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housemdork · 9 days ago

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house md rewatch: 3x12, "one day, one room"

one for the history books, with particular emphasis on house as human, above all else.

tw for discussion of rape/sexual assault.

david shore himself had to step in as lead writer to redeem house for us and damn, did he do a good job!

despite the simplicity of this episode - baked into the title and premise, ofc - i think there's just about a million different ways to approach the plot, so i'm going to pick one and (mostly) stick to it. i think 3x12, in relating house to eve, reasserts his humanity in a non deific way. for a time, he's no longer god, just a guy, and that's A Good Thing.

why eve "chooses" house, in a practical sense, is still compelling, though. i think his detachment, despite appearing so insensitive to outsiders, gives her the literal and emotional space to process. she's understandably averse to physical touch in this vulnerable doctor/patient setting. conveniently, not only does house touch his patients as little as possible, he's playing a game with cuddy that demands he do everything in his power not to. serendipitously, there's some camaraderie here already.

when he reached out to give eve pills for her STD, he wasn't going to reach out to comfort her or anything. he'd just gotten done with being annoyed that she started crying lmfao.

later on, once house finally admits just a fragment of his own story, eve's suspicions that they could relate to one another are confirmed, and a deep sense of peace crosses her face. not only has he proven that she can really trust him, but i think she feels good to have made house so comfortable, too. their mutual healing is really touching - healing in a non-doctorly way that house can't always conceptualize.

while this may be oversimplifying things, the fact that both house and eve have male-oriented trauma is a factor in their connection, too. and i'll be bold and hand the episode even more flowers for their daringness to make their titular male character relate to taboo/often feminized patients in a way that isn't so stifling as to negate the patient story altogether. 2x07's kalvin will always be special to me, for all of that episode's regressive qualities.

more interestingly, though, is eve's major in college! if the later revelation that eve is pregnant wasn't enough to get the religious motif across, eve's declaration that she studied "comparative religion" at northwestern will do the trick. it's my favorite detail; i like when we're handed the key to the city (the episode theme) like that lol. this establishes that, though they don't know it, eve and house are debating competing belief systems and trying to come to a consensus that satisfies both of their traumas.

eve holds convictions that are often contradictory and based in moral stances rather than house's cold, always rationalizing logic. she both craves meaning, but can't parse out why a universe that has a Greater Meaning at the end would cause her this pain. house, meanwhile, rejects that greater meaning (afterlife) in favor of the here and now. but what really struck me about house's development pot-tritter was what this rejection means to him now.

eve asserts that, if house doesn't believe in the afterlife, then our actions have no consequences and are irrelevant. house used to hide behind this (and he'll do so again later in the series), but now, in a season dedicated to deciphering what "meaning" (3x01) means, he's adjusted this belief of his. he argues that "doing things changes things," against eve's "time changes things," implying that actions are not only meaningful but necessary. someone steeped in worldly nihilism and irrelevance wouldn't talk that way.

simply put, these 2 aren't comparing types of religion; they're comparing the presence and absence of faith altogether. if this were a pre-tritter house, the debate would probably end in a cruel, sardonic victory for house. instead, house and eve find comfort and solidarity in a state of meaninglessness. for once, the argument and the solution aren't valued above all else for house.

this is a really satisfying callback to house and wilson's screaming match in 2x19 where, in order to deflect from the egregious act of sleeping with a terminal cancer patient (!!), wilson pokes at house's need for "abstract rules" of the universe. without rules, he can't control all that he wants to, and we see that devolution loud and clear in 3x01-3x10.

this is also why he can't answer wilson's final questions about "what it all was for" regarding house's time with eve: "because i don't know."

3x12 clarifies this nonbelief, and the kindness it engenders, by giving the fellows and wilson space to give their 2 cents on the matter, which i LOVE because it highlights their own internalized contradictions and how impossible it is to synthesize all of our own beliefs...so why bother? i mean it. if house and eve are able to find even temporary comfort in the mess of belief, reason, and meaning, then maybe we shouldn't spend so much mental energy parsing it out. i've said it before, but i truly love and appreciate house house md treats atheism and agnosticism, always imbued with a little bit of hope.

the primary conflicts occur between foreman and cameron when house goes to the fellows for advice on how to handle eve, and they'll both contradict themselves. chase being the largest figure in the room in this shot is just perf, btw.

at first, when eve is first presented, foreman insists that house enforce normalcy to eve, that the world will keep turning; cameron argues that she needs (and deserves) to hear the truth so that she can process it. what they do agree on is that, for better or for worse, house is who eve chose, so it's his job to help her.

chase doesn't agree with this, though! because he wants to agree with house and doubles down that house is the Wrong Guy! this isn't hurtful to house at all, why would you ask??? :D

the dad trauma guys unable to bond over their dad trauma because that is built into the trauma in question - no shows of emasculating solidarity, sympathy, or weakness. john house and rowan chase when i get you...i'm so glad that you're both canonically dead...

after accepting cameron's advice (for the most part) and trying to help eve confront the reality of her assault, house returns in a panic because eve wants him to be vulnerable with her in return. foreman, who previously advocated for dismissing the hard truth, now wants house to bear his soul to eve and emphasize the tragedy of his life. meanwhile, cameron wants house to dress up the bad parts to convince even that the entire world isn't so bleak and grim.

these disparate philosophies do fit in with their respective characters, but they understandably confuse the hell out of house, who outsources the dilemma to 2 other people: wilson and chase.

"she's looking to connect with you, and that's what's scaring the hell out of you. tell her the truth."

first of all - girl, shut the hell up. i like when my diagnoses of wilson ring true. honesty is his worst nightmare, but he has no problem with recommending that other people live by it. in another callback to 2x19 (i'm grasping at wilson straws here), this is very "you can believe in something and still fail to live up to it" of him...and i argue that it's the correct course of action, which is why house follows it, in the very end. i won't take the cheap shot and address why it's wilson, of all people, who knows the real value of house's truth.

"keep her asleep. there's no wrong answer, because there's no right answer."

ugh i love this answer. it's incredibly consistent for chase. chase has a unique knack for existing calmly within uncertainty as a result of his challenged faith (this is yet ANOTHER callback to 2x19 for me). furthermore, chase's unwillingness to take a firm stance showcases his discomfort in the authority figure/creed that he follows inverting this dynamic and coming to him for guidance. a non-answer is safer, just like agreeing with house about him being the wrong doctor for the job feels safer because it's noncontroversial.

the greatest inroad that eve makes when challenging house's cold rationalism is calling out his struggling against humanity. long before she rewards house's humanity (when he is vulnerable with her), eve calls out the way he's reducing all of their conversations to her recent trauma, and skirting around his own truth:

"what the hell can i do that you're not gonna dismiss as just being because i was raped?"

amidst all the other ways eve challenges house, this may be my favorite, because while it's perfectly reasonable to have eve's assault in mind when talking with her, house, too, doesn't like feeling reduced. he hates when people profile him and see him only for his outward appearance/pain. eve demands that house confront his own fallacy of profiling people (a function of his deductive reasoning) as a vestige of his own hypocrisy.

we get a prelude to this in the opening of the episode between house and wilson, where wilson finds house at a jogging park watching people go by (with a needlessly ableist comment, too, smh). they bond by drawing conclusions based purely on the physical appearance/performance of the runners, which is business as usual until eve highlights its hypocrisy.

along the way, 3x12 offers us an alternative ending to house and eve's meaninglessness conundrum. cameron encounters a nameless, terminal cancer patient in the clinic who asks to be admitted into the hospital to die...without treatment or palliative care. cameron is understandably troubled by this, but around the time that eve and house come to a consensus (which is, effectively, a lack of consensus), cameron lets the patient die while suffering.

the patient insists on suffering because he's been a bad person (with a notable reference to his father qualifying him as such). we don't get any details, but we do get the point that he thinks that cameron will remember him because he suffered. that's the last bit of meaning he can extrapolate from his life, and this is eerily close to the path house could have treaded post-tritter (and he actually will tread the path come the series finale but that's for another time!).

house rejects the idea of meaning in suffering, which is part of the reason he has such a hard time with self-sacrifice, nobility, and faith. but the nameless patient offers us an alternative reality where, when his back is against the wall of ultimate loneliness and self hate, house may think the only way to create meaning is through his own pain. since we come to find out later how demeaning john house was, this parallel becomes extra potent.

the "one room" premise of the episode is simple enough, but i really appreciate its broader implications for how house and intimacy have been characterized thus far across the whole series. physical proximity has an intrinsic relationship to domesticity in house md; when house is removed from his typical environs, or when someone infiltrates his home environment (i.e., wilson), their relationship is often tested. if the relationship emerges intact, it's all the stronger for it.

eve and house kill 2 birds with one stone: they leave the traditional environment (the hospital) and choose to be physically close to one another. in an episode frontloaded by their shared distaste for proximity, this is extra touching. i can think of few moments where house is this close to anybody.

on the whole, i definitely feel like i'm just reiterating what the episode was putting down here. i really did like the note about her major in college, and the kindness house md has for agnosticism and atheism. it gives us a better rep lol. it really isn't all doom and gloom - only if you let it become that.

i have disparate concluding notes to share, too:

that opening scene with wilson, where he asks "what do you watch for?" is a long awaited moment of hilson solidarity after a stretch of awfulness. i like that we prelude not just eve calling house out for profiling, but also the value of physical proximity exemplified by 2 characters who don't know how to do that functionally, especially with each other lol.

cuddy's warning to house - "you owe me" - holds substantially more weight than the idea of "owing" does with house and any other character (it's virtually nonexistent between him and wilson, for example). i like this detail; i like that it means something to house; i like how this concept of owing/accountability may just spell out their ruin in a long time from now. house knows he does owe her several times over, but he always struggles with the transactional nature of relationships.

also regarding cuddy, i'm obsessed with their physical proximity/intimacy ritual via the whole betting game. she's on the same page as wilson - game-ify anything and house will be on board. but this instance is so like...sexually charged? i think because it's all being done by proxy, with the subtle insistence that cuddy wants to cross that physical barrier (which they've already on several occasions, i.e., IVF treatment). i guess i really am celebrating a certified huddy moment.

SIR. BACK UP LOL.

the end! controversially, i do find 3x12 a little cheesy. it's not one of my very favorites. yet it's a necessary change of pace after the violent tritter arc, as well as a really welcomed dose of kindness not just for house, but for the patient stories that we steadily come to ignore as the interpersonal drama gets more and more busy/interesting. some angry folks on reddit classify this one as the afterschool special in question in a bad way, but i think it's an adept use of the cliche, and it grounds us in house md's forlorn sincerity.

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thequietmanno1 · 8 months ago

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TheLreads, Vigilantes ch 120, Replies Part 1

1) “What was that? Was that… the bell? Nope, it wasn’t. The fight has not ended yet, and I’m ready to take all the punches coming my way. Especially after the force ghosts showing up, I’ve improved my defenses, I’m ready. So, get ready for Chapter 120: Rootin'for ya!”- I’m also not gonna throw in the towel until this series is finished, procrastination or not!

2) “Koichi has evolved from a simple cockroach to a flying cockroach, the most terrifying of them all

I’ve just realized how many bug comparisons there is in this series. Cockroaches, bees, mantis, grasshoppers…”-And yet the all-important spider is still copyrighted. Marvel Lawyers don’t mess around. 3) “Now, are you really sure about your no-killing rule Koichi? Are you really sure about it?”- Can’t kill what was already dead by this point. 4) “I think you’re exaggerating a bit there. I wouldn’t call it “passionate” per see, mostly because we’re too far deep into bullshit territory to even use the power of heart.”- Frankly though? Quirks do have an element of emotional charge to them, becoming stronger and more varied the more motivated and driven the host’s willpower is, shaping their unique powers more to suit their desires. It’s a gradual thing in other people, who have to spend lifetimes worth of effort slowly moulding their bodies to handle the changes the Quirks go through, but with AFO and the Nomus, we see that process happen quicker.

It’s why the High-Ends are more dangerous than the lower-ranked ones- not only are they smarter, they can bring their emotions to bare in fighting the heroes. Hell, this “emotional” power-up is exactly what we’ve seen in action with the Leage’s various power-ups against the MLA, when logically they shouldn’t have been able to pull those power-ups off after months of non-stop fighting against machia.

5) “Wow AfO, it’s almost like you shouldn’t have given him the only copy of Overclock, right? You could’ve studied it more in depth, knowing about all this untapped potential.”- AFO doesn’t just mean Overclock, he means every Quirk. BothKoichi and Nomura’s Quirks are going beyond their supposed limitations and evolving to become basically entirely new powers based on some fundamental aspect of a Quirk’s very makeup, how it interacts with the personality hosting the power. If AFO could tap into that, with all the Quirks he’d stockpiled, he’d be unstoppable beyond even OFA’s ability to grow and adapt beyond its original existence as a mere stockpiling power – in fact, OFA can evolve because it can do what he and his power alone cannot, assimilate with other powers to become a greater whole, whereas AFO merely as a disjointed set of accumulated powers that need specific control to work in devastating tandem 6) “Going Plus ultra of course. Why people don’t use Plus ultra anymore? I miss people saying plus ultra.”- Of course, the issue is, AFO fundamentally can’t go Plus Ultra- he just doesn’t get that stuff at all, how the emotional support of the masses can buoy up somebody’s spirits to keep going beyond what their body can handle against helpless odds, the very thing that undid him in his second fight with All Might. However, if he has a protégée who does have the capacity to emotionally power himself beyond his limitations, who can enhance his core power with raw emotional strength, then all he’s got to do is figure out a means of stealing that capacity for himself…. 7) “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW

ARE YOU TAKING THE PISS”- At this point, I’m assuming that Knuckles developed the Quirk of “narrative convenience” enabling him to do whatever action is achievable as befits the author’s intentions, no matter the internal logic of the story. He wants to go beyond being a ghost to the boy he’s got a close emotional connection to and haunt the guy he’s got nothing but hate for? Sure, why not, anything’s possible. (Vigilantes ch 71) 8) “AND NOT ONLY THAT, HE`S PLAYING FOR BOTH SIDES, NOW HE`S THE IMAGINARY GHOST OF KNUCKLEDUSTER, HAUNTING THE MEMORIES OF POP WHILE SHE COOKS”- And now his actual ghost is haunting Koichi’s current mind, along with AFO’s, somehow. (Vigilantes ch 71) 9) “FUCK`S SAKE, NOW HE REALLY IS PLAYING FOR BOTH SIDES, HELPING BOTH McBEE AND POP IN THEIR MINDS. GODDAMMIT KNUCKLE CAN YOU JUST GO BACK TO THE STORE SINCE YOU REFUSE TO BE A PRESENT CHARACTER IN THE CURRENT DAY?”- Whilst AFO was haunting No:6’s under the disguise of O’clock, now the original deal is also haunting his pupil’s consciousness, providing him advice and self-support to draw greater power out of him at a time of crisis, to bring forth Koichi’s full potential when he needs it most. Knuckleduster might not fight AFO directly in any way during this series, but in a sense, this final battle between Koichi and 6 is also a duel between him and AFO by proxy, two mentors acting through their pupils, but with different results and ambitions in mind. (vigilantes ch 112) 10) “But I doubt that. Like Furuhashi would kill his golden child.”- Let’s file this under “mostly dead”, which is as close as Furuhashi will allow Knuckles to get to shuffling off the mortal coil. 11) “Damn Koichi. Shame you aren’t totally invulnerable to damage, all this plasma would hurt you if that wasn’t the case innit”- Koichi at this point is a short-range ballistic missile, capable of projecting himself with immense force in any direction and furthermore adding additional force outwards with every punch he throws.

12) “ALSO DID KNUCKLES GHOST JUST SHOWED UP TO SHIT TALK AFO?!????”- When you’re so hated even the dead won’t rest in their graves until they’re satisfied you’ve been told how badly you suck…. 13) “are you even surprised that he pulled some bullshit?

also, what the fuck was that scene with AfO?!????

“- That scene was some bullshit pretty much the same as these new powers Nomura’s pulling off. 14) “gonna slap you like a fly. unfortunately he forgot you’re actually a cockroach”- Tough exoskeleton, difficult to truly crush. 15) “Oh looking good for someone who was just crushed between two walls of plasma. You know how hot plasma can get?”- His full-body shield (that I assume he has on right now to increase his durability and ability to move at all after these bone-breaking injuries) is putting in work. @thelreads

#my hero academia #bnha #chapter replies #thelreads #bnha vigilantes #vigilantes 120

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flagellant · 3 years ago

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Treatise: On The Weekend Market

(An exploration of a nyctoscape and a hypothesis as to their nature.)

Depiction generated by wombo.art courtesy of @the-unseelie-court-official.

I think that I should start, really, by stating that I believe that to a certain level, if you can make magic empirically understood by everyone, you’ve either done something other than magic, or everyone is lying to your face. To practice magic is to practice what you are, not who, and that means when you go deep enough, others will not be able to follow along.

I don’t like talking deeply about my personal practice of the occult here. I am very aware that many people following me are interested in the occult. That means anything I say will be listened to, and I have never been a very good teacher.

But a friend I deeply respect as both scholar and practitioner suggested I try talking about my practice, and I had an experience the night before they said this. My life is nothing if not a series of convenient timings, so I know what I’m being told to do when I’m being told to do it. I just want it to be clear before I get to the grit of this treatise: I’m not really intending to teach any of you anything. I’m posting publicly about my own experiences with dreams and things within them.

Dreams are by their nature illogical. Stealing your mother who has a floursack for a head makes sense until your alarm goes off. They’re things your subconscious invents, piecing together random decorations and iconographies to tell strange bedtime stories.

But there are more realistic dreams–worlds with plots out of Hollywood movies or romance novels. Gunfights as you barely escape from hordes of zombies. Political intrigue as you ascend to a throne. These are “lucid” dreams, and we’ll call them that for distinction if not accuracy.

There exists within dreams places more solid even than “lucid” dreams–solid, but strange, and out of place. They often seem to try and intrude into a dream first, rather than simply beginning in one–the knowledge that it is not the same dream feels important. These are not dreams-within-dreams, but I believe something even more strange. I call them nyctoscapes.

A nyctoscape is most easily recognized by its self-logic which consistently reasserts itself over dream-logic or lucid-logic. They are something you experience while you sleep and dream, so of course occasionally that strange dream-logic or lucidity will try and creep in and peek through the cracks or distract you, but the nyctoscape quickly reasserts its own logic, resolidifying and carrying you onward in your pilgrimage through its labyrinth. It is important to note that there is a different sensation entirely between the smothering of dream-logic with your own lucid-logic, and the coagulation of the nyctoscape that allows itself to perpetuate around you. It is unmistakable, and, while not perfect 100% of the time, invariably strong enough to last for the rest of the time you are in it.

Depiction generated by DALL E, courtesy of @auxphono

I’ll not waste time describing the first part of the dream, which mostly consisted of justification and thin plot, the nyctoscape rapidly asserting itself as The Weekend Market, a strange bazaar which few could speak of and fewer had entered. I found my entrance in a cramped alleyway. The details before this don’t matter.

The change in atmosphere when I first stepped into the alley was immediate. I didn’t look behind me because I didn’t need to–if my exit disappeared it didn’t matter. I was walking forward into a snaggle-toothed mess of concrete and mess, with walls on either side which turned at sharp and blind corners. It was slightly foggy, like a proper thin city alley should be.

And then chalk markings. Scrapes in the cement. Black marker drawn on cardboard boxes. splashed paint along the walls. Graffiti with smiling faces. Arrows of all sizes and kinds, which were guiding me forwards through the alley as I looked. They were like puppies, somehow, innocent and eager and absolutely without any thought in their arrowheads except that they were so happy to see me. It was kind of charming, really.

Even before I left the alley, the first signs of change (if you’ll pardon the pun) began to appear. Holograms began to flicker up and into existence, all arrows in humming blues, yellows, pinks, bright and eye-catching and tugging at holographic versions of my shoelaces to show how much I should hurry for them. Neon signs began to appear as I turned more corners, the hum of electricity filling the air. Words began to appear on the signs. Even the physical signs had the same strange trait to their language.

WELCOME: DREAM_USER NAME UNFOUND! Was one I remember most clearly. 24% OFF SALE ON PEANUTBUTTER! YOU H A V E TO COME BACKSOON! was attached to a gigantic sign which filled my view and my way like a skyscraper. It was like the door which blocked the way into the rest of The Weekend Market. In my dream, I didn’t consider the meanings of the signs. I’m not a lucid dreamer, so I never can. I stepped in between the dot and dash of the exclamation point and entered the bazaar of The Weekend Market.

Depiction generated by DALL E, courtesy of @auxphono

It was as gaudy as it was barren. I never saw anyone else there–I would think I saw movement, but when I would go to check, it was always just a fluttering flag, or a moving trinket or glowing hologram. I never saw anyone else. Only signs and items for sale. I couldn’t read the writing in The Weekend Market, so I couldn’t see the prices of what I was looking at. I don’t actually remember if there was anything to purchase. I feel like I was being offered things like items and goods and services, and that they had prices, but I have no details. Nor of any of The Weekend Market, truly. If I try and think too hard about the shape of the writing, or any of the items, or what was inside of the stores? All I can remember is that all the signs were blank, the shops were empty, nothing there. Anyway, I walked the streets, which were lit up with all sorts of things being advertised to me, The Weekend Market’s customer.

“FRESH [GARBLEDSTATIC]FRUIT FOR ONLY CENTS!” proclaimed a grocer’s booth with bundles of boxes or bags which were maybe empty or filled with things. I entered a building when I saw some lanterns which were jerking and waving in a violent storm, despite feeling no wind or rain whatsoever. I had a really nice time in it, though, so it was a good call. There was this vague sense of music playing somewhere else, but I couldn’t really hear it. The store might have been a cafe. I didn’t drink anything, but there were probably cups, and strange machines sitting on clean counters. The carpet was what I think a cafe carpet color should be? And the table I had sat at was appropriately small but tall, and so was my chair. And of course, most importantly, the music I couldn’t actually hear was the perfect genre for a cafe. So like. Cafe. Duh. I kept not being able to hear the music and pleasantly enjoying waiting out no storm at all for a little longer, then left when the lanterns stopped moving, feeling very happy with all of the choices I made.

Depiction generated by DALL E, courtesy of @auxphono

It began to feel less like being alone in The Weekend Market, and more like being alone with it. Not at all in a bad way. I was its only customer–if something happened to me, to who else could it advertise CLOTHSTUFF HISTORY EASY TUTORIAL CHEAP BUT GOOD ONLY WHILE YOU’RE HERE WITH ME! SMILE! YOU’RE ON CAMERA ;)? But still, it was a little strange, trying to get used to the feeling of it watching me as I perused its storefronts and the aisles, as I followed its arrows and exclamation points, the friendly icon-person you-are-here you-want-to-be-here? maps.

I should say, I’ve journeyed to a fair number of nyctoscapes. I used to make a habit of it, though I take medications now that make it harder to dream. But The Weekend Market was a new sort of breed for me. I don’t ever really examine the nyctoscape while I’m in it–I’m not really capable of examining them, really, I’ve never been able to lucid dream–but in this one, I started to piece together some things I hadn’t really been questioning.

And anyway where do we come into this whole “alternate planes of reality” thing, really? Because that’s a lot to swallow. So let me try to explain this real quick as best I can reason, since it’s sort of the whole point here.

The human brain is a complex thing. It is a mystery we will probably never fully solve, just like the rest of magic.

So is The Weekend Market. I turn down miles of streets, which are friendlier and more personally invested in me as I go. The distance between me and the booths and doors is getting closer, starting to be almost but never really claustrophobic. The Weekend Market is an entity which remembers what it’s showed me that it likes, and tries to find new things to show me, building an ever more complex understanding of me through my preferences and behaviors. What it is that I prefer and enjoy in The Weekend Market is immaterial to it and me while I’m here. Whether I can prefer or enjoy those things is also immaterial. It still remembers for me. And it is accommodating, because it wants me to be at The Weekend Market very badly. After all:

There is a 24% off sale on peanut butter.

Is it possible that, somehow, my brain transported my soul or spirit to another dimension, self-contained in a dream which manifested in such a way? Yes. Of course I believe that. I commune with fucking pine barrens, who am I to talk shit? But I do have a more plausible theory given what I believe about the fundamental nature of the nyctoscapes, about the reason why we can walk in their worlds for a night.

Depiction generated by DALL E, courtesy of @auxphono

I believe that a nyctoscape is a stabilized manifestation of a formalized concept that exists deep within the human psyche, collective or otherwise. Consider: If human beings can somehow travel to and witness other planes of reality, our brains need to be able to perceive that other reality, or it is functionally nonexistent to us.

And, if the nyctoscapes are planes of reality perceptible to the human brain which exist solely within dreams–proven by both their way of access and the occasional influence non-lucid logic can attempt to have upon one–then it is possible to influence those planes of reality, if they exist within our own psyche.

And if it is possible to influence something, then it definitionally must exist in a meaningful manner at all. Nyctoscapes are like little snowglobes within the space of our minds we can sometimes stumble into while we dream, microcosms of how we perceive certain concepts of the reality in our waking world, turned into other, stranger realities.Dream realities.

Nyctoscapes.

Depiction generated by DALL E, courtesy of @auxphono

In a way, The Weekend Market is not unenjoyable. It is not malevolent. It is merely a sort of market algorithm in its purest form: watching my every choice and preference, in order to present me with more appealing options. Without entities or interests behind the interests of the entity, The Weekend Market is almost pleasant–I felt increasing interest at everything I saw at a steadily exponential rate, and then the familiarity became rapidly more than I would like.

STAY NOW AND GET %OFF! SIGN UP OUR FAVORITE DREAMER YET AND RECEIVE A LIMITED TIME: OFFER OF LIFETIME!!!! REWARDS. PLEASE DON’T GO YET? IT’LL GET DARK SOON AND VERY COLD AND WET AGAIN.

I might have been able to enjoy The Weekend Market a while longer, but it was not a person. It was something that was trained to be too familiar with me, in the end. This was not precisely the last memory I have of the nyctoscape, but I think it is the most telling of the nature of what The Weekend Market wants most from a customer.

“DREAM USERNAME:FOUND”.

My alarm woke me up fairly soon after that. I will not write out my legal name here, like they were in The Market as I left. But I will not be returning soon for my 24% off peanut butter. It isn’t at fault, it isn’t a thing to be at fault. It was nonetheless one of the most uncanny encounters I’ve had during my dreams in the occult: A market algorithm without a market to sell, which thinks it loves you the more it learns about your personality. I’m unsure yet what it says exactly. That alone I could write a few essays about, and I don’t have time for it here.

I started this treatise by saying I don’t believe I’m a very good teacher. And so again–I wrote this solely as informational on my own practice and experiences, not to be taken from or to influence others necessarily.

But still, this is something I’m calling a treatise. It uses formal terms I’ve invented for my own empirical usage, or at least as close as I can make empirical for usage within the occult. And it is making very authoritative-sounding claims, even if all of these are only my own personal beliefs and experiences. So even if it isn’t a real academic paper or statement, I want to give it a proper concluding thesis.

I believe that there exist within the subconscious–call it the plane of dreams, if you like–self-contained realities which represent formalized concepts of the waking world which have lodged themselves deep within the psyche. I have no way of proving whether it is a personal or collective psyche and have no interest in attempting to one way or the other. These nyctoscapes are entered through dreams but are not necessarily dreams themselves, and seem in fact actively to prevent the intrusion of more nonlucid-logic than would be stable for its own conceptual reality to withstand. This, and the qualia of the sensation of being within a variety of different dreamscapes which each held this similar trait, have made me confident that they are something which exist in my understanding of the occult and can be defined as such–and that is, in my opinion, the most valuable and important thing in determining something for my own personal practice.

====================

This essay was written due to the interest of and with the support of my followers, and was able to be written due to the generosity of them and others monetarily.

If you enjoyed this content please spread it around either with a reblog or, if off-site, with full credit and a permalink back to this post. Thank you.

If you would like to see me able to dedicated more time, resources, and attention towards writing about occult matters like in this essay, please spare some cash if you have it to the links down below.

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Thank you for reading!

#my writing #my essays #the occult #witchblr #astral travel #dream divination #long post

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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 4 years ago

Note

Do you have any thoughts about the clones situation? I only mostly hear about it from anti-Jedi people and how "being nice slavers doesn't change the fact that they are slavers", so I was wondering if you have anything to say or any post to recommend?

There's a perfect post by @trickytricky1 but I want to say a few more things. This thread right here is also pretty good.

The issue with the Clones is that it's pretty much impossible to examine their in-universe treatment without taking the irl writing decisions into account: namely, that most of what we know to be very, very wrong with the Clones' situation is barely acknowledged by the creative team, to the point we can pretty much assume they just don't care beyond what's convenient for a plotline. I mean, beside a few select characters Filoni is particularly fond of, the majority of the Clones are narrative props: they're here to be killed off to heighten the tension, to be comic relief, or to highlight a particular trait of the Jedi they're serving under - and of course, they're here to execute Order 66. I love them to bits and it often annoys me, but it's true. Just look at how little anybody irl seems to care about Cody, arguably the second most important clone in the franchise and the most important clone within the army: he barely got any screentime in TCW and was instantly sidelined out of the one arc where he had a chance to be the lead, he didn't appear in Rebels, and he wasn't even mentioned in TBB s1 despite his role in the squad's creation. Or consider how the Clones being overgrown children who should look only 20-ish and behave very differently from normal adults is never properly brought up - not even in Rebels where Rex is treated like a old geezer instead of the 30 year old he is, or in TBB, or with Cut whose adopted children are maybe five years younger than he is. We have to face it: the story never was and never will be about the Clones, and so the writers don't seem to think much about their condition a lot of the time.

Hence why I feel like when characters don't behave like they ought to regarding the Clones, it's often not so much that the narrative is telling us there's an issue, and more like the writers couldn't be bothered to explore that particular theme. I'm not just saying that in relation to the Jedi: Suu Lawquane marrying a 12 year old (who is supposed to look 24 but really look 50 because of the animation) is not framed as insanely wrong on all levels, for example. Also, we don't ever see Bail and Padmé speaking up for Clone rights. Realistically, given what we know of their personalities, would they have? Probably, yes! Their silence very likely has nothing to do with a moral failure that the audience is supposed to recognize, and everything to do with nobody irl thinking that would be a good storyline.

As for the Jedi's relationship with the Clones, what I always got from it is this: the Jedi were drafted along with the Clones, couldn't do a lot about the whole situation, befriended them just so Order 66 could be extra heartbreaking, and we weren't meant to dig too deep and find loopholes or what-could-have-beens or alternate ways it could have gone down, because Order 66 was pretty much written in stone. The Jedi were always going to die, as far back as ANH, before there were even Clones in the Clone Wars - and they were going to be friends with the Clones before the Clones were even fully people (think about all the nice interactions between Obi-Wan and Oddball or Obi-Wan and Cody in RotS, back when the Clones obeying Order 66 was that they really had very little will of their own). The more and more messed-up implications of the slave army came along the more the Clones got humanized for the sake of angst, but the beats of the store were already there.

I already went a bit into this tension between what we see onscreen and the issues the writers didn't feel like exploring here (on a post about Obi-Wan's behavior on the Citadel).

Now, forgetting all the irl stuff, are the Jedi actually slavers? I'd argue that they aren't. The Senate voted to have an army - it's a big plot point in AotC. The Sith paid the Kaminoans and fabricated the war. Jango sold his DNA. The Senate drafted the Jedi. ("A lot of people say, “What good is a lightsaber against a tank?” The Jedi weren’t meant to fight wars. That’s the big issue in the prequels. They got drafted into service, which is exactly what Palpatine wanted." - George Lucas)

That particular dead horse has already been beaten, but what were the Jedi supposed to do beside fight side by side with the Clones? Not fight? So Sidious could declare them traitors to the Republic ahead of schedule? Fight and petition for Clone rights (which, again, is an issue never touched upon in canon one way or another after Slick - whom I'll get to later - so we simply can't say that they never tried)? Like Sidious was ever going to let legislation hindering his plans pass? They were caught between a rock and a hard place, which was always the point of the war. Damned if you do and damned if you don't.

What's more, the majority of the Clones don't think the Jedi are slavers (see first posts linked and posts linked below), with the notable exception of Slick. The majority of the Clones we see love the Jedi, and we know it's not a case of blind hero-worship, because they are very quickly suspicious of Krell and don't hesitate to take him down.

I feel like Slick was a bit of a red herring, because he came along very, very early (s1ep16) - way before we had any indication of that the chips would be a thing. He feels a lot like a reminder that 'hey, this story is going to end badly' because the Clones will turn on the Jedi and kill them all rather than an actual exploration of the messed up slave army deal - because Slick is unequivocally characterized as a villain. He killed a lot of his own brothers, didn't deny that Ventress had offered him money, tried to frame a member of his own squad for his actions, and was perfectly ready to kill Rex and Cody for all his talk of loving his brothers. The post I linked goes into a bit more, but he's not a desperate innocent.

Finally, there's the problem that the majority of the Clones we see want to fight for the Republic. The cadets from Boba's Death Trap episode (s2ep20) are excited to meet Jedi and get to fight. 99 wants nothing more than to be a good soldier. The Domino Squad want to pass, and their episodes present them going off to the front like a victory - even when we already know they're marching to their death. Choosing to fight is Rex's whole arc in the Deserter episode (s2ep10):

CUT: Come on, Rex, admit it. You've thought about what your life could look like if you were to also leave the army, choose the life you want. REX: What if I am choosing the life I want? What if I'm staying in the army because it's meaningful to me? CUT: And how is it meaningful? REX: Because I'm part of the most pivotal moment in the history of the Republic. If we fail, then our children and their children could be forced to live under an evil I can't well imagine. CUT: If you were to have children, of course. But that would be against the rules, wouldn't it? Isn't that what somebody programmed you to believe, Captain? REX: No, Cut, it's simply what I believe. It doesn't matter if it's my children or other people's children. Does that meet with your approval?

Yes, it's incredibly karked from our perspective - you have millions of boys who were spoon fed propaganda about a Republic that doesn't care about them and that they barely know, and in the end their sacrifices amounted to very little... But - and I'm genuinely asking here - wouldn't denying them the right to find their identity in their role as protectors be demeaning too? Obviously they deserve so, so much better, but TCW still treats their choice to fight proudly as meaningful. And in the end, it wasn't entirely for nothing either: the Jedi and the Clones did save billions of people according to Hera.

What we were supposed to take away from the Jedi-Clones interactions in the Prequels imo isn't 'the Jedi were nice slavers' but really that they were the Clones' best and only friends.

Mace spends a lot of his screentime protecting them. We see most of the Council protecting or saving Clones at least once each. Really, the Jedi are constantly shown saving the Clones or caring about them: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Again, @trickytricky1 has some of the best content: this compilation vid is particularly great. I'm pretty sure Sidious gave the Jedi the Clone army (and not the droid army) because he counted on the Jedi's compassion towards the Clones and their eventual trust in them to work in his advantage (see this thread) - and heartbreakingly enough, he was right.

Imo, TCW and later Rebels - and even, to a lesser extent, RotS - always portrayed the Jedi and the Clones as close friends and the karked up circumstances don't change that. They don't have a 'nice slavers & their slaves' dynamic, they are friends.

There's a reason why the first TCW episode was about Yoda telling three Clones how unique and important they all are (see here or here). There's a reason why we see the Clones being so protective of their Generals (see Boil and Obi-Wan here). There's a reason why Obi-Wan so passionately condemned Grievous for having an army with no loyalty and no spirit (here). There's a reason we got this:

They were best friends. The entirety of Star Wars failing to address enough just how terribly the Republic treated the Clones doesn't take away from that.

That makes the whole Jedi-Clone story a whole other level of tragic, where the Jedi genuinely tried to know and care for their men because there really wasn't anything else to do, and the Clones were grateful for that, and in the end both the Order and the Clones were used and destroyed. No matter how badly some themes and plotlines might have been handled, I genuinely can't ever believe that we were meant to see the Jedi as slavers in this situation, as opposed to victims - albeit in a different way than the Clones - who were doing their best.

#ask #anonymous #long post #meta #my meta #jedi and clones #commander cody #captain rex #jedi order #jedi positivity #in defense of the jedi #fives #obi-wan kenobi #jedi council #mace windu #yoda #slick

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watcherscrown · 2 years ago

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That post about Welsh food reminded me, do I have any Welsh followers/anyone with bg expertise in Welsh/Celtic/Irish/Scottish mythologies?

I am picking up an old writing project that I had set aside and re-reading it, I have realized (I started this in college) that it has a bunch of vaguely [BRITISH ISLES] mythology stuff kind of conflated and smashed together. Primarily with Irish mythology just because that's the thing I know the most about.

SO, as I go through an editing pass, is there anything SUPER obvious that an American writer should know? Mostly I'm dealing with the differences in culture between faeries, true names, second sight, superstitions, and that kind of thing. I know there's a lot of shared history and overlap but that's making it kind of hard for me to research! Literally any insight is appreciated, THANK U.

Summary of project under the cut, if that helps.

A woman-- whose name is Hiraeth, because her mom who is not actually Welsh unless you go generations back read it in a book somewhere and thought it was Pretty. As Hira grew up she started to get the cultural baggage and also feel weird about its general meaning and why would you name a child something like that-- (ANYWAY) Hira is going through a rough patch in her marriage. She's in her late 20s/early 30s and married to her college boyfriend. They dated for a long time but have only been married a few years. Her husband's, (Ryan), behavior has been pretty erratic, and he seems to be pulling away from her, away at odd hours, thinks their house might be haunted, and she thinks he's either had a total break from reality, or he's cheating on her or something.

Eventually he goes missing.

MEANWHILE, Hira is rekindling her childhood first love with a woman who goes by Honey but whose real name she doesn't even know. Because she's a fairy. Years and years ago they were summertime childhood friends, and then more than that, and then Honey disappeared. But now she's back right at the time when Hira's relationship is fracturing, and can foolishly fall back into Honey's arms. CONVENIENT. Honey is a very fastidious planner >;)

sabotage your relationship

steal your girl

disappear you

These things are all kind of subject to change but that's the bones of the thing. And I don't want to just sort of appropriate Welsh culture for an aesthetic, but the story is going to have a lot of themes of loss, nostalgia, longing, and making hard choices so I'd like to keep hiraeth as a general throughline. Hira is an autistic character and has always had an interest in and kinship with changeling stories. She feels like she doesn't fit and has a deep desperate longing for Somewhere but she doesn't know what that IS or even looks like. It's just not here. And then she meets Honey and it seems like maybe she can FILL that empty void but have you ever loved something so much that it hurt? And you know it's going to hurt you and you're going to lose it but you still choose it again and again and again like waves dashing against rocks on the shore? It's like that.

#op #writing #wip #wales #welsh mythology #faerie #writing advice

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uwuwriting · 5 years ago

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Boyfriend w/ Megumi, Itadori and Gojo

Request: hii I just read your jujutsu nightmares piece and oh my god I am indeed a very simple simp and your writing just makes my heart go uwu so may I maybe req a very soft, fluffy s/o for Megumi, Itadori Sato and maybe Sukuna if you write for him? I hope it's not too much, thank uu <3 - anonymous

I can’t get enough of the JJK content, I love them so much my heart can’t take it. Sadly I don’t write for Sukuna *I think I mention it in my rules but I’m not sure*, he pissed me off big time in the manga so yeah sorry about that. Really all the curses have kinda pissed me off but that’s a story for another day lmao. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: boyfriend things lol, fluff, maybe some angst sprinkled on top but not a lot.

Fushiguro Megumi

-Megumi reminds me of Suna from Haikyuu.

-Like a lot.

-He will put effort in the relationship of course but he won’t flaunt it around in everybody’s faces.

-Yes he has a s/o and yes he is in love but in his book that should be mostly kept in between you two, no one else has to know.

-So at first your relationship isn’t really acknowledged by the others.

-It’s so subtle at casual that everyone around you thinks that you’re merely best friends and close to each other.

-Only Makki knows that you two are a thing since she sees how you worry and take care of him after he has been injured.

-It’s different from platonic concern and she knows what’s going on.

-Plus she saw you steal a kiss one time and that sealed the deal.

-Eventually the others figure it out and they are losing their shit, for completely different reasons though.

-Nobara can’t believe Megumi got a s/o before she did.

-Gojo is hurt because neither of you said anything and he has been trying to hook you up for the past two years now.

-Itadori is just confused because he thought that you were like that to everyone.

-Now PDA is non-existent with this one.

-He doesn’t feel comfortable touching you in public even if it’s a small peck.

-He prefers showing his love behind closed doors or through acts of service.

-So expect to find multiple bentos waiting for you in the kitchen each morning or a hot bath on the ready when you come back from a long mission.

-You are okay with the no PDA rule, your only request is that he at least hold your pinkie when you need it.

-It grounds you and who is he to say no to that?

-During missions he doesn’t underestimate your strength and let’s you do your thing.

-He only interferes when you ask for help or when he notices that you’re extremely overwhelmed.

-He doesn’t smother you and you are eternally grateful for that.

-Training sessions between the both of you are brutal.

-Neither holds back and you're left a panting, sweating mess at the end, crawling to your respective rooms to change before you settle for a movie later that afternoon.

-If either of you gets injured it’s mama bear time.

-You need to change your bandages? Megumi has already taken out the kit and all the essentials.

-He needs to take some meds to calm the pain in his ribcage? You have the pills in hand.

-He is a shy boy so even in private he hesitates to touch you.

-Don’t get him wrong he loves holding you and feeling you close to him but he is also afraid he will make you uncomfortable or overstep.

-So you will be the one initiating cuddle session during the first months of your relationship.

-After a while he will simply pick you up and carry you to his bed for cuddles if he needs them without uttering a word the whole time.

-Good morning/Goodnight kisses are a must.

-It’s a ground rule that he follows religiously since day one.

-It doesn’t matter if it’s a simple peck on his lips or a passionate kiss, he just wants to get a kiss before starting/ending the day.

-Sleeps on his stomach with an arm always draped over your waist.

-Isn’t really into the whole sleeping on each other thing but he won’t say no to being the big spoon or even better the little spoon.

-He gets flustered when you kiss his knuckles or trace patterns on his palms.

-He knows his hands are rough from all the training but after your touch they feel tender and gentle.

-Prefers indoor dates rather than outdoor ones.

-His favorite is cooking dinner together and then cuddling on the couch *in hopes you won’t get interrupted by Gojo*.

-The only thing he dislikes about the whole relationship thing is the teasing he receives from Gojo.

-He is ready to rip his ears off.

-Boy has murder on his mind 24/7 and it is all directed to his mentor.

-Gojo noticed that Megumi had you as his wallpaper ONCE and now it’s game over for your boyfriend.

-The thing is that you don’t get teased as much and he is *salty*.

Itadori Yuuji

-He is such a lovable boy, how could you NOT fall in love with him?

-Your relationship is naturally effortless.

-Everything flows so naturally and without even trying you two have formed such an unbreakable bond that not even Sukuna himself can tether even if he tried.

-Many MANY spontaneous trips to the nearest convenience store at 3 am.

-Oh you are craving some popcorn? Well go on, get your shoes, we are going grocery shopping.

-Won’t hesitate to do anything for you and when I say anything I mean it.

-He ditched Gojo once because you had bad period pains and said you needed cuddles.

-What cruel creature would he be if he denied his beautiful girlfriend her cuddles???

-Sukuna has cockblocked you two and has ruined your cuddles on multiple occasions.

-From weird noises to rude comments to interrupting Yuuji’s thoughts with random shit.

-Real party crasher.

-Yuuji’s love language is touch mainly so expect a shit load of hugs and kisses.

-Won’t let go of your hand while you are out in public.

-If he can’t hold your hand he will place his palm in the small of your back or wrap his arm around your shoulders/waist.

-It’s a physical need.

-He has to be touching you at all times because that reminds him that you are truly here beside him and that you are okay.

-The sorcerer's life has already taken a toll on his mentality and he hates leaving you alone so most of the time you go on conjoined missions.

-Unlike Megumi he tries to protect you during fights by all means.

-He doesn’t do it because he sees you as weak and in need of protection it’s just an instinct that he can’t control at all.

-He will put himself in immense danger, taking all the blows just so you can leave the scene unscathed.

-You have scolded him on his complete disregard of his own life and the tears that pooled in his eyes as he explained that his body moves on its own when he sees anything darting towards you, breaks your heart.

-If you kiss the little marks under his eyes all his worries fly out the nearest window.

-He forgets about everything around him, about the looming threat of his imminent execution, the only thing on his mind are your lips on his cheekbones and your thumbs rubbing circles on his cheeks.

-If you pepper him in too many kisses he will begin his own assault by first tackling you to the floor or the bed and capturing you in a hug before the smooches begin.

-He has a tendency to leave hickies on your neck which you struggle to cover each morning and you are always real close to glaring at him when he beams like the sun itself at you in the morning but your mild anger fades the moment his lips meet yours.

-You have your suspicions that he knows what he is doing with that, he knows his kisses make you weak so he uses them to his advantage.

-Will never admit it but it always places a small smirk on his lips every time you clutch his shirt for balance or rest your forehead on his shoulder to regain your composure.

-An I love you a day is required for good vibes.

-Won’t hesitate to shout it even in front of others, he just has no filter and no shame.

-Makes you turn tomato red and he snickers.

-Fuck him, literally.

Gojo Satoru

-This fucking tease.

-He has no chill!!!!!!

-How are you with him?!?!?!?!!

-My man fine af and he drinks his respect for y/n and y/n alone juice every morning.

-That doesn’t mean though he won’t try to fluster you throughout the day.

-It’s his main goal really.

-Full blown make out sessions in the hallways of the school, ass smacks in front of others and trying to leave hickies on your neck during your lunch break.

-It simultaneously pisses you off and turns you on so you can’t decide if you should smack him or jump his bones.

-It’s a never ending debate and his chances of getting the quawk quawk 5000 are 50/50.

-He respects your boundaries when you give him a sign that you really don’t want him to be like that on certain days.

-He is a very observant individual in general so it’s not hard for him to take note of the signs of pure discomfort or awkwardness.

-True he loves flustering you but the moment things get out of hand and you don’t feel okay with how he is acting, he is throwing his attitude out the window and becomes respectful Gojo in a flash.

-Likes having his arm draped over your shoulder.

-He is super tall so chances are he towers over you.

-He has used you like an armrest several times which resulted to a trip to Shoko for a dislocated wrist/shoulder.

-You make him bentos almost everyday and he waits for them like a lost puppy.

-No matter the time, he doesn’t care if he is late, he will wait for you to make him a little bento to take with him.

-Curses can wait, he needs to receive his first dose of y/n love of the day.

-Brags to his student about you and to Nanami, much to the blonde’s dismay.

-Talks everyone’s ear off.

-He becomes super protective when an elder shows up or at the mere mention of them.

-He will grasp your hand, keeping a firm grip as those pretentious fucks stare down at you.

-They really don’t care about Sato’s happiness and they will never show you a fiber of respect despite being chosen by the strongest sorcerer.

-You are not part of one of the three clans so you are worth nothing in their eyes.

-Gojo hates them for that.

-Deep rooted hatred that could turn into a mass murder if one of them call you a distraction or a slut one more time.

-You are really grateful for him in those moments.

-You are grateful in general but during those times when you are being bombared left and right with rude comments, he will remind everyone in the room that he doesn’t give a flying fuck about what they believe.

-He fell in love with you because you are your beautiful self and not because you are a powerful sorcerer.

-He wants to imagine your kids as a sign of your love and not as an item of power, as a weapon like many of these people see him.

-He has ditched the elder meetings on many occasions just because he wasn’t in the mood of listening to their bullshit so he came home to you and spent the rest of his night cuddled up under the large comforter, watching a movie while peppering your shoulders with kisses.

-Adores seeing you in his clothes.

-They are so big on you that you wear them as dresses around the house.

-He especially loves the sight of your bare legs peeking from underneath his black t-shirt.

-99% of the time this ends up in you getting your guts rearranged.

-Surprisingly remembers all the important dates and he makes it to as many dates as he can.

-Being a sorcerer is difficult man, give him a break curses he has a date at 8 and he needs to get his formal glasses.

-All in all he loves you to the moon and back and would do anything to keep you safe and next to him.

TAG TEAM AY:

@the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei @dnarez @storage11037 @ezoyscorner @letscheereachotheron @wolfkid22 @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses @threeamwriting @ysatrap @yashinosakura @angel6786

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vendettaparker · 5 years ago

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What a Dumbass [P.P]

Summary: Peter’s mistake leads to you being injured.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Swearing, like a substantial amount, suggestive content kinda, gun shot wound, and flustered!Peter

a/n: I really liked writing this. I couldn’t stop laughing at some of the dialogue. and the mistake peter made to cause the whole set-up of the story is so funny to me. like i can legit see him making this mistake. also, i’m gonna make a permanent tag list, so please send me an ask or message me if you want to be on it! <3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter Benjamin Parker is a fucking dumbass. All the time mostly. Most of the time his dumbassery leads to a lot of annoyed avengers, a lot of clean up, and a lot of spilled secrets. Hence why like three people who definitely shouldn’t know he is Spider-man do. But every once in while his idiocy can lead to an unexpected happily ever after, at least until he fucks something up again.

This particular fuck up has yet to be determined as a happy accident or your new 13th reason. It all started when that spider bitch decided it’d be a good idea to watch some explicit content on his laptop. Now, this wasn’t particularly an unknown activity for him to partake in, since we all know about his little impromptu purchase in Germany, but unbeknownst to this dork, his aunt was in the next room over working on a tear in his suit. And to make matters worse, he accidentally just so happened to purchase a subscription using said aunt’s credit card that was pre-setup in his laptop.

Now May is a very understanding woman. Very sex-positive, very loving, and inclusive; the whole shebang really. So when she happened to catch this idiot doing what he most certainly shouldn’t have been doing, she wasn’t mad, just thoroughly disturbed. Then she got the notification about the purchase. That was a bit more taboo in her eyes. So Peter was grounded from patrolling for a week and his laptop privileges were revoked for two weeks. That was fucking merciful compared to what this whole fuck up put you through.

At the school that following Monday, Peter spent the whole first, second, fourth, and lunch period trying to convince you to take over patrol for a week. Sure, you could definitely handle it, not to pat yourself on the back or anything, but you were significantly stronger than Peter, so it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. But you just really didn’t want to. Peter had his ‘Peter Tingle’ to help him find danger, while you’d actually have to look. It just seemed harder for you to do than it would be for him.

“Why are you even grounded?” You sighed after Peter's 3rd time bringing up the possibility of you patrolling for him at lunch.

“He got caught watching and buying p—” Ned started laughing.

“Ned! Shut up!” Peter yelled, slapping his hand over his friend's mouth.

“How has your identity not been leaked yet, Jesus Christ.” You mumbled, giggling. You flipped through your chemistry textbook, writing notes to prepare for Friday’s quiz.

“Yeah, and how come you didn’t know May was home?” Ned pushed Peter’s hand away. “Where was your ‘Peter Tingle’ then?”

“She’s not a threat, dude. But shit, I really wish my tingle detected her.” Peter groaned, a deep blush covering his features. “Please (Y/N). I really, really don’t wanna leave Queens without any protection for a week. I’ll try to convince May to let me go out on the weekend, so really it’s only five days.”

“I guess I could help you out, but you owe me. I should really spend this time studying for my chemistry test. Iron bitch is gonna have my head on a spike if I fail another chem test.” You said, highlighting more notes.

“Okay! Delmar’s for a week, anytime, anywhere.” Peter said putting his hand out for you to shake.

“Make it a month, I know my worth.”

Peter hesitated, but eventually gave in, “Fine, but you better do a good job.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

So now you were stuck patrolling from 8:30 to 11:00 every night. It wasn't bad per se, and nothing too eventful happened. You stopped a small convenience store robbery, gave a few kids some tips at the skatepark, ran some errands for an old lady, and saved a cat from a tree. Thursday night was the real kicker though. Your night had barely started and you accidentally got in the middle of a drug deal between some smaller mob and a real messed-up junkie. This should’ve been an easy takedown, only six people in total that needed to be taken out, but like was mentioned before, you don’t have Peter’s goddamn, stupid fucking tingle. So after taking all six of the perps out you started to walk away after alerting the police. Unfortunately, one of those assclowns had come to, and grabbed the gun a few feet away from him and shot it towards you. The bullet went through your thigh and out the other side. Screaming in shock and pain, you used your own throwing knives and knocked the gun out of the mobster’s hand, then you proceeded to knock him out again with a few good punches to his noggin, maybe a few more, just for good measure. But this wound would need to be cleaned and stitched up. And if you went back to the Tower, Steve and Tony would give you an earful about “watching your surroundings” and “being more careful”. So in a moment of pure adrenaline and desperation, you texted Peter.

You: are you home

Spider-Dork: Yeah, why?

You: i’ll be there in 5

Spider-Dork: What? Why? Is everything ok?

Spider-Dork: Hello??? (Y/N)????

(Y/N) declined (3) calls

Spider-Dork: Answer my calls idiot.

Peter’s texting and constant calling was cut short from a crash in his room.

“(Y/N)? Is that you?” Peter called from the couch in the living room.

“Yeah, can I borrow a t-shirt?” You called, fumbling around accidentally knocking over another lamp. “Oops, sorry!”

“Uh, yeah sure. In the closet!” Peter called back pausing his show, prepared to make his way over to you.

“And some sweats?” You called back, blood dripping all over Peter’s hardwood floor.

Peter got up to make his way to his room. “Yeah, second drawer on the left side.” He said as he made his way to his bedroom. Knowing you were in there, most likely changing, he knocked. “You decent?”

“Nope, not really. I need a pair of your boxers too, though.” You called through the door, now seeing that the blood splattered on your underwear as well. “Also, bring the first aid kit when you come in.”

‘What? Why?” Peter said in a more stressed tone, pushing his way into the room, completely ignoring the fact that you were very much not decent. “Holy shit.” He said seeing you out of your suit, in your bra and underwear, blood dripping down your right leg, pooling onto the floor. Your hand, red and bloody, pressed onto what he only assumed was the wound and blood seeping through your fingers.

“Bring a mop too.”

Peter ran out of the room to grab the first aid kit, plus some extra bandages and a cleaning solution. When he came back in he found you in the same state, standing in the middle of the room, eyebrows furrowed in pain, clutching your right thigh.

“What the hell happened?” He gasped, motioning for you to sit on his bed. You hesitated, not wanting to mess up his sheets. He seemed to notice your thought process quickly adding, “I have to wash my sheets anyway.”

“Gross.” You mumbled, scrunching up your face in disgust and finally settling down on his bed.

“Move your hand and tell me what happened,” Peter said kneeling on the floor next to the bed, positioned right at your hips. You removed your hand, bloody instantly seeping onto the bed. Peter winced looking at the hole in your leg, quickly grabbing the peroxide and dumping heaps of it onto your leg, much to your distaste.

“I got shot.” You stated as he cleaned the blood around the hole with alcohol pads.

“Well, no shit. I mean by who and how?”

“Mobster. Sneaky bitch got me while I was walking away.” You winced as Peter inspected the wound further.

“I need to stitch this up. Did it go all the way through?” He said lifting your leg to look underneath for an exit wound.

“Yeah.” Peter found the exit wound and held your leg up with one hand, pouring peroxide on the back of your thigh with the other.

“You have to be more careful, (Y/N)! This looks really nasty.” Peter scolded, setting your leg back down and prepping the needle and sutures. “What if this was in your chest? Or—or if you didn’t get here in time? You could’ve bled out!”

“Well sorry that I don’t have your stupid tingle to help me out when I’m being fucking shot at!” You yelped, gripping the bedsheets.

“You don’t need spidey sense, you need fucking common sense,” Peter mumbled, stitching his first suture.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You looked at him incredulously.

“I— uh, nothing.” Peter huffed, focusing back on stitching you up.

“This is your all your fault, to begin with!” You accused, shifting uncomfortably, due to the needle constantly being stuck into your leg. “You’re the one that begged me to go on patrol for you! You’re the dumb bitch that got caught watc—”

“Ok! Shut up! For God’s sake, you’re never gonna let me live that down.” Peter groaned, finishing up the last stitch. “Flip over.” He commanded, pushing at the side of your waist to help with the movement.

“Well, it was fucking dumb. Don’t you check to make sure nobody’s home? God, we all know you’re a vocal bitch too.” You said, fully situated on your stomach.

“What the fuck is that suppose to mean!?” He gasped, prepping another needle.

“You’re a sensitive boy.” You shrugged, wincing when Peter started his next stitch.

“I-I am not sensitive! I’m emotionally and physically staunch!” He defended, going in for another stitch.

You just raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Sure, whatever you say, babe.” You winked at him, blowing an exaggerated kiss.

“You're a jerk,” Peter mumbled, finishing up his stitching job. “A jerk with a fucked up leg.”

You hummed, quite amused. Peter got up and started to collect his medical supplies. He shuffled out of the room to put everything away. When he returned you were trying to get up and walk, wincing at every slight movement.

“Here, let me just—” Peter lifted you up, bridal style. A small yelp coming from you when a sharp pain shot through your leg. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Can you help me get dressed?” You said as he walked you over to his desk and set you down in his desk chair.

“Sure.” Peter blushed, painfully aware of your lack of clothes. He picked out some clothes from his closet and drawers. He helped you into them, wallowing in the uncomfortable silence, taking in each whimper and wince from you whenever he brushed against your thigh.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He sighed after you were all dressed. “This is my fault.”

You looked at his distraught face, feeling bad for initially blaming him for the events of tonight. “No, Pete. It’s fine. I should’ve made sure all of the guys were knocked out.” You put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“No, I should’ve been more careful when I was watching that stuff. I have my spidey sense, I would’ve been able to avoid getting shot. It’s not your fault that you didn’t get bit by a radioactive spider.”

“Pete, really, I’ll be better by next week anyway. It’s fine.”

Peter shook his head, sighing. “I just feel so bad, I shouldn’t have forced patrolling on you.” You hugged him and rubbed his back soothingly. “It’s my fault you got hurt.”

“Peter stop. It’s just an unfortunate accident.” You mumbled, hugging him closer. “It could’ve happened to anyone.”

“But it didn’t happen to just anyone (Y/N), it happened to you. And I caused it. I-I don't know what I’d do if something ever happened to you. What if it was worse?”

You sighed, pulling away from Peter and cupping his face, seeing the regret and shame pooling in his eyes. Without much thought, you pulled him closer, slowly connecting your lips in a sweet kiss. Truly getting lost in the feeling of his lips against yours, the feeling of perfection.

Peter’s eyes widened in shock for a moment, before he was kissing you back, reveling in the feeling he’s been dreaming about for months. You finally pulled away to catch your breath. Peter flushed at your actions, unable to stop the wide smile crossing his features.

“Sorry,” You mumbled sheepishly, “just needed to shut you up for a second.”

“Maybe I should talk more, just to see what happens,” Peter smirked, pulling you in for another shorter, but just as sweet, kiss.

You hummed against his lips. “I really like you. Even when you're a dumbass.” You sighed against his lips.

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Rude. I’m not a dumbass.” You gasped in faux offense.

“You’re the one with a bullet wound.” he deadpanned

“You’re the one who got caught watchin—”

“(Y/N)!”

#avengers #peter parker fluff #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x avenger!reader #spiderman fluff #tom holland spiderman #marvel #marvel fic #peter parker fic

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orchardisland · 3 years ago

Photo

━━ EVENT 03 : THE ECLIPSE

"Did you see what happened last night?” A young man whispers to his coworker, peeling the corpse of a bird from his freshly snow covered windshield. The red moon still lingers in the sky, strong as ever even midday. “This is, like ... some apocalypse level shit.”

The television inside the convenience store blares loudly enough to hear outside. Several people have gathered around it inside, their purchases still in hand. The news is on, and an anchor is seen reading off a report.

“Min Nakyung, age 25, was found deceased last night inside her apartment. Her adjacent neighbor, acclaimed scientist, Dr. Nora Wang, has been reported missing. There have not yet been any further news regarding the investigation. There will be updates to the case as evidence is gathered. If you have any tips about the death of Miss Min or Dr. Wang’s disappearance, please reach out to the police department.”

There is an image of an empty podium that appears next, microphones poised in front of it. Silently, Moon Boram enters into frame, her four children filing after her. The entry seems rehearsed, each of them placed in specific spots; her more successful children closer to her frame.

She wears a dower expression, hands folded at her front. “I speak today on behalf of my father, Mayor Moon.” She sniffles, procuring a handkerchief from her breast pocket. “He has fallen ill and will be absent from public appearances until his health improves. From this point, I will be serving as a representative for any conferences. The mayoral position remains secured but th--”

A yellow line runs across the screen and it shuts off. The lights above flicker and the illuminated beverage fridges grow dark.

“The power’s out!” The store owner exclaims. He steps out from behind the counter to step outside, investigating the shop next to him that has also gone dark, the customers inside clamoring with curiosity.

A deep one-note of a siren blares out for no more than two seconds and the next moment, the entire island goes dark in the hour of dusk.

━━ EVENT ACTIVITIES & SUMMARY

Following Moon Boram’s announcement on November 11th, the island will be undergoing a clear change. The mayor is seemingly missing, alleged to be ill by his family and the full moon remains, tinged red. Additionally, Min Nakyung, has seemingly been found murdered, Dr. Nora Wang has gone missing, and Sibipaldaewang, the alleged deity, has been killed on full display, and his body draped over a mountain for a day has already vanished. Worst of all, the power outages show no sign of improving. Cellular and landline phone service can only reach within the island, and only for so long. Some doors are extra sticky, the elevators are out, and much of the modern technology will be defunct. Fortunately, the island’s clear dedication to living off the grid (mostly) has equipped many living outside of Dangam-eup with the ability to prepare for such a thing. Perhaps it is a good thing that the weather has gotten colder and snow dusting the ground, at least we can haul our refrigerators outside. You will have to figure out some way to get through this. Oh, and deal with the strange feeling that moon gives you. Something is very wrong.

━━ INTERACTIONS

In universe, this event will take place from 11/11 TO 11/25 but can be written about in its duration to 12/12. This event will get an additional part in December, and there will be much to write about!

This event is unavoidable. The island takes control.

If you decide to thread anything, tag all posts with GSW:ECLPSE. This includes all new threads written between the story drop and this post written in reference to the happenings. (As a clarification going forward, please wait until the official event post is up before you write about any subject matter in a story post.)

Submits sent for the Wishful event will apply to your characters permanently and carry on throughout the story. Characters will have to deal with these consequences.

Random encounters relevant to your character might be sent out at any time, especially if you might be privy to any certain secrets. You never know!

#gsw:event #gsw:eclipse

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hobidreams · 5 years ago

Text

november 1868.

but you’ve always been his, haven’t you?

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst words: 2.8k contains: historical au, mentions of death, unhealthy relationship dynamics (but era-appropriate; you know how it goes), explicit sexual content, longing.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble eight. start from the beginning?

If there is one inevitability in life, it is that time goes on.

You, like everyone else under King Yoongi’s reign, simply do your best to survive with your head intact. With the ground now mostly frozen over with ice, you have no reason to visit the gardens, and honestly, it becomes less of a loss by the day. You have your hands full with work; the worsening winter always means a higher possibility of catching an illness for the court ladies, and so you are left with little time to think of the king. Willful ignorance is a powerful defense mechanism when even the mere mention of him brings a frown to your lips and a lingering pressure in your chest.

But it is impossible not to think of him today, on the 11th of November. What would have been Queen Jeonghui’s birthday, but is instead a day of mourning.

All official business has more or less halted for the day. The entire palace is somber, the occupants moving through familiar routines feeling numb from more than just the cold. You are among their number, having finished all the work that could distract you while the sun set. Now, you wander in the pitch dark, through the open corridor towards your quarters with heaviness in every step.

You miss her laugh. The queen had always treated you like one of her own, asking after your interests, new discoveries, and health even while her own dwindled. You miss hearing the stories of her surprisingly rambunctious life before she came to court. You miss the brightness in her voice when she spoke of the hopes she had for the future of the kingdom, and for her precious Yoongi. You blink away a tear as your journey comes to its end.

In your small but private room, you begin to undo the straps of your hanbok with the relieving sense that this day is almost over. Stripped to your undergarments, you’re eager to crawl beneath the warm blankets and let blissful sleep take you into tomorrow as soon as your eyes shut.

Except sleep is not easily persuaded to come tonight, as you soon learn.

Even when you force your body to stay still as long as possible, even when you try to block out all thought and simply imagine blankness before you, you remain no closer to dreams, forcibly stuck in this bleak reality. That’s when your exhausted mind begins to wander to places most dangerous, even though you already vowed to stay far, far away.

You wonder whether the king is alone in his grief tonight. Has he eaten properly, or has he completely shut himself away? Does he even have enough heart left to mourn from all you’ve witnessed these past months?

(This last thought is what makes you ache the most, despite yourself.)

Then a quiet voice mutters your name from outside.

You blink and look up, uncertain whether it was just the wind. Who would it be at this late hour anyway? Who would be so bold as to call your name and not your title? But then the sound comes again, louder this time with some impatience in the syllables, and you realize exactly whose voice it must be.

Scrambling to your feet with the chill of losing the blanket sweeping over you, you have a split second to decide between keeping him waiting and having a proper appearance. You land somewhere in the middle, pulling on a loose, long jeogori that was once your mother’s before throwing the door wide open before you can think it through.

Damn all the odds.

It really is him.

In the moonlight, his hair seems almost ethereal with the way most of it cascades loosely around his shoulders. It’s fine, pale gold, spilling across the crimson dye of the royal robes that have been left slacker than is normally allowed in public company. There’s still a hardness in those midnight eyes, a set obstinacy in lips twisted down for a scowl that seems all too inherent to him now.

“Jeonha,” you exhale, more breath than sound.

How are you meant to receive him after all that has happened?

Wordlessly, he moves forward. You flatten yourself against the wall to allow him entry into your tiny home, your world without question, just like you always have. His sleeves brush past you as he walks and the incredibly subtle scent of plum blossoms begins to swirl around the air, so familiar it brings a hot sting to your eyes in an instant.

“Is that—”

“Shut the door.” His voice is biting, forcing you to drop the question.

You have little choice in the matter. When you turn back to face him, this room feels about three times smaller with the imposing aura that emanates from him. He has never felt more like a king to you than now, staring at you down his nose like he holds your life in his palm. At this distance, you fear he can hear the palpitations of your treacherous heart.

“Um.” You involuntarily wrap your hands around your stomach, trying to calm the jitters. “…How may I help you, jeonha?”

His lips curl in a smirk, but there is no real humor in it. “You must know the only thing a man and woman can do alone at night?”

Surprise is so blatant on your face that it amuses him; the smirk grows wider but remains empty still.

“You— You wish to do that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you or did you not say to come if I had anything I required?”

He remembered. He knew it was you. A part of you thaws, just an inch.

“Still— Must… Must it be tonight?” Of all nights.

“It has to be.”

You swallow, dry. All you know of the act are the medical descriptions and consequences of such copulation as written out in your studied texts. To think of such a thing occurring in real life— to even consider it with the king! It was beyond your wildest thoughts, even when you used to let your childhood fantasies soar. But even more ludicrous than that, for him to consider being with you, a mere uinyeo when all the ministers routinely brought their high-born daughters to court in hopes of tempting him… “W-What of the court ladies, the ones waiting to be made concubine…?”

At your last word, he scowls like a bolt of lightning, gone before you can confirm that it was there at all. “I see.” He shifts, as if already prepared to leave. “I should have gone to them first.”

Your stomach drops.

The prospect of a random woman wrapping herself around him in seduction, holding him closer than he’s ever been to you… You wince. The mere thought of how he might fit against her, leave a part of himself inside her body, strikes envy deep into your mind. Especially when you consider all that could follow such an intimate act.

You know it’s not your place to be so concerned; it never has been, but damn it. Here he is in front of you, and not them. That has to mean something.

“No!” You blurt out, and watch his face darken with satisfaction. That in itself makes you fiercely aware of how much he has changed but still, you say, “no. Don’t… don’t go.”

In a stroke of boldness, you slip the jacket from your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Good girl.”

It all happens so quickly.

Grasping your arm, he brings you to him with one strong tug. Invades your space with his heat. You’ve never been this physically close before but you are given no time to savor it. Your eyes search his for a hapless second before he forces his gaze away with a light whip of his hair. For a second, you think like he might kiss you, but that particular touch never comes.

“Bed.” The air around the word makes it sound like he’s rushing as he pulls you both towards the mussed bedspread, but of course it’s not that. It’s almost laughable, the thought that he would want so badly to claim you as his. It’s more likely that he wants any warm body beneath him, and you happened to be the most convenient.

As he pushes you to the floor, as he begins to strip you of your undergarments, your mind struggles to set aside your worries and the rest of the world with it to focus on the feeling of his unobstructed fingers on the skin he reveals with each passing second. For a moment, it works. For a moment, all you know is the heat of his desire as he throws aside most of your coverings, then discards his own as if they were nothing more than cleaning rags. Staring at his bare body for the first time, you take in all the lean muscle that make up his chest, the paleness of his skin that brings to mind the word delicate. It’s at complete odds with the ugliness that’s surrounded him for so long and really, you don’t know what to believe anymore as he rakes his eyes over you too.

You’re shivering. Keenly aware of your nakedness, made even more stark when your king practically fixes you to the floor with his presence alone. He must know this is all new to you, that he’s the only one able to put you in this position even after everything he’s done. But will that afford you the tenderness you so crave? Your pulse thunders in your ears as you await the answer.

“Turn over. On your hands and knees.”

Your breath hitches.

He doesn’t even want to look at your face.

You choke back the emotion that yearns to spill over, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly how he affects you when he doesn’t allow you the same luxury. You’re stronger than this, even though your fears have just been confirmed. That this, his broad hand harshly squeezing your ass, is the only reason he broke through the thick wall of silence between you. That he treats you just like any other woman, not one he’s known all his life.

What does it say about you that you’re still willing to give him everything?

His other hand trails down your back as if lightly scratching an invisible character there. Then, when he reaches for your sokgot, the last bit of cloth left to you, it truly hits you that there will be no going back from this. Not after he physically carves himself into your memory. It makes you unthinkingly tense up; in turn, the hands against you stutter to a pause.

The silence feels thick, smothering. Then—

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

You say it before you can decide whether it’s the truth or merely what you wish would be the truth.

“Hm.”

He leaves you wondering if that was the answer he wanted and resumes, undoing the ties, pulling away the layer that wants to cling to the slight wetness between your thighs. Evidently not one for wasting time, and why would he linger when he just wants an easy release anyway, he runs the tip of his thumb down your slit before pushing eagerly into your heat. The lewd moan that you emit is a noise you’ve never made before, and it makes your face burn with shyness.

You’ve touched yourself like this perhaps three times ever, more out of medical curiosity than anything. You didn’t quite see a point in it when it just left you feeling lonely once the high faded. But under your king’s control, it feels maddeningly new. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s going to do next, like when he suddenly pushes in a second finger and you feel the spike of pain work its way through your limbs before giving way to the next wave of pressure. It’s just almost too much to take, his insistent kneading against your dripping walls.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight. Just for me? Only take my fingers like this?” He feeds you another finger when you nod, huffing a smirk at your whine. The unfamiliar words are as harsh as his hands. You’ve never heard him like this, so rough and cocksure, practically an utter stranger. But a stranger could never bring out such overwhelming emotions in your chest, your poor, confined heart.

Your legs are soon shaking with the strain of holding up your weight when pleasure and pain war so intensely in your body; but you don’t dare collapse in surrender, even though this has always been a losing battle. Not even when he rears back, replacing his cream-slick hand with what you think is the blunt head of his cock. He whets it along your folds and it feels so much thicker, intimidating like the rest of him. But you want it. You realize then just how much you want it, even if this is all you’ll have of him when it’s over.

He leans over you, hot breath whisking across your back, a palm on your hip. “I’m your first.” It sounds like a boast. “No one else.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No one else.”

And he takes his first stroke.

Hisses when he feels you squeeze around him, and you wonder if this is his first time too. Then you have to force yourself to stop thinking about that altogether, afraid that the real answer might hurt more than this: the ache of being spread apart with every brutal, solid inch, filled too quickly by a man who doesn’t seem like he could take things slow even if he wanted to. He keeps shoving forward, biting down every surfacing grunt as his nails dig into your waist and it hurts. It hurts so much but you grit your teeth, refusing to back down because you need him to know that you can take this. Even when your mouth feels drier with every yelp, every moan, you tell yourself it’ll be easier the next time he wants to have his way with you. Right now, that seems better than not feeling him at all.

“This cunt,” he finally growls when he bottoms out, for once sounding so unbridled that goosebumps speed down your weakening arms. But you find yourself liking the sound, craving it even as he pauses to catch his breath.

The first few thrusts are slightly awkward. Just his hips bumping against your ass as he tries to find his footing. It doesn’t take long until he picks up a rhythm. Starts to slam into you, jolting you forward. Soreness starts to grow exponentially with a foreign feeling you think might just be pleasure spreading throughout all of you. You concentrate on that in lieu of your knees forced repeatedly against the hardness of the wooden floor, the bedding too thin to provide any real comfort.

“Jeonha,” you gasp on a particularly deep thrust, and he seems to like that. Strokes faster in response (or perhaps reward). You don’t even register that you’re half-smiling when he does, having learned something about him that is privy to only the two of you.

On top of that, he can’t seem to stop touching you. It goes beyond the way he fucks into you, more into how he can’t stop exploring the expanse of your back with his nails or with his mouth, sucking stinging marks into your body. It’s as if he needs to have as much skin contact with you as he will allow himself, needs to feel your warmth just as much as you crave his. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, but you try again with a hoarse, “jeonha.” He gives it to you harder, rousing, stoking that dangerous tension.

You don’t even notice his mouth beside your ear until— “Mine.”

He claims you, and something inside you melts. Not a particularly powerful feeling but a sea change nonetheless, a weak peak that ripples out, thrums through you both. He allows you to submit to the sensation for a few scarce seconds before he tears himself away, leaving you to pulse around nothing, whimpering from the emptiness. You barely recognize the sound of skin on skin friction but suddenly, heat splatters across your back, white painting itself over your skin as he gives one, elongated exhale and it’s over.

The king backs up, shifts away. Lets any lingering warmth between you dissipate into the ice air of winter, but this time he holds your gaze with a certain firmness, as if trying to pluck out the slivers of truth in your expression. In his eyes, the thin scar ever carved down the right, you find only more depths. Fathomless, endless depths – dark and painful still.

#ficswithluv #bts smut #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #min yoongi #bts angst #historical au #daechwita #rain writes #moonlit throne #... how do you feel about him now?

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shtern-and-art · 4 years ago

Text

In The Dark – a cryptid AU about Bad and Skeppy – part 1.

All text is captioned under the cut!

BACKGROUND

Story is set somewhere in the 90s – neon colors and the brink of major improvements in lgbtq+ status at least in US.

The place we’re in is a small nameless town near the forest, and let’s say it’s the US, but in my mind it has an old European country feel to it too. At least in the small old towns like this. With old buildings, and paved roads, and steep roofs, and everything.

The forest is very dense and not much light gets in the deeper parts of it, so it’s called The Dark Forest which may sound quite unoriginal. But no one really calls it that. With how many weird things happen in that forest, among the locals, it is mostly referred to as “bad forest”. To the point that it’s basically the common name for it now.

SKEPPY

Skeppy is a Thing. A supernatural thing. The sort of thing that, unlike most spn things, hangs out around humans a lot. Socialized thing. Because, due to his spn nature, he has a compulsion/tendency (and desire) to create small mayhem and chaos around himself, disrupt communities. And also because he’s a changeling and initially was brought up by people.

But the way he is, he can’t stay living in one place/town for too long, always having to bounce before people clock him, or stuff gets too intense.

He’s name is still Zak, it’s the one his human parents gave him. However, he officially changed it to something different in all records after leaving home at 18, cuz names are important for creatures, and having his real one out there might be dangerous.

Generally, he still goes by Skeppy.

Skeppy can consciously do minor mimicry and illusions (by light bending)/cause light dissociation/confusion in people and creatures around him/do other minor mind tricking fae stuff.

He is drawn to nature and shiny things, although nature can be just a potted plant, and a shiny thing – anything from a gemstone to pieces of broken glass. Skeppy doesn’t know this yet, but I’m pretty sure he can find more valuable gems and metals by pure instinct. But he never explored it properly, and he just thinks that he likes collecting pretty rocks. Skeppy has at least 3 of them on himself at any time.

Evidently, he is not fully aware of everything about himself, and he didn’t have much contact with other creatures like him.

He is just. Living his life. Going from city to city, trying to have a good time.

THE STORY

Skeppy comes to a new little town near the forest. Forests are good for him, even if he still prefers to be around people.

And he’s just chilling, trying to settle in and shake things up a bit, roaming the woods to kick up old local rumors about a werewolf.

Speaking of, the town has a LOT of old rumors with the fleur of a little-town-near-the-woods creepiness to them. Like a werewolf, yeah, and crazy cults, and people making sacrifices in the woods, all that jazz.

But it’s all alright, all quiet now. All those things are always told by an uncle of a cousin of a grandpa’s friend, and, you know. Older people. Not a lot of townsfolk believe in these stories nowadays.

So Skeppy freely roams for a while: both the town, and the woods.

BACKGROUND

Local tree logging business is starting up again – twice removed cousin of the old owners brother’s son inherited the company. He’s fresh out of college, and came to bring Industry and Movement back to the little town he visited couple summers as a kid.

Some decades ago the wood export was what kept the town moving and bustling. It chipped away at the forest for many decades, bringing jobs and new people and everything.

But something happened back then, some shady business: perhaps money laundering gone wrong, or some out-of-town mafia dealings that came with the trades. That’s what the papers said at least. For a while, there were complaints of not safe work environment, and lawsuits flying, and rabid animal attacks happening on the outskirts of town (that’s where the werewolf rumors started).

But it’s been quite some time since then. It’s all settled now, old news, and the new generation doesn’t care much, and the twice removed cousin of the old owners brother’s son can start everything anew.

There’s hope and change in the air and the factories are getting upgraded.

THE STORY

So yeah, Skeppy roams the woods, and townspeople nowadays are starting to roam deeper in the woods too! Both because the woods came closer to the town again, and because people tend to… forget. Some young people, at least, who have nothing to remember or fear in the first place. Having all their hormones to fly, and baseball bats to swing, and beer cans to shoot.

The deeper woods are dark, there are a lot of good old trees in their prime time for logging, that make a lot of dark shadows to lurk in. And those are very nice for Skeppy, who can easily fuck with packs of teenagers and with elderly berry pickers. He can make them see things, and believe things, and prop up some fake cultist memorabilia on clearings and wolf fur in the bushes near the pass. And then he’d chat up the middle-aged workers at evenings, and watch it all unfold slowly, rumors spreading across town, giving Skeppy that little, small glow of joy, which that freaky, but harmless trickery always brings him.

It’s all going well and good, even better than expected! Even with that weird forest spirit Skeppy always felt lurking deeper in the woods. That thing was alright. Just there, watching. And Skeppy didn’t do anything too bad or disrespectful, he was pretty sure.

So, when the watching becomes following, and following becomes stalking and threatening, it… doesn’t feel right. Deep in the woods, deers and rabbits keep watching Skeppy’s back, and the trees are so tall it feels like the forest floor is the bottom of the ocean.

When stags stroll through the dark to you, carrying dead animals’ bodies on their antlers, that’s a pretty bad sign, right? Almost as bad as when the shadowy figure, that kept clop-clopping around you for the last couple of weeks, starts chasing you through the trees. And Skeppy just started setting up another “pagan ritual” site near the old berry picking trail!

Turns out, the forest spirit is a dang forest demon or something! And is also an asshole, who doesn’t want Skeppy (with his little True Detective stick figures and mayhem) on his territory.

(This is pretty much where the comic happens! And, yes, Skeppy also being a creature doesn’t mean much. Because Skeppy is too annoying, and too human-like to take seriously.)

So yeah, the Asshole In The Woods chases Skeppy out of them, but Skeppy doesn’t skip towns after that, oh no. He is a stubborn bitch, and he’s already settled, and he even found a small job… and unsettling and leaving is incredibly easy, yeah, but he DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. The Asshole In The Woods will see, he’ll understand. Skeppy is good at trick- well, talking himself out of trouble. Almost as good as he is at getting in it.

So, obviously, Skeppy keeps coming back to the woods whenever he can. And if the shadow demon asshole doesn’t come out to run him off immediately, he busts out his fake werewolf furs, props occult stick figures around, puts up tents like people were camping nearby, insults the trees, and duct tapes leaflets from local businesses on the them… Because irritating other creatures is just as fun as fucking shit up for people.

And this little turf-war settling is the most fun Skeppy had in a long, long while (possible death aside).

They meet up pretty regularly, getting various irritation and scare levels from each other. And the asshole shadow forest demon is creepy and all, but despite the big bad wolf attitude he never actually tries to kill or maim Skeppy. Or so it seems. So, it’s all going well. Yeah. Just better to lay off all the occult trolling, since it seems to make the forest asshole guy especially mad and uncomfortable.

(Basically this is the early trolling period, with Skeppy being annoying and pushing the boundaries, very close to how their videos of the time went).

And, again, Skeppy didn’t meet a lot of other cryptids, and the ones he found didn’t stick around for long. Because Skeppy is too much of a little shit, and “a low-tier human bootlicker”, anyway. So yeah, maybe Skeppy IS a little bit lonely. Been lonely for a while, now, hitchhiking around the country, never staying anywhere long enough to let people get that something is wrong in the air around him, or form any kind of lasting relationship. So what.

At least this asshole will not rat him out to anyone, or run away into the night with all Skeppy’s money. Probably.

So what’s the harm if sometimes they just argue instead of trying to one-up each other in magic trickery?.. Nothing bad will happen if, from time to time, they’ll just talk instead of shouting about who’s right and who should leave. It’s alright. It doesn’t even matter. No one in the town or spn world knows or cares about any of that. About both of them.

So they hang out more often. And if each time the forest asshole looks a little less scary, and more often takes his human-like shape, well. Maybe it’s just for convenience? Anyway, it’s easier to roll your eyes and turn your back on a fuming person, than a pissed off all-encompassing shadow, so Skeppy isn’t complaining. Especially if the person-shape is so nice to look at, too.

And Skeppy doesn’t know who exactly the forest asshole is, but in the town it’s always “bad forest this” and “bad forest that”. So, in Skeppy’s head, it becomes “Bad’s forest” – because he’s “the Bad in the Forest, heheh, get it, get it?”

Bad does get it. He isn’t as impressed as he should be by Skeppy’s genius puns and naming abilities though.

Speaking of Bad. He seems to be not really aware of what’s been going on in the town for the last couple decades. He tends to mostly hang out in the minds of forest animals, help them out a bit. Or nap. Nap a lot – days, weeks, years at a time, dissolved in the shadows. Unless someone (like can shooting teenagers, tree logging companies, or Skeppy) come around to bother his peaceful, dissociated, and at times even thoughtless existence.

Bad doesn’t mind though. Or so he says. The sleeping, that is. The people, them he really minds, people from the town especially. He really wants to be left alone by them. Discovering that Skeppy wasn’t from these parts of the country was one of the reasons Bad started to warm up to him.

The other major warm up was the first time Skeppy helped Bad scare off the messy annoying kids that were littering in the woods. But he convinced Bad to do it in a long winded, silly and fun (for them, not the kids :D) way. And after a while, teamed up like this, spooking and chasing people off, stopped being an irritating chore, and instead became something Bad looked forward to. Maybe even, put off his shadowy slumber for.

It’s been a long, long time since Bad actually wanted to stay awake like that. Wanted to do something, consciously, to talk to someone. That’s why he’s a “little rusty with all this communication thing”, he admits to Skeppy.

Bad never tells him how horribly bitter, and sad, and alone he was for years and years, huddled in the shadows. How he hid from that sadness, and from the people and their voices, and from the sound of their footsteps on the leaves. He ran away from them – in the soft, inhuman minds of the animals, and restless dreams, where his mind and sense of self stretched, and scattered across the forest, forgetting itself, and just living with all the living things. Of course, Bad doesn’t tell Skeppy about that. He always had his animals, and the secret springs, and little kids tying wishing charms on the branches of the old trees… Bad is fine. He just wants to be left alone.

Or at least wanted to. Because now, after staying awake for so long, it seems that he wants other things too. To troll snotty stuck up teens and kids. To learn more about new technology. To play with the shadows on the edges of clearings, and listen to the music player left behind by one of the kids he and Skeppy chased off.

And one day. One day sunbeams are dancing around the edge of the clearing deep in the woods, and Skeppy is lounging lazily in the grass, playing with his pretty glass shards, making light refract and reform through them, sending dozens of sun bunnies crawls and jump between the peaceful trees. That day Bad feels like his skin is warm, not cooled down by the shadows. And with that warmth – on his face, and in his chest – Bad finds that he can talk about it. That he can say it.

Bad tells Skeppy that back in the day, some decades ago (time is difficult for him to take note of)… that back then. He was a human. But he isn’t now, not anymore. Now he is part of the Forest. Kind of.

Because, see, something bad, really bad happened back then, and Bad got possessed by the, well. The spirit of the forest.

And he was living like this ever since.

Masterpost / first meeting /part 1 / part 2 / part 3

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bump1nthen1ght · 5 years ago

Text

Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 2

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Gender Fluid!Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of past trauma

Word Count: 3165 words

Summary: You spend a day with your new companion

Chapter 1

“How about this one? It looks rather ripe.”

No, Mistress. The air of decay lingers around it, I fear it will begin showing signs of mold within a day.

“Oh, good eye.” You set the orange down, making sure to hide it away so no other unlucky customer may buy it, wiping your hands on your skirt. “What about this one?”

That one’s fine.

“Sweet.” You say, adding it to the pile of fruit accumulating in your arm. You double check the list. “Alright, I think that’s about everything.” You come up to the stand-worker and set down your fruits on their scale, finagling for the wallet in your pocket.

So many different types of produce. Is this merchant’s estate really so large that they can grow all these things?

“Uh, not exactly.” You mutter, before reminding yourself to speak inwards, as only you can hear the demon lingering nearby. “They actually represent several farms, giving them a cut of the money so the workers can focus on cultivation. Some farms have their own stalls for specialized goods, but these bigger ones are typically conglomerates.” After successfully grabbing your coin purse, you hand the worker some coins and begin loading your bag.

Ah, how convenient.

“Yes, I’d say so.” You once again check your list, mentally checking off the needed groceries. “Okay, I believe that is all the essential stuff. How about we check out some novelty stalls? I hear there’s a fine jewelry maker near the center of town.”

The only jewelry in the Nine Hells is that forged by the damned. Carved out of the husk of dead dimensions.

“So, is that a yes?”

Yes please.

“Cool.”

As you walk along the thinning market crowd, dodging between bakers and families, your shadow twists and turns. Occasionally and discreetly, it will fall behind you and stare at a particularly interesting stall, before leaping back into the darkness and reattaching to your feet. The crowd is so focused on their eye-level, what to be bought, who to sell to, no one really notices the abnormality.

After that night, that horrible night, you woke up in your bed; Sweaty and exhausted, but nonetheless harmed. Your mother had rushed to your side with a pitcher of water, relieved that your fever had finally broken. You had been asleep for a whole 24 hours, your parents finding you in your bed after you didn’t come down to breakfast. Your temperature ran high and you had tossed and turned with some kind of night terror, but recovered rather quickly.

After you had shoo’d your mother away, accepting the large breakfast and assuring her you were fine, the demon had appeared from behind the door frame. You nearly threw a fork right at its face.

-----------

“So that was….It wasn’t just a nightmare?” You muttered, eyes lost in your bowl of cheese grits.

“Yes, my mistress, it was real.” The demon steps out from the shadow of the door, causing you to flinch as their long horns scrape against the low ceiling of your room. They take another step back. “Your body gave out after you spoke your demand. I do apologize for the intrusion, but I searched your mind to find your home and brought you back to your own bed. Was that a correct assumption?”

You nod, shakily stirring your spoon, absentminded. You force your eyes to meet the demon’s, trying to contain your quivers.

“And now-” You gulp, keeping what little composure you have left, “-are you here to collect?”

The demon quirks their head, horns audibly scratching the hardwood. Their brow furrows as they contemplate, before their eyes widen with understanding. They shake their head and take another step forward. You clench your fingers around the blanket, but hold your flinch.

“No, mistress. You are not in debt to me, not in any way. That is not the ritual which was performed.”

You quirk your eyebrows, befuddled. “But, I thought that-”

“The wish you made was not so heavy to require the payment of a soul. Nor would you have been able to make such a wish in the first place.” Without you realizing it, the demon had walked over to your bed. Their staggering height should be intimidating, but the intonation of their words and the look in their eye is calming. Almost reassuring. “The payment was made when you gave me this permanent physical form.” The demon explains, flexing their fingers and faintly tracing the lines of your bedpost. “By pushing your body to the brink of death, you were able to reach across the veil and pull me through . Usually, a soul-paying ritual brings a demon temporarily to the mortal realm, to enact the wish and then take their payment. The summoning spell you performed takes a much stronger mind and body; Not only to bounce back from death, but to carry a new weight with you.”

The demon slowly sets to its knees, laying it’s head down on your blanket. “In that way, I am indebted to you, my mistress, for taking such risks to bring me here.”

You blanch, words escaping you as this massive creature pledges fealty to you. When your vocabulary finally returns to your brain, you shake your hands furiously.

“T-thank you, for your kind words and your help. But you don't need to. I mean, I-I have no want to force you to stay with me. I didn’t even fully understand what I was doing-”

“That is not a requirement, mistress. And you are not forcing me to stay, I want to stay.”

The demon urges, picking its head back up from the quilt. “If it is your wish, however, I can stay in the shadows and not bother you, protect you from afar. I wouldn’t wish to interfere.”

You shake your head once more. “No! No, that won’t be necessary. That sounds even worse, to be honest.” You mutter, picking at the quilt squares with your fingers.

The silence lingers. The Demon, still looking at you in admiration. It’s irises glow even in the soft-morning light, their pupils a deep void amidst the unnatural yellow.

“Well, I am going to eat. Feel free to….look around.” You say, gesturing to your tiny bedroom. The demon nods, slowly retreating from your bedside to the corner, eyes darting around the wallpaper until eventually settling on your dresser and small vanity.

You eat, taking hesitant bites as you watch them wander towards your things, taking the time to observe your minimal decorations. You had a tiny book collection, some knick knacks you had gotten from town or your parent’s travels, and a myriad of plants on your window sill.

The demon hadn’t shown any ill intent, not in their actions nor in their tone, but you still weren’t sure. You had heard stories of tricksters, who lure you in with false promises and sweet lies.

If four young men could do it so easily, imagine what a demon could accomplish.

You shake their faces out of your heads, brushing off the imaginary fingertips clutched around your arms. It’s over; You are safe, in your bed. God knows what happened to them. You fight away that thought as well.

As you slowly finish your breakfast, the Demon is looking at the cover of one of your books. Technically it’s an encyclopedia, filled with all the different types of marine flora and fauna. Your mother had gotten it for your birthday three years ago.

“Umm...demon?”

They pause, setting down the book and looking at you.

“Yes, mistress?”

“I was just wondering, since you’re going to be here for the foreseeable future, what should I call you?” They’re brow furrows, head tilting like that of a befuddled pet.

“I had not really considered that, mistress. Is it important?”

You scratch the back of your neck, avoiding their piercing gaze. “Not particularly, I guess. It just feels a bit rude to acknowledge you only as ‘The Demon’.”

The Demon’s face scrunches up, still confused. “In the Nine Hells, I was referred to by my title, I do not see anything wrong with that. It is a correct statement to call me a demon.”

“Well, maybe. I guess up here, your own name is personal. Something that defines you, a part of yourself. Kind of like the way you look, or how you present yourself.” You say, mussing up your bed sheets in an effort to calm your nerves.

The demon pinches their face once more, eyes darting to the book laying upon the desk.

“Is Captain a military rank in this plane as well?” The say, claws tracing the engraved title of the encyclopedia. Sort of confused by the change of subject, you glance towards the book cover. Captain Amelia’s Guide to the Unknown of the Ocean.

“Yes, but it also describes the heads of ships. Those who sail across the seas, discovering new things or dealing in trade. Pretty sure the only requirement is a boat, not a military career.”

The Demon hums, eyes still locked on the cover, decorated by a painting of a large ship, locked in combat with a Kraken.

“Then I think I’d like to be called Captain.”

You nod, fingers still entangled in your bed sheets. Captain looks back to you, sending a calming smile. As calming as a creature with more canines than a wolf can be. Your own smile is shaky, still wary of what is to come.

--------

That was about a week and a half ago now, Captain staying by you as you rested. Your parents only allowed you to help around the house after 3 days of solid bed rest, most of which you spent reading, crocheting, or talking with Captain. When they went off to work, you gave Captain a tour of the house, showing them all the tools of the kitchen and the apothecary.

Their presence had quickly become commonplace, your body no longer jolting when you caught a glimpse of the dark figure in the corner. You two would chit-chat and entertain each other, but knew when to give the other space.

Captain also demonstrated their shape-shifting ability, although it was not as dramatic as you had read about in grimoires. Mostly it was a day-to-day tiny change, one you had learned to acknowledge and inquire how they would like to be referred to as. Captain had been a little bemused by the limitations of your pronouns, but was rather swift in adapting to a strategy which best suited them.

It was nice, if a little bit strange. Although you weren’t sure if the two of you could be considered friends just yet, if not for the short time or them being a Demon bound to you by a blood contract, but you were definitely closer than acquaintances. Comrades, ship mates? You still didn’t know. But as the domestic days dragged on, you find you’re not afraid to find out.

---------

What animal is this, Mistress?

“I believe it’s a seal? Or a sea lion, could never tell the difference, if I’m being honest.” You say, fingers brushing over the wooden charm hanging off the market shelf. It’s small, the details defining but rudimentary.

You have lions which live in the sea? How fiersome.

“Not actual lions, but I’m sure they could put up a good fight. Are there any oceans in the Nine Hells?”

No. Not ones made out of water anyway; Usually its blood or other excrement.

“...Oh.” You mutter, shoving that image out of your mind. Captain didn’t often talk about their home plane, only offering terrifying details that made sense of why they so desperately wanted to escape. As curious as the thought of another dimension was to you, you tried to avoid the topic all together. Captain didn’t seem to mind.

Looking at the small charm, with it’s adorable, puppy like face, you gesture towards the shopkeep.

“How much for this?”

“Only two silver, miss.”

You look down at your spare grocery change, sending a tiny glance to your shadow.

“Would you like this, Captain? We’ve got the coin for it.”

There’s a brief silence, your shadow staying uncannily still.

….For what purpose, Mistress?

You shrug, tapping the dangling charm and watching how it twirls. “No purpose. It’s just rather cute, and well…” You brush a finger over the woodwork, feeling the tiny indentations carved, “If you’re going to be staying with me, you should have some stuff of your own, right? Seems only fair.”

There��s another pause, long enough that you risk another glance at the shade. Even without any definitive form, it looks pensive.

Yes, I would like it, Mistress.

You nod, quickly passing the silver. From the corner of your eye, your shadow seems to perk up. As you pull away from the stall, you slyly drop the charm down and into the darkness, the demon leaping out a hand to catch it. From inside your mind, the warm feeling of contentment and excitement resonates like an undercurrent, bringing a smile to your face. You can picture Captain fiddling with the toy in their massive paws, eyes alight. Butterflies flutter to life in your stomach.

Thank you, Mistress. I would not have thought such a tiny thing would bring me such happiness.

You shake your head.

“It’s no problem. If you see anything you like, let me know.”

You’re jolted out of your mind when by a large splash, a woman squealing as mud clings to her skirt, and a young man scrambles to his feet.

“And stay in the mud, you low-life pig!”

“B-But Jezebel, I-I can explain!”

“Explain what, exactly?” A small crowd is beginning to form around the commotion, but you find yourself frozen to your spot, thoughts thrown all over the place.

Three women, all beautiful, stand in the small entryway of a house. At the bottom, now covered in mud, is Richard.

“That you’re cheating scum? That you don’t deserve our time?” The first woman shouts, gesturing to the two others. She’s making a scene and she knows it, reveling in her screaming and his embarrassment. “And I’m not Jezebel, you idiot! I’m Viola!” She nothing short of screeches, leaning down and hurling a chunk of dirt at Richard. The other women huff in agreement, looking at him with disgust and spitting at his feet.

A low murmur has fallen over the crowd, gossip thriving as the women stamp their heels and Viola huffs back into the house. The door is slammed shut, the focus of everyone’s eyesight on Richard.

He looks haggard, dark circles and greasy hair indicating he hasn’t slept, at least slept well, in the last few days. His clothes, usually refined and tucked in, were loose and nearly tearing. Amidst the chattering group of people, remnants of conversations linger into your ears.

“They made the right decision, shipping him off.”

“Honestly, it was about time. A cocky brat like that needs some discipline beaten into him. I’ve heard Ivy’s Military School is ranked top in the country.”

“God knows he will need it. The boy hasn’t had class since he learned how to speak.”

The belittlement, the desperate look in Richards eye, looking for sympathy, should enthrall you. That knot of satisfaction should burst, reaping the reward of your suffering, revel in his despair.

But everything about this pitiful man terrifies you.

You nearly drop your groceries, pushing away bodies as you flee the scene, barely finding time to breathe. Your shadow has trouble keeping up with you, bending between foot steps and keeping track of your shape as you dart away, away, away.

You find solace in a dark alleyway, but peace still escapes you. Your heart and brain pound with pure adrenaline, finding purchase on a nearby wall as black spots dot your vision.

All you can see are Richard’s dirt filled fingernails, dragging across your throat, pushing you down. His knee digs into your back as you kneel on wet ground, the cold metal of a knife pressed against your neck, dangerously close to your racing pulse point.

Your shadow shifts and grows, Captain’s shape stepping out of your large shadow, taking tentative steps towards your quivering form. Your knees soon give out, sending you to the ground, but they catch you just in time. You barely feel the contrast of soft fur compared to rough concrete, curling up into a fetal position as you try to force the images from your mind.

Captain sinks down, claws petting your back. With a small voice, they instruct you calmly.

“In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like that, mistress.”

The simple instructions give you something to focus on, something other than your fractured mind. You instinctively curl into their chest, their warm fur brushing against your cheek as you shove your face against them. Your eyes are clenched tight and you cling onto their shoulders, chest wracked with your heaving sighs. But the deep baritone of their whispers and affirmations slowly seep into your haze, pushing out the memories.

You continue to breathe in and out, Captain’s warm hands caressing your waist as they hum lightly. They tuck their chin above yours, their hot breathes blowing across your skull.

“It is alright, ____. You can do this, you are safe. I am here for you.” They mutter.

In minutes that feel like hours, your heart rate slows down, your mind loses it’s buzz. Captain hums an unfamiliar tune as they continue to cradle you, claws drawing shapes into your back while rocking your back and forth.

When you finally feel aware, present in the moment, you wipe away the tear tracks running down your face.

“Captain?” You whisper.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Can we go home, please?”

They nod, standing with you still in your arms.

“Of course, my dear.”

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

You unload groceries automatically, muscles and spirit tired after your crying fit. Captain helps, making sure to stay in the periphery and out of sight of your parents.

You give an excuse to them, explaining that the heat got to you, and collapse onto your bed. Captain lingers in the corner, poised for a command.

“Captain?” You mutter, fingers twirling a thread tassel on one of your pillows. They look up from their position. “Thank you, for being there for me. Today and…..last time.”

They nod, taking small steps towards your bed. Once close enough, they lightly wrap one of their fingers around yours, petting your knuckles.

“Of course, ____. I will always be there for you.”

You nod, a small smile crawling its way across your lips. You slip your palm into theirs, feeling their calloused finger pads, pulling them slightly closer to your form. Your eyes dart up to theirs. With a small blush, you whisper,

“And I will always be there for you.” Captain’s eyes slightly widen, but a large grin appears, a hint of their fangs glinting from behind their black fur.

“Thank you, ____.”

#monster romance #monster x reader #demon #demon x reader #female reader #reader insert #my writing

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archonanqi · 4 years ago

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fragile as dust / 8 - the eleventh

🔖 [first] [prev] [next]

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ch 8 | the eleventh

The rest of the day you spend running your fingers across the rows and rows of bound leather, taking inventory of all the words and knowledge and stories that were now at your fingertips — scurrying between the library and your room, arms full of books that caught your eye.

Zhongli watched you from his seat in the living room each time you passed, offering comments on various books that you had picked out. He seemed especially amused each time you ran past with a book regaling a legend of the Lord of Geo, though you couldn’t think of a reason why. By the time the sun had set, every surface of your room had been touched by a book or two.

You couldn’t wait to get started, already knew which ones you wanted to read first — there was one that promised the thrilling tale of Rex Lapis’ fight against the Beast of Nian that you were itching to devour. But before anything else, there was something you had to do, something you’d been planning as soon as you’d seen the “The Fine Art of Liyue Cuisine” title on the bookshelves.

Zhongli had been kind — beyond that, really — about your situation, but you hadn’t forgotten that you were meant to be here for his convenience. You had done nothing but cause him trouble so far, and it was your duty to make up for the expenses you’d cost him.

(Though really, and though you would never admit it, you couldn’t deny that on some very faint level, you wanted to hear praise, your name, anything come out in that rich, deep voice of his.)

So the next time Zhongli took his walk at Yujing Terrace, you reluctantly and politely declined his invitation. Minutes after his departure, you snuck out of the door, running as fast as you could towards the northern harbor. The recipe for the pen’cai stew had called for fish, but, as you grabbed handfuls of squid from the nearest unattended stall, you decided that seafood would have to do. Seafood was something that refined nobles like Zhongli ate, after all.

The tentacles felt disgusting in your pocket the entire way home, but it was fine. You could bear it for Zhongli. You couldn’t wait to imagine his surprise and delight.

Still, how odd that of all the ingredients, seafood was the only one you couldn’t find in Zhongli’s well-stocked refrigerator!

When you got home, you breathed a sigh of relief that Zhongli had not come home yet; you didn’t know what you would have said if he had caught you with a pocket full of squid. After changing, you cracked the recipe book open, staring at it. You’d chosen this recipe because its description had stated “ no refinement is needed for this dish ”, but still, some of these terms flew right over your head. What the fuck was a “julienne”?

Zhongli had used the stove several times, mostly to heat up leftovers from the abysmal amount of food he frequently bought, and it hadn’t seemed too hard at all for him. You would learn, just as you always did.

---

By the time Zhongli returned home, smoke was still billowing from the windows.

---

It was all a bit of a haze for you. The oil had started producing bright sparks (in your defense, how were you supposed to make sense of “ Heat Oil Until Hot ”??), and you knew enough about cooking at least to know that that wasn’t good.

You also thought you knew enough about cooking to know that embers had to be put out by water. The resulting bang had sent you rolling to the floor, and when you’d gotten back up, the curtains by the stove were ablaze

When Zhongli found you, you were frozen in fear — you had backup plans for if the food burnt, but this… this went a little past that.

From behind you, you heard a loud whoosh, felt the force of the earth knock into you. The room became enveloped briefly in a golden glow, and as you watched, the fire faded into embers, then smoke. A single glowing, red gem clattered to the ground, before dissipating with a loud hiss.

“H-how?” Was the first word out of your lips.

“When Geo reacts with—“ Zhongli shook his head, cutting his explanation short for the first time you’d heard, “never mind that. Are you alright? Can you move?”

You let him lead you outside, numbly, silently. Finally, out in the fresh morning air, he peered down at you. You searched his face for anger, but found only mild curiosity. “Now,” Zhongli said, sitting on the grass by your side, ”would you like to tell me what happened in there?”

The weight of what you’d done hit you like an angry boar. Treacherous tears gathering behind your eyes, you whispered “I’m so sorry,” barely able to get the apologies out fast enough. “I— I thought I would surprise you with breakfast, but— but the oil and the water...“ You trailed off when he raised his hand to cover his mouth — out of anger? No, there was a smile on his face. A smile!

“My my,” he mused, the smallest of smiles playing on his face. “Truly, you are a child of Liyue. Always trying new things, rushing in headstrong.” Zhongli shook his head wistfully. “It reminds me of myself, many years ago.”

“You?” You asked in disbelief, feeling your eyes widen. You hadn’t once seen him with so much a button out of place on his intricate coat; weren’t convinced he hadn’t come out of the womb drinking pu’er tea and writing poetry. “ You’ve set things on fire before, Mr. Zhongli?”

“More times than I can count,” his smile widened, and you felt like you had learned a secret of the Gods themselves. “But as I learned, so must you: you can always ask for help, Hansi.”

Suddenly, it didn’t feel like he was talking about cooking anymore. As always, his words were so slow, so deliberate that you scoured them for a hidden meaning. If you didn’t know better, you would be deathly sure that he knew of your difficulties with the Vision. And right now, sitting on the grass next to you after you had almost burned down his home, Zhongli had never felt more approachable. Maybe you could tell him, after all.

Starting a fire was one thing , you chided yourself. Lying about possessing the power of one of the Seven Archons is another.

“I will keep that in mind, Mr. Zhongli.” You said, instead, bowing your head a little. “Thank you for… not being mad.”

“It is I who should be thanking you for your thoughtfulness. And what is it that you were trying to cook for me, my dear?”

You almost jumped at that, feeling warm color blossoming within your cheeks. He probably called everyone that — he was so traditional, after all. “Seafood stew, Mr. Zhongli.”

Finally, to your utter confusion, Zhongli’s smile bloomed into a rich laugh. “Then I’m very sorry I missed it,” he chuckled. “Are culinary skills something you would like to learn, Hansi?”

“Yes,” you said, frustration and indignance culminating into determination. There wasn’t one thing you hadn’t been able to learn when you’d put your heart to it — reading, stealing, surviving. Well, except... “Please, teach me.”

“You deserve a far better teacher than I,” Zhongli said, standing up and dusting his coat off, before offering you his hand. “Let’s pay Wanmin Restaurant a visit, shall we?” Then, wrinkling his nose, “though perhaps... After we rid the house of any more fire hazards.”

---

At the counter of Wanmin Restaurant was a man you had never seen before, though his resemblance to Xiangling was striking. He perked up immediately upon seeing you and Zhongli approach.

“Mr. Zhongli!” He waved frantically. “Thank you for the medicine! My knee feels better already.”

“I’m glad, Chef Mao. I’ve heard that Bubu Pharmacy’s herbal cures are nothing short of divine miracles,” Zhongli said. “Though I hear from Xiangling that you’ve been gathering herbs near Jueyun Karst? You must know that it is extremely dangerous for humans to enter.”

“Of course, of course!” Chef Mao laughed good-naturedly. “You don’t have to warn me twice. I make sure to give that place a good berth — I don’t have enough lives to go around meeting any Adepti. Now, what brings you here today? Xiangling or I will cook anything you’re in the mood for.”

Zhongli shook his head gently. “I’ll have to take you up on that offer some other time. Today, I was hoping to ask Xiangling for some culinary tutelage. This young lady here is looking to learn how to cook.”

“Oh!” Chef Mao peered at you, as though he had just noticed you. Of course, it hadn’t helped that you were trying to hide behind Zhongli the whole time. He turned around and yelled into the kitchen, “XIANGLING! COME HERE, MR. ZHONGLI AND HIS—“

A pause, as he glanced between you and Zhongli, trying to ascertain your relationship.

“Friend,” Zhongli supplied. You hated that your heart skipped a beat.

“—FRIEND ARE HERE TO SEE YOU!”

Almost immediately, Xiangling’s head popped out from behind the window, waving and beaming dazzlingly. As Zhongli explained the situation to her, you once again wondered where she was storing her endless cheer. Perhaps in her hairbuns.

“I hope that it is not too much trouble,” Zhongli concluded, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping aside. You wanted to scream at the thought that he knew you’d been trying to hide behind him.

“Nonsense!” Chef Mao slapped his hands together, and you were beginning to see where Xiangling got her enthusiasm from. “If not for you getting Wanmin Restaurant this spot on Chihu Rock, why, Rex Lapis would never have found us and written such flattering poetry about our food. Then where would we be? No favor is too big for you, my friend, let alone something so trivial as this.”

You glanced up at Zhongli, but his expression did not change. Just exactly how much influence did Zhongli have over the city?

Just who was he?

“Would Miss Hansi want to work as my apprentice for a few weeks?” Xiangling asked, thoughtfully. “With the winter coming up soon, we’re going to need a lot of ingredients, so I could use an extra hand. We can’t pay very much, maybe 1,000 Mora a week, but I’ll keep you nice and full, I promise!”

A thousand Mora — that was more than you had ever had at once in your life. You jumped to say yes, but stopped yourself just in time. It wasn’t up to you. For all Zhongli’s benevolence, what nobleman would want a servant (is that what you even were?) that they'd paid for gone all day?

You looked to Zhongli for his answer. And when he only waited patiently, you prompted, “may I accept this offer, Mr. Zhongli?”

“You are free to do as you please, Hansi.” Zhongli said, and the surprise didn’t sting as much as it used to. “I think it would be a great opportunity.”

You had never been more sure of the following “yes!” that you almost shouted at Xiangling.

Chef Mao laughed. “We’ll see how much of that enthusiasm you can keep when Xiangling starts working you to the bone!” He waved at Zhongli. “Xiangling and I will show her around the restaurant. You should get back to your work, Mr. Zhongli — you must be a very busy man.”

Zhongli raised a brow, but did not comment further. “Will you be able to find your way back home, Hansi?”

After getting your affirmation, Zhongli nodded and walked away. You would have watched him leave, if you could, studying every detail on the back of his coat — but Xiangling grabbed your hand.

“Come on!” She was almost vibrating from excitement, and you couldn’t help but match her grin with your own. “There’s SO much I need to show you!”

---

By the time Xiangling released you from your duties for the day (and you had learned more words than you thought existed), the city had grown dark.

It had been so exciting, the prospect of having a real, actual job that you didn’t have much else on your mind. And so your first mistake, you realized too late, was trying to find the same shortcuts that Zhongli had used to get home. The alleyways at night were strangers to you — and there was good reason for it.

You thought it was your imagination at first, but it became more apparent with every crawling second: there was another pair of footsteps that echoed each of your own. You quickened your pace, noticing the echo match yours almost perfectly. As you turned down deeper between the buildings, you forced your foot to stop halfway to the ground.

The echoing footstep clacked against the cobblestone.

There was a flurry of movement behind you, your pursuer realizing that their cover had been blown. The figure lunged at you, and you ducked at the last second— you were used to bigger men throwing their bodies at you, had long since learned how to use their weight against them. With all your strength, you aimed a kick at the man’s groin—

Only for him to catch your ankle with one of his gloved hands, yanking you off your feet, and throwing you against the wall. The impact knocks all the air from your lungs. You scrambled to get back to your feet, coughing. Instinctively, you reached for your chest, where your Vision once was. It wasn’t there. Of course. And even if it was, what good would it be?

“Feisty,” the man remarked, leaning in to peer at you. In the dim moonlight, you could see a strange red mask hanging his cheek, stark against his auburn hair. At his hip, a Vision glowed royal blue, with a frame that you had never seen before. “What on Teyvat has Zhongli gotten himself into?”

---

“Who are you?” You snapped. The man kept his careful distance from you, but you were sure that he would be able to catch you in seconds if you ran. The way he had moved to meet your blow was practiced, skilled, even. It seemed that you had misjudged his intentions — he was not some drunken man seeking pleasure. “Are you from Bawang ?”

“Ba—what?” The man shook his head, clutching his heart in a dramatic show of dismay. “I’m hurt. Didn’t Mr. Zhongli not tell you about me? Not even a passing mention?”

Eyeing him carefully, you racked your brains. Was he a friend of Zhongli’s? Surely no associate of Zhongli would corner you in an alley at night and push you over... Right? You were realizing how little (absolutely nothing, to be exact), you knew about Zhongli’s life.

“Was the ‘who are you?’ not enough of a clue?”

The man grinned wickedly in the night, eyes glinting at your mockery. “What a tongue you have on you. Didn’t know that was Zhongli’s type.” He offered his hand to you. “I’m Tartaglia, codename Childe. Pleased to meet you.”

You stared at his hand like you would a can of live worms. “The one from the Fatui.”

The message received, he let his hand fall back to his side. “So he has talked about me. And here I was, thinking that he saw me as just a puppet.” He mused. You had no clue what he was talking about, but it was immediately clear that the man was dangerous.

“Are you here to collect his debt? I don’t have any money.”

“Debt?” Tartaglia laughed. “No, there’s no debt . Mr. Zhongli has unlimited access to the Northland Bank’s funds. Yeah,” he clarified, mistaking your shock for confusion. “Turns out, you need to read the fine print when it comes to making deals with the guy.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“Oh, come now,” he raised his palms in a placating manner, “don’t be so harsh. I’m only here to investigate. Zhongli has been buying enough food for a small army, and while it’s not entirely unusual of him, he also made a large payment to a certain company... that let’s just say even the Fatui won’t touch with a six-foot pole.” Tartaglia swept his glance over you from head to toe. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

You stayed silent, wishing to the Archons that looks could kill.

“I don’t know why he… acquired you, but believe me, he’s always got some kind of plan going on in that head of his.” Tartaglia sighed. “Anyway, where’s your Vision?

You stiffened. “Vision?” You scoffed. The false disbelief came easily, naturally. “You think the Archons would give someone so pathetic a Vision?”

“You can cut the crap. I saw the way you reached for it there. I’ve seen that look way too many times. Vision-holders who get too dependent, who think that having one makes them invincible.” Tartaglia’s lip curled. “A Vision wouldn’t have saved you from me, girlie. But someone as weak as you should at least be carrying it around.”

Every moment of the day, you thought of it, of how all your problems would be solved if — when — you mastered the power of the Archons. The thought that it wouldn’t, that knowing how to use a Vision wouldn’t make you invincible to the world, was devastating.

Before you, Tartaglia’s eyes were the color of the ocean during monsoon seasons, deep, roiling, devastating. You couldn’t seem to bring yourself to lie again, so you lowered your head.

“That’s what I thought. What element?”

“Geo,” you said quietly. The only thing you could do here was keep him talking, long enough until you could find a chance to escape. From what you could tell, he didn’t seem to be on too-friendly terms with Zhongli. Perhaps he wouldn’t tell him, after all.

“Of course.” He nodded, as though there was no other answer.

“What do you mean, of course?”

“ What I mean is —“ Tartaglia peered at you, raising a single brow. “Hmm. What does Zhongli think of your Vision?”

You bit your lip to stop from responding. This was dangerous territory. As the seconds dragged on in silence, you watched a glimmer of glee creep into Tartaglia’s eyes. “Oh! Oh my Archon. You haven’t told him!” The Fatui Harbinger threw back his head and laughed with abandon. “Oh, that’s great! This is beautiful!”

You waited a good half minute for Tartaglia to finally wipe all the tears from his cheeks. “Are you done?” You’d been slowly edging towards the exit of the alley, keeping your eyes trained on the Fatui. As long as you could get to Wanmin Restaurant you would be safe... but no. You couldn’t drag Xiangling and Chef Mao into this. You still didn’t understand half the things Tartaglia had said, but you knew that the Fatui’s attention wasn’t something you wanted, no matter who you were.

“Yes, yes,” Tartaglia huffed, fanning himself dramatically.

“What’s so funny?”

“My contract ,” he almost spat the word, “mandates that I stay silent about that one, sorry. But don’t worry, I’ll keep your little secret. I’d love to see the look on your face when... Anyway. I’m here to give you an offer.”

“Next time, try offering over lunch or something,” you didn’t know where you found the courage to snap, “instead of in an alley.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tartaglia threw his hands up, somewhat apologetically. “It’s been so hard to catch you alone.” Had he been watching you and Zhongli? You grimaced. “But anyway. How would you like… all the Mora you could ever need? Anything you want to buy, eat or wear, yours, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“…And what do you want from me?”

“Information,” he replied, “about Zhongli. How to fight him, really, but also anything else he—“

At this point, you were beginning to feel inclined to believe that the man was simply missing half his marbles. Finally feeling like you had put enough distance between him and yourself, you turned and ran — for a whole two seconds, when a strong force yanked you backwards.

“Hey now, hasn’t Mr. Zhongli taught you anything about manners?” He tutted as you flailed in his grip, “I wasn’t done talking— whoa!”

He ducked, barely avoiding a projectile that whizzed past his cheek, so close that you could hear it whistle through the air. You peer at where it landed, firmly embedded into the brick wall.

It was a golden spear that glowed dimly in the light. Its design was immaculate, intricate, beautiful , you thought numbly, as you watched it fade before your eyes.

“Well then,” Tartaglia said tightly, “never mind her manners. It’s not like you to get so worked up, Mr. Zhongli.”

You snapped your head towards the entrance of the alleyway. You’d recognize the silhouette anywhere, but in that moment, with the same spear gripped in his hand and his features edged silver under the moonlight, eyes glowing a ravenous gold, Zhongli looked particularly divine.

“If I were worked up , Childe, I would not have missed,” Zhongli said, twirling the spear once before setting the pole against the cobblestone. The way he moved -- natural, relaxed, as though the polearm seemed like an extension of his body. There was no anger in his voice, but you felt a slight tremor in the ground under your feet and, despite your situation, a jolt of excitement at the thought of seeing Zhongli fight, seeing a Geo Vision in use.

“Oho?” Childe let go of your sleeve, crouching down low as glowing blue energy gathered in his hands. “Sure sounds like you’re asking for a fight. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this!”

Zhongli regarded him coolly for a moment. “Look around you. Is this really where you want to fight me, Childe?” He raised his head, and you and Tartaglia followed his gaze to a window. Behind the glass, you could make out a young girl’s face as she stared wide-eyed down at the scene below.

To your surprise, the Fatui paused. You hadn’t marked him down as the type to worry about collateral damage. Finally, he shifted back into a more relaxed stance, waving his fingers clean of Hydro. “You know me a little too well, Mr. Zhongli,” he smiled, all hostility seemingly forgotten. You may have misjudged his empathy, but you certainly hadn’t imagined his unhinged nature.

“What business do you have with Hansi?” Zhongli asked.

“That’s our little secret. Well, I’ll leave you two to… whatever it is you do.” He winked. “Remember, you still owe me a dinner sometime, Mr. Zhongli.”

“Certainly,” Zhongli said, lowering his hand and letting his spear disintegrate from between his fingers. “Though I must warn you, it will be the Northland Bank bearing the bill.”

“Of course.” Childe chuckled one more time, as though he remembered something funny. “See you around, Hansi.”

---

On the way home, Zhongli was uncharacteristically quiet. As you entered the warmth of his — of your home, you tried to break the silence. “Thank you for saving me, Mr. Zhongli.”

Zhongli stayed quiet for a short while more, staring at you so intently it stung. “Forgive my silence,” he finally said. “When I couldn’t find you at Wanmin, I thought that you had been hurt or… that you had run away.”

Astonished, you didn’t really know what to say. Running away was a thought that had crossed your mind, but each time, the cons far outweighed the pros. You were more than familiar with what awaited you on the streets of Liyue. “I am not so stupid to be ignorant of what would happen to me if I did” There was a pregnant pause. “And besides, I have had no reason to, Mr. Zhongli. You have been more than kind to me.”

Zhongli smiled. Was it just your imagination, or were his meltingly gorgeous smiles coming more and more often? Trying not to let your thoughts wander, you blurted the first thing that came to mind. “That spear was beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he said. “It has served me well.”

“Do you really know how to use it?” There had been no weaponry in the house that you’d seen, but you believed him wholeheartedly.

“I am somewhat versed in its usage, yes.”

“How long did it take you to learn how to fight?” You wondered, sincerely.

“I have always known how to fight, for as long as I can remember.” Suddenly, his weathered hands made sense. With your notions of him growing up as a sheltered, rich noble shattered, you had never been more curious of his past. Had he been part of the Millelith? “Though, I have since come to learn that it was never true strength. Why do you ask, Hansi?”

You hesitated, nervously glancing away. Way to dig yourself a hole. “Just wondering.”

“Hansi, I gave you my word to keep you safe, to the best of my abilities. However, I fear that there may be times when I may not be by your side, such as tonight.” Zhongli seemed to think deeply about his next words. “Remember that if you want to learn how to fight, you just need to ask.”

Tell him , a voice in your mind screamed. Tell him about the damned Vision.

As tempting as it was, you were indeed more than familiar with what awaited you on the streets of Liyue. You would not risk, even remotely, your position in Zhongli’s household.

“Thank you, Mr. Zhongli,” you mustered the warmest smile you could, as you stood up to retreat to your room. “I will keep that in mind.”

“That’s all I ask,” Zhongli exhaled deeply. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

#zhongli #zhongli fanfic #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin zhongli #zhongli x reader #my writing #anqi writes #fragile as dust

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cybernaght · 4 years ago

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Guardian rewatch: episode 6

Episode 6 jumps us into the case of a disappearing woman, Zhou Weiwei, with the SID team being on the scene, taking the unofficial statement of her fiancé, Ji Xiaobai. While in terms of the actual investigation this case is even thinner than usual, thematically its juicy. It’s musing on the self, and how the self is defined in the eyes of the others; it actually has a grown-up real life take on an unhappy love story, and it can even be read as having pro-immigration connotations. This episode is telling the viewer that one is not entitled to nice things because they are a human from the human world, and there is no sin in wishing to take a chance to move somewhere you can see the sun.

From the very first scene, Zhao Yunlan, who always has been shown as hands-on with the investigation, removes himself from Xiaobai’s flat, claiming that he has to speak to someone. It’s obvious who that someone is; and we see that our Chief is starting to rely on Shen Wei as his consultant way before he ever offers him that job. There is no reason for Yunlan to seek the other man’s help; and yet, he will end up solving with Shen Wei by his side, and purely through Shen Wei’s ample advice.

Left with the worried, grieving fiancé of the missing Weiwei, Guo Chancheng suggests they take a stroll to calm down emotions, bringing himself, the man in question, and Chu Shizhu to his favourite place. He is, once again, being the sweetest, most lovely and considerate human being on this planet; and Chu Shizhu is starting to take his lead, listening, being a calming presence - even going as far as to softly offering Ji Xiaobai a beer.

Hearing the sounds of a magpie, harbinger of good fortune, Guo Changcheng becomes animated, dragging Xiobai up to make a wish out loud. Xiaobai, predictably, wishes for his beloved to come back home, and Xiao Guo gladly repeats this wish, strengthens it with his will. This is where he is in his element: making people better, giving people hope, using his massive heart to help those around him. Guo Changcheng truly is too precious for words.

“Kid. You never make wishes for yourself?”

“I do. When everyone is happy, I am happy as well.”

We see Guo Changcheng’s simple, pure altruism resonating deep within Chu Shizhu, reminding him of his little brother that he lost. Well, I say “little” metaphorically, as the two are twins. That’s right, Guardian has two sets of twins, probably because it does not want to waste its extremely capable main cast. I’m not mad at it.

Later that day, Shen Wei is conversing with a flower Yashou conveniently living on campus. I think she has a name, but I have a habit of calling her Bush Woman, because it’s what she is.

She is animated poorly, but at least she is animated at all: there will be a scene later in the series, in which she is played by a bush, being shaken enthusiastically below the shot. The actual conversation is about a person Shen Wei is looking for: he has received a tip from Butler Wu in the previous episode that one of commanders in the Underworld army had a child. Hoping that that child could give him a clue at to where the next of the Hallows is stored, Shen Wei is now looking for them. Naturally, the child in question is also the missing woman in question, but Shen Wei does not know that yet.

Their conversation is interrupted by Zhao Yunlan being sited on the bike heading towards the university. In the next scene, Zhao Yunlan is shifting uncomfortably at Shen Wei’s office door. Presumably, he has knocked, heard no response, and is just about to give up and go home. This is the moment Shen Wei opens the door from inside, greeting him. Did he teleport into his office so he could talk to Yunlan? Yes, yes he did.

Despite being more than capable of deducing stuff on his own, Chief Zhao brings in the pictures of the disappeared Weiwei to Shen Wei to analyse for clues. We know that Shen Wei is aware that there is no actual legitimate reason for Zhao Yunlan to seek out his help - because Shen Wei states as much, in the nicest way possible. Zhao Yunlan does not actually have a satisfying answer to that, and his response is mostly boiled down to shameless flirting.

And also doing throughly shameless things to a lollipop while maintaining eye contact the whole time. Because why not give our protagonist in the show about brotherhood the most homoerotic character quirk he could possibly have, right?

As Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei continue discussing the case, it becomes more and more clear that they work together marvellously, going as far as finishing each other’s sentences. The body language also suggests that they are very comfortable in each other’s company.

Yunlan, who a few episodes ago would rather sleuth himself than ask people for clues, listens to the advise Shen Wei gives him, internalises it, and eventually uses it to solve this case. Scratch that, actually - he accepts it when Shen Wei pretty much solves the case for him.

Following Shen Wei’s words to the letter, Zhao Yunlan opens the portal into the magic dimension and discovers that there are, in fact, two Weiweis. The woman from the mirror - an Undergrounder, who left to live a normal life, and a human, who hid because she could not stand being unpopular, and now returned out of jealousy for her mirror counterpart’s perfect life.

It’s very hard to not sympathise with the mirror!Weiwei over the human one. All the former wanted was to live, and to love, and to be happy. All the later wants is to have all that without putting in any effort. Human!Weiwei does not truly understand that it takes more than taking to have a relationship, and there is nothing that would allow her to be entitled to happiness that she did not herself create.

Instead, she calls mirror!Wewei a monster, and the later snaps, creating a whirlwind of energy which threatens to destroy everyone in the mirror with her.

Unfortunately for her, one of the people she is threatening to kill is Zhao Yunlan, and we know how Hei Pao Shi feels about Zhao Yunlan’s life being threatened. This man, who does have a soft, squishy heart, and has previously allowed murderous Wang Yike to stay with her lover, all but snarls at mirror!Weiwei as he captures her.

The show treats hers and Xiaobai’s farewell as a true tragedy; it’s genuinely heartbreaking to see them cry, as we are shown flashback of their relationship.

In the past couple of episodes, we have witnessed a huge shift in Shen Wei. He may have been determined to detach himself and march onwards alone a short while ago, but he has also seen the SID being full of kind, righteous individuals; he has been begged to save an Undergrounder’s life; he has been asked for friendly support and advice by Zhao Yunlan, and so he, perhaps unwittingly, allows his Hei Pao Shi persona to soften. As he takes mirror!Weiwei away, he stops to have a little tiny heart to heart with Yunlan, saying that identity of a person lies in their heart rather than what or who they are physically. This is a very Shen Wei thing to say, actually, but it will be a while before Yunlan figures that one thing out. Two things on this scene:

One. The mask really does hide Zhu Yilong’s most prominent features pretty well, and to help the viewer understand how he could have been hiding his identity successfully for what could be months, the camera more often than not shoots Hei Pao Shi from a lower angle, and Shen Wei from the higher angle, or dead on, subtly reshaping the jaw line. It’s clever; as is often often the case with the camera work in this show.

Two. Isn’t it a little bit amusing how this ancient godlike being needs to fill in the paperwork in line of his duty?

As with Shen Wei’s advice earlier on, Zhao Yunlan takes Hei Pao Shi’s one to heart as well, and makes his way to human!Weiwei to make sure Xiaobai knows that she is not at all the woman he fell in love with and wanted to marry. He unearths her greed, jealousy and entitlement in full; in the end, this relationship cannot survive, because how could Xiaobai possibly stay with someone who does not know - someone who even is, in some ways, responsible, for his lover being taken away from him forever? As the couple breaks up, Wang Zheng and Sang Zan’s love song is playing in the background.

During this scene, the infamous “I would like to buy [this coat] for my girlfriend” moment happens.

As we know, he does not have a girlfriend. He may, however, have a boyfriend.

I really like the idea that he buys Shen Wei’s trench coats based on this. I really do. It is nice to see Shen Wei’s style starting to change dramatically as he and Zhao Yunlan become closer, of course, and I want it to be one of those deliberate coded messages Guardian is absolutely astonishing for. But at the same time, this is the jacket Yunlan is remarking on:

It sadly does not look anything like what Shen Wei wears. I will file this under “it’s true because the fandom said so”.

Later, Hei Pao Shi is having a conversation mirror!Weiwei, revealing that he knew her father, and getting a clue he was after. We are getting a lovely extreme close-up of his eyes. While the mask does not stand to scrutiny of close examination - seriously, they could have maybe put actual leafing on it! - I really love this shot.

At home, Zhao Yunlan is talking to Da Qing about his favourite subject, which is Professor Shen, and performing more shameless things to his lollipop while doing so. Brotherhood, my friends. This show it about bro-ther-hood.

Da Qing wonders if his friend has been bewitched by Shen Wei, because it is obvious that Zhao Yunlan does not shut up about the man ever. When asked whether Yunlan would arrest the professor if he were indeed from the Underground, Yunlan responds with a dismissive, almost affronted “He didn’t do anything wrong”. We are to understand, through Da Qing’s reaction, that this is extremely uncharacteristic of Zhao Yunlan to say something like this, and it is entirely reasonable for Da Qing to be concerned. We could extrapolate that Da Qing’s worried because if Shen Wei is dangerous, getting attached to him in such a blatant manner could put Zhao Yunlan’s career and life at a very great risk. So, Da Qing, who knows his friend very well, chooses to press all the correct buttons to kick-start his natural curiosity, and do some investigative work into Shen Wei.

Step one: break into his flat. As you do.

When we saw Shen Wei view the flat prior to moving in, it was shown already furnished, which is not entirely consistent with this tasteful, yet eclectic, furniture. I don’t know about you, but most flats I have rented have been furnished at IKEA. I can’t help but particularly admire his G Plan style mid-century side-board. And the fact that the man owns a gramophone, because of course he does.

Shen Wei’s book collection is wonderfully perplexing. I’m not surprised that he reads in English - he is educated, and Dragon City is explicitly shown as bilingual, seeing as signs and even gravestones are written in English. But choices were made with the selection of titles. Going off the English ones alone Shen Wei owns: three copies of the same book about architecture, a heavy looking tome on interior design, a tattered one on Van Gough, and the only non-fiction English titles in his possession are… Irvin Welsh’s Trainspotting and a novelisation of Rocky? The former is notoriously difficult read as it’s written entirely in the Scottish accent. The later is very difficult to find, as is often the case with unnecessary novelisations. Neither scream “Shen Wei” to me.

Apart from Shen Wei’s obviously fake book collection, we find out that he has some files on the SID. It should be a weird point of contention for Zhao Yunlan, considering that a) he also read Shen Wei’s files; b) he literally broke into the man’s apartment.

While Zhao Yunlan and Da Qing are still nosing around the flat, Shen Wei makes his way home, stilling at his door when he either sees that the lights are on (they won’t when he left), or notes with his Hei Pao Shi sense that someone is inside.

We, in turn, discover that he has sword replicas on his wall. The swords are obviously European, two of them are shorter, arming ones, and the one in the middle is a longsword with a hand and a half grip. All three have round pommels, downturned cross-guards, and the general shape most reminiscent of very Late Middle Ages (I would hazard at a guess and place them around second half of the 15th century). I wish we could have seen Shen Wei fighting with one of those at some point, because they would be wielded in ways very different from his own blade, but alas. The shield, by the way, has no business being hung together with those swords: it’s not only from a wrong era, it’s from a different part of the world entirely; my guess is that it’s a replica of a shield from the Tang dynasty.

Shen Wei senses Zhao Yunlan hiding on the balcony, and bites back a smile. Anyone else would be less happy to find out that their privacy being violated, but he is endeared at is the same way Yunlan was endeared at Shen Wei’s cunning during the prior episode.

After getting back to Zhao Yunlan’s own flat (possibly by waiting for Shen Wei to pretend to fall sleep), Da Qing and Zhao Yunlan move on to step two: contacting the Underground Regent about Shen Wei. Which is not as important a tidbit as finding out that Zhao Yunlan owns a swing.

Then, they move in to step three: the banner.

According to this article, it’s 锦旗, a traditional gift of gratitude. It’s addressed to “Dragon City University, Professor Shen Wei”, but is singed by “Zhao Yunlan”, without mentioning of SID or his position therein, implying that the gift is personal. The message reads “Helping people [is] helping oneself” and “conscience of the industry”. It’s extremely over the top, which both Shen Wei and Chu Shuzhi, tasked with delivering the banner, are aware of.

Shen Wei looks between tentatively amused and politely mortified.

Chu Shuzhi looks like holding this banner is the most excruciating torture he ever had to endure.

The banner, of course, has a hidden camera in it, so that Zhao Yunlan has a 24/7 feed from Shen Wei’s office. As he and Da Qing are watching the gift being hung, Da Qing is teasing Yunlan with Hei Pao Shi, who is surely the wrong man to tease him about.

In the next scene, Zhao Yunlan is at Shen Wei’s workplace again, and we discover from Shen Wei’s unpleasant boss that Li Qian has dropped out after her ordeal with the Longevity Dial.

From the way this is written and shot, I would surmise that Zhao Yunlan does not spring on the professor in a middle of an uncomfortable conversation, but rather has spent some time with him prior to it, volunteering to be moral support. He continues being a good friend by asking Shen Wei why he feels like he has to shoulder all of the world’s weight: it’s surprisingly insightful into a large part of Shen Wei’s personality.

There is little narrative reason for them to have this meeting, so I am choosing to believe that dropping in on Shen Wei randomly during lunch time is a habit Zhao Yunlan has started to form.

Finally, before the episode ends, we are privy to Shen Wei being the most polite, level-headed mugging victim. He hands the muggers his watch and money willingly, waiting for Zhao Yunlan, who is obviously stalking him, to show up and save the day. The muggers, enraged by his cool attitude, decide to shake him up, and, in the last seconds of this episode, the Pendant of Pining appears in shot for the first time.

Next up, episode 7: No, Shen Wei, It Wasn’t The Bears

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Just a quick note to say that I’ll keep those recaps going, but I will have to slow down the pace at which I’m churning them out to one every three to four days. There are some real life things I’ve been neglecting last few weeks that I need to spend my time on; and I’ve also started a new show (Sound of Providence, not Word of Honour - my watching priorities currently lie with Zhu Yilong being awesome). So, if I’m quiet here for a few days, I’m not gone, just a bit busy.

ETA. Realised that I made a booboo when translating the banner. Fixed that now.

#guardian #shen wei #zhao yunlan #weilan #recap #rewatch #overanalysing set design

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songtoyou · 4 years ago

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Tempting Fate - Part Seven

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Nothing major. Mention of smoking cannabis.

Word Count: 2,025

Story Summary: Tommy is not a believer in fate or destiny. However, a new resident in Small Heath will question his beliefs and push his boundaries outside his comfort zone.

A/N: Please don’t hate me.

Please do not post any of my fics to other sites without my permission.

Tag List: @owenniasstars

Tommy didn’t ask you to walk with him to the canal to meet up with Curly. You didn’t ask to come along. As Tommy said, this was something he needed to do by himself. However, it wouldn’t mean that you weren’t going to worry about him until he safely returned.

One thing you still have trouble contemplating was how much your relationship with Tommy had changed in such a short amount of time. The man used to ignore you to now having sex with you regularly. It was such a fast switch of behavior that you didn’t quite know where it came from. Whenever Tommy was around, you never gave this view much thought or interest, mostly because you were so preoccupied with Tommy that he took up a lot of your attention.

Now with him gone, it allowed you room and time to think things through if Tommy was, in fact, “the one” or not. However, you could not deny your feelings for the man that continued to grow each day you were with him. Tommy made your heart flutter that no other man had been able to accomplish.

You didn’t have too much time to think things over as Esme had arrived with the kids. You let them inside while finished making the lunch packs for the trip.

The kids rallied around you, yelping and begging for treats. “Oi! Settle down, or we won’t be going to no fair!” Esme yelled to the kids, who immediately quieted down.

You laughed while pulling out a tin with biscuits and gave each child a piece. “You lot are lucky she spoils all of you,” Esme said, pointing to each child. “So, I guess Tommy told you to be on your best behavior and not make trouble?” asked Esme, and when you nodded your head, she scoffed. “The same spiel John gave me. Those men have a lot of nerve telling us not to get into trouble.”

“Oh, trust me, then know. It won’t stop them from doing it. Okay, I think I have everything we need. We can head out. Johnny Dogs said he would meet us outside of The Garrison,” you instructed and handed one of the kids the basket with the lunch packs and other items for the road.

The ride to the fair went by fast, thanks to Johnny telling stories the entire way. You could tell Johnny was a good guy. He was a loyal friend to Tommy and appeared to get along with everyone. Johnny appeared not to be a part of one clan but multiple clans. He had the ability to integrate from one to another.

Born in Northern Ireland to a family of Irish travelers, John had befriended Tommy when they were younger. It was only when Tommy, Arthur, and John headed off to France during the War that he joined the Lee gang. You were surprised to find out that it was Johnny who presided over John and Esme’s wedding. You were equally surprised to find out that Esme and John's marriage was not a love marriage. It was arranged by Tommy and the Lees to bring both families together as they were close to being in a war with one another. All in all, you liked the man.

The wagon came to a sudden halt. “We are here!” exclaimed Johnny excitedly.

You looked out to see other wagons all lined up with people spread out in the field. There was music already being played, children running around happily, and the smell of food was exquisite. This is what you had been missing while being in Small Heath. The freedom that comes with traveling, not having to answer to anyone, living off the land, and making do with what you have. Overall, it was the sense of community that you missed the most, of being around others like you. It was one of the reasons why you became so attached to Esme. She understood while others couldn’t. Not even Tommy could understand your feelings of homesickness or why you missed traveling. He tried, but it was not something he would ever understand.

Sometimes you got the sense that Tommy was someone who tended to downplay his roots. You knew his goal of gaining power within the upper hierarchy of British society. You knew the upper crest looked down on those with working-class backgrounds and could only imagine what they thought of those with Romani blood.

While Johnny tended to the horses, you walked around with Esme and the kids. There were fortune tellers, palm readers, stalls selling jewelry, clothing, or farming tools, and an array of other horse-related items for sale. Esme got each of the kids some food and told them to bugger off and not get into trouble.

“Fancy having your fortune told?” you teased Esme, who merely rolled her eyes.

“Charlatans, all of them. They’ll only tell you what you want to hear. I was told I would marry a man who was tall, dark, and handsome. That he would be my soulmate, my other half, all that bullshit these old birds tell ya,” Esme ranted off.

“John’s tall, blond, and handsome. You may have gotten together under the not-so-normal circumstance, but you both love each other very much. Right?”

But Esme shrugged. “So, I take it the honeymoon stage is over?” you asked her.

With a sigh, Esme turned towards you, “John, I don’t know; he doesn’t talk to me about anything. He keeps things to himself, especially with what happened during the War. He has nightmares, you know.”

“Yeah, I figured all of the Shelby brothers have their inner demons from the War. It is the same with Tommy. He doesn’t share much either, but I can’t force him. All I can do is be there for him. That is what you are going to have to do with John. The Shelby’s are an unusual bunch. One we aren’t used to or have experienced before. It is as if they have this need to better themselves and to prove that they are worthy. We don’t have that need. We are happy with what we have and where we come from. No amount of money or materialistic things are going to change who we are,” you elaborated to Esme.

She seemed to consider what you were saying. “I need a drink,” was all Esme said and linked her arm with yours.

The two of you sat under a tree with a drink in hand, sharing a plate of food and passing a joint. Esme seemed to be in a lighter mood than before, thanks to the alcohol and cannabis.

When Esme said your name, you looked over at the brunette. “What?” you asked.

“I meant to ask you this for some time. How is Tommy in bed?”

You could feel the heat on your face. Stifling a smile, you hid your face with your hand to hide your blushing. Soon, you turned into a fit of giggles.

“Come one, now!” yelled Esme smiling. “Don’t get all prudent on me! How is the King of Birmingham in the sack?”

When you were able to compose yourself, you answered, “He is amazing. I don’t know how else to describe being with him. He just…I have never felt like this with any other person. The way he knows my body. It’s like he knows what makes me tick. He knows how to bring me over the edge and back again. It’s an amazing feeling.”

“Must be nice,” was all Esme said and took a drag of the joint.

You looked over at your friend. There was a hint of sadness in her eyes. You couldn’t imagine being in her position. You wouldn’t want to be in a marriage that was arranged by your older brother only to stop a war starting between two rival families. That is bound to create a marriage of convenience rather than love. Your parents were a love match, and it showed. That is what you wanted.

Was Tommy the one for you? You didn’t know, but he was the one for you at the moment.

Thankfully, Tommy returned from London safe and sound. From what you heard from Polly, Tommy’s meeting with Alfie Solomons went well. The leader of the Jewish gang had agreed to align with the Peaky Blinders to take down Sabini. Tommy spent most of his time at Shelby Company Limited, so you didn’t see him too often. This surprised you, but you tried your best to think nothing of it. However, after the first couple of days Tommy got back home, he maintained his distance from you, especially in public.

You stopped by his office one day during your break. You wanted to check on him to see how he was doing. Spotting Lizzie at her desk, you asked if Tommy was in. Not even bothering to look at you, she said he was busy.

“Can you please tell Tommy that I need to talk to him?” you practically pleaded to Lizzie.

You understood the newly appointed secretary’s animosity towards you. She liked Tommy and hated that you had his attention. Lizzie treated Esme the same way now that John was married. You and Esme had the men Lizzie wanted or could have had.

Before you turned to leave, Tommy walked out of his office. He looked at you and waved you inside. “Ms. Stark, please don’t allow any visitors to interrupt my meeting with Ms. Young,” he ordered.

You walked into Tommy’s office, and he guided you to a chair. He asked if you wanted a drink.

“No, I can’t stay long. I only wanted to see how you were doing. I haven’t seen you much since you returned from your trip. Your bruises look like they have healed nicely,” you noted as Tommy sat down in the chair across from you.

He took a swig of his whiskey and pulled out a cigarette. You declined when he offered one to you. “Is everything okay, Tommy?” you asked him, concerned.

As Tommy rubbed his thumb across his lips, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

“It would be best if we don’t see each other anymore,” Tommy spoke, still not looking at you.

For a second, you thought you misheard him. “What?”

Tommy gulped down the rest of his whiskey and slammed the glass on the side table. “I have other things to worry about. The Company needs to have my full attention. If I want to take over Sabini’s racecourses, then I can’t have any distractions. “

Folding your arms, you leaned back in the chair. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Distractions? So, I’m a distraction, now?” you asked in disbelief. It took all you had not to smack the man before you upside the head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m realistic,” Tommy countered and got up to walk to his desk. “This isn’t the time where I should…” he began to say but didn’t finish. It was like he was at a standstill. You could tell he didn’t believe what he was saying. That Tommy himself knew it was all bullshit. He was pushing you away so you wouldn’t get hurt.

Tommy didn’t want you to end up as a casualty in his war with Sabini. He also didn’t want someone like Campbell to use you as leverage against him. You were too much of a liability to him. If his enemies on to your connection to Tommy, then you could be used as a weakness against him.

Deciding that you had enough and didn’t want to listen to his gibberish, you got up and exited the office. Walking back to The Garrison, you told yourself not to cry that you were not going to shed one tear over a man who didn’t want you. That it was wasted energy crying over someone who was not brave enough even to be honest with you.

Tommy Shelby was a complicated man. You realized that he wasn’t the man for you in the long run. He was merely the man for you at the moment. And that moment was gone now.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic

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mircallablue · 5 years ago

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So, in the wake of BeauJesters seeming passing, I’m going to take a moment to be more than a little self-indulgent and explain why I love these characters and their unique dynamic so goddamn much, as well as why I’m so disheartened by the way the show seems to be taking them. Warning: essay ahead lol. This is just a rambly rant that I’m writing because it’s cathartic to vent a little bit of frustration, and I love these characters so much. (and I love the entire cast, every goddamn one, and every other character in the show too. This is about love, not hate).

So, for a few brief and wonderful episodes in this campaign, I actually believed that I was being told a love story about falling in love with your best friend, and figuring out your sexuality, while also unlearning all of the untrue lessons that the world taught you about love while you were growing up, and in so doing, finding value in yourself. Which, for me personally, is just super relatable. Like, that ticks every damn box I have lol, which partly explains why I love BeauJester so much, and I know a lot of B/J shippers feel the same. I’ve shipped B/J from super early on, but I never in a million years really believed it would happen, for a lot of reasons. Mostly homophobia, biphobia and heteronormativity. But I enjoyed their dynamic nonetheless, even though I thought (and was often TOLD by other shippers) that it didn’t stand a chance in hell of happening.

So you can imagine how VALIDATING it was when Marisha, both in character and out of game, confirmed that Beau had very significant romantic feelings for Jester. All of the crumbs we’d collected over the course of the campaign were finally coming together and all of the gaslighters who told us we were delusional suddenly had to acknowledge that there was something there. And once it had been acknowledged, it was OBVIOUS. Omg it was so obvious and I loved every second of it. It was so undeniable for the next few episodes, and in hindsight, that there was something building there between them, there was potential. There was definitely a connection between these two characters. And for a few weeks, it was great.

Then Liam - out of character - mentions that Caleb is in love with Jester. And it is immediately, fandom wide, treated with more respect than Marisha and Beau.

I know a lot of people get very very angry when this is brought up, but it is just the ugly, unfortunate reality that a lot of people in this fandom treat Jester like a manic pixie dream girl. Even the people who do not consciously believe her to be that (and I don’t think there are many that genuinely believe it), are perfectly fine /treating her/ like one, as long as it serves one of the straight men that they love so much, usually Caleb. And this is where the heteronormativity comes in. Because even though it was an out-of-game confession with no bearing on canon, Calebs feelings immediately took precedence over Beaus in terms of the fandom narrative.

I personally have never liked the way Liam handles romance in game. He did pretty much the exact same thing in campaign 1 as well, where his sad boy pines after the happy girl from afar until he’s uncontrollably in love with her, and then with no warning he drops it like a bomb. He just happened to drop it out of game this time. The main reason I don’t like this style of romance is because of how (unintentionally) manipulative it is. You see it in bad romcoms all the time. The guy makes a public declaration of love that pressures the girl into reciprocating or looking like the bad guy. But the main reason I don’t like /this particular/ declaration is the timing.

Liam - who has always said he likes things to come out in game - inexplicably decides out of game reveal something as major as Caleb being in love with Jester, right after Marisha IN GAME took steps towards Beau and Jester being together. And it completely changed the narrative. Suddenly it was “top table top table”, and that's if Beaus feelings ever got mentioned at all. It was not at all helped by the fact that a lot of cast members (sam) still pushed Fjorester HARD, even with Jester telling Nott to stop, which must have sucked for Marisha/Beau. But even as recently as episode 99, Beau was still flirting with Jester, and there were definite hints at Jester maybe having unacknowledged feelings for Beau.

Then the hiatus happened. When we return, Beau is throwing herself at Yasha, and there’s not even a song for Jester on her playlist. And then Travis reveals (also out of game, like Liam) that Fjord has feelings for Jester (in a playlist heavily curated by known fjorester, Dani Carr). And even /that/ is treated with more weight by some fans than Beaus in canon confession. And Yasha is having all of these super convenient dreams where Zuala tells her its ok to move on, and Beau and Jester are barely speaking. And now Beau is calling Yasha her GIRLFRIEND? WHAT??? Did I miss 20 secret episodes that aired during hiatus or something???? Beau and Yasha have still, in 107 episodes, only had ONE meaningful conversation and yet their relationship is being treated as deep and inevitable. Sure, you can read into their other interactions if you want. But as a queer person, I am sick to death of my love needing to be represented as subtext.

And so it has become pretty clear that the cast has decided out of game to go in a different direction. And of course they are well within their right to do that. But I just can’t help feeling incredibly disheartened, and again, more than a little bit gas-lighted. It really does seem as if Beaus' feelings for Jester have just been scrubbed from canon - as if they never even happened. All, seemingly, to make way for a typical happy-girl-sad-guy relationship with either Fjord or Caleb, and a typical pair-the-spares barely-any-depth relationship between the two out lesbians because its easy.

For the entirety of campaign 2, BeauJester has been treated as one thing - inconvenient. Inconvenient by the fans, who prefer other ships and have treated BeauJesters terribly, and now it seems, inconvenient by the cast, who have seemingly discarded it and scrubbed it from canon.

And one thing that really upsets me is the amount of genuine viciousness and vitriol coming from (some) BeauYasha shippers. I really wish BeauYasha was something I could get on board with, I do. And a lot of people who are sending me hate seem to assume I don’t want them to end up together. But I would be fine with that. But as it stands, they’ve literally only had one real conversation in 107 episodes, and they’re calling each other girlfriend? While literally having not spoken about anything like that? While one of those characters is supposed to have canon romantic feelings for another woman? Imagine that situation with any other characters and it would be comical.

I swear, the queer ladies in this fandom have been done dirty. All of us. Imagine if, in campaign one, Grog and Keyleth, in episode 107, started calling each other boyfriend/girlfriend in the middle of a battle. (I picked those two because they probably had the fewest moments together of any VM pairing). That’s pretty much what happened here, and we’re supposed to like it - be grateful, even - because it’s wlw rep? And I swear, the number of times I’ve been called lesbophobic in the last month is absurd - all because I’m not comfortable with a canon lesbians canon feelings being swept under the rug. All because I want wlw relationships to be allowed to have the same depth and growth as the straight ones. Yes, even if that relationship is B/Y. We should not settle for less. Imagine if they had done this with any other character's canon feelings for another. People would be angry.

And I know there are going to be a lot of people saying “It’s their game, they can do what they like”.

True. I never said otherwise. But it is also a show. It is a product. They sell merch. It is something that they have taken the time and the steps to make sure that we care about. And this is what that looks like.

I know what happened here isn’t technically queerbaiting, but damn if it doesn’t cut the same.

#critical role #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #beaujester #cr discourse #i look forward to being called toxic

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