#and the characters of no home are so full of joy and sorrow...

[lunarwednesday]

Final Day - Wanan and the Oldest Dream

[risuola]

IX, FINALE — HAPPINESS...? // F. READER x TOBIRAMA SENJU

With Tobirama you learned the true meaning of happiness, of belonging, of love. He had shown you the life you had only dreamt of, he gave you a chance to become a mother. With him, you wanted to grow old.

contents: angst, tissues might me needed, major character death — 1,3k words

a/n: with that, I'm closing this story. I want to thank you guys so, so much for supporting it. when I began writing it years ago, I thought it will be just for myself and then, when I decided to publish the first part of it, I never, ever, expected it to be so well received. I thought that Tobirama isn't a character that's liked and I'm so happy I decided to post it. I'm sorry for all the delays and waiting. thank you ❥

POLITICALLY LOVELESS || SERIES MASTERLIST

Despair.

You have not gotten to know the real meaning of the word before, despite the rocky youth in your home village and everything life threw at you. It was an odd concept, one that you were gladly avoiding for all the years you spent in the world and instead of hurting and sadness, you basked in the happiness of your existence. With friends, with family, with people who cherished you.

With Tobirama, you have found joy. A bliss of belonging, the love that made you feel like you were walking on clouds and sunshine. He was a man of stoicism and calmness, a pillar of justice and cold-calculation, but you managed to break through the layers of protective aloofness, tear off the impassive armor and nestle yourself within his chest. You’ve got him in love. And you were in love too. Truly. Completely.

And then, when your son came to the world, you thought you’ve found everything you could ever wish for. Kazuki was a blessing, a baby created of you and your beloved Tobirama. A boy, whose name you chose to represent the hope and love you shared, the dreams and pride. And it was beautiful, to nurture the little human, to support his growth into an excellent human and watch him develop the features of both you and the Senju. You remember the way your husband cared for him, with delicate hands and warm smiles — just as he would tend to you. Because he loved you, with all his heart, even though he not always was capable of showing that. You knew more than words could ever express. You knew his heart through and through, could read it like an open book.

You watched your baby grow up. You remember the days when you’d visit Tobirama in his office, to bring him food and kisses, all while carrying your little treasure in your arms. Kazuki would always squeal happily, reaching his little hands towards his dada, demanding the cuddles and smooches. And without fail, your husband’s face would brighten up at the sight of you. Every single time. There was no document more important than you and his son, there was no meeting he wouldn’t stop just to spend a moment with his beloved family. You were spoiled by him and with all your might, you aimed to spoil him too.

Then, the boy began training with his father and you were there to support both of them, to kiss scraped knees and bring rice balls and snacks. You were there to watch your son learn new techniques, you helped him with weapons and jutsus. With a heart full of love and admiration, you observed how your precious boy played with Kagami, how they trained together and spent time as if they were siblings joined by blood. It was beautiful. It was a dream.

It had to be a nightmare.

Despair has never been a feeling you truly experienced. Why would you? You had all you could possibly want. A beautiful house, a garden, a village you could call your home. You had a beautiful child and a loving husband. Tobirama. He has shielded you from feelings akin to sorrow. You didn’t even know it, but everything he did was to secure your future in safety. The ninja academy, the ANBU, even the police that was run by Uchihas. In Senju’s mind, you were the main reason to continue living, to continue striving towards the best outcomes. You and Kazuki. Two parts of his heart.

This couldn’t be true.

 You remembered the days that were careless. You’d wake up in his arms as Sunday’s sun filtered through the curtains. You’d inhale the scent of his skin — a fresh rain and musk — and then kiss his cheeks enough times to make up for all the time you couldn’t do it when he wore his usual face paints. Then, your son would join you, jumping onto the bed and nudging between you two, giggling with this beautiful youthful innocence that you wished with your entire heart to protect for as long as possible. You’d cuddle for a while, whisper-talking about sweet little nothings as he’d play with your hair, keeping you in his protective embrace. Oh, you’d wish to go back to those days. Those Sundays, those hours spent in your little corner of the world, sound and filled with joy, with the birds singing outside and the scent of laundry in the air.

No.

Or the days when it rained. Tobirama loved the sound of rain, the droplets pitter-pattering against the windows in the late evenings. You loved those moments too, when you’d melt against his chest, with a herbal aroma of tea filling the room and the warmth of his body so close to yours. He would tell you all about his day, the decisions he had to make as hokage, the improvements of his students, the funny stories from the trainings. He would kiss your head over and over again and sigh in content, as you basked in his touch. And then, the calm would be broken by the sound of the doors snapping open — soaked in rain, Kazuki would run inside along with Kagami, both laughing and panting as they quickly shed the damp vests and muddy shoes. The life would come back to the house, along with the chaos that you wouldn’t give up for any treasures of the world because you already had what’s most precious. On those days, you’d fall asleep late, after drying the boys, feeding and tucking them to bed. It’s just then, after you’d make sure both Kagami and Kazuki were asleep and give them both few gentle forehead kisses, when you’d allow yourself once more to melt into Tobirama’s embrace.

You thought that there’s no way in the world you’d ever survive without the feeling of cuddling to your husband. He’s became the air you needed to breathe, the blood that’s needed for your heart to beat. He’s became everything, your pride, your soulmate, your lover and the father of your child. He was a person you couldn’t wait to grow old with.

No, please.

“He volunteered to be a decoy. We couldn’t– I couldn’t stop him.”

There was nothing hard to understand in the simple sentence that was delivered to you by Kagami. You watched him, your eyes absentmindedly following the tears that run down his cheeks as he trembled in front of you. The other ninjas that knelt behind him had their heads hanging low but it was easy to tell some of them were crying.

Your husband was gone.

In an instinct, you took the Uchiha to yourself, hugging the young boy to your heart as if you were his own mother — because partially, you were as close to him as that. He hugged you tightly, whispering apologies like a broken cassette and you rocked him softly, back and forth, telling him it’s okay and kissing his temple. You told him that it’s okay, all while your own heart was breaking to pieces.

So that’s the feeling.

Despair was something you have not experienced until you watched the coffin being covered with sand. Until you watched your husband being buried right in front of your eyes. Tobirama died, sacrificing himself to save the youth, to stop the enemy, to save you and your son — Kazuki, who clung to your body, crying his eyes out as the burial took place. Who cried for weeks after and whom you cried with, even though you tried to be strong. For him and for the man that took your heart down to his grave.

Because of Tobirama, you have learned the meaning of true happiness. Of love and belonging, of bliss and joy.

Because of Tobirama, you have got to experience being a mother and raising a child.

And because of Tobirama, you have learned the meaning of true despair.

taglist: @garouaddict @bluebreadenthusiast @nelivv @drthymby @humongousdreamlandbear @darlingxoxo15 @gaozorous-rex-blog @hanamisofficialspouse @claireshelby @min-aaa @thenightperson

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

A Dashwood Heart

Word count: 4.8k

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Reader

Summary: The eldest Dashwood daughter, devoted to her younger half-sisters, moves with her family to Barton Cottage after their father's death leaves them with little inheritance. She secretly admires Colonel Brandon, who initially favors her sister Marianne.

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The passing of my father, Henry Dashwood, left a weight that settled heavy in the marrow of our bones. His death, unexpected in its swiftness, brought with it the end of comfort and the beginning of uncertainty. I am the eldest daughter of his first marriage, older by only five years than Elinor, the eldest daughter of his second. I had never known my own mother, who died bringing me into this world, and so my father’s second wife was the only mother I had ever known. She was kind and patient, and my sisters and I grew under her gentle guidance.

My older brother John inherited everything when Father passed, as was the law, but with it came his wife, Fanny—a woman whose character was as sharp as her tongue. Fanny Dashwood's arrival at Norland Park was not unlike a frost that comes too early in autumn, turning the leaves brittle and stripping the branches bare. Her presence suffocated any joy that had remained after Father’s passing. It became clear that our new reality, under John's roof, was not one we could endure. Thus, we set our sights on Barton Cottage, a modest home offered by a distant relation, Sir John Middleton.

The cottage was small and plain, lacking the grandeur and refinement of Norland Park. But what it lacked in size, it made up for in charm. We were together, and so it was enough. Elinor, Marianne, Margaret, our mother, and I—all of us settled into this new life with a mixture of trepidation and determination.

I had always been a second mother to my younger sisters, a role that came naturally to me as the eldest girl. I felt a special kinship with Margaret, who, being the youngest, had a particular need for a guiding hand. Elinor, though close in age to me, often bore her own burdens quietly. Marianne, on the other hand, with her romantic ideals and fiery spirit, needed a steadying force. I often thought it was my duty to be that force, even if she did not see it.

As time passed, our days at Barton Cottage grew filled with the warmth of companionship and the quiet joys of a simpler life. I found solace in the small routines—mending, reading, walking along the countryside with Margaret. For a time, I was content, even happy. But then, the company at Barton Park—the home of Sir John Middleton and his mother-in-law, Lady Jennings—brought a new awareness into my life.

It was during one of our frequent visits to Barton Park that I first observed Colonel Brandon. He was a man of quiet composure, with an air of reserve that spoke of unspoken sorrows. He was a gentleman, older than the other men we often met, but with a certain gravity that I found quite compelling. His attentions, however, were firmly fixed on Marianne.

I watched, often from a quiet corner of the room, as his eyes followed her movements, as he listened intently to her musical performances, his expression softening with every note she played. He would sit close enough to speak, yet always waited until she addressed him, his voice low and gentle when he did. It was clear that his admiration for her was genuine, but Marianne, so young and full of romantic ideals, was blind to his feelings.

Instead, she became enchanted by John Willoughby, a young man full of wit and charm. Willoughby, with his easy smiles and impetuous manner, was everything Marianne believed a hero to be. Colonel Brandon, seeing this, withdrew with quiet grace. I admired him for it, though it seemed his heart must surely ache. I began to feel a tug at my own heartstrings—a sense of kinship with him, perhaps, or an unspoken admiration.

One afternoon, as I sat with Elinor on the lawn at Barton Park, I ventured to speak of the Colonel.

"He is a man of remarkable steadiness, is he not?" I said, glancing over to where he stood, a little apart from the others, his gaze fixed on the distant hills.

Elinor nodded, her eyes following mine. "Indeed, he is. I find his company most agreeable, though he speaks but little."

"I have noticed that too," I replied. "Yet, there is much to be discerned in what he does not say. He has a manner that speaks of deep feeling, I think."

Elinor regarded me with a small smile. "Do you think so, sister? I believe you are right."

I could not help but feel a faint blush warm my cheeks. "It is only an observation," I murmured, turning my gaze to the ground. I had grown accustomed to being unnoticed, overshadowed by Marianne's beauty and Elinor's quiet elegance. Yet, I could not help but wonder if anyone had ever truly seen me—noticed me.

Days turned into weeks, and I continued to observe Colonel Brandon from a distance. I knew more about him than he would ever know of me, gleaned from quiet conversations with Elinor and overheard remarks from Lady Jennings, who was forever trying to marry off everyone in her sight.

"He is a good man, but so very serious," Lady Jennings had said one day. "A little dull for my tastes, but a fortune and a fine estate at Delaford. That is something, is it not?"

It was one evening, while we were all gathered at Barton Park, that I saw a change in him. Marianne was at the piano, playing one of her lively sonatas, and Willoughby was near, his admiration evident in every glance. Colonel Brandon, standing by the window, watched them, his face a study in quiet resignation. I saw, in that moment, the precise second his gaze shifted—away from Marianne and, for the first time, toward me.

I looked away quickly, my heart unexpectedly fluttering. Did he see me? Did he see something in me that he had not seen before? But no, it could not be. A man like him, so full of dignity and experience, would never turn his attention toward someone as inconsequential as myself.

The next time we met, it was at Barton Cottage. I was sitting with Margaret, helping her with her stitching, when there came a knock at the door. I opened it to find Colonel Brandon standing there, his expression as grave as ever, yet his eyes—his eyes were softer somehow.

"Miss Dashwood," he said, inclining his head. "I hope I am not intruding. Sir John mentioned that Miss Marianne had been unwell, and I thought to bring some books she might enjoy."

I invited him in, my voice trembling slightly, though I hoped he would not notice. He handed me the books, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest of moments. There was a warmth in his touch that startled me, and I quickly withdrew my hand.

"Thank you, Colonel," I said, mustering a smile. "I am sure Marianne will appreciate your thoughtfulness."

He nodded, his eyes searching mine. "And you, Miss Dashwood—are you well?"

The question took me by surprise, and I hesitated. "I am quite well, thank you, Colonel."

He seemed to want to say more, but just then, Marianne entered the room, and his attention shifted back to her. I could not help but feel a small pang of disappointment, but I knew better than to hope for anything more.

The days passed, and Colonel Brandon continued to visit, sometimes bringing books, sometimes just to call. Each time, he was polite and reserved, his conversations directed more often to my sisters than to me. Yet, there were moments—small, fleeting moments—when his eyes would linger on mine, and I would feel a warmth spread through my chest that I could not quite name.

It was a slow realization, like a bud slowly unfurling in spring, that perhaps, just perhaps, he saw something in me. And yet, I dared not hope, for I had never known what it was to be truly seen or wanted by anyone.

One afternoon, as we walked along the hills near Barton, I found myself walking beside him, a little apart from the others. There was a comfortable silence between us, the kind that comes from a shared understanding. I dared to speak.

"Do you think, Colonel," I began, my voice barely above a whisper, "that it is possible for someone to be overlooked all their life, and yet still hold hope for something more?"

He looked at me then, truly looked at me, and I felt the weight of his gaze settle upon my heart.

"I believe," he said slowly, "that there are those who go unnoticed because they are waiting for someone who sees them for who they truly are. And when that person comes, they will see them more clearly than anyone ever has."

I could hardly breathe. "Do you believe you have found such a person, Colonel?"

His eyes softened, and for the first time, I saw a hint of a smile touch his lips. "I think, Miss Dashwood, that I am beginning to see more than I ever expected."

As we walked on, my heart felt lighter than it had in years. Colonel Brandon’s words lingered in my mind, an echo of a possibility that had never before seemed within reach. I stole a glance at him beside me—his face turned toward the rolling hills, his expression contemplative. What did he see when he looked at me? Could he truly have meant that he was beginning to see me in a new light?

But no—doubts crept in as swiftly as the hope had formed. Perhaps he was merely being kind. Perhaps I had read too much into his words, a desperate grasping for something that was never there. I chastised myself inwardly and forced my thoughts back to the present.

Marianne, who had been ahead with Margaret, suddenly paused on the path. She turned back to us, her curls catching the light of the afternoon sun. “Colonel! Miss Dashwood! You must join us,” she called. “The view from here is quite extraordinary.”

Colonel Brandon’s gaze shifted from the hills to me. “Shall we?” he asked.

I nodded, and we walked the short distance to where Marianne and Margaret stood. As we reached them, I noticed the way Colonel Brandon’s eyes softened as he looked at Marianne. She was his first love here, I reminded myself, and my hopes began to wane again.

The four of us stood together, looking out over the valley, where the sunlight bathed the fields in a warm, golden hue. It was breathtaking, and for a moment, all my worries faded away.

Marianne, however, could never be quiet for long. “Colonel Brandon,” she began with a teasing smile, “you have been in a most serious mood all day. Come, share with us what weighs so heavily on your mind. Or is it that you have a secret you wish to keep hidden?”

He chuckled softly, a rare sound that drew my attention back to him. “I assure you, Miss Marianne, I am quite content at present,” he replied. “Though, perhaps I am simply in awe of the company I find myself in.”

Marianne laughed, a light and melodic sound. “You always know just what to say, Colonel. But I still believe there is something you are not telling us.”

“I assure you, my secrets are few,” he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly before he turned his gaze back to Marianne. “Though I do think some things are best left to be discovered in time.”

Marianne, in her spirited way, rolled her eyes and turned back to the view. Margaret, on the other hand, looked between us with a knowing grin, her youthful mind ever so quick to notice things others might overlook. I gave her a soft nudge, and she giggled, running ahead to explore a small cluster of wildflowers.

That evening, back at Barton Cottage, I found myself lost in thought. I could hardly focus on the book in my lap, my mind drifting back to the Colonel’s words on the hillside. Elinor, ever perceptive, noticed my distraction.

“Are you quite well, sister?” she asked, closing her own book and setting it aside. “You seem troubled.”

I hesitated for a moment. Elinor was always so sensible, so grounded in reality. “I am merely… contemplative, I suppose,” I replied. “I have been thinking about Colonel Brandon.”

Elinor raised an eyebrow, but her expression was gentle. “He is a thoughtful man, and I believe he holds you in high regard. It is only natural to think of him, given how often he is in our company these days.”

“Do you truly think so?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “That he holds me in high regard, I mean?”

Elinor smiled softly. “Yes, I do. I see the way he looks at you sometimes when he believes no one is watching. There is a certain tenderness there.”

My heart fluttered at her words, but I still felt uncertain. “I do not wish to be foolish,” I said quietly. “He is older and has known his share of heartbreak. I wonder if he could ever see me as… anything more.”

Elinor reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “You are kind and steady, and you see people as they truly are. If he does not see that, then he is a fool, which I do not believe he is.”

Her words offered some comfort, and I decided then to wait and see. I had no great expectations—only the smallest glimmer of hope that perhaps, in time, things might become clearer.

The weeks passed, and Colonel Brandon’s visits became more frequent. He brought with him a sense of calm that I found increasingly soothing. Sometimes, he would stay to read with us in the parlor, his low, steady voice filling the room with a quiet intimacy that made my heart ache in the loveliest of ways. At other times, he would invite us to walk, and though his steps often fell beside Marianne’s, his gaze would drift to me more often than not.

One evening, as we sat together after supper, he asked me a question that took me by surprise.

“Miss Dashwood, I have observed that you have a particular fondness for poetry,” he said, his voice low but clear. “Do you have a favorite poet?”

I looked up, startled that he had noticed something so personal about me. “I—I do, Colonel. I have always been drawn to Wordsworth. His verses speak of nature and the human spirit in a way that resonates deeply with me.”

He nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “Wordsworth is indeed a master of capturing the beauty and complexity of life. Perhaps, one day, you would do me the honor of sharing some of your favorite passages.”

“I would be delighted,” I replied softly, my cheeks warming under his gaze.

Marianne, who had been listening, smiled broadly. “Oh, Colonel, you must hear my sister recite! She has a way with words, truly. You would be enraptured.”

I blushed deeply, but Colonel Brandon’s smile widened ever so slightly. “I have no doubt that I would be,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine.

As the days grew warmer, so too did my feelings for Colonel Brandon. I could no longer deny that my heart had grown quite attached to him, even if I could not be sure of his feelings in return. There were moments when I believed he saw me as more than just another Miss Dashwood, but I dared not hope too much.

One afternoon, as we walked back from Barton Park, Colonel Brandon lingered behind with me while the others walked ahead. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers, and the soft rustle of leaves filled the silence between us. I could feel the weight of something unsaid hanging in the air, and I found myself wanting to fill it.

“Colonel Brandon,” I began cautiously, “I have been thinking much on our conversations lately.”

He turned to me, his expression attentive. “And what conclusions have you come to, Miss Dashwood?”

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. “Only that… I value them greatly. More than I had expected to.”

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something there—something warm and sincere. “I value them as well,” he said softly. “You have a quiet strength, Miss Dashwood. It is… a quality I have come to admire greatly.”

My breath caught in my throat. “You honor me with your words, Colonel,” I murmured. “Though I have done nothing to earn such praise.”

He shook his head. “On the contrary. You have earned far more than I can express. There is a grace in your manner, a kindness in your heart that speaks volumes.”

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Could it be that he truly saw me? That he valued me not just as a friend, but as something more?

Before I could find the courage to speak, Marianne called back to us, her voice breaking the moment. “Come along, you two! You are falling behind!”

We resumed our pace, but the silence that followed was no longer uncomfortable. It was filled with a new understanding, a new possibility.

It was a few days later when the opportunity for another conversation presented itself. Colonel Brandon arrived at Barton Cottage early, before any of the others were up and about. I was in the garden, tending to some of the late-blooming flowers, when I saw him approach.

“Good morning, Miss Dashwood,” he greeted me, a softness in his tone that sent a thrill through me.

“Good morning, Colonel,” I replied, brushing the dirt from my hands. “You are early today.”

He nodded, looking almost hesitant. “I hoped to speak with you alone, if I might.”

My heart began to race. “Of course,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He took a deep breath, and for a moment, he seemed to gather his thoughts. “Miss Dashwood,” he began, “I have found great comfort in your company these past weeks. You have shown me a kindness that I had thought lost to me. And I find myself… drawn to you in a way I had not expected.”

I could hardly breathe. “Colonel, I—”

He held up a hand, his expression earnest. “Please, allow me to finish. I know I am not a young man. I have lived through much, and I do not offer my heart lightly. But if you could ever see it in your own heart to care for me even a fraction of how I have come to care for you, I would be the most fortunate man.”

Tears filled my eyes as I listened to his words—words I had never dared to hope for. “Oh, Colonel,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You have seen me when I thought no one ever would. And I… I have come to care for you deeply, more than I ever thought possible.”

His face broke into a smile, the kind of smile that transformed his entire countenance, and he took a step closer. “Then, may I hope, Miss Dashwood, that we might find happiness together?”

As the days passed, I found myself growing closer to Colonel Brandon. Our conversations were filled with a warmth and understanding that I had never known before. He would visit Barton Cottage frequently, bringing with him a quiet sense of comfort and constancy that I had come to cherish. When we were alone or with Elinor, his attention was always on me—his gaze gentle, his words thoughtful. I could feel the beginnings of a deep bond forming between us, a connection that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

But there was a change in Marianne—a shift in her demeanor that was impossible to ignore. She had always been the center of attention, the bright star that drew everyone’s gaze. Colonel Brandon had once been enthralled by her every word, her every movement. Yet now, his attentions had turned toward me, and though Marianne had been enamored with John Willoughby, I could see the flicker of jealousy in her eyes.

One afternoon, as we all sat in the small parlor at Barton Cottage, Marianne decided to play the piano. She chose a lively piece, one that she knew Colonel Brandon favored. She glanced at him often as she played, her eyes bright with a mixture of mischief and expectation. But though he listened politely, his attention kept drifting back to me, where I sat beside Elinor, quietly observing the scene unfold.

Marianne finished the piece with a flourish and turned to the Colonel, her smile wide. “What do you think, Colonel? Is it not a fine composition?”

He nodded, offering her a small smile. “Indeed, Miss Marianne, you play it with great spirit.”

She seemed dissatisfied with his restrained praise. “But you seem distracted, Colonel. Tell me, where are your thoughts this afternoon? Have they wandered far from this room?”

Colonel Brandon’s eyes flicked briefly to mine, and I felt my breath catch. “I assure you, Miss Marianne, I am very much present,” he replied. “But there is much to contemplate in such company.”

Marianne’s smile faltered slightly. She looked between the Colonel and me, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “You have been most attentive to my sister lately, Colonel,” she said with a forced lightness. “I had thought your admiration was reserved for more… romantic sensibilities.”

Elinor, sensing the tension, interjected quickly. “Marianne, the Colonel has been a good friend to us all. There is no need to assign motives where there are none.”

But Marianne was not to be deterred. “Oh, I only jest, of course. It is all in good fun.”

I could feel my cheeks warming under her scrutiny. Colonel Brandon, however, remained calm and composed. “I assure you, Miss Marianne,” he said, his voice steady, “my admiration extends to all those whose company I enjoy.”

Marianne seemed unsatisfied with this answer, but she forced a smile nonetheless. I could see the hint of something sharp behind her eyes—a flicker of resentment that she tried to mask with a laugh.

From that moment on, her demeanor toward the Colonel changed subtly. She became more flirtatious, more eager to draw his attention back to herself. She would seek him out in conversation, touch his arm lightly when speaking to him, and laugh brightly at his every comment. It was as if she could not bear the thought of his gaze resting anywhere but on her.

One evening, as we prepared to walk back from Barton Park, Marianne pulled Colonel Brandon aside, leaving me standing with Elinor and Margaret. I watched them from a distance, trying to quell the rising tide of insecurity within me. Elinor, ever perceptive, noticed my unease.

“She does not mean to be cruel,” Elinor said quietly. “She is simply unused to sharing attention. It will pass.”

I nodded, trying to smile, but my heart felt heavy. “I only hope she understands that I would never wish to come between her and someone she cares for.”

Elinor squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Colonel Brandon is not Willoughby, nor is he someone to be swayed by fleeting affections. Trust in his character, sister.”

I tried to take comfort in her words, but the doubt lingered.

It was not long after this that an unexpected letter arrived at Barton Cottage, bearing the unmistakable seal of my brother, John Dashwood. The contents were brief and to the point: he and Fanny would be visiting in a week’s time, bringing with them “important news” regarding my future.

Elinor read the letter aloud to our mother, who immediately grew anxious. “What could they possibly want now?” she murmured, her brow furrowed with concern.

“I can hardly imagine it is anything good,” I replied quietly, already feeling a sense of foreboding.

When John and Fanny arrived, it was as though a cold wind had blown through the cottage. Fanny swept into the room with her usual air of superiority, her eyes scanning the modest furnishings with thinly veiled disdain. John, though more subdued, still carried himself with a certain aloofness that made it clear he considered himself above our current situation.

“Ah, dear sister,” John said with a strained smile, “how… quaint it is here.”

I forced a smile in return. “We have made it quite comfortable, thank you.”

Fanny wasted no time in getting to the point. “My dear, we have come to bring you some wonderful news,” she said, her voice dripping with false cheer. “John has taken it upon himself to find a suitable match for you, as it is his duty as your brother. And you shall be leaving with us for London in a week’s time to meet your future husband.”

The words hit me like a blow. “A suitable match?” I echoed, struggling to keep my voice steady. “But I have not—”

“Of course, you have not met him yet,” Fanny interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “But he is a most respectable gentleman, with a fine income and a comfortable estate. You shall be well provided for, and we have already made the necessary arrangements.”

Elinor’s eyes flashed with anger. “And what if my sister does not wish to marry this man?”

Fanny’s smile was tight and condescending. “Elinor, dear, it is not a matter of what she wishes. It is a matter of what is best for her. And John, as her guardian, has decided this is best.”

I felt a wave of helplessness wash over me. I had no say in this decision, and they knew it.

Colonel Brandon, who had come to call just as the conversation took a darker turn, stood in the doorway, his face a mask of quiet concern. He had clearly heard enough to understand the gravity of the situation. His eyes met mine, and I saw the turmoil there—the unspoken question of what he should do.

That evening, as we sat by the fire, Colonel Brandon pulled John aside for a private word. I watched them from a distance, my heart in my throat, as the Colonel spoke with my brother in low, earnest tones.

“Mr. Dashwood,” I heard him say, “I understand your intentions toward your sister are, perhaps, well-meaning, but I must speak on her behalf.”

John looked startled. “On her behalf? And who are you to speak for her, Colonel?”

“A friend,” he replied, his voice steady. “A friend who believes she deserves the right to choose her own future.”

John’s expression shifted, growing defensive. “I am her brother, her guardian. It is my duty to see her well settled. And the match I have found for her is more than adequate.”

Colonel Brandon’s eyes darkened. “With all due respect, a match is more than adequate when it is chosen with the heart in mind. Your sister deserves more than an arrangement; she deserves happiness.”

John scoffed. “And you believe you know what will make her happy?”

There was a long pause. “I would hope to know her well enough to understand what she needs,” Colonel Brandon said quietly. “And I would ask that you allow her the choice to stay.”

John’s face hardened. “Colonel, I appreciate your concern, but this is a family matter. She will come with us to London, and that is final.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Colonel Brandon standing there, his expression troubled. I watched him, my heart aching with gratitude and frustration. He had tried—tried to speak for me, to stand against the forces that sought to control my fate. But it seemed all for naught.

Later that night, as the household settled into uneasy silence, Colonel Brandon asked to speak with me alone. We stepped out into the moonlit garden, the cool night air brushing against my skin.

“I am sorry,” he began, his voice low and filled with regret. “I tried to reason with your brother, but he is determined. I fear I have only made matters worse.”

“You have done more than anyone else would have,” I replied, my voice trembling. “You have shown me a kindness I did not think possible, and for that, I am grateful.”

He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. “If you wish it, I would go to London myself. I would speak with this gentleman your brother has chosen and make it clear that your heart is not free to be given.”

My breath caught in my throat. “You would do that for me?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “I would do anything to see you happy, even if it means letting you go.”

Tears filled my eyes, and I reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I do not wish to go to London. I do not wish to meet this man. I wish to stay here, with you… and with my family.”

[artandthebible]

Naomi and Ruth

Artist: Evelyn De Morgan (English, 1855–1919)

Date: 1887

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Property from a Distinguished Private Collection

Description

The story of Naomi appears in the Bible in the book of Ruth. Naomi lived during the time of the judges. She was the wife of a man named Elimelech, and they lived in Bethlehem with their two sons, Mahlon and Kilion. Naomi’s life illustrates the power of God to bring something good out of bitter circumstances.

When a famine hits Judea, Elimelech and Naomi and their two boys relocate to Moab (Ruth 1:1). There, Mahlon and Kilion marry two Moabite women, Orpah and Ruth. After about ten years, tragedy strikes. Elimelech dies, and both of Naomi’s sons also die, leaving Naomi, Ruth, and Orpah widows (Ruth 1:3–5). Naomi, hearing that the famine in Judea was over, decides to return home (Ruth 1:6). Orpah stays in Moab, but Ruth chooses to move to the land of Israel with Naomi. The book of Ruth is the story of Naomi and Ruth returning to Bethlehem and how Ruth married a man named Boaz and bore a son, Obed, who became the grandfather of David and the ancestor of Jesus Christ.

The name Naomi means “sweet, pleasant,” which gives us an idea of Naomi’s basic character. We see her giving her blessing to Ruth and Orpah when she tells them to return to their mothers’ homes so that they might find new husbands: she kisses them and asks that the Lord deal kindly with them (Ruth 1:8–14). But her heartache in Moab was more than Naomi could bear. When she and Ruth arrive in Bethlehem, the women of the town greet Naomi by name, but she cries, “Don’t call me Naomi... Call me Mara, because the Almighty has made my life very bitter. I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty. Why call me Naomi? The Lord has afflicted me; the Almighty has brought misfortune upon me” (Ruth 1:20–21). The name Mara means “bitter.” The cup of affliction is a bitter cup, but Naomi understood that the affliction came from the God who is sovereign in all things. Little did she know that from this bitter sorrow great blessings would come to her, her descendants, and the world through Jesus Christ.

Ruth meets a local landowner, Boaz, who is very kind to her. Naomi again recognizes the providence of God in providing a kinsman-redeemer for Ruth. Naomi declares that the Lord “has not stopped showing his kindness to the living and the dead" (Ruth 2:20) Seeing God’s hand in these events, Naomi encourages Ruth to go to Boaz as he slept in the threshing floor in order to request that he redeem her and her property. Naomi’s concern was for Ruth’s future, that Ruth would gain a husband and provider.

Naomi’s bitterness is turned to joy. In the end, she gains a son-in-law who would provide for both her and Ruth. She also becomes a grandmother to Ruth’s son, Obed. Then the women of Bethlehem say to Naomi, “Praise be to the Lord, who this day has not left you without a guardian-redeemer. May he become famous throughout Israel! He will renew your life and sustain you in your old age. For your daughter-in-law, who loves you and who is better to you than seven sons, has given him birth” (Ruth 4:14–15). Naomi was no longer Mara. Her life again became sweet and pleasant, blessed by God.

[mineral-vulture]

The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions

You know, for Go Rush (and Sevens) being the lighter and sillier Yugioh series in tone it really does have moments of sorrow.

OKAY I wanna talk about Sevens and Go Rush and how both series have this weird underlying of tragedy in it. So uh spoilers for both series below. Oh and it will be long.

My boyfriend @siromany and I watched Go Rush first because we were fascinated that one out of the three protags (I will die on the hill that Yuamu and Yuhi are protags along with Yudias) is an alien. We were watching it and wondering the series' connection to Sevens especially when we would see shots of Yuga. We did eventually figure out it was in the past. After we watched the episode where Yuga, Yuamu, and Yuhi go to the future as cats seeing the time period where Yuga came from we discussed the possible turmoil that Yuga feels. At this point what we knew about him was that he made rush duels in his time, somehow ended up on the past, and had to make rush duels to help prevent the valgerian's war. Seeing one of his friends inform him that the game he created, rush duels, also went through the same thing like in the real yugioh meta. Overly complicated, unfriendly to new players, and pushing out children who are the main demographic from the game. We both felt sadden for him finding this info out but it seemed like he was able to take it in a "Well that just means someone else has to come by and fix it again" sort of positive view. Not long after watching that episode I suggested we watch Sevens since this series is going to have more references and connections to it. That and there is context we are missing. So we did just that and I will say I am glad we watched it the way we did because it gave a unique perspective on both series. Watching Sevens we were able to see how the Go Rush counterparts are inversions to how each dynamic was different which was super cool. When we were getting to the ending of Sevens both of us felt the pain of knowing what was going to happen to Yuga. We kept thinking back to the Go Rush episode where he returns to his time and now that episode is more painful with full context.

Returning to Go Rush and watching Yuga's journey it truly sunk in that him going back to the present for a bit only to be told that what he did in the past did not change the present but in fact CAUSED what all happened was NOT good for Yuga to find out. Yugioh in 7 out of 8 series has always had the theme of going against destiny and being able to fight against it, Vrains being the exception, and how the main characters can prove the antagonists wrong in some way. Sevens and Go Rush seem to have more of the theme of "You can fight against destiny but there is a consequence to it and you may not like what that is". I vaguely know there are people who don't really sympathize with what Yuga did in the later half of Go Rush which like I can kind of get. However lets put ourselves in Yuga's position, shall we?

You are a 10 year old child who has been thrust into the past after trying to protect your creation from a man who wanted it destroyed. A creation that was made from joy and love of duel monsters. Trying to bring the game back to the demographic it was made for, children. Making rush duels simple to understand but also fun to play. You a stranded in a place that is both familiar and unfamiliar and you need to find a way back home. But you are stopped by a man and his crew who are demanding you to create rush duels. You don't want to do this, you know this could affect the past. But you overhear that his man's species have been fighting in a big war for a long time and that the conflict has not ceased. Dueling from your experience has brought people closer and you can communicate through to people's hearts to make them understand (a common yugioh staple about dueling) and while you may not know why this guy wants rush duels to exist or how he knows of them, you have hope that maybe this could help stop strife. Maybe making them this early wouldn't be so bad? That and maybe making it early that could mean you could change the past of dueling and therefore the future of it for the better. You not just do such but along the way meet the ancestors of people who look similar to your friends. But they aren't the same people which logically makes sense but doesn't hurt any less. They remind you of home, a place that now you have kind of given up going back to. But hey, chin up! Rush Duels ending up saving the Velgearian and ending their war! That's great, you DID have a positive impact! Making Rush duels in the past was for the better.

Wait, now these two random guys have created Maximums by turning people into cards? Uh, that is a lot worse than how they were originally made. You get turned into card and two whole years pass while you are in that state. But no worries, you know you can trust you ancestors and their Velgearian friend to solve this. It'll all be fine. You then get sent back to the present just for a bit to observe your friends. But going back you are told by one of them that Dueling became complicated and out of the reach of kids. What you did in the past didn't change it. In fact, YOU caused the same cycle to happen. You try to ignore that thought and tell yourself that it can be fixed, you can change this. You head back to the past promising you will return home...hopefully. unbeknownst to you, your presence is creating a rift between two best friends because of their feelings for you. Feelings you are unaware of because at this point you are a 12 year old boy. One of them is the ancestor of the six ceos of Goha company, a company that in the future creates duel monsters, while the other is the ancestor of the Mutsuba company that deals with construction and is of now the owner of the city. Where you came from the town was called Goha city, not Mutsuba, the descendant of Mutsuba talked about how her family lost power and how Goha took over everything. In the past both companies were super close but then everything fell...and that falling is happening before you but you aren't even aware of it. But well at least the Maximum situation has been sol-oh a prototype of the Velgearian species is causing issues? Great, okay that can be solved. While it does get solved...you find out that the Velgearian are dying and fast. They are being wiped out, but why? You thought they were immortal, what could possibly be causing their extinction? They are using their energy while rush dueling which is shortening their lifespan. The thing you created to help them is what is going to end them. You are responsible for their demise. But then you find out that proto-Velgearian was trying to find a way to stop this. That he was looking into a way to revive the Velgearian but that research stopped. Your friends are trying to complete his goal but you begin to put the pieces together and realize what is being made, Monster Reborn.

The card that began the domino effect of the destruction of Rush Duels in your time. A card that alters the memories of others. The card that caused strife between siblings where they decided to destroy rush duels along with each other. It is now sinking in how everything is repeating itself and how this could be your fault. You have to, no, you NEED to stop this. Even if it means hurting those you care about. Even if they see you as their enemy and you are alone, you have to do this. You have to destroy what you love, you have to become the person you tried stopping before coming here. You now understand why he was trying to stop you those years ago. What other option is there? You can't tell them why making this card would be bad because your Velgearian friend wants his comrades back. He won't listen. No one will listen. The needs of the many out weigh the needs of the few as they say. You fight your ancestors tooth and nail only for the card to be used and now all three of you can see each other's memories. Your ancestors now know what all will happen. You loose against them and the card is now unleashed. You couldn't stopped it. Your duel caused a rift in reality to open where now you can go home but you are leaving behind a road of the damage you have caused. Made worse with the fact that Monster Reborn can't even revive the Velgearian which is why the proto-Velgearian stopped his research. Making the card was pointless, and trying to stop it was utterly pointless. Your fighting to change the future only caused it to happen. You have to live with that. But not just you, but your ancestors too.

I know this is the goofy card game show but what the fuck. I didn't expect Yuga to become one of the most tragic yugioh protags. Watching his desperation of trying to stop the pain that is going to happen in his time and in turn having to destroy the very thing he loves was just heartbreaking. Anyway, I hope whoever reads this enjoyed my ramblings on Sevens and Go Rush. That and I hope people who weren't sympathetic to Yuga try to at least understand my perspective and such. Though I tend to like tragic characters a lot so maybe that is why I am sympathetic to him.

[sycsubs]

[ENGLISH TRANS] SOOYOUNG - W KOREA 2025 INTERVIEW

ps. when taking out these translations please give credit to us or this blog. thank you 💗

“THE TEMPERATURE OF SOOYOUNG”

Choi Sooyoung seems to give off a carefree aura.

Though she describes herself as easygoing and simple, she speaks clearly and straightforwardly when it comes to the responsibilities that lie before her. The image of early summer that comes to mind somehow overlaps with Sooyoung, and the drama <Second Shot at Love> in which she transforms into a charming alcohol-lover, premiers this early summer.

Q. <W Korea> We heard that you’re recently very immersed in tea ceremonies.

Choi Sooyoung: Yes, I find it fun. It’s fascinating how the flavor of the tea can change depending on the state of mind at the time of brewing.

Q. Was there a particular moment that sparked your interest?

It’s a habit I picked up while filming <Second Shot at Love>. I wasn’t getting much sleep. I guess there was a lot of pressure.

Q. It was your first title role in a drama since debut, correct?

That’s right. After shooting, I’d come home and feel like I couldn’t turn off the switch right away. So I tried all sorts of things—taking warm showers, listening to ASMR, avoiding reading scripts at least two hours before I sleep. I built a night time routine, and tea became a part of that routine. I savored each drink, and both my body and mind felt at peace.

Q While the tea steeps, people often use that time to process thoughts that are put away from daily life. But unlike that, it became a moment to clear your mind instead.

Exactly. I actually tried not to think during that time. I’ve always been someone who multitasks. I constantly feel the need to be productive, it’s in my personality. But through tea, I think I learned what it truly means to spend time without a goal.

Q. <Second Shot at Love> tells the story of ‘Geum-joo’, a well-known alcohol-lover, who unexpectedly reunites with her first love—someone who absolutely despises drinking, and the romance that follows. From the very beginning, the project felt like it was all about alcohol, and it came as no surprise to learn that the script was written by Myung Soo-hyun, the writer of tvN’s <Rude Miss Young-ae> and <Drinking Solo>.

Writer Myung Soo-hyun’s words capture the full spectrum of human emotion—joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness. And this piece is no exception. I felt like a rare script had come to me. I remember thinking, “Have I ever read something that reveals every aspect of a character this thoroughly?” At least for me, the answer was no. Geum-joo is an auto mechanic who works hard and there are joys and sorrows that she feels. She relies on alcohol as a form of avoidance, and was forced to confront herself in the place she tried to escape to. From there, she slowly begins to accept who she is, and in doing so, learns to embrace the people around her as well. At a glance, it may seem like a chaotic, comic story about Geum-joo, but if you look closer, you’ll find a detailed and gradual journey of growth. I feel incredibly lucky to have encountered such a script.

Q. What was the process of approaching the character Geum-joo like for you?

First of all, the script was filled with stage directions; shouting, smiling brightly, making exaggerated expressions, and so on. To be honest, it took me some time to fully take in Geum-joo. In real life, I’m very calm. I’m not the mischievous or high-energy type. So there was definitely a period of wandering before the lines started to feel natural. Every actor has a different way of approaching a character. For me, I always start by thinking about the character’s job. You can learn a lot of information from one’s job. Since Geum-joo is an auto mechanic, I imagined she’d be active, unafraid of getting her hands dirty, and likely to be competitive since she was young. But at the same time, I didn’t picture her as someone who would roughly carry around tires or plop down anywhere or stomp around. I imagined her as someone meticulous, someone who handles each car part the way a musician treats her instrument. I thought about how a woman like Geum-joo would set herself apart in an industry largely dominated by male mechanics.

Q. A mechanic who handles cars like musical instruments. Now that I hear about it, I can see the character come to life.

Yes. Honestly, I think Geum-joo would have done well as a doctor, or even an artist. I imagined her as someone who chose this profession because she genuinely loves machines, and is fascinated by how individual parts come together to make a car run. And once I had that in mind, I began to vaguely understand why she couldn’t help being dependent on alcohol. She must have been sensitive, working with machines. She probably worked hard to adapt to a male-dominated workplace, pushing herself to drink alcohol to fit in socially. It made her think she really couldn’t live without alcohol. That thought gave me a somewhat clearer outline of who she is. And the Geum-joo I imagined from the script alone was someone who, on her way home from work, would wear the kind of unique clothes that make people go, “Wait, she dresses like that when she’s off duty?”

Q. In this drama, Geum-joo is another strong, independent female character, like Seo Dan-ah in JTBC’s <Run On> (2020) and Kim Jin-hee in ENA’s <Not Others> (2023). Looking back, have you ever wondered why these kinds of roles keep coming to you?

Because I choose those roles. Of course, not every role is like that. But I’m not drawn to stories where characters are used as equipment. ‘Seo Dan-ah’ was a CEO of a top sports agency who didn’t tolerate mistakes, whether in business or in her personal life. ‘Kim Jin-hee’ was a police patrol team leader who always spoke her mind. They’re all people who try to take responsibility for their own lives. I guess it’s also because of my personality. I don’t like people who are bad at their jobs. (laughs) So, I don’t want to play someone who’s bad at what they do. It’s fine if they’re clumsy at first, as long as they develop. But I think the character should have at least a sense of certainty in what they do.

Q. Those characters also had a very clear sense of what they liked and disliked. Would you say you’re someone who’s also honest about what you want to say and knows exactly what you want?

Oh, not at all. I only started to be aware of that in my early thirties. I started asking questions like “What do I really want?” or “Am I doing this because I like this?” only after I turned thirty. I used to have no opinion, even when choosing the menu for lunch. There were many times where I’d just go along and say “I’m fine with whatever” and move on. I think it comes from spending so many years as a group during my Girls’ Generation days. Maybe I didn’t even realize I had options to choose. One day, Tiffany was ordering coffee and asked me what I wanted. I said, “Anything’s fine.” And she immediately said this, “No. Hot or iced? If iced, how much ice? How many pumps of syrup? Do you want milk? Regular milk or Lactose-free? Oat milk? Almond milk?” I remember thinking, “Why make life so complicated?” But then she told me this—that I need to know exactly what I want, that there are always options, and I have to make a choice.

Q. Did that coffee order incident change you?

Yes, something as trivial as ordering coffee did (laughs). It made me start to become more aware. Since then, I’ve been trying to build the habit of thinking more specifically. For example, instead of just asking for “something to drink,” I’d say, “I’d like an orange juice with a bit of ice.” It starts with little things like that.

Q. Would you say you’re not someone with a strong opinion?

That’s right. I’m usually the type to think, “That person might be right.” But that doesn’t mean I lack conviction. But that sense of certainty just didn’t come all at once. It’s something that formed through a lot of experiences. Last year, I released my first Japanese solo album, and I wrote the lyrics to the title track, “Unstoppable.” There’s a line that goes: “Data of failures and successes. Drawing the highest arc. Let’s pursue the ideal.” Through the many ups and downs I’ve experienced over many years, a kind of data accumulated inside me. But rather than turning into stubbornness, I feel like it gave me freedom. The more time passes, the more confident I become, but in a way that lets me change gears easily whenever I need to.

Q. <Unstoppable> was your first solo album 22 years after your debut. At the time, you wrote this on social media: “At this point in life where I could just fake being a professional and no one would notice, it also hurts to take on a new challenge again, right now. I was scared as much as I was happy.” What was behind those words?

Honestly, if you don’t take any risks, you won’t be exposed. But the moment you try, people will notice. There was a time when I deliberately held back from showing everything. I was scared. When the solo album offer came in, people around me questioned it, “Why now, when your acting career is going so well? And why release it in Japan?” And of course, I asked myself the same thing. Why is this opportunity coming now? If I stay quiet, I can at least fly under the radar. So what do I get in return for exposing myself like this? But in the end, I thought: “Why should I hold back if this is something I want to do?” And I didn’t want it to end with just trying. I wanted to go all the way to being judged for it. Regardless of the outcome, I think I gained so much. After the album came out, I received so many messages. What touched me the most were the ones that said, “That was such a cool challenge. I understand why you did this.” That made it all worth it.

Q. What did <Unstoppable> leave for you?

It made me think deeply and often about making choices. Honestly, I’m at an age where many things change depending on the decisions I make. So I ask myself which choices reflect me the most. I boldly wrote the lyrics of ‘Unstoppable’ that says, “The story I choose,” and yet there are still a lot of things that I’m afraid of. I feel like I'm not a brave person and I learned that I need courage. That was something I felt through releasing the album, and it gave me the energy to film <Second Shot at Love>. To take on my first lead role, that courage was absolutely essential.

Q. Then what kind of courage did you show in <Second Shot at Love>?

I wanted to try acting that truly does something. I think it’s because of my personality. I’ve always been someone who is cautious about putting in too much effort. I always thought, “Be diligent, but don’t work too hard.” Sometimes, I felt uncomfortable watching myself act intensely on screen. At one point, I preferred acting in less intense roles. But while filming <Second Shot at Love>, I wanted to try acting where people could read my feelings immediately from my expressions. Because the acting that makes viewers not want to change the channel means making even one more expression, showing just a little more. I filmed with the mindset of really going all out. After having done this once, I think my fear lessened a bit.

Q. You have big news recently, right? You’re entering Hollywood with <Ballerina>, a spin-off of the John Wick series. The film premieres in North America this June and will be released worldwide. How did you get involved in this project?

Right, when I heard I got cast, I thought, “No way. How could I be?” Honestly, I hesitated a lot. It felt like a huge challenge but also small at the same time, and I found myself worrying a lot in front of that challenge. It was like, “I’m scared of the waves crashing at my feet, so I won’t even go.” That was exactly what I felt. While I was worrying about how the film and the feedback would come out, the one thing that pushed me to take on the challenge was the idea of being completely alone overseas, with no one else around. The thought of facing that head-on by myself was very appealing. As actors, we usually receive a lot of care from people around us. There’s always a car waiting for us in front of the house, people handling tough tasks on our behalf. So we can sometimes forget we’re human. We get a little spoiled. But being an actor means we have to portray people we see around us, yet we rarely get to live our life. I felt I really needed that time to live like a person. So I jumped into this project without looking back.

Q. How was the experience filming alone?

I cried (laughs). Because I wanted to go home. But I kept reminding myself as I put the kimchi, side dishes, and ramen that my mom packed into the hotel fridge, “Sooyoung, now you’re really living here without anyone’s help.” But somehow, I quickly got used to the life there. I went alone to the riverside where people warned me it was dangerous, opened a bottle of wine, and watched the sunset. I’m actually quite simple. I might not have much courage, but once the situation is set, I manage to find happiness there. I’m really a simple and fragile creature (laughs).

Q. Through <Ballerina>, You’re about to meet an audience you haven’t encountered before . Aren’t you curious about how they��ll perceive your acting?

Honestly, rather than curiosity, my first thought was that I must not become a burden to the project. It’s more than enough for me if the audience says, “Who is she?” So, I even went to the set with my hair dyed, which no one asked me to do. When they said actors could pitch ideas about the visual concept, I immediately suggested orange hair and they coolly agreed. At that time, there was a strong momentum in myself, like “I can do everything they ask!” So, I tried to absorb as much as possible on set. I even went to the set, sitting in corners on days without my shooting to observe how things were done. The team found me a bit overwhelming and said, “Yeah, you don’t have to come here,” (laughs).

Q. With two very different projects about to be released, you must be living in excitement right now. If you had to describe your current self in one sentence, what would it be?

There’s a phrase that fits me perfectly; a cheerful pessimist. On set, I always listen to the song “Rule of the Princess”. It’s a song that spreaded as a meme on social media. It goes like, “Yes, life has always been tough, but live like a princess today. What's so tough? Just be a princess. I’m precious, but so is everyone else. Everyone here is a princess!” Listening to that song, I keep reminding myself of these words (laughs). With that mindset, I can handle any situation anywhere.

Q. Lastly, can you share three secrets about Sooyoung?

First, I’m good at organizing. I have a talent of fitting what seems like an impossible amount of stuff into a single suitcase if I set my mind to it. Second, I’m surprisingly easygoing. I don’t overthink or twist things in my mind. Third, I actually don’t have many friends. But I’m so busy every day. I have to clean the house, work here and there, and often tear open the packages I ordered from Coupang (laughs).

[jujus-bizarre-blog]

Some of my favourite Crooked Kingdom quotes :)

So I finished Crooked Kingdom and this post is gonna be a lot less articulate than my last one about the series because...

Who the actual fuck let the last 100 pages of that novel happen???

They were so entertaining but aside from that they had some of the most beautiful sentiments and prose. So I am going to share my favourites from each character's POV in Part Six: Action & Echo :3

Nina: Page 455

"But she hadn't been made for shame."

"Nina had grieved for her loss of power, for the connection she'd felt to the living world. She'd resented this shadow gift. It had seemed like a sham, a punishment. But just as surely as life connected everything, so did death. It was that endless, fast-running river. She'd dipped her fingers into its current, held the eddy of its power in her hand. She was the Queen of Mourning, and in its depths, she would never drown."

It's such a beautiful sentiment and moment to watch her fully come to love herself again and her new power. I love Nina as a deeply relatable character and this was just so perfect to see her come back to loving and finding herself.

Inej: Page 460

"But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren't chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway."

This gave me chills. Everything about this is utterly gut wrenching and feels incredibly relatable. I reread that line probably 4 times before moving on.

Jesper: Page 471

"It's not a gift. It's a curse. But when it came down to it, Jesper's life had been full of blessings. His father. His mother. Inej. Nina. Matthias leading them across the muddy canal. Kaz--even Kaz, with all his cruelties and failings, had given him a home and a family in the Dregs when Ketterdam might have swallowed him whole. And Wylan. Wylan who had understood before Jesper ever had that the power inside him might be a blessing too."

Jesper realizing that for all the shit luck he has at tables he has been lucky enough to have amazing people in his life. It's just very sweet.

Matthias: Page 483

"Unnatural, said the old, determined voice. Beautiful, said the voice that had spoken the night he'd helped Jesper and Kuwei escape Black Veil. It was newer, less certain, but louder than ever before."

I love this part because it shows just how much Matthias has changed through the two books. It's beautiful and sweet and heartwarming.

Wylan: Page 427

"Wylan summoned every bit of bravado he'd learned from Nina, will he'd learned from Matthias, the focus he'd studied in Kaz, the courage he'd learned from Inej, and the wild, reckless hope he's learned from Jesper, the belief that no matter the odds, somehow they would win."

Okay... I cheated with Wylan's it's from his chapter just before Action & Echo... BUT, I think this sentiment is much more telling than anything in his Part Six chapter. I love this quote because it shows just how much his found family taught him. They're messy, they're brutal, and they're awful, but they are everything to each other. They teach each other, they help, they care, they tease, and that's way more than Wylan ever had at home.

Kaz: Page 480 & 529

"'I also had her stop at the Menagerie.'

She smiled then, her eyes red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. it was a smile he thought he might die to earn again."

"'That's the laugh,' he murmured."

The second quote isn't from his chapter, it's from Inej's final one, but it conveys the same thing as the first quote. It shows what Kaz could have been, that somewhere in there he wants to show Inej can take his armour off, that he is willing to do it for her and I think it's just really gratifying to see.

That all being said chapter 42 was so evil. It had me going from sobbing of joy to sobbing of sorrow and back to joy in the span of 3 paragraphs istg. What the actual fuck Leigh Bardugo???

[spikulec]

Banshees, known as graveyard or autumn ylfe, roam the world with their faces covered, so that other creatures cannot see their true, terrifying visage. Despite belonging to the banished kind of the dark ylfe, they sometimes still get invited to the Luminous Courts, though their somber appearance does not win them many companions. Banshees' behavior resembles that of mourners. It is not known what exactly (if anything) the fallen ladies and lords grieve for. Old legends say that they yearn for the Light and Feywild, that once were home to their kind. According to local beliefs in Gaol, Banshees appear where a mortal will soon die, mourning their loss to the world.

Most Banshees maintain a cool composure regardless of the situation. They usually speak in a hushed voice, or in a whisper that seems to chill listeners to the bone. They weave autumn leaves, raven feathers, or the torn wings of small fey into their hair, creating incredibly beautiful decorations that help keep their veils in place. Their kind often helps mortals, instead of harming them, unlike most other Unseelie. Banshees are not prone to violence, but when threatened, they are not afraid to reveal their faces. In an instant, they release all their pain and melancholy, destroying anyone who dares to come too close. Brutality brings them no joy - deep within their souls, Banshees have retained a small sliver of Light, and they cling to it desperately with all their might. Despite their fall, the hope for a better tomorrow is stronger than the deepest melancholy.

Creature Type: Humanoid, Unseelie Ylfe Size: Medium (~250 cm | ~8.2 feet) Age: Once they reach adulthood, Banshees cease to age. Like all the Ylfe, their species can live forever if no major harm befalls them. Diet: Everything Characteristics: Six eyes, pointy ears, their wings grow from hips and form a natural dress. Banshees are visually based on mantises

Ability Score Increase: +2/+1 Any (by Tasha’s Rules) or +2 Wis/+1 Int (By Classic Rules). Ignore this point for ‘24 Rules.

Whisper of Magic: Banshees understand the arcane nature of magic better than any other creatures, and can shape the world around them with its help. You may choose two 1st-level Conjuration spells (suggested: Unseen Servant/Entangle). Your casting stat is (your choice) Wisdom, Charisma, or Intelligence. You can cast your chosen spells once per Long Rest without using up spell slots or material components. Slow Fall: Banshees have a limited ability to fly, aided by their wings, which normally fold in like an ornate gown at their waist. As a reaction to falling down, you can unfold the wings to slow your descent. Your falling down rate of descent slows to 60 feet per round. You take no fall damage upon landing, touching the ground with unearthly grace.

True Face: Banshees conceal their faces with their hands, veils, fans, or other means. Revealing their True Face to the world unleashes their power and floods enemies with an aura of overwhelming sorrow and melancholy. As a bonus action, you can transition from the Form of Tranquility (your base state) to the Form of Despair. Each state grants different abilities and benefits

Form of Tranquility. This is the base state of every Banshee, during which they gain the following abilities:

Phasing. You can phase through reality like a ghost, passing through any creature or object as if they were difficult terrain. If you end your turn inside another creature or object, you take 1d10 Force damage and are knocked to the nearest empty space. Detect the Dying. By spending 1 minute (10 full turns), you can detect the presence of any dying creature within range (proficiency score x 50 feet). If you successfully detect a dying creature, you learn the cause of the impending death (e.g. disease, poison, curse).

Form of Despair. This form can be activated using a Bonus Action. Immediately upon taking it, you gain Temporary HP equal to your character level. When you lose all Temporary HP, Despair Form ends and you return to the Form of Tranquility. Additionally, during the Form of Despair,  you gain the following abilities:

Creepy Flight: You have a flying speed equal to your walking speed. You can’t use flying speed if you’re wearing medium or heavy armor. Wail: While in Form of Despair, at the end of each of your turns, you lose 1 Temporary HP and let out a sob, dealing Thunder or Psychic damage (your choice) to each creature within 5 feet of you. The amount of damage is [half your character's Proficiency Bonus rounded down x d4 + Proficiency Bonus]

You can activate the Form of Despair willingly  a number of times equal to half your Proficiency Bonus (rounded down). All expanded uses are regained after a long rest. 

Vengeance: If anyone attempts to reveal your face by force, for example by physically tearing off your veil, the Form of Despair is automatically activated and a nightmarish howl is directed at the attacker, draining all Temporary HP at once and dealing [Character Level x d4] Thunder or Psychic damage (your choice). You can use this ability once per Long Rest.  --

On the top of their species’ traits, each creature with the Unseelie type, also receives all of the following abilities and irremovable curses: Dark Materials: Ylfe are not native to our world and have a natural aversion to metal. Under no circumstances can they willingly come into physical contact with any object made of this material. If a metallic object touches flesh of the Ylfe, they immediately become Frightened of it and remain so, until the physical contact with metal stops Shade Dependency: The Unseelie have been cursed and cannot tolerate prolonged contact with light. For each 12 hours spent in direct bright light or in the Feywild, you gain 1 Exhaustion Point. Yet, you cannot get lost in Shadowfel without a direct magical influence. You do not suffer any negative consequences from Dark Materials or Shade Dependency while in this plane. Evil Eye. Accustomed to twilit forests and the night sky, you have superior vision in dark and dim conditions. You can see in dim light within 120 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can't discern color in darkness, only shades of gray. Shadow Realm: You can expand your mind to connect with your home realm, the Shadowfel. By spending one 1 minute concentrating, you can sense other Unseelies, and all the creatures/objects from the Shadowfel within a 100ft (~30 meters) radius.  You can use this ability the number of times equal to your proficiency bonus.

[beehiveofblorbos]

been brainrotting Venti recently and all of his lore so just gonna put it somewhere that’s not my head

Some basics on Venti: he is the Anemo Archon of Mondstadt, with connections to wine and song, but with the official dominion of Wind, and his ideal is Freedom. He currently disguises himself as a carefree bard. His character story and Neuvi’s voice lines also declare him to be a god of hope.

when we first meet him he teleports away in a flash of Anemo (he can teleport!!) and we learn when we enter mond that the god Barbatos (an original member of the Seven) has been MIA for a long time. He’s not the one running the place, the Ordo Favonius are, but he does have a church and Mondstadters habitually give each other blessings from the wind. He himself has a habit of sleeping for long periods of time.

okay, cool. Venti himself helps us save Dvalin, casually revealing he’s the Anemo Archon just to get hold of the Holy Lyre. He breaks it when we’re on the quest, but returns it to Barbara magically fixed (and implies that she’ll find it broken again soon). His Gnosis is stolen (guys he can Teleport!!!) from him, but he returns to Windrise to recover.

He also gives us the basics on Teyvat’s elemental powers, and tells us a god’s power is based in how much control they exert over their nation (this is later contradicted by Nahida + Focalors,,,, so chances are that he was lying!)

then we also have Carmen Dei, the only archon story quest to not have a part 2. In “Should You Be Trapped In A Windless Land” (and we’ll explore what wind means in Teyvat), Venti uses his godly powers to help Stanley, a boastful adventurer who has taken on the face and identity of his friend in order to carry on his memory. The friend died in Mare Jivari, the ‘windless land’ likely referenced by the quest title.

Venti then sings the story of how he, “a single thread of the thousand winds” (Venti character story), became an archon. He reveals he too has taken on the face of his friend who died among the revolt against Decarabian in Old Mond that ended with Venti being seated as the god.

(Guys he has associations with death!! It doesn’t stop here, Weinlesefest and Mond legends about your spirit being guided back home by the wind, even the connections in events to Hu Tao like !!!)

He hasn’t appeared much in main story, honestly. But there are so many crumbs that lead back to Barbatos and his homeland of Mond that one HAS to wonder: what is going on with him?

His drip marketing? oh he’s the “prodigal son”. son of who???

(“she was the moment. she was every moment… every second of joy, every moment of rage, every instant of longing, every flash of delirium”)

furthermore we’ve got more from his demo: “full of mystery, born from the branches of time / a history of glory and sorrow, and witness to the divine”.

so he’s the “prodigal son”, “born from the branches of time”, who is “full of mystery”, has “a history of glory and sorrow”, and serves as a “witness to the divine”.

what do his character stories have to say? a LOT. they call him “a single thread of the thousand winds”, “without a shred of divine dignity” (pre archon war). And they claim he became a god once the rebellion succeeded (it kinda makes sense, he was the spirit most associated with them after all, and as we know - gods of Teyvat draw power from their believers)

The 5th story remarks that Venti both should and should not be given credit for Mond’s prosperity, since it’s the doing of the Four Winds (which he established lol) but also he’s the one ensuring that the tales of their deeds are passed on.

ok let’s break this down. he’s the prodigal son? the question of his parentage seems to have found it’s definitive answer. Mondstadtian sayings commonly associate the wind with the passage of time, and there are temples to time and a god of time in Mond, which have now come to ruins. They were worshipped alongside Venti for a long time, but their significance diminished and eroded.

Now, in Enka we discovered records of Istaroth, who was also known by the Enkanomiyans as their Goddess of Time, and is the premier candidate (by lore enthusiast consensus) for the god that would’ve been worshipped alongside Venti.

She is also (I’m convinced) Venti’s mom. Remember, he was said to be “born of the branches of time” and “a single thread of the thousand winds”. What was Istaroth’s epithet? She’s the Thousand Winds. We are literally told he was a part of her.

We also have evidence to support Venti having time-based powers. Remember the Weinlesefest memories brought by the wind? He also “knows all songs, past and future”. And furthermore, he might have just rewound the Holy Lyre instead of actually fixing it permanently.

The real question up for debate is whether or not Venti is part of her or a completely unique entity. Both are possible, honestly. I mean, they coexisted. It’s just that the phrasing “a branch” bothers me because it was the exact same phrase used to reference what Nahida is to Rukkha but that much could just be coincidence.

I think we’ve established by now that he’s seen a history full of glory and sorrow, and that he’s full of mystery. So what’s left?

He “knows all songs, past and future” and he is a “witness of the divine”. And his character story supports that, highlighting the importance of his role as a witness to the history of Mond and the feats of the Four Winds. In light of the Sumeru and Fontaine AQs, where we learned that info can be erased from Irminsul and can only be preserved either through the memory of a Witness from outside the world or the creation of an allegorical tale that seems just fictional enough to bypass the Irminsul censors. Also, the importance of what we see being the truth.

(Oh yeah: forgot to mention that he also tends to play this role in history, where he doesn’t interfere much himself but he picks a hero to address a task and then supports them however they need to get the job done. This traces back all the way to his time with Decarabian; he didn’t fight in the war itself, but he watched the Nameless Bard and his countrymen do it, and recorded it in song. Same for Vennessa and the Revolution against the aristocracy).

(guys he is a god of hope and of freedom)

Carmen Dei the story quest does not have a part two. I fear for the day it does, frankly, because we will learn a LOT about this silly little man.

[meiguicha]

Obsession of Persistent Pulse

Yiyu -易遇 x Reader

Three worlds, three lives, he adores you in each and every single one of them

TW: Canonical character deaths (don't worry it isn't permanent), mentions of torture, not beta read at all and written in a post-exam haze

// Uh I don't think there's even a fandom for this game yet but I need that little freak Yiyu so this mess came to be. This entire thing is based off vibes and the bare minimum of canon details. There are spoilers so tread carefully.

The child is but sixteen years old when you bring him into your home in your first encounter. Through your own efforts, and though you yourself have never so much as spent more than a day with a child, you have somehow managed to raise him. It was no easy task, perhaps for another much more experienced than you, but many a time you found yourself a little helpless on how to care for him. 

No matter, he is a lovely child, one you are undeniably proud of. You must admit, you may be biassed in your judgement, for even when you must return from ‘work’, there is already a full table of home-cooked dishes waiting for you, the house absolutely spotless and the mail collated in a neat pile atop the counter. He requires no urging to complete his work as many children often do, nor have you ever been brought in by his appropriate schooling for behavioural or academic issues. Every report card he brings back sings only praises of his demeanour and performance. Extra-curricular activities were likewise an area he did not falter in. 

Perhaps then one might think him withdrawn from you, unwilling to share woes and joys. Yet again, you could find no fault in him. He took to you easily, and the two of you fell into the roles of auntie and nephew all too easily. That sweet adoring child like sunlight, with wide fluttering eyes of soft grey, you must admit that though this was all part of a bigger plan, of one he should never have to know, whenever he flashed you that bright smile that could win over even the coldest of hearts, you could not help the squeeze of emotion that swells within your ribs.

Unlike most children, you found that he did not develop that rebellious phase that every child seems to fall into upon teenagehood. Rather than the expected shows of defiance or even distance, that child of yours only seemed to strengthen his stickiness. Two birthdays and the only thing he asked for?

“I just want to stay with you.”

You suppose that might have been your first clue that this child you were bound to meet in every world was not one that you could escape so easily. 

You took him travelling within the country for those two birthdays, and it came as no surprise as to how he responded when you asked him once more. This time, you would have taken him out to far more distant lands, to a place that belonged only to the two of you. 

Yet every mission must come to its end. You only wished you did not have to do it when he was at his most joyous. 

The child reached his eighteen years of age, and you distinctly remember those soulful eyes squeezed in joy when you promised to spend time with him for his coming of age, you remember it clear as day. Yet your time was limited, you had to leave this world soon. 

‘I’m sorry, I broke our promise, we couldn’t spend your eighteenth birthday together after all.’

Harsh needles of rain beat against the asphalt road as he watched you die. Caught in an accident perfectly orchestrated by forces this world could not hope to fathom, you feel yourself detach from your body like shedding a skin not quite your own. You watched him, that young child rushing forward to cradle your body within his arms as he cried, all but begging for someone to call an ambulance, anyone, someone. 

No one responds, there is no reaction to his clear distress. He could only hold onto your cold body, shaking from the frigid rain and sorrow, such grief that overtook him that bystanders could likewise express no response other than pity. Your poor child, though you have not spent much time with him, you could not help the squeeze of your chest and the stain of guilt upon your soul, no matter that you were now as much a bystander to his life as those apathetic observers. You had not intended to get as attached as you did, you even bought him an additional gift in your irrationality. 

Too soft-hearted, you did not expect this out of yourself. 

Watching through the hazy veil, your mission was soon to be over. You merely had to sit through the ending to return to your reality. 

He seemed to have felt the gift you prepared pressed against him, a little box in your pocket now cradled in his large hands. Your nephew opened it and the glimmer of the silver ring reached you even then, his hand removing it from the velvet interior with severe care. He pressed it to his lips, his eyes squeezed shut as each second passed with excruciating dilatoriness. When he had finally brought himself to sobriety, when you could finally register his dolour, the ring slipped onto his left ring finger. 

You were buried soon after, a simple headstone that detailed your date of birth and death. There was but one inscription carved onto the dark stone, ‘Most Beloved’. Standing in front of your grave beneath the pouring rain, that child of yours had his head bowed. Dews of rain clung to the tips of hair it could reach, no matter that he was surrounded by a dozen men clad in suits and bearing open umbrellas. 

When he rose, his head remained bowed as though in respect, yet when he took one last look at your eternal resting place, you caught a glimpse of his face. Far more severe and cold, his steel eyes softened just the slightest, just a moment. 

You were scarce to even hear his words, watching his lips move as though in abject silence. You managed to make out a sentence among the rain and mist. 

‘Please, wait for me, I’ll find you.’

In the end, you really thought you could change his descent of vengeance and deration into one much kinder for a child like him. 

You had inadvertently became the catalyst that would send him spiralling down the treacherous road that he was meant to journey. The great founder of Fusheng Corporation who spared no sympathy for those beneath his shoe, the great giant of the financial market who dominated all. No longer was he that sweet sunny child whose very smile could bring about sunshine, but rather a man who could no more feel affinity as much as he could so distinctly feel the burden of lost devotion. 

And yet behind the scenes, Fusheng Corporation hid behind the same veil its very founder had put up around himself.  He found them. He found the people he had been looking for all these years. He completely destroyed a technology company that had been the perpetrators of your very passing, and with each passing day, it seemed that declaring bankruptcy may be their only way out. Yet,you had no doubt that he would hunt down the culprit if only to satisfy the caving loss within him. 

He will find you. 

He will find a way to bring you back.

You find him last alone in his room, unclad from the day’s suits and formalities, bearing nothing but a white button up and casual slacks, that ring still ever on his finger. There is barely any illumination that could shine upon his visage, merely the dim light of a computer screen and meagre bedside lamp. Beyond this room is the persistent rain that beats against the window, the dark clouds casting a dismal shadow upon the world. 

He runs a thumb over the cool metal as his eyes wanders to the framed picture on his desk, an old almost weathered old thing encased in glass and metal. You are next to him with a practised smile and a sun hat atop your head, that child of yours stands close, the ghost of a past that he can never have again. 

“I’m still looking for you,” He whispers, his voice so soft you must strain to hear it. 

His form is hunched over, shoulders drooping as he reaches for the frame. He has lost the very person who brought joy to his life, beyond his revenge, he has nothing to live for. Not even his resolve to bring you back.

You cannot be brought back. 

He brings his ring finger to his lips and presses a chaste kiss, “Auntie, I will find you.”

➽──────────────❥

The child is prophesied to be the next demon king should he fall to the vices of his previous incarnations in your second encounter. He would plunge the world into chaos, taking over the three realms and ruling with tyrannical terror. As his master, you would have to steer him away from his road, or at least, you hoped you would be able to. 

You had established yourself as a trusted member of the jianghu, if only because it meant that you may attract his attention, and if not, then perhaps the position would give you some kind of leverage for information. 

It paid off in the end, for you did not have to search for him when he instead came to you. Yet rather than a young child you could shape and mould away from his destiny, you are granted a teenager to be inducted into disciplehood. You once again take it upon yourself to bring him in, to take care of him as he should be. 

Young Master Yi. 

That is his personage before you find him, before you are approached by a young man with an oiled paper umbrella above his head, shielding the two of you from the rain that falls from the high heavens. Clad in simple white robes and standing tall, he had smiled at you.

‘I found you, master.’

You accepted him as your disciple, sitting atop a sandalwood stool as he served you tea with those beautiful eyes and guileless smile. 

How could such a child possibly be the incarnation of all that is evil in this world? 

How could a young man, with nothing but bright hopes and dreams swirling within him be capable of destroying the world? 

He picked up many skills required of a cultivator easily, as though second nature to him despite his non-cultivational background. You can only suppose it is because of his unique heritage but that did not mean he was nonetheless diligent in his training. If he was not sticking to your side during training, then he was doing as he did in that last world, preparing meals for the both of you, cleaning, as though preparing himself as a tender-hearted maiden. 

They find you. Of course they do, this is this body’s destiny. The high elders just so conveniently find you without your disciple, and you are taken into custody. Albeit, in the original world, things go about far more differently. 

Your disciple was meant to be hated from the start, he was meant to be the white lamb unfairly looked down upon as his morals and integrity corrupted into something far more twisted. He was meant to be betrayed this very moment, for his master to throw him to the wolves the very moment she got. 

Yet, you could not do it. 

Again, once again, against your better judgement, you had grown all too fond of that sweet child. 

Staring up at that disgraceful old coot’s wrinkled face, you felt nothing but disdain for him and the rest of this greater society. With your hands bound with immortal binding cables, though you knew that you were no less weaker than a worm in dry soil, you still mustered the strength to maintain your poise. 

It disgusted you, they disgust you. Wanting to kill a child just because he had the chance to be evil, as if no other person could possibly bear the same possibility themselves? They are no lower than the very evil they claim to abhor. 

You are his master, it is your duty to protect him. You will protect him. 

So you gritted your teeth and refused to answer, biting your tongue and turning your head even as they kicked and beat you. Even as you felt your brain ram against your skull and your throat bring up hot blood, you refused to give up anything. Each dull ache was nothing, nothing if it meant his safety. Spilling past your lips and choking your lungs, you had resigned yourself to this momentary torment. 

Nevertheless, no matter your station or reputation, your disobedience displeased them greatly, made especially so by your persistent protection of who they deemed a threat. As such, they do as any great pillar of virtue and justice do, rewarding your years of hard work with the careful and meticulous stripping of your five senses. 

One touch and your body sets alight in flames, the nerves and vessels laden in your limbs and form ripped through your skin. Another and your eyes blur to inexplicable fogginess before descending into a dark void, another and your ears fill with liquid that block all sounds, another and another and another. 

At the very least, you know your disciple will still be safe. Because you are still alive, and your formations will keep him safe. 

Even if you cannot see his soft grey eyes squeeze in joy, hear his gentle voice in the mornings calling for you to awaken, smell the waft of his orange blossom hair oil or ever feel the way his hair feels in your hands, he will be safe. That is all that matters. 

So why does it hurt? Why does it hurt so much? It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. It hurts, it hurts. 

It hurts.

IT HURTS

Once more, yet perhaps in a turn of events unlike the original, you feel your soul detach from your current body, desperately clinging onto the vestiges of what may be considered a more a corpse than living being. Though your body still lives, still breathes, heart still beating within a useless old thing, your soul grips onto life. 

Vaguely, you thought you could hear the remnants of his voice, the soft trill of his words. Only vaguely, for all you could have known, this could have been another trick to lower your guard. It is as though he were speaking beneath the seas, barely a sound passing to your ears. 

“Shifu, I’ll bring you to the Wangyou Sea and find the Jiao Pearl for you.”

“Wait for me, please.”

‘What a shame, I lied to you again.’

You could not keep your promise to him again, how fitting. Your soul that clinged and grasped onto that useless body could only do so for so long, and soon you are relegated to that screen once more. Yet in the last few moments of your death, you think you heard him. 

Your intervention does not help, it never will. Your death, the knowledge that your death was caused by the very immortals meant to be the pillar of virtue plunges your disciple into that dark abyss.

They who have feared him, have become the very cause of his corruption. 

You know that he knows. The whole cultivational world knows. Hot bubbles of magma burst free from a raging volcano, dark clouds of smoke and soot drifting to cover the great blue skies and from within the resentful crucible is your disciple. An anguished cry just manages to reach your ears, his voice once gentle and soft filled with heart-wrenching grief. 

The birth of a new demon king, inaugurated by his greatest loss, embarks on the total and entire subjugation of everything and everyone that has ever brought his master desolation. 

Tall and looming and seething with cold fury. That young man you had raised in this life and another had disappeared, and though you have long past, you could still so palatably feel his sorrow through the thin veil of death. Those cold grey eyes, it was as though a blizzard raged within them, bearing nothing but a wasteland. 

The demon realm, the mortal realm, even the high heavens, none were safe from him. And yet he still searches, continues to find a way to bring you back. But your bodies are nothing but a vessel for a wandering soul, and no matter what he does you will never come back. 

Sitting atop that lonely throne, what did the conquest of three realms mean when you were gone? When you were not there to pat his head and to hold him? 

If he could choose, he would rather return to those simpler times, to when you accepted him, to when you praised him, to when you were by his side. 

‘In another life, I’ll protect you.’

➽──────────────❥

The child you have raised in two worlds stands before you, in a white coat and bearing that gentle smile upon his thin lips. 

He maintains the height he had, though he appears much kinder, much softer than his previous incarnations, with his ash brown hair meticulously styled and his clothes iron-pressed. You think you smell the hint of orange blossoms coming from him, fresh and slightly sweet. 

Yiyu, he tells you. That is his name in this world, and the name you should call him. 

He is a doctor here, and unlike all those worlds, you have no obligation to care for him. 

He is alive and safe here, with no debts to repay and no grudges to hold. 

Laying atop a hospital bed, you can vaguely hear him speaking, perhaps details about your current condition but you could care less. Then, he looks to you, those eyes as though begging you to acknowledge him. You think you hear the whisper of a familiar title, the instinctual urge to press his lips to form that familiar call. 

‘Auntie.’

Your heart sinks yet sings. 

That damned system. After all those worlds, perhaps your soft-heartedness had come from something else. 

The only question you should ask yourself now is, 

Could you bear leaving him again? 

[captainkurosolaire]

Ill-Fated, Sadness

Disheartening rainfall plunged from weeping skies, promising to be herald historically catastrophic, neighboring farms and abodes were spared no expense of ire. Flooding purest sorrow and mourning it sought to soil upon mortal-lands. Summers passed, a couple of Shadow to Dawn, would have their ultimate harrowing, a wicked test of their characters, love, trialed against fate's sheer remorselessness. Once formerly an expressionless, hollow man, now a dark-clad, husband returned home. Only to find his other-half in a ball between knees, tears-streaming, heavier than rain outdoors, pattering below rivers. Only she unsheathed his cruelty; restoring senses to identity. His blackened-gloves reached out into her unusual visit to darkness and searched answer, "Hey. What's wrong?" Those palms brought the end of many, but maneuvered, so caring. Encouraging to share wielding this pain, not alone. Hoisting gradually, her-features; read, <Please, Forgive Me...> continuing a downpour, "I'm a failure, accursed, flawed." the assassin felt sensations of fury. Whoever is causing these... They'll perish. Outside in the back-drop, thunder-struck with blasting-boom! As Rokeia finally confessed, "I cannot conceive." Twisted-fates would do this? She spent her life, in Shamanism restoring infertile, curing others, relieving spirits from lesser to greater. She wanted to have a child with her lover; trying until she finally discovered a plight. For all he did is know death. After their contract, that saw them entangled, caring for a pathetic-lowly, flower, a Sakurasou. There wasn't doubt, he'd be a perfect father of unbridled security. It may bring him full peace. Across oppositions, he was a devoid-husk being, heartless, a genuine-star-eyed killer. But to moments of heart, a firm-digit reached out lifting her chin. "Together." Plainly said, "...We'll solve anything together. Scour this realm for a solution. No dark is immune to light, you're proof." Suddenly her downtrodden-state was annihilated. The Black Miracle once again; instilling hope. Taking two-fingers, intersecting his lips to create a goof-smile to expressively say; she wasn't alone. This isn't a lone-burden. Clouds she knew, ceased; composure returned. Couple were orbits, necessary for another's survival. Features-loosened up with beautified determination, "You're right! I won't give-in. But... Honey, you need to stay, to East. You've obligations. So I'll journey, traverse all-over. I believe Pirate's are renowned for this... Let me go find our treasure. Then, we'll be arms, with a precious other existence. Our littlest-balance maker of joy! I'm certain they'll bring others too." They'd temporarily sacrifice distance of another for a moment, but they're of essence. Sharing agreement, he personally extended search and become an infamous Slayer of Legends to silent-dwellers of night. Deemed enemies would be erased... slaughter before his appointed-skies. His accolades brought to creating a dynasty. Facing a hundred-other dangerous killers and dismantling their Black-Stars of Weaponry. Rozan the 100 Stars. Was forged, The Last Black Miracle. Her storied-events pushed motion. A woman-of-scouring was born, a Pirate... Of remarkable left recorded to faded-passages. Noble-intentions to retrieve something sacred! Self-Restoration and cultivate precious, Life. She'd free a Founding Captain of the Goldbrand from execution whose Friendship, was integral of future coming-eras. Her gifts made them accelerate in wealth, but wasn't priority. Navigation she pioneered, was ahead-of-its-time. Due to treasure-sought. Embarking mythical adventures, saw her owning an unusual-ship that could traverse even dimensions! Death's Door... Would these lovers be successful in making happy-ever-after? The paired in hardship said to Fate... You won't win. Together. Us. We'll... Rebel! Fight! Sacrifice! Claim! For Our Future. Importantly, theirs...

[Prev:Chapter]: Sublunary Love ~ ���"Stay"♪

[lapsusophobia]

Lighting in a bottle

Status: scrapped/unfinished (possibly forever)

TW: Implied/Referenced Character Death/Suicide

Pair(s): Implied/Referenced Raoulstine (altho I wouldn’t really count it)

Note: what better way to celebrate my comeback than by posting an unfinished piece of POTO one shot which has been laying in my Google Docs for two months and a half now?

loosely inspired by this scene from Final Lair from the Romanian 2023 production (I will never shut up about how much I love the Romania production)

one day, hopefully, I’ll find the inspiration to write a more in depth piece surrounding this scene and maybe even a full fic based on this production. anyways, enjoy. xx

“I want you to be my one and only. . .” Eurydice sang as tears began to form in the corners of her stormy gray eyes, but pressed them shut as she stepped back to the gates of Inferno, almost as if she didn’t want him to see those salty crystals of sorrow dancing in her gaze. He felt his heart cracking when the metallic sound of the gates closing made it to his ears, biting his tongue so he wouldn't scream in agony. Or talk at all, because if he did he wasn’t sure he would have achieved anything good.

“Tell me where you wish to go, and I will follow you. . . ” already up a few good stairs, Orpheus offered his hand to his beloved one, ready to take his loved one home.

Then the gates shut closed, yet unlocked, and like a prisoner he found himself crawling to the bars, only to catch the most horrendous view his damned eyes had ever laid on.

Eurydice took her lover’s hand, her cheeks red and swollen with tears.

“Let us share a day, a year, a lifetime. . .” Eurydice ended their duet in a woeful manner, her voice trembling as she embraced Orpheus and they climbed back into the Living World together.

Orpheus triumphed. He saved his adored Eurydice from the Underworld. They were going to spend the rest of their lives in bliss and joy, bathed in each other’s love forevermore.

And he would rot in these damned cellars for the rest of his miserable existence.

‘Come back to me.’ he wanted to say. ‘Come back to me and I promise I will be good. I will cherish and adore you like my most valuable possession. I will swallow you in the most ethereal tunes possible by daylight, and at night I will sing you to sleep. I will love you, but I will try to do it good this time: I will try to love you like a man, I will try to love you as he does! I will love you better than him! I will do anything! I will get you everything your golden heart desires and lay them at your feet! I will wipe away those poisonous tears that had dared sheed across your beautiful cheeks! I will make you happy! I will. . .’

I will love. I will set your wings free. I will mold myself into a man for you. But not a single I should’ve done better. I should’ve been better. I should’ve listened. . .

He rose from the ground, knees shaking, his own eyes trembling and glassy as he held back his own tears. Then he gazed at the rope only feet away from him, hanging in the middle of the cellar. Tied in a perfect, round loop, tight enough to steal one’s breath and never give it back. It was a merciful way to take one’s life, he thought. It spared the man of the cold blade of a knife, the painful kiss of a bullet at the temple of the head. It was a human death, something which was not granted anymore, not even to the less guilty ones. Nowadays even being born was considered a crime if your eyes or hair color or lips weren’t of the liking of your own parents. Or if your face was the result of all human catastrophes put together, no matter how full of love your very heart was.

No pain. Only for a moment, and then it would pass, fade away into the abyss of the unknown and drag his soul along with it. His fists wouldn’t clench anymore, his brows wouldn’t frown anymore in anger and envy and hatred would finally stop pumping life into his miserable heart.

He would finally be pure.

‘. . . I will even cease to exist for your own peace .’

[setrija-nibelungenfangirl]

Day 4

Favorite female character

Kriemhild is my second favourite character in the Nibelungenlied after Hagen. What fascinates me most about her is her development from the well-protected, ideal image of a noblewoman to the norm-breaking, all-destroying avenger. The Nibelungenlied is basically about her life journey: it begins with her childhood and ends with her death.

She most clearly personifies the intense feelings that dominate the Nibelungenlied with her love and her infinite hatred. She also acts out of triuwe – but a very personal, exclusive loyalty to Siegfried. She is repeatedly lied to, betrayed and disempowered by her brothers and Hagen. As a woman, she is not in a position to take revenge on Hagen on her own and must therefore work as queen of the Huns with the means at her disposal – even if it means walking over countless dead bodies (even her own child, depending on the interpretation) just to get her hands on the one man she hates.

She also isn’t a flawless person before the murder of Siegfried. She displays arrogance when she publicly humiliates Brunhild. After telling Hagen Siegfried's secret, she does not reveal her mistake to Siegfried when he pays no heed to her warning dreams. Things that also make her more interesting to me.

For years, she holds on to her grief instead of letting go and repeatedly decides against joy in her life. She even abandons her son Gunther in Xanten so that she can devote herself entirely to her grief in Worms, and ultimately refuses to accept the happiness that she could have had with Etzel and her son Ortlieb. Personally, I think that it is not only her love for Siegfried that makes her cling to her grief, but that she also wants personal revenge for her own endured humiliations, which she has experienced through the lies and deceit committed against her and the theft of her morning gift.

Just as with Hagen, I find it fascinating how she becomes the mastermind of events in Part 2 (even more so than Hagen) and actively brings about the downfall of everybody behind her husband's back. She is manipulative and provokes the Burgundians and Hagen by deliberately violating courtly etiquette. Finally, she violates all norms when she herself raises Siegfried’s sword to behead her arch-enemy with her own hands.

Her character also offers a lot of room for interpretation, which may be due to the logical fragility of the Nibelungenlied, but only increases my fascination. Is she concerned with revenge for Siegfried or with getting back the Nibelungen hoard – or are the two inextricably linked in her eyes? In her final scene with Hagen, does she actually offer him the chance to return home if he reveals the hiding place of the hoard to her, or does she actually say, that he can only return home if he brings Siegfried back to her (which is impossible)?

She is full of intense love, sorrow and hatred, she is also ruthless, complex, manipulative, proud, loyal and selfish at the same time. And also an asshole. Which all solidifies her as another favourite character for me.

[srs-deep-dives]

Tifa's Theme: A Musical Deep Dive (Part I)

(A repost from my old side blog no longer in use. All future analyses will be on this one.)

Greetings and welcome to a deep-dive into Uematsu-senpai’s masterpiece of a character theme. We will examine the rich marriage between composition and storytelling – i.e. how its musical elements express Tifa’s personality, conflictions, relationships, and story motifs. If you’ve come with zero knowledge in music theory, then my hopes are that you will leave here somewhat enriched (no prior knowledge is required). If you are a fellow geek for music, then I hope this adds insight in a storytelling sense. Ultimately, the goal of this post is to more deeply understand Tifa Lockhart.

I have divided this analysis into five sections each built on the prior: (A) the key; (B) the intro; (C) the leitmotif; (D) the original game’s use of the leitmotif; and (E) the compilation’s use of the intro and leitmotif. (The leitmotif of course being Tifa’s recurring melody, of which the first subphrase is sampled above.) Because Tumblr allows only 5 videos per post, some sections are spread across two posts.

So have your headphones/audio ready, and let us commence.

Disclaimer: these are simply my own interpretations offered with supporting evidences. I can only, to my best limited efforts, speculate as to what Uematsu did or did not intend when composing the piece.

Section (A): The Key

Tifa’s Theme is composed in the key of F major, one of the happiest keys in music. It is argued by many, in fact, to be the happiest key (though this is subjective).

“F major is at once full of peace and joy…” – Ernst Pauer (19th C. composer).

This is a reason, I presume, that Uematsu-san chose F major for the track which represents home.

“Welcome home, Cloud,” is the first line that Tifa speaks to Cloud in the game. “I’m home” (from the Japanese dub, 唯今 – “Tadaima”) is the last thing Cloud says to Tifa at the end of Advent Children. Home is our first story motif embodied by Tifa’s character.

But of course Uematsu’s decision likely only began there.

“F major is at once full of peace and joy, but also expresses effectively a light, passing regret – a mournful, but not a deeply sorrowful feeling.” – Ernst Pauer (quote continued).

So we have peace and joy with an undertone of mournfulness; a juxtaposition between two opposing ends of the emotion spectrum. To appreciate how the key of F major achieves this, we can benefit from a quick comparison with two other tracks.

It might surprise you that Tifa’s Theme – our warm song of home – shares the very same key notes as the tensest and most sorrowful track in Final Fantasy VII. Listen to the Cries of the Planet is composed in F major’s relative minor key: D minor. It has the same key chords as F major, yet the chords serve different functions (something we will get to later). Put another way, it has all the same notes, yet they are arranged differently. Where F major is (argued) the happiest key in music, D minor is almost universally called the key of “true sorrow.”

Let’s compare the two tracks here:

I wanted to begin with this little contrast for three reasons. First, to excite you non-music-theorists about the emotive power of music. Here, from our two related keys, come two completely contrasting moods. Second, we are concerned with what and how the notes will speak. Third, well… that’s a little more selfish. Listen to the Cries of the Planet is one of my favorite tracks in the game.

Our other track is One-Winged Angel – the main passage, for there are three keys in this track. It is curious that the foil villain to Tifa has his fighting theme in the relative minor of hers. Like a mirror – for as Sephiroth is Cloud’s despair, Tifa is Cloud’s home. Or, to borrow a Kingdom Hearts metaphor, we’ve Cloud’s darkness against Cloud’s light. D minor is also the key of Sephiroth’s main theme: Those Chosen by the Planet.

And now, onto our deep-dive into Tifa’s Theme, which features in the original game, Advent Children, and 2020’s Remake. For now we’ll be using the piano sheets from Advent Children.

Section (B): The Intro

Tifa’s Theme begins with a tonic chord (the ‘home’ chord of our key). The further we move away from our tonic, the greater the tension (instability) will be.

By ‘home’ here I am referring to the music’s tonal center – not ‘home’ the story motif which Tifa embodies. In light of that distinction, however, with the tonic being the home point of the track and home being a story motif central to Tifa’s character, we are simultaneously referring to both.

So we begin with our tonic (the F major chord) which draws us “at once [into] peace and joy.” Yet there is concurrently the hint of a mournful undertone. Only a tiny, tiny allusion – perfect for our introduction to Tifa. When we first meet her after all, we’ve no idea of the burdens locked in her heart.

This opening tonic is presented in whole notes (the longest kind of note in common composition). In our piano version, these whole notes are arpeggiated (see the squiggly lines to their left), meaning that the chord is ‘spread’ or ‘rolled’ – the notes are played and held one after the other from the bottom up. We are at once drawn in by Tifa’s inviting warmth and we linger there.

Our tonic is immediately succeeded by a chromatic chord (a chord composited of notes outside the key; notes that ‘don’t belong’). This second chord, in fact, is the sort we would expect to find in F minor. It does not ‘belong’ in our key of F major – thus the mournful undertone which would have been further hinted is brought into direct statement. Foreshadowed is the revelation of Tifa’s burdens. She is carrying deep and unsettling secrets.

How does this work? Uematsu-san has effectively ‘borrowed’ the second chord of the F minor key and inserted it into the track’s opening chord progression. This subverts the natural expectation of our ears and creates instability – a trick he will frequently pull to toy with our emotions.

Uematsu-san then extended this borrowed chord to heighten the mournfulness by adding a 7th (a note seven intervals above the root note which further colors the mood). This enlarges the magnitude of Tifa’s mournfulness: we feel that her burdens are heavy.

The next two bars instantly carry us back to the tonic (see the harmony on the bottom stave below). This occurs in a slow fall, a faster fall, then a faster, now extended lift: the intro’s re-establishment and emphasis on the motif of home. We are never to stray from feeling at home when we are around Tifa. Simultaneously, these bars speak the ‘locking away’ of Tifa’s burdens. Her sufferings are buried quickly as her love for others is brought to the forefront.

Where our chromatic chord had an added 7th to heighten the mournfulness, our tonic build is extended with a 7th and 9ths in its lift – heightening home in a stronger comparative sense. Tifa being a home to others, in other words, overpowers her own sufferings.

There are three things we can grasp from this sequence of slow-fall to faster-fall to faster-extended-lift.

First, Tifa holds a profound motherliness toward others which outweighs thought for her own wellbeing.

Second, Tifa is insecure in dealing with her emotions, and thus strives to keep herself distracted from them. We will see this displayed right from the time of her childhood:

At 8, unable to cope with her mother’s death, she treks up the perilous mountain to try and ‘find her’ on the other side;

At 15, unwilling to face the grief of her father’s murder, she recklessly rushes to confront Sephiroth;

At 17 (in Traces of Two Pasts), she confesses to Jessie that she has been “running” from learning the truth about Nibelheim;

At 20 (in Remake), she admits she’s not even allowed herself time to decorate her apartment;

At 22 (in On the Way to a Smile), she avoids being alone in keeping extra busy with the bar and the kids during Cloud’s absence.

Thirdly – and perhaps most jarringly – Tifa embodies home despite her life being plagued by suffering.

Tifa, who lost her home and had to rebuild her life from scratch, provides a home for Cloud, Marlene, Barret, Avalanche, and later, Denzel.

Tifa, who lost her mother as a child, mothers everyone else, is for all intent Marlene’s mother, and becomes the mother of a family unit with Cloud.

We have now travelled through the first subphrase of the intro.

We begin Subphrase Two with our opening tonic again, but this time in a quite surprising extension. Rather than adding a happy 7th or 9th to accentuate the warmth of our home chord, Uematsu-san gives us an E note which clashes with our F. Moreover, he builds the chord from this E as the bass (bottom) note.

What does this mean? Dissonance. Home is re-emphasized, but now directly with mournfulness. Although Tifa’s burdens are locked in her heart, they are ever lingering in the picture.

Compare this tonic (with the clashing E) to our opening tonic in Subphrase One. We now also have an additional climb in the harmony, which includes an added 9th. So while we can more deeply sense Tifa’s mysterious burdens (even though she’s our place of peace), extra emphasis is placed on her warmth and motherliness.

Subphrase One opening vs. Subphrase Two opening:

And so we continue Subphrase Two, following the pattern from Subphrase One. A chromatic chord follows the tonic – again ‘borrowed’ from the key of F minor – bringing Tifa’s plights to bubble once again. But before we can linger on them, we are taken back to an extended tonic chord – this time with an ‘unbelonging’ note.

From the next bar, however, things begin to shift…

Before moving onto this shift, let’s consider what we’ve covered so far. We began “at once full of peace and joy” (Tifa’s warmth pulled us toward her, pulled us home), to be immediately carried into an expression of suffering (Tifa’s secret, unsettling burdens were glimpsed). That suffering was overpowered – but not entirely suppressed – by a magnified emphasis of home (Tifa locked her burdens away behind her nurturing kindness). The suffering surfaced briefly again, and again home was accentuated (Tifa’s endless heartache continues beneath the bounds of her love).

As is very clear by now, Tifa is facing great internal conflictions. Let us dig into what the music so far has conveyed of those conflictions.

Spoken in long-value notes, our Subphrase One melodic chords convey: our peace when we are with Tifa; and Tifa’s hesitance in expressing her burdens. That they shift and waver between tonic and chromatic conveys her uncertainty.

Subphrase One conveying hesitance (in long-value notes):

Subphrase One conveying uncertainty (tonic > chromatic > tonic):

Tifa is longing to confront Cloud with the truth of his psyche. At the same time, she is uncertain of both what that will bring and what the truth is: she fears losing Cloud; and she doubts the validity of her own memories from the events he is recounting so accurately. These hesitancies, fears and doubts are gnawing at her heart, buried from the rest of the world under the forefront of home.

Subphrase Two contains less long-value notes and more wavering than Subphrase One, building the intensity of Tifa’s conflicts clashing within her. Rather than wavering from tonic to chromatic to tonic, we go from a dissonant tonic to a chromatic chord to a tonic with chromaticism to more tension in a predominant chord. I’ll get to what this means in the next post, but for now, just know it is a chord of tension.

Subphrase Two (less the final bar) building instability:

Following our new tension chord (the predominant G minor in blue) we have just one bar left to end the phrase. As it is the end of the intro as a whole, we expect to return to the tonic. But (bless Uematsu and his subversions)… the opposite happens.

Our ears expect resolution, but we are instead dragged right into the highest point of tension. Here, we are pulled into the world of the dominant chord.

Continued in Part II here.

[artandthebible]

Naomi and Ruth

Artist: Evelyn De Morgan (English, 1855–1919)

Date: 1887

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Property from a Distinguished Private Collection

Description

The story of Naomi appears in the Bible in the book of Ruth. Naomi lived during the time of the judges. She was the wife of a man named Elimelech, and they lived in Bethlehem with their two sons, Mahlon and Kilion. Naomi’s life illustrates the power of God to bring something good out of bitter circumstances.

When a famine hits Judea, Elimelech and Naomi and their two boys relocate to Moab (Ruth 1:1). There, Mahlon and Kilion marry two Moabite women, Orpah and Ruth. After about ten years, tragedy strikes. Elimelech dies, and both of Naomi’s sons also die, leaving Naomi, Ruth, and Orpah widows (Ruth 1:3–5). Naomi, hearing that the famine in Judea was over, decides to return home (Ruth 1:6). Orpah stays in Moab, but Ruth chooses to move to the land of Israel with Naomi. The book of Ruth is the story of Naomi and Ruth returning to Bethlehem and how Ruth married a man named Boaz and bore a son, Obed, who became the grandfather of David and the ancestor of Jesus Christ.

The name Naomi means “sweet, pleasant,” which gives us an idea of Naomi’s basic character. We see her giving her blessing to Ruth and Orpah when she tells them to return to their mothers’ homes so that they might find new husbands: she kisses them and asks that the Lord deal kindly with them (Ruth 1:8–14). But her heartache in Moab was more than Naomi could bear. When she and Ruth arrive in Bethlehem, the women of the town greet Naomi by name, but she cries, “Don’t call me Naomi… Call me Mara, because the Almighty has made my life very bitter. I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty. Why call me Naomi? The Lord has afflicted me; the Almighty has brought misfortune upon me” (Ruth 1:20–21). The name Mara means “bitter.” The cup of affliction is a bitter cup, but Naomi understood that the affliction came from the God who is sovereign in all things. Little did she know that from this bitter sorrow great blessings would come to her, her descendants, and the world through Jesus Christ.

Ruth meets a local landowner, Boaz, who is very kind to her. Naomi again recognizes the providence of God in providing a kinsman-redeemer for Ruth. Naomi declares that the Lord “has not stopped showing his kindness to the living and the dead" (Ruth 2:20) Seeing God’s hand in these events, Naomi encourages Ruth to go to Boaz as he slept in the threshing floor in order to request that he redeem her and her property. Naomi’s concern was for Ruth’s future, that Ruth would gain a husband and provider.

Naomi’s bitterness is turned to joy. In the end, she gains a son-in-law who would provide for both her and Ruth. She also becomes a grandmother to Ruth’s son, Obed. Then the women of Bethlehem say to Naomi, “Praise be to the Lord, who this day has not left you without a guardian-redeemer. May he become famous throughout Israel! He will renew your life and sustain you in your old age. For your daughter-in-law, who loves you and who is better to you than seven sons, has given him birth” (Ruth 4:14–15). Naomi was no longer Mara. Her life again became sweet and pleasant, blessed by God.

[stoneantler]

2024 Reading List

It is that time of year again. I used to do a full listing of all the books I read in the year but now that I read so much that's a little challenging, so I'm doing my top five reads in each category!

Fiction

Playboy by Constance Debre translated by Holly James

I don't usually enjoy autofiction but this novel knocked it out of the part. A tale of a woman discovering and exploring her lesbianism in middle age. It's tight, fast paced, often acerbic, and does not shy away from the ugliness of being a person in the world. I look forward to the Debre's next novel in this series.

Grimmish by Michael Winkler

This is hands down the best book I read all year. It's strange, it's weird, it innovates genre. This novel is sort of a non-fiction historical treatise on the American wrestler Joe Grim. However, the structure and form of the novel flies in the face of all novelistic convention. It is experimental fiction of the highest order and an incredibly interesting deconstruction of the meaning of masculinity and pain.

The Piano Teacher by Elfriede Jelinek translated by Joachim Neugroschel

On the topic of gender and pain, this novel is phenomenal. Its status as a classic is well deserved. The richness and complexity of Erika's relationship to her mother, to herself, and to Walter is so engrossing. Despite how painful the novel is to read, it is also impossible to put down. It is well deserving of the fantastic film with which it shares a name.

The Troop by Nick Cutter

A thrilling and grotesque novel about the outbreak of an unknown pathogen amongst some teenage boys on a remote Canadian island. This book, like a lot of the others on this list, plumbs the depths of masculinity and finds it wanting. Also the horrifying descriptions of infection are haunting and will satisfy those readers looking for a truly grotesque horror novel.

The Bitch by Pilar Quintana translated by Lisa Dillman

Set in the author's native Colombia, the central character Damaris spends her days cleaning the mansion of a wealthy family who has not returned to their vacation home in years. Unable to have children, she tries to fill her need to love and dote on someone by adopting a dog. The novel is sparing, unflinching, and powerful.

Poetry

Let the World Have You by Mikko Harvey

A wonderfully imaginative collection in the vein of Charles Simic. It's full of a kind of magical realism that you often don't see in American poetry and is additionally hard to pull off. This collection is a beautiful addition to the tradition.

Frightening Toys by Charles Simic

What can I say! I love Charles Simic! I love his fantastic (in the sense of fantasy) poetry. I have nothing else to say.

Soft Science by Franny Choi

This is a poetry collection that builds world with its own logic and characters. I was particularly compelled by the cyborg poems, which so skillfully play with language and sound. The cyborg poems represent the strength of this collection, which lies in its extended metaphor around machinery as woman and as dehumanized other.

The Virginia State Colony for Epileptics and Feebleminded by Molly McCully Brown

This collection imagines the voices of the residents of the Virginia State Colony, their sorrow, their suffering, and also their joys. It takes names of otherwise unknown people off of the page and inhabits them with light and dignity. A deeply moving collection.

Nonfiction

The Infernal Machine: A True Story of Dynamite, Terror, and the Rise of the Modern Detective by Steven Johnson

An incredibly illuminating and well written exploration of the history of anarchism in the United States and how that trajectory leads to the police surveillance state we have today. I cannot recommend this book enough if you want to understand the history of leftist radicalism in the US.

Into the Raging Sea: Thirty-Three Mariners, One Megastorm, and the Sinking of the SS El Faro by Rachel Slade

I love a good disaster book and this one is truly great. Rich with detail and thoughtful story telling, this book methodically tells the nearly incomprehensible story of the 2015 sinking of the SS El Faro. The only place in which I found the book wanting was in its analysis of the systematic issues that allow a disaster like this to happen. I wanted an indictment of the system that allowed this accident to happen, which the book does not deliver.

Graphic Novels and Art Books

firebugs by Nino Bulling

A beautiful and tender story about love, growth, and being transgender. I know that we on tumblr all love t4t relationships but this book explores how complicated a relationship like that can really bit. It's a bittersweet and necessary story that gave me reassurance about my own experience with t4t relationships.

The Parade: A Story in 55 Drawings by Si Lewen

Gorgeously rendered and terrifying, this book is one artist's representation of the ravages of war. Published in 1957, it deals directly with the artists experience as a Polish Jew serving in the US Army during WWII. This collection is not a graphic novel and was originally presented as a exhibit in 1951. Yet, it is not exactly an art book either. There is no statement, no essay from a reviewer. Lewen lets his images speak for themselves, to great effect.

Metamorphadox by Jarrett Heckbert

What a wildly imaginative and strange book. It deals with war, mechanization, loneliness, and more. Really a book better experienced than explained.

Death of the Master by Patrick Kyle

With minimal language and a wonderfully unique style, this novel explores a world of charismatic but distant leaders and incomprehensible but ever present work. Using magical realism and principles of the bizarre, this novel reveals the strangeness of our current work culture and its leaders.

Majnun and Layla: Songs from Beyond the Grave by Yann Damezin translated by Thomas Harrison and Aqsa Ijaz

This volume retells, yet again, the classic Persian tale of Majnun and Layla with absolutely stunning visuals. I am comfortable saying that this Damezin's version is a work of art in its own right. Every page is gorgeous and the novel is a treat to experience.

Plays

God of Vengeance by Sholem Asch translated by Isaac Goldberg

A Yiddish play about lesbians written in 1907? More likely than you think. This play is so interesting in its moral quandaries. It centers around a father who wants become respectable by marrying his daughter off to a yeshiva student and in doing so must face himself and his own moral failings. The history of the plays production in the US is also fascinating and worth reading up on.

The Lower Depths by Maxim Gorky translated by Jenny Covan

A classic of social realism, this play shows us the lives of poor Russians living in a basement shelter. The characters are rich and memorable and particularly the actor haunts me to this day. I can see the influence of this play on much of the literature that comes after.

Ghosts by Henrik Ibsen translated by William Archer

In the 1906 production of this play in Berlin, Austrian director Max Reinhardt commissioned Edvard Munch to do the set design. Munch decided that the set would be dominated by a large black armchair, which should almost be its own character in the play. I thought about that the whole time I read the play. How it is dominated by a cold, dark, and oppressive domestic space where secrets and betrayal are destroying the family. This play so clearly had an influence on the film Festen, which later went on to influence Succession, and having read it, I can see why.

Spring Awakening by Frank Wedekind translated by Francis J. Ziegler

Another classic that I had not read until this year. I feel no need to explain or defend this play; it stands on its own merits.

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