, the outer banks, taking you to all of his favorite spots and, hesitantly, introducing you to his close friends and family. he even explained the whole ‘pogues vs kooks’ thing, emphasizing his distaste for the latter — you honestly thought it was insane: “y’know… if i grew up here, i’d’ve been a ‘pogue’, too,” you reasoned. “yeah, well, you didn’t,” he stated stoically.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… only went to college with the plan to build his credentials, promising his father he’d soon join in on running the family business. his father was impressed to hear that, saying, “really? wow… m’proud of you, son,” hugging him firmly in a way he seldom did; all rafe’s ever wanted was to be loved and accepted by his dad, and this was his way to do it.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… is very aware of and annoyed by how other girls throw themselves at him during parties or in the halls — instead of it fueling his ego, it only angers him because he knows they can see you standing right next to him: “swear the bitch is fuckin’ stupid… like she doesn’t see my hand on your ass.”

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 5/?)

Negotiating with the devil is a delicate dance — every offer comes at a cost, every promise demands a sacrifice. And when Silco is your devil, the price is always more than your soul.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 7,6K

Warnings: smut, sexual tension, light bondage (restraint without having sex), jealous Silco, semi-public carnal acts, masturbation (m!receiving), accidental exhibitionism (it will make sense I swear), orgasm denial, possessive behavior, you work in the brothel, Silco POV Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

What can I say? I'm a fan of the "under the table" cliché, so I had to make my own version... Silco's little monologue at the end was me trying to make references to Silco's monologues in arcane (it didn't turn out so well, but the intention is worth it) Btw I'll make a banner for this story so I can pin it to my profile and make it easier to select chapters AND I'm considering making a playlist for this series, so if you have any song suggestions please let me know.

You woke up suddenly, gasping for air, as though you had just surfaced from underwater. Your mind, still foggy, stumbled between that memory and reality. You were okay now. It was just a memory, a fragment clinging to the recesses of your mind. Your chest rose and fell frantically, but as the environment around you started to take shape, the cold, dense air of the room grounded you back in the present.

Taking a deep breath, your senses began to return, one by one. Muffled sounds reached your ears—voices filled with authority and disdain. The familiar smell of tobacco invaded your nostrils, mixed with the scent of aged leather. Your skin registered the coarse yet oddly comfortable fabric draped over you. Despite the initial confusion, it brought a strange sense of relief. You were alive, but not exactly safe.

You moved, testing the motion of your limbs, feeling the stiffness gradually ease. But then came the worst sensation in the world: your throat was parched, so dry it felt as though it might crack at any moment. A discomfort that yanked you back into the limbo between wanting to rise or succumbing to the exhaustion that still clung to you.

You chose the latter. Slowly, the recent events began to piece themselves together. It was a fragmented mosaic, but soon you realized you were lying on a couch. Not just any couch, but the one in Silco's office.

"That boy is ten minutes late." the deep, cutting voice filled the room—the kind of baritone that could command respect or instill fear with equal ease. It wasn't hard to identify the speaker: Silco. He sounded irritated, though his irritation was controlled, like a blade kept sheathed. "He'll wait another ten for his arrogance."

"He's going to hate that." another voice replied, this time feminine, yet deep and brimming with authority much like Silco's. The kind of voice that seemed to belong to someone accustomed to commanding presence without raising their tone. You recognized it immediately. It was her—the same woman who had handed you Kate's necklace.

"Let him throw a tantrum." the metallic creak of a chair shifting broke the silence, indicating someone—certainly Silco—had leaned back, adopting a deliberately relaxed posture. "These fools have the bad habit of forgetting who they're dealing with." there was a pause, followed by an audible sigh. "Such an unnecessary headache."

For a moment, you considered remaining still, listening to the conversation, pretending to still be asleep. But the pain in your throat became unbearable, forcing you to act. Slowly, trying not to draw attention, you attempted to sit up on the couch. The blanket—that's what had been covering you—slid slightly as you adjusted your body, but the movement, subtle as it was, didn't go unnoticed.

Two pairs of eyes fell upon you.

"Welcome back." Silco's voice hit you like a snap. It was provocative, laden with that familiarity that made your stomach churn. Your eyes met his, and the shrewd, controlling glint that always inhabited his gaze was more evident than ever. He looked pleased, almost as if he knew exactly what you were thinking and feeling at that moment.

He then shifted his attention to the sturdy woman standing still, unmoving like a statue. Her posture seemed that of someone used to following orders without question but not without an intimidating presence.

"Leave us." the command was clear, direct, his tone leaving little room for hesitation or questioning. It was so natural you could imagine she had been waiting for it. "I need to have a private conversation with my guest."

The woman—whose name still escaped you but who, now that you looked closer, didn't seem entirely unfamiliar—hesitated for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before complying. Her gaze lingered on you, carrying something between suspicion and curiosity, though you couldn't decide which was more prominent. With a final glance, she left the office, her footsteps echoing softly on the floor until they disappeared down the hall.

When the door closed, the room felt even more claustrophobic. Silco turned his attention back to you, his sharp eyes scanning your face as if trying to decipher something. He tilted his head slightly, studying you before finally speaking.

"How are you feeling, dove?" his voice was a mix of calculated concern and veiled disdain. "I trust you've recovered from our little... incident."

You raised your eyebrows, a mixture of disbelief and irritation washing over your features. The word "incident" felt like a bad joke, a blatant attempt to downplay what had happened. Your voice came out rough, dry as sandpaper, as you confronted him.

"Incident? You bastard! You drugged me!"

Silco's face remained unreadable, a mask of unshakable calm, as though your accusation were nothing more than a leaf carried by the wind. Without saying a word, he reached for the glass decanter on his desk, pouring water into a tumbler with almost ceremonial precision. Then he stood and, without hurry, offered the glass to you, like someone extending an olive branch.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, but thirst won out. You grabbed the glass from his hand and emptied it in large, desperate gulps, the water sliding down your throat with such immediate relief that it almost drew a sigh from you. Only when you finished did it occur to you that you hadn't even checked if there was something mixed into the liquid.

"I sedated you." Silco corrected, his tone calm and almost didactic, as if explaining something trivial. He refilled the glass with the same patience, setting it aside without pressuring you to take another. "To prevent you from doing something stupid. Something you'd regret."

The serenity with which he spoke was unsettling. Each word was meticulously measured, as if he controlled even the impact he intended to have on you. "And technically." he added, and you immediately knew you wouldn't like what came next, "You were the one who pulled the trigger that released the gas."

Your glare of disdain was more eloquent than any verbal response could have been. Your expression said it all: how much you detested the way he twisted the facts, transforming what was so obviously his fault into a wordplay that absolved him. But, as always, he seemed to simply ignore it.

"Satisfy my curiosity, dove." Silco leaned casually against the edge of his desk, legs slightly spread, arms resting in an unnervingly relaxed manner while his intense gaze seemed to pierce into the darkest corners of your soul. He positioned himself strategically, the difference in height between you two magnifying the aura of dominance he exuded. "What exactly was your plan? Come here, grab my own weapon, and put a bullet in my head? Or was there something more elaborate behind it?"

You swallowed hard but held his gaze. Silco knew you weren't stupid. He had always known. And that was exactly what made the tension between you so unbearable. He didn't underestimate you. Quite the opposite—he believed you were capable of far more than anyone else would ever imagine.

"You're no fool." he tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with that blend of fascination and menace that made him impossible to ignore. "You knew I'd have precautions. You wouldn't be the first to try killing me in my own office."

He pushed off the desk with predatory grace, approaching you with slow, almost dragging steps. The tension in his body was palpable, every muscle ready to react, but you knew he wasn't afraid. Not of you, not now. He seemed to feed off the nervous energy radiating from you, as if it sustained him.

"So, tell me..." he purred, his voice so low and rough it felt almost tangible, like velvet sliding across your skin. "What game are you playing?"

You lifted your chin, refusing to yield, even though the disparity of power between the two of you was glaring. The posture was symbolic, almost theatrical. He stood tall, looking down at you with the gaze of a judge about to hand down a sentence. You, seated, staring back from below, yet without a trace of submission in your eyes.

It was a stalemate—a power struggle in which the cards were visibly stacked in his favor.

If you had listened to reason, you would have submitted by now. Apologized, played the victim, begged for your life. After all, even if this had been a trap Silco orchestrated from the start, the fact that you had actually pulled the trigger against him was a crime that could easily seal your fate.

"Maybe..." you began, a dry, bitter laugh escaping your lips. You turned the now-empty glass of water between your fingers as if deliberating something far greater, then placed it on the table with a dull thud. "Maybe I just came here to appeal to whatever's left of your common sense." your words dripping with sarcasm, laced with a wild courage, almost suicidal. "To try and reach whatever humanity you might have left, if there's even any left at all."

Bowing your head to Silco had never been part of the plan. Submission wasn't who you were, and this constant battle for control, for power, was part of the game you played. The game that, in some twisted way, kept the two of you tethered. So, instead of accepting the vulnerable position he seemed intent on placing you in, you decided to flip the board.

You rose from the couch, your legs as steady as steel, and faced him directly. Your eyes met, and the distance between your bodies was minimal—far too close for what should have been a casual conversation. But Silco, of course, didn't believe in personal space. And if he could ignore that convention, so could you.

"You're right." your voice was light, though the weight in your tone was unmistakable. "Trying to kill you like that wasn't the plan, but the opportunity was there, and I couldn't let it slip by. I would've done Zaun a favor if I'd succeeded."

The words were spat with a caustic pride. There was no fear in them, and certainly no regret. In your eyes, Silco's death wasn't just a desire—it was a necessity, a moral duty. If Zaun was poisoned now, it was his doing. If you felt so intoxicated by him that it bordered on hatred laced with desire, that was his fault too. Everything was his fault. He was the cause and the consequence, the poison and the unattainable cure.

Your fingers slowly rose to the fabric of his suit, the texture familiar—a bitter, sweet memory all at once. It was the same gesture you'd made the night you first met, and just like then, he didn't move to stop you. He allowed you to touch him, as if the vulnerability it implied wasn't a problem. Perhaps, just as he unraveled your rationality, you unraveled his. Perhaps you were each other's weak spot, exploiting that frailty in a selfish, destructive game.

"But since we're talking about games." your voice taking on a provocative tone. "Shall we talk about yours as well?" your gaze slid over his body, lingering at his hip, where you confirmed what you had already suspected: the holster was empty. Clever bastard. "I know how ruthless you are." you said, an almost casual note in your words, though the tension in the air was palpable. "You've eliminated everyone who stood in your way, everyone who dared challenge you. Every single one who raised a hand against you is now dead."

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. The scene might have been mistaken for a romantic gesture, were it not for the heavy atmosphere, laden with ambiguous intentions. Your proximity was suffocating, both for him and for you, yet neither of you pulled away.

"But I'm still here." your smile was almost childlike, innocent, but your eyes burned with something entirely opposite. "I've challenged you so many times... slapped you, shot at your head..." your voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper. "You know how much I want to hurt you. How much I want to kill you."

A pause, tense and deliberate.

"And yet, here I am. Alive!"

You felt Silco's arms wrap around your waist, his hands pressing firmly against your back, keeping you close. The way he made a point of leaving no space between you was almost suffocating. His possessiveness in that touch was unmistakable, as if he were staking his claim, but his face—oh, his face. The severity etched into his features betrayed more than just control. His narrowed eyes and tense jaw reflected two conflicting emotions: irritation and desire.

Silco was not a man who dealt well with direct confrontations, especially when challenged. Yet, he remained silent, as though intrigued by where your words and actions were leading him. You could almost hear his thoughts, trying to decipher your moves while his patience slowly frayed.

"You said I make you feel alive, didn't you?" 

Slowly, you began to push him back, your bodies still pressed together, but the movement was unmistakable. One step, then another, until he was backed up against the edge of the desk. Your gaze darted around, scanning the objects within reach. Anything would do, as long as it was useful. Your eyes settled on a small dagger, resting atop a stack of freshly opened letters. That would be enough.

"Does the idea of my hatred excite you enough to make you not want to kill me?" the question was laced with disdain, an implicit challenge, as your hand moved slowly toward the desk, your fingers inching closer to the dagger's hilt.

Silco didn't respond immediately, but there was something in his expression—a glint in his eyes, a slight curl at the corner of his lips—that told you he knew exactly what you were doing. And yet, he seemed to be enjoying it, accepting the challenge.

"Your hatred?" he mocked, his voice low, almost a growl. "I'd rather the thought of breaking you."

"Good to know." you leaned into him, reducing the already minimal space between your faces. It seemed like a gesture of surrender, as if you were about to give in, to initiate a kiss. But as your lips drew closer, your fingers finally brushed the dagger's hilt.

It was quick. Too quick. Before you could raise the weapon, Silco's hand shot out, gripping your wrist with an ironclad hold, crushing any hope of movement. He barely had to try. With a single, fluid motion, he reversed the situation entirely, pinning you against the desk. Your back collided with the wood in a thud that echoed in your ears. The dagger slipped from your fingers, clattering uselessly to the floor.

His grip on your wrists was unrelenting, pinning them above your head as his weight bore down, keeping you entirely immobilized.

"Tsk, tsk." the sound of his tongue clicking carried an almost casual disdain, but his eyes betrayed him—there was something more there, a spark of amusement. He seemed to relish the mistake you'd made, as if waiting for you to misstep in exactly this way. Yet, there was a tilt of his head, a faint gesture of acknowledgment, as if he recognized something in you. "So predictable, dove. You'll have to do better than that if you want to catch me off guard."

You thrashed against his grip, your body twisting with enough force to wreak small havoc on the pristine desk. Papers slid to the floor with a muffled rustle, others crumpled beneath you, and carefully arranged objects toppled into minor chaos. It was a ridiculous, rebellious spectacle, but at its core, it was necessary. You were the disorder Silco seemed so intent on containing—the point of chaos in his calculated control.

And even though rationality screamed that another attack was practically impossible, there was something vital in showing Silco that you wouldn't give in so easily. Not without a fight.

"Now." he began, his voice tinged with a mock deliberation as he tilted his head to look directly into your eyes. "What should I do with you?" his fingers tightened around your wrists—not enough to hurt, but firmly enough to remind you who was in control in that moment. "Punish you for your insolence? Or reward you for your... enthusiasm?"

Your body was on fire. The rage burned under your skin like embers, but it was accompanied by another sensation—one you knew well enough to feel a flicker of embarrassment.

"Give me your worst." you snapped, your voice cutting through the air, a mix of anger and something that sounded almost like... anticipation. It was the heat from before, the way Silco's touch, even in restraint, left marks that went beyond the physical. Your body, damned and contradictory, reacted to the stimulus in ways your mind refused to condone.

Silco noticed. Of course he noticed. His smile widened, curving into something not just triumphant but dangerous. "You don't know what you're asking for." his voice low and gravelly as he tightened his grip on your wrists. The pressure wasn't painful but evoked a strange sense of anticipation.

"I'm not asking." you met his gaze, chin tilted upward in defiance. "I'm demanding, Silco."

The words came out sharp, like razors, and you knew what you were doing. It was like pulling the trigger of a gun without knowing where the bullet would land. You saw the change in him immediately. His breath hitched—barely perceptible, but you were close enough to catch it. His eyes narrowed, not in anger but in focus. He was searching for something in you—lies, hesitation, any crack in your armor that would reveal you were bluffing.

But he found nothing but resolve.

You both remained there, suspended in a limbo where the air felt electrified, so dense it was almost impossible to breathe. The tension was tangible, nearly solid, like metal on the brink of being forged under intense heat. You could feel the smell of gunpowder before the inevitable explosion, but just as the moment threatened to erupt, a sound shattered the silence.

A knock on the door.

"Ten minutes, boss."

That same female voice cut through the charged atmosphere, interrupting what felt like an inevitable escalation between you and Silco. His gaze, once locked on you with an almost primal hunger, shifted, overtaken by frustration. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling heavily—a sigh that carried more than annoyance. There was a hint of resignation in it.

"Damn it." Finally, he released your wrists, stepping back just enough to grant you the space you had longed for—though now it felt strange, uncomfortable. Silco ran a hand over his face, pushing his hair back in a mechanical gesture, one you'd seen him do whenever he needed to collect himself. The desire that had overflowed mere seconds ago was pushed down, though you could swear it still lingered in the air like an invisible presence.

"Of all the goddamn timing..." he murmured under his breath, adjusting his clothes in a futile attempt to reclaim the composure he held so dear.

You, in turn, rose slowly from the table, feeling the tension in your muscles. Your fingers instinctively moved to your wrists, massaging them. There wouldn't be any marks—you were sure of that—but the phantom of his grip still burned there, hot and real as if his fingers were still on your skin.

"We'll continue this later." his voice now colder as he adjusted the collar of his suit and smoothed out his clothes. The attempt to return to his usual image of impeccable authority was almost laughable, especially after what had just happened. He sat in his chair, picking up the crumpled papers and organizing them with quick fingers, but you could tell he was still irritated.

Then he looked up at you, his expression carrying a clear warning. "You're staying."

The way he said it made your whole body tense. You turned your neck so quickly to face him that you heard the crack of your joints, an uncomfortable sound that echoed through the room. "Staying?" you repeated, as if he had just suggested something absurdly foolish. "Not a chance. One chemical baron is enough. Two is too much."

Silco let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as if to ward off an impending headache. His patience was clearly wearing thin. Maybe it was the meeting that bothered him, maybe it was you, or—more likely—a combination of both. His eyes narrowed as he straightened his shoulders, reclaiming the unyielding posture that seemed so natural to him.

"You. Will. Stay." the words were spoken slowly and, each one landing like an inarguable sentence. The firmness in his voice made your shoulders stiffen, an involuntary reflex in the face of the authority that radiated from every syllable. "I'm not asking, dove. I'm ordering."

The irony of the moment wasn't lost on you, and his choice of words was a clear provocation—an intentional twist of the very words you had used to confront him earlier. Before you could retort, Silco gestured toward the sofa with a sharp wave of his hand, a silent but impossible-to-ignore command.

"Sit. Behave. And for fuck's sake, try not to stab anyone else."

The sarcasm in the last sentence was almost tangible, but his tone left no room for argument. Silco wasn't in the mood to negotiate. Not now, not when he already had so much—and now you—to keep under control. The tension in the air lingered, but you knew pushing the issue now would be pointless. You rolled your eyes but reluctantly obeyed.

"Good girl." his voice dripping with mockery. "Perhaps I'll give you a reward later."

You bit your tongue to avoid a biting retort, but the phrase kept reverberating in your mind, especially those damned words—good girl.

The door then opened.

The man who entered did so as if he owned the place. Confidence was evident in his stride and posture, but what really caught your attention was his appearance. He was young, with a face that, if you were honest, was attractive—but not to you. Your tastes leaned more toward the man on the other side of the room.

He was remarkable, though. The golden prosthetic jaw gleamed under the light, almost as if designed to demand attention. A vibrant yellow jacket draped over his shoulders in a way that screamed status and vanity. His skin was nearly a living canvas, adorned with black tattoos.

"Silco." he greeted the man with a cheerfulness that seemed superficial but still carried a touch of cordiality.

"Finn."

Silco gestured to the chair in front of his desk, indicating that Finn should sit. He did so, adjusting his coat as he settled in. Meanwhile, Silco leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes burned with that cold, calculated intensity you knew so well.

"I've heard there's been some... chatter," Silco began, his voice low but steeped in professionalism. "About my recent actions. My decision to sponsor a certain protégé."

"Yes, well." Finn chose his words carefully. "It's... unorthodox, to say the least. Sponsoring a prostitute? Not exactly the kind of image we want to project, is it?"

His gaze was sharp, as if trying to gauge Silco's reaction as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands together. "The other barons are concerned this could reflect poorly on all of us. That it might undermine our credibility, our authority."

He paused.

"And then there's the matter of your... personal involvement. We all know what happened with Jinx. The last thing we need is another scandal, another distraction. Especially now, with the situation in the Undercity so volatile."

Jinx. The name echoed in your mind, and you couldn't help but think of a certain someone whenever you heard it. But the question was: Was it the same person? If that was even possible...

Finn opened his hands in a theatrical gesture of appeasement, trying to appear conciliatory. "I'm not saying you can't do what you want, Silco. But perhaps... perhaps it would be wise to distance yourself. To make it clear this is strictly business and nothing more."

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with tension. Even without looking at Silco, you could feel the irritation radiating from him, though his expression remained impeccably neutral. It was clear that Finn was walking on thin ice.

You weren't particularly pleased either. The presence of two barons in a confined space wasn't exactly comfortable, but hearing the way Finn referred to you, as if you were nothing more than an object, was particularly unbearable. Truthfully, you had the impression Finn hadn't even noticed your presence in the room.

"My personal life is my business." Silco finally broke the silence, his voice low and laden with authority. "It doesn't concern you or any other baron."

"I have certain doubts about that statement."

You watched Finn as he repeatedly flicked open and closed the golden lighter he held between his fingers. The metallic sound echoed irritatingly, punctuating the loaded silence. The young man didn't look the least bit satisfied with Silco's response. His eyes gleamed with discontent, though he maintained a forced facade of calm.

You had seen this kind of dynamic before, especially at the brothel, where men with inflated egos competed for control. Both wanted to dominate the situation, and neither seemed inclined to back down. It was a dangerous game, but you'd always had a tendency to get involved in things you shouldn't. Against all logic—and perhaps your instinct for self-preservation—you decided to add fuel to the fire.

Reaching for one of the cigars casually tossed on the table along with the lighter, you stood up from the sofa, your steps light enough not to draw immediate attention. Finn seemed so absorbed in his irritation that he didn't even notice your approach. But Silco... oh, Silco noticed. Of course, he did. He didn't say a word, merely tilted his head slightly, his expression indifferent. But you could see it in his eyes—he was wondering what on earth you were up to.

Holding the cigar between your fingers, you offered it to Silco with an air of nonchalance as you stood beside him. He didn't hesitate. He took the cigar in one smooth motion and brought it to his lips. When he leaned slightly forward for you to light it, your breath almost synchronized with his. And then, you decided it still wasn't enough.

With a small pivot, you turned Silco's chair slightly toward you, and before he could react—not that he needed to, because you knew he would allow it—you settled yourself in his lap.

Silco simply adjusted, shifting his posture so you fit perfectly in his space. One hand rested on your waist, the grip firm but not intrusive, while he held the cigar in the other. His expression remained unchanged, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

The same, however, couldn't be said for Finn.

The young man's eyes finally noticed your presence. And not just that—they scanned every detail of you, from the tone of your skin to your smallest gestures. His face was a mixture of confusion and barely disguised indignation. It was obvious he hadn't expected there to be a third person in the room, much less someone who displayed such familiarity with Silco.

"The situation in the undercity is precarious, I'll grant you that," Silco resumed, completely ignoring the look Finn cast at the two of you and the earlier tension. His voice was as steady and controlled as ever. "But that is all the more reason for us to remain united, to present a strong front to the Topsiders. And now, the last thing we need is petty doubts over personal matters."

Silco paused to take a long drag from his cigar, letting the smoke escape his lips with almost cruel slowness.

"So here's what's going to happen, Finn. You're going to go back and politely inform the others that everything is under control. Understood?"

"Perfectly." Finn replied, with a smile that was a disconcerting mix of amusement and insolence. He seemed genuinely entertained by the dynamic between the two of you, as if watching a particularly intriguing play unfold. "Well, I must say, I can see your point now, Silco. Excellent choice... I have to admit, I'm a bit annoyed I didn't come across her first."

The atmosphere shifted instantly. If the room had been tense before, now it felt as if all the air had been sucked out entirely. It was almost like watching someone willingly step off a cliff. You weren't sure if Finn was suicidal, stupid, or simply incapable of reading the room. Because saying something like that, so openly, in front of Silco... well, that was the very definition of digging your own grave.

"I'd advise you to choose your words more carefully." Silco's response came quickly, but it was dangerous. "My tolerance for nonsense is running thin."

Finn, however, didn't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. Or perhaps he did and simply didn't care. He laughed. "Don't take it personally. I'm merely complimenting your excellent taste. It's no sin to admire a fine new acquisition."

Finn's eyes slid over you again, this time even more blatantly. It was the kind of look that made your skin crawl, but not in a good way. The difference between Finn and Silco was stark—while Silco's gaze was warm yet never intrusive, Finn's was filthy. As if he was deliberately trying to reduce you to nothing more than a sexual object.

Whatever was holding back Silco's patience was on the verge of snapping.

Without thinking too much—actually, without thinking at all—you acted. Your hands slid downward, moving so casually that it seemed like an innocent gesture. But you knew exactly what you were doing. And, by the way Silco immediately tensed, he knew too. At first, it was just a light touch, almost experimental, but enough to elicit a reaction from him. He couldn't completely hide the rigidity that took over his body.

You rested your head on his shoulder, assuming an almost relaxed posture. Pretending to pay attention to the conversation, you let your fingers trace down his side, caressing him over the fabric.

The table between you and Finn was high enough to conceal what you were doing. From Finn's perspective, you were simply lounging in Silco's lap, like an ornament adorning the baron's throne. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Silco tense even more. Not just physically—his entire body seemed on high alert. The way he adjusted his posture was subtle but unmistakable.

Your intentions with that move were... multifaceted. You wanted to distract Silco from his growing desire to do something that would end in yet another corpse; you wanted to alleviate some of the crushing tension in the room; but most of all, you wanted revenge. It didn't matter if it was for the gas he'd used against you or for Kate's death—something inside you craved a small victory.

And, frankly, what could be more satisfying than turning the tables on Silco in the middle of an important meeting?

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

He should have known that the woman was up to something when she disobeyed him like that. A part of his mind really thought that she would behave herself for once, especially in the presence of another baron since she seemed quite furious when he ordered her to stay. Maybe that was karma punishing him in the form of the woman who tormented him so much.

He could have stopped her. Stopped what that wicked mind of hers was about to do, but still he didn't. He allowed it, and God he wondered why.

Silco's breath hitched in his throat as her fingers brushed against his crotch, her touch light and teasing but unmistakably deliberate. He gritted his teeth, his muscles tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. He could feel himself growing hard, could feel the blood rushing to his groin, his cock twitching and straining against the confines of his trousers.

But he didn't react, didn't move, didn't give any outward sign of his arousal. He kept his eyes locked on Finn's face, his expression cool and impassive, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Inside, though, he was seething. Fury and lust warred within him, a potent cocktail of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to grab her, to throw her down on the desk and fuck her until she screamed. He wanted to wipe that smug, knowing smile off her face, to make her beg for mercy. That damn woman.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, to regain control as he took another drag of his cigar. "Now that we've gotten this personal issue out of the way, I think we can talk business. The Chemtanks are ready for testing?"

He forced himself to focus on the conversation, on Finn's words. The other baron was talking about something; answering his question, but Silco couldn't quite concentrate on the specifics. All he could think about was the feel of her fingers on his cock, the subtle pressure and friction that sent sparks of pleasure racing up his spine.

"Yes, everything is in order," Finn replied, his tone carefully neutral. "We should be able to start the tests by the end of the week."

He shifted slightly in his seat, trying to adjust himself, to find some relief from the growing ache in his groin. But her hand followed him, her touch unerringly accurate, her fingers tracing the outline of his shaft through the fabric of his pants.

"And what about the vaporization systems? They changed it to be towards the helmet instead of into the bloodstream"

Silco's heart pounded in his chest as her nimble fingers worked at his zipper, the sound of the metal teeth sliding apart obscenely loud in his ears. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, his palms slick with sweat. He could feel the heat of her breath on his neck.

"Renni is taking care of that part, but she is confident that we'll have a working prototype within the month. And with your approval, we can begin mass production shortly thereafter."

He could feel her fingers wrapping around his cock, her touch sure and skilled. She stroked him slowly, teasingly, her palm gliding over the sensitive skin of his shaft. "Good." it was unclear whether he had said that to Finn or to her. "But we'll need to increase production of shimmer." Finn was saying, his voice starting to get distant and muffled, as if he were speaking from the bottom of a well. "If we want to keep up with demand, we'll need to double our output, maybe even triple it."

"Agreed. Sevika can..." he paused, his breath catching in his throat as her thumb brushed across the sensitive head of his cock. He could feel the pleasure sparking through him. "Sevika can handle that part. I'll ask her to recruit more workers."

Her hand moved faster, her grip tightening around his cock, her strokes becoming more purposeful, more demanding. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, could feel the familiar tightening in his gut, the ache in his core.

"Is everything alright, Silco? You seem... distracted."

"I'm fine."

No, he wasn't.

Silco's breath came shorter, his chest heaving with each ragged inhale. He could feel the pressure building in his groin, the tightening coil of pleasure that wound its way up his spine. His cock throbbed in her hand, the wetness of his pre-cum easing the way, allowing her fingers to slide effortlessly along his shaft.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain his composure. But it was getting harder, the pleasure overwhelming his senses, clouding his thoughts. He could feel his hips moving, could feel himself thrusting involuntarily into her touch, seeking more friction, more stimulation. Just a little more… Then, just as it came suddenly her hands slid out.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Silco felt the sting of having control wrested from his grasp—a sensation he was far more accustomed to delivering than receiving. The experience of being denied his climax, especially in such an unanticipated manner, reverberated through him, setting his nerves alight with a volatile mixture of frustration and smoldering irritation.

Of all the things that woman could have done, this was not one he had foreseen. Not in the slightest.

With a sharp inhale, he reached for the cigar balanced between his fingers, now nearly burnt to its stub. His anger found an outlet in the force he applied as he stubbed it out against the ashtray, grinding the glowing ember with such aggression that sparks flew into the surrounding air. The scent of burnt tobacco mixed with the acrid sharpness of his rising temper. Damn her.

"Anything else, Finn?" it was a question in name only—a rhetorical barb meant to dismiss rather than invite further conversation.

Finn hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before responding. "No. That's all for now. I'll have my people send over the updated schematics for the Chemtank prototypes."

Finn lingered for a moment too long, as though weighing whether to add anything further, but Silco's unyielding stare settled the matter. The younger man rose from his seat and made his exit, the faint scrape of the chair against the floor marking his departure.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Silco leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a moment to exhale through his nose, slow and measured. His hand drifted to his temple, fingers pressing lightly against the scarred skin as if to quell the tension building there.

Silco's eyes narrowed as he watched her slip from his grasp, her smug smile a taunting reminder of his own vulnerability. The audacity of the woman, to toy with him so brazenly, to push him to the precipice of release only to deny him the satisfaction of climax. It was infuriating, maddening... and oddly enticing.

Her voice had been laced with an infuriatingly sweet sarcasm that grated on his nerves like sandpaper. "You look frustrated."

He reached down to adjust himself, his mechanical movements as he tucked away his still-hard cock. The action did little to alleviate the ache of denial that pulsed through him, but it served to restore a modicum of decorum.

"Frustrated?" he repeated aloud, his voice low, smooth, and dangerous — a razor-thin veneer of calm. "You could say that."

His hands came up once more to rub at his temples, as though the motion might stave off the inevitable migraine brewing behind his eyes. He didn't want to argue with her. Not now. Not again. He lacked the energy—or, frankly, the will—to engage in one of their maddening back-and-forths.

"What were you thinking?" he drawled, his tone a silken purr that concealed the steel thread beneath it. The warning was clear, though wrapped in deceptive softness. "Teasing me like that, in front of Finn, of all people. Do you have any idea what could have happened if he'd caught on?"

She didn't seem the least bit concerned.

Instead, she moved around the room with the casual curiosity of someone utterly unbothered, the faint sway of her hips deliberate — or was he imagining that, too? Either way, it irked him. No, it infuriated him. His eyes tracked her every movement as she circled the table, fingers brushing against objects with absent-minded interest. She was far too comfortable, far too bold, as if oblivious to the storm she'd stirred in him.

"Nothing?" her tone was almost mocking, far too calm for his liking. "What would he do? You're the Eye of Zaun. You could order anyone dead, another baron even, and no one would stop you. Hell, you could have fucked me in front of him, and Finn wouldn't have done a damn thing."

She turned slightly, just enough for him to catch the faintest glint of mischief in her eyes as she asked. "Tell me if I'm wrong?"

"Things are never as simple as they seem, dove. It's not about what I could do. Any fool with a gun can make an example of someone. It's about keeping up appearances."

She wasn't wrong, per se. His position afforded him certain luxuries, certain freedoms. Those who dared to cross him rarely lived to regret it. Fear was an effective tool, and he wielded it as masterfully as a craftsman handles their blade. But ruling Zaun wasn't just about fear. It wasn't even about power. It was about control.

"Finn," Silco continued, his lips curling into a faint sneer. "May not have the power to challenge me directly. Not yet. But power in the Undercity isn't always about strength. A single misstep on my part, one poorly chosen action or a rumor twisted out of context and I could find myself surrounded by wolves. The other barons would pounce at the first sign of weakness, tearing this city apart in their greed to claim what I've built."

Silco's sharp gaze followed hers, narrowing slightly as he noted the peculiar way her eyes lingered on the ashtray. The mundanity of it all didn't match the focus she gave it. Unease prickled at the edges of his mind — instincts honed by years of treachery and survival whispering that something was amiss.

"Power is a delicate thing." he began, his voice low, methodical, as though he were delivering some carefully honed lecture. "To wield it effectively, one must be shrewd. Brute force alone will only get you so far before the weight of your own arrogance collapses around you. Perception..." he drawled, emphasizing the word, "Is the key. You must understand how others see you, why they see you that way. And then you twist that perception to suit your needs."

He straightened, his lithe form unfolding as he rose from the chair. With unhurried steps, he moved around the table. He stopped just behind her, close enough that she could feel his presence, the subtle heat of him at her back. He placed his hands on her hips, a gesture that was both possessive and unyielding, his grip firm without being bruising.

He wasn't sure why he was telling her this, sharing fragments of the philosophy that had carved him into the man he was now. Perhaps it was arrogance, a desire to make her understand the weight of his world — of his choices. Or perhaps it was something far more insidious: the compulsion to see her molded into something sharper, something dangerous.

He waited for her retort, some sharp-edged barb or sarcastic deflection — but none came. She remained quiet, almost too quiet, her body unnaturally still beneath his touch. Her eyes, however, remained fixed on the ashtray, as if it had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the room.

And that — her strange fixation — gnawed at him.

"And what, pray tell, is so fascinating about my ashtray?"

"Children's scribbles," she remarked, her tone devoid of her usual sarcasm, which only made the statement more unnerving. It wasn't a jab, not a provocation—just an observation. Her eyes lingered on the ashtray, tracing the faint, uneven lines etched across its surface. Lines that, to her credit, most wouldn't have noticed. "Who's Jinx? Your daughter?"

If looks could kill… Silco would have killed her right then.

"She's not someone you need to concern yourself with." his tone was calm, but the underlying menace was unmistakable, a predator's growl beneath a diplomat's poise. "Do I make myself clear?"

"So she really is your daughter." her voice carried a subtle lilt of satisfaction, as if she'd confirmed some unspoken theory. He didn't need to see her face to know she was smiling—he could hear it in the faint inflection of her tone.

The silence was... unsettling. He'd grown accustomed to her sharp tongue, her acerbic provocations. They had become a twisted rhythm between them, a game of verbal knives that he had learned to parry and, on occasion, savor. But now, her silence was a void, one he couldn't read, and it gnawed at him in a way few things dared.

She was lost in her own thoughts — that much was clear. Yet what she was thinking remained maddeningly out of reach, and Silco's patience was wearing thin. The flicker of distrust in his chest grew stronger.

Jinx wasn't a topic he discussed lightly, much less with her. The subject was volatile, fragile — a fracture point he refused to expose. And yet, he couldn't shake the suspicion that the wheels in her mind were turning dangerously close to that particular edge.

"Working in a brothel teaches you a lot of things." she began, her voice slicing through the charged silence. Her tone was calm, even resolute, but there was an unmistakable allure in the way her words rolled off her tongue — calculated, as always. "One of them is that everything has a price. That anyone can be persuaded to see things your way, given the right terms."

Silco inclined his head slightly, intrigued but cautious. He let her continue, sensing the trap she was laying but curious to see how she planned to spring it. "You should know better than anyone, Silco."

"Is there a point to this, dove?"

She met his gaze then, her eyes sharp and unflinching. For a brief moment, neither spoke, the air between them crackling with tension.

"You wanted to renegotiate the terms of our... relationship." she said at last, her voice softer now but no less resolute. She let the words hang in the air, weighted. A faint smile ghosting her lips. "I'm open to negotiations now."

Silco's brows arched ever so slightly, his surprise masked by the practiced neutrality of his expression. The day had already veered wildly off course, oscillating between chaos and control at an alarming speed — all thanks to her. Now, this? He had expected resistance, perhaps even defiance. He had anticipated having to employ more persuasive methods to ensure she stayed within reach. But now? What an unexpected turn of events. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

Part 6 PS: I don't think I'll be able to post an update before Christmas, so happy holidays and a Merry Christmas everyone! ↓ ┊ TAG LIST ┊ ↓ (No need to open. Adding people to the list will probably end in some future updates as it is getting too big, so take advantage now to ask to be added. If you want to continue receiving updates consider following me.)

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[gyubakeries]

❆ 𝐠𝐲𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 : 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬! ❆ | 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐮 - 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 <𝟑

❆ 𝑑𝑎𝑦 9: pre-christmas dinner | k.mg

a/n: hi!! welcome to day 9 <333 be prepared to see some chef!mingyu haha :P i also must thank kyii and sousy for brainstorming with me for this fic, and a few others as well. love u guys <3

p.s. it definitely takes much more time to pull off an entire roast chicken, but for the sake of the fic, the process is relatively faster and mingyu is like, the masterchef or something. also im writing this the evening before a major exam and im just as cooked as the first chicken lol.

word count: 1.2k contents: mingyu x gn!reader , established relationship , ceo!mingyu , cooking , theyre gonna roast a chicken for funsies , good chef!mingyu , clumsy helper!reader , fluff , christmas fun , one (1) chicken was ..... cooked too well in this fic , im sorry chicken (or not...) , read to find out why <3

"baby! i'm home!" mingyu calls out, and that's all it takes for you to come out to the living room, only to be met by the sight of your giant of a boyfriend dragging in huge bags.

"you said you were going to buy some ice-cream," you raise an eyebrow at mingyu. "so, either you bought an entire year's worth of cookies 'n cream, or you bought stuff that we didn't need."

"you know how i get at grocery stores, especially the large, gourmet ones," mingyu pouts. "everything looks so good."

"this is exactly why you need to let me buy groceries," you sigh, grabbing one of the bags and starting to empty the contents. "your bank account won't thrive for long."

"please, we both know i have more than enough money to live comfortably," mingyu sasses. you turn away from the pantry, where you were putting away the organic pasta mingyu had bought, to face your boyfriend.

he looks absolutely adorable like this; beanie nearly slipping over his eyes, large figure bundled up in a sweater and crouching in front of the fridge, stuffing two boxes of something in the freezer.

in moments like these, it's almost impossible to imagine mingyu as the CEO of a high-tech company. trying to visualize him in the crisp suits he wears to work feels like a distant dream, especially when at home, he's just the embodiment of a golden retriever, always so soft and loving.

"yeah, i know mr. ceo," you snicker when he plops down on the floor, complaining of a backache because of crouching at a weird angle. "you don't have to flex your money."

"i'm not flexing," mingyu defends himself with wide eyes. "just saying; we could totally quit our jobs and travel the world, and we'd still have enough money to buy your dream house in the countryside of france."

"we'll see about that," you laugh. just as you finish putting all the groceries away, your stomach starts rumbling. "what's for dinner?"

"roast chicken," mingyu hums, and you notice him flitting around the kitchen, gathering spices, sauces, herbs, and lots of other things.

"you're kidding," you deadpan. "you're gonna roast a chicken?"

"yes!" mingyu grins at you, patting a box placed on the counter. "mr. chicken is here. i'm just going to let him marinade for a while before we roast."

"you're insane," you gape at how professional he looks, washing an entire chicken, patting it dry, mixing together a quick marinade, covering the chicken in it and setting it aside in a matter of thirty minutes.

"again, why aren't you a full-time chef?" you ask him. you're both munching on some snacks while he waits for the oven to finish pre-heating and the chicken to rest in the marinade.

"because i only want my baby to eat my cooking," mingyu answers, stealing some of your chips.

"you've literally cooked for all our friends."

"okay, my baby and our friends."

"and what about our future children? won't you cook for them?" you tease, and as usual, mingyu whines.

"y/n, you know what i meant," he sulks. "i didn't want to turn something i love doing into a profession that i may end up hating."

"well, i'm lucky to have experienced your amazing cooking skills," you remark, and mingyu rolls his eyes affectionately. "if you're trying to sweet talk me into giving you the last slice of cheesecake in the fridge, it's not gonna work."

"aw man," you frown, and mingyu presses a kiss to your cheek as compensation. as if on cue, the oven's timer dings, and mingyu springs into action. he takes the chicken out of the fridge, and you watch in awe as he preps a baking tray, places the chicken in it, and puts it in the oven.

he finally finishes fiddling with the settings of the oven and comes over to you, expression serious.

"babe, i have an online meeting right now. the chicken's gonna be in for an hour. can you keep an eye out for when the oven timer rings? i should be done by then, but if i'm not, just carefully take it out of the oven and set it on the counter, okay?"

"got it, chef," you mock salute, and he smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "stay alert okay? you do remember what happened last time with the cake, right?" mingyu teases.

"i got distracted by the show! it could happen to anyone," you cross your arms.

"i know, but i don't want a repeat of that," mingyu chuckles. "cleaning burnt cake wasn't exactly fun."

"i promise, gyu, i'll be extra attentive this time," you assure him, and he heads into the study for his online meeting.

to no one's surprise, you completely miss the timer.

your best friend had called you fifteen minutes after the chicken had started cooking, and what was supposed to be a five minute call regarding what dress your friend should wear to her boyfriend's office party, turned into more than an hour of gossiping about your respective office colleagues.

you only notice something is wrong when you smell something burning, and it hits you then.

the chicken.

apparently, mingyu too had smelled the burning, because he's already grabbing the tray out of the oven and placing it on the counter.

the chicken is burnt, and there's no way of salvaging it.

"min, i'm sorry-" you gasp, mortified by your mistake. "i swear i was trying to-"

"it's okay," mingyu shakes his head, setting the tray down in the sink, leaving the disaster of a roast chicken to cool before he attempts to scrape it off the tray. "i kinda thought this may happen, so i got reinforcements."

you watch with furrowed eyebrows as mingyu walks over to the fridge and pulls out another box, revealing yet another whole chicken.

the entire situation seems absurd, and all you can say is, "were they twins??"

mingyu bursts into laughter, and so do you. it's hilarious seeing his six foot-something figure double over as he nearly falls to the ground because of how hard he's laughing.

"babe, you're so silly," he wheezes, trying to catch his breath. "i just got a backup chicken, in case something went wrong with the first one."

"and you didn't bother to check if they were from the same family?" you gasp in mock offense.

"my bad," he raises his arms in surrender. "in my defense, the burnt one kinda looked like this one's cheating ex, which is why it has to go in the trash."

"hm, i'll allow it then," you nod, face serious, as if you both weren't making up ridiculous stories about chickens of all things.

"anyways, now, all you have to do is sit back, while i cook this one," mingyu instructs you.

"it was a mistake," you pout, crossing your arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. mingyu crosses over to you and pecks your lips. "i know it was baby, and it's okay. you can help me with the marinade this time, okay?"

(the way your eyes lit up in joy makes mingyu feel like he'd be okay with any food burning, as long as it gets you this happy to help him redo it.

god, he'd buy you all the chickens in the world, just to see you like this.)

- fin.

divider made by @bernardsbendystraws !

main taglist: @lecheugo @min-imum @sousydive @livelaughloveseventeen @unlikelysublimekryptonite

@theidontknowmehn @shinwonderful @baseball-dokyeom @wonuwrites @hearts4hee

@t-102 @gyuguys @grapejuicelh @aaa-sia @cixrosie

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[whatdidtheydotomygirljinx]

Jinx just never really liked Vander that much.

One of the things that, to me, seemed like a main theme in Jinx's arc in season 1 was the contrast between her two families, and how her switch from Vander's daughter to Silco's drastically changes the way her personality takes shape.

And I hate that the fandom, and now the show, too, has reduced Silco to an unhealthy influence in Jinx's life, pushing her towards her "bad" side (being Jinx) when, for all his flaws... he gives her a better childhood than she ever had with Vander. The first three episodes of the first season, to me, when I watched them, illustrate quite clearly that Powder feels unhappy in her family life. She is the most mal-adjusted of Vander's kids. Her older brother constantly berates her, and it's quite clearly having a big effect on her self-image. She later takes up the Jinx name and persona once she feels like she has become irredeemable as a person. Her other brother never defends her. Vi is the only one who is there for her, and they care for each other, but at the same time you can see there's still a little insecurity in their relationship. Vi is worried that maybe Powder is indeed too weak, and Powder worries that maybe Vi does indeed see her as a Jinx like her brother does.

And when it comes to Vander... he's just not really all that present in her life. And I don't blame him, the man has four kids to take care of, on top of keeping things running in the Undercity. It's clearly not his intention. But it doesn't change the fact that he's not there for Powder, not as much as she needs. To me, when I watched the first season, it seemed like Vander was a figure that felt far away to Powder, someone that she admired but also feared being completely herself around, and someone that she ultimately wished to be closer to than she actually was. It's worth mentioning that Jinx never says his name post time skip, and he is not a hallucination for her, not until Vi brings him up in the finale. Hell, Claggor is somehow a hallucination for her and he never even speaks. Vander was just not an influential figure in Jinx's life.

I always found the scene at the end of ep3 of s1 fascinating, because Powder never once mourns Vander. She never once cries for him and never once says his name. When she sees his dead body, she becomes shocked and starts crying, but it's not actually what breaks her. What breaks her is Vi's rejection. Had it just been that she accidentally caused the deaths of her brothers and adoptive father, she would not have crumbled mentally. It's Vi's rejection that destroys her. Now, of course, a little girl that cares more about her sister's affection towards her than the lives of her family members is kinda messed up, but that's what makes her character interesting. And we can see that that little girl doesn't go anywhere, as Jinx displays the exact same one-mindness about her sister. Because Jinx and Powder were never really that different, after all.

She is quite clearly placed with her back to Vander's body, that she never turns to, barely looks at, only enough to recognize him and see he's dead, and never says the name of. She's turned towards Vi, calling for Vi, crying because of Vi, and no one else. Heck, Vi had just been crying over his body a few moment ago. Vi is clearly distraught over his death. Vi is devastated, she literally punches her sister and curses her in the exact worst possible way she can, in the way she know it will hurt her sister the most. But Powder... she just honestly dgaf.

So to then hear Jinx say this line in season 2...

...is just straight up jarring. I was pulled out of the story when I heard this. This is Jinx saying this to Vi. This kinda makes it seem like it was Jinx who was most attached to Vander, or at least that she was just as attached to him as Vi was. Which is just not how things seemed in the story at literally any point until this one. And then season 2 continues this way, and somehow makes Jinx seem like the closest daughter to Vander. Flipping Warwick literally acts more attached to Jinx than Vander ever did to Powder. Like literally. Season 1 clearly sets up that Vi is the favorite daughter, and then they just... flip it?? Warwick cares more for Jinx and responds better to her than to Vi. It's actually insane. It's true they sanitized Jinx's character to hell and back this season, but this is a straight-up rewrite. I can't wrap my mind around why they did this. Plus, the entirety of act 2 they set up this weird and pointless arc of Jinx rekindling her relationship with Vander or something... and like literally her story was genuinely never about that.

(This COULD have been Vi's story. And that might have actually been cool, and made sense. Maybe Vi is the one who finds him, and she is the one who helps him calm down. And then she brings Jinx, and maybe Jinx is terrified because she was never that close to Vander, and then she literally killed him, so seeing him again is the last thing she wants. Maybe VI is the one who tells Jinx that "he was your dad, too", which would make A LOT more sense, and maybe that's the first time that Jinx thinks that oh, yeah, he was... And then maybe they have a cute moment where Vander forgives her. Or maybe she sees the state he's in right now and loses it completely. Or maybe they look at each other and they both see the monster each of them has become. And then maybe Vi looks down at the enforcer uniform she's wearing, and, privately, sees it too. Idk. The things we could have had.)

Silco was actually a good dad to Jinx, in all the ways that Vander wasn't. He gives her all the attention that she never had before. He not only listens to her, but actively asks for her side of the story. He never insults her, and he defends her against Sevika. He trusts her and gives her opportunities to prove she's capable. She goes from being one of four siblings, and getting lost in the shuffle and often ending up feeling forgotten and alone, to being the most important child, always taken into consideration and almost put on a pedestal by her dad (this, like, has to have cured some inner wounds, i think).

Silco understands Jinx better than any other character in the show, and I'm genuinely sad that we didn't get to see any flashback of Jinx growing up with him. Because their relationship was so unique, and so integral to Jinx's character and to the rest of the story, that the fact that we never get to see any other glimpse into their bond is just...

As a final note, I'd also like to add that I dislike when people say that Silco "groomed" Jinx. I think a much more realistic analysis is that he enabled her. And as for all the times he tells Jinx that Vi "betrayed her", that's just a reflection of his own trauma, and also because he fears that if Jinx knew Vi was alive, she would go back to her and leave him (which, considering what goes down in the s1 finale, not an unfounded fear). It's wrong that he does that, but it's not out of malicious intent (also tbh Jinx never really seems to believe him anyway).

And for all the people who say that Silco "turned Jinx into a terrorist" (dumbest people in this fandom fr, im sorry), that's just straight up not true. Powder was already like that. That is quite literally why Silco adopts her. Because he sees that she's like him. Silco would not have taken Powder in if he thought she was just a cute, innocent kid who was orphaned (to, what, raise her for years so that, MAYBE when she's older, she MIGHT be useful to him? when they meet he doesn't know she's the one that caused the explosion, he just knows that she's been abandoned by Vi). This is the kid who thought playing around with explosives was a fun hobby. This is the kid who giggled at the thought of hurting others. This is the kid who already suffered from explosive emotions. This is the kid who saw her father and her brothers dead, because of her, and all she cared about was whether her sister was mad at her because of it. This is the kid who throws herself at the first person she sees, someone who her sister hates, who is the cause of all this destruction, and with an anger that shocks most viewers, declares that Vi is not her sister anymore. She is livid in that one moment.

Powder already had it in her from the beginning. And it's also ok to like a character (and to write one) even if they are not 100% morally pure in every single way under the sun, cause that is quite literally what stories are for.

[signanothername]

How would an average interaction between Cross and Killer be like?

Killer not even paying attention to Cross at all, and Cross being extremely offended by that ghdvgyv

To Killer, Cross isn't much of a threat, physically, emotionally or mentally, hell, he's not even close to being any sorta challenge

Killer finds everyone else a much bigger threat than Cross could ever be, from Horror and Murder, to Color, Epic and Delta, to Swap and Dream, and if Killer handled all of them atop handling the self proclaimed king of negativity, then Cross has big shoes to fill if he was so desperate for attention that he wanted Killer to acknowledge his pathetic attempts to be seen at all

Cross is all talk no action to Killer, Cross blabbers about being a royal guard and how he can kick Killer's ass but Killer is simply not even listening to Cross' threats or words

Killer's always been about actions not words, if Cross says he's gonna break his neck then he better deliver, and when it escalates (which happens a lot, Cross is generally aggressive), so far, Cross hasn't managed to impress Killer with his words turned actions either

The most interesting thing about him was his soul when it had its determination, the determination is no longer there, so Cross has lost any characteristics that could pull Killer's attention to him, and he frankly, sees Cross as extremely pathetic that he's simply not worth any second of his time at all, Cross is invisible to him if you will

Cross on the other hand, isn't desperate for Killer's attention because he admires Killer or is trying to impress him, but rather, born from both a deep-rooted insecurity and hating to feel out of place, like he doesn't belong

He looks at Killer and thinks of how similar they are in a way, yet so different still, and wonders what Killer has that he doesn't, why does Killer seem smarter, stronger, more durable, faster, more agile, more flexible and adaptable, and like he's so much better at everything, even so much better at healing from his pain and suffering, like it doesn't affect him at all (that's Cross' outlook on life, what he sees of Killer, but in reality, Cross has always been making greater and better progress in healing than Killer does, Killer isn't always better than him at everything)

So when he sees Killer not even bother look his way, and when he sees how apathetic he is towards not only him, but his friends, the ones that love him and take care of him, it hurts, and it makes his blood boil, how could Killer be so ungrateful

Cross isn't some innocent little boy who hasn't done horrific actions himself, but he's definitely hypocritical, as he'd lecture Killer and talk about how much of a terrible person he is and remind Killer of the fact he used to work for Nightmare (when he, the better person in his eyes, denied) like he hasn't done so many awful things himself

In reality Cross feels his emotions deeply, Killer doesn't, and that makes them clash in ideals, views, and general life outlook

Cross just needs to get to know Killer better and adjust to him, understand how to deal with him, but generally, Cross and Killer do get closer in the end, and they both warm up to each other

And when they actually warm up to each other, they act so much like siblings, the kind that love to be a lil mean to each other, but are gonna have each other's back regardless

[knottedhearts]

The space between us: B.E

a/n: This is part two, if you haven't read part one go read it!!.

The bedroom door stays closed for hours. You sit on the couch, the glow of the TV long since faded, leaving the room dim and heavy with silence. Billie’s words keep echoing in your head—“You’ll never get it.”

You want to give her space, but the ache in your chest grows unbearable. Finally, you stand and walk to the bedroom door, hesitating before knocking softly.

“Billie?”

No response.

You lean against the doorframe. “Look… I know you’re upset, but I can’t just sit out here acting like everything’s fine when it’s not. Can we talk? Please?”

Still nothing.

Sighing, you push the door open. Billie’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Her dark brown hair falls in messy strands, and her blue eyes are puffy and red from crying.

Your heart twists. “Billie…”

She doesn’t look at you. “What do you want, Y/n?”

“I want to fix this,” you say softly, stepping closer. “I hate fighting with you.”

She shakes her head, her voice trembling. “It’s not just about the fight. It’s about how I feel—like I’m not enough for you. Like no matter what I do, someone else will always have more of your time.”

You sink onto the bed beside her, careful not to touch her yet. “You are enough, Billie. More than enough. I hate that I made you feel like you’re not.”

She finally looks at you, her eyes filled with hurt. “Then why does it feel like you’re always pulling away? Like you’d rather be anywhere but here?”

Your throat tightens. “I’m not pulling away—I promise I’m not. I just… I guess I didn’t realize how much it was hurting you. Luke is my friend, yeah, but you’re my everything. And I’ve done a terrible job making sure you know that.”

Her lip quivers, and a tear slips down her cheek. “I just need to feel like I’m your priority,” she whispers. “Not second place. Not someone you come home to when you’re done having fun somewhere else.”

You reach out, gently brushing the tear away with your thumb. “You are my priority. I swear. I’ll prove it to you—whatever it takes. I never meant to make you feel like you were second.”

She closes her eyes, leaning into your touch as more tears fall. “I hate feeling this way. I hate being this insecure.”

“It’s not insecurity, Billie. It’s love. You care so much that it hurts, and I get that now. I should’ve gotten it sooner.”

For the first time since the argument started, her walls seem to crack. She lets out a shaky breath and finally leans into you, burying her face in your neck.

“I’m sorry too,” she murmurs. “For yelling. For overreacting. I just… I need you.”

You hold her tighter, your arms wrapping around her like she might slip away if you let go. “I need you too. And I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

The two of you sit there in the dim light, the silence no longer heavy but comforting. The storm has passed, leaving behind something fragile but whole—something worth holding onto.

@d14n4ol < tag that asked for part 2.

[joannerowling]

do you think they'll ever go for another HP spinoff? Both Cursed Child and Fantastic Beasts received poor or mixed reviews at best and were not that popular (I don't think anyone has ever referenced them IRL in my experience) so I doubt they'll be trying another spinoff anytime soon. Perhaps after the HP show is over in a decade? I really hope not lol, I found both CC and FB incredibly uninteresting and basic (Ezra Miller and Johnny Depp really turned me off too lol) and I figure any other spin off would be just as disappointing.

I also think the terminally online fans going "No one wants this! we want a spinoff about the founders or marauders!" are so incredibly out of touch. the HP show everyone will watch, however no one would care about either of those except super duper HP fans. If I said "marauders" IRL I highly doubt anyone would even know what I'm referencing. Also why on earth would they take a gamble on a new show after CC and FB flopped? and these terminally online JKR haters complaining about the show and screaming for a Jegulus spinoff instead also hated and complained about CC and FB for the most part? it's such a bizarre reaction that is based exclusively in 'I hate jkr and want to complain' instead of any actual desires on their part IMO

Will there ever be another HP spinoff?

Short answer: probably not.

Long answer: they can only greenlight a project with JKR's approval, so it really all depends on her. She's clearly not interested in writing more original Potter books right now, but she's ok letting others play with the IP in various media and/or commercial forms (except novels; duh, she's not stupid), so long as her specific wishes on some topics are met. So far, pretty successfully:

Theatre : Cursed Child, while hated by a vocal minority of (essentially book) fans, is a commercial and critical hit, winning several awards and touring in multiple countries while playing non-stop on the West End.

Video Games : Obviously a quite successful format, from the popular smartphone mini-games to Hogwarts Legacy. Nobody cared that much about HL's story, its success came down to the fun of actually getting to explore Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, etc.

Park theme(s) : Very successful and not to be underestimated creativity-wise, between decors, costumes, ancilliary products, etc. Again, the appeal is immersion and exploration rather than rides.

Supplementary non-fiction material : The "Hogwarts Library" supplementary books deepening the universe's lore have always been hits, hence WB using them as a base to develop FB.

Fantastic Beasts movie series (and the whole "wizarding world" brand) : The big disappointment. It didn't start so bad, the first was a success and well received. The second was too complicated and lost the GP, but still made money; and the third was better received but not well enough to save it. Still, even Secrets was more of a flop than a bomb (it made back its Covid-inflated budget twice after all, not enough to make a profit but better than nothing).

At some point, if i'm a WB exec and i'm a little smart, i start to notice patterns:

Normie fans and GA don't want new "wizarding world" stories: they want an immersive experience. Movies are a bad format for that. You just can't cram too much stuff in a movie without shit becoming real expensive real fast.

Book fans hate everything new in general, even with Jo's involvement it's getting touchy after FB and CC. (I'm sure an original novel would work but even that's risky and she's not interested anyways.)

On the other hand, book fans also famously disliked the movies, so a new, more faithful adaptation might interest them. Normie fans and GA too: they already know the story, so it's accessible, and parents would love sharing it with their kids.

Sales show that people in general are definitely still massively attached to Harry Potter, so it's worth investing.

TV adaptations of books following disappointing movies have been pretty successful recently: BBC/HBO's HDM, Netflix's Series of Unfortunate Events, etc.

TV's not a bad format for immersive story-telling. Not the best, but you have more screen time and it's usually cheaper to produce than films and more character driven, meaning more opportunities to add details and play with them. Enough "new" elements to stand apart from the movies and excite fans, but no risk of messing with canon.

For WB, a remake is a great middle ground to work with JKR in spite of her controversies: she's involved, but not too involved, because the story isn't a new one. It's not like she's writing an original script for them, she's just consulting to make sure they're not messing up. And for Jo? Also greatly convenient! She gets to make money with minimal work. She's a very busy woman you see, and she's got expenses (those rape crisis centers aren't paying for themselves).

Conclusion : Spin-offs = bad, expensive ideas almost bound to fail, unless they were adaptations of a new, critically acclaimed original novel by JKR, which will not happen any time soon. Remake = safer, actually something people want to see (or could be persuaded to watch if initially unconvinced, for the hardcore movie fans). Movies are (kinda) out, shows are (still) in. Carpe Diem, etc.

Will there specifically ever be a Marauders spinoff?

With the disclaimer that i'm not JKR so i can't actually know that but: no. Never. Not even a remote possibility, won't ever happen in a thousand years.

[endearing-dalliance]

My two cents on Jayce's final speech

While I do not consider myself disabled, I have chronic health issues that are sometimes disabling. And I'm used to having to live my life with that in the back of my mind. Not in a self-hating way, simply pragmatically. I need certain medications and technology in order to function in a way I find worth living for. While I certainly don't speak for the entire disabled community, I'm not unfamiliar with the struggle™.

TLDR: they really, really needed a sensitivity reader or disabled person's input. A for the idea, F for the execution

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You've always wanted to cure what you thought were weaknesses. Your leg."

Jayce: *breaks leg* *leg can now no longer support his weight* *builds brace to compensate for leg weakness* *proceeds to shame Viktor for wanting a permanent fix for his own leg issue*

"Your disease."

Last season, when Viktor's disease was actively killing him, Jayce got Heimerdinger voted off the Council so Viktor could keep researching what Jayce himself joyfully admitted was a potential cure. How hard did this man's head hit the bottom of the pit?

But you were never broken, Viktor.

Why is Jayce the one getting to say what is and isn't broken? Broken is literally defined as "damaged and no longer in working order". The man was in chronic pain, visibly wasting away before our eyes, and born with a body that was not functioning as it should. Viktor describes his body as "eroding". He has never said that it makes him feel bad about himself as a person. Even when he called himself a cripple, its one of a list of obstacles he’s had to overcome to get where he is now. He isn't ashamed, he's proud. And Jayce is inspired by it enough to not to give up on his work. Or his life.

Side note: Some neurodivergent and disabled people use the term broken in a non-offensive way. For some, its a reminder that they the *person* are not broken. For others, its simply a fact of life they adjust to. But that doesn't mean other people get to label them as such.

"There is beauty in imperfections."

Sure, in the same way they used to call tuberculosis "consumptive chic" because it made you pale and thin with red lips. Death isn't beautiful, its devastating.

"They made you who you are, an inseparable piece of everything I admired about you." 

Except, Viktor wouldn't be any less brilliant or determined or humorous if he wasn't disabled. Instantly made me think about this scene from Bojack:

Over and over I have watched the disabled community patiently explaining, passionately advocating, or righteously, ragefully, unceasingly insisting that they are more than their disability. That their disability doesn't define them. To see past it to who they are as a person. That regardless of your personal opinion, they have the same inherent value as an able-bodied person.

I get what Arcane was going for here. I really do. It was a nice idea in theory. But what they ended up with was a well-meaning, able-bodied, privileged person assigning labels to a disabled person's own opinion of himself, tell him what he should and should not do with his body, and then tie this deeply questionable conversation about Viktor's body to Viktor as a person.

And for once true to his S1 character, THAT DID NOT SWAY VIKTOR AT ALL. The last time he saw Jayce, he got soundly rejected. The next scene of them is him continuing to "evolve" Jayce. Ekko's device gave Jayce the opportunity tell Viktor how much he wanted him and THAT made the difference.

[phoenixcatch7]

Hey, hey, hey, fanfic writers, important tip!

Don't self deprecate yourself or your fic in the summary!! Don't be wishy washy and tell me that this fic isn't really that good anyway, don't try and excuse its many mistakes, don't tell me that you think it's bad!!! I'm serious!

There is NOTHING more offputting to a potential audience than you, the author, putting the fic down in the summary where you should be hyping it up!

I don't care if you wrote it at 3am in a fit of madness and haven't even looked at a word twice before posting, join the club! But why on earth should I want to read something the author themselves think isn't worth my time?

Listen, this is more than a fic thing. Every time after posting it you're going to have to open ao3 to post another update, a different fic, look at your stats, receive kudos and comments and whatever, and you're going to see your past self dumping all over your work for everyone else to see, and you're going to hate it. Avoid it. Cringe away from it. It's going to put you off writing in the long run.

If you don't have anything nice to say then don't say anything, and that INCLUDES talking about yourself. You can leave the summary empty. A text box isn't an impulsive sentence spoken or an instinctive hunch of the shoulders, you don't need to jump to your first reaction. Don't fall over yourself trying to preemptively defend it by dismissing it as useless and bad and nonsense, because then there'll always be someone calling your stories useless and bad and nonsense, written down for all to see.

You're not giving your creations a chance because you're not giving yourself a chance.

So, young authors, I understand the impulse, but writing and posting stories goes at exactly your speed. Do not fill your archive with fluttering hands and nervous laughter and avoided eyes. Do not tell me how much you think your new creation is bad and should be ignored.

Tell me, what's your story?

[idontmindifuforgetme]

The love will always hold twice as much weight as the hate btw. If you even care

[lycandrophile]

yknow there’s so much bad shit out there in the world and so much of it is aimed at people like me and i spend so much of my time trying to understand it and document it and make sense of it but sometimes. sometimes i hear someone singing a duet with their pre-t voice and the harmonies are breathtaking and i just want to open my bedroom window and scream to the cars driving by that I LOVE US I LOVE US GOD I FUCKING LOVE US

[thepoisonroom]

'I flirted with the idea that instead of being trans that I was just a cross-dresser (a quirk, I thought, that could be quietly folded into an otherwise average life) and that my dysphoria was sexual in nature, and sexual only. And if my feelings were only sexual, then, I wondered, perhaps I wasn’t actually trans.

I had read about a book called The Man Who Would Be Queen, by a Northwestern University professor who believed that transwomen who were attracted to women were really confused fetishists, they wanted to be women to satisfy an autogynephilia. And though I first read about this book in the context of its debunkment and disparagement, I thought about the electricity of slipping on those tights, zipping up those boots, and a stream of guilt followed. Maybe this professor was right, and maybe I was only a fetishist. Not trans, just a misguided boy.

About a year later, on the Internet, I come across a transwoman who added a unique message to the crowd refuting this professor. Oh, I wish I remember who this woman was, and I wish even more that I could do better than paraphrase her, but I remember her saying something like this: “Well, of course I feel sexy putting on women’s clothing and having a woman’s body. If you feel comfortable in your body for the first time, won’t that probably mean it’ll be the first time you feel comfortable, too, with delighting in your body as a sexual thing?”'

-Casey Plett, Consciousness

[zackcharine]

I need to try harder to get out of bed but augh

[lazaruspiss]

my sibling is starting to write fic and it's so. like they've been drawing for forever and never seem insecure about art. but writing is still new to them! so the fic isn't working how they want it to. i got to point at their pile of like, 20 something filled full size sketchbooks and go, look, you've made all this art, practiced all this time to be good. and how many things have you written? 3? you keep going! you keep doing it and it will be countless one day!

[autisticlee]

no one knows just how hard I work at things. how I have to work 1000000x more than the average person to compensate for being autistic and adhd and probably other things i'm working out with therapist, and having a sort of physical disability i've not received any help or treatment for. everyone assumes I don't try or give up too soon. they think I just started, need more practice. they think I expect everything handed to me immediately with no work or effort and don't acknowledge the multiple years i've put into things. they think I have no right to be upset about still failing to get where I want even after working my entire life to get there, while watching people around me surpass even my meager goals within a fraction of the time and work i've out into the same thing. constantly getting surpassed by everyone around me who seem to barely do any work to get there compared to me. it's all handed to them and falls into their lap so easily. all because they don't have the extra obstacles to overcome and work around that I do. while they go from point A to Z immediately with no major stops in between, I have to go through every single letter and then some, often getting sent back to the start. but it's always *my* fault, according to everyone. it's not the fault of those around me who ignore me, don't support me, don't help me, don't believe in me, etc. it's my fault they don't do those things. because doing the work of 10 people in one isn't enough, just because it's me. and not reaching Z as fast as everyone else means I don't deserve any of the support or help or anything else and means i'm not trying hard enough. it doesn't matter that I *need* to work harder than 100 "normal" people combined to get even half the result! Just because I can't reach what they do means i'm not trying hard enough! ugh.