#and so i end up saying nothing to her or the diluted version of the right thing bc i’m so scared to tell her to do it like me which i do Not

[milflewis]

sometimes i look at my sister and i see all the worst parts of me and it’s not terrible bc i don’t want that for her. which i don’t. but it’s terrible bc she’s doing it wrong

[atopvisenyashill]

I don’t get how you’re a Rhaenyra fan but a Dany hater 🤨 like Rhaenyra committed a lot of atrocities in the end.

I don’t hate Dany! She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s got some of the best magical scenes in the series - she’s got some of the best scenes in the series, period, her last dragon fever dream in agot is like top 10 for me easy - and she’s a character that is conceptually similar to like, theon or ned or cersei in that she is really firmly rooted and informed by her past traumas, and I love characters like that from a writing standpoint. I have definitely talked more negatively about her bc it’s basically impossible to not be constantly inundated with takes i feel are just the most vapid or deranged or whatever takes in the world, but you can say that for anyone who feels anything at all about dany bc she is a very polarizing character! i think some of her narrative is frustratingly written, i do not mesh well with a large section of her fanbase, and i actively hate her show counterpart, but show dany is a vastly different character than book dany is (i mean just age alone, like with robb and jon, some of your sympathy evaporates bc they are too damn old to be acting this stupid). ultimately, a lot of the "hate" people think i feel for her is directed at what i feel are stupid opinions on her character or her show counter part's place in pop culture, or just like, normal analysis and critique that i do of every character in this series.

i will acknowledge that i tend to describe myself as "pro stark, pro blacks, pro smallfolk" so people know the general gist of what they're signing up for when they start interacting with me, but that is such a simple way of diluting all of my feelings for all of these characters. like "pro stark" in the sense that they are the most rational of the leaders we get in the main series, and have a connection to the land, people, and culture that is important, but i've pointed out plenty of times that robb's war is harmful to the people of the riverlands, regardless of whether he's justified or not, and i've been posting about how ned and cat fail to properly prepare their children (and the north in general) for Real World Politics, to the detriment of their kids. "pro stark" in the sense that i thought show dany wasn't just deranged from season 1 she was also wildly unlikable and nauseatingly stupid, you could see her "dark dany" turn coming from a mile away because these were not subtle writers interested in exploring why dany would decide "dragons plant no trees" and instead focused on her looking hot while she set shit on fire (same way they were less interested in looking at why jon failed as lord commander and had him be the action hero fighting at hardhome). definitely most of my aggravation at "dany" is at the show version, and while i do get why people feel that if you're a proponent of the "dark dany" theory that you're "anti" dany, but I am not anti book dany! i just think like rickon stark, shireen baratheon, jojen reed, aegon vi, etc she is very much doomed to die a very tragic death.

and i do not like characters based on how little atrocities they commit lmao, like, if i were to list my top 10 favorites, probably half of them have committed some extreme war crime. theon is a rapist! jaime is a shitty ass partner to cersei, a deadbeat dad despite living in the same building as his kids, and a failed child murderer! bran is mind raping hodor, understands on some level that what he's doing is morally repugnant, and keeps doing it anyway! pretty much every targaryen i like has committed some sex crime heinous enough to get them life + 25!! bobby b raised joffrey!!! i know i facetiously say shit like "rhaenyra did nothing wrong" but i'm well aware she's out here torturing people, same as like 75% of the characters we interact with in the whole series. so "rhaenyra commits atrocities" or "dany commits atrocities" is just not how i look at these characters (and not to get into stan wars here, but good lord, "rhaenyra commits atrocities" she is not the only or even the worst person in the dance! like 85% of these people suck and the ones who don't - which is limited to like, helaena, jace, nettles, and addam almost exclusively - either die or disappear because That's The Point. also, i was raised SDA alright, you gotta be a really compelling character for me to get past being super catholic, it's in my dna to be a spiteful hater of catholics!! catelyn stark is my one exception to this rule folks!!!!).

as to why i like rhaenyra - for one thing, saying that emma d'arcy is a better actor than emilia clarke is like saying cillian murphy is better than bradley cooper. they are just not on the same level lol. i definitely have my critiques of show!rhaenyra's writing but i also think she's miles better written than show!dany and her story is also more interesting because her writing is much less nonsensical. for another, i think book rhaenyra and book dany are wildly similar characters (for a reason!) meant to be in conversation with each other, and i very much enjoy what that conversation is saying about power, nobility, gender, sex, war, and identity. on a more technical level, while fire and blood is a mess writing and world building wise, the one thing it does better than the essos chapters (because it doesn't take place in essos, it takes place in westeros, and george struggles much less fleshing out "western poc" than he does "eastern poc" ya know) is that rhaenyra is not the only insight we get into the conflict. the people she loves, the people she rules, the people she harms, they all have a pov and a voice in a way that missandei, irri, jhiqui, rakharo, jhogo, grey worm, on and on, do not, the way that basically every single character that isn't westerosi except mmd (who was killed in book one) is not afforded. it's just a lot easier (as of right now) to talk about rhaenyra as a character because we have her beginning, middle, and end and the povs of people who hated her vs dany, we have the beginning and middle, a lot of arguing over what her end will be, and no one in the narrative as of yet who has even the barest criticism of her decisions besides cardboard cut out villainous slavers.

so like...no i do not hate dany, and i don't feel it's necessary to asterisk every post about rhaenyra with "i know putting a hit out on nettles and addam, locking the smallfolk into KL without easing their burdens of the war, positing herself as an exception to male line primogeniture instead of pushing for absolute primogeniture, and using torture on tyland and vaemond's family was fucked up, i acknowledge that she's flawed" when i talk about her, nor do i feel the need to defend my position on dany on the off chance one of her more annoying stans finds my posts and decides i hate women because i said i didn't like her sexual relationship with irri.

[iironwreath]

Verklempt [Vierna]

Arjun came running at the sound of shattered glass. Vierna half expected Azul to show up behind him since they’d been training but he was, gratefully, alone. She didn’t want her daughter to see her this way. She couldn’t let Nepenthe, either.

“Vierna?” he asked. His gaze fell to the entrails of her toppled test tubes, flasks, beakers, and their liquid. Some popped and sizzled on the stone, others changed colour—there was even a spilled line of Lolth’s blood shivering in the crystal light. She could spy it immediately not just because of its unique consistency, but its subtle call to her. 

The way Nepenthe described its effect didn’t match what Vierna felt, though—for her it was subdued, like it didn’t want to fully commit to her. It either wanted someone physically stronger, or the Chained Oblivion had diluted any chance of a full, unbroken connection she could have had with Lolth. 

She towered over it all, heaving, nails cutting into her palms, ready to pull her hair from her roots. She’d redirected that energy at the lab equipment instead. 

“What is it?” Arjun prodded when she didn’t answer to her name. 

“What’s not to get?” she asked hotly.   

He shrugged at the mess. “I’ve never seen you destroy your equipment before. I can’t think of what could make you lose your temper.” He pointed at the trickle of Lolth’s blood following the shape of the crevices between stones. “That might even be considered a crime.”

Vierna scoffed. He wasn’t wrong, but he also wouldn’t tattle. Some drow—driders, mostly—would have happily licked it off the ground. Would Nepenthe? The thought of her wife drove a fresh stake of anger through her chest. 

“It’s useless,” she spat. “Give me a thousand years, and I’ll still never be able to fully unravel the secrets of Lolth’s blood.”

His brows fell flat over his eyes. He stepped lightly on the broken glass to reach her; it crunched like gravel, grinding her nerves into powder. “Vierna? Explain.”

“I can’t make a cure,” she claimed, a note of desperation creeping in. “Not a proper, permanent one. Lolth is a goddess. She can never be understood, and so my solutions will always be imperfect. I sometimes wonder if the reason it even partially works is because Lolth allowed it. She gave her blessing for my tests, but she never specified if they would fully work. Wouldn’t she enjoy it? She enjoys pain on behalf of devotion to her. Nothing proves loyalty quite like it.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve come this far, I don’t see why you can’t. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

She sliced a hand through the air. “I don’t care if you believe that, it won’t make it true. Once her blood is consumed, it alters you forever. You become close to Lolth in a way that can’t be undone; she’s part of you, and you her. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve already lost Nepenthe.”

“But you haven’t,” Arjun argued. “You can’t give up on her like that. She’s important to me, too, Vierna. To Azul, to a lot of us.” One corner of his nose creased upwards. “And if she ends up closer with Lolth, how is that bad? That’s not lost.”

“The version we know of her would be,” Vierna clarified, but she realized how she sounded; doubtful, weak-willed in her belief of Lolth. In Dumaran, that was nearly as dangerous as her experiment. “She would have to leave Dumaran. You see how she’s changed physically, and it’s affecting her mentally. She’s in—some kind of pain when she’s not a drider, always thirsty. Not giving into that does damage to her psyche over time.”

Arjun thumbed his holy symbol, a sharp-limbed, bejewelled spider sitting on his collar that was identical to Nepenthe’s. “Maybe that’s a more perfect form? She understands something we never could.”

Vierna wanted to scream; that was part of what infuriated her. She didn’t like being in the dark. She agreed; maybe driders were meant to be just that, and not somewhere in the grey between drow and monster. “You’re not wrong. All I know is I don’t want that outcome, but it’s already too late. All of this is mitigation, nothing more.”

Arjun took hold of her upper arms, squeezing. “If that’s your goal, don’t give in to despair. You’re afraid and angry because you love her deeply. Use that, let it be your strength and your motivation.”

Vierna felt brittle, ossified and ready to crumble. Arjun’s grip held her upright. “Precipatory fear is still fear, Arjun. All of this is too new; I don’t know the rate of acceleration, I don’t know how much time is on the clock I’m working against. I feel like I’m grieving every day.”

“All the more reason to keep trying. I refuse to give up hope, but if it's as useless as you claim, then appreciate the time you’ve had with her, and will have. Celebrate. You are making a difference whether you agree or not.”

She bit back tears, leaning her head against his chest to hide her watery eyes. “I was confiding in you. Don’t tell Nepenthe any of what I’ve shared.” Azul, too, but he knew that; she had no idea what Nepenthe turned into, what went on in Vierna’s lab. 

“She doesn’t need to know,” Arjun agreed. “She has pride in who—and what—she is. I don’t know that she sees herself as something to be cured. She worries for you. No matter what happens, she loves and appreciates you.”

Vierna didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. She didn’t know that anyone here, her wife included, would understand her point of view. Arjun was wise and a physical comfort, but he had known Nepenthe longer than Vierna. He was on Nepenthe’s side. He revered Lolth unconditionally; Lolth was their first love before Vierna had entered their lives. Maybe she was being selfish the more she tried to hold onto her.  

Azul would understand, perhaps. She was the closest to understanding by not having the full truth. Vierna wasn’t certain what depth Azul stood in her faith with Lolth—whether it was ankle-deep, waist-high, or like her wife, an oceans-worth of water above her head. Would knowing that Nepenthe became a drider make Azul feel more secure? Less? Her lack of insight made her question things—would having an answer ruin that?

More questions she wouldn’t have answers to because Azul wasn’t allowed to know. Not yet; there was the distant, very-real chance that her daughter would join her wife among the chosen who drank Lolth’s blood and then suffered her palliative remedy. 

She burned. If she couldn’t save her wife, then she had to forge ahead for her daughter. No matter the size of the chance, she had to.

Vierna drew away, drying her eyes and retrieving her cane from its alcove in the desk. “Thank you. I’ll clean this up. You should return to Azul before she gets curious.”

Arjun held up a hand. “Let me; you should take a break and eat. Azul will be curious regardless.”

Food and tea didn’t sound unappealing; they’d probably help. “I have magic.”

He wiggled his fingers. “I have gloves.”

“Fine. You can help, but I'm not leaving.”

[magentaink18]

Although there are a lot of unnecessary sub plots in the redux version of Apocalypse Now, the anti-war message is much stronger (kinda because there’s more instances of needless destruction and displays of America being shitty) but I guess it is also diluted with the goofy sub-plots so it balances out anyways.

Also Chef has unspoken rizz. Man managed to pull a playboy bunny despite completely ignoring her interesting infodump about birds. Well I guess he didn’t “pull” her per se, but they seemed to get along well, like she was being genuine or at least came across that way because if she was putting on any kinda act, we wouldn’t have had the bird monologue but idk man I guess you need to talk about your interests when you can when you’re working for an enterprise that is in place to oppress and dehumanise you. I love bird lady more than anything but Hugh Hefner can eat shit.

This film’s fatal flaw is its overindulgence but the self awareness does take the edge off ,, like the narrative, characterization and general composition is amazingly produced and entertaining while still clearly communicating a serious message. I think the main critique of glorification is often misinterpreted irony. Like many aspects are so hyperbolic (nonetheless accurate to the actual Vietnam War) that they’re meant to appear ridiculous and uncomfortable in order to convey the corruption of the US military

Also funny surfer man go brrrr

Song - Let’s Go Trippin’ (Dick Dale)

I literally never make edits of characters and then the one that my brain decided to make one that ignores the importance of the central message of the film it’s from .

I suppose there’s always the argument that the main cast of characters were drafted against their will and are just trying to get through it. Of course that doesn’t justify everything they do. I’d say the character who makes the least effort to participate is Chef bc he never fires a gun at anyone (apart from the tiger because the poor fella’s terrified). But what I’m saying is that the main characters aren’t into war or particularly patriotic and it doesn’t fully align with their beliefs much at all - they’re just tryna get through it - unlike , say , Kilgore. They are characterised in unique ways in which any pRiDe fOr tHeiR cOunTrY (used to justify corruption) they may have isn’t explicitly there or at the centre of the way they’re characterised.

Me when idiot surfer man who does nothing but fuck up at the expense of other people

Sorry guys my neuros are divergent I need to have a balance of fun and silliness with analysis and critical evaluation when watching this film for the 100th time

They also made Willard way sillier and goofier. I love to see the poor jaded and traumatised lad actually have a little bit of fun. A few giggles for a treat. Just a little bit of clownery to balance out the edginess.

Respectfully, there’s also a significant increase in boobs in the redux version, immediately making it better than the Final Cut /hj

Also also they gave Clean a proper burial and sendoff,,,

Sure, the Final Cut is better in terms of what constitutes a good film but the redux version fucks if you liked the Final Cut for its narrative and characters aside from its more filmic aspects. Not to say there aren’t some elements of cinematography that were left out the Final Cut that go hard as fuck. Like the transition from Roxanne behind the curtain to Willard back on the boat in the mist ,,,, mmmmmmmmmmm

It also ties up a few small minor loose ends and clarifies on a few details

Willard’s from Ohio? *insert Ohio joke here idk man I’m British*

Maybe I’m psychoanalysing Chief too much rn but out of all the characters, the way in which they’re presented, he’s the most likely to have started off as the most patriotic. However, his whole thing is following orders and ensuring order and professionalism is retained so maybe he could just be a fan of those things and not inherently having his motives be that he’s abiding to the rules because he loves his country, but abiding to the rules because he loves rules. Whatever patriotism he may or may not have had is destroyed over the course of the film and meets its definitive end with the death and burial (as seen in the redux version) of Clean. The scene where he folds up the tattered US flag that was previously on the boat and hands it to Willard. Or at least that’s my interpretation since he still made that whole announcement when handing it to him but it just felt as if he was reciting empty lines if anything but idk but he’s an interesting character either way. But damn that scene goes hard and it was good to see Clean get the sendoff he was entitled to instead of his body just disappearing without an explanation :’]

[daughter-of-fire-and-dreams]

Matching Limbs

Sward  would sigh, staring down at the little Mammet and pleading with him with warm tones while his little home was coming together. "ZeTa, I can make you another arm-- a better one-- with the parts I have, so please..." Sward muttered, on a knee as he was looking at the socket at the Mammet's side. "nO! i NeEd ThAt OnE bAcK!" ZeTa spoke up, its mechanical systems whirring more than usually as if indicating it had been worked up. Sward shook his head, gazing around at the walls and peeking through a crack to see the weather outside. It wasn't a blizzard yet, but knowing the area it could become one within a simple moment. "ZeTa, it's fine. Listen, I am not upset and you know that; it's natural for species to lose things that belong to them." Sward explained, but ZeTa wasn't so compliant. It moved its left arm over to the right socket, feeling the emptiness and shaking a bit. "...yOu Do NoT uNdErStAnD zEtA's FeElInGs... Do NoT uNdErStAnD tHe PrObLeM!..." ZeTa retorted, its little clockwork face looking up at Sward; the lights almost squinting at him before ZeTa moved over to one corner of the room to look through a crack in the wall outside; trying to look a bit.

Rhua isn't obligated to visit. She's had more free time as of late thanks to her extra pair of limbs each time she goes out on rounds. But that doesn't mean she can just go off and take more things to do in return. Heck, even the medicus in town was now warning her to making sure her immune system and overall health are at top notch to avoid any complications for procedures later. But, even then… Rhua curses at the fact she still has some small glint of compassion for others. She just prays this isn't a recurrence that gets worse with age. She's hauling a generic set of blankets this time. Nothing too hard to carry around with her one limb. She still has a drone accompanying her. By the time she reaches the far end corner of town, she stops before the old building. It's still in shambles yes. But progress was visible on rebuilding some of it's walls. "Oi. Old man. . You there?" she called out, still wary, but also knowing that at least this one wasn't going to pull off something to add her to the hypothetical chess game she'd run from. 

Sward  heard the voice, and shook his head from side to side. "Now is not the time for guests..." Sward muttered to himself, slowly beginning to take a step towards the 'entrance' of the building before ZeTa had already rushed out towards the familiar voice. "ZeTa?" Sward asked, glancing around to where he had gone as he walked to greet Rhua. "sHoOtY gIrL, hElP zEtA!" the Mammet spoke up, not hesitating as he latched onto Rhua's leg with its one arm before falling off given his lack of grip.  approached, watching as ZeTa was on the floor before sighing and shaking his head. "ZeTa please, not now, not with her." Sward spoke, looking up at Rhua before offering a tilt of his head. "Why come here now? Does someone need this building so you've come to evict us? I don't believe that's justified..."

To say that the sight gave Rhua some pause was an understatement. First the mammet rushing off, but most of all, it's missing arm. In dry irony, they matched. But. She'd seen enough of senile old man to know he wouldn't be the kind to hurt his own creations. Not when it was practically a mini him. Or. .. a diluted version of him. That's as far as Rhua's interpretation went after all. At Sward's question though, she arched a brow. "Do you really make assumptions like that all the time? Because if so, you're worse than me in pessimism." she commented, pushing her foot to a side quickly in the same manner she'd done before to raise ZeTa up in the air, but making it land this time on a bundle of blankets. "I brought blankets in case you were freezing yourself. A set's the most we can spare for weird outsiders." she told him, though from the sight, it seemed Sward clearly had that covered. How? She wasn't going to question it right now. 

Sward  stared a bit confused; he didn't think hospitality was something he would receive. Anyone and everyone who had been in contact with him during his time here had been selfish or not wishing to interact with him. This girl, however, seemed to care if even only a measley fraction. "I see..." Sward spoke up after sometime, raising a hand to his chin and rubbing it a bit. "My apologies... I'm not used to this, that's a--" "sHoOtY gIrL, hElP zEtA!" the Mamment piped up, this time bringing a tiny hand to her cheek while he was on her blankets. "ZeTa LoSt ArM, fAtHeR wAnTs To MaKe NeW oNe, BuT zEtA wAnTs OrIgInAl OnE bAcK!...pLeAsE!..." ZeTa continued, flopping back down onto the blanket bundle as it looked a bit defeated. Sward sighed, removing his chipped glasses and rubbing at his eyes for a moment. "ZeTa... don't trouble the girl, I'm sure she's dealing with her own situations right now."

 Rhua could grimace slightly. The cold touch to her face had thankfully not triggered her fight or flight effect, probably little ones really did maker her lower her guard some more. Or. . Maybe she was just more partial towards constructions. ". .Did you go outside this place?" she asked ZeTa first. It was only fair to acknowledge it's plea after all. Not waiting to be let in though, Rhua walked closer to at least have some refuge from the wind currents. Not that there was a good place to set the blankets down once inside. "What's the metal for the arm even? Brass? ... Putting originals back sometimes is more difficult than making a new one." 

Sward  allowed for Rhua to walk in, he had to show some courtesy afterall as he was still learning about such. Though, the question of the metal type had caused Sward to remain quiet. "a WhItE mEtAl!... iT wAs PrEtTy AnD sTrOnG!... bUt... It Is StIlL oUt ThErE..." ZeTa spoke, carefully gripping onto Rhua's shoulder strap as she handled the blankets. Sward still remained quiet, fetching a few tankards and other small items for the guest. "I... wAnTeD tO sEe WhAt ThE bIrDs WeRe DoInG... sO i WaItEd By A nEsT oUtSiDe..." ZeTa explained, but his expression despite being plain and clockwork felt saddened.

 "Nest..." Rhua mumbled at first as she opted for a corner to place the blankets at. Based off what her brother had told her about Sward. .. She knew the man might not feel the cold. But, that also clashed with the red nose she'd seen when he arrived the last time she had been here. More ambiguousness to add on what exactly he is. The biggest problem right now though, was the word nest. Because birds wouldn't come too close to Alvarium. And there was only one nest that was well established in town. "Constance.." she mumbled with panic both for the damn chicken and then maybe a little bit for ZeTa. "Was there an eggshell inside it bigger than the bird on the nest?.." she asked, because though Constance was a good chicken, and a well behaved one at that, there was still a creature she'd hatched still missing. The mystery egg from her mother's lovebird. 

 Rhua has yet to question what ZeTa even means with white metal is. Silver would be too hard to procure at all times.

Sward  still worked in silence, placing a few metal pieces to make a makeshift tray, adding two tankards on top and filling them with a small powdery mixture of white and brown. Afterwards, he reached for a canteen and filled the two tankards with water. "nO eGgS!... wAiT nO, mAyBe OnE eGg?..." ZeTa thought, releasing from Rhua and landing on his feet as he stared down at his tiny hand. The color of his left arm was a charred black; a common metal and nothing significant, so why was the other so precious? "i ThInK oNe EgG, bUt I dO nOt ReMeMbEr... HaPpEnEd FaSt... ThEn It ToOk My...ArM..." Zeta muttered that last part out softly just as Sward lowered his hand by the tankards and added a few pieces of old straw and fibres under the metal and snapped a finger; causing a small spark to ignite the tinder and begin to warmup the tankards. "We can make another..." Sward muttered again, gazing down at the tankards as he fell silent once more; his gaze a bit distant as he tightened his gloves. ZeTa just gripped his tiny hand in response and approached Rhua once again. "HeLp ZeTa, Au--...ShOoTy LaDy..."

 Rhua frowned, this kind of situation is definitely a first for her. But. .. Can she really side with Sward after all the shit that had happened in Alvarium. Even from a basic standpoint, ZeTa was like a little one asking to have it's old stuffed toy back rather than getting a new one. It should fall to the parent to decide. But. . It didn't mean she could say a few words. The sight she'd seen before when she caught the two drawing on a wall was the first one to come back to mind. "Hey." she said, facing Sward's direction at first. "White is practically your trademark. But you didn't give this one an entire white set to come with it." she told him, glancing down to pick up ZeTa herself and let him sit on her palm for now. It was easier for conversation like that. "If so, that makes whatever is white precious and rare." she continued in this off tangent. "So what will happen if one is lost?.." 

Sward  heard Rhua speak, yet his attention was to the tankards. He was processing, thinking, and recalling all at once; but with a soft sigh he came up empty. "...I do not know... for starters, I don't remember what I used for the arm..." Sward stated, looking a bit ashamed at that. "If it's lost then... maybe it was fated to /be/ lost... maybe it wasn't meant for me to have or use..." Sward continued, yet never glanced over Rhua's way. ZeTa leaned forward from Rhua's hand, gripping her finger so he wouldn't fall over. "iTs ImPoRtAnT tO mE!" ZeTa piped up, whirring a bit more as it squinted at Sward. "i WaNnA gO bAcK aNd GeT iT! i NeEd It! YoU dOnT uNdErStAnD!" it continued, grumbling some as Sward just let out a short exhale followed by a smirk. "Maybe I never understood... Maybe she didn't want me to..."

 Rhua sighed. "I didn't come here to hear about your love stories you know. .. I'd appreciate if you gave more confirmation that the 'senile old man' in front of me isn't in fact fantasizing about my own mother." she told him as she paced some around the building. It was probably something insensitive to say to him, who looked so lost. But getting consumed in one's own mind was also bad. And Rhua didn't exactly have the patience to help him figure it out. "You heard your little one, he wants it back. You ain't the one walking one armed." case in point, there were two one armed ones in Sward's vicinity now. "Besides, if he stepped inside Constance's nest, it shouldn't be too far. We only have one chicken in town and maybe a weird creature rumbling. The faster the search is done, the lower the chances the local cats hoard it by accident. We already got a bot hoarding eating utensils." 

Sward  slowly reached down to the tankards and removed them from the heat; the weight of the metal tray falling atop the timber and causing the fire to puff out softly. "If we must go out..." Sward exhaled, slowly taking a sip from the tankard and nodding a bit before setting his tankard back down on the floor. Then, he reached over and picked up ZeTa before offering the other tankard to Rhua. "A token of thanks-- be careful, it's hot." Sward said, carefully keeping ZeTa on his shoulder as he then knelt down to retrieve his own tankard and drink from it again. "...ZeTa or yourself will need to direct us to wherever this is... and let us not try to disturb anyone or anything..." Sward muttered, ZeTa making little gleeful beeps and curling up into Sward's muffler scarf. Glancing up over the rim of his tankard towards Rhua, Sward spoke up. "I was told this was a sweet hot beverage called 'Hot Chocolate'... but it tastes more like what I think milk tastes like, yet I used water  thought for a moment. "I would need to research this later..."

 Rhua was cautious to say the least. It was a quiet measure to take for herself, but she wasn't eager to reach from point A to Be and find out she'd suddenly collapsed on the ground due to something she'd eaten. But as she saw Sward take a sip, she begrudgingly obliged. "You're taking quite a few precautions on not causing trouble.." she commented, because what little she knew of him was still a starking contrast to this.

"I want peace." Sward admitted almost instantly. "However, that is just a feeling I still have... I am not even sure what 'peace' I want... but I know not disturbing others is a start..." Sward continued, finishing his tankard and setting it near the spot he made it before tightening his gloves once again. "If what we're doing makes ZeTa happy then, I must do it. For their sake." Sward muttered, a tiny Mammet hand poking out of his scarf to grab his cheek and squish it slightly; yet Sward was unphased at this. "Once you finish, lead the way please,  Rhua."

 Rhua only has a half empty tankard. The gun is still hanging by her thigh on it's holster, and she has enough self control to not lash out like a panicked idiot. But it's clear in the manner that her hair and ears fluff out like that of a miqo'te, that his words hit a nerve. "I don't remember giving you my first name." she commented, a fiery amber that only knows rage and sorrow, being reflected on Sward's eyes, desiring peace. Rhua has the decency to not say more. Because she still doesn't want more involvement into crazy shit. But it's clear that it's a warning over what manner of technique he's using to know something about her that she hasn't said. And to stop using it. She finished her drink rather quickly despite it being still hot, and carefully set it to a side. "The chicken coop isn't too far away. Barely anyone visits to give Constance time to lay eggs." she stated, trying to avoid whatever had been said and make for the damn place in tentative peace. 

Sward  had nodded to what Rhua said about the coop, but seemed to almost not remember what she said about her name as he cluelessly followed behind. He remained quiet, yet ZeTa had been seemingly excited to go out again and try to retrieve its arm. The Mammet had practically been using Sward as a motor vehicle as it was on the lookout for more. "oNwArDs To ReTrIeVe My PrEcIoUs!" ZeTa exclaimed, breaking the silence as they made their way towards the chicken coop.

 Just as Rhua said, the chicken coop wasn't exactly too far away. It was a tiny hut, with barely enough space for a handful of nests. Or at least, the space was there. But inside, there was only a single nest in use. Constance the chicken was right there, still nesting, still trying to hatch unfertilized eggs. A giant broken and empty eggshell right next to her as if it wasn't too much of a bother. "Was this the nest you decided to camp at?" Rhua asked, kneeling beside the already complaining chicken to look through both for eggs and any white residue that may have been left within. 

Sward  squirmed as ZeTa escaped the warm confines of Sward's neck to fall and faceplant into the snow and walk towards the coop. "yEs! MeAn BiRd, WhErE iS mY aRm?" ZeTa exclaimed, though was cowering a bit behind Rhua as the birds still seemed like fearsome creatures to a small Mammet. Sward on the other hand was glancing around at their surroundings. The land, the hut, how the sky felt abnormal before he felt a pining sensation pluck at his heart. In silence, he began to walk around the hut and trudge through a small bit of snow; almost getting lost in it given how white he was. "dId ThE bIrD eAt It?! ThEy ArE fEaRsOmE... tHeY mIgHt EaT mE, tOo!" ZeTa said to Rhua, tugging at the back of her leg.

 "Constance doesn't eat constructions. Chickens eat seeds, and then lay eggs that they try to hatch." Rhua explained, still carefully trudging her hand through the now very puffed out chicken to show a few of it's latest spoils. "Like these. .. But there's no rooster, so no chicks will hatch from them." she continued, though in reality she was feeling through the nest for any random tough branch that didn't belong in there. No luck so far. She sighed. Guess it might be time to look through the snow, though she didn't exactly have the metal detector prototype that she'd discussed with Sergius so long ago. She paused instead to clean out some of the giant empty eggshell. "We don't know what this one was, but it could have been the one that took your arm. Did you see how it looked?" 

ZeTa looked a bit relieved after Rhua's explanation, easing from behind her and approaching the birds while maintaining a distance. "bIg EgG?..." ZeTa asked, staring over to the egg that could practically house the Mammet itself. "oH, hE wAs A mEaNiE! nO fRiEnD oF mE oR tHeSe BiRdIeS!" the Mammet spoke, noticing a few marks and signs of the animal. Meanwhile, Sward was on the other side of the hut sifting through a mound of snow. Wafting away chunk after chunk before reaching down and pulling out a small white piece of metal; ZeTa's missing arm. It was a pale white, and it looked well enough despite being covered in ice, cold, and stiff to the touch. The sight of it still brought a pining sensation to his heart, but maybe it was relief? Coming out from around the back, Sward approached from behind the two and spoke out gently. "...I found it, ZeTa." Sward said, holding the frozen limb in his hands as the Mammet approached gleefully. "yAaAaY!" the Mammet exclaimed as Sward carefully handed the arm back to ZeTa. "Keep it warm for now, and once it thaws we'll reattach it... ok?..." Sward spoke, hiding his hands from ZeTa and Rhua as he slowly turned back. "...I'm... going to head back first, so you can finish talking with her..." Sward spoke, still hiding his hands as he began to walk away.

 None of Sward's actions or emotions get past Rhua. She's had to read harder beings, Sward might as well be an open book. Which only adds to the melancholic atmosphere he seems to carry himself with. Her eyes then focused back on the tiny arm, because she knew he could conjure something new on his own while they'd been busy. But the arm had some ice stuck onto it, and that was the only sign that this tiny limb had been exposed to the elements for a while. "What did the 'meanie' look like?" she asked ZeTa, trying to stir the conversation somewhere else while she pondered over more clues rather than asking directly. 

ZeTa had finishing waving Sward goodbye before turning its attention back to Rhua; keeping a firm hold of the limb with its arm. "iT wAs SmAlL, bUt NoT zEtA sMaLl... BiGgEr ThAn ZeTa!..." the Mammet spoke, nudging its face against the limb some more as if trying to... breath on it?... to warm it?... It didn't have a mouth. "...iT wAs BiTeY, bIt ZeTa'S aRm, SeE?" ZeTa said, carefully extending up the small limb to show that part of what would normally be an elbow had an indent on it not bent, but damaged just a little bit. "iT wAs A mEaNiE, bItInG mY pReCiOuS aRm... BuT... nOw It Is BaCk... So I aM hApPy!"

 Oh boy. . Town really couldn't have an extra biter. It was enough with the cats causing mayhem with Brutus. But, it was something that Rhua had to look into for later. She carefully picked up ZeTa with her hand and held it up for him to take a seat. "Slide your arm inside my glove, there's fire shards in it so it'll warm up faster." And maybe soak her hand a bit, but that was fine, she'd go back indoors soon. "What color or shape did the meanie have? We haven't seen it in town yet." she told the little mammet as she started making a slow walk back to Sward's chosen spot in Alvarium. 

ZeTa hesitated in giving the limb to Rhua, but wanted to also warm it up faster... it was a moral dillema, but in the end ZeTa stuffed it inside her glove. "cOvErEd In SnOw, So It WaS wHiTe-- LiKe My ArM! bUuUuUuT, iT wAsN't PrEtTy... RoUgH lOoKY." ZeTa explained, looking down at the limb tucked in Rhua's glove before staring up at the woman. "...tHaNk YoU fOr HeLpInG mE... aUnTy..."

 "Auntie.." Rhua mumbled at first, eyes glancing down over at the mammet. "I'm not that- Ah no. .. I guess I am that old.." she commented, realizing that by now she probably should have turned 40 years of age. Heh. . Many of her old co workers would probably be reeling about not having a husband or kids at that. But Rhua didn't really mind. "Aye aye. . Just be careful next time. We got too many cats and a giant guard dog. If it finds you, I don't think even your helmet will come out intact.." 

ZeTa just beamed and beeped at that, patting Rhua's glove some more. "yEs AuNtY, zEtA wIlL bE gOoD!" it spoke, still beeping for a time as they returned to the building.

[zorrxchicle]

Me Colé en una Fiesta, Mecano || betty, Taylor Swift

[I sneaked in there and I showed up at your party. coca-cola for everyone and something to eat, lots of cute girls but none free, color disco lights, I'll have a good time

and I wondered

who can introduce me?

and I wondered

what am I going to tell her?]

[embe95]

It's Flirting!

Lee Minho drabble, yey <3 I just had an idea and went with it, had a lot of fun, so much so that it is currently 2.30am and I should be asleep.

Word count: 3,413 (whooooooops)

I really want to be where she is, just be close. Maybe even ask her out properly? Would she want me to?

I haven’t heard from her in days.

And suddenly I’m worried that I may have done something or said something that could have offended or hurt her. That maybe I went too far with a joke or made her feel uncomfortable.

That maybe I’ve read it all completely wrong and she doesn’t feel the same way in the slightest. That maybe she hates me. That she’s already secretly married to someone and just hasn’t told any of us.

”Calm. The fuck. Down,” I growl, throwing my phone against the couch. I hear it bounce and hit the carpet at the exact moment Chan comes out of his room.

”You good?”

”Mmm,” I voice a somewhat dissatisfied sounding consonant and keep my head in my hands.

”Minho?”

”She still hasn’t answered.” The sentence is almost inaudible but he catches it like a pro.

”Dude, it’s a group chat, she’s probably busy.”

Chan heads to the fridge and apparently grabs the carton of OJ, because the next thing I hear is probably heard by everyone who lives in the building.

”AGAIN? JISUNG I SWEAR TO GOD!”

A door locks at the end of the hallway.

”Why does he do this? Jesus… fucking empty. Every time…”

”You know he’ll buy two just to say sorry.”

”Yeah, yeah…”

I blow air out of my nose and toss him the half full banana milk I just drank from.

My phone still doesn’t buzz. Did I break it? No, surely not. Why isn’t she answering?

”Thanks. Like I was saying, she’s probably just busy. You gotta message her directly. Don’t count on the group chat, she isn’t that active on there anyway.”

He’s right. But I won’t tell him that. I can’t text her.

I stare out the window at the wintery city. The frame kinda makes all of it look like a painting; the snow fall dilutes and blurs all lines and makes things softer and more abstract. She’s probably having hot chocolate at the university library, maybe from her cat-themed thermos. Maybe she decided to splurge a little and got a fancy Starbucks salted caramel version.

I want to buy her hot chocolate every day. If only she would text me.

”You think she’s at the library?”

Chan’s brows furrow as he stares back at me. The look seems to be something along the lines of ”you’re creepy” and ”how the hell should I know”.

”Never mind. Jisung!”

My friend’s massive head of black hair is visible before anything else, then his eyes peek from behind the frame.

”Huh?”

Chan takes the opportunity to chuck the empty orange juice carton at the figure, who throws his hands up haphazardly. It does nothing to block the attack so the inevitable happens and it collides with his torso.

”YA! I’m sorry, I’ll get more when I go out!”

Our eldest roommate says nothing, just points a finger at Mr. Han Jisung with such vigor that even his nostrils flare.

”Did you need me?” Jisung’s scared eyes find me, the corners of his mouth rise nervously.

I’m happy I remembered to buy the milk I promised.

Why isn’t she answering?

”Yeah, have you talked to Y/N today?”

He cocks a brow and nods, slowly, hesitantly.

”Yeeees…” One word becomes as long as a sentence as his lips begin to curl up into a smirk. ”Whyyyyy?”

I didn’t think asking him would make him stare at me like this. It’s an innocent question isn’t it?

”Minho and Y/N sitting in a tree…” Chan’s soft mumbling is accompanied by a little dance, his arms swing back and forth, elbows bent.

I’m pretty sure my ears are as pink as his hoodie and I don’t like it.

”Shut up!”

”K-I-S-I-N-G-G… wait…” Jisung mumbles but I can’t see the face that is joined with Chan’s amused bark because my eyes are rolling.

”Never mind.”

”Man, sorry, sorry! Okay. Yeah, I talked to her, she’s at the library getting ready for next week’s exam.”

I knew it. My eyes find the window again. I should study too, probably, I mean… there’s gotta be something I need to read books for.

Why do I suddenly feel like going out into that mess of a weather? Getting all dressed up, throwing on layer upon layer, and I probably need to change, these sweats won’t do. Why am I just out of the blue feeling like I should head to the nearest Starbucks for some salted caramel hot chocolate? It’s because of her. I want to be where she is right now. I’ve wanted it for weeks.

Is it a bad idea? Would she want me there even though she hasn’t reacted to any of my messages in the group chat today?

She wouldn’t care if I wear sweats when I walk in, she doesn’t care about what people wear. She’d say she just wants me to be comfortable. But maybe she wouldn’t care if I came or not.

”Why do you ask?”

Chan and Jisung are both staring at me. I’m usually pretty sensitive to people’s attention but maybe I was traveling too far in my mind.

”I just… well I figured she was- I just wanted to see if- I mean maybe I could-”

”Want me to dial for you while you struggle to the end of that sentence?”

”You think I should call her?”

Jisung is obviously confused by the question which did indeed come out way more enthusiastic than I intended.

He had probably been preparing for a punch, a glare or some common form of my affection.

”Y-Yeah dude, if you want to, sure. Or you could just go surprise her,” he shrugs. As if he’d read my mind. As if it’s the easiest thing in the world. For him it probably feels like it, his track record with charming gestures is undefeated.

”That’s a great idea man!” Chan chimes in with his two cents after finishing the banana milk. ”But Minho, you gotta be nice.”

”Huh?”

”You act like… how should I put this… you act like a baby around her?”

”What?”

How can he say that, what is he on about? I mean… I can’t say I act totally normal right now, it’s hard to when she’s always smiling and laughing and hugging and breathing and dancing and sitting on my lap and flipping her hair around. And breathing.

”What the fuck does that mean?”

Chan looks down and crinkles his nose.

”I mean no offense man, it’s just that if you want to go have a romantic library date, you might want to- I don’t know- try not to snap at her so much?”

Snap? I don’t… do I? I mean I joke around and all but… Have I done or said something that actually offended her? Maybe I went too far with a joke. Or made her feel uncomfortable.

I’m right back to where I started. My brain is doing loops. Fuck.

Of course she doesn’t want to answer my texts. Why would she? If I’ve been a dick then… Fuck!

Jisung comes closer, at first I think he’s going to come hug me or something but instead he slumps onto the couch. Chan leans on the kitchen island situated behind the large, grey furniture.

The younger of the two looks deep in thought, like he’s reminiscing. ”Mmm… He does have point.”

There’s a flow of negativity in the room suddenly and I need them to specify their claims quickly and clearly, a request I then voice.

”I mean, yeah, you joke with all of us and we love you for it…”

”But maybe with Y/N it just gets a little…”

”Childish?” Chan’s voice is overly high and gentle, like a child confessing to a stupid thing they did.

It's like his words press the rewind button on a tape of all the moments I've shared with her. I see it all. What goes on in my head doesn't match what comes out. She sits on my lap, and I feel like I want to pull her closer and smell her hair. The weight feels comforting, I'm close enough to gently kiss her neck. Instead, I complain about how heavy she is. She comes to our house to watch movies and brings me my favorite soda. I feel like she knows me and it makes me feel... well, really touched actually, I don't even remember telling her about it. Instead, I ask why she didn't bring any chips. We dance together at the club downtown. It's like the twentieth song and neither of us has left the dance floor while everyone around us has come and gone thrice over. She moves so smoothly, looks so alive and anytime she grabs my hand to do a spin under my arm or so spin around with me I feel so electric and happy. Dancing with her feels easy, and I wish she'd let me take her home. Instead, I ask her why she keeps stepping on my toes. She slumps down next to me at the café, leaning her head on my shoulder and tells me how exhausted she is after a bad day. Her hair smells amazing and I love how warm she is. I'm sorry she feels tired. I want to take her hand in mine and run my hand through that perfect head of hair, to tell her I'm here. Instead, I tell her not to look at me like that and that maybe her bad day was caused by that ugly hoodie she's wearing.

Of course she doesn't want to answer my texts! I wouldn't either.

"It's okay, man! I just mean that maybe if you really wanna make a move-"

"No," I say softly and stare back outside. The snow is falling even harder now, the day turns into evening as the sun begins to set somewhere behind the thick cloud cover. "You're right. I've been an ass."

"I didn't say you've been-"

"I don't think she'd want to hang out alone. I'll just see her tomorrow at the club like always."

When I make my way to the kitchen, hands already reaching for the coffee pot to brew some evening joe since I won't be heading out after all, a pair of strong hands grab my shoulders and spin me around. I don't like it when Hyung manhandles me.

"Minho, that is not what I meant. I don't even mean that you have to stop joking around, I just mean that you should be sincere for a bit, and then you can go right back to it. I don't think you'll get out of being 'just friends' if you're not honest."

I don't like it when he's right either.

After a brief conversation with the two which included me stating out loud that I have a crush on Y/N for the first time, I ask Jisung to check how long she'd be at library. He's happy to, since he's such a sucker for surprises. He wants to join me so he can see the look on her face, but I've never really had a problem saying no to Jisung. Or anyone, really, except Y/N. I then get changed, throw on my hoodie, a coat, some boots and a beanie, and I'm ready. Almost, I still need two salted caramel hot chocolates, one in each hand.

Lucky for me, there's a Starbucks around practically every corner. I choose to head for the one closest to the library, so our drinks will stay warm.

Then the lump in my throat swells and nearly blocks my breathing. How did this become so momentous? It isn't a date, I'm just bringing her some hot chocolate. She might not even want it. She might have left already, changed her mind about staying late. Am I nervous because of what my roommates made me realize? Could I be walking into something that'll make me cringe for the rest of my existence? This feels very new and terrifying. I should just forget about this and head back inside.

But I want to see Y/N. I really do.

And I don't really even have to make tonight anything special. It doesn't have to become "the night that Minho confessed" or whatever. We can just hang out. I can help her with her revision and just sit next to her as she reads. That's creepy. But she looks so beautiful when she concentrates, like a majestic being asked to solve a complex riddle. Her eyes get all cat-like, narrow and glowing.

But maybe... Maybe she doesn't want me there and I'll just bother her.

I don't know how I ended up inside the elevator taking me to the study rooms on the third floor of the university library, but here I am. All this thinking blurred out my steps and direction but somehow... here I am. Standing in the quiet, student-filled space that is quite foreign to me, but very familiar to the person I am here to see.

Focusing my gaze, I play the real-life "Where's Waldo?" in the huge space. I'm slightly embarrassed to be staring at people so bluntly because they all seem so focused, but then again, I don't really care.

Then suddenly, I see a hand moving. It's a frantic wave and my brain skips every step and jumps straight to what I know to be true; it's Y/N. The glass door of the small study room she's in opens and she tiptoes towards me. It's like I'm doing a full body scan, the way my eyes stay on her. She looks happy, her smile is wide and her steps are accompanied by excited hands.

"Oh my gosh! Hi!" she whisper yells.

She might actually be happy to see me. Hoodie-clad arms are around my neck before I can register a thing, and my heart rate skyrockets. The embrace is tight. Her embrace always is. And she skipped the hot chocolates in my hands, she didn't even look at them.

"What are you doing here? Wait, wait. Come here," she grabs my arm and gently guides us back between all the tables, couches and chairs to the room she'd just exited. 

When the door is closed, I hear it. Silence. Not the kind outside in the general study hall where you can hear a pin drop and the creek of a chair echoes for fifteen minutes. The kind that takes sound and swallows it. This room is-

”It’s a soundproof room so don’t worry, it’s okay to talk!” she says as if she’s a kettle that’s just begun to boil. ”But Min, what are you doing here? Oh, is one of these for me?”

No, dumbass, they’re both for me.

”Y-Yes, I thought you might like it,” I gulp, handing one to her.

”That is so sweet, thank you!” Her smile just makes all my cells dance. ”I’m just so surprised and happy you’re here, I wasn’t even sure you knew where the library was!”

What? You saying I don’t read?

”We walked you here with Jisung last week.”

Forehead crinkled, she takes a slow, calculated, sip of the hot chocolate. Whatever she was staring at me for was apparently forgotten when the liquid hit her tongue. ”You remembered!”

You like it? I just got you the same thing I got for myself, don’t read into it.

”Yeah. Uh- what are you studying for?”

”Minho, is everything alright?”

”Mhmm, why?”

She stares again, but says nothing.

”Come sit here. I have this big exam next week and…”

I sit next to her as she goes through the topic. I’m so immersed in her voice and the way the grey hoodie frames her face that I barely half-listen, yet I’m interested in everything she tells me.

”Did you come here just to see me?” she finishes after saying she’s happy I’m there but that she has to keep going for at least a little bit more.

Of course not, I’m here to play volleyball.

”I thought maybe you’d like the company.”

She’s silent for a moment, again.

”Okay… well, you’re right. It’s good to see you. As always.”

We stay quiet as she stares at me. I want to believe that she did look at my lips, but I dare not hope. 

”Wanna quiz me? I just got through chapter seven.”

I do.

She’s so intelligent and enthusiastic about the topic. She gets a few wrong and goes back through her notes expertly, reads for a few minutes and then we get back to it.

I have never, ever had this much fun with a book. I scan through the pages, mind on the amazing person next to me. I hope I’ve been kind, I’m pretty proud of the way I’ve held my tongue. Maybe tonight could be the night I tell her how I feel.

”You’re so good at this, it’s amazing.”

”Okay, that’s it, what is up with you tonight?”

What is this annoyed tone? What happened?

”Huh?”

”Is something wrong? Are you mad at me? Has something happened that you’re not telling me?”

”W-wha- No! Why would you think that?”

”Then why are you being cold?”

Cold? Now I’m ”cold”? This can’t be right, the guys said… what is she talking about?

I set the book down and turn to face her. Her features seem agitated, tight. It scares me a little. It annoys me more.

”What are you on about?”

”’You’re so good at this’… ’here you go’… ’there you are’… ’it’s okay’… ’me and Jisung walked you here last week’… what the heck was that? Of course I remember? But who are you and where is my Minho?”

”Y-Your Min-”

”Yes! My Minho, I want him back!”

”You’re acting so weird. What do you mean?”

As she explains the tape rewinds again. She sits on my lap and I complain about how heavy she is. She asks if I mean it and I get up without letting go of her, flipping her so I’m holding her bridal style. I squat a few times and shake my head. She comes to our house and brings me my favourite soda and I ask why she didn’t bring chips. She pokes out her tongue and pulls a bag of them out of her tote bag  and I have to wrestle her for them, after which I get her favourite soda from the fridge and bring it to her. We dance together at the club downtown and I ask why she keeps stepping on my toes. She then proceeds to step on my toes (for the first time that night) and asks what I want to drink next. She slumps down next to me after a bad day and leans her head on my shoulder. She bursts out laughing when I slander her hoodie because it’s in fact mine. Without another word I offer her sips of my hot chocolate for the rest of the night, and when it's finished I go buy another one.

And she wanted to answer my messages. She was just busy (and Chan was right again but I don’t want to think about that).

”And another thing! I haven’t considered you ”just a friend” in weeks so Chan and Jisung can just take their Tiktok psychology tips elsewhere and stop messing with us!”

I have to shake my head to rattle that sentence around. Make it make sense.

”It’s called flirting! And another thing-”

”You talk too much.”

”What?”

I lean closer quickly, grinning. Our knees touch. I make my intention, my hope for what will happen next crystal clear by cupping her cheek.

”Can you just shut up for a second if this means you don’t think I’ve been a dick to you?”

She’s silent, again. Her eyes are darting between my eyes and lips, the words she wants to say travel to her gaze easily.

And then I kiss her. This just became "the night we kissed for the first time", which is more than I could've ever hoped for. She's so perfect.

”You are a dick, though. I never said that,” she smirks as I let my lips travel between her cheeks and mouth. "And you're overdressed, the dress code for study dates with me is sweats."

That night, as we travel hand in hand back to my place, the fierceness I knew accompanied her kind heart was more visible than ever. She doesn’t wait for me to fully open the door to the apartment.

The wooden rectangle flies open with force and hits the wall as Y/N bursts in.

”YOU TWO! You ever try to get him to ’tone it down’ or whatever the fuck the advice was, I’ll make sure your fridge will always be full of nothing but empty orange juice cartons!”

[ephemerlskies]

constant craving | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: drabble series, angst, unrequited love, idiot!jungkook, idiot!oc, basically everyone's an idiot

⇢ word count: 1.7k

⇢ warnings: unreciprocated pining, explicit language, themes of hopeless romanticism (!!), (slightly) unedited

⇢ summary: your best friend decided to confide in his best friend on how to win his girlfriend back after a fight. you tell him exactly what to say to her, however he is unaware that what you were saying was a sincere delivery of your once undeclared love.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: hello my little loves!! this was definitely ;) not ;) an impulse write and release ;) ;) sorry for being so inactive lately. i've been focusing on myself (i know how cliche that sounds but it's true). anyway, enjoy this incredibly angsts fic i wrote at 2 am for absolutely no reason at all other than i'm an emotional sadist and a masochist. love u!!!! <3

part one: control

He was coming over for the third time this week. Third time. Three times is two more times than he'd gone over his girlfriend's house, but you did everything in your power to convince your inconvincible heart that it meant nothing. Friends see each other more than their girlfriends, right?

It was making a racket in your chest, that muscle that strained much harder for a man who had his pumping for the girl of his dreams.

But, he was coming over for the third time this week.

The first time he said this visit ranked, in his words, 'out of the question' on the degree of necessary that he come over and show you Star Wars. You played a good game of reluctance when asking if it was the entire series or just one movie, and in your head, you hoped to God it was the entire series. For him, you'd watch the series four times over if it meant you sat through this outrageously nerdy movie next to the even more outrageously nerdy love of your life.

The second time was particularly funny to you. He called while you were cooking dinner, almost as if he was in stride with you in a way that was an ounce too synchronized to be platonic, and asked if you were whipping up a delicious meal that he could mooch off of. Knowing he was a terrible cook, plus the fact that when he begged so politely you felt your posture unbind into to a puddle, you more than happily obliged.

This time, the circumstances made it harder to say yes, but not yet impossible. And it was a second or two before you heard that knock on the front door that had your once pounding heart come to a complete halt. It was still, waiting for you to make a decision.

Since it was Jungkook, of course, you'd say yes. And your heart would continue beating. Beating, as in sending sharp jabs that stained the inside of your chest with bruises. Beating, as in when the time came, the final blow of your constantly craving heart would devastate your entire being.

"Thank you so much, ___. God, I'm such an idiot." He walked in with all the confidence of someone who was a bit too familiar with your company. Jungkook's feet reintroducing themselves to your floors in the same manner as he would the night before, and the night before that, and the countless nights you kept secured in your collection of memories. As if he belonged there; as if he was coming home.

"An idiot with a great friend." That last word nearly withdrew the bile you had been ever so gracefully holding in.

"Yeah yeah." And he was comfortable with that same word, 'friend', that deepened your bruises into scars. He had absolutely no clue. Idiot. "I can't believe I broke up with her. I was so angry and acted on that instead of logic. Fuck, why would I do that to myself? I love her."

"Well, you never know. Maybe..." You hated yourself for not resisting the selfish temptation that was about to fall from your lips. The words you've been internally screaming to him to leave her and fall in love with you instead were diluted to something much more tame when your tongue formed them into sound.

"Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you guys are better off apart? To, um, grow or whatever."

"No." He said that with too much certainty and too little hesitance and just enough conviction to sink another wound in the organ exhausting itself in your chest. "She's the one. I know it"

"Jungkook."

He looked at you with all the earnestness of a man who carved his utmost and unchanging dedication to her. A look that any love-induced sap would kill for. A look he would never direct towards you.

Your eyes weren't under your control as of now. The glue that held them to his eyes, his lips, his hair, and every other part of him you dreamed of was more than a marathoned yearning. It was an adhesive twelve years in the making, not showing the slightest sign of wearing away.

"The way you love is something to die for..." And then he smiled at you, but still not for you.

You were utterly crushed.

"She'll take you back in a heartbeat. I mean, she has a brain, so of course, she will. Anyone would."

I would.

"I hope you're right." The couch was four feet wide at most, but there was an impressively vast space between you and the man who was sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what to say? You know I suck with words."

"Uh... Yeah. Of course. Anything."

If breaking hearts were a crime, then Jungkook would have much to atone for. You'd be convicted as a willing accomplice for holding on this long. Up until this point, you've let every small glance, every shy smile he sent your way, every eyebrow twitch conveying a meaning only you knew well enough to retrieve him from whatever awkward situation he needed rescuing from, every accidentally brush of his hand against yours, every purposeful embrace that lasted so long your tears stained his right shoulder string you into a knot of miserable, unrequited love.

And up until this point, you had hope he would choose you.

Each ring of his phone worked in tandem to reduce your undying devotion to Jungkook into a compressed seed of denial.

I don't love him. He's just my best friend.

Your pulse pronounced itself loudly in your ears, as a not-so-gentle reminder of how much you hated him for loving him. Somehow, your heart beat faster. Then again, anything was possible when it came to him. Anything except the miraculous event of him hanging up, declaring his love for you, and living in the land of happily ever after that only existed in your deluded imagination.

"Hey Irene! I'm so fucking glad you picked up."

He gave you that look. With the arched eyebrow, his widened doe eyes, and the slightly hung jaw, you read each feature better than words and nodded to signal you knew exactly what he needed.

"I'm sorry about what happened." You said, in a whisper, though the deflated volume of your words carried no implication of the unbridled sincerity sealed in them.

"I'm sorry about what happened." He repeated, laying down that same Irene-contrived smile on you that fostered a smile of your own, knowing fully it surfaced as a reflex from hearing her voice.

"It might be crazy to try this, because I don't know how you feel."

If the thing people say about your life flashing before your eyes during encounters with death, then you were sure your heart was about to consume its last pulse of blood. The scenes of you and Jungkook spending your Friday nights when you were a ripe city dweller in your shoebox apartment doing everything and nothing at all had convinced you that you were certainly about to go into cardiac arrest.

"It might be crazy to say this, because I don't know how you feel." Jungkook was so many things, however emotionally perceptive was not one of them.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you." Those words tasted sweet despite fermenting in a chamber of your heart you kept preserved since, as you said, the very moment you met him.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you."

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

He repeated your words, but dehydrated all of your sentiment from them. You were left with the remnants of the feelings, and none of the words from him you were so desperately starved of. He took them right from your throat, along with the very breath that seemed to keep returning because of Jungkook, molded them into his own, into a sequence of sounds that were meant for Irene. You were left hungry, breathless, and forever wanting.

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

Irene must have been smiling right about now. Who wouldn't smile hearing those things from someone like Jungkook?

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Then, you began to ask yourself another question.

If you make me complete, Jungkook, will my story ever end?

You knew the answer to that. You swore your heart beat in a morse code that told you everything you needed to know.

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Jungkook looked to you, before Irene could form the proper response, and smiled. It was the third time he smiled at you today because of course, you were keeping track. You knew it was his own physically linguistic version of a 'thank you' or a 'you're a life saver' but somehow, to you, it translated to something similar to a 'goodbye'.

Your legs miraculously rose and carried you to the back porch. The sun was just beginning to dip in the horizon, proliferating a warm orange that was about to subside to an indistinguishable and unpredictable dusk. Whatever color came after the sunset, you were ready to accept it, to memorize how it reflected against a world without the possibility of him. And even though the night will always embody undertones of orange, it was time to focus on the colors around it.

It was time to let go.

a/n: i might make this into a drabble series!!! if anyone would be interested in that please let me know :)) thank you for readinggggg <3

[starkerotic]

i melt in your mouth, girl, not in your hands. [part 1]

[based on the stress-baking prompt from this au post.]

If anyone had asked Bucky only three years before, he never would have thought that he would eventually end up here, back in the same apartment complex from his youth - updated and much more expensive than the fifty dollars or so he remembers Steve’s mother fretting over so many times before she died, his own mother patting Sarah’s frail hands as she reassured her that everything would work out in the end, but very much the same.

(It’s… comforting, in a way he’s not felt since he went off to The War, pride in his heart and fear buried deep below, his mother’s tears wet on his cheek and the warmth of Steve’s farewell - or, at least, see you soon, as it turned out - hug still surrounding him, his heart beating strong, as quick as a hummingbird’s wings, as he boarded the bus and sat with the other men ready to lay their lives on the line for their country and their god and their loved ones.)

“Buck! Open up, I’ve got pizza!”

New floors, news appliances, new owners… same old Steve. (Well, still a punk that picks fights too big for him, anyway.)

“If you knock down my door again, you’re explaining to Stark why he’s paying for the same damage a third time.” He doesn’t have to raise his voice much louder than his normal speaking volume. Steve’s enhanced hearing is just as good as his own - even better, perhaps; he is, after the original super soldier, while Bucky’s serum was hardly more than a diluted mimicry with a side of mind control.

Steve’s big, dumb grin greets him once the door opens, as bright and carefree and happy as Bucky remembers from before The Fall and before The War and after Bucky could hear his trigger words (longing, rusted, seventeen…) and keep his mind his own. (Once upon a time, that stupid grin would have fluttered his heart, sent his pulse a little higher, set his smile a little wider, but too many things have changed between them for Bucky to feel that same connection now.)

“I don’t think he’d mind, because it means I’m not busy-” Steve frowns, carefully setting all four pizza boxes down on Bucky’s small kitchen island. “-‘killing his vibe’.”

The pleasant aroma of chocolate chip cookies (it’s been faint all evening, but with the door open, it hits him full-force) drifts from the apartment across the hall, just like it used to when he and Steve were boys and one of their mothers (and, in one disastrous incident, Bucky’s sister) had enough spare ingredients and time to bake a baker’s dozen or two. It makes Bucky long (longing, rusted, seventeen…) for those days so far gone, when things were bad but never dismal and his mother’s soft humming and his sister’s giddy laughter rang through the halls, sweet and familiar and-

The door snaps shut, Bucky’s vibranium fingers curling over the wooden frame. It does nothing to remove the scent of the other tenant’s baking, but he feels better with the flimsy barrier.

“Buck?”

Sleek metal shines in the light as Bucky releases the frame and flexes his fist for a moment, careful to take the deep breaths his court-appointed therapist (and, god, what a joke that is, expecting him to open up to a woman with no idea of where he comes from, of what used to make him Bucky that the serum and HYDRA stole away from him) recommended in their first session. It never helps, not really (he has too much anger built up, he surmises, ready to boil and burn and destroy in all the same ways he was once ordered to by both his own government and the enemy), but he’s trying.

“Sorry,” rasps Bucky. He swallows down the sudden lump in his throat, but offers no excuse or explanation for his behavior. (He doesn’t owe anyone anything - not even Steve.)

The grin isn’t quite as wide anymore, but the blond doesn’t look like he’s readying himself to attack, so Bucky moves nearer, flesh hand reaching for the nearest box: a simple cheese with extra sauce. “Thanks,” Bucky mutters and downs half a slice in one bite, the cheese almost too hot, the sauce with the exact right consistency and flavor. The simple pie is Bucky’s (unofficial) favorite, a reminder that not everything has changed.

“Any time.” Steve stares at him for a few moments longer - long enough that Bucky’s back stiffens - but he only offers Bucky a slice of a second pizza (red peppers and ricotta and Italian sausage) before he holds up the stack of boxes he’s supporting with his left hand. “I’ve got Sorry! and Scrabble and,” he sighs, put-upon in a way only Steve Rogers can be, “Clue - the Avengers version.”

Bucky snorts, and his muddled mind clears of familiar feminine laughter and warm chocolate chip cookies.

“It’s always the Widow.”

*

(Natasha, in fact, is the culprit two times out of three. Bucky has more fun in the two hours they play, bullshitting his questions and pretending to think much too long on Steve’s when he only has one of the answers to give up, than he’s had since he first woke from his programming.)

*

Steve has been gone for at least fifteen minutes when there’s a knock at his door.

“I told you the last slice was mine when you left, punk, so don’t-”

He’s let the familiar surroundings lull him into what bit of security he can still feel because, rather than Steve on his doorstep, it’s… Well, he isn’t positive who it is, but judging by the open door across from him and the overwhelming scent of home and freshly-baked cookies, Bucky makes an assumption. “You must be the baker.” His words are gruff, but he tries to keep his tone level and as kind as he can make it without his usual scowl creeping over his face.

Perfectly rosy cheeks look to darken even further as his neighbor looks up from Bucky’s chest, surprise and awe appearing and disappearing, quick as a flash across his face. Brown eyes (they remind Bucky of autumn, of warm days and cool nights and leaves crunching along a woodland trail) widen for only a moment on the black-and-gold vibranium weapon that serves as his arm.

Bucky braces himself for a flurry of questions about the arm, the Avengers, Captain America-

“I’m sorry. Do the smells bother you?” Perfectly straight teeth, pearly white except for the slightest smudge of chocolate on the left canine, show in a nervous smile. He hides his eyes, ducking his head just enough to avoid Bucky’s, as he rambles, “I’m really sorry about that; it’s just an easy way for me to destress, I guess - ha - and I didn’t think it would be an issue with anyone because I usually bake a ton and give them to everyone in the building and-”

“It’s not a problem,” Bucky interrupts, and the other man smiles and- Wow. Bucky can’t remember ever seeing another person so delighted and… cute.

“You’re sure?” Cute Neighbor asks. His arms shift, muscles flexing just the tiniest bit as he tightens his grip around a Tupperware container in his hands.

Bucky takes a moment (two, three, four…) to soften his features, to relax his tense shoulders and look less likely to snap someone’s neck. “Positive,” he reassures and, just to see those cheeks pinken up a second time, he winks. “Reminds me of home.”

The blush comes along with another smile, bright and kind and much less big and dumb than the one Steve had greeted him with earlier, though a tinge of sadness dulls it. “Same,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before he startles and shoves the Tupperware out in front of him in an offering to Bucky - homemade cookies for the feared Winter Soldier. “Everyone else has already gotten theirs,” he tells Bucky. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t go without.”

And that’s just-

Bucky’s chest expands on a breath, holds… and releases. “Thanks, doll.” The endearment slips out like it’s nothing, as easy as it always used to back in the forties.

His neighbor only laughs, a little breathless, and says, “I’m Peter. Peter Parker,” before going on his way, blessing Bucky with one last smile before he shuts the door to his apartment.

Peter Parker.

The cookies are a small taste of whatever heaven may exist after this life, the chocolate chips melting as soon as the cookie touches his tongue, and Bucky can’t help but to hope that Peter finds himself stressed again sooner rather than later.

[moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown]

When he loved me....

An: Buckle up y’all I’m feeling sad. So have some unrequited love angst. Wow this came out sadder then I intended. I am sorry.

Recommend to listen to “cloud 9 cover by Pavari das” because that’s the version I listened to writing this out. It adds to the sadness.

Loving Dom was like falling asleep on a long car journey, it happened slowly, very slowly, first your eyes close for a moment, just a second, and then, you were falling, deep, deep down into the spinning web of him.

His accent, his softness, his laugh and smile. His need to make everyone in the room feel seen or heard. He was pure and soft, safe and careful. He held your heart in his hands, not that he knew, you were just a friend to him, a friend he worked with in LA. Only that and nothing more.

Working on an album or four, you were simply, studio help, as you always had been. Though Dom often made sure you knew how important to him you were, you still were just a hand around the studio, helping set mics and amps up, helping by being the unseen side of album work.

The studio was your happy place, you were never good at singing, and had the barest of basic child level when it came to piano, but the studio was still a safe place to sit and think. And it’s where you often found yourself late at night, when Dom and his crew of people were finally taking much deserved rests. You enjoyed the empty studio, the soft buzz in the quiet, normally filled with guitars blaring or Dom screaming into the mic for a song.

This was a place where you could think, relax. Just be. No one else but you and your thoughts.

“But when he loved me....I felt like Floating....when you called me pretty....I felt like....” pausing you scribbled another word out sighing

“Like somebody” looking up your eyes met the soft doe eyes of Jesse, the sweetest women you had met in the industry not that you cared to meet many industry people, parties were never your thing, and clubs even less so.

Smiling at her you scribbled the lyric down

“Thanks. What are you doing in here, figured you’d be either stopping Dom from jumping off the roof or videoing it” laughing she plopped next to you leaning her head back.

She was beautiful, a goddess statue in human form, long and stunning, a voice like honey and eyes of fawns in the morning, she was everything you could ever hope to be. And more, a family that came from the world you were now wrapped in, she was everything you could picture Dom wanting.

“Nah he’s outside taking a smoke with Tom and Gav. Not feeling that today” just nodding to her you put your notebook down looking around

“How long has he held your heart in his hands with out him knowing?”

Wide eyed you looked at her blinking

“What are you talking about? Who?” Her sigh told you she had caught on quicker then you knew to your hurt heart, almost like you held the small crying thing in your hands at all times

“He may not see it, but everyone else does, it’s killing you...as unrequited love does”

You wanted to hate her, for being, so nice, for being so wonderful and caring, for having what you wanted.

“It’s just a crush i’ll be over it soon enough. It’s happened before. It’s normal, part of life ya know. Plus you and him are so....beautiful together he is head over heels for you. It has to feel amazing ya know, being loved like that”

Looking at her you shrugged

“Have you thought of telling him? Maybe it’ll help your heart be okay again. Cause sweet pea, your poor heart is hurting, I can see it clear as day. When you look at him, or he gives you those eyes, the ones where you feel seen and heard, maybe telling him and talking about it will help.” Looking around you nodded

“Yeah. I just gotta work my way up to it, I will. If therapy taught me anything it’s, to be able to talk about very deeply repressed emotions. Thanks Jesse. You are....stunning” standing she brushed a bit of your hair back

“And so are you. You should see how beautiful you are.” With that she walked towards the door the subtle scent of her perfume held in the air

“Why are you so nice? Why can’t I just hate you like they do in movies? Fuck”

It was late when you slipped into the living room, Dom had dragged you to his rented home when it became clear he would be here longer then normal to finish the albums he had written in the covid lockdowns, offering you a guest room and not taking no for an answer.

Sitting at the piano you tested the keys, you knew a few notes and finger placements so it was enough to play basics of songs you worked on. Pressing the keys down you found the melody quicker then expected playing slowly. The noise drowning the gentle socked foot steps of Dom, peeking in from the kitchen.

“I don't wanna seem the way I do But I'm confident when I'm with you Lately all I feel is bad and bruised Tired of tripping on my shoes” you played slowly not seeing Dom slowly slip closer to listen to the lyrics you sang softly.

“But when he loved me I felt like floating When he called me pretty I felt like somebody Even when I fade eventually to nothing You will always be my favorite form of loving

When I started to tumble from the sky You reminded me how to fly Lately, I've been feeling un-alive But you brought me back to life” you could feel the tightness in your throat, the tears in the corners of your eyes

“But when you loved me, I felt like floating

When he called me pretty, I felt like somebody

Even when I fade eventually, I'm nothing

He will always be my favorite form of loving

But if he loved me, I’d feel like floating

If he called me pretty, I’d feel like somebody

Even when i fade eventually, To nothing

Dom, will always be my favorite form of loving”

Finishing the last note you sighed holding the tears back,

“You love me?” Jumping you slammed your hand on the keys turning seeing Dom stood behind you, his eyes sad.

“Dom.....it’s nothing just forget this, it’s just song stuff ya know....song stuff” you could never lie to him, it was impossible.

“How long ‘Ave you been feeling this way?” You shrugged unsure of your own voice not to crack the dam open. Standing you moved past him quick his hand reaching out grabbing your wrist

“Hey....”

“It’s fine Dom, it’s nothing, stupid is what it is, it’s nothing a crush, everyone gets them, it’s fine” turning to him you smiled praying it hit your eyes, knowing though, it never did.

“I....I didn’t.....” smiling at him you shrugged again

“It’s not your fault, how would you know if I didn’t tell you. Just forget it okay. I’m fine. This is fine. I’m gonna go to bed. Night” with that you rushed out of the living room. Forgetting your notebook sat on the piano chair.

“He called me pretty.....my heart reached out for him. I had to pull it back. Again..”

flipping through the pages Dom read each small note you had down, next to scrambled lyrics or dumb things you needed to remember.

“He looks at her like she hung the moon, if only he knew, I’d paint the stars in the sky for him, they are beautiful. I’m...happy for him”

“Dom doesn’t make it subtle mornings after. My heart shattered again. But that’s okay. He’s happy. So I’m happy”

Dom wanted to cry, wanted to scream at himself.

“Tom asked again, if I always had the sad heart broken eyes when I looked at Dom and Jesse. I punched his arm, told him to stuff it unless he wanted to be my therapist. He’s right though. I guess my eyes give everything away”

“He told her he loved her. I wonder what that’s like? That feeling of floating? Does she feel it? I bet. She’s wonderful. I wish I could hate her....but i can’t”

Dom stopped shutting the note book, wiping his face, had he missed it all? Had he missed the look of pure heart ache in your eyes? How? He wasn’t that blind to other people. He made sure he wasn’t. But he had missed everything and hurt someone close to him. And to you it had to seem like he didn’t care at all. And that hurt him down to his core. Did he love you? As a friend, as family, yes. But he didn’t love you like this, the way he loved Jesse or had loved ash.....he couldn’t not hurt you in that reality. Though he wished he could.

It was days later when he finally was able to get you alone. You were sat in the studio, untangling wires to headphones and guitar amps. Busy work, he knew that by now. Work to keep you from running into him or anyone else it seemed

“Hey....” he saw you stiffen at his voice, he didn’t like that, it confirmed you were avoiding him.

“Oh hey Dom, what’s up?” Walking closer to you he sighed

“We gotta talk about what it you know that right?” Standing quick you looked at him

“Talk about what? Nothing to talk about. I gotta go make sure things are set up in-“ he stopped you grabbing you and hugging you to him, one hand moving to your hair keeping you pressed against him

“I wish I could make this not hurt, could make this not be painful for your heart. ‘Cause you and yer heart don’t deserve that, not after me ignoring the signs. I’m so sorry. That I didn’ see you were ‘urting so clearly. Feel like a right dickhead.” He felt you shaking slightly, the tears finally breaking through the wall you had built up.

“I wish I could say this is like the shit romance movies and I love ya, and we’re meant to be and the end of the movie is me and you gettin married but.....” he felt you pull away looking at him

“But you don’t feel that way towards me. I know. I would be a little diluted in thinking you would.” He didn’t like seeing the tears on your face or the sadness in your eyes

“I....I wish I could just snap ma fingers and it’s better and nothin hurts for either of us. But....I can’t and I fookin hate that I can’t” his thumb came up, wiping the tears that still dropped down your face

“I know. But one day it’ll be easier for me. For you. It’ll just take time. And hey who knows maybe my Dom will come along. Though. Don’t think anyone. Could ever hold my heart like you. Even if you didn’t know you did.” Pulling away from him fully he let you walk out of the studio, a small smile as you waved to him, leaving him stood alone.

“If he loved me.....I’d feel like I’m floating....Dom will always be....my favorite form of loving”

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 10/12/21

MANY PROBLEMS

Please do not be alarmed by my sudden correct capitalization and better than usual punctuation, this comes from my phone bc I simply cannot be bothered to move from the couch and my phone is where I write correctly capitalized and punctuated work emails.

listening Anyway here are two spooky songs: Eartha Kitt’s I’d Rather Be Burned As A Witch is a jauntily rude little song I love her

Song two that was on loop as I cleaned my kitchen on Sunday night and has since been stuck in my head: Grabbitz’s Pigs In The Sky, which immediately went on four different character playlists bc I am (as previously established) a weak and predictable woman. The production on this one really pleases my brain, there’s enough happening in the background that it’s interesting and layered and doesn’t sound muddy, which is Very hard to do bc I am Very hard of hearing.

reading Star Wars: Scourge by Jeff Grubb

This book is a DARE campaign about how space cocaine is bad and causes murders. We’re going to set aside the whole drug thing for a minute bc honestly there are extremely few pieces of media that do a good job portraying addiction and drug use and holding a 2012 Star Wars novel to that standard is unfair. Oddly enough, in contrast with that, this book has a very sympathetic portrayal of Hutts, traditionally the cartel bosses of this universe.

Something this book IS good at doing is operating in a tiny backwater and making things feel small. It’s set in period of time where the post-Disney media doesn’t usually end up, on a number of planets we aren’t usually on, with a number of background at best factions. There was a post going around about how small old movies are are how they could be about just one guy having a bad day, and I recently had a convo with my best friend about how I hated the anime series bc it did get to explore bits and pieces but there was always the looming sense of exactly where we were in the narrative. Jabba is always there, or the Empire is always ther. Or the New Order is always there looming in the background. In this one the Corporates are always in the background, a faction that I would not say has had its moment in the Sun yet. Refreshing if disjointed.

This book does an awful lot of telling and not showing. The strength of Star Wars is the visuals, it started with the movies and the most successful pieces are the moving images. This book just straight up tells me how things happen and what everyone’s motives are. It does not let me imagine what the film version would look like, or trust me enough as a reader to draw my own conclusions and solve puzzles by myself. Again, it’s very hard to write mysteries and I may be holding this to an unfair standard, but it simply did not work for me. The clues were either extremely blatant or left me feeling like I didn’t have all the info the book thought I had. I think my main quibble is: not enough red herrings or enough effort put into them, but I do not care enough to reread this and develop my opinion further.

Now, I don’t know if this book is so single-minded bc the author admittedly has issues following and developing more than one plot thread at a time, or if this was a deliberate choice bc it was one of the last novels signed before Disney bought Lucasfilm and couldn’t tie into anything by design. Who could say.

watching Fallow week. Yes really. Been a lotta late nights over here at Evil Lair LLC and I have just enough energy to absorb half a bad romance novel/Star Wars novel/Star Wars romance novel for forty minutes before passing out

playing nothing I can talk about

making I like picking up large melee weapons when they’re a dollar. this file sat in a diluted vinegar/salt bath for two days and it didn’t really do anything except clear enough gunk out for me to realize the tip is just a little mangled. Am I gonna need this file any time soon? Probably not in this apartment but who could say. Before/after/yikes

[zzinvolterra]

I’ve read your post about the downsides of having powers and I loved it cause I always thought it couldn’t be that easy. Now I want to know the others!

I have a couple of ideas but I’d love to read your headcannons for Aro, Marcus, Edward, Alice, Jasper... I mean... everyone with a power.

Have a splendid day and be safe!

[previous post]

Thank you so much, you too!!

// mentions of panic attacks, anxiety attacks, sensory overload //

Aro

When he touches someone, he can read every though the person has ever had.

The possibilities.  I think the primary concern would be losing or mixing up his own memories with others’ thoughts.  He’s come into contact with vampires with millions of their own thoughts many times, and because of his memory, they’re all locked in there, perfectly preserved forever.  (Also, the criminals that he would be reading would likely have quite gruesome memories.)  So forgetting who he is, experiencing constant déjà vu and horrific flashbacks (that aren’t his... or are they?), and becoming overwhelmed to the point where he can’t function are all very possible.

Marcus

He sees the relationships or connections people have to one another.

I suppose Marcus could occasionally be overwhelmed, perhaps experiencing headaches when looking at a large coven.  (Also, there’s so much honesty in his gift, meaning in nearly every relationship he has, he knows exactly how they feel about him.  Which could be painful at times.)

Didyme

Aura of happiness, I guess. [not a quote]

Didyme emits an aura of happiness that seems unconscious and may have occurred to a lesser degree as a human.  Like I mentioned before with Chelsea, every relationship she’s had could have been affected by that.  (...including Didyme/Marcus - would their love be the same if she didn’t have her Ability?)  And depending on how much her gift affects a person, she could be sobbing (vampirically) and everyone else in the room would still be grinning and laughing euphorically.

Everyone else is under the cut!

Edward

Edward can read the thoughts of anyone in close proximity to him...

I just started MS, so I’m not quite sure how this is in canon, but I imagine it would be quite easy for Edward to become overwhelmed, especially as a newborn when he didn’t know how to block out voices.  He could also experience migraines.  Plus, in terms of how much he’s got bouncing around in his head, he’s like Aro Jr.  Not Good.

Alice

She can see into the future, although what she sees is based on decisions being made; thus, she must wait for a decision to be firmly rooted in the mind or acted upon, before she can see the end result.

Her visions send her into an almost catatonic state, and she sees them often enough that there must be quite a few of them preserved in her mind.  She exists on a different plane of reality, really, that must make it harder for her to connect with others.  Could definitely see her experiencing constant déjà vu (she’s just living to catch up to her next vision) as well as anxiety attacks from trying to avert every single possible disaster.

Jasper

Jasper has the ability to both feel and manipulate the emotions of those around him.

It seems like Jasper is constantly inundated with the emotions of others, including their thirst, so him experiencing sensory overload is definitely possible.  He’s also able to manipulate others with his gift, so unconsciously influencing someone could be a concern of his.

Bella

Her mind is impenetrable; no one can read her thoughts unless she allows it.  She can shield herself from all types of psychic attacks and learns to shield those around her.

I like to think that Bella feels a dampened down version of whatever she’s blocking, especially when she’s expanded her shield.  For example, she could feel a stinging sensation when Jane attempted to Pain™ them in BD.

Resume

She can show people her thoughts by touching their skin.  So far, no one has been able to block her talent.

Sounds scary, but okay.  Maybe showing other people her thoughts drains her energy?  (While we’re talking about her, I support the headcanon that Resume is like an immortal child in the way that she draws people in and encourages them to die for protect her.  Her Ability could increase that effect.)  There are also some weird parallels between her and Aro.

Zafrina

Zafrina has a strong illusory talent.  She can make her target see any illusion she wants, or see nothing at all.

Hmm.  I suppose for Zafrina, she could perhaps experience a diluted form of her own Ability when using it on others for an extended period of time.  I’m assuming that she has to concentrate on what she wants them to see, and maybe after a while, she starts seeing bits of it herself.  Or, her own vision could start growing dimmer as she exerts more energy.

Eleazar

He has the ability to sense the type and strength of gifted vampires’ talents.

Eleazar is like a gift metal detector.  Consequences could be that being around powerful gifts, or many at the same time, could overwhelm him.  For example, getting headaches when he was part of the Volturi or during the army witness gathering in BD.  (And I’m assuming Aro visits him semi-regularly, which is not an enviable position to be in.)

Kate

She has the power to cause a painful, electric shock-like jolt in anyone she touches.

I think with Kate, she could become drained, especially if she’s touching more than one person or using her Ability for an extended period of time.  And until she fine-tuned her control over her gift, she was probably shocking everybody and was afraid to touch those she loved in fear of hurting them.

Benjamin

He can influence the elements – water, earth, fire, and air.  He is able to physically manipulate the world around him with his will, similar to telekinetic.

Because of his power, Benjamin wasn’t allowed to leave the house for years, so yeah.  Downside of being the Avatar is everybody wants you.  Also, it seemed, at least in my opinion, that he doesn’t have the greatest control over his gift - meaning every time he uses it, it’s large and powerful.  In the BD (movie) vision, he creates a chasm... that’s deep enough to reach magma?  (Fault lines!!)  So if he were to ever lose that bit of control over his Ability, he would do a lot of damage.

Maggie

She is able to tell if a person is lying.

Maggie is compelled to point out lies, to the point where she can’t stop even when people become uncomfortable and punish her for needing to state the truth.  Therefore, hearing lies could hurt her, mentally or emotionally.  It could also be sort-of an obsession of hers to have everything be the “truth”.  (Do with this what you will - basically what I’m trying to say is that Maggie is unable to not point out lies.)

Siobhan?

Some suspect she can affect the outcome of a situation through willpower alone.

If she does have an Ability, I suppose it could be that the outcomes she causes have unintended side effects - a bit like how Alice attempts to manipulate events, but those new events bring new potential disasters.

James

He was a skilled tracker, able to sense in advance the most likely moves of his prey.

Demetri-ish?  Hyper-aware of his surroundings.

Victoria

She was exceptionally good at evading enemies.

She’s canonically good at hide-and-seek...?  To me, it seems like an Ability that was invented to explain why nobody could find her, but all right.  Perhaps a mix of Afton, hiding-wise (though she doesn’t turn invisible-ish), and Bella, evading-Demetri-wise.

Fred

He has the ability to make anyone feel physically repulsed.  He can use this ability to make someone unable to think of him for a period of time.

In “The Second Life of Bree Tanner”, it seems like Fred’s Ability is always active.  Perhaps gaining control of that power could be difficult because, until he does, he pushes everyone away...(Reneta-ish?)  Also, he’s called “Freaky Fred”.  Rude.

Raoul

He had a limited ability to make others view him as their leader.  It worked best on those who were directionless.

This is hard because it almost seems like Raoul is just exceptionally charismatic.  Potential scenario: if his directionless followers somehow found direction, he would have to deal with an uprising.

Alistair

Alistair can track both people and things.  He can sense the general direction of whatever he is looking for, but it takes him a long time to narrow this feeling down to a specific location.

(He’s very good at finding those car keys.)  He would be aware of his surroundings, similar to Demetri but to a lesser degree.  Not sure if he’d be as overwhelmed as often since it seems like he needs to focus on something specifically to find it, but I imagine his first few years weren’t fun.

Charles

Charles can sense when someone is lying to him.

Maggie 2.0?  Or perhaps more accurately, Maggie 0.5?  Sounds like he’s essentially Maggie, but less affected by lies.

Mele

Could take Abilities and transfer them to other people.  However, she couldn’t use the gifts herself. [Also not a quote]

Gift snatched.  Her power on its own is not very helpful to her survival, since she can’t harness the gifts she takes, nor is it beneficial to her existence.  In my opinion, Mele, due to her Ability, will always be stuck in the position of serving someone (like Sulpicia in Life and Death) or be killed because she’s a threat (Aro).

[imagineabrighterworld]

The Saint and the Prince pt.2

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼𝓷’𝓽 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾

You look at your mother through the mirror as she braids ribbons into your hair. Her hands flutter as they hold your locks of hair with infinite gentleness.

You were dressed in the color of persimmons and summer peaches, from the ribbons in your hair to the dye streaking your cheeks. You felt silly dressed so weirdly. It wasn't like your family to be so.. Colorful. Not on a day like this. Everyone was wearing black except for you.

You shuffle uncomfortably in your seat. Your mother was crying, and yet she was doing your hair.

“Mama?” You whisper, hating the way her hands began to tremble and lose hold of your hair. Why was she crying? What was making her so sad? “Mama you're scaring me.”

She sniffles, using the back of her palm to wipe away the wetness of her tears. “Forgive me..” The kohl lining her eyes is smeared, but she pays no mind to the smudges on her hands. “Forgive me.”

You want to comfort her but she coaxes you into staying still as she finishes with your hair. It is only when your father comes into the room that you begin to piece together what is happening. You were being taken away from her, but why? It was supposed to be a good day today. The Alshanun Iraziz, the Sun Saint was supposed to be coming to bring her blessings, just like your papa said.

Your mother’s cries of anguish grow louder now as your father guides you out of the room, his own sniffles paled in comparison to hers. The sound of shattering glass is your only goodbye from your mother.

“Papa? I'm afraid.”

He says nothing. His hand tightens around yours, the bones in your hand squeezing together, but you're too afraid to pull away from him. Afraid he might disappear, or go back home to mama, leaving you alone.

A crowd lays in front of you, the familiar black clothing of the Sun Saint’s day is before you. Why were you in color when they were in black? You felt like an ill beating heart in the crowd of bleakness.

Now, you stand in the center of your town.

The villagers around you murmur prayers as you pass them by. They reach out and kiss your palms. As if you were a saint in the books your grandmother had coveted so long ago. Whispers surround you, the sounds crawling on your skin uncomfortably.

𝓞 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓴𝔂, 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼, 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓝𝓪𝓭𝓪

Your father left you behind somewhere in the crowd as he ushered you to the platform in the middle of the crowd. His face blurred among the people, but somewhere in the throng you swear you can hear his cries.

As you look down at the orangewood platform carved with prayers, you know why your mother was crying. You know why the people have to hold your father back as his cries turn to screams.

“Bueirikan kembali! Khadhnaa!”

Give her back. Take me.

“Ahfuz tifli!”

Save my child.

The high priest stands behind you as the sun begins to rise.

𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼

The orange sky is the last thing you see as a knife is plunged into your back.

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼

---

Shoto returned to the others with his mind full of the color orange.

He mostly stayed quiet for the reminder of their tour around the town, his eyes constantly drifting to the blossoms covering every inch of the buildings. Their sweet scent was almost too much. Their flowers thick with nectar.

The town felt stifling, he didn't know why, but perhaps his talk with the mysterious woman would clear things up.

Bachar leads them back to his home and holds a feast with several of the neighboring lords as guests. Shoto isn't eager to converse, but he does his part as prince and answers their questions and occasionally offers up one of his own. They spoke of trade between the kingdoms and the benefits their people might have if they worked closely together. 

The Alshanun kingdom had bountiful amounts of herbal medicine, spices, and pastures full of cattle, while Todoroki’s kingdom had less greenlands. But where it lacked in greenery, it was full of libraries, a strong army to defend from invaders, gold deposits, and waterfalls that held water so clear you could see all the way to the bottom of their lakes.

A partnership could keep both of their people comfortable for years to come.

Night fell, and soon the group was off to their chambers.

“Todoroki?” Midoriya asks from behind him, his hand on the doorknob of his own room. “Where did you go? You know, earlier.”

Shoto remains quiet, his eyes shifting to his door. A phantom breeze brushes against his arm, eerily reminding him of a hand. “Nowhere.”

It wasn't in his place to question a prince, but it was in his place to question a friend. So Midoriya asks once more. “Are you sure?”

Shoto looks at his friend, his eyes roving over his face. He was worried, and it warmed his heart to know he had a friend who truly cared. But he didn't have answers yet. He couldn't reassure his friend without any information. All he had was the memory of a girl.

“I’m sure.” The corners of his lips tug upward. “Goodnight.”

Entering his room, Shoto looks at the wallpaper lining the walls and the stumpy candles lining the window sill. With a flick of his hand, he lights them, watching as the wax begins to melt at their center. The warm smell of vanilla fills the room as he changes and soon he is in bed, drifting off to sleep.

When he wakes, the sunlight is weakly filtering in, not yet a deep gold but a pale yellow that engulfs his room. He sits up slowly and looks at the window to where the candles had long been extinguished in their own wax. 

He listens for the sounds of life outside his door, but all there is is silence. Not even the servants were up yet.

Shoto sits up and pulls the sheets away from himself. He had half a mind to stay in bed and wait until the others were awake, maybe travel around the nearby towns and meet its lords. But he didn't listen to that half. 

Slipping out of his room, he quietly makes his way out of the mansion after dressing in simple black clothing. It wasn't what he was accustomed to wearing, not when it was the color of mourning. But it helped him blend in with the early risers already setting up shop, helped him not feel a fool when they waved good morning to him. 

Wending his way to the fountain from the day before, he sits at its edge, looking into its waters. Vaguely he could sense it, feel the way it would turn to ice beneath his touch. How its side would frost. 

He doesn't notice you as you look over his shoulder at the water. Doesn't see your reflection until you're smiling at him.

-

“Hello again princeling.” You step back just as the stranger in front of you whips his head back. His eyes widen before they narrow, his lips a flat line. 

“Hello.” He says warily, his eyes flickering to your orange and saffron clothing. “Why are you dressed like that?”

You sit next to him, undisturbed by how he looks at you. As if you were doing something out of line. He truly was a prince, one who obviously wasn't very social. “That’s the wrong question. I’ll grant you one answer.”

“Why do you speak like this? What are you hiding?” 

“Wrong again princeling.” 

Small ice crystals prick at his skin as a small pout forms on his face, a crease building between his brows. You hold in a smile as you see the gears turning in his head. You rarely got to have fun, and it was amusing seeing him so confused.

“Who are you?”

You let your smile show. Finally, he got it right. “I am the Alshanun Iraziz. The Sun Saint.”

“Were you always this way?”

Now he was asking the right questions, you muse as you inspect his hands that had folded themselves neatly on his lap, hiding the frost that was forming on his fingers. You could feel the power thrumming in his veins. The ice and the fire. If you were alive, you would have been concerned at how easily he might set you alight or freeze the blood in your veins. But you were an Iraziz, a Saint, and his gifts held no sway over you.

“No. I used to be just like you. Alive with a beating heart. I used to wear black, just like you. Now, all I ever wear is this.” You look at your silk slippers and the folds of your skirts embroidered with gold string. It was the most expensive thing you ever had in life. A gift from the High Priest that had ended your life, giving you this life in its place. 

“What is your name?”

So much for one answer, you think to yourself. But it had been so long since you've spoken with anyone. 

“I’ve forgotten my true one.” You dip your hand in the waters of the fountain, the cool waters soothing your warm skin. It was always so warm around this time of year, even when the sun was at its weakest. “I didn't know to hold it close, the day I became the Alshanun Iraziz was the same day I lost my name. I don't suppose I’ll ever get it back now.” It had been too long. Your people were long gone and replaced with their descendants. The faces you looked at now were watered down versions of your kin. 

“What is your name?” You ask him, looking at his face to find him staring at your hand and the waters that didn't shift with your touch. 

“Todoroki Shoto.”

You hum. “Todoroki. I’ve heard of it before. When your family was still only lords, not kings and queens.”

Todoroki’s face turns considering. “You've been alive a long time.”

“Alive is one way of putting it.” 

“Then how did you come to be? Is your gift to be an undead? A shadow?”

“I’m glad you still believe I’m some form of alive, but I assure you, my life was snuffed ages ago.” There was no bitterness in your voice, you had long ago come to accept your fate. “I was sacrificed to become the new Iraziz, my people decided my fate long before your kingdom was unified.”

You feel his ice before it crawls into the water, freezing the fountain as a look of diluted horror crosses his face. “Your own people let you die?”

You chuckle. “It’s not unlike parting your meal for your gods, or offering them a glass of wine. Or how you dedicate a moment of your day in prayer for good fortune. My people gave me to the Sun, praying for a miracle. When my life was taken, a new one was given.”

“Were you.. the first?” The ice behind you slowly melts, a hiss of steam telling you the prince was undoing his work.

Now you can feel the old ache. The ghostly touch of your mothers hands as she fixed your hair, the feeling of your fathers fingers curling around your own. 

“No. I wasn't.”

So many girls had gone through the same ritual. So many had their lives ripped away like pins in the hair. “I am, however, the last. After me, no other girls have been sacrificed.”

“Why?” What stopped them? You can see the unspoken question in his eyes.

“Each year, my spirit withers and turns weak, which is why they replaced the Iraziz each year with a new girl, a fresh spirit. But I’ve held onto this life, I’ve preformed miracles to show I’m still here. So no other girl has to die.”

The bubbling of the water fountain speaks for the both of you as you watch the people in their shops, readying their wares. No matter what their ancestors did to you, you held no hate for them in your heart. You could feel the remnants of rage that the girls before you held, but you had no such reservations. 

Todoroki watches your people with you, his eyes distant and unfeeling. You didn't understand what he was thinking, but you could feel. Feeling wasn't your gift, not like how his gift was ice and fire, but you were always open to others feelings. So susceptible. It was heightened now in death. 

“What is it you're thinking of princeling?” You ask. 

“You said something when we meant yesterday. That I needed you.”

“I did.”

“Why do you think I need you?”

“You're lonely. You feel lost, like a ghost in a living body. Something is holding you prisoner.”

He glances at you from the side. “I’m not lost.” 

“Then why do you have this look in your eyes, like you wish to be somewhere else. I felt a kindred spirit in you when I first crossed paths with you. Can you say you didn't feel the same?”

He doesn’t agree, but he doesn't disagree either. He simply stands up and begins to pace around the fountain, his hands clasped together behind him. 

You lay down on the stones of the fountain, watching his pacing. As a saint, you couldn't help but feel pulled to the needy. It was strange knowing he needed you. That a prince could be so deeply wounded that he needed a saint’s help. But you couldn't rest until he was happy, until that dark ache inside of him was soothed. 

“I.. I do not need you.” He says aloud, stopping across from you, the water fountain blocking your view of him. “I’ve already let go.”

“We both know that isn’t true.” You whisper, “I can feel you calling out. But I will be here for when you need me.”

“I don't-”

But you were already gone, and the sun was looming gold over the land. 

[fishylife]

Spoilers for Hyena Ep 6

- Ok I admit the end of this episode was preeetty hype, with the witness Kim Yeong-jun feeling secure and confident now that Son Jin-su has been arrested, and both Geum-ja and Hee-jae feeling out of their depth.

- The politics going on between Geum-ja and Hee-jae was pretty interesting. Boo Hyeon-a and Ga Gi-hyeok already had preconceived perceptions of who Geum-ja was, so she had that working against her. But she successfully wooed Kim Chung-uk over to her side. How so? I think the thing about Chung-uk is that even though he’s a partner, he’s not exactly ambitious in the traditional sense. We see that he’s introverted and kind of lives in his own world, which is why it’s easier for Geum-ja to win him over. Geum-ja is currently pretty unpopular around the office so for those who are career driven like Hyeon-a, it’s automatically not good to be associated with her, and Gi-hyeok was already best bros with Hee-jae already.

- This team of Geum-ja, Ji-eun, Chung-uk and the first year associate Na I-jun is kind of cute though?! Ji-eun is super used to all of Geum-ja’s ways of doing things, so there’s nothing new there. Chung-uk is the brains and the information gatherer and I-jun is just...the moral support XD It’s cute!

- As much as Geum-ja and Hee-jae hate each other, they do take their jobs seriously, and thus they put up a united front when conversing with their client Son Jin-su. I half expected the writers to make Geum-ja and Hee-jae argue in front of the client which would be so unprofessional, and so I’m super glad that they went with the path of common sense lol.

- I though it wouldn’t be as fun to watch Geum-ja and Hee-jae work together, but I am actually enjoying it. Hee-jae does the above the ground stuff and Geum-ja does the underground stuff. They both have very different approaches, and that way, they get all the bases covered. And what’s better is that Geum-ja is the one who takes the underground aggressive approach. When we have a duo consisting of a male and female character, I think normally people expect the woman to be like, refined and precise and totally courteous and the man to be the brute, but that’s subverted (somewhat) in this show. Hee-jae makes use of his reputation and his connections, though because he’s strictly dealing things in the “proper” way, he doesn’t necessarily always get the answers. As for Geum-ja, since she’s already bending the rules, she typically goes all out and bends them as much as she can to gather the evidence she needs.

- Who is Geum-ja’s informant? The last time we met him, it seemed like he and Geum-ja were at least on friendly terms, and the same happened this episode. Are they related? Past lovers? I wonder if he becomes an actual character later on.

- We got some internal politics from the supporting characters too. So apparently Kim Min-joo is Song Pil-jung’s sister-in-law, so I’m guessing the reason that they’re not at each other’s throats is because of family reasons.

- I can’t tell what’s going on with Yu-mi’s story line. I know she was supposed to be comedic relief, but she’s also the one with the testimonial evidence that Geum-ja had faked her identity to get evidence for the Ha Chan-ho case. Is that going to come back, or is the secret going to be safe? But the thing is, it was already established before that Geum-ja isn’t as scared as we may think she is for being disbarred. So I’m just wondering how big these stakes are supposed to be.

- Hee-jae was kind of exasperated with Geum-ja when he said that she was only into law for the money and I’m like ??? is anybody into their job not for the money??? I mean a lot of people are, but a lot of people aren’t. There’s an ongoing theme of class difference between Hee-jae and Geum-ja. Hee-jae comes from a wealthy background. He could pursue whatever he wanted and his family wealth would’ve been able to support him. Geum-ja has been on her own for a long time. And unfortunately in this world we live in, we need money to live. Again, she’s just ensuring her own survival. But with Hee-jae he sees everything about Geum-ja as less noble.

- Geum-ja had that violin music on her phone. Is it supposed to imply that she liked Hee-jae at least a little bit? The execution of that felt a little clumsy. I’ve never felt that Geum-ja felt anything other than like, a friendship born out of rivalry for Hee-jae. I’m not ready to accept that Geum-ja had real true love for Hee-jae.

- A note about violin music and the interiors of Song & Kim. Kdramas and even Korean movies seem to interpret Western culture in a similar way artistically speaking. The style of classical music isn’t necessarily classical music imo, it’s dramatic instrumental music, but a little bit modern so that it can seem cool and accessible to the modern viewer. This drama keeps using the same opening line of violin music throughout the drama so it’s very easy to recognize, but it gets real old real fast. But this kind of instrumental violin music is something I recognize in a lot of other Korean media. As for the interior design at Song & Kim, some of the more extravagant offices are like...a bit too dressed up (e.g. Song Pil-jung’s office). Like, I know the intention is to make it look like his office has a lot of fancy stuff, but the version presented in the drama just looks like a pop version, with all the colours, like it was a young person’s impression of what a rich old person would want in their office. So what I’m trying to say is that when this show is trying to express something that is high class and from Western culture, it tends to go for a version that is a bit more pop-ish, like a diluted version of it, but it’s diluted with very modern and young elements. I don’t know if this point made sense at all. Maybe I’ll be able to explain it better when I’ve thought about it more.

[anncanta]

The imagery of BBC ‘Dracula’: mythology, alchemy, literature. Part 2

Part 1 is here.

Mirror

One of the cross-cutting images of the entire work, which underlies the very narrative structure on which it is built, the image of the mirror is one of the most ancient in European culture. Which is not surprising – a reflective surface capable of showing a person himself was probably initially perceived as magical – not by chance, as in the situation with photography, the earliest myths and fears associated with mirrors speak of soul abduction.

In Dracula, the image of the mirror is presented at the same time as a literal object that the protagonist fears, his main phobia, a metaphor for his ability/inability to look at himself, and the resulting all this motive of duality that unfolds the story as a drama of reflections.

Let's start with a literal mirror. I don't know if you noticed, but in the first episode, with the exception of the scene in Jonathan's room in Dracula's castle, there are no mirrors at all. And even that only thing of Harker Dracula instantly breaks. It is interesting how he does it – not as a negative character, grimacing angrily at the sight of a hated object, or an unforgettable queen in various versions of the story about Snow White, destroying a mirror showing her not what she wants. Dracula breaks the mirror instinctively, doing it in one movement as if delaying or trying to think about it could be almost more dangerous than the object itself is. It is possible that this is so. He then tells Jonathan that he cannot provide him with another mirror in return, as he does not keep such things in his house. From that moment on, not once during the two episodes did he look at his reflection, including the scene with Dorabella, where the Count shows a young woman what could have been in her life, reflected in the water, but does not look into it himself.

The third episode looks in huge contrast to the first two. Now Dracula, who woke up in the twenty-first century, looks at himself constantly. In fact, if you peer closely, he does just that throughout the episode. And not only literally, but also metaphorically. Which, in general, is logical: given the events that took place in the castle, and then on Demeter, we can assume that for the first time in many years Dracula plucked up the courage to see himself, to meet with himself and think about what he was.

Judging by what the Count sees in the mirror, the answer is not very inspiring.

It turns out that there is nothing majestic, bright, and attractive either in himself or in his life. His spectacular charming appearance is a mask, an illusion, and an old man with gray hair and sunken eyes looks to him from the window glass, his house is a pompous empty room, trying to replace the unattainable sun with an excess of artificial light, his woman is a silly girl who is not afraid of death because she is unable to appreciate life.

The ruthlessness and brightness of the reflections leave no chance for false interpretations. In this sense, the relationship between Dracula and his new lawyer is especially eloquent. You need to understand that the reflection of Jonathan Harker in modern reality is not Jack Seward, but Renfield. Obsequious, stupid, pitiful, ready to do anything for the sake of influence and power. It is the worst mirror the Count has ever seen, and, as he begins to conjecture, perhaps just the one he deserves.

The reflection in Renfield and in Lucy leads Dracula in the end to what he fled from for so many years.

To the needle and the sun.

Needle

When you talk about images in works of art, you always have to keep in mind that images are inseparable from motives and plots with which they travel through time and that every time you discover a particular object and symbol in a text, you, like a fisherman in an old fairy tale, can bring the whole world to the surface. And it doesn't matter at all whether the image is large or small, is it constantly mentioned in the text or is the central one in a single short episode.

In Dracula, the needle occurs only once, but its appearance can serve as an example of how a single image, arising, ‘gathers’ an archetypal story around itself.

Globally, in Dracula, there are two central archetypal plots: the plot of the beauty and the beast and the plot of the sleeping beauty. I suggest looking at how one of them works at the image level.

I'm talking about the plot of the sleeping beauty. 

Let`s recall the episode in the isolation ward. What does Dracula do before making an incision in his arm and filling a test tube with blood? That's right, he gives Zoe a needle. The same spindle, which in a fairy tale makes a sleeping beauty fall asleep (symbolically, like a caterpillar, plunge into a transformative state, from which it will emerge as a butterfly).

In the film, Dracula plays both the role of a witch taking revenge for the fact that she was not invited to the party, and a prince called to wake up the beauty. This is literally shown in the scene when, in a vision of Zoe, who drank the Count's blood, Agatha and Zoe look into each other's eyes, connected by Dracula and standing on opposite sides of him. Moreover, pay attention – Zoe stands behind the Count's back, symbolizing the past, while Agatha is right in front of him, metaphorically meaning the future.

Well, and if this is not enough for someone, a little later they will show us Zoe, lying in bed, and Agatha, entering the door.

And what comes after her?

Sun 

Author`s note

This part of the article contains thoughts that I unexpectedly discovered a few days ago in a beautiful text The Petruvian Man by @devoursjohnlock. I highly recommend this article to those who are interested in the topic of images and the structural construction of Dracula.

In the first episode, the sun rarely appears, in the second it is hidden almost all the time behind clouds or fog, and in the third it crosses the hero's path several times in a row – first in Bob's house, where Zoe threatens to collapse the roof if Dracula does not surrender, then – in the form of golden light, hugging the building of the Jonathan Harker foundation, where the Count is brought in a box, until it finally bursts into the window of Dracula's own house, categorically and victoriously, putting an end to all the vague games.

We will not talk here about the meaning of the sun as reason, consciousness, openness, new life, clarity, and realization of an integral personality. This is understandable, and we talked about this earlier. Let's look at it as an image that is used in this text a little unusual, but that's why it is no less interesting, creating depth and additional context where you don't expect it.

We are talking about the scene at the very beginning, in the first episode, which at first glance seems to be nothing more than a joke, an attempt by the writers to ‘dilute’ the drama, so to speak. But it's not that simple.

Remember how Dracula leads Jonathan Harker to his room and walks past the portraits of Petruvio and the architect’s wife? Remember what he says to Jonathan?

‘This castle was the Widower`s final work. A monument to his lost love and the sunlight, to which he could never return.’ And then Dracula adds: ‘...he died here in the arms of his wife,’ – in response to Jonathan's remark how this could be possible, as Petruvio was a widower, saying: ‘It must have been a cold embrace.’

Reflecting later on this gloomy joke, Johnny concludes that Petruvio considered his wife his sun: ‘What else is sunlight, but the face of one`s beloved?’, and guesses that behind her portrait is hidden a plan of the castle. And then words follow, which, in combination with what was said earlier, create an image that becomes a kind of symbolic prologue to the entire text and at the same time a brief description of the plot.

Finding the plan, Johnny deciphers it and discovers a way out behind Petruvio's portrait. Then he says: ‘Petruvio’s wife was the sunlight, and he stood guard at the door.’

Does it remind you of anything?

What happens in the last scene in the third episode?

The catharsis of the uniting of the two, which became possible only because both realized and accepted their – as we could see from the very beginning – natural roles in this play. Agatha took the role of the sunlight and the liberating power of love and mind, and Dracula – the role of the door.

And on a figurative level, this was laid down from the first minutes of the film. Spoken in words for those who do not read visual messages. Down to the smallest details, like the architect who died in the arms of his wife, who by that time was already dead. As well as Agatha, who was physically dead for one hundred and twenty-three years by the end of the third episode.

Rather, as in the case of the needle, and in many others, here words only confirm and express directly what is said at the symbolic level, and it is impossible to separate one level from other. Reading them at the same time, moving between them, and looking at them together, you can see the whole story, and even guess what is it about.

But more on that later.

Part 3.

[xxcxcs-blog]

Everything You Need to Stock an at-Home Bar

So you finally found the bar cart of your dreams, and you’ve loaded it up with your favorite liquor. While those are two very important steps to curating an at-home bar, to really make your setup recall that of your favorite watering hole, you’re going to want to add some barware and cocktail equipment. But that can be an intimidating task, especially if you’ve had more experience drinking cocktails than making them. The good news is that you don’t have to spend a lot of money. “Most people in their home bar really don’t need that many tools,” advises Joaquín Simó, a partner at New York City’s Pouring Ribbons who was named Tales of the Cocktail’s American Bartender of the Year in 2012. “I say you start with the absolute basics and concentrate on the things that you like to use.”

If you’re in a pinch, Martin Hudak, a bartender at Maybe Sammy, says you can always use bartender tools you may already have on hand: “For your shaken cocktails, you can use empty jam jars or a thermos flask. For measuring, spoons and cups, and for stirring, any spoon or back of a wooden ladle.” But Stacey Swenson, the head bartender at Dante (which currently holds the No. 1 spot on the World’s 50 Best Bars list), notes that if you’re going to put stuff on display, you might want gear that’s both practical and stylish. “You want something that’s functional and also something that’s pretty,” she says. “If you’re putting it on your bar cart, you kind of put on a show for your guests.” With the help of Simó, Hudak, Swenson, and 28 other experts, we’ve put together the below list of essential gear for any cocktail-lover’s home bar.

Editor’s note: If you want to support service industry workers who have been impacted by the coronavirus closures, you can donate to the Restaurant Workers’ Community Foundation, which has set up a COVID-19 Crisis Relief Fund, or One Fair Wage, which has set up an Emergency Coronavirus Tipped and Service Worker Support Fund. We’ve also linked to any initiatives the businesses mentioned in this story have set up to support themselves amid the coronavirus pandemic.

According to Simó, all shakers “technically do the same thing, and there are very cheap and very nice versions,” so there’s really no superior option when it comes to function. That said, many professional bartenders use Boston-style shakers, which are basically two cups that fit into each other and form a tight seal to keep liquid from splashing all over you. “If you want to look like a bartender at Death & Co. or PDT, and you want the same kit, then you’re probably going to go metal-on-metal,” or “tin-on-tin,” Simó notes. Six of our experts recommend these weighted tin-on-tin shakers — which come in a range of finishes, including copper and silver — from Cocktail Kingdom, a brand that nearly every bartender we spoke to praised for its durable, well-designed barware. Grand Army’s beverage director, Brendan Biggins, and head bartender, Robby Dow, call this “the gold standard” of shaking tins. “Behind the bar, there’s almost nothing worse than shaker tins that don’t seal well or don’t separate easily,” explains Krissy Harris, the beverage director and owner of Jungle Bird in Chelsea. “The Koriko Weighted Shaking tins seal perfectly every time and easily release,” she says. And because they’re weighted, they’re less likely to fall over and spill.

For some people, a two-piece setup like the above shakers might be tricky to use comfortably. “Say you’re a petite female — if you have very small hands, then maybe using a Boston-style shaker may be a little harder,” explains Simó. In that case, a cobbler shaker may be the better choice, because it’s smaller than a Boston-style shaker and thus easier to hold. The other convenient part of a cobbler-style shaker is that the strainer is already built into the lid, so you don’t necessarily have to spring for an additional wine tools. Karen Lin, a certified sommelier, sake expert, and the executive general manager of Tsukimi, suggests this shaker from Japanese barware brand Yukiwa. “The steel is very sturdy, and the shape fits perfectly in my hands,” she says. “It is also designed well so you can take it apart easily to clean.”

You know how James Bond always ordered his martinis shaken, not stirred? Well, if you were to ignore Mr. Bond’s order and make a stirred martini — or any other stirred cocktail, like a Negroni or a Manhattan — you’d set aside the shaker to use a mixing beaker instead. A mixing beaker is essentially a large vessel in which you dump your liquors and mix your drink. And though you can purchase handsome crystal ones for hundreds of dollars, both Simó and Swenson agree that they’re kind of superfluous for a basic bar kit. “I don’t think you should spend any more than $25 on a mixing glass,” says Swenson. Harris agrees, saying that since they are the most broken item behind the bar, you should stick to a well-priced option like this mixing glass from Hiware that “doesn’t have a seam, so it’s stronger and very attractive.”

One of Simó’s hacks to getting a glass mixing beaker for not that much money is to use the glass piece from a French press, which is something else you might already own. If you want a dedicated one for your bar cart (that could serve as a backup for your French press), he says you can buy a replacement glass like this one, which has a capacity that is particularly useful if you’re making drinks for a lot of people. “I generally will take one or two of the big guys with me when I’m doing events, because then I can stir up five drinks in one, and it’s really convenient,” Simó explains.

According to Paul McGee, a co-owner of Lost Lake in Chicago, “finding vintage martini pitchers is very easy, and they are perfect for making large batches of cocktails.” Plus, they’ll look more visually striking on your bar cart. This one is even pretty enough to use as a vase when it’s not filled with punch. The photo shows the pitcher next to a strainer, but you’re only getting the pitcher for the price shown.

If you’re making a stirred drink, a mixing or bar set spoon is also necessary. “Three basic styles exist: the American bar spoon has a twisted handle and, usually, a plastic cap on the end, the European bar spoon has a flat muddler/crusher, and the Japanese bar spoon is heavier, with a weighted teardrop shape opposite the bowl,” explains Joe Palminteri, the director of food and beverage at Hamilton Hotel’s Via Sophia and Society. None of our experts recommended specific American-style bar spoons, but Simó told us that one of his favorite Japanese-style spoons is this one made by bartender Tony Abou-Ganim’s Modern Mixologist brand. “It’s got a really nice, deep bowl to it, which means you’re able to measure a nice, level teaspoon” without searching through your drawers, according to him. Simó continues, “The little top part of it has a nice little weight to it, but it’s not too bulky. So it gives you a really nice balance as you’re moving the mixing spoon around,” making your job a little easier.

Should your at-home bartending require a lot of muddling, Swenson recommends getting a European-style spoon like this, which he says will still allow you to stir while eliminating the need to buy a dedicated muddler. “You can actually use the top of the spoon to crush a sugar cube if you wanted to for your old-fashioned. I have one of those, so I don’t have to have two tools; I’ve got both of them right there.”

You don’t necessarily need a strainer if you’re using a cobbler shaker, since it’s already got a strainer built into the lid. But if you’re using a Boston-style shaker, you should get what’s called a Hawthorne strainer to make sure the ice you used to chill your drink doesn’t end up in your glass and dilute the cocktail. Three experts recommend this one, including Lynnette Marrero, the beverage director of Llama Inn and Llama-San and the co-founder of Speed Rack, who says it’s her absolute favorite because “it is light and easy to clutch and close correctly.” If you choose to buy this Hawthorne strainer, Simó also recommends getting “the replacement springs that Cocktail Kingdom sells,” telling us they’re a good way to give a worn-out strainer a face-lift. “They’re really, really nice and tight, and you can generally slip them into any Hawthorne strainer that you have.”A jigger is what you use to measure the liquor into the shaker or mixing glass. A hyperfunctional, albeit nontraditional-looking, option is the mini measuring wine decante from OXO. “I know some bartenders, including the ones at Drink in Boston, one of the best bars in the country, swear by those graduated OXO ones because they love the ability to read them from both the sides and the top,” explains Simó. “You can measure in tablespoons or ounces or milliliters, and it’s all on the same jigger.” Part-time bartender Jillian Norwick and Ward both love it too and keep the stainless steel version on hand (which looks a little nicer when left out). Noriwck adds that she’s in good company: “The peeps at Bon Appétit love it.”This fancy-looking jigger combines the functional appeal of the OXO measuring wine glass (it’s basically a cup that grows wider to accommodate different amounts of liquid) with the aesthetic appeal of a classic bar tool. It also makes measuring a snap: “This handy measuring bar table and stools is super-easy to use and enables the imbiber to essentially build all the ingredients of a drink in one go,” says Confrey.If you’re going for a more classic look but still want something practical, Simó recommends this double-sided metal jigger that has a one-ounce cup on one side and a two-ounce cup on the other. The one-ounce side on this strainer also has a half- and three-quarter-ounce lines etched into it to make it even more precise. “That gives you a lot of wiggle room” and will allow you to measure for most basic cocktails, Simó says. “From there, you really just have to learn what a quarter-ounce looks like in there, and you’re pretty much good to go.”

Biggens, Dowe, and Swenson prefer a Leopold jigger, which has a unique bell shape (with one bell holding an ounce, and the other two ounces) as well as lines etched on the inside marking both quarter- and half-ounces. “They’re really easy to hold and they have some weight to them,” Swenson adds. “Somebody who’s not really experienced using a jigger is going to be fine with something with a little bit more weight to it. And they look cool.”

Though it’s easy to want to get a different type of glass for every type of drink you make, that’s really unnecessary when you’re first starting out. According to Simó, “You can make 90 percent of drinks into a good, all-purpose cocktail glass like a rocks or a collins glass.” (While this section contains our bartenders’ favorite glasses, if you want to shop around, you can find most of these styles at various price points in our list of the best drinking glasses.) A collins — or highball — glass is the one that looks like a chimney, and generally you’re looking for something that’s about 12 ounces, like these collins glasses from bartender-favorite brand Cocktail Kingdom. “You don’t want a 16-ounce Collins glass because you’re going to be hammered after your second Tom Collins,” advises Simó.