#Chinese Thread Book

[frogsandfries]

I've made one of these.

Out of brown paper bag.

I want to make another out of better paper? Kind of?? I would never imagine covering it in leather, of all things???

I have to agree, my favorite thing about it is that it's modular--but for me, as long as you keep the proportions, you can make it any size or dimension, that's the appeal.

Personally, I would have stopped at the half-page pockets--or in the future, I'd like to put additional half-page pockets, with all the ascending layers, inside the full-spread pocket.

I would also kind of like to reverse engineer it so that it doesn't bulge when the pockets are in use.

The only things stopping me from doing this again are:

It is (imo) painfully repetitive.

It's a bit fussy and my paper wasn't cut perfectly.

Materials sourcing.

I'm putting a leather cover on my thread book to make it more durable, and debating a layer of board between the paper and leather for extra rigidity.

[byopiapress]

Byopia Press Advent Calendar 2023: Day Eleven and A Travel Kit

Perhaps you have a friend who travels and likes to take their craft work with them. This little travel kit based on the Zhen Xian Bao/Chinese Thread Book might make a suitable gift. I made this one for a friend as a travelling bookbinder’s kit. Continue reading Untitled

[astarless-fights]

For those on tumblr not in the know, Mark Zuckerberg lobbied the United States Congress to ban Tiktok from the United States after proving difficulty to overcome the loss of users to Tiktok. Through gifts and stocks, the House Energy and Commerce Committee successfully banned Tiktok. It needs to be very clear to those who have not been able to pay attention: The Committee interviewed Tiktok's CEO with questions that did not relate to Tiktok but instead to META. This precedent is very alarming. What is fine for one, is not the other- even if the other isn't participating.

Some key points:

Tiktok stores (stored, depending on what day you see this) all United States data on US soil in Texas and gives backdoor entry to the NSA. - This is important for the United States to check for the bad people on all platforms.

Listed members on the committee asked questions of activities Tiktok does not participate in but all of META does. Giving us immediate confirmation our government is fine with domestic platforms selling our data without consent.

An incredibly concerning detail showed its face while this was going down. All META platforms have access to every device's data using the same WIFI you connect to and they use that data.

META has given me the urge to puke for several years but last year was a moment of true question of how I move forward in a world that already seemingly has my data, even if I did not consent to the passing around of it.

When META decided to include AI in their system after investors seemed to require everyone to do so, the question of safety crossed my mind. META had announced the platforms were using everything you produce and have produced (posts, videos, photos) to not just train their own AI system, but they were also sending your information to a 3rd party as well. This included a setting toggle for consent that was default ON.

When the masses found out and toggled it off, META redesigned the Settings page to make it harder for you to find the consent option. They also made it so it wasn't just a "toggle" but now you had to write to them.

When the masses found out again (because we don't want this) how to get there, they redesigned the settings page again, hid the consent deeper, and required you to write to them with proof they even used your information... So that you can consent or not to consent to use their information.

I have been on this app since 2008 and relied heavily on this website when I was 14 while trying to escape the all seeing eyes I was friends with on Facebook. During this, tumblr became an amazing news resource for bills about to pass that endangered every bit of what the internet is known for: free speech and free of choice.

Back then, this site was all I had. I worshipped Tumblr for giving me emotional outlets and outside opinions during a very rough and miserable transition as a teen. So when Tumblr shared Bills trying to regulate our internet that would prevent reaching sites like Tumblr, I campaigned to my 150 student school and the two 1000 student public schools near me to reach out to our representatives, especially those 18 year olds waiting for a new horizon. With this, our representative and our governor in South Carolina, reached out to us at the time, letting us know they didn't realize how loved these spaces were and that they needed protecting. Communicating knowledge is powerful.

Having sites like Tumblr and Reddit circulate incoming bills like this was required to know about it. No one on Facebook saw any of that coming and they definitely won’t find out now with Zuckerberg making sure of it.

I have always seen the importance of internet regulation but for whatever reason (propaganda pushing) the People who work for us (reps, congress, the house, the committees) always wanted to pass bills that prevented people from talking and accessing new information.

The Tiktok ban passed by our government is not a good sign for anyone who uses the internet. The total amount of Americans who use this app to create community, careers, businesses, market their art, is at 102.3 million. That's a shit ton of businesses and communities that just end on the 19th of January.

And you might think, well why wouldn't they backup to another platform and I am sure many will, but Tiktok has such a unique algorithm that actually pushes businesses into the limelight and because of that, there is a massive community there that uplifts businesses that are falling behind. Currently, there is no other algorithm on US soil that compares to just how much it uplifts accounts that don't do well starting out. We lost so many creators after Vine because no other app could translate the humor and creativity. It's going to be a bigger loss after Tiktok goes because of that same issue.

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

If they are willing to ban a site that is very minimally connected to China, an incredibly huge resource for Americans for everything and anything and all for an increase in paycheck, what else will they be banning in the future when money is waved in their faces by one entity? They already went for one where the American people are heavily reliant on and one that is supposed to be protected under free speech and free of choice. If META wants something dead, give it a year, and it will die.

The Internet and social platforms have always been protected by free speech and freedom of choice. But these aspects have also been on the chopping block since the wild wild west of internet. I fear, this will not stop with just Tiktok.

[diamondnokouzai]

finally. the wrong way to romanize sanguo.

[serinemolecule]

A lot of people are saying that the Chinese name of REDnote, 小红书 Xiǎohóngshū, is "Little Red Book" in Chinese.

While technically the individual characters do mean that, Mao's Little Red Book is called 毛主席语录 Máo Zhǔxí Yǔlù "Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung" in Chinese, and the international nickname "Little Red Book" came about because while the name is pretty short in Chinese, it's a mouthful in English.

The book was also called 红宝书 Hóngbǎoshū "Red Treasure Book" during the Cultural Revolution (it's not called that much these days). You may notice that this has "Red" and "Book" in common with "Little Red Book". But please note that:

Red is China's favorite color. Not just country-associated things like with the US's red/white/blue. It's everything - traditional culture, good luck, etc.

Book/Journal is pretty common branding for social media. Have you heard of Facebook? Livejournal?

Anyway. All this is to say that the association between REDnote and Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung is not immediately obvious to a Chinese person, and the Chinese name is not the same at all.

BBC here is simply wrong, as is that Tumblr thread floating around.

By "not immediately obvious", I mean that any Chinese person that has not heard of the English short-name for the Little Red Book is not going to think about it all when seeing the Chinese name for REDnote.

Whether the similarity was intentional is not a question I have the answer to. But here is a Chinese person saying it probably isn't. The founder says the red is for Stanford (where he graduated) and Bain & Company (where he worked).

[frereamour]

Isa frereamour's non-definitive gay incest book list

Here it is: a mix of stuff I've read and intend to read. Quality varies greatly. I'm omitting all examples of erotica because that doesn't interest me, even though many of these novels have sexual content. "But why isn't Game of Thrones, Flowers in the Attic etc here?" because I hate you and straight incest means nothing to me. The family relationship takes precedent over consanguinity. Random order.

BrotherBrother

The Carnivorous Lamb, Agustín Gomez Arcos - A classic, really romantic exploration of the relationship between the two brothers against the backdrop of Francoist Spain. You've read this, and probably reread it.

My Loose Thread, Dennis Cooper - Really intense and disquieting, typical of the author, although the relationship between the brothers is more central here than in other works where it's more peripheral. Recommend all oeuvre.

Not Forever, But For Now, Chuck Palahniuk- Some really interesting meditations on youth and growing out of being 'prey', but lost me in the end. We/us pronouns type brothers.

Querelle, Jean Genet - Thief, murderer, prostitute, brotherfucker. We all know and love Querelle. Movie good as well.

Gemini, Michel Tournier - Twincest, more we/us brothers. I have to be honest I stopped reading this because I started playing a video game, and by page 63 there still wasn't much in terms of incest. I want to finish it though. Jean Genet liked it.

The Power of the Dog, Thomas Savage - I asked my wife for recommendations and she mentioned the movie, which is based on this book. When I asked 'but wasn't it about the kid', she said 'no, it's about the brother, trust me'. I have watched neither movie nor read the book but I believe my baby.

Twins, Bari Wood - The book behind Dead Ringers. Twincest again. You also know this.

A God Against the Gods, Allen Drury - Details the power struggles of pharaoh Akhenaten to establish a monotheist religion in Egypt, the cult of the Solar Disc Aten, and his relationship with brother, lover and heir Smenkhara. Has a sequel.

The Winter Prince, Elizabeth Wein - This book keeps being recommended, one day I'll read it. The interest here are brothers Medraut and Lleu but there are other incestuous relationships (possibly mother-son? I don't care)

Brothers Bishop, by Bart Yates - To be honest this book is not very good but it does have an explicit relationship between the two brothers. Thanks Anon for the rec.

The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin - Another fav!! All the incest happens before the book starts, but it's a big part of the background of one of the characters. The characters in question are actually not men, but the book uses he/him pronouns for them and refers to them as brothers. Thanks for the rec Anon, I've been meaning to read this for ages, completely unrelated to incest content

On the Black Hill, Bruce Chatwin - About two twins who run a farm together for 80 years. This book doesn't have anything explicit about their relationship but it's a similar dynamic to The Power of the Dog so I thought it might fit. Thanks for the rec Anon!

Salvation Army by Abdellah Taïa - Moroccan coming-of-age autobiography where the author remembers being in love with his older brother. Thanks for the rec Anon!

Thorngale, Phoenix Mendoza - In their neglected, decaying family estate on the cliffs of the northern Cornish coast, two Anglo-Catholic brothers grow up in parasitic isolation during a time marked by the decay of English nobility. Thanks for the rec cardinalgoffredotedesco!

The Twelfth Transforming, Pauline Gedge - More Smenkhkare/Akhenaten. Thanks for the rec Anon!

Akhenaten, Dorothy Porter - More Smenkhkare/Akhenaten this time in a verse novel. Thanks for the rec Anon!

Doctrine of Labyrinths series, Sarah Monette - Follows two brothers across four fantasy novels, one of them is in love with the other. A father is also involved even though not prominently. Thanks for the rec Rochu!

chinese webnovels:

Brother, 人体骨架 - Really lovely exploration of a relationship between an older brother who is the caretaker for his disabled younger brother (the nature of his condition is kept vague, a severe form of autism, perhaps)

Flying Gulls Never Land, 回南雀 - Younger brother goes to prison for murder and now that he's out there's only one thing on his mind. Really fun read.

Wu Chang Jie, 水千丞 - One of my favourite xianxia novels due to how balls to the wall crazy the protagonist younger brother is. Plot is somehow secondary to him making his older brother fall in love with him again after a lifetime of uhm let's call it torture to keep things classy. Best translation by Corgi unfortunately not available.

Can't be left behind, 尤萨阿里塔 - This isn't usually my style, and the writing isn't that great, but, when I started reading this I couldn't put it down, which must mean something. Younger brother runs away to live with older brother after parents divorce. Other incest novel by same author being translated in the same website, don't care for it, but check it out.

DadSon

Nocturnes for the King of Naples, Edmund White - Epistolary style novel in which the narrator addresses an older lover who, it becomes apparent, is an idealized version of his father, with none of his predatory nature, but all the wealth.

Nuestra Parte de Noche, Mariana Enríquez - There sure is a lot of child sexual abuse happening around this father and son, sure wonder what that could all mean, considering their own turbulent relationship. Guess we'll never know.

Pages from Cold Point and other Stories, Paul Bowles - Only the title short story is incestuous as far as I know, and it was pretty bad. Father deals with homophobic population complaining about his son sleeping with all the men by sleeping with him himself.

The Familia Grande, Camille Kouchner - Speaking of bad. Account of how the author's brother was raped by their stepfather and how this affected her. However, really fun example of women in male dominated fields if we consider it from the "how can I make this about me" angle. The brother didn't even want her to publish the book!

Fire from Heaven, Mary Renault - First book in the Persian Boy trilogy, detailing Alexander the Great's life from childhood to young adulthood. Much has been written about his relationship with mother Olympias but uhm, that takes second stage to what he and his father were doing to each other. Father anxious to ensure his son will be sexually dominant when having sex with other men, while struggling with the conflicting desire to dominate him sexually. Tale as old as time.

The Spanish Gardener, A. J. Cronin - Intensely jealous and controlling father suspects son's and gardener's relationship isn't just friendly.

Lost Souls, Poppy Z. Brite - All kinds of fun things can happen when your dad is a vampire. I actually really like two other characters in this, fun book all around.

The Chosen, Ricardo Pinto - Fantasy trilogy that keeps showing up when I look for both gay and incest. I haven't started reading it yet, but the dad is introduced with 'his father's beautiful face' so I'm making an educated guess about the nature of the incest in this book, but not ruling out that the protagonist might end up with a cousin, in which case we all kill ourselves or something.

Warchild, Karin Lowachee - Scifi trilogy that deals with children/teens at once recruited to be prostitutes or child soldiers, and the similarities between the two. Each book has a different protagonist, but they're all connected. Recommend the three books, love this series.

Dream Boy, Jim Grimsley - Teen boy victim of father's abuse, finds comfort in relationship with classmate, but homophobia threatens his happiness.

Try, Dennis Cooper - Heavily features adoptive father(s)/son sexual abuse. Thank you, Neil for the rec.

Arturo's Island, Elsa Morante - The main character is a young boy who's painfully in love with his father and is extremely angry when his dad brings home a new bride. Thanks Anon for the rec.

Henry Henry, Allen Bratton - Reimagining of Shakespeare's Henriad, transposing the legend of Henry V's wayward youth into 21st-century Britain. Thanks for the rec, problematicvacationbrothers!

Edward, Edward, Lolah Burford - It is a haunting tale of a strange romance between a worldly and dissolute man, James Noel Holland, Earl of Tyne, and the golden-haired young Edward, his ward-or perhaps his son. Thanks for the rec, titleleaf!

The Dark, John McGahern - set in Ireland's rural north-west, and it focuses on an adolescent and his emerging sexuality, as seen through the lens of the strained and complex relationship he has with his father, Mahoney. Thanks for the rec Anon!

chinese webnovels:

Blossom by River Country, 孔恰 - Translation work ongoing, which is why I haven't read this, but makes me really wish I could read chinese because I have a feeling the prose in its original form would be great. Slave boy adopted by intransigent general who learns to love him.

Stars of Chaos (Sha Po Lang), priest - Orphan boy adopted by cold and distant general who spends a lot of time away, despite this the two grow closer over the years. There's also a war or something, and big machines.

Imperial Uncle, 大风刮过 - (uncle x nephew) I haven't read this, but I kept getting recommended, since it's the only uncle x nephew example I'm sticking it here, until a beautiful time comes when I have enough recs for an uncle x nephew section by itself.

SisterSister

Sharp Objects, Gillian Flynn - You've probably also read this. Also a good example of momdaughter but as I have nothing else for that category I'm leaving it here.

We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Shirley Jackson - Another classic. There are people who know this is a book about incest, and there are people who are dumb as rocks.

Into the Forest, Jean Hegland - Two sisters together at the end of the world. Very slow at times, but I liked the claustrophobia. Didn't like the random guy who showed up to mess up the vibe.

The Blindness of the Heart, Julia Franck - This is a war novel across several generations, I'm putting it here from a specific rec, but my interest in reading it is very slim.

Bright Lines, Tanwi Nandini Islam - Another book from a rec, three girls across two continents who discover family secrets. Really scared that this is just cousincest but being very hopeful and crossing my fingers and leaving it here.

The Thirteenth Tale, Diane Setterfield - Gothic suspense novel. Several examples of incest, but the focus here is pair of twin girls + their sister whose identity is a mystery for much of the novel.

The Sinner, Petra Hammesfahr - Another rec by mia belissima moglie, she's going off what happened in the tv show, but I'm trusting that the show follows the book. A woman who would do everything for her sister.

Sisters, Daisy Johnson - This cover and synopsis are very suggestive, and yet I wonder. However goodreads shelves indicate I shouldn't. And yet I can't trust like that. Hopefully one of you can let me know for sure.

Cassandra at the Wedding, Dorothy Baker - One of my favs on this list! Cass is one of the best to every do it. She's gay, she's a twin, and she's pretty unashamedly in love with her sister. The book is about her sister's wedding which Cass, of course, tries to sabotage. Thanks for the rec Anon, I'm so hype for this one!

The Behaviour of Moths, Poppy Adams - From her lookout on the first floor, Ginny watches and waits for her younger sister to return to the crumbling mansion that was once their idyllic childhood home. Thanks for the rec Anon!

Honorable Mentions

Everything that is somehow adjacent, or in which gay incest isn't central but still shows up.

Nefando, Mónica Ojeda - Crazy good book that deals with themes of child sexual abuse and exploitation. Includes three siblings who have been abused by their father, the two girls and one boy are lovers as adults

Boys Alive, Pier Paolo Pasolini - Deals with the lives of destitute street boys in Rome, left to fend for themselves, many are neglected or abused by parents, all involved in petty theft and prostitution to some degree.

The Vampire Armand, Anne Rice - My favourite of the tvc books, and I think it's pretty easy to read Marius' relationship with Armand as well as the other boys as parental.

The Magician, Colm Tóibín - This is a loooong book and the incest is only nominal, which is why it's just an honorable mention. This is a novelization of the life of Thomas Mann, who wrote in his diaries that he was in love with his oldest son for a time. Thanks for the rec Anon

The Piano Teacher, Elfriede Jelinek - This book is absolutely wild in a lot of ways but one of the central themes is the protagonist trying to escape her domineering and possessive mother (who forces them to share a bed!). Thanks Anon for the rec!

Xenogenisis Trilogy, Octavia Butler - I hesitate to recommend this even though it's an amazing series. A lot of the incest is various brother/sister couples, but the two later books have a lot of characters who are a third gender (or not yet male or female) and there's a lot of general discussion of incest. Thanks for the rec Anon, I'll include it.

Out Of A Black Land, Kerry Greenwood - Novel set in ancient Egypt, with gay protagonists and where Smenkhkare/Akhenaten are background characters. Thanks for the rec Anon!

Patrick Melrose series, Edward St Aubyn - The titular character's sexual abuse at the hands of a father is present throughout the novels although not central. Thanks for the rec Anon!

[rosenclaws]

the trials of fate (red string AU) || Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You and Logan were connected, soulmates. Destined to be together. Then he got sick and then he died and now you're alone and the string that connected you is gone. When Wade brings back a new Logan things get complicated and you want nothing to do with him.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, reader digs their nails into their face once, swearing, reader drinks a lot, no regard for the fox timeline sorry!

wc: 4k

a/n: Okay my soulmate au is here!! I love Logan angst and I just couldn't help myself and I had to write this soon. My birthday is soon so I should still have that other fic up on my birthday? May be late sorry!! But either way I hope you enjoy this.

The Red String of Fate dates back to ancient Chinese mythology. The idea that people are connected by an invisible red cord. At the end of your cord is your true love, your soulmate. Destined to be together through space and time. The string and tangle, bend, stretch, but never break.

You know this to be true because you can see them.

Not everyone can, in fact it’s very very rare. One might think of it as a gift but to you it’s a curse. You found your soulmate, you had him. It took a while to find him but you did. Your string led you straight to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. To a man named Logan. You never tried to follow your string, allowing him to come into your life naturally. You felt the tug of your string the moment you walked through the doors.

You were a mutant yourself and though your powers weren’t meant for combat you were happy to come and teach. The cord pulled and pulled until you found yourself in front of the history classroom. You looked down. Your red string was tied around your wrist and your eyes followed till you reached the end. Around his pinky was the end of your string tied in a bow.

"Can I help you?" He had asked in a gruff tone.

The moment he looked up from his desk was the moment you knew it was real. Like they would write in books where you meet eyes and the whole world stops. He was tough, angry, loved to drink and yet he was everything you could have asked for. Love didn’t come easy to him and he made it clear. Still you wouldn’t give up, a thread may connect you but you fell in love with the man standing before you. He was a good man, whether or not he believed it. You always thought he was a good man.

He loved you, he loved you the best way that he could and you loved him. He made mistakes, a lot of them but he always came through in the end. Promising that he’d love you no matter what, that you two were truly meant for each other. That he would belong to you and you to him.

So through it all you were by his side. Charles seizures, El Paseo, Laura. Even as he was slowly dying he did everything for you, for Charles, for Laura Up until his last breath he spent it protecting those he loved.

When he died you felt that piece of you die with it. The legend claims that the strings don’t break but you saw it first hand. The color faded from your cord and it unraveled itself. Falling to the floor unceremoniously, like it was nothing. Like your love was nothing. Your heart ripped in two. You tried to stay strong for the children and though you offered to take them back they declined. You shared a heartfelt conversation with Laura and they were off.

You sat by his grave for who knows how long. Staring at the X shaped marker. The man below the ground was your everything and how he’s gone. Your wrist felt empty. You couldn’t stop rubbing the spot where the string once sat. You were lost, your whole family was gone. So you packed up what little you had, got into the beat up truck, and drove as far as you could. You drove and drove until you approached the familiar woods of Westchester New York.

The mansion was still there. The doors creaked open as you pushed through them. Immediately you were overwhelmed by memories of you and Logan in this place. You thought you were done with tears but somehow you keep crying. Maybe this was a mistake. Coming back to this place. It was painful to even look into his room. But this was all you had. So you sucked it up and slowly started to put the mansion back together. Eventually people found you again. Mutants who needed shelter from the world and you let them stay.

It wasn’t a school anymore but it was a place to sleep. Years passed and eventually you met Wade. God was he annoying. So fucking annoying and still he managed to weasel his way into your life. A friend. He would say stupid shit and make plenty of ill timed jokes but you found yourself growing to like the guy. Then he went quiet for a little bit, giving up the superhero life for something more mundane. Not that you could really blame him. You wish you had done that.

Selfish? Yes but if you had disappeared then maybe Logan would still be alive. The two of you could have had a peaceful life. Sometimes you dream of him. Of what a life would have been like. The dreams are nice. Then you wake up and you have tears streaming down your face. A phantom tug of your wrist that only reminds you again and again that he’s gone.

Then one day Wade calls. Cheerfully telling you he has a surprise for you and invited you over for dinner. So you accepted. When you walked through his door though, you didn’t expect his so-called surprise to be Logan. 

“You made it!” Wade hugged you but you remained limp. Eyes glued to the man standing by the window talking to Laura of all people. You shove Wade off of you and shut your eyes. Is this another dream? Maybe a nightmare.

“No no no no.” You mutter to yourself as you dig your nails into your face. When you open them he’s still there. Standing there with this stupid smile and stupid face and stupid hair.

“What the hell Wade!” You hiss as you drag the man to the kitchen.

“The cat distribution system chose me! I couldn’t leave him, he was too lonely.”

“God can you ever shut the fuck up!?” You want to strangle him so bad. How could he so casually bring you here. Did he think you’d jump for joy? That seeing the ghost of your dead husband would fix it all? No. It doesn’t.

“Don’t you see what this means? This is prime sequel material. Give you the Disney princess, I can say that legally now, ending you’ve always deserved.”

Every bone in your body tells you to punch him but you can’t bring yourself to. He meant the best, even if he had a really fucked up way of going about it.

“Just. Keep him away from me.” You push past Wade straight to the alcohol. Needing anything to keep your mind off the man on the other side of the room. The dinner drags on too slow, you barely eat your food as you keep hearing his voice. People are talking on either side of you but you can only hear his voice. God he sounded the same. You sneak a glance and he’s sitting, laughing with Laura.

Oh god she’s gotten so big. Would she hate you for leaving her? What happened? You kick yourself over and over, you should have protected her but you were caught up in your own grief. You thought she’d be okay on her own.

As dinner winds down you find yourself outside, the cold air feels good as you sip on your drink. How many beers have you had already? Eh, Who cares?

“Hi.” You flinch when you hear her voice. You turn around and see her. Tears well up in your eyes as you take her in. She’s grown up so much.

“Laura,” You brush a strand of hair out of her face.

“It’s good to see you again.” She says. You wrap your arms around her tightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I left. I should have gone with you guys.” You let go and hold her by the shoulders.

“What happened?” She sighs and sits down on a nearby bench. You sit close as she starts to tell you the story. Growing up, the TVA, the void, and then how she met Logan and Wade. It sounded unbelievable but you couldn’t help but smile at points. She’s still the same badass girl she always was.

“I should have been there.” You say guilty. She shakes her head and rests her head on your shoulder.

“I got to live my life, find myself because of you. Because of him. I wouldn’t change anything.” She’s much younger than you but she seems to be the one with her life together. You’re happy for that. Wishing nothing but the best for her.

“Have you talked to him?” She asks. You don’t answer.

“He’s…different. Mean, angry, but he showed up. Helped save the world.” You listen to her talk.

She’s bonded to this Logan and you can’t fault her for that. They talked all night. But you can’t push aside everything that easily. So you stand up, give her one last hug, and tell her she can find you anytime. Your doors are always open to her. Without another word you walk away from Wade’s apartment and back to your own little world.

You thought that would be the end of it, you really hoped it would be. That you would never have to see him again. A part of you longed for it. To hold him. To feel him. But he’s not yours. Your wrist remains bare and while everyone else seems to be happy, you’re still stuck in the past. You avoided Wades calls and kept to yourself.

Choosing only to spend time with Laura when she asked. Usually it was lunch but sometimes it was just coming over to watch a movie. It was nice, you really did miss her. It was supposed to be lunch today but she was late.

Finally she knocks at the door and you get ready to tease her for being late. Instead when the door opens you see him. The words die out in your throat as you stand frozen.

“Can I come in?” He asks but you don’t really hear him. You get it, he’s standing here and he’s Logan. But it feels like you’re staring at a ghost. His voice doesn’t sound real. This doesn’t feel. Real. He places a hand on your shoulder, a worried look on his face. The moment his hand meets your shoulder you jump back. Hissing like it burns. He jerks his hand back.

“What the fuck?” You rub your shoulder and finally find the words to say anything.

“What are you doing here?”

“Laura can’t make it, she sent me over here to tell you.” He says flatly. He’s lying. Looks like he’s got the same tell. You scoff and narrow your eyes.

“She has my number, she could have called me.” Logan shifts on his feet. Clenching his jaw slightly as he sighs.

“Fine. I wanted to come. I needed to see you.” He confesses.

“Look I don’t know who I was in your universe but I’m not them so I think you should go.” You try to close the door but he pushes it back with ease. He walks into your apartment, slamming the door behind you.

“What the fuck Logan.” You huff as he steps closer to you.

“I’m sorry okay but I saw you at Wade’s and you didn’t even spare me a look all night.”

“Sorry that I wasn’t jumping into the fucking arms of a man who looks like my dead husband.” You spit harshly.

"Oh and seeing my dead soulmate is easy for me?” He spits back. His eyes flashing with anger for a second before he tries to calm himself down. Which isn’t easy but this is important.

You soak in what he said. So you were soulmates in his universe too. And you were dead. Maybe you have more in common than you thought. He takes a deep breath and starts again. There’s more vulnerability to him this time. It’s peeking through his tough exterior as he tries to explain it all.

“I know that, we’re not the same people and I would have left you alone if it wasn’t for…” He looks down at his thumb and rubs it along his other fingers.

“What?” You don’t understand what he’s talking about. Logan looks up, confusion on his face.

“Logan what are you-” You cut off as the realization sets in. No. No. No. NO. You look down at your own hands and see nothing. You shut your eyes tight as you clench your fists.

“Sweetheart..” “No! Don’t call me that.” You shove his chest harshly.

He’s not your soulmate. He is not your Logan. This is a cruel cruel fucking world apparently. As if you haven’t lost enough in your life now it’s taunting you with. With this.

“There’s nothing.”

“You couldn’t see it in my world either.” Logan tries to talk but you glare at him.

“Well I can in this world and I’m telling you there’s nothing!” You yell.

The feelings you’ve pressed down and down were bubbling to the surface. God you hated it, the heartbreak, the pain, the grief. You couldn’t even stand to look at him right now. He’s a reminder of everything you’ve lost. It could never be the same.

“Get out.” Your voice starts at a low growl but Logan hears it loud and clear.

“If you would just-”

“No. I mourned you. I watched you die and I watched our connection, our cord fall off like it was nothing. I can’t do this. So just Get. Out!” You scream.

An uncomfortable silence settles and Logan relents. He has so much he wants to say to you but you it's not the time. So he leaves. You wait for a second after the door clicks closed before you let it all out. Sobs wracking your body as it feels like you’re reliving that terrible day.

Logan stands on the other side of your door. Hearing every whimper and cry. It breaks his heart. He could break down this damn door and scoop you up in his arms. Hold you close. You’re his soulmate, the love of his life. But he just can’t. Time, that’s what you need. So even though it pains him, he walks away. He won’t give up on you though, he swears. 

-

Life after your little conversation with Logan fucking sucked. You stopped talking to Wade, to Laura. Kept to yourself in your apartment all day. All night. You ignored the calls, the knocks at the door. You just stopped everything. Drinking away the pain until it lulls you to sleep. The only peace you get. Even then the nightmares don’t stop. Every moment of your life is torture.

The worst part was that sometimes, you swear you feel it. That tug. That sign that there’s someone on the other end. But the man for you was 6ft under. You wonder if it was really there. If this Logan wasn’t lying. Even if he could see it, that didn’t mean you wanted it. How could you? Would this Logan die just like yours? Would you have to watch his slow painful death again? You couldn’t, you just couldn’t.

Eventually it all became too much. Like just being in the same city was too close. You needed to get far away. As far as you fucking could. Away from everyone who knew you as you are now. You pack your clothes, leave a note for Laura and get into your car and drive. It all feels too similar. Driving away until you couldn’t anymore. Ignoring the tugs on your thumb. Telling yourself that it wasn’t real. That your brain was tricking you.

Finding some cheap motel deep in some random town. This could be good. You’re far from anyone who knew you, knew Logan. It was good. The bed creaked and there were roaches in the bathroom but still. This is for the best. 

-

Logan knew something was up the moment you had left. He could just feel it. He watched the string get tight and tighter, stretching beyond its limits. Still it didn’t break. He barged into your house and found you gone. He swore and nearly took Wade's head off when he opened his mouth. He didn’t waste any time. Stealing Wade's car without a second thought. He didn’t know where you went but he just drove. All he knew is that he lost you once. Somehow the universe decided he would get another chance and he was not losing you again. 

He followed his gut as he drove through different states and towns. None of them felt like the right place. The cord on his thumb tugged and tugged. Like it was guiding him right to you. Finally he rolled into some old town in the middle of fucking nowhere. There was nothing in this town. A store, a gas station, and a bar.

Guess that’s all people really need around here. Still something inside of him tells him to stop. He pulls up to the dusty bar lot. Feet heavy as he stomps through the doors. His eyes scan the patrons and he realizes why he came here. There you were, sitting at the bar alone. You looked tired, exhausted really. But you looked like the empty shell of who he knew. He can’t stop himself as he walks over to you. What does he even say? I tracked you for days and now I’m here. No, that's not right. You don’t even notice he’s there. Too wrapped up in your head. So he sits and orders a drink. Still mulling over what to say he decides on something short. Just one word.

“Hey.”  You shoot up in the seat. Eyes wide as you look over to see him. What the actual fuck.

“You left.” He says like he’s confused on why you did. Was it not obvious? You stare at him in disbelief.

“Fuck this.” You mumble to yourself.

You throw down some money and slip off the seat. If you were lucky this was just a really bad dream or hallucination. If you weren’t lucky, which you never were, then he tracked you down and somehow fucking found you.

“Wait.” Logan pays for the drink he didn’t even touch and follows you out.

“Go the fuck home!” You yell as you hurry towards the motel. He’s hot on your tail, not letting you out of his sight.

“No, we need to talk.” He follows you all the way to your motel room. You open the door and try to slam it closed but he’s too quick. 

“Running isn’t gonna fucking help. Trust me.”

“Oh give me a fucking break. Of all the people to preach that to me it’s not going to be you.” You hiss as you try to push him out.

He’s like a fucking wall as he stands in the way. You hit his chest over and over but he won’t budge. He grabs your wrist and pushes you into the room. Pushing you against the door.  Stopping you from going anywhere.

“Get the fuck off me!”

“No, just listen to me for fucks sake.” He growls. You let out a frustrated scream and finally relented. 

“I lost you, in my world I lost you and I was never the same. I know how you feel, I really do. Fuck I held your cold, lifeless body. You say you watched your cord break well. I basically snapped the cord myself. Walking away, letting you die.” His head drops as he seems to relive it all over again. His grip on your wrists loosen, your arms sliding down to your sides.

“Then I show up here and I wake up and this is here.”: He lets go of one of your wrists to show you his hand. His thumb is still bare to you but he sees it. It’s connected right to yours.

“I’m not the same man, I’ve done some terrible things and I regret them every day but it made me the man I am now. I know that means jack shit to you but it means a lot to me.” He cups your face, letting your hands free. If you were to leave he couldn’t stop you but you find yourself planted to the ground.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but you’re my soulmate. We’re meant for each other. I’ll belong to you forever.” You tense up as you recall your Logan saying those very words. It’s too much. You can’t, you just can’t. “

Stop please,” You beg. Tears starting to fall from your eyes.

“I can’t do this Logan, watching you die killed me inside. I loved you, I still love you but, I can’t. I’m scared.” You cry and he wipes away the tears. He keeps you close, knowing the pain, the fear.

“I read a lot about soulmates, you were always jealous I could see cords and you couldn’t.” There’s a hint of a smile as he recalls his life with you.

“You made me read those books. In them they say that two people are connected forever. Through time and space. Maybe through universes too.” He tilts your head and leans closer, his lips ghosting yours.

“I know you’re scared, I am too. But I promised to love you, to take care of you. We’re not the same but we can learn to love each other as we are. Broken, tired, full of baggage.”

You look at him, he’s got the same eyes. The fear of losing him again still fills your heart. Could this really be destiny? Were you meant to find each other? Fate is a funny thing isn’t it.

“Kiss me.” You whisper and he does. Smashing his lips onto yours with a ferocity that takes your breath away. He’s hungry, desperate as he moves you from the door to the bed. The bed creaks loudly as the two of you fall onto the bed. Your hands run through his hair as his arms wrap around your body.

“Logan..” You gasp as he bites your lip roughly, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

It feels so right, so perfect. Being in his arms is everything you need. You pull away breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you catch your breath. He sees the vulnerability in your eyes. The walls you’ve built up start to tumble down and Logan proudly holds the hammer.

“I love you, I’ll always love you.” He caresses your cheek as he stares into your eyes.

“I love you too.” You close your eyes and pray when you open them he’ll still be there.

You feel the tug on your thumb and this time you don’t ignore it. Slowly opening your eyes you look down and see it. You can actually see it. It’s a different shade of red and now it’s on your thumb tied in a bow. You follow the string and it leads right to Logan.

“I see it.” You whisper in awe. Logan smiles, tightening his hold onto you as you keep your eyes on the cord. It’s a little worn down but so are the two of you. It’s perfect.

“Let me take you home.” Logan says, burying his face in your neck. Kissing every spot he can.

Home. You hadn’t thought of any place as home in a long time. But now you have one. A home with Logan, with Laura. Even with Wade and Al and Peter.

But what home really is, is right here in Logan's arms. You feel a weight off your chest as you melt into his arms. Letting yourself be happy, finding yourself in a situation you never thought you’d get to be in again. 

Somehow, through space and time, through all of the multiverse. It doesn’t matter how or when. You two were destined to be together.

Forever and Always.

[peekofhistory]

Compilation of all my Hanfu and Guqin posts 😊

(Part 1)

Hanfu Posts

Warring States/Qin/Han Dynasties - Straight-edged robe (直裾) - Wrap around robe (曲裾) - Layering + undergarment pants - Straight sleeved straight-edged robe (直袖直裾) - Fish-tail straight-edged robe (鱼尾直裾) - Mesh straight-edged and wrap-around robes (素纱直裾/曲裾) - Men's hanfu in Han dynasty (两汉男汉服)

Weijin + North/South Dynasties - Ruqun (襦裙) - Ruqun (襦裙) pt. 2 - Liangdang (裲裆) - Ru vs. Xiyi (襦 vs 褶衣) - Slim-arm wide sleeve Ru and Xiyi (窄臂大袖 - 襦和褶衣) - Quling inner garment (曲领中衣) - Half sleeve + knee covering (半袖+蔽膝) - North Wei (Xianbei tribe) large collared long robe (北魏（鲜卑族）大襟长袍)

Sui/Tang/Five Dynasties - Sui + early Tang dynasty hanfu - Early Tang hanfu layers - Men's round-collared robes - Men's half-sleeve (半臂/半袖) - Golden era Tang shirt + skirt (盛唐衣衫+褶裙) - Vest, shawl, outer jacket (背子，帔子，披袄) - Golden era Tang hanfu layers - Wide-sleeved ruqun in Tang (唐朝大袖襦) - Mid-Tang shirt + long robe (中唐衫+长袍) - Late-Tang/FIver dynasties hanfu - Buddhist donors hanfu/Dunhuang Mogao Caves (供养人/敦煌)

Song Dynasty - Popular style for Song; shan, ao, moxiong tops (衫，袄，抹胸) - Long shan/ao (beizi) (长衫/袄 (褙子)) - Half-sleeve shan/ao (半袖衫/袄) - Men's criss-cross collared shan/ao (交领衫/袄) - Men's outer robe (beizi/褙子) - Pleated skirts (褶裙) (1/2) - Pleated skirts (2/2) - Non-pleated skirts (掩裙 and 旋裙) - Pants (裈, 袴) (1/2) - Pants (裆) (2/2)

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Hanfu videos

Tang dynasty hanfu

Weijin/North-South dynasties hanfu

Eyebrow changes through the dynasties

Men's hanfu through the dynasties

Curvy Tang ladies :D

Grandpa giving out flowers

Tang woman visiting museum

Men's Ming dynasty hanfu layers

Tang dynasty hanfu + modern dancing

Ming court advisors "friendly" debate

Ming dynasty grandma with granddaughter

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Guqin Posts

Guqin introduction

Workshop/Studio Tour

Lacquer allergy experience - Part 1 (scroll down) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Summary - Second allergy

Baby Guqin + giveaway - Baby Guqin update - Baby Guqin update 2 - Baby Guqin update 3

Making Guqin silk strings

Making Guqin - Full list of all steps to make Guqin (updated as needed) - Step 0 - preparing lumber - Step 1 - scroll to bottom for video - Various steps of making Guqin - Steps 2-5 - Step 6

Playing Guqin - Part 1 (Gou and Tiao) - Part 2 (Gou and Tiao pt 2)

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Asks

Pattern for undergarment pants

Qing dynasty clothing

Iconic hanfu of each dynasty

Historical mourning clothes + costumes in Chinese period dramas

Costumes in wuxia/xianxia (ex. Untamed and Word of Honor)

Tang Hezi undergarment

Love Game in Eastern Fantasy drama: Esther Yu hairstyles

Favourite historical dramas

Maid outfits

Tang hanfu patterns

Korean traditional outfit

Guqin introduction (English book)

Foot binding

Flourished Peony hanfu (国色芳华汉服)

Hanfu overlap from one dynasty to another

Chinese muji (geta) (木屐)

Guqin strings

Shang and Zhou dynasty Hanfu

Upside-down heart collars/chicken heart collars (鸡心领)

Yuan Dynasty clothing

Cloud collars (云肩/yunjian)

Guqin in pop culture

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Other

Romance of the Three Kingdoms etiquette MV (三国演义礼仪 MV)

Hanfu revival movement overview

Tang Ming Huang TV series rec + MV (唐明皇推荐+MV)

Hanfu books recommendation: "汉晋风流" (Romance/Elegance of Han and Jin ) "唐之雍容" (Grace of Tang)

Hanfu book recommendation 2: 华夏衣��� (Huaxia Wardrobe)

Giveaway 1 （completed)

Silk thread wrapping flower (缠花)

[aroaessidhe]

aro & ace Fairytale books

retellings

Until The Last Petal Falls - beauty & the beast aro/aro m/m QPR (prev known as The Beast of Okeme)

The Language of Roses - beauty & the beast with an aro belle

More Than Enough - beauty & the beast ace/ace m/m

The Story of the Hundred Promises - fairytale inspired (+ a little beauty & best), aro major characters and aro themes, m/nb

Little Thieves - high fantasy goose girl retelling, demi/demi m/f

Dithered Hearts - cinderella retelling, fairy godfather is aro (and has some POV)

Create My Own Perfection - aroace medusa, short story

The Ice Princess' Fair Illusion - king thrushbeard, ace lesbian & aroace, in verse

Sea Foam & Silence - the little mermaid, demiromantic & aroace, in verse

original fairytales / fairytale vibes

Come Drink With Me (& other Tales of The Thread) - Chinese original fairytales with aro themes

The Dragon of Ynys - aroace MC

Royal Rescue - aroace MC

#aspec books / aspec database / tumblr masterpost

info included here is brief! please see my database for full details of the books

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 11: Westchester]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left 🪄

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, illness/death/hospital stuff, a Targ family gathering!

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

In the darkness of your nightscape bedroom—plumes of neon and incandescence floating beyond the window like man-made stars—you read Becca’s Instagram posts and blog entries about how brave Aegon has been in the wake of his diagnosis, and between the lines of course is her courage too: the caretaker, the self-sacrificial curator, the saintly hands his demise has been entrusted into, his long slow disintegration until only the bones are left, no memories, no dreams, no future and no past.

The last weeks of August float away like a balloon, carried high and quick into a sky that is dizzyingly hot and so bright it stings the eyes. On sidewalks, you hide under the shade of palm trees. On lunch dates with Chloe—running lines, trying perplexing new foods like escargot and sea urchin, giggling over celebrity gossip—you ask for tables inside or under the refuge of patio umbrellas. Each night in your apartment that Aegon now pays your half of the rent for, religiously deposited in your bank account by Brandon at a least one full week before it’s due, you lie in the bathtub reading the movie script or books on the Gilded Age until the water turns lukewarm and steam glistens on your skin; and into these infinitesimal black-ink worlds you disappear, a new name, a distant time, a different man who has stitched himself to you with dissolving threads.

Now you are in Chinatown with Aegon, and the ember-colored oscars are murderous and darting back and forth as he skims his fingers across the top of the tank, and you have devoured your moo goo gai pan but Aegon has barely touched his boneless spare ribs. His is listless and distracted. Strands of sandy blonde hair are falling out of their gel to rest across his forehead. There are dark shadows like smudges of ash under his eyes. Your own eyes are adorned with shimmering dusty rose powder to match your sundress, three shades blended together, all by Urban Decay: Liar, Stolen, Right Time.

“I really think you should see a doctor,” you tell Aegon, not for the first time.

“I might,” he says absently, still tormenting the oscars.

“It can only help at this point. They could confirm the diagnosis and get you on a treatment plan. I’ve been researching it and there are drugs that suppress tremors, and physical therapy, and antidepressants...and oh, these things called ‘dopamine agonists’ that are good for motor functions...and they even have Huntington’s support groups!”

Aegon sighs.

“If you make an appointment, I’ll go with you,” you say. “Any day, any time, I don’t care, I’ll go. I’ll reschedule whatever else I have on my calendar.” Workouts with your personal trainer, meetings with your dialect coach, calls with Dusty or Santi or anyone else from the film, outings with Chloe, a life that is growing abundant and bright like a full moon.

“Maybe.” Then Aegon studies his Chinese zodiac calendar, an attempt to change the subject. And you’ll let him; you don’t want to spend the time you have left arguing. “What year were you born?” he asks, as if you’ve never had this conversation before. “Which animals is yours?”

And instead of being offended, frustrated, startled, you just force a smile and hold up your hands in the shape of claws. “I’m a dragon, Aegon.”

He leans in close to read the description: You are eccentric and your life complex. You have a very passionate nature and abundant health. Then he laughs. “Oh yeah, of course you are. Sounds just like you.”

“And you’re a horse.”

“Do you like horses?”

“I like one,” you say, and Aegon grins and offers you a forkful of his boneless spare ribs, dripping viscous red sauce like bad blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Saturday, August 30th, and the wedding is exactly one week away. The Targaryens are throwing a bon voyage party for Aegon at their Malibu beach house, something planned a month in advance, although it has a certain somberness to it now. Alicent keeps dabbing at her large dark eyes with a green handkerchief, collecting herself, crumpling into tears again. Guests are murmuring gravely about their vague, archaic memories of Viserys: Saw him in a wheelchair a few times...then he just disappeared...never really asked...a Hollywood legend like that...wanted to respect his privacy...such a lovely family...how awful they’re going through this all over again.

Aegon has dispatched Becca to ready the new house in Houston, a project that she is posting about on Instagram with great frequency and euphoric triumph; she has been given a vital task. If she suspects his true motivations for wanting her two time zones and 1,500 miles away, she gives no indications of it. In Becca’s absence—and much to your own surprise—you are Aegon’s plus one on this hot, golden afternoon as salt-smelling wind blows in off the Pacific Ocean and children splash in the pool.

As your floral yellow sundress billows and the breeze tangles your hair, you smile and chat with the series of guests that Aegon introduces you to, distant relatives, industry people, the new agent he keeps trying to offload you onto, a bookish young woman named Kristen who is perfectly polite and surely very knowledgeable and yet not the one you want. Kristen didn’t agree to sign you when no one else would. Kristen didn’t put her knuckles into the wall of a Beverly Hills mansion for you.

Several of the party guests recognize you from the Maroon 5 music video and congratulate you on your starring role in your upcoming indie movie, which has just been publicly announced. Each time the conversation drifts towards Aegon—his misfortunate diagnosis, his exodus to Texas—he steers it back to you. He doesn’t want to talk about himself, of course, or his situation, or the fate that awaits him in Houston, and that’s part of it; but he’s also proud of you. He’s taking full advantage of one of his last chances to advocate for you. He’s going down swinging.

Now Aegon is eating hors d’oeuvres with his other recent clients, Steve, Fatima, and Angus, all of whom have found new agents with Aegon’s assistance, and you are sitting on the ledge of the swimming pool with the hem of your dress tucked under your thighs and your legs submerged to the knees. Helaena has children, which isn’t something Aegon ever mentioned before; there are four of them, wreaking havoc in the pool as they play volleyball with their friends, hurling a beach ball back and forth over a miniature net. You are keeping score for them and serving as the cheerleader, which is much preferrable to making small talk with self-important industry executives or listening to people sigh over how selfless Becca is for assuming this burden.

Aemond wanders over to you, dressed in his version of casual: a full suit, but beige instead of black or navy. He doesn’t say anything. He observes the kids playing for a while, though you have the sense he isn’t really seeing them. You peek covertly at the scar that cuts down the left side of his grim face, and you remember what Aegon told you about Viserys: He’s the reason my mother still has nightmares. He’s the reason Aemond lost his eye.

“You’ll watch out for him, right?” you say anxiously to Aemond. “Even when he’s in Texas?”

He gives you an impatient look, like you’re stupid for asking. “I’ll always make sure he’s taken care of. There’s nowhere he could run that would be far enough to keep me away.”

You are relieved. “Good.” You glance over at Aegon to check on him; he is still mingling with his former clients, and he seems happy. Then you find Alicent in the crowd. She is ever-encircled by Helaena and Daeron, who appear to be trying to distract her. The beach house is besieged by blue balloons. A DJ is playing artists that you recognize from Aegon’s extensive Spotify playlist: Alanis Morissette, Pearl Jam, Third Eye Blind, the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

“I really wish he’d see a doctor,” Aemond says after a while, his voice low to be discrete. “We have great specialists here at Cedars-Sinai.”

“He has an appointment on Wednesday morning. I finally got him to make one.”

Aemond stares down at you, mystified, suspicious. “Who are you?”

“What do you mean? I’m a client.”

“Yes, I know that,” Aemond says; again, like you might be a little slow. “Why do you always know what he’s up to? Why does he care what you think? He doesn’t care what anybody thinks.”

You aren’t sure how to answer. You avoid the question by lobbing away the beach ball when a child’s spike sends it hurtling at you.

“He talks about you a lot,” Aemond says. “He insists that you’re a good actress. He asks me to help you. And then he forgets that he asked, and he asks again.”

“I don’t know why he cares what I think.”

“Sure you don’t.” Aemond’s brow is furrowed and his eyes narrowed: one real, one eternally unseeing. “Are you going with him on Wednesday?”

“I am,” you admit.

“Give me your phone.”

You comply immediately, digging it out of your floral Patricia Nash purse. Aemond Targaryen is not an easy man to refuse. He types something quickly as he stands beside the pool. One of the children giggles as they swim up to the edge and splash him with chlorinated water, wetting his beige suit and brown leather Gucci shoes. Aemond sighs irritably.

“I put myself in as a contact,” Aemond says when he returns your phone. “After his appointment, call me and tell me everything the doctor said.”

“Okay.” Aegon probably wouldn’t approve of that, but it’s good for him.

Then Aemond does something unexpected. He reaches out to you, and for a second you instinctively flinch away, but his hand is gentle; Aemond’s palm settles on the back of your neck, and you blink up at him, bewildered. “I’m sorry you’re losing him too,” Aemond says, soft and strangely tender. Then he swipes something off his right cheek and leaves, weaving through the crowd to join his mother, who is pretending to fret over a rapidly melting ice sculpture—a Texas Longhorn—so she won’t have to think about Aegon instead.

A child is tugging at you, grappling for your hand with slippery, dripping fingers and then trying to drag you into the pool. “Come swimming!” a little girl, maybe eight or nine years old, is crowing with a missing-baby-teeth grin. “We’re going to play Marco Polo. You can be the person who shouts Marco! and tries to find us.”

You laugh. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have a swimsuit. I didn’t know this was a pool party.” Aegon neglected to mention that part.

“Please?” she begs, and now the other children are joining in, a chorus of reckless encouragement. You have the impression they aren’t often able to cajole the adults into playing with them. And the little girl looks so much like Aegon—same eyes, same hair—that you find yourself thinking: When he’s gone, will there really be nothing left of him? Is that possible?

“Alright, I’m coming in!” you announce, and the kids cheer. You shove your purse far enough away from the pool that your phone should be safe, and then you slide off the ledge and into the water: brisk blue currents that thrash as the children flee away from you, giggling as they hug the curved cement corners, poised to bolt again if you venture towards them.

“Now close your eyes,” the little girl demands, and you cover them with your palms. You feel her shoving you and it takes you a few seconds to realize what she wants: for you to spin around. You do this as quickly as you can until you are completely disoriented, stumbling, blind, laughing as you reach out with your eyes squeezed shut, your yellow sundress flowing around you in the cool water like the fanlike fins of a koi fish.

“Marco,” you say.

“Polo!” the children yell, and then squeal as you lunge for them. Waves swell through the pool, water droplets from their kicking feet spray across your face. There’s sun on your bare shoulders as your legs traverse the rough concrete floor in slow motion, your steps heavy and silent. You can hear adults muttering in scandalized disapproval: Who is that? What’s wrong with her?

“Marco?” you call out again.

“Polo!” a gaggle of children hurl back, too many; the voices seem to come from everywhere. You can’t pinpoint a direction, so you choose one at random and dive.

“Marco!” you shout, then yelp as you bump into the side of the pool and stun yourself.

Someone grabs your outstretched hands. “Polo,” Aegon says, and you open your eyes to see him kneeling at the edge of the water. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks, but he’s smiling; he helps you scramble back up onto the ledge of the pool.

“They wanted me to play with them.”

“You could have said no.”

“I can never say no to kids. They walk all over me.”

“You’re too nice.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Though it doesn’t sound so much like a criticism when Aegon says it. He sits down beside you on the ledge of the pool and lets his legs dangle in the water; he has kicked off his flip-flops to rest haphazardly beside your tan wedges. He is wearing white cargo shorts and a powder blue short-sleeve Oxford that is at least a size too big for him. He’s losing weight, you think, forlorn. He’s disappearing.

Helaena arrives with a towel—very thick and soft, doubtlessly expensive—and gives it to you. She is one of the few party guests who do not seem horrified by your antics; instead, she titters and tells the children not to entrap you again, that you’ll play with them later. They resume their game of Marco Polo with a new blind explorer. As you wrap the towel around your shoulders, Aegon takes a corner and uses it to dry your face. Then he gazes out over the patio towards the Pacific Ocean, ignoring the children. He never really interacts with kids, you’ve noticed; even when he watches them with a transfixed sort of wonder, he keeps an expanse of space between them like an alcoholic trying to stay away from the drink.

“You could have done IVF,” you say, and Aegon looks at you, eyebrows raised, a how did you know what I was thinking? sort of expression. “They can screen the embryos for chromosomal defects and only implant the ones that are healthy. So you’d know the baby wouldn’t have Huntington’s.”

Aegon shrugs, kicking his feet beneath the rippling crystalline line of the water. “I think that takes a lot of trust, you know?”

You aren’t sure what he means. “To do IVF?”

“To leave a kid with someone,” he clarifies. “If I’m going to be out of the picture in a few years, I’d have to feel really confident that the mother would be the kind of person I’d trust to raise the child the right way. Not use them as a prop or something. Not raise them to be fucked up like I am.” Or like Becca is, he leaves unsaid.

And although it is ludicrous and forbidden and impossible, instantly you are doing math in your head: I’ll be done filming by winter, we could start trying in the spring. You always envisioned doing it the other way around, chasing dreams in your twenties, settling down in your thirties, but if Aegon doesn’t have much time left...

You turn to him, searching. But Aegon is in his own world, oblivious to your uninvited machinations. Of course he wouldn’t expect any discussions of the two of you staying together. You’ve already offered. He’s already declined. Now the song on the stereo is Keith Urban’s You’ll Think Of Me, and Aegon’s oceanic blue eyes begin to glisten. Everyone is crying today, you think.

“This was your dad’s favorite song,” you say gently.

Aegon nods. “Did I tell you that?”

“You did.”

He chuckles bleakly. “Fuck, I don’t even remember.” He wipes his eyes with the heel of one hand, and you wish you could touch him; but everyone at this party knows he’s getting married in a week, and to a woman who definitely isn’t you. “When I was really young, my dad was always telling us: You are Targaryens. You have to be extraordinary. You have to be extraordinary. And to me, that meant inhuman, or unnatural, or something else that I would always be incapable of. What about the real people? What about all the people like me, we were just supposed to vanish into cubicles somewhere, or hate ourselves enough to change our bodies, our faces, our souls? No, I couldn’t stomach that. Then my dad got sick, and for the first time he tried to understand us, and we had a few good years. Then he was gone again. But it was so goddamn slow.”

You are desperate to touch him, to console him. “Just because Viserys became a monster doesn’t mean you will. Just because he was a curse to your family doesn’t mean that’s how I’d feel about you.”

Aegon swipes at his eyes again, then brightens. He pretends he hasn’t heard you. “You’re coming to the wedding, right? I told Brando to send you money for the plane ticket.”

You spent it on eyeshadow palettes and books about the Gilded Age. “I don’t think so.”

“I really want you to be there.”

“You want me to watch you standing at the end of the aisle, and then Becca frolicking to meet you in her perfect Instagram-worthy dress, and then you exchanging adorable vows and kissing while people whistle and applaud, and then I’ll endure a whole night of celebrating your wedded bliss on the beach, all so you can get a glimpse of me in the crowd and maybe talk to me for five minutes before I fly back here alone, devastated that I’ll never get to see you again?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says.

“That’s an insane idea.”

Aegon throws his arms wide, exasperated. “It might be! I have a brain disease!”

“And why would I do that?” you demand. “Because I’m so happy for you and Becca?”

“No, because I’m doing you a favor,” he hisses, sudden hushed vitriol. “Because I am sparing you from everything that will happen next.”

I want to be there. I want it to be me. You shake your head, your throat burning. “I can’t watch you marry her.”

“Okay,” Aegon relents. “It’s fine. Sunshine, it’s fine. I don’t want to fight with you.” What he means is: I don’t want to waste the time we have left.

And for a moment he rests his head on your shoulder—your pulse thudding hot and red and feverish, pool water dripping from your hair—not caring who sees.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t want to be here,” he says.

“I know, Aegon.” The exam room at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Beverly Hills is sunlit but cold, curtains drawn back from the glass walls, frigid air conditioning gusting through the vents. Your eyeshadow is a dark blue to match your sundress: Equilibrium by Natasha Denona, Madness by Urban Decay. You take Aegon’s hand and hold it tightly. He is perched restlessly on the edge of the exam table; you are standing beside him, too anxious to sit in the requisite chair for a spouse or a parent, and of course you are neither of these things.

The doctor returns, knocking politely before opening the door. He closes it behind him as he enters the room. He’s in his early-fifties, pudgy, receding reddish hair and pale skin that has been turned pink by too much time spent in the sun. He is a family man—he’s already mentioned his wife and kids several times, you imagine the desk in his office must be adorned with their ever-smiling photographs—and an unassuming, slightly nervous disposition. He’s one of the best neurologists on the West Coast. When he heard Aegon’s last name, he fit him in immediately.

Dr. Gallagher turns the computer screen towards you and brings up images from the MRI scan. He takes his pen out of the pocket of his white coat and uses it to point at the bluish specter of Aegon’s brain. His voice is soothing, sympathetic, practiced in delivering bad news. “Unfortunately, what we’re seeing here is consistent with what I would expect to find in a patient with Huntington’s disease that has progressed to the moderate stage.” His pen leaps between pertinent locations. “There is already some striatal atrophy visible, and slight frontal horn dilatation as the brain matter around it shrinks. A lot of the time, we can’t even see that on scans in people who’ve been recently diagnosed. But you...” He looks at Aegon, gives him a soft subtle nod, casual catastrophic confirmation. “You’ve had symptoms for a while, as we discussed.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says quietly. You’re still clasping his hand, like he’ll vanish if you let go.

“I’m very sorry,” Dr. Gallagher tells him.

“Not your fault, doc.”

“But there is some good news,” Dr. Gallagher says. “Now that you’re in treatment, we can get you set up with a regimen that will alleviate your symptoms as much as possible. There are prescriptions—and I’ll go over each of those with you, so you understand what they are and the possible side effects—and also excellent therapists who have experience working with patients like you, Aegon. We want to keep your quality of life intact for as long as we possibly can.”

“I’m moving to Houston,” Aegon replies, and for some reason every time he says this you feel the loss of it all over again, as if you don’t already know, as if he’s not almost gone.

“Texas, huh?” Dr. Gallagher says, like he doesn’t understand why anyone would want to spend their final years there but is determined not to be judgmental about it. “Well, best wishes to you! I have some very capable colleagues at Houston Methodist, I’ll reach out to them and transfer your records over so you won’t have to worry about any of that once you get settled in.”

“Thank you,” Aegon says, quiet, distant. Dr. Gallagher glances at you curiously; he keeps doing that. Aegon didn’t introduce you. You didn’t introduce yourself. What are you supposed to say? You aren’t his wife. You aren’t even his fiancée or his girlfriend. You’re a mistress, and soon you’ll be nobody. Better to let the gaps remain unfilled. “How long?” Aegon asks after a while. “I mean, I know it can be unpredictable, but...”

Dr. Gallagher sighs and contemplates the MRI results again. “It really is impossible to say for sure. You said your father passed away at fifty-five?”

Aegon nods. “Ten years after he was diagnosed. And he must have gotten it from his dad. My grandmother lived to be really old and was healthy up until the last few months, but my grandfather died in a car accident, and that would have been before any symptoms were obvious.”

Dr. Gallagher considers this. “So we have multiple generations of the gene being passed down patrilineally, which does exacerbate anticipation. And with these MRI results and the symptoms you’re already experiencing...memory loss, involuntary movements, difficulty working and driving, problems with sleep, loss of appetite...” He shrugs, an acknowledgement of fate’s unknowable design. Then he looks at Aegon with eyes that are deeply apologetic. “I do suspect it will be relatively quick. You’ll probably have another year or two that are decent. And then...”

“And then,” Aegon echoes bitterly, not a question but an agreement. No one knows this better than he does.

“I think you’ll see forty.” Dr. Gallagher steals another glimpse of the MRI results. “But not much beyond that.”

“Okay,” Aegon says, trying to be stoic. And then, gingerly but very deliberately, he untangles his hand from yours.

At an In-N-Out Burger down the street, Aegon pays in cash, a habit he got into not just so Becca can’t track where he is; it’s so that if she asks where he’s been and he can’t remember, she won’t think he’s purposefully lying when he tells her the wrong places. You sit together in a quiet corner booth slurping your Cherry Cokes and picking at your burgers and Animal-Style fries, the silence both heavy and weak, anemic, listless, immovable. Aegon is typing around on his phone. You are trying to imagine what the world will feel like without him in it.

“Forty is good,” Aegon says abruptly. “You know, Becca will still be in her thirties. She’ll definitely be able to marry some other guy and have kids.”

“Aegon,” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“I wouldn’t want to waste away for a long time anyway. I hope I don’t make it past forty.”

“Aegon,” you plead. “The doctor said you could have a few good years left, so shouldn’t you spend those here with your family?” And with me?

Aegon stands up and slides his iPhone into the pocket of his shorts. “My Uber is outside.”

“Your what?” You are alarmed. “I can drive you back to your office, it’s not that out of the way for me—”

“No, I should go.” He gathers up his barely-touched food and stuffs it in a trashcan.

“Aegon...”

“I’ve been really selfish,” he says hurriedly, like if he doesn’t get it out now he might not ever. “I’ve been holding on to you because you make me feel better, and because I didn’t want it to be over, but I...now I have to do the right thing. And this is definitely the right thing.”

“You don’t have to go yet—”

“You’ll be taken care of,” Aegon says. “The people working on your movie...they’re legit. They’re trustworthy. And you can always call Brando or Aemond, they know they’re supposed to take care of you, they’ll get you anything you need, money, a place to live, help navigating the industry, whatever. And Kristen will be your new agent.”

“I don’t want another agent.”

“I set you up as well as I possibly could have,” Aegon tells you, curt, clinical. “And now it’s September, and I’m leaving Los Angeles. That was the deal. I never promised you more than that. I explicitly warned you there would never be more than that.”

“But...” But I didn’t love you then.

“Don’t make this any harder. Say goodbye and move on.”

“Goodbye, Aegon,” you reply, unconvincingly, not meaning it. But it must be enough; he walks out of the In-N-Out Burger, and through the clear glass of the windows you watch him climb into a stranger’s car, and you think numbly, because it seems so impossible: I’ll never see him again?

You stay in the booth for a long time, sipping your Cherry Coke as tears well up in your eyes and spill over, ceaseless rivulets you dab away with napkins that your eyeshadow turns from pure white to a smudged watery blue. Then when you leave and start your shimmering gold Honda Accord, you call Aemond. He listens intently, asks a number of highly technical medical questions you can’t answer, and gets impatient. You apologize, your voice breaking. Aemond sighs, says he’s sorry, tells you with a strangled tension in his own words that he has to go and will call back in a few days to check on you. You’re his new pet, after all; Aegon has assigned you to a different Targaryen, a new agent, a life still orbiting his gravity even in his absence.

At home, your apartment is empty. Jace is at one of his PhD classes. You don’t turn the tv on, you don’t listen to any music. You lie down on the living room couch as afternoon light slants in through the windows and the muffled sounds of Harbor Gateway bleed in through the walls: car horns, shrieking sirens, pedestrians’ shouts, revving engines, stereos and their rumbling bass beats. You can’t stand this, the knowledge that life continues on uninterrupted for everyone else. Becca will get to keep Aegon for years. His family can fly east to Houston to visit him. He is only dead to you.

You pick up your phone and call him. Aegon answers after a few rings; he is startled, like he hadn’t expected to ever hear from you again, like something bad must have happened: your car broke down and you’re stranded on the side of the freeway, you got heat sickness and are trapped in a store somewhere. He says: “Hey, are you alright?”

“I miss you so much and you’re not even gone yet.”

There’s a pause that feels much longer than it is. “Are you at home?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a quivering whisper.

“Okay,” Aegon says, gentle, warm, like you’re friends again and always will be. Due north in his office in Elysian Park where there is no more work left to be done, you can hear his chair scrape against the scuffed hardwood floor as he pushes it out from his desk. “I’ll be there in about a half hour.”

“Okay. Bye.” You hang up, mop the tears from your face, and begin getting ready.

When Aegon knocks, you answer the door in your pajamas, no illusions of propriety: just a L.A. Dodgers t-shirt, black sweatpants, and nothing underneath. Aegon does not pretend to be any more noble. He is through the doorway—swiftly, soundlessly, like a shadow—and then he’s here in the sunlit living room lifting away your shirt and kissing you, deep and wordless, as you stumble together towards your bedroom, you staggering out of your sweatpants as he yanks them down to the floor, you fumbling with the buttons of his green short-sleeve Oxford shirt, and you wonder: Did Becca fasten these buttons this morning? Is that why he didn’t miss one?

“Oh, thank God,” Aegon sighs when he knows he’ll be able to do it, that his body is not yet a stranger to him entirely, and as you sink into the mattress his weight settles on top of you, opening you, filling you, not disappeared yet, not long-lost like a childhood dream that turns to cynicism, only warm and sweet and real. And just like the times before, when you believe you won’t be able to finish with him, you’re wrong. Your eyes brim with tears, like Aegon knows happens when it’s good, and as he whisks them away he murmurs: “Find somebody who does this for you.”

“There’s no one else.”

“Find somebody you love.”

“I love you, Aegon.”

“You can’t, you can’t,” he moans, like he knows it’s hopeless, like he’s already lost the same war.

Not just once, but twice, and then you are exhausted—your muscles unraveled from your bones, your resistance crumbling like eons-old earth—and the world is quiet and fading, used condoms in the trashcan beside your nightstand, the sheets damp with sweat, and you’ll never have him like this again. You’ll never have anything like this again. Daylight, weakening from yellow to gold to amber to blood, pours in through the window and cascades across your bed.

“Remember me like this, okay?” Aegon whispers, kissing you one last time: lips, forehead, the apple of your cheek. “Now look away.”

You turn to the window where sunlight beckons, leaving him in darkness. You hear the bedroom door click shut as he leaves.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Saturday, September 6th, the wedding day. You have nothing planned. This is a mistake, although it isn’t exactly your fault; filming starts on Monday so everyone has this weekend off as one last respite, Chloe’s parents are in town for a visit, Baela is wrapping up the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie in Paris. You wake up ridiculously early, groggy and miserable. You wander aimlessly around the apartment. You glower at the red-ink note in the box on the calendar: Aegon’s wedding. You stare at the vase of dried sunflowers and feel like crying.

You open Instagram and scroll blindly; the blue-white glow hurts your bloodshot eyes. Becca has posted numerous stories in the past twenty-four hours, which is typical: Pinterest-worthy plates of food, teasing glimpses of her dress and shoes, selfies with her friends and family. There is a wheezing Pekingese in the background of one of her videos from the luxurious hotel suite, and you think, rather disparagingly: She flew her dogs to the Caribbean?

What’s not-so-typical is that Aegon has posted an Instagram story too, something he doesn’t do often. After several minutes of deliberation, and against your better judgment, you click on superstargaryen’s story. It’s 4 a.m. here, so 7 a.m. on Turks and Caicos. The sun has already risen there. And Aegon’s story is a simple photo of the sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean, as if taken from a balcony. There is no caption and no frivolous emojis: a ring, a bouquet, toasting champagne glasses, a cartoonish yellow couple. Instead, there is only a song added, a fifteen-second snippet that plays on a loop each time you re-watch the story, which you do about ten times. The song is Hard To Concentrate by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

And instantly, you are there again, the night after you shot the music video in Beverly Hills, the night after Aegon saved you: flying in his convertible southbound on the 110, streetlights and headlights and neon that cut through the indigo ink of the world, Aegon’s hair flying, his right hand on the steering wheel, bruises on his knuckles, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he keeps looking over at you, as if he’s feeling the same things you are: This is right, this is real, I want this forever.

I have to be there, you realize abruptly, like a lightning strike or the jolt of an earthquake. I have to try to change his mind.

You close Instagram, open Google, search for flights from LAX to Turks and Caicos. You find one with two seats left, both in First Class. My parents are going to kill me, you think, and then put them on your credit card. You get Jace’s full name and date of birth from the driver’s license in his wallet, which he left on the kitchen counter.

You go to Baela’s bedroom and shake Jace awake. He glares at you blearily from beneath chaotic dark curls. “What do you want?” he groans.

“Do you have a passport?”

“Yeah...?”

“I have to fly to Turks and Caicos.”

“What? Where...?”

“It’s for a wedding. I don’t want to go alone. Will you go with me?”

You wait for him to say no. Instead, Jace mulls it over and then drags himself upright, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Turks and Caicos...that’s in the Caribbean, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a long flight. When are you leaving?”

“In twenty minutes. I already called the Uber.”

Jace blinks a few times, then stands up. “Island vibes,” he mutters in a Jamaican accent as he shuffles off towards the bathroom.

You throw some essentials in a carry-on bag: toiletries, makeup, clothes, TOMS wedges. The only wedding-appropriate dress you have that’s clean is the electric yellow gown you wore to the Maroon 5 music video red carpet premiere. You yank it off the hanger and stuff it in your suitcase. Jace rolls his luggage into the living room just as the Uber is pulling up outside. You urge the driver to hurry as you glide northwest on the 405 towards Westchester, home to Los Angeles International Airport. It’s early enough that traffic is thin, and the lines are short at the TSA security checkpoint. Jace is momentarily stopped for further inspection; he accidentally left a vape pen in his pocket.

Will we make it there before the wedding starts?

At the gate, passengers are already lining up to board the plane. You check the time on your phone and do some quick math. It’s currently 5:30 a.m. here in California. If your flight leaves on time, you’ll be in the air at 6:00. Turks and Caicos is three hours ahead in Eastern Standard Time, so that would be 9:00 a.m. The flight is almost nine hours long, including a brief layover in Atlanta, which means—if everything goes perfectly—you’ll touch down at Providenciales International Airport shortly before 6:00 p.m. The wedding ceremony begins at 6:30, sunset on the beach, very romantic.

“It’s going to be close,” you tell Jace as he slurps on a venti-sized Lavender Crème Frappuccino from an airport Starbucks.

It’s going to be very close.

[iz-star]

About Zayne's loneliness.

Sometimes I wonder what an angry Zayne looks like? I mean, NOT angry at MC/you but maybe angry at Astra and/or his fate for putting him in such difficult and unfair situations.

Zayne loves MC deeply, with his whole being, but loving her makes him be 'selfish', to want something for himself, to seek his own happiness alongside MC when it seems that his fate was always to serve others before looking after himself.

It's like he himself said in Master of Fate's Myth: "When emotions and desires are involved, selfishness is bound to exist".

In Master of Fate, he's deemed as a Siming which in Chinese mythology, is a kind of deity in charge to allocate humans' life spans, and according to Wikipedia:

"Siming's special concern (and power) is the balancing of yin and yang (Hawkes 2011 (1985), 109). Of particular relevance here is the relation between yin and yang balance and human health, and the importance to individual human health of such balance, as articulated in traditional Chinese medicine. Siming has the power to balance or unbalance yin and yang, and thus to lengthen or shorten human lifespans, or to provide health or prolong illness".

Siming could decide to provide health to a person or to prolong illness, in that way, having an important role into deciding people's life spans. It's interesting cause Dr Zayne and Dawnbreaker pretty much do the same.

Dr Zayne does his best to cure and take care of people, thus stretching out their life span, while Dawnbreaker gives them a merciful death to avoid them to live as walking corpses, thus shortening their life span.

Unlike Master of Fate or Foreseer, at first glance it could look like Dr Zayne and Dawnbreaker have no God-like power, thus have no control over destiny or fate, yet they still do.

It's actually Foreseer the one who lacks some kind of jurisdiction about people's lifes and fates; he could still glimpse at their destiny, being aware of what awaits people but wasn't allowed to intervene in any sense and most of all, he wasn't allowed to glimpse at his own fate.

In any case, until now, all Zayne's lifes have always been about taking care of other's destiny but what about him? When describing gods, Zayne is actually quite humble, saying that gods maybe are just like humans, except that they had the chance to do a bit more.

Zayne is quite selfless. He's not the kind of man who would blame his destiny for all the things that have happened to him and yet... They're still unfair.

Foreseer once said: "My destiny is to disappear from the annals of history... For someone who wants to remember me, it certainly feels wonderful".

At some point, Zayne's duty isolated him in every life time. He lived alone and caged in a Tower in Foreseer's Myth, he lived alone in the Mountains as Master of Fate, and he lived totally alone as Dawnbreaker. His only companions were Jas/Bai but no other human being.

Dr Zayne is actually the only one whose duty has brought him some kind of recognition, admiration and appreciation (and well deserved, of course), and hasn't isolated him from society, but funnily enough, he has this condition with his evol that sometimes turns him into a treath, which makes him keep others at arms length, especially MC. As for Master of Fate? Foreseer? Dawnbreaker? They all have to move the threads behind backstage in a lonely duty, being Foreseer the most severe case. It doesn't help that in the Foreseer timeline, Zayne is even explictly prohibited to be with MC.

Zayne's fate was always to look after other people's fate but like I've said before, MC was always the exception of every rule in his book because she was the one who made him yearn for human warmth and closeness with someone else and because of that, he'd break the rules to ensure she lives a long happy and safe life, even if is not at his side... Unironically.

In Foreseer's Myth, it is said that Astra prohibited him of being with MC in this and his other lifes because Zayne was a tool. At first, Astra's severity at punishing Zayne looked more like a senseless tantrum of a prepotent god and while that might be true, it seems that Zayne not being able to be with MC in every life time is simply because she would never allow him to fullfil 'his destiny' and to make matters worse, she's a "variant" (We don't know exactly what this entails, we just know that is something threatening, I have some assumptions about it but let's keep it like this for now) . That's why, unlike Rafayel and the other LIs, it seems that he doesn't keep memories of his previous lifes or previous experiences with MC, yet he said once that if souls truly existed, then he was sure that his soul recognized MC before his memory did. MC is this person that always reminds him that he's not just a "tool", a means to an end, but an individual being that is also deserving of something better.

Zayne's love for MC often reminds me of that Córtazar quote: "You were always my mirror, what I'm trying to say is that, in order to see me, I had to see you"

I wonder if there's one life time where Zayne will be allowed to have happiness and company without having to pay a high price for it.

[jukeboxsweethearttt]

My Darling Love

Trailer Park!JJ Maybank x Surprise Baby!Ivy(PLATONIC DAUGHTER)

Cw:None! Just fluff

a/n: a part of my favorite @starfxkrinc trailer park jj au to get to know surprise baby ivy more also proofread by her🥰enjoy guys!

JJ was used to chaos. Hell, he thrived in it.

At sixty something, his knees popped every time he got off the couch, his lower back cracked like a gunshot if he moved too fast, and he cursed every damn day about how the hell his girls kept him so damn young and so damn tired.

But this weekend? This weekend had him holding on by a thread.

“Sweetpea,” he’d mumbled at the front door Thursday night, holding your waist like it’d disappear if he let go, “You sure y’all don’t need a old man tagging along?”

You’d only laughed and kissed him slow, your gold hoops brushing his neck. “We need a break, baby. Me, Troy, and Jazz are overdue.”

The first night without Sweetpea, Dumplin, and Duckie was manageable. Ivy curled up under Sweetpea’s blanket with Bowser and both her feet shoved into JJ’s ribs. He stayed up late watching Reservoir Dogs while Ivy ate oatmeal pies and asked a million questions.

“Why they cut that man’s ear off?”

“He owed ’em money, baby.”

She nodded solemnly like she understood mob justice at four years old.

The second day - Friday was when things went south.

The house was quiet.

Well except for the four year old Tasmanian devil currently stomping her little jelly sandal feet across the floors, holding tightly onto Bowser her precious cat with one hand and dragging her pink suitcase full of plastic food and My Little Ponies with the other.

“Ivy,” JJ said, standing in the doorway of the kitchen shirtless, worn jeans low on his hips, holding a paper plate with a cold egg roll, “why’s all your toys in my bed, baby?”

She stopped in the middle of the hallway, her tight curls flying every which way like a wild halo. She blinked those big brown eyes at him and said, “Because I wanna play kitchen in your bed, Daddy. Duh.”

JJ sighed. “A’right. That makes sense.”

Soon after set Ivy down with her coloring books and went to make a sandwich.

By the time he came back, she had dragged every single toy she owned into the bedroom.

“Daddy, Bowser said he gets half the bed this time,” Ivy said seriously, plopping her big orange cat down on JJ’s pillow. The cat sneezed dramatically.

JJ blinked. “He said that?”

“Uh-huh.”

JJ sighed and texted you:

pray for me.

That room had been her kingdom all weekend. Toys in every corner. Markers uncapped. Crumbs from oatmeal pies smashed into the sheets. JJ had let her eat everything she wanted. Chinese food for dinner three nights in a row she called the egg rolls “crunchy hot dogs.”

By Saturday night, he was sharing the bed with Ivy, Bowser, three baby dolls, a plastic tiara that kept stabbing him in his sleep, and a little foot that kept kicking him in the gut.

By Sunday morning, JJ looked rough. He’d stepped on a Barbie shoe at 3 a.m., hadn’t slept right with a cat and a toddler kicking him, and there was play-dough in his beard.

But he still let her paint his toenails purple.

Now it was Sunday night. Ivy Maybank four years old and full of vengeance was running his ass into the ground.

She stood on the coffee table wearing her pink cowboy boots, one of Dumplin’s rhinestone crop tops as a dress, and wild hair flying like she was front row at a rock show.

“IVY,” JJ grunted, barefoot, tired, holding a comb in one hand and a juice pouch in the other. “Come on, lemme just—”

“No!!” she snapped, ducking. “Only Dumplin do my hair!”

And then the smack came. Right to his chest with her tiny palm.

He dropped the comb and held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Wild woman wins. Damn.”

And the movies?

God help him.

She’d curled into his chest and begged “Can we watch somethin’ cool, Daddy? With ‘splosions?”

He didn’t think a little Pulp Fiction would hurt. He fast-forwarded the worst parts (or so he thought), but this morning she strutted around the house calling Bowser a “bad mother—”

“IVY!” JJ barked, panicked, tossing a blanket over her head. “Your momma is gonna string me up!”

“Why?” she asked innocently. “It’s just from the movie!”

He was still trying to recover when the front door finally creaked open late that evening.

Sweetpea’s voice rang out: “We’re home!”

Dumplin’s soft, sweet laugh followed. Duckie slammed a suitcase into the wall on accident.

“Mama!” Ivy screeched, sprinting down the hall, curls flying, jelly stained shirt flapping. “Mama! Mama! Mamaaaa!”

You scooped her up, burying your face in her neck. “Aww, baby. Did you miss us?”

“She was a menace,” JJ called from the hallway, dragging a trail of snack wrappers behind him. “You left me with a gremlin. A demon. A four year old Tony Montana.”

“She say any cuss words?” Duckie asked, suspiciously.

JJ rubbed his forehead. “Only like six or seven.”

“Eight!” Ivy chirped proudly.

You looked at him with that pretty little smirk of yours, your eyes sparkling. “Well, guess Daddy’s not babysitting solo again.”

He grinned, tired and smitten. “The kid’s been sleeping with me every night. I got glitter in my bellybutton. I ain’t built for this anymore, Sweetpea.”

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He groaned softly before “That’s cause you’re her whole world, baby. She missed y’all the entire weekend she wouldn’t even let me do her hair because-”

“Only Dumplin does my hair”

Ivy giggled as she clung tighter to your neck. “But I still love Daddy. He let me eat egg rolls and say Fuck!”

Dumplin plopped down beside her daddy, twirling a strand of Ivy’s hair. “I’ll do her hair in the morning.”

“God bless you, Dumplin,” JJ muttered, pulling her into a side hug. “Your old man’s got PTSD.”

You looked around at the chaos Bowser on the kitchen table, markers on the wall, an empty take out box on the floor and sighed.

“Next time,” you said sweetly, “Ivy’s comin’ with us.”

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

The Threads of Something More

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, minor language

Author's Note: Here's Part 2 of the First Date fanfic! I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Simon’s flat was simple—neat, but with signs of life scattered around. A worn leather couch, some framed photos on a shelf, and the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. It felt… personal. More than you expected. There were small touches—his favorite books stacked near the armchair, a half-finished puzzle on the dining table, and a cozy blanket draped over the back of the couch. It was a glimpse into the man behind the mask.

He set the takeout on the coffee table, glancing at you as you eased onto the couch. “Hope you’re good with Chinese,” he said, pulling off his jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair.

“Perfect,” you smiled, watching as he moved around his space—comfortable, yet clearly aware of you. There was something endearing about the way he nervously adjusted a pillow before sitting down.

Simon settled next to you, the food between you both, but his focus wasn’t on the meal. It was on the way you tucked your legs under you, the soft smile that graced your face, and how this all felt strangely… right.

You ate together, laughing about the disaster the fancy restaurant had been when you originally went there for your second date and sharing little bits about yourselves. Simon found himself talking more than usual—telling you about the time Johnny had convinced him to go skydiving on leave, or how he preferred old vinyl records to streaming music. His eyes sparkled when he talked about music, his passion slipping through the cracks of his usual stoicism.

“Skydiving? You? I can’t picture it,” you giggled, covering your mouth.

He chuckled, a deep, rare sound. “Didn’t say I enjoyed it. Johnny practically pushed me out of the plane from how much I refused to go.”

“You’re a soldier though! Isn’t that your whole thing?” You question, stifling a laugh while grabbing another bite of your food.

“I am but I refused to jump from that shaky ass plane Johnny signed us to go in. Was bloody worried it might break down from jus’ me sitting in the damn seat!” He said and a smile grew on his face when he heard the beginning of your laugh which caused him to laugh with you. As you both laughed, the warmth between you continued growing with each passing moment where the tension between you both was on the brink of exploding like a firework.

The movie played in the background, but neither of you paid much attention. Instead, Simon found his arm resting on the back of the couch, fingers brushing against your shoulder. It was subtle, but you leaned into it, your head eventually resting against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, strong, and comforting.

“Comfortable?” he asked, voice soft against the hum of the TV.

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, heart racing. “Very.”

Simon hesitated, then let his hand trace gentle circles on your arm. It was the most vulnerable he’d been in a long time. Having you there, trusting him enough to be this close, felt heavier than he thought it would.

“Didn’t think I’d be here,” he murmured.

You blinked up at him. “Here… with me?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve spent so long keeping people out… didn’t think I’d want something like this.”

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “I’m glad you do. I’m glad you let me in.”

Simon let out a breath, one he hadn’t realized he was holding. He leaned down, brushing his lips against your forehead. It was soft—tentative—but filled with something deeper. You felt the weight of it, the unspoken emotions wrapped in that simple gesture.

“Simon,” you whispered, your fingers tracing patterns over the back of his hand. “I feel safe with you.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

——

Weeks passed after that night. Dates became regular—sometimes out, sometimes just the two of you at his place or yours. Simon grew more comfortable, letting you see pieces of him he usually kept locked away. You learned how he liked his tea, the way he meticulously organized his gear, and how he secretly loved old classic films.

On a late afternoon, he took you to his favorite spot by the docks. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the water. The waves lapped gently against the wooden posts, the salty breeze tangling in your hair.

“This is where I come to think,” he said, hands in his pockets, his eyes on the horizon.

You smiled, standing beside him. “It’s peaceful.”

He turned, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I want this to work,” he admitted, voice low and vulnerable. “With you.”

Your heart swelled, warmth spreading through your chest. “It already is, Simon. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you.”

For the first time, he let down the last bit of his guard, pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss—the kind that said everything words couldn’t. His hands cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if you were the most fragile thing he’d ever held.

When you pulled away, breathless, his forehead rested against yours. “You make me feel… whole,” he murmured.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you smiled through them. “And you make me feel loved.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, but neither of you noticed. In that moment, the world faded away, leaving only the two of you—hearts laid bare and beating in sync.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[sunshine304]

FTH Fanbinding: "Concord" by Deastar

@youhideastar won my FTH auction and gave me a great gift: She wanted me to bind her CQL fic "Concord" including the thorough author's commentary she'd done. I was so happy when she chose this fic because I'd loved it so much and had pondered doing a fanbinding of it at some point anyway. 😄

Now that the book has finally arrived (spending two days in the air even, I guess, at least when one looks at the tracking info 😆), I can show it off here!

I tried some new stuff on this bind and also some things that I'd only done once before and that definitely need some, uh, perfecting. 😅 But overall, I'm very pleased with how this book turned out, as it's pretty close to what I'd imagined when I started it.

The fic is set in Cloud Recesses and Dea and I agreed that the colour blue should be prominent in the design, as it not only fits the setting, but also is of significance in the story itself. As the rules and traditions of the Lan sect also are quite important, I wanted a very clean, simple style for the case, a bit reminiscent of traditional Chinese bindings.

I did the title as a cut-out and used Japanese transparent paper for some extra flavour. The paper shows up inside the book as well early on and I liked the recurring motive of it. I'm also really pleased how well the hot foil came out on it! I was a bit scared that it might rip or something, but it's quite sturdy, after all.

I thought about doing a faux stab binding with red thread to get even more of a traditional feel, but then decided against it as I'd wanted to use two different blue book cloths and I felt that it might get too busy. Instead, I used the red ribbon as a nod to Wei Wuxian.

The little cloud illustration is used several times in the typeset and I like how it comes out in the title. I didn't even mess up this title, yay! (Mine's got a few tiny blotches but uh well, better mine than Dea's!)

I painted the edges with metallic watercolours - the second time I tried painting edges, but this time with several colours and trying to do a little illustration as well. Big thanks to @zhalfirin who quickly answered my question about how to get the paint to actually stick. 😆 I'd read several posts about how awesome water colours are for foreedge painting, but none mentioned that this kind of paint just rubs off again (I am no artist and have no knowledge of different kinds of paint). Zhalfirin told me to mix in glue and also wax the edges afterwards, which I both did and I think it's fine now. At least my fingers didn't turn blue. 😅

I really love how the shading came out on the head/tail; it could've been better on the foreedge and it looked great while the paint was still wet. Steep learning curve, this thing. I also died trying to sand the edges and I didn't get them completely smooth, but at least smooth enough to work with. That also needs some more work, I guess.

First time I sewed endbands with four different colours! I think they came out quite well! I also forgot the second row of dark blue on Dea's book and had to unravel half the endband again when I noticed at the very end... 🤦‍♀️

Nice marbled endpapers. For the title page spread, I used part a very famous Chinese painting, as it not only reminds me of the Gusu mountains but also, again, is very traditional. I played around with the colours to give the picture a bit of a bluer tinge.

The typeset itself was very straight-forward. There's the fic without commentary, and then the second part with it. I used a grey background for the comment parts to make it stand out from the actual story.

I had lots of printer issues with this fic (my copy actually had even more issues because the printer treated every page as an image for unknown reasons and therefore it not only took forever, it's also a tiny bit blurry. Hmpf.) and the greys tended to have a bit of a blue tinge, which was not my intention. But at least it works with the overall theme, I guess! 😅

I also did an extensive Appendix with all the meta links mentioned in the commentary as well as cut scenes and a little "praise for the author" section.

Last but not least, I decided to try making a slipcase for the first time! DAS_Bookbinding on youtube has good tutorials on that and I used one of them. It worked well on the first try. The second try, I used sturdier cardboard and should've added a few millimetres to the width, because the book didn't fit - the ribbon got stuck and I feared that it might get damaged. So I had to redo the case and then it was perfect.

I used wallpaper as cover material. 😄 The one you see on the outside? That's my living room wallpaper, a light blue with a lovely pattern and soft shimmer to it. My camera unfortunately is refusing to get the colour right.🤷‍♂️

The assembling process went well, for the most part. I'd forgotten to shorten the endpapers a bit which I only realised after I'd started casing in my copy. I carefully separated the textblock from the case again and then, in a moment of complete mental blackout, tried to cut the wet paper. 🤦‍♀️ That didn't go well. I managed to salvage it, mostly, and of course didn't repeat the mistake with Dea's copy, but ugh. 😆

This was a super fun project and I'm very happy with it! Thank you again, Dea, for your faith in me and your super generous donation! 💙

Materials used:

Printed on Clairefontaine DCP 100g

Case and endpapers:

booklinen Colibri cornflower

booklinen Paradise aqua

marbled paper 120g

transparent Japanese paper

Hot Foil (Memory Keepers)

Slipcase:

fleece wallpaper Newroom Nisa lightblue

fleece wallpaper grey glitter

[bright-side20]

Red Thread of Fate

First of all, these parallels align with the theory of Elain and Azriel being true mates eventually.

I do believe that the concept of mating bonds in SJM's world is inspired by the East Asian myth that says gods create a pre-ordained string binding people who are essentially soulmates , a thread that can get stretched or tangled but never broken, unless one of them dies. These people will eventually find each other, no matter the time, place or circumstances.

In the Chinese legend, the thread is said to be tied around the ankles of a man and a woman destined to marry, because the ankles carry them through life and lead them toward each other. In the Japanese adaptation, the thread is tied to their pinkies, based on the belief that a vein from the pinky runs directly to the heart, which is quite similar to what SJM does, connecting the strings of the bond directly to the heart.

Also the thread is invisible and cannot be felt physically. The truth of the connection is revealed over time, after life has tested them. Recognition comes after the first meeting, not during it again, very similar to what SJM portrays, except for the strange cases of weird bonds ( Rhys's parents, Tamlin's parents, Elain and Lucien).

This aligns perfectly with Elain and Azriel's story. The bond didn't snap into place the moment they met, but instead grew as they spent time together listening, understanding, sharing moments that seemed ordinary... until it didn't. Their souls slowly began to recognize each other, Azriel started putting the pieces together and questioned the Cauldron, because what he feels for Elain runs far deeper. He begins to sense that she is his true mate.

In old folklore, there are also signs that two people are destined to come together eventually just like what SJM does in her books. For example, Feyre painting stars on her drawer before even knowing Rhys. And for Elain and Azriel, I would say Azriel revealing that Elain is a seer right after Madja said her mate is supposed to know what's happening to her. Or the fact that the estate he goes to is randomly called Rosehall.

There's another parallel that I like which is in Chinese folklore, the deity responsible for the threads is the Moon God, Yue Lao also known as the Old Man Under the Moon. He is the god of marriage and love. He appears at night, often beneath the moon, and ties the invisible red thread between two soulmates.

Which made me think of The Mother and Elriel 🥰

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer

“Yes” Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. 

[plor-bindery]

Bound: Under His Skin by lately

I did a criss-cross/Secret Belgian bind!

I actually did this months ago but was waiting for Lately to get her copy, and by then I'd forgotten about posting. So, better late(ly) than never?

This is a 16k word fic in the Nirvana In Fire fandom, which is a show I have not watched. I did help beta this fic, though, so I have read this! It's a modern AU in which Lin Chen is a tattoo artist. Lately is excellent at writing evocative and lush stories, and this fic is no exception.

The orchid on the cover is a real antique Chinese orchid painting, requested by Lately. I made this prior to acquiring my colour printer, so I printed the artwork on my mobile photo printer and trimmed it to size. This was my first inlaid decoration and I was very pleased with it!

Less pleasing were the challenges of black book cloth and a waxed linen thread that left marks all over said black cloth.

Still, the criss-cross structure is hella cool and fun to play with once it's finished. I would probably do better with thread tension next time but this was a good and functional first effort. Plus, nice to try out a new binding style on a bestie who will accept every degree of failure with kindness?