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pa1nrema1ns · 8 months ago

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Two Intertwining Melodies || Sung Jin-woo (Part 2 of 3)

Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!Omega!reader

A/N: Hello again everyone! Thank you so much for all of your interest and feedback on part one of this series. Due to the sheer enormity of the second chapter, I've decided to expand the siren au into a trilogy rather than a two-parter. My dear friend and beta reader @forbidden-sunlight has been an absolutely incredible source of support in the creation of this story. She also wrote the imagine that inspired this au. Links to the prologue and first chapter are posted below. Do be sure to read them first before continuing. And as always, heed the content warnings that are listed.

╰┈➤ Chapter Index

🦪 Prologue by @forbidden-sunlight 🧜‍♂️ Part 1: Master and Apprentice 🦈 Part 3: In a Sea of Fire

Content warnings: 18+MDNI, canon divergent, graphic descriptions of gore, death, and violence, afab!reader, reader is a makeup artist and hair stylist in the entertainment industry, a/b/o dynamics, heavy mentions of heat cycles, knotting, and breeding, threats of assault/non-con made by Kang Taeshik towards the reader (Jinchul intervenes and protects her), suggestive themes, some sexual descriptors, mythical creatures au, yandere!Jin-woo.

Word count - 9.6k

Summary - You find yourself returning to your childhood home of Jindo Island after receiving the offer of a lifetime. However, you can't shake the feeling that someone or something is watching you.

Dividers by @anitalenia and @firefly-graphics

[Skill: "Monarch’s Domain" Has Been Activated.]

“Come on out!”

A cacophony of deafening blasts, wails, and the clash of steel rings across the crimson-tinged horizon of the one hundredth floor of the Demon’s Castle; a perfect accompaniment to the Armageddon currently taking place. Infantrymen by the hundreds emerge from the shadows to skewer Baran’s forces while Iron, Igris, and Tank slaughter the larger and more formidable combatants with wanton brutality. Issuing a non-verbal command, Jin-woo orders Tusk to incinerate his enemies with ‘Song of Inferno,’ and a calamitous ball of flames bursts forth, eradicating most of the battalion.

“Amazing… on all the top floors I’ve been with him, I’ve seen nothing quite like this,” Esil whispered in awe. Although she was a demon princess who grew up in this wasteland and had seen many spectacular sights, the power of commanding shadow soldiers was most certainly not one of them.

In contrast to his companion, Jin-woo calmly observes the cataclysmic destruction with a piercing gaze. Despite gaining the upper hand against his troops, Baran remained steadfast in his refusal to engage directly in the ensuing fight. This simply would not do. Jin-woo needed to secure his victory in this decisive battle, and fast.

Jinwoo’s opponent possessed the last ingredient required to craft the Holy Water of Life: The Purified Blood of the Demon Monarch. A fortnight of endless fighting had culminated to this moment, and he was on the precipice of triumph. But the Demon King was unlike any adversary he had ever faced before. Jin-woo could gauge just from the sheer murderous energy emanating from him that Baran was in a league of his own. And his power spoke for itself: endless demon hordes at his beck and call, a wyvern as a mount, and an insurmountable supply of mana that showed no signs of running out. Jin-woo would need to approach his foe strategically lest he lose this war of attrition.

At long last, as if he could sense the siren’s impatience, the Demon King makes his move. He bids his steed to fly at a lower altitude. Once within range, Baran unhinges his jaw and unleashes a massive beam of white lightning. Within seconds, thunder runs rampant throughout the land, devastating everything in its path. However, Jin-woo and his shadow army stand strong regardless of the imminent danger. The siren even has the audacity to smirk.

So Baran thought he could defeat him with electricity? Excellent. He really could not have asked for a better opponent. As luck would have it, Jin-woo’s oceanic nature gave him the edge in this situation. The surface of water, acting as a conductor of electricity, causes high voltages and amps to spread rapidly. With this in mind, Jin-woo launches a counterattack.

“Wreak havoc on all who dare to stand in my way, Charybdis!”

Powerful torrents of black seawater manifest from the shadows just before Baran’s attack could hit him. The rushing stream then runs across the land and coalesces into a violent maelstrom in the sky. The raging vortex absorbs most of the lightning in its maw before redirecting its flow towards the Demon King. Baran wills his steed to evade by canting to the left, but Tusk incapacitates him by striking the wyvern’s wing with a blast of fire magic. The Demon King leaps from his mount’s back before it’s forced into the whirlpool and electrocuted. He lands gracefully on his feet and shoots a sinister grin at Jin-woo.

“It was worth it to let Tusk have the sphere,” the siren remarks nonchalantly, as if it was just any other day and not a fight to the death. “I’m glad you’re finally on the ground. Constantly looking up was making me tired.”

With the Demon King grounded, Jin-woo no longer required the aquatic effects of Charybdis. The dark water above evaporates as it returns to the abyssal depths of the ocean, its job now complete. With this hindrance finally gone, Baran doesn’t hesitate to release another beam of white thunder, this one even greater than the last. Tusk attempts to lessen the impact with ‘Song of Protection’, but the force of taking a direct hit ends up obliterating him. Undeterred by his comrade’s demise, Iron bellows at Baran and slashes at his body with his axe. But he proves to be no match for the speed of the Demon King, who ruthlessly splits his head in half. Igris then valiantly joins the fray and swings his great sword at the demon. However, this too is a fruitless endeavor, as Baran swiftly catches his blade and wipes him out with a flick of his wrist.

Just as Igris’s body fades, Jin-woo emerges from the ashes in his true sirenic form, Knight Killer and Baruka’s dagger at the ready. “Scylla!” He snarls a second incantation that brings forth another wave of black water, this time in the shape of a six-headed beast. The aqueous leviathan slams into Baran, crushing his body under its weight and submerging the entire floor of the dungeon in water. The Demon King swiftly breaks free from the tides and springs onto the roof of one of the sole remaining towers. Soaking wet and surrounded by large bodies of water, Baran ends up on the defensive; if he were to use his lightning, he risked electrocuting himself. Jin-woo was also in an environment that favored him, and the Demon King could not pinpoint his whereabouts while he was swimming underwater.

Even with this advantage, the gap in power was still significant between the two. Knowing this, Jin-woo doesn’t allow him a moment of reprieve. He uses his tail to project his body from the currents and launches at the Demon King with his daggers. The demon responds in kind, countering his onslaught with a flurry of strikes from his own weapons. Jin-woo holds his own against the extraordinary speed of Baran’s slashes. But he was low on mana, and fatigue was rapidly building up. While oceanic magic was incredibly effective, it incurred a high cost of mana. This, coupled with an extended exposure to a dry, fiery atmosphere, was having a seriously detrimental effect on his endurance. It was time to end the battle after dragging it out for so long. Jin-woo just needed an opportunity to catch the demon off guard–

Klang!

A loud noise reverberates in the dungeon as a lance ricochets off Baran’s head. The demon redirects his focus to the sheepish face of Esil. Huh? I thought I told her to head for higher ground. When did she…? Jin-woo ponders briefly before banishing the thought. He requested a distraction, and someone kindly provided him with one. He wasn’t about to squander his only chance.

Using Baran’s hesitation to his advantage, Jin-woo discards his short swords and sinks his fangs into the Demon King’s neck, crushing down on his windpipe. As Baran struggles to throw him off, Jin-woo unsheathes his claws and gouges out chunks of flesh. The demon howls in agony, his pained cries music to the siren’s ears. “How stupid of me,” Jin-woo sneers, his voice deepening in pitch as his actions became more monstrous, “I was fighting you like a man this entire time, when this is who I really am. Heh, I guess being disguised as a human for so long made me forget.”

Summoning all his strength, Jin-woo uses his muscular arms to tear Baran’s torso from his body. The vicious mauling completely eviscerates the demon, with only his entrails being left over in its wake. His victory now secured, Jin-woo exhaustedly slumps to the ground and reverts to his human appearance. The throes of battle destroyed most of his clothes, much to his chagrin. The only apparel that remained intact were his tattered jeans, and those only just spared his modesty. He scoffed in annoyance; he’d need to purchase a new wardrobe soon to make himself more presentable for you …

“Jin-woo, sir!” Esil dashes towards him with a worried look on her cute face. The siren smirks, satisfied despite the many setbacks he faced during this confrontation.

“Esil, tell your father the Radis clan is now the number one family.”

“Jin-woo sir,” the demon girl responds exasperatedly, “Our family name is Radir.”

6:00 AM, on the outskirts of Jindo Island…

Jin-woo deeply inhales the crisp morning air as he soars through the endless skies. Much had transpired in the short time between the conclusion of his showdown with Baran and now. He had gained the Purified Blood of the Demon Monarch, along with the World Tree Fragment, and Spring Water from Echo Forest. With these three components, he was at last able to craft the Holy Water of Life. Once finished, he cradled the precious vial in his palm, as if trying to ascertain proof of its existence. Afterwards, Jin-woo deposited it into his magical inventory for safekeeping.

Of course, the elixir was just one of the many spoils of war he had claimed. Kaisel, the wyvern who now served as his mount, was his for the taking after Baran’s death. The gift of flight had expedited the journey home, much to his joy. A rune stone had also provided him with the skill, ‘Shadow Exchange,' a means of trading places with any of his soldiers scattered throughout land and sea. Thanks to this new ability, he was able to leave that hellish landscape. After being gone for what felt like eons, Jin-woo was desperate to return. To his family. To Ashborn. To you.

He’s relieved when the familiar cityscape of Jindo-gun comes into view. He estimates it would take roughly 15 more minutes for them to arrive over the briny waters. However, before they can make it past the coastline, the spellbinding fragrance of bergamot and vanilla overwhelms Jin-woo’s senses. This could mean only one thing: you were nearby. The headiness of your musk had also gotten more potent in his absence, signifying your fertility.

“Fuck!” Jin-woo’s hisses as desire courses hot and heavy through his veins. He tries to resist the temptation of your pheromones, but you smelt so damn good; so ready and willing for him and his knot –

Jin-woo grunts as he bites down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood. The pain causes him to regain some mental clarity, and he wills himself to calm down. But it’s of no use. His thoughts were currently being clouded by lust and the instinctual drive to breed. Those two weeks he endured in the Demon’s Castle had significantly intensified his longing for you, and the pent-up sexual frustration was coming to a head. Jin-woo really had to nip this in the bud. His stamina was at its limit, and he was in no condition to be seen by you. The siren also desperately needed to go home and check in on his mother and Jin-ah. He was the only alpha and protector of their family after the disappearance of his father. He couldn’t afford to waste another—

The wind carries your scent as it blows past Jin-woo’s face a second time. It was as if you were beckoning him like some sort of enchantress. Unable to ignore your maddening aroma, Jin-woo at last gives in. He knew the decision he was about to make was foolish, reckless even. But he must heed the call of his omega.

He silently apologizes to his mother and Jin-ah and asks them to wait just a little longer. “I’ll only introduce myself… maybe I can even get her name,” he tries to reason with himself while slowly succumbing to delirium. His mind made up, Jin-woo commands Kaisel to deliver him to the area where your scent is the strongest. The wyvern then returns to the void shortly thereafter, leaving the worn out siren to his own devices.

Grainy sand molds against his bare feet as stumbles across the beach in search of you. “Shit. If this keeps up, I might not make it back to Mom and Jin-ah.” Jin-woo mumbles softly. He really was in poor form. Maybe it had been a mistake to depart immediately for Jindo island without taking a break in between. Damn.

As black spots start to obscure his vision, Jin-woo’s gaze finally lands on you. His lips quirk into a tired smile. Even through blurry eyes, you looked absolutely stunning while standing in the sunlight. Like an earthly goddess.

With his consciousness ebbing further and further away, the siren musters up the last of his energy to stagger towards you. He makes it only two steps before his body gives out and he collapses. Rather than hitting the hard ground, a soft and warm embrace met Jin-woo. He blearily cracks open an eye, curious about what broke his fall. It was at that moment your lovely, albeit worried face greeted him. Pretty, he thinks, exhaustion finally taking its toll on him. The last thing Jin-woo remembers before the darkness overtakes him is the soothing smell of bergamot and vanilla.

Two weeks ago, someone or something had been watching you. It was during the first day of filming the mystery-thriller, ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea’, a passion project by renowned producer, Go Gun-hee. The man had an incredible work ethic, with a career spanning over 40 years and numerous accolades to his name. He had recently come out of retirement, and the entertainment industry was buzzing with anticipation. Known as a cinematic miracle maker, every motion picture Go Gun-hee produced set box office records. Suffice to say, you had been over the moon after finding out you were amongst the few who made the cut for makeup artists hired to work on set. Although the instant you found out where the filming location was to take place, you immediately felt your enthusiasm dampen. Jindo-gun. At one point, this had been your home. Now, it was but a distant memory.

You had spent most of your childhood on the island of Jindo. Its scenic beaches, sprawling forests, and crystalline waters made it ideal for shooting a film based on a luxury yacht charter. There was one major caveat however: the sirens. Several pods of these unpredictable creatures resided off the coast of Jindo, and the alphas were infamous for their aggression, especially during the height of the mating season.

Growing up, your parents warned you time and time again not to walk alone along the shores at night. "Don’t ever go to the beach by yourself after dark," your mother had signed this to you almost every day. A constant reminder to stay safe and vigilant of your surroundings. Townsfolk also gossiped and shared sordid stories about the lost souls who fell victim to the sirens. But this wasn’t just word of mouth, a child’s fairytale, or mere superstition. These deadly apex predators were very much real, and a troublingly high number of homicides were committed by them each year. Unfortunately, this did little to dissuade foolhardy tourists and arrogant fishermen from pouring into the island during the hotter months of spring and summer.

Eager to escape the foreboding atmosphere, you had applied to and been accepted into a 2-year cosmetology program in Busan shortly after finishing high school. Makeup had always been a strong interest of yours and with the support of both your parents you flourished in your craft.

Although you had been nervous about the transition from quaint suburbia to the big city life, you found yourself quickly growing accustomed to the fast-paced environment. Your school had also been very accommodating, providing you with a sign language interpreter and captioning services for your classes. A kindhearted young woman by the name of Lee Joohee had been assigned as your interpreter during your time in Busan. You became fast friends and remained close even after graduation.

After receiving your license, you relocated to a small apartment in Seoul and began working as a hair and makeup artist in stage productions, commercials, and musicals. You greatly enjoyed the creativity and networking opportunities of your profession, often getting to bump shoulders with many well-known actors and actresses. Within a few years, your portfolio grew considerably. This enabled you to broaden your horizons by breaking into the film industry. ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea,’ would be your first foray into this competitive market and you wanted to prove yourself as a newcomer to the scene. So, despite your reservations, you begrudgingly agreed to board the private jet headed for Jindo island.

If you recall correctly, the mating season for the sirens wouldn’t take place for another four months, so everything should proceed without a hitch… right?

You began to feel a little more at ease when you found out Cha Hae-In and Yoo Jinho were cast in major roles in the movie. You had first met them when they were both burgeoning stage actors. Cha was surprisingly camera shy and preferred to keep a more subdued profile whereas Jinho was outgoing and incredibly humble despite his privileged background. The bubbly brunet was the youngest son of the chairman of Yoojin Construction Company, a major industrial conglomerate in South Korea.

Although you came from different walks of life, the three of you had hit it off right away, finding common ground in your passions for campy horror films. You even taught them a few signs, and this inspired Jinho to devote himself fully to learning sign language. Cha also practiced her signs with you whenever she had the chance, but her busy schedule often made it difficult for her to find spare time. Nevertheless, you were deeply touched by the efforts made by both of your friends.

While taking a break on set, you felt a pair of eyes boring into you as you were relaxing with Cha and Jinho. At first, you chalked it up to paranoia. It had been years since you visited the island, and you’d nearly forgotten how oppressive the ocean seemed at night. But it was the middle of May. The mating season for the sirens would not take place until September at the earliest. Regardless, the sensation of being watched still lingered even after the mysterious presence had left.

There was also the enthralling scent of lavender and sandalwood thickly permeating the air. It had a distinctly masculine undertone to it that had piqued your interest. It was far too strong to be from a couple spritzes of cologne or perfume, yet more subtle than the pungent smell emanating from many of the alphas who composed the cast and crew onboard the yacht. Their musk was overbearing at best, but this fragrance was entirely different. It was sweet. Delicate. Intoxicating…

You had to find the source of it. Making up an excuse about wanting to get more fresh air, you stay behind on the deck of the ship while your friends return to their accommodations to retire for the evening. As you lean over the railing to scope out the scent, an intense wave of heat suddenly ignites in your lower belly causing you to gasp and buckle at the knees. It briefly lingers in your abdomen before shooting directly to your core. You bite back a moan as your eyes flutter shut from the pleasure spreading throughout your body. Slowly but surely, you were entering into a primal state; one of pure unbridled arousal. You should be concerned. No, you should be horrified. You were so vulnerable, so out of sorts. And yet…

You had never felt so exhilarated. It was as if ecstasy became you. You were ascending higher and higher to parts unknown, all semblance of rationality long since abandoned. The coil in your gut was wound so tight, it was at its breaking point. If this continued, you would inevitably plummet over the edge and succumb to your baser instincts –

The metallic odor of copper violently infiltrates the air, abruptly bringing you back to your senses. Your eyes bolt open, and you release a shaky breath. You’re surprised to find yourself on your knees. They must’ve given out on you at some point. However, your shock shifts to horror when you catch sight of an unruly mop of purple hair from the corner of your eye.

It could only belong to one individual: Kang Taeshik.

Shit. You’d been acquainted with the man just yesterday, but he terrified you. Taeshik was an up-and-coming actor on the scene; one who excelled in any role he played. In spite of this, the first impression he left on you was enough to make you keep your distance. Although Taeshik’s demeanor was docile, there was a cold and calculating look in his eyes that made you shudder. It reminded you of a predator eyeing its prey. The most off-putting aspect of the man, however, was his stomach-churning scent. He positively reeked of blood.

You could feel panic setting in as he began to saunter towards you, a lascivious smirk spread across his face like a dark promise. You’re unable to rise to your feet, still weakened and lightheaded from the erotic sensations affecting you earlier. Worse yet, you feel a lump in your throat, making it difficult to shout or scream for help should the need arise. You were essentially cornered, defenseless, and alone with a menacing alpha. And if the pungency of his musk was anything to go by, he was on the verge of a rut. You sink back into yourself in fear and begin to tremble uncontrollably.

You can see Taeshik’s mouth moving as he closes in on you. You’d become adept at lip reading over the years, although it was difficult to decipher everything he was saying in the darkness. The only words that you can make out are "little omega" and "whore." Your blood curdles. Someone, anyone, please help me! You silently plead, knowing it was futile. For a moment, you foolishly imagine the owner of that enticing scent coming to your rescue.

Thankfully, just before Taeshik can grab you, a large hand envelops his wrist in a vice grip.

The purple haired nightmare cants his gaze to the side and narrows his eyes. He’s greeted by the furious expression of none other than the film’s director, Woo Jinchul. Relief floods your chest at the sight of him. Thank God, you think.

Taeshik rips his arm away and leaps back, creating some distance between himself and the taller man. Jinchul quickly assumes a protective stance in front of you. His broad back prevented you from seeing your would-be assailant, something you were extremely grateful for. For a few tense moments, you can only sit and stare at Jinchul’s imposing figure as he confronts the other man.

Despite how scared you are, you wish you could partake in the conversation if only to defend yourself. Taeshik may try to manipulate the situation by implicating you as an instigator or seductress, something many male actors in the industry unfortunately got away with due to their connections or wealth. It was despicable and made you seethe with anger at the salacious lies and rumors spread by the press and social media.

After several minutes, Taeshik departs with nary but a shrug of indifference. Apparently Jinchul’s status and power as director did nothing to intimidate him. He waits until Taeshik’s figure disappears before turning to face you. There’s an uncharacteristic warmth in his usually hard gaze, and you’re able to catch a whiff of his natural scent: cardamom and cedarwood, a calming combination.

Jinchul gently offers his hand and effortlessly hoists you to your feet. Your legs are still somewhat stiff but functional now. He permits you to steady yourself by grasping onto his shoulders and it doesn’t escape you how oddly intimate these actions are. As if to further prove this, Jinchul, in a strange display of affection, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your breath hitches.

A beat passes before the realization of what he just did hits him. Jinchul’s eyes widen, and he quickly snatches his hand back as if he was scalded. And was it your imagination, or were his ears turning pink? He awkwardly clears his throat before opening his mouth. ‘Are you alright? Did Taeshik harm you in any way?’ You read his lips closely, appreciating the pauses and slow enunciation of his words. Jinchul was aware that you could lip read rather efficiently, and this made it easier to communicate with him since he would not have to always rely on an interpreter.

You shake your head and see him breathing a sigh of relief. ‘He won’t ever be allowed near you again; I will make sure of it.’ Jinchul is back to his usual no-nonsense demeanor it seems. But what had caused him to act so… tender towards you? And Taeshik? The man had always been creepy and taciturn, but he never went out of his way to torment you. If Jinchul hadn’t arrived at just the right time, you could have been assaulted. You feel bile rising to your throat at the thought. Why was this happening? You were always careful and made sure to take your heat suppressants every day. None of the alphas you worked with had ever tried to hurt you before, so why? Unless you were going into heat, but that shouldn’t be possible…

You suddenly break into a sob, overcome with emotion. Your distress causes Jinchul to spring into action. He promptly removes his blazer and drapes it over your shoulders to ward off the chill of the night. Jinchul then produces an embellished handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to you. He hesitates before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder and his lips move again. ‘I’m here for you,’ he mouths. You wipe away the tears with the handkerchief and stifle your cries into its soft fabric. All the while, Jinchul remains by your side and grants you as much time as you need to collect yourself. When the tears finally run their course, you lower the ruined cloth from your face and chance a timid glance at him.

Jinchul regards you with a pensive expression on his sharp features. He withdraws his hand from your shoulder and reaches back into his pocket to pull out his phone. He then begins typing away and once finished with his message, he hands the device over to you, displaying the contents of his notebook app.

"As director of this film, I want you to know that I will always prioritize the wellbeing of our cast and crew. With that being said, the actions I witnessed Kang Taeshik commit tonight were morally reprehensible. I won’t disclose the full details of the discussion I had with him, as I do not wish to cause you any further emotional distress. I will say that I can personally attest to the fact that Kang Taeshik sought to menace and harm you while you were in a vulnerable state of heat."

You feel your heart sink into the pit of your stomach as you skim over the last sentence. So Jinchul knew you had unexpectedly gone into heat? Of course he would; he was an alpha. How could you have been so stupid? The director was most certainly going to see you as a liability now… you may even end up losing your job.

You reluctantly force yourself to continue reading. If this to be the conclusion of your tenure, then at least you would see it through to the bitter end.

"Please do not blame yourself for what has happened. Your disposition as an omega has no bearing on your contract or employment, nor does it offer an excuse for an alpha, or anyone for that matter, to harass you. It is with impartial and sound judgment that I have made the executive decision to terminate Kang Taeshik and remove him from production effective immediately. This will cause some inevitable delays, but an impromptu casting call can be arranged in the meantime. I’m willing to run over schedule if it guarantees everyone’s safety."

You exhale and feel all the tension dissipate from your body. So, you weren’t the one being let go, Taeshik was. You hadn’t known much about Woo Jinchul beforehand, but you were thankful that he was a man of good character. This was becoming exceedingly rare in an industry composed of unscrupulous and morally bankrupt members of the upper echelons.

You type back a response before handing him his phone.

"I am so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you. I really don’t understand what happened. I’ve been taking suppressants for years, and an alpha has never tried to threaten me before. Thank you for stepping in to protect me. I really don’t know what he was planning to do."

You couldn’t help but apologize even though Jinchul had vindicated you. What leaves you reeling, however, is the reply he gives you when the mobile device is back in your hands.

"I should be the one to apologize, not you. My behavior towards you earlier was incredibly uncouth, and for that, I am deeply sorry. As director, I should be conducting myself in a manner that is more befitting. Instead, I allowed my instincts as an alpha to impair my judgement. I promise this shall not happen again."

Uncouth behavior? Did he mean when he was brushing your hair from your face? How could he be apologetic about something so innocuous? The implications don’t fully register until you replay that last sentence: My instincts as an alpha. Instincts…alpha…!?!

He was reacting to your pheromones.

That evening, Jinchul insisted on having you treated at the on-site infirmary. Alas, with few medical staff and even less equipment it was difficult to determine what was causing your symptoms. Was it possible your medication was no longer working? Omega suppressants were highly effective, but that didn’t mean they were infallible. A missed dose or interaction with another drug could negate the effects. But you weren’t taking any other medications, and you never missed a dose.

Needing a second opinion, you were transported to the emergency room at a nearby hospital for further evaluation. Jinchul had opted to let Cha and Jinho drive you there after explaining your circumstances to them (minus the issue with Kang Taeshik; he was keeping it under wraps for now). Unlike him, they were both betas which made them immune to your pheromones.

You ended up being kept overnight for observation. After running a series of tests, including labs to assess your hormones and an ultrasound, you were found to be undergoing a pseudo estrus or ‘false heat’ as it’s more commonly referred to.

Unlike a regular heat, a false heat occurs only when a highly compatible alpha is within close vicinity of an omega. This in turn triggers a massive release of pheromones leading to an increase in libido, fever-like symptoms, cramping, and fatigue. Whoever this alpha was, their presence was so virile that your heat suppressants were fully canceled out by them.

You were questioned extensively about your experience by the healthcare team. "Do you have any partners? Are you sexually active? Is there anyone you work with who is an alpha? When did you first start experiencing the signs of your heat?" The list was never-ending. With the help of an interpreter, you answered everything to the best of your ability. And by the end of it all, you were still at a loss.

No one on that yacht had been emitting that scent, you were sure of it. It had to have been someone wholly unrelated. Perhaps a fisherman or a swimmer? But it was late and everyone who was local to the island knew better than to risk the waters at night. Everyone except you and the entourage on board the yacht, that is.

Frustrated, you eventually gave up on trying to figure out the identity of your potential mate. Your physician, a compassionate fellow omega by the name of Min Byung-Gu, strongly recommended an entire week of bed rest for you. This was to serve as a means of letting the heat cycle run its course. You were also provided with prescription medications to alleviate your symptoms.

Resting was crucial. Any physical stress or strain could worsen your condition, and omegas were particularly susceptible to injury or illness while at their sexual peak. In addition to this, your doctor recommended ceasing all contact with alphas, effectively barring you from returning to work. You were crestfallen at this, but you acquiesced knowing it was for the sake of your recovery.

To avoid any mishaps, Jinchul arranged for you to stay in a penthouse for the time being. The lavish suite was situated on the very top floor of a deluxe condominium, affording you all the personal comforts and privacy you would need. You couldn’t help but snort when you opened the door to your new living quarters. It was like you were a goddamn princess trapped in a tower.

As if that wasn’t enough, your boss had also hired two very intimidating bodyguards. Both were betas who had been tasked with protecting you during your heat. The first to be introduced was a hulking beast of a man called Thomas Andre. He was huge, with a herculean frame that looked to be made of steel rather than flesh and blood. A wild mane of blonde hair and intricate patterns of black ink also adorned his chest and arms, making him even more imposing.

The disarming smile he gives you is anything but, however. He’s also surprisingly gentle with you when he shakes your hand.

Your other bodyguard had a physicality that was far less egregious, but his razor-edged gaze, unnervingly calm composure, and the bulging muscles of his arms revealed a powerful aura that was not to be underestimated. This man had gone by the name of Liu Zhigang, a master swordsman of the highest caliber and one of the strongest individuals in China.

He too, had been unexpectedly friendly, even going so far as to ruffle your hair and calling you a “good girl,” in his native language. Your interpreter had been particularly scandalized while signing this to you after you were insistent on finding out what he said. You, on the other hand, thought it was rather cute, especially when juxtaposed with his tough guy image. There had also been no ill intent or malice in his words; he was being genuinely amiable to you, just as Thomas Andre had been.

Perhaps you could make do with this situation. But you could only imagine how hefty of a price tag these two highly skilled warriors could warrant. Jinchul was sparing absolutely no expense on you. He must have felt terribly guilty about your traumatic experience that night…

You make a vow with yourself not to take his generosity for granted.

And so, the next week passes by rather uneventfully. You ended up becoming stir crazy right from the beginning. You had been so accustomed to the fast-paced lifestyle of a makeup artist and hair stylist that the very concept of wasting the day away seemed foreign. Gone were the 12–14-hour shifts that had once encompassed your daily routine. It was maddening, this sudden lack of purpose.

Sleeping, reading, eating, and binge-watching dramas with closed captioning had been your main escape from the dullness of being confined to bed all day. No one, not even your parents, Jinho, or Cha had been permitted to visit you while on bedrest. Jinchul and Min Byung-Gu had advised you to limit all external stimulation while you were in heat. You understood the importance of this, but it did nothing to prepare you for the overwhelming loneliness that awaited you.

Sure, your bodyguards had been cordial to you, but they were preoccupied with keeping watch over the premises and warding off any intruders. Neither one had time to engage with you beyond a simple greeting or farewell. Even your interpreter kept her presence scarce, coming only twice per day to check in with you and to relay messages from your friends, family, and the director.

It was as if you were a bird in a gilded cage. Locked away, out of sight, and out of mind. You hated every second of it. You wanted to curse the cruel hand you were dealt, to resent the alpha who had caused you all this misery in the first place. But…

You couldn’t bring yourself to do it no matter how unbearable the isolation became.

Once those seven agonizingly slow days were over and done, you were given medical clearance to resume your job. You never thought you would be so happy to work again. Of course, you still had some restrictions in place. Jinchul wanted you to take it easy, so he requested that you work no more than 4-6 hours per day. At this point, you were willing to do anything if it kept you out of that forlorn penthouse.

In addition to this, you were prescribed a significantly higher dosage of oral heat suppressants. It was to be used as a prophylactic to ensure you would not enter a second heat. The side-effects had been merciful, with nothing more than the occasional bout of nausea and a loss of appetite to show for.

Jinho and Cha were ecstatic to see you again, although your other colleagues were far less enthusiastic. The attentiveness and apparent favoritism towards you by the director did not go unnoticed. You were predictably met with the cold shoulder by many of your peers upon your return. It didn’t help that Jinchul had kept the confrontation between him and Taeshik confidential. Only executive producer Go and your bodyguards were made aware. This was done to protect you and to prevent the besmirching of your character by the media. The rest of the cast and crew had simply been told that Taeshik had departed from the film due to ‘irreconcilable and creative differences.’ The purple haired man’s PR team, for their part, also appeared to be going with this story.

Frankly, you could care less about what your coworkers thought of you. You were just glad that you never had to be around a horrible psychopath like Taeshik ever again. Cha and Jinho, on the other hand, had taken it upon themselves to act as your newly appointed bodyguards in Thomas’s and Zhigang’s stead. Any nasty gossip or snide remarks were met with a frosty glare from the blonde woman and threats of litigation from the heir apparent of Yoojin Construction.

You couldn’t have asked for better friends or a more considerate boss, but you were starting to find the constant protection and coddling from them to be too much. You were a woman with her own autonomy after all. And yet you were being treated like a piece of glass, as if you would shatter with the slightest gust of wind. It was suffocating and your newly toxic work environment certainly wasn’t making matters any better.

To keep yourself grounded (and from going insane) you had taken to embarking on early morning walks along the beach. The peace and tranquility were a welcome solace from the tumultuous reality of your situation. You could spend hours getting lost in the beauty of the dawning sun.

You should have known this temporary serenity was not to last.

That Sunday had started out much like any other morning. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, changed into a pair of leggings with a matching sports bra, and slid on some comfortable running shoes. It was a little before dawn, and you were hoping to catch the breathtaking sight of the sunrise along the sandy marshes of the island. You weren’t scheduled to work, so you had all the time in the world to explore and enjoy nature. You planned to make the most of it.

You start off by walking to a well-known bakery to purchase some freshly made kkwabaegi. The crispiness of the fried dough complements your coffee perfectly. After eating your sweet treat, you continue your journey, heading southbound for a local beach. The area was usually a tourist trap in the summer, but it was much less populated at this time of day.

The moment your foot connects with the sand, you are instantly hit by the familiar smell of lavender and sandalwood. You begin to panic.

Shit! It was that alpha from a few weeks ago!

You know the right thing to do, the reasonable thing to do, would be to turn back and run. You were all alone in a secluded area with someone who was potentially dangerous. The last time you were near them, you had been rendered completely helpless just from their pheromones alone. If you got too close to them, you could end up going into another heat.

The other possibilities were more nightmarish. You’d heard horror stories about depraved alphas who would kidnap omegas and force them into becoming their mates against their will. Dominance amongst alphas these days was often synonymous with entitlement, something many of them would use to justify their disgusting actions. If this person nearby was of the same barbaric mindset…

Despite the storm of conflicting emotions raging within you, you remain rooted to the spot. It was just no use; you couldn’t convince yourself to retreat. Curiosity and the need for closure far outweighed your fear and anxiety. You had to find out the identity of this individual, regardless of the risk.

You steel yourself before nervously trudging in the direction of the scent. For whatever reason, the strength of the alpha’s pheromones was nowhere near the same extent as it was on that night. It was soothing this time, like a hot shower at the end of an exhausting day. Had the increased dose of your heat suppressants been responsible for this? Well, no use in questioning it now.

As the aroma grows stronger, you find yourself heading closer towards the sea. The sun was starting to peak over the tussling waves, and you briefly turned your head to avoid receiving an eyeful of blinding light. It’s in the periphery of your vision that you finally see him: the alpha that had been evading you for so long.

Even from a several yards away, you can tell he’s quite tall; standing at a height of around 185 cm. He’s also naked from the waist up, with only a pair of shredded jeans on his figure. But what captivates you most is the feverishness and intensity of his gaze. No one had ever looked at you like this before. It was almost reverent. Like you were some kind of deity.

The man staggers towards you slowly. Had he been hurt? There didn’t appear to be a scratch on him, although his remaining clothes were a mess. You reason that he must be experiencing heat exhaustion. This would explain why he had taken off his shirt. Your hackles lowered, you decide to throw caution to the wind and approach the man.

His body gives out just as you begin to close the distance between the two of you. You immediately pick up the pace, turning your walk into a jog. You’re able to catch him right before he falls face first into the sand. That was a close one, you think, releasing a breath you weren’t even aware you were holding. You’re able to fully take in the man’s appearance now that he was close enough to hold.

He was unspeakably handsome. As a stylist in the entertainment industry, you’ve seen your fair share of gorgeous celebrities. But all of them paled in comparison to the robust beauty of the man before you. Unblemished olive skin that was smooth to the touch. Silken ebony tresses that you were tempted to run your fingers through. And a God-like physique that had your pulse quickening. What you’d give to caress the rippling muscles of his torso...

Just who in the world was this ethereal alpha? And how was he able to sleep so soundly in the arms of a virtual stranger? The man had even nuzzled his face in between the valley of your breasts as if it was the most natural thing on earth! Oddly enough, you weren’t put off by his actions. In fact, you found them to be endearing. Was this what it was like to form a predestined bond with someone?

You briefly consider texting your friends to get help for the man but decide against it once you start weighing your options. If he was transported to the hospital, there was a chance he would be forcibly separated from you. What’s more, if it was found out that he was the one who caused your false heat, there could be far reaching consequences. You were still being monitored on set, and Jinchul might deem this man to be a threat to you.

He didn’t look to be injured, at least not physically, so you rule out the hospital. You deliberate for a few more minutes before ultimately choosing to wait and bide your time until he regained consciousness.

The two of you remain entangled in this strange embrace as stunning shades of orange, red, and yellow paint the sky. The waves shine incandescently in the sunlight, and you find yourself facing the ocean, distracted by its splendor. After a few minutes, you feel something shifting in your arms.

You return your focus to the man. He’s finally started to stir, groggily raising his head from your chest. You both lock eyes, your wide-eyed gaze contrasting with his half lidded one. You see his chapped lips open and close, mouthing only one word: 'Omega.'

You feel a shiver run down your spine. Alpha, your inner omega silently preens, instinct taking over.

The man attempts to talk to you again, but you hush him with the gentle press of your index finger to his lips. He obeys right away and makes no further efforts to speak. You had many questions that you wanted to ask, but that could wait for just a little longer. Your alph – no, this alpha, was in desperate need of some water. He looked awfully parched.

You unzip the tote bag you brought with you and sift through its contents before producing a canteen filled with water. You open it and push the lid to his mouth, motioning for him to drink. He follows your orders without a second thought, taking several generous gulps. Rivulets of excess water drip from the corner of his mouth, down his Adam’s apple, and you find yourself getting distracted by his body again. You internally curse as you feel yourself growing wet. You discreetly press your thighs together, hoping to dull the ache building between them.

You fail to notice the flare of the man’s nostrils or his blown-out pupils as he watches your actions from the corner of his eye.

When he’s finally had his fill, you cap your canteen and place it to the side. You then reach into your pocket and pull out your phone. The man shoots you an uneasy look when he sees it in your hand. Was he unfamiliar with mobile devices? You type a quick message in your notebook app and turn the screen towards him.

“I’m going to use my phone to communicate with you because I have a hearing impairment. Is that alright? I just want to make sure you aren’t hurt.”

The boyish look of surprise that crosses his face while he reads doesn’t escape you. He must not have been expecting you to be deaf. You anxiously await his response, unsure of what his reaction will be.

His expression morphs into something akin to barely concealed wonder, and he nods his head. You breathe deep and type away on your phone again. Your next message elaborates on your concerns.

"First, can you tell me if you’re in any pain or if you’re injured? If you are, I can get an ambulance for you. My name is Y/N, by the way.”

His eyes quickly flit over your words. In response, he dips one of his fingers into the wet sand. You’re curious at first, until you start to recognize the shapes that he’s drawing as letters. Why was he writing in the sand? Was he not comfortable with using your phone?

Once finished, his message reads:

“I’m unharmed. I do not need help. Thank you for the water.”

Great, so he wasn’t hurt. Now you can finally focus on getting some damn answers!

You start typing furiously, pouring all your heart into unspoken anger. As soon as you’re finished you nearly slam the mobile device into the man’s face. He blinks owlishly, looking adorably confused by your actions. You don’t know whether you want to slap or kiss him.

“Now that I know you’re okay, can you please answer a few questions for me? Tell me, were you sailing near a large yacht a few weeks ago? There was this scent that day, an alpha’s scent. It smelt incredible. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to find this person. And then I came across you! You have the exact same smell as them! And you’re obviously an alpha yourself since you recognized me as an omega right away. Please, just tell me who you are! I ended up going into heat because of that alpha, and I feel like I’ve been losing my mind over them!”

The man’s face flickers from shock to guilt as he reads your explosive words. You regret typing them almost immediately when you see the sadness in his steel gray eyes.

He tries to use your phone to write back, but he’s clumsy and ends up swiping his fingers over a bunch of random characters. He huffs and bites his lip, clearly embarrassed. Crap, now you were feeling even worse about unleashing your tirade on him. You’ve always had a temper on you, and it often led to you lashing out and hurting the people you cherished most. And now you had allowed your mounting frustration to get the better of you in front of this poor man. For all you knew, he could be an innocent bystander who was just trying to get some help after becoming overheated.

You had to set things right.

You gently take the phone from the man’s hands, place it in your lap, and cup his cheek. He nervously glances at you, afraid that you’ll still be mad at him. But he’s greeted by your warm smile instead. Reassured, his shoulders relax, and he leans into your touch. After a few moments, you withdraw your hand, eager to continue the conversation. You can’t help but mourn the loss of contact as you resume your typing, however. Your next message reads:

“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have taken out all my anger on you, especially when you probably don’t have anything to do with this. Please, allow me to start all over again and explain everything to you. Just so I can confirm if you’re the same person I bumped into several days ago. And don’t worry about having to use my phone. I’ve got a pen and a notebook you can write on.”

His eyes take on a hopeful sheen, and you have to force yourself to part from him in order to get to your bag. He really was too charming for his own good, this strange alpha…

That reminds you, you still hadn’t gotten his name!

Once the writing utensils are given to him, he starts scribbling away. His chicken scratch is barely legible, but it was better than nothing. Your handwriting wasn’t necessarily the best either, if you were being honest. He wrote:

“Omega, you are not at fault for anything. I should be the one asking for forgiveness. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most. My name is Sung Jin-woo, an alpha from Jindo-gun. I am the person who was exploring the area around that large boat several nights ago. I became worried when I smelt an omega’s scent. It was you; you were the omega I was seeking that day. I should have shown myself to you sooner. What happened to you after I left? Did any other alphas approach you?"

Sung Jin-woo, huh? It suited him. He had an oddly formal way of writing though, one that clashed with his youthful appearance. This time, you don’t miss the possessiveness in his eyes as he writes that last sentence.

‘Did any other alphas approach you?’

You gulp, reminiscing over the entire ordeal with Kang Taeshik. Should you even tell Jin-woo? By now the problem had been resolved and Taeshik was already fired. There was no reason for you to make Jin-woo feel even worse about causing your heat.

In the end, you choose not to mention Taeshik. He was out of the picture, and you didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

You resume typing in your notebook app, your response stating:

“No, not really. My boss found me on the verge of passing out, though. He’s an alpha so he could tell why I wasn’t feeling well. I was taken to a hospital by my friends since they’re both betas. I had to stay in bed for a week, but as you can already tell I’m alright now. I’m just glad I was finally able to meet you, Jin-woo 😊 You see, I work on that big ship. I’m a makeup artist and hair stylist, and the yacht is the set for a movie that’s being filmed…”

The next few hours pass in companiable silence as you communicate through pen strokes and text messages. Both you and Jin-woo had shared a considerable amount about one another over this time span.

You learn that Jin-woo had grown up on the island, much like you. He lived with his mother and little sister on the outskirts of town and served as the sole provider of the family after his father passed away. When you question what he did for a living, he paused before writing he was a fisherman. This would explain why he was out so early in the morning. The most ideal times to fish were sunset and sunrise. But how had his clothes gotten torn up like that? When you asked, he merely answered that he fell off his boat and had almost gotten swept up in the propellor. Apparently, his shirt and pants had been destroyed by the turning of the blades. You were incredulous at first, given just how dangerous that sounded, but Jin-woo had a way of selling you with his words. You eventually found yourself believing him despite your previous skepticism. He must have also been fishing that night two weeks ago.

Jin-woo had asked you many questions as well. He seemed particularly concerned about your heat cycle. When you disclosed the cause of it was your compatibility with him, his entire body tensed. Jin-woo’s hands then started to shake and you took one of them in your own to calm him. He glances at you, and you’re taken aback by the fire in his eyes. For the briefest of moments, you fear that you might’ve revealed something you shouldn’t have. Before you can compose an apology, Jin-woo releases your hand, picks up his pen, and starts writing again. Once finished, he gives you the notebook with an expression of apprehension on his face.

“Is this something you’re comfortable with? Now that we’ve met, I’m really interested in getting to know you more. But how do you feel about me? Do you want to continue this conversation? I understand if you’d want me to leave after everything you were forced to endure.”

How did you feel about him?

You mull over all that’s occurred since returning to your hometown. You had never expected to encounter so many trials and tribulations. By all accounts, you had every right to cease any further contact with Jin-woo. But you were undeniably intrigued by him. He had been nothing but respectful of your boundaries, and you found yourself being drawn in by his earnest personality. If nothing else came from this meeting between the two of you, then at least you could become friends.

You type an honest response and wait on bated breath as he reads it:

“I’m not sure how I feel about us right now. Honestly, I don’t believe in things like destiny or fate when it comes to finding a soulmate. But I do want to continue seeing you. I also would like to learn more about you as a person. Maybe we can take things slow and figure it out from there. What do you say, Jin-woo😉?”

All the anxiety seems to melt away from Jin-woo’s face. A cute grin tugs at his lips, lighting his darkened visage.

His answer is succinct:

“I’d really like that, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat. That was the first time he used your name.

A small part of you starts to wonder if the two of you really are fated to be together. Cheesy as it sounds, you were more than willing to take a chance on this budding relationship with Jin-woo.

Little did you know this meeting would set in motion a series of tragic events that would shatter countless lives and forever leave a stain on the island’s reputation.

🔱 To be continued...

Tag list 1:

🪼 @the-dumber-scaramouche @ghostdoodlen

@skylar896 @phisen @eliciana

Tag list 2:

🐬 @asylrd @mochinon-yah

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circle-around-again · 2 years ago

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The Wrath of Darth Maul by Ryder Windham. Notes & Quotes.

Prologue.

*This is something I have been thinking of doing for a while. I'm a weirdo who likes deep reading texts and mining them for meaning. I have been doing it for this text for some time. I thought I might share it, but more importantly, create a catalogue for myself of notes. I don't know how this will be received, if it will be at all.

This catalogue will present interesting quotes, running themes, headcanons, and an exploration of Maul's experiences. Feel free to browse or use at your leisure. Spoilers ahead.

[scene: spidermaul in the tunnels].

"The prong-nosed rat knew that the dark heap lying in the tunnel was a dead man." (Windham, 1).

This is the first quote of the text. First quotes often hold thematic weight, and frame the story that is to come. It is interesting that Maul is described as a "heap" -- an object, not a body, and that he is specifically described as "dead." This narration establishes that 1) he is worthless, and 2) he is doomed. Fitting for his character, I think. Obligatory world-building: he ate rats to survive, scavenged waterproof fabrics to sleep under, and was an ambush predator who played dead to lure in prey.

"The legs were unevenly jointed, cannibalized from the parts of ruined droids, each leg ending with a tapered point." (2).

Cannibalism mention :3. Interesting that what is cannibalised is a droid, a being in star wars that is not even considered alive. For Maul to cannibalise a droid, on some level, he must thematically be considered a droid. Obligatory world-building: Maul doesn't remember how he got there, how he got his legs, where he is or who he is. He lives as an animal, but with one thing added: "pure and total hatred" (2). Note: unlike The Clone Wars, Maul does not speak and rave. In this depiction, he is silent, as he was in The Phantom Menace.

"He knew that he wasn't a man anymore, that he hadn't been one for years. He was just a creature in a filthy tunnel. And then he remembered the object of his hatred. A man... the man who left me for dead." (3).

Gendered reading: Maul states here that he doesn't consider himself a man anymore. One reading is that, without the bodily aesthetics, obligations and power of conventional masculinity, Maul considers himself worthless (toxic masculinity). Perhaps, he has been drawn towards another gender expression. Maul notably, doesn't even consider himself to be "human." This is a very sad glimpse into Maul's sense of self-esteem. He has also internalised Sidious' vision of an absolute hierarchy of life. Obligatory world-building: Maul has a tantrum when he can't remember things, and destroys his surrounding environment. This does not satisfy him at all. It is interesting to note his coping mechanisms at his lowest point.

"It was then, while he felt his hatred burning within, that a spark ignited in his mind. And he saw a sea of fire..." (4).

A couple of thematic links that I would like to point out: "hatred" and "within" encapsulates Sith philosophy; the inverse of kindness throughout. What begins this journey through his memories is a "spark" - a common phrase I know, but also one intensely linked to Sidious and his primary element of force lightning. Sidious is a catalyst, and the secret at the centre of his being. The oxymoron of "sea" and "fire." This is his literal childhood home, of course. But, later in this novel, Maul's beloved memories of friendship will occur by a sea. I believe it intertwines the characters of both Maul and Kilindi. HC: the previous page ended with Maul remembering a Man to blame... yet this novel begins with the memories of his time in Mustafar under his master. It is of my belief that this unnamed man is Sidious, not Obi-Wan Kenobi.

#The Wrath of Darth Maul #Notes & Quotes #Prologue #my analysis #my hcs

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optiwashere · 1 year ago

Note

Have you seen the theory that the Blighted Village was actually Shadowhearts original home with her parents? That's why there was a selenite temple near by and why there's a Sharran temple under it also abandoned.

There's also a secret cutscene when Shadowheart reads a children's book in the house you find Lump the enlightened in. That triggers her scar and gives dialogue about how the place is familiar.

I've seen the theory that Moonhaven/Blighted Village was her home! I think I've also seen some stuff that conflicts with that in terms of timeline, but I'll be honest I don't really like the theory in the first place so I haven't paid much attention to it.

As with anything else in the game, if you enjoy the theory then have fun with it! You'll hear no shame from me for liking it, but it just doesn't sit well for me is all.

I think making Moonhaven her home makes the whole thing too tidy for me. There's already a lot of plot convenient locations in the game that I'm willing to accept because making Baldur's Gate the city a literal climax of themes and quests is perfectly good, but when the characters' backstories start becoming that intertwined with the areas you visit that early in the game I get a little weary. Reminds me of Star Wars and its terrible problem of making everything happen in one or two places and all around the same two families. Plus, in Faerûn there are temples to every (non awful) god everywhere, you could find a shrine to Selûne on any random road really.

I personally prefer Shadowheart's original home being nowhere important because it's unimportant to her story. Or I guess I should say that it's more meaningful and thematically resonant that her original home is Anywhere.

So things like her remembering the children's book is, to me, more about her having vague recollections of her childhood (i.e., a Selûnite upbringing) rather than it literally being the village where she grew up or even a book she read as a child. The pseudo-random nature of her backstory enhances the tragedy and poignancy of it IMO.

#hey you can ask me things!#though I'm sure there's a Selûne Approved reading curriculum that probably includes the same five or six books lmao

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mediamixs · 10 months ago

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Top 10 Latin American Horror Movies

Here are ten notable Latin American horror movies that showcase the genre's unique cultural narratives and chilling storytelling:

We Are What We Are (Somos lo que hay) (2010) - Directed by Jorge Michel Grau, this Mexican film explores the dark theme of cannibalism within a family struggling to maintain their horrific traditions after the patriarch's death. It reflects on societal decay and urban poverty.

The Devil's Backbone (El espinazo del diablo) (2001) - A classic by Guillermo del Toro, this Spanish film set during the Spanish Civil War tells the haunting story of a ghost in an orphanage. It intertwines themes of loss and childhood trauma with supernatural elements.

Terrified (Aterrados) (2017) - Directed by Demián Rugna, this Argentine film follows paranormal investigators as they confront inexplicable events in a Buenos Aires neighborhood. It has been praised for its intense atmosphere and compelling narrative.

The House at the End of Time (La Casa del Fin de los Tiempos) (2013) - Alejandro Hidalgo's Venezuelan film combines elements of time travel and horror as a woman returns to her haunted home years after being accused of murder, uncovering dark family secrets.

La Llorona (2019) - This Guatemalan film by Jayro Bustamante reimagines the legend of the Weeping Woman against the backdrop of historical genocide, exploring themes of guilt and justice through its haunting narrative.

Vuelven (2017) - Directed by Issa López, this Mexican film blends horror with social commentary as a young girl, after her mother's disappearance, encounters ghosts while navigating the dangers of street violence.

No Dormirás (2018) - This psychological horror film from Argentina, directed by Gustavo Hernández, follows actors in an abandoned mental hospital as they experiment with insomnia, leading to terrifying consequences.

La Casa Muda (2010) - A groundbreaking Uruguayan film by Gustavo Hernández, shot in a single take, it tells the story of a father and daughter trapped in a haunted house, creating an immersive and terrifying experience.

The Silent House (La Casa Muda) (2010) - Another entry by Hernández, this film is based on real events and follows a young woman trapped in a house with mysterious forces, heightening the tension through its unique filming style.

Cronos (1992) - Guillermo del Toro's debut feature film revolves around an antique dealer who discovers a device that grants eternal youth but at a horrific cost. This film is a blend of horror and fantasy, showcasing del Toro's signature style.

These films not only deliver scares but also delve into cultural themes, making them significant contributions to the horror genre.

#top 10 list #horror movies

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siderealxmelody · 7 months ago

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Played with Google's Notebook.lm, it's AI tool that digests a lot of data and analyzes it fun. This is what it had to say about Sotoria's impact on things based on ask drafts I put in:

Sotoria's impact on the narrative is significant, even in her absence. Her death, specifically at the hands of Kolis, is revealed to be a catalyst for a civil war that engulfs the Fae realm1. This highlights the first overarching conflict from our previous conversation: the ramifications of the centuries-long war between the Fae and Asteri, demonstrating how a single event can trigger widespread chaos and violence.

Even after her death, Sotoria’s presence is felt through the actions and motivations of other characters:

●

Rhaegar: Rhaegar's actions, including his protection of Elianna and defiance of his father, are revealed to be driven by his lingering love for Sotoria23. His inability to move on highlights the lasting impact of her death on those who loved her, showcasing the complexity of love and loss explored throughout the narrative.

●

Kaden: Kaden's rage and grief over Sotoria's death are palpable, leading him to destroy their childhood vacation home in a fit of despair4. This destructive behavior underscores the profound impact of her loss on him, and how this grief intertwines with his struggles for autonomy and freedom after years of imprisonment.

●

Lucivar: Lucivar's decision to take their sons, Brannon and Actaeon, into hiding is driven by his desire to protect them from the fallout of Sotoria's death and the ensuing conflict5. This act of sacrifice speaks to the enduring power of their love, and how it continues to shape the lives of those connected to her, even after her death.

●

Callum: Callum's possession of Sotoria's soul and his desire to use it to restore her and the Everflame, Autumn’s core, demonstrate the lasting significance of her power and the lengths to which others will go to reclaim it6. This introduces a moral dilemma surrounding the use of powerful magic, particularly in resurrecting the dead and potentially disrupting the balance of power.

Sotoria's story also highlights the theme of female agency, or the lack thereof, within this world. Her forced mating to Kolis, despite her clear lack of desire for him, exemplifies the societal pressures and expectations placed upon women, particularly those of royal lineage78. The fact that her supposed consent was used to justify this union further underscores the ways in which female voices are often silenced and their choices disregarded.

Overall, Sotoria's presence, even in death, casts a long shadow over the narrative, influencing the motivations and actions of other characters, and highlighting key thematic concerns such as war, loss, love, and the struggle for individual freedom.

@luxmaeastra

@starlsssankt

@sankta-alina-s

//Not sure if Lucivar is still canon but eh

#ooc post #willing to share link if anyone is interested :)

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wedreamedlove · 3 years ago

Photo

His official bookshelf shows what he’s read! It’s mostly mystery novels, war novels, and then random things. However, upon closer look, they cue his past a lot.

On Row 1, we have:

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie

The Black Echo by Michael Connelly

Malice by Keigo Higashino

On the surface, these just seem like murder mysteries, but Agatha Christie’s book examines the question of “who deserves punishment and how much when the victims are also murderers?”. This captures Osborn’s morality struggle and why he’s someone who stands in the gray zone.

Michael Connelly’s book is about morally ambiguous law officers and touches upon similarities of wartime and criminal behaviour, and how these strategies can be used for good.

Uh, let me just quote Osborn“Evil intertwined with power cannot be defeated by justice alone. The past had taught him this deeply.” [SSR The 400 Blows]. We’re talking about someone who, at 15 years old, decided to confront the rapist principal in an alleyway with a wooden bat. Who, later when he was an adult, created a “car accident” to take out the Yu Da Academy director.

Keigo Higashino’s book contains themes of envy, bullying, and childhood trauma. Yeah, that’s something Osborn isn’t lacking in his past either.

On Row 2, we have:

All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque

Private Peaceful by Michael Morpurgo

Decisive Moments in History by Stefan Zweig

Remarque’s book is about German soldiers in World War I and their physical and mental stress during the war and detachment from civilian life upon returning home. In my opinion, this probably reflects Osborn’s lack of family and escape from the hell that was Yu Da Academy, he’s been through things no ordinary child or adult can imagine and so this sets him apart from everyone.

Morpurgo’s book is about the senselessness of war and ineptitude of the commanding officer. Interestingly, the main character gets court-martialed and sentenced to death for cowardice because he disobeyed a direct order just so he could stay with his injured brother in no man’s land. Osborn never takes orders and he often takes people under his wing because a big brother should protect his little brothers (Wen Wan and Osborn’s relationship started from a sad note). On a side note, the Chinese title for this book is really cute, it’s “Oranges and Lemons”, and we all know that Osborn loves lemon candy.

I honestly don’t know why he likes Decisive Moments in History, but it does have random and cool facts?

On Row 3, we have:

Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie

The Lion in the Living Room: How Cats Tamed Us and Took Over the World by Abigail Tucker

Another Agatha Christie book that examines the question of “is it alright to kill a man, even if the law has acquitted him? Is it ever alright to kill a man?”. Osborn’s answer would be yes because he’s already done that LOL.

The last book doesn’t need an explanation. Osborn has an affinity with cats, even though he’s a dog-type boyfriend! He has Da Mi, Lil Xiao One, and his lazy kitten, Lil Xiao Five.

There’s actually one more book in relation to Osborn and it’s the book he chooses to read to you to coax you to sleep. It’s called Lonely Game by Yuan Zhesheng but, as far as I know, there’s no English translation. It’s a collection of short stories and Osborn reads out a passage that has hide-and-seek. The prose is amazing but also a little chilling. It leads to one of my favorite conversations though:

O: Mm, people who have been alone should understand this feeling of alienation. O: Hide-and-seek is interesting because someone cares for you, will search for you, and will look at you. O: Only when you’re seen by others can you be awakened from loneliness and return to the starting point of a group. O: Me? Maybe once before, but now I’m already back in the group.

As for me and my recommendations, it would all be romance novels. I get my deep and thought-provoking materials from games like these, haha. I know you said any genre is good, but I’d still like to know what exactly you’re in the mood for or looking for so that I can narrow the scope.

#光与夜之恋 #light and night #LN Osborn #LN Xiao Yi #meta of light and night

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insaani · 4 years ago

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“One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs, Or the thousand splendid suns that hide beneath her walls”- Saib-e-Tabrizi

Khaled Hosseini is an Afghan-American novelist who published A Thousand Splendid Suns in 2007. It's Hosseini’s second novel after his bestselling debut, The Kite Runner, published in 2003. A Thousand Splendid Suns is a heart-wrenching, coming of age story of two Afghan women, Mariam and Laila, both generations apart. The novel is about love and friendship that crossed borders but didn’t move an inch. It is divided into four parts.

The first part of the novel deals with the story of Mariam, an illegitimate child of a businessman and his maid. When Mariam is fourteen, she is asked to marry a 45-year-old widower, Rasheed. Her marriage started in blossoms until she could not provide Rasheed with a child and had seven miscarriages. That was when the dark clouds appeared in her marriage.

The second part of the novel starts with nine-year-old Laila. She was brought up in a progressive family. She is fierce, courageous and witty. Laila has a childhood sweetheart Tariq who is caring as well as protective towards her. He, with his family, decides to move to Pakistan amidst the chaos of war. Since Afghanistan was a city of war, soon bombs reached Kabul, one rocket hit her house, killing both her parents and wounding her badly. This tragic event results in the intertwining of the lives of Mariam and Laila.

The third part is the alternative narrative between Mariam and Laila after their lives are intertwined. They both become the co-wives of Rasheed after the death of Laila’s parents. Initially, they were hostile towards each other, but as soon as Laila gives birth to a baby girl, Aziza their friendship grows. After a year, Laila gives birth to a boy, Zalmai. One fateful day Laila meets Tariq outside their house. He comes back from Pakistan to Kabul to meet Laila and marry her. Rasheed, after hearing the news that Laila met Tariq in his house starts choking Laila. Mariam decides to save her life, takes a shovel and kills Rasheed. Taking the blame on her head, Mariam decides to spend her life in prison, asking Laila to run away with her kids and Tariq. Eventually, Mariam is executed.

The fourth section deals with the life of Laila after the death of Mariam, where she lives in Pakistan with her children and Tariq. They decide to return to Kabul after some years, but she goes to Herat in a small hut where Mariam used to live. She comes back, becomes a teacher and is pregnant again. If she has a girl, she will name her Mariam.

The novel is set in Afghanistan from the early 1960s to the early 2000s, containing the theme of female friendship between Mariam and Laila. There are rarely any good books that depict the bond between females so purely as this one. It was surprising to see a male writer write about the friendship of two females so effortlessly. We can also see the theme of love and loyalty when we see the love of Tariq for Laila makes him cross boundaries, the loyalty of Mariam towards his deceitful father and Laila. In 1996 when the Taliban entered Kabul, the condition of women worsened. They were not permitted to leave home without a male relative, and putting on cosmetics or jewellery were forbidden. They were not allowed to talk or make eye contact with men. They were only allowed to wear a burqa. If anyone breaks the rules, they will be severely beaten. The book portrays the suffering and perseverance of women and children in Afghanistan accurately. The suffocating life that they lived inside their house was claustrophobic.

The novel has a bagful beautiful metaphors. The title itself is borrowed from a heart-rending poem written by a seventeenth-century Aghan poet, Saib-e-Tabrizi. “One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs, Or the thousand splendid suns that hide beneath her walls”. Here, we can interpret that the moons signify the men who are always above us, the head of the family, whereas the suns denote the women who hide inside the walls of the house. There are also symbols like pebbles that Rasheed forces Mariam to chew, after which she breaks her molars which indicates the beginning of their broken marriage. The writing style is lyrical with smooth transitions where the readers don’t feel they are missing something. His writing style has the power to arouse pity and fear for the characters. He did not intentionally write it to make you cry but rather portrayed the condition of women in that period. Some phrases are going to stay in your life forever. A Thousand Splendid Suns is a must-read for everyone as it captures love and suffering woven together with a thread of history.

Disclaimer- Before you start reading this book, I suggest you keep a box of tissues because you will cry buckets. Don’t read this book if you're in a hurry as some lines will make you think hard about life.

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buckyandberries · 5 years ago

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good news

Summary: Y/N, who works at the local Brooklyn Diner is nervous to tell her boys about some important news.

Pairing: 40s!Bucky x Female Reader

Warnings: uh

Word Count: 1,034

A/N: ok, yas 40s Buck and Steve!1!!11! so I've never written a 1940s themed imagine so bare with me lol I might use some slang bc why not lmao. also, Nancy/Betsy means you can choose either name - I do it because you might have the same name as an OC which is confusing so yeah - let me know if I should keep doing this in the future or if it’s annoying

please don’t copy my work, but feel free to reblog :)

"So, ya told ya boys about ya new job yet, kitten?" my fellow waitress, Nancy/Betsy, waltzed over, eager to hear my answer.

"Take a powder, Nance/Bets," I rolled my eyes, taking the empty plates of a customer and smilin' to 'em as they got up to leave.

"Look, Y/N, I'm just lookin' out for ya," I put the plates down on the counter, watchin' her take them, placing them in the sink. I sighed, loosening the ties of my apron, leaning my folded arms on the cool surface.

"You need to tell 'em at some point," her thick accent threaded each of her words as I nodded. "I know, I'm telling them today, they're swingin' 'round soon," I said as I heard the bell of the diner door ring.

I tightened my apron again, before watching Nancy/Betsy's smile turn into a smirk. Just as I turned around to welcome the customers, I felt a firm arm swing around my tired shoulders.

"Hey, doll, guess who," I felt hands cover my eyes as I shook my head, laughing to myself. "By that nickname, I wanna say it's that handsome fella-- J-- help me out here, Nance/Bets,"

"Oh, yeah, uh-- Ja-- no-- Jo--" I interrupted. "Joe! Oh, he was a hunk!" I heard Nancy/Betsy's famous cackle as I removed the hands. I turned around, meeting the baby blues I knew all too well.

"Haha, incorrect, Y/N," I smiled as he intertwined our fingers. "I hope you're joking,"

"Of course, hey James," I watched him unleash his grand smile, making my heart skip a beat.

"Hey, Steve, you guys want anything?" I let go of his hands, walking to my other childhood friend, the one I wasn't secretly in love with. I hugged him before he returned a smile.

"No, no, we're all good," he said as he and Bucky sat on the stools, while Nancy/Betsy and I cleaned up. I heard the familiar rustle of Bucky opening the paper, mumbling some of the headlines about the war and Stark Industries.

It was nearing the end of the day, meaning I had to tell the guys about my new job. You see, Nancy/Betsy and I made a bet that if she could get the telephone number of any customer I chose, I had to tell 'em. Of course, she got the number, everyone had the hots for her, despite her camp happy personality.

"How was your day, Y/N?" Steve asked as I shooed their arms to clean the counter underneath.

"Busy, I'm beat," I said before yawning, causing the pair to chuckle.

"Well, you still look gorgeous, doll," Bucky said as I went back to cleaning, trying to hide my tinted cheeks.

I looked over to Steve to see him smiling widely at me. He and Nancy/Betsy were the only souls who knew about my little crush on the guy. As I scolded him with my eyes, Nancy/Betsy walked out with her coat and bag draped around her arm, bumping her hip into mine.

"Hey, toots, don't ya have somethin' to tell these hunks?" she said before saying her goodbyes to us since her shift was over, and she had a date! I turned back to the guys, seeing their eyes flash with interest.

"You haven't secretly married this 'Joe' guy and are running away together are you?" Steve joked as Bucky hit the nape of his neck with the now rolled-up newspaper.

"No," I said as I watched Bucky relax almost - huh. "So, you know how I've been training for my medical degree?" I asked as they both nodded.

They both definitely knew since they helped me through the insane amount of stress it caused me.

"So, of course, they postponed graduation because of the war, but because they needed some extra help," I ran to the room at the back to retrieve a certificate. "They gave me this certificate which basically says I've graduated--" they both gasped.

"And-- and they offered me a job as a war nurse!" before I could figure out what was going on, Bucky ran over, lifting me, spinning me around in his arms.

"Y/N! That's amazing!" Steve said looking at the certificate.

"I'm so proud of you, doll," Bucky said into my hair before letting me down.

"I know, it all happened so quickly that I didn't even know what to say--"

"You said yes, right?" Bucky asked, still clutching my waist. I looked between him and Steve, opening my mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

"Y/N!" Steve said as I sighed, as I bit the inside of my cheek. "This is what you want to do! Even though I'm highly doubtful, you may never get an opportunity like this again!" he continued as I nodded. "You know how strict they are when it comes to hiring medical professionals,"

"He's right, even though you are the best of the best," Bucky said. "Is something bothering you? My Y/N would've said yes right away," I almost fainted at the fact that he called me 'his'.

"I-- It's just-- you can't save 'em all, ya know. I know that's what I signed up for, but I don't know if I could handle that guilt," I looked down, avoiding the sympathetic gazes of my best friends.

"Look, Y/N, we're at war, lives are gonna be lost, no matter what. But we're doing all this for our country, for a good cause," I looked over to Steve and then Bucky.

"You've got this, you're able to take care of this guy," Bucky joked, pointing to Steve, as we laughed.

"Alright then, I'm meeting Colonel Phillips tomorrow, I'll tell him the good news!" I said as I paused, taking in the excitement I had about being a nurse.

A little after that, I closed the diner and the pair walked me home to my family home - yes I was still living at home, purely because of my ma not wanting me to live alone or with a stranger. After I said goodbye, I went straight to bed, longing to go tell Colonel Phillips the news the next day.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel

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emmasmith2002 · 5 years ago

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Deidre Brown - Under and Over

In this design segment I gathered inspiration from my own home site. I studied my surroundings for inspiration and an over theme to integrated within my design and also looked at history and culture of the area around my site; this being Browns Bay.

Over Inspiration/ Study:

Taking photos from different times during the day starting from 7 in the morning until 9 at night. From the photos it showed lots of nature that bordered the boundaries of my site. Taking this I came up with the concept for a garden design. This typology was further developed to the idea of a communal garden which was inspired by the sites borderlines themselves. My site borders with 8 other sites and was central to bordering housing.

Observational sketches were also made based on where I was during the day, some afternoon and some in the morning. I had a look at the shadows and weather conditions that changed with time on my site. Again I saw the different border lines and was decided on my concept of creating a communal garden.

Under Inspiration/ Study:

Taking the topographical line drawn at the top of the painting is sectioned from my site and beneath I created a piece of art under the ground with features and inspirations from the local community & history of the area.

Browns Bay has a heavy and rich history of the World War. Freyberg park just a minutes walk down the road from my site was named after Bernard Freyberg, Governor General and leader of the armed forces in New Zealand.Browns Bay also has a war memorial stone/ remembrance stone and is a popular site for annual ANZAC parades. Poppies were used to represent and bring through this theme as well as the soldier and the New Zealand Flag.

The hills in the artwork are to represent the valley and the hillsides that my site is situated within, bringing the Idea of the land into my work. The land around Browns Bay also used to be farm land which, helped to tie all my themes together.

Over Theme: Community.

Under Theme: Culture and History.

Overall Theme: Interlinking and Intertwining.

Designing Process:

Quick concepts were made playing with circular and organic forms inspired by the nature around and the lay of the land.

Culture was soon added, however I wanted more integrated within the design.

Koru: Growth and rebirth and deep connection to the earth.

Was the main and prominent design feature that became the core of the designs and somewhat of a starting point for developing this second concept further. I thought this was the Idea symbol to use in my design as it tied those original themes together. This really gave clarity to my design and solidified the bond between my themes I was designing to.

From this design I looked at further inspirations, such as, Aldo Van Eyck; a Dutch architect who in 1966 designed the Sonsbeek Pavilion in Arnhem, Netherlands. This design was also focusing in on the idea of community and had amazing little spaces where people would bump into each other through walking around and exploring the space. This became something I wanted to translate into my design as well (making it a space for people to meet and explore too). Aldo Van Eyck's shapes also influenced the overall look of my design and some of these shapes were adapted into features such as benches and seating for my design.

This more finalized design came from the further research mentioned above but the design still felt disjointed so I looked back at Maori Culture, something I really wanted to bring to my design as I thought It would be important as a public space to celebrate the culture of New Zealand. So I looked into the idea of interlinking and intertwining and looked at Kowhaiwhi patterns. These made it into the final design on the walls of the raised grass sections. Tying this together with he history of war I wanted these patterns to have a link with the war as this was a major part of my areas history.

So, I looked for further inspiration. This started from the remembrance stone in the Bay and from there I looked further into this idea. I got more inspiration from the Remembrance stone in Plymouth, England; a place my mum would spend childhood holidays at and who’s grandfather was on the plaques of remembrance. I really liked the idea of displaying the soldiers names and decided that the way my Kowhaiwhi patterns would interlink with my area’s history of the War, would be that they were carved and shaped by names of local soldiers who served or are serving.

With all this research and development of inspiration and concepts I came up with my 3 final drawings bringing everything together.

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dweemeister · 6 years ago

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Shoplifters (2018, Japan)

Films not in the English language are difficult sells in the United States. Over the decades, there have been a few waves, false dawns, of non-English language films and filmmaking figures becoming established figures in America’s culture. In the 1950s, with its domestic cinema regaining its foothold in the aftermath of World War II, Japan gave to the West a number of acclaimed, widely-seen films. Director Yasujirô Ozu (1953′s Tokyo Story, 1959′s Floating Weeds) was not among those directors who made their names internationally in those years – despite initial attempts to distribute his films outside of Japan, he was beaten to the punch by directors whose films (unintentionally) catered to Western expectations of exoticism and Orientalist thinking. Ozu – a specialist in meditative familial dramas – has only become known outside Japan within the last few decades, thanks to the increased interconnectivity of world cinema.

This brings us to Hirokazu Koreeda, perhaps Japan’s best living filmmaker but almost unknown outside of Japan and moviegoers with access to theaters that don’t always show the newest blockbuster. Koreeda’s narrative focus is similar to but less aesthetically rigid than Ozu – his films, like Ozu’s, display little Western influence (the two most popular living Japanese directors are Hayao Miyazaki and Takashi Miike; they both are heavily influenced by Western films). With the democratization of movie availability thanks to home media and streaming, Koreeda’s reputation should be blossoming. But in the last great waves of non-English language films becoming popular in North America (the 1950s-60s and late 1990s to mid-2000s), there were nationally-trusted film critics that served as gatekeepers and arthouse/revival theaters and video stores that served as local curators to accessing these movies. The democratization of film criticism (which, yes, applies to this movie-reviewing tumblr), the retreat of arthouse/revival theaters from rural and many suburban areas in North America, and the death of video stores have narrowed the options for Koreeda and filmmakers like him to gain greater recognition across the Pacific. For one of the best films of 2018, Shoplifters has had a miniscule release.

Shoplifters is the story of the Shibata family. Though some of the family members are related, they are, in part, a closely-knit found family. Father Osamu (Lily Franky) and his “son” Shota (Kairi Jô) support the family through their shoplifting; mother Nobuyo (Sakura Andô) works at an industrial laundry; young adult Aki (Mayu Matsuoka) works at a hostess club; the elderly Hatsue (Kirin Kiki) owns the residence and fraudulently supports the family with her late husband’s pension. One night after shoplifting, Osamu and Shota encounter Yuri (Miyu Sasaki), a young girl sitting outside her parents’ residence – she appears cold, hungry. They invite her to stay with them the night, and Yuri accepts. The following night Osamu and Nobuyo intend to take Yuri home. They overhear a massive fight between her parents, with the mother’s words suggesting psychological and maybe physical abuse towards Yuri (she also exclaims, to paraphrase: “I wish I never had her”). Osamu and Nobuyo turn around with Yuri – fearful of what the parents have and might do to the girl. Yuri will be given a new name, Lin, and becomes a loved part of the Shibata household. Yet according to the letter of the law, Lin has been kidnapped. Greater troubles lie ahead for the Shibatas – threatening the lives they have built for themselves and for each other.

Going by the recent filmography of Hirokazu Koreeda – Like Father, Like Son (2013) and Our Little Sister (2015) among them – the questions that he, as sole screenwriter in addition to serving as director, poses in Shoplifters might seem simplistic with a superficial glance. What is a family? What do they do for each other? Whether you have been lucky to have come from a supportive family that has stuck together or whether you have not, you probably have some ideal of what a “family” looks like. No matter how old one may be now, this ideal probably emerged in childhood – based in what the trusted adult figures (if any) brought to one’s life. The two children in Shoplifters – Shota and Yuri/Lin – are, because of the nature of childhood, the most impressionable. How the older members of the family act will leave imprints on the children long after the end credits roll.

Yes, the Shibatas have taken Lin (who is about five years old) from her actual, biological parents – to turn her in is to risk exposing their shoplifting ways. But never in the film’s runtime do their actions raise any questions about the depth of how much they care. Where does this compassion come from? It appears that living on societal fringes has not dulled their instincts for kindness, but sharpened it. Lin is given a second chance at life as it should be lived. With the Shibatas, she never has to worry about feeling unwanted or being the cause of parental strife. For Shota, as the elder child, he fears being replaced (not to the extent that Kun feels in 2018′s Mirai, thankfully). Other than the inevitability of the film’s ending, the only other weakness that might be argued about Koreeda’s screenplay is how quickly Shota takes to Lin after his initial coldness towards her. In the closing scenes, Shota questions whether Osamu has really been the great, loving father figure he always made him out to be. Osamu’s answers to Shota’s queries are truthful – acknowledging fully what he was thinking during a fateful night, realizing the pain he might be inflicting on Shota. Ultimately Shota realizes that only he can say whether Osamu has been the father figure he claims to have been. Shota’s answer will inspire bittersweet tears.

Shoplifters, inspired by news reports about Japanese poverty and shoplifting because of the nation’s economic stagnation (ongoing since the 1990s and exacerbated by the graying of its population), premises the Shibata family in poverty and crime. Neither is romanticized or, worse, exotified. Whatever stealing Osamu and Shota engage in, it is never from individuals, but stores – their baseball-gesturing shoplifting carries no malice, existing only as a need for survival. In between the family’s time working at their jobs, the Shibatas can relax and be themselves. Take this excerpt the beach scene from the film’s second half:

Yuri/Lin and Aki play at the water’s edge, Osamu and Shota are swimming further offshore, and Nobuyo and Hatsue are enjoying lunch on the sand. Another scene with a fireworks display features a gorgeous shot of the family looking up, eyes sparkling in the blues and reds illuminating the sky. The children keep in touch with their innocence; so too the adults with their sense of wonderment and celebration. Those looking for a film teeming with self-loathing or self-pity because of the family’s poverty should prepare for disappointment. There is little self-serving dialogue making demands of others or organizations. The Shibatas’ situation is livable because of the support each family gives to another. Their home – cluttered (if we’re comparing this to what I’ve seen in Japanese films set in the 20th and 21st centuries) and without privacy – is portrayed as welcoming. As the film continues, we learn more about each member of the family. The nature of their work, their personalities, and prior histories reveal fascinating lives that cannot be defined solely by poverty and struggle.

A collection of outstanding performances by the ensemble cast helps make Shoplifters the moving film that it is. This was one of Kirin Kiki’s final films before her passing last September. In her later career, she had starred in many of Koreeda’s films and became one of the director’s best stock actors. As Hatsue, she plays a woman who has seen and done much but probably will not open herself up to tell most people about herself. There is a slight mischievous glint in the actress’ eyes, even when speaking earnestly to the fellow family members. And by her final appearance, Kiki shows us someone slowly fading away, on her terms. The other adult actors – Lily Franky, Sakura Andô, and Mayu Matsuoka – have their own challenging moments. Matsuoka (as Aki) has, contextually, the film’s most awkward scenario (have this film written by almost all other writers, and it’s a disaster), but she performs the moment in the most natural way possible. Franky (as Osamu) and Andô (as Nobuyo) are inseparable from Kairi (as Shota) and Sasaki (as Yuri/Lin), respectively. The beauty of their performances is intertwined with the child actors opposite them – expressing joy, abandonment, sorrow, and forgiveness.

The spirit of Yasujirô Ozu can not only be found in the themes present in Shoplifters, but in its cinematography by Ryûto Kondô (who has a sizeable filmography, but none of his films appear to have made a dent outside of Japan). Kondô’s camerawork during one-on-one conversations – specifically in the concluding passages – recalls how Ozu and his cinematographers (Yûharu Atsuta especially) often placed the camera in between the two figures speaking, obliterating the 180º rule, and making these moments feel documented, rather than staged. There are many long takes across Shoplifters, but never does the film feel too languid. Koreeda and Kondô have figured out how to shoot their film economically and expressively – something that few director-cinematographer combinations can ever combine effectively.

While researching for Shoplifters, Koreeda visited an orphanage. There, he encountered a young girl who had the picture book Swimmy by Leo Lionni (a Caldecott Honor winner) in hand. Says Koreeda in an interview:

The staff tried to stop her, telling her she was bothering us, but she read it to the end. Everyone, including the staff, was moved and applauded her. She looked so happy. I thought she really wanted to read that book to her parents. I couldn’t get her out of my head and wrote a scene reflecting that moment.

In the same interview, Koreeda said that Shoplifters was made for the girl he met that day.

Hirokazu Koreeda has been working towards Shoplifters for the entirety of his distinguished career. Once again, he has cemented himself as one of cinema’s greatest humanists – among the living and of all-time. In a time when English-speaking audiences seem unknowledgeable, maybe even hostile to, films in another language, there just so happens to be another non-English-language film that has been grabbing the headlines for the end of 2018 in Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma (not that I am complaining). Such is Koreeda’s luck once again; perhaps his timing will work out to his benefit some other year. But most importantly, Koreeda is making films presenting questions of familial love and the meaning of family itself in ways that few filmmakers can. For Shoplifters, the answers provided to those questions are incomplete, left for audiences to contemplate for themselves, in respect to wherever they may be in life.

My rating: 10/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Shoplifters is the one hundred and forty-ninth feature-length or short film I have rated a ten on imdb.

NOTE: Shoplifters was seen as part of the 2018 Movie Odyssey.

#Shoplifters #Hirokazu Koreeda #Lily Franky #Sakura Ando #Mayu Matsuoka #Sosuke Ikematsu #Kairi Jo #Miyu Sasaki #Kirin Kiki #Ryuto Kondo #31 Days of Oscar #My Movie Odyssey

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pantheon-god-of-war · 7 years ago

Note

If you had to pick one sad song for each targonian aspect which would you choose?

Alright lets start with Taric:

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I personally always had this feeling that Taric carried himself with grace but also a deep sadness. A sadness about his past, his duty that failed. Now he is alone, his not truly Targonian, he is no longer Demacian. He is a man cast out from his home and not accepted by his peers. He wanders the world alone in an attempt to serve life and improve the lives of other. The kindest people are also most often the saddest and loneliest. I find this song captures that wanting, that love for something he lost, while at the same time knowing he must move on because people are depending on him. It is a noble strength that carries him and that in a way is beautiful.

Diana:

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Despite what many of you may believe I do not hate Diana. I do enjoy her character and FNFL made me really love the grumpy goth girl. So I do have many ideas for her that I just don’t choose to voice. Unstoppable is a wonderful song for her in my opinion. It carries itself with a slightly melancholy of someone who looks back at his past and sees weakness and frailty, only to look forward and see how far she has come, how powerful she has become. I see Diana wringing with a lot of doubt, hate for the Solari yes, but not blindly so. They were her family and they did not accept her for what she was, they punished her for being what she wanted to. Now she lives the life she deep down always knew she should have lived and she finds strength in that realisation. That to me is something beautiful.

Leona:

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Leona is a little tough for me. I see Leona as the stablest of all of them. She is strong, proud and resolute, shes the alpha of her people, adorned and praised as a godly deity. Leona does not carry much sorrow in her heart. But then Pantheon happened and for the first time Leona was not the top dog anymore, she found herself face to face with someone who was truly a god and as soon as emotions joined the equation things got messy for the Sun warrior. Pantheon embodied something she should by all accounts hate. He was war, death and cruelty. He revelled in battle for the art of it. War was not a means to an end, war was his calling. By all accounts Leona should hate what the war god stands for, but where her duty tells her to stand against him her heart begs her to give in to him. Having to choose between love and duty can be described as torture, especially for someone as zealous as Leona. I love this song for her, because it deals with something greater than her yet she won’t give into his ways, she will stand her ground, even if he tries to pull her down. His soul is so black a chilled, she cant stop what can’t be killed. There is no real victory here, she can either give in to her heart or her duty. Its a similar theme as with Taric where duty and love conflict one another although the standpoint is vastly different.

Pantheon:

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You will have to forgive me if I intertwine Pantheon and Leona together, but what did you expect from me, lets be real here. I like the idea of Leona and Atreus having held romantic feelings for one another, spending time together, maybe falling in love. Before duty made them enemies and turned their paths astray. I refuse to give up their childhood friendship from the old lore. They can be friends and still report one another for failed duties. It their warrior mentality that differs form ours. Anyway, with Pantheon using Atreus as a mortal hose to wander this world Leona lives with the constant reminder that not all gods are as gentle as hers. She and Atreus parted on bad terms and they never had the chance to remedy the situation, instead all she has of the former boy is a hulkishly large warrior whos face looks similar to Atreus, but the light in his eyes, his soul, its been long since extinguished by Pantheon wrathful gaze. Every time she looks into the burning eyes of the war god she realises that she is talking to the corpse of her former friend/lover. Pantheon has nothing in common with Atrues, other than some physical resemblance its a constant struggle between seeing Pantheon for the war god he is, and looking into those hollow burning eyes and remember the blue irises the belonged to the boy she loved before the weight of duty and faith fell so harshly upon her shoulders.

Not gona cover Zoe because its ... well Zoe.

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 7 years ago

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What will demon!Harry and angel y/n be doing this Valentine's day night ;)

ANDREA!!!!! WHAT WOULD DEMON!HARRY AND ANGEL!Y/N BE DOING ON VALENTINES DAY??

Hey Andrea! What would demon Harry and angel (y/n) do for Valentine’s Day?

So Harry would probably be a little stumped on what to do since it’s been such a long time since he celebrated Valentine’s Day.

For his last Valentine’s Day, he’d courted a girl he’d known since childhood named Rosie by letting her pick three of her favorite animals from his family’s livestock to have as her own. He’s pretty sure that giving Y/N a couple of healthy pigs wouldn’t really suffice as a modern act of affection.

So Harry decides to be the cheesy, cliche lameass from the movies that he so hates and picks up his phone, making a reservation at one of the most elegant restaurants in the city and he goes out and gets a custom tailored suit for the night, also buying Y/N an outfit that’s similar to his in pattern and color scheme.

If they’re doing the cliche date, he doesn’t want to do a cliche dress, too, so he gets her a pretty jumpsuit made of blood-red material with cherry blossoms embroidered into the expensive fabric. Heels are out of the question because she’s never owned a single pair and he really doesn’t want the night to end with her in a hospital bed at the ER. Not when it could be his bed instead.

A pretty pair of black flats will do, the dark, glossy surface of the shoes dusted with glitter and he thinks she’ll definitely like that detail.

Harry gets home from shopping, somewhat struggling to enter through the door with the two outfits covered in a plastic sheath to protect them from the weather. Y/N is slumming it on the couch watching Cupcake Wars, clad in her big, oversized bunny pajama pants and a large Friends sweatshirt, stuffing her face with a box of fancy assorted chocolates he’d gotten her from that little Godiva shop down the street, not noticing that she’s given Chandler a coconut-shavings mustache.

“Up.” His voice quips, her head whipping back in alarm at the sudden authority in his tone.

Harry can’t help the endeared grin that wrestles his cheeks as he eyes her own, which are puffed out with Lucifer-knows how many pieces of candy. “I said up, sweetheart. We’re going out for Valentine’s Day.”

Getting her to shower is a task worthy of an Olympic medal. Y/N refuses to at first, not wanting to leave the house, having too much of a ball being a lazy sack on the sofa cushions. The succession of events that finally gets her to abide goes as so.

Harry says that he’s taking her to a nice restaurant so that they can spend some quality time together. Y/N whines and kicks like a child, shaking her head as she pops another strawberry- and nougat-filled bonbon into her already overflowing mouth. Harry sighs grandly and drops their clothes on the dining table, walking over to stand in front of the TV, blocking her view of the contestants presenting their Valentine-themed pastries. He crosses his arms over his large, broad chest, tilting his head to the side and giving her a stern look.

“I’m going to count to three and if your cute little ass isn’t up and on the way to the bathroom by the time I get there, I’m going to pull down my pants, underwear and all.”

This gets her going. He hasn’t even reached two when she’s already stumbling toward the shower, the leftover candies flying all over the couch and carpet. He calls after her, saying that if they shower together they’ll be cutting time out of the process, but he only says it to fluster her. It’s fun.

After they’re both washed up and dapper in their matching outfits (Y/N had taken a strong liking to her’s and she thought it was absolutely adorable that they were twinning), Harry doesn’t even notice the soft, fond smile that twitches his lips upwards as he watches her add the finishing touches to her hair.

“You look so handsome.” Y/N wraps her arms around his torso from behind as he’s finishing buttoning up his tuxedo jacket, smoothing his large, ring-clad hands down the front and grinning at her through their reflection, looking down at his designer dress shoes to try and hide the blush that’s stinging his cheeks raspberry red.

“Really?”

“Yeah!” She pushes herself up onto her tiptoes, kissing at the back of his neck and at the tips of his tiny ears. “You’re so pretty, Harry.”

“Mm.” He turns to face her, hands perching on her hips as he brushes the tip of his cold nose along her warm cheeks. “Say it again. Love it when you talk dirty to me.”

This earns him a bonk upside the head to which he responds to with a wheezy cackle.

During the car ride to the restaurant, Y/N still seems to be a little pouty about being dragged out of the house so Harry reaches over, intertwining their fingers and bringing her knuckles up to his warm mouth, sponging his lips across the dips between each one. “I’ll get you whatever dessert you want, don’t worry.”

Everything is going fine until they get to the restaurant, where it appears that they don’t have the record of Harry’s reservation. Y/N stands off to the side a bit as he argues with the host, messing with the ends of her hair nervously as she watches the vein in Harry’s neck chisel deeper and deeper across his throat.

She finally steps forward, wriggling her hand into the curve of his elbow and tugging him gently, her voice soft with growing fear. “H-Harry, it’s okay. We can go somewhere else.”

Harry throws a glance over his shoulder at her and his eyes go completely black for a millisecond. “No, I’m not fucking leaving! I made this reservation about a week ago. This is absolutely ridiculous!”

“Harry—“

But he’s already turned back to the man at the front desk, who looks just as scared as she’s feeling. “You would think they’d have a decent computer system here considering they charge almost a hundred dollars for a plate the size of a coaster!”

“Harry, please.” Y/N puts as much emotion into the small phrase as possible, squeezing his bicep weakly and praying that he backs down.

Harry turns on her now, his head whipping back with his eyes ablaze with annoyed rage. “Y/N, don’t you see I’m trying to—“

Something he sees causes him to stop mid-sentence, his harsh words crawling back into his mouth and dive-bombing into the pit of his stomach.

The corners of Y/N’s eyes have tinted a faint bright red, her irises glossing over more than usual, looking watery. There’s a few ridges between her brows and the edges of her cherry-stained lips are tilting down into a scared grimace. Her expression comes together to show fear and concern.

This causes Harry’s own eyes to soften, body loosening up at seeing how his behavior is affecting her. The frigidness in his shoulders melts away, giving into her touch as he takes a step back from the fancy marble desk in a ceasefire. “Okay…Yeah, okay, we can go, darling. I’m…I’m sorry for causing a scene.”

When they’re back in the car, Harry slumps into the driver’s seat, wishing he could disappear into its cushions. He’d almost ruined the whole night.

He turns to Y/N, who is carefully putting on her seatbelt, and reaches over to cup her face in his palm. She cradles her jaw into his hand, glancing up and giving him a small, timid smile.

“I’m sorry for being a prick and almost trashing today.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugs one shoulder lightly, taking his big hand in both of her’s and pressing her lips against the back of it. “Knew you just wanted to give me a special night.”

Harry’s lips shift into a tiny crooked smile, his fingers closing around her’s. “I just wanted to make it memorable. Went with the whole cliche, as much as I think it’s shit. Did it for you, though, so it’s worth giving up my dignity.”

Y/N releases a small giggle, shaking her head in endeared amusement, her voice sarcastic. “My hero.”

Harry crinkles his nose in faux disgust, shaking his head in disagreement. “I don’t think so. Capes aren’t my thing. And being the good guy.” Harry’s eyes flit black. “Definitely not my thing.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, squeezing his hand lovingly and blinking at him with so much care that he wishes he could bottle up this moment and store it in his chest to replace his heart. She just looks so beautiful with her hair all dolled up, her lips the color of red wine, her feet tucked towards each other shyly in the dainty sparkly flats, and his ruby ring hanging from a delicate chain around her neck. He wishes he could stare at her until Hell freezes over.

“Honestly, Harry…” Y/N’s soft voice breaks him from his trance, his black heart hiccuping in his chest as she looks up at him bashfully from under her thick lashes. “I don’t need a fancy dinner or handmade chocolates or,” she tugs lightly at the material of the elegant jumpsuit that pools around her thighs, “a ridiculously overpriced—yet insanely beautiful— pantsuit. I just need you, your soft hair, your pretty eyes, your plush lips, and your warm hands around me. That’s all I could ever want from today. Just you.”

Harry’s cried very few times in the last couple of centuries and right now counts as one of them. The tears don’t actually come out, but they gather at his waterline and at the inner ducts of his eyes before he blinks them away and sniffles back his emotions. He gifts his girl an airy laugh, licking his chapped lips slowly and blinking at her with so much adoration it hurts. “Alright, then. How about…How about we go to the movies? Heard that actor you like has a new one out. Chris Brat?”

“Oh, hush!” Y/N shoves him over with a loose fist as both of their giddy laughter bounces off the walls of the car. “Pratt. He’s so cute.”

Harry reaches forward and turns on the ignition, the car purring to life as he shrugs his eyebrows carelessly and gives her a cautionary snort. “Chris Probably-Should-Watch-Yourself-Or-No-More-Neck-Kisses.”

Y/N releases his hand so that it falls limply into her lap, where he squeezes her thigh jestingly. She raises her palms upwards in a sign of surrender. “Not a peep more from me.”

“That’s what I thought. Now, what do you think they’ll say when we show up looking like we’re headed for the Met Gala?”

#drabble #demon!harry

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wolf-media · 3 years ago

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Summer Exhibit Seeks to Amplify the Voices of Immigrant Artists In The Heights

CREATING HOME: IMMIGRANT PERSPECTICES

Is the inaugural exhibition in NoMAA’s new gallery on the first floor of the iconic United Palace annex.

New York -- Northern Manhattan is a community shaped by refugees and immigrants from all over the world. In this timely exhibition, sixteen artists from Central and South America, the Caribbean, Asia, Canada, Europe and the Middle East reflect on what it means to create a home away from home. They explore themes such as belonging, memory, identity, nostalgia, and the intertwining of cultures. They examine place, identity, displacement, and fragmentation and they question the politics that continually surround their experiences. We invite you to view their works and to read and listen to their compelling and unique stories.

In this group exhibition, Northern Manhattan Arts Alliance NOMAA amplifies the voices of local immigrant artists.

On View till- August 31

NoMAA Gallery

4140 Broadway @176 St, NY

(Hours: Tuesdays 1-4pm and by appointment)

Hear from the artists! Click below to view clips of statements of partcipating artists.

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"My work examines the emotional, spiritual, and developmental fractures in family dynamics inflicted by war, trauma, the disintegration of family through migration, and loss. Taking a critical view at the influence that sociopolitical and cultural issues can have on emotionally impaired families, I often reference my own childhood, history, current events, and pop culture. Each work is constructed from an inventory of visual fragments such as: drawings, journal pages, photographs and found ephemera, arranged with bold colors, jagged linework and abstract text patterns." --Franck de las Mercedes

More about FdlM:

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#fdlm #nomaa #manhattan #nyc art #washington heights #franckdelasmercedes #artists #immigrant artists #uptown #NYC #Youtube

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easyfoodnetwork · 5 years ago

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The Best Cookbooks of Fall 2020

New cookbooks from Ina Garten, Vivian Howard, Yotam Ottolenghi, and more will restore some much-needed joy to cooking

For many of us, cooking has taken on a different role in our lives over the past six months. As restaurants closed, cooking — and cooking well — became essential even for those who previously spent little time in the kitchen. It also became a chore. At this point, six months into the pandemic, I’m impressed by anyone who still considers cooking a creative, joyful pastime, not just a means to food.

But here to change that is a stellar lineup of fall cookbooks, bringing with them new inspiration and new comforts, and, at last, a reason to enter the kitchen with excitement. There are anticipated titles from beloved culinary figures, whose time-saving guidance and easy meal upgrades feel especially welcome now. There are books from some of the restaurants we miss the most, offering recreations of their dishes and insights that make us nostalgic for the time before shutdowns. There are primers on international cuisines; books for the adept home cook that take a studied, even scientific approach to flavor; and books that reflect the trends of the moment, including baking books for the person who has spent hours perfecting their bread game as well as the one who feels the occasional urge to bake a cake to be eaten immediately.

I’m confident that even the most reluctant cook is sure to find at least one new cookbook among these 17 to dip a fork into. And for those for whom cooking never lost its luster, it’s a feast. — Monica Burton

One Tin Bakes: Sweet and simple traybakes, pies, bars and buns

Edd Kimber Kyle Books, out now

The philosophy of Edd Kimber’s One Tin Bakes is pleasingly minimalist: Invest in one good 9-by-13-inch aluminum pan — or “tin,” in British parlance — and bake everything in it. Kimber has published three other books since winning the inaugural season of The Great British Bake Off in 2010, but this is the first that’s themed around a specific piece of equipment, and by focusing on the versatility of a single pan, One Tin Bakes prioritizes simplicity for both novice bakers and those who already know their way around a stand mixer.

For the most part, these are not show-stopper, highly technical bakes — though some, like the “Giant Portuguese Custard Tart,” are impressive by nature. The recipes are unfussy, undemanding, and a pleasure to cook. They’re all sweet, with chapters spanning cakes, pies, breads, bars, cookies, and some no-bake desserts too. And while 9-by-13-inch sheets and slabs of baked goods are the stars of the book, Kimber’s collection also includes non-rectangular treats: rolled cakes, ice cream sandwiches, and babka buns, among others. Six months ago I might have described this book as a party baking companion — most of the recipes feed eight to 12 people — but parties are in short supply for the foreseeable future. That said, even without feeding my coworkers or friends, there is something so joyful (surface area, perhaps?) about pulling a magnificent rectangular pan of streusel-topped coffee cake or gigantic British scone from the oven. — Adam Moussa

Parwana: Recipes and Stories from an Afghan Kitchen

Durkhanai Ayubi with recipes by Farida Ayubi Interlink, out now

The story of Parwana, the popular Afghan restaurant in South Adelaide, Australia, has always been intertwined with history. Owners Zelmai and Farida Ayubi fled Afghanistan for Australia in 1987, during the Cold War, itself the result of hundreds of years of conflict. So it’s no surprise that the restaurant’s cookbook, written by Zelmai and Farida’s daughter Durkhanai Ayubi, would double as a history lesson. Interspersed between recipes are stories of the Silk Road, the Mughal empire, and the Great Game, which illustrate how because of trade, plunder, and cultural exchange, Afghan cuisine is both beloved and recognizable.

The book walks through classics like kabuli palaw, shaami kebab, and falooda (all of which, unlike so many restaurant dishes adapted to cookbooks, are incredibly achievable for the home cook) and demonstrate how Afghan cuisine both influenced and was influenced by nearly all of Asia. No matter what cuisine you’re most used to cooking, you’ll find a recipe, or even just a flavor, that feels familiar here. — Jaya Saxena

The Sourdough School: Sweet Baking: Nourishing the Gut & the Mind

Vanessa Kimbell Kyle Books, out now

The first thing to know about the sweets-focused follow-up to 2018’s The Sourdough School cookbook, the groundbreaking gut-health baking book by food writer and BBC radio host Vanessa Kimbell, is this: “It is not a book about baking,” she writes. “This is a book about understanding.” She’s right, sort of. It is not just a book about baking. It is, like its predecessor, a manifesto on the gut-brain connection — a guide to caring for the magical ecosystem within our own bodies, a fragile environment that, she says, our modern way of eating has ravaged, grimly affecting both our physical and mental health. It’s a book about science and bacteria and flour milling and fermenting and strategies for adjusting our lives in such a way to allow for four-day cupcake-making.

But then... it is also very much a book about baking. There are loads of delicious (if unabashedly healthy-looking) recipes with ingredients that prioritize your gut’s microbiome, everything from chocolate chip “biscuits” and Bangladeshi jalebis to swirly miso-prune danishes and a pudgy lemon-poppyseed cake with a hit of saffron. Nothing about these multi-day recipes is what anyone might call simple (I’ve never been so tempted to whip up my own couture flour blends), but Kimbell is as lovely a hand-holder as she is a writer, giving out lifelines like detailed schedules for each recipe, including the crucial pre-bake starter feedings so many other sourdough books leave out. She also is not above compromise, allowing for store-bought flours and dolling out assurances like, “if you are not into the scientific details, feel free to skip this entire section. I totally get just wanting to get on and bake.” A thorough reader, though, will be rewarded with a whole new way of thinking about the human body, along with a whole bunch of yummy new ways to indulge it. — Lesley Suter

The Mexican Home Kitchen: Traditional Home-Style Recipes That Capture the Flavors and Memories of Mexico

Mely Martinez Rock Point, September 15

Mely Martínez comes to publishing by way of the old-school world of recipe blogging on her website, Mexico in My Kitchen. Martínez was born in Mexico and traveled throughout different regions as a teacher and again later in her life, learning from local women along the way, before eventually settling in the United States. After bouncing around recipe forums, she established the site in 2008 as a way to record family recipes for her teenage son. Through the internet, she reached a far wider audience of Mexican immigrants craving their abuela’s recipes. Now, her debut cookbook, The Mexican Home Kitchen, reflects that well-traveled savvy, but it’s forgiving, too, providing helpful tips on variations of recipes and alternative methods of food preparation or ingredients.

Martínez’s book is about the basics of Mexican home cooking; recipes include comfort foods like caldo de pollo dressed up with slices of avocado and diced jalapeño and special occasion meals like mole poblano. The recipes are simple enough for people just getting into Mexican cooking, but also have a nostalgic quality that will appeal to those who grew up with homemade arroz con leche or chicharrón en salsa verde. Flipping through The Mexican Home Kitchen, I remembered my own childhood visits with my stepmother’s family, where I would sit around the table with the many other grandkids swirling Ritz crackers in steaming bowls of atole. I turned to Martínez’s atole blanco recipe on page 178, and headed to the store for some masa harina, newly inspired. — Brenna Houck

Pie for Everyone: Recipes and Stories from Petee’s Pie, New York’s Best Pie Shop

Petra “Petee” Paredez Abrams, September 22

If you’re not a pie person, then clearly you’ve never had a slice of Petra Paredez’s black-bottom almond chess pie. Growing up in a baking and farming family (her parents started northern Virginia treasure Mom’s Apple Pie Company in 1981), Paredez has considerable pie-making expertise. In 2014, she and her husband, Robert Paredez, opened their Lower East Side shop Petee’s Pie Company on a shoestring budget, and today, the sweet, sunny cafe on Delancey Street is considered one of the best pie shops in New York City.

At the heart of Petee’s Pie, the goal is simple: a flavorful, flaky, tender crust and perfectly balanced ﬁlling. Pie for Everyone teaches readers how to achieve this at home. The book begins with foundational information (how to source ingredients, the tools to buy to make pie-making easier and more efficient) followed by chapters on crusts and crumbs and pie fillings. And while there are hundreds of ways to make pie, Paredez believes in the merits of a super-buttery crust. “If you only use one of my pastry dough recipes,” she writes, “I hope it’s my butter pastry dough.”

With recipes that are both sweet and savory (including quiches), Pie for Everyone covers the shop’s year-round signature pies, like maple whiskey walnut and chocolate cream, as well as seasonal favorites, like strawberry rhubarb and nesselrode, a New York specialty consisting of chestnut custard with black rum-soaked cherries. But whether you’re a fan of Petee’s Pie or you’ve never been, bakers and pie lovers will appreciate learning from Paredez, a baker for whom pie-making is a ribbon-worthy feat every single time. — Esra Erol

Modern Comfort Food: A Barefoot Contessa Cookbook

Ina Garten Random House, October 6

There are many cookbooks that you want to read more than cook from, but Modern Comfort Food: A Barefoot Contessa Cookbook is not one of them. In her 12th cookbook, Ina Garten, the queen of timeless, expertly tested dishes, shares 85 recipes for the kinds of comfort foods we’re craving more than ever. Dedicated home cooks may already know most of these unfussy foods by heart, but with Garten’s thoughtful techniques and guidance on how to find the best ingredients, dishes like chicken pot pie soup, baked rigatoni with lamb ragu, and skillet-roasted chicken with potatoes feel new and exciting. The skillet-roasted chicken and potatoes, for example, calls for a buttermilk marinade to make the bird juicy and moist, while potatoes are cooked with the chicken jus under the chicken, on the bottom of a hot skillet, to absorb extra chicken flavor, turning two humble ingredients into a fabulous dinner.

This being a Barefoot Contessa cookbook, it also comes with all the stories and aspirational photos (including many heart-melting pictures of Garten and husband Jeffrey) that have long inspired fans to want to live, cook, and eat like Ina. But, compared to Garten’s other books, Modern Comfort Food depicts the culinary star more as a loving neighbor who will bring you chocolate chip cookies on Sundays than the imposing queen of East Hampton. In the intro to this book, Garten admits that these days, she’s a little grumpier than usual (just like the rest of us), says it’s okay if we reach for a cold martini and a tub of ice cream for dinner, and reminds us once again how she managed to capture so many hearts over more than two decades as the Barefoot Contessa. — James Park

Good Drinks: Alcohol-Free Recipes for When You’re Not Drinking for Whatever Reason

Julia Bainbridge Ten Speed Press, October 6

A lot of people feel weird about drinking nowadays. Our spending habits show it, through products like low-ABV hard seltzers, chic nonalcoholic aperitifs, or just the ongoing popularity of sober months like Dry January. Author Julia Bainbridge understands the fluid nature of this type of sobriety, which is why she subtitled her book of spirit-free drinks as “for When You’re Not Drinking for Whatever Reason.” After all, you don’t need to eschew alcohol forever in order to enjoy a thoughtfully blended drink that isn’t trying to get you sloshed.

The drinks in Good Drinks are structured by the time of day you might enjoy them (brunch accompaniment, happy hour treat, aperitif), and are as complex and innovative (and labor-intensive) as anything at a fancy cocktail bar. They call for ingredients like black cardamom-cinnamon syrup, buckwheat tea, and tomato-watermelon juice, each of which get their own recipes. There’s even a whole recipe for a dupe of nonalcoholic Pimm’s (involving citus, rooibos tea, raspberry vinegar, and gentian root). The results are festive, celebratory drinks for any occasion, so the nondrinkers need not be stuck with cranberry juice and seltzer anymore. — JS

Ottolenghi Flavor: A Cookbook

Yotam Ottolenghi and Ixta Belfrage Ten Speed Press, October 13

It’s probably a good thing Yotam Ottolenghi’s new cookbook isn’t called Plenty 3 or More Plenty More, veering the chef’s cookbook oeuvre into Fast & Furious territory. But by the London chef’s own admission, that’s a good way to understand Flavor, his newest book, which like its Plenty predecessors focuses on vegetables and all the creative ways to prepare and combine them.

Co-written with Ixta Belfrage, a recipe developer in the Ottolenghi test kitchen, Flavor presents recipes from three perspectives. The “process” chapter explores specific techniques to transform vegetables, such as charring and fermenting. “Pairing” takes an angle that will sound familiar to Samin Nosrat fans, with recipes rooted in the perfect balance of fat, acid, “chile heat,” and sweetness. And “produce” focuses on the ingredients with such complex tastes, usages, and sub-categories that they deserve examination on their own: mushrooms, onions (and their allium cousins), nuts and seeds, and sugar in fruit and booze form.

The result, in typical Ottolenghi fashion, is multi-step, multi-ingredient, and multi-hued recipes whose promised flavors leap from the page — from cabbage “tacos” with celery root and date barbecue sauce to saffron tagliatelle with ricotta and crispy chipotle shallots. Chipotles and other chiles are actually in abundance here (as well as “a lime or two in places where lemons would appear in previous Ottolenghi books,” as the intro notes) thanks to Belfrage’s roots in Mexico City. Those flavors, as well as those from Brazilian, Italian, and multiple Asian cuisines (spy the shiitake congee and noodles with peanut laab), unite with the usual Ottolenghi suspects — za’atar, star anise, harissa, labneh — to make Flavor worth the look, even for the home chef who already has Plenty and Plenty More on the shelf. — Ellie Krupnick

Xi’an Famous Foods: The Cuisine of Western China, from New York’s Favorite Noodle Shop

Jason Wang with Jessica K. Chou Abrams, October 13

The debut cookbook from the New York City restaurant chain Xi’an Famous Foods is worth picking up whether or not you have slurped the restaurant’s hand-pulled noodles. This is a book on how to operate a food business — CEO Jason Wang outlines five lessons to know before diving into the business and strips away the glamor of running a restaurant empire. It’s also a food history of the flavors of Xi’an, China. With so many layers to appreciate, Xi’an Famous Foods is a prime example of what a restaurant cookbook can be.

Much of the book reads like a TV series. It’s broken into episodes covering Wang’s challenges, failures, and successes, from his life-changing move from Xi’an to a rural town in Michigan, to his nights out in New York City’s Koreatown, to taking over his father’s business, Xi’an Famous Foods. Interspersed with these anecdotes, there are recipes for the restaurant’s fiery, mouth-tingling dishes, including Xi’an Famous Foods’ famous noodle sauce (accented with salty and spicy flavors from black vinegar, oyster sauce, fennel seeds, and Sichuan peppercorns), along with techniques for making hand-pulled noodles paired with helpful illustrations and visual references. For avid home cooks who want a challenge, Xi’an Famous Foods also provides tips on putting together the best hot pot at home, and for those who are confused at Asian groceries, there’s a list of basic pantry items with flavor notes and how they are used in cooking. And whether it’s Wang’s personal connection to a dish or its wider history that draws you in, each recipe will broaden your knowledge and appreciation of Xi’an cooking. — JP

Coconut & Sambal: Recipes from my Indonesian Kitchen

Lara Lee Bloomsbury, October 13

In the introduction of her debut cookbook, Lara Lee writes that an overflowing generosity is central to Indonesian culture; meals are shared freely between neighbors and friends. This generosity fills the pages of Coconut & Sambal, each recipe heightening the sense that as a reader, you’ve been let in on something special.

Lee, who was born in Australia, didn’t spend time in Indonesia until later in life, so early memories of Indonesian cooking come from the trips her grandmother Margaret Thali — whom Lee lovingly refers to as Popo throughout the book — would take to Australia. Each of the cookbook’s chapter introductions is deeply researched: Some recount stories of Lee’s grandmother, and others focus on the Indonesia that Lee fell in love with as she traveled across the archipelago collecting stories and recipes for this book.

The recipes that fill Coconut & Sambal demonstrate that Indonesian cuisine cannot be painted with one brush. The food of the nation — made up of more than 15,000 islands — incorporates the sharp heat of chiles, the mellow hit of fermented shrimp, the sweetness of coconut in nearly every form, and always enough rice to go around. You’ll find curries fragrant with makrut lime leaf, ginger, and turmeric, and bright ceviches adorned with thinly sliced chiles, banana shallot, and palm sugar; I was particularly drawn to a fried chicken dish (page 142), its crisp shell smashed and laced with fiery sambal. Lee explains that recipes are typically passed down orally in Indonesian culture, which makes me even more grateful for these written ones. What Lee has given readers is a gorgeous document that sets in stone food traditions passed down through generations, as well as some she’s created herself. You’ll want to dedicate an evening to turning the pages of this book, planning out feasts of green chile braised duck, Balinese roasted pork belly, and perhaps some sticky ginger toffee pudding to top it all off. — Elazar Sontag

In Bibi’s Kitchen: The Recipes and Stories of Grandmothers from the Eight African Countries that Touch the Indian Ocean

Hawa Hassan and Julia Turshen Ten Speed Press, October 13

Recipes are almost always the main attraction in a cookbook. But In Bibi’s Kitchen, written by first-time author Hawa Hassan in collaboration with veteran cookbook writer Julia Turshen, there’s so much to enjoy before you even get to the first recipe. The book focuses on dishes from eight African countries, linked by their shared proximity to the Indian Ocean and involvement in the region’s spice trade.

Each chapter, divided by country, starts with a brief history of the region and question-and-answer-style interviews with one of the bibis, or grandmothers, who call these places home. The answers to these questions find the grandmothers speaking about the meaning of home, the gender roles in their communities, and the importance of passing on food traditions. Each interview is as beautiful and varied as the recipes that follow: kadaka akondro (green plantains and braised beef) from the home of Ma Baomaka in Ambohidratrimo, Madagascar; digaag qumbe, a Somalian chicken stew rich with yogurt and coconut milk, served with sweet banana; kaimati, crisp coconut dumplings in an ambrosial cardamom syrup, this batch cooked in Ma Shara’s kitchen in Zanzibar, but popular all along the Swahili coast. A practical advantage of collecting recipes from home cooks is that these recipes are all approachable, most calling for fewer than 10 ingredients.

In many ways, In Bibi’s Kitchen breaks ground. It pays tribute to a part of the world that has been criminally overlooked by American publishers, sharing the stories of these African countries from the perspectives of home cooks who actually live there. The book is full of intimate portraits of the grandmothers in their kitchens, captured by Kenyan photographer Khadija M. Farah, who joined these women in their homes. The result of this collaborative and ambitious effort is a collection of heartwarming photos, tidbits of history, and, of course, plenty of mouthwatering meals. — ES

This Will Make it Taste Good: A New Path to Simple Cooking

Vivian Howard Voracious, October 20

Reading through Vivian Howard’s This Will Make It Taste Good is like reading a cookbook by your real or imagined North Carolinian best friend. The design itself is cheerful, full of 1970s serif fonts and colorful badges that are reminiscent of a children’s workbook. Dishes are photographed from above, in the same style as Alison Roman’s Dining In and Nothing Fancy, often showing Howard’s hands as they work away chopping herbs or spooning chowder. The A Chef’s Life host’s goal is simple: to teach home cooks that easy meals can be exciting rather than bland.

Howard’s intended audience is the time-crunched kitchen novice, though a more experienced cook will surely find some useful tips, as well. Each section is based around a recipe that can be prepped in advance and then used throughout the week in a multitude of dishes: Among the most promising are the “Little Green Dress,” a dressing with flexible ingredients that can gussy up anything from mussels to crackers to soft-boiled eggs; the “R-Rated Onions,” which you can keep in an ice cube tray in the freezer to use at your convenience; and the “Citrus Shrine,” i.e., preserved citrus that promises to elevate dishes like shrimp cocktail and rice pilaf — you can even use it in margaritas! In any time, This Will Make It Taste Good would be a great help to those of us who prefer recipes that look and taste more complex than they are to prepare. That it happens to arrive at a moment when we’re likely all sick of the contents of our fridges and our own culinary limitations is just a bonus. — Madeleine Davies

The Rise: Black Cooks and the Soul of American Food

Marcus Samuelsson with Osayi Endolyn Voracious, October 27

“Black food is not just one thing,” chef Marcus Samuelsson writes in the introduction to The Rise. “It’s not a rigidly defined geography or a static set of tastes. It is an energy. A force. An engine.” The cookbook that follows is an invigorating, joyous, and deeply nuanced illustration of the complexity of Black foodways, one that weaves together conversations about history, artistry, authorship, race, class, and culture with 150 recipes that incorporate ingredients and techniques from around the globe.

Each of the book’s recipes was created in honor of “someone who is illuminating the space we share,” as Samuelsson writes: chefs, artists, activists, authors, and historians, all of whom are profiled by the book’s coauthor, Eater contributor Osayi Endolyn. The recipes are organized to demonstrate how culinary rituals and traditions evolve according to time, place, and cook. In the first chapter, “Next,” for example, you’ll find food that speaks of forward-thinking innovation, such as baked sweet potatoes with garlic-fermented shrimp butter, created in honor of David Zilber, the former director of fermentation at Noma. (That butter, pureed with avocado, sweet soy sauce, and fresh thyme, is not only easy to make, but so good that you can be forgiven for eating it straight from the food processor.) “Migration,” the third chapter, speaks of the American South, with recipes like spiced lemon chess pie, broken rice peanut seafood stew, and Papa Ed’s shrimp and grits, named for Ed Brumfield, the executive chef at Samuelsson’s Harlem restaurant the Red Rooster.

The Rise doesn’t claim to be an encyclopedic compendium of Black cooking; instead, it’s a celebration, one that honors the past while looking ahead, challenging assumptions even as it feeds you well. — Rebecca Flint Marx

The Flavor Equation: The Science of Great Cooking Explained in More Than 100 Essential Recipes

Nik Sharma Chronicle Books, October 27

Nik Sharma begins his second cookbook by explaining that we rely on a variety of senses and feelings when we eat: sight, sound, mouthfeel or texture, aroma, taste, and even our emotions and memories. These components make up what he refers to as the “Flavor Equation,” and this concept and the role it plays in everyday cooking is the guiding principle of his book of the same name.

Following a thorough and captivating science lesson on the equation, Sharma lays out seven chapters dedicated to basic tastes and flavor boosters — brightness, bitterness, saltiness, sweetness, savoriness, fieriness, and richness — each with its own set of recipes: pomegranate and poppy seed wings exemplify brightness, roasted figs with coffee miso tahini or hazelnut flan highlight bitterness, “pizza” toast for saltiness, masala cheddar cornbread in the sweetness section, and more. Through these achievable recipes, many of which rely mostly on pantry essentials, Sharma helps readers better understand how flavor works and how to use that to their advantage to become more confident home cooks. Whatever your skill level in the kitchen, with its more than 100 recipes, illustrated diagrams, and Sharma’s own evocative photography, The Flavor Equation is an engrossing guide to elevating simple dishes into holistic experiences. — EE

Time to Eat: Delicious Meals for Busy Lives

Nadiya Hussain Clarkson Potter, November 10 (originally published June 27, 2019)

Nadiya Hussain is just like you and me. That’s the guiding principle behind her public persona, her BBC Two cooking show Time to Eat (now on Netflix), and her cookbook Time to Eat: Delicious Meals for Busy Lives. “I know what it’s like to have just one head and one pair of hands,” the Great British Bake Off winner writes in the introduction of Time to Eat, a new stateside version of her U.K. cookbook of the same title. Her book, she promises, will help you become a smarter home cook in between chores and kids, thanks to heavy use of the freezer and other time savers.

On the page, that looks like tips for prepping and freezing, recipes that leave you with enough leftovers to make a second dish, and ideas for remixes and variations. There are more than 100 recipes, divided into breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, and basics. Many of these dishes may be unfamiliar to American audiences — hello, kedgeree and fish pie burgers! — but the instructions are as approachable as Hussain’s on-camera demonstrations. With enough variety to keep it interesting, balanced with dishes easy enough to work into your weekly rotation of meals, e.g., eggs rolled onto tortillas, Time to Eat offers something for any home cook looking for new ideas and time-tested, time-saving methods. — Jenny G. Zhang

Fäviken: 4015 Days, Beginning to End

Magnus Nilsson Phaidon, November 11

Last December, after more than a decade of acclaim, accolades, and meals rooted in seasonality and locally produced ingredients, Magnus Nilsson closed his restaurant Fäviken in Jämtland, Sweden. In the lead-up to the closing, he told the LA Times that he wanted to focus on the restaurant, not elegies or explanations. Now, the explanation has arrived in the form of Fäviken: 4015 Days, Beginning to End, Nilsson’s latest monograph with publisher Phaidon.

Although the book covers the lifespan of Fäviken, including lookbacks at the first title Nilsson published about the restaurant, it is not an elegy. There are no laments here, but rather a thorough catalogue of all the dishes that Fäviken served, ruminations about craft and haute cuisine and sustainability, and a long-awaited account of “Why Fäviken had to close, really.” The book contains recipes for many of the restaurant’s dishes — ranging from the simple berry ice to the more demanding “Scallop I skalet ur elden cooked over burning juniper branches,” with extensive headnotes — but its purpose is not as a cookbook. It is a tome (beautifully put together, as is typical for Phaidon) that is made for fans of Fäviken’s, of Nilsson’s, and more importantly, of the way of life he espouses, one that is passionate but measured.

That is best expressed in one of the book’s final essays, one dated May 12, 2020, in which Nilsson articulates gratitude that he was able to close his restaurant on his own terms, for Fäviken would not have survived the pandemic. “If one day some years from now I wake up in the morning and feel the same burning desire to run a restaurant that I felt for many years at Fäviken, I won’t think twice about it,” Nilsson writes. “But if that doesn’t happen, that’s okay too. There are many other things to do in life.” — JGZ

A Good Bake: The Art and Science of Making Perfect Pastries, Cakes, Cookies, Pies, and Breads at Home

Melissa Weller with Carolynn Carreño Knopf, November 17

There are people who treat baking like a hobby and there are people who treat baking as a raison d’etre, a life’s purpose. Melissa Weller’s A Good Bake is for the latter, which shouldn’t surprise anyone considering Weller’s resume, which includes creating pastry for some of New York City’s most revered restaurants, such as Per Se, Roberta’s, and her acclaimed SoHo bagel shop, Sadelle’s. Before she became an expert baker, Weller was a chemical engineer, and as such, she tackles recipes with a scientific approach, getting the fermentation, proofing, and pH balance of her dough down to, well, a science.

If you’re a quarantine baker who’s mastered sourdough and is ready for the next challenge, consider Weller’s takes on NYC classics like chocolate babka, spelt scones with raspberry jam, and even traditional hot dog buns. A Good Bake will thrill bakers who rejoice in doing things the difficult way (but note that there are beautiful and detailed photos of her process to help guide ambitious bakers through the recipe). Of course, this means that failing will hurt all the more, considering the hours (or days, even!) of work that you’ve put into your bake, but success? It will taste all the sweeter... or more savory. It depends on your tastes, and Weller expertly caters to both. — MD

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/32cznPz https://ift.tt/3m7fLo0

New cookbooks from Ina Garten, Vivian Howard, Yotam Ottolenghi, and more will restore some much-needed joy to cooking

One Tin Bakes: Sweet and simple traybakes, pies, bars and buns

Edd Kimber Kyle Books, out now

Parwana: Recipes and Stories from an Afghan Kitchen

Durkhanai Ayubi with recipes by Farida Ayubi Interlink, out now

The Sourdough School: Sweet Baking: Nourishing the Gut & the Mind

Vanessa Kimbell Kyle Books, out now

The Mexican Home Kitchen: Traditional Home-Style Recipes That Capture the Flavors and Memories of Mexico

Mely Martinez Rock Point, September 15

Pie for Everyone: Recipes and Stories from Petee’s Pie, New York’s Best Pie Shop

Petra “Petee” Paredez Abrams, September 22

Modern Comfort Food: A Barefoot Contessa Cookbook

Ina Garten Random House, October 6

Good Drinks: Alcohol-Free Recipes for When You’re Not Drinking for Whatever Reason

Julia Bainbridge Ten Speed Press, October 6

Ottolenghi Flavor: A Cookbook

Yotam Ottolenghi and Ixta Belfrage Ten Speed Press, October 13

Xi’an Famous Foods: The Cuisine of Western China, from New York’s Favorite Noodle Shop

Jason Wang with Jessica K. Chou Abrams, October 13

Coconut & Sambal: Recipes from my Indonesian Kitchen

Lara Lee Bloomsbury, October 13

In Bibi’s Kitchen: The Recipes and Stories of Grandmothers from the Eight African Countries that Touch the Indian Ocean

Hawa Hassan and Julia Turshen Ten Speed Press, October 13

This Will Make it Taste Good: A New Path to Simple Cooking

Vivian Howard Voracious, October 20

The Rise: Black Cooks and the Soul of American Food

Marcus Samuelsson with Osayi Endolyn Voracious, October 27

The Flavor Equation: The Science of Great Cooking Explained in More Than 100 Essential Recipes

Nik Sharma Chronicle Books, October 27

Time to Eat: Delicious Meals for Busy Lives

Nadiya Hussain Clarkson Potter, November 10 (originally published June 27, 2019)

Fäviken: 4015 Days, Beginning to End

Magnus Nilsson Phaidon, November 11

A Good Bake: The Art and Science of Making Perfect Pastries, Cakes, Cookies, Pies, and Breads at Home

Melissa Weller with Carolynn Carreño Knopf, November 17

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chapitre7 · 8 years ago

Note

SoSoo Fairy Tale AU - The Nutcracker

I’ll Come To You Like The First Snow

Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo [달의 연인-보보경심 려] fanfiction

Wang So/Hae Soo

Modern Fairy Tale

Dedicated to you, dear prompter, but also to @justonehappyvictory. Happy birthday, dear!

More inspired by, with every attempt to retain themes from, the original tale. I hope it satisfies your wishes, prompter.

The storyI’m about to tell you is a story about love and dreams, love born from dreams,and a love dreamed into reality. A love in dreams is beautiful, it is an eternalsummer, it is colorful and it is colorless, it’s just what you need. Reality, however,is the singular, intricate design of a snowflake that melts on your tongue,it’s the rush of blood to one’s cheeks as you run and laugh and play and hold ahand that fits into yours like so many others before but also unlike any other;fingers intertwining, hearts coming together, so many emotions blossoming inyour chest that you’d love to catalog them like a scientist in a lab coat, eachtag bearing a single name. If you have not experienced it, don’t worry. Thereis time. There is always a time. You see,

there wasonce a boy whose love was solace in a ballerina, her pose frozen mid-dance in asnow globe. He never shook the globe, no; if he shook it to make the snow fallfrom its resting place at the bottom, the ballerina would shake as well and shedeserved better, she deserved more for the comfort she brought him, for therest and the warmth on cold nights.

Let usstart from the beginning. Even if there isn’t much to tell. It starts as moststories start, it starts with family. There was a boy and his mother untilthere wasn’t anymore. They lived together and they lived peacefully until theflames took her and his home and his peace. Or was it a fire? Or illness? Maybean accident? There are so many ways life can take us by surprise, take everythingfrom us and throw us onto different paths. There was once a boy who only hadhis mother, a father long lost to war, and he was happy, he was an averagelittle boy until she was gone and the only thing he had left from her was asnow globe with a ballerina.

The boy andhis ballerina arrived at a different home, at crossroads. The lights would outbe out at eight and you were to rise at six. There were other boys who didn’tlook at him and didn’t speak to him, and a new mother with twisted lips andelaborate hair and a voice that reached him from everywhere, from anywhere,yelling his name and throwing accusations, of the money they had to spend onhim, of the roof they kept over his head, of gratefulness and duty. The boylistened, for he was taught respect, and so he kept his head low. And at night,he would hide himself under his blankets and he would light up his snow globe,watching as the ballerina danced her perpetual dance in the sparkly snow. Hewould fall asleep with the ballerina close to his face, she was all he couldsee, a memory and a memento and a music box that played in his mind.

“Wang So,”she called him. “Wake up, they’re coming!”

The boywould open his eyes in his dreams and there she would be, beautiful pink dressand a tiara atop her head, holding out her hand, calling him, smiling at him.They ran through a golden road and rainbow arches, they ran through forests andwaved at the bunnies and owls and frogs and mice. His ballerina was a princessand a savior and grace itself, she dodged their enemies’ advances with longleaps and twirls, she pushed him forward, she pulled him along, she hushed himbehind a tree with a finger placed on her lips but she was giggling so it washelpless and soon they were found and running again. He wanted to save her, tohold a sword and kill their opponents but it was so much more fun to run, tosee different places, to hear her voice call him, So, So-yah, like no one had done ever since his mother left. Hisballerina moved with music and laughed in notes, she was beautiful and she washis friend and she lived in his dreams. He liked his dreams better than wakingup, than eating his meals, than going to school. He lived in his dreams and heslept through reality. He couldn’t wait until the clock ticked all the way toeight o’clock. Wang So lost his childhood to tragedy and yet he couldn’t growup outside his dreams. He was a boy, he was infinite and ageless. He held hisballerina close to his eyes, and she was all he could see.

And so helived until they broke his heart again. It pains me to tell you that there ismore to Wang So’s story than just becoming an adventurer in his dreams. For helived with people who didn’t like him at all, and they soon discovered hislittle snow globe. It was their roofand they had as much as a right to his things as he did, that’s what they toldhim when they took her, when they shook the globe, when they aaah’d and ooh’dat the falling glitter. Their hands, however, weren’t as careful as So’s, theyhad no esteem for her as he did, no love, and so they shook her and they shookher and they passed her from hand to hand until she fell and shattered on thefloor. His brothers went silent and the music died in him. He picked her up,carefully, flicking the broken glass off her. He hurt his hands but he didn’tmind, he didn’t even see. The boy held the ballerina close to his chest, nomore glass to fill his vision, to lose himself into, to erase all and everysurrounding. After he listened to his new mother’s lectures, he climbed thesteps to his room, heavy foot after heavy foot, and collapsed on his bed as ifit was his own world that had been broken apart, as if it had been himself.There was no more memory, no more memento, just an old ballerina who wouldgather dust as the seasons passed.

Wang Sowalked to his balcony in daydream, in mourning, his feet freezing on the tiles.So many days had passed, so much time, but still he felt like the same boy whoreceived the snow globe from his mother’s hands. “I know you like it better when it snows,” she said then, “so now you can have snow every day of theyear, love.” Now there was no more snow, it was broken, everything had beenbroken. Now, there was nothing.

Now, yousee, sometimes there are miracles. When you wish quietly in your heart, whenyour feelings are true, sometimes miracles happen. They don’t happen exactlythe way we want, or maybe they’re not even whatwe want, but they happen to give us a chance, to give us a choice. They offernew crossroads, new paths, that’s what they are. Miracles are wishes and wishesare hope. And so, on that day, on that winter day when Wang So lost the snow inhis heart, the skies offered him snow. He looked up and felt the cold on thetip of his nose, making him go cross-eyed for a second. He spoke into the air,into the night, “Mother?”, and the snowflakes continued to fall in response, inmerciful slowness, in the turns of his ballerina’s dance. He held theunprotected ballerina up to the falling snow, it was the only thing he could do,it was the only thing he could give her; she who had only ever had made-up snowcould experience the real thing. He was awake, painfully awake, not a minutespent in dreams. And so the boy lost the last bit of his childhood that day.

The yearspassed, as they ought to pass. His ballerina no longer visited his dreams, nolonger sent him on adventures. For the boy, our young man, there was only theold memory of a father who died fighting, a mother who died of something else,and an everyday of routine and routine and routine for which he didn’t have theheart. He just didn’t have the heart.

She camewhen he least expected it, when his nights had long been overtaken by darkness.

The teachersaid her name was Hae Soo. She wassmall, hair kept in a bun, eyes big and frightened as it took every face whostudied her, who seized her, who threw her off balance. As she walked to herseat, so close to him yet still distant, he noticed she had a small limp, thesubject of gossip and chatter and myths amongst his peers, whispered words behindher back, her neck glowing red in embarrassment and self-consciousness. All Socould think about was a ballerina who once fell to the ground and lost her domeand was left unprotected to tread through this world. Hae Soo was a girl,however, a person, and of people, he knew very little. He wanted to know.

Hae Soowould listen to music whenever she could, her knees close to her chest, hermouth moving silently to the lyrics. He wanted to tell her that he foundcomfort in music too, that it calmed his heart, that it gave him dreams,daydreams, dreams while awake, the only kind he knew then. He wanted toapproach her, wanted to know her, wanted to brush her bangs away from her facebecause his mother, a different Soo, said eyes were too beautiful to hide. Forreasons he didn’t yet know, he wanted her to stop crying when she thought noone could see.

And so hebought her tickets to a ballet. It was the only thing he could think about; hisballerina, his half-remembered night stories and the comfort they used to bringhim. So he approached her at the school gates, stopping in front of her to gether attention, walking somewhere no one could see them. His hand was shakingwhen he held the ticket to her, and when she took it, he could have leaped withjoy but her reaction was wrong, it was different from what he had conjectured.There was still one more obstacle to his happiness; there was still one morebattle for our Wang So to fight, our clumsy, mended Wang So. He felt it whenher tears started to fall, when she shoved the ticket back at his chest and ranaway, without grace and without balance, without direction and without solace.His heart broke again that day. But I’ve heard — I believe — our hearts are our most resilient organ, it can bebroken and stepped on, it can be set on fire and it can beat at a thousandmiles per hour, it can die and it can live again; it can endure so much if onlythere is love at the end. Our hearts can live on if there is love. And for WangSo, that sad girl was his first love, and from the skies, from the dreams hecould no longer remember, a voice told him not to give up.

The boy whoonce lost everything waited, and he thought, and he waited. Hae Soo had notspoken a word to anyone, especially not to him, taking detours when heapproached, hiding her face when he looked at her, still so lost insideherself, carefully nestled in her seat by the window, in the dome she tried tomaintain by herself. And one day, just an average day, when he knocked on herdoor — or rather, he tapped on her desk after everyone was gone, after therewas only her, him, and the setting sun captured in the picture frame of thatafternoon.

“I wantto… show you something,” he said, slowly, as if he tried words that had neverbefore been spoken. Hae Soo lifted her head to him, her mouth a lonely line,her eyes blank. It was better than crying, he thought, it was better thanrunning away. She hadn’t replied, she had never talked to anyone, but no onehad tried to offer any kind word, just rude questions about things that onlysatisfied their curiosity. So and Soo had something in common, they had afissure, a crack from which light tried desperately to peek through. They hadshared a fragile moment, a second of recognition, the ticket in his hand andthe surprise in her eyes, and he held on to that thread, he held on so hewouldn’t fall back into the person he was before she came along. Before, hecould only think about himself; after she came, he could only think of her, ofher tears, of her limp, of the songs she listened to and what dreams she mightdream.

Hae Soostood up, her chair scrapping against the floor, a ballerina’s cacophony. Shedidn’t walk away, she didn’t push him back. She waited, like he had waited.Took her bag in her hand and waited, her eyes blinking lazily at him, tired. Hetook her hand; bold yet hopeful, his heart leaping at her, reaching for her,hoping she would accept him.

It wascold, the winter when Hae Soo came. It had been a cold fall, an even colderwinter. They walked without sharing a word, their joined hands a lifeline forboth of them, two souls that hang on, two hearts that longed to be mended, forgood days to come back. They yearned. For something that had yet to beinvented.

She should be okay here, So thought as they both enteredthe building. She didn’t interject or complain or leave. He got her readyfirst, sitting her gently down, looking up at her for her consent before takingher shoes off, untangling her knots, carefully exposing her. He finally feltlike the prince he wanted to be in his dreams, the one who couldn’t rescue hismother, the one who was forsaken. The heart lives on. He chose her sizeperfectly, the crystal slippers, white and ready to take on new grounds. Shewatched him as he changed out of his own shoes and soon they were set — soon,they were on the ice.

Hae Soodidn’t know how to ice skate; he did. He still remembered his mother’s lessons,her hands guiding him, her laughter chiming across the white park. The memoryof her was in every gesture, in every step he took to teach Soo. She didn’thave much confidence so she let him lead. The ice felt like home, his home, ahome he could invite Soo to. It was something new, something paradoxicallywarm. They both fell down. Slipped, unpracticed glides on ancient, waiting ice.Rubbing his backside, So panicked, looked Soo over to check for any injuries,apologized, again and again and again.

Soo startedto laugh. It bubbled out of her in waves, timid, then it grew, and it grew.They were both sprawled across the ice, blushing from feelings and the cold,all over each other in the uncertainty of youth. But their hearts beattogether, raced together, in rapture, at the side of her that she entrustedhim. They laughed together and they stood together and together they skated.Together, they danced. Soo didn’t have to limp, she had support, she glided.She would fall not because she hurt, but because she was inexperienced. And hewould smile because he didn’t hurt anymore, because he had someone else.Finally. Last, but not least, so it goes. Outside, the first snow fell on theadolescence of their lives.

“I used todance,” she told him as they walked together, an umbrella over their heads, theevening covering them like a blanket.

“Whathappened?”

“I had anaccident,” she said, her breath catching before her in mist.

“I had anaccident, too,” he told her. She halted, looking up at him with snow caught atthe ends of her hair, long and loose against her back.

“What didyou lose?”

“Everything.My dreams.”

She smiled.

“I lostmine too. I’m just… A part of something that I once was.”

So tiltedhis head, confused, unprepared.

“But I seeall of you.”

Soo seemedto lose her strength for a moment, a second, where she reached for him for thefirst time, leaning on him for support, her knee bent, her hands on hisforearms.

“Are youokay?”

What shouldhe say, what should he do? So only understood of the injuries of the heart, hedidn’t know of helplessness, of someone’s wound that he could not heal, ofsomebody’s pain and how much it could pain him. He only knew loss. His motherlooking outside the window, a father that would not come. He didn’t want tolose again.

“I’m okay,it’s just… cold. My knee hurts a bit.”

He held heras she held onto him, the middle without a clear start, a movie with a muddled,forgettable beginning. The minutes fell and passed with every snowflake meltingagainst their umbrella.

“You…what did you see in me?”

His youngheart raced with a thousand reasons.

“I justwanted to meet you.”

It wassimple. It was truth. He nodded, more at himself than at her, and she smiled,the knowledge bringing them closer together, or maybe it was just the umbrellathat wasn’t big enough for the two of them.

“Wouldyou…”

Heswallowed and she tilted her head in curiosity, her hands slowly falling downhis arms and lying so close to his hands. She was showing him so many sides ofher, and he was falling for them all. He wanted to hold her hand.

“…show methe songs you like?”

Hae Soo’ssmile wasn’t big and bright like it would be one day, but on that day, it wasenough. Just enough to draw his attention to the mole on her cheek, just enoughto lighten up her eyes, just enough to welcome him. On the next day, aftereveryone was gone, she shared one of her ear buds with him, and he discovered alittle bit more about her. She read over his notebooks, his notes, his words,the adventures that lived in him, and she discovered a little bit more abouthim, too. They never wanted to go home and together, they learned to be withone another, to want each other’s company. A little more. A little closer. Theydanced together on the ice, where Soo didn’t limp, where So ran like he used torun, through golden roads, under rainbow arcs. And together they walked, handin hand, and waved at cats and birds and children, and they learned to liveagain.

This is astory about lost dreams, about finding oneself, about thinking about someoneelse, about finding happiness in being someone’s happiness. It’s a story aboutlearning to care, about learning to let go. We all find ourselves, in the end.We find ourselves in somebody else, sometimes. We dream. Inevitably,irrevocably, we dream.

The first snow always comes.

And ourhearts can be mended.

“Seol, whyare you still up?”

The younggirl looked away from her audience of stuffed animals and at her mother who hadopened her door.

“I was justreading, mom.”

She put herclosed book away and her mother walked over to tuck her under the covers, heranimals falling on her like her faithful soldiers, her small protectors.

“Well, Isuppose I can’t scold you for that, but it’s way past your bedtime.”

“Mom?”

Her motherhummed in response, her smile big and bright.

“Can youtell me the story of how you and dad met again?”

Hae Soochuckled.

“I thoughtyou had outgrown that story.”

Seol shookher head.

“Pleasetell me again.”

“Okay.” HaeSoo sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed, her small feet lifting off theground. “It was a very cold winter…”

Seol triedto listen closely to the story, even if her eyes slowly started to feel heavy,even if she couldn’t stay awake for the end. She knew the end; she knew hermother liked to tell the story as much as she liked to listen, she knew hermother liked to fall asleep against her dad’s shoulder while listening tobeautiful violins, the Christmas lights shining on them like a millionrainbows, like a miracle. Seol liked it even better when her father sang her tosleep after the story, but father was tired from writing and she understood.She was a big girl now and she knew when her parents were tired, and it wasokay to rest, because they were going ice skating the next day and there wasnothing that she loved more than to ice skate with her parents.

In her dreams,she fought evil mice and she protected her kingdom. She was a warrior and shewas a princess, she was everything she wanted to be because her parents taughther she could be anything, everything, as long as she could dream about it.

On herbedside sit a present from her great-uncle Choi Ji Mong: a ballerina in herdome, her hand open, outstretched, pointing to a clock that signaled theever-coming midnight.

And shedreamt.

Outside,the snow continued to fall.

#Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo #Scarlet Heart Ryeo #Moon Lovers #fanfiction #Wang So #Hae Soo #Wang So/Hae Soo #So/Soo #alternative universe: fairy tale

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