#the world is not kind to those who don’t love the digital age

[hartwinorlose]

got inspired by @neyafromfrance95's soulmate posting

COOPER HOWARD - NINE

1 & 2 - Linda and Robert Howard 

Most people’s first threads are their parents. Cooper is no exception. He’s born with two tiny circles of red around his thumbs and an instinctual knowledge: they are there until death; they will remain even if he cuts them. He has eight more. It is far better to have these two than not. 

Like most children, he makes threats in the midst of his tantrums. “I’ll cut it off!” he screams at his mother when she won’t let him have his way. “I’ll cut your thread!”

Of course, he never does. 

Three decades later, in his father’s hospital room, he watches the brilliant crimson fade to a colorless gray. The last bit of red fades away right as the flatline sounds. 

Cooper is sick for a week straight afterwards, can’t so much as get out of bed. When he finally does haul himself back into the real world, the ache in his heart stays. He resents it — there was no love lost between him and his father, but every time he catches a glimpse of that gray thread, it makes him hurt all over again. In the end, it takes more than a year before his heart feels well and truly whole.

It’s the first thread he loses. It won’t be his last.  

3 - Mrs. Abernathy 

He’s only seven when he gives the third one away. He’d developed a lisp, and his parents had immediately put him into speech therapy. He’s grateful for it. The other children have been picking on him incessantly. 

Mrs. Abernathy never does. She works with him, tells him where to put his tongue to get his consonants just right. She’s exceedingly kind and excessively patient, and he wants to show her how much he appreciates what she’s done for him in the best way he can think of. 

On the last day of therapy, when his lisp is well and thoroughly gone – his peers in third grade will never even know he had it – he edges his way shyly to her desk. 

“Mrs. Abernathy,” he says, proud that he can say her title without it sounding like he’s speaking through a spoonful of peanut butter. 

She graces him with a smile. “Yes, Mr. Howard?” She always addresses him like that, like he’s her equal. It makes him feel distinctly grown-up. 

Puffing out his chest, he holds up his hand. “I want you to know that I gave you a thread.” He knows she can’t see it, and he knows she almost certainly won’t give him one back, but it’s the highest honor he’s capable of bestowing. 

“Oh, Cooper.” Mrs. Abernathy places a hand to her heart. “That’s very kind of you, sweetie, but I want you to be careful with who you give those to, okay? Here.” She holds up her own hands and counts out her fingers, then gives them a wiggle. “Ten. It seems like a big number, doesn’t it?” 

He nods solemnly. Double-digits. He’ll be a big kid when he hits double-digits, that’s what everyone keeps telling him. Ten seems a very long way away. 

Mrs. Abernathy places her hands on her knees and leans forward. “I’m going to tell you a secret. It isn’t very big at all. In fact, in a few years, you’ll probably wish you had a lot more than ten fingers for those threads. So you keep them for people who can give them back to you.” 

He gets a similar lecture from his parents when they find out what he’s done. Mrs. Abernathy must have called them because he comes home to find his father in a fine state. 

“Soft-hearted nonsense!” he blusters when Cooper confirms he has, indeed, bestowed Mrs. Abernathy with one of his threads. “This is what comes of going too easy on him. He gets these sort of fool-headed ideas.” This to his mother, who sits with an almost contemplative look on the sofa. 

“I don’t know,” she hums. “I think it’s sweet of him.” 

Robert’s face goes as red as a tomato. “Sweet! It’s permanent, Linda. The boy’s gone and permanently tied himself to a woman four times his age. What’s he going to get out of that?” He yanks loose the knot in his tie and rakes a hand through thinning hair. 

Cooper quails backward as he rounds on him. 

“You listen here, Coop. You do something this stupid again, I’ll cut the damn thread myself. You hear me?” Robert advances a step, goes so far as to make his fingers into scissors and snip the air. 

Tears well in Cooper’s eyes, and he clutches his hand to his chest. He doesn’t want to lose any of his threads. 

Linda jumps up and slaps Robert’s hand down. “Stop it, Bob! He’s going to think you’re serious.” Spinning, she crouches down in front of Cooper and pulls him into a hug. Runs a soothing hand over his hair and murmurs, “Don’t worry, dear, no one can cut it but you. You know that, don’t you?” 

Cooper nods, but his father’s threat stays with him for a long time. 

4 - Grant 

Cooper doesn’t even think about giving away another thread until he’s fourteen. Grant is his best friend, has been for the past six years – practically a lifetime. Grant probably knows him better than he knows himself. 

It feels monumental when they ditch their bikes at the edge of what they think is the woods – in reality, a two-acre patch slated for development that happens to have some dense shrubbery and trees – and hike to a group of rocks. The rocks are famous with the neighborhood kids for being infested with snakes, but they climb fearlessly to the top. 

Grant takes out his pocket-knife and scrapes it against the unyielding stone. It leaves marks behind, white on gray, and he carves out a clumsy “G.” 

“Here.” He hands the knife to Cooper. 

Dutifully, Cooper adds a “C” right next to it. “Now what?” 

“We gotta bleed.” Grant holds the knife over the pad of his index finger and digs the point of it in until a drop of blood wells beneath it. Once again, he hands Cooper the knife. 

His breath hisses through his teeth as the blade punctures his skin, but he lifts his finger to show Grant he’s done it. 

Grant presses their fingers together, their blood mixing and falling combined onto the initials they’d carved. “There,” he says, wiping his hand on his pants and leaving a rusty streak behind. “Now we’re blood brothers.” 

“Blood brothers,” Cooper repeats, wrapping his hand around his finger to stem the bleeding. When he opens his fist, he realizes a thread has wrapped itself around the base of his bloodied finger. His eyes follow it to where it terminates somewhere within Grant’s rib cage. He hadn’t even realized he’d given one away. 

5 - Janet 

Cooper is seventeen and a bit of a romantic. He’s been dating Janet since Grant moved away two years back, and he’s pretty sure it’s going to be forever. 

By the time he’s eighteen, he’s sure enough to run a thread between them. Never before has he wished so fervently that she could just see it herself because it is, frankly, a little embarrassing to admit. At first, he’s not sure how to say it. Then: genius strikes. 

He waits until prom night, when they sleep together for the first time. When Cooper sleeps with anyone at all for the first time. They lay in her bed afterward because her parents are out of town and they have all night. 

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to pluck up the courage, but he eventually draws a line from his finger to her heart. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking slightly amused. 

Cooper shrugs a shoulder. “Loose thread. I fixed it.” 

She opens her mouth, starts to ask him what he means, but she seems to figure it out as her face flushes bright pink. “Oh, Cooper. I mean… um. Thank you. But I… I can’t…” 

“You don’t have to do it back,” he rushes to assure her. Fuck, this is worse than he thought. 

“No, no.” Janet cradles his face in her baby-pink-manicured hands. Her prom dress, the same shade, is crumpled on the floor. “It’s so nice of you. Seriously. You’re like the cutest thing ever. It’s just, my parents, if they found out…” 

“Right, no, yeah. It’s fine, Jan.” Cooper cannot get out of there fast enough. He makes some awful excuse about how his own parents will be home soon and he needs to get back before he’s missed. 

Janet watches him get dressed, stops him before he can get out the door. She takes his hand and dusts his knuckles with a kiss. “Someday,” she says, rubbing his thumb. “I promise. I’ll give you one of my mine.” 

Feeling slightly more reassured, he kisses her goodbye. 

They break up three months later. Cooper signs up for the Marines.

6 - Agnes 

“I require all my clients to give me one of their threads.” Agnes has her thin hands folded on her desk, her lipstick a professional shade of red. Not a hair is out of place on her head. Her suit has lines so sharp they look like they could cut him. In other words, she strikes Cooper as a woman who knows what she’s doing. 

She’s still talking. “It’s a cutthroat industry out here, Mr. Howard. I have to be sure you really want this, and that means commitment. So you tell me.” She steeples her fingers, stares at him expectantly. “What are you willing to give?” 

Agnes Powell is not the first agent Cooper has met with. She’s not the third or the fourth or even the fifth. All of them had found something in him lacking – just not meant for the screen is the phrase haunting his nightmares.  

If he doesn’t sign with someone soon, it’s back to readjustment. That hasn’t been going so well for him, being a civilian. War had been bigger than life; he needs something to fill this new space inside him.   

He studies his hands. Five threads left. He’s still young, and he wants a family. Not for the first time, he wishes he’d been a little more discerning over the years. 

Agnes blinks, tilts her head. “Hollywood is the best step you’ll ever take, Mr. Howard, and I’m eager to take it with you. I think you’ve got talent; I really do. It’s just one little thread, right?” 

Cooper rubs the empty space around his left pinkie. One thread not to go back to his job as a bagger at the Super Duper Mart. One thread to potentially leave the mundanity of normal life behind. He’s given them up for less.

He reaches across the desk to shake Agnes’ hand. “Just one little thread,” he agrees.

7 - Sebastian Leslie

In his right mind, Cooper would never hand Sebastian one of his four remaining threads. Three hours of steady drinking and mindless celebration have driven him from his right mind. Agnes had come through – she’s gotten him a role and not just any role. A starring role. 

It’s a Western, which is not a genre he would’ve picked, but Sebastian had clapped him on the shoulder when he first hears. 

“They’re big, Coop. Trust me on this. You’re going to be huge.” Then he’d offered to buy him a drink, and Cooper had said why the hell not. 

Filming starts in a week, and he’s determined to spend most of the time not-sober. Sobriety gives him too much time to think about how he could fuck this up. It’s a lot easier to shed that self-doubt when the room is hot and swirling and Sebastian is in his ear pitching all sorts of storylines. 

The hero. The villain. The heartthrob. 

Cooper snorts. “Neither of us has the face for that.” 

Sebastian makes an obnoxious buzzer sound. “Wrong! Women flock to this face.” He frames his with a flourish. “It’s not about the features, it’s about the confidence. They love that shit.” 

“I’ll leave you to them,” Cooper laughs. He downs the next shot, which has somehow ended up in his hand. 

Slinging his arm over his shoulder, Sebastian clinks his own glass against Cooper’s newly empty one. “You play this right, Coop, you’re going to rule this town. Just do me a favor and take me along with you, yeah?”

“Sure I will.” Agnes had been right about everything – the industry was cutthroat, and he hasn’t managed to make a lot of friends out here. Sebastian is pretty much it. As far as Cooper can tell, he owes it to him to pay back that generosity.

Tequila-addled and high on imagined success, Cooper holds up his hand. “I’ll do you one better than a favor. I’ll make you a promise.” 

Sebastian stares at him dully for a moment before his eyes gleam with unshed tears. “You bastard,” he sniffs. “You know I’m an emotional drunk.” Half-sobbing, he pats Cooper on the chest, right over the heart, as he sticks his own in place. 

When Cooper wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache, he squints at the new line of red encircling his finger. Bleary memories of exchanging threads swim to the surface, and he sighs. Well. Shit. Old habits, it seems, die hard.

8 - Barbara 

Barbara laughs when he tells her about Janet. Her teeth and earrings gleam in the soft glow of their candlelit dinner. She holds her wine glass with an elegance he can’t help but admire. 

“Eighteen?” she echoes. “Absurdly young for a lifetime, don’t you think?” 

Cooper shrugs. “Yeah, well. I was an optimist.” He tilts his head toward where her fingers clutch the glass stem. “How about you? I’m almost afraid to ask how many spaces you’ve got left.” 

She takes a measured sip before setting her glass down precisely where it had been when she picked it up. “Six,” she tells him. 

“Wow.” Assuming her relationship with her parents is decent, that means she’s only given two away by her late twenties. “Some people might call that cold-hearted.” 

Barb slices into her steak. “I prefer to think of myself as selective.” She arches an eyebrow, as though challenging him to break through all of those restrictions, to be one of those she selects. 

Somehow, miraculously, he must because when he gets down on one knee, she accepts the ring and the thread he offers. She even gives him one of her own. 

It’s a few years later, and they’re sitting on a ridiculously large couch in the ridiculously large house he can afford. Barb reclines against his chest; he’s reading through the latest script Agnes has sent his way with his elbow propped against the back of the couch. 

Barb breaks the silence. “You know what I’ve been thinking?” 

“Mmm?” he hums, right in the middle of a monologue and only half-paying attention. “What’ve you been thinking?” 

She lifts one hand and examines the back of it. “It might be nice to have a new thread.” 

That gets his attention. “Oh yeah?” It takes a minute for understanding to dawn – then she turns on him with such a pair of bedroom eyes that it clicks into place. “Oh.” 

She runs her fingers over the back of his hand. “If you’ve got room, that is.” 

“Baby, I’ve got room for as many as you want,” Cooper says, already scooping her into his arms. “As long as it’s not more than two.” 

He carries her, laughing, to bed. 

A few more years, and Cooper is not so blinded by the lights of Hollywood anymore. Barb, however, seems to be capable of shielding her own eyes from whatever shit is going on at Vault-Tec. Things get more and more sour between them. The fault line in his heart grows bigger and bigger. 

Until it cracks open completely. 

He drives home in a haze, replaying the staticked voice of his wife as she proposed the end of the world. When he walks into the house, he stands for a minute in the living room, not moving, not thinking, just letting himself breathe in and out while he still can. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker. 

He doesn’t let himself do it immediately. He’s made enough rash decisions – this one deserves time. Two days later, he pulls the kitchen shears out of the knife block. 

Cooper is not entirely certain how one is supposed to do this. Eventually, he decides on clutching the thread between his teeth and stretching his arm as far out as it can get. Places the mouth of the scissors to the edge of the thread. Squeezes his eyes shut. And cuts. 

There’s so much pain, it’s like his other senses give up. His vision goes dark, and he collapses to the ground, the scissors clattering off somewhere. All he can hear is the rush of blood through his ears. For a minute, his heart beats so off-kilter, he worries he’s gone into cardiac arrest. But slowly, surely, it gets back to normal, and his eyesight comes back – blurred and imperfect, but good enough to let him stumble into his bedroom and collapse onto the mattress. Good enough for him to see the string that once shone scarlet is now a bitter, ugly black. 

9 - Janey 

Nobody’s perfect is an age-old adage that Cooper has heard dozens, if not hundreds, of times throughout his life from all sorts of people. Well, those people haven’t met his kid. The connection is instant. The very second she lands in his arms, he feels the ninth thread encircle his finger. 

He counts her fingers and toes, a perfect ten of each. He watches her flawless nose crinkle as she winds up for another round of wailing. 

“Good set of lungs on that one,” a nurse remarks as she bustles around him. 

Not good, Cooper would tell her if he could pay attention to anything other than Janey. Perfect. 

She is the one thread he never, not for one minute, regrets. 

THE GHOUL - ONE

10 - Lucy MacLean

The weeks after the bombs are hell. Cooper can’t tell which he’s sicker from: the radiation or the rapidly graying threads. Mrs. Abernathy goes first, then Janet, then Sebastian. He can’t help but imagine how they all died. The bomb for Mrs. Abernathy. Some desperate fucker guts Janet behind the shell of a grocery store. Sebastian doesn’t make it through the radiation poisoning.  

Grant and his mom are next. He does everything in his power not to think of what might have ended them. 

Agnes makes it a while. He’s become something else by the time her red runs out, something with rough skin and a body running on chemicals. Her survival makes sense to him – she’d always been a remarkably capable woman. 

Every day, he dreads the moment he opens his eyes. There is only one line of red left to him, and if it goes out, he’ll put a bullet in his head. 

The years go on, but he doesn’t change with them. The knowledge terrifies him – how long will he be around? He thought he’d be dead by eighty, but it comes and goes with no effect. He didn’t budget for this much existence. No matter how long he survives, the fact remains: he can make only one more connection. 

So he does a pretty damn good job at not making any. Can’t risk another Grant. Wouldn’t survive another Barb. Much easier to keep to himself and forget he ever even had the option.

Unfortunately, there’s a girl. He fully intends on killing her, but she talks like he hasn’t heard anyone talk for centuries, all sickly corporate. The stain of Vault-Tec is all over her. She’s a good opportunity, so he takes it, and he tries to ignore the little voice in the back of his head whispering that maybe he never has to really let her go. 

He ties her to him with everything he can think of that isn’t one of those damn threads. A cable, a lasso – hell, he even sews part of her onto him. That voice still won’t shut the fuck up. 

The worst part? He can’t even figure out the reason. What is it about her that makes him want to give her the last, shriveled part of him? She gave me the chems, he tells himself, but he knows that’s a lie. He should have shot her dead the second she tried to speak to him, and he hadn’t. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense. 

It’s no clearer to him when he sends a bullet ripping through Henry’s cheek. For himself, yes, but also for Lucy. He knows all too well what that kind of betrayal feels like. Wouldn’t be surprised if she cuts that particular thread as soon as she gets the chance. 

He holds out for as long as he can, but he’s never been a strong man. The second she shoots her mother instead of him, he feels the very last of his threads stretch between them. Permanent and maybe a mistake, but he’s hers now. 

He half-turns. Sure enough, a bridge of crimson stretches all the way to her heart. He asks if she’s coming with him. Relief fills him when she does. 

#fallout show #fallout prime #fallout tv #ghoulcy #vaultghoul #soulmate au #red string of fate #fanfiction #my writing

[bootyful-seventeen]

I am heavily contemplating on buying myself a dvd player soon and buying all the DVDs for a ton of movies and tv shows I grew up watching cuz I miss the magic of dvds

#hear me out on this one okay. but the Barbie movies were magic on dvd back in the day #and I do wanna see if stores are still selling the old strawberry shortcake dvds before I go online for those #I wanna snort that nostalgia so bad #and of course I’ll need to get the dcau on dvd #like all of it cuz I’m so bored with the dccu since we don’t get as much new stuff #it’s always Batman or superman and love them but I’m kinda bored from always seeing a new bman or sups movie #Wonder Woman I wouldn’t mind a new actor for her but I know she’s not gonna be a muscle mommy which I’ll be sad about #give me a Wonder Woman that is built like rhea ripely god damnit #the flash is eh cuz I found out this whole time I’ve been watching the Wally west flash #but yeah Wally is who I want and then there’s the green lantern like dude is so cool iams all we have is the 1 from 2011 I think #sure I could watch some of the tv series they have but I have too many shows on my watch list it’s overwhelming at times so I skip over lots #tho I will have to pray like crazy cuz some of the things I know I want are probably gonna be expensive as fuck even as second hand #saw a class of the titans season 1 dvd going for $81 cad 💀💀💀 #the world is not kind to those who don’t love the digital age #I prefers my dvds cuz I own it and no one can take it away from me unless they physically steal it #omg I’m turning into my grandma cuz she still had the vhs player with some tapes too #just wish she never donated the tapes for swan princess 1-3 and Anastasia and ferngully and basically all my faves that she owned #like Ngl a part of me wants to hit up value village just to see if maybe they’re still there or if I’ll find other copies of the same things #cuz a perk about cities with older people is that you get so much older tech and other items it’s insane

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons:

Your Only Option

Yandere Otome Game Character x GN Reader

TW: psychological horror, trapped forever in a time loop, yandere behavior, mind break, and manipulation

It was always spring when your world would reset once more. When the flowers were in full bloom and the scent of spring was heavy enough to make your head spin. You were in this digital world you had somehow ended trapped in, forever forced to repeat the story premise until you inevitably had to start over once more… yet you always ended up with only one of the capture targets. The villainous crown prince, Edwin Fritz.

Edwin was your favorite character in this game prior to you ending trapped in it. He was the hardest character to romance but the creator had stated in a forum that he was a yandere. The kind of character you were a sucker for each time! With his silver hair and crimson red eyes, you always melted into a puddle when he’d appear on your screen… yet it was much different in real life… Edwin was terrifying.

You spent over a hundred hours playing the game to romance him because you adored his twisted love routes, but it was so different now that you were in the game… especially since he’d always greet you at each starting point.

Both of you retained your memories of the countless previous games and he’d always greet you with an extravagant gift of some sort… must be the perk of being the villainous crown prince.

You gulped when Edwin made his way over to you, his crimson gaze didn’t leave your shivering form once. His large form easily towered over you as he held a giant bouquet of ruby roses in his arms. A ghost of a smile on his gorgeous face.

“Hello, darling.” Edwin handed you the roses before his hand brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. “You tried to talk to Count Jesse in the last game play through… do you enjoy making me jealous?“

You trembled like a leaf but gave Edwin a bright, reassuring smile. You needed to reassure him before he went ballistic in a fit of rage… and you didn’t want to see other characters die again. “Of course not, Edwin. I only love you after all.”

Edwin pulled you into a hug, the roses in your arms shedded a few petals from the embrace. You gulped when you felt his breath shudder. “You do, don’t you? That’s why you’re the only one who didn’t give up one me…”

Edwin sighed dreamily when you relaxed in his hold. “I don’t know why you keep associating with such lowly characters when you have me. I can offer you such a wonderful life of luxury. You’ll never die or age. We can truly be together just like you’ve always wanted before I brought you here! You said you hated your life prior to me.”

Edwin pressed his lips against yours in a hungry kiss. He didn’t care about the gazes from the other nobles at this small party. You were his in this life and his again in the next loop. Forever and ever and ever and ever. No one would be able to take you from him. He would keep repeating this loop until you swore you’d be his spouse!

“So what do you say? Will you be my spouse for all of eternity or do you want to keep playing this game?” Edwin gave you a smile that made a chill run down your spine. “I don’t mind repeating time another four hundred times until you finally relent.”

Edwin moved to cup your cheeks between his hands so his eyes could look into yours. You felt as if you could drown in the sea of obsession that lies behind those ruby red eyes. “I’m your only option, after all.”

#gn reader #yandere #yandere imagine #yandere fic #yandere headcanons #yandere otome #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere concept #yandere content #yandere insert #otome game au #tw.manipulation #tw.yandere #time loop #obsessive yandere #yandere obsession #yandere boy #yandere male #gender neutral insert #yandere video game #yandere idea #yandere oc x y/n #yandere original character #yandere villain

[dropsofletters]

sorry, who is mark lee?

—SUMMARY: she swore up and down on the night of her graduation as a doctor that she would never work with dr. mark lee. not under any setting. after all, she’s not here for people who get everything served on a silver platter just for being…nice?

however, years after their graduation, mark comes back into her life not brushing his hair and talking about a new project that they are supposedly going to be working on for the next three weeks, and all hopes of not working with him die down when she realizes…maybe, she had not truly known who he was.

sorry, but who the hell is mark lee?

—TITLE: sorry, who is mark lee?

—PAIRING: mark lee x reader

—GENRE: med school!au ; doctor!au ; neurosurgery resident!au ; gyn-ob resident!au ; enemies to friends to lovers!au ; idiots in love!au ; slowburn kind of.

—WORD COUNT: 12,000 words

—TYPE: fluff; humor; extra layer of fluff; angst

Heart wounded tight against her ribcage, she sits front row for the grand opening of a new chapter in her life. She relays perfectly still, wearing what Yoonoh had once called the ‘boring gray dress’ that she dreamed of having on for her graduation. Finally, as her pulse quickens, she is one step away from being called a title that holds so much interest and weight to her—to be able to put a name to everything she studied, to be recognized as such to the eyes of the world. For her, being a doctor is like exchanging identities, all the trials and errors coming to the flourishment of a new person ahead of her.

Now, the title that reads off her name and gives a certification to all the years she spent in between textbooks, needles and round-ups with doctors asking her endless questions, lays in between her fingers. Digits spreading against the tube with trembling motions, feeling the need to drop dead right at that moment. Yoonoh promised that he’d record the exact moment in which it happens. Her, called to the stage again, to give a speech to the rest of the graduates as the best grade of the entire career.

She had given it her all, though it wasn’t always the result she wanted on a piece of paper that weighted her will and thrive to continue down this path of endless studying. However, the road seemed a bit brighter now. Yoonoh, her best friend, sits right beside her—for, her family couldn’t make it because of the winter that had surpassed the city—, holding that pompous camera that he bought on a brim online as he sits on the edge of his chair. His caramel brown hair is pushed back, long nose crinkled as he squints one eye into the lens of the camera, pointing it towards the stage.

“It’s happening.” She mumbles, watching one of her cardiology professors—and representative of this graduation event—slip into the stage. He’s an old man, eyes wrinkled and lids heavier, though still wearing polished suits and raking a faint smell of the whiskey that, word has it, he’s been very familiar and all too lost in nowadays. She presses one hand to Yoonoh’s shoulder, the other weaving over her graduation cap, smiling as she bites on her bottom lip, holding in all the excitement that bubbles up from within her.

“Do you want me to record him or you?” Yoonoh is just as excited. Funny thing is, Yoonoh has been her best friend ever since they were neighbors back when they were just children. He surpasses her in age the slightest, not too much to make a difference, so he tried to protect her on the playground near their homes as ‘the older one’. As of now, she has to protect her friends from dating Jung Yoonoh. He has an eye for a med student.

“Him.”

“This group of people we have right here…” The cardiologist, Mr. Yoon, says as he inspects the groups of people. She remembers telling them off on their lack of studying back when they were rotating with him, nonetheless, now he smiles at the crowd. “Are all winners. I don’t see a single person in this room that I am not proud to say is my colleague now.” Those words flutter her heart, making her cling onto her hat the slightest. She’d throw it in the air now if she could, and get on that stage to read off the notes that she had oh-so-diligently practiced in front of the mirror. “I meet plenty of people every day. That’s the perk of being a doctor. You meet everyone to an extent that is universally deep, even your students. You see their hardship, tears, their biggest errors, their questioning and their will to try again. You either see them lose themselves or grow because of you. Good diamonds are made under pressure, and…” He trails his voice, taking off his glasses and rubbing at one eye before putting them on again. “There is one person that was already such a bright diamond. I remember the first time I got an answer in a grand round from this person and I was…sure about the kind of doctor I would have in front of me one day.”

“Fuck.” Yoonoh mumbles, smiling in a way that presents the dimples on his cheeks, before it happens. Just as her best friend is grasping her hand that had been on his shoulder, Dr. Yoon announces what she thinks is the winner of this entire race that is medicine.

“Doctors, family, friends, may I present to you the graduate with the highest graduation score.” Dr. Yoon smiles, extending a hand towards the screen behind him before his lips part to say what she had once imagined to be a dream, but has now turned into her grandest nightmare. “Please, let’s call to the stage Dr. Mark Lee. Let’s give him a round of applause. Dr. Lee, I know you’re there.”

Her world freezes.

She doesn’t know the precise quantifications, but a university student—much more in med school—should read more than a million words in order to be, somewhat, knowledgeable in his career. She spent day and night, losing her eyesight, blurring her sclerotic while looking at a laptop, writing notes time and time again, repeating stories written about patients, stammering through words just to get the answer out. She had tried so hard, wished for it and hunted for a dream that never happened.

“Stop recording.” She tells Yoonoh, spreading a hand on top of the lens when she realizes that it’s pointed towards her. The deception of not getting the first spot spread right in the main screen of the video that she planned on playing to her family when she went back home.

“I—I can’t. I’m trying.” Yoonoh stutters, giving the camera a few smacks to no avail. Both their gazes turn to the stage when they hear the cheering that follows after one of the two hundred graduates in the med field in this event. His black hair is parted in a comma hairstyle, from what she can tell by the little strand that peeks from under his cap. The gown is a little too long on him, cheeks dipped in what would be a childish smile as he shakes Dr. Yoon’s hand. She had seen this guy around, never coinciding in a grand round or talking through night shifts, but the face was definitely familiar. His eyes are twinkling when he reaches the podium, grasping the edges until his knuckles turn white.

She’s ready to stand up from her spot and leave, adding: “I’m leaving.” In a whisper that could only be heard by Yoonoh, but her best friend clasps a hand onto her forearm, dragging her down.

“The fact that you didn’t get first spot doesn’t mean you don’t get to celebrate your graduation. Stop pestering your mind when you’ve already reached so much. It’s your best day.”

“It’s not how I wanted it to go.”

“You’re still a doctor.” Yoonoh tugs her closer by her shoulder, practically pressing her into spot, unwilling to let her move.

Whoever Mark Lee is as a person doesn’t interest her. As he stands in the podium, stammering and stuttering to let out words in between a bunch of ‘uh’ and ‘well…’, she thinks that he may be the antagonist that she never expected to have. Clearly, he hadn’t prepared, and would it be so bad for her to feel envious towards what he is having right now? Sure, she’s not a woman of attention, always ready to keep her circle closed and straight to the point with the people whom she talked to and believed in, but she wanted her last moment in between those crowd of people that competed one against the other to be memorable. For her to say, in between all odds, that she had won.

Anyone who saw her would think that the tears in her eyes are out of emotion because of the speech Mark is giving, however, she’s tired. Of trying and never succeeding, so when the crowd goes crazy for, now, Dr. Lee, she proclaims him her biggest enemy, even when he doesn’t know her.

Tangled fingers in threads of hair, elbows propped on the desk where the medical records she had been working on are written and set in a handwriting that leaves much to the imagination, she wonders why she always likes difficulty. After the big failure of not even remotely called out as good when she graduated, venturing into the world of the easiest and perhaps, the most tranquil specialization and residency should have been her first thought. However, after years of not shutting an eye properly, and getting used to it like a toxic relationship does at most occasions, she decided it would have been a great idea to, two years later, become a full-time resident in the gynecology and obstetrics department. Where, sometimes, a woman just decides to pop by with her fetus almost popping out of her, because seven kids later…and the contractions aren’t quite as strong as they were with the first baby.

The problem relies on the fact that sleep deprived and thriving off coffee is not her best conceptualization of herself. She has attended seven births in what has been just twenty-one hours and, as a matter of fact, she was an observer in three c-sections. The problem is that, as a first-year resident, she’s asked to do most of the work. Hand wringed around a pen, and fingertips gliding across the keyboard to finalize the paperwork is something that she’s used to. As the third-year resident and the night shift’s boss, as well as her coworker, Dr. Johnny Suh, had decided to take a nap now that the seashore had died down a little, waves subsided because of teamwork.

All of this just to say that she needs sleep, if she doesn’t want to drool on all the graphics that include important details of the procedures that had taken place.

She had been nice enough to ask the interns to go sleep, but now that she’s alone, she’s not even in the mood to listen to music. Could keep her awake, but at what cost? All she needs at this moment is a tight shower that lets her glide a sponge on the deep crevices of her hands and a fluffy pillow that a hospital bed cannot provide, but her mattress back at home invites her to try. Only a few more hours and she can, after she finishes her work, go back to her apartment. Hoping that her roommate doesn’t decide to be an absolute ass the rest of the morning.

The problem is that when a night shift is far too quiet, it can only mean trouble. Much to her distaste, the sound of the emergency doors sliding open with a stretcher-bearer not following far behind is the notice that makes her stand up from her desk and hate this night. Not her job. God, providing some kind of relief to her patients is the only thing that keeps her awake, but when she expects to see a woman in her thirties perhaps being a few centimeters into birth, she’s received by a woman in her seventies, very clearly in pain.

“Doctor, this woman got to the emergency room bleeding.” The stretcher-bearer adds, rubbing his hands together, ready to take the next step.

With a frown to her features and a quick inspection to check skin—not too pale to consider the bleeding to be chronic—, and definitely still with even breathing and signs of being hydrated, she believes this could be something that happened very soon. “Put her on the examination bed.” The bearer does as he’s told, and while she’s being moved around, she sighs deeply. “Night, Miss. I’m the doctor of the shift tonight. Do you mind telling me what happened?”

Cheeks tinged red, the old woman looks to the side and huffs. “I—I just started bleeding.”

“Alright,” Though she’s not convinced, she thanks the bearer with a nod of her head and then, hums. The nurses don’t seem to be anywhere around her, so she starts moving around the room, waiting for the man to leave—which is done fairly quickly—to start looking for her gloves and speculum. “Do you have a history of endometriosis, fibroids, abnormal bleeding?”

The patient shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“How many kids?”

“Four.”

“All vaginal births?”

“One c-section. The rest were birthed.”

“Did you hit yourself, per chance?” She asks, sparing a look at the woman after fixing the inspection light. “I know this could be a little invasive, so I ask for your permission to have your clothes taken off so I can inspect with a speculum and vaginal palpation to see where the bleeding comes from.”

The patient trembles when she sits up, slowly taking off her pants and speaking to her while she does so. “No.” She responds, though something shifts within her. Perhaps, the delicacy and seriousness of her tone had been enough to grant the patient some kind of relief, because the patient toys with her hands, looking up at the ceiling as she drags herself to the proper position to be examined in. “Doctor…I…I was having sex with my partner. The bleeding started after a special position—”

Bingo.

The problem relays after she gets to the diagnosis. A cervical tear that must be taken to the operating room as soon as possible. Johnny gets there in the matter of seconds, only for the nurses to still be gone. The patient needed attention provided by them, and she knows there are around four or five nurses only for the Gyn-Ob night shift willing—or pressed—to work. None in sight, leading her to having to lurk through the hospital, through chilling corridors in bone white that breathe out the scent of isopropyl alcohol and iodine.

Once she reaches the nurses’ office, she’s surprised to see them gathered. At this hour of the midnight, grabbing bites of pizza and speaking to none other than a man whom she knows fairly well. Not personally, but she’d recognize that face just about anywhere. Mark Lee has let his hair grow the slightest, the black strands peaking from under his surgery cap, eyes dotted in tiredness behind rounded glasses. There are bags under his eyes and he smells like he has used cautery pen, a little bit like burnt meat. He has one leg crossed over the other, surgical gown opened in the back, munching on a pepperoni slice with all the tranquility in the world as he laughs along with the other older-aged women.

She clears her throat, making them jump and slicing through the lively conversation that they had been having with the super smart asshole, as she calls him, in his first year as a neurosurgery resident. “Oh, what a blessing. We have all my nurses here with Dr. Lee instead of attending the emergency that just got here. I have a seventy-six-year-old woman waiting for an IV line and for her surgical gown so we can fix her cervix tear. And our specialist is about to wake up, so we need to do it fast.”

She may not be the sweetest of residents, but she’s efficient. The oldest nurse, Mrs. Kang, yawns as she tosses what was left of her pizza on a plate. “Doctor, don’t get angry with us. I know it’s late, but we hadn’t eaten and Dr. Lee also hadn’t grabbed a bite.”

Oh, she knows. He had been operating since two in the afternoon. Lucky him that gets pushed into the operating room in his first year, while she’s Johnny’s little assistant. She does it with glee, for…various reasons. “You can’t all leave the emergency room. I was alone.”

“You’ve always done well alone.” Another nurse says and she glares at them.

“I know, but I shouldn’t be doing your job.”

Mark coughs a bit in his hand, and he’s looking at everyone with tension in his eyes. Irises trembling, legs now unfolded, and looking a bit stiff. “It’s my fault.”

Mrs. Kang gasps. “Not a chance! We’re just weak for your pretty little face and we wanted to share with you.”

Of course, everyone wants to share with Mark Lee, but not with her. “Dr. Lee,” She tells him, for she had been waiting for the perfect moment to pierce through his pride like he did with hers. Her chin juts forward, staring through the bottom of her lashes before speaking up: “I would be very happy if you didn’t steal all my healthcare workers to share pizza slices with you. Everyone speaks about how smart and good-looking you are, but here, we need to be respectful. Above all.”

“I understand.” Though, Mark has an air of innocence to him. Everyone sees him like a cloud in a world of pebbles, soft and kind, and she almost ate it up when he grabbed a slice from the box just as he says: “Would you like a slice? I watched you as I got out of the surgery room and you looked like you hadn’t eaten the slightest.”

She hasn’t, but she won’t admit to fucking Mark Lee that she was starving and perhaps, just about to cry.

She wants to grab it, but ugh—that would be losing against him, isn’t it?

Mrs. Kang is, luckily, loud enough to awaken her from the glare she has casted upon Mark’s face. He has dimples that form even when he is just speaking, slim eyebrows and tall cheekbones, a fold on his bottom lip that creates a shadow inviting in this nice lighting. “Aw, c’mon, Doctor, how could you be mad at Dr. Lee?”

“Could we just please hurry up the work so we can stop that poor patient’s bleeding, please?” She asks, closing her eyes tightly, torn away from that hypnotization that Mark Lee somehow does so well.

“Alright, come with me.”

Thankfully, she turns around and doesn’t have to look Mark Lee in the eye again. That’s how he gets people, portraying that sweet and innocent face that probably gets too many opportunities just for that alone. The least she needs is to be like the nurses going crazy over him. She won’t fall for the whole persona Mark has constructed.

Her laptop is about to die. Or she is about to die. Whatever happens next. Who knows?

Johnny, on the other hand, has decided that it is appropriate to just sit on the desk of their shared office—just for residents—, more like lay on it, as she types away on the presentation she’s preparing, keeping it as developed and actualized as possible. However, the topic that she should be presenting on the congress that the hospital will be hosting in their fiftieth anniversary is still a bit loose. In the sense that it hasn’t been approved, and she’s not quite sure if being granted Johnny’s spot is any better.

Locks of black hair cascade on each side of his face and she can only get distracted from her job by one person only. It’s a bit stupid that she was once Johnny’s intern, as he was fresh in the residency, and now they are colleagues. Back then, she never thought she’d hold a crush on someone so…basically loved. Everyone could fall for Johnny, but now that she knows him, she envies and likes him at the same time. Never breaking a sweat, dangerously threading through portions of her heart that she deemed unvisited for many years.

“Why didn’t you want to do this presentation?”

“I am not a great public talker. Or well, I am, I just don’t like doing it.” Johnny sits up, clearing his throat in a way that has her scrunching her nose the slightest. Okay, that wasn’t really attractive. He sniffles soon after. “…And I may be catching a cold, so the first person I thought about was you. You’re, like, the smartest one of our residency and you’re just beginning.”

Maybe, that’s why she likes him so much. It has been a while since someone has truly told her something of that kind, and she’s starting to believe that intelligence is not really her most fitted dress. However, sweet words won’t take away the stress she feels. “More of a reason for me to doubt you. First year residents are torn to shreds in congresses. Could you have—?”

“Taken this choice just to ruin something special for you? Jesus, I’m an asshole, but I graduated as a doctor. I have to have a bit of human in me. Within me. Not like in me. I don’t have anyone in me.” Johnny speaks a little too much before dropping off from the desk. Just when he’s about to say something else, her laugh is cut off by someone knocking on the door and before Johnny could even invite whoever is there in, a head pops through the small slit that was caused by the door being opened.

Lord and heavens. What kind of karma is she paying? Did she step on a puppy a little too hard or did she steal someone’s boyfriend? Because none other than Dr. Mark Lee is standing by the door, sporting that coat that he always wears and is a little too big on his bodies. His ties are a tad shorter than what they should and alongside Johnny, he looks frankly small. In confidence and, also, in height.

Judging by how close they are as Johnny hugs him.

“Dude, I’m totally freaking out.” Mark speaks a little too quickly and Johnny clicks his tongue.

“You’ll do fine. What kind of neuroscience shit are they having you talk about?”

Oh, she’s not even going to pretend like she’s surprised. She expected Mark to be invited as a spokesperson in the event. Everyone adores him, and he has also been one of the leaders of the theorical science studying team in the hospital for the past year. Of course, she understands him being picked. Nonetheless, when he widens his eyes towards her, she knows something is wrong. As in, for her.

“Oh, actually, that’s why I came here.” Mark stumbles, turning to look at her and lifting two fingers in the air as a form of a greeting. She only gives him a curt nod. “…Dr. Hong told me early this morning that you should check your emails more constantly. I was informed that we are going to present a study on the use of antiepileptics in eclampsia.”

No. No fucking way.

She can work with him in the same hospital meters away, but the way her ego would be torn just by sharing a stage with Mark alone is not something she wants to go through. Words will mingle across the room; with people saying that he’s better than her and that he had once won over her. She knows how people adore Mark Lee, and how gray she is in a world filled with color.

“Anticonvulsants? With you?” She questions, standing up and spreading her hands across the desk. She feels a little tense thanks to the skirt she had pressured herself to wear instead of her usual scrubs, just because she wanted to feel pretty and professional. Mark’s eyes gravitate towards her legs and she swears she sees a blush flying to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lee, but I already have a presentation that I have talked about with Dr. Hong.” The owner of the hospital, mind her.

“Yes, about eclampsia, but considering I am going to talk about antiepileptics and people rarely know the proper and organized treatment and ladder of management for pregnancy, I think it could be amazing to present—”

“Us two?”

“Yes.” Mark stops, sparing a glance towards Johnny from the corner of his eye. Silence basks them for a second before he asks: “Is there a problem I should be aware of…or that I am missing out on?”

She sighs deeply. Okay, this is the moment she sits Mark on a chair the same way she had been planted on one when she had lost her biggest goal to him. She spares Johnny the benefit of gossiping about this. “Dr. Suh, could you please wait for us outside? I have some matters to talk about with Dr. Lee.”

She rounds the table by the time Johnny adds: “Shit, and just when things were about to get saucy.” Johnny does as she says, however, opening the door and disappearing with a swoosh of his lab coat. Mark just stands there, looking like a lost deer in the headlights, black hair still not pushed back with enough gel to make him look perfectly polished and professional.

“So…” Mark trails and she chuckles sarcastically at his words.

“Yes, I have a problem with you.” She tells. “I didn’t know about your existence before, Dr. Lee, with all due respect and you decided to show yourself up the one time you shouldn’t have. You’ve been granted everything in a silver-platter and while we had almost the same score when graduating, people just loved you more for speaking in front of everybody. ‘Cause you are sweet and like a boy-next-door, but that’s not what medicine is about. This is about hardships, still trying, and succeeding at the end. It’s about being strong enough to study and make people survive.”

Mark raises his eyebrows at that moment, gaping at her words before shaking his head. “Let me understand this well.” He internalizes her words before splaying a hand on his chest. “I am truly sorry you feel like that, but I also tried hard. The fact that I have not grown bitter over the career doesn’t mean I don’t care about it, or that I don’t have to study like a madman every single day.”

“I can’t even shine by my own because I have to be your little shadow.” She tosses, only to have Mark shrugging.

“You’ll shine! I’m not here to make you feel any less. Geez, you’ve created this competition out of nowhere.”

Of course, Mark is always eager to make himself look more caring and sweet. She understands that he may be so, but to her, Mark doesn’t care about her the slightest bit. He’s just overrated, over the top, a little too dull for her to feel fine with losing to him.

“Well, if we’re going to talk about anticonvulsants—”

“Antiepileptics.”

“Jesus, can you let me talk for once?!” She raises her voice, only to have Mark crossing his arms over his chest.

“If we’re going to work together, you have to understand something. You know more about pregnancy than I do. I know more about the human brain than you do. And that’s just factual of specialization. If not, they wouldn’t exist.” He tells her, and for a reason, whenever he is granting information regarding his career, Mark’s voice turns deeper and sulkier. Why is she even listening to him this closely? “I say antiepileptics because the term anticonvulsant is no longer user, or not proper to use. Eclampsia counts as a cause of epilepsy.”

She sighs through her nose, pressing two fingers to her temple. “Alright. Antiepileptics. If we’re going to do this together, you…have to understand that I’m not used to getting along with you and I haven’t…thought about getting along with you. So, we’ll do our best to make a great presentation, and we’ll listen to each other as closely as we can without constantly interrupting ourselves. Am I correct?”

“Never planned on doing anything different.” Mark whispers, frowning deeply when they hear a bang against the wooden door. “Someone’s there.”

“Johnny!” She screeches, only to heard another bang against the door.

“Sorry, I fell!”

“Why are you listening through the door?”

“Who said I was?!”

“You’re listening right now.”

Then, the conversation goes dead silent.

“Fine.” Mark says.

“Fine.” She repeats, only to watch him open the door and that alone has her relaxing all the muscles in her body.

This will be the most horrible set of three weeks ever.

Mark can’t work in hospital settings, so he says. Yet, when he invites her to a packed-up park, the least she expects him is to see seated on a picnic cloth, wearing an oversized tank-top and reading from a neurology textbook with frowned eyebrows and squinted eyes. Even when his glasses are supposed to better his eyesight, he still has a hard time reading, it seems. The paper he has under his thigh, not even propped anywhere to be kept in place, holds scribbles of notes that he probably will forget about sooner or later. However, she inspects him from afar as she holds onto her backpack. Mark’s cheekbones tinge pink at the mere touch of the sun, short eyelashes glammed-up by the caress of the sunrays that pass by the tree over him. He has prepared some meals, too, from what she can see.

Next to him are two containers with what she can judge is bibimbap, and she wants to do nothing more than run away. Men are easier to understand when they don’t care about being nice, or people as a whole, as a matter of fact. She has never known someone that has truly been nice without expecting anything in return, and while Mark is now aware that she is not entirely pleased by his presence, he still tries to be…human.

“I wonder, sometimes, if you know about the existence of a hairbrush.” She whispers, though she doesn’t say it in a condescending way. A palm of hers splays on top of his hair, not even pushed back by gel, but messed up by the wind that tangles it in small waves. Then, she takes off her cap and places it on top of her head, only to have Mark looking up, eyes squinted because of the sunrays that probably surround her like a halo.

“I’m too lazy to do anything to it.” He says, though he doesn’t take off the cap. Instead, he turns the book around. Who would have thought Mark was a little bit of a nerd? “Did you know that magnesium sulfate is the first treatment that pops up to our heads when thinking of eclampsia, but that it is not the first line if we consider the antiepileptic treatments that are out there?”

“I stand by magnesium sulfate, and you’re not going to steal that away from me, Dr. Lee.”

“Mark.” He corrects, putting the textbook down as she sits. She looks at the pink cap on top of his head and she almost wants to laugh. He looks…innocent. “And as an obstetrician, you do. But as a neurosurgeon, I have to tell you you’re wrong.”

“Mark…”

“What?”

“We said no correcting.”

“You never said that. You said no interrupting.”

“Okay, let me read that book.”

The afternoon relays on the beauty of summer, August coming with the pressure of success as midterms arise in their residencies. However, for a moment, they are just two people studying together. She was right, though Mark doesn’t do much introduction to the meals he brought other than he made them, and while the pieces of meat he added are a bit burnt, she still eats with glee. Reading off the textbook Mark had brought while he’s lurking in his laptop and fixing their presentation, she starts to learn more from what he knows. The insight he has in the new, always lurking to be the difference, igniting protocols, excelling in research, not following after what is told and older doctors expect them to repeat.

Of course, they have to follow after what they know is correct but Mark actually ponders why such treatments are used. At some point, as Mark reads off one of the pages, she’s typing down the information on a presentation and their shared Google Document, laying on the picnic cloth and wishing the hours didn’t pass by so quickly. Now, she’s hungry again, and that doesn’t help her concentration, mind fading as she looks at the way the strap of Mark’s shirt had fallen off one of his shoulders, back dusted in endless freckles. Too many not to be noticed.

Without noticing, or perhaps, without really meaning to, she extends a hand. The tip of her finger trails a constellation of freckles on his back, his voice haltering suddenly, turning around with a jump to his movements. When their eyes connect, she can only spurt out an apology, but Mark’s eyes are widened, pulling the strap up his shoulder and almost hiding his back.

“I—I didn’t mean to make you feel insecure. Sorry.” She tells him and she’s about to let it be, but the image pops inside her head once again. And for some reason, maybe medical curiousness, she wants to know more. “You have a lot of freckles.”

Mark laughs about it, flicking a page to the side. “I didn’t have that many. I got them throughout med school.”

Her heart hammers a bit against her chest, worrying. Sure, Mark is not her favorite person, but she still doesn’t wish for him to go through real pain. “Are they benign?”

“Oh, they are freckles. Nothing like nevus or anything of that kind.” Mark replies, sparing her a look before spreading his hand on the side of his face, casting another shadow other than the one on his bottom lip. “Where I studied before I got exchanged here was really hot, so I’d have to walk to university every single day. I got severely sunburnt, even when I wore layers and layers of clothes. The skin on my back just changed tones a bit, that’s all.”

He didn’t have it easy. Sure, she had her family that could take her to classes on the first few semesters, and then it was Yoonoh helping her. She never had to go through that, but she felt for him. “Oh…” She trails, sitting up and sighing. “That’s why you decided to exchange here?”

Mark hums. “…Not really. I just wanted something different. I like being here and there. No matter the hardships.” Though, he does push the brim of his glasses higher up his nose. “The library was just a plus in our university.”

“Nerd.”

“Have to be so to be successful, don’t I?” Mark stands up at that moment, cracking his back and closing his laptop, that she had put aside. “I think I’ll head home now. Need me to give you a ride back home?”

“No.” Though, for some reason, she wishes Mark would invite her dinner. She means…it’s not like she wants to spend more time with him, but if they were both hungry, they could take a trip to the next street, where she knows there is an excellent pizza place. “I brought my car. I’ll head back home if we’re not doing much else.”

“I’ll email you what I find.”

“Same.”

With that, they both go separate ways. As it should. As it has always been meant to be.

“Has it always been common notice to you that we share the same shift?”

She scrunches up her nose upon the arrival of Mark to her triage. Where she’s locked, like a tiger ridden of its will of roaring, while Johnny is out there operating and bringing babies into the world. Luckily for her, she had sorted out all the patients of the night and after making some quick work with the stories and checking in with the hospitalized patients, at two in the morning, she can finally sit down to grab a bite of…whatever her potato puree is now. A blob, most likely. Granted, this time of the night is also when Mark finalizes his operating sessions and while his eyebags are probably on the verge of falling to the floor to match the backpack he has left there, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise to her that she sees him…again.

It has been like that for the past month, and they have gotten to exchange a few words for the last two weeks, ever since they got paired in their presentation together. However, one of the interns is seated on the desk not too far away from them, with her cheek squished against the wooden surface and lulled into the perfect world of dreamland. Johnny would give her an earful for never making the interns do anything, but she’s certain of something—the sooner she gets to do her stuff, the earlier she’ll leave tomorrow.

“I substantially tried to avoid you the first few times I noticed you were around.” Mark pushes away the container that she had set on the desk, where she was hoping that the blob wasn’t going to make her throw up or even worse later on the…morning. Yes, it’s the morning now. Midnight. Whatever it is. “Hey, I was planning on eating that.”

“You were planning on eating what was probably rotten potato. I know we attend emergencies, but I’d rather avoid having you in gastroenterology later tonight.” He announces, dragging a seat towards her and making her shush him.

“The kid’s sleeping.”

“The kid was with me last semester. Carmen. You should probably make her do something.”

“Why?”

“She never does anything! She failed last semester and needs to do well in this one. Push her to be better—”

“Ah, I can’t change people.” Mark’s far too close, though he’s not making any effort on turning her uncomfortable. Instead, he props his glasses down on the table and now, she realizes it’s the first time she has seen him without those. His hair is a mess after taking his surgery cap off, eyes puffed out, eyebrows slim and yet, somehow messy because of his palms roaming over his features. She continues speaking, because somehow talking to the person she likes the least feels liberating. “As a student, I think your value comes from how hard you work, but it’s also highly subjective. I can’t push a student to do better if they don’t feel inspired by me, and that’s just what I think. It’s like women trying to change their husbands, for example. It’s never going to happen unless he feels the need to really change, you know?”

And talking about Carmen as if she wasn’t there is a bit rude, so she nudges his side with her elbow.

“What have you brought? I’m sure it’s just as rotten as my potatoes.”

“Nope. I ordered some sushi from a place nearby.” Mark tells, opening the bag and introducing two black plastic containers which lids he takes off. The scent of freshly cooked spices, vegetables and rice has her mouth salivating. God, when was the last time she had a proper meal today? “I think they forgot the wasabi. In your mind, that must mean they don’t want to put effort into their jobs so I shouldn’t call for them to bring me my wasabi or place a complaint.”

“Precisely. Don’t be a Karen, Mark.” She replies, earning a laugh from Mark that has her neck feeling heated. He doesn’t cover up the fact that he’s genuinely happy, baring all teeth, tossing his head back and letting out a high-pitched laugh. He doesn’t let the title of a doctor rid him of the happiness in which he lives his life in, and she envies that to the point she kind of feels relieved that not everyone goes through the same thing she does. “You bought some for me?”

Mark is already lost in the magic of eating late at night, munching on a slice of sushi and letting a sprinkle of rice end on the tip of his mouth. He doesn’t notice it and she battles the twitch of her fingers to flick that piece of food away. “Of course. You know, every time I go to the operation room, I see you here, trapped in this emergency room just making the shift work. You give it your all every second you can. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t eaten a thing.”

“Thank you.” She retaliates. God, the hospital had been so cold just mere seconds ago, but since the moment Mark arrived, it feels like summers has embarked inside its walls. “I’ll have you know a little fact. Doctors are the main patients that can get type two diabetes. We eat the worst, even when we recommend to our patients to do otherwise.”

Mark crinkles his nose. “I’ll have you know something.” He tilts his head to the side, and she tries to embark in her own food and not look at him. The lulling nature of his smile, and the softness that comes with the tone of his voice, all detonators of thoughts that shouldn’t pass her brain. They’ll present the information they have gathered in the hospital’s anniversary and that will be it for them. She promises it’s just that. “I hated intern medicine. Whenever I had to read the ADA articles, I felt like a part of me died a little. It’s just…it’s so…”

“Non-surgical.”

“Exactly.” She laughs at his words, to which he responds with a twinkle in his eyes that she wants to erase, like a towel on top of a stain, rubbing away until it’s gone. Not because she wants to take the spark that makes him be so bright, but because he is…dizzying and blinding to the point of no return sometimes.

“You’re also like that. Though, I don’t know why Johnny just…doesn’t let you operate with him. You’re amazing with birth-care, but there has to be more to it.” Mark insists and she tries not to think about it. Johnny just likes doing things his way, and that’s never been wrong. They work well together, though separated. “Don’t try to defend him.”

“What? I’m not talking.”

“I know you always protect him. Johnny has gotten in so much trouble around the hospital, for reasons that I won’t judge him for because he is my friend and I know he’s a good worker, no matter how lazy he can look,” Mark stops for a moment and without noticing, she’s staring at his lips again. That fucking rice should leave, shouldn’t it? “Uh, you’re like, kind of into him, aren’t you?”

Johnny? It’s a little complicated to tell these days. “He’s different from me.”

“And?”

“I like different.” Because she can’t truly live with someone who voices out what goes inside her brain. She needs brightness in what she considers a dulling ocean of midnight thoughts. “But not a chance, Mark. Not a chance.”

“Took you too long to deny.” Mark points out, before sighing. “I’m not saying he’s not into you, I don’t want to be the guy to—”

“But he isn’t.” She replies. She knows how Johnny Suh is. That doctor can have anyone within his pocket and he does so. She’s aware of how far this crush can go, and a relationship or even a hook-up is not it. “That doesn’t hurt me, Mark.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Alright, I’m the one saying it.”

“Don’t be so rude to yourself.” Always positive, Mark stammers. “All I’m saying is that, as his pupil, he should invite you to the operation room more often. My higher-up resident invites me and that’s why—”

Without noticing, she’s flicking a thumb over his bottom lip, moving away the rice that had gathered there. Mark’s eyes widen, his hand spreading on top of her own and she recognizes then how close they are. She sees the twitch of his tongue as it gathers his bottom lip until he traps it in between his teeth and as the sweet mood-ruin person he is, he adds:

“Ah, I—Fuck, I was talking and I had something there all along? Shit. Fuck. Uh, hold on, I’m cussing, aren’t I?” Mark, without noticing, plops another slice of sushi inside his mouth and she tries not to snort out a laugh directly at his face. “You should’ve told me.”

“We were talking about other things.” The tips of his ears are tinged red, and maybe the internal summer she’s going through is also happening to Mark Lee. “You’re blushing.”

“Fuck no.”

“You never cuss. Do you curse when you’re nervous?”

“Who said I was nervous?”

“It doesn’t take being a rocket scientist to know.” She answers, though, she doesn’t want to mortify Mark any longer, picking at her own food before giving a bite. “Either way, don’t worry about that crush. I think it’s more…admiring what he is able to do without being as inside his head as I am in mine. It’s never going anywhere. I don’t want it to.”

Mark nods, and she thinks she broke him, because he doesn’t speak for the rest of their little dinner until she resurfaces the matter of their presentation and its preparation.  

“Some sponsors are here, so I only want Mark to…you know, do the talking.”

Everyone adores Dr. Hong. He’s a neurosurgeon, head and owner of the hospital, and he was so at the mere age of fifty-two. Rather young for everything he has achieved and the textbooks he has written, she looks up to him even when she’s from a whole different field to his. However, as she wore her most elegant set of pants, flowing against recently shaven legs, along with a turtleneck that she had paid a little too much for, her shoulders fall at the sound of his voice. He’s sipping from his glass of water as people gather on their seats in the auditorium, and he says it in front of everyday, just so she doesn’t explode right at that moment.

Of course, he knows more about Mark as a student because he’s his own pupil. Nonetheless, he could have some shame. She had prepared with all the will and hardships in the world, balancing studying for her midterms and the presentation, while also investigating deeply with Mark almost every day. It’s no wonder that even Mark is a little surprised, and in the past, she would have thought he was fully aware of this. He pushes his classes to the top of his head, gasping at what Dr. Hong has just said.

“B—But…I can’t do it without her.”

“You should’ve learned both parts for the presentation.” Dr. Hong scolds, his bottle-bottom glasses making his eyes look significantly smaller. He smiles to one of the invites that briefly drops a hand on his shoulders before he’s returning to his hushed whispers with them. For a place so brightly decorated in balloons and signs in bright orange and yellow, she feels…hollow and mellow. “It’s nothing against you, darling, but people know more about Mark and his studies, and he’s more of an open personality. He’s the kind of sweet we need for an opener. Like a cocktail, you know?”

No, she doesn’t know shit about this. Because Mark gets opportunities that she doesn’t. Mark is already opening his mouth, spurting out: “It’s not fair. She worked just as hard as I did—”

Though, something that she has never gotten the benefit of, like Mark did and continues to do, is not to be disciplined. She tries to push a smile up her lips, but she’s sure it looks more like a mock. “I’d have to thank you for the opportunity, Dr. Hong, but then, I won’t stay. I haven’t…gotten enough sleep, so I’d rather leave right now.”

Dr. Hong trails his brown eyes over her features before giving her a half-hug that feels a bit forced. “I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but you wouldn’t have worked as hard if I had done so, right?”

“Exactly, Dr. Hong. That’s how it is.” She spits out softly, giving him a curt bow before she turns around. She feels the corner of her eyes bottling up with tears, and she looks up in order not to let them fall. Familiar faces scatter across the rows of seats that feel endless, and she wishes she had gotten the chance to prove what she was made of. Maybe, another time, or that’s what she promises herself each time.

When getting out of the hospital’s auditorium, she feels the sudden need to take off her lab coat and heels right at that moment and cry like a baby just born in the world. However, as she rushes down the halls, she hears the sound of steps following after her, and she wants to say they are slow and just trying to reach the same destination as her per chance, but the elevator is within reach when Mark appears in front of her, hands extended to stop her from moving any father.

“Mark, could you move?”

“I’m not presenting that without you. You’re also the core of this investigation, I—” He’s rushed in the way he is speaking, and it surprises her that he has the heart to do what he does next. His palms gather her own in between his, trapping her and enticing their gazes to connect. Mark has the prettiest set of brown eyes, and when they are worried, they almost seem to gleam like diamonds. “Why…Why is it like this for you?”

“I guess that’s how the world works. I’m a woman, first and foremost. I’m more strong-willed than you are. I stick out like a sore thumb and being opinionated has never helped me much.” Saying those words out loud has tears dropping against her cheeks. Fuck, her makeup is ruined now. Hiccups escape her lips when she looks around, hoping that no more doctors arrive through those elevator doors just to see her cry. Fore-front, too. “Say mean shit to me, that way I’ll stop crying. God, I can’t believe I’m being such a pussy.”

“Hey…” Mark’s voice is softened, like the thumb he lets roam the brim of her knuckles. “I wouldn’t say anything mean to you. You…You hate me, for fuck’s sake, and I still wouldn’t think of you as anything more than worthy of being there more than I am. You’ve never gotten your chance to shine.”

“And I want to believe I never will, because it’s easier. Living life while being bitter just feels…more common to me.” She tells him, pushing at his chest and sighing. “Say I don’t deserve it, Mark. Just say it!”

“You do!” Mark replies, voice just as loud. She wants to shut him up, press those lips together and just let him look as handsome as he does right now, with a few buttons of his blue button down undone, gray suit clashing against the whiteness of his coat. “So please, get back in that auditorium. Let’s do things our way.”

“I…I can’t.” She responds, extending her back until her shoulders become straight, as if poised and entranced. “My pride doesn’t let me, and sure, I will probably never reach half the things you will while being like this…but if someone doesn’t want me there, I just won’t do it.”

“I want you here.”

“And when your vote counts, I hope you still wish for me to do so.” Just when she’s about to press the elevator’s button to watch the doors open, they are caught off guard. The doors do open, but a set of doctors plan on passing through by them. Mark moves quicker than she does when a small curse leaves her lips, pushing her until she’s relying on the wall, his body used as coverage as he drops his head and shelters her from the eyes of others. He is probably seeing the trails of mascara and the runny lipstick, but he doesn’t show his discomfort. Perhaps, he doesn’t feel so.

“Don’t move.”

“Don’t let them see me.” She replies, looking up at his eyes. Mark nods, though she sees the fraction of second of distraction that passes by his features. She wants to run her fingers through his hair, fix that goddamned strand that he always lets out, but that breath of connection is broken by the clearance of his throat as he gives one step back.

“They’ve left. And you’re leaving with me.” Mark complies, only to have her shaking her head.

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll carry you there.”

“You’re too shy and non-assertive to do such a thing, so I’m not worried.” Rubbing a hand against her eye and perhaps, ruining her makeup even more, she says: “Just go steal the show, Mark, you’ve done it time and time again. Why not do it now?”

“I know how much this means to you now. I didn’t…I didn’t know when we graduated just how much you care about education.”

“Well, shit just happens.” Before Mark could say anything else, she pops inside the elevator, hearing him bang his fists against the doors when she closes them with rushed fingertips against the buttons. Soon after, she’s sighing when dropping herself against the wall, looking up at the bright lightbulb and feeling more tears gathering and dropping. One by one, like her worries, piling up until she doesn’t know what to do with them.

Somehow, she can’t hate Mark at this moment. Not this time around. Yoonoh would probably laugh at her for giving Mark excuses for always getting her chances, but it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it, either. He may be the kind of person people want posing on pictures and being their doctor, and that’s something she has to live with. Not being his shadow, but also, not shining on her own. One day, it will come—and she hates that she’s thinking like this, because she’s starting to sound like Mark.

A month later.

She uses the pendant as a joke.

Dr. Hong wanted to apologize in some way or another—or so she wants to believe. Isn’t there something along the line of bosses being very political and not wanting to look bad in front of their workers?—, so he decided to give his staff necklaces as a gift. Necklaces and keychains, she forgets about that sometimes, but she’s reminded when she feels the new weight of a pendant against the lines of her palms. But, that’s not what she decided to sport ironically today, as she’s wearing her favorite pair of gray scrubs and a braid that she learned how to do on a TikTok video. The point is…that Dr. Hong must have made a mistake, because when he gave her the box that was supposed to hold her necklace with her name as a pendant, she got Mark’s instead.

Today is Thursday, a month after they were paired together to work on that presentation that was, according to the attendees, the best one to date coming from residents of this hospital. However, she doesn’t want to ponder back and forth on what could have been. Instead, she’s knowledgeable of the fact that Mark should be consulting his post-operation patients today. Hence, she pops through the neurosurgery portion of the hospital, greeting a few familiar faces with a nod of her head—and a swing of her hand against someone’s shoulder, when the newest intern and last year student, Na Jaemin, decides to give her a hug a little too tight and call her by name instead of doctor—, and clinging to the necklace as if it is her pride and joy.

She waits for the last patient to leave, and she remembers Mark talking about this case. An astrocytoma that he had extracted and was scared of the neurological outcome of the patient. Luckily for him, the patient was not walking on two feet, but when he pushed his wheel-chair away from the consulting room, he was talking to his partner. She smiles, pushing the door open once again and not missing the way Mark perks up at that moment, always eager to welcome his patients.

“Oh, Mr. Jude, did you happen to forget something—?” Mark stops on his tracks when he turns around, seeing her with a shit-eating grin that must be weird for him to look at. Through the other wall of the consulting room, the specialist must be working and examining the patients that Mark presents to him, but for now, only the two of them are left in this room. “…You’re happy.”

“I can be.” Though, she sprints and jumps a bit on her step as she moves closer to him. Mark is already speaking, not paying too much attention to her, just because he had seen her in these scrubs before.

“Dr. Hong made a huge mistake. I have this necklace that was supposed to go to you. But either way, how are you doing?” Mark’s unaware of the way she fidgets with the necklace around her neck, leaning back on his desk and looking through a few of the papers his handwriting his scribbled on, when she shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s okay. I am supposed to go check how the patients are doing upstairs and then, head back to the emergency room to check on a patient I had with a vaginal infection. Well, she contacted me outside the hospital and wanted some help because it’s recurrent, but whatever.” Once again, she wiggles her eyebrows at him. “Mark, I need you to look at me.”

“Yeah,” Mark’s, once again, lost in his thoughts, before he’s frowning. “You need me to look at you? Do you have anything? Oh God, how’s the Glasgow? Are you having memory loss?”

“No, dumbass.” She rolls her eyes, swinging the necklace back and forth. “What’s different?”

“The hair?” Mark snaps his fingers, happiness trailing after his smile. “It looks lighter!”

“No wonder you wear glasses.” She gets closer to him, still holding onto her necklace, and perhaps, Mark does have that medical eye that everyone prides him on, because a motion of his gaze across her body that electrifies the utmost recondite portions of her muscles has him squinting his eyes at the necklace and then, she full on laughs at his realization. “I knew I got the wrong necklace, but I thought it would be funny. It kind of looks like one of those couple things, doesn’t it? Like that Taylor Swift song—”

Mark’s pupils dilate, eyes darkened. As a matter of fact, she expected him to be a stuttering, sweating mess at this point. She must not know all sides of Mark Lee, precisely. His digits trace the necklace with just the tip before he’s engulfing the pendant in his palm. She looks at him, watching the even breathing, rising and falling of his thorax, followed by the purse of his lips and the eccentricity of the simplest of movements from his eyebrows. He rotates the pendant, studies it with fervor, before he tugs her closer by it. The skin of her nape arises in goosebumps, throat contracting in a thick swallow when she finally realizes that Mark is just not a cute, quite obnoxious and oblivious, guy that she can play around with.

There is a man in there.

The broadness of his shoulders, barriers to the smallness of his waist, clashing worlds that come together with the scent of his perfume and…is that an aftershave? Mark uses an aftershave?

Maybe, she had been unable to see what really made him so attractive to the rest of the world.

His chin perches up, looking at the necklace from underneath his eyelashes. “Don’t take it off.” He musters, deep from within his chest, rumbling in a vibrato that has the curve of her back deepening and transcending towards him.

“What?” Now she’s the one stammering, and it’s incredible that Mark has this kind of power.

“It looks…great on you.” And the way he toys with the silver material, rotating it in the axis of his index finger, has her aware of how awfully close the digit is to her skin, as if the desire to have that finger trailing down the column of her throat and towards the expanse of her chest is…unbearable.

Summer. He has brought summer to her face again. It’s not a blush, she swears.

“It has your name.”

“So what? It still looks amazing on you.” Mark recites, pulling away to hoist her chin in between his index and thumb before he moves her face from side to side.

“Do you have a fascination with necks, Mark?”

“Not that I know of. Could be my debut as a neck-fascinator, y’know.” He jokes around, and she would laugh if it wasn’t for the tightened knot in the pit of her chest. When he lets go of her, she feels like she can finally breathe, and why is that something that comes out as poor in comparison to the way his touch feels on her? “As much as I would like to keep talking to you, I have more patients waiting for me outside and…” He moves over to the door, and she’s eager to have him opening it so she can cool off, but when his hand spreads on the doorknob, he adds, while looking at her: “Shit, don’t take it off, okay?”

She would have laughed at herself years ago if she heard herself saying, in a small tone: “I won’t, Mark.”

Four months later.

“Care to explain why Mark Lee’s drunken ass is in your birthday party? Because I’m all for change of pace, but this is a whole new story we’re talking about.”

She had missed Yoonoh, dearly, so when he had decided to tag along to her dinner birthday party with his new girlfriend, she thought it would be the greatest of ideas. She must have forgotten that in between all the mess that is being a resident, and also the fact that Mark’s position in her life is as much of a question mark—pun intended—as it is settled, she had not told Yoonoh about his existence as a…well, friend? Supposedly?

Yoonoh’s hair is shorter, bleached with the tips painted in a bright pink, and she has to adjust to the colors even when the restaurant is bathed in colors of purple and blue, the VIP section pushed into the agenda of her birthday thanks to Mark’s idea. He had been the one behind all this, but how does one say that to Yoonoh when he was there, listening to her complain about Mark’s existence, for whole months? She wouldn’t stop talking about him.

She tilts her head back, moistening her mouth with a daiquiri before shrugging. “Life happens. Mark had to work on a project with me and then, we just…I’m not going to say we’re friends.”

Yoonoh bares his teeth as a wolf would do before eating its prey alive. Yes, she’s the prey, but she’s just going to get shit-eating grins the entire night. “Oh, but you’re so friends. Tell me, what is it that has made you forgive him for putting you through the biggest turmoil of your life?”

Considering that he is now standing on a table, swinging hips from side to side in a comic way, with a few buttons of his shirt undone and almost popping a nipple, she’s thinking that he wasn’t that much of a threat to start with. “Just look at him. He’s singing Fifty-Fifty. A man that truly wants to ruin your entire life wouldn’t make hearts while karaoke-ing to ‘Cupid.’”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. Men are menaces, me being a man is enough for me to prove it.” And the way Yoonoh has slowly pulled away from his new girlfriend, letting her go get drinks on her own side as she’s now talking with a whole different group of women, lets her know that, maybe, just maybe, he’s not the best one to date. Johnny is somewhere around, too, speaking with a few other residents of the Gyn-Ob program. “Is he treating you well?”

“Don’t start with the brother talk.”

“I’m not giving you the brother talk.”

“Well, you’re asking me questions a brother would think about when his sister has a new boyfriend but hey, newsflash, I don’t—”

“I don’t like Mark Lee, she said, totally lying to herself. Come on, you’ve been eye-fucking him.”

“What do you know? You’re drunk.”

“Two of these?” He holds the two empty soju bottles he has around him. “Don’t bother me. Cupid boy over there, though? He’s on cloud nine and I think it’s about time we slice the cake and take him home.”

“You just want cake.”

Yoonoh quirks a perfectly trimmed eyebrow before chuckling. “Trust me, babe, I’m getting a good slice of cake tonight, but the sweet kind wouldn’t do me wrong, either.”

This memory could be one for the books, considering Yoonoh has one arm wrapped around Mark’s shoulder as they both drunkenly—or not so—sing into the camera Yoonoh is holding on one hand the goddamned birthday song. She’s clapping along, laughing when Mark dips a finger into the icing and tries to smear it on the tip of her nose but completely misses.

Okay, maybe he doesn’t handle soju just as well.

Yoonoh says his goodbyes and finally decides to return to his date, or girlfriend, or whatever it is that he calls women in his life these days. That’s the moment she wraps an arm around Mark’s shoulder, hoisting her hand until she’s clasping the two ends of his button down closed so he doesn’t show more of his chest. For his sake. Or hers.

“I didn’t ask for nudity tonight.” Mark’s cheeks tinge pink and he laughs at her words, shaking his head.

“Dude, I’m not naked.” Though, he does take a second glance, creating a double-chin when he looks down at his chest and then, it’s her turn to giggle. “See? I didn’t have to check or anything.”

“I’m taking you home.”

“But Johnny’s still here!”

“Don’t care. I’m taking you home. Enough celebrating. It’s four in the morning, not my birthday anymore.” She replies, tugging him along with her as she carries on her empty hand a bag with the half-eaten burger he had left on his plate on a container and the slices of cake respective to them. She waves the hand that she has on Mark’s chest as a goodbye to the rest of the group before they’re engulfed by the night. “Okay, Mark—”

He’s not in this world, or this night, because he’s singing slowly to himself: “I’m feeling lonely. Oh, I wish I could find a lover that could—”

“Mark.”

“Hold me.” He does a few runs with his voice at that moment, which is not unpleasant, but definitely uncalled for as she is trying to take them back home.

“I need you to do either one of two things. Reach into my purse and grab my car keys, or button your shirt so you don’t die of a cold.” He chooses the latter, popping his hand inside her purse and lurking around. His body rolls on the curve of her arm, a crease growing between his brows as he tries his best to find the key in this darkened night. From the closeness, she can smell the soju in his breath, mixed with the mustard that he reapplied on the burger that was served to him.

“I’m on it. Just give me…a second.”

“We don’t have many seconds.”

“Eh, eh, dude, no rushing.” Mark complains, dragging his voice. “A true surgeon doesn’t rush, you know?”

“I’m an obstetrician-to-be.”

“Babies take time, too, you know? To make them, pop them out…” Mark’s voice starts to face until he grabs the keys, grabbing them harshly in the palms of his hands before smiling. “Here they are! We can go…back…home…” His tone grows duller when he looks at her, faces inherently close, in positions that almost translate to being chest to chest, only separated by the purse in between them, and it doesn’t help that she has one arm wrapped around his waist. “Can you smell the mustard?”

“Mark—” She’s about to pull away, but Mark tugs her closer, perfecting the position she had put them in. He wraps both hands around her waist, molding and digging until all she feels is his skin, muscles and bones. His abdomen contracts against her own, insufferably tight and making her own stomach flip a bunch of times. The breeze plays with the hair he lets fall on his forehead and she swears she sees a hint of condensation in his glasses.

“I’m sorry. All I’ve done is ruin every opportunity I’ve had with you.” Mark whispers, almost like a drunken blues, before he licks his lips. His eyes divert to the necklace hanging in between her collarbones, his name still there, most of the time covered by her coat at work or her scrubs, but he wears her name around her neck, as well. She’s sure someone has figured out their little game by now. “…But you still wear the necklace.”

Freezing is the tip of his nose against her septum, trailing against the skin as his lips part. The shuddering breath he lets out speaks a thousand languages, each more confusing than the other. Those eyes of his remain closed, while she only looks at him. The crease of his brows, the trembling of his bottom lip and the palpable need to kiss her, only to be interrupted by his own insecurities:

"Just kiss me." She pleads, though she would have never imagined that her voice would let out such things. Mark was supposed to be the man she hated for the rest of her professional life, but somewhere in between, the lines had blurred.

"I can't." Mark announces and when he doesn’t let go of her waist, she knows that said words don’t mean that he doesn’t want to. “Because I don’t know if us wearing our names on each other’s neck means we are really good friends, or that you want to kiss me just as bad. And you may have a stronger heart than I do, taking disappointment after disappointment, accepting life to be unfair with you, but I am not quite as strong as you are.”

He breathes in deeply and she takes that as a cue of him not being over his speech.

“I’m afraid you’ll break me.”

“I would never.” She admits, trailing her nose to the skin of his cheeks, deepening the tip on the hollow where his dimples form, before breathing his scent deeply. “Mark, I’m tired of running from things just because I am bitter. I don’t want to be bitter anymore. If life is going to suck, then, at least I want to say I tried having a good thing, however way it turns out.”

When he dips his mouth to taste hers, he does it as if he can’t handle the tremor of his lips. He’s unused to her motions, growing impatient and then, falling back into rhythm. One can feel that he’s nervous, but that doesn’t stop him. He puts the effort to trace the outline of her mouth with a simple caress of his lips, puckering them up the slightest in a peck before he’s parting them to grant himself the benefit to learn the shape of her upper lip and her bottom one. She sighs against his mouth, finally pushing back that one hair that he never brushes back quite well, guiding his mouth deeper into her own. For him to finally scratch that source of curiousness that had built to be a warm feeling at the tip of her stomach, and the bottom of her heart.

She had once not known who Mark Lee was.

But now she’s certain that he won’t let her forget through this kiss, and if she’s lucky, the ones that will come after.

#mark scenarios #mark x reader #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct fluff #nct au #mark fluff #mark au #writing #kpop scenarios

[pebblume]

I never realized how liberating writing fanfiction would be. I hadn’t written creatively in years. It’s been so long that I kind of forgot what it felt like. The childlike rush of pouring your heart out onto a blank page, not caring about the results as long as you were having fun. I’ve tried writing fanfic a couple of times, for different fandoms across the years, but never finished anything I was really happy with, nothing that I felt comfortable sharing with the world. But something just clicked for me this past week. I realized how much fun it was to stretch out my writing muscles, to get inside the heads of my favorite characters. I realized that it didn’t have to be perfect to be worthy of being shared and loved by others. I realized that I had so many stories inside myself - more than I thought possible. 

But perhaps what I’m most in awe of is fanfic readers. The people who read my work and leave kudos and bookmarks and comments - one word comments, sweet comments, silly comments, paragraph-long comments. I love them all. I used to be afraid of leaving comments on AO3, afraid I wouldn’t have enough words, wouldn’t have the right words, to depict how I felt. But when I felt firsthand how much those comments meant to me I started leaving more and more of them, spreading a digital paper trail of love to all my favorite authors. More and more often I recognize the profile names and images in my comment section and think, Hey, I know you! Now I’m not just a guest on AO3, or a passive reader. I belong here. 

I won’t lie and say I don’t miss drawing a bit, my previous creative outlet. There are plenty of drawings inside me too, itching to be realized. I really just don’t have the time for two time extensive hobbies, not when I need to balance school and practicing and little things like sleeping and eating and relaxing. I miss it, but not as much as I thought I would. There’s a level of investment to sharing a story online that feels…special. When I post my art, I get engagement, and it feels nice, but ultimately, most people are only spending about ten seconds looking at the work I spent eight hours on, if that. When someone reads my fics, we’ve now spent time together. You’ve lived inside my head for a bit, made it your home. It’s about feeling seen, I think. Writing makes me feel understood in a way visual art sometimes doesn’t. It makes me feel vulnerable in the same way performing music does, but less exposed too. It’s interesting to me. 

The only downside, if you can call it that, is now that the writing bug has infected me, I’m finding it harder and harder to stop. I’ll have an idea and then suddenly five hours have flown by because I’m on a creative streak and I just want to write one more idea down, which turns into two, and so on and so forth. I dread stopping, because what if I forget something? What if I get into a writing block later? Suddenly I have people who want to read the things I write and I want to provide it, I really do, but I also have responsibilities. I say, as I write this, ignoring my audition tomorrow afternoon. 

I still have a bit of embarrassment attached to fandom works. When I tell acquaintances that I like to draw or write, I rarely tell them I mean fanart and fanfiction. As if loving something that deeply, that sincerely, is inherently shameful in this age of irony and soulless remakes. Especially when my interests usually consist of media marketed towards children, nevermind the fact that it has more emotional maturity than most ‘adult’ works. But I’m trying to get better about it. A lot of my closest friends know about my hobbies, and some I’ve even let see my work. It’s terrifying but also giddying, seeing them like an art post or comment on a fic. After all, to reap the rewards of being loved, one must submit themselves to the mortifying ordeal of being known, or something like that. 

I realized today that I’ve written over 30,000 words in the past two weeks about about two characters who don’t belong to me, but whom I’ve made my own.

And I’ve never felt happier

#some sily thoughts i had today #might delete later #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 writer #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #fandom #the mortifying ordeal of being known

[schmergo]

I've recently done a little bit of research for some stuff adjacent to the production of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes that I'm in right now and, in checking whether certain scientific institutions and inventions would have existed during the time of the play, I discovered something kind of interesting: many of the ones I've looked up were coincidentally established within 5-10 years of the setting.

The first bunch of Sherlock Holmes stories, the source materials for this play, came out between 1887 and 1893. The Natural History Museum? Opened fully in 1883. The Prime Meridian? Officially established in 1884. Tower Bridge? Built between 1886-1894. The Tube running northwest from Baker Street? 1880. London's first electrical power station? 1882. Those are just the ones I happened to look up. Telegrams are common in the Sherlock Holmes tales, and by the later Sherlock Holmes stories, he's using a telephone and even automobiles are mentioned.

Reading the Sherlock Holmes stories with that context of a world full of rapid changes and advancements, I feel like it comes across differently. It seems to say, "There's a scientific answer for everything." His unique detecting style, based on simple observations, made it seem like the age-old problems of crime and criminals could be defeated by logic and reasoning. I think there's a level of idealism, that even the most difficult crimes are solvable and bad actors are no match for modern scientific knowledge.

Reading Sherlock Holmes cases often gives the comfortable feeling of order and justice being served. I think that's the same reason true crime content is so popular today in another age of rapid digital advances-- and if we guess the solution, it's doubly satisfying. It's also why Sherlock Holmes is so easily translated to modern day.

But that also makes me think about another book and another equally iconic character that came out around that same time period: Dracula, published in 1897. And Dracula takes a lot of the same themes and seems to say the exact opposite.

I think one of the biggest things that surprises first-time readers of Dracula is how modern Dracula feels and how much technology is used in the book. Like the Sherlock Holmes stories, it was set in roughly 'modern day' when it was written. The 'good guys' use trains, telephones, typewriters, and even blood transfusions. But when Dracula, an old-world monster, arrives in their modern newfangled city of London, all of that technology is useless against him. And so is any ability of theirs to deduce a simple scientific explanation for what's going on.

When Dracula starts sneaking into their friend’s house and sucking her blood each night, the signs are obvious, right down to the puncture marks on her neck. The reader and audience knows what’s up waaaay before the characters do. It’s infuriating! You want to jump up and down and yell, “A VAMPIRE IS KILLING HER!” But why don’t they see what’s right in front of their faces? Because they’re thoroughly modern upper-middle class British people who live in a scientifically advanced world and believe in reason.

The chaos of true evil is more powerful than logic and reason. To defeat him, they need to get on his level and use superstition and religion and folklore. It's the polar opposite of a story like "The Hounds of the Baskervilles," published five years later.

All that said... I would love to see a Sherlock Holmes and Dracula crossover. How long would it take Holmes to deduce that he had run into a real vampire? Would he make all the correct observations and keep coming to the wrong conclusions? Would he be able to accurately predict the patterns of Dracula's behavior when his opponent has superhuman abilities and can transform into multiple different types of animals?

Or, given Holmes' somewhat addictive and adrenaline-driven personality, his superior attunement to his senses, his surprising revival from the dead, and his innate instinct to 'catch his man' at any cost... would he himself make the most dangerous vampire of all?

#sherlock holmes #dracula #literature #books #mysteries #novels #classic literature #english major

[smokeybrandreviews]

Festival Season

I am a massive fan of MegaTen games. I love everything about them; the battle systems, characters, and overall world. I fell in love with the summoning and fusion systems of these games almost immediately and longed for other franchises to do something similar. It was basically Digimon Fusion before Digimon was a thing. Who wouldn’t want to Lego two Pokemon into a goddamn MewTwo? The missus introduced me to this brave new world with the purchase of Digital Devil Saga so long ago. It was one of the first gifts I ever got her. Watching her play that sh*t really awakened something within me. It was like watching my kid brother playing Final Fantasy IX for the first time but with, you know, violent monstrosities. Way back then, during the golden age of the JRPG, on the PS2, we made it a point to play all of the obscure titles. Nippon Ichi and Atlus were our bread and butter. We had copies of Stella Deus, every DIsgaea available, and even Soul Nomad. No one talks about Soul Nomad. One day, she came home with Persona 3. On that list was Persona 3 vanilla. Bro, after we booted it up and those first few notes of Burn My Dread popped, I was hooked. I must have put three hundred hours into that game. I conquered everything I could in that game, romanced every option, and completed one hundred percent of that sh*t. I unlocked every Persona on just two runs and readily did it again when FES released. The Answer was kind if disappointing but I didn’t mind running through the enhanced world of P3 once again. And then I did it one more time when P3P dropped, though, admittedly, Portable is my least favorite of the lot. Persona 3 opened my eyes to a world of RPGs beyond just your Final Fantasys and Dragon Warriors. Because I enjoyed this one game so much, I was open to trying out others. I wouldn’t have touched Magna Carta if not for Persona. I would have missed out on Rogue Galaxy. Wouldn’t have given Shining Force EXA a second thought. If I had never played Persona 3, I would have never played 4 or 5, and that sh*t seems so bewildering to me because those games are some of my all-time favorites. In fact, for a long while, Persona 5 was my favorite of these games. I wrote a whole thing about, about how, while I loved 3, 5 was a close second. It had legitimately closed that gap after Royal dropped but then Persona 3 Reload was announced. Guess who pulled ahead once again.

I got Reload day one and immediately dove into to. It felt familiar, yet, new. It definitely got all the bells and whistles that made Persona 5 so enjoyable but was still definitely Persona 3. I got my copy for the PS4 so, while the presentation is loads better than the original, and it shows, it’s comparable to Persona 5. Having that “side-by-side” experience just solidifies that P3 IS my favorite Persona title and one of my all-time favorite games, period. I was a little bummed Burn My Dread wasn’t the opening song but Full Moon Full ain’t too shabby on its own. More than that, the quality of life changes are amazing. It’s the little things like the Online Saves or the fact you don't get fatigued in Tartarus anymore. I love how the original character designs got a remix, bringing them closer in line with that Persona 5 aesthetic, and boy do they steal from that P5 aesthetic let me tell you! The thing is, though, it feels full circle to me. I remember, way back when I was playing P5 (shout out to Tae Takemi, best girl in the entire game), that P5 feels like the spiritual successor to P3 in every way P4 is not. Don’t get me wrong, P4 is a classic, but it feels out of place in the trio, almost disconnected. Also, I remember hating Teddy. It’s like, did P3 influence P5, only to have that sh*t bleed back into Reload? I don’t know, and I don’t really care. I get to play Persona 3, on my PS4, with the look of Persona 5. I cannot stress how dope that is. Also, Satanael is DLC. You KNOW I bought due and have been decimating the early game! Thanatos is my second favorite Persona, always, Alice is the first (especially after I customize her), but Ren’s ultimate Persona is a strong third. Like, laughably so. There’s just something about summoning a Demon God that feels so…powerful. Also, you shoot God in the face. How can you not love that?

I’m ten hours into Reload and it is everything I ever dreamed  a full-on Persona 3 remake should be. This isn’t that bait and switch FFVII pulled with Remake. No, for all intents and purposes, this IS Persona 3 but with modern game play and graphics. It’s like I’m popping ion the game for the very first time, damn near twenty years later. The Protagonist is as stoic as ever and the city of Tatsumi Port Island is alive with a vibrancy only the power of PS4 could bring. Building this game on the Unreal engine was a stroke of genius because the models are crisp, detailed, and fluid. There are so many little particle effects that make everything pop. The biggest upgrade is the UI. The thing is, I’m old as f*ck. I’ve been gaming since the old NES days. I’ve seen the evolution of video game and, for me, they peaked way back in the PS3 era. When P3 originally came out, I had no problem with how the title was presented. It got a little flashier with P3P and Persona 4 added their own flair, but Persona 5 really went in on the showmanship. P3R gets a bit of that and it goes a very long way to captivating the player. I thought modern hardware would affect the charm of these OG designs, but it doesn’t. It actually enhances them considerably. It’s subtle, but the bodies are longer, the eyes are smaller, and the overall proportions feel more realistic. I kind of love it. I also love the redesigns, so far. I mean, Mitsuru is gorgeous and I adore the new-ish Elizabeth model, but I’m holding judgment until the very end when I get to see Nyx again. And definitely get my ass throttled by her. Now, admittedly, not all that shimmers is gold. The fact that the Answer, the additional part of FES, isn’t included in what is a very obvious FES remake, kind of bones. I hear that it will be DLC down the line and that sucks. I like Metis. Her design was dope. I’m also not that huge a fan of Thanatos’ first reveal being made with in-game models. The visceral nature of that genesis feels lost when not in animation. It’s good in its own way but, goddamn, did that sh*t hit different way back when. These are, of course, superficial gripes because I am having the time of my life with this game! And it’s only the first play through. That New Game is about to slap crazy hard! I cannot wait to run it back with my heavy hitters on deck. Satanael be damned, getting Thanatos and my laughably OP Alice in the mix is going to be the best!

#Persona #Persona 3 #Persona 3 Reload #MegaTen #Shin Megami Tensei

[cybernaght]

Baldur's Gate 3

Well hello, strangers on the internet, I am here with another wall of text that has nothing to do with the actual topic of this blog. And before you ask why on Earth do I not make a free-for-all blog: last thing I need is encouragement to write more walls of texts. 

The topic of today’s Wall of Text is - shock, surprise - Baldur’s Gate 3, because it came out, and half of the internet and I have lost our collective goddamn minds. 

So, today I’ll talk about why for me, as something who thinks she is a non-gamer, but who is also an aficionado of interactive storytelling - both collaborative and not - this game is a kind of a marvel that I have not seen since I was a child.

I’m doing so in three parts. The player introduces my personal perspective and relationship with video games. The interlude talks about what on earth is interactive storytelling exactly, and where RPGs fit into that term. The game mostly sings praises to Larian’s masterpiece. 

As ever, this is a think piece with the main source being “my brain.”

The player. 

The thing is, I’m not a gamer. 

I do love video games. I play plenty of video games. It’s one of my favourite pastimes, and one of my favourite types of media. That said, I don’t believe myself to be a gamer for two reasons:

One, there is a subculture around it, and I have never been part of it, nor have I ever strived to be. It’s not that I don’t like it - it’s more that I don’t think we have the same, or even similar, values when it comes to what we seek in our gaming experience. For one, I play solo. Even in server games, I play blissfully alone, always. More importantly, I don’t pride myself on my gaming skills, because I effectively have none of those, and I’m not overly interested in developing them. When I play anything, I seek something else entirely; we’ll talk about that momentarily. For now, suffice it to say, I’m not a gamer because I say I’m not.

Two, I didn’t grow up as one. I have played a lot of old nineties/early naughties games - RPGs predominantly, but also point and clicks, and dungeon crawlers — a kind of stuff that honestly, looking in hindsight, formed a core of my interests. By the time mid-two-thousands rolled around I stopped. There are several reasons for that, but the biggest one is simply that the games outgrew the hardware I had access to. Growing up, I have never had - was never allowed to have - a console; and I have not actually had one until only five or six years ago when I was ageing out of my twenties. This massive break between gaming will be relevant later.

And, because I’m merely a person who likes video games, I have two functions for them.

Function one: a digital fidget toy. My brain frequently refuses to shush, and my hands need to do something for it to do so. This is where my deck builders are handy (Slay the Spire is my time sink of choice, but Monster Train does just as well); as are my Diablos and all their infinite clones. Those are my “in the zone” games. I am pretty okay at those through exposure by now, but being good at them is not part of the appeal because the less they need my actual mental engagement, the better. Being challenging - or me perceiving them as challenging - goes directly against what they are for me.

Function two: a vehicle for a story. The genre is immaterial. Do I like RPGs still? Doubtlessly, provided those are narrative-focused (which not all of them are). But well-written adventure games do just as well, as do indie dialogue-tree ones. And, well, this year, was absolutely wild for those, across the board. 

Star Wars Jedi Survivor learnt every mistake from its predecessor and made me excited about Star Wars for the first time in literal years with the way it put you into that world and the story it’s telling. The world-building there is fantastic, and it made me want to slow down my race for the endgame payoff and savour the atmosphere much more than the first title did. I also really appreciate a game which is effectively a Dark Souls-alike allowing you to nope out of that particular style of play from the get-go.

Failbetter Games' Mask of the Rose is an absolutely sublime dialogue-tree game, incredibly well-written, intuitive, and so narratively rich that it warranted no less than a dozen play-throughs. It has its limitations - mostly through the sin/virtue of being very indie - but the core of it is absolutely breathtaking. If you like macabre horror-comedic Eldritch Victoriana, mystery solving and date-simming, I’d recommend giving this one a go. 

And then Baldur’s Gate 3 had its console release - finally - and the world tilted on its axis.

The Interlude: three steps to interactivity (and then one step further than that)

Let’s envision a path to interactivity in games as a ladder. 

Ground zero, absence of narrative focus.

I think it is useful to distinguish between narratives that support the act of playing and the act of playing that supports the narratives. Most games come with a story; Candy Crush Saga has a story if you squint. But, quite often, the story exists around the mechanics of playing: it’s present but not really what the title is about. Diablo games have narratives, but, let’s face it, none of us were buying Diablo IV to find out what happened in Sanctuary after the titular villain was finally properly vanquished. (If any of us are buying Diablo IV these days; although that’s a whole other can of worms.)

I see Bethesda games in this category. They have narratives, but they are not about those. They are about simulation of living in a type of reality, be it high fantasy, post-apocalypse, or space exploration.

Step one, linear narrative. 

For me, a vessel for narrative is a game in which narrative is the main event, and the reason the game exists, with the engine and/or series of mechanics facilitating the consumption of said narrative. The narrative can be absolutely linear. Jedi Fallen Order and its predecessors in the platformer genre are as linear as they go: you travel from area to area, helping the story play out by engaging in predetermined events, and no one is pretending otherwise. 

Step two, false-choice narrative. 

Then, there are false-choice narratives: think of it as getting from one point to the next and then to the next, where the journey has some cosmetic or flavour variation. You can get from point A to point B via two or three different routes (physical, or conversational), but none of them actually change what happens at point B.

For an obvious example, some (but not all) of the TellTale Games’ titles exist within this step. 

Step three, true-choice narrative.

Congratulations, we have reached interactivity! So, let’s look at that in slightly broader terms.

According to Wikipedia, interactive storytelling is “a form of digital entertainment in which the storyline is not predetermined”, which essentially means an element of choice and consumer agency. 

Personally, I don’t think there is a need to limit this to digital entertainment. There is plenty of literature that I believe falls under this category, starting from Mark Z. Danielewski’s work and travelling through time and space to our friends at the indie British online magazine Voidspace.

Another obvious place for non-digital interactivity is theatre: immersive theatre specifically. If you’re not in the UK, here’s a quick run-down of things one can find under that umbrella term on our little island. Secret Cinema’s work is, strictly speaking, linear, but the variety and tangibility there can be enough to conceal that fact, and the routes you get to the outcome can be rocky enough to still have an element of choice. Punchdrunk’s promenade productions present a technically linear selection of narratives, but with a choice of which of those to follow, and so for you, the audience, the events differ from night to night. Then, there is a whole subset of game-theatre, crisis management theatre, and interactive work, which, in most general terms, gives the audience agency of playing and deciding, often with multiple possible endings at play.

If we loop back to digital media forms, however, playable films (Bandersnatch being an obvious one) exist in this realm. Quantic Dream’s interactive adventure games live here. Decent RPGs feel comfortable here too: Dragon Age series, Mass Effect, Greedfall, and Outer Worlds, just to name a few. And those are all good, don’t get me wrong. 

And yet, we can still go one step further, and shoot for the sky. 

Step four, collaborative (or generative) narrative  

The sky, to me, is a well-run table-top RPG, which does not just engage players in a story by giving them a set of specific choices, but invites players to effectively write that story together. This process is not just interactive - it’s collaborative, with mechanics and rules existing to facilitate it. It’s not just about giving players agency in the story but taking on their active input and feeding it back to them.

What I find particularly interesting in the context of video games is that technically this was the starting point for the RPG genre: taking tabletop mechanics and digitizing them. Fallout is MSPE, but make it post-apocalyptic and computerized. Baldur’s Gate is Pathfinder - but make it computerized. Bloodlines is quite literally Vampire: the Masquerade. Computerized, of course. 

For me, the epitome of RPGs up until, oh, let’s say just over a month ago, was Troika Games’ Arcanum: of Steamworks and Magic Obscura. This was a game that defined the genre for me; it’s a game that defined interactivity in general for me. It’s a game in which you could do just about anything, but more than that, the world around you was defined by your actions. Some companions would just leave - or never join you at all - if your actions and place in the world didn’t align with their values. Some decisions you made paid off dozens of hours later by, say, making entire areas hostile to you because you broke a law there in big ways early in your play-through. And yes, you did affect the fate of the world, but the paths there felt unique to you and you alone.

Naturally, whatever is programmed on a computer cannot have the limitless creativity that fleshy humans have when they (we) play games. And yet, the illusion of boundlessness was there, in those early days.

I think you see where this is heading. 

The game

There are many things indeed that Baldur’s Gate 3 has going for itself. The fact that it’s been openly tested for close to three years (I was there, in the early days) meant that the final product, when it was released, was as immaculate as a game could be at this point: it is, in fact, complete. This sounds like a bare minimum requirement, but we all know this is rarely cleared. Delaying it slightly for the console was also an excellent move: I love the way it runs on PS5, and I genuinely prefer the controls here than I did on my (arguably, rickety) laptop. Again, you’d think optimising the controls for the console would be a bare minimum requirement, but I, too, played Cyberpunk upon release, so…

Larian already having a very decent top-down engine with turn-based combat also works in favour of this game. It’s certainly sleeker here, but it’s recognisable as the Divinity engine, and it’s clear to me that the resources went into fine-tuning it, which means that in the last three years, this became more and more intuitive to play. And this engine is stable, which surprised me in combat that spawned 20+ hostiles. I suppose my one qualm is that they haven’t fixed the path-making AI. While companions forgetting that they can jump is only mildly inconveniencing, NPC’s complete lack of special awareness and self-preservation can be downright infuriating. I have both re-loaded encounters because the character I tried to keep alive chose to run into an opportunity attack, and just condemned people to death deciding, at some point, that if they really truly want to Misty Step right into an explosion, so be it. 

But then again, those are the only issues. In a game of this size. Upon launch. 

Speaking of the engine, I found some of the encounters hard on my first play-through, even on the easiest difficulty. As I mentioned, I’m not actually good at this. That said, I loved that on none of the occasions, did my finding it difficult have anything to do with what I did and did not have: it was not about optimising, or grinding, or shopping for gear - it was about observing the failure and developing a response to the strategy the game was using against me. While you can try to select a perfect party for every situation, equally, I found that the game didn’t force you to do that, and so, as a player, I can approach party selection as an in-world process, gravitating to the companions I wanted to have around for the kind of people they were and the relationships they have with my Tavs rather than for what kind of weaponry they carry. Is the act two boss fight punishing with a mostly melee team? Definitely. But, again, once you have figured out how to get around your limitations, it is doable. To me, that’s an excellent balance. It actually makes trying to figure strategy for any given tough encounter fun; and I’m saying it as someone who rage-quit Hades because she could not stand constant failure. 

The voice acting, mocap and animation are wonderful: you genuinely get full-bodied, nuanced performances, which… is just plain rare. The character writing, too, is spectacular, and the people you interact with feel real and unique, even if they only are here for a few scenes. Writing really shines when it comes to companions: they are humanly complex and multi-faceted, and all have a wonderful mix of love-able and hate-able in them. They are genuinely laugh-out-loud funny! They are also relatable, in that high fantasy way that takes commonplace anxiety and elevates it to proportions where it’s no longer real, and yet so very recognisable. 

Story writing made me actually scream, the first time around. I pride myself on being someone who is quite good at reading narrative clues, and yet, there were several subplots with twists that got me reeling. This only gets better on subsequent play-throughs, when you realise just how much of the meat surrounding the main “bones” of the story depends on your character, the paths you take and the options you select. The latter is particularly astounding in acts one and two, which have so much variety in them they feel limitless. 

The date-sim aspect of this game is… well, horny, in that hilarious way where every time you show a genuine interest in a character they immediately fall in love with you, provided your actions align with their worldview (which is not a given) — but role-playing always has an element of a wish-fulfilment, and I found something very joyous in thwarting (or leaning into) romantic and sexual advances of what felt like everyone in my path. Aside from that, the relationships I have seen have been well realised, each with a unique texture. 

And yet, none of the above is what makes this game such a unicorn.

Choices do. 

For me, true choices are defined not by the freedom to make them, but by the limitations they impose. When we open one door of possibility, other doors must close, and that is a risk we always take when we choose something. Taking an action - taking a leap of faith - should not feel safe. 

In this game, opening one door can lead to another one being permanently locked somewhere down the line. Chasing what you think is right might lead to death and devastation. Trying to satisfy someone with one point of view can alienate others who disagree. Quite often, it is not a game of picking the “optimal” choice, because, as in life, optimal choices are an illusion. 

This game allows you to make genuine decisions by asking yourself what difference you want to bring into the world and the lives of those fictional people you care about, and then it remembers those decisions, and pays them off. And fine, this does not happen all the time, I grant you that. I, too, feel somewhat let down by act 3 relative to early-game. The closer you get to the ending, the more you seem to be boxed into a few possible options where there would be multitude of those in act 1. But even then, the quality drop is from “so good it is actually unbelievable” to “incredibly decent”. To me, this is acceptable enough to not detract from the overall impression.

Having elements of randomness which dice-rolling introduces (and if you ask me, the very reason why dice exist in the first place in TTRPG) only enhanced this effect. Dice rolls can lock and unlock areas, they can make and unmake relationships, save and ruin scenarios. This creates a solid impression that at every step things can go awry - because they, effectively, can. Your choice here is how to approach this fate: whether to save every five minutes to try again or roll with the situation dice and your curiosity have created (pun fully intended). 

Baldur’s Gate 3 is incredible because it plucks you out of your world and does not just place you in another one - it populates that world with people for you to love and admire, and hate, and feel exasperated with, gives you situations that often don’t have a straightforward moral hardline, and then asks you “how would you like to do this?”

It does what tabletop games do. 

When I started DMing my first DnD campaign - which I decided, overachiever that I am, to home-brew from the ground up, - a friend of mine reminded me to fail upwards, always. In terms of storytelling, it’s a challenge. In terms of video games, it’s almost never done. You fail; or you succeed. Baldur’s Gate 3 lets you fail, and deal with the pieces you need to pick up.

And I know - of course I do - that it’s all programmed, so it cannot be truly generative, the way tabletop games can be. By virtue of having pathways, of course, a video game cannot do that. But it comes really damn close — it comes closer than anything I have seen since those early entries in the genre because those were made to directly emulate being in a campaign with live people. 

For a few years now I have been lamenting that they don’t do RP video games the way they used to any more. 

Well, my friends.

Turns out, Larian does.

It shoots right for the sky. 

#baldur's gate 3 #larian studios #baldur's gate #bg3 #video games #rpg #yet another wall of text #think piece of sorts #review of sorts

[greensparty]

My Hot Take on Jann Wenner

Over the last few days, Jann Wenner did an interview with New York Times about his new book of interviews The Masters: Conversations with Dylan, Lennon, Jagger, Townshend, Garcia, Bono, and Springsteen. As a result of his comments, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, which he co-founded, removed him from their board of directors. The comments he made when NYT asked why there were no black artists or female artists in the book, included:

“The people had to meet a couple criteria, but it was just kind of my personal interest and love of them. Insofar as the women, just none of them were as articulate enough on this intellectual level.”

He continued, “Stevie Wonder, genius, right? I suppose when you use a word as broad as ‘masters,’ the fault is using that word. Maybe Marvin Gaye, or Curtis Mayfield? I mean, they just didn’t articulate at that level.”

The next day he issued an apology:

“‘The Masters’ is a collection of interviews I’ve done over the years,” he continued, “that seemed to me to best represent an idea of rock ’n’ roll’s impact on my world; they were not meant to represent the whole of music and its diverse and important originators but to reflect the high points of my career and interviews I felt illustrated the breadth and experience in that career. They don’t reflect my appreciation and admiration for myriad totemic, world-changing artists whose music and ideas I revere and will celebrate and promote as long as I live. I totally understand the inflammatory nature of badly chosen words and deeply apologize and accept the consequences.”

Let me begin my response to this by stating that from a young age of about 9, I was a big fan of Rolling Stone magazine. Over the years many readers have complained and said it's not what it once was, they are stuck in the 60s, yada yada yada. I always enjoyed reading it and I am still a subscriber of their print and digital magazine to this day. Which is why Wenner's interview is so disappointing, anger-inducing, and frustrating.

If Wenner just wanted to release a book of his personal favorite rock stars, just say that. But to call it The Masters and for one of the leaders of music journalism to call it that, it's implying that these musicians are the high standard of rock history. For him to respond to why there were no black or female musicians in his book by saying that they "don't articulate at that level" is false, racist, sexist, vile and ignorant for countless reasons. Off the top of my head:

Rock music as a genre was based on blues music, which was invented by black musicians. Therefore there would be no Rolling Stones, Beatles, etc without blues music and those musicians in his book would easily attest to that.

No black musicians could articulate at that level? Really? Did you really just say that Jann Wenner? Because Rolling Stone has often emphasized black musicians who were the architects of rock music like Chuck Berry, Bo Didley, Little Richard, Ray Charles, Fats Domino, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker and more, which is why I'm shocked you'd say that. To completely dismiss black musicians like Curtis Mayfield, Jimi Hendrix, Marvin Gaye, James Brown, Prince, Stevie Wonder, Al Green, George Clinton, Otis Redding, Sly and the Family Stone, Michael Jackson, Smokey Robinson, Sam Cooke, Bob Marley, Run D.M.C., Public Enemy, Living Colour, and the Bad Brains is denying rock history.

Female musicians were often in the background of the early days of rock music, i.e. songwriters, singing in a vocal group, or a back-up singer. But again, Rolling Stone often emphasized female musicians with their frequent Women In Rock issues, most notably their 1997 issue with Tina Turner, Madonna and Courtney Love on the cover. But to deny female musicians like Tina Turner, Dusty Springfield, Ronnie Spector, Aretha Franklin, Janis Joplin, Diana Ross, Joni Mitchell, Debbie Harry, Patti Smith, Stevie Nicks, Madonna, The Go-Go's, The Bangles, Courtney Love, Fiona Apple, Grace Slick, Kim Deal of The Pixies and The Breeders, The Runways, Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Aimee Mann, Liz Phair, Sinead O'Connor, Annie Lennox, Siouxsie Sioux, Beyonce, P.J. Harvey, Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth, Exene Cervenka of X, Tina Weymouth of Talking Heads and Tom Tom Club, Moe Tucker and Nico of The Velvet Underground, The Donnas, and their contribution to rock is irresponsible.

If he is just kissing up to his famous friends and trying to show off the people he's known in his life then that is separate from illustrating the "master of rock music." His apology was just plain egotistical, i.e. 'look at me, I've hung out with Lennon and Bono and I was trying to show that.'

In the last few years it actually seemed like Rolling Stone was trying really hard to prove they were not just covering white males and their coverage / artists on the cover has been very diverse.

In 2020 when they revised Rolling Stone's 500 Greatest Albums of All Time list, The Beatles' Sgt. Pepper was de-throned at #1 and replaced by Marvin Gaye's What's Going On. Whether you agree with this or not, it definitely seemed like RS was trying to prove it wasn't just a list of white males and the list as a whole emphasized many more hip hop and female artists than the previous iteration.

RS itself has been a very progressive publication in music history. A place where they report rock music and the culture around it, i.e. politics, film, art, TV, comedy, etc. They have brought in extremely talented writers like Kurt Loder, Lester Bangs, Ben Fong-Torres, Cameron Crowe, David Fricke, Rob Sheffield, Jancee Dunn, Kim Neely and more. And the magazine itself was a lifeline for music fans everywhere to get the chance to read about music news and musicians you might not be learning about in your regional press and radio (pre-internet era that is). It's too bad that Wenner, who founded this publication is unaware of how out-of-touch his statements are in contrast with what the magazine represents. It does need to be stated that Wenner has not been involved with RS since 2019 and the magazine tried to distance itself from him after his statements. As for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, there is a lot to criticize about it, but at its core they are an institution that celebrates the history of rock music and have inducted numerous black and female musicians. Personally, I am appreciative of the fact that they added my documentary Life on the V: The Story of V66 to their Library and Archives' Permanent Collection last year. But I digress. Wenner's opinions do not align with what the Rock Hall is and should be about. This is a clear example of someone who founded a magazine and co-founded a Hall of Fame that is about celebrating music past, present and future and all that encompasses, but yet the founder is completely misguided and ignorant.

In the end, we are all entitled to our own opinions and we can say whoever we want is the best. And yes, this could be a case of a grumpy old boomer looking at rock history through his very narrow tunnel vision. But I just expected way more out of him and less offensive rhetoric.

#jann wenner #rolling stone magazine #music journalism #in the news #rock and roll hall of fame #music nerd

[tnmeem]

STOP POSTING YOUR CHILDREN ONLINE

As a digital native, I feel that I’m qualified to talk about this. Yes, I’ve been on social media since I was 12 but I was also born into the age of the internet. I was taught online safety since I was 9 AT SCHOOL. I had a Wattpad account that not only didn’t have my face, it also didn’t have my name. I had the unfortunate experience of having an online friend find out my high school based on my full name alone. Ever since then, I NEVER share my full name online, not unless I absolutely have to (for a professional account). Despite this, I was still targeted by predators who, thankfully, never found me because even as a child, I understood basic internet safety. I didn’t have a facebook or instagram account until I was 16 and even then, I had my accounts set on the highest privacy settings (to the point that I hated it when my profile was accessible through the accounts of friends who had public profiles). I don’t think I even shared my face on a public profile until I was 18. And now, I don’t share my first, middle or legal surname. This is not me simply being paranoid. This is me learning from people who were unlucky enough to be preyed on.

So tell me why grown adults are forgetting basic safety? Some parents and grandparents will literally have public profiles where they will post children, their full legal name, their daily schedule and even where they go to school. This is the stupidest thing you can do as a parent and you should be charged with neglect. Even baby me, cautious as I was was preyed upon by predators. I probably would’ve been taken advantage of if I hadn’t been so paranoid. Plenty of teenage girls have been through hell for forgetting basic safety. If you love your children, DO NOT POST THEM ON PUBLIC PROFILES. If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t even post them on any social media account. You have no idea what kind of dark twisted thing a predator could be doing with those images and videos.

If your child does any extra curricular activity or is academically gifted, they may get mentioned on their school’s website. Their photos may even be posted. And if your child’s name is unique enough, all it takes is for someone to search your child’s full name and the city they live in to be directed to their school’s website. Do you know how easy it would be for a predator to wait outside your child’s school? This is not paranoia or far-fetched, my teachers had to be trained for this exact situation. And it’s because children have been permanently lost due to carelessness.

Your desire to show off your children take a backseat when it comes to protecting them. The world is a dangerous place. The internet is not your safe haven. It’s scary even for grown adults like me. Be safe and teach your children to be safe.

#internet #internet safety #bad parenting #parenting #digital native #online safety #predators #don’t post your children online #social media #children #keep children safe

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday, singer/songwriter/guitarist Mark Knopfler,  born 12th August 1949, in Glasgow.

Born as  Mark Freuder Knopfler, the family originally lived in the Glasgow area and Mark Knopfler’s younger brother David was also born in the city, his father was a Hungarian refugee who fled his home country in 1939, they have a Jewish heritage but Mark described his dad as a “Marxist agnostic” His mother came from Blyth near Newcastle in Northumberland. 

The family moved to Newcastle when Mark was 7, where he was educated, he started making music aged 16 but it wasn’t till he formed Dire straits, with his brother in 1977 that he began to have success.

The band were signed to Vertigo Records in 1978 and recorded the album Dire Straits, which featured their first major hit single, “Sultans of Swing. Their follow-up albums include Communique , Making Movies featuring Romeo and Juliet  and Tunnel of Love.  In 1985 the band released its mega-selling album Brothers In Arms, which has sold more than 30 million copies to date.

Mark “quietly” dissolved Dire Straits and launched his career as a solo artist. Knopfler later recalled that, "I put the thing to bed because I wanted to get back to some kind of reality. It's self-protection, a survival thing. That kind of scale is dehumanizing. He would spend two years recovering from the experience, which had taken a toll on his creative and personal life.

Mark has collaborated with many of the world’s top acts through the years, and although he spent most of his life in England, he still holds an affinity with the land of his birth, of course many of you will know he penned the music to Local Hero, but Scotland has featured in some of his songs too. On his second solo album, Sailing to Philadelphia, the in the lyric of the first single pays homage to Edinburgh.

In 2019 Knopfler penned the score for the musical version of Local Hero, including new songs alongside adding lyrics to the original instrumental music, reuniting again with Bill Forsyth

Dire Straits have sold over 120 million units worldwide, including 51.4 million certified units, making them one of the best-selling music artists., they were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2018.

Mark Knopfler’s ‘Studio Albums 2009-2018’ Boxset Due is due out In October The collection will be available as 9 LP vinyl and 6 CD boxsets, and in digital SD/HD.

The live musical version of Local Hero is currently doing the rounds, next up for the production is  Chichester Festival Theatre from October 8th to November 19th.

I don’t know if it’s just the music or I am in one of those spiraling moods, but this is the second piece of music to bring me to tears today, it covers the closing scene of Local Hero, Mac gest back home, after emptying his pockets of shells and rocks, poignantly smelling one, he pins some photos up of his time in Scotland, his phone is looming large as he steps out onto his balcony the sound sirens and the hushed march of oil capitalism buzzing gently   he looks out over the city of Houston, the scene fades and then …, then reopens 4,500 miles away, where, on the harbour side of a small Scottish fishing village, we see the phone box, is it ringing? If so you know it will be Mac yearning for the tranquility of life in the wee seaside hamlet..............

#Scotland #scottish #anglo-scottish #music #musician #guitarist #singer #songwriter #happy birhtday

[writer-and-artist27]

Tumblr Story: No One to Save

Note: Written to process the numb weight in my heart and dedicated to @partialdignity and @withanina. Because it’s something at least. Takes place in the finale of the SE.RA.PH event, based on my feelings when playing through some sections of the newly released Summer 5. 

Not the best place to be, but it’s still something to write for.

For a song, I was listening to Ocean of Memories from UBW while writing. Feel free to take a gander yourself, if you so wish.

----------------------

“You don’t have to continue on this path, young Master of Chaldea.” The former nun — now a Beast of Humanity — was staring at her like some kind of precious meat on a table. A rare meal that couldn’t be found anywhere else, even when behind the familiar green cloak that served as protection throughout this entire Digital Sea. If not for the look in her yellow eyes, that kind of look that pierced the deepest pits of the soul to expose the flaws for what they were inside, she could’ve taken it as pity in any other circumstance. “You’ve been fighting for so long, haven’t you? Don’t you want to stop?” 

Don’t you want to let it all go?

She kept her lips closed as the May King in front of her tensed. 

“You’ve been tired for so long, working for spirits that could never love you back due to their transience. Why bother?” The former nun was smiling through all the poison her tongue was weaving, a mocking halo forming around the horns coming out of her head. “You could come into me. You could end it all here. Get away from that fake hero of yours, and you can rest.”

Tempting. It was tempting, but— 

“…What do you know about me when the Buddha you pretend to serve isn’t the Buddha who helped keep the dark away from me?”

For the first time since the confrontation started, the former therapist of Seraphix paused. Her jaw slackened just as the May King’s shoulders dropped some. 

Master? His voice called out quietly. 

She shook her head. “As much as it hurts, I can’t stop. I can’t go back. That would be spitting on the graves of those whose blood I’ve already spilled, intentionally or not.”

Beast III was frowning now. “You would sacrifice yourself for them?”

For Robin? For my family, who still believes in me? 

Yes. 

“You see the foes in front of you now as spirits who don’t deserve anything. I can see them as people I can help by assisting them in beating you.” 

“…Why? You’ve seen what’s happened to humans in SE.RA.PH. Why do you reject me when I want to give you salvation?”

“You’re only saving yourself more time. Not me. You’re just wasting mine. Besides.” She slowly extended the metal bo staff that Da Vinci had given her, twirling it between her fingers for extra emphasis before pointing it at the former human. “I already stopped believing I could be saved a long time ago.” Despite the sudden pang of hurt that echoed in the back of her mind, a pang that clearly didn’t come from her, she pushed it aside for later. “But I can still save the people I care about. The people that saw worth in a little, lost, Vietnamese girl even when the world didn’t bother to teach her right from wrong. And that means helping Big Robin and Melt-san put you out of your misery.”

The Beast tipped her head back and laughed. “Me? In misery? You jest.”

“Coming from the old lady who doesn’t understand what it’s like to have platonic love and asexuality coexist in the same room, that’s a fucking joke.” 

“…Again with the age?”

“Can’t call you a ‘man-child’ when you’re not the right gender for that term, bitch.”

“…”

She twirled her staff again. “I’m Vy Duong, granddaughter to Phuc Van Duong and Lan Thi Nguyen, daughter of Hiep and Nga Duong. To you, Beast of Pleasure who spits on my family legacy of Buddhism while trying to dethrone my May King’s honor, allow me the opportunity to end your pitiful life.” 

Only one person saved me before, and he’s standing with me now. You don’t deserve any more. 

#writing #short story #passing days #kiara sessyoin #character study #mastersona vy #robin hood #fate grand order #long post #in other words vy is tired #cursing #unedited

[moneyallthetime]

Hey, My Loves! It’s Your Girl, Coming At You With

https://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWscXMnS1Lc&t=27s/watch?v=XHOmBV4js_EHey, my loves! It’s your girl, coming at you with another gem to keep your pockets fat and your stress levels low. You know I’m all about that easier life with smarter moves. Today, we’re not just stepping into the future; we’re making it our home. And trust me, after you hear about this, you’ll wanna send me a thank-you note. Or wine. I love wine.Now, lean in close because I’m about to introduce you to something that’s going to blow. your. mind. It’s called NewsCaster AI. Yes, honey, AI – as in Artificial Intelligence, because we’re living in 2024, not the stone age. This tool is not just any tool; it’s your golden ticket to cashing in on the booming $1.2 trillion news industry without lifting a finger.Imagine waking up to a world where your very own news sites update themselves with the hottest, trendiest content while you’re out living your best life. No coding, no late-night writing sessions – just pure, hassle-free profit. Sounds like a fantasy, right? But with NewsCaster AI, it’s reality.This genius platform lets you deploy up to 100% self-updating news sites that attract clicks like honey attracts bees – we’re talking potentially over 10,000 clicks a day. And the best part? You can monetize these sites through affiliate links from ClickBank, WarriorPlus, JVZoo, and more, without selling your soul or your sleep.But wait, because it gets even sweeter. With NewsCaster AI, you can flip these sites on platforms like Flippa for a pretty penny. And when I say pretty, I mean drop-dead gorgeous – like, $997 kind of gorgeous.Now, I know what you’re thinking, “But sis, what’s the catch?” Honey, the only catch here is if you're not jumping on this train. Because NewsCaster AI offers lifetime hosting for all your websites. Yes, you heard that right – lifetime. No more dealing with hosting fees or technical nightmares.And because I believe in sharing is caring, I’ve got an exclusive link for you to check out NewsCaster AI for yourself. Trust me, you will want in on this. It’s not just an opportunity; it’s a game-changer. Check it out here: NewsCaster AI - Your Ticket to Passive IncomeBut I wouldn’t be your girl if I didn’t sweeten the deal even further. For those who act fast, NewsCaster AI is throwing in lightning-fast CDN hosting, exclusive templates, and a lot more for just $9.97. I mean, if that’s not a steal, I don’t know what is.I’m all about making sure we rise by lifting ourselves, and with NewsCaster AI, it’s like having your cake, eating it too, and then finding out the cake helps you lose weight. It’s that good.Don’t just take my word for it. Go see for yourself. And when you do, drop me a comment or hit me up and tell me about your experience. I can’t wait to hear all about how NewsCaster AI has changed the game for you.Remember, in this digital age, making money while you sleep isn’t just a dream—it’s a possibility. And opportunities like this are how we make it happen. Until next time, keep hustling smart, not hard. Cheers to building empires in our sleep!Peace out and profits up,Trecia P.S. Don’t forget to check out NewsCaster AI right here, right now: Start Your AI-Powered News Site Today. Trust me, you’ll thank me later. Read the full article

[ask-the-seven-sins]

my introduction losers

Sup nerds, my name is Zaki, also known as Zee.

some quick fire info about me before I start writing paragraphs:

my sin is pride, literally the best sin.

I’m an artist, mostly traditional, though all of my Sin art is digital because I felt like it lol.

I have a tendency to make terrible puns.

I have an incredibly amount of interests but we’ll save those for the paragraphs lmao.

I DESPISE painting I cannot paint for shit!^^ (don’t take this to mean I hate painters, I have so much respect for y’all like how do you do it?!?)

I play a rather unhealthy amount of video games.

I want to do cosplay but I’m also BROKE :P

anyway now for the paragraph of the shit I’m into, if you don’t like any of these things that’s cool but if you’re gonna force your dislikes on me I am perfectly happy to fight anyone:

ahem.

Guilty Gear, Art, Undertale, Deltarune, Omori (kind of), Bungo Stray Dogs, Hazbin Hotel, Rainbow Six Siege, Helluva Boss, Lackadaisy, Lego, Neon Signs, Star Wars, COMEDY DEAR GOD I LOVE COMEDY, Cheating past code (I can’t write code but I’m scarily good at beating others peoples code), Reading, sculpture (I can’t do it but boy do I love it), Cyberpunk as a franchise, Steampunk as an athstetivtcc idfk how to spell it yk what I mean, ARCANE holy shit I love arcane, I haven’t played a minute of LOL in my life but I love arcane, cool jackets, making unnecessarily complicated weapons out of cardboard, cosplay even though I don’t have the money or patience to do it myself, and finally firearms and mideival weapons, the more obscure the better.

hoo boy now I’m onto things I dislike (yooks, Gnash, cas, Ives, lamp, cath, I’m so sorry for the hate I’m bout to bring onto this blog)

I have a couple things I dislike, if you don’t like me disliking these things that’s fine, but I also don’t care.

Educators who see themselves as above their students.

90% of the current worlds governments. I’m not an anarchist, but the current governments haven’t a fucking clue.

politicians as a whole, with the exception of the Ukrainian president that man is a legend. (I love comedians)

Religious people who force their beliefs on others. It is primary Christians who do this so they’re the main dislike here.

spiders

children of any age below like 7 owning a console that shi wiilldd.

none of this is super serious, also I think I got slightly caught up in my opinions but my pronouns are He/She, I’m Bigender so use either He/Him or She/Her!! Im just a silly guy/gal so if you hate on me for my opinions get a life losersss!!! I’ll prolly be posting more here, so cya around!

#intro post #ask blog #intro #blog intro #About me #im #so #silly #if you don’t like my opinions here you can always fight me idmmm:D #not an ask #ask the sins #pride #introduction post

[zaki-art]

my introduction losers

Sup nerds, my name is Zaki, also known as Zee.

some quick fire info about me before I start writing paragraphs:

my sin is pride, literally the best sin.

I’m an artist, mostly traditional, though all of my Sin art is digital because I felt like it lol.

I have a tendency to make terrible puns.

I have an incredibly amount of interests but we’ll save those for the paragraphs lmao.

I DESPISE painting I cannot paint for shit!^^ (don’t take this to mean I hate painters, I have so much respect for y’all like how do you do it?!?)

I play a rather unhealthy amount of video games.

I want to do cosplay but I’m also BROKE :P

anyway now for the paragraph of the shit I’m into, if you don’t like any of these things that’s cool but if you’re gonna force your dislikes on me I am perfectly happy to fight anyone:

ahem.

Guilty Gear, Art, Undertale, Deltarune, Omori (kind of), Bungo Stray Dogs, Hazbin Hotel, Rainbow Six Siege, Helluva Boss, Lackadaisy, Lego, Neon Signs, Star Wars, COMEDY DEAR GOD I LOVE COMEDY, Cheating past code (I can’t write code but I’m scarily good at beating others peoples code), Reading, sculpture (I can’t do it but boy do I love it), Cyberpunk as a franchise, Steampunk as an athstetivtcc idfk how to spell it yk what I mean, ARCANE holy shit I love arcane, I haven’t played a minute of LOL in my life but I love arcane, cool jackets, making unnecessarily complicated weapons out of cardboard, cosplay even though I don’t have the money or patience to do it myself, and finally firearms and mideival weapons, the more obscure the better.

hoo boy now I’m onto things I dislike (yooks, Craig, cas, Ives, lamp, cath, I’m so sorry for the hate I’m bout to bring onto this blog)

I have a couple things I dislike, if you don’t like me disliking these things that’s fine, but I also don’t care.

Educators who see themselves as above their students.

90% of the current worlds governments. I’m not an anarchist, but the current governments haven’t a fucking clue.

politicians as a whole, with the exception of the Ukrainian president that man is a legend. (I love comedians)

Religious people who force their beliefs on others. It is primary Christians who do this so they’re the main dislike here.

spiders

children of any age below like 7 owning a console that shi wiilldd.

none of this is super serious, also I think I got slightly caught up in my opinions but my pronouns are He/She, I’m Bigender so use either He/Him or She/Her!! Im just a silly guy/gal so if you hate on me for my opinions get a life losersss!!! I’ll prolly be posting more here, so cya around!

#intro post #introduction #blog #blog intro #opinion #im #so #Silly

[smokeybrand]

Festival Season

I am a massive fan of MegaTen games. I love everything about them; the battle systems, characters, and overall world. I fell in love with the summoning and fusion systems of these games almost immediately and longed for other franchises to do something similar. It was basically Digimon Fusion before Digimon was a thing. Who wouldn’t want to Lego two Pokemon into a goddamn MewTwo? The missus introduced me to this brave new world with the purchase of Digital Devil Saga so long ago. It was one of the first gifts I ever got her. Watching her play that sh*t really awakened something within me. It was like watching my kid brother playing Final Fantasy IX for the first time but with, you know, violent monstrosities. Way back then, during the golden age of the JRPG, on the PS2, we made it a point to play all of the obscure titles. Nippon Ichi and Atlus were our bread and butter. We had copies of Stella Deus, every DIsgaea available, and even Soul Nomad. No one talks about Soul Nomad. One day, she came home with Persona 3. On that list was Persona 3 vanilla. Bro, after we booted it up and those first few notes of Burn My Dread popped, I was hooked. I must have put three hundred hours into that game. I conquered everything I could in that game, romanced every option, and completed one hundred percent of that sh*t. I unlocked every Persona on just two runs and readily did it again when FES released. The Answer was kind if disappointing but I didn’t mind running through the enhanced world of P3 once again. And then I did it one more time when P3P dropped, though, admittedly, Portable is my least favorite of the lot. Persona 3 opened my eyes to a world of RPGs beyond just your Final Fantasys and Dragon Warriors. Because I enjoyed this one game so much, I was open to trying out others. I wouldn’t have touched Magna Carta if not for Persona. I would have missed out on Rogue Galaxy. Wouldn’t have given Shining Force EXA a second thought. If I had never played Persona 3, I would have never played 4 or 5, and that sh*t seems so bewildering to me because those games are some of my all-time favorites. In fact, for a long while, Persona 5 was my favorite of these games. I wrote a whole thing about, about how, while I loved 3, 5 was a close second. It had legitimately closed that gap after Royal dropped but then Persona 3 Reload was announced. Guess who pulled ahead once again.

I got Reload day one and immediately dove into to. It felt familiar, yet, new. It definitely got all the bells and whistles that made Persona 5 so enjoyable but was still definitely Persona 3. I got my copy for the PS4 so, while the presentation is loads better than the original, and it shows, it’s comparable to Persona 5. Having that “side-by-side” experience just solidifies that P3 IS my favorite Persona title and one of my all-time favorite games, period. I was a little bummed Burn My Dread wasn’t the opening song but Full Moon Full ain’t too shabby on its own. More than that, the quality of life changes are amazing. It’s the little things like the Online Saves or the fact you don't get fatigued in Tartarus anymore. I love how the original character designs got a remix, bringing them closer in line with that Persona 5 aesthetic, and boy do they steal from that P5 aesthetic let me tell you! The thing is, though, it feels full circle to me. I remember, way back when I was playing P5 (shout out to Tae Takemi, best girl in the entire game), that P5 feels like the spiritual successor to P3 in every way P4 is not. Don’t get me wrong, P4 is a classic, but it feels out of place in the trio, almost disconnected. Also, I remember hating Teddy. It’s like, did P3 influence P5, only to have that sh*t bleed back into Reload? I don’t know, and I don’t really care. I get to play Persona 3, on my PS4, with the look of Persona 5. I cannot stress how dope that is. Also, Satanael is DLC. You KNOW I bought due and have been decimating the early game! Thanatos is my second favorite Persona, always, Alice is the first (especially after I customize her), but Ren’s ultimate Persona is a strong third. Like, laughably so. There’s just something about summoning a Demon God that feels so…powerful. Also, you shoot God in the face. How can you not love that?

I’m ten hours into Reload and it is everything I ever dreamed  a full-on Persona 3 remake should be. This isn’t that bait and switch FFVII pulled with Remake. No, for all intents and purposes, this IS Persona 3 but with modern game play and graphics. It’s like I’m popping ion the game for the very first time, damn near twenty years later. The Protagonist is as stoic as ever and the city of Tatsumi Port Island is alive with a vibrancy only the power of PS4 could bring. Building this game on the Unreal engine was a stroke of genius because the models are crisp, detailed, and fluid. There are so many little particle effects that make everything pop. The biggest upgrade is the UI. The thing is, I’m old as f*ck. I’ve been gaming since the old NES days. I’ve seen the evolution of video game and, for me, they peaked way back in the PS3 era. When P3 originally came out, I had no problem with how the title was presented. It got a little flashier with P3P and Persona 4 added their own flair, but Persona 5 really went in on the showmanship. P3R gets a bit of that and it goes a very long way to captivating the player. I thought modern hardware would affect the charm of these OG designs, but it doesn’t. It actually enhances them considerably. It’s subtle, but the bodies are longer, the eyes are smaller, and the overall proportions feel more realistic. I kind of love it. I also love the redesigns, so far. I mean, Mitsuru is gorgeous and I adore the new-ish Elizabeth model, but I’m holding judgment until the very end when I get to see Nyx again. And definitely get my ass throttled by her. Now, admittedly, not all that shimmers is gold. The fact that the Answer, the additional part of FES, isn’t included in what is a very obvious FES remake, kind of bones. I hear that it will be DLC down the line and that sucks. I like Metis. Her design was dope. I’m also not that huge a fan of Thanatos’ first reveal being made with in-game models. The visceral nature of that genesis feels lost when not in animation. It’s good in its own way but, goddamn, did that sh*t hit different way back when. These are, of course, superficial gripes because I am having the time of my life with this game! And it’s only the first play through. That New Game is about to slap crazy hard! I cannot wait to run it back with my heavy hitters on deck. Satanael be damned, getting Thanatos and my laughably OP Alice in the mix is going to be the best!