#a lack of intensity or sincerity or emotional rawness in something can feel more out of character than an admission of love | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dialovers-translations · 3 years

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DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD OFFICIAL VISUAL FANBOOK ー Interview Vol. 2 feat. Nao Nakamura

Source: DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD Official Visual Fanbook

Release date: 2013

Huge thank you to @keithvalentinex for providing the raw scans!

SECTION 1: Q&A

Q1. When was the series’ sequel decided on?

A: Around the time the first game ‘DIABOLIK LOVERS’ was released in stores. We were fortunate enough to have already received news of an anime adaption at the time, so at some point we played with the idea of creating a fan disc to go along with it. However, if possible we wanted to hype up the series even more in anticipation of the anime’s release, which is how the production of a ‘DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD’ series came to realisation.

Q2. Did you plan on introducing a set of 4 new characters during the early phases of development?

A: The initial draft we received from Rejet-sama mentioned four characters. We figured that with that amount, we could pack it into one game and create an equal amount of content as we did for the Sakamaki’s, so we proceeded with said idea. At one of the first brainstorm sessions, we casually dropped the idea of creating a game with 6 Do-M characters... (lol) However, that would stray too far away from the core concept behind ‘DIABOLIK LOVERS’, so it obviously got rejected. (lol)

Q3. How did you go about writing the characters’ dialogue and actions?

A: I believe that the previous installment can be regarded rather groundbreaking within the genre of otome games. However, the boys coming across as too strong to the point where it would prevent someone from delving deeper into their character is something we reflected upon. We wanted to make up for that this time and created this game with the intend of exploring them even further.

Q4. What did you struggle the most with while writing the script?

A: This doesn’t apply solely to the script, but the fact there are so many romanceable characters in this game is what made it so difficult. However, we did not want there to be a difference in quality between the different characters’ routes. Despite our strong wish to please the playerbase, it made the distribution of time very difficult. The writers would first pen down the script, then Rejet-san would do the proofreading and make adjustments and then pass it on to us. However, reading a script while playing a game or simply reading it on paper is still different, so we were making minute changes down to the very last minute of development. We ran through the same process for the last game, but this time around, the total amount of content was just very large. We once again felt the struggle of putting in so many characters to choose from. However, we did this to create an even better game, so it was worth the struggle.

Q5. Which character caused you the most problems while writing the script?

A: All of the Sakamaki’s. The four Mukami brothers who make their appearance in this installment may be Vampires, but they were once human just like the heroine, so in terms of emotions, they tend to sympathize with her more. As a result, it only makes the Sakamaki’s seem even more like they are the villains of the story. While this may seem obvious given their original setting of being both ‘Vampires’ and ‘extreme sadists’, it makes it very easy for the otome game element as well as the feelings they end up developing for the heroine to be lost, in which case they would no longer be the six brothers we wanted to deliver. Therefore, it was very difficult to convey to the player that the love they harbor for the heroine eventually makes them change, while still preserving the sadistic tendencies which stem from their nature as Vampires at the same time. The player base has spent quite a bit of time interacting with these brothers, and I am sure it was not always easy, but I hope said message was delivered to those who played our game.

Q6. Is there a character who underwent drastic changes compared to the last game?

A: All of them are still the same at the core, so my impression of them did not change depending on the scenario. I believe minor changes were done to the way some of the characters are drawn, but personally I perceive each character as a mix of both their previous and current representation.

Q7. In this game, each section is divided into a ‘Situation Part’ and ‘Story Part’. Could you explain your intentions behind this?

A: When collecting feedback on the previous game, we received many complaints about the different chapters feeling inconsistent and all over the place. However, we always intended ‘DIABOLIK LOVERS’ to be a game in which the player gets to enjoy these different kind of ‘situations’, so without losing this part of the enjoyment, we figured we had to make the plot progression easier to grasp, which is how the current structure was implementend. To make it even more clear to the player, we divided it into two sections and gave each of them a title, changing the names as well.

Q8. What are parts which have greatly improved or parts you want us to focus on in comparison to the first game?

A: To ensure the player gets to enjoy the development in the heroine and characters’ thoughts and feelings, we applied small adjustments till the very last second. We hope that the people playing the game will take notice of this as well.

Q9. Why do you think the series has received such a great amount of support?

A: I believe the impact of the ‘Do-S Vampire’ concept, Satoi-san’s eye-catching illustrations and the charm of the cast who voices the characters all play a big part in this. Furthermore, I also believe that the simultaenous announcement of both drama CDs and a game which took place during the early stages of development had a large influence as well. We were able to make a smooth transition from the release of the CDs to the release of the games, which made it easier for the fans to follow along with the franchise. We truly are grateful for that!

Q10. Were there any ideas you wanted to incorporate in this game, but were unable to do in the end?

A: This game features the same selection segment as the previous one in which scenario’s 1 ~ 6 raise your love meter, while scenarios 7 ~ 10 raise the SM meter. However, we implemented the distinction between the ‘situation part’ and ‘story part’ this time, so it might have actually been even more enjoyable if the situation part raises the SM meter instead...I think. Those kind of features may vary depending on the vision of the director and staff members, so I would like to use this experience to think of various possible routes for future installments, as well as to settle on an end product which is fitting for the franchise. Furthermore, this may seem like a task without an end but I believe that the voicing plays a big factor in delivering the story. It is a vital element of conveying the message you want to tell, in a way that whether or not the player understands the plot is often highly dependent on the voice work. Every time I find myself wanting to perfect this, but it is difficult to supervise all of it just by myself...However, there’s always next time, so I’d love to squeeze in the time to thoroughly check this!

Q11. Do you have any more games planned for the series at present? Would you personally like to create more sequels?

A: We do not as of now, but if there is a strong demand for it, we might just be able to develop another game. Personally I would like to make a stereotypical ‘fandisc’ but the very first thing that comes to mind with those is a 'sweet, romantic story’ so I do struggle a little envisioning how that would play out with a cast made out of nothing but intense characters.

Q12. Please leave a message for the fans.

A: Thanks to the support we have received from all of you, we were able to create so much content for this franchise. I put my heart and soul into this game, so I sincerely hope that many people will enjoy it. Your impressions and encouraging messages are a great motivator as well, so I am eagerly awaiting those! The series may deliver new installments in the future, and to ensure that you all can continue to enjoy ‘DIABOLIK LOVERS’, we will continue to try our hardest together with Rejet-san, so we’d be happy if you could send us your heartfelt support.

SECTION 2: THEIR FAVORITE EPISODES

Sakamaki brothers: The final few chapters of Ayato’s route left a strong impression on me. I couldn’t help but wonder if somebody could truly be that stubborn and in denial about their own feelings, insistent on calling the girl they love ‘a prey’ till the very end. I felt so frustrated when the heroine’s feelings just wouldn’t get through to him, tears welled up in my eyes.

Mukami brothers: The part which gave me the most goosebumps during the development stages has to be Ruki’s Manservant Ending. Takagi Sakurai-san did a magnificant job portraying his silent madness, it was truly wonderful. Second place would be Azusa’s brute ending, even though I knew how the story would go, I still ended up feeling a little depressed by it, so please be careful when you play this scenario...

SECTION 3: NAO NAKAMURA CHOOSES ー SITUATION-DEPENDENT CHARACTER SELECT

Who would you choose in these situations? What’s the developer’s opinion?

S1. To sleep together with?

Best: Subaru, I feel like he has a good sleeping posture.

Worst: Subaru, he might not move around much in his sleep, but it’d still be uncomfortable and narrow in that coffin, huh?

S2. To go on a trip together with?

Best: Shuu, I’m sure he’d just loaf around the lodge all day, so I get to enjoy the trip in whichever way I want!

Worst: Laito, I’d rather keep my distance from him.

S3. To eat together with?

Best: Kou because I’m sure he’d happily gobble it up.

Worst: Kanato, I feel like the food would be lacking in nutrients.

S4. To study with?

Best: Ruki, I think he’d do a good job explaining everything accurately.

Worst: ???, honestly all of them...

S5. To go on a date with?

Best: Yuma, I actually think he would make for a great boyfriend.

Worst: Shuu, because everything would be a chore to him...

S6. To play a video game with?

Best: Ayato, he just seems like the type of guy you can always have fun and make some ruckus with.

Worst: Reiji, he seems super fussy.

S7. To play sports with?

Best: Shuu, I don’t really like exercising so...I’ll go with the person who seems unlikely to exercise in the first place.

Worst: Ayato, I don’t like exercise after all...

S8. To go on a drive with?

Best: Ruki, I’m positive he would look handsome behind the wheel.

Worst: Azusa, it’d be bad if his bandages were to get stuck around the steering wheel or the gear stick...

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #diabolik lovers more blood official visual fanbook #diabolik lovers translation #diabolik lovers fanbook #diabolik lovers interview #nao nakamura

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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gyllenhaalstories · 4 years

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SOUTHPAW, PART 1: HEADCANONS.

notes: dear anon: thank you for making me appreciate jake the rapper! also i know nothing about rap, so i’m sorry if this is pure trash! i never finished watching southpaw because it was too dark for me, but i took some very loose inspiration from it. warnings: mentions of dark past, mentions of sexual content... this got really long (2k words). gifs credits: alphalewolf. extras: if you want more informations about rapper!jake, please scroll through my blog. i have edited some older posts with the tag: topic: rapper!jake, so check it out if you’re interested. i have taken some ideas and put them in this list. (at the end of the list i provided some goodies!)

PART TWO WILL BE UPLOADED SOON, KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR IT!

attention, attention! please note i know absolutely nothing about rap. i very rarely enjoy listening to rap music, it’s simply not for me. this might be inaccurate and off compared to the actual world of hip hop and other similar genres. i apologize for my lack of knowledge! this is an au in which jake is not an actor or a producer or anything of the sort. his fame, he built it with his music. you must keep that in mind while reading these headcanons or else it will get confusing. also, i’ve taken some loose inspiration from jake’s actual work, but that’s just for the sake of backstory. are you ready to dive in this twisted fantasy?

Jake Gyllenhaal. Known as Hall. He exploded the charts after being picked up by one of the biggest record companies for his first album: Hall of Fame. He was a rookie, yet he was older than most of the rappers you can think of today. He worked his way up undercover. He started participating in poetry and slam nights at local cafés. He became a songwriter, through connections. He sold some songs that are absolute classics today, but he does not care. He did not feel like they fit him anyway.

Growing up, Jake had it rough. There was a lot of fighting at home. His older sister was the perfect angel and him? The absolute disaster child. It was not like he ran after danger and trouble, he seemed to always be at the wrong place in the wrong time, he hung out with the wrong crowd. He managed to avoid juvie on some miracle. What was the miracle, you might ask? He was caught robbing some local bank with his “friends” and the cops, at first, did not believe he was innocent. While his friends were screaming and threatening the innocent clients of the bank, Jake actually tried to help them out of the building safely. The cops arrived at the same moment and thought he was keeping the strangers hostage. He was arrested on the spot. The other guys played the victims, blamed it all on Jake but it was only when Jake wrote the whole story, from the beginning where his friends manipulated him and made of him their puppet to when he felt this adrenaline rush telling him he needed to save the strangers that night. His writing was too sincere, too raw to be a web of lies. The police released him, but they kept an eye on him.

His escape were writing and music. He impressed all of his teachers at school. Talented, gifted, magical. That was how they described Jake at every parent and teacher meeting. Writing dumb sentences that made very little sense and playing with a guitar after school, that did not make his parents very proud compared to his sister who was on top of all of her classes and working hard for a future of wealth and success.

Music was his entire life. He would come home from school and blast music until he was called out for dinner. Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Black Sabbath, Heart, Pink Floyd, Metallica, name it. He liked it loud. He liked it weird. He liked it with a deeper message, with double meaning.

He worked all types of jobs, some legal and some not so much. He was saving money for college. He applied. He got in. He started his classes. He had big dreams, too, he had ambitions. Maybe he could his talent to good use? He wanted to study philosophy, literature, music, creative writing... Anything that required thought and depth. He made friends, there. He befriended the edgy punk guy, he had tattoos everywhere, he listened to the same bands, he was quiet but his essays spoke volumes.

Jake was disappointed, his illusions were broken. He hated the format of his classes, the feeling like his opinion and his inspiration did not matter, it was always about meeting some stupid requirements to please a rich professor who did not care about passion, about talent, about originality. Jake dropped out, soon followed by his friend. His friend was hired at a tattoo parlor and Jake hung out there all the time. He would stay up until 5 am, 6, 7, all night and all day long. He loved the clients there. He would write and read his writing out loud to the clients when they were tortured by the needle shooting the ink in their skin. Talented and gifted, they all the same thing.

He started to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

He wrote, not just stories and opinion pieces. He started writing songs, melody and lyrics. He started playing them, he started writing his own poetry too. He was introduced to freestyle battles. And as he fought against other talented thinkers, he noticed he spoke with a tempo, with a rhythm. He was rapping and he did not even realize it.

His career sky rocketed from the moment a music producer attended one of the rap battles. He was famous, he got quite the thick wallet and the connections. Jake was introduced to legends of hip hop. They all influenced him as his career grew to become something overwhelming and terrifying, yet thrilling and addictive.

Hall had a style of his own, though. It was romantic, yet absolutely disgusting and dark. It was aggressive, yet vulnerable and philosophical. He spoke of his trauma, of his hatred, of his envy, of his fears... He used his songs as an escape. He was becoming his own escape.

And his own prison. His family did not care about him, he was a shame, even. Aside from his old college friend, he never built strong friendships. They were all after him for fame and cash. He slept around, guys and gals, threesomes, foursomes... He did not care, anything for some genuine connection, even if it lasted for a very lazy and messy fifteen minutes in the trashy bathroom of a concert hall. Rumour had it he was a great lover, but he was so bad at loving.

Now it gets interesting...

Hall rapped alongsides Eminem, Drake, Kendrick Lamar, Travis Scott... The biggest pop stars were fighting just to get him to rap a line in their songs. Rihanna wishes he was the one singing Love the way you lie, does that give you an idea? He appeared on duets. He wrote more solo albums, sold them instantly. He never left the top of the billboard in weeks, months, if not years. It never really got to his head. He was still that sensitive boy writing about knights and princesses in his bedroom with walls covered by band posters. Fans did not care about this side of him, they loved him for his lyrics about snorting coke, drinking his pain away and fucking whoever wore the tiniest skirt around.

His latest album, Southpaw, was an even bigger hit. Pure filth. Pure gold. Imagine 13 tracks, Cardi’s and Megan’s WAP but reversed. He does not rap about how good he fucks people. He raps about how good they feel. That’s some real depth here, no pun intended.

You met him at one of his concerts. Your friend won VIP passes, so you were standing in the front and got to take a picture with him. You did not understand the hype around taking a photo with this guy, he just stood there and looked absolutely emotionless.

You hated rap, or perhaps you loved it. You did not care much for Jake, that was for sure. You thought he was just another lame rapper who thought he was the real deal because his lyrics were so explicit, even the clean versions made angels cry. The truth was, you did not know much a bout him. You found him too commercial, like he was scared of becoming irrelevant.

You saw right through him already.

But him? He already cared too much about you. You caught his attention as he rapped his songs. He could not take his eyes off you. You weighted heavy on his mind, caused him to stutter and forget lyricvs. Fans laughed, they said he was probably too drunk or too high too focus. Drunk in love, that’s what it was.

There was something about you. Maybe it was the Black Sabbath shirt you wore. Maybe it was the unimpressed look on your face. Maybe it was your plump lips he wanted to kiss. Maybe it was the sight of you laughing with your friend that made his heart skip a beat. Maybe it was the fact you treated him like a normal person even if you had not spoken to him first.

So, you met backstage.

Your friend was beaming from ear to ear, showering Jake in compliments.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Jake asked you.

“For someone who shows no emotion, sound dead inside and look like they wish they were doing anything but making dozens of thousands of dollars by singing a couple of semi mediocre tracks, yeah, it was not that horrible.”

He was up for a challenge.

You two exchanged insults like it was a boxing match. Each round was getting more and more intense. It was no longer insults, it was straight up flirting. You noticed when your bodies were so close you could smell the scent of watermelon chewing gum that escaped from his warm breath. You could hear the way his raced even faster than yours.

You were snapped out of this fantasy by his bodyguard, indicating other fans waited for him.

He remembered the name your friend called out, saying he needed to bring you home before something bad happened.

It was the most beautiful name he had ever heard.

He hung out around that concert hall for the next couple of days. At the bar nearby, at Starbucks, at McDonald’s, anything for the sake of seeing your face again.

And he did.

You were walking out of the record store with a vinyl of Heart squeezed under your arm. You looked so happy. You had paint stains all over your clothes. You were erasing the memories of a terrible relationship by decorating your tiny apartment, and you needed to set the right ambiance. You needed guidance, you found it in the strong minds of the ladies behind Heart, in Joan Jett, in Stevie Nicks. You found your silver lining in music.

Jake ran behind you, he pretended he was out jogging and he mysteriously bumped into you. He grabbed your vinyl before it could fall on the ground.

“Nice pick.”

“We finally agree on something.”

Another round of flirty insults...

... That ended in the two of you fucking like animals on the floor of your apartment.

And fucking on the couch the next day.

On the kitchen counter the morning after.

And finally, on the bed. That was a really special one. Jake was the first person to be on your bed since the departure of your ex. He could feel that you were not in the mood for a rough battle for dominance.

That night, he made love to you.

For, quite possibly, the first time in his life, he expressed his love directly to somebody. “Princess, baby girl, beautiful, gorgeous, amazing”, he showered you in compliments, and praises. The slow movement of his hips, the intense passion in his eyes and love in his heart spoke louder than the music you were playing in the background to set the mood.

You were not just another trophee to hang on the wall. You were special.

He was special too.

He bought you every record that reminded him of you. He bought you collector items of your favourite bands. From the silliest decoration to a new car to replace your crappy one, passing by tickets to exclusive and sold-out shows, Jake had never felt more famous in his life than when he was with you.

His fans noticed the change in his songs, in his lyrics. They were just as explicit, just as rotten and just as corrupted. However, they came from a place of light and love, not of darkness and rage.

He sang about how good your felt when you climaxed around him. How drenched he was whenever he made you squirt. How he loved to taste himnself on your lips. How he was full of love and of lust for you. How he would quit everything if it meant he would live a normal life, for once, and with you.

You inspired so many songs that became massive world-wide hits.

You travelled the world with him on tour. You helped him design his new merch and you wore his t-shirts with pride. You attended concerts in your freetime. You loved staying up all night, painting and drawing while he was writing about this mirage of a goddess, blessing his existence with a smile and a sparkle in her eyes.

He was addicted to you.

He was crazy for you.

And he went crazy on you.

for research purposes and not because i wasted my time hearing eminem talk about stuff i don’t understand so i could stare at jake’s thighs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP_cKP4OjsA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whV5oQDvVWE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGqC9URTJIQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5imXD1LPnwo

and finally, for good measure :

@gyll-yee-haw ily

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #topic: rapper!jake #series: southpaw

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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(treat me nice) never let me go [branjie] 11/15 - pinkgrapefruit

[ chapter 11. sing me a song, your voice is like silver ]

“If I forget to tell you this later, I had a really great time tonight,” she tells Brooke, her voice so sincere, so raw, it makes Brooke emotional. She lifts their intertwined fingers to her mouth and presses her lips to the knuckles.

“Shall we, beautiful?” She asks, head tilting towards the door.

“Let’s go!”

[ pretty woman au ]

A/N - i’m really on a roll! i hope you enjoy!

They meet in the lobby again. Brooke waits at the bottom of the stairs in a deep green, satin dress, the cowl neck accentuating what she lacks in cleavage. Her hair is perfectly curled and falling over one shoulder, and her heels only make her tower further into the sky. She has a black, velvet dinner jacket slung over one arm and a box in the other hand. She inhales deeply and then smiles.

Vanessa descends the stairs like she is made for this. She’s dressed in a deep red dress, one that hugs her curves and flairs out only at the bottom. She makes Brooke’s mouth go dry as she watches her hips sway. Fuck.

“Do I look okay?” She asks as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, the train of her dress gathering at her feet. Her caramel curls are pinned into a loose bun, and a few strands of hair frame her face. In the mid-afternoon light she looks ethereal.

“Mhmm,” Brooke hums as she blatantly stares. Vanessa snaps her fingers with a smirk to get Brooke’s eyes to meet hers. “Mhmm,” she repeats but this time she’s grinning. “I think there’s something missing,” She mock muses, waving the box.

“Nothing else is gonna fit in this dress, Mary, I’m telling ya,” Vanessa jokes as she twirls in it, feeling like a fairy princess for the second time in a week. Brooke smiles and raises an eyebrow.

“What about something from this box?” She asks with a cheeky smirk as she slowly lifts the lid. Brooke watches Vanessa’s face move from teasing to excited as her face is lit up by a pattern of light refractions. “I don’t want you to get too excited babe, this is just on loan.” Vanessa’s eyes are like orbs by the time she looks up, full puppy dog in effect as she practically begs Brooke to put it on her.

“They let you borrow this from a store?” Vanessa asks in wonder as Brooke fastens it securely around her neck.

Brooke chuckles as she makes sure it’s sitting correctly, “I’m a very good customer.”

“Yeah, but how much would it cost?”

“A quarter of a million dollars.” Brooke deadpans, standing behind Vanessa, who is examining the necklace in an ornate mirror in the lobby. She bursts out laughing at Vanessa’s shocked expression.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” the girl mumbles under her breath before turning on her heels and pressing a light kiss to Brooke’s cheek. “Okay, where are we going?”

Brooke just winks and tries to grab her hand to pull her out of the lobby, but Vanessa gives her hand enough of a tug to stop them both in place. She smiles in a way that seems more intimate than the excitement they’ve been sharing.

“Shall we, beautiful?” She asks, head tilting towards the door.

“Let’s go!”

They sit too close together in the taxi, Brooke’s bare thigh pressed against the smooth red fabric of Vanessa’s dress, but she can still feel the warmth of her body. She directs the driver minimally, preferring to pour her attention into the way Vanessa can’t meet the intensity of her gaze as her eyes trail the open skin of her neck. Her hair tumbles over the shoulder Brooke cannot see and she’s somewhere torn between grateful and unbearably tempted to lay wreckage to the pristine skin. But where they’re heading - a love bite would not be an appropriate attire.

She straightens her back, leaning forward just a little to whisper into Vanessa’s ear. “Have I told you yet you look beautiful?” She asks in a low timbre that sends shivers down her counterparts spine.

“Not nearly enough,” Vanessa quips, voice quiet and shaky.

Brooke lowers her mouth until her breath is ghosting over Vanessa’s open skin. “You look beautiful,” she exhales, and the way Vanessa grips her thigh indicates she’s achieving exactly the effect she wants.

Before she can continue any further torture, the driver pulls up at the enterance of an ornate theatre. It looks to be built for opera with its rounded design and white columns.

Brooke holds her hand out to help Vanessa out of the cab, and the two of them stand on the street for a second, hands clasped together as Vanessa looks on in awe. She is reminded, in the best way, that Vanessa is not accustomed to this life. The grandeur - the pomp and stance of these events are foreign, and she hopes the shorter brunette will bring a new view to it all - invigorate it.

She lets go of her hand only to offer her her arm instead. “Would you do me the honour?” She asks - the question leading, but Vanessa understands what she’s being asked.

“I would,” she answers with a still awed smile, and they step into the entrance together.

Despite knowing Vanessa is out of place - Brooke would not be able to spot it, the woman practically floating through. They spot a little girl in a puffy tulle dress and Vanessa crouches to her height - scrunching her nose at the tiny blonde in an effort to make her laugh. She does laugh, and it’s contagious and beautiful, and then she asks if Vanessa is a princess and the brunette looks like she could cry. Brooke helps her up, handing her the complimentary champagne and laying a soft kiss on her exposed shoulder.

“You make me feel like a princess,” she admits - sipping the champagne with little of the decorum she’d be showing off earlier.

“It’s an honour,” quips Brooke, hand on Vanessa’s lower back to guide her through the archway into the main theatre.

“You never said why we’re here,” Vanessa points out as she’s guided up a narrow flight of emerald carpeted stairs.

“I promise you’ll like it,” responds Brooke, refusing to give the game away, but also astonished Vanessa didn’t pick it up from the mass marketing at play within the theatre. She removes a strand of blonde hair from where it’s caught on her lip gloss and takes a large swig of champagne - free to be as brash as she wants while they’re out of the watchful eye of old theatre goers and the upper echelon of Malibu.

They come out into a box at the top of the theatre with a prime view of the stage and - Brooke’s favourite bit - the orchestra pit. The seats are red and plush velvet, the kind that bounce back when pushed with a finger, and yet you could sink into them and not move for hours. Vanessa sits, but almost immediately stands back up - her inability to find stillness evident as she struggles to contain her excitement. Brooke thinks it’s like watching a puppy learning to sit, and she finds it immensely endearing as she places a hand on Vanessa’s now trembling knee. She’s grateful for the privacy of the box now - that she can enjoy it with just Vanessa.

“If you’re afraid of heights, why did you get seats up here?” Vanessa asks openly. She looks like she’s trying to dive deep into Brooke’s soul and for a second Brooke wants to let her in.

“Because they’re the best,” she answers simply before amending, “you deserve the best.”

Vanessa hums in understanding, but turns back to examining the fine gold detailing on the railing ahead of them.

“Your glasses are in there.” Brooke points to the pocket embedded in the wall - pulling out a pair of deep red binoculars affixed to a stick. Vanessa makes grabby hands at her, Brooke passing them over willingly and watching as the brunette tries to figure them out.

“They’re broken,” she whines as she holds them backwards. “Everything is small.” She pouts like the girl they saw in the entrance, and Brooke raises an eyebrow at her affectionately.

“They’re backwards,” she chastises lightly. Vanessa’s mouth makes an ‘O’ shape for a second as she starts to re-examine the scenery just as the lights begin to dim.

“Welcome,” Brooke announces softly, “to french ballet.”

Vanessa’s eyes widen in the dark, her mouth curving upwards as she understands the significance before frowning slightly again. “If it’s french, how am I meant to understand it?” She asks, nose scrunched in confusion.

“It’s all about the movement and the music,” Brooke reminds. “It’s powerful.” She’s already absorbed in the opening notes, transported back to her childhood.

“There’s a band,” Vanessa exclaims under her breath - finding the orchestra pit with her binoculars and staring interested at the Cellist. “That’s cool.”

“People’s reactions the first time they see it are always very dramatic.” Brooke states, eyes still mesmerised by the opening movements of the long introduction. “They either love it or they hate it. If they love it - they will always love it. If they don’t, they might learn to appreciate it,” she looks at Vanessa, a different look, new and more open, “but it will never become part of their soul. It is a part of my soul.”

They sit in silence for an hour and a bit, Vanessa leaning forward at times, captivated by the dancers. Brooke moves her feet under the chair - mirroring the movements like she has done them. If Vanessa sees a tear fall, she doesn’t mention it, simply slipping a hand into Brooke’s and renewing her attention on the beauty on stage. It reminds her of the night they spent dancing in the gold-embellished hall- a feeling of longing she did not know was within her. She longs to dance with Brooke again - to evoke the emotions she’s watching the blonde display.

At the act break, Vanessa goes with the rest of the children to purchase an ice cream with Brooke’s money, as the blonde sits in contemplation of what she has become with Vanessa. The brunette returns, handing Brooke change and a tub of artisan vanilla ice cream. “Seemed like your speed,” she quips as she buries a plastic spoon in a pot of chocolate cinnamon swirl, and Brooke laughs because she is right.

They sit through the second act with ease - Brooke spending more time watching Vanessa, because she knows this ballet well, and Vanessa is more interesting than art to begin with (and more beautiful).

They descend the stairs into the crowd like two young women at a debutante ball - Vanessa’s fingers looped around Brooke’s surprisingly firm bicep as she tries not to fall over, tipsy in high heels.

She rests her head on Brooke’s shoulder in the cab home - or back to the hotel - and has to resist the urge to fall asleep as Brooke ghosts her lips over her forehead. She feels secure, safe, satiated. She’s happy.

Brooke all but carries her up the stairs and into the bed - removing the fancy dress with the ease of someone who’s done it before and will undoubtedly do it again - leaving them both in their underwear as she pulls out a vest and a pair of shorts for herself, letting Vanessa potter around in her pants taking off her makeup.

They fall asleep with the aircon whirring, Vanessa’s cheek on the point of Brooke’s shoulder, sheets pulled up to her chin.

“I had a good time tonight,” Brooke whispers into her hair. “Wonderful, really.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #fluff #french ballet #what a classic movie scene I have written #almost like it wasn't my idea #lesbian au #pretty woman #treat me nice #pinkgrapefruit #concrit welcome

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thebowerypresents · 3 years

Text

POSITIVE SPINS: NEW ARTISTS, NEW ALBUMS, AND NEW LIVE STREAMS THAT PUT OUR 2020 ON A BETTER TRACK

2020 proved to be one of the hardest years we have collectively gone through. While we didn’t have live music to lean on when times got tough, these are the albums, artists and livestreams that got us through the rough patches and will carry us into a brighter 2021.

Listen to our playlist of Positive Spins!

BEST NEW ARTISTS OF 2020 (in no particular order)

THICK

“Brooklyn-based pop-punk three-piece, THICK, are not afraid to say (or sing) what’s on everyone’s mind - with a fierceness and confidence I can only aspire to assume. Sticking it to the establishment is the name of their game - take “Mainsplain,” for instance - and they manage to do so with catchy chord progressions and an uplifting vigor. I can’t wait to see what’s next for the trio, and who else they’ll put in check.” - S. D.

Ela Minus

“Brooklyn-based techno-pop artist Ela Minus broke onto the scene this year with her debut album “ acts of rebellion.” The Colombian-born musician has a background in emo bands, is a trained jazz drummer, and she wrote, produced, engineered, and recorded the album on her own. “acts of rebellion” is moody and sultry, while still making you want to grab your friends and dance.” - K. C.

Arlo Parks

“Without even having released her debut album yet, Arlo Parks has made a name for herself this year. Singles released throughout the year, paired with 2019’s EP ‘Sophie’ and her slot as support on Hayley Williams’ (cancelled) tour have boosted Arlo to a new level this year, that we can only assume will continue to rise in 2021 when her debut album drops.” - K. C.

Beabadoobee

“Beabadoobee’s interesting name is only matched by her sound - bedroom-pop fused with nineties indie-rock, tinged with a tender, DIY aesthetic. Her track “If You Want To” will have you singing along, while her single “She Plays Bass” will take you back to your hormonal, vulnerable, teenage years met with sublime nostalgia. She’s without a doubt a silver lining in 2020.” - S. D.

BENEE

“I first saw Auckland’s BENEE at Rough Trade in October of last year - her sincere, to-the-point lyrics and quirky hooks instantly hooked me. You may know her track, “Supalonely,” which found popularity on TikTok during the height of lockdown, but BENEE’s sound isn’t limited to the confines of one social media trend. In her debut album released this year, BENEE displays an uncanny ability to tackle alt-rock, hip-hop and electro-pop all at the same time, in an unbothered, endearing way - making her a “one to watch” in 2020 and beyond.” - S. D.

Christian Lee Hutson

There isn’t a lack of acoustic singer-songwriters out there, but Christian Lee Hutson is an important new voice. Hutson first full length album, “Beginners,” released this year, has a warm and honest quality to it. The production is subtle (thanks to producer Phoebe Bridgers), and so perfectly complements a simple, acoustic narrative. The result is a soulful, beautiful, and special work of music. - S. D.

Do Nothing

“2020 newcomers out of Nottingham, UK, Do Nothing have already made a big splash in the post-punk world. Releasing their first EP, Zero Dollar Bill, earlier this year, the band have been compared to Idles and are setting out on a similar path of success. Upon first hearing their earlier single Lebron James, countless fans are sure to be sucked into the world of Do Nothing.” - K. C.

Kate Bollinger

“I first listened to Kate Bollinger when she released I Don’t Wanna Lose in 2019. I played the track Candy on repeat all year long. It has been so lovely to watch her grow into the artist she is today. This year she released an EP called A word becomes a sound, which quickly became one of my favorite releases of 2020. Her voice is so comforting. Whenever I listen, I feel like I am being coddled in a fluffy blanket with a cup of herbal tea and nothing could go wrong at that moment. I can’t wait to see what Kate has planned for 2021 and beyond!” - L. S.

SAULT

“After a year of intense racial unrest in the United States, SAULT’s importance is more significant now than ever. With themes focusing around the Black Lives matter movement, this mystery soul-funk group has become more than buzzy in the music scene, and has earned a spot on tons of year end lists.” - K. C.

Sorry

“London-based genre-defying band Sorry released their debut album ‘925’ this year, produced by James Dring (Gorillaz, Jamie T) which is already reason enough to pique the interest of most. The album certainly does not disappoint, with each song giving you a different taste of the many interesting sides of this up-and-coming group.” - K. C.

Honorable Mentions:

Gracie Abrams Remi Wolf Hailey Whitters KennyHoopla Jade Hairpins Jockstrap Model/Actriz Mild Orange Your Smith Neal Francis

BEST NEW ALBUMS OF 2020 (in no particular order)

Fiona Apple – Fetch the Bolt Cutters

“Fiona Apple is fearless in this album. The song structures and sounds take you on a listening experience I can only describe as emotional in the best way. Eight years of waiting was totally worth it.“ - S. D.

Fleet Foxes – Shore

“This album had been bright spot in a difficult year. St. Ann’s Church was the perfect location for their Colbert performance of Can I Believe You and the live stream will be the perfect holiday present. Ready to feel all the feels!” - K. A.

Khruangbin - Mordechai

“Khruangbin is one of my go-to bands, and “Mordechai” has been heavy in my rotation in 2020. It’s really a great album – I play it cover-to-cover and pairs well with a cocktail and cooking at home, infusing some needed spice and energy in what could otherwise be ‘just another night’ during a long, monotonous several months.” - C.M.

Moses Sumney - Græ

“The highly anticipated second album from Moses Sumney, shows us more of the highly personal, raw and emotionally moving music we have some to expect from him. The cluster of emotions that Moses works through with his beautifully unique voice in this 20 song album give us a look into the complicated mind of one of the most interesting artists of the last 5 years.” - K. C.

Perfume Genius – Set My Heart On Fire Immediately

“*Bill Hader’s Stefan voice* this album has everything! From the heavy and distorted bass on “Describe” to the melodic harp stringing of “Leave,” to the dance ballad (is that a thing?) “On The Floor,” Perfume Genius’ album Set My Heart on Fire Immediately really does have it all. Each song feels vastly different from the next in tone, instrumentation, and influence – yet they all come together so perfectly to make this stunning album, all while showcasing his vocal depth and range. There’s a reason he’s called Perfume *Genius*, and that is because Mike Hadreas can take familiar feelings and turn them into unconventional pop ballads that feel both relatable, but new and exciting at the same time.” - R. E.

Phoebe Bridgers – Punisher

“How does Phoebe do it? (a question I ask myself daily). I remember waking up on June 18 as if it was my birthday. Punisher is everything I hoped for and then some more. The last song on the album, “I know The End” concludes with a scream which is the perfect cherry on top to this masterpiece. This album is a rollercoaster of Phoebe’s emotions and I feel blessed to be along for the ride. It is relatable, heartfelt and honest. Thank you to Phoebe for this gift. The world will never be the same after this.” - L. S.

Rina Sawayama - SAWAYAMA

“SAWAYAMA is the early 2000s pop resurgence we didn’t know we needed, mixed with all the best parts of nu-metal. Rina Sawayama uses catchy pop hooks reminiscent of early Britney Spears, and pairs them with heavy guitar riffs to give us arguably the most fun album of 2020 that we cannot wait to experience live.” - K. C.

Tame Impala – The Slow Rush

Thundercat - It Is What It Is

“I love how this album embraces the darkness while managing to find the light in despair - it seems to acutely reflect the times we are in yet is simultaneously so personal to Bruner. The lyrics are set against a backdrop of funk, electronica, jazz, and soul, so there’s a little something for everybody.” - S. D.

Waxahatchee - Saint Cloud

“This album was released early in quarantine, and was the perfect musical escape during some of the toughest days. The imagery and reflection of the lyrics are why Saint Cloud tops my list of albums of 2020.” - J. F.

Honorable Mentions: The Beths – Jump Rope Gazers Fontaines DC - A Heros Dream Kevin Morby – Sundowner Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit – Reunions My Morning Jacket - The Waterfall II CHIKA - Industry Games Megan Thee Stallion - Suga Christian Lee Hutson- Beginners Idles- Ultra Mono Sturgill Simpson - Cuttin Grass Pup - This Place Sucks Ass Futurebirds- Teamwork Adrianne Lenker – Songs / Instrumentals Tom Misch, Yussef Dayes - What Kinda Music + the bonus tracks EP Some Kind Of Peace – Olafur Arnalds Tyler Bryant and the Shakedown - Pressure Josh Ritter - See Here, I Have Built You a Mansion Sahara Moon - Worthy Local H - Lifers Deep Purple - Whoosh! Indigo Girls Look Long Taylor Swift - folklore Against All Logic – 2017-2019

TOP TEN LIVESTREAMS 2020 (in no particular order)

Christine & The Queens (Live on KEXP at Home)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3bavZe47um4

“Live on KEXP at Home” was home to some of my favorite quarantine livestreams, and this one did anything but disappoint. Not only does Chris, aka Christine & The Queens, perform, but interviews are woven throughout the livestream. The drama of her performances, juxtaposed with her witty and humorous banter with the interviewer was such a breath of fresh air. If you’re a fan of Chris, this is a must watch.“ - S. D.

Courtney Barnett and Lucius & Friends: Live From Our Lounge Rooms with Sheryl Crow, 3/25/20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xbfRbw3o1jU

“This was a gift that kept on giving. The stream started off with Courtney Barnett and Lucius in matching pajamas. I truly thought it could not get any better but I was in for a treat! The stream included performances by Nathaniel Rateliff, Sheryl Crow, Sharon Van Etten, Waxahatchee, Kevin Morby and more. I can safely say this was my favorite live stream I watched in 2020.” - L. S.

Julien Baker, Themfest Instagram Livestream, 4/16/20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tINSbY4wRjs

“Recorded for Themfest during the early days of quarantine, Julien Baker’s in-home livestream was a welcome respite from the Cuomo briefings and general despair of mid April. Just kidding, Julien Baker is the queen of Sad Shit and I certainly didn’t tune into this livestream expecting a mood boost. But if you subscribe to the “sad songs make me feel better” aesthetic purveyed by our sweet little siren, this moody, intimate shot-on-iphone set will scratch that itch. But let’s not fool ourselves, nothing will ever replace the feeling of holding your breath along with 1,799 others at Brooklyn Steel while JB rips your heart out, in a nice way.” - E. M.

Kurt Vile, Love From Philly Livestream, 5/3/20 (covers John Prine’s “Sam Stone” near the end)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pjKG-7d5loY&feature=emb_logo - Jared

“Back in May, Kurt Vile took to his basement for a solo acoustic stream to benefit 30 Amp Circuit, a non-profit dedicated to support the health, wellness, and professional needs of Philadelphia-based musicians and artists. The intimate 3-song set rounded out with a special tribute to the late John Prine, as Kurt did his own rendition of “Sam Stone.”” - J. D.

Radiohead, In Rainbows - From The Basement, 6/4/20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWqDIZxO-nU

“This is the one die hard Radiohead fans have been waiting for. This session originally from 2008 existed in some pretty esoteric places and has been almost impossible to find – until now.” - G. A.

Sturgill Simpson, Live at The Ryman Auditorium, 6/5/20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kO73im4J2sU

“2020 was supposed to be a banner year for Sturgill, until he got COVID-19 in April. He’s ok now, but something about this performance in the sacred church of country music The Ryman, hits different.” - G. A.

Haim - Women in Music PT. III Live Show, 6/25/20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_eJU6X3_jQ

“I love pretty much everything the Haim sisters do - so much so that I aspire to be a sister myself. When I was feeling those very familiar mid-pandemic blues, their “Women in Music PT III” livestream, which celebrated their new album of the same name, was the exact pick me up that I needed. For the first time since March, the 30 minute set made me feel as if I was at an intimate gathering - rather than behind a computer watching a YouTube video along with thousands of others. The stream will have you grooving, laughing, and you may even want to be a Haim sister yourself.” - S. D.

Nilufer Yanya, Boiler Room: Streaming From Isolation with Night Dreamer & Worldwide FM, 6/28/20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAaAicIJE7s

“Hauntingly beautiful and yet also somehow grounded, Nilufer Yanya’s June livestream was a special one to watch. It makes the case for how intimate an artist’s performance can be, even virtually.” - G. A.

Brittany Howard, Live From Ryman Auditorium, 10/17/20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLH59WLQbZo

“Watching Brittany Howard and her incredible band rip through a set on the Ryman stage like no one and everyone was watching all at once was cathartic. The combination of such a singular artist and historic venue hit a similar nerve to seeing an artist you’re excited about play a show in the flesh with people you love – not an easy feat!” - M. L.

Tkay Maidza - Live on KEXP at Home, 11/3/20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iPJgrDvyRbw

“13 minutes and 11 seconds of pure energy. This livestream is the moment we’ve all been waiting for, and, in my opinion, showcases Maidza as the star that she is. A must-watch if you’re looking for a refreshing and colorful approach to hip-hop.“ - S. D.

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countryshitposts · 4 years

Text

You’re Shooting Your Bullet The Wrong Way

All The Sinners Stand Up, Say Hallelujah

Trigger Warnings; rape and prostitution

AO3 Link

Chapter 1

Name Guide:

Daehan Minguk- South Korea

Choson Inmin- North Korea

Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government

Koku Nippon- Japan

Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire

"Are you lost? Do you need help?", the stranger repeats his question once again, taking a step closer to the woman clad in the large jacket, taking every bit of her skin; goosebumps were rising all around her skin, prickling at her as she becomes even colder than the North and South Pole themselves, their blizzards not a match for the ice-cold and frozen skin she already has, faced with another man perhaps luring her in to his trap.

She had learned a long time ago never to trust eyes- they have become so genuine and easily traced to the point she is now in a lying snake's trap, the snake slithering closer to her, eyes flickering with hunger, tongue flicking.

She stays silent, a fish in the water, waiting for the trespasser to leave, his silhouette clear in the dark depths of the water, eyes blank and observing.

"What's your name?", he was quite insistent, his slimy and grabby fingers making its way back to his body, head tilted to the side and with a general concerned look, and she could not help but think when this man was going to lose his patience and walk off, leaving her alone in this nightly realm. "Do you want to go to the police department?"

She freezes up once again, standing back, shaking like the water has been hit by a stone for skipping and circles rock back and forth from the water, expanding and expanding until it dies down and once again, it is back to its old and tranquil past.

"I'll take that as a no", the man notes, his tone somewhat understanding and sympathetic- it was not out of the blue for someone to reflect their so-called genuine emotions, but like everyone she had met in her entire life, their eyes hide another layer of deceit that will come once they have laid in their trap.

Shanghai shivers, either of the fact that another strong breeze flies right through her and she snuggles into the limited warmth of the coat, or because the man is still standing in front of her and staring at her with such intensity to the point she wanted to burn him alive with her own eyes. He was still staring at her with such concern that it burns her flesh bit by bit, his stare full of intensity echoing within her. She keeps her distance to the stranger, and he seems not to go near her personal space, the both of them having a silent standoff in her point of view.

Then, as if the gods were against her well-being and general lack of understanding the situation she is in right now, something small but cold drops on her nose, and she blinks a little.

Then another drop, small and minuscule, unseen, but she knows the feeling of its wetness and what was about to come.

More drops fall down from the dark sky, unsure whether it was crying and mourning as more and more drops fall from the grey clouds above. A shower starts, the intensity of the drizzle increasing, the small droplets creating sounds once they hit roofs until a spasm of tiny droplets hit the ground and hit the two who were still not covering themselves.

Shanghai had missed seeing the rain, witnessing its moistness on her skin, the way it makes her feel even colder as another blizzard-like wind passes her direction, and she stares at the rain, ignoring the way the drops fall on her until she was mostly wet.

She hears the sound of an umbrella being opened, and hearing the patter of rain drops colliding with the leather skin; she does not feel the wet drops on her anymore.

Puzzled, she turns around to find the man holding out the umbrella to shield her from the rain drops, ignoring the steadfast drizzle that is now falling on him with a torrent of emotions, either from the great sky above them desolate and desperate to have someone comfort them to the ends of all time, their skin spreading onto space and enveloping the whole world into the same sadness the night sky experience or they are crying tears of joy because space and earth will never touch again.

"Why don't you come to my house?" Time stops as her eyes meet the man's again, still swirling with sincerity and worry for her welfare, she stands back a little once again, never uttering a single word, still wary of what he wants from her. He laughs a little, smoothing his already wet dark hair awkwardly, "Oh right, we technically are strangers. My name's Daehan Imsi, but you can call me Imsi. You are?"

Shanghai takes a moment to stare at his now drenched suit, one hand holding the umbrella used to shield her from the rain and keep her dry, to his hand still holding his suitcase dripping water, knuckles turning white, and to his face, awkward smile intact. She must have been staring for a minute or so, since Imsi visibly deflates and sighs a little.

"I'm sorry for taking so much of your time", he says with a small sigh. "I will be leaving now, you can have my umbrella." He gives his umbrella to Shanghai's open hand, their fingers touching (much to the woman's panic in thinking he'll do something else), turning his back on her as he starts to walk away.

She then feels a raw sound come from her throat, emotions increasing.

"Wait", she chokes, and Imsi stops walking. "My name is Shanghai."

Imsi smiles a little, "Nice to meet you, Shanghai."

She follows him to his home, like an obedient dog following its master because it cannot walk on its four paws without a guide, hands on the dog's leash as their owner treats them like a slave, yanking their leashes and letting the pet's collars suffocate their throats as they forcefully drag them away. She silently keeps her head down, passive as her eyes watch the damp and moist ground being disturbed by the sound of her heels making noises in the silent night. Her eyes linger to Imsi's back shyly, coat draped over his head as the soft drizzle pitter-patters over the rooftops and buildings, as she holds the umbrella he offered to her earlier.

"Almost there, not to worry." Imsi turns his head to look at Shanghai, who averts her gaze from Imsi and back to the floors.

They continue to walk, never a chore for Shanghai, because at the very least she can remember that she was not following Teikoku and another client to a room, because it was a short walk from doomsday and from her companions, all looking tense and worried for her. This was a long walk to the so-called house which will house her and make her feel at home, until the man shoves her into his room and locks the door.

He stops abruptly, and she keeps her distance, looking down before her eyes glance at the building in front of her; a small apartment building, the first floor in use. Imsi continues to walk, looking at the windows as Shanghai slowly catches up with him, still cautious of his intentions and reasons of bringing her here to his abode.

(She closes the umbrella and puts it on the proper place, trying to dry the leathery shield herself before putting the umbrella on the corner of the door.)

"Ah, Minguk is home", he mutters under his breath, opening the door, and much to Shanghai's slight surprise, he holds the door wide for her to enter. She looks at Imsi for a while, before immediately going inside his home, hearing the door close behind him, stopping for a while to hear him locking the door, but all she hears is him complaining about his drenched suit.

Imsi did not question Shanghai stopping for a moment, as he walks past her and into the living room shared by their small dining table and kitchen. She follows Imsi, and sees a young boy seated on one of the sits of the dining table, pen in his hand, tongue sticking out of his mouth, dark blue eyes fixated on the page of the book, hair decrepitly messy but looking dyed in the fringes. He had dark circles underneath his eyes, and she assumes he got it from studying all night.

The boy looks up from the book and sees Imsi, and then his eyes go to Shanghai, who was now fussing further up her jacket.

"Who's that?", he curtly snaps at Imsi, who was busily taking out his shoes and socks, which were also damp. Imsi gives him a glare.

"Mind your manners and words, Minguk", he warns, and turns to look at Shanghai, who was still in the abnormally large jacket, and with caring words, "and you can put that away now."

Shanghai shakes her head, hiding herself more in the coat, despite the fact warmth was basking on the skin she was revealing, the light and air around her like the summer heat she used to experience along time ago, and especially in the bed, but instead of feeling skin colliding against hers and caressing her most intimate parts she feels nothing but the shaking of her body.

Imsi blinks, "Ah, alright then."

Minguk gets up from the table, narrowing his eyes towards Shanghai, suspicion evident. "Why did you pick up a woman on the streets again, samchon?"

Shanghai freezes, perking her head up as her heart starts to beat, remembering the times Teikoku would ultimately humiliate her by making her wait for her client who is driving a car, holding her by the hair as she tries covering her bare body, the only covers her undergarments. She feels tears pinprick her eyes as she feels Teikoku's hands on her, his hand on her thigh rising higher and higher, until a car skids to a stop right in front of them and Teikoku pushes her in, a smirk forming on his face.

"Miss Shanghai, joesong haeyo about my nephew's clear insensitivity", he tells the woman behind him with a sheepish look, then glares at his nephew, "she is a guest in our home. I suggest you treat her with respect."

Minguk purses his lips, glaring at an irritated and wet Imsi and a shaking and freezing Shanghai, "She might be hiding something from us if she refuses to take that off."

"Have some humility, Minguk!", Imsi berates him, raising his voice a little, "she is a guest!"

"She may be, but I'm not taking my chances, samchon", Minguk replies, still glaring daggers that can pierce her skin any moment, feeling the same chill as she had whenever Teikoku is around. "She's hiding something and I'm not taking any chances."

"You need to learn respect, Minguk", Imsi retorts, "your parents raised you better than this. Your Mother raised you better than this."

Once he mentions the word 'Mother', Minguk's eyes widen as his whole body goes slack, pen on his hand dropping down the floors, making a small sound. It was as if he had insulted the deepest depths of his insides, turning the situation against him. Minguk sits back down, an unreadable expression on his face, staring at Imsi.

Imsi blinks, finally realising his tone and absolutely regretting what he had said, wanting to reach out to Minguk once again but ultimately shutting down that part of him by saying,

"I'll go make food for all of us, then." He looks at Shanghai, "make yourself at home and comfortable; I will be making our dinner." With soaked clothes he stalks into the kitchen, like it was a daily occurrence that he would stalk into the kitchen wet from the polluted rain absorbing into his skin. He turns the stove on, and from across the room Shanghai watches the flames rise, kindling with orange, blue and yellow hues, swaying with the air like wild flowers.

Shanghai takes in her surroundings; the ticking of a small wall clock, the dim lights that might flicker in and out once it fades fast enough, the walls cheaply painted white, noticing how they peel off quickly like they had no devotion to keeping the entire apartment neat, and a large book case overtaking most of the living space, the television beside it being crammed. She turns to look at the small chairs and sofas near the front door, and Minguk glaring right as her as he works.

She sits down on sofa, crossing her legs, fidgeting with her hands as her eyes stare at the books and their worn spines, wishing to take one of them away from the spiffy and nifty book case, her fingers tingling in anticipation, wishing to hold another book once again in her life, remembering the sentences and paragraphs, building towers and walls around herself as she buries her nose more into the pages, wishing to browse and review their words like there was no tomorrow.

"Minguk, you really need to learn how to cook", Imsi says from the kitchen, still making their dinner.

"I would be a shit cook though", Minguk replies casually as he flips to another page of his workbook, humming a small song in his mind.

"Your mouth, Minguk." Imsi goes back to drowning the whole apartment in silence and sizzling meals, hearing boiling and the kettle whistling, but Shanghai still stares at the books, hunger in her eyes. Her fingers are already yearning to touch something other than the soft covers of the bed, the sweaty and heated skin of another person, or even her own, not wishing to touch anything else before she gets a single book under her nose. The woman seated on the couch hears plates being arranged on the dining table, glasses clinking with a small lingering melody.

"It's time for dinner", Imsi says in an obvious tone, as he - wearing mittens - putting a few steaming and smoking pots down on the table. Shanghai tries to ignore the sweet smell of the meals offered, trying to keep quiet and play the little pearl swallowed by a giant clam, but her hunger is being tempted and rhiddled by the food, and she tries not to give in despite the fact her stomach felt like she was being whipped, harder and harder before she joins them, sitting the furthest from the uncle and nephew duo.

She eyes the three bowls being picked on by Minguk and Imsi and, as if the latter had read her mind, he slides the last bibimpap bowl to the lady, and she tentatively looks at Imsi, who nods before going to his meal. (She stares at it a little, thinking if it is laced with drugs that will either stimulate her for sex or make her slumber as they quickly undress her.) Minguk was staring at her as he picks on his food, absent-mindedly getting food scraps on himself before Imsi scolds him and his eyes plunge back to his meal hungrily.

Shanghai is hungry, of course; but that does not mean she cannot control herself from resisting more of her hunger's desire, to keep eating until she falls dead. After devouring the bibimpap bowl she thanks Imsi quietly for the food before sliding back down the cushions of the sofa, back to eyeing the books on the book case.

(She tries to feel if there are any side effects to what she just ate- she does feel sleepy and exhausted but perhaps it was due to the fact she'd been walking through the entire city since she was set free, though she does not feel the absolute need and want to do such lustful actions.

At the moment, of course.)

"Go to bed now, Minguk", Imsi mothers his nephew, his face looking like he is holding back a yawn in the very moment. "You have a test tomorrow morning."

"Which means I have to study, samchon", Minguk argues back. His eyes return to Shanghai, quietly and obediently seated like a dog, "And I can't leave her alone in the living room, don't I?"

"Minguk, for the last time..."

"Samchon, sometimes you trust in strangers too much. Eomma and Appa had trusted strangers too. Look what happened to the both of them." There was a hint of sadness in the teen's voice, like he was trying to keep it together because the whole world will fall apart once he shows his sadness. His voice hardens as he continues, but there was a hint of longing and desperation in them. "Inmin trusted in strangers more than he trusted his own family. He up and left us, joining some unruly gang in the depths of the sewers."

Shanghai perks up at the mention of a gang, wanting to know more behind the story Minguk was trying to distort to prove a point to his uncle, who was staring at him, lips pursed, eyes billowing with such intensity, the gears in his mind trying to spin.

"Minguk. Go to bed." Imsi's tone was cold and hard, but his voice was also cracking like someone had made the wrong step on a frozen river and tries to escape, in which it resolves to more cracks. "That is enough disrespect from you, young man. This is your final warning. Go. To. Bed."

Minguk gets up from his chair abruptly, taking his phone and books with him as he stalks to his room, throwing one last suspicious glare to Shanghai's way. As he closes the door, Imsi visibly deflates, shoulders slumping as he looks back at Shanghai, silently watching him, wariness in her eyes.

"I apologize for my nephew's manners." Imsi sighs as he rakes his still damp hair with his fingers. Shanghai did not open her mouth to say anything, having lost the energy after she did speak to the stranger in front of her. "He is quite a conspirer, that one. Not as much as his brother though, yes." Imsi's face cloud over, as if walking through a memory. "Inmin was... creative."

Shanghai wants to ask who Inmin is - or was - but her tongue is tied, leg crossed and hands on her lap, staring at Imsi cautiously.

"But I caught you staring at my book case", Imsi changes the topic, tone a little too bright. "Did any title catch your eye, specifically?"

She blinks a little, unresponsive for a moment, before raising her pointer finger towards the book on the top most shelf, and his eyes follow her finger. His eyes widen in realisation as he reaches up to take one book from the case, brushing some little specks of dust from its covers.

"Othello", Imsi reads the title out loud, before smiling at Shanghai (not with perversion, but more of a genuine smile), "you like Shakespere's works? Is this your favourite?"

She nods, and Imsi offers her the book in his hands, and she hesitantly extracts them from Imsi's hands, but his colder fingers brush hers like she had accidentally touched a thorn on a rose bush and she widens her eyes, dropping the book to the ground, looking at Imsi with horror.

Imsi stares at the book on the floor, then at Shanghai, who was now shaking. He clears his throat, clearly aware of how awkward this situation is. "Well, it is night time after all. Are you tired?"

Shanghai slowly nods.

"We have a vacant room, next to Minguk", Imsi says, his face once again clouding. "It was once Inmin's... you're free to stay here as long as you like."

Shanghai blinks, surprise evident in her eyes.

Receiving no reply, Imsi takes the book from the floor and puts it beside her, her eyes looking at its cover before going back to Imsi.

"I can lend you some clothes, if you'd like", Imsi tilts his head, "we seem to be the same height. Hold on, I'll be right back." He goes into his room- Shanghai hears his wardrobe open and a few mutters of assent, before shortly going back to Shanghai. "I hope these fit you." She takes the clothes he had given to her, looking at them and back at Imsi. "Oh, of course. Well then, I bid you goodnight, Miss Shanghai."

He turns to leave-

"Thank you", Shanghai softly says, just reaching Imsi's ears. He looks at her with a tender look, something she had not seen from anyone other than her sisters in the brothels.

"Cheonman-eyo", he leaves her alone for the night, and suddenly she misses his company, not in a desiring way but in a pleasant and understanding way.

Earlier that afternoon, it was raining despite the fact a while ago when America had walked in Teikoku's home, wishing to infiltrate it on the inside like she's a bomb waiting to explode.

Right now, she is trying not to explode, as she swallows a lump in her throat, following Koku to the lion's den, its king sitting on a throne of bones. She takes a deep, collective sigh, trying to calm her beating heart, which is now echoing in the walls of her rib cage.

A finger brushes her hand, her world plunging back to the boy beside her as they walk.

"You seem anxious", Koku says brightly, seemingly olivious to America's terse nature, beads of sweat gluing onto her skin. Her eyes meet Koku, staying silent, unlike speaking up and quietly making the boy in front of her abashed like what she did in that room. "Don't worry- my brother is a very kind man. He wouldn't hurt you." His gray eyes twinkle with a cloud of mixed emotions, as if checking a crystal of his memory. "Of course he wouldn't."

America doesn't reply, eyes ahead, fixed in a straight line, ignoring the warmth that had just been emitted from Koku.

The rest of the walk was silent, Koku sensing her discomfort and deciding to let her figure this out herself, but never leaving by her side, his grey eyes over her.

They stop at a large door, a chill going through America's body, her heart once again accelerating, its beats sounding more like a haunting melody than just normal rhythmic heartbeats. She steels herself for what was to come, as Koku knocks on the door.

"Teikoku-kun?", he calls, "may we enter?"

"You may", says a voice from the inside, colder and deeper than Koku's voice. He turns the knob and opens the entrance to the den of doom, filling cold air wrap around America like a blanket failing to keep her warm during the coldest of all winters, leaving her to freeze to death at the claws of winter.

Teikoku was in his business suit, dark hair smoothed out, no curl left astray, his gray eyes dancing with familiar ambition, as it flits from Koku to America, raising a brow at her, eyes flickering with familiarity before he smiles pleasantly at his brother.

"So you have chosen", he says in a slow manner, elegantly poised from behind the desk, in his business chair like a king vying for power. His eyes flick dangerously to America, who is trying not to let him hinder her. "Her."

Koku clears his throat, an awkward smile on his face, "I'm sorry, was this the wrong choice?"

Teikoku glances back at his brother and, like a drizzle in the afternoon being fought at by the sun behind them, he smiles in an eerie, forced way. "Oh, but I'm absolutely proud to see that you've picked your bodyguard on your own, without my help." He looks back at America, with boiling rage and also... hunger, which made her sick and fists clench. "Though, I suspect she'd all just be a pretty face for you."

America's throat burns as her blue eyes rekindle with fire, trying not to already shoot the bastard straight in the head.

Koku blinks, processing what Teikoku had just said, "Wait; my bodyguard?"

Teikoku nods a little too brightly to the point America thinks he's just doing this out of spite, "Of course! Last night has been a huge disaster on my part; I put all my family in danger and look what had happened." He regards Koku's wound, who glances at it shortly before looking back at Teikoku. "And I don't want you to be harmed again."

"B-but you s-said-", Koku sputters, trying to formulate the right words to say to the man towering over the both of them.

Teikoku's hands grip at his chair tightly, a king once being notified of something he did not like and ultimately having fits of rage in his throne. "And I wish to protect you my dear Koku. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, I s-suppose... but-"

"Is that clear?", Teikoku says, tone laced with acid that may burn onto Koku's skin if he dabs more than just enough to watch it tear into him.

Koku stops arguing, falling silent, falling in line. The entire office was silent, needles trying to puncture this brand new and tense quiet. "Hai, Teikoku-sama." He lowers his head, defeated.

Teikoku placates another suspectible smile on his face again, his eyes lingering to America once more, as a drop of sweat drops towards the dark wooden tiles, despite the cold surrounding.

"Let's go now, America-san", Koku tells America submissively, eagerly wanting to leave the office Teikoku had built his fear and lust upon. Koku was the first to exit, followed by his new bodyguard, who is a little too distant from him.

"Oh, America", she hears him coo disgustingly, "you're playing a dangerous game."

She glares at him, wanting to give him a snide remark, but she only responds with, "It is my honour serving your brother." America leaves the room, following Koku.

"You said your brother was 'kind'", she says, quoting the last word. "I think you mistook that word for 'being an asshole'."

Koku glares at her from his study desk (she was sitting on the edge of his bed), writing down on something. "Mind your language, America-san; Teikoku was just tired for the day, and this might have amplified his stress."

America snorts, "Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Master."

"You were kind to me about an hour ago, America", he replies, "where did that kindess go to?"

She stares at Koku a little, his eyes dancing with flames in them, and she sighs a little. "I didn't even have kindness in me."

Koku tilts his head, standing from his desk and then sitting right beside America, much to her confusion, furrowing her brows as his hand brushes hers. "Look, I don't really know you outside of our conversation earlier, but since now you're my bodyguard, I want to get to know you better."

America stares at Koku's fingers, then back at his eyes once again. Her face hardens. "Fine. You want to learn more about me?" She stands from the bed, her eyes glinting. "I want to learn more about you."

Koku stares at her, his expression unreadable except for the small fire kindling in his grey eyes, a shooting star against the calm and windy night. "What would you like to know?"

She comes back to his bed, cerulean eyes showing off her natural hue, the predator studying its prey. Said prey was looking at her, studying her, tearing her apart piece by piece as he warily watches the woman and what she is about to do. Instead, she smiles sweetly, like a siren perched on a rock, looking at the sailor in the ship, her lustful smile giving way as she starts to sing, the sweetest and most melodious voice, charming the sailor with too much infatuation until he dives down to the treacherous waters, waves trying to hold him back against the love of his life, his soulmate, just there, sitting on the rocks like it was his destiny to get to her- but once he gets dangerously close to her her eyes become acid as he is suddenly dragged deep down to the waters.

"About you, of course", she says warmly, her tone playful, hand on Koku's. "I know much about you, but only from your brother."

Koku raises a brow, a defiant look crossing his face. "You said that you only met my brother today."

"I never said that", she gives him a sweet smile, "I said he was intimidating."

"How do you know him in the first place?"

She rolls her eyes, in disbelief this boy is unaware of Teikoku's renowned fame, as if he had been living under a rock despite the fact he lives with the monster and is perhaps a monster himself.

But she also suspects Koku was trying to up his game, to play as naive as a child so he can divert America's attention.

She smirks a little.

"He's a world renowned business man, of course. One drop of his name and everyone's attention would turn to the one who mentions his title."

He gives a small laugh, looking at America with a small smile. "Y-yeah, maybe you're right."

She stares at him a little, as if his laugh was able to wake her up from her little fever dream down the road, his warmth shielding her from the pitter-patter of the rain outside. America studies his face- his eyes full of curiosity; the type of curiosity that will stop at nothing until he gets the answers he yearns for, his dark hair, its colour as dark as a raven's feathers, and if he doesn't keep it in such a messy state like he was busy all night, he would look so much like Teikoku it would become frightening.

"America?" She blinks as her attention is not at the way Koku poses himself as but towards his sweet smile. "You seem out of it."

She shakes her head a little. "Nothing. Just a little... bored."

Koku nods understandably, "I can see that; after all, it's raining outside."

"Do you have any hobbies outside of being oblivious?", America deadpans, and Koku furrows his brows, obviously offended at her statement.

"I'm not oblivious. Where did you get that conclusion?"

"The air around you defines your obliviousness."

Koku scoffs. "You say I'm oblivious but I say you are."

And now she was the one who scoffs. "Me? Oblivious? I know more than you."

"Yes but, sometimes even the smartest ones can also be the most ignorant."

"You're smart. But you're simply a naive youth who ignores everything in his surroundings."

Koku narrows his eyes at her. "I regret choosing you as my bodyguard. Now you're just low key insulting me."

America smirks, "Oh? But I'm not insulting you. I'm just giving you a reality check... slowly but surely."

"What does that mean-"

Before America can answer his question the front door opens, revealing a short girl with dark hair and skin, her eyes comparable to the gold bars that are hidden in many a banks. She looks petrified and breathless, hand still on the doorknob. America spots a ring on her free hand, shining through the artificial lights like a precious artefact. The girl was sweating a little as her eyes land on Koku.

"Ojisan", she says, breathless, "Otōsan wants me to tell you...", her eyes flip to America, "Kanojo wa daredesuka?"

Koku's eyes flick from his niece, to America. He opens his mouth, "Kore ga watashi no bodīgādo, Amerikadesu."

America tries to understand what they were saying, but it seems as if she was in another world; nothing makes sense to her, trapped in a one-dimensional bubble, people surrounding her speaking in a tongue that she could not understand, and can only watch from a mirror away.

(It reminded her of her times in the streets, when men around the alleys prey on her, talking in small, hushed and low voices, about her appearance, her figure, her everything.

Before she was brought back into the real world by her brothers.)

She knows they are talking about her; how and why she's in this position, being placed as a protector of the Nippon family, most especially one Koku Nippon. America tries to comprehend their conversation, but it was nothing else but breathy Japanese in her ears- she can hear it, of course, them speaking in normal voices and having a casual conversation like it was nothing, but for her, it was a barrier of vocabulary and tongue she could never even define what is what and which is which.

All she knows is her name.

Koku's eyes widen as his niece's voice starts to arguably grow higher and agitated, and he turns to America.

"You can end your shift today; me and Palau are going to go somewhere."

America nods, raising a brow of curiosity knowing that she'll never get an answer. "Alright."

Palau guides Koku out of the room, dim-wittedly leaving America still there. She looks around, like phantoms of the past, present, and future are watching her every move. She narrows her eyes as she stands from her the bed, eyes as narrow as a cat's.

Feet light in fear of being found, America looks beneath the bed first; she finds old clothes and rolled up papers, toys and some worn books. She picks up the rolled up papers first, and, seeing that their contents were only bunches of doodles made from pencil and imagination. She sighs as she reaches under the bed, paper after paper finding nothing but doodles (America wonders how much scrapped drawings Koku had thrown away in his bin only to wash away to the outer boundaries of his bed, to the world of unknown and of horror films). She takes out the worn books next, flipping a few pages only to find they've been horribly vandalised by neat and cursive handwriting that indirectly reviews scenes of each paragraph instead of writing his own paper.

(America cannot help but get bugged at how Koku would vandalise a book he owned like it was nothing- just a piece of treasure his riches has brought him, always finding another one to take in the ocean of gold.)

She sighs as she puts them back in place like it never happened, standing and opening his drawers. She opens the first, filled with pictures as she takes them out to inspect.

The first photo was of a young boy holding a woman's hand who was smiling at the camera, serene and peaceful, hand on her dress, long dark hair flowing behind her like she was an ethereal maiden, lost in the wind. She didn't resemble the young boy much, only his stormy grey eyes as he gives his mother the most joyous look.

America assumes this must be Koku and his mother, Kyoto, when he was young.

The next one was of him and Teikoku; they look younger than they are now, Koku's hair its signature mess while Teikoku's was as prim and proper. They were both looking at the camera, Teikoku's grey orbs staring into America's soul, digging into her flesh so that her heart can beat faster until he pierces it through. Koku was looking his best to act like the naive boy his brother made him out to be, winking at the camera with a peace sign, tongue sticking out.

The third was of Palau as a baby being caressed by a small Koku; Palau's father looking no more less than a teen. Teikoku was not smiling, looking at the infant with absolute hatred sparking in his eyes, a disapproving glare hidden beneath them.

America flips through more photos; one where Koku was holding Okinawa now, Teikoku older but still shooting his son the same glare he gave to Palau; of another one with Kyoto and Koku, but this time with his father Tokugawa Shogunate; then another one with Koku and Teikoku; then the entire family, Palau off to the side, Hokkaido joining her while holding Okinawa who was sucking at his thumb and looking anywhere but the camera, to Tokyo trying to smile, Teikoku smirking and Koku genuinely smiling like his family isn't shattered to pieces.

She wonders if Koku is in a different world where he doesn't suffer as much as Teikoku's own children, a little boy in a small world that Teikoku had made so he can manipulate him in tiny strings like a puppet as he laughs.

She opens the second drawer, only to find letters with the same cursive handwriting, completely written in Japanese exclusively. She fingers the letters and inspect them one by one. America knows she's worthless on understanding these so she folds them and puts them in her pockets for them to be inspected by the others.

America then opens the third drawer, full of only clothes, and she moves on to his wardrobe but it also only had clothes in them. She sighs as she closes the wardrobe, knowing it was a lost cause, that Koku was oblivious beyond belief. She makes a note to search some of the others' rooms, before going to the apex predator's den.

A man enters through the brothels, his polished dark shoes creating a squeaking sound on the halls of the hygienic and clean building, its walls chaste and its floors undefiled. His eyes hungrily lingers on the woman in front of him, lingerie and all, following her boss as he guides them both to the room where it happens. He licks his lips as his eyes stay on the woman, already wanting to undress her remaining blockade to her most private parts right then and there and leave her screaming.

It was not his first time in such a sinful establishment, of course; he had always been a full-time client of Teikoku, calling him through private calls to let the man know he is ready for another round with one of his women, wanting to hear their sweet screams and whines from underneath him as he deepens himself into their bodies more, more, more. He always had a large smile on his face as he touches even the deepest parts of them, letting them writhe beneath him, begging him to either stop or keep going, because that is what they are- whores who needs a man's touch to keep them fed and healthy. He can already feel the arousal in him growing, blood rushing through his veins, desire steaming, wishing to be let out like a kettle whistling for its owner to notify them that the water inside them has boiled.

He usually enters The Comfort Zone at night, though. There is no use for a good fuck in the mornings because poor little souls who hadn't tasted the life of the rich will question where he had gone, if he would come back to where he left at all. Of course, most clients will be rampant around night, but this is a risk he must take to save his reputation from splotches of black ink that will stain his only good sheet of paper.

This place was for the wicked, where the lustful men come and go, leaving their desires inside of them and waiting, slowly but surely, to come around the women they ought to buy just for an hour or more, and tearing them apart, flesh in their teeth, hands playing and yanking on their hair, fingers digging into the whore's skin as her eyes are pleading with mercy and leniency as their clients destroy them and their dignity, leaving nothing but a broken mirror and shattered pieces of it.

Teikoku unlocks the door, and the man grins as he hears the squeak of the opening door. He puts a hand around the whore's waist, and she shivers, as his hands linger lower and lower. Teikoku looks at them both with a grin on his face,

"Well, I bid you both a good luck and a good night." He stalks off from the couple, but he eyes the lady under the man's arm for a suspicious amount of time before turning his head the other way.

The man turns to the pretty face next to him but she was already moving; she yanks down his collar to kiss him, her breath sweet and alluring, as she leads him into the room, its walls smelling like lavender, despite the fact it was dark as the hole in his heart once the whore closes the room. He feels her body on him, kissing him with such passion it was burning him alive ever so slightly, a fire raging deep in his veins as he kisses back, feeling one of her hands being freed underneath his grasp as he pins her down the bed-

He is then flipped on his back as he feels the soft bed underneath him, the warm and hot feeling he had a while ago replaced with cold as he feels the head of a pistol on his head.

"So", the woman finally says, only it wasn't a feminine voice; it was a man's. "You either open your mouth to answer my questions or I'll shoot you in the head."

"How was first day of the job, my dudes?", Aussie asks as he nibbles on a cookie crumble he found in the fridge.

America looks at him as she unpins her hair from the tight bun she had wrongfully chosen to tie around her hair, "Painful."

Canada was looking smug through the monitor, "Good. For the day."

America scowls at him, "You're lucky your pretty boy body made everyone think you're a chick."

"A hot chick", he corrects smugly, "loads of dudes groped me this night."

"And that's something to be proud about?", his sister scolds at him as she unties her bun, wavy hair falling beneath her shoulders like rain, smooth and soft.

Canada shoots her an apologetic look, "Sorry, won't happen again." His face morphs into a disgusted look. "I can't believe people would try and take pleasure of someone's suffering."

"That's technically what Teikoku does", Kiwi pipes up, "like, all the time." He faces America, "and how was your first day of the job?"

She rolls her eyes, "Three hours in and I want to punch Koku's face and shoot Teikoku right at his head."

"Found anything?", Aussie asks.

"No, except for the fact Koku is an extreme idiot and oblivious to the shit his brother does."

"Chill", Canada says in a smooth voice, "sounds like you want to bash their heads open."

"I do, so badly."

"You'll only tolerate them for a few weeks or months- you just have to be hella careful if you wanna get out of there fast." Kiwi takes a seat right beside Aussie, who was now boredly playing with the staplers.

"I don't think I can last longer than a week there- Aussie, stop playing with those." She snatches the bullets and machinery from Aussie's hands like he was a little child holding something he should not be holding. He pouts at her petulantly.

Canada's expression turns serious, "America, did you find any evidence in Koku's room or any room, for the matter?"

She blinks, "Actually, no. Like what I said, it's like Koku is extremely sheltered and it seems that Teikoku's been keeping him in the dark."

Canada nods, "Or he could be acting to make you think that to lead you on."

America affirms, "That too."

"How could someone be such a good actor?", Aussie asks in an exaggerated manner.

"It's their nature", America deadpans, her tone crisp. "They'll lure you in because they look like they're in danger but in a second you're the one in danger and they murder you."

"Sounds like you've had experience with these before", Australia says.

America's eyes darken, "Of course I have. Speaking of which, I forgot I have these." She takes out the handfuls of letters she stole from Koku's room, all worn and yellowed as it had aged from centuries and were kept in a small dark space for a long time. New Zealand takes a few of the letters and examines them, eyes narrowing.

"I have no idea what these say", he states.

"Obviously!", his sister replies, "can anyone here understand Japanese?"

"Philip can", Vietnam enters from the open door with a cup of coffee in her hands, "he said he'd learned it from Spain."

"Alright, can you bring him here? We need him to read and translate these." Vietnam nods as she takes her leave once again, the doors closing behind her and leaving the four siblings in their familial peace.

America misses these moments, sometimes; when she wasn't in her own apartment doing her own lonely business, looking out in the cold night with a cigarette on her fingers, wind billowing in her light wavy hair, the night calling to her like she was the one who had gotten away. She misses the way her brothers would make fun of her, poke fun of her business as they laugh the day off with a cup of coffee and a few snacks on their hands, joy bright and fond in their faces, waiting for another day with each other.

"Sir, they hacked in to your files."

"I know that- someone ought to have done it. And I know who."

"Are you going to do something with America now in your home?"

Teikoku thinks for a moment, "No, not yet. Let her think she's one step ahead until I make my own move. Is that clear?"

A pause. Then, "Yes sir."

He chuckles, putting a cigarette on his mouth. "Good."

Translations:

joesong haeyo- I'm sorry

Cheonman-eyo- you're welcome

Kanojo wa daredesuka- who is she

Kore ga watashi no bodīgādo, Amerikadesu - this is my bodyguard, America

#tw: rape #tw: prostitution #rape tw #prostitution tw #you're shooting your bullet the wrong way #countryhumans #countryhumans japan #countryhumans america #cityhumans shanghai #countryhumans kpg #countryhumans south korea #countryhumans japan empire #countryhumans new zealand #countryhumans canada #countryhumans australia #mine #writing

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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ajedisith · 4 years

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Kylo Ren and Tender Masculinity

I was introduced to the term “tender masculinity” while discussing Little Women’s Friedrich Bhaer with @fairychamber. She has a lot of insight into the subject as well as gender fluidity. Both are interesting interconnected subjects. Friedrich is an important example of a secure, intelligent character who also shows compassion, vulnerability, and gender fluidity.

(GIF by reylotilldeath)

The depiction of traditional masculinity in popular culture primarily emphasizes aggression and boundless strength. On the other hand, tender masculinity emphasizes a new kind of perspective on masculinity in which male characters: express their emotions in healthy ways, are self-aware, respect boundaries, show vulnerability, are comfortable with learning from failure, and value non-romantic intimacy with others. While Star Wars’ Kylo Ren sometimes expresses his anger in aggressive ways, he has moments of genuine vulnerability, self-awareness, and the potential for emotional growth, as he develops an intimate, spiritual connection with another Force user. Kylo is passionate and emotional with slivers of compassion hidden beneath the broken outer layer. He does not completely embody tenderly masculine traits, but there are significant moments that illustrate a character who could eventually come to internalize many aspects of the trope. They key is his growth (in The Rise of Skywalker and beyond) in the way that he confronts his anger, whether or not he learns from his past mistakes, if he applies the lessons learned in healthy, non-aggressive ways, and how he treats Rey, regardless of whether or not there is romantic subtext in their interactions (which, for the record, I believe there will be).

In The Force Awakens, we are introduced to a character whose inner turmoil leads to moments of tender emotional expression and hints of vulnerability with the heroine. When Kylo and Rey meet in the forest for the first time, he initially expresses a form of traditional masculinity that we’ve come to expect in pop culture media. He threatens Rey with his unstable, menacing red saber while he exerts dominance over her with his tall, domineering presence behind her. The masked facade adds to the dominating aura, devoid of intimacy or compassion. The traditional approach is subverted in their next scene together, the infamous interrogation scene. There we see a curious, patient Kylo gazing at a sleeping, peaceful Rey where instead we could have seen an angry, impatient man forcing a vulnerable woman awake to violently coerce what he needs. Furthermore, when Rey calls Kylo a “creature in a mask,” he simply responds by taking off the mask. He lets his guard down and shows vulnerability where there doesn’t need to be. He wants to be as strong as Darth Vader, and that persona can only truly be achieved when no one knows the real Kylo. But, instead he takes off his protective shield against the world, his one piece of armor that allows him to show his masculine, violent self to the world without retribution. In this moment, he risks criticism and more importantly rejection.

Han and Kylo’s scene on the Starkiller bridge reveals an emotional, tense dynamic between father and son. Han warns his son that once once Snoke “gets what he wants, he’ll crush [Kylo].” The camera pans to a pained, teary-eyed Kylo, who knows this is true. The zoomed in image of Kylo illustrates a sad, emotional character. Traditional masculinity would elucidate a very different picture of such a character, one in which the stoic expression on his face would mask the turmoil within; we, the audience, would likely understand that, but the character would intentionally attempt to hide that inner vulnerable part of his identity for the screen. Kylo admits that he is “being torn apart” and “[wants] to be free of [the] pain,” but he doesn’t know if he has the strength to do it. “Will you help me?,” he asks of Han. Kylo is deeply conflicted about what he perceives he must do and what he wants to do. He realizes (and admits) the state of his true inner feelings; instead of pushing the undesirable feelings away, he asks for help from his father. This moment depicts tender masculinity for the way in which it highlights Kylo’s self-awareness about his feelings and allows the character to seek help from a male figure, instead of brushing off his feelings and impulsively lashing out. We as an audience don’t have Kylo’s complete backstory or motivations to make an opinion about whether or not he is sincere. But we do know that Kylo genuinely believes himself to right, as Adam Driver has said many times before. The aftermath of Han’s fall reveals a shocked, speechless, and very vulnerable “bad guy.” He is alone and unguarded, standing in the middle of the bridge; he isn’t even awakened from his trance by Chewbacca’s blaster shot. His vulnerability is raw, visible, and on full display.

Rey and Kylo’s snowy duel at the end of The Force Awakens depicts an emotionally and physically wounded “villain.” An interesting aspect of this duel is how he reacts when Rey successfully yields Anakin’s lightsaber. His wide-eyed, open stance illustrates intrigue, curiosity, and genuine surprise at Rey’s abilities. Traditionally, we would expect to see such a character threatened by this unknown girl and eager to quickly be rid of her. Much of this intrigue is due to the set-up of these two characters as central, dual protagonists, but the scene further highlights Kylo’s vulnerability. Kylo desperately tells Rey, “You need a teacher. I can show you the ways of the Force!” as he simultaneously has the upper hand in pushing her off the falling cliff and winning the duel. He has every advantage in this situation, not to mention that their surroundings are literally falling around them. Instead he chooses to offer help, to risk her retaliation during his moment of weakness. In a way, Kylo reveals a part of himself in this scene. He reveals that he is willing to risk quite a bit to seek companionship with the other sole Force user in the galaxy.

Kylo’s desires, vulnerabilities, and weaknesses are brought to light in The Force Awakens. These foundational traits inspire growth, self-awareness, and emotional vulnerability in The Last Jedi.

The Last Jedi continues to highlight Kylo Ren’s more vulnerable traits; his mind wants so desperately to steer in a direction his heart cannot fully internalize. For example, there’s a few scenes of such growth for the character. During one of Rey and Kylo’s force bonds, Kylo lays out the cold, hard truth to Rey -- she can’t stop needing her parents, that she constantly looks for them in other people like Han Solo and Luke Skywalker. He harshly tells her that it’s her greatest weakness. He then imparts words of wisdom: “Let the past die. Kill it, if you have to. That’s the only way to become what you were meant to be.” Kylo shares his own strategy on moving forward, but we know he is very broken inside because of it. Furthermore, in a later scene, Rey regrettably tells him that she didn’t find answers about her parents in the dark abyss on Ahch-To. She tells him that she’s never felt so alone. Kylo is then shown looking disheveled and teary-eyed. He softly says, “You’re not alone.” These scenes side-by-side illustrate development in regards to Kylo’s approach to loneliness, isolation, and companionship. In the former scene, Kylo may be intrigued by the girl, but he is also quite impartial, stoic, and assertive. The latter scene highlights his compassion, where he was impatient and cold before, he is now patient as he listens to her turmoil and empathetic of her desire for belonging. The two scenes together also show Kylo’s growing self-awareness because his empathy for Rey’s isolation stems from his own loneliness and lack of self-identity.

One of Rey and Kylo’s initial force bond scenes occurs when she is enjoying the rain on Ahch-To. Rey is inconsolable when Kylo appears through the bond. Although Kylo is curious about whether or not she knows about the Temple incident, he doesn’t hound her with questions. He does, however, react to her calling him a “monster” by irritably acknowledging it. The fact that he concedes by simply replying, “Yes, I am” with gritted teeth and an intense look indicates that there is a tinge of regret, as if he wishes that wasn’t what she thought of him. The scene is important for what it shows about Kylo’s notion of ‘boundaries’ coupled with his genuine curiosity about what Rey has learned about the night the Temple burned. On the one hand, he tries to influence her into telling her version of events, but “that look in [her] eyes, from the forest,” the look of hatred towards the monster, hinders his resolve. He figuratively backs into the dark corner, where he is the monster in her eyes and her anger reigns supreme to his discomfort. He values her opinion, but also respects her boundaries; she is not ready to talk of Temple burnings when her anger at the “monster” dominates all other emotions.

Moreover, another scene that emphasizes Kylo Ren’s tender masculinity is the scene after the throne room duel. Kylo again relays his thoughts about letting go of the past, albeit in a softer, more self-aware way. He tries to articulate what he means by letting the past die, which to him means moving forward without the shadows of Snoke, Skywalker, the Jedi, the Sith, or the Rebels. While Kylo’s proposal of, “You’re nothing, but not to me,” is ill-conceived and not at all helpful to his cause, his barely audible, soft whisper of “please” is where the emotional vulnerability comes into play. With that single word, Kylo reveals himself as someone seeking a belonging and companionship -- someone who is looking for something more than wars of Galactic Empires versus Resistance fighters or Jedi masters versus Sith lords. The soft, yet desperate way in which he says that word emphasizes his pain, with a tinge of hope that she may come to understand him.

There are more instances of Kylo’s unique tender masculinity sprinkled throughout The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi. A few more examples:

When Kylo tells Snoke, “He means nothing to me,” (regarding his father) the camera zooms in on a masked Ren, with an emotional tint in his voice and a slight tilt of the head, as if he is also trying to convince himself of this. It’s shows subtle vulnerability that his father still means more to him than he wants to accept. Even Snoke doesn’t believe him and threateningly says, “We shall see.”

Rey says, “You’re afraid that you’ll never be as strong as Darth Vader.” Kylo then immediately stops their force connection and looks hurt, surprised, and confused. He could have easily hurt Rey for revealing this truth, he could have done something drastic and violent to her, but he simply stands there shellshocked at her discovery. His response illustrates awareness about his fears and desires.

Kylo speaks to Darth Vader: “I feel it again. The pull to the light. Supreme Leader senses it. Show me again the power of the darkness.” Kylo has a motive that perhaps hasn’t been fully revealed yet in the trilogy, but this scene illustrates his fear of being pulled to the light for whatever reason. He addresses this fear not necessarily by going out and murdering more people, or hunting down his enemies and slaughtering them one by one, but by addressing the one Force user whom he believes would have an answer for him. He seeks insight and advice.

The Rise of Skywalker will be interesting for what it shows us about how Kylo chooses to utilize his masculine energy. At the end of The Last Jedi, Kylo fails to: (1) convince Rey to join him in ruling the galaxy together, (2) find Luke Skywalker, and (3) fully embrace the dark side even after killing his father and master. The next movie will show us how he learns from these failures -- does he use violence to lash out against people who’ve wronged him or does he even retaliate at all? Episode VIII also leaves Kylo in a very vulnerable position in terms of his dynamic with Rey. He lays a lot on the line for that relationship to come into fruition. The next question for that aspect of the story is how does Kylo confront and treat Rey for the better part of Episode IX? Does he impart more words of wisdom or offerings of help, or does he retaliate in full force? Does he show compassion for Rey, regardless of whether or not their dynamic is romantic, or does the compassion only show itself when the relationship becomes more romantic? This is important for what it reveals about how Kylo values his relationships with female characters.

I personally have high hopes for Kylo in the final movie of the saga. I am optimistic that his growth as a character that embodies compassion, vulnerability, emotion, and tenderness will come full circle in The Rise of Skywalker.

But we shall see for ourselves in a few weeks.

#star wars #the force awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker #tfa #tlj #tros #kylo ren #rey x kylo ren #reylo #writing #masculinity #adam driver #byronic hero #ben solo #rey #episode ix

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minkillah · 5 years

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hello everyone!! my name’s lua, my pronouns are she/her and i’m a resident of gmt+1. i’m super excited for this group to get rolling so i can write with you all. i play choi minki (kim taehyung) of lotto fame. if you’re interested in interacting with him just ♡ this post and i’ll give you all of my love.

born and raised in busan’s gamcheon village, south korea, the former underground rapper turned ambitious lotto all-rounder has been under marathon entertainment for nine years. winners know him as the unspoken protector of the group, and his observant nature allows him to encapsulate ideas in his music with a persuasive edge, but he’s at times criticized for being too eccentric and sardonic.

OVERVIEW

FULL NAME: choi minki

STAGE NAME: MINKI, minkillah (pre-debut/underground)

NICKNAME(S): min, key

GENDER (PRONOUNS): cismale (he/him)

DATE OF BIRTH (AGE): 1994, march 5th. (25)

HOMETOWN: gamcheon village in busan, south korea

RESIDENCE: seoul, south korea

OCCUPATION: lead rapper, vocalist and visual of lotto.

SEXUALITY: bisexual.

HEIGHT: 181cm

HAIR COLOR: naturally jet black (often dyed for his job, currently dark brown)

EYE COLOR: dark brown

TATTOOS: upper arm white tiger (sleeve tattoo, is a work in progress), roman numeral wrist tattoos (left wrist: lotto debut date / right wrist: his mother's birthday)

PIERCINGS: several in his ears.

SCAR: small childhood scar along his knee from falling on broken glass at the beach.

NOTABLE FEATURES: intense and piercing eyes / long eyelashes / big hands / deep voice / nose, cheek and lip moles / big boxy smile.

FACE CLAIM: kim taehyung

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE: protective, contemplative, playful, mischievous, ambitious, loyal, soulful, creative, plainspoken, focused, steadfast, sentimental, observant, intuitive, tenacious, passionate, wry.

NEGATIVE: eccentric, sardonic, juvenile, intense, pent-up, stubborn, hard to know, single-minded, competitive, temperamental, moody, untrusting, all-or-nothing.

LIKES: art, music, anything unique, reading long letters from fans, writing, working, poetry, performing, sincerity, intimacy, the sea, candles, mystery, travelling, warm hands, depth, long conversations, feeling connected to someone, driving at night, visiting home, his mother.

DISLIKES: feeling controlled, invasions of privacy, assumptions, loneliness, boredom, shallow conversations, having his trust broken, spinelessness, being lied to, self-victimizing, blowhards, people who don’t keep their word, his father.

HABITS: staying up late to work on music, collecting headbands and baseball caps, chewing gum, bouncing his leg, man-spreading, calling his mom every day, stuffing his hands into his pockets, scribbling lyrics on things he shouldn’t (napkins, his hand), clicking his tongue, quirking his eyebrows, making funny faces to relax, stretching his neck by tilting his head to the side, rolling his shoulders.

FEARS: losing his mom, never being accepted for who he is, resembling his deadbeat dad, the general public finding out his father left their family.

STYLE: streetwear, skatewear, city-ready and modern, comfortable, relaxed fits, a touch of grunge, baseball caps, logo t-shirts, headbands, thick rimmed glasses, black trousers, hoodies, worn buckle-boots, chunky sneakers, retro runners, wide-cut trousers, shirt tuck, pleated pants.

SMOKE? no.

DRUGS: no.

ALCOHOL: yes.

HEADCANONS

minki’s outer mask of aloofness is a cover for his stormy inner life. he’s always battling between his heart and mind, conscious of how emotions can make him look; sometimes he’s cool and level-headed, and other times he’ll throw his weight around. ultimately he’s emotional and has a great desire for intimacy.

once he lets his guard down, he’s more than willing to show how much he truly cares for someone. for special someones, he feels a poignant love strong enough to walk through the valley of the shadow of death. when these feelings are hard to verbalize, he expresses them best through action.

the promise of emotional depth and soul-level understanding shines out of his eyes. he’s a good listener, maybe because he’s often listening into the hidden layers of what people are saying. his closest relationships are the equivalent of feeling an overwhelming urge to call someone, only to find they were just about to call you.

in a world of tell-all social media, he’s quite a private person. anyone close to him has to be able to keep secrets. the classified files of his personal history are only ever revealed to those who’ve earned his trust.

while it can be hard for minki to let others in, he also intensely needs others, and he needs to go deep with them. it’s important for him to have close friends and special someones who are in it with him for the long haul.

he’s got an animal magnetism on stage and knows how to turn it on for the effect of something tender, edgy, soulful or brutal.

prone to jealousy and paranoia and will do anything to hide it. he needs mutual reassurance in relationships, and betrayal of any kind is the death knell for any relationship with him, friendship or otherwise. a true loyalist.

ambitious and will do whatever he needs to attain his goal. he also has a strong competitive characteristic that pushes him to strive for greatness.

drops one-liners and quotables in public that, for good and bad, will follow him until the end of his career. doesn’t seem to get embarrassed even when he misspeaks in interviews and can help dispel tensions at times using poker-faced humor at his own expense.

minki knew next to nothing about fashion or make up prior to joining the company and was shocked to learn stylists saw enough potential in him to appoint him as "visual" of the group. these days he moves with more awareness in regards to how he represents lotto to the public, and sometimes jokes in interviews that his face does all the work.

shockingly good at aegyo despite his image and the intense vibes his face gives off. variety shows used to love asking him to perform cute gestures and whatnot back in the day, but thankfully that doesn't happen as much now that he's older.

sheds not a single tear all year but can be seen full on bawling at the end of annual fanmeetings.

as the third oldest in the group, he’s something of a bridge between the younger members and the oldest members of lotto.

that big goofy rectangle grin makes him look like a different person when he smiles.

one of the members most likely to slip into satoori.

plays the piano; currently learning guitar.

RELATIONSHIPS

MOTHER: choi misun (52), a writer and local artist in gamcheon culture village.

FATHER: doesn’t know his father.

SIBLINGS: none.

OTHER RELATIVES: they’re rarely in touch.

PETS: none. loves & wants pets of his own, but worries he won’t be able to care for a living thing. dotes on other people’s animals instead.

LOVERS: single.

HISTORY

CHILDHOOD

when minki was born, his mom decided the only thing scarier than being a single mother was not being a mother at all. her ex-boyfriend, minki's dad, denied the child was his and refused to support her decision to keep him. her parents begged her to give the boy for adoption, threatening to disown her, but it was too late: looking into her son’s eyes she felt certain, more than she’d been of anything, that he wasn’t a mistake. he was her miracle. she would raise him alone, an unwanted mother and the black sheep of her family.

relatives gathering for holidays didn’t want the two of them attending, and neighbors were told made-up stories of a husband passing away, all to protect the family’s reputation. for some time, minki was too young to notice anyone’s absence: it’d always been just him and his mother and he didn’t know of anything different. this changed as he grew up and was confronted with the lack of a father figure in his life - or grandparents, aunts and cousins.

he became painfully aware of his mother’s struggles. her writing and art wasn’t enough to support them, and she worked too hard for most of her life, taking on several labor-intensive jobs to feed and clothe him. theirs was a humble but colorful life in the poor seaside village of gamcheon, located in the coastal city of busan.

at the epicenter of art, beauty and chaos, minki spent his childhood running through steep slopes and tiny alleys nestled between a mishmash of pastel-colored houses, a deep blue sky and ocean in the background. he was often alone, as all throughout school, there were classmates whose mothers instructed them not to play with him, or would tease him for not having a father.

birds of a feather flock together. minki found friendship in the company of children who either seemed different, outcasts just like him, or those who accepted him and didn’t care about rumors and social status. his best friend was a neighboring child of an eclectic couple of local artists and acquaintances of his mother.

in his early teens, there was anger and hurt simmering beneath minki’s exterior. he was at an emotionally painful passage of his life and wanted to act out, but knew that it would break his mother’s heart if anything ever happened to him. not wanting to hurt her the way his father had hurt her, minki turned to art as an outlet for destructive thoughts, and music became his way of dealing with the sense of chronic loss.

hip-hop was raw, emotional and honest. it was a device in and of itself, a friend to play with. twotime had a huge influence on minki as a teenager, and inspired him to start writing songs when he was 14 years old. thanks to the democratization of music through the internet, he found a way to pirate software and started producing beats in his bedroom.

CAREER

he was active in busan’s underground hip hop scene during high school, competing in rap battles under the name minkillah. it wasn’t only his rapping that garnered attention; minki eventually began establishing himself as an emerging producer, composing beats for local talent in his hometown.

looking for a challenge that would take his music to the next level, minki entered a hip hop competition held by marathon entertainment. when staff met with the young man in person, they insisted he enter a second audition with the potential of joining a new idol group the company planned to debut.

minki passed the second audition and joined marathon entertainment as a trainee at 16. dreaming of one day providing his mother the kind of life where she never had another day, and possibly making music with his role models in twotime, he moved away from home and enrolled into a high school in seoul to complete his formal education while attending daily vocal, rap and dance lessons.

after the grueling trainee period, he joined the final lineup of lotto and debuted as the group’s lead rapper, vocalist and visual.

CONNECTIONS

MASC.

SQUAD GOALS: masc. 20-30. (0/5) simply put, i’d love for minki to have this big dumb friend group featuring top dog male idols from marathon ent. they’re often seen hugging at award shows, going out for bbq, travelling together, clowning each other and breaking the internet whenever they upload selfies!!

MENTOR: masc. 35+. (0/1) this is an older muse minki looks up to and confides in. whether y/m realizes it or not, they’ve become a father figure to minki. he doesn’t have to be another artist! anyone who works at marathon ent (producer, choreographer, etc) would work, as long as minki feels like he can trust them. they’re equipped with the maturity and experience to give him advice about his life, music or relationships.

SOULMATE: masc. 23-25 (0/1) soulmate /ˈsəʊlmeɪt / noun “a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.” these two are each other’s, through and through. y/m is minki’s second home; they complement and complete each other. their relationship doesn’t have to be romantic at all, even if it has potential to be, in the case of complicated feelings and the crossing of lines. platonic or not, though, minki is in need of deep and meaningful connections, where he feels known. where he feels understood. he thrives off of them. y/m either knows minki since he lived in his hometown busan (there was a childhood best friend, if you’re interested) or since they were trainees. possibly they both attended the same high school in seoul, too.

RIVAL: masc. 23-27. (0/1) a little bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone. these two boys are seen as evenly matched in many regards (leave it to their fans to debate the validity of that, though) and often pitted against each other, sometimes on purpose to rack up clicks and excitement. whether there’s any truth to the rivalry or genuine animosity can be discussed! a future collab between them would create immense amounts of buzz, though.

FEM.

OLDER SISTER. fem. 35+ (0/1) quite similar to the connection above, but in this case, y/m is more of an older sister to minki, maybe even a mom away from home. seeing right through him, she knows when to put him in his place and when to offer him gentle guidance. she’s one of the people he’s come to respect the most at marathon entertainment and he absolutely loathes to disappoint her.

HEARTBREAK: fem. 21-25. (0/1) minki’s last love was a lost love. maybe they could’ve been happy together if they weren’t both idols, but it’s too late for that now. foolishly, though, they still keep in touch and spent time with each other as “friends.” they’ve seen so much and know so much of each other, there seems to be no greater comfort for him than hearing y/m’s voice and feeling their warmth in his arms when life goes to shit. but they’re still just friends… let’s hash the rest out to make sure we’re on the same page! inspiration for this connection comes from the lyric “isn’t that what friends are for, even if we used to be more?” from the song partners in crime. if the world was ending is another inspiration.

KNIGHT. fem. 18-23. (0/2) minki as an older brother to y/m!! growing up an only child, he never knew what it was like to have siblings, let alone a younger sister. i think his inexperience in combination with protectiveness could result in endearing and fun interactions. however, he is prone to projecting his own cynical and hostile views onto men that approach women he’s fond of, which isn’t exactly fair to anyone? having someone like y/m in his life could push him toward character-development, though.

NIGHTINGALE. fem. 22-24. (0/1) a nightingale made a mistake; she sang a few notes out of tune: her heart was ready to break, and she hid away from the moon. a small, sweet-voiced songbird that goes on singing late into the night. she's far too bright to be a nocturnal creature in his eyes, but she breaks the stillness, and she’s taken to asking him for advice. they’re quiet company, willing to sit in silence or talk for hours about who knows what, trying to figure out what they are. not even minki knows. he just enjoys her company, and perhaps they’ve found something to bond over. it's still small and precious and new.

ALL.

ALWAYS: if you're thinking of a different connection that isn't listed here but pings you, please dm me about it!! i'd love to plot and throw in my own suggestions. as a quick aside, i'm always open to friendship, group members, platonic m/f & mf/m dynamics, mentoring, flings, exes, secret relationships, rivalries, innocent crushes, muses, staff members, co-writers, trainees, unrequited feelings, pining, etc.

#ment.intro #OOC.

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twotwenty-am · 5 years

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Words Hung Above (D&D Fanfic)

Couple: Annabelle Parsons x MC

Summary: Under the pressure from Harry and Henrietta, and lacking the much needed support from her friends and lover, MC/Madeline decides to leave Edgewater. Five years later, unforeseen circumstances force her to come back…

CHAPTER 1

“How does it feel to be back here after so many years?” Briar asked as they left the carriage. It had been five years — five long years since Madeline had left Edgewater, promising to never set foot in this place ever again. Five years since she last saw Mr Chambers, Dowager Countess, and even Briar. Five years since she abandoned the love of her life, Miss Annabelle Parsons, who was now Countess Annabelle Foredale.

Looking around, Madeline never thought she’d come back to this place. Not before her Grandmother personally asked her to come back, after her step-brothers died in an accident, leaving her as the sole heiress. “…To be honest, strange,” Madeline responded a moment later. This place no longer looked like home to her. Despite the warm spring weather, her insides felt as raw as if a winter wind was blowing right through her skin. She shuddered as she recalled her last days in this place, where she was threatened by her step-brother and her step-mother to leave unless she wanted something to happen to her best friend, her lover, and herself. She had ultimately lost the battle and was trapped in a world where only lies and gossips existed. When she lost most of her loved ones’ support, as well, she knew it was the time to leave. But now, standing before Edgewater, she felt emptier than ever. She had no intention to come back, but she was once again forced against her will. Going inside, she was greeted by a large number of servants. Some of them looked familiar, some of them — the ones she did not recognise — eyed her eagerly. She regarded them all with a forced greeting and a bow — she was no longer the cheerful, brave Madeline some of them had grown used to years ago. The very source of her life seemed to be infected with some deadly poison. She was exhausted, deprived of all hope for joy. She’d become someone else. Briar showed her her new room, and left shortly after making a small talk. She knew Madeline needed to be left alone. Having changed into another attire, Madeline wasted some time in her room before finally deciding to leave to get some fresh air. She passed the long corridor and descended the staircase, and was about to leave when she found herself face to face with the one person she almost forgot about since she stepped into the house.

Annabelle. Annabelle Parsons.

Each of the women froze as soon as their eyes met. Both of them had been anticipating this very moment, and yet, none of them was ready for the encounter. Madeline's heartbeat raged in her ears, echoing in her temples. She had no idea how red her face had become at that instant, but she could only guess since Annabelle's face was no different. She quickly observed that Annabelle hadn’t changed much. That flawless face, those sharp eyes, those slightly parted lips, that long, black hair, those big greenish grey eyes… the colour of her eyes was beautiful unvarnished. It was the colour of Madeline's dreams. The paint of heights. The terrestrial space itself was immersed in this colour solution. Madeline was looking at her so reverently, so devoutly, and so prayerfully spoke to her in her mind, not daring to make a sound in real. Annabelle’s state hardly differed. In fact, it was even more intense than Madeline’s. A strong feeling surged through her chest, her heart started beating faster than she’d ever felt it beat before, and the pulse in her neck throbbed achingly. Her eyes travelled all over Madeline’s face, noting every little difference from the last time she’d seen her, and once again noted to herself that Madeline was blessed with a rare charm, she embodied youth, she absorbed all forms of beauty. The art of her existence knew no limit. Standing face to face now, both of them inwardly flew back to that one memory, each remembering it from their own perspectives. That one day when Madeline left — or rather attempted to leave without caring enough to tell anyone, including Annabelle, about her departure. When the latter found out, Madeline had already left a couple of hours ago.

~FLASHBACK~

Happiness is only an oath of the miseries of the future. Everything passes. There's only one step from heaven to hell. These were the thoughts passing through Madeline’s mind as the carriage carried her away from Edgewater. The carriage was then passing by a field of roses, and as she looked at the flowers, she got consumed by the strong desire to give one of the fresh roses to Annabelle. How can you compare her to flowers? she laughed at herself. They only shine once a year, they only bloom once a year. They are only slim and fresh once a year, and they are nothing in comparison with her. Giving her one of the fresh roses? She needs a whole flower garden and even that wouldn't be enough! Those flowers plucked during the day will decay to dust in the night. Madeline sighed to herself, once again realising that she was getting lost in her fantasies. She would never see Annabelle again, and the duty of giving her flowers now belonged to someone else. Viscount Harry Foredale, she muttered his name hatefully, clenching her fists. She only realised how tensed her jaw was when she relaxed her facial muscles. That was when she realised that the carriage had stopped. Had they arrived? But it was too soon, thought Madeline, frowning as she shifted in her seat, trying to understand why they stopped so soon. The next minute, someone effortlessly got in the carriage. Blood left Madeline’s face as she looked at who was now sitting next to her. “Anna…belle…?” she barely uttered, her eyes still wide in shock. She was still in shock when she felt Annabelle’s fists softly hit her on her shoulder, before her arms came to wrap Madeline in a sincere hug. “Tell me this is merely a nightmare,” Annabelle whispered in her ear. “Tell me they were lying. Tell me you wouldn’t leave like that,” she added louder, backing an inch when she didn’t feel Madeline’s hands return the hug. Gazing into her eyes, Annabelle almost shuddered in horror — she had never seen Madeline look at her so apathetically. Madeline sat back an inch, distancing herself from the other girl, further surprising her with her attitude. “Why are you here?” asked she frostily. This time, Annabelle did wince. “What do you mean? What’s the meaning of this, I don’t—“ “What do you not understand? You are getting married to Viscount Harry. The… — Madeline almost trailed off, — The one true heir of Edgewater.” “But you—“ “Am not standing in the way. I wish you all the best with Harry,” said Madeline quickly, hiding her heartache under a mask of emotionlessness. Her impassiveness confused, but also started to anger Miss Parsons. “Madeline, I demand an explanation. Just a day before you were professing love to me. Today you almost abandoned me without an explanation!” Annabelle demanded, a frown taking over her delicate features. Madeline laughed humourlessly. “Are you sure? A day ago I desperately needed your support. I was desperate for your presence. Where were you then?” Annabelle huffed, shaking her head. “Is this because I didn’t support you in your argument with Harry? Madeline, you know I—“ “Your fiancé almost humiliated me and you stood silent, Annabelle. You assured me that his return would not make you second-guess us, but you broke that promise. I... I can’t even look at you right now without doubting your true feelings for me,” Madeline uttered. She had been prepared for this confrontation just in case, but living through it was exquisite torture. She hated hurting Annabelle, no matter how much she herself had been hurt by her prior to this encounter. Annabelle grimaced, her eyes carefully searching the other girl’s face, as if for any sign that she was lying. “Madeline, I beg you, don’t say such things. Doubts can kill love.” “What’s dead cannot die again,” retorted Madeline. Annabelle froze that instant. She could not believe her ears, or her eyes, for that matter — she had never seen her lover look at her with such abomination. The gaze that was once so fond, had now become the coldest glare. Even in a space as little as this, Madeline still managed to keep her at a distance and treat her like an enemy. “Madeline, you… you can’t mean that,” Annabelle barely forced the words out. She still couldn’t comprehend what was going on and why were they having this conversation in the first place. She shook her head at once. “I refuse to believe this. This simply cannot be. Someone forced you to say these things. Tell me who—“ “No one did. This is solely my decision. You disappointed me, Annabelle. You weren’t there for me when I needed you the most,” Madeline said almost mechanically. Her indifference was more threatening than any hostility she could have displayed. “I wasn’t? I risked my life for you! I was there for you all the time! How quickly did you forget about what we went through together?!” snapped Annabelle, losing her calm at once. This is ridiculous, she thought. Madeline wasn’t the type of a person to act on emotions. “Apparently very quickly,” Madeline let out a humourless chuckle, “Well, now you see I’m falser than vows made in wine. You no longer need someone like me. Just... leave,” Madeline forced herself to say, not breaking the eye contact. For a moment, Annabelle could only stare back in disbelief. Then the stare was replaced with a judging look. They argued for long minutes, Madeline coming up with exquisitely torturous lies, sinking lower into her own torment with each uttered word, while Annabelle was busy denying what she was hearing from her lover, still convinced Madeline was hiding something. It took Madeline a great deal, a handful of nasty lies and excuses to finally break Annabelle’s denial. “Madeline, we must go back home. If you let me leave this carriage alone, you will kill all of the Madeline that lives in me,” warned Annabelle at once, her voice stern and her face red from all the back-and-forth that just took place between us. Her breathing was ragged, her dour glare never leaving Madeline’s. “What do you think I’m trying to do?!” Madeline snapped back, with equal ardency. Her nostrils were flaring, and she was looking at her lover — former lover, with as much vehemence as she could muster, barely keeping the tears at bay. “I want to kill it. I want to kill us,” she added, making special effort to maintain her voice and not let it quaver. Annabelle looked flabbergasted — she clearly wasn’t expecting that response. She never thought Madeline would let her go this easily. But her astonishment was quickly replaced with a bitter look, one where anguish and acrimony became one. She tore her eyes away from Madeline and remained still for a moment, before she let out a sigh, as though signalling that she has made her choice. Taking one last look at Madeline, she turned towards the exit, and uttered one last word: “Farewell.”

~END OF FLASHBACK~

They both seemed to slowly descend from the memory when their eyes met again. Annabelle couldn’t resist a shudder as Madeline’s speech echoed in her mind, each word she had said that day playing havoc inside. Madeline had always been careless in heart: she could cool with words, she could burn with looks. She could always kill with words, but it wasn’t scary as long as with words she could also revive. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, each frozen on her spot, unable to move or utter a word, until a servant broke their glum silence. “Lady Madeline!” the girl yelled, running into the room. Madeline, almost surprised to hear her title again after so many years, tore her eyes from Annabelle and looked in the direction where the voice came. Strangely, though, the servant was looking down and not at Madeline. That’s when the latter looked down, only to see… a girl of around five. “Mommy! This is the woman from the photo in your room!” the little girl exclaimed with joy as she tugged at Annabelle’s leg. Madeline’s eyes grew drastically as they met Annabelle’s once again. Annabelle blushed crimson red and looked away immediately. “Ah… she is even more beautiful up close,” the girl said, more to herself than her own mother, looking at Madeline in a mesmerised way. Madeline looked at the girl once again. She could see reminders of Annabelle in the girl’s features: her black hair, her lips… before she knew it, the girl was standing in front of her. “Lady Madeline Foredale,” she formally introduced herself, smiling broadly. Madeline let go of her momentary perplexity. “Pleased to meet you, Lady,” she returned the smile, “And I—“ “I know who you are,” the girl said enthusiastically. “I’ve heard so much about you! I… I’ve always wanted to meet you,” she added with a slight blush. “Did you know that my mother—“ “Madeline!” Annabelle cut her off sternly. The girl stopped her speech in alarm, but a moment later shrugged and left the room along with the servant accompanying her. Madeline suddenly stopped breathing. It’d been years since she last year Annabelle’s voice. It’d been years since she last heard Annabelle say her name. And for a moment it seemed that her heart had skipped a beat. But before she could even react, Annabelle had already regained her composure and left the room.

Madeline was abandoned with a new, shocking revelation: Annabelle had a daughter. And that daughter had Madeline’s name.

[CHAPTER 2 COMING SOON]

#desire and decorum #des&dec #d&d #playchoices #annabelle parsons #miss parsons #annabelle x mc #choices stories we play #fanfic #lgbt #lesbian #viscount harry

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certifiedskywalker · 6 years

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Stay With Me - Tyrion Lannister

dannydevitodevoted said:

Would you be willing to write something with Tyrion or Sandor where the reader is betrothed to some awful Southern man and they carry out a secret relationship?

Being the daughter of a proud house in the Westerlands, you had a duty to expand your family’s reach across Westeros. However, the idea of moving South to marry a man you despised was a duty you wanted to ignore. Luckily for you, Tyrion Lannister has a way of making you forget about your problems.

Warnings : Drinking (duh it’s Tyrion) and implied sex

As you gazed across the crowd, you found yourself needing a good long drink. The pressures of a visit to King’s Landing was enough, but knowing that you were to be wed here made your stomach twist into knots. You felt like a prized mare being doomed to abuse at an auction, and that was no way to live. Still fairly young, the idea of being anchored to one spot, by one person exhausted you. Especially now that you knew your betrothed.

“Lady Y/N Westerling, the last heiress of House Westerling, how strange it is to see a girl like you frowning during her engagement celebration.” You turned to find Tyrion Lannister, a long time friend, grinning up at you.

“I find there is hardly a thing to celebrate,” you sighed honestly, which caught Tyrion off guard. Ever since you were children he knew your sense of humor matched his; sardonic and sarcastic. It alarmed him you weren’t making light jokes out of this situation.

“Has Lord Dalt hurt you….touched you in anyway that-”

“Gods no, Tyrion,” you interrupted, “and he is my betrothed anyway. Soon he can do whatever he wants to me, like a mindless cow.” Tyrion frowned at your tone and reached up to brush his hand against yours.

“You’re better than a cow, Y/N,” he said sincerely, “at most you’re a sow.” You gasped in mock offense, but giggled nonetheless. It was always Tyrion that cheered you up when you needed it.

“Thank you, my Lord, that means ever so much,” you said mockingly. Tyrion grinned and bowed dramatically.

“At least in the South you’ll be in the sunshine, my dear, where you truly belong.” After Tyrion spoke, you noticed how he took a long drink of an Arbor Red you didn’t see him holding.

“Ah yes, House Dalt’s keep is perfectly constructed to where I can see the lemon groves each day break and again at night fall. Not to mention the company, I mean look at him!” You gestured across the crowd at your future husband. He was finely dressed, being a notable Lord, but he gawked at other women as they passed by. Drunkenly, he swayed from foot to foot, so much so that his surrounding guard stood close to keep him steady.

“That is what you’re marrying?” Tyrion asked, only half-joking this time. You nodded solemnly and glanced down at your feet.

“Indeed it is,” you said, not daring to look at your friend. Tyrion couldn’t help but look at you. You were dressed in a warm toned dress with purple detailing to represent House Dalt’s banner of lemons against a dark purple field. He longed to see you in red, or any other color that did not signify another man’s claim to you. Tyrion admired you for your free spirit and seeing you so gloomy and tied down hurt his heart deeply.

“House Westerling has been a loyal vassal to House Lannister for centuries,” Tyrion started, “I’m sure my father would be willing to organize a different match. One more suitable to your beauty, Y/N.”

“Tyrion,” you said softly, blushing at his words, “I-I…” You met his gaze and lost all words. His hazel eyes were full of a hope you had never seen before.

“I can help you, Y/N, let me help you,” he clasped your hand now and you wished you could tell him ‘yes’; but your family needed this. The mines in the Westerlands were running dry and your house, the Westerlings, needed something to reinvigorate it. Your marriage to a wealthier Lord fit the bill perfectly.

“It would have to be a far more rich Lord than Dalt to get my father to agree, Tyrion. There are not many who have deep pockets that are not bad, or worse, than Lord Dalt is now.”

“I’m far more wealthy than Lord Dalt,” Tyrion pointed out, “and I’d like to think I’m better than Lord Dalt even when I’m drunk. I can at least walk without aid.”

You let out a soft, almost bittersweet laugh, “you want me to marry you? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“Would it be so awful?” Tyrion asked honestly. You smiled down at him and shook your head. His hazel eyes brightened when he saw you lips turn upwards.

“No,” you said truthfully, “I would imagine it being rather fun.” Tyrion chuckled and nodded.

“I would be happy to go through with this plan if it meant you can stay here, in King’s Landing,” Tyrion said cheerfully, “with me of course.”

“And I would be happy if I could get something to drink,” you said, trying to change the subject. It wasn’t that the idea of being with Tyrion made you uncomfortable, it was entirely the opposite. You couldn’t remember a time where you didn’t have some semblance of feeling for your Lannister friend. Even as children you were quite taken by his intelligence and his true compassion. It pained you to watch as Tywin’s abuse towards him took its toll. Sleeping with whore left and right, drinking his days away alone.

Despite all the rumors about him, your loyalty and affections remained for Tyrion Lannister. He was the one person that could make you laugh whenever you needed to. The idea of moving South pained you, not because you would be leaving your blood family; it hurt you because the idea of leaving Tyrion alone to the snakes terrified you.

Sensing that you had grown lost in your own thoughts, Tyrion gave your hand a quick squeeze. You glanced at him once more and saw true concern in his eyes.

“I’ll get you that drink, come with me,” Tyrion said. You nodded and followed, hoping that a copious amount of liquor would let you forget your entanglement of feelings.

“Can you imagine it?! My wedding cake will taste like one big, sour lemon cake!” You held your forehead in one hand as you shouted and a glass of fine wine in the other. After the party had died out, Tyrion thought the best idea was to sneak you drinks from his own private collection. After three drinks of Westeros’ strongest wines, you were intoxicated.

“Lemon cakes aren’t bad,” Tyrion said, “it rests upon who makes them!” You shook your head and set down your glass for a moment.

“It’s not the taste I’m angry about, it’s the lack of choice. On my own wedding day I will have no control over the cake, even my dress is of Dalt style. Thank the Gods they didn’t put lemons on that!” Tyrion let out a chuckle and leaned closer to you, the space on his couch closing between you ever so slightly.

“What flavor would you like to have, my dear?” His drawl soothed your fried nerves and you allowed yourself to give into a fantasy of cake choosing.

“Maybe a honey cake, with candied plums and raspberries,” you said dreamily.

“I’ll note that for our wedding,” Tyrion said, but you couldn’t fully tell if he was joking. Granted, he was just as drunk as you were, so it was hard to tell if this wasn’t all some fevered dream.

“Do you know what else I would like? I would like to wear my mother’s wedding dress, not this Dornish style overcoat my lovely betrothed hand picked.” Tyrion nodded, listening to every word as if he were never going to hear your voice again.

“What else do you want, my dear? Say it and I can make it happen,” Tyrion said, encouraging more fake wedding planning; but as you thought, your mind grew dark.

“I want a husband that isn’t so bloody awful! Someone who cares about me, will let me walk alone if I wish, someone who isn’t Lord Dalt!” You felt tears stinging at your eyes now, but you couldn’t stop the words from pouring out your mouth. “I want a man who will let me speak, someone who, someone who loves me!”

You weren’t sobbing in that moment, but your heart ached so much you felt like you could have burst into a river of tears. If it wasn’t for the soft hand that reached your cheek, those tears would have rolled over. Through your eyelashes you saw Tyrion, his hand on the side of your face, looking at you with all the worry and care in the world.

“You can have that, my dear, you can have that with me,” his voice was so soothing and his hand was so warm. You closed your eyes and took a long breath.

“You’re a Lannister…” you whispered softly.

“That is only a name, just as yours is Westerling.” “You would be marrying down, Tyrion, that would never work with your father being the way that he is.”

“We wouldn’t need my father, I’ve gotten along quite well without him for many, many years.” He moved his hand to brush some hair out of your face. “Please Y/N, stay here with me and we can work this through together.”

“Then tell me what I need to hear,” you whispered, staring Tyrion in the eyes with an intensity you had never felt before. Tyrion smiled softly, knowing exactly what you needed.

“I have never been more in love with anyone as I am with you. Even in this drunk, crying state you’re in now, I’ve never loved someone more. I love you, Y/N.”

On the last syllable, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to Tyrion’s with such raw emotion it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. In your hazy state you could remember his lips everywhere; on your lips, cheeks, neck, and collarbones. Energy buzzed through your whole body as his hands left trails of fire down your skin.

“I love you too, Tyrion,” you groaned out, “I always have.” Your words sparked a force within him as he moved impossibly closer to you. The last thing you remember was his lips and body-trembling pleasure.

When you opened your eyes, your head was pounding just as loudly as your heart. Images of what occurred last night drifted in from your memory as you woke up beside Tyrion Lannister. All of the words, all of the tears and kisses became clear for you the instant Tyrion’s drowsy gaze met your own.

“Good morning,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse. The mere sound sent chills down your spine. “So what wedding plans should we make today?” You hit his chest lightly at the joke and he let out a soft hearted chuckle.

“You’re not funny,” you teased as you sat up to look for your dress.

“I think I’m quite funny,” Tyrion said as he watched you get dressed in your loose fitting under gown, “hilarious even.”

“Mmhmm,” you said, laying back down on his bed for a moment longer. You propped your head up and look down into his eyes softly. You reached towards him, brushing some messy hair away from his face.

“You’re not going to wed him, right?” Tyrion asked seriously, his eyes searching yours for the truth he wanted and not the one he felt was true.

“It’s two days until the wedding,” you murmured, “it’s...complicated.” Tyrion nodded and grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips.

“I’m not going to be selfish and tell you to stay with me, even though I’ve made it clear I want you with me. All I ask is do what your heart tells you, not what your father decides.”

“It’s not that simple, Tyrion, you know that.” He let out a long sigh.

“Whenever you want,” he said softly, “we can run away. We can have that wedding you want so badly with honey cakes and your mother’s dress. I will always be that someone who will love you. Always, Y/N.” You felt tears stinging at your eyes again as he finished speaking. Rolling forward on your arms, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“I will always love you, Tyrion,” you whispered, pulling away only slightly.

“And, I’ll have you know, Lady Westerling, I would not mind being your little secret.” You laughed, pressing one more kiss to his lips.

“I might have to take you up on that, Lord Lannister.” Tyrion smiled brightly and, for the first time since your betrothal, you felt truly happy.

#tyrion lannister #tyrion lannister x reader #tyrion lannister imagine #got #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #lannister #house lannister #house westerling #westeros #tywin lannister #kings landing #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #tyrion lannister fanfiction #tyrion #peter dinklage #Dorne

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strangebedfellows-blog · 5 years

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Miscellaneous and chill little establishing headcanon dump for some of my l.oz people, because they’re delightful and since I’ve never actually interacted with this fandom I’m not sure what’s commonly accepted and what’s coming purely out of my own head, so here’s some kind of framework. Ones involving other characters or the world at large are just there to give myself context, and obviously nobody else is beholden to ‘em.

Also because I’m too lazy to get to bio pages left and they deserve something.

Cool edit: hey personals, don’t interact with this post. Don’t like it, definitely don’t fucking reblog it. Oh my god. Basic etiquette. It’s not tagged with their general tags for a reason.

VAATI

It’s indulgent of me, but for the record, I like to think he won the swordfighting competition largely of his own merit. I like to think he’s smart enough to know he could have just...magic’d his way past it altogether if he wanted, but it sounds like he actually competed.

I HAVE MORE BUT I’M JUST GOING TO EDIT THEM IN SOMETIME LATER WHEN I REBLOG THIS I’m typing at like four in the morning why must I dedicate this time to angry wind maus

ZANT

Comin’ in out of the gate: it’s silly personal headcanon but I generally peg the Twili as ancient Sheikah counterparts - part of the same community that split and cut ties firmly enough that by the time they were banished most people had forgotten, and the differences great enough that the latter was never in any jeopardy. They do have deific ties to Majora and the Fierce Deity, though it’s been so long there’s no telling if active worship...exists.

Is actually competent, and intelligent. Midna notes that he didn’t end up ruling the realm because people could pick up on his power lust, but no mention is made of the fact the dude is...a lunatic, and Midna seems to register it as something unfamiliar when he flies off the handle toward the end of the game. I think he kept an incredibly tight rein on himself at absolutely all times in the specific hopes of seeming collected and controlled enough to rule, and his outbursts only really started after he was passed over. They clearly kept him around for awhile despite knowing they wouldn’t be crowning him, so it stands to reason Zant is genuinely good at whatever his precise role was, and a magic user of some significant finesse. Not raw power, not until Ganondorf, but incredible dexterity when applied to delicate tasks.

In the same vein as viewing the normal Hyrulean royal family as one certainly responsible for performing or enabling some heinous things, I assume the same could be said of the Twili royals. While I believe Zant’s “served and endured in that depraved household” is an embellishment he’s making spitefully because he’s narcissistic and falling apart, there’s a kernel of important truth. There likely were goings-on that would seem shady to us. I can’t imagine specifics, but it’s worth mentioning that Zant was not the only of the Twili who wanted to return to the real world, and while he had violence on the mind, one could certainly guess there were others who would have been more than content just negotiating a return, and to share it. It’s nevertheless treated entirely as some unreasonable desire, despite...the fact...they were ejected from their home and left to their realm so long they’re markedly different, so much so their previous environment kills them. ( One can only imagine adapting to the Twilight Realm was unpleasant, for the first over. )

50% of the reason he loses is because he’s a moron and an indulgent moron, who just can’t sate himself with winning; he has to win and having a living loser to point at and laugh. He has to have someone he can personally lord over, living testaments to the power of his wrath. If he smartened up enough to just kill people, I...really don’t think he’d have lost that one.

The other 50% is that he’s so utterly unused to Ganondorf’s power, which is overwhelming in both volume and intensity. Zant can warp reality with it. He is, in some important sense, something of a god. And that’s so much that he, who is incredibly well practiced with making more efficient use of less magic, has no goddamn clue what to do with it. It’s difficult to channel and control, and the result are broad sweeps that are chosen for dramatic effect or specifically because they eat up enough to keep him comfortable, rather than practicality.

I’m not sure where I’m going with it, but it’s fascinating to me that most Twili seem to be pretty skin-baring whereas he doesn’t even show his neck under the helmet, and places such a clear focus on fabricating bulk that just isn’t there. I like to think parts of his outfit have weights, and it was partially an effort to physically restrain himself from any reactive-contorting at work. Sometimes you wanna break your spine but that would look most uncouth.

Not a physical fighter. Hit hard, hit fast, hit erratic, then collapse because you can’t breathe. Twili are in general much more inclined toward magic than traditional fisticuffs, but Zant’s exceptionally physically weak among even them. Reedy ‘n Dweeby.

SIDON

Incurably shy kid, believe it or not. The complete lack of dialogue of his in Mipha’s memory was actually entirely because Zelda was there; he would have been sheepish enough had it been any outside figure, but especially someone he understood to be so important - how could he speak? So small. Sheepish. A lot less confident in himself than he’d eventually become, and Mipha’s gentle encouragement ( and its legacy ) was definitely the biggest factor in changing that.

Really really really worried, constantly, that he’s a drain on people. It’s something of a holdover from his shy youth, but also backed up by a lot of what he can observe. He places a great deal more pressure on himself after Mipha’s death as the new heir ( he was never supposed to be, and would honestly be a much more sincerely at ease adult had it not come down to him ), more than, frankly, anyone around him has. As clearly beloved as he is, and with the fairly warm and encouraging person we can surmise his father to be, there’s some demanding little tug he feels toward inadequacy at all times. He’s incredibly empathetic and not being able to assist everyone all the time, despite the impossibility, hurts him.

He’s a little too warm-hearted and emotional, he feels, to be the ideal ruler. He’s far too dedicated to proving to others and himself that he could be, however, to fully indulge his personable and down to earth side. He’s caught teetering quite awkwardly on the edge where he can’t reap the benefits of his charming personality OR dedicated focus and work ethic.

His father never told him Mipha was dead, as he refused to believe it himself. Most zora were split, but eventually enough people seemed defeated enough while murmuring about the matter, the statue went up, and Sidon was first forced to put it together for himself that she really, truly wasn’t coming back. The single most devastating day of his life, and to think it was years after the fact. He hurts more for it, and it’s part of the reason his night visitations are so constant.

On a happier note, he absolutely does tiny swimming drills with little zora kids whenever he can find the time and get a gaggle together. Much whistle blowing, big exaggerated gestures, so much encouragement, it’s a great time all around.

Seeing Zelda and Link makes him regress, just the faintest touch; he certainly idolized Zelda as a child, and despite having some sister-stealing-related animosity towards Link, had spent the remainder of his youth looking up to him as well. It’s two childhood heroes perfectly preserved and dropped back in front of him, which is quite a happy and confusing shock. It brings a lot of Mipha back to mind, which is bittersweet, but he’s also...doggedly determined to try and prove himself to them, despite their approval meaning nothing at all for him beyond sentiment.

No you really don’t understand how cool he thought Zelda was

Definitely....accidentally....got more than a handful of Hylians killed, trying to run them through what Link did. This is actually why he has to stop and check on you every leg of the way -- he really is concerned, and it’s a self-reassurance as much as he hopes it’s just normal reassurance for Link.

REVALI

Doesn’t hate Link. Really. It would need to be coming from a much more intense, much more personal place to truly register as hate. He does, however, IMMENSELY DISLIKE him. It isn’t any kind of confused expression of affection -- I can’t stress enough, the antagonism is pure and genuine. Revali feels incredibly real bitterness toward Link, and to an extent that ever getting past it would be an entire arc in itself. An arc that’d literally be longer than his life, mind you.

I see it crop up a lot so it might be wide fanon? I wouldn’t know - I do generally believe he was an orphan, and Hyrule is so packed with ways to die I couldn’t begin to pin down a cause yet. That said I don’t imagine Revali himself would know, having lost his parents quite early in life and refusing information initially because it hurt, and after that because he convinced himself he was better not knowing. He was for the most part a fairly serious child, simultaneously aggressive and clingy. I imagine he was raised in a foster sort of setting, with an older guardian who passed naturally and with little fanfare when he was a young adult. They got on well enough, and they likely encouraged his at-first-shot adoration for archery ( as is Rito custom, but also Revali’s interest in its own right ) and let him have what space he wanted. Which was a lot. Solitary, even back then. He didn’t take many pains to involve himself with the community and was typically given a lukewarm reception.

A completely unimpressive shot, initially, but he took to flying at a little more impressive a pace. Not exceptional at either for a long while. He got exceptional by working at it on a daily basis for...honestly, the entirety of his life after he first picked it up. No exaggeration. Minimal breaks taken, and only to make sure he had minimal time to heal or rest his muscles when sorely needed, and never more. He had some small reserve of natural affinity, but by and large his success came entirely because he worked his ass of for it. He took it seriously, kept at it, stayed passionate about getting better; not for a particular reason, even. He had most of the village’s best archers thoroughly outclassed* in his late teens ( or Rito equivalent ) and though he was a ways from even conceptualizing the Gale, was a thoroughly adept flier. He didn’t care particularly much about warrior-ing as a career but assumed it was where he would end up, and in the meantime supported himself comfortably enough through inheritance and some horribly tedious job nobody recalls because he glared them into taking it to their graves. This was eventually swapped with competition winnings as his star ascended.

* I’d like to note I generally don’t think the Rito are actually renowned archers, and it’s more of a cultural thing than one of skill. Revali asked for a practice range to practice at more elevations, which sounds like the sort of thing they’d have to begin with if they were putting intense focus on archery in combat. Revali’s skill wasn’t notable or locally renowned as some kind of curiosity, it was because he was outperforming actual warriors and taking an icon of theirs to new heights, and at a relatively young age. Note that no one else can make physical use of his bow, after his death. It’s not just that he’s good, it’s that he actually IS better at it than anyone else in the area. And this is before he invents the Gale. Additionally, he was entirely self-taught beyond the rudimentary tips to help him start flying as a young’un. It was difficult, but he isn’t broken up about it. On the contrary, it freed him to go at everything at his own overintense pace, and work on outdoing everything rather than necessarily polishing his grasp of basics before he absolutely had to. He really values self-reliance in others, for reasons like this.

It’s small, but his ‘I...could get used to this’ is enough to convince me in addition to being more stoic in his youth, he was something approaching humble. It’s not entirely that the sudden onslaught of praise overinflated his ego - it did, but that’s not all of it - but also that he felt the amount of praise was proportionate to the blood, sweat, and tears he had put into getting so good. He had no friends, mind you, no family, and beyond the one mention of Rito children looking up to him and the general legacy he left behind as a visionary in his craft, he didn’t have much of a life. He certainly enjoys it in an annoying way, but I think there’s some merit to the zeal.

I get the vague impression Rito are fairly removed, and while not unfriendly are a little closed off from other cultures. Revali reflects this, partially in his implied low opinion of Hylians.

Of the champions, Mipha and Zelda are his favorites by a ridiculous margin. Not that it shows all that often. The Mipha smile though? Significant. She’s Theeeeee favorite. ( Not that this means he didn’t probably pick on young Sidon, just a touch. )

Died because...I mean, the plot, but also because he was tired ( the distance he had to travel to get to Medoh, and in one go, isn’t ideal ), more shaken than he would admit on pain of a hundred deaths ( at what he’d seen on the way there, surely more chaos than he was accustomed to ), and the corruption of Medoh hit him especially hard as he had REALLY bonded with it. The ‘winging it’ line is partially true; after all of that, he...panicked, a little.

The lack of living people that remember him? Eats at him way way way way way way way way way way way more than he’ll ever let anyone know. He’s a real sad bird, inside.

GHIRAHIM

His baseline ‘personality’ / set of functions is, at the core, largely a mirror of Fi. He is the version of himself that we know only because he refused to linger in his sword state -- ambition and initiative were things he had much more of than she did, and largely lacking in the tactful patience that’s more or less served her well. Being crafted rather than born and manifesting himself on his own, he at no point had anything resembling a guiding figure or much by way of...normal socialization. The lack of anything resembling a traditional foundation coupled with the RIDICULOUS amount of time he spent in incredibly mixed company seeking out whatever might help him locate his master, and the frustration that comes with such immense and ongoing failure, contribute as much to the end result as anything he was made / ‘born’ with.

He actually isn’t an astonishing combatant against someone intelligent who knows what they’re up against; he is himself aware of this, and takes what other advantages he can get. I typically view Link defeating him as fair integration of gameplay and story and not something that had to happen for the plot - it ultimately came down to the sword Link was using. Ghirahim isn’t at his most powerful unless he’s in sword form, as that’s what he was designed to be, and some substantial portion of his energy is likely wasted on manifesting physically at all, any magic he performs, teleportation, so on and so forth. He can read people, he has his magical origins on his side, and he’s certainly strong, and all of those things are enough to fell whatever unfortunate people or monsters initially tried to attack him, but up against non-laymen and in the name of cutting down needless-but-numerous future challengers it’s in his interest to blow himself out of proportion. He’s a fantastic talker, good at making an impression, and once the first crop is afraid of him, it just snowballs until he doesn’t need to do much of anything - I imagine ‘Lord Ghirahim’ was something he didn’t actually come up with himself, but heard once and liked it so much he went out and made everyone do it.

There’s some level of discontent with his ultimate fate, but it’s buried under his own resolute refusal to acknowledge or explore it consciously because he was made to serve and to serve one purpose, and was not intended for any higher aspirations, and because even on an unconscious level, his very being can’t accept it for long. During his impressive span of relative isolation and lording over scant surface-folk / monsters, he grew just a touch beyond his programming. Make no mistake, this doesn’t make him less of a threat -- has to or not, he is nothing short of a fanatic and would still do anything at all for Demise or to spite Hylia -- it’s merely that he briefly lets his mind wander, and suffers a somewhat human need to justify himself, which he has. ( In fact it makes him worse, because he’s gone from something of a mindless tool of cruelty to someone actively seeking it out, having convinced themselves quite firmly of its necessity and value. ) A general Thing I run with re: this whole series is that Hyrule’s actually a horrible place to live if you squint, and basically all the goddesses are horrible to the poor mortals below. Ghira’s owed a little frustration with his lot.

Related to the above? As delightful as it is to joke about, he’s not a sincerely sexual entity. Any and all weird tongue-waggling is done specifically because he knows it throws people off, and that’s what he wants out of a fight. He’s not socialized enough to know much of the nuance behind similar action, he just knows it gets a large reaction out of people, and typically that makes intimidation or murder even easier.

#WICKEDNESS IN THE HEARTS OF MAN ( vaati : headcanon )#NOR THE FAINTEST BLOOM OF DESIRE ( zant : headcanon )#ARISTOCRATIC AND OPEN HEARTED ( sidon : headcanon )#DON'T COME CRYING TO ME ( revali : headcanon )#A STRONG APPETITE FOR BLOODSHED ( ghirahim : headcanon )#the Vaati one's not dONE but it's late and I'll edit something in tomorrow

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anotherworldnowblog · 4 years

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TOWARDS A THEORY OF A FEEDBACK LOOP OF GOOD VIBRATIONS!

(December 2019 - January 2020)

“The cult of competition must be replaced by the cult of solidarity and of sharing.” - Franco Berardi, Futurability

A knowing smile forms underneath my scarf when I pass the bike cop. I smile because I feel, deeply, that his days instilling terror from above us are numbered. Everything from the rusted, oozing “el” tracks to the fact that damn near the entire anti-war protest stopped to help when a younger marcher fell to the ground to the way you are looking at me right now is practically screaming out a song of love, life, and possibility. I allow this tingling, rushing feeling to fill me completely, from my calloused heels up to my swelling throat. I’m high from it. I have developed a new superpower. I can see hope everywhere now. I’m drunk with belief in us. Until experiencing it first hand, I might have been convinced that this level of hope was either dangerous, delusional, or - at the very least - unsustainable. That I’d fall into lazy paralysis and a misguided belief in the inevitability of a communist future. But that’s not really how hope works, I think.

Hope is not belief that something is actively happening (i.e. the end of global capitalism), nor is it rooted even in the odds of some potential outcome (i.e. the odds that ***** and I end up together forever). Hope flows out of the possible, indifferent of likelihood. “The future is dark, with a darkness as much of the womb as the grave” (Rebecca Solnit, Hope In The Dark). What comes next is still unwritten, and as long as that remains so, all possibilities are drawn into equivalence in their non-existence, their not-yet-happenedness. To say “anything is possible” is probably too much. As we have said elsewhere, the possible is inscribed in the present (Berardi). But I have never felt so sure that somewhere within the vast, twisting tree of the presently possible there lies at least a few better worlds. And signs seemingly affirming the existence of these possible worlds are blossoming around the globe and rebounding across its networks. Despite the neoliberal capitalists’ attempts to automate the course of history through financial trickery, ideology, and digitization, we are still here in the miserable present, and the future is just as not-here-yet, or “dark,” as ever.

I have come to believe that, at this late stage of capitalism, hope takes on meaning beyond the mere apprehension of a desirable possibility. It transcends its designation as an affective state and moves in the direction of duty and action, or praxis. The maturity of neoliberal capitalism, the pervasive twin logics of finance and digitization, and the social repercussions of existing within a near-Absolute network conjointly give rise to a moment where our hope for the abolition of the nightmarish “present state of things” can be carefully deployed as a weapon or tool for guiding latent possibility into The Really Existing. In the new economy, our sincere belief in the possibility of a future together founded upon ideals of love, global solidarity, and the broadest possible conception of the common good becomes the means of achieving the world we so clearly deserve.

After the neoliberal turn in the 1970’s and 80’s, there could be no doubt: financialization of the economy had fully decoupled the public good from private profit. Major financial institutions were now gambling against the people, at times against the state itself, and even against the very planet’s continued habitability. The economic foundation upon which emerges our society has been transformed by neoliberal capitalism into a depressing mixture of doubt, mistrust, bad faith (not to mention racialized violence, hyper-exploitation, and a politics of cynical inclusion utilizing a cybernetic panopticon). The pace of life quickened to keep up with a system that’s sole focus was short-term profit and ever faster circulation of capital. Drugs were invented to ensure workers’ ability to keep up with the new demands of an accelerating world. Work itself was transformed into an isolated, not to mention precarious, endeavor. Where there had once been factory floors there are now freelancers and independent contractors, where there had been careers there now only stands part-time or seasonal jobs, or “gigs.”

But more than just the physical terrain of work changed with the rise of neoliberalism; production itself was transformed. Today, “it is not use value but emotive or cultic value that plays a constitutive role in the economy of consumption… emotion comes to possess value for capitalism only when a switch to immaterial production occurs. Emotions have become a means of production only in our own times” (Byung-Chul Han, Psychopoltics). The means of production today is nebulous, hard to pin down, both within and without. Not just our personal property (a spare room, a car) but even a thought, a feeling, a relationship becomes a site of value creation. Everyone a means of production! We’re all now our own bosses, little self-contained enterprises, exploiting ourselves endlessly with every “like,” post, or reaction. As Han goes on to say later in the same chapter, “Emotions assume dimensions beyond the scope of use value. In so doing, they open up a field of consumption that is new and knows no limit.” Our emotional, inner selves, the sphere of our lives that used to be firmly our own despite our abysmal conditions as wage slaves has finally become raw material, food, for capital under neoliberalism. At the same time as our working lives have become unbearably precarious and anxiety appears to be the dominant feeling characterizing our moment, technologies are deployed that capture and weaponize that very anxiety against us for the sake of opening up new markets and expanding private profits.

All of this has given rise to an understandably paranoid, sad, lonely, and anxious population who are largely kept too busy and dejected to even take stock of their position or the rapid changes that have and continue to unfold around them, let alone begin organizing for a chance at a better future.

It is this sadness, isolation, exhaustion, and anxiety; this mistrust, bad faith, and simply the lack of faith in each other (or really much of anything) that constitutes the terrain upon which we will wage our revolution. The capitalists’ blind pursuit of speed and profit has sapped the life from, well, life. Our goal must be its prompt return.

“The front line no longer cuts through the middle of society; it now runs through each one of us…” -Tiqqun, This Is Not A Program

We currently lack the solidarity and technical capacity to break free of this system, but right this moment we do have the ability to begin to prefigure the type of world that comes next and we damn sure have the ability to share that vision with the world– the techno-capitalists made sure of that. In fact, the algorithmic particularities of the networked world make things more plausible or imaginable or possible the more they are seen as plausible or imaginable or possible. The possible is actually made more possible by appearing possible. Within the network, something is made more imaginable when it is imagined.

The networked world is constantly experiencing wild feedback loops (as well as the more insidious, controlled variety) where attention is concentrated, activity streamlined and spread, virally, and the impact of the initial action then exponentially exceeds any prior estimation based on the initial activity’s supposed or predicted potentiality.

Franco Berardi describes these feedback loops as “positive feedback” in his 2015 book, Heroes. He elaborates that,

“Contrary to negative feedback, which maintains stability in a dynamic system through a reduction of the exciting factors, positive feedback is a process in which the effects of a disturbance on a system result in an increase in the intensity of the factors which generate the disturbance. In other words: A produces more of B which in turn produces more of A. Thermal runaway, for instance, is a situation in which an increase in temperature provokes a further increase in temperature, often leading to a destructive result.”

Embodied in the vast architecture of the networked world there lies, not only the obvious apparatus of a Total surveillance and future counterrevolution, but a potential weapon for our side. In building a vast system of interlocking “social networks” governed by a logic of maximized engagement, the capitalists have inadvertently created a situation where possibility can be steered into being by a relatively small number of actors, in our case, revolutionary possibility.

For a decade now, we have unfortunately seen an accelerating positive feedback loop, a wave, fed by the contradictions inherent in American neoliberal capitalism, of horrifying racism mixed with extreme violence. This wave eventually brought us Trump, while globally, a similar phenomenon brought with it Brexit, BoJo, Viktor Orban, Bolsanaro, and most recently, a fascistic coup in Bolivia. But just as the ascent of neo-fascism seems all but guaranteed, we are now witnessing the explosive birth of what could be the beginnings of a global uprising against austerity and neoliberal capitalism. What began with the Gilets Jaunes in Paris, has spread to every corner of the inhabited world. Barricades are burning in Haiti, Mexico, Iraq, Lebanon, and Ecuador. We’ve seen techniques for resisting armed police invented and honed in Hong Kong (laser pointers, tear gas neutralization, umbrellas, etc.) adapted and deployed in Chile within days of each other. Just in the week of this essay’s writing we have seen a local movement for the abolition of public train and bus fares in Chile adopted in New York, and then Toronto, and then Chicago and Seattle. Protestors are bravely de-arrested in Hong Kong and immediately, the possibility of a refusal to be detained fans across the network. Within weeks, footage emerges in France during the general strike of the same: an assertive declination to being taken by the police, on the part of the people.

From every corner of the planet, images of dignified struggle and deep solidarity are being generated and shared, and the belief that another world is not just possible, but preferred, is accelerating through the network. The same is true of the idea that fighting the police is both plausible and necessary. The combination of a brutal, artificial scarcity imposed on the masses from above along with the previously unimaginable level of cognitive interconnectivity thanks to the internet and its social networks, has brought us to the cusp of what could legitimately be a revolutionary moment. And the artificial nature of that aforementioned scarcity is a reason for real confidence in ourselves.

This brings us, finally, to the feedback loop of good vibrations. It is possible, as Subcomandante Marcos once described, referring to the EZLN’s defiant existence as a loosely federated region of communes, that “a crack in history” is in the process of opening up. Capitalist Realism is very probably coming to an end. The contradictions inherent in neoliberal capitalism have become too great to simply smooth over with dreamwork and fentanyl. What comes now, be it fascism or, hopefully, something far more agreeable (Anarcho-communism? Library socialism? Green Stalinism?), is not yet decided. As we are seeing around the world, this is a global civil war. And as has been stated above, the terrain of this struggle is not just the places we work or live but the very feelings in our hearts and dreams in our minds. It is a war for our capacity to imagine and to love.

What is meant by the half tongue-in-cheek notion of a feedback loop of good vibrations is the recognition that our position as situated in a near-Total network can be leveraged towards the aim of steering something known as the Good Life into existence, or at least catalyse a new era of struggle for that Good Life. It is in some ways an inversion of pseudo-Marxist assumptions emerging out of the idea of base-superstructure, that posit culture as something always downstream from politics or economics. Financialization, digitization, and social networkification have conjointly created a situation where the cultural production of a society bleeds back into the political.

Financialization, meaning the increasing influence and size of the financial sector in relation to the overall composition of the economy, creates a pervasive logic of risk aversion, short-term gains, and general stupidity. Digitization prioritizes speed and thus linguistic simplicity and reproducibility. And social networkification results in a spectacular consolidation of global attention, incentivizes participation or inclusion, and turns what was previously known as the private sphere into public life. The confluence of these three forces is what gives us the potential for a feedback loop. Financialization first imbues the entire system with a preference for a “safe bet.” Financialization occuring in tandem with digitization means that this preference for a “safe bet” is algorithmically encoded into the (social) network. A “safe bet” in the era of social networkification is anything that captures human attention. This is where we see the system feedback into itself. Once tagged as a “safe bet,” the algorithm accelerates and concentrates attention within the network for maximum engagement and capture. The possible is actually made more possible by appearing possible.

Up until very recently, this “feedback loop” phenomenon was perhaps hard to spot because late into the era of Capitalist Realism, much of the cultural output of our society does little else than reaffirm the status quo, forming a negative feedback loop. This negative feedback loop has been alluded to by Mark Fisher as the “slow cancellation of the future” in his essays about cultural stagnation and anachronism. We have been stuck in a kind of flattened no-time. The end result is more of the same: limitless wealth for the few and deepening misery for the many. The effect is that financial capitalism becomes a self-regulated, stable system in that its continued existence is all that we are able to conceive of. In fact, it’s continued existence depends on this very dis-ability. It’s “stability” is only relative, obviously, as it is predicated on intensifying boom-bust cycles every 8-12 years and the destruction of the only life bearing planet we currently know of. Our inability to imagine anything beyond dystopia is what guarantees that the future will be a dystopia. That makes the first task for of our revolutionary effort relatively straightforward: imagine something else.

Literally anything else. This is not suggesting a praxis that is limited in its relevance to a specific style of post-capitalist formation. Communist utopia is not (and perhaps should never seek to be) the end of the political or problems, just the end of Capitalism, money, and scarcity. If you allow yourself, imagining utopia is easy. The communist horizon exists dormant within each of us, in our sociality as animals and in our capacity for love as humans. Our utopic vision is OUR vision. The next step is trickier: prefigure, embody, and evangelize that new world while stuck within this one and do so in such a way that leverages our position as unwillingly placed within a near Total network, towards our own, revolutionary ends (in some of the writing to follow this draft, we will use a variety of techniques, including and especially fiction, to describe what this could possibly look like).

There are two parts to the initial work I am referring specifically to here: the aforementioned “prefigurative” work, as well as “narrative” work. Narrative work is simply an attempt to tell a different story. It is when we dream of a better world and share that dream with another. It’s when we articulate a lack and thus a desire. It’s the work of stripping neoliberal capitalist ideology of its power. It’s when we reveal words like “pragmatic” and “sensible” and even “progressive” to be empty constructs and it is when we inject new life into words like “love” and “solidarity” and “trust.” Prefigurative work is more complicated. While this work typically consists of an attempt to embody a future world in the here and now, there is also an understanding that the embodiment will always be incomplete, and due to systemic limitations (the literal price of staying alive, more specifically) will often be unsustainable as well. Prefigurative actions are perhaps inherently performative. That doesn’t mean they can’t meet a real need or seek to deliver a real blow to capital. It is a flash vision of the normally hidden possibilities of other forms of life, uncovered for as long as we can hold them in stasis for common consideration.

But what does it mean for us to attempt this work in a time of immense interconnectivity and hyper-surveillance? What happens when nearly every action creates an image? Can prefigurative action be designed to achieve a certain resonance within the network? Can such an action go beyond the cynicism or doubt or bad faith of our system and exist as a monument to the ideals of a newly possible tomorrow? We already know that the local can overnight become the global thanks to the propensity of the social networks’ algorithms to accelerate. If social media has turned the private lives of individuals into public performances, can those multitudinous singularities, those infinite @’s, be arranged to represent and propagate new potentialities across the networked world?

It at least seems possible.

At long last, we arrive at what I hesitate to even call a theory, so for now let’s call it a hunch. The hunch is this: performative belief in the possibility of a better world actually makes that world more possible, specifically due to the networked, financialized system we currently struggle under.

“What is to be done?” Take care of one another and attempt to narrow the space capitalism carves out between us. The space between us and our better world and the space between each of us is one and the same.

An action creates an image. Every image creates a ripple. Every ripple can become a wave.

“Revolutionary movements do not spread by contamination but by resonance. Something that is constituted here resonates with the shock wave emitted by something constituted over there.… An insurrection is not like a plague or a forest fire — a linear process which spreads from place to place after an initial spark. It rather takes the shape of a music, whose focal points, though dispersed in time and space, succeed in imposing the rhythms of their own vibrations, always taking on more density.”

-The Invisible Committee, The Coming Insurrection

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uhh-the-green-thing · 7 years

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“You just make things so hard sometimes.” | Becca x MC (Jey)

Hey, guys. This is the first fic I have ever written. Ever. In my entire life. It’s a bit lengthy too, so I’m sorry if it bores you or if it’s not up to your guys’ standards. Hope you guys like it though. AND PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK :( I wanna know how I can improve my writing. Thanks guys.

It had been so boring today. Classes were bleak, the professors just droning on and on about whatever uninteresting topic they were talking about. Having no one to rant to about this also wasn’t helping, and Becca somewhat found herself missing Madison’s company.

“I don’t need her,” she thought, furrowing her eyebrows.

She still felt bitter about everything that’s happened–the divorce and the outvoting–and thinking about those soured her mood even more.

She started walking down the quad with a huff, the light spring breeze blowing her hair gently across her face. She needed a distraction from all of this; she needed Jey.

Becca reached down and opened her bag, grabbing her phone to send a text to Jey. Busy? Where are you?

Her reply was quick. Just working on an article. I’m by my tree. Something wrong?

She found it cliche that Jey’s ideal working place in Hartfeld was under a tree in the more secluded area near the quad. The silence makes sense, but where would she charge her laptop?

I’m coming. She replied, disregarding the latter question.

As Becca made her way to the tree, she took out her compact and fixed herself a little. Gotta look good at least.

From a short distance, she could make out Jey’s relaxed frame, typing away on her laptop. A notepad and some sheets of paper lie by her side. She looked about, checking if there wasn’t anyone nearby that she knew. There wasn’t a lot of people around, but it wouldn’t hurt to be sure.

“Hey,” Becca greeted as she walked over to her.

Jey looked up from her laptop and smiled as she saw Becca. “Oh, hey.”

Oh, dear god that smile. Becca would never admit how she loved seeing it. She was slightly flustered by Jey’s subtle scrutiny, loving the way how her brown gaze felt just as kind as normal but held a degree of intensity to it–a look mostly reserved for people Jey deeply cared about–and she almost forgot how her throat worked. Yep, she felt better already. “Classes done?”

“Y-yeah,” Becca stuttered. She sighed, sitting down next to her.

“I’m guessing they went well?” Jey teased, seeing the woman’s lack of enthusiasm. She put her laptop aside and turned to Becca, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek softly. Becca rolled her eyes.

“Ugh, hardly,” she grumbled as she laid her head on the brunette’s shoulder, Jey wrapping an arm around her waist. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“So what happened?” Jey asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, huh? You wouldn’t be acting like this if ‘nothing’ happened.” She cast a side-eye.

“No, that’s just it. My classes bored me to death and there’s literally nothing to do.”

“Well, you could always do me…” Jey trails off. Becca raised her head from Jey’s shoulder and gave her an unamused look, chuckling slightly when Jey gave her a sly wink.

“Shut up,” Becca said, looking down as her smile faded. “And all this divorce and sorority crap isn’t doing me any good either.”

“Oh…” Jey frowned. “Have you talked to Madison yet?”

“Of course not, why would I?” She scoffed, shaking her head. Jey moved her other arm and took Becca’s hand in hers, running her thumbs in slow, comforting strokes. She felt Becca relax a little against her.

“Becca, she really wants to patch things up with you. Just hear her out, I’m sure that she’s having a hard time with this too. She is your best friend, right?”

“Oh please. She stole my position. She’s probably having a grand time now that she’s queen bee,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Jey sighed and looked at Becca, thoughtful. “I highly doubt that, Becca. She’s a really sweet girl, and it’s not like she asked for the girls to vote for her. That’s just very un-Madison.” Jey reasons. “And remember how you told me that you only got one vote? Did–”

“Wow,” Becca interrupted, her face forming her trademark scowl. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“I’m just saying,” Jey said emphatically, “Did you ever stop to think that that vote could come from Madison?”

Becca’s scowl softened. Huh. Madison would do that. She knew the endearing dummy too well, but was far too proud and stubborn to admit that maybe Madison did vote for her. The thought did little to quell her annoyance though.

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.” Becca finally said, suddenly cold and withdrawn. She looked down and started plucking at a patch of grass by her side. Jey breathed a sigh resignation, clearly disappointed, but knew better than to push. “Okay.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Jey holding Becca in her arms, hoping the silence and her touch may calm Becca. Jey held her closer and nuzzled against her neck, relieved when there weren’t any signs of protest from her.

Birds’ chirping could be heard in the distance along with the low murmur from a few people occasionally passing by. Leaves rustled as the wind blew, and Jey closed her eyes, reveling in the quiet and Becca’s warmth. Maybe I should bring Becca here with me more oft–

“I’m sorry I’m like this.” Becca spoke, her voice interrupting Jey’s thoughts. “I don’t get how you put up with me, why you put up with me” she continued, her somber tone worrying Jey. She removed her hand from Jey’s grasp and looked down, staring at that same patch of grass she was plucking earlier.

“Becca…” Jey turned her body towards Becca, her heart breaking as she assessed the woman beside her, studying the woeful expression on her face.

“Every time you see me, I’m either mad or sad. I’ve been so horrible to you, Jey,” Becca looks at her. “Since day one. I spilled coffee on you, I humiliated you in front of the whole sorority, I fucking pushed you into a pool, I’ve been a bitch to you everytime we saw each other, I–”

Becca broke. The shame of her actions overwhelmed her; the force of it almost physical, so much that she glanced away from Jey and stared at the ground. One day, Jey would forgive her, because it was in her nature to forgive. And maybe she already has. She was a compassionate woman, who for whatever reason, cared about Becca and was willing to give her a second chance. But could Becca ever forgive herself?

She doubted it.

Hot pinpricks lit behind her eyes. Becca closed them and tried hard to blink back the threat of tears. She hated showing any kind of vulnerability to anyone, but her strength was wavering.

“Hey, look at me.” Jey said softly, grasping Becca’s chin and gently raised it. Becca lifted her eyes, reluctantly meeting Jey’s gaze.

But then Jey kept staring at her, kind brown eyes searching and forgiving, so lovely and soft and full of caring, and that traitorous warmth in her chest started to seep through the cracks, and it was all so unfair.

“I care about you, Becca. I care about you a lot more than I let you on to know,” Jey said, wondering if her admission gave too much away. She raised her hand and cupped Becca’s cheek, running her thumb across her skin lightly. “I didn’t know those things still bothered you until now. I thought we’ve gone through this before…” Sure, they’ve mentioned it briefly before, but Jey never knew that Becca was still holding this close to her chest.

“I’m sorry, Jey. I’m so, so sorry.” Becca wasn’t the type of person to say those words so easily. You usually have to fight with her just to get her to apologize, and even if she knows she’s clearly in the wrong, she’d still be unwilling to say those damned words, stubborn and unrelenting. But dear god, why was she so willing to let her walls down when it comes to Jey? Why did she keep on showing vulnerability around her? Becca couldn’t understand. “I… I don’t deserve you,” she weakly whispered, knowing well that Jey had already put this issue past them.

Jey watched Becca struggle with her feelings, her heart aching at the sight before her. She’d never imagined Becca, the mean, abrasive Becca, to show this magnitude of emotions to her.

“Maybe you don’t…” Jey replied slowly, making Becca look up at her. “But even so, do you think that would change the way I treat you or how I feel about you?” She paused. “Even if you don’t believe it, you deserve to be happy, Becca. And I’ll do anything to make that happen.” Her eyes were full of sincerity and something more, Becca couldn’t put her finger on it. It was too soon to tell but, was it… love?

“Come here.” Jey cupped Becca’s face with her hands and leaned forward to kiss her. The sudden pressure of Jey’s lips on Becca’s was dizzying, and it was only because Jey’s hands held her steady that she didn’t break contact. Her lips were warm, placing soft and gentle kisses that seemed to devour every scrap intelligence from Becca’s mind, constant and reassuring.

Jey pulled back after a long moment, breathless. She tangled her fingers in Becca’s blonde tresses, leaning forward to rest their heads together. Becca’s eyes were still closed, and a great deal of color returned to her cheeks.

“Jey…” Becca started, opening her eyes. “You… Christ, you. I…” she pulled back a little and swallowed a lump in her throat, looking straight into Jey’s eyes, unbelieving yet grateful. She didn’t see the point in arguing with Jey anymore. She was so emotionally drained.

“I meant what I said before, Becca,” Jey said, her voice slightly hoarse with emotion. “That I cared about you… You’re just. Ugh. You just make things so hard sometimes.” Jey laughed lightly, stroking Becca’s cheek affectionately.

Becca snorted softly, pressing an exhausted kiss against Jey’s cheeks as her fingers combed through Jey’s hair. She couldn’t believe how this girl could stand her, she’d just taken them both on a roller coaster of emotions after all.

There was a long silence, both giving each other meaningful looks full of raw emotion. Becca buried her face against Jey’s neck, loving the way Jey’s arms wrapped around her in a sweet, comforting embrace.

A sudden beep cut through the silence.

“Crap,” Jey said quietly, looking over towards the source of the sound. She frowned.

“What?”

“My laptop died.”

Forgive me if you guys found this piece unamusing, too lengthy, or whatever. Like I said, I’ve never written ANYTHING of this kind in my entire life, so please bear with me if you found a lot of errors and flaws. I tried my best though.

#oh dear god i hope this isnt horrible #becca #becca x mc #the freshman #the sophomore #choices #playchoices #my fanfics #play choices femslash week #play choices #my work

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cyjprojectarchive · 7 years

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not enough | jinyoung

Sometimes love isn’t enough.

x. park jinyoung, you o. 2333 words. angst.

this was supposed to be a one shot, but my mind suddenly changed its.. mind. thoughts and feedback are greatly appreciated. i... put a lot of personal emotions into this, in a way. ha.

one

“Hey,” he drawls, voice tired and dull—like yourself.

And yet, you put up a front as your lips painfully curl into a hopeful smile. He can’t see you, of course, but pretending to be excited for a call that should have happened five hours ago was more for your sake than his at this point.

You close in on the mic of your phone, you heave a deep breath before placing the device back against your ear. “You called,” you reply. Damn it. You said you weren’t going to be bitter about this. Lips twitching in regret, you clear your throat and huff, “I hope I’m not interrupting something?”

“No we just—“ Jinyoung answers back in a rush, and you can imagine him running his hand through sweaty black locks. “What do you mean interrupting? Didn’t you want to call today?” His tone changes, irritation rising in his throat.

You sigh, contemplating whether to argue or just leave it be.

Although it’s not like either of your choices would make any difference.

“Five hours ago,” you decide to correct him even though the majority of your senses are telling you to just stop and let him win this time; stop and instead, hear him rant about the exhaustion from working all day; stop and find yourself fading away from Jinyoung—which is probably for the better nowadays.

And yet, you continue pointing out his accusation as false. “I asked you yesterday if you would be available at a reasonable hour that is not two AM and you promi—,” you bite down on your lip. The word has been a taboo in your vocabulary, and his. “—you reassured me you were, so I waited. You’re lucky I kept myself up by watching some random movie playing on TV.

“So you’re saying it’s my fault I had to finish a lot of work today?” Jinyoung finally snaps—you were honestly just waiting for his voice to reach a certain pitch—“If you knew I wasn’t going to call you when I said I did, you could have just slept.”

“So why did you call me at this goddamned hour, Jinyoung?” You shoot back, realizing that there is no way in hell you were going to let yourself feel small around him. Not anymore.

There is a pause, and this time Jinyoung doesn’t hide an exasperated sigh. You frown, eyes closing in as an attempt to calm the hotness of your cheeks, and the bubbling frustration in your stomach.

“Because you didn’t text me that you were going to sleep,” he simply says, understanding void in his tone. You hear nothing but blame towards you, for keeping him worried—and probably guilty—that he, himself, didn’t bother sending you a quick text informing he couldn’t make the call today.

But it’s not like he’s ever done it in a while.

You don’t warn him when you press the blaringly red end button; don’t warn him that you’re tired yourself and he isn’t the only one working full-time jobs in the relationship; don’t warn him that just because his career demanded more in terms of giving all of him to the industry, it doesn’t mean he can’t ever share even just a tiny piece of himself to you—that he can’t ever reserve one miniscule part of him to the person he promi—reassured would always have it.

You’ve done a lot of things in the two decades you have lived in which you initially told yourself not to.

Stealing not one, but four chocolate chip cookies during bed time just to suffer the stomachache in the morning, deliberately coming home three hours later without telling your mom just to be grounded for three weeks straight, drinking not one, but three 8 oz cups of black coffee before finals just to endure the throbbing pains of a heavy migraine the whole duration of your exams—you were logical enough not to pursue any of these acts of disobedience in the first place.

But life isn’t going to be the same without rebelling against the status quo in some way—better yet, that’s how you have shaped yourself to come to rational, beneficial decisions. That’s not to say you still don’t defy the logic of your mind through the persuasion of your heart.

And that is what loving Jinyoung is like—at least, right now.

You wake up with dry cheeks and stinging eyes. There is no natural light that hits your face, fortunately so—you have long since reminded yourself to never draw out the dark blue curtains from your windows during the night. From recent experiences, the growing headache you feel in the morning after a night of either: a) no sleep or b) “sleep sobbing” (as you had named them) only increased in intensity when the morning sun welcomes your face with a glare, almost mockingly.

Nowadays, you let the darkness of your apartment consume you—as if someone was willing to get you out of it, which isn’t the case.

It was another day of work, and you will yourself to keep up the standard routine you have devised ever since you had started feeling distant with not just your boyfriend, but your own being. You didn’t want to lose your source of income—anything but that at this point in time—so as sluggish as you are moving, at least you were getting things done.

The short phone call last night only came back in your conscience when you successfully find your phone hidden underneath the couch of your living room. You don’t exactly remember how it got there, but recollections of anger and longing return to your mind, and you conclude that the person you had called didn’t exactly resolve these emotions of yours thus the act of shoving your phone somewhere you couldn’t see it for the rest of the night ensued.

Your lock screen was a default wallpaper that came with the device, but as your thumb rests on the home pad you are greeted with a picture of yourself and a man you doubt you still know of by now.

You can never get yourself to change it, however, as you believe seeing Jinyoung with his head lazily snuggled up against the crook of your neck, dark brown orbs absent with his eyelids on full view and yet the whiskers around them available for you to see and marvel over, full pink lips showing teeth without any of his hands hiding the beauty that is his smile—you still have him.

Seeing Jinyoung so vulnerable with you in the picture that was taken almost eight months ago makes you have that sliver of hope that he still cares about you the same way he did before.

And this is what keeps you going every day.

Finally ready to spend the rest of your Wednesday at the office, you make your way to the door and open it fully only to see the man in question standing right before you.

“Jinyoung?” Is your first reaction, eyes widening while your hand trembles in the air, not knowing whether to reach out to the skin protruding from the collar of his shirt to feel—oh god just feel if he’s real, or retract them to your figure and demand yourself to wake up from such a cruel nightmare.

“I’m sorry,” is his first response, eyes confirming the lack of enthusiasm on his voice last night before things got messy. “I deserve to being hung up on and I apologize—for everything,” Jinyoung adds, his tone now more determined and sincere.

Your expression softens, but the crack in your heart can’t be replaced that easily.

“Jinyoung, what are you doing here?” You ask him abruptly, head spinning from the recent turn of events. “I thought you had a showcase to practice for?”

“I—“ Jinyoung starts, and you wait for it. You haven’t seen him face to face in a long time, so witnessing the apologetic features adorning his visage, which quickly turned into furrowed eyebrows, a narrowed stare, flaring nostrils and parted lips made you nervous—it made you fearful of him.

“Aren’t you grateful I came all the way here knowing I can get in real fucking trouble with my manager?”

There it is: the blaming, the guilt tripping after you make him feel guilty. It was always the same sequence of emotions—on call or, as you can tell right now, in person.

“I don’t need this, Jinyoung. Go back to the studio if you’re that worried,” you say, refusing to meet his eyes flashing daggers towards you.

You didn’t want him to see you break down after everything, everything you have fought over for the past couple of months in text messages and voice calls. The last thing you want is for him to see you so weak—even if you are, even if you truly just want to make peace, you know Jinyoung wouldn’t. His pride is written all over his face, and it takes a good scrubbing for it to come off.

But you’re just so, so tired.

“Excuse me?” He shouts, stopping your exit with his arm outstretched at the door frame. You take a step back, wincing at the loudness of his tone. You have heard it countless of times from the speaker of your phone, but absorbing every anger it held right in person was a different terrifying sensation all over.

“You shouldn’t have made all the fucking effort of coming here just to blame me for the fact that you had to, Park Jinyoung,” you spat, forcing yourself to reciprocate his stare as you hold back the tears dangerously forming around your eyes.

You didn’t want to do this right now, so early and just… so raw. You haven’t seen him in months, you haven’t had a decent conversation in weeks, and you’re going to be late for the interview your boss had set up in regards to your promotion in the business. Jinyoung didn’t have any consideration towards you, and you doubt he’d try to understand right now.

“Can’t you just—can’t you just accept my apology so we can get this over with, then?” Jinyoung sighs heavily, using his other hand to rake through unkempt hair—he probably snuck out of the salon to make a quick visit as you see the perfect coverage of his face, no blemishes no scars—except for his eyes, his orbs that dug right through you. His stylists can never do anything to make them shimmer anymore, you think—and suddenly, you frown.

Jinyoung’s changed.

“You want me to forgive you so that you won’t be feeling all that guilt eating up your insides and you can finally breathe normally, Jinyoung? I don’t think so,” you seethe, letting one tear cascade down your cheek. His eyes notice and discreetly follow its trail to your chin, and you see him gulp with the tension building up between you. His face wasn’t that close, but any more movement from him inching forward, you would lose it right there and then.

“I’m not giving you that power over me, Jinyoung. Not last night, not today, so please. Get out of my way,” finally, your voice quiets down, protecting your façade from slowly breaking you apart. “You’re not the only one working hard to be successful. I have an interview for a higher position today, so if you’ll excuse—”

“What? You’re getting promoted? Why didn’t you tell me?” Jinyoung asks, curiosity overpowering the annoyed tone in his voice. His eyebrows relax for a moment, and you contemplate whether or not to admit your fault in not relaying such relevant information to him—at least, it’s relevant to you.

But you remember you’re just as angry and just as frustrated.

“I was supposed to tell you during our call last night,” you, instead, confess. “But shit happens, right?” Jinyoung’s thick black eyebrows return in a knot, and his eyes darken like the isolation you feel in the night, but this time—you’re just over it.

“Hurry back to your damn studio, Jinyoung. They need you back,” you mumble in your wake, shoving past his tense shoulders and outside the apartment complex, not even locking the door behind you. You remind yourself to call up your best friend to do so in a few minutes as she has a spare key, but right now, that’s the least of your concerns.

They need you, yeah right, like you weren’t projecting.

Shutting the car door with a slam, your head drops on top of the steering wheel, forcing a yelp from your mouth to escape. The tears you held back threaten to let go even more, but you sniffle them away. Your throat hurts from keeping it in, and so does your head, but you push yourself to continue on with your day as needed.

Jinyoung had probably left your apartment by now—what else was he going to do there? Wait for you to come back? You scoff, as if. But as you drive to the usual road you take to work, you are suddenly reminded that traffic is really heavy at this time of the day, so you turn to a corner.

The light turns green, and your car whizzes through the pavement as your feet aches to take you to the office as fast as you can. You side eye the rearview mirror as your heart sinks to your stomach almost immediately, a prominent banner plastered on a particular building for everyone to see. Quickly turning your head forward, you feel yourself hyperventilating. You just saw him this morning, told him to vanish, and here he is haunting you from behind.

“Fuck,” you say under your breath, hot and heavy, and hoping—hoping you’d be able to go through the interview with a higher salary promised—reassured in hand, and not a certain Park Jinyoung invading your mind.

#park jinyoung imagines #got7 imagines #park jinyoung scenarios #got7 scenarios #kreativewritersnet #park jinyoung fic #emjae fics

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azlissian · 7 years

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Voltron Season 3 Review - CAUTION: RANT INBOUND

I just finished watching the newest season of Voltron: Legendary Defender, and holy cheeseballs on a cracker I need to get some of these emotions out because I was NOT. READY.!

I never use Tumblr. In fact, I make an effort to steer away from it. But with such a large fanbase, it’s hard to find anywhere else to rant in such detail. So, here we go.

WARNING: As you might expect, this contains extreme spoilers. Look away now!

To start off, I just want to congratulate the Voltron team on creating yet another amazing addition to the series, even if it’s only 7 episodes long. This was probably the most heart-wrenching, scream-inducing, absolutely bonkers and overwhelming season to date, and I commend you for managing to make me feel approximately 543859746 emotions in the space of a few seconds constantly throughout. These 7 episodes - these nuggets of purest space-tastic beauty - are simply glorious..

..and here are my reasons why. My long, long reasons why.

1. Strap yourselves in boys, this is going to be a long one. The raw emotion in every. single. scene. - in every single character - is indescribable. The Paladins are adjusting to things they never thought would happen, and you can see it taking a toll on each character right from the get go.

Keith - precious, upset, amazing Keith - oh boy.. I need to hug this kid and never let him go. He lost his role model and basically best friend all in one go, and he’s so caught between anger and grief and anguish he doesn’t know what to do with himself! He is thrust into this new position with the force of an ion cannon and you can visibly see it in his eyes; the fear, the uncertainty, as he tries to take on the role that Shiro left behind. His anger overtakes him on so many occasions, and so many times we think he’s going to lose it completely! (Which, in all fairness, he might as well have). And every time he’s brought back by his team (bless Lance and his perfect face - I’ll get to him later) or shut down by somebody, you can see the emotional frustration. You can feel it. I certainly felt it. This boy is not experienced as a leader, but he is sure as hell trying.

Although, I am extremely surprised about the lack of discussion about his time with the Blade of Marmora. It is undeniable that he is part Galra, but this was not addressed at all in season 3. Whether this was because the team have simply accepted and adapted to it now, or whether the Voltron crew are holding back some serious angst in preparation for season 4, I am looking forward to seeing where they go with it.

Lance. My goodness. I was expecting some kind of character development this season, but not at all in this direction. He is, undoubtedly, the sharpshooter the team needs, and he’s also the comedic emotional support that keeps Keith and the others from falling apart. Meanwhile, he must abandon the blue lion, who we know he had a strong connection with ever since the beginning, and become the right-hand of Voltron - of Keith. There is hesitation abundance here, but he takes it in his stride and pilots the red lion with confidence. He’s watching out for Keith more, ready to step up and take charge or defend when he needs to, and I think that says a lot about their relationship development. He confides in Keith, something he would never have considered under different circumstances, and bares himself as someone who doesn’t feel needed anymore once Shiro returns. Lance is ready to give up his position to let Keith back in and ‘make the team stronger’, but Keith won’t give up on him, and we can see it means a lot to him to have his old rival, his leader, his friend?, believe in him. I think we’re going to see a much more self-conscious Lance as time goes on, but also a much more stable and prepared one in the aftermath.

Shiro. Need I say more? Yes, because this man has been through hell and back twice now at the hands of the Galra empire, and he deserves a hecking nap. He is captured, again, escapes, again, has to survive on his own, again, and is captured a further time - only to find new allies within the depths of a frozen tundra-like planetoid. There’s a moment during that episode where he takes shelter within the remains of an unknown monster, and I couldn’t help but remember the phrase ‘into the belly of the beast’. He is literally in the belly of a strange beast, but figuratively, he is right back where he started; stuck in a domain where he is alone and must fight to survive. He hijacks a Galra fighter and has Voltron within his grasp, but they’re too fast for him, and the utter despair on his face is heartbreaking. I almost cried. I thought he was done. But the relief on his expression minutes later brought everything back and reminded me how strong of a person he is, but also shows how much he relies on his team - on Keith - who clearly shares a bond with him deeper than we could have expected. The thing is, with two leaders now ready to take command, Shiro finds he cannot pilot the black lion anymore; a moment which in itself was also considerably upsetting. He leads Voltron from the castle, despite Keith’s attempt to make decisions himself, and we’ve come to a crossroad where they will have to decide who is the ultimate voice of command.

Allura has far more development in this season that I ever would have expected. With Shiro gone, the team in shambles, and the Galra threat still imminent, the struggle to make decisions and direct the Paladins is visible in every shot. The blue lion chooses her, and she doesn’t know how to handle it. She doesn’t want to be a disappointment, because everyone is counting on her, but she has to stop thinking like a princess and start thinking like a Paladin in order to get things done. Her crying broke my heart - it’s hard to witness. She’s put through so much within this time and is forced to make horrible choices, but she emerges from them stronger. Uncertain, and still a little inexperienced, but stronger.

There are real similarities here between her and Keith; both of them must step up to their new positions, to walk in their role model’s footsteps, but both are scared. It’s a side of them I love seeing, but also hate seeing because of how much pain these characters and their fight make me feel.

I’m a bit disappointed as to how little development there is for Pidge and Hunk, but then again, there is only so much they can put into these episodes when they’re already chock-full. Besides, I think Pidge in particular will be getting a lot of screen time in the upcoming season 4 if the pictures and hints we’ve seen are anything to go by.

2. Lore galore. If I weren’t a lover of backstories and intense information-dumps and theorizing, this season would have caught me extremely off-guard. But I loved every single second of it. We learn more about the Paladins of old and how their fate came to be; we learn about Zarkon and Alfor and their relationship, in addition to Haggar; we learn about Lotor and his crew of incredible, strong, and frankly beautiful Galran fighters; we discover the creation and evolution of the lions -- there’s SO MUCH to consider here!

Lotor is not your regular Galra leader, or at least, not in comparison to Zarkon. He is delightfully cunning and uses tactics that his father may not have even considered in order to get what he wants. He commands troops that most Galra would not even consider giving a place in their ranks (according to Throk - rip). They have abilities other, regular Galra don’t seem to posses - mind control, for one thing - and I feel as though these skills will be shown off more as their battle against Voltron continues. Unlike his father, Lotor believes in alliance rather than destruction. It’s an entirely new take on the Galran conquering system. However, he is also absolutely brutal, as shown when he throws another commander’s severed, robotic arm at Haggar’s feet. He recognizes Voltron’s change and uses it to his advantage. In short, Prince Lotor is a new, fabulous challenge I cannot wait to see more of.

On a separate note.. To be completely honest, I feel kind of bad for Zarkon, at least when he was younger and, y’know, not evil. He loved working and fighting with the Paladins; he loved his wife; he cared more sincerely about his empire. In reality, I think he just wanted to keep his wife alive, but it developed into more than that, and I think that’s the saddest thing about his situation. Haggar doesn’t remember who he is until the last moments, but this could mean a shift in their dynamic too in the upcoming season; especially with the knowledge that Lotor is Zarkon’s son, but we have no idea who else helped bring him into this world. There was no hints that Haggar - or Honerva, as we discover - ever had a child, or that either of them were caring for a child at the time of their homeworld’s destruction. So, is Haggar Lotor’s mother? Will Haggar resent Zarkon for having Lotor when the two of them are married, even if neither of them remembered? Who knows. I want to find out! But this is one of those things we might never see purely because it’s not yet plot-related, and I accept that. For now. (I also loved seeing baby Allura and young Coran - I need more of that purity in my life).

Voltron is far more powerful and indestructible than I first thought, and I’ve got to tell you King Alfor; you did an awesome job sweetie. The lions are so complex that they can not only adapt themselves to make them stronger, but also adapt to their Paladin, and in this case, adjust to whole new Paladins! Blue connects to Allura and helps her save the team from the depths of a cloud-covered, tech-jarring storm planet. Red, although subtly, waits for Lance to learn the ropes as he comprehends the increased speed of his lion. The black lion still senses Shiro as he’s drifting in space, perhaps channeling Keith’s desire to locate him, and immediately alerts his pilot of this fact. They’re all learning and forming a new Voltron dynamic; one that I think will change the entire image and perception of the Paladins for the rest of the Universe.

Ok, I think that’s enough for now. I am exhausted and I need some time to go over everything again! It’s just- (ok, fangirl time) such a GOOD SHOW!! It’s crazy, it’s inspiring, it’s beautiful, it’s well-written, well-choreographed, well-animated, has an amazing plot-flow, and the characters are so gosh darn relatable sometimes I want to cry!

Thank you Voltron team for giving us this fantastic show. I’m going to go put up a pinboard and create crazy theories now.

Bye!~ <3

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #review #keith #lance #hunk #pidge #shiro #coran #allura #season 3 #voltron season 3 #lotor #zarkon #haggar #paladins

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